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marvelwitchergilmore · 5 months ago

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First Kick

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> Both you and Aaron have been in a secret relationship for three years, except when you go into labour, the rest of the team can't help but speculate.

Disclaimer: Just pure fluff. Small descriptions of labour. BAU being a family. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Not Proof Read.

You would have thought working with a bunch of FBI profilers, they would have figured out the truth by now.

But they hadn’t.

Instead, both yourself and Aaron had lived in wedded bliss for the last three years and were now expecting your first child.

Of course, that couldn’t be hidden from the team. The constant morning sickness. The aversions to certain smells. The swollen ankles, the overwhelming emotions and the growing belly.

Which, as you were sitting at the dim light of your desk filling in the last of the paperwork for your latest case, began to move.

The others had stepped out for a while, grabbing some food. They had invited you except the thought of walking a block and a half already made you want to fall asleep. So, kissing the top of your head, Morgan took your order and promised to bring you back extra guac.

The hum from the headphones you placed around your belly filled the small silence, a tune of Motzart rather than a constant drum of a nearby printer.

However, from under the headphones, you felt a movement.

It wasn’t big. Barely noticeable. But it was there.

Or was it?

Maybe it was nothing.

Except, twenty seconds later, you knew for certain.

Pulling the headphones from you, you stood up immediately and rushed towards Hotch’s office.

And you continued with your normal routine. Knocking on his door, calling his name and stepping inside.

“Is everything okay?”

Trying not to raise any alarm, you closed his office door behind you before shutting the blinds.

“Is everything okay?”

Aaron scanned your face. “Honey?”

Within seconds he was by your side. “What is it?”

But then you smiled. And he became confused.

“What-”

“Feel.”

Taking his hand, you guided it to cover part of your growing belly. “What am I-”

Kick.

You watched every emotion possible pass over Aaron’s face as he took in the feeling of your child kicking his palm.

“Is that-”

Kick.

Then he laughed.

Aaron Hotchner laughed.

It wasn’t often that you got to see this side of your husband when at work. So it was a nice surprise when you did.

Within seconds, he had stepped a little closer and had carefully removed his hand from the top of your stomach and slipped it under the hem of your shirt, allowing his warm palm to rest against your skin.

Then your baby kicked harder.

You both laughed that time.

“Hey, ow.” You said, looking at your stomach.

Aaron chuckled lightly before resting his forehead against yours as his other hand rested against your face, brushing the fallen hair from your face and cupping your cheek.

“She’s moving.”

You smiled. “You’re still convinced it’s a girl?”

“Of course I am. I’m a profiler. I should know.”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “I’m a profiler, too, you know.”

“I know.”

“And it’s mother.”

“And you disagree?” He asked, still with a light smile gracing his lips.

You hummed. “I’m uncertain.”

“Well, how about I give you my profile and see how you feel?”

You laughed. “It really is second nature to you.”

Aaron hummed before moving his hand, still under your shirt, to the top of your belly.

“You’re carrying high, for one.” His thumb traced back and forth on your stomach. “You’ve suffered with morning sickness before twelve weeks, your main craving so far has been fruit. You sleep on your right side.”

“I always sleep on my right side.”

Aaron smiled. “And your skin,” He stroked his thumb against your cheekbone. “It’s soft.”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Except, they are just old wives tales.”

“I’d like to think there is still some justice in them. Are you sure you want to wait until they’re born?”

“Yes.”

“And you couldn’t be persuaded?”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron smirked a little before leaning in and kissing you.

Pulling his hand from your stomach, he brought it up to the other side of your face and it wasn’t long before he felt your body melt into his.

“The others are going to be back soon.”

Aaron groaned a little but not before kissing you a last few times before pulling away.

“You’d think they would have figured it out by now.”

You nodded. “But it is kinda fun. And I can’t wait until they see our baby. I have a feeling they’ll look like you.”

“I should hope so.”

You laughed. “You know what I mean. And, if it is a girl, don’t they usually look like they’re dad?”

“Are you saying you agree with my profile?”

You hummed. “Maybe. Just a little. You are the Unit Chief of the BAU, so I suppose you have some credibility.”

“Even if they’re just old wives tales?” He asked, raising his eyebrow a little.

You nodded, with a slight smile. “Even if they’re just old wives tales.”

You finally left his office just before the team got back, but not before stealing a few more kisses.

Over the following months, the team grew more protective of you. With your pregnancy coming to an end, and still not knowing who the father was, they began to step up.

It was sweet to watch.

Penelope had planned your baby shower with JJ’s help. Reid had read up on everything a doctor and midwife knew about giving birth, just in case you went into early labour. Emily had helped you pack your spare hospital bag for the office in case you were rushed into labour whilst at the office or away on a case, being too far from home to drive to get your hospital bag.

And when Hotch couldn’t be by your side, he made sure either Rossi and Morgan were there to help you.

“You okay there, Momma?”

You looked to Morgan who had appeared from around the corner. You were leaning against the counter, your hand holding onto the bottom of your belly.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” You breathed out. “Just a little- ow. Okay. Hey-”

“Whoa, hey, okay, take it easy.”

Morgan placed his coffee mug down, coming right back to your side and holding your hand. “What do you need?”

Your grip tightened around his hand. “Ow. Hospital.”

“Okay, okay. Where’s your hospital bag?”

“By my desk. Emily-” You grunted in pain. “Emily knows.”

“Okay, okay. It’s okay. Emily!”

Turning around, it took Emily less than ten seconds to realise what was going on.

“Okay, Garcia. Hey! Penelope, call Hotch. Let him know what’s going on.”

“Why, what’s-O…oh my god. Okay, Okay. Calling him now.”

By the time Morgan got you to the parking lot, Hotch was pulling in.

“Get in, I can drive her straight there.”

“Have you got everything you need?”

You nodded.

“Call us if you need anything?” Emily asked, shutting your door.

You could only hum, holding onto Emily’s hand.

She leaned in for a moment, kissing your cheek.

“See you when you get back, Momma.”

Hotch pulled away a few moments later, rushing you directly to the hospital.

And for the next twenty hours, Hotch stayed by your side. And the rest of the team started to think.

“I mean, think about it. When she got braxton hicks. Who was the first one at her side?”

“Hotch.” Penelope answered.

“Yeah, and the way he looked. I don’t know about you but I have never seen Hotch that nervous.”

“That is true.” Rossi agreed.

“But they can’t be…together, can they?” JJ asked. “You all had it sussed about me and Will. They couldn’t go this long and not have us at least find out.”

“Maybe they didn’t want us to.”

“Or maybe they’re not together at all.”

“When have you ever known either of them to be that close with each other as they are with us? Rossi, have you ever seen the inside of Hotch’s house?”

“Not for a while, no. Why, have you ever seen hers?”

Emily shook her head.

“Penelope, can you find out anything?” Morgan asked, turning to his best girl.

“I can but it would completely wreck my moral standing.”

“You’ve never run a background check on us?” JJ asked.

“No! That would be an invasion of your privacy. And theirs! If they are a..them, I suppose. Or maybe not. Maybe she is just a single mother and Hotch has decided to help her. He was the first to find out.”

“See, another thing!” Emily pointed out.

“But Hotch is the first to know everything about us. He’s the main person we have to tell when it comes to personal things that could affect our work.” Morgan explained.

“But why not come to one of us?” Rossi asked. “JJ, what do you think? Out of us, who would you have come to?”

JJ thought for a moment. “Out of you boys? Probably…Hotch.”

“Really?” Rossi asked.

“Why not me?” Morgan asked.

“Or me?” Reid finished.

JJ smiled. “You know I love you all equally, but out of Three Divorces, Pretty Boy and Chocolate Thunder, I’d want to tell someone I know to be calm. That could remain level headed.”

“And we’re not level headed?” Morgan asked, causing JJ to look up above her shoulder.

“What did you do when I told you I was pregnant?”

Morgan paused for a second. “You may have a point.”

“Either way, we can’t know for certain that they’re having a baby together.” Reid pointed out.

“Well, she’s married. Or engaged, at least.”

They all turned to Emily.

“How do you know that?”

“Her wedding finger. Last time she came back from AL she had a tan line. It was faint, but it was there.”

“Maybe he ran off? They got pregnant but he didn’t want to be in the picture?”

Penelope scoffed. “What a jerk.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate us speculating like this.”

“JJ’s right. Maybe they’re just friends and Hotch is helping her out. Garcia, have you heard from them yet?”

“Not yet, Sir.”

Meanwhile, at the hospital, the midwife was instructing Aaron to get behind you, holding you up and holding your hands and you continued to push.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Come on, honey. I know you can.”

“Can’t you do it for me?”

Aaron chuckled. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Just a couple more pushes, Mrs Hotchner.”

Another wave of contractions hit and you continued to push for another fifteen minutes before finally everyone in the room heard the cries of your baby.

“You did it, honey. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

“Is she okay? What-Where is she?”

Aaron smiled, tears in his eyes, pushing the hair out of your own. “She’s-She’s okay. Look, the midwife is just wrapping them up.”

A few moments later, the midwife handed you your baby.

Two days later they discharged you from the hospital and the first stop made was at the office considering the last of your things had been left there when you went into labour.

And it also meant the team could finally greet your baby.

“Ooh, ooh, they’re here. They’re here.”

Penelope was the first to spot you and Hotch standing in his office and it wasn’t long before they were all standing outside.

However, as the congratulations and praise was made, Penelope’s voice dropped an octave after she got a clear look of the baby.

“Oh my god.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

“Ohh, ohh, ohh my goodness.”

But you could only smile.

“You!” Penelope pointed before turning to look at Hotch. “And you! Oh my god! You are!”

You looked behind you, finding your husband standing closer to you than when the team had first walked inside.

“Are what? Baby girl, what’s-”

And then it clicked.

With all of them.

And for a moment they were all stunned into complete silence.

“Aaron…why didn’t you…”

“Tell you?” Hotch asked, finishing Rossi’s question.

“Truthfully, we kinda maybe wanted to see how long it would take you all to figure out.” You explained.

“But…how?!” JJ asked.

You just shrugged.

“Hints were there if you looked for them.” Aaron said.

“Hints were- Oh, so, now he tells us. How long?”

“Four years.” You both answered.

“Four years?!” They all half shouted, quickly remembering there was an infant present.

“Wait.” Penelope said, holding up her hands. “Oh my god, it’s all coming together. This must be how Sherlock Holmes feels when he cracks a case.”

Both yourself and Aaron smiled before looking down at the sleeping baby in your arms.

“The weekends away, the lunch orders, the arrive at work together. Oh my god! The touching.” Penelope hit Emily and Derek’s arm.

“Ow!” They both called.

“How could you two not have noticed this?!”

“You didn’t notice either!” Emily replied, rubbing her arm.

“Baby girl, they kept this from us for four years. Why aren’t you hitting them?”

“Because,” Penelope explained. “She had just had a beautiful baby girl. And Hotch is my boss.”

“Can you ever find a way to forgive us?”

They all looked at each other before seemingly coming to the same conclusion. “Fine. But, only if you tell us how it happened and when. And, if you have a wedding re-do so that we all get to attend.”

Both you and Aaron looked at each other.

“That could work.”

“Great! Now, let me see this beautiful baby girl.” Penelope said, her voice once again chipper, as she came to your side.

“My goodness, she’s beautiful. Hotch, she looks just like you.”

Aaron smiled at the compliment, but shook his head. “No, that’s all her mom.”

“Oh-ho,” Rossi laughed a little. “She is going to be running rings around us all soon enough.”

Four weeks later, each member of the team turned up together on different days, listening to the story of your relationship. First were the girls and Reid before JJ showed up with Morgan and Rossi. JJ was there to drop some items off that both yourself and Hotch would find useful with the nursery but she didn’t mind hearing the story a second time.

Eight weeks after you had given birth, your doorbell rang and just as Aaron opened up the front door, Penelope and Rossi walked inside carrying boxes of items before directing the rest of the team through your home into the garden.

“Dave, what’s going on?”

“You, my dear friend, are getting married.”

“We’re already married.” You said with a small laugh, walking to stand beside your husband.

Dave nodded. “That you are, but today, you are both getting remarried. You did promise us.”

“We did promise them.” Aaron said, turning to look at you.

“We did, didn’t we?”

Dave smiled. “So, Uncle Reid is going to be looking after this little one.”

You carefully handed your baby girl to Spencer as Dave continued to explain.

“Whilst the girls help you get ready and I enlist your help,” Rossi turned to look at Hotch. “To help finish the set up.”

Penelope appeared from down the hallway. “Come on, Emily is finishing setting everything up.”

“I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?”

“I’ll be the one in white.”

Aaron smiled before kissing you quickly as barely a second later Penelope was dragging you upstairs.

That night was filled with joy, laughter and happiness. Yourself and Aaron shared another set of marriage vows in front of the team. You shared a second first dance, a second first kiss and a first family dance.

It was a quiet moment on the corner of the dance floor. You were swaying with your baby, softly, in your arms when you felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind and a familiar pair of lips kiss your shoulder.

Turning around you, Aaron held both of you close. Your forehead against his and your eyes closed, his fingers traced patterns against your arms back and forth before down your side and to your hips where he pulled you in a little closer.

Neither of you knew it until a week later, but Morgan had, with Emily’s help, caught everything on camera. And with help from Penelope, a second wedding video had been made.

Capturing the full length of your first family dance together.

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eskumii · 9 months ago

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❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — yandere!uzui tengen/wives + you're his first wife

SYNOPSIS: suppose you're uzui tengen's very first wife, the one that slipped through the cracks of your unwanted arranged marriage with him. along with your disappearance went his heart, and now you must bear the consequences of a man who loves his wife far beyond her understanding—so much so that he would kill for her, die for her, and do anything to make her stay. — navi.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

NOTES: mdni! (cw: non-con) this is an arranged/forced marriage au. it's meant to be one-sided. it took me quite literally forever to finish this lol ,,

PAIRING: yandere!uzui tengen x wife!reader

CHARACTERS: uzui tengen (19-23), reader (18-22), suma (19), makio (20), hinatsuru (21)

I. TO BE WED

imagine being uzui tengen's very first wife.

your hand in marriage was promised to him by your parents, who owned a tax-collecting business that was often the target of hostility from the impoverished people of your hometown. tengen routinely passed through your village on demon slayer business, so your parents could always rest assured knowing he would take care of the violent stragglers that sometimes loitered outside.

ironically being poor themselves, they had little to offer the hashira as payment for his noble duties; well, that "little" didn't exclude you of course, their only daughter who's failed to find a husband far past the age of when other girls were normally wed. you're still young, fertile, and moderately attractive, but your strong disinterest in potential suitors often drove any chances of a wealthy marriage away.

however, after being introduced to tengen, the man you'll be forced to marry out of obligation, you begin to regret being so stubborn after all.

admittedly, tengen found you to be pretty plain at first. you're poor so you can't exactly dress flashy, and you come from a no-name family with little legacy. your parents swore up and down on your domestic efficiency—hardworking, great cook, a tame disposition—and, well, at least you're kind of cute, too. tengen is intrigued by your potential the most.

your parents force you to do whatever you can to get close to him. the truth is, though, you don't really have to do anything with the way he seeks you out himself. he often shows up at your door asking for you, and your parents have no qualms about dragging you out of your room to make you go out with him.

he takes you to the nicer parts of town and pays for dinner or buys you flowers and little trinkets from the shop vendors that line the streets. it doesn't help that the elderly people running the stands egg you on, saying things like "what a lovely young couple" or "your children would be so beautiful!" tengen simply smiles with ease, accepting their praise as if it's second nature. you get rather embarrassed by his shameless indulgence.

there's small talk but you find it incredibly stifling. tengen does a majority of the dialoguing but most of the time your dates get interrupted by his kasugai crow, who squawks at him whenever a demon shows up nearby. he always looks annoyed and promises to make it up to you, leaning down to pat your head like you're his pet dog or something. you hate it and him too, probably.

"i'll be back before you know it, darling," his smile is charming but not to you. "you'll stay right here for me, won't you?"

regardless of your somewhat obvious hesitance to accept his advances, tengen gets attached to you like it was meant to be. the idea of having a pretty little housewife for him to come home to after his draining missions becomes increasingly attractive, and the more time he spends with you, the more he sees the appeal of your being. it must be a miracle that no man has taken you as his wife yet; surely you were saving yourself for a man like him.

unfortunately, though, you don't want to marry tengen.

an arranged marriage? it's simply not the kind of life you envision for yourself. you aren't willing to bet the rest of your days on a man whom you have a slim chance of falling in love with, all for the sake of financial security. but what else can you do? your parents already made it very clear they would disown you if you refuse, and tengen is pressuring you to your death with his sweet words and annoyingly thoughtful presents. you're stuck.

eventually, the incessant nagging from your parents and weeks of endless courting from tengen sway you so sooner. you fold like a cheap hand fan and succumb to your fate, to a future you knew from the very beginning that you would come to despise.

he's the only suitor you have at this point. it's not like you have a choice. and the one choice you do have just so happens to be him, a man who is the nearest thing to a perfect match as you're ever gonna get. you should be happy. thankful. he'll give you the world if you just give him a chance.

at least, that's what he told you.

