Warnings: spanking, dub con, non con, overstimulation, fingering
**If I have missed tagging anything please let me know and I will fix it**
Summary: Ushijima punishes you for being bratty after he's had a rough day.
Word Count: 1308
As a reminder I'm still pretty rusty at writing smut, so if you have any critiques or advice I'm all ears.
Ushijima hated punishing you, he preferred to have discussions about your behaviour and work out ways together that you could fix it. But today had been rough for him, and coming back home to you behaving like a petulant child rather than the loving homemaker he wanted you to be was the last straw.
He allowed no excuses to fall from your lips, immediately grabbing you and dragging you into the bedroom. He sat himself down on the bed and then pulled you down over his lap. You immediately knew what he was planning and began to struggle, trying to get off his lap, babbling out anything you could think of to make him reconsider, apologies, promises, anything.
“Do not make this worse for yourself, you have been misbehaving lately and corrective action is needed,” He spoke in a sombre tone, but there was a hint of annoyance, and you knew there would be no getting out of this punishment. “You are going to receive 10 hits, once we are finished we will discuss your behaviour in further detail and decide what needs to change going forward. Do you understand?”
You simply nodded your head, bracing yourself for what was to come. Jumping when you felt his hand touch your butt, gently caressing you.
“I need to hear you, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” You braced yourself for the swift hit that you knew was coming, tensing up waiting for the blow to land. The minutes ticked by, and slowly you relaxed yourself, giving yourself a moment to breathe.
It was then that the first harsh blow came. It startled you, ripping a harsh scream from your throat. You tried to jerk away but Ushijima’s other hand came up to hold you in place. The hand that landed the blow remained, gently soothing the area. Slowly the hand crept up until his fingers rested on your waistband, quickly looping his fingers under it he pulled down your pants, followed quickly by your underwear, leaving you bare from the waist down, completely exposed to him.
He once again soothed you, until the pain became a dull ache and you began to relax again. Once he felt you relax he took his hand away, and you tensed up again in anticipation for the next strike.
“I need you to relax, I do not wish for this to hurt you more than it needs to, and if you are tense it will only hurt more.”
He waited a moment until you relaxed again before bringing his hand down again, this time ripping a sob from you.
You tried to stop yourself but the tears kept coming. He worked to soothe you again, waiting until he deemed you relaxed enough before the next hit came. And the next, and the next. He completed the cycle again and again until he had delivered the 10 hits he promised.
By the time he was finished you were sobbing and trembling in his lap, hands clenching his pants as you sought out anything you could to ground yourself, to escape the pain.
He was gentle in his motions as he soothed your sore backside, gently rubbing some cream into it to help with the ache. He continued soothing you, even calmly speaking to you, telling you how good you did, how much he hated seeing you in pain. You tried to tune him out, not wanting to listen to him, just trying to calm yourself down.
Eventually your tears stopped and you began to fully relax, you began shifting, trying to get off of his lap, but he held you still, keeping you in place. It was confusing, your punishment was over, he should have let you go, and given you a bit of space, then in a bit he would come in and have a ‘discussion’ about your behaviour, then it was all over, so why was he keeping you in his lap.
Your question was answered when you felt his fingers gradually drift lower, until they slipped down to your inner thighs, you involuntarily clenched your thighs together, causing him to pause for a moment.
“Relax.” He sighed when you didn’t, simply prying your legs apart and continuing.
He gently brushed his fingers against your lower lips, testing to see how wet you were. Finding you not wet enough he brought his fingers to your mouth, and gave a simple order, ‘Suck’, which you did, simply wanting to get this over with.
Once his fingers were wet enough he removed them from your mouth and brought them back down to your lower lips, pressing one inside, followed quickly by the other. The stretch burned, but didn’t hurt too bad, you were used to Ushijima rushing prep. He found a rhythm fairly quickly, and before you knew it he was pressing against that spot inside you that had you letting out a moan before you could stop yourself.
It seemed as though Ushijima liked that and shifted you slightly to get a better angle before pressing his fingers back inside, setting up the same rhythm but aiming for the spot he had grazed earlier.
The stimulation quickly had you moaning, and trying to press back into his fingers, seeking more stimulation. However Ushijima was careful in maneuvering in a way so that you couldn’t get any additional pressure or stimulation from your wiggling.
“If you want something you should ask. Communication is the cornerstone of an effective and long lasting relationship.”
“Please, please, I need more, please.” You just needed a bit more, just a bit more stimulation and you were sure you would be able to come, the pleasure that he was drawing out of you was far overshadowing the pain you had felt earlier, and you just wanted to chase your high.
“More? In what way? Should I touch you here?” He removed his fingers from you and you almost whined at the loss, until he brought them to your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you seeing stars. You were rocketing towards your orgasm, right on the edge, but suddenly his fingers were gone. “Hmm, is that what you wanted?”
“Yes, yes, please.” You were embarrassed by how quickly you gave into him, but the pleasure he could give you was so much better than the alternative.
Suddenly the fingers were back, pressing into you setting an unforgiving pace, never faltering to hit that spot inside that had you seeing stars, his other hand moved from pinning you down to harshly rub at your clit. The combination had you coming apart for him almost immediately, you let out a loud moan, your toes curling and back arching, pushing you further into his fingers. He slowed down, helping you ride out the high before picking up the pace from earlier.
You tried to push his hands away, it was too much, but you were much weaker than him, barely able to do anything.
“Please stop, it’s too much.” The overstimulation was quickly pushing you towards another orgasm, and you weren’t sure you had the stamina for it, you were already exhausted and were almost certain you couldn’t handle another.
He didn’t stop or falter, not even slowing down at your words, keeping up his pace. You quickly came apart for him again, tensing before falling against him, practically boneless from all the stimulation.
Once again he slowed down to work you through your orgasm before picking up the pace again.
“Too much, too much, please Ushijima, it’s too much.” You tried to reason with him, but he didn’t stop. “Please, how much more?” You just needed to know how much longer you needed to hold yourself together for, you could probably get through one more orgasm before it truly became too much.
“Eight more, 10 hits, 10 orgasms to even things out.”
This is my contribution for the BNHarem’s Villain/Hero Swap!AU this month! The masterlink can be found here, put together by the lovely @candychronicles.
So, uh... Wow. A lot to unpack here. I branched out of my comfort zone... a lot... and thoroughly enjoyed it. PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS!!! Okay, on that note, I hope you enjoy this.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: 18+ NSFW, noncon to dubcon, cropping (noncon), tickle torture (noncon), rough sex/deep penetration, cum stuffing, alcohol consumption, bondage (chains), dirty talk/degradation, overstimulation, manipulation, unhealthy dynamics (obviously), reader has hair long enough to cover her face & grab.
IMPORTANT: If there is anything you feel I’ve missed with these warnings, please let me know so I can fix it. This is new territory for me, so I’m learning as I go.
Nicknames used: Sir, “Fangirl” (it’ll make sense in the fic)
Synopsis: Sure, the world might be falling apart. Villains are running amok, society is crumbling... But you flourish in the chaos, utilizing your special quirk to gather intel on powerful villains for profit. You’ve always been successful, always been smart, and, most importantly, never gotten caught. That is, until now...
Pairing: Villain!Nighteye x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 7840 (including @lady-bakuhoe‘s lovely introduction)
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“Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.
Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?
Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary. One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.”
You clicked off the remote and your dark reflection stared back at you from the black TV screen. Your cat leaped up to join you on the couch, and you pet her backside, her butt rising in pleasure.
“Well, you heard him.” You said to the feline. “Curfew. That means you’ll be indoors for tonight.”
She rubbed her head against your hand with a purr, and you obliged with another gentle caress down her back.
As for you, the curfew was more of a… suggestion. One that you would pay little attention to. After all, all of your best work happened at night, when the more serious villains came out of the woodwork to run their shady deals under the cover of dark.
Besides, the likelihood of getting caught was slim to nil. Not only were you very good at what you did, but, as the news anchor rightly stated, the heroes were worn thin. Very thin. They’d be more busy dealing with the wide variety of villains wreaking havoc across the city instead of the very few civilians who always managed to slip through the cracks. With a smirk on your face and a soft peck to your cat’s head, you left your apartment.
The night was warm and humid, making your skin sweat in your black clothes. You hunched down against the rooftop, peaking over the edge as you stared down at the group of villains gathered below you. The pupil of your quirk-evolved eye dilated like a camera lens, zooming and refocusing on the faces below you.
There he was. His hair lit by the yellow light above the alleyway door, dark green hair streaked with strands of yellow. He had a stern, narrow face, framed in a furrowed brow and gold-wired glasses. You couldn’t get a good view of it at the moment, but you knew his eyes were yellow, likely an effect of his quirk.
Sir Nighteye. Or, as you had come to learn, Mirai Sasaki. You were familiar with his face now, his mannerisms. That was your job, after all… to discover the faces and names behind the higher-level villains who kept their identities under wraps as they controlled black markets and moved their lackeys like disposable pawns. Sir Nighteye in particular was of special interest to many; his crime organization was the largest, with an uncannily high success rate of illegal activity, effectively sidestepping the law and rival gangs on a regular basis. No matter the situation, no matter the odds, Nighteye’s Syndicate always seemed to be two steps ahead. And whereas many other crime groups were made up of violent, unsavory dimwitted thugs, particularly within the lower ranks, The Syndicate was different. The individuals that worked under him were each carefully selected for their quirks and their intelligence all the way down the chain of command to the simple errand runners. It was a well-oiled machine, raking in billions of dollars in illegal trades and hidden investments and Mirai Sasaki was at the center of it.
Which is why you wanted him. There was no bigger fish worth catching than this man with his strange, yellow eyes and stern jaw.
You were a freelancer, codename Shutter, providing intel for the highest bidder through the use of your Camera Eye quirk. It was a handy quirk to have, subtle and allowing for the illusion of an innocent civilian in a line of work where one often preferred to go unnoticed. It was also handy for situations such as these, where the cover of darkness and nimbleness were your only weapons.
You blinked rapidly, the action capturing detailed pictures of the group below. Later, you’d return to your apartment and upload the images to your computer using the port located just behind your ear. Surely, these images would catch you a pretty penny, whether it be the police force or a rival villain. With the money you could receive from this, you’d be rich enough to leave this god forsaken country and begin somewhere new. Somewhere where you wouldn’t have to fear for your life at every turn of the corner, where the sounds of explosions in the night weren’t a normal occurrence. A place where you could find peace.
Or at least that’s what you told yourself. But you’d been watching Nighteye for some time, and you had yet to make any effort to turn a profit from the images you gathered. Instead, countless pictures sat on your table at home, private and secretive.
You couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it was the fear of success, of starting somewhere new, where your own morally questionable skills might be less valuable.
Or perhaps it was him.
There was just… something… different about him. Something that kept drawing you back to him, risking life and limb just to get another glimpse of him. His silence, his sternness, his arrogance. Surely, that last feature was a bit more subdued compared to other villains you’d watched, but it was there, evident in the way he looked down at his subordinates… or anyone, for that matter. Normally, you didn’t really fear villains that much… You were pretty adept at avoiding them and making sure they never saw you. But him? A chill ran down your spine at the thought of it. Every inch of you knew that you did not want to cross paths with him. He was dangerous. He was lethal.
He was staring right at you.
Before you could react, the impact of something hard struck the back of your head, making your world go black.
________________
You awoke to your head pounding, orange light painting the inside of your eyelids. Your mind swam in a heavy fog, disoriented as you struggled to gather your thoughts. You lifted your head with a groan and opened your eyes only to squeeze them shut again against the harsh white light that assaulted your pupils.
A groan escaped your lips. Fuck, your head hurt... You struggled to touch the tender spot with your hand, but immediately felt the resistance of warm, hard metal around your wrists, pinching your skin. Panic set in and the fog began to clear as you realized that your hands were bound together, arms stretched high above your head. You could feel your body sway slightly, even though you felt hard ground beneath your feet. You were attached to… something. It was the only thing holding you upright, preventing you from slumping to the floor in a disoriented heap.
What had happened last? What was the last thing you remembered? The place where those memories should be was empty.
“You’re finally awake,” said a voice. It was smooth, calm. And entirely unrecognizable.
Once again, you opened your eyes, this time keeping them open as you tried to adjust to the brightness despite the pounding behind your sockets. The blinding white of the bulb shining on you drowned out the room you were in. You felt like a fish in a bowl. All you could see was your own body and a cement floor covered in dark stains.
