ᥫ᭡.

23 | black

[dollbabypink]

rafe x black!reader

DISCLAIMER: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! this is like… really fucked up. reader discretion is advised.

content warnings: noncon, body betrayal, violence, death threats, daddy kink, the word “rape” is used, misogynistic slurs

on a humid mid-july night in the south, it was normal for folks to leave their windows open to try to let in any breeze they could get. but for some reason, as he walked down the dark and quiet street your open window was the one to catch his eye. maybe it was your pretty lace curtains that swayed in the light breeze. or maybe it was because he could just faintly make out what was playing on your tv as you slept. either way, he crept carefully up to your window and peaked inside; and there you slept, so blissfully unaware of the predator that lurked only a few feet away.

your bed was in the perfect spot for him to study you from the window. you were a pretty little thing, with smooth brown skin, full lips, and the cutest nose that was adorned with a small diamond stud. you slept on your back; one of your french manicured hands laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting just as comfortably above your head. he studied you even further noting everything from your braided hair right down to the rings that you donned on your fingers.

he looked around to make sure he truly was alone out there and when nothing stirred he hoisted himself up. his shoes hit your bedroom’s floor with a thud that made him wince in fear of waking you or whoever else slept within the house. for a few moments he waited to see if you would wake up or if anyone might come to your aid. when that moment never came the tenseness in his muscles slowly dissipated. he walked the few paces from the window to the foot of your bed and he just… stood there watching you as you slept.

your chest rose and fell as you slept, and he could see your brown nipples through the white nightie you wore to bed that night to keep cool. it was almost like you were asking for it, stupid girl. the floorboards creaked beneath his sneakers as he rounded the side of the bed to get closer to you. he ran the heel of his palm over the front of his jeans; his dick rock hard and straining against the denim.

“fuck,” he cursed, squeezing himself and feeling his dick pulse beneath his palm.

maybe it was divine intervention or maybe it was just human instinct. either way your eyes fluttered open to see the man who stood just inches from you. terror bled through your features; your eyes going wide and your mouth about to drop open to scream. before you could though, he was ripping his hand away from his boner to slap a palm over your mouth and wrap his other hand firmly around your neck cutting off your air supply.

“if you scream,” he said, tightening his grip. “i swear i’ll break your fucking neck. do you understand me?”

even with the strong grip and your brain fuzzy from the lack of oxygen you still managed to nod or make some sort of noise of agreement. you weren’t sure which. you just knew you needed to breathe. he finally lets go with conviction; you hack as air fills your lungs so fast it burns. you’re still disoriented from being strangled that you don’t even fight him when he climbs on top of you.

“are you gonna be a good girl or am i gonna have to teach you how to be one?” he wonders aloud. when you finally do gain enough strength you immediately go to scratch at him. he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. “ohhh, you’re feisty huh, mama? i guess, daddy’s gotta teach you.”

“get the fuck off of me,” you spat at him angrily. you wriggled and writhed in his hold getting more and more frustrated when you couldn’t free yourself.

“keep going,” he encouraged and then continued on: “keep fighting, baby. it makes my cock so fucking hard.”

“stop it!” you exclaimed. you thrashed against him still, like a little bunny stuck in a trap trying to free your wrists from his bruising grip. he was so much stronger than he looked. you hated how weak you were proving to be.

your attacker gathered both of your wrists in his left hand; with his right, he slapped it over your mouth to stifle your voice. “shut the fuck up,” he gritted out through his teeth. in another act of self-preservation, with all of your might, you bit down on the skin that connected his thumb and index finger.

“fuck!” he cursed withdrawing his hand from where it once laid. “you stupid fucking bitch!”

the coppery taste of his blood on your tongue has bile rising in your throat but you didn’t give a fuck. you refused to make this easy for him; if he wanted you, he was gonna have to fight you for it. your victorious feeling was short lived when that same hand came down on your face with a loud thwack! the sensation spread red hot and unforgiving across your cheek. if you weren’t mad before, you damn sure are now. even with salty tears blurring your vision and the throbbing pain of your cheek, you thrashed against him some more with renewed determination.

“you got a lot of fight in you, sweetheart,” he mused. he leaned in closer, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke: “i can’t wait to fuck it out of you.”

“don’t fucking touch me,” you croaked out. you knew your words meant nothing to him. nothing was going to stop the inevitable outcome. the second he laid eyes upon you, your fate was sealed. he wasn’t leaving until he got what he wanted.

he hooked his finger in the front of your nightgown, your breasts spilling out. “fuck these are perfect,” he said, breathless. your brown nipples pebbled from the cool air, goosebumps arising on your skin. your attacker wasted no time leaning down to pop one of your nipples into his mouth. sobs racked your frame as you pushed at his chest no matter how futile it proved to be.

“please, stop,” you pleaded with him, tears streaming down your cheeks and soaking them. he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. his tongue ran over your cheek soon after. you recoiled in disgust at the slimy, wet sensation.

“why would i stop when i’m so fuckin’ close to getting what i wanted? huh, sweetheart?” he taunted you, pressed against you like he was supposed to be there—like it was natural. you bucked against him, giving everything you had to escape him. exhaustion sank deep into your bones, but your brain refused to give up and give him what he wanted.

you spat at him, a fat glob of spit landing on his cheek. in an instant, your attackers eyes were black with rage; his irises only thin disks lost in the abyss that were his pupils. his hands moved from your wrists to around your throat. he tightened them around your windpipe effectively cutting off your oxygen supply. and you were sure this was how it was gonna end, another raped, murdered girl to add to the pile.

“you stupid bitch! don’t you fucking understand,” he began with a quiet shout and his hands, still wrapped around your fragile little neck, were shaking with pure, barely contained rage. “don’t you fucking understand, that i could fucking kill you? i could break your little neck right now if i wanted to.” the words came out rushed and full of venom.

he continued, “the only thing keeping me from doing it is because i need something warm and wet to sink my cock into. so why don’t you stop being a difficult fucking cunt,” he exhaled: “and this can all be over soon.”

your vision had long ago gone spotty. everything around you sounded muffled and you felt as if your head was swimming. just as you were about to lose consciousness, he let go. you coughed and dry heaved and the moment you were able you began to sob. your throat was raw and you could feel the bruises begin to bloom around it. you brought your own hands to your neck to soothe it, wincing at the tenderness that was felt there.

“you gonna play ball now, princess?” he asked you. his tone was even now—he’d regained some composure. you looked up at him through teary eyes, bruises blooming on your skin from his hands and you nodded. he smiled, using one of those same hands to stroke your hair in a way that was almost genuine. your stomach was in knots, wanting to throw up all over him but you knew better.

“see i knew you could be a good girl. you just needed some help, that’s all,” he patronized you, wrapping one of your braids tightly around his finger.

you didn’t dare move as he undid his belt and unzipped his pants. he pulled your nightgown up, ripped your panties in two, and still, even though you wanted to tell him no, to push him away, you just laid there. he pushed your thighs apart to run a finger up and down your embarrassingly soaked cunt.

“you filthy little thing,” he teased you, thrusting that finger inside of you and your pussy welcomed it happily, your body reacting to something your brain did not want. another finger joined that one. he fingered you dexterously, the tips of his fingers curling just right to touch that spot you could never quite reach on your own. you bit down hard on your cheek to keep from moaning; for the second time that night, your tastebuds were overwhelmed by the metallic taste of blood.

it was so fast you almost didn’t register it, how he switched from fingering you to pushing the blunt head of his cock against the opening of your unprotected pussy. the prospect of what that meant terrified you, you seized up pressing a hand against his abdomen.

the words came out broken, “i-i-i’m n-not.” you tried to explain as tears kept falling down the globes of your cheeks. you shook in fear but you persisted, “on b-birth control.”

“good.” is all he says before he sheaths all of himself inside of you in one go. you gasped in surprise and you’d almost forgotten your agreement because you were about to freak the fuck out. because the threat of it happening is one thing but it actually happening is another. he must’ve seen it in your eyes, the defiance coming back with a vengeance. all he had to do was brush his knuckles across your cheekbone and you remembered the bruise he left there. and thinking about the bruise he left there made you think about the one he left around your neck.

you relaxed again, submission clouding your gaze once more to his satisfaction. he rocked his hips into you, the tip of his dick ramming you so deep you were unsure if it felt good or terrible. the longer it went on though—the better it felt. you could feel your body betraying you as your pussy coated his cock with your creamy juices. too fucked out and exhausted to keep resisting the pleasured sounds that wanted to leave your throat, you finally let one slip. a low breathy one that was immediately followed by a singular tear that escaped your waterline.

“thaaat’s right, mama. just let go, relax, enjoy it. let daddy hear those pretty sounds,” he cooed. you hate how genuine he sounds, like he’s not raping you in your own bedroom. you let some more tears slip but you couldn’t help the moans that left your throat as you did so.

“fuck—you’re so,” he stopped to take a breath. “you’re so fuckin’ tight. squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. you gonna cum from what i’m doin’ to you? hmm?” he taunted you as he slammed into you over and over making your pussy spill out more of what he wanted. he looked down where you were connected and gawked at the creamy, white ring that coated the base of his dick. he cradled his hand at the back of your neck, forcing you to watch how he disappeared inside of you. the coil in your belly snapped and you orgasmed. a moan left your throat. your pussy spasming wet and unmistakable around his cock. heat flooded you. shame clung to you.

