𓈒 ͜͝𝄞 welcome to coco’s corner, ⪩𓎆 a nook for wandering hearts and spellbound minds ꒷ ͡ i am coco ˇ a dreamer, fic-weaver, & occasional mischief-maker ྀི 𓇮 ᯄ ༷ཾ !! linger as long as you like, sip the warmth of words ꒷ and let your imagination wander between the pages 🫖﹒
gentle remindings (≧◡≦)
while i do not have a comprehensive dni list, i will ask of you not to be hateful or hurtful. if i am simply not your cup of tea, then please, kindly, unfollow and we can both go our own separate paths.
speaking of unfollowing, i curate my own experience ! blocking freely and firmly is all part of self-care. the door is open for me to close it ^__^
i can get quite busy and work in bursts of energy as opposed to continuously... and bcos of that, my updates may be sporadic and vary quite widely.. please understand and don’t feel disheartened or discouraged from interacting with me if i happen to be absent for some time ♥︎ xx
How long are your fics? I want to write, but I don't know long they should be. Your writing style and length is really easy and entertaining to read- like I have a learning disability and your writing is so good and easy to read. 🙏😭
hello my sweet !! ohh , you have no idea how much your words mean to me !! 🥹💝hearing that my writing is easy for you to enjoy and navigate is the most precious gift you could give me !! i always want my little corner of the internet to feel like a warm ‘n welcoming space for everyone !! 🩷
to answer your question , my fics usually sit around 1,500 words per piece !! i find that length is a lovely sweet spot !! it’s enough to rllie dive into a feeling or a moment without it feeling too overwhelming to read or write !!
however, my biggest advice for you is to just let your heart lead the way !! there is no ‘perfect’ length for a fic, whether it’s 200 words or 2,000 , if it comes from your soul , it is exactly as long as it needs to be !! (◜ ˘ ◝ʃƪ) please dnt put too much pressure on yourself, the most important thing is that you have fun while creating !! 🩷
i am so excited for you to start your writing journey !! im sure you have so much magic inside you , and i’ll be cheering you on every step of the way !! ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ིა 🍭💓
naoya zenin x f! reader ੭୧ soulmate au - nsfw. canon-compliant misogyny n arrogance from naoya. heavy power imbalance. explicit smut. intense degradation. internal conflict. psychological tension. forced proximity.
the bond had grown teeth.
it no longer waited for nightfall or quiet moments behind closed screens. it struck at any hour, a sudden flare of heat that travelled from your wrist straight into naoya’s veins and back again. you felt his irritation like needles beneath your skin. he felt your nervousness like a weight pressing on his chest. neither of you spoke of it, yet the silence only made the connection sharper.
this morning the main hall of the zenin compound hosted one of the clan’s routine meetings. the vast room smelled of aged cedar, smoldering incense, and the faint metallic tang of cursed energy that clung to every powerful sorcerer present. heavy beams arched overhead, and the long low table stretched down the centre like a spine of polished wood. you knelt in the shadowed corner directly behind naoya, as his personal attendant now required, your grey yukata blending into the dim light. the mark beneath your sleeve burned steadily, a constant reminder of the invisible chain that bound you to the man who despised your very existence.
naoya sat at the head of the table, posture impeccable, radiating the effortless superiority that defined him. his black uniform was crisp, golden eyes half-lidded in calculated boredom as the elders began their usual droning. the meeting opened with minor territory disputes near the eastern borders, then moved to recent curse activity. voices rose and fell in careful cadence, each man careful not to offend the heir.
you kept your head bowed, hands folded neatly in your lap, trying to make yourself as small as possible. yet the bond refused to be ignored. every time an elder raised his voice, a fresh spike of naoya’s irritation shot through the connection and settled heavy in your stomach. you felt the exact moment his patience began to fray.
one of the senior elders, a gaunt man with a thin white beard that reached his chest, finally steered the conversation toward the topic everyone had been avoiding. he cleared his throat with deliberate importance.
