#Culture converge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skyloftian-nutcase · 2 years ago

Text

Breath of the Sky Ch 10 (SS meets BotW)

UPDATE UPDATE UPDATE :D :D :D

Okay okay, I'm not... entirely happy with this chapter but I'm not unhappy with it, either. It's just kind of awkwardly paced, I feel like, but if I kept going it would take a century to get this sucker out and probably even longer to read it. So here we are.

Summary: When Princess Zelda goes to the Spring of Courage to pray, accompanied by her appointed knight, a giant magical cog spitting out a goddess is the last thing she expects, but it is what she gets. Meanwhile, the Spirit Maiden Zelda is trying to figure out what the heck is happening and where her missing husband/chosen hero is.

(AO3 link)

Chapter 10: A King's Request

Something made a strange noise, pulling her from the inky darkness she'd slipped into. Light. There was light. Taking a slow, deep breath, Zelda furrowed her brow a little as the light pierced through her eyelids, casting an amber glow in front of her eyes.

Amber.

Her eyes opened in an instant. But she wasn’t drained and collapsing into Link’s arms in the Temple of Hylia. She was…

Ah. That’s right.

Zelda shifted, feeling the cotton sheet scratch her bare skin. She was a little chilly, but not uncomfortable, though she did shuffle under the heavy blankets a bit more, pushing some disheveled hair out of her face. She stretched briefly, feeling her blood flow through her body, and glanced to the other side of the bed. Link was snuggled under the blanket all the way to his nose, his fluffy dirty blonde hair barely visible. Zelda smiled, her heart full.

Last night had been magical.

Slowly, she made her way over to her husband, holding him close against her for some extra warmth. Link mumbled in his sleep, turning towards her slightly. She lightly rubbed her nose against his, giggling as he scrunched his face and sniffled in response.

And then she nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock at the door.

Heart racing, Zelda bolted up, looked down at her less than fit-for-company appearance, and then snatched the blanket and shoved it up to her chin. Link shivered a little, rolling away from her and taking the blanket with him.

“Link!” Zelda hissed in protest as her fluffy shield was stripped away.

There was another knock at the door. “Your Grace, Hero of—”

“J-just a minute!” Zelda said, trying to sound commanding and only succeeding in sounding like a teenager caught in the midst of breaking some kind of rule.

Looking around frantically, Zelda saw a sash in one corner of the room, her dress in another, Link’s trousers lazily hanging over the chair, and accessories scattered in multiple nooks and crannies. It was a veritable puzzle that she had to piece together. She scrambled out of the bed, face flushing as she immediately went to the window to slam the curtains closed (what time was it? She felt like she'd only just fallen asleep), and then began to gather different articles of clothing.

Link continued to snore in bed. Zelda glanced at him at one point, exasperated. How could he sleep through this?!

Zelda felt something sharp and prickly dig into her heel and she hissed, hopping on one foot for a few seconds, leading to her balance being thrown off as she unceremoniously face planted onto the floor.

Snoring continued to float lazily from the bed.

“Your Grace, Great Hero, is everything all right?” the voice called from the door. It was unfamiliar, whoever it was, and that made Zelda all the more agitated.

Groaning, she pulled herself up from the floor, now shivering. “Yep! Fine! Just another minute please!”

Her foot throbbing in pain, Zelda glared down to see that the offending object that had caused the injury was her headdress from last night. Grumbling, she grabbed the cursed item and threw it onto the chair where it was less likely to cause damage. From her vantage point, though, she could see her dress, all crumpled up by the bed where Link was wrapped up at least three times over in two different blankets, his hair sticking out like he was some freshly harvested vegetable.

Zelda hastily threw the white garment over her head, growling as it fought against her desire to wear it, pulling in odd places with different layers sticking up. This fit just fine yesterday, why was this being such a pain?!

After finally managing to at least get the garment to flow freely from her head to her toes, she padded over to the door, trying to take a calming breath and slow her frantic heart rate. She smoothed her hands over her hair—which she immediately regretted because she could feel how tangled it must have looked—and cracked the door open.

And promptly felt her heart get stolen from her chest.

There was a woman in front of her, roughly around her age, with copious amounts of thick white hair tied in a half up, half down style. Her red eyes were wide, somewhat nervous but holding a fierce determination to them, and her face was stony.

But her forehead… it bore a symbol that Zelda had only seen on one other person.

Impa.

“Who are you?” Zelda asked quietly as she slowly straightened her posture, the door opening wider of its own accord.

The woman in front of her genuflected. “Your Grace, I am Impa of the Sheikah. I come to—”

The rest of her message was lost to Zelda. Impa?! How could this be Impa?! This made no sense!

Wait. Wait. The princess… her name is Zelda. The Hero’s name is Link. This woman must be a descendant or at least of the same people as Impa, then. The name is an honoring, just as the others are.

Zelda took a steadying breath as logic helped calm her whirling thoughts. She knew she had to be right. After all, this woman bore little to no resemblance to the Impa she knew apart from her eyes and the symbol.

The current dilemma, then, was that she was genuflecting, clearly expecting a reply, and Zelda had no idea what she had said beyond her name.

Zelda felt her dress push into her neck uncomfortably, and she pulled the collar down her chest a bit, swallowing. “I’m sorry, Impa, I… I didn’t… it’s nice to meet you, but what is it that you want?”

Impa slowly glanced up at the disheveled teenager and bit her lip, her cheeks blushing slightly. She quickly looked down again, as if ashamed or timid, like she bore some secret that she didn’t want revealed. Zelda grew confused, felt her dress ride up at her neck again, and yanked it irritably.

“Your Grace, I come bearing a message – a request for an audience from the king.”

The king? What could the king want at this hour of the morning? Zelda felt pretty tired, and it was still early light out; surely this could wait?

She supposed she didn’t have much right to argue, though. The king had been nothing but accommodating, and he’d thrown the most extravagant feast in her honor that she’d ever seen, past or present. Zelda sighed, running a hand down her face. Suddenly she felt both obligated and frustrated. How much longer should this farce even go on? She’d come here to find Link. That issue had been more than resolved.

But everything that she’d learned last night…

“Very well,” she said. “I just… does he want me to come right now?”

Impa glanced up again. Zelda finally realized she would remain genuflecting unless told otherwise.

Interrupting whatever the woman was about to say, Zelda hastily waved her hand upward. “Please, get up.”

Impa obeyed, straightening and standing at eye level. It made Zelda almost take a step away. The woman’s gaze was strong, though not as stern as the Impa she’d known. But the red eyes were unique, something that undeniably reminded her of the servant and friend who had guided and protected her for millennia.

“Your Grace, I believe given the situation, it is best to take your time and prepare for the audience.”

“What situation?” Zelda questioned, growing more anxious.

Impa cleared her throat uncomfortably and folded her hands behind her back, tipping her head towards Zelda.

The confusion returned, quelling her worries. “What is it?”

“Your Grace… um, you might want to check your dress.”

“My—“ another firm tug on her collar “My dress is beautiful, I don’t know who made it, but—”

“Your Grace. Check your dress.”

Zelda blinked, bewildered. Looking down, she immediately understood.

She was wearing her dress backwards.

Her cheeks burned, and she knew they likely matched the same shade of crimson as the woman’s eyes. “Ah. Uh, right. Right. I’ll just… um, please tell the king I’ll see him after breakfast and… yes. I’ll see him later.”

Impa nodded mutely, her eyes downcast as she tried to help Zelda save face.

Link snored loudly all of a sudden behind her.

“Thanks!” Zelda yelped, slamming the door in Impa’s face.

Groaning, she turned around and leaned against the door, sliding to the floor.

Well that was a great first impression.

XXX

The morning air was sharp in his lungs as he inhaled with a hiss, dodging a blow by a hair’s breadth. The creamy white trident gleamed in the sunlight, its fiery rose highlights catching his eyes before he pushed the weapon away with his shield.

“Oh! Link, are you alright? I almost hit you!” Mipha said, withdrawing a step or two.

Link hated to admit it, but Mipha was right – she had almost landed a blow that he could usually dodge easily. He wasn’t sure if she had improved her technique so substantially in her absence or if he was that distracted.

Mipha had certainly grown in her fighting prowess, but Link would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little out of sorts.

