Chapter Text
You always feel slightly sore in the mornings nowadays. Like no matter how much sleep you get, it's no longer truly refreshing, no longer enough to let your body recuperate from your days of fighting both Sin Eaters and the raging light inside you.
The first thing you become aware of when gradually waking up is that you aren't where you are supposed to be. You've spent your night drinking in the Wandering Stairs, desperately trying to forget the horrors you've seen. You haven't slept through the night once since the attack on Lakeland, and you've quickly figured out that the best way to not see the carnage and destruction the Sin Eaters have wrought whenever you close your eyes is to distract yourself nonstop. And you are not the only one. It feels like half the Crystarium is up late at night, the mood dour until enough people are inebriated and forcefully change it into something more lighthearted. There, you are not the one supposed to save everyone. At night, at the bar, you are one among many, drowning your sorrows together with everyone else. And once you've had enough to drink, you can forget for a while. You drink and laugh, and you end up dancing with someone else each night.
It never goes any further than that, though, and usually, come morning, you find yourself waking slumped over a table and with a headache, but at least you know you've slept some few hours.
Not this morning, though. This morning you wake in a bed. Your head hurts like usual, and your mouth feels dry, letting you know that you have indeed been drinking more than your fair share the night before. Squinting your eyes together, you try to take in your surroundings without moving your aching head too much. The curtains look familiar, as does the nearby table, and you frown, wondering how in the world you somehow made it back to your room. It's when you feel movement next to you that your eyes widen. You're not alone, and dimly you remember dancing through the night before, twirling around until you were dizzy, until you stumbled into someone. Someone you know.
You gasp quietly at the faded memory. Emet-Selch. He had been there, looking thoroughly unimpressed at your sorry but blissfully carefree state. You remember him mocking you for how pathetic you looked, and you remember not caring for his hurtful words at all. You asked him to dance, invited him to join you, and after that, you only recall a thoroughly unsettling smile, nothing else. And now you are in your bed with someone right next to you, and you feel cold fear rise.
What have you done?
A quick look down soothes at least the worst fear as you find yourself still wearing the clothes you did the night before, minus your boots. But the relief is short-lived when a sudden hand on your shoulder turns you over, and you are faced with the Ascian looking at you from an unsettlingly close distance.
"Finally awake, I see," he murmurs, and his closeness alone sends a chill through you.
"What..." is all you manage to get out before your dry throat makes you cough.
"Oh, you don't remember?" Emet-Selch sounds amused as he looks you over. "All that dancing and drinking last night, flying right into my arms..."
You desperately try to recall what happened, and now, with him so close, it's somehow easier, and you pale as some things come back to you. You remember clinging to his robes, enjoying his smell, and asking him to... You shut your eyes tightly as you realize what you have done in your drunken stupor. How you propositioned him, encouraged him to take you away for the night. You know there has always been a spark of interest in you, but normally you keep a grip on these thoughts, and you certainly don't let them dictate your actions.
"I shouldn't have had so much to drink," you mutter, and it causes him to chuckle.
"But then I would have been deprived of some truly terrible attempts of seduction, my dear," he insists, and when you open your eyes again, Emet-Selch's are brimming with mischief. "You were quite entertaining and very, very loud."
When he says that, you remember yourself yelling at him, you remember people staring at you as you demanded he'd finally do something about this tension between you, and you give him a mortified look.
"I didn't," you start, grasping at an explanation. "I was drunk, I didn't truly mean, and I don't want..."
"You said things you'd never say while sober," he interrupts your stammering, and one of his hands reaches out, lazy fingers straightening the collar of your shirt, reminding you once again you are fully dressed even though you are undoubtedly in bed with him. "Which is why I didn't take you up on any of your suggestions."
A wave of relief crashes through you, and you let out a deep sigh. There are lines you'd never want to cross, no matter how curious parts of you might be. Sleeping with the enemy is probably the most obvious of these lines.
"Thank you," you mutter, part of you full of disbelief that you are having this conversation with an Ascian of all people.
"You think I did this out of kindness, my dear?" he asks, and something about his voice makes you pause. There is a dangerous glint in his eyes as his smile widens. "I didn't lay a hand on you because doing so while you are out of your mind, drunk and half-unconscious already, would be no fun for either one of us." His hand slips from your shoulder, trailing along your breasts as he adds, "Now that you are all sobered up, though..."
With a terrified gasp, you wrench yourself out of his grasp and jump out of bed. Your head is not liking the sudden movement at all, and blinding pain shoots through you for a moment as you catch your balance. Every part of you is suddenly on high alert. There is a huge difference between thinking about maybes in the privacy of your mind and the acute possibility of something actually happening, and it drives home more than anything before that this is a step you never want to take.