“naoya-sama, we must address the matter of your future. the clan cannot continue without secure bloodlines. we have received several excellent proposals. the eldest daughter of the kamo family is particularly suitable. she is well-trained in traditional etiquette, possesses a compatible cursed technique, and comes from undeniably pure stock. a marriage could be arranged within the month. it would strengthen our alliances and ensure the next generation carries the zenin name with untainted strength.”
another elder leaned forward eagerly, his voice oily and persuasive. “indeed. we also have offers from the remnants of the gojo branch and several prominent kyoto families. any of these girls would understand her role perfectly. obedient, fertile, and aware that her only purpose is to produce strong heirs for you. they would not distract you. they would simply serve as proper vessels for the zenin legacy.”
a third elder nodded vigorously. “the kamo girl is especially quiet and biddable. she knows how to keep her mouth shut and her legs open when required. no unnecessary opinions. no weakness. exactly what the clan needs from its future matriarch.”
the table murmured in agreement, the sound low and expectant, like wolves circling fresh meat. you kept your gaze fixed on the tatami, but dread coiled tight in your chest. the bond betrayed you instantly. a cold wave of fear rolled through you, sharp and unmistakable. naoya felt it. his fingers tightened around the teacup in his hand until the porcelain creaked.
naoya let out a short, sharp laugh that cut through the room like a freshly drawn blade. “vessels? proper vessels?” his voice dripped with mocking disdain, every syllable soaked in arrogant contempt. “you pathetic old fossils really sit here plotting my cock’s future as if i need your dusty approval to breed. how utterly amusing. the day i let you choose who i fuck is the day hell freezes over and curses start singing lullabies.”
he leaned forward slowly, golden eyes gleaming with pure scorn. “that kamo bitch? she probably faints at the sight of her own shadow. and the rest of those kyoto whores you’re so eager to shove at me? weak blood, weak techniques, weak spines. i will not dilute the zenin line with mediocre cunts just because you senile relics are desperate for grandchildren. when i decide to impregnate a woman, i will pick one worthy of carrying my sons. not some simpering virgin who cries the first time i split her open.”
the elders shifted uncomfortably, but none dared interrupt. naoya’s voice grew colder, more venomous. “you speak of ‘proper wives’ and ‘pure blood’ as if any of those girls could handle what i am. they would break under the weight of the zenin name before the wedding night ended. i refuse to waste my seed on inferior stock. keep your proposals. stuff them down your own throats if you’re so eager for heirs.”
one elder tried again, voice trembling slightly. “but naoya-sama, the clan requires stability. a formal union would—”
“stability?” naoya interrupted with a sneer that could curdle blood. “the only stability this clan needs is my foot on all your necks. i will marry when i damn well please, and i will fuck who i damn well please. until then, stop wasting my time with your pathetic attempts at matchmaking before i lose what little patience i have left and remind every last one of you why i am the only one fit to lead this clan.”
the room fell into heavy silence. the incense continued to smoke, but the earlier ease had vanished completely. you could feel naoya’s rage through the bond, hot and vicious, but beneath it lay something darker and more conflicted. the mention of arranged marriage had sent your dread surging, and the bond had forced him to feel every second of it. he hated it. he hated that your emotions bled into him so easily. he hated that while these old men spoke of worthy wives, the mark on his wrist kept reminding him of the lowly maid kneeling behind him.
the meeting dragged on for another forty minutes, the elders speaking far more cautiously now, avoiding any further mention of marriage. when it finally concluded and the men began to file out one by one, naoya remained seated. once the heavy doors slid shut and the hall emptied completely, the atmosphere shifted.
he rose slowly, turning to face you. his golden eyes burned with fury and something far more dangerous.
“crawl here,” he ordered, voice low and dangerous.
you moved forward on your knees until you knelt directly before him. naoya stared down at you for a long moment, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumped. without warning he grabbed your arm and yanked you to your feet.
“we are finished here,” he snarled.
he dragged you from the main hall, his grip bruising on your upper arm. you stumbled to keep up as he strode through the corridors toward his private wing, cursed energy crackling around him like static before a storm. servants scattered at the sight of him. no one dared look twice.
the moment the doors to his chambers slid shut behind you, naoya shoved you forward. you caught yourself against the low table, heart hammering. he stalked closer, towering over you, golden eyes dark with barely contained rage and the unwanted pull of the bond.
“on your knees,” he commanded.
you dropped instantly. naoya’s hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. the bond surged violently between you, sending waves of heat crashing through both bodies.