“atta girl,” he praised you leaning down to place a sloppy kiss on your lips. he snapped his hips. one. two. three times. an animalistic grunt left his throat long and drawn out. his eyes were shut tight in pleasure as he chased an orgasm only your cunt could give him. you could feel him throbbing inside of you, so close to cumming. panic flooded you. one of your hands flew to push against his abdomen (lightly though, so that he wouldn’t hurt you again.)

“please don’t,” you pleaded with him, brown eyes glassy with more tears. he pushed your hand away, pinned it above your head, and held it there while he dumped his thick cum inside you. he was still for a beat. then he was fucking it deep into you. you trembled beneath him both from fear and overstimulation. adrenaline began to wane; exhaustion overcame you; pain wrapped itself around your body. then it all went dark.

[loveobx]

Chosen Part IV

dark!husband!aerion x wife!reader

(partial duncan the tall x reader)

summary: another argument with your husband leaves you wondering how much more of this you can take

tw: abusive marriage, VIOLENCE, partial noncon

word count: 8k

********************************************

You will die if you are caught, you warn yourself.

If Aerion catches you, or if he even suspects you have left the tent against his wishes, you are sure that he will strangle you himself.

But you cannot stand the heat of this tent any longer. Nor can you handle the hunger you feel, or the dryness of your throat.

The gods have given you a way to escape, and you cannot let it go to waste.

There is a crack of light coming through beneath the bed. A small part of the tent fabric that has not been properly nailed into the ground.

Part of you wondered if your husband was the one to pull the bottom fabric loose, since he pawed at the tent wall when he bedded you the night prior. But you realize you don’t care what caused it, you are just happy the error exists.

You have to gather your strength after the torturous incident with Aerion. You washed your face, and cleaned the mud off your lips, but had no water to fully wash your mouth out, so you could still taste dirt.

Rage burns inside you as you stare down at your dirt stained dress.

You were his wife.

His wife, and a noble lady, and he held your neck like a dog and shoveled mud into your mouth.

You wished your husband was dead.

No-Not just dead. You wished that somehow, someway, someone bigger and stronger than him would come around, and hurt him in the ways he has hurt you. And then Aerion would be the one feeling small and broken.

Until then, you were at your husband’s mercy. And when at your husband’s mercy, you had to do whatever you could to survive.

You finally gather your strength again, and you cautiously crawl beneath the bed. You find the small slot of the tent fabric that is loose. Carefully, you lift it up.

There are no guards in your sight.

You wait patiently to watch. You see one guard pass. Ten minutes later, he passes again. Then again. Then again. You count in your head the time intervals it takes for the guard to make his rotation.

Once more, you wonder if you should actually do this. You convince yourself that you have no choice. You couldn’t spend the rest of the day waiting for your devil of a husband to come back and torment you further.

So you wait for the guard to pass by one last time. Then, when the coast is clear, you crawl out of the tent, and you run.

You run until you find a brick wall to hide behind. You cover your mouth so your pants do not give away your location.

Then, you wait. You wait and you watch as they go all the way around the tent again, as if nothing had happened. You release the breath you had been holding.

You take note that these guards are not as careful as the ones at the castle. You’d never be able to sneak past the ones at home.

They thought you were too scared of Aerion to attempt anything like this, that must be why they didn’t watch your tent so carefully. You will use this to your advantage for as long as you can.

You take hold of the scarf you brought with you, and you place it over your head, letting it cover you. You’re sure to bring it close to your face to hide your appearance.

Briefly, you wonder if your clothes will cause you to stick out. But your clothes are dirty, and your scarf is long, and all Targaryen symbols are covered. You hope it is enough to hide your identity.

Ashford is crowded for the tourney. It takes you only a few moments to find a crowd to get lost in. Your eyes continue to dash around each time you spot a guard.

No one outside of your husband and his father are aware of the bruises on your face, so you hope it will help hide you.

Men argue along the streets. Briefly, you catch one saying, “-none of those bloody Targaryens ought to be here. Acting high and mighty as if they have not enslaved our people for generations-”

You move quicker to get away from them.

In the corner of your eye, you spot the city exit. The guards are searching those leaving, tearing off scarves and ripping open bags. You quickly realize you would never be able to escape out that way, at least not without help.

So you set your mind on getting food and returning to the tent before anyone notices that you are gone.

Too scared to enter a restaurant or tavern, you search for a market place, or even just a booth with food for sale. Anything.

“-Aerion Targaryen is the one who thinks himself a dragon in human form.” Your head whips around as women nearby speak of your husband. “If only he perished when the rest of the beasts did. Thank the gods it is Prince Valarr that is closer in the line to the throne.”

“Prince Valarr has no voice to him,” another girl complained. “Prince Baelor should work on having another son.”

“I’ve heard rumors that Prince Aerion will attempt to poison Prince Valarr so that he can further his way up the line.”

“I’ve heard he’s poisoned his own wife already. Or at least that he plans to.”

You slow down to hear them.

“Supposedly she is here in Ashford, but no one has seen her. Yet a woman’s screams sound from the Targaryen tents at night.”

“Maybe her dragon husband is eating her.” A laugh. “Maybe in a more enjoyable way. Cruel as he may be, he sure is easy on the eyes. Perhaps they are screams of pleasure.”

Your face burns with embarrassment at such things being spoken about you. As if your husband has ever even given a thought to your pleasure in that way.

And the truth was, you never had time to even admire the prince so many people called handsome. You were too busy trying to avoid him.

Continuing on, you finally spot a market place. There is a fountain near it. Others are dipping cups into it.

Uncaring of how shameful it is, you rush over to it, kneel in front of the fountain, and drink the water from your hands. It causes the pain in your throat to finally go away.

“I say the missing princes are dead,” speaks a man at the fountain. “Prince Aerion has killed them to be closer to kingship.”

“His Lady wife is missing too, I’ve heard. Maybe she’s run off to marry his brother.”

Did these townspeople have nothing to talk about besides your husband?

“Aerion the Monstrous. I would not be surprised to learn he murdered his brothers and his wife all in the same spit of rage. He probably drove a knife through their throats just as he did the horse.”

You frown. What horse?

“Away from the fountain!” someone snaps from behind you.

You jump to your feet. A man from the marketplace had come and began slapping a rolled up scroll against the faces of those drinking from his well.

“Away with you!”

You pick yourself up and rush away from it. You notice your dress has gotten muddier from kneeling. You do not care.

Your thirst has died down, but the hunger remains. In the market, you catch sight of a barrel of apples. You take quick strides over.

You have no money, and you haven’t had any for months. But you have earrings. You pray someone will want them.

“Ma’am,” you hurry out as you spot the vendor. “May-May I trade you something for a few apples?”

“No trades. Coin only.”

“I have no coins,” you try to explain. You have not touched one since you’ve been married. “But I have earrings. Will you take earrings?”

“I don’t want beads.”

“They are not beads,” you tell her. “They’re gold.”

She laughs at you.

“Here-” You remove them from your ears. “You may take them. Just-Three apples. That is all I want. Please.”

She eyes the earrings, then you. She tsked. “I ain’t a fool. I know these ain’t real gold. But they’re pretty enough so I’ll take ‘em.”

You grab an apple, taking a bite right away. The sweetness calms you, and you quickly pick two more.

Taking another bite, you scan the marketplace again, to make sure there are no lingering eyes, or lingering guardsmen.

Your eyes meet with a tall man in the crowd.

The tall man.

The tall knight you had come across when you first arrived in Ashford, the one who had tried to help you off your horse.

He was already staring at you, and when you met his gaze, it seemed to have finally clicked to him exactly where he’d seen you before.

Your heart drops, and your face drains of color.

He recognizes you.

His eyes widen the smallest amount, and he begins walking over to you.

You panic. He knows Aerion. If he faces him in the tournament, and makes any mention of seeing you, it could end with a rope around your neck.

You quickly take your fruit and turn to rush back the way you came.

“Lady,” you hear a voice call. The tall man’s voice. You go faster.

But his long legs catch up to you with only a few quick strides.

A hand touches your shoulder, and your body tells you it’s Aerion, so you flinch. The three apples fall to the ground.

You try to kneel to grab them, but someone is already ahead of you. The knight has knelt to the ground and picks up your belongings.

“Lady, I-Forgive my manners, I am sorry,” he sputters. “I meant not to scare you.”

He gathers the apples for you, and tries to offer a hand to help you up. But the large hand nearing your face once again brings memories of your husband. You yank yourself back.

The tall man takes a step away from you, as if you are scaring him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I was only…Well, I wondered if you needed any help.”

You bring yourself to your feet, and slowly hold out your hands. “Please allow me the apples back.”

He looked like he forgot he had them. “Of course,” he quickly obliges, dropping them back into her hold.

The half eaten one is dirty now. You are so hungry that you don’t even care. You will eat around it.

“Thank you,” you breath. You attempt to flee again, scared that he will force you to identify yourself.

He steps in front of you, blocking you from leaving.

You fear that he will hurt you. You think that perhaps he knows you are not where you’re supposed to be. Maybe he is about to use your misbehavior against you, and threaten to tell your husband if you don’t give him what he wants.

He starts, “Might I ask-”

“I have no jewelry,” you quickly say. “I-I had only earrings, and I already gave them to the merchants.”

He blinks. “I have no jewelry either.”

“I have nothing you want. Let me pass.”

“What?” As if suddenly remembering his size, he tries to hunch down and make himself smaller. “I-I am not trying to rob you, my lady, and I do not mean to frighten you, I only noticed-” He stops himself.

You risk taking another step away.

His shoulders slouch as he realizes he has scared you. “Forgive me,” he tells you, his voice quieter. “I should know better than to approach a Lady so carelessly.”

