This is super long I’m sorry wow 

Madara Uchiha NSFW scenario

It’s a small ceremony, as he demanded. Her clan might
have preferred a more opulent affair, apparent in the garish way in which they dressed her.
Madara has never seen a more intricate kimono, or a more intricate hairdo. It
made her look like a child’s doll.

He’s unable to shake the stoic look that had
been plastered on her face the entire ceremony. He should find it amusing… and
perhaps he does, in a way. But it’s more annoying than anything. 

The bleakness persists the rest of the night, even
after the ceremony. He also demanded they forgo on any strenuous wedding
traditions. A feast, a reception—he wanted none of it. And judging by her
distress, he imagines he was doing her a favor by ending it early.

It’s only now in the solace of his bedroom as she
kneels in front of him, hands folded modestly in her lap, head lowered, posture
so telling of her reluctant submission, that he can relax and forgive her
for being so irritatingly subdued.

He considers telling her there’s no need to be so coy, but the diffident demeanor pleases him. It will be easier this way, he imagines. He would be remiss if he didn’t do his duty. She is his now, after all. 

Months of staring at her, trying to imagine what this
night would entail, and he realizes he only expanded upon his anticipation. 

He
never liked the way she looked at him. With confined malice, like the anger
beat against a cage inside her heart. She was careful to show it. She knew who
he was. Knew what offending him might mean for their clan’s alliance. If she
was expected to please him and subjugate herself to his whims, she wouldn’t
comply so easily.

“Will you undress yourself?” he asks
evenly. “Or shall I do it for you?”

He can tell it’s not a question she anticipated, but
she must have expected something
sooner or later. Her demeanor changes, her eyes shut as if she’s in reticent,
contemplative turmoil. Even the heavy breath she exhales suggests that she had
been waiting for a command, or a suggestion.

“If that is what you please,” she returns
quietly, still not looking at him. 

There’s an attempt at dutiful servitude, he
notices, but it’s fading fast. Madara commends the effort, but he knows she
holds no love for him. She probably resents him. Coming into fruition now is
something that appears to be… defiance. He doesn’t like that. 

He doesn’t answer her, instead runs his eyes over her
body, what little she reveals under the heavy burden of all that fabric.

“No,” he decides finally, eyes returning to hers.
“Undress yourself.”

She likes that command even less, but not a moment
later, she obeys. 

The deed is not prolonged. She moves fast, hands
quivering in spite of herself. Her delicate fingers move carefully to the obi
at her waist and loosen the fabric until it falls across her lap. Then comes
the intricately decorated kimono. 

She folds away the flaps, and as she pulls the
material down, carefully and hesitantly, she doesn’t let it drop. She holds the
fabric to her chest, watching him with sharp expectancy.

He’d been closely watching the movement of her
kimono, waiting to see what lay underneath, but his eyes flick to hers at the pause. His expression is cool, unflappable and unreadable. 

“Continue.”

With barely concealed indignation, she complies, releases
the fold of the kimono, and reveals her bare chest. 

His eyes don’t leave her face for a long time. Dull,
bleak, dark eyes. Almost as if watching her meager attempt at composure gave him more pleasure than the sight of her naked body. 

It’s only when she closes her eyes to escape his scrutiny
that he lets his gaze wander. 

Even when deprived of sight, she feels his eyes running over
her, leaving a hot trail on her skin. It’s only thanks to the anxiety
paralyzing her that she doesn’t move her arms to cover her chest, but she
imagines he would reprimand her for it anyway.

After drinking up the sight of her, he removes his
gloves, sets them at his side carefully. Then he moves to her. She hears
movement and opens her eyes, only to be face-to-face with him, closer than they’ve ever been.

Those charcoal eyes see right through her.
She shivers; her body goes ice cold when he reaches for her. The warm pad of
his thumb brushes across one of her nipples and her mouth opens in fruitless
protest, unable to register the heat that runs through her.

Still, she retains what little pride she can muster
and watches his face, the way it tightens in concentration as he runs his
fingertips along her skin, under the swell of her breast.

Madara feels the quake of her body, and looks at her.
“Are you afraid?”

