Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/565547.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Mulan_(1998)
  Relationship:
      Fa_Mulan/Shan_Yu
  Character:
      Fa_Mulan, Shan_Yu
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Rape/Non-con_References, Captivity, Forced
      Marriage, Community:_disney_kink, Ancient_China, Mongolia, Unhappy
      Ending, Sexual_Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-19 Words: 2807
****** Khatun ******
by afterandalasia
Summary
     AU. When Shan Yu wins, he makes Mulan into his 'empress', just to see
     her angry.
      
     (Tagged for Underage because Mulan is her canon age of 16.)
Notes
     For anon at the community Disney Kink.
     Can be read with Hachin, as a sort of prequel, or independently.
It is the hanfu which she wears that proves to be her undoing. The soldier that
she has become is constricted by it, and he is upon her, great hand curling in
her hair, dragging her around like that doll from the Pass. He considers
slitting her throat there and then, but decides to wait. It does not do to
claim every victory in the same night, after all.
 
 
Zhongdu is in flames. Shan Yu stands on the walls of the Forbidden City itself
and watches fires lick red into the sky, and smiles. His men have destroyed
both the main force of the army and the pitiful excuse for reinforcements that
followed them. Most of the Imperial City is already theirs, and after that they
will wait and see whether they bother reaching for the rest of the City as
well. What is even a dragon without its head?
He considers renaming the city. Daidu has a certain ring to it.
The fragments of the Imperial Army are locked up in basements and cellars that
have been pressed into service as prisons. The rice wine taken from them is
quickly being depleted, though it is no match for the kumiss of their homeland.
Perhaps night is falling, adding natural darkness to the smoke that stains the
sky. It does not matter to China. As he leaves the walls, he uses the butt of
his knife to knock away another of the carved stone dragons. It falls away
easily, taking with it another fragment of the people’s belief in their mighty
Emperor, their mighty Empire. Soon they will realise that it is foolery to
believe in it at all.
His Khatun has been placed in one of the palaces, after the pretty pampered
concubine who previously lived there had been cast out and left to hide in the
gardens. The men will probably find her eventually. For the sake of the Khatun,
or perhaps just to anger her further, he has made sure that everything is
fairly intact, all gold and pearls and precious gems around her.
As he draws closer, he can hear screaming, shouting, spewing vitriolic Mandarin
curses on the terrified maids that try to dress her and the laughing guards
that watch. Shan Yu appears in the doorway behind her just as she manages to
snatch away from one of them and kick him in the shins, her hair in ragged
clumps around her face. Her bruises are fading now, the split of her lip still
fresh from the number of times she had torn it open again shouting.
“Stinking whore!” she shouts at the women, then turns to the men and spits in
the face of the one nearest her. “And bastard!”
With her free hand she lashes out, and Shan Yu steps in, pinning her arms to
her body with one arm, and using the other hand to hold a knife to her throat.
“Now, now, my little gongzhu,” he breathed into her ear. “Don’t do something
either of us would regret.”
“Shan Yu,” she sneers, and he has to admit that he is impressed with her
sneering whilst she is in such a position. He lets the point of his knife rest
just beneath her chin, pricking to bring a dark red bead of blood to the
surface. Still she turns her words on him as well. “My hell take your ancestors
to the eighteenth generation.”
Anger flashes through him, but he will not slit her throat, will not kill her
yet. They both know it. Instead he throws her to the floor, still holding one
arm to drag her shoulder, and kicks her shoulder and back multiple times. She
cries out, just once, then bites her lip against doing so again, even when he
feels bones crack and pop. Only when her wrist starts to shudder does he
release her to the floor, knowing that she will be in too much pain to fight
back.
“You forget that I am your Emperor now, Fa Mulan, and you will follow my
orders.” He turns to the terrified serving girls. One of them is sobbing
helplessly into her knees, and yet these are the most courageous, the only ones
that could possibly have lived through these first terrible days of his reign.
“You will be present at dinner.”
“Eat shit,” Mulan replies, her voice thickened with pain.
He laughs as he leaves.
 
 
She has been forced into a fine gown by the time that she is presented to him,
swirling blue and purple silk with gold embroidery. The white powder on her
cheeks cracks when she shouts at him and smears beneath her eyes with the tears
that she refuses to acknowledge, but the heart drawn on her lips remains in
place.