“Wh… where am I?” you finally mumbled, your words slurred and groggy. “Who are you?”
The voice didn’t answer. Your eyes finally focused just enough to make out a tall, lean form past the bright haze that trapped your visual field. Recognition finally dawned when he stepped into your cage of light, yellow eyes trained on you with cold, lethal intent.
You gasped, your heartrate spiking as panic filled you. No no no, you weren’t supposed to be here! You tugged frantically against the constraints, attempting to back away from him, but the balls of your feet were barely touching the ground, unable to gather any traction before sliding back to the midline where you were suspended. Your eyes looked up at the chains wrapped around your wrist and realized you were attached to a large, dangling hook. You were hung like an animal for slaughter, and he, of all people, was to be your butcher.
“Who am I?” he echoed. “What a foolish question. Surely you must know the answer since you’ve been watching me for some time.”
He stopped his advance a foot away from you and stood rigid as a statue, his hands behind his back. He wore a light suit with a black dress shirt, complimented with a deep green tie that matched his dark hair. The dress pocket held a yellow kerchief decorated in green polka dots, while shining black dress shoes adorned his feet. For all intents and purposes, he looked ready for a night on the town rather than an evening of torture.
Sir Nighteye was tall. Incredibly tall. He towered over you, his blazing eyes staring down at you with such a cold ruthlessness that you felt yourself buckling beneath his presence instantly.
“Please…” you pleaded, your voice small and frightened. “Please let me go.”
“Let you go?” he echoed again with a tilt of his head. “You must be joking. If so, it is a terrible joke. And I. Dislike. Bad. Jokes.”
You flinched under each word, once again attempting to back away from him even though you knew it was futile.
“I’m sorry. Please, I just-”
“Silence.” He cold tone tightened your throat as effectively as if it were his own hand. Slowly, he began to pace around you. “Let us establish some ground rules. First, you shall refer to me as ‘Sir.’”
He left your field of view and you could feel his presence behind you, dangerously close.
“Second, you shall remain silent unless given permission to speak.” His eyes were on you, raking over every inch of you. You couldn’t see it, but you sure as hell could feel it.
“Third…” he came back within your field of view. “You will answer every single one of my questions, truthfully and thoroughly. If you fail to follow these rules, then the punishments will be swift and without mercy. And if I do not like your answers… then I’ll kill you.”
Your head was hung low, tears clinging to your lashes. You felt the touch of something cold and smooth under your chin and it pushed your head up until you were looking into yellow eyes.
“Do we have an understanding?” he finished. The question was rhetorical of course, cruel and intended to mock. There were no choices here. No understandings. It angered you; this display of power, this pretentious performance. Even so, you gave a silent nod in affirmation. Sir Nighteye narrowed his eyes at you. “That is not a sufficient answer.”
“Yes…” you whispered.
Something whipped hard against the outside of your thigh, and a stinging pain blossomed, causing you to cry out.
“Yes what?” he demanded.
In his hand he held a riding crop, black and sleek. So that was what he was keeping behind his back…
“Yes, Sir.” You emphasized.
“Good.” He began pacing around you again. “First question. What is your name?”
By this point, you knew that no matter what answers you gave, you were only leaving this place one way – in a body bag. The only reason you were still alive was because he assumed you were working with someone, providing them information. As soon as he found out you weren’t, and that no one would be looking for you, he’d waste no time in disposing of you.
You clenched your jaw. “Shutter.” You replied.
CRACK!
Another sting to your other thigh made you cry out.
“I did not ask for your alias.” he replied.
The action was meant to quell you, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Rage boiled beneath your skin, tangling with the fear already nesting there and morphing into a thin sliver of rebellion. It slithered its way past your common sense, taking over your tongue.
“You didn’t specify, sir.”
Your cheeky response earned another crack of the black leather, this time against the curve of your ass. You fought back the cry this time, sucking in air through your teeth. You breathed through the pain as you struggled to regain control. As far as torture went, this wasn’t too bad, right? At least he wasn’t cutting off fingers or busting teeth…
“Speaking out of turn.” He stated. “What is your real name?”
“No one.” You replied.
Another crack, this time less forgiving as it struck across your back. Before you could even recover from the shock of pain, you felt Nighteye’s hand grab a fistful of your hair and tilt your head up to look at him. He was close enough now that you could smell his cologne and see the beads of sweat on his brow from the warm bright light above him. You stared up at him defiantly through the fresh tears on your lashes from his latest assault.
“You must think this is a game and that I’m a fool.” He said calmly. “I will be more than happy to hand you over to one of my more violent personnel, if this interrogation isn’t to your liking.”
Your defiance wavered, fear flashing across your eyes. You hadn’t considered that option… you had hoped he’d just get frustrated and shoot you. You were as good as dead anyway, and if you were going to die, might as well make sure it’s swift and preferably without all the maiming.
Nighteye caught the panic in your eyes and smiled. It was subtle, the smallest curve of his stoic lips.
“That’s what I thought.” He murmured. His eyes peered at you for a long moment, assessing you. His free hand came up to gently stroke your cheek just below your camera eye. “Perhaps a different approach would be more suited for you.”
He stepped back and adjusted the light so that it no longer shined directly into your eyes. Finally, you could see the space you were in.
The room was shockingly large, and oddly arranged. A large desk was positioned on the other side of the room, simple in its ornateness. Along its top sat a row of small, black items that looked like round stamps. Behind his desk sat a high-backed leather chair, while two simpler leather chairs sat in front of it. Dark wooden bookshelves lined the wall behind the desk, and a serving cart was situated nearby, with ornate crystal glassware and different shades of alcohol in decanters.
But between yourself and the desk sat a round, metal table. This in and of itself wouldn’t have been suspicious, aside from its unusual height. But that much was to be expected, considering who the space belonged to. It could easily be a space used to conduct business with multiple parties, perhaps over a game of cards or a private meal. Except this table had no chairs around it. And, you noticed with a squint, its metal column base was bolted to the floor. It gave you a deep sinking feeling in your gut and you swallowed.
What sort of man had his goddamn torture chambers a part of his office? Did he really torture people that often? Or was it used to intimidate? Did his just sit at his desk and admire the bloodstains on the concrete floor with a glass of whiskey? It was twisted. It was threatening.
And very effective. You were already regretting your bratty, defiant behavior. What were you thinking?? This was the Sir Nighteye. Even the best villains didn’t want to cross paths with him.
Nighteye walked away from you, and you watched as a he meticulously removed his suit coat and draped it over his leather chair. He briefly poured himself a drink of something clear before taking a sip and leaving the glass on the empty round table. As he approached you, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and carefully rolled them up to his elbows as he watched you.
“Tell me, no one,” he pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, the light reflecting off of the lenses. “Are you ticklish?”
Your body immediately tightened like a coil as you stared at him with wide, confused eyes.
“W-what??” you stumbled. This was not at all what you were expecting. What sort of kinky bastard was he??
“Did you know…” Nighteye drawled, “that being ticklish is a reflex?”
He was in your space now, standing before you with a fresh glint of excitement trapped beneath his cold exterior.
“In fact, it’s been used as an effective form of torture throughout human history.” He began to pace around you again, except this time, his large hand delicately brushed across your torso in a slow, gentle caress. “It can lead to loss of consciousness due to lack of oxygen, urination, not to mention the psychological damage… It’s effective in its impact and has the added benefit of not leaving evidence of physical harm.”
By the time he stopped behind you, you were shaking like a leaf. His hand left your waist to cup your jaw as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin. “You thought that violence was the only weapon in my repertoire. But you simply lack imagination. So. Shall we try this again?”
You gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“So compliant now.” His hand released you. “What a shame.”
He paced back around to face you. “What is your name?”
You tell him.
“And what is your quirk?”
“I can take pictures with my eye and upload them to a computer.” You replied.
He took your chin in his hand, and stared down at your eye, forcing you to look at him. You couldn’t help but notice the sharp line of his jaw, his cheeks, the point of his nose… This was your first time seeing him so closely, and you couldn’t deny that he was attractive.
You hated it. It made you feel sick. What the hell was wrong with you that you would focus on that of all things in a moment like this?
“How does it work?”
His question cut through your thoughts and you were back in the moment, him holding your face as he stared at it like a puzzle box he wanted to open.
“I can focus my eye like a camera lens, and when I blink it takes pictures. I upload the images using the port behind my ear.”
As you expected, he turned your head with one hand and bent the pinna of your ear forward to inspect the port there.
“And you’ve used this on me?” Nighteye demanded.
You swallowed hard and nodded.
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he began circling you again. His steps echoed off of the walls in the room, their reverberations sending goosebumps along your skin.
“Have you shared these images with anyone?” He asked.
You shook your head vigorously. “No.” you answered.
It came unexpectedly. His fingers danced on your torso and your body convulsed as irrepressible laughter bubbled past your lips. The deft digits pulled shrieks and pleas, giggles and gasps as your nerves erupted with the uncontrollable need to escape the assault. It was overwhelming. Invasive. Just as quickly as they came, his fingers vanished, leaving you gasping and panting.
“First, you forget that the rules are still in place. Second, you expect me to believe that you have been taking photos of me for weeks but haven’t given them to anyone?”
“I’m sorry…” you gasped. “I swear I haven’t given them to anyone!”
Your pleas were ignored as Nighteye continued to question you. “Who do you work for?”
“No one, sir.” You replied.
But that answer didn’t satisfy either, and once again, Nighteye’s hands were upon you, dancing ruthlessly across your skin until you were sure your body would explode from the tension, your chest burning with the need for oxygen. When he finally relented, your body hung limp as shudders coursed through you. Sweat dripped down your face, your neck, pooling between your breasts and itching your back. Your head reeled as you gulped air in heavy gasps.
Nighteye’s arm wrapped around you from behind, holding you close against his warm body, offering stability.
“Shhh…” he cooed. “Breathe. I can’t have you passing out on me just yet.”
Your body was exhausted, your heart pounding, and all you could sense was the heat of him against you, the strong grasp of his arm squeezing around your waist, and the pressure of his chin resting against your head. Your nerves twisted in confusion, feeling grounded against him and yet desperately wanting to escape.
“Please, sir…” you begged, but your words fell away as you continued to gasp for air.
“Focus.” His voice was low in your ear, the vibrations passing from his chest into yours. “I’m going to ask you again, and you had better choose your words carefully this time. Who do you work for?”
Your heart pounded with panic as tears fell down your cheeks.
“I don’t work for anyone, I swear it!” you cried. You heard him tsk in disappointment, and just as his hands placed themselves at your ribs again, new words – desperate words - spilled from your mouth. “I’m a freelancer!” you cried.
His fingers halted, frozen at your sides.
“Continue.” He ordered.
Your words ran fast and clumsily from your mouth. “I gather intel on high profile villains and sell them to the highest bidder.” You explained.
“And who do you sell your intel to?” he asked as he paced back around to face you.
“Anyone who will pay. Other villains. The police. Families who lost loved ones. Anyone.” You breathed.
“And who have you sold my photos to?”
You stared at Nighteye’s shining dress shoes as your body hung with exhaustion. “No one.” You answered. Then, you did something stupid. You lied. “I… I’ve been tracking you for a while, but none of my photos have been good enough to sell. Then you caught me.”
You weren’t sure why you lied. Of course you had photos of him. Tons of photos, many of them great quality. And you hadn’t tried to sell a single one. But for some reason, you didn’t want him to know that. There was something important there, something that you didn’t want to look too closely at yourself.
Something that needed to stay secret.
You looked up at him and instantly knew your words were a mistake. A coldness shrouded his expression darker than you’d ever seen until now, and you knew that you’d crossed a line.
Sir Nighteye was pissed.
“You disappoint me.” He said with narrowed eyes. He stepped away from you and went to his desk. He took another sip of his drink as he opened his drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. Then he made his way over not to where you were, but to the round table in the center of the room.
“You say you have no good photos of me.” He stated. “Then perhaps you could explain this.”
He opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of what could only be photographs and tossing them onto the table. They fanned out, spreading nearly the entire surface. You were too far away to see their contents, but you didn’t need to see them. You knew instantly what they were and who they belonged to.
A gasp escaped your lips. He had your photos. All of them. Which means he sent someone to your apartment to search and bring back evidence. Which means he already likely knew all your information. Your name, your address, what you had in your fridge, the color of your underwear… Your mind thought of your cat and you prayed that she was scared enough to hide quietly in the closet or under your bed.
