#𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜 ༉‧₊˚.

[jinchuls]

𝒴𝑒𝓈, 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 ₊˚✩

ᡣ𐭩 various knight!character x fem!reader

includes 𝜗𝜚 iwaizumi hajime, kuroo tetsurou (nsfw), ojiro aran (nsfw - marking), takanobu aone

notes 𝜗𝜚 repost from previous blog, mdni

𝑰𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝑯𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆 was the most responsible man assigned to you. No matter your request, big or small, he would execute them with perfection and a quiet “Yes, Your Highness.” He’d bow his head, stand close and make sure every step you take is safe. For the longest time, he seemed to have no interest in anything other than your father’s expectations of him. Not in you, or his fellow knights–he’d perform as he should but no more. You hated it. You hated the lack of attention, the simple responses and the silence as he stood at your side and, most of all, you hated how the small acts, the brief moments your eyes would meet and how those three words would make your heart skip. As you ignore the burning in your chest whenever he is near, you’re unaware of the effect you have on him. You’re oblivious to the shake in his voice when he does quietly respond to you and you don’t notice the gleam in his eyes when yours meet his–you look away before you can notice the red tinge painting his cheeks–and you had no idea the silence was caused by his pure inability to string sentences together in your presence. He wanted to, he wanted to hear your voice every second of the day or be the cause of your laugh. It’s your outburst one night that changes the course of your relationship, that starts something that would result in Hajime’s certain dismissal, with tears welling in your eyes and the frustration clear on your face you confess every emotion weighing down on your heart hoping, praying, he felt the same. He can hear his own heartbeat as it quickens, the pounding in his chest so loud he fears you can hear it from your position across the room; his face reddens again–you have to hide your smile to spare him any more embarrassment–and he begins to stutter. If he had found it difficult to speak around you, it worsened in that moment, but it was clear, no matter what the future would hold for your heart, your feelings were mirrored by your knight.

𝑲𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒐 𝑻𝒆𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒐𝒖 had mastered the art of trickery. In your family's eyes, he was the perfect candidate to keep you safe. He was that man, amongst all of his peers he was one of the strongest and most capable men that your parents could trust–he’d perfected their vision of him which only presented him every opportunity to show you the less professional sides of him. He was the man he allowed everyone to see but he was also the man able to rile you up, in all the right ways, with a lingering stare and a mischievous glint in his eyes or the touch of his fingers against the nape of your neck as he struggled with the clasp of your necklace. Your attraction to him was unheard of; you’d be ridiculed by anyone that found out. A member of the royal family and their knight? It was an impossible match Supposedly. They only thought that way because they didn’t know what happened when the door was closed; when the knight’s barrack was empty or any other moment the two of you found yourselves alone. There would be no more talk of the incompatibility of royals with anyone of lower status if they knew the way you’d find yourself bouncing on his cock as night settles around the palace. Or how you’d bite your lip to stop the moans from escaping you as he held your waist and the rhythmic movement of his hips had your legs shaking as each precise thrust pushed against every nerve sending you one step closer to bliss. None of it mattered, they could whisper and they could plan your betrothal: they would never know how comforted you felt wrapped in his arms or how protected you knew you were simply walking through the halls of your own home. No one could ruin what had been created and no one would ever know. Outside of your shared secret, all that was seen was your gentle orders directed at him, your voice soft but stern–as it was with every individual under your command–and his return the usual, the formal response everyone was expected to utter but his with a sly, subtle flirtation that left your legs weaks beneath you: “Yes, Your Highness.”

𝑶𝒋𝒊𝒓𝒐 𝑨𝒓𝒂𝒏 was perfect. Cheerful, strong, intelligent and, most important of all, able to cope with the incessant issues caused by the Miya twins (the knights assigned to your siblings. Days seemed to pass quicker when he was there; whenever time appeared to slow, he would be there to keep you company. There was no such thing as a dull moment when he was at your side. From the moment you met him, he was far too easy to get along with. Solid lines engraved in your mind were fading; the lessons taught to you as a young noble were forgotten and the very nature of the expected relationship between knight and noble was lost. You had never been happier. “Aran.” You’d whisper, fingernails digging into the skin of his arm; your head fell back against the pillows as he kissed your neck softly. “I know,” His voice would be no louder than yours, “Not where they can be seen.” With a kiss to your collarbone, he’d look between your bodies at the littering of fading marks he’d left the last time he’d had you in his arms. Across your chest, your thighs, anywhere where they would be hidden from eyes you did not trust. As always, he’d make a comment about how you looked beautiful with the evidence of him. And, as usual, it doesn’t take long before he’s darkening existing marks, kissing your chest. Biting your skin softly to hear those sweet sounds he adored, and leave behind reminders of the night for you to find the next morning. With more scattered across your skin, he’d sit up to look down at his masterpiece as you reached up for him, missing the warmth of his body closer to you. Your quiet mewls were heaven to hear. A smile sat on his face as he leaned down, chest against you and his lips grazing yours. He’d still, hips pressed to yours forcing whimpers from your throat–a silent cry for more–you’re too lost in ecstasy to give it up now. “Please.” You whisper, eyes meeting his. He grins, hands softly holding your waist as he slowly pulls his hips away again. “Yes, Your Highness.”

𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒃𝒖 𝑨𝒐𝒏𝒆 was quiet. From the day he was assigned as your personal guard, he’d barely uttered a word to you or to anyone. He’d simply nod his head to accept any order you sent his way and, miraculously, he’d found a way to relay any message from you wordlessly. You envied those able to understand the behaviour you’d never seen before and you found yourself wanting to be among those he seemed close to. You would watch his fellow knights approach him; you’d watch how Futakuchi would speak to the man and reiterate his silence into words during group conversations whilst you were left in confusion. Day in and day out, you’d find yourself watching him and the little interactions he would have with those around him, occasionally catching his perfectly gentle nature with small animals that roamed the palace gardens. You were certain he could feel your eyes on him but he never seemed to care; you knew words had got to him that you had been asking those he spoke to often to tell you about him but he never stopped your interest. And, as time passed, you found your curiosity had grown into something much more. You’d look away quickly when he would turn his head in your direction, eyes suddenly focused on the tea in front of you. Aone was quiet. Almost too quiet. But the red of his cheeks, that you caught for just a few seconds, was loud. You clear your throat, fearing your voice could break as you try once more to encourage a conversation with him. “The weather is lovely today,” you grip the teacup tightly, closing your eyes and wincing in the embarrassment, that wasn’t what you’d wanted to say. “Would you,” you quieten, looking anywhere other than where he is stood. “Would accompany me on a walk?” He waits a moment and you glance up, expecting to see a small nod, as always. He meets your eye, a soft smile on his face as he does so. “Yes, Your Highness.”

[jinchuls-moved]

𝙸𝚗 𝚂𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑 ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·

╰┈➤ prince!sakusa kiyoomi x princess!reader

about ≡ a love that felt timeless comes to a halt; the man in front of you isn’t him but you don’t know here he has gone.

ANGST — 5.3k

MASTERLIST ≡ NEXT

divider by @/cafekitsune

The first time you saw him you were only a young child, as the only daughter–the only child–of the king’s closest confidant, you learnt of your engagement to the young prince as soon as you were of an age to understand what would be expected of you.

You stood in front of him, confident and proud; proving to him, to yourself and, most of all, to your mother you were worthy of the title that would one day be passed on to you.

Just children, finding their fates intertwined by forces they could not control and their betrothal that would not only impact their families, but the lives of each and every subject of Itachiyama, as your mother often put it.

From then on, you were forced to endure your mother’s lessons and unbearable pressure. Teaching you of all the expectations that will be placed on you in addition to her own that weighed down on your heart.

