#much less dubcon than knocking on the wrong door au

[tennessoui]

ganymede & zeus but make it obikin

been a while since i did a ficlet for tumblr....this comes out of a discord convo about ganymede!anakin and zeus!obi-wan......sort of dark tho gods are horrible beings with no boundaries

(for @jswander ) (2.3k)

Every muscle in Anakin’s body feels overextended and sore. He cries out from the sensation upon waking, instinctively trying to curl in on himself—anything to get away from the pain.

“Hush now,” a voice above him and below him and around him says. “None of that, beloved,” it speaks again when Anakin fights to tear open his eyes. “Sleep.”

There is nothing Anakin wants to do simultaneously more and less, but he’s never submitted under another’s thumb without a fight. With a great push of effort, he arches his back up, off the comfortable surface he’s laying on. And with what remains of his will, he wrenches his eyes open to survey his surroundings.

He cannot see a thing. White fills his vision, so bright and heated that it feels as if he is burning from the inside out, as if his very being is disintegrating the longer he looks at the light. It is blinding. It is everything. He cannot look away, nor can he close his eyes. His mouth has fallen open and he can hear himself screaming from the pain of it all, the radiance of the being in front of him.

“You stupid boy,” the voice snaps, sounding absolutely furious as the light coalesces into one solid shape, something that looks like a chest, then an arm, then a hand reaching towards him.

Anakin tries to scramble back, away from what will surely feel like a brand against his skin—and oh gods, doess he know what that feels like—but the hand extends faster than he can move, and even when he turns his head away, it catches him. It covers his eyes.

“Drink,” the voice murmurs, reverberating around him. Only then does Anakin notice that a cup has been brought to his lips. His lips seel themselves into a firm line. No. No. “You stupid child,” the voice snaps, “Do as you are told.”

It is the sheer power in the command that causes Anakin to open his mouth, to tip his head back. He is the lion among men, the Conqueror with No Fear, the Queen of Naboo’s Chosen Warrior, and yet—he opens his mouth and yields to the voice, to the hand over his eyes that burns. It feels like renewal, not pain, though that may be because every other part of his body still feels as if it is on fire, the aches from the first few moments of consciousness burning to ash under the pain of that radiance.

“Sleep,” the voice commands, and this time Anakin can do nothing but listen.

—---------

When he awakens next, he can tell from the breeze in the air that he has been moved. It is cool, and the breeze brushes against his skin like a gentle friend, running over his body to reach every part of him.

It is then he realizes that someone has stripped him of his clothes, his armor. He had been wearing armor. He had been preparing to lead his men into battle. He had—

The breeze in the air twirls around his chest and neck, caressing his skin until his nipples stiffen into peaks from the cold. Almost distantly, it sounds as if someone is laughing, an exhale over and over again that conveys their mirth, and Anakin can suddenly feel the breeze on his lips like a lover’s breath.

“Eurus, out,” a voice roars from somewhere that is everywhere and nowhere all at once. Anakin quakes from the sound of it, but the breeze withdraws, tosses out one last laugh that sounds almost like a cackle, before seemingly winking out of existence.

Anakin lies carefully still. The fabric beneath him feels soft, slippery. He’d been to the palace of Naboo only once to pay respect to the queen he fought his wars in the name of. Her personal chambers had been draped in a material that felt similar. So soft that it had felt then almost uncomfortable to touch. 

Anakin had been born a slave. He did not know soft things, nor how to languish against them. The queen had tried to show him how, had made such a persistent overture in the name of pleasure that he had sworn his loyalty to her name—but, privately, to her figure against those silks, the line of her throat, the tilt of her chin as she gave ground and submitted to his desires—and yet he still could never relax in the comfort her status and love had offered. He was not made for it.

He was not made for these silks either, though they certainly felt different against his skin. 

“You are too perfect for your own good, my darling,” the voice says quietly, a hand running through Anakin’s hair carefully. The motion is one filled with strange devotion. Tenderness. “Your beauty could start a war amongst the gods themselves, for they would all like to take you, to have you. Yet you are mine.” 

Anakin can feel his heart stutter at this declaration. The touch of his hair is no longer tender. It is proprietary. He opens his mouth, wets his lips. “I am no one’s,” he whispers, voice hoarse and cracking. 

His defiance makes the voice laugh, a rich sound that reminds Anakin of the sounds of rocks tumbling down a mountainside. “You have sworn yourself to me, Anakin Skywalker, of course you are mine.”

“You are not my queen—“

“You would be wise to not speak of your infidelities so casually,” the voice snaps, and the hairs on Anakin’s arms stand as the air seems to fill with electricity. “You have no queen here.” 

Anakin is silent, his mind and heart racing. Has he been captured? Is he a slave again? He would rather die. 

“Open your eyes, darling. Look upon me and allow me to see the reward of my labor,” the voice turns soft again, coaxing, and the hand leaves his hair to trail down the side of his face, thumb brushing over the bow of his lips.

“Hurt,” Anakin manages to say. The thumb takes his parted lips as invitation and presses into his mouth to rest against his teeth. Anakin thinks about biting it, but there is something inside him that screams at him to be careful. To tread carefully around this voice. This man.

“I know,” the voice croons, “and I apologize for it, treasure. I had not expected you to wake so soon after your ordeal and was not prepared. Humans cannot bear to look upon my godly form. Those who have have perished. You have frightened me with your recklessness.” 

The thumb presses down hard before it withdraws.

“Open your eyes, Anakin,” the voice says. “Your king demands it.” 

Gingerly, carefully, Anakin opens his eyes.

He is met immediately with the sight of a man leaning over him. His face is lined with a well-kept beard, short and practical and dark red. His hair too is the same color of russet, pushed up and off his forehead in a rakish cut. His eyes though—Anakin cannot look away from them. They are glittering, electric blue. No—they are the color of the sky before a thunderstorm, whirling points of gray and dark blue. No—they the early morning sky in the north of Naboo, slate gray and bright.

“Hello there, darling,” the man says. He strokes Anakin’s cheek again, resting his broad hand against his skin.

Anakin can do nothing but stare. This man—he is handsome beyond imagination, but there is something in the set of his face, the jut of his lips, his jaw—perhaps something in his eyes that screams danger.

He is so perfect that he is almost unreal.

“I will miss the blue of your eyes,” the man murmurs, looking at him intently. Critically.

Hungrily.

“What?” Anakin whispers.

The man continues as if he has not heard him. “Yet there is something deeply satisfying in seeing your eyes stained gold from my blood. You wear it well, darling, your godhood.”

Anakin shakes his head. The man’s words—they do not make sense though he says them in the manner any sane man speaks. 

“Truly you were born to be mine,” the man whispers like a sacred declaration, and this finally causes Anakin to flinch away.

“I am no one’s,” he says again, shifting off the fabrics and pushing himself to stand. He was wrong earlier—he is not fully nude, though he thinks he’d prefer to be. There is a cloth like a skirt around his hips, though the fabric only covers the area between his legs, held together by clasps that lay against his hips. And even then, it is light and transparent and doing little to protect his modesty. His chest is bare, but his upper arms have been wrapped in gold coils, one short and one extending almost to his elbow.

The man before him has dressed him as a child would dress a doll and it infuriates him. He is Anakin Skywalker, a lion among men, and he will not suffer this.

“I am no one’s,” he declares with a snarl, turning upon the man and striding forward. “Release me at once!”

The man arches a singular eyebrow but otherwise appears completely unaffected. Anakin feels like roaring, like taking his face into his hands and ripping it apart. 

“Where am I?” He interrogates as he stalks towards the man. Though he is handsome and though he appears strong, his bare torso as visible as Anakin’s and just as well-muscled, Anakin is a warrior and broader than this man, taller too.

Anakin can beat him into submission. 

“Why have you taken me? Return me at once, and I will let you live! I am Anakin Skywalker, I am the Resolute, I am the warrior with no fear and the Queen’s intended. I—”

The man, whose face had been unflinching in response to Anakin’s threats, stands at the mention of the queen, beautiful features twisting into a wicked snarl as he suddenly meets Anakin in the middle. The temperature in the room grows cold and the air becomes heavy with electricity. With something that Anakin does not know how to name.

“If you mention your queen once more, I will kill her,” the man bites out, every word weighted with promise. “I will kill her and see her soul damned to Tartarus. I will take her there myself and string her up amongst her kin. Thieves and pillagers and all those mortals who were foolish enough to attempt to steal from the king of the gods.”

Anakin flinches away, some long buried instinct in him insisting that he put space between himseslf and the predator staring down at him. “Who—who are you?” he asks, question catching in his throat. 

The man’s eyes, stormy blue now and swirling in his rage, lighten at the question. His mouth relaxes. He appears to enjoy answering, for he takes his time with it. “I find myself offended that you have forgotten,” he says, moving to touch Anakin again.

Like a frightened rabbit that knows it has found itself in the jaws of a lion, Anakin lets the bejeweled hands cup his face.

“I am the man who bought you and your mother from your masters when you were but a child. And I am the boy who sold you fruits that never seemed to bruise, no matter how you handled them as you walked home. I am the cat that lurked outside the god king’s temple as you prayed to him for strength and skill and riches, promised yourself to him in return, promised to wage every war in his name, conquer in his colors. And I am the old man who trained you in battle, showed you how to fight and kill and conquer.”

Anakin shakes his head, struck speechless at these words. They are the ramblings of an insane man, but…but this man knows too much about him. No one knows that he was born a slave. Even when he fucked Padmé, he had made sure that she could not see the brand on his leg.

He latches onto the last words, shaking his head harder. “Ben was a crippled old man. You are—” handsome, is the only word that comes to mind.

As if the man has heard it in his head, he grins, gifting him with a flash of white teeth. “Yes, he was, wasn’t he? And you were so young then, all of eighteen years old and eager to prove yourself. I thought if I took my most preferred form, this form, you would never pay attention to my lessons. And I knew if you had offered yourself to me then, I would not have turned you down. Nor would I have let you leave.” Anakin shakes his head once more, but there’s no power in the motion.