He steps aside for you. You keep your eyes on him as you step away, as if worried he’d pounce on you the moment your sight was off him.

Before you are all the way gone starts again, “I only wanted to ask if…you were alright.”

His voice is so kind, it makes you pause.

He clears his throat. “And to see if you needed any aid. You look injured. And you were not the last time I saw you.”

You pity him for pitying you. He is not from the Targaryen homeland. He is not used to Targaryen violence.

You glance around again, to ensure there are no prying eyes. “It is only bruising,” you eventually say to him.

“Were you attacked?”

Your heart aches. “...Yes.”

“By merchants?”

“No.”

“Was it a robbery-”

“It needs no investigation.”

He leans back, as if you are still frightening him. You regret your tone of voice. You are unused to anyone being intimidated by you. Even your maids at home ignore your requests on days you are too tired to insist on things.

“I am a knight,” he says to you. “So if any man has placed harm upon you, I will see to it that you receive justice.”

It sounded so kind, you suddenly wondered if this was all...fake.

Was this all some act he was putting on? Seeking out justice for harmed woman? You did not think any men would care for such a task anymore.

Your eyes land on a tent painted with puppets. You wonder if he is part of some play being put on. “Are you truly a knight?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“Not an actor?”

He looks like he’s about to laugh, but knows it is not the situation to do so, so he quickly forces his face serious. “No. I was asked to help with a play when I was a boy, but I was unable to memorize any lines.”

You look over him again. He does not dress as a regular knight. Yet, his heart seems more true to the cause then any other. “No knight I’ve met has ever spoken like you.”

“How do I-” You notice the insecurity creep into his voice. “How do I speak?”

“Different,” is all you manage to say. “Like you have morality.”

“All knights do.”

Maybe they do here. It is a nice thought, that some people are still good.

The knights at home, even Ser Emeret, all answered to Aerion. And anyone who was loyal to Aerion could not be good.

You glance around, and wonder how much longer you might have out here. You make eye contact with someone else, and quickly turn away.

Someone would see you eventually. They’d recognize you.

But your hunger was too great to wait until you returned to the tent to eat.

“Might I...ask a favor of you then?” you slowly say.

He stands tall again. “Yes.”

You take a step towards the side of a merchant’s tent. “Will you stand here?”

He does so immediately. His large body blocks your view of the crowd, therefore the crowd is blocked from seeing you.

“Would it bother you if I…hid behind you? While I ate these apples?”

His face brightens, as if elated to finally be given a true, honest task. “Of course not, My Lady. Enjoy your meal, and I will stand guard. I will not allow anybody to pass.”

You step closer to the tall man, finally feeling safely hidden. You eat the three apples quickly, your hunger pains finally ending, your dry throat satisfied with the heavy juices of the fruit.

You are glad he is not watching you. You have never eaten so sloppily in your life.

You have not acted as a Lady should at all in his presence, yet he still treats you like one.

“Am I allowed to leave apple pits on the ground?” you ask. You realize you haven’t eaten outside in a long time.

“Aye, My Lady. The birds will feed on them.”

You would never be allowed to do this in the castle back home, so you feel scandalous as you throw the scraps to the dirt.

You wipe your face, and clear your throat. “I am finished. Thank you.”

He turns back in your direction. “Do you need an escort back to your tent-?”

“No,” you quickly say. “You must not tell anyone you saw me.”

“I won’t-”

“Swear it to the gods.”

“I swear it to the gods,” he repeats obediently. “I will mention it to no one.”

You feel yourself relaxing again.

“You-” He pauses. He does so a lot, you realize. “You have said that you have a husband?”

Your shoulders slouch at the reminder. “I do.”

“Does your husband know that you have been attacked?”

Your chest aches again. “…Yes. He does.”

“I am sure he can take care of those who have done this to you. I assume he is a knight as well?”

You frown. “My husband?”

“Yes.”

No, he was not a knight. He was a prince. You thought he knew that, seeing as he had the displeasure of meeting him yesterday.

You begin to remind him, “He-”

You stop, because it dawns on you that this knight does not know that Aerion is your husband.

You don’t understand how he could not know this, except for the fact that Aerion did not speak to you as a husband should speak to his wife. In fact, he spoke to you as if you were nothing to him.

Could a person truly be that kind hearted? To see a man verbally accosting a woman, and automatically assume they could not be married? Because husband and wife are supposed to love each other, and there was no love that he saw in that courtyard.

“Yes,” you decide to say. “He is a knight.”

That is why this tall man speaks to you with kindness, because he does not know Aerion is your husband. It must be why he does not shun you like most people at home do, those who fear Aerion and his temper.

“What is his name?” he asks.

“Why do you need his name?”

“If I face him in the tourney, I will try my hardest to injure him.”

Your heart drops. Does evilness exist in this man after all-

“Not,” he quickly sputters. “I-I will try my hardest to not injure him. So that you will not be inconvenienced with caregiving.”

You relax again. You say the first name of a knight that you think of. “Ser Emeret.”

You feel like that was the wrong decision, one that might come back to haunt you.

“I am Ser Dunk-or, Duncan. Ser Duncan The Tall, they call me.”

You nod to him. “I wish you luck for the tourney, Ser Duncan the Tall.”

His voice is shy as he asks, “Might I ask your name?”

He already knows your face. You feel it will not be more trouble to know your name. “Lady (Y/N).”

He smiles. “Lady (Y/N).” He speaks your name like poetry. “Do you think it possible that I could...ride with your favor when it is time for my match?”

It is something you had never been asked before.

And you realize, Duncan is the first man to care for your favor at all.

“Yes,” you tell him. “You will have my favor, and I will pray to the seven for your victory.”

His smile grows bashful. “Thank you.”

“I must return to my tent,” you tell him.

You are feeling much, much better from your outing.

Better than you have felt in months.

“You deserve more than to walk alone,” he tells you.

“But I must.” You step away, and fix your scarf over your hair. “Do you know which day you will be riding?”

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

“I will try my hardest to go see you,” you tell him.

“Hopefully, it will be so. But that is only if the arena is fixed from today’s accident.”

“Accident?” Your husband did not mention any accident. “What has happened?”

“Have you not heard? Prince Aerion killed a horse. It fell on its rider and crushed his leg. The crowd rushed the arena calling him a cheat.”

The color drains from your face.

“He…killed a horse?”

“My squire thinks he did it on purpose,” he continued. “But I feel the boy is too young. He does not understand that no Prince would dishonor himself for a mere win in a tourney.”

Aerion killed a horse, and then he came to you and tried to make you congratulate him with your body.

You hated him.

You hated him.

“I must go,” you tell him.

“Thank you for your favor, Lady (Y/N).”

You walk quickly, pushing past others. You are careful as you find your tent.

You glance around, waiting to make sure no guards are watching the area. You kneel down to the ground, and begin to pull up the fabric you had escaped out of-

A throat clears behind you.

You whip around, rushing to your feet.

Baelor Targaryen stands before you. Your skin prickles.

You’ve been caught, and you can already feel the violence your husband will inflict on you when he is told of your disobedience.

“Have you dropped something on the ground?” he asks you.

“No,” you muster, “I-” You stop, remembering how insistent Aerion was of you making no conversation. You can not risk making this any worse for yourself. You repeat a simple, “No.”

“Have I caught you sneaking out or sneaking back in?”

You blink, over and over, panic causing your eyes to sting. “…Back in.”

The man lets out a heavy sigh. “Very well. Be on your way then.”

He turns and leaves, as if he never even saw you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. You try to ignore the fear that he might tell Aerion, and instead focus on the task at hand. You crawl into the tent, struggling to pull yourself out from under the bed.

Your husband is not here yet. Your outing was successful.

You are safe.

******

The night becomes pitch black, and Aerion has still not returned.

You pray to the gods that he has found a brothel to sleep in, and that you will be alone the rest of the night.

Things are peaceful when you go to sleep, and you find tranquility in your brief solitude.

As you lay your head on the pillow, letting out a breath of relief that your husband will not be sleeping beside you, you begin to think of your mother.

Your dear mother, the one who cried when your marriage was announced. Your mother, who once told you that she was not able to sleep until your father joined her in bed, and that it was only in his arms that she found rest.

What must that be like, you wonder, to stay up hoping for your husband to return. To have a husband you love, and cherish, and could rest on when tired.

A husband that protects you, and shields you.

A husband that...escorts you home, and...lets you hide behind him as you throw apple cores to the dirt.

A husband like Ser Duncan. You imagine any woman would be honored to be the wife of Ser Duncan the Tall.

You shut your eyes tighter as your face begins to heat up, a blush forming here in an empty tent at the mere thought of being a wife to that man.

You criticize yourself for daydreaming about him.

If he was kind to you, a stranger, that means he is kind to every stranger. You were not special to the knight, merely a woman he knew had an important title.

He was a handsome man, large and broad. You wonder how many other women spend their nights imagining this very same thing. To spend each night beside a man whose chest you can lay your head on.

To be bedded by such a man.

Your cheeks feel hotter, and you hide your face in the blankets, despite being alone.

For such a tall, handsome man to put hands on your body, to allow him to kiss you, without fear of any harm. For such a large man to lay with you.

You imagine that nervous voice he has, and if he would be just as nervous if you laid him upon a bed-

You hear the flap of the tent open. You pull the blankets up higher, and go completely still, praying your husband will think you are asleep.

Aerion is not quiet as he enters. He stumbles in, lost in the dark.

Your eyes are closed, yet you can tell the room becomes brighter. He is lighting the candles that hang around the tent.

