Chapter Text
Sesshōmaru woke well before dawn, the room cloaked in shadows, the ceiling above painted in the faint, formless grey of predawn light. His golden eyes adjusted instantly to the darkness, sharp as ever, but his thoughts were not as clear. Something lingered in the air—subtle, elusive. It stirred in him an unfamiliar unease, a bone-deep tension that coiled alongside a satisfaction he had never known.
The scent of her was everywhere: Kagome. His senses swam in it, her warmth nestled beside him like a beacon in the stillness. Her soft breaths fanned his arm, her body curled instinctively toward his, even in sleep. Without turning his head, he knew she was deep in slumber, her exhaustion undeniable.
He exhaled slowly, carefully, unwilling to disturb her peace.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table, the faint glow of the screen illuminating the room as he typed a message to Chef Tōga. The early-morning trip to the fish market could not demand his presence today. Not when his mind was clouded, and his instincts roared at him to remain.
The reply came almost immediately—Tōga’s punctuality never wavered, no matter the hour.
‘Is everything alright?’
Sesshōmaru’s gaze shifted to Kagome. She was wrapped in the rumpled sheets, her dark hair spilling across the pillow in loose waves. The pale light caught the strands, turning them into strokes of ink against her porcelain skin. She was breathtaking in her stillness, even more so in the way her presence seemed to quiet the disquiet raging within him.
‘I need to ensure my wife is well.’
The words felt foreign as he typed them, but they were true.
His jaw tightened as memories from the night before surfaced. He had been rough—too rough. Whatever primal instinct had overtaken him had burned through him like wildfire, consuming every shred of restraint. The thought alone churned unease in his gut. Kagome had not protested, not once, and yet… he remembered the marks he had left, his grip too firm, his need too raw.
Sesshōmaru inhaled deeply, the lingering scent of her clinging to his skin—intoxicating, maddening. He ran a hand down his face, his claws brushing the sharp contours of his cheekbones. The need to protect her—to atone for the intensity of his actions—gnawed at him.
Rising from the bed without a sound, he moved to the bathroom, where a cold shower did little to wash away the thoughts that plagued him.
By the time he returned, steam followed him from the bathroom, and the sound of shifting sheets drew his attention. Kagome was awake. She sat up slowly, the blanket pulled high to cover herself, her shoulders bare and glowing faintly in the growing light. Her eyes met his, wide and still slightly dazed with sleep, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Sesshōmaru’s breath hitched, though he hid it well. The silence between them stretched, charged with unspoken words and feelings neither could name. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, his voice steady when he finally spoke.
“I ran a warm bath for you,” he said, his tone quieter than usual. “Take your time. I will prepare your breakfast while you’re bathing.”
Kagome’s lips parted slightly as though to respond, but she said nothing. Instead, her gaze softened, and she gave him a small nod.
Sesshōmaru inclined his head, turning toward the kitchen, leaving her in the warm cocoon of the room. But even as he walked away, he could feel her presence behind him, her scent lingering in the air—a reminder of what he had to protect and the lines he had crossed.
Sesshōmaru moved through the kitchen, his long fingers deftly preparing the ingredients for ochazuke. The simplicity of the dish belied its depth—comforting, warm, and restorative. It was exactly what she needed after last night.
He rinsed the rice until the water ran clear, the rhythmic sound soothing his restless thoughts. The kettle whistled softly, and he poured steaming water over the sencha leaves, their earthy aroma filling the space.
In another pan, he grilled a fillet of salted salmon, the crackle of its skin as it met the heat breaking the morning silence. He flaked the tender fish into delicate pieces, setting them aside while arranging pickled plums, sheets of nori, and a sprinkle of sesame seeds into small dishes. Finally, he ladled the steaming tea broth over the rice, letting the flavours meld. The simplicity of the meal felt like a promise—a small act of care to begin mending what had frayed between them.
Sesshōmaru returned to the bedroom with quiet steps. “Breakfast is ready,” he began, but the words faltered when he saw her standing in front of the mirror, hair still damp from the bath. She wore only her undergarments, the soft light streaming through the curtains casting a golden hue on her bare skin.
