Chapter Text
Satoru stood by the door to Sukuna’s library. He had woken to a noise too violent not to startle him. A wall away, he heard piano keys being struck. Their painful cry stopped abruptly, creating an ominous window of silence. Satoru’s tension grew with each passing second until it was shattered by a dull, creaking sound echoing through the room. Sukuna must have broken one of the wooden chairs.
He stepped back, alert, feeling his heart beat painfully against his rib cage. It was hard to breathe or concentrate on keeping his presence as small as possible. He was scared of what Sukuna might do if he found him there. But for an omega in distress, it was impossible to hide from his mate. That was the reason Satoru had been chased from the bed; a soul-wrenching cry from his alpha had jolted him from the deep, unsettling dream he was drowning in. Satoru had never felt such a force controlling his body against his will. He had stumbled from the bed, almost falling, his feet dragging across the carpet as if someone were tugging on invisible strings.
When he opened the door, both guards stared at him, startled and confused. Sukuna’s most trusted guard was already by the office door, alarmed and reaching for the handle.
Three pairs of haunted eyes turned toward Satoru.
“Be careful, Your Highness,” Samuel whispered, his hand gripping his sword. “There might be someone, or something, in the room with our king.”
Satoru’s gaze hardened. There could be only one possible presence in the library with Sukuna: the same spirit with smoldering, purple eyes that had appeared in Satoru’s dream just as it started haunting Sukuna. Kenjaku, instead of asking for Satoru’s soul, was taking away bits of their sanity, corrupting their souls with darkness.
“Hide your hostile intentions.” Satoru gestured for the three guards to take their hands off their swords. “Whatever is inside with our king cannot be overpowered by sheer force. You will stay here.”
“Your Highness! That’s—” Samuel gritted his teeth as Satoru shot a glare his way.
“It’s an order! Our king might misunderstand your intentions.”
The hallway fell silent after Satoru’s command. Only then did he realize the library had also fallen quiet. The difference, however, was the oppressive atmosphere seeping through the illuminated gap under the door and the desperate call of Satoru’s alpha.
Satoru took a few deep, slow breaths to calm himself and rubbed his cold hands against his sleeping robe. He forced his mind away from the fear of the unknown, imagining instead that he was going for a long walk with his husband through the linden alley.
The handle turned, and Satoru gently pushed the door open, revealing the trashed interior of the library. As the door swung wider, the full scale of the devastation became clear. The piano remained intact, but glass lay shattered against it, the broken legs of a chair were strewn about, and books were scattered across the floor.
Satoru’s eyes drifted across the mess, his breath bated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sukuna sitting on the floor, a haunting knife gripped between his fingers. Satoru firmly stopped the door before the guards could witness the gruesome scene. He pulled the door shut behind him and hastily stepped inside.
“Your Highness!” Samuel stepped forward, worried. “Don’t!”
Satoru locked eyes with the frightened knight one last time before clicking the door shut. As he turned around, he felt the atmosphere thicken, growing more dangerous. The disturbance wasn’t radiating from Sukuna, but from the air itself. It felt as if the room were poisoned by smoke, each breath allowing venom to seep in.
Guarded, Satoru pulled at the sleeve of his robe to cover his nose and lips, inhaling his own scent. It cleared his mind enough to focus on Sukuna. Immediately, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his rush, Satoru sank to his knees before him. He wrapped one arm around Sukuna's shoulder and cradled the alpha's head against his scent gland with the other.
“I am here. Let go.”
Sukuna remained tense, his cold nose buried against Satoru’s throat. Satoru could barely feel his breath against his skin. When no reaction came, Satoru began to panic. He tightened his grip on Sukuna, begging him to return as tears pooled in his eyes.
“Not now, when I've finally found him. Not now…” Satoru begged through trembling lips. “Please, not now. I’ll give you everything you need. Everything you want—please.”
A thud startled Satoru. He gasped, turning his head toward the sound only to see that Sukuna had released the knife. Sukuna's arms wrapped around Satoru’s waist, pulling him close as he sharply inhaled Satoru’s scent. A relief so sweet washed over Satoru that he slumped against Sukuna, letting his tears fall freely.
“You scared me,” Satoru whispered through his sobs.
Sukuna withdrew slightly, brushing his nose against Satoru’s jaw. “You came for me.”
Puzzlement was etched on Satoru’s face as he met Sukuna’s hooded, tired eyes. “Did you expect me not to?”