“you felt every word of that meeting, didn’t you?” he hissed, voice rough and venomous. “your pathetic fear crawling into my veins while they tried to sell me off to some brainless broodmare. it made me look distracted. weak. all because of you.”
his free hand yanked your sleeve up, exposing the mark. he pressed his own wrist against it roughly. the contact sent a powerful jolt straight through you both. intense warmth flooded your core, every nerve igniting at once. you gasped sharply. naoya’s breath hitched, his pupils blowing wide as the shared sensation hit him full force.
internally he was at war. he despised you. you were nothing. a servant. a stain. yet the bond refused to let him ignore the way your body responded to his touch. the way your fear mixed with unwanted heat. it disgusted him. it angered him. and worst of all, it made his cock twitch hard against the confines of his uniform.
“this bond is turning me into a joke,” he growled, voice thick with conflict and lust. “a worthless maid is making the zenin heir feel things he should never feel. disgusting.”
he released your hair only to grab your chin instead, forcing your mouth open. then he leaned down and kissed you.
it was not gentle. his lips crashed against yours with bruising force, claiming rather than caressing. his tongue pushed past your teeth immediately, invading your mouth with arrogant dominance, tasting of the bitter tea from the meeting and the raw fury still burning in his blood. he licked deep, slow and deliberate, as if mapping every inch of you to remind himself that even this was something he owned. his teeth caught your lower lip, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing the hurt with another rough stroke of his tongue. the kiss was wet, messy, and completely controlled by him. every tilt of his head, every thrust of his tongue, every scrape of teeth was designed to remind you that you existed for his pleasure alone.
when he finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips for a moment before breaking. his golden eyes were dark, pupils blown, breathing ragged. the bond pulsed wildly between you, feeding the heat straight into your core and making his cock strain painfully against his hakama.
“look at you,” he muttered, voice hoarse and mocking. “already panting like a bitch in heat from one kiss. pathetic.”
he shoved you backward onto the tatami, following you down and pinning you beneath his weight. his mouth found yours again, deeper this time, more demanding. his tongue fucked into your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while one hand slid down your body, roughly pushing your yukata aside to expose your skin to the cool air. his fingers dug into your thigh, spreading your legs wider as he settled between them.
“tonight you will learn exactly what happens when you infect me with your weakness,” he growled against your lips, biting down on the lower one once more. “and you will take every second of it like the obedient little servant you were born to be.”
naoya shoved your yukata open with violent force, the fabric tearing at the seams as he exposed your naked body. his hand immediately dropped between your thighs, fingers spreading your folds roughly. when he felt how soaked you already were, a cruel, mocking laugh tore from his throat.
“disgusting,” he spat, voice thick with contempt. “your pathetic cunt is dripping all over my fingers just from one touch by your superior. what a worthless whore the bond has turned you into. a servant who gets wet for the man who despises her.”
he shoved two thick fingers inside you without any warning, curling them hard against that spongy spot. the sudden stretch made you cry out loudly.
“ah-! naoya-sama…!” your voice broke into a high, needy moan as pleasure slammed through you. the bond instantly amplified everything. you felt not only your own tight heat around his fingers, but also the dark satisfaction and throbbing arousal pulsing from him. it was too much. your hips bucked helplessly as you moaned again, louder this time. “it feels… haa… too deep… i can feel you… your anger… your cock twitching… oh gosh-mmmf—”
“shut up,” he snarled, pumping his fingers faster, the wet squelching sounds filthy and loud. “listen to yourself. moaning like a cheap brothel slut while i finger-fuck you on the floor. you should be ashamed, but instead you’re creaming all over my hand. pathetic.”
he yanked his fingers out abruptly, leaving you clenching around nothing and whimpering. with angry, impatient movements he freed his cock. it was thick, veined, and angrily flushed. he stroked himself once, eyes burning with disgust as he looked down at you.
“spread your legs wider, servant. show me the worthless hole that dares bind itself to a zenin.”
you obeyed instantly, thighs shaking as you opened yourself completely for him. naoya lined up and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying every inch inside you. the stretch was overwhelming. you screamed, back arching sharply off the tatami.
“naoya-sama~! ahhh~! it’s too big… you’re splitting me- haaa~!” your moans spilled out uncontrollably, loud and broken. the bond exploded between you. you felt his thick cock stretching you open, but you also felt your own tight, fluttering walls gripping him from his perspective. the shared sensation was maddening. every ridge, every pulse, every inch was doubled. naoya groaned deeply, hips stuttering for a moment as the overwhelming pleasure hit him.
