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chubby-bun-bun · 1 month ago

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heavy is the crown

As princess, you are bound by duty to marry the notorious and elusive Onichynus general, in exchange for his protection of your kingdom from an impending war. On the night of your wedding, tradition demands that you undergo the consummation rites, sealing the fate of your marriage—and your future.

tags: sylus x reader, NSFW, MDNI, royalty!au, general-of-powerful-nation!sylus x princess-of-kingdom-in-trouble!reader, first time sex (mc is a virgin), unprotected sex, afab!reader, fem!reader, slight voyeurism & somno & cockwarming at the end, lowkey breeding kink, gender-based stereotypes against women due to the time period, writing this has been a fever dream, word count: 2.7k~ worldbuilding and 5.5k~ smut lmfao

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You dared to dream once upon a time.

You dreamt of crossing oceans beyond your shores, sailing aboard majestic galleons you’d only seen in textbooks. In the quiet solitude of your bedchambers, you imagined laughing with the townsfolk of distant cities, dancing in cobblestone streets to the melodies of traveling minstrels, and finding love in a modest man who'd want nothing more than to offer you freshly picked blooms every morning.

In the sanctuary of sleep, your dreams would lull you with visions of a simple life. A stone-walled kitchen warmed by the glow of a crackling hearth, a garden vibrant with blossoms and fresh produce, and a cozy reading nook nestled in an arched window. A loyal companion would sometimes join you—a slothful cat, a melodious songbird, a high-spirited pup, or a darling mare to carry you through grassy plains and wildflower fields.

"Do you take this man to be your wedded husband, to share in life's trials and joys, to love and honor, till death do you part?"

But such dreams have no place in the heart of a woman whose shoulders bear her kingdom's fate.

And so, as you take in the muted glow of the setting sun through delicate ivory lace, you finally put those girlhood fantasies to rest.

“I do.”

—

Being the youngest and only princess came with its fair share of trials and triumphs.

Unlike the elder princes, whose lives revolved around grueling expectations and fierce competition for the throne, your position spared you such burdens. Born to a queen who had long believed her childbearing years were behind her, you were nothing short of a miracle, arriving over a decade after your last sibling. This had earned you the undivided affection of the entire castle, leaving you thoroughly indulged and doted upon.

However, growing up without siblings near your age, you often grappled with bouts of loneliness. While you had fostered polite acquaintances among the daughters of many nobles, you found their company wearisome. The endless succession of balls and garden parties always seemed to revolve around the same gossip: politics, fashion, whispers about some baron’s sixteen-year-old daughter betrothed to a forty-year-old viscount, and, of course, the inevitable question: had anyone received a marriage proposal yet?

You naturally had many—to your dismay.

The idea of marriage filled you with profound dread. As a girl tagging along in your mother’s tea parties, you had often overheard the confessions and lamentations of the noblewomen. Stories of infidelity, neglect, and abuse spilled from their lips—duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; women who stood at the very summit of high society. To you, marriage seemed less a sacred bond and more a cruel sentence—one far grimmer than the gallows.

At least the gallows granted the mercy of a quick death.

But as a princess, you were bound to uphold the ideal image of a young lady. One who radiated beauty, yet with grace and poise. Intelligent, but subservient to your intended husband’s authority. And, most important of all, fertile—to bear him strong sons who would carry on his legacy.

It sickened you. You would rather succumb to the plague than endure such a miserable life. But given your title, you could only try to delay the inevitable.

And so, life continued as it was—a never-ending cycle of social gatherings, fending off suitors, reading through your library, mastering languages, and nurturing a growing collection of hobbies. It was a life of privilege and routine—one that, despite its predictability, offered you a quiet sense of fulfillment.

Alas, nothing holds constant in the world, and change arrived in the form of a looming war from enemies across the sea.

Though small in size, your kingdom of Noir was a veritable treasure trove. With its abundant mountains and rivers, the island was never in short supply of precious metals, gems, and rare minerals. It was renowned for producing the finest artisans, who crafted the most exquisite jewelry, armor, and weapons. While modest in territory, it more than compensated with a thriving and prosperous economy.

The ultimate conquest for any conqueror.

Through the town streets worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, the bustling plazas lined with charming merchant stalls, the outskirt villages tucked among lush woodlands, and even the weathered stone walls of the towering castle, whispers had always flowed like an unrelenting tide—the most persistent being rumors of the neighboring kingdoms readying to seize Noir at any moment. But your father never addressed such hearsays, and life within the island always seemed as jovial and peaceful as it always did.

Until one night, as you sat engrossed in some book about Noir folklore, a series of sharp knocks on your chamber doors shattered the stillness, echoing sharply through the room.

It was your father, the king. Dropped to his knees, grasping your untainted hands in his rough, weathered ones, head bowed down at your mercy.

“Forgive me, my daughter,” he said in grief. “For the sake of the people—please, forgive me.”

For months, naval scouts had reported sightings of warships at the docks of two neighboring kingdoms, suspected of plotting to raid Noir and usurp the throne. Only a few weeks ago, those suspicions were confirmed when spies returned with dire news. The enemy militaries, vast and far stronger than your own, were preparing for a siege. Noir's true power had always been in the arts and commerce, not in its military might. Should your shores be attacked by an enemy nation—let alone two—the island would fall.

So on the very day the confirmation arrived, your father and the high court conspired to seek assistance from a nation on the mainland: Onichynus.

Conversations about the state were always hushed, spoken in whispers and laden with caution. It was rumored to be an immensely powerful dominion, even surpassing that of the hostile forces looming beyond your shores. Drunk sailors boasted of its staggering wealth, built on the spoils of their wars and ceaseless conquest. With an unmatched army of hardened warriors and mercenaries, it stood as a force to be reckoned with, its presence both feared and revered across the seas.

At its pinnacle stood their elusive general, a shadow whose name and true face remained unknown. Tales from sailors, traveling merchants, and tavern songs painted him as a ruthless figure, demon-like, who laid waste to rotten cities and beheaded corrupt kings. Some claimed he was a hero, purging the realm of wicked men in power, while others saw him as the embodiment of evil, leaving destruction and death in his wake.

Negotiations with Onichynus were a success. In return for their protection during the impending siege, Noir pledged to deliver three ships laden with its most prized metals, minerals, and gems—every year for the next century.

But to ensure Noir upheld its end of the bargain, their beloved princess would be bound in marriage to the general.

You could only keep your gaze steady, chin held high, as the king knelt before you, weeping, begging for your forgiveness.

You had your time to relish the pleasures of living as a princess. Now, it was time to fulfill your duties as one.

—

The night before the long-anticipated siege had arrived. After weeks of frantic planning and tense negotiations between Noir’s high court and the Onichynus war council, warriors and mercenaries had taken their positions across the island. Some blended seamlessly with the civilians, while the majority remained hidden in plain sight, their numbers concentrated along the docks.

In the king’s throne room, select members from both factions gathered for final preparations. Clad in his battle regalia, your father seemed a shadow of his former self—skin ashened, eyes hollow with exhaustion—yet his voice remained firm as he issued his commands to all present.

The Noir court members could hardly conceal their unease under the watchful eyes of the Onichynus war council. Towering and broad-shouldered, they seemed almost otherworldly. Their dark, burnished steel armor bore engravings of monstrous creatures, and many donned cloaks of crimson or black, their edges deliberately singed to resemble fire's touch. Helmets, adorned with jagged horns, cast grotesque shadows, while those who forwent them revealed faces with jagged streaks of war paint, as if to mimic claw marks.

Then, the heavy doors groaned open, spilling thick tendrils of black-red mist into the chamber. A hush fell as all eyes turned toward the towering figure that emerged from the haze.

The general.

For all the whispered tales of his demonic appearance—horns as tall as claymores, wings that spanned the heavens, and a tail that stretched like a river—you were stunned to find a face not of a monster, but of an angel.

Against the backdrop of his dark cloak, his striking silver hair stood out in sharp contrast. His features were sculpted with precision—high, defined cheekbones, a strong jawline, a straight nose, all framed by an expression that revealed little, save for full lips drawn into a tight line. The people of Noir gawked openly, stunned to finally see the man from the tales in the flesh. His gait was languid yet exuded confidence as he strode toward the throne where you sat beside your father.

His gaze found yours, and you stilled.

The deep scarlet of his eyes was piercing. You almost felt naked under it. Instantly, you straightened in your seat, fingers twitching to smooth the fabric of your dress.

“Expect the warships to be visible in six hours,” he said, his voice cutting through the room. The low timbre of it sent a chill racing up your spine.

“General, are you certain our forces are enough to handle their fleet?” your mother asked, voice quivering as she addressed him from your father’s other side.

The general's lips curved faintly, a low, rumbling chuckle escaping him.

“Rest easy, Your Majesty. By dawn, their remains will have joined their forefathers’ ghosts beneath the sea."

—

You had come to realize that Onichynus truly deserved the fear and respect it commanded. Just before daybreak, the gut-wrenching blare of Noir’s watchtower horns finally shattered the unnerving stillness of the island.

The enemies had fallen.

You had been locked away in one of the castle’s tower chambers, away from harm’s reach. As the kingdom’s key to securing this alliance, it was critical that no harm befell the general's betrothed.

After the second wave of victory horns, your door creaked open, revealing your maidservant—frantic, breathless from the long climb up the spiral staircase.

“Your Highness,” she gasped, voice trembling. “We’ve won.”

You could see the restraint in the way her nails dug into her apron, her blown pupils amidst her ragged breaths. She was restraining herself, her elation held in check, out of deference to you.

After all, Noir’s freedom had come at the cost of yours.

With a wistful smile, you turned toward the window, watching the flickering torchlights snake through the streets below. The chorus of jubilant cries and chants carried through the valleys, their voices rising to the heavens and echoing back from the mountain’s deepest crevices.

“It seems we have,” you murmured, voice barely audible over the chorus of celebration below.

You heard her hesitant shuffle behind you. "Several of the servants have been briefed already. They shall be ready tomorrow morning to begin preparations for the wedding."

You spun toward her, pulse pounding in your ears. "So soon?"

She lowered her gaze, unable to meet your eyes. "Onichynus wanted to complete the rites as quickly as possible, so they could sail for the mainland the following day."

You let out a slow exhale. "I see."

Your maidservant hesitated, her eyes flicking toward you, before she spoke again.

"If it offers you any comfort, ma'am," she said softly, head bowed, "you saved all of us."

You swallowed hard, forcing back the sting of tears threatening to spill.

—

Like your mother, grandmother, and all the royal women before you, you had always envisioned your wedding as a day of grandeur. You pictured riding through the town streets in the royal carriage, flanked by guards, waving to the cheering crowds. You imagined wearing a bespoke gown that sparkled in the light, a train so long it would sweep behind you like a royal procession.

You imagined trumpets announcing your arrival, their triumphant notes echoing through a hall packed with dignitaries and nobility from across the realm. And at the altar, a man of honor and equal standing would wait for you, his gaze warm with affection as you joined in a union built on love, not duty.

But now—the sun has nearly set, painting the grand temple in muted amber light. Inside, the space feels hollow, adorned only by a few hurriedly arranged flowers, their disarray a testament to the servants' exhaustion from cleaning up the siege’s destruction. Your gown, though lovely, is no custom-made masterpiece—just a window display piece hastily altered by the royal dressmaker. The pews stand mostly empty, save for your crestfallen family, a handful of somber faces from the Noir high court, and the ever-stoic Onichynus war council.

Your husband-to-be, still clad in his dark battle regalia, stands steadfast at your side, his expression an impenetrable mask as the archbishop intones the ceremonial rites. You had imagined him to be someone hard to look at—perhaps as old as a grandfather, his years as a general etched into every line of his face, and his figure weighed down by indulgent vices. Yet, to your quiet relief, he is nothing of the sort. Even if he proves unsavory as a husband or father to your future children, at least he’s pleasing to look at.

“By the will of fate, you are now bound in union,” the High Priest finally says, raising his palms toward you both. “May your allegiance to one another be as steadfast as the duties you carry, and may this union bring the future of your realms to prosperity.”

—

You wince as an elderly maidservant struggles to loosen a particularly stubborn knot in your hair, the pull jerking your head painfully. She pauses, her hand gently patting the spot in apology.

Your gaze stays fixed on the cold, flatstone floor, and you hardly notice the other maidservants bustling around you. One smooths out the faint creases in your satin nightdress, while another tugs at the neckline, pulling it lower to expose more of your cleavage and collarbone. Beneath the thin fabric, your undergarments have been removed, leaving you vulnerable to the biting chill of the room. You’ve been scrubbed clean, coated in the silkiest lotions, each scent more intoxicating than the last—all for your first night with your new husband.

“Are you nervous, Your Highness?” the elderly maidservant asks, her hands gentle as she brushes through your hair.

You pause, the question settling in your chest as you ponder how to answer.

“I can’t say I’m confident,” you say, twisting your fingers together. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

In the mirror, you catch the discreet glances exchanged behind you, their pity and concern barely hidden. You force yourself to look away, but the weight of their silent judgment lingers.

“The Onichynus general… he seemed like such a massive man,” a younger maidservant whispers, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I do hope he treats Her Highness with kindness.”

Another maidservant scoffs, her tone sharp with bitterness. “All men are beasts, driven only by their lust for control—and for anything with a pair of breasts.”

There’s a collective hiss of disapproval from the others, but the harsh words still echo in your mind. You fight to keep your face composed, though your heart aches with fear.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” the elderly maidservant says, her voice light. “The men from that state may be known for their ruthlessness, but with your likeness, the general will surely find himself a changed man.”

You can only hope the same.

Soon after, you begin your walk to the matrimonial room. The maidservants fall in step around you, their presence a quiet shield. The lively chatter from your earlier preparations has faded, replaced by a tense, almost somber silence. Despite the considerable distance between rooms, the walk feels too short, each step too swift. Before you can fully gather your bearings, you now find yourself alone, sitting on the bed, the weight of the night settling in around you.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. Women across the realm are bound to face this, especially those of royal blood. Consummation on the wedding night is an expectation, a duty. No matter how much you’ve dreaded or tried to avoid it, you’ve always known it was inevitable. All that’s left now is to steel yourself, strive to please your husband, and to embrace your role as a future mother—for Noir’s sake.

The doors swing open, and you flinch. The general steps inside, his damp hair clinging to his face, a clear sign of a recent bath. His attire for the evening is simple: loose trousers and a tunic that, despite its modesty, does little to hide the breadth of his shoulders or the strong lines of his chest. Your gaze betrays you, lingering longer than it should, tracing the way the fabric shifts with his movements. His towering height seems to diminish even the vast expanse of the room, making the high ceilings feel incredibly small.

His ember-like eyes catch yours and you suddenly feel too exposed.

“Good evening, princess.”

“General,” you greet, wincing at how weak it sounds as it leaves your lips.

His gaze sweeps over you, lingering on the curve of your shoulders beneath the delicate straps of your ivory nightdress, the soft swell of your breasts pressing gently against the neckline. The fabric cinches at your waist before flaring out around your hips, emphasized by the way you sit at the edge of the mattress. Your posture is rigid, hands clasped in your lap—a result of all the etiquette drilled into you from childhood.

He notices the tension in your form and lets out a sigh, turning toward the couch at the far end of the room.

You blink.

“Where are you going?” you blurt out, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your Highness,” he drawls, settling into the couch with a lazy grace. “We don’t have to do this. You look like a kitten with her hackles raised. We could ruffle the bedding, spill some oil on the sheets, and pretend we had a night worthy of the chamberlain’s inspection.”

A flash of panic rises within you. You stand, words tumbling out in a rush. “Nonsense! Marriage is not recognized before the temple unless consummated on the night of the ceremony.”

He tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Such peculiar customs you have here on Noir.”

You had imagined a thousand ways this night could go, a thousand versions of the man you’d just married. Not one of them prepared you for this.

You flush, frustration building in your chest. “General, I would appreciate it if you respect the customs of Noir. We are a proud people, and we honor the traditions passed down to us by our forefathers.”

He rolls his eyes. Then, with a slow, deliberate pace, he stands and makes his way toward you. For every step he takes, you fight the instinct to hunch your shoulders, to shrink away. Next thing you know, he’s standing before you, his imposing size forcing you to tilt your head back to maintain your gaze.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, gently cupping your face. The heat of his touch burns through your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You finally avert your eyes. “I’ve never been with a man before,” you manage to say with as much indifference as you can muster, nails digging into your palms.

“Really? Not even a stolen kiss in your youth?”

You clench your teeth. “There are far more pressing matters to focus on than indulging in childish flirtations.”

He laughs, a rich, deep sound that resonates through the air, stirring an unexpected warmth low in your belly.

“Alright,” he concedes, his finger tracing a slow path along your cheek. Without warning, he grips your jaw, the touch both commanding and tender, pulling your gaze back to meet his. “But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. None of those absurd rules from your royal handbook.”

You pull back slightly, brows knitting in confusion. “The act is the same, is it not?”

“Do you agree, Your Highness?” he presses, lips grazing your ear ever so slightly. The warmth of his breath against your skin is unfamiliar, and the rush of heat that sweeps up your neck sends electrifying pulses deep within your core.

“Yes,” you grit out.

After studying your expression one last time, he lowers himself slightly, then grips the back of your thighs and lifts you with ease. You gasp, scrambling to find your balance. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, fingers digging into the firm, broad muscles of his shoulders. With a smooth shift, he adjusts your position, the inside of your thighs pressing against his hips, before carrying you to the vanity desk at the center of the room.

You struggle to speak, words caught in your throat as the sensation of being so high up in the air makes you dizzy. He finally sets you down on the desk, his large palms slowly dragging down your legs, gently pushing your knees apart.

“G—General,” you stammer, eyes wide as he pulls his tunic over his head, revealing a tanned expanse of skin and the hard, defined muscles beneath. “The bed is over there—why are we here?”

A flicker of a smile plays at his lips as he tosses the fabric carelessly to the floor. “Trust me, princess. Now close your eyes.”

You want to argue, remind him that asking you to trust the most notorious figure in the realm—whom you’ve barely known for a day—is no small request. But the gravity in his scarlet gaze quiets any protest. With a reluctant breath, you close your eyes.

There’s no movement at first. Then, his calloused palms find your knees, the rough calluses a stark contrast against the smooth stretch of your skin. Heat blossoms under his touch, searing its way upward as his hands glide along the curve of your hips, the taper of your waist. You fail to suppress the shudder coursing through you when his touch pauses just below the swell of your breasts, lingering for a heartbeat before sliding to your sides, his broad palms more than spanning the width of your back.

Then, you feel the faint brush of his breath against your mouth, a fleeting warmth before his lips capture yours in a tender kiss. The hot, wet sensation has your back arching instinctively, your hardened nipples pressing through the thin fabric of your nightgown against his hard chest. A deep, throbbing ache pulses at your core, and you clamp your thighs together in a futile effort to suppress the damp heat pooling between them.

The overwhelming rush of sensations draws a whimper from your lips, your trembling hands clutching at his shoulders for stability. His response is immediate—a low, guttural groan before he deepens the kiss, his mouth returning to yours with even more fervor.

You’ve read about kissing in your sparse collection of romance novels, tried to envision the mechanics behind the act. But the mental images always fell short, awkward and unappealing, leaving you unconvinced of its charm. You’d dismissed it as unnecessary, even pointless—especially when it came to something as pragmatic and straightforward as sex.

But now the general is sneaking in the hot, wet glide of his tongue between your lips and you panic, not sure what it is he’s doing and what you’re supposed to do. He must sense your uncertainty, because his large hand moves to steady your jaw and nape, holding you in place. When he feels the accidental brush of your tongue, he wastes no time and sucks at it, the lewd sound echoing in your ears, forcing soft, strangled sounds from your throat.

You no longer feel the seeping chill from outside the castle walls, body now feeling like it’s on fire, the wetness dripping from your entrance sliding down your inner thighs. You feel like you’re drunk and about to pass out, so you push his chest back with a gentle palm.

“General,” you say, heaving through swollen lips. “What… what are we doing? The bed…”

He takes a moment to steady his breath, eyes squeezed shut, palms pressing firmly at your waist. Then, a low, rough chuckle rumbles from his chest.

“You’re infuriatingly naive,” he mutters, his sweat-damp forehead resting against your shoulder. “You must be the only woman of all arranged marriages eager to crawl into bed with a man she barely knows.”

You flush, indignant at the implication behind his words. “What are you trying to say?” you demand, mouth unconsciously forming into a pout.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. “What I’m saying, princess, is let me take care of you. I don’t know what your upbringing has taught you, but there’s more to this than just... getting it over with.”

You’re not used to being told what to do and deviating from the rules, so you force out a sharp “fine”—an unintended display of bratty defiance, considering the man before you. But he only laughs, and to your dismay, the sound makes him even more handsome than he already is.

“Hold on,” he murmurs, lifting you by your bottom this time, pressing you flush against his chest. His hands on your backside—so close to where you’re throbbing and wet—has you flinching forward. You suddenly feel the brush of something firm against the sensitive nub above your slit, and you jerk again in surprise.

He chuckles, before gently lowering you onto the soft expanse of the mattress. His lips find your collarbone first, then trail down to your nipples, where he suckles through the fabric. A soft whimper escapes you, your fingers curling into the sheets. You can feel his smile against your skin as his tongue sweeps over one of your sensitive buds, before continuing its journey down toward your abdomen.

But then he hovers his face above your groin that’s barely concealed by the bunched-up hem of your nightgown. Alarm jolts through you, and you prop yourself up on your elbows, torso rising instinctively. You attempt to close your legs, but his hands hold them firmly apart.

“General—”

“Sylus,” he interrupts, lips brushing along the inside of your knee. “We’re married now, sweetheart. Use my name.”

A twisted sense of pride coils within you, knowing you hold both the name and face of the most infamous man in the realm.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat before continuing. “Sylus,” you echo, the name oddly satisfying on your lips. “Not that I’m… doubting your expertise, but is all of this really necessary?”

He exhales heavily, saying nothing at first. Then, he takes your hand—its size utterly lost in his grip—and guides it down your body. His movements are deliberate, stopping only when your palm meets the undeniable hardness of his cock, straining against his trousers.

You struggle to contain the jumbled stutters tumbling from your lips. “What are you—”

“I’m a big man,” he states matter-of-factly, his gaze unwavering. “And this is your first time. As you are now—you won’t be able to handle me.”

You don’t fully understand what he means, but the statement silences you nonetheless.

He chuckles, letting go of your hand, and you immediately pull it back to your chest. “May I?” he asks, his voice low as he hovers below you once again.