“I was the eagle that flew above you as marched into battle, and I was the handmaiden who bore witness to your betrayal, when you promised yourself to the queen of Naboo, as if you had not already promised yourself to me.”

The scowl has returned, marring the man’s perfect features.

Anakin swallows, wetting his lips. “I promised myself to the king of the gods,” he whispers. “To Kenobi.”

“And he has made good on your promise,” the man smiles, one hand falling from his face to cup his neck. “He has taken you from your battlefield, delivered you to Mount Olympus. I have taken you as mine, I have taken what is mine.”

Deep within Anakin, he knows that the man before him speaks the truth. That he is no man at all. That—that—that he is—

“Kenobi,” he whispers, and the king of the gods lets his eyes flutter shut as if he hearing his name from Anakin’s lips causes him great pleasure.

“Yes,” Kenobi growls, adjusting his hold on him to tug him closer to his body.

Anakin is touching a god. A god is touching Anakin. The king of the gods has taken him from the battlefield, from the arms of his bride to be, from the mortal realm all together.

And he is holding him like he has no intention of letting him go.

[agent-cupcake]

vers la flamme

my first commission for the very lovely and patient @tortxrra

Pairing: Emet-Selch x f! Au Ra Warrior of Light

Synopsis: Emet-Selch comes to the aid of the poor hero in her time of need.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon

Tags: mating cycles/in heat, omega reader, breeding kink, size difference

Word Count: 9.5k

As far as anyone knew, you were unwell.  It wasn’t a horrible lie; it was almost true. These days, your condition—and that’s what you called it, a condition—was almost unheard of. There was no reason to tell people. Hardly any Auri alphas were born anymore, let alone omegas. If you told someone, you’d have to explain what those terms meant outside the realm of beasts, and then you’d have to explain how it affected you, and then you’d have to justify yourself because biology dictated a far different role for you, and it wasn’t like it mattered, it wasn’t like hierarchy had any bearing on what you were, it wasn’t like it made you any less of a combatant, or less capable or-

But it did matter. It meant something, there was a stigma. Maybe your friends would understand, but it would certainly change how you were perceived. So you had to lie when you felt the foreboding signs of an oncoming heat. They worried, but they accepted what you told them. They trusted you. 

It was terrible, made even worse with unfathomable destruction’s fulgent shadow looming nearer and nearer. Absolutely brilliant timing, almost as if your body was aiming to find the worst possible moment. There was nothing to be done about it though, you were out of commission during a heat. While the whole thing was always an uncomfortable, humiliating process, this one was different. You weren’t sure what triggered it—you militantly did what you could to suppress going into heat—or what happened that it was so overwhelmingly, relentlessly, aggressively strong. All you knew was that while you were on the ebbing tide and in possession of your own mind momentarily, there would be more, and it would be brutal. An insatiable hunger, an itch you dared not scratch. A fundamental need so intense it hurt, burning you from the inside out.  

Already the cramps were starting up again, the twitching of your abdominal muscles, the slick give of heat in your core. Your mind, only so focused in the first place, clouded on the edges. Emotions you didn’t have a name for teased you from afar. 

Someone knocked at the door. It spoke to your state of unsound mind that the noise didn’t so much as spark a defensive thought in your head. 

“Come in,” you called, unthinkingly believing it to be the things you requested. Ice, a heat compress, and towels. They didn’t do much, but it was better than nothing. The door cracked open, but you didn’t look, your back turned as you did what you could to make the bed more comfortable before your body worked back into another feverish wave. You maintained the habit of changing sheets and clothes whenever you could to keep from feeling, and smelling, like a feral bitch nesting in a cave. “If you’ll just put it on the table, I would appreciate it,” you said over your shoulder, hoping to keep yourself as concealed from the maid as was possible under the circumstances.

“Was I to come bearing gifts?” a familiar voice asked. The door shut and you stood up straight fast enough to make yourself dizzy, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. “I’m afraid I wasn’t aware, you will have to-”

Shattered from your stupor of shock, you yelped girlishly and whirled around to face the intruder. In place of the serving woman you expected, the Ascian Emet-Selch stood in front of your closed door with a familiarly amused look as he appraised you. 

Stupid. Of course those footsteps had been too heavy for any woman. Your hearing was more than acute enough to isolate his slow, steady gait. You should have recognized it, you should have been paying attention. You should have known something would go terribly, catastrophically wrong.

But it was too late. 

When your mind swam in the hazy, unending ocean of desire and needful desperation, platonic and amorous affection easily got twisted up, even less savory emotions could become sweet given the intensity of need. You tried not to think too hard about who your mind conjured to fill the hollow ache between your legs because you knew it wasn’t what you actually wanted. But it was one thing for your subconscious to wrap around friends and allies or even minor adversaries. It was another thing entirely for your mind to have ravenously latched onto an Ascian, to conjure countless fantasies of someone who you could barely trust, let alone think to desire. 

“You can't be in here! Get out!” you told him, hurling one of the pillows you had been holding at him in senseless panic. Emet-Selch easily knocked it aside, staring at you with a look of bemusement.

“Mayhap you recall,” he said, “inviting me in only a moment prior?”

“I thought you were someone else!” you replied in a voice slightly too shrill.

“‘Twas your error, not mine. I would have been more than happy to announce myself should you have asked.” His head tipped to the side, earring winking in the low light. “If I may, the amount of trust you place in those around you could be seen as reckless. I’d have thought you would be more careful.”

His condescension made everything worse. Of all people, why was it Emet-Selch? 

“I told you to get out!” you said, throwing the other pillow in his direction. He dodged this one with a casual duck of his head, letting it thump powerlessly against the door and land at his feet with the other. 

“Is this the might of the famed hero? An interesting approach to be sure, but I must say that I’m skeptical such tactics will be effective against the sin eaters. Though I will defer to your judgment, it has proven to be effective thus far,” Emet-Selch said, amusement dancing in his light eyes. 

You grit your teeth, nostrils flaring. Even across the room, you could smell him, your senses unnaturally acute. Leather, aged spices you couldn’t name, metal, and the tangy, earthy remnants of wherever he had been before. Your primal, animalistic self smelled heat and alluring musk. Crudely put, he smelled like a man. A mate. Your pussy throbbed uncomfortably, abdomen cramping, your thighs becoming increasingly wet because there was no point in putting on panties beneath the loose pajamas when they’d become soaked through right away.

This was bad. He needed to leave. You needed to demand he leave, at weapon’s edge if necessary. But if you got any closer to him, your body’s reaction would just get worse. Not only that, but being in heat sapped you of strength. Any fight you could put up would be mediocre at best, and that was assuming you could stay on your feet. 

“What do you need?” you asked in a would-be controlled voice, shifting awkwardly and hoping he wouldn’t be able to tell why. 

Emet-Selch gave you a look like you were being tiresome. Like he wasn’t the one in the wrong here. "In a meeting called to discuss plans in which your participation is most vital, your absence did not go unnoticed. Nor was it excused. What resulted was a spectacularly tedious waste of my time. That alone, perhaps, I could accept as a forgone conclusion of choosing to partner with you and yours. However, your loyal friends were curiously tight lipped when asked to provide any justifiable reason for your nonattendance. Alas, with little else to entertain me, I’ve come to confirm the truth of why you saw fit to neglect your duties.” 

Slowly, deliberately, he gave you a once over that had your skin crawling. It wasn’t hard to imagine what you must have looked like. Flushed, glassy eyed, lips bitten to a slight swell, skin glossy, hair a mess, your scales shining with sweat. Framed by a room made for those much larger than you and wearing simple clothes that advertised your small stature, you knew that you looked nothing like the strong warrior you strived to be. 

“Feeling a bit under the weather, are you?” Emet-Selch asked with something like sympathy. “And what is it, pray tell, that has our hero indisposed?” 

"It's none of your business," you snapped, your shoulders curling inward. 

“Your need for secrecy is most interesting,” Emet-Selch said, undeterred. “I understand, you know. It isn’t easy, hiding what you truly are.”

“I have… no idea what you’re talking about,” you said, eyes widening with a fresh surge of panic you couldn’t hide.

“There’s no need to maintain this charade. Your friends lack the knowledge and experience to see what is so plain. I do not,” Emet-Selch told you in a matter-of-fact tone, taking a step forward as he considered you with those unnerving yellow eyes. You swallowed hard, forcing your breathing to even out. 

“You need to leave,” you told him, pressing yourself even closer to the harsh edge of the bedside table as if there was anywhere in your room that you wouldn’t be able to smell him, that you would be able to escape his eyes.

“Nevertheless, I could not be entirely certain that my suspicions were correct,” he said, ignoring your demand. “Until now, that is. ‘Tis neither traditional illness nor injury, that much is obvious. At a glance, you suffer symptoms of a heretofore unknown malady. But that is naught more than a convenient lie.” Emet-Selch paused there dramatically, giving you an expectant look. 

"It’s still none of your business," you said, your voice cracking under the force you used to keep it from wavering. You couldn’t meet his eye.

Emet-Selch smirked and it was dizzying. Sickening. Humiliating. “It most certainly is. The hero cannot play her part whilst she’s in heat,” he said without missing a beat, his voice perfectly smooth and sure.

“That isn’t… that’s not…” you stumbled over the objection because you couldn’t think of a lie, embarrassment scrambling your already disordered thoughts. Eventually, “How do you know?”

“‘Twas obvious from the first, though I confess to having doubted my assessment erewhile. To think that you of all people would be an omega.” Emet-Selch shook his head, clearly amused by the notion. “Hearing of your supposed illness confirmed my suspicions. I daresay you would throw yourself into your work regardless of any other ailment, but not this. Your body is primed to take a mate, inflicting upon you a number of rather unsavory symptoms. Weak, dull-witted, and overcome with a need so great it borders madness. ‘Twould be quite the disaster for those who follow your example to see you reduced to such a feeble, debauched state. Brought low by nature itself.” 

You wanted to be strong, to meet his insult with strength or humor. If you weren’t on the edge of senselessness, you could have. Instead, you felt shameful tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a reaction to the cruel words you couldn’t stifle with your slipping emotions. You focused on his boots, trying to hide your reaction. 

