Archive of Our Own

You were ferocious, screaming at your brother for putting you into this predicament. Though your shapely body was clad in a silky wedding kimono, hair done up like a goddess of your religion, your attitude was anything but heavenly. The red-faced anger you sported and the poisonous words you spewed out against Noritoshi could’ve made him laugh.

“How could you do this to me, ‘Toshi?” you howled at your brother, the frenzied tone of your voice bouncing across the manicured lawns. “You promised to not include me in these bloody games of yours!”

As the youngest Kamo, you were nothing but a bargaining chip in this bloody world of wicked games and turf wars.

“You’re making a scene,” Noritoshi hissed, gripping your upper arms, trying to salvage his family’s reputation in front of their once rivals. “You are a Kamo so act like one.”

It’s not as if Naoya hadn’t had his fair share of a temper tantrum. The night before, his father had rapped on his Shōji door, telling him to wear his best kimono for the meeting between the two clans.

Naoya had been under the impression that his father – the de-facto head of the Zen’in clan – would want to meet with the Kamo’s to settle a 50-year turf war between the two families. He stupidly thought that Naobito wanted his son and heir there to witness the momentous event.

What he didn’t know was that the moment he stepped out of the carriage, he would be surrounded by his kinsmen and guards, his father stepping close to him.

“Look at their gaudy decorations,” he had sneered, oblivious to how his old man stiffened next to him. “You would think that for the second richest clan, they would make an effort to not spend so much money to look this cheap.”

Naobito cleared his throat. Naoya missed how the other men were sharing nervous glances between themselves.

“Now, son,” his father had rasped, a hand on the nape of his neck. “I know we’ve been talking about you taking over my helm, but there’s one more thing I need you to do.”

He swept his gaze across their grim expressions, scoffing at the growing fear. He hated any indication of weakness. “Father, what is it? Aren’t we going in to make peace?”

“There’s one more thing,” Naobito said and removed a white-petaled baby’s breath and tucked it in the folds of his kimono. To Naoya’s muted surprise, the other men did the same, removing stalks of baby’s breath and tucking them under their kimono sashes or into the folds of his.

“What the hell is going on?”

Naobito tightened his grip around his son’s neck. “Smile, son. It’s a wedding after all.”

“What?” he spat out. “Whose fucking wedding is it?”

His father fought back a wince. “Well, if we told you, you wouldn’t have come.”

It all clicked in for him and he tried to break free, but hands reached out to grab him, stopping his escape. “Father!” he cried, blindly reaching out for his old man, his fists finding flesh. The panic threatened to engulf him. “What the fuck is happening?”

Naobito sucked in a deep breath and clasped his hands on his only son’s shoulders. “There’s a Kamo girl who’s a little wild for her own good, and she’s in need of a husband–”

“NO!” he roared.

Naobito continued in an even tone. “–And you need a wife. Son, you are already 25 years of age. You need to have an heir.”

Naoya thrashed in the men’s grip. “Fuck you! Fuck all of you! I will never marry some bloodsucking witch!”

A harsh slap knocked the breath out of him and Naoya growled, fixing his father with a blistering glare. “If you want to bring honor to our clan, you will start doing this.” In a softer tone, his father said, “Son, we’ve had 50 years of bloodshed. This is a chance for you to redeem us and make the world better for your son. You can either choose war, or peace.”

For the sake of his other unbruised cheek, Naoya chose peace.

You, on the other hand, were in an all-out war with your brother. The veil of your shiromuku kimono hid your face from the entourage of Zen’in men, but from your raised voice, Naoya could imagine a haggard witch whose screeching voice matched her countenance.

At least Naobito had negotiated for him to receive half of the Kamo riches upon this marriage.

He didn’t know how someone as purebred as he was could ever dirty his hands with the brutish Kamo clan. It was by sheer luck that his father had reassured him that you were at least of childbearing age. He couldn’t imagine having to lie with a barren woman on top of a disorderly one.