You flash a glare, before nodding reluctantly.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans back, his gaze shifting downward to the space between your legs. Slowly, he lifts the hem of your dress, inch by inch, until the cool air brushes against your exposed skin. You watch, eyes heavy, fighting the tremors rushing through you, as his hand moves along the inside of your thigh. When his fingers brush against your folds, a sharp exhale escapes you, and your head falls back onto the mattress.

“You’re so sensitive, princess,” he murmurs, amusement lacing his words.

“Shut up and get on with it,” you snap, covering your eyes with your forearm.

You hear a quiet laugh escape him before two fingers press against the sensitive nub above your folds, sending a shock of pleasure through your body. Your back arches instinctively as he slides his fingers up and down against your entrance. The motion, slick and sinful, leaves you gasping, and you struggle to keep your legs open, body trembling from the unfamiliar pleasure.

Sylus’ eyes darken, flicking between the way his fingers tease your slick folds and the way your breasts strain against your dress. His breathing grows heavier as he reaches up, pulling the neckline down to expose your chest. A soft whine escapes you when his hand cups one swell, firm yet gentle, while the other continues its relentless ministrations below.

“I’m pressing one in, alright?” he murmurs.

You barely register the words before he pushes a thick finger past your folds.

“Wait—it feels—ngh—it’s strange,” you stammer, voice hitching on a whine.

He stills immediately, digit only halfway in. “Does it hurt?”

“I… kind of? I don’t know…”

You’re panting. The pressure is peculiar, and quite unpleasant. Your body tenses at the newness of it, the unfamiliar stretch bordering on discomfort.

He remains patient, finger unmoving. Then, you feel his thumb press on your nub, drawing gentle circles against the sensitive lower hood of it. The obscene sound of slickness fills the space and you’re mortified, toes curling at the wave of arousal soaking his hand.

“This better?” he whispers, drinking in every detail—your heaving chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the tremor in your thighs, and the glistening mess pooling between them.

You can’t respond, overwhelmed by the spiraling pleasure.

A chuckle rumbles from him, low and pleased, as he presses the rest of his finger inside. This time, it slides in smoothly, and the high-pitched moan that escapes you is muffled by your trembling palm. Now knuckle-deep, he gently strokes upward, pressing on a rough spot that makes you jerk in his hold.

“I’m going to try something, alright?” he says softly, breath brushing against your knee as he plants a tender kiss.

“Okay,” you croak, struggling to process the pulsing sensations building deep inside you.

The circles on your nub stop, and you almost whimper at the loss. But before you can voice your complaints, something warm, wet, and utterly foreign replaces his thumb. Your head snaps back, a raw, choked cry tearing from your lips.

“General—hah—Sylus… What are you—?”

He doesn’t answer. Dazed, you prop yourself up and the sight before you is almost too much: the most powerful man in the realm, kneeling between your legs, his mouth worshiping you with unrelenting fervor. His tongue laps at your folds, drags it languidly up to your engorged nub before closing his lips around it, sucking in a way that sends sharp, electric pulses straight through your core.

Panicked by the unbearable pressure building inside, you try to push his head away. “Stop—it’s strange, I feel like I’m going to—”

Before you can finish, he slides another finger inside, stretching you further. His fingers curl, stroking that spongy spot with unrelenting precision. His mouth works in tandem, alternating between suckling and lapping at your overstimulated nub.

Tears blur your vision as the intensity peaks. You scream into your palms, hips bucking against his mouth and hand as you feel yourself tip over the high he brought you to.

Sylus watches, entranced, as your legs open wider, cries muffled as your body convulses under his ministrations. Even as you shatter under him, he doesn’t let up, prolonging your fall at his mercy. And when you’re finally sent over the edge, your release flooding his eager mouth, he drinks in the sight of you—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent.

He presses his cheek against your inner thigh, feeling the delicate tremors rippling through your body as you struggle to steady your breathing. His eyes trail over your folds, soft and swollen, slightly parted as your essence continues to glisten and drip. Unable to hold back, he dips his head and presses a slow, deliberate kiss, groaning as your intoxicating taste lingers on his lips.

Your cry pierces the air, hands flying to his hair as you tug with desperation. “W—Wait…! I can’t… it’s too much… please…”

He only chuckles, low and teasing, before placing a final kiss on the sensitive nub above your folds. Then, he moves upward, settling his weight against you. His chin rests between your breasts, arms locking yours in place as his eyes meet yours, heat and satisfaction dancing in his gaze.

As clarity slowly returns, the enormity of what just happened hits you. He—the Onichynus general, a man who strikes fear in nations across the realm—had just laved at your most intimate area with his tongue. Such an act is nowhere to be found in the guides you’ve read on sex, not even as a distant suggestion. And yet, you enjoyed it. Far more than you care to admit.

An embarrassed huff escapes you as heat blooms across your face. You throw your hands up to cover it, unwilling to meet the insufferable smugness you can practically feel radiating from him below.

Suddenly, you feel the neckline of your dress being tugged down again, catching beneath your breasts. Then, you feel the flat of his tongue gently press on a nipple, circling it with the tip before pulling it into his mouth to suckle. His hand slides up to your other bud, palm brushing over it in slow, deliberate motions. Breasts are meant to nourish, to sustain future generations—mere vessels for the creation of life. Yet the hairs at the back of your neck raise on end as you feel the return of the persistent pulsing deep within you. You bite your lip, stifling the sounds threatening to escape, back arching as you desperately chase the sensation of his mouth on you.

“We can stop now if you wish, Your Highness,” he murmurs against your skin.

Fighting the heaviness taking over your body, you grab his jaw, forcing him to meet the fire in your gaze. “Do you have a problem with consummating with me, general?”

He responds with a particularly sharp suck at your nipple.

“Ngh—! Sylus! I meant Sylus!” you cry out, correcting yourself with a gasp.

He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before moving to the soft curve of your breast. His mouth alternates between harsh sucking and teasing bites, leaving a trail of bruised blooms in his wake.

“While intercourse may be a mere formality to you Noir people, in Onichynus, it’s an act of passion and love,” he says, voice low as he shifts to giving attention to your other bud. “I wish to ensure that Her Highness, my wife, has a memorable first experience. So, if you feel spent for the night, we can always stop. At any time.”

His words settle deep inside you and you feel warmth spread in your chest. Perhaps Onichynus is more than the tales of its ruthless reputation, after all. Hesitantly, you caress his cheek, heart aching at the way he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm. He almost seems like a clingy pet feline.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I want to finish the rites,” you say softly. Then, you flush, struggling to find the right words. “And, um, I didn’t expect things to be this… good. I don’t mind experiencing more, if it’s alright with you.”

It takes a moment for your words to register, and when they do, Sylus smirks—a slow, predatory curl of his lips that sends heat coursing through your body. He leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushes your bottom lip, and this time, you grant him easy access. You mimic what he did to you earlier, tentatively wrapping your lips around his tongue and sucking gently.

Immediately, a low, visceral groan escapes him as his hips press forward, grinding his restrained arousal against your soaked folds. The rough fabric of his trousers drags against your sensitive nub, sending jolts of pleasure rippling through you. You whine into his mouth, arms winding around his neck as you pull him impossibly closer.

Sylus seems barely in control now, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he adjusts his movements, angling his hips so that the ridge where his shaft meets the head rubs directly against your overstimulated nub.

Without warning, he breaks the kiss, leaving you on the verge of a whine as a string of spit bridges the space between you. He steps back, tugging his trousers down in one swift motion. Your gaze drops instinctively, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

Broad shoulders taper into a lean waist, and every inch of his sculpted body radiates strength. But it’s the thick, throbbing length between his legs that holds your attention. He notices the starstruck look on your gaze and he chuckles, walking closer to you until you're face level with it. Taking your hand, he gently wraps it around his girth. The sheer thickness overwhelms your grip, and your breath catches at the realization.

“Feel free to take a look,” he rasps.

You’ve never seen a cock before, but instinctively, you know this one is massive. The shaft is thick, with prominent veins that seem to throb faintly, and the soft, rounded shapes below it look heavy and full. The bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip is flushed, beads of some kind of white, translucent fluid glistening at the slit. For some reason, you feel the urge to lean in and taste it.

Sylus takes your hand, shaping it into a loose 'O.' “This is you,” he murmurs, guiding your fingers to glide along his length, spreading the slick fluid. “And this…” He pushes through the circle you’ve made, the thick head sliding in and out. “…is how it’ll feel when I’m inside you.”

Slowly, he begins to move, sliding his shaft through your grip. The sensation is intoxicating, and you’re mesmerized by the sight of him—his cock pumping in and out of your hand, each stroke leaving it sticky with his arousal. You don’t even realize your lips are parting until you lean forward, your tongue darting out to flick against the leaking tip.

Sylus lets out a guttural moan, one hand tangling in your hair as his hips jerk involuntarily. His taste—salty and slightly bitter—is heady, and the heat of him against your tongue heightens your arousal. He bucks into your mouth, and though you gag slightly, you fight to take more of him, desperate for the connection.

You feel too empty.

“Princess—fuck—this is torture,” he groans, his deep voice rough with restraint.

You can only moan in response, lips stretched around his cock as he begins thrusting into your mouth. His large hands steady your head, guiding your movements. You peek up at him through fluttering lashes, and you feel your folds quiver at the sinful sight of the Onichynus general panting, eyes shut, sweat-covered muscles taut as he pistons in and out of you.

You are Noir’s beloved princess—revered and envied for your beauty, grace, and intellect—yet now you’re barely coherent, delirious over the addictive taste of your husband as he fucks your mouth over and over.

One particularly deep thrust hits the back of your throat and you gag, tears springing to your eyes. Sylus curses under his breath and withdraws immediately.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he pants, taking in the sight of you—tears streaking your cheeks, saliva glistening on your lips, thighs pressed together in a futile attempt to relieve your ache.

“It’s okay,” you croak, voice hoarse and small.

Sylus pauses, taking a moment to steady himself and pull back from the frenzy consuming him, before climbing onto the bed, positioning himself against the headboard. His hands grip your waist, lifting you effortlessly to straddle his lap. Movements frantic and barely restrained, he aligns your slick folds against the length of his shaft. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding, while his hands grip your hips, guiding you to rock against him. The friction against your sensitive nub draws a cry from you, and he groans into your mouth.

“Let me have you, princess,” he practically begs against your lips between heavy breaths.

You barely have time to process his words before he lifts you slightly, the broad head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. Then, you feel an immediate, sharp stretch as he breaches your folds, pushing deeper until the full length of him fills you to the hilt.

A strangled cry escapes you and you collapse against his chest, burying your face in his neck with stilted sobs. Sylus remains still, large hands massaging your rear soothingly, coaxing your body to adjust.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers, lips brushing against your temple. “Just breathe. Let me in.”

“It hurts,” you gasp. He shifts slightly, and a sharp sensation makes you wince, like he’s hitting a spot that feels too far, too much. “T—Too big…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, breath hot and uneven against your ear. His hands move carefully, gently parting the delicate skin of your folds in an attempt to ease the stretch and make it more bearable.

Keeping his hips as still as possible, he reaches for the hem of your now sweat-soaked nightgown, lifting it with as much gentleness as he can muster. His eyes trace the path of the fabric as it reveals the slick mess of fluids dripping from where you're joined, the soft curve of your belly, the delicate bounce of your breasts freed from constraint, and finally, your tear-streaked face—beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly his. Guilt flickers through him as he feels himself twitch and grow even harder inside you, despite your pained whimpers.

After tossing the fabric aside, his lips find your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the spots that make your walls flutter around him, drawing soft, helpless sounds from your lips.

“Once you’re settled in our home on the mainland, you’ll have everything you could ever desire,” he murmurs, hands gliding up to rub gentle circles over your hardened nipples.

“You’ll have servants at your beck and call, and you’ll be free to do whatever you please. No one will dare defy you—no one will even think to.”

The vivid imagery of his words wraps around your mind like a spell, pulling you deeper into him. The sharp discomfort of being stretched begins to ebb, replaced by a dull ache that shifts to faint blooms of pleasure.

“And when you finally swell with my child,” he breathes, tone thick with promise, “I’ll find endless delight in claiming you over and over, until the first light of dawn touches us.”

You flush at the picture of him taking you like this, with your belly round and full with his heir.

He chuckles low against your ear, the sound dark and rich. “Oh? You like that idea, don’t you?”

You huff, landing a light smack on his chest. “Do not tease me,” you protest, voice carrying a hint of authority despite your half-lidded gaze. The sight of you perched on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while you fix him with a stern, regal expression befitting a princess is enough to have his hips bucking up to you.

With a strained groan, he crashes his lips against your neck, his cock throbbing almost painfully within your tight walls. “I need you, princess,” he rasps against your skin, barely holding back the urge to thrust up into you.

The pressure of the stretch still lingers, but the sharp pain has melted into pulses of pleasure. You place your hips back, grinding your sensitive nub against his groin, desperate for more. “Please do something,” you plead, hips moving in frantic, clumsy circles, chasing a bliss you don’t know you’re craving.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He lowers you back onto the mattress while still buried deep inside you. Propping himself up on his elbows, his gaze locks onto yours as he slowly draws his hips back, leaving only the tip nestled at your entrance. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he sinks back in to the hilt, filling you completely in one long, unrelenting stroke.

You cry out, this time in response to the delicious friction of his cock dragging against your walls. Driven wild by your reaction, he pulls back again, then thrusts deeply into you with another slow, deliberate plunge. A hiss escapes him as the head of his cock presses against your deepest depths.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans, lips brushing over the bruises left by his earlier kisses on your neck. “You’ve been such a darling for me, haven’t you?”

To his twisted delight, you remain incomprehensible, helpless sounds pouring from your kiss-bitten lips as you scramble to steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, nails digging painfully into his skin. He’s almost feral at the way your flesh ripples from the impact of each thrust. The princess of Noir, coveted by men all over the realm, now lies beneath him, sweat-slicked, legs spread, and taking his cock so wonderfully. But beyond that, he sees the most perfect queen—one whose unparalleled intellect and sharp wit can stand beside him in his pursuit for power.

Suddenly, he pulls out, and you whine, tears staining your cheeks at the dizzying emptiness. He merely shushes you soothingly before gently turning you over onto your stomach. Before you can garble out a question on what he’s doing, he plunges into you once more, hitting a spot against your front that has you curling your toes and screaming into the sheets.

“I—It feels s—strange again—!” you manage between broken whimpers, each word punctuated by the relentless rhythm of his movements against your sore walls.

“Wanna feel good again, princess?” he murmurs against your ear.

Your answering sob is all the reply you can muster.

Suddenly, you’re hoisted up on your knees, his strong arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand grips your jaw, holding your face up. His thrusts quicken, erratic and desperate, and you gasp as his tongue traces the outer shell of your ear. Then, his hand slides lower, fingers finding the swollen nub above your abused folds. The sudden burst of pleasure at the rubbing motion has you crying out, body tightening as a familiar heat coils low in your belly.

You begin to thrash in his hold at the overwhelming sensations. “Sy—I think—I think I’m—”

“Let it happen, princess, I got you.”

With those words, your hands tangle in his sweat-damp hair as a violent shudder wracks your body, exhausted sobs escaping your lips. His relentless pace doesn’t falter, eyes locked on the harsh bounce of your breasts as he pounds into you from behind, chasing his release. The tight grip of your walls and the slick heat enveloping his cock finally push him over the edge, his thrusts turning shallow and frantic before burying himself deep with a final, forceful motion, spilling his seed inside you.

Sylus takes a moment to catch his breath, pressing soft, chaste kisses along your shoulders.

“You alright, princess?”

You don’t respond.

Confused, he gently tilts your head back, only to find your peaceful, sleeping face, soft snores escaping your lips. He huffs a small laugh. How adorable.

Carefully, he shifts against the headboard, settling you onto him with his half-hard cock still nestled inside, twitching faintly. Draping your legs over his knees, he starts massaging your inner thighs, soothing the soreness he knows must be there.

A series of sharp knocks echoes through the room.

“This is the chamberlain. I must confirm that the consummation rites have been fulfilled for your marriage to be deemed legitimate by the Grand Temple.”

Sylus scowls, eyes scanning over your sleeping form. “Can’t this wait in the morning?”

“This is necessary to eliminate any possibility of deceit in performing the rites.”

“Damn uptights,” he mutters. Then, a smirk plays at the corner of his lips. “Well, come in then.”

The door swings open, revealing the old chamberlain in his faded temple robes, his attention fixed on his ledger. He mumbles the schedule for the following day as he approaches the bed. When he finally looks up, expecting to see the usual ruffled, soaked sheets, he freezes, almost stumbling backward in shock.

You—the cherished Noir princess, known for your beauty and headstrong grace—lie exhausted, nestled against the imposing form of the feared Onichynus general behind you. His scarlet eyes glint as he sucks a mark onto the side of your neck, and beneath you, his impressive girth disappears into your swollen, intimate folds, generous amounts of your combined essences coating his base.

“This is evidence enough, no?” Sylus taunts, sneaking in a shallow thrust up to you, drawing a soft, breathless whine from your throat.

The chamberlain stammers, his words fumbling as he backs toward the door.

“Y—Yes, the rites are confirmed. Good night,” he rushes out in a single breath before slamming the door behind him.

Chuckling, Sylus pulls his sleeping wife closer, placing a tender kiss on your temple. You’ll need the rest for the long journey ahead, and for whatever adjustments await you back on the mainland.

But, in the end, none of that matters.

He’s just grateful to have found his beloved kitten again.

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #sylus smut

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crepezinhos · 6 months ago

Text

Purity

POV: You just wanted to celebrate your engagement party with your friends and family in the 1600s, but as soon as you left the scene for a quick moment, your childhood friend, Scaramouche, appeared with a lot of complaints.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a slightly Yandere and corrupted NSFW piece

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— 1600s / European Royalty AU

— There will be a lot of usage and mentions of toxic religion / culture towards women.

— There will be a whole NSFW part describing teenagers having sex

The party was going perfectly well as you planned it to be. Even without your presence at the main hall in a party that was supposed to be about you, you could hear the hundreds of voices and noises of silvers clicking. You thought that maybe making this party huge would distract your mind off from the most recent events of your life, and it did before your future husband ruined it for you and made you remind that you were just a loser in his game.

Of course it was him, it had to be him. Why did you even believe that he’d ever let you have that much of fun in a party? Now, you definitely did not want to party anymore, and luckily, you also couldn’t. Tears are a nightmare for eyes with mascara all around its eyelashes, the ink is strong. You looked a homeless woman as you crippled through each stair step in search of your room, stepping in the ends of your dress, defeated by the public humiliation he did to you. Why did he have keep making so many remarks about your excited manners towards the visitors, how you referred to him, and how much food you wanted to put in your plate? It made you wonder why did you ever accept marrying him the entire walk.

The story behind your marriage is simple. Your reputation in the city was bad, not enough to make your family miserable, but enough to make all the marriage suitors of your age refuse to take your hand in marriage. You were a girl who liked to have fun and take risks, not sit and chat for hours while drinking tasteless cups of tea in a time where all men wanted the complete opposite in their wives. You also had a very curious case in the past. You and your childhood best friend called Kunikuzushi, or Scaramouche just for you, had promised and announced a marriage that would take place as soon as both of you got inserted into society, but unfortunately, his school offered him a scholarship in France before you two could be inserted, and since you obviously couldn’t come with him, he was forced to choose between success or you. He ended up picking France, which was not a bad decision, but watching his departure was truly painful to your poor heart who had deeply fallen in love with him.

Because of this tragic love story that turned out to be a joke and your questionable personality, everyone lost interest in you and your family, which made you an unmarried woman for two years. In short, being unmarried at such age was a disaster. The only man that had proposed to you was the same one who shamed you in front of your whole family and all those hypocrite visitors. He was the double of your age, ugly, and had really strict standards for his future wife after the loss of his previous wife. After a few test dates with him, you realized that you really did not want to marry him and even repulsed the idea, not because of your love towards Scaramouche, but because he wasn’t ok in the head. He was weird to a point where he confessed he just wanted to make you his wife because he thought you looked very fertile and that you’d be an incredible mother for boys, since you ‘acted like one’, which would not be a bad thing if his eyes never seemed to linger in your crotch for too long and if he kept his hands to himself.

You did not want to spend the rest of your life stocked to such weird man at all. You didn’t feel anything for him and even felt sick in his presence, but your reputation was in such a terrible state that your parents pressured you with the worst and most disturbing threats ever to accept his offer during a huge argument about it.

You’ve always wished to marry a young man of your age, especially Scaramouche, but you had no right or power of choice in that situation. With growing tears in the back of your eyes, you accepted his act of putting a golden ring in your finger. The day still haunted your dreams and thoughts, making you want to cry every single day of your meaningless life just like today.

Luckily, all you had to do that after climbing those long, exhausting stairs was enter the first room at the right. As soon as you touched the golden, cold doorknob of it, you felt your body melt and your tears finally coming out of your eyes with freedom. You held them for so long, you just wanted to throw yourself at the bed and cry until you fell asleep. Still, as desperate as you were, you closed the door very gently, afraid of possibly calling attention.

You stepped out of your heels and finally ran to the bed you slept through your entire childhood. Due to the contact your face made with the sheets, you finally felt comfort to open your mouth and let all your whimpers out. Everything that led to your situation was hitting you again. Your affair with Scaramouche, his departure, the argument with your parents, the betrayal of society to you, the first appearance of that hag you were marrying, his proposal, and today. It all made you so anxious again that you really began to try shutting your mouth again multiple times and swallow all that voice down your throat again, but it only seemed to worsen.

“Y/N?” You suddenly heard a voice inside the room, slightly muffled due to your head being drowned at the wet sheets.

Oh no, someone spotted you.

The fear of it being your husband, an unreliable gossiper or your reputation worsening made you instantly jump up from that position, despite the weird feeling of familiarity on that voice.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll come down in a few—!” You tried making yourself look normal, but as soon as your eyes gazed upon the person’s shiny purple hair and eyes, you stopped acting.

It was the complete opposite of what your pessimism made you believe it could be, it was a miracle, it was Kunikuzushi. Although his face seemed to be very stressed and he entered the room without knocking, it did not make his appearance any less pleasant to you.

“Scara…” You called his nickname after those 2 years without speaking of it.

Your family made very clear to you that if you ever spoke of the man again to them or your husband, it would lead to your disownment, but calling his name out so passionately like that made all those threats feel useless to you. The first thing you did after realizing that it was really him, was begin walking to him. It was instinctual, so instinctual that your knees stopped trembling just for you to reach him and more tears started coming down. He looked so beautiful and mature… it made you feel even more bad about yourself. You wasted such a handsome man to one that probably has never even tried to look pretty to a lady.