When a jade hairpin slips from her hair, he reaches over to push it back into
place. She snaps, her teeth grazing across his skin, but he draws away too
quickly for them to sink in.
“Now, now, Khatun,” he says, wrapping his hand around her chin. So brittle, yet
such a warrior. Like a jade dagger. She snarls at him.
He enjoys eating in front of her, watching the slow realisation that she will
not eat for as long as she acts like this. Let her feel the bite of hunger and
the burn of thirst; perhaps that will calm the storm in her.
 
 
He does not take her straight away, of course. Too many fights all at the same
time will wear her out, break her too soon. Let her first learn that she will
not be able to wear anything other than the clothes which he gives her; let her
learn that she will eat only what he dictates. Let the marks on her skin become
bruises, wounds upon her memory and her pride. Then, and only then, he goes to
her.
Every night, she has been stripped and tied to her bed. This night, therefore,
is no different, and he imagines that she will not think that anything is
untoward even as he enters her chambers.
She lies on top of the sheets, her hands tied together and stretched upwards to
the headboard, her ankles similarly bound and stretched down. The moonlight
coats her body in silver; the weeks have burned the fat from her muscles and
bones, leaving her corded and taut and sharp-edged. Bruises mottle her skin,
faint in the night, more intense around the shoulder that he dislocated, all
the colours of flowers blooming out of her flesh.
The weeks have dulled her soldier instincts, and she does not hear him until he
is almost at the bed, already kicking off his boots and unbuckling his heavy
belt. As she recognises his silhouette through the filmy gauze curtains, he
sees her eyes widen, her struggles begin.
Delicious.
“Son of a dog,” she snarls. “Come closer, that I may slaughter you like one.”
The ropes have rubbed her wrists and ankles raw, and he can see the pain
written in her face, but she fights on. Shan Yu pulls off the heavy tunic that
he has worn in this southern land, and follows it with the lighter wool shirt
underneath. His captive finally seems to realise what he intends, from the way
that she fights harder but clasps her thighs tightly together.
The women of his land may lie with whomever they wish, and equally choose not
to. Any man attempting to force himself upon a woman would do well to expect
her knife in his belly, before his crime was even discovered by others. Perhaps
some day, when China has come to appreciate its new rulers, he will extend the
same protection to the women of this land.
Of course, the fact that women may lie with whom they wish does not trouble
him. After all, for every woman who wants sweet words and tender caresses, they
will be another who wants to be taken, fucked, left boneless and sore, who
wants to fight for her climax and will revel in her victory over it. In another
world, not far different from this one, he rather thinks that Fa Mulan would
have made a fine addition to his army.
Instead, he gives an exaggerated sigh. “Now, my Khatun, is that any way to
greet me?”
She turns venomous black eyes on him. “Is it not enough to keep me as your
slave, that you must now make me your whore as well?”
“Whore?” Laughter bubbles up through him as he loosens the front of his pants
to palm his cock, half-hard. “I hope you will not be expecting payment. But I
suppose that you do not speak my tongue... to my people, I am Khan and you are
Khatun. To yours, I am Emperor... and you are Empress.”
A scream of inarticulate rage bursts from her lips. “Never! I will not be
yours!”
In a flash he is upon the bed, one hand tightly gripping her jaw until her
teeth are pressed hard together, his fingers making white marks on her skin. He
can see in her eyes the fear that she tries to suppress, the surprise at his
swift movement, the raging anger that fuels her still. Technically it is true;
there has been no marriage ceremony. But she does not know the ways of his
people.
“And yet here I am in your bed,” he says. He has lowered his voice, let it
become the dull purring sound that sends shivers of fear and arousal down the
spines of just the right sort of women, and from the way that Mulan’s eyes
widen and she tries to jerk from his grasp, he wonders whether she is one of
them. “Is it not the wish of every girl in this rotten land to become the
Empress?”
She spits in his face; he backhands her for it, almost casually, not bothering
with more force than is necessary to snap her head to the side. Then he sees
her go cold, in the set of her jaw and the way that she closes her eyes, in the
way that her body goes still and stiff beneath him.
On one hand, it is almost a disappointment. He has been looking forward to
seeing what bruises she will leave on his skin, what shape her teeth with make
in his flesh. But on the other, it is the boldest fight yet that she has given,
and it lets him know that she is not yet broken. That there is more that she
can take.
