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foxilayde · 2 years

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Have you watched the promise? I'm a little obsessed with Dr Mikael Boghosian and his accent. Please sir I need a play by play on how to make babies

Marriage Quilt [Mikael Boghosian x fem!Reader]

Warnings: Explicit 18+ ONLY. Minors DO NOT INTERACT. PiV, first time, Mentions of infidelity, mentions of torture, mentions of genocide.

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: You are Maral, Mikael's wife, on your wedding night.

A/N: Mikael is literally perfect. Go watch The Promise if you haven't already.

This is not what you expected your wedding night to be.

It was supposed to be a lavish party, with all of your friends and relatives, every merchant and pauper of Siroun dancing the night away in the town square.

It was supposed to be a feast, a celebration with love, and cake, and embraces, just the way Lala had been wed to Davit two summers before. You were supposed to have a fine beaded dress of your own, a party in your name…. It’s so silly. So silly and selfish to grieve a party. A frivolous party, just because you had your heart set on it. People are dying in Siroun and throughout the Ottoman Empire… and here you are, in your marriage bed, your husband alive by a miracle and the grace of god, and you— lamenting the lack of a party.

You twist your long braid through your fingers and smooth your nightdress down your torso. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You’re nowhere near the village now, you’re in hiding, laying on a mattress made of hay— in the middle of the forest on the outskirts of Siroun.

Before the attacks, your father had secured a home for you and Mikael, above an apothecary. And now the apothecary is empty. As was the bakery, and the tailor… everything was different. Everything was as pilfered and bare as your hopes for the future.

Mikael enters the small bedroom in his nightclothes and you can’t help but stare. You’ve never seen him in such a state of undress. He’s remained in your memory as a gentleman, fully buttoned up and proper… the way he courted you, with brown paper wrapped wildflowers and tinctures of yarrow and laudanum for your sister’s ailments… always with a smile.

You had been overjoyed when your father told you that you would be wed to Mikael, having never yourself before suspected him of amorous intentions…. And the grief, god, the grief when you’d all thought he’d been caught in the crossfire in Constantinople…

Mikael blows out the candles in your small clapboard bedroom and gently eases in beside you, under the blankets in the creaky bed. You lay there in silence for a few short moments. It is a pleasant spring evening and the the dune crickets are chirping softly beyond the cracked window. There is an electric anticipation between yourself and Mikael, a buzzing that hums in your ears and prickles the exposed skin of your bare forearms. You gulp quietly.

“Maral,” Mikael speaks softly as if he is afraid someone will hear him and be bothered, although there is no one around for miles.

“Yes, Mikael?” You reply in an exaggerated whisper, laughing at the end to draw attention to how silly his tone seems to you.

Mikael clears his throat and speaks evenly, “How are you?” He skims his hand along your grandmother’s quilt and finds your hand, threading his fingers through your own. It strikes you then that he has probably come accustomed to speaking quietly in all occasions at the awful labor camp. You squeeze his fingers reassuringly, stroking his warm thumb.

“I am well… Mikael.”

“Good. That is good.”

He’s changed. You noticed at the small ceremony. Gone was much of the light in his eyes. You suspect through the windows of his vision, looking at your own face, you must appear similarly. No one has been the same since the attacks. So much has happened, so many have died, it feels wrong to celebrate anything. If it weren’t for a series of miracles bestowed to both you and Mikael, your marriage bed would more likely be a coffin, or a mass grave.

You bring Mikael’s hand to your mouth and kiss the back of his knuckles. “I thank god you came back to us Mikael.”

The moon is bright through the cracked window and because of it, you can see the crumpling of his brow, the parting of his lips, the war on his face. Not the war he escaped, but the war in his mind.

“I have to tell you something, Maral. I have something to confess.”

Your heart picks up speed at the wrestling hurt of his voice. You squeeze his hand again and shift onto your side to look him head on. But his eyes are closed and his head is bowed when he tells you, “There was… there was a woman in the city, when I was in school… she was a friend of my uncle’s…”

You can suspect where this is going and the stroking of his fingers does nothing to abate the pounding of your heart and the hot sick twist in your stomach.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, my wife, but I can not lie to you. I was unfaithful to my promise to you and to your father… you deserve better, my sweet Maral.”

