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His fingers aren’t enough.
He has no idea where his heat toys are - most likely they’re in the bottom of one of the many boxes scattering the tiny apartment he has yet to unpack.
The ominous scratching sounds from under his bed remind him of why getting up to search is a bad idea.
For the up-tenth time since his predicament started Obi-Wan wishes he’d had enough money to get a new bed when he moved away from Qui-Gon. He’d foolishly hoped that whatever Lovecraftian nightmare had made a home under his mattress would have been left behind in the move but had been quickly disappointed; the foreboding hss-chk hss-chk of its breathing had made it clear it had traveled with the ancient piece of furniture.
The one time Qui-Gon got him a therapy appointment for his “paranoia” (promising more but as Obi-Wan had predicted his father blew the money for it at the races after the one session and didn’t bother trying again) the therapist had suggested naming the creature - something to do with becoming more familiar with it and thus making it seem less frightening.
He named it Vader.
It didn’t lessen any of the horror he felt towards it, the strategy well and truly failing in that regard, but it did give him a name to curse as he pulls the covers further up despite his sweaty state. The raspy breathing echoes in the small room and a darker patch of shadow probs the edges of the bed, searching for any limb that had slipped out of the blanket.
His father’s constant “borrowing” from his funds meant that even with a steady income from tutoring on top of his daytime job he’d barely been able to afford rent on the shoebox apartment, let alone the necessary furniture for it. He’d had to cut costs at every turn, resigning himself to cup noodles for the foreseeable future. He wouldn’t be able to replace the damned bed for at least a month.
He loved his father dearly but the man’s compulsive gambling habits meant the day Obi-Wan turned 18 he’d scraped together every dollar that Qui-Gon hadn’t drained from his account and left. If he wanted any shot at a decent life, or even just mental and financial stability, he needed to distance himself from the man.
Usually he books a heat room; his cycles coming around like clockwork meant he had plenty of time to plan them out, have the money put aside and not have to go through them with the bedbug-from-hell present. He wasn’t due for another month and so had thought he had ample time to settle in to the new place.
He hadn’t counted on the stress of the move and lack of familiar scents to trigger an early heat.
Sure, he had felt a little off the day before but had attributed it to a stomach bug coming on, or perhaps a mild case of food poisoning from the cheap take out he had eaten for dinner. He hadn’t even considered that it could be a heat, hadn’t thought to locate his heat toys or seal himself in a different room so he wouldn’t be trapped with his monster.
A monster who probably had much bigger fingers than Obi-Wan.
He tries to dismiss the thought but he’s not able to get in nearly enough. He can play with his hole and his small, soft cock as much as he likes but the sad truth is that it’s not enough. As an omega in heat there’s a bunch of nerves deep inside that ache if not stimulated - a natural incentive to mate as though the desperate psychological need wasn’t enough - and his fingers cannot reach them. The longer the heat drags on and they go untouched the more painful it becomes.
It’s impossible to block out and he finds himself wondering just how big Vader’s fingers are. Sure, he’s felt their bruising grip before - the few times he’s messed up and the monster had grabbed at him - but terror in those moments had stopped him from registering details like size and shape, too desperate to escape the sharp claws.
Perhaps the creature had a dick and could fuck him? He’s seen the silhouette, the towering shadowy form with glowing yellow eyes. If it’s that big that should mean if it does have a cock it should be equally large, right? Obi-Wan has always bought the biggest toys he could find despite knowing they were unrealistic standards and he was setting himself up for disappointment when he did eventually find a mate. But Vader wasn’t human and the thought of actually being fucked on a giant cock, of being forced open so thoroughly it actually damages his insides, finally pushes him over the edge into an orgasm despite his unstimulated aching nerves.
(If he screams Vader’s name as he cums that’s his own business.)
(If the harsh breathing stops for just a moment, if claws grip down so strong they pierce the mattress fabric and crush the springs, that’s Vader’s business.)
Coming down from the high of the orgasm the moment of clarity reminds him of what a bad idea spreading his legs for Vader really is. He’s got the scars, deep gouges on his wrists and ankles, to prove the creature is more likely to cut him into little pieces and devour him than fuck him.
Groaning as his hole gives a particularly painful throb he gets back to work twisting his fingers that are already soaked with slick, the brief relief already past.