“For how long have you…” You tried interacting, but as you soon as your hand managed to touch him, you broke down once again, this time in his embrace.

You felt so safe around Scaramouche and so hungry for him that you genuinely allowed your legs to stop working, and as expected, he held you with a warm embrace around your entire torso. When he realized you still were as light as a feather, he leaned one hand up to the back of your head and started cuddling it, his face still stressed.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” He whispered with that familiar angry voice of his you wished to hear again, slightly gripping tighter in your head.

The truth is that you secretly sent an invitation letter to the party to him, even if you believed that he would not be able to come or simply wouldn’t come. It was a normal envelope like everyone else’s, but you hoped he’d interpret it as a cry for help.

“W-Wha… what do you mean..?” You whimpered, looking up to his face.

Now that he was so much taller than you, the difference of height was surprising to you.

“I was talking to him, to find out where you were and to just know who the fuck were you marrying, and not only he said he didn’t know with the most careless tone I could hear, but he felt comfortable enough to confess a bunch of weird shit about his intentions with you and that he offended you in front of everyone in the dining table.” He told the story behind his arrival very angrily, but his voice was so mesmerizing to you that you barely paid attention to it. He still sounded like a twelve year-old boy before his departure, but now he sounded like an adult. “Did he really do that, Y/N?” He asked, pulling your chin to him to wake you up to reality, forcing you to go through all he said before again and stare at those addicting purple eyes.

Between all those whimpers and tears, you nodded weakly, making Scaramouche grit his teeth.

“And you’re really… marrying him?” You went quiet for some second in embarrassment after he made that question with the most disappointed tone you’ve ever heard from him yet.

But you had no choice rather than being truthful.

“Yes—”

“Why?” He asked instantly, some of his anger accidentally pouring out.

“I… had to… or I would be disowned and… and..!” You tried explaining, but the memories of the actual threat stopped you from venting too much.

Luckily, he understood your despair at that moment and embraced you again.

“I’m guessing this is all because of me, isn’t it?” He scoffed at himself, but you instantly nodded your head side to side, trying to tell him otherwise. “Oh, Y/N… I should’ve found a way to bring you to France with me…” He whispered in your ear and pulled you even closer to his body, truly seeming regretful of his decisions. “I thought I had forgotten about you over these two years, but here I am, raging over your marriage.” He vented, making your eyes finally open again, but in confusion.

“You’re… angry..?” You asked, leaning your chin up to him again.

“Way more than that, Y/N.” He said very directly, pushing you away from him gently, still holding on your shoulders as he precisely stared to the deepest parts of your eyes. “This has to stop.” He shook your shoulders, making you get even more confused and surprised at his sudden jealously. “I don’t care if it will ruin more of your little reputation, I can’t let you marry that prick.” He spouted more of his feelings, putting a hand back to reach the door behind him to bang it back to its place and spin the lock in knob, then going back to gripping on your shoulders tighter than before, making you slightly whimper at his firmness.

“W-What are you talking about, Scara..?” You asked, trying to believe he was not saying those things.

“Do you know why that man asked your hand in marriage, Y/N? I had a bit of hope that at least I lost you to a good man, but all he wants in you is your fertility and potential to be a mother.” He told you the details of it with a kind of disgust you had never seen on him, making you turn your face away from him in embarrassment of your decisions. “That’s fucking mental, Y/N, why the fuck are doing this?!” He shook your shoulders again, a little more aggressive as he tries to understand you the mentality behind your choices.

“And what else could I do, Scara?! If you know that it’s your fault that I got a bad reputation, why are you acting like this is unexpected?! I was unmarried for these whole two years, I had to accept this! You know how things work for women! If I don’t marry quickly, I’ll be forever stained with it like it’s written in my forehead! Do you know how much I had to fight and work to get this, huh?! Do you think I chose and love this?!” You vented it all out, screaming like you didn’t care about the possible consequences of it meanwhile Scaramouche looked at you in horror.

But you could see that you convinced him, now that he let you go and turned around, beginning to walk in circles in your room with his hands in his hips, thoughtful about you.

“I can’t let you do this, Y/N…” He whispered to himself as he nodded his head around multiple times and you stood weakly exactly where you’ve been this entire hug.

But after some circles, he started to slow down until he fully stopped in front of one of the room’s windows. He kept staring at the garden below the room through the glass, his back turned to you, but you could still feel the anxiety behind whatever he thought of.

His arms crossed firmly, his index finger tapping his arm, and at the same time he took a deep breath, like he was preparing for something.

“Marry me.” He stated, finally finding the courage to stare at you again.

You simply stared at him wordless in your shrunken position, completely vulnerable to his tall figure, although he was far from you. The room remained quiet because Scara needed a response to continue rambling about that brainstormed idea.

“I would’ve accepted losing you to a common man of our age, but not to an old hag with a simple wish to make an heir.” He commented as you thought of what to answer him.

“Scaramouche… are you nuts?! I already am engaged to him, all we need is the actual wedding! There’s nothing to be done about it unless you want to stain my reputation forever!” You finally spouted some of your emotions to him.

“Of course there is, Y/N! Listen to me…” He shouted at you as he approached to you again, holding on your arms again very firmly. “I just came back to this hellhole to see you, but I’ll be soon going back to England and most likely going to stay there for the rest of my life. If you dump this douchebag right now and marry me instead, I’ll take you out of here and implant you into a new society! See?! It really isn’t hard or risky and we will finally marry each other as we’ve always dreamed to! I still fucking love you so much, Y/N… You’ve grown so well and you look so fucking beautiful in this dress… I can’t lose you to that man at all.” He explained the plan to you in a desperate tone, and although you agreed with all of it, you kept your face as anxious as it was.

You definitely loved him back and wanted to run away with him, but how would he get rid of your husband or the church? How would you live knowing that you wasted two years of pure hard work because of the seduction of a man you’ve been lusting for, and who barely has a plan in his own? His plan seems so easily fragile… what if it breaks? You would most likely become the national shame for next centuries.

All those negative thoughts censored the good ones about his plan, making you look away from him as you nodded side to side firmly, making Scaramouche start breathing more nervously in despair.

“I can’t…” You initiated, thinking he’d instantly get mad, but when you realized he didn’t say anything back, and wanted to listen, you continued. “I spent two years fighting for this, Scara… I can’t just… drop everything for a plan that’s not even finished on its own…” You cried, trying your best to free away from his grip with ease.

“Oh, silly Y/N..! All I need now is to find out how will I get rid of that fucking prick, and then it’s done! You know it’s not a bad plan… I really just need to think about this part! I think I can safely state that we still love each other and crave for this… we can’t just pretend it doesn’t exist..!” He argued, banging your foreheads together with a sensible lust to bring your lips together.

“I cannot accept your offer until it’s fully completed, Scaramouche… I’m sorry. It still wouldn’t change the fact that you’ve broken my heart once.” You brought the topic back, which made him barely cry and tighten his grip on your shoulders in regret, feeling like he was losing you. “And… I’ve heard you’ve been seeing a woman named Kujou Sara… so how can I guarantee you’re not just playing with my heart and seducing me into carnal desires..?” You asked, making him genuinely scoff and giggle at your logic.

“Do you really think I’d go this far for carnal desires, Y/N? Wherever you heard about me and Sara, keep in mind that we didn’t work. Don’t you remember? Our mothers have always tried to push us together through our entire childhoods, but we repulsed each other so much that we preferred to bet on the luck of finding another partner! And trust me, Y/N, I had you in my mind this entire time.” He told his version of the story as he confessed his feelings for you. “I don’t wish to simply engage into animality with you, I want to be your fucking husband and the fucking father of your children.” He confessed, feeling the regret of his last actions hitting on him and the anger of your insistence of rejecting him, but you saw him stop for a moment to swallow everything down again and regain some self-control. “I love you, Y/N.” Those words came out of his mouth as easy as any other would, with a smile that you could feel was genuine, no matter how weird it looked.

The impact of his emotions on you made you weaken your body again, feeling safe in his grip no matter how weird he was acting. You felt like you were set back to his seduction, but you didn’t really care for it for that quick moment.

“I… I love you too, Scara, but I really can’t—”

…

In a blink of an eye, you saw the gap between your mouths close shut, finally making utility of the unnecessary contact between your foreheads. His lips were glossing yours, no matter if yours were supposed to belong to another man now. He had pulled you that close to him, no matter if you had or had not consented. He predicted that you’d simply accept it like a gift… and he wasn’t wrong.

Scaramouche’s tongue was invasive and hungry to get to feel more of your mouth, and that feeling just made you melt under his attack. Your back leaned backwards, making him have to hold you by your waist in a very hard angle while you held him by his cheeks, but it didn’t matter as long as he got to kiss you. Your tongue soon managed to join his rhythm, which made him groan. Everything between you got very hot and very quickly, only convincing you to kiss him more. It has been two years since you last saw, touched or kissed him, which means your hormones were surely acting higher than you.

You suddenly felt Scaramouche’s hands move to the back part of your tights and pull it up. You groaned in surprise but that didn’t stop you from savoring his lips. What truly made you two separate was the fact that Scaramouche started walking, and in a few steps, your back banged against a cold wall of your room beside your bed. That swift movement made a saliva chord come out from both your mouths, but was quickly ignored by you moving your hands behind his neck and hugging his waist with your legs to pull him to your mouth again, gripping on the back of his hair like you felt any sort of pain in that kiss.

You were almost feeling tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you felt all those years of longing being wasted, but before you could get any more emotional, you felt something gently rub in your crotch. It instantly made you feel uncomfortable, although you had no idea what it was, so you pushed Scaramouche backwards, separating your moths again, to see what it was.

Oh, lord. You two messed up.

It was a growing erection under his pants.

You instantly flinched away from it as a reaction, slightly screaming in fear of it.

“W-Wait..! No! We can’t do this, Scara!” You argued as you tried to push him away and kick the air with your feet.

“Why not, hum..?” He asked, not taking you seriously at all. “I thought you said you loved me too…” He joked, getting his face close to yours again for another kiss, but accidentally forcing the contact of his erection with your crotch even further.

“Seriously, Scara! Stop it!” You moaned as you felt him rub himself against your clothed clit, trying to push him away even harder.

Scaramouche grunted in frustration, but still decided to let you stand up in the ground again and step away from you. After some necessary breathes to recover, he finally decided to speak up.

“What’s wro—?”

SLAP!

You breathed in and out some extras times before using the same hand you used to smack his cheek to wipe the saliva away from your lips and speaking up for yourself.

“Don’t you ever do this to me again!” You argued, trying your best to not scream at him so loudly.

“What’s up with the sudden bipolarity, huh?” He asked in an ironic tone, caressing the cheek that has been slapped.

You had just forgotten how sarcastic and annoying Scaramouche was. It even made you wonder how did you befriend him in the first place.

“This is wrong, Scaramouche, even if I accepted your offer… it would be cruel to betray someone’s trust like this. Sorry if I fooled you by realizing this too late, but you know wives have to keep themselves pure before their marriage, so meanwhile we aren’t an oficial couple, I must keep myself pure for my future husband.” You argued in a more calm tone, rearranging your hair and dress.

“Pure?” He scoffed.

“Yes, Scaramouche. Pure as a saint.”

“There isn’t such thing as ‘purity’, Y/N, and you were never ‘pure’ too.” He ironized, copying your way to pronounce ‘pure’.

“What do you mean?” You asked, slightly losing your confidence as he made those two statements.

“Well… let’s just say I studied a lot about religion and science in France and stopped going to church or believing in God because I found science more logical—” He initiated, making you repulse him and his previous actions even more.

“W-Wha… what..?! Scara, this is devil’s work on you..!” You immediately replied.

“Quiet. I’m not done.” He tried shutting you, but you feared demonology too much to let him give you orders.

“I will not quiet down towards—!”

“Y/N, if you’re so loyal to your religion, why don’t you act like the submissive woman you’re supposed to be and let the man take lead?” He confronted in a harsh, cold tone, this time giving you a good reason to shut up. “When I say I don’t believe in God, I also mean that I don’t believe in Satan, hell or heaven.” He continued, completely ignoring your discomfort and fear.

You feared that Scaramouche you saw was just a demon morphing as him, or that he had allied with Satan, but you still felt like none of those negative thoughts made you like him less or feel less comfortable. According to his words, he really just seemed to have started seeing the world in a different perspective.

“Why would God want you to be ‘pure’ anyway? Why would he not want couples to know each other and be intimate before sealing their relationship as marriage?” He scoffed the logic behind that rule of your religion. “What would you do if that man you’re about to marry likes choking and hurting women physically during sex? I don’t think you’re into those things, so that’s why I’m asking… nor I think that man would be willing to adapt to what you like.” He crossed his arms as he confronted you again, but you didn’t want to say anything else. “And there’s also the fact that you still are not ‘pure’, Y/N, in fact, you’re one of the most impure women I’ve ever met.” He insulted you, making you gasp in shock with his audacity.

“How dare you insult me like this?!” You screamed back at him.

“Insult? It’s a mere fact, Y/N, unless if you consider what happened between us when we were 16, a day before my departure, something ‘pure’.” He scoffed, smirking as he saw your face stone in horror.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no…

No, no, no, no, no…

He’s right.

You are not pure.

“You opened yourself so easily to me… I was so glad I got to experience sex with you before leaving this stupid city.” He commented, making both of you remember of what happened enthusiastically, but you were still horrified with the incoming memories.

That day, you were simply sitting in Scaramouche’s bed with him, talking about how you felt about his departure. Not only you knew he was going to leave you, but another girl you two knew as kids, Kujou Sara, was also moving to France, and that made you feel extremely insecure about your slightly romantic relationship with him. You asked him if he planned marrying her if he didn’t come back, but he took it as an insult and instantly spilled out that if he could ever marry you, he would, but it was impossible at the moment because you two were too young for the church to allow it. From that point, things got hot and romantic very quick, and you two lost notion of time and morality as you two made love to each other for the first time in your lives.

“Do you… really promise to- ah~! marry me if you come back, Scaramouche..?” You asked between moans and whines as you hugged and scratched his back and he forced his hips into yours like a starved dog.

“Of course, Y/N, of cour—” He was about to answer, but a sudden gasp echoed in the room in the spot of the door, making you two stone in horror and stop everything.

“WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” Scaramouche’s mother, Raiden Ei, screamed at the both of you with a very noticeable disgust in her voice.

And you two were forced to stop.

“Yeah, right? How many slaps that costed you again? 50?” He asked as he realized you were having flashbacks of it.

Ei was not kind towards the situation you both were in and reported your sin to your family, which caused the biggest problems you had to face: your family’s scolding and not allowing that secret to spread. Your parents had gone so mad during their scolding that they instantly made you also receive punishment from the church to somehow recover what you lost that day. The sister who heard your forced confession betrayed your little trust and forced you to receive 50 slaps with a piece of wood in your bare nude buttocks. What hurt you most is that not only your lover couldn’t defend you but the sister did not forgive your sin and told you with the roughest voice tone she that you’d never get your purity back.

It was so traumatic and humiliating that your mind decided to blur those moments out of it to make your life less miserable, but now it has all been brought back by the man you wanted to defend you at that moment.

“You see, Y/N? We have stoped being ‘pure’ long time ago when we did that! We’re both screwed in this society, so if we stick together, nothing will change in our reputations! We’re perfect for each other, Y/N! Why can’t you see it?!” He whispered in your ear after walking up to you again, extremely desperate for your consent to kiss you one more time.

You didn’t want to admit that he was right about the logic of purity or you not being pure… you didn’t want to awaken those dark moments at all. What if someone was behind that door listening to it all..? It would truly be the end of your name in England.

“Come on, say it, Y/N… you know you still want to be my wife and get away from this hellhole of a city.” He begged with a petty voice, extremely lusty for you.

His cheeks were red and his mouth trembling to touch yours again.

You lowered your head, beginning to tear again as you resisted your desires, no matter how much it ached your heart.

But your need to cry was suddenly replaced by the sudden movement of one of his legs moving upwards, kneeing right under your crotch.

“No need to cry, my love… I’ll make sure that this guilt will vanish as soon as you agree to my plan of getting you out of this marriage… There is literally no good reason for you to say ‘no’..!” He whispered as he started rubbing his knee against your folds, causing to gently hiccup in tears and slight pleasure and try pushing him away. “See..?! You still like it when I touch you here… you want more, don’t you..? I don’t think even think I need to hear your voice to know it’s a ‘yes’!” He grunted under your neck as he begun moving a hand under your dress and kissing your neck.

No matter how much your memories made you feel horrible, you knew that Scaramouche would be the remedy of it. You knew that he would present you plenty pleasure if you accepted what he was trying to do with you right now, you knew he’d make you the happiest woman on Earth if things went well, you knew you’d love being the mother of his children, you could easily predict your future if you say ‘yes’ to him.

Your feelings are a mess, really. But now that they seemed to have finally stick with something, you didn’t want to let go.

“Oh, God! If you’re watching this, please forgive me for my sin ahead… I just want to feel him once again… I just want to spend some time with him!”

“Please don’t let this be a demon trying to take advantage of my weaknesses! Please let his plan be real and not an attempt to simply seduce me into carnal activities!”

“And if he really wants to be my husband… please let me have it! I really need it for my happiness!”

You said to yourself in your mind.

“Scara~…” You moaned out before he could your private spots.

“Yes, my love?” He answered excitedly, stopping his movements to hear what you had to say after moaning his name so perfectly.

“Please… get me out of here!” You begged, finally weakening your body for his benefit in that situation, making his purple eyes glow and widen in joy.

“Oh, Y/N, I will… I fucking will.” He groaned, instantly stopping his attempt in teasing your core and moving his hands to your tights to pull them upwards.

In seconds, you were spun around and thrown against your bed, but it really didn’t make you feel uncomfortable or any pain because the make-out session that begun was simply numbing your mind of everything around you. He was on top of you and perfectly positioned between your legs, making you able to feel his erection slightly poking and rubbing against your swollen cunt.

His hands were quick in beginning to push all the layers of your dress upwards as his mouth still pushed your head father into the mattress. He had no time to make a full preparation for the moment, nor did you want it. You just wanted to feel that man inside you already, anything blocking you from it was simply annoying, no matter if it was related to him making love to you.

His mouth suddenly separated from yours, making you open your eyes in agony of being too far from him, only to find him leaning his whole body upwards and his hands moving to your pantyhose like a starved dog. Unlike with the dress, his hands weren’t as gentle with your pantyhose, barely ripping it apart as he brutally pulled them down.

“S-Scara..! Be more careful, those were expensive!” You asked slightly stressed, trying your best to close your knees from him, but he held them like he’d die if you did that.

“S-Sorry.” He said absolutely careless about it, only focusing on the teasing view of your exposed tights and underwear. “Fuck…” He grunted as he moved his hands to his belt.

He was quick on undoing his annoying pants and you helped him by sliding your underwear down too, saving some time for him. He smirked at your will to commit carnal activity with him as he grabbed his own cock and pulled it out, beginning to stroke it gently in front of you. You were somehow too ashamed to look at it, so you simply threw your head aside and moved a hand to your wet entrance as your body relaxed, gently inserting two fingers inside it to also prepare yourself even more for him.

“God, Y/N… you never fail to make me as hard as a brick. Can you even guess how many times I touched myself for you?” He smirked as his cock twitched at the view of you preparing yourself to receive him.

He felt like he could cum already if he kept stroking himself with that view in front of him, but he really was just preparing himself for the moment too.

As soon as he felt a sudden hard pulse from his cock, he knew he was ready and leaned down close to you again, using a hand to take yours away from your cunt and properly position his cock in front of it.

Your hands went to the corners of the pillow under your head, gripping on them nervous about his length.

“Are you ready, my love?” He asked between some shaky breathes.

“Yes…” You whispered, and he finally begun slowly pushing his way inside you.

The scream that came out of you as a reaction to it would only get higher and higher the deeper he went, making your entire body crumble under him for a quick moment when he finally stopped at the tip of your cervix, successfully inserting all his length inside you. Despite knowing that in your religion sexual pleasure was sinful too, even in marriage, that heat wave his entrance gave you was too breathtaking to make you care about those stupid rules.

“Lord almighty…” He groaned and smirked at the sensation of being surrounded by your mushy, tight walls. “If only I had time and condition to see you naked again… thank God I’ll make you my wife, Y/N, because I want us to do this every single day of our lives.” His voice cracked multiple times during his speech as he begun creating a slow rythym to his hips, pleasuring taking over his senses too.

He was slowly pulling out and then rocking all the way in quickly, creating a tortuous rhythm that mostly explored your G spot, which only made you feel weaker and weaker under him. Unintentional plap noises were coming out from the rocking of both your hips and his balls every time he thrusted, which would be something you’d be worrying about if your mind wasn’t numbed by the overwhelming pleasure you received. Tears were beginning to form in ecstasy as your legs instinctively hugged his hips tighter, wishing for more depth into his movements.

“Do you really think… that man would or could ever… make you feel like this, Y/N?” He asked, pausing to moan and breathe sometimes, not minding the fact that you barely had any consciousness left to answer.

“N-N… no…” You moaned out, making his smirk widen.

“Only I can… and I fucking love it.” He whispered to himself as he slightly sped up his rhythm.

The way he whispered with that husky voice made you feel his dick suddenly get bigger and more invasive inside you, making Scaramouche grunt, although you didn’t understand what happened.

“Fuck… if you keep tightening like this, I might be unable to keep making my way inside…” He teased right in your left ear, making you throw your head aside even more.

His blood circulation felt like it had dropped all the way to his dick, because somehow he managed to get even harder than he was with the struggle of passing through such a tight space as your pussy.

Due to him getting his face so close to your head, Scaramouche moved his mouth to your neck, his harsh breathing tickling your warm skin too. Your legs twitched in surprise and Scaramouche grunted again, meaning that you probably tightened your cunt around him again.

And it was definitely the case since now you could hear some low, soggy noises whenever he pulled out from you, something that was not happening until this point.

“You still like it when I fuck you nice and slow like this, don’t you..?” He asked, making you face away from the moment in front of you. “Don’t be ashamed, I love making this to you…” He teased again before going back to his make-out session with the muscles of your neck.

Your hands finally got enough from endlessly gripping in a pillow and moved to his back, scratching it in the same intensity as his thrusts, making him slightly crumble on top of you too. But since he had his clothes on, his back was mostly protected from your nails unlike your poor, swollen cunt, being savored so relentlessly no matter how fragile and sensitive it is for his touch.

