˚ ⤹ ❝ ABOUT ME !! : A dreamer with a hyperfixation problem, a writer in progress, and a certified fictional men enthusiast. My personality is 50% chaotic, 50% sentimental, and 100% fueled by caffeine, late-night existential crises, and my burning hatred for real men’s egos. You’ll find me either lost in my own world, thinking about characters, or ranting about my latest obsession. I love deep convos, pretty aesthetics, and people who actually use their braincells.
˚ ⤹ ❝ LIKES !! : Free Palestine, writing, reading, video games, journaling, manga, manhwa, manhua, anime, strawberry, listening to music, sad music, pop, rnb, opm, aesthetic anime prints, cosplayers, stickers, stationery, late-night deep convos, self-indulgent daydreaming, falling in love with fictional men, oversized hoodies, the scent of books, pretty café aesthetics, and rotting in my comfort space, my alone / me time. please be kind :3
˚ ⤹ ❝ GAMES I PLAY & OBSESS OVER !! : twisted wonderland, love and Deep Space, lovebrush chronicles, cookie run kingdom, obey me! & obey me! nightbringer, project sekai, genshin impact, honkai star rail, and whatever else I hyperfixate on next.
˚ ⤹ ❝ HATES & DISLIKES !! : real life men. men’s egos. people who are rude for no reason. overly loud noises. sweating (if i wanted to suffer, i’d do cardio). no ac in hot weather (literally a crime). spoilers without warnings. when my favorite character gets done dirty. unskippable ads. waking up early (my biggest enemy). people who can’t mind their own business. that time my e-wallet got deducted because of a "free trial"—I still haven't recovered. people who plagiarize and takes people's hardwork without giving credit. feeding my work to ai.
˚ ⤹ ❝ FAVE SERIES / ANIME / MANGA / MANHWA / MANHUA !! : kamisama kiss, naruto shippuden, the case study of vanitas, haikyuu, major, yona of the dawn, jujutsu kaisen, inso's law, a stepmother's marchen, pure villain, tears on a withered flower, wwmap, sakaki the lazybones shows his talent at night, the rankers guide to live an ordinary life, dreaming freedom, in the doghouse, garden of the dead flowers, cheating men must die, a journey to the past, goddess creation system, qishi huanxiang ye <3
˚ ⤹ ❝ CURRENT FIXATION !! : ATSUMU MIYA (hq)
﹒REQUESTS [WHAT I WRITE & DON'T WRITE] ◠ ⧼ 📖 ⧽
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✎𓂃⁺˖ ⸝ ❝🥐 what i write !! : reader inserts, characters x readers, anime characters x reader, manhwa characters x reader, manhua characters x reader, series characters x reader, yandere x reader, smut, thirst posts, fluff, angst, slow burns, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, twt au settings, au settings, dark fics (with proper warnings), yandere themes, and more things i'll come to like along the way.
✎𓂃⁺˖ ⸝ ❝🍯 what i don’t write !! : necrophilia, pedophilia, abuse, non-con, extreme gore, scat, incest, and anything i personally find uncomfortable.
Leon comes home feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how he wants to show you.
ao3 ✦ wc: 5.9k
tags: Leon Kennedy/cisfem!reader, marathon sex, multiple creampies, p in v, porn w/o plot, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, cockdrunkeness, rough sex, praise & degradation, aftercare, wife!reader, can imagine with or w/o age gap, re9 requiem spoilers
a/n: I meant for this to be love-making but then it turned freak nasty oops
SMS Message: Home tomorrow.
Sender: Leon S.K.
You jumped up from the couch as you read it, the words shaking on the screen you held with trembling hands.
You didn’t think he’d come home so soon. You didn’t think he’d come home at all.
The next 18 hours were a blur, and then you heard it: the purr of a familiar motor in the driveway. It stopped you dead in your tracks, standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. You tensed as you waited for the sound of footsteps outside— held your breath as you heard the key in the lock— watched unblinkingly as the handle turned— when Leon walked through the door, time itself went still.
For a moment, all you could do was stare. You didn’t know what to expect. Every mission changed him, and you didn’t know what new version of him would walk through the door now, or how to react to it. And the stakes had never been higher.
The days before his departure were spent mostly in silence, doing little else except hold each other as his departure neared every second. You both knew the two likely results: he’d either die in the place it all began or come home even closer to death’s door. He’d wait for his disease to slowly consume his soul while he made his own funeral plans, and you’d stay close to your gun to prepare for the moment he went cold.
You’d spent the time between his text and now clinging to hope and preparing yourself for the worst. You’d never felt as fragile as the moment he opened the door.
He looked your way as the lock clicked behind him. It was only a few seconds, but they expanded into eons as you searched him for signs of bad news. A knit in his brow, or a downward tug of his lips. Traces of tears he may have wiped away in the car before you could see them. His steely eyes filling with grief.
But you didn’t see any of that. Instead, he grinned and held his arms out wide.
You flew crashing into them. He was steady, firm, and tight as you clutched your fists into the back of his shirt. His arms wrapped around your head and he kissed the top of it softly, swaying you ever so slightly because he was too overcome to stand still.
For minutes, all you did was stand in the doorway and hold. That was the quiet choreography of all of his homecomings, though it never felt routine. Each time it had a different weight, and this one was the heaviest yet by far.
When you finally were able to pull away, you scanned him again for signs of injury, physical or otherwise. You knew him like you knew yourself, and even the most imperceptible changes never got past you.
Your eyes widened when they dropped to his neck.
You didn’t have to ask; he already knew the question. He answered it, still smiling, his voice gravelly and low, soft and tired, but not weary. All of it built up your hopes until he finally spoke it into reality.
“I’m alright, baby.”
His hands grazed your face, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his bare fingertips purely out of habit. You’d spent months of him preventing you from coming into contact with his infected tissue. But then you realized what you were feeling: real skin sans leather, flesh devoid of flaw. His fingers were roughened from calluses and nothing more, complete with his wedding band returned to its rightful place.
Your eyes watered in disbelief and awe. A trepidatious smile grew on your lips as he cupped your cheek in his palm. You covered his hand with your own and pressed into the warmth while your other hand traced up his torso, until you were grazing over the skin of his neck and nudging down his shirt collar.
It was free of all black-rotted dry patches, no cracks on the surface to be seen. Nothing but a fresh scar you didn’t need to ask about right now. Right now, all that mattered was that he was whole and solid, returned to his natural state, totally healed and hot-blooded under the surface.
Your breath hitched at his body heat. Oh, how you missed his skin.
“You’re really okay..?”
The words were small and barely squeaked out. You didn’t want false hope. You needed to know the healing was more than just skin deep. His reaction assuaged all fears.
“Yeah. I really am.”
The truth took a moment to permeate the air. When it did, he took you in a kiss so firm and certain, it crushed all remaining doubt.
You met it fiercely, pushing yourself against his torso to feel him closer. Your hands threaded into the hair on the nape of his neck as he wrapped his arms around to hold you firmly in place.
Your tongue darted out first, or maybe his did, you couldn’t say. And from there, it happened fast.
His hands moved to the back of your head, then your waist, and then your ass, where they couldn’t help but grope and lift until your legs wrapped around him and he held you in the air. You grabbed his face as your lips parted wider to allow his tongue further inside. He roughly kicked off his boots and then he was walking. He kept kissing you all the way through— he didn’t need to open his eyes, he knew where he was going.
Your back met the cool blankets on your bed and then he was crawling over you, caging you under him in the dark. You wrapped your hands around his biceps and felt the muscles flex as he lowered himself to kiss down your neck, covering each square inch of skin with his sloppy, desperate kisses.
“I feel better than I have in years. Spent the whole trip home waiting to show you.”
'To prove it to you' was in the subtext.
He returned to your mouth hotly and grinded his hips into your center, the friction of his jeans against the soft fabric of your home clothes making you keen into the toe-curling feeling. He pulled his shirt over his head and you took the opportunity to speak.
“Turn the lamp on, need to see you.”
He made quick work of reaching over to it, and then you shuddered as your palms felt the expanse of his abdomen. Tight ab muscles, beefy pectorals, and broad shoulders. The sight you never got sick of that made up his brawny form. All of it healed and renewed.
He kept grinding while you took him in. Your arms went up and around and down again, nearly worshipping the flesh. But when you yanked at his belt, he stopped you with his hands around your wrists, bringing them to each side of your head and caging you in again.
“Spent too much time thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.” He sat back up and you kept your arms where he fixed them as he began to pull at the elastic waistband of your bottoms. He kissed your exposed navel and you shivered as he mumbled into you. “Need’ta show you how I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”
You never felt like his age held him back much in the bedroom— his job relied on stamina and endurance, and though his job was physically demanding and he was not quite in his prime, the toll was mostly seen in the back pain after; it hardly showed in the moment. As his hands and mouth traveled every inch of exposed skin like a starving animal, you wondered if you could even handle him giving you something more. The thought of finding out went straight between your legs.
His mouth went straight there, too.
You nearly yelled as he dove into your cunt with a fervent tongue, lapping and sucking and messily making out with your folds, his thumbs kneading to pull open the soft fatty skin of your vulva. He wasn’t interested in wasting any time on teasing, clearly.
Your thighs clenched around his head and a hand pushed against his head reflexively to fight off the sudden intensity, but it was useless. The pressure of your legs around his head only spurred him on until your cunt was soaked in spit– it certainly wasn’t your own wetness– he devoured every ounce that escaped before it could go anywhere but his mouth.
You bucked and twitched as you cried out his name. “Leon, Leon, s’too much, holy— fuck, Leon—” but he only spread your thighs and kept your there, pointing his tongue to circle sharply around your clit.
“I’m just getting started, baby,” he said, sucking your clit into his mouth and letting go with a flilthy noise, “thought I’d never taste this sweet cunt again, gonna drink my fucking fill.”
Your head fell back as he dove back in, steady and thorough and obscene. You took deep breaths, although they were more like hitched pants and moans until you acclimated to the sensation. He hummed as he felt you melt under him and added a single finger inside, groaning when you arched into it.
He slowed down, his finger rocking and curling in and out and his tongue lapping at you. You looked down to see his darkened eyes gazing at his work between tastes, and you shuddered as he licked his lips before retracting all touch. Your hips flinched upwards to beckon him to return, but he didn’t. He met your eyes and reveled in your wanton expression as he sucked you off his fingers, never breaking eye contact as he rose to kneel between your parted legs.
He finally began to do away with his jeans, and something changed in his tone as he did. You shivered with desire as you watched him move. It was deliberate and slow. He was undressing like a threat.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen…”
His belt fell with a thud against the ground—
“I’m gonna fuck you until you cry…”
The button fell apart with a flick of his wrist—
“Fill you so full of cum you’ll be dripping ‘til next week…”
The zipper seemed to ache as it slowly parted open—
“And you’re gonna fucking take it.”
Unhurriedly and never once looking away from you, he pushed his pants and boxers down until his thick cock sprang free. You whined at the sight of it, eyes fixed where it hung in the air. It was dark pink– definitely darker than usual– his hot blood expanding every vein. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, a full display of the immensity of his desire, so much that it nearly looked painful. When a bead of precum began to appear on his tip, your mouth watered for it.
Your eyes scanned upward as you realized he’d stopped talking and was kneeling there in wait while you stared. You took in his form on the way up; the way his abs tightened with every throb of his cock, the striations of his brawny arms, the few new cuts over old scars. The heavy rise and fall of his chest as he held back for the last time tonight.
And then, you saw his face. His chin was slightly raised as if he was looking down on his next confirmed kill. His lips were still glistening with slick as they were pulled into something not unlike a snarl. His hair was halfway in his eyes, but it did nothing to conceal the intent within them.
“You think you can handle that?”
Your eyes fleeted to his navel, only for a second, assessing him like a loaded gun that was aimed right at you. His hands held his clothes in tight fists and his cock leaked with pre.
You met his eyes again and blinked as you nodded and choked out a needy, “yes,” and your gulp gave away your uncertainty. But that only seemed to spur him on.
He fell forward; suddenly, his face was inches away from your own, one hand on the mattress beside your head to hold himself up, the other yanking his pants off as quickly as he could.
“You know what to say if you can’t,” he grumbled, hunkering down to glide his tip against you until it notched against your entrance, “because telling me to stop won’t be enough.”
He grabbed your wrist at the same time he violently drove in, knowing you’d leap from it and keeping you there anyways. You were nothing but a mess of yelps and moans as he beat his way inside, clawing against his back and shoulders. A single finger wasn’t enough to ready you for this, and the knocks against your cervix were only soothed by the equal force against your g-spot.
Each merciless pounding of his fat cock stretched your walls to their limit, and he truly didn’t give you any other option but to take it. You groaned at the way he used his broad build to keep your legs open to him, every ounce of muscle that you were no match against weighing down to pin you there.
With an arm wrapped under you to hold you by the back of the neck and the other tightening in the hair on the crown of your head, he caged you in to face him. But your dizzy eyes were squeezed shut and could only open to roll back into your skull.
He shook you lightly by the hair. “Look at me,” he growled. You mewled as you attempted it, but your glossy eyes went straight back behind your eyelids. He did it again, harder, pistoning up to fuck you harder, too. “Look at me, you fucking bitch.”
The shock of his words made your eyes shoot open with a gasp and a furrowed brow, far removed from the gentle reverence he held you in at the door. His gaze bore straight into you with a scowl, his adoration replaced with possession.
He was terrifying. Unhinged. A madman on the loose inside of you. A killer who lashed against your walls with uncalculated raw power. Though you could only see his face, it was the hottest thing you’d ever seen.
While you were still reeling from the disparagement, he gritted angrily into your face, crowding you until your noses nearly touched.
“Who owns you?”
You could only attempt to answer, your voice breaking into a sputtering moan as he bottomed out harshly again and again, not needing any of the great focus it took you to speak.
The pitiful noise you’d made wasn’t good enough for him. He squeezed the sides of your neck and you arched off the bed, but that only sent your body flush against his, which didn’t make you any clearer-headed.
“Tell me who fucking owns you.”
You felt like you were floating as your brain was cut off from blood flow, and out of care for your own wellbeing, you managed to answer him.
“Y-you, Leon—“
He let go of the pressure and smirked as you gasped. “Mouth not so good for talking right now, huh? Only good for one thing?”
He unclasped his fingers from your hair and brought them to your chin, delving into your parted lips to hook around your bottom teeth. You let your jaw fall open and watched in shock as he spat inside.
“Swallow it,” he commanded, fingers digging into your face as he pushed it shut. You shuddered as you did, and his own eyes rolled back now.
His head fell into the crook of your neck with a smoky groan. You felt hot puffs of air against your pulse as his hands became gentler, like he revered you for doing what he demanded.
“Gorgeous fucking girl… needed this cunt so bad, went through hell to get back home to you…”
His hold on you may have lessened, but his words held your heart in his fist and squeezed. He’d captured your thoughts so purely on the present, you nearly forgot the context.
Your arms were limp as they tried to wrap around his back, barely able to hold on as he moved with every pounding of his hips. But still, they searched him, chest filling with every inch they felt unmarred by disease, and your cunt pulsed as he searched you for places to grab. Your ebbing breasts, the small of your waist, the meat of your hips, landing finally on the underside of your knee where he changed the angle to impale himself even deeper.
You were losing it, and he could tell. He thrust upwards to meet where your hips rose to help him land in that perfect spot and he kissed your jugular— first a peck, then an open-mouthed kiss, and then a full-on lick of his tongue.
Your legs trembled under him. “Leon, I’m, fuck, please,” you breathed.
He twisted your nipple and nipped under your ear as if to mock how it made you writhe. “Oh yeah? You sure you wanna cum so soon?”
‘So soon’ ..?
Maybe he wasn’t all talk when this started. Maybe that savage look in his eye wasn't a trick of the light. At this rate, he wasn’t going to fuck you until you cried, he was going to fuck you until you died.
But he wanted it. He lifted himself enough to sear your mouth with a kiss, his thrusts slowing momentarily to wedge his hand against your clit. He gathered the wetness between your bodies to easily rub against the silky nub. Your toes curled and your spine curved to seek the friction of his freshly calloused fingers. He deepened the kiss as you moaned, and it became all tongue so he could swallow the sounds in his throat.
He was debauched. Delirious. A bad man smiling as he plucked petals from a flower. Delightfully drowning himself in sin. All you could do was surrender as he brought you your undoing.
You came with wild cries and jolts of ecstasy, nails digging into his deltoids as he sped up even more. You watched him look down at his cock being covered in your cream, a ragged sound in his throat as you tightened around him with each wave of pleasure.
You panted sharply as you barely began to come down, and he lifted himself up on his haunches, kneeling between your legs as he soaked up the sight.
Once your half-lidded eyes met his, he grabbed your hips to brutally fuck you into him.
You clawed at the sheets as he used you like a toy. You won’t be surprised if your ass is speckled with fingertip-shaped bruises tomorrow. All you could see in front of you was your breasts recoiling from each thrust, and behind them, Leon lost in his own world of feeling. His head was tipped back and you saw the stubble under his chin— his pecs were flexed and flushed pink from the vigor— all of him covered in a light gloss of sweat that shone in the warm lamplight.
He was intoxicating to behold, and it was absolutely unfair, because you already lost the ability to think straight. Now you drank him in with your eyes, and you were totally inebriated.
Your moans turned into some kind of mumble. You didn’t know what words you were hoping to form, but it was something along the lines of a warning that he was approaching the realm of too much. He looked down at your babbling with a lust-filled, lazy smirk, all too pleased with himself already.
“Whatdya want, love? You drunk on my cock already?”
He slapped your clit and laughed lowly as you gasped and jolted, then propped your limp legs around him and barreled in even more. Steady, fast, and loud.
Thank god the apartment days were over or the cops would come any minute. Skin slapping against skin, the headboard banging dents into the drywall, you crying out for him like he was carving out your heart. A noise complaint in the making. But when he signed the property deed, it came with the right to make you scream, neighbors be damned.
And scream you did as he held you even tighter and thumbed your swollen clit, evoking your walls to seize in the way he needed to release. He leaned back with a sharp and airy shout, hips sputtering as you felt him unload deep inside, his remaining jerky movements making it trickle out around him.
You were a touch thankful as he slowed down and his hands rubbed soothingly on your thighs. You could finally catch your breath. But your graciousness was short-lived as he flashed a grin and flipped you onto your stomach. The breath was forced out of you as your chest fell into the mattress, and your eyes went wide as he lined himself back up, slowly pushing inside, his cum allowing his cock to slip easily inside regardless of how sore your folds already were.
You whined and knotted your fists into the fabric under you as he bottomed out and pulled away with slow and liquid motions. You heard the faintest laugh rumble in his chest before he spoke.
“I’m not anywhere near done with you,” he huffed.
You buried your head in the soft sheets below. Filled with his load and the promise of another, you felt totally and completely his. Exactly where you wanted to be. Right where you belonged. You couldn’t help but smile, until he moved and it was wiped off your fucked-out face.
He gripped the meat of your ass as he steadily picked up speed, the silver of his wedding band cold against you in contrast to the heat of your bodies. A wet spot collected underneath you from his cock coaxing out his cum with each thrust. The sounds were softer yet even more crude with your cunt so sopping wet.
“Gripping me so good, look at you,” he spread your cunt apart a little more, “goddamn, you’re perfect.”
You felt mildly embarrassed at the messy sight of you that he was undoubtedly staring at right now, but at the same time, you envied his view. To watch his cock disappear inside of your puffy and well-used folds, then withdraw covered in his cum and a healthy mix of your own. To view his strong hands holding you open, to see yourself laid out in submission.
But all you could do was feel, and that was more than enough to sate you. In fact, you were already well past satisfaction, and you kept having to refind your focus so you could keep taking more. You inhaled deeply as you felt the soreness at your entrance and reminded yourself to relax your body, sighing away the tension in the muscles you didn’t mean to flex: your thighs, your back, your shoulders. But then you’d feel the friction of his tip dragging against the gummy walls of your g-spot, and your mind was clouded by pleasure all over again.
He wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but it was obviously a choice, and not one made out of tiredness or necessity. It just felt too good for him to change the rhythm. With your knees together as you lay prone, your canal was tightened in a way that made you feel dense and so, so warm around his tender cock. You always felt incredible to him, but if sex always felt like this, he wouldn’t just fuck you all night, he’d stay buried in you so long he’d risk starving to death.
You were each lost in your own minds as the feeling went on and on. The air was heady and thick as you breathed against the blankets, and Leon was humping into you like waves rolling into shore– fluid motions that still crashed onto the shore or your center, followed by another and another, a constant ebb and flow that lulled you deeper into euphoria.
“Feels s’good, Leon, oh my god… d-don’t stop.” Your voice was laced in awe.
“Really fucking does… shit…”
The words were airy and held just as much wonderment as yours had. He traced a hand down the valley of your spine, revering the body that gave him such immeasurable bliss. Knowing that he was feeling the same seventh heaven you were made you feel even more connected to him, and your toes curled at the thought.
It kept going, and going, and going. You couldn’t tell how long it remained exactly like that, neither of you searching for your next orgasm, just totally and completely captured by the present. Time wasn’t something that existed in the room. It was a long time, but it’d never be enough.
He groaned as you felt his hips stutter involuntarily as the next thrust landed even deeper inside. The unexpectedness hit you both and turned it back into something needier. The next thrust snapped against your ass and you arched into the air to meet it. He shifted to hold you firmly as he set on a new wanton speed.
You mewled as you keened into him, legs parting slightly to make room for any spare length he had to give, and gripped the sheets as his balls began to slap against your clit. Each time he crashed against your walls, you felt them begin to bloom with electric want, and you braced against the bed to push yourself back into his thrusts as they became gritty, harsh pounds again.
He felt just the same as you, blood rushing to the parts of his brain that demanded another orgasm, and he felt every flutter of your walls around him that beckoned to milk him dry– exactly what he wanted you to do, to drain him until he had nothing left to give. He wanted to do whatever it took to make sure that fluttering didn’t stop.
He reached under you to rub your clit. You yelped as his fingers made contact, gliding easily against the cum-covered nub. His forearm was pressed against your navel, pinned between you and the mattress, and you could feel the size of his cock protrude against it from within you. Your legs spread even wider as you cried out, struggling to hold onto reality as he worked the thousands of nerve endings he’d already made oversensitive. Now, it bordered on torture.
The way you opened yourself only made it easier for him to find purchase to pound even harder, meeting the way you writhed and keened for more, his eyes rolling back as you bore down as if you were trying to squeeze him out. But all it did was drive him harder into all the right spots inside of you, and you were so overcome with sensitivity, you came before you even knew you were close.
And you came hard. Jolting and seizing as you cried his name, your eyes growing wet from the shock of it. He was loud as he reacted to the way you clenched and pulsed around him, your warm, slick cum covering his cock and making his movements sloppy and wet. And you were even louder as he kept going even harder.
He was surprised that he didn’t cum again right then and there, but it only galvanized him to pull your hips back and use you again. Your body was growing limp, you were shuddering and shaking, and his eyes widened with madness as he watched your face contort in pleasure. He was watching for signs that you’d say your safeword, too, but every moment that passed that you didn’t, he took as permission to fuck you even harsher.
Your head lolled and your lip quivered as you took it like a punishment, not a single coherent thought inside your head. You registered that he was close like white noise, simultaneously in the background and all around you. His hands seared in their grip on you as he hammered in once, twice, and then held himself deeply inside with broken rasps and moans. Your lips fell open as you felt his fresh load mingle with the first, pooling hot against your cervix.
He pulled out with a violent hiss, and you cried out as the fluid stung against your sore opening. Your legs trembled until they collapsed back onto the bed along with the rest of your body.
You were vibrating from the inside out, still reeling from how aggressive both of your orgasms were. You could hear him catching his breath, too. You twitched as you felt him touch the outside of your cunt, bracing yourself for more, relaxing when he only stroked the outside. He drew his fingers up and down the crease of your folds, languid and smooth, leisurely playing in his overflow. He pressed them in once just to watch you jolt, and then cleaned them off with his mouth.
He finally gave you a break and turned his focus to taking care of you. By the way you lay there limp, he knew you needed it. He peppered you with kisses as you floated in the afterglow, sprinkling them softly on your rear, up your spine, and onto your shoulder blades, until he placed one on your cheek.
He brushed your frazzled hair away from your face and the corner of his mouth pulled into a smile at the absolute state of you. But then the lamplight reflected off a tear and he furrowed his brow as he gently wiped it away.
“You with me, sweetheart?”
He chuckled at the small sound you made in acknowledgement, the only thing you had effort to respond with. He placed a kiss onto your head.
“Did so good for me, love. So perfect.”
He grunted as he laid down, pulling your back into his chest to spoon you. You weakly held onto his arm as it wrapped around your torso, shifting back into him to steal his body heat.
You closed your eyes with a sigh as you soaked in the way he took care of you after such a brutal display of lust. His thumbs circling against your sweat-damp skin, nose nuzzling against your hair, gravelly voice soothing you with praise.
“M’so glad to be home, baby. You always made me feel young again, but it’s almost like I am young again. Don’t want to take it for granted. Gonna take some time off, take you on vacation, let you see the world. Might fuck you on every continent.”
You giggled at his ambition, still high on happy chemicals and swimming in the dream he laid out. It’d be a significant change, him enjoying the fruits of his labor with things more permanent than gifts and fast cars. You always encouraged him to, but he said it’d be easier for him to cope with losing a material possession than a vacation being ruined by being called on a mission. You hoped it wasn’t just the endorphins talking.
“Yeah, you like that idea? Good, ‘cause I mean it.” He kissed under your ear and squeezed you in closer. “Wanna spend every day making you happier than ever, make up for how long I was sick. Can’t waste any of ‘em not fucking you the way you need me to.”
You gasped as you felt his half-hard cock twitch against your ass, instinctively arching back into it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pressed it against you in turn, and you realized he still wasn’t done, confirmed by the way his voice darkened against your ear and he started kneading your breast in his hand.
His kisses against your pulse turned open-mouthed and erotic, one hand pinching your hardening nipple as the other reached for his cock, slowly stroking himself with the tip resting against your sopping hole. You were so flush together that with each wave of bloodflow that grew him towards full-hardness, it breached your pulsing entrance without him even trying.
Your toes curled as he leisurely thrust into one centimeter at a time. It was just enough of a tease to eat away your apprehension. You really weren’t sure how much more you could take, but as he shallowly fucked his tip into you, you became increasingly desperate for more, until you were squirming and panting in his arms.
You gasped as he suddenly pushed halfway in, feeling your folds and your entrance smart in their soreness. Just a few minutes left empty and you needed time to accommodate him all over again. He wasn’t quite as big as before after two orgasms, but with his size, being slightly smaller was still pretty fucking huge. And now you needed to adjust to more than his size; you needed to adjust to your own overstimulation, too.
He thrust halfway in and stilled there, holding you tight to prevent you from backing into it, feeling your legs shake around him.
You already couldn’t walk, he was sure of it. But it must be well past midnight now. Did you need to use your legs tonight anyways? He decided that you didn’t. Might as well make them truly useless.
He bottomed out in one smooth, sharp thrust, aided by the lubricant of the two creampies inside. His eyes rolled back as he stayed there for a brief moment, just long enough to feel you throb around his cock, like your body was begging him to make it three.
He’d never cum that many times in a row before, not even in his prime. But now, he felt like he’d entered a new prime, and he wanted nothing more than to see just what his limit was. He wondered if he’d reach yours first. But you were a tough girl, he thought. You took him like you were made for it.
His navel thumped against your ass as he drove in with that goal in mind: find out how much cum he could stuff inside your cunt until one of you tapped out.
He started steadily, knowing it’d take him longer to find his finish a third time, and seeing how you were already a mess of moans, both from pleasure and physical overwhelm. It boosted his ego to know he was pacing himself for you much more than for himself.
You felt like an unraveled spool of thread. You couldn’t believe he had the stamina for another round, his age considered or not. You were shocked you could keep going yourself. But at the same time your swollen cunt ached around him, it sucked him in for more.
He twisted your head back to take you in a kiss, swallowing your moans as he beat fast inside again. You reached back to hold onto any part of him you could until your senses were once again flooded and you melted open to him.
“That’s it, relax for me. Just one more, baby, gonna fill you to the brim. Fucking take it.”
And take it you did, until the night sky turned light blue.
synopsis: when you first became mrs. gojo, you never fucking imagined you'd end up as the first lady. or that the golden boy you fell in love with and carved your whole world around could fucking cheat on you. and that somewhere along the fallout, after scandals and sleeping with his best friend back, you'd end up sitting by his beside after a failed assassination attempt. can you still salvage your marriage? or will it be burned in the wreckage of what's left of your life and his political career?
pairing: president!gojo x first lady!reader x vice president!geto
wc: 20.5k (my longest oneshot ever i think lol)
content: mdni!!! angst and smut!!! so much emotional hurt, eventual comfort, cheating, reverse cheating, complicated relationships, gojo being sleazy, but he does love reader okay!!, so much regret, pining, heartache, reader and gojo are in their late thirties/early forties but not specified, geto is down bad but gojo is down even badder, mentions of gun violence/blood (attempted assassination), taking care of injuries, slow reconciliation, messy emotions, scheming, breakups/makeups, kissing, unprotected piv sex, desperation, denying feelings, manipulation, fingering, gojo being desperate, light choking, multiple povs
a/n: this was commission for the lovely @dayanim !! gojo art is also by @/kassandraws !! <3
Once upon a time, a very successful girl met a very handsome guy.
You both had potential. A pretty word constantly applied and purred in your ears as if it didn't actually mean privilege. Like you weren't just lucky. Bright and beautiful. Ivy League educated. Wealth most people would wish for.
Living in a daydream before you even knew each other.
You juggled internships and classes, sucked up to all the right people to make connections, itching to get hired at some prestigious place in a high-paying position – prove your worth when your family saw you as an investment.
Satoru Gojo was the heir to his father's company. A genius who slid into the seat next to yours a few months before graduation and asked if you wanted to grab dinner after class, hands clasped together like he was begging, his pretty pink bottom lip jutted out for dramatic effect. Adding a soft please as if you were ever going to be stupid enough to tell him no.
As if anyone had ever told him no.
The beginning was practically storybook. The whole whirlwind romance of expensive dates and heated sex, shrouded in an almost electric air of excitement. Falling fast and hard, exchanging love confessions like they were candy, something sweet to devour instead of cherish. Everyone called you the ‘It’ couple.
A fairytale wedding came next. A couple years of career building and travelling – fancy vacations and sports cars and more sex in hotel rooms or on the beach. You passed the bar exam. Put in long hours while he continued building on the legacy his family had left for him. Clinging on his muscled arm when people started recognizing him in public, taking photos of the man who might rule the world someday at this rate. Proud to be the one he came home to. The one who got to have his last name and his ring on your finger.
The kids were after that, another one of those deliberate decisions you made purely because you thought that was what you were supposed to do. You loved him. Planned your world around what would make him happy, tried to check off every box on his list of his life goals. Even when it meant putting your own career on hold for a while for maternity leave. Satoru tried to say you should just stay at home after your first was born, but you scoffed, insisted on hiring a nanny so you could return to work once your time off was up.
He had his goals.
You didn't want to totally let go of yours.
So when he started spending less evenings having dinners with hedge fund managers and business partners and decided to start going golfing on the weekends with politicians, you said nothing. Kissed him on the cheek and told him to call you later while you chased after the kids or left them with the nanny to take your own time with friends.
It wasn't really a surprise when he decided to run for a seat in Congress, openly supporting him every step there until it was his.
He had a knack for getting what he wanted.
Satoru was just never satisfied with what he had.
Confiding in you after sex, when you were curled up on his side while he traced tiny stars over your bare hip, little laughter lines etched by his lips as they slowly parted and said the words you still hadn't forgotten, “I want more than this.”
You had sat up, tilting your head to the side as you tried to resist the urge to tell him you had everything already. The happy marriage. The healthy kids. A future filled with sunny vacations and steamy nights. Sure, you were both starting to get a little older, but your thirties had been kind to both of you, especially when you had access to plenty of resources to stall aging. Push it back as much as you could, pretending the inevitable wouldn’t come.
“Satoru,” you murmured his name, but then he said something that changed the plot you’d been so preoccupied planning out.
“What do you think about me running for president?”
What you thought hadn’t mattered after all – not when he ended up winning by a landslide anyway.
The youngest president ever inaugurated. His cheeky smile plastered on every TV, your portraits printed on magazines, interview after interview taken, a country waiting to know who the First Lady was while you watched your husband become a political figure for the history books.
Four years. Maybe eight.
You told yourself you could keep it up that long. Be the perfect wife he wanted to parade on. You’d do anything for him, after all. Smile at all the cameras and take on whatever workload was required to fulfill your own role while he checked off another dream.
There was no big, bag dragon waiting to destroy your castle.
No, it was just your husband's inability to keep his dick in his pants.
Your prince charming had started fucking pretty models on his those pesky political trips. And you were the fool that only found out when someone sent you an anonymous photo of him in some foreign country with his hand up another girl’s dress. Lipstick stains on his collar. That stupid smirk on his face while she leaned close like she was going to kiss him.
And yet, instead of leaving him, you were still stuck.
Trapped in the marriage. Unable to do anything when your union was the fucking country’s business instead of something solely for you and him.
You forgave him at first, even when you felt like a fool for doing it when he confessed and apologized, begging you to believe it wouldn’t happen again - until, of course, it did. But eventually you had to cave in, convince yourself that maybe an open relationship would work.
Only, where he was drowning in options, you were left with just one man who wasn’t scared of having sex with the First Lady without risking your husband’s wrath.
So you fucked his best friend – and vice president – in your own lewd affair.
Was it right? Mature? Responsible?
None of the above.
But Suguru made you happy. Reminded you that your future was bigger than just Satoru Gojo or his stupid dreams.
You told yourself that you and Satoru would separate eventually, that there was no fucking way you’d stay with him after all of it, especially when what was left of your relationship imploded when you both finally had to face the fact you were fucking other people. Surviving the scrutiny of the public when it became obvious the two of you weren't on good terms was hard – but it had been bearable with Suguru by your side for most of it.
The mess that had been made still seemed like one you could clean up. Until you let some of Satoru’s dirty little secrets slip to Suguru and he subsequently leaked it to the press.
He’d been pissed. Public perception of him had tanked. People throwing around impeachment. Pitchforks being raised as newspapers printed headlines about him taking bribes, his shady dealings being put in spreads while you watched the bright, shiny, boy you once knew get burned up by his greed, becoming a man you no longer recognized.
A big fight had followed, pointing fingers and shifting blame just to end up back under his thumb, both of you promising to stop sleeping around, to pull it together and try to make your marriage work. You stopped seeing Suguru, and your husband swore that he hadn’t so much as glanced at another woman.
But the fear lingered.
Your heart racing when you saw him shake someone’s hands, or brush arms against them, throat constricting when a pretty girl would come up to speak to him, stars glittering in her eyes as he nodded along to whatever she was saying.
It didn’t last.
You told yourself that public separation was for the best, a press conference to address the fact you and your husband weren’t exactly together. There was no fucking way you could just stay with him after all of it, especially when what was left of your relationship imploded when you both finally had to face the fact that it just wasn’t working when the old wounds had left such deep scars. Surviving the scrutiny of the public when it became obvious the two of you weren't on good terms was hard. But it had been bearable with Suguru by your side for most of it, restarting your relationship in spite of Satoru’s…disapproval.
Your kids didn’t take it well. Getting in fights at school. Expelled. Acting out because you and Satoru couldn’t get your shit together. Let alone an entire country.
Another scandal. Another screw-up. Another nail driven into a coffin you called a marriage.
Life had a funny way of never fucking working out how you thought it would. You had sobbed to Suguru a thousand times, balled your fists up and wished your husband would just fucking drop dead when you were going through the worst of it.
You never actually meant it.
Satoru getting shot wasn't supposed to be part of your happily ever after.
You hadn’t even wanted to be there. Only begrudgingly attending the rally, sitting at the front row with your best smile plastered on, pretending to listen to your husband campaigning for reelection - as if he wasn’t loathed by literally half the nation.
Leg bouncing up-and-down, anxious to leave, to go back to bed, to take a nice bath with Suguru and get some fucking sleep after an exhausting week of press and planning.
“I am devoted to this country, and to my-”
Crack.
You felt the whizz first, then heard the screams. You blinked, and figured out why they were screaming only as everyone behind the podium started to hit the floor. But then another crack rang out, and you saw red.
Everything was a blur, people grabbing you, secret service agents moving fast, pulling you away as your brain finally caught up to processing the horror of what was happening.
Someone just shot your husband.
Tried to fucking assassinate him in the middle of his speech.
You were pretty sure you screamed then, desperate to look, desperate to see if they succeeded, shouting Satoru’s name, begging the universe to let him reply, to hear his voice back.
Because despite everything, all the history and the heartbreak, he was still your husband. Still the father of your children.
The love of your life.
You couldn’t see him anymore.
Completely covered up by his team as you were being moved.
To a safe place, someone said.
As if anywhere could be safe when you were still begging for someone to find out how Satoru was. If he was still alive.
You were crying by the time they got you in a car, the bulletproof glass doing fucking nothing to make you feel any better as your leg bounced up and down, body curling up as small as possible as your brain stuttered and stalled attempting to piece together the fractured moments you just witnessed.
“He’s being taken to the hospital,” someone said, and the panic already bubbling up inside you just compounded, a desperate sob escaping as you struggled to stop hyperventilating.
A small voice in your head was shouting that he was fine, that he had to be fine, rationality slipping away the harder you tried to hold onto it.
“The kids-” You started, another strangled sound cutting you off before a firm voice tried to reassure you.
“We’ll have someone pull them out of school immediately and take them to a safehouse.”
You nodded, sucking in a ragged inhale, far from polished or presentable but as close as you could get.
“I need to be there,” you heard yourself say, voice cracking as your bottom lip quivered. “I have to see him.”
Everyone else might hate him.
You did sometimes.
But he was still yours even when you didn’t want him to be.
The drive there was torture.
But when you were led in the private wing, ushered in a back entrance and led up to an empty waiting area where you were informed he was in surgery, that they didn’t think his injuries were life-threatening, you still couldn’t find a single second of relief. Not until they wheeled him out, took both of you to a heavily guarded hospital room.
White walls and blinking screens. Beeping. Sterile sheets and tiled floors.
And in the middle of it all, your husband’s unconscious body, streaks of red in his pretty white hair, long lashes fluttering softly as you stared at the bandages on him.
He was lucky, the doctor informed you. The first bullet only nicked across his shoulder. The second went through his left calf. Clean entry and exit. Missed all the important stuff. They tried talking about the importance of physical therapy, that they were optimistic he’d make a full recovery. But you could barely focus on what they were saying when your eyes were glued to the man you were being reminded was a mortal instead of a god.
Satoru was still flesh and blood.
Could still break.
Your chair was dragged up to his bedside, holding onto his hand, fingers tightly gripping onto his cold ones, desperately willing him to wake up and give you that stupid smile you had been swearing you couldn’t stand for months now.
All those complicated feelings you’d been stewing over ever since he’d taken a strange clarity at the thought you almost lost him.
When the last doctor left, the secret service detail standing outside the door and leaving you alone with your husband, you were still trying to remind yourself of all the bad times. Make yourself remember who he actually was.
How it felt when you first found out he was still fucking around when he had promised he stopped. He had just hid it better. Made sure no one was around to witness it – although you still found out when his chief of staff tried to dissuade you from surprising him at his hotel when he was a couple hours away attending some stupid conference.
Satoru hadn't seen you, but you saw him when you showed up. Leading a pretty woman in a red dress into an elevator, his hand on her ass while half his security detail followed in after him. You guessed the rest were waiting on his private floor. Paid to pretend they didn't see half the things they did.
You went back to the White House to sleep in a bed that had never really been yours.
Denial wasn't something you could live in anymore.
The anger came next.
Nanami had been sitting there on the couch in the Oval office the next morning like he was waiting for you, reading a fucking newspaper and not even bothering to peek over it to spare you a glance.
“I want a fucking divorce,” you spat out, seething and barely able to catch your breath as you glared at the seat your husband was supposed to be sitting in. So much for a fucking pillar of justice, a man of morality.
His blond chief of staff just turned the page, unamused as he sighed.
“I don't believe I'm the man you should be asking,” he dryly replied.
“Well, you see the cheating bastard more than I do these days,” you snapped back, indignation blooming under your flushed cheeks as you said it out loud. Admitted that what you suspected had been true for weeks. Satoru had started cheating on you again.
The same guy who begged you to marry him, swore that he'd make you the happiest woman alive, who used to wake you up by kissing your forehead and sleepily murmuring sweet things in your ear.
Nanami sat the newspaper down.
Huffed as he sat up straighter, adjusting the thin reading glasses on the bridge of his nose before he looked directly at you.
“Listen,” he started, and you already knew the rest would be bullshit when he was speaking to you like an adult about to let a child down. “We both know he will never let you get a divorce while he's in office.”
He was right.
And really, the idea of getting a divorce, of the whole world knowing you weren't enough for Satoru Gojo was terrifying.
So you made a stupid bargain.
Knees pressed to your chest, perched on the edge of the bed you were meant to share as the door creaked open.
Satoru stepped into the room, running his fingers through his hair, and you hated the way his ring caught the light, like his vows still meant a thing to him.
“You lied,” you murmured, wiping your exhausted eyes. Makeup smeared on your hands. Probably on your cheeks too. A mess he made.
“I-” He started, as if you wanted to hear it.
“I just, I thought you-” You stopped yourself, choking on a hard lump in your throat. “Do you not want this? Us?”
Was your marriage worth so little to him he couldn’t keep his hands off someone else?
He just had to fuck other women?
“I do,” he breathed, getting down on his knees in front of you, and all you could think of then was the moment he proposed to you, how you had whispered yes and he slipped the ring on your finger before he picked you up and twirled you around. Wondering where you’d be if you said no, if you hadn’t been blinded by how much you adored him. “I love you.”
You didn’t feel loved.
“Then why-”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he murmured, all emotional, blue eyes all big and wide, as if it could make up for what he’d done. What he kept doing.
Looking back, the whole thing had become tainted. Your own feelings tangled and twisted and so flipped around you couldn’t make sense of the memory anymore. Maybe that was just the regret though. Wishing you could rewind time and do something differently.
All you wanted was to save your relationship.
For him to stay.
“Maybe we should just open up our marriage then,” you suggested, sniffling and swallowing hard. Hoping he’d say no. Hoping he’d swear that he would stop, that all he needed was you.
But he didn’t.
Begrudging, his teeth gritted and jaw clenched tight as he said fine, probably only allowing it then because he thought you wouldn’t be able to find people to fuck the same way he could. Making a deal of no feelings being involved, promising that he’d be up front from now on, both of you struggling to stomach the idea that you’d both be sleeping with other people.
It was still easier for him than it was for you.
Suguru had found you crying in some study that was hardly ever used a couple weeks later, curled up on a couch, tissues strewn across the table as he stopped in the doorway, staring at your crumpled form.
You waited for him to lie.
To come up with an excuse. Defend his best friend. Pretend to feel sorry for you.
“I heard what he did,” he spoke softly.
Another broken sob escaped you – and he shut the door behind him.
“I wanted to kill him when Nanami told me,” he breathed.
You almost laughed, blowing your nose in a tissue, your wedding ring taunting you, white gold and diamonds that meant nothing now.
“Thanks,” you bitterly mumbled, sitting up and meeting his sober stare.
“You deserve better than him.”
You weren't sure where the lines got blurred. When wanting his comfort turned into wanting him.
But you could still recall the first time you kissed him, how your heart pounded against your rib cage, holding your breath as you leaned up to kiss him, lacing your wrists around his neck and shutting your eyes as you gingerly pressed your lips to his.
The sex was usually soft and slow. His pretty purr in your ears and his warmth covering your body, skin on skin as his mouth left marks all over your breasts, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. Wherever was hidden with clothes was fair game.
It wasn’t like Satoru would see them when you hardly spoke to him.
What was Suguru doing now?
Probably pacing the floor, worrying about you somewhere, being informed of Satoru’s condition. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to fill his shoes and take over the presidency?
Even if things were tense, terrible between the two of them since you started sleeping with him, he wouldn’t want him dead.
In some fucked-up way, it sorta felt like your fault, that if you had said something else, made a different decision somewhere along the way, that you wouldn’t be here right now.
You didn’t mean to doze off, dragged into more dreams, but you guessed the morning’s stress coupled with long nights of little sleep and longer days of being drained from meetings and benefits and responsibilities you never asked for was too much for your exhausted body.
It could’ve been two minutes or two hours.
Someone was stroking your hair, familiar fingers stirring you awake as you sat up, wiping away the dampness from your face as your eyes hazily focused on the only blue in the room.
“Sweetheart,” your husband croaked, voice raw and rough as his big hand cupped your cheek. He winced when he went to move closer to you, your breath catching as your mouth fell open. “Don't cry.”
“Satoru, you were just shot,” you hissed at him, already standing up to tuck him back under the thin blankets. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, as if it would erase the evidence of tears you hadn’t meant to let fall for him again. “You shouldn't be-”
“I survived,” he grinned.
Your mouth parted, trying to think of an argument he wouldn't immediately ignore. Those were in almost as short of supply as your sensibility. Reason and rationality slipping further out of reach the longer you looked at him.
His face had pale after the surgery, but pink had started to return to his cheeks, life in his eyes that you were worried you’d never see again. Some piece of you still had a hard time accepting it. Whispering that you might be in a morgue right now if the shooter just had better aim.
What were you supposed to feel?
Happy your husband was still alive? Grateful?
So why the hell were you so torn? Ripped between the past and the present, all the different versions of Satoru you’d known and loved and hated floating in front of you so you didn’t have to deal with the one here right now.
The one who managed to cheat death too.
You guessed a doctor or a nurse had come in, a fresh glass of water by his bedside and a clipboard with notes left next to it. You started to stand to go look at it, but he made a pained or panicked groan like he wanted you to stay.
“Don’t get up,” he pleaded, and you paused.
“I won’t if you won’t,” you reluctantly muttered, sitting back down in the uncomfortable plastic. The last time you’d been in a hospital room with him had been when your youngest son was born. You were the one in the bed – but he climbed in next to you, crammed in and grinning as he cradled your baby boy in his arms between the two of you, thanking you for giving him the greatest gift of his life.
You hated how much every memory of him had been tainted.
That one of the best moments of both of your lives had been recolored now, rotted and turned sour with time.
He relented once you smoothed your skirt down, relaxing back into the bed – but not before stealing your hand, sliding his fingers through yours with an almost content sigh. As if he hadn't just been shot a handful of fucking hours ago.
“I'm happy you're here,” Satoru softly spoke. You couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had talked like this. Alone. In quiet tones instead of shouting.
“I'm your wife,” you answered, an uncomfortable ache carved into your heart as you heard the hollowness in it. You were doing your duty.
That was what your relationship had boiled down to after he'd given up love and loyalty for this dream.
He squeezed your hand, trying to pull your attention back to him. Unable to survive without someone to stare at him, probably.
“I saw you,” Satoru spoke softly, and you did turn, head tilting up of its own volition. “Just for a second, right before the bullet went into my leg.”
You stiffened, almost flinching at the sound of that awful crack still echoing in your ears.
“And all I could fucking think was I couldn't die yet. Couldn't leave things like this,” he continued, his mouth quivering.
God, it felt like you were being gutted. Ripped apart when you knew you were the only person who would stitch yourself back together.
“Satoru, what are you trying to say?” You attempted to sound level-headed. Unaffected.
You didn’t want him to know you were already falling apart at the seams.
“I couldn't leave you,” he firmly said. “I can't.”
“You’ve left me plenty of times,” you retorted, sucking in your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying something really stupid.
Satoru cringed, and you know it hit a sore point. “I know, I-”
“You know,” you repeated, shaking your head as the bile crawled up your throat.
“I’m sorry, I-”
You weren’t listening anymore. You heard his apologies before.
At least he didn’t get to make it much further, two sharp knocks on the door outside interrupting him mid-spiel. Nanami stepped in like he already knew he wouldn’t be walking in on anything intimate.
“You’re alive,” he dryly started, and you pulled your hand away from Satoru’s to the edge of the bed.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, Nanamin,” Satoru teased, but his leg twitched, another distinct flash of pain flitting across his face at the small movement.
“We need to discuss our next steps,” he flat out ignored his president, fixing his tie as his stare shifted towards you. All serious and strained, the crease between his brows deep, years of stress etched into his chiseled face.
“Which are?” You asked, swallowing hard as you started to regret not asking to be taken to the same safe house as your children were. You were sure they were fine, that someone had told them by now that Satoru was okay, that you would both be back with them as soon as you could.
“I don't care if you can barely stand to look at each other,” Nanami sternly scoffed, glancing between both of you as he stood stiffly by the door. “But until you make a complete recovery, you are a united front. The last thing this country needs right now is-”
“We get it,” Satoru groaned, waving his hand dismissively and wincing as he propped himself up with some pillow.
“No, I don't think you do,” Nanami snidely shot back, fixing his glasses to glare at his boss. You wondered how much he had to do in the hours since everything went wrong. How many fires he had to put out, how he was managing to quell the panic that was probably popping up across the nation when the president had been attacked on live TV.
“What do you want us to do?” You asked, pretending you didn't feel it when Satoru's other hand slid back on top of yours on the bed.
“Tell everyone you're back together,” Nanami scoffed, as if it was obvious. “Hold hands, say it made you realize the importance of family, I don’t really care as long as it’s believable.”
Believable.
You almost laughed. You reflexively turned to your husband, waiting for him to automatically agree, or say that it wouldn’t be a problem. Make the decision for you.
He had suggested it before, tried to convince you to get back together, but you’d denied him back them, insisted that the media would chew you up and spit you out. But the circumstances were different now, you supposed considering he’d been shot.
“What do you think?” He asked instead, your face scrunching up in surprise before you forced yourself to look back towards Nanami, masking your feelings with practiced nonchalance.
“If that’s what the nation needs,” you muttered.
One of you had to consider the country.
Do what was right.
It still felt icky when you were sitting with your fingers laced with his later the same night in front of a green screen while Satoru spoke into a microphone about his condition thankfully not being serious. Announcing he sustained relatively mild injuries, like the camera wasn’t being angled from the waist up to disguise how hurt he was. They dressed him up, passed him a speech, fed him lines to say. Probably edited the whole thing to make it look like he was back in the White House already.
“I am incredibly fortunate that the bullets only grazed me,” he lied like it was second nature, but he was squeezing your hand tight, like he needed your strength. “And that I have this wonderful woman by my side to support me.”
He brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly. A show of adoration. You smiled at him, small and relieved. It wasn’t hard to act like you’d been in hell for the last twelve hours. But it was hard to pretend like you were breathing in fresh air now.
Feigning that you found the light after a long, dark tunnel.
You didn’t have lines to deliver.
Just being there was apparently enough.
Afterwards was a blur, helping the nurse make sure he was back in his hospital bed, tucked under the blankets as you leaned uncomfortably against the cold wall. The security was tight, searches required for anyone that came in or out, the staff thoroughly being vetted, all the usual measures you took heightened times ten now.
“Sweetheart,” Satoru called you that stupid pet name again, the knife digging back into your own open wound of a heart.
“I’m, um, gonna go,” you breathed, voice nearly breaking as you blinked. “Stay with the kids overnight.”
His smile faltered. New frown lines forming by his mouth.
But he didn’t pick a fight or protest.
“Tell them I love them,” he quietly requested, and you nodded, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you could taste the blood on your tongue. Satoru was still staring, the harsh white lights only making his eyes appear broken, only a thin sliver of blue nearly swallowed up by his pupils as his lips slowly parted again. “I love you.”
You left.
But you always returned.
Back the next morning, kids in tow, ready to bring him back after he had been released. Instructions given on keeping his wounds clean, avoiding strenuous activities, pretty much precisely what you expected to hear. But they suggested getting crutches, or a cane when it came to walking more than just a minute or two at a time. And despite both of them probably being way too old for it, they were both hanging behind you as they saw him as something other than untouchable for the first time in their lives. Too scared to say anything, just staring at their father in a hospital gown, sitting up with his legs swung over the side of the bed, one wrapped in thick bandages.
Someone had left one of his suits out at the end of the bed, freshly pressed, not a single wrinkle on it as he braced himself to stand on his own for the first time.
“Dad?” Your daughter murmured, fear in her voice that Satoru tried to laugh off. Ease the tension. “Are you-”
“I’m just fine, baby,” he grinned at her, your heart thumping a little louder as he held out his arms, more bandages peeking out underneath his gown. “Come give your old man a hug.”
“You’re not old,” your son huffed, like he was offended at the idea he could have an aging father.
But they both scurried out to cluster around him. One on each side. He wrapped his arms over their growing frames, tugging them in and squeezing them until they started to scoff and squeal in his grip.
You thought you knew all the different ways your heart could hurt.
But this was something new. Seeing your babies in the arms of your husband when a day ago, you thought he might die. Acutely aware that nothing was guaranteed anymore.
And sure, they weren’t babies anymore. Old enough to not need either of you the way they used to. With friends and phones and lives you disrupted by dragging your relationship under public scrutiny.
“Mom?” Your son mumbled, looking back from his father’s embrace as he jutted out his bottom lip. He took the separation the hardest. Starting fights in school. Acting out at home and out of it. He had the same eyes as Satoru, bright and bleeding with hurt, struggling to accept what was happening as they peered into the most shattered shards of you.
“Yeah?” You asked, swallowing nervously.
“Why aren’t you hugging him too?” His sister asked, too observant for her own good.
“I just wanted you guys to have your moment with him,” you murmured, begrudgingly walking over to where they were. Leaning down to hug Satoru over them, sandwiching both of them as your hand hesitantly patted the shoulder blades you used to rake your nails down and scratch up.
His own huge palms ran over your back, keeping you there a few seconds longer than you planned, soft and steady in his hold.
“We should let your dad get dressed,” you cleared your throat, pulling back. Your hands gently on their back, trying to guide them back as if they even listened these days. But you couldn’t stop your treacherous eyes from turning back to watch him stand, his features scrunched up as he strained his muscles. Popping the pain killer the doctors had left in a cup for him by the bed and washing it down with water before he turned to start taking his suit off the hanger.
Catching a glimpse of his ass through the open flaps of the nightgown, your cheeks heating up as you reflexively glanced up – just to realize he was looking back at you, a small smirk curling up on your lips like he’d known you’d been staring.
You thought you’d return to the White House.
But you knew fifteen minutes in that you were being taken somewhere else.
The kids stuffed between you in the seats, both of them eagerly chattering his ears off like he was their captive audience while he constantly readjusted, stretching his long legs out as much as he could and glancing over at you at every turn.
“Nanami found somewhere for us to stay for now,” Satoru was speaking to you, but both the kids perked up, and he pretended it was for them. “Think of it kind of like a vacation, okay?”
Just a heavily guarded one.
“Does it have a pool?” Your daughter beamed, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen her smile so big.
“Hopefully,” he winked, his eyes finding yours just for you to avoid his stare again.
A few members of approved press were waiting to snap a handful of photos of you all walking back in as a family, from an angle where it should be impossible to tell where you were staying at. Another thing to show the public that he was okay. That his personal life wasn’t the total wreck most news stations and magazines were making it out to be. Satoru’s not-wounded arm casually slung over your shoulder and squeezing you close even if it dropped the moment you were back inside, a few of his most trusted staff members waiting to bombard him with updates.
You slipped away, squirreling the kids back to where their nanny was waiting, promising that you’d be back around dinner time to check on them even though they just rolled their eyes and asked when they’d get their phones back.
It was only then that you realized you didn’t have yours either.
Had you left it in the car before his speech even started? In the one afterwards? Given it to one of the secret service agents to hold onto since you didn’t have any pockets?
Fuck.
You’d have to try to ask around – find out where it ended up. Although you were pretty good about scrubbing messages and calls from it, photos of the aftermath of your affair erased or moved somewhere no one else could reach, you still didn’t like risking someone snooping around and finding something they shouldn't if they figured out your passcode.
Those were just excuses though.
You just wanted to call Suguru.
He had to be far past stressed now. How long had it been since you'd gone twenty four hours without speaking? Weeks? A couple months?
Not since you’d separated from Satoru and started sleeping with him again.
You wanted his nose nuzzling against your neck. His scent on your skin. His soft mouth to murmur all those nice things you were craving, pretty whispers you would cling to to stop yourself from drowning.
Was he back at the White House right now? Running the show for Satoru?
You glanced back for a familiar face, anyone you could actually trust who might let you borrow theirs, frowning until you landed on Nanami watching the scene of Satoru being praised and peppered with question after question unfolding from a door frame nearby.
“I don't know who has my phone. Can I borrow yours?” You asked, quiet enough to not draw any attention from your husband.
Nanami didn't even look at you, just shook his head with that same bored expression.
“No phones here,” he vaguely explained, irritation pricking under his skin too in this situation. “Security says it's too much of a risk.”
Like having the some fucking press jackasses snap photos wasn't?
But you knew better than to argue here. Or now, where Satoru was so close by.
“Do you want me to show you around?”
The house was fairly standard. A little smaller than you expected. Hardly any windows. Crawling with agents that you supposed were there for your protection, even if their presence just felt like you were being smothered.
Nanami took you to your room.
Only to casually mention that you and Satoru would hopefully only be staying for a couple weeks while the FBI hunted down his assailant. You were nodding along, about to dismiss him until you noted the strained twitch of his mouth.
“What room will Satoru be staying in?” You asked, brows scrunched together as you opened the closet just to find your own clothes already hanging inside. Next to a slew of suits you recognized.
But Nanami’s silence had said it before you even saw them.
Great.
Just fucking great.
So you were still stuck with him.
You had insisted on at least a cot being set up by the bed, threatening to get a fucking blow-up mattress delivered id they didn't if you were being forced to share a room with him again.
As if it wasn’t hard enough to sort out how you felt about your husband when he wasn’t around.
The rest of the day dragged on, taking care of your responsibilities, filling out statements for Nanami and debating on seeing if he’d at least deliver a letter to Suguru for you or scoff in your face. Eating dinner with your kids while you tried to ignore the fact two men in black suits were standing in the same room as you and two more were waiting on the other side of the door. Coming up with another excuse for why Satoru didn’t show up, mumbling that he was probably just busy being president.
You tried to curl up on your side on the cot afterwards, but the sleep wouldn’t come.
He did. Eventually.
When the clock on the nightstand had ticked ten past eleven, the door creaking open as his voice broke through the quiet.
“Baby?” Your body betrayed you. Heart pounding too hard in your chest as you resisted the temptation to reply. “Are you awake?”
“Just go to sleep,” you muttered back, refusing to turn.
“Can we talk?” He asked. Funny, when you both had failed to have a productive conversation so many times before.
“About what?” You yawned, pressing your ear against the pillow harder like it could suffocate the effect he had on you.
“Us,” he murmured.
“How’s your leg?” You changed the subject, hoping it would dissuade him. But unfortunately for you, Satoru was the most persistent man you’d ever met.
“Hurts like a bitch,” he answered, chuckling like he was exaggerating, but you could hear how strained it was. “I’m sorry I missed dinner with the-”
“Yeah,” you cut him off.
“Are you sleepy?” He hummed, and you wondered what was the specific misstep that started this awful chain of events. What was the moment when it started? When it became too late to stop the snowball from rolling and rolling until it swallowed both of you and you were stuck making awkward conversation like you hadn’t been married for over a goddamn decade?
“Exhausted,” you shrugged, body tensing as you listened to the shuffle of him undressing. The rustle of clothes hitting the floor, the sound of the dresser opening and shutting, the now-uneven footsteps as he struggled to get dressed.
And then you heard the sound of a bandage being peeled off, a low grunt that made you flinch, sitting up as he flickered the lamp on.
You should’ve laid back down.
But all it took was a single look at his wounds and you were begrudgingly getting up, padding barefoot over to the attached bathroom where medical supplies had been stocked in advance for him.
“What are you-”
“Cleaning it,” you interrupted, hating yourself for being such a sucker for him even now.
“You don’t have to,” he said, as if he didn’t secretly want you to.
“Can you move a little?” You murmured when you returned, hesitating by the bed as you watched him try to get his leg up properly.
“You know, I think there's a doctor here I could-”
“Do you not want me to?” You asked, brows pinched together as your fingers hesitated over the bandage you had been told to clean and replace twice a day.
“I do,” he admitted.
You attempted to tell yourself it wasn’t his leg. Going through all the motions, following the steps clinically, your fingers skimming against his skin as you wiped it clean and rebandaged it carefully.
But you felt the weight of him watching you until you were finished. Even after you stood up and started walking away, putting back up what you didn’t use and tossing the previous bandages, like some invisible string tied around your wedding band tugging you back to him.
You didn't say anything. Just walked back to the cot, about to get on it before he spoke up.
“Sleep on the bed.” Was it a request? A demand? A presidential decree?
You couldn't tell with him.
“It’s not like we're actually back together,” you mumbled under your breath, getting back up on it without facing him. You wouldn't look. Couldn't in case you crumbled.
The past thirty-six hours had felt more like half a year. Wrung dry and hung up hollow.
“You’re my wife,” he echoed your earlier statement, reminding you of vows he'd broken first.
“Please don't act like that means something to you now,” you dismissively muttered. You could feel the tension ride, threatening to snap as the blankets behind you crinkled and the sound got closer.
“You're my first lady,” he said, as if it was something you wanted. Something you would've chosen for yourself if it weren't for him.
“I could've been anything,” you hissed back, fuming, furious anger ripping and shredding its way up your throat. You'd rather be in a courtroom, or hunched over a desk reviewing case notes – not thinking of how your future consisted of defending the dick you married and planning what stupid Christmas decorations to put up in a home you never wanted while pretending to give a shit.
Not making sure his gunshot wounds from an assassination attempt weren't getting infected.
And then he did something he'd never done before.
De-escalated.
“I'm sorry,” Satoru softly said, making all that rage abruptly stall just by stunning you. “I’m so fucking sorry that I can’t find the right thing to say to show you how much I hate the husband I’ve been to you.”
You didn't know what to say. What to do when it sounded like the truth.
“I feel like I just woke up from a really fucking bad dream, and all I want is my wife back,” he added, his words already starting to loop around in your head.
“You shouldn't-” Your breath got caught in your throat, voice breaking off as you closed your eyes before you could start to cry.
“I can't believe what I did to you. To us,” he added, and you loathed how eagerly part of you began to absorb his pretty words. How warm his affection felt when you'd been missing it and him for so fucking long. “I'll regret it for the rest of my life.”
You hoped he did.
“Good night, Satoru,” you whispered, laying back down and pulling the blanket back on top of you.
You still dreamed of him. Of the before days that had been given up for this. Where he only ever made you laugh instead of cry. Where he came home from work practically ready to worship you, picking you up and peppering your face with kisses. But just as the dream started to morph, twist into a cruel reminder of your current reality, you woke up.