——
An hour later and Obi-Wan is at his wits end. He hasn’t been able to cum since that first time, both his hands are tired from the constant futile movements, and the ache has long since become unmanageable. He’s always thought the whole concept of heats being deadly without some form of assistance was a myth created by knot-head alphas but now, going literally insane from the pain of not being fucked, he’s beginning to believe it.
It’s a bad idea - a terrible idea really - but he’s so very desperate.
“Vader?”
Obi-Wan’s voice is hoarse from all the moaning and screaming it’s done since his heat set in. It’s barely above a whisper but the growling and scratching cuts off, the only sound left is the monster’s harsh breathing and the wet noise of his fingers moving mindlessly in and out, dripping with slick.
“If-if I get out of the bed I don’t care what you do. Kill me, eat me, whatever you want! Just please,” he begs, “please take me!”
He’s nearly sobbing as he mindlessly begs yet habit, always striving to be civil, means even now he doesn’t swear.
“Take me, Vader! Please take me! I need you so bad!”
For the first time in his 18 years he pushes the covers off, exposing his naked body to the cool night air. He’s never been sure why - the creature is more than strong enough to pull off the blankets and has claws sharp enough to rip them to shreds if it so desired - but Vader never touches him if he remains under the covers, lets go if Obi-Wan manages to throw the blanket over any captured limb or turns on a light, sticking firm to a bizarre set of rules.
Obi-Wan lies there and waits for the beast to rise, for claws to tear into him. He’s either going to be molested by the monster straight from his nightmares or he’s going to die; either way it’s preferable to a moment more of this pain.
One minute passes.
…
…
…
Then two.
…
…
…
Then five.
Nothing happens.
He groans in utter frustration. The one time he needs the creature it refuses appear. The echoing, almost mechanical sounds of its breathing suggest it’s still there, just… not doing anything.
Angrily he takes his hand away from his hole, wiping the mess on the already soiled sheets, and swings his legs over the side. If the monster is refusing to act then he’s going to find his damn dildo-
THUMP
He’d been half way through standing up, his feet barely touching the floor, when deformed talons clamp down around his ankles and yank, sending him crashing down and pulling him halfway under the bed in a single violent movement. The air is ripped from him so suddenly he can’t even scream as his heat-sensitive body is dragged along the cheap carpet, burning his front.
The grip on his ankles remains, holding his legs apart and up just enough he can’t feel the floor under them. Despite his earlier words a primal sense of survival overtakes him and he scrambles to get away, thrashing and clawing desperately at the ground.
It’s useless. The creature just purrs at his struggles, getting high off his fear. Vader is strong enough it feels like his feet are stuck in concrete rather than the grasp of something living. It certainly doesn’t help the nightmare’s skin is cold to the touch, making it feel even more alien, more inhuman.
He freezes as something wet and slimy slips into his hole with no warning. The tip is narrow but it quickly becomes evident it’s due to a tapering shape as the fleshy appendage continues to push in, ending as thick as a human cock at the base but so much longer and infinitely more dexterous. Finally there is something flicking up against his aching nerves, alleviating the pain. Despite the horror of the situation he finds himself relaxing, losing himself to the sensation as the tentacle-like organ makes sharp twisting movements inside him.
The claws are still gripping his ankles tightly so when another claw wraps around his cock he startles. The tiny thing is flaccid - unable to harden during heat when his body is diverting all its energy into making him into a breedable mate - but like every part of his body its tenderness is heightened. The taloned hand dwarfs it, both dick and balls trapped in its hold. At first it’s pleasant, the feeling of something touching his sensitive little cock even if that touch is the rough skin of a monster, and he rocks into the touch creating a delicious friction.
Then Vader squeezes.
Hard.
The shock makes Obi-Wan jerk, his back hitting the bed frame as his body instinctively jolts away from the source of the pain. Behind him the creature makes a delighted noise, the movements of the tentacle becoming more eager.
He’s given a moment of reprieve before it happens again. The time after that he’s almost expecting it but it still causes so much pain he thrashes and screams until the claw relaxes its grip.
It becomes a torturous routine; deceptively gentle touches randomly interrupted with a crushing squeeze, the monster getting off on his pain and struggling. But with the way Vader becomes more excited when Obi-Wan is reacting to the abuse, the tentacle rubbing against his heat nerves more vigorously each time, the pain and pleasure signals are getting confused. The next time the monster squeezes his cock he nearly cums.