She shakes her head, an immediate response that tells
him otherwise.

“You shouldn’t be afraid,” he says. “I’m your husband
now.”

His tone is almost deceivingly mocking, and she
scowls. “I’m not afraid.” Yet her
voice holds no certitude, only irresolution.

“Oh?” His eyes move to her lips, lips that have
intrigued him in subtle, frustrating ways for weeks now. “I beg to differ.”

Before she can respond he presses forward. His lips
brush against hers but don’t close the gap completely, and her breath catches. 

He smirks at the reaction. A
surprisingly gentle hand lifts her chin when she tries to shy away from him,
until wide eyes find his.

“Why are you afraid?”

Instead of lying again, like she wants to, like he
expects her to, she swallows the lump in her throat, and shakes her head. “I
wasn’t ready to be married.”

“Yet you agreed.”

“I had no choice.”

He scoffs, and runs his thumb across her bottom lip.
“I suppose that makes sense. Your clan leader is insufferable. I
imagine he thought this marriage would tie our clans to an unbreakable
alliance. Under no circumstances would he have let you disagree.”

Her eyes sharpen. “Are you saying this isn’t going to guarantee an alliance?”

“The deal is done. Yet…” He’s so close that she can smell
the iciness of mint on his breath. “I haven’t decided whether or not I
like you, woman. That could determine—“

“That’s not fair,” she breathes, unaware that the
hesitant sound makes heat swirl in his body.

His eyes narrow. “Life is not fair.”

His ultimatum holds no truth. This is all only to taunt her. A small punishment for the disdain she has tried and failed to mask in his presence. He doubts he could annul the alliance at this point, anyway. The bond is secured as soon as the marriage is consummated, which he has every
intention of doing tonight. 

Her nipples have hardened under his curious touches, her
lips look as tempting as ever, and he’s growing impatient wondering what it
will feel like between her thighs. It won’t be long now until the appeal of
self-indulgent teasing falls to his natural desires.

She offers nothing but tense silence, so he seizes the opportunity. 

He needs to taste her lips first;
a quick, rough press against her mouth has those lips parting in surprise, but
he doesn’t slip his tongue past them, though he has an urge to. Repeatedly, he presses his hot mouth against hers,
until she reluctantly works in tandem, moving her lips over his and hating how
she enjoys it.

He can’t remember speaking more than a few words to
her a day. Sometimes a week. He would attend dinners with her and her father,
their clan head, for courtesy alone. She never looked happy, which gave him every
reason to believe she was not delighted to marry him. 

Madara couldn’t find it in
him to care. If she would offer him spite, then so be it, he would return the
favor. He had every intention of doing his duty tonight and be done with it,
as if it were an obligatory nuisance he only had to get out of the way.

Yet throughout all those burdensome dinners, as he
scrutinized her with a cold eye, he imagined what she looked like under all her
clothes. What she would look like on their wedding night, blanketed with a
sheen of sweat, flustered, underneath him. 

He draws back from their kiss to
look at her, watches the hesitance swimming in her eyes, and realizes he needs
to make that happen. Immediately.

His grip isn’t gentle as he grasps her by the waist
and stands, lifting her from the floor to lay her on his bed. It’s only in
that moment when the soft cushion molds against her back and he looms over her does her body start to
tremble.

At first he doesn’t notice, focus honing in only on
the way her perfect breasts make the bare sight of her all the more
exhilarating. He kisses down the space between them, down to
her belly button and she shivers at the sensation.

It draws his eyes to her face, noticing for the first
time how her expression glosses over with apprehension. She makes a feeble
attempt to mask it, but the moment his lips ghost across her
skin again, her entire body jolts and an uncomfortable whimper struggles out of
her mouth.

She’s shaking underneath him; he watches her closely. If he let go of all restraint right at that moment, he
would take her and explore her body in full intensity, but he stops himself.
A slow and careful exploration will be more rewarding, he knows.

When she jerks underneath him again, he frowns. 

“Relax.” 

It’s less of a delicate reassurance, and more of a
command, but his voice is surprisingly soft.