“fuck… your cunt is gripping me like a greedy little bitch,” he growled, voice rough and venomous. “so tight and wet for someone so beneath me. this is all you’re good for. a warm hole for me to use whenever this cursed bond decides to humiliate me.”
he started fucking you hard, deep, punishing thrusts that slammed into you with every snap of his hips. each stroke punched moans out of you.
“ahnnggg— haaah..! naoya-sama… it’s so deep… i can feel you hitting- haaa- right there—!” your voice cracked into desperate, high-pitched cries. tears slipped down your cheeks from the intensity. the bond made it unbearable. every time he thrust in, you felt his pleasure spike through you like liquid fire. every time your walls clenched around him, he felt it echo back tenfold. it was driving both of you insane.
“look at you moaning like a whore,” naoya hissed, one hand pinning your wrists above your head while the other gripped your thigh hard enough to bruise. “crying and screaming my name while i ruin you. this is what you are. a servant. a cumdump. nothing more. yet this disgusting bond makes me feel every pathetic flutter of your cunt. it makes me want to fuck you harder just to punish you for existing.”
your moans grew louder, more broken, as the pleasure spiraled out of control. “naoya-sama~!! please- ‘m sorry- it feels too good— i can’t- i’m going to break—!”
“then break,” he snarled, thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh, fast circles. “come on my cock like the worthless servant you are. milk me while i fill this pathetic womb.”
the combined sensations: his brutal thrusts, the merciless stimulation on your clit, and the soulmate bond flooding you with his raw lust, pushed you over the edge violently. your orgasm slammed into you like a tidal wave.
“‘m cumming— i’m cumming so hard— h-hhahh~!” your walls clamped down around him in powerful, rhythmic spasms. your entire body shook uncontrollably, back arching sharply as you screamed through the longest, most intense orgasm of your life. tears streamed down your face. your mind went completely blank, fucked out and floating in white-hot pleasure.
naoya cursed viciously, hips losing their rhythm as your orgasm crashed through the bond into him. “fffuck— your cunt is squeezing me so tight- you filthy little—!” he buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, guttural groan. thick, hot ropes of his release flooded your womb, pulse after pulse, filling you until you felt swollen and overflowing. he kept grinding deep inside you, forcing every last drop as far as it would go.
when the last spasm finally faded, you were completely fucked out. your body lay limp and trembling beneath him, limbs heavy and useless. soft, incoherent whimpers still fell from your swollen lips. tears clung to your lashes. your mind was hazy, drifting in a fog of overwhelming pleasure and exhaustion. you could barely remember how to speak.
naoya remained buried inside you, chest heaving, staring down at your ruined, tear-streaked face with a storm of emotions.. disgust, triumph, and a terrifying hint of something deeper.
before he could pull away or spit another insult, you weakly lifted your head. with the last remnants of strength you had, you pressed your trembling lips to his in a soft, desperate kiss. it was gentle and vulnerable, full of confused emotions the bond had planted in you. fear, devotion, and a warmth you couldn’t deny.
naoya froze completely above you.
the kiss lingered for one heartbeat… two…
then his golden eyes widened, a dangerous mix of shock, fury, and raw hunger flashing across his face.
he pulled back sharply, breath ragged, staring down at you like you had just committed the ultimate sin.
the bond pulsed between you, hotter and more alive than ever before, refusing to let the moment end.
and naoya zenin realized, with cold, dawning horror, that he was no longer sure he wanted to destroy it.
even tho i hate Naoya with my life, i LOVE LOVE LOVE the soulmate au because im a sucker for angst </3
GIGGLING 🙈🙈🩷 thank you so much for reading even though naoya makes you want to punt him into a volcano LAWLZZ !! i will gift you an “i survived naoya zenin” badge for a little compensation 🥹 and aaaah angst lovers unite !! 🤝 i swear soulmate aus are the perfect playground for emotional devastation. like yes let them suffer a little for flavor… for enrichment… for the plot… !!!!!!!! :3c
thank you again for giving it a chance even with naoya’s 100000 red flags waving in your face 🙈.. im so glad you enjoyed it !! 💝
naoya zenin x f! reader ੭୧ soulmate au. canon-compliant misogyny and arrogance from naoya. power imbalance. psychological tension. forced proximity.