Satoru was still there for once. Sleeping on the side of the bed closest to you, messy hair strewn across the pillow, snoring softly. You frowned, hand reaching out, about to nudge his shoulder and wake him up, but you paused. Stopped yourself before your fingers could touch him again.
He didn't need you for stuff like that.
Not anymore.
You thought being here would be like it'd been back at the White House. Paths that only got crossed when they had to, only catching glimpses of him when he was walking somewhere else, standing on the other side of a closed office door.
But when it was time for lunch, when you were walking in with your daughter and listening to her complain about some idiot boy in her class, he was already there, sitting at the head of the table and taking a long sip from a glass of soda.
“Well, as long as you don't marry him, you'll be fine,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your husband choked on his drink, coughing and clearing his throat while your daughter made some disgusted noise.
“How are my favorite girls doing?” Satoru tried to ask, pretending this was normal. That he hadn't been missing family meals for so long, you couldn't quite recall when it started anymore.
But he was back for dinner.
And the next breakfast.
Sometimes he was a few minutes late, or had to shoo away the handful of staff allowed access here away until after he ate, but he kept showing up.
He'd taken to using a cane to get around, supporting his weight on his left leg on it, usually wincing by the time he walked in, resting the cane on the table while you all ate. But he smiled at the kids, at you, cracked jokes and asked them about their friends, their interests, trying to make up for his absence by being here now.
His attention was enough for them.
Honestly, you hadn't seen them this happy since the first year he'd taken office. Your son openly asking if you all would really have to leave here, white brows scrunched together in frustration when he pressed to know if this meant you two were going to finally get back together.
You opened your mouth, ready to accept being the bad guy to them and reiterate that this was temporary, that you were waiting for the FBI to find who shot their father and that things would go back to your typical normal soon.
But Satoru cleared his throat first, a surprisingly stern expression on his face as he looked at his youngest.
“It's my fault your mother and I aren't together anymore,” he addressed him, your fork frozen in your hand as the lump in his throat bobbed. “I broke her trust and-”
“Can't she just forgive you already?” Your son whined back, still childish despite his latest growth spurt. He would probably be as tall as his dad one day, but right now, he just seemed like a boy. Clueless to what a relationship was supposed to look like outside of the mess of a marriage you were doing a shitty job setting an example of.
“She doesn't have to forgive me at all,” Satoru shut him down anyway, and your stupid heart stalled. “I messed up, okay? If you want to blame someone, blame me.”
They would always love him though.
Incapable of doing anything other than looking up to him.
Your feelings were…more complicated.
Your nighttime conversations had almost become more casual. He asked about your day, tried to ask if there was anything he could request staff to pick up for you, thanked you when you helped clean his healing wounds. Constantly attempted to convince you to let him take the cot like it was the proverbial dog house.
His offers were rejected.
But it would be a lie to say that the hardened shell around your heart hadn’t started to form a few cracks. The glue just wouldn’t hold.
Nanami showed up two weeks later, folders stacked in his arms as he called you both in for a meeting. Running back over things you were missing, schedules that were behind, boring business stuff.
Laying out articles and outlining what new laws were trying to slip through to get passed without Satoru there. His reputation had surprisingly managed to improve in spite of the assassination, or maybe because of it. His name leaving people’s mouths without being accompanied by the word impeachment.
Most of it was boring, nodding along while he and Satoru argued and bickered over little details while you itched for a chance to speak to him privately. Ask him again about how long this was meant to last. Almost sure you wouldn’t get the opportunity until he started packing his stuff up, his pen precariously left on the edge.
You uncrossed your legs, purposely bumping into the table while Satoru brought up the status of the investigation, neither of them noticing the soft thump of it hitting the floor.
“There should be an update soon,” he vaguely replied.
Nanami stood up, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, holding the folders to his chest as one of the agents opened the door for him to go.
Your hand tightened around the pen as you bent over to pick it up from underneath the table, guilt blossoming in the pit of your stomach from a seed you'd been watering with every thought of Suguru.
“I’ll go give it to him,” you muttered, holding it up in your palm as if your husband wouldn't know it was some flimsy excuse.
Nanami was halfway out the front door, but you jogged to catch up, out-of-breath but not from the exertion by the time you made it to him. He stopped, turning halfway towards you, his hazel eyes raking over you like he already knew what you were doing. What you wanted from him. “When can I speak to Suguru?” You softly asked, swallowing the lump in your throat as his brows subtly arched up.
“You do understand the security you are under is for your own safety, right?” He wryly asked, as if you hadn't heard the spiel before.
“He's the vice president,” you said, almost immediately feeling stupid once it was out loud. Cold reality sinking in that your relationship was just asking for another major scandal, something that would strip Satoru of the last of his power if anyone else ever found out.
“Which is precisely why he cannot be in the same location when the FBI does not have anyone in custody. Right now, the entire world is looking at you and your husband,” Nanami reminded you, your mouth closed tight as the regret coiled in your stomach. “You can speak to your boyfriend once Satoru shows the public he's completely recovered.”
You watched him in silence as he walked back out to where a blacked-out car was waiting for him.
Only shutting the door and turning away after he got in the backseat, his last sentence lingering in your thoughts as the slam of a car door echoed between the noise of chirping birds and the soft sway of the wind.
You were still holding his pen.
“You could’ve asked about him in front of me,” Satoru spoke up from behind you. You looked back, but the rest of the foyer was empty. You supposed he must've ordered all his agents to wait somewhere else. He was standing maybe four feet away, but the distance felt too far for either of you to cross, unable to build a bridge when you were sure one of you would just burn it down anyway.
“What?” You blinked.
“Him,” he muttered, his voice dry. Hurt. It made you happier than it should. To shatter him the way he broke you so long ago.
“What do you want from me, Satoru?” You stiffly asked, not sure if you had anything left to give him.
“I want you to miss me the way you miss him,” Satoru said, and it took all of your restraint not to respond. “I know it’s not fair, and it’s-”
“Do you miss sleeping with other women?” You tilted your head to the side, unable to contain the tremble in the question.
Satoru recoiled.
“I miss when you were mine,” he muttered, shaking his head a little, regret etched into every line of his face as he took the tiniest step towards you. “Miss the man I was before I fucked everything up with us.”
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Me too.”
The next few days dragged on. The hardest part was not staring at your husband. Pretending that this sad puppy version of him had no effect on you. That his long looks and pretty pout weren’t working at all, as if your body wasn’t a total traitor when you had to fall asleep listening to his breathing at night.
Trusting him again was something only an idiot would do.
Satoru Gojo would only let you down.
He couldn’t help it, you supposed. It was who he was now.
And you ended up sitting alone at the table waiting for him and his mini-mes to show up, familiar disappointment beginning to bubble in your stomach as you counted the seconds in your head.
But before you could give up and get up, the door swung open, your kids stumbling in first with arms full of plates. Satoru close behind them, cradling a big one himself, the warm scent of food flooding in with them.
“We made dinner,” your daughter giggled, a bright glimmer in her eyes that you missed seeing. “Your favorite.”
“I’m a little rusty in the kitchen,” Satoru muttered as they laid out the dishes. There was no air of expectation. Running his fingers through his hair, shrugging his shoulders almost as if he was shy or nervous. Two things he’d never been in his life. “Not sure how good it’ll be.”
“It’s nice,” you managed. And weirdly enough, you meant it.
They made you sit there and wait for them to bring everything out, your son leaning over to pile food on your plate, picking up your fork and taking small bites just to be surprised by the taste anyway. The hint of too much salt. The familiar texture. The little details that confirmed Satoru had really been the one to make it.
Your eyes flitted over to him, a small smile curling up on your lips when you saw he was already staring at you. Intimacy that flickered instead of burned. Like a candle on a birthday cake instead of a wildfire ready to wipe out an entire forest.
For once, you didn’t feel like your head was under water when you went to sleep that night.
And the next morning brought the news you’d been waiting for.
Nanami returning back up with nothing but a briefcase, adjusting his tie as his stare flickered between you and Satoru, like he could sense the tension returning – or picked up on how much less toxic it was compared to a month ago.
“They have a suspect,” he muttered, your brows arching up as a strange feeling floated up. Discomfort?
Whatever it was, it was strangling, your voice tight as you tried to sound not bothered, “In custody?”
“No,” he said, but it was careful. Calculated. “Not yet.”
You swallowed hard, cautiously glancing over to Satoru, who was listening with a distant expression, staring out one of the few windows here. Maybe disappointed that your vacation might be coming to an end sooner than he thought. “So what does that mean?”
“You’ll be able to return to the White House today.”
The rest was a blur.
The few staff here had started packing up your stuff, your kids complaining when you mentioned they’d have to be returning to their classes and studies, begging to stay a few more days while you discreetly listened to Satoru and Nanami making arrangements for some gala against gun violence to make a point that Satoru was still strong enough to lead the country and take a stance when it counted.
Your mouth turned down, wondering how the hell it would work when he was still relying on a cane when he had to walk for more than a few minutes. On pain killers and sheer willpower?
But you guessed it wasn’t your concern.
You would just be expected to show up and be his favorite accessory. Cling to his arm and charm the old men whose favor he craved.
Returning to the White House was practically its own event. Cameras flashing and microphones being shoved out, sure to be highly publicized as you and Satoru both sheltered your children through, throwing out small waves and practiced smiles.
The sun was starting to slip lower, a million people itching to speak to Satoru, but you were searching through the crowd for a different face. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Someone who would turn all your confusion into something that made sense.
But Suguru wasn’t there.
Not waiting for you, or even hanging around the edges ready to offer Satoru an update on what he’d been doing in the weeks since either of you had seen him.
Your jaw clenched, barely able to conceal your reaction as you returned through halls that didn’t feel familiar anymore. You hated it here.
Loathed every painting on the wall and the carpet on the floors and the paths you used to take. It felt like a prison.
Did that make Satoru your warden?
His presidency your sentence?
At least you wouldn't have to spend so much time with him – not when you were sure things would return to the limbo you'd been living in where you rarely saw him.
Except, when you showed up for dinner, he was already there. The kids teasing him for some silvery strands that has started to pepper through the white of his hair, all of them turning to smile brightly at you as you walked through the door. An empty seat beside him, waiting for you to take it.
Your throat was closing up as you did, smoothing out your dress as you desperately controlled your face.
“Is this going to be like, a thing now?” You asked under your breath as you picked at your food with a fork. Wouldn't this just make it so much fucking harder for all of you once you went back to normal? What about after his term? Once he wasn't a president anymore and you filed for divorce?
“I made a decision I should've made a long time ago,” Satoru quietly replied. “I'm putting my family first.”
Your mouth opened, but you just took a reluctant bite of your food before you could say it was too late.
“You're my priority,” he murmured, and a piece of you that probably lacked brain cells wished that he had this revelation years ago. “I promise.”
How much of that was actually real?
You ended up just sitting on the edge of your old bed asking yourself questions you already knew the answers to. Wearing an old slip you found in the bottom of the drawer, something soft and lacey, but you weren't even sure who you were wearing it for. Was Suguru even staying here? Had they put him up in a safe house of his own? Or maybe let him stay in his own place with just extra security?
Satoru probably wouldn't show up.
He basically had his own bedroom now, one on the same floor and wing since your separation started.
Why would he-
“Hey,” his voice cut through the silence, your head snapping over to watch him limp in, cane in hand as he slowly started over.
“I figured you would sleep in your, um, other room,” you replied. Not harsh or hateful. More of an observation, you guessed.
“Can I still sleep here?” He asked, and you couldn’t believe the slow bob of your head up and down instead of left and right.
He walked over to you, footsteps slow, unsure. One leg dragging a little behind the other until he stopped just in front of the bed. Slowly turning to sit next to you, hardly an inch between your thigh and his, sinking into the soft mattress.
“What happened to us?” You whispered into the air. If the clock could turn back, would you try to save him? If you woke up tomorrow back in college, would you have scoffed and said no to that date? Reset your fate?
Would he?
“I think about that first night sometimes,” he muttered, a sharp sting stabbing through your heart as you realized which one he was talking about. “How fucking stupid it was.”
“Satoru,” you breathed his name, the sharp teeth of panic sinking into your heart as you started shaking your head.
“I just, I still can’t fucking believe I did it. Me and Suguru were just drinking, taking shots at the bar and celebrating, fuck, I mean, we were talking about you, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up next to some stranger in the sheets and-”
“Stop,” you were begging, tears trying to choke you up. What the hell was he talking about? Suguru had never once mentioned being there, acted like it was as big of a fucking surprise to him as it was to you when you found out about all the cheating.
“I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me. Why I kept doing it afterwards, I-I just couldn’t stop feeling so slimy, and wanted so fucking badly to forget, but all I ever seemed to do was keep sabotaging myself,” he was rambling now, inhaling hard as he buried his face in his hands. His left leg was stretched out, twitching as he talked.
“Why are you-” You stopped yourself, clinging to all of your own jagged edges even when it hurt so much. “Why are you even saying this?”
“It was never about you,” he murmured. “I was the one who didn’t deserve you. Who was stupid and insecure and jealous-”
“I already know that,” you half-huffed, forcing yourself to look down at the floor before you fell apart completely.
“And then I saw the way Suguru started staring at you, like, like he was just fucking waiting to snatch you, and I-”
“Satoru,” you repeated, wiping away a stray tear that fell, a little broken noise escaping before he finally shut up.
And then he was brushing away the dampness from your cheeks, flinching when you felt that first gentle graze of his fingertips. But you just sat there, let his hand cup your face, your body betraying you by slowly melting into his touch.
You should recoil. Retreat. Remove yourself.
Something.
All you could do was stay wrapped in his warm cloud of comfort, his cologne clinging to your skin and your eyes on his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. A promise that sounded so pretty coming from his perfect lips. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”
It would be the easiest thing in your life to believe him.
Second-nature to accept what he said.
Your mind was already savoring it, turning over every tremor, picking apart his tone. You wanted to hear it for so long. Hear him breaking and bending for you.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he breathed, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone like he was scared you might not feel the same anymore. That he’d lost your love forever with just himself to blame for it.
“I-” You started, not totally sure where you were going with it, too much spit pooling in your mouth to continue. You glanced down at your lap, only then realizing your thigh was pressed against his now. Did he move closer?
Or was that one on you?
“I miss you,” you finally admitted, but the relief was bittersweet.
“Can I show you how much I miss you too?” He asked, and you loathed that you let him.
His finger skimmed over your shoulder, pulling down your slip as his nose subtly brushed against yours as if he was getting ready to kiss you.
You froze, an awful, icky feeling washing over your entire body, fingers shaking as your breath got stuck in your throat.
“Sweetheart,” Satoru whispered, and you realized you were shaking your head now, your whole body trembling as you mechanically forced yourself away from him. A cruel thought bouncing around in your brain that you couldn't shut down.
Did he call the other girls that?
Whisper it in their ear like a promise? Tell them that he was leaving you soon or spin a pretty tale about your relationship being for show these days?
“What's wrong?” He pressed, those blue eyes you had adored so much glittering in the light of the moon, but all you could fucking feel was that they didn't shine for you.
“I thought maybe I could, but I can't,” you swallowed, stepping back from the bed, covering up your body as you bent over to rummage through your dresser for a robe.
“Why?” Satoru inhaled, sounding almost choked up about it. “Baby, don't-”
“It disgusts me,” you admitted, the word coming out raw and wounded, ripped from some primal part of you. “When I think of you putting your fucking dick inside of someone else-”
“I-”
“No,” you stopped him. “You don’t get it. Weren’t there to see how many nights I cried because of you.”
“Don’t you think I would do anything I could to take it back?” He desperately begged, limping after you as you tied the robe tight around your waist.
“I don’t know what you really think,” you dryly muttered. “What to believe from you.”
“Believe me when I tell you that I’d do anything for you,” Satoru grabbed your hand, squeezing as half of you wanted to stay and the rest of you was screaming to run. “That I will spend my life showing you how sorry I really am.”
“You know how hard it is to trust you when-” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, sucking in on your cheek and biting down hard as you scrunched your eyes shut.
“How do you think it feels every time I think about Suguru?” Satoru rebutted, his voice low. Like a weak wounded animal. “Watching you fall for him, look at him the way you used to look at me.”
“Don’t act like it’s his fault,” you defended him. “He-”
“He was there. Always fucking there and just waiting for me to fuck up,” he argued back, and you couldn’t stand that he was starting to change your mind. Or, at least, make you see things were even more crooked than you thought they were if you were considering the chance that Suguru had something to do with Satoru cheating on you.
“What do you want?” Your voice cracked.
“You.”
“No, no, you-” You were about to start crying, a thick sob building up because if you believed that, then what would be next?
“Just stop seeing him. Please. I’ll do anything,” he was begging, fingers trying to slither into your palm so he could hold your hand. “Whatever it takes to fix us.”
“You know I had sex with him on our bed,” you admitted, halfway hoping to hurt him, dig the knife in and create a matching wound. He used to say you were soulmates. Wouldn’t it make sense to have matching scars? “Let him bend me over right there and fuck me until I forgot your name.”
Satoru went stiff, hand rigid in yours before you ripped it away.
And as soon as the anger was out, hanging in the air between you, you just felt like you were the one bleeding too. Sliced by your own blade of hurt and hate.
“I should sleep in one of the guest bedrooms,” you muttered, gutted and hollow.
It didn’t take a genius to see he didn’t want you to, mouth open like he might try to work his magic and make you stay, or maybe attempt to stand and follow you out, but you snatched his cane by the bed on your way out.
“Are you seriously-”
You slammed the door shut before you could keep arguing.
The ceiling in the closest spare room wasn't so comforting either.
Just made you think of Suguru more. Wondering where he was. If he was in his own bed thinking of you right now.
You hated not being able to go to him right now. Completely clear the air and let him reassure you that he was the innocent one here. That Satoru was still the evil husband that was eventually going to be your ex.
You were half-tempted to sneak around the halls on the off-chance he might still be in his office here.
God, it felt sort of disgusting for leaving him out like this, for the treacherous feelings Satoru kept stirring up when you were supposed to still be separated.
Even if the public thought you were back together, you'd be lying to yourself if you tried to say the lines weren't starting to get blurred in private. God, you were going to sleep in the same bed as him. Nearly let him undress you with just that pout and those puppy dog eyes.
When for all you knew, the second he started walking entirely on his own, he’d start fucking around again.
Tossing and turning in a cold bed, biting your lip as you wrestled for any kind of rest.
And then there was a knock.
Just a short, somehow uncertain one.
Your heart skipped a beat before you even considered who it could be from.
“I can’t sleep leaving things like that,” Satoru spoke into the dark, his voice tinged with raw pain. You almost said that you had left things far fucking worse before, but what was the point of bringing up the past?
“Why not?” You whispered, pulling the blanket around you protectively.
“Because I want better for us.”
He walked in, one foot dragging along the floor until the mattress shifted, dimpling under his weight as he leaned on it for support.
“I want to be a man you can rely on, not run away from,” he breathed.
God, you were so sick of running.
But stopping sounded even scarier.
And still, despite the fact it felt like your heart was being torn in half, you stayed silent when you heard him get into bed next to you, just bit your cheek at his low hiss of pain after chasing you here.
You didn’t tell him to get out or go.
The most terrifying part was how well you slept with him there.
Actually waking up rested for once, his strong arm wrapped around your waist that you had to slip out from, unable to stop yourself from rolling him over to stop him from snoring. Leaving the cane by his side of the bed, wrapping the robe around you tighter as you tried to sneak back to the main bedroom to get changed.
Some invisible, intangible thing lifted off your chest now that you finally felt like you had something over Satoru. That he was, at last, the loser.
Chasing and crying and desperate for a change.
You still half-expected that he’d go back on his grand promises. To fall back into old patterns.
But as the days dragged on, his presence didn’t dwindle.
In fact, in spite of how slammed he was with far more important stuff, he found a way to show up. No longer missed meals, or made a habit of disappearing or drowning himself in paperwork and problems in the Oval Office. Finding you in whatever room or study you tried to hole up in, trying to bribe his way back into your heart with snacks and sweet gestures.
And Suguru was nowhere to be seen.
Heard, sure. His presence was a phantom and passed down by second or thirdhand accounts. Nanami said he was working from his own place, under his own security detail for the time being.
Until the FBI finished had their suspect officially in custody.
You were surprised it had taken them this long, especially when the public had shifted enough to start turning their vitriol towards their investigation. Suspicious that no arrest had been made, wild stories being spread as magazines and news stations desperately tried to request interviews with your husband for any details.
He took a few, but insisted on you being there, his hand on your side keeping you close as you both answered questions and smiled at the cameras, reassuring the nation that he was recovering well, that your relationship was only getting stronger.
It didn’t feel like a lie.
And when he walked out holding your hand, you honestly forgot to drop his for longer than you’d care to admit.
You hadn’t fought since that night. No bitter arguments or big blowouts. But the quiet wasn’t so awkward. Didn’t carry the same angry tension it had before. You hadn’t forgiven him. But you were tired of hating him.
Holding onto the hurt just felt like you were making the wound worse.
It didn’t help your resolve when he had opened up an entirely new worry, your tedious trust in Suguru starting to fray now that you had a reason to suspect that maybe he lied to you too.
You didn’t know when you’d be able to see him again.
Weren’t totally sure what you would say when you did.
Things were different in a way you still couldn’t quite qualify. And you couldn’t shake the feeling you were standing at a crossroads, scared to choose the wrong path.
You stared at your own reflection.
Dolled up in some absurdly expensive dress, makeup done and set, hair sprayed into place as you touched the diamond necklace dangling down your collarbone. Ready to be paraded around a party while your husband charmed the crowd and reminded them why anyone voted for him in the first place. A gala against gun violence, a statement to be made. Satoru stepped up behind you, popping a couple painkillers as he tried to disguise his limp.
He looked down at you, and your stupid heart fluttered at the sight of him.
His red tie was just a little crooked, the same as his soft smile, glancing between you and the mirror as he stood by your side, his gold wedding band gleaming in the overhead light. “You look gorgeous.”
“You’re not terrible looking,” you begrudgingly hummed, and he grinned like it was the best compliment he ever heard.
“Are you ready?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and jutting his thumb towards the door.
“Hold on,” you murmured, and he paused in place. For a moment, it felt like you were five years younger, seeing him in his dark suit, hair hanging a little longer, a light in his eyes you'd almost forgotten. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen it.
You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek, stop yourself from telling him he really did look handsome and feeding his ego as your hands reached up to adjust his tie.
How you used to back when things weren't so…hard.
The ride to the gala was torture.
Trying to hold yourself together and act like you didn’t notice a thousand little details about him. The subtle bounce of his healthy leg, the way his hand kept drifting closer and closer towards yours in the backseat, how he kept trying to discreetly steal glances at you. Making small talk about the kids and the economy and what new reforms he was pushing to pass.
A far cry from the guy who’d been taking bribes a year ago and lazily slapping his signature across bills a year ago.
He sounded like he had before he had taken the office. Almost optimistic.
Hoping for a better world, you guessed – one he thought he could create.
But it was the bad kind of nostalgia when you made it there, the twinkling lights and the big bright room filled with people you hated. Usually, you would try to slip away, excuse yourself for a drink or the bathroom just for the chane to breathe.
Tonight, though, Satoru’s hand refused to leave your back, his gaze constantly returning to your face no matter who he was speaking to. Your stomach was cramping though, nerves bouncing around when he had to stand up in front of all of them and give some grand speech about strength at the start of the night, fear you hadn’t expected coiling tight with the worry that someone might show up to finish what they started and you’d end up a widow instead of a divorcee.
Everything here was centered around him. Senators and congressmen, anyone with pockets they hoped he’d be filling, all came up to congratulate him, wishing him well, asking how the two of you were holding up together.
“Are you okay?” Satoru murmured as you watched one of them walk away, leaning down so his breath was warm on your skin. Reaching over to fix where your necklace had gotten crooked, moving it into the proper place as you hesitated over the answer. “You seem-”
“It’s a little claustrophobic in here,” you hummed, your dress clinging tighter than it had an hour ago, the tag scratching at your skin as you scanned the crowd, wondering if you would finally get your chance to see a certain someone.
Was Suguru around here somewhere? Schmoozing with the dickheads and downing a champagne glass?
“You want some fresh air?” He offered, concern flecked in the pretty colors of his eyes.
“I think I’ll just get a drink,” you shrugged, looking back around at the number of security agents stationed at different points around the room. A lot fucking more than there had been at the last one of these dumb parties he dragged you to. But you guessed that was sorta to be expected when the president had taken two bullets at a public event.
Someone else started walking up, another old man you could never remember the name of.
Satoru kissed the top of your forehead, lips gently pressing just above your brows as his hand slipped off of your back. “Grab me one too?”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to mix your pain killers with alcohol," you dryly admonished him, arching a brow up with a small sigh. He had ditched the cane tonight in favor of standing in one place and sitting when he could, trying to portray an image that not even an assassination attempt would break him.
“Fine,” he automatically gave in, leaning in to sneak another kiss on your cheek. “Whatever my wife says.”
The title didn’t harbor as much hurt as it used to.
And despite how much you wanted you to pretend it didn’t affect you, that he didn’t anymore, your chest felt all fuzzy and warm as you pulled away from him to start towards the open bar.
The alcohol didn’t help.
Sipping on a pretty glass of something strong, letting all those mixed feelings swirl around your stomach as you studied the people milling around. Your husband was already swarmed, people trying to shake his hand and clap his back while he wore a practiced smile, nose scrunching up when he laughed. It didn’t take long for him to be blocked from your sight entirely, only wisps of white and flashes of blue breaking through as you finished your drink and debated on asking for a second one.
Cologne you hadn’t caught a whiff of in forever wrapped around you as you felt his presence before you saw him there.
“I was worried you wouldn’t-”
“I need to ask you something,” you preemptively cut him off, dropping your voice down to a soft whisper as you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to the Vice President sliding up to the First Lady.
“Can it-” Suguru started, and you had to force yourself to interrupt him, to get the question out while you still had the courage. Sneaking a glance to your right to find his familiar frame standing tall, dark hair hanging loose over his broad shoulders. His features were tight as he searched your face, dark circles etched underneath his eyes as his fingers anxiously tapped the bartop. It was obvious he was stressed. Bending under the weight of the world he’d been carrying for Satoru.
“Were you there? The night Satoru first cheated on me?” You heard yourself ask, not totally sure what you would even do with the truth. If he was there, if he knew, then what would happen next?
Suguru looked back at you, confusion and something closer to hurt scrunching up on his face before his stare swept back to the rest of the gala still going on.
“Is that seriously what you want to know? What the hell did he say to you?” He hissed back, not looking directly at you, trying to pretend that you weren’t having anything other than a casual conversation. But that wasn’t a denial, was it?
Wouldn’t he just scoff and say no if he wasn’t there? Insist his innocence?
Your lips parted, but then he spotted something.
His face fell in a single second. His jaw went slack, something dark shining in his eyes.
You craned your neck to catch a peek, but the only thing that stood out was one of Satoru’s secret service agents cutting through the cluster of partygoers to speak to him.
“Shit,” Suguru muttered. “I thought we had more time.”
He grabbed your arm, fingers sinking into the soft skin as he dragged you away from the bar and through the closest hallway, digging in deeper when you tried to step back. More time? That was probably the one thing neither of you ever had enough of.
“Suguru, please-”
“We can’t talk here,” he hissed back, and you almost recoiled, surprised at how rough his voice suddenly sounded. His hold was possessive, pulling you further away from the party. Prying into muscles now, tight enough that you thought he might leave fingerprints.
“You’re hurting me,” you murmured, stifling a sound as you resisted his tug. Honestly, he was scaring the shit out of you, but you were trying to trust that he had a reason.
His grip loosened, but not enough for you to break free.
“I’m sorry, beautiful,” he half-whispered, and you realized what it was in his growl. Panic. “But we have to go.”
“Go where?” You asked, glancing back over your shoulder at the dimming lights of the gala. The opening to the hall shrinking with every step you took.
Satoru would-
“There’s a car waiting to take us to a private plane, and-”
You dug your heels in the ground, stopping in place as you took a stunned breath.
“What are you talking about?” You gaped, unable to wrap your brain around what he was suggesting. Still thinking back to the question he hadn’t really answered, Satoru’s words echoing in your head, about Suguru waiting to snatch you, an uneasy feeling sitting heavy inside you, too deep to scoop out. “A plane?”
“I don’t have time to explain here, baby, but we need to leave now,” he insisted, but you couldn’t just accept that. Take the jump when you were terrified to fall.
“What about my kids?”
“He would never let us take them,” Suguru shook his head, and you could only scoff, taken aback as you tried again to move back. But he was stronger than you.
And the rock you were counting on him being, the net you thought was waiting for you, had abruptly moved.
“You want me to leave them?” You asked, breath hitching as you shook your head. Fuck, they were yours, you carried them and birthed them and held their chubby fingers when they were babies and baked their birthday cakes every year. Maybe they were whiny and impulsive and stuck with the same DNA that made Satoru who he was, but you loved them. And maybe him still too.
“If you don’t-”
The red dot of a scope being lined up was suddenly on his chest.
“Down on the ground,” some deep voice shouted, three more dots popping up before you had blinked.
“Let go of the First Lady,” someone else grunted, but Suguru tried to pull you back towards a blinking EXIT sign. But you could hear the noise out there too, the loud footsteps and muffled voices screaming that he was already surrounded.
That it was already too late.
“What’s happening?” Your question was drowned out by the spectacle, heart straining inside your chest and threatening to break through your ribcage as you realized it was a fucking SWAT team.
It took you a few painful seconds to figure out what this was. What you’d been caught in the middle of. They were arresting Suguru. Threatening to fucking shoot him if he didn’t release you, blow his brains out in the middle of a gala against gun violence.
“I didn't-” Suguru started behind you, your attention flicking around too fast to focus on anyone, starting to hyperventilate as Suguru held you like he was scared of what would happen once the connection broke. As if it was the last time he'd get to touch your skin.
“You’re being arrested in connection to the attempted murder of-”
“Don’t trust them,” Suguru insisted in a panic, trying to pull your attention back to him, your head swiveling around to catch one more glimpse of his beautiful face. His eyes bleeding into you, the pretty slope of his nose turned up as his starry stare begged you to believe him. “I promise, I didn’t-”
Someone else was grabbing you, pulling you back before he could finish.
“Get your hands off my fucking wife,” Satoru growled, your back pressed against his chest, an arm around your waist, each second somehow adding more distance between you and Suguru until you realized he was leading you away. Picking up pieces from the mess unfolding in front of you, snippets of the shouts, shattered still images your brain was struggling to process as Satoru let his best friend get put in cuffs for trying to murder him.
“No, no, he couldn’t-” Your voice broke. You were pretty sure you did too.
Watching a man you thought you might love get forced down on his knees, hands behind his head as he argued as he got arrested.
“An agent just filled me in,” Satoru murmured in your ear, stroking your hair softly, trying to cushion the blow as he held you back. “He was seen on surveillance footage meeting with their suspect and handing him cash. They got the guy in custody yesterday. I guess he confessed to everything.”
“Suguru's your best friend,” you gaped, grasping at straws, refusing to believe he could be capable of something like this. “He wouldn't-”
“What?” Satoru snapped. “Fuck my wife?”
Your lips clamped shut, but not before a tiny broken breath escaped. Tearing your stare away from the sight of Suguru being dragged out that back entrance he was about to take you through to look back at your husband, not sure what you were supposed to think or feel anymore.
Did you really not know Suguru either? Cursed to have terrible taste in men?
“Why wouldn't he want me dead?” Your husband continued, cocking his head to the side, cold blue eyes burning with barely concealed hurt. He threw a pained look back in the direction of the guy who once grew up with, the one who’d been there before you, a tight grimace on his pretty lips before he spoke again.“He'd get what he always wanted. My presidency. My wife. My whole life.”
He turned you around so you had to face him, face this, softly rubbing over the sore spot on your arm where Suguru had grabbed you, the gesture surprisingly soothing enough that the last of your resolve dissolved.
Satoru pulled you into his broad chest, his chin resting on top of your head as he supported you through the broken sobs racking through your body.
“Did he do it because of me?” You asked out loud through your tears, body trembling in his arms as he held you tight.
“No, sweetheart,” he attempted to comfort you, but in between the betrayal and the disbelief and the jagged edges of your grief, guilt was blossoming.
The next few minutes were a blur, secret service agents surrounding both of you as they helped you cut through the confused crowd and return to where the bulletproof car was waiting outside, someone passing Satoru a thick folder on the way out – one he appeared to be expecting.
You weren’t numb. But the whole thing felt like a dream sequence, dazed as you played your supporting role of the lady being escorted away from the scene.
“What is that?” You asked, even though you had your suspicions. Could guess what you would find if you peeked inside. Proof.
“I skimmed over some of it right before they, well,” he cleared his throat, handing it over before leaning over to buckle your seatbelt for you. “You should see for yourself.”
It was ironic, wasn’t it?
Desperately craving the truth only to flinch when you found it?
Reading through the files they compiled, the surveillance photos, the fucking lovelorn letters they found when they got a search warrant for his apartment a few hours away – the one he used to take you to, where he’d whisper into your skin and wish for a future you had told him was foolish. Where you could be his without anyone else intervening. How many times had you told yourself it was just the sex talking? That he didn’t really mean it. Lied that all you were both doing was venting frustrations and helping the other one heal.
All you’d done was make him worse.
Feed into some grand delusion that Satoru had stolen the life that should’ve been his – made him feel like his hand had been forced.
Every dirty detail laid out in their plan from the confession they obtained from some creep named Mahito, your eyes dragging over the transcript while Satoru’s hand rested reassuringly on your thigh.
Suguru had forked over a ridiculous sum for him to shoot Satoru. Got him an unregistered firearm. A security pass to blend in. All the information he needed in order to execute your husband in front of the entire country. In front of you.
He just hadn’t picked a skilled enough shooter, you supposed.
All in the name of your affair.
Although, he hadn’t admitted it to his accomplice. Hadn’t told him why he wanted him to commit treason.
No, you supposed that was a secret that was only shared between you, your husband, and the man you no longer knew if you loved or hated.
You didn’t even realize it when you got back.
Clutching onto the folder, Satoru supporting you even when he was struggling to keep up his own weight without his cane, surrounded by agents who led you safely back inside. For once, it was oddly quiet. Maybe it was the side entrance they ushered you through, but the halls were practically vacant, like it had been arranged for them to go work in different parts so you wouldn’t be disturbed making it back to your room.
And for the first time in a long time, you were thankful Satoru was there as you stepped in a space that suddenly felt too small, too suffocating.
How were you supposed to breathe when everything had fallen apart?
“It’s my fault,” you murmured, dropping the folder down on the dresser. The picture it painted had been clear enough.
Your assumption he wanted a more serious relationship hadn’t been all that off. But you hadn’t seen him spiralling into obsession. Never considered that maybe, he’d been looking at you far longer than you were looking at him. That maybe everything had been in motion before you were even married.
Reevaluating every single moment of your friendship with him, from the day you met him through Satoru and he gave you that sly smirk of his while you shook his hand to how he held your fucking newborns in the hospital while Satoru went to grab you food.
Was it real? Fake?
Maybe Satoru was right. Maybe Suguru had been waiting to set him up from the start.
“I should’ve seen it,” Satoru murmured, leaning down to press the faintest of kisses to the tip of your shoulder. You stood still, bottom lip quivering as one of his huge hands settled on your hip. “I shouldn’t have let him-”
“I had sex with him, and he tried to kill you,” you scoffed, a fresh tear rolling down and threatening to mess up your probably already smeared makeup. “I told him things. About us. About you.”
The sort of stuff that would sink his presidency if it came out in a confession.
Things that probably pushed him closer and closer to the edge of a cliff until he felt like he had to make a choice for you.
It was him or your husband.
“I know,” Satoru murmured. “But it’s not your fault.”
You shook your head harder, his fingers dipping deeper into your hip to hold you steady. “I-”
“If I’d taken better care of you, if I had just been there the way I should’ve been, then none of this would have happened,” he added, remorse bleeding into every wound-tight word.
You couldn’t come up with a reasonable response.
Nothing fit right. All your feelings were too big, unraveling into one tangled ball where you couldn’t discern where the regret ended and the shame started. Unsure if the line still existed between love and loathing.
You had sex with Suguru because you wanted to hurt Satoru.
And now you were hurting so much you’d do anything to get it to just stop.
“What did he say to you?” He asked, and your stomach did another somersault.
“I think he wanted me to run away with him,” you admitted. A plane to who knows where, fake passports probably made, the last step of a plan he knew was failing. His last chance to actually steal you if he couldn’t become president.
“Oh,” Satoru exhaled. You could hear it in just a single syllable that he thought you would have accepted. Taken his offer.
“I wasn’t going to go,” you whispered. Even if the SWAT team hadn’t showed up, you would’ve chosen him and your children.
Satoru turned you around, readjusting his grip on your hip, his stare slicing through every shield you spent so long building.
And then he kissed you.
Not one of those shallow, barely-there ones saved for public appearances. But hard, hungry. Making up for lost time. His teeth bumping into yours, his tongue desperately trying to slip inside your mouth and claim it again. Wash away the fact Suguru had been the last one to do it.
He only broke it when you needed air.
“Satoru,” you sucked in a small breath, a hard lump forming in your throat you knew would be too tough to swallow as your nose brushed against his. “Do you seriously think there’s still a chance for us? After everything-”
“Aboslutely,” he murmured, apparently still capable of being annoyingly confident. “There’s nothing in our way now.”
He dragged a thumb underneath your eyes, wiping away your mascara as you blinked up at him. And maybe you couldn’t say it out loud, but your hands trembled and reached up to do something you used to cherish. Slowly loosening his tie for him, tugging it out and tossing it over his head.
Satoru smiled, and you remembered how easy it was to let your life revolve around it again.
He pulled you closer, your chest against his, his hands slowly tracing long patterns up-and-down your back, across your waist, far softer than you were used to. In the past, he’d been more like a starving dog, pawing and squeezing and ready to rut into you like an animal.
“Everything will be perfect once my presidency is over,” he promised, craning down to allow his soft lips to skim across your throat.
You once put your entire life in his hands. Stood in front of all your friends and family and said ‘I do’ because you were so sure that he was the one. Could you do it again?
“I’ll buy you a new house.Wherever you want,” he hummed, punctuating every few words with more gentle pecks. “By the beach. Another country. Get a pool. The kids won’t care if we fly out their friends a few times a year.”
“I don’t want a new house,” you murmured, rolling your eyes as he kissed. You missed your old one. Technically, you still had it, but you only really went back to it for holidays, or occasionally on birthdays. Where you had painted the rooms together and picked out furniture from catalogues and stores. Where you had taught your kids to walk and talk, their heights measured on doorframes. The place that still held all your favorite memories.
“I’m sorry,” he placated, another affectionate brush of his mouth over your damp cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”
“I don’t know anymore,” you whispered.
“Do you want this?” He asked, delicately tracing over your side in your tight dress. “Me?”
A handful of months ago you would’ve huffed at him. Said never.
And yet, you were slowly nodding. Biting your lip as you broke, gave into the inevitable.
It really was till death do you part, you supposed.
“I do.”
Satoru stripped you down until you were just wearing your jewelry. A diamond ring. The glittering necklace around your throat. The ones dangling from your ears. All signs of who you belonged to.
Standing bare in front of him, slowly taking off his suit jacket before slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, your fingers slightly shaking as you pulled off his belt and fiddled with his zipper. He had to sit down to get them off, the muscles in his legs twitching as he got them off. The puckered scar on his calf making you wince, another reminder of how fucked this all was.
Another faint one on his arm, healed better, a different shade of white on his pale skin.
“I-”
His mouth was on yours before you could apologize again.
It only took him thirty seconds to have you on the bed.
Body pressed into the sheets, his hands spreading you open before he buried himself between your legs.
He kissed the inside of your thighs, savoring the plush flesh, before planting himself right above your sensitive clit, aching to be touched as much as the rest of you.
“My pretty wife,” he hummed, his breath hot as it drifted over the neglected bud. “Been missing you. This.”
White lashes fluttering as you hesitantly took the plunge, but rather than freezing water, cold disappointment, Satoru was warm.
The clouds were clearing so your sun could shine again.
Sure, the sky was still stormy, scattered with dark spots, but you no longer felt like you were standing under the downpour.
Satoru was shelter. Safety.
You shut your eyes, letting your hands feel the scruff of his hair, the strands sifting through your fingers as his own started to slip inside you. Testing the waters himself, seeing how wet you were for him.
And embarrassingly enough, you were already soaked.
Thighs tense as he sank inside your heat, trembling as he tenderly began to stretch you out. He still remembered every sweet spot. Where to push, how to pull you apart, what the right amount of pressure was to have you falling apart – and for him again.
“Just let go, baby,” he purred, tugging at some loose thread attached to your heart simply by thrusting his fingers in deeper. Asking you to let go of Suguru. Sweeping against your walls as you weakly sucked him in, scraping what was left of you back together to form something new. “Let me take care of you.”
“S-S-” You couldn't even manage a syllable.
Squirming as he offered comfort in the form of sex. Stopping you from sobbing or splintering by turning all your sounds into breathless moans, broken whines you couldn't hold in. Had no space left inside you anymore, nowhere for any of your feelings to go except the air when your husband had two fingers stuffed deep.
He slotted a third finger inside you, your hips wiggling as you tried to move back, but he didn't let you budge, keeping you still with his free hand pressed against your stomach just below your belly button.
“I just want you to be all mine,” he dreamily murmured, dragging his fingers out and back in, his nose grazing against your clit before he moved his mouth just over it. Lips lingering there like he wanted you to ask for more. Resisting the urge to tease and taunt, to sink his teeth in and tear. Doing his best to be delicate.
“W-what happens if I say I am?” You managed to ask, back arching up off the bed as his taste buds dragged over that tight bundle of nerves, sparks raking down your spine.
“I'm never letting you go,” he whispered, wrapping his lips around your clit like he could prove it if he just made you cum. Showed you that he could fuck you better than Suguru did.
His jealousy wasn't discreet.
It was in the way his fingers dug into your skin a little deeper, how deliberate every swirl of his thick digits inside you felt, making sure you wouldn't miss a single touch, the constant desperate glances he'd take, peering from between your thighs to watch your reactions.
In the things he didn't ask.
Was he wondering how you had done it with his best friend? If he made you cum harder? Faster? What positions you preferred with him?
Some sick piece of you still hoped he was thinking that.
You didn't give him a real answer.
But you were losing the ability to think of one once he started painting practiced circles over your clit, hyper aware of how close you were to cumming as your toes curled tight.
“Toru, it's too-” You cried out a protest, but you didn't really mean it. Didn't make it through the sentence without cumming hard on his hand, squeezing down as he coaxed you through your climax.
“Too much, pretty?” He teased, falling back into old rhythms like it was second nature. Taking back his place in your bed, in your pussy, like both had always belonged to him. “Too little?”
You made some strangled sound, gasping as you started coming back down only for it to turn into a desperate whine the moment he pulled his fingers back out.
“You’re too much,” you complained, but there was no more venom in your voice.
“You married me,” he wryly said, his greedy gaze soaking in the sight of your slick pussy after he played with it.
“I did,” you muttered back, swallowing your disappointment although you were sure a sliver reached the surface.
“I really am sorry,” he apologized quietly, his stare shifting up to hold you captive. “For everything. I'll spend the rest of my life saying it if I have to.”
It didn't make it all okay.
Or even equal.
But you guessed you each had your own burdens to bear. Consequences and decisions you had to live with.
“I’m sorry too,” you whispered, unable to catch your breath as he climbed completely on top of you. One arm planted next to your head, keeping you caged in, his other hand cupping your cheek as he wiped away another tear you hadn't realized fallen.
“Stop thinking about him,” he murmured. “It’s just us now.”
Forever.
For better or worse.
And when he angled his cock at your entrance, you just wrapped your wrists behind his neck, cradling him close as he buried himself in the crook of your collarbone, you told yourself you needed him. That he could save you. Solve this. Nose nuzzling against your neck, inhaling your perfume while you toyed with his hair, glancing down to watch the first few inches slip in, the pretty pink head of his cock disappearing into your warmth.
Reminding you of every ridge, molding you again to his size, shaping you around him once more.
“Fuck, fuck,” your husband hissed, sucking a rough mark on the inside of your throat like he was trying to stop himself from snapping. You could feel the clench of his jaw against your skin, his nose scrunching up, the muscles in his back getting all tense as his hips kept sinking down. “Feels like heaven, angel.”
He fucked you like he was the devil.
Dragging you under, down down down into the flames, burning desire searing through every nerve ending and rewiring your synapses until you couldn't remember how you got here.
Okay, perhaps that wasn't totally true.
But you could ignore it.
“Forget about everything else,” he whispered into your ear, breathing hot and heavy as he split you open, snugly grinding against your womb as your hips shifted under his weight. “Jus’ focus on me.”
Did your focus ever really shift anywhere else?
Had your world revolved around anything but him since the first date? The first time he kissed you and called you his? When you had sex in the back of his car and he called you the most beautiful girl he'd ever met?
You believed every line back then.
And here you were, about to believe him again.
Your heart throbbed. His cock did too.
Satoru lifted up your hips, readjusting to dig his knees into the mattress, to get more leverage to start pounding into you faster. It wasn't mean, or even rough. Just, calculated. Controlling the angle, the pressure, measuring what face you made when he hit those sensitive spots he previously memorized.
“Nothing fuckin’ compares to you,” he groaned, the lump in his throat bobbing hard as he paused with his tip practically smushed against your cervix, staring down at the sight of you sweating and panting under his muscled frame.
And not that you wanted to make your own comparisons, but you had to admit that sex with Satoru was nothing like it was with Suguru. Familiar guilt gnawing at your bones as you remembered how hard you tried to feed the awful emptiness inside yourself by letting Suguru fill you up himself.
But it was something only Satoru could touch.
He was leaner than before, you guessed from stress, or how ragged he’d been running himself.
Maybe you’d need to put in a request for him to be served more food at your family meals.
You let one of your hands drift down his chest, feeling the outlines of thick muscles, the defined ridges and divots. “You’re not eating enough.”
He grinned, abruptly dropping your hips back onto the plush mattress as he reached up to move a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. “Is my beautiful wife worrying about me?”
“N-no,” you lied, sucking on your lower lip as you felt his cock twitch, so stuffed you didn’t think you had any more room for him.
He laughed, light, airy, one of those sounds that made the room feel brighter.
And then he was rutting into you faster, desperation etched into every breath, every creak of the bed, felt in his fingers and his touch.
Craving you guessed he couldn’t deny any more either.
“Tell me you love me,” he groaned, a hand wrapped around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, applying the precise amount of pressure to make it difficult to breathe. Sucking in shallow inhales, your nails dragging down his shoulder blades as his cock throbbed inside of you. “Please, I'm begging, say you still love me.”
You wished it was just the sex that made you say it.
But you were clutching onto him, taking every thrust as the headboard banged into the wall, nodding as much as you could with his palm pressed against your throat.
“I do,” you whispered. “I love you.”
It didn't matter what you wanted. How hard you fought it.
Some things were just facts.
“I love you so fucking much,” Satoru promised back, kissing you as his other hand drifted down to grip the underside of your thigh, pushing it up higher to get a deeper angle.
Filthy squelches echoing in time with the bed creaking, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, in-and-out, in-and-out, your body on the brink of unravelling all over again.
There was admittedly something filthy in the fact your husband was about to drag another orgasm out of you just from how hard he was fucking you, your thighs preemptively tensing in anticipation as he threw his head back and dug his thumb in deeper on your throat.
Dragging his cock along your walls, so full you were pretty sure he managed to lodge your heart in your lungs, unable to suck any air in when your pussy was preoccupied sucking him in.
You didn’t know which one of you finished first. Falling apart into each other, his cock throbbing, thick, warm ropes of cum filling you up as white stars splotched your vision. And when you opened your eyes, there was just more white, his hair dangling down in your face as he let go of your throat to reach down and rub your clit instead, to help get you through your second, intense climax of the night, shuddering hard in the sheets as you clawed at his back for purchase.
He didn’t pull out.
Let you scratch his back, like he’d take any mark you left on him.
Satoru just kissed you again, sucking softly on your bottom lip, soothing you as his hands found new positions. Caressing your cheek. Holding your waist. Your arms awkwardly settling over his shoulders, his hair tickling your face as you made some distant mental note to tell him to go get a haircut soon.
Damp cum leaking down your thighs as a sudden thought struck you about twenty minutes too late.
“Satoru,” you breathed your husband’s name, unable to sit up or squirm with his heavy weight keeping you pinned to the bed. “I’m not on birth control right now.”
You were before, but with the assassination attempt and the safehouse, and then moving back, you’d forgotten to ask someone to pick up your prescription for you. Just slipped your mind when you were too stressed to think about having sex.
And now here you were, stuffed with your husband’s cum, sticky and damp as his cock throbbed and leaked out the last drops, your throat threatening to close up while he shrugged his broad shoulders and snuggled up closer.
“I’ll have someone pick up the morning after pill for you,” he murmured. “But you know, maybe, a baby wouldn’t be so bad.”
“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, wiggling just for him to let out a low moan. You’d done the whole pregnancy and chasing after children thing in your twenties. Knew that it would be harder now, that everything was. Especially now that you had no clue how long he’d be limping for, or if he’d always need a cane now. It wasn’t that you totally hated it, no repulsion or disgust simmering under the surface, just some of your rationality finally returning. You could get like, a cat or a fish, if he wanted something new. “You could’ve died. Do you think now’s the time-”
“Maybe not now,” he hummed. “But I’m not going to be president forever.”
You blinked, your fingers reflexively reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. Looking into his eyes and trying to decide if this was really what he wanted. If you were. And then he was craning his neck down, capturing your mouth in a gentle kiss before breaking away.
“I’m always going to be your husband.”
“Good morning, gorgeous.”
Satoru didn't really want to wake you. If it was up to him, he'd spend the entire day like this. Your cheek squished on his chest, your bare body tangled in the sheets with him. Watching you start to stir, sleepily blinking up at him as your palm tried to press off his shoulder to sit up.
But he held you down, kept you close as the morning sun streamed through the window. “We can stay in bed a little longer.”
You were worth the risk of being late to a meeting or two.
“Satoru,” you said his name, a hint of caution still bleeding through your tired voice. “Last night, we-”
“We can take this slow, okay? Work on us,” he murmured, stroking your hair softly as he didn't say the last part he was thinking out loud. Without Suguru to interfere.
He finally had his fucking life back.
His wife.
“Did you mean everything you said?” You yawned, letting him draw faint shapes on your skin, your eyes fluttering shut as you started to drift back into your dreams.
“Every word,” he softly said.
His back was sore, leg already throbbing before he even moved. Throat dry from the sounds you ripped from it. But his chest felt warm, completely content for the first time in fucking years now that you were next to him again.
You made a small sound, a little mmph, but you rolled over, off of him to squint at the time on the alarm clock, reaching out to turn it off before it could even ring.
“I’m never letting you go,” he added quietly. Soberly.
Not now. Not ever.
“You should go to your morning meeting,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Turning over on your side to stare at his side profile. Your finger slowly reaching out to trace over the slope of his nose, over the edges of his mouth, across his jaw. “If you promise to be back for lunch.”
He leaned in to kiss the tip of your own nose, almost groaning at how good you smelled. How much he missed this.
But there wouldn’t be another morning that he’d go without it.
“Pinky promise.”
You helped him get in the shower, scrubbing the sex and sweat from his body before he awkwardly yanked his pants up and popped a pain killer. Listened to you talk about maybe taking the kids somewhere for an actual vacation after his term was up, suggesting foreign beaches and going sightseeing as he smiled and nodded along. You even let him kiss you goodbye, a silky robe tied around your waist as you leaned out the door to watch him walk down the hall.
But still, he didn’t mind doing his job.
He had a duty after all.
Sitting in the Oval Office, reclaiming his chair as people surrounded him with problems only he could solve.
Everyone was ignoring the elephant in the room, the absence that could be felt, or rather seen, in the newspaper on the table. The photograph of the man who was no longer vice president.
His former best friend.
While another old one was sitting on the couch, his chief of staff just blankly waited without making any notes for once, only watching as other members flitted in-and-out.
Nanami glared at him after everyone else left, the door thudding shut as the two of them were left alone.
Satoru was used to it, but it still caught him off-guard when the blond spoke up, “I’m resigning.”
“Why?” He blanched, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.
Things had never been better. Approval ratings were through the roof. News stations were already covering the story, Suguru’s face splashed across every headline as people speculated about his plot to become president.
“I know what you did.”
He chuckled, leaning forward in his seat as he cocked his head to the side. “And what, exactly, did I do?”
“Who do you think he came to when he started to suspect something was off about his security detail?” Nanami interrupted his poor attempt at feigning innocence, standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants.
“Well, it's not your problem or mine, anymore,” Satoru dismissed it, waving his hand as he resisted scoffing. There was no plea deal or bargain left for Suguru to make.
His guilt was predetermined.
And Satoru had no plans to pardon him.
Nanami took a few steps towards the door, and Satoru pressed his palm on his desk to brace himself to stand. His left leg was uncomfortably stiff, a dull ache radiating across the injured limb that he doubted would go away any time soon. The scar was ugly, something that admittedly pricked at him more than it should, but he supposed it was a small price to pay to have you back.
Besides, he always liked listening to you scold him, to give you a reason to pay him a little extra attention. Peace of mind to know that while Suguru was staring at concrete walls, he got to watch you fawn over how much he ate and how he was healing.
“What are you going to do about it?” He asked before Nanami could reach the door.
“Nothing,” Nanami muttered, pausing to let out an exhausted exhale. “That’s why I’m quitting.”
“You’re not even curious why?” Satoru asked, nose scrunching up.
“I assume it was because he had sex with your wife,” Nanami dryly replied. “Although, I admit I don’t fully understand how you did it.”
“The hardest part was finding someone who looked enough like Suguru,” Satoru snickered, running his fingers through his grown-out hair, missing the soft buzz of his undercut. But he wanted to be what you liked. Who you liked. For now, at least, until you remembered all the reasons why Satoru was superior.
Nanami huffed, like he couldn’t believe him.
“It’s funny how easy it is to get people to do what you want when you pay them enough,” he vaguely added, limping around to lean against his desk.
Kenjaku was a bit of an asshole, but he looked enough like Suguru that anyone watching the surveillance footage of their meeting would assume it was him especially when it was coupled with Mahito’s confession, there wasn’t much the real one could do when he didn’t have an actual alibi. No, he’d been too busy sneaking around with you, bringing you to his place that didn’t have security cameras to record your affair with his phone shut off to save himself from being framed.
He doubted that you’d remember the exact date of the last time you slept with his best friend. Wouldn’t be able to recall that you were the only person who might be capable of clearing him.
Suguru had sealed his own fate.
Nanami opened the door a crack, jaw clenched tight as Satoru contemplated what his price would be.
“I'll need a new VP in the next election,” Satoru hummed, watching Nanami’s brows scrunch together before he sighed. “Position's yours if you want it.”
“No thanks,” Nanami grimaced, but Satoru simply shrugged. He couldn't exactly blame him given what fate had befallen his former VP. Rotting in a high security prison cell for the crime of fucking his wife. “I think I'm going to move to Malaysia.”
“Yeah?” He arched up a brow.
“You should think of moving on too,” Nanami coolly suggested, standing up and straightening his tie. “Don't run for reelection.”
“The nation needs me,” Satoru scoffed. And he'd be damned if he let his mark on history just be rumors of getting impeached and an attempted assassination attempt.
“What about your wife?” Nanami challenged, as if he knew anything about the two of you.
Nanami wasn't married. Didn't have a partner.
He didn't understand.
Marriage meant sacrifice sometimes. Support. Satoru wasn't about to make the same mistakes again. You wouldn't slip away from him this time. He would do everything right.
Suguru would be stuck with a life sentence.
And Satoru would get everything he ever wanted.
“She loves me.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated even when it's cringe <3
volleyball legend ryomen sukuna just broke the internet and he didn't have to be in the court to do it. instead, he only had to be quietly becoming a dad on camera and a loving, devoted husband to you, his beloved astrophyscist wife.
there were no thumbnails at all. there was no fancy, overbound editing. there were no brand deal intros either. he didn't care about any of that. that's not what's important here in the first place. he's just documenting his life.
it was just ryomen sukuna who was a world champion, olympic volleyball star, known for his brutal serves and colder-than-ice interviews, as he quietly sets up a tripod in his kitchen and whispering into his phone camera at 7:12 a.m.
“she’s still sleeping very well right now, which is great. she gets tired easier now. baby’s the size of a mango this week.”
he scratches his head, shifts uncomfortably as he pressed the coffee machine. “this is for the kid. our little girl. so she knows how it all started. how i become her loving dad."
no one expected ryomen sukuna to join youtube. he’s famously private about everything. he doesn't share anything unless he wants to. even with his official work accounts.
he just really didn't care about it, so he doesn’t post often, so he also let alone doesn’t follow trends. hell, he doesn't even own a ring light until he had this idea to do this randomly one day.
but a few months into your pregnancy, he started filming. not for the fans. not to gain clout by doing content. not to keep up with any algorithm. just to document life for his unborn child.
specifically, life with you. his wife. an astrophysicist still taking international zoom calls about a peer review from bed, solving equations in the margins of her pregnancy tracker, and eating oranges like it’s her job.
he calls the channel something pretty simple. it's called “archive for you” — not capitalized. no bio. no promo. just the title, just the image of clematis flowers as the profile pic. that's it.
in the channel itself, it was just a series of slow, quiet vlogs titled ever so bluntly. many of them were just too much. he had titles like:
“first appointment. she cried, i didn’t know what to do.”
“crib building at 1am, i have no idea what i’m doing.”
“her ankles hurt, so i made her sit down. she tried to lecture me about particle mass anyway.”
“baby kicked. lost my mind.”
“she solved a problem for NASA while eating crackers. i’m in love.”
at first, barely anyone watched. he really didn't share it with anyone. just a couple dozen views per post. all his teammates thought it was a private vlog project. gojo satoru started to tease him for it.
then someone on the interweb saw it, after searching for something. it was something they never expected. they were surprised but they decided to go and screen-record a moment from the youtube video.
the video that went viral was ryomen sukuna whispering over footage of you finally sleeping, belly barely starting to show, various books still open beside you as some classical music was playing in the background.
“she’s still working. still carrying all this weight like it’s nothing. i’ve never seen someone look so tired and so beautiful at the same time. i don’t say that enough. but maybe you’ll see it here.”
soon enough, the world found out about the channel. it was the talk of the town. in less than 48 hours, his subscriber count hit 500,000. in a week, 2 million. by the end of the month, people started calling it “the softest channel on the internet from a husband and dad who just wants to document being a dad and husband."
because ryomen sukuna doesn’t vlog like an influencer. he vlogs like a man trying to leave a memory, as a simple human being. a father, a husband who wants to keep these memories for his daughter to see.
his videos aren’t aesthetic. there’s no background music either. he forgets to trim the clips. sometimes he talks with his mouth full. sometimes he scowls off-camera and says to himself, “don’t put this in” but he never cuts it out.
he talks about his fears. about wondering if he’ll be a good dad. about not knowing how to support you through everything, so he’s learning. every day. slowly to be the father his kid needs in him.
“she’s doing everything. her body’s changing. she’s still teaching, still writing papers." he sighs heavily. "all i can do is keep the house clean and try to be there when she needs water or snacks. but i want our kid to see this one day. to know how incredible her mom was.”
the comments flood in:
“i’ve never seen masculinity look like this before.”
“this is what it looks like to love someone for real.”
“he said ‘this is for the kid’ and created the most emotionally raw dad series on youtube.”
and through all of it, he never changes anything about it. he doesn’t start scripting his words or fixing the lighting. he keeps uploading the same way: bare, a little awkward, completely sincere.
he never acknowledges the virality.
never answers press inquiries.
he just keeps filming.
you, brushing your teeth and mumbling about the universe. you, snapping at him mid-contraction practice, then apologizing through tears. you, falling asleep with your laptop open while sukuna tucks a blanket over your legs.
“i don’t care if nobody watches this, or if everyone does.” he says in one video, setting a plate of fruit next to you. “it’s for you. and for our daughter. so one day she'll see exactly how we loved before she was even born.”
everyone was floored with how much he loved you, and how much you looked at him with love too. so, when your baby finally arrives, the last video before his much longer break is titled: “you’re here. she’s okay. i’m in pieces.”
he’s crying. he’s holding the camera with one hand, a hospital bracelet on his wrist, and whispering. “you’re real. mom's asleep beside me. i can’t believe i get to live this life.”
no outro. no music. it was just him, a new father, kissing his daughter's forehead. then moving the camera and turning it off. and even when the uploads stop for a while, the comment section keeps growing:
“the baby won’t understand this for years. but when she does, she'll know that she was loved like the sun.”
and they will. because ryomen sukuna made sure of it.
sukuna retires the account when your daughter was born.
but he does leave one last post up, just to introduce her.
"ryomen sukumi, your name means we cherish you best."
oh my clematis (always be by my side) — ryomen sukuna.
“Then the fighting pits—” you began, cautiously.
“—will not be necessary, no.” he said, his tone final. “Unless the child asks for them.”
You couldn’t help the bitter twist of your lips. “What child asks for blood?”
He turned from you then, walking back toward the window, his silhouette again swallowed in the moonlight. “Mine might, little one…..never underestimate the child of a god.”
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, smut, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/ comfort, marriage, parenthood, hurt, betrayal, physical touch, character death, massacre, murder, failed human sacrifice, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, child neglect, child abuse, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, hallucinations, nightmares, grief, toxic relationship, remembering memories, coercion, cannibalism, depiction of massacre, depiction of murder, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of loneliness, mention of drugging, mention of cannibalism, mention of mention of grief, mention of murder, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 20k words
NOTE: i wrote this a while back, because someone pointed out that canon heian sukuna also did cannibalism and i was like 'well how do i write about it in a way that makes sense for sukuna in canon, but also in this fic series?' and this is what came out. i didn't go into detail about it. but i do go on in detail about sukuna's child neglect. i know both are sensitive topics and they're hard to read still. if you cannot read that right now, please skip this. and please keep your self safe. i love you all.
IF THERE WAS ONE TRUTH IN THE WORLD, IT WAS THAT YOU WERE A BIRD IN A GILDED CAGE. That was what you were. Being Ryomen Sukuna’s primary concubine and in truth, his wife in all but name, it was what was to be expected. In order to serve a god, you must be stripped of everything. You were bound to serve him no matter what.
You were certain after all this time that the idea of fidelity being such a thing truly existed for a god like him. He could have what he always wanted, when he had wanted it. Without cost to him, without grievance to him.