“Tell me, Y/N… who’s your husband..?” He asked, stopping his attack in your neck again just to lean up and stare at you with those hungry, shining purple eyes, unintentionally getting your hands away from his back too.

“Y-You…” You answered, still staring at him with your pathetic sex face.

“Who’s ‘you’?” His menacing voice made you remember of just how Scaramouche liked to explore everyone’s limits and capacities just to make himself more proud.

You had fallen for these tricks multiple times as a kid, so you eventually learned how to avoid them. And although you knew he was doing it again now, it didn’t seem like a bad idea to make him more invested in your capacity of being submissive.

“Scaramouche… or… Kunikuzushi… Raiden…” You used all your energy to make your response the most teasing it could to fuel his pleasure.

And it worked, since you saw his eyes and smirk widen in lust as he heard you perfectly answer him.

“Yeah… that’s right. I am your husband and will soon be the father of your children… it’s just very unfortunate that I can’t afford to cum inside you and impregnate you right now… because I really wanted to.” He answered in a low tone, his constant breathing taking over his voice, speeding up his thrusts to a more tiring one, like he was beginning to get seriously involved with the moment.

You felt so sinful on allowing yourself to be so kinky and aroused with Scaramouche’s kinky personality too, but God would forgive you for this, wouldn’t he? He is such a nice person… he can feel that you’re just trying to feel your loved one again, right?

“You’re mine, Y/N… mine, mine, mine…” He grunted, leaning down again, but this time to kiss you with all his hunger and passion.

And before you could hug him again, he grabbed both your wrists who were gripping the pillow again and locked them right there, having full control of you. And you, in pleasure at feeling so confident to let him deal with you as he wished, arched your back up and widened the gap between your legs, allowing the mess of the sex between your hips to have even more depth.

It didn’t matter if your brain barely had any oxygen to process everything that was going on, Scaramouche still knew exactly how to bring you to ecstasy even if he got the chance to have sex with you once without even having an orgasm. Did he really study that much in France? It even made you jealous for a quick moment before your mind went numb again because of the lack of air that passed through your mouth in that kiss.

And Scaramouche was mean enough to force your tongue follow his in the deepest corners of your mouth, taking over anything that you had control of at that point. But don’t worry, Scaramouche was struggling on his own. He was giving the job of keeping himself on top of you only to his arms, which was causing an agonizing pain that he was trying to ignore. His sloppy socks were also making hard for his feet to keep his hips at that perfect angle that gave sharp thrusts at your weak spots, needing to crawl up again multiple times.

Luckily, he was feeling something build up inside his crotch, meaning that both your agonies would be done soon.

He sped up his rythym, causing you to clench around him once again for that momentary peak. It really felt like you were simply sucking him in rather than him thrusting.

He suddenly separated your tongues and leaned up his entire torso at the same time. His hands also moved back to your hips, pulling them up to successfully thrust you rough and fast as he smirked in pleasure of miring your defeated body shaking and trembling in rythym of his violent sex with hungry, widened eyes.

Due to the new position and rhythm, the bed begun doing the classic cranky noises whenever it moved up and down too. But, honestly… you guys had locked the door, in a took at second floor of a mansion where music was taking over everyone’s ears in the first floor… why the fuck would you care about it?

Your hands, no matter how weak they felt, moved to his wrists, simply hugging and caressing them in acceptation of his control over you, almost telling him that you desired him to keep controlling you until it ached. Your head was also thrown back as a reaction to his brutality, also feeling something build up inside your crotch.

“You’re gonna cum too, aren’t you? It’s getting way too sloppy down here…” He scoffed as before finally allowed himself to also fully focus on bringing an orgasm to both of you like a dog in heat.

His head arched all the way up too, beginning to also focus on feeling every single curve of your wet walls surrounding him perfectly. He was so focused on pleasing himself with your defeat rather than your pussy that he didn’t realize just how well you were taking him inside you.

“So fucking tight and warm f’me… it’s addicting, I’ll be honest..!” He used all his remaining energies to make that comment, and you accepted it like he had complimented your dress.

That peak felt like heaven to the both of you, but before you two could turn off your minds from each other and appreciate the perfection of the sex happening between your hips, all the orgasm that had been built up to this point suddenly bursted out disastrously from both your systems, causing a deep groan to come out of him and a loud scream to come out of you.

Scaramouche was still paying attention to the moment because he knew he couldn’t finish inside you, so as soon as he felt his dick pulse hard because of his seed aching to come out, he pulled out from you and covered his tip with a hand, twitching in the agony of it wishing it was still shoved inside you as it spilled seed inside your womb while you simply allowed your own fluids to overcome your insides until it was tipping on your entrance.

Scaramouche was so shaky that it actually brought him to stop smirking and hiss with his teeth gritting on each other, still miring the scene of the disaster you two created and the cream pie in your entrance, swollen in red.

“Fuck…” He grunted, taking his hand to his eyes when his dick finally stopped spilling cum, getting annoyed at the mess it was. “Stay right there… I’ll take care of this mess.” He said, back to his normal voice tone as he crawled away form your body.

And now that fresh air could reach your body, you could finally feel just how sweaty you had gotten. You still had dress on, so you knew that the maids of the home would not have a fun time cleaning it up. Your makeup was probably also completely ruined too but you couldn’t confirm it. Scaramouche was probably feeling it too, since he also had clothes on, even more than you.

You couldn’t even tell where Scaramouche had headed because you all did was focus on staring the rooftop, but he soon came back with his hands rubbing each other under a cloth, another one in his pocket, and with the clothes he had taken away from you.

“I’ll tell the people downstairs you suddenly got sick, okay? Don’t worry, they have no idea what a person looks like after sex, they like to keep themselves ‘pure’ after all…” He explained as he wiped out your cream pie and put your panties and pantyhose back to their places in you.

And right after, he pulled out the other cloth in his pocket, folded it some times, rested it on your forehead and covered you with the sheets of the bed to make the play of ‘being sick’ more believable to whoever would come in to check on you.

“Expect me to knock on your window every night from now on, ok? Just like I did as a kid. I’ll be coming up to tell you how our little plan is doing and how it will work and to also check up on you.” He said with a surprisingly cute smile as he patted the top of your head and kissed your forehead, even it was covered by the cloth. “See you soon, my love, I love you.” He said before leaning up again and walking towards the door while rearranging his tie, closing it so gently that you couldn’t even hear its knock.

“I told you it would work, Y/N… if only I could show you the face the priest made when I gave him the money to make a fake marriage certificate… it was hilarious..! But it doesn’t matter to you now, does it? I know it’s hard to keep up with me, but this is the only way we can go for a fourth kid…”

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it <3

Taglist: @kindofscenic @kindofshyent @the-stinky-winky @amoyanderes

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin x reader #smut #wanderer genshin #wanderer #wanderer x reader #genshin scara #genshin oneshots #yandere genshin impact #genshin wanderer #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

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on-leatheredwings · 11 months ago

Note

Baby-trapping you say? 👀

baby trapping i say!!!

maybe i should say its specifically stealthing [picks nose]? he doesnt really care to 'trap' you because he literally just believes you're endgame

sneak peek bc god im tired of writing:

tw: weird ideals about fertile (cis) women, intent to stealth, implied/tangential somnophilia (???) and other yandere-typical behavior

18+ only, Damian Wayne is 21

He does want to be with you above anything, and if children were out of the question due to natural causes… sure, he would learn to get over it. His brothers are all adopted and are as legitimate heirs to his father as he. But as it stands, Damian needs an heir someday and he knows your body can provide that.

A part of him, a part that’s been planted in him since his childhood, quietly admits that he simply wants his children to be blood. He was taught that he was the result of two genetically perfect individuals – Bruce Wayne the Batman and Talia al Ghul, Daughter of the Demon’s Head.

So why shouldn’t his child be the genetic amalgamation of you and him? The thought of impregnating you sounds… good. Ideal. Natural, even. Call him a romantic.

Back from class, you decided to read on his living room recliner while he drew in his study. He indeed sketched, as he did everyday, but he also wanted to check if today was the day he thought it was. Damian opens the drawer of his wooden desk, papers neatly filed. He picks up a sleek black folder.

When opened, inside is a calendar for the year, with no notes or writing. The days are simply blank or highlighted in either red or green.

His eyes skirt down to the current day of the calendar, and Damian's pleased to see it is indeed among a week that's painted in green. You've ovulated, and the six days afterward are an ideal window.

You've said in passing that your cycle is pleasantly regular and Damian's past investigations have proved this to be true. He doesn’t ask anymore. He snorts, remembering how last time you looked at him incredulously and asked if he was a Republican, since he was “all up in your womb.”

However, you do keep menstrual products in your bag when he’s predicted it. You also spend quite some time at his place, so he does note when there’s pad wrappers in his bathroom trash bin.

Last year, the day he knew you were the one, his One, he brewed you a tea before bed. Its sedative contents ensured you wouldn't wake. So, Damian pulled off your pants, and collected a sample from you as you slept. Of course, he did so with sterile, sexless precision – Damian wasn’t a pervert or deviant. He sniffs. He’s better than that. Even if his hands did linger.

Test results proved you were healthy and fertile. He remembers being proud. As expected, you were perfect in all things.

#yandere damian wayne #yandere batfam #i dont think ill be tagging shit ngl pls just read the tw's #stay safe </3 #also damian took the sample before yall even started dating #hes a crazy person

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valaenatargaryensdragon · 2 years ago

Note

Could you please write Maegor getting upset when his wife, who was forced to marry him, refuses to hand over their new son, after his birth.

A/N: I hope you like this!

pairing: Dark!Maegor Targaryen x Reader

summary: Maegor getting upset when his wife, who was forced to marry him, refuses to hand over their new son, after his birth.

Word count: 1,1K

Warnings: Angst, forced marriage, childbirth

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

"You're not the first or last woman he will marry" Tyanna of the tower hissed in your ear the night of your wedding. You were only ten and five namedays old when your father married you to Maegor in hopes of an alliance and to get on the good graces of the cruel king.

"Why is he doing this?" You had sobbed as she herself braided your hair for the bedding. Your mother had explained what it entailed but Tyanna had made Maegor sound like a monster in the bed, that you will probably perish in between his arms as he fucked you.

"He needs a son, an heir" Tyanna answered. She secured the last braid and moved away from you. The sorceress provided a vail from her waist band and held it out to you. "For fertility" She had promised so you would not have to bed Maegor for long. You gulped it down without a second thought wanting to get rid of him.

That night Maegor and you performed your duties, he was gentler than Tyanna explained but with no mercy unlike what your mother had explained. You were in pain after and could barely move but the more he came to you the easier it became.

When you fell pregnant Maegor rejoiced and threw feasts and tourneys claiming his heir was coming. Tyanna's true face came out then, she had doubled her visits unlike Maegor's other wives, Ceryse and Alys of Harroway. The two women sympathised with you because with your pregnancy came Maegor's attention as well.

It was Alys who had stopped you from drinking a tea Tyanna brought you, it was a tea to help you with the birth, to make it easier and faster but Alys was suspicious already and called in a maester and alerted Maegor of the incident. Alys was right, the tea was meant to turn your child into a monster, sorcery, Maegor killed Tyanna in front of your eyes. Terrible mistake of his now you feared him more than ever, he was ready to kill anyone and everyone.

He had presented her heart to you muttering that it was for the sake of your son. The sight of her heart in his hands sent you into labour, you were terrified. Alys had stayed with you during the labour, trying to calm you down, trying to remind you that you were bringing a new life into the world.

Ceryse however stayed outside of the chamber with Maegor, she saw herself above being by your side during your labour, she was of higher statues, she was the niece of the high septon after all. Other than that she was of much older age than you two combined probably, she you had never truly asked for her age.

"Good job, your grace" The maester praised from between your legs. You panted leaning back against the pillows. Alys dabbed a soaking rag against your overheated skin.

"Again, your grace, you're almost done" The maester encouraged. You took a deep breath and pushed when the next contraction began. A scream came out involuntarily, it was just very painful. The pressure slipped out of you after almost seven hours of labour.

"A son!" The maester rejoiced pulling the bloodied child out. He squealed out, crying for warmth. The maester placed the crying child over your stomach so he can cut the cord connecting you to your child and deliver the after birth.

Maegor was unable to wait anymore but what broke him was the sound of a child crying from inside. Ceryse's face dropped at the sound, she had failed her duty, another woman had presented him with a son, a living heir. Maegor brushed passed her to walk into the room.

Midwives were running around the room with bloody rags and pots filled with bloodied water. You were laying on the bed with a pile of pillows keeping you upright, your hair was wet from sweat and face red, your breathing was ragged but your eyes were focused on the baby crying in your arms. Even Alys was crying beside you, relieved that maybe the birth of this baby would lessen the weight on her shoulders.

"Oh my baby" You whispered, unaware that Maegor had stepped into the room. The white haired baby tried looking up at you but was unable to raise his head. You moved him to lay in your arms at an angel that let you look at each other.

"Shhh baby, mommy's here" You swayed him slightly in your arms. He calmed down, opening his eyes finally to show the most beautiful shade of purple eyes ever.

"A son your grace, congratulations" The maester was the first to notice Maegor. He stood up straight with the after birth still in his hands. Your gaze moved to look at him stood by the door, eyes stuck on the child in your arms. You pulled your son closer to your chest.

"My son" It was like he was in a trance. He stepped closer the bed slowly. Alys moved off the bed and to the side to help some of the maids choose a dress to put you in after they bathe you.

"Give me my son" Maegor opened his arms, a grin decorated his face. You feared him now more than when he would glare at you.

"No" You squeaked, shaking your head from side to side. The room fell deathly quiet at your words. Alys closed her eyes fearing for your safety.

"Give me my son" Maegor ordered, eyes glaring down at you, his smile slipping slowly off his face. Alys scrambled to the other side of the bed and took a seat beside you. She reached to touch your arm but you flinched away from her touch.

"No, don't take him away from me" You cried, holding him tighter, closer to you. The maester could notice the anger in Maegor's eyes growing closer and closer to craziness at being refused to hold his first child.

"Your grace, if I may" The maester handed the after birth to one of the midwives and moved to stand by Maegor's other side. Maegor side eyed him giving him permission to speak before turning to glare at you, you glared right back with tearful eyes.

"Some mothers grow overprotective of their children when their first born, maybe we should give the queen some time to adjust to the child, it is like an instinct, not her fault or choice your grace" The maester spoke lowly. If you could you would growl at him like some animal. To Maegor you looked like a dragon protecting her eggs.

"Get her snapped out of it fast, I want my son" Maegor hissed. He pushed the old maester to the side and stormed out of the room to begin preparations of the celebrations in his heir's honour.

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #maegor the cruel #maegor targaryen #maegor imagine #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen x reader #maegor #tyanna of the tower #tyanna of pentos #alys harroway

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actuallysaiyan · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Day 9: Deity

warnings: deity, smut, unprotected sex, AU, fertility festival, size kink, vaginal fingering, virginity loss, dark themes, suggestive themes, age gap, mentions of belly bulging word count: 1.1k pairings: Deity!Kenpachi Zaraki x Fem!Reader teaser: “Are you nervous, little one?” he asks, his voice a little more soothing than you expected. You bow your head, “N-no. Not at all.”

dividers: @adornedwithlight.

taglist: @thissaintjessi, @cherryblossombankai, @sindulgent666, @yeowangies, @chilichopsticks

In your little village, it was normal for maidens your age to get ready for the mating festival. All the women your age would work on their dresses, bathing in rose water for weeks to come. There was a time in the spring where everyone would try to have a baby. It was the best way to go about it so that the village could come together and help the new mothers with their new babies.

You are nervous. More than nervous, in actuality. Only one maiden gets to be given up to the Fighting God of your village. An intimidating and strong man, Kenpachi has done everything to keep your village safe for decades. Some even say he’s been here to protect all of you for centuries. You aren’t sure what to believe, but what you do know is that you are the offering to him.

Ever since the day he saved you, your parents have prayed and offered so much to the deity. He guards over the whole town, but you have been saved by him. And for that, your parents have petitioned to have you become his wife.

You couldn’t refuse. Even if Kenpachi was the deity, oh how he scared you. He terrified you. Made you nervous. Whenever you’d go visit the temple, you could see his eyes on you and it made you shudder. Yet despite the fact that he was the Fighting God, he showed surprising patience with everyone.

The night came where you’d be offered up to Kenpachi. It seemed almost like all the older women of your village were preparing you for this night. They did everything to soothe your nerves; giving you calming tea, allowing you to take a long bath and to even feed you aphrodisiac foods.

But nothing could properly prepare you for the giant deity that stands in front of you. It doesn’t help that both of you are wearing official mating robes and nothing more. You’re sure that Kenpachi can hear your heart thumping in your chest.

“Are you nervous, little one?” he asks, his voice a little more soothing than you expected.

You bow your head, “N-no. Not at all.”

He can tell you’re very nervous. His large hands cup your face and you swear you could faint from the fear. Kenpachi could so easily snap your neck right now, but he surprises you with the softest kiss. You feel like you’re floating on a cloud.

“You need to be prepped.”

He brings you over to the large bed. Kenpachi doesn’t hold back as he continues to kiss you, making your head swirl. You can barely catch your breath with the way he kisses you so hungrily.

“You are my wife now,” he grunts in your ear. His hands pull you closer before he takes off your robe.

You try to hide yourself, but he’s quick to pin your wrists above your head. The sound you let out goes straight to his already throbbing cock. He chuckles deeply before capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

He uses one hand to keep your wrists pinned and the other one spreads your thighs. You gasp when his fingers part your folds, and his thumb rubs against your swollen clit. It almost feels like your body is on fire with the pleasure that courses through you.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asks, leaning in to nip at your neck.

“L-Lord Kenpachi…” you manage to whine. He smirks at you.

“Just Kenpachi, love.”

You don’t even know how to answer. With his fingers playing with your virgin pussy and his other hand keeping your wrists pinned, you swear that you’re about to combust. Kenpachi watches you, his eyes darkened with lust.

The gasp you let out when he pushes two of his fingers into you makes him grunt. He can smell you, and he needs a taste. He lets go of your wrists in favor of leaning down to latch onto your swollen clit. Your legs are already shaking, you can barely hold on.

“Lord Kenpachi…” you whine again. “I’m close.”

“Just call me Kenpachi,” he says again, not stopping his movements.

He slurps at you as his fingers penetrate you deeper than you could imagine. You have no idea how good it’ll feel when he finally enters you, but you think you might go crazy from the pleasure. There’s a steady tightening in your stomach as you get closer to your climax. Kenpachi’s tongue continues to graze against your twitching clit and it takes just one suckle from him to have you crying out.

The juices that flow from your hole aren’t wasted as he sticks his tongue deep inside of you. He growls loudly as he slurps you up, then he sits up on his knees. There’s a crazed look on his face that resembles a wild animal.

“Are you ready for me, little one?”

You aren’t sure you could be ready for what he unleashes. The minute he takes off his robe, a whole new layer of excitement and fear washes over you. He laughs at your cute reaction. Kenpachi strokes his leaking cock, using the tip to nudge against your opening.

“Don’t worry, it’ll only hurt for a bit.”

With that, he pushes into you. You grip the sheets beneath you, panting as you try to ground yourself. You’ve never felt so full in your life. It’s like you’re being split in two and you can’t even comprehend it right now. Kenpachi looks very smug and so satisfied with himself.

“Awhh look at you, little one. So full of me!”

He grips your hips, pulling you even closer. You don’t know how all of him is even able to fit inside of you. He growls as he begins at a rough pace, his hips snapping as he fucks you with reckless abandon. Your thighs are shaking as you try to deal with the intense sensations you’re feeling, making him push them closer to you.

He’s even deeper now and his eyes are locked on you. You’ve never quite felt like prey than you do right in this very moment. Then one of his hands reaches between you and he rubs your clit.

“I need to feel you cumming around my cock, little one. Milk me, sweetness. I need this.”

He laughs as he watches your reaction change again. Your little walls are fluttering around him, barely adjusted to his large size. The tip of his cock keeps slamming against your sweet spot and with his thumb rubbing your clit in a similar rhythm, you know you can’t hold on once again. He keeps bringing you to these earth shattering orgasms within minutes and it’s hard to even wrap your head around it.

Your whole body goes blissfully numb as you cum hard. Kenpachi is right behind you, a loud roar erupting from him as he begins to paint your insides white. Slowly, he stops his pace. Then he looks at you with pure love in his eyes.

“Mine.”

reblogs and comments always appreciated!

©actuallysaiyan 2024– do not repost on other platforms, copy, translate or edit my works!

#bacon.writes #kinktober 2024 #kenpachi x reader #kenpachi x you #kenpachi x y/n #kenpachi smut #bleach #bleach smut

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mythixhekate · 30 days ago

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Hera

Goddess of marriage, childbirth, fertility, kings, empires, heirs, the sky, women, heaven, stars, family

Offerings :

Peacock feathers (naturally sourced)

Lilies / water-lilies

Lotus flowers

White roses

Milk

Apples

Bread

Tea bags

Pomegranates

Rose petals

Maple leaves

A diadem

Throne imagery

Peacock imagery

Cow imagery

Crab imagery

Lion imagery

Cuckoo bird imagery

Cuckoo clock

Statues of her

Statues of her sacred animals

Silver or gold jewellery

Pearls

Diamonds

Citrine

Garnet

Things related to weddings

Veils

Crowns

A fan

Baby clothes

Hair brushes / combs

Family photos

Devotional acts :

Donate to childrens charities

Be kind to children

Be kind to animals

Clean

Crochet or knit

Grow or buy flowers

Draw flowers

Support womens rights

Indulge in self care

Talk to loved ones

Talk to her

REMINDER you don't need to do any of these things to worship a deity, these are just suggestions, remember that if you don't want to or can't do any of this that it's totally ok !!

#ancient greece #ancient greek mythology #devotional acts #greek gods #greek mythology #hellenic devotion #offerings #greek myth #hera #hera devotee #hera devotion #hera deity #hera greek mythology #hera goddess #mythology #myth #hellenic pagan #hellenic deities #hellenic polytheism

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lya-dustin · 1 year ago

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The Bedding

Cw: awkward sex, uncle/niece incest, superstitions regarding sex, lack of privacy slightly smutty

Westrosi bedding ceremony meets irl medieval ceremony

Aemond x Laenor’s Daughter!reader

@the-common-cowgirl

It had seemed like a perfectly good idea then.

With Rhaenyra’s eldest and only trueborn daughter as his betrothed and he now king after the disastrous battle of Rook’s Rest, it would remind everyone your remaining brothers were not true Velaryons and erase any doubt that whatever child he sires on you are legitimate.