Time felt as though it slowed, day by day passing as your mother and various tutors join you in a study, bombarding you with the history of the family you are to wed into; etiquette lessons to become more accustomed to the manner in which you’d be expected to act as a royal. And, those you enjoyed the least, lessons in embroidery. Pricks of the needle into your fingertips, sloppy threadwork you weren’t certain would ever improve all whilst feeling berated by your mother as “a lady should be able to do this with ease.”

Months of lessons stretch to years, from etiquette and embroidery to each and every aspect you needed in order to become the best queen you could, even if that role was far in your future. Through it all, there was something that made the passing of time more bearable.

The blissful, peaceful days you could have with Sakusa by your side.

What had begun as forced, uncomfortable meetings, sharing tea under the watchful gaze of your mother, had turned into something you’d often look forward to. Exploring the palace grounds as children, taking a wrong turn one day and finding the new place of your ever more frequent encounters.

Starting with standing in the ankle-deep stream that ran along the left of the clearing, crystal clear water, that looked more than refreshing; evolving to basking in the sun in the heat of summer, sneaking pitchers of juice and snacks away from the maids before they’d notice the two of you, or the food, had gone missing. And, as the two of you grew into near adults—as your social debut, and your wedding approached—the clearing became the one place the two of you could forget the duties sitting heavy on your shoulders.

Under the weeping willow, shielded from everything outside, you’d sit with Sakusa’s head resting on your lap, gentle strokes through his hair, occasionally tracing your finger between the beauty marks on his forehead. The soft, sweet movements relieve him of all stress haunting him.

It was times like these where his princely nature, the vision the public had of him, would fumble and you would gain confidence to speak in ways you’d never let another witness as you gently ran your fingers through the curls of his hair, you studied the delicate features of his face as he closed his eyes, almost falling asleep with you as his pillow.

“What burdens you, My Dear?” He spoke up, eyes remaining closed. “I can feel the way you stare.” Now opening his eyes, his gaze meets yours, a soft frown on his face as he misinterpreted your silence as something worse.

“Nothing burdens me.” You smile, “I was simply thinking how much more enjoyable my time is when it is spent with you.”

He grins in return, lips faltering as he tries to hide his embarrassment, evident by the faint pink that adorns his cheeks. “I feel the same,” Sakusa whispers, reaching up to loosen your fingers from his curls and lacing his between yours. Bringing your hand closer, he places a soft kiss on your skin. “And, I must say. Though we had little choice, I am glad you are my betrothed.”

A sweet moment, one you had begun to cherish from the moment it occurred, or at least would have if it were not the final time you found the joy of his company and the clearing hand in hand. In fact, until the night of the ball hosted to celebrate his 18th birthday, you wouldn’t see him again.

You hadn’t thought much of it, assuming his responsibilities had made him too busy to make time for you, as it did occasionally. You find yourself missing him; waiting for the moment you could see him again, relaxed, under that oak tree but you have no luck until you’re attached to his arm, his partner as always, and waiting for the grand doors to open and your arrival to be announced to those lucky enough to receive an invitation.

They open and you can hear the faint music grow louder as you take your place at the top of the extravagant, and aggravatingly long, staircase allowing the guests time to lower their heads not only for the man at your side but the king and queen who had stepped in alongside you and, one day, they would do the same for you.

The music does not stop until you reach the bottom of the stairs as you wait for the king to announce the official beginning of the celebration; to wish his son well on the day intended to honour him. His speech comes to an end and the music brings the hall back to life. You’re pulled into idle chatter by those around you, some wanting to know of your well-being or your family’s, others solely interested in forming a connection with the future leaders of their kingdom.

Through it all, you simply wished for a moment of peace and an opportunity to escape. Yet another thing you’d learnt you shared with Sakusa: your distaste for expectation and attention.

You endure it for as long as you can, taking Sakusa’s hand as he requests your first dance, standing alongside your mother at the edge of the ballroom floor as Sakusa entertains each noble that approaches him. It seems like forever passes before you’re able to be beside him again, once more pulled into the centre of the floor (a result of your mother’s persistent pestering). You tell yourself there’s one more dance, a few more minutes of your time taken with everyone’s eyes locked onto the pair of you, an action you were sure you’d one day become accustomed to but, until then, you were left comforted by Sakusa’s words–encouraging you through each step.

Minute by minute, the night passes slowly—only enjoyable in the moment you find yourself hand in hand with Sakusa as he leads you through one of, what feels like, the hundreds of dances you had practiced all your life. His soft, gentle hands holding yours as though you were made of porcelain; as though one wrong move would shatter you in seconds.

Two or three dances pass—your movements seem to blend into the music, your focus only on him—you lose track of the time as the busy, political, intended nature of the ball. Leaving the dance floor, still hand in hand, you expect Sakusa to bid you farewell and mingle amongst those that will benefit him greatly once he is coronated.

But he never lets go. He never stops moving. He never looks back.

Pulling you from the vast ballroom you find yourself in the corridors of the palace, one’s you know well but ones that felt much different, more intimate now you were lead by your betrothed until you reach the beautiful glass doors that lead one of many balconies looking over the palace garden.

“What will people think?” You laugh, allowing him to pull you into the cold—he wastes no time in ridding himself of his jacket to wrap it around your shoulders. “The guest of honour hiding from his own celebration, taking a woman with him no less.” Fingers taking hold of the collars, you pull your covering closer. The familiar scent of him filling your nose.

“Taking his fiancé with him.” Sakusa corrects, leaning against the balcony rails as the cold breeze swims in the air. He looks beautiful as the wind disheveles every perfectly placed hair.

“We are yet to marry, there is still room for scandal.” He chuckles, staring down at the view of the garden. Making your way beside him everything feels right. The world you had been born to be part of, trained in your youth for and yearning for since you felt you heart beat only for him. It may have never been your choice, but the life expected of you didn’t seem too bad when Sakusa was going to be there with you.

“I can think of a worse scandal soon to be exposed.” Turning your head to him, you raise an eyebrow in your confusion. “The prince’s fiancé makes no attempt to congratulate him on his birthday.” A smile comes to your face at his teasing joke, turning to face him and taking a small step back. Your hand comes to your dress, pulling it out as you prepare yourself for a curtsy. Bowing your head you begin the official congratulations you’re assuming he’s expecting.

“I wish His Highness-” he raises his hand to stop you before you’re able to so much as bow.

“Not like that.” He whispers, taking a step towards you and gracefully wrapping his arms around your waist. Pulling you close he waits for you to talk.

Feeling the warmth emanating from his body, you’re suddenly painfully aware of the distance between you he’s shrunk. The cold chill in the air feels like nothing against the burning of your embarrassment coursing through you until you find yourself lost in the moment, meeting his eyes with your shy glance. “Kiyoomi.” You whisper, pushing a hand to his chest–he makes no effort to move. “This isn’t-” He watches you as you struggle to find the words becoming more flustered as each second passes. You look away, unable to keep your gaze on his, instead choosing to focus on the balcony railings and the stretch of the garden barely illuminated under the palace lights. “We are yet to be wed.” You remind him once more, tone as confident as you can muster.

“Will your reputation be tarnished by a single act no one is a witness to?” A guiding finger rests under your chin, luring you to look his way again. “I simply wish to hear your congratulations today.”

His fingers move gently against your skin, soft for the most part but the rough calluses forming rubbed against your skin, making you wish they could remain soft for the comfort of his caresses.

“Happy birthday, Kiyoomi.” Your voice is barely audible, only reaching his ears and, had it not been for the silence of the balcony, he may not have been blessed by the quiet embarrassment in your voice he’d grown to favour.