Noritoshi and your ladies-in-waiting managed to subdue you and he didn’t know what incantation your brother muttered to get you to calm down but finally, you sniffed loudly and bowed your head, beaten into submission. In one last show of defiance, you lifted your head and squared your shoulders before disappearing into the temple with your ladies trailing after you.

Noabito cleared his throat and gave a short bow. “Kamo-san. This is my son, Naoya Zen’in. Will he do?”

The young head of the Kamo clan looked him up and down, his impassive gaze giving nothing away. After one excruciating minute, Noritoshi nodded.

“He will do.”

The men of his entourage cheered and thumped his back, cajoling Naoya to fix a smirk on his face.

He was led into the Kamo temple where you were waiting for him, your body rigid with anger. You were smaller and daintier than he was, and even though he hated every single second of this day, he looked forward to seeing what exactly he was getting himself into. Or, more importantly, who he was getting into this mess with.

“At least let her have a pretty face,” he muttered. Noabito clicked his tongue and mysteriously uttered, “You’ll see.”

Naoya faked a confident façade as he strode over to you, standing beside you as your soon-to-be husband.

Your head was bowed and he couldn’t properly make out your appearance. The priest came forward, starting the wedding ritual. Blessings of peace, fertility and protection were bestowed on the young couple. The rites were read, and the moment he waited for was finally here. Your ladies-in-waiting stepped forward to pull down your veil.

The second your face appeared, Naoya had to hide his surprise.

Beautiful couldn’t even begin to cover how you looked. He couldn't concentrate on the ceremony; all Naoya wanted to do was to admire your features, the texture of your skin and hair.

Under the streaming sunlight from the temple’s roof, you were a vision in white and when the priest instructed you to bow to him, he couldn’t help the smirk of delight at your tight-lipped expression as you stiffly performed the gesture to honor him as your husband.

It was his turn to return the favor and when he did, he caught your wide-eyed stare. Naoya fought back a snicker. He knew he was attractive. The number of women he had before you were a testament to his physical prowess.

You pretended like you were immune to his looks, but he knew better. The quickening of your breath and the color on your cheeks told him all he needed to know.

Naoya Zen’in smiled inwardly. If he couldn’t have a say in who he married, he could at least have a say in how he vowed to corrupt this pure beauty in front and break his new wife in.

The moment the doors of your wedding chambers closed behind you, you backed away from him.

The Zen’in men were rumored to be savages with their wives and he was no different. His handsome face was no consolation for the way he gripped your hand and pushed you to the bed.

The expensive and beautifully crafted kimono with insignias of his clan and yours on it was soon in tatters on the floor. Naoya didn’t waste any time indulging in what was rightfully his.

You gasped when he roped his arms around you, bringing you closer to him.

“Now, sweetheart,” he drawled when you tried to push him away. “This was not part of the wedding rites I heard you say.”

“Get off of me!” you bellowed and committed your first mistake.

Your palm slammed into his chest, almost knocking him backward. Anger flashed in his eyes and you knew you were done for.

You tried to run, but he was faster, gripping your waist and forcing you back to the bed. He was unbelievably strong and when he wrestled you onto his lap, pressing you back onto your belly, you couldn’t fight him off.

A firm smack landed on your ass, making you cry out. Another smack landed on your left cheek and you sucked in a painful breath, tears springing to your eyes. He had your wrists trapped behind you with one hand while his other landed blow after blow on your pert bottom, making you cry out and jolt forward, your nipples rubbing harshly on the silk sheets.

Naoya was swift with his punishment and he barely sounded winded when he chuckled. “You should look at how pretty your ass is now, wife.”

He spat the word out like it was a curse.

“You fucking asshole!” you cried out, wriggling in his lap. “I. AM. A. KAMO. Don’t you dare touch me like this!”

Instead of understanding the full impact of your declaration, Naoya merely laughed. “Kamo? Sweetheart, that name is not yours anymore. You are a Zen’in–”

As if to emphasize his words, he landed on more slap on your ass. “– And you belong to me.”

He parted your thighs, running a finger through your folds. You cried out when he plunged two thick digits into your cunt without warning.