But how can she relax? This is the leader of the Uchiha
clan. Powerful and unnervingly revered, standing over her and twisting heat into
her body with every swipe of his tongue and every press of his lips on her skin. It’s impossible to keep her body from
shivering under his touches, let alone relax.

The touches get bolder, fingers dipping down to
tug at the kimono still fastened around her waist. The article is easy enough
to remove, but his tugs and pulls are driven by growing impatience. By the time
he pries the thing away from her body, the erection in his pants is eager and straining,
throbbing at the sight of her naked body, saved from his intense scrutiny only
with the way she immediately crosses her legs to hide what’s between them.

He glowers. Wordlessly, though
he considers giving her the command, he spreads her thighs apart and feels his
mouth water at the sight of her pink clit.

Breaths come low and hesitant from her mouth, and she
eyes him carefully, in anxious trepidation. Never before has she been so
exposed, never has she been completely at the mercy of someone else.

When he suddenly dips down and runs his hot tongue
against her, she cries out. The sound stretches his cock painfully against the
confines of his pants, but he perseveres. Tasting her virgin pussy is his first
priority.

Strong hands press her legs down to keep them from
tightening around his head, and his mouth goes to work. 

Sucking the clit,
running his tongue down the slick folds and tasting the wetness that exudes
from her in response. Her mind races as the pleasure branches through her,
unprepared for the sensations, and unable to subdue the short whimpers of
protest that escape her throat.

Whatever notion there had been to fight him
disappears as the first of his fingers slip inside her, reaching further and
further until he expertly finds the untouched spot that makes her body tense.

She chokes on a whimper. “No, don’t—“

But he does, massaging the sensitive skin in time
with the licks against her clit, loving the way pants and groans escape her mouth in
spite of herself.

She’s definitely a virgin, Madara thinks to himself.
Only one finger in, and the hot walls around the digit surround him like a
vice. The throb in his pants comes back to life, impatient to find out how
she’ll tighten around his cock.

As the hot pleasure garners low in her stomach, she
relaxes. His finger works its way in circles, the calloused pad rubbing continuously
over the sweet spot inside her. The sinking pleasure denies her any feelings of offense she should have toward him right now. His hot tongue
rolls around her clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking when he
feels her clench around him.

It’s easier than he expected to make her come. The
thighs around his head tense and shake, hot breaths split into whimpers and
finally crescendo into a loud, shaky cry. The sweetness that spills from her
drives his mind into a craze. 

He laps up the fluid with no thought, focusing
only on the taste of her. The first taste anyone has had of her, he imagines.
It fills him with triumph, and blood rushes to his cock in another forcible
wave.

Euphoria washes over, prickles
her nerves. The toe curling sensations don’t fade, not until he rises from
between her legs and kneels in front of her.

It’s then that panic
reconfigures her mind. The calculated sweep of his hungry eyes over her body
sends a shiver through her, spurred by anxiety or arousal, she doesn’t know.

First, he does away
with his shirt, peeling the clothing off and throwing it aside. He reaches for
his pants next, and her eyes widen. 

In spite of herself, she can’t tear her
gaze away as she watches him work. It’s only when the trail of hair leading
down to his crotch comes into view that she forces herself to look away, heat
flaring on her cheeks.

He smirks, but she
doesn’t see. 

His pants drop. Everything else is done away with until nothing is
left unexposed. Her eyes find his, and don’t waver from the charcoal of his
orbs. 

Callous hands slide up
her thighs and take her hips, bring them forward to flush bare legs against his
own. 

Dread rises in her, careful breaths tighten in her chest. A gleam of
hesitance washes over her expression and send shivers down her body, which he
feels.

“You are afraid,” he whispers down at her,
voice low and silky. He studies the subtle movements of her body, the way her
thighs threaten to tighten around his own and hide the sweetness between them.

Knowing better by now
then to feign fortitude, she nods weakly, searching his expression for any accommodations to her anxiety. He offers none.

“Of what?”
Unapologetically, his gaze lingers between her legs, admiring the folds of her pussy,
still slick with the remains of her arousal. His cock throbs, and his mind runs
with lustful thoughts. It’s only when he receives no answer that he looks at
her, studying her hesitation. “Of the pain?”