You realized instantly that all of the questions leading up until now were tests. He was testing you, priming you for this very moment, and you’d failed. Miserably.
“Do you recognize these?” Sir Nighteye questioned. Once again, rhetorical, but by this point, his anger was palpable. He came towards you, his yellow eyes blazing like golden suns, and you cowered from him. “Perhaps you need a closer look.” He stated.
His long arms reached up and removed your chains from the hanging hook, only to ruthlessly drag you over to the table like an animal. You screamed and struggled against him, but he was surprisingly strong, your attempts at escape entirely futile. Once you reached the table, he grabbed you by the back of your neck and forced you down onto the table face first, your cheek pressed against the glossy photo paper.
“Tell me. Now do you recognize these?” he seethed.
“Yes!” you cried.
“And yet you lied to me about having them.”
“Yes!”
“Which leads me to believe that you have sold these to other parties.”
“No!”
Nighteye hoisted you back up by your neck and spun you around to face him.
“You’re done wasting my time.” He grabbed your face in his hand, fingers tight around your jaw. He was pressed against you, and his presence devoured your senses. Touch. Smell. Sight. He was everywhere. Omnipotent.
His thin mouth curled into a snarl. “I had thought we could do this in a civilized manner. However, that’s clearly not going to be the case. I hate having to resort to using my quirk, especially for such menial tasks. But I will get the information I seek, one way or another.”
His once yellow eyes turned purple, the whites of his eyes black. You stared at the strange shape of his glowing irises, spinning like a wheel cog, frozen and terrified. You had no idea what Nighteye’s quirk was, or what it would do to you. Were you going to be forced to spill all of the dirty secrets you kept locked away in your mind? Was no thought safe? Or was it going to be some form of torture, filled with excruciating, unforgivable pain?
He stared for a long moment, his stern expression frozen in a stoic mask. Finally, the purple and black faded from his eyes, giving way once again to his yellow irises. His strong brow was furrowed slightly lower than before, and he was oddly quiet compared to his temperament not a moment prior.
“Interesting.” Was all he murmured as his eyes locked on your slightly parted lips.
His eyes flicked back to yours before spinning you back around to face the table. Without a word, he grabbed the chains attached to your wrists and walked around to the opposite end of the metal surface. With a sharp tug, you collapsed on top of the photos, and within a matter of seconds he had somehow secured the chain beneath the table. When he stepped away, you struggled to pull against it, but of course it made no difference. You were trapped. No wonder the base was bolted to the floor.
He certainly liked his toys...
You waited with bated breath, watching him as best you could from your compromising position against the hard surface. He paid no mind. Instead, he walked over to his desk and took a sip of his drink, slowly rolling the liquid over his tongue before swallowing it. You watched the bob of his Adam’s apple, and felt a strange heat roll across your flesh. The action was oddly… sensual, and you once again felt the same shame from earlier bubble to the surface.
You were attracted to him. Why?? Even after all he’d done to you so far, even with the knowledge that he was likely going to kill you at the end of all of this, a part of you… some sick part of you still wanted him.
You stared at the man in front of you, your view of him tilted from your position against the table. His eyes were unfocused, staring in the distance as he quietly sipped at his beverage, and from your angle you could follow the line of his sharp jaw, the curve of his lips over the rim of his glass... you felt the urge to blink, to capture the moment and add it to the memories trapped beneath your body. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut against the sight as if that would make any difference, as if you weren’t just thinking about what it would feel like to graze your teeth sensually against his Adam’s apple, or trail kisses along his jaw.
No.
You shifted uncomfortably, and the corners of the various photos trapped beneath your body poked and stabbed you through your clothes, their contents mocking your denial. You were fucked. You were truly, utterly fucked.
“Are you aware of what a time paradox is?” Nighteye questioned. He didn’t bother giving you time to answer. “A time paradox occurs when an event in the future impacts the past which results in that future. More specifically, it’s called a causal loop.”
He set his now-empty glass down on his desk. “My quirk works in a similar fashion. It allows me to see into the future of whoever’s eyes I stare into. A rather handy skill for a business such as mine. But it begs the question – does the viewing of the future create that future? If I don’t peak beyond time, would that future still occur? After all, viewing what will happen will make one want to either work with it or against it. But the future is already written. So does it really matter?”
He fell silent for a moment, starting at his empty glass pensively. You remained silent, unwilling to partake in this conversation as he waxed philosophical.
“One thing I’ve learned is that the future can never, ever be changed. We can only prepare for what will inevitably happen and use what crumbs we’re given to clean up whatever’s left.”
His fingers ran gently over the tips of the small black stamp-like items that lined the edge of his desk. Slowly, he picked one of them up. Then another. And another. And finally, one more. You stared as you watched the muscles and tendons of his forearm tense under the strain. Whatever the items were, they appeared to be heavy, despite their deceivingly small size. And Nighteye, you had learned, was certainly not weak.
“Do you want to know what it was I saw in your future?” he inquired, his eyes finding yours.
“No...” you whispered.
He chuckled. “Smart girl. But irrelevant. The future will become the present soon enough.”
Terror filled your veins. You could feel it, the black precipice of the unknown looming over you, and you were powerless against it. You were powerless against him and his newfound knowledge.
Nighteye pushed himself off of the desk and made his way towards you, the items held securely within his fingers.
“I know now that you were telling the truth, as unbelievable as it is.” He gave a soft, derisive chuckle. “I also know how you feel about me. How you really feel about me.”
He reached you and stared down at you with a glint in his eye. “You’re nothing more than a fangirl.”
His words shocked you, and you snarled. “I am not!”
Nighteye smirked as he set the black items onto the table with a clunk. “All of these photos of me and never once did you try to turn a profit from them. Why?”
You froze, unable to answer, your tongue as heavy as the chains securing you.
Nighteye walked behind you, and a moment later you could feel the touch of cold, heavy metal through your shirt. It lightly dragged down the curve of your spine, and then disappeared, leaving your body shivering from the sensation, every nerve singing with traitorous need. A moment later, the familiar warmth of your own arousal began to dampen your panties.
No, no, no....
“What are you-?” you began, and then your breath hitched as you felt the cold metal return and sit just below your shoulder blade. The weight of it pushed down on you, holding you in place, but not enough to hurt. Any heavier, however, and you’d have been gasping for breath, your lungs suffocating under the weight.
“High density seals.” Nighteye explained. “A special design of mine, with a variety of uses.”
You tried to shift against the weight, but then another piece of cold metal skirted the skin of your exposed neck before settling just below your other shoulder blade, effectively pinning your chest to the table.
“You could have made quite a profit selling those images.” Nighteye continued. “You could have been long gone from here, away from the corruption that’s tearing away at this city, stone by stone. But you didn’t. Why?”
Cold metal kissed the skin of your lower back where your shirt had risen from Nighteye’s harsh treatment earlier, skirting along the edge of your pants before sliding back up your spine. It grazed over the welt left from his crop earlier, causing you to flinch, before settling onto your lower back.
You swallowed. “I-I don’t know...”
“You can do better than that...” he chided.
The fourth and final seal followed, gently and meticulously placed opposite to the previous one.
Now, you could barely move, your legs and hips the only free part of you left. The chains kept your arms outstretched, the weights on your back pinning your body against the table. If you weren’t already at his mercy before, you most certainly were now. He could do literally anything to you. Crop you. Tickle you...
...Fuck you.
You squeezed your eyes shut.
‘Stop it,’ you told yourself.
“I’m waiting...” he said sternly.
You head was swimming with confusion, arousal, and fear. Your breath began to come out in rapid gasps. Your thighs tensed together and your heart pounded in your chest as and you struggled to regain your focus. “I.... I guess I wanted to meet you.”
“Why?”
“Please... I d-don’t know. You’re just... different than all the others.”
“Keep talking. You’re almost there.” His words were taunting as he guided you to verbally express what you refused to acknowledge.
“You’re... smart. Cunning...”
“Attractive?” he offered.
You swallowed the saliva in your mouth and turned your head away from his piercing gaze in shame. Your hair fell into your face, blocking his view.
“Yes.” You whispered.
That single confession, spoken out loud, was what undid you. Hot tears spilled from your eyes, landing on the photos beneath you. Nighteye was right. You were obsessed with him. Had been for months. It was humiliating. Stupid. And in the end, it was going to be what got you killed. After all, if it weren’t for your unhealthy obsession of him, you would have cashed in on the photos and never looked back.
The soft touch of his fingers brushed against your cheek, pushing the hair from your face.
“Tell me, Fangirl...” Nighteye’s voice was low, husky. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”
You choked at his words and turned your face away from his touch.
He didn’t bother to pull the answer from you; your body language spoke just as loudly as your broken voice. Still, he enjoyed this... he enjoyed unravelling you, breaking you bit by bit until all of your pretty little puzzle pieces were on display for him. Only then could he truly appreciate what made you tick. And once he learned what made you tick, you’d be his. After all, you’d gathered far more images than he’d originally suspected, which was a testament to your skill. It’d be a shame to kill you.
And he knew he wouldn’t have to kill you.
Nighteye stared down at you, watching you shift uncomfortably beneath him. His pulse raced, knowing exactly what would happen next.
“You want me.” He mocked.
A sob escaped your throat, and you shook your head.
“Really?” he drawled in amusement.
You heard him shift, and his groin was pressed against you now, his body leaning over yours like a cage. You felt his lips brush your ear as he spoke, his breath hot on your skin.
“Then why can I smell you?” he whispered.
Your breath stopped in your throat. It was so fucking crude. Shocking, coming from his stern lips. Before you could even recover from your astonishment, his hands were on you, warm, long fingers wrapping around your hips as he pressed into you. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard and thick, nestled between the curves of your ass cheeks. You were frozen, waiting, trapped within his grasp while your mind screamed and your body begged. This was wrong. So wrong. But the feel of his hands on you was so satisfying.
Nighteye’s hands danced along the hem of your pants until his fingers hooked beneath the black fabric and the underwear beneath it.
“Stop...” you whispered hoarsely.
He didn’t. In a single, swift motion, he tugged it down, exposing your aching cunt to his hungry eyes. His hands cupped the globes of your ass cheeks, his touch like fire against your sensitive flesh, squeezing and massaging as he took in the sight of you, the smell of you...
You were intoxicating.
“Look how wet you are.” He crooned.
Nighteye’s thumbs reached down to spread apart your glossy, swollen lips, exposing the glistening juices and welcoming entrance. You gasped softly as he scooped a finger between your parted folds, gathering your nectar onto his finger. A moment later, you could hear the soft, lewd sound of him sucking the essence from his digit, followed by a low hum of approval. You whimpered.
He was tasting you.
Your clit was already swollen with need, and without hesitation, he pressed the pads of his fingers against it and rubbed gentle circles.
A forbidden moan escaped your lips, your hips shifting into his touch as best they could with your limited movement, even as your arms pulled tight against the chains. He could see the tension in the muscles of your neck, your shoulders, every inch of your body tearing itself apart at his touch.
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Fangirl?”
Nighteye’s fingers slipped into you, and your body provided no resistance, eager for his touch. He watched your face intently. Brows furrowed, trembling lips parted to release shaky breaths. His motions were slow, steady, precise. He relished in the way your body twitched and spasmed beneath him, thighs tensing and spreading with primal instinct as you arched your ass up to meet his touch. You were standing on the balls of your feet now like a cat in heat, your body practically begging him to fuck you.
You could feel the pressure building, the hot coil tightening. A hot haze began to fill your vision, drowning out your conscience in favor of visceral need.
Suddenly, his fingers were gone, and before you could form a rational thought, a needy whine escaped past your lips, pleading for more.
“What a little whore you are.” Nighteye’s words were vile, but his tone was tender. It slid over you like warm honey, making the poison of it more palatable so it could slip past your crumbling defenses.
You heard the sound of a belt buckle being undone, the zipper sliding down, the shuffling of clothing.
There was a pause, and his voice was near your ear again, his rough whisper sending goosebumps across your flesh as he brushed away the hair covering your neck. “I’ll give you what you need. And when I’m done, you will give me what I need. Loyalty.”
Somewhere in the haze of your mind, you realized you were nodding your head in agreement.
Oh God...
