Please have mercy

Picnic

They did not exchange words of love.

The closest she had ever come to getting the idea that he could find the smallest amount of love to give her was the physical touches he would provide. And since it was the only way for her to get any sort of confirmation that he cared about her she was less reluctant to let him have his way. Spreading her legs when he asked, letting his mouth travel down her body sucking at her neck, his hand roaming her chest cupping her breast unapologetically.

She always tried to understand what he wanted her to do as he moved her body with ease, placing her however he wanted.

She had found herself bent in every direction, always lowered beneath him, feeling him crush her under his weight or lying on her stomach, on her knees, on her side, his hands holding her hips, firmly thrusting into her, his entire body pressed along hers, holding her in an embrace. 

He leaves marks on her body, he likes to look at them later on and see the imprint of his hands outlined in her skin, he likes to press on bite marks to make her wince, he likes to kiss the hickeys that trail from her neck to her thighs. And she lets him, she doesn't mention how painful they sometimes get, how long they take to heal, how much she has to worry about hiding them properly.

She does what she's supposed to do, she does her duty. After all, she has come to accept it. She keeps trying to convince herself that she enjoys it as much as he does, she tries to concentrate on the pleasure, she tries to concentrate on him, on his face, his hair, his nose, his so tender eyes.

This was the closest, the closest she could have to feeling loved, never with words only with touches. So, she took what she was given, shyly moaning his name with half-closed lids as he gave her praise after praise, saying the sweetest things she had heard in her life, calling her the most adoring of names.

She kept her precautions around him afterward, not sure when he would switch back to being harmful. He sometimes forgot that she was significantly more fragile than he was, being smaller and requiring less force than someone his size would.

Perhaps he didn't care, in those very moments, that he was maybe squeezing a little too hard, or being slightly too rough. She'd shut her eyes, swallowing the alarming voice that wanted her to scream and run, pry him off, duck away from a hit, cower, beg for forgiveness, plead for mercy.

Or perhaps he did care. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he wanted to keep her that way, on her toes at all times, fearing him, staying careful, trying to please him constantly. Perhaps he wanted her to feel the pain. Perhaps.

♛

"Do you see how terrified she looks whenever you move?" General Hux snarked at the supreme leader too loudly for it not to be intentional. He knew she was there, standing within hearing distance in the landing port, still far away enough not to be in his line of sight. "You don't see how terrified she looks whenever you move, she gets out of the way so quickly."

Her husband had instructed her to stay on a bench that was screwed into the wall. It was a detail she had found weird, everything on the ship was sealed into place, she had guessed it was for gravity reasons just in case one of the screens that separated from space broke, sucking everything out.

She was sitting exactly where he had pointed, her arms crossed over herself, to shield her from the impossible cold. He had also requested her to wear clothes for warmer weather and she had picked a silk dress of a very light teel color, almost resembling white when it shone under the light. Although it was not less revealing than her usual garments, the silk panels that crisscrossed and braided around her shoulders offered little warmth now that she was so close to the doors.