II. THE SOUND HASHIRA

your parents are so happy to send you off.

they're completely honored that their letdown of an only daughter is finally getting married—to a well-known and wealthy shinobi at that. it's the only time they've shown any pride in you, yet it really only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

after your brief introduction to the head of tengen's clan, everything moves so quickly. just a couple weeks later, you're already signing a marriage contract in which you and tengen become official newlyweds. and before you know it, you're packing what little belongings you have to your name and moving in with him, begrudgingly and regretfully so.

the day you arrive, he shows you around his overwhelmingly gigantic residence; the courtyard full of cherry blossoms and koi ponds, the huge kitchen, and the bedroom where he'll eventually fully claim you. there's lots of other rooms too, but they're either empty or reserved for his weapons and training gear. he tries to hide it but he's obviously so over the moon that you're his wife now. he doesn't even notice your misery through his elated delusion of love.

in hindsight, you didn't realize how difficult it can be to share a space with someone you hardly know. you find everything awkward but tengen doesn't, like always. to him, you're so obedient and polite— such a good girl. you take whatever he gives you; kisses, hugs, subtle gropes here and there, and all of his sweet compliments and gifts. you don't argue with him or raise your voice, you fret over his injuries and make his favorite foods. you're observant, collected, and mature.

he didn't have a type before he met you—you're all he can ask for in a woman, really.

tengen is unexpectedly romantic. he constantly boasts about his strength and fighting skills in order to impress you, and he never stops mouthing off about how he'll prioritize you over himself. he puts consistent effort in getting to know you: what you like, don't like, your favorite color, and any other inkling of your personality that he can manage to wrestle out of you. he seems to have gotten the impression that you're shy or something.

flowers are a constant and you're spoiled with fancy, expensive kimonos and jewelry. had you married tengen under literally any other circumstance, you'd find his advances on you endearing but, unfortunately, he just comes off as clingy and unbearable. any woman would die to be in your place yet you can't even find it in you to want to be in your own place.

what do you think of him, though? well, he's handsome, you'll give him that. you don't deny the appeal of his good looks and flashy, fitted clothing. he's strong, established, and knows what he wants. despite your obvious distaste towards his gifts and grandiose personality, it's not to say you're ungrateful that the man you're stuck with is exceedingly well-off and capable of protecting you. you can't say he's a bad guy.

however, he's a moron.

he fell for you fast. a couple months have already passed since coming to live in his residence. tengen requests to have picnics whenever you go with him to visit his siblings' graves on his off days. of course you have no reason to refuse; as much as you dislike him, you're not heartless. they're important days, so you swallow your pride and pack a bento spread you know he'll like.

tengen will confide in you about the memories of his late siblings, his parents, and his life before becoming a hashira. it's a depressing and heavy weight to shoulder, but you still play your role of the loving, supportive wife with your lingering touches and comforting words. you use these outings as opportunities to gain his trust by being vulnerable.

except, this time, the effect you seem to have on tengen is magnified to the point of no return.

he pulls you into his lap and you're suddenly flush against his rock hard chest, trapped in a suffocating hug. you don't know what prompted his sudden affection; perhaps it was the warm atmosphere you crafted or the intimacy of the moment, but the way tengen holds you so close is telling. he's about to say something you've been dreading since the day you met him.

"i love you." tengen confesses, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing as if he'd just released the weight of the world off of his shoulders.

you knew it. it's the first time he's ever said it to you and you'll never forget the wave of nausea that hit you as you glanced up to see him staring back at you expectantly. your heart is pumping out of your chest and your face is flustered—not because you're flattered but because you're ashamed. you feel his hands squeeze your shoulders, almost like a warning, and his grip begins to feel claustrophobic after your prolonged silence.

you have no choice but to reciprocate.

"...I love you too." your voice is quiet, hesitant, and tengen gently teases you about being shy when you refuse to look at him anymore. he's not right but it's true that lying invokes shame.

he almost seems overwhelmed by your response, as if he hadn't just nonverbally threatened it out of you. you don't dare to sneak even a glance at him. he tightens his embrace around you and goes back to burying his face abashedly into your neck, mumbling sweet words against your skin. his body wraps around you like a vice, trapping you in the prison that is his dreadful existence.

you decide, in that very moment, that there was nothing in the world you wanted to do more than run away.

III. A DIRE MISTAKE

one fateful day, you catch wind of the news that tengen is being assigned on a mission quite far away, somewhere down in the southwest.

you're so lucked out that you thought it was a trap at first—a ploy to catch you in your undying desire to leave your husband for good. but when the day of departure arrives and tengen peppers your face with last minute kisses, you know for sure that there's no chance he's caught on to your resentment towards him, nor the plan of escape you've been devising all along.

your eyes are teary when tengen releases you from the last of his spine-crushing hugs and he cooes at your cute crying face. honestly, you're tearing up out of joy because your one and only chance to escape has literally fallen into your lap in a pleated handbasket, but you'll let him believe otherwise. you at least owe him the courtesy.

you already know you don't stand a chance against tengen, at least physically. he can overpower you like nothing and he's so tall that he towers over you, constantly caging you between those muscled arms of his. there's almost nothing you could do against a man like him—well, unless you count poisoning, but you were above murder when it came to getting what you wanted.

as soon as tengen passes through the looming gates of the residence and disappears down the winding road, you scramble to gather a few belongings before making your way out through the back. there's a twinge of fear that grips your gut but you press on, determined to put as much space between you and that wretched place you were expected to call home.

the moment you escaped, you flipped your identity. chopped your hair off, powdered your face in white make-up, and wore headscarves wherever you went. you fled as far as your feet would take you, only stopping to rest in a small village when your aching body could take you no further. you hardly spoke to anyone and left nothing behind that could possibly be traced back to you or be used to pursue you.

it's obvious you can't go back to your parents; they hated you when you lived with them, and they'd hate you more if you returned. they'd sell you out to tengen in two seconds flat, then ruthlessly shame you for running away from a marriage you wanted no part in. the only option left for you is to create a new life for yourself somewhere far, far away.

and that's exactly what you do. you find a little town on the outskirts of the red light district, where business is booming and it's easy to disguise yourself beneath the constant foot traffic. you go undercover as a seamstress, working in a homely tailor shop under the supervision of the owners, who are a kind older couple that are quick to regard of you as one of their own.

time marches on and the jarring memories of tengen do as well. you makes friends with the regulars that come by the store often. you've learned the valuable trade of mending clothing and sewing traditional patterns. you've even developed a crush on one of the men that come by often to repair his work uniform.

your life is finally the way you've always wanted it to be.

meanwhile, tengen copes—barely. days pass. weeks. months. you're still yet to be found, even with the help of all the hashira and the shinobi of his clan. it's as if you disappeared off the face of the planet. he's completely devastated. did you run away because he was gone for so long? were you feeling neglected? did you just want his attention? surely you wouldn't just up and leave when he'd been so loving; he truly couldn't think of anything that would prompt such an extreme reaction.

as expected, he doesn't come up with a justification for your disappearance. how could he? you could be dead by now with the amount of demon uprisings that have been happening lately. or you could even be halfway across the world right now, laughing at how easily you had fooled him. eventually, his sadness melts into anger. you may be gone now, but it won't be for long.

wherever you are, he'll find you.

IV. 'TIL DEATH DO HIM PART

in the following years, tengen's next three wives are chosen specifically by the head of his clan.

and, in the head of the clan's words: "the sound hashira's decision-making must be incredibly poor if he chose a wife who would dare flee from him." the statement only fans the flames of his growing wrath for you.

however, his new wives—suma, makio, and hinatsuru—are all beautiful and talented kunoichi who admire him to their very cores. as ungrateful as it sounds, there isn't a day where tengen wishes one of them were you. they've worked so hard to try and fill the gaping hole in his existence that was left by you, but it hasn't really been working. he needs you.

they're kind, caring, nurturing and most of all, strong. they've trained all their lives to be kunoichi. he knows he shouldn't complain but they just don't cook like you, look like you... aren't you. of course he loves them, but he could never forget the way his heart shattered the day he returned home to find you nowhere in sight. your disappearance left him in utter shambles. did you ever think about that when you left? you're so unbelievably selfish—is that the kind of woman you turned out to be?

his wives constantly question his lovesick behavior. tengen never hides anything from them; in fact, he'll sometimes go on long, borderline maniacal rambles about "the wife who got away." to suma, makio, and hinatsuru, you're an enigma that's broken the heart of their husband, and they're not sure what it was about you that makes him act this way. jealousy sparks—if there's a way to get you back to make tengen happy, they would do it, but maybe you're better off gone after all.

and it's not like tengen didn't search for you. oh no, he looked everywhere within reason. his duties as a hashira kept him chained to his missions near the demon slayers' headquarters, but that never stopped him from interrogating people when he got the chance. any woman that looked even remotely similar to you was sure to be stopped in the middle of the street for further investigation.

master kagaya is exceedingly understanding of the situation, and he bears obvious concern for his beloved sound hashira. while he's sympathetic of the loss of his wife—it's no matter to be taken lightly, of course—tengen must first be loyal to his occupation as a hashira, and that means going on missions in spite of his mourning.

and his newest missions leads him to the red light district.

so tengen goes. he knows his place when it comes to master kagaya, so he has no reason or authority to deny orders. regardless, it's a harrowing and tedious task. drunk concubines practically throw themselves into tengen's arms as he strolls past the many underground sex clubs that line the filthy streets. he has zero interest in any of the debauchery that goes on here, and he especially feels nothing when shoving them away from him with excessive force.

he scours the area for anyplace that looks decent enough to step foot in, as well as a place where he won't get immediately harassed by ran through harlots. turning down a quieter side street where some storefronts have been shuttered, he happens upon a small seamstress shop sandwiched between two restaurants that look as if they've closed early for the evening.

shrugging, tengen wearily thinks it's as good of a place as any to begin his intel gathering on the upper moons' whereabouts. he saunters towards the front entrance and a young woman dressed in traditional geisha wear passes him on the sparsely populated road, her wooden sandals clacking against the ground. he can't help but think her hair looked similar to yours and his heart twists painfully in his chest.

tengen seems to be constantly haunted by the thought of you, forming an obsession in his mind that won't go away until he has you back. until he knows your safe, with him, just like you were meant to be. until he sees you.

no, literally, tengen sees you, right in front of him.

through the window of the upscale seamstress shop, he sees you conversing with a man at the front counter, laughing heartily at a joke he must have made. tengen quickly crouches beneath the display window to spy on you, his heart pounding out of his chest at the events that are currently unfolding. he must be mistaken.

he peeks above the lip of the window to catch a glance and, sure enough, it is you. you're alive and well, almost glowing beneath the low, intimate lighting inside the shop.

he finally found you! he can't believe it. the grin that's stretching across his face is so broad. he'd recognize your face anywhere, even if it's caked in geisha makeup and your hair elaborately styled. you’re beautiful and he’s captivated by your beauty just as he was the day that he met you.

he's so unbelievably ecstatic with the way his hands are clamming up, his feet shuffling in the dirt and...

what?

creeping over the ledge of the display window once again, tengen's eyes immediately grow dark. there's a man there. talking to you. his wife.

in the midst of your conversation, your eyes absently float over to the window. it's there that your gaze clashes with his, and a blood-curdling look of terror overtakes your features. is that… tengen?

there's a shift in the air. what happens next, tengen doesn't recall, but when he comes to there's blood on his hands and your hair is bundled up in his fist as he drags you past the threshold the of the shop’s entrance. he looks over his shoulder and on the floor, spread eagle, lies the man without his head. the scene is gruesome.

he killed him.

tengen looks down at you with a solemn gaze. for some reason, he doesn't even care. the emotions running through him are almost too much to bear. do you know how much your disappearance has destroyed him? do you know how much he's suffered because of you? do you even care?

he doesn't understand why you're crying. it seems like you were happy enough to whore around with other men in his absence. the thought drives him to the brink of insanity. how much longer do you plan on humiliating him?

there's too much to be said. tengen's mouth is agape and he's so upset at you that he can't find the right words to express himself. instead, he collapses to the floor beside you and embraces you in his longing arms. he smells your hair and feels how your body shrinks against his—it's all exactly how it used to be. it's exactly as he remembered, as he dreamed of.

and now, as tengen scoops you up into his arms to take you back home, another dream of his will be fulfilled tonight. he knows exactly what kind of punishment is befit for you.

V. A JUST PUNISHMENT — (NSFW: NON-CON)

"tengen-sama! you're ba-"

a woman with colored bangs and a ponytail attempts to greet tengen as he enters, but she's cut off by not only the expression on his face but also the strange, disheveled woman he's hauling behind him.

he drags you across the cold, laminated wood floors into the bedroom by your hair and peels the delicate, silken layers of your yukata back, exposing soft flesh and ample curves. tengen is so starved of your touch—of your voice, your scent, you. he'll make you pay for what you put him through. he'll make you stay this time.

you can't even fight back. you're so afraid of what's going to happen that your body refuses to move, to speak. and even if you could, there was no way you would win against a hashira, of all people.

tengen starts by pushing you to your knees. when his hands begin the hasty work of undoing the belt of his kimono, you already know where this is going and it makes your stomach churn in volatile sickness. he eagerly slides his under pants down and from the top of its elastic band springs his semi-hard cock, which nearly hits you in the face. you gasp at the sheer size of it; that is not gonna fit inside of you.

"don't look at me like that, [name]. clearly i was too lenient with you back then. i should've disciplined you..." he trails off as he stares into your pleading eyes. he smiles but, in it, is no mercy.

"c'mon, baby. you'll be a good girl and open your mouth for me, won't you?"

you refuse. no, you wouldn't even dream of it. you've never done anything sexual with a man before and you certainly aren't going to wi—

tengen suddenly reaches down and grabs ahold of your now tangled hair with one of his large hands. it takes barely any pressure before your mouth is pried open by the force of his fingers alone, and his now engorged cock head is being stuffed into your warm, unyielding mouth.

you can only let out a choked cry at the vile intrusion.

"that's it, baby, good girl.." he praises, stroking your head with his thumb as he slowly inches his pulsing cock down your throat.

your screams are completely muffled. tengen begins to pick up the pace, letting your drool be the lubricant that allows his giant dick to slide in and out of your tight throat. it hurts so bad that you try to bite down and free yourself from this act of vulgarity, but tengen doesn't allow it. he instead tugs your head back by the grip he has on your hair, forces his cock all the way in, and holds you there until you decide to behave yourself.

you can hardly breath. lewd, wet noises fill the room as tengen gags you almost to the point of unconsciousness. the vibrations from your screaming must have been making him feel good, though, because it takes just a few minutes before he's shuddering in orgasm as he bottoms out and cums, which you have no choice but to swallow.

he pulls out of your mouth and you're mortified, but even more so when you see how he's still hard. his cock is covered in a thick layer of your saliva and his cum drips onto your exposed chest in globs that make you cringe in disgust. you think you're going to throw up.

and you almost do, if it weren't for tengen picking you up from under your arms and tossing you onto the plush bedding. your legs are forced open and tengen slides his twitching cock against your pussy, slowly and teasingly. you begin to fight against him but he easily pins you down long enough to push his fat cock head into your tight pussy.

tengen pounds you into the plush cushion of the futon all night long. you've given up struggling and crying, only mewling in pain as the brutish man stretches your virgin pussy wide. he ruthlessly kneads your breasts with his calloused palms and overstimulates your clit with his fingers until you cream and squirt repeatedly all over his dick. you can do nothing but lay there as he roughly moves your body into various positions and fills your womb with his seed—there's no way you won't be pregnant after this.

all the pent up rage that tengen was forced to weather after your disappearance is released in that very room. he sounds like a crazy man with the way he lapses in and out of fits of rage where he's cursing at you with his hands around your throat, then slipping into pleasure induced "i love you's" as he dumps yet another load of cum deep inside of you.

"h-how does it feel, my love?" he groans, reaching over to caress your flushed face. "mm, you sound so cute making those noises. lemme hear you scream, darling."

and oh, you sure do scream. for him to stop, to get off of you. that you've had enough. that you hate him. over and over again you scream, you cry, and you struggle, but it does you no good. he only seems to thrust faster the more you beg. is he getting off to your desperation? he must be by the way his cock pulses at any form of physical resistance from you.

you thought it would never end. he's almost insatiable. your tears have long dried up—for the most part, anyway—but the skin on your face feels raw from tengen "lovingly" wiping all your tears and snot away while simultaneously pounding a you-shaped hole into the futon. you feel disgusting. you don't even have the strength to make a sound when he spanks you for the hundredth time, moaning heatedly about how you've been such a bad, bad girl.

when it seems like he's finally spent, he doesn't pull out. instead, he collapses on top of you with his cock still twitching inside your sloppy, ruined cunt while drawing you in for an unreciprocated kiss. he whispers praises in your ear and gently strokes your face, cooing at how much you're trembling against his much larger form.

"i should've done this a long time ago. maybe you wouldn't have left if i dumped my kids into you sooner."

eventually, his softened cock slips out of you and a gush of warmth runs down your legs; you can already feel a soreness settling in your pelvis. tengen sighs contentedly at the sopping squelch that sounds when you snap your legs shut in order to roll as far away from him as possible. he roughly wraps a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you back towards him as soon as he sees your attempt to create distance.

"i missed you so much, darling," tengen mumbles against your skin breathily, offering a soft smile. "did you enjoy your welcome back?"

he's making fun of you. you refuse to even look at him. it's to be expected, really, he can't imagine how bad it must feel to think you actually got away from him as you lay in his arms once again, right where you belong. you need to learn your place; no wife of his will disrespect him like you did ever again. if you have to be an example of that, then so be it—youput this on yourself, after all.

leaving you with a final kiss, he gets up, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to let his other wives into the room to help clean you up (they've been waiting patiently ever since you showed up, curious about the woman who supposedly "stole tengen's heart," as he put it). you're still naked and exposed with tengen's cum leaking down your thighs but you don't even have the mental capacity to care anymore. all three of the girls look shocked at the state you're in, but they don't comment and rush to get you in the bath.

they're all very pretty, of course. when you emerge from your haze of disorientation, you're left reeling at the fact that tengen had amassed three whole wives in light of your absence. well, not that you have any right to be surprised considering your short lived emotional affair. you're still in mourning over what had happened to him.

regardless of your fragile state, the three women swarm you with questions that prod at your past: who you are, where you're from, and how you met tengen. you don't even have half the mind to reply. you can only stare at your tear-stricken reflection in the soapy water, ready to burst into tears yet again at the horrible predicament you've found yourself in.

what can you do now? sit around and get bred by tengen? rot away in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? the other wives seem to catch onto your unresponsiveness after a couple dozen of their questions go ignored, so they sit quietly and gently wash you clean. they look genuinely worried for you—not that their pity will undo the damage that's already been done.

makio will scrub your back and grumble about how jealous she is while suma and hinatsuru fret over the small bruises that are now beginning to form around your hips from tengen's manhandling. suma washes your hair next, commenting on how beautiful it is, while the other two move onto rinsing the soap from your body. they wrap you up in a fluffy towel when it's over, and a shiver wracks your spine when their hands guide you to another room, down the hall, with a clean bed ready for you to rest in.

you don't really know who they are but since they're dressed like kunoichi, it's obvious that they don't share the same mindset you do, or were forced to be wed to tengen like you were. you can't ask them to help you escape from this hell, not a chance.

even as you lay in the criminally comfortable futon with new silken pajamas, a cup of cold water at your side, and a warm blanket, sleep doesn't find you.

and with tengen around, you're certain it never will.