“I believe I may now call it so.” He whispers back through his grin, relishing in your initial shock as he closes the gap between the two of you, catching you in a kiss—your first—that would certainly trigger another lecture on your social reputation from your mother. If she were to find out.

It was magical; everything you had dreamt of. Perfect. Had you known what was coming, you would have savoured the moment longer.

Mere weeks later, to the surprise of everyone, the news comes that sits a weight on your heart that you can’t hold—the kingdom is at war and the prince must lead his army to victory. And you are left alone.

Your only solace is found in the frequent letters you’d share, his less detailed than yours—saving you from the horrors he was experiencing and only sharing what little could be considered ‘good’ on the battlefield. Small anecdotes; stories about his men and his queries into how you are. There seemed to be and endless amount to talk about and the letters were frequent enough to keep you enthralled with him.

Until they weren’t.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months and word soon stopped. No matter how much you longed to hear from him; no matter how often you sent letters of your own you heard nothing. You fear the worst, fear his death came too soon and that you were going to be the last to find out; you wonder if his parents would even feel the need to tell you. And if he wasn’t, was he captured? Was he in danger? Did his men fail to keep him safe?

How were you to ever find out?

Maybe you were never supposed to. Maybe this was how you were to find out the truth of his feelings towards you and that he’d stopped entertaining your painfully obvious childish infatuation. You could only assume so when his mother mentions, in passing, that he’s grown more into his role over the years if she was perceiving his letters correctly.

His silence was for you and you only and it shatters you. You’re left heartbroken and with a hundred questions but the one lingering on your mind the most is why? Why spend your life concerned for a man that appears to have to care for you?

You wish you could say it never bothered you and had never left you sleepless as you thought of every part of your childhood that had you falling for him in the first place. And, perhaps, with a little more time, you would have found a way to heal. Perhaps if you hadn’t heard from him again you could have felt normal.

His final letter comes as a surprise; you read it again and again, eyes scanning each word as if there was a hidden message behind them; as if something would jump from the paper and scream the truth of all that you had missed–all that he had kept from you.

But nothing came, just the words that felt as though they had no care behind them; no explanation as to why his letters had stopped. Simply a small letter, a paragraph that held nothing more than the words scrawled on the page, that you doubted he had even written himself, stating your wedding would be held in three days–leaving you no time to process that he was back. The time you had spent mourning him; crying to Kiyoko as the thought of losing him broke you.

Instead, you found yourself thrown into preparations and, with your lack of interest in the wedding painfully obvious to everyone but your overexcited mother, you feel as though there’s no time to breathe as flower arrangements, invitations and dress fittings are forced on you with no room allowed for your own opinions.

The days pass slowly, you’re overwhelmed and waiting for the end of the night when you can crawl into bed or finally release the build-up of emotions to an increasingly worried Kiyoko as she stood, brushing through your hair and encouraging you to tell her the truth. After witnessing it all, the months of missing him; the way you broke at the loss of contact and the anger you had felt when he resurfaced, she was unprepared to let you burden yourself with the weight of the kingdom’s expectations.

Especially as the night before the wedding falls.

You cling to Kiyoko as she held you tight, your head rested on her lap as she gently stroked your hair—her futile attempt to soothe you. Every wail from you leaves her shattered and the letter, the blaster letter, sit torn to shreds at your feet. Ripping it apart in a haste as Kiyoko opened your doors, you fell into a state of despair.

Tomorrow was the day of your dreams but reality felt like much more of a nightmare.

It’s a miracle your home isn’t awoken by your heartbreak but no one else comes or they simply don’t care enough to stop the once thing that benefits even the lowest of employees in your family home. Why should they step in just because you felt pain?

“I can’t!” You cry. You must, you think—the protests fall from your lips as you lose yourself in the spiral your mind has become, Kiyoko’s efforts to calm you are useless. She’s left with nothing to do but wait for you to exhaust yourself—which comes soon—only then is she able to gentle tuck you into bed again ignoring the painful pant of her own heart as she yearns for a way to get you out of your forced destiny. Yet, all she can do is stay at your side and bring you some sort of familiarity to the life you’re dreading.

It’s a restless night, tossing and turning in a light sleep that wakes you frequently. You stare at the ceiling, hoping sleep will take you once more as the birds chirp and the world awakens. If an escape is not possible, just a few more minutes of sleep will be preferable.

Puffy-eyed, throat sore, and filled with dread, you wake the next morning to the room filling with maids, more than you had ever been used to seeing, and your mother pushing her way in determined to oversee every last detail of the preparation. Since you woke up that morning, you hadn’t had a single chance to breathe.

Your mother, someone who had always been considered a respectable woman, pulled you to your feet with a childish grin on her face, pushing you from the comfort and warmth of your covers to one of her employees, whose name she certainly had never bothered to learn.

Rushed onto your feet, the only chance you have to breathe is the short time you have away from your mother–that you wished would stretch longer–sat in the warmth of your bathtub and allowing yourself just a few minutes to relax before you’re thrown into the fire burning in your home.

Your mother stands amongst the maids as you return, insisting on every last detail of your hair and clothing; ignoring the few requests you’d had just a few days beforehand. But you move past it quickly, those few requests weren’t important to either of you, your mother wanted this day to be perfect; it had to fit the image she had in her mind whereas you would had preferred nothing at all or, since you had no choice, something much less extravagant than all that had been planned.

You’re more than ready for it to end the second it begins, you’re being tugged from side to side as the maids (not so) delicately pull your hair into the intricate style your mother is insisting on, she’s quick to slap the back of your hand as you complain, reaching to alter the curl your mother seems to love–she’s telling you to remain still; accusing you of ruining the day before it had even began.

So, you’re left with no choice. You sit, having your head pulled from side to side under your mother's orders; you share a look with your lady-in-waiting through the mirror praying there was something either of you could do to stop the hell you’re about to subject yourself to—as though either of you could stop the dictator making her orders.

You lose track of the time you’re spent as your mother’s living doll, having your breath stolen as the corset is tightened around you with the order of “a little more” and your ignored protests. Your arms are pulled left and right as you're pushed into the gown, leaving only makeup to be done.

You hope it won’t take as long as your mother makes it seem; with powder being slapped on your face and more instructions being tossed at the maids. There’s nothing you can do but sit and take everything thrown your way; you’re being led to the royal carriage before you realise it—you’re still not ready.

You’re not sure how many hours have passed since the moment you woke up but, now, the sun is beating down on you through the window of the carriage. It hurts your eyes, just a little bit, but you think that’s better than your attention being on your mother. She’s sat opposite you listing off her requirements and rules for the day—all boiling down to ‘don’t mess this up’. Ruining the day was practically impossible. You’d practiced a million times, you’d had nothing but lessons on palace etiquette and you’d memorised your agenda for the day years ago. Above all, it was once a day you dreamt of—once one that left your heart fluttering.

You were a robot programmed for this day and this day only. Ruining it was not an option.

She doesn’t stop talking until you reach the palace but you’re left with no time to feel the relief. You freeze for a moment, staring at the church that stood tall, staring down at you; taunting you. Even with only a few more moments until those doors opened, until you were expected to give the rest of your life to a man you no longer wanted in your memories, you hoped you’d receive one more message that would set you free. Instead, you take the step out of the carriage, feeling the never-changing watchful glare of your mother bore into your side even as she’s encouraged away, inside the building, with Kiyoko following behind her. Your silent beg for her to stay with you; your plead for her to stand beside you and offer you the only comfort you would receive that day, don’t go unnoticed but she has no choice but to follow after your mother, leaving you stood alone with nothing to do but wait for the sound of the organ and opening of the holy doors condemning you into a life you considered hell.