In some ways, you did not feel married at all. There was no ceremony, no vows, no tender bond forged beneath silken sheets. Instead, there was only that claim. That imprint upon your mortal flesh by an immortal like him.
That was his choice. He had looked at you, the sacrifice you were and took you from all you had known. In his eyes, all you could see was this one real truth. You will not leave. And you didn’t. After nearly two decades of such a languished life, you couldn’t. Never again.
It was not because you loved him, not in the way a woman should love a man. Perhaps that in itself is the complexity you can never answer. But there remains that need to revere him, to make him your god.
Everything you do for him, thinking of him, was because your life depended on it. Because survival, in the world he had made and ruled, was a matter of proximity and silence. And to be sure because there was one thing you loved with your whole heart: the child he guarded above all else.
Ryomen Chiharu.
His eldest daughter. His blood. His storm-eyed girl. She was the only softness you had ever seen in him. He did not smile, but he sat by her bed when she was ill. He did not speak often, but he summoned the best tutors and servants for her.
He called her his little curse in the misplaced tenderness that escapes his lips. Even when his godly hands could crush her in an instant, he still wrapped her in cloaks of fur with care when winter came.
You learned quickly that whoever Chiharu was to him, you must be to her. And so you became her mother. Of course, by your lord husband’s command. Though it was never going to be by blood, nor by title. But perhaps by every other thing that mattered. That you were sure of.
There was no expectation for you to bear your godly husband any children. Let alone be someone that would go beyond what was necessary in the care of his favored little curse. Yet she had reminded you of yourself. Of your siblings. The children you were, you wished you could still be.
Perhaps that’s why you had embraced her. Perhaps that was why you poured all of your warmth in this cruel existence upon her. It was all you could give. It was all you had in you. But it was worth giving to her, she who you want to keep pure in this world.
And in return, she too keeps you from becoming a mad woman. She likes your attention, more so your presence. In the morning, she would look for you first before her own father. She would pout and pout until you came to her chambers to keep her company.
She disliked everyone else, though she put on a kind face. It was why you sat lonesomely by her futon when the fever nearly took her. She was adamant that you teach her to hold a brush, to braid her own hair with clematis flowers from your garden, to walk like a demi god worthy of being the child of a god.
In your miserable existence, in his cold and lonesome place, you became her shield. And she had quickly become your reason for you to continue on. It was all that you could rely on, if not the relentless quiet in this loveless marriage that Ryomen Sukuna allows.
It had been a bleak spring that year. The snow reluctant to melt, the wind sharp even as the cherry trees bloomed. You remembered how her small hands trembled when she held the brush, too weak from fever, but too proud to let you guide her fully.
“Again!” she had said, jaw clenched. “I want it to look like yours.”
“Your hand is still weak, little flower.” you murmured, kneeling beside her. “You need rest, not practice.”
She shook her head, eyes glassy with exhaustion, but firm. “If I rest, I will fall behind. And if I fall behind, he won’t look at me.”
You paused. “Is that why you want to write beautifully?”
“No, that’s not it, mother.” she said, glancing at you. “It’s why I must. But I want to write beautifully… because you do.”
You reached for her hand then, gently, carefully curling her fingers around the brush. “Then I’ll teach you. But only if you promise to sleep afterward.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear it,” you said.
She dipped the brush into ink, then paused. “…What should I write?”
You smiled faintly. “Write your name. That’s where power begins.”
“Power?” she echoed.
“Yes, little flower of mine.” you said softly, adjusting the way she sat. “If no one else remembers you, your name will. If they try to make you small, your name will still take up space.”
“…Is that how you survived here?” she asked.
You looked toward the heavy doors of the chamber, where silence clung like mildew. “I survived.” you said, stopping to collect your thoughts. “I survived by carving pieces of myself into what remained. And when there was nothing left… you arrived.”
She blinked, silent. “I don’t….understand.”
“You, precious flower, you are a reason.” you said again, fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from her temple. “You reminded me I could still give love, even in a place where it was never given to me.”
She leaned her forehead against yours. “Then don’t let me forget. Even when I grow up. Even when I become strong.”
“You won’t forget, to be sure.” you whispered. “Because I’ll never let you.”
She closed her eyes then, the brush still in her grip, her breathing shallow but even. And somewhere in the shadows of the fortress, Ryomen Sukuna watched. He said nothing, as always. But he did not call you away. Not until Chiharu was out of sight.
It wasn’t long after the servants had carried her gently back to her chambers, her small frame swaddled in silks and softened breath. The incense still lingered in the air when the sliding door groaned open behind you.
Uraume stepped into the room soundlessly.
You didn’t look back at them immediately.
You wished to move away and return to Chiharu.
“I assume you’re not here out of concern, Uraume.” you murmured, tucking the brush away, folding the cloth over the inkstone.
Uraume bowed slightly, as was their custom. It was never too deep, never with warmth. You would not get the same gesture from them as they give to your lord husband. That was just how it was going to be. You tell them to be at ease.
“The lord demands your presence, my lady.” they said. “He will walk the grounds. You are to accompany him.”
You stood slowly, brushing specks of ink from your sleeves. “He’s chosen now?” you asked. “While the night air still smells of sickness?”
Uraume’s expression didn’t shift. “He waits.”
Of course he did. You followed without a word, the familiar halls swallowing the sound of your steps. Torches flickered in their iron sconces, casting long shadows that stretched and snapped across the stone.
When you reached the outer walkway, Ryomen Sukuna stood already by the threshold of the garden, his back to you, his hands clasped behind him. He was silent as the wind rustled the pine branches. Silent even as you stepped beside him. You waited.
“You spend too much time with her, little one.” he said finally. “Indulging you too much, it would seem.”
It wasn’t an accusation. Not fully. Not yet. You purse your lips into a flat line. “She needs someone, my lord.” you replied plainly. “She’s still a child.”
“She is my child.” he said, voice low, unreadable.
You turned to him, meeting the red eyes that watched everything and gave away nothing. “And what have you given her lately, my lord, besides your name?”
A faint tension flickered in his jaw. But he said nothing. He continued to tower over you, loaming as though he could easily punish you for your bluntness. Yet your husband does not. Instead he looks away from you.
“She asks for me, my lord. Would you rather I abandon her?”
“I expect that you do not indulge her too much.” He retorts to you, shaking his head. “Little one, she must remain disciplined. I refuse to have her be coddled at all times.”
You frowned at him. “You asked of me to care for her as her mother—”
“Know your place.” He says, his eyes redder than before. “You know that you are not her mother.”
You bite your tongue, preventing yourself from arguing with him. You knew better than that. “I merely do what I must for her. When she is afraid, when she is cold, when she is happy. It is not a contest, my lord. I do not take her from you. Nor am I to replace her lady mother. But I will not deny her what you will not give.”
He finally looked at you, and the air thickened. His godly gaze was sharp, but not cruel. Measuring. As if searching for something inside you he couldn’t name. “You speak too freely, little one. Have I given you such pleasure to do so?”
“........Does such a tune offend you, my lord?” you answered, fixing your sleeve. “Is there such punishment owed to a defiant concubine?”
He huffed a breath through his aquiline nose. It almost sounded like laughter, perhaps, in some distant way. “I was looking for my meek and obedient concubine. But it seems you’ve grown bold in my absence.”
You lowered your gaze, hands folded neatly before you, as if doing so would temper the flames now dancing behind his crimson eyes.
“I only speak what is true, my lord.” you replied, voice quiet but firm. “And the truth has never trembled before you.”
Ryomen Sukuna took a step closer, his presence towering, ancient, divine. The air itself bent around him like grass to a storm. You stood your ground. You always did. Perhaps that was why he kept you.
“Boldness….” he murmured. “Such an act has a price, little one.”
“I have paid plenty, my lord.” you said, lifting your eyes. “In silence. In service. In things I no longer speak of.”
That stilled him for a moment. A long beat passed before he looked away, out to the moonless night. He looked beyond the darkened garden where wind shifted through the pines. Before long, he speaks once again.
“She is not like her mother.” he said, almost to himself. “Hiromi was gentle. Too generous. But she is strident and strong….yet she chose kindness. And look what has cost her. And our clan.”
“Gentleness does not make her weak, my lord." you shake your head. "It is strength, to find peace in generosity."
“The girl must be stronger.”
“She is strong.” you said softly. “She bears your blood, and still seeks to be kind. That is strength.”
“She must survive me.”
“She is surviving because of you, my lord.” you countered. “But only because she has me to soften the places you’ve left hollow.”
The night was hushed, save for the creak of bamboo swaying in the wind. “I do not wish to raise a daughter who only knows softness, one which you perpetuate only.” he said.
“Then allow her both.” you replied, frustration echoing in your features. “Let her have your steel. And let her rest against my skin when she tires of carrying it.”
Another silence. He looked at you again. Slower this time. A flicker of something unreadable passed behind his gaze. You wonder if it was resentment, perhaps, or memory. You had long stopped trying to name the ghosts that haunted him.
“You are not her mother, little one.” he repeated, though softer now. “You may stop acting like it.”
You nodded once. “I know. But I have loved her like one. Isn’t that what matters?”
He snickers as he turns to begin down the stone path. “Walk with me.”
You followed, your footsteps silent alongside his. “Why now?” you asked after a stretch of silence. “Why call me away?”
He didn’t answer right away as you two walked. His four scarlet eyes moved over the wall of the gardens, past the pebbled paths, past the willows you’d once planted to soothe the emptiness of this place.
“Uraume tells me much about what has happened when I had been absent.” he said finally. “You have become different. With her. You looked like someone I no longer knew.”
You glanced at him, caught off guard. “Then look again, my lord.”
Another silence passed. “She calls you mother. A new change.”
“Yes.” you said, voice steady. “She does.”
“Had I not told you to go and remain in formal etiquette with her?”
You exhaled slowly, a cold ribbon of breath in the night air. “And you are not the one I had been harmed by and feared, my lord. But here we are, are we not?”
He stopped walking. You turned toward him, his expression inscrutable in the moonlight. “My lord?”
“I never intended for you to remain in such a position, when you first came, little one.” he said to you, more honest than he had ever been before. ”It had not been my desire to keep that little curse here, either. It would have been better for her to have lived with her mother’s ilk.”
You swallowed. You had never spoken of her. Not in a long time. And most certainly not with him. Not even now. “And yet you kept me here. Brought that flower to me.”
“I am a selfish god, little one. I take what I want, I keep what I own. And you and her are of that same breed,” he murmured as he knelt toward the red clematis, fingers ghosting over their velvet petals. “But if she is to exist, it seems…she needs more.”
You watched him, this god on earth become quiet. He looked almost human like this. Much less king, less god, more man. His voice low, his brow thoughtful as if the words he spoke tasted foreign in his mouth.
“Then let her have it, my lord.” you said softly. “Let her have me.”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t object either. And for now, that would be enough. He was silent as his hand moved again, this time with more purpose. He plucked a single clematis from the vine, its red bloom resting weightlessly in his palm.
He stood, not towering now, but deliberate. Unrushed. Then, without a word, he reached toward you and held it out. You blinked, unsure if you were meant to take it. Slowly, you did. The flower was still warm from his hand.
Your lord husband stared at you for a moment. It felt burning, with those thousand echoes of scarlet hues burning you into its existence for far too long, in a manner that was too still. His eyes, usually so sharp and burning, were however still unreadable.
“Wear them in your hair tomorrow, little one.” he said plainly, commandingly. “I shall…..I shall have Uraume bring some for you to use.”
You stared at him. “My…...lord?”
“The little curse knots them into hers.” he said in a lower tone, closer to you. “It would suit you, too.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the stem. “You jest, my lord.” you muttered, looking down in an effort to hide the flush rising to your cheeks. “There is…there is no need for such a thing. Uraume should rest.”
“I do not jest, little one.” he replied, voice like iron wrapped in silk. “You’re perhaps most tolerable when you’re quiet and pretty. And the most tolerable out of all the bunch in this wretched place.”
You opened your mouth, then shut it again, unsure whether to scoff or bow. He turned before you could find an answer, already walking away down the stone path. You remained where you stood, the flower still in your hand, your heart beating too fast and too foolishly in your chest.
It was ridiculous.
It meant nothing.
You pursed your lips.
You found yourself wondering.
What would it look like woven into your hair?
YOU COULD NOT SLEEP ANYMORE. You couldn’t do it. You could not do it knowing the fresh clematis blossoms rested upon the fine marble vanity he had gifted you years ago. Your husband, the life you had lived with him was one which you cannot wish upon anyone. And at the same time, you could not call it the worst one could have as their fate.
This life, it simply was. Unspoken, uncelebrated, but ever-present. A shadow that clung to you like breath on a cold morning. There was no love in it, of course. This was not something you had expected.
You had expected from the moment you had been bound to him that no soft rituals or idle flirtations exist. There would be no whispered declarations beneath the sheets. There was only function and the quiet, suffocating sense that you had been chosen, not for affection, but for utility.
He did not touch you often, even when he had every right to, as your lord, as your husband, as the god to whom your body was quietly offered and endlessly claimed. But when he did, it was never tender. It was never slow. It was possession.
His hands, rough with the memory of battles and ancient power, held you as though you were something already marked, something stamped in his name, to be taken whenever the silence of the fortress became unbearable.
He did not ask. He never needed to. When Ryomen Sukuna came to your bed, it was like a storm breaking over the mountains. It was the will of a god in all senses of the word. It was inevitable, thunderous, shattering.
He did not speak much during those nights. Nor did he linger. Not like he wanted to. Not like a man who craved warmth, who wanted to be known. Instead, he would come and go. Like the wind that flushes in and out of your chambers.
Sukuna came to you like a curse given flesh, like a hunger deeper than his own divinity would ever allow him to confess. And you, who had once believed you would grow old untouched, unloved. You were burned in his presence, scorched by the weight of being chosen, if only as a vessel for his desire.
And when those nights came, when his breath became ragged against your ear, when his palm pinned yours above your head, when your back arched beneath the weight of him and your skin met the cold sheets in a tangle of bruises and moonlight. Everything blurred.
The ache of it taking over you. The ecstasy you couldn’t help but feel. The unbearable way his touch carved its shape into you, and how, against all reason, you wanted it more than anything. And all at once you hated it more than life itself.
There were bruises, yes. On your thighs. Your neck. The soft underside of your arms. Reminders. Some nights, all that remained afterward was silence. It was so loud, so heavy, you thought it might split your chest open.
But sometimes… he spoke. Just once. You remembered it still. The way his breath fanned across your collarbone. The way his weight had not yet left you, his arm still firm at your waist, keeping you beneath him like you were something precious and breakable, though he would never admit it.
“You’re not soft, little one.” he had said, voice hoarse, the taste of wine still on his tongue as it grazed the edge of your jaw. “That’s why you last. That is why…..”
He stops himself there. There was no need to give you more than that. Soon after, he took you roughly. There had been no gentleness in it, as those words repeated in your head even after he had left you.
It was no praise. It was only a fact that stings. But you had felt his scarlet gaze then, felt the weight of it on your face, on the curve of your lips, the rise of your chest. Like he had been looking for something. Like, perhaps, he had found it.
And though his hand eventually left your skin, and though he rose from your bed without looking back, you felt him long after. His absence, like his presence, had a way of filling every corner of you.
You were not his favorite woman, that was to be sure. That was a title he handed out as often as he withdrew it. But you were the one he trusted. That is the truth of it all, as you see it. He trusted you with his precious treasure in the form of a child with Hiromi’s eyes.
You were the one whose name he summoned in his court. The one whose hand he took, not to show affection, but to remind everyone in the room who answered to whom. You were his most trusted possession. And the others knew it.
The rest of the harem surely loathed you, you knew that much. Vermillion Hall was farthest from the center of the harem, and yet you knew how these women hated you more than anything else. All because your husband seemed to give you all his attention.
They wrapped their hatred in silk and sweet words, but it was always there. Their laughter quieted when you entered the room, only to be replaced by their glares. On the way they offered compliments that felt like daggers wrapped in honey.
You had once been one of them, after all. That poor girl trembling and scared as he looks upon you. But after all that time, he did not get sick of you, he did not kill you nor silenced you. He had kept you, given you a status above all of them and kept you comfortable as they continued to walk on glass.
He did not choose you because you were the most beautiful. If anything, many of them outshone you in ornament and youth. Not because you were kind, you knew well enough that kindness had no place in your husband’s court.
He favored you because you endured. Because you had flourished and thrived in the place of barren earth. Because you never cried when he left. Because you never begged when he returned. Because you learned how to fold yourself into silence, and sharpen that silence into something useful.
You became untouchable.
And they never forgave you for it.
Never will they ever find care for you.
Now, they bowed when you passed. They called you with equal reverence to your husband. But their envious eyes burned. Because no matter how many perfumes they wore, how many dances they learned, how many nights they waited at his door.
It was you he kept. You were the one he let close, he confided with. You were the only one who was allowed to dress him, share his table for anything. And yet, you knew very well that you were not cherished. Nor loved. But kept. You were the cage they could not shake. The cold steel of his will made flesh.
You had never asked for power. The very thought of it makes you miserable. You had never wanted it. You only wanted safety. You only wanted Chiharu. A simple, but happy life. But such a god like Sukuna did not care for such things, only his wants.
“What do you mean, my lord?”
You asked quietly, the morning light still half-asleep on your skin. A breeze stirred the gauze curtains at the edge of the room, catching the faint scent of sandalwood and iron. You stood near the threshold of his private quarters, barefoot on cold stone, half shrouded in shadow. He, by contrast, was bathed in red.
Ryomen Sukuna stood at his balcony, arms folded behind his back. The sky was a smear of blood and gold, as though dawn itself had been torn open. He hadn’t turned to face you. Not once.
“The harem is falling apart, little one.” he said, grunting.
His tone was not cruel, nor even irritated. It was flat. Disinterested. Cold in the way only gods could be. Untouched by the decay of the very world they ruled. That was just how it was on mortal matters.
He may as well have been commenting on the state of the garden, or the thickness of the mist. A small, inevitable observation. You felt the words settle over your chest like dust. You swallowed the bile on your throat.
“And… what would you have me do?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. Neutral. Always neutral.
He didn’t look at you. “Fix it.”
Just that. A command. A decree. As if you were a handmaiden, a steward, a gardener told to replant spoiled soil. Not a concubine, his concubine. Not the one he took into his bed when the storm inside him grew too great. Not the one raising his child.
“May I ask what has caused this…deterioration?” you tried again, careful.
He exhaled, slow, steady. A breeze rustled the clematis vines below. “They squabble. They gossip. They mourn too loudly, or love too hungrily. One lies ill. Another tried to run. Another still has taken to fasting, praying to gods she thinks I do not hear.”
“And do you?” you asked softly.
That earned you a glance. A single red eye turned toward you over his shoulder. Ancient. Impossible to read. “I hear everything, little one. You know this.” he said.
You swallowed. He turned fully then, walking back into the chamber with unhurried steps. His robe fell loose around his shoulders, collarbone and inked chest exposed, power coiled beneath skin like a tide that never truly receded.
“You are the one they look to, as the concubine of the highest rank.” Sukuna says. “You are the one they envy. The one they fear. The one they call mother when she is not looking.”
“That is not my doing, my lord.” you whispered.
“No, it is not.” He snickers. “But it is your burden.”
You flinched, just slightly. Enough for him to see. Enough for him to know. He crossed the distance slowly, like a predator with no need to chase. And when he stood before you, his scarlet eyes flicked to your throat, your lips, the faint lines of fatigue around your eyes.
“I did not keep you here for pleasure, little one.” he said. “Let alone to wallow in pity. You endure. That is your role.”
Your fists clenched at your sides. You wanted to speak, to tell him what it meant to live in the shadow of a god, to be handed silence and called fortunate for it. But you bit your tongue. You knew better than that. He stepped closer. Too close.
“Hold them together.” he murmured. “Be what they cannot be.”
“And what is that?” you asked.
He tilted his head, almost curious.
“Untouched by weakness.”
In those moments, you ceased to be a woman in his eyes. You were not the one who lay beneath him in those wanton nights, not the one who bore his child’s fevers in the night, not even the one who kept his household from crumbling in the face of his monstrous silence.
To him, in moments like this, you were a tool.
A sharp, steady thing forged from obedience and survival.
You were not expected to speak. Only to act. Only to deliver results.
You watched his back as he stood there tall, still, impassable. The morning wind lifted the ends of his dark robe, and the first light of dawn painted his skin with crimson. It made him look almost holy, almost beautiful, if not for the quiet violence that always clung to him like a second skin.
Four arms crossed or at ease, depending on his mood. His shoulders are as rigid as the stone beneath your knees. You had come to recognize that pose. The way his jaw tightened when something displeased him.
The way his gaze cut over the edge of the world like it bored him. And it did. Everything bored him, eventually. Everyone. That was the curse of a man like him. The harem was no different in that regard.
He hadn’t visited them in weeks. Maybe months, years perhaps. His attention came and went like the tide, cruel and inconsistent. Some of the women were barely fed. Others were turning on each other in desperation.
Jealousy was starting to rot the walls from the inside out and he, like the god he fashioned himself to be, didn’t care for the noise beneath his throne. He wanted it quiet again. Neat. Useful.
You stood a few paces behind him, hands clasped, lips pressed in a line. You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. He knew you understood. He knew you would carry it out. That was your curse. That he never had to ask twice.
You studied his silhouette against the bleeding sky, and you realized that he didn’t need to look at you to make you move. He never had. You were no longer the frightened girl who had once knelt in his court. You were no longer the concubine who begged for attention.
You were something else now. Something colder. Sharper. Quieter. A blade, pulled from its sheath and expected to strike cleanly. And you would. Because you always did. You always pleased him.
He didn’t move. Still watching the horizon as though something out there might eventually interest him enough to kill. The wind tugged gently at his hair. From behind, he looked less like a man and more like a monument to power. Cruel, eternal, alone.
You kept your voice steady. “There are better choices to fix their condition, my lord.”
His head tilted slightly. Just enough for you to see the barest curve of his cheek. “Are there? Tell me, little one. What do you think?”
You swallowed. “You haven’t visited them in so long. They’re starving for attention. For your favor. Scratching at each other. There’s rot behind the silk curtains.”
He didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch long enough for the air to thin between you. Then, finally, he said, “And yet, you’re still here.”
You breathed in slowly. “Because I have no choice.”
A low hum escaped him. It was not quite a laugh, not quite mockery. “You always say that. And yet, here you remain. You wear the chain like it’s a crown.”
You clenched your jaw. “You’ve made me your cage, my lord. That doesn’t mean I enjoy keeping the door locked.”
That got his attention, his intrigue. He turned slowly, finally meeting your eyes. Four of them, all of them were burning, unreadable, fixed on your face like he was trying to decide whether to be amused or angry.
“I made you what you are, didn’t I, little one?” he said calmly. “And what you are is useful. Not pitiful. You’re not one of them.”
“No…my lord.” you said hotly to him. “I’m worse.”
He stepped closer, the barest space between you now. “No, you’re not. You’re the only one who knows.”
You didn’t flinch when he raised his massive hand and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just… deliberately. Like a man polishing the hilt of a weapon. He looks at you, as though memorizing everything about you.
“You think I give this task to you because I trust you?” he asked softly.
You didn’t answer him. He smiled. Barely. “I give it to you because they envy you. Or fear you. Which, in the end, is the same thing.”
You looked at him, not blinking. “Chiharu needs me right now, my lord.”
“She’ll survive a day without you.”
“She didn’t the other night.”
He studied you again. Something unreadable flickered in his scarlet gaze. Not concerned. Just pure calculation. A cold assessment of how much he could take from you before you started to break.
“Fix it, little one. Do as I command, when you still have a choice.” he said again, voice dropping back into that low, indifferent command. “Or we will do it without.”
You nodded once. Just once. Because that was the difference between you and the rest. You would never love him. That’s what you tell yourself. But you would never disobey him, either.Not for your sake, but for hers. And that, he understood.
You knelt at Chiharu’s bedside that morning, pressing a damp cloth to her cheeks as she whimpered in her sleep. Her little fingers had reached blindly, curling into your sleeve. You did not want to leave.
But Ryomen Sukuna had spoken.
And when he commands, the world moves.
Even you.
IT WAS EARLY WHEN YOU HAD MADE THE SUMMONS. You didn’t want to do so before dawn, but that was what your husband wished. He commanded your presence before you break your fast. And that you cannot avoid.
So now you walked the echoing halls of the harem, the silk of your robes whispering behind you like the trail of old blood. Red clematis blossoms knotted elegantly against the silky locks of your head. You were impossible to ignore.
The marble floors were cool beneath your feet, polished not by care, but by the shuffle of desperate women clinging to a world that had forgotten them. The walls still smelled of expensive perfume, but it was old and faded.
You hated it. All that sweet, cloying, scent summoning a ghost of the splendor that once filled this place. Still, you would not cover your mouth for it. You cannot afford to look weak in front of all of them. Not right now.
The women gathered slowly, drawn by duty or curiosity or hate. Wary as strays. Some held their chins high, painted eyes sharp with defiance. Others lingered in the shadows, too beaten down to meet your gaze. All of them watched. And in their eyes, you saw the same things.
Wanton hunger. Not for food. For something else.
Attention. Revenge. Meaning. Something to hold onto.
Something they think that only Ryomen Sukuna could provide.
A few looked away when your eyes met theirs. They seemed ashamed, or perhaps even afraid. Others glared, resentment simmering in their narrowed gaze. One or two smiled, but with too many teeth. You knew those smiles. You had worn them yourself once.
You ascended the dais without hesitation, your back straight, your hands clasped lightly before you. Not in peace, but in control. The seat behind you remained empty. It always did. You had no throne here, no crown. Just the weight of Sukuna’s command pressing into your spine.
Your heart, meanwhile, was elsewhere in a quieter room, where a bright little girl lay in tangled sheets, whispering your name in her sleep. But here, you belonged to him and to his every whim and desire.
You looked out at them. All of his broken collection of beauties and outcasts, survivors and schemers. You remembered names. Faces. The ones who once laughed behind your back. The ones who cried themselves to sleep after being ignored. The ones who sharpened their tongues like knives when he looked away. You had been part of their world once. But no longer.
“I am not here to make friends here, dearest doves.” you said, your voice smooth and cold as lacquered steel. “I am not here to offer comfort. I am here because our god ordered it. And we all know what happens when his orders go ignored.”
Silence fell. Immediate. Primal. Fear has its own language, and they understood it well. You paced slowly, letting your presence fill the room not as a woman, but as an extension of him. His shadow. His reminder.
“I will not pretend to be what I am not, little doves.” you continued, tone even. “I am not better than you. Only closer to the fire.”
That truth sat heavy between you. They knew what it meant. You were not untouchable because you were kinder or smarter or more beloved. You were untouchable because he kept you. And in this world, that was the only currency that mattered.
You looked at them, truly looked. Saw the cracks in their painted faces, the faded gold at their wrists, the way they held themselves like birds in a house with no sky. Women who hated you because they could not hate him. That was the tragedy. You were within reach. He never was.
“Order will return to the center of the harem.” you said, moving your head to look at all of them in the eye. “Schedules. Duties. A life worth enduring. I will see to it. But I will not coddle you. I will not fight for your affection. You may loathe me in silence, if that suits you.”
A beat passed. “But you will obey. Live and obey him and him alone.”
Your voice did not rise, but it did not need to. The finality in it rang louder than any shout. You let the silence stretch. You let the tension breathe. Then, a quieter tone echoes from your lips, “And if you wish to be heard and truly heard then act like you wish to live.”
You let that hang in the air. Not a threat. A truth. Then you stepped down from the dais. No more words. No glance back. No invitation for discussion or protest. You had no need to wait for approval, for applause, for signs of acceptance.
Those things were luxuries, excess that you could be without. You did not deal in luxuries anymore. You care to hear the peaceful singing of the birds outside of your window, enjoying the sun with Chiharu by your side.
You left the dais and moved through them without flinching, like a blade passing through soft flesh. All silent, sure, and unavoidable. The women parted just enough to let you through, but not without whispers, not without side glances sharp enough to cut. You heard them. You were meant to.
“She thinks she’s queen now.”
“No better than the rest of us. Just colder.”
“She wouldn’t survive a day without his favor.”
They weren’t wrong. His favor was the only thing that stood between you and the same silence they now lived in. But unlike them, you had long stopped mistaking favor for safety. Favor was a thin curtain. It burned easily.
Still, you walked. Head high. Gaze forward. Beyond the harem's threshold, the air changed. Lighter. Quieter. Less perfumed, less stifling. But not freer. Not really. Nothing within Ryomen Sukuna’s little world was ever free.
You passed the old murals of conquest, the servants who bowed but dared not speak, the crimson carpets stained faintly with older memories. Blood. Wine. Tears. It all looked the same on these floors. You had learned that long ago.
Your sandals clicked softly as you turned the familiar corridors toward Chiharu’s wing. The guards there knew you, stepped aside wordlessly, eyes cast down. Not out of respect. But because you were hers. And she was his.
The moment you entered her room, the weight shifted. The tension left your shoulders like a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The curtains were drawn to let in the late morning light.
Her small figure lay curled in the center of the bed, tangled in silk sheets, face still flushed with remnants of fever. A bowl of cooled vegetable broth sat untouched at her bedside. You purse your lips into a flat line.
A nurse maid stood to the side and bowed quickly to you, then soon retreated, knowing you preferred to tend to her alone. You knelt beside the bed, heart slowly blooming back into something human.
“Chiharu, my little flower.” you whispered, brushing the hair from her brow.
She stirred faintly. Her bright eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep but warm with recognition. She didn’t speak right away. She didn’t need to. Her little fingers reached out, curling into yours, as if to say: You came back.
And you had. You always did. No matter what he asked of you.
Because this — she — was what tethered you to yourself.
You pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering.
“I’m here now, my flower.” you murmured. “Feel better, alright? Let the winter fever purge from your body.”
Outside, the world still belonged to Ryomen Sukuna. That god, that tyrant, that king of curses. But in this small, quiet room, there was no throne, no order, no steel. Only the soft breath of a child who loved you, not for what you could give, but simply for staying.
And here, in this sliver of stolen peace, you let yourself be someone else.
Not his concubine. Not his blade. Not his mistress.
Just the woman who loved a little girl more than she feared a god.
HE HAD RETURNED FROM HIS VENTURES INTO THE SOUTH OF HIDA. But the first thing he had done was come out to see you. You knew that he had done this not out of longing, not out of ritual, but because this was what he did. Ryomen Sukuna did not chase. He returned. As kings return to thrones. As storms return to mountains.
The Vermillion Hall had already been prepared long before his arrival. The staff moved like ghosts, leaving no trace behind them. Every dish had been plated with precise elegance, the braziers lit to a low, warm glow, casting flickers of gold and blood-red against the lacquered walls.
This hall was yours, in all but name. It was a mere gesture. A territorial marking. But you knew better than to think it was a sanctuary. No room within this palace ever truly belonged to you. Not when the king could walk through its doors as if he owned the air you breathed.
You remained seated when he entered. You never needed to rise. He did not expect bows from you. That, too, was a power and a reminder. Ryomen Sukuna did not speak as he crossed the space. He didn’t need to. His presence was always loud enough.
When he finally took his seat across from you, he poured himself a cup of sake without invitation. Then he drank. Only then did he glance at you, not in affection, but in assessment. You spoke first.
“You have been busy.”
“The harem has been restructured, my lord.” you said solemnly. “Order restored. Punishments were given. Tributes were collected. The courtyard has been replanted. The bathhouse has been scrubbed and repaired. Rotations have begun again. No complaints…well, not aloud, anyway.”
He said nothing at first, chewing on a sliver of dried plum, his scarlet eyes on yours. He seemed amused. “I heard whispers, little one. It seems they don’t like you, even after all your little changes.”
You nodded. “They will never like your servant in their torment, my lord.”
He paused, then tilted his head slightly. Four eyes gleaming, but only two narrowed in amusement. And then he laughed at your words, low and jagged, like a blade scraping against stone.
“How will they like someone who earns my favor at every turn?”
He said it like a joke, but it wasn’t one. Not really. You didn’t smile. “They hate what they can’t reach. And they know I won’t fall.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze cold but… not dismissive at all towards you. He rarely laughed around others, you knew that much. And when he did, it was usually right before something ended.
“Their hate is a kind of tribute, little one.” he said, smirking faintly. “Let them offer it freely. It keeps their hands busy.”
“They’d slit my throat if you looked away long enough.” you murmured.
“They’d try, certainly.” he corrected, taking another sip. “But they’d find out the difference between your silk and their silk is the dagger beneath it.”
A silence settled between you then. Not hostile, not soft. Just real. You sat across from him, both of you eating slowly, calmly. But it was not a shared meal more than it was a meeting. It never truly was.
This was a ceremony. This was an inspection. He came not for warmth, at least you don’t think so. He came to see if the machine he had built was still running. And you were the hinge that kept it turning.
“You always do what I ask, little one.” he said suddenly. Quiet, but not gentle.
You met his gaze. “Because I know what happens to those who don’t.”
A corner of his mouth lifted again. There was something like pride, but crueler. “That’s why you’re still here.”
You didn’t thank him. You didn’t nod. You knew better. His favor was not a reward. It was a burden. One you wore like armor. You looked down at your bowl. “The women won’t ever love me.”
He leaned back, letting his lower arms rest against the table, his upper set crossing lazily across his chest. “No. But they’ll fear you. And in my temple, my palace, fear is the only thing that makes anyone listen.”
And there it was. Not validation. Not kindness. Just confirmation. You had done what he asked. You had made the harem work again. You had taken the hate, the suspicion, the silence and turned it into order. But you did not feel victorious. You felt tired. Still, you lifted your cup to him. A gesture. A formality.
“To your empire, my lord.” you said.
He touched his cup to yours, metal clinking faintly. “To the one who keeps it clean.” he answered.
And then you drank your drink silently, slowly, your eyes never leaving his because in this house of knives and gods, even peace tasted like blood. And that was all that will ever be in this misery.
The next morning, you found yourself used once again.
You lay alone in the futon that had been laid out last night. You sighed, sitting up and looking all around you. There was no poetry in it. No tenderness to cling to. No glimmer of longing tucked behind his touch.
Just the soft rustle of silks disturbed and the echo of his footsteps retreating into the corridors before the sun had fully dared to rise. You lay there, staring up at the canopy above you, its rich reds and golds now looking more like fresh bruises against the cream of the ceiling.
You did not cry. You hadn’t in years. There was no room for that in the life you had chosen or rather, the one you had been shaped into, carved into, like ivory scraped into an idol.
You rose, as always, before the attendants. The bedding was smoothed by your own hand. Your body was scrubbed clean before the others could even lay eyes on you. There would be no trace of last night. Not in your scent. Not in your skin. Not even in your gaze.
He had marked you, yes. But never in a way anyone could point to.
The women in the hall watched you pass later that day. Some in silence. Others with that passive, poisonous smile. It was the kind that felt more like the drawing of a blade than a greeting.
None of them bowed. None dared block your path. But oh, how they watched. How they simmered. You did not slow your steps. You never did. You knew that it was better to be quick on your feet.
The steward met you outside the garden courtyard. “The Eastern merchant envoy arrives at moonrise,” he said. “Lord Sukuna wishes for the violet-wing suite to be reopened.”
You gave a nod. “Ensure the floors are scrubbed with pinewater. No incense in that wing—the envoy’s heir is sensitive to smoke. Replace the lacquered trays; I want black pearl this time, not red.”
The steward bowed. “As you command.”
Another command fulfilled. Another day survived.
And still, behind your eyes, the ache remained. Not just of body, but of being. Of knowing that you were not lover, nor wife, nor consort. You were a function. A fine tool, a favored blade. Not beautiful enough to be adored. Not pitiful enough to be protected. Just perfectly cut. Just useful.
And Sukuna…...Sukuna never kept things that weren’t useful.
You returned to the Vermillion Hall that evening, alone. You liked it better that way. The silence, at least, did not pretend to care. You poured yourself tea this time. No sake. You sipped slowly, the steam clouding your lashes.
And still, you waited. Not for him. No. Never for him. You waited for the sound of footsteps you would know even in your grave. Heavy. Measured. Inevitable. Because kings did not chase. They returned.
And every return was a reminder that everything bends, everything breaks. And every servant dreams, for a life outside of this gilded cage. The doors shifted open with swiftness.
You did not turn when you heard the doors open. You didn’t need to. The air shifted when he entered. It was like a storm pressing down on the skin before it rains.
You stared into your tea and let him come to you, let him cross the lacquered floor without ceremony. The clack of his steps echoed against the ribs of the hall, bones inside a beast.
“Violet-wing suite is ready, my lord.” you said softly. “The envoy arrives before the second bell.”
“You’ve always been thorough, little one.” His voice was dry, almost contemplative. “Even when I leave you with nothing.”
He didn’t say what he meant. He never did. Not truly. He let his words drip like ink, letting you draw the meaning from the stains.
You didn’t rise. You didn’t look up. “That’s because I am not waiting for anything, my lord.”
A pause. Then the scrape of a seat being pulled. He sat across from you again, as he always did. The same distance, the same weight in the air.
But today, there was something else. He did not pour himself a drink, nor did he insist upon it. He did not eat either. Instead, your husband simply watched.
You sipped your tea once more, deliberately ignoring the heaviness in your chest. You wouldn’t let him see it. Not now, not ever. You have learnt too many things these many years with him, after all.
“Was the south fruitful?” you asked, not for conversation, but because he expected you to ask.
He shrugged one shoulder, four arms resting at odd, unbothered angles. “Fruitful enough. Heads rolled. Fortresses bent. There is a new child king now. I’ll let him play until his teeth grow in.”
You nodded faintly. “And the wives?”
He grinned. “Some screamed. Some smiled. Some tried to curse me.”
You did not shudder at his words at all. You had long since learned that mercy was a luxury. Much more so when it comes to your husband. And horror, a language he spoke too fluently to feel shame for.
“They always believe they’re the first to see the monster.” you murmured. “But you’ve been carved into every palace wall since the gods bled themselves into earth.”
He let out a breath. Almost a chuckle. “Poetry again?”
You met his eyes then, in a rather sharp, unreadable manner. “Truth.”
Sukuna leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed, the expression unreadable on a face built for war. “And what do you see when you look at me, little one?”
You didn’t look away. “A god with no altar. A blade with no sheath. And a man who will never understand that some loyalty is not fear.”
That silenced him for a beat. The room felt tighter for it, as if the walls were listening. “You presume too much, little one.” he said, but the edge in his voice had dulled.
“I presume nothing, my lord.” you replied. “I serve. I obey. I last. But I am not blind.”
And neither was he. The quiet stretched between you like drawn wire. Not tense but sharp enough to cut, if pulled the wrong way. Then he stood.
The sudden movement felt like a command, even when no words followed. You remained seated, gaze forward. If he wanted to leave, he would. If he wanted to stay, he would. You were done trying to guess which.
But instead of leaving, he stepped behind you. You heard him breathe, deep and slow. Then you felt one of his lower hands. All rough and warm, touch the headpiece on your head. Just briefly. Just long enough.
“You are blind, little one.” he said softly, more to himself than to you. “You still think this is survival.”
And with that, he left.
You didn’t follow. Not with your eyes. Not with your thoughts. You sat there with your tea cooling beside your hand, and your pulse still loud in your ears. And your cheeks so red.
Because he was wrong. You had known survival long before you ever knew his name. This was something else entirely. Something you didn’t yet have a word for.
IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE, THAT’S WHAT YOU THOUGHT. You were already of advanced age for women who conceive. And certainly, your body had not shown such signs to lead to that conclusion whatsoever. You had known your body well, better than most women were allowed to. Years of careful herbs, of regular rituals, of making sure nothing ever took root.
Ryomen Sukuna did not demand children from you. In truth, he had never mentioned the desire again after Chiharu’s birth. That girl, born from a long-forgotten woman whose name no one said anymore, had been enough.
A legacy. A singular bloodline. You had assumed he would not want more. And so you had guarded yourself. And yet, here you were, sitting there in a daze as the servants of the physician fussed over you.
The physician had stammered through the diagnosis, hands shaking, forehead beaded with sweat. No one liked delivering news to you. You were quiet, and quiet women in the Vermillion Hall were always the most dangerous.
“Are you certain?” you asked the servant once again. Not angry. Not afraid. Just… stunned.
“I checked twice, my lady.” she said, nodding at you. “The signs are clear. You are with a child.”
You had dismissed her then, sending her scurrying from the chamber like a rat too close to flame. You sat alone for a long time afterward, one hand over your abdomen, unsure whether to feel wonder or dread.
It was impossible.
And yet, your body betrayed you. In all the tender ways you hadn’t noticed until now. A certain heaviness. Nausea in the mornings. Exhaustion that clung to your limbs like lead. You thought it had been due to the stress.
You were after all always busy, despite all the rest that could have been provided for you. The harem. The tributes. The servants. And most of all, the late nights with Chiharu. Sukuna’s demands and his desires.
But it was not stressful.
It was life. And it was yours.
And then the whispers began.
They slithered through the halls like smoke. You could not walk through the ghastly eastern wing without hearing them. Women huddled near the fountains, fanning themselves with silks, voices dripping with venom.
“A child, after all this time?”
“She thinks this will keep her in favor.”
“He’ll toss the babe into the pits like the rest. Watch.”
You stopped in your tracks the first time you heard it. The pits. You could feel your heart thumping harshly against your chest, worry blossoming in every part of you. How could you forget about the pits?
At first, you thought they were joking. Cruel, bitter gossip. You had grown used to it. But then you heard it again. From servants. From a guard. From a nurse who had once helped you wash Chiharu’s linens.
“Lord Sukuna’s children must prove themselves in blood.”
“No names. No claim. Just the ring and the crowd.”
“They call it the proof of lineage. Survival shows that.”
“Hehhh, but not many survive, no? Last year, only three did.”
Your blood ran cold. You had never seen the fighting pits. Sukuna did not bring you there. His children with the other concubines were not considered to be anything at all. Not noble enough, nor enough to be considered as beloved children of his.
You existed in his halls, in his chambers, in the softer places. Not where the screams echoed from stone and bone cracked beneath steel. But now, you were being told your child, his child, would be sent there. Like the others.
You cornered that same nurse that night. You quickly pulled her into your chamber and locked the door behind you. “Tell me what you meant.” you said.
“My lady—”
You caught her arm as she bowed to leave. “Tell me the truth.”
The maid paled, her eyes darting toward the doors, as if afraid someone might be listening. “My lady, I… I don’t think—”
“Tell me now. I ordered it. I command it. Tell me!” You said, voice lower now, sharper.
She swallowed hard. Her fingers trembled as she clutched her sleeves. “It is not my place—”
“It is mine, it is my will and my place to ask it of you.” you cut in. “Now speak.”
A long silence. Then, in a voice barely louder than a breath, she did. “…Not all of the children born to the lower concubines are raised within the court.”
Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“They’re not taught the ways of poetry, or speech, or law or whatever else that a noble blood does, like Lady Chiharu is. They are not groomed for favor.”
“Then what becomes of them?”
She hesitated. “When they’re old enough to walk…to hold a blade…they are taken.”
“Taken where?”
“To the belly of the palace. Below the servants’ quarters. Below the stores. Into the pits.”
You felt your blood go cold. “The training grounds?”
She shook her head. “No, my lady. Not training. Not like the noble houses train their heirs. This is…something else.”
“Explain.”
“They fight, over and over again. Until my lord is satisfied.” she said, voice cracking. “They’re made to fight. To bleed. To kill, if they can. Sometimes to the death, or just close enough. They are trained like animals. Conditioned until they forget who they were born from.”
Your stomach turned. “Why?”
“Because the lord does not need more mouths.” she said. “He needs soldiers. Beasts. Creatures of the blade. For the Ryomen.”
You stared at her, horror blooming in your chest. “And the ones who cannot…?”
She looked away. “They disappear.”
“…Disappear?”
“Some say they die in the pits. Others say they’re taken deeper still, into chambers no servant dares step into.”
You clenched your fists. “And my lord husband?”
The maid's lips quivered. “There’s a rumor, my lady. One I’ve heard more than once.”
“Speak it.”
“They say…” she hesitated, eyes wide. “They say…that when a child is deemed too weak, too broken to be of use… the lord consumes them. He…He does so along with their mother. He says….He says he has no place for the weak.”
The silence after was deafening as you stood there, the words still not registering as they should. You stared at her, unable to speak at all. You let go of her and nearly stumbled as you looked to the ground. You could finally feel the weight of her words slowly sinking into your bones.
She dropped to her knees. “Forgive me. I should not have spoken. But you asked.”
You didn’t answer her at all. You couldn’t. Not like this. Because somewhere deep within you, beneath the rage, beneath the fear, you already knew. And it makes your blood run colder than ice.
“Why?” you asked, breath thin.
“It’s the only way to be acknowledged, my lady.” the nurse whispered. “They say… they say if one survives ten matches, they earn the right to claim his blood. To wear his name and mayhaps even the Ryomen crest.”
And just like that, everything inside you went quiet. Your hand fell once more to your stomach. Your belly was still flat, still untouched by time and you felt something cold take root. This child was not a blessing. Not yet. Not here.
You had not asked for this to happen. But now, you had to choose what it would become. Would you let Sukuna know? Would you give this child a name or hide them until you could protect them?
You looked out the high window of your chamber, past the temple roofs and into the black sky beyond. Your lord husband was a god. But you were the only thing in his house that endured by choice.
And if the day came when your child was dragged to those pits….Then by your hand, by your will, by your blood, you know that would walk back out alive. You would make sure of that, even if it was your blood that spilled.
YOUR HUSBAND CAME TO VISIT YOU ONCE AGAIN. You sighed as you could feel the nausea take over. But you did not let him notice it. You drink the mint water your servant had gathered for you in one swing.
Your lord husband moves about as silent as dusk, deliberate as a blade as he looked about your chambers. No guards announced him. No servants lingered. When Ryomen Sukuna moved, the world simply parted.
You were in your chamber this time, Chiharu was in her lessons. With that, you found yourself enjoying the quiet that surrounded the Vermillion Hall at this moment, just resting your head. The sight of tender nature had allowed you to find some relief after all that had transpired in these many weeks.
You were seated by the open window where the breeze was gentler, the world quieter. A book lay open on your lap, unread. Your fingers rested absently on your stomach, where something small and unknown was beginning to grow inside you.
He stood behind you without speaking, a shadow cast across the lacquered floor. You didn’t turn. "You’ve gained weight, little one." he said, voice low and neutral. Not mocking. Not concerned. Just… observant.
You closed the book. "The physician says it means the pregnancy is progressing well."
He didn’t respond immediately. He stepped forward, past you, toward the incense burner near the window. His scarlet eyes skimmed the garden below, where the moonlight curled over stone lanterns and quiet koi ponds.
"Your skin is paler as well." he murmured, his four eyes observing you all at once. "You’re eating less."
You tilted your head, amused despite yourself. "So you do notice."
Another silence. Then he snickers. "I notice everything I own here, little one. More so now that there are two of them."
A familiar sting, duller than before. You had long stopped expecting tenderness. This, in his own way of showing his concern. He would not hold you when you were ill. Nor when you were still getting settled in this pregnancy.
But he would notice when your steps slowed. When your appetite faltered. When your body changed beneath his name. You set the book aside and rose from your seat, stepping to the table where the tea had gone cold.
“You’ve been to the fighting pits of your many children recently, haven’t you?” you said, the words deliberate as you poured him a cup of tea anyway, steady hands masking the roiling in your chest.
Ryomen Sukuna glanced at you from where he lounged, his red eyes flashing with a glint of amusement. He took the cup, long fingers brushing yours with no care for how you stiffened. You purse your lips.
“And who,” he drawled, “has told you of such information you were not allowed to be privy to?”
“Does this matter, my lord?”
He hummed, swirling the tea in the porcelain. “Hm… I suppose not.”
A beat passed. Then, as if you’d merely asked what the weather was like, he added, “I have, yes.”
You kept your gaze trained on his hand, not on his face. His thumb idly traced the rim of the cup. “And what has my lord found there?”
“There’s a promising one from the southern wing, little one. It had intrigued me.” he said, lips curling into a crooked smile that unsettled something deep within you. “Barely ten. But fast. Cunning. Not afraid to draw blood.”
You swallowed hard. Something lodged in your throat. You wondered what it was. Was it truly grief, or rage, or something worse? You didn’t want to know. Not right now, not in front of him. You set the teapot down, more harshly than you intended.
“Do they all go?” you asked quietly. The words felt like glass against your tongue.
He took a long sip, savoring it. “Eventually.”
“Even the girls?”
“If they’re strong.”
“And if they’re not?” you pressed, your voice tight.
He shrugged with all the callous grace of a god used to blood on his altar. “Then they die.”
You stared at him, heart thudding in your chest, your hands cold against the wood of the table. “They’re your children.”
“They’re my offspring.” he corrected. “Only those who survive are worthy of the rest.”
You felt as if the air had been pulled from your lungs. “How many have you watched die?” you whispered.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. That same twisted smile played on his lips again, but his gaze was somewhere else now. Perhaps beneath the stone floors, in those damp, echoing corridors where blood soaked into the earth and children cried in silence.
“I take back what is weak.” he said, more to himself than to you. “What I give, I may unmake.”
“And Chiharu?” you asked, unable to stop yourself. “Would you ever send her there?”
That made him pause. His smile faltered but only slightly. He did not expect such a question from you. “No.” he said after a moment. “She has a different fate.”
You exhaled, shaking. “Then let the others go.”
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “Would you mother all of them, little one?” he murmured. “Even the ones with blood still wet on their hands? Even the ones who would slit your throat if I told them to?”
“If it meant they could choose a different life, my lord….” you said, meeting his gaze. “Then yes.”
Sukuna’s expression darkened. It was just a flicker but he said nothing more. He drank his tea in silence, and you sat across from him, your nails digging into your palm beneath the table, pretending that you had not just glimpsed the cruelty beneath the crown.
Pretending you could unsee it. Pretending your voice might still matter. And you both said nothing for a very, very long time. The room was too still, too quiet. And you hated it. Somewhere, far off, a bird cried into the night.
"She’s never fought." Sukuna retorted first. “She never will. You have my word.”
You nodded slowly. You already knew. You had always known. But hearing it aloud gave the truth a shape. A weight. "Because she is hers, my lord." you said. "Because she is Hiromi’s."
You watched his jaw flex. Just once. Just barely. He said nothing. He didn’t have to. Everyone knew the story. Ryomen Hiromi, the girl who had dared to soften a demon. His human life’s greatest contradiction. Beautiful. Stubborn. Brave.
He had torn through kingdoms for her. Some whispered he had killed a god when she died. No one knew the truth. But they knew that when she vanished from the world, so did the last piece of warmth in him.
Ryomen Chiharu was what remained. The only untouched thing in a palace of cruelty and calculation. You had raised her because he could not, not without remembering. But she had never gone hungry. Never trained with a blade. Never bled in the pits.
She was his heir, whether or not he named her. And your child….What would your child be, when the child would not be as loved as Chiharu? What would become of this life that grows in your belly?
You didn’t want to think about it anymore. The thoughts you had were too much. It has made you nauseous and anxious. You reached down, resting both hands on your belly now. To calm yourself.
It was still too soon to feel anything.
Just a pulse, a presence.
Something new. Something terrifying.
"Will this one…..in my belly…..Will you force the babe to fight?" you asked.
His eyes shifted to you now. All four of them. The upper pair is unreadable. The lower ones are sharp, narrowing slightly. "You fear for it." he said, not unkindly. Just knowingly.
"I do."
"Even now, you forget what kind of man I am."
"No, my lord." you said, your voice firm, soft. "I remember exactly what kind of man you are. That’s why I’m asking."
A long pause. And then he said, almost lazily. "If it is strong, it will survive. And if it is weak, then there is something simple to conclude." he raised a hand, flicking it once, as if scattering ash. "Then it was never mine to begin with."
The words settled into you like cold iron. You looked down at your belly again, thumb tracing over the silk of your robe. You thought of your child. Not as a soldier. Not as a piece in his horrible games.
But as something small and innocent. Unformed. Untouched by cruelty. Something that had only just begun to become real. And in that moment, you made a quiet vow. Not aloud, not for him, but to yourself.
This child will not be a weapon.
Not like the others. Not like the boys who died screaming in the dark. If Ryomen Sukuna would not protect them…Then you would. With your voice. With your mind. With every ounce of your cunning.
Even if it meant becoming something he did not expect. Even if it meant standing against the only man this world feared. Because for the first time in your long, quiet life in his shadow, you were not surviving for yourself. You were surviving for someone else.
He watched you as you stood there, cradling the curve of your still-soft belly with the kind of tenderness this palace had long forgotten. There was no arrogance in his gaze, no warmth either. Only a kind of sharp interest, like a scholar observing a rare creature under glass.
Then, slowly, Sukuna said, “The way you carry it.”
You looked up to meet his gaze, eyes nearing watering from your concerns and worries. He gestured vaguely toward your stomach with two of his hands, the other two folded loosely across his chest.
“There is stability in your energy. No tearing. No corruption. The cursed energy around your body is already shifting. Almost as though adapting to shield something…..stronger.”
You didn’t speak. You barely breathed in that moment. He stepped closer, and your every instinct flared like a warning bell. But you stood your ground. He looked at you, no, at the space beneath your ribs.
As though he could already see the child growing inside you, as though he already knew them before they had been birthed into the world. Not as a parent. Not as a man. But as a predator recognizing a future rival. Or perhaps, a legacy.
“I suspect it will be born steeped in it, little one.” he said quietly. “Cursed energy so thick it won't need training. Its blood will know.”
Your hand moved protectively over your stomach again, and he noticed it. A flicker passed through his expression, not offense. Not approval. Just… observation. He takes a breath as he meets your eyes again.
“And if that is the case….then it will be done.” he continued his words. “I will make an exception.”
You blinked at his words, stunned. “An exception?”
He smiled at you. It wasn’t kind, you don’t ever think he would ever look at you kindly. It was never kind. But it was the closest thing to indulgence Ryomen Sukuna ever gave. He nodded at your words.
“Yes, little one.” he said, almost tenderly. “The powerful do not always need to prove they are powerful. What is the point of breaking something that already belongs to me?”
You stared at him, the words sinking in slowly. Breaking something that already belongs to me. That was what he saw your child as. He did not see a young one who will grow into a person, he did not see the child as a miracle.
No, he saw your babe as his possession. A piece of his world. An extension of his legacy. But still….it was something in you that was hoping. A window of hope. A sliver of space where he might keep this child safe with you together.
“Then the fighting pits—” you began, cautiously.
“—will not be necessary, no.” he said, his tone final. “Unless the child asks for them.”
You couldn’t help the bitter twist of your lips. “What child asks for blood?”
He turned from you then, walking back toward the window, his silhouette again swallowed in the moonlight. “Mine might, little one…..never underestimate the child of a god.”
And the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. You stood there, hand still resting on your stomach, unsure if you had just been granted mercy or marked. He would not kill this child. You know that now.
Not if it was strong. Not if it inherited enough of him to be useful, fearsome, adored. But anything less, anything soft, then it would be forgotten. Or worse. And you don’t want the option that called for that.
You looked down again, at the curve of your belly. Still small. Still harmless. You would remember every word he said. And every word he did not say. Because whether this child was strong or weak you would never let them believe they had to earn the right to live.
Not in blood.
Not in chains.
Not in his name.
Not while you still breathed.
You would do it, for your Chizuru.
THE SUMMONS CAME JUST BEFORE DAWN. It was delivered not by a trembling maid or whispered messenger, but by Ryomen Sukuna himself. He entered your chamber without knocking or announcing his presence.
As always, his presence fills the space like the overwhelming essence of smoke. You had just risen, your robes still loosely tied, your hair half-combed. One hand instinctively went to your stomach, now round and heavy, aching with the weight of life growing inside.
He didn’t look at your discomfort. He looked at your face. “There will be a gathering, little one. You will attend.”
You blinked. “Today?”
He nodded once, already turning away. “Wear red. With the clematis blossoms.”
And then he was gone. No explanation. No invitation. Just a command, as sharp and immovable as stone. By midday, the audience hall was alive with sound and tension. The rest of the court had not gathered like this in weeks, perhaps months.
Too many had grown restless in his silence, whispering behind folding fans and rice-paper doors, wondering where his attention had gone. Wondering if the rumors were true that you, the quiet one, had conceived what others could not.
Now they would see for themselves. The walk to the main hall was slow. The weight of the child made every step deliberate. All of the servants kept a respectful distance, but their eyes followed you as your own retinue did.
You could feel them cataloging your form with everything in them. They could see it all. The curve of your belly, the flush of your cheeks, the way your hand braced against the small of your back like you were holding up the moon itself.
You wore red on your body and red clematis blossoms in your hair, as your lord husband commanded. It was as he liked, the shade of iron and victory. The color of Ryomen Sukuna’s godhood. It wrapped around you like a flame. Even now, swollen and heavy, you carried yourself like a blade sheathed in silk.
When the massive doors opened wide, the sound shifted all of a sudden. All of the conversations slowly trickled down and dipped. Obediently, the heads turned with eager anticipation.
The rest of the women of the harem were already assembled, scattered like bright jewels across the lower tiers. Some kneeling, some seated in silence, others whispering behind delicate sleeves. Their eyes snapped to you like wolves scenting blood.
And further in, the deep circles of this cursed god’s court. His followers, then his cursed users, loyal Ryomen sorcerers, battle hardened generals, old-money retainers with hollow smiles and paper-thin loyalties.
They bowed their heads at your entrance, but you could feel the tightness behind their gazes. The calculation.You had always been a curiosity. But now? You were something more dangerous. Something unexplainable.
Ryomen Sukuna sat at the highest dais, on a throne carved of obsidian and bone, his robes falling in heavy, layered folds. Four eyes locked on you as you approached, the faintest tilt of his chin acknowledging your arrival. He did not smile. He didn’t have to.
You climbed the steps slowly, with great pain. But you were eager to make a statement and to do it deliberately despite the pain. Your hand on your prominent belly was a proclamation with every breath. When you reached the final platform, he rose.
“She comes bearing what none of you could, all of you.” he said, voice calm and clear, loud enough to ripple through the entire hall. “A strong child of my blood. My second heir, second to Chiharu, perhaps. My retribution, certainly.”
The audience hall fell utterly silent. You kept your face impassive. A thousand eyes were on you. A thousand judgments forming in their minds. You could feel the weight of envy, awe, and unease swirl like smoke around your feet.
Ryomen Sukuna turned to you, addressing the crowd as though you were no more than a symbol. It was a statue he had raised from the ground up to prove a point. You purse your lips at him.
“She has carried it with strength. Without complaint. And she stands here today not for spectacle…” His gaze drifted over the court, burning. “But because power should be seen.”
And then, quieter, only for you. “Stand still.”
You did. He placed a single hand, his upper right, against your belly. Not tenderly. But not cruelly either. A gesture not of affection, but of claim. A claim of a god who seeks to have more and more to satiate his greed for authority.
“Let them see what I’ve made.” he said.
Gasps rippled below. You did not lower your gaze. The rest of the harem watched with twisted faces, some masking loathing, others awe. The courtiers murmured softly behind fans and sleeves. Someone whispered the word miracle.
But you, you stood there, stone and flesh. Carrying a god’s child. Enduring a court of knives.And you thought, not for the first time: This is not power, not one bit. This is survival dressed in blood red.
Still, you held your head high.
Because though this child was his.
Your child would be secured and safe.
Dinner commenced in a practiced silence, the kind that comes not from peace, but fear. The long tables were lined with delicacies most of the kingdom would never taste. The scent of lacquered meat and spiced rice hung heavy in the air.
Servants moved like shadows, heads bowed low, sleeves drawn high. Goblets of dark wine glittered like rubies in the candlelight. You had been given a seat near Sukuna’s left hand. Not beside him.
No one sat beside him, that was what had been introduced as the etiquette. But certainly, you were closer than any other woman had been allowed. Even now, as the weight of your unborn child slowed your every motion, your presence in that seat was a signal.
She is the chosen. She bears what none of you could.
One of the harem women was called forward. Her name did not matter. Her face was familiar, though. She was pretty, sharp-eyed, lips always pulled into a half-smile when she thought no one was watching.
You remembered her from the bathhouse, when you first came here. She was the one who always spoke just loud enough for her bitterness to echo off the tiles. She knelt before you now with practiced grace, lifting a silver carafe to fill your cup.
You held her gaze for a moment. She did not bow as deeply as she should have. Her hands were steady but her eyes were too calm. The wine poured. You reached for the goblet. Sukuna’s voice sliced through the hum of the hall like a drawn blade.
“Don’t drink that, little one.”
Everything is still in the echo of his voice across the hall. You froze mid-motion. The woman beside you didn’t move. Ryomen Sukuna's eyes were fixed on her, flat and unreadable.
“Drink it yourself.” he said, tone light.
The woman’s head snapped toward him. “My lord—”
“Drink it.” His voice was calm, but the weight of it struck like thunder.
No one disobeyed him twice. She hesitated. Just a blink too long. Sukuna’s lower right hand flexed, tapping against his thigh like a man debating which vein to cut first. Then, with trembling fingers, she lifted the goblet to her lips and drank.
A heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
And then she seized.
It happened fast. Her body jerking backward, eyes rolling white, a gurgling gasp escaping her throat. Her limbs spasmed violently, and she collapsed against the polished floor, blood streaming from her nose and mouth.
The goblet clattered beside her, crimson splashing like spilled ink across the marble. The court erupted into chaos. Cries rose up. Some stood in panic. Others clutched their robes. The more experienced courtiers remained still, composed, watching with narrowed eyes.
The rest of the women within the harem had all but recoiled. Some gasped, others wept, a few simply bowed their heads lower, trying not to breathe. Sukuna did not stand. He did not raise his voice. But when he spoke again, the room fell back into silence.
“She thought herself clever, don’t you think?” he said, his gaze fixed coldly on the crumpled form. “But she was not clever enough to know I always see what is mine.”
He turned his head, scarlet eyes now falling on the rest of the harem, then the gathered court. His tone deepened and heaved. It was not angry. No, it was worse than that. They could see it. Disappointed.
“Let this remind you, all of you.” he said, firmly. “Favor is not won through poison. It is won through endurance.”
And then, quietly, almost to himself: “She could have lived long, if she had known that.”
He looked at you next. All four eyes locked with yours. You said nothing. You did not tremble. You did not weep. You lifted your hand and pushed the untouched goblet away from you. You watched it as it fell onto the mangled corpse.
Your lord husband gave the smallest nod in return. It was approval, perhaps. Or something else. Something more ancient. The look of a god watching his altar burn, only to see which stones still held. Then he looked to the guards.
“Remove her.”
The body was dragged from the hall, leaving a wet, red trail behind. No one dared speak of her name again. Nor think of her. Everything went back to normal once again. As if nothing had happened.