He looks at you then with open shiny eyes and he brings your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles and when he closes his eyes to press his lips to your hand you feel warm tears on your skin.

You’re not sure what to say to him, but he looks at you with anticipation, waiting with silent breath for you to attack him, to berate him. He is ready for you to scream, cry, and break your few meager possessions. He would take your tantrum with grace, you know this. He would punish himself forever if you let him, if you gave the order. If you bit back with venom, turned away from him, tonight, for all your nights, he would think it fair. Even if you vowed to never forgive him for his indiscretion, vowed to never touch him, you doubt he would even think you cold for it.

Your eyes are far away, out of focus, staring though your interlocked fingers, staring through his quiet grief.

What do you say to his admission? “I forgive you”? “How many times”? “Did you love her”? “Do you love her”?

You don’t ask it, because you know he did. He must have. He is Mikael. Whatever it was that he had with this woman… you know it was love, because Mikael follows his heart, he leads with honor.

You stroke his cheek with your hand. His face is smooth from the straight razor shave he had desperately needed, and you remember that tonight is only the second night in months he’s lain in an actual bed.

“You can not lie to me? Is that right?”

Mikael turns his head in your palm to kiss the inside of your hand, your fingers thread through his hair, nails scratching his clean scalp and freshly trimmed hair. He leans into the touch.

“Are you disappointed to be wed to me, Mikael?” Now it is you who is whispering, though no one is around to overhear.

Mikael’s eyes burn with incredulity. “Maral, why would you say that?”

“I am only asking.” Your eyes fall to the marriage quilt your grandmother gifted you this morning, the fine stitches of tiny purple flowers, just like the kind Mikael would bring to you in the late afternoons, back when everything was planned, simple, and hemmed in squares like fairy tales.

“I am sorry for hurting you. I— perhaps I should have never said.” Mikael sighs heavily, “This is not the kind of wedding I hoped for.”

You hold back the tears that burn in your eyes and try to say as evenly as possible, “I see.” But your lip quivers and the dam bursts and a sob breaks out of you like steam from a valve.

Mikael scoots closer to you and wraps you in his arms. “No, Maral. No I didn’t mean like that. Shhh,” He rubs your back soothingly and you don’t know why you’re still crying but it feels good to cry right now, it is a relief. All the ignored grief, all the loss, the unknown dead the missing living. One good thing about living outside of Siroun is you can sob freely into Mikael’s nightshirt without the neighbors hearing you fall to pieces on your wedding night.

“I meant… Do you remember Lala’s wedding?” His chin rests on your head and he continues to rub your back, you nod your snotty nose into his shirt and hiccup. You can practically feel the way he smiles just from having your face over his heart.

“Do you remember what she looked like? With her elegant dress and, oh, the flowers? The air was full of flowers that night.” His stokes are long and soothing on your back and the longer he speaks the more you melt into his embrace. “And the food, and the music. You looked so beautiful that night, my love. I will never forget as long as I live, the joy in your eyes when you danced with your sister.”

“What are you talking about Mikael?” Your face is still buried in his chest, you scratch his back softly in return. He’s never mentioned Lala’s wedding before, but it feels very important. The wistfulness of his voice makes you think that he’s sharing with you the memories that kept him alive and warm on terrible nights.

“You were wearing a purple dress… it blended into the twilight I remember, and you danced the Arak Bar with your sister… I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. It was her day, yes, but you were the one who was truly shining. I knew I wanted to marry you that night.” The last words are cautious and so becomes his touch. You know it is the shame and grief he holds for his betrayal.

“Why didn’t you ask me to dance that night, Mikael?”

Mikael chuckles and kisses the top of your head, “I am a terrible dancer, my wife.”

You smile, your tears long gone and dry. You squeeze him around the middle and turn your head to kiss him on the neck, a few inches south of his adam’s apple. You let your lips stay in the same spot, savoring the texture of a few errant neck stubbles against the plush of your warm lips.

Mikael hums with great satisfaction, he rubs his warm thumb against your cheek softly. “That is the wedding I wanted for you, Maral. One you deserve. I am sorry. You deserved more, my love.”

His sincerity rumbles under your lips. You give his throat a final kiss before rising up and pressing your mouth to his for the only the second time that day, only the second time ever.