Only for Vader to pull out right as Obi-Wan is on the edge.
“Nonono! I’m so close! Please!”
His begging gets him nothing, not that he expected it to; pleading with the beast had never worked before.
The thing releases the punishing grip on his ankles and they fall.
And keep falling.
He’d thought the creature had been holding him up just enough that he hadn’t had contact with the floor but the monster had apparently opened some kind of portal under the bed and has been dangling him halfway over the edge. He scratches and scrambles to stay on the surface; logically enough of his body is on the floor that he should be stable but the sudden unexpected drop of his lower half makes him panic.
He worms his way out, has nearly fully pulled his way out of the hole, when a set of claws grabs his hips and yanks him back so he’s bent over the ledge, ass on display as he uselessly kicks the empty air. Vader’s hulking form crawls up and over him, pressing their bodies together. There shouldn’t be enough room for it to be on top of him, the bed frame should have either prevented it or been pushed up, yet the dark mass settles above him, reality bending around it, hard plating of its exoskeleton digging into his back. It must have grown bored of his struggles because the second set of claws grasp his wrists and pin them down.
The toothy maw is right next to his face, the harsh noise of its breathing right next to his ear. It’s rancid breath is laced with the salty tang of his own slick and the chilling realization sets in that the thick tentacle appendage had not been its cock or a mating organ of some kind but a tongue.
Obi-Wan doesn’t know how the creature is getting the leverage for the movement as it grinds against his ass. The more it rubs itself on him the more a fleshy protrusion begins to emerge from a small gap in the plates. Eventually the whole enormous cock has filled out, Vader rutting it between his cheeks, and even with his heat hormones and his love of large toys it’s making him nervous. The thing is huge, pitted along the sides and the head is bulbous, the size comparable to an alphas knot fully engorged.
The talons on his hips creep between his legs, claws dragging against his tender skin as they go, and arms wrap around his thighs from the inside, an extra elbow-like joint and bending at unnatural angles making it possible. It pushes his ass up as it forces his legs apart and the fat tip of the cock presses against his hole.
It shouldn’t work, the omegan muscles in his rim specifically designed to keep something that size in but Vader just keeps pushing until his body is forced to give under the superior strength of the creature, Obi-Wan screaming in pain as his rim muscles stretch and tear until the whole swollen lump of its tip is inside him.
Impossibly he feels the head swell even bigger.
The beast does a few small tugs, purring as the cock head catches on his damaged rim, as if to make sure it cannot slip out (later, when he is not out of his mind in heat and pain, Obi-Wan will realize the bulbous tip and it’s growth once inside meant once it was in it was impossible to escape until Vader got his pleasure).
Then, without warning, it slammed forward, the whole huge cock sheathed in one brutal movement. It pulls out until it catches on his omegan lock, his body tightening to keep in what it thinks is a knot, before plunging in again. And again. And again and again and again.
Pinned as he is Obi-Wan can do nothing more than scream hoarsely and take it, his voice as damaged as the rest of him. The creature grunts as it plunders him, the grip on his wrists strong enough to grind the bones together. The cock in him is just as cold as the rest of the monster and makes his insides tingle with every thrust as the huge dick batters his organs. On top of the already violent pounding Vader yanks on his legs, his ass and thighs bruising as he’s slammed against the creature’s exoskeleton over and over again, claws sinking in making blood drip down his dangling feet.
It’s the best thing he’s ever felt.
It could be the confusion the monster had caused his body earlier carrying over, mixing up his pain and pleasure signals, or the slimy substance that squirted out from the pits along the side of the cock he’d felt before had some overpowering aphrodisiac quality to it. While he liked big toys this was going beyond any threshold he should have had even in heat yet he can’t get enough. He’s flush with slick, slime, and very likely blood but he wants more.
His inner nerves have never been hit so hard - if there was any light he’d probably be able to make out every detail of the dick through his stomach - and it’s not long before he cums, Vader just speeding up its already brutal pace as he spasms around the giant dick, the squelching sounds drowning out Obi-Wan’s orgasmic screams, his throat so injured it’s barely louder than a gasp.
When the monster realizes he’s not as responsive it makes an angry growl. One of his wrists is released so it free up the claw to grab his hair and pull, hard enough he likely lost a good chunk of strands, but he’s too exhausted to give much of a reaction. Vader gets more violent as it continues to pound into him, biting and squeezing and scratching.
