Forced Sex - Tumblr Posts
Lose control (part 1)
Cw: sexual content, dubious consent from both parties.
Ao3 tags: soft kylo, kylo ren needs a hug, forced marriage, crying, hugging, fluff I guess, angst/comfort.
Wc: many idk ;)
Your hands trembled slightly. Fingers clutching the bouquet of blood red roses in your hands, small thorns digging into you’re skin, penetrating the soft skin of your palms and drawing dribbles of blood, colour matching the roses. The long, heavy dress only getting heavier, hotter while your legs miraculously moved you down the aisle. The heavy jewels from your home planet not helping the already heavy feeling of your gown. The further your legs carried you down towards the monster at the altar, the more tears welled in your eyes. Your white veil hid your sad tears from the ocean of First order officials and the few known faces of royals and aristocrats from home. Being princess of the most powerful planet in the inner rim seemed like a dream, when you were younger. Now it seemed more like a nightmare.
The huge, menacing black clad shadow before you, the commander of the first order, Kylo Ren, didn’t even look at you. Though that was hard to see, since his mask hid his face, if he had one. You hadn’t seen him without his mask yet, you didn’t know if your to-be husband was even human. You reached the altar and handed the bouquet to a bridesmaid you didn’t know, someone they had put there for show. Everything was fake. The bridesmaids, probably the groomsmen too, the love and romance was fake, the ‘happy’ tears rolling down your family’s cheeks. The only seemingly real thing were the roses in your hands, the pain from the thorns keeping you grounded as it seemed the air slowly left your lungs and your blood flow slowed down.
He still wouldn’t look at you, even though you stood right in front of him. The room went silent as the official began talking, his words muddled into a stream of incoherent sounds in your head. Everything swam, got blurry and unrecognisable. The tears slowly streamed down your cheeks and dripped from your chin onto your dress. A hand gripped your right one, and the defending silence ended. Your eyes directed to his helmet hidden ones, as his deep static voice sounded in the cold air. “Princess?” You had been lost in thought and missed the official asking you whether you would take this ‘man’ as your husband. “I do. I do.” Your soft voice sounded and cheers from the many benches erupted. A ring was slid onto your finger and the commander led you down the aisle. His large frame nearly hid you completely, if it weren’t for the enormous dress you were wearing. Your hand was wrapped around his large bicep, trying to hold you steady on your trembling legs. You were married. Married to the commander of the first order. Married to Kylo Ren. Married to a Monster. You reached the hallway with your husband on your arm. The crowd followed you while chanting, hyping everyone up for the ritual. You feared the ritual, always had.
Your planet even though being very technically advanced and being on trend with everything, was still bound to old traditions. Medieval methods if you will. What waited for you, was ‘very’ romantic sex with a man you had never seen, let alone met, while the official and several priests watched you consummate the marriage and ensure the promise of an heir. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You trembled harder and more tears ran down your face as you neared the quarters where the ritual would be held. ***
Kylo felt her grip his arms tighter and he looked down at the princess, his wife now. Her hands were shaking and tears littered the front of her dress. Under his helmet his own lips trembled at the absurdness of the situation. He walked faster towards the room at the end of the hall, wanting just a minute alone with the princess so he could calm her down before the handmaids came to undress her.
Finally the door stood in front of them, and one of his knights opened the door. Kylo pulled the princess inside as fast as he could without literally throwing her. She whimpered and began to softly sob behind the veil. He took of his leather gloves off and threw them wherever, he reached for her veil while shushing her. As her beautiful face came into view, he quickly pulled of his own disguise. She gasped and looked at him in awe. Feeling like they might be running out of time he grabbed her hands in his own enormous ones and looked into her sad eyes.
“Princess. I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?” She weakly nodded and gave his hands a slight squeeze. “Alright. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I probably want this just as little as you, alright? I’ll be gentle and I need you to tell me if you feel uncomfortable during the ritual, okay?” Again she only nodded, seemingly to nervous and scared to talk.
A door behind them opened and three handmaids bustled into the room. They pulled the princess from him before he could say another word. The ritual had begun.
C/W! Rough CNC. If it is not your thing, skip ahead
Part 1 is here
Balaclava 2
I've walked this street a million times from the bus stop late at night. It's always the same. Apartment buildings, shades shuttered, blinds closed, eyes blind to the world but lost in the glazed light of TV. It's a warm Spring night, early for this time of year, but comforting at the same time, like a nice blanket against the memory of the recent Winter's chill.
The soft click of my heels masks the padded tread of the steps that follow me, leaving me blissfully unaware – until I am nearly hoisted from my feet and thrown roughly against the rough brick wall. The suddenness rips the breath from my lungs like being thrown into a vacuum. My cry of shock is muffled in the gag of a leather-clad hand around my mouth. Instinctively, I reach back in defense. My target is an eye to poke, an ear or nose to rip, anything to loose me from my assailant. The warmth of the air cannot compensate for the chill that stiffens my spine as my fingers encounter not flesh, but the course knit of a mask.
What? This cannot be, not again! The night breeze carries the familiar fragrance of my favorite cologne, but it does not comfort me. Two swift kicks to my feet pop my legs apart with deft expertise. Military? No, like a police shakedown, scuffing my shoes and nearly breaking my heels from my shoes. I pant into the glove, my mouth agape, my saliva mixes with my sudden tears, making it wet. If this is he, why is he so rough this time? Where is the tenderness that soothed my fear before?
I don't have time to contemplate the questions as my skirt is lifted, my panties pushed to the side and my unprepared pussy is pierced by the familiar shaft. My breath hitches in my throat as pain rips through my thighs at this invasion. Some sound must have escaped my lips. In response came the sound of shades unshuttered and blinds being opened. But those were the only sounds. No protests of defense, no alarms of protest, no calls for 911. I could feel the eyes, dozens of them, become an audience of my violation. Better entertainment than the artificiality of their screens.
My cunt surges wetness around his cock, more in self-defense of the pain than of pleasure. Each trust nearly lifts me from my feet, the toes of my shoes barely touching the cold concrete beneath. And still, silence from him. Not a word, just like last time, but here, in the open, before all these people, and so soulless, like I am an object for his pleasure and nothing more? There is no time to think.
A massive thrust pushes my face against the rough brick as his hot load fills my pussy. As suddenly as his entrance, his withdrawal leaves my pussy clenching on nothing, forcing his cum into my panties that were quickly pushed back in place to catch it. It is as though he isn't allowing his cum or my fear to drain from my body. Air rushes back into my starving lungs when his gloved hand is removed. I gasp and sputter. His mask shielded not a lover, but an enigma – a yin-yang harbinger of pleasure and pain.
I collect myself in time to see him casually pass under the last street light from whence he came and vanish into the darkness. The eyes of the audience flicker out like the light of a spent meteor shower as blinds are once more closed and shutters clank closed. I stagger home, throw my bag onto the floor, and hurry to lock the door behind me. The click of the lock resonates in the darkness, but my hand is frozen on the lever. Ever so slowly, I twist it to the open position.
Just in case.