“Get out,” you said, your voice husky. 

In your periphery, you saw Emet-Selch’s shoulders fall. He sighed. “Vexatious as it has proven to be, I must admit that I prefer your righteous fire to this piteous display,” he said. 

“Get out now,” you repeated, attempting to sound stronger.

“That’s better,” Emet-Selch said, smiling. 

Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean it.” 

“Oh yes,” he agreed indulgently. “Are you waiting for someone? Mayhap one of your friends? It strikes me as odd that the esteemed hero should lack companionship in her hour of urgent need.”

The very idea made you cringe. No matter what fantasies came to mind while you were in heat, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t you. Allowing anyone to see you like this was already unthinkable, let alone giving anyone that level of power over you. 

“I don’t want companionship.”

“Nobody else knows, do they?” Emet-Selch asked. He phrased it like a question, but his smile was knowing.

You didn’t say anything, wishing desperately for a way out of this situation, for a way to convince Emet-Selch to forget. Convinced that you hated him. Painfully aware that you wanted him, your muscles trembled with the strain of longing. It was obvious he took some sort of pleasure in being the only one to know your secret and it made you want to scream, to cry, to fight him with more than just pillows. But you did nothing. The air of the room was pressing in, becoming thicker, hotter, more difficult to breathe. 

“That’s rather selfish of you, don’t you think? In your pride, you deprive yourself of the surest method of swiftly ending a heat. As a consequence, your friends and allies are forced to wait that much longer, putting at risk their carefully crafted plans.” 

“There’s no way to end it faster.” 

“Of course there is,” Emet-Selch said patronizingly. “A heat functions in much the same way as any other biological need. One does not slake their thirst without accepting a drink.” He smirked, head tipping towards you. “I’m afraid to say a pillow is a poor substitute for that which you truly need, be it weapon or tool.”

You winced, shame flushing through you. 

“Seeing as you have no desire to reveal yourself to your friends, I shall help you,” Emet-Selch said with a sigh, like he was doing you a laborious favor. He crossed further into the room with confident strides. There were dozens of ways you could have stopped him, that you could have evaded his approach, but you just watched with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“You’re not serious,” you said, caught between horror and a fresh onslaught of lust. Your pussy throbbed dully, the muscles of your abdomen fluttering. The room was too hot, your clothes too tight. It left you lightheaded. “You… We can’t…” You shook your head wildly, but it only made you dizzier. “No way, I don’t need or want you to… do that.” 

“Pray spare the both of us the tedium of your perfunctory protestation. The obvious intensity of your need belies any petty rejection,” Emet-Selch told you, now only a yalm away. You had backed yourself into a corner, there was literally nowhere for you to go. “Yours is not only a physical reaction, your entire being is sending out a signal to those that will hear it.” He paused to shoot you a smirk. “A signal, might I add, that is only growing stronger the longer we speak.”

“That’s not…” your denial trailed off, confused. You were under the impression that only alphas could sense the cycles of omegas. But Emet-Selch not only wasn’t an alpha, but he was also incompatible with you while wearing the body of a Garlean. Did that mean he was bluffing? But why? You had the awful feeling that you were missing something important here. “That’s not true.”

“Deny it all you like,” Emet-Selch said, “your body begs for relief. Don’t be ashamed. It is positively delectable—the carnal call of an omega. Little wonder you have amassed so many adoring followers, how could they resist such an enticing lure? I myself am not immune to its effects.” 

That caused your breath to hitch, heat sinking further down into your core. “Don’t come any closer,” you told him, wishing there was more of a threat in your tone, more steel. 

“A stubborn, independent hero to the last,” Emet-Selch said. “It does you little good, I’m afraid. Willpower alone will not solve your predicament. If it eases the sting, think of this as aid not unlike any other I might provide. Whatever it takes to help the hero back on her feet.” 

“It’s not at all the same,” you said, your voice weak. You should have been loudly and aggressively objecting, you knew absolutely that your sane mind would have never permitted this. But, at this point, the only reason you weren’t on your knees, doubled over with the agonizingly present pressure in your core, was because you were so heavily leaning on the table behind you. 

There was a knocking sound. It took a second for you to realize that somebody was at your door. Emet-Selch half looked over his shoulder at it, his response cut off before it could begin. 

“I have the things you asked for, miss,” a voice called from the other side, her voice muffled. It took you a moment to realize what was happening. A moment too long, the doorknob rattled. 

“Don’t come in!” you called loudly, impulsively. Emet-Selch looked back to you. His eyes challenged you to walk past him to open the door, to risk allowing her to see the company you kept while on your supposed sickbed. It was an expression that dared you to ask her for help in removing your unwanted visitor. “I’m… I’m not decent.” 

Emet-Selch laughed, a short exhale that felt far too loud for what it was.

Even through the layer of wood, you could feel the woman’s dismay at your tone. “Shall I set them outside your door, miss?” she asked. 

“Yes, please,” you responded, avoiding Emet-Selch’s eyes. 

“Very well, miss.” You listened carefully as she set the things down, waiting for her footsteps to retreat before allowing your shoulders to relax slightly. You closed your eyes to avoid looking at him, barely daring to breathe in an attempt to clear your head.

“No amount of ice will cool your flesh,” Emet-Selch told you. Now that he was closer, the bass in his voice became clearer, the sound vibrating through your horns and tingling down your spine. “Nor will a warm compress relax your aching muscles. There is but a single cure.” 

“No,” you said, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes. Gods, he was tall. You had to painfully crane your neck up to see his face. It was no better than being on your knees. “You’re…” Our enemy? Untrustworthy? Frustrating and ambiguously evil? “...too old for me.” 

Your absurd complaint, at the very least, seemed to surprise Emet-Selch. He hesitated, giving you a flat look. “That is where you choose to draw the line?” he asked. 

You could have elaborated, made a quip that would distance you from him. Maybe playing stupid would get you out of this, making a joke would dispel the unbearable tension. But your head was buzzing and all that emerged was a shrug, your attempt at making light of the situation smothered out.

He blinked, shaking his head. “Surely my age can only be a boon to you. The breadth of my experience would easily outpace even the most rakish of men you have known. Wives, mistresses, lovers—I’ve enjoyed aught that your fragmented kind has to offer throughout countless lifetimes. In this, and most things, there will be none more skilled than I.” 

Gods help you. 

“No,” you said, rejecting everything. Him, your traitorous body, the part of you that wanted to give in, the fact that you were burning alive with need. That sort of confidence would normally make you roll your eyes, but you didn’t think he was bragging. At least the reminder that he was, in fact, an immortal Ascian brought something more sensical to your mind. 

There needed to be more space between the two of you. Further for sound to travel, for his scent to reach your nose, enough space that you didn’t have to crane your neck to look at him. But as soon as you stepped away from the table, your legs nearly buckled. While holding still, you hadn’t been aware of how much of a mess you’d become. Thighs slick with arousal, your pussy painfully throbbing, all of your blood routed away from your head and leaving it dangerously light. Holding your breath wasn’t enough, it just trapped his scent in your lungs. 

“Going somewhere?” Emet-Selch asked casually. 

“No,” you said again. “No, I can’t. I-” 

A few stumbling steps was all it took before a wave of dizziness overtook your body, the lack of blood going to your brain catching up with you. Or maybe it was the lack of oxygen.

An eternity of unreality consumed you, the edges of your vision going dark and the room tipping over. Everything that had ever happened grew distant, the summary of your strange life falling apart into incomprehensible nonsense in your spinning head. And Emet-Selch was there, supporting your weight, keeping you from collapsing. You realized it was him before anything else settled, as if he was all that was real for a frenzied few seconds filled only by the sound of your racing heart.

“-so obstinate?” The first part of his question got lost, but his voice rumbled through you. The fabric of his coat was rough against your overly sensitive skin. And then you were laying down, blinking up at the ceiling. “It is not as charming as you might believe it to be.”

You looked around wildly, confused. The words were clear and you understood their meaning, but something in your mind didn’t connect. You got your elbows beneath yourself, fighting the uncomfortably dizzy sway of your head. 

“Need I tether you to the bedposts ere you try, and fail, to stand?” Emet-Selch asked, removing his gloves finger by finger. 

Any coherent response you might have had was wiped away by a heavy, violent pulse of heat shooting straight through you. Some people might have classified the feeling as lust, but you knew better. Lust was a reaction to sensuality, it belonged to you and could be acted on accordingly. This was aggressive need condensed down into a weapon that left you weak. It didn’t feel good, it didn’t beg for stimulation. Your body shuddered and drew taut, aggressively demanding satisfaction. 

Unable to do anything else, your mouth fell open with a long groan, feet digging into the mattress and rucking up the sheets. Mindlessly, your hands grasped at the clothes you still wore, pulling the fabric away from your skin before you remembered that you had company. And then you just closed your eyes, shame managing to worm its way into your brain. 

“This is a sorry sight,” Emet-Selch said from somewhere above you. “Do you suffer so profoundly each time?”  

You shook your head, hands covering your face. No, you didn’t. Usually you had at least some control, some strength. “Stop talking,” was all you could say.

That got a laugh out of him, warm and amused. You lowered your hands enough to look at Emet-Selch through teary eyelashes. His gloves were gone, as was the big coat. How he managed to wear so many layers, you had no idea. Nor were you entirely certain how he could have gotten out of them so quickly, draping the pieces of his robes over the furniture.  

“What are you doing?” you asked, getting your arms beneath you once more. 

Emet-Selch gave you a sideways glance, eyes narrowed. “What do you think?” 

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. Emet-Selch looked far less bulky without his Imperial raiment, but he wasn’t any less intimidating. Now that he was stripped down to the formfitting undergarments, you were bluntly reminded of the very simple and important fact that he was a man and you were beyond the pale in terms of sexual need. 

“No,” you said, twisting onto your knees and crawling towards the edge of the bed. “You can’t…” Emet-Selch stopped you with a flat look, his eyes unflinchingly holding yours. “You can’t,” you repeated softly, your voice without conviction. 