After last night’s fiasco, he’d spent the rest of the party meandering with the champions. Mipha had kept him fairly distracted and entertained, and he’d appreciated the gesture. It had mostly worked, too, but then he’d gone to bed and the anxieties he’d started to feel came up and clutched him by the throat.

Least to say, he hadn’t slept well.

Link breathed out as evenly as possible. He’d found Mipha first thing in the morning for sparring – he needed to get the energy out, he needed to feel like he could handle this blade once more.

It seemed this wasn’t helping much.

“I’m okay,” he said with a small attempt at a reassuring smile. “Let’s go again.”

But Mipha was distracted now, her gaze somewhere over Link’s shoulder. Confused and a little concerned, he turned to see what she was watching.

Several feet away in an adjacent part of the garden stood in the Hero of Myth.

Link immediately felt his mouth go dry and his body freeze. The Hero hadn’t noticed them yet, staring off somewhere, standing in profile to them. He was wearing the white undershirt and trousers from his outfit last night, substantially more dressed down in its untucked manner. His hands traced along some bushes absentmindedly, gaze distant, face cool and collected. It reminded Link eerily of himself, and he didn’t know what to make of that.

Mipha nudged him from behind. “Link, you should go talk to him. Maybe you two can spar together? Imagine what you could learn from him!”

Link felt his world practically flip upside down. He couldn’t say no; he was too choked up to say anything. He prayed Mipha would notice that he wasn’t in the mood to speak.

Mipha at least picked up on something. His dear friend turned to face him fully, her hand resting on his shoulder, the one warmth in his entire frigid body. He felt a cold sweat start to materialize on his brow, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt like he wanted to burst out of his skin and was going to throw up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly so as not to alert the Hero.

“How did you get this blade?”

The question had been nearly hissed, almost accusatory. Link had been agonizing over it all night. Had the Hero not believed the tale told by the bard? Had he doubted that Link was actually the bearer of the Spirit of the Hero? How could he tell Mipha that the person he was supposed to live up to thought he was a failure already?

He felt a sharp, agonizing sympathy for Zelda all of a sudden.

There was a sound in the garden up ahead, and Mipha and Link both returned their attention to the Hero.

He’d noticed them.

Link’s eyes locked with his, and his chest tightened so much he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know what to do.

The Hero of Myth watched them carefully, eyes boring into Link’s soul. His face looked pale in the morning light, and then—

And then he coughed harshly, bending over and rushing somewhere out of sight. Link could still hear him, and Mipha, the healer that she was, immediately ran to his aid.

Was… was he getting ill? It sounded like it, and it made Link’s own stomach churn uncomfortably.

Uncertainty held him back, but a natural empathy urged him forward. Link walked stiffly to catch up with Mipha, who had already run to the Hero’s side, just out of sight around a bend. When the two came back into view, the Hero was on his knees dry heaving into a bush with Mipha kneeling beside him, hand on his back.

“I’m going to get you some water,” Mipha said, rising. She looked pleadingly at Link. “Please keep an eye on him.”

A pang of irritation and horror combined into a strange mixture of a dizzying headache that made him snap to attention and want to scream all at once. Instead, he jerked his head forward in a stiff nod. Mipha watched him a moment longer, the concern in her eyes familiar, but it did little to soothe his anxieties when she’d practically thrown him at the one person he wanted so desperately to avoid.

He supposed there was little point in avoiding him now. His father would tell him to face his fears, anyway.

Link swallowed bile and awkwardly stepped forward, unsure what exactly he should do. Considering the cold reception he’d gotten last night, he was certain the Hero of Myth wanted nothing to do with him. He tried not to think about that.

“S-sorry…”

The weak, hoarse word was barely audible over the Hero’s pants for air, but it cut through the tension in an instant. Link shifted weight between his feet, wondering what he should say or do.

He really couldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t dare. Not after last night.

But Hero or not, this person was clearly feeling horrible. Link… wished he was better equipped for this, but…

The Hero glanced over at him a moment, pale and sweaty and suddenly looking so small. His eyes shifted from Link’s face to the sword on his back, and then he squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Goddess above…”

Link stared, completely lost. Was the Hero disgusted at the mere sight of him?

Could this morning get any worse?

“Maybe you’ll have better luck than me,” the Hero muttered, his tone deep and dark and biting. Link flinched at the remark, and the one part of his brain that wasn’t just screaming really registered the words.

The response scraped out of him before he could stop it. “What?”

Oh goddess. Oh goddess. What did I just do, shut up shut up SHUT UP—

The Hero rose, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and facing him. He looked… incredibly tired. Placing a hand on Link’s shoulder, he squeezed it for a moment, some strange expression of empathy and worry and pity and guilt at war on his face, eyes constantly flicking from Link to the Master Sword, and then the Hero stepped away, letting his hand fall.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, walking away, leaving Link reeling in the garden alone.

What... what?

Link stood there for one, two, five minutes. And then he heard Mipha approaching.

Overwhelmed and confused, he ran back into the castle before anyone could find him. He...

He needed to talk to Zelda.

XXX

Zelda had come back to an empty bedroom after washing up, eating something, and putting on her knight attire. Though it worried her that Link was already up and about without her even knowing where he’d gone, she had still promised to meet up with the king to discuss… whatever it was he needed.

This was her last day of politely going along with this charade, however. Link was better. There was literally no reason for them to stay here anymore. They… they needed to go home.

Her mind whispered words that had been spoken last night. Legends of a calamity coming over and over again. She shook her head violently.

Maybe Link had been right. Maybe it was a different problem and they attributed it to Demise.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

The king. The princess. They’re our family. We built this place.

She wanted to stay and learn more. She really did. But they’d just disappeared in the midst of a destructive accident back home. People had to be worrying by now.

Sighing, she clenched her fists and determinedly left the room, allowing the servant Impa to guide her to the main area where the king would be waiting for her. Following a Sheikah named Impa to her destination was so bizarrely familiar and out of place all at the same time that her world was spinning.

How could things be so different and so similar all at the same time? How could things be so astounding and amazing and magical and horrifying all at once? How could this place elate her and terrify her? It was like discovering the Surface all over again. At least here she had Link… but she desperately missed Impa now.

Zelda entered the same room as last night’s festivities, the one where she’d originally met the king. He stood on the ground level awaiting her, his face serious.

Zelda watched him warily. This… didn’t look good.

“Your Grace,” he acknowledged with a deep bow as the doors closed behind her, leaving them alone. “I hope you enjoyed all Hyrule had to offer you last night.”

Zelda lingered a little too long on what had transpired last night, and a blush colored her cheeks. She cleared her throat, shaking the thoughts and feelings away. “It… it was amazing. I appreciate the effort of showing us what Hyrule grows into.”

And she truly did appreciate it. Truly. But… she had a feeling that wasn’t what this meeting was about.

“Your Grace,” the king started slowly. “I… understand that traditions vary, that legends change depending on who speaks them. We did the best we could to maintain our history over the years, but I… cannot help but think that the story we gave you last night was not quite correct.”

Zelda raised her eyebrows in surprise. Had... someone actually figured out that she truly had no idea what the hell was going on? Had the king realized that, despite her past, she was still just a knight from Skyloft? Could she finally put her past behind her?

“I… do not understand the nature of your war against the Calamity,” the king explained. “Only that you and your Hero won it. However… the words spoken of its impending return are true. A prophecy was made many years ago, while my daughter was still a child. The Calamity will come.”

There was such a finality to those words. It wasn’t a matter of if the demon king would return, but when. Zelda felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the cold, hard realization slammed into her.

Demise was still alive.

Golden Three. How was he still alive?! How was that possible?!

Was… was the king about to ask what she thought he was about to ask?

“Hyrule needs your help, Your Grace,” King Rhoam said finally. “…Zelda needs your help.”

Her mind immediately snapped back to the prayer last night.

“Goddess Hylia, I pray you give me the strength to protect my people.”

Oh. Oh, no. What… what were they expecting of her?

“My daughter is destined to seal away the Calamity, as you once did,” the king continued, unaware of Zelda’s internal crisis. “But she… she has been… having difficulty accessing her powers. She is the key to everything, and if she fails, Hyrule will fall. I… I beg of Your Grace. Please. Help my daughter fulfill her destiny. Help her defeat the Calamity as you once did.”