He squirms his hand between her tightly-clamped thighs and lets his fingers
explore her, feeling her become wet as he watches the heat that rises in her
cheeks and the angry way that her nostrils flare as she strives to control her
breathing. He has long since decided that he will see her climax before he
takes her, that she will know the control he has over her. So he restrains his
instinct to throw her over on the bed and fuck her, and continues the work of
his fingers, other hand still slowly working the length of his aching cock.
When she is so wet that he can feel her trembling, he reaches round to undo the
ropes that bind her to the edge of the bed. A yelp escapes her, but again she
is too surprised to react, and within a breath he has her legs pinned to her
chest and is tying her in place, opening her up to him. She squirms, rocking
with the struggles, but can do nothing as he slides his hands over the curve of
her ass to her exposed cunt, flushed and glistening, framed between her thighs.
He peels her legs apart as best he can, giving himself at least a little space,
and leans in to let his hot breath roll over her skin.
She shudders, her muscles clenching as she tries to hold her composure against
arousal and horror. Then he lowers his mouth, tasting her, and the way that her
thighs shift tells him that she has never felt this before, never had a man
between her legs, perhaps never even known of the nub which his tongue now
finds and runs roughly over, sending spikes of pleasure through her.
The things that he could say roll through his head – how much she likes this
feeling, how her body betrays her, how she could enjoy this when it is him
doing it – but he holds his tongue. His words would give her something to latch
on to, to hate, and he wants her unable to detach from her body as he pleasures
her, fingers spreading her lips so that his tongue can do its work more easily.
It is not long before she fights for breath, the pounding of her heart tangible
in her cunt, and it is then that he rears up over her so that he can see her
face, eyes screwed shut, brow furrowed as the pleasure in her body meets with
the pain in her head.
“Now,” he says, one word that makes her look round and meet his gaze, as he
slips one finger into her and feels her body crash over into climax.
For a moment her eyes are wide with horror before they roll back, her back
arching, as he pumps into her still to make her ride it out, her body straining
against its bonds and her teeth sinking into her lip as she tries desperately
not to cry out. A little bead of blood forms there, and it takes determination
not to lean down and lick it away.
Instead, even as the aftershocks are still shaking her, he guides himself in,
feeling her tight walls trembling, stretching to take him as her shins press
against his chest and the muscles of her body twitch and fight. He is almost
surprised that she can, virgin as he expects she is, but her body is still at
its softest and as the last of her climax shudders out she seems to constrict
around him, moulding them together, and her eyes open in horror as she realises
it.
He smiles, slow and venomous, as he begins to thrust into her. With one hand he
braces himself against the bed, the other holding her legs in place, and pinned
down she cannot move. She could look away, of course, but her gaze never leaves
his, furious and still, still full of fire and unbroken. Next time she will
know what is coming, and she will fight, and that he will enjoy far more, but
still he takes pleasure as she fits perfectly around him, like he is moulding
her body for him and him alone. Hot flesh envelopes him as he thrusts deep,
tight and made tighter still by the position of her legs, her own fluids easing
his cock’s passage into her. Despite his desires he begins slowly, savouring
the feel of her as she stretches, the way that she tries to draw away against
his grip, how her body accepts him as her mind rebels.
Of course, he cannot long bear to remain slow, and his pace builds within her,
faster and harder, until he pants and she bucks with each thrust and each
slamming together of their bodies, and again her eyes close as pain stabs
through her, and even if she does not look at her bruises the next day she will
feel this ache deep inside her. With this she will become his; it is that
knowledge as much as the feel of her that tips him over the edge, pinning their
bodies together as he comes deep inside her, mingling them until they cannot be
divided.
She does not say a word as he rises, wipes himself off, and retrieves his
clothes. He returns her legs to their stretched-out position, though not before
he sees the seeping fluids on her thighs and knows that she will not sleep
tonight for the feel of them, the reminder of what he has done. What they have
done.
“I will kill you,” she says, just as he is about to leave. “Soon, I will kill
you.”
Though she cannot see it, he smiles wolfishly. If there was anyone in this land
who could have killed him, it would have been her. “We shall see, my Khatun.
Kill me or grant me immortality from your womb, or perhaps even both.” Even
from where he stands, he can see the shudder that runs through her at the
thought of bearing his child, and though he said the words on a whim he has to
admit that any child sired upon her would be a fine one indeed. “Either way,
your destiny is now with me.”
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