“Tch, don’t act like I’m hurting you,” he droned. “I can feel how fucking wet your slutty cunt is for me.”

Tears dribbled down your cheeks at his words.

All your life you were raised with the notion that sex between a husband and wife was supposed to be an act of pure love. The crude thrusts of his fingers in your sensitive cunt and the filthy words he uttered to you were anything but pure.

Naoya chuckled darkly. “Did I break you that quickly, wife?”

You twisted your neck to fix him in your line of sight, shooting him a glare of unadulterated hatred.

“Fuck you, Zen’in.”

He flipped you onto your back and with wide eyes, you watched him peel back his kimono; a pale broad chest came into view and to your horror, his cock was freed, slapping lightly against his stomach.

You squirmed even more, but it was no use.

It was almost humiliating how he pinned you down with his weight, his gaze flickering to yours with a lazy smirk.

“I just might.”

Fear lined your expression as he spread your legs wider. Your new husband’s cock was huge and you wondered how it would fit in you.

“I can smell how wet you are,” he murmured, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist. “I know you want this.”

You turned your face into the pillow, sobbing lightly. “I don’t want you.”

The head of his cock splits you in half and you groaned, the sheets bunched under your white-knuckled grip. You had to hold onto the last shreds of your common sense. “Y-you’re not who I want.”

“Oh, I know,” he grunted, slamming into you with one clean stroke. Pain seared through your lower body and you cried out. “I heard all about your little escapades with the cook’s son. He was castrated, was he not?” He clicked his tongue. “Disgraceful. To think you would let a common man ruin your family’s reputation like that.”

He started moving in you and the pain was overwhelming. You canted your hips, raising them – anything to alleviate the throbbing sensation. You fixed him with a baleful glare. You hated how good he looked above you; his two-toned hair falling into his face, his handsome features contorted into a shit-eating smirk. He had you where he wanted and you could not deny him.

“At least I – hah – did it out of love. I know all about your womanizing ways, husband,” you spat out venomously.

He snorted with derision. “I am a man, wife. I can do whatever I –” he grunted when you stabbed his back with your sharp nails. “– I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Dragging your talons down his back, you bit back a smirk of delight when he winced in pain.

“Marking me as your own already, huh?” he huffed haughtily. “I knew you would fold soon.”

Your expression crumbled in anger. How could one man be this insufferable and egotistical? Never in your whole life have you ever met such a self-serving, aggrandizing asshole. And it was just your luck that you were married to him.

Somewhere between the line of intense hatred and twisting pleasure, you pinpointed exactly when your body started betraying you. His cock was dragging out your impending orgasm and your muffled moans were rising into a crescendo.

Naoya wasn’t any better; he was growling your name, urging you to cum and submit to the sensations he was wracking onto your body.

The sounds of his cock sloppily thrusting into you along with mingled heavy breathing that echoed around the room would’ve clearly indicated that you were both consummating your marriage as a loving husband and wife.

But, the truth was far from it.

“For a woman who hates me,” he grunted, eyes glinting with satisfaction. “You sure are shit at lying, hmm? Your cunt loves me.” His gloats were fucking with you, bringing you further and further from the truth you staked in your heart and mind: that you absolutely loathed Naoya Zen’in.

You cursed his name as your orgasm raged through you, your back arching off the bed. Naoya's rough moans reached your ears and you felt him slam into you one last time as spurts of his hot cum filled you up. A squeak was wrenched from your mouth when he dragged your lower body and folded it in half, jolting you from your post-orgasm haze.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shrieked, trying to free yourself.

A harsh slap on your exposed ass made you whimper in pain and mortification.

“Shut up,” he simply said. “I’m doing the both of us a favor.”

“What–?”

“You need to get pregnant soon,” he said, almost in a bored tone like he hadn’t just given you a mind-numbing orgasm. “We don’t have to pretend to do this once you are.”

His eyes shone dangerously and he chuckled darkly. “So for your sake and mine, you better fucking hope and pray that you’re carrying my child soon, witch.”