He huffed, walking towards you. By the time you had made up your mind to get up, to avoid him, Emet-Selch’s hand was around your neck. Not to choke you, although you were more than aware of how easy that would have been, but to hold you in place. Even though you were taller kneeling on the bed than you were standing, he towered over you. You didn’t so much as reach his shoulder.

Trembling, you grabbed his wrist, pulling hard in an attempt to get away. “Stop, you can’t-” Emet-Selch’s fingers tightened, just a little. Enough to put some pressure on your windpipe, and enough to further remind you of how much bigger he was, the span of his fingers a scant few ilms from encircling your neck entirely.

“Come now,” he chided softly. Your body instinctively went limp with submission, recognizing the action as the assertion of dominance that it was. His lips quirked at the easy victory. You grit your teeth and stared at his chest instead, hating yourself for being so weak to instinct. 

“Let me…” you said, your voice slurring over the words. “Let me go.” 

“Surely you can feel that the time for protest is over,” Emet-Selch told you softly, tilting up your chin to force you to meet his shadowed eyes. “We both know that it is not me that you reject so vehemently, but the perceived moral crime of desiring me. So avail yourself of responsibility. Take heart in the belief that you did aught you could to put an end to this and cling to the lie of innocence. Accept when you are beaten, hero. I have every intention of seeing that your needs are met. All I require is your cooperation.” 

You pulled weakly on his wrist, shaking your head but unable to verbally deny his accusation. Fighting him because you knew you had to.

“Must you make this more difficult than it needs be?” Emet-Selch asked, his voice tightening with growing ire. “Very well.” With the hand not holding your neck, he snapped. The sharp sound caused you to wince, and your immediate nudity drew that out into a yelp. Air that had seemed so hot and oppressive only moments before exposed you to a frightening chill, caressing your flushed skin far too intimately. But there was no time to react. Either because of your disorientation or his sheer physical ability, Emet-Selch moved too quickly for you to fight as he sat on the bed, pulling you by the neck to lay flat on your back across his lap.

Something like stage fright overtook you as he surveyed your exposed body, an echo of battle shyness you hadn't felt in a very long time. The physical pressure of wild nerves compressed by an inescapable threat. It wasn’t as if you were a blushing virgin, but there was not a single aspect of Emet-Selch that wasn’t intimidating. He saw everything, every weakness, every insecurity, he saw your helplessness and you knew he wasn’t above cruel exploitation. A part of you thought that you’d rather face him in a fight than like this, that you would feel more confident on a battlefield than on your bed. 

“Don’t,” you choked out, renewing your fight to cover yourself, your thighs pressed together so tightly that they trembled, one hand fighting his grip on your throat while the other tried to cover your chest. Not that there was a way to hide that your nipples were painfully stiff, tender and shooting sparks of stimulation through you at even a ghost of a touch. 

Emet-Selch drew a finger between the crease of your thighs, gliding across the slick arousal that coated your skin. When you didn’t open your legs at the silent prompt, his eyes dragged upwards, taking in every detail of your torso, your half-covered chest, his hand casually laying over your neck, all the way up to your face.

“Honestly…” he muttered, annoyed. Emet-Selch released your neck and you quickly began to scramble to move off of him, to make yourself less vulnerable. But another snap and you felt your ankles being pried apart, shackled in the uncomfortable embrace of conjured chains. It didn’t seem like they were anchored to anything, but their hold was unyielding. You fought them, but it was useless. Your tail, mostly trapped beneath you, beat unhappily against the bed, catching the sheets and dragging them askew. 

“You can’t just… let me go,” you said, though the words were more of a distressed whine than a demand by the time you got them out.

“There’s more truth to that than you could possibly know,” Emet-Selch said under his breath like it was an inside joke. 

His hand slid up your leg, taking his time now that you were helplessly exposed, admiring the pattern of your scales. You grabbed his wrist to stop him, humiliation painfully twisting your insides. Emet-Selch paused, but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he slowly looked up to meet your eyes. 

“Tell me, what would you do if I were to stop now?” He spoke with a light tone, casually curious. “I’ve been told of the intense discomfort omega’s suffer, but the brutality of your heat seems to exceed even their arduous experiences.”  

Fear sunk like ice into your gut. Genuine terror. For all of your denial, you hadn’t thought about what it would be like for Emet-Selch to actually stop. You rejected him because you knew had to, consequences either way were meaningless. It brought tears to your eyes to consider the blazing agony of unmet need now that you had been offered salvation. 

Emet-Selch didn’t let your fear linger too long, his expression softening. “I am not so cruel as to demand that the virtuous hero admit to her weakness,” he told you, pulling his hand free of your weak grasp. “I only ask that she behave.” 

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? What were you supposed to do? Of everything else that you felt, the helpless despair was the worst of it. You’d fought dragons and primals and sin eaters with your head held high, only to be defeated by your own body. 

Emet-Selch ignored your emotional turmoil, taking advantage of your motionlessness to trace the line of scales from your hip, sliding over the curve of your leg before settling against your sensitive inner thigh. He kept his eyes on yours as he teased you with the rough drag of his skin against your own, the warmth of his palm flattening and thumb creeping ever closer to where you ached. The sensation went straight to your core, the bottom of your stomach falling through with anxious lust. If feeling the size of his hand around your neck was dizzying, seeing the span of his long fingers curl around so much of your thigh was enough to make your mind short out entirely, the physical difference between you plainly displayed. 

“‘Tis nigh impressive that you should maintain such staunch refusal whilst your body weeps for satisfaction,” Emet-Selch said, punctuating the statement by finally reaching the apex of your thighs and slipping his fingers past your slick outer lips to tease the swollen, sensitive flesh, tracing from your dripping entrance to your aching clit. You jerked, your hips jumping forward, but your legs were too tightly bound to allow for movement. Rather than try and grab his wrist to make him stop like you half wanted, your hands fisted into the sheets for stability. 

Each little circle Emet-Selch drew over your clit had your entire body twitching against him, your breaths coming out in harsh pants. He seemed fascinated by it, content to lazily play with your body while watching how you reacted. 

“If you’re going to… to… Just get on with it,” you told him through gritted teeth. It was one thing if he fucked you, but to have him touch you, to have him look at you with those pale eyes that saw more than you wished they would, was too much. “You don’t need to… to…” 

“To what, pray tell?” Emet-Selch asked. At the same time, he pressed two fingers past the trembling muscles of your entrance, easily sliding them deep into your pussy. Although your inner walls fluttered and tensed and squeezed around the intrusion, there was very little resistance. You were that wet, that desperate to be filled. Your back arched between his thighs, your legs kicking against the bindings, your tail thrashing against the bed uselessly. His fingers curled as they pulled out and a sound finally emerged from your open mouth, a shameless moan. Emet-Selch was barely doing anything, just casually pumping his fingers into you, and it was almost more than you could take, driving you insane.

“Stop,” you gasped, your hands rising to cover your flushed face. “I’m ready, I’m-” 

“If you hadn’t been so resistant,” Emet-Selch told you indifferently, “you would already have what you desire. Be patient now, I certainly have been.”

You just groaned, choking back the impulse to beg and shaking your head. 

“Don’t be so ungrateful. This is for your benefit, not mine,” Emet-Selch scolded, slipping a third finger into you. With how wet you were, it was just as smooth as the first two, but the added weight emptied your head, made your hips jump wildly, your cunt clamping down hard around his fingers. It wasn’t entirely comfortable when they scissored, preparing you to take more, and the burst of pain amidst pleasure surprised you. Emet-Selch pulled in a sharp, disapproving breath. “You’re awfully tight. I take it hero work leaves you little time for dalliances.”

All you could do was moan and gasp. It didn’t take much for your inner walls to adjust around him. You were built to take a lot more than a few fingers. Emet-Selch didn’t seem to have any problems with freely giving you this indulgence. His palm clapped against you with each thrust, his fingers curling and crooking and relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.

“There’s no need to hide,” Emet-Selch told you. “Allow me to see your face as you come undone on my hand. Surely I deserve to enjoy the fruits of my labor.”

Although you didn’t respond verbally, your body did, a helpless sound leaving your mouth and your cunt clamping down around his fingers. You teetered on the brink of pleasure, so close it almost surprised you. Stimulation was ratcheted up in intensity by your heat, it wasn’t exactly difficult to make yourself orgasm. But it would be a lie to say that this wasn’t different. Better than anything you could give yourself, better than anything anyone else had given you. 

When you didn’t comply, Emet-Selch grabbed your horn with his off hand, forcing your face towards him. You immediately tried to pry at his wrist, your eyes snapping open in fear. The sensation of having your horn grabbed while you were like this, wrought with stimulation, was too much. The muffling weight and pressure pulled a cry from your mouth. At the same time, he ground his palm against your swollen clit, his fingers fucking into you relentlessly, noisily. 

The combination of sensations, the assault of depravity, forced you to do exactly as he said, fleetingly meeting the pale gold of Emet-Selch’s eyes before your own squeezed shut, your mouth falling open and expression opening up with bliss as you came. He didn’t let up. Not his grip on your horn or the hand filling the room with the obscenely wet squelch of each thrust. Emet-Selch watched you the entire time, you knew that even without looking. You could feel his eyes burning into your skin as pleasure burst and shook through your core, clouding your head, drawing your limbs painfully taut.  

Eventually Emet-Selch’s hand stilled. He released your horn as you shook and panted, writhing in his lap, softly petting your hair from your face. For the first time, you realized that you had been grinding against his erection. That made your inner walls flutter around the fingers he still hadn’t pulled out, heat and shame and need coursing through your veins. When he curled them again, your body jumped, your eyes meeting his. 

Emet-Selch was smirking. With sharp shadows draped beneath his cheekbones and eyebrows and his pale eyes smudged with kohl, he looked every bit the cruel Ascian you feared. Why that would make your pussy tighten around him all over again, you didn’t care to think.

“You make for quite the spectacle,” he told you. Some sort of admonishment jumped to your tongue, but Emet-Selch cut that off with another curl of his fingers. It was so easy for him to make your hips jerk with each little press against that spongy spot inside of you, your pussy dripping around his hand. Your body was aflame and you needed more in a desperate, animal way and it was amusing to him. 