Then you felt him... the hot head of his cock dragging along your entrance and gathering your juices in a languid sweep. He froze there for a moment, cock prepped and ready at your waiting hole, as his hands gripped the meat of your hips firmly within his fingers.
He didn’t wait for you to beg. He entered with a thrust, burying himself to the hilt and ripping a cry from your drooling lips as your hands gripped the chain securing them, the skin of your knuckles drawn tight across the bones. He withdrew with torturing slowness, then plowed himself into your depths again, earning another shriek. Then he did it again. Out slowly, only to destroy you on his return. Steadily, he pace quickened, building up his thrusts into a gruesome pace until he was fucking you without mercy, cock buried deep as his girth dragged against your inner walls. It was violent. It was heartless.
It was fucking bliss.
All you could do was cling to your chains as the drool from your mouth pooled onto the photos pinned beneath your sweaty face.
Nighteye’s fingers gripped you with bruising force as he fucked you, but your barely noticed it. You were wrapped in a blissful fog, the world around you muffled into a low hum as every inch of your being focused on the pleasure of his cock, each thrust breathing life deep into your core. The secret seed of desire was finally being watered. You could feel it growing within you, a fresh bud that would soon blossom into an explosion of color, sound, and touch.
Nighteye released one hip to slip his hand between your legs, his fingers finding the pulsing key to your undoing. The blooming flower within you finally unfurled, petals opening in a burst of hot red and bright yellow, stripping you of your vision as you squeezed your eyes such against the onslaught. It rolled over you like the sun over the hot desert, scalding you and burning away whatever might have been left of your dignity.
Nighteye came with a deep, guttural groan, his hot cum coating your walls as he fucked you through his own orgasm, laying claim to every inch of you. Even then, his fingers never ceased, taking you past bliss into agonizing overstimulation that caused your thighs to clench together and your cunt to tighten. It only added to his own pleasure, your death grip on his cock milking every drop from him.
Finally, his thrusts slowed until he came to a stop, his hand releasing you from his hold. Your body shivered and shook with the comedown as he slowly pulled out of you. With a final oddly sensual squeeze of your ass cheeks, he pulled your underwear and pants back up, trapping his cum within your panties even as it began to trickle down your swollen lips. It was an act of ownership. He wanted you to be swimming in his seed for as long as possible.
You laid there, body and spirit spent, as he adjusted himself back into his pants. You heard the zipper gliding back up, the clinking of his belt being reassembled, but it felt like listening through a pillow.
What the fuck just happened?
Without a word, Nighteye began removing his seals from your back, the relief of the pressure instantaneous as you took in deep breaths. Then, he came around and unhooked your chain from under the table before finally releasing your wrists of the heavy links. You laid there for a moment, staring at the sudden freedom with confusion before finally sitting up. Your movements were slow and careful. Every inch of you ached. The headache from earlier was back in full force. The welts left on your skin from his riding crop hissed with sensitivity.
While you rubbed at the bruises on your wrists, Nighteye returned to his desk to fill his glass with the alcohol on his bar cart. He grabbed a second glass and filled it halfway, and you watched with numb curiosity. With his own glass in hand, he returned to you and handed you the second glass which you took automatically. You stared at the contents before giving it a sniff and wrinkled your nose. Gin.
You took a small sip anyway. Hell, you certainly needed it after all of that.
Nighteye returned to his desk, where he situated himself at his leather chair. He pressed a button on the intercom sitting on his desk.
“Send Ichirou in.” he ordered.
A moment later, a young man with a tuft of black hair on his chin and grey eyes entered the room, a flush across his cheeks.
“Yes Sir?” the man asked.
“Set up accommodations for Ms. L/N. She will be staying with us indefinitely. And make sure to find her cat.”
Your eyes flicked to Nighteye in shock. He really did know everything.
“Yes Sir.” The man replied with a bow.
Ichirou motioned for you to follow him, so you took one final sip of your drink before setting it down on the table. Just as you were about to leave the room, Nighteye called to you. You turned to face him and froze as he peered at you over the rim of his glasses, his yellow eyes gleaming.
Of All Evil I Deem You Capable Ch. 3 - Operational (NSFW)
Chapter Summary: A second chance at a first day of work. Will you do better this time?
Chapter Warnings: Inappropriate Use of the Force, Face-Fucking, Hand & Finger Kink, Breathplay, Mildly Dubious Consent
Words: 8600
A/N: Well, this took me long enough, better late than never, I suppose. I’m working on getting back on track so this doesn’t happen again. Hope you enjoy it!
[Masterlist]
[Read on AO3]
You awake with no recollection of falling asleep at all. In an instant the string of anxious thought slays through your mind, shattering your brief instant of slumbering relief: I work for Kylo Ren. I work for Kylo Ren. I work for Kylo Ren. The covers pool at your feet as you stand, rolling your shoulders to ease some of the tension that crept back in your muscles. Groaning at the unfavorable prospects of your day, you march to the refresher.
No other messages had arrived during the night.
The cold water does an impeccable job of waking you up, soaking your hair, and running down your face until it’s all one constant stream cascading across your body. Drops form at your eyelashes and you blink them away, watching as they fall like tears.
Shrouded by the cowl of the cyan lighting before the artificial sunrise, you step out of the apartment, picking up the small crate that waited for you there.
It's a black all-steel cube marbled with red and silver. You press on the embedded first order insignia and the lid opens with a hydraulic hiss. The box is padded on the inside, with square stitching splitting the surface like pixels.
Inside you find two equal new sets of uniforms. They're pure black, with red embroidery peeking through the hems of the garment. To your confusion, you feel a small pang of pride. No one has a set of clothes like this, you assume. Had he picked them out for you? Had he touched the fabric? With his bare hands? You trail your knuckles over the clothing, picturing you're trailing the same path that he once did. The conclusion of the thought causes you to tear your hand away from the crate, tightening your fingers into a fist by your lap.
Why am I doing this? What the hell is wrong with me...
The clothes are discarded aside, while you run your palm inside the crate in search of the security cylinders. You pluck them out of the emboss they're fit inside, holding them up to the light. Similar to the clothing, they follow the same red-black color scheme. Its material reminds you of the one on Kylo's helmet; opaque and smooth.
Your heart picks up, conflicted. On the positive side, you're not dead, but your life is not yours anymore and you're unsure which option is worse.
A day ago you had strutted out of these doors, filled with optimistic overconfidence that you could take out anything in front of you. One mere sunrise later has you hovering through Starkiller Base like a ghost, haunted by your dubious future. The red trail on your datapad guides you through the mesh of equal corridors, up and down elevators, across bridges and stairways. At last, you come up to a wall. To the left, there is a set of durasteel blast doors alternating on each side and to the right, a single larger door sits at the end of the hallway.
You figure Kylo Ren would have a secluded area all to himself, so you turn right. Each of your steps slows down as you get closer to his quarters. Dread sinks on you like a veil. A faint, irrational voice pleads for you to turn back and hide in your quarters. Another tells you to barge inside with no regrets. The panels that frame the door are bare except for a small pair of notches on the right side.
hesitating before plugging your cylinder to the designated notch on the blinking panels at the side. ‘0750’ flickers on your datapad. While you aren’t late, you’re not on time either. In your haste to give yourself enough chance to make it on time, you had miscalculated and have 10 minutes to spare.
The fear of doing something wrong again and so soon is overpowering, seizing your muscles, and frightening your body into paralysis for a few seconds. Before you can take two steps back, the door opens and Kylo steps out. He misses crashing into you by an inch.
Two gigantic men strut out of the door, splitting to your right and left to avoid colliding with you. Their faces are shielded behind crude, unrefined helmets. There’s a resemblance with the Commander’s mask, although they aren’t as resplendent as his. You freeze in place for a moment as the pounding terror inside of you vanishes, replaced by incapacitating fright. The men approach, needing nothing more than the threat of proximity to make you step back as if you are two equal sides of a magnet.
While you are enthralled by Kylo's brutality, enraged by his manipulation, drawn by your repulsive attraction to him, these men have the opposite effect on you. Where the Commander is carved marble, lapidated gem, his soldiers are molten stone and crude ashes. They unsheathe their weapons; a blade so large it could cleave you in half with no effort required and a blaster with a massive gauge, capable of a shot that could disintegrate you in one try.
You're about to bolt across the hallway when the door whirrs open again and Kylo Ren steps out. At that moment the demeanor changes, the silent knights retreat to flank their master and you cower at the sight of triple death.
Kylo's void features are trained on your quivering form. He walks forward and his men move in tandem with him. Your eyes roam over his figure, searching for any clues that might indicate his mood. The Commander's fists are clenched by his side, tight and still in contrast to the subtle rising and falling of his wide shoulders. The harsh tube lights glare on the chromed engravings of his helmet. As he trudges over, his long, tattered cape wavers behind him, revealing the lightsaber clipped to his hip. The remembrance of your last encounter with the blade tears a shiver out of you.
He stops. So do the other men. Silent. Looming. Inches away from you. Waiting.
"Commander Ren," you greet. Now that he’s closer, you attempt to focus on him and forget the terrifying men that hover at the edges of your vision.
"Go inside," Kylo hisses, the sound modulated into distorted crackles of static. The voice is more inhuman than anything else, convoluted and artificial, if you didn't know any better, you'd say a droid had spoken.
You stagger for a second too long. He shares a silent look with his knights and the men split forward, pushing past you.
Kylo fists the collar of your uniform, dragging you alongside him as he re-enters his quarters. The surroundings are a blur to you as you struggle to keep up with him; each of his long strides is equivalent to at least two of yours. The neck-breaking speed of Kylo’s steps makes you fall twice. He spares no thought and keeps pummeling through his living area, it depends on you whether you’ll scurry to follow him, or let yourself be dragged across the floor.
When he stops, your body is launched forward by the ever going momentum. Kylo holds you before you crash to the floor, anchoring a hand under your elbow and yanking you into an upright position. He stares at the point of contact between your bodies and snaps his hand away to rest at his side.
He’s towering and imposing, clad in all black, sucking the light out of the room. White walls, framed by countless white and red pill lights fill the space with excessive brightness, like an artificial reproduction of the snow-covered environment outside.
"I told you to be on time. Yet here you are, 10 minutes before schedule. With an incomplete uniform. How can you have such disrespect for the most basic protocols?" He struts back and forth in front of you.
"I apologize, Commander. For the missing piece of my uniform, that’s inexcusable," you force the words out, interlacing your hands together over your lower back.
A cloud of undistinguished noise escapes his modulator as he exhales. "Spare me. I’d use your title, but you’re so incompetent that I can’t bring myself to call you an officer. Maybe wearing two-thirds of your uniform is a great accomplishment for you."
"Very well. Then why am I here if I’m so incompetent? I don't understand how being early is a bad thing. I'm eager to do whatever assignment you've chosen for me. I know I can do things no other engineer can. If you want to find a reason to nitpick everything I do, then I can't stop you, sir." Inching forward, you lift your chin to meet the black void that takes the place of his eyes.
"It's not about being early, it's about obedience. Your lack of." He dips his head to your level, placing the muzzle of his mask right on the shell of your ear. "I will correct you. Still, I have to concede that you’re right, for a change. You will do things no other officer has done before." Kylo twists your words, turning your confident phrase into an ominous threat.
The rhythm of your racing heart threatens to shatter your ribs. You swallow the acrid bump in your throat before replying. "I’m not afraid of you."
He halts in front of you, tilting his head. "Saying it won’t make it true. I figured you were above these delusions of grandeur. Are you so certain you won’t fear me?" His gloved hand trails up his body, shifting his cape away, revealing the threatening hilt of his lightsaber.
A faint scraping sound echoes as you take one step back. "Yes."
"Commander." Kylo completes your sentence in a clipped, flat tone, letting the sound echo into nothingness. His fingers wrap around his lightsaber as if he intends to destroy it with his sheer strength. His leather gloves catch small patches of diffused light; he has the dark night sky with glittering stars draped over his hands. When he runs the crossguards of his weapon over your chest, it scrapes and tugs against the collar of your uniform. "I’m starting to think your issues are deeper than I thought. Forgetting your honorifics, officer? Many have died for less."
This is all theatrics. He needs me. He won’t kill me... now.
"I’m not ‘many’, Commander." You shuffle back, twisting the edge of your collar under your fingertips, putting the material back into its place.
"Of course you’re not. I don’t think the other officers on this base have persistent thoughts that linger on my touch? My lightsaber? I know what you’re dying to see." His right hand covers your eyes, while his left glides down your body, settling at your hip. "Tell me what you want to know and I might show it to you if you deserve it."
