Toadstool Mansion

Eat Me Whole, My Darling

7 of 7 chapters currently avaliable. WC: 34.3k

Chapter 1

You’d correctly assume he doesn’t desire anyone. 

The king of all things reeks of death. He did from the moment he was born. Sweet like meat turning, hot like coals, a rancid salty-sulfur scent which clings to everywhere he’s been days after he’s left. 

The world is subject to his whim, and lucky he elects at any point to lead it. He’s outlived his clan by killing any who share his blood and he has no desire for mates. He has attendants, both mortal and monster, the best of which he considers slaves only barely worth the effort it takes to keep them alive. The worst are disposable insects to be crushed whenever and however he pleases. He’s barely human anymore—he’ll insist he never was, just evil wearing the skin of man before his ascension—and so he does not care for human life. 

The lust he knows? Blood lust. And he’s an addict. The rush of violence drives him wild; he lives on it and drowns in it until he’s a beast drenched in blood and full from the fat of his enemies. Nothing compels him except the desire for territory and power. 

He is the first of his kind, so there was no name for him when he was born. Such labels do not concern him. What is he? There is no other word for him than emperor, and to rule over the suffering of the living was his fate. 

But what happens to the man who wishes to rule the world, after he gains it?

At first, another kind of conquest held dominion over his days as he sought the submission of Man’s will instead of his land and profits. This he enjoyed at first. Bloody rebellions quelled, villages, then cities, then nations all quaking at the sound of his name, falling to their knees in surrender the moment after they realized the profundity of the consequences for those that dare oppose the rightful king. 

But eventually the faith is gained, the fear respected, his rule iron, the wealth accrued. Only fools tried to fight him anymore, scandals were quiet sniveling affairs.

He has everything. And what he does not have, he can acquire with little effort. The world was utterly his and has been for as long as most everyone can remember.

It was… boring.

These are the thoughts of the King of Curses, ruler of everything: Sukuna Ryoumen.

He sat in his vast palace, built on the ruins of some other scoundrel’s puny attempt at building a nation. Some settlement that exists only in his most distant memories and under the rock which supports his enduring estate. His castle was built of bone white stone. His roof was the only one in all the world that sparkled blood red—it was rumored the entire surface was laid with the finest rubies to make it glitter like that. His marble floors were shined to perfection, and kept that way under threat of death. 

To the outsider, all things appeared perfect. 

You admired all this as you entered the dreaded, malevolent domain of the Emperor. Blood red carpets lined the halls, every bouquet featured red flowers. He liked the striking difference between white and red, or he had to, as they were the only colors visible down the halls you and your clan were allowed to walk. You’d never been allowed to attend the seasonal reckoning, but after much begging you were here, and so you drank in the sight of this place with fervor. Every sharp corner you peered down memorized as you almost greedily stole glances at the pristine corridors.

“Keep your head down, y/n.” Your father reminds you as a pair of red double doors at the end of the hall loom over you and yours. You stand to his left, your brother to his right, your mother and extended family all behind you in neat rows. 

You are the Harvesters, a clan loyal to the monster and his curses. You and yours deal with the lifeless and begotten. Emperor Ryoumen does not bury the bodies of the weak or traitors. They are left to fetter in the sun. Some are eaten by the monsters in his army—curses all of them, who savor the flesh of men over any other beast—then the vultures. After that your people, the Harvester Butterflies, cleaned the carcasses of anything dead on the battlefield, and dealt with the bones, which would be turned to dust and used across the territory. 

Death was not synonymous with waste in your world. The dead, especially associated with the spoils of war, were the fruits of the garden which sustained the family and the people of the land. The bones you collected would become the mortar which built temples. Tending to the war fields was a great privilege, one gifted to your bloodline by the emperor many, many generations previous, and since then he was treated with surreal reverence by your people. 

You’d wanted to breathe the same air as the man that was everything to the clan, your god. Why your father had resisted allowing you to take the seasonal flight, you do not know, but now you stood in the front of the line waiting for the doors to part, elated. This was heaven. If there was another place to go after your spirit left your flesh, you’d turn your back to it to stay in this moment of baited pseudo-spiritual excitement for an eternity. 

You doubted you’d even be able to look upon him, yet, it was enough. To simply be in his presence was an honor beyond words. Even standing in the hall was enough to satisfy you. You’d dreamed of the one who emitted that faint scent of death and sulfur that was said to be his, it lingered where he waged war, always making your wings twitch and your heart flutter. Here, that scent practically poisoned the air with its putrid thickness.

You hear them announce through the door. “The Kaleidoscope has arrived, your malevolence.” 

It takes everything in you to keep still. You wish to flutter and preen, to nuzzle yourself into the corner and inhale the world. Surely, you’d suck up the essence hiding there and use it as the finest nectar. 

You resist. Barely.

This is an important day, your wings must be kept very, very still. They are a brilliant spotting of autumn colors, with perfect dots the color of leaves molding into the ground towards the end of fall. Your mother will chastise you if you flash them, so you contain yourself just barely when finally, finally, finally, the way parts and a fresh flush of that smell hits your senses. 

Your lashes flutter. How divine. 

You almost forget to walk, but you’ll do your family no shame now. You keep in step with your father, your head down, your hands hidden in the large sleeves of the black clocks which you all wear. You put them on front-to-back. The thick of the fabric covers your front, and the ties are carefully made around your back to keep it from slipping off but without hiding your precious colors. None of your flesh could be seen, the drawn-up hoods, and the sleeves you were meant to hide your hands in made sure of that. 

The only member of the kaleidoscope who could be recognized by face was your father, the only one allowed to speak. He takes one step forward to distinguish himself further. 

“Hail to the Emperor above all others.” Your father greets him, and all in the kaleidoscope bow deeply. “An honor to stand before you another year, my liege and lordship.”

“Lord Harvester.” Emperor Sukuna greets in return. 

Pride flushes your body to have your god speak so familiarly with your father. They speak back and forth of important things, but you are of no mind to hear them. You’re dizzy. This is the scent you’ve longed for since… well, quite literally as long as you can remember. The emperor is no normal man or monster, he’s lived several thousand years, and your clan has served by his side all that time. Since you were just a little caterpillar feasting on your first corpse you have dreamed of this scent, you were sure it was your very first memory.  

The mumbling voices of the men speaking to each other about the state of the world, and the brilliance of his excellency’s leadership suddenly sharpens into focus.

“Yes, your radiant malevolence. I arrive to you each year so my clan my bask in your presence. We honor you in all ways, and always have, to earn the right to stand before you are what all Harvesters work for.”

“Which members?” Emperor Ryoumen, for seemingly no reason at all,  already sounds irritated. 

Your father doesn’t stutter, no he’s too prim for that, but he tilts his head and his voice carries the unmistakable lit of surprise. The Emperor has never taken much interest in the Harvesters outside of their productivity, and only seemed to barely entertain these seasonal parades. 

“Our proudest warriors stand at the rear, those with accolades stand between them and myself, including my mate, our children and much of our extended family. We are prideful Harvesters for the crown, it is the highest honor to know the presence of your flesh.” 

Ah yes, your accolades. You’d earned yours to be here, several times over. Your father had been so very insistent you not go, as the others were allowed, so you’d worked so intently it would dishonor him to refuse you any longer. It took that and a good deal of badgering to stand here. You smile, just a little, more than content with your reward. 

When you eventually mated, and laid your caterpillars upon the fields of war for their first feast, you would tell them of their great emperor. That he was strong and worthy, and that his scent of death upon the land was sweeter than any corpse he offered as feed. You breathe deep.

Glorious. Perfect. Everything you could ask for. 

Well… you do have one final desire. You’d like to see the man that radiates so, to know what the god of your people really looks like. It’s against every rule, but in that moment you’re so high that you convince yourself it wouldn’t hurt to get one little peak. 

Just then, you tip your head up. The throne towers above you, further than you expected. You see nothing but stairs, more of that shining white marble which practically glows in the torchlight. You should put your head back down, but you don’t. You look a little further up, then more, and more, until you see the tips of his feet, covered by pointed black shoes. He’s wearing all black, gossamer silk robes that glide your eyes up just enough to gaze upon his face.

Emperor Sukuna Ryoumen. Your god. A crack of electricity hurtles down your back as you bask in his image, his visage baptizing you like a thunderstorm. He’s got a sloping forehead which homes four eyes and strangely textured skin that pulls up into his hairline to create horns. Flame lick of pink hair, blown back from his face by some force of nature, dark marks of power make inky lines down his cheeks to his chin, across the bridge of his nose, down his neck, leading to someplace you can’t see but now feel distinctly offended that you can’t. 

Demon. Not a word you would use for him, but you see it now. 

He is a monster and he looks like one, albeit with an alluring magnetism that defies regular standards of attraction. Even capable of flight, you’d crawl on your belly up those stairs at a chance to kiss the shine on his shoes, let alone feel the heat of his hands on your body. Then you notice the cut of his robe, where four sleeves extend from his shoulders and from his lower rib cage instead of just two. This revelation makes you nearly shiver. 

Four of them. He’s got four arms. Four hands. That’s twenty fingers in total, all he can use to do as he pleases. No wonder he causes so much ruin. 

How could he use those hands to do so much more… even the barest thought of how such a body could spoil you to a pitiful state has your stomach twist up with a pleasured twinge.

You want him, desperately so, which is the most sac-religious thought you’ve ever had. 

He's looking down, one hand resting lazily on his cheek while the others ideally drum against the throne. He does seem to intently listen to your father, but you notice for just one moment that four glowing red eyes flicker to regard your curious peaking. You flush, embarrassed and caught, looking down so fast there is no hiding what you’ve done.

Your heart patters so fast, so very fast. 

“Quiet.” He declares, cutting your father off. “Declare your party, now.” 

What was left of your nerves drops through the floor, your stomach churns again. If he kills you for looking upon his blessed form, then at least you ascended this far in all the lifetimes it took for you to be here able to even glance at him.

Your father clears his throat, attempting to silence the surprise in his tone. “Excuse me, my liege?” 

“Who is the one to your left?” Emperor Sukuna doesn’t repeat himself ever, but this is as close to it as he’ll come. The Lord Harvester is lucky he and his people are so loyal, as he’s killed curses in his army for less than answering a question of his with a question of their own.

Your father doesn’t answer for a moment. You can practically hear how his lips draw in, and literally hear his cloak shifts around as he doesn’t immediately form a response. When he very carefully responds, the words sound measured and pointed. 

“The front of the line is reserved for only the highest ranking collectors. Men stand to the right, and women the left, the priesthood stands centerfold. To the left of me is a renowned Harvester, who worked to stand here before you in a position of power and grace amongst our Kaleidoscope. I am proud to say that this season it is my own son and daughter who stand on either side of me, earning the right to be before you on their own merits.” 

“And you do not teach the products of your blood simple manners?” 

Your head dips lower. The rush of shame should extinguish this terrible fire looking upon him has ignited in you, but it does not. You’ve never felt more alive. 

“I meant to.” Your father nearly grumbles. “But she’s always been willful.” 

“Hm.” He hums. “Step forward, female child of the Lord.” 

You obey, of course you do. You take a shaking step forward; you can’t help how the autumn color of your wings flickers a slight iridescent on the walls as they catch the touch light. You can barely keep yourself still and poised, excitement races through every vein available to be excited. 

“Will you confess to your congregation the sin you’ve committed?” 

You lay yourself down to the ground, bowing to him as low and deep as you can, hands stretched out towards his throne. You lower your wings, a sign of submission amongst yours, and offer your most vulnerable parts of being to his wrath. The honor of even bowing before him makes you shamefully shy. 

“I dared look upon you with the eyes of a lesser being, unworthy of gazing up at your sacred form.” You admit with no hesitation, “ I beg your forgiveness for one who is just a faithful soul, overtaken by the urge to view your excellency.”

You hear gasps behind you. Scenting him is honor enough, but to be so greedy as to look? No one would have expected such crassness from one of your station. 

“You must have done such a bold thing for a reason.” He doesn’t need to say more. 

“May I be very honest with you, my liege?” 

“If you lie, there will be dire consequences which surpass your comprehension. I command you to sit up. You dared to gaze on me once, explain to me why you did so while committing the same crime which now has you on your knees.” 

You do as you're told, though it feels wrong. Keeping your head bent just a moment longer, you seal yourself to look upon him again, slowly, while savoring every moment of ticking your eyes back up his mighty, towering throne. The empty expanse of stairs feels like a tease; to think you’ve seen him once and he’s commanding you to look upon him again! Your head feels light and you could faint. 

When you look up at him, he’s laid the entire weight of his attention on you. Those red-hot eyes betray nothing, you couldn’t even guess at what he was thinking. You just stare up at him, agape. Drinking in the plane of his cheek bones, admiring the marks of power which have scared his face. How do those marks trace across the rest of his body? You would touch them if you could, worship them.

He has to prompt you, and do your eyes deceive you in the half light, or does he smirk oh-so-subtly at your slack jawed expression. 

“Speak, Harvester.” 

“I simply had to know if you look as delicious as you smell.” The words spill out in a pleased breath. “I was compelled beyond reason.” 

“We’re you pleased with what you observed, Harvester?” 

You bite your lip, but cannot lie. “Yes, your supreme malevolence.” 

“Remove your hood and stand.” 

As he commands, you obey. It’s just a little difficult to see him in this light and from this distance, but his eyes must narrow on you as he takes in your features. It’s too much for you, even the idea of his interest is beyond your dreams, tears prick the corner of your eyes.

He notices.  

“Tell me, what is it that passes your thoughts as you stare, Harvester?” 

“I think, if I have earned execution for my slight on your person, and you were the last thing I saw in this life, I would still die a blessed woman. And I pray that in death I’m still allowed to serve you, and that when my clanfolk feast upon my corpse, my flesh is sweet, tenderized by your wrath.”

Whatever expectations you had of his response to this confession, you were not prepared for his laughter. It wasn’t a happy sound, or even a pleased sound. Caustic, viperous laughter made your wings tremor slightly. He is, by some tiny measure, amused with you.

“I’ve decided, Lord Harvester.” He declares.

Your father straightens his posture. “Decided what, my supreme liege?” 

“I have been troubled recently by a rush of ill-trained staff and nobles who think themselves better than their station, not crass enough to earn death but nonetheless overtly disrespectful despite their desire for my favor. Amongst all those who serve in my court, the Harvesters are seen as omens and begetters of death, one joining them in the day-to-day may serve as a more gentle reminder of their place, since the intimidation of their Emperor seems only to encourage improper conduct.” 

This generation was full of mouthy upstarts--such things happened once every few hundred years. He’d learned after the first two iterations of this curse that killing them all only weakened his armies. The children of these obnoxious young men often became supremely powerful--and more loyal when their sires weren’t murdered for the slight of simply annoying him. 

“Surely one of, or even a pair or two, of my most accomplished knights would serve that purpose better, great malevolent one.” Your father attempts to negotiate. “We are pleased to serve you in all your needs, be they on the battlefield or beyond.”

“If violence would sway them, I would not seek alternative means of wrangling the infidels in my presence.” He dryly remarks. “You, child of the lord.” 

And he must be referring to you. You’re at rapt attention, never having even blinked since he demanded you look upon his sacred everlasting temple. You stay silent, awaiting his question with big, eager eyes.

“Do you accept my proposition to serve on my court, and do my bidding?” 

“Of course, master of masters. I am yours loyally, eternally.” 

“Then it is settled. You are now mine.” 

He commands you to step forward, and stand opposite of your kin. You do so, of course, every order he gives is like oxygen to your lungs. Yet every word he says after that curling possessive phrase simply slips from your mind the moment you’ve obeyed him. 

You are now mine. 

A vortex of those words, lowly spoken and commanding, repeat over and over. They're the only words you'll ever need to hear again. Your heart won’t stop beating to the rhythm of your excitement and your wings tremble just so slightly. Even as your mother discreetly says her farewells and you watch your clan, your family, the kaleidoscope which makes up the world you’ve always known, fly away from you in a wind of autumn colors fading into the darkness of the night sky.

As you stare off at them, waving one last time even if none turn back to see you, you don’t notice the intensity of his gaze on your back. You might have compared him to a spider if you did, one satisfied with the plumpness of the prey which shakes against the bondage of its web.

Emperor Sukuna Ryoumen lets his gaze linger on you longer than he should, and longer than he cares to stare at most beings. He’s confused by himself at this moment, yet not displeased as he watches the slow, calm beat of your wings from a distance. He’s stirred in a way he’s never been stirred before and he’s determined to find out why. His heart seizes as you turn back to him with that pure devoted gaze, bowing his way one respectfully before you’re taken by Uraume to your new quarters.  

No one, not in all the many many years of living, has anyone ever looked at him like that. There was not even a shred of faux desire in your eyes, no hidden disgust, no ulterior motivation hiding behind your words, no fanaticism, no fear.

Perhaps it’s curiosity that drives him to keep you, uniqueness means more and more the longer one lives. But even as you walk off, led by his most faithful and capable servant, he dislikes the distance. He watches it grow, feeling this odd ache within him increase at the same rate, but he resists the urge to get up and follow after you.  

Yes, curious indeed…

Chapter 2

Uraume was flabbergasted. 

As far as they could recall, they were supposed to have gained a new member of the castle staff. This female was to be an attendant, not a new thing to attend to. Yet here they were, attending you instead of his lordship and master. Visibly they look unperturbed, as always, but one should not be fooled by appearances—Uraume is not pleased. 

They guide you to the hall after the rest of the court has seated, with the same timeliness and precision as they would the Emperor, and you set yourself to the right of his holy malevolence. Not to sit at a table setting, no, simply to stand there. You look out of place, dressed plainly in the striped black and white robes the Harvesters traditionally wore. You’d been offered other clothes by the Emperor himself, but refused them, much to the irritation of the demons who’d been ordered to make and deliver the garments. 

Despite this obstinance, you went unpunished. And when Uraume went to inform their master of your answer to his gifts, the response was only laughter. Laughter. It was at that moment that they decided they hated you.

It wasn’t jealousy, they just knew their place and knew the place you belonged in too. And it certainly wasn’t watching over the emperor’s table, not with shy or discerning eyes, but with open curious gazes at the food and the people. 

It was utterly disrespectful to the way of things.

While you were not human, you were not a curse either. Not a demon, or a monster. Not many of the animal-men which littered the lands ever came to Uraume’s attention. Perhaps there were a few on staff, but they were only slightly more useful than their completely human counterparts and only if the animal in them made them hardier than the average monkey. They, like their master, looked down on all mortals, as it was correct for them to do.

That is why they could not comprehend you. 

A butterfly. Feeble, delicate, flighty. 