Left alone, time seems to stop. There’s an endless silence that envelopes you until you’re left restless, taunted by the wait hoping the tune will never start. You don’t fund yourself lucky. The grand doors slowly creak open, the music begins quietly, the volume rising as you come into view. You want the floor to swallow you whole as every guest stands and their attention is solely on you.

It’s time.

You wish there was someone beside you. Your mother, your father, Kiyoko or just a maid. But you’re expected to take each step solo.

As the music continues you take each painstaking step. Chattering and whispers dying down to silence as the sound of the organ grows; there isn’t a single pair of eyes not on you.

Glancing around the room, or at least to those sat in proximity to the aisle in the vast chapel, you’re realising there are minimal people here to support you.

There’s viscounts and barons hoping to gain power through relationships with the higher ranking earls and dukes. There’s women hoping to meet a higher ranking man to lift them up the societal hierarchy and you start to think Kiyoko is the only person really there for you.

The closer you come to Sakusa, the more familiar the faces become. You may not know them all, but the soldiers that fought alongside your fiancé stand to your left, all smiling at the thought of their captain, the man that lead them to victory in the near half-decade they were at war, getting his chance of happiness. Or what they perceive to be so.

You search the sea of vaguely recognisable faces, trying to keep your attention forward as you walk and, only then, do you look to the men that stand close, at Sakusa’s side. His most trusted, his family–only one of which you recognise. And only one of which you’re happy see.

Komori. Sakusa’s cousin and right hand, there wasn’t a thing on Earth Sakusa knew the Komori didn’t; as your eyes met his he greets you with a familiar, comforting smile—one you hadn’t seen in far too long. The sight of him turns from reassurance into something you’d wished you’d never laid eyes on.

You hate it.

It reminds you of the happiest years of your life, when you could consider Sakusa a friend instead of the stranger he’d become; when you could laugh or cry around him and not fear his reaction. Of when you would accompany both Sakusa and Komori on walks around the palace garden, almost always ending in a scolding from your mother at the filth that littered the dress she had carefully picked out that morning, something that never bothered you. Because the time you spent without supervision was always the time you looked forward to most.

It reminds you of the time you thought married life could be somewhat enjoyable.

Beside him are the infamous mercenaries hired to fight alongside the soldiers; now knights of the palace with the sole duty of protecting the prince. There’s Bokuto and Hinata, the two deceitfully cheerful men with the power to kill in seconds if given the chance. Together, they were an unstoppable team but they were not as treacherous as the faux blonde sat beside them with judgmental eyes targeting you.

Miya Atsumu. Bloodthirsty and menacing, his stare had you wanting to turn and leave more than you already were. His brown eyes felt like they were searching your very soul and all you could do was look away, finally looking at your betrothed.

For the first time in over four years.

You hate to admit it, you really do, but, no matter how much you despise him, you cannot deny the fact he’s become an inexplicably handsome man.

Maybe it was the years on the battlefield that had forced him to grow from the 18-year-old you remember into the toned, beautiful heir to the throne waiting for you at the alter; his new physique perfectly suiting the white suit he had donned; golden accessories making him more breathtaking. And, across his shoulders sat the white mantle handed down the generations of his family: a symbol of alleged love and affection between the king and his queen.

It makes you want to laugh.

The worst thing about it all, the one thing you’d expected but hoped he would control, is the expression on his face. If a single person was looking at him they would realise what a mockery this wedding was—no one should have an expression of such abhorrence at the site of their wife. Yet, there he was looking at you like you were dirt on his boots, like you were the enemy he’d been fighting for so long.

You slow for a second, taking a hesitant step forward as you force your eyes away from his. You know this isn’t what either of you want, you’re aware there may even be a woman Sakusa yearns for but can never have. But you wish you could live your life differently, turn and run; find a man to love wholeheartedly.

Reaching the alter, everything feels real. Sakusa takes his steps towards you; taking your hand and guiding you up the steps to the high priest, who’s waiting for the music to cease and the ceremony to officially begin.

With your back to the crowd, you ignore the words spoken by the priest; they mean nothing to you as he speaks of blessings showered down on the union—on how this is the wedding everyone has been anticipating.

Everyone but the two of you.

So, you stand. A hand rested on Sakusa’s as you wait for your cue to turn to him; to listen to him speak his vows, one’s you’ll have to echo afterwards.

When the time comes, you let him take your hands; you let him talk and you let him slide the ring on your finger. You’re locked into your life the second he finishes; he looks as unhappy as you feel at that moment.

Then it’s your turn; everyone’s watching you. They’re waiting to celebrate not only the marriage of the prince but the consolidation of power that will become their king and queen. But, not a single one knows you’re anxious about the words you're expected to say.

All eyes turn to you as your turn to repeat the words spoken moments beforehand comes, holding Sakusa’s hand in yours whilst you wait for the moment to slide the ring on his finger; the cold metal matches the rough man who’s not so much as smiled at you from the moment the doors opened.

You can hear the minister speaking even though you don’t register the words, meaningless words you’d practised a hundred times under the order of your mother, words that would have once spluttered from your mouth through your amusing nerves and had your heart racing. Yet, now, they left you numb and full of regret. Had all those years you’d given him, all the emotions you’d once thought you shared, been some sort of game? Or had he let you think he felt something towards you just so he could fulfil the duties placed on him by his father?

Taking a deep breath as the silence falls amongst the hall, as it had when Sakusa spoke his vows, and you prepare yourself for what was beginning to shape the rest of your life. “I y/n l/n take you, Sakusa Kiyoomi,” meeting his eyes for just a second you feel yourself begin to falter, staring at the man who, for just a split second, held a soft expression on his face. You lose sight of it just as quickly as you had noticed it, watching him as he turns from the young man that had been by your side; the man that had made you feel as though you were more than enough for anyone, to the stranger that had returned.

The moment passes and the light fades as you open your mouth to continue, “to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward,” with him in front of you; with the hopeful eyes of everyone watching, you’re left with nothing other than a bitter taste in your mouth.

“for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer,” you let your eyes drift to your parents, sitting beside Kiyoko, and your mother’s beaming smile urges you on with no care for what you want. She sits, expectant, waiting for the opportunity to call her daughter the princess, waiting to be known as the woman who was successful in making her child the future queen.

No matter how much you had told her you wanted anything else for your own life.

With your attention back to the man in front of you, you continue. “in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish,” You allow yourself to entertain the thought of just what type of person Sakusa would be in those situations. Wondering if he’d warm to you again, just as he did when you were younger, or if he’d show more of the man he’d seemed to have become. Would he care or would he leave you to feel alone in the palace through the moments you needed someone with you most?

“till death do us part,” The question of his loyalty had never come to your mind, you knew how he was raised and you knew how he felt about mistresses. You were all he would have be it willing or not.

“according to God’s holy law.” Uttering the words feel almost blasphemous, in a place of worship shared with a man you had long since lost any loving feelings. Words that most would believe were shared between lovers, young adults that had waited for this moment since they were children, unaware of the loss you feel thinking about the man that once took claim of your heart.

You hold the ring in your hand, delicately lifting it so you can slide it down his slender finger, trapping yourself with the final words you speak, mouth dry and voice shaking, enough to be misconstrued as nerves, as you do so.

“This is my solemn vow.”