VI. A HAPPY EVER AFTER (EXTRA)

a few months later, your pregnancy symptoms are in full swing.

tengen is as protective as ever and the other wives have already grown attached to you despite your bitter and unforgiving attitude towards them. you learn quickly that they're all very... obsessive, constantly hovering over you and going to overbearing extremes to make sure you don't do anything that would physically strain yourself in any way.

hinatsuru and makio follow at your heels like guard dogs while suma takes charge of most of the cooking and cleaning. she keeps the peace most of the time and holds makio back when she's attempting to murder hinatsuru over something childish. you're never in the mood to talk to them, however, and they often try to bribe you with your favorite sweets (which is intel that they've gathered from tengen) in order to get you to participate in their activities.

unluckily for you, tengen had decided to completely retire from being a hashira following a particularily harrowing encounter with an upper moon demon (even after you tried to subtly guilt trip him into not doing so). he insisted that you and the baby were "more important." you know that it'd be difficult to escape with the other wives around but to add tengen on top of that makes it surely impossible.

every morning, the dreadful man himself meets the four of you in the kitchen and will beam proudly at the sight of his adorable little harem. he goes down the line and gives affection to each of his wives individually, in the way they prefer, and saves you for last as you're his "greatest prize," or whatever he said. you're just completely exhausted and you resent them all from the deepest depths of your heart. the least you can do is make it obvious.

tengen finds your rebellion adorable. everything about you is and even moreso now than when you left him all those years ago. he'll grab you by the jaw and force you into a quick one-sided kiss, pulling away with that fond smile of his. his fingers ghost over your swelling tummy but his very touch makes you feel so awfully sick. you'll roughly push him away and he's so out of his mind that he attributes your justified anger and moodiness to your "pregnancy hormones." regardless, he's happy. it's you who's going to bear his child. it's you who first said you loved him too. as long as you live, you're bound to him as his wife. nothing can come between a man and the woman he loves; uzui tengen certainly made sure of that, didn't he?

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere tengen x reader #yandere uzui tengen #yandere kny #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere male #uzui tengen

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fawnhunter · 4 months ago

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natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

#hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd smut #hotd headcanons #i’d give this man so many kid it’s not even funny #chatterboxclaire #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic

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crookedteethed · 3 months ago

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⋆ ★ Rafe says “he's done” with mistress reader

18+ smut(pinv), oral (male receiving), cursing, infidelity, toxic relationship, "su*cide attempt", mentions of daddy issues, reader is delusional asf in this one , no happy ending, age gap between Rafe and reader

It had been bad this time; it had been fatal.

Rafe had said it was over; this time, he meant it.

He said things were going well with his wife, and he didn't want you to ruin it this time. These were his exact words.

He was too old now to be chasing young girls' pussy around like he was still in his twenties. His exact words.

He was too old, and you were just young girl pussy.

In your final moments with him, you asked him if his wife knew how to stuff him whole inside of her mouth without gagging like you do.

He said that wasn't the point. On their wedding day, he made a vow to his wife whether she knew how to stuff him whole or not.

"Dilation of the throat." You said. "That's when your throat slowly starts to close; you can hardly get any food down your esophagus, let alone air. It happens as you get older. Rafe, I hate to tell you, but your wife is dying."

Rafe had called you childish,He kissed your tear-soaked eyelid, then left your studio apartment--in which he helped you pay for.

Then that was it.

He was gone as quick as it all happened.

The first week without Rafe hadn't been that bad.

You cried some, binged watched cable TV, and then sat numbly on your sofa, wishing Rafe was there to coddle you like the father figure you always saw him as.

His warm embrace taut around your body, he'd peck his lips around the supple skin of your face, telling you that everything was going to be ok, and then he'd fuck you, make you forget about whatever you were sad about, and then go back home and sleep in the same bed as his wife, while you were all alone.

During the second week, you started to feel the emptiness even more acutely, and your stomach and gut became more hollow.

To cope, you slept with a couple of old flings, guys, and girls that quite naturally never made it past the talking stages because they weren't Rafe.

In the third week, you realized that Rafe had not blocked your number, so you called him.

He picked up within the third ring.

"What." he said sternly.

"I'm just checking in on your wife, how's her dilated throat? Does her blow jobs feel tighter than usual? If so, her throat will be completely closing soon, meaning she won't have space to breathe. Rafe, your wife doesn't have much time to live ---"

He hung up.

You called again.

"I've missed you." You were the first to say. "Come over so we can talk--bring your wife too, maybe we can work this out, just the three of us--"

He hung up again.

Then, because you were drunk, you sent him a picture of your clit with the text message, "She misses you too :(."

In the fourth week, you figured that there was only one thing you had to do, and that was to kill yourself.

Of course, you weren't going to commit suicide, but Rafe didn't have to know that.

On that Saturday afternoon, you knew Rafe would be off of work somewhere laughing with his wart of a wife and his friends and their warts of wives.

That must have been the reason he didn't answer when you called him, so you sent him a voice message.

"To whom it may concern, I've decided I no longer want to live. To the left of me, I have a prescribed bottle of Vicodin, of which I plan to take all 27 capsules, and to my right, I have my note. In my note, I have given my lawyers specific instructions to out you and I's rendezvous to your wife. I have a USB with all our text messages and sex tapes on it; I've planned for them to give to her when I die. If you don't want this secret to get out, I'd advise you to be at my apartment complex in one hour fucking my brains out. See you in one hour; tell your wife I said hi."

And then you waited.

You jumped when you heard Rafe bang on your door three times, and then he'd remember he had a key, then he barged in your apartment, his head swinging from left to right.

He saw you sitting on your sofa with your matching lingerie set on, a bottle of vodka in your hand.

"You do care." You smiled, standing up to give him a hug, he shrugged you off.

"Where is it?" He asked. "Where's that USB?"

"There is no USB." You said.

Rafe had looked down at your coffee table to where your supposeit Vicodin had been.

"That's fucking baby aspirin." He scoffed, as he slowly start to undo his belt buckle. "This is what you were going to kill yourself with?"

You nodded shyly as he grabbed you by your hair and forced you to your knees.

A blowjob was the last thing you wanted from him, but you'd take anything.

Looking down at you, Rafe said, "Maybe next time I'll lend you my old man's revolver, that'll do the trick, right?" right before he grabbed the back of your head, and forced his cock--all nine inches of it--down your throat.

You'd hadn't gagged, though you wished you had, so he could have slowed down his relentless thrust into your mouth.

With every thrust, your body responded, craving more, yet yearning for a pause—an unexpected reprieve.

You could hardly catch your breath as he maintained his relentless pace, a rhythm that sent waves of sensation coursing through you.

You wanted to surrender, yet a part of you fought against the tide, desperate for control in a moment that demanded nothing less than your complete submission.

Rafe eyes never seemed to leave yours with his cock stuffed in your mouth. He loved the humiliation of blowjobs. You just stared at him, teary wide eyes.

Rafe's face was so handsome. His eyes were so beautiful. So full of life. A face that could be so easily broken. Your mouth. So full of his cock.

Fuck, have you missed this.

You could see the desire in his eyes, the hunger for more. His gaze was intense, burning into you, and it excited you to know your power--how quick he came to your rescue.

You felt his hands on the back of your head, not forcing, but guiding, encouraging you to take him deeper. His breath quickened, and you knew he was getting closer with he twitch of his cock. With a soft moan, he pulled you up, his eyes still locked on yours.

He wanted to watch your reaction as he took control, as he showed you who was in charge.

He pushed you against the wall, his mouth finding yours, and you tasted yourself on his lips. It was degrading, and you loved it. He knew it too, and a smirk played on his lips.

"You like being used, don't you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Being on your knees, taking me however I want. It arouses you."

You couldn't deny it, the wetness of your cunt dripping down your thighs.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice a mere breath. "I do." And with that admission, he took you again, this time with you on the edge of the sofa with both your legs pressed to your sides.

You let out a soft moan as Rafe entered you, his cock sliding deep with one slow, deliberate thrust.

That familiar stretch and burn always made you gasp—a sensation you loved and craved. Rafe's hands gripped your hips, his touch firm as he held you in place, his eyes never leaving yours.

You loved how he watched you, taking in your every reaction as if it were the first time all over again--almost as if he was all yours and no one else's to share.

His thick cock filled you, and you could feel every vein and ridge of him as he slowly began to move. That delicious friction built as he withdrew and then thrust again, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

The room was filled with the sounds of your passion—your soft moans and the slick, wet sounds of your bodies moving as one.

Rafe's breath quickened as he began to move faster, his hips snapping as he drove into you with purpose. You met his passion with your own, your bodies a tangle of limbs and sweat.

His hands explored your body, caressing your breasts, neck, and face, his touch both possessive and adoring.

As your pleasure built, you knew you would climax soon, and you wanted Rafe to join you in that exquisite release.

You whispered for him to let go, and with a few more powerful thrusts, he obeyed. His body stiffened as he filled you with his release, his cock pulsing as he found his own bliss.

Rafe laid your limp body outstretched onto your sofa, and through hooded--fucked out--eyelids, you watched as he put back on his clothing.

"I think I love you." you croaked.

Rafe ironed out his slacks and proceeded to put his foot in one pant leg, all the while saying:

"I love my wife." He said sternly.

Defeated, you laid your head back and closed your eyes.

"This was the last time, Y/N." He said. You could hear him put on his last article of clothing and straighten himself out.

"You always say that." you sighed.

"Well, I'm serious this time."

"You always say that part too." You said.

And with that being said, he placed his lips on your forehead, took your bottle of baby aspirin, and left your apartment for the second "last time" that month.

Rafe went back home, made love to his wife, and then told her he loved her, but he knew he didn't really mean it.

#crookedteethed #fem reader #drew starkey #fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron #(older)husband!Rafe x mistress!reader #husband!rafe #the outer banks #obx #obx x reader #obx fanfiction

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sukirichi · 6 months ago

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 008 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

c/w. modern royal au. infidelity. angst. gaslighting. toxic characters. toxic relationships. mentions of neglect and abuse. hurt and comfort. unedited.

notes. thank you to everyone who waited patiently, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter <3 this will be the beginning of kiyoomi arc!

wc. 11k

series masterlist | next

[ EIGHT ] all they keep asking me is if I’m gonna be your bride – the only kind of girl they see is a one-night or a wife

The Kingdom of Inarizaki was at a loss whether to celebrate the early return of the latest married couple from their honeymoon. The couple seemed to be doing great – according to the tabloids, anyway. When they arrived, the Princes and their wives waved to the people, all eager for a glimpse of the infamous couple who had married for love. For two years, society had their eyes on you – the shy, reserved noblewoman who caught the eye and heart of their one and only Crown Prince Suna Rintaro. And oh, what a wedding it was, broadcasted all over the world and celebrated like a holiday.

What the world didn’t know was that it was an entirely different story behind the Palace walls.

You may share a bedroom, but never the bed. You’d been acquainted with the couch for the next few nights, only seeing your husband once in the mornings before he left to do his duties, and every now and then when the Queen wanted to have dinner. Not that you were complaining – the space was most appreciated. Without Suna lingering, there’d be less reminders of how much of a fool he took you. A naïve, young woman who really deluded herself into believing a Prince could want her. Although…

Suna didn’t not want you, either.

In the few spaces in between, he would look for you. He would make small talk and ask if you’ve eaten. If you liked breakfast, which was a silly question, since it was always tea and waffles. If you enjoyed yourself while he was away, this, again, was a silly question. You spent the mind–numbing hours blaming yourself for being in this predicament. That, perhaps, if you had just been brave to walk away that night you found out the truth, then you wouldn’t be out here wondering if the maids’ whispers were true – that Suna spent most of his nights at Belleview Manor, because quote unquote, “he was unwelcome in his own quarters.”

As if somehow it was your fault he did not feel comfortable to sleep under the same roof with you.

Sighing, you flipped your novel closed. No one had given you official duties yet, other than the blatantly obvious one of giving the Crown Prince an heir. ‘They will have such sleepless nights!’, the Queen’s goons crooned. ‘So young and virile, they are, we’ll have a new Crown Prince in no time!’ Oh, if only it were that easy. If there were to be a Prince, Iris would most likely be the mother, considering he saw her more often than you did. And how funny of a thought that was – you wanted distance from him, yet something died inside you little by little the colder your room got.

“Since we have returned, my schedule will be full.”

You glanced up from where you sat. Suna had sauntered back into the room, his tie loosened; hair messed up like he ran his fingers through it several times. Already, a servant stood beside him to comb his hair back neatly. You couldn’t help but stare. How long had it been since you combed his hair for him? You knew he hated it when they gelled it back. He preferred it messy and unkempt, saying his bedroom hair felt most natural. The bedroom hair he’s shown only to you in the quiet breaks of the night when he was in your bed.

The bedroom hair Iris had seen, as well.

Just the thought of it forces a smile on your face. Standing up, you brushed off the imaginary dust off your skirt. Less than a week in the Palace, and you were already so miserable. You could at least try to look less bothered by his unrequited affections.

“Do what you must.”

Once his hair had been brushed to perfection, Suna gestured for his servant to step away. The man politely bowed down before exiting the room. “I mean to say,” he continued, stepping closer now that there was no one else around. Your breath hitched the closer he got, but you dared not move, not even when his warm, familiar hand cups the curve of your cheek. “The meetings I must attend and people to deal with will take up most of my time.”

You knew what he was trying to say – that he wouldn’t be around, and you had to entertain yourself in his absence. Gently, you take a step back from his touch, watching as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

“And as I have said, do what you must. I have my own duties to fulfill as well.”

“You do not sound bothered by this.”

“Why should I be?” you shrugged, “If I am to be stuck with you for the rest of my life, surely I can enjoy what little time left I have for myself.”

Suna’s lips thinned. “You could act a little less eager to get rid of me.”

“On the contrary, I have no intention of leaving.”

“So I will see you tonight?”

“If we run into each other at the palace, yes, yes you will.”

If he seemed discontent with your half–hearted response, he did not show it. Must be the practiced regality and composure befitting for a Crown Prince like him – all lazy, yet wary, watching eyes. He, too, must know the true meaning behind your words. There was no need to pretend.

You both knew Suna would run into Belleview Manor as soon as the night ends, and his duties for the day had been tended to. Meanwhile, his wife would stay up all night in her couch.

Not quite waiting for him, but not quite imagining if he slept better at her side, either.

It was an unspoken deal between you two already. So he leaves without another word, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding when the door finally slams shut.

Tears prick at your eyes for the umpteenth time. You were tired of this. Tired of not knowing where you truly were in his life – were you his wife, his friend? After you’d heard of his passion and dedication to Iris, you weren’t so evil to stop him from seeing her. He loved her first. And you of all people should know the pain of not having the one person you wanted most. To him, she was his unattainable treasure. She was already making him smile before you even came to his life. She was already offering companionship and the comfort he desperately needed in this tiresome world of politics and power. She was his solace in all this chaos.

And you… you were just his wife. And without a baby in your belly, you might as well be just another useless figure in the Palace.

You refused to be so.

You may be worthless to him as his wife, for you truly couldn’t have his heart, but you refused to be a worthless person. Deep down, you knew you weren’t. It was just the title of ‘Princess’ that made you feel incapable and short. Did that mean you weren’t meant to be Princess, then? Should you go back to your manor, learning how to handle the household and managing the family business like your parents taught?

If you were not for Suna, did that mean you were not for the Crown, as well?

You bit your lip in contemplation. There was only one person who could provide you a solution to this.

“It is not every day I am summoned by a Princess,” a smooth, deep voice filtered through the garden. Smiling, you stood up to greet the Third Prince. A curtsy, a bow, and soon you two were sipping tea – the momentary peace a guise of what was to come. Kita must have sensed it, too, his gaze flitting over your pinched face with understanding and patience. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely we are not here to discuss the pleasantries of your honeymoon.”

You grimaced. “Definitely not. There were no pleasantries to begin with.”

His face fell.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you… My apologies. I’m not sure how to proceed with this.”

Nodding, you set your tea town. You had a feeling he truly meant his apology, which felt good, seeing as most of the Princes had too much pride to know the word ‘sorry.’ But you hd always known that Prince Kita was unlike the other Princes – he had more honor, and a stronger sense of morality compared to his brothers. Maybe it was due to his being raised by his mother, who was a lawyer, and therefore was not so exposed to the greed and competition experienced by the other Princes.

Whatever it was, he was just different. And you could rely on him to be truthful, too.

“Have you always known about them?” you muttered, refusing to look at the Prince’s face in fear of being met with pity. That was the last thing you wanted – to be seen as the poor, unwanted wife. “Iris and Rintaro?”

“I have.”

“I see.”

Kita sighed. “Please don’t misunderstand, Princess. I never meant to keep it from you. None of us did – except for those truly involved. It was just… I grew up with them, too. Keiji and I were only a year ahead of Rintaro and Iris. When I heard the Crown Prince had become acquainted with a foreign royal scholar, we didn’t think too much of it. Her sudden marriage with Kiyoomi surprised us all, and none of us would’ve thought that her friendship with Rintaro would turn into something more.”