Satoru watched in prevailing confusion as a gentle smile spread across Sukuna’s lips. He didn't say anything more, leaving Satoru to his worries and imagination. Instead, he helped Satoru to his feet. Satoru tried to sort out his thoughts, to understand what had transpired there and why Sukuna was being so enigmatic. Was it just a test of his loyalty? Or perhaps it was a display of what Kenjaku called Sukuna’s darkness? That would explain the oppressive aura in the room.
“I didn’t think it would be necessary for you to come,” Sukuna said truthfully, cupping Satoru’s face. “I was perhaps a little reckless, but it needed to be done.”
A cold, wet sensation touched Satoru’s cheek. The palm on his face smeared it. Startled, he pulled back, his eyes darting to Sukuna’s hand.
“Oh, my deepest apologies, my heart,” Sukuna muttered, looking down at his blood-stained hand with embarrassment.
“Did you hurt yourself with the knife? Why did you even take it in the first place?!” Satoru demanded.
Sukuna lowered his hand, turning his attention to the stained knife on the floor. Before Satoru came in, he hadn't noticed there was blood on it. Now, in this light, he could see the carmine trace along the edge.
Angered by the prevailing silence, Satoru grabbed Sukuna’s shoulder, turning him to face him. “Speak to me! What dark magic is happening here?!”
“No, no dark magic.” Sukuna walked past Satoru and sat down on the chair that had survived his rampage. “Come here, my heart. Let me explain.”
Satoru gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists. “Now? You want to explain now, after you startled me to death? How about talking to me before you bleed out next time!”
“Don’t exaggerate, my heart—”
“Don’t!” Satoru cut in, jabbing a finger at Sukuna. “Don’t 'heart' me! Enough with the sweet talk!”
To Satoru’s utter annoyance, Sukuna smiled at him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It warms my heart when you get mad at me like this. Your anger shows how deeply you care.”
Satoru’s expression hardened. He placed his hands on his hips, staring Sukuna down in disappointment. “You act like a child! Hiding your plans from me, then becoming all tender when you hurt yourself.”
Sukuna laughed only briefly; tiredness was taking over. “Isn’t it true, though, my love? That every alpha is still a child at heart. That’s why we need your sweet love.”
“I am not your mother.” Satoru’s voice dropped dangerously. “I am your husband and mate. Leave the child out of our marriage.”
“So cruel.” Sukuna looked away, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. “You don’t even remind me of my mother. She was a woman of fatigue. Constantly sick.”
Satoru lowered his eyes, his face softening. The tragic story of the late queen was well known. Adults had turned it into a fairy tale, romanticizing her suffering and death. They called Sukuna’s father a man who would give everything to save the love of his life, but Satoru knew the truth. He had learned it quickly after arriving at the castle. She had been haunted by the same curse as Satoru was now. Good gods, who knew what kind of sacrifices these walls had seen in the past centuries?
“You must understand, Satoru,” he began, “that my father and his father... were all born of the pact with Kenjaku. We are Cyrus’s descendants. I wouldn’t have been born if he and his wife hadn’t begged the gods to grant them a wish.”
“I am well aware of that.” Satoru nodded, leaning against the table. “I know you carry your own burden and darkness inside. But I know nothing of the shape of your suffering.”
Sukuna snorted. “The shape of my suffering. What a poetic frame you've given my curse.”
“We have been married for eighteen months,” Satoru reminded him, reproach in his voice. “You have barely ever spoken to me about all the sketchy things happening inside this castle.”
“I know…”
“You know?!” Satoru’s lips twisted in displeasure. “I never used to walk in my sleep until I came here. I never heard whispers or haunting melodies until now. The doctors say I imagine things—that I am melancholic because I cannot bear you a child.”
“It’s not your fault.” Sukuna shook his head. “The suffering, the shadows of my ancestors—they are all here. We are a cursed bloodline, living on a debt.”
Satoru remained silent. The remorse and anguish in Sukuna’s voice couldn’t be soothed by mere words of assurance. He needed action, but their time was running out. Satoru was lost in the chaos and echoes of broken hearts and crying souls. But most of all, he hated how everyone was hiding the truth from him.
“You weren’t allowed to speak of any of this,” Satoru said, his throat tightening as shivers ran down his spine. “But of course—how could you find a mate if everyone knew your blood was cursed?”
Sukuna sighed tiredly, reaching for a cup on the table and righting it. There was a jug of wine that had miraculously escaped the destruction of the rest of the bar. Satoru watched sourly as Sukuna poured himself a full glass. He wanted to snatch it out of his hand and demand that he pull himself together and fight! But seeing him so devastatingly exhausted at such a young age, Satoru’s heart ached with sympathy. Instead of pouring salt on Sukuna’s wounds, Satoru placed another glass next to Sukuna’s, silently asking him to fill it.