The unlikely king had not accounted for the other traditions that went beyond undressing the bride and groom and having the High Septon bless the bridal bed.

He assumed the worst would be you flinching when he touches you while being forced into marrying him after he killed your brother and yet that pales to this.

“You must not ejaculate until you have reached a hundred thrusts, her grace must reach her climax within that time and your grace must make sure to remain standing during intercourse or else the babe will be female.” The maester who specializes in fertility orders him after having him inspect his manhood for any abnormalities.

It is a small comfort to know a midwife and his mother are merely giving you advice on the matter.

“I don’t think that is a proven thing, maester.” Cole looks almost as puzzled as Aemond at the strange orders he is being given.

“And how would you know, Lord Commander, did you receive a better education on the Dornish Marches?” the maester, a reach lord with a visceral disgust at anything Dornish throws back thinking the Lord Hand and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would cower before him.

Most in court cannot accept the son of a Dornish Steward and a servant girl could take the place of Ser Otto Hightower, and yet Aemond refused to give him back his pin and office.

“Because unlike you, he has bedded women.” Aemond retorted in annoyance. “Let’s get this over with.”

He can hardly compliment you or even remove your shift to give you a proper wedding night with his mother, his grandsire, Criston and the Maesters hovering just over his shoulder.

His mother is brought some tea and sits behind a screen with the witnesses. Well, all except for the Maester who is kept from interfering by Criston.

Criston who had tried to impart his wisdom in the carnal arts by bringing in a whore yesterday evening and having her educate Aemond.

It wasn’t the same thing as this and no matter how much Aemond tries to make this pleasurable for you, you look uncomfortable, as if this was an unwanted chore.

“You may touch me, if you like.” You say and turn to look elsewhere and ignore his grandsire and his mother talking about the weather behind the screen.

He has done this before, touched you without spoiling your virtue and but then you showed some animation. The memory of how you used to sigh with pleasure as he lets a hand roam under your shift is a stark contrast to how you just lie there looking bored.

But the way your warm skin react to his touch, as awkward this all is, manages to betray you.

He’s lost count of his thrusting as you bite your lip when he begins to toy with your button like he’d done that last time before it all went to the seventh hell.

You try, and yet the tell tale signs of your enjoyment begin to peak out from your cool façade.

“Increase pressure in your thrusts after 70.” The Maester says and Aemond almost ignores it as he focused on making you come undone.

You shut your eyes and a low moan escapes you when he goes deeper into you and repeating the action until your fist bunched up the linen sheets you lay on.

His own pleasure builds up knowing he’s gotten you to forget your newfound loathing for him even for this moment.

He wants to lay in the bed with you, to take off your clothes and kick off his trousers and tell everyone else to fuck off and leave the room. Just the idea of fucking you in peace has him going mad.

“Gods, Aemond.” You almost cry as your body surrenders itself to the pleasure and he grows bold enough to ignore the audience behind him.

It doesn’t take long for him to climax even as the maester tries to stop him from coming before the final ten thrusts.

“My only consolation is that you too didn’t follow their advice.” You say as he rolls off you to lie beside you in bed.

“What was yours?” he asks reaching out to hold your hand, this time you don’t flinch.

“To lie back and think of Westeros.”

#aemond targaryen x velaryon!oc #aemma velaryon #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond x reader #smut-ish #ewan mitchell

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greycloudsinwinter · 9 months ago

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Part two of Yan Viserys and Yan Otto was *chef's kiss*

Since we now have a male child for the king and maybe more (After Aegon we have Aemon, Helaena and Daeron) and some extras to please Lord Hand, how will they defend us from an upset Rhaenyra for taking away his throne? Will Daemon be on his side? The Velaryons? You opened my mind to so many possibilities and I adore it 🫶🏼

YANDERE VISERYS AND OTTO X READER QUESTIONS 2

🐉viserys knew it was risky putting yours and his son as the next heir. He loves his daughter truly but he will put your children before her.

🛕Otto had it all planned even going so far as giving you fertile tea but telling you it was moon tea.

🐉if rhaenyra was to harm her half brother viserys would punish her.

🛕Otto had lords vow to protect your son and they were more then happy to do it since they didn’t want a women on the throne.

🐉🛕daemon hates Otto with a passion and loves rhaenyra so he would be against viserys wishes. Going so far as too claim his brothers children as bastards to which he suffers a great punishment. losing a finger as punishment and warning for the next time he speaks out of hand. Otto by the way is loving seeing daemon being punished.

🐉🛕velaryons will demand that one of your sons marry there grand children . But they would bend the knee to your son either way because they do not wish to be part of the bloodshed. That could possibly unfold and if it did they want to be on the winning side so there house survives.

Thank you for the question ❤️❤️

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thewalkingwillowtree · 1 year ago

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Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 23.

Xilä is my own creation.

Part 13 - Tea

“He didn’t sleep well at all last night, he kept fussing and crying and wouldn’t settle for anything,” D’avi explained concernedly as she gently eased her baby into Kiri’s arms.

“They are sensitive little things at this age,” Kiri said, smiling down at a whiny L’eo, shushing him softly with a comforting rock as his tiny face scrunched up in upset. “But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” she soothed as she began to examine him. “Did he feed well this morning?” she asked, fingers pressing down gently on his pudgy tummy.

“My L’eo’s got his father’s appetite. He won’t miss a meal for anything. Do you think that could be it?”

“Hmm…” Kiri peaked at his gums, examined his tail and took her time to run through every other check up she was taught to in her lessons.

“D’av, I think it's just gas. Everything else seems fine and he’s in quite good spirits for someone who hasn’t slept much. There are a few stretches we can try to get his tummy to settle and then we’ll see if he’ll go down for a nap,” she advised, holding L’eo to her chest as she alternated between rubbing circles and patting him on the back.

Xilä sat nearby with L’eya in the cradle of her thighs. The baby was all uncoordinated kicking feet and happy coos as she held Xi’s thumb in a firm grip- tiny tail curled contentedly.

At three weeks old, the twins amazed Xi each time she interacted with them. It was shocking that they already had such noticeable little personalities.

Xi had stayed over at the Sully’s last night for one of her and Kiri’s weekly sleepover sessions. They hadn’t had one in well over a month and were long overdue for some quality time together.

Early that morning when they left the Sully residence, they decided to check in on the new mother and her adorable little ones before heading for their healer lessons.

With the twins finally down for their morning nap, the three women lounged comfortably as they chatted and snacked on ripened fruit.

The two younger women were currently in hysterics over D’avi’s theatrics, palms over their mouths as they tried to stifle their laughter so as to not wake the sleeping infants.

Xilä had simply asked her why Yalnïk seemed a bit grumpy when he left for the day, and her sister who seemed to have no filter, said, “Because I refused to give him sex this morning.”

That was then followed by a frustrated rant from the new mother.

D’vai sighed dramatically by the end of her speech. “I’m telling you, my husband's family bear extremely fertile men! When we finally decided it was time, we didn’t even have to try…he practically just touched me and poof, two babies just like that.”

“Ahh, so that’s the problem there then…you’re afraid he will get you pregnant again, hmm?” Kiri asked behind a snicker.

“Yes!” she hissed. “I’ve only just been cleared two days ago, and the man is insatiable!” she cried. “And it's not like I don't want to jump his bones too, because believe me I do- so badly it’s not even funny.”

“I don’t get it, what’s stopping you?” Kiri asked, trying to contain her laughter.

Xilä had been silent the entire time, cheeks a flamed from the present conversation.

“Ugh. Keep up will you,” she sassed, “I haven’t left this tent for weeks, remember? I’m only withholding it because I have no ingredients to brew the Qla’ira root tea. I refuse to get pregnant again so soon.”

“Ohhhh. Well why didn’t you just say so,” Kiri huffed, amused. “I’ll bring you back a pouch after my lessons today,” she promised. “But honestly, I feel like it’s your fate, ya know?” the eldest Sully daughter teased. “Your husband has six siblings. And each of them already have-”

“No. Just no,” D’avi said horrified as she tried to contain her laughter at the absurdity. “Listen. I am taking absolutely no chances. And I love my children, I do, but I’ll admit I’m going to miss being pregnant with them.”

Kiri and Xi laughed at her confession.

“I’m serious! I didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant while being pregnant. Now I’m back to drinking that bitter tea every morning if I want my fun,” she grumbled.

“Qla’ira root tea isn't that bad," Xi laughed, finally chipping in to the conversation. “If you add a leaf from the Saf’rál plant while it brews, it actually makes it semi sweet and it doesn’t disrupt the effects of the medicinal properties,” Xilä said distractedly as she collected their empty bowls with the intention of washing them up. “I find it quite nice actually.”

The tent grew eerily quiet.

“What?” Xi asked, freezing on the spot when she noticed the other two staring at her with slacked jaws and round eyes. Mentally running over her words, Xilä paled when she realized what she had said. “No. Wait. I- I just meant-”

“No. NO…you said what you said, Xilä. Spit it out. Since when did you start drinking Qla’ira root tea?” D’avi demanded, sitting up straight as her tail sprung high.

The tea in question was contraceptive or better yet, one of the more effective methods the Na’vi used. And since her husband seemed to like to fuck her as if it were his life’s mission to keep her constantly full of his seed…Xilä thought that said tea was necessary.

“D’av…” Xi whispered, unable to formulate a sentence, mind still in shock at what she had accidentally admitted.

“Oh shit. Oh Great Mother!” Kiri exclaimed with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re bonded to my brother…aren't you? And don’t even try to lie. You just admitted to drinking Qla’ira root tea, Xi. You know only mated women drink that in order to prevent pregnancy. There’s no other possible reason you’d need it. So save your breath because it's also literally written all over your face.”

“You guys…”

“Aha! Oh this is just hilarious,” Kiri cried, grinning so wide, she looked almost giddy.

“Xi…” D’avi however, seemed to be needing that verbal confirmation.

Xilä released a breath and rubbed the space between her eyes. “Um…yeah…Neteyam is my husband,” she mumbled out.

“Xilä!” her sister yelled, a tinge of hurt poking through.

“We were going to announce it when we got back, I promise! But then you were in labor and so many other things came up! You know with all the new security measures and my classes, then in between we were still making preparations for our tent and…I- I’m so sorry…”

A wail broke through the silence that followed, accompanied by a fussy whine. They had been too loud it seemed.

“You stay right there Xilä- or should I say Xilä Sully. Don’t you dare move,” D’avi threatened as she got to her feet to tend to her fussing babies behind the privacy curtain.

Xilä groaned, bowing her head in defeat.

“So…How long were you two actually planning on hiding this then?” Kiri asked curiously, when it was just the two of them left.

“I don’t know…We talked about it a couple times but it was never the right time. He never said it out loud, but I think Neteyam’s been trying to prolong it until my father left for good.”

“Ah.” Her friend nodded in understanding. “It’s less than two weeks away now, hm?”

“Are you upset?” Xi asked softly.

“Not even a little,” Kiri chuckled. “I’m surprised, but I’m nothing but happy for you two…If anything it makes a lot more sense now.”

“How so?”

“Grandmother advanced your lessons further than mine. She’s teaching you things healers don’t normally learn… Tsahìk things…Which means, she knows, right?” she explained with a smile. “Then there’s also the whole drama from last night,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

“What drama?!”

“Are you kidding me? Xilä, Neteyam behaved as if he was sending you off to war last night, when all you were doing was sleeping over- in my room and not his. You’d swear he was never going to see you again the way he was hanging all over you.”

“Right…” Xi muttered, cheeks tinting uncontrollably. She hadn't seen anything wrong with his behavior last night. But thinking about it from an outsider’s perspective, she could see what Kiri was talking about.

Neteyam had always been affectionate with her in private. And to a degree, even before they started fooling around too. Now that they were a mated pair however, her husband was every bit attentive. He gravitated to her whenever she was near- always having to hold her or touch her, even if it was in some small way or the other.

Whether it was to link their fingers together, or drag her into his lap, to hug her from behind as they stood- his chin on top of her head or to simply curl his tail around hers whenever they sat side by side.

And if she was being very honest, she loved it. She was a glutton for his touch.

Kiri rolled her eyes fondly at her friend. Her next comment was interrupted however, by Sal entering the tent unannounced. The flap had been left open to allow fresh air in.

“You are too kind my dear. It is a beautiful thought. My D’avi will love it. Come in, come in. Oh- good morning girls,” the elder said with a surprised smile when she noticed them.

She was eagerly ushering in someone and Xilä gasped almost inaudibly when she noticed Neytiri following right behind with what looked like a gift- a lavender dyed cloth, tied off with a beaded chord.

She remembered seeing her wrap said gift just last night after she’d eaten dinner with the Sullys. It was a birthing gift for D’avi.

“Xi darling, did you have a good time last night? I thought you’d be off to your class by now,” Sal said, making her way over to collect their used dishes. She was such a mother.

Xi had momentarily forgotten that the elder came by every morning to help her daughter with the twins.

“I wondered where the two of you were off too so early,” Neytiri teased. “Where is D’a-”

“Right. So how long have you been hiding the fact that you and Neteyam are mates now? I want to know every- Oh Great Mother…” D’avi’s eyes widened, palm slapping over her mouth in panic when she noticed the two newcomers.

She’d been busy securing the privacy curtain with her back towards them, completely unaware as she’d spoken those words.

“WHAT?!” both mothers yelled simultaneously.

“Oh fuck,” Xilä whispered, covering her face with the palms of her hands.

Neytiri’s brows narrowed. “You are mated to my son?!” she screeched.

“Xilä, tell me this isn’t true,” Sal said almost as loudly.

At their outbursts, the tent was suddenly filled with the sounds of two crying babies.

“Neytiri…Sal,” Xi whispered, standing to face them with a broken expression, trying to formulate an explanation. She would admit, their overly upset reactions had her feeling panicked.

“Oh darling,” Sal cooed, noting her daughter’s distraught expression, closing the distance to hug her.

“I’m s-sorry,” Xilä said, frantically. The looks alone on the mothers' faces had told her the situation was bigger than it actually was.

Taking a deep breath, the Olo’eykte realized her reaction was over the top as well. “No, Xi. It is I who must apologize. Be calm, daughter. We are not upset with you,” Neytiri said kindly. “Please sit. We wish to know how this has happened.”

The jig was up.

The moment Neteyam walked into D’avi and Yalnïk’s tent that morning to check in on Xi, he stopped dead in his tracks.

‘Shit. Here we go,’ he thought with an accepting sigh of defeat, feeling the sting of the stares from the women seated around the table before him.

They knew….

He should have just left for his hunt first thing, but no, he wanted to see his mate first.

“Um. Hi,” he said awkwardly, trying to meet his wife's gaze, but unable to since her braided hair shielded her face.

Shit. She only ever did that when she was upset.

“Sit down,” his mother ordered through clenched teeth. It was clear as day, his mother was pissed.

As he sat beside his sister, he glanced at the other women’s expressions.

Kiri looked amused and highly entertained. Sal eyed him with an unnerving frown, not only completely silent, but entirely still. The elder was usually a ball of constant energy, so it was quite an alarming sight. And then there was D’avi, who was currently breastfeeding her baby girl. His sister-in-law was the most bizarre- she looked… apologetic?

“It has come to our attention that you and Xilä are mated,” Neytiri said matter-of-factly.

Neteyam blinked, eyes shifting to try and find Xi’s again. “Yes. We are mated before Eywa,” he replied without guilt or shame.

Something in his mother’s expression clicked. It softened into what looked like recognition.

In actuality those were very familiar words to Neytiri. She’d said the exact same thing to her own mother many years ago.

“My ‘Teyam, why didn’t you say before? You have taken away our opportunity to celebrate the two of you. You know our ways! We did not get to complete any of the ceremonial blessings of your union. We,” she gestured to herself and the elder beside her, “never even got to hold the official meeting of the two families,” she said in a hurt tone.

Pointed ears falling back, Neteyam nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, directing the apology to both women. “I’m sorry I took that away from you…I did what was best for my mate and I…and I’m sorry, but I don’t regret my actions.”

“Of course you don’t…you have bonded for life with the woman that you love,” Neytiri said softly. “..........Does your father know?” she inquired.

At his nod, she pursed her lips. “I take it that is why the council hasn’t approached me? They know too?” she asked, frown deepening the more she spoke. It also explained why her friend Fe’ska had seemed somewhat cold of late. “Hmph,” she hummed in hurt.

“Mother, I know you feel wronged, but please do not be upset with Xilä, okay? She did nothing-”

“Bah! I am not upset with her! I told her as much….I will forgive you eventually, seeing that it is you who should’ve known better…I fear I will not be able to save you from your in-law's wrath however. You were selfish with your thinking,” she said disappointedly.

Neteyam could tell she felt betrayed from all sides. The fact that not only he, but his father and the Council hadn’t said anything to her- he knew she was hurting.

“Sal…” he started, but the elder simply brushed him off with the flick of her hand.

“Hush now. I know why you did it that way. And as much as I want to throttle you for taking away my chance at being by my daughter’s side in the blessing rituals…well I get it,” she said, worried eyes on her youngest daughter’s still quiet demeanor. “You can apologize to me properly in the full presence of our families tonight,” she chided with a sincere smile.

“Tonight?” he frowned, wide golden eyes darting between the elder and his mother.

“Yes,” Neytiri said. “I have welcomed Salveen and her family to our home for dinner tonight. We will be celebrating your union. It will be our own version of the meeting of the two families- where we will still give you our blessing," she said firmly.

Neteyam was about the protest but his sister cut him off. “Shut up skxawng,” she hissed under her breath, jabbing him with her elbow. “It’s the least you can do. Look at them, they need this.”

“Alright,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Xi….Xilä! Xi wait!” Neteyam called, rushing through the encampment to catch up with her. “Xi-”

“Why didn’t you tell me!” she snapped, rounding on him with a fiery glare that was more cute than intimidating.

“Baby-”

“No, don’t baby me right now! I didn’t even know there was supposed to be blessing ceremonies, much less a meeting of the two families and Eywa knows what else!”

“Xi-”

“You should have told me, Neteyam!”

Neteyam's jaw clenched at the sight of a few nearby onlookers, some leaning in to whisper among themselves as they openly stared.

Linking his fingers with hers, he steered them further through Camp and straight into a familiar storage tent.

It was the same one they’d used many times before to fool around in- the one that housed the wood and kindling for the cook’s fires.

Stepping away to give her space, he faced her apologetically. “Xilä, I’m sorry, okay? I really am-”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” she asked again, not angrily, but more not understanding.

He released a breath and reached out for her. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured as he hugged her close, relieved that she came willingly. “You get so overwhelmed sometimes when there’s too much attention on you. I was trying to protect you. I know you sweetheart, you would have forced yourself through all those rituals just to please everyone else.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, “but I still would have preferred if you told me,” she grumbled into his chest unhappily. “You should have seen their faces when they found out, Teyam, they looked so devastated. We took away something they were eagerly looking forward to. It was important to them.”

“Mm. Well, they’ll get over it,” he said, irked. She was already falling for the bullshit.

“Neteyam!” she chastised in surprise by his retort, trying to squirm out from his hold- but he wasn’t having it.

Lifting her by the armpits, he sat her on top a stack of thick wood slabs, caging her in with arms on either side of her thighs, face leaning down to become level with hers.

“See, this is exactly what I am talking about. You’ve fallen for that whole act our mothers just put on,” he said sternly. “Well guess what? It would have been ten times worse if we had put up any little fight and said we wanted to do things our way. And you know what? You would’ve given in. Do you know what those rituals involve? Do you know the extent of all the ceremonies? It’s not just a simple clan gathering where you stand in the middle for two seconds and that’s it. It’s all eyes on you, baby. And that includes all the assholes who’d glare with judgement the entire time by the way. I love our family, honestly I do. But I know you, wife. You would have forced yourself to do whatever our mothers wanted, just to make them happy and you would have been miserable the entire time.”

As silence fell over them, his eyes bore into hers, breath slightly labored after his long winded speech.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Xi.”

She stared at him unblinkingly, absorbing his words. “You’re not wrong, no…” she admitted, “but you’re not right either!” she snapped, folding her arms. “You said we don’t hide things from each other anymore. This was something we should have decided together, as a team. You should have told me no matter what. I love that you’re trying to protect me, but…please don’t take my choices away from me, Neteyam.”

Head bowed, Neteyam released a remorseful breath. “Fuck.”

Xilä turned to see his expression. He looked wrecked- she could tell he was beating himself up about it. Her husband could be his worst enemy sometimes.

She cupped his face to pull him closer, arms hooked around his neck as she nuzzled her nose into his cheek.

“I fucked up. Xi, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it like that…” he whispered into her shoulder, shaking his head as shame filled him.

“I think you’re just blinded by your love for me,” she teased, making him release a laugh at her joke.

“How mad are you at me right now?” he asked, standing his full height to face her properly.

“I'm not mad,” she frowned, pulling him into the V of her thighs by his belt. “Just- just a bit frustrated maybe. I still love you the same amount if that’s what you’re worried about,” she smiled. “We’re bound to have disagreements now and again.”

“Wait, that’s it?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” she laughed, staring at his confused expression- it was freaking adorable.

“You forgive me? Just like that?”

Xilä rolled her eyes, amused by her husband’s reaction. “Neteyam. I’m not going to make you jump through hoops for my forgiveness. We both communicated our feelings on the matter…We’re good.”

“Alright...Well would you at least let me make it up to you then?” he requested, eyes suddenly glinting with mischief as a hand crept up the inside of her top to fondle her breast.

“Oh you’re so slick, huh?” she mused.

“Maybe a little,” he shrugged. “You know they say make up sex is supposed to be really hot,” he taunted against her lips, his free hand hooking behind a knee, steadying her when he rocked into her core once, letting her feel his growing intention.

“Make up sex?” she echoed with a humored frown, squirming to get him to rock into her again.

“Mhm. We just had our first fight. So now we have to make it all better.”

“Oh really?” she sang, dropping her head backwards while he peppered kisses along the column of her neck.

Xilä gasped when he bit her lightly, teasing her with his tongue and teeth.

“Mmmm. Handsome I can’t though. I’m way past late for my lesson with your grand-”

“What is it that you’re always saying?” he pondered, fast fingers untying the knot of her skirt. “Ohhh right. We can be quick about it,” he mimicked in a girlish voice.

She laughed and fixed him with a playful glare. “I do not sound like that. Is that how you think my voice sounds?”

“Just one please, Teyam,” he imitated again, baring her hardened nipples with a simple tug, smiling down at them as if they were long lost friends finally being reunited. “That’s exactly how you sound, baby. Where’s my greedy mate gone today? Hm?” he taunted again.

