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You watch Naoya from the doorway. He’s sitting in a chair by the window, socked foot resting on the piano keys. “Finally,” he grunts, “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about your husband.” You hum and step inside the room.
“Fiancé,” you correct, sitting down on the piano bench. “How could I forget someone who demands my attention 24/7, anyway?” Naoya sneers at you, crossing his arms. Your gaze trails to where his biceps press against the fabric of his yukata.
“Quiet, woman,” he says. He pauses for a brief moment, and you watch his eyes flicker up and down your figure. “Is that the new kimono I bought you?” You look down.
“So it is.” You look back at him. “What do you think?” He shrugs.
“You could stand to lose a couple of pounds,” he huffs, and moves his foot to nudge your hip. “Though it won’t be of much use to buy smaller yukatas. I plan to impregnate you the night of our wedding.” You give him a deadpan look.
“I am plenty thin,” you say, and pull his foot into your lap to gently massage it. He relaxes into the touch like a lazy cat. “And even if your seed does manage to get me pregnant, I doubt I’ll show for at least a few months.” You turn your nose up at him.
“Ha! ‘If’. You will carry my children, wife.” You grin at him. He sits up and plants his feet on the ground to get in your face. “You wish to challenge me?”
“Let’s make a bet,” you purr. “I won’t get pregnant within six months of our marriage. If I win, you have to shut up about my figure and my inability to do the laundry. If you win…” He smirks toothily at you.
“When I win,” he corrects, “you will submit to me. Like all the servants do. For… let’s say, a month.” You frown.
“A week.”
“Two weeks,” he agrees, and thrusts his hand out, “and you’ve got yourself a deal, woman.” You smile and grasp his hand in yours.
“I look forward to winning.”
Your wedding is entirely uneventful. You don’t come from a particularly important family; your marriage isn’t so much about politics as it is about Naoya finally having found someone who will put up with his attitude. You spend the night by his side, except for when he begins to discuss clan politics with his family, when you slip away to go play with the children.
By the end of the night, you’re worn out. You want nothing more than to fall asleep in the bath. Your new husband has other plans.
“Lazy woman,” Naoya scoffs as he watches you in the mirror. You’re lying in the tub, eyes closed. He’s washing his face—the man is vainer than a princess—and admiring his shiny new ring. “You should be getting ready for me.”
“Whatever,” you whine. “Leave me alone, Nao. I had a long night.”
“Of what?” Naoya asks, patting his face with a towel and moving to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Snacking? Playing with children? Be serious, wife of mine.”
“I am serious,” you say, cracking an eye open to meet his gaze. “You don’t want to bathe with me? I don’t want to lie with you while you’re all sweaty and gross.” Naoya leans down to rest his elbows on his knees.
“I do not get sweaty and gross,” he says flatly. “But fine. Scoot up.” He stands up and begins to untie his yukata. The rest of his layers fall in a heap on the floor, and you raise a brow. He’s usually the last person to leave a mess. Instead of folding his clothes, though, he just pushes your back forward and slides into the tub behind you. “You could survive Hell,” he mutters, “you bathe in lava, I swear.”
“It’s been cooled down,” you respond with a snort, leaning back against his shoulder to look up at him. He hums and cranes down to kiss your neck.
“I don’t want to fuck you while you’re all pruned,” he murmurs into your warm skin. You feel his large hands slip around to the soft, tender inner flesh of your thighs. He grips them tightly and rubs his thumbs against the crease of your belly and legs.
“So crude,” you tease. You can feel him behind you; his cock twitches slightly when you squirm, but he remains mostly flaccid. “Impatient man.”
“Lazy woman,” he repeats, lifting his face away from your neck. “We could be in bed right now if it weren’t for you.”
“Well, get used to it,” you say. “We’re married now.” You lift your hand to watch your new ring sparkle in the candlelight around you. Naoya chuckles and lifts his hand beside yours to showcase his thick silver band.
“We are married, aren’t we?” he muses. “Which means I have six months to win our bet.” You blink.
“Oh,” you say, “I’d almost forgotten about that.” You can practically hear him roll his eyes.
“Sometimes your lack of intelligence astounds me, woman,” Naoya says. Still, he plunges his hand back into the warm water to your thigh and sighs. “Your body is so soft. Weak.”
“Why would I need to be strong when I have you?” you ask. He grins.
“Right answer.” One of his hands moves up to your belly, rubbing gently. “I hope you’re ready for my child. He will be as strong as me.”
“He,” you repeat, and look down at your stomach. “Hn. I want a daughter.”
“Does it look like I care what you want?” Naoya asks and pats your belly. “You will carry my sons. And they will have my cursed technique.”
“It’s amazing how confident you are about someone who hasn’t even been conceived yet,” you say with a laugh. Naoya leans in, suddenly serious.
“Women carry their eggs their whole life,” he growls, “stupid girl. My son has been within you for my whole life. I know he will do great things.” You blink.
“Uh… okay,” you reply. “That’s a weird way to look at it, but okay.” Naoya nips at your earlobe.
“Shut your mouth,” he says, and his hand tightens painfully on your thigh. “You should be trying to get in my good graces tonight of all nights. You have no idea how mean I can be.” You freeze for a long moment before suddenly peeling away from him and turning around.
“You’re right,” you say, “so why don’t you show me?”