The pain and stimulation make him harden again but his strung out body fails to do more than pathetically squirm until another orgasm is ripped from him, the tightening of his hole finally enough to bring the creature to completion. He’s flooded with Vader’s seed, his stomach instantly bloating from the obscene amount. It’s warm. Too warm. Against his insides, so used to the cold cock, it feels like it’s burning. No part of the dick swells further like an alpha’s - which was fortunate as if it got any bigger then it would have split him open - instead softening down but even as it does so the bulbous tip is still the size of a knot.
Which makes it incredibly painful when the monster simply pulls it out, further damaging the already torn muscles.
The euphoric pheromones flooding his brain from what it thinks is an alpha mating mean he’s too out of it to care as the nightmare lets go of his legs so it can pin him to its body, too out of it to comprehend more than a dizzying sensation as he’s moved, the darkness making it impossible to tell what is up or down.
Too out of it to realize the bedding he’s dropped onto is not his own sheets.
The creature is making angry noises again and Obi-Wan doesn’t know why until its claws swipe against his thighs, gathering globs of cum that have poured out of his broken body, and try to push it back into his hole only for it to keep leaking out, his rim gaping and muscles too torn to clench.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I can’t hold it in.” He’s already feeling the emptiness, missing the awful stretch of Vader’s dick and his heat robs him of common sense - it’s the only explanation for his next actions.
He spreads his legs wider, looking directly at the luminous yellow orbs of its eyes, the only thing he can see in the darkness.
“But you can always put more in m-“
The words are cut off as the creature pounces, flipping him onto his stomach and mounting him. Every part of his body aches, there’s no inch not already covered in blood or bruises, but there’s a deep sense of satisfaction as the monstrous cock forces its way back in.
——-
Obi-Wan had no idea how long it has been, a feverish fog of violent sex in the dark, when the haze of heat began to clear. He finds himself on top of a pile of unfamiliar blankets and pelts, every part of him is either sore or numb. He can barely feel his legs as he sits up, his whole body protesting.
His field of vision is limited to the makeshift bed. There is no light source, nothing to signal why he can see even that much in the oppressive darkness, but as he groans a man appears. Literally. He had known there was nothing in that space a millisecond ago and yet the man now stands there.
He’s handsome enough with dusty blonde curls, fine black clothing, and glimmering blue eyes set in a conventionally attractive face but there is something about him that raises the hair on the back of Obi-Wan’s neck, something wrong. It could be the unnerving way he has simply flickered into existence or how he is that bit too visible in what should be pitch black shadows.
“What…?” he tries to structure his thoughts, figure out what he should be asking first, but while his heat has receded he is far from clear minded and his aching body isn’t helping. The man seems to catch onto what he means as Obi-Wan shakily stands, every instinct screaming at him to run.
“I thought you might whine less if I made an illusion.”
Well, that answered everything and nothing.
“Where am I? Who are you?”
The man cocks his head as though confused but the expression doesn’t shift, remaining the same neutral pleasantness that is setting Obi-Wan on edge.
“You said ‘take me’ and so I did. I took you from your world and brought you here, to my den,” the image says calmly. The movements of the mouth don’t quite match the words like a badly dubbed movie made real. It’s disconcerting enough that it almost distracts him from what was said.
A horrifying realization is beginning to form as the thing smiles. There’s no shifting between the expressions - the image just clips from one to the next.
“I’ve wanted you for so long. I kept going back even when you remained so careful and I realized I wouldn’t be able to eat you,” it continues, the tone staying the same as if it’s not talking about how it originally planned to murder him and consume the remains. “I could never figure out why until I heard you preparing yourself for me.”
It doesn’t walk forward but it is suddenly standing over him. It puts its hands on his face and what he sees is normal, human hands but what he feels is calloused talons. Another set of claws - completely hidden by whatever approximation of a human illusion is being projected - wrap around his waist and pull him close and it’s not fabric that he feels against his body but solid exoskeleton.
“I even waited until your feet touched the floor so the pact couldn’t be disputed,” it croons, its mouth too close to Obi-Wan’s ear as he trembles in its grasp.
“As for who I am? My dame named me Anakin but I like the name you gave me better.”
The smile flickers into something larger, too wide to be natural.
“I am Vader.”