They couldn’t think of an insect they hated more than the butterfly. A moth at least laid destruction upon the fibers it found. A butterfly was a pest. A floaty, distracting spec in the air. They’d yet to see with their own eyes a single way in which you were useful to the castle. They’d never met a Harvester. They did not know exactly what purpose such creatures served in the wider world, and did not care to know either. 

So what your people tended the dead? Most of the beings allowed residence here had slaughtered hundreds, if not thousands, and ate the flesh of men as commonly as any other animal meat. Were you somehow meant to intimidate them? It made no sense. 

And yet, though you were a weak creature below even Uraume’s consideration, you were obviously highly favored by his master. 

Emperor Ryoumen, however, did not seem to notice the little ways in which he favored you. 

“My malevolent lord.” You greet him every morning. “What a beautiful day.” 

“I do not consider any day more or less pleasant than another.” He replies distractedly. “Nor understand why that should be commented on every hour after sunrise.”

“Well, you should at least notice.” You say, daring to correct the ruler of all things. Uraume must bite their tongue not to chastise you. They’ve already been reprimanded for doing so twice before. “The dawn light cast a glorious gold on the castle gardens. If you’re not going to enjoy the view, why build such a magnificent and sprawling estate?”

At that, head servant Uraume could not hold back sharp words. “Dare you not question the Lord of Suffering—” 

But instead of smiting you for daring to interrogate their master, the Emperor raises a hand and silences his oldest companion. He regards your figure with interest, a clear slow drag of his sacred gaze up and down the curves of your body, and Uraume swears bile churns in their stomach.

“I built it because I could.” He answers.  

“And it’s very, very nice. I think I’d like to see more of it, honestly, I’d no idea there was so much finely manicured land around your radiance’s home.” 

Home?! What an insulting word to use to describe the capital of the world! A home? They feel red in the face. What a presumptuous pest you are, they can’t wait until you’re thrown out, or better yet killed—

“I’ll consider it.”

You look surprised. Damn you for being able to show it on your face, because even that you get wrong. You don’t show half the shock they feel, and none of the disgust. 

“Consider what, most high one?” You ask in a too-sweet too-innocent voice. 

“Taking you around.” The Emperor drawls, as if such invitations are normal. “There are several districts to the estate and it would take weeks by foot to see it all. It’s been some time since I have personally surveyed them. I need to ensure that my standards have not been forgotten while my attention has drifted from the maintenance of the galley. Actually, I’ve decided. We’ll begin walking it, say, midafternoon once the lords of the south have presented their supposed treaty for my consideration.” 

“Truly, really truly?” You gush, “That would be beyond delightful, my malevolent holiness! What a gift you allow this poor ghost of death, to see the glory of your world by your side.”

The only good thing about you seemed to be your faith. Even if you didn’t have any manners at all, you at least showed the Emperor the reverence he was due. And you always obeyed him. 

“Hush.” The Emperor commands you, and you slip a hand over your mouth to stop anymore words from spilling out. “Eat this, and then resume your duty, Harvester.” 

“As you command, master of all things.” 

This next part was the one Uraume hated most. How their precious most coveted Emperor would, with his own sacred hands, take an entire rib or a leg of meat and present it to you for you to consume. They saw how he’d watch (and so everyone else watched too) with this half lidded satisfied glare as you bent over and took the meat from his hand with your mouth. You exhale first, a harvest-colored noxious mist making the flesh shrink with rot right before all on-looker’s eyes, then you’d unfurl and curl your tongue around the flesh which all slips into your mouth with a disgusting slurp. 

Well, Uraume’d never seen a butterfly do that. Maybe you were a bit monstrous, but in no way did that impress them. They remained firm in their dislike for you. 

There is an invisible twitch in their eye as they watch over what has become an oddly ordinary scene. The servants are not meant to eat at the table with the lord or any of his court. Servants eat in sometime late in the night, after all the work of the day is done. The highest-ranking human servants nibble on the left overs, the rest were lucky to consume the spiced gruel prepared for them. 

And there you stand, feasting. Your tongue searches around for the last scraps, and when it finds the bones clean, you rise and he places it on the table for you.  

Uraume, and the collection of royal humans and demons around the table, might have watched with a mixture of disgust, fear, and consideration. But the great and only Emperor Sukuna Ryoumen watched with a greedy yet unspoken desire. 

“Thank you for the treat, my lord.” You thank him, voice slightly sticky.

And Emperor Ryoumen just curls his hand closed and points to the other side of the hall, silently dismissing you. It might have appeared like he was not watching, but he was. From his periphery, his right eyes tracked you as you began to walk around the table freely. Your wings flutter as you walk away, in a way he’s learned means you’re contented. 

He liked how your wanderings caused a sweaty anxiety to pepper the foreheads of the humans allowed at his feasting table and how your presence confused the demons. His leniency with you is so natural it confounds him, yet that slow, double taped flutter which ends in you freezing in place and watching those around the table with statuesque stillness has become one of his favorite sights. You might stop mid step behind a particularly at ill-ease guest’s chair, or perch yourself somewhere slightly more out of the way, but wherever you are, it’s difficult to keep himself from gazing your direction. 

You changed the world around you just by being present. And this amused him, for he felt himself unaffected. 

The Ruler, the one above all others, the greatest being to exist, the true immortal beast, could not see for himself that he was the most enamored, and this perhaps unnerved his court more than anything else. You had a power none before you had, and they were cautious of what that might mean. 

The first day you’d joined the court for a meal they knew something had changed in Emperor Ryoumen. 

It started off innocent enough. Well, innocent enough to you. A simple comment—a compliment even—which earned you a rather nasty look from Uraume a few afternoons after you arrived. 

It was the first time you’d been invited to enter the feasting hall. The first time was over supper, the castle was lit with a seemingly endless line of torches which cast a twisting golden glow, muddling the strong distinction between red and white which were so starkly visible in the day. A mysterious aura that usually existed only in his throne room stretched across his entire palace.

You were awestruck by it, to say the least. Led by Uraume in a hypnotic sort of trance. This was before you’d spied the food.

“Oh!” You’d exclaimed upon seeing the spread of meats and stewed treats displayed across the banquet, “That looks delicious!” 

“Do not gaze upon the spread of the heavenly one, Harvester.” Uraume had to bite back the harlot instead of calling you by the titled they’d been ordered to refer to you as, “Be grateful you are even allowed to stand beside it and—” The demon’s mouth snaps shut when the Emperor raises his hand to silence the servant, the one person until this point who might have considered themselves openly favored by the ancient ruler.

In this moment their world shatters, not that anyone sees. And yet, they all sense a change. The table is already set, each seat filled by an owner of powerful eyes and a status, and these persons know that no one stands beside the Emperor at the head of the table. Just his wave ordering you closer makes a whisper of shock race between them. 

“Harvester y/n.” Emperor Ryoumen drawls, who does not care about eyes on him and never has, “What is it you eat?”

“My people are carnivores, your malevolency.” 

“I do believe I knew that.” He sounds disinterested, but the table has gone silent. Hardly ever does the Emperor speak during a meal—these ostentatious meals were more for show than to actually enjoy the food being served. He takes a log of unrecognizable flesh with a thick bone visible in the center, and he offers it up to you. “Try this.” 

You move to lift the large piece of meat from his hand carefully so as to not touch him with your fingers. But the moment he notices your arm move he snatches the morsel away. Four red eyes consider you with an up-and-down flicker, and your heart beat ticks with a nervous patter. 

“No, this table is not for you. If you wish to eat, you will do so from my hand.”

It’s a command, and you don’t wish to disobey. Yet and still, you hesitate. 

“I do not wish to harm you, most high one, my breath is toxic.” You explain, “It will wilt your flesh.”

He cackles, “You are not capable of maiming me. Eat.”

And the Emperor’s words cannot be ignored or disobeyed. So, a bit awkwardly the first time, you do as you do with food, and as you’ve done every other time. You can almost imagine that as you consume, you also take in his breath and some small sample of his spirit which graces your treat simply by nature of him feeding it to you. 

Your thoughts are consumed by him. In part that he’s been so kind to you, the other that you’re allowed to be so close to him. You’re a bit giddy and a bit nervous, he can see that in the way your eyes flicker between the meat in his palm and his eyes.

His thoughts, on the other hand, dig around for answers.

“Tell me, what do you think of this?” He voices.

“It’s very salty.” You reply once it’s gone. “And what sort of meat is it?” 

“Sea monster.” He says casually, and you gasp. He likes the look of surprise on your face, the little sounds you make when you feel as if he’s gifted you something special, when a finery like sea beast is an everyday entree at his table. You’re very easy to delight. “Is it to your taste?” 

However, you don’t simply nod your head like a sheep and say whatever it is you think might please him. No, no, you admit shyly, “Well, I can tell it was prepared with care but it’s a bit fresh for my liking. It would be much better with a bit of sun seasoning, I’m sure.” Then that strange sucking tongue you have darts out to lick your lips, and you add, “I do like that it’s salty.” 

From the corner of his eyes he sees the reactions of the on lookers. Uraume did not approve, and the others seemed to fear for your life. But Sukuna? He feels a tickle in his throat and he laughs at you again. He can’t help himself. He’s laughed more since the moment you fell to your knees before him than he has in the entirety of his existence.

You don’t flinch from it, or frown. Your lips turn to a pleased but small smile which shines on him, and he feels a heat build in his chest. This, this feeling right here, is what you draw out from him, and what he cannot understand. It’s not a rabid sort of heat, like anger or the kind he gets from victory, it’s a tight clenching of his chest that veers on painful but somehow feels satisfying. 

“I can feed you too, flutter-shy.” A voice teases, louder than the common chatter. “What do you do to earn treats, pretty thing?” 

Emperor Ryoumen looks up, immediately enraged. His eyes find the perpetrator’s cocky grin not so far from the table head. He recognizes those features. Bright blue eyes, pale hair, lanky. The Gojo heir, who has been sent here for observation. He hates this child, especially as he reigns in the desire to smite him. Though even the King can admit the young man is powerful and will probably only grow stronger, he’s also an arrogant nuisance and has been since he was spawned. 

You don’t answer, and having not noticed the look of discomfort that flickers across your face or earned the immediate force of the emperor’s wrath either, the young Gojo continues his jibbing. 

“I wouldn’t mind myself a pet, if they looked half as charming as you. Don’t think I could ever let your pretty feet touch the ground though. Are you Emperor Ryo’s new toy? Good choice sire, I’ve heard these insect folk are sensitive—” 

“Shut your fowl filthy mouth. Don’t speak like scum unless you desire to be treated like scum.” He sneers the boy’s way. “The Harvester is to serve me, not the court as your entertainment.” 

Gojo’s smile doesn’t flinch, but he nods his head. “Apologies master of masters, of course. I wasn’t aware that you didn’t like to share.”

“Be grateful we share air.” The Emperor dismisses him with a short wave.  

The Gojo heir and his little comrade in terror of the Geto clan, share a look which the Emperor does not acknowledge. The talk starts then, but it certainly doesn’t end. Especially not when there are many more meals to come, each which feature you being fed from the Great Sukuna Ryoumen’s own hands. 

He insists on it, even when you shy away from accepting. The offerings are always different, but always the finest pieces of meat, fresh and juicy, though he knew they were not your favorite. He gave them to you just to know what you thought of things he’d grown so used to they seemed no different to him than the tiles that lined his halls. Or so he said.

His eyes fixated on your mouth, and he savored the tingle of your noxious breath on his skin as your simple exhale rotted the flesh right before his eyes. He watched how you sucked every bone presented to you absolutely dry. He memorized the curl of your proboscis and the flat of the fleshy part of your tongue, along with the alien way you did everything, and it did not stop amusing him.

It might have looked a certain way, but he only watched to ensure you actually fed, since you rejected so many of his offerings when he wasn’t the one personally delivering them to you. And when had he ever cared if another being was well fed or not? That was a question best not asked or answered. 

Though he masked the brunt of his ire with apathy, that awful Gojo boy did bring something to his attention which he continued to wrestle with even weeks later. It was laced in and out of the court rumors, and through it all that one word spoken over and over, stuck with him. 

Pet. 

Initially he’d rejected that word. He didn’t need amusement, or something useless to take care of. He didn’t like pets; the entire concept was inane to him—as inane as marriage and siring offspring. But he’d let you into court on a whim, really. If you weren't some kind of living toy--which is what he considered pets--then what was your purpose to him?

Everything in life had purpose, whether it was obvious to the eye or not. He’d lived and ruled long enough to understand the cycle of things. Something initially useless can become vital, and things once vital become useless. 

And as he takes you on walks outside, watching your excitement as you flutter around and amuse him with your oddity, he ruminates on this odd stirring he feels within himself when you’re nearby. It’s a kind of suffering, he thinks, this crushing unseen pain in his chest which dominates his thoughts despite having no tangible presence. There is a desire brewing in him to see you everywhere. To watch your nose curl, to witness your smile, to observe how you study strange things you find, to laugh at your dislike of things. It’s…a pleasant distraction from the day-to-day mundanity.

Only when he comes to this conclusion does he come to peace with that word.  

You’re just that. A pet. A pretty, amusing, little pet he’d drag some momentary amusement from and find a use or two for before discarding. When he explored fully and understood these feelings, he’d kill you or let you return to your family. Whichever he fancied. It wasn’t a cold outcome in his eyes, just the way of the world. 

But in the meanwhile, while he figured things out, he could just enjoy you… right?

Chapter 3

The Harvester had already long outstayed the normal welcome of a guest. That much was obvious. 

And if you hadn’t thought the same yourself, Uraume was happy to mutter about it more often than was polite, as they called you a lout and a locust. But you’d learned to never expect the strange demon that was Uraume to be polite to you or anyone besides their master. 

And though it somewhat hurt your feelings to hear these words, they did not make them untrue. What had you done since you arrived? It felt like you’d been eating and eating, and giving what? 

If you served no purpose to the court, you must have been no better than a locust. 

What had been a haze of delightful gratitude, was dispelled and your once satisfied mind was now constantly anxious. All your lord ever asked of you, was to join him over meals where he fed you, and to follow him on short walks around his grand estate where he’d ask you strange questions and then leave. Then after, you’d be left to your own devices for the rest of the day, and Uraume ensured that meant you stayed in your room where you’d ’keep out of trouble’—whatever that was supposed to mean. 

You’d asked your lord about it once, just to see what else it was you could do for him, but he’d only turned to the devil he’d indentured to eternal service, and relayed that you were forbidden from doing any work at all. Since arriving you’d spent more time in your life sitting alone than you ever had. 

Frankly, it was driving you stir crazy! 

The complete deflation of your spirit was evident to everyone who witnessed the strange display. Well, in your mind there was only one person of true importance in attendance at any time, and he certainly didn’t seem to notice or care.

It was a terrible, terrible miscommunication, made by his blindness because of all these odd feelings you stirred in him. For normally such things he usually could notice, even if he didn’t care. In his eyes, you seem content enough. Nothing in the way you maneuver has stopped making his heart do that strange beating which has not ceased since your arrival. This is why he only allowed you to be present in his day for sparse moments—you were a terrible distraction, and he was always left wanting more of you.

Your obvious depression, which to him was just another amusing thing he caught you doing from the corner of his eyes, would be left forever unaddressed. 

Or it would have been. 

Emperor Ryoumen sat at his desk, jotting down his signature under a new territorial agreement founded between humans and demons, sealing the lands after a bloody battle between sorcerers and magic kin ended in tenuis draw. The dispute didn’t have much to do with him, but most of them didn’t anymore.

How long had it been since he’d personally led men to battle? It must have been some twenty years at least…

As the ink dried on the letter, he rang the bell on his desk to call for Uraume, who would take it and have the scroll delivered to the intended parties. It was a silent bell, one that would only sound to the demon tied to it, as the constant ringing annoyed him immensely. He found chimes in general to be distasteful, though he’d had a set of crystal wind catchers installed in a section of the garden you said received a nice breeze.

He didn’t smile—he never smiled, unless it was cruelly or to sneer at some lesser being—but the memory of your delight seeing such a silly addition to a shorter stroll he liked to take you on, with the view that always made you gush about how glorious it was here and how pretty the aftermath of his battles were. Then he’d regale you with war stories.

Thinking of it, he’d almost forgotten he’d called for anyone when the door slid open. 

Snapping out his day dreaming, he scowled. 

“What is it?” He snapped.

“That pest of yours!” Uraume scoffed back, the door sliding shut with a controlled yet obviously irritated pompf. They stepped his way, white hair looking unusually frazzled as they crossed the threshold of the Emperor’s study, “If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her enough times what you demand of her! Until she is called, she is not to disturb any servant or guard with her pestering. But what do I hear day after day, she insists she be given some kind of labor! Do I look to be her task master? Have I not enough responsibilities—”

“Silence.” The Emperor drawls, and Uraume’s mouth snaps shut. “Speak clearly and concisely, or don’t speak.” 

Their back straightens, and they withhold a puff of annoyed air. 

“My highest apologies, most honored one, for this one has forgotten their place.” 

“You are pardoned, continue.” 

“All that is meant, is that with all the grace you’ve granted her, my highest lordship, and the position in which she is meant to occupy,” whatever that was, though Uraume didn’t dare question their lords intentions, “this moping is inexcusable. If she cannot be satisfied, it may be time for the Harvester to make her way, whatever that may mean…”

Of course, Uraume’s thoughts ticked to violence. Killing you would be easy, and yet with a great disappointment they do not see the same vision mirrored in their master’s knotted brow. No, Sukuna was stumped by the sudden (somewhat violent) desire for you to stay.

“Why haven’t I heard of this?” He asks. 

“Well, she has enough sense not to defy your malevolence in your presence.” Uraume sighed lowly, “What trite mundanity to bring to your attention, I apologize for wasting these moments, highest one. For what reason was it you called me?” 

His thumb flicks the edge of the paper, he remains thoughtful. He can’t think of a moment where you seemed at all ill-content while his eyes were upon you. When you frowned or pouted, it only made him chuckle, and whatever bothered you seemed to pass like a light breeze.

After a belated moment, he ordered Uraume off, though he remained thoughtful.

The day passed, but soon enough it was dinner and his demeanor had changed significantly since the afternoon. Now he knew you were discontent, he simply observed you. Of course, you did not just outright confess your unhappiness. For him, you were nothing but gratitude and smiles, and sly innocent comments which made him laugh over the banquet hall with a caustic cackle.

You were a piercing of something both hot and cold in the facsimile of normality he’d grown accustomed too. Worse yet, you made him acknowledge the pattern of pure mind-numbing monotony that was his own creation. Even if he didn’t care to upset the order of things yet, you changed his manner of thinking just by fluttering across his eye line. 