But the glare of the god looked beyond his play things and observed them all. The rest of the god’s court continued their evening and they understood, in that moment, what you had already known.
That power did not come from beauty.
Or cleverness. Or even blood.
It came from being chosen.
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED BEGAN TO UNRAVEL LITTLE BY LITTLE. What began as one act of betrayal bloomed into a web of fear, tightening around your throat with every sunrise. You could not eat without suspicion. You could not sleep without waking in a cold sweat, heart thudding like a warning drum in your ribs.
Ryomen Sukuna did not speak of it again. Not directly. He did not need to. In the morning after the failed poisoning, new guards were posted outside your chambers to replace the ones you already had,
They were not ordinary soldiers, but cursed users, the worst of the worst. They were marked by the darkness of jujutsu and loyalty they have to Ryomen Sukuna, so absolute it bordered on madness. They were silent, unblinking, terrifying in their stillness. They will die if they must.
Sukuna sent you more staff to serve your comforts. Two food tasters were assigned to you, then four. All were selected personally by Sukuna himself. They were all trusted. And they were all trained in poisons and potions.
And yet…they died. One by one. A bowl of soup was sent, one was dead within the hour. A bite of plum, it led to horrible deathly convulsions. A sip of morning tea, that led to the poor man to have his eyes turn glassy and foam at the mouth.
Each death is more precise than the last. Each poison is more sophisticated than the first. No pattern. No clear source. The court healers could not trace it. The curses used were subtle, ancient, refined.
You watched them die. You listened to them die. And each time, you were left untouched. Each time, the cup would be yanked from your hands, the dish dashed to the floor before you could taste even a drop.
The meals were never the same, as expected in a god’s household. Every tray that entered your rooms came under scrutiny. The servants who prepared them were stripped, examined, interrogated. And still, it happened again.
And again.
And again.
Ryomen Chiharu, bright-eyed and barefoot, finally recovered from her fevers. So, with the weather being warm and bright, she had insisted on going into the gardens to play. That you had allowed.
The young girl had once run laughing through the east gardens, chasing butterflies in the morning and fireflies beneath lantern light by night. She had been so happy about that. But now she pouts, distraught.
Chiharu sat by your bedside in silence, her drawing papers untouched, her small hands folded in her lap. Sukuna had ordered her confined indoors until further notice. Too dangerous, he said. Too many eyes.
She didn’t ask questions, but she did act childishly. In some ways, she did understand. She wasn’t a child in the ordinary sense of children her age. Not when she had grown up under his roof. But even now she looks smaller. Paler. As if your fear had begun to pass into her like a fever.
You tried to eat. You tried to drink. But every bite felt like a dare. Every cup, a coin tossed toward death. You grew weaker day by day. You could feel it. Your hands, once steady, began to tremble.
You woke with cold sweats in the night, sheets twisted around your body, fingers clawed at your womb as if to guard the child still growing there. Your reflection startled you. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. A woman hollowed out by waiting. Waiting for someone else to die in your place.
Your lord husband visited, but rarely now. When he did, his presence was cold. Distant. Protective, yes, but not gentle. He isn’t that. He did not touch you. He observed you. Like a war general appraising a battlefield already drenched in blood.
“Eat, little one.” he said once, placing a new bowl in front of you.
You stared at it. “You’ve assigned eight tasters in the last five days, my lord.”
He said nothing. You sighed. “They all died.”
Still, nothing. You looked up at him then, eyes glassy, voice shaking but low. “Will you keep feeding me death until I learn to chew it with grace?”
His gaze sharpened at that, not with rage, but with…recognition. You had never spoken to him like that. Not since the earliest years. He didn’t answer. Instead, he took the bowl, sniffed it once, then gestured toward one of the servants.
Another taster stepped forward, wordless. Within moments, he collapsed with a loud thud. HIs blood flowed everywhere, even from the nose. Silent. Efficient. You did not flinch. You simply sat back and closed your eyes.
The child within you still kicked, soft as a whisper. A reminder. You took a breath. You were not allowed to break. Not yet. Not while your body was a battleground. And so you endured, shrinking in frame but sharpening in will.
The war had already begun.
And no longer was it just his palace.
It was your cage, your crucible.
And soon, perhaps…your retribution.
By the end of the week, your skin had grown translucent. You could see the faint tracing of veins at your wrists, the hollow under your cheekbones deepening like bruises. Your lips cracked when you tried to speak, your voice no longer carrying the sharp steel it once had.
But you were still breathing. The child growing inside of you, impossibly, thrived. The healers who dared examine you, those who Sukuna trusted to touch his blood had said that your womb was “resilient.”
They whisper so many things in your ears. That the cursed energy protecting the fetus was unnatural in strength. That even as you wasted away, the child inside you pulsed with power, like a flame burning through fog.
You hated them for calling it a miracle. You could barely keep water down.You flinched at every clatter of porcelain, with the food you could not take down or eat. You were miserable about it all.
But you were made miserable even further when Chiharu was to no longer stay in your rooms. Sukuna had ordered that she be moved to a quieter wing of the Vermillion Hall, guarded night and day. He said it was needed, to keep both of you safe. But you did not believe him. Instead, you think he just wished for your misery to continue.
She cried over and over again.
You told her it was for her safety.
But you wept the first night she was gone.
You had never felt alone in this palace until then.
When Ryomen Sukuna returned to see you, it was unannounced, as always. He found you reclining near the brazier, wrapped in three layers of crimson and grey silk. You looked like a corpse prepared for burial. All pale, regal, silent.
He stood over you, unmoved by your condition. But there was something in his eyes. There was a twitch of narrowed focus, something calculating. You had known him long enough to recognize it. He was not unfeeling. He was measuring.
“You should be stronger than this, little one.” he said flatly. “Are you truly to be defeated by such weak fools?”
You smiled, dry and brittle. “You keep feeding me corpses, my lord. Forgive me if I can’t find the strength to thrive.”
He said nothing. You turned your head away, the movement exhausting. “Are you disappointed? That I can’t protect myself better? That I’m not whatever weapon you imagined I’d be when you put this child in me?”
Silence. You sighed as he looked at you. “You are still alive. That is all that matters.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “Barely.”
“Barely is more than enough.” he said, and walked to the window. “Do you think the world will be kind to our child if you fall? Do you think it will matter how much you loved it, if it is born with no one to wield its name?”
You stared at his back. “I think that I’m the only one who doesn’t want to raise it for war.”
At that, he turned. His eyes, all four of them, narrowed on you. “You think I want war?” he asked, voice soft and dangerous.
“No, my lord.” you whispered. “I think you are war itself.”
The tension between you thickened, heavy and breathless. He did not move. Neither did you. And then, to your surprise, your husband went ahead and spoke again in a low tone. But he was not cruel.
“I have narrowed the suspects.”
You blinked. “The poisoner……They will be handled.”
You didn’t ask how. You didn’t ask who. Because in Ryomen Sukuna’s little world, the word handled never meant punished. It meant destroyed. You looked down at your hands, so thin, so strange now.
“And how many more will die before I’m safe again?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, and placed a small stone amulet beside your bed. It was an intricately carved stone, you can tell it was dark jade. The amulet was pulsing faintly with cursed energy. As though trying to signal protection for you and the babe.
“This will warn you, little one.” he said, looking at the stone. “Before the poison reaches your mouth.”
You stared at it. “You could’ve given this to me days ago.”
His mouth twitched. “I wanted to see what would break you.”
You let the silence stretch. “You are a cruel man, my lord.”
He leaned down, voice close to your ear. “Cruelty keeps the weak out of the cradle. You are still in it. Which means you are not weak.”
And just like that, you watched as he left again. You stared after him, heart hollow and aching, hand resting on your belly. The amulet pulsed beside you like a second heartbeat. You did not know who wanted you dead.
But you knew now, whoever they were, they feared what you carried. And perhaps, they should. Because despite everything, despite the hunger and the grief and the slow crawl of despair, you still lived.
And if you lived long enough to give birth, you would not just be the bearer of a god’s child. You would be the mother of something greater. And that would make you dangerous. That made you someone to trifle with.
Ryomen Sukuna chose well.
YOU WERE FEELING ILL WHEN THEY CAME TO YOU. There were servants going in and out of every hall, every chamber, every crevice of the temple grounds. Your husband had called all to be summoned once more, to gather as soon as possible.
A tolling of the war bells, low and thunderous, echoing across the halls like the voice of something ancient and pitiless. You were already awake, as you often were now, unable to sleep through the weight of fear and hunger and the ever-present ache of your body as it tried to carry the impossible to term.
Ryomen Sukuna arrived before the sun had fully risen, dressed in ceremonial crimson, trimmed in bone-white, his four arms folded behind his back. His fuschia hair was loose, wild, like he had come from battle or was heading toward it.
“Come, little one.” he said.
You blinked up at him from your couch, brows furrowed. “Where?”
He didn’t answer, only gestured toward the silks you were to wear. Red again. Blood-bright. Hair adorned with bright scarlet clematis flowers. He waited as your attendants dressed you slowly, careful of your growing belly.
When you were ready, he offered you a hand. You knew that he did that not to help, not in kindness, but as a king might offer a blade to his general. You purse your lips as your palm rested on your belly.
When you stepped outside, the massive halls were already alive with whispers and trembling feet. The guards wore their war masks, their spears and swords at the ready. The air smelled of incense and metal.
You followed him across the palace grounds, the early sun catching in the stones of the courtyard, making them glow like old fire. The main courtyard was vast and sacred. This was the place where declarations were made and blood had often followed.
You had not stood upon its dais since the day your belly first showed. But he wanted you to be there, to always be by his side. More so now than ever before, looking at everyone around you like ants to a god.
Your lord husband guided you there, hand never once touching yours, but his presence wrapping around you like a noose. You turned to him as the crowds began to gather. The harem, the court, the servants, all of them silent, stiff with dread.
“What is this, my lord?” you asked.
Sukuna did not look at you. “Sit.”
You sat beside him, heart pounding, breath shallow. The stone beneath you was cool. The silk of your robes suddenly felt like a shroud. Uraume stepped forward then, robes pristine, expression serene but their voice, when it rang out, carried the sound of judgment.
“All are gathered by decree of the master and lord of Hida, the rightful heir of the Ryomen Clan, lord Ryomen Sukuna.”
The courtyard was still. The children were being led into the courtyard. For a moment, you counted nearly two dozen, some older, some still young enough to clutch at their nursemaids’ sleeves, confused and afraid. Chiharu was not among them. Of course not.
Uraume continued. “There has been betrayal within the harem. Against our lord and master.”
A wave of whispers followed. “Poison. Death. Treachery from within. Master Sukuna has shown restraint. He has waited. He has given time for confession. For repentance.”
Your hands clutched your robes. Your heart turned to stone. “But none have confessed. And none of their servants, even under torture, have revealed a culprit. That silence, that arrogance, is a defiance of our master’s will.”
You turned toward Sukuna, lips parting. “What is this, my lord?”
He still did not look at you. Uraume’s voice did not waver.
“Therefore, all children of the concubines — save for Lady Chiharu and the one in lady [name]’s belly— will fight to the death today.”
The resounding gasp that rose from the women of the harem was a howl stifled behind silk. Some women surged forward, only to be caught by guards. Others crumpled where they stood. You could not breathe. You looked at the children, many of whom did not yet understand.
“They will fight as their mothers have refused to speak. And when they fall, that shall be followed by consequence.” Uraume said, eyes glittering cold. “Their lady mothers will fall with them.”
Your mouth went dry. “My lord, this is not—” you whispered, half-standing.
His hand rested on your arm, heavy, still. “Silence.”
“They are children, my lord. You cannot let them answer for their mother’s crimes.” you hissed, voice shaking.
He turned to you then, at last. His eyes were clear and calm. Yet all too grim. “They are blood. If their mothers will not bleed for me, then they will. The traitor lies among them. Let the curse reveal itself in the screams.”
You stared at him, heart in your throat, nausea rising. You could not breathe. You were panicking, shaking beyond what you could calm. You shake your head as you stare at the children looking frantically for their mothers.
“And their bodies,as is customary,” Uraume said, lowering their voice now, almost reverently, “will be consumed by our master and lord, as is his right. Their sins, their fear, their blood, all of it will return to him, as fuel.”
The sobbing had begun now. The sound of women breaking apart, restrained by masked guards as their sons and daughters were dragged into the center of the courtyard. The cries got louder but Sukuna did not stop it all. He let them continue.
The blades were handed out.
One to each child. No armor. No rules.
Only a single command Survive.
You watched as a boy no older than ten clutched the hilt of a dagger too big for his hand. He was shaking as he held it. Another child, a girl barely out of toddlerhood, looked around in terror before bursting into tears.
“My lord, this is enough punishment. Tell them all to stop. This is…..” you whispered again. “Please.”
He said nothing. He only watched. And then the horns blew. The courtyard floor was stained red. And you sat on the dais, beside a god, carrying his heir, as children killed and died beneath your feet.
You could not look away. The horns rang out again, and the children moved. They were hesitant at first, bewildered, frightened. Some dropped their weapons. Others looked around for their mothers, screaming for help. No help came.
And then the blood began to flow. The first death was an accident. A boy shoved too hard, his neck striking the edge of a stone as he fell. His little body went limp instantly, arms twitching once before going still.
His mother let out a sound so raw it didn’t even sound human. She lunged forward, trying to run, but the guards caught her before she reached the fighting circle. She didn’t beg. She didn’t scream again.
She just kept repeating his name. Sukuna didn’t even blink. Uraume, calm as always, lifted a hand. The woman’s head was taken cleanly from her shoulders. Her body remained uselessly crumpled beside the dais.
You sat there frozen in the horrors you felt and seen. Nausea kept coming back over and over again. But you try to not let it take over you. This was horrible, beyond words could ever describe.
Your belly heavy with life, your body thin with starvation and dread, and still, you were made to watch. By the god who is excited about his playthings suffering. One by one, the children began to fight.
It was awkward. Many were clumsy. Many were terrified and screaming. Some blatantly refused. Some tried to run. Sukuna allowed it. He even encouraged it. Because even flight was a kind of strength. But flight meant failure. And failure meant death.
One girl, small but fierce, managed to disarm another much bigger than her with surprising speed. She didn’t hesitate. She slashed the boy’s throat open and stood panting, soaked in blood. Her mother wept into her own robes, but was not killed. Not yet.
Another child refused to lift his weapon. He dropped it and wept on his knees. A larger boy ran him through, face twisted in something like panic. A scream rose up from the harem, followed by the sound of steel cutting flesh.
Another body fell beside the dais. You couldn’t breathe. Your child kicked hard over and over again. More violently each and every time.. As if it too felt the terror in your chest. Your hand clutched your belly instinctively, protectively.
Sukuna’s voice, low and even, broke through the horror. “This is mercy.”
You turned toward him, shaking. “Mercy?”
“They die for their mothers’ silence. For their cowardice. If they cannot birth loyalty, they will birth nothing at all. Nothing but deceit. Nothing but weakness.”
“They’re children, my lord.” you whispered, distress becoming more evident than ever. “They don’t even know why they’re fighting.”
He glanced at you. “Neither did I. When I was their age.”
You stared at him, horrified. “This is what is necessary, little one.” he said, gesturing to the massacre below. “This is how gods are forged. Or broken.”
The last two children still stood. One boy, taller, older, bloodied but unbowed. And a girl with wide eyes, blade shaking in her hands. He could’ve ended it here and then. Quickly. He didn’t. He circled her.
Your breath caught. She lunged and he caught her blade with his hand. Then, slowly, he drove his own knife into her side. The crowd didn’t cheer. There was no victory here. Not when the blood river flowed ceaselessly.
There was only silence in the end. And the soft thud of her body hitting the courtyard stones. The boy stood alone, chest heaving. Ryomen Sukuna leaned forward, his scarlet eyes narrowing.
“Uraume.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“Spare the last one.”
“Shall we keep his mother?”
He paused. His eyes flicked briefly to the harem, to the woman who had sunk to her knees in relief. Then to the boy. “She lives.”
Another pause. “For now.”
The guards stepped forward. The survivors, the mother and son, were quickly collected. The dead were dragged away. Some still twitch, staining the white of the courtyard steps. Later, they would be consumed by your husband.
You turned to him, eyes burning, voice barely a whisper. “How could you do this?”
He looked at you, really looked at you. “I will not allow another to strike at you while hiding behind silk and silence. If I must burn my entire court to find your enemy, I will do it.”
Your heart pounded at his words. The bright sun was settling high into the sky, burning mercilessly above the courtyard, casting no shadow deep enough to hide from what had just occurred.
Blood darkened the ivory stone beneath your feet. It pooled in the cracks, soaked the hems of silk robes, and steamed faintly under the heat. Petals of the clematis flower dropped from your hair to drown in the blood.
The cries had long since quieted. There was only the scent of iron now, and silence. You hated it. You hated how thick it was. How you were suffocating in its reverent essence. You sat on the dais with him, choked by the quiet.
And now, as far as the court was concerned, the architect of their punishment. You hadn’t raised a single hand. But you hadn’t stopped it either. Sukuna hadn’t allowed you to. And he would never allow you to.
Your voice had been nothing against the execution of his will. He didn’t need your approval. But your presence…..your witnessing……was another kind of power. It made you complicit. And in this court, complicity was stronger than innocence.
You had not cried. Not once. You had felt your throat close. Your vision is blurry. Your soul quakes. But you had not let a single tear fall. Not when the first child fell. Not when the mothers screamed. Not even when the small girl with the shaking hands was run through before your eyes.
Because you knew, deep down, if you wept and truly wept, you would never stop. The guards began to clear the courtyard fully. Everything was not spared. The blood. The limbs. The flesh.
The weapons dropped from dying fingers. Many of the servants came after, silent and ghost-pale, carrying basins and cloths and incense to scrub away what could never really be cleaned.
The remaining harem women were herded back to their quarters like cattle, eyes dead, bodies bent with grief. Many would not speak again. Some would not survive the night. A few would try to kill themselves before it was done.
Ryomen Sukuna gave no order to stop them. He sat, unmoved, expression unreadable, his throne glinting with inlaid bone and ancient curses. And you, sitting there hollow and trembling, were still at his side, one hand pressing weakly against your belly, as if the curve of it could shield you from the ugliness around you.
He finally broke the silence. “Do you understand now?”
You turned to him, slow and numb. “Understand what?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why fear is a cleaner tool than loyalty.”
Your voice scraped out of your throat like broken glass. “You think they’ll be loyal after this?”
“They don’t have to be loyal, little one. That is the point.” he said in a familiar whisper. “They just have to be afraid enough to leave you alone.”
You flinched. “So this was for me? You slaughtered their children to protect me?”
He turned his head slightly, studying you. “I rooted out a snake pit. And when I did not find the fangs, I burned the ground.”
You shook your head, quiet and bitter. “You burned everything.”
“Good. Now they’ll think twice before planting another blade near your lips.”
You looked down at your hands. They were trembling, clean, bloodless. But they didn’t feel like yours anymore. They were pale and foreign. Even now, you can only think how much unseen blood was tainted in it.
These were the hands of someone who had watched children die and hadn’t stopped it. Who hadn’t even screamed. You were a murderer. You were a killer. You could feel your throat tighten.
He watched you, as if reading your thoughts. “They will remember today for the rest of their lives, little one. And they will remember you sitting beside me, untouched. Unflinching.”
You turned to him, stomach twisting. “And what will the child remember?”
His gaze flicked to your belly. “If it is mine….It will remember strength.”
You exhaled, shaky. “And if it isn’t like you?”
A pause. “Then it will die. Or it will become something else. Weaker. Human.”
You closed your eyes. This was not safe. This was survival balanced on the blade of a sword. But now the court saw you differently. You weren’t just the mother of Sukuna’s long awaited heir. You were the woman he allowed to sit at his side while he slaughtered his own blood. You were a reminder. A warning. A myth already forming.
They would fear you now.
Not because you were cruel.
But because you were enduring.
And in Ryomen Sukuna’s world, endurance was the only proof of worth. Still, your child moved. Soft. Alive. Innocent. You placed your hand over your stomach, and for the first time in days, whispered not a prayer, but a promise.
I will get you out. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I will.
Because you knew now that you were not safe. Not even beside the god who claimed to protect you. And there would be no salvation unless you carved it with your own hands. But for now…..you would sit. And wait. And survive.
This was protection. His protection.
The sun struck highly against the temple walls, casting long shadows across the blood-washed courtyard. The red stone shimmered in the dying light, a battlefield turned altar, a womb of terror that had birthed something new and irreversible.
You did not rise until Sukuna rose first. He did so slowly, deliberately, his presence immense as ever. The murmurs from the court had faded into stunned silence hours ago, but as he stood, the remaining onlookers followed, bowing low as if the air itself commanded reverence.
You stood as well. Not with grace, not like the others but carefully, hand pressed against your lower back, your belly taut beneath the silk. The weight of your child was heavier than ever, your body fatigued and hollow. But you kept your spine straight. You would not stumble. Not here.
Not now, when every pair of eyes in the court had witnessed what you endured. What you allowed. What you became. A figure, once pitied, now feared. The walk back through the palace was quiet.
Guards flanked your sides, weapons drawn not for protection, but as ritual a silent escort for royalty in the aftermath of massacre. Ryomen Sukuna walked slightly ahead of you, as he always does, silent.
When you reached your chambers, he paused at the threshold. The sun framed him like fire. You were too tired to feel anger. Too empty to summon questions he wouldn’t answer. But still, your voice rose, quiet and resolute.
“You’ve made me into something I never wanted to be.”
He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. “No, little one.” he said. “I’ve only revealed what you’ve always been.”
epilogue
The light was different that morning. It did not come in brash or blinding. Instead, it came softly, reverently, the way massive temple bells sound at first light, the way mourning turns slowly into remembrance.
The latticed windows laced golden patterns across the floor, delicate as a prayer, casting warmth across your skin where you sat against the silk pillows. Your body still ached from the birth, but your arms were steady, steadier than you expected as they held the swaddled weight of your son.
Ryomen Chizuru.
He was impossibly small. Soft. Perfect. Swathed in deep crimson, the silk was warm against your fingertips. The color had been chosen by Uraume without ceremony. It was the hue of imperial blood, of sacred offerings, of death and glory in equal measure.
But now, cradled around this child born of something so fierce and so intimate, it looked more like protection. Like armor too fine to see. He shifted in your arms, his breath warm against the hollow of your collarbone.
A tiny fist curling as if ready to strike the very world that birthed him. His spirit, you could already tell, was loud. Defiant. Not in tantrums or screams, but in the heavy press of his presence, an energy that pulsed with something ancient and proud.
A part of you broke at that. Quietly. Silently.
How could something so pure come from a place like this?
And then the doors opened.
You didn’t need to turn to know it was him. Ryomen Sukuna entered the room not like a husband, not even like a king but like a god returning to his altar. The floor beneath him didn’t groan, but the air shifted.
You felt it in your lungs. In your spine. The way the tension laced itself through your breath and wrapped its fingers around your ribs. He was bare-chested beneath a loose robe, the black and crimson fabric barely hiding the litany of marks and runes etched into his skin. Four eyes swept the chamber once, then found you. And held you.
Your fingers instinctively curled tighter around Chizuru. But then, he came forward. Not with impatience. Not with fire. But with something slower. More deliberate. His footsteps echoed like a ritual.
And when he reached you, he didn’t take you. He reached for the child. You looked up at him in silence. There was no order spoken, no demand. Only that look, that unreadable weight in his gaze, as though even he didn’t quite know what he was feeling.
You let him take the boy. And the moment he did, something strange unfolded before you. Ryomen Sukuna, whose hands had reduced men to red ruin, lifted the boy as if he were something delicate.
His touch was firm, yes, but measured. He adjusted the silk, cradled the back of Chizuru’s head, as though the world might punish him for carelessness. And for the briefest of seconds, his shoulders settled. His breath slowed.
Then he turned. The god stepped toward the balcony, his silhouette catching in the bleeding light. He raised the child, not too high, not arrogantly, but with reverence. As if showing the world this offering. This successor. This weapon. This son.
His voice came, deeper than before. Rooted. Heavy with something ancient and vast. “This is my son. The blood of my line. The future of this land.”
He stood over a courtyard soaked in centuries of war, where his bastards had once been discarded like fodder, where sons and daughters had spilled blood for his favor and still died nameless. But this one was different.
Because you had carried him. Because he had returned for him. Then, with a voice almost too low to hear, Sukuna whispered to the child. “You and your sister will rule this place one day. Hida…....and perhaps even all of Japan will bow beneath your strength.”
And then his hand, the same hand that had crowned emperors with their own severed heads, brushed Chizuru’s brow with astonishing care. “But you, little bird, you have quite the luck.” he said, voice thinning to something raw, “You will be safe. Protected. Because you are mine.”
You had not realized your breath had caught until then. Because that word. Mine meant something different from what it once did. It was not ownership. Not dominance. Not cruelty. It was claim. And the claim, from a god like Sukuna, was more sacred in this life than love.
You watched as he turned, your son still in his arms, the morning sun now painting both of them in gold. The light bent around them. And suddenly, you no longer saw the tyrant who ruled by blood and blade. You saw the beginning of something else.
A god was finally with his heir. Yet, when you looked at him, he looked like a man. A man with his child, one that he cherishes. And in that moment, the impossible took root. Hope. Not loud. Not sure. But there. Living. Breathing.
Sleeping in your arms just moments ago. And for once, you did not fear the future. You only waited to see what it might become. You could only hope for the best. You hoped for a day that this will not be stained with misery.
if the world was ending, i’d wanna be next to you — itadori yuji and ryomen sukuna.
“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.”
Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once.
“How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”
GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;
WARNING/S: spoilers for jjk chapter 271, not safe for work, angst, fluff, one sided romance, eventual romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, reincarnation, happy ending, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, grief, afterlife, internal conflict, future, letting go, depiction of moving forward, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of rebirth, depiction of internal conflict, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of character death, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, depiction of happy end, true form! sukuna, itadori yuji, reincarnated concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 11k words
NOTE: this was highly requested, that concubine reader from the other woman has some closure and freedom and happiness in her next life. well, this is it. i feel like after having read chapter 271 completely, i feel like this was also a good sort of closure on sukuna's character. as ive said, i wasn't satisfied much, but i decided to write a path of my own here. and i hope you like it!!! i love you all <3
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kayu's playlist, side 1500;
THE PAST WAS SOMETHING THAT INTRIGUED YOU. You used to wonder if you had a life before this one. The thought lingered like a shadow on quiet nights, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You were always curious: Was it a good life? Did you laugh often? Were you loved? And in the end, did you grow old surrounded by warmth, or did your story close abruptly, lost to the currents of time? These questions, though unspoken, echoed through your mind like the turning pages of an unfinished book.
Yet, it’s in moments like this—simple, undemanding, and unexpectedly tender—that those questions fall away. You realize that the answer doesn’t matter as much as you once thought. You and Itadori Yuji, sitting side by side, the air filled with the sound of his laughter, his energy contagious and effortless. It's not always what you do together, but how he has a way of making everything feel lighter, even when life is at its heaviest.
In these instances, where time seems to slow down and the weight of the past dissolves, you’re reminded that perhaps the life before—if it existed at all—was not as important as the one unfolding now. This is where the heart finds its peace. Being with Yuji, you feel that indescribable warmth. It’s the warmth of being cared for, the joy of connection, the quiet happiness of simply being. Moments like this feel like the reward of a life well-lived, even if the past is a mystery.
Maybe in another life, you were loved. Maybe you weren’t. But in this one, as you sit here with Yuji, you feel blessed in a way that transcends time, as if this companionship, this simplicity, is enough to fill whatever came before.
You glance over at Yuji, who’s still laughing, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way that makes him look so carefree, so utterly at peace. It’s moments like this that make you forget about the world outside.
“You know, Yuji,” you say, leaning back a bit, “sometimes I wonder if I had a life before all of this. Like, did I have a good life? Was I happy? Did I do anything important?” Your voice trails off, unsure if you’re even making sense. It’s one of those thoughts that sounds bigger in your head, harder to explain aloud.
Yuji pauses, the smile still lingering on his lips but his eyes now softening as he looks at you. “I dunno about a past life,” he says, shrugging in that easy, nonchalant way of his, “but I think it doesn’t really matter, right? I mean, what’s important is now, right here. And… if you’re happy now, then that’s enough, isn’t it?”
You look at him, surprised by the simplicity of his words. Yuji always has a way of cutting through complicated feelings with such earnestness, and it hits you every time.
“Yeah, but what if I didn’t get that? What if I didn’t get the chance to be happy then?” you say, not sure why you're pushing the point. Maybe you want to hear more of his optimism, that unwavering belief in the present.
Yuji thinks for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then… maybe that’s why you’re here now. To have those moments. To feel that happiness.” He grins suddenly, almost sheepish. “And hey, if that’s true, then I guess it’s my job to make sure you’re having a good time in this life.”
You smile, something warm settling in your chest. "You think so? That’s your job now?"
“Yep!” Yuji says with a bright nod. “And honestly? I think I’m doing pretty good at it, don’t you?” He nudges you playfully, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah,” you admit, feeling lighter. “Yeah, you’re doing a pretty good job.”
Yuji leans back, satisfied. “See? No need to worry about the past. We’re making good memories right now. And who knows, maybe in the next life, we’ll be laughing about this one.”
You chuckle at the thought, realizing he’s right in a way. The present, with all its little joys, is more than enough. And with Yuji by your side, it feels like it always will be.
Itadori Yuji was your opposite—he was vibrant, bursting with energy, like the sun at its highest peak. Where you were quiet, thoughtful, perhaps a little reserved, Yuji was a whirlwind of light, so bright it was impossible not to be pulled into his orbit. He was the type of person who loved easily, fiercely, without hesitation. In the short time you had known him, it felt like he had illuminated parts of you that you didn’t even realize had been in shadow.
Six months. That’s how long he had been in your life, and in that brief window, Yuji became your biggest friend. He was the kind of friend who made you forget your worries, who could turn a mundane moment into something extraordinary just by being there.
You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, your feelings for him deepened into something more. You didn’t just care for him, you were falling for him. His smile, his laugh, the way he’d look at you with such unguarded sincerity—it all crept into your heart before you had a chance to stop it.
But then, as suddenly as he had entered your life, he was gone.
You mourned him in the rawest sense, the grief hitting you like a wave, unrelenting and suffocating. You had barely begun to process what he meant to you, and now you were left with nothing but memories. Memories that once brought joy now twisted into something painful, aching. The world felt dimmer without him, like someone had extinguished the light you had grown so accustomed to.
You grieved the moments you never had, the confessions that were never spoken. You grieved the time you lost and the love you never got to fully express. And in the quiet, lonely nights, you found yourself missing even the smallest things—his goofy grin, the way he’d always try to cheer you up, the warmth he carried with him wherever he went.
Itadori Yuji had changed your world in just six months, and now, with him gone, you didn’t know how to go back to how things were before him. Maybe you never would.
And now, you stand face to face with someone else. Someone you didn’t know—someone that terrified you. Ryomen Sukuna. The King of Curses, wearing Yuji’s face but twisted into something cold and malevolent. His presence was overwhelming, a suffocating aura that made your skin crawl, your heart race in dread. The Yuji you had known, the boy you had fallen for, was nowhere to be found in the dark, calculating red eyes that now gazed at you.
But as you meet Sukuna’s gaze, there’s something strange—something unsettling in its familiarity. Amidst the malice, the sadistic smirk, and the chilling sense of power, there’s a flicker of something that shouldn’t be there. Something… almost tender. A subtle glint of fondness that feels utterly out of place in someone like him.
Your breath catches in your throat. It doesn’t make sense. Sukuna should have no reason to look at you this way, no reason to show anything other than contempt or amusement. And yet, there it is—just beneath the surface, a strange warmth, a recognition.
He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back, fear surging through you like ice in your veins. This wasn’t Yuji. This wasn’t the boy who made you feel safe, who filled your days with laughter and light. This was a monster. A curse. But the way Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, the way his lips curve in a slow, deliberate smirk—there’s something disturbingly familiar in it. A haunting echo of the person you lost.
“You’re scared, little one.” Sukuna observes, voice low and taunting. “Quite a face I’ve never seen in a long time.”
Your heart pounds, every instinct screaming at you to run, to get away from him. But something roots you in place, the inexplicable connection between the face you loved and the one you now feared, pulling you in two directions at once.
“How low you’ve come, little one.” he continues, his voice dripping with amusement. “Really? A green boy like him?” He leans in closer, his presence suffocating. “An insult to your standards, little one.”
You swallow, throat dry, unable to tear your eyes away from his. “You’re not Yuji.” you whisper, the words feeling like a betrayal, even though you know they’re true.
“No.” Sukuna agrees, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “I’m not. I’d rather not be. But…” His eyes narrow, that strange fondness flashing again, almost as if he’s toying with something deeper. “It’s far better that it is I in front of you.”
Your chest tightens at his words, the weight of them sinking in. It’s impossible, and yet… something in Sukuna’s gaze—something about the way he looks at you—makes you feel like, in some twisted way, you’re still staring into the remnants of Yuji. Or perhaps the remnants of what could have been.
“Stay back!”
“How cruel, little one. When I was your life.” Sukuna says, almost thoughtfully. “You grieved for him. A brat. And yet, here I am, standing right in front of you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
His words feel like a cruel mockery, slicing through your defenses with the precision of a knife. Yet, amid the taunts and the darkness that envelops him, there’s an undercurrent of truth that stings—a painful reminder of everything you’ve lost. You find yourself grappling with an unsettling confusion, a whirlwind of emotions that makes your head spin.
This is a monster, you remind yourself. A malevolent being born of curses and chaos. You do not know him, no matter how he tries to push, no matter how his eyes—those dark, swirling eyes that resemble Yuji’s—seem to reach deep into your soul, searching for something buried within. You’re scared. Scared of the implications, scared of the truth that threatens to unravel everything you thought you understood.
You had wanted Yuji back—longed for him, missed him so much that it hurt. The ache in your heart was a constant companion, an echo of laughter and warmth that once filled your days. You had spent countless nights wishing for a miracle, hoping to see that familiar, infectious smile again. But now, faced with the twisted reality of what stood before you, you weren’t sure if you could handle the price of that wish.
Could this—this—be the cost? A piece of Yuji entangled in a form so horrifying, so devoid of the light he once radiated? The very thought makes you recoil. You want to reject it, to deny that any part of Yuji could reside within Sukuna. But the familiarity in Sukuna’s gaze, the hints of fondness mixed with malice, make it impossible to ignore.
You take a shaky breath, grounding yourself as you try to separate the remnants of your grief from the reality before you. “You’re not him, stop. Stop talking!” you say again, more forcefully this time, but it feels like a hollow declaration. Deep down, you know it’s not enough. The monster in front of you wears Yuji’s face, and it shakes you to your core.
Sukuna steps closer, his presence a dark shadow looming over you, and you can’t help but feel trapped in this moment. You wonder if you should flee, escape the suffocating tension that surrounds you, but something keeps you rooted. It’s as if a part of you is drawn to this interaction, compelled to understand, to confront the tangled web of loss and longing that you’ve been avoiding.
“Tell me, little one.” Sukuna murmurs, his voice low and almost teasing. “What is it you miss about him? The laughter? The heroism? Or is it simply the idea of what he represented—hope?”
His words pierce through the fog of confusion, and you find yourself grappling with the truth of them. What did you miss about Yuji? Was it just the memories of the boy who filled your life with laughter, or was it something deeper—a feeling of safety, a light in the darkness that made everything feel manageable? The longing you felt was so raw, so visceral, but now it felt tainted, complicated by the monstrous form before you.
“I don’t know…..I….” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I just know that I wanted him back. I wanted him to stay.” The admission slips out before you can stop it, a soft confession echoing in the heavy silence.
Sukuna watches you closely, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “And yet here I am, standing in his place.” he says, his tone laced with dark amusement. “Perhaps you should reconsider what it is you truly prefer, little one.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with implications you’re not ready to confront. The dread creeps back in, entwined with that lingering curiosity. You realize, with a shiver, that this moment is a threshold—a chance to either run away from the painful truth or face it head-on. You don’t know what it means for you or what it might cost, but deep down, you understand that avoiding Sukuna will not bring Yuji back.
Caught in this whirlwind of emotions, you stand there, heart pounding, feeling the walls close in around you. The weight of grief and longing collides with fear, and you can’t shake the feeling that in this moment, every choice you make could lead to something irrevocable. The haunting question lingers: What if you truly do remember? And what would that mean for both Yuji and the monster that now embodies him?
Sukuna smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips, and somehow, even through the fear, you feel it—the remnants of Yuji still flickering in the dark recesses of this cursed form. And it breaks your heart all over again.
You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you look into Sukuna’s eyes, those dark, unsettling orbs that seem to mock everything you once knew. But you force the words out anyway, your voice trembling but determined. “I don’t remember you.”
Sukuna snickers, his laughter low and taunting. It sends a chill down your spine, as if he’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on. He leans in slightly, tilting his head, his smirk widening into something more dangerous, more possessive. “Is that what you tell me after all this time, little one?”
The way he says it—so familiar, so intimate—makes your breath catch. It’s like he’s speaking of something only the two of you should know, something hidden beneath the surface of your shared history. But how? You’ve never met Sukuna before. And yet… something in his voice, in the way he calls you little one, stirs something deep inside you. A flicker of something you can’t quite place, something buried.
You take a step back, shaking your head, trying to keep your composure. “I don’t know you. You’re not Yuji, you’re not….” you say again, though this time it sounds more like a plea. A desperate attempt to hold onto the truth, to make sense of the chaos swirling around you.
Sukuna’s grin only deepens. He watches you with a look that’s far too knowing, as if he can see right through your confusion, right through your walls. “Oh, but you do, little one.” he purrs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Perhaps you just don’t want to remember.”
Your pulse quickens as his words settle over you, heavy with implications. His gaze feels like it’s piercing through you, dredging up memories you aren’t even sure exist. Could there be something you’re missing? Something you’ve forgotten, or worse—something you’ve buried?
“Look at you, little one. More fragile than what you had been.” Sukuna continues, his voice lowering to something almost dangerous. “Pretending you don’t know. But your eyes betray you. You know me. Maybe not in this life… but somewhere, deep down.” He lifts a hand, lazily gesturing to himself. “You’ve always known me.”
Your chest tightens at the weight of his words, at the way they seem to pull you into something far more complex than you can grasp. You feel torn, the familiar pull of Yuji clashing with the terrifying presence of Sukuna. There’s a part of you that wants to run, to escape whatever this is. But another part of you—the part that feels that flicker of recognition when he speaks, when he looks at you—keeps you frozen in place.
“I don’t…” you start, your voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”
Sukuna laughs again, that low, predatory sound that makes your stomach churn. “Of course you don’t. But you will, in time.” His eyes gleam with something dark and possessive. “I’m not going anywhere, little one. So you’ll have all the time in the world to remember.”
Your hands tremble at your sides, the fear still coursing through you, but now there’s something else. Something far more dangerous than fear—a curiosity, a pull you can’t explain. Even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re drawn to him, to the way his words tug at something deep inside you, something lost.
Sukuna takes another step closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze never leaving yours. “And when you do remember,” he whispers, his voice dropping into something almost tender, “you’ll realize that it’s not this brat you mourn, little one.”
Your heart skips a beat, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You want to deny it, to push him away, to convince yourself that the darkness in Sukuna’s eyes holds no truth. But you can’t shake the unsettling feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a twisted truth in what he’s saying—something buried so deep inside you that it makes your skin prickle. And that terrifies you more than anything else at this moment.
“You have better memory than that.” His voice is smooth, a honeyed drawl that curls around you, laced with a sinister undertone. He steps closer, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, a heat that’s both inviting and suffocating. His breath brushes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself caught in his gaze—those scarlet eyes gleaming with an intensity that both captivates and horrifies you.
“Try to remember me.” he continues, the words dripping with a twisted sense of familiarity, a beckoning that both draws you in and repels you. There’s an almost playful cruelty in his tone, as if he knows the power he holds over you in this moment—knows that your heart is already torn, straddling the line between longing and fear.
You swallow hard, your throat dry as you grapple with the conflicting emotions swirling within you. The essence of Yuji—the boy who brought light and laughter into your life—now feels irreversibly entwined with the dark curse standing before you.
The memory of his warmth, his laughter, and his unwavering kindness feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the reality of Sukuna’s presence. And yet, the way Sukuna looks at you, the way he carries himself, evokes echoes of the boy you loved. It’s confusing, maddening, and all-consuming.
“Don’t you want to know what’s buried inside you?” he taunts softly, leaning in even closer, as if sharing a secret only you can hear. “What really lies behind that grief? The truth of your feelings? Your past?”
You shudder at his words, feeling as though he’s reaching into the deepest corners of your mind, teasing out thoughts you’re not ready to confront. The idea of facing whatever remnants of Yuji’s essence are hidden within this creature, this manifestation of all your fears and sorrows, makes you want to flee. But the truth is, you’re caught in a web of curiosity and dread, tethered to the boy who once filled your heart.
“Stop it.” you whisper, your voice shaking. “You’re not him. You’re not Yuji.”
Sukuna chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates in the stillness around you. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. I wear this brat’s face, little one. And I am here —whether you want to accept it or not.” His scarlet eyes bore into yours, a challenge lingering in the air. “And whether you like it or not, he’s a part of me too.”
The weight of his words settles heavily in your chest, a visceral truth that makes you want to scream. How could he say that? How could he twist the memory of Yuji into something so dark and cruel? But as you stand there, heart racing, you realize that he’s right in a way you’re terrified to explore. The grief you feel is a testament to the love you once shared, and now that love has taken on a new, twisted form.
As Sukuna’s presence looms over you, you feel the tension of this moment wrapping around you like a shroud. The air is thick with uncertainty, and you’re caught in a battle between wanting to retreat into safety and an insatiable desire to confront the truth lurking just beyond your grasp.
“Good night, little one.” he repeats, the command soothing and commanding all at once. “And when you wake, perhaps you’ll see things more clearly. I promise you, it will be… enlightening.”
With those final words, he steps back, allowing you to breathe again, but the weight of his gaze lingers. As he fades into the shadows, you’re left standing there, your heart pounding in your chest. The fear that grips you is palpable, but beneath it lies a flicker of curiosity—a yearning to understand what lies hidden within, to uncover the truths that connect you to both Yuji and Sukuna.
You know you should feel safe in your denial, but as you process everything, you realize that the only way forward is to confront this new reality. Whatever it takes, you have to know what Sukuna means, what truth lies within you, and what it might reveal about the love you lost and the monster that now stands in his place.
A THOUSAND YEARS HAD PASSED AND YET, HE THINKS A LOT ABOUT THAT LAST WISH. It was Ryomen Sukuna’s hope that you would not be reborn like this. After the years of misery he had put upon you, such loneliness and bitterness — this is not what you deserve. In the depths of his cursed heart, he had wished for you to have a better life—a life filled with warmth and love, a life free from the shadows that clung to him.
He had imagined a future where you would thrive, where your laughter would echo in the halls of a home filled with joy and not tied to the darkness he embodied. He wanted for your hope to come true, for you to carve out your own path, one that didn’t intertwine with his own cursed existence. So that you may be free from the cage of him, and fly away.
Yet, here you were, standing in the remnants of a life he had never wished for you. A life as a sorcerer, a role steeped in danger and darkness, where you faced the very curses he had once commanded. And most of all, you found yourself in adoration of his vessel, Itadori Yuji—the very embodiment of what Sukuna had wanted to keep separate from you.
Every day was a constant reminder of that bittersweet reality. You had grown to love the brat, the boy whose spirit shone brighter than anyone else’s, whose laughter brought light to the darkest corners of your heart. He had an infectious enthusiasm that made the world seem a little less heavy, a little less daunting. And now that he was alive, Ryomen Sukuna could only watch as you found the joy that he could not give you.
“Hey! Are you coming or what?” Yuji called out, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He stood a few paces ahead, hands on his hips, a bright smile lighting up his face. “I thought we were going to train today!”
You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his excitement. “Yeah, I’m coming!” You jogged to catch up with him, the momentary rush of adrenaline distracting you from the weight of your thoughts.
As you fell into step beside him, you felt the warmth of his presence, the way he made the air around you feel lighter. “You really are too slow sometimes, you know?” he teased, nudging you playfully. “I mean, I know I’m faster, but you’ve gotta at least try to keep up!”
“Please!” you laughed, shaking your head. “You’ve been training longer than I have. I’m just trying not to trip over my own feet!” The banter flowed easily between you, but even in this moment of lightness, you couldn’t shake the nagging sense of Sukuna’s presence lurking just beneath the surface, a shadow that never quite left you.
“Speaking of tripping, you’re not going to freak out again when I show you that new move, are you?” Yuji’s expression turned mock-serious, eyebrows raised. “Because last time, I swear I thought you were going to lose your lunch!”
“Okay, that was one time! I told you I wasn’t ready for a backflip!” you protested, recalling the embarrassment of that training session where you’d ended up flat on your back. “Besides, you can’t just expect me to be a natural like you!”
Yuji laughed, the sound bubbling up from his chest and enveloping you like a warm embrace. “Hey, you’ve got potential! I mean, you did get back up after I knocked you down. That counts for something, right?”
His encouragement filled you with a warmth that momentarily pushed aside the darkness threatening to creep in. He was everything Sukuna had hoped you would find—kind, brave, and full of life. Itadori Yuji’s laughter echoed in your mind, a stark contrast to the chilling presence of the curse that loomed behind you, hidden yet always felt, a constant reminder of the complexities entangled in your heart.
Yet, in the depths of Sukuna’s being, a flicker of something unexpected stirred—a faint, bitter jealousy. He had often wondered if he had ever truly felt envy regarding the affection you held for that brat, as he so often referred to Yuji in his darker moments. A part of him questioned whether he was conscious of the pain he had caused you, the heartache that clung to your spirit like a shadow.
“Do you even understand what you’ve done to her?” he mused silently, as if you could hear him echoing in your mind.
There was an awareness in him, a recognition that you had somehow managed to love all of him, even the twisted, cursed side of his existence. Perhaps that was what stung the most—knowing that you had opened your heart to him and, in doing so, had become entwined in a relationship that was more chaotic than he had ever intended.
But even amid that jealousy, he had no regrets about his feelings for you. His love for Hiromi—the one who had filled his heart with warmth before darkness overtook him—remained unwavering.
That love had been pure and innocent, a light that could never be dimmed by the shadows he had embraced. He could not deny it, nor would he wish to. Yet now, watching from the sidelines, he felt an ache in his chest, a realization that he could never be the one to bring you that same joy.
In the quiet corners of his mind, he harbored a secret wish—a hope that he could have made you smile like this. So vibrantly, so free of grief. A happiness so clear that one could see it gleam in your eyes, untainted by the complexities of his existence. The laughter you shared with Yuji resonated in a way that he could only dream of, a melody of innocence that felt forever out of his reach.
“What would it take?” he pondered, the thought lingering like a ghost. Would he ever be able to evoke such joy? Or was he forever condemned to dwell in the shadows of what he could never be?
Sukuna’s thoughts spiraled, twisting through memories of moments shared with you—soft smiles, fleeting touches, and the warmth of your laughter that once danced around him like sunlight. The contrast was stark; he had only ever known how to wield darkness, to embrace fear and chaos, while Yuji seemed to thrive in the light. The way you looked at Yuji, filled with admiration and affection, was a dagger in his chest, a poignant reminder of the connection he could never replicate.
Yet, in that moment of reflection, a different feeling began to take root—a deep, abiding wish for your happiness. Perhaps the greatest act of love he could offer you now was to allow you to chase that joy, even if it meant stepping aside, relinquishing his hold on your heart. You deserve every ounce of happiness, unencumbered by his darkness.
As you stood there, laughing freely, the shadows that had haunted him felt a little less suffocating. He knew he could not change who he was, nor could he rewrite the past, but perhaps he could shift his focus from his own pain to the happiness that blossomed in front of him. He wanted to see you flourish, to break free from the chains of sorrow he had inadvertently wrapped around you.
“Thanks, Yuji. I really appreciate that.” you said, your voice softer, the sincerity in your tone catching his attention. Your face flustered and shy. It was a face Sukuna had never seen from you.
“Hey, you don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, right?” His eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, but beneath that, you could feel a hint of concern lurking. “You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. We’re a team.”
You paused for a moment, the gravity of his words settling over you. Sukuna knew that you wanted to share your fears—he could see it in the way your lips parted but never released a sound, in the slight tremble of your hands as they hovered between reaching out and retreating. It was written all over your face, the tension in your furrowed brow, the flicker of uncertainty in your eyes. Sukuna knew you too well, after all the years you'd lived together. He understood every unspoken word, every hesitation, even when you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your thoughts.
But this time, things were different. You didn’t remember any of it—not the life he had spoken of, not the shared moments he swore existed. The memories he claimed you both cherished were nothing but a void to you, a distant fog where nothing came into focus. Sukuna knew that too. He wasn’t oblivious to the confusion in your expression whenever he spoke of the past you shared. You couldn’t recall the way your lives had intertwined so deeply, and that lack of recollection gnawed at you just as much as it pained him.
And yet, despite your lack of memory, despite the blank slate that your mind had become, Sukuna still knew you. He could sense the turmoil bubbling within you, the words that remained trapped in your throat.
They were right there, on the tip of your tongue, waiting to be released, but fear held you back. What if speaking those fears out loud made them real? What if your confusion, your lack of memories, created a rift between you that couldn’t be mended?
Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from you. His usual harshness softened, if only slightly, as if silently urging you to speak. He understood that what you were facing was beyond your control, but he wanted you to know that he was still there, that he would wait. No matter how long it took for you to find your voice, to trust him again—even if the memories never returned—Sukuna wasn’t going anywhere.
“I… I’m fine, Yu.” you finally replied, forcing a smile. “Just a lot on my mind, you know? Training always helps clear it up.”
“Alright, but I’ll be here if you need me,” he said, his tone earnest, making your heart ache at the kindness in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”
As you walked alongside him, the weight of Sukuna’s presence felt more like a lingering shadow, a reminder of your complicated reality. That was very much obvious to him. The joy you found in the brat’s company was intoxicating, but it was intertwined with the fear of what Sukuna represented—a darkness that loomed over everything you cherished.
But in that moment, as the brat’s laughter filled the air, you resolved to focus on what you could control. You would embrace the light he brought into your life, even if it meant wrestling with the shadows of the past. For now, you would fight alongside him, a sorcerer in your own right, finding strength in your love for him and the hope that one day, the shadows would fade into something less consuming.
“Okay, enough talking! Let’s go!” Yuji said, breaking you from your thoughts as he took off, racing ahead. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out of you, bright and free, as you chased after him, if only for a moment forgetting the weight of the curse that loomed over your life.
You had become a sorcerer not merely to fight curses, but to protect what you had come to cherish. It was a decision that had grown within you over time, shaped by your encounters and the people you had come to love. You weren’t driven by blind heroism or reckless ambition.
No, it was about preserving the bonds that had become precious to you, about standing your ground in a world where curses threatened the very fabric of those connections. But this choice—this path—you had taken wasn’t what Sukuna had ever wanted for you.
Sukuna never believed in foolish ideals like heroism or self-sacrifice. To him, they were weaknesses, things that would only lead you into harm's way. And that was what unsettled him most. He hadn’t fought for you, protected you, only to see you willingly step into danger for others. In your past life, things were different.
He had kept you safe, shielded you from the horrors that roamed the world. Under his watch, you didn't need to lift a finger. You were his to protect, a treasure he wouldn’t allow the world to tarnish.
But now, things had changed, and not in ways he could easily control. A part of him resented the world you had been pulled into—a world filled with curses, death, and peril. He especially resented the boy. Itadori Yuji.
Ryomen Sukuna had watched it happen—watched as Itadori had unknowingly nudged you towards the life of a sorcerer. It wasn’t malicious on Yuji’s part. The boy had only meant to encourage you, to bring out a strength he saw in you. But to Sukuna, that encouragement was nothing more than an invitation to danger. Yuji had no idea what he'd set in motion. And Sukuna couldn’t forgive him for that.
In your past life, Sukuna had made sure you were safe. There had been no need for you to risk yourself in battle or face the horrors of the world head-on. He had taken care of everything. You didn’t need to be strong; you didn’t need to fight. That was his role—to crush anyone who threatened you, to be the shield that protected you from harm. It was his way of keeping you close, of ensuring you never had to suffer.
But now, standing in this new life, all he could do was wonder—how could this brat, this boy, possibly take care of you? How could he, with his limited power and naive ideals, protect you the way Sukuna once had? It infuriated Sukuna to think that Yuji believed he could guide you in this treacherous world, when in reality, he was the one who had exposed you to its dangers in the first place.
Ryomen Sukuna clenched his fists, his thoughts simmering with frustration. You had been safe before, with him. But now, he feared that this world of curses you had chosen—this world where you now stood alongside Yuji and the others—would one day rip you away from him. And Sukuna wasn't sure he could bear that.
Sukuna felt a twisted sense of validation in the aftermath of Shibuya. It had been him—not Yuji, not any of your so-called allies—who had saved your life when everything went to hell. The moment the curses descended, the city had become a chaotic battlefield, one where even the strongest sorcerers struggled to hold their ground. But not him. Not Sukuna.
He had watched it unfold, his sharp gaze tracking the danger closing in on you, and in that split second, everything he had warned against crystallized. The fragility of your humanity, the danger you had willingly embraced—it all came to a head.
You had faced curses far beyond what you should have been dealing with. It was the recklessness, the vulnerability, the need to prove yourself as a sorcerer that had led you to the brink of death. And for what? To protect others? To fight alongside those who weren’t worthy of your devotion?
In that critical moment, when you had been on the verge of being overwhelmed, it wasn’t Yuji or any of the other sorcerers who had come to your aid. It was Sukuna. His power had surged through the chaos, his strength unmatched, obliterating the curse that had dared to lay its hand on you.
He had kept you from being crushed, from the fate that would have surely claimed you had he not intervened. The irony wasn’t lost on him—that in the midst of this world you had chosen, it was still his power that protected you, not the one you had turned to.
Sukuna could almost laugh at how right he had been. Your decision to become a sorcerer, your reliance on others to protect you—it had all crumbled in the face of reality.
In your past life, you had never needed to face this kind of danger, because he had kept you safe. It had been him who ensured your safety, him who made sure the world’s darkness never touched you. And now, in this life, despite everything that had changed, the outcome was still the same: you needed him to survive.
He hated to admit it, but a part of him reveled in the fact that you couldn’t escape his grasp. The boy, Yuji, had tried—tried to pull you into a world where you could stand on your own, where you didn’t need to rely on Ryomen Sukuna’s power.
But Shibuya had proven otherwise. The truth was undeniable: there was no escaping the fact that Sukuna was, and always would be, the one who kept you alive.
His crimson eyes lingered on you as you lay unconscious, the aftermath of the battle leaving you battered and bruised. He crouched beside you, his expression unreadable.
There was no warmth in his gaze, no affection—only a sense of possession. A sense of knowing that you were a part of him. Whether in this life or the last, it didn’t matter. The world could change, your memories could fade, but the fact remained: Sukuna had saved you, and he always would. No one else could protect you the way he could, and in the end, he was the only one who truly understood that.
"You see now, don’t you, little one?" he murmured, his voice low, almost to himself. "No matter how far you run, no matter what life you choose, you’ll always come back to this. To me."
There was a finality in his words, a certainty that rang through the empty streets of Shibuya. In his eyes, this moment only reinforced the bond between you, one forged not out of love, but out of necessity, out of survival. And though you may never remember the life you once shared, Sukuna knew that as long as you walked this path, you would always need him.
And then, in the stillness after the battle, Sukuna froze.
A pulse of cursed energy rippled through the air, faint but unmistakable. It was old, ancient even, yet familiar in a way that twisted something deep inside him. For the first time in a thousand years, Sukuna felt her presence. Hiromi.
Sukuna's mind recoiled from the realization, the pulse of cursed energy stirring something long-buried within him. The sensation clawed at him—ancient, familiar, undeniable.
Hiromi.
His heart, or what remained of it, twisted with an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries. He had thought it impossible.
But there it was, a presence like a faint echo that had finally resurfaced after a thousand years. His eyes narrowed, scanning the distance as if he could pinpoint the exact location of the cursed energy.
Without hesitation, his body moved on instinct, the need to chase after that familiar presence overwhelming him. He didn’t even spare a glance back at you. The urgency consumed him. You’ll be fine, he thought to himself. You were unconscious, battered but alive—safe, for now.
“Uraume.” His voice was cold and commanding, cutting through the still air. Almost immediately, Uraume appeared at his side, their faces calm and collected, as if they anticipated his order even before he had spoken it.
“Sukuna-sama.” Uraume bowed slightly, eyes flicking toward your limp form lying on the ground.
“Take care of them for me.” Sukuna instructed, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. It was an order, not a request. His eyes were already fixed on the horizon, his mind far from the present moment.
Uraume nodded without question. “Understood.”
With that, Sukuna turned his back on you, his form disappearing into the distance with terrifying speed. You were unconscious, vulnerable, but he left you without hesitation. Because even now, after everything, it wasn’t you that occupied his thoughts. Not fully. Not entirely.
As the wind whipped past him, his mind raced, trying to process the flood of emotions that came with sensing Hiromi’s energy after so long. It felt like an eternity since he had last known that presence—familiar yet distant, like a memory from another life. He clenched his fists, the anticipation mounting as he closed in on the source of the cursed energy.
But beneath the rush of adrenaline, Sukuna felt something else, something darker—guilt. It was fleeting, barely noticeable, but it was there, nagging at the edges of his mind. He knew he was a hypocrite.
He had kept you by his side, held you close, and claimed you as part of his world. You had become entangled in his existence, and yet, despite everything, despite the way he protected you, he could never love you. Not in the way you might have wanted. Not in the way that mattered.
Because love had always been reserved for someone else.
Hiromi.
The name echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. Hiromi had been everything to him in a way that transcended time. Even after a thousand years, Sukuna could feel it—that deep, consuming affection that had once tied him to Hiromi like a chain. He didn’t need to question it, didn’t need to doubt. Hiromi was the one he loved, the one he would always love. That had never changed.
And yet, as he chased after the familiar energy, a dark, bitter thought rose in his mind. He had kept you close for so long, but not out of love. It had been care, yes, concern even—but not love. You were valuable to him, a piece of his life that he refused to let the world destroy. But love? No, that was something you would never receive from him. That part of his heart had been taken long ago.
He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.
As he raced toward the source of Hiromi’s energy, Sukuna's lips curled into a slight, dangerous smile.
“Hiromi…” he whispered under his breath, a mixture of longing and hunger in his voice. “After all these years, you still haunt me.”
The urgency in his steps betrayed his growing anticipation, but beneath that, another feeling simmered. A strange unease. Sukuna knew what this meant—what it would mean for him, for you, for everything. He was a hypocrite, and he knew it all too well.
He had spent lifetimes keeping you close, ensuring your safety, binding you to him with his strength. He claimed you as his, possessed you in a way that transcended time and memory. He protected you, watched over you, but love? No, love had never been part of the equation.
Sukuna was no fool. He cared for you, yes. There was a connection, a bond that had grown stronger over time. But it wasn’t love, not in the way most would understand. He knew that. It had always been about control, about ensuring that you remained part of his world, tethered to him by the invisible threads of fate.
You had chosen a path filled with danger, and he had allowed it, begrudgingly, because he didn’t want to lose you. But he did not love you. Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that consumed him.
That kind of love was reserved for someone else. Hiromi.
The name reverberated in his mind like an old song, the memory of a time long past. Hiromi had been the one he loved, truly loved. The one who had held his heart, back when he had one. The connection between them was something deeper, something far more potent than what he had with you. It was raw and ancient, a passion that transcended lifetimes.
Ryomen Hiromi had been his equal, the one who had understood him in ways no one else ever could. And now, after centuries, Hiromi’s cursed energy was stirring again, calling out to him across time.
Sukuna felt the sharp contrast between what he had with you and what he had once shared with Hiromi. You were his, yes—but in a way that was almost pragmatic, transactional. He cared for you, protected you because you were his responsibility, someone he would never let the world destroy. But it wasn’t the kind of love that set his soul ablaze. Not like Hiromi had.
And that truth didn’t bother him. He didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret holding you close while reserving his deepest, truest love for Hiromi. That was how it was meant to be. You and Hiromi occupied different places in his life, and that was something he had long accepted.
As he sped through the streets of Shibuya, his mind was a storm of thoughts. He knew he was leaving you behind, abandoning you without a second thought to chase the echo of someone he had lost long ago. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself. The pull was too strong, the memory of Hiromi too powerful to resist. You were safe. That’s all that mattered.
But Hiromi… Hiromi was everything.
Sukuna knew, with absolute certainty, that no matter what he had with you, it would never compare to what he had with Hiromi. And he didn’t need it to. He didn’t want it to. He had spent a thousand years in the shadow of that love, and now, with Hiromi’s cursed energy suddenly awakening, all he could think about was reclaiming what had been his—what had always been his.
As Sukuna moved through the city, his chest tightened with anticipation. He was a hypocrite, yes, but he had no regrets. He would protect you, care for you, but the fire that burned within him was for Hiromi alone. You were never meant to hold his heart—not the way Hiromi did. And for that, Sukuna was unapologetic.
This was who he was. This was who he had always been.
Meanwhile, Uraume knelt beside your unconscious form, their expression unreadable as they gently lifted you into their arms. They glanced in the direction Sukuna had disappeared, their lips tightening slightly.
"Always leaving." Uraume muttered quietly, more to themselves than to you. They knew better than anyone what Sukuna was chasing, and why he hadn’t hesitated to leave. "It’s never enough, is it?"
They looked down at you, a strange softness entering their gaze.
"You’re fortunate he cares for you as much as he does." Uraume added quietly, though the words felt hollow. Because they knew, just as you might someday come to realize—Sukuna’s heart belonged to someone else, someone from long ago.
And no one would ever replace that.
HE HAD NOT REMEMBERED WHAT HE THOUGHT THE FIRST TIME HE DIED. But this time around, he did. As Ryomen Sukuna lay on the ground, his once-imposing form crumbling, the weight of his own mortality pressing down on him for the first time in centuries, he felt something stir in the space around him. A soft, familiar presence, like a breeze carrying the scent of a life long forgotten. It was not a presence he had ever felt in a long time.
He opened his eyes, and there you were. Your past self, standing before him as though summoned by the final moments of his life. You were just as he remembered, yet different—there was a lightness in your eyes, a peace he hadn’t seen in so long. And as you approached, there was no anger, no bitterness, no pain. You smiled at him. A gentle, almost wistful smile, as though all the years of cruelty, all the darkness that had passed between you, had never existed.