"There’s nothing I want from you, Commander Ren," you pant, imbuing as much vitriol as possible into his title, even as your voice withers.
"Liar." He shoves you backward with a simple push of his hand. Your back collides with the corner of a column that sits in the middle of the room, knocking the wind out of you. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust your position, closing in on you while you’re pushing yourself up.
He crouches, settling one knee between your spread legs. A hand wraps around the column of your throat, pressing until you hear the strange whisper of blood rushing in your ears. Comforting darkness clouds your vision as your eyes flutter shut in unwanted bliss. The leather of his glove adheres to your palms when you attempt to move his wrist, but you don't know if you're tugging him closer or pushing him away. Still, you don't dislodge him. The pressure on your neck saps your energy, shrouding your senses in a veil that diffuses your awareness.
The brink of unconsciousness laxes your inhibitions, pulling a confession out of you. "I want to know what you look like."
"Why?" He pauses for a microscopic moment, hand finding purchase on your lower back. Kylo slackens his hold on your neck, fingers dancing on your flesh as hue seeps back into your skin.
"Because I'm curious to see if you’re real after all," you admit. The disclosure embarrasses you, shames you into brooding silence. The vulnerability of revealing your curious desire aches more than the ring of bruises that bloom around your throat.
"I am." He nudges his knee forward, pressing it against your aching cunt. The hard shape of the bones hurt and hits on all the right and wrong places, but a gleam of pleasure stirs among the pain.
You hold onto it, legs quivering around Kylo’s thigh as your hips shift, chasing the sensation again. The twisted, unnatural position strains your joints, but that’s inconsequential compared to the need, the scientific experiment in finding the right way to grind against him.
Kylo jabs his thigh forward, causing your body to sway like a ragdoll yet your head remains in place due to his unyielding grip on your neck. He cants his head forward, whispering as much as a vocoder will allow, "You’re pathetic."
"I-I’m not," you growl. An insistent pounding aches from deep within your head, as the thought of getting what you want, but having it come from Kylo battles with the thought of infuriating him, at the denial of your own pleasure.
His hand coasts across your skin, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of your hips so he can shift your body upward. Now you’re straddling the thick slab of his thigh instead. "It's pitiful how starved you are. Every time I touch you I notice your breath hitching on your throat."
You shake your head, pinching your eyes shut, hoping that not seeing him will nullify the reluctant attraction. This is wrong. He's wrong. It doesn't feel good. It doesn't- fuck. How did my life turn into this?
Kylo snarls, driving the maw of his helmet over your ear. His voice rings in an echo of pain throughout your skull, loud and distorted. "Your thoughts are incessant. Chaotic. Distracting. Don’t you ever focus on the present?"
"I'd be a lot more focused if you let me go, and do my job" you spit out.
Kylo lifts you off the floor by the scuff of your uniform, bringing your face inches away from his. "I didn't even touch you. I gave you no pleasure, yet all you can think about is finding release on my thigh."
"You're wrong," you murmur.
"I’ll give you something to focus on." His pointer and middle fingers dip inside your mouth, intruding on your throat. Each inch that he takes causes you to constrict faster, gagging around his digits. "This should mellow you out."
Your eyes sting with tears as your body struggles to resist the intrusion. A string of choked gags escapes around Kylo’s hand, urging him to increase the pace. He drags the pads of his fingers across your tongue, reaching as deep as possible.
The hand on your throat uncurls, splaying flat against your clavicle, descending over your chest. He settles his palm where your throbbing heart pulses underneath the pads of his fingers. Kylo adjusts his right hand; hooking a thumb underneath your chin, rattling your head to choke you further. He motions his wrist back and forth, gliding across every ridge of your tongue, pushing past the back of your throat.
Your eyes scrunch shut as your body revolts against the intrusion. Still, the flavor of his leather glove is pure euphoria on your tongue; knowing that he’s almost touching you sends a wave of indignant desire through your spine. Another gurgle tears out of you, opening your throat wider and Kylo conquers the space, adding a third finger.
The addition seals your throat shut and any subsequent breath you manage to heave is dependent on Kylo’s mercy to pull out his wrist and allow you a few seconds of desperate reprieve. In a twisted way, he's right, all your thoughts are centered on the feel of his fingers inside your mouth.
His free hand grips your hip, thumb fiddling with the waistband of your trousers, dipping enough to feel the scorching heat of your flushed skin. The first contact makes your heart falter for a moment, your flesh tingling due to the soft touch of his hand.
“You want to touch yourself. Pathetic thing. You may hate me, but you hate yourself even more for letting my presence into your thoughts. I know what you want… and I’ll give it to you.” He remains still, noting the way you shiver at his words.
Kylo then yanks his wrist one final time, pulling a wet, choked gag from your throat. Your body folds forward, hands snapping to clutch his forearm for support. Drool leaks down your chin in thick ropes that sway without direction. Tears pool on your eyes and then drip down on the smooth tiles, glinting and shattering like crystals upon hitting the ground.
"You’re mental… what was that for?" Each word blisters its way out of you, a steep price to make sure your voice is still there. It is, albeit broken and shattered by the aching pain on your throat.
"Consider that your… orientation." With a wave of his hand, he extinguishes the touch between your bodies, forcing your hands to snap to your sides. In a slow gesture, he wipes his glove on your uniform and splays his palm on your lower stomach. The pads of his fingers indent your flesh, followed by a push that shoves your body away from his. Rising to his full height, Kylo steps back and adjusts his robes. "Stand. I will show you your assignment."
"Why me?" The question echoes in the silent room, dampening second after second along with your hope of a reply. You drag your knuckles across your mouth and chin, dabbing to clean yourself. The room blurs into a white streak as you stand, trusting your quivering legs to sustain you.
Kylo crosses his arms across his chest and even through the coarseness of the fabric the shape of his muscles is still defined as marble. "All you need to know is: you’re now a tool to do whatever I want. Mine."
The finality of his words plummets your mind. "No. I- work for you, that doesn't mean you own me."
"I see no difference. You're no more free than my ship or my lightsaber." He tilts your chin up, dragging his thumb over your slackened mouth. "A tool. For the First Order. For me." Kylo releases your face and walks in the opposite direction, leaving you to trail after him.
He guides you to a viewport, a massive sprawl of transparisteel that frames the howling blizzard outside like a painting. The trapezoidal windows each show an aspect of Ilum: the dark stones that were carved out to give way to Starkiller Base, the soft plains of snow, and the parallel lines of firn that push against the foreign, human-made structures. You blink while you wait for your pupils to adjust to the sudden burst of light.
A sleek, brand-new workstation interrupts the bleak emptiness of the chamber. It sights right at the center of the viewport, looking so insignificant against the wild environment. An eager spike of excitement rises against your will. You fight hard to suppress it, but instead, find yourself walking faster to keep up with Kylo as he approaches the station.
He glides his hand over the terminals, with a touch so light the sensors don’t even detect it. "You will work on a custom operating system for my TIE Silencer."
You pause, taken by both indignation and curiosity. "So you'll have me working on the very thing that made me get fired?"
"The only thing that made you get fired is yourself," he replies. Kylo curls the fingers of the hand that rests by his side, causing you to stumble forward.
I disagree. You do get the message, resuming your walk and stopping a few feet away from him.
"Sit." He gestures to the desk.
The chair’s pneumatic valves hiss as you sink on the seat, flicking the panels on. Instead of a cathode screen, a half-circular hologram lights up, sharp and blue, and almost void of data or user-interface.
"This is bare. You’ve kept the kernel… wait, not even all of it... and not much else, Commander." You crane your neck to the side to meet his stare, a frown souring your face. Of course, he’d make this harder than it needs to be. "I need to install several modules to get this off the ground in a reasonable timeframe."
"No. If it’s not there, then it’s not for your use. Are you not skilled enough to build it into something operational?" Kylo drawls, positioning his mouthpiece right by your ear.
"That’s not my point. Commander." You pinch the bridge of your nose, suppressing a sigh. "I’m not saying I can’t do it, I’m saying it will be faster if I have something actionable to expand over." The chair glides closer to the workstation--and away from him--with a swing of your foot. Choosing to pretend Kylo left, you delve into exploring the operating system, analyzing whatever else you have at your disposal.
Maybe the next time you blink he won’t be there anymore.
"There's no need to tell me your concerns. I expect outstanding work and I'll track your progress, officer." Kylo bows his head in a mock salute and stomps out towards the exit. Your chair catapults forward and the edge of the workstation knocks the wind out of you--no doubt an unnecessary and aggravating display of power on his part.
When the blast door slides shut behind the Commander you release a faltering breath.
You stay put, body still aching with tension as each second twists another dagger into your heart. At any moment you expect him to come back. When he doesn't, you welcome the relief that washes over you like a soothing mist.
As your breathing stills and your senses bloom with clarity, you shift your focus to the task in front of you.
There’s no better way to be thrown into a zone where hours go by like seconds than diving deep into coding. As you begin reading the source code of the modules available, the circumstances in which you find yourself melt like snow in favour of occupying your mind with technical problems.
You type the first command.
When you come to yourself, the snowscape behind the transparisteel is quiet and clear. A deep blue sky shows through, turning grey and then white as it blends with the horizon. You stand for a few moments, stretching your body to remedy any sore areas, before resuming your work.
An indistinct sound echoes somewhere behind you but is soon ignored as you crack your head to figure out where this memory leak is coming from. How can someone let this happen in production?
The noise repeats itself, louder and sequential, like steps.
Of course, write the memory deallocation right in the method that can get stuck in a deadlock, what could go wrong?
You crane your head to the side to gaze at the call stack at the edge of the monitor, only to be met with Kylo Ren’s figure.
He hurls your chair around, forcing you to face him. The Commander slides into your personal space, moving forward until the back of your chair collides with the workstation.
"You’re done for the day. If you’re inattentive enough that you can miss my arrival, then you’re not fit to keep working on my ship."
You leap to your feet, stalking over to him with renewed anger. Each word is followed by a clipped step, by the end of your sentence, you’re snarling inches away from his mask. "Incredible. Every word you’ve just said is wrong. Fine, you can attack me, offend me, I’ll get over it. But you have no grounds to criticize my work. Commander."
He says nothing.
"Well, if my work is done, as you pointed out, please excuse me, sir." You circle him, maintaining his form in your line of sight for as long as you can. The sound of your tense footsteps pierces the seething silence. You avert your gaze to the front of you, still ever sensing his immovable form behind you. You’re one step away from the exit, about to press the button to open the door when your wrist is seized by an invisible pull, hovering inches away from the panel.
A displeased hum leaves his mouth. "I have not dismissed you."
Kylo extends his palm in towards you, arm lunging with sharp purpose, fingers spread, and pointing at you. A strange veil drapes across your body. It makes your skin burn and flare defying the forever cold temperature of Starkiller Base. One by one the rest of your limbs are frozen, cased in carbonite. Even your gaze is kept in place, trained to the Commander’s face as he approaches.
Your body is propelled in the opposite direction, pinned to the wall with ferocious strength. The sharp, geometrical bevels of the panel behind you dig into your skin. Lights dim and increase in an aperiodic tempo, flickering as if overpowered by the crying lightning of a storm. However, no storm can ever compare with the sight of Kylo’s barbaric, unyielding form.
He keeps his hand trained on you while he approaches, taking his sweet time to nurture your fear with this anticipation, deliberate pauses, and thundering footsteps. Once you’re in his reach, he molds his palm around your throat and you are defenseless to stop the shudder that courses through your body at his touch. He releases the hold that the Force has on your body, letting you dangle by your neck, crushed to the wall by his raw strength alone. Modulated, heavy breathing exhales through his mouthpiece; his body is a monument of pure, storming rage.
For a pained second, you wonder if he will crush your windpipe and leave your body to be picked up by a clean-up droid. You claw at his forearm, both hands necessary to wrap around the limb, and even so no matter how hard you push or hit, he remains in place.
"You overestimate your value, officer. You're here to serve whatever purpose I assign to you. You’ll arrive when I tell you to and leave when I dismiss you. Need I remember your life is tethered to my hands?"
No.
"No? Why do I have the impression you still don’t understand your place?" He drawls, nestling his mask to rest over your face, aligning the void where his eyes are supposed to be with your own. He’s so close that you can’t focus and all you see is a blur of chrome and black.