five days had slipped by since the courtyard confrontation, each one heavier than the last. you had become a ghost in your own duties, slipping between the outer kitchens and the distant storage halls where the heir never ventured. you rose before dawn, finished your tasks while the compound still slept, and returned to the servants’ quarters only after the lanterns in the main wing had been extinguished. the mark on your wrist stayed hidden beneath fresh wrappings, yet it refused to quiet. it pulsed at odd hours, a low insistent heat that made your pulse stumble whenever naoya’s cursed energy flared somewhere across the estate. you told yourself avoidance was obedience. you told yourself it was survival.
you had not seen him once. not a glimpse of his black uniform cutting through the gardens, not the sharp echo of his voice ordering lesser sorcerers to train harder. the bond, however, cared nothing for distance. it stretched across rooms and corridors like invisible thread pulled taut, reminding you constantly that fate had already decided.
on the sixth morning the summons came without warning. a lower servant appeared at the kitchen door, face pale, and spoke in a hurried whisper. “naoya-sama demands your presence in the eastern training pavilion. he says if you are not there within minutes he will drag you there himself.”
your hands stilled on the rice you had been washing. dread coiled low in your stomach, familiar and heavy. you dried your fingers, smoothed the front of your plain grey yukata, and walked the long path to the pavilion with measured steps. the morning air carried the sharp scent of damp earth and distant rain. the mark beneath your sleeve burned warmer with every stride.
the training pavilion stood empty of its usual crowd. only naoya occupied the wide wooden floor, stripped to his black undershirt, wooden training sword resting against his shoulder. sweat glistened along his collarbones. his golden eyes found you the instant you crossed the threshold. the contempt in them was absolute.
“five days,” he said. his voice carried the same bored authority he used when addressing dogs or broken curses. “five entire days you have slithered around this estate avoiding the very air i breathe. did you truly believe i would not notice?”
you knelt immediately, forehead touching the cool wood, palms flat. “forgive me, naoya-sama. i thought it best to remain out of sight.”
“out of sight.” he repeated the words slowly, tasting their inadequacy. he stepped closer until the toes of his boots stopped mere inches from your fingers. “you are a servant. servants do not decide what is best. they obey. and yet you have spent nearly a week scurrying through the shadows like a rat fleeing a flame.”
he crouched in front of you then, one hand gripping your chin to lift your face. the contact sent a sharp spark of cursed energy racing up your arm and into his. you felt it mirrored in the mark on his own wrist. his expression did not change, but the muscle in his jaw flexed once.
“this bond is an embarrassment,” he continued, tone flat and cold. “it tugs at me when i train. it distracts me when i should be perfecting techniques that will secure my place as head of this clan. and all because some cosmic joke decided the great naoya zenin should be linked to a woman who exists only to wash floors and bear children for her betters.”
he released your chin as though touching you had dirtied his fingers. rising, he gestured with the wooden sword toward the far side of the pavilion where a low table held fresh towels and a pitcher of water.
“from this moment you will attend me directly. no more hiding. you will prepare my baths, serve my meals, maintain these chambers, and remain within call at all times. if the bond causes me even the slightest irritation, you will be the one to answer for it. do not speak. do not look at me unless i require it. your presence alone is already an insult.”
you rose without a word and moved to the table. your hands performed the familiar tasks while your mind remained carefully blank. you poured water, folded towels, arranged the small items he might need after training. naoya returned to his forms, movements sharp and precise, yet you noticed the way his stance occasionally faltered for half a breath. the bond reacted every time, a warm ripple that travelled from your wrist straight into his. he never acknowledged it aloud, but the irritation rolled off him in waves.
hours passed in that tense rhythm. you cleaned the bloodstains from the wooden floor where he had struck training dummies too hard. you refilled his water when he demanded it with a single curt gesture. you kept your eyes lowered and your mouth shut. the mark continued its quiet rebellion, growing warmer each time he passed near enough for your sleeves to brush.
when the sun had climbed high and the air inside the pavilion grew thick with heat, naoya finally stopped. he tossed the wooden sword aside and stood over you as you knelt to wipe the last of the sweat from the floorboards.
“look at me.”
you lifted your gaze. his face was flushed from exertion, hair slightly damp at the temples. the golden eyes that stared down held nothing but cold superiority and the sharp edge of resentment.