“You don’t need to explain all of this to me, Your Highness.”

“Perhaps, but…” reaching over the table, the Prince squeezed your knuckle. You chuckled, not having realized you’d balled up your hands into a fist. It turned out you couldn’t fool anyone, not even yourself, to act like you didn’t care how much it all hurt. “I do not want you to think I am not on your side.”

“You do not need to be on my side. He is your brother.”

“Blood means little to me when my own kind is cruel to others,” he retorted, looking offended you would suggest otherwise. “I have always been against it, Princess. I told him from the beginning that to covet one’s brother’s wife is one thing, but to involve someone else, all for his selfish reason of ascending a throne that was always rightfully his just seemed heartless.”

Heartless. Gods. To know that your husband was capable of being cruel was one thing, but to hear it coming from his own brother’s lips was another.

“But Rintaro is Rintaro. Of course he is stubborn.”

“Indeed, he is,” Prince Kita sighed in defeat, leaning back against his seat as he stroked his chin in thought. “Princess, while I cannot guarantee I can take all of your woes away, I want you to know you can trust me. If there is anything you need, let me know and I will do it for you. It’s the least I can do to make your stay here in the Palace tolerable.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do, and I am a man of my word.”

“Then I suppose there’s no point beating around the bush,” you gritted your teeth, forcing the words to come out.

It had always been a lingering thought at the back of your mind – to leave Rintaro – but there was this prideful, equally stubborn voice at the back of your head telling you it was too early to give up. That you needed to fight. But what was there to fight for? It wasn’t like Rintaro would learn to love you. And neither do you plan on wooing him. So, instead, you swallowed up your pride and called for Kita, knowing he would never judge you for the choices you were about to make.

“I actually called for you today because I wish to discuss royal marital laws, possibly with your mother. She would know about it best.”

“You need legal counsel,” he caught on, and you nod, “I can arrange that. I assume you want it discreetly, too. That is no problem at all. But if I may be bold, I wish to ask something from you in return.”

“Name your price.”

“It is about this maid that I am fond of. Airi,” her name came out breathily from his mouth, almost like a whisper. You noticed the Prince glancing around the empty garden almost warily, though you already took measures to ensure no one would be around to witness this conversation. Reassured, Kita sat up straighter and looked you in the eye, nothing but sincerity and determination in his expression. “I will do anything you ask of me, as long as it is within legal reasons, if you take her in as your personal maid.”

“I’ve heard rumors about you having affections for a maid in your quarters,” you mumbled, feeling almost sorry for the kind–hearted Prince. It seemed he, too, did not escape the heartbreaking torment for falling for a person you could never have. “So it is true, after all.”

“It is. You seem surprised about it. Is it so shocking to learn of a Prince having genuine feelings for another?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I think I should know best that passion is something you brothers certainly have,” you snort, and Kita fights back a grin. “Very well, then. I will take care of your lovely maid, although I do wish to know – why are you assigning her to me? Have you… done anything to stain her honor?”

The color seeped out of the Prince’s face.

“I would never do such a thing.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.”

Kita’s shoulders squared before he exhaled. “Airi is… Ever since I set my sights on her, she has been in danger. People have been very unkind towards her, especially with the staff in my quarters. And as much as I would love having her by my side in my every waking hour, it would break my heart to know that she is being looked down upon simply because I admire her. But I figure with her at your side, with a new assignment, she will have some peace.”

Your heart ached for him. You could tell this was not an easy decision to make, but a necessary one if he wanted to ensure his lover’s well-being.

“You can still see her, Your Highness. It’s not like I will take her away from you.”

“I wouldn’t let you, either, but these are very difficult times for everyone in the Palace. The security of the throne weakens every day. The Parliament is restless, and there is only so little I can do with all these failed unions,” he rattled on, eyes widening when he realized it too late. Bowing his head, the Prince’s brows furrowed. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to–”

“Our marriage is not a failed union. Not yet. I will make certain it will not be a failure.”

It couldn’t be a failure. There was only one way out of this dreadful marriage, and as much as you hated it, that exit only existed in a path where you had no choice but to let him be a great King. This is why you need Kita’s mother’s counsel. Surely there could be a loophole in the clause that would invalidate the marriage. But until that opportunity presents itself, you were stuck here in this Castle, surrounded by everyone but your husband.

You had to make it work.

“With all due respect, Princess,” sighs the Prince, looking more remorseful than irritated. “Why is it that you try so hard? You do not need to stay with him, you know. It may be against the law for royal marriages to be annulled, but surely we can find a way. You do not need to torture yourself by spending one more day with your husband.”

“I know that.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because,” you croaked out, feeling a lump grow in your throat. “Because loving him is all I had known, and perhaps it is time I learn to despise him, as well.”

Silence stretches. The prince sat there, unmoving, as your words hang in the thick air between you two. You knew he would understand; he wouldn’t judge. But there is still concern in his handsome features that made you realize how pitiful you really are. And maybe there was no one else to blame but yourself, because you were foolish, and in love. But you were trying – by the Gods, you really were doing your best – to just be in love and not have to be foolish anymore.

Kita could see this as well. Your strength, your grit. He could see everything from where he sat, and that was why he simply nodded. “Are you getting there yet?”

“I will get there someday.”

Before the Prince could say anything else, a servant appeared from the bushes. He looked sheepish upon the intrusion, an apologetic smile on his face directed to the Prince. “Your Highness. It is time for your lessons.”

The Prince sent you a knowing look. This was not to be the last time you see each other, and you smiled up at him, grateful. It felt good to have at least one person you could lean on in the Palace. You stood up, too, shaking his hand just as his servant excused himself. If your memory did not fail you, the Third Prince studied law outside of the Palace and had to attend university, unlike his brothers who had chosen to indulge in their promised wealth after graduating high school.

“Excuse me, Your Highness. I have matters to attend to, but my words still ring true – I am only a call away should you need me.”

“Thank you so much for your time, my Prince.”

“It was my pleasure. I will inform you right away of my mother’s availability.”

“Oh, and Princess,” piped up the servant from somewhere around the bushes, “Princess Maiko is looking for you. She is waiting for you in her drawing room.”

You should’ve expected that Princess Maiko would come looking for you. The whole ordeal she witnessed back at your rest house must have come as a shock for her. Sure, her marriage didn’t go so well, either, but at least Tooru hadn’t gone around sleeping with someone else. For a man who didn’t want to get married, he kept to his vow of loyalty to his wife. Still, you didn’t want this to be a competition on who had it worse – Maiko was simply worried, and you had to explain yourself for your untoward behavior on everyone’s getaway.

“Princess! Oh my gosh – how are you?! I was worried sick!”

“Princess,” you return her hug, smiling despite the fact the smaller Princess had a bone–crushing grip. “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you, I am well.”

“Oh, Princess, you couldn’t be,” she pulled back with tears in her eyes. You almost apologized on the spot now that you remembered demanding to return to the City without informing the others why. Especially not Maiko, who seemed to be clueless. “I… I heard from Tooru about everything. The entire situation with Iris and the Crown Prince – truly, I did not know a single thing. If I had, I would have told you right away.”

“I know, and I’m thankful for your support.”

You squeeze her hand in reassurance, and the Princess leads you to sit on the couch. She slumps on it rather ungracefully, her innocent, wide eyes moist as she shakes her head.

“I had no idea Iris could do that. I just… the moment she arrived in the palace, she was so lovely, you know? She was always a little reserved, and liked to keep to herself, but I never would’ve guessed. I truly thought she was a good friend of mine, and now I have no idea who she really is.”

“Neither did I.”

“How are you, though? And please, tell me the truth. You do not need to pretend all is well.”

You shrug half-heartedly. “I am the Crown Prince’s wife. I must learn to be strong.”

“You mustn’t torture yourself any longer,” she licks her lips, chuckling without a trace of humor in it. “Although I do not blame you for staying in a marriage without love,” she smiled sadly, holding your hand firmer where it sat on her lap. “What do you plan to do?”

“I will divorce him,” you announced, and finally saying it loud felt different than just having the thought float in your head. It now felt like a reality. A choice you had to be firm in making. Licking your lips, you couldn’t help but glance at the beautiful wedding ring sitting on your finger – how just like your marriage, it is sparkling yet meaningless.

Leaving him would be the right choice. It would not mean you were weak.

“Once I meet with Kita’s mother and work our way around the law… I’m going to leave him. If it is a proper marriage he wants, then it is the one thing he will not get,” braving to look her in the eyes, you force a determined smile. “I believe it is the right thing to do, Your Highness. I must pick my battles wisely.”

“I understand, and I support you if this is what you want to do.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Although…”

“Although?”

“I still find it hard to believe,” she quipped, momentarily letting go of your hand as she stood up, pacing around the room. Her dark hair, neatly braided and adorned with headpieces, slowly started falling into curled pieces around her delicate face with how fast she’d been pacing. Almost as if her feet couldn’t quite keep up with her thoughts. “Iris and Kiyoomi had been married for five years, and Tooru told me they’d loved each other long before then. I am aware I am not the best at reading the room, but surely I am not so foolish to miss the love in their eyes. I would have known, Your Highness, I swear.”

You smile, confused. “I… am not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I mean Iris never looked in love,” she reiterated. “Granted, she was never affectionate with Kiyoomi, so that much is clear, but with the Crown Prince? They barely even speak to each other.”

“You couldn’t have known if they did spend time together,” you told her as softly as you could, “I heard they often hid in Belleview Manor, away from the eyes of the public.”

“But I live here,” she argued, and you stopped trying to butt in. For such a small thing, you had already learned once Maiko had her head set on something, almost nothing could stop her. “I live in Honor Hall, just five minutes away from them! I could have heard something. And on the few times I do see them together, Iris had always seemed… walled off. If Rintaro was able to display his affections openly, Iris was not the same. That night you weren’t at the house, they did not seem like a happy couple to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Maiko shook her head again, causing more curls to loosen. “They seemed familiar with each other, but not intimate. It was almost as if they were lovers purely in the bedroom, but they couldn’t have known each other’s heart,” her eyes lit up, before it dimmed again when she took in your somber expression. “I do not mean to give you false hope, Princess, but believe me. I know a man in love when I see one, and it is not the Crown Prince with Iris. But… but when you were not married yet, everyone could tell the Crown Prince smiled more. He laughed often, too, and he even spent more time with his brothers.”

“Well, that is only natural. He has a lot of siblings. Of course he would enjoy their company.”

“No, no, you do not understand, Princess. The Crown Prince… didn’t grow up that way,” she bit her lip, and then scooted next to you. “As the only son of the King and Queen, he was already more important than the rest. Because of that, he was raised differently – away and isolated from his brothers. He was always tutored alone, and never played with the other Princes. He spent his childhood locked up in his study, but then the Queen allowed him to attend regular school, and when he graduated… he met you. And I swear, he was different then.”

“Because he already met her,” you remarked, hoping she would stop already. Rintaro does not love you. “He’d become happier because Iris was already in his life.”

“I went to the same school with them; grew up with them. I had crushed on Prince Tooru for so long that I followed wherever he went, and where Tooru was, the Crown Prince would follow. They were born just months apart. And Iris never made the Crown Prince look… look…”

“Look what?”

“Look content,” she finally supplied. “But when the Crown Prince introduced you to us, he had this look on his face. When you spoke to others, he would always be looking at you, listening to your every word. Even when you were not in the same room, he would speak fondly of you. And he even once told me he still could not believe someone as precious as you had been attending the same lousy balls he’d been enduring all his life. He said that if he had met you earlier, he might have never skipped out attending the dances.”

“I don’t know,” your lips trembled, “I do not know what to do, Princess. Hearing of this does not make it any better.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but you must understand,” she squeezed your hand, desperation evident in her tone. “Your husband looks at you the way I wished mine would at me. He may say otherwise, but his eyes cannot lie. He softens when you are around, Princess. That night you did not return home at Greenville, the Crown Prince could not sleep at all. And these past few days…”

“I believe that is enough. I do not wish to hear how he spent his nights at Belleview.”

“He didn’t, Your Highness. The Crown Prince has never even spoken to Iris ever since we returned from your honeymoon.”

Rintaro could count the number of things pissing him off with one hand.

One: You had barely acknowledged his existence the past few days.

Two: Iris wouldn’t stop pulling him into dark, secluded corners in the Castle each time she chanced upon him. Two-point-five: She couldn’t understand he was not in the mood for another one of their trysts.

Three: Kiyoomi skipped another meeting concerning Itachiyama again.

Seriously, Rintaro understood being a Prince was tiresome work. It was not as grandiose as the tabloids made it out to be. Even in his sleep, he sometimes dreamt of paperwork, or he would wake up in the middle of the night with his hands signing off imaginary papers. The pressure was tougher on Kiyoomi, too, because he was expected to be ready to take after Wakatoshi at any time he even faltered – note: the First Prince never did – and to also act as representative for the other territory thanks to his birthright. But his brother was an hermit, and seemed to fear the sunlight, considering he never left his quarters. Or on the rare occasions he did, he would be hiding away in other countries doing who knows what.

He had just finished a meeting with some of the territory leaders regarding a public complaint that the price of goods had gone up, and some daily necessities were now ridiculously overpriced. One of the main suppliers of good livestock and coconuts, Itachiyama, made it even more expensive – not for any good reason, just that their leader loved to remind Inarizaki constantly that they needed him more than he needed the monarchy.

His goading affected his people, and Rintaro has had enough. Kiyoomi could at least try to pretend to be interested in the meetings. Out of all the nine princes, Kiyoomi was the most influential for being a half-blood. The Itachiyama president adored him. He wouldn’t have had to struggle negotiating for prices had he been doing his work. He was the damned mediator between the two countries, for goodness’ sake!

And to make it all worse, his life did not get any better outside the meeting rooms.

No, because his wife was intent on acting like he did not exist. And on the few times he did manage to be in the same space as you without you running off, you always looked through him. Like he wasn’t even a real person. As if he was just an apparition, a ghost in your mind that you could overlook if you tried hard enough.

He already knew you wouldn’t be in your quarters once he returned, but Rintaro still couldn’t help the pang of disappointment washing over him. He chose you to be his future Queen for many reasons, one of them being your wisdom in these kinds of things. You just needed a little encouragement to speak up, but Rintaro was confident you would make a great leader. You had genuine care for your people. You would have been able to help him make the best decisions for everybody – if you would just listen to him. Wasn’t that how marriages work? To share the burden of the Crown together? The Crown was too heavy for one person alone, which is why Kings cannot be crowned without their Queens.

Rintaro couldn’t do it alone. Each day was becoming more challenging for him, and he so desperately wished he could discuss the country’s future with you. He would feel more confident in his choices. He would be more reassured that he was doing the right thing, but it seemed that all he knew how to do lately was fuck everything up.

On his way back, Rintaro stopped trying to look regal. He let his shoulders slump and ran his fingers through his hair again. The gel be damned. Loosening his tie, he rolled his shoulders back and winced at how stiff his back was. Sitting on his ass all day long, having to listen to old men argue back and forth over money, and simultaneously having to deal with a marriage he’d already screwed over – Rintaro just wanted to disappear.

He wanted to return to Greenville.

It was peaceful there. People minded their own business, everyone had their own purpose and reason for waking up each day and there, he could just be himself. Not the Crown Prince, not a young man who had to hurt you for the sake of the throne. He could just… be free.

“Your Highness,” a servant bowed in front of him, keeping a respectful distance but enough to let him know he needed his attention.

“Good evening,” he greeted back, “Have you seen my wife?”

“Her Highness was with Princess Maiko this morning. Last I heard, she has not left the Palace, at all.”

“I see,” Rintaro was already moving towards Honor Hall before his feet could register it. It was a good twenty minute walk, and the chances of running into Iris weren’t miniscule, but it would be worth it. He could use some fresh air, anyway. And he figured with Maiko around, you would be less opposed to spending the evening with him – until he realized Maiko must have known everything, too. How he manipulated you, and left you in the middle of nowhere.

On second thought, having two Princesses who clearly did not welcome him would not make for a great night.

“My Prince!”

Rintaro stopped on his tracks. He had a split second to school his expression to surprise – the good kind – when he came face to face with the last woman he wanted to see.

“Mother,” he greeted, taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles whilst she fanned herself. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting.”

She waved her fan around. “Oh, I had to nearly knock down the guards when they wouldn’t let me in, but I had to see my daughter. I heard from the news that you came home too early. Well, what is wrong? Is she sick? Does she not like the countryside? Or perhaps there was an emergency you had to attend to?” fanning herself harder, Rintaro’s hand wound at the small of her back to guide the older woman into a nearby seat. “She hasn’t answered any of my calls, and I am worried, my son.”

“Your concern for her will put her at ease, I’m certain,” he reassured, swallowing the uncomfortable lump growing in his throat. “This is just… a difficult time for us, Mother. I fear Her Highness is having doubts about our marriage once she saw how overwhelming the Crown could be. She simply wished to return home because she felt there were things to be done here.”

Your mother sighed and shook her head. “My poor daughter. She always felt the need to prove her worth by working herself to death,” spinning to face him, she pointed her fan in his direction – which would be considered a threat to the Crown Prince, but she was his mother–in–law. Her presence itself was a threat to his life. “Promise me you won’t let her exhaust herself, son. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“She is in good hands, Mother, I promise you this.”

Pleased with him, your mother beamed. “I was also… Well, I may be crossing the line, but now that you tell me my poor daughter is anxious about her royal duties, I was planning to hold a ball in her honor. A welcoming ball for the new Princess, of sorts. It should help her integrate into your world better, but still with the comfort of our support.”

“A ball sounds lovely. We can hold it anytime as we are still in our honeymoon period and she will be free for quite some time.”

“That is perfect! I will make the arrangements, then.”