Neteyam stopped his pawing to smirk at her, enjoying the way she bit her lip in contemplation. “I missed you last night,” he confessed, voice low in honesty.

“I missed you too, handsome. We should talk later…now that everyone knows, I want us to move in together…please?”

“Yes. Fuck yes. We’re moving in tonight. I don’t care how late this dinner goes,” he said urgently, nodding his head vigorously.

Xilä laughed out loud. He was like a child finally being granted his favourite treat.

“Okay,” she agreed, “So then we can just do the make up sex later then, yeah? I don’t want to walk into your grandmother’s tent smelling of you. I’ve been mortified enough for the past few months alone,” she chucked, trying to sit up and right her strewn top.

“Mmmm, yeah I guess,” he said reluctantly before deciding something else. “Lemme eat you out at least,” he grumbled, going onto his knees with much determination, causing to laugh out loud again.

“Wait, hang on,” he said, mere inches away from her damp center. “How did they find out about us anyway?” he asked, peering up at her.

“Ummm. I, well I may have let it slip that I drink Qla’ira root tea,” she admitted, fiddling with one of his braids sheepishly.

Neteyam rolled his eyes. “That damn fucking tea,” he grumbled before turning back to his task.

Xilä’s amusing chuckle turned into a moan.

Her husband apparently had a rivalry with said tea. He’d glare at it every time he saw her drink it.

He pulled back to grin up at her with shiny lips. “Are you going to stay nice and quiet for me, sweetheart?”

Neteyam anxiously waited at the threshold of his home for the arrival of his mate and her family that evening.

Sal was all smiles when she greeted him first. One arm full with a beautifully assembled arrangement of flowers which he assumed was a gift for his parents. She patted his cheek affectionately, with a, “Hello my dear boy,” before heading inside without needing an invitation.

D’avi was right behind her, juggling two wiggling babies. “Here,” she said with a tired yawn and dark under eyes, handing him an infant in greeting. “Have some practice.” And then she was gone.

Blinking down at the tiny squirming baby girl in his arms, Neteyam felt himself begin to panic when she released an unhappy whine.

Muscle memory kicking in, he adjusted her more comfortably in the cradle of his arms, bouncing her gently the same way he used to with Tuk.

“Hey, hey. None of that, you’re okay. It’s alright,” Neteyam soothed. “Don’t worry L’eya, I’ll talk to your mom about just handing you off without warning. But we’ll give her a break for now, she’s probably tired, yeah?” he smiled.

L’eya’s face scrunched up into a cute pout, unsure whether to cry or not, big golden eyes peering up at him in uncertainty. But then she eventually settled, letting out a surprisingly loud coo as she stretched.

“Hey man, cute baby,” Yalnïk teased when he arrived a few moments after- arms overfull and ladened with a bounty of items.

“Hey…Ah, what’s all of this?” Neteyam asked in alarm.

“Fuck if I know. Gifts I’m assuming. My mate and mother-in-law just said to bring ‘em. I’m not going to ask questions.”

“Smart man,” Neteyam laughed, wiping away a bit of drool flowing down L’eya’s chin. “Xi and Jxo behind?”

“Yeah, I believe they were finishing their chat …Speaking of,” he continued, using his chin to catch a parcel that almost went tumbling, nudging it back into place. “Brother…you and Xi,” he said disbelievingly. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

Neteyam scoffed at the man’s comment, amused all the same. “How’d Jxo seem?” he couldn’t help asking.

“I honestly can’t tell. But hey, a word of advice, use the baby. Great shield.”

“Yalnïk, I’m not going to use you kid to-”

But Yalnïk was already making his way inside, citing that his arms were getting tired.

Xi and Jxo were the last to show up. Hurrying ahead of her father when she spotted him, Xilä was practically swooning at the sight of him holding baby L’eya.

“Hi handsome,” she said sweetly, leaning up to give him a peck on the lips. “You look good holding a baby,” she whispered, biting her bottom lip appreciatively.

“Are you getting ideas sweetheart?”

“Maaaybe,” she sang, shaking L’eya’s hand gently, smiling when the baby kept trying to pull her finger into her drooly mouth.

“Don’t tempt me Xilä Sully,” he said with a low growl, darkening eyes firmly set on his wife’s face. If he had his way, she’d be fucking pregnant already.

Jxo approached just then, stopping whatever comment she was about to make and halting the naughty thoughts swirling in both their heads.

“Xi, why don’t you head in darling. I want to have a word with my…son-in-law,” the elder said, narrowed glare forcing Neteyam to swallow uncomfortably.

“Alright. Want me to take her?” she asked her mate, referring to the little one in his arms.

“Uh,” Neteyam shot a glance at the elder. “No babe, I think I’m good,” he replied, shifting the infant higher up his chest so her cheek rested against his shoulder.

It was almost comical how tiny the baby was in comparison to the large palm supporting her bobbing head.

Mirth danced in Xilä’s eyes at her husband’s response and obvious shift to display the baby better. She’d seen Yalnïk pull the same move before.

“Okay, I’ll just head in then,” she said with a piercing glare, darting between the two men as if saying behave.

L’eya sucking on her thumb, accompanied by her soft sighs and baby hums were the only sounds heard for the following few moments. It was an awkward silence, and Neteyam couldn’t get a good read on Jxo’s expression for shit. So he stayed quiet until the man addressed him.

Clicking his tongue, the elder’s gruff voice rang out. “Look…I’m not happy about the way you went about all of this. Fuck if I didn’t get a frustrated earful from my wife…but I get it. You did it for Xilä.”

“I did,” Neteyam said firmly, glancing down with a quirk of his lip when he felt L’eya’s tail tickle the back of his hand as it wiggled around lazily.

“I don’t agree with it, but if Xi wasn’t who she was- if I didn’t know that this was the best way for her, we’d be having a very different conversion,” he said, arms folded and still serious faced.

“I’m sorry, Jxo,” Neteyam apologized sincerely, he knew he owed him that much.

The elder nodded. “Yeah well, my kid’s happy, so- that’s the most important thing,” Jxo said. “Now listen here, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Yalnïk…You’re her husband now, not her little boyfriend. That means something. Understood?”

Neteyam smiled, shaking his head up and down in understanding. “Understood,” he echoed.

“Good…Now hand over my granddaughter,” his father-in-law said with a surprising full blown smile.

Although at the start, Neteyam was fidgety and awkward, the dinner, as it turned out, was a surprisingly lovely affair.

Since the moment Xilä and her family had arrived that evening, he had been a ball of nerves.

It was the oddest thing, he didn't have any reason to be nervous but yet the sight of both their families mingling in one closed knit space had him crossing every toe and finger, hoping all went well.

Specifically for Xilä.

Neteyam kept glancing at his wife to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable in any way, constantly checking in.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked for probably the fifth time that evening.

“Stop,” she hissed under her breath with an amused grin.

“What? I’m just checking to-”

“Shh. Look,” she said, jerking her head at the sight before them covertly. “Look at our family,” she whispered, smiling eyes already staring.

Taking his time to observe, Neteyam started on his left where his brother was seated, around the large round table.

Lo’ak and Yalnïk were in a heated debate over the best fishing tactics- the older man shaking his head vigorously in disagreement.

“No way man, you’d get yourself killed if you pulled a stunt like that! Remind me to never take you fishing, Lo’ak,” he joked, slightly horrified over whatever crazy idea Lo’ak had just described.

Tuk had squeezed herself between Yalnïk and his wife the moment they all sat for their meal, and D’avi was currently showing her how to hold a squirming baby L’eya, adjusting the overexcited seven year old’s arms accordingly.

Then, next to D’avi, were Sal and Neytiri who spoke softly to each other. Neteyam’s brow raised at the sight.

Salveen was a naturally loud and boisterous woman, he could tell she was trying to be calm and distinguished in the presence of his parents. Sal held high respect for his mother, he knew.

He’d dare say it was almost adorable to see her complement his mother on her taste in home decor.

Beside his mother sat his grandmother and his sister. The two women were completely smitten with baby L’eo. Mo’at may be a stern and no nonsense Na’vi, but the elder completely melted when it came to younglings. “They are our future,” was what she’d always said.

Lastly, making the last of the round table, was his father and Jxo. Slowly sipping on their fermented wine, they seemed to be in their own world.

Straining to make out their words, Neteyam fought off a blush when he realized they were talking about him and his “poor attempts” of sneaking into Xilä’s room.

Jake followed the elder’s story by beginning to share an embarrassing one of his own about his eldest son.

“Dad!” Neteyam cried, hastily covering his wife’s ears. She was right next to Jxo and soaking up everything that was being said. “You promised never to repeat that incident.”

“I did no such thing,” Jake laughed. “Close your ears if you don’t want to hear then.”

“Babe, don’t listen to him,” he told Xi, bodily lifting her to his other side with ease, between him and Lo’ak, causing the entire table to burst into laughter over his behavior.

When things settled again, Xilä pressed up into his side- cheek to shoulder. “Do you see it then? They’re all here for us. It’s amazing isn’t it?” she mused quietly, still peering at the different interactions in front of them.

Neteyam nodded, it was in fact an amazing sight- their both families mingled as one.

Kissing the top of her head, he felt her closeness wash over him, calming his anxiety from before. “I love you Xilä Sully.”

As they feasted, the conversations changed with rapid fluidity.

At one point when Lo’ak asked, Kiri relayed the story of how Sal and Neytri had accidentally found out- keeping of course the entire Qla’ira root tea topic out of it.

The moment she said the words, “and then Neteyam goes, We are mated before Eywa,” Mo’at shocked them all by releasing a loud bark of laughter.

Slacked jaws and raised brows all around, the Tsahìk simply glanced at her daughter and then at her son-in-law. “Sound familiar?” she asked them knowingly with a delighted gleam in her eyes.

Unbelievably, Neteyam’s parents turned embarrassed, with tinted cheeks and flattened ears.

The rest of the night went just as wonderful.

When it was finally time, Neteyam and Xilä stood before Mo’at while she sang a chanting prayer, waving a burning piece of incensed bark as she blessed their union.

The Tsahìk’s words held strong meaning and Xilä’s eyes filled with tears as she stared up at her mate, even Neteyam felt his own prickle.

Sal, Jxo, Neytiri, Jake. Each took their turn to complete the blessing ceremony. They were all proud grins and teary smiles.

The final step was a bit of torture for Neteyam.

Fingers dipped in bright pigmented paint, he and Xilä took turns to trace over the lines of each other’s face and body.

Neteyam had to remind himself they were in the presence of their family. He couldn’t ravish his wife the way he very much wanted to at that moment.

She was beautiful- cyan skin glowing beneath his artwork.

By the time the evening turned well into the night, two groups broke off around the main room of the Sully tent.

The women surrounded Xilä as she opened gift after gift. Housewarming tokens consisting of soft cushions, blankets and delicately sewn decor pieces that Sal had slaved over in secret.

There was a beautiful set of wooden crafted bowls, cutting boards, little pots for spices and even a hand carved knife set for cooking- all made by Jxo.

Meanwhile, Neyeam and the other men continued to lounge around the family table, enjoying a Na’vi game his father had once described as “a complicated version of chess.”

Kiri had handed him baby L’eo before she left to join the others across the room. Whereas D’avi eased L’eya into his brother’s arms since her husband and gone to relieve himself.

Lo’ak who was completely taken by surprise, was awkward in his handling of the infant.

The baby stared at him for a few seconds before she instantly began to wail. The sight of Loak’s panicked and horror struck expression had all the men in hysterics.

Then, as if sensing his sister’s distress, L’eo too followed by bursting into tears- cheeks staining purple as his features scrunched up in anger, tiny fists clenched tightly.

Yalnïk arrived back just in time and took pity on Loak, taking his baby girl into his arms and calming her in seconds with a familiar Na’vi song and little pats on her back.

Neteyam had just gotten L’eo to settle down as well when he locked eyes with his wife across the room.

She looked away with a blush having been caught staring.

The following day Xilä was a ball of excited energy.

Tsahìk had kindly given her a few days off from her lessons which she absolutely appreciated, because it was time.

It was finally, moving day!

Their tent was bigger than most residential ones but far smaller than the Sully’s grand home and it was situated in a newly developed community on the western side of the clan.

All morning Jxo and three of his woodwork guys were a flurry of coordinated efficiency. They were in and out as they brought in beautifully crafted furniture, one after the other.

The men double checked and made sure the tent’s beams were secure and even installed the privacy drapes for her and Neteyam’s bedroom.

Xi grinned as she watched them test the tent’s ventilation by lighting the indoor stove in her little kitchenette. The wood and kindling fueled stove was a neatly dug hole in the ground which was casted by hardened clay.

Jxo really went all out for them.

People kept stopping by as well, congratulating them on their match. Word had gotten out by now about her and Neteyam. And the overwhelming support and genuinely happy persons over their union was both surprising and beautiful.

The gifts and cooked food and treats kept coming as well. Xilä had no choice but to designate a corner of the tent for the ever growing pile. She’d have to sort through it all later, but she was immensely grateful.

Neteyam, who had disappeared a while ago, returned with a heavy looking roll which was hefted onto his shoulder. He surprised her when he unrolled it to reveal a large colourful tapestry.

“Teyam! You didn’t!” she exclaimed in shock, running her fingertips across the intricately beautiful design in disbelief.

“You said you wanted one with all the colours from Sal’s friend,” he said with a shrug, obsessed with the way she was practically shaking in excitement.

Without warning, she was surging onto the balls of her feet, arms around his neck to pull herself up his body, granting her access to pepper kisses all over his face.

“I”- she kissed his cheek- “love”- nose-“you”- chin - “so freaking much,” she mumbled against his lips, uncaring of the chuckles from men around them working.

Neteyam beamed, absorbing all her attention without complaint.

“Alright, alright. Cut it out before I lose my breakfast,” Jxo grumbled from where he was crouched. He’d been adding a few finishing touches to the design he had carved on the large round table he built for them.

And despite his complaining, there was no actual bite to his tone. What was even more shocking was the covert nod of approval he sent Neteyam for making his daughter happy.

Around lunch time Jake, Lo’ak, Yalnïk and his twin arrived. Between the four of them they heaved Neteyam’s heavy and massive hammock in, placing it where Xilä directed them to.

Sal and one of her elderly friends showed up shortly after with basket ladened arms. They’d brought lunch for everyone, including two flasks full of freshly squeezed yovo juice. And to combat the midday heat the flasks had been left to chill in the river, so the juice was not only sweet but beastly cold.

With the help of his mother and sisters, Neteyam only needed to make two trips, to and from home to move in his belongings.

By late evening, when the men packed up their tools, and there was nothing else much for anyone to do, Xilä thanked them all profusely with the promise of making them each one of her Honey Cornbread loaves, to which the Olo'eyktan, nodded eagerly as he rubbed his hands together in excitement.

When Jake had first tried her experimental sweet and savory loaf, he was flat out ecstatic. He inhaled an entire loaf on his own, complimenting her on how amazing it was. Her father-in-law had said the flavors tasted familiar to him. He’d said it reminded him of honey and cornbread, from back on earth. And so the name was born.

Sal, Jxo and Lo’ak were the last to leave. While her mother swept the tent one final time with a large feather-like leaf, Xilä hugged Jxo for a long time. She was feeling emotional for some reason.

Neteyam watched the little family from where he stood arranging his weapon collection. When Salveen joined the hugging pair, the trio were all teary smiles and hushed whispers as they said their goodbyes.

He made his way over when they eventually broke apart, leaning down to accept his mother-in-law’s kiss on the cheek, then clasping arms with his father-in-law, promising them again that he’d take care of their daughter.

Hugging her from behind, he and Xi stood at the threshold as they watched her parents leave.

“Thinking of running after them?” Neteyam joked quietly, tilting to kiss her pointed ear.

“No. Why? Do you want to give me back to them already?” she teased, rubbing the muscled forearms circling her torso.

“Never,” he hissed, nipping the tip of her ear and licking it to soothe the sting.

“So I’ve been thinking-” Lo’ak said out loud, making the both of them jump.

“Fucking hell Lo’ak!” Neteyam said, irked.

“What? What did I- oh I see how it is, you forgot I was here…didn’t you,” he accused through a narrowed glare from his lounged position against an assembly he made of cushions.

They’d been gifted so many cushions.

Xilä felt her cheeks heat up. “Sorry,” she said apologetically, while her husband couldn’t be bothered. “You were saying, Lo’?”

She returned to the table to continue folding the pile of clean laundry she had been working on before.

Lo’ak popped another cluster of roasted ovumshrooms into his mouth first. “Right so I’ve been thinking- oh don’t give me that look, you two! You haven’t even heard the idea yet.”

Xi pursed her lips to stifle her laughter. Neteyam however plonked himself next to her, snagging an item from the pile to help her fold.

“So you know how you don’t know when your birthday is, Xi?”

“Mhm,” she hummed distractedly, covertly snatching and hiding her undercloth from her clueless husband who was openly trying to figure out how to fold it.

“Well, how about we give you one?”

“What?” she asked, head flickering to him as she paused mid task.

“You always have to guess when the year’s up to know your age, correct?”

At her nod, he continued, “And you said you were nineteen when you first showed up here, right?” She nodded slowly again. “Well let’s give you a birthday then,” he shrugged.

“Um, alright,” she said with a hesitant smile. “When do you suggest?”

“Tomorrow,” he said without hesitation. “Once a year the txep syulangs go into hibernation, and when they do, they cast this glow for the entire day, all through the forest- the women go gaga over it,” he explained with a sarcastic eye roll. “Anyway, I think it’s the perfect day for your birthday.”

“Lo’ak…that is so sweet of you,” Xi sighed out. “Isn’t it sweet, Teyam?” she asked, turning to her mate.

“Mhm, very sweet, babe. But what’s the catch bro?” Neteyam couldn’t help asking.

“Neteyam!” she chided.

“I have to ask, sweetheart. It’s Lo’ak!”

Xi side-eyed her brother-in-law who was grinning a little too wildly. “......Is there a catch?”

“Maaybe, just a little one- but it’s good! Promise. I was thinking we could hold a party…here.”

“There it is,” Neteyam snarked with a knowing nod, placing Xi’s folded top in the completed pile.

With Lo’ak finally gone, Neteyam pulled down the flap of their tent, securing it closed. He made a mental note in his head to get a set of the bamboo chimes made- the ones his wife wanted in order to alert them they had visitors.

“I can’t believe it. We have a home of our own together,” Xi smiled, walking out of their room where she had been putting laundry away. “You and me.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, looking around like she was, admiring the decor and feminine touches she had added. It felt like a home- their home. It was the perfect combination of the two of them, and the sight of their belongings all cluttered together or neatly arranged, endured him.

“I love it,” she grinned, hugging herself. “We don’t have that much to complete now. Just that pile of gifts to sort through.”

“What are you talking about? We have loads to do still, baby,” he said, sitting back with a comfortable groan on the cushions Lo’ak had abandoned.

“Like what?”

“See that table? And that mat, and that beam, and the next beam and the-”

“Neteyam,” she laughed, cutting him off. “I see them.”

“We have to christen them,” he said seriously. “All surfaces to be exact.”

Catching his meaning, Xilä flushed. “Oh.”

“Yeah baby. Oh.”

That evening Neteyam made love to her all over their home.

He ate her out against one of the beams while she struggled not to collapse, trembling thighs propped on his broad shoulders which held her up, fingers fisted in his braids.

He took her from behind as she laid face down across their center table, screams muffled in arms while he kept whispering in her ear, telling her how good she was, how good she was taking him, how he was going to fill her up until she was swollen and round.

She jerked him off against another one of the beams, sinking to her knees to finish him off by sucking him down her throat. Silver eyes watering as she choked and gagged.

Then, much later, after they’d taken a break to clean themselves up and have their first meal in their new home together, Xilä rode him in their bed.

Tsaheylu made- always Tsaheylu made, he guided her, large palms circling her ribs, thumbs brushing under her jiggling little tits as she bounced and rocked and jerked in his lap- panting and moaning into his mouth.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart. I want to see you come all over me,” he ordered gently, and without further instructions needed, she reached a hand down to where they were joined, to work over her swollen clit.

Neteyam was always feral for the sight. She had come such a long way he thought. When he and Xi had first started fooling around, it wasn’t hard to tell that she was completely inexperienced. She hadn’t ever been touched, nor had she even known how to do it to herself.

Eyes glazed over, the memory of the night he taught her how to please herself- the memory of her legs spread wide as she chased after her fingers- the memory of expression when she came, back arched and breathy mewls- it gave him push he needed to fall over the edge, pumping her full while she rode out her own orgasm, screaming his name- always his name.

He groaned into her sweaty neck, panting as their frantic pace slowed into a sensual roll of their hips, drawing out the sensation even further.

Slumping back against the many little pillows and cushions behind him, he kept her close, fingertips slowly dancing up and down her spine.

“How do you feel?” he asked with an uncontrollable yawn.

“Limbless,” Xi answered, propping her chin between his pecs to smile at him.

Eventually falling into a light slumber, Neteyam blinked awake when he felt Xilä ease off his chest. He heard her wince slightly when he slipped out of her swollen folds.

“What are you doing?” he croaked, ignoring the soaked appendage that smacked his lower abdomen when he popped out of her. “Come here, baby.”

Cuddling into his side, Xilä nuzzled his neck as she got comfortable.

Neteyam had learned early on that Xilä was extremely clingy in bed- she was a glutton for his warmth.

Unable to help himself, he slipped a hand between her thighs. “Did you drink your tea?” he asked.

“Mm, yeah. I had it at breakfast,” she responded, eyes closed as fatigue slowly consumed her.

“Sore?” he asked, sticky digits still stuffing back escaped drops.

“Not bad,” she mumbled.

“Can I?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, pecking his sternum.

Pulling a thigh up his hip, he guided his tip back to her entrance and slipped all the way in again, right to the hilt.

“Good?”

“Good.”

Joined as one by both Tsaheylu and intimately, they slept.

Earth music blasted from a borrowed speaker in the corner of the main room. The center table had been moved to the side, creating space for a dance floor, and the distinctive smell of booze lingered in the air.

Lo’ak had talked them into having Xi’s birthday party in their home the following night. With the promise to keep the invitees at a minimum and also that he’d plan and organize everything- including the after party clean up, they had agreed.

So far things were going smoothly, but Neteyam wasn’t holding his breath. His brother had joked that he should dislodge the thing from up his ass for just one night and let loose and relax.

But Neteyam was anything but relaxed.

He sat idly chatting with a few of his and Lo’ak’s warrior buddies, eyes cutting to his wife almost every other second. She was dancing of course, doing dangerous and taunting moves with those hips of hers, unaware of the attention from other males she was receiving.