You hear something metal clatter onto the table.

“(Y/N),” your husband calls. “Wake up.”

You hear heavy footsteps. Then, without warning, he plops down into the bed.

He falls on your leg by accident. The sharp pain makes you sit up, ripping your leg back.

When you place your eyes on your husband, you see that he is smiling at you.

Aerion brings a hand to your hair, letting his fingers fall down to the ends. “Rise and get dressed,” he says to you. “I wish to explore the town. You will come with me.”

His breath reeks of alcohol, and the lull in his voice makes it even more clear that he is intoxicated.

You are unused to this.

You have never spent time with a drunk Aerion before. Only brief encounters where he would sloppily fuck you before returning to his own chambers to sleep.

His actions in this state were new to you, and you worried he would be even quicker to violence.

You did not want to go wandering the town with a drunk, violent man. He would most likely beat you the first time he saw his own shadow.

You try to be cautious with your refusal. “I am...unwell still, Prince Aerion. I do not think I can handle the cold-”

“I made sure your chambermaid packed a wool cloak for you. Come. Dress. This night is for celebrating.” A smugger smile comes onto his face. He leans closer to whisper in your ear, “Do not worry, your dragon will keep you warm.”

You try to say, “It is not right for a Lady to be out at this time of night-”

“I am not asking. I am telling. Stand.” You hesitate. “Stand.”

You slowly move the blankets off of you. You stand to your feet.

“Do not look so solemn. We are to have fun tonight. Come.”

He is still smiling as he crosses the room, grabbing a glass vile off the desk. “I have brought this for you. Take a few sips of it, it will warm you up quickly.”

It is a bottle of more alcohol. He pops the cork off. It is loud, making you flinch once again. You are glad he does not notice it.

The liquor is so heavy you smell it from where you are. He takes a swing of it, before holding it out to you.

You understand this is a dangerous situation you have been placed in. It will be even more dangerous if you drink.

You have to be as aware and vigilant as possible when around Aerion.

You try again to be cautious. “I…do not want it-”

He shoves it near your face. You turn your head.

“You begged for a drink earlier. So I have brought you some now. Share this with me.”

Still, you keep your head turned the opposite way.

You wince when the harsh glass spout is shoved against your lips. You yank your head back, “I do not want it.”

“I did not ask,” he snaps at you. “I wish to have a drink with my wife, so you will have a drink.”

“It is late-”

He shoved it against your lips again, tilting it up and causing the alcohol to pour into your mouth and down your chin. The taste of it seeps onto your tongue and makes you gag.

It burns you, so instinctively, you fling your hand out and slap it away.

The bottle hits the ground and you hear the quiet, yet deafening crack as the glass breaks on the hard floor.

Your heart drops, and you register that you have made a terrible mistake.

Aerion falls silent.

Every bit of confidence you had crumbles as you watch the evil creep back into his eyes.

“I-” You suddenly remember pain, and all that he could inflict on you. You fall to your knees. “I will clean it.”

You begin grabbing the glass with your bare hands.

“I am s-” Your voice cracks. “-sorry. I will clean it for you.”

You notice the bottom of the bottle contains a small amount of the liquid still, a few swallows that haven’t seeped out. You look up at him, and quickly say, “There is still some left.” You drop what’s in your hands, and you bring the top of the broken bottle to your mouth. “I will drink it. Look, I-” You take a swallow of the bitter liquid. “I shared it with you.”

He does not speak. He merely watches you.

You stand to your feet, though you stumble, and have to use the desk for help.

“I am sorry,” you hurriedly whisper. “I will get dressed. We can go get more.”

He tilts his head as he looks you up and down.

His silence scares you more than his screaming ever has.

You swallow. “Where-Where would you like to go-”

“Why can you not be good?”

You blink, fast, your fear making your heart pound.

“Every moment with you is like this,” he says to you. “Why can you not simply be good?”

Your mouth is dry. “I-I don’t know-”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“I was so excited to see you,” he mumbled. “Yet-Yet you’ve ruined it again. As you always ruin things between us. All you ever do is bitch, and complain, and flinch. You do not treat your husband as you should. You-”

There was a pause, and for a few moments, his voice sounded so unfamiliar.

“You do not even kiss me.”

His words cause you to pause.

Did you kiss Aerion? Your mind whirls back your memories.

You kissed him at your wedding. On your wedding night. The second time he bedded you.

And then…

No. You hardly ever kissed your own husband, you realized.

But that was not your fault. His cruelty killed any romance you could ever feel for him.

“What kind of wife are you?” he criticized coldly.

You wanted to scream that it was his violence that brought this damage to your marriage. But you couldn’t-because his eyes were so cold, and you were so scared. Again, you don’t know what to say besides, “I am sorry-”

“Last night was the first night we ever slept beside each other,” he continues, his drunken voice lowering as he spoke. “And you crept to the furthest corner of the bed and would not even face me.”

Was that true? It only takes a moment for you to realize, yes, it was the first night spent beside him.

Perhaps you would have noticed, if you were not in such pain.

“You take my patience for granted,” he tells you. “I have given you too much freedom, and you abuse it. And-” The alcohol slurs his words. “And I must correct your behavior, or it will never change.”

It is the clearest threat you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest ache.

He takes quick steps towards you. “Which hand did you slap away the bottle with?”

A shiver runs down your spine. “It will never happen again-”

“No. It will not. Which hand was it?”

You begin to tremble. “I am sorry, Prince Aerion-”

“You are right handed. I will assume it was that one.” He grabs your arm, and tugs you to the desk. “Place your hand down flat.”

“I am sorry,” you cry, panic seizing your bones. “Please, forgive me.”

He grabs your arm in an iron grip, and slams it down. He forces your hand flat, holding it by the wrist. “Do not move, or else I may damage you more than I mean to.”

Aerion rips the dagger from his belt.

You felt as if you’d faint, your breaths fast and uncontrolled. “Please, Prince Aerion, I am sorry!”

He touched each of your fingers, before he taps the edge of his dagger against the smallest. “This one.”

He raises the dagger higher.

The sight causes your adrenaline to finally kick in.

With all the strength you have left, you yank yourself away. You fling yourself so hard that you fall onto the ground, and crawl backwards as fast as you can.

Aerion swings around to come after you.

He is drunk, and now you understand that it is a blessing for you. He is not as fast, or as agile in this state.

He swipes at you, but you kick him. Pulling back your leg, you shove it against his stomach as hard as you’re able. He shouts in pain, and you kick him again in the knee, this time he falls.

You rush to your feet, tripping once, but picking yourself back up. You have no idea where you plan to escape to, but you know your only chance of getting out of this is to run. You attempt to rush to the entryway.

Aerion catches you by the hair before you even make it past him. He yanks your hair as if he’s trying to pull your head off.

“You rowdy cunt,” he spits at you. “I would have only taken one finger, but now I will break them all.”

The breath leaves your body as he flings you across the tent, and you topple over, your back landing against the desk.

He advances on you, and the fear in your body tells you that you will die right here and now if you do not fight back.

You spot one of the candles hanging in the tent.

You grab it, and when Aerion reaches you, you shove it against his face.

He lets out a scream. You have burned him. You hear it in his voice as he makes another pained shout.

“You bitch!” he screams, trying to paw the wax off his face as the candle drops to the floor. “You stupid-” He grabs you. “-fucking-” He flings you back down. “-bitch!”

Your knees hit the ground so hard that you cannot pull yourself back up.

Quickly, your eyes devour anything that could be used to defend yourself. You spot the glass shards that still litter the floor. You try crawling to them.

Aerion snags another candle off the hanger. The room is darker, and it feels like hell is emerging.

“You want to fight fire with a dragon?” Aerion spits you. “Let us see who’s burn is more painful.”

You almost reach the glass when he grabs your leg, flipping you over.

You scream as he straddles you. Your hand flies out to slap him. You slap, and scratch, and kick, but it seems to have no effect on him at all.

You feel Aerion’s hands gripping the neckline of your nightgown. He rips it violently, tearing it open all the way down to your stomach. Your breasts are bare and naked to him.

Your husband slaps a hand onto your shoulder, keeping you pinned down.

Then, he holds up the large burning candle, tilts it forward, and pours hot wax onto your chest.

You scream. You couldn’t stop screaming if you wanted to.

Your hand claws at his face. “Stop!” You beg. “Stop! Stop! Please! Stop!”

He does not. He pours the wax over your chest, and over your breasts, until there is none left.

The candle extinguishes itself. Shadows fill the room.

The wax remains hot on your body. You feel as if your own skin is burning off.

“Do you feel as if you are on fire, wife?” Aerion mocks you. A smile has arisen on his face. “Has your dragon finally scorched you?”

You imagine he will do it again, that he will grab the last candle, and continue torturing you until there is no fire left. You writhe beneath him.

Aerion pulls himself closer to you. His next actions catch you by surprise, though you suppose they shouldn’t have.

He ducks his head down, and runs his tongue over the valley of skin between your breasts.

The wax pooled there is still hot, and it hurts him. You can tell because he winces as his tongue touches the liquid. But he does not stop.

His mouth trails to your breast, and he latches his lips around your hardened and abused nipple.

He hisses in pain once more as it burns his mouth, but the sound mixes with his groan of pleasure.

His hands snake beneath your back, and he pulls you upward and presses your chest harder against his face.

A louder groan left his throat, so loud you feel the vibration against your skin.

Aerion begins to rock his lower body against yours. You feel his arousal pressing against your thigh.