Because of this, a curling jealousy made him snap his hands into fists when he thought about the idea of you leaving. He wanted you nowhere else but beside him—in fact he left you alone so much of the day in fear he might suffocate you with his presence, like a child hoarding glowbugs in jars. Or that his dim days would brighten so much he’d grow blind to you. 

Apparently, he’d been so afraid of being unable to see you that he refused to see in the first place. Fear! What a feeling you sparked in him so casually! There was nothing in this word he feared, that is what he’d thought until dinner. 

So, he watched now. Carefully, closely, but only from his periphery.

It’s when he’s not staring directly at you, that he finally sees you honestly.   

From the corner of his vision, he sees how you dim slightly. Not with frowns or tearful eyes, but with the sharpness in your gaze as you prowl about the banquet hall. In the irritated flicker of your wings as those whom you dislike amongst the staff brush past when you try to assist in their comings and goings. You’re not as still as you once were, fighting with the loose threads of your sleeves or biting your lips until they become slightly swollen.

He considered you and decided quietly to let things go on as they were. After all, to him this was a grand experiment in which his only goal was to decipher what it was about you which compelled such unnatural reactions from him. Would he grow bored of you, if you faded more? 

But that is not what happened.

Days passed, then over a week, and while Uraume bit their tongue and avoided speaking on their own annoyance, your energy faded until it became blindingly obvious that you were unhappy. Your colors seemed less bright, more rotted than autumnal, and though your commentary still amused him, he had to drag reactions from you which had once come willingly. 

And instead of growing tired of you, his idle thoughts dwelled on how he might fix it. What would it feel like to see you smile at him once he solved your problems?

This is how your education began. 

He refuses to see you labor, even if this is what you truly desire. The idea that you may even feed or dress yourself is irredeemable enough though he refrained from commanding you to hand those duties off to one of the petty servants. This much you would secretly be grateful for. 

So, he sends you books. Text books, novels, histories about various things. He wonders which you will prefer—strategy books, or recounts of war? He demands you spend your free hours reading them, followed by an after-breakfast interrogation about each tome. This worked, or at least opened you to more freely speaking to him, but not much. You were quick to become wistful, lost in your own thoughts of home and the skies, much to his dismay.

Then this morning, you’d eaten for him, but only after he insisted. And with hardly any of the zeal he was accustomed to. It was on your usual walk that he lost his patience with this game of his own making. You were hardly answering questions about your last reading, nearly mumbling and deferring to his own opinion instead of stating your own. 

It was insufferable. And you? You were clearly miserable. 

“Are you ill content with your accommodations, Harvester y/n?” He finally snaps. 

You go rigid. “Of course not, most malevolent one.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” He warns. 

“I would never lie to you.” You insist this time, with  just a touch of that fire he desires. “I understand that I’m being treated very well, and it is an honor to be in your graces and I feel most honored to hold so much of your attention.” 

Though the admiration fluffs his ego, he remains stern. “And to hide things from me is equivalent to lying. I know you are not at ease, and so I will only command you once more. Explain yourself.”

You break his stare, and he almost orders you to look up. 

But you speak, so he holds his tongue.

“I do not wish to insult you, or the opportunity to be with you, highest honored one, but we are a working people, and seasonally migratory.” You explained. “I am not used to being this still, or without tasks. Perhaps I am… lonely, outside of the time we spend together which I feel blessed to share.” You quickly add, “But nonetheless is a very small section of this day. It’s just…” 

“What?” 

“I do not feel much purpose here, is all.” You finish. “That is the best I can explain it.” 

He considers you down the bridge of his nose. Those fiery eyes look tick across your frame. Up, then across. He believes that work is below you, but it’s clear now you do not think the same. 

“Fine.” He concedes. “If it will stop your sulking, I will find a thing or two you may be capable of handling.” 

Finally! You think, and thank him profusely. Even the thought that you’d finally be useful set you to an excited flutter. 

No longer a guest. You’d have a place. A role. 

A duty.

That was, until you were given the work he would allow you to do!

Emperor Ryoumen designated you his new personal attendant. This was a position once reserved for Uraume, whose passive hatred of you may have boiled into disdain if the pompous looks were anything to go by. And it was they who explained to you your new position. 

You were to wake up when he wakes, and your bed chamber would now be beside his, so that you may always be at his beck and call. You were to help him dress, and keep his things tidy. You were to follow him throughout the day and tend to his needs, or ensure all things he needed were taken care of. 

You would fetch things, or fetch the person who could, and relay his orders to the lesser beings. He made you do more than that, making you read his reports and attend his meetings with him. And though it made you hot under the collar, he asked you constantly about your opinions on the on goings of his business which you feel very unqualified for. 

It seems only slightly better than being alone in your room all day. But nonetheless it is work, and by nature it makes you feel decidedly less limp. And though you don’t seem to notice, you single handedly have improved the Emperor’s mood. Visits to the palace are briefer and generally more beneficial, and the number of executions has decreased significantly (though no one wants to ask if you’d actually prefer if there were more of them.)

You’re much too busy to listen to the gibbing of the court anymore. Honestly, you wonder how Uraume kept up with all these little tasks and managed to manage the palace. At first, they seemed to resent you, but subtly and slowly became used to the new arrangement. They did not, and would never, stop snapping when you delivered orders to them instead of their master. But it was obviously far more convenient for them to stay in the kitchens or their own offices where they could organize the staff without much distraction. 

No, Uraume didn’t smile at you, or even thank you. But you might have earned an appreciative nod, which made your running about feel a little less silly. 

And you did find it a little silly. 

But one part of your new job made you feel more than silly—a real sort of embarrassment colored your cheeks. Because you were also to help your lord with more intimate parts of life. You… well… bathed him. 

Bathing was both your most and least favorite chore. This you thought while you busied yourself with drawing the water, scenting it with oils and all sorts of leaves and petals that made the air smell more fragrant than you’d like. You stirred the water with a large wooden ladle, until the brew was a slightly yellow-brown color. The three taps of the wood on the tub basin would signal to your lord that the water was ready. 

He entered the room, a thick white cloth tied around his waist, and his near nude body never failed to make moisture well in your mouth. For any distaste you had for the herbs and oils smelling in the hot water, your complaints ended a moment after his scent of sweet rot melted into the heat. 

Ah, he scented like the finest stew. 

He had a cut figure, obvious even when fully dressed in his regalia. He was muscled, with a definition to his abs which fine sculptures could not replicate. The fine smattering of flush colored hairs made an obscene line from his mid-stomach to somewhere below the towel you could not see. 

You didn’t dare stare. 

But you sealed the brief glances of him you allowed yourself into your deepest, most cherished memories. 

Despite Uraume telling you dressing your malevolent lord would be apart of your duties, he did not allow it. So, it was only in these brief times before and after his bi-weekly baths that you saw his skin. This is where you could stare—and even touch—the planes of his body. 

The places between his shoulder blades where tension made his back ache. The swell of his biceps. The expanse of his pecs, and the hard pane of his abs. Though he’d lined out clearly where you were and were not allowed to touch him, and it was never below his second shoulder blades or above the knee. But you washed his feet and carefully scrubbed his calves with a kind of reverence that was sickening. 

You’d blame whatever evidence of your arousal that brewed when you massaged him on simple awe if he asked (he never did). But the intensity in which you felt desire for him had to be landing you in some dark pit of the afterlife, as far from your star as you could be kept. You were meant to look at him with admiration, not attraction! 

It was difficult to think clearly, though. The room was steamy, making it cumbersome to move your wings much at all, so you kept them tightly closed to prevent the moisture from making them too sticky. Though you’d like to bat them, just to stir the stuffy air. It was a form of torture for your kind, surely, but the suffering was well worth it.

In here, he allows you to worship him in ways few are allowed to dream. 

Now your hands are in his hair, massaging his scalp lightly. Those piercing red eyes are closed, and the man you call a god is totally relaxed under your touch. Occasionally you reach down for a jug of clean water to rinse the oils from his hair. Technically he is already washed and clean, and what he enjoys now is just the luxury kings and gods are allowed—the freedom to just lounge in the bath however long he pleases. 

And if it were not for the seasonal discomfort which makes you feel so tired, you’d be in heaven. 

Ah, you think, if loving this earns me hell, I will enjoy the heaven of life as long as I may…

The One and Only, Emperor Ryoumen practically purred as your fingertips scratched against his scalp. He’d never been one to take prolonged bathes before. Uraume would have obeyed if he asked for this sort of treatment, but bathing was simply a necessity. A bath was to get clean after battle, or to cleanse oneself in the oils of the fields. 

But this? 

He might start having a bath every few days if it meant he could indulge in your touch. It was almost troublesome, how good this was. 

When you’d cautiously recounted the duties Uraume relayed to you, he’d initially expected to reject your help in his bathes as he had when you attempted to help clothe him. He’d always preferred a woman’s hands, which is why he ordered Uraume to gain a female vessel through their last several incarnations. But he’d only barely assented to Uraume’s assistance. His cloaks and chains were too heavy for you, and though he’d allowed you closer, he still resented seeing you work. 

However, he couldn't help but wonder what your hands would feel like upon his sacred body, so he’d allowed it. His imagination did you no justice.

He likes the pressure in which you touch him, the warmth. The true reverence. 

And it does not stop there, which is probably the worst part. 

He likes to watch you stretch when you get up after sitting too long beside him in the office. He likes watching you fly when he asks you to fetch his books. He likes to hear your opinion on the things he gives you to read, or when you recount something inane about a meeting he’s had. Or when you sit in the corner and attempt (and fail) to pick up a lady’s craft he’s set you on just to frustrate you, and you finally toss the project away with a huff and seek out his company under the guise of “checking in.”

He thinks about you constantly. 

Though he’d expected by now to be tired of you by now, he was not. 

He had you at his right hand any time he could make the excuse to have you. And when you were gone for too long, he would think of you distractedly or ask Uraume to retrieve you. It seemed utterly inconceivable, but it was true.

Equally uncharacteristic, he did not want to come to terms with it.

You weren’t currently beside him, and he could feel the irritation creeping in along the edges of his vision.  

You hadn’t even asked to be dismissed this morning. He’d told you to wander off after breakfast, since he was to meet with the young Gojo heir and a few of his advisors. Emperor Ryoumen was not a jealous demon, but he did not like the looks the heir laid your way when he dared gaze at you over the feasting table, let alone when the room was smaller and less occupied. 

He wouldn’t suffer seeing such a disgusting gaze again. So he dismissed you.

As the meeting droned on—something about the sorcerer settlements wishing to absorb more human villages on the border—he was quickly growing tired of this chatter. If he had to deal with the Gojo heir and his insufferably entitled family line for much longer, he might just wipe them all off the map and the villages they were so keen on too. Damn the next generation.

But he didn’t. 

Damn it all. When had he become this reasonable? And so permissive? Time must have dulled him…

He wondered this to himself as the Gojo boy continued to speak. Though thoughts only pausing when suddenly the young man quieted, and looked left to right with an infuriating curiosity. 

“Where is the Harvester y/n today, great malevolence?” 

“Where my servants are is none of your clan’s business. Have you concluded the business at hand, or are you informing me that your clan needs more time to consider its own position before demanding land from me?” 

“Human land you hardly find useful, my holy Emperor.” Gojo teases a smile. “They’re so ill kept, even the demons find them unsuitable for food. The labor they may provide us will reward you 1000-fold, this I will swear to your throne on.” 

“You can swear upon a passing cloud. Until I know the nature of such labor, I have no cause to believe this exchange is nothing but beneficial to your people. Whereas others of your kind have shown interest in this same land and provided proof that these assets will prove fruitful in the future. But you demand all of it, and not just a portion which may be divided amongst you to all’s satisfaction.”

But the young man only cockily smiled, those cursed blue eyes of his unsightly with how amused he seemed with himself. 

“My vision is simply greater than theirs. And requires more investment.” He offers, as if such words are a suitable replacement for actual plans. “I’m sure you’ll see the value of my proposition once you’ve some time to think on it. And there was another matter I wanted to bring to your attention, most holy one. Better for it that the Harvester isn’t here, though I do enjoy seeing her about.” 

Emperor Ryoumen attempts not to visibly stiffen with anger. 

“What is it?” He snaps.

“As she’s been here for over a season now, I ask about your intentions for the Harvester.” 

“She is my servant.” 

“She is more than that, it appears very obvious to us all that you favor her, and her kind. They have been loyal to our highest one since the conquering days, it seems time you’d honor them at court. No one disputes that. And she is effectively their princess, no?” 

His four eyes narrow in on the Gojo heir, but as always, his constant smirk doesn’t even flicker away. He doesn’t flinch, nor cower. There is no fear in this young man, and he is powerful because of it. It is also perhaps why the Emperor has yet to kill him—though his right hands drum across the armrest of his chair to resist the urge. 

“I suppose yes.” Though he hadn’t much considered her rank. “She is daughter of the Lord Harvester.”  

“Then she is of suitable rank to be courted by the lords and ladies who may find her of interest?” 

Instead of dancing around the topic, the emperor resisted rolling his eyes and simply asked, “For what purpose would I allow that?” 

“So, she may be married, my lord.” He answered like it was so obvious. 

Maybe it was. 

Married!?! 

He attempts to obscure his utter shock with a mocking laugh. “If you have nothing but foolishness left to discuss with me, it is time for your party to retire. I will consider your proposal. But do not expect my favor to come so easily.” 

“I don’t, master of masters.” The heir rises, and bows towards his emperor. 

Once the rabble is gone, Emperor Ryoumen is left to his own thoughts, which are intent on spiraling into a whirlpool of imaginings, much to your complete ignorance.  

Chapter 4

He should have expected this. 

He should have, and yet he had not, and so Emperor Ryoumen was quietly fuming. To be more exact, he was spectacularly angry and only barely able to keep it to himself. Though from the outside his irritation seemed only to simmer. Yes it was obvious that he was annoyed, but few were aware of the cause. 

You see, without his voiced descent to the Gojo’s heir insinuation over their last meeting, the young man had taken his dismissal as permission to just do however he pleased. And now he was openly attempting to woo the court Harvester.

How absolutely infuriating. 

Emperor Ryoumen’s eyes peered across his table with an intense kind of heat, which only served to put the lords about his court at ill ease. Well, though they might have been made uncomfortable by these chastising looks, they did nothing to actually stop what caused him to be so irritated to begin with.

Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so mad, if he was the primary and only annoyance. But the Gojo heir’s open interest in you, opened the floor for the others at court to express the same. It was the Getou heir next, and the parade of Zenin’s who were always bickering now playing for your attention—as if it would earn them more of the emperor’s favor. Even the greedy Mei Mei seemed to show a passing interest in his harvester, when before you had been left well alone by all of them.

This was how, both noisily and yet so subtly, Gojo Satoru ruined Sukuna’s favorite time of the day. 

Breakfast. 

“Harvest y/n!” The Gojo heir called your attention with that annoying, near singsong, prattling. “A fine morning, isn’t it.” 

Yes, that voice, now every day, calling your attention down away from where you should be, making you glide your way down the table. Your eyes fixate on him and you offer a small smile and a nod of your head. Of course, you obey when you’re waved closer and the young men waiting wrap you into a conversation of pleasantries that you unfortunately follow along with. 

There was a traitorous, viperous feeling that clawed up his throat when he heard you laugh at something Gojo the first time, and every time after. A part of him wanted to order you to ignore them. To force you by his side, while he forces all those grubby mules who look on and dare to desire what is his to eat gruel off the floor on their hands and knees instead of at the table like princes. 

The only thing you don’t do is accept any of the treats they offer you. The Gojo heir pouts when you don’t eat from his hand as you do from the Emperor’s, but still you deny him every time he offers. Watching you refuse them is satisfying in its own way, but it leaves him with questions. Do you reject them continuously because you do not want them, or you fear that you would harm them with your breath? He does not know. 

Not knowing where your affections lie is twisting his soul into knots. It’s a terrible kind of pain, internal and self-fueling. 

He’d be much more on edge if he wasn’t at least suspicious that you also found them annoying. It was as quiet of a dislike as your on-set depression had been. Just a look here and there, or a contained sigh as you peeled yourself away from their continuous, pestering attention. 

In all honesty, you’re also not quite sure why you entertain Gojo Satoru as much as you do. But you can’t seem to tell him no, even though you send nervous glances towards your one and only, as if unsure if you’re allowed to stand by this person’s side instead of his. 

But what does the one you look up to as god do? He says nothing, though his eyes never seem to leave you. He’s lost in his mind, drinking in those glances, which are taken as teasing. He thinks you’re goading him, you must be, with those soft looks and defiant non-compliance to his silent will. All the while you’re just hoping he’ll call you back to his side. 

He never does. 

There are two reasons why he neither slaughters the young men pestering you, nor orders you to ignore them. And that is because seeing you with the young men gives him another new, mind altering, perspective on his involuntary reaction to your presence. 

It’s a startling thing for one as old as he, for, finally, he’s noticed your body.

He sees when you bend how the stripes of your cloak fold open so he may catch a glimpse of your chest, the swell of your curves just hidden underneath the loose fabric of your daily wear. They way your hips swing as you saunter across the way. The stretch of your neck as you look back to him occasionally. The way you move your fingers and examine something the Gojo heir has handed you. The quirk of your lips as you speak, the flicker of your tongue. 

Now he’d had several dresses made and sent to you, but you’d refused to wear any of them, so the true shape to your curves he saw only vaguely. You hadn’t even taken off your normal wear when you helped him bath. You and your body were a mystery to him, even though most of his body was not a mystery to you. 

It made him hungry for you, this curiosity, and not in the way breakfast could solve. 

Instead of growling and grumbling, this was a longing of his lower abdomen which made the tongue beneath his navel wish to lick the lips of his lower mouth. This was the part of him he’d hidden from you, unsure of what you would do or say should you see the other unrecognizable body parts he had. Not just many eyes, or many hands, but a demonic form which hungered for flesh always. 

Was this him feeling shy? No. No. And some part of him was sure you’d never say that you found his body disgusting. No, he was more concerned by what it would do, should you touch him below the waist. Not when his mind had yet to reconcile these desires, and he struggled more with them every day you were beside him. 

It took all this for him to even think about coveting you and your body in the way someone might choose to conquer a kingdom to own a castle. But it took him noticing that was how others saw you, for him to see the value of your body himself. A realization that made him rethink the entire concept of marriage.

He’s seen it before as an inane contract. Inconsequential to his life. He owned the world; he didn’t need to own any one person in particular. He needed no land, he needed no allies, no intellectual partners, and he had a horde of servants to dote on his every desire. He’d live forever, so he had no use for heirs. Then what did he need a wife for?