Neteyam openly glared at anyone who so much as peaked her way, famous side-eye slicing through the fools who were bold enough to try.

And as much as he wanted to kick everyone out of his home, he refrained. His wife was excited for this party. She had given his brother a bone cracking hug when he arrived with a birthday cake for her- one just like Tuk’s own a few months ago.

If anything, Neteyam felt like Jxo at the moment. All that mattered was that she was happy, even if all he wanted was to scoop her up and hide her away from prying eyes.

Lost in thought, he misplaced her for a moment. Scanning the room, he found her at the threshold, chatting with a new arrival.

Staring hard at the familiar Na’vi she was laughing with, he glared hard when whatever she had said made the male’s cheeks tinge as he bowed his head politely.

The next second of activity had him getting to his feet to make his way over.

W’aote, Lo’ak’s friend had approached the chatting pair and swung his arm around Xi’s shoulders, pulling her in for a hug that was too friendly for his taste.

A clearing of his throat and a pointed glare was all it took for W’aote to to snatch his arm away and take a wide step back from Xi, ears pinned to his head as he shot Neteyam a sheepish, apologetic expression.

“Neteyam, we meet again,” the familiar male said happily, offering him a gesture of respect, “I am Ze’lu.”

Slim arms wrapped around his waist. “Ma’Teyam, be nice,” Xi whispered, covertly pinching him in the side.

Forcing a polite smile, Netyam returned the gesture of respect with his free hand, the other had wormed its way up to cup the nape of Xi’s neck, effectively keeping her pinned to him.

“My sister,” Ze’lu continued, introducing the small woman at his side Neteyam hadn’t noticed before. “Kah’lee.”

No wonder he hadn’t noticed her. Kah’lee in question had been completely hidden by her brother’s built. If Neteyam thought Xilä was small, Kah’lee was tiny- not human sized, but still small for a Na’vi woman.

Nodding politely again after another jab to his side, he responded. “Nice to meet you, welcome to our home,” he said far too dryly before making their excuses to quickly drag Xilä away.

Later on, Xi had been chatting with Kah’lee and W’aote who had shown up at her side again that night, when she spotted a familiar face lingering at the tent’s entrance.

Excusing herself, she wove her way through the crowd of bodies, heading right out the tent and down the stone steps.

“Leati!” she called at the retreating figure. “Are you not coming in? Why are you leaving?”

The gorgeous warrior turned and cocked her brow, arms folded with a scowl. “I told you already, I made no promises that would come by.”

Xilä smiled, unfazed by her bitchy tone. “And yet you are here. I would not have invited you if I didn’t want you here, Leati,” she assured.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she snapped.

“Would you prefer it if I treated you unkindly, called you names and told you terrible hurtful lies?”

Leati swallowed uncomfortably.

Huffing with an amused laugh. “Look. I’m not going to force you. But you should know there’s a spread of delicious food, lots of strong drinks and the most amazing cake that was made by my mother. So if you change your mind…”

Xilä walked off without another word and headed back into the party.

It was hard to keep up with his wife that night. Xilä was the most social he’d ever seen her be.

She was quite the social butterfly, ping ponging all over the room as she seemed to want to have conversations with each and everyone in attendance.

He would have had no issue with that before when there were only about fifteen people in attendance, but with every minute that flew by, someone new kept showing up.

Now his home was packed. Not only that but the music seemed louder, people were screeching as they chatted, he had to kick out a couple who were very close to becoming indecent in their bed and he also had an ever growing migraine.

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam growled, catching his brother by the scruff when he whizzed by, hands holding two large suspicious looking flasks. “Who the hell are all these people?”

“Uhh, friends?” Lo’ak replied with a charming smile, fumbling with the pitchers in his hand.

A familiar giggle had Neteyam’s head turning, and the sight alone had his blood boiling. Xilä stood with an unfamiliar male, laughing out loud at whatever he was saying, she patted his shoulder, tossing her head back in hysterics.

The male's arm snaked around her waist when she was bumped from behind, stumbling right into his arms.

“Oh yeah? Well then why don’t you tell me who the fuck currently has his hands all over my mate!”

“Oh shit. Um, I don't actually know him- wait hey bro! Dammit.”

Lo’ak hastily handed over the booze in his hands to the nearest person and scrambled to follow his brother. Neteyam was usually the responsible, calm and level headed brother. But Lo’ak knew that when it came to Xilä, all sane thoughts left his brother's head.

“Do you mind unhanding my wife,” Neteyam all but growled as he tugged Xilä into his arms for the second time that night.

“Neteyaam! Hiiiii my handsome! Look, this is my friend Villoon!” she slurred excitedly, spilling the contents of whatever it was she had in her cup. “Oopsie!”

The male Na’vi who had raised his hands in surrender when Neteyam had murderously approached, winced. “Its- its Vilhon actually, and um she tripped, I was just steading her. We were only-”

But Neteyam had already blocked out the blabbering man, eyes on his wife instead. “Xilä,” he said, lifting her jaw to see her face clearly. “Are you drunk?” he asked disbelievingly, searching over her glassy eyes, flushed cheeks and lazy smile.

“Oh fuck,” Lo’ak murmured, grabbing the cup out of her clutches and handing it off to a tipsy bypasser.

“Shhhhh, don’t tell my husband,” she laughed giddily, stumbling over her own two feet when she tried to squirm out of his hold. “Wait, where’d my-my drink go?” she pouted.

“Was this you?” Neteyam hissed at his brother, bodily restraining his writhing wife. “What did you give her?!”

“J-Just a bit of Spir’ytüs…I told her to sip it! I didn’t think she’d drown half a cup!”

“Just a bit of Spir’ytüs?! Are you insane? That stuff is fucking potent!”

“I know! I-”

“You are very very tall,” Xilä suddenly said, reaching up to squish his cheeks together. “And very handsome,” she whisper-yelled. “I bet you’d make some really cute babies,” she said just as loud as she felt up his chest, causing Lo’ak to choke on a laugh.

“Um, thanks babe,” he couldn’t help reply, halting her roaming hands. “Bro, get her some water, will you?”

“Yeah man,” Lo’ak said eagerly, relieved to make his escape for the moment.

Guiding her over to a corner of the room, Neteyam crouched in front of her as she slumped into a pile of cushions.

“Oh Great Mother, I love this song!” she suddenly squealed, “Kiri and I listen to it alllllll the t- I have to dance!”

“Nope,” he said seriously, catching her around the waist when she tried to escape. “We’re staying right here.”

Xilä blinked at him with unfocused eyes. “You’re grumpy.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she frowned sadly, forcefully crawling into his lap, uncaring about his personal space as she plastered herself to him.

He made no fuss at the contact, helping her get comfortable, but quickly pulled his face away when she almost head butted him.

“Because all night you have been testing my patience, Xilä. You’re ridiculously unaware of all the attention you’ve been getting and the one time I leave you to your own devices for a minute too long, you’re fucking intoxicated. Also, who the hell are all of these men you’re suddenly friends with?”

“Wait, a-are you jealous?” she asked between a fit of titters. “T-that’s why you’re so up-set?” she hiccupped.

Neteyam sighed, jaw working as he stared at her, unamused. “I don’t see how that’s funny. Am I not allowed to be upset when other men gawk at you or when they insist on putting their hands all over you?”

Xilä beamed. “You’re so jealous, handsome. It’s so cuuuute,” she sang, wiggling in his lap in time to the beat of the song playing.

“Shit. Don’t do that sweetheart,” he grunted, grabbing hold to still her hips.

Unperturbed, and suddenly needy, she began to press kisses along his neck.

“Xi-” his eyes screwed shut when she sucked on a sensitive spot.

The moment her hand tried to sneak between them however, he snagged her wrist and pulled her away from him.

“Xilä stop it!” he said firmly.

His jaw dropped when tears welled in eyes and she began to cry.

“Baby, why are you crying? Shit, I’m sorry,” he said gently, cupping her face tenderly.

“I don’t know why I’m crying! I just am!” she snapped as she continued to sob.

Neteyam was at a loss for words. He had no clue how to react. He had comforted his wife time and time again, but these tears weren’t due to pain or suffering….no, she was just drunk.

“Bro…what did you do?” Lo’ak asked, crouching next to them, brows raised high at Xilä whose head was buried in his brother’s chest.

“Don’t. Don’t even,” Neteyam warned, taking the water from him to offer it to his crying mate.

Lo’ak sighed guiltily. “I messed up. I’m sorry, ‘Teyam.”

“Yeah well, shit happens right?” Neteyam said, shooting him an “I guess I can forgive you,” glare that made his brother’s shoulders slump in relief.

“Lo, we should throw parties ALL the time,” Xi said dramatically, interrupting the brothers' moment. “Every. Day. Every-” she hiccupped, “every night.”

Despite the lingering traces of tears, she seemed to be back to her bubbly state again.

“Fine by me, Xi-Xi,” Lo’ak laughed, ignoring Neteyam’s grumbles while he wiped his wife’s cheeks.

“Two hours.”

“What?”

“I'm giving you two hours to finish up the party and have my home spotless by the time I get back,” Neteyam said as he got to his feet, pulling Xi along with him.

“Really?” the younger brother asked, ears raised in shock.

“Yep. And for the love of God, please keep the horny ones out of our room.”

Lo’ak laughed. “I can do that,” he assured.

“Hey Xi!” W’aote called, running over.

“Hiii!” Xilä called back, from where she’d been leaning against her husband.

“This fucker again?” Neteyam grumbled under his breath.

Fingers wrapping around her bicep to try and lead her away W’aote said, “I could really use your help against these skxawngs in the next round of-”

Neteyam knocked his hand away, effectively cutting off his speech.

“Gimme a second,” he told his brother, passing a confused Xilä off to him. “I’ll meet you at the entrance.”

Lo’ak frowned, gaze darting between his friend and his brother, before leading Xi away.

W’aote swallowed nervously when it was only the two of them left. His eyes widened when the older Na’vi clamped a hand on his shoulder, fangs bared as he grinned dangerously.

“You know Xilä is my mate, right?”

W’aote winced when Neteyam squeezed his muscle. “Y-Yeah. Of course man.”

“Good. Then act like it.”

“Neteyam, it’s not-”

“I watched you tonight. You followed my wife around like a fucking pup. I don’t care if you say you only see her as a friend. But enough with the casual touching. Got it?”

“Got it. Sorry.”

“Good talk,” he said, giving him one last meaningful squeeze before walking away.

And that’s part 13!!!! A freaking rollercoaster if you ask me lol.

A big special shout out and hug to my friend Tori for all her help with this part. 💛

Also, it was getting wayyy too long, so the rest of the party will be in part 14.

Finally, all I’ll say is, enjoy the "peace & calm" of this one, because drama is soon to come 🙃

As always thank you for reading, please let me know your thoughts :)

Tags: @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @granddearduck @riatesullironalite @strawberri-blonde @earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop @blkmystery @neteswife @luvteyams

If you'd like to be tagged or I forgot you by accident, please let me know.

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

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odditycircus-2002 · 11 months ago

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Hi ✨ I hope you’re doing well could you do Valentine’s Day head cannons for Shang Tsung and Medusa Reader (both mk11 and mk1) 💖✨💕✨

A/N: Well, this is late as HELL! I am SO sorry for this because it came out during Midterms, and I was busy studying for all of those. But with Spring Break here, I can spare the energy and have time to finally answer this!😁😁😁 Also, I hope you don't mind me not having Valentine's Day heavily featured. It will be mentioned, though. Also, if you wanna know what the hell anon is referring to, please click the link here for the master list.

Valentine's Day with Shang Tsung and Medusa!Reader

MK11 Shang Tsung

Let's be honest. Every day is Valentine's Day between you and Shang Tsung, even though you are understandably occupied with your tasks under Shao Khan. However, that just makes every romantic gesture even more precious.

I mean, you both have a day of flowers and chocolate, and that's because you both hold fragments of each other's souls within your respective wedding rings. Not just out of sentiment but as a backup in case the other should perish.

But let's just say that You caught wind of the holiday and thought of it as the perfect excuse to gift your husband with a new statue you've titled "Lovebirds' Final Moment," which is a petrified couple holding each other as they look upon a threat in terror.

After surprising Shang Tsung with the statue, which he then placed just outside his study window, you eagerly explained Valentine's Day. For example, its origins date back to a third-century Roman feast that included sacrificial offerings and whipping women in hopes of making them fertile, and it became a far-tamer holiday over the centuries. Shang Tsung listened to every word as a plan began brewing.

For now, all Shang Tsung could give you in exchange was some new carnivorous plants native to Vaeternus to grow in your garden. To which you then responded by making love in the garden right then and there, before the petrified couple.

Afterward, his plan was conducted in secret. The Sorcerer had his servants find the best chocolate craftsman in Earthrealm and commission something odd. He then had the finished product delivered to him months after the holiday, wrapped in one of those red Valentine boxes, before he presented it during your anniversary feast.

With a flourish, Shang Tsung revealed a large chunk of chocolate meticulously carved to resemble a human heart. A gift that's basically the Sorcerer's way of saying that you have his heart. You then took a nibble off, as did the rest of your snakes, moaning as you savored the treat that was so rare during your time.

Then, you got a delicious idea by taking another bite of the chocolate before kissing Shang Tsung and pushing the chocolate into his mouth. Letting him taste just how sweet his heart is to her. Not surprisingly, this ended with you both having passionate sex on the banquet table right then and there, with both of you tasting chocolate.

MK1 Shang Tsung

Before you and Shang Tsung had a falling out (Shang Tsung turning you into a gorgon-like creature), you often set aside time from your mutually busy schedules to sit down and have some tea. Sometimes, you would surprise Shang Tsung with meals that you made using recipes from your home canton.

Once, Shang Tsung surprised you with a chocolate-filled tray during one of these tea breaks. A treat that you immediately began to salivate over but one you didn't receive until you paid Shang Tsung with a kiss. One that you readily agreed to before devouring the rare treats, moaning in delight at the taste. Shang Tsung, unable to help himself, asked for a taste, which he received by kissing you on the lips; the taste of the sweet treat lingering on your tongue made all the sweeter by his lips. The Sorcerer was grinning ear to ear when he pulled away to gaze at your flushed expression.

Sometimes, Shang Tsung would bring flowers to give a bit of "color" to the room, or so he claims. But you and he both knew they were meant as gifts for you, often flowers you have a fondness for or ones with specific meanings such as devotion and loyalty.

Sometimes, it's not unusual to add the flowers' petals, especially poisonous ones, into your tea for extra "flavor." This is a habit that Shang Tsung was concerned about before you explained how you just enjoy the sensation the extra poison gives you and how it only builds up your immunity. You assured Shang Tsung that you would never add poison to his tea or meal, as it wastes good poison. A comment that got a chuckle out of the Sorcerer, as he knew you were being honest.

While the upcoming Sorcerer didn't always like how you made the tea, sometimes finding it too bitter, he genuinely enjoyed sitting with you in a moment of reprieve. After the events of the game, he sometimes finds himself missing the meals you would prep just for him and you. Even if he can try the dishes elsewhere, they never taste like yours.

You, however, just wanted to forget your joyous time with the traitorous Sorcerer, as reminiscing on them made his betrayal sting even more. However, it seems you're unable to even if you wanted to, as you often would receive "mysterious" gifts consisting of flowers or shiny trinkets. Although you know who the gifts are from, you would often burn them or throw them away immediately afterward. You don't tell anyone, even Baraka or Syzoth, about these "gifts".

During an Earthrealm holiday called "Valentine's Day", not long after Baraka gifted you a heart-shaped box of assorted chocolate, you would wake up the next morning to find a similarly shaped box addressed to you. However, this box was wrapped in lace and looked professionally made, inside was an assortment of chocolate carved to look like human hearts and rodents for your head full of snakes. There was a note inside that read "A reminder that you still have my heart". You briefly gave a small grin at the gesture, remembering the first time Shang Tsung gifted you such a treat. You then scowled before you disposed of the box, not putting it past Shang Tsung to have either poisoned it or drugged it with a love potion.

Playlist while writing this

"Bad Romance" by Lady Gaga

"Babooshka" by Kate Bush

"Judas" by Lady Gaga

"Sway" by Michael Buble

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat 1 #shang tsung #shang tsung x reader #mk1 #mk11 #anon ask #ask answered #Valentines Day hcs #oddball writes #mk1 2023 #mortal kombat 11

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months ago

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Hi I just discovered your blog and I’m so happy to see someone writing fic for the FBI show!

Can I request Scola + Stealing kisses at the break of dawn?

Tagging: @trublu2u@burningpeachpuppy@upsteadlogic@noxytopy@kmc1989

Companion piece to Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

You aren’t in bed when Stuart wakes up, your side is vacant, the sheets cold. He sighs because this is the third night in a row he’s woken up alone and he’s concerned it’s going to become a habit.

He finds you in the living room, curled up under the couch blanket, a cup of tea clasped to your chest as the TV plays in the background.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks you as he sits down on the couch alongside of you.

“What’s the point?” You ask him, your gaze fixed on the TV as your palm rubs over the nape of your neck. “It doesn’t change anything.”

You’ve been like this since the appointment with the fertility doctor, since you found out you’re the reason that the two of you can’t have kids. You’d been trying for over a year before you decided to see a specialist. You thought she’d tell you it was just stress, that you needed to cut down on your hours, relax a little more instead the news was worse.

You were in menopause, early onset.

Apparently there’s a history of it in your family. You’d had no idea because you don’t speak to your mother and your father hates discussing ‘women’s things’.

You’ve become withdrawn since then, burying yourself into your work, staying out late. A couple of times he’d found you at the bar alone, drinking whiskey and studying your phone. He knows you’ve been looking up ways to reverse it, researching, he also knows you’ve come up dry. There’s nothing you can do and that’s the part that’s got you twisted up in knots, you’re used to fighting your problems and this is something you can’t.

“Sasha…” He says softly, his hands cradling your face between his hands. “This is not your fault.”

He can tell you don’t believe it, he can see it in your eyes. He wishes there was something he could do to take away the pain but the agony you’re feeling, he feels it too. The difference is he’s pragmatic, he knows there’s other options, he’s open to them but right now you’re not. The anguish, it’s too raw, too recent.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You say quietly as you climb into his lap and begin to undress. “I just want to forget.”

You fuck him hard, the light from the sunrise cascading over his bare skin as you kiss him like it’s the last time, because for you it is the last time. This is your gift to him, your final goodbye because tomorrow you’re leaving him.

You’re going to set him free so he can have the family that he wants, the one that you can’t give him.

Stuart? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#Stuart scola #stuart scola x reader #scola x reader #scola #fbi #fbi cbs #john boyd

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darkside-writing · 2 years ago

Text

Hashirama giving Madara his sister for peace:

Warnings: 18+ only, everyone is above 18, non-con themes, Incestuous relationship, grooming/predatory behavior, gang r*ape scenario, mentions of blood, forced impregnation, Female reader, dark content, do not like - do not read!

During the warring states period, negotiations for peace between the Uchiha and Senju were quickly deteriorating after the recent death of Izuna. The Uchiha demanded revenge for the brother of their leader, yet the loss of life and drastic drop in birth rates due to war has endangered the prestigious clan to becoming near extinct. With fertile women diminishing and the survival of the Uchiha doomed to almost certain death, the Senju would offer a treaty of peace brokered by Hashirama in order to preserve both clans. The contract would offer Hashirama’s own blood, his youngest sister, as a token for peace between the feuding clans. The contract would state that once the Senju woman was impregnated with the seed of an Uchiha then the two clans would be bonded by blood to bring peace. Hashirama offering his own sister to Madara would be the ultimate sign of trust and satisfies the Uchiha hunger for revenge of Izuna’s death. However, while Hashirama proposed this idea and the Elders approved of the contract - the Senju brothers still do not want their youngest and only sister to be used as a catalyst for retribution. It would be arranged that Hashirama will observe the rape of his sister in order to ensure her safety and the completion of the ceremony. After the ceremony, she will not be allowed back into her brothers home and must birth the new generation of Uchiha and Senju blooded children to ensure peace.

The partnership was celebrated by the newly formed Konoha and those who praised the transaction between the Uchiha and Senju. The ceremony of exchanging the bride from Hashirama to Madara would be widely celebrated with feasts planned in accordance. Everyone is already asking when the breeding will take place so that Madara’s virile seed will soon be planted in the bride’s fertile womb to ensure a successful pregnancy. The entire success of the peace treaty relies on the breeding of Hashirama’s sister. Weeks beforehand the young bride would be given fertility drugs in her tea and lavish foods in attempt to make her plump for carrying children. During the ceremony, people are praising the bride for taking on the honor to birth the mixed blood of Senju and Uchiha. While everyone pampers the young bride, exchanged words between Hashirama and Madara are whispered behind her back. Once the Elders declare the ceremony almost finished, it would be time to sweep up the young girl and take her to a reclusive area that was prepared in advance for the breeding. Hashirama comes along with his sister, cooing into her ear words of encouragement that everything will be okay. He would be lying if he did not admit that this entire ceremony has made him aroused - deep down wanting to be the one to impregnate the youngest Senju girl. Since an early age, Hashirama has desired his sister - even planning to marry her had the treaty not existed. However, he is willing to share his sister with his childhood friend for the sake of Konoha. Madara, on the other hand, has been eager to breed the girl since meeting her for the first time as children. His cock swells and balls ache at the thought of soon making her into his little housewife. She is the perfect wife - submissive, beautiful and trained since birth to be a homemaker.

The anticipation of spearing the young bride on his cock has Madara acting swiftly. His hands tear her silk kimono into tresses as his crimson eyes eagerly drink in the sight of the mousy girl. Hashirama has resigned himself to a chair in the corner of the room to observe the scene, his eyes never straying away from his baby sister. The observance of her assault is essential in order to ensure she is properly bred. The poor girl is unsure of what to do but luckily with her big brother in the room to orchestrate. She easily follows his orders and allows Madara to push her onto the plush bed. Being the youngest Senju sibling has led to years of Hashirama checking his sisters small pussy for signs of assault. Easily the Uchiha spreads her satin soft thighs apart, sucking in a breath at the sight of her swollen pussy and untouched hymen just waiting to be ruined. Hashirama, on the other hand, is practicing self restraint at the sight before him. His best friend about to devour his sister, one of his darkest fantasies about to come alive. Madara does not like noisy women and demands she keep her bubbling cries and whimpers to a minimum, now is the time to breed only. Without any preparation from the Uchiha, he takes his erect cock in hand and pushes his tip against her virginal hole. The wail from the young girl as her hole is violated causes Hashirama to pull out his fully erect cock and stroke himself to the rhythm of Madara’s thrusts. His mind is reeling and emotions seething at his young precious sister being raped by his best friend, but he can’t stop fucking his own fist. Madara is no better, his cock is being constricted like a vice and virginal blood coats his dick as he cruelly takes his new bride. The purpose is to breed, her pleasure is not important. However, Hashirama can no longer be the third wheel in this important ceremony. He rises from his seat and makes way to his poor, dear sister. Her face is coated in tears and lips trembling as she begs for help from her older brother. It almost breaks his heart at the sight of his sister begging for nii-chan’s help, but he knows this is necessary. With words of love spilling from Hashirama, he points his cock towards her trembling lips to ask for entrance. The poor bride is completely devastated that her older brother, once her protector, is now forcing his cock inside her cheeks and into her throat.