“You’ve done this on purpose, haven’t you?” You can hear Aerion’s smile against your skin. His voice is muffled and moaning. “You’ve forced my hand because you know I love correcting you.” His body rocks harder against you. A louder groan. “Could you tell how much your husband has been dying to fuck you on the floor like an animal?”

His lips move to your throat, sucking on the area hard enough to make you wince, but it was still nowhere near as painful as the wax that continued burning your skin.

“Are you a good wife after all?” he asks, his voice nothing but lustful aching. “You want it just as bad as me, you’re just too goddamn proud to admit it.”

His hand forcefully rips your nightgown down further.

You scream at him again, this time with hatred. You brought your hand to his neck and scratched him deeper. It brought nothing but a sound of pleasure.

“I have fucked so many whores during our marriage,” Aerion whispers against your neck. “But none of them feel like you. None of them scream like you, not even the ones I dress up in your clothes.”

You feel his hand go to his britches, and you can tell he is trying to unlace them.

“I am going to fuck you until your cunt is as red and wet as your tear stained face,” he taunts. “Treat you as whore, just as you deserve.”

His words refuel your fire.

That’s what he thinks you deserve?

A knight you hardly know thinks you deserve more than to walk alone, yet your husband thinks you deserve to be abused on the floor like some whore?

You continue to flail beneath him.

Your hand feels around the dirt. You cringe as your hand slides against something sharp.

The glass. You’ve reached it.

You take hold of a large shard.

“I can’t decide between fucking you dry or drenching your cunt with hot wax,” he grunts. “I want you to feel my fire inside you-”

You stab the shard of glass into your husband’s hip. He jerks so violently that he lets go of you.

You stab him a second time, then a third, before he shoves himself off of you. You crawl out from under him, and struggle to catch your breath as you force yourself away.

He puts himself in front of the entryway, so you run to the opposite side.

You will not be able to escape from under the bed. He would catch you before you made it. So shove the desk away from the tent wall, and you stand behind it. It feels like your only safety.

Your husband pulls himself to his feet. He looks down at the small glass shard dug into his skin, and he rips it out of his body.

He stares at you.

Then, he laughs.

“Do you really wish to add weapons to this fight?” he asks you.

He seems amused by what you have done.

No, he is excited by it.

“So be it.” He tosses the glass on the table in front of you. “Go on. Pick it up. That is your weapon.” You watch as he pulls the dagger from his belt. “This is mine.”

You feel as if you have been battling for hours. Your body begs for rest.

“Come on, wife. You have challenged me. Come forward. Let us see who is the better fighter.”

You rack your mind for a way out of this. You think of only one.

“I yield,” you sputter quickly.

“I do not accept your yield.”

He steps forward. You flinch back. “Aerion, I-I am sorry. Let me end this now. I yield to you.”

“A proper warrior does not accept a yield, because it is not a true victory.”

If he gets any closer, you will be cut with that dagger. Sliced with it, or stabbed with it.

And he calls himself a true warrior?

A man who has his trembling wife cornered with merely a shard of glass while he has a knife?

He is an embarrassment to every warrior in the realm.

Your throat burns with hatred as you spit, “You are no proper warrior.”

He laughs again.

Your hatred builds. “A proper warrior does not kill horses because he is scared of real competition.”

Your husband’s face falls blank.

He is quiet once more. But this time, you can tell that it is different.

There is no more humor in his pause.

“…What did you say?”

You swallowed your nerves, and tried to force your shoulders tall. “A proper warrior...can win a joust...without cheating-”

“I did not cheat,” he spits at you. “A dragon has no rules.”

“A tourney does. You broke them. You are no winner.”

“Who spoke these lies to you?”

“They are not lies-”

“You have been secluded all day. Who spoke to you?”

You say the one thing that you know will hurt him, a strike to that godawful ego of his.

“No one had to speak to me. I could hear the townspeople screaming ‘cheater’ all the way from the arena.”

It worked.

His confidence was cracking. You could see it in his eyes.

He was embarrassed.

You relished in it.

To embarrass Aerion, to actually hurt him, after all the wicked things he’d put you through.

A surge of satisfaction makes you push further. “I heard them calling you a coward. I heard them say you were too scared to lose that you killed an animal. They call you ‘Aerion the First Cowardly Dragon’-”

He hits you.

Or-no, he doesn’t hit you.

The chair does.

He grabbed the chair, and threw it at you.

Had he not been drunk, he might have killed you with that chair, split your head open on the thick wood. But in his intoxication, he only hits the side of your arm. Shots of pain fly up your body.

The next thing you feel is his hand wrapping itself back into your hair, and he physically yanks you over the desk.

You hit the ground so hard you think a bone in your body has to be broken. He continues to pull you by the hair.

He drags you across the dirt floor. You feel a slice of the broken glass scrape your arm as you are roughly pulled to the entrance of the tent.

Aerion drags you all the way outside. You are humiliated as the breeze hits your bare body, your torn nightgown covering next to nothing.

You try to cover yourself with your hands.

The three guards that are positioned at the entry are visibly taken aback, as are the rest of the soldiers that stand to guard the Targaryen tents.

You muffle a cry of humiliation as you try to find modesty with what is left of your torn clothes. At least fifteen soldiers stare straight at you.

“Which one of them spoke to you?” Aerion yanks your head up to look at the men. “Tell me now.”

You try to pry his hands off your hair. “Stop this,” you cry. “It was no one-”

“Tell me now!” He forces your chin up higher. “Tell me, or I will hang all of them for speaking blasphemy!”

“I did not speak to any of them!” you cry out, not able to bear more death on your hands

“Speak the truth, you lying whore!”

A spiteful voice comes from the left, “Aerion. What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

The hold on your hair is not released, but it loosens.

“This is no business of yours, uncle.”

Prince Baelor has come from nowhere. He looks tired, and upset, and he must have been awoken by two.

“It is every bit my business when you attempt to wake up the entire town with your screaming and threats of death,” the older man spits at his nephew. “Unhand your wife before anyone else wakes and sees your stupidity.”

Aerion releases your hair, but yanks you up and keeps hold of you.

You try to pull your hair in front of you, to keep your dignity as you feel the mens’ eyes on you.

“Treason has been committed,” your husband announces. “One of the guards snuck into my tent and spoke lies of me to my wife.”

“What lies were said of you?”

Aerion hesitates a moment.

Then, you see it in his eyes again. Embarrassment. He is embarrassed to tell his uncle what has been said to you.

Because he knows. Aerion knows what he’s about to say is not a lie.

“They have told my wife that I cheated in my match. They say that I won dishonorably.”

“Our guards are loyal, they have said no such thing.”

“She has not left our tent all day, she would not know of this unless she was spoken to by one of them.”

Your heart clenches in your chest, and you fear for the worst now.

Baelor Targaryen did not know you, and there was no reason he would put his men’s lives on the line for you. Surely, he would expose you now. He’d tell Aerion that you snuck out of the tent, and Aerion would surely torture you for it. Perhaps he’d cut off one of your fingers after all. Or maybe he’d cut off a foot, so that you’d be incapable of walking off again.

Aerion continues, “I intent to find out which one of them it was-”

“I spoke to Lady (Y/N).”

Your eyes widen at Baelor’s words.

Aerion’s body grows stiff. “When?”

“Midday. I thought your wife should be updated on your efforts in the tourney.”

Your husband’s shoulders rise and fall with heavy, angered breaths. “She is not permitted to speak with you. Do not approach her again.”

“Then take her back inside your tent. Now. Before you wake anyone else.”

You meet Baelor’s eyes, and you pray that he can see your gratefulness.

Aerion’s hold on you slowly loosens. You wrap your arms over your chest.

“Get back inside,” he speaks to you. “I must have a conversation with my uncle.”

You do not have to be told twice. Rushing inside, you feel your body breaking down. You cover your mouth as a sob leaves your throat.

Your fingers brush over the burns on your chest. You wince. They continue to sting badly.

You are slow as your shaking hands remove your nightgown, and you pull on one that had not been torn to pieces by your husband.

Climbing back into bed, you whisper more prayers to the gods that your husband will somehow never return to you.

And you pray for reward to find Baelor for how he has saved you.

You will repay him for his kindness if it’s the last thing you do.

[loveobx]

Chosen Part II

dark!husband!Aerion x wife!Reader

summary: your husband’s jealousy deepens in Ashford

tw: abusive marriage, dubcon

********************************************

Your expression was dull as Ashford finally came into view.

The journey there was uncomfortable, and painful for someone inexperienced with long bouts on a horse. Your body ached from being on horseback for so long, your inner thighs burning from it, your lower back throbbing.

Yet, you were not happy to see the kingdom.

Because arriving meant you would have to endure your husband again.

The entire journey, he had kept distance from you, traveling at the front of the Targaryen group, where he believed he should be because of his ‘important status’. You were placed near the back, with the rest of the ‘extras’, as he put it.

You dreaded the moment he would turn his attention back on you. It filled you with anxiety just picturing the sharp look in his eye. You prayed that with the commotion of arriving, he’d forget you came at all.

Five nights had passed since your husband called you into his room, and struck you for the crime of a knight bringing flowers to your chambers.

Your life had become more and more unbearable every minute that had passed since then.

You slept on his floor like a dog the first night, as he’d insisted. Every second after that, you had been locked in your chambers, forced to endure days of solitude so that you would be ‘reminded’ of how much of your life was a ‘priveledge’.

Nothing was truly a privilege to you. You would rather be starving and homeless than continue to be a wife to Aerion for even a day longer.