Mikael is gentle and patient like you knew he would be, his pretty eyes are closed softly and he lets you kiss him from above, licking into his mouth and testing the sweetness of his lips. His hands rest carefully on your waist, the only layer of fabric between his warm hands and your hips his the thin cotton of your nightgown. You push your body closer to his, and explore deeper with your tongue.

He tastes better than you could have imagined. He is hot like the nectar of honeyed tea and he sticks to your lips just the same. He is not passive, but warm and giving. He smooths the sides of your hair and his hands cup the back of your neck, drawing you closer. You follow instinct and bring your body over his completely, bracing your knees on either side of his thighs and when the front of you makes contact with the front of him the grip on your neck goes rigid and he groans into your mouth.

Liking the response, you do it again and again, pushing your lap onto his until his kissing verges on aggressive and he’s guiding your mouth with his fist gripping the base of your scalp. His reaction is warranted, you think, it does feel good. Good and hot, his sweet sticky lips making you sweet and hot and sticky where the front of you meets the front of him.

Mikael continues to kiss you and let you rock on his lap while he works your nightdress up your legs. The material is bunched at your waist now and he lays a flat palm over your abdomen, feeling the way your muscles contract there when you grind on him. You lift the nightgown over your head and gently toss it to the floor. Perhaps you won’t need a nightgown again for a very long time. Not here where there’s no one to interrupt your lovemaking, no one to hear your soft moans, save the dune beetles and owls and wolves safely on the outside of your cozy cabin.

He skates the pads of his fingers up and down the bare flesh of your legs, clawing lightly up your ribcage and stroking your back. He lights every nerve ending with his touch like a blaze catching in a dry field. You work your hands under the hem of his shirt, stroking the warm dense flesh of his torso, trying to alight his nerves right back at him.

You pull the soft tunic over his head, delighting in the way your nipples rub against his bare chest. You’re a mess of tongues and soft soothing fingers, you grab him by his soft dark curls, scooting and pushing ever closer to him, savoring each sensation as your bodies attempt to become one.

He kisses with hot open attentions on your burning cheek and down the trembling column of your throat. His nose skims your collar bone, your shoulder, your sternum and your nails scrape his scalp as you try to make your shallow breaths deeper, not wanting to pass out and miss a single moment.

“So beautiful, my love.” He kisses the top of your chest gently and you let your knees fall open even more on either side of his hips. His hardness is barely restrained in his linen pants and you attempt to tug the material down the sides of his wide hips which proves impossible from the way he is seated.

Mikael appears to be unaware of your intentions. He is focused for now on your chest, licking and suckling at your hardened nipples. You claw at his back in a primal ecstasy, subconsciously bringing his mouth closer to you and he jolts against you, releasing your nipple from his mouth in a groan that doesn’t sound fully pleasurable.

“Are you alright, Mikael?”

“Mmmm, I— I am fine.” His voice is strained and his face is hidden between your breasts, forehead resting on your sternum. His shoulders are tense and when you drag your fingers lightly down his back to soothe him you can feel the rough and raised flesh, the heat of the tears and injuries sustained from torture. You caress the hateful lines tenderly, reading the story of suffering etched on the unconsenting canvas of his body. You are certain if there was more light you’d be met with bruises and batterings that are hidden in the eeking moonlight.

“Oh, Mikael—“

“Shhh, I am fine, love. I am fine.” He meets the worry and pity in your eyes and closes his own to place a soft kiss to your lips, lifting his hips from underneath you and shoving the remaining barrier away from your bodies. You reach behind you to pull the sleep trousers down his legs till the garment joins your own on the floor and when you settle back onto his lap, oh gods you can truly experience the full heat of his cock nestled between your slick folds.

You must feel hot to him as well because there is no mistaking his moan for anything but pleasure when you grind on him once more, kissing the noise from his mouth and sighing your own pleasure between his lips.

He shifts his hips up to meet yours, your slickness gliding desperately on the length of his cock.

“Mikael,” you moan, breaking the kiss to rest your forehead on his. Your hips stuttering slick and rhythmic against him. Your noses brush and open-mouthed shallow breaths join the space between your lips, a primal need and heat guiding your movements on his loving lap.