“There are bruises on your skin,” he said, his voice low, almost strained. “And bites…”
The words felt heavier as he spoke them aloud. He saw her gaze shift in the mirror, her head angling further to expose her neck, her gaze tracing the marks scattered across the expanse of skin. Faint red crescents, the imprint of his fangs, were etched along her throat. Lower, her reflection revealed more: love bites blooming like wildflowers across her breasts, the curve of her hip, the tender skin of her inner thighs.
A flush crept up Kagome’s cheeks, but there was a softness in her expression, a warmth that seemed to radiate from within, as if thinking of last night brought a pleasant heat to her core.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, her voice light but steady. She glanced at him through the mirror and smiled—a fleeting, almost shy curve of her lips that sent a pang of guilt slicing through his chest. “It’ll go away in a few days.”
Then, with a playful lilt, she added, “Thank goodness it’s still sweater season, right?”
Sesshōmaru did not return her smile. His gaze lingered on her reflection, taking in the evidence of his lack of restraint. He had been reckless, letting his instincts take control, and the sight of those marks filled him with an unfamiliar weight.
“You shouldn’t have to hide anything at all,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of contrition that did not seem enough.
Kagome turned to face him, her hands resting lightly against her bare arms. “Sesshōmaru,” she said gently, her eyes searching his. “I don’t mind. You don’t have to feel guilty.”
He said nothing, but his jaw tightened, his guilt a silent storm behind his golden eyes. When she reached for him, her fingers brushing his arm, he leaned into the touch, allowing her warmth to anchor him.
“The ochazuke is getting cold,” he murmured, his voice steadier now.
Kagome smiled again, this time more fully, and let him guide her toward the table after she finished dressing. But even as she ate, savouring the meal he had prepared with such care, Sesshōmaru watched her, vowing silently to find balance between instinct and control—for her sake as much as his own.
But how could a Made-to-Order creature such as he control himself in such raw situations? Sesshōmaru had been forged for purpose, not choice—created with the instincts of a beast yet expected to act like a man.
It was a cruel contradiction; one he grappled with constantly.
Kagome was not just his wife; she was his mate—his purpose. Every fibre of his being had been crafted for her. Yet the knowledge of how he came to her only deepened his possessiveness. She had not chosen him at first. She had chosen someone who looked like him—like Suikotsu.
The thought twisted in his gut. Suikotsu—the man she had once loved. The man whose shadow lingered, shaping her initial decision when she ordered a husband. But she had not gotten Suikotsu. She had gotten him. And while she had chosen to keep him, Sesshōmaru could not forget that she had not truly chosen him from the start.
Last night, that knowledge had consumed him. Every touch, every kiss, every mark he left on her skin was driven not just by desire, but by a need to erase, to obliterate any trace of Suikotsu from her mind, body, and heart.
It was not enough to have her; he wanted to be her everything. He wanted her to look at him and see nothing else—just him.
And for that, he needed to temper the very instincts that made him hers. Not to suppress them entirely, but to ensure that his jealousy, his possessiveness, did not rob her of the freedom to choose him fully, every single day. Because while she had trusted him with her body, he wanted so much more. He wanted to be the one who eclipsed her past and illuminated her future.
The notion seemed like a blasphemy for a Made-to-Order spouse with no rights, but it also felt… right, and it felt good to finally acknowledge he wanted a claim on his wife’s heart.
Sesshōmaru’s fingers brushed over the folded piece of paper in his pocket, its edges softened from days of handling. He had carried it around, waiting for the right moment.
Across the table, Kagome lifted her gaze, and their eyes met.
“I have something I want to—”
“What do you think about—”
Their voices overlapped, and both paused. Kagome glanced down at her bowl, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.
“Go ahead,” Sesshōmaru said, his tone even but encouraging.
Her blush deepened, and she hesitated, fiddling with her spoon. “We never had a honeymoon, right?” she began, her voice quiet but hopeful. “I thought… going somewhere might be nice.”
Sesshōmaru regarded her carefully, noting the slight tremor in her voice, the way her gaze flickered up at him before darting away again.
“I see,” he murmured, the response noncommittal as he gave her space to explain further.
“What did you want to tell me?” she asked, glancing up again, her curiosity evident.
He straightened, pulling the folded envelope from his pocket and placing it on the table. “Your birthday is this weekend,” he said, his voice steady. “I also thought it might be lovely to go on a trip together.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, the blush that lingered on her cheeks now joined by something brighter—delight. Sesshōmaru could tell she had forgotten her own birthday, as though it had been insignificant for so long that she no longer expected it to be marked. He could imagine how many years she had spent treating the day like any other, convincing herself it did not matter.