“It’s going to hurt,”
she says. She had heard as much from women in her clan. Others told her the
pain could be avoided, with the right preparation.

“Yes,” he says. “It
might.”

One of his fingers
caresses her wet lips, making her body rise off the bed to follow his touch. “But you’re wet enough” he observes, running the sticky substance between his
fingers. “If you relax, I will slide in easily.”

The words force alarm back into her mind. To her credit, she fights it the best she can, knowing the
truth in his statement. If she fights it, if she lets apprehension control her,
it will be all the worse.

When he receives no response,
he shifts closer, and presses one of her thighs down to keep her open and
ready. Her breath catches as he runs the tip of his cock against her sensitive folds.

The first push inside
her is a difficult task to manage. She shifts away from him and he has to still
her hips. He figures if he’s going to ease her through the process and save her any excess pain, it needs to
be swift, and uninterrupted. It’s a small mercy he can grant her.

First the head of his
cock, then an inch, two inches. By then, his jaw clenches with the effort to not
thrust all the way inside the amazing, tight heat. If he had known it would be
this good, he would have bargained for an earlier wedding date. 

The intrusion staggers
her senses, twists her expression into strained discomfort. The slide inside
her body is a foreign, fiery feeling, and she whimpers. Knowing the man on top
of her, the man whose eyes burn down on her like the dark sky, is inside her,
and looking as though he enjoys it, too—swirls her stomach in anxiety and
uncertainty. 

When he moves, her
mouth opens in a wordless cry, one that should coerce him to slow his pace.
Instead, the tight grimace on her face gets his cock twitching, and his hips
snap forward of their own accord. 

Another sharp cry
passes her lips; he hisses through his teeth in response, fighting hard to
extinguish his untamable urges. There’s nothing more he would love to do than fuck her into the
mattress, but he knows he can’t. Not now. This is his wife now. If she doesn’t
hate him already, she’ll detest him for the rest of their lives if he throws
consideration aside and slights her now. He doesn’t want that. He might find
her brazen annoyingly impudent, but he doesn’t want to win her scorn this early
on. More than he already has, at least. He decides he can delay his desires, just slightly, for her sake.

It takes more time than
he anticipated for her to loosen up, at least enough for his cock to slide with
little resistance. Every roll of his hips has a short breath escaping her lungs.
He watches her closely, watches those enticing lips as her mouth falls open in
a soundless sigh. 

Pain or pleasure? He
can’t tell. All he knows is that her walls tighten around him and he doesn’t
want the insatiable feeling to end. Another deep thrust
inside her has him groaning deep and low. A shaky whimper falls off her lips
and her hands twist into the sheets underneath her. 

Hooking his hands under her
knees, he presses her legs back, framing an angle that makes him groan again. The press of his thick
cock has her walls squeezing in discomfort, attempting in vain to adjust. She whimpers, brows furrowing in beseeching discomfort. He can’t
stop now that he’s started. His intention is far from purposely bringing her
pain, but he accommodates her struggle by rubbing his thumbs over her nipples,
even dipping down to run his tongue over the hard peaks.

The broken sigh that
spills from her mouth has his cock jerking inside her and he continues, exhilarated
when she clenches around him in time with his licks and sucks. A shaky hand
cards through his raven locks, the other rests on his forearm.

Her body is still
tense, relaxing only as his mouth continues to work over her body, sliding up
her chest and to her neck, ravaging the soft skin there with nips and harsh
sucks. The thrilling sensation has her body writhing dubiously, ever so
slightly bucking up in time with his thrusts. 

He hums when he
feels it, unable to restrain the increase in his pace. She squeals, and he
responds by kneading one of her breasts in an effort to soothe and distract her. Maybe even to distract
himself.

It nails his pride to
admit it, but he doubts he’s going to last long. She’s too tight for that. Were he convinced he would
make her come soon, he would persevere; staving off his orgasm guaranteed a divine
reward if she came around his cock, but that doesn’t seem likely to happen.
She’s just not ready. 