Madara is almost perplexed at the sight of Hashirama throat fucking his own younger sister, but he can’t deny that it makes his cock throb at the sight. Hashirama is begging for his sisters forgiveness as he fucks into her throat without self restraint. With the visual of his new bride’s mouth being assaulted, Madara pushes her thighs closely to her chest in a mating press. He needs to cum quickly in order to impregnate her before Hashirama changes his mind. Sounds of quiet sobs and glucking on cock resonates inside the room as the poor bride is pushed and pulled between the two men she once felt safe with. The older men look at each other as they reach their end quickly, a silent threat and promise to each other. Without restraint Madara empties his load into the broken bride, Hashirama quickly following by bestowing his own cum into her throat straight to her belly. The ceremony is complete with no chances of the young girl not being pregnant. With gentle kisses from Hashirama, he praises his sister for allowing him to love her in this way and claims he is proud of her. Madara cuts the loving moment short by carrying his new bride home where he plans to shape her into becoming his perfect little housewife. Soon enough the young wife will be heavily pregnant with the blood of Uchiha and Senju mixing together to create a new generation of strong shinobi. It would be no surprise that the pregnancy would be extremely successful, Senju women being known for their fertility. Hashirama wonders if it would be so bad if he impregnated his sister as well.

#naruto #naruto imagines #hashirama senju #hashirama senju x reader #madara uchiha #madara uchiha x reader #tw.noncon #tw.breeding #tw.dark content

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celticcrossanon · 1 year ago

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Hi CC, I hope you are faring well in the heat these days. It must be challenging.

I have questions about MM' pregnancies. If the children weren't birthed by MM, is it possible that she will champion the rights of women who have fertility issues - saying IVF, surrogacy, and even donated sperm/eggs (which I don't believe they used), is the norm. I read years back that Sophie was considering IVF for her second pregnancy.

Another possibility is that Archie was conceived before the wedding. Again she may argue that having children with a partner who isn't a spouse is common these days.

I'm also curious why they got engaged when they did. Was there a rush that was real or pretend? (Eg pregnancy that was faked or really did not go to term.) There has been speculation.

Even though both children look like their parents, something seems off. There's smoke and somewhere there is a fire that has legal ramifications for the BRF. Ultimately she presented as pregnant both times. So if she wasn't, the duplicity would be next level!

Thanks

Hi Nonny,

It was and is challenging, but we have some cooler weather for Xmas, which is nice (it heats up again after the 26th, I think).

Meghan may try to do something with fertility issues to get herself out of the hole she is in, but that will do nothing for the main issue. If the children were not born of her body then they have no place in the Line of Succession, as they were not pushed into the world by the legal spouse of Prince Harry. It is harsh but the law is clear - if the legal wife of a royal does not carry you and push you out into the world (or have a caesarean), then you are not born 'of their body' and therefore you have no place in the line of succession. Making a fuss about fertility issues some 4? 5? years after the event will not make your deception any less of a deception, and it will not do away with the legal consequences of your actions.

The wedding was on 19 May 2018, Archie was supposedly born 6 May 2019. That is about a year between the wedding and the birth. If Meghan was pregnant when she married Harry, Archie would have been born at the most 8-9 months after the wedding, so say Feb 2019. There is no reason why the couple could not have announced a 'honeymoon baby' and then announce the actual birth if that was the case. In February Meghan was still going everywhere clutching her huge bump, so no early birth for her.

I have read on the reason for the rushed wedding. From memory, there were indications in the cards that Meghan faked a pregnancy to get the knot tied quickly. I can read on that again. The other theory that I incline towards is that they were already married in some sort of ceremony somewhere, although in that case I am not sure why they were given the highly inappropriate big white wedding.

I believe that Meghan wasn't pregnant both times. Her physical changes did not match the natural changes of pregnancy, and we actually had some obstetricians and their relatives writing in at the time saying the pregnancy was a badly done fake (I know, take all tea with a truckful of salt etc). What convinced me was the unnatural changes in her baby bump, like the ones below. No one inflates/deflates like that over an hour, or even a day. I also believe she has no morals or conscience that would prevent her from faking a pregnancy and then pretending to give borth. Other people may think differently, of course.

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bijoumikhawal · 1 year ago

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Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Three

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence,

Heads up: this chapter has some of Garak ruminating on his experience with bioessentialism, sex, and gender in a society that I think is pretty fucked up in approach to the topic and not friendly to those who perform gender "incorrectly", and I don't think Garak necessarily has an internal understanding separate from that even if he's uncomfortable with it. In general this fic is complicated because Garak is canonically effeminate and that compounds with the themes here in a new way (+ a lot of people I think would view the "progressive" thing as Garak shedding his effeminacy, which I find insulting from my own perspective as someone effeminate who is a "stereotype").

There is also a pair of scenes where it is ambigious if consent to sex was given or not, but it is not graphic. The first is when Barkan comes into the bathroom with Garak, the second is the scene after Julian and Dr. Ammshah schedule Garak's appointment. There is another with a violent undertone, which begins with "Garak had had an odd nightmare".

Kardasi: Peikirvi - would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

There had been a time, just before his age of emergence, when Garak had stared in the mirror trying to see just what was different from other boys and him. He wasn't the sort who was recognized for his unique position at birth- it had come later, at a milestone medical exam.

He hardly acknowledged the mirror as he exited the shower now, quickly pulling on a robe before the water could chill him.

He'd combed and squeezed the water out of his hair before stepping out- Julian had gotten him a warming tile for his pomade, which he'd set up before stepping in. The scent of warm wax filled the room, along with the essence of herbs purported as beneficial.

It was a frivolous thing. Garak had a pull out stove for making tea that he could warm the tin on just as well. But it did make his routine a little faster.

He dug his fingers into the pale green liquid, hot enough to be just this side of uncomfortable. As he tugged it through his hair, he could already see it resolidifying, leaving his fingers cool again.

Even after the diagnosis, his recategorization had been inconsistent, even private, which was his value. Would he be here at all if he was not recognized for passing between spheres? Women were not well suited to outside work, in the immediate sense and the sense of borders. Garak was not a woman, but he filled the role of one for the sake of biology, as well as the role of a man. His primary root in manhood meant that was how he passed through the world. The secondary root ruled how he had to live once the doors were closed.

It prickled along the back of his neck, the practicality of it all. Would he even know his own body if it wasn't so?

He tried not to think about the whole matter. He always had carried on that way; he had redoubled his efforts after… after his exile. He was quite good at it.

Most of the time. He'd been too good, lately.

He had behaved differently from other boys.

No one who knew commented upon it, precisely, as related. But it was… a trope, in some ways. In general, what one was born as influenced the behavior, if everything was well with the mind. When one behaved differently from other boys, you could assume two things: madness, or two roots. Because of his privacy, the former was often assumed. Until after Romulus, that is...

He'd run a comb through his hair again once he was done, to make sure the pomade was distributed evenly.

He clicked off the warming tile.

And if you need someone- to talk to, to help you, to-

Garak sighed, tied his robe tighter, and opened a comms line on his terminal.

---

Garak had had an odd nightmare, after Barkan had essentially proposed, the weeks between then and the ceremony (he had to inform his household, and the military, of his new addition, after all).

He was in his old bedroom again, down in the basement. That was how he knew it was a dream.

Someone was in the room with him. His limbs, eyelids, blanket, were all so heavy, he could not look to see who, or reach out, but he knew. Who else would slip into bed with him as he slept?

Tains weight shifted on the mattress. For whatever reason- the shift made Garak realize why his limbs felt heavy. They were manacled- securing him to the bed.

"Peikirvi don't get a dowry or dower. But I deserve compensation, Elim. I'm giving up something very important, after all."

It was- an old custom. Between a cheoche and service class cheyeda- other cheyeda, they had no such custom, for the cheoche demand compensation before allowing a marriage, no matter the type. And the service class only had it if they were lucky enough to have a cheoche. If the suitor didn't pay, the cheoche revoked whatever blessings had been given, and kept the... piece of their household.

The chains, in the meantime, prevented elopement.

It had been outlawed as something you could only do to subjugated peoples, decades ago.

---

Julian didn't know what he expected when Garak asked him to come see him. The robe, certainly, was not high on the list.

"Where was that a few months ago?" Julian asked lightly. "Don't tell me you had pajamas that whole time."

Garak stepped back to let him in. "I didn't care to change into them at the time, doctor."

Julian felt the urge to touch him, but kept his hands to himself, remembering the last time he'd done that in this room.

"Is everything alright?"

"Just fine." Garak sat down. “We haven't been talking to each other as friends much lately.”

Julian sat as well, following his lead. “No, we haven't. Are you still struggling with your appetite-”

“No doctor talk.” Garak held up a hand. “I called you here as a friend,” he emphasized, “and that means I don't want to hear a word about my… medical concerns.”

“Alright.” Julian clasped his hands together, for want of a better thing to do with them. “What do you want to talk about, then?”

Garak leaned back. “Nothing in particular.”

Ah. What a load of bullocks. But Julian would play along. “I apologize, but I've been too busy to finish the book you gave me last. Work.”

“Slacking off on our cultural exchanges…” Garak said with distant disapproval, as he looked to his left, lips parted. “What am I to do with you?”

Stay. Julian felt his cheeks warm at the odd thought. It wasn't as though Garak was deathly ill this time. This all would be over and done within a week, most likely. “I don't know, Docent Garak. What will you do with me?”

Garak’s breath caught, and he turned to look at Julian. He closed his mouth. “Remedial discussion should suffice.”

Julian laughed. He'd leaned forwards at some point, and he didn't bother correcting himself. “Alright.”

“Gender relations. These are relevant in every Cardassian work of literature, and in every aspect of Cardassian life overall. What have you observed?”

Julian leaned back. “Everyone is restricted in their movements and behaviors, women a bit more so. Ornamentation is more for women as well, but not entirely, and it's not necessarily seen in a bad light. Men are pushed towards the military, but in a lot of the older settings there's plenty of writers too. Er… men are generally seen as emotional, women as more stoic, able to separate themselves from things…” Julian trailed off. “Don't look at me like that, you put me on the spot and asked me about something rather complicated!”

“The most basic, distilled statement I can give you is this: men and women are distinct, but considered equal, on Cardassia.” Garak says, face impassive.

Julian thinks on it for a moment, and catches the quiet, hidden meaning. Those which are not distinct…

“I see. Interesting.”

Garak gave him a wan smile. “Is it? Are they not distinct to you? Or perhaps not equal?”

“Like I said before: it's complicated. What is a man, afterall? What is a woman? What-” Julian thought carefully. “I might see one of each that look and act almost entirely the same, within minutes of each other. Perhaps of different cultures, different contexts, or perhaps not. They are distinct but the distinction is- personal. Intimate.”

“Intimate.” Garak’s expression grew slightly solemn. “You would use that word, wouldn't you?”

Julian blinked. Clearly he'd missed something. “Is it wrong? When something is a matter of self knowledge- isn't that intimate, perhaps the most intimate something can be?”

A bitter air had entered the room, and it only intensified. The word choice had struck a nerve Julian hadn't realized was there to strike.

“Garak, I really didn't mean to-”

Garak looked at him and Julian immediately fell quiet. It seemed like the wise choice.

“Didn't you?” Garak rose from his chair, bending over Julian, hands gripping the armrests as yet unused. “You stopped yourself for a moment, earlier. You were considering your words. Is carelessness a common trait for a doctor?”

“I had my attention on the subject we were discussing. I apologize-”

“Whatever for? Whatever for , my dear doctor?”

“For not knowing that might upset you.”

“Interesting. That you claim ignorance. That you apologize for it.”

“Garak-”

“I don't think you're ignorant at all in the matter of intimacy.”

Oh, where had that come from?

Julian inhaled. “Look, I don't-”

“Don't what, doctor?!”

They'd ended up on the floor, somehow. Julian gripped Garak’s shoulders. “Garak! Listen to me.” Julian paused, uncertain of what to say, but knowing he had to say something. Garak looked at him, wild eyed.

“I'm here because I care about you. Because I want to support you. I didn't-” Julian's eyes fell to Garak’s robe, disheveled by their arrival to the floor. He pulled the lapels closed, looking back up at Garak. “I didn't come for anything else. I didn't mean anything else, than to- comfort you.”

Garak’s eyes were deeply unnerving. Julian had had a teacher with protuberant blue eyes once- they reminded him of a frog. She knew her eyes were somewhat unnerving, and put them to good use against any student she deemed necessary. The unease now, wasn’t that Garak normally looked odd. He simply looked like he was…

Julian was very careful where he touched Garak now, cupping his elbows to pull him up and back into his chair.

He slumped on the floor next to it. “I don't want anything else.”

He heard the soft rustle of fabric behind him- probably Garak gathering himself to sit properly. He could almost hear Garak thinking. Searching for the admission of guilt. The crack in the rhetoric to poke at till it all fell apart. A weakness to use.

“I don't.” Julian said again, resting his head back against the chair. Nails scratching against upholstery. Restraining the urge to reach out and what? Violence or intimacy- or both?

Garak rested a hand over Julian’s eyes. “You couldn’t get that out of me even if you wanted it.” Garak said quietly.

Julian sighed. They were not talking about sex. “No.” Not without medical intervention and a lot of planning, anyway.

“Why didn’t you say that?” Remind him of it, to be specific.

“Because it doesn’t make me safe, Garak.” Julian got up, shaking away the hand. “I could hurt you anyway. I’m uniquely positioned to hurt you. Surely, you know it doesn't make me safe?”

Garak was gripping the seat of the chair he'd previously sat in, nails digging into the upholstery again. “Of course.”

In the heat of the moment, no. But Julian didn't need to be told- logic didn't always stay steady in the heat of the moment. It had a nasty habit of flying off somewhere and returning just in time for you to feel stupid.

Julian extended a hand, then took it back, unsure of what he'd meant to do with it in the first place. “Of course.” He echoed, quieter.

“Do you ever want to…”

“Not really.” Julian doesn’t say that it doesn’t matter what he wants, he simply can’t. Refusing is easier to understand.

“I do, sometimes.” Garak admits.

Julian almost tells him that he prefers when Garak pulls his leg in ways that he has to carefully consider before realizing he’s lying, but he doesn’t.

---

Dr. Ammshah sat instead of standing, leaving Garak higher up than her. "How are you today, Mr. Garak?"

Her arrival had gone smoothly, though Julian hadn't gotten a chance to thank Sisko or anyone in hospitality or logistics yet. He always preferred to give a two weeks heads up, but, well...

Garak had his smiling mask in place. "Quite well, thank you."

"Glad to hear it. I've already spoken with Dr. Bashir a fair amount about you. Today, if I can, I'd like to do a physical examination, with Dr. Bashir observing, and discuss your care options."

Julian watched the subtleties of their interaction, rapt. He was hardly a stranger to bedside manner, but there was an underlying current to how Dr. Ammshah spoke and handled herself. Not just her body language, which Julian knew carried a second layer of weight in Kardasi, but something else intangible. He couldn't quite tell if it was effective yet.

"Do what you must."

Dr. Ammshah inclined her head, then handed Garak an already prepared gown. "We'll give you some privacy to change, then."

---

Barkan came up behind Garak while he was washing his face. Garak forced himself to continue like normal.

"Elijje. I don't need to tell you we'll soon be withdrawing from Bajor." He curled Garak’s hair around one finger. "The Bajorans know it. They're growing more bold and more and more of them are accepting the words of terrorists."

"I'll be careful."

Barkan tightened his twisting of Garak’s hair. "I know. You always are. But, for my peace of mind… would you stay in our quarters for the next few weeks?"

Garak stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Barkan, pulling his hair out of his grasp. "Pardon? All the time?"

"It's only for a few weeks. I'd have us leave sooner, but I can't leave wrapping up the mining project to Skrain- he has enough to handle with me helping him right now."

Garak couldn't help looking around the room. "You could send me ahead…"

"No. I considered it, but there's too much going on. We've already lost three ships with Cardassians trying to leave."

"Barkan-"

"This isn't a request, Elijje." Barkan grabbed his hand, and Garak only just resisted the urge to twist their positions and break his arm. Instead he was pulled into an embrace. Barkan threaded his hand into Garak’s hair, pushing his cheek hard into Barkan’s chest. "I've already discussed it with Skrain. He agrees with me. There's a voice lock on the door and Odo has flagged the security feed on the hall outside."

Garak took in a heavy breath. He knows. He knows something- probably about the mess with Procal.

This is just a pretext.

Barkan had the gall to laugh. "Ah, look at you shake. It's alright, Elijje. Nothing bad will happen so long as we're both smart about it." He stroked Garak’s hair. "Why don't you come back to bed with me for a bit before I have to work?"

"I dont-"

"Come now, it'll help you get your mind off things."

Barkan had him from behind, pressing his face into the mattress the whole time.

He kissed the fresh bloody bite on Garak’s neck. "Don't forget to take your hypo today. Fulfill your duty to me, Elijje."

---

"Feet flat on the biobed for me, knees up."

Garak’s chest rose and fell with a heavy, silent breath, but he did as he was told. Julian squeezed his forearm before rejoining Dr. Ammshah, who was pushing the gown up.

Garaks' whole body was taught like a strung instrument. Under the gown was grey, grey, grey, then pink under Dr. Ammshah's careful gloves (green), much like Garak’s mouth. She palpated there, pointed something out to Julian here. Julian took note of it all, distracting himself from the who and taking in the what.

She had been right in her guess as to what anatomy Garak had.

Once satisfied, she pulled the gown back down past Garak’s grey knees again, and hit the button on the biobed so Garak was sitting up.

"Everything looks mostly normal so far, but I suspect you're deficient in several vitamins, so I'll have Dr. Bashir test for that."

Garak nodded, mask apparently having fallen during the exam and struggling to get back up again.

"Obviously, you want a termination. In addition to that, I can flush your spermacathe so this won't happen again, though I'll need to do it manually. We can also remove the uterus-"

"No. Thank you, Dr. Ammshah, but I would prefer…" Garak paused. "To remain whole, with all my organs."

Dr. Ammshah nodded, unsurprised. "I feel it important to remind patients of their options, even if they're unpleasant." She looked at Julian, pulling him in, and then back to Garak. "The termination and flush will take about two or three hours. How conscious would you like to be for the latter?"

"I'll have to think on it."

"That's fine. Doctor, do you have any time slots that work with his normal schedule this week?"

"A few." Julian turned to Garak. "3 days from now, at 1900?"

"That will be fine, Dr. Bashir." Garak said, eyes closed to the infirmary lighting.

---

Garak laid in bed, controlling his breathing and meditating until the buzz of the wire responding to the morning's activities was background noise.

He sat up. Barkan knew, and that meant Garak needed out.

His exit was obvious. He'd have to kill Barkan- Ideally, Dukat too, they were the main two who'd seen him and knew his real name. Others could be dealt with more subtly. He needed to send a message to the Order, but he knew it'd say just that. Eliminate Lokar. Go to this sage house. Await further instructions for extraction.

The odds of killing Lokar and Dukat were low, even under normal circumstances. With the lock and watch protocols- unless Dukat made a personal visit, Garak could forget it. The Order would have to arrange something for Dukat later.

Garak touched his cheek. This move had always been risky, because Barkan was high profile and knew his name. By the end of this he'd probably end up with a new face.

That'd have to wait for later consideration. How was he to do this?

He'd check, of course, but if Barkan suspected him, he'd have swept the room. Any obvious disruptions would be gone, and it was possible most, if not all his hiding spots had been found. None of their medicines or bath products were ready for use as a fast acting poison. The lacing from his undergarment might work- and he had his knife, but ugh. Stabbing someone to death was a very involved, and loud process.

Garak tried his comms unit. Signal error, it proclaimed.

"Replicator, red leaf tea, hot."

"That request cannot be filled at this time due to limited resources."

"I'm sure." Garak muttered. His own comms would be easy enough to fix, at least.

---

Julian hadn't expected the first case to be the only one. Kurowaat was rather contagious, after all- there'd been a case of it in his first year at the Academy. In the heart of the Federation, most were vaccinated against it- bit it still ripped through the students, causing headaches, embarrassing laundry, and for the unlucky unvaccinated few, two weeks of missed class thanks to the full effect of the virus.

In Starfleet Medical, the saying was that it came in fives- if one person had it, four more would follow.

Most on Bajor were not vaccinated. And Julian was wondering if that phrase was grossly optimistic.

Dr. Ammshah naturally volunteered to help. She primarily was the Cardassian equivalent to an Ob/Gyn, but even without her specialty being relevant, she was still a doctor. One of the senior ones in her clinic at that. Julian had her checking in on the non-Bajorans they had coming in and helping with admin- scheduling, managing the shift madness, tracking the supplies they had and their use rate.

That still left plenty for Julian, of course. Most of the patients were Bajoran.

The station infirmary was, intentionally, too small to serve all residents. If the shop next door ever went out of business, he was going to immediately request to commandeer the space and start putting in work orders.

For now, the break rooms, private rooms, and quarantine bay were just as packed as the main bay, and Julian had given all medical staff a crash course on how to bunk biobeds as painlessly as possible. The surgical bay and his office remained empty for now.

Currently they had 46 patients with kurowaat, and more coming. Julian was going to have to go through his early patients and send the alert ones who had someone they lived with home with a good supply of diozaine to ride out the last week of the illness. And instructions to hydrate and change sheets often. But it'd be a few more days before he could do that.

He sat down between seeing patients and wondered if the sheer numbers he was calculating could justify using one of the storage bays from the aphasia virus incident last year.

It wasn't really an emergency. The infirmary being too small was just that much of a problem. He had enough supplies, enough staff- he didn't expect any deaths.

#cipher talk #garashir #ds9 #Ds9 fic #Julian Bashir/Elim Garak #star trek deep space 9 #Fic: Bite the hand that starves you

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