"Get out of my room," you hiss at him as you put some distance between you and the bed - only to realize that when your vision clears up, he is nowhere in sight.
"Ah, we are back to being in denial, I see," comes Emet-Selch's amused voice from behind, and you whirl around to see him standing within reach.
Your heart beats up in your throat as you shake your head at him.
"I don't know what you think I might want, but it isn't you, so please, get out!"
At your now much firmer voice, a frown appears on his face. He tilts his head, eyes wandering over you, and at your tense and defensive stance, a tick in his jaw appears, making him look undoubtedly angry all of a sudden. Slowly, he takes a step closer.
"The same game each time, you know how quickly I tire of these antics of yours, my dear," he says, and though his voice is still quiet, it holds something menacing within. You frown, not quite understanding his words, but his tone sets off every alarm bell in you, and without hesitation, you turn and make a break for the door. Whatever he wants to do, he will have a much harder time if half the Crystarium can hear and see you.
What you didn't anticipate is how fast he can be. You should have, you realize, a moment too late. He's an Ascian, after all, his mortal form doesn't say anything about his capabilities. You barely make it halfway through the room when he yanks you back forcefully enough you lose your balance, and a painful fall later, you're on the floor, all air knocked from you. You look up at him with wide eyes. And then you gasp in fear as he holds you down with his foot, his boot pressing against your chest. Your tries of twisting out from under him are unsuccessful, and you realize he could easily crush you like this, but for now, all he does is hold you in place.
"I go through all the effort of making sure you are actually sober and awake for this, and you are this ungrateful," he clicks his tongue dismissively, and when you struggle to throw him off again, the pressure on your chest increases. Wheezing, you try to grab his boot to dislodge him, but it is of no use. The more you struggle, the more weight he puts behind it until you stop your attempts and whimper in pain.
How did you end up like this? The warrior of light, Eorzea's champion and stalwart hero, lying on the cold stone floor of your own room, at the mercy of an Ascian. An enemy who had managed to make you let your guard down somewhat, you realize. You've known who he was from the very beginning, but somehow over the last few weeks, you have grown to almost like him. Even found him to be inconveniently attractive in some moments, not that you'd ever have acted on that, of course. Unless you drink yourself into a stupor, it might seem. One single moment, a minor lapse of judgment, and now panic rushes through every fiber of your being.
"I could crush you under heel, just like that. Hydaelyn's chosen, nothing but a stain on my boot."
Emet-Selch's voice is utterly cold as he looks down his nose at you. Your eyes are wide in terror as you realize he isn't wrong. Again you feel utterly stupid for being surprised that he can so easily overpower you. You really shouldn't be. After all, he has powers at his disposal you can't even imagine. You can't simply win this by a show of strength, you realize. Instead, you need to find just the right moment to make a break for it that maybe gets you out of this room. For now, you try to relax in the hope that maybe letting him think he has you subdued will give you an opening.
"Look at that," Emet-Selch says with a gleeful smile. "Docile the moment I've put you in your place."
He shifts his boot slightly, weight still on your chest, but now the tip of his shoe presses against your neck, and you freeze in genuine fear, knowing that he could break your neck without any effort. Or simply crush your windpipe, you realize as he ups the pressure and you can no longer freely breathe.
Tears spring to the corners of your eyes as he keeps going, and you cough and choke under the pressure. The lights around you seem to flicker as you desperately fight for air, but before darkness can really close in on you, the pressure suddenly disappears. You cough and wheeze, trying to get the hazy world back into focus, when Emet-Selch is close in an instant, hands pressing you back against the stone and leaving you unable to get up.
His tongue darts out, licking off your tears with a groan as if he has been waiting for exactly this. Maybe he has. From the way he grabs you, snarling and with a bruising touch, all with this uncanny look of pure enjoyment in his eyes, you can only assume that he likes this far more than if you were complacent. It's not just that he wants to have you, you realize, terror freezing the blood in your veins as you understand what it is that drives him. He wants to break you, wants to see you suffer.
"How about you scream for help, my dear?" Emet-Selch suggests with a grin as he grabs your hair and pulls your head roughly to the side so he can let his teeth sink into your neck. "From the top of your lungs, see if someone comes to rescue you."
You know he is baiting you. He won't let anyone interfere. His magic has most likely made sure that not a sound will leave this room, and all he wants now is to make you feel the power he wields. Stubbornly you keep your teeth clenched shut, but when his smile widens, you realize you've played right into his hands.
"Not even an attempt? My, one could be tempted to think you truly do want to be here with me after all."
"I don't!" You spit out the words with anger burning through you. "I want no part of this, and you know it."
Emet-Selch only chuckles before he roughly pulls up your skirt and drags your panties down. You struggle, trying to stop him by twisting your legs, but he simply tears at the fabric until it gives. A second later, his fingers glide through your folds.