“this thing between us,” he said, voice low, “does not make you special. it does not make you equal. it simply means fate has saddled me with an inconvenience i will eventually master. you exist to serve. nothing more. remember that when the bond tries to convince you otherwise.”
he turned and walked toward the exit, pausing only long enough to issue one final command over his shoulder.
“tonight you will sleep in the side chamber of my quarters. the bond has already cost me enough rest. i will not allow it to cost me more simply because you prefer to cower elsewhere.”
the door slid shut behind him with a soft final click. you remained kneeling on the polished wood, the faint echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor. the mark on your wrist continued to pulse, steady and unyielding, as though it had been waiting for this exact moment.
outside, clouds gathered for afternoon rain. inside the empty pavilion the air still carried the faint trace of his cursed energy, sharp and possessive.
you closed your eyes for a single breath, then rose to finish your duties.
naoya zenin x f! reader ੭୧ soulmate au. canon-compliant misogyny and arrogance from naoya. power imbalance. internalised self-loathing. psychological tension. this is part 1 !
the mark appeared without warning on the night of your seventeenth birthday, blooming across the inside of your left wrist like ink spilled from an invisible brush. you had been alone in the servants’ quarters of the zenin estate, the paper lantern casting long shadows across the worn tatami.
one moment your skin was smooth and unblemished. the next, a sharp heat flared beneath the surface, and you watched, breathless, as black lines etched themselves into flesh. they formed a jagged pattern, half curse mark, half clan crest, the sharp angles unmistakably zeninesque. you traced it with trembling fingertips, the lines warm and pulsing faintly with cursed energy that felt foreign yet intimately familiar.
your stomach twisted. soulmate bonds were rare enough in the jujutsu world that most clans dismissed them as superstition or weakness. the zenin family in particular scorned the very idea. bonds like this implied fate could override bloodline superiority, and nothing offended the zenins more than the suggestion that their will was not absolute. you knew the stories. you had heard the elders sneer at lesser families whose daughters had been “tainted” by such marks. and now it had happened to you, a low-born maid whose only value lay in silent service and invisible labour.
you wrapped your wrist in cloth that night and every night after, hiding the mark as if it were a crime. you told no one. the shame of it burned hotter than the initial sting. whoever carried the matching mark was your destined equal, your completion. the thought made your chest ache with a mix of dread and treacherous hope. you already suspected the truth. you had felt the pull for years whenever naoya zenin strode through the halls, his golden eyes sweeping over the servants without truly seeing them. the heir. the golden son. the man who viewed women as little more than vessels for the next generation of strength. the idea that the universe had bound you to him felt like a cruel joke whispered by cursed spirits.
years slipped past like water through cupped hands.
you grew into your role as the estate’s most reliable maid, quiet and efficient, never meeting anyone’s gaze for longer than necessary. the mark remained hidden beneath layers of fabric and years of practiced denial. you learned to ignore the faint thrum it gave whenever naoya passed nearby, a low vibration that travelled up your arm and settled behind your ribs like a second heartbeat. you told yourself it was nothing. you told yourself the bond meant nothing. you were beneath him in every way that mattered to the clan, and he would never lower himself to acknowledge a servant as anything more than furniture.
present day.
the clan had survived another internal power struggle, and naoya had only grown sharper, more vicious in his certainty that he alone was fit to lead. he moved through the estate like a storm barely contained, barking orders at the few remaining servants and cursing the weakness he saw in everyone else. you avoided him as much as duty allowed, yet the universe seemed determined to test your restraint.
it happened in the eastern courtyard on an ordinary afternoon heavy with the scent of rain and cedar. you were kneeling beside the stone basin, sleeves rolled high as you scrubbed blood from the training uniforms of the young sorcerers. the mark on your wrist was exposed for the first time in years, the cloth having slipped loose in the heat of your work. you did not notice until the shadow fell across the water.
“what is that.”
his voice cut through the air like a blade freshly drawn. you froze, suds dripping from your fingers, and slowly lifted your gaze. naoya zenin stood three paces away, arms crossed over the crisp black of his uniform, golden eyes narrowed on the exposed skin of your wrist. the mark pulsed once, hard enough that you felt it in your throat. his own left wrist, you realised with a sick lurch, was bare. the matching pattern stared back at you from his skin, stark and undeniable.
you scrambled to cover it, but he was faster. his hand shot out and seized your arm in a grip that bordered on painful, yanking it upward so he could examine the lines more closely. his thumb pressed directly over the centre of the mark. heat flared between you, cursed energy crackling like static before a storm.