“Sukuna–sama.” you greeted softly, your voice carrying an odd tenderness, as though you were greeting an old friend.
He stared at you, confused, his chest tight with an unfamiliar emotion. The weight of his sins, the centuries of violence, grief, pain and manipulation—all of it should have driven you away. And yet here you were, standing before him, smiling as if nothing had ever been wrong. As if he had never hurt you. As if you hadn’t hated him for it.
“You’re really here….little one.” Sukuna rasped, his voice rough, but there was a vulnerability in it he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a thousand years. “After everything...you’re still here?”
You nodded, kneeling down beside him, your gaze soft but resolute. “I’m here, Sukuna–sama. But we both know this is the end, don’t we?”
He grunted, dark scarlet eyes flickering with both amusement and bitterness. “So it seems.” He paused, the weight of what was to come settling in. “And now what? What happens next? You’ve come to watch me die, little one?
You shook your head gently, your expression unchanged. “No. I came to say goodbye.”
A silence stretched between you both, heavy and profound. Ryomen Sukuna’s breath grew more labored, the energy draining from him faster now. His dark eyes never left yours, trying to read you, to understand what this moment meant. You were supposed to go wherever he was, you would follow. Words were wind and yet, your actions — they said other things.
“Goodbye, huh?” he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do with that? After everything…after all these years, little one?”
You hesitated, looking down at your hands before meeting his gaze once more. “I need you to let me go, Sukuna–sama.”
Sukuna’s eyes darkened. “Let you go? I’ve kept you for a reason, little one. You’ve been mine for longer than either of us can remember.”
You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “Not anymore. Not this time.I can’t love you like this, Sukuna–sama. Not like I did before. That love—it’s gone.”
His jaw tightened, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “And why is that? Because of him? Because of that brat?”
He didn’t need to say the name. You both knew who he meant.
You didn’t flinch. “Yes. I love Yuji now. I had…I had been reborn now, Sukuna–sama. He’s who I’ve chosen. He’s who I am in this life. And I want to be happy, Sukuna–sama. Truly happy.”
Sukuna scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “Happy, huh? That’s what you want?”
You nodded, your voice soft but firm. “You always said you wanted that for me, didn’t you? You kept me close because you said you wanted me safe. But I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to be bound to something that doesn’t exist—something that’s only pain and emptiness.”
Sukuna was silent for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes narrowing as he stared up at the sky. “So that’s it then? After everything, you’re just going to walk away?” His voice was laced with bitterness, but beneath it, there was something else—a resignation, an understanding that this was inevitable.
You reached out, gently taking his hand. The gesture surprised him, and for the first time in a long time, Sukuna didn’t pull away.
“I want to let you go, Sukuna–sama.” you said softly. “But I need you to let me go too. So we can both be free.”
His eyes flickered with something unspoken, a quiet turmoil that even he didn’t fully understand. For so long, he had kept you tethered to him, not out of love but possession, out of the need to control, to keep you as part of his world. And now, here you were, asking him to release you from the very chains he had forged. Asking to be separated from you, forever.
“You think it’s that easy?” Sukuna whispered, his voice hoarse. “After everything we’ve been through, after all the years…”
“No, no.” you replied gently, a small ghostly smile on your face. “It's not easy. I know that much. But it’s what needs to happen. We’ve both held on for too long. You and I—we’re not meant to be like this anymore.”
Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he saw something he had long since forgotten. The softness, the kindness in your gaze—the person you had once been before all of this. And he knew, deep down, that you were right.
He had kept you close out of fear. Fear of losing the one thing in his life that had ever mattered, the one of the very few people who had ever made him feel something beyond the void of his existence. But you were no longer his, and he was no longer yours. It was never meant to be. He knew that from the beginning.
With a deep, labored breath, Sukuna closed his eyes, his grip on your hand loosening. “Fine, little one.” he rasped. “Go. Be with him. Be happy. It’s what you want, right?”
A tear slipped down your cheek as you smiled at him, the sadness in your eyes mixed with a profound sense of peace. “Thank you, Sukuna–sama.”
For a moment, you both sat in silence, the weight of all those years of history between you. And then, quietly, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. He lets the warmth echo through his flesh. He didn’t want you to let go, he didn’t want you to leave him. And yet, he had to let you go.
“Goodbye, Sukuna–sama.” you whispered. “Be free. Choose your path too.”
With that, you stood up, turning away from the man who had once held your heart, leaving him to the twilight of his life. You didn’t look back as you walked away, knowing that this was the end of one chapter, and the beginning of another. You will never find each other again.
Ryomen Sukuna watched you go, his vision fading, a strange mix of regret and relief flooding through him. He had let you go, and in doing so, perhaps, for the first time in his long, twisted life, he had let himself go too.
IT WAS ODD, THIS PLACE. And it was where all souls go. At least that’s what his father used to say to him. Sukuna had not believed it then. But here is the proof. Here is the truth. The path of souls stretched endlessly before him, an ethereal twilight where time held no meaning and silence enveloped the realm.
Ryomen Sukuna’s hand held firmly to Uraume’s own, though Uraume’s presence beside him was faint, as if they too were fading into the beyond. Uraume, after all, was too young to understand it all yet.
And he didn’t want to distress them. His crimson eyes scanned the surreal landscape, not for the first time wondering what came next. Death had always been an abstract concept for someone like him—feared by others, but never himself. Yet here he was, on this path, somewhere between existence and oblivion.
He felt a pull, a presence just ahead, and as they walked, familiar figures began to emerge in the mist. Among them, Mahito lounges carelessly, his usual playful smile twisted with curiosity as he looks over at Sukuna.
“Well, well,” Mahito said with a chuckle, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Sukuna?”
Sukuna glanced at Mahito, but his eyes were drawn past him, pulled to a figure he hadn’t expected to see again in this realm. Hiromi.
Hiromi stood a few paces away, her form illuminated by the soft glow of the path. Her presence was calm, unwavering, as though the centuries of separation between them had not dulled the bond that once existed. She smiled at him—a small, knowing smile, one that held both understanding and a quiet challenge.
"It’s been a long time." you said, your voice cutting through the haze of memories that clouded his mind. You had appeared beside Mahito, your eyes softer now than when you last spoke to Sukuna.
It had been a lifetime ago—literally. But here, in the land between worlds, there was no more need for pretense. It had been so long since you both had been truly honest with one another.
Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his sharp edges remained. He wasn’t one for sentimentality, and yet, standing here, he felt something stir within him. He inclined his head to you, acknowledging your presence, but his gaze drifted back to Hiromi.
“Hiromi.” he said with a quiet intensity, his voice lower than usual, almost…reverent. Uraume, sensing the moment, quietly stepped back, releasing his hand.
Hiromi stepped forward, her dark eyes locked onto Sukuna’s. She looked just as she had the last time he had seen her, centuries ago. The weight of their shared past hung in the air between them, unspoken but ever-present.
“It’s been too long….Sukuna.” Hiromi said softly, her voice carrying a quiet warmth. She looked at him with that same measured calm, though there was something in her eyes, something that had been left unsaid for far too long.
Sukuna remained silent for a moment, taking in the sight of her. He had never been a man to reflect on his emotions, to consider the consequences of his actions beyond immediate gratification or power. But here, now, on the path of souls, stripped of the pretenses of life, there was a clarity he couldn’t ignore.
“What path will you walk, Sukuna?” Hiromi asked, her voice steady but soft, as though she already knew the answer.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sukuna smiled—a small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. It wasn’t the predatory grin he was known for, but something quieter, something…honest.
“A path with you.” he answered, his voice carrying the weight of every century that had passed. There was no hesitation in his words, no mask to hide behind. Here, in this liminal space, he could admit what had always been true. “Even if there will be nothing between us.”
Hiromi’s smile deepened, though her eyes were tinged with something bittersweet. “Even if there’s nothing?”
Sukuna held her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. “I was bound to you the moment I met you. You know that too well, don’t you?”
His words were simple, but they carried the weight of a lifetime—perhaps several lifetimes—of unspoken truths. He had never been one to voice such sentiments, not in life, not when there was always another battle, another conquest, another way to assert his dominance over the world. But here, stripped of all that power, all that ambition, there was only the truth.
Hiromi’s eyes softened, and she reached out, her hand brushing lightly against his. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough. She didn’t need to say anything; the silence between them spoke volumes.
Mahito chuckled softly behind them, amused by the display but wise enough not to interrupt. “So, Sukuna…..” he teased back. “Even a human curse has your attachments, huh?”
Sukuna shot him a glare, but there was no real malice in it. “And what of it?” he muttered, though his usual venom was absent.
Hiromi gave a small laugh, shaking her head at Mahito before returning her attention to Sukuna. “It’s not attachments that hold you down.” she said softly, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the path around them. “It’s what you choose to carry.”
“And what are you carrying?” Sukuna asked, his voice quieter now, the question more personal than he’d intended.
Hiromi’s eyes held his, the connection between them clear and unbreakable, even in this world of shadows and souls. “Only what I choose. And now, I choose peace.”
She let her hand fall from his, the warmth of the touch lingering between them. The path stretched out before them, infinite and unknown, but somehow, less daunting with her beside him. It was just like back then. When they were together. Happy. At peace.
Sukuna nodded, a rare understanding passing between them. He had been many things in his life—cruel, selfish, a god of calamity—but here, now, there was only one thing that mattered.
“I’ll walk with you then.” he said, his voice firm. He looks at Uraume. “Both of us will.”
Hiromi smiled, the kind of smile that held centuries of history, of pain, of love, and of letting go. “Then let’s walk together.” she said simply.
And for the first time in a thousand years, Ryomen Sukuna felt something other than hunger, other than rage. He felt…whole.
epilogue
You and Yuji were crouched behind a row of bushes, peeking over the top like kids playing hide and seek. Except, instead of hiding from a grumpy neighbor, you were hiding from a low-grade curse that looked like a giant, angry turnip.
"Okay, so what’s the plan?" Yuji whispered, his face way too serious for someone talking about vegetable-based curses.
"I was thinking... you distract it, and I’ll sneak around and exorcise it fully." you replied, glancing at the turnip monster, which seemed to be getting more agitated by the second.
"Alright, alright. I got it." Yuji said with a determined nod. Then, after a beat of silence, he looked back at you, his usual playful grin sneaking onto his face. "You know, we make a pretty good team….They were right to assign us together for missions, hm?”
You chuckled softly, feeling your heart skip a beat despite the fact that this was the least romantic setting possible. "We do, don't we? Not many people can take on turnip monsters with such finesse."
Yuji grinned, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey, uh, while we’re on the topic of being a good team, there's... there's something I’ve been wanting to say."
Your eyes widened a little, curiosity and nervousness stirring in your chest. "What is it?"
"Well, it's just... I like being around you. Genuinely…..It’s….I just….I like…I like spending time with you." Yuji said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a little pink. "Like, a lot. More than just the 'let's-fight-curses-together' way."
Your heart started racing, and you could feel your face getting warm. "I... I feel the same way." you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady even though your insides were doing cartwheels. "I’ve liked you for a while, actually."
Yuji blinked in surprise, then broke into the brightest, most ridiculous smile you’d ever seen. "Wait, really? Do you like me? Like, like me?"
You nodded, biting back a grin. "Yeah, I like you. A lot."
For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, grinning like idiots, the turnip curse temporarily forgotten. Laughter echoes from Yuji and then you, and all at once, there was some harmony. The peace that you both had been craving to have. The joy that comes with being together.
"Man, I should’ve told you sooner!" Yuji said, looking like he was about to burst with happiness. "We could’ve been doing all this curse-fighting and dating at the same time!"
You laughed, your nerves fading as the warmth of the moment settled over you. "Better late than never, right?"
Yuji nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! And now that we’ve got that out of the way, I say we finish off this turnip monster and then—"
Suddenly, the turnip curse let out a loud, disgruntled roar, reminding you both that, yes, you were still on a mission.
"Right, curse first, dating later," Yuji said quickly, scrambling to his feet. "Let’s do this!"
In a blur of movement, Yuji launched himself at the turnip, giving you the perfect opening to come around the side. With a swift, precise strike, you exorcised the curse, watching it dissolve into nothing.
Yuji jogged back over to you, grinning. "See? Told you we’re a good team."
You smiled back, feeling a rush of affection for him. "Yeah, we are. And from now on, we’ll be a good team together—on missions and in life."
Yuji’s smile softened, his brown eyes locking with yours in a way that made your heart flutter. "I like the sound of that," he said, his voice a little quieter but full of warmth.
You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Come what may, right?"
"Right." Yuji agreed, squeezing your hand gently. "No matter what happens, I want to be by your side. Happy. Together."
And with that, the two of you stood there, hand in hand, as the remnants of the curse faded into the wind, feeling lighter than ever—ready to face whatever came next, as long as it was together.
devotion; i'm a slave onto the mercy of your love — ryomen sukuna.
“If I had offered you to be immortal, with me.” He asked you, looking at your orbs with longing. “Would you do it?”
You looked at him for a moment. And there it was once again. That ghostly smile.
“We cannot escape death, my lord.” You tell him, your hand resting on his cheek. You gave him what little warmth remained. “Whatever happens, we will all die. You may not die now, but we will all go. Soon, I will go."
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, parenthood, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 30k words
NOTE: i told myself this would be short because its the last chapter before the epilogue, but here we are. i asked everyone if it would be fine, if it got longer. many of you said that it was fine. and i didn't wanna make more chapters, so here i am, posting this long fic like my life depends on it. i am floored the love concubine reader has received from readers. i bow to you and your kindness over concubine reader!!! i hope you continue to read and explore worlds with me!!! i love you all <3
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YOU COULD FEEL YOUR AGE THESE DAYS. But perhaps that's what time will do to you. You cannot fathom it, if you were being honest. You could only sit there as you looked back to time. Seventeen long years had come and gone.
Seventeen long years as a concubine. Seventeen long years as a woman who yearned and yearned for things that will never come. And yet, the things that have been yearned still remain. They still haunt you. For they continue to be hopeless deluded wishes of a fool of a woman like you.
You do not know how you lasted this long being Ryomen Sukuna's concubine. But perhaps you had just gotten too used to dealing with such a title, without little care from the man himself. Perhaps even more, you had gotten too numb to the feeling of not being as wanted as the ghost he loved.
And yet still, you had gotten closer to him. However, the term closeness requires a lot of thoughts talked through. The naked eyes of humanity would not notice what you have. Being the other woman, after all, made you privy to what closeness meant in the realm of the aggrieved wife.
You were already used to the fact that he was without affection. He had been someone that averted touch, and even more so, averted the warmth that comes with intimacy. He shunned such a thing easily. And you did not pry. It was not your place. No matter how much you wanted something from him, you knew you would not get it from him in the way you wanted.
And yet, there were moments that came fleeting like the clouds in the sky drifting by in the morning sunrise. Sometimes, those calloused hands would hold yours for a brief moment and leave tenderness.
At times he would keep you close and look at you with those tender gazes, as though you were the only thing left to wonder in the world. But you know that they were always made to the surface. They were tenderness formed out of fondness.
Still, you know that there was trust from him, if not love. Perhaps that would just be what is left for him to feel. Yet you thought that such trust was ever so sacred. You had known him a god and you lived knowing he is your god. And as his most ardent follower, his most ardent believer - you knew you would never ask of him much more than what he could give.
Because you knew it all too well. Trust is all that there would be between the two of you. Fondness is all that he could give you. He could not give you any more than that. Love is hard to say, even harder to provide. A god doesn't have love, you knew that much. Every part of him that had been human, that had been him at one point loving, had died with Ryomen Hiromi.
You knew that the moment he had married you. He could spoil you with all the fondness in him, he could touch you, he could give you all the loyalty he would never give any other woman in the harem. But he would never love you. A god like him never loved. He cannot. He's incapable of it.
"I trust you, little one. Out of all of them, you have my outmost trust." he had told you at one point. He had taken you to battle with him. In the most vulnerable essence, he was exhausted. And here you were, a witness of his weariness, the way others would never be.
Your husband's voice had been hoarse, perhaps that had been to the excitement he had shouted in battle. Jujutsu first and foremost was what kept him alive in this earth, you knew that most. Still, he made an effort to talk to you. As though he knew that he does not wish to bore you with silence.
He wasn't weakened, not your husband. But negative energy takes a lot on a body. And so, you were apprehensive if you should ever reply. Your husband's words had hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and though you should have felt contentment, it was always followed by that ache you could never quite shake. Such conversation was never going to be that for equals.
"You don’t trust anyone else, my lord." you had said back then, your hands gently tending to his body, washing away the grime and the dirt that had accumulated upon his body. This moment of intimacy of the moment fleeting but tangible. At times, you hold onto it. At times you don't. You could only wonder if you could ever be honest with yourself without contradiction.
There were bags in your eyes, heavy with weariness. You had been waiting for him to come home for days, sitting about his tent like some doll that had been sat still by her master. Perhaps that is how he viewed you at times. His little doll, who awaits for his command to be moved.
His dark scarlet eyes had flickered, a dangerous gleam that softened just enough for you to feel safe. “Perhaps outside of Uraume, my lord.”
"That is given, little one. But everyone else? I never will put my trust upon them. They are all witless. And they could betray me. I know that." he had replied, his tone matter-of-fact, like it was a final judgment. "Out of all of them, you will be the only one who will stand by me. I know that too well. Only you."
And yet, even with that, you knew. The professing of trust wasn’t ever going to be that of love. It never was going to be. Not even for him. You could only stand there was you catch his eyes bearing hard upon yours. There was nothing.
There was no longing, there was no tenderness. It was a hard stare that burns you like a house on fire. You understand too well, you understand that he will never look at you that warmly. You will be trusted so long as you were loyal to him.
And there perhaps is and only will be that for as long as you lived. Seventeen years had not changed him. You do not expect him to continue to change now. You have accepted it all, everything.
Everything about his feelings, about him, about the past. The past had been left behind. Hironobu, your grievances, your initial fears, your uncertainty. But with it went the fantasy that someday, he might love you.
"Do you ever regret it, my lord?" you asked him then, feeling the moonlight spilling into the room.
He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t even shift. "Regret what, little one."
"Sparing my life. Letting me live. This… relationship between us." you had whispered softly, feeling foolish even as the words left your lips. "Do you ever wonder if it’s enough, my lord?"
There followed a long silence. You didn't expect a response. If you were being honest, that was more honesty than any words he could say. And such silence wouldn't hurt your feelings more than his words would have. You know him too well by now. Ryomen Sukuna had never indulged idle qestions, especially ones rooted in emotion. Not even from his favorite concubine.
Emotions were trivial to him, it was easy to tell. He had lived too long for anyone to think that they were not. Feelings were were closed shades in his heart, pieces you will never come to know. Perhaps, you think, it is better that way. But then, his dark scarlet eyes slid open, gleaming crimson in the dim light as they looked at you.
And yet, a part of you wonders if he was ever satisfied with your lives together. You were but a small insignificant part of him, you know that. But he had let you live so many years ago, he had taken you on as his concubine one way or another. He had let you live by his side, close to him, raised his precious child for him, served him.
And you could only wonder, if he was content. Satisfied. Even if he didn’t love you, you wished that he was satisfied with living by your side. That he does not regret you Perhaps that would be enough for you. To think that you had not wasted seventeen years of your life in misery for nothing.
"Enough for who, little one?" he asked. His tone was almost challenging, but you could hear the truth buried within it. He had never needed anything more than what you were. That you were someone he could trust, someone who would not betray him.
You swallowed, your eyes shaking. "Enough for you, my lord." you clarified. "Do you ever… want more in this life?"
He didn’t answer immediately. He does not feel like he should. Instead, Sukuna arose from his seat, his towering presence filling the space and made his way toward you. He stopped just inches away, close enough that you could feel the faintest heat radiating off him.
Your eyes lifted higher, trying to meet his eyes. You had to. You dared speak something to him. And you ought to face him. You ought to meet him in the eye and accept what ever he says.
"I don’t need more than what I have." he said simply, his voice low and unwavering.
And you nodded, biting back the questions you didn’t dare ask. What about me? you wanted to say. What about what I need?
You shouldn't have asked. You didn't have to. You knew the answer. You had known it for years. It was trivial, unnecessary to ask again. You nodded to him. You bite your tongue and pursed your lips in a flat line. Ryomen Sukuna was not a man who grants wishes to the foolish, including you who dreams of love.
You ought to be satisfied. You should be. Because, what more could you want from him? You had his trust, his loyalty, and that was more than most could dream of. If one was being honest, people could only dream of the life you live by his side. You ought to be content, someone would say. You live in riches, you live with his trust and his confidence. You were still alive. Shouldn’t that be enough?
As Sukuna walked past you, brushing your shoulder with the faintest touch, you exhaled a breath. Contentment was your fate, greediness was not. It wasn’t the passion you had once imagined for yourself. It wasn’t the deep, soul-shaking love you had thought marriage would bring. But it was enough to survive. You ought to live for it. You ought to let it be.
"I suppose then….." you whispered to yourself, once you were alone again. "Most women endure."
You smiled faintly, bitter and content all at once.
And you would endure too. You already had.
But part of you wondered if you were truly satisfied.
The night stretched on, silent except for the steady hum of the world outside. You stood there for a moment longer, watching the space where Sukuna had been. He had a way of filling the room, even when he wasn’t trying—an overwhelming presence that you could never escape, even when he wasn't physically near you.
You let out a breath and turned, going through the motions of preparing for bed. Just another day for the other woman. Ryomen Sukuna never needed to say much. You never expected more than what he gave.
When you were lying in bed, staring at the vast expanse of the tent's emptiness, you found yourself unable to sleep. It was in that moment that you heard the quiet echo of the tent's entrance. You sat up and noticed him once again. Ryomen Sukuna’s heavy footsteps made their way into the room. He didn’t say anything as he entered; he rarely did. His presence alone spoke volumes.
Your husband had his own tent. You knew tht much. But it seemed he cannot sleep too. He was too nocturnal for it. Ryomen Sukuna looked at you for a moment. Then, he approached the bed and sat down, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. You shifted but kept your gaze upward, listening to the way his breath came slow and even, like nothing in the world could touch him. Maybe it couldn’t.
"Is my lord sleeping in my tent tonight?"
"There is too much noise in mine." He tells you rather bluntly. "I cannot sleep."
"I see." You tell him, nodding at him.
You moved slightly, trying to make room for him in your bed. Your husband was a big man, someone that would never fit in your bed. And yet you make the effort. You wanted him to feel like he had a place with you, even if there was none for you in his.
"Shouldn't you already be asleep, little one." He whispers the question. "You are not this sort to stay ever so late awake."
"I cannot help it, lord." You shifted slightly, as you retort back in a soft tone. "There was a lot on my mind."
His crimson gleam raised at you. "Oh? And what would that be, little one?"
"Nothing.....nothing of import, my lord. You mustn't think of my ridiculous thoughts."
"You are my concubine." He says sternly, shifting slightly to your side. You could feel yourself heating up at the closeness of him. "Your business is also mine. You might as well say something, little one."
You gulped at him. He is relentless, when he wants something. Knowledge most of all. In all the years together with your husband, the thing you had known the most about him is that he craves to know. He craves to know everything and anything. And it's hard to keep it away from him. Even from the grave. You were never going to win against him.
“Why did you marry me, my lord?” you whispered to him. “I may be a ghost but…there was no reason to do so. Break my will, you could have done that by other means.”
Ryomen Sukuna didn’t answer right away. You didn’t expect him to. But after a moment, you felt the bed shift again as he leaned back, arms resting behind him. His gaze seemed far away, as though he were contemplating something beyond your reach.
“There could have been other means, you are right with that, little one.” he said eventually, his voice calm, devoid of hesitation.
Your husband did not feel pain often, so you know it was not that pain speaking through. It was honesty. “I wanted to break your spirit. That was true. But over time….you have proven yourself. Other than Uraume, you were the only one I could trust. The only one who understood.”
His words settled over you, heavy and cold, though they didn’t surprise you. You had always known this was his reason. You had been chosen, not out of love or affection, but out of necessity.
A match of convenience. A match of lessons. A match of misery. Never love. You already knew that. It was quite obvious. Yet, hearing it so plainly—it still stung, like an old wound that hadn’t quite healed.
“And now, my lord?” you asked quietly, turning your head to look at him. "After all these years, am I still just… useful?"
He tilted his head, his crimson eyes glinting in the dim light. "You are still the only one I trust. Out of all of them at the harem. Out of them who seek to plot behind my back. The only one will stand by me no matter what I do. I know that for a fact."
I have no place other than by your side. You think to yourself. There is no more home to return to. You had made sure of that when you had burned it all way.
His gaze met yours, unyielding. “That is more valuable than anything else, little one. You ought to remember that. In many ways than this, you are the only one.”
You swallowed, the ache in your chest growing heavier. You could feel that the bed was eating you whole with the way you lay against it. You can tell quite clearly that he wasn’t lying. Sukuna never lied, he had no reason to. Lying requires guilt too. And he has none. But he also never said what you needed to hear, what you sometimes ,wished for.
Trust is more valuable than love, you tried to tell yourself. He has given you more than anyone else in his life. That should be enough.
But the silence between you felt thick, suffocating. You shifted on the bed, turning away from him, eyes once again on the ceiling. You nodded back at him. You knew too well that there was nothing else left to hear from him.
"I see." you said softly, though your voice sounded distant, even to your own ears.
Ryomen Sukuna made no move to touch you, to offer any comfort. He never did. You had long since learned that his world was one without tenderness. You cannot demand it, you cannot will it. He was the only one with will between the two of you.
But there were moment in between these many years when the weight of it all became too much for you to bear. There were times when you wished that even just for a second, even for just a moment, even in a dream that he could be different.
That he could reach for you, hold you, tell you that you mattered beyond just being useful. That there would be warmth at the end of the winters you've spent with him. But those were fantasies, and you had buried them long ago. You cannot suffer more of this. You have to keep them buried. You have to live, as you have in the past seventeen years. You ought to survive.
After a long silence, Sukuna spoke again, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "You’re still here, aren’t you, little one? After everything?"
There was something you could feel felt unspoken in his words. But you knew too well that would be a flower that will never bloom. You had to accept it now. You had to stop deluding yourself.
You could only do so much with that as you closed your eyes. You could feel your as though your heart was stuck in your throat. He could read you as easily as you could read him. How right he was about you, over and over again.
There have been too many opportunities for you to escape these seventeen years. Too many opportunities to go off and be something without him. To be nothing to him. And yet you didn’t.
You haven’t. You chose to stay. You chose him. One way or another, he knew. He just knew. You would never leave him, even if it burns you whole. Even if there was nohting left to live for. You would choose him.
You were going to stay with him. You were going to choose him. One way or another, your love for him was devotion. And devotion, it was the proof. You were a slave to the mercy of his love. You loved him.
The monster he was. The man he was. Everything. You take him whole. You didn’t have to show him that. Staying already did. Loyalty already showed it. He did not need any more proof.
He didn’t need to say more. He was asking in his own way why you stayed, why you continued to endure.
"Yes, my lord." you whispered back. "I’m still here."
Because despite everything, despite knowing that you would never hear those three words, despite the emptiness that sometimes crept in during the quiet nights, you had chosen this. You had chosen him. You always will.
Even if there was pain, you knew it yourself. These seventeen years of solitude were always going to be triumphed by seventeen years of knowing nothing but serving and loving him.
And in the strange, dark way that only Ryomen Sukuna could offer, he had chosen you too. In what little remained, he proved to you that he would choose you too. Seventeen years. You were his longest companion, his longest everything.
And even then, it wasn’t love, not in the way you wanted it. But maybe, just maybe, it was something close enough. Something that, in this world of violence and cruelty, you could find solace in.
The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of the years stretching between you, unspoken but understood. And as you drifted off into an uneasy sleep, you reminded yourself that most women endure.
You would endure too. You already had.
And you'll do it again.
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THE SEASONS HAVE PASSED BY RELATIVELY WELL. But as usual, it was what what is felt only in the Vermillion Hall. A luxury that only you as Sukuna's favorite could ever have. The days spent in the isolation of the Vermillion Hall were quiet and peaceful, spent in the bliss of ignorance. The grandeur of the estate stood in stark contrast to the deep, unsettling turmoil that often simmered beneath its surface.
It was what Ryomen Sukuna's true intention was when he had given you this paradise on earth as a gift. Isolation in paradise, a prison in a cage of luxury for the obedience that came with breaking you whole.
The worldly affairs were no longer your concern the moment he trapped you inside of here. Duties and struggles and the sufferings of humanity no longer existed. It no longer mattered. It no longer subsisted.
Most days were spent here without the disturbance of any need from Ryomen Sukuna. Your husband had matters to deal with most of the time. Things he never tells you and things he does not show you. And perhaps it was better not to ask.
But with your husband's absence, there was no audiences with the small folk and there was no trips that required your attention. As such, you spent most of your time enjoying the peace with Ryomen Chiharu, carving a small peace of joy in tribulations.
Chiharu's existence within these halls had wiped away your mundane life. Everything about her had brought such color in your life, with each laughter and each tender touch of her palm gave you such life.
Each and every day, she found something new to bring you into. Everything had kept you entertained. She pulled you towards gardening, reading aloud to one another, singing songs she had picked up from wandering musicians, and even sewing, though she wasn’t particularly fond of it. You indulged her in everything. You could not hope to say no. For it was hard to see her face in a frown.
You might have become older, but you can't help but try and keep up with her. She was just too much fun to be with. Her zest for life had made itself ever so contagious that you dare not turn it down.
Even when you were tired, you found yourself chasing after her whims, always keeping upon the move as if her happiness alone fueled you. And how could you not? Ryomen Chiharu had become a light of your world in the short amount of time you had her.
One could wonder how she was truly her father's daughter. But it was unmistakable when you look at her eyes. She was the warmth Sukuna had removed from his heart. She was the humanity that died in him long ago.
The Vermillion Hall had become ever more exciting with her around. You felt less alone with her in your home, you had felt more like there was something of life worth living beyond the slavery you had to your devotion to her father.
On most days, you and Chiharu got off to to whatever you liked. But today, the young daughter of Ryomen Sukuna had to deal with training her cursed energy control. It was demanded of by her father, the moment she started showing signs of cursed energy. Chiharu did not want to be a sorcerer, she had told you as much.
But her father refuses to listen. And so, young Chiharu had to go off her lessons. Yet, she proves that she is much her father with her refusals. You had to bribe her by telling her you would take her around the estate in your walks, which excited her.
Off she went with that little promise. She after all wanted to be with you as much as possible, without the interferance of her father's summons.
With her gone, you found yourself relishing the silence in your gardens. The gardens had been completely redone over the past few years. There was no longer any trace of the things you had grown with Hironobu.
And that had made you sad every time you remembered it. But you tried to remember what you could about the things you did together. You didn't want to forget him. You didn't want him lost to time. And so you tried to enjoy the thought of being alive in the silence of your existence.
After that, you had ended up having little to eat to break your fast. But that did not get finished either, for you ended up picking through the scrolls that Sukuna had sent to you, before he had left on his business. He had thought that they would intrigue you, the poems and such the like. And he was right.
He had been attentive to what you liked in prose. And for hours on end, you had ended up enjoying more of it than your food. Perhaps it was the fact that Sukuna had noticed your liking, or perhaps it was the wisdom that were in these ancient texts. You did not care to find the truth between what it was. You had let the words distract you, let it pass the time around you.
Time passed easily like this. You hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by until the sound of hurried footsteps broke the quiet.
"Mother!" Chiharu’s voice echoed through the hall before she appeared in the doorway, her cheeks flushed from excitement.
"Chiharu, do not run!" You say, in surprise.
She did not care as she rushed towards you, panicking her attendants as she was panting slightly, as if she had run all the way from her lessons back to you. "I’m back!"
You sighed, but smiled softly, setting the scroll aside as you rose from your seat. "I can see that, little flower." you teased gently. "Did your lessons go well?"
Chiharu wrinkled her nose. "They were fine. The teachers praised me, once again!" she said dismissively, waving a hand as though brushing off the importance of her studies. She did not care about that, whatsoever. "But I’ve been waiting for our walk all day. That matters more, let us go!"
You chuckled at her enthusiasm, walking over to her and brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You’ve been waiting all day, huh? I thought you’d be too absorbed in your lessons to even think about the walk, little flower."
She scoffed, rolling her eyes playfully. "You know I’d never forget, mother. You're more important than what those old farts think of me." she said. "You promised we’d go, remember?"
"I remember, I remember." you said softly, taking her hand. "I wouldn’t forget either."
Her face lit up at your words, and she tugged on your hand, pulling you toward the door. "Come on then! Let’s go before it gets too late."
You followed her, allowing yourself to be swept up in her excitement. Before long, the two of you had ended up on the eastern courtyard of Vrmillion Hall. Chiharu was a faster walker than you were. At times, she would look at you and wait for you to keep up, with a smile. You could only smile at her, rubbing the edge of your cheek.
As you deeper into the courtyard's blissful peace, the fresh air filled your lungs, and the cool autumn breeze brushed against your skin. The garden was beautiful this time of year, the leaves turning shades of gold and red, the flowers still holding onto the last remnants of summer.
Chiharu ran ahead, spinning in circles as she moved, her laughter echoing in the open space. "Isn’t it beautiful?" she called out, her arms outstretched as if she could catch the wind.
"It is, little flower." you agreed, watching her with a fond smile. The world seemed brighter when you were with her, the shadows of the past not quite as heavy.
Chiharu slowed her pace, falling into step beside you. She started to him softly, a tune she had heard from the last feast. For a few moments, the two of you walked in comfortable silence, the soft crunch of leaves beneath your feet the only sound.
"Mother." she said after a while, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful. "Do you ever think about leaving here?"
The question caught you off guard. No one has asked that question of you, in all your years here. And yet, she does. Chiharu does. You looked at her, surprised, but her eyes were fixed on the horizon, as though she were imagining a world far beyond the walls of Vermillion Hall.
"Why do you ask?" you asked gently, curious where this was coming from.
She shrugged, her brow furrowing slightly. "I don’t know. Sometimes I just think… there’s more out here in father's home. Everything about this place, it's isolating. I learn only so little here. I have....fondness of this place. But I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere else. Somewhere less… heavy."
The weight of her words sank in, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You had thought the same thing many times, wondered what life might be like if you weren’t bound to this place, to the memories and the duties that held you here.
"I think about it sometimes too, little flower." you admitted softly. "But this is our home, Chiharu. For better or worse. And you are your father's heir. He will need you."
She nodded, though her gaze remained distant. "I know that, mother....I just wish it didn’t feel like a cage sometimes. Being a Ryomen is a cage."
You sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as you walked. "It’s not a cage." you said, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them. You were too deluded, a liar. "It’s just… complicated."
Chiharu looked up at you, her eyes searching your face. "Do you think we could ever leave?"
The question lingered in the air between you, heavier than you would have liked. You didn’t have an answer, not one that would satisfy her. Because the truth was, you didn’t know. How could you, for this is all that you know now? What is beyond the wall when there was familiarity in the cage?
You both returned before the sun had set. The hot springs had provided well waters for your bath, as much as the scent of perfume that had been provided by some merchants as gifts. Chiharu had done the same, though she had stayed in longer. You had worried for that, knowing she could catch a cold. But she had waved you off. Still, she got out when you asked her to.
It was almost blue hour when you felt the unmistakable shift in the atmosphere. There was no warning, no footsteps echoing down the marble halls, no message sent ahead to announce his arrival. But you knew he was here. Your husband's presence was something you had learned to feel in your bones, a tension in the air, like the sky before a downpour.
Chiharu was sitting by the window, a book on her lap, her small frame bathed in the golden light of the candle light. Her face, peaceful and relaxed, was a reminder of the moments that felt simple, the ones you clung to. She had now been weary from using all her energy to walk through the temple. Soon enough, she would go eat her sup and sleep.
And then the door creaked open, revealing Ryomen Sukuna.
He stepped inside with that same effortless dominance he always carried, his eyes scanning the room before landing on you. He didn’t need to say anything to make his presence known; he never did. His aura was enough—a palpable force that filled the space, making everything else feel smaller, more fragile.
Chiharu looked up from her book, startled at first, but quickly relaxed when she saw him. She didn’t fear him the way most people did. He had always been somehwat a distant figure in her life as she grew up, but there was a strange understanding between them. There had to be. He was still her father.
He was her protector, in a sense, even if he never wore that role with any softness. At least from what she remembers now that she was older. She saw him, and for a moment, you wondered what it must feel like to look at him without the baggage of the past, without the complexities of love, pain, and everything that had tangled the two of you together over the years.
"My lord father." Chiharu greeted politely with a small bow. You could feel her voice soft but steady as she looked at him. She had always been good at holding her own in his presence, a trait that surprised you even now.
"Daughter, you are well, it seems." Your husband had acknowledged, his tone flat, almost disinterested, but you knew better.
His lack of warmth was not cruelty. That you know much of. Your husband was simply who he was. There were no easy smiles or comforting words from Ryomen Sukuna, not even for her. Perhaps not anymore now that she was too perceptive.
You rose slowly from your position, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. It had been some time since you had seen him last, and every time he appeared like this. It was all unexpected, unpredictable. He had always been like that, you supposed. That you should have expected at the very least.
But it sent a wave of conflicting emotions through you. There was always something about his presence that unsettled you, that pulled at the threads of the fragile peace you had managed to weave for yourself here in Vermillion Hall. But your husband is a god. He was bound to make others feel unsettled no matter what.
“My lord.” you said, your voice measured, betraying nothing of the nerves that stirred beneath your calm exterior. You bow lowly. “We were not expecting your visit.”
He stepped further into the room, the silence between you stretching thin. His gaze swept across the hall with mild indifference, as though the luxury and comfort of the space meant little to him.
He had never cared much for the trappings of wealth or status. What held his interest was power. And how he could use that power for his own interest. But perhaps, you think that he was also interested in people. And right now, his interest seemed focused solely on you.
“I don’t announce myself.” he said, his voice smooth, yet holding that edge that always left you unsure whether his words were a challenge or simply fact. "You know that."
You nodded, lips pressed tightly together. He was right. Sukuna came and went as he pleased. You had always known that if your presence was the wind, then his presence was that of a terrifying storm, arriving with no warning and leaving just as quickly. You had learned to accept that, though it had never gotten any easier.
“Leave us.” Sukuna whispers towards her, his eyes narrowed. “I wish to talk to my concubine.”
Chiharu did not budge. She looked at you first, as though to see if you were alright. You nodded at her. You did not want her to be at the brunt of anything her father says.
“I’ll give you some time to talk.” she said softly, her politeness a sharp contrast to the tension filling the air. "Excuse my intrusion."
She left without another word, her footsteps light as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with him. Sukuna watched her go, his eyes narrowing slightly, though whether in approval or simple curiosity, you couldn’t tell. There were so many things about him you could never quite read.
Once the door closed behind her, the room felt even larger, the distance between you and Sukuna heavy with things unsaid. You crossed your arms, a subtle defense, trying to ground yourself against the overwhelming weight of his presence.
“Why are you here, my lord?” you asked, your voice low, almost cautious. “Is something the matter?”
Sukuna’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile but carried that same dangerous energy he always seemed to exude. He stepped toward you, closing the distance with slow, deliberate strides.
“Do I need a reason to visit you, little one?” he asked, the challenge clear in his tone.
You held his gaze, refusing to back down. “No, my lord.” you replied evenly. “But you don’t visit unless there’s something on your mind. Vermillion Hall does not welcome you without your worries.”
He stopped in front of you, towering over you with that intimidating presence that had never faded, no matter how long you had known him. His dark red orbs—those sharp, crimson eyes that could cut through you like a blade had studied you for a moment longer, and then he spoke, his voice quieter, but no less intense.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.” he said, and though he didn’t need to specify who, you knew he was talking about Chiharu.
Your throat tightened, though you refused to show the discomfort his words brought. “She’s a child, my lord. She needs someone by her side to keep her company.”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “And you think that someone is you?”
“I’ve been here for her, haven’t I? As you asked of me, my lord. I do as you ask.” you said, your voice steady despite the way your heart pounded in your chest. “I’ve raised her. Protected her. Loved her. I do it all in your name.”
At that last word, something flickered in Sukuna’s eyes—something dark, something complicated. He stepped even closer, his gaze never leaving yours, the distance between you now barely a breath.
“You think love is what she needs?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. There was no mockery in his tone, no sarcasm, but there was a coldness, a disbelief.
Ryomen Sukuna had never been a man to understand love, at least not in the way others did. You can only wonder why it was the reason he had focused Chiharu on furthering her Jujutsu. As his successor, he thinks he would know best. Power is more valuable than love, at least that's what he wants to believe.
You swallowed, your heart tightening. “She deserves to be loved, my lord.” you replied, your voice quieter now, but firm. “I will.”
His gaze darkened at your words, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, the air between you crackled with tension, with all the things left unsaid between the two of you. But then, as quickly as it had come, the tension ebbed, and Sukuna stepped back, the dangerous gleam in his eyes fading into something more contemplative.
“She’s not yours, little one.” he said, his tone quieter now, almost like a warning.
You flinched at the words, though you tried to hide it. “I know that, my lord.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But she’s all I have.”
Sukuna’s eyes flickered again, his expression unreadable as he regarded you. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, without another word, he turned and began walking toward the door, his presence still looming, but somehow less suffocating than before. He had no intention to stay for very long.
Just before he reached the exit, he paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. “You may care for her, little one.” he said, his voice quiet, but sharp. “But don’t forget who she belongs to.”
“And who is that, my lord?”
He looks back with a pause. “To me. As you do. But you already know that, do you not?”
You say nothing in response. You merely bowed at him, dignified and graceful. And with that, he left, the door closing behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the vast, empty hall.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before, the weight of his words settling over you like a storm that had yet to break. You stared at the door, heart aching, not just for yourself, but for Chiharu, for the girl who deserved more than to be caught in the middle of something far darker than she could ever understand.
And in that silence, you knew that, no matter what, you would endure.
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IT WAS AN ENJOYABLE DAY THUS FAR. Perhaps, it was because there was nothing holding you back from enjoying the morning glory as it shines on you. The morning air was crisp and invigorating as you embarked on your pilgrimage with your retinue, a rare opportunity to travel without the usual company of your husband Sukuna or Chiharu. Not even Uraume was sent to attend to you.
Just a handful of people and guards who were chosen specifically by your husband. It was a rare occasion, but there was much to be done in prayer and reflection. And most of all, put in offerings to the gods for the good year. Of course, one of those gods would be your husband’s own altar.
You were already quite far from the main temple. And you have to say, the feeling of liberation was almost intoxicating; the vast roads of Hida stretched out before you like a promise, leading to the sacred temples where you would pray.
It had been far too long since you’d wandered freely without those watching eyes, without the suffocating weight of expectations. You were not merely a wife or a mother in these moments; you were you, a woman on a journey seeking solace and meaning.
Chiharu had implored to join you on your travels, her bright eyes shimmering with excitement as she tugged on your sleeve, her small fingers gripping tightly. "Mother, please, let me come! I want to see the temples too!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Sukuna had commanded otherwise. she had much to learn from him in handling the people. Instead of you, she would sit by him, accepting people's praises and their worries.
And you dare not question it, even if Chiharu pouts and cries. Your husband’s word is law, and while you understood the reasons for his decision, a part of you had felt a surge of relief at the prospect of solitude. Here was a chance to escape the heavy shadows of your life, to explore a world beyond the gilded walls of Vermillion Hall.
With a heart full of conflicting emotions, you had set off alone, with a few companions that would help and serve you on the journey. The journey through the rolling hills and tranquil villages of Hida was filled with beauty and wonder.
The temples were scattered like jewels among the mountains and forests, places where the air was thick with incense and the whispers of prayers seemed to linger in the atmosphere. They were bright with echoes of color. They all looked different than the last, beaming with pride as Sukuna's own temples.
The mornings were peaceful, and you found joy in the rituals of your journey. It was a manner of living that let you adorn you life with reflection. And you had appreciate that more than you could admit. You would wake up early to take walks. You would converse with people about the harvests, about the weather, their families. You would be lighting incense at each temple, kneeling in prayer, and allowing the serenity of the sacred spaces to envelop you.
With each passing day, you felt the tensions in your body ease, the constant worry of what awaited you at home fading into the background. You marveled at the exquisite architecture of the temples, the artistry of the wood carvings, and the vibrant colors of the scrolls that hung upon the walls.
It was at a small rest stop in a sleepy village, half way through the journey, that you encountered an old woman whose presence felt almost otherworldly. She sat outside a modest tea house, her back hunched but her gaze piercing, as if she could see into the very depths of your soul.
The sight of her wrinkled hands, so full of life and stories, drew you in. You had always been curious about palm reading, having heard tales of its ability to unveil truths about one’s life. Sukuna did not believe in such things, he thought them folk tales.
"Come, child, let me read your palms." she beckoned, her voice a rough whisper that carried the weight of age. The guards kept her at bay for a while barking orders at her to stay away. Yet, you hesitated for a moment, the familiar wariness creeping in, but something about her presence felt oddly comforting, almost magnetic.
You told the guards away as you settled across from her, placing your hand in hers. You flinched for a moment but that she did not notice. She took it gently, her cool fingers tracing the lines etched into your palm.
The world around you faded as she studied you intently, her expression shifting through various emotions as she analyzed the intricate patterns of your life. There was something so odd about this feeling, about this moment. Yet you had let her do as she pleased.
"You will live an eventful life, child." she proclaimed after what felt like an eternity, her tone solemn. "You have already endured much, and there is still more to come."
A part of you wanted to laugh. Yes, you were married to Ryomen Sukuna; your life was nothing if not eventful. You were the concubine of a man whose very name evoked fear and reverence, the other mother to a girl who seemed to carry the light of two worlds within her. But as you looked into the old woman’s eyes, the gravity of her words settled in, anchoring your thoughts.
Her expression shifted abruptly, her eyes darkening as if she could see something lurking just beyond the horizon, something you couldn’t yet fathom. "But child, I must give you a warning that you must heed. You must be careful. You must be cautious. You mustn't love too deeply." she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You must keep things close to your heart before you lose them."
Those words sent a shiver racing down your spine, the chill of her warning wrapping around you like a fog. You recoiled slightly, pulling your hand away as confusion flooded your mind. "What do you mean?" you asked, desperation creeping into your voice.
The old woman merely shook her head, a shadow of sadness crossing her features. "You’ll understand when the time comes, child." she murmured, her gaze drifting away from you as if she were watching some unseen future unfold before her. "Don’t let what matters slip through your fingers."
A deep unease settled in your chest, the weight of her words pressing down like a stone. You wanted to ask her for more. You wanted answers, you wanted more clarity, you wanted more insight but the words seemed stuck in your throat. You sensed that whatever she had glimpsed in your palm was already set in motion, a chain of events that you could not change.
As you left the rest stop in your carriage, her words echoed in your mind, mingling with the fresh scent of autumn leaves and the distant sound of a stream babbling nearby.
You continued on your pilgrimage, each step now heavy with the weight of the old woman’s prophecy. The freedom you had once felt on this journey was now tinged with apprehension, and the tranquility of the temples seemed to elude you.
You sought solace in your prayers at the next temple, but as you knelt before the altar, the shadows of doubt crept back in. You closed your eyes and pressed your hands together in earnest supplication, not for blessings or protection, but for clarity. For understanding. The weight of your responsibilities loomed large, and you silently prayed for the strength to hold on to what was dear to you.
What was slipping away? Was it Chiharu? The fleeting moments of joy you shared with her? Or was it Sukuna, the man you had chosen to love despite the storms he carried?
With each prayer, the old woman’s warning replayed in your mind like a haunting refrain: Keep things close to your heart before you lose them. You felt a sense of urgency—an instinct to protect what you held dear.
As you finished your prayers and rose from your knees, you found yourself looking around the temple grounds, taking in the beauty of the world around you with fresh eyes.
The colors of the leaves, the sunlight filtering through the trees, the distant laughter of children playing—it all felt so fragile. You resolved then and there to hold on tighter, to cherish the moments you shared with Chiharu, to seek out Sukuna’s softer side amidst the chaos of his existence.
But the question remained—how? How could you keep these precious things close when the world was so unpredictable?
The journey ahead was uncertain, but as you set forth once more, you made a silent promise to yourself: you would embrace every fleeting moment, every quiet laugh, every tender touch. You would not let fear dictate your actions or your heart.
For in this life, despite the chaos, there was still beauty to be found. You just had to be willing to seek it out, to protect it fiercely, even when the shadows threatened to consume it whole.
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YOU WERE EXHAUSTED. But cannot say no when you are called upon. Just hours after you had returned from your pilgrimage, Ryomen Sukuna summoned you to dine with him. As soon as you could possibly come.
A rare occurrence, indeed. He usually allowed you time to collect yourself and rest after such long absences, yet tonight was different. There was something odd about that, you think. There was an urgency in his summons, a quiet pull you couldn’t ignore.
The evening air was thick with anticipation as you entered his chamber, the flickering abundance of candlelight casting long shadows across the room. He sat in the center, lounging with an air of indifference that belied the strangeness of the night.
An abundant tray of sake lay before him, and he held a cup in his hand, lazily swirling the liquid. You paused for a moment, absorbing the sight before you with care. Ryomen Sukuna, your husband, your king, rarely indulges in such human rituals. He had no need for food or drink, no craving for the mundane pleasures of mortals. And yet, here he was, drinking alone, the cup half empty.
You knelt before him, bowing low, your forehead nearly brushing the floor as you offered your silent reverence. His eyes, sharp and dangerous, traced your every movement with an intensity that made the air between you crackle. For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the quiet clink of the cup as he set it down, the silence drawing tighter like a cord.
“Come closer, little one.” he murmured, the command laced with a softness that sent a shiver down your spine.
You obeyed without hesitation, rising to your feet and stepping toward him, each step deliberate, slow. The scent of the sake, something so sharp and sweet, filled the air, mingling with the heady incense that burned low beside him.
As you approached him closer, his gaze never wavered, heavy with something unspoken, something darkly possessive. When you were close enough to feel the faint warmth of his skin, he reached out, a single finger trailing along the hem of your sleeve.
"Closer. To me." he whispered again, voice like velvet.
Your breath hitched, the proximity of his touch sending a ripple of heat through your body. You sank to your knees beside him, your heart pounding against your ribs, aware of the palpable shift in the air. His hand found its way to the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your cheek with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the feel of you.
“You’ve been gone too long, little one.” he muttered, his voice low, rich, the words brushing against your skin like a caress. "Far too long for me."
There was no trace of anger in his tone, only the weight of his gaze as it bore into you. You couldn't help but feel bare before him, feeling the warmth of your cheeks turn scarlet under the candle light. Though, you dared not move, letting the moment stretch between you, thick with tension.
Slowly, you could feel as his hand slid down to your chin, tilting your head up so you could meet his eyes. It was obvious your husband was drunk. He must have drank more than what he could intake, or perhaps it had been tampered with.
But as you look deeper into him, you couldn't believe what you saw: hunger. Not for the drink, not for the food—something far more primal, something more sensual than anything human food can offer. He carresses your skin. You gulp. Oh, you think to yourself. It was that type of hunger. That type of hunger that only the wamrth of bodies could satisfy.
In that moment, you felt the enormity of his presence. You could feel the overwhelming crash of his existence upon your own insignificant one. He was beyond what man could be. Everything about him was extreme. His power, his desire. The air felt electric, charged with the dark promise of what was to come.
Your pulse thrummed in your ears as you knelt before Sukuna, his hand still cradling your chin, holding your gaze captive. You were lowly compared to him. He was a god and you a mortal. And he can do as much as he wants to you.
“I only intended to ensure the gods were worshiped in your name, my lord.” you said softly, your voice steady despite the heat radiating from his touch. “The altars were blessed with thanks, offerings made in their honor.”
He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly. He laughs, almost as though the way a knife presses against silk.
“And what of me?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, almost dangerous. “Do you consider me your god? Your only god?”
The question sent a shiver through you, though it was not the first time he had asked. You had answered this long ago, sealing your devotion with words, with vows that transcended the mortal and divine alike. Still, you could feel the intensity behind his gaze, a hunger for reaffirmation, for something more tangible tonight.
“I have already answered that question, my lord.” you said softly, your eyes locked with his. “Long ago. You know the answer.”
His thumb brushed slowly across your lips, the roughness of his skin drawing a faint tremble from you. The echoes of your lip stain merging against his thumb, imprinting on your cheek.
“I want to know, little one.” he murmured to you. “If the answer is still the same.”
The weight of his presence pressed against you, his power filling the room like a tangible force. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself before you replied, your voice quiet but firm. “It is the same.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something dark and primal, as if your words had sparked a flame deep within him. His hand fell from your chin, trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate caress, the heat of his touch sending a rush of warmth through your body.
He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, “Then come closer and worship me.”
Your heart raced at the command, the sultry undertone in his voice thickening the tension between you. Without hesitation, you moved, your body obeying him instinctively. You wanted to do as much as you can, to worship him. To give him what he desires most. You wanted nothing more than to please him.
You knelt between his legs, the space closing as you lowered yourself until your head was level with his, the soft, intoxicating scent of him enveloping you. The flickering light of the candles danced across his skin, casting shadows that accentuated the sharp planes of his face, the faint gleam in his eyes both dangerous and alluring.
He watched your every move with a quiet intensity, his gaze burning with the promise of what he wanted from you. Slowly, your hands rested against his thighs, your touch feather-light, reverent. His body was a temple, one you had long since learned to worship, and tonight, you would offer yourself to him again.
“Show me, little one.” he breathed, voice deep and commanding, a dark smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Show me your devotion.”
With slow, deliberate movements, you leaned forward, pressing your lips softly to his skin, feeling the faint shudder of power ripple beneath your touch. Your kisses were gentle, worshipful, a silent prayer offered to the god before you. Every caress, every brush of your lips, was an act of submission, of devotion to the being who ruled over you.
Sukuna’s breath hitched slightly, and you felt his fingers weave through your hair, guiding you closer. His hand tightened, his grip firm yet not painful, his need evident. You could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his body responding to your touch with a hunger that had been kept at bay for too long.
“Good, little one.” he murmured, his voice a deep growl. “That’s it. Devote yourself to me, and only me.”
You obeyed, your kisses becoming bolder, more insistent, each one a vow to him alone. The world outside these walls ceased to exist; there were no other gods, no other powers. There was only him—your king, your god—and you were his to command.
The weight of Sukuna's hand on the back of your head tightened slightly, a silent demand for more as your lips trailed reverently along his skin. Each kiss was deliberate, each caress an offering that stoked the growing heat between you.
The air was thick with tension, the flickering candlelight casting erratic shadows across his features, sharp and dangerous, like a deity who knew his power and craved to see it worshiped.
"You've been gone too long, little one." he murmured, his voice low, laced with a dark undercurrent that sent another shiver through you. His fingers tangled deeper in your hair, pulling you closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the deep pulse of power beneath his skin.
"I am here now, my lord." you whispered, your breath warm against him as you pressed another kiss, lingering, feeling the tautness of his body beneath your touch. Every brush of your lips felt like you were sinking deeper into the moment, deeper into his pull, the force of his presence overwhelming. “Let me worship you.”
Sukuna's gaze was molten, his eyes half-lidded with a hunger that went beyond the physical. He leaned down, his breath a whisper against your ear. "Then show me. Show me that I am your god, that you belong to me—wholly."
Your heart pounded at his words, and you felt the familiar ache of submission, of devotion, welling up within you. Your hands slid up his thighs, slow, deliberate, as though you were climbing the steps of an altar. You could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, taut and waiting for release, the heat between you almost unbearable in its intensity.
Without hesitation, you lowered yourself again, this time bowing your head in complete surrender. "You are my god, my lord." you whispered, the words soft but charged with meaning, a truth that was undeniable. "You have always been my only god. No one else. Only you."
A dark smile played at the corner of Sukuna's lips, his satisfaction palpable as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Good." he purred, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, testing the boundary between gentleness and control. "Then worship me as I deserve."
His voice was laced with command, a command that stirred something deep within you, a need to please, to fulfill the role you had vowed to take. You leaned into his touch, your lips parting slightly as you kissed the pad of his thumb, a silent promise in the gesture.
Sukuna’s breath hitched slightly, though his gaze remained unyielding, his control absolute. "Do you think this pleases me?" he asked, his voice a dangerous rumble, even as his thumb pressed more firmly against your lips. "Is this how you show your devotion?"
You felt the heat rush through you, a mixture of desire and the heady thrill of his power over you. "No, my lord." you murmured, your voice low and reverent. "I can give more."
The flicker of approval in his eyes was fleeting, but unmistakable. "Then give it."
With that, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his skin again, but this time with more intensity, more need. Your hands moved with purpose, fingers tracing the hard lines of his body, feeling the divine power thrumming beneath his flesh. Every touch, every kiss was a silent prayer, an unspoken declaration of your loyalty, your submission.
Sukuna's hand remained firm in your hair, guiding your movements, though you could feel his restraint, the way his control teetered on the edge. He watched you with rapt attention, the hunger in his gaze growing darker with every passing second.
"More, more. Do it well, little one." he growled, his voice rough, the command making your heart race.
You obeyed, your worship becoming bolder, more fervent. You kissed along the line of his jaw, down his neck, each caress charged with a passion that you could no longer contain. His skin was warm under your lips, the scent of him intoxicating, drawing you deeper into the moment, deeper into him.
"Good." he breathed, his voice a low, dangerous purr. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling you back just enough so that you were forced to look up at him. "You are mine, little one." he said, the words like a dark promise, binding and absolute. "And you will worship me until I am satisfied."
His eyes bore into yours, and you nodded, breathless with the weight of his command. "Yes, my lord." you whispered, your voice trembling with both desire and reverence. "I am yours. Always."
A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, and he leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Then give yourself to me, little one." he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel. "Every. Last. Piece."
And so you did, sinking deeper into the night, into his dominance, into the endless cycle of devotion and submission. You worshiped him, body and soul, offering yourself up to the god before you, knowing that only in his possession could you find the dark, twisted fulfillment you both craved.
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THE TWO OF YOU NEVER SPOKE OF THAT NIGHT AGAIN. Sukuna refuses to. But you supposed that’s just what it was. It was a night that never existed. A night that never truly happened. You had always known what he was. Sukuna did not love. He consumes. And yet, in that brief, fragile moment, you had allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were more than a pawn in his world.
But that was the lie, wasn’t it? The truth was so much simpler, so much crueler.
You were not his queen, not his equal. You were a momentary distraction, a replacemnt. A temporary body to be worshiped, only to be discarded once he had no further use for you. You were his to command, but not his to want or love. He had none of those, you knew that much.
The truth was that night wasn’t special. It wasn’t sacred, you think to yourself. It wasn’t a turning point in your marriage—it was the reminder of how far beneath him you truly were. It was a reminder that you were always going to be behind him. Behind Hirommi. You were just the other woman. Nothing more, nothing less.
And now, all that was left was the hollow silence that followed.
You stepped into the audience hall, the echo of your sandals faint against the polished stone. The grand chamber was already filled with worshippers, all gathered to offer their reverence to Ryomen Sukuna, their benevolent protector and god.
Incense swirled in the air, thick and cloying, making it harder to breathe as you moved further inside. Each step felt heavier than the last, your body protesting the very act of standing, but still, you pushed forward. You had to be here—had to attend to him, no matter how weak you felt.
The illness had crept up on you, slow at first, just a gnawing discomfort in your stomach, then the waves of nausea that had grown worse by the day. You hadn’t eaten in days, couldn’t even stomach water, and yet you still forced a smile that morning when Chiharu had looked at you with concern, her brow furrowed as you prepared to leave the Vermillion Hall.
“You look unwell, Mother.” she had said, her voice soft but full of worry. She had always been perceptive, too perceptive sometimes. "Perhaps you should not go today. I am certain father will understand it."
You had brushed it off, smiling weakly. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
But even as you spoke, you could feel the lie clinging to your lips. The truth was that you hadn’t been fine for days. Sleep was a distant memory, each night spent tossing and turning, your body aching, your mind weighed down by the constant fatigue.
And yet, here you were, standing in the presence of Sukuna, the god you had pledged yourself to, trying desperately to hold yourself together. You cannot falter here. Not now. Not ever. You made that promise to yourself.
He sat on his throne, a figure of overwhelming power and indifference, his gaze sweeping lazily over the room as his worshippers chanted and prayed. You felt his eyes on you as you entered, that sharp, penetrating gaze that always seemed to strip you bare.
He didn’t speak, but you knew he saw it. It was out of the ordinary. He had not seen it in you before. The paleness of your skin, the slight tremble in your hands, the way your breaths came too shallow, too fast.
For a moment, his gaze lingered, cold and calculating, and you thought you saw something flicker in those crimson eyes. Recognition, perhaps. But he said nothing. He did nothing. He simply watched, his silence cutting deeper than any words could have.
You bowed your head, feeling the weight of his attention settle over you like a mantle, pressing down on your already fragile body. Your vision blurred slightly, the room swaying as you fought to steady yourself. The scent of the incense was overwhelming, choking, but you couldn’t leave. Not now. Not when Sukuna was watching, not when so many eyes were on you.
You had to stay. You had to prove your worth, even as your body screamed for rest, for relief from the torment that was slowly consuming you. The thought of disappointing him, of failing to fulfill your duties; that to you was far worse than the physical pain. Your purpose was to serve him. If there was nothing of that, you had no use.
But you could feel it now, how truly weak you were. The exhaustion gnawed at your bones, hollowing you out from the inside, leaving you barely able to stand. The faint dizziness grew stronger with each passing moment, and you could feel the cold sweat gathering at your temples, the dampness of your palms betraying the truth of your condition.
Still, you stood tall, refusing to show weakness, refusing to let it consume you in front of him. Sukuna’s gaze felt like a weight you could not shake, as though he could see every crack, every falter. He knew. You were certain of it. He had always been able to read you too well, even in the silence that stretched between you.
But he said nothing. He didn’t ask. He didn’t acknowledge it.
It wasn’t his way to care for such things. And you reminded yourself that it wasn’t your place to expect it. Whatever you felt in you, this illness, this slow collapse; it was yours to bear.
It was not something he would ever trouble himself with. His indifference was a cold comfort, one you had come to accept. And yet, a part of you, the part that still clung to some shred of hope—wished that he would say something, anything.
But he didn’t. And so you shouldn't push it.
As the worshippers fell to their knees, chanting his name, offering their prayers and sacrifices, you felt the room blur again, the ground beneath you unsteady. Your limbs trembled, and a cold wave of nausea washed over you, tightening your chest, stealing your breath. But you couldn’t show it. You couldn’t collapse here, not in front of all these people, not in front of him.
So, you smiled. You smiled the same way you had that morning with Chiharu, forcing a calm expression over the chaos raging inside you. You straightened your back, your hands clenched tightly at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fought to remain upright. You will smile through everything, even in pain.