You mumbled something with a frown, looking away. Your voice was tired and slurred, incomprehensibly thick from all the saliva that had gathered on your tongue. 

“I suppose that will have to do, my patience is nigh exhausted as well,” Emet-Selch said, pulling his fingers out of you with a shamefully slick sound. 

He was gentle in adjusting you from his lap, letting you fall, boneless and trembling, onto the bed. You didn’t fight it, your body almost tangibly pulsing with each heavy thump of your heart. Distantly, you realized the chains holding your ankles were gone.

“Now then, how shall we do this? Endearing as it is, your diminutive stature does limit our options,” he said, getting out of his boots and removing the last of his clothes. Though he spoke casually, Emet-Selch was all confidence, looking no more vulnerable naked than he did in full dress. While you’d expect a man who looked to be around double your age to be flabby and soft, Emet-Selch was not. Of course he wasn’t, of course he would insult you with lithe muscle and planes of flawless pale skin. In contrast, the trail of black hair following below the line of his abdomen was striking, although your eyes would be drawn to his erection anyway. 

If you were of a sound mind, you would have balked at his size. As it was, all you could do was stare, more saliva pooling in your mouth, your inner walls clamping down around the painful emptiness left by his fingers. 

“Have you any thoughts on the matter?” Emet-Selch prompted, bracing himself back on the bed to move towards you, forcing your gaze back upward. 

“Um…” 

“Have you any thoughts at all?” he asked derisively, the tone softened by his amusement. 

“I do,” you said, your eyebrows knitting. “I…” You trailed off, having to swallow against your swollen throat, your eyes once more drawn to his body. He was going to touch you. Emet-Selch, the enigmatic Ascian, was going to fuck you. Clarity came in a sharp little burst, the single, crystal clear thought that this was very very very wrong. 

“I thought so,” Emet-Selch said, grabbing your ankle. “Let us keep things simple. I’d hate to overwhelm you.” 

You thought about asking what he meant, but the words floated from your head like smoke as his hands trailed up your body, curiously sliding over the scales covering the outside of your legs before seeking out the more sensitive skin on the top of your thighs. Rather than delve between your legs like you half wanted, he grabbed your waist and pushed you up the bed. Emet-Selch’s hands were so warm, a heat unlike the sweaty blaze burning beneath your skin. Real, radiant heat. And big, his thumbs meeting right above your belly button. It wasn’t difficult for him to manhandle you around, you were ungainly and loose limbed and he was far bigger and stronger. You may as well have been a doll in comparison. 

“What’re y-”

“Up,” Emet-Selch told you, pressing against your hips. The gentle, authoritative tone had you obeying without thought, allowing him to wedge a pillow beneath you. To give himself a better angle. At this point, desire was anxiety. You panted with it, your chest rapidly rising and falling, your body over sensitized and mind swimming. 

Emet-Selch called your attention back to him, his hand tracing from the base of your horns down your neck, fingertips dragging across the pattern of scales until his hand could settle around your throat to hold you still while he positioned his hips between your open thighs. His cock settled hot and heavy against your abdomen, giving both of you a view of how deep within you he would be. When you met his eye, he smirked. “There’s a good girl.” 

The praise had you shaking despite the liquid heat scorching through your veins, nerves and excitement and need and a thousand other disorienting emotions consuming you along with the smoldering need tugging painfully deep within your core. A shudder ran down your spine, a dark thrill, your lips parting to exhale a shaky sigh and eyelashes fluttering. 

“I must admit,” Emet-Selch said. “I don’t mind this side of you.”

You shifted, eyebrows knitting in protest to his words because, even still, a part of you recognized that you shouldn’t have been accepting this. But then Emet-Selch looped his arms beneath your knees to push your thighs towards your chest, exposing your aching pussy and the discontent was gone. 

“Will you beg, oh bold and brave hero?” he asked softly, excited now. Your breath caught when you felt the tip of his dick between your legs, slipping against your arousal-slick flesh. Blood flushed through your head when he bumped your clit, dragging along a tumultuous wave of dizziness, and another when he pressed the head of his cock against your entrance. 

A little sound built in your throat, your thighs twitching. You shook your head, although you weren’t sure if you were denying his question or what was about to happen. 

“I think you will,” Emet-Selch said. “Shall we find out?” 

The first feeling of his cock pushing into you brought the visceral reality of your situation to the forefront, your body so intensely sensitized that you swore you could feel his heartbeat tingling through your horns. Or it was your own, echoed back by the hand that had returned to loosely grip you by the throat. This position allowed you to watch him disappear into you ilm by ilm, taking it slow to help you adjust. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t enough air, not enough reason left in your head to do anything other than focus on the way your pussy had to stretch to accommodate him. Your entire body had to shift to allow Emet-Selch to selfishly claim it. From some distant place, you recalled hearing him pontificating about his time as a conqueror with all the pompous ego of an Imperial. But that thought disappeared just as quickly as every other in the confused tangle of your mind, although not before it could make you shudder with some intoxicating blend of disgust and pleasure. 

Unlike with his fingers, there was resistance. Proof of your lack of recent partners. Then again, it was also him. A simple matter of size. Feeling the intimate, pinching bite of pain made you whimper, your inner walls tensing around his cock like a vice, only accentuating the ache. 

“Slow,” you finally said, pressing a hand to his abdomen so he couldn’t go any deeper. 

“Too much for you, hero?” Emet-Selch asked. You knew he was mocking you, but you nodded anyway, trying to remember how to do so much as breathe. He sighed. “Fine.” 

You relaxed slightly, trying to calm yourself down, senselessly scrambling for an anchor to cling to. As soon as you untensed, he sheathed himself within you fully, using the hold he had on your neck to pull you down at the same time his hips surged forward, harshly making you take all of him as if to punish your resistance. You yelped, holding tightly onto his wrist as your only source of stability. Too much, too deep, too soon, the thick head of his cock hit your cervix and it hurt. 

And it didn’t. Gods only knew that it didn’t. 

You shook your head helplessly, pushing at his arm and stomach as if that would work, your squirming hips only serving to grind against him, making a point of how deep inside of you he was. It felt so good it robbed you of any coherency. Even if you could acknowledge the very real physical discomfort, the only pain was the desperate, blazing need. In contrast, the splitting ache of being too full was a salve. It was beyond what you could fathom, the pleasure and the pain and the fullness and the need and the sight of the man above you. Inside you. 

“Seeing you like this, I almost pity you,” Emet-Selch said, pulling out a little so you could feel how thoroughly he filled you, the way your inner walls had to stretch to accommodate him. “Sapped of strength and stripped of will, empty of aught that elevates you above others of your kind, all you have left to offer is your own need.” Emet-Selch watched your face carefully as he slowly pulled nearly all the way out. When he thrust back in, the movement was smooth. Precise in how harsh he was, ensuring you felt everything and punctuating your helplessness without really hurting you. Your body helped with that, soaking his cock so it emerged shining with the purest evidence of your willingness. You whimpered, beyond crying out, but the way he groaned made any thoughts of actual pain scatter from your head. “To your credit,” Emet-Selch continued, his voice slightly more affected, “you do not disappoint.” 

You whined again and shut your eyes against the dead echo shame, your head tipping further back. At this point, you weren’t so much fighting to pry his hand off of your neck as you were clinging to his wrist with shaking hands. 

Emet-Selch, despite what your animal instinct demanded, took his time. He teased you, pulling out agonizingly slow before pressing forward with the same lack of urgency, dragging you down to meet him halfway. If it weren’t so pointedly unhurried, you might have thought he was being kind, letting you get used to his size. But you knew well enough of Emet-Selch’s games. With your thighs pushed up to your chest and his hand like a collar on your neck, there was little you could do except take whatever he saw fit to give you, to let yourself be manhandled and used at his leisure. Rather than bring relief, each languid stroke kept you panting shallowly, your entire body tense. Each time he drove himself to the hilt, you couldn’t help but moan helplessly, full to the point of shattering. It didn’t matter that Emet-Selch was taking it slow. If anything, your hyper sensitivity and anticipation made you overly aware of every ridge and vein of his cock, your inner walls fluttering as they tried to adjust.  

You opened your eyes to peer up at him through your lashes. He watched you with his eyes half closed and lips parted, a faint flush dying them pink. As if he had been waiting for you to meet his eye, Emet-Selch’s hips aggressively thrust forward. Skin slapped skin, the bed frame knocking against the wall, a sharp yelp ripped from your lips. On the brink of utter madness, the onslaught of pleasure nearly tipped you over. With just a little more stimulation, you probably could have come. He probably knew that too, which was why he immediately stilled. 

“Was that too much?” Emet-Selch asked. The words were strained, but taunting. Playful. He didn’t wait for your answer, pulling out a little before sheathing himself just as deep, rolling his hips so you could feel the weight of him inside of you, your pussy fluttering around him. Your back arched despite yourself, a pathetic whimper leaving your lips. “Hm?” he prompted. 

You swallowed hard, your throat working against his palm. “N-no,” you gasped, trying to maintain some sense of coherence. “I-I want-”

Emet-Selch did it again, slamming his cock into you hard enough to make you cry out all over again, your words cut off sharply. When he slowly pulled out, the sound was beyond lewd. Even compared to other heats, you didn’t think you’d ever been this wet. 

“Tha-s-” 

He cut you off with another series of sharp thrusts, hard and quick enough to leave your mind blank of anything else. Emet-Selch was still toying with you, watching how you reacted. “This is what you wanted, is it not?” he asked. Although the words were labored, they were entirely lucid. Mocking you. 

“‘s too-too…” you began with a sense of helpless panic, unable to force words out. If he had been moving at a glacial pace before, this was a volcanic flare. So aggressive, so harsh, so deep. Your eyes rolled back, your blunt nails scratching at his arm.  “Too-too-”

“Too… what?” Emet-Selch asked, punctuating the word by driving himself as deep into your cunt as he could and holding you there, his fingers tightening around your neck to keep you from moving. Whenever your hips jerked you could feel the heavy head of his cock grind against your cervix.