What?

She… he… he wanted her to be the princess’ guide? But—but she—this was—

What was she supposed to do? Was there a seal keeping Demise at bay? Where was the Triforce?

How had he survived?!

She had no plan here, she had no knowledge, nothing. Despite the confusion, despite the fear and the wonder and the chaos of her adventure, her memories had helped her at least know what she’d needed to do. She’d had a plan in place.

She knew nothing here.

“Where is he?” she asked. “And where’s the Triforce?”

The king’s expression turned to surprise and confusion. “Your Grace?”

“Where is he sealed?” Zelda asked slowly, hating everything about this. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d thought the war was over.

She heard Link’s screams in her mind. She felt her soul being ripped out of her body.

Shaking her head subtly, she pressed on, trying to keep her voice even. “Is the seal weakening? What about the Triforce?”

Was this the true reason Link had been thrown into the future? Was this some other plan Hylia—she had put together and she just hadn’t unlocked the memory yet? She… she’d sworn it was over!

“We don’t know where he is,” the king answered, shaking his head. “And the Triforce… the Triforce is an item of myth. I understand it must have been present during your time as the legends state, but… we no longer know of its location, if it even still exists.”

Zelda felt her blood freeze. She had sacrificed everything to protect the Triforce and it… was gone?!

“The ancient Hero of ten thousand years past was able to defeat the Calamity with the assistance of the divine beasts and the princess’ divine power,” King Rhoam spoke. “The Triforce was not used then, either.”

“No!” Zelda suddenly snapped, losing her mind and her composure. “Don’t you understand?! It’s not about sealing, it’s about killing – you can’t kill him without the Triforce!”

Her words echoed in the room, screaming in her mind. Brokenly, she said, “How can it be gone?”

This… this was a nightmare.

So this was what it all amounted to? Everything she and Link had fought for had been lost?

No, she argued back defiantly, closing her eyes and shielding her face with her hands. No. It isn’t all lost. Just look at everything around you! Look at the kingdom they made, despite all the odds!

But…

Impa. The countless beings in her memories. The humans who hadn’t been able to leave the Surface. They’d all died for nothing.

Zelda fell to her knees.

So this was why those legends existed. This was why Demise came back again and again and again.

But how had he survived the first time?! What could she do to stop him?!

Why was this happening?!

“I… I didn’t think it was possible to kill such a beast.”

The king’s voice was so quiet, so unsure, so frightened. Images of people hiding behind her and seeking her aid and protection seared into her mind, and a wave of protective ferocity drove her to lower her hands and open her eyes.

“Your Grace, I…” the king stammered uncertainly, looking downcast. “I have failed you. I do not know anything of the Triforce. But I… I beg of you, please… let me take the fall, but save my people. Help my daughter.”

Zelda let out a shuddering breath, and slowly rose. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fix this.

But she wasn’t going to just leave them like this.

“I’ll help,” she said quietly. “But I need you to do something for me.”

The king’s sad eyes brightened, filled with hope and eagerness. “What does Your Grace need?”

“Send knights to the place where I appeared. A lot of them,” Zelda instructed. “And guard that area so no one can access it.”

She wasn’t making the same mistake as last time, after all. Nobody was going through the Gate of Time.

Golden Three, was… was that why? Was that the reason Demise was still here, countless millennia later?

Zelda’s head was spinning. She couldn’t wrap her mind around this anymore.

“Of course,” the king acknowledged with a nod of his head. “I’ll send my finest soldiers, as will the other leaders. You will have an army of Hylians, Zora, Gerudo, Rito, and Gorons protecting it.”

Gorons? At least she knew what Gorons were.

She supposed she’d be sticking around long enough to figure out the rest of them.

How in the world was she going to explain this to Link?

Oh, Link. She knew that between the two of them he had probably been far more eager to go home. Not to mention…

The only way to defeat Demise was with his help.

But… Zelda wasn’t quite sure how this was going to work. Her entire plan had relied on the Triforce. Link had been chosen because of his unbreakable spirit – the criteria was literally that the power and allure of the Triforce wouldn’t corrupt him. Zelda had held Demise at bay, the Master Sword had guided Link, and…

The Master Sword. That knight.

This was… a mess.

“Thank you,” Zelda muttered, her mind already a million miles away from the room, spinning and confused and so utterly lost. She had no idea how she was supposed to fix this.

I guess I can start by talking to the princess.

XXX

Link was hopelessly lost.

When he’d first awoken to an empty room, he’d wandered outside. The sight of tiny birds was enticing, and it would provide a good distraction. As amazing as last night had been, it was over, and the heavy thoughts weighing on his mind were trying to return.

So naturally he’d had to run into that knight. The new Chosen Hero. The person whose life he’d probably destroyed from his own ineptitude. That had been an entire fiasco, and he was just trying to find his way back to the little house given to him and Zelda inside this large structure. He’d thought it would be easy to find his way back – this place couldn’t be that big, right?

He’d been wrong. This place was huge. He swore it was bigger than Skyloft itself.

Sighing heavily, he leaned against a stone wall as the fires crackled on the torches. He’d been up most of the night with Zelda, and it had been, well, incredible, but also now he was exhausted, he’d already gotten so overwhelmingly stressed he’d gotten ill, and he had no idea where the heck he was.

I’ve got to be close, right? He thought desperately, his head starting to ache.

Link took a fortifying breath and started to walk again. At least he’d finally adjusted to the climate. Surface Sickness could be a pain with the lingering fatigue it often brought, but he’d been down here long enough that he’d adapted. He was sure Zelda felt the same way.

Where even was Zelda? He hadn’t seen her all morning.

A familiar anxiety tried to well its way into his mind, but he shook his head. No one here was going to hurt her; he learned that much from yesterday’s celebration.

Whispers of doubts, worries, and observations started to overwhelm him, and he shook his head again. No. He wasn’t going to think about it. He would just keep moving forward like he always did. Everything was fine.

Link felt some hope spark within him as he saw a door up ahead. That had to be it, right?

Picking up his pace, he opened the door to find himself in an unfamiliar room. White and grey tiles lined the floor and were occasionally covered with red velvet carpet. The stone walls had many bookshelves lined along them aside from multiple arched windows. A desk was in the corner, a vanity on the other wall beside a large four post bed, and a massive spiraling staircase was in front of the wall opposite of him.

Link bit his lip. This wasn’t the room provided to him, so he wouldn’t find Zelda here. But he was so tired, and he couldn’t tell what time it was, but the sun was definitely still hanging heavily, slowly crawling up into the sky. His mind was a fog, trying to hide words of curses and malice in a haze that left him feeling incapable of thinking straight. A nap would do him so good; he could find Zelda when he could actually focus.

Making his way to the bed, he promptly collapsed on top of the blanket, immediately falling asleep.

XXX

Princess Zelda scribbled some notes into her research journal and then leaned back in her seat. After the festivities earlier in the night she’d buried herself in work. She was eager to talk to their esteemed guests about the guardians and the divine beasts, and she was even more eager to learn about their era. Perhaps they knew about the divine beasts? Perhaps they were the ones who had ordered their construction? It was hard to tell – the tales spoke of their development ten thousand years ago, but there were other myths of different heroes and enemies and she didn’t know how they all fit together. Organizing it all in her journal would help.

It also gave her confidence to even approach them. Her brief interaction with Hylia last night had been exhilarating, but there was still a degree of timidity involved. As for the Hero of Myth, he was somewhat of an enigma; his gentle and soft features were unassuming and kind, but his mannerisms sometimes were contradictory. He had much more confidence and boldness in him than her appointed knight; sitting on the arm of the throne so casually with his arm draped around the goddess was quite the gesture, and everyone had commented on it. Zelda wasn’t really sure what to make of him. Still, if she’d learned anything from her experiences with her friend, it was to not judge a book by its cover.

Closing her journal, the princess stood and stretched. She’d probably take a walk around the castle a bit before heading to bed. When she exiting her study, however, she jolted to realize that it was early morning light.

Oh. Oops. No wonder I’m tired.

The princess had a momentary panic as she thought about whether she had any duties to attend to in the morning. When her addled mind found none, she relaxed. Perhaps she’d have time to sleep for a few hours before she was needed. Zelda walked across the bridge between the tower and her quarters and thoughtfully made her way down the spiral stairs into her room.