“Tell me what happened tonight,” Satoru asked, watching the scarlet liquid foam. “Were all those strange noises I heard over the past year a real haunting, or just my imagination?”
“I spent nights guarding your rest when your sleepwalking started.” Sukuna set the jug aside and took up his glass. “I kept telling you that you were safe, and that nobody would hurt you.”
“Why now, Sukuna?” he whispered. “Why are you telling me this only now? Why not earlier?”
Sukuna bowed his head silently. “I tried to reach out to Kenjaku tonight.”
“What?” Satoru’s eyes bulged, and he pulled away from the table, tense.
“He rejected me, Satoru.”
Satoru’s blood froze. The stillness and silence that devoured his whole being resembled death. He could barely comprehend the words Sukuna spoke; their meaning felt uncertain. What was he talking about? Why would Kenjaku reject him when the spirit had been reaching for Satoru the entire time? What devious games was Sukuna playing with him?
“Did you have an offering?”
“No…” Sukuna shook his head. “I merely wanted to speak, to be certain he didn’t mean to take you from me. But he keeps his silence.”
“How? How can you talk to him from here?!”
“I can perform a blood spell to summon his spirit.” Sukuna opened his bloodied hand. “You don’t know, Satoru…”
“Don’t know what?!” Satoru breathed hard, his eyes boring holes into Sukuna’s head.
“You don’t know the things you speak of while you dream.”
Satoru’s brows arched in shock, his lips parting as he gasped, trying to find the words to give his confused thoughts a final form. All he could do was reject the gruesome truth Sukuna was about to speak. He shook his head, turning away. No. It couldn’t be happening to him. No, because Satoru remembered the details of his nightmares—the touches and the ecstasy boiling in his loins.
“You lie…” Satoru cried out, feeling fatigue creeping over him. “I don’t speak…”
“I can’t stand it anymore.” Sukuna’s voice broke with exhaustion. “Tonight, I woke to you begging—painful little whimpers…”
The creak of the chair made Satoru turn around, his head spinning. He watched Sukuna approach, shrouded in a mist, wearing an expression of worry and sadness. Each step only deepened the shame rising in Satoru’s chest, collapsing it, as if his body didn't want to exist in the same realm as Sukuna’s forgiveness.
“You are the strongest person I know, my heart,” Sukuna said softly, taking Satoru’s trembling hands and bringing them to his lips. “But my love, my beautiful, resilient love…”
Satoru’s lips trembled, and his eyes filled with bitter tears that fell freely down his cheeks like pouring rain.
“Even the strongest flower will wither one day.”
“I am sorry…” Satoru whispered, his vision fully clouded by a rainy mist. “I never wanted it.”
“I know.”
Satoru’s eyes fluttered as numbness and fatigue washed over him. He saw Sukuna’s eyes turn a blazing red, flaring like the last flames of hope in Satoru’s despair—or perhaps like the incoming flames of hell. Behind him, Satoru saw the shadow of a woman; her dark hair floated around a blank face. Somehow, even though she had no lips, Satoru could feel she was smiling at him. It was a smile of reassurance, a kind one.
“I am sorry I fell in love with you, Satoru.” Sukuna closed his eyes, pressing his warm lips to Satoru’s knuckles. “I never wanted my love to be your curse.”
Satoru’s eyes rolled back as his eyelids shut. He fell through a thick darkness, creamy like the sweetest milk porridge. A fresh scent of soil and greenery wrapped him in a soft embrace as he descended. He crashed against a solid but soft surface, swirling more of the pleasant scent around him. A forest; he felt as if he had fallen onto a bed of moss. It reminded him of his mate.
He couldn’t think of more; the sleep took over him as if someone draped a blanket over his body.
**
A haunting loneliness, empty but filled with whispers. Satoru felt a cold breath on his cheek that made his hair stand on end. Before him was an open window, calling to him with words he didn't understand—a spell cast upon his soul. Someone possessed his body, forcing his legs into motion. A hand slipped under Satoru's white robes; icy fingers brushed against his skin, and a finger teased his most private parts. Satoru closed his eyes tightly, filled with immense disgust. A cry for help slipped through his lips—then his eyes snapped open. Wide-eyed and terrified, he stared at the person leaning over him.
It took Satoru several calming breaths to realize it was his husband.
"Shh, it's me," Sukuna said soothingly, his warm hand cupping Satoru's cold cheek. "You had a bad dream. It's over now."
Satoru's heavy eyelids fell shut as he exhaled a long, shaky breath. The invasive touches—he could still feel them.
“Satoru…” Sukuna brushed away his bangs, his fingers soft and warm. “My heart. I wish I could release you from this hell.”