“you,” he spat, the single word dripping with disgust. “a pathetic little maid. the universe has a sick sense of humour if it thinks i would ever be chained to something like you.”
you kept your eyes lowered, shoulders curved in the posture of perfect submission you had perfected long ago. “naoya-sama… i never asked for this. i hid it. i swear i hid it.”
he released your wrist as if it had burned him, but the contempt on his face only deepened. “hid it. how noble. as if your silence could erase the insult.” he paced a tight circle around you, boots crunching on the gravel. “do you have any idea how revolting this is? i am the heir of the zenin clan. my blood is meant for greatness, not for some servant whose only talent is scrubbing filth from floors. soulmates. what a joke. fate must be laughing at me from whatever pit it crawled out of.”
his words should have crushed you. instead they landed against the walls you had built around your heart and slid off like rain. you had expected nothing less. you had prepared for this exact moment in the quiet hours of every night for years. yet beneath the familiar sting of humiliation, the mark on your wrist continued to thrum, warm and insistent, as if trying to remind you both that hatred could not sever what had already been written into your skin.
naoya stopped pacing. he stared down at you, jaw tight, golden eyes flickering with something darker than mere anger. “if anyone in this clan learns of this, i will make sure you disappear before the sun rises. do you understand me?”
you nodded once, voice barely above a whisper. “yes, naoya-sama.”
he lingered another moment, the air between you thick with unspoken curses and the unwilling pull of the bond. then he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you kneeling in the courtyard with sudsy water soaking your knees and the mark on your wrist burning like a brand.
you remained there long after his footsteps faded, staring at the matching pattern now seared into your memory. the bond had waited years to reveal itself fully. it would not be ignored forever.
and somewhere deep inside, beneath the layers of fear and self-preservation, a small, traitorous part of you wondered what would happen when naoya zenin could no longer pretend the mark did not exist.
the rain began to fall, soft and steady, washing the blood from the uniforms and cooling the heat still lingering on your skin. you rose slowly, wrung out the cloth, and returned to your duties as if nothing had changed.
but everything had.
the bond hummed beneath your sleeve like a promise neither of you could outrun.
omg im so happy i discovered ur acc!!! its not everyday i find smb who writes for naoya -.- ur acc is so cutesy !!
ohhh my heart… you wandering into my inbox like this truly feels like someone opening a window on a warm morning and letting all the sunshine spill in ! i’m so, so glad you found my little corner of the web and even more grateful that you enjoy my naoya fics !! he’s such a rare gem to write for, so meeting another person who loves him too feels a bit like finding a four-leaf clover pressed between book pages ^__^ 🩷🍀💝
i hope you know your message made my day shimmer a little more than usual. feel free to stop by whenever your heart nudges you, my door is always open !! ♡
naoya zenin x f! reader ੭୧ hurt no comfort. graphic descriptions of severe injury and blood. canon-compliant. clan massacre aftermath. misogyny and verbal degradation. power imbalance. psychological tension. reader is a low-status maid. no softening of his character.
the zenin compound lay slaughtered under a sky bled dry of colour, its once-imperial halls now open wounds of splintered wood and shattered shoji. bodies slumped in corridors like discarded training dummies, blood congealing into dark lakes that reflected the dying lanterns.
maki’s rampage had carved through the clan like a scythe through wheat, leaving only silence and the metallic reek of iron thick enough to choke on. you had hidden in the servants’ alcove, knees drawn to chest, breath shallow as a mouse in the walls, until the screams finally guttered out. now the estate exhaled its last, and you were the only living thing still moving among the ruins.
you found him in the inner training courtyard, collapsed against the base of a cracked stone pillar.
naoya zenin, heir apparent, the golden boy who had sneered at the world from birth, reduced to a broken heap of black fabric and crimson. his side was torn open, ribs gleaming wet where maki’s blade had carved deep; blood pulsed sluggishly from the gash, soaking the ground beneath him in a widening stain. one arm hung useless, shoulder dislocated at an ugly angle, and his face- once carved from arrogance itself- was split by a ragged cut across the cheekbone, golden eye half-swollen shut. he breathed in shallow, wet rasps, each inhale a wet click that spoke of punctured lung. the great naoya, who had boasted he would become head of the clan, now lay leaking his own superiority onto the dirt.