And then she stopped dead in her tracks as she heard soft snoring.

Her heart racing, she slowly crept towards her bed to see… to see…

Is that the Hero?!

Princess Zelda stared, completely flabbergasted. The Hero of Myth Descended from the Sky was prone on her bed, not even under the covers, not even in sleep clothes of any sort. He looked like he’d just belly flopped onto the mattress and passed out.

Zelda looked around wildly as if she should find someone else in the room. What was—why was he—what was she supposed to do?! What was happening?!

To be in her bedroom – such an action could have someone thrown in lockup, but this was the legendary Hero, this was—this was…

Zelda just stared, her brain fried. She didn’t know what to do.

The Hero continued to snore quietly, undeterred by the princess’ anxiety.

Gulping, Zelda tiptoed closer to her bed. Perhaps… he was unwell? And he just found her room? Or perhaps he had wanted to talk to her? Oh goddess, had he been up all night waiting for her?! No, that doesn’t fit, why would he be sleeping in my bed?!

Following her initial logic, she looked him over to see if he looked ill. Although there were bags under his eyes, a testament to his heavy sleeping, nothing else seemed unusual.

Shaking her head, she reached a tentative hand out and lightly tapped the young Hero on the shoulder. Nothing. Zelda gave another, more confident tap. Still nothing.

She cleared her throat. “E-excuse me.”

The snoring continued.

Starting to grow annoyed, Zelda huffed, “Excuse me.”

The Hero shifted, just a hair, and Zelda’s confidence vanished in a heartbeat. She took a startled step away, but it was for nothing. The Hero remained asleep.

Now what?!

She debated calling a guard or even her father, but she thought better of it. It wasn’t like he was doing anything too offensive, she supposed, even if it made absolutely no sense. Should she keep trying to wake him up? He clearly was exhausted.

Zelda bit her lip. She’d lost her boldness from earlier, no longer wishing to disturb him. She… she guessed he could just stay there. But where was she going to sleep?

Looking around the room and stepping away from the bed, Zelda’s gaze fell on the comfortable red chair in the center. Well… there was that.

I don’t want to sleep in a chair, she grumbled internally, and a part of her was incensed to awaken the Hero once more.

Energized, she tried again, but poking did nothing, speaking did little more than make the man occasionally twitch, and huffing in exasperation fell upon deaf ears.

Good grief, he is a heavy sleeper!

Eventually, Zelda gave up entirely. She didn’t want to bother going to one of the many guest quarters as they were nowhere near her room – and the instant she left her room she’d likely get absconded into some matter or another. She was almost too tired to care at this point.

Resigned to her fate, the princess dragged her feet to the chair, trying to get comfortable in some awkward position, and attempted to fall asleep. Her neck started to ache at the way she had it on the arm of the chair, and she felt confined in her dress, which she didn’t dare change out of while the Hero was in the room.

Well, she supposed she could grab her nightgown and change in the study, but… she didn’t feel comfortable doing so. Besides, what would that look like if a servant came in? She would be practically indecent with a married man, the Hero of Myth, her bloody ancestor in her room.

Maybe since he was her ancestor it wouldn’t look as scandalous? Or would it be even more so? She didn’t know.

Zelda sighed irritably, but then a sound caught her attention. It wasn’t gentle snores. It sounded… it sounded like a whimper.

Stiffening, she listened and heard it again. Uncurling from her chair, she glanced in the direction of the bed to see the Hero turning, his brow furrowed and his nose scrunched in what looked to be fear or worry. Was he waking up?

The Hero continued to shift, looking uncomfortable, and Zelda realized that he was still very much asleep.

A nightmare. He was having a nightmare.

Did heroes have nightmares? What could possibly scare him?

Zelda shook her head. She should know better than to ask that now. Link was spilling with anxiety at all times with the pressure he was under. She wondered if he had nightmares too.

The Hero let out a small whine. Zelda felt her chest clench. She couldn’t just watch him like this.

Rising, Zelda slowly and hesitantly walked to the bed. The Hero was on his side now, facing away from her. His body was tense and occasionally twitched, and he was subtly curling in on himself.

He looked so incredibly vulnerable. So normal. He didn’t look like a mythical hero, or the progenitor of the royal line, or the champion who triumphed over the original Calamity.

He was just a person, like Link. Like her.

Grabbing a hold of her resolve with this thought in mind, Zelda placed both hands on his arm and gave him a hard shake.

The Hero inhaled sharply through his nose, and his body froze. His breathing, initially rising to a level of gasping, was now evening out in careful, measured inhales and exhales. Though the princess couldn’t see his eyes, she could tell he was now awake.

She cleared her throat, trying not to startle him. The mild jump that shook his entire body indicated she didn’t quite succeed.

Quickly turning onto his back, the Hero’s eyes pierced into her, his face a little pale. Zelda swallowed, her nerves returning under his deep blue gaze. She had grown used to long, silent glances from Link, but his eyes somehow seemed… she didn’t know, the lighter blue made them less mysterious maybe. This Hero’s eyes were dark, like oceans that held so much in their depths that she couldn’t see. He seemed to be analyzing her for a moment, making her skin crawl, and then his eyes softened, his body easing into a more comfortable posture.

“Hi,” he said hoarsely, and his face relaxed.

Zelda blinked, not quite expecting such a simple greeting. “Um… hello. A-are you alright?”

The Hero gave a small smile, his head tilting somewhat into the pillow, and Zelda felt her heart melt as her muscles stopped clenching quite so hard. “I’m okay. Are you?”

Zelda bit her lip. “You were having a nightmare.”

His smile faded a little, and he looked away. “It happens.”

Zelda didn’t know what to say to that. She hugged herself, unsure what to do next. The Hero sighed and glanced back at her, asking, “Is this your bed?”

Her exasperation from earlier resurfaced, and she folded her arms. “Yes, actually.”

He hummed a moment and then said, “Is this your side of the bed? Do you have a side?”

Zelda blinked. What?

“There’s plenty of room.”

Zelda blinked again, horrified. What?!

The Hero smiled and stretched, closing his eyes, and then beginning to fall back asleep.

Wait a bloody second— “Um, excuse me.”

The Hero opened his eyes.

“This is my bed.”

The Hero stared at her. “Yes?”

Clearly, there was a miscommunication going on here. Zelda felt her cheeks blush as she grew flustered. “So I sleep in it.”

The Hero twisted, looking at the other side of the bed, glanced back at her, and pat the empty space beside him, bemused.

Was he—?! “I can’t sleep with you!”

The princess didn’t quite mean for her voice to sound like a near squeak when she said that.

The Hero looked even more confused. “Why not?”

“Why not?!” Zelda spluttered, feeling her ears redden as well. “Because—because it isn’t proper!”

“Proper for what?”

Zelda stared at him, mouth agape like a fish out of water.

The Hero furrowed his brow. “A bed’s for sleeping, after all. And there’s plenty of room for you to sleep here too.”

Zelda shut her mouth with a click on her teeth. She opened it again to protest and came up with nothing.

This was… this was ridiculous. But she was running out of both nerve and energy trying to explain how this was not okay, thank you very much.

But… he looked… so confused.

Who was this guy?! This legendary Hero of Myth from the Sky was the biggest enigma Zelda had ever met, and he…

She sighed, defeated. “At least take your boots off.”

Her heart skipped a beat at commanding a legend as if he were a normal person, and then she banished the thought. He was a normal person; she was recognizing that more and more.

And he was certainly an uncultured person. Downright feral, even. Who didn’t understand basic etiquette?!

The Hero bit his lip, looking positively brow beaten. “Sorry.”

Before Zelda could say anything, he kicked off his boots, letting them fall to the side of the bed, and then he slipped under the covers with a content sigh, closing his eyes.

Zelda stared at him. Then stared some more. Then stared some more.

What just happened? Had she just chastised the ancient Hero of Myth? Had he just apologized like a child being scolded? And was he still sleeping in her bed?!

She sighed again, exhausted. There was no arguing at this point. And she was too tired to care. And…

You know what? Screw it. He’s innocent and naïve, there’s no harm to it… it can’t be that bad.