Wearing his best Prince Charming smile, even if he was anything but, Rintaro found himself mindlessly agreeing to everything your mother wanted. He would have to squeeze all these events in his already hectic schedule, but he was not complaining. She was right. You deserved to relax and enjoy yourself. He should know best that having royal titles did not promise a life of gallivanting and endless tea parties. Once your mother had exhausted herself from all the planning, Rintaro escorted her out to the palace entrance, stopping only when your figure appeared from the corner.

Finally, you were looking at him.

But with a glare.

Well, he supposed beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“You are a far better actor than I give you credit for – lying to my mother like that.”

“I did not mean to.”

You rolled your eyes, and Rintaro bit his lip. Cute, he thought, but he would never say it out loud. He would simply enjoy the fact you did not push him away, or walk away as if you were scalded when he started walking next to you. For a moment, everything almost seemed normal. Minus the extreme glaring, of course.

“Surely. It’s not like telling her you manipulated me for the past two years was on your to-do list.”

“Do not use that tone on me.”

“I will speak with you however I wish. You do not get to tell me what to do.”

“You are right; I cannot tell you what to do, so do as you please, then,” he surrendered, and you must be surprised by how he easily gave in from the way you froze. Glaring harder, Rintaro bit his cheek, tilting his head to the side as he gazed upon your pretty face. And oh, how badly he wanted to smooth that frown you’re wearing. “I missed you. I have not seen you all day long.”

“Must have been a lovely day for you, then.”

It was hell, actually, was what he wanted to say, but even that did not seem enough to articulate what he truly felt. I missed you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. Please sleep on the same bed with me again. I want to hold you all night long, and your scent calms me. But instead, all that comes out of his mouth was, “It was not lovely at all.”

“Hmm. I’m not Iris.”

“No, you aren’t.”

He agreed wholeheartedly – you were not his lover. Iris would not argue with him like this; in fact, they never argued at all. Whenever they had misunderstandings, they resolved it by taking out their frustrations on the bedroom, and the next day, all would be forgiven and forgotten. It was easier with Iris, in some ways, because with you he actually had to use his words, and he had to say the right ones. Both of which he wasn’t good at, but would try his very best anyway.

“I heard you spent the day with Maiko. How was it? Did you two have fun?”

“As fun as two women suffering at the hands of men who despise them could have.”

Rintaro took a larger step to stand in front of you, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I do not despise you.”

“Really? You made me feel otherwise.”

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair again, feeling much more exhausted than he did after the meetings ended. “You do not have to make this so difficult, you know. I am trying to fix this.”

The laugh you let out is sardonic, teetering on the edges of borderline angry. But he would take it – because arguments with you were better than having you ignore him, and he would take a thousand more arguments if it meant you talked. He would consume your wrath over your coldness every other day. Even when you cross your arms and look at him like he was the most vile creature to ever walk the Earth – because your eyes are on him, and in that moment, in the middle of another of a hundred hallways in his Palace, there was no one else but you and him. A husband and his wife. A Prince and his Princess.

“Oh, are you now? Because last time I checked, you were still in love with someone else, and I’m still nothing but a pawn in your silly game.”

“I may be in love with someone else, but it was you who I couldn’t get off my mind.”

“Is that supposed to make my heart flutter?”

You reel back as if burnt, and Rintarou couldn’t fathom why your expression hurt him so much. As if his declaration, his vulnerability, of being putty in your hands repulsed you instead of excited you. However, he refused to show he hung desperately to your every word, refused to admit that you held all the power in your hands, not him. So, he plays it off, and flirtingly lifts a brow just to get you even more riled up.

“I was hoping it would.”

“Whatever it is you’re planning, Rintaro, you won’t win.”

His eyes darkened. Suddenly, all self-restraint he previously had had been thrown out the window. The urge to press his lips to you – yes, those same lips scowling at him – becomes all too consuming. He fools himself into taking the heat in your eyes as desire instead of anger. And he takes one step forward, two, then three, until your back hits the wall and his large frame prevents you from escaping. He liked you best here, he realized, under his mercy and staring up at him with your soft lips, pliant and open to release a gasp when he leans in. Closer, closer, only for his lips to meet the skin of your cheek.

Rintaro stifled a disappointed groan.

Masking it with a chuckle, he trailed his lips down your cheek and to your jawline, all the way until he’s inhaling your intoxicating scent – he wants your damned perfume to stick to his skin for days to come so everyone in the Palace knows he is yours. And like a flower, you bloom only to him. Craning your neck and pushing your chest upwards to his despite your resistance, breathing hard and heavy to let him know he wasn’t the only one affected by this.

And by the Gods, he wanted nothing more than to take you in this wall right here and then.

Brushing his lips just above your pulse point, Rintaro smiled. Your heart was beating a mile a minute, and he was certain his was, too, when you began to crumple his shirt in your hands. “I never knew my name could sound so important without the titles attached to it.”

“Wh–what?” your query came out breathily. Not that he could blame you, for his words have also begun to sound more like a whisper.

“Rintaro,” he echoed, nosing your neck to greedily take in more of your scent. If not on his skin, then he will settle for the evidence of you all over his clothes – and damned the servants who dared wash his dress shirt. “Not Prince, not Your Highness. Just Rintaro. It makes me feel like… it is just you and I, husband and wife, as simple as that,” you draw in another gasp just as his fingers start ghosting over your waist, fighting the urge to pin you in place, or to just hold you delicately because he knew he’d broken you enough. Rintaro felt weak, his head dropping in the column of your shoulder. “I truly did miss you. And I do not like how I spent many nights, in our bed, alone.”

“You do not deserve to share a bed with me.”

“I know,” he lamented, and that firm resolve of keeping him at a distance was enough to wake him up. Pushing himself off of you, Rintaro took a solid minute to admire you like this – lips parted, expectant for a kiss, and skin flushed with a thin layer of sweat, with eyes so bewildered he could see himself clearly in the reflection – that he was just a man now, and not really the husband you wanted him to be. Once he had his fill, Rintaro smoothed down the wrinkles you fisted in his shirt and took a step back. “But you do not deserve to sleep in just a couch. Take the bed tonight. I will sleep outside.”

“But that’s–”

“I’m the one who fucked up,” he smirked, sarcasm dripping from his face, “So I should be the one sleeping uncomfortably. I know I cannot tell you what to do, and neither do I plan on ordering you around, but this is the one thing you cannot argue with me on. You will take the bed. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Back to titles. Back to formality. Back to reality.

“Good girl,” he murmured absentmindedly, nodding in the direction of your bedroom. “Let us head back to our quarters. I’m buying you a new dress for the ball first thing in the morning.”

To say Rintaro had changed would be an understatement.

He was a completely different person than your husband in the honeymoon. It was as if… last night’s intimate encounter had brought him back to the Rintaro you fell in love with, but this time it felt different. He felt more intense. Maybe it was the fact that his secrets were now laid out in the open, which could mean his attentive actions toward you no longer held the purpose of winning you over. Maybe now he truly just wanted to spend time with you because he could.

Cancelling his plans for the day, he’d told the servants you were going out shopping, and oh, what a cunning, devilish Prince he is. He knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off of him out in public. With so many eyes watching, you spent nearly every second of the day with your arms looped around his, laughing and smiling at every word he said, and not daring to keep your eyes off him lest someone took a photographed and headlined it ‘Newly Married Royal Couple Having Their First Lovers’ Spat In Public.’ No. No, that would be catastrophic. The Queen would be furious.

Here, in public, you were forced to act sweet and touchy with him, to which the stupid Crown Prince basked in as he led you from boutique to boutique. He complimented you on everything, even when you wore a hideous bright orange gown that made even the designer flinch. But in Rintaro’s eyes, you were simply mesmerizing. He even got a suit that matched all of your dresses, claiming that everyone should know he was married to you. Everyone already knew that – the whole world knew – but you didn’t want to burst his bubble.

Aside from having a day off, your husband genuinely did seem to be doing things other than paperwork.

You stopped being kind once you entered the car, however, when the windows had rolled up and you had both stopped waving to the people. Here, it was just the driver and the both of you, and the driver knew better than to comment on whatever happened, anyway. Sighing, you scooted to the other end of the seat, prying yourself off of Rintaro’s tight grip around your waist.

“Drop the act.”

“What act?”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, taking off your gloves and folding them neatly in your lap. “We are in the privacy of our car. You needn’t pretend any longer.”

“Who said I was pretending?”

You looked at him dead in the eye. “You are not fooling anyone. This was all a PR act – you did not actually mean whatever it is you said to me out there, but worry not. I’ll get out of your hair and divorce you – surely that will make everything easier.”

The way Rintaro’s eyes nearly popped out of his head would be comical if he didn’t look so scared. In a flash, your husband crossed the distance and sat next to you, his hurried movements causing his bangs to fall into his eyes. His large hands began to engulf yours, and you suck in a breath – without the gloves, it felt more intimate. “What divorce?” he chuckled nervously, brushing his lips over your bare knuckles. It was the faintest of touches, only done to appease you, but it still didn’t stop the bolt of heat coursing through your thighs. Gods, it was just so hard trying to stay mad at him.

“You know that’s impossible. Royal marriages are forever. Look, if you truly wish to divorce me, fine. But you know you will have to help me become King first. Once I am crowned, I can write a new law that says royal couples can be separated.”

“You are despicable.”

“I am,” he whined. Whined! Seriously, who was this man? “But I promise you, if you help me, I will let you go. Look, I’ll even find a high–ranking nobleman for you. The best of the best. You wouldn’t have to be lonely anymore. Just… don’t ever mention divorce to me right now. I won’t let you.”

Scoffing, you pull your hands back from his heavenly lips. “You seriously think after everything, loneliness is somehow my biggest issue?” Rintaro opened his mouth to retort, but you shook your head, making yourself small between him and the window seat. You hated it, how helpless you felt, from wanting his touch to being burnt by it. You hated it even more how you couldn’t look him in the eye as you mumbled, “Have you ever thought that maybe I just want to forget you?”

“I do not want you to,” he breathed out, and your eyes snapped shut when you felt his fingers brush over your cheeks. “But I am not so selfish to deprive you of a good thing. You will find someone who can love you better than I could.”

Your heart fell.

“Well, that would be easy. You never loved me to begin with.”

The Crown Prince never spoke again. You both mulled over your silences as you arrived back at the Palace, heading into the bathroom to do your nightly routines. Rintaro was to your left, taking out his razor blade and shaving foam while you stood to his right, lathering on your cleanser and toner. Thankfully, the silence did not feel as heavy as it did on the ride back home, but it was still far from being comfortable. It was only after you’d moisturized and turned to leave the room that Rintaro caught your wrist, glancing down at you with a pleading expression.

“Please. Can we stop fighting? I thought today was fun. Let us not end it hating each other.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, if I ruined your precious day,” you snapped, leaning back to examine how he missed a spot below his jaw. A slight stubble was visible, but you had to stop your hand from reaching out to him. You sighed. “All this space in the Palace and they couldn’t give us separate bathrooms?”

“Traditionally, royal married couples slept in separate rooms. Everything was separate, too, including bathrooms,” he gestured around you, “Perhaps you would’ve liked the old ways.”

Screw it. The small talk is the most awkward thing you have ever experienced.

“…You missed a spot,” you finally mumbled, taking his razor from him and gesturing for him to crouch down so you can reach. “Do you want me to finish it?”

Rintaro, despite his surprise, nodded and obeyed. It must have been uncomfortable for him to slouch, but he did so without complaints. He let you shave him as you saw fit, turning his head side to side, lathering on more foam, and you watched as his shoulders visibly deflated. Eyes fluttering close, Rintaro sighed, the tips of his fingers gingerly tracing circles as they laid beside your hips.

“You will take the bed as discussed,” he reminded, “You will not argue with me on this.”

“Okay,” you answered, because you, too, had no energy for more arguments. Once you were done with him, you wiped off the rest of the foam with a warm, wet towel. You both left the bathroom and went your separate ways – you to your king–sized bed, and him just outside the bedroom and into the lounge room, where you spent the past few nights sleeping. You realized he must not be sleeping well from it because of his large frame, yet Rintaro did not seem to mind.

Just as he was about to close the door, he lingered for a few beats.

“Thank you for going along the happily married couple act today,” he said, lifting his gaze from the carpeted floors to gaze into your eyes. “And for the record, I meant it when I said you looked beautiful.”

Then he turned, and swiftly closed the door, leaving you to be with your thoughts – all filled of him.

It didn’t help that the sheets and pillows still lingered with his scent.

You had your upcoming ball to thank for distracting you from your confusing feelings for your husband. That in itself was such a ridiculous statement, but one that ringed true. After Rintaro’s surprising gentleness, and the revelation from Maiko that he hadn’t spoken at all with Iris, you were now in a dangerous zone called Getting Your Hopes Up. Truly, you should know better. You had known Rintaro for years to know he could be effortlessly charming. He could have you wrapped tight around his finger, smiling like a lovesick fool, only for him to break your heart once more.

If not for that cold, hard truth, you would have invited him to bed with you that night. It seemed too tempting. It felt like the right thing to do. But you didn’t, and you were glad you held back on your desire, because you weren’t sure you could handle another heartbreak.

Especially because these past few days made you realize one thing – that you were still in love with him. The next morning, you found yourself wishing you had woken up next to him, and that was enough to make you avoid your husband all over again. And much to your disappointment, Rintaro stopped trying to chase after you, too, after countless rejections on your part. He had kept his distance, and only spoke with you momentarily when you arrived at your mother’s ball and had to exchange niceties with everyone.

After that, your husband excused himself and spoke with his brothers, but not after your parents couldn’t stop cooing at how adorable you and the Crown Prince were. He handled it with grace; kissing your cheek and thanking them for raising such a wonderful daughter. But the moment your parents became occupied with welcoming other guests, you were now left to entertain the other women in the ball.

Until the music began playing.

Until your song reverberated all across the room.

“This is the song you and the Crown Prince danced to the night you met,” your mother whispered beside you, giggling in your ear. “I requested it specifically for this night. Enjoy the dance with your husband. He’s already waiting.”

True to her word, you could feel Rintaro’s heated gaze on you from across the room. He’d stopped speaking with his brothers – the twins smirking beside him, Akaashi smiling at you softly, Tobio waving enthusiastically while nursing a glass of wine, and Kita firmly hovering from the walls with a concerned frown. Not that you paid attention to them. Your gaze was held by your husband and him only, bewitched as he started walking forward. The crowed parted for him like a true Prince until nothing stood in his way. Everyone smiled, giggling behind their gloves at the apparent ‘romance in the air.’ Beside you, your mother pushed you encouragingly, and you could feel everyone’s eyes on you, waiting to see if you would take the Crown Prince’s outstretched hands.

“My love,” he whispered above your gloved hands, and your heart skipped a beat. He didn’t call you Princess, or Your Highness. You knew it was for the sake of keeping appearances, but by the Gods, you loved him. You were so hopelessly in love with your husband that you placed your heart in his hands once more, silently pleading with him not to break it as he led you in the middle of the dance floor. “May I have this dance?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, your hand resting on his shoulder as naturally as his arms came to your waist. The exact same movements from the night you first met, with the same song, but with your love for him stronger tonight than it did when you first laid your eyes on him.

This time, you danced as man and wife, and you recalled his words from the other day.

How there were moments it seemed so simple – where there were no titles, just you and him, having this dance like it was the most natural, inexplicable thing in this world.

The chord struck. The crowd parted. He took the first step in the dance, and you took a step back. Not once did you tear your gaze away from him, happily drowning in the depths of his hazel eyes you could look at forever. And isn’t that what you’d always wanted? To spend a lifetime with him, to grow old together. It would have been so easy if it weren’t for –

“Don’t think about anything else,” your husband shook his head lightly, “Just enjoy this moment. Tonight, there is only you and I.”

“Okay,” you found yourself nodding, and his grip on your waist tightened for a second. “Just you and I.”

Rintaro’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “Just you and I.”

You and him in those moments – you felt immortal. Like nothing could stand in your way. Or perhaps you could die tonight, and you would die happy. Because you were in your husband’s arms, and he was looking at you and only you, murmuring how you were becoming more and more beautiful with each passing day. You were melting in his arms, like goo. Like pudding. And he was strong enough to catch you, to brush his nose against yours at each dip, or letting his lips linger on your forehead each time you came back to him with each spin.

But happy moments never lasted long enough, and soon the rotations were beginning. More couples have joined the dance floor. Through one spin, you caught sight of Tooru and Maiko. Neither of them looked happy, but Tooru visibly brightened when he caught your eye, and shamelessly winked. On the other side of the room danced Iris and Kiyoomi, with the latter looking so nauseous you worried dinner would be spilled on your mother’s floor. And then too soon, Rintaro’s hands were leaving yours as he moved to the nearest dance partner, and you were caught by a pair of strong, muscled arms.

“My turn,” Tooru teased, a grin now on his handsome face as he nudged his head in Rintaro’s direction. He was now dancing with your mother, and you could tell, even from this distance, the smile he wore was genuine. “Should I beat him up?”

You chuckled, throwing your head back. Despite his jokes and jabs, Prince Tooru was a surprisingly great dancer – less stiff than Rintaro, and more confident in his receiving when you spun and dipped. But dancing with him did not feel the same. There was no passion, no yearning, no longing – just the lighthearted air of good humor and his calming nature.

“I don’t think beating the Crown Prince up would be a very wise decision.”

“Indeed, but I was never the Prince known for making wise decisions. That would be more Shinsuke’s forte,” he snorted, and the song reached a part for another rotation. However, Tooru refused to let you go and intentionally spun you away from what was supposed to be your next dance partner. Out of shock, you slapped his chest, and his broad chest rumbled with laughter.

“Your Highness! That was unbelievably rude!”

“As I have said,” you both laughed when he spun you again, “I am not the Prince known to be socially adept.”