Naoya is out of the tub in an instant. He hoists you up by your hips, letting you wrap your legs and arms around him before stepping out and stumbling towards the door. He kicks it open, hands too preoccupied with groping your ass. Your hand becomes tangled in his yellow hair, and he sloppily bites at your lips and shoves your tongue out of the way to invade your mouth with his own.
When he finally makes it to the bed, he shoves you down onto it and scoffs. “Soft.” Still, he crawls onto the bed and holds your shoulders down with strong hands. He’s always been a messy kisser, but there’s drool all over your chin and lips by the time he finally peels away. He grunts and moves one hand down to your nipple, which he twists cruelly. He grins at your pained expression and leans back in.
“Yes,” he groans, “keep making that face. Turns me on.” You whine, desperately trying to push his hand away. He is a Zen’in, though, and a sorcerer. Your strength doesn’t compare to his. Your teeth clash, making tears well up in your eyes. He reaches up to undo the pin in your hair, roughly grabbing at your scalp. You yelp into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he manages, “fuck, woman. I hope you’re ready.” His hand moves from your nipple to your groin. He rubs your lips for a brief moment before plunging his thick middle finger into your hole. Your back arches as his finger does inside you, and he laughs loudly. You try your best to resist him, knowing that only makes him more excited. He thrusts his finger in and out before mercilessly adding his pointer finger. “You like that, wife?” he growls, finally far enough away to meet your gaze as you blink away tears. “Aw… don’t cry.” He curls his fingers against your walls, making you twitch and squirm. “We’ve just begun.”
He moves his hand from your scalp to your throat, rubbing the skin above your larynx as you shake your head. He presses his thumb against the organ, letting your hands scramble against his as he restricts your airflow. “N- Nao,” you whisper hoarsely. He raises a brow.
“Oh? Still talking?” The pressure increases on your throat. Everything about the situation is making you feel stretched thin: the fingers currently wrecking your cunt, the hand choking you, and the sinister, delighted grin on your husband’s face. You let out a choked sob. Naoya just leans down to your cheek and laps up the tear that has escaped your eye. “Mm. Salty.” His gaze trails down to your pussy. “Maybe I should taste-test your whole body, hm?”
He retracts his fingers and lifts his hand to the dim light of your bedside lamp. Your juices glisten up to his first knuckle, and he stretches his fingers apart to watch them ooze between his hand. Then, he turns to you and, while maintaining eye contact with you, sticks his fingers in his mouth. He sucks and licks them like a lollipop before popping them out with a crisp smack of his lips. Your face, previously slightly blue from lack of airflow, turns bright red. He wipes his spit-slicked fingers across your jaw. “I think I could do with a… deeper examination, don’t you think?”
Then, he reaches back down and stabs his three middle fingers into you, all the way up to his hand. “Ha- how does that feel, wife? Can you feel my wedding ring?” You can, truly. The cool metal is stinging against your opening, a harsh difference to his burning-hot fingers. “You’re going to feel this for the rest of your life. Trust me.” He spreads his fingers out inside of you and watches you wriggle like a child fascinated with a beetle on its back.
Finally, he lifts his hand off your throat. He purrs at the purpling bruises already forming on your skin and moves down to your thighs. He moves both of your thighs to rest on his shoulders and takes his hand out of you. He meets your wide eyes as he lines up and, without warning, forces his cock into you. You scream. Through your pain, you can hear him laughing as he thrusts in and out. They’re slow, and strenuous, like the last few steps in a marathon.
He fucks you like he has all the time in the world. His hips slam into you with the force of a jackhammer and slide out slowly, leaving you feeling empty and needy. He repeats this process until you’re bawling, begging him to stop and let you have a moment of peace. Of course, he only leans over you and kisses you. “Can’t do that,” he says lowly. “I have a bet to win.”
You whine and cry, reaching up with trembling arms that he swats away. He holds your hips with hands that could break steel, and you relish in the feeling of stability among the ways you’ve been broken tonight. He moans and bucks his hips when he hears your audible pain. He scratches your hips with his blunt nails, digging into the sensitive skin as he speeds up. Finally, he comes. His hot seed spills into you, and you manage a moan through your sobs. He twitches and rides out his orgasm to its last drops. Then, he collapses on top of you, cock still twitching deep inside your cunt.
You breathe heavily, grabbing his hair and shoving his face into your chest. Your breaths are ragged and your stomach heaves. “Nao,” you pant, “Nao.” He just hums and goes limp against you. You swat the back of his head weakly, but you’re too worn out to really do any damage. As much as you want him to pull out, he’s already dozing off. You sigh and close your eyes, too.
Naoya’s grin is too genuine for it to mean anything good. You’ve been married for a mere month, and he hasn’t forgotten your bet. He also hasn’t done anything as hard as the first night, much to your relief. Instead, he’s been mostly patient during sex, and as gentle as someone with his temperament can be.
“What’re you smiling at?” you mumble through a mouthful of eggs. He shrugs and leans back in his chair.
“You’d know if you were a sorcerer.”
“Well, I’m not,” you huff. “C’mon, Nao. Just tell me.” He shakes his head.
“Can’t.” You groan and swallow your eggs. “Hungry, are we?”
“Don’t start.” He laughs loudly at that and stands up.
“Don’t worry, wife of mine,” he purrs into your ear, after rounding the table. “I know you’re eating for two.”