Work Text:
Orihime had a great imagination. She could think of the wildest stuff to eat and the greatest things to be when she got older. So it was easy for her to pretend.
It was easy to pretend that the obi tying her hands together was white and not black. When she looked at golden eyes full of malice and glee she saw warm brown eyes full of caring. Those were lips and tongue gently trailing down her neck, to her breast and nipples, not sharp teeth and the feel of broken skin.
It was easy to pretend those hands that pushed her thighs apart were warm and gentle, not cold and rough. When something long and hard entered her, she wasn’t crying out in pain, but in ecstasy.
Her imagination began to faulter when the cackling began, the smile was too big and the voice that was all wrong began to speak.
“The King doesn’t always get it. He’s so busy being noble that he’s forgotten to pay attention to his base instincts…and isn’t that what you wanted?”