“What happened?” Only sheer confusion filled Satoru’s whispers. “Back in the library... what happened?”
Sukuna caressed Satoru's cheek once more, then withdrew his hand. "I will have the servants prepare you lavender tea and a meal."
Satoru wanted to protest, but his body quickly reminded him of his fainting spell and his lack of energy. If he wanted to speak with Sukuna, he needed strength. Above all his worries, he was a consort, and he had to maintain peace and order in the realm. A sick and weak ruler would stir panic—especially when there was no established heir.
“I know you demand answers.” Sukuna stood up, straightening his vest. “I know our situation is getting worse and spiraling out of hand.”
“No matter what is happening to us, we must maintain our perfect image.” Satoru nodded weakly. “You have a kingdom to rule.”
“If you need anything, tell the guards or your chamber lady.” Sukuna grabbed his coat, hastily putting it on and fixing the sleeves.
“Tell me, Sukuna…” Struggling, Satoru propped the pillows against the headboard and leaned against them. “How long can we live like this?”
A shadow crossed Sukuna’s eyes. Each day, they were less and less vibrant. Their sparks were turning to ashes, and Satoru had a feeling they wouldn’t rise like a phoenix again. Satoru wasn't only losing his own soul, but Sukuna’s as well. He had been so fixated on his own pain that he had completely missed that Sukuna had lived in this hell his entire life.
“Can I have a kiss?” Satoru asked into the silence, his eyes filling with hope.
Wordlessly, as if Satoru’s plea were a sacred command, Sukuna glided back to him and sat on the edge of the mattress. He cradled Satoru’s face and poured all his desperation and love into the kiss.
“I am always just a word away, my heart,” he murmured, sealing his promise with another kiss. “Don’t forget that.”
Satoru didn’t forget. Those words etched themselves into his bones, staying there like an amulet even after Sukuna closed the door—chased by duty, forced to pretend nothing was wrong.
**
Days passed in gloomy tension.
Satoru enjoyed the last bits of late-summer warmth in the sunlit garden. The air was heavy with the scent of late-blooming rose beds and birdsong. From time to time, a wasp drifted past him, drawn to the sweet tea that had sat untouched on the table for the past hour. He sat silently, watching the treetops dance in the wind and listening to the rustling leaves. Beyond them, in the distance, the tower jutted upward like a dark tombstone. It had been days since Satoru had watched its black windows, praying for a flicker of light—for a sign that Kenjaku was still there and hadn’t left Sukuna and him to drown in the madness.
The unbearable solitude had returned. Sukuna was busy with planning, expanding operations, and rebuilding the army. But to a scared and unappreciated omega, it felt like he was avoiding Satoru. He came to bed late at night, so Satoru couldn’t ask what had happened in the library. In the morning, they spoke briefly, and whenever Satoru mentioned they should talk, Sukuna shrugged him off, saying there was not enough time.
The nightmares in which his body was violated had stopped the day Sukuna woke him. Every night, Satoru drank the lavender tea the servants brought. He was almost certain it was laced with a medicine that blocked out his dreams. On one hand, Satoru was glad he could finally rest properly, but on the other, he worried the medicine only made him forget.
He had a crazy theory about the tea. It involved Sukuna’s blood and a ritual he was performing that he refused to speak about. If that were the case—his head ached just imagining Sukuna pouring his blood into the tea.
Satoru sighed tiredly, lowering his gaze from the haunting tower. It hid so many secrets, and Sukuna was still refusing to share them or let Satoru even touch the stone.
“Such a gloomy expression you wear,” came a worried voice.
When Satoru lifted his gaze, he spotted Yuki. She was as radiant as always, wearing a yellow dress with her hair pinned up.
“It’s been a while…” Satoru cleared his throat, nervously taking the cup of cold tea in his hand.
“May I?” she asked, gripping the back of the other chair and asking for permission to sit. “I see you’re working on something, Your Highness.”
When Satoru nodded, Yuki smirked at the letter perched on the table. A quill and inkwell sat nearby, waiting to be used. But Satoru had only written the beginning of his love letter to Sukuna. This morning, his king had woken with a brooding expression. He had been thoughtful, frowning the whole time, even as he bestowed a morning kiss upon Satoru.
Satoru had wanted to ask what was wrong, but the strange tension radiating from Sukuna held his mouth shut. Luckily, he realized how stupid he would sound to ask, knowing in what situation they were. Around them was blazing lunacy, while inside Satoru, there was growing not a child, but an abscess of failure and barrenness.
“My, my…” Yuki's voice rang with worry. “What is wrong?”