Now the more carnal curling of these thoughts wriggled into his mind. He was beginning to realize the ways in which he did not own the people around him, the way he’d never considered until you neared him. Marriage, an amoral contract which to him seemed no more than a business arrangement, was not just a notion of man. There was a sort of marriage in the wild, as in the union of blood between the birds and the clawed beasts of man, demon, and beyond. 

Marriage was a primal sharing of bodies, forcing forms together in ways that he’d never thought important until the moments he was so keenly watching to see which parts of you would be revealed to him by the unordinary ways you moved for men and women that were not him.

And in those moments where he saw you differently, he became intent on getting you to accept him.

He wanted you to take his gifts, to covet them, to hold them like treasure. But you never did. He’d sent you many things. Not just clothing, jewelry, trinkets and things women were supposed to like. But you always returned them, citing you were not deserving of such things as a mere guest under his already well-spent grace. Now that your room was beside him, he simply had them all sent to and stored in your closet and various tables, even though you never so much as touched his gifts. 

Not only gifts, he wanted you to accept him. So that he may reach out and touch your arm even, the way they did so casually, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. That was probably because he wanted far more than just a fleeting touch of your hand. He wanted to have you wrapped around him, to taste your sweat, and eat your exhales with his tongues. 

Normally, say if you were a troublesome human colony or a land he’d yet to possess, he’d take what he wanted by force and think nothing of it. His hands were stained red many times over, after all. 

But he wanted you to want him. 

And there was no way for him to know if you desired him as he wanted you, which was what kept him still. If he did take you by force, would you fight anyway? If he truly insisted on giving you something, would you ever refuse? Probably not. Still… there was something sickening about forcing your affection however, as if it would betray the reverence which you always treated him in. 

If he was to have you, it would only be as you are and in total open worship of him. 

This left him at an impasse, and thoughtful in the times you were away, like now. He works out this tension the way any warrior of his stature should--by training. He has his demons serve as dummies, though they were never any true match for him, and feels the heat of exchanging blows clear his mind. 

Bodies are simple things, and your body would be no more complex if he would only put his hands on you. Though he would not want to crush your skull as he did his enemies. There was no need to silently fret, you had to desire him as he did you. He could feel the burn of your arousal the first time you dared to look up at him from your place amongst the kaleidoscope, and if you didn’t… well… he’d keep you around to study you further. He was king of all things, Emperor of the world, he could convince you to be his bride eventually and that would be that. 

This is what he thought as he re-robed in his more pristine garb and returned to his study where you were usually waiting for him. But as he cast a look around for you, he saw what had greeted him this morning. Nothing.

He frowns (no, the turning of his lips would never be called a pout!) and finds his desk chair, suddenly hit by an unwelcome concern.   

He hadn’t seen you once today, not even this morning, and he was trying to ignore the complaints that were filtering his way from the admirers you’d earned amongst the feasting hall. They too were curious, though much louder about their own concerns. But they don’t reach your ears—for you are nowhere to be found, and you never arrive.

He dismisses the entire table early, sharply. Everyone in attendance leaves the room as quickly as they politely can without causing a stampede. Even the demon’s fear the moment the Emperor might once again turn the might of his fury on them, so they leave. But he steps away to retire for the morning instead of inflicting his upset on the world around him as he might have once done, set at ill ease by finding himself once again alone in contrast to his months of enjoying your presence. 

The hours tick by, and you’ve yet to appear, so he sits alone in his study thinking. 

It’s strange that you’ve been missing for so long, yet he can’t bear the thought of looking weak should he ask about your whereabouts. At first, he’d simply assumed you’d slept in. As of late you’ve been slightly lethargic. At least twice this week Uraume’d been forced to seek you out, and cursed openly about how lazy you were. You seemed to resent this, but none the less it seemed not to matter how much you slept or ate, you were simply exhausted.

So today he’d let you be. 

He’d always been extremely permissive with you, allowing you to mostly do as you pleased. Especially as you were never truly lazy, despite Uraume’s comments which suggested elsewise. But he was growing weary with waiting today. He didn’t much care if you needed anymore sleep, his eyes desired you, and he was not used to going without his desired unfilled. He’d restrained himself enough in other ways, and you ought to be grateful for that.

He rings Uraume’s bell, which was dusty with how unused it’s been as of late, and the demon servant appeared not long after. There was no surprise when they heard what their Master requested, and diligently they sought you out, though not without a curse or two under their breath. 

But you don’t answer when they knock on your door. 

They grumble and grab for the master key which they use to unlock the many rooms of this sprawling estate. Frankly, they're ready to drag you out of bed by the wings if they have to. Well, they intend on unlocking the door, but with a cursory shimmy of the handle the door swung open no more effort. They look about and note nothing out of place. 

Well… nothing besides the fact you are not curled up in the plush fabrics of your cushions, lounging lazily like they’d expected to see. 

They pause, then break the sanctity of your room by entering without permission. Left, right, they look in the corners of your room for any sense of your presence and find nothing. A frown ticks across their lips. Taking a deep breath, they smooth down their hair, for trouble always makes the red splotch--which marks the head of all their vessels--to frizz.  

Uraume has not kept their position for so long by delivering bad news to their master. They solve problems, and present the resolved situation only, unless there is no other choice but to bother the Emperor with petty issues of the palace. So, they seek out the workers, some of whom you’ve become friendly with over time, and interrogate them. And though they cower when asked, all assure that none of them have seen you today. 

They ask the guards. Nothing.

They even go as far as to have the lesser nobles enquired. Still, no word of you.

As far as anyone is concerned, no one has seen your harvest colors today. No one.

This, of course, is not an answer that would please the Lord of Suffering Master Ryoumen Sukuna and so the search continues. They take to walking about the exterior of the palace, and when that yields no results, they turn to the guards to do the same, with a wider breath around the castle grounds. Soon they report, and yet again, nothing. 

There can be no more denying it. You are missing. 

They might not like you, but Uraume knows well the place you’ve stolen in their master’s mind. To displease him is the ultimate sin and surely returning to his study with you not in tow would displease him. Yet, as the afternoon comes too quickly, they have no choice but to return empty handed to their lord.  

When they report the news, the Emperor is obviously displeased. 

“Gone?” Emperor Ryoumen doesn’t sound like he can believe it. 

Uraume simply shakes their head. “None that I have spoken to has seen the Harvester, highest one.” And any who they hadn’t spoken to would have come forward by now.

“Then have the guard search the grounds.” He demands. “She’s never gone far.” 

“I’ve had the guards search.” The servant corrects, though with a dip of their head, as to not appear obstinate, “And no trace of the Harvester has yet been found.” 

For a moment, silence. A small part of Uraume’s spirit rises—maybe he is finally casting you out! But then he speaks….

“Then continue the search. And inform me the moment she is found; I will deal with her punishment for causing today's disruption.” 

They must hide the small smirk that threatens to flicker to their lips. You may not be banished, but to see you punished for anything at all would be a sweet day for Uraume. 

“Yes, master.” 

And while the master is obeyed always, that does not cause the Harvester to finally make a reappearance. Hours pass, and though you are asked about, the report is always the same. As much as they try to keep the search quiet amongst the staff, news travels fast amongst those attending court. The Harvester is missing and by dinner everyone knows, though the Emperor goes about the daily business as normal.

He tries to appear and sound unmoved. The others follow suit by keeping talk of you minimal, though it’s obvious they only keep quiet out of fear of earning his violent ire, which has been suspiciously lax since your arrival. Lax, but nonetheless they knew better than to believe the Emperor a completely changed man.

And he feels barely contained. His foot taps, he eats aggressively, and he speaks little. At least he doesn’t have to suffer hearing the Gojo heir attempt to woo you, yes, but at what cost? He’d bear it for hours longer if only to know you were safe—and it infuriates him. 

He hates this feeling! What more suffering must you introduce him to? How many layers of it has he yet to know?

The heat of jealousy boils behind his four, keen eyes, the longer you’re missing. Have you run away from him? There is some seeded concern that you might not want to be here any longer, but you were too intimidated by him to say it to his face. Though if you have run back home, how do you not expect to drag the full force of his fury onto your clan with this stunt? 

You must have greatly underestimated his power, which he would have to correct. 

But as sunset falls, the anger dissipates to prickling anxiousness, equally as unnatural on him as jealousy. He lingers on his feelings of late instead of on your potential imagined betrayal. The reverent touch of your hands on his skin, even if he never returned the physical attention. He saw the sparks of joy in your smile when he called for you, the persistence you had in your studies even when he knew the readings he offered were too difficult for you. Or the way you so obediently ate from his palm each day. 

Such things could not be faked. If he wanted to have you, could he be so easily convinced you would abandon him? No, that could not stand, he would not have a disobedient, flippant wife. 

The guards report, but he brushes them off before they can repeat the news he already knows they have for him. You will not be found by them. They’re all useless, he knows this. He’s not so sure why he relied on them to complete the task of finding you in the first place. And so, he decides to do what he should have done to begin with: look for you himself. 

His people don’t know your habits or where you like to go. They don’t know how you fly, or where you avoid. There can be no doubt, you’d have never left him like this—you’re hurt or lost or something equally foolish that would have never happened had you been at his side today instead of wandering off on your own. 

He’ll have you chained, he thinks, then you’ll never be so far again. 

Though with the weight of irons, he wondered if you’d still be able to fly…

The troop which came to report follows him as he heads towards the grand hall, and the front door, terrified of displeasing him further with any sign of disobedience. Perhaps you and he are connected, for the moment his intent sharpens and he means to find you with his own hands, you return.

He doesn’t see you right away, no. You haven’t stumbled into the grand hall in a rush, right into his arms like a fancy play. You’ve tried to sneak in, from some servant entrance on the opposite side of the Palace. The tizzy amongst the staff reaches his ears before Uraume appears to officially report, though there isn’t much delay. 

Quickly, the demon escorts the party of warriors to an often-unseen part of the estate, Uraume not even bothering to try and convince him to stay, and wait for the Harvester to be delivered to him. This he would have refused, of course, so the breath need not be wasted. There was not a thing in this world that could separate him from what he wanted beside himself, and what he’d wanted all day was to see you. No one would deny him any longer. 

He takes quick steps, striding ahead of Uraume once he senses you down the hallway. 

Then he sees you.

You’re on the floor, fretting over a large thing in your grasp until you hear the sound of footsteps coming quickly down the hall. That’s when you look up and see him. 

The Emperor towers over you normally, let alone when you’re kneeled on his polished floor, finely kept even in the depths of the servants corridors. Perhaps you can’t help it when your heart flutters as you see him, black robes flittering out around him in a billow of silk and golden thread details which flicker in the evening light. There’s a sharpness in how he walks that always reminds you of a winter breeze.

Lock tight jaw, the lines of power on his face make his expression even darker, basked almost completely in shadow. It’s so clear on his face that he was worried for you, you at once feel like an honored star and so very guilty for being away for so long. 

He takes in your body with a greedy kind of concern. How quickly you take over his own emotions. The moment he knows you’re safe, his worry melts into something coy and more exasperated than truly upset. You’re not unharmed entirely. Your striped garments are torn into shreds which lay about your legs, revealing your bare shoulders and just visible cleavage, and in general your appearance is utterly disheveled. 

He’s never seen so much of your skin. Even when you bathe him, it’s while dressed in so many formal layers keeping you hidden from him, and he nearly licks his lips. Eyes tracing down your body, looking for any evidence of true harm, his eyes find nothing at all truly  wrong with you. No blood, no injury.

Ah, the relief of seeing you alive and well practically blinds him. 

Still, he cannot let this go unmarked or unpunished. He’s about to snap at you for causing all this fuss, until he actually looks at the mess of lumpy fabric in your lap. He opens his mouth, then silences himself as two big red eyes accompanied by a bushel of hair, the same blush color as his own, peers out from around the shreds of your striped clothes. 

It appears as if you’ve brought home a child.

Chapter 5

“What is that?” Emperor Ryoumen deadpans.

He doesn’t need you to answer, he already knows. Of course he does.

That thing is a child.

A child.

His mind can’t comprehend it. There you are on your knees, with child. No, that thought makes the rationality in him die a little. You’re not with child, but you certainly are with a child. And a child that looks strangely like him.

That small little body mostly hidden behind your torn clothes peers up at him only for a moment. Just long enough to see the familiar color of his hair and the red hue of his eyes. The Emperor could not see the child very well—not even well enough to know if it were male or female—but he knows those eyes. Flickers of that color greet him in the reflections of water, and the shining shields of his enemies. Those eyes are the eyes of a cursed people—his people.

A sense of unease and fear surround the youngling, as the child nervously took in the approaching fleet of figures. The child fussed for a moment, as if to throw off the covering and stand up, maybe to put themself between you and all these strangers. But you're quick to still those arms, trying to fold the child tighter into the remainders of your robe.

The striking sight of your arms protectively around this child, whose forehead is pale and sweaty, sends his expression to a severe disgruntled frown. The vision such a sight penetrates his mind is so utterly unwelcome. He can’t help but imagine one day you’d have your arms around children that were his. Small things with his eyes and your coloring, or your face but marked with the marks of power and hardened by his blood.

It’s inconceivable. Are you to wrestle everything he thought useless in this putrid world from his head, and force him to desire it?

He should be furious with you. He is furious with you.

He is furious with the look of pity you lend that child in your arms, who is surely the reason you’ve been apart from him all day. He might have been passively upset by the attention you received from those who might choose to court you, but you never returned the attention. Never. How could you lay such a beautiful look, your crested eyebrows tweaked with worry and the look in your eyes so very soft, on someone besides him?

“I said,” he repeats, and on all the hells below and above, he hates repeating himself. “What is that?”

“Well, you see…” You begin, but quiet yourself when he raises a hand to silence you.

Taking a sterner stance, his lower hands settle on his hips and he stares down at you with a look of disappointment. Uraume exudes an air of smugness, feeling the heat of irritation rise around their lord.

“What is that?” He asks a third time.

“And answer him briefly, you filthy wench.” Uraume hisses at you.

You know you’re truly in trouble when he doesn’t correct the servant for using such a tone with you. Downcast, the pressure to speak builds the longer you stay quiet. Instinct tells you to remain still, but your eyes look between them hesitantly. In them, you do not show the fear that Uraume would like to see in your eyes, nor the regret the Emperor seeks, but nonetheless you do feel a bit guilty.

“A boy child of demon blood, I believe.” You explain, simply as you can.

“I can see that with my eyes.” The Emperor snaps, “Why is he here? And where have you been!?”

“Well, my malevolent liege, I woke early, you see, far before the sun rose. So, I meant to pass the time with a short flight. But then I smelled the strangest scent on the air. It was so reminiscent of you, and I found myself further and further away from the grounds until I stumbled upon the source.” You lift your shoulders slightly to indicate that the source was the boy you’d carried all the way back from whatever backwater you’d flown to. “I knew the day was passing, but I could not stop myself from searching.”

He about rolls his eyes. As if that were a good enough excuse for leaving him!

Uraume is right, perhaps he has been far too lax with you.

He, for now, only answers in a drawl. “And when was it you discovered this… child?”

“I found him near the corpse of a demon, who was only half dead. I wilted it so it would not follow us and then took the boy, and headed home. I promise I did not delay at all, if I could have returned sooner, I would have, my lord.”

“So that is where you’ve been.” He acknowledges. “But why is he here?”

Another would have said, I had to save him because he is a child, or something equally inane. But you tilt your head, and say as if it was the most obvious thing.

Your lips twist slightly with confusion. “He had too much color to be one of the dead.”

“No, you…” but the curse dies on his tongue. What if you had been hurt? What if someone or thing would have taken you? What if you had not returned home? But he can’t bear to say it, so he says, “I’m asking why you didn’t leave him where he was, to die or whatever would have been his fate.”

You chew your lip, and his eyes narrow in as you refrain from speaking once more.

“Answer me, Harvester y/n.”

“Is this not… your child, my malevolency?” You eventually ask.

His. Child. His child? He physically reals back.

“What?”

“I only assumed—” You stumble over your words, “Well, he smells of you, and he claimed before I saved him to be of your clan. If he is yours, I couldn’t much let him die.” Then you pause, as you realize just how off-put he was the longer you went on speaking. “Do you… not know him?”

He spits. “Do you see a parade of concubines amongst the servants here? I have no children, Harvester. No, I do not know him.”

You blink twice, a light blush on your cheeks. If anyone amongst the palace servants appears like a concubine, it is you. And no, you hadn’t really thought of that on the way back at all, as you imagined who this boy’s mother may be.

“Oh.” Is all you say, just a little breathless.

That look, that sound, that break in the pious exterior, is enough for him to almost forgive you for all this trouble. His lips turn up, just a mite bit. “Jealous over a couple imaginary whores, Harvester y/n.”

“No, no. It’s just…” His smirk slips to a frown as you look away from him to the mostly hidden child in your arms, “What are we going to do with him, if he is not yours?”

“Banish him.” Uruame offers briskly.

You look back to them, aghast by their dismissal. “He said he traveled to seek your help, before he collapsed from strain. I tell you truly; he fought a large demon on his own, despite being so small you would be impressed with his might. I think you should at least hear his plea.”

Damn you, and the way you bring him so low. For instead of doing as Uaume suggests, as is seemingly correct, he considers your proposal. Your neck ticks back to meet his gaze, though he must look well down his nose at you to see you at all, and you hold the eye contact. A heat stirs the air, as you wait for him to speak, and he realizes you’re quite serious.

“Let me see the boy.” He says, though in truth, he’s already decided.

You nod, and behind the servants remain quiet though not without a single muffled scoffs of surprise that surely comes from only one member of staff. Carefully, you pull back the shreds of fabric you’ve swaddled the child in, who could be no more than four or five years old, and reveal the boy. He looks unwell, anyone could see that.

But that is not what the Emperor looks for in the panes of a familiar face.

His eyes reconfirm what he’d only seen for a moment. Blush colored hair sticks to his pallid forehead, and the marks of power which line the Emperor’s own skin are echoed on this boy’s, though they are not well developed. Pale, thin, lacking in layers. Besides that, they have similar faces, most notably the shape of their ears.

He considers the boy with a low humming sound. Truly, it’s like looking through time, and seeing himself as a youth before the blood of the beast awoke in him and he’d developed the demonic body he now wielded. It’s no wonder you’d assumed this boy was his offspring.

Yes, the truth is obvious to him at once. This youngling was indeed a member of his bloodline, from a line that must have hidden themselves away for generations.

Cowards.