A bruise remained on your face from where he hit you. When the servants spoke to you, you could feel them looking at it.

“Poor girl,” you could hear them whisper. “She was practically given a death sentence on her wedding day.”

“She should’ve been more careful,” others would say. “Everyone knows of his anger.”

“She’s lucky she was not poisoned,” she once heard, “That was how his first betrothed died. He spiked her wine himself.”

Sometimes, you wondered if he would try to find you if you decided to run away.

You knew he had no heart to break, but surely his ego would be shattered if the townspeople heard he had a runaway wife. And Aerion’s hurt ego was the truest threat on your life.

“Do not embarrass me in Ashford,” he had reminded you moments before your group set off. “If you speak out of turn, I will not hesitate to slice your tongue in half.”

It was odd that he worried you would embarrass him, as if being attached to Aerion wasn’t the most humiliating experience in the world.

His family rode with your group. Yet, he forbade you from speaking to them.

“You have nothing to say to my father, nor my uncle, nor my cousin. It is in your best interest to remember that.

You had no desire to speak to any man of the same blood as Aerion, even if his uncle and cousin seemed more noble minded.

All Targaryens were evil, you had been made aware of it long ago.

Only Aegon, the child brother of your husband, was kind. But Aerion had banned you from speaking to the boy long ago.

As the group neared the Ashford gates, the horses are ordered to gallop into the town. Your thighs burn harsher as your own horse picks up speed.

Spectators watch you enter. They clapped at your group’s entry, yet their eyes were spiteful. They hated the Targaryens as much as you did.

You finally stop within the castle walls. You find yourself completely exhausted, and want nothing more than to rest for the remainder of the day.

You spot Aerion’s horse coming to a stop. He did not even glance around to find you. He simply dismounted his horse, tossed the reins on the ground, and walked towards his father.

The horse you are riding on is unknown to you. You struggle steering it with so many others around.

“Stop,” you speak to the horse. She ignores you. “Halt.”

She continues to walk on her own accord as if she had no rider.

You look around for the guards that were riding beside you. They are gone, no doubt dealing with the princes now.

“Halt,” you try again.

As if mocking you, the horse takes a faster step forward.

“Halt,” you urge louder, pulling on the grips. “Now.”

You panic as you glance around, and spy everyone else handling the horses with ease.

You try to turn her into the stables. She refuses to breach the doorway.

“Please,” you lean and whisper closer to the horse’s ear. “I will give you any feed you want if you just stop now-”

“Do you require any help, milady?”

You startle, straightening yourself properly and peering down to see a man standing at the archway of the stables. He appears to be quite the tall man, nearly eye to eye with you even as you remain on top of the animal.

You quickly turn your head to see if your husband is watching you. He is not.

“I need this horse to stop,” you say to the man.

He steps in front of your horse with ease, taking her reins and giving a quick. “Aye, girl. Settle down.” You are beyond relieved that it works.

You attempt to push yourself off your saddle, but realize that the long ride has made your legs practically unusable. Your knees are locked, and you struggle to awaken your lower body.

The man offers a hand out to you. “I can assist you down-”

“No. Away from me now.”

He flinched back. You’ve never seen such a large man flinch, as if you were actually capable of hurting him.

Again, you look towards your husband. He still has not set eyes on you.

“I-I apologize, milady,” the man uttered with sincerity. “I meant no offense by offering. You only seemed to be having trouble.”

You were still having trouble. You couldn’t comprehend how exhausted such a short journey has made you.

You suppress a groan as you pull both aching legs to one side of the horse.

Another glance at Aerion. He’s still preoccupied.

“I had no desire to make you upset, you only look like you will fall-”

“If you place hands on me, my husband will have your head,” you say to him, hoping he would take the warning and leave. “He will not care if you are merely a stable boy doing your job, his fury reaches everyone.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but promptly shut it. He took a step back. Your threat seemed to work on him.

Yet, his urge to be a helpful gentleman was somehow untainted. “Perhaps you could describe your husband to me. I could let him know you need assistance.”

You would’ve laughed at the suggestion, if you did not feel so absolutely devastated that your husband would never be someone you could call on for help.

As if sensing that this was the moment you wanted his least, your husband appeared. Your chest tightened as he arrived.

Aerion frowned as he spotted you. “Why are you…” He paused as he noticed the man standing before you. The tall man. The very, very tall man. You did not realize until Aerion was next to him just how utterly tall he truly was. He held at least a foot of height over Aerion.

Your husband eyed him up and down, before dismissing him as nothing. He set his sights back on you. “Why are you still on that horse?”

You don’t meet his eye. You look at the ground below. “My legs seem to have fallen stiff on the journey. I...” You hesitate to ask. “I need help getting down.”

“It was not even a day’s ride. Are you truly this helpless?”

You almost glance at the stable boy, to gage his reaction, but you know that Aerion’s rage may spark if he catches you looking at him.

You swallow. “I fear falling-”

“Get down. Now. Before I yank you off myself.”

Your body tenses. You recognize his tone of voice, and understand this is no time to disobey him.

Slowly, you try to push yourself off of the horse. You brace yourself, and try to jump to the ground.

Your legs are still not cooperating. They give out as soon as you touch the ground, and you fall back onto the dirt.

You see Aerion rolling his eyes.

“See to this horse,” he commands the gentlemen, who still remains beside you.

The man finally speaks again. “I am not a stable boy, m’lord.”

It surprises you. You finally look up at him, and for the first time you notice that he is dressed differently than any other servant around here.

“Why? Not clever enough?” Aerion jeers. He directs to you, “Stand up before others see you.”

You use the legs of the saddle to pull yourself to your feet. You remain feeling uneasy and unbalanced.

It seemed you had taken too long composing yourself. Aerion’s hand comes out to slap your hand off of the saddle. “Straighten yourself. Are you a lady or a shoe cleaner?”

You force your shoulders straight, ignoring how stiff your spine is.

Turning back to the tall man, Aerion commands, “If you cannot handle horses, fetch me some wine and a pretty wench. Preferably one that does not hunch over like an animal.” Aerion glanced towards you, tilting his head and asking, “Why have you not brushed the dirt off yourself?”

You quickly begin patting down your skirts.

“Hurry off and find our tent,” Aerion snaps at you. “You do best where no one sees you-”

“How is that any way to speak to a Lady?”

You freeze.

Aerion’s expression changes. You see it clearly. He gets that look in his eyes, the one where he is angry at interruption, but also sickly glad for it, because now he gets the opportunity to put someone in their place.

“Oh,” Aerion says to him, voice low and mocking. “Apologies. Do you find my tone for her to be disrespectful?”

You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to be a part of Aerion’s sick game of jealousy. You body floods with despair at all the ideas of what this might lead to.

The man locks eyes with you. You try to give a quick shake of your head, to plead with him to change his words, but he does not.

Instead, he stands taller, his height making both you and your husband have to look up at him. “I find it cruel. There’s no need for it.”

You wince, as if already being able to feel the punishment you will have to endure for someone coming to your defense.

Aerion’s hand lands on the hilt of his sword. You panic, suddenly recalling the last time a stable boy spoke back to him, and how Aerion punished him with a scar across his face.

“Kneel,” Aerion demanded. “And I will educate you on what cruelty is-”

“He is unused to royalty, Prince Aerion,” you quickly say. “I’m sure he did not mean to offend you so greatly. He is but a simple serving boy.”

You were sure your actions would result in at least one more hit to the face. Or perhaps he’d decide to cut your tongue like he’d promised before. Either way, you felt it was worth it to try to spare this man.

There were such limited kind men left in the world, you would not allow one to be damaged due to helping you.

Aerion eyed you. “Serving boy or not, he must learn eventually-”

“I am not serving boy,” the man informs them. “I-” A pause, like he’s unsure if he should continue. “I have the privilege of being a knight.”

A knight. His chivalry made sense now.

Kind, and helpful, and strong. What a knight should be.

What your husband was not.

Aerion’s eyes trail over him. “I see.” There’s disgust in his expression. “Knighthood certainly has fallen on sad days.” His eyes go back on you. “He has come running to your defense, this knight. This has become a habit for you, hasn’t it? Finding yourself a knight the moment my back is turned?”

You keep your gaze on the ground, again being too much of a coward to meet his eye. “No, Prince Aerion.”

“No? Are you sure?”

If you bit your tongue any harder, you would slice it off yourself.

Aerion taunted, “Does he remind you of Ser Emeret?”

“No.” You feel your eyes stinging, grief rushing over you at the wasteful loss of life, panic hitting you as you imagine this man before you being slain because of your mistake.

“Pick your head up and find our tent before I make a scene of reminding you you’re place.”

You grips your skirts, quickly turning and walking in the direction of his father.

You could hear Aerion talking to the man as you walked away. You have no idea what else was said to the tall knight, you only catch Aerion speaking the word ‘whore’, and it is no doubt directed at you.

Aerion’s father is across the courtyard greeting his brother. You feel out of place as you arrive before him.

Maekar sees you approaching. “Lady (Y/N),” he nods to you. If he noticed your distressed appearance, he does not comment on it. “Might I introduce you to my brother, Prince Baelor. Brother, this is Aerion’s bride.”

You curtsy, and try your hardest to keep up your voice even. “I am honored to meet you.”

“Likewise, My Lady. Apologies for not being able to attend your wedding.”

Hardly anyone attended the wedding. Aerion rushed it, you did not know why, and the only guests were his father and brothers.

Maekar continued, “And his son, Prince Valarr.”

Another curtsy that caused you to feel the aching of your legs.