"And yet you are getting nice and wet for me like a common whore," he muses, pushing one long finger inside of you and curling it just right, enough so your body is forced to react.
Instinctively, you try to snap your legs shut, but he is having none of your defiance. With a low growl, he slaps you so hard you think you can see stars for a moment. Your ears are ringing, and your eyes flutter shut under the impact. Before your vision clears, you can feel his magic take form around you, wrapping in thick strands around your limbs and holding you in place. The ones around your legs draw them further apart, spreading you completely open for him, and you can't help but struggle in this grasp, desperately trying to fight against it, but the moment you want to push back and force your legs closed, he hits you again. Your head snaps in the other direction this time, and over the pulsing pain, you can hear a dark chuckle.
"You can make this more difficult for yourself if you insist," Emet-Selch tells you, his voice too slick to be anything but chilling.
"Difficult for you, you mean," you hiss back, unable to clearly look at him from how much your head still spins. "And you can bet I will!"
With a low growl, you tense, putting everything you have into trying to dislodge him and twist out of his magic's grasp. For a moment, you think it's almost enough when he shifts and almost lets you go. You double down the second you think you see an opening, but just like that, his magic coils more tightly around you, and another strand wraps around your neck, tightening instantly until you start to gasp and cough in panic.
His reaction is another laugh.
"Trust me, my dear, binding you is not difficult for me. Neither is watching you cry out in pain."
He sounds clearly amused, but when you struggle again, he grabs both your thighs. With both hands and his magic pushes them roughly apart. The force behind it is enough that you indeed cry out loudly, afraid something might break for a moment. His eyes narrow, and he moves so fast you barely get any warning before the next slap he gives you crashes down between your legs. For a second, you are too shocked to react until the pain hits you. Emet-Selch is still smiling, and the magic around your neck loosens just in time before you howl in agony. He does it on purpose, you know, letting you breathe enough to he can hear every noise you make. Blinking through your tears, you see his smile widen before he does it again. You are still crying out when he lands a third hit, and before you know it, you find yourself weeping, begging him to stop. For a few terrifying moments, you think he might be beyond listening as he watches you with gleeful eyes as he spreads your folds apart to make sure his next slap directly hits your most sensitive part. You scream this time, thrashing in his hold, blindly begging and pleading.
"Do you still not understand, hero?" His voice is scathing as he looks coldly down at you. "Your pleas and pathetic whimpering do nothing. If you want me to show mercy, you will cease your struggle!"
Everything in you is poised to fight him, every fiber of your being tense, every muscle determined to struggle, and he wants you to stop...
It is impossible.
You can't stop fighting him, and when he makes to garb your chin, you snarl and try to bite him.
"Oh, you wretched little creature. Sobbing and crying, no, no, no," Emet-Selch murmurs as he tightens the magic around your neck again and moves his hand down to push his finger back inside you. "But deep within you, I know there is a yes just waiting, my dear. You need to listen to that yes!"
Dimly you remember that you have thought something similar the night before, after a couple of drinks. That small moment where you wanted to throw caution to the wind. But you are no longer drunk and out of your mind. You know precisely what kind of person he is. The enemy. As sympathetic as he sometimes seems, he is a man who has killed millions upon millions. The one responsible for the calamity that changed your life and ended life itself for so many you knew. And he does it all with glib ease. He is uncaring and utterly ruthless. Emet-Selch doesn't see you as an equal. To him, you are all bugs to squish without consequence, and you know that whatever you will do, he is going to crush you slowly. He curls his finger upward, brushing it right across that sensitive spot on your front wall, and after the stinging pain, it feels good enough you can't suppress a small moan. When he hears it and watches the mortification spread over your face, his smile becomes triumphant, and your stomach sinks.
"I am going to hurt you, my dear. Make no mistake. And I am going to enjoy it, too," he promises, adding a second finger with a sinister smile. "But if you fight back, I am going to make you suffer much, much worse than this, and I can promise that I will savor that just as much, even if you most certainly won't."
Cold fear seems to paralyze your entire body as it sinks in that this is truly happening, that you are utterly helpless in his grasp, and that you have no choice but to surrender. At least not if you have any hope of making it through this, and despite tears of anger brimming in your eyes, you force yourself to lie still.
"There you go," Emet-Selch says with a smile that is sickly sweet. "Compliant and obedient suits you much better, my dear." He leans closer, fingers twisting inside you in a way that makes a shameful wave of pleasure run through your entire body. "I am going to make you enjoy this," he murmurs against your tear-streaked cheek. "Well, at least part of you." And then his thumb brushes over your clit, and you clench your teeth together to stifle another moan as you realize with growing horror that he is going to do exactly that. That he is going to force your body to enjoy his touch and that there is nothing you can do.