My place is far away from you.
"You may want to remember I can read your thoughts." His voice crackles with a tinge of amusement, a hint of a brewing intention to torment you once more. Kylo pulls away but slides a hand to grasp at the nape of your neck, fingers intertwined on your hair.
A few seconds burn away before you recover your voice. "Maybe if you stopped scanning my mind you’d be less aggravated, Commander."
"Still so insolent. Have you not had enough torment for one day?"
Kylo rams down the hand that holds you with such ferocity that your futile attempt to remain standing is surpassed without a single pause. Your knees smash on the ground, sending painful tendrils down your shins. Once he has you where he wants, he shoves you backward, forcing you to sit with your legs folded underneath your thighs.
He kneels again, trapping your body between his, squeezing your back against the chair.
Kylo rakes his palm down your chest, kneading your left breast under his gloved, massive fingers. They dig into your skin and the heel of his hand flattens your flesh as much as your body allows.
Something stirs in your core. An ache, an unnatural flutter of your heart raises all kinds of alarm bells on your mind. Of course, you have been in danger since the moment you stepped into this room, since the moment you became more than a blip into Kylo Ren’s radar. But this is different. This is real.
It’s so faint you don’t realize it at first, but your breath escapes your lungs in silent sighs, and soon you’re unable to breathe. No matter how hard you try, the air seems to stay trapped in place, not flowing in and out of your burning lungs. Your heart drums in your chest in a slow and unsteady rhythm. It’s as if an invisible weight is crushing your torso.
The rumors of officers lifted by their throats, unable to talk or breathe, are believable. But you had never heard of someone being mangled on the inside.
You utter each word with less life in your voice. "How can you do this?" Maybe it’s your imagination, but your helpless grip on his forearm slackens by a fraction.
"Do what?" he taunts.
My heart-
“Is stopping. Maybe you need to have it taken for you to appreciate my mercy in allowing you to work for me.” He undoes the binding on his pants, tugging them down and allowing his cock to spring free.
Before you can look at it he covers half of your face with his free hand, stealing your sight and releasing the clutch on your heart. He sets a rough pace, pinning your head in place and sheathing himself on the back of your throat in a fluid movement. As you sputter around him, he rocks your skull back and forth.
Your eyelids flutter shut as your throat strains to accommodate him. It's impossible to miss the warmth that emanates from his towering figure. The proximity of his body pulls a series of shudders from your skin, even in pure darkness you find him alluring, noticing other aspects that were once eclipsed by your sight. A faint whirr reaches your ears, in perfect time with his breathing. The modulator on his helmet captures the smallest sounds, giving a robotic, digital aspect to something as delicate as a breath. Your own hitches on your throat when you listen to the rustle of fabric as he tugs at his clothing.
Kylo is still not satisfied with your positioning; he lifts you by fisting both sides of your collar, nudging his boots under your raised knees. The new position forces you to angle your head up unless you'd want to press your face against his solid thighs.
He pulls you back by the fabric of your shirt, tightening your collar around your neck, cutting off your breath and circulation. Your mouth falls open in surprise, gasp soon extinguished by the invasion of Kylo's cock.
Something brushes against your heat, coaxing a renewed stream of wetness out of you. The black uniform is a solace, otherwise, you're sure a damp patch of fabric would be visible on your pants. The ethereal touch returns, alternating between feather-like and rough strokes. Your thighs quiver and you try to press them together in a way to suppress the mounting pressure that builds on your core.
Kylo slows down, opting for bottoming out and sliding into your mouth with less speed and more force. Each time he pulls a heaving gag from you, along with a new stream of tears that trail down your cheekbones. To your frustration, a desperate, languid sound leaves your mouth when the
He stills for a second, a dark, baritone, and mocking laugh escaping his mouthpiece. "Was that a moan?" Splaying his large hand over the back of your skull, he digs the pads of his fingers on your skin, drawing you flush against his hips. Kylo buries his throbbing cock all the way through until his balls are pressing against your chin. Your face nuzzles on the warm leather fabric of his pants; with each forceful breath, you inhale Kylo’s intoxicating smell.
You shake your head, gurgling an answer from the bottom of your throat, yelling ‘no’ inside your mind. But all that gets you is a pleasured hiss from him as your denial vibrates along his shaft and the accumulating spit on your mouth dribbles out, mixed with his precum. Despite having your eyes closed, another layer of darkness--unconsciousness--threatens to subdue you, siphoning energy away from your limbs. Kylo then removes you from his cock, angling your head backward to track his gaze over your face.
"Such a strange breed of hatred," he taunts, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I'm rather satisfied with how well you were taking my cock. Maybe you’re not a failure at everything."
If his hand wasn’t gripping the back of your skull, or if he weren’t the most dangerous man in the galaxy, you’d have lunged at him already.
A modulated mockery of a laugh escapes his helmet while he grips your jaw harder, forcing you to open your mouth like a reflex.
He guides his cock inside again, sheathing until your nose bumps against him. The hand that once covered your eyes is lifted, but your stare remains pinned to the ground.
"Look at me," he demands. The commander waits for your tear-filled eyes to meet his, stopping for a few moments. His thumb swipes across your cheekbone as he takes him the whirlwind of emotions embedded in your gaze. "That’s it. Hate me harder."
Kylo takes a step back, mask tilted down to analyze you.
You crumble to the floor without the support provided by his lower half. Pressing your cheek against the tiles, you try to fill your lungs with air, chest heaving, and falling in a desperate rhythm. The pain still pulses with a life of its own, each beat of your battered heart pumping equal amounts of blood and agony. It worsens when you notice the sharp thread of desire weaved deep within your discomfort. Loathing dusts your tongue like ashes, yet when you swallow it down, choke on your words, as he had said, the ashes turn into embers and you burn at his disposal.
He nudges you wìth his boot and you recoil, pushing your trembling body up into a sitting position.
"Comfortable?" He offers you a hand; an unexpected and degrading gesture to help you stand.
"Why would you care?" you hiss, batting his wrist away.
His head tilts as he takes in your outburst. Kylo flicks two fingers of the hand he offered you, binding your wrists in front of you with the Force. You frown, attempting to move them apart, but they remain side by side. Breath after breath rushes through the modulator of his mask, sounding like an out of tune transmission. Your gaze switches between his shrouded face and the cock that edges closer and closer to you. His length is greater than any you’ve ever seen, thick and monstrous, rippled with veins, red and swollen and leaking at the tip. As he nears, you realize how large his cock is compared to your hands. He’s so close you’d be able to touch him if you could move.
Kylo works the length of his shaft, smacking his fist against his groin with each forceful stroke. You wish he'd toss the gloves aside so you could see the veins on the back of his hand, the thick and rough calluses on his palm, the tapered length of his digits. See his scars, his skin, everything.
His cock twitches with the start of his climax. That moment is the first time you presence a crack in his stoic composure.
His thumb caresses the side of your neck in the same tempo in which he pleasures himself. He's silent now, devoid of words while he savours the last instants of overstimulation before his orgasm overtakes him. Kylo releases a series of guttural moans, dropping the tone of his voice so low that it bypasses his vocoder for a split second. Before you can process it, the sound transforms back into strangled static.
The hold on your wrists tightens, bones aching in protest; perhaps a small lapse of control as Kylo chases his pleasure, perhaps a conscious act that increases his pleasure. Before it felt as if a thick rope coiled around your forearms, now there’s an invisible hand that grips your wrists; fingers digging and bruising your flesh.
You moan, trapped in a haze of pained pleasure as the pressure and speed of the Force on your clit increases. You're kept upright by its will, head pounding with your hopeless efforts to suppress your climax. The logical part pleas for you to hate it all, while the indulgent part whispers for you to enjoy it, why not let your climax run its course? Why not let go?
Kylo pulls you out from your mind's spiral when he exhales a strained breath through his modulator, guiding his leaking cock to hover mere inches away from your palms. Without any other warnings, he spurts thick strings of cum over the back of your hands and wrists. The fluid seeps into the indents between each finger, draping across your knuckles and the embroidery of your gloves alike.
He strokes his cock through the final seconds of his orgasm, squeezing from the bottom to the top to ensure no drop of his spend is wasted. Kylo drags the tip of his cock across the length of your hands, painting the remnants of his cum on the now glistening black leather. Your eyes track his every movement with robotic precision, gaze trailing from your wrists to where his throbbing length hovers inches above you.
"Not what you expected?" he asks while tucking his cock back into his pants with one hand.
Your stare trails up his body, landing on the long sprawl of fabric that covers his body from head to toe, to the thick belt that curls around his muscular form.
Kylo seizes the moment when you open your mouth to fire back an acrid reply to then glide his thumb across the warmth of your tongue. You swallow the excess saliva that had accumulated while you watched him cum on you, sucking his digit further within your mouth. Kylo hisses in response to the slight pressure on his thumb. A subtle taste stings your tongue, piquant and warm--a small sample of his cum.
He pulls his finger out, wiping it off across your chin. You jerk your head away, jaw clenching as you look up at him with a storm brewing behind your eyes.
"You lied, Commander," you murmur as you attempt to stand on unstable legs. The anger of being deceived and even worse--being näive enough to believe Kylo’s words--takes hold of your chest, suppressing any other words and the act of breathing. A dull ache spreads over your whole body, stronger on your neck and jaw. You’re battered. Unsatisfied. Left wanting. Angry.
Kylo touches his chin with his fingers as if he’s focusing on a thought. "You mistook my words for what you wanted. It's not my fault that you were so trusting." He pats your cheek and his tainted gloves stick to your skin for a moment before he breaks contact.
Unbelievable. You bite back a retort that will no doubt earn you further torment. Even the most obtuse person would cower at the scorn that beams out of your eyes. You motion to wipe off the mess against your uniform, but your wrists are captured again by the Force, pinned to your sides with unnecessary strength.
"What do you think you're doing?" Kylo leans down to your eye level, casing your jaw between his large hand.
"Cleaning your mess." The words choke out one by one, suffocated by the pressure that his palm applies on your face.
He tightens his grip, shifting positions to grasp at your throat. The pads of his thumb and index finger shutting off your blood flow. "You'll do no such thing." Kylo straightens into his full height, releasing the column of your neck.
You take a moment to appreciate the rush and slight throb of the restored circulation. Of all events that happened so far, this order is the most unbelievable--and hardest to follow. "I'm supposed to walk half-way across the whole base with... with-"
He cuts you off, turning around and stalking over to the blast door. "With my cum on your hands? Yes, you are. Be grateful it's not on your face." The tattered cape flits behind him, following the clipped rhythm of his strides.
"Grateful is a word I'd never pick, Commander," you answer, trailing after his long footsteps.
He stops and you swerve to the side, almost colliding with his hulking form. Kylo turns in your direction, pointing a finger at your face as he growls, "Such a shame to have so much raw, untamed potential muddled with your poor soft skills. You are to return to your quarters as soon as you walk out of this door. Don't stop anywhere else or attempt to clean your gloves on your way. I'll know if you do. Now you’re dismissed, officer."
With that, he spreads a hand between your shoulder blades, half-guiding, half-shoving you out of his quarters. The door whirrs shut behind you with a hiss. Even with several inches of durasteel between you and him, you know he's still staring at you, you swear you can feel his gaze puncturing through the material.
You jump when noise reaches your ears, originating from the other side of the corridor. From the area with six identical doors. The idea of facing any of the men you encountered earlier--or worse one you haven’t met--is terrorizing enough to urge you to action.
Each minute drags by an eternity while you trudge your way back to your quarters. This morning you felt no more visible than a ghost. Now you'd give anything to relive that sensation. Your mind had to be playing cruel tricks on you. Why do the hallways seem longer? Are you walking in circles? Is everyone looking at you? It's impossible, there's no way that anybody else could know what happened.
Yet it feels as if a thousand eyes are watching. Whenever you pass by another person, your brain murmurs, they know. When you slither through another corridor you swear the eyes of a dour-faced officer flicker to a moment to your soiled gloves. Your fingers twitch, scraping against the fabric of your uniform. For a moment you yearn to storm into the nearest refresher and clean yourself, wash away the anger, shame, and myriad of irrational thoughts that simmer in your head.
But Kylo’s words stop you. The whisper that rushes through your mind is vivid as if you are hearing his voice right over your ears, "I'll know if you do". You don't understand how he could read your thoughts being so far away from you. However, you're certain he's not lying this time and you're not eager to find out what he'd do if you disregarded that order. Still, the insistent thought of him laughing to himself while you follow his orders under an unfulfillable threat just adds to your misery.