Satoru looked away, biting his lip painfully to prevent himself from shedding desperate tears. When Yuki reached out with a careful hand, Satoru shook his head.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning the unfinished letter face down.
Her eyes softened. “I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be the king’s consort. All the heavy responsibility must pressure you.”
Satoru zoned out for a moment, so he didn’t fully hear what she said. His mind was occupied by visions of failure. He was so stressed by his inability to conceive, by the way Kenjaku kept appearing in his dreams, and by the baseless, cruel nightmares that he could barely think about anything else.
He stared down at the letter, thinking whether he shouldn’t return to his original plan and write Sukuna about his thoughts like he did at the beginning. If Sukuna refused to speak, then he might be more comfortable writing back.
“Your Highness…” Yuki murmured carefully. “If you need anyone to talk to…”
Satoru sighed heavily, looking at her worried expression, which only made him sigh again. “I haven't been sleeping well recently.”
“Surely the royal healers could offer a solution to that.”
“Not those kinds of sleepless nights.” Satoru shook his head, his brows furrowing and unease creeping over him as he remembered his dreams once again. “I have terrible nightmares. Even my sleepwalking has returned.”
Yuki leaned in slightly. “I heard sleepwalking is a result of the full moon. Maybe a room that faces away from the moonlight would help.”
“I tried that in the early months after I arrived at the castle. Sukuna himself sat in front of my door, watching me…” Each of Satoru’s words felt heavier. His shoulders slumped slightly at the memory of Sukuna’s tenderness, even when Satoru had been nothing but cruel.
“Our king is truly attentive.” She smiled gently. “Maybe he can help in some other way.”
It was then that her expression darkened slightly. Satoru knew in that moment she was about to offer an unconventional solution. She leaned over the table even further, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I heard a witch lives in the tower.”
Satoru froze the second she finished the sentence. He didn’t dare look at the tower looming in front of him, shadowed by the treetops like a demon peeking over a blanket.
“You’ve gone pale…” Yuki said, alarmed. “Let me call—”
“No!” Satoru stopped her firmly. “I am alright. Just a little tired.” He stood up, taking the letter.
“Your Highness, are you sure that you are not…” she began carefully, her eyes flickering over Satoru’s flat belly. She didn’t dare finish her sentence when Satoru cast a pained look at her. “It is none of my business, of course.”
“You are right. It is no one’s business,” Satoru said firmly, frowning. “Have a nice rest of the day, Lady Tsukumo.”
He pushed the chair back just as his mother had always taught him. It didn’t matter that they had servants to do so; she had insisted on putting things in their proper place right away. Satoru had brought this "unwanted" habit into the castle. It was an innocent, small gesture, but the whole court had turned toward him and laughed behind their palms at the village omega the king had brought to the castle.
Satoru picked up his pace as he walked, aiming for the alley. He remembered a different thing his mother had taught him. Now more than ever, he was proud that he came from the village and that he was connected with nature. He shared Sukuna’s roots, the feral spirit that ran in their people’s blood. A son of the forest like Satoru knew how to fight wicked witches. Whether there was one in the house or one in the tower, what did it matter?
Perhaps it was courage that was guiding his legs. But when the guards stopped him from reaching the tower, Satoru’s voice cracked with desperation.
**
It was past eleven when Satoru put the book he was reading aside and lay down to sleep. He tucked himself under the duvet, lying on his side, his eyes fixed on the letter he had slipped under the untouched cup of tea he left on Sukuna’s bedside table. He was used to Sukuna working late hours and knew that if he needed anything, if his longing became unbearable, he could always send a servant, but Satoru had his pride. He wasn’t a weak-minded omega who couldn’t take care of his own demons.
If another nightmare were to test him tonight, Satoru would be strong enough to conquer it alone. Now, after Sukuna revealed it, he knew he spoke from his sleep. His words were disturbing enough for Sukuna to try to summon Kenjaku. Since he refused to speak to Sukuna, naively, Satoru thought that perhaps he would speak to him through the dreams. If he looked at his dreams from a different perspective, then they resembled a form of communication.
Satoru’s gaze drifted between the love letter and the flickering candle until his eyes became too tired and fluttered closed on their own. Sleep came immediately, as did the dream that spread across Satoru’s consciousness like fabric. Satoru found himself standing in a blooming garden. Roses, lilies, and chrysanthemums swayed in the soft, warm wind. Satoru’s heart swelled with joy and tenderness as his fingers brushed over their fragile petals.
He walked down the flowery path for a while. The sun moved down the sky, casting long shadows across the garden until a deep blue fell, illuminated by pale moonlight. The road Satoru walked ended at a black tower. All its windows were lit by candles. Satoru had never seen it like this: with its windows open and the stone overgrown with ivy and jasmine.