The campaign to get you pregnant started with brutal fervor.

Naoya came into your room every night, dismissing your ladies and closing the door shut. He would bend you into the most perverted positions with the intent of filling you with his seed, and he would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

But, your smart mouth was too inciting for him, and when you spat in his face, telling him to fuck off, he took it as a challenge and not an insult.

Your broken moans were filling the luxurious quarters he had procured for you in his estate, the tasteful silk sheets bunching under his well-built body as you bounced on his cock. The custom-made kimonos that he wrapped you in were either destroyed or pushed all the way to your waist, as your tits peeked out lewdly from between the flaps, entrancing the man below you.

Naoya slapped your ass, bringing your attention back to him. His eyes were darkened with lust when he pinched one nipple, making your hips stutter and a broken moan filter past your clenched teeth.

He licked his lips, a self-congratulatory chuckle slipping past them. “Enjoying yourself, wife?”

You braced your hands on his shoulders, shaking your head even as tears of pleasure pooled in your lash line. “N-no. I h-hate you.”

“Me, too,” he retorted coolly. “But I love your cunt, so it’s your fault, isn’t it?”

You gazed down at him, shock and arousal battling with each other to leave you befuddled. Your confusion only made him harder and he breathed out harshly, “I don’t give a shit about you. All I care about is your sweet cunt, and oh – what a good girl she is.”

His words made you throb.

“I want to fill her up again and again,” he muttered, “She’s bewitched me.”

You were breathless, every thrust of his cock driving you more delirious. There was no love when he touched you, but you couldn’t deny that Naoya knew what he was doing.

He was shredding your self-control and chipping away at the walls you held around you. Though he was a horrendous person, he was surprisingly a decent husband that left to your own vices.

Everything you wanted, he delivered.

At first, you had decided to spite him, your requests growing taller and more ridiculous as the days passed. But, one way or another, the servants always fulfilled your wishes.

You wanted caviar for breakfast? It would be on the menu the next day.

You wanted a peacock statue in your bedroom? It would be there the next morning when your eyes cracked open.

A band playing for you as you took a bath in the next room? Just two nights ago, you had fallen asleep in the tub to the angelic chords of a koto string quartet.

Indirectly, he wanted to provide for you, and you had no idea why.

You scoffed, hiding your reddened face with your loose hair. “You – ah – you are so easily besotted.”

He tugged your face to meet his, eyes narrowed. His thrusts had slowed, intentionally keeping you on the edge. “Watch your implications, witch.”

You raked your nails down his chest, satisfied when you drew blood. In return, he slapped you, tossing you down onto the bed and slamming his hips into yours in a frenzied pace that had you screaming and close to shattering around his cock. Your orgasm was cruelly taken away from you when he forced you to your knees, ignoring your cries of injustice.

“Suck me off,” he commanded. You gazed up at him, glassy-eyed and glaring. “Are you stupid? I told you to suck me off, whore.”

He pressed your cheeks together, forcing your mouth to form an ‘o’. The taste of your juices and his musky scent filled you and you wanted to gag, but one slap on your cheek detracted you from that thought.

“Don’t even think of biting down on my cock, witch,” he uttered.

You choked on his length, struggling to lift your head. Tears sprang in your eyes and you were burning for oxygen. Naoya didn’t let you up, forcing your face down on his cock.

“Yesss. Fucking take my cock, darling.”

That term of endearment was lost on you when he lifted you off his cock, before forcing his length down your throat again and again and again.

Though you felt violated and used, it was no comparison to the conflicting emotions when you sensed the wetness trickled down your thighs. As if spurred on by an unknown need, your hands scrambled to grasp his longer ones as you forced your throat to relax.

To your immense surprise, his fingers twined around yours.

He hummed in satisfaction as the wet sounds of your throat gagging on him filled the room.

“That’s it,” he coaxed in a hoarse voice. “So fucking pretty.”

The mutterings of a man close to the edge should not be taken in all its seriousness, but nevertheless, that small bit of praise made your heart kick up a notch.