“Don’t,” you whined, trying to move your hips to force him to move again. The raging storm of needing more crashed against the teetering edge of stimulation and you had no idea what to do, how to interpret it. “I-I want-”

“You want?” Emet-Selch asked, cutting you off. Your anxious eyes met his, wide and wet. 

“I-I… need…”

His lips quirked. “Beg.” 

“Please,” you whimpered. “Please, I just wanna… Please, Emet-Selch?” 

“Do you want me to make you come again?” he asked, rolling his hips. The slick sound only heightened your need, the pressure making you shudder with pleasure. 

“Yes. Please,” you begged, uncaring of how you sounded. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for the tantalizing sparks of relief. “Please, I want you… I want you to come inside of me. Please, I need-” 

He smiled, cutting you off with a frustratingly casual thrust. “Ah, yes. The compulsion of an omega,” Emet-Selch said, sounding far too happy with the idea. “You wish for me to breed you, is that it? To claim your womb as surely as I have claimed your flesh.” 

“Yes,” you moaned. “Gods, yes. Please, please-” 

“You, hero, are mine. Mine to take, mine to breed, mine to use however I so wish,” Emet-Selch said, cutting you off. Each word was punctuated with a hard thrust, his voice tight with strain rather than humor.

You were, at this point, not at all aware of what you were saying. Agreeing, probably. Begging just like he asked. 

His hand finally left your neck, dragging down your heaving chest, across your stomach and to your abdomen where it settled flat. The span of his fingers bridged between either ridge of your hip bone, his hand oppressively big in comparison to you. Normally that might have been distressing, but the added pressure was so sweet you knew you were crying, drool dripping from your moaning mouth. Could he feel his cock poking against his palm like that? You felt as if you could, helpless beneath the dual pressure with Emet-Selch claiming you from inside and out. Although you had been hoping his fingers would find your clit, that pressure was all it took to throw you over the edge. The building pleasure that had been not so gracefully pulling tight within you snapped harshly, hotly. Your cunt squeezed hard around his cock, your hips helplessly bucking up and down in a desperate bid to get more, to take him deeper. 

Emet-Selch didn’t stop as your back arched and you shook apart, your hands scrambling for traction in the sheets, your tail beating weakly against his leg. For a few moments, it was just liquid gold and raw, carnal stimulation. That abated, but there was no coming down from that high. The purely physical release faded, but the flames did not. He was still hot and hard inside of you and you wanted to feel him come as you had never wanted anything in your life. 

“Please, Emet-Selch,” you plead, breathless. He probably couldn’t even understand you, your words stuttering with each harsh thrust. “Please come inside of me. Breed me. Please, please, Emet-Selch. I’m yours, so please-”  

Something you said, however much of it he was able to make out, made Emet-Selch’s lips part in an honest groan, his jaw tensing and eyes lowering to slits. Both hands gripped your hips to drag you down onto his cock in time with each thrust, fucking you hard and fast and without any sort of tempo. Using you to chase his own end. 

When Emet-Selch came, his breathing was little more than a rough drag littered with low noises of strain. His head fell back in ecstasy, dark eyelashes fluttering and the tendons in his neck pulling taut. He was beautiful. The sensation—and sight—of feeling him come, his cock buried as deep into you as possible, drew another shuddering, blazing orgasm from your body. Feeling the sharp snap and flush of sensation through your core shocked you, causing your hips to jerk against his. Emet-Selch gasped and it sounded like surprise, catching unsteadily in his chest as his eyes jumped down to yours. Fingers digging into your hips to keep you in place, he gave you a final few sharp, deep thrusts. Not that you had it within you to move, pulled taut as a bow string and sizzling with pleasure as he fucked his cum into your womb, breeding you just like you needed. 

Emet-Selch’s hips stilled eventually, his cock twitching within your quivering inner walls. While your breathing was dangerously erratic, his was deep and hard. With a final look over your sweaty, flushed body, he pulled out. The sensation made you whimper. Your inner walls tightened and fluttered, instinctually trying to keep his cum from spilling out. A silly thing, considering you couldn’t be impregnated by this. But instinct was instinct, and your animal brain only wanted to be bred. 

He sighed heavily, laying beside you. It wasn’t comfortable, not when you were slick with sweat and still trying to figure out how to breathe, but it was oddly peaceful, although part of that was your complete lack of coherency. The two of you laid there for a long moment, you weren’t sure how long. Time had little meaning when you were trying to reconstruct the world around you. Not that you thought you could attain sanity, not while you were in heat. The most you could want was the capacity to speak because now that your needs were momentarily satiated, you had a single concern. A fear, really. Your body was appeased for now, but not for long. 

Nervously, shyly, you looked at Emet-Selch. Though he was laying down and completely unclothed, he didn’t look any less imperious or invulnerable. There was a coldness to him, something you hadn’t ever truly noticed before. 

“Are you going to leave?” you asked, hating how small your voice sounded, hating how badly you didn’t want him to go. And dizzy, and affectionate. Just a little bit, a grand swell of genuine madness that stole your mind while you were in this vulnerable state. 

“Mayhap I should,” Emet-Selch said, his head tilting casually. You pulled in a sharp breath, your fingers curling into his bicep as if that would somehow keep him with you. He peered at you out of the corner of his eye, the corner of his lips quirking. “Of course, I could be convinced otherwise.”

Before you could ask what that meant, Emet-Selch sat up, looking far less disheveled than he had any right to. You yelped when he flipped you onto your stomach, and again when he pulled you by the tail to keep you from lurching away from him. But you didn’t have it in you to struggle when he pulled you against his chest. His breath splayed over the scales on your neck, raising the fine hairs across your skin. 

“N-oh-” Your attempted objection cut off with a heavy moan when his hand dipped between your legs, gathering up the cum that had dripped out of you and pushing it back into your sensitive pussy. You whined, squirming weakly.

“Will you beg once more?” Emet-Selch asked softly, playfully. His fingers teasing your neglected clit to make you writhe in his arms. “All you need do is ask that I remain. Beg that I smother the flames that blaze so bitterly within you. Do that, and I shall be more than happy to oblige.” He paused, letting those words sink in. “What say you, hero?” 

A pathetic sound left your mouth, your fingers digging harshly into the arms that held you in place. Between the pleasure and shame, you weren’t sure which one had your skin burning hotter. But even if you hesitated, you knew that you would do exactly as he asked. And he knew it too. 

“Please, Emet-Selch,” you breathed out, a tremor in his name.

You could feel his smile even if you couldn’t see it, feel the smug expression of victory. “Come now. Is that truly the best you can do?”  

[bangtangalicious]

the glow up | pjm (3)

pairing: jimin x reader

summary: after going off to college, you & your best friend committed to working out. a year later, the results show, and you cant wait for your hot hometown friends to see you. now all you wanna do is wild out and have lots of sex, and enjoy it without feeling insecure

genre: smut, childhoodfriends!au weightloss!au (is that a thing) friends-to-lovers!au

word count: 1.7k

warnings: dry humping, sleep sex/wet dream, feverishly rough sex, choking, technically dubcon but she was genuinely fine with it, slut shaming, cheating (?), basically jimin fucks you hard but he thinks he’s dreaming, creampie, unprotected sex

part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7                                                  masterlist

You woke up, the events of the morning seemingly like a world away. You became conscious suddenly to a warm presence snuggled up behind you. Jimin and you had talked for a while before returning to the party. You stayed back late helping him clean up until you both passed out from exhaustion.

The tension had been uncomfortable. Jimin decided not to bring up Taehyung’s outburst, and you too avoided the topic entirely. It was too confusing.

Jimin’s arms were wrapped around your hips tightly, his fingers gently stroking your stomach. He was totally knocked out, you could tell by the way he whimpered slightly when you tried to move. You sighed, trapped by him completely. You tried to wiggle your way out but as you shook your hips you felt something graze against your ass.

He was hard. Really hard.

Your eyes widened, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t his fault, you knew morning wood was a thing, and seeing how pressed up the two of you were, it was bound to happen. You tried to move again, but it only caused him to press even more into your soft flesh. A shaky breath left his lips at the contact. His hands loosened and slowly began sliding down your bikini bottom. You gasped.

“Jimin what are you doing” You hissed. No response was heard, all you felt was Jimin’s cock desperately prying for freedom from his trunks, now against your bare ass. He slowly rolled his hips, humming in pleasure. “Jimin. JIMIN.” He was still asleep, you realized.

You could move, but you knew if you moved now he would wake up, and then he would ask what happened. And you really didn’t want to have to deal with that. Or maybe. You liked the feeling.

You wondered what Jimin must be thinking about. Was it you he was fucking in his dreams? He had denied you earlier. Your heart dropped as you recalled his cruel comment about Taehyung having came in you, and that grossing him out so much he refused to have sex with you.

As you were lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize the way Jimin’s hands had found your breasts, pulling you back into him with all his strength. You moaned in surprise. The feeling of his hands, slightly dry from the day in the pool but so large, covering the entirety of your breast and clutching it as if he was holding on for dear life.

You could feel his heart pounding against you. You wiggled your ass against him, seeing if he would react. He let out a high pitched whine, which cause goosebumps to spread across you. He sounded hot. You felt yourself getting wetter.

Apparently so did Jimin, because his hips bucked into you, his bulge dancing past your entrance in a quick thrust. You squealed at the sensation. The fact that he was acting involuntarily, following nothing but instinct, turned you on beyond reason. You felt him exhale heavily, his hot breath tickling the nape of your neck. He bucked his hips again, harsher this time, whining incessantly.

You could feel how bad his cock wanted to tear through the fabric and feel you. He thrust again. Then again. Harder. And harder. His hands clutching your breasts more aggressively each time. You couldn’t help but scream. It felt so good. He was like a dog just humping you so aggressively in heat. You felt animalistic and you loved it. You pushed back into him more, spreading your legs so he could rut right where you craved him.