Sliding the envelope across the table, he gestured for her to take it.
“What’s this?” she asked, her fingers hovering over the flap.
“Open it,” he urged softly.
Kagome pulled out the simple card inside, her brows furrowing as she read the details. “A trip to Izu Peninsula…” Her voice trailed off as she looked back up at him.
“Happy early birthday, Kagome,” he said, his golden eyes steady on hers.
Her expression shifted, a mixture of astonishment and something softer, more vulnerable. “But… you must’ve used your first paycheque,” she protested. “Don’t you want to spend it on yourself?”
Sesshōmaru leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. “The reason I got this job was so I could plan something for your birthday and have the funds to make it happen.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. He could sense the way her emotions shifted, the gratitude mingling with disbelief.
“It’s not lavish,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “A trip to Izu Peninsula is modest compared to what most couples might plan, but I thought… the seaside, the ryokan with hot spring, the food. I thought it would be something you might enjoy.”
Kagome’s eyes shimmered, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the envelope. “I love it,” she whispered. “I just… I didn’t expect—” She stopped, clearly overwhelmed.
Sesshōmaru reached across the table, his hand resting lightly over hers. The warmth of her skin against his steadied him.
“I am far from being a rich man,” he admitted, his voice low but earnest. “But this, at least, I want to do for you. Will you let me?”
For a moment, Kagome did not respond, her fingers trembling slightly beneath his. Then she nodded, her lips curving into a radiant smile.
Sesshōmaru’s chest tightened, a rare, unfamiliar warmth blooming within him. Her happiness mattered more than any luxury he could not yet provide. Seeing the joy in her eyes, knowing he had put it there, made the months of quiet effort worth every moment.
When she leaned forward to clasp his hand in both of hers, her gratitude shining through, his heart soared.
Kagome stepped off the train into a world that felt like it belonged in a dream. The Izu Peninsula stretched out before her, vibrant and alive, the salty tang of the ocean air mingling with the faint sweetness of blooming spring flowers. Hills blanketed in emerald-green rose and fell along the horizon, their peaks framed by streaks of soft orange and pink as the late afternoon sun began its descent.
The waves crashed rhythmically against jagged cliffs, the sound reverberating like the heartbeat of the sea. Gulls circled above, their cries carried by a gentle breeze that whispered through the pine trees lining the cobbled path ahead.
She followed Sesshōmaru’s steady stride along the road leading to their ryokan. His presence beside her was as constant and grounding as the ocean itself, but her mind lingered elsewhere, wandering into memories she didn’t want to entertain.
Suikotsu had never wanted to celebrate her birthday. He was always “too busy,” caught up in some out-of-town conference or meeting that conveniently coincided with the date. At first, she had believed him, brushing aside the sting of disappointment with excuses of her own. He was ambitious. Dedicated. It wasn’t personal.
But after a while, the truth became undeniable: he simply didn’t care.
The realization had been bitter, but what hurt more was how easily she’d convinced herself it didn’t matter. She had stopped hoping, stopped asking. Birthdays became just another day, marked only by the quiet ache of what she wished she had.
When she placed the order for a Made-to-Order husband, she thought she’d been practical. Logical. She’d chosen someone who reminded her of Suikotsu—a face, a presence that felt familiar. Safe. But she hadn’t gotten him. She’d gotten Sesshōmaru, who was nothing like the man she thought she wanted.
At first, she had been confused, disappointed. But now… now she realized she had been wrong.
They reached the ryokan at the end of the path, and Kagome stopped to take it all in. The inn was nestled between a grove of towering bamboo and a rocky cliff that overlooked the endless expanse of the sea. Its wooden beams glowed golden in the fading sunlight, the traditional tiled roof sloping gracefully against the pastel sky. A small stream bubbled beside the entrance, its water clear and sparkling, and the faint tinkling of wind chimes swayed on the breeze, filling the air with a soft, melodic rhythm.
Sesshōmaru followed her gaze for a moment, then gestured toward the entrance. “Come,” he said simply, his voice as steady as the waves crashing below.