You bent over in giggles, your head resting on his chest as you danced more throughout the night. Your feet were getting tired, but your mother was right – this was a night to enjoy. You danced to your heart’s content, exchanging jokes with the handsome Fifth Prince until you craned your neck to the side, only to be stopped by Prince Tooru’s large hand. This time, he no longer smiled as he gazed upon the dancing partners behind you, and your skin turned cold.

You had a feeling you knew exactly why.

“Don’t look. You won’t like what you’ll see.”

Nodding, you pursed your lips and forced a smile at him. “It’s okay, Princess,” he comforted, “Just look at me. You need not concern yourself with others.”

So you danced, and danced, until you could hear your father pleading with the Fifth Prince to give his daughter back because he didn’t get a chance to have a dance with you yet. Reluctantly, Tooru handed you over to your father, but not without a faux frown.

“That was a lovely dance, Your Highness. I wish we could’ve danced more.”

“I think we danced enough.”

Tooru’s smile was guarded; secretive. “I’m afraid it was not enough.”

You danced with your father next. And it was lovely, seeing him up close with all his smile lines and wrinkles. You missed him so, dearly, and he felt the same way. It hurt having to lie to him when he asked how you were settling in the Palace, but you didn’t want to concern him with your personal matters, and for some reason, it didn’t sit well with you if your father disliked Rintaro. So you swallowed your discomfort down and told him everything was great – silently wishing he wouldn’t pry further. He didn’t. And when the song slowed, your father kissed you on the cheek before letting you meet with your next dancing partner.

Stood in front of you was a great wall of what could only be described as majestic. Dressed in white with gold ornaments, Prince Kiyoomi’s curls framed his handsome face beautifully. You had been so accustomed seeing him in more comfortable clothing, and in the privacy of his own home, that seeing him out here in society, it reminded you that he, too, was a Prince.

The Second Prince – the would have been next King should Ushijima and Rintaro falter.

“My Prince.”

“Princess,” he bowed, taking your hand in his as you made your way back to the dance floor. The music played again, this time louder, and the Prince leaned down until his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. You repressed a gasp, unable to help yourself from digging your nails into his palm when you were greeted by how good he smelled – like mint, new leather, and pine. It also dawned on you how tall and firm the Prince was – perhaps taller and more muscular than Rintaro.

“Y–Yes, Your Highness?”

“Remind me to thank your mother for extending her invites to the forgotten Prince. Imagine my shock when I saw her invitation letter this morning.”

You chuckled nervously, thankful that he had now slightly tilted his head back. “I hardly doubt you are a forgotten prince.”

He snorted, effortlessly spinning you with one hand. “It’s not like I do my duties to begin with. I wouldn’t be surprised if I truly was forgotten,” distracted by his scent, you unknowingly stepped on the hem of your dress and slipped backwards. A scream nearly tore out your throat when the Prince’s large hands cupped the small of your back, your chest pressed to his and his curls brushing against your cheeks as he held you close. “Careful.”

“Th–thank you.”

You were a mess after that. You were never the best dancer, but something about being in the older Prince’s presence made you extra nervous. If he noticed, he didn’t comment on it. He simply danced with grace, and hid his grimace well each time you stepped on his toes. He had also convinced you to stop apologizing every time you did, and by the time the dance was over, you were more than ready to disappear.

“Thank you for the dance, my Prince,” you bowed, words hurried, “I shall see you–”

“Kiyoomi!” a woman appeared out of nowhere, her thick, dark curls pinned up beautifully with some loose strands swaying in time with her hips. She had the same moles as Kiyoomi, and you watched, entranced, as the older woman wrapped her arm casually around the prince. The two shared a silent conversation with their eyes before Kiyoomi glanced at you, and the woman followed his line of sight. “Oh! Your Highness. Greetings. I don’t believe I have introduced myself before – I’m Kanami; Kiyoomi’s mother.”

You smiled at her, politely taking her hand as she extracted herself from her son’s arms and taken to draping herself all over you. Discomfort must be written all over your face, because the Second Prince sent an apologetic smile your way.

“It is an honor to meet you, Miss Kanami. Are you enjoying the night so far? The travel all the way from Itachiyama must have been exhausting.”

“Oh, it was, but it’s all worth it now that we’ve met again!” she squealed, and you paled.

“We have met before?”

Just as she nodded and went about to retelling this so–called meeting, Iris popped up behind Kiyoomi, her smile stiff as she regarded Kanami. Instantly, your mood soured. She hadn’t spoken to you at all tonight, which you were thankful, but something about the thought of her dancing with your husband, and probably being suggestive while at it had your blood boiling.

“Mother! Such a shock seeing you here. I wasn’t aware you were invited.”

Kanami barely glanced her way, her dark, curious eyes still on your face.

“Hello, Iris, and it’s Miss Sakusa, dear,” she corrected, her enthusiastic smile momentarily fading into a scowl before it returned. “Say, Your Highness, since you’re still on your honeymoon period – and I’ve heard your dear husband is too busy these days – would you want to come visit Itachiyama with me? I would be honored to be your host. It will also be a great opportunity to learn more about your Princess duties and politics!” leaning closer, she whispered behind her gloves, although her words were loud enough to be heard by Prince Tooru and Iris. “Although if I will be honest, politics does not interest me in the least bit.”

Your mouth fell open and closed, unsure of what to say, until you settled on chuckling and patting her hand wrapped around your arm. “I… Thank you for invitation, Kanami. I am most tempted to see your beautiful country, but Princess Iris should be the one visiting her territory, should she not?”

Kanami scrunched her nose.“The Princess never grew up in Itachiyama. She would be just as clueless as you. Besides, I have always wanted to invite you over ever since you had Kiyoomi as your last dance on your eighteenth birthday!”

“He… was?”

“He was! Don’t you remember, dear?” she turned to Kiyoomi, who looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him already. But judging by his reaction, it seemed true – Kiyoomi was your last dance on your debut ball. “Well, in that case, I was always fond of you. I may be crossing the line here, but it was always a famous royal saying that whoever was your last dance on your debutante ball was your destined lover.”

#suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou angst #suna x yn #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou x reader #rintaro suna x reader #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader fluff #kiyoomi sakusa x you #suna x you #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #suna rintarō x reader #suna rintarō x you #series: dusk till dawn

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lokisgoodgirl · 1 year ago

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Heirs [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Loki starts your marriage by breaking tradition. Naturally. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Fluff & Smut. Oral. Asgardian HC Lore. Language. Loki POV. (w/c 1.9k)

Loki’s eyes followed the ripples your palms made over the water. Over the curve of your back. The delicate line of your spine. Steam rose in a mist, braiding upwards in the amber glow of sunset through the arched windows.

Sodden rose petals clung delicately to your waist, peppered sporadically on your skin like clean wounds. Beautiful, he thought, letting his robe fall with a rustle around his ankles to the ancient stone of the palace baths.

He smirked as you turned with a splash, instinctually covering your breasts before breaking into a smile. “Husband,” you giggled in greeting. It was the first time you had said it.

The word made him shiver, despite the heat thumping between his legs.

Loki enjoyed the slow crawl of your eyes up his body. You took in every inch of his long legs with the unrestrained hunger of a horny stable-hand, thumbs beginning to subconsciously massage your nipples. There was a flicker of pink as your tongue flashed over your lips, gaze lingering on his cock heavy set between tensed thighs. All yours, my love.

The water was perfectly warm. Hot – but not overly so. Carefully controlled thermal springs which ran into the palace saw to that. With each step into the stilling pool he took, you took a step back.

Even now wed, still ever the tease. Loki’s lips stretched in a mischievous smile, matching your own.

Heat kissed his knees, then his thighs, then his hips– dipping backwards to wet his hair in the perfumed baths. He could feel the weight sink into the tight weaves of his ceremonial braids, wound from his temples, the ends sinking down between floating strands of black. He rose up, rivulets running from his temples down to the nook of his collarbone. The Prince let out a small groan as you reclined on the steps by the side of the pool, only the curve of your mounds visible above gently lapping water. Beautiful.

You bit your lip, resting your elbows on the side. Waiting.

“I might even apologise for interrupting but I believe that would not be the most auspicious start to our marriage,” he coyed, before stopping directly in front of you.

He could feel the cool of your breath against his skin, wafting in teasing waves over the fat tip of his cock protruding from the water. “There will be plenty of time for lies, I'm sure,” you replied with a knowing smile, neck craning up.

Loki shivered again as your lips melded against his stomach, thumbs pressing into his obliques while your fingers curled around his trunk. He could feel droplets roll between his shoulder-blades as his neck tilted back. The feeling of your fingers wrapping around his base of his cock, the gentle suck of your mouth on the thick, swollen head threatening to make his knees buckle. How long he had waited for this. How long you had both waited for this.

“Stop,” he gasped, just as you primed to swallow him whole. Loki would never forget the way your eyes shone with innocent confusion. He looked forward to seeing that moment reflected in your beautiful gaze many times in the coming years. The god bent down, capturing your lips with a messy kiss while he slid beside you on the stone seat concealed beneath the surface.

“Do you know," he began, pausing to brush a thumb over your lips, "that the royal men of Asgard are forbidden from pleasuring their wives with their mouths?” His eyes searching yours, nerves fluttering in his belly. “I have heard it said,” you hummed, curling a thick ebony strand of Loki’s wet hair around your finger. “But it never made sense to me.”

Loki chuckled, leaning forwards to suck gently against your neck.

His tongue would never sate from the taste of your skin. Never. He let out a rasping moan in your ear, one of his hands sliding between your open thighs beneath the water.

The tips of his fingers grazed the plump folds he found, the arch of your back against the terracotta making his shaft twitch against his stomach. “You see, if my tongue is buried between your thighs, wife, it is not my cock.”

“Heirs?” you asked, feigning innocence.

“Heirs.” Loki smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully as his finger trailed lazily down your inner thigh, dragging softly over your knee.

“The most beautiful sounds a woman can make are thus,” he postured casually, leaning one elbow on the side with a fist beneath his temple. Your palms slid teasingly over his stomach, inching further with each time-wasting word. “Firstly, the primal grunt as her blade pierces the flesh of her enemy. And second...”

Loki paused to follow the descent of a particularly fliratatious droplet down the curve of your neck with one long finger, “the shameless groan in her throat as she cums into the mouth of her lover.”

“Is that so?” you said, sliding your hands up over his shoulders. Oil swirling within the heat of the baths made them soft and slick, the lady’s delicate grip against ropes of ferocious muscle making him weaken. Loki felt his brows slant. “You do not believe me?” he murmured incredulously.

The laugh that chimed from your throat made his heart swell.

“My Lord, I am innocent of such things as you well know,” you said, a sarcastic smirk tugging your lips. Loki tutted, playing the game. “I have fought beside you many times, wife. I know that you keep the highest count of men slain by a woman’s hand.”

You nodded thoughtfully, before your head tilted to the side. “I meant the other thing,” you whispered, pressing your lips together. Loki cupped your cheeks as your stare focused on the narrow valley of lapping water between your bodies. He frowned. "Truly?" You nodded. He could feel your cheeks warm beneath his touch. How can it be that a man has never pleasured her so, he thought.

“Then let me show you how black of a steed I truly am in this family of mine,” he heard himself mutter, seeing your chest begin to heave with quickening breaths. “Of all our inane traditions, that is by far the most loathsome.”

The nervous laugh that escaped you bounced to every vault in the high ceilings, sinking through the cross-breeze from the open arches.

“More so than the Ceremony of the Sacred Seed?” you giggled, biting your lip again. Loki nodded, a smile curling one side of his mouth. “The Ceremony is a farce, but this…?” his hands found the curve of your waist beneath the water, lifting you effortlessly to the final step before the bath’s edge. “The waste of my wife’s pleasure from my talents would be unforgivable.”

Water lapped gently at your hipbones while Loki carefully placed your calves over his shoulders. He turned his cheek, placing three kisses gently on wet skin. “Besides, was it not the Ceremony which set our path in motion?” he murmured, before grazing his teeth over your ankle. Your hips bucked upwards, a splash. “At least we may be thankful for that.”

Loki watched in awe as your body leant back against the smooth terracotta ledge, the clear bathwater making rivers and brooks through the creases of your hips. The way your curves stretched and moulded to the stone, fat streaks of water languishing down your supple, oiled skin.

He spread his knees against the bottom step, sinking down. His stomach flipped as your breath hitched, desire roaring behind a demure moan. Your glistening pussy was being lapped by the sway of water, swollen lips revealed and hidden with the graceful tide. Loki hoisted your thighs, positioning you perfectly.

“You know, technically, this is treason against the crown,” he purred teasingly, working sucking kisses up the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He felt them tremble around his neck.

“Husband, please,” you gasped, letting your head drop back. The wet of your hair slopped against the warm stone floor. Loki smirked against your skin, feeling a long breath leave your lungs as his palms lightly gripped your waist. “Very well, Princess-” he smiled.

Loki let his eyes drink in the sight for as long as physics would allow before his lips formed a soft latch to your centre. He stilled, letting you buck into his mouth with a shudder. The warmth of the bathwater lapped at his jaw, liquid silk mingling his tongue with your sex. And like a tame beast, he began a flat ascent up your slit.

The subsequent rattling, gasping cry from your body would never leave him. Surprise, relief, pleasure, freedom – it was all contained in that wordless pitch wavering amongst the bathhouse steam.

He let his tongue curve the softness of your womanhood, hands roaming further up your waist. The curvaceous weight of your breasts cupped in his hands made his cock ache. A vision of sinking himself inside you flashed through his mind, rolling and wrapping in once-pristine matrimonial bedsheets. With every rock of your hips, that delicate pussy crept further from the surface before retreating; never fully submerged but always caressed by the touch of water.

Loki felt your hands slide over his temples, fingers that did not know what to do with themselves playing at his intricate ceremonial braids.

It was tradition for the bride to undo the braiding on the wedding night while her husband rested, utterly spent of course. Of course, Loki thought; as the flat of his tongue pressed against your clit. Your back arched from his palms, an ambrosial moan of his name ringing around the cloisters. But there is time enough for that.

He was vaguely aware of the rumbles of wet enthusiasm bubbling from deep in his throat, the taste of jasmine mingling with the sweet nectar leaking from your entrance. All of it. He wanted all of it. All of her.

Your fingers had knitted into the thick of his braids, pulling his face gently between your thighs. Deeper. Loki smiled against your cunt. He rocked you back, sitting up further on his knees. The god took a breath, pausing to observe the once-forbidden glory of your pussy displayed beneath his loving command.

“How are you mine?” he hummed over your pleasure-drunk form, water dripping from his chin. You melted into his open mouth as he delved down again. His worship was rhythmic, each wax and wane of his talented tongue ringing new wells of praise from your lips. Your hands slid down his glistening biceps, feeling every solid curve and vein on their descent.

He could feel the growing frequency of twitching in your calves, the tense of your thighs as you clung on to the wave of pleasure building in your gut. Gasping, you patted his forearm; but Loki shook his head against your sticky heat.

His eyes rose, seeing your brow furrowed in panicked anticipation. The Prince ran his palms up your thighs from where he knelt, never ceasing his gentle laps against your slit. Relax, my love, it said. I have you.

And with a choked cry of his name, Loki felt a warm well of sweetness against his tongue.

Water splashed against his cheeks as your hips shuddered, your tightened thighs pressing him closer. He slurped, kissing your sex as he would your mouth; massaging the sparks of ecstasy sizzling on every nerve for as long as they could last.

You had dug your fingertips deep into his triceps, riding out your pleasure. As she should, he thought; moaning against your cum-soaked sex. He hoped your enthusiasm would leave bruises. However fleeting.

“My Lord…” he heard you gasp through broken breaths. Loki took a moment to hover before lowering your legs, sinking your hips below the comforting glaze of water. Tendrils of his onyx hair spread on the ripples as you slid down the step to meet his lips with yours.

“My Lady,” he heard himself slur; drunk on the taste of your cum and the tone of your voice, “shall we to bed?”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him close. Fingertips played over the wet knotting of his braids, a loving smile tugging at your mouth. “Heirs?” you said, biting your lip.

“Heirs,” he smouldered.

Keep the wedding night journey going with Husband (follow up)

Tags (cont in comments)

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#loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fluff and smut #loki x reader smut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki x yn smut #loki x you smut #loki imagine #loki gif #loki marvel #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson x reader smut #lokismut

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wraithdance · 3 months ago

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Tf141 and the reasons their partners (you) get mad at them

Note: there will be a part two on reasons they get mad at their wives but it got too long lmao

Cw: mentions of extreme violence, afab!reader no gendered terms, explicit mentions of sex, slight dub-con, breeding, daddy & size kink if you squint, terrible British-isms and I’m not as funny as I think I am lol -not editing this so read at your own risk

Ghost will piss you off by: Wearing his full military get up (including the hardened skull mask) to intimidate anyone he thinks is interested in you.

It isn’t enough that you verbally decline less than polite or platonic advances, or show off your wedding ring proudly. He wants the weak fucks to know that he kills people for a living and would systematically break every bone in their body, reset them and break them all over again. That is before he stares them right in the eye as he fucks you until there’s enough cream leaking onto his cock to sail to the other side of the pond- thrice.

At least that’s what he told the local butcher who gave you his number last week. The man had been so frightened he burst into great weeping sobs and banned you both from coming into the shop.

You’d been pissed for a week straight and yelled at Simon every time you thought about it. It always ended with his large hands grasping at the back of your neck, damn near scruffing you, while you take as much of his cock down your throat. He’s letting you do the work of opening your throat and taking him as far as you can, but he glares in warning when you retreat. Your nose brushes the sprinkle of hair at the base of his cock when you take him deeper, watching a full body shudder wrack him. He’s close by the far off look in his eyes and the raspy hum/moans he does when he’s entered that space in his head you can’t reach. When his balls twitch as a tell tale sign of his release you plop him out of your throat and swat his hands off of you. It takes him a concerning amount of time to come back to earth and understand the haughty look on your face.