“Have you been injured from the ride?” The younger man, Valarr asked you. “You appear unwell.”

Baelar hit his son on the back of the head. “How is that any way to greet a Lady?”

“I did not mean it offensively,” he defended.

“I am alright, Prince Valarr. Thank you.” You feel yourself becoming as mentally exhausted as you were physically. “Prince Maekar, Aerion has asked for me to find our tent. Might you have the servants escort me?”

“Yes, yes.” He gestured around. A guard made his way over. “Escort the Lady to the tent prepared for her and Prince Aerion.”

You hesitate again as you stare at the single guard. “Prince Maekar,” you breathed. “I apologize, but...” It all felt so humiliating as he stared back at you. “Prince Aerion asks that I am not alone with any guard. He insists on two escorts at a time.”

The three men stare at you if it were your rule, and not merely one you were being forced to follow.

“I have not even greeted that boy yet and I find myself exhausted by him,” Baelar mutters beneath his breath.

Maeker sighed at the request, but sent a second guard.

The tent was large, and fitting for a prince. You wished it was dirty. You wished there were bugs that would crawl over Aerion’s skin and make him itch and squirm.

You did not know what to do with yourself when the guards left.

You wanted to sleep, but worried Aerion would burst in at any moment and call you lazy for it.

The tent had a bed, and a desk. You took the seat at the desk.

You sat for what felt like an hour, just staring down at your hands. Slowly, you lost your composure.

Your head rested on the desk, and you fell asleep.

You wake when the tent flap is shoved open. Aerion’s footsteps are loud as he makes his way over to you.

He grabs the back of your chair, and jerks it so that you are fully awake. You gasped, and start to rise to your feet.

His hands fall on your shoulders, forcing you back down.

“What were the instructions I gave you before we came here?”

You blink rapidly, trying to force your exhausted brain to start working again.

He gripped your shoulders tighter. “What were the instructions I gave you?”

You wince at his grip, and try to pull your shoulder from him. You’re unsuccessful.

“Do not embarrass you,” you quickly speak.

“Do not embarrass me.” His head leans down towards your ear. “Yet you decide to jump off your horse and fall on your ass-”

“I did not mean to. I-I told you I needed help-”

He pinches your shoulder. You shut your mouth.

“What else did I say to you?”

“…Do not speak out of turn-”

“Do not speak out of turn. Do not speak to my father, nor my uncle, nor my cousin.” You heard him sigh. “Yet what did you do, (Y/N)?”

In your head, you tell the gods that if they strike Aerion down at this very moment, you will dedicate your life to them.

They ignore you.

You find your throat has grown hot, and you struggle to swallow.

He pulls the chair back, startling you. You hold onto it tightly, expecting him to shove you to the ground in it. Instead, he turns the chair around so you are facing him.

Then, your husband kneels down on one knee in front of you.

“Tell me,” he says again, “my sweet, sweet wife.” His hands caress the ends of your hair, something he has grown fond of lately, “What did you do?”

You spoke to all of them.

And now he would punish you for it.

Your heart lurched with fear of your husband. It was torture, the way you had to sit here with absolutely no power to get away from this horrid man.

You try to explain yourself. “…You…told me to find the tent.”

“And so you used your intelligence and took it upon yourself to search out our tent on your own?” He brushed your hair over your shoulders. “Is that what you did?”

Your eyes stung again. You knew you looked pathetic, you felt it too. He probably relished in it.

You don’t answer.

“Or,” he speaks, “Did you...” His fingers trail up your thighs slowly, mimicking footsteps. “…walk up to my father...” You flinch as his fingers press harder. “…and my uncle...” You shift uncomfortably as you feel his nails through your clothes. “...and my cousin, and tell them that your jealous husband-” You cry out as he pinches your thigh, nails digging painfully as if trying to rip your skin off. “-is too scared to send you off alone with a single guard?”

Your hand flies to push his off of you. He does not let go. You hurry out, “I said no such thing about you-”

“My father said it about me,” he spat. “He scolded me for being such an ‘insecure child.’”

“I was trying to find our tent like you asked-”

He grabbed your jaw, pulling your head forward, and slamming it back against the wooden headrest of the chair. “I would have rather you wandered into the woods and died, you stupid girl. Can you not do anything yourself?”

You try to stand, telling yourself if you were able to escape his grasp, you really would run into the woods and die. You would rather lay dead in the dirt then deal with this monster for a moment longer.

But his hands shoot out to force you still.

“What will it take to reach that empty brain of yours?” he snapped you. “What form of pain do I need to inflict upon you so that you finally behave?”

You wondered if you might die here and now from the stress he is putting on your heart. It was as if he was squeezing it in his hand, playing with both your feelings and your life.

“Nothing else to say, (Y/N)?” He stood, and tsked. “Hm. You had so much to talk about with your hedge knight earlier.”

“I spoke with no hedge knight-”

“No? You didn’t grovel for me to show him mercy?”

“I-I did not speak with him. He was only offering help, we had no conversation-”

Aerion placed his hands on the rails of the chair, leaning down closer. “He did not care to help you. He was only trying to find your price so that he could fuck you.”

You turned your head.

He snatched your jaw, forcing you to face him. “He told me so. He admitted to wanting to bed you. He said he was giving it a try since you looked like you’d open your legs easy enough-”

“No.” You said the word like it was the one thing you were sure of. “It was nothing like that. He was a gentleman. He was only helping.”

“He said that you looked cheap, like you’d allow him to fuck you on the hay in the stables.”

“I’m dressed in your house’s traditional clothing. If I look cheap, take it up with the dragons-”

He grabbed the back of your hair, and slammed your face against the desk. Pain exploded in your nose.

When he yanked your head back up, you felt a trickle of blood run down your lips.

His rough fingers take your jaw, pulling you to face him again.

“Disrespect the dragons again, and you will be scalped for being a traitor,” he spits at you.

You touch your face. Your finger is coated red when you pull it away. Hatred burns you to your core.

You have come with his family to his tourney and done nothing but exactly what he asked of you.

Yet he finds a mistake in everything.

You were not brought for company, you realize, only for his sick entertainment.

You hated this man, and you wished him to have a slow, painful death.

Anger burning in your chest, you spit at him, “I do not disrespect the dragons, I disrespect my jealous husband whose own father has deemed him an insecure child.”

You hear him let out a loud laugh. One, single, loud laugh.

Then, he slams your head on the table twice as hard.

The room spins.

You don’t pick your head up this time. He seems happy to see you’ve learned.

His fingers release your hair after a moment of silence from you. His hand slowly drifts down your back.

“Sometimes, I feel that you crave my roughness,” he says to you. His fingers trail down your spine. “Is that it, wife? Are you the type of woman to be excited by pain?”

You clenched your fists, and you wish you were as tall as the kind knight, so that you did not have to be afraid anymore.

“Do you do these things for my attention?”

he mocks you. “Did you hear me ask for a pretty wench, and you acted up so that my attention would be placed on you alone?”

Still bent over the desk, you feel Aerion move to stand behind you. One of his hands falls on your hip, the other pushes down on your lower back, pressing your chest harder against the table top.

“You have my...full attention now, wife,” he breathed, as his hands slowly lifted your skirts, his body warming as he forced your backside bare. “Does that excite you?” You shudder as you feel his hand fall on your naked ass, fondling you like a man who hasn’t seen a woman in ages. “Are you aroused by the way I treat you?”

You inhale sharply as you feel his hand trail between your legs.

“I am,” he whispers, so low you barely catch it.

His fingers prod at your dry entrance, making you wince. He notices, and to punish you further, he pushes a second finger into your dry cunt.

You shut your eyes tight.

“I think I’ll enjoy fucking you bent over like this,” he speaks, his voice still taunting you. “I won’t have to see that goddawful face you make.”

Your blood boiled at how he demeaned you.

He brutally thrusted a third finger into you, bringing a sharper hiss of pain. He hummed as he heard it.

You could hear his smile as he said, “I’ll be able to pretend you are a different woman entirely.”

Gritting your teeth, you spat, “And I will be able to pretend it is Ser Emeret fucking me instead.”

His hands leave you in an instant. He steps away from you. With a rush of adrenaline, you pull your skirts back down, covering yourself, and flipping around the face your husband.

He stares at you with an expression you cannot decipher.

“...Take it back.”

You shuffle away from the desk, and place yourself closer to the fabric of the tent.

“Withdraw your words now,” he demands of you. “Before I have you hung for infidelity.”

“I take nothing back.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a heavy breath. “Take it back this instant, or I will drag you outside of this tent, strip you for the world to see, and whip you until you are unconscious.”

You know he would not do that. Because it would embarrass him.

So you repeated, between grit teeth, “I take nothing back.”

His eyes darken.

But…he does not move closer. He does not grab you, nor take up a whip. He just stares with a narrowed expression.

He stays right where he is, like an animal who has set its sights on the hunt.

His voice becomes a whisper. “If I find out another man has placed his hands on you, I will take my sword, and I will skin him alive until every inch of his flesh is gone.”

You believe him.

You almost add to the fire. ‘Ser Emeret is dead,’ you almost say to taunt him, ‘You can’t skin alive someone who’s already dead’.

But his anger has become something you are unequipped to handle. You do not wish to test it any further than you already have.

“Undress,” he suddenly demands. “And lay onto the bed.”

You want to refuse. But his face tells you there will be no more tolerance of refusal.

You remove you dress, and your undergown.

There is no romance as you lay naked on the bed, and as he undresses and climbs on top of you.

You try to shut your eyes, as you always do.

