My first fill! Includes forced force-choking (lol), incestuous role-play, non-con, forced pegging and topping-from-the-bottom-Kylo. Enjoy :)
***
The pile of clothes in front of her looks harmless, but she still doesn’t trust them.
She’s been wearing the same stinking clothes she was caught in for days, and the bathing facilities for prisoners are non-existent, it seems. She feels grimy and rotten, caked in blood and sweat and tears, but she hasn’t felt safe enough to remove her clothes for a long time. This offering of clean garments placed on the bench while she was being interrogated is more than welcome, but she is too suspicious to take them for granted.
When Rey is released from her restraints it comes as a surprise, but she immediately searches for a way out even though she knows there is none. The door is unsurpassable and she claws her nails bloody trying to gain purchase around the indents of the edge. Everything is screwed to the floor and even though she can somehow feel the guards’ minds outside, she can only manage to prod gently before she develops a blinding headache and curls up on the cold bench.
In desperation, she imagines sand beneath her feet and the chatter of the marketplace and she wishes so badly that she were home. It helps, a bit.
When she stops crying she looks again at the black garments. They look well made and comfortable, and she gives in to temptation and picks the top one up. It is a black cape, heavy and thick in her hands and oh so warm. She drapes it around herself and inhales. It smells of dust.
The outfit itself looks and feels expensive, and Rey wonders why they would bother giving it to her. The design itself is old - Rey remembers ancient robes in this style being sold at market long ago for far too extortionate prices, although the man who sold them escapes her memory. They are all too large, created for a man or a larger, humanoid creature, and there are fraying edges and tears that have been repaired carefully and seemingly by hand. Rey looks around and, seeing no obvious cameras, wraps the cloak around herself and changes into them. She has to roll the sleeves up a bit, and the trousers drag on the floor but she is clean, at least, and warmer than she was. She may be wary, but she will take advantage of the small mercies. There are boots under the bench and she puts them on, tucking the trousers in and wiggling her numb toes to warm them up. If she is going to escape, she reasons, she cannot do it barefooted.
There is a pair of black gloves on the bench also, but Rey decides against them. They are too big and, although warm, would render her hands useless in a fight. She stands and paces, the new clothes empowering her. They feel as if they would be worn by a leader, a powerful force, and she again ponders why they would have been given to her. She files this away as unimportant and plans her escape.
[FILL] To Worship False Idols 1/? (Kylo/Rey, force-choking, non-con)
The pile of clothes in front of her looks harmless, but she still doesn’t trust them.
She’s been wearing the same stinking clothes she was caught in for days, and the bathing facilities for prisoners are non-existent, it seems. She feels grimy and rotten, caked in blood and sweat and tears, but she hasn’t felt safe enough to remove her clothes for a long time. This offering of clean garments placed on the bench while she was being interrogated is more than welcome, but she is too suspicious to take them for granted.
When Rey is released from her restraints it comes as a surprise, but she immediately searches for a way out even though she knows there is none. The door is unsurpassable and she claws her nails bloody trying to gain purchase around the indents of the edge. Everything is screwed to the floor and even though she can somehow feel the guards’ minds outside, she can only manage to prod gently before she develops a blinding headache and curls up on the cold bench.
In desperation, she imagines sand beneath her feet and the chatter of the marketplace and she wishes so badly that she were home. It helps, a bit.
When she stops crying she looks again at the black garments. They look well made and comfortable, and she gives in to temptation and picks the top one up. It is a black cape, heavy and thick in her hands and oh so warm. She drapes it around herself and inhales. It smells of dust.
The outfit itself looks and feels expensive, and Rey wonders why they would bother giving it to her. The design itself is old - Rey remembers ancient robes in this style being sold at market long ago for far too extortionate prices, although the man who sold them escapes her memory. They are all too large, created for a man or a larger, humanoid creature, and there are fraying edges and tears that have been repaired carefully and seemingly by hand. Rey looks around and, seeing no obvious cameras, wraps the cloak around herself and changes into them. She has to roll the sleeves up a bit, and the trousers drag on the floor but she is clean, at least, and warmer than she was. She may be wary, but she will take advantage of the small mercies. There are boots under the bench and she puts them on, tucking the trousers in and wiggling her numb toes to warm them up. If she is going to escape, she reasons, she cannot do it barefooted.
There is a pair of black gloves on the bench also, but Rey decides against them. They are too big and, although warm, would render her hands useless in a fight. She stands and paces, the new clothes empowering her. They feel as if they would be worn by a leader, a powerful force, and she again ponders why they would have been given to her. She files this away as unimportant and plans her escape.