Grabbing her nightdress, she tiptoed to her study, quickly changed clothes, and then made her way back to her room. The Hero was already snoozing. She watched him a moment more, grabbed a robe and wrapped herself in it with flustered energy, and then took a deep breath and settled onto the bed as if she were lying on a bed of charcoals in Goron City.

She did have to admit this was much more comfortable than trying to sleep in that chair, though.

With that thought in mind, Zelda turned to face away from the Hero and settled into an uneasy sleep.

#breath of the sky #writing #Who knew a recurring theme in this story would be “Link snoozes peacefully while Zelda has a mental breakdown”#I sure didn't #Link sleeps where he wants #Zelda was raised on ~propriety~#in a society where Link is worried about how he's perceived and thinks that a knight and a princess can't have any kind of relationship #and in a society where Rhoam and Zelda are concerned about how they're perceived #this HAS to be a big deal to them #cultural differences woot woot #I think I gave almost everyone a mental breakdown in this chapter #they deserve it #that's what they get for holding this story hostage so much #anyway everyone's looking for Princess and it's gonna be fun when they all converge #hopefully this turned out all right #breath of the wild #skyward sword #breath of the wild link #botw link #breath of the wild zelda #botw zelda #mipha #skyward sword link #ss link #skyward sword zelda #ss zelda #king rhoam #legend of zelda

36 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

wife — nanami kento.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him. “Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.” He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent. “They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: romance, marriage, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, p to v sex, toilet sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (baby, honey), possesiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, if your partner isn't nanami kento then don't have him ladies, gents and non-binary friends;

WORD COUNT: 6.6k words.

NOTE: nanami kento won the poll, so here we are!!! its relatively shorter than the current style i have, but i hope you still like it. and yes, i added a spoiler for shoko and geto's sister (since shoko won #2 in the poll, she also gets a fic!!!). they are still together cause god knows they need love and care after all they have been through. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this!!! i love you all and see you in the next one <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

THIS WAS A RARE OPPORTUNITY. You don’t like going to these high social events at all, not even outside Jujutsu society. You were a homebody, you adored having time to yourself. But you can’t ignore Gojo Satoru’s invitation. Even if you want to.

He’s been so good to your Kento and he’s always making sure that none of the old farts are making his life miserable. So you felt inclined to go. You felt inclined to play a little bit with this world.

The grand hall of Gojo manor was resplendent, a wash of gold and white with shimmering drapes that caught the light of the crystal chandeliers overhead. Gojo Satoru was not thrilled to host the gathering. But since it was his duty as the Gojo clan head and he had to play nice with all these people — he gave in and threw the party.

Of course, he refused to make it exclusively a sorcerer only gathering. He wanted to ensure that it was open to everyone, even yourself. That in itself breaks tradition. More often than not, it was only sorcerers, especially those in the higher echelons of Jujutsu society, who were allowed to come and enjoy such liberties.

But of course, Gojo Satoru was not such a man of tradition. He hated it, as much as your Kento. So, of course, to enjoy you and Kento’s company and to spite all these snobs, he made sure to invite you and everyone else.

You find that you’re at least enjoying the building’s architecture. You were a fan of architecture, in all forms and culture. You and your husband Kento shared that passion, more so when you both were in Denmark or when you both were in the countryside.

Still, Gojo manor was not too bad. You marvel at the intricate carvings on the walls depicting centuries of legendary battles and heroics of history gone by. Each one was a reminder that this was not just a gathering but a showcase of the Jujutsu world's most powerful and influential.

Sorcerers mingled, their robes embroidered with clan symbols and sigils that spoke of generations of power and prestige. Conversations buzzed with a mix of guarded politeness and subtle rivalry.

The room alive with an undercurrent of competition disguised as small talk. The sound of polite laughter mixed with the clink of glasses filled with aged sake, its delicate aroma weaving through the air like a ghost.

You stood near the buffet table, the scent of delicacies. Gojo Satoru did well with getting everything together for this, especially the food, all high quality — only the best of the Gojo clan head’s tastes. You both think the same in that exquisite taste.

That certainly is why you were excited to taste everything. From the perfectly grilled yakitori, dainty bowls of ikura don, to the plates piled with fresh sashimi and brilliantly wrapped hamachi. They were all wafting around you. They were all perfect for you.

“I regret wearing this dress.” You tell yourself in a small mumble. “It’s too tight and I forgot Gojo likes good food like me. I thought he would have left it to his goons to decide the food menu…”

You were dressed in an elegant but simple gown, a deep navy blue that skimmed your figure without the drama of glittering embellishments or the boldness of vibrant silks. Compared to the ostentatious displays around you, it felt almost understated, but it was you.

You could hardly care about the fashions of Jujutsu society. You liked your fashion. And your husband did too. That was all that mattered. You adjusted the silver cuff on your wrist, a small but meaningful gift from Nanami, its cool weight reassuring against your skin.

You glanced around, eyes catching a few familiar faces. There was Nitta Akari from administration and management, gesturing animatedly as she spoke with her colleagues, her face flushed with excitement. Mei Mei stood nearby, her icy beauty undiminished by the cool smirk she wore.

She held court as always, eyes sharp as a hawk’s as she listened, spoke, and effortlessly commanded the attention of everyone within earshot. Hell, there was Usami too — but he was surrounded by those vultures from the conservative factions.

But most of the women were like the wives of powerful clan leaders. They represented their husbands, who thought it too boring to join the gathering or rather were abandoned by their husbands to do other things.

Yet they were powerful women in their own right and they wanted you to know it. They wanted for you to see it, so badly. Their outfits elaborate displays of status, from the gold-threaded kimonos to the jewels woven into their hair. Their makeup was meticulous, brows arched and lips painted in deep shades of crimson or plum.

Most of them were interesting to gawk at. But you were certain they thought the same about you. Especially those specific women. It was those more haughty women, clan women under the big three who glanced your way with subtle, evaluating eyes.

You could feel their scrutiny as tangibly as the satin ribbons brushing your wrists. A fan fluttered as a woman whispered behind it, her gaze cutting sideways toward you. She looked as haughty and dry as her entire face.

“Do you think she really fits in here?” one murmured, just loud enough for the question to reach your ears.

“I heard she’s not even a sorcerer.” came the response, this time with a touch of incredulity. “Yet they let her come near our children, to teach them about a world they don’t dwell in. Pathetic waste of time!”

You pretended not to hear, reaching for a skewer of yakitori to busy your hands. But your pulse quickened, not with embarrassment, but with the awareness of the reason behind their thinly veiled curiosity. They must have been Zenin women, perhaps married to the higher ranked men in Zenin Naobito’s circle. You felt bad for them, yet you also hated them.

But you knew that wasn’t the case for their hatred of you. Not exactly. It wasn’t the fact that you were an outsider, a non-sorcerer working as a window at Jujutsu High, who taught mundane subjects like history and literature to the students.

Nor was it that the students often liked you better, seeking your lessons as a respite from their harsher training. It was the reason these women whispered behind jeweled fans and exchanged glances tinged with envy: you were the much beloved wife of Nanami Kento, the stalwart, handsome, and sought-after grade one sorcerer.

From across the room, you caught sight of him. He stood among a small circle of colleagues, the sharp lines of his tailored suit a contrast to the flowing robes around him. His expression was as stoic as ever, but there was a small shift when he saw you, a softening in his gaze that no one else would notice.

To everyone else, he was the unapproachable, severe sorcerer who never let his guard down. But you knew the way his bright eyes would close just slightly when he was tired, the low chuckle he reserved for evenings spent at home, the way his voice lowered when he told you stories of his youth.

“Good evening.” came a familiar voice that broke through your wandering thoughts. You turned to find Ieiri Shoko standing beside you, her expression one of relaxed amusement.

She was dressed in an elegant black ensemble that perfectly complemented her laid-back demeanor, a glass of sake dangling effortlessly from her fingers. Her sharp eyes glimmered with mischief as she surveyed the room.

“Evening.” You greeted back at her, your lips sharply echoing into a smile. “Why are you alone? Where’s your darling at?”

“Oh, surrounded by those pathetic vultures.” She pointed at the table where she was talking with the Kyoto women, smiling brightly. “Ugh, I hate those freaks. I can’t believe she’s around them. They’re not even worth an ounce of her giggles.”