His pace quickened. If anyone had walked into the room at that moment, they would see Jimin, eyes shut and lips parted, humping into your ass like there was no tomorrow, and you, pretty much naked, a moaning mess with your eyes rolling back in bliss.

“Jimin” You exhaled, turning your head as much as you could to try to see him. “Fuck, Jimin baby you feel so good”

His face was blushed pink, sweat forming at his forehead. He groaned as you spread your legs even more, allowing your wetness to seep through the fabric of his shorts. He let out a low growl.

Suddenly his eyes flew open, but he didn't stop. He was completely gone, you could see it in his expression. He his were lustful, almost frightening. He met your eyes briefly, not even comprehending who you were or what was happening before he flipped you over and yanked down his trunks. He grabbed your neck with both of his hands as he shoved his cock inside of you without any warning. You screamed out, not expecting the large girth. You were luckily wet enough for him to get inside you without too much resistence, but the speed had you crying out.

“Jimin—“ You tried to choke out but Jimin’s grip on you tightened. He fucked himself into you harshly, groaning at the way your pussy clenched down on him. He lowered himself so his chest was flush against your back as he continued to roll his hips into you. He grazed his teeth across your jaw before sucking it harshly. “Holy fuck” You muttered under your breath.

His pace picked up relentlessly, as if it were even possible for him to fuck you faster. Each thrust was practically splitting you opn. You tried to spread wider but you physically couldn’t. You were ruined under him, and you loved it. You felt yourself teasing your own edge with his cock hitting you in all the right ways. You cried out, nodding your head like an idiot, knowing full well that Jimin did not know nor care what you were doing.

You came like an avalanche, your body twitched and writhed under Jimin. You felt like you were going to lose your voice with how loud you were screaming as his pistoling cock did not give you a second to breathe. You gushed against him, your slick cum making his thrusts even easier. Before you knew it you felt him shoot hot com through you as he let out a loud moan. He buried himself as far into you as he could, pushing your face up against the headboard as his hands practically stopped your breathing. You felt dizzy, but so so good. He recoiled, laying down on top of you then, the full weight of him crushing you.

“Jimin!” You shouted as your ribs felt weak under the pressure. He blinked a few times before he suddenly jumped off of you.

“Oh my god” He whispered, looking at you, with his cum messily dripping down your legs and on your ass. You turned slowly, the soreness beginning to catch up with you. “What the fuck happened”

You exhaled, laughing slightly, “You tell me”

He shook his head frantically, worry filling his eyes, “Oh my god y/n…fuck…no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. I had no idea I…” His face reddened, “I thought I was dreaming”

You giggled, curling your finger and motioning him towards you. He obeyed, crawling into your embrace. He held you like you were a delicate piece of glass that he almost shattered.

“I know. You were wild”

“I didn’t fuck” His frustration was evident as you stroked his back calmly, “I didn’t want our first time to be like this”

“Yeah I mean, being conscious is definitely better” You joked. Jimin shook his head.

“I can’t believe my dick has just been where Taehyung’s has. EW” He shuddered, looking at you in horror. Your face dropped.

“W…what? That’s still your issue?”

Jimin sighed, stroking your hair, “Would you wanna suck my dick if I had it stuffed in someone else’s vagina the day before?”

You shrugged. You guessed you understood his perspective, but that didn’t make his words hurt less. Jimin kissed your cheek.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way baby. It was so good. You felt so good. And I want you so bad. But it’s…too soon. I still just can’t believe you’d just let someone so random touch you like that.”

You nodded, wanting to put the discussion to rest before you bit his head off in retaliation. You reached over for your phone, seeing a few missed messages.

tae: im so sorry princess

You chuckled, raising your eyebrows. Taehyung was the last person who needed to apologize here. You glanced at Jimin, who was also on his own phone, hand caressing your thigh absentmindedly.

y/n: don’t be sorry omg. wanna hang?

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Jimin asked softly, without looking up, “There’s a new taco place that opened up near here. I know you love Mexican so”

Your heart clenched.

tae: yeah i can pick you up. u still at jimin’s?

“Jimin” Your voice wavered. You had never been so conflicted in your life. Jimin was amazing, you adored him. He knew you better than anyone else and was so so sweet. But somehow this whole sex thing was making you question your willingness to redefine your relationship into something more. You weren’t sure if it was because of how amazing it felt to fuck Taehyung, or because Jimin was being an unapologetic little bitch about your promiscuity. “I think I need some space”

y/n: yeah, sounds good. b out in a few

He turned quickly, his eyes sad. You hated that you even had to have this conversation at all, “I just need some time to myself to figure stuff out. I’m not leaving you, I’ll come back. I’m just not sure if I wanna jump into this right now”

His eyes darkened and he pursed his lips. “Oh, okay” He faked a smile and kissed your nose again, lingering. “Just text me okay. Whenever. Whenever you’re done…doing what you need to do” You nodded. You got dressed and Jimin gave you some clothes. As you walked out the door his grabbed your wrist lightly.

“Y/n” His eyes were watery, “I’m still here for you okay. Please…” He inhaled sharply, “Don’t leave me”

You gave him a small smile, “I won’t Jimin”

“Promise?”

You swallowed your guilt and nodded. You walked out to the street and looked at your phone.

tae: i’m down the curb. same car.

You grinned, turned and waved one last time to Jimin, before walking away, your fingers excitedly tapping your phone.

<-----previous                                                                               next----->

A/N: ~sips water~ 

taglist: (lmk if you wanna be added!!) @honeyspillings @hollowtree10

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 7 (NSFW)

Read it on AO3. Part 6 here. Part 8 here.

Summary:  There's something in Commander Ren's eyes. You know that this isn't all there is.

Words: 3000

Warnings: choking, dubcon, dystopian universe, Handmaid AU,

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: AHHH! I am so sorry it took me so long to update, y'all! I've been really stressed out at home, so the only energy I've had is to upload pre-written projects or co-written ones. But! This is finally up. I thought it was funny that it happened to coincide with the release of The Handmaid's Tale on Hulu... almost like it was meant to be. <3 I don't have Hulu, though.

Anyway, I love y'all so, so much. Your support means so much to me and I can't thank you enough.

Perhaps the most unnerving thing about the night was the silence. In your tiny excuse for a room, the only occupation you kept during day-hours was listening to the twittering of the birds beyond your window. But the extinguishing of the sun took with it your only company--and now, you laid there, a mannequin without its master, as dead and empty as the air itself.

You weren’t sure what you had been thinking, to be quite honest. Years of suppression, oppression, repression, depression--they’d been a pressure cooker to your brain, granting you a brief moment of delicious insanity at the first indication of possible retribution. You’d needed that--needed some indicator that you were still a human, still something with a mind and a mouth and the ability to use them both. In the void of moonless darkness, you questioned yourself--how long could this go on? How long could you be a silent, reluctant vessel before it became too much?

“Too much” was an undefinable quantity, however. You’d thought losing your bank account had been “too much.” Being fired from your job had been “too much.” Disenfranchisement had been “too much.” The Red Center, with all of its indoctrination had been “too much.” Watching your friends and family hollow into shells, being stripped of your name, wearing that goddamn starchy red dress had been “too much.”

Every limit you laid down was pushed further and further towards the perimeter of Hell. If you caught fire, you weren’t sure you’d even be able to realize it.

A distant creak down the hall shattered the silence. Speaking of catching fire--

Metal jingled, squeaked, and the knob on your door spun. As it opened, your chest bound itself in ice, your fingers gripping the sheets. All you could do was watch, eyes straining to identify what you already knew.

Commander Ren looked far more casual than you’d expected. The crisp woven cotton of his dress shirt glowed under the starlight streaming through your window, and the fact that it failed to gleam off his shoes told you he was in loafers--something softer, more pliant than his leather Oxfords. He wore black slacks that clung to his thighs, the first few buttons of his top salaciously undone. It seemed so ridiculous to think, now. After all, you’d seen men naked, before. But something about your Commander--here, illegally, his hair skating his shoulders and his collarbones exposed--

You’d been wrong. You were on fire, now--and you were terrified.

“Commander--”

“Quiet.” His voice was low, darker than the sky. Without another word, he shut the door behind him, trapping you in his stare. A long, vacant pause. He adjusted the cuffs at his wrists, and stepped forward, turning his gaze toward the window. “I can’t decide if you’re stupid or suicidal.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Or both.”

“Commander--”

“I said quiet.” Ren didn’t even glance at you. “Disrespect for my Wife is as unacceptable as disrespect for myself.” Another pause. “Had I anything less than pity for you, you’d be slated to hang tomorrow.”

You didn’t dare move. But speech was a different story. “You speak to your Wife that way all the time.”

He frowned, turning his glare on you. “I am the Commander of this home,” he said. “I can speak to whomever however I please. That includes you.” His eye twitched. “Especially you.”

The notion hardened your stomach to a rock. “Why?” you asked. “Because I’m a Handmaid?”

“Yes.” Ren stepped toward you, rounding the end of your bed. “Precisely that reason.” The fury in his gaze was red steel. Like a naive or stupid child, you found yourself wanting to reach out and touch it.

The problem was, he’d already threatened to kill you. But he’d also said something peculiar--had I anything less than pity--and you wanted to pounce on it like an liferaft in a storm. Anything, anything at all to give you respite from the endless, howling winds.

“You shouldn’t let her talk to me that way, then.”

He raised a brow. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why not?” you asked. “We’re both basically your property. Shouldn’t you at least do your job and keep her from trying to kill me?”

“What she does is of no concern to me.”

“That’s not fair,” you said, and realized your voice had become far too loud. Tensing your jaw, you lowered the volume. “She doesn’t get to do whatever she wants--”

“You’re right.” Ren was closer, now. The restrained rage in his body radiated from him like heat. “She doesn’t. And neither do you.” His tone changed--as if he were reciting something. “Your roles are designed to fulfill different functions. Separate and equal--’

You wanted to snarl. He was reciting something. You’d heard it approximately five-thousand times before. “That’s bullshit!” you hissed. Whoops. Forgot about the volume control.

But your Commander hadn’t. “Watch your mouth, little bird,” he growled, from the depths of his chest. “Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t done?”