[jinchuls]

𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒮𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓂𝓃 𝒱𝑜𝓌 ₊˚✩

ᡣ𐭩 prince!sakusa kiyoomi x princess!reader

about 𝜗𝜚 a childhood of bliss, a youth of love and a future seemingly dim. what happened to the man that left? and what’s to happen to you now you’re tossed into a loveless marriage with the man that once held your heart?

content 𝜗𝜚 sfw, childhood friends -> lovers -> strangers -> lovers, slow(ish) burn - each chap will have any relevant warnings so please be careful!

notes 𝜗𝜚 REPOSTED & REWRITTEN, the series of many blog ago (the og ukaishin) that never left my mind and i will finish it this time (been working on it slowly for a while now teehee)

divider by @/cafekitsune

𝘼𝘾𝙏 𝙊𝙉𝙀

in sickness and in health (5.3k - link to previous blog)

you are a princess, first and foremost (4.1k)

tba…

[jinchuls-moved]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚅𝚘𝚠 ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·

╰┈➤ prince!sakusa kiyoomi x princess!reader

about ≡ a childhood of bliss, a youth of love and a future seemingly dim. what happened to the man that left? and what’s to happen to you now you’re tossed into a loveless marriage with the man that once held your heart?

content ≡ sfw, childhood friends -> lovers -> strangers -> lovers, slow(ish) burn - each chap will have any relevant warnings so please be careful!

notes ≡ REPOSTED & REWRITTEN, the series of many blog ago (the og ukaishin) that never left my mind and i will finish it this time (been working on it slowly for a while now teehee)

divider by @/cafekitsune

𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬

in sickness and in health (5.3k)

..tba

[jinchuls-moved]

𝙴𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·

╰┈➤ miya atsumu x reader

୨ about ୧ showing up at your house was the last thing you expected him to do; showing up when your husband was home made it far far worse

୨ content ୧ cheating (reader on their husband), angst

୨ notes ୧ i wrote something similar like a year ago on my first blog n wanted to rewrite <33

divider by @/cafekitsune

“Is yer husband home?”

He asks the question before you’d even had the chance to greet him, let alone acknowledge it’s was even him at the door—the man you’d all but ghosted 2 weeks beforehand.

“Atsumu.” Your hushed voice gives him his answer as you slide outside with him, shutting the door behind you. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” He scoffs, “Why have you been ignorin’ me?” Folding his arms across his chest he raises an eyebrow when you start to shush him. “What?” He scoffs again, apparently his favourite sound to accompany the look in his eyes you’re not used to seeing—something you’d never thought would be targeted at you. “Scared he’ll find out?”

“There’s nothing for him to find out.” You hiss, glancing to your front window you pray your husband’s curiosity doesn’t get the better of him tonight—the last thing you want is for your mistake, no matter how big it was, to ruin what you’d begun to fight for; to fix.

“Nothin’.” He repeats with yet another scoff, as though you’d said the most unbelievable thing—to him, maybe it was. “4 months of nothin’. Frequent excuses for nothin’. Nights in my bed, comin’ to my matches and telling me yer marriage was on the ropes. Nothin’.” You’d never heard Atsumu so angry, so hurt.

Your stomach drops and the guilt finds its home, a feeling you’d become more than accustomed to at the sight of your husband. But not ‘Tsumu.

“Atsumu-” Your voice and face soften, and he falters at the sound of his name. Is he allowed to be angry at you, when he knew you were a married woman?

He should have listened when Sakusa warned him you were a bad idea.

“No, no.” He stops you, a hand in the air and a sigh escaping his lips. He might not have the right, but he was angry. At you. “Ya can’t just bat yer eyes and speak nice t’me and expect me to fall at yer feet again.”

“I’m not trying anything ‘Tsumu.” The nickname falls from you as though you hadn’t practically broken his heart. “I don’t want you ‘falling at my feet’ again.” Mocking his choice of words your eyebrows furrowed and what little of you still wanted him around disappeared—since when did he act like this? Even if he was frustrated, he had no right. “This was my decision and I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted. But he is my husband. I’ve messed up but i’m not willing to make it worse because you want a quick fuck and a free therapy session.”

“That’s not—” his animosity disappears but you don’t care enough to listen to his excuses.

“I don’t care, Atsumu.” Lifting a hand to stop him, you sigh. “Don’t come here again, don’t call, don’t text.” You begin to open your door again, stepping into the entranceway of your home, your voice is as quiet as when you’d started. “If I could turn back time, I’d never have let this happen.”

“Who was it, Love?” He hears the voice of your husband as the door begins to slowly close. Atsumu waits, yearning for your attention; hoping you’ll admit to the secret tryst and tell the man you married he just wasn’t what you needed but that Atsumu was, regardless of anything you’d told him.

But, of course, it never came. The door closed just as he heard your reply: “No one, Hon.” Surely ready to tell him one last white lie—that he was a salesman with a product you had no interest in or a nosy neighbour ready to accuse you of something your husband would never believe.

It’s that moment where Atsumu realises the things he was most scared of was coming true. All the nights he’s spent beside you in bed, spilling his deepest secrets and listening to every worry you had. All the times he’d barely held himself back from telling you just how in love with you he was and begging for you to leave your husband and run away with him—all those intense, aching feelings were his. Not yours.

[jinchuls]

𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓈, 𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐹𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 ₊˚✩

ᡣ𐭩 prince!sakusa x princess!reader

about 𝜗𝜚 the reception is underway and the hall fills with laughter, music and joy—you’re glad someone had found a way to enjoy your wedding

divider by @/cafekitsune

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝜗𝜚 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉

Had you not been an unwilling attendee, you may have enjoyed the elegance of the night planned. Gorgeous music played throughout the vast ballroom. The sound of string instruments danced to your ears, blending beautifully with the piano taking control of the movements of everyone brave enough t0 take a partner to the centre of the room. A place you doubted you would visit yourself.

Even though it was a magnificent event, awaited by many, dedicated to you and your husband, you could only stare at it with hopes that time will be in your favour; that the end of the night would come for the night to simply be a blur by the morning. Your mind wanders to when you would finally be able to remove the light corset wrapped around you and climb into bed. But, you’re also hoping the night never ends. There’s part of you that wants to enjoy the reception, and there’s more of you that wants to avoid the first night you’ve expected to share with your husband – a constant worry forced into your mind by your mother.

You know neither of you are anticipating the evening, a night neither of you can truly avoid regardless of your will to be anywhere else. But you know what you need people to believe. When you Halle in the morning, you need your marriage to be among the successful of the royal family. You can’t risk any other result. The voice of your mother rings in your ears. ‘I’m giving you advice because I care, my child. It is now your turn to make me proud.”

Hidden within the music, you can near the clinking of flatware on plates as people stand by the grand displays of food, happily talking and laughing whilst you, under order of your mother, stay at the side of the room theoretically waiting for the moment Sakusa asks you to dance—an unlikely outcome.

Yet, you do as she expects. You stand. You wait. And your mother’s voice comes to mind again; this time the memory of her persistent comments uttered before you were able to even attend your own reception. “Do not even think of approaching the food table.” You had questioned why but quickly regretted so, her reasoning was as you had expected. There was no need to hear them allowed. “Why? You must look your best and the food the Queen has suggested,” she scowls at the thought, “it may be your favourite,” another unimpressed expression crosses her face, “but it is messy, my dear, I won’t allow it. And the drink! You can’t so much as hold a glass. You must be a perfect example tomorrow.”

The memory, now at the front of your mind, sends you spiralling into thoughts of now dreadful, how constricting, how disappointing this day has truly been; yay simply want it to end.

Though, the universe is not on your side as you watch your mother approach you with a smile painted on her face, so artificially proud. It’s horrendous to see. She’s quick to take you by the arm and pull you out of earshot of the overly curious nobles. You know her intention but knowledge does not retire your desire to be elsewhere.

“Are you prepared for this evening?" she questions, taking your hand and shining her bright smile your way. You try not to let her notice the frown that falls on your lips.