The Emperor purses his lips, looking down at the boy with an intense gaze. His eyes almost glow. The first instinct he has is to kill him, simply out of principle. The second is to keep him, torture him, and learn how any of his kin might have escaped him all those eons ago. Child or not, he knows those of his ilk are not to be underestimated, and if what you say is true this youngling could one day grow into a real issue.

But then the fiery intensity of his gaze ticked back over to you.

You’re gazing up at him, in a way he’s never seen you look at him before. You’ve set an open, completely honest, nearly beseeching look his way. You always have to peer upwards to meet his attention, that’s not so strange, but it’s different when you’re on your knees and your eyes are especially wide. It’s almost humbling, for he realizes that whatever you say next, he will be unable to refuse you.

And so, you make the choice for him.

“Will we tend him, my malevolency?” You ask. “He must have come from very far away, that is not an easy journey for such a young one.”

Uraume’s mouth screws up immediately. Another thing to deal with, they think. Because their master has some kind of fixation on you, and you’re surely to get your way now that you’ve come back after all his fusing. They can only sigh.

“He’s half dead already.” He says callously.

“Which is healthier than mostly dead.” You contend. “Let us keep him, at least until he has a chance to speak to you for himself. Or for what reason did I drag him here?”

“For what reason indeed.” Uraume mutters.

But the Emperor no longer holds his own opinion. That silent pleading gaze of yours is far too compelling. “Fine. We will tend to him until he can speak, and tell us for himself what his purpose was for coming to this estate.” Emperor Ryoumen allows. “And after that I will choose whether he lives or dies.”

You look down at the boy in concern for just a moment, before looking back at him with a grateful smile. And he wonders, for he has to, what it would take to earn a look of such care and sincerity for himself, alone.

“Thank you, most high one.”

He simply nods towards you, and addressed Uraume, “It would do us well to know where he comes from, and if any others who appear to be of my blood remain there. He will tell his secrets, but he is in no state to do so now. Ensure that he comes to, and inform me at once when he does.”

“As you say, my lordship.” And Uraume will obey.

It is Uraume that expedites the boy's care, they, and a rush of servants, take him out of your arms and into the depths of the palace where he may be treated. Meanwhile the Emperor looks back towards your harvest colors. As the boy is lifted from your arms and those with the proper knowledge step in to care for him, you rise and he savors how quickly it is you come to his side.

Your voice is sweet as you continue to thank him, and as he guides the both of you away from the interruption to his normal day, he thinks maybe this will be the end to this nonsense. Finally, he will have you for himself and speak to you directly about the things which have been plaguing his mind.

Or so it should have been.

Over the course of the next few days, he learned that jealousy came in more flavors than just one or two. It wasn’t just worrying when you were away from him. Or a distaste of disapproval when those who he did not like spoke with you. This was a bitterness, one of denial.

Now that he’s decided to more pointedly pursue his interest in you, you slip constantly from his fingers. And he has so many fingers. Every day since the day you disappeared, you wander from him almost as soon as it is acceptable to do so, just to check on this boy who he has yet to even hear speak. This boy who you had to dirty your hands for. Who you don’t know the name of. Who should mean nothing to you.

He’s all you talk about. You don’t let the conversation move on, and he has no choice but to listen or just let you return to where you obviously want to be—which is not with him.

It practically enrages him when you dismiss yourself now, especially since you’ve gone missing once before and a part of him worries you will again. But he does not demand you stay. This feeling is so curious, he lets himself simmer in it, and he decides this feeling of jealousy reminds him a lot of war. This is a violent possessive desire nearly equal to the one which propelled him to claim the world. But he’s unsure of how to translate that onto you, or what part of you he would need to take to quell the desire to have you.

To say he struggles is obvious. Wars are fought by a series of battles, and he spends far too many hours angsting over the tossing of feelings within his heart instead of acting. Of course, he says nothing about these sleepless nights to a single soul—especially not you.

So he tries, fruitlessly, to break down his interactions with you as he might an enemy's military history, to figure their strength before engaging them. And when he really thinks about it, as if you were an enemy general he had to seriously consider fighting, he was at a loss. A loss for, very literally, he was on the other side of many of your wins.

If love is a battlefield, you have surely beaten him. You appear to be unphased by the day-to-day, where he is being driven mad by it.

He hates that you don’t tell any of those asses to leave you alone. Taken further, some part of him distinctly hates that he has any kinds of feelings towards you. That he cares if you reject them or not. He hates that you choose to spend so much time away from him, and yet knows you chose to be here to be with him. That you worshipped him, and as long as you remained you were satisfied. That is what made you the winner, that you could do what you did and sleep well at night.

And it does seem to be that you do whatever you please. This is the thought of a frustrated Uraume, left in their own twisted sense of denial since the reckoning you surely earned remained undelivered. The Emperor has yet to even raise a harsh word your way, let alone a hand. And now they are stuck dealing with the child, who was now in the care of the castle healers.

And you are giving that boy the one thing that you aren’t giving to the only one who matters?

Uraume huffs to themselves. Your attention should not be a rare commodity, and yet a lack of it is driving their master into a crazed state. It has been a long time since they’d seen him this frustrated, and the last time caused a massacre. They know better than to step into the business of kings and masters, but if this does end in some kind of genocide, they would welcome a break from the mundane palace politics which have made up most of the last century of business.

On the other hand, they hate what you do to him.

The emperor settles on feeling like a sword unused, knowing his purpose and only waiting for the moment to expel this violent energy. But when he looks upon you, he stills. You’ve flipped something in him that he can’t turn back around—but if doesn’t let this out somehow, he’s going to go crazy.

Surely you can feel the strength of these feelings when he looks at you during his evening and morning rituals. If you do, you don’t outwardly show it. You’re so rarely obvious about your feelings…

You’ve just left him after his morning bath, and he thinks of this while the touch of you is still fresh on his skin. He aches for you. He’d rather bite every tongue from every mouth he could grow off than admit it, but the more he had to be around you while realizing how he felt, the more torturous it was to watch you flee to a child’s side without even a look over your shoulder his way.

It’s only been three days of this, but it feels like an eternity.

But today he’s not left alone long. There’s a brief knock at the door as Emperor Ryoumen finishes fastening his robes.

“Enter.” He calls, he already knows the presence on the other side of the door.

“Master,” Uraume greets, “you asked to be informed when the boy awoke.”

That makes him still.

“Is the Harvester already with this… child?”

Uraume withholds a sigh. “Yes, my lord.”

“Take me to them, then.”

He doesn’t even care about the boy. The set in his step has one purpose, come hell or high water he’ll remind you of who you should be focused on, and it’s HIM. Though he shouldn’t need to tell you that. He will.

If he wants you, he’ll do to you what he did to the world, and show you plainly what your place is.

But first, to deal with the distractions.

When he finally breeches the doorway of the sick room, he pauses the intent gait. It’s a plain room. Not well decorated. A plain curtain to separate triple cots. It’s bright in here, with big windows—the biggest allowed in the palace, carved into the stone with a shimmer of magic keeping the bugs out, but the air flowing.

Yet and still, it smells like you in here. It’s a soft outdoorsie kind of scent which reminds him distantly of fall, and the soft floral scent of a wildflower field. He never thought much about scents before you, but now he’s become so keenly aware of how you change a room you enter, making the very air feel lighter around him.

Tension in his heart is only mildly soothed by the scent, and more so by how you rise up when he enters. You float over the bed damn near excitedly to tell him the good news, and instead of Uraume, you lead him by the hand towards the bedside of the boy.

Just one of your hands is so small in his, he feels choked. This is the first time you’ve ever reached out to touch him outside of doing your duty and cleansing his body. His heart is doing something strange, fixating on the slight heat of your touch and beating wildly.

“You will not believe what he has to say, my lord.” You babble, and the Emperor is only half listening. “It’s an amazing story.”

When you let go, he is forced to turn away from you when a small voice greets him excitedly. The child is sitting up, and drinking from a tall glass. It is clearer now that he is awake to see the demon in the boy, and perhaps his recovery says that blood is stronger in him than Sukuna initially assumed.

“My grandpa told me to call you uncle, but everyone here calls you Emperor Ryoumen.” The young boy asks, “You are my uncle, aren’t you? Uncle Sukuna? I’m Yuuji, I’ve heard so much about you. You’re awesome. Do you know my grandpa?”

“I can not say child,” Emperor Ryoumen sounds as resigned as possible, “I do not know where you come from.”

“Well… I have this, does this help you know?” He asks. He hasn’t been redressed—Uraume didn’t bother to order the healers to change his clothes—so he pulls out a scroll from a pocket in his pants. “My grandpa said only you could open it, because of our blood, you know. Can you read it?”

“You’re a very presumptuous child.” The Emperor says gruffly, but one look at you, big eyes begging him to take this serious, he snatches the roll of paper.

Of course, it unravels under his hand. But he just frowns.

“This proves nothing.” He drawls. “Uraume, come to my side.” He orders, and of course Uraume iks quick to obey. The scroll slipping from his palm to theirs in a smooth hand-off. “Take this and read it to me.”

“As you say master.” They comply, but when Uraume takes it, the paper rolls itself and glows hot, causing the demon to drop it swiftly. The child, curse him, laughs.

“No Uncle Sukuna, grandpa said only you could read it!” He giggles, “Else it’ll burn.”

“Burn indeed.” Uraume rubs their hand, frowning miserably.

“Let me get that.” You offer, “I’ll only touch it a moment. You’ve only just gotten better.”

It’s obvious you move to grab it before the child can exert himself too much, but he moves with a surprising quickness, just to shoo your hands away from the object glowing red on the floor.

“No lady, stop trying to hurt yourself.”

“I would be fine, little Yuuji.”

“No.” He says firmly, and shook a finger your way. “No. My grandpa said no one else should touch it.”

Your posture sinks slightly, “But—”

And he puts his short little finger to your lips to silence you. “No buts.” He demands. “You saved my life, that means something to Ryoumens.”

For such a small thing, he was very serious, and stuck on a very particular moral code. Little did the Emperor know, but young Yuuji had already sworn a life debt to you before you’d carried him back home to the palace, and you felt somewhat guilty about it.

You back away, and give the child a pursed look. Annoyed but also somewhat charmed by the small demon whose life you saved. You were going to have to find someway to get this child to renege on this heartfelt but unnecessary promise. You were a Harvester, and it was your duty to stand at the gate way of death and help the body along the passages of decomposition. If anything, you’d betrayed oaths by saving his life—but when he smelt so much like your lord what else were you meant to do!

Perhaps that is why you fussed over the child so much.

Lord Emperor Ryoumen watched on and seethed. The Emperor of All Things that Suffer, the Ruler of the World, the Strongest Demon to Ever Live, was not jealous of a child. Could not be.

He takes the scroll with more force than he needs to, and begins to read it, if only to banish the vision of what he’s just seen. His four eyes read quickly, and he scans the letter with precision.

It says much, but thankfully in as few words as possible, as it is clearly written by someone older. This child is indeed his descendant. A half human on a mission to ask him to save his village from impending doom. His grandfather, a full demon who raised him, was the last living full blooded demon of their line and there was no one else who cared about his people so he went to the Emperor himself to ask for help.

He was fighting off the force himself, but didn’t think he could last much longer, and he was asking for aid from the castle.

The child is eager to see his reaction.

“Will you help us?” Yuuji asks once the Emperor looks up. “Will you?”

Emperor Ryoumen looks down at this weakened boy, and feels nothing for his plight. It is just his nature, the Emperor does not care. He meant to wipe out his line anyway. They were inferior to him and always would be. Even more so now the blood had thinned so much, and they even decided to breed with humans. How pitiful.

But you… you look up at him, not pleading this time as you know it’s not your place, but obviously hoping for a certain answer. He’s about to ask you directly, but Yuuji interrupts the moment, as children are ought to do.

“I’ll do anything. Please help us. I already own Ms Lady my life, and I’ll train all day to become so so so strong when I grow up and I promise I’ll always fight for you! Ms Lady told me you were the best warrior ever. I bet you could take down a whole army by yourself.”

You look suddenly embarrassed.

“Is that what was said.” The Emperor muses.

Yuuji nods emphatically. “Yeah, you’re the strongest ever. She said you fill fields and fields with bodies and that you’ve never lost a fight not once! That’s crazy! Even my granddad loses sometimes, my mom was really strong though.”

“Then why doesn’t your mother run off the pests which threaten your land?”

“She’s dead.” The kid deadpans.

“I see.”

The Emperor considers it for a moment. To decline does play on the tip of his tongue, but then he stops himself. A vision of what is to come settles over his mysterious and luminous gaze, and it seems all too perfect.

He nearly cruelly smiles, as he realizes just what sort of opportunity has landed into his lap. What do you love more, than to compliment the fields of his destruction? What else has brought the force of your worship to his figure? It certainly isn’t in the way he rules his lands from his thrones, no. Even the barest thought of his war zone has your body flushing with heat, he can smell it on the air.

Yes, he knows exactly what you want. And it has nothing to do with an altruistic desire to help this child or his kin. Not to deny that your heart is soft in ways he finds troubling, but this kindness has wrapped itself around a truly selfish desire. And the idea that you would offer his help just to watch his might for destruction first hand makes him laugh loudly.

“Is it funny my mom is dead?” Yuuji asks after a moment.

“No of course not—” you cut in.

But he raises a hand, and all silence themselves. “Be grateful boy, for I hear the plea. We will raise the banners and come to aid your village.”

And though it’s out of character to accept, he’s glad when he does, because you literally leap with excitement. You fly into his chest, arms fully embracing him as you thank him profusely. Much too excited for it to be rooted in gratitude for another. He smirks to himself, yes, he’s learned you, finally, and he will make you his.

Uraume chastises you, but he savors the warmth of your chest against his, the press of your tits, the weak tether of your arms. Of course, you pull back all too quickly, but he will be patient.

By afternoon they gather up a war party and head out, and he intends to impress you.

Chapter 6

When he declared they were leaving, he meant it.

The machine of war that was his primary power did not shy from action. By afternoon a score of demons, curses, monsters, and such creatures took up arms under their Emperor’s banner. From the letter, and the information given by the young Yuuji, an entire army would not be needed to drive off the force which threatened his home town. With this knowledge a just number of warriors were called, and it did not take long to gather a suitable number of supplies and servants to ensure their fortnight's voyage would be swift.

Harvester y/n watches on in practical disbelief, and in utter awe. In truth, you’d never actually witnessed the gathering of a war party before, though you’d spent your whole life in the shadow of them. You’d seen only the aftermath first hand, and the sparse few soldiers who loitered over the corpses or in nearby towns.

But never, ever, an entire battalion in formation.

The organization of the troops alone is enough to make you gawk. Orderly, and efficiently, so many powerful mighty creatures gather into groups and lines, loading carts with food, weapons, and armor, large sacks and crates at a time. The rhythmic sound of the supplies hitting the wooden carriages is a rhythm that echoes in your bones.

These are not rustic war coaches, but as fine and ornate as the lavish palace estate you’ve become all too familiar with. Ornamental and ostentatious in their savage wealth, there is no fear of loss—be they in battle or of supplies on the road. This is the kind of beauty reserved only for the strongest.

This is it. The violent force your clan worshiped and followed, salvaging the remnants of their fanatic labor for use amongst the people, albeit always from a distance.

And it is breathtaking.

The guard is severe in its obedience to the will of the Master of Masters. They do not second guess or question. They simply await the order to march, and spring to action the moment it is time to do so. There is no space in their hearts for wallowing, or gaining a distaste for the Emperor’s new habits, say as Uraume has the authority to do. In fact, they do not even think to comment on or consider such personal matters, even if rumors from court do trickle their way.

None of that matters to the demons of war, for the great He is not only their Emperor, but their Supreme General, and he has never walked them down the path of failure.

As true as this surely was—and you saw with your own eyes the way every warrior treated him with deserved reverence—you would quickly come to miss Uraume, and their terse, judgmental formality. There was no denying that the demon servant reserved a special distaste for you, at best. However, at least they weren’t….

General Yorozu.

You’d already met the general in control of the brigade which was now marching in the name of young Yuuji, and you wish you had not. Of course, at first you’d been excited to meet a great leader in the Emperor’s army, but she? She was nothing like you expected.

Firstly, the general was indeed a she. A very naked she. A very naked she with a sappy, sweet voice, who practically moaned every time Emperor Ryoumen did anything. His orders were never answered by anything less than a breathless yes, my liege or an equivalent. Always half-moaned.

While Uraume might have hated you, at least it was easy for you to hold a certain kind of respect for them. They were loyal, prim, well spoken, highly accomplished, and above all a spectacular manager. For it was Uraume’s leadership alone which kept the palace and its many features in such outstanding condition. Immaculate. This word alone defined the work of the demon who held the Emperor’s must high trust.

Though you were sure that General Yorozu had earned her position and was accomplished as a warrior and as a leader of men, it was difficult to find anything to like about her from your brief interactions.

She was very beautiful; you had to admit that much at least. Though you’d prefer if she kept some of that beauty to herself. If, say, a stranger might hear you describe her as naked, they might think you a prude, unable to stand the sight of a woman in revealing clothes. You were no prude, or so you’d thought before now, but if she’d been wearing even the most scandalous garb you could imagine that would be more modest than the truth.

General Yorozu walked about with no armor. No, no, in fact, she didn't even bother wearing underwear! The only thing that occasionally kept her bareness out of sight, was the absurd length of her luxurious silky dark hair. Which, by some blessing of the wind, at times covered her chest or her cheeks.

With such a body on display so plainly, it was impossible not to notice how stunningly beautiful she was. Literally the picture of fitness and grace.

And that surely irresistible woman, not only moaned for, but touched the Most High One. She would lean over a table to show off the swell of her curves, and go so far as to press herself against the silk of his robes. If she could, the bareness of her most intimate parts might brush by a stretch of his forearm, and other such touching.

It upsets you, though you weren’t exactly sure why. There was no way, not under the sun or the darkest shadow, that it was because you were jealous.

None.

No, not a chance. Why would anyone be jealous of another, who was so casual about their touches to their supreme leader, hm? Who wanted to be the kind of woman who longed for his touch and his attention so loudly, in a whining voice, while slaughtering his enemies, and earning his open favor?

You look between her and the Emperor with a heavy gaze you try your best to hide.

Alright, you’ll be honest, you were a little jealous.

General Yorozu was just… so much freer than you. And more confident. You might as well consider her more competent as well, since he actually relied on her to do the labor of his kingdom. He barely trusted you to fetch him a quill without intervening in one way or another.