Her walls clench around him relentlessly, and though the
squeeze feels sublime, it’s obvious she hasn’t acclimated to this yet. Waiting until her body responded to
his thrusts and sent her over the edge isn’t something he could endure right now. 

He’ll
make her come around him another day. For now, it seems only merciful that he
do his deed and put an end to her admirable struggle.

Leaning back on his
knees, he drives into her at a new angle, pulling a surprised gasp from her
throat. It’s when he chases the delayed orgasm and his thrusts speed up that
she finds her body blanketed by dull pleasure; she can almost feel the head
of his cock hitting a spot inside her, a spot that sends branches of strange
heat through her.

Weak pants escape her
mouth as she watches his expression closely. The way his
face softens, mouth falls open, brows pull together ever so slightly—it elicits
the same hot reaction from when his tongue was between her thighs; warmth and
shivers all over her body.

Madara ceases all other
thought; the pleasure assaults him with a tight grunt and a
hard snap of his hips. Burying himself inside her tight heat, he comes hard, senses
dulling as nothing else registers but the amazing grip of her walls around
him. 

His muscles function only enough to ease himself back down and over her body, where he rests his head in the space near her neck. He relaxes and allows the
waves of pleasure to course through him.

The sigh that escapes
her is one of relief, shock, but disappointment. The warmth she had chased… the
way he felt inside of her…

Madara had felt it too. Rationality conflicts with the hot bliss that rushes over him. He could
feel the way she tightened around him, unlike her struggle to adjust to his
girth, and more like she was cohering to his rhythm. Like she wanted it. 

Perhaps he
had been too hasty to come inside her tight pussy. It’s a frustrating thought,
but he doesn’t regret what he did.

She squirms underneath
him, and that brings his focus back to the present. She clenches around him,
almost as if in protest. He obliges and pulls out, almost immediately missing the feeling of being lodged inside of her. 

She blushes when she peers down,
sees his cock coated with silky substance, flushed and red and worn. And when
she feels the dribble running down her inner thighs, her eyes go wide and she
closes her legs instinctively, looking to him in fear, as if asking
for direction.

“Don’t worry,” he says,
clearing his throat when he hears the gravel in his voice. That had taken more of a toll on his body than he anticipated. He was sweating and flushed and pleasantly faint. “I will get you
a rag.”

But first, he had every
intention of making her come again. 

Even if he couldn’t be inside her, the
sight of her flustered face and the sound of her sweet cries when he was licking her pussy was enough to have him swimming with pride and gratification. He basked in it. He saw no reason why he shouldn’t bask in it again. After all, it would
be a shame not to indulge himself on his wedding night.

Two fingers slip into
her and she gasps, body rising from the bed as if to escape him,
but he holds her down, splays a hand across her stomach and keeps her still as his fingers work furiously inside her. 

He watches her
expression, the subtle changes as the sensations come in full force. First shock, as she struggles to adjust. An odd acceptance, as the
feeling isn’t completely unfamiliar. Pleasure, as his fingers rub at just the
right spot that has her panting and beaming up at him with wide, desperate eyes, glossing
with the threat of overwhelmed tears as he works her into a relentless frenzy.

Still aroused from their previous ministrations, it takes less than a
minute to get her thrusting down on his fingers as she comes again, shaking and twitching and choking out
a breathless cry. 

The hand still gripping his forearm squeezes tight, fingernails
digging into his skin, but he doesn’t mind. The way her expression tightens and
her chest heaves is enough compensation.

Once she stops constricting around his fingers, he pulls away and lies carefully at
her side. Closing his eyes, he listens to the sound of her shallow breathing. 

An
appeasing warmth blankets his body, and the motive to retrieve that rag disappears.
He swallows thickly and peers over at her, admires the sheen of sweat coating
her skin, the shift of her thighs, her toes furling and unfurling.

Then she looks at him,
eyes hazy and lips parted. There’s only silence. They say nothing. 

But as
Madara venerates this image of her, he thinks this marriage isn’t so bad. He thinks she’ll make an agreeable wife. As long as he gets to see her like this, disheveled and sweating and exquisite, he might learn to like it.

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