Of the countless scenarios, you had conceived for how your first day working for him would end, ‘horny and unsatisfied’ wasn’t one of them. You can’t believe the number of times you almost skirted over the border between alive and dead, or how close you were to cumming, all thanks to him. Feral, wordless ideas come and go, of impossible scenarios in which you’d steal a fighter and fly away.
You power through the last portion of your journey. To your relief, your company is all but a squad of marching stormtroopers. Their sameness blocks your turbulent thoughts, you can't see where their gazes are focused, can't see their faces and you doubt they have that much freedom to think, much less form an opinion about an officer. You let the formation of troopers pass by you, basking in the way their thundering footsteps drown your thoughts.
The sight of the hallway of your residency sector has never been so welcoming. You bolt to the door, pressing on the keypad as light as possible, making sure you're not getting any of the keys dirty with Kylo's cum. Once the password's in and the gap between the two slabs of durasteel is wide enough, you shove yourself into your apartment.
Pitch darkness envelops you for a split second before the automatic lighting springs to life, bathing you into a soft, orange glow. No pillow is unturned on the couch, the kitchen sink and stove are spotless as you've left them this morning. Aside from your hurried footsteps, no other sound echoes in the empty apartment. As soon as you enter your room, you brace yourself against the door, sliding down until you're a heap of twisted limbs on the floor.
You place your palms over your lap, clenching and releasing your fingers, almost admiring Kylo's work. A surge of anger skitters up your spine, indignant rage boiling and foaming at the bottom of your stomach and threatening to spill out of your throat. It propels your body into a standing position, tensing your muscles until you’re taking slow, staggering steps into your refresher.
The face in the mirror that stares back at you is foreign. A strange replica. Mock reproduction that looks like you, acts like you yet it's not the same person who left the previous morning. Blown out pupils hide almost all flicker of colors from your eyes. Nothing is visible behind your vacant gaze.
You lift your unstable hands, bringing them near your face. The pair of black leather gloves glistens with the remnants of Kylo Ren’s cum, with proof that he's human. A man. You turn your palms in every direction, catching all angles in the mirror. Even while looking at the evidence before you, you find yourself doubting the veracity of today's events.
Yet you find no trace of rage to care about any of it. Instead, you can’t stop thinking about the baritone gasp you heard beneath the distortion of his modulator and how raw the unadulterated sound of his voice was.
You wonder how he would sound like crying out your name over and over, hissing at the shell of your ear with his warm breath fanning over your skin. Would his voice crack just a little as he came apart over you? You wonder how his skin would feel like as he presses your body down on the sterile tiles, making you seek his heat as a reprieve from the cold.
Every cell on your brain fires at you to hate him, to find a way to make his life as miserable as possible with what little power you have, to make him hate you back and regret the day he ever met you. As vindicating as that would be, an even louder urge flashes images of the two of you fucking: on a bed, over your workstation, an empty hallway, before a viewport littered with stars.
No matter how hard you try to cast these thoughts away, they take effect into your body. An ache settles between your legs, making you press them in an attempt to stop the upcoming surge of wetness. You know your underwear bears the evidence of your hesitant arousal earlier.
That was Kylo’s doing which resulted in a natural response.
But this? Getting wetter and wetter due to these insane, nonsensical fantasies of fucking the Commander? That’s crossing a line.
An act you won’t be able to undo.
I shouldn’t…
Taking two steps away from the sink, you slam your back against the wall, staring into the white ceiling lights until your eyes hurt. When it becomes too much, you blink several times so the sting subsidizes. As your vision becomes stroboscopic, Kylo’s figure haunts you, hovering above you in the same way he stood while you had knelt before him.
Scrunching your eyes shut, you sink on the floor, letting your legs fall open to each side. One hand settles at the waistband of your pants, thumb swiping back and forth over the fly.
Just this time.
You take the index and middle fingers of your free hand into your mouth, savoring the salty and bitter flavor. Now that you’ve started, all that's running through your mind over and over is licking each finger clean. With a newfound focus, you remove your fingers with a wet ‘pop’ out of your mouth before lapping on the back of your hand. Your tongue flattens against the soft, skin-like leather, chasing every drop that he gave you.
The taste is milder than you expected. You are intoxicated by it none the same, closing your eyes so you can focus on that sole sensation. Broken vignettes surge behind your eyelids, flashing images of him exploding his cum all over your face, your open mouth, your chest.
Without hesitating you pry open the fly of your trousers, fisting the fabric tight in your grasp as you yank the material down your legs. You’re not efficient or coordinated, it takes a few seconds of shuffling side to side, bumping your knees into the furniture, but you throw the garment somewhere you’re not concerned about in the slightest.
Now, you palm yourself over the thin fabric of your underwear, feeling the fabric adhere to your folds as you swipe your thumb back and forth over your clit. Your legs tremble for a second as a cold shiver wrecks its way down your body.
Your bare skin sticks to the tiles and the little hairs on your body rise as you grow accustomed to the low temperature. Soon you’re almost burning as if your flesh could burn into flames at any second. You keep increasing the pace of the little flicks over your throbbing core, pretending that your gloved hand belongs to someone else.
Inching lower, you pull the sopping mess of your panties to the side, shivering when the detailed stitching of the leather touches your feverish skin. You hiss when you experiment dipping in one finger, sinking to the last knuckle.
Somehow, the disdain you feel for him fuels your arousal. It’s infuriating and exhilarating to make a mess of yourself on your bathroom floor thinking of someone that you would love to throw away in a garbage chute. You laugh at the thought, although the mirth is short-lived when you start choking out of nowhere, wheezing for air as you curl your knees up to your chest.
After a few deep breaths, you trust yourself enough to rise to your feet, tiptoeing in slow, tentative steps to your bed. The stupefying sequence of events had taken their toll on you. It’s as if your body is about to go through power-cycling--about to shut down at any minute--only to wake up the next day in a brand new state.
When you allow your body to drop over your soft bedding, your eyes flutter shut, seeking the restoring nothingness of sleep. Still, you don’t want to surrender and let exhaustion take you. Something on this wretched day needs to go the way you want it to and you’ll be damned if you don’t finish what you started.
The guilt you’re about to feel tomorrow hovers like a scythe over your head, the least you can do is get an orgasm before your actions are spoiled by the clarity that arrives with the first wisps of morning light. You shift up on the mattress, resting your head against the pillow until your body is as comfortable as it can be for now.
In the next breath, you’re fast asleep. A buzzing, irksome beeping threatens to bring you back to the awake world, but shoving your wrist under the pillow muffles the threatening sound.
Hello, how is everyone? I just wanted to recommend this original, well-written, and just absolutely wonderful transformative work. It is based on the concept of Loki being Steve’s father. This results in Steve being quite self-aware and cunning and generally has more personality. His characterization is definitely not depicted as goody two-shoes Cap. The author, mugwort_and_myrrh, has a gift with words and her descriptions are mind-blowing and stunningly unique. The setting is very realistic and stays true to the realities of Brooklyn in the 1930’s as well as the war. It has four works in the series. The first work is Steve’s childhood up to the Valkyrie. The second story is on the idea that Steve is awake on the ice. That one in particular is heart-wrenching and beautiful. The third instalment in the series is the events of The Avengers, and it is very interesting to read with Steve’s confusion and Loki’s role and often unpredictable twists to canon. The fourth fic is updated weekly and is the events the Winter Soldier. The best way to describe this fic in the series is in one quote from the story..“ It’s 11pm on January 16th, T minus four days until Justin fuckin’ Hammer is gonna be sworn in as President of the United fuckin’ States, and Steve is crouched on a fire escape overlooking an alley, dumpsters below wafting up the stink of wet cardboard and mouldy cinnamon rolls, watching a couple idiots in ski masks trying to break into an electronics store.” I must insist everyone give this series a try even if it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea. I promise you will not regret it.
The Fray Will Well Become Me by mugwort_and_myrrh (cw:graphic violence)
Guillermo the Heartless - Guillermo x Nandor One-shot Smut - *MIND THE WARNINGS*
WWDITS Masterlist
Summary: Guillermo is a vampire and Nandor is his human familiar and sex slave.
A/N: This is cursed.
Warnings: Non-con elements, Dub-con, Manipulation, Praise kink, Dom/sub, humiliation, dead dove dead dove
---
“You could throw me down and walk on me
And I'd just look on through my love and through the haze.” --Nightingale, Saves the Day
Guillermo the Heartless looks down at his flushed, panting familiar spread out for him like a needy sacrifice. Nandor's mouth is open and every few seconds a keening moan falls from those luscious lips as he works himself open with frantic desperation.
"That's good, Nandor," Guillermo praises, his cold eyes fixed on the throbbing vein in his familiar's cock. He can hear the thundering rush of blood flowing to the human's genitals. "You better be ready for me by the time I finish undressing. Because I'm fucking you no matter what."
The human makes a strangled sound and adds a third finger to the two already stretching and scissoring his hole open. Nandor is a vision like this. His long, dark hair, usually kept up in a sensible bun, cascades over his shoulders, tendrils falling across his face and sticking to the sweat on his brow. Guillermo’s gaze lingers on the dark hair covering his broad chest and extending down over his soft belly where his heavy, untouched cock weeps precum.
“Yes, master,” Nandor’s deep, accented voice is at odds with the tone of absolute submission. “I’ll be ready for you. Please…! I’ll be--I’ll be a good boy for you.”
Guillermo smirks, taking his time folding his sweater and setting it on top of the gleaming black coffin before moving on to unbuttoning his shirt. He relishes how fully his human has surrendered to him. It wasn’t so long ago that the man fought Guillermo over every single kiss and caress. Now, look at him. Fucking himself at his master’s feet, desperate for his cock.
This is what you can have when you actually take care of your fucking familiars, Guillermo muses with a slight shiver of annoyance.
It was six months ago that he won Nandor in a game of cards from that dipshit Simon the Devious. They call Guillermo heartless, but he’s never starved any of his human thralls. Nandor was skin and bones and deeply suspicious of his new master when he first came to live at the house. Guillermo, recognizing an opportunity, slowly and painstakingly built his familiar back up again. He gave him food, he bathed him, he clothed him and gave him gifts. All Nandor had to do in exchange was submit. It started out slow, with Nandor only being allowed food if he would eat it from his master’s hands. That part was simple. The man was dying of starvation, he put up very little resistance. Guillermo gradually moved on to more intimate training. Kissing, touching, sucking, fucking. And every time Nandor was a good boy, every time he did as he was asked without question, he would get a reward.
Now, Guillermo has his human so well trained that his praise is reward enough. Nandor craves it like a drug. He begs for it, degrades himself for it. And Guillermo, heartless as ever, takes pleasure in watching the pathetic human mewl for his attention. For his love.
Love. He’s fully aware of Nandor’s little human feelings for him. He’s heard him crying out through the ether in his sleep. Master, master! I love you I love you I love you. How stupid to fall in love with someone like Guillermo. How inevitable.
“Turn around, Nandor,” Guillermo injects steel into his voice. “You don’t get to look at me tonight. I don’t like the way you talked back to Nadja earlier.”
Nandor removes his lube-slicked fingers and scrabbles up onto his hands and knees, coming down to rest on his elbows with his ass in the air. He lets out a choked sob at his master’s words and Guillermo is pretty sure he’d seen tears flood his eyes before he turned around. He’s so fucking sensitive.
He kneels down on the lush fur rug and nudges Nandor’s legs wider apart. The tip of Guillermo’s erection brushes the backs of Nandor’s thighs as he leans over his familiar’s back and strokes his hands down his sides affectionately.
“Shhh, it’s alright,” Guillermo whispers and the soft tone is what does it. It always does, that’s why he’s used it. Nandor starts crying in earnest, his shoulders shaking with heavy sobs. Guillermo feels his cock twitch and bites back a groan before continuing, “Shhh...you can make it up to me if you take my cock like a good boy. You want to make it up to me, don’t you?”
Nandor falls apart, his head slipping down to rest on his forearms as he bawls, “Yes, yes, please, master. I’m good. I’m good!”
“I know you are, sweet boy,” Guillermo breathes and then he lines himself up and sinks into Nandor in one, swift, brutal thrust. Nandor cries out at the sudden intrusion, clenching around his master’s dick until Guillermo is cursing, “Fuck, yeah, baby. You still have a little fight left in you? Even after all this time?”