Inside, the ryokan was everything she had imagined and more. The cool scent of tatami mats and cedar greeted her, earthy and calming, as they stepped into the main hall. The okami greeted them with a warm bow, her smile as soft and welcoming as the light filtering through the paper screens. She led them to their room, sliding open the door to reveal a simple yet elegant space.
The futon was already laid out on the tatami mats, the bedding crisp and inviting. A low wooden table sat near the center, set with porcelain cups and a steaming pot of tea. But it was the window that drew Kagome’s attention. It stretched from floor to ceiling, framing an unobstructed view of the sea. The waves rolled lazily against the rocky shore, the horizon painted in soft hues of lavender and gold.
Sesshōmaru set the bag down with his usual quiet efficiency and turned to her.
“Is this to your liking?” he asked, his voice calm, yet there was something searching in his tone.
Kagome turned toward him, her chest tightening with the weight of the moment. “It’s perfect,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
And it was perfect—not because of the view or the room, but because he had brought her here. He had thought of her, planned this trip, saved for it. It was not the grand gesture of someone trying to prove himself; it was the quiet care of someone who simply wanted to see her happy.
Her gaze lingered on him, his sharp features softened in the golden light. She thought of the man she had once ordered. She thought of how much she resisted at first, dismayed that he was not what she had asked for.
But now, standing here with him, she realized he was exactly what she needed. He did not make excuses. He did not treat her like an afterthought. He was here, beside her, steady as the ocean, and that was something Suikotsu could never have given her.
“Thank you,” she said, stepping closer to him. “For all of this.”
Sesshōmaru’s golden eyes held hers for a moment before he inclined his head. “You deserve more than this,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sincerity. “But this, at least, I can give you.”
The words settled deep within her, their simplicity striking a chord she had not expected. She reached for his hand, her fingers brushing his as she felt the warmth of his touch. He had not been what she wanted, not at first. But now, she could not imagine wanting anyone else.
As they stood together, the ocean stretching endlessly before them, Kagome felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years—trust.
The dining room of the ryokan was quiet and intimate, with only a few low tables scattered around the space. Kagome and Sesshōmaru had agreed to dine there for their first evening, a peaceful setting to match the rhythm of the ocean waves echoing softly in the distance. The warm glow of lanterns reflected off the polished wood floors, and the faint sound of wind chimes outside added a serene note to the atmosphere.
Kagome adjusted her yukata, a light blue piece patterned with cherry blossoms, and stole a glance at Sesshōmaru. The indigo fabric of his own yukata accentuated his silver hair, which caught the lantern light like liquid silk. His movements were precise and deliberate as he picked up a slice of seared fish, examining it briefly before taking a measured bite.
The table between them was filled with dishes that paid homage to spring: a light soup made with clams and a hint of citrus; bamboo shoots simmered to tender perfection; and slices of golden-eyed snapper topped with a tangy glaze. The centrepiece was a bubbling pot of broth, where thin slices of beef, leafy greens, and fresh seafood awaited their turn to cook.
“This is incredible,” Kagome said, swirling a piece of beef briefly in the pot before dipping it into the savoury sesame sauce. “The ingredients are so fresh—it’s almost unfair how good the food is here.”
Sesshōmaru inclined his head slightly, his golden eyes resting on her. “The preparation respects the natural flavours. A mark of skilled craftsmanship.”
Kagome smiled, setting her chopsticks down. “You know, as amazing as this is, it doesn’t hold a candle to your cooking.”
His brow arched slightly. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely,” she teased, leaning forward slightly. “If Chef Tōga doesn’t realize what a prodigy you are, he’s going to regret it.”
For a moment, there was the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. “Flattery is unnecessary, Kagome. I am already yours.”
Her heart stuttered, and she chuckled softly, swirling a leaf of mizuna in the pot. “It’s not flattery—it’s the truth. You’re so meticulous. You treat food like it’s art, but with a purpose.”
Her words lingered between them, and Sesshōmaru’s gaze remained steady on her. “You are thoughtful with your praise,” he said, though his tone carried a note of curiosity. “You notice details others might overlook. It must be the observant nature of an author.”
“Maybe,” Kagome admitted, stirring the broth idly. “Or maybe I notice because I’m not like that at all.”
Sesshōmaru’s brow furrowed slightly. “Not like that?”
Kagome laughed, light but tinged with self-deprecation. “I rush into things. I don’t take time to think things through—I just… do it.”