you should have left him. any sane servant would have fled into the night and never looked back. but years of conditioning ran deeper than fear: a maid’s hands existed to serve, to clean, to tend, even when the master lay in pieces. your legs carried you forward before your mind could scream retreat. you dropped to your knees beside him, the hem of your simple grey yukata soaking through with his blood instantly.
his remaining eye cracked open at the sound. golden, fever-bright, still sharp enough to cut. “you,” he rasped, voice a shredded thread of its usual velvet command. “filthy little maid. crawling out of your hole now that the real work is done.”
you did not answer. instead your hands moved, trembling, but steady from years of binding wounds after clan training sessions. you tore strips from your own sleeve, pressing the cloth to the worst of the gash at his side. the fabric turned scarlet in seconds. he hissed through clenched teeth, body jerking, yet he did not push you away. pride would not let him die alone; dependence was a poison he swallowed only because death tasted worse.
“don’t you dare touch me with those peasant hands,” he snarled, but the words lacked their usual bite, weakened by blood loss. still, the contempt dripped from every syllable. “women like you exist to scrub floors and birth disposable heirs. not to lay your worthless fingers on a zenin.”
you kept working. folded another strip, bound it tight around his ribs to slow the seep. his skin burned hot under your palms, fever already setting in like a curse of its own. you fetched water from the nearby well, cold, clean enough, and poured it carefully over the wound to wash away the grit. each drop that hit him made his jaw tighten, yet he watched you through the slit of his eye with that same predatory calculation, even half-dead.
“look at you,” he muttered, voice wet with blood and mockery. “kneeling in my blood like the dog you are. the only reason you’re useful right now is because every other whore in this clan is already rotting.” a cough tore through him, spraying red across your yukata. he laughed once, bitter and broken. “pathethic. the great naoya zenin saved by a maid. if the elders could see this they’d gut you just to erase the shame.”
you said nothing. your fingers worked methodically: cleaning, binding, checking the dislocated shoulder with gentle tugs that made him curse viciously under his breath. you had seen enough clan injuries in your years of service to know the bone needed resetting, but you lacked the strength alone. instead you packed the shoulder as best you could with torn cloth and a strip of wood from a shattered training pole, binding it immobile against his chest. every movement drew fresh blood, fresh insults.
“you think this makes you special?” he continued, voice growing hoarser as the night deepened. “you think binding my wounds earns you favour? once i stand again i’ll remind you exactly where your place is. on your knees, scrubbing the floors i walk on, mouth shut unless i order it open for something useful.”
the words should have stung deeper. instead they settled like familiar stones in your chest.
cold. heavy. expected.
you had heard variations of them since you first stepped into the zenin kitchens as a child. obedience was the only language the clan understood from women. so you kept tending. you dragged a thick futon from a nearby undamaged room, rolling him onto it with careful leverage despite his hissed protests. you built a small fire in the brazier using broken furniture, boiling water to steep what few herbs remained in the medic’s stores: yarrow and ginseng for clotting, willow bark for fever.
he watched you the entire time, eye never leaving your face. “why?” he finally demanded when the sky outside began to pale with false dawn. “why not leave me here to rot with the rest of them? every other servant ran. you stayed. speak.”
your voice came small, trained to deference. “because… you are still the master of this house, naoya-sama. even broken.”
a sneer twisted his split lip. “master. yes. and you are nothing but property. remember that when i heal. i will not thank you. i will not soften. you will return to your place, lower than the dirt under my sandals. and i will use you exactly as the clan has always used women like you.”
he closed his eye then, breath evening into something closer to sleep, the makeshift bandages already darkening with fresh seep. you sat beside the futon, knees folded beneath you, watching the rise and fall of his chest. the estate around you was a tomb, silent, reeking, final. maki’s curse had carved away the old world, yet here you remained, bound by duty older than blood.
outside, the first birds of morning began to call, fragile notes against the ruins.
naoya’s hand twitched once in his fevered sleep, fingers curling as if already reaching for the throat of whoever had dared reduce him to this. you did not move. you simply waited, hands still stained with his blood, knowing that when he woke the cage would simply rebuild itself around you both, tighter, crueler, and carved from the same unyielding stone as before.
the compound breathed its decay into the coming day.
and you, the last living servant, remained exactly where you belonged: at his side, tending the monster who would never forgive you for seeing him weak.