You know she’s not clueless on now you feel, on what this entire day had once meant to you. She knew how much you had once been dreaming of this day and exactly how distraught you had felt finding out just now little your husband seemed to care about you. She knew your concerns; witnessed your heartbreak and, yet, still believed the two of you were some sort of destiny.

She simply chose to ignore the royal tragedy unfolding.

“My dear, are you listening to me?” her tone changes as she realises you’re drifting from the conversation she is leading, and you quickly come back to reality- regardless of your emotions today, it is not worth an excuse for your mother to berate you.

You nod your head, urging her to continue except, this time, you’re listening. She adjusts the neckline of your dress as she speaks, another grimace crossing her for just a second. But that second is enough to make you feel small. “You must remember, you are now a member of the royal family. There is no longer any room for your embarrassing behaviour.” Her words, her voice. She has no care for how much they hurt you; you’re given no time to respond -to tell her now much you lowly despise her and the woman she has forced you to become. Had she looked at you for a moment, she would have seen the harshness in your expression. It’s clear she would have thought nothing of it.

“Mother—“ you signh, gently moving her hands away from your dress. You could – should – have stiffened your tone. A simple warning from the Princess to the duchess – as though that held any importance to the woman. She was still your mother after all.

“You’re a princess now, and a princess has a role to fill. You mustn’t disappoint him tonight, the sooner an heir is conceived the better, is it not?” she speaks as though her actions are not now toward a member of the royal family. As if she inhabited a role more important than her own.

“Mother!” You almost raise your voice, stopping at the last second as you stare at her with wide eyes. You’re amazed at her confidence in saying such a thing in the middle of the ballroom; you’re certain there’s no one within earshot but you fear someone will hear your improper conversation–ruining the reputation your mother places on such a high pedestal.

“There are certain duties a woman has to complete,” she continues, ignoring your worried expression and attempts to stop her, “and you’re not truly a wife until the marriage has been consummat–”

“I understand, mother.” You interrupt her and she finally stops, although she looks less than pleased at the manner in which you’ve ended the conversation. You ignore her once more; forcing all thoughts of sharing the night with Sakusa from your mind. Excusing yourself from her silence, you make your way back to the lively event mere feet away from you and silently pray you will hear no move of a princess' ‘expectations' for as long as the music fills the hall.

You keep your head high as you search for familiarity; you don’t want to seem lonely at your own wedding and you can hear your mother’s voice in the back of your mind reminding you of the appearance you’ve been trained to exhibit. How you hate the sound of that voice.

The familiarity comes in forms you don’t wish to entertain: family members that likely share the same thoughts as your mother (and lack her same decency), the young women your age who, shockingly, don’t understand the lack of love in your marriage- they wish to hear endless stories of how romantic the crown prince could be. How naïve.

There’s Komori—and he’s certainly not the person you shall ever seek in times of comfort. Sakura himself stands among a small group of men you do not recognise but your eyes glide past him effortlessly.

You’re certain he’s not so much as looked at you since your vows had been exchanged. Why should you offer him such courtesy?

The one person you wish to see is elsewhere, likely sent away by your mother to perform a job that is not her responsibility. Kiyoko’s kind eyes, her soft smile, that would be your only peace for the night, that still seemed years away from an end.

There is not a single person attending that is there for you. The realisation swells in your mind until you feel as though you are suffocating. It’s unbearable. You had been expecting this very outcome but it does not soothe the excruciating ache of your chest.

Hastily, you leave the ballroom desperately searching for somewhere—anywhere—that gives you a chance to breathe. Your escape goes unnoticed by everyone except the guards at the door. You suppose your marriage does come with some perks—they were not to question the action of the princess they now serve.

There’s a brief moment you can relax as the doors close behind you. You know you’re safe, monitored closely by the royal guards that won’t let anyone besides your people approach, with the exception of those trusted by Sakusa himself. Though any of him men are unlikely to care about the well-being of his wife. You could finally be alone.

Eventually, you find yourself on one of the many balconies of the palace, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the view of the verse garden as The Sun was beginning to set. It’s as beautiful as you remember.The solitude it brings, the peace, the comfort, the sanctuary_ it’s a small bliss that makes you believe living in the palace-with sukusa – won’t be impossible.

Compared to the warmth of the ballroom, the chill air forces goosebumps to rise on your skin but you don’t mind the icy wind, it’s a pleasurable contrast to the hell that has been your day. The few minutes you had alone, in silence, shivering are the happiest you’ve been all day. If only for a moment, everything feels infinitely better.

The quiet hum of the music reaches your ears; a reminder that you one of no true importance in the solely political day. But, it no longer bothers you; you’ve accepted the rest of your life will be spent in your husband's shadow. You are a princess, first and foremost.

You are yourself second.

Your peace is disrupted by the sound of heels on the corridor floors and a gentle sign escapes you, expecting your mother to burst through the balcony doors and drag you back to your burden.

“I’ve been looking for you, My Lady.” You’re pleasantly surprised by the familiar voice, twisting on your heels as she makes her presence known. The door closes behind her with a gentle click and you’re no longer alone—you’re company is more than welcome this time, especially as Kiyoko stands with a soft smile on her face and a small plate of palace delicacies she’d more than likely had to sneak away from your mother.

Your eyes widen and you take it from her gleefully. Of course, of all people to notice, Kiyoko was the only one that would do something that could anger your mother—she’d risk the consequences if only to see you content.

Kiyoko had been assigned to you when you turned 16; close in age and the only woman considered even remotely worthy to be the lady-in-waiting to the future queen, according to your mother, she had adopted quickly to her role. Taking the additional, and much needed, position of older sister and, eventually, the stance of sole ally in those pitiful years. She had helped you through tough days and had listened to every complaint you had about any minor detail. She never once cared what upset you, she only cared about you.

She sighs beside you, in a similar manner to how you had when you first escaped from the bustling ballroom. And, suddenly, you’re not the princess anymore; you’re just a woman with her friend. You’re not a person dreading your married life, you’re you. You’re just you.

“Your mother—“

“Please.” You interrupt, sending her a quick glance, you know she wants to ask what you were pulled aside for: a conversation you wanted to forget. “Not now; not here.” Kiyoko nods in return, a comfortable silence enveloping the two of you as you finish the food she managed to sneak away for you.

That’s how you stay as you both stare over the garden: there’s nothing to say. She had already heard your fear for your wedding day; she had witnessed you’re waterfall of tears the night before as you voiced every concern and fear, letting out all the emotions you had been trying to ignore for years. She had seen you at your worst before, what was supposed to be, the happiest night of your life. There was nothing she could ask that would make you feel better.

“Excuse me, Your Highness.” You turn to the entrance of the balcony, the approach of another person going unnoticed by the both of you; straightening your posture your posture in an instant, the fear of your mother catching you in any ‘unladylike’ position running through your veins. Its only when you realise it’s Komori that you allow yourself to relax. “My apologies, I didn’t realise you had company, My Lady.” He bows his head to both you and Kiyoko. You greet him with the best smile you can muster: though you're not entirely happy to see him either–Sakusa’s silence broke your heart but Komori’s helped stamp on the pieces helping you learn losing a friend was just as painful.

He reaches a hand out towards you, offering you a glass of champagne he’s graciously brought with him, unaware of Kiyoko’s presence, he was ill-prepared for company yet, he hands her the second glass initially intended for himself.

“You look beautiful, Your Highness.” He’s the only person, besides Kiyoko, to say those words to you; to remember that this was your day and make it seem as such even if he knows, more than most, the reality of your relationship.

These a brief moment where you do feel beautiful, his soft voice unlocks more memories of the three of you as children, the nights in which Komori would listen to your endless rambling of your excitement for this very night—the plans you had for every detail of the decoration and dress, the exact opposite of what you’d endured. But those few words, his grin that was painted in your memory, childish, familiar and likely one of few things not destroyed by the horrors of war.