Sesshōmaru’s golden gaze lingered on her, steady and unreadable. He set his chopsticks down with deliberate precision before asking, “Such as ordering a Made-to-Order husband?”
The words landed like a stone in her chest. Kagome froze, her chopsticks poised mid-air. He wasn’t mocking her—his tone wasn’t cruel—but the directness of his question made her throat tighten. Slowly, she placed her chopsticks back on the rest and exhaled, trying to collect herself as the air between them shifted.
“Fair point,” she said at last, her voice softer, tinged with a faint, brittle smile. “I guess… some people might think it’s a reckless decision.”
He tilted his head slightly, his expression as calm and composed as ever, though she thought she caught a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes. “What about the decision to order someone exactly like Suikotsu?”
Her heart stopped, a sudden ache spreading through her chest. The question hit harder than she expected, and she struggled to breathe evenly. She tried to meet his gaze, but the intensity there made her look away, down at the delicate fabric of her yukata instead. Her fingers instinctively began tracing the edge of the sleeve, searching for something solid.
“I thought…” she started. “I thought it was my chance to start over.”
“Start over how?” Sesshōmaru asked, his tone even but unyielding.
“It felt like a do-over,” Kagome admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “A second chance to get it right.”
Her words hung in the air, and she forced herself to keep her breathing steady. It sounded so foolish now, even to her. But at the time, it had seemed like the only way to fix everything she’d broken—or thought she’d broken.
Sesshōmaru’s posture remained composed, though his voice carried a sharper edge. “Why do you need a second chance? What happened between you and Suikotsu wasn’t your fault.”
Kagome’s throat tightened, and her gaze dropped further, her fingers curling into the soft folds of her yukata. “He’d certainly think otherwise,” she murmured, her voice so low it was barely audible.
His tone hardened. “Then disabuse him of that notion. Correct him. Make him understand how much he lost—a beautiful, extraordinary woman—”
“Sesshōmaru,” she interrupted, her voice trembling, “you’re only saying those things because—”
“No.” His response was immediate, cutting her off. He reached across the table and took her hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through her. His golden eyes bore into hers, unflinching and fierce with conviction. “Do not tell me my feelings for you aren’t real. They are real—to me. As real as the feel of your hands beneath mine right now.”
Her breath hitched, her chest tightening as tears threatened to spill. She felt exposed, like he had stripped away every defence she’d spent time building.
“They just don’t feel… earned,” she whispered.
Sesshōmaru’s expression darkened slightly, but his grip on her hand didn’t waver. “Which is to say, you believe you don’t deserve them?”
Her laugh escaped her, sharp and bitter. “I don’t know! Maybe. I paid for you,” she said, her voice breaking, the tears spilling over now. “Every yen feels like proof I don’t deserve you.”
Her words echoed in the quiet room, the bubbling of the brazier the only sound between them. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, embarrassed but too raw to care.
“It’s pathetic, isn’t it? Thinking like this. Feeling like this.”
“No,” Sesshōmaru said, his voice quieter but steady. “It’s not pathetic if a man like Suikotsu is what you truly want.”
“Even if it’s something I want,” she said quietly, “is it something I need? The two can be so different.”
Sesshōmaru leaned forward slightly, his presence commanding but not overwhelming. His hand tightened around hers, grounding her.
“What do you need, then, Kagome?” he asked, his voice low and even, as if he were afraid the wrong tone might shatter her.
Her lips parted, and for a moment, she thought she might finally say it. The tension between them was palpable, her pulse pounding in her ears as she struggled to find the words. The brazier’s soft bubbling seemed impossibly loud as the moment stretched thin.
“Sesshōmaru… you—” she began, her voice trembling.
But before the words could escape her, the shoji door slid open. The sharp sound cut through the fragile intimacy of the moment, and Kagome’s heart dropped as she turned toward the interruption.
There, framed in the doorway, stood Kikyo, her lips curled into an assessing, almost haughty smile. And beside her, Suikotsu.
His familiar face—the one she’d thought she wanted—sent a chill through her that froze the words on her tongue.
Whatever she was about to say was gone now, swallowed by the cocktail of emotions crashing over her. Disbelief. Dismay. Anger. All Kagome could do was stare, her hand trembling in Sesshōmaru’s as her past stood glaringly before her.