Perhaps he’d had a point when he’d first walked in. Perhaps you were a bit suicidal. In a way, all Handmaids were. Even in the Red Center, you didn’t know a single one who hadn’t found her own way to shirk the rules, fly under the figurative radar like a weightless shadow. A subconscious, passive death wish was the only real explanation as to why some of you hoarded butter, why others would harvest threads from gilded rugs for hidden hair decoration, and why the strangest--like you--would openly, willingly talk back to their Commanders, challenging not only them, but Gilead itself.

Even still, you sunk further into the bed, hoping the mattress might swallow you before you had an opportunity to finish your thoughts. “It is, though.” Nope. No swallowing yet. “I’m the one who can produce children. She’s pointless. If anything, I’m superior to her!”

Your Commander cleared the distance between you in two brusque steps, his strong hand darting out to snatch you by the collar of your night gown, tearing you up from the bed. When he did, your hair--grown out past your breasts now from years of being denied a trim, and straightened because it was demanded (“manageability”)--tumbled in a thick spiral over your shoulder, brushing over his knuckles as if to pacify him. And it did. Or, did something of the sort.

Ren had stopped, paralyzed, his lungs as empty as yours. His pupils, already blown wide in the darkness, swelled, sucking in light, consuming any hint of hazel left in his iris. Those black eyes wound around each follicle of hair as what little light there was shimmered over the exposed strands. Those same eyes followed the trail up to your scalp, inspecting the tufts of fine hair that stuck to your temples with sweat. His throat knocked. The fingers coiled in your gown tightened.

His gaze drifted to yours. He was helpless. Hypnotized. And then his mouth crashed into yours.

It was, at first, like kissing a wall of stone--he was hard and cold and unyielding, forcing his lips against yours. The shock of it left you just as limp, watching his lids flutter shut, his brow knit in confusion and lust. A Commander kissing his Handmaid? And not just kissing. No. The wall of stone warmed under your touch--his mouth moving, now, devouring you, his hand trembling at your sternum as he moved forward, easing you back onto the bed. He followed you, a reflection, a shadow, an elbow caging you under him as strong fingers sifted through your hair.

Skin on scalp sent a rush of tingles through your nerves, and your lips parted in a soft, unexpected moan. Ren took this as an invitation, his tongue slipping into your mouth, his knees straddling your thighs. You’d forgotten, you thought--forgotten how to kiss, forgotten what to feel or how to move. How strange that kissing now seemed more intimate than actual sex, like the rules had been reversed. Blood flooded your flesh, from your face to your toes, steamed with excitement. The laws didn’t apply to the feral desire of your body.

Part of you screamed to move, to writhe under him, to entice him with breathy, wanton gasps--the other part was frozen in confusion. This went beyond the obligation to reproduce, beyond empty, aggressive fucking. This was passion. This was need.You didn’t know how to respond to something like this--something real. At the very least, you might able to leverage it later. So you went along.

Color seeped into your greyscale skin, turning you bright against his body, and you groaned, finally, finally kissing him back. Ren grunted, his fingers catching in your hair, cradling your head while his tongue slid over yours, his breath hot--he moved closer, emboldened by your encouragement. You decided to encourage him further, defying every single minute of your education, and raised your shaking hands to his head, combing your fingers through the waves of his thick, black hair.

He gasped, tongue delving deeper, and you fought with him, moaning into his mouth. God, it felt incredible to touch him--to have your digits buried in his hair, to feel his body so huge and heavy over your own. You tilted your head, your hunger for him growing fangs, your hips bucking up to him, his erection painfully hard, even through the layers of fabric. Lust streaked through you--you wanted him. You needed him.

Ren’s hand--the one not tangled in your hair--pawed at the neckline of your nightgown, tugging it down, before giving up and fussing with the buttons. But his fingers were too slippery, his mind pre-occupied, and he snarled against your mouth, wrenching at the fabric--stopping at the sound of ripped stitches.

“Shit.” He sat back on his knees, to your honest dismay. You couldn’t imagine what you looked like--your white nightgown bathed in blue light, your hair askew, your chest heaving and nipples poking into the fabric--but you imagined it must have been pleasing. Ren fumbled at his belt, and then his pants, before pulling free his thick, long cock. “Shit…”

Your jaw dropped. There was no way to avoid it. He looked massive, even in his own hand--even as he teased himself, guiding his fist back and forth over his length. You whined, clenching, unable to close your mouth, your gaze darting between his eyes and his dick. He was watching you--his irises crackled with desire, a tiny smirk appearing while he stroked his cock faster. You were sapped of anything but breath, fingers dancing at the thought of touching him again, your brain spinning with possibility. If only you could touch it. If only you could--maybe you could--

Biting your lip, you raked your gaze over his body, over the swatches of exposed flesh near his thighs and stomach, over the broad, strong chest threatening to burst through his shirt, over those goddamn collarbones, now shiny with sweat, to meet his stare. The connection was lightning, singeing you at the seams, Ren’s gaze consuming you with more ferocity than his mouth. In fact, the staring contest only seemed to turn him on more--his chest swelled with broken breath, smirk curling as he jerked his cock.

You grinned, wetting your lips. “Please, Commander,” you murmured. “Let me suck your cock.”

Something snapped. Ren stopped, his hand stuck on his dick, his eyes aimed at you, his face falling while he dragged himself back into reality. His brow furrowed. He was unblinking. Every blood cell in your body screeched to a stop.

Fuck. You’d fucked up.

“Commander, I--”

“You slut.” His tone was edged in ire. “First, you disrespect my Wife…” He narrowed his eyes. “Now you want to waste my seed in that disgusting mouth of yours?”

Oh, shit. You hadn’t been thinking. Of course, you hadn’t been thinking.

“As I said when I stepped in here,” he said, tearing your skirt up above your waist. You shivered. “You have a role.” He hooked his fingers into the waist of your underwear, yanking them down over your hips, your ass, your thighs. You were dead weight in his hands, too nervous to move. “I suppose I need to remind you what that role is.” Warm fingers skimmed the sensitive folds of your pussy, spreading them as they passed. “Shit.”

Ren leaned back over you, forearm framing your face, his other hand reaching to stroke his cock. His breath was shallow. The head of his dick pressed at you, pushing you apart, and you whimpered, clenching before he even entered you. You were quaking--and he hissed through his teeth before he sank into you, letting loose a low, deep groan as your wet cunt swallowed his cock. Pleasure smacked you--he stretched you so wide, filled every crevice--and a pathetic, mewling moan escaped.

“You are,” he said, rattled, “a vessel.” Another breath through his teeth before he pulled out and plunged in again, still unable to smother his groans. “Your only purpose is to take my cock and my cum.” His cock throbbed at the base, pulsing as he drove in deep. “Like the good little slut you are.”

Your chin quivered, your walls squeezing him when he started fucking you faster. There was a balance, at first, between the business-like sex you’d had during the Ceremony and the pounding you’d taken over a week earlier: he panted in an even rhythm, his hips connecting with yours, his eyes drilling you, taunting you.

But without his Wife to temper him, the faster he moved, the wilder he became, unable to resist the tight heat of your pussy, unable to fight the fire that drove him to kiss you in the first place. You were quiet, tiny noises squeaking from your chest, your hands burning to grab his hair and run it over your fingers. Ren growled, hammering your cunt, and you couldn’t stop yourself--you gripped his arms, throwing your hips into his, your jaw falling open in bliss.

This seemed to spur him further--his growl evolved into a snarl, and he snatched your wrists, pinning them above your head and baring his teeth while he pumped into you. “Slut,” he hissed. “Remember--” a vicious, painful thrust, “--your--” and another, “--place.” He rammed your cervix, and you dug into your lip, silencing a scream.

His thrusting was merciless, now, his breath ragged, and you--you were gone. The power of his hips numbed any input but pleasure, and you stared up at him, witless, writhing, unable to comprehend how good he was making you feel when his fingers weren’t even on your clit. A moan leaked out--but he hated this, too. Ren’s other hand clamped around your neck like a vice.

“Be.” He slammed into you. “Quiet.” And again.

You nodded, gulping under his palm, unwilling to point out that the force of his body was knocking the bed frame into the wall, creating a rapid, angry thunk-thunk-thunk as his dick pounded your pussy. Blood built in the tunnels of your ears, in your temples--the heat bringing tears to your eyes--and you gasped against him, swallowing hard, clenching and pulsing around his cock while he fucked you into the mattress.

“Fuck.” Ren buried his face in your neck, breathing sweat onto your skin, his grip on your wrists tightening, his thumb toying with your pulse. “You love taking this cock, don’t you?” He was talking himself toward cumming. “That needy little cunt begs to get fucked.” You nodded, walls contracting around his cock, and he choked. “It begs to be--shit--filled with my cum--fuck… fuck!”

Hips jerking, Ren’s lips crushed yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth when he came. Groans were snuffed, remnants escaping into you, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside of your pussy. He continued to kiss you, false-thrusting while his climax receded, and he released your neck and wrists.

As he pulled away, panting, sweat slid down a loose curl, a glint of light in the darkness, and dripped onto your skin. You thought it might sizzle--you tingled as if you’d cum, too, though you knew you hadn’t. The sheer weight of lust in the room had you dizzy and euphoric. Your lips buzzed.

He slipped out, easing back onto his heels, scrutinizing you with an emotion you couldn’t name. Frowning, he wiped his mouth and tucked himself away, tossing your skirt back over your legs, and standing. You could only watch him, elated he’d fucked you--elated that he’d revealed his weakness. Some awful, twisted part of him valued you.

Ren walked to the door, reached for the knob--and then faced you, spearing you with his stare. “Tell me what you are, little bird,” he whispered.

You couldn’t help it. You smirked. “A vessel, sir,” you replied.

His gaze fell to the floor. “Yes,” he said. “Good.” Then he opened the door, and he was gone.

The sound of his footsteps was soft, like leather crossing a bed of wet leaves. You listened to them, growing more and more distant, until there was only silence. Until the only sound was your quiet, triumphant breath.