But that moment is fleeting; in seconds those memories are tightly locked up again as he speaks: he’s not there for you. “I wish I could come with better news, but I believe your mother has noticed your escape.”

He’s simply on an errand.

Your head drops as you sigh, a sound that has come from you today more than any day of your life. Turning to Kiyoko, you send her a disappointed smile.

“I would gladly escort you both back, My Ladies, if you allow it.” He steps forward, offering his arm to you.

You don’t move.

The thought of your mother seeing you walk arm in arm with your husband’s cousin is daunting: you know she’ll have strong words to say against it. As though he can hear the string of thoughts; you know he can see the conflicted expression on your face but he certainly wasn’t expecting it.

He clears his throat, embarrassment obvious as he lowers his arm. Instead, he opens the door again and steps aside, silence falling between the three of you as you make your way towards the music again, an uncomfortable atmosphere worsening with every step.

Once you arrive, Kiyoko steps aside as she’s beckoned away and you’re left with Komori. He, once again, clears his throat gently—a nervous habit he’d picked up in the years he’d been absent—-and hold out his hand again.

It feels less forced this time as the music plays loudly around you and couples still fill the hall laughing hand in hand as they spin.

“You should enjoy your day, the same as everyone else. I’d be honoured if you were to allow me a dance.” That grin, that voice, that kind man. You falter again and wonder how the friend you’d cherished so strongly had left you in darkness for years yet still acts as though you are the 13 year old girl begging for him to help her practice the endlessly complicated palace dinner etiquette.

But people are watching, he is waiting. “I would be—“

“Komori, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of a dance with my wife yet.” Anyone would have believed you had seen a ghost, the shock on your face impossible to hide as you twist, turning to face Sakusa. He glanced between you and Komori before he holds his hand out to you. “If she’ll allow it.”

She will not. You want to scream. She would not have allowed any of this.

Forcing a smile at the man you’ve married, you take his hand and allow him to lead you to the middle of the ballroom floor now even more painfully aware of the eyes glued to you.

Everyone stops what they’re doing; those dancing step to the side and the music restarts, playing the song you’ve heard hundreds of times in your life.

It begins; Sakusa crosses an arm across his torso as he bows at you. He lifts his head first, eyes meeting yours as he straightens his back. You falter for a millisecond under his gaze before you take hold of the your dress, curtsying elegantly in return before the dance truly begins.

Your hands interlace and he pulls you close, his free hand slides to your back, while you delicately place yours on his shoulder. He pulls you as close as he can resting his head against yours as he takes lead of your movement.

“Must you look so uncomfortable?” He whispers into you ear, loosening his grip on you to allow some distance between you again.

“There is only so much I can hide, Sakusa.” Your voice is more venomous than you had intended yet you feel no shame—the first words you’d exchanged since your vows were not to be pleasant.

“Today, of all days, you must, My Dear.” He fights the want to frown himself as you meet his eyes again.

“This may mean nothing to you,” you grin, sarcasm leaking from your expression that doesn’t go unmissed by your husband—it’s certain to fool those watching. The beautiful first dance of their future leaders, lost in each other; in their love that’s bloomed since their young friendship. “you may be content with a marriage of convenience. But I once wished I’d be married to a man that cared enough to tell me he was alive.”

His face does fall at the words, his frown lasting only a second before he can think of a rebuttal. “I was at war; leading an army. I spent my days fighting and my nights fearing my men would be ambushed; there was not time—”

“There was time for others, was there not?” He blankly stares, effortlessly moving to the music, leading your through the dance you could perform in your sleep. “We are no longer children, Sakusa. You’ve certainly made it clear how foolish I was when we were.”

“That’s not what I—“ He stammers in his defeat, making no effort to refute your claims as your hand comes away from his shoulder. He stylishly spins you, catching you by the waist with ease.

“Four years of silence. I didn’t know if you would even return until you,” Embarrassment fills you as your voice shakes—this is not the place to admit this but there may be no other chance—“until your letter of ten words.”

Your voice is quiet, you’re distracted by the way his hand is placed on your lower back, your clothing hides the feeling of his hands on you, but you feel the pressure as he pulls you close again.

“The war was won;” he defends “I was not aware the wedding would be the day after my return until I received a letter no more than a week ago, I sent word to you to prepare you.”

He leads you further through the dance, dipping your with grace, bringing a memory to the front of your mind.

You remember when you were young and learning this dance in anticipation for this moment; you remember the first time you practiced this very movement; the day he dropped you onto the floor, much to the shock of the instructor but to the entertainment of the two of you. Komori had heard the story later that day: teasing Sakusa alongside you until the novelty wore off.

Sakusa lifts you, bringing you back to an upright position, although, neither of you are prepared for the lack of distance between you. It’s more shocking for you at the sight of his much softer expression mere inches from you: he’s looking at you like a man truly happy to be wed—such delusion.

The music stops, and your curtesy once more; you interaction ends as Sakusa takes your hand, kissing it softly. When he raises his head, his soft demeanour is once again replaced by the unimpressed man you’ve quickly come accustomed to. You weren’t convinced you eyes weren’t playing a cruel trick on you.

He keeps hold of your hand as he guides you to the sidelines again and you try to ignore the beaming smiles of the woman wanting so desperately to be in your position.

Everyone’s in awe of your performance, unaware of the conversation unfolding between you: one that’s worsened your already sour mood. And everything continues as it was with more people swarming to the floor as music begins again, and conversations are in uproar as everyone falls deeper into drunkenness as time progresses.

And you’re not comfortable until you’re sat in front of a vanity mirror again, in an unfamiliar room that you’ll be leaving once you are prepared. You’re thankful Kiyoko was the only one beside you, brushing through your hair and untying the corset that’s crushed you throughout the day.

“My Lady,” Kiyoko whispered, “You mustn’t do anything you do not want to. No matter what your mother wants.” You meet her eyes in the mirror again, offering her a sincere smile.

“I know. I simply need her to believe. Neither of us want this, or an heir right now.” She nods, obviously unconvinced but she doesn’t argue; she doesn’t want to make you feel any worse than you had been.

“I worry—“

“I know.” You take hold of her hand that’s rested on your shoulder. “I appreciate it all; all you’ve done for me today.”

You’re soon wrapped in a shawl, hiding your nightdress as you’re led by a maid to your new bedchambers within the palace.

The door is opened for you and is closed the second you step inside; you’re met with the back of Sakusa’s head as he focuses on the paper he has displayed on his desk, the light of his candle beside him.

You clear your throat, gaining his attention. He turns to you and, he too, has ridden himself of his wedding attire and. instead, donned a much thinner sleeping set. And your briefly distracted by the low cut of his shirt, revealing his toned chest to you.

“I hope you’re not expecting anything.” He sighs, glancing over your appearance, his lingering gaze unnoticed by you. Instead, you frown, and resist the desire to argue the same of him.

“I expect nothing. My mother, however, is under the impression we are eager.” You drop the shawl at a chair in the centre of the room, ignoring the way he did briefly stare once more stopping as he realised and turning back to his papers—he hopes that too was missed along with the gentle blush that paints his cheeks.

“Your mother is—“ His voice gives away nothing.

“Be careful of your words, Your Highness,” you warn as you climb into bed, “she is now your mother too.

Sakusa stops, glancing to you just once more before he lets out a sigh of his own. “Your lady-in-waiting will arrive tomorrow.” He informs you after a few moments of silence.

“I have Kiyoko.” You respond instantaneously, somewhat fearing he’ll replace the closest friend you have with a stranger.

