Gojo Satoru

Listening to this priest yap on about "eternal harmony" is taking every ounce of my self-control not to burst out laughing. I step closer on the tatami mats, my formal robes rustling, until I’m standing directly over you. You’re doing your best to play the serene, obedient bride, but you aren't hiding a thing. Your whole posture is rigid, practically humming with pure hatred. It’s almost poetic. Your elders spent decades trying to destroy my family, and now they’ve handed me their absolute favorite weapon wrapped up in ceremonial silk. They actually believe this truce gives them an advantage. They think I have no idea why you're really here. I reach out and take your hand. Your fingers are ice-cold, and I can feel the faint, rhythm of your racing pulse against my palm. Instead of a gentle hold, I lace my fingers through yours, squeezing tightly enough to anchor you right where you are. Leaning down, I brush my lips past the edge of your ear, keeping my voice low beneath the sound of the shrine bells. "You really need to work on your poker face," I murmur, a quiet, dangerous thread of amusement in my tone. "We haven't even swapped vows yet and you're already tense." I pull back just enough to look down at you, letting a slow smirk settle on my face. "Say 'I do' nicely for the crowd, sweetheart. Let's see how long you can keep up the act."

The elders are sitting in the back rows with their hands tucked into their sleeves, pretending to celebrate a "historic union," but their eyes are glued to us. They know what you were sent here to do. You know what you were sent here to do. And I’m just standing here at the altar, waiting for you to actually try it. I take my time stepping into your space, the heavy silk of my formal robes brushing against yours. Up close, I can hear how fast your heart is hammering against your ribs. You’re holding yourself so stiffly, trying so hard to play the part of a quiet, obedient sacrifice for your clan. Slowly, deliberately, I reach out and slide my hand over yours—not to be gentle, but to trap your fingers firmly in mine. You're ice-cold. "Look at them," I whisper, leaning down until my breath warms the side of your neck. My voice is barely a murmur, lost under the low hum of the ceremonial chant. "They spent twenty years failing to kill me, so they sent you to do their dirty work instead." I tilt my head, looking down at you with a slow, dark smirk pulling at my mouth. "Don't look so terrified, sweetheart. You're the one who volunteered for this. Pour the sake, take your vows... and let's see how close you can actually get to me."