Nandor, thinking he’s displeased his master again, says in a panicky whisper, “No! No, master. I want it. I want you. I do...please…”
“Shut up,” Guillermo orders, snapping his hips back and watching as Nandor’s ass jiggles with the impact. He kneads his hands into the thick flesh at his human’s hips and pulls him back against him with every thrust. “You’ve done enough talking tonight, don’t you think?”
In truth, Guillermo knows that Nandor did nothing wrong tonight. Nadja can be a drama queen and overly sensitive. She’d come to him to report that his familiar had “talked back to her” when she asked him to assist with retrieving one of her skulls which had inexplicably fallen down the well. Guillermo told her to fly down the well and get it herself and to stop asking his familiar to do dangerous tasks. But Nandor doesn’t know that. And Guillermo likes to keep him on his toes.
“Disrespecting vampires,” Guillermo taunts with a particularly vicious thrust that sends Nandor’s face skidding off of his forearms and onto the rug. “That’s unacceptable behavior, Nandor. Really it’s...nggh...it’s enough to make me second guess taking you on as a familiar. I know Simon would be...ugh...delighted to have you back in his fold.”
The words are absolutely without any weight. Guillermo would never send Nandor back to live with that asshole. But he is interested to see what kind of reaction he can get from the human. He loves fucking Nandor while he’s crying. His emotions are absolutely...delicious.
In the months he’s had him, Guillermo has avoided mentioning Simon around Nandor, supposing that the subject would be painful. But now that Nandor’s a healthy, happy little sex slave, Guillermo feels the need to pick at the scab. Still, he’s surprised by what he gets.
Nandor shuts down. His muscles, straining and tense only a second before, relax into dead weight and the man curls in on himself as much as the awkward position allows. Guillermo can hear the faintest hitches and squeaks of suppressed tears and Nandor’s voice, softer than soft, pleading, “Please no, no, no, no…”
Guillermo’s heart--he does have one, despite popular belief--squeezes and he feels the desire to take back his words at once. But that’s not how this works. Not yet, anyway.
“You think you deserve to be my familiar, you disobedient little slut?” Guillermo growls, gabbing Nandor’s hair in his fist and pulling his head back, dragging him up off the floor until his back is flush with Guillermo’s heaving chest. He’s so fucking close now, thrusting raggedly up into his human at this slightly awkward new angle. “Give me your neck”
The words are a familiar command and Nandor obeys at once, reaching up to brush his hair away as he tilts his head to one side. Guillermo leans forward and tears into his human’s throat. His cock finally going rigid and shooting his seed inside Nandor as his mouth fills with the man’s hot, thick blood.
Guillermo pulls out, his semen slowly spilling from Nandor’s hole as he continues to feed from him. Nandor, the good, good boy...the best boy, really...is limp and pliable in Guillermo’s arms. His erection is still aching and hard between his legs and Guillermo idly wonders if he should take care of him tonight. He has been so good…
He reaches around and curls his soft, cool fingers around the thick base of his human’s cock. Nandor gasps in surprise and the words trip off his tongue like a prayer, “Thank you, master!”
Guillermo jerks him off perfunctorily and he finishes his feeding. He feels Nandor’s muscles jump and twitch as he reaches his climax, but the human remains unusually quiet. Normally, Nandor is all broken moans and needy cries. Once he’s finished, Guillermo withdraws his fangs with one final lick of the bloody wound. He pulls back, watching Nandor flinch forward and hug his knees into his chest, looking up at Guillermo with a fear and uncertainty in his eyes that hasn’t been there in months.
“Are you going to give me back to Simon?” Nandor asks and his voice is so quiet yet poignant that Guillermo feels as though a tuning fork has been struck inside his chest.
“Come here, please,” Guillermo’s voice is a soft command despite the “please.” He holds his arms out and Nandor crawls forward, burying himself into his master’s side and pressing his bearded face against Guillermo’s soft chest with a relieved sigh.
“I am never going to give you back to that asshole,” Guillermo says, dropping a kiss onto the crown of Nandor’s head and lingering to breath in the sweet, shampoo scent of his thick hair. “I’m never giving you away to anybody, baby. You’re mine. Only mine.”
Nandor’s strong arms tighten around his master’s middle and Guillermo feels his tears trickling down onto his chest. He wonders if Nandor is even coherent enough yet to think about the basic hypocrisy of what Guillermo has just said. Because the vampire does, in fact, give Nandor away from time to time. Loaning him out to Nadja and Laszlo when the couple need a third partner for their sexcapades, ordering him to go down on vampire acquaintances during social gatherings… Guillermo gets off on watching his familiar degrade himself with other vampires. But the part he loves the most is the way Nandor always comes flying back to him after whatever unmentionable deed is done. Eager for praise, desperate for the reassurance of his master’s touch. His Nandor.
“I love you, master,” Nandor’s voice hitches with silent sobs and Guillermo realizes how much his idle threat has spooked the poor human. Nandor’s never said those words to him out loud before. Not while awake, anyway.
Guillermo cards his fingers through Nandor’s long hair, humming a tuneless melody for him and resting his cheek on the top of his head.
“I know you do, baby,” he acknowledges, and that’s all Nandor is going to get.
Part of HYDRAs brainwashing for Bucky was to hook his arm up neurologically to his dick so that whenever he uses it on someone it feels good (positive reinforcement) Bucky usually keeps the arm to himself for that reason but when little Peter wants to check it out he can’t say no. He lets Peter tinker with the arm and the whole time he’s rock hard under the table trying his hardest not to bend the kid over and split him in half on his cock, especially when Peter holds his hand up to his face 1/3
Feeling Peter's smaller, smooth warm hand under his fingers makes Bucky's cock twitch, and when Peter leans in close to get a better look at his fingers all he can think about is trailing his fingertips over those soft, pretty pink lips. So he does, and Peter is startled especially when Bucky moans finally getting his hand on the kid. 2/3
Usually killing someone with the metal arm feels good but just touching Peter feels incredible. Bucky is a total mess just touching Peter's face, neck, shoulders, etc. Peter doesn't realize what's happening and is confused especially when Bucky thrusts his fingers past his lips into his mouth and moans loudly because it feels like his cock is getting sucked and it’s so good Bucky comes 3/3
No offense but this is the hottest thing i’ve ever read in my entire life
Bucky tracing his fingers over Peter's lips at first, just staring and moaning softly because it feels so good to finally get his hand on him, and then when Peter's soft lips part in surprise, he growls and a primal urge makes him push two fingers inside
The inside of Peter's mouth is velvety soft, his tongue slick and wet under the pads of his fingers and he needs more, he shoves his fingers in to the knuckle. The stretch of it is too sudden, and Peter's gagging on his metal fingers, the corners of his lips stretched around the intrusion and he whines pitifully, drooling down his chin and all over Bucky's cruel hand
Peter tries to swallow his spit but all it does is make him suckle on the ends of Bucky's fingers, he's whimpering and sucking desperately around them, and it's so tight and warm Bucky comes with a grunt.
for the anon who asked for fics with lots of endearments/pet names I'd rec the Throw Down the Gauntlet series. Lots of 'baby', 'baby boy', 'baby doll' aka bucky won't shut up during sex.
Thank you for writing in!
Throw Down the Gauntlet* by ameonna (zetsubonna), melospiza (orphan_account) (series, completed | 28,226 | E)*/others, dubcon
Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers met in 1924 in a back alley brawl. Bucky was seven and Steve was six.Buck waited until Steve had already lost a tooth before he beat the bullies off of him and down the street.After a firm handshake, they were instantly inseparable.
Leaves turn, seasons change, even in Brooklyn. Bucky and Steve discovered girls.Bucky had all of the luck, Steve barely had any, but it was okay. They still had each other.
In 1936, Steve's mom died, and Bucky offered him the other half of the tiny apartment he'd been looking into renting so he could move out of his parents' place.Steve was going to art school, and Bucky was working all the time. Bucky still had girls, and Steve still had Bucky.
Steve kissed a girl.Bucky kissed Steve.Everything was different after that.
***
(PWP with more feels than you can safely shake a stick at.)
Warnings: Implied Kidnapping, Breathplay, Near Drowning, Dub Con
Summary: Childe comes home in a mood and wants to try something new.
Word Count: 992
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI
When Childe had come home today you had thought he seemed a bit on edge, like something in the day had annoyed him. When he came closer and demanded his welcome home hug you spotted the drying flecks of blood on his collar and you knew that the source of his annoyance had almost certainly met their end. You also knew that that meant you were in for a long night as nothing turned Childe on more than a fight and anytime he came home after one you normally wouldn’t be walking too easily the next few days,
So you weren't surprised when he dragged you off to the bedroom and demanded you strip and get on the bed, nor were you surprised when he did the same. And when he pinned you beneath him and said he wanted to try something new you weren’t all that surprised either, Childe was rather adventurous in all things, the bedroom was no different. You also knew that you didn’t really have a say in this, he’d try it whether you wanted to or not, so it was easier to just go along with what he wanted than to struggle and fight it.
You were very surprised when you saw him grab his vision and transfer it to the hand holding yours above you.
You sent him a questioning look, unsure of what he was planning.
“Take a deep breath” That was the only warning you got before your head was engulfed in a bubble of water. Unprepared you involuntarily gasped, drawing water into your lungs. Feebly you struggled against his hold, desperate for air.
And then as soon as it was there it was gone. You tried to roll to your side, coughing, trying to expel as much water as you could before taking in lungfuls of air.
“Tsk tsk,” You looked up at Childe through watery eyes, as he shook his head at you, a look of mild disappointment on his face. “I told you to take a deep breath, is it really that hard to listen to instructions? Aren’t you going to be good for me?”
He took a moment to reposition himself slightly, keeping his grip on your wrists but adjusting his lower half so that he was neatly slotted between your legs.
“Now, let’s try again, take a deep breath,” This time he waited for you to take a breath, and once you had your head was once again engulfed in water. And after a moment he quickly entered you, his shaft splitting your walls open as he forced himself all the way in in one stroke. Once he was fully seated in you, his hips flush to yours, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation, you were squeezing him so tight, he couldn’t help but wonder how tightly you would squeeze him once you began to run out of air.
Drawing out he began a punishing pace, each thrust threatening to force the air from your lungs, and as you began running out of breath you squeezed him harder and harder. Your twisting and thrashing attempting to get out of his hold so that you could get air only served to force him into you deeper as you arched against him.
You were almost out of breath, ready to take a desperate gulp of water when it disappeared and you were able to breathe once more. While you greedily took in the air he slowed his thrusts, wanting to draw this out as long as possible.
His devious smirk while he pulled out was your only warning to suck in a quick breath before the water returned once more. And just as before he quickly plunged back into you, returning to his brutal pace from before. And then it finally happened, what you imagine he must’ve been aiming for the whole time, one perfectly placed thrust drew an involuntary gasp from you. All at once you began choking, trying to force the water out, instead taking away the last of your oxygen. This caused you to clamp down on him even tighter than before, and his pace began to become even faster as he chased his release.
Once you began to teeter on the edge of unconsciousness he took the water away once again, letting you get air once more.
Coughing you managed to get a few words out, pleading for him to stop, you couldn’t take anymore, he just laughed, assuring you that you could take more, and that you would, you would take everything he gave you.
He started his pace once more, this time without the water dome, his thrusts focused entirely on the one spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. You threw your head back, moaning as an orgasm began to overtake you. Once he noticed you were right on the edge he brought the water back, stealing your oxygen from you as an intense orgasm ripped through your body.
You were desperate for oxygen, your body overloaded from conflicting sensations, the pleasure of the orgasm, the pain of his brutal thrusts, the burning in your lungs. You were sure you were going to pass out, beginning to feel lightheaded, the edges of your vision darkening as Childe continued his brutal pace chasing his orgasm. It seemed as though he was intent, he wasn’t stopping until he came, regardless of whether you were conscious or not. He simply fucked into you like you were nothing but a toy for his pleasure.
You were right on the precipice of unconsciousness when you felt his hips stutter, and he finally collapsed against you, taking down the water dome with him.
As you lay there coughing and sputtering, weakly gasping for air, he simply sat off to the side, smiling at you.
“That was great, we’ll need to do it again sometime, maybe we can even spice it up with my delusion next time.”