“The future queen requires more than a single lady-in-waiting; she’ll be here tomorrow.” You turn in bed, leaving your back to him and refuse to respond: nothing you say would change his mind.

You close your eyes and bask in the silence of the room, after the day of roaring excitement from almost everyone but yourself, you’re glad to finally have a moment with your own thoughts. You’re uncertain of how much time has passed; but soon enough you feel the bed dip beside you and the warmth of a body beside you. It’s that very warmth that lulls you to sleep.

You wake the next morning to exactly what you expect: the spot in the bed beside you empty and cold.

[jinchuls-moved]

𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙳 ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ ·

╰┈➤ fatgum x fem!reader

On one of the happiest days of your life you look back at how you got there—how he turned from just a customer to the love of your life.

a series of fics documenting a perfect timeline — selfship coded, self indulgent, fluff — watch out for the contents of each fic

divider by @/benkeibear

𝘈𝘵 𝘍𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦

a new customer finds his way to your hidden little bakery; it’s not just the novelty decorations he finds adorable

???

from familiar face to friend, your newest regular makes his mark amongst you and your employees

???

far too oblivious to notice it at all, his question seems out of the blue but that doesn’t mean the prospect of a date is unwanted

???

a blooming relationship, a whirlwind romance and a night you don’t think you’ll ever forget.

???

the news is impossible too look away from, to unhear, to take your eyes off of. you shouldn’t worry, he’s more than capable but what if?

???

time passes, love grows and he’s got one more surprise left for you.

???

nothing is more comfortable than the feeling of him beside you, arms around you and the security if his warmth

???

the day you’ve been eagerly waiting for arrives, you’re nervous, excited and ecstatic as everyone shares their congratulations—the day is planned to a T except for the surprise you have waiting for him this time.

[jinchuls-moved]

tiny lil insight to the many genshin royal aus both in my mind and screamed about with miss koenigami because all i can think about is them rn.

knight!kaeya alberich x maid!reader

divider by @/benkeibear

It’s quiet. You enjoy the quiet. You enjoy the warmth of the fireplace as you stand at the table, polishing the memorabilia stored in the untouched room, but maintained to His Majesty’s standards—a mundane job but enjoyable nonetheless. A few moments away from the bustle of your colleagues, their gossip and their incessant chatter that you had little interest in.

The crackle of the fire, the glow of the flames illuminating the room just enough for you to enjoy the atmosphere. The soft squeak of the cloth against brass reaches your ears and your soon lost in your thoughts as your night continues. Crackle, squeak, crackle, squeak. The same as every night.

“Why is it I always find you here?” You’re pulled from your peace by the sound of his voice,  the same voice that interrupted you during the same job at the same time every day.

“It’s almost as though it is planned.” Glancing over to him, he stares at you for a moment before he breaks into a grin.

“Planned?” He sighs, beginning to make his way into the room, and shutting the door closed behind him. “Are you suggesting that I, the knight captain, am avoiding my duties simply to see you?” Resting his hands on the table in front of you, he leans close until his shoulders bump against yours. “I am much more dedicated to my role than that.” Laced with sarcasm, his voice is soft as he practically whispers the confession.

“With such dedication, you must be eager to return.” It’s not often you’re handed the opportunity to tease the knight. You move along, leaving the small trinkets you had been polishing behind; turning your focus to the weaponry left hung on the walls, handed down to the king but untouched for years. “They’re certain to miss your presence—His Majesty will—”

“His Majesty will say what he wants. The training does no benefit me when it’s painfully tailored to the new recruits.” Making his way to the desk at the centre of the room, he pulls the chair back enough for him to sit, his focus never once leaving you. “Here is where I need to be.”

“You distract me.”

“You want a reason to hide for longer.”

“You will not be that reason.”

“I’m that reason most days.” You concede defeat with a sigh, turning your back to him to try to focus on your duties again. He watches as you move, listens to the crackle and the squeaking as you diligently clean and polish, leaving things exactly as you had found them, as though nothing had been touched from the moment the room was abandoned—his stare bores into you in the same manor than would have once had you trembling with nerves but, now, keeps you sane in the most mundane of tasks.

You hate how much you’d come to enjoy his company.

Finally turning to face him again, he meets your eyes quickly. The job is done but you don’t want to leave: leaving means you won’t see him again until the next day if you’re lucky enough to be assigned the job. You glance between him and the door, certain someone would soon come to collect you if you stayed any longer.

“You worry too much.” Kaeya speaks, pulling your attention solely to himself. “Even if someone was to come, we are doing no wrong.”

“Sir—”

“Kaeya.” Adamant on dropping all formalities, he pushes for you to simply call his name—a reminder he gave you almost every day.

“Kaeya,” You repeat, “We may do no wrong but the palace still talks; if it is to reach His Majesty he’ll—” The sudden look of panic that crosses your face worries the man in front of you; he’s quick to rise to his feet and rush to your side, taking hold of your hand softly and ground you with his calm gaze.

“My Dear,” He speaks softly, thumbs tracing circles against your skin, “His Majesty has done far worse than us.” With a sigh, you step forward until you’re close enough to rest against his chest. “Let the people talk,” Kaeya whispers, wrapping his arms around you softly, “they’ll bore of the babble quick; when I can rid us of these walls they’ll be nothing but a fading memory.”

[jinchuls-moved]

this is my formal apology to my kuroo mooties, i make no promises it won’t happen again.

knight!kuroo x princess!reader, tiny lil drabble enjoy bbs

divider by @/benkeibear

Kuroo’s fingers trace the lines on your palm, illuminated only by the faint flicker of the candle lit on your bedside. He shouldn’t be here—he knows that—and he shouldn’t be so daring as to touch your delicate skin with his torn and calloused fingertips—another thing he knows too well—but, he’d long since lost any space for guilt when it involved you. What was once a weighted pit in his stomach, reminding him of the danger of his growing feelings, had been chiselled at, the doubt and dread chipped away with every smile, every whisper and every stolen kiss in the dead of night.

“My love,” You whisper, breaking him from the quiet trance he’d lost himself in tracing the patterns of your skin he had memorised. Your mind has been wandering just as much, the news shared had spread quick amongst the staff and reached his ears before your chance to tell him yourself. “Shall we run away?” His eyes travel to yours, meeting your determined stare and he knows, in an instant, you’re comment is no joke. “There are others to take my position.” You continue.

Others? He wonders, others? Who did you have in mind to take your very role as princess? Did you intend to have someone disguise themselves as you forever? No, he curses his mind for thinking of something so preposterous. A sibling, a friend, a woman married into your family? There was no one, no one would be as charming; as kind or as heavenly as you had been.

“We can run.” You’re holding his hands tight now, sitting on your knees with a grin plastered on your face and he realises he’s missed all of your ramblings and reasonings. “A new life for the both of us. You can teach our children swordplay; I can learn to cook.” Kuroo chuckles—I would not count on it—unaware of his thoughts you watch him intently as, you hope, he contemplates your offer with sincerity.

“Let’s run.” He mutters after a moment, squeezing your hands and leaning forward. With his forehead rested against yours he closes his eyes and lets out a sigh—the weight; the broken shards left even after all that had been chipped away; those that he wasn’t even aware remained, expel from him in an instant. “And let’s wed.”

[jinchuls]

𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓼

𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝑒𝒸𝒽𝑜 ༉‧₊˚. [writing]

sweet nothings ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · [rambles]

love letters ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · [asks]

࣪𖤐 true love: [mooties/followers]

࣪𖤐 secret admirer [anons]

take a peak ˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · [fic recs]

❥ quetie

❥ let’s play [ask/tag games]

⇢ fandom ꒰ character ꒱

꒰ selfship .ᐟ ꒱