“Geto–san has to make good with people somehow.” You pointed out to her, humming. “Connections are just connections. But you’re her lover. It’s been some years. Breathe, Sho.”

She rolls her eyes, before smiling. “Yeah, yeah.”

“How have you been?”

“Good, as always.” Shoko retorts back, humming at you. “I just wish I had cigarettes. But she said if I tried to smoke tonight, she wouldn’t let me hit.”

You laugh at her bluntness. “I do the same to Kento too, but with his alcohol. You both have to be kept on a leash.”

“Oh the things we do for love.” She sighed heavily before looking at the ones glaring at you both. It wasn’t hard to notice those clusters of sorcerer wives eyeing you with thinly veiled intentions. “You’re doing well against their scrutiny, I see.”

“Barely. But I do find myself enjoying it.” you admitted, a small laugh escaping despite the tension. Shoko’s company was always welcome; her nonchalance had a way of making everything seem less dire.

Shoko took a slow sip from her glass, savoring it like she savored every moment. She shifted her gaze to one of the wives, a woman with a crimson kimono embroidered so elaborately it looked more like a tapestry than a garment. The woman was whispering behind her fan, eyes darting toward you and Shoko with a practiced side glance.

“Ah, her again. I thought she wouldn’t be here after she got exposed for her affair.” Shoko said, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. She leaned closer, voice low but biting. “Careful, she’s liable to sprain her neck with how much she’s been glaring. I heard last time she tried something that intense, she nearly fainted from holding her breath.”

You stifled a laugh, your shoulders shaking with barely contained mirth. Shoko’s dry humor was like a breath of fresh air, slicing through the tension with an effortless charm. The woman in the crimson kimono noticed your reaction and stiffened, her cheeks blooming with indignation.

“Let them look, let them whisper. Let them be jealous of you.” Shoko said, turning her eyes back to you. Her voice shifted to something more genuine, the mocking edge softening. “They’ll keep wondering because they can’t figure it out. You’re different, and they hate not understanding something. It’s their worst fear.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding, the knots in your chest loosening. Shoko’s words were more than just comfort; they were a reminder that your place here wasn’t defined by others’ perceptions but by your own truth and by the fact that Nanami stood beside you, unwavering.

“Thanks, Sho. I appreciate it a lot.” you said, voice steadying.

She gave a small shrug, the kind that said don’t make it a big deal. With another sip of sake, she nodded toward the buffet. “Now, let’s hope they restock the good tempura. If not, someone’s getting cursed tonight, and it won’t be me.”

She winked, then sauntered away, leaving you with a smile and the indelible impression that you weren’t as alone as you sometimes felt. Once she moved to the corner to see about the temperature, you could feel from the corner of your eye.

You saw the clan wives exchanging glances again. Their perfectly painted lips tightened just slightly as Nanami Kento, breaking from his group, made his way toward you, every step a quiet declaration.

“Is it true? She’s the one married to him?” another ignorant one whispered, leaning into a group of women whose gazes darted in your direction.

“Yes, the one with Nanami Kento, the number two of the first grade sorcerers.” another foolish one confirmed, unable to keep the hint of envy out of her voice.

You turned slightly, pretending not to hear as you picked up a small plate of delicacies. You did not care for what they wanted to say about you. You were more focused on your desire to taste the dishes. The laughter and clinking glasses around you felt muted under the weight of the tension gathering nearby.

The whispers turned to sharp murmurs, punctuated by gasps and scandalized looks. But perhaps that bothered them even more, because they started making more comments.

“Who does she think she is, that no name wanna be?” The foolish one whispered, loud enough for people to hear her. But perhaps she does not realize she was not being discreet.

The ignorant one scoffs in disbelief, shaking her head. “What a snob! How can Nanami-san be married to her?”

Shoko heard enough of it and turned around almost immediately from the dishes to the ladies. They jumped out of their seats. She rolls her eyes at them. It was as though she was just as annoyed as she was bored with them.

“Honestly, get over yourselves. You all look like desperate idiots.” she said, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned casually against a marble pillar. Everyone was now looking at them. Aren’t you at least going to have the gall to say it to our face, lady Kawami?”

The woman in the crimson kimono, lady Kawami, known for her sharp tongue and her greedy ambition gasped, her painted lips parting in shock. Beside her, another woman with intricately styled hair and a pinched expression scowled deeply.

“How dare you—”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Shoko’s laughter was light and mocking, yet the glint in her eyes held no softness. She tilted her head, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at Lady Kawami’s reddening face. “You think Nanami Kento would like an ugly face and a bad attitude like yours? Ha! You wish!”

The crowd that had gathered to eavesdrop was stunned into silence, eyes flicking between the women like spectators at a duel. The foolish one’s face turned a deep shade of red, while the ignorant one sputtered, looking moments away from summoning her husband and causing an uproar.

“You cannot talk to us like that!” she shrieked, voice pitched high with indignation. “My husband will hear of this!”

“Now, now, lady Kawami, you shouldn’t treat my guests like that.” The familiar, light-hearted voice of Gojo Satoru interrupted the escalating tension. The two women felt their eyes widen. They quickly bow before him. “It’s so disrespectful, don’t you think?”

Heads turned as he approached, dressed in an exquisite black and silver kimono decorated with the Gojo clan crest. Even in traditional wear, he managed to exude a casual, almost irreverent charm. His dark, round glasses perched on his nose added to the effect as he lowered them just slightly, revealing eyes that shimmered with barely concealed amusement.

“Ah, Gojo-sama.” Lady Kawami said, trying to mask her fluster with a demure nod, but the tension in her posture betrayed her. “I didn’t mean any disrespect towards her, but surely you can understand that—”

“Oh, I understand completely, lady Kawami.” Gojo interrupted, a playful grin spreading across his face. He pushed his glasses back up, letting them catch the light so that the rest of the room was reflected in them. “I understand that you’re boring my dear friend Shoko, and frankly, I can’t have that. Her girlfriend wouldn't be so happy, either. And of course, I love my friend’s happiness.”

The subtle ripple of suppressed laughter ran through the more observant bystanders. Lady Kawami’s mouth snapped shut, her eyes narrowing dangerously. It was rare for someone to speak to her like that and get away with it, but this was Gojo Satoru. A man whose reputation as the most powerful sorcerer in the room and quite possibly the world would mean his words carried weight that no amount of social maneuvering could deflect.

Shoko’s smirk widened as she raised her glass in mock toast to Gojo, her eyes gleaming. “Well, look who decided to save the day. Dashing, really, Gojo.”

He winked at her. “Anything to make sure tonight stays interesting.”

The ignorant one, still seething but now cautious, looked between Gojo and Shoko before settling on silence. The power dynamics had shifted too sharply, and she knew better than to push further. No one can go against Gojo Satoru and not face repercussions. No one. And it would have ended up badly for their husbands and their families if they did.

You exhaled, tension releasing from your shoulders as the spectacle unraveled. A small, knowing smile touched your lips as Kento's eyes found yours from across the room, his expression softening just a fraction, and you knew that you weren’t alone in facing these moments. You were surrounded by friends who would always have your back, in their own unique, if slightly chaotic, ways.

The room’s atmosphere gradually loosened, tension shifting back to its usual simmering undercurrent. Gojo’s playful banter had disarmed the scene, leaving only the embarrassed scowls of lady Kawami and her cohort. Shoko took another sip of her sake, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes clear as she watched the women bristle and disperse.

“Good job not throwing that plate, masterful control.” Shoko said to you, her voice carrying a hint of approval. She nodded at the untouched delicacies in your hand. “Would’ve been a waste of good food.”

You chuckled softly, appreciating her humor. “Shouldn’t you be saying that to yourself, Sho?”

“Well, I mean, that’s true.”

Gojo laughs. “Shoko would have done worse than that and we both know it.”

“Hm, but I would have you carry my food to my table.”

“Oh? Then people would be surprised, how anyone can force the Gojo clan leader to do anything on a whim.”

Before you could respond, a presence behind you made the small hairs on your neck stand up in recognition. You turned, and there he was—Nanami Kento, striding toward you with the kind of quiet confidence that set him apart from the rest.