He felt no danger as he walked toward the door. Quite the opposite, actually; warmth pooled in his gut, and his cheeks flushed as he placed a hand on the ornate, metallic handle.
“Satoru!”
A sharp, demanding voice penetrated the sweet bubble of Satoru’s dream.
Someone was calling him from behind, but the pull he felt toward the tower was stronger. He didn’t look over his shoulder; he wasn’t curious about anyone but the tower. The warmth seeping through the stone was too comforting. There was a miracle waiting for him inside. A smile adorned Satoru’s lips as he pulled at the heavy door.
Then, a hand gripped his shoulder, yanking him back and making him release the handle. Satoru yelped, anger boiling in his veins because someone dared to touch him. He swung on his feet, his hand open and prepared, but what he saw wasn’t just anyone—it was a pair of red eyes, consumed by sheer anger. Satoru gasped as Sukuna stopped his hand mid-air and pressed him roughly against the stone wall. The impact resonated through Satoru’s body, causing all his senses to snap out of the trance.
Satoru’s eyes widened in shock as he felt the cold night air against his skin. There was no warmth coming from the stone, no light from the windows, and no beds of roses around him. There was only a mad king gripping his shoulders, anchoring him in the real world.
“Are you finally back to your senses?!” Sukuna hissed angrily.
“What…” Satoru muttered, confused. “What are we doing here?”
“That is my question, Satoru!”
“I was sleeping…” he breathed out, eyes wide and frightened. “I was in bed, sleeping.”
“How did you manage to pass the guards?” Sukuna gripped his shoulders tighter. “The balcony door was opened! Don’t tell me you somehow...?”
Satoru could only stare in utter disbelief. His head was pounding, trying to find answers to Sukuna’s impatient questions, but all he could remember was the feathery pillow and a dream of a garden. Then, it was blank. Maybe he was still dreaming. It had happened sometimes when he was a child that he had vivid dreams. Satoru raised his hands nervously and then pinched his wrist painfully. He felt it. In his nightmares, however, it was normal to feel, so it could just be another trick.
“Satoru…” Sukuna grabbed Satoru’s hand, preventing him from hurting himself again.
“I need to know. This is a dream. A dream.” He yanked his hand free and slapped his cheek repeatedly. “A dream! I wouldn’t come here!”
Sukuna grabbed the hand that was hitting Satoru’s cheek and forcefully pushed it away, but Satoru didn’t want to give up without a fight. He smacked Sukuna’s hand away, and when he tried to grab him again, Satoru started wrestling him.
“Stop hurting yourself!” Sukuna ordered, his patience fraying at the edges.
All Satoru could hear was a mess of words and his ragged breath mixed with a ringing in his ears. His hands seemed to have minds of their own. They fought Sukuna until they managed to pass his guard, or rather, Sukuna gave in to the push and pull and let Satoru’s hand fly out and smack his cheek.
Sukuna's eyes hardened, and it was then that Satoru understood why Sukuna had let go. He took Satoru’s face between his big, cold hands and steadied him against the wall with a firm grip. The big, carmine eyes fixed him into submission instantly.
“This is not a dream!” he breathed against Satoru’s lips, their noses almost brushing. “I am your husband and your mate, and you, my dear, are very awake.”
“No…” Satoru tried to shake his head, but Sukuna’s hold was too tight. “No! We must go there! We must go there!”
“Madness has possessed you!”
“He’s waiting! He wants to help!”
Sukuna’s hand released his cheek, curling around Satoru’s chin and gripping it tightly. “There’s no help in that tower—only death!” he hissed.
“No! You are scared! You have always been scared!” Satoru snapped at him, hands pressed against Sukuna’s solid chest in a failed attempt to push the alpha away.
“Yes! I am scared of what he might have done to you! Of what he wanted to do to you if you kept coming there like a fool!”
His words were cold, coming in huffs and freezing Satoru’s heated skin. Satoru was getting weaker; he was always weaker than his alpha. But now, he was losing his energy to fight fast. The oppressive scent Sukuna wrapped him in settled on his chest like a boulder. Under the thick pressure, Satoru was slowly calming down, but he felt like his hands and feet were bound by invisible ropes. He stopped fighting, but his spirit was reflected in his eyes.
“I don’t understand your hesitation,” Satoru breathed out, the forced calming making it harder for him to concentrate. “We can go now. Together.”
“No.”
The refusal echoed in Satoru’s head like a provocation.