“Oh, fuckkkk.” You glanced up at him. Sweat slicked his broad chest, dripping down his chiseled jaw. His dark eyes were narrowed into slits, focused on the way your lips wrapped around his cock and slurped his length down into your begging throat.

Spurts of his precum were gathering in the corners of your mouth and mixed with your spit that trickled down your face. His cock throbbed hotly in your mouth and you braced yourself, waiting for his seed.

He left you disoriented when he pulled out his raging hard length from the cavern of your mouth. You barely had time to blink when hot ropes splattered onto your face, spurting onto your exposed breasts.

Your husband was breathing hard, eyeing how his seed painted your pebbled nipples. Your hips buckled in a show of cheap pleasure, finding this sudden action unbelievably arousing. While he had found his release, all you could do was clench down pathetically on thin air. He chuckled at your reaction, lifting you up into his arms and onto his lap.

“Did I leave you unsatisfied, wife?” he goaded, invading your personal space.

You breathed heavily, swallowing your whimper as you angled your face away from his.

“You look really good with my cum on your face,” he said, regarding you with a smug smile. “Don’t you agree?”

His words ignited the fire back at you and he had the gall to laugh when you grinded down on his lap.

“Oh? I’m so sorry, darling,” he cooed, his large and warm palms cupping your ass. “Do you want me to make it up to you?”

The moment you nodded, you found yourself on your back, his head between your thighs. Naoya did not strike you as a man who cared about his wife’s pleasure, but it must’ve been linked to his ego. He was eating you out like he was a starving man, relishing in your loud moans and your squeals of delight.

He propped himself up on his elbows, smirking at your fucked out expression. “Look at you – whimpering and crying out like a whore.”

You threaded your fingers in his hair with a low growl. “If I’m a whore then you’re no better.”

He licked a languid strip from your hole to your clit, feline-like eyes fixed on you. “Because I deem you worthy enough to fuck?”

Naoya chuckled darkly, and you were surprised to find him hard again. “Trust me, darling. You’re not the first whore that’s heard this. You’re nothing but a well-dressed and educated brat.”

At those words, he shoved his cock deep into you, enjoying your scream of pleasure.

“You’re my personal fucktoy, darling,” he goaded, demeaning you even as his cock was violently thrusting into you, pushing you closer to the edge; every movement making your cum-covered tits bounce. “My fucking – hngh – cocksleeve.”

You buried your face in your hands to avoid looking at him, but he clicked his tongue. Naoya wanted to watch how good his cock was leaving you a wrecking mess, pushing your hands away and pinning them down to the bed so he could take in your expressions.

“Look at you,” he murmured darkly. “So fucking pliant. You like it when I treat you like this?”

His slap brought you back down to the ground. “Tell me!” he urged the desperation in his voice shaking you to the core even as your orgasm approached at a lightning pace.

“I like it,” you whispered and your body seized. It was the truth; Naoya made you feel all these clashing emotions that left you confused. Your cunt and brain were at an all-out war with each other whenever it concerned your infuriating and cruel husband.

The tight band in your body snapped at your admission and you screamed out his name, riding your high.

He released in you for the second time tonight and you shuddered, already used to the movements he did and helping him to lift your hips up to let his seed take better.

Naoya clicked his tongue, giving you a once over.

His cum was drying on your face and tits, more of the white fluid dribbling out from your abused hole. Your cheeks were red and you were panting, not even registering the feeling of him touching your belly where his child would grow.

Softly – so softly that you almost didn’t hear him – Naoya muttered, “Look at how much you’ve bewitched me.”

He slipped his kimono back on, giving you one last searing look before standing up. You propped yourself up onto your elbows, eyes glued to him.

Naoya stopped by the door, turning around to give you a glimpse of his side profile. His smug expression was back and you didn’t know whether you wanted to kiss him or slap him.  

As if privy to your discorded thoughts, his smirk grew and he trailed his eyes over your exhausted and well-fucked figure.

“That koto band you wanted cost me a pretty penny, wife. Keep your bathroom door open tonight; I want to fuck you as they play my favorite song.”