Truthfully, you’d wondered for a while if the Emperor just thought less of females as a totality. Uruame only had a female vessel, but was relegated to tasks which all centered on caring for his estate. Not to mention, most of the women in court were not what you would call hard-working. Of those that were, they were not always liked, nor did they seem as appreciated as those who stayed quiet and pretty.

But now that you’ve seen Yorozu in such a prominent position of power, your assumptions have been utterly destroyed.

This left you in an odd place. If he didn’t look down on women, why did he treat you so… carefully?

The General was well aware of your anxious attention on her. She was keen and powerful, and such things were not below her notice.

Now, the truth of things went like this.

Yorozu was, in her simplest form, a blood thirsty manic. A demon born to power which only grew as she aged. She was well aware that she was a fine looking female, and used that to her most supreme advantage at all times. And while she was not ruled by sexuality as some demons, the magnetism of men did not fail to pull at her, though her standards for partners were what some would call “quite high.”

Only the strongest deserved to mate with the strongest, and she would never open her womb to a male-creature who she viewed as less-than her equal.

In all her life, only one had ever proven himself her superior. This was, of course, Emperor Sukuna Ryoumen, her lord and liege. From nearly the moment they met, after a fight which had her near death, she pledged her loyalty to him. And since then, has never stopped trying to pledge her body.

He has always refused, obviously.

What he recognized in the she-devil was a demon of great mind and strength, so he made use of her in his army. For this honor, she was certain never to disappoint him.

Yes, she was well aware that the King of All Things was not her mate. She didn’t care. If she could not use all her power and kill him by her own hands, then he could spear her between the legs and she would happily bear his young.

And yet it had been a long, long time of serving him, and the Emperor hardly even seemed to register her body, or the appeal of her perfect form. Demons lived long, long lives, and often went through cycles of hyper fertility, the Emperor had simply yet to experience his. One day he would desire such things, and she would be there as a worthy vessel of his might when he did.

Until then, teasing him became something of a game to her, as his chilling dismissal of her advances never stopped making her heart race. Such treatment really only made her desire him more. For the Supreme He, she would do anything.

Fight. Win. Live. Lose. Die.

Anything.

She’d been quick to respond to his call for a standing brigade. She and her company would be his sword for whatever reason—she didn’t even really care why so long as she was allowed to rip apart the bodies of the enemy and please the Most High One.

Then her eyes landed on you. Harvester y/n, standing beside him with a child obviously of his bloodline. A very strange sight, indeed.

At once she knew someone had finally caught the eye of the Emperor.

She smiles at you, well leers really. Her whole soul is held in his hands, she would follow if he asked her to cut her own head off, so she doesn’t wonder what he sees in you, per say. She knows everything he thinks is right and just.

But still.

You? Compared to her?

There’s a wildness behind her eyes, as she determines just how much fun she can have with you without encoring the wrath of her lord. In the brief time she sees you, she makes sure to torment you in all the little ways she knows will slip under his awareness. You notice, however, and that’s all that is intended.

She might not be able to have him, but she’ll run you off if you don’t understand the sacredness of the position that is being offered to you.

Every touch is vindictive. She’d be extra coy, just to irritate you. Leaning over further, to expose the stretch of her naked form. Point her toes to display her legs, and always press herself as much as she could into his toned mass.

There was some part of you that wondered if she was just doing this to manipulate you. It seemed to make no reaction arise from the Emperor Ryoumen, despite what to you seemed to be obvious temptation.

So, you watched, with a watery concern, as she slipped into the place beside him that you wouldn’t dare fill. Days pass, and while it will only take a week to arrive at Yuuji’s village, time passed slowly when you’re spending it standing beside the one who you’ve grown to long for in a way that goes beyond your station.

And he? Well, he seemed utterly oblivious to the entire affair.

How can he simply shrug off the attention of a woman as fine as the General? As far as mates went, she seemed the most suitable for him.

Secondarily, now that you traveled daily, the small rituals which you’d built with the Emperor were interrupted or rendered impossible to perform, so he had very little use of you throughout the day. You were dismissed during meetings of strategy, and other such gatherings. It left you feeling just shy of dejected as he seemed to push you away constantly. Before he’d been eager to keep you near through most of his meetings.

It hurts you to do so, but you obey his orders. Trying not to breathe too deeply, so his scent doesn’t torment you while you are away.

The Emperor himself is not exactly thrilled with the current arrangement, but understands it will not last very long. But he keeps you at a purposeful distance. In truth, he didn’t want his constituents to view you too often or too closely, lest they begin to covet you as those at court have grown to.

So you spend most of your time with young Yuuji instead of your lord.

It’s a worthy pass time, especially as he seems intent on getting into every kind of trouble that can be had. Being a young boy surrounded by soldiers all prepared to fight on his behalf offers opened up a new world of trouble for the youngling.

In fact, you were often hovering above the war party when it stopped, attempting to locate him amongst the many demons, who took surprisingly well to entertaining the child. It was obvious enough to them that Yuuji was of the Emperor’s kin, so they treated him like an amusing pet. If one could teach pets how to gamble and wrestle. It’s not that the young child doesn’t hold his own, surprisingly he can. The delight and surprise this inspires in the demons is often what reveals his location. The laughter and praise makes a ruckus day and night, but especially so where Yuuji is found.

Yuuji insists on calling this training—never ceasing to declare his desire to be your knight and keep you safe. And even though you’d like to tell him not to think that, and live his own life, the Emperor has declared that a role for Yuuji will be decided after the battle, and the boy is now determined to prove himself worthy of being your guard.

You tell him you’re not even sure how long you’ll be staying at the palace, but he only gives you a side long look, as if you’ve just said something so incredibly stupid even a child would know better.

All the while, the Emperor watches. It will take them approximately a week to reach the village his family has been hiding themselves in. It’s a place so nearby it's irritating, but he cares less and less about that as the day of battle nears.

Especially not when his eyes are fixated on you. There is something compelling, seeing you with young Yuuji. He imagines what you would be like with his children and the idea simmers in his mind. He’s still unsure of what he’ll do with the child, truly, but he will see at the end of the battle, that much was no lie. You do need someone who will protect you when he’s not around.

Your physical prowess wasn’t something that concerned him until he anticipated seeing you on the battlefield. But considering you beside Yorozu with a flickering glance made the thought of worry pop up in his mind. And though Yuuji let you lift him up and carry him about, or even lecture him, in truth the child was stronger than you too.

It’s strange, your people are for war, but not built for war. You are a butterfly, flowing through things rather than busting through them, like he or the many strong around you now.

He thinks of leaving you with the servants in camp before the fighting begins, but camps have been stormed before, and their enemy appears to be very duplicitous by nature if what young Yuuji reports is true. It’s only another day’s march before the company will arrive, and it takes until the end of that day for him to decide what it is that will be done with you.

The day is adjourned, and he’s enjoying the feeling of you wiping him down with a wet cloth. It’s the last days of summer, but hot nonetheless, and enjoys the feeling of you cleaning him too much to let the sweat of the day linger.

“Harvester y/n.” And when he says your name, it amuses him that you pause to listen intently. “I’ve decided you will join me on the fields, come the day after tomorrow.”

At that you seem completely shocked, but then a smile teases your lips. To think he’d let you see his might in person! You might just implode with excitement.

“A-as you command, most high one.” You attempt to sound contained.

He smirks, for once your reaction is plain to him, and it is satisfying. “Very good, ready yourself Harvester. You will be ready when I am, when the time comes. No excuses or delays.”

“Never, my malevolency.” You promise.

Yuuji is excited as you are that you’ll be attending, though he plans on trying to show off. His grandpa wouldn't let him fight before, but now nothing was stopping him from going all out, though you cautioned him not to throw himself into too much danger. That was unless he wanted to end up as you’d found him, exhausted and near dead.

He pouts, but agrees and you can’t help but sigh at the child. He’s much too enthusiastic, for his own good. And as soon as his mood falls, it lifts again as the forest becomes a familiar backdrop to him, and he announces that the town is getting closer. When they arrive at the dilapidated gates of Yuuji’s village, the company is greeted by a mixture of demons, humans, demi-humans, and half breeds.

The leader of them, a half bull man by the name of Masamichi Yaga steps up to intercept the war party, obviously weary until Yuuji comes running out from the lines of soldiers.

“Teacher Yaga!” He calls, literally leaping and throwing himself to a stern looking bearded man, who only moves to catch him at the last moment.

“Yuuji!” The man huffs out on impact, “You actually returned.”

“With help! Uncle Sukuna is awesome, we brought a whole army. I have to tell grandpa—”

“Yuuji…” Yaga says his name again in a soft, careful way.

“Where is he anyway?” The youngling bounds back, never lacking in energy.

The news crests over him first in a wave of disbelief, then the kind of full-face despair that can only be reserved for children who cannot manage their emotions. He cries, first in Yaga’s arms as the news of his grandfather’s passing is fresh, then with his friends who come to greet him, and later when he returns to the encampment where the demons prepare for the coming fight. He leaves when the Emperor returns from convening with the leaders of the village to determine what course of action will be taken, and Yuuji is dismissed to prepare for the fight with the rest of the warriors.

You watch him leave, conflicted as you have been the entire time at letting a child fight.

“I was younger than he when I went to battle the first time, and younger still when I made my first kill. Demons are often older than they appear.” The Emperor tells you in a quiet voice, a strange uncharacteristic attempt to soothe your worry.

The words even feel alien on his tongue, but he says them, and he watches your shoulders shrink a little, just a touch reassured. Now the words mean little to him, but that look of gratitude makes him want to grab your shoulders and pull you in, eat you whole. It’s utterly unfair. He wants you nearer, but every time he fixates on that desire you seem to unweave yourself from the intimate moments of his life.

So instead of waiting for you to thank him his fingers curl and demand you come closer.

“Garb me.” He commands.

The armor has already been laid across the war table, which sits in the tent the servants pitch at each stop. The magic of the tents and carriages was beyond your comprehension, and you didn’t dare try to even explain how they could lay fabric on the ground, and it could grow a room inside it which riveled the Emperor’s actual bedchambers in finery, save its lack of a functional bathroom.

One of his lower hands flickers your attention from his form, to the armor laid out, and you gasp. It’s in several pieces, all made of a woven red fabric that you instantly recognize. Your heart beats a little faster, and you can’t help but feel blessed again. This is his red, like the roof of his palace, and the color of his gardens. A special color, one closer to you than he realizes.

Normally, he doesn’t care to see you labor hard enough even to lift his silks, but there is something compelling about allowing you to gear him for war. So, he watches with an intent, heated, near half lidded gaze as you silently fawn over his royal amor, pleased to see you pleased.

How he honors you, even if he won’t say it in words. You look at him like he holds the sun in his hands, as you grab the chest piece, the back piece, the gauntlets, the shin guards, the finely crafted pointed shoes, you turn him from a demon of divine providence, to a living weapon. You cannot do it alone, unfortunately you’ve grown more tired over the last week of travel, but he hadn’t expected you to lift them all.

He holds the chest plate up, letting your deft hands fasten the ties. It’s the closest your hands have come to his hands under any other excuse besides washing. He feels the ghosting of your breath on his neck, just close enough he’s tempted to twist around pin you, and take it from your lungs himself, but he refrains. A certain intimate reverence makes your exhales waver with a teasing almost pleasurable sound, just shy of biting back moans.

He has no idea what might have spurred such a reaction from you, but he savors it. When you’re done assuring the straps are tight, then bends to one knee and gestures to his back.

“Up onto my back, Harvester. I will carry you through the fields.” He promises, “Do not think of removing yourself through the fight, or you will only cause more trouble.”

You hesitate, eyeing the wideness of his shoulders instead of simply bowing your head and obeying him. Your silence lasts too long, for he snaps.

“Do you not trust in me?”

“Of course I trust in you, sire.”

“Then onto my back.” He demands this time, voice more assertive.

This time you obey, all too conscious of your legs on either side of his head, and the flexing of his body beneath your thighs. You think, just once, can I really do this? And that’s when you spy General Yorozu and the other ranking warriors as they meet one last time before the battle. You wonder what he would do if you asked him to let you down, that you weren’t comfortable and didn’t want this?

But then…

You saw her. She was so powerful, prideful. So, so, so, nude.

You shift on his shoulders, considering dismounting. Though you’re sure he’d be very mad at you if you did. But he feels your move, and just one hand reaches up to grab your leg, holding it for just a moment before letting go with no comment. As if he was just making sure you were secure.

It makes a distinct warmth spark in your chest. And right then you decide.

Why would you move, when he has honored you by allowing him on his person?

So you perch, as he always expects you to, still and statuesque, your colors his flag.

General Yorozu's eyes flash, as she takes in the vision before her, and she smirks. Her behavior does not change, but you find it no longer bothers you. Perhaps because from this angle, you look down on her from a pillar of absolute strength, something you wouldn’t have even if you were to fly high above her.

You learn over this final meeting, that the creatures which have been attacking the village do so only at a certain hour of afternoon, and pick at the edges of town. They steal lives slowly, until they drain the province of people, then move onto the next where they will take their feast. They never pick too large a village, so as to not alert the empire's authorities, and Yuuji’s town was the third they’d raided in such a manner.

Such blatant pouching had to be stopped, and it was only right the Emperor reasserted his authority on lands so close to his palace. Obviously the lay demons are beginning to forget their place, and he will happily remind them.

The Emperor’s forces are set to ambush the invaders. They hid in the tree line outside of town, in plain sight, atop buildings. Spread out, so the presence of them is displaced enough to avoid detection—if these fools are even clever enough to consider their silly little scheme might have been found out.

The Emperor, however, does not hide.

He stands in the center of the fields, waiting for the enemy to arrive. The sun beats on your back, and you wait with him in silence as the hours tick and the time to fight approaches. He expects his demons will rid the woods of these fields before they can even cross the fields to threaten the village again.

He will be proven, mostly, right.

When it begins, the announcement is a rancid scream. Something harrowing from the shadows of the trees that startles the birds away. But it is only the first of many. The roars of beasts fighting and dying replaces afternoon animal sounds as everything else alive stays stunningly silent to avoid the ravenous attention of the fighters.

A few wily or ticky demon-creatures (they seem more beasts of the wood than the demons you know) escape the trap of the trees. And when they do, the Emperor is there. Not one of them proves a match for him. He rips them in two or three with one pull of his hands. The rush of blood and inner filth messing his armor and feeding the flora at his feet. Some only need to catch his eyes, and they run back into the canopy for a kinder fate than what awaits them on the field.

Even if you had wished to assist him—though how you could, you could only wonder—there was no time. The moment after an enemy entered his range, it was eviscerated.

Perhaps shamefully, though it was hard to feel any shame, it made you throb to watch his might. Deep, deep, deep in your core, up your spine, you ache for him. When he kills your toes curl, and your thighs press around his neck a little tighter.

Can he feel how hot you get? The warmth of your stomach pooling to the soft sticky place between your legs?

He doesn’t, not yet. Not when the smell of you has been on him today stronger than ever. Not over the heat of battle rush. Though when you squeeze and twist, something sick and satisfied makes him want to perform for you.

At the end of the fight, the bodies which can be bothered with are discarded in the field outside of town, and in a burst of victorious energy, the warriors return to town. They drink, party, lay with one another or the women who will open their legs in thanks. All things to celebrate a clear, crushing win.

And instead of joining them, he’s with you.

He’s addicted to you, he thinks that must be it, though he’s not yet willing to wean himself off. If anything, he wants to know how high you’ll take him. When you're away, playing in fields with the corpses of the begotten, he thinks more about the warm swell of your flesh on his skin, and the desire to have you in a way he’s never had anyone flickers across his mind.

So this is why the men return to rape and pillage in the aftermath of war. He’d never quite understood until he’s watching you bend and stretch, doing the duties you did as a Harvester before knowing him.

The mead has been rolled out to him, and instead of taking and jeering he enjoys the quiet, the sounds of partying far off and muted. He sighs. It feels good. He feels stretched, feral, true to himself for the first time in a while, and his mind is clear.

The solitude, the silence. He’s always preferred this. And it’s been a long time since he was just alone. And even now he’s not really alone, he still feels it. He’s never felt this way with someone else before.

You’re sucking bones clean of flesh as he observes the way your long tongue extended and curled around the bones, the slurping sound of the final ligaments slipping into your mouth. The wet shlick is almost lewd.

His thoughts, however, were far from almost lewd. His eyes took in every suckle, every slight sound of satisfaction. Though he wished… he wished that your attention was on him, instead of labor.

“Harvester y/n.” He calls for your attention, and you sit up pertly, looking at him with those devoted eyes. You look so happy, satisfied in your own way, and it stirs him something fierce.

“Yes, my heavenly lord?”

That was maybe his favorite honorific of all his years, not just because of the words, but the way you said them. He’d been worshipped, called a god, and led masses into religious hysteria. But when you turned to him and spoke, half breathless, it was irreplaceably addictive. It was like, even after all this time, you still couldn’t believe he would bless you by speaking in your direction.

“What is the highest pleasure of your people?” He asks. “Is it the eating of the flesh, no?”

You look momentarily surprised, then shy, “You are interested in the ways of the Harvesters, we are unworthy of your curiosity, great malevolence.” You laugh, giggle really in such an innocent way for the topic he’s trying to pursue.

“Nonetheless, I’d like to know.”

“Very well, I am happy to speak of it.” You think for a moment, then say, “All our ways revolve around the feasting, yes. However, to taste the flesh of our lover is our highest honor, second only to serving your divineness. On the night of union we take a bite of one another that leaves a scar which lasts all of our lives. It is said if the wound is too shallow, the marriage will not last. To kill with a marriage bite is to devour your love, and it is said the eaten one serves as the other’s guardian angel. I’ve always dreamed my destined one would love me so much he'd rip the life from me in such passion.”

He's rendered speechless as you speak wistfully. He can’t say he doesn’t feel the burn of want at those words, though he’d rather render you immortal, so he could grab at your flesh and not fear for your life…

His ears feel hot as the image of you in the throes of passion, his own teeth on your skin to take your life. He has so many mouths, he could nip you in places another could never even dream. You could sit on his stomach and he could take all of you in his greater lower mouth, until you cry.

But then you sigh, and add. “Then again, it would be good to live with them a good long while. I would enjoy giving young to my clan more than being eaten whole by my lover. But nonetheless it is a romantic idea.”

He clears his throat, trying to shed his imagination of what you look like naked, thrashing between his teeth. “I’ve always seen and held in honor yours who have served me faithfully the past millennia, though none of your Kaleidoscope have ever attempted to explain to me why you have been so loyal.”

“It is because by nature our loyalty is yours, my supreme lord. Your flesh is the most prized of all bodies, since you do not die but you smell as the finest field of slaughter” You describe with no hesitation.