“You say you have only my safety on your mind, but I can see through you!” Satoru spat in an accusatory tone. “You are hiding something from me! You are afraid that I would agree to give Kenjaku whatever he wants.”
Sukuna’s grip around Satoru’s chin tightened. He felt a sting as Sukuna's nails dug into his skin. Heat crept into Satoru’s neck, filled his cheeks, and hooded his blue eyes with stormy skies. Sukuna’s fingers pulsed against his skull like thunder, all while his scent tried to keep Satoru under control. Satoru felt like he was on a rough sea, and Sukuna was both the water and the ship.
“I would rather kill you myself than let his hands touch your soul,” Sukuna promised, his breath fanning over Satoru’s burning cheek. “You are mine.”
The heat continued to course through Satoru’s body, overwhelming his thoughts and replacing them with primal needs he shouldn’t be feeling in a moment like this. He was still furious, but the fire blazing in his veins was thickening into lava, illuminating him from the inside out like the morning sun. His skin felt damp, and with every passing second, he expected flames to erupt from the places Sukuna touched. There was no escaping the snare of his alpha’s demands.
“Your ownership is a cage…” Satoru cried out, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“My ownership is your freedom,” Sukuna corrected gently, easing his grip on Satoru’s face. “Who else could love your spirit as I do? Untamed, rebelling against your alpha—and yet, I crave you more than anything else in this world.”
Tears overflowed from Satoru’s eyes, falling down his cheeks and over Sukuna’s fingers. A muffled sob wrenched from his lips as he lowered his eyes in surrender.
“I want to help us…” he whimpered, his hand reaching out in a futile attempt to reach the tower’s door.
Sukuna released Satoru’s chin; he slid his hand down, lining Satoru’s shoulder and forearm until he reached his hand, lacing their fingers. He brought their hands between their bodies.
“I know you do.” He leaned their foreheads together, pressing Satoru’s hand against his chest.
“You said we can’t be scared forever…”
Sukuna pulled back slightly, and, in that moment, Satoru felt a raindrop on his face. The cool feeling against his burning skin felt relieving, rooting him more into reality.
“He clearly wants something from you, or else he wouldn’t keep calling you. Until then, you are safe. He won’t touch you,” Sukuna said lowly, but his tone didn’t sound as persuasive as his words.
Shivers ran down Satoru’s spine, making him take a shaky breath. “A soul for a soul.”
“Or something more gruesome.”
“What can be more gruesome than the horrors I experience every night?” Satoru whispered through pained sobs. “You have no idea how it feels—how my heart cries every day in the hope that it could be different tonight.”
Sukuna wrapped an arm around Satoru’s waist, pulling him flat against his body. Embraces like this could provide only momentary relief. Soon, Satoru’s feet would sink deeper into the mud, his mind would get clouded, and he would find himself back at the tower. He was frightened to death at the thought that this could be his everyday life for the rest of his life.
“Satoru…” Sukuna pressed his warm lips against Satoru’s temple. “I swear on my life that I will find a way without you ever needing to see his face again.”
“I see his face in my dreams. In the mist, watching me…” He gripped Sukuna’s shoulder. “I can’t stand it! I can’t stand that I feel his touch!”
Disgust filled Satoru to the brim, together with a surge of strength that for a moment overpowered Sukuna’s commanding scent. He pushed at his mate, forcing him back. Sukuna stumbled with a stunned expression. Then, Satoru swiftly turned, grabbed the door handle, and pulled it.
The door creaked, and then Sukuna’s arms wrapped around his waist, forcefully dragging him away from the tower. Satoru screamed in agony, his mind shattering from desperation.
“End it! Let it end!” he yelled until his throat was sore. “I’ll burn it down! All of it! Burn it all down!”
Satoru tossed violently in Sukuna’s grip, his body drenched in rain. He was only wearing his sleeping robe, now plastered to his body. Sukuna’s hands slipped across his skin, and he lost his grip. Satoru used the opportunity to run back to the tower. His lungs burned; his chest heaved. The closer he was to the door, the lighter his step became, as if an unnatural power led him forward.
Before Satoru could open the door, a hand slammed it shut, nailing Satoru against it. He felt Sukuna’s body lining his—the rough, firm muscles against his back and his cock against his ass through the thin cloth of his robe.
“Fire will not chase a demon away!” Sukuna rasped into Satoru’s ear, his voice mixing with the dripping of the heavy rain.
“A dagger to his heart will.”
“No dagger can hurt an apparition.”
Satoru’s lips trembled, and he felt his knees give out. “Sukuna, help me. I can’t…”
“I am always here for you,” he promised, placing his hands on Satoru’s waist with a reassuring, gentle grip. Slowly, he turned Satoru around.