And through it all, Sukuna’s gaze never left you.
He knew. He could see the toll this was taking, the way your body was betraying you, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His silence was louder than any word he could have uttered, a stark reminder that you were alone in this, that whatever kindness or care you might have once hoped for was an illusion.
As the prayers continued, you felt your strength slipping away, your knees threatening to buckle beneath you. But still, you stood, trembling and weak, your heart pounding in your chest as you fought to keep your composure. You would not fall. Not here. Not now.
And yet, as you felt his eyes still on you, unrelenting and cold, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was waiting….waiting for you to break.
You tried to push through, to continue with your duties despite the sharp, pounding ache that had begun to pulse behind your eyes. As worshippers approached with their offerings, you smiled weakly, accepting their gifts, murmuring blessings in a voice that felt thin and distant.
Each gesture felt like an immense effort, each word a struggle to get out as the dizziness intensified, the room blurring and warping at the edges of your vision. You felt like you were going to lose yourself soon enough.
Your head was pounding now, a dull, relentless throb that refused to be ignored. It felt as though the very air was pressing in on you, making it harder to breathe, harder to think.
Your hands shook as you reached out to accept another offering, and for a brief moment, the world tilted dangerously. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the sensation only worsened, the pain in your skull stabbing deeper.
You couldn’t continue. Not like this.
You stepped back, your breath shallow, and turned toward Sukuna. His crimson eyes were already on you, cold and unwavering, as though he’d been expecting this. You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat before you managed to speak, your voice barely above a whisper.
“My lord… please, excuse me from the gathering.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze was unreadable, the weight of it pressing down on you like an invisible hand. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he gave a single nod, granting you permission. No words of concern, no acknowledgment of the obvious strain you were under—just that small, dismissive gesture.
You bowed your head, murmuring a soft thanks, and turned to leave. But as you made your way toward the exit, the dizziness returned with a vengeance, the pounding in your skull growing unbearable. Each step felt like you were walking through water, your body sluggish and unresponsive. You could feel your strength slipping away, your legs trembling beneath you.
Just a few more steps. That’s all you needed.
But then, the ground gave way. Your vision darkened at the edges, and before you could stop yourself, the world spun violently, and you felt yourself falling. There was a rush of air, the sensation of weightlessness, and then everything went black.
The last thing you heard was the sound of commotion, distant voices rising in panic, feet rushing toward you but all of it seemed so far away, as if you were sinking into a deep, silent abyss.
When you finally came to awareness, the first thing you felt was the heavy, oppressive heat of the Vermillion Hall. Your eyelids fluttered open slowly, the soft light of the room hazy and disorienting.
It took a moment for your senses to catch up, for your mind to register that you were no longer in the audience hall. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything felt slow and thick, like you were wading through fog.
And then you saw him.
Ryomen Sukuna was there, standing at the foot of your bed, his arms crossed, his expression as inscrutable as ever. He was staring at you, his eyes sharp and piercing, as though he had been watching you the entire time you were unconscious.
There was no warmth in his gaze, no concern—only that unrelenting intensity that had always made you feel so small under his scrutiny. And even that, it was all too hard to decipher. He was not easy to read when he closes the warmth in his eyes.
Your heart raced in your chest as you tried to sit up, but your body was too weak, the effort too much. The dizziness returned, a faint shadow of what it had been before, and you collapsed back against the pillows, your breathing shallow and uneven. You felt vulnerable, exposed under his gaze, and yet you couldn’t muster the strength to do anything about it.
For a long time, he said nothing, his eyes fixed on you, as though waiting for something—for what, you couldn’t say. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, and the weight of it made it hard to breathe. You wanted to speak, to say something, but no words came. You didn’t know what to say.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he moved, his voice low and calm, but edged with something dark, something you couldn’t quite place. “You fainted.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, cold and factual. As though he was reminding you of your own failure.
You nodded weakly, your throat dry. “I… I’m sorry, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Sorry?”
You swallowed, forcing the words out. “For being a burden. For… for not being strong enough.”
His lips curled into something that might have been a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only the sharp edge of amusement. “A burden?” he repeated, his tone mocking, as if the very idea of you being a burden to him was laughable.
But he didn’t deny it.
His gaze flickered over you, taking in your pale skin, your trembling hands, the way you still struggled to breathe evenly. You could feel his eyes on you like a weight, assessing, calculating, as though he was deciding what to do with you now that you had shown such weakness.
“You’re not feeling well.” he said, the words flat and unfeeling. “I can see that.”
There was no compassion in his voice, no softening of his features. Just the brutal truth, laid bare before you. He saw it. He had seen it all along.
And still, he had let you fall.
“You shouldn’t have come.” he added, his voice low, almost a growl. “You had no business being there, not in this condition.”
The accusation hung in the air, thick and suffocating. He was angry, though he masked it behind that cold indifference. But you could feel it—the undercurrent of frustration, of disappointment. You had failed, and it had displeased him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words stuck in your throat. What could you possibly say? That you wanted to prove your worth? That you wanted to be strong for him, even when you felt yourself breaking? That you would have rather collapsed at his feet than show weakness in front of him?
But none of that mattered now.
Sukuna's gaze darkened, and he stepped closer to the edge of the bed. His presence, towering and oppressive, made the already suffocating air feel even heavier. He didn’t sit, didn’t offer you any comfort, only stared down at you with those cold, unyielding eyes.
“A physician checked you, little one.” he began, his voice low and deliberate, every word carefully measured. There was no kindness, no softness in his tone, just a hard edge that sent a chill down your spine. “You’re not sick.”
You blinked, trying to process what he was saying. Not sick? The nausea, the fatigue, the way your body had felt like it was slowly unraveling—all of it had to mean something, didn’t it? You searched his face, but there was no answer there, only that same cold indifference.
“You’re with child.”
The words hit you like a blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. For a moment, the world seemed to still, the weight of what he had just said crashing over you in waves, pulling you under. You stared at him, your mouth dry, your mind struggling to catch up.
With a child? You? It felt impossible. Unreal. You were soon past your child bearing years. And yet, having only bedded your husband once, you were already with child. Your hand instinctively moved to your stomach, as if expecting to feel something, some confirmation of this life growing inside you. But there was nothing—just the same hollow ache, the same exhaustion that had plagued you for days.
You searched Sukuna’s face for some sign of what he was feeling, but there was nothing. No emotion, no reaction, just that cold, calculating gaze that had always kept you at a distance.
“I…....” The words faltered on your lips. You didn’t know what to say. How could you? The enormity of it was too much, too overwhelming. You hadn’t even considered the possibility.
Sukuna watched you, his expression unreadable. “Are you surprised?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew the answer. He tilted his head slightly, as if studying you, waiting to see how you would react.
You nodded weakly, still too shocked to fully comprehend what he had said. “I didn’t know, my lord.” you whispered, your voice trembling. The exhaustion, the sickness—it all made sense now, but it was a truth you weren’t prepared for.
“You didn’t know.” he echoed, his voice sharp. His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something dark crossing his features. “Of course you didn’t.” There was a bite to his words, a mocking undertone that stung, as if he found your ignorance pathetic, laughable.
The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you felt small, fragile, under his scrutiny. You could see the disdain there, the way he looked at you, as though you were some delicate, breakable thing. A vessel, nothing more.
“How long?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
“The physician believes it’s early.” he replied, his tone dismissive, as though the details were unimportant. “But it doesn’t matter.” He leaned in slightly, his gaze piercing, his next words cutting through you like a blade. “What matters is that you are carrying my child.”
There was no joy in his words, no pride. Only possession.
You felt your heart sink, the weight of the realization pressing down on you. This wasn’t a moment of celebration, of shared happiness. It wasn’t even about you. It was about him, his lineage, his power. You were nothing more than the vessel carrying his bloodline, an instrument of his will.
At least that's what you think. He will not love this child as much as he loved Chiharu. This was not Hiromi's child. No, this was to be your child. And there was little value to you, compared to Ryomen Hiromi. You were just the other woman. And this child to him, was just another child.
And he made that clear with every cold word, with every indifferent glance.
Your hand trembled as it rested against your stomach, and for a brief moment, you felt a strange mix of fear and wonder. There was life inside you, a piece of Sukuna, growing within. But that wonder quickly gave way to dread, because you knew—this child wasn’t yours. It was his. Always his.
And you had no idea what that meant for you.
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IT TOOK A WHILE TO GET USED TO. As the weeks passed, the reality of carrying Sukuna's child began to settle in. Your body, once so light and familiar, now felt foreign. The changes were subtle at first. An unusual tenderness, a slight heaviness that seemed to grow with each passing day.
But as your stomach began to swell, there was no escaping the truth of it: you were no longer just yourself. You were something more, something strange, and the weight of it, both physical and emotional, was suffocating.
Ryomen Sukuna’s presence during this time was a constant, though it felt both comforting and unnerving in equal measure. He was more attentive than he had ever been before, his crimson eyes often flickering to your growing belly, his gaze sharp and calculating.
There were moments when you would catch him staring, his expression unreadable, as though he were measuring the life inside you with the same cold precision he used for everything else within his own little kingdom.
At times, he would ask about your health—his voice low and indifferent, but the questions were there. The inquiry was still said. You were content with that than not having any at all. He’d inquire about your strength, your appetite, the way the child moved within you.
And sometimes, on rare occasions, he would even place his hand against your stomach, his touch cool and possessive, as if he were checking on the progress of his heir, not out of care for you but for the child that shared his blood.
Yet, even with these moments of attentiveness, Sukuna remained distant, as though there was a wall between you that you could not break through. He never spoke of the future, of what the child meant for him, for you.
He never touched you with any warmth beyond those few, calculated moments when his hand rested against your abdomen. It was as though you were both closer than ever and more estranged at the same time.
His coldness hurt more than you wanted to admit. There were days when you found yourself wishing, hoping deep down that he would say something, anything that acknowledged the bond growing between you. You carried his child, after all. Surely, that meant something. But he never offered you those words, never shared in the quiet anticipation that came with waiting for new life.
And yet, there were moments when he showed a kind of concern, though it was wrapped in layers of his usual indifference. When you were too tired to rise from bed, Sukuna would stand at your side, his gaze sweeping over you with a strange mixture of irritation and something you couldn’t quite name.
He would summon attendants, ordering them to bring you food or drink, even if you couldn’t stomach it, insisting that you take care of yourself, though his words always felt like commands rather than concern.
Once, during one of your weaker moments, when you had collapsed after attempting to attend to your duties, he had carried you to your chambers without a word. His arms were strong and unyielding, but there had been no tenderness in his touch, no soft words to reassure you. It was simply the matter of ensuring that his vessel—you were safe.
Despite his coldness, despite the distance he kept between you, there was a part of you that longed for more. You wanted him to see you, not just as the mother of his child, but as someone who carried a piece of him within you.
But every time you reached out, every time you tried to breach the distance between you, Sukuna would pull away, retreating into his own world of power and control. Retreating to those walls he had built around him. And each and every time, you felt ever more far away from him.
The nights were the hardest. When the palace was quiet and the weight of your growing body pressed down on you, making sleep elusive, you would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the future held. You would think of the child growing inside you, your child, his child. And what it would mean to raise them in Sukuna’s cold, unfeeling world.
Would this child know love? Would you be able to give them the warmth that Sukuna so clearly lacked? Or would they, too, grow up under his gaze, feeling the same distance that you did now?
Sukuna never stayed with you in those moments. He never held you through the nights of discomfort or shared in the quiet loneliness that had settled over you like a shadow.
Instead, he would retreat to his own chambers, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your fears, and the growing weight of the life inside you. He had other things more important than that, you knew that too well. You were the least of his concerns.
And yet, despite it all, you couldn’t help but feel a strange connection to him, a bond that was as much about the child you carried as it was about the complex, twisted relationship that had always existed between the two of you.
He was distant, yes, but there was something else there, something unspoken. Whether it was his way of protecting himself, or perhaps a sign that he cared in his own cold, indifferent way, you couldn’t say.
But you held onto that hope, even as the distance between you grew.
As the months wore on, and your belly swelled with the child, you found yourself wondering more and more what kind of father Sukuna would be. Would he care for this child in the same distant, detached way he cared for you?
Or would the presence of his bloodline soften him in ways you could hardly imagine? The questions haunted you, but there were no answers, and Sukuna gave you no glimpse into his thoughts.
And so, you continued through the days, growing larger, growing more exhausted, with Sukuna always watching but never truly reaching for you. He was there, always there, a constant presence by your side, but the distance remained. You carried his child, and that alone seemed to be enough for him.
For now.
As your pregnancy progressed, you found solace in the small, unexpected joys that emerged amid the uncertainty and distance. Chiharu, ever the bright light in your life, was over the moon at the prospect of becoming a big sister. Her excitement was infectious, and it warmed your heart to see her eagerly preparing for the arrival of her new sibling.
“Look! I found these!” she exclaimed one afternoon, bursting into your chambers with an armful of tiny garments—soft fabrics in delicate colors, stitched with care. “They’re perfect for the baby! Can you imagine how cute they’ll look?”
You couldn’t help but smile, the brightness of her joy illuminating the shadows that had crept into your heart. “They’re beautiful, little flower.” you replied, reaching out to touch the fabric. It was soft against your fingers, and you could already picture your child wrapped in the warmth of her offerings.
“You’re going to be the best big sister.”
Her eyes sparkled as she nodded enthusiastically, bouncing on her heels. “I can’t wait! I’ll help feed them and read them stories! And we can play together!”
Watching her enthusiasm, you felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, in time, Sukuna’s child would know love and warmth, despite the coldness that surrounded their father. You couldn’t help but wish for the best, for Chiharu’s sake as well as your own.
But as the days turned into weeks, the contrast between Chiharu's innocent excitement and Sukuna's distant demeanor weighed heavily on you. While Chiharu’s joy was a light in your life, Sukuna’s absence during these moments left an ache in your heart. You longed for his engagement, for him to share in these precious experiences, but the distance between you remained as vast as ever.
Later that evening, after Chiharu had dashed off to gather more supplies for her preparations, you found yourself alone with your thoughts. The palace was quiet, the shadows lengthening in the dim light of your chambers. As you sat in the stillness, you could feel the baby moving inside you, gentle nudges reminding you of the life growing within.
Your heart was a tumultuous blend of hope and worry, and as if summoned by your thoughts, Sukuna entered your chambers without knocking. He was as imposing as ever, his presence filling the space, and you felt a familiar mix of comfort and apprehension.
“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked, his voice cool and detached. But there was an underlying curiosity in his tone, something that hinted he was intrigued despite himself.
You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the words you wanted to say. “Chiharu is excited, my lord.” you finally replied, your voice soft. “She can’t wait to be a big sister.”
Sukuna raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable as he stepped closer. “Is that so?”
“Yes, my lord.” you continued, unable to keep the warmth from your voice. “She’s been collecting clothes and toys, talking about all the things she wants to do with the baby.”
He remained silent for a moment, his crimson eyes piercing into yours as if trying to gauge your emotions, to measure the depth of your attachment to the child and to Chiharu. It was a heavy gaze, one that made you feel both seen and exposed.
“She’s a child.” he finally said, his tone flat. “She has no concept of what this entails.”
The words stung more than you wanted to admit, but you swallowed your response, focusing instead on the warmth Chiharu had brought into your life. “But she’s happy, my lord. Isn’t that what matters? She’s looking forward to this.”
His gaze shifted slightly, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe something deeper. “Happiness is fleeting, little one.” he said, his tone low, almost ominous. “Children are fickle creatures, easily distracted. What they want today can change by tomorrow.”
You felt a rush of frustration. “This isn’t just about you or me, my lord. It’s about her, about the family we’re bringing into this world.”
He stepped closer, the space between you closing, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze, how it bore down on you like a weight. “Family?” he echoed, and there was something in his voice that sent a shiver down your spine. “You think family means anything to me?”
You held his gaze, searching for any hint of the man you had once known, the man who had taken you into his world. “I would hope so, my lord.” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “This is your kin too.”
He scoffed, the sound harsh and mirthless. “And what of it?” he says, his eyes narrowing. “I am what I am. A god. A king. I do not concern myself with matters of warmth and affection.”
His words cut deeper than you expected, and you felt the ache in your chest swell. “You’re wrong. You have the power to shape this child’s life. To give them a future that’s not bound by your darkness, my lord.”
Sukuna studied you, and the silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. You could feel your heart racing, the urgency of your plea hanging in the air. You wanted him to understand, to see that being a parent didn’t mean sacrificing his identity but rather expanding it.
“Why do you care so much?” he finally asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “This child will be a tool for my power, nothing more. You know that.”
You shook your head, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “No! They’re not just a tool, my lord. They’re a life. They deserve more than being a means to an end. Do you see Chiharu as such?”
He remained silent, his expression unyielding, and for a moment, you thought he would turn away, dismiss you as he often did. But instead, he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his gaze unflinching.
“And what do you plan to give them?” he asked, his voice low and cold. “A world of uncertainty? A life filled with the expectations of a father who will never change?”
You felt the weight of his words press down on you, the truth of them settling like a stone in your stomach. But even as despair threatened to swallow you, you pushed back, refusing to let the darkness consume you. “I’ll give them love, my lord.” you said, your voice firm, unwavering. “I will show them what it means to be loved, to be cherished, even if you won’t.”
The air between you crackled with tension, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had stilled, holding its breath in anticipation. Sukuna’s gaze was intense, unyielding, and you could feel the weight of his thoughts, the storm brewing just beneath the surface.
But then he stepped back, breaking the moment, and that familiar wall of distance reemerged between you. “You’re foolish, little one.” he said, his tone dismissive, yet there was a flicker in his eyes that hinted at something more. “Love is a weakness, a liability. You would do well to remember that.”
You nodded, your heart heavy. “Perhaps, but it’s the one thing I can give. You may not care, my lord, but I will love this child fiercely, regardless of your indifference.”
With that, you turned away, needing a moment to gather your thoughts, to quell the storm of emotions raging within you. But as you felt Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze lingering on your back, you couldn’t shake the sense that perhaps, deep down, he was listening, if only just a little.
And as much as he may try to deny it, there was a part of him that understood the importance of what you wanted. You could only hope that, in time, he might come to realize that too.
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THIS WAS THE WORST PAIN OF YOUR LIFE. The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy with the scent of sweat and desperation. You could feel your voice hoarse from the screaming. You lay on the bed, body wracked with pain, each contraction tearing through you like a storm, relentless and unforgiving.
It had been two days of suffering, two days of pleading with your body to bring the child forth. But each time you thought the end was near, your body betrayed you, the child refusing to make its way into the world.
You could feel the midwife’s hands on you, her grip firm but trembling with fear. Her brow was slick with sweat, and her eyes darted to the door as if expecting rescue to arrive at any moment. “You need to push harder,” she urged, her voice laced with urgency, but you could hardly hear her over the overwhelming wave of pain that consumed you.
“Please… save the baby…” you gasped between gritted teeth, the words spilling from your lips like a prayer. It was all that mattered to you. You would endure anything if it meant bringing this child into the world.
“Focus on your breathing, my lady.” the midwife coaxed, her voice a lifeline amidst the chaos. “You need to stay strong. We can do this.”
But your strength was waning. Each wave of agony pulled you deeper into a chasm of despair. You could feel the blood pooling beneath you, the warmth slick against your skin, and the midwife’s panic seeped into your consciousness. “You need to hurry.” she whispered to herself, fear creeping into her voice. “If this continues, you’ll bleed to death.”
You felt the darkness nipping at the edges of your mind, and in your heart, a flicker of fear ignited. “No, no….” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not my baby. Please… save my baby.”
And just as your hope began to flicker, the heavy door swung open, and Ryomen Sukuna entered the room, his presence a commanding force. The moment he stepped inside, the air shifted, the oppressive weight of his energy washing over you. His crimson eyes locked onto you, and for a fleeting moment, the world fell silent. But the moment passed, and you were swallowed once more by the relentless waves of pain.
“Get out.” Sukuna commanded the midwife, his voice low and dangerous. She opened her mouth to protest, but he fixed her with a look that sent chills down her spine. She turned away, leaving you alone with him, and you felt a rush of confusion.
“My lord….…” you gasped, feeling the tears prick at your eyes, the pain making it hard to think straight. “I need—”
“You need to focus on staying alive, little one.” he interrupted, stepping closer, his gaze fierce and unwavering. “Forget the child. If it must die, then it is a small sacrifice for your life.”
You blinked at him, disbelief flooding your senses. “What do you mean? You can’t just give up on them! Please, my lord…..I can’t—”
He took a step forward, looming over you with an intensity that both terrified and captivated you. “You are more important than some frail, pathetic thing that may never even breathe.” he said, his voice a sharp contrast to your desperation. “I will not lose you. Not now.”
You shook your head, pain and frustration mixing with despair. “I won’t let you do this… I won’t let you take my child away!”
Sukuna’s expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something else there, something that made your heart ache. “You are in danger, and I will not allow you to bleed out while you chase after a child that may never live. Focus on what matters. Fight for yourself.”
His words struck deep, and for a moment, the fury flared within you, mingling with your love for the child. You wanted to scream at him, to make him understand the depth of your devotion. But the pain clawed at your insides, and your body betrayed you once more.
“Push!” the midwife’s voice echoed faintly in the background as you gripped the sheets, a cry escaping your lips as you summoned what little strength remained. “Push, just a little more!”
With Sukuna standing there, his gaze piercing through your haze of agony, you felt a surge of determination. You could do this. You could fight for both of you. “Save my baby…” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.
Ryomen Sukuna’s expression softened just slightly, and for the first time, you saw a glimpse of something deeper, something that spoke of a bond that extended beyond mere duty. But he remained silent, watching as you braced yourself for the next wave of pain.
With each contraction, you pushed with everything you had left, your body screaming in protest. You felt the world around you blur, the pain reaching a crescendo that threatened to swallow you whole. The room spun, and the dark edges of your vision began to close in.
And then, just as despair threatened to consume you, you felt a shift—an overwhelming pressure that gave way to a moment of clarity. With a final, desperate push, you cried out, summoning every ounce of strength you had left, the air thick with the weight of your determination.
And then, you heard it—the faint, sweet sound of a cry filling the room.
The moment filled with disbelief, and your heart raced as the midwife’s voice broke through the haze. “It’s a boy, my lady! You did it! You brought him into the world!”
Tears streamed down your cheeks as Sukuna moved closer, and you felt the rush of warmth flood through you, a wave of relief and joy intertwining. But then the world around you started to spin again, and as you fell back against the pillows, darkness crept in.
You could feel yourself slipping away, the pool of blood collecting at your thighs. You breathed ever so shallowly, feeling your body whisper goodbyes in every small minute movement. You were in indescribable pain. And it was taking over you. It was eating you whole. And you cannot do anything but let it hurt you.
“Stay with me! Open your eyes, I command it!” you heard Sukuna say, his voice now laced with urgency. “Stay with me, dammit!”
The world faded to black, a heavy blanket of darkness enveloping you as the sounds of the room grew distant. You could feel the weight of Sukuna’s hand around yours, a tether anchoring you to reality. His grip was firm, almost desperate, and you fought against the pull of unconsciousness, straining to stay with him, to see this through.
You drifted back to consciousness, the heaviness of sleep lifting slowly as awareness returned. The soft light filtering through the window painted the room in gentle hues, but it was the presence beside you that pulled you from the depths of slumber.
As your eyes fluttered open, you found Sukuna seated vigilantly at your side, his expression stormy, yet it held an intensity that spoke of concern. You had never seen those eyes reflect such emotions before.
Nearly eighteen years of marriage and there was so little of those eyes from him. Perhaps, it took your near death to earn those eyes. As the gods intended. As your husband intended.
“You’re finally awake.” he said, voice low and taut with a mixture of relief and anger. The stark contrast between his emotions made your heart quicken.
“I’m alive, my lord.” you murmured, your throat dry as you tried to push yourself up, the weight of your body still feeling foreign. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”
“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been asleep?” he snapped, his frustration evident. “Seven days, and you nearly bled to death! How reckless can you be, you foolish girl?”
You winced at his tone, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite the gravity of the situation. “But I’m here, my lord. I’m alive.”
Before he could respond, a soft, plaintive cry broke the tension in the air, and your heart leapt at the sound. You turned your head slowly, and your breath caught in your throat as you looked beside you.
There, nestled in a soft blanket, was your own beloved son—tiny, fragile, and perfect. The moment you laid eyes on him, a warmth spread through your chest, and all the pain, the fear, the anger melted away.
“Chizuru.” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face, radiating pure joy.
Sukuna’s gaze shifted to the child, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What did you say?” he asked, his voice softer now, the anger dissipating into something more vulnerable.
“His name is Chizuru, my lord.” you replied, your heart swelling as you looked back at the small figure. “Chizuru. It means a thousand cranes.”
You watched as Sukuna’s expression shifted, a mixture of intrigue and contemplation as he absorbed the significance of the name. “A thousand cranes…” he echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. “And what does that mean?”
“When you fold at least a thousand cranes, you get to make a wish.” you explained, glancing back at your son, his tiny fingers twitching as he settled back into a soft coo. “I wished for happiness and here he is, so real and so vibrant.”
Sukuna remained silent, his gaze fixed on you, and for a moment, the world outside the room faded into a distant hum. Nothing else mattered in that moment. There was that warmth that could be the rarest of creations known to man. And one of those rare creations blossomed in the small babe, cooing beside you.
“Chizuru…” he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue as if testing its sound, and you could see a flicker of something in his eyes—a realization perhaps, or a flicker of acceptance. “Ryomen Chizuru.”
You turned your focus back to your baby, your heart swelling as you cradled him gently. “Look at him, my lord. He’s beautiful.”
As you gazed at Chizuru, you felt a profound sense of connection, as if your wish had been granted right before your eyes. In that moment, you realized something deeper, something that shimmered in the quiet between you and Sukuna.
He was beginning to see it too. The way your eyes sparkled with love and hope, the way you smiled at your child, the warmth that radiated from your heart—it all began to intertwine. Something so beautiful had blossomed a new spring right in front of him.
Ryomen Sukuna’s expression softened as he took in the sight of you with Chizuru. There was a flicker of understanding, a silent knowledge that he had learned just by looking at mother and son.
In that moment, he realized that in your eyes, Ryomen Chizuru wasn’t just a child. He was your happiness. And perhaps, he could be his own too.
══════════════════
IN A BLINK OF AN EYE, THE WORLD CHANGES. If you had been asked years ago, you would have been still wondered what joy truly looks like. But if you had been asked now, you would have had an answer that would satisfy the ears of many. Many years had slipped by like a gentle breeze, carrying with it moments of joy and laughter that filled the once quiet halls of the temple with life.
You had poured your heart and soul into raising your son, Chizuru, and the beloved Chiharu, finding a rhythm in the chaos that came with the fondness of motherhood. A harsh road, a horrific terrrain and yet, everything about it had been so beautiful. Everything about it had filled you with nothing but joy.
The air in Vermillion Hall as of late was filled with their giggles and the soft pitter-patter of small feet, the sound of innocence and love echoing against the ancient stone walls. The other halls of the temple could only be envious that you who had been favored, was even more blessed with the sound of two children's joy. A gift none but you in the harem possess.
As you wandered through the temple, sunlight streamed through the open windows, casting warm patches of light on the floor. The vibrant colors of the flowers you’d arranged adorned the hall, adding a touch of brightness to the serene surroundings. You felt a deep sense of contentment wash over you, knowing that you were nurturing a sanctuary for your children, a place where they could flourish.
Young master Ryomen Chizuru was often the more adventurous of the two, his curiosity driving him to explore every nook and cranny of the temple. He had your bright eyes and quite often, they sparkled with mischief as he dashed around, discovering hidden corners and asking a thousand questions about the world around him.
Young mistress Ryomen Chiharu, on the other hand, was a gentle spirit, her laughter melodic as she chased after her brother, always ready to join in his games but equally happy to indulge in quiet moments with you when she wasn't right beside her father, learning the ropes of his leadership.
Between the two of them though, there was certainly no quiet in the Vermillion Hall. But in those rare moments when silence fell over the temple, you would often find yourself lost in thought, reflecting on how far you had come.
Ryomen Sukuna’s absence weighed heavily on you at times, as he would be in between his own pilgrimage to Kyoto or dealing with matters here all across Hida. But you had learned to navigate the complexities of your life as a mother and a partner. If you had done it before, you could do it again.
You had for all this time forged a sense of independence that filled you with pride. You were no longer just the woman who had once worshiped at his feet; you were a mother, a protector, and a nurturer. You were more than what you were all those years ago.
You found joy in the small things in your life today more than you did beforel sometimes, you would be teaching your children the art of folding origami cranes, sharing stories of the world outside, and guiding them through the rituals of your worship to the other gods.
As you sat in the garden, Ryomen Chizuru carefully folded paper into intricate shapes while Ryomen Chiharu hummed a soft tune beside you, you felt a profound sense of peace. The sun warmed your skin, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above, as if the world itself was celebrating this moment with you.
“Look, Mother! I made a crane!” Chizuru exclaimed, holding up his creation with a proud grin that made your heart swell.
“It’s beautiful, my love.” you praised, reaching out to ruffle his fuschia hair. “Just like you.”
Chiharu clapped her hands in delight, her bright eyes sparkling. “You did so well, little brother! Can we hang it in the hall, Mother? Please? We ought to show the world my little brother's wodners, don't you think?”
“Of course, little flower. We can make a whole family of cranes!” you replied, feeling the joy that radiated from your children wrap around you like a warm embrace.
As the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden, you settled back against the soft grass, watching your children with a heart full of love. The laughter of Chizuru and Chiharu danced in the air, a sweet melody that resonated deep within you.
“Let’s see how many we can make!” Chizuru declared, diving back into his pile of paper, his little fingers moving with surprising dexterity. Chiharu grinned and joined him eagerly, her giggles punctuating their efforts as they competed to see who could fold the most cranes.
“Remember, my love,” you chimed in, “for every crane we fold, we should make a wish. What do you want to wish for, hm?”
Chiharu paused, her brows furrowed in concentration. “I wish for us to always be together!” she said, her voice sincere and unwavering. "Healthy and happy. That we'll always love one another!"
“And I wish for a big adventure, mother!” Chizuru added, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “One where we can find hidden treasures! Together with you and big sister!”
You chuckled softly, imagining the countless stories waiting to be told. The world outside the temple was vast and filled with mysteries, but within the safety of these walls, they had everything they needed. You like to think that all that would only be happy if you were all together. If you had Chiharu and Chizuru, you would live well.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink, you joined them in their folding. Each crease of the paper felt like a connection—an unspoken promise to nurture their dreams and guide them in their adventures. Of wishes for happier days, wishes for many more sunshines and of course, blissful years to come.
You shared tales of the cranes you had folded as a child, of wishes that had been granted, and of moments that had changed your life. You told them about your mother's beautiful painting skills, your father's brillliance in weaving the cranes together, your little siblings and their eagerness for play.
Chizuru listened with rapt attention, and of course, he would ask questions about your family. You told him as much as you remembered. But at times, you could not find anymore words to say. Your family have not seen you in these many years. And perhaps, never again.
Chiharu leaned against you, her head resting comfortably on your shoulder. She would wonder about how you were as a little girl, when you would play these little paper cranes too. But she did not push as much as her brother.
“Mother, can we fold one for father?” Chizuru asked, his voice softening with a hint of longing. "So that he may know we are missing him and thinking of him!"
“Of course, little flower.” you replied, forcing a smile. “Let’s make one for him, so he knows we’re thinking of him.”
As you helped them fold the paper, you couldn’t shake the thought of Sukuna. He had matters to settle today. And in the past few days, have been without a visit to Vermillion Hall. He had been more frequent in the halls as of late, much more so because your son was wanting his father. And Sukuna indulged him.
You wanted to share these moments with him, at least to look at the children with those fond eyes, the looks he rarely lets slip through the view of others. He had no love for you, true enough. But that does not matter. So long as he loved the children, so long as he cared for him, then perhaps you could be content with that.
After what felt like an eternity of folding, you finally stood, stretching your arms overhead as you surveyed your creations. The hall was beginning to fill with the soft, ambient light of the setting sun, illuminating the vibrant colors of the paper cranes scattered about.
“Let’s hang them up!” you suggested, and together, the three of you transformed the hall into a dazzling display of colorful cranes, each one a symbol of a wish, a memory, and an unbreakable bond.
As you stepped back to admire your handiwork, Chizuru tugged at your sleeve, his face alight with curiosity. “Mother, do you think father will like them?”
You knelt down to his level, cupping his small face in your hands. “I think he’ll be fond of them. They’re a part of us, a part of our family. They are our wishes, after all.”
Chiharu chimed in, looking at her little brother. She too does not wish to break the spell for him. “And when he sees them, he’ll know how much we miss him!”
Chizuru smiled brightly, "Really? Father will be touched then!"
You nodded, feeling a warmth envelop your heart. “Exactly, my love. And we’ll keep making more until he comes home.”
As twilight settled around you, a hush fell over the temple, wrapping you in its embrace. The world outside seemed to pause, and for a moment, all that existed were you and your children, surrounded by the hope and love that filled the air.
With each crane hung in the hall, you were satisfied. The children, bored of making more cranes now, had told you they would play in the garden and you told them not to go too far. That you would see them in a few minutes. You just had to clean out the mess.
Once you had done so, and felt satisfied with the cleaning, you followed them with a lamp. You could hear Chizuru and Chiharu playing in the garden, their laughter floating through the open window, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them. Then they stopped laughing. You came out and stopped at your tracks.
“Father!” Chizuru’s voice rang out, his excitement unmistakable. You rushed to the window just in time to see Ryomen Sukuna entering the garden.
Sukuna’s eyes locked onto Chizuru, and for a fleeting moment, all the tension of his time away seemed to melt away. Chizuru ran to him, arms outstretched, and Sukuna knelt down, catching his son in a warm embrace. You could see it in Sukuna’s expression, a rare softness breaking through his typically stoic demeanor.
“Look, Father! I made you a crane!” Chizuru exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement as he presented his creation with pride.
Sukuna took the paper crane, inspecting it with a careful eye, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Not bad, little flame.” he said, the praise simple yet meaningful, his tone unexpectedly tender.
Chizuru grinned at his father. Chiharu just behind him. “Father, can we show you the ones we hung in the hall? Mother helped us make them!”
Sukuna looked up from the crane, his gaze shifting between his children, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of the man who had once held such power and authority. Here, among his family, he was just a father. The rarest of sights.
“Lead the way, little flame.” he said, rising to his full height and offering his hand to Chizuru. Chiharu follows behind her brother, trying to keep her compsure.
You watched as they walked side by side, the small boy nearly bouncing with excitement as he chattered away, eager to share every detail about his creations. She looks behind you, as though to see you following them.
You followed at a distance, smiling fondly. As they entered the Vermillion Hall, the colors of the cranes fluttered like bright blossoms in the wind, each one a testament to the love and hope you had nurtured in their absence.
“Look, Father! There’s one for you!” Chizuru pointed, pride evident in his voice.
Sukuna stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at the multitude of cranes hanging from the rafters. You noticed how his posture relaxed, the tension of his dealings fading away.
He might have been a fearsome sorcerer to the outside world, but in this sacred space, he left that all behind. He was not to be the one to seem to be such a case, but he was a father. And he adored his children. Perhaps, Chizuru the most. Even if he does not say it outright.
“You’ve made quite the display here.” he remarked, and you could see the admiration shining in his eyes.
Chizuru grinned. "We have, father! Mother says it has brighten the place! And that creates wishes!"
Chiharu chimed in. “Mother said every crane is a wish. Chizuru wished for you to come home, father.”
Sukuna knelt down to her level, his gaze steady. “And I’m here now, aren’t I?”
Chiharu nodded. Chizuru more vigorously, his enthusiasm contagious.
As they continued to admire the cranes, you couldn’t help but notice the way Chizuru moved closer to Sukuna, his small hand brushing against his father’s arm. It was a gesture filled with tenderness, a silent communication that spoke volumes.
You felt a pang in your chest, knowing that Chizuru’s gentle nature was something Sukuna both needed and feared. In that moment, it reminded him of you—of the warmth and love that had filled the space between you before he left.
“Little flame.” Sukuna said, his voice lower, more serious. “You’ve become quite the artist. Do you know what it means to fold a thousand cranes?”
Chizuru shook his head, looking up at his father with wide eyes.
“It means you get to make a wish. A powerful wish.” Sukuna continued, his gaze softening further.
“What’s your wish, Father?” Chizuru asked, curiosity sparkling in his voice.
Sukuna hesitated, a fleeting expression crossing his face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “My wish? To always be here with you and your sister.” he said finally, and the rare sincerity in his tone sent a thrill through you. “For us to be together.”
Chiharu clapped her hands in delight, and Chizuru smiled brightly, the happiness between them radiating through the hall like the sun breaking through the clouds. For a moment, you looked at this and thought to yourself in a small little prayer, that this would never end.
You wanted for this to last forever.
Even if this was just that moment.
You wanted to stay in it forever.
══════════════════
NOTHING WOULD ERASE MEMORIES OF THAT DAY. Your husband had bid farewell a few hours ago, after the children had fallen asleep. He had already fixed his retinue; Uraume awaited him in the courtyard, standing with the quiet reverence they always kept. It was his yearly trip to Kyoto, to visit the remains of his beloved Hiromi.
You did not want him to go. The idea gnawed at you like a persistent ache, but what could you say? He had always made this journey, always carried this grief. A grief you could never touch. You could never be her, and he... he would never truly belong to you. Not in the way you longed for.
But still, you had kept your mouth shut. The children needed him here, but you bowed your head as he prepared to leave. Your lips pressed into a thin line as you tried to smile, trying to mask the deep ache twisting your insides.
His footsteps were soft on the wooden floor as he approached, the flickering lamp light casting shadows across his face. He stopped before you, gazing down, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of his eyes on you, heavy with something you couldn’t name. His hand came to rest upon your hair, his fingers slipping through the strands, gently, almost tenderly, as though soothing you for the inevitable pain of his departure.
"Rest well, little one." he murmured, his voice low and quiet, a distant warmth in it that never quite reached you. "I’ll return soon enough."
You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There was nothing you could say that would change his heart, that would pull him back from the ghost he still loved. So, you let the silence fill the space between you.
His hand slipped away, leaving a chill in its wake. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, his back a familiar sight, disappearing into the night. You watched him go, your heart heavy in your chest, telling yourself again what you’d told yourself a thousand times before.
He doesn't love me.
The thought was bitter but familiar, like an old wound that never fully healed. You clenched your hands together, willing yourself to let go of the dream. To stop hoping for something that could never be.
The door closed behind him with a soft thud. You were alone. Alone with your thoughts, and with the ghost of a woman you could never replace. And so you couldn’t sleep. You kept thinking about your husband, about the ghosts that he’s going to revisit. Yet you shook your head and tried to sleep.
But you thought it would be fine. Even without your husband, nothing has ever happened of note. Nothing ever even mattered. Hida was at peace, even if you were not in your soul. The barriers your husband put were holding up, he had chosen good and able sorcerers to guard you all. It was well and good.
The stillness of the night enveloped the temple, a deep tranquility that cradled you and your children in a cocoon of warmth. You had fallen asleep beside Chizuru and Chiharu, their soft breaths mingling with the rustle of the night. Everything felt perfect—until the acrid smell of smoke invaded your senses.
You jolted awake, your heart racing as a wave of panic washed over you. Coughing, you instinctively shielded your nose with your hands, trying to stave off the suffocating grip of the smoke. As your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you were met with a horrifying sight: flames licked hungrily at the wooden beams of your chamber, their orange glow illuminating the space in an eerie dance.
“Chiharu! Chizuru!” you cried, your voice hoarse with urgency. You leaned over, shaking your daughter awake, her eyelids fluttering as she fought against sleep.
“Mother?” she murmured, her voice thick with confusion.
“Wake up! We need to go, now!” You turned to Chizuru, who was still sound asleep, and shook him gently. “Chizuru! Please wake up!”
His eyes flew open, wide with fear, and for a moment, you saw the innocent boy you adored—the boy who had just wanted to make cranes and wishes. “What’s happening, mother?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice as he took in the scene around him.
“Fire! We have to get out!” You could hear the distant screams echoing through the temple now, chilling your blood. “We’re under attack! The Zenin clan are here!” a voice shouted from somewhere outside, the threat echoing ominously.
“Who are the Zenin?” Chizuru asked, his small hands gripping the sheets tightly.
“There’s no time for that!” You gathered your children in your arms, instinctively moving towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. “We need to get to safety!”
As you reached for the door, a gust of heat surged from the flames, forcing you to recoil. You could hear the chaos outside—the shouts of the Zenin, the crashing of furniture, and the crackle of flames consuming everything in their path. The smell of blood and chaos and madness were all up in the air.
“Mother!” Chiharu whimpered, clinging tightly to you. You could feel her trembling against your side, and your heart ached for her innocence lost in this moment of terror.
“Stay close to me, little flower.” you urged, squeezing their hands tightly. “We need to find a way out!”
You took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of fear within you. The window! You dashed towards it, the heat intensifying as you drew closer, and you could see the fire spreading rapidly across the walls.
“Help!” a voice cried from outside, mingling with the frantic screams and shouts. The chaos was closing in around you, and time was slipping away.
You reached the window, your heart racing as you pushed it open. The night air rushed in, carrying the faint sounds of battle. You peered outside, desperate to find a safe escape route. You needed to think fast, you needed to act fast. Your children’s lives depend on it.
“Chizuru, Chiharu, hold onto each other!” You instructed, glancing back at your children, their eyes wide with fear.
“Can we jump?” Chizuru asked, his voice trembling.
You hesitated, taking in the height of the drop below. “We have to try.” you said, forcing a brave smile to reassure them. “On the count of three. Ready? One… two… three!”
You leapt out of the window, pulling your children to you as you fell. You landed hard, the ground beneath you jarring, but you quickly rolled to absorb the impact, shielding them with your body. Pain shot through your limbs, but you pushed through it, gasping for breath as you scrambled to your feet, still holding onto them. The night was alive with chaos—figures darting in and out of the flickering flames, shadows blending with the smoke that hung thick in the air.
“Over there!” you pointed towards a small alleyway between two temple structures, a route that would lead away from the flames. “Run!”
Chizuru and Chiharu obeyed, their small legs carrying them as fast as they could. You followed closely, adrenaline coursing through your veins, urging you to protect them at all costs.
As you raced through the chaos, you could hear the sounds of combat nearby—the clang of weapons, the shouts of warriors, the thudding of footsteps on the ground. The Zenin had come, their intent clear in the chaos that surrounded you.
You led your children away from the heart of the conflict, your mind racing with thoughts of Sukuna and where he might be. Would he know about the attack? Would he come for you? Where was he? The safety of your family was all that mattered right now.
“Keep going!” you shouted to your children, urging them forward as you glanced back at the temple. Flames illuminated the night sky, casting a sinister glow over everything, the beloved home you had built now a target of destruction.
But there was no time to dwell on what was lost. You had to find safety, to escape the grasp of the chaos. You pressed on, your heart filled with a fierce determination to protect Chizuru and Chiharu, no matter the cost.
In that moment, you were not just their mother; you were their shield, and you would not let anything happen to them.
It was clearer and clearer that the night was a nightmare unfolding in real time, chaos erupting around you as you pressed forward, your heart pounding in your chest. Screams echoed through the air, mingling with the crackle of flames that consumed the temple, and the oppressive weight of smoke threatened to pull you under.
“Stay close!” you shouted, gripping Chiharu's hand tightly while Chizuru walked just a step ahead of you, his eyes wide with fear but determination. Each step felt heavier, the ground shaking with the panic of those fleeing the scene. You could hear the splashes of bodies tumbling into the river nearby, their cries for help haunting your every thought.
But as you moved closer to the water's edge, a surge of people rushed past you, frantically trying to escape the inferno. The panic of the crowd was palpable, and in an instant, you were swept away in the tide, a wave of bodies pushing against you.
“Chizuru!” you screamed, desperately searching for your son among the frantic faces. The chaos enveloped you like a storm, and the very ground felt unsteady beneath your feet. You reached for him, your heart pounding as you fought against the surge, but it was as if the world was swallowing him whole.
“Mother!” Chiharu cried, her small voice trembling with fear, and your heart twisted painfully at the sound. You turned to comfort her, wrapping your arms around her protectively.
“Hold on to me, Chiharu!” you urged, trying to keep her close, your voice strained. The water was rising, the current pulling at your legs, and you could feel the panic tightening around your chest.
Suddenly, a throng of people pushed toward the river, a wave of desperation crashing over you. Many had left in panic, knowing that the Zenin penetrated all the other gates too. And here they were dying. They fought against each other, shoving and clawing their way to safety. In the midst of it, you felt Chizuru’s hand slip from yours.
“No! Chizuru!” you shouted, your voice hoarse as you turned to look for him, your heart racing in your chest. The water began to surge around you, pulling you under as you reached for him desperately. Everything began to be swallowed by the darkness and the waves.
The crowd continued to press against you, and in that moment of chaos, you lost sight of your son. You felt a surge of despair wash over you, as though the river itself was stealing him away. “Chizuru!” you cried out, but the water swallowed your voice.
The river, once a gentle stream, had transformed into a torrent, pulling you and Chiharu further into its depths. You struggled against the current, fighting to keep your head above water, but the chaos made it impossible to breathe.
Panic clawed at your throat as the realization hit you—your son was gone, lost in the tide of terror, swallowed by the chaos surrounding you. The thought was unbearable, a weight that pressed down on your chest and threatened to drag you under.
“Hold on to me!” you shouted to Chiharu, who was now clinging to your side, tears streaming down her face. You could feel her trembling, the cold water soaking through your clothes, and you fought against the current, trying to pull both of you to safety.
But the current was relentless, and just as you thought you could escape, a wave crashed over you, pulling you under. The water engulfed you, dark and suffocating, and you fought against the overwhelming force that dragged you deeper into its depths.
You could hear the muffled sounds of chaos above—the screams of your neighbors, the crackling of fire, the desperate cries for help. But all you could think about was your children, the warmth of Chizuru’s smile, the light in Chiharu’s eyes, now both in peril.
Desperation surged through you, and you kicked against the water, clawing your way to the surface. But the river fought back, dragging you further down, each movement becoming heavier, more labored.
“Chizuru!” you cried again, the name a plea that echoed in your heart. You could feel the air leaving your lungs, the weight of your despair pulling you under.
Just as the darkness began to close in around you, a sudden burst of strength propelled you upward. You broke through the surface, gasping for air, lungs burning as you struggled to stay afloat.
But the moment of relief was short-lived as the chaos swirled around you. You looked frantically for Chizuru, scanning the water for any sign of him. Your heart ached with fear, the thought of losing him suffocating you more than the water ever could.
“Chizuru!” you shouted again, but the only answer was the rush of the river and the cries of the crowd. “My son, my son!”
Then you felt a small hand clutching your arm, and you turned to find Chiharu’s terrified face. “Mother! I can’t swim!” she cried, her voice trembling with fear, and you realized she was struggling against the current as well.
“I won’t let go, I promise!” you assured her, fighting against the torrent as you wrapped your arm around her waist, pulling her close. The river surged around you, but you held on with everything you had.
In that moment, all that mattered was your daughter. You would not let her be lost to this chaos, even if it meant sacrificing everything else. “We’re going to be okay, we’re going to be fine.” you promised her, forcing a calm you didn’t feel.
With renewed determination, you swam toward the shore, battling the current that threatened to pull you back into the depths. Each stroke was a struggle, the water heavy and cold, but you couldn’t give up. You had to find safety for Chiharu, to shield her from the horrors unfolding around you.
But in the distance, the cries of others still echoed, and every instinct in you screamed for Chizuru. You felt a fierce longing for him, an unyielding need to protect your son, to bring him back to safety. The thought of him alone in the chaos was a wound that tore at your heart.
The river finally began to recede, and you clawed your way to the bank, pulling Chiharu with you. With one final push, you scrambled onto the muddy shore, the water cascading off you like a broken dam.
But as you lay there, gasping for breath, a haunting realization sank in—the darkness still lingered. You had saved your daughter, but Chizuru was still out there, somewhere lost in the chaos.
“Chizuru!” you called out, your voice cracking with desperation, but the only reply was the sound of rushing water and the distant cries of those who had suffered the same fate.
You couldn’t lose hope, couldn’t abandon your son. With trembling limbs, you forced yourself to stand, feeling the weight of dread pressing down on you.
“Chiharu, stay here!” you instructed, your voice shaky but firm. “I have to find your brother!”
“Mother, please!” Chiharu pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to you. “I don’t want to be alone!”
“Stay close to the shore, please. you urged, your heart breaking at the fear in her eyes. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
With a final glance at your daughter, you plunged back into the water, the cold enveloping you once more. Each stroke was a desperate prayer, a hope that you would find Chizuru safe and sound.
As you moved through the water, the world around you blurred, your heart pounding with every frantic search for his familiar face. The river roared like a beast, but you fought against it, determined to bring your son home, to save him from the grasp of darkness that threatened to swallow him whole.
In the depths of despair, you clung to the belief that love would lead you back to him. You would not rest until you found your son, until you pulled him back from the brink of loss, back into your arms.
══════════════════
YOU DON’T THINK YOU COULD EVER MOVE FORWARD. The world felt hollow without Chizuru, a chasm of grief that swallowed everything in its wake. Months had passed since the night of the attack, yet time had warped into an endless cycle of despair. You wandered through the temple, each corner a haunting reminder of his absence, every sound echoing the laughter that once filled those halls.
You hadn’t eaten in days, nor could you find the will to sleep. Each night, you lay beside Chiharu, listening to her soft breaths, feeling the warmth of her small body against yours. But your heart ached with the knowledge that your son was missing—lost to the river, to the chaos of that terrible night.
You clung to hope like a fragile thread, desperate to believe that somehow he would come home. You remembered his bright smile, the way his laughter danced in the air, a melody of innocence and joy. But now, silence reigned, a heavy shroud that suffocated you.
The days stretched into an agonizing blur, and you found yourself wandering the grounds of the temple, searching every inch of the riverbank, calling his name until your voice was hoarse. “Chizuru! Chizuru!” echoed through the empty space, a prayer to the gods, a plea for your boy to return.
But only silence answered, and each time you turned to the water, the memories washed over you. You could see him there, splashing happily, the sunlight glinting off his bright fuschia hair, his laughter ringing like bells. But that was just a memory now, a ghost that lingered in the corners of your mind.
The only trace left of him was his beloved toy, a small crane he had carried everywhere—a tattered reminder of his innocence, now found washed ashore, sodden and battered by the river’s embrace. You held it close, clutching it to your chest as if it could somehow bridge the gap between the world of the living and the void where your son had vanished.
The grief twisted inside you like a knife, sharp and unyielding, as you wept, your tears falling onto the toy. “Please, come back to me, my baby.” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer. But the river continued to flow, indifferent to your anguish.
When your husband had been informed, he had left immediately back for Hida. He found you first. Ryomen Sukuna had tried to protect you, and had stopped you from plunging into the water once more. His scarlet eyes frantically eyeing you. It was the first time they had been like that, but you could not care enough for it. You needed your son.
“You nearly drowned already, little one.” he had said, his voice strained with a mixture of anger and concern. “The river is too shallow, and you cannot risk your life searching for him.”
But the fire of desperation burned brightly within you. How could he expect you to sit idly by? “He’s my son!” you cried, your voice breaking. “I can’t just leave him out there, Sukuna! I can’t!”
His gaze had softened, but there was an impenetrable wall of sorrow between you, a chasm of understanding that seemed impossible to cross. “And you will lose yourself if you go, little one.” he replied quietly. “You must think of Chiharu. She needs you.”
Chiharu… the reminder of your daughter was a bittersweet ache. You had poured every ounce of love and care into her, but your heart remained fragmented, scattered like leaves in the wind. You wanted to be there for her, to be strong, but every moment without Chizuru felt like a betrayal.
You couldn’t help but wonder if he had suffered, if he had called for you in his final moments. The thought was a poison that seeped into your soul, a darkness that wrapped around you like chains, constricting until you could barely breathe.
Nights stretched on endlessly, and when sleep finally claimed you, it was only to be haunted by dreams of your son. You would see him running toward you, his arms outstretched, laughter spilling from his lips like tender music. But just as you reached for him, he would fade away, leaving you grasping at empty air.
Each morning you awoke to find the world unchanged, the sun rising over the river that had taken so much. Chiharu would rise with her innocent smile, but you could see the shadows behind her eyes, the worry that mirrored your own. She suffered too. She can’t do it anymore either. You wanted to shield her from the pain, to protect her from the grief that consumed you, but you were too lost in your own sorrow.
“Mother, are we going to find Chizuru today?” she would ask, her small voice hopeful, and every word felt like a knife twisting in your heart.
“I… I don’t know, sweetheart.” you would reply, forcing a smile that felt foreign on your lips. “We have to wait a little longer.”
But the truth was, you were terrified. Terrified of facing the river again, of the darkness that lurked within it, of the memories that flooded back each time you caught a glimpse of the water. It had taken your son, and the thought of it held you captive in your own mind.
As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the temple felt less like a home and more like a tomb, filled with echoes of laughter long gone. You moved through the halls like a ghost, a shell of the woman you used to be, desperately clinging to the love of your daughter while mourning the loss of your son.
In the stillness of night, when the world around you slept, you would often find yourself at the river’s edge, the water shimmering under the moonlight. You would sit there for hours, clutching Chizuru’s toy, your heart aching for the child who would never again run to you, whose laughter had been silenced by tragedy.
“Where are you, my little boy?” you would whisper, tears falling into the water. “Come back to me.” But the only answer was the soft lapping of the waves, a haunting reminder of the joy that had been stolen from you.
Days faded into weeks, each moment a reminder of the love that had been lost, and the pain only deepened with the passage of time. Your heart was a fractured thing, struggling to beat amid the agony of loss, and yet, somewhere deep within, a flicker of hope still remained—a hope that perhaps one day you would find the strength to carry on, to honor Chizuru’s memory and bring light back into your world.
Ryomen Sukuna's grief meanwhile manifested in a tempest of rage, a dark storm that swallowed all reason and empathy. The night the Zenin attacked, their faces were etched into his mind, and with each passing day, that image became an obsession;a call to vengeance that drowned out the cries of his own sorrow.
He descended into the shadows of vengeance, moving like a wraith through the remnants of the world he had once ruled. The Zenin clan had crossed a line that he would not allow to remain unpunished. They had dared to touch what was his, and for that, they would pay.
With a swift and merciless hand, he hunted them down, one by one. The elegance of his movements belied the brutality of his actions. Each confrontation was a dance of death, each opponent a testament to his unyielding wrath. He tore through their defenses, a whirlwind of violence and fury, leaving behind nothing but a trail of blood and devastation.
Sukuna did not need to think; his body moved instinctively, fueled by a primal need for retribution. He channeled his anguish into each kill, the cries of the Zenin blending into a symphony of vengeance that soothed the raw edges of his pain, even if only momentarily. The thrill of the hunt and the finality of the kill provided a distraction from the hollow ache that resided within him.
He was relentless, taking down many of the branches of the clan with precision and ferocity, reveling in the chaos he unleashed. Just as the Ryomen were wiped out by the Fujiwara, the Zenin were nearly gone too.
Their screams echoed in his mind, and for a fleeting moment, he found solace in their despair. The walls of the temple, once a sanctuary, now stood witness to the brutality of his wrath.
But even in the depths of his fury, a flicker of doubt began to gnaw at the edges of his resolve. Each life he extinguished was a stark reminder of the fragility of existence, a reflection of the life he had once shared with you and the children. In the silence that followed each battle, the absence of Chizuru pierced him like a knife, sharper than any blade he wielded.
He thought of you, alone and shattered, and how your grief mirrored his own. The thought stirred something deep within him—a conflicting urge to return, to be the pillar you needed, to offer you the strength to carry on. But the weight of his actions held him captive, shackled by the blood he had spilled.
How could he face you after becoming a monster? He had sworn to protect you, to provide a sanctuary for your family, yet here he was, consumed by darkness, reveling in a cycle of violence.
As he stood amidst the ashes of the Zenin clan, Ryomen Sukuna felt a hollowness that no amount of vengeance could fill. The cries of his victims faded, and he was left alone with his thoughts, each one a reminder of what he had lost, and what he was becoming.
His heart, though encased in ice, cracked just a little at the realization that revenge could not bring back Chizuru. He was gone. The water had taken him. And he will not come back. Not even if you want him too, not even if Sukuna wanted to.
The very act of killing, of exacting justice, could never quell the longing in his soul for the warmth of his son’s laughter or the joy that once radiated from your family. He would forever be haunted by the laughter. By the bitterness of that laughter tainted in blood and loss.
Days turned into a blur of blood and shadow until the last of the Zenin fell at his feet. And there he stood, amidst the remains of his enemies, drenched in the very violence he had unleashed, yet feeling emptier than ever. The echoes of Chizuru’s laughter haunted him, the memory of his son’s smile contrasting starkly with the brutality he had wrought.
Returning to the temple felt like an insurmountable task. How could he face you after everything? After your grief tortures him enough. After Chiharu’s silence bitterly echoes in silence. He had become a monster in pursuit of vengeance, and the thought of your eyes so dead, so bitterly ruined. It ruined him too.
He had started all this bloodshed for the Ryomen.
He had started this cycle of vengeance for love and loss.
And somehow it will never end, somehow it will continue.
The rain stills and tears and he watches, standing there among them.
Blood and water look almost the same to him.
══════════════════
YOU WERE A SHADOW OF YOUR FORMER SELF. The chamber was a prison of shadows, thick and suffocating, as though they had seeped from the cracks of your broken heart. The once vibrant room was now a graveyard of neglect—crumpled papers strewn across the floor, each one a failed attempt to capture your grief in words.
The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of loss and decay, mirroring the unbearable weight that pressed against your chest. You sat amidst the chaos, the world outside reduced to an endless night, a void where you floated aimlessly, longing for an end that never came.
Chizuru’s absence had carved out a wound so deep that it felt like your soul had been hollowed out, leaving nothing but an aching emptiness. You could still see him, hear his laughter echo through the temple halls, bright and alive in your memory. But the warmth of those moments only sharpened the cruel edge of your despair. He was gone, and no amount of clinging to the past could change that.
You had tried, time and time again, to escape this torment, to free yourself from the suffocating grip of your sorrow. Each attempt to end your life was another desperate grasp at peace, at release. But every time, Sukuna found you—like some dark, twisted guardian, yanking you back from the brink. His grip was always unrelenting, his voice cutting through the fog of your despair with harshness that bordered on cruelty.
“You can’t leave me like this, little one.” he would say, his voice laced with anger, with something almost desperate. But it was the pity in his eyes that hurt the most, the silent judgment that reflected your own shame, your own failure.
You wanted to die, to vanish into the void and be done with it. Yet, Sukuna would not allow it. And as the days blurred into weeks, the crushing weight of your existence dragged you deeper into isolation.
You pushed him away, locked yourself in the crumbling sanctuary of your grief, convinced that the best thing you could do was disappear—to not burden him, to not burden Chiharu, with the shell of the woman you had become.
The days passed in a haze of nothingness, and you became a ghost, drifting through the remnants of a life you no longer recognized. Chiharu’s laughter echoed faintly in the distance, but you couldn’t bear to face her, couldn’t allow her to see the emptiness in your eyes. She deserved better—better than a mother who was crumbling beneath the weight of her sorrow, better than a life filled with the echoes of what once was.
When Sukuna finally returned to you, it was as though he had stepped into a tomb. The door creaked open, and he entered the room, his presence filling the space with a commanding force that felt suffocating. His eyes roamed over the wreckage, taking in the chaos you had allowed to fester.
“You can’t keep living like this, little one.” he said, his voice low and strained with both anger and concern.
Your response was sharp, bitter, laced with the pain that had become your constant companion. “I’m not living, my lord. I’m just existing. There’s a difference.”
His jaw tightened, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see it every time I look at you? You’re wasting away, and for what?”
He moved to clean the mess that had accumulated around you, his actions careful but determined. It made something inside you snap. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop, that nothing could be fixed, that you were beyond repair.
But the words stuck in your throat, drowned by the flood of tears that threatened to spill over as he touched a crumpled sheet of paper—a poem you had tried to write about loss, about Chizuru. It was unfinished, like everything else in your life.
“Let me help you,” he said, softer this time, but his words were like knives. His pity, his attempts at love—it was suffocating. You couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.
“Chiharu should go with Hiromi’s family,” you said suddenly, the words falling from your lips like a confession, heavy with guilt. “I can’t… I can’t be the mother she needs. Not like this.”
He froze, his expression darkening with disbelief. “You want to send her away?”
“Yes,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “She deserves better than this—better than me.”
The air between you grew tense, thick with unspoken truths. His voice was hard when he finally spoke, laced with a quiet fury. “You think running away will fix anything? That abandoning her will make you whole again?”
“I don’t know,” you cried, the anguish spilling out of you uncontrollably. “But I can’t… I can’t watch her suffer because of me. I can’t let her see me like this.”
His gaze hardened, and you could feel his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “She needs you. You’re her mother. You can’t just give up.”
“Give up?” you spat, your voice rising with a mix of rage and desperation. “You think I haven’t tried? You think I haven’t fought every single day just to breathe, just to wake up? You’re out there killing the Zenin, but I’m stuck here—drowning, suffocating in this nightmare! I let my own son die, my lord. I failed him. I failed Chizuru.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence, raw and painful. Sukuna’s expression twisted with something dark, something that resembled both anger and grief.
“Stop it.” he snapped, stepping closer, his eyes blazing. “You didn’t let him die. This isn’t your fault. You’re not the only one who lost him.”
His words felt like a slap, but you couldn’t stop. The pain had consumed you, filled every corner of your soul until there was nothing left but the desire to disappear, to join Chizuru in whatever afterlife there might be.
“I want to be with him, please….” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this anymore. I just want to be with him.”
Sukuna’s face contorted with rage, with desperation. “No. You don’t get to choose that. You don’t get to leave. Chizuru wouldn’t want this for you. He wouldn’t want you to suffer like this.”
You shook your head, tears streaming down your face as the weight of your guilt crushed you. “But I am a foolish mother. I let him die, and now… I deserve to suffer. It should have been me, not him.”
Sukuna’s frustration exploded. “Stop it!” His voice echoed in the emptiness of the room. “You don’t get to decide that! You don’t get to give up. You’re not the only one hurting!”
His words hit you like a storm, and you recoiled, feeling the walls of your grief crack beneath the force of his anger. But the truth was still there, festering in your chest. “I can’t fight anymore, my lord.” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know how.”
He stepped closer, his presence a force you couldn’t ignore, but there was a tenderness in his eyes now, a desperation that mirrored your own. “Then let me fight for you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you too. Not like this.”