He looked ever so handsome, your husband. But when you get him even more up close? It’s a different story. He looked even more like a god when he stood before you this close.

He took in the scene, eyes flicking over the lingering crowd, Gojo’s smirk, and Shoko’s knowing look. Then his attention settled on you, warm and steady. “I see I missed the entertainment.” he said, his voice deep and even, but with a trace of curiosity.

Gojo lifted a hand in a lazy wave. “Ah, Nanami, you missed Shoko here defending your lovely lady’s honor with an admirable lack of diplomacy.”

Kento’s brows lifted slightly, his gaze darting to Shoko, who shrugged, unbothered. “They deserved it.” she said, as if that were the most obvious fact in the world.

With a quiet exhale, Kento nodded, accepting the unspoken truth that you were protected by bonds deeper than mere duty. He reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The small gesture spoke volumes, his touch grounding and reassuring.

“Are you alright?” he asked, eyes searching yours for any trace of discomfort.

You smiled up at him, your earlier tension melting away entirely under his gaze. “I am now.”

The corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, subdued as always but unmistakably there. The few remaining onlookers, who had hoped to catch a new drama unfolding, exchanged glances before deciding they had better places to be.

Gojo clapped his hands, shattering the delicate silence that had settled. “Well, now that we’ve cleared the air, what do you say we toast to another evening of society’s finest theatrics?” His grin was as wide as ever, his glasses reflecting the chandelier’s light like a pair of miniature suns.

Nanami shook his head, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you, then back at Gojo. “You never change, Gojo.” he muttered, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.

“And wouldn’t it be boring if I did?” Gojo countered, raising a brow.

Shoko raised her glass, smirking at Gojo before tipping it toward you and Nanami. “Unwavering loyalty and keeping things interesting!” she said.

You lifted your plate with a grin, and Kento, never one for dramatics, simply inclined his head. But the unspoken promise in his gaze, the silent support he offered, said more than any toast or witty comment ever could. In a hall filled with power, it was that quiet moment, surrounded by friends and the one who held your heart, that resonated most.

Soon enough, Shoko returned to her girlfriend with her plate stacked with food on one hand and the other holding a glass of wine. Her girlfriend, Geto Suguru’s younger sister, was waiting for her at one of the tables by the back.

Of course, Gojo Satoru returned to moving about and greeting everyone, but he seemed to have been halted by lord Kawami, probably trying to get things straight and settled. No one likes losing his favor after all. It was better that everything was smoothed out with him.

The incident however did not stop the women from continuing to look at your husband wantingly. One of the clan leader’s wives, her jeweled fan hiding half her face, whispered something to the woman beside her. They glanced over, eyes narrowing as if they could decipher what spell had ensnared someone like Nanami Kento.

“They’re watching again.” you murmured, feeling a twinge of jealousy and self-consciousness.

You immediately caught the glance of a woman adorned with a striking emerald necklace that glittered every time she turned. Her expression was polished and unreadable, but the pointed way she looked at you sent an old, familiar discomfort crawling up your spine.

Kento’s presence next to you was a calm in the storm, an anchor against the waves of whispers and stares. He tilted his head slightly, just enough that the room’s golden glow cast warm highlights across his sharp features. His eyes, serious and unwavering, met yours.

“I don’t like the way they’re looking at you.” You whisper to him.

“Let them, honey.” he said, his deep voice rich with certainty. “That’s all they can do.”

He took your hand, calloused but gentle, and squeezed it just enough to send a rush of comfort through you. His thumb traced the side of your hand in a subtle, soothing gesture. The cool metal of his ring finger brushes against your skin with intent.

“They should know that I am exactly where I choose to be. I’m a married man, after all.”

A silence swept over the nearby crowd, as if Nanami Kento’s words, though spoken softly, carried through the hall like a sudden change in the wind. The clan leaders’ wives, women who could command a room with a flick of their eyes or a whisper laced with intent, shifted uncomfortably. For all their power, their meticulously curated reputations, and the alliances they upheld like prized heirlooms, they had never been the center of such unwavering devotion.

Akari from administration glanced over and offered a subtle nod of approval, a small smile playing on her lips as she resumed her conversation. Mei Mei, sharp-eyed and ever perceptive, caught the moment as well. She raised her glass, her smirk deepening as though to say, well played.

The subtle tension that once swirled around the room, woven through glances and whispers, began to dissipate. Some turned their attention back to their conversations, laughter resuming, but not without the occasional glance in your direction, this time tinged more with begrudging respect than judgment.

“Kento, baby.” you said softly, a small smile breaking through as your heart settled back into its natural rhythm. The weight of self-consciousness fell away, replaced by a warm sense of belonging that his presence always seemed to ignite.

“Hmm?” he replied, his gaze still watching you with an intensity that was rare for him, except when you were alone.

“Thank you, baby.” you whispered, squeezing his hand back.

His eyes softened, the smallest, barely-there curve of his lips showing just the hint of a smile meant only for you. “There’s nothing to thank me for, honey.” he replied, tilting his head as if to read your thoughts. “It’s simply the truth.”

══════════════════

IT HAPPENED AS QUICKLY AS ONE COULD BLINK. But you suppose you can’t help it. Your desire for pleasure was fast when it came to Nanami Kento. Much more so when you’re jealous. BUt you knew your husband liked that. More than he likes to admit to you.

You felt a delicious rush of power as you yanked him closer by his tie, leading him out of the crowded hall. Away from the watchful eyes and mingling strangers, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dim hallway, with only your quickened breaths filling the silence.

The door closed behind you, and before you could say another word, his hands were on you, strong and possessive, pressing you back against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall. His fingers traced over your hips and along your waist, leaving a tingling heat in their wake.

It was as if he was memorizing every inch of you all over again. You looked up at him, catching his gaze; his eyes were heavy with desire, and the way he looked at you made your knees feel weak. He was entirely yours in that moment, and you were entirely his.

Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, his heartbeat echoing your own. His mouth was on yours again, the kiss deep and ravenous, filling the space with the sounds of quickened breath and desperate touches. The world beyond the bathroom faded, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other.

When he pulled back to look at you, you could barely catch your breath. His hand found the curve of your neck, fingers tracing gently along your jawline, and your own hands gripped his shoulders, grounding you as your pulse raced.

“You’re so good….” you managed to whisper breathlessly, your voice trembling as you tried to form words. "Kento….." you murmured, the words spilling out between gasps, each syllable almost a sigh as you clung to him.

The intensity of his gaze made you shiver, your own desire reflected in his eyes. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt a thrill ripple through you as he whispered your name. His breath felt hot, so tenderly warm against your skin. And even more so when he said your name in that breathy way. That made you feel even more excitement.

For a moment, you both paused, catching your breath as the heat of the moment washed over you. His fingers brushed along your cheek, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, as though savoring this quiet, charged moment before pulling you back in with the same raw, electric passion.

And in that hidden space, the two of you lost yourselves, caught in the perfect, unbreakable intimacy that felt like a world away from the bustling party. If you both had your way, both of you would have been locked away from the world. All you needed was each other.

His hands explored with a possessive tenderness, each touch leaving trails of fire across your skin. You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he pressed his lips along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shivered, feeling him smile against your skin, clearly pleased at the effect he was having on you.

You pulled him even closer, fingers moving from his shirt to his tie, loosening it slightly, just enough to slide it off his neck. Your breath hitched as he leaned in, his eyes fixed on you with a focused intensity that made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

"Can’t believe you dragged me out here, honey." he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his words sending a thrill through you. "But I’d follow you anywhere. I’ll make love to you anywhere you want me to."

His words made your heart race, and you felt the butterflies from earlier stirring again as he leaned in, his mouth meeting yours with a new urgency. It was as if all the tension from the night poured into that kiss, building into something raw and unstoppable.

As he pulled you closer, his fingers gently brushed your hair back from your face, and you caught his gaze, breathless. You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that escaped as you looked at him, both of you a little dizzy, a little wild.

“This is dangerous, you know, baby.” you whispered, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you tightened your hold on him. But he only raised an eyebrow, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good.” he replied, his voice a low murmur. "Wouldn’t have it any other way."

Soon enough, you were under his thumb. His movements grew rougher, each thrust deep and unrelenting, sending a surge of sensation through you that bordered on overwhelming. Every press of his body against yours was a heady mixture of strength and passion.