Before you flounce out of the room you tell him he doesn’t get to cum since he can’t learn to behave. That he can finish himself off or go apologize to the nice man. You’re only half surprised when he glares at you and takes his cock in hand tight to get back to that glorious sweet spot. He was such a stubborn bastard. The man was just trying to arrange the charcuterie order for your friend’s baby shower, for fucks sake!

But Simon didn’t give a fuck, his cuts of meat were shit anyways.

Soap pisses you off by: nearly burning down the house. You love him for his passion for life and you’d learned to navigate around his inattentive and reckless nature over the years. The problem of not landing ass first into the bottom of the toilet could be solved by simply looking before you go. but putting out multiple fires throughout the week because he got too caught up in whatever fleeting thing caught his interest, could not.

The last near fire was caused by him accidentally overcooking a package of Buldak noodles you’d hoarded from your last Asian food market trip. He’d run into your shared bedroom to show you a video of a ‘Bonnie little lass’ reciting the names of every country, which somehow ended up with you under him, with your knees locked up around your ears. he bullied his cock deep inside your cunt until it felt like a punch in the throat. Your wails doing nothing to cover his throaty moans as he asked you to say yes to giving him a baby

‘What do ye think about making me a Da, dove? Give me fat wee ones to chase after? Aye, you don’t have to say it I feel, you choking my cock. give me one more and I’ll give you what you want, Bonnie”

It was right when you were about to scream some semblance of an affirmation that you’d smelled the smoke. You’d screech for the dirty dog you called your husband to get off of you when he’d kept stroking into you with vigor, saying to wait one sec he was close. When you’d finally ran into the kitchen with a pussy addled Soap stumbling on your heels you came face to face with a blazing fire. The pot containing the ramen was bone dry and the blackened noodles were little more than kindling.

The process of putting out the fire was quick, you’d learned to keep multiple fire extinguishers on hand, but the kitchen still stank of smoke for weeks and the backsplash remained warped with the smoke stains. Soap wasn’t allowed to cook anymore or ask for a kid for at least six months as it was enough work keeping the house safe from his shenanigans.

Gaz will piss you off by: Having to have the last word. Your sweet man was perfect in nearly every way. He was attentive, romantic in all the right ways and made it a priority to make love to you to the point of tears. The problem was he was fucking petty.

The reasonably level headed man became an absolute shit when he felt slighted even a little bit. It didn’t matter if it was over something reasonable, like your overspending on a gift for a male co-workers birthday or a childish argument over who was the actual winner of a friendly Uno game during date night (he insisted you looked while he was in the bathroom), Kyle had to have the final say.

You’d been arguing for three days about, well you don’t even recall. You just hated the cold shoulder Kyle gave you and the space between you in bed where he’d normally be. You’d finally given up your pretense of being upset and stood before him as he sat on the couch with a solemn expression. You asked for you both to reach an impasse tired of arguing, for him to please come back to bed. He continued to pretend to read the stack of junk mail that collected on the coffee table with interest.

‘Don’t know luvie, wouldn’t want to get in the way of your alone time.’ He sniffed indignantly.

You stood confused, trying to decipher his tone and meaning before your eyes narrowed into slits.

‘Kyle are you fucking mad because I watched the final episode without you?’

His dead pan glaring made you stomp in indignation. In your defense, He’d been out in the field for six months and you couldn’t help it that Netflix kept playing the show you had both started while you were asleep. And so what if you did happen to keep watching when you’d finally woke up, he was on LEAVE for six whole months!

You spent the next hour arguing with him on the illogicalness of staying mad but he’d come up with snarky quips. It only slightly pissed you off that the only way he agreed to let things go was if you’d let him cum inside during anal. He’d agreed with a smug smile and shepherd you out of your pajamas and into your bedroom.

Price will piss you off by: trying to reprimand you like one of his soldiers. The key to a blissful marriage to a man like Price is having a willingness to pick your battles. Your husband is loyal and a provider through and through. it didn’t take much effort to just let him lead you both in decisions- you trusted him deeply. But, the man was gruff and prone to callousness especially after being away from home for long bouts of time. Weeks spent on classified missions taking down the big baddies of the world and being up to his elbows in blood and shit made him edgy.

During an impromptu shopping trip that he’d insisted on tagging along on, he’d turned into a nightmare. If it weren’t you in the situation you would be humored by the 42 year old military Captain acting like a toddler over how long you were taking to shop. But you were on the other end of his surmounting tantrum and it wasn’t cute how much he was reminding you of the big ass toddler you both shared. It all came to head when your son’s daycare teacher, Mrs. Hudson, spotted you and came over to chat.

You’d done your best to try and rush the conversation along, aware of the brooding bear of a man behind you. The sweet but a tad dense woman did not clue in to your subtle hints to speed things along. She was too content on telling you about your son’s acclimation to singing the potty song whenever he needed to go tinkle.

Just as you were going to politely interject, John had un-pried your hands from the shopping cart and promptly pushed/dragged you from the aisle without a word. You weren’t even aware of what was happening until you met the startled eyes of your son’s teacher as she watched your retreat, Your cart full of groceries left in the middle of the aisle.

Fuming you kept carefully silent all the way home, even as he barked at you to ‘get in the damn car’ and to buckle your seatbelt. Rage burned the hairs of your nostrils like a blacksmiths fire as you grit your teeth hard enough to hurt. It was much to your disgust that your seething husband lost his own anger midway through the trek home. His tensed shoulders loosened as he tapped the wheel of the car, having the audacity to hum softly to the radio station. Your eye twitched.

You really hoped your son didn’t grow up to be an incel with daddy issues and a podcast mic-because you were about to murder his father.

You didn’t wait for John to open your car door. You jump out and race across the lawn, slamming the passenger door behind you. You hadn’t looked back until you’d crossed the threshold of your home making sure to look your husband in the eye when you try to slam the ornate dark wood in his face before he entered. He’d pointedly narrowed his eyes when he blocks the door for closing and you knew he’d make it a thing later. It was rude but you hold tight to your self righteousness and venomous mood. It wasn’t until after you fed your son an impromptu dinner of cut up sausage patties and a handful of fish shaped crackers that you face a circling Price.

‘‘I can’t believe you! Why would you embarrass me like that, John!’’ You hissed.

He scoffed from his place at the kitchen island, he stretches into a stand. You’re irritated at needing to step back from his crowding, agitated when your thoughts get caught on the broadness of his shoulders in his tshirt. He’d filled out even more since he’d been gone. You loved his body in all forms but the last few years he’d gained a bit of belly fat from desk duty after having decided to cut back on field missions to help out with your young son. Now after months away he was all lean muscles and broad everywhere.

You know you’re already leaking at the thought of taking him and the arrogant twitch of his beard says he knows the same. But you’re not willing to back down. He can’t just bully you into doing what he wants when he doesn’t like something. You’re his spouse dammit not one of his men! At least that’s what you think you said to him. You don’t quite remember the concept of time or your own middle name when he traps you against the granite tower and fucks you until your eyes cross.

“Say it, darling. Tell daddy you’re sorry, love.”

You try to deny it with all your heart, you swear it. But his big hand snakes out in front of you to work your clit in tight circles before you can get the letter ‘N’ in no out. Behind you he leans back and down just enough to switch angles. It’s enough that every thrust is of him drilling his girthy cock into your g-spot with rapid succession. He doesn’t let your screams meet air for longer than a millisecond. He clasps his free hand over your mouth muffling your cries. He tells you not to wake his son and to take his cock like a good wife.

You sheepishly wave at Mrs. Hudson from the carpool lane the next time you drop off your son for school. You’d make a note to drop her off some flowers when you came back for pick up.

#tf 141 x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #baby face #mr clean #wraith king #big daddy

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platinumshawnn · 4 months ago

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood x OC!Tully — pt iii

masterlist | playlist | backward | forward

A/N: hi, this post comes to you from queue while i'm at a festival. i'm back with another chapter and some attempted proof reading <33

Synopsis: news of Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen's murder rocks the Seven Kingdoms, intensifying tensions at Raventree Hall. Benjicot urges immediate action against House Bracken, while Samwell advises caution. Serra seeks solace in the godswood amidst growing unease. With the wedding approaching, diplomatic tensions rise as troop movements near their borders escalate, casting a shadow over Benjicot and Serra's impending union

Content Warning(s): adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content, mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation.

Word count: 6.2k

There was no taming the crowd after Samwell’s announcement.

Samwell Blackwood had always been known as a fierce leader who could bring order to any room — stern and formidable in nature, he embodied the traditional values of House Blackwood and its members; a man of thin, slender stature with a quiet voice, he could have been mistaken for being a mild, non-threatening man. If not for his reputation that preceded him his entire life, he might not have appeared as much more than a middle-aged man with tired, sunken eyes that were dark in contrast to his fair complexion, raven-haired with a slight limp that had been acquired from his years of training and small battles that left him permanently scarred — however, quiet as he was, he had a fierce stare that often shifted, like he was constantly analysing his surroundings and a stoic expression most often than not. It was no secret that he was a gifted warrior who was skilled with a sword. At most, the few smiles that he offered were small, ghost-like and never quite reaching his eyes, though reserved for only special occasions.

Serra had witnessed it for the first time in years on the night of her arrival. That little bit of warmth he had in his marrow still, pouring out in small gestures; a squeeze to her hand and reassuring her that her comfort was his utmost priority.

He had been silent the rest of the feast — or whatever it had spiralled into, with his fist pressed to his mouth and expression pinched into one of concentration as the shouting continued; several questions arising amidst the news, “Prince Jaehaerys has been murdered.” It was unsettling to say the least, how calm and collected he was as the words had rolled off his tongue with such nonchalance as though he was only announcing something small such as a shift in the weather; his silence that followed spoke volumes however. His gaze watched the table, the chaos unfolding as men and their own children, and their wives were suddenly in uproar, panic ensuing. Serra vaguely made out the questions, the cries, the slamming of fists on the table that would cause the wood to shudder under her hands; her plate and utensils shaking with the sheer force and clattering against one another. Her gaze had kept down, pinned to the table and unmoving as she eyed the roast goose that had long-since gone cold on her plate, her hands folding in her lap and picking at her nails as she attempted to drown out the noise by the task of ripping at skin until she was near bloody.

“I told you this union would bring nothing but death,” A voice called out, elderly and male, gruff as a clatter of a cup followed. Her head briefly lifted to turn in the direction it came from, finding as an elderly Lord Perryn stood from his seat, “An ill-omen, forged in haste and shadowed by distrust— and what now, Lord Blackwood? You would have my sons die for your own need for more power? Have we not sacrificed enough for your cause, are you not yet satisfied?”

Serra’s head turned to look towards Lord Blackwood, who remained silent and otherwise unbothered by the older Lord’s words, aside from a twitch of his eye as his gaze shifted to her father. She admired the restraint he possessed, unlike his son, and the ability that even when he did not speak, he still oozed self-assured confidence that wasn’t arrogant or reckless but that of maturity and years of experience. She made note for the first time since arrival, that while his son was immature and had yet to grow into himself and his role, she could still see a glimmer of similarity between the two men — both physically and in personality.

She was, however, suddenly startled by the slam of her father’s hand against the table, watching as he stood to his feet with his glare cast down the table. “You would do best to mind your tongue, Lord Perryn,” He loudly warned, a finger jabbing in his direction. “Do not dare curse my daughter’s marriage for the bloodshed.” He continued, his voice shaking with anger.

Serra had never known her father to be a cruel, or angry man. Hell, she had only even heard him shout on a small handful of occasions, thus his reaction left her stunned; staring up at him with wide eyes, watching as he seemed to flip a switch and become a different man right in front of her. Though his outburst did not silence the table entirely, met once again by another voice that shouted from down the table, “Does it not seem strange that coincidentally while you announce your daughter’s betrothal and we are here feasting, children are being murdered in their beds like cattle? Don’t be foolish, Elmo, surely that is some sort of sign—!”

The young Lord who had spoken up second was met with shouts of support, heads nodding in agreement, the anger and tension in the air palpable. She watched then as her father reached quickly for his left hip and withdrew the dagger he kept sheathed there, his hand once again slamming into the table with such force, she visibly jumped in her seat and brought her hands over her ears to cover them from the harsh sound of dishes clattering to the floor; the dagger’s blade lodged into the table as he looked towards the second voice that spoke up, “That is enough, SIT DOWN!”

Serra’s eyes had squeezed shut, head down as the room erupted into further pandemonium, attempting to make herself as small as she physically could in her own seat, wanting nothing but to flee; her feet attempting to push the chair back and away from the table, but unsuccessful. The chair was stuck — she was stuck, and suffocating, drowning as her hands clenched into fists against her ears as she attempted again to shove her chair back, but meeting resistance again. Her chest felt tight with fear and anxiety as her heart pounded in her ears, praying that if this was the moment she died, she would go fast — prayed that the Gods would at least have mercy and that the ground would open up and swallow her whole right then and there.

Her chair was yanked back suddenly, a hand grabbing her left elbow and dragging her upwards and away from the table, like some sort of saviour that had come to answer all her prayers. She gasped in relief, stumbling back and turning to come face-to-face with Kermit, who held her elbow with such a tight grip, she would be sure to have marks in the days to come; but she did not care. She reached out for him, struggling to breathe as he lowered his head to find her gaze, a look of worry on his face as he grabbed her other elbow and gently shook her, his mouth opening with words that she could not quite make out. His head rose to look around, before looking back at his sister and shouting, “Let’s go- now, let’s go!”

She looked at him wide eyed, stumbling over her own feet and thighs bumping into her chair as he turned and began to drag her towards the door, her right elbow in his grasp. A second pair of hands appeared, much larger as one came up and underneath her left bicep, forcing her upright with a sharp jerk that radiated pain throughout the joint as she was rushed out of the great hall. Her head turned to glance behind her and towards where her father remained at the table, along with Oscar who craned his head to look for her from beside their father amidst the havoc. It was only once the doors slammed shut behind them and she was being hurried up the stairs towards her room did she finally breathe, gasping for air as she all but ran to keep up with the longer strides of her brother and the second male who had yet to say anything.

The run back to her rooms felt longer than it ever had, her lungs screaming for oxygen and joints aching as the three approached her door. Kermit reached to open the door as she was then shoved inside, nearly tripping over her dress but steadied by the second’s hand. It was only once she was safe in the confines of her room did she turn to look at him — truly, look at him — finding Benjicot already reaching for the door handle to pull the door closed. He seemed to hesitate, his eyes catching hers and pausing. Even in the dim lighting that the moon provided, streaming in through the window, she saw his eyes narrow and mouth open as if he wanted to say something to her but interrupted by Kermit’s voice.

“Stay here.” He instructed, his defeated expression over Benjicot’s shoulder.

Kermit spun and turned on his heel before Serra could muster a reply, leaving the Blackwood heir standing there, his eyes still on her.

“What-” She began to ask but stopped as he blinked a couple of times, snapping out of whatever daze kept him at her door; his mouth snapping shut abruptly and giving her a small nod before he shut the door in her face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was a sleepless night for the Blackwood and Tully men. After Benjicot and Kermit had returned to the great hall, the leftover contents of what had once been a celebration now torn apart and ruined at the hands of angry men, Benjicot had spent the remainder of the evening playing at damage control. Naturally, on their own, men and their families had started to trickle out the door, muttering and scoffing as guards nearly shoved them out of Raventree’s looming halls. It had taken several hours to clear everyone out and even get the hall close to presentable, but it had been done — however, the pressing issue at hand had yet to be resolved.

War was coming — Benjicot was no fool. He was also not foolish enough to believe his betrothal had any hand in the matter, either.

Amidst overseeing that everything was cleaned and put back together as best the hall could be, he had found himself wandering, pacing around the table and trying to offer a hand in cleaning up chalices and dishes that had been strewn about in the madness; stacking them in his arms as he circled. His pace was slow, gaze lingering as his eyelids grew heavier with exhaustion -- soon enough an hour passed into two, and by the time the hall looked even close to what it had previously been, the sun was already rising; Kermit having since retreated to his chambers at his insistence. He hadn’t been much company in his tired state, silent and lurking as he tried to help, but instead getting in the way more often than not — he knew his friend hadn’t slept much the night prior either, having been riddled with anxiety over the arrival of his father and worried about whether he had been successful in his duty, and Benjicot would not have asked him to stay up again.

The glow of sunrise was streaming in through the windows by the time the last of the chairs had been returned to their place and the last dish brought to the kitchen, servants beginning to make their way back to their own quarters, leaving him sat alone in the great hall; his tired gaze out the window as he perched himself in the window’s ledge that overlooked the gardens. His hands were preoccupied by a cup that had been thrown among the fighting earlier that night, him entering the hall just as it missed Oscar’s head, slamming into the wall behind him and splattering wine against the cool, marble walls; Elmo having dragged him out of the way just in time. The cup had been thrown by a young Bigglestone boy after Oscar had made a snide remark in his direction after an insult had been muttered about his sister — the soon-to-be-bride — a comment that had labelled the poor girl as his ‘Blackwood bitch’. Benjicot had simply chosen to tune him out and ignore him as he attempted to taunt the heir, muttering a lewd comment at him as he brushed past the youth who implied he’d defiled her in his short leave from the room because there was no use fighting with him and making things worse than they already were in the given climate of things.

He slid from his spot in the window, his gaze dropping to the cup in his hand as he slowly dragged himself towards the table that was spotless; a ghost of last night’s events as he approached the head. The cup was set down, his eyes being drawn to the chip in the wood where Lord Elmo’s dagger had pierced itself; having left a visible mark in the dark wood, splintered in the process of yanking it from its depths. Benjicot could still see his father’s roll of eyes when his peer had yanked the dagger out, noticing the new mark — before landing on him again, giving him a raised eyebrow. He had given him a nod as if to answer that ‘she was alright’, tucked away in the safety of her room — Elmo wouldn’t have ever forgiven him if anything had come to her, if he broke his word.