So, he muses, “And what if I asked you to taste me, hm?”

“I’m not worthy to suckle upon your flesh.” You answer so shyly, “Let alone taste you. It is an honor to simply serve you in what ways you allow.”

“I could order you to bite me.” He ponders.

You always obey. But this time you do not even step his way. “We are not mated, and you are our god. To dare and sip of your blood or pierce your skin would be a shame to my ancestors.” You shake your head, and internally the emperor deflates. “Even if it is by your bidding, I simply could not.”

He frowns. Can’t you see that he wants you? That he provides and keeps you safe, that he lifts labor from your shoulders and puts you in honor?

“What if I…” Then he stops.

“Is there something I’ve said that’s troubled you, most high one?” You ask, so open, so… fucking oblivious.

You’ve paused your work, and you flicker down at the piles you mean to help process for the Harvesters that will come in the aftermath and cleanse the field. He sees the glance and lets out a huff. Clearly, your mind and his are not in unison.

“No.” He waves to dismiss you. “Continue on. Leave me to my thoughts.”

“Very well, my liege.”

You nod, but then pause, and say in that voice. “Emperor Ryoumen?”

You’ve never called him by name, first or last, and it’s just barely said. As if he could deny you, when you call for him like that. He will have you say his name again and again. You will call him Sukuna and beg him to never leave you.

Or so he wants to say. He says nothing, simply humming in response.

“I would like to show you something.”

“Why would I be interested in seeing it?” Like he’s not always curious about you.

“Because you like the color red.” You say bluntly.

“Fine. But be quick, you’re disturbing my peace.” He lulls his head, watching you lazily as you approach him.

You come to him lounging by his barrels of mead, and get to your knees. His eyes watch every moment. What he would give to order you to crawl onto his lap. But instead of nearing closer, you stop. Your strange tongue lulls out, shining in the evening light as it extends down to your cupped hands.

After a moment, small red lumps start to roll out of your mouth, sparkling and dense. Some spool out like silken threads, other lumps of luminescent material. A special, notable red color on what seemed to be rocks as hard as stone.

“What is that?” He bids you to explain.

“It’s what we actually do with all this flesh—You didn’t think we eat a field just for the pleasure of fullness, did you?” You laugh as he considers your treasure.

He’s not disgusted, but curious. It was true—he didn’t know that was where blood red gems came from.

“We don’t need to eat often.” You admit, “Just one body can feed us for half a year or more, and we save it up as liquor which slowly fuels us. The rest we process. Men take the bones for mortar, women the flesh for gems and fiber. You call them Rubies I think--you use for enchantments and things. Your roof even, covered in them. Your royal armor, made of our silk.” You smile. “You honor us. I made the finest fire gems to earn the right to stand besides my father when met, and I make them out of the food you feed me. Your gifts shine on me, and I hope that my presence honors you.”

His heart beats in a way it never has before. You’re beautiful like this, on your knees and in contrast to the sparkling things in your hand while the sunset’s behind you. It’s so perfect he could die, it makes him want something. This sort of heat he’d laughed at mortals and demons alike for having, watching raids on villages end in more than a few of his soldiers stealing the women of the town for their own uses, or men who crawl back home to their wives and return with that silly sense of rest and peace about them.

He didn’t get it then. He can almost taste it now.

Words get kind of stuck in his throat. He’s never speechless, he always knows what to say. Always.

“My liege?” You blink up at him when the silence stretches.

He looks away. The vision breaks and his voice returns. “You’ll do well to remember your place. For as long as I find you amusing you will stay firmly where I can see you. And when I tire of you, I will rid of you.” As if he could anymore.

You smile, “As it pleases you, most high one. To serve my lord is all I desire. I give you all of me.”

“Except your teeth.” He means it to tease, but you look so very conflicted.

“It’s not that I don’t have some desire to. Every Harvester must.” You admit, “You are tantalizing, our most honored one, we worship you. To eat of you…” you let out a pleasured sigh then look back at him with a yearning gaze, “But it is just wrong. You are the ruler of the world, you are everyone’s. Even if I wanted you, it can’t be.”

“You don’t get to decide things like that.” He says seriously.

You’re quiet, looking at him as if trying to understand what he means. “This is what you decided, my lord. You are king of all things, not just of my brethren. And besides…” You curl your lips in, leaving your thought unfinished.

“Finish your sentence.”

You meet his gaze, but only just so. “Besides, I swore to myself I would never give my teeth to another just for a season. The next time I mate will be for the rest of my existence, and I’ve found no one I would rather dedicate myself to than you.” You shake your head, “But I know I am one of many faithful, and my life compared to yours is like a flower to an oak tree. I cannot bring myself to desire more of you than you’ve given, and it’s already been more than I can ever repay to you with service.”

You stare at each other for a while. There is a longing in your eyes, a wanting, heady desire, but with it a strong conflict.

You have always desired him, perhaps you do not know a life where you have not licked your lips in sacrilegious awe of your god, but you hardly think you’ve eared kneeling here before him, let alone more. As much as he feels he hadn’t understood that about you until now, you don’t realize that in his eyes you are not another flower in a field of flowers, you are the sun amongst stars.

He’d give his blood to you and make you immortal, as he is. If you would just smile only for him, he’d give you everything.

Those words dance on his tongue, but you look so forlorn. They tease the air, but never manifest. It’s not the right time. This is a different kind of war than that where blood is spilled, but he will win in the end, with patience instead of might. He at least has you beside him again, speaking sweetly with your attention where it belongs.

“Go back to your fluttering, Harvester y/n.” He sits back, grabbing his goblet and breaking the quiet tension left lingering. “I desire to watch you for a while longer.”

“Yes, my lord.”

And this time, you do obey.

Chapter 7

It’s a peaceful morning, a slight breeze stirs the limbs of trees which litter just perfectly the palace gardens. The kind you would probably comment on, as being particularly nice. You’d like the slight chill in the air, and the turning color of the leaves as autumn replaced summer. You’d lament the flowers fading, but look forward to the upcoming snow—at least after he mentioned it.

You’re not here though, and so the Emperor Ryoumen sits alone. He’s taken his breakfast outside today, for no real reason. It’s too stuffy inside, or he said something along the lines of that to Uraume when he demanded his banquet be moved.

Somewhere off in the distance, Emperor Ryoumen can hear the muffled shouts of Yuuji playing amongst the many sections of the garden. He and another dark-haired young boy who seemed of decent potential his sole prize for eliminating a den of vile, pot skimming filth, who dared to defile the land which only the Lord of Suffering was allowed to dismantle.

The young Yuuji performed well in the fight, by all accounts, and was joined by a rather strange young man who Yuuji often called “Meggy” much to Megumi’s constant disgruntled dislike.

With his grandfather dead, and no remaining family, the village elder Yaga conceded to allowing Yuuji to follow his dreams and join the Emperor’s Court, where it seemed better fortune awaited him. As much vitriol as he’d had for those of his clan in the past, the Emperor could see the value in raising this half-blooded child. A dog, who would be kept loyal to you at least, and serve the court peripherally.

His friend, however, was accepted only because of you.

As the only other child remaining in the village, and with no family to speak of, the boy’s future was quite uncertain. Now the Emperor, of course, didn’t give a damn. Not until you saw the child in such a desperate situation, and your heart obviously melted, did even the thought of helping him cross through his lordship’s mind.

How dare you consider the child, then glance back to your lord with this sincere pitiful look upon your face. He’d kill another for looking at him like that. But you?

He lasted a second. The denial tingled the tip of his tongue then dissipated. How completely terribly soft you make, and so easily. This is the only reason he nods, and waves the child forward, utterly defeated by you without even a word spoken.

A moment later, Yuuji was cheering and within another week’s journeying the war party arrived home with two children in tow. Megumi of no family name was at least a quiet child, and attempted to keep out of sight. While Yuuji was quite bold with his volume at all hours of the day. Though Megumi at first passed by the interest of the Emperor, it soon became clear the human child had a strong aura, and could grow to be a powerful sorcerer if properly trained.

Two worthy assets, albeit needing a good deal of investment to become useful. All in all, he’d come back from battle with less before. He considered the trip ultimately worthwhile.

Of course, it has been some months since the events of the battle, and things had returned to relative normalcy. It was torture in one way, as the heat of that moment in the field faded. But nonetheless he indulged in the small comforts he’d grown accustomed to. There were a few new faces added to the day-to-day, yes, but for a being as long lived as he, the changing of the faces around him was simply the way of things.

Currently, he eats lazily and his gaze is cast on his castle, as the roof glows a golden sheen of red in the slow sun rise. Now he knows where they come from, he wonders how many battle fields it must have taken to render all that flesh to stone. How many wars?

He thinks these things because you’re not here to distract him.

He’d noticed your growing fatigue over the last season, which Uraume labeled laziness. He noticed your sluggish morning, and how at times it seemed like your arms were too heavy for you to lift. You’d spent much of your energy chasing after the children, and seemed particularly drained after arriving back at the palace.

It took a few more weeks until you approached him about it, however.

In a quiet, tired voice—most unlike you—you’d asked him to allow you to return home, for a while. To rest properly after your time visiting.

“I do wish to return.” You’d assured him quickly. “But I must admit to longing for my family, most high one. And there I will find the rest I need, I believe.”

A flicker of red appraises the length of you. You did appear… unwell. Tired behind the eyes in a way that was more than just a bad night’s worth of dark circles. His first instinct is to refuse you. Why do you always insist on leaving his side? Squirming away, struggling under his prolonged attention. It’s tiresome.

Fine. If you want to leave, he will let you go.

Why would he refuse you time away with your clan? After all, he’s lived eons before you, and he could have lived the rest of his life without ever knowing you.

The sound of your gratitude as you thank him for his generosity is fine enough, but he’s grumpy over the idea of your little ‘vacation’ before you’ve even stepped off the property. Now he’s been alone for weeks, he’s not sure why he let you go. Everywhere he went, the absence of you in every place he’d grown used to gets louder and louder.

Why did you need to leave again? Surely you could rest with him. There was nothing he wouldn’t give you, why did you feel the need to be away from him, when he desired you to only come closer and closer? You were so opaque to his eyes; despite all his wondering he failed continuously to understand the inner workings of your motivations.

The ghost of your absence became his tormenter. He wouldn’t even let Uraume bathe him, lest they wipe away the phantom feeling of your touch that still lingers on his chest and shoulders. He had nothing to amuse him, and his days felt sensationally longer. The young nobles who also missed your presence were growing more irritating to deal with, which was part of the reason he’d decided to consume his meal under the sun, instead of within the confines of his majestic walls.

Especially not when today was to be a good day, and he wouldn’t have them ruin his mood.

Uraume steps up to his table side just then, catching his attention.

“My lord.” They say and bow. They mean to speak more, but he interrupts.

“I am already well aware.” He says with a dismissive wave. One of Uraume’s eyebrows tick up, but they don’t speak as the Emperor soon continues. “The Kaleidoscope will arrive this afternoon, in the hours after high noon but before sunset. I know you have the guard well prepared for their arrival, as usual.”

They school their expression, careful now with their words, “That is what was planned. However, I’ve just received an urgent letter.”

And this letter is slipped onto the spot beside his plate and he picks it up, a steep frown already working its way across his lips. The paper flicks open and his eyes skim across the contexts. It’s a relatively short letter, though formal. You surely didn’t write this. Perhaps this is your father’s hand.

Skimming past the introductory sections, he reads practically nothing until he sees a shift in prose. This he recognizes as your penmanship and that part he bothers to absorb the words of. Your lines are straight forward and blunt, perhaps too straight forward for his liking as he takes in what it is you have to say, hours before you're meant to be at his side again.

He reads them. Then again. Then once more, as he’s unable to comprehend even the plainest language.

Again, you’ve rendered the great Sukuna Ryoumen speechless, and you didn’t even need to be present to do so. He reads the line three more times, and only by the fourth does he actually believe his eyes.

I’m sorry, but I can’t return to court.

All his focus sharpens on the words, like he wants to burn the paper with the fury of his gaze alone. But the shape of your handwriting is too precious even to crinkle up the paper it lays on, and throw it into the bushes like the trash it is.

Not returning to court? Not returning?

Seething, he lets out a tense, harsh, rush of air from between his teeth. Mouths spout from his skin at random and fade back, each gnashing their teeth. His stomach mouth grinds its teeth, just barely continuing the rage.

Not Returning?!?!

Uruame watches in silence, as it finally happens.

The anger wells up in the Emperor until his entire skin turns a shade of unnatural red, the black lines of power across his cheeks and neck thicken, and the pink drains from his hair until it’s left a black mess upon his head. The steam that releases from his mouths as the emotions finally boil leaves a hot aura, and they know better than to move lest the ire be unintentionally fired on them.

The Emperor hardly notices them at all. He’s much too fixated on you.

After everything he’d allowed you to do? After he’d opened himself up to your presence and allowed you so much freedom? Oh, he had been far, far, far too lenient with you, if you’ve so thoroughly forgotten your place beside him. It was not your choice anymore, and he would be sure to remind you of that.

You belonged here. And he would drag you back, and lock you in, just to spite your insolence.

Little does Uraume know, their lord is not fuming because finally his violent force will fall upon your shoulders. Or at the very least, you and your nonsense has finally pushed him too far, and he will banish you. Though, as they considered the level of anger that was steadily growing fiercer, they didn’t quite understand why you would elicit such a strong reaction. In their mind, you were quite inconsequential.

They desired to forget you ever existed, if not outright wish you dead. But if you did not return, that would serve their purposes fine.

The angrier the Lord of Suffering gets, however, the more disillusioned Uraume becomes to the whole idea. They might as well stop wishing—clearly, he will not be forgetting about you or casting you aside. They sigh, how draining. Perhaps they’d been preoccupied with their own idea of how things in the estate should be, when it was their masters' will for the estate to be however he pleased it, and it was only their duty to ensure it be that way.

And if he wanted you… well… in actuality there were worse creatures the master could find himself attracted to; they supposed.

At least you weren’t General Yorozu.

And it feels almost painful to say, but Uraume takes a small step forward and offers to their lord one suggestion. “If she will not come to us today, why not go to her? And see why it is she refuses to return.” Glowing furious eyes flicker to Uraume, and calm just slightly, so before he can begin again to fume, they then add, “If she is ill, it may be impossible for her to return at all. You know how headstrong the Harvester is, she could have death at her bedside and she’d insist on telling you she’s fine.”

Anger flickers stronger at that, between upset and worry, as the idea that his Harvester may actually be quite sick indeed.

In fact, worry pierces through all other emotion. Why was it you’d left his side again? Fatigue. Fatigue so bad he’d allowed you to leave in the first place. Fatigue so bad a small party of Harvester had to arrive to escort you back home.

Why hadn’t he thought that first? Of course you must be ill. You never tell him when you’re unwell. It seems you are still in need of correction, and so he will go to you.

While they do not like it, Uraume is not at all surprised when Emperor Ryoumen rises up to his full stature. He’s a towering figure, forcing Uraume to look up at their master with a tired but faithful gaze. The game has gone on long enough, at least now their lord has made a decision about the Harvester. This much, they can appreciate.

Finally, he makes his declaration. If the Harvesters will not be arriving today, he will instead take himself to them. There is no arguing or reasoning with him. They don’t even try.

Once he rises, the energy of his fury is put to use, as he’s soon on the move, acting not from anger but concern. And this moment would be called historic later, for more reason than one. But initially, it would mark the first time in a thousand years the Ruler of All Things would be leaving his palace for a purpose that was not waging war.
…
For this task, he would employ no one. This isn’t the business of the palace, or the guard, or any number of its residents. This was his business, and he would be more than qualified to handle it. Alone. He wouldn’t even stop to smite the unworthy or feed.

And none who saw him dared attempt to make him pause.

Hurling himself through the gardens, then the wilds, over towns, cities, villages. He does not stop, single mindedly heading towards the home of the Harvesters on foot, hardly a pause. He could run faster than a carriage, and when he set his mind to it, he could practically fly.

The Harvesters are a traveling people, this much he knew even before he met you, but he had a number of generations ago given them a sanctioned section of the territory for use as their residence. If you’re as ill as you say, you’ll be there.

And if you’re not… well, you’ll have a lot of explaining to do.

It takes a mere day and a half, though it’s two passes of the sun by the time he arrives at the land you call home. But he does arrive.

The Harvesters city lies in the land between two canyons, where the shadows are deep and little grows. The buildings are simple but obviously well-crafted domes of white mortar and red finishes, which must be the making of their ancestors. They’re scattered across the canyon walls, built upwards in layers, like clusters of hives connected by rope bridges, though obviously the city has been constructed for those with wings or the ability to fly.

When they notice his arrival, the tizzy begins.

The Harvesters are nothing if not devout and respectful; they flutter down to the canyon floor and bow at his presence, unable to allow themselves to be higher than him. But because of their reverence, it takes some time for Emperor Ryoumen to get them to track down their leader. Eventually, your father arrives, and he seems quite taken off guard with this surprise visit, all the more so when he realizes what the Emperor has arrived for.

Though it seems to strangle him to do so, your father attempts to tell the Emperor that you cannot be seen, though when interrogated about the reason, he seems suspiciously shy.

Then your mother arrives.

Husband and wife share a look, one of silent argument which fazes through attack, impasse, then obvious surrender within moments of her arrival. Your mother smiles, and bows toward the Emperor once it’s clear she’s gotten her way, which pleases the Emperor if only because she’s leading him up towards the masses of their hive and telling him he’s more than welcome at their home. Your father follows behind, keeping his true thoughts to himself, though his discontent is obvious.

He stays behind as your mother leads their ruler past the entrance of her hive, and towards your room. He can almost smell you already, feel where your feet have stepped, where your hands have graced these walls, and already that feeling of tightness in his chest which has troubled him since you left, relaxes. Even more so as your mother leads him up, up, up to the top of the dome, and to the top of a stairwell, where there is a single door.

She slips ahead only to open the door, but your mother doesn’t linger once the Emperor is through the threshold. Behind him it closes with a soft, but firm push, and it’s just you, him, and this dark little room.

Here he finds you.

His eyes narrow in your face, so fast the whole rest of the world disappears. It’s a dark room, but even by candle light you look feverish. Sweaty forehead, and a faded kind of look in your eyes. It’s obvious that while he’s hyper focused on you, you are having a difficult time finding the energy to even tip your head up to look at him. Your eye lashes flutter in a hazy, confused way when you finally notice someone else is in the room.

You’re half enwrapped in a red cocoon which seems to have been placed on this mattress rather than spun here and you sink deep into it as your mind struggles with interpreting who exactly has entered your chamber.