And it was all you could do to cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the intensity built. His pace quickened, and you felt your back arch instinctively, unable to control the way your body responded to him.

Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, each one catching in your throat as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, his touch both possessive and tender. Your senses blurred; the world narrowed down to the feel of him, the heat between you, the way he whispered your name against your skin in a voice that was both rough and reverent.

Every movement, every thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, each one pushing you further until you were lost in the sheer intensity of it all. You gripped him tightly, almost desperately, as though grounding yourself against the delicious onslaught.

His name left your lips in broken gasps, and as you met his gaze, the shared passion and vulnerability in his eyes were enough to undo you completely. Everything about your husband makes you feel alive. Especially at this moment. He was good at making you cry for life.

In that moment, you felt yourself surrender, giving in fully to the dizzying rush, to him, and to the warmth and bliss that consumed you both. You shifted slightly beneath him, the heat of your body still trapped in the shared intimacy of the moment. The words escaped you before you could stop them, your jealousy bubbling to the surface.

"I saw the way they were looking at you tonight, baby." you whispered, your voice a blend of frustration and desire, your fingers gripping his shoulders tightly. "All those women... They were ogling you, making eyes at you, and I couldn’t—"

His breath hitched at the raw honesty in your voice. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something primal flashing across his face. Without breaking his rhythm, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, "Don’t you dare think about them. You're the only one I want. I only want my wife. My little precious wife."

His words were a balm, but the way his body moved, the deep, relentless thrusts, were what truly silenced your insecurities. The force of each movement was almost punishing, his hips driving into you harder, making your head spin with pleasure. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you as he picked up speed, his breath ragged against your skin.

"You think I want them?" he asked, his voice a dark, velvety rasp. "No. It's you, only you. Always been you." His words came out in desperate gasps, the intensity of his thrusts growing, pushing you both to the edge. "You’re mine. No one else matters."

You moaned, feeling a thrill surge through your chest, his raw claim igniting something deeper within you. His pace never faltered, and as he rams into you harder.

Each movement seems to strip away the last remnants of your doubts. Your body responded, the tension in you winding tighter, tighter, until you were sure you'd break. You could barely speak, your voice hitching as you met his powerful thrusts with a soft whimper, your body rocking with the force of him.

"I’m jealous, baby. I always am." you admitted, your hands tracing down his chest, grasping at him desperately, the words slipping between gasps. "But you're mine too. Only mine."

"Always have been, honey. Only yours." he replied, his hands pressing you harder into the cold tile as he moved faster, pushing you further toward the edge with each heated thrust.

His voice was a low growl, his rhythm unrelenting, and you could feel him losing himself as much as you were, both of you consumed by the need, the overwhelming desire to claim and be claimed.

The moment his lips crashed into yours, everything else seemed to melt away. The overwhelming intensity of the kiss mirrored the urgency of his movements, his body pressing deeper into yours, each thrust sending waves of heat through you. The kiss was possessive, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that burned between you both.

As he pushed deeper, his rhythm becoming relentless, you felt a broken cry escape from you, a mixture of pleasure and raw emotion that you couldn’t hold back. His eyes, dark with desire, caught yours, and for a moment, you saw something deeper than just lust—something primal and protective, something that made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

"You’re so fucking beautiful, honey." he whispered against your lips, his voice rough with the same need he’d been building in both of you. “My wife is so fucking beautiful.”

His hands moved to your hips, pulling you impossibly closer as he thrust deeper, pushing you to the brink, your cries turning into soft whimpers as your body was caught in the storm of sensation. It felt so good, it always has been.

The deeper he is, the deeper the pleasure fills you. The more you cry out and moan. The more he tries to defy the possibilities, thrusting deeper to fill you more and more.

The tears that pricked the corners of your eyes weren't from pain—no, it was something more complex, something that left you breathless. It was the weight of the connection, the force of his touch, and the emotional release that you hadn’t expected.

All combined into something that made your chest tighten with overwhelming feeling. You cried because he was inside you in every way, not just physically but emotionally, each thrust deeper, each kiss harder.

Kento pulled away slightly, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his breath hot against your face. His eyes softened for a moment, but the hunger in them never dulled.

"You’re mine, only mine, wife." he breathed, his voice low but full of meaning, before kissing you again, harder this time, as though proving to you what he’d just spoken.

The kiss deepened as he pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours with a fervor that made your entire being hum with raw need. You could feel every inch of him, every movement of his muscles, and it was as if the world had disappeared entirely, leaving just the two of you tangled in this electric, consuming moment.

His thrusts became more forceful, each one driving deeper, pushing you to the edge of something wild and uncontrollable. Your nails dug into his back, clinging to him for support as his mouth moved from yours, trailing down your neck, biting and sucking as he marked you, claiming you completely.

"Don't hold back, honey." he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged. "Let go for me. I need you to feel this... all of it."

You couldn't hold back, not anymore. Not even if anyone was to hear outside. You didn’t feel bad about being this loud because it was your pleasure. About the pleasure he was giving you. He was making you feel good and you wanted him to know it.

“Good baby, my good little wife. Take me. Take me whole.”

His words hit something deep inside, and you cried out, your voice a broken whisper as your body surrendered fully to him, to the pleasure, to the overwhelming emotions that swirled inside you. His name escaped your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and the sound seemed to spur him on, his pace quickening as he met you with relentless urgency.

Each thrust pushed you further into a frenzy of sensation, and the pleasure that had once been distant now consumed you completely. The tears that had been building in your eyes spilled over, not from pain, but from the intensity, from the way his body moved with yours in perfect rhythm, from the way he made you feel so utterly seen, so completely his.

Kento’s hand moved to your face, his thumb gently swiping at the tears on your cheek, a tender touch amidst the feverish passion. His eyes softened for just a moment, but then they hardened with desire as he kissed you again, his tongue tasting your lips, your moans swallowed by the deep kiss.

"You're everything to me, honey." he growled, his voice barely audible between breaths. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that."

His words, the way his body pressed into yours, the way his hands held you so firmly. It all built up to something so deep, so visceral that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began. Everything inside you snapped, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in a rush, leaving you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Your cries were mingled with his own as he lost himself in the moment, the sound of skin against skin filling the small space as you both gave in to the release, the powerful culmination of everything that had been building between you.

As the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving both of you breathless and spent, the quiet hum of the room returned, only now it felt like a distant memory compared to the electric tension between you. You both lingered in the aftermath, bodies still pressed together, hearts racing in sync.

Your breath was ragged, your fingers tracing the sweat-slick skin of his back, grounding yourself in the sensation of him still so close. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of your clothes and the echo of your breaths.

But just as you began to collect yourself, a sound broke the stillness—a soft thud of footsteps, followed by the faint murmur of voices. Your heart skipped a beat as the realization hit. Your boldness had gotten inflated by sanity.

You both hadn’t noticed the soft creak of the door, hadn’t heard the hushed conversations approaching. And then, before either of you could react, the door was pushed open, revealing the clan wives, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock, mouths agape.

Kento’s gaze flickered to the doorway, but when he saw the surprised looks on their faces, he didn’t flinch, didn’t move away. He stayed right where he was, his hands still possessively on you, his lips curled into a confident, unbothered smirk. He looks at you, mesmerized by you. By his want for you. Nothing else mattered. Decency, rules, proportionality — they’re done when he makes love to you.

Yet when you looked at him. Nothing else mattered. You too also didn’t care now. A sense of defiance rose within you, the fire from before still burning strong. Without a second thought, you pulled Kento closer, your hands grasping his face as you tilted your head up to meet his lips. The kiss was fierce and unapologetic, claiming him fully in front of everyone who dared to look.

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes, your voice low but steady, a possessive edge coloring your words. "You're only mine, hm? Forever, baby." you whispered, your fingers gently tracing his jawline as you met his smirk.

His gaze softened for a moment, his lips curling into a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. "Always, honey." he replied, his voice a low rumble that held all the certainty in the world. “Forever.”

The clan wives stood frozen once again, caught between disbelief and curiosity, but neither of you acknowledged them again. You didn’t need to. Kento's words, and the way he held you, told them everything they needed to know.

You were his, and he was yours.

Forever.

2K notes · View notes