You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let him pull you from the abyss. But all you could feel was the crushing weight of everything you had lost. “I’m already gone,” you whispered, your voice hollow. “You’re too late.”
And in that moment, as Sukuna stood there, torn between his anger and his helplessness, you realized something—he could not save you. No one could. You were lost, drowning in the endless chasm of your grief, and all that was left was the echo of your son’s laughter, growing fainter with each passing day.
You stood frozen in the aftermath of Sukuna's departure, the stillness of the room amplifying the hollowness inside you. You could not help it. There felt nothing else but emptiness and grief.
The words you had thrown at him, fueled by anger, sorrow, and a desperate need to push him away now echoed in your mind, filling the void he had left behind. Your breath came in shallow gasps, your chest tightening under the weight of a decision that felt irreversible.
He was gone. Truly gone this time.
For a fleeting moment, you had wanted this—his absence, the silence, the space to collapse without anyone witnessing your downfall. But now, standing in the suffocating quiet of your chamber, you realized that his presence, oppressive as it was, had been the only thing tethering you to this world. And now… now you were truly untethered, free to fall into the abyss.
You glanced around the room, the wreckage of your grief still strewn across the floor; crumpled papers, forgotten attempts at healing, at making sense of your pain. They mocked you now, silent reminders of every failed effort to escape the unbearable weight pressing down on your soul.
Your legs gave out beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your body folding in on itself as the sobs tore from your throat. It was as if the dam had broken, and all the emotions you had been holding back; the anguish, the guilt, the overwhelming despair rushed to the surface, drowning you in their flood.
You had pushed Sukuna away, believing that his love, his pity, would only deepen your shame. But now, without him here to absorb the brunt of your anger, you were left alone with the full force of your grief. And it was unbearable. Unforgiving.
The image of Chizuru, your sweet boy, your heart, he flashed in your mind. His laughter, his innocent smile, the way he had once filled your days with light. But now… now he was gone, and the light had died with him.
You could still see him in your mind’s eye, running through the temple grounds, carefree and full of life. But those memories only deepened the emptiness within you. They weren’t enough to sustain you. Nothing was.
You had failed him.
The thought repeated itself over and over, a relentless chant that echoed in your mind. You had failed him. You hadn’t been able to protect him. And now, you couldn’t even hold on to the family you had left. You had pushed them all away; Sukuna, Chiharu, believing that they would be better off without you. That they deserved better.
But now, as the suffocating silence wrapped around you, you realized that you had nothing left. No family. No purpose. Just the crushing weight of loss and the ever-present desire to escape it.
You crawled toward the remnants of your shattered life, your fingers brushing against the crumpled poem you had written about Chizuru, unfinished, like so much else in your life. Tears blurred your vision as you smoothed the paper, tracing the words you had once thought would bring you comfort, bring you closure.
But there was no closure to be found. Only an endless, gaping wound that refused to heal.
Your hands trembled as you reached for the knife hidden beneath your bed. It had been there for weeks, maybe months, always present, always waiting for the moment when you were ready. You had tried so many times before to end this;
You need to free yourself from the unbearable pain that clawed at your insides. But Sukuna had always stopped you, pulling you back from the edge with his iron grip, his desperate pleas.
But now he is gone. Now there was no one left to stop you.
You stared down at the blade, the cold steel glinting in the dim light of the room. It would be so easy, so simple—to just let go. To release yourself from the torment, the guilt, the constant agony that had become your existence. To be free.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt a sense of peace settle over you—a quiet certainty that this was the only way out. You had lost everything, and there was no point in continuing this charade of life. Chizuru was gone, and you wanted to be with him. You needed to be with him.
Your grip tightened around the handle of the knife, and you brought it to your wrist, the cool metal pressing against your skin. Your breath hitched, but your resolve didn’t waver. This was what you wanted. This was the only way to escape the endless spiral of grief.
Just as you were about to press the blade deeper, a soft voice echoed in your mind, a voice so faint, so distant, that you almost didn’t hear it.
“Mother…..”
Chiharu.
Her name, her voice, pierced through the fog of your despair, cutting through the haze of your grief. Your hands trembled, and the knife slipped from your grasp, clattering to the floor with a hollow sound that echoed in the empty room.
Chiharu.
The image of her face, so much like her brother’s; it was all that flashed before your eyes, and you felt a pang of guilt so deep it nearly shattered you. She was still here. She was still alive. And she needed you. She needed you to be alright. She needed you here with her, she needed her mother.
Don't take it all away from her, too.
You collapsed onto the floor, your body wracked with sobs as the weight of your decision crashed over you. You had been so consumed by your grief, by your longing to be with Chizuru, that you had forgotten the life that still remained.
Ryomen Chiharu was still here, still waiting for you. And you had almost abandoned her. You had nearly left her alone in this world without a mother, without anyone to hold her, to protect her. You shouldn't have done this, you shouldn't have lived in your grief like this. What right do you have to live like this?
You buried your face in your hands, the realization crashing over you like a wave. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t leave her behind. Not like this. Not when she needed you the most.
But how could you continue? How could you keep living in this world without Chizuru, without the light he had brought into your life? The thought of facing another day without him, of waking up to the same crushing pain, was unbearable.
But as the image of Chiharu’s face lingered in your mind, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You had to keep going. You had to keep fighting. For her.
For both of them.
The knife lay forgotten on the floor, and you curled into yourself, sobbing wracking your body as you let the grief wash over you. You didn’t know how you would survive this. You didn’t know if you even could.
But for Chiharu…..you would try.
You needed to live for her.
You needed to live for Chizuru.
You need to live for yourself.
══════════════════
THE SNOWS CAME JUST IN TIME FOR WINTER MOONLIGHT. It took time. A lot of time. And you had been eager to try, you wanted to do it. You wanted to take that time to learn how to be alive again. The days stretched into weeks, and each one was a grueling battle you weren't sure you'll make it out alive.
But you wanted to fight to heal, to come to terms with the raw grief that still lingered in your heart. Because there was much still waiting for you. There was much of life still waiting to be lived. That is what your precious son would have wanted for his beloved mother. You were certain of that.
And you would have to do it alone, with Ryomen Chiharu being sent off to live with her mother’s family. You had bitter tears about parting. But you had to prove to yourself that you could do it, that you could live. That you could be fine. You wanted to live well, to see Chiharu again. She will come back. But you have to be well again.
It was the hardest thing you could have ever done. You were a mother after all. You had grown him from the seed he was to the boy he came to be. You had suffered to bring him into the world. And now, to know he had disappeared, without a trace. To accept it, it swallowed you whole.
The weight of Chizuru’s absence would never fully leave you, but slowly, you began to confront the pain rather than run from it. It wasn’t easy; some days were unbearable; but through reflection, through quiet moments with yourself, you began to find pieces of your old strength. The strength you had lost the day Ryomen Chizuru left this world.
The solitude helped at first. There were moments when you needed to be alone, to think, to remember, to cry without holding anything back. But as the year drew closer to its end, a different kind of loneliness set in—the kind that whispered of missed connections, unresolved conversations, and a love that still lingered beneath the layers of grief and hurt.
Ryomen Sukuna.
You hadn’t seen him since that day, when the anger had driven you apart. He hadn’t come back, and in those quiet moments, you wondered if he ever would. He wanted to give you time, you supposed. Or perhaps he had started to hate you as much as you had hated yourself.
But something deep inside told you that he was still there, waiting—always waiting. Perhaps he finally understood what it was like to suffer so deeply. And as the year approached its final days, the weight of the distance between you two became too heavy to bear.
It was just after the first snowfall of the season when you found yourself walking along the temple grounds, the world quiet and blanketed in white. The cold air stung your skin, but it was a welcome sensation. It was something to remind you that you were still here, still alive, still fighting. And you were grateful for it.
But for a moment , you couldn't help it. You supposed it was out of habit. You didn’t know why your thoughts kept drifting back to Ryomen Sukuna. You hadn't seen him in a while. And for good reason.
Perhaps, it was because of that. You couldn't help but think of him with every step. And with each step, you cannot help but feel the pull to see him again. Each step made that desire stronger, undeniable.
You found him at the edge of the temple's forest, his broad figure outlined against the dark trees covered in blissful snow piling onto it. He stood with his back to you, staring out at the horizon as if lost in his own thoughts.
For a moment, you hesitated, the memory of your last argument flashing in your mind. But then you took a deep breath and called his name rather than your worship upon him. All those words of anger pressed on in your memories, all those grievous whispers and all those harmful touches. You cannot help but remember it all.
He turned slowly, his eyes meeting yours across the snow-covered ground. There was something different in his scarlet gaze now; something softer, more open than you remembered. Perhaps it was grief, or perhaps it was weariness. Mayhaps even the cold. You could not fathom it well.
You don't remember if you were able to be this lost when you read him years ago. But you were lost now, almost like a child relearning its steps. And for the first time in what felt like forever, the sight of him didn’t fill you with anger or sorrow. Instead, it brought a sense of relief, of longing.
Without speaking, you walked toward him, closing the distance between you. The silence stretched between you both, heavy with everything unsaid. When you finally stopped in front of him, the words that had been trapped inside you for so long began to tumble out.
“I miss him, my lord.” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the still air. “I miss Chizuru every day. I thought… I thought pushing you away would make it easier. That if I didn’t have to face you, I wouldn’t have to face the pain.”
Sukuna didn’t respond at first, his expression unreadable. He did not think that he should. He doesn't show it, but he hesistates. He doesn't know how to speak to you anymore. It had been so long. But ought to try. He had to. The cold did not bother him and yet your gaze did. He exhaled softly, his breath visible in the cold air.
“I know, little one.” he murmured. “I’ve….thought of him too. After all this time.”
“Has….my lord thought of me too?”
“Everyday.”
The vulnerability in his voice surprised you. Ryomen Sukuna had always been strong, unyielding, but in that moment, he wasn’t the invincible force you had once known. In what little remains of his heart, he had loved his son. And perhaps, he had cared about you enough. You had lived a life together too, afrer all. You were as much his life as his son was. Even for a time.
You liked to think that for a moment, he was still as human as the day he had been born into this earth. He was just a man grieving his son, just like you were. He was just a man longing for his concubine, his friend, his partner. Someone that lives with him this life full of tragedy.
For a moment, you couldn't help but think that even curses, even monsters like him — they could feel like this.
“I never wanted to lose you like I lost him, little one.” he continued, his eyes dark with emotion. “Perhaps, it was better we parted these many years."
You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I thought the same thing, my lord. But I was wrong. I was so wrong, my lord. I need you… I always have. I was just so afraid that if I let myself feel anything for you, it would hurt too much.”
He reached out then, his large hand cupping your face gently. “I need you too, little one.” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I always have. Perhaps, I always will."
You leaned into his touch, your heart aching with both pain and relief. “I’m sorry, my lord.” you whispered. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt us both.”
Sukuna’s thumb brushed away a tear that had fallen down your cheek. “Hurt is hard to live through, little one." he said softly. “But perhaps, there is comfort in not living through it alone."
The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. His embrace was immediate, strong and warm, and for the first time in months, you allowed yourself to melt into his arms, to feel the safety and comfort of his presence.
“You ought to stay by my side again, little one.” Sukuna said, his voice muffled against your hair. “We mustn't be alone in suffering."
You nodded against his chest, the weight of your grief still there but somehow lighter now that it wasn’t just yours to bear.
“I care for you, my lord.” you whispered, the words finally free from the prison of your pain. “I never stopped.”
Sukuna pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a tenderness you hadn’t seen in so long. “I care for you too, little one. In all the ways that should matter. Even if I….I still care the most about you.”
The snow continued to fall around you, blanketing the world in quiet peace. And as you stood there, wrapped in Sukuna’s arms, you knew that healing would take time. More time than you could ever imagine. But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you believed it was possible.
There will be more years together.
There will be more heartache.
There will be more misunderstanding.
There will be more words left unsaid.
But you would have each other.
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HE HAD NEVER BEEN ABLE TO PROCESS GRIEF WELL. But you would have known that about him all too well. And yet in a blink of an eye, everything had spiralled down. Everything had slipped through his fingers. Everything had been gone. You had been gone. And there was nothing he could ever do about it.
It had been a few days since you had passed, and Ryomen Sukuna’s world had shattered in a way he could never have prepared for. He had not been prepared for this. He had not been ready to face a day like this, where he would have to deal with your mortality. But it came as swiftly as you had come into his life.
The once-mighty King of Curses, feared by all, now sat in a darkness deeper than any battle or curse he had ever faced. He had locked himself away from everything, even from Uraume, who had always been at his side. But this grief was something no one could witness. Not even them.
Alone, Ryomen Sukuna’s rage boiled beneath the surface, but it was hollow. His immense power, his endless strength, none of it mattered now. Not without you. Everything felt pointless, bitter. The world felt colder. Nothing mattered to him.
He could still feel it. The exact moment your heart stopped, the light draining from your eyes. Your weary smile, your lingering gaze; Your haggered breath into the world with finality.
Everything about it had scared him. It had haunted him since, playing on an endless loop in his mind. He had seen death countless times, taken lives without thought, but your death; it was different. The world itself seemed to stop the moment you did.
Perhaps it had hurt just as much as when he held Hiromi in his arms as she too passed. Perhaps it hurt even more. He did not know. He could not know. Not right now. Not when he was a mess. But it hardly mattered. Learning which hurt more will not lessen the pain of your loss.
Every minute since then, he had tried to hold it together, to bury the feelings that raged within him. But he couldn’t. Not when it came to you. No one could touch you. No one could see you, not like this. He would not degrade you to mortal eyes like this. Not ever. Not now. Only he could touch you. Only he could lay a finger on you.
You had always been his. And now, in death, you still were.
He slipped into the room where your body lay, the room colder now, as if death itself lingered in the air. The sight of you—broken, unmoving—ripped something deep from within him. He, who was untouchable, who had always kept his distance from the frailty of human emotions, now felt as though he was drowning in them.
His breath hitched as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they reached out to touch your skin. The coldness of your flesh pierced him in a way no blade ever could. His fingers brushed against your cheek, trailing down to your lips, which had once smiled for him, spoken to him with warmth he could never understand.
And now, that warmth is gone.
There was nothing left.
There will be nothing of you here.
He hated it. He hated how powerless he felt. For someone who could destroy nations, who could command legions of cursed spirits, he couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t stop you from slipping away. The reality of it gnawed at him, a suffocating weight pressing against his chest.
Gritting his teeth, he began the painful task of cleaning your body. You were suffering for a long time, suffering from the pain of this illness. He could see traces of it still, little by little. The grief he had caused you over and over again, the pain of loss, of humanity lost and lived.
And yet, it was these hands, his own, that were allowed to touch you. His hands, which had only ever known violence, now moved with a delicacy he had never shown anyone. Each wipe of the cloth was slow, as though he feared hurting you more, though he knew it was impossible.
But still, he couldn’t help himself.
This was the last act he could perform for you.
This was all he could do now.
The silence in the room was oppressive. The only sound was his ragged breathing and the soft rustle of cloth against skin. As he cleaned the dirt away from your body, his vision blurred. He blinked, forcing it away, refusing to acknowledge the tears threatening to fall. He did not cry. Not Ryomen Sukuna. Not the King of Curses.
But for you, maybe he would have.
When he had finished, he reached for the clothes you had worn in life, the ones you had always favored. His hands trembled as he dressed you one last time. It was an intimate act, one that should have been comforting, but instead, it tore at him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. You weren’t supposed to leave him like this.
His fingers lingered on the fabric as he tied the final knot of your sash. He stared down at you, his chest tight with an ache he couldn’t voice. It was too late now, too late to say the things he had left unspoken. The things he had buried beneath his pride, beneath the walls he had built around himself.
He had never told you he loved you.
Not in the way you needed to hear it.
Not in the way you deserved.
And now you are gone.
His hand hovered over your chest, fingers curling in the air as if reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t pull away. His heart was a storm, a chaotic swirl of emotions he couldn’t name. Fury, anguish, bitterness, sorrow, guilt—none of it mattered now.
"I should have—" his voice cracked, the words caught in his throat. He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as he forced himself to continue. "Why did you leave?"
But what was the point now? The words were useless, empty. You wouldn’t hear them. You wouldn’t smile at him in that way that made him forget, just for a moment, what he was. You wouldn't be there to reassure him, to take care of his worries. You aren't here. So, what would be the point?
And yet....... he does not stop.
He could only continue on and on.
He didn't know he had so much words.
"I can’t….I can’t do this without you." he whispered once more, but the rest died on his lips. "I need you. I need you here, little one."
For all his strength, all his power, he had failed. Failed to protect you. Failed to keep you. Failed to let you live long and happy. Failed to tell you that, somewhere in the dark recesses of his cursed heart, you had mattered. More than anything.
Now, the King of Curses stood alone, staring down at the one person who had ever truly seen him. The only one who had remained by his side without question, with only but a smile. A smile kinder than what he had deserved. Beyond what he had done, beyond who he was — you had seen him more than Ryomen Hiromi had in these many years.
And as the silence of the room closed in around him, the weight of it all became unbearable. You weren’t supposed to die. You were supposed to live more years with him. You were…you were supposed to be as immortal as him.
He knelt by your side, pressing his forehead gently against yours, his voice nothing more than a breath. His words echoed ever so brokenly. He had nothing. He had nothing but emptiness. He had nothing but grief. He had nothing but regret. He had nothing, not even you.
"I'm sorry."
And Ryomen Sukuna, the most feared being in the world, was left with nothing but the emptiness of his grief—and the realization that, in the end, he had lost the one thing that truly mattered. The only one that mattered.
The room was unbearably still, the air thick with the weight of what had been lost. Sukuna remained kneeling beside you, his forehead still pressed to yours, his eyes closed tightly as though, by shutting out the world, he could deny the finality of it all.
But there was no escaping it. You were gone, and he was left with nothing but the void of his own silence. The silence of words he should have spoken, of a love he had never known how to show.
For what felt like hours, he stayed there, unmoving, as if the proximity of your body could somehow bring you back. He inhaled slowly, your scent still lingering faintly on your skin, but even that was fading. The fragility of it all clawed at him—how something so precious could be snatched away so cruelly.
Time passed in a blur. Minutes? Hours? He didn’t know. The world outside could have burned for all he cared.
Finally, when his body began to ache from kneeling so long, he pulled away, his expression hardened once again. The softness, the vulnerability he had shown, was fleeting. He had to bury it. You would never have wanted him to appear weak, not to the world outside. You always believed in his strength, even when he couldn’t see it in himself.
He stood slowly, his gaze still fixed on your face, as if committing every detail to memory. This would be the last time he would see you like this—unmoving, untouched by the world outside. His chest tightened with the thought of it, but he forced it down. He had to finish this.
With a final, lingering look, Ryomen Sukuna moved to prepare for the next step. He would be the one to take care of your final rites, and no one else. No hands but his own would touch you from now until the end. It was the only way he could honor you now, the only thing left that he could do.
He stepped outside the room for a moment, only long enough to speak with Uraume, who waited patiently beyond the door.
"Tell no one." Sukuna ordered, his voice low, commanding, but with an edge of something else; something raw and dangerous. Uraume, though unwavering in their loyalty, could sense the fracture in their master’s usually unshakable demeanor. They bowed their head in quiet understanding.
"Yes, my lord." Uraume replied, their voice soft. They made no further attempt to enter, to offer help. They knew better.
Sukuna closed the door behind him, sealing himself back inside the small room where you rested. He could feel the weight of Uraume's concern pressing at the edges of his consciousness, but he shut it out, retreating back into the solitude of his grief.
Returning to your side, he knelt once more, his hands moving with renewed purpose. He wrapped your body gently in fine silk clothes, his movements deliberate and precise. He had seen death many times before, but this—this was different.
This was personal. Every fold, every knot tied around you was an act of devotion, though he would never call it that. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t admit it. Not now. Not ever. He wasn't worthy of giving you devotion. A monster like him isn't allowed to love, to care. To give anything.
When it was done, he stood over you, his hands falling to his sides, his gaze locked on your peaceful, still form. For a long moment, he just stood there, the quiet pressing in around him.
"I should have told you." he murmured again, the words falling from his lips like a prayer to the dead. “I should have been….”
There was no response.
There never would be.
And for the first time in his long, cursed life, Ryomen Sukuna felt truly alone.
As the hours wore on, Sukuna knew it was time to take the final steps. He could not hold on to you forever. The world outside would demand answers, demand explanations, but none of it mattered. No one would understand what he had lost.
No one would understand what you meant to him, how in those fleeting moments between battle and bloodshed, you had given him a glimpse of something else—something more.
Something he could never have.
With a heavy breath, he bent down once more, gathering your wrapped body into his arms. His grip was firm but gentle, as though you were something fragile, more fragile than he had ever realized. He carried you as though you were a piece of his soul he couldn’t bear to lose, and perhaps, in a way, you were. You had been the one thing that made him feel like something more than a monster.
He carried you out, cradling you close, his expression a mask of cold fury that hid the pain roiling beneath. Outside, the sky was a dull gray, as though even the heavens mourned your loss.
He didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the vast temple forest, the place where he had decided your final rest would be. It was a secluded area, far from prying eyes, far from the world that had taken you from him. The trees stood tall and silent, their branches swaying gently in the breeze as if paying their respects.
He stood there for a moment, as he looked at the stone monument in front of you. He had found Chizuru. He had looked for him. A long long time ago. He did not want to tell you. He feared that your grief would grow worse.
He had wanted you to think that your son had survived. That he had grown up and become a man. That he had lived a life of adventure. That he had grown old and built a family. He could not let you see a corpse. He could not let you handle blaming yourself even more. Or even obssess over a corpse. He could not let you. Not even if it would give you peace.
But perhaps, you would forgive him. Perhaps you would give him your mercy. Perhaps when you haunt him again, you would come to him and tell him about your son. About your anguish that he had taken him from you. Perhaps you would find peace together. Pehraps both of you could come and visit him. Even once.
But he knew better than that.
You would be in heaven, resting.
And he would not want to hurt you even more.
He doesn't deserve your visit.
Still, he would like to think that you would find peace here. Right beside Chizuru for all of eternity. You would be happy here. This was the only wish he could grant you. This was the only thing he could gift you. This was the only way he could free you.
Carefully, he laid you down on the ground, the cool earth cradling you as he began to dig. His hands, which had known only destruction, now worked to create something. It was a resting place for the one person he had ever allowed close after all he had suffered.
He stood over the grave for a long time after it was done, his eyes hard, distant, as though he could still see you lying there beneath the soil.
The world outside would never know what you had been to him. But in this moment, standing alone beneath the weight of his grief, Ryomen Sukuna understood that, despite everything, you had been the one thing he had truly cherished after all he had suffered.
Even beyond his children, even beyond power. Even if you would never make it behind Hiromi, he had cared for you. He loved you, in ways he knew how. In ways he could never bring to earth, in ways he could never speak.
And now, you are gone.
As he turned to walk away, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the faintest echo of a voice he would never hear again.
And Ryomen Sukuna, for the first time in centuries, felt the unbearable sting of regret.
══════════════════
IT WAS ODD TO BE IN THIS POSITION. Ryomen Sukuna had never sought help from anyone. But now, driven by a sense of purpose he couldn’t explain, he found himself standing before Kenjaku, the only person who might be able to grant him what he sought: rebirth. Not in the spiritual sense, but as a cursed object—a vessel for immortality, a means to return to the world he ruled once more.
Kenjaku's eyes glimmered with interest, a twisted smile forming as they gazed at Sukuna, sensing the weight behind his request. "You wish to be immortalized as a cursed object, Sukuna?" they asked, their voice smooth and intrigued. "To be reborn again in another age, another time."
Sukuna nodded, his expression hard and resolute. "I refuse to rot in the ground. I will return. That’s all that matters."
Kenjaku’s grin widened. "Very well. But tell me, Sukuna… What about her?" They tilted their head slightly, a glint of amusement in their eyes. "Would you want her soul found as well? Like Hiromi? Would you want her to be reborn… alongside you?"
The question pierced through him like a blade. For a moment, Sukuna’s impenetrable mask faltered, his mind snapping back to the past, to a moment when you had both spoken of rebirth.
The two of you had been lying beneath a vast, star-filled sky, the world still around you as the wind whispered through the trees. Vermillion Hall was beautiful in the spring, he liked to think. But you enjoyed it more than he does. Perhaps more than ever, now that you were counting your days to its last.
Your head had been resting on his chest for a while, and though Sukuna had remained silent, you had spoken softly, your voice filled with a strange mix of melancholy and peace. He did not want to bother you. It was rare that you weren’t having any coughing spells. So, he lets the moment pass, lets you keep your strength.
"Rebirth." you had said, the word drifting into the night air. "It’s a nice idea, don’t you think? To start over, to be born again."
Sukuna had scoffed at the time, finding little use for such fantasies. "It’s pointless," he replied. "To be reborn, to go through it all again—life, death. It’s a cycle I’ve broken, and I have no desire to return to it."
But you had only smiled, so beautifully so. Your gaze soft as you looked up at the sky. "Maybe for you, my lord." you’d said gently. "But I think I’d want peace. After this life... no more suffering. No more pain. Just quiet. I wouldn’t want to return."
“If I had offered you to be immortal, with me.” He asked you, looking at your orbs with longing. “Would you do it?”
You looked at him for a moment. And there it was once again. That ghostly smile.
“We cannot escape death, my lord.” You tell him, your hand resting on his cheek. You gave him what little warmth remained. “Whatever happens, we will all die. You may not die now, but we will all go. Soon, I will go.”
“Little one—”
“Is immortality the life you want to live forever, my lord?” You asked him, tracing your fingers on his cheek. “Would you wish to live life waiting for life to be worth living for? Waiting for lady Hiromi, or for Chizuru or Chiharu….or for me to come along again?”
He does not speak for a moment.
You smiled at him, but this time, sadder than ever before. “I do not want that life for you, my lord. Nor for me. I want us both to be free.”
He had looked down at you, watching the way your eyes had reflected the stars, the softness in your expression as you spoke of peace. He hadn’t understood it then. He probably would not understand until he loses you.
But now, as he stood before Kenjaku, your words echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain.
The silence stretched between them, Kenjaku waiting patiently for Sukuna’s answer, curiosity glinting in their eyes. Sukuna's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he struggled to form the words.
He could have said yes. He could have demanded that you be brought back with him, that your soul be dragged from wherever it had gone, forced to walk beside him in this new life. You had always belonged to him, hadn’t you? But as the memory of your soft voice returned to him, your wish for peace, for release from the suffering you had endured, something inside him shifted.
After everything, after all you had suffered because of him… he couldn’t do that to you.
"She’s suffered enough from me." Sukuna finally said, his voice low, almost bitter. His eyes were hard, but beneath the surface was something else—something like regret. "Let her rest. She doesn't belong in this world anymore."
Kenjaku raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the King of Curses. What a human answer, coming from such a demon of a man. But Kenjaku said nothing more, merely nodding in understanding.
Sukuna’s decision was final. He would be reborn, but you—you would have the peace you had always wanted. It was the least he could do. The only way he could honor you now, after everything that had passed between you.
And with that, the King of Curses sealed his fate, leaving you behind in the quiet you had sought, while he walked toward a future where he would live again, alone.
But he didn’t know that the gods had other plans.
He didn’t know that time was only waiting for its recourse.
love is the law, religion is taught — ryomen sukuna.
"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.”
And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
WORD COUNT: 20k words
NOTE: when i was writing this, i thought it wouldn't be this long. but when i ended up writing more and more, i just couldn't stop. i ended up writing this as a sort of prequel to the other woman's latter parts. if people are aware of me from other websites or just here, you know i write a lot. this 20k usually was my usual writing. but i feel like people like a lot of short stories. i'll post about that some time else. i'm gonna be sorry for breaking more of your hearts like this. the reason this took so long as me drafting multiple times. and then my exams. so, it just...this will be a read. anyway, i love you guys!!! thank you for your birthday wishes. see you later <3
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YOU COULD FEEL THE YEARS IN YOUR BONES. You had been Ryomen Sukuna’s concubine for nearly ten years, a role that once filled you with dread and uncertainty. Over time, however, the nature of your relationship shifted. Unlike the others who served him out of fear or obligation, you had managed to carve out a space for yourself in his world—one of strange but growing trust.
It wasn't love, at least not for you, but it was something. Ryomen Sukuna treated you differently from the others. He sought your company more often, and the violent edge in his voice seemed to soften when he addressed you.
What set you apart wasn’t just your demeanor or willingness to adapt—it was your face, the way you looked almost identical to Ryomen Hiromi, the only woman your husband Sukuna had ever loved.
At first, you didn’t know why he lingered in your presence or why his temper cooled when you were near. It was only after overhearing a conversation between two of his most trusted advisors that you realized the truth. You looked just like her—the woman whose memory still haunted him. You had become a ghost of his past, a stand-in for the love he had lost long ago.
As the years passed, you began to understand Sukuna in ways no one else could. He never spoke of Ryomen Hiromi to you, but in quiet moments, you saw the flicker of something softer in his gaze.
Perhaps he found comfort in your presence because you reminded him of her. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he had come to care for you—not as the woman you were, but as the reflection of someone long gone.
Even so, you knew where you stood. You were the favored concubine, yes, but the specter of Ryomen Hiromi loomed between you, casting a shadow over every fleeting moment of tenderness. You were not her, and you never would be. But in this cruel, tangled relationship, you had become the closest thing Sukuna allowed himself to care for.
You had long since come to terms with your place in Sukuna's world, understanding that his affection for you wasn’t truly yours. Still, it made life easier, gave you a strange sort of power in a place where others lived and died on his whims.
Once in a blue moon, sometimes, you both sat together for dinner. It was a rare occasion, that was for sure. Ryomen Sukuna often eats alone, served by his most loyal servant Uraume. But there were times when he would ask you to join him. It was often late at night, Sukuna didn't sleep well. You doubt he ever does.
As the sun set and the air turned cool that night, Uraume had come to your chambers and told you that Sukuna summoned you to his chambers to sup with him. You were surprised. But you immediately dressed with the help of your servants and as soon as the last of your satin ribbons were tied to your hair, you rushed out towards his chambers.
When you had arrived, the servants had been tense. It is usually like that when your lord Sukuna does not get what he wants. You apologized to them quietly, as quietly as possible for your lord husband not to hear. You would rather not have him do so. He does not like anyone, anything he owns lower themselves. You told them to leave, to go away. You would rather that it be you in that room alone with him. It would be easier.
It was one of those rare moments where he wasn’t looking to dominate or torment. Instead, he seemed pensive, sitting by the window, staring out at the horizon. Trays of food were scattered with luxurious food and luxurious ceramic tiles of alcohol. It was not for your husband. He does not need such sustenance.
It was for you, even with your small appetite. You could feel a bile rip through your throat. You purse your lips, walking inside the room and slowly lowering yourself, to bow. His crimson eyes flickered to you as you entered, and the smallest of smirks tugged at his lips.
“You're late, little one.” he said, his voice deep and teasing, though there was no real malice in it.
"I was making sure I looked presentable, my lord." you replied calmly, accustomed to his games. "I didn't think you'd appreciate rushing in disarray with your servant.”
He chuckled, low and dangerous, but you had learned to discern when that sound held genuine amusement. He urges you forward from your bowing position and you stand up, moving towards him and sitting on the silk pillow as gracefully as you could.
"You always did know how to play the part. Perhaps that's why I tolerate you more than the others."
You sat across from him, not too close, but not far enough to seem distant. "Or perhaps it's because I remind you of her."
At this, his expression shifted. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought you had overstepped. But instead of lashing out, Sukuna leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering on you. You looked over the meal and started to plate for your husband, even if he does not eat it. And then yourself. You slowly moved your sleeve away, carefully as you took the alcoholic beverage and started pouring it upon silver cups, first for him and then on your own.
"You think you're clever, little one?" he said, his tone neutral, betraying nothing. "But tell me... do you believe that’s all you are to me? A ghost of someone who no longer exists?"
It was a question you had pondered many nights alone in your chambers, alone and cold, unable to sleep whatsoever. You wanted to believe that over the years, you had carved out a space of your own in his cold heart, but the truth was undeniable. You were Ryomen Hiromi’s echo, the closest thing he would allow himself to love again. But how much of you, the real you, did he see?
"I don’t pretend to know what goes on in your mind, my lord." you said carefully, holding his gaze. "But I know I am not her. And I know you don’t care for me the way you cared for her."
Silence hung heavy between you. Sukuna's eyes, burning with something unreadable, bore into yours before he spoke again, softer than usual. He uncharacteristically lets his hand move towards the table and slowly takes one of the silver cups full of sake and raises it to his lips. He downs it slowly, letting the cool smooth taste echoes on his throat.
"You're right, little one." he admitted, surprising you. "You're not her. You never will be. Best remember it, hm?"
His words were sharp, meant to cut, but they didn't sting the way they once might have. You were used to those words. And so you do not speak. You let him say what he does and slowly let yourself consume the warm flavorful broth.
Sukuna looks towards you once more, watching you eat some meat. Silence echoes through the room. Instead, they hung in the air like a truth neither of you could avoid. And yet, as he turned his gaze back toward the setting sun, his voice grew quieter.
"But you're the only one who's come close."
It wasn’t an admission of love or devotion—you already know that your lord Sukuna wasn’t capable of that, not anymore. You were used to it. And yet, even if it was something you were used to it — you were still pained by it. But it was the closest you would ever get to understanding his complicated feelings for you. It was all that was left in his pitch black heart that never belonged to Ryomen Hiromi. You swallowed the last of the meat.
"And what does that make me, my lord?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sukuna looked at you again, his smirk returning but softer this time, almost wistful. "It makes you the only one who matters. Out of everyone, every woman in these lands. You are the only one that matters above them. Behind me.”
And behind that, behind Hiromi. You whisper in your head.
He rose from his seat, approaching you with the predatory grace that always reminded you of the monster he truly was. He cupped your chin, tilting your face up toward him, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. You could feel your breath hitch hotly as his gaze burned your own. You purse your lips, trying to maintain control of yourself.
"But never forget, little one." Sukuna continued, his tone dropping. "You are here because I allow it. You may remind me of her, but you are still mine to control."
You held his gaze, unflinching. "I haven’t forgotten, my lord."
For a moment, the two of you remained like that for a moment. It was as though you were both locked in a silent struggle of power, emotion, and unspoken understanding. Even after ten years, it was just that way. Finally, Sukuna released you, stepping back as though the moment had never happened.
"Good." he said, turning away once more. "Now leave me for the night, little one. I’ve had enough of this sentimental nonsense for one night."
You nodded at him. You drank the last cup of alcohol and let the bitterness burn you. Soon after, you rose without a word, bowing slightly before you made your way to the door. Just before you left, you paused, glancing back at him one last time.
"I wish you a good night, my lord."
He didn’t respond, his attention already back on the horizon. But as you left, you couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, buried deep within him, there was more to his feelings than even he understood.
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THE PEOPLE OF HIDA VIEWED YOUR HUSBAND LIKE A GOD. They always have, for as long as you could remember. The grand hall of Ryomen Sukuna’s temple buzzed with the presence of those who had come from all corners of Hida.
The heavy doors swung open to let in petitioners, men and women alike, who approached with heads bowed low, their faces masked with fear or desperation. Some came seeking mercy, others with requests for blessings or favors only Sukuna could grant.
They dared not meet his eyes as they offered up their pleas, knowing that their fates rested on the whims of the man seated high upon the throne.
And there you sat, just below him, on a fine mahogany chair that had been made specifically for you, a symbol of your status within the temple. The carved wood was smooth beneath your fingers, but no amount of comfort could erase the tension simmering beneath your skin.
Sukuna's gaze swept across the crowd with indifference, his presence towering over all as his blood-streaked eyes flickered lazily between the petitioners. You could feel the immense weight of his power bearing down on the room, as though his very presence could crush anyone at will.
But what irked you the most wasn’t the groveling or the constant fear that filled this place. No, it was her.
Directly in front of you, standing tall in the center of the hall, was the statue of Ryomen Hiromi. The woman who had haunted you from the moment you became Sukuna's concubine. The resemblance between you and her was striking—uncannily so.
The cold, lifelike stone eyes stared straight ahead, almost as if they were judging you, just as she had judged countless others. The figure of Hiromi was positioned so that it faced not just Sukuna, but you as well, creating an eerie sense of being under constant scrutiny. Her hands, carved with impeccable precision, reached out in a serene pose, like a goddess looking down on humanity.
It was not just this one statue, either. There were others scattered throughout the temple—statues, paintings, carvings—each one depicting Hiromi in a different light. She was revered here, just as much as Sukuna himself.
The woman Sukuna loved most, the woman you could never truly become, was enshrined in every corner of his temple. Her image lingered like a ghost, haunting you, reminding you that no matter how close you sat to his throne, you would always be second to her.
Sukuna’s voice echoed in the chamber, deep and commanding, as he passed judgment on the next petitioner, his words casual as if human lives were merely tokens to him. You barely listened, too distracted by the sensation of Hiromi’s stone eyes watching you, bored at you with those haunting eyes..
You couldn’t escape her. Not here. Not ever.
Your eyes drifted from the petitioner at Sukuna's feet back to the statue, a chill crawling down your spine. It was too perfect. The way it captured her beauty, her serene expression, the very essence of what made her Ryomen Hiromi—everything that made her more than just a memory for Sukuna.
You wondered, in your darkest moments, whether Sukuna had commissioned these statues himself, making sure they were as accurate as possible, preserving every detail of the woman he loved more than life itself.
The thought gnawed at you.
The crowd shifted again, and you could hear the low murmurs of the people waiting for their turn to kneel before Sukuna. A faint breeze from the temple’s high windows stirred the air, and the faint sound of bells chimed in the distance.
And still, the statue stood, unwavering, staring at you with those lifeless eyes. It was as if Ryomen Hiromi had never left, as if she lingered between this world and the next, a permanent fixture in Sukuna’s heart, never allowing you to forget that you were only here because of her.
“Next.” Sukuna’s voice boomed, pulling you from your thoughts.
Another petitioner shuffled forward, trembling as they knelt. Sukuna watched them with a bored expression, waiting for them to speak.
You didn’t look at him. Instead, your gaze flickered back to the statue—always back to her. She was everywhere. No matter where you turned in this temple, in this life with Sukuna, Ryomen Hiromi was there.
Her presence was eternal, and it was driving you mad.
It wasn’t as if you truly hated Ryomen Hiromi. How could you hate someone you had never met, someone who existed only in the memories of others and in the cold, flawless statues that filled this temple? No, hatred wasn’t the right word. But her presence—her haunting, ever-present likeness—gnawed at you in ways that went deeper than resentment. It was painful.
Painful because every time you looked at her, it reminded you that you would never truly be seen for who you were. Sukuna’s gaze might fall on you often, but you knew the truth. He wasn’t looking at you—he was seeing her. You were a reflection, an echo of the only woman he had ever truly loved. And that knowledge burns inside you, slowly and constantly.
The way her statues were placed, almost reverent, made it clear just how important she was. To the people of this land, Ryomen Hiromi was no less a god than Sukuna himself. Her beauty, her grace, her presence—immortalized in stone—became a legend, a tale passed down from generation to generation. And you? You were simply the woman who bore her face, destined to be a stand-in for a love long lost.
You couldn’t escape it.
Even now, as you sat in that carefully crafted chair below Sukuna’s throne, the image of Hiromi loomed over you. Her delicate features seemed to accuse you, her eyes hollow but full of judgment. It was as if she were silently asking: Why are you here? Why are you in this temple, sitting at his feet, when you could never be me?
Your fingers tightened on the armrests, a subtle but instinctive reaction to the thoughts swirling in your mind. You knew it wasn’t logical to be angry at a statue—at a dead woman whose only crime was being loved by Sukuna—but the feeling still crept in. You had no reason to despise her, but the weight of constantly living in her shadow was suffocating.
Another plea for mercy echoed through the hall, but you barely registered it. Sukuna’s voice was deep, dismissive as he granted or denied requests with a wave of his hand. This was his world, and Hiromi was as much a part of it as you were. More, even. She had her place in his heart, in his temple, in the minds of the people who worshiped them both.
But where was your place? Were you always to be nothing more than a reflection, someone to remind him of what he had lost? And what pained you more was that even after nearly ten years by his side, you hadn’t found an answer to that question. Sukuna had grown accustomed to you, perhaps even fond of you, but you knew that in the deepest recesses of his heart, it was Hiromi’s memory that still held sway.
It hurt in ways you couldn’t explain.
You weren’t her. And no matter how long you stayed by Sukuna’s side, no matter how much you tried to understand him, to navigate the storm of his power and wrath, you could never be her.
A quiet sigh escaped your lips as you lowered your gaze, away from the statue, away from the memory that plagued you. The hall was filled with voices, but none of them reached you. Sukuna’s voice, sharp and dismissive, barely registered in your ears.
The weight of Hiromi’s existence pressed down on you, heavier than the stone statues that surrounded you, more oppressive than the walls of the temple that bore her likeness in every corner. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wonder—a dangerous, fleeting thought—what would it have been like if she had never existed?
If Ryomen Hiromi had never crossed Sukuna’s path, never claimed the part of his heart that was now lost to time, would his gaze fall upon you differently? Would he see you, truly, and not the pale reflection of the woman he had loved so deeply? Could you have been someone significant to him in your own right, not simply because of your resemblance to her?
The thought lingered, bittersweet, filling you with a longing you barely allowed yourself to acknowledge. It was tempting, imagining a world where Hiromi had never been. Where you, instead of living in her shadow, might have been the first to carve a place in Sukuna’s heart, the one to leave an indelible mark on his soul.
But it was a foolish thought, and you knew it.
Hiromi had shaped him. Her love—or perhaps the memory of her—had molded him into the man he was now. She wasn’t just a figure of the past. She was the cornerstone of this entire existence, the silent foundation upon which Sukuna had built his empire, his throne, his identity.
The cold stone likeness of her didn’t just haunt this temple—it haunted Sukuna’s very being. It influenced his every thought, his every action, even the way he looked at you.
You weren’t just living in her shadow. You were her shadow, a reflection of something he could never truly let go of. And no matter what you did, no matter how close you came to him, you would always be caught between the person you were and the ghost of Hiromi.
And the worst part? You couldn’t hate her. Not really.
You wanted to. In those quiet, agonizing moments when you felt Sukuna’s eyes on you, knowing he was searching for traces of her in your face, you wanted to hate Hiromi with all your being. But how could you? She had been everything to him. Her love had meant something so profound that even in death, she lingered, casting her long shadow over the living. Her presence was woven into the very fabric of Sukuna’s existence.
But more than that, you owed her everything. Without Hiromi, without the love that had marked Sukuna so deeply, would he have ever taken notice of you at all? Would he have seen something in your face, something in your eyes that reminded him of the one woman he had ever loved?
Without Hiromi, you might not even be here. Her memory had brought you into his life, kept you by his side for nearly ten years. The recognition that you shared her likeness had made you his favorite, the one concubine who had stayed when so many others had come and gone. In some twisted way, Hiromi had paved the path that led you to this place, to this seat below his throne, to the strange, fragile bond you now shared with him.
But living in her shadow—it was a torment all its own.
Every statue, every carving, every whispered prayer to her image reminded you that no matter how close you came to Sukuna, you were not her. And you never would be. The affection he might show you was born not out of love for you, but out of a love that had long since died with Hiromi. You were the echo of something that had ended, a reflection of a life he had lost.
It was a strange, agonizing paradox. Without Hiromi, you would have nothing, no connection to Sukuna at all. But because of her, you would also never have everything. You could never be the woman he truly loved, no matter how long you stayed at his side.
And so, you sat there, beneath Sukuna’s throne, as the statue of Hiromi looked down on you with cold, indifferent eyes, her presence an inescapable reminder of the role you played in his life.
A role you hadn’t chosen, but one you were bound to, for as long as Sukuna wished it.
You snap back to the present as Sukuna’s deep voice rumbles through the hall, breaking through your swirling thoughts. “What do you think?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the kneeling man before him to you. His expression is unreadable, cold and calculating, as always, though there’s an edge of curiosity in his tone.
You blink, focusing on the man who trembles at Sukuna’s feet, eyes downcast, waiting for his judgment. The hall, filled with the murmurs of the petitioners, goes quiet in anticipation.
“What is his crime?” you ask, your voice calm, though you feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze on you.
“He stole, little one.” Sukuna replies, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice as if daring you to suggest otherwise. “From one of my temples.”
You sigh softly, leaning back in your chair, your eyes narrowing slightly as you assess the man. His clothes are tattered, his hands dirty and worn—clearly a sign of the hard times that have plagued the land recently. The famine had hit Hida hard this year. Crops had failed, and many of the people were barely surviving, struggling just to feed their families.
“The famine has been hard on all, my lord.” you say quietly, though there’s an edge of empathy in your words. You weren’t excusing the man, but you understood the desperation that drove people to do things they wouldn’t have otherwise done. Hunger was a cruel master, and you’d seen its effects firsthand in the villages.
“That does not mean he is entitled to steal, little one.” Sukuna counters, his tone sharp, though he doesn’t seem angry—more like he’s making a point. “There needs to be justice.”
You purse your lips, knowing Sukuna’s sense of justice could be harsh, final, and unyielding. He ruled with an iron fist, and mercy was not something he granted easily. But you also knew he valued your opinion, at least in his own little ways. After all, you were the one concubine whose voice he truly listened to.
“Then chain him to me, my lord.” you say, your words surprising even yourself. You sit up straighter, meeting Sukuna’s gaze with unwavering resolve. “Let this man serve me in the Vermillion hall. My private garden needs tending. Let him work under my watch so that he may learn a lesson. Let him toil in the hardship of life for his mistake, rather than meet more... final end.”
The man at Sukuna’s feet looks up, his eyes wide with shock, perhaps hope, though he dares not speak. It was almost rare for anyone to be heard speaking with such authority in this hall the way Ryomen Sukuna does.
It was rarer that your voice was heard with such a loud echo. The other woman speaks, they all must think. The rarest words from her lips. Mercy, the virtue of the woman she could never replace, echoing in the stone sight of her.
The hall remains silent, as if everyone is holding their breath, waiting for Sukuna’s response.
Sukuna’s eyes linger on you, studying you for a long moment. You can feel the weight of his power in his gaze, the way he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. He is not a man to grant mercy lightly, and you know the risk you’re taking by asking this of him.
But after nearly ten years by his side, you’ve come to understand how to navigate his moods, his whims, and his sense of order. You knew when to have him indulge you, even when it was not an occurrence you repeated frequently.
Finally, a slow smile curves at the corners of his mouth. It’s not a warm smile—it never is—but it’s a sign that he’s pleased. “Very well, little one.” he says, his voice carrying the authority of his decision. “Let him serve you in the Vermillion hall. He will tend your garden, as you wish. But if he steps out of line—if he falters, even once—you will bring him back to me. He shall meet his end in the hands of his lord. Do you understand?”
There is no mistaking the threat beneath his words. You nod, accepting his terms.
“Thank you, my lord.” you say softly, turning your gaze to the man who has been spared, for now. He looks up at you with a mix of relief and fear, clearly aware of how close he came to a far more brutal fate.
Sukuna leans back on his throne, watching you both, as if amused by the small victory you’ve won for the man. But you know better than to think Sukuna was softened. This was merely a moment of indulgence, granted to you because of the peculiar bond you shared.
As the guards move to take the man away, you return your attention to the grand statue of Ryomen Hiromi, standing in front of you, her stone eyes as cold and distant as ever.
In the shadow of the woman who had everything, you had won a small victory today. But the haunting presence of Hiromi lingered still, reminding you that no matter what you did, Sukuna’s heart would never truly belong to you. And no matter what – your kindness would never be as beloved by the people who revered the stone that was left.
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YOU ENJOYED THE PRIVILEGE OF PRIVACY. Every day, you enjoyed the distant life you had lived here in the Vermillion hall. The Vermillion hall had been a gift from Sukuna, presented to you on your fifth year in his temple.
It wasn’t grand in the way his own halls were, but it was yours. A quiet, secluded enclave within the sprawling temple grounds, removed from the constant presence of the other concubines and the weight of Hiromi’s looming statues.
In the years prior, you had only been given a selection of rooms within Sukuna’s own quarters, close enough for him to visit whenever he pleased. Though his visits were rare, those rooms had been a symbol of your availability to him, a reminder that you were under his thumb, always within reach.
But as time passed, and your bond with Sukuna evolved into something more complex than mere possession, he decided to give you something more. Vermillion hall became yours. It was a gesture that left the other concubines seething with jealousy.
They already despised how close you had become to Sukuna, how often he lingered by your side, and now they had another reason to resent you. You knew that their hatred ran deep, festered in the corridors of his temple, where whispers of favoritism and betrayal echoed in the dark.
To pacify them, and perhaps to create some distance between you and their hostility, Sukuna had given you the Vermillion Hall. It wasn’t a grand act of love, nor was it some romantic gesture. It was practical. The gift served to ease tensions, to quell your growing discomfort, and to offer you a reprieve from the suffocating dynamics of the temple’s inner court.
In Vermillion Hall, you had your own household. Your own space, away from the eyes that burned with envy. Your own garden, tended by servants who answered only to you. There were pleasantries there, comforts that softened the harshness of your life with Sukuna. The hall was peaceful, serene, and for the first time in years, you had a sense of autonomy, a place to call your own.
You were aware of what the gift truly meant. It wasn’t love, not even affection in the way one might hope. Sukuna had never cared in that way. His gestures, while grand, were always calculated.
Vermillion hall was an offering of peace, a way to keep you satisfied, pacified. It wasn’t an act of affection but of convenience. With your own residence, you were removed from the tensions of the other concubines. You were out of the way, kept at a distance while still under his control.
And yet, you were grateful. Despite knowing the reasons behind it, you cherished the hall because it afforded you something you hadn’t realized you craved so deeply—freedom.
You were far enough from the other concubines, from their petty schemes and cruel glares. Away from the prying, stone-cold eyes of Hiromi’s likeness, always watching you from every corner of the main temple. And, perhaps most importantly, you were away from Sukuna’s immediate reach.
Here, in your quiet refuge, you could breathe without constantly feeling the weight of his presence or his demands. The distance didn’t erase your bond with him—Sukuna could summon you whenever he wished, and you would always return—but it allowed you moments of solitude, moments to reflect and gather yourself.
In Vermillion Hall, you found a strange sort of peace. Away from the tempest of Sukuna’s world, you could finally be alone with your thoughts. And in that space, you realized how much you had craved this separation—how, even in your closeness to Sukuna, you had always yearned to be free from the shadow of both him and Hiromi.
The garden at Vermillion hall was your sanctuary. It had been from the moment you first stepped foot into it, surrounded by delicate vermillion petals, fragrant herbs, and the soft hum of nature’s presence.
Sukuna had forbidden the servants from tending to it, decreeing that it was yours alone to care for, a space untouched by others. It was a strange sort of gift—one that granted you solitude but also burdened you with its upkeep.
In the beginning, you had relished the challenge, pouring your time and energy into every plant, every blossom. The act of tending the garden gave you purpose, something to pour your hands into when everything else in your life felt dictated by Sukuna’s whims. It was an escape, a place where you could breathe and let your thoughts wander.
But as the years passed, you found it harder to keep up with. The garden grew wild, sprawling beyond what you could manage alone. The weight of maintaining it, along with the complexities of your life in Vermillion hall, began to overwhelm you. What was once your refuge now became a reminder of your isolation, each untended leaf and overgrown vine whispering of the loneliness you felt within these walls.
That was when Sukuna granted your request—begrudgingly, perhaps—and allowed you a servant. The man who came to you, your new gardener, was named Hironobu. His name meant “gentle abundance” and it seemed to suit him perfectly.
He was a quiet, unassuming figure, with a calm presence that filled the garden like a steady breeze. He wasn’t like the other servants, who always carried a quiet fear of Sukuna in their eyes. There was something different about Hironobu, a certain calm that put you at ease in a way you hadn’t expected.
At first, you barely spoke to him, unsure of how to navigate the strangeness of having someone else in your once-private space. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, you began to find comfort in his presence. He tended to the garden with care, never overstepping, always leaving space for you to do what you wished. But slowly, you began to rely on him more and more. His hands, though calloused, were gentle with the plants, and you found yourself watching him sometimes, noticing the way he seemed to move with the rhythm of the earth.
Conversations began to bloom between the two of you, small at first—a comment about the soil, a shared observation about a plant’s growth. But over time, you began to talk about other things. Life. The temple. The world beyond its walls, which felt like a distant dream. Hironobu listened more than he spoke, his quiet presence a balm to your often lonely existence.
You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. Not in the same way you were tied to Sukuna, but in something softer, something more human. Hironobu didn’t see you as a concubine or as someone living in the shadow of Hiromi. He saw you as you were—a person. A soul, just like him.
There was no pretense with him. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.
In the afternoons, you would find him in the garden, kneeling by the plants, his fingers brushing against the earth as if he were communicating with it. You would sit nearby, watching him work, feeling a peace you hadn’t known in years. It was a strange thing, this growing connection between the two of you.
You weren’t sure when it had started—perhaps from the very first time he smiled at you, or perhaps later, when you noticed that being with him felt different than with anyone else.
With Hironobu, the garden began to feel like a sanctuary again, not just from Sukuna or the other concubines, but from your own loneliness. The space that had once been yours alone became something shared, and in that sharing, something beautiful blossomed—a quiet companionship, a bond that grew in the shadow of the vermillion blossoms.
For the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t completely alone. Hironobu was there, steady and calm, tending to the garden as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And with each passing day, you found yourself growing closer to him, drawn to the gentle abundance of his presence.
One late afternoon, as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, you found yourself kneeling beside Hironobu. He was carefully pruning one of the flowering shrubs, his focus entirely on the delicate task. You watched him for a moment in silence, taking in the way his hands moved with precision, the soft rustle of leaves under his touch.
“You’ve done wonders with this place, Hironobu.” you finally said, your voice breaking the quiet. “I barely recognize it anymore. It feels… alive again.”
Hironobu glanced up, offering a small smile. “It was always alive, thanks to your good work, my lady. It just needed a little bit more care.”
You could feel warmth brush against your cheek as you nodded, brushing your fingers along the edge of a flower petal. “I couldn’t have managed it on my own. I’m grateful that you’re here.”
There was a moment of quiet between you, the air filled with the soft hum of the garden’s life. Hironobu set down his tools and wiped his hands on a cloth, then looked at you with an expression that was both kind and thoughtful.
“You speak as if you’re alone here, my lady.” he said quietly. “But you’re not. Not anymore.”
His words settled between you, a truth that you hadn’t fully realized until now. The loneliness that had once pressed down on you had lifted, little by little, ever since he arrived.
“I suppose… I’ve gotten used to being alone.” you admitted, your voice softer than before. “It’s been that way for so long. Even when I was with lord Sukuna, surrounded by people, it was always the same. The others… they hated me. And lady Hiromi……” You hesitated, glancing at the distant temple where her statues stood in silent vigil. “She’s everywhere.”
Hironobu’s gaze followed yours, but he said nothing for a moment. Instead, he sat back on his heels and watched you with a gentle patience that you had come to value. You could tell that he had some fondness for Hiromi.
Who wouldn’t? His parents must have told her of the good deeds of Ryomen Hiromi. You were but a nobody and Hiromi, she was immortal to the people, to the land. You were an outsider to these people.
“Do you resent lady Hiromi, my lady?” he asked quietly, his tone free of judgment.
You shook your head, though the truth of it weighed heavily on you. “No. I can’t. How could I? Lord Sukuna loved her. And she is kind and generous, she was genuine, I am sure. But I…..I’m… I’m only here because I remind him of her.”
Hironobu’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes thoughtful. “And yet, he chose to keep you close. To give you this hall, this garden. That’s not something he does for everyone, my lady. You are important to our lord.”
“Maybe.” You sighed, the weight of your situation pressing down on you once more. “But it’s not love. I doubt it was. Not like it was with lady Hiromi.”
There was a long pause as you both sat in the quiet of the garden, the only sound the soft breeze moving through the leaves.
“Do you wish it was, my lady?” Hironobu asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You turned to look at him, surprised by the question. His eyes were steady, sincere. It wasn’t the first time you’d wondered that yourself. Would it be easier if Sukuna truly loved you? If you weren’t just a replacement for a woman who was no longer here?
But as you looked into Hironobu’s eyes, the answer felt more complicated than it ever had before.
“I don’t know, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Maybe at first, I did. But now… I’m not sure it matters.”
Hironobu’s expression softened, and he nodded as if he understood. “Love doesn’t always come in the way we expect it to, my lady.”
You met his gaze, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, the way his words felt more like an invitation than a simple observation.
“I suppose not.” you murmured.
A comfortable silence fell between you again, and after a few moments, Hironobu stood and extended a hand to help you up. You took it, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours, and for a moment, you stood there together in the quiet of the garden.
“Shall we finish up for today?” he asked, his voice gentle.
You nodded, but as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. “Hironobu?”
He paused, looking at you curiously. “Yes, my lady?”
“I don’t think I could have done this without you.” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Not just the garden. Everything.”
A small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re not alone anymore, my lady. I hope you may remember that.”
You held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, a quiet understanding passing between you. As you walked back toward the hall, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted. Not just in the garden, but between you and Hironobu as well. The distance that once separated you felt smaller, and for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope.
Perhaps, in the gentle abundance of his presence, you had found something you hadn’t been looking for. Something that, unlike the garden, wouldn’t fade with time.
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YOU STARTED TO ENJOY GARDENING WITH SOMEONE. As the days passed in the garden, you and Hironobu grew closer. His laughter filled the spaces that had long been silent, echoing in the air like a sweet melody that danced among the blossoms.
Each shared moment became a thread weaving into the fabric of your existence, bringing warmth and light into your life. The garden, once a sanctuary of solitude and melancholy, transformed into a vibrant tapestry of color and life under his gentle care.
You found yourself eagerly anticipating his visits, counting down the hours until he would arrive, a basket in hand, ready to tend to the plants that flourished under his skilled touch.
The sunlight seemed to brighten when he stepped through the gates of the vermilion hall, illuminating not just the petals of the flowers but your heart as well. Each time he smiled, it felt as though the world around you bloomed anew, and you began to notice the small joys that had previously gone unnoticed—the way the sun filtered through the leaves, the gentle rustle of the wind, and the songs of birds fluttering above.
Conversations flowed easily between you, often starting with the mundane aspects of gardening—discussing the best ways to prune the roses or debating which herbs to plant next. But as you both shared stories and laughter, the dialogue deepened, revealing layers of your souls. Hironobu spoke of his childhood, his dreams of becoming a skilled gardener, and the joy he found in nurturing life. You opened up about your life in the temple, the challenges you faced as Sukuna’s concubine, and the bittersweet longing you felt for freedom.
“Do you remember the first time you showed me how to care for the orchids?” you asked one day, recalling the way he had patiently guided your hands, teaching you the delicate art of nurturing the fragile blooms.
Hironobu chuckled, a warm, rich sound that resonated in your chest. “You were a quick learner. I think you were more excited about getting your hands dirty than the flowers themselves!”
You smiled at the memory, the image of dirt smudged across your palms and the way his eyes had sparkled with amusement. “Maybe I just liked spending time with you,” you replied, your heart racing at your own boldness.
His gaze softened, and you could see a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something that hinted at unspoken feelings. “I like spending time with you too. You make this place feel alive. It’s more than just the plants; it’s the way you see beauty in everything, even in the shadows.”
His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, filling the hollow spaces within your heart that had long been empty. You found yourself blushing, the warmth of his gaze igniting a spark of hope in your chest. In those moments, the weight of your circumstances seemed to lift, if only for a while. You felt cherished, seen, and—dare you think it—truly happy.
Yet, as the days turned into weeks, you were reminded of the solitude that lingered beneath this newfound joy. While Hironobu brought a lightness to your life, there was still an underlying ache, a reminder that this connection, as precious as it felt, existed in a world defined by shadows.
One afternoon, as you and Hironobu knelt side by side in the garden, tending to a patch of vibrant marigolds, he paused, his hands resting in the soil. “You know,” he began thoughtfully, “it’s strange how life brings us together in unexpected ways. I never imagined I would find such joy in tending a garden, especially one that belongs to someone as remarkable as you.”
You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his voice. “It’s not just the garden. You’ve brought joy into my life, Hironobu. I can’t remember the last time I felt this… alive.”
His eyes met yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden faded away. The towering walls of the temple, the looming presence of Sukuna, and the whispers of the other concubines—all of it seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of you, surrounded by the fragrant blooms and the warmth of the sun.
“I wish I could give you more than this, my lady.” Hironobu said softly, his expression earnest. “You deserve to be happy, to feel free. This garden is a refuge, but I want you to feel that way outside of it too.”
Your heart fluttered at his words, the weight of longing and affection intertwining within you. “I… I don’t know what the future holds for me, but right now, I’m grateful for this moment with you, Hironobu.”
One evening, as the sun set in a blaze of oranges and purples, you were gathering a basket of freshly picked herbs when Hironobu approached, his expression unusually serious.
“May I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, his tone almost hesitant.
You set the basket down and nodded, your heart fluttering with curiosity. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”
He took a deep breath, his hands clasped together in front of him. “I want to apologize for what I’m about to say, my lady.” he started, his voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “I know it may change things between us.”
Your brow furrowed in confusion. “Hironobu, what do you mean?”
He shifted his weight, glancing away as if searching for the right words. “I’ve grown fond of you—more than I intended to. I can no longer pretend that it’s just admiration or friendship.” He paused, his gaze finally meeting yours, filled with an earnestness that made your heart race. “I’m in love with you, my lady.”
The world seemed to pause at his confession. The weight of his words hung in the air between you, and your breath caught in your throat. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.
“I know you are married to lord Sukuna, my lady.” he continued, his voice low and filled with regret. “And I never intended to overstep my bounds. But I had to tell you, because hiding it would only cause me more pain and I would not be fair to you, my lady.”
You took a step back, your mind racing. “Hironobu, I—”
“Please, my lady.” he interrupted gently, raising a hand to stop you. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed you to know how I feel. You deserve to know that you’ve brought joy into my life, more than I could ever have imagined. And if you cannot return those feelings, I will understand. I just… I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.”
The sincerity in his eyes made your heart ache. You felt a mixture of emotions—surprise, fear, and an undeniable warmth that surged through you at his words.
“I never wanted to put you in this position, Hironobu.” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve enjoyed our time together so much, but I… I’m married to lord Sukuna. You know how he is.”
“Of course, my lady.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t change how I feel. I just thought… perhaps there was a chance you might feel the same way.”
You swallowed hard, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a wave. Sukuna was a force of nature, and while your relationship with him was complex, it was rooted in years of shared history—of loyalty and duty.
But here was Hironobu, his honesty and vulnerability laid bare before you. He was a breath of fresh air in your life, and the connection you shared felt like a balm to the wounds of your past.