No wonder you couldn’t travel, you look too unwell to even sit up for yourself. Why are you not being attended to at all hours by healers and helpers? Why have you been taken to this remote place to suffer? This is the care you wanted from your homeland?

He comes to your side and lowers himself to one knee as to not frighten you as your eyes finally cast over his face. The shock cascades across your gaze as you notice him, and your voice sticks in your throat.

“M-my lord?”

“Why did you not inform me that you were so unwell?” He demands.

“It is nothing to worry yourself over.” You weakly explain, trying to soothingly smile. “Just the seasons turning.”

He is unamused. “In your letter you plainly said you were not returning to the palace.”

You shake your head, even as he speaks. “Only not returning for the season.”

You almost have to heave to breathe, but his eyebrows knit trying to remember the exact wordage you’d written. He was sure he’d read it correctly. Then again you were so ill, how could you even be trusted to write what you meant?

A hurt enters your voice when you add, “Why would you think I would ever choose to not return to you, most heavenly one?”

He crosses all his arms in a disappointed knot. Your breathy voice makes something in him stir, and it’s not just this abnormal feeling of worry. Even the dewiness of your skin is beginning to change in his eyes, like the morning dew on a ripe berry instead of the sweat of a patient.

You look delicious.

He clears his throat to dissipate the distracted thoughts. He’s mad at you, he has to make himself remember. Angry and disappointed. He must teach you your place, yes…

“It looks as if you might not have a choice, Harvester.” He chastises. “Look at the state you’re in. You’ve all but tried to hide your death from me.”

Your eyes flicker, and you hesitate to answer. “It’s not that I’m unwell, really—”

“Don’t lie to me.” He barks. “I can see you struggle to breathe.”

“I’m not sick! Not really! And I wasn’t trying to hide from you…” but the unconvinced look on the Emperor’s face makes you backpaddle, “If I thought I could have stayed, I would’ve.”

His patience thins, but he huffs. “Then explain this. Clearly.”

“It’s very embarrassing to explain it to you, if you cannot understand just by being at my bedside.” You answer very quietly.

“I said speak plainly, woman.” His whole face scrunches, and he leans forward only to emphasize his frown. “Or I’ll lose patience, and I will drag you back home and find a healer who may cure this… season… of yours.”

You look so incredibly embarrassed, but you speak, “It’s not curable, my liege, it’s just my…” you struggle to pick a word, “fertile period, heavenly one, and I’ve only grown so sick from it because of my own foolishness. The moment I felt the fatigue I should have left, yet I chose to resist it instead. Taking sickly droughts to stave it as long as possible. I shouldn’t’ve, I know, but I didn’t want to…”

“To what?” He demands as you trail off.

“I didn’t want to leave you.” You admit. “It is not at all proper but—” your voice cracks and you reach up to let your fingertips hover over the curve of his jawline. He clenches it tighter, trying to listen, to understand, but utterly failing to. “But I love you. And not as a worshipper loves their god, though I do admire you as such. I love you as a mate, when I know I should not.”

Instantly all anger and disappointment evaporate.

How can you keep doing this to him and getting away with it? In love with him? Though it’s impossible to tell in this light he grows several shades redder, as the full impact of your revelation ends up only rendering him as mute as a corpse. A quiet corpse has never felt quite as vindicated and alive as the Ruler of All Living Suffering does in that moment, however.

You love him. And the truth of it is, you’ve loved him as long as you could remember. Though you would mate another for the sake of your clan, your heart had always belonged to him, even when he was not there to take it.

He means to say a thousand things in response, but the silence only stretches longer. As it does, you shrink back, taking his silence as rejection, hiding your face behind your hands.

“I’m sorry to disgrace you with such a confession.” Your misery alone stirs him back to the world of the living, where you cannot just hear the yearning of soul, but need to hear his words.

“Harvester.” He chides lowly, but you just shake your head.

“I understand if you no longer wish me to serve you, knowing these feelings.” You babble. “I should have just found someone and not let this build up knowing it would bother you so, but I could not bring myself to even gaze with want at another—”

“Harvester.” He repeats, but you seem not to be listening.

“I’m hardly a use to you at all anyway, all this time you’ve spent with me must have been such a waste. How blessed I was, I’ll never forget you or your kindness as I do my duties—”

“Y/n!” He finally snaps. And you peer through your fingers to look at him. “Stop babbling. Leave? I’ve come here to take you home, not banish you. You think I let my things go so easily.”

You blink twice, still not quite understanding how even the word home had never meant his palace before you’d called it that.

“You’re mine, Harvester. Mine. From the moment I plucked you from the ranks of your kaleidoscope.” Shock makes your expression lax into a soft open look, but he doesn’t let you speak now. This time, you’re going to sit there and listen. “There was never any returning home to your duties. Your duty is now to me.”

He almost can’t believe he has to tell you this, but you just stare, wide eyed at him as he continues his own confession. You may not be ill, but you are delirious with fever, and have been so for many days. It is difficult enough to lay back awake in your cocoon, let alone speak or attentively listen.

But he tells you to, so you try your very hardest.

“You infuriate me, woman. You’re the most vexing creature, making me feel all the time as if I’ve lost my mind. Don’t dare apologize!” He cuts you off before you can even squeak, “And now I find myself at your bedside, as if instead of it being your duty to attend me, it is mine to attend you. It’s impossible to reconcile and yet here I am. As fast as I could I’ve come to your side, thinking you might be breaths away from death and I would have not been here to prevent it or witness your final hour! Yet, you’re here, not dying, but suffering from some kind of heat. Ridiculous.”

The weight of what it would mean for the Emperor of All Things to cast aside his duties so brashly to come to your aid escapes your fuzzy, muddled thoughts. Instead, his confession makes your eyes water with miserable remorse. He must have come some long way to see you, only for you to be truly fine, and he won’t even let you apologize for the inconvenience.

You thought going away for a few weeks would make things easier. But it has only made things harder. For you, certainly, you’d never suffered so horribly through your season, and now for the Emperor, who’s wasted so much energy on you.

“You’ve hidden things from me, and I’m upset with you, Harvester. What do you say to that?”

It’s hard to focus, but you only ever wanted an opportunity to repay him for all his attention, so you’re quick to say, “Is there any way at all I can make up for my follies, most high one?”

“Only by swearing to me, that from now on you will be forthright with me, and at all times. Tell me what you need. When you are unwell. When you are dissatisfied. As much as you do when you are well.” He commands so achingly sincerely. “Because anything that ails you is my enemy, just as all your desires become mine. And if you want teeth in you, I will give you mine a hundred times over. Eat you until you become anew and you’ll never forget who you belong to. I’d give you a brood of a thousand children for your clan, and a lifetime of worthy service. Anything, and it’s yours.”

His final, true confession rings in the air until your head is spinning with it

He couldn’t possibly say that and mean to address you. He could have anyone the world over, individually or all at once. He could have a palace of concubines, filled with men and women of any shape or size or color. But he wanted you.

This must have been some kind of fever dream. But he smelled so real, and you could practically feel his heat in the air. None of your visions felt like that

He had to be real.

Tears prick your eyes. “…truly? Do you truly mean that?”

“Have your ears gone as well as your sense, Harvester? I will not repeat myself—”

He didn’t realize just how naked you were, up to the moment you launch yourself from your cocoon. He notices fast enough for his own words to sputter, lips parting slightly as he finally sees what’s been hidden under your daily garb. His lips part slightly, and you take this as an invitation to plant your own there.

Your mouth is so, so eager to meet his. While he is frozen. Shocked. Alarmed. And falling down a well of suddenly building lust which is practically overwhelming.

You suck and lick at his open mouth with a feverish eagerness while his brain reboots from the static rush of his first kiss being taken by you. Wet and messy and needy. He’d seen kissing before, but he never thought it felt like this. This satisfying. He lets you do as you please, your fingers slipping into the space behind his ears, and clawing into his hair line.

Pulling yourself up to drag yourself closer, your momentary lost in the rush of finally touching him as you’ve always longed to do. That is, until you notice he’s not responding to you at all. His lips are stiff, his jaw tight. So you just begin to peel away, to ask him if you’ve already gone too far—but the threat of losing the heat of your mouth is enough to spur him back to reality.

With a fierce grip, his upper arms snap around you, pulling your chest flush with his so that your mouth presses right back where it was. His other hands drag you the rest of the way out of the cocoon, allowing the scent which stirred in it to surround him with the heady haze of your fertility. You must have been nestled in there for days, and yet all he scents is heady desire, thick and poignant.

His jaw begins to work in tandem with yours, as he catches the rhythm of your affection and surpasses it. It’s not long until he’s taken over, grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing his tongue into your mouth like he would a cock. Deeper until your throat is spasming on it, and your eyes roll back. You’d drown in his spit, if he’d give you the honor of choking on it.

Your bare legs are splayed across his lap, and very suddenly he feels like he has far too many layers of clothes on. With four arms, he juggles your body back and forth while he strips himself of his silken wraps. His mouths hunger for you, just as he feels the lengths of his manhood rising to attention, and once he’s nude as well, there is no more keeping any of himself hidden away.

His lower hands grip your hips a little tighter, than roughly pull yours flush to his. The mouth on his stomach peels open, laying a languid, slow lick across the wetness brewing between your legs. You throw your head back, already rendered a sloppy moaning mess, as the tip of his tongue laps across the crux of your legs, teasing down from your asshole to your clit with a hunger that promises to leave neither hole unfilled later.

It torments you with pressure, teasing all your holes with its hot probing, and your hands cling desperately to his shoulders for purchase. Nails biting into his skin as he finally lets your mouth free of his speaking tongue, and he lets out a low satisfied hiss. His other mouths, the smaller, scattered ones which emerge from his hands and various other places on his limbs, are also hungry for you.

He grabs your chin with one hand to keep your head steady in front of his face, while he and the tongue from his palm batter their way between your drooling lips. You’re sandwiched and overstimulated already, feeling split-roasted by tongues alone, while you’re nipped all over by a myriad of smaller teeth. Your eyes roll back and a shiver announces that this is all it’s taken to make you rupture.

You’re not even sure if he knows just how good this feels to you. It’s enough he knows that he’s ravenous for more. And so he will have it.

He stands suddenly, releasing your mouth as you squeal with surprise, then he tosses you onto the edge of the mat you’ve been cocooned on. He takes a moment to admire your nakedness, leering over your body and running two of his palms over your curves, tongues out to drink your delicious pilling sweat. And when he reaches them, he grabs one of your breasts hard, kneading it in a strong grip, the sudden tension making your back arch.

That’s it. He’s so, so hungry for you. And there’s no way he’ll ever be totally full.

His stomach splits again, there was no way he could withhold the tongue from having another taste of you, when you’re splayed below him for the first time. It licks you again, pushing past to spread your folds apart and fuck you roughly on as much of it as it can shove inside.

“Wait j-just a moment.” You attempt to put your hands between your legs to stay the hungry beast, but your words are more than half-garbled.

“I will have all of you.” He declares. Stern as ever, even in places he’s inexperienced. He will not be denied you now. “And you will take all of me. I feel I’ve waited long enough. Three thousand fucking years.” He mutters, though they quickly slip past your awareness.

And you would protest, until you feel what’s growing larger hidden behind the width of his tongue teasing your pussy. There’s something hard there, something you recognize the vague shape of—except for the fact that there are two of them. That part doesn’t at all feel familiar.

The shock makes your eyes dart from the strange sight which is unfolding currently between your legs, as his stomach attempts to consume every drop of slick you squeeze out. Only to catch the look in his eyes, all four boring down into your soul with a heartfelt intensity.

You melt, just a little, as he looks so intently as you like that. Like… like even if he won’t say it with those exact words, he’s never loved someone or wanted someone as much as he wants you right now.

Your eyes roll back, and with a whimpering little moan you taste just a flicker of the pleasure to come in the curling of his tongue between your walls, and you decide to let go. Why fight? Haven’t you been so very desperate for this?

“Yes, sire, please more.” You breathlessly answer. “Take me. I’m-mhmmm ready.”

The hand that was busy with your breast freezes for just a moment. He supposes he’d been holding himself back for so long, he almost hadn’t prepared for the moment that you would actually willingly, whole heartily, accept him.

He grabs the back of your neck quickly, with a sudden unpredictable movement, and pushes your mouth to his. Bending down, until he’s pressing you hard into the mat. He still doesn’t really know how to kiss, but he knows what he wants to say with this one. Those words he can’t speak to you. How much he wants you, how much he feels like he can’t breathe without you anymore, drowning you in those feelings while the tongue below teases and writhes within.

He’s been patient enough, his cocks strain so hard to be within your aching, hot body they hurt. When he releases your mouth, you’re panting, and he’s intent on claiming you. He pushes you away as fast as he’d picked you up, and you let out a rush when your back hits the mattress again. One hand reaches up to your neck, his thumb laying over your mouth, and you’re unable to resist slipping it into your mouth to suck on.

The groan of his reveals how hard it is to decide what to look at as he watches you suckle and squirm. Another hand keeps your hips down, while his lower set of arms grab his cocks and guide them both to your waiting holes.

Greedy girl. Greedy for wanting him and greedy for taking him now. You better make sure to take your serving eagerly.

Then the tips of his cocks pierce through the initial clenching of your body. You almost recoil from the penetration, it feels like he’s trying to dig out some of your insides to make room for him. The stretch deepens as he pushes in. And though you squirm, you’ve already given yourself and he’s not letting you out from under him now.

“My lord—” you begin to moan.

It’s too much. Veering into painful, even though you’re already quite wet.

“You will call me Sukuna when I’m within you, Harvester.” He demands.

“Yes, s-Su-sukuna.” You finally whimper his name, and his hips stutter just a little deeper. You bite your lip to hold back pain. Little do you know, he’s really, really trying to go slow, but you’re making it pleasurably difficult.

“S-suku-na, it’s too much. I don’t know if I can take ‘em…” You mumble.

“You will.” He promises with another push.

He’s only half way sheathed by now, but you feel so full that your ears feel stuffy. Your hand flutters over your stomach, already feeling distended from the length of him in you.

You whine again.

“This is what you wanted.” He reminds you. “I bet you even begged for it, brat.”

“But…” you complain, hands over where his are on your hips and pressing down, as if you’d be allowed to escape. “Ah, Sukuna!”

“I said you can take it.” He growls, he refuses to acknowledge how the pleasure ticks into his voice. It feels so good he feels a sweat break out down his back as he struggles to slowly enter you. He knows enough not to batter you to pieces. You’re so small compared to him, so delicate. Your wings flutter uselessly as he presses in deeper, deeper until he’s all the way in and you’re squeezing around him, back lifted of the bed and groaning mindlessly. His own vision goes white, just for a moment, as he feels you squeeze around him for the first time.

“There you are.” He compliments, a hand tracing down your stomach, to where he can feel your flesh distended. “Good girl.”

You involuntarily squeeze—you want so bad to be good for him. And here it is, finally something you can do for him.

Take his cock and keep him warm, or whatever he pleases.

“That’s right, the only one to take me.” He agrees, and you come to the realization that you just said all that outload. Then he says your name, low and precious, the highest praise for actually managing to take him.

Before you can acknowledge your embarrassment, he’s thrusting into you. Half way out, then all the way back in and language abandons you. It’s an awkward, testing thrust, but he’s so large you cum fast and hard at the slightest movement. You feel full and sensitive, but if he understands or notices, he doesn’t give a damn.

What he knows is that when your legs tremor like that, and your stomach coils up, he feels amazing. If it takes a thousand years, he’ll find a way to make your insides coil like that with every thrust he takes. And one day, he’ll make that dream true. For now, though, he savors the trembling aftershocks of your pleasure and takes his own. Slow, so so so painfully slow.

He could snap his hips and pierce you harshly. But he can’t help but wonder if he fucks you as he pleases, if you’ll break in two in his hands. You’re not immortal yet, he doesn’t truly want to hurt you.

Pulling back, he keeps strong hold of your hips and shoulders and shifts so that he’s lying on his back, and your comparatively small frame is spread across his lap. Your legs strain to reach either side of him, not even making it to the blanket on the mat, and you release the sweetest whimper. But instantly he knows this was the right choice. From here, he can see how the length of what’s already in you shifts and how your eyes roll back when the pair of cocks in you sink deeper.

You can’t take it; you fold over instantly.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders like you already can’t handle anymore, but when your mouth finds his, he can’t find it in himself to reject you to stare longer at your budging tummy, full of him. Not as your hips start loosely rolling, taking him in deeper and deeper, until he can feel you dripping down his balls. You feel tongues all over, on your checks, flicking your clit and across your stomach. Where ever his hands are and even where they aren’t.

If he drowns you in his desire to possess, you drown him in the addictive sweet sucking your attention has always felt like to him.

Fuck, he can’t take anymore of you giving to him little fragments of your adoration, he wants it all.

His lower hands grab either side of your hips tight, hard enough he’ll leave marks, and he forces you down on him. Hard. You cry out, and he does it again and again until you’re lost. Up and down, bouncing at pace on his cocks that are dripping with you. Your eyes roll back, and time slips from between your ears as the pounded feels like it lasts for hours.

One hard slam, deep and steady. That marks the moment the Emperor comes. A rush of release floods his mind as seed floods your holes.

This is what he’d been longing for.

It seems only natural to reach up and pull you down flush to his chest again, but for a new purpose. and bit your flesh. Everywhere, all at once, like he really is trying to eat you whole. You cry out, nails clawing at his back as you take the feeling of his teeth not only mark your skin, but do so eternally, as he transfers the blessing of his flesh onto you through a scar which will never fade.

Whether you want it or not, whether you would agree or not, you’re his forever. And he’d hunt you to the ends of the world if you ever dared try to leave him again.

He releases himself from your tightness with a slight hiss, the sight of his spend rushing out makes him reinsert, to stuff it all back inside. So he does, and savors the slightly pained whine you rattle off beneath him.

This is what he’d avoided all those years? It was foul and nasty, slick and intimate, he’d been right to make fun of others for chasing this high their entire lives.

And yet. And yet.

He wouldn’t mind having children that could fly…

You stir slightly, the haze fading and you stare up at his face with a sickeningly sweet expression. But then your lips tick down as your fingers glide through the length of his hair with a more fixed attention.

“When did your hair get so dark?” You wonder aloud with a breathless giggle. “I like it.”

If he answers, it doesn’t matter. You’ll learn over time about all the things that remain mysterious about your lover, just as he will unfold the hidden parts of you. Intimacy will metastasis around the pair of you over the course of generations, undeniable to any in all the empire. But for now, you enjoy the afterglow of your first time, and hope that this feeling of fulfilment lasts, well, forever.

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