“Have you slept at all?”

His head whipped around towards where his father stood in the doorway, his expression plain and still as he eyed his son, his hands at the hilt of his sword at his waist.

“No.” Benjicot admitted, his gaze turning back to the table towards where Serra had sat prior.

He heard his father hum as his hand reached out to brush over the chipped wood, fingers memorising the imperfection, “Any particular reason?” Samwell asked.

His tone was flat and held no particular emotion — but Benjicot had never really known his father to be an expressive man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He had always been reserved and stoic, and the type of man you had to read between the lines with — he cared, somewhere deep down, Benjicot knew he cared, but he didn’t show it the way other parents did. It had been a confusing trait as a child, but as he grew, he’d come to terms with it and understood it better; not perfected, but just enough to communicate. Even if he recalled his childhood and thought of his parents, and the relationship they shared, Benjicot never knew them to be warm and affectionate in the way other parents were — not in the way he had witnessed between the Tully’s; with Elmo and his wife, with their open affection and adoration for one another, their loyalty to each other possessing a depth that Benjicot wasn’t sure he could understand. He’d envied it, even as a boy.

His head tilted, eyes still downcast on the table as his shoulders rose and fell with a breath, unsure why he had stayed up all night. Surely, he wasn’t obligated to stay awake and watch over the staff as they cleaned up — they would have done well on their own. He shrugged, while dragging his thumb across the splintered wood, noting the sharp ridges that just pricked his finger, but not enough for the wood to pierce his skin and embed itself into his finger, “Figured…I would stay here, oversee that everything was fixed. Made presentable again.” He mumbled, his voice quiet as it carried across the room to where his father watched him.

“They would have been fine.” He stated, sharing his exact thoughts. He didn’t answer, his gaze lifting and looking at Serra’s chair, his eyes falling on a handkerchief that had fallen into her seat sometime in the scuffle to get her out of there, “How is Serra?” Samwell asked.

“Shaken. Terrified…seems like everything scares her though.” He admitted.

The image of her face, screwed up in fear, with her hands over her ears like a frightened child was still ingrained in his mind, helpless to flee from the conflict. He had only noticed her terror upon seeing Kermit’s face, across the table and waving Benjicot up as her chair crashed into his knee when he turned to stand; he had tried to grab the chair, stop her and move the chair with more grace, but was again slammed by the chair as it jammed into his chest. In that very moment, he felt sorry for her — his shoulders relaxing and truly feeling sorry for the girl who had not a single violent, angry bone in her body.

“She’s a sensitive girl,” His father stated, falling into a silent pause before speaking again. “She always has been, if you remember.” He quickly added, trying to gauge his son’s reaction on the matter.

He sighed under his breath, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Benjicot finally looked over at his father, their eyes meeting, sensing that his father wanted to say more. But he was silent, his own dark eyes settling on the handkerchief embroidered with flowers in the Tully’s house colours.

His father had always had a soft spot for Serra, even as children. He couldn’t count anymore how many times he and his father had quarrelled over the subject of being kinder to her -- maybe it was in part because Samwell had only ever had the one child, a son, and he felt the paternal instinct to protect her. Maybe he considered her like a daughter in those moments, and it made him wonder if the idea to betroth them had always been there, somewhere in the background and Benjicot had just failed to see it.

“I realise you would probably prefer to rest but we have a meeting. I advise you to go, clean up and change before the council gathers to discuss last night’s news.” Samwell said, eyeing his son’s appearance, his expression softening just the smallest bit — the only way that Benjicot had come to recognize it, by the way the tension in his brow eased.

Benjicot nodded, feeling worse than he probably appeared, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a tousled mess. His clothes from the night prior were probably covered in wine and food, caked somewhere to the fabric if he looked, but he knew he probably smelled even worse; with yesterday’s events still on his skin like a layer of grime that only he could feel. He waited, however, until his father turned to leave before he moved, circling the table towards the chair that had once seated the Tully girl. His fingers snapped up the fabric that had been abandoned, balling it into his fist as he then strode out of the hall, following in tow of his father’s prior movements.

And even as he returned to his room, dressed and splashed some water onto his face from the basin, he still did not feel any better. He did not feel any less hollow and heavy, limbs pinned at his side with exhaustion as he returned a mere few moments later to the familiar private solar that belonged to his father. His feet dragged as he walked, trudging his way through the castle, and even before the doors had opened, he could hear the voices of the men inside; already in debate.

There was a pause when he entered, their eyes turning to greet him as he forced himself to walk across the room and take his place by his father’s right. Benjicot noted that while the group was smaller than usual, he recognized the lords from the night prior; much calmer than the last time they had been in the same room as his father had hesitated, voice faltering mid-sentence at his arrival, “I understand the concern over what happens next following the death of the prince, but we do not have any reason to suspect that the Brackens will use this as an opportunity to move in.” Samwell resumed, his gaze briefly flickering to his son before it cast down to Lord Charlton.

“They already have begun, I hear— there are whispers that your men patrolling the borders say they spotted a camp of Bracken men close to the boundaries in the early hours of the morning.” He stated, his eyes expectant and waiting for an answer.

Samwell’s gaze was unflinching, hands planted on the table in front of him as a hushed series of mutters broke out in response, the young Lord Edric Charlton who Benjicot recognized — not quite the head of his house yet, rather, he was the heir apparent to his father, Lord Jon Charlton. He was barely ten-and-seven, tall and thin with a boyish face despite his efforts to appear older underneath an unruly beard and knight uniform that was too big, making him resemble a boy playing pretend with his father’s clothes. The sight of him brought Benjicot a sense of relief that while he had never been as strong and sturdy as a Northernman, he had at least grown into his height and filled out enough that at least his clothes flattered him, fitting just right and not hanging from his limbs like some sort of sack.

“They know better than to set camp on Blackwood land,” Samwell asserted, his tone dismissive. “They are not of any concern at this point in time.”

“And then what, when they do decide to make their move?” The voice this time comes from Lord Jason Mallister, his voice a low timbre that cut through the mutters among the men who quietly debated in between questions.

“Then rest assured, we will be prepared.” Elmo spoke, the confidence in his voice unwavering, stepping forward from his previous position close to the wall.

“I will not have any unnecessary bloodshed without a suitable cause.” Samwell continued, standing upright from his leaned position.

“So, we sit and wait and allow the Brackens to have the upper hand, by growing stronger every day in the meantime?” Benjicot suddenly interrupted, his voice quiet as he looked at his father. It was a bold decision for him to defy his father’s orders, even just challenging them, but his exhaustion and distaste for the Brackens lessened his inhibitions in speaking. The room turned to stare at the heir, who had otherwise been silent up to that point — his own father turned, too, looking at him. In a moment of bravery, he cared little for trying to hold back and restrain himself, restless as he let out a breath and rolled his shoulders, “The news from King's Landing is a clear sign that we must act. The Targaryens are vulnerable, and the Brackens are undoubtedly planning to exploit this chaos. This is only a warning. We need to take decisive action before they do. We cannot delay it any longer.” He slowly explained, the room hanging on his every word, earning a couple of low hums in agreement from the room.

His father, however, remained silent and stared at him; Benjicot held his eye for a moment, “Benjicot, your passion is commendable,” he said, emphasis on his last word, “but we must temper it with wisdom. Rushing into conflict without a clear strategy could lead to our ruin. We need to gather more information and strengthen our alliances before making any move.”

“Your father is right. We cannot afford to act rashly, especially with the news from King's Landing still uncertain. A misstep now could shatter our alliances.” Elmo interjected, cutting through the palpable tension between the Blackwood father and son.

He was grateful for Elmo’s interruption, giving him reason to drop his father’s gaze and shifting his eyes to look towards Lord Elmo, “Forgive me, I only mean to suggest we should pressure the Bracken cunts into remembering their place.” He explained. “They encroach on our lands, in an effort to test our defences. We need to show them that House Blackwood and its allies will not be intimidated. Send me, I will take a small fleet of men to confront them at the borders—”

“Absolutely not. I will not have you running so freely, making messes while there are more pressing matters at hand—no.” Samwell stated, rambling, his annoyance to the idea clear. “I understand your frustration, son, but impulsiveness will not serve us well. We must consider the wider implications of our actions. The Brackens are not our only concern; the realm is in turmoil. A poorly timed strike could isolate us from other potential allies and make us vulnerable to our enemies.”

Benjicot stepped forward, approaching the table and facing his father who shot him a warning look, “You would truly rather risk giving them the opportunity to make the first move on us? In these times?” He questioned, dumbfounded. “And then what? Would you truly rather sit and wait for them to advance and burn Raventree to the ground?”

“No— no, Gods be good, Benjicot!” Lord Samwell snapped, slamming a hand into the table, “we prepare. We fortify our positions, gather intelligence, and reach out to other houses who share our concerns. We build a coalition that can stand against the Brackens and any other threats that may arise. This is a time for careful planning, not reckless aggression.”

Ben saw reason in his father’s words — he didn’t lack intelligence and was a reasonable man when it came to matters of battle and of council. Reckless, sure, but he was smart enough to see the value in his words and approach, and had always admired his father’s wisdom and experience. But the suggestion of inaction while Brackens taunted them by camping right there, right in their fucking faces — it spurred a deep rage in him, his jaw clenched so hard he felt it would break any moment. He was restless, and anxious these days, to say the least.

“Our people look to us for protection. If we hesitate, we risk appearing weak. The Brackens and any others that stand against us and the rightful queen must know that any aggression will be met with force.” Benjicot countered, his tone persistent and pushing like a child testing their parent’s patience -- a battle that Samwell was used to after twenty-one years. Slowly, Ben dragged his eyes around the room as the sound of mutters rose up once again, met with a few mutters that agreed -- it seemed as though the older, experienced Lords sided one way, in favour of restraint while the younger lords muttered in agreement. The sight emboldened him, squaring his shoulders.

“Benjicot raises a valid point. The Brackens have been testing our boundaries. A show of strength might deter them from further provocations.” A gruff sounding Lord Roose Rivers agreed, an older man that only made an appearance when it mattered most.

Benjicot turned to look at his father, catching the twitch up a scowl on his lip as he sighed, “A show of strength, yes, but not without a plan.” He said. “We need to gather more intelligence, understand their movements, and ensure our own defences are impenetrable.”

Elmo nodded from his father’s left, his gaze scanning the scrolls that littered the table, “Indeed. The wedding is set for a fortnight, and with it, the eyes of many houses will be upon us. Any action we take must be measured and precise.”

For the first time in days, the mention of the wedding returned, and any confidence that Benjicot had briefly experienced was fleeting; his heart pounding suddenly as his head turned to look at his father at the mention of the wedding date. Samwell did not even bother to look at him, though he could see the way he blinked and looked down, his mouth twisting into a subtle frown and avoiding his gaze. There had not even been any consultation that involved him in the decision -- he assumed Elmo and his father had met before they all gathered and made the unanimous decision before he’d even had a chance to protest. He felt sick, swallowing thickly and looking away, remembering to respond before the silence dragged out too long.

“I understand the need for caution, but we cannot wait forever. We…must send a message that we are ready to defend our lands.” He stuttered, his voice quieter now.

He watched as councilman Merrett Rivers leaned forward in his chair,”Perhaps a compromise. We could strengthen our patrols along the border, make it clear we are vigilant. This would show our resolve without committing to open conflict.”

His father spoke, gaze turning to look at Elmo who shrugged, nodding, “That could work. Increased patrols will demonstrate our readiness and buy us time to devise a more comprehensive strategy.” His body turned to face the heir who still felt as though his head was underwater, a sharp pain throbbing behind his right eye and squeezing the hilt of his dagger, “Does that please you, Benjicot?” He asked, his tone sharp.

He reluctantly found his father’s eye, pinning him to his very spot as he slowly offered a nod, “Very well. We will increase the patrols. That way we are ready for them, should they come.”

For the first time in years, Samwell smiled -- though it was not a genuine smile, holding no warmth or sincerity as his mouth pressed into a fine line, tight and visibly forced; it was unsettling, cold, and caused him to swallow again and want to shrink back into his corner. His hand suddenly lifted quickly to his shoulder, coming down heavy enough to jostle him, gripping his shoulder with an almost painfully tight squeeze that feigned an affectionate gesture, ”We will, my son. Trust in the wisdom of caution, and we might navigate these turbulent times together.”

Samwell’s hand slid from his shoulder after a moment, turning his head to look away, though Benjicot remained unmoving and feeling the seething anger that radiated from the older man, knowing he had overstepped. He had overstepped and he wouldn’t hear the end of it, he would be lectured in private for undermining him -- in the heat of the moment, bold and stupid, he had gotten too carried away and felt invincible and brave for a moment.

“Now…onto the next order. We’ve received word of a troop movement from the Swyft household.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

For yet another sleepless night, Serra was plagued by dreams that were hardly more than smears of colour and images of Benjicot’s face.

It seemed as though, the moment she stepped foot into Raventree three days prior, she had not been able to escape him -- both in sleep and awake. He seemed to be at every turn and there was no avoiding him, despite her best efforts. He was the only clear thing that her dreams held on to, her eyelids fluttering with sleep as the night seemed to drag into years for her, waking every hour just to briefly scan her room, only for eyes to close again.

Though, unlike the boy who skulked the halls of Raventree Hall, the boy in her dreams was all soft smiles, pleased and content with gentle eyes and reaching out to touch her cheeks. He was careful and kind, his tone low and sweet as honey -- she couldn’t grasp just what it was he was saying, his mouth moving with words, but her dream prevented her from making sense of it. He was speaking to her but her brain could not comprehend what it was he was saying.

And then there was a boy…dimpled, sweet, and with raven hair.

He reached for her, bouncing on his heels excitedly as he summoned her forward. He was familiar in the way that you remember your first friend, all but three and beautiful. Serra assumed it was Benjicot too, however, the boy in front of her lacked the scar above his lip, and the smile was different. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but there was something about him at the tip of her finger that was different.

She vaguely recalled the boy coming towards her, hand outstretched and planting to her abdomen and shouting something. She had tried to ask him to repeat it but the words still did not reach her ears. Planted against a swollen belly, filled by babe. His face had melted into something of terror then, bloodied and distraught, her gaze drifting behind him where the bodies lay stacked, stiffened with death and the waft of burning flesh -- her skin burned, the heat of the field behind him that was ablaze as he shouted up at her.

And then there he was again -- Benjicot, knelt in front of her as his hand reached out to her smeared in blood as fingers splayed out across her belly. His expression this time, however, pleading to her, begging and sobbing in fear. He looked small for the first time, like a frightened child and it caused her heart to genuinely ache for the boy.

Since dawn, she had found herself in the godswoods behind Raventree, sitting at the foot of the dead weirwood tree looming over her as she observed its trunk. She had heard years ago about the rumours -- the story of Brackens poisoning the once lively, beautiful tree, though the latter vehemently denied the accusations. The source of a long standing feud that more often than not ended bloody.

She had woken to her hand at her belly that morning, right over where Benjicot’s had placed itself, tugging at the fabric of her skirt like a young boy trying to get his mother’s attention. The image of his face haunted her, scared and wide eyed as he pleaded. For what? She did not know. The words had long since faded, slipping from her despite how hard she concentrated on retelling its details.

Her fingers were plucking at the grass, some spots dried and dead around the tree, with its face faded with time. By noon, she had missed breakfast, refusing to leave her spot at its foot and listening to the distant sounds of ravens that hung over the hall and the distant shout from men when Ser Alistair approached her and notified her. It seemed noon would soon too pass and she would miss lunch when a voice cleared their throat from behind her, her gaze not lifting from the grass underneath her fingers, “Yes?”

“Do you plan to join us for dinner?” Kermit asked, his hands folded behind him as he expectantly looked at his sister. He watched as she lifted her gaze briefly, eyes closed and inhaling deeply.

She looked down again, “I don’t think so.”

Her brother hummed in response, nodding slightly behind her. He reluctantly approached her side, kneeling beside her and looking up at the tree in front of them — she glanced towards him from the corner of her eye, “It would have been beautiful to see in its glory.” He suddenly announced, her gaze flickering up towards the tree that held his attention. “I always preferred the godswood here.” Kermit continued.

They were silent for a moment as he just sat and observed the tree, his sister silent and plucking and collecting grass in her fist that she sprinkled down every so often, “You’re getting thin and wasting.” He said, his head turning to look at her.

“It’s only been three days.” She replied, voice soft. “I have eaten.”

“Next to naught.” He quickly countered. “Father worries about you, you know. As do I.”

Her head lifted, squinting as the sun momentarily managed to peek through the clouds that hung over the land, bright in her eyes as she sighed, “Do not patronise me, Kermit. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

She could see him frown from where he sat, “I do not patronise you. I sincerely mean it. You know I care about your wellbeing.”

She scoffed a bitter laugh, “You’ve a funny way of showing that.”

He looked down to his lap, silent once again in quiet contemplation. He remembered what he had done, in his drunken stupor, “I do not find your suffering funny, you know that, Serra.” He said, looking up. “There is no need for theatrics.”

She stared at him then, stunned that he did not seem remorseful, “Theatrics?” She echoed, hurt by the choice of word. “You laughed, brother. He humiliated me and you laughed. After you tried to convince me that he would be an honourable husband to take. You laughed.”

“I did not mean it.” He sincerely said, his voice softening as he deflated with a sigh, looking back to find her eyes. “I would never do that to you. Never in my sober mind.”

“You are supposed to be on my side— you are supposed to defend and protect me.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t do that.”

He quietly spoke above a whisper, “I know.”

She looked away and up at the tree, unsure what else there was to say to him, “if I could undo it, redo everything, I would.” He said. “I wish I could. But do not starve yourself for that— I made a mistake, and I’m sorry.” Kermit said.

She looked at him, right in his face as he glanced over at her. He pushed himself up from the ground, standing over her and leaning to rest a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Please eat.” He encouraged, before he withdrew his hand and returned to the house.

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