“I—” you began, searching for the right words. “You make me feel seen, Hironobu. Happy. But this isn’t simple. I can’t just—”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured, my lady.” he said, stepping closer, concern etched on his features. “I expect nothing. I only wanted to be honest about my feelings. And take care of you, my lady. You deserve that much.”
You took a deep breath, the weight of your emotions almost overwhelming. “I appreciate your honesty. It means a lot to me, truly. But I can’t deny that this is all very complicated. I never intended for this to happen.”
“I understand, my lady.” he replied, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and sadness. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’ll be here for you. I care about you, and I want to help you in any way I can. I will be your servant, for as long as I live.”
In that moment, something shifted between you. The air felt charged with unspoken possibilities, and though the path ahead was uncertain, the connection you had with Hironobu felt undeniable. You might not have the answers now, but there was a warmth in the garden that promised a new beginning.
“I see.” you said softly, your heart pounding.
“My lady, I adore you. I always will.” Hironobu said, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll always be here, tending to the garden—and to you.”
As he turned to leave, you watched him go, your heart racing with a mixture of fear and excitement. You couldn’t help but wonder what this new chapter might hold, not just for you, but for both of you. In the garden’s gentle embrace, you felt a sense of hope begin to bloom, fragile yet persistent.
══════════════════
YOU THINK YOU’VE NEVER BEEN THE PERSON TO PRAY. But in the past ten years, you found yourself finding relief in prayer. It reminds you of your mother’s piety, of your father’s mumbling whispers to the gods, your brothers and sisters sitting beside you.
You haven’t seen them in ten years. But you wish they were well. And even if you don’t see them anymore, this gives you relief.
You knelt in the inner sanctum of the temple, bowing your head in prayer before the statue of Bishamon. Your lips moved silently, asking for a clear mind, but no matter how hard you prayed, you could not banish the thought from your head—Hironobu, your loyal gardener, had confessed his love to you.
It had taken you by surprise. You were Sukuna's concubine. You could not be with Hironobu. And yet, he made you happy in a way you hadn’t known was possible, and your heart was torn. To tell Sukuna was out of the question. If he knew, he could kill Hironobu without hesitation. You shivered at the thought.
The flickering light from the temple’s lanterns cast shadows on the walls, their soft glow doing little to soothe the turmoil raging inside you. How could something so pure—a love untainted by power and possession—be so wrong? How could you feel joy when the very thought of it put Hironobu’s life in peril?
Your mind returned to that moment, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke his feelings, the tenderness in his voice. He had always been gentle, always there with a quiet presence, nurturing the garden you so often found peace in. And now, he wants to nurture you. But you were Sukuna’s, bound to him by fear and something you could never quite define as love. Duty, perhaps. A twisted form of devotion. But love? That was not something you could claim to feel for the man who held you in his iron grip.
A soft breeze swept through the temple, brushing against your skin like a whisper, and you closed your eyes, imagining for a moment what life might be like if things were different. If you could run. If you could be free. But such thoughts were dangerous, reckless even, and you knew you would never act on them.
Just then, you heard footsteps behind you, a familiar presence that made your breath catch. Sukuna.
"I didn’t know you prayed," his voice cut through the silence like a blade, deep and commanding, bringing you back to the harsh reality of your situation.
Your heart raced as you slowly rose from your knees, turning to face him. He stood in the dim light, towering over you as always, his gaze sharp and penetrating.
"I did not take you for a pious woman," Sukuna continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, scrutinizing you.
"Piety is a comfort, my lord," you replied quietly, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. "It eases the soul to have someone that listens."
Sukuna’s eyes flicked toward the statue of Bishamon for a moment before returning to you. "Hm," he muttered, unimpressed, though his gaze lingered on you longer than usual. "Then do you pray to me?"
You blinked, taken aback by the question. "What do you mean, my lord?"
Sukuna stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and intense. "Am I not a god?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous. "Your god?"
For a moment, your breath faltered, but then you gathered yourself. You had to be careful. You had to choose your words wisely. A soft, almost bitter smile tugged at your lips. "My lord," you whispered, meeting his gaze with a quiet defiance, "do I not worship you already? Does my entire existence, my suffering, my love for you—" your voice grew quieter, but sharper, "—is it not enough worship for you as my god?"
Sukuna’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. His gaze remained locked on yours, and for the first time in your life, you saw something close to uncertainty flicker in his eyes.
But you did not feel victorious. You felt hollow. Because no matter what you said, no matter how sharp your words were, you were still bound to him. Still trapped.
And Hironobu? He would never be yours.
The silence between you and Sukuna stretched on, thick with tension. His gaze remained locked on you, unyielding, as though searching for something deeper within you—some trace of weakness, some sign of betrayal. But you stood tall, your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t let him see your turmoil, couldn’t let him suspect that anyone had stirred your heart, least of all someone as lowly as a gardener.
Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, though there was no amusement in his eyes. “Careful with your tongue, woman,” he said softly, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “There are limits to even my patience.”
You bowed your head slightly, a gesture of submission. “Of course, my lord. Forgive me if my words displeased you.”
He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing through your very soul, before turning away, his crimson robes trailing behind him as he walked toward the temple’s entrance. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, thinking he was leaving, that the conversation had come to an end.
But then he stopped.
“You seem… distant, little one.” Sukuna remarked, his voice casual but laced with suspicion. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could feel his eyes on you, even without seeing them. “Something troubles you.”
Your heart froze. Did he know? Could he sense the conflict within you?
“No, my lord.” you replied quickly, too quickly, the lie on your lips before you could think. “I am merely tired.”
“Tired? This does not seem to be you, little one.” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. Slowly, he turned to face you, and the way his eyes bore into yours made your pulse quicken. “I don’t believe you.”
Your throat tightened as you scrambled for something, anything, to say. “I—”
Before you could finish, Sukuna took a step closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand shot out, grabbing your chin with a roughness that made you wince, forcing you to meet his gaze.
“I am not someone who tolerates deceit, little one.” he growled, his face mere inches from yours. “If something weighs on your mind, you will tell me. Now.”
The air around you felt suffocating, your mind racing with thoughts of Hironobu. You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The truth would mean death—for Hironobu, perhaps for you as well. But Sukuna’s grip tightened, his impatience growing, and you knew you had to give him something.
“I am troubled, my lord. you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. “But it is not something that concerns you, my lord.”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but still suspicious. “Everything about you concerns me. You belong to me.”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “It is only… the weight of my life, my place here. Nothing more.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your chin loosening slightly. “Your place is exactly where I put you, little one.” he said coldly, his fingers trailing down your neck in a way that made your skin crawl. “Do not forget that.”
“I haven’t, my lord. You must not have to worry.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
For a moment, he seemed to study you, searching your face for signs of rebellion, of disobedience. But then, slowly, he released you, taking a step back. You wonder if it was relief or it was disappointment you truly feel — knowing that he does not ask, that he lets you go. You purse your lips in a tight line. But you know that he does not wish to notice it.
“Good.” he muttered, turning away once more. “Do not forget who holds your life in their hands.”
With that, he strode toward the exit, his presence leaving the room like a dark cloud finally lifting. You stood there, frozen, the echoes of his words reverberating through your mind. He didn’t know. Not yet.
But how long could you keep this secret? How long before Sukuna’s suspicions became too great, before he began digging for the truth? You had already slipped too close to the edge today, and it terrified you to think of how much closer you might come tomorrow.
And Hironobu… how could you ever look at him again, knowing the danger your feelings for him brought? Knowing that Sukuna’s wrath could fall upon him at any moment?
A tear slipped down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away. There was no room for weakness. Not here. Not in Sukuna’s world. But in the quiet recesses of your heart, where Sukuna could not reach, the thought of Hironobu lingered—like a fleeting ray of light in a dark, unyielding storm.
══════════════════
YOU HAD EXCUSED YOURSELF FROM DINNER EARLY. And you could not take too much food when you were in Sukuna’s chambers. That had concerned Sukuna, even if he did not want to show it. You were a human being after all. And if anything was wrong with you, it concerns Sukuna. You were his. You were a part of him.
And if a part of him was unwell, he must ensure its settled. Ryomen Sukuna had not meant to stay long when he visited Vermillion hall, your residence. He had come for something trivial, something that now seemed insignificant as his eyes fell upon you.
He stood in the shadows, watching from a distance, concealed by the thick trees lining the garden. You didn’t notice him; your attention was entirely on that servant, that Hironobu. He could feel the air punched out of his chest.
The way you smiled at him, laughed softly at something he said—it was a smile Sukuna had never seen on your face before. Genuine, unguarded, free. Happy. In the truest sense.
That wretched low life Hironobu knelt beside you, tending to the flowers, his hands moving carefully as he spoke to you. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. No, Sukuna could understand it. It was the tenderness he had when he looked at Hiromi. He looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world.It was love. It was adoration. It was devotion. Sukuna’s chest tightened painfully, and his fists clenched at his sides.
What was this feeling? A tug, something sharp and bitter gnawing at him, growing stronger the longer he watched you with Hironobu. He wasn’t used to this—this strange, almost foreign sensation. He knew anger, jealousy, possession. But this… this felt different. More unsettling
He wonders now, if he’s ever seen that smile on your face when you look at him. If you’ve ever truly been happy in the grace of his existence. But somehow, within the depths of what remains in his heart, there was pain. There was jealousy. There was anguish. There was grief. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he felt like this. His heart had long died. Died with his beloved Hiromi and yet….
His face contorted into a scowl, his jaw tightening. He turned sharply on his heel, his robes whipping through the air as he left without a word. The sight of you with Hironobu left an acid taste in his mouth, and though he hated to admit it, it bothered him in a way he could not explain.
That next morning, he summoned you to break his fast with him—even rarer than supping with him.
When you arrived, the room was dimly lit from the shading silk, the atmosphere thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Ryomen Sukuna sat at the head of the long table, his scarlet eyes dark, his expression unreadable.
You felt a cold knot in your stomach as you approached him, the air between you tense and charged. You were not hungry. You could not feel any pleasure knowing that he was staring at you that way.
“My lord, I greet you with fervent devotion.” you said softly, bowing slightly before taking your place at the table. He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching you with that same piercing gaze that always made you feel exposed.
The silence stretched on, oppressive and heavy, before he finally spoke. “I visited Vermillion Hall last night.”
Your heart skipped a beat. The way he said it, the deliberate pause—it sent a wave of dread washing over you. “I… I was unaware of your visit, my lord.” you replied carefully, trying to keep your voice steady. “You must forgive me if I had not noticed.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “Clearly.”
You shifted in your seat, sensing the trap closing in around you. There was a tension in Sukuna that you had rarely seen, something simmering beneath the surface. You remained in your position, feeling a bile stuck on the edge of your throat.
You could feel the sweat fervent on your palm as you gripped your kimono tenderly, hoping he would not notice the tension and fear in you.
“I saw you, little one.” he continued, his tone low and almost too calm. “With that lowly thief of a servant...what was his name....ah yes, Hironobu.”
Your blood ran cold at his words.
You knew what your husband was like.
You had made a mistake, you knew that well.
“I saw how happy you were with him, little one.” Sukuna said, his voice tightening ever so slightly, though his expression remained controlled. “Smiling, laughing, as if there were no worries in the world. It’s a wonder I’ve never seen you look that way with me.”
His words stung, even though you knew better than to show it. You lowered your gaze, knowing you were walking a very fine line. You knew him too well. He considered you a part of him, the god he is.
And everything, it has to be about him. Your existence was taught to worship him. Loving him was the law, even if he would not give it back. And you could not have the same, you know that.
“I—he was simply tending to the garden, my lord. We merely… spoke as we often do. It was a mere passing laugh and enjoyment.”
“Is that all?” Sukuna asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Because from where I stood, it seemed more than that, little one.”
You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you clenched them under the table. You couldn’t lie, not to him. But the truth—how could you explain the way you felt with Hironobu without damaging yourself?
“My lord, I beg for your understanding.” you began, carefully choosing your words. “Hironobu is kind and loyal to me, to you. He tends to the garden and offers his company when I walk, to ensure that he could care for you in caring for me. Nothing more, my lord.”
Sukuna’s eyes flickered with something dark and unreadable. “Kindness?” he sneered, leaning back in his chair. “Is that what makes you smile like that? Is that what makes you laugh so freely? How easy are you, little one? Do you offer such a thing to everyone, is it necessary, little one?”
“My lord—”
You opened your mouth to respond, but his voice cut through the air again, sharper this time. “Do you think I am blind? That I cannot see what’s happening under my own roof?”
Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at him, meeting his furious gaze. He wasn’t just angry. No, there was something deeper, something more dangerous. Hurt. Betrayal. You wonder why he feels this way. He had it clear even ten years ago that his heart had died. And that he was a god.
Because how could that be? Ryomen Sukuna was not someone to feel such things, to be vulnerable to them. And yet, as he stared at you, the fury in his scarlet eyes was laced with something raw.
“Answer me, little one.” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. “Is he more to you than just a gardener?”
The truth was clawing at your throat, begging to be let out, but you knew what it would mean. Hironobu would die. Sukuna would never allow it, would never tolerate even the hint of disobedience or disloyalty from you. And yet… Could you lie to him again?
“My lord,he is nothing but a servant tied to me to grace your glory.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You know…you know I would never betray you, my lord.”
He watched you for a moment. It was then where Sukuna stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he rose to his full, imposing height. He stalked toward you, his scarlet eyes blazing, and you felt a cold sweat break across your skin.
“If I find out otherwise, little one.” he growled, his hand grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to his. “Hironobu’s kindness won’t be enough to save him. And you—” his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “—you will know exactly what it means to displease me. You know me the best out of those fools in the concubine hall, do you not? You must know what I am willing to do.”
His grip on your chin tightened for a moment before he let you go, leaving you breathless, terrified, and more trapped than ever. You tried to calm yourself, you know you cannot show more. You cannot appear weak, not like this.
Sukuna’s wrath hung over you like a storm, and as he turned and walked away, you were left with the suffocating knowledge that your secret was on the verge of unraveling.
As Sukuna stormed out of the room, the sliding door nearly breaking along the path he left behind him, you remained frozen in your seat. The air was thick with his lingering presence, the scent of incense mixing with the oppressive tension that still hung over you. Your hands, resting in your lap, trembled uncontrollably. You felt the weight of Sukuna’s warning, his threat echoing in your mind.
Hironobu.
The thought of him twisted your heart painfully. You had always known the danger that came with even the slightest hint of affection for another man, but Sukuna had never been this close to the truth before. His suspicion was like a sword dangling over both your heads, ready to strike at any moment.
You rose from the table slowly, your legs unsteady beneath you. The silence of the grand dining hall was suffocating, every step you took feeling heavier than the last. You could barely think, barely breathe. All you could do was replay Sukuna’s words in your mind. The anger, the possessiveness—and something else. The hurt.
Could it be that Sukuna, the mighty king of curses, had actually been wounded by what he saw? You had always believed that you were just another possession to him, another piece in his vast collection of power and control. But tonight, there had been something deeper in his voice, something almost vulnerable.
And that terrified you even more.
When you reached the privacy of your chambers, you collapsed onto the bed, your body trembling from the weight of the evening. Your heart raced as you tried to steady your breath, but it was no use. Every time you close your eyes, you see Hironobu’s face, his warm, gentle smile—and Sukuna’s cold, furious gaze.
What were you going to do? You couldn’t abandon Hironobu. The thought of him being killed because of you, because of a love you couldn’t deny, was unbearable. And yet, if Sukuna found out, there would be no mercy. Not for either of you.
A soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly sat up, brushing away the stray tears that had escaped. “You may enter.” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.
The door creaked open, and to your surprise, it was Hironobu who stepped inside. His expression was calm, as it always was, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest tighten. Tension passes through you as much as fear does. You cover yourself with the blankets, as though to shield you from the vulnerability you feel for him.
“You shouldn’t be here, Hironobu.” you whispered, panic rising in your throat. “It is not allowed. This is not…..It’s too dangerous.”
“I know, my lady.” Hironobu replied quietly, closing the door behind him. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. “But I had to see you. I heard that lord Sukuna summoned you and everyone was whispering about him. He was mad, and I was worried that he could harm you, my lady.”
You looked into his eyes, the warmth and sincerity in them a stark contrast to the cold, terrifying presence of Sukuna. For a brief moment, being with Hironobu felt like a balm to the storm raging in your heart. But the danger was too real, too imminent.
“My lord will not hurt me. You must know this.” You wonder if you were saying the right words. Ryomen Sukuna has hurt you. He always has, even if he does not lay a hand on you. “You must trust that.”
“My lady, still—”
“Hironobu.” you began, your voice breaking slightly. “Lord Sukuna saw us in the garden the other day.”
Hironobu’s face paled, but he didn’t let go of your hand. “What did my lord say?”
You shook your head, feeling tears prick at your eyes again. “He’s warned me. He said he saw how happy I was with you, how I smiled while we gardened today. He asked if you were more than just a gardener and servant to me.”
Hironobu’s hand tightened around yours. “And what did you tell him, my lady?”
“I told him I would never betray him. That we are only enjoying the garden together.” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. “But I don’t know how much longer I can keep him at bay to keep you safe. He’s watching us, Hironobu. I do not want him to hurt you, over your kindness and friendship and I fear for you—”
“I won’t let him hurt you, my lady.” Hironobu interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “I’ll leave if I have to. I won’t risk your life.”
“No, no.” you said quickly, gripping his hand tighter. “You can’t leave. That would only make him more suspicious. You are bound to me as a servant. My lord will be suspicious.”
Tears finally spilled over, and you tried to wipe them away, but Hironobu cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks softly. “We’ll figure this out, my lady. Do not be afraid.” he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “We have to be careful, even in our friendship, but I won’t let him take you away from me.”
The intensity of his words made your heart ache, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, to forget the danger, if only for a fleeting second. Being with Hironobu felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could be free from Sukuna’s suffocating grip.
But as much as you wanted to stay in this moment, you knew it couldn’t last. Ryomen Sukuna’s shadow loomed over everything, and no matter how careful you were, it was only a matter of time before he would find out the truth. One way or another, even if you had rejected Hironobu, Sukuna will end up being angry. And he would kill him. He would kill him and that would break you.
“I’m afraid, Hironobu.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Not having a life of my own.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re stronger than you think, my lady.” he murmured. “We’ll find a way, even if it means we have to run.”
You shook your head slightly. “He would find us. You know he would.”
Hironobu didn’t argue. He knew the truth as well as you did. Ryomen Sukuna’s reach was vast, his power unmatched. There was no escaping him, not really.
But for now, in the quiet of your chambers, with Hironobu beside you, you allowed yourself to cling to the hope that somehow, some way, you could protect the fragile love you had found. Even if the world around you was crumbling.
The door creaked again, but before you could react, a cold voice sliced through the air.
“I told you, little one.” Sukuna’s voice was low, deadly, as he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes burning with fury, “there are limits to my patience.”
Your heart stopped.
You felt frozen in place.
He had seen everything.
The room felt as though it had been plunged into icy darkness the moment Sukuna stepped forward. His presence filled the air, suffocating, his crimson gaze searing into both you and Hironobu. The warmth you had felt moments before vanished, replaced by a cold, gnawing dread that clawed at your throat.
You stood up quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. "My lord—"
Sukuna’s eyes flicked to you, and the fury in them made your blood run cold. His face was a mask of controlled rage, but there was a darkness beneath the surface, threatening to spill over.
“I warned you, little one.” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, each word like a blade slicing through the air. His attention shifted to Hironobu, who had risen to his feet but made no move to defend himself. There was a strange calm in Hironobu’s expression, but you could see the tension in his body, the readiness for whatever was to come.
“My lord, please.” you begged, stepping forward, your voice trembling. “Please don’t hurt him. He had done nothing wrong.”
Sukuna’s eyes snapped back to you, narrowing. “Do you think your pleas mean anything to me now?” His voice dripped with contempt. “You’ve lied to me. You betrayed me. And for what? A mere gardener?”
Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay calm, to keep speaking even though your heart was breaking with fear. “He didn’t—he didn’t do anything wrong, my lord. This is my fault.”
Sukuna’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Your fault? Oh, I know it’s your fault. You allowed this to happen. You let him think he could take what is mine.”
Your breath hitched. The possessiveness in the god Ryomen Sukuna echoed in his voice was suffocating, and you knew he was on the edge of doing something irreversible. Desperation clawed at you as you stepped closer, falling to your knees before him.
“Please, my lord. Please. This is not….” you whispered, bowing your head, your hands trembling as you reached out, barely daring to touch the hem of his robe. “I beg you—don’t hurt him. He… he only cares for me. It’s not his fault.”
Sukuna stared down at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, there was silence—an unbearable, suffocating silence that made your chest tighten with fear. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, terrified of what you might see in his eyes.
“I should kill him where he stands,little one.” Sukuna said softly, though his voice was filled with venom. “I should make you watch as I tear him apart, so you understand the price of defiance.”
You gasped, your heart shattering at the thought. “No! Please, my lord, no!”
But before you could continue, Sukuna moved faster than you could react, his hand shooting out and grabbing Hironobu by the throat. The sound of Hironobu’s breath choking in his lungs was like a knife to your heart.
“My lord, please. Please, please—Sukuna!” you screamed, rushing to your feet, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “Please, no! I’ll do anything—anything! Just don’t kill him!”
Sukuna’s grip tightened, his gaze never leaving Hironobu’s face. “Anything?” he repeated, his voice cold and mocking. “What makes you think you have anything left to offer me, after this?”
Tears streamed down your face as you fell to your knees once more, your voice breaking. “I’ll take whatever you impose upon me, my lord—I’ll never speak to him again! Or any one else I swear to you, my lord! Just… please, don’t take his life. It’s my fault. I should have known better. I’ll do anything you ask, my lord. Just spare his life. He had done nothing wrong.”
Sukuna’s grip on Hironobu’s throat loosened slightly, but his eyes remained locked on you, watching your every movement, every tear that fell from your eyes. His lips curled into a cruel smile, but there was no warmth, no mercy in it. He was enjoying this, owning you.
“Is that what you think will save him?” Sukuna asked, his tone soft, dangerous. “Your submission? Your devotion? Little one, I own you. I do not give your submission. You give it willingly. You know that.”
You nodded frantically, your voice a desperate whisper. “Yes… yes, my lord. But I swear to you. I swear, my lord. I’ll submit to you in every way. I won’t resist, I won’t fight. I would continue to be devoted to you, only you. Just spare him, please.”
Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze flickered between you and Hironobu, his hand still wrapped around the gardener’s throat. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could barely breathe as you waited for his decision. You feel like you were going to collapse, as you stopped breathing waiting for him to say anything.
For what felt like an eternity, Sukuna said nothing. The silence was deafening, the weight of his power crushing you under its force. You knew that he could kill Hironobu in an instant, with a single flick of his hand. And yet… there was something holding him back.
Finally, Sukuna’s fingers released their hold on Hironobu, and he stepped back, letting the man fall to his knees, gasping for breath. But the danger hadn’t passed. Sukuna’s gaze was still fixed on you, dark and dangerous.
“Get out of my sight.” Sukuna snarled at Hironobu. “If I see you near her again, I’ll tear you apart without hesitation. And there will be no more mercy.”
Hironobu, though clearly shaken, managed to stand, casting a glance at you, his eyes filled with both relief and sorrow. You gave him a small, trembling nod, urging him to leave while he still could. Without a word, he turned and disappeared through the door.
The moment he was gone, Ryomen Sukuna’s attention snapped back to you, and the full weight of his fury descended upon you.
“Don’t think for a moment that this is over, little one.” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You think I’ll just forget this? That I’ll let you off with a warning?”
You looked up at him, your body trembling. “I know… I know you won’t, my lord.” you whispered. “I’ll accept whatever punishment you see fit. Just… please…”
“Please?” he mocked, leaning down so that his face was level with yours. “You think you can still make requests of me after what I saw today?”
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I beg your mercy.”
Sukuna’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he reached out, tilting your chin up so that you were forced to meet his gaze. “Mercy, huh.” he repeated, his voice soft, but laced with malice. “You think you deserve mercy after betraying me?”
You shook your head slightly, tears still streaming down your face. “No… I don’t. But Hironobu—he didn’t deserve to die for my mistake.”
For a moment, Sukuna simply stared at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of rage and something darker, something possessive. Then, he released you, standing up straight once more.
“You will never see him again. Never again. And not anyone.” he ordered coldly. “You will stay at my side when asked where you belong. Know your place. And if you ever defy me again, I won’t hesitate to kill him—and you.”
You nodded, your heart breaking as you whispered, “Yes, my lord.”
══════════════════
YOU HADN’T TALKED IN A WHILE. Somehow you think you had forgotten what your voice sounds like. Silence has embraced you, as much as the darkness of the once vibrant Vermillion hall.
After that fateful night, everything changed. You isolated yourself in your chambers, the once-vibrant world of your garden now forbidden territory. Hironobu had vanished, leaving only a painful absence that lingered like a wound that refused to heal.
And there were whispers from the other halls of the temple that Ryomen Sukuna had killed him. You had expected it more or less. But it did not make it any easier. You wept in the silence of your halls.
And you had refused to eat, refused to change your clothes or wash yourself. Days blurred into one another, and the weight of your choices crushed you beneath their unbearable load.
Sukuna did not come to you. He did not summon you to his side. For a time, it felt as though you had become invisible to him, a ghost haunting the halls of the palace. At first, the silence seemed like a blessing; a reprieve from his suffocating presence, from his cruel words and piercing gaze. But as the days wore on, it began to gnaw at you. The solitude was maddening.
The garden that had once been your sanctuary became an unbearable reminder of what you had lost. You couldn’t bear to see the flowers Hironobu had so lovingly tended, the very space where you had felt fleeting moments of happiness. The very thought of stepping outside filled you with dread. You had no desire to face the world, not like this, not without him.
You were trapped—trapped between the suffocating control of Sukuna and the hollow, aching void left by Hironobu’s absence. Every breath you took felt heavier than the last, until even breathing felt like a burden you could no longer bear.
For a time, you thought it would be better to die.
The thought came slowly at first, creeping in like a shadow at the edge of your mind. But the more you dwelled in your isolation, the more it seemed like a mercy—a release from the endless torment of your existence. You had lost everything that mattered. The love you had found with Hironobu was gone, stolen from you by Sukuna’s wrath. And Ryomen Sukuna… he had broken you. His control, his possessiveness, his cruelty had shattered whatever was left of your spirit.
One night, the darkness in your mind swallowed you whole, and you couldn’t fight it any longer.
You had waited until the moon was high, the Vermillion Hall silent. You like to think that Sukuna had ordered everyone to leave you to your loneliness. But it was too late at night. No one came to your chambers anymore. No one would stop you. With shaking hands, you found a length of silk, soft and delicate, and tied it to the ceiling beam.
The precious gold and vermillion silk had been a gift from Ryomen Sukuna long ago. It was the very name of the hall he had gifted you. One of the hardest silks to find and make. It was a symbol of his wealth, his power. And he gifted it to you, a small echo of ownership to you. How ironic, you thought, that it would be the instrument of your final escape.
Tears blurred your vision as you fashioned the knot, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You stood on the edge, your heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, you hesitated. But the pain in your heart, the unbearable ache of everything you had lost, pushed you forward.
In the cold stillness of that moment, you stepped off the edge.
You woke in a haze, your body weak and aching, the dim light of dawn filtering through the curtains. You weren’t dead. Somehow, impossibly, you were still here. Confusion clouded your mind as you tried to move, but your limbs feel heavy, your throat raw.
And then you saw him.
You weren’t sure the first time.
But you let yourself look again.
Ryomen Sukuna was sitting beside your bed, his presence unmistakable even in the pale morning light. His expression was unreadable, his dark crimson eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You couldn’t speak well anyway. Your throat hurts.
You had never seen him like this before—silent, unmoving, almost still as a statue. His gaze roamed over you, lingering on the dark bruises around your neck, the evidence of your desperate attempt to escape.
“Why?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.
You turned your head away from him, shame and sorrow overwhelming you. You force yourself to speak, even if it hurts. “Because… I can’t live like this anymore, my lord.” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I’ve lost everything.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something passing over his face. “Everything? Do you think I would allow you to take your life without my permission?”
A pained bitter laugh escaped your lips, though it hurt to do so. “I can’t even die on my own terms?”
Sukuna leaned forward, his hand gripping the edge of the bed with barely controlled rage. “You think death would be an escape from me?” he hissed. “You belong to me, even in death, little one. Running away, it will not save you from me.”
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you couldn’t hold them back any longer. “I belong to no one!” you cried, the words tumbling out in a flood of pain. “Not anymore. Not after what you’ve taken from me.”
For a moment, Sukuna was silent, his expression dark and unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, his voice softened, though it remained cold. “You’re a fool.”
You turned to face him, your eyes red and swollen. “Why? Because I dared to want something else? Because I dared to love someone else? Even as a friend? My lord, I suffered for your sake. Being devoted to you like it is a law. It was…it was just a friend. A friend. And I cannot even have them. What am I to you, my lord? More than…more than someone who suffers worshiping you.”
He stared at you, his gaze penetrating, but he didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against the bruised skin of your neck, and you flinched, but he didn’t pull away. There was a strange, almost possessive tenderness in his touch.
“You think this makes you free?” Sukuna murmured, his voice low. “You’re more mine now than you ever were before, little one.”
You shuddered, his words striking deep. “Why?” you whispered, barely able to hold back the sob in your throat. “Why do you care?”
Sukuna’s eyes burned with an intensity that made you tremble. “Because you’re mine, little one.” he said, his voice a dangerous whisper. “And I do not let go of what is mine so easily.”
There was no warmth in his words, no comfort. But for the first time, you saw something raw in his eyes—something that looked dangerously close to vulnerability. You swallowed hard, your throat aching from both the bruises and the tears.
“Then why did you come?”
Sukuna’s expression shifted ever so slightly, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes—something like regret, though he would never admit it. You know that too well. Ten years of marriage to this cruel soul, this cursed man turned god — you would never hear those words of comfort. Not even if you asked.
“Because I won’t let you die, little one.” he said, his voice steady but quieter than you had ever heard it. “Not like this.”
You stared at him, your heart aching with too many conflicting emotions to name. In that moment, you realized something. You were trapped, not just by Sukuna’s power, but by the strange, twisted bond that tied you to him. He would never let you go. Not in life, not in death.
And that thought was more terrifying than anything else.
══════════════════
YOU COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE AT HIM. You weren’t fully recovered from your injuries just yet, but the healers had let you return to your daily life. You had just finished attending to your lord Sukuna in the audience hall. You stopped as he appeared before you, as you changed into more leisure clothing.
And you were unsure what he was saying to you. But the weight of Sukuna's words hung heavy in the air, his gaze as piercing as ever as he stood before you, his expression unreadable. He was not giving you anything, but orders. And you’re curious. As much as you were surprised.
“You will take care of the child, little one.” he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Your breath caught in your throat. “A child? I know nothing about children, my lord.”
Sukuna’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of amusement in the corner of his lips. “You will learn.”
For a moment, you stared at him, searching his face for any sign of the usual cruelty, but there was something different this time. This wasn’t a command born purely from spite or possessiveness. It felt heavier, more deliberate, as if he had considered this for a long time. You felt the familiar helplessness rise within you, the sense that you were powerless to refuse him.
“I… I will do as you ask, my lord.” you whispered, defeated. The words felt hollow, but they were the only ones you could manage. Sukuna merely nodded, his expression hard, before turning and leaving the room.
Days passed, and the dread settled deep in your bones as you waited for the child to arrive. You didn’t know what to expect, but Sukuna’s commands were absolute. There was no running from this.
And then, one morning, the child was brought to your chambers.
You stood at the door, frozen, as the small figure stepped forward. Your breath hitched in your chest as you looked down at the little girl before you. Her features were delicate, her long hair falling softly over her shoulders. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, but there was something far older in her gaze.
The child looked up at you, her eyes startlingly familiar—crimson, like Sukuna’s. They stared into you with a haunting intensity that made your heart skip a beat. But it wasn’t just Sukuna’s eyes that made you pause. No, there was something else, something that chilled you to your core.
The girl’s face, though youthful and innocent, bore the unmistakable likeness of someone you thought you’d never see again.
Ryomen Hiromi.
Your heart clenched painfully, and the room seemed to spin for a moment. It was impossible, and yet… the girl standing before you had Hiromi’s face—her soft features, her kind eyes, but mixed with the piercing gaze of Sukuna. You’ve seen enough of her statues all around the temple palace that you’re too certain.
You swallowed hard, struggling to comprehend what you were seeing. Your chest felt tight as memories of Hiromi flooded your mind, of the woman you had once known, the one who had been so important to Sukuna.
Ryomen Sukuna entered the room behind the child, his presence like a storm cloud looming over you both. He regarded you with cold detachment, though there was something in his gaze that suggested this was not a simple matter for him either.
“This child…..” Sukuna began, his voice calm but commanding. “is Hiromi’s daughter. The child she lost long ago.”
You stared at him, shock rippling through you. “Hiromi’s… child?”
Sukuna nodded. “I found her soul.” he explained, his voice low and steady. “It was not easy, but with the help of a… trusted friend, I was able to bring her back. Her body grew anew, and now, she is here. Alive. For me to keep, as her father.”
Your mind raced, struggling to grasp what he was saying. Sukuna had brought the child back from the dead—had found her soul and, through some dark means, restored her. And now, this little girl, this child with Sukuna’s eyes and Hiromi’s face, stood before you.
And to be her father? Not only that, but to force you to be a mother. To raise her, knowing how much the ghost of her mother haunts you already. You do not know what to do. You could feel your lips still reflect a gaping hole, wide open in shock.
“Why me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why have you given her to me? Her mother’s kin still lives, my lord. Would they not want to know—”
Sukuna’s gaze darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It does not matter what they want. You will raise her, little one.” he said simply. “You will care for her as if she were your own.”
You took a step back, overwhelmed by the weight of his demand. “But I don’t know how to care for a child, my lord I—”
“You will learn. You are not half–witted, aren’t you?” Sukuna interrupted, his voice sharp. “There is no other choice. I have willed it. And you shall follow it.”
Your lips parted, but no words came out. You wanted to argue, to refuse, but you knew it was futile. There was no escaping Sukuna’s will. He had given you this child, and there was no turning back now.
The girl stood quietly between the two of you, her small hands clasped in front of her, watching the exchange with an unnerving calmness for someone her age. Her eyes—her father’s eyes—bore into you, as if she already knew more than you did, as if she carried the weight of her past life with her. Her mother’s face haunted you already. Why? Why must you be haunted like this?
“This was Hiromi’s child. And I cherish her.” Sukuna said again, more softly this time, as if the words held a deeper significance for him. “Now, she is mine. Mine own daughter. You will raise her for me.”
You could only nod, the enormity of it all crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Sukuna’s presence was suffocating, but the child’s gaze was what unsettled you the most. It was as if Hiromi’s spirit lingered within her, a ghostly reminder of the life Sukuna had shared with her, of a woman who had meant more to him than perhaps you ever could.
And now, you were tasked with caring for the last piece of Hiromi that remained in this world—a child born from tragedy, resurrected by Sukuna’s dark power.
“What is her name?”
He stops for a moment.
“Chiharu.” He says in response. “Ryomen Chiharu.”
“Very well, my lord. I will… do as you ask, my lord. I shall care for your child.” you whispered, your voice trembling as you looked down at the little girl. She met your gaze with those unnerving eyes, and you felt a strange chill creep up your spine.
Sukuna lingered for a moment longer, his gaze flicking between you and the child before turning to leave. As he walked away, his parting words echoed in your mind.
“Do not fail me in this.”
Days turned into weeks as you adjusted to the new rhythm of life with Chiharu, the little girl now under your care. At first, it felt surreal to be responsible for someone so precious yet so fragile, a living reminder of a past life you could barely comprehend. But as time passed, the weight of your circumstances began to feel lighter, replaced by a sense of purpose you hadn’t expected to find.
Young Chiharu was a curious child, with a spirit that seemed undaunted by the complexities of her existence. She often wandered the halls of the palace, her footsteps soft against the cold stone floors, exploring every corner with wide-eyed wonder. It was in those moments that you found yourself drawn to her, your heart softening as she chartered away, her laughter ringing like music in the otherwise somber atmosphere of the palace.
Every evening, you would sit together in the garden in the Vermillion hall—the one place you had once avoided. Underneath the lush foliage, you would share stories, and slowly, you learned more about her.
Chiharu would speak of her dreams, her favorite flowers, and the little things that made her smile. She spoke of animals she wished to have, tales she had heard of distant lands, and the kindness she hoped to find in a world that had been cruel to her before.
As you listened to her, you found yourself revealing bits of your own life, your own fears and desires. With each passing day, the bond between you grew stronger, entwining like the vines in the garden. You shared laughter and quiet moments, and you began to feel a warmth blossom in your heart—a sense of family you had thought lost to you forever.
It was during one of these serene afternoons that Chiharu turned to you, her bright scarlet eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Mama.” she said softly, her small hand reaching for yours.
The word felt foreign, yet sweet on her lips. Her mother was someone that she will never get to know again. You knew were not her mother, you knew that too well. But you felt a swell of warmth in your chest at the sound, as if she had bridged a gap that had long remained unfilled. You were not born to be a mother, you knew you would never be one. And yet, in her eyes — you were. You were born to be her mother.
“Yes, my sweet little flower?” you replied, your heart fluttering at the connection that had formed between you.
“Why did lord Sukuna name me Chiharu?” she asked, her gaze steady and curious.
You paused, contemplating how to answer her question. “Chiharu means a thousand springs, little flower.” you explained gently. “It’s a beautiful name, one that speaks of new beginnings, renewal, and growth.”
The little girl tilted her head, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “But why did he choose that name for me?”
Your heart ached at the thought of Sukuna’s motivations. “I believe he saw something special in you. Perhaps he wanted to honor your connection to your past, to lady Hiromi. You are her child, Chiharu. And in a way, you are also a part of your lord father.”
“But you are my mother.” You hear little Chiharu whisper.
You did not know what to say.
You try to recover from her words.
You smile, for her sake, you think.
But you smiled for your sake too.
“We are both your mother.” You whispered back to her, putting her stray hair against the back of her ear. “But I am the one here at this moment, little flower.”
You watch her eyes brighten at the thought. “Truly?”
“Truly.” You smiled wider at her.
“What about my father?”
“Hm, what about my lord, little flower?”
Chiharu’s brow furrowed. “Do you think he loves me?”
The question caught you off guard. “I know he cares for you. That’s what I believe. In his own way, he has love.” But none for me.
Her small face lit up with a smile, though it was tinged with innocence and uncertainty. “I want to make him proud.”
A lump formed in your throat at her words. “You already make me proud, sweet flower. And that is what matters most.”
The connection between you and the young girl continued to deepen, woven through shared moments and quiet revelations. You discovered that Chiharu had a talent for painting, her little hands creating vibrant images that brought life to the entirety of the Vermillion hall. And you could not help but find joy in such revelations.
You encouraged her to explore her creativity, and soon, the once-dim walls of your home were adorned with her colorful drawings, depicting flowers, animals, and fantastical creatures. Even if the servants were concerned, you waved such words away. The Vermillion hall looked brighter with the scarlet flowers she drew everywhere.
Ryomen Sukuna would occasionally visit, his presence like a thunderstorm that cast shadows over your peaceful existence. When he did, Chiharu would run to him, her bright scarlet eyes sparkling with delight.
Despite the tension that accompanied his visits, you could see that he had a soft spot for her—a fleeting warmth that illuminated his otherwise cold demeanor. He adored this young girl, more than you know. He had given her such warmth more than anyone you had ever seen.
One evening, as dusk settled over the Vermillion hall, Ryomen Chiharu presented one of her paintings to Sukuna, her little hands trembling with excitement. “Look, lord Sukuna!” she exclaimed, holding up a vibrant depiction of a cherry blossom tree, the one standing in the middle of your never–ending gardens. “It’s for you!”
Sukuna studied the painting, his expression inscrutable, but you could see the flicker of something in his eyes. Perhaps pride, perhaps surprise. “You’ve done well, little blossom.” he said, his tone low and steady. “You had captured the lady’s cherry blossom with exquisite likeness.”
The child beamed at his praise, her cheeks flushed with joy. “Do you like it?”
“It is… acceptable, little blossom.” he replied, and though the words were blunt, there was a hint of approval lingering in his gaze. “I am certain that you will make more.”
You had wished that this was your life.
That you live forever in this moment.
But you knew better than to wish for that.
As the night deepened and the shadows in the grand hall stretched longer, Sukuna rose from his seat, his presence overwhelming as always. You called for Chiharu, who hesitated, her tiny face scrunching up in a pout. She clung to you, reluctant to leave, her voice soft, "I don’t want to go. My lord doesn’t come often anymore… I want to tell him about my day."
You knelt down, brushing your fingers through her hair and smiling gently. "He’ll come tomorrow, just like he promised, little flower." you reassured her, though a small part of you doubted the certainty in your words. She needed that hope, even if it felt fragile.
With one last glance toward Sukuna, Chiharu allowed herself to be led away by the servants, her footsteps fading down the hall. Silence settled between you and Sukuna, thick and awkward at first. He didn’t look at you immediately, instead gazing out into the night through the open windows, as if lost in thought.
“You take good care of her, little one.” Sukuna finally said, his tone gruff but softer than you expected. It was strange hearing thanks from him—it sounded unnatural coming from the King of Curses, yet there was sincerity in the rough edges of his words. "For that… I thank you."
You blinked, the weight of his gratitude sinking in. It felt strange, almost surreal. Sukuna, of all people, expressing appreciation. You inclined your head, accepting it quietly. "It’s nothing, my lord. She deserves the best care."
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable this time, though. Instead, it felt like a mutual acknowledgment of the one thing you shared—a fondness for Chiharu.
You’ll never love me. you thought, the truth of it sitting heavy in your heart. But you didn’t need to say it aloud. You already knew. Still, the small moments like these, where his walls slipped just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more, were what you held onto. You treasured whatever you could get, however fleeting.
Sukuna’s gaze finally met yours. It was sharp, piercing as always, but there was something softer lingering beneath his usual coldness. "I’ll come tomorrow. Like I promised."
And for tonight, that was enough.
After he departed, you drank a little.
It was better to mourn what could not be early.
When Chiharu returned, well bathed and dressed for the night, the two of you sat together beneath the cherry blossom tree in the garden. She had to dry her hair before she could get some rest. Her small hands clutching the other painting she had made tightly.
“Do you think he really liked it?” she asked, her voice soft.
You smiled gently at her, cupping her face in your hands. “I believe he did. He may not show it, but he cares for you in his own way. You are a light in his life, little flower.”
Her eyes sparkled with hope, and for a moment, you felt a sense of unity in your small family, a connection that defied the darkness surrounding you.
As the petals fell around you like confetti, you realized that despite the chaos of your circumstances, you had created a sanctuary for both yourself and Chiharu—one filled with laughter, art, and the promise of new beginnings.
And in those moments, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you dared to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a piece of happiness amidst the shadows.
══════════════════
IT WAS JUST ANOTHER NIGHT. But it was still something that caused you grievance. As night fell and the palace was shrouded in silence, you found yourself restless, wandering the dimly lit halls, your thoughts heavy with the weight of your circumstances.
Chiharu slept peacefully in her little room, the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the window, casting soft shadows on her innocent face. You paused to watch her, a smile tugging at your lips, but it was quickly overshadowed by the familiar ache in your chest.
The truth was inescapable: no matter how much joy Ryomen Chiharu brought into your life, the shadow of Hiromi loomed over you like a specter. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything she represented was a constant reminder of your own insignificance in Sukuna's world.
Hiromi had been the one to hold Sukuna's love, the one whose memory seemed to linger in every corner of the palace. She was the woman who had given him a child—a child who was now the light of his life, while you remained in the dark, clinging to scraps of his attention. It was a bitter thought that twisted in your mind, gnawing at your heart.
As you lay in bed, staring up at the intricately woven patterns on the ceiling, you couldn’t help but compare yourself to Hiromi. She had everything: his love, his devotion, a child who would carry a piece of her with her always. And what did you have? Nothing but the remnants of Sukuna’s affection, which felt more like an obligation than anything else.
You turned onto your side, burying your face in the pillow, trying to drown out the thoughts that haunted you. But the more you tried, the louder they became. You could still hear the echoes of his voice from earlier, the way he had looked at Chiharu with an intensity that made your heart clench.
He was a monster, but he was her father—someone who had chosen to resurrect her from the depths of despair. He had given her a life filled with warmth, while you were left with the remnants of a hollow existence.
“Hiromi has everything in my lord Sukuna.” you whispered into the darkness, your voice trembling. “A dead woman, and I have nothing.” Tears slipped from your eyes, soaking the fabric of the pillow. “She gave him a child, love, and he keeps it. And nothing of me.”
You couldn’t understand why it hurt so much. You had wanted to be close to Sukuna, to carve out a space in his heart that felt like home, but every time you looked at Chiharu, you were reminded of your failure. You were the one who existed in the shadows, the one who couldn’t compete with the memory of a woman long gone.
You closed your eyes, squeezing out the tears that felt like a dam breaking within you. Each drop felt like a piece of your heart spilling out onto the floor, a tangible reminder of your torment. You were grateful for Chiharu, but the bittersweet reality of your situation consumed you.
After what felt like hours of battling your own thoughts, you finally rose from your bed and made your way to the garden. The night air was cool against your skin, and you could hear the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As you stepped into the moonlight, you were enveloped in a quiet stillness, yet it did little to ease your turmoil.
You found yourself standing beneath the cherry blossom tree, its delicate petals fluttering like whispers in the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but it only deepened the ache in your chest. You remembered how Chiharu’s eyes had sparkled with excitement when she painted that tree, how her laughter had filled the air like music.
But even as you admired its beauty, you couldn’t escape the lingering shadow of Hiromi. “Why do you haunt me?” you murmured, your voice breaking as you gazed up at the stars. “Why can’t I escape your memory?”
You sank to your knees beneath the tree, your fingers brushing against the cool earth. “I don’t want to compete with you.” you whispered, your heart aching with the weight of your confession. “I just want to be enough… for him, for Chiharu.”
The wind picked up, rustling the leaves above you, and in that moment, it felt as though the world held its breath. You could almost hear Hiromi’s laughter, see her warm smile—a gentle reminder of the life she had once lived.
A tear rolled down your cheek, and you let it fall, feeling the weight of your grief and jealousy wash over you. You had tried so hard to be strong, to forge a bond with Chiharu, but the reality of your situation loomed like a dark cloud, threatening to engulf you.
As you knelt there, surrounded by the whispers of the night, you could feel Sukuna’s presence looming in the back of your mind. He was a force of nature, a tempest that left destruction in its wake, and you were caught in the storm.
“Will I ever matter to you?” you asked softly, the question lingering in the cool night air. The silence answered you, an empty echo of your unfulfilled desires.
The moonlight bathed the garden in a soft glow, but no matter how beautiful it was, the ache in your heart remained. You rose to your feet, wiping the tears from your face, knowing that you had to keep moving forward—for Chiharu’s sake, if not your own.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, and you would face them with the strength you found in your love for the little girl who had unexpectedly entered your life. But tonight, in the shadow of a woman you could never compete with, you allowed yourself to grieve—grieve for what could never be, for the love that felt so far out of reach.
As you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of Hiromi’s legacy still pressed on your heart, but you clung to the hope that perhaps, one day, you could carve your own place in this world—one that belonged to you, and to Chiharu.
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YOU WERE EXHAUSTED FROM THE WORK ALL DAY. But as the lord summoned you, you were inclined to attend to him. That is just how it was. It has been two years now, since Hironobu, since Chiharu had come to live with you.
And a lot had since changed with the way you and Sukuna existed together. Perhaps, it is what it is. This is all that is left. You think you would like to be content with that.
The evening was cloaked in a haze of amber light as you and Sukuna sat across from each other in the dimly lit chambers, the air thick with tension. A selection of fine spirits lay on the table between you, remnants of a night that had spiraled into a blur of laughter and inebriation. But the laughter had faded, leaving behind a bitter residue that clung to your heart.
You raise your glass, your hand slightly unsteady as you downed another shot, the liquid fire coursing down your throat. It was supposed to be a moment of camaraderie, an attempt to bridge the growing chasm between you. Instead, it felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustrations that had been building within you.
Sukuna watched you with a bemused expression, but there was a glint in his eyes—something predatory, something that made your heart race. Fueled by the alcohol and the raw emotion coursing through you, you slammed your glass down on the table, the sound echoing in the silence.
"You took everything I have!" you slur drunkenly, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out. "I gave you everything I had, and I am miserable because of it!"
Sukuna’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, the playful smirk slipped from his face, replaced by a flicker of confusion. But you pressed on, the anger and despair and somehow bitter laughter mingling in a toxic blend that fueled your fury.
"You made me miserable with you! The one shot of joy I have in my life—someone who could care for me—and you take him away from me? What have I done to you to make me suffer like this, my lord?"
The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in around you as the weight of your words settled heavily in the air. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, cascading down your cheeks as you fought against the sorrow that threatened to engulf you.
"I regret you, sometimes! Everything of you, I regret!" you cried, the confession tearing from your lips like a wounded animal. A laugh escapes you. “Ah, I am driven mad. I thought….I thought to be content but somehow, I kept thinking and thinking. The questions of what if I had chosen some other path.”
Sukuna’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he took in your words. You could see the tumult of emotions playing across his face—anger, frustration, maybe even hurt. But he didn’t speak, and the silence hung heavy between you.
“You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I wanted to hurt you?”
You shook your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “You have no idea what it’s like! To live in the shadow of someone who came before me! To feel like I’m constantly competing with a ghost!”
The bitterness of your words filled the room, and you could see the flicker of something deep within him. A flicker of regret? Anger? It was hard to tell. What could there be left between two people who don’t talk? What could be left between two people who don’t understand each other well, and yet pretend they do?
“You think I don’t suffer too?” he challenged, his voice rising little by little. “You think I don’t care about you?”
You paused, the anger momentarily dissipating as you searched his face for any hint of sincerity. But all you saw was the monster—the god, the force of nature that had swept into your life and turned everything upside down.
“Then why do you make me feel like this?” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice cutting through the tension. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? With Hironobu… with Chiharu… with anyone?”
A shadow crossed Sukuna’s face, and for a moment, it felt like you had struck a chord. But he quickly masked it, his expression turning cold once more. “Hironobu is nothing to me. He is weak, a distraction.”
“That ‘distraction’ makes me happy!” you yelled, frustration spilling over once more. “He cares for me in a way you never could! He makes me feel like I matter!”
Sukuna’s gaze hardened, but beneath that facade, you could see the conflict churning. You took a step forward, your heart racing. “I don’t want to be your pawn anymore. I don’t want to be a part of your world if it means losing everything I love!”
The air crackled with tension as the two of you faced each other, the weight of your words hanging between you. And then the dam broke. You collapsed into tears, the alcohol amplifying your emotions as you fell to your knees, sobs wracking your body. The tears spilled unchecked, your heart breaking under the weight of it all.
“I hate this!” you cried out, your voice muffled by the floor. “I hate feeling like this! I hate you!”
Sukuna stood frozen, a statue of power and control as he watched your breakdown unfold. But as your cries filled the room, something shifted within him.
He took a step closer, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud, and yet, despite the turmoil, you felt a flicker of something more—something like concern.
“Get up, little one.” he commanded softly, his voice low and steady. “You’re stronger than this.”
But you shook your head, your heartache spilling over. “I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to be free.”
There was a moment of silence as you both stood at the edge of a precipice, and for the first time, you could see the weight of your shared pain reflected in his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” he said finally, the words heavy with unspoken understanding. “You know it well, little one. I will never set you free.”
You didn’t know if he was apologizing for Hiromi, for Hironobu, or for the pain you both carried, but it was a start. You slowly rose to your feet, wiping your tears, though the hurt still lingered in your chest. You think that it doesn’t matter anymore. It never does.
Sukuna stood before you, an imposing figure, but in that moment, you could see the man behind the monster. The flicker of vulnerability lingered in the depths of his gaze, an acknowledgment of the bond that tethered you both to a past neither of you could escape.
“I may never be what you want me to be, little one.” he murmured. “But I won’t take away your happiness again.”
You looked into his eyes, searching for sincerity, and for the first time, you felt the hope of a fragile truce forming between you. It was a small step, but it was a step nonetheless, one that could lead you both out of the darkness and into the light—if only you could find the strength to keep moving forward.
The air was thick with unspoken emotions as you and Sukuna stood facing each other, the weight of your words still hanging heavily in the silence. His gaze bore into yours, a mix of intensity and something softer that made your heart race. You felt as if you were standing on a precipice, caught between the fear of falling and the desire to soar.
“I want to believe you, my lord.” you said quietly, the tremor in your voice betraying the storm of emotions still raging within. “But you have to understand… every time you pull me closer, it feels like you’re pushing me away. I can’t live like this—constantly afraid of losing everything.”
Sukuna’s expression shifted, a flicker of regret passing over his features. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he replied, his voice low. “But my world is not kind, and I can’t…..I can’t be what you want me to be. I cannot be kind to you.”
“But that’s just it!” you exclaimed, frustration bubbling up once more. “You’re so powerful, yet you let this darkness consume you! You wield it like a weapon, and I’m the one left in the crossfire! Why am I always suffering for your sake?”
He took a step closer, the space between you diminishing as he searched your face for understanding. “I am a monster, little one.” he said, his voice raw. “I have done terrible things—things that haunt me. But I never wanted to drag you into that darkness. You deserve to be happy. But….it is not meant to be. And we are…we are stuck together, whether you like it or not, in this cage.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re the one who keeps me from it?” you challenged, your heart racing. “I’m so tired of living in your shadow, of feeling like a mere afterthought in your life. Every time I see you with Chiharu, it reminds me that I am just a placeholder—a ghost of a memory that doesn’t matter.”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you feared you had pushed too far. But then he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, the warmth of his touch igniting something deep within you.
“I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “You’ve brought something into my life I never knew I needed. But it terrifies me. And I just….I will not let you go.”
You felt your breath hitch, a rush of emotions swirling within you. “Then show me, my lord.” you pleaded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that I matter to you. Don’t make me feel like I’m just a convenience. I want to be more than that.”
His gaze softened, and for a fleeting moment, the god before you was just a man—a man struggling with his own demons, much like you. “I don’t know how anymore, little one.” he admitted, vulnerability lacing his words. “But I will try.”
The sincerity in his eyes pierced through the haze of your hurt and resentment. You had spent so long fighting against the current, desperately trying to find your footing in a world that seemed intent on pulling you under. But standing here, facing Sukuna, you realized that maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for something more, something real.
“I’m scared too, my lord.” you confessed, your voice trembling as the weight of your emotions threatened to crush you. “Scared that you’ll change your mind, scared that I’ll lose everything again. Or maybe you would kill me. But I can’t keep hiding from you. I cannot keep finding ways to escape you.”
The sincerity in your admission hung in the air between you, a fragile thread woven from the strands of your broken heart. Sukuna’s expression darkened as he processed your words, his usually confident demeanor faltering just slightly. He nodded slowly, his brow furrowed in contemplation.
“I know that too well, little one.” He brushes your hair away from your face. “I know it all.”
His voice was steady, almost soothing, but the underlying tension crackled like static in the air. You took a deep breath, a sense of resolve building within you. “I want to believe you, my lord.” you said softly, each word laced with the weight of your doubt. “But you know that you are not speaking true… you lie as easily as you breathe.And I drown loving you like its law and hating you for how you taught me to love you.”
The admission feel like a heavy stone between you, and you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps anger. But you didn’t back down. You needed him to hear the truth, the raw, unvarnished reality of your existence.
“It’s as if you’re a tempest.” you continued, your voice rising with the heat of your frustration. “One moment you’re this powerful force, sweeping me off my feet, promising me the world, and the next, I’m left to drown in the chaos you create. You wield your power like a weapon, and I’m the one caught in the crossfire.”
His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal struggle etched on his face. “I never meant to hurt you, little one.” he said, but the words felt hollow, echoing through the chasm of pain that separated you.
“And yet you’re the architect of my suffering.” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “You brought me into your world. And all I’ve known…is misery. You say you want me by your side, but you torture me. You kill me, everyday.”
The vulnerability in your voice cut through the tension like a blade, and you saw his expression shift. There was something there—something that hinted at the turmoil he carried beneath his godlike exterior.
“You’re not just a concubine to me.” he said, his tone softer, but the intensity of his gaze never wavered. “You mean more than you know.”
“More than what?” you spat, your anger flaring up once more. “More than a passing fancy? A moment of respite from your endless hunger for power? I am not a toy for you to play with, my lord. I’m not just a distraction from your demons, your misery. You want me to believe that I matter. You’re using me to fill the void left by Hiromi.”
The name hung in the air, heavy with the ghosts of the past, and you could see the shift in Sukuna’s expression—a flicker of pain, a crack in his facade. “You don’t understand…” he started, but you cut him off, needing to vent the storm of hurt and betrayal swirling within you.
“Understand what?” you cried, your voice breaking. “That I’m just a shadow in the light of a dead woman? That every moment I spend with you is tainted by her memory? You keep her close, a constant reminder of what I can never be. She gave you a child, love—everything I yearn for from you these past few years but can’t have. I feel like I’m drowning in your past while you expect me to be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you throw my way.”
For a heartbeat, the silence swallowed you both, the air thick with tension and unshed tears. Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours, a tempest of emotions raging beneath the surface—frustration, desire, regret. “I don’t want to lose you, little one.” he said, the words almost a whisper.
“And yet you keep pushing me away, my lord.” you shot back, your heart aching with the truth. “You think you can keep me at arm’s length, and I’ll just accept it? You can’t keep pulling me in with one hand while pushing me away with the other. I need to know that I am more than just a fleeting moment for you!”
“I’m trying!” he shouted, his voice rising, but the urgency in it didn’t mask the vulnerability. “You don’t understand the things I’ve done, the things I’m capable of! I’ve been alive for a long time, and you are the first to accept what I am. I am trying to keep you, little one. I need you.”
His raw honesty pierced through the fog of your emotions, and you felt your heart crack a little more. “Let me go, my lord.” you whispered, the weight of your own words settling heavily on your chest. “Let me be free of this burden you’ve placed on me. I want to be happy, but I can’t find that happiness in the shadow of your misery upon me.”
“I can’t.” he replied, desperation lacing his voice. “I won’t. You’re a part of me now, whether you want to be or not.”
You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation sank in. “But I’m not sure I want to be part of this… this nightmare anymore.” you said, your voice breaking. “I’m tired, my lord. Tired of fighting for a love that feels more like a battlefield than a sanctuary.”
With every word, your resolve crumbled a little more, and you felt the exhaustion wash over you like a tide. The weight of your feelings, the burden of past traumas, and the constant strain of navigating the unpredictable depths of your relationship with Sukuna were too much to bear. You wanted to be strong, to stand your ground and fight for something better, but fatigue was clawing at the edges of your consciousness.
You could see the struggle reflected in his eyes—an intense mixture of determination and sorrow. But even in the heat of your argument, you sensed that his heart was also heavy with burdens he carried alone. You took a shaky breath, desperate for release from this tumultuous cycle of emotions.
As the exhaustion settled deeper into your bones, you felt your eyelids growing heavy, the fight within you slowly extinguishing. “I just—” you started, but the words faded as you succumbed to the comforting darkness that beckoned you.
“Just rest.” Sukuna murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “You need to let go for a moment. I’ll be here when you wake.”
His voice wrapped around you like a cocoon, and despite the turmoil of your heart, you found solace in his presence. With one last shuddering breath, you finally surrendered to the pull of sleep, the weight of your burdens slipping away as your consciousness faded into the comforting embrace of oblivion.
In the morning, you know that nothing will change.
In the morning, you will still be miserable with him.
In the morning, you’ll love him like he is the law.
In the morning, you’ll worship him as religion taught.
In the morning, you’ll never be able to be free from him.
“Do not mistake this for affection.” he warned, his voice low and rough. “I am still who I am. I am still the monster you should fear.”
But you could only nod, your heart aching with a mixture of sorrow and hope. “I know,” you whispered. “I know, but I’m still here.”
And for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of softness in his eyes, a flicker of something that could almost be… understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to reach him, one fragile step at a time.
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, r-18, angst, one sided romance, conflicted feelings, hurt/no comfort, unhappy marriage, parenthood, forced parenthood, hurt, physical touch, character death, sexual acts, mourning, loneliness, pain, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, toxic relationship, depiction of suicide, depiction of suicidal ideation, depiction of one-sided relationship, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of character death, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of parenthood, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of sexual acts, heian! sukuna, long suffering concubine! reader;
[YOU WHO WAS BORN TO BE HIS OTHER WOMAN]
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because i was born to be
the other woman
who belonged to no one,
who belonged to everyone
who had nothing,
who wanted everything
with a fire for every experience
and an obsession for freedom
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THE OTHER WOMAN
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LOVE IS THE LAW
AND RELIGION IS TAUGHT
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DEVOTION ; I'M A SLAVE
ONTO THE MERCY
OF YOUR LOVE
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IF THE WORLD WAS ENDING,
I'D WANNA BE NEXT TO YOU
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TO YOU 2000…OR…
20000 YEARS FROM NOW…
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[ A GLIMPSE OF FORTY YEARS OF MARRIAGE ]
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LOVE'S ENTANGLEMENT
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I WANNA BE YOURS
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MAKE ME YOUR GOD,
I CAN GIVE YOU EVERYTHING
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SUMIRE
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OH MY CLEMATIS
(ALWAYS BE BY MY SIDE)
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KARMA
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MISC.
this was the first time ryomen sukuna
thinking about how heian-era! trueform ryomen sukuna
Parting from the ring was the most painful part of all of this; His beloved lover had gifted it to him during a moment of unexpected revelation. All those happy years, his darling had out of the blue blurted their love for him. The scarlet blush upon their cheeks, the bright beam of love echoing in shaking eyes.
Winter snow fell all around them. Satoru was beyond surprised, his clutches were all that was keeping him still and balanced. They never even dated before. Yet, they knelt beside him with all their might in their heart and soul, defying convention to be honest about love.
kayu's current favorite ― wildflower— nanami kento.
playground guide
💭stand alone winds (stories with no connections)
🪻lilac swing (various stories connected to each other)
🪷flowering starts (series stand alones and or AUs)
thinking about. . . bimbo!reader asking virgin bf!nanami to explain his ct, only for her to get bored, and start to suck him, for the first time. poor loser!nanami tries to continue speaking, but the feeling of her mouth wrapped around his cock, and her curious eyes, filled with tears, staring at him, and she is still listening to his pathetic attempts of talking. soon not anymore a virgin!nanami can’t help but stutter and beg for more, he can explain it better later, right?
