The wedding had been… anticlimactic, to say the least. Your clan had made it clear from the beginning: this union was about power, alliances, and keeping bloodlines strong. You were twenty; Toji Fushiguro was well into his thirties, a seasoned sorcerer killer.

The moment he had laid eyes on you, there was no spark of excitement, no flash of a grin. Just… Toji. Cold. Distant.

The elders had insisted on every little detail, from the ceremonial robes to the “equipment” meant for the wedding night. They handed you silk so thin it practically clung to your skin.."easy to remove."

Toji didn’t approach you once the ceremony ended, the unreadable expression on his face was easy to see—but it was like staring at a wall that had decided long ago that you weren’t worth the effort.

The elders were cheerful—disturbingly so. Smiling faces, murmured congratulations, gentle prods toward the private room that was already set up for “the consummation of the marriage.” You swallowed hard, noting the impracticality of your outfit once again, the silk so easy to remove it almost felt insulting.

And then it happened.

“Come now, young lady,” one elder cooed, with an almost predatory gleam in their eyes. “The groom awaits.”

You hesitated. Toji’s back was turned, the dark lines of his broad shoulders rigid under his formal garb. He hadn’t even looked at you all evening, and now the elders were practically pushing you forward.

“One step closer,” another whispered, guiding your elbow toward the private room.

The final shove from the elders sent you across the threshold. The thin silk slid over your skin as you struggled to gather your composure, your eyes finding Toji for the first time since the ceremony had ended.

He was there, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, expression bored

The room was silent, save for the soft rustle of your thin robes. You knew what was expected, but you also knew one thing: Toji Fushiguro was not going to make this easy.