“Am I— oh, am I doing this right?” You whisper with a hint of insecurity.

“Yes. Yes, love. You’re perfect.”

“Mikael, mmmm, Mikael I want you inside of me.” You capture his lips with your own before the request is out, slightly embarrassed by your own desire.

Mikael groans and brings your hips up his groin slightly with his sure gripping hands. Hands that dried your tears, hands that picked you purple flowers. He takes himself in hand and lines his slick covered cock at your entrance, letting you shift back onto him at your own pace, breaking yourself open on your husband’s cock.

“Take your time, Maral. Take your time, love.” His words are patient despite his desperate tone and he seals his intentions with a soft kiss to your scrunched brow.

You bite your lip and lift from his torso slightly, hands braced on the meat of his chest, easing your throbbing cunt down onto him. It doesn’t hurt like you thought it might. Like you’d been warned it would. He feels perfect, he feels made for you, uniquely shaped for the hot throbbing inside of your center to pulse and squeeze on him; and the more you lower yourself, the deeper you need him. Your knees splay flat on the mattress when you’re fully seated and the tiniest thrusting back and forth feels like unmitigated love and ecstasy.

“Oh, Mikael…” you whimper, shifting on him. It’s incredible— every motion, every throb, every push and pull is hotter, better, wetter than the last. You snap your hips to his and nearly shake with the torturous relief. The taboo of sex that you’ve been taught your entire life makes no sense to you in this moment. It’s beautiful, serene yet wild and for a ludicrous instant you understand how even someone as good as Mikael could be tempted to break his morals for such act of hedonistic joy.

Your toes curl and your fingers dig into the flesh of his chest, giving you perfect leverage and balance to slide perfectly down to the base of his cock. Mikael is shaking, his hips rising strong and slow to meet your joining thrusts, Everything inside of you and outside of you is being rubbed just right, from the way Mikael kneads his thumbs into the dimples of your lower back, to the way his cock strokes your pulsing sensitive insides, to the way the base of him rubs against your clit.

“Perfect, my love. You are perfect.” He encourages unsolicited. His moans are all yes’s and perfect’s and beautiful’s, encouraging your primal ministrations up and down, up and down his ever-hardening cock.

Your pace speeds up and you lay on his torso once more, letting him fuck up into you just right as you taste his lips for the hundredth time this evening, for the first night of many more to come.

Your hips chase the elusive peak, the one you can feel at the edges of your senses, but the pursuit doesn’t feel rushed. Mikael lifts his hips in perfect response to your unique rhythm, and you think he must be lying about being a bad dancer for he certainly has a talent for reading and following the lead of your body. He continues the caress of his fingers over every bit of skin he can reach. He comforts and quiets your whines with his mouth and everything in you builds and builds like water behind a dam until it bursts in an instant, cascading down your skin like a warm summer river, like a plunge into a pool. You scream softly into Mikaels mouth, tensing and shaking with pleasure, sliding deeper and deeper onto him, into him, all over him, slick and hot and honey-filled, the waves of it shocking and pulsing like a frantic heartbeat that radiates from the core of you.

“Pefect, perfect, my beautiful, beautiful…” he praises effusively, tensing under you, holding your hips firmly against his own. He groans with relief, loud and strained, pulsing his seed into your slumped form as deeply as he can. The warring heartbeats of your pleasure throb, entwined, tied forever.

The beating slows after a time, as does the speed of your breaths. The gentle thud of his heart under your ear quiets to a steady tempo and you hum the Arak Bar into his sparse chest hair, remembering Lala’s wedding night. Mikael strokes your sweat-cooled back.

“I love you, Maral. With all my heart. I will earn your love. My word can not mean much to you right now, but I will prove it every day if you let me. I swear it.”

If you had more of a jealous heart, you could extend his suffering. You could dig your fingers into his wounds, dragging out his pain and guilt until you were satisfied with his penance.

Mikael pulls your wedding quilt over your bodies, tucking the blanket around you lovingly. Your grandmother’s embroidered purple flowers brush against your cheek and you smile against his chest.

“I love you too, Mikael,” you whisper before placing a tender kiss over his heart.

#Oscar Isaac #mikael boghosian #Mikael Boghosian x reader #Mikael Boghosian x you #Fanfic #fan fiction

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