Their gazes met with rain falling between them. Satoru blinked, his blue eyes glistening with despair. His breath caught in his throat, making him gasp for a moment as a whimper made its way out. He was terrified of what was waiting for him tomorrow. But when he lifted his gaze, scared to meet that same helplessness in Sukuna’s eyes, he only saw the familiar, anchoring devotion and warmth.
“Allow me to be your hope,” Sukuna pleaded, tilting his head. “You are mine to protect and love. If your soul belongs to me, it can’t belong to anyone else.”
Satoru curled his hands around the hems of Sukuna’s open coat and pulled him roughly closer, crashing their lips together. He tasted rain and wine on Sukuna’s lips until it slowly descended into Sukuna’s distinctive flavor. Their tongues laced, chasing each other in a passionate dance, Satoru knew he would lose in the end. His knees were already giving out on him as he breathed in Sukuna’s intense scent—different from the commanding one; just his musk and undertones of wood and forest.
Sukuna licked into his mouth one last time before he started trailing kisses down to Satoru’s jaw and throat. Each teased place burned, making Satoru curl his hands tighter. His bare feet slid slightly across the wet grass. Sukuna caught him firmly, his hand gripping Satoru’s thigh.
In one swift motion, Satoru's back crashed against the wooden door. His robe finally gave in, revealing Satoru's naked body to the rainy night. Satoru slipped his hands between their bodies, untying Sukuna's pants and clumsily shoving them down his hips. Sukuna grabbed Satoru under his thighs, hoisting him up, making Satoru wrap his legs around his waist.
Their eyes met in a short, intense moment of agreement. Then, Sukuna sank his teeth carefully into Satoru's mark while carefully entering him. He slammed his hand against the door repeatedly as if challenging Kenjaku to dare touch what was his.
Satoru cradled Sukuna's head against his neck and felt as Sukuna's hand grabbed his other thigh. He started moving recklessly, his rhythm a bit off at the beginning, making Satoru gasp as he slammed him against the door. He could feel the desperation from each of Sukuna's pants and movements. He needed comfort as much as Satoru did.
"I am yours," Satoru whispered with trembling lips. "Yours to protect and love."
He closed his eyes tightly, enduring the frustration Sukuna poured into their coupling. It hurt to see Sukuna losing his composure. He sacrificed so much for Satoru and never asked for anything in return. Until now, it was Satoru taking and blaming him for everything.
Yes, until now.
“And you are mine…” he whispered into Sukuna’s ear. “Mine.”
Sukuna halted at those words; his head jerked upward, and his eyes pinned Satoru with an intense, burning stare. “Say it again.”
“You are mine.”
“Again,” he pleaded in a low voice.
“Mine.”
“Again.”
“Mine.”
“Again!” This time, his voice came out as a desperate command.
Satoru’s breath hitched, and his heart picked up its tempo, beating against his chest wildly, urging Satoru to finally let go—to let it join Sukuna. It was leaping toward him like a caged bird. Satoru was tired of his walls and the constant fight. He might have hated this place and hated Sukuna for not making the world revolve around him, but the whole time, his refusal had been nothing but jealousy and envy. He had driven himself mad with need to the point that he started hating Sukuna for not being able to give it to him.
It was immature, foolish, and expected from a nineteen-year-old omega.
Sukuna’s eyes softened with sadness as Satoru remained silent.
“I have never seen eyes more beautiful than yours,” Satoru muttered, astonished, “they promise hell to everyone but love to me.”
Sukuna let out a soft breath of relief. “Maybe you were born for hell.”
“And maybe I was born to wake up every morning and see myself in your eyes.”
“And maybe…” Sukuna’s voice broke, his grip on Satoru’s thighs tightening. “Maybe you were born to be mine.”
“That too.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Satoru had never seen Sukuna’s eyes blazing as much as they were in that moment. They widened in reverence, staring at Satoru as if he were Sukuna’s whole world. That look had been there from the beginning, but Satoru had simply failed to experience it as he should have. Sukuna could give only as much as Satoru wanted. Now he knew it.
He knew it all.
“I love you.” Sukuna crashed their lips together, pulling back from the door, swaying slightly, and spinning them.
Satoru laughed at how ridiculous their position was now. He was still wrapped around Sukuna, who carried him away from the door. He lowered them carefully onto the wet grass, and wasting no time, he re-entered Satoru. He was warm and thick, filling Satoru in just the right way. It felt comforting and safe. Satoru pressed his thighs against Sukuna’s sides and circled his arms around his neck. His eyes were fluttering shut to protect them from the falling rain when, for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of light in one of the tower’s windows.