He slaps you for it.

“Look at me.”

You have no choice but to do as told.

For the first time in your marriage, your eyes are on your husband the entire time he fucks you.

His eyes never leave you either.

[loveobx]

Chosen Part III

dark!husband!Aerion x wife!Reader

summary: your husband’s father is unimpressed by the markings on your face

tw: abusive marriage, violence

********************************************

“She will not be allowed to join the audience today.”

“Of course she will. She is my wife, and I wish for her to be there-”

“She will not be attending today’s match,” Maekar hissed at his son. “Have you not humiliated our family enough with your violence?”

Maekar Targaryen stared at you with a gaze that made you feel small, and unwanted. His eyes took in your face, a grimace forming on his own.

Aerion sat lazily on the top of the desk he had slammed your face against the night prior.

He is cracking open nuts with the back of his dagger, popping them in his mouth as if he were a man being amused by a play. “What violence?”

“Do not insult me,” Maekar spat. “As if I’m not staring right at it.”

You stare down at the ground beneath you, your breaths slow and uneasy as they discuss you.

Aerion slams his dagger hilt on another walnut, making you flinch.

“Oh, that? She fell off her horse when we arrived.”

They speak of the bruising on your nose. Yellow and purple bruises dot the middle of your face, and have begun to seep below your eyes.

“I tried to offer her help,” Aerion shrugged off, chewing loudly and impolitely. “But she insisted on trying to get down by herself.”

You try to ease your anger by imagining him falling off his own horse during the tourney today.

Maekar’s eyes formed a glare as he stared at his son. “She will remain here today. Out of sight.”

“I brought her for a reason. She is to be my good luck charm-”

“This is not up for discussion,” came his sharp words. “We are here for a tourney that demonstrates the honor of knights, and we do not need the people of Ashford laying eyes on your dishonorable ways.”

He lets out a low hum of a laugh.

“(Y/N),” you are addressed by his father with sternness. “You will remain in this tent, out of sight. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Prince Maekar.”

Your husband slams down his dagger hilt to break open another nut. It causes you to flinch again.

“I will call for ladies to come paint her face,” Aerion insisted. “The ugliness will be covered up. Will that appease you, father?”

“Need I remind you,” Maekar began, “That if you do not treat your things properly, they will be taken away from you.”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening as you look at the older man.

Taken away?

Was he speaking of…divorce? A burst of hope you’d never expected flooded through your body.

Was Prince Maekar suggesting he would allow you to divorce his son if he treated you too poorly?

Aerion’s smile left his face.

“Prepare yourself for your match today,” Maekar instructed, venom in his tone. “And do not be late this time. You tarnish our name each time you are.”

When his father left, you felt like your safety net had left with him. The one time you felt safe was when there were prying eyes.

Aerion stood to his feet, his jaw tight when he did so. He slammed his danger on the table again, once more, not to break a nut, just to show his anger.

When you startled, his eyes went back to you.

“If you dare flinch in front of my father again, I will make sure the next thing cracked open is your skull. Do you understand, woman?”

You step out of the way as he gathers his overcoat, pulling it on.

“You fumbling, skittish bitch.”

As if the flinching was more notable than the bruising. You bite your tongue.

“Don’t think for even a second that you will use this time alone to continue your whorish ways,” your husband snaps at you. “I will have three guards positioned at the door, and if you attempt to leave, I will tell them to beat you.”

You were a Prince’s wife. The guards could not lay hands on you. But you do not say it.

Your pulse quickened with fear when he swipes his dagger off the desk. For a moment, you think he will cut you with it. But he simply returns it to his belt.

“I went through all the trouble of bringing you here,” he scoffed. “Just for you to find a way to ruin things.”

You stay quiet as he complains of you.

“What a useless wife you are,” he continues cruelly. “I should’ve left you at home.”

You inhale sharply. He eyes you, as if daring you to say something.

You do not. You want to. But you don’t.

You felt so weak for fearing him so greatly.

“Perhaps tomorrow, if you carry yourself better, my father will allow you to come watch me in action. But it’s a reward you will not receive if you do not act better.”

You opened your mouth. He shot another look at you. You closed it.

“At least you’ve finally learned to keep your mouth shut,” he mocked. “Nothing useful ever comes from it-”

“I do not wish to watch you.”

Aerion’s movements slowed. He turned back to face you. “Have I asked what you wish for?”

You quiet down, shoulder slouching as he approaches you.

“You were not brought to be lazy.”

“…I only ask for you to spare me the humiliation.”

He scoffs a laugh.

You try to continue, “It is the only thing I will feel if I am forced to be in an audience where every person will read upon my face how little my husband cares for me-”

“Perhaps your injuries will serve as a cautionary tale as to what happens to women who do not follow orders.”

A silence fell through the tent.

Your body grew cold from his words. He somehow struck your emotions harder than you thought him capable of.

“…Is that how you will raise our daughter?” you asked. “With these types of cautionary tales?”

“We will find out once you do your job and become pregnant.”

“I will get pregnant once you decide to stop spending your nights with whores instead of your own wife.” You try to hurt his feelings, but you are never able to.

“Whores are better company than my wife.”

“Then perhaps you should divorce me and marry a whore instead-”

His hand shoots out quicker than you expect, grabbing your arm and yanking you into him, even as you try to dig your feet into the ground.

“Speak the word divorce again,” he tells you, “And I will send a knight to your homeland to kill your mother.”

You flinch so violently that he lets you go.

“Do not think yourself brave just because you heard my father scold me,” he spat at you. “The only way out of this marriage will be death.”

You put more distance between the two of you as his voice raises.

“And I am married to a whore,” he insulted. “Just not one of the fun ones.”

Your chest is heavy as it rises and falls.

“Nothing more to say?” he taunts.

You swallowed the lump building in your throat. “…I hope you fall off your horse and die.”

“As do many others.”

Your eyes gloss over as your mind comprehends the level of disrespect you are being subjected to by the man that was supposed to he your protector.

“You wish to remain in here? To stay in this tent and not leave even for a moment? Very well. But there will be no food or drink brought to you.”

The day is already growing hot, and you can’t imagine what it will be like without water during the evening. You feel panic arising, but you try not to show it.

“Perhaps you can spend your time alone to practice your apology,” he comments. “Practice getting on your knees to beg for my forgiveness of your stupidity.”

You were going to be alone, all day, starving and thirsty with your nose still in pain, you realize.

Just for him to come back tonight, and inflict whatever else he wants upon you.

Tortured in the day, just to be tortured at night.

And then again, and again, for how long?

Would this be the rest of your life?

“Stop crying, you pathetic girl.”

You didn’t realize you were crying until he said this. You now felt the hot tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.

This forever?

This awful man forever?

The tears fell faster.

Suddenly, you find yourself choking on your own sorrow, gasping for air as a sob leaves your throat.

Aerion forever?

“You will silence yourself now,” he demands, “Before I smother you with a pillow.”

“Send a knight to kill my father as well,” you cry, “Because I hate him. I hate him for binding me to you.”

“What a dreadful woman you have grown into. Wishing your own father and husband dead.”

“You are no husband,” you sob. “You are a curse to me. A punishment I have done nothing to deserve.”

His voice was careless. “Tragic.”

He left the tent, and you were sure those outside could hear you crying, just as you hear your husband’s voice announce, “No food for Lady (Y/N). No beverage either. Not even water. No one is to enter this tent until I return. Any disobedience will be considered treason.”

*****

Sweat trickles down your forehead. It catches in your hair.

You stare at nothing, laid on the bed feeling almost dead.

Heat is just about the only thing you feel. Heat, and pain, your nose tingling each time you inhale the dry air.

You had tried to count the time that passed, but lost track.

The heat keeps you from sleeping, as does your dry throat.

You tried asking for water seven times. They were all denied. You tried to bribe the guards, they still refused. You should have known that there was no man here that would disobey your husband.

You hate that man.

You hate that man.

But the moment you hear his voice outside, your body floods with relief. Because he is the only person that could get you out of this situation.

You stand quickly, placing yourself just at the entrance.

The entry door is pushed open.

Aerion is smiling as he enters, and the smile widens when he sets eyes on you.

“Your husband has won his match against Ser Humphrey,” Aerion told you, his expression boastful.

You duck your head in a quick bow. “Congratulations, Prince Aerion.” You meet his gaze with pleading eyes. “Might-Might you allow in a pitcher of water.”

“Have you an apology for me?”

“I am sorry,” you tell him. “Forgive me for my-for my stupidity this morning. For my misuse of words. I will be better now, I swear it.”

“Is that all?”

“I apologize for everything,” you say, feeling your dry, chapped lips as you spoke. “I forgot my place. I will not again. Please-” You ducked your head in another bow. “Please allow me a pitcher of water, Prince Aerion.”

“Hm.” You watch as he pushes the entrance open, saying to a guard, “Bring me a cup of water. Now.”

Another bead of sweat rolls down your forehead. The breeze feels so nice from the open entry way.

It takes only moments for the cup to be provided.

You reach out, but Aerion holds it away.

“Do not be selfish,” he tells you. He takes a long sip of the drink.

When he brings it down, you reach again. Once more, he holds it away.

“I expect my wife to congratulate me for my victory.”

You had already congratulated him. But you force out another quick, “Congratulations,” before reaching for the water once more.

He steps around you, taking the water with him, setting it on the desk. He begins untying his overcoat.

“A real congratulations,” he says. His smile is overconfident. “You will help me undress, then you shall remove your clothing and lay on the bed.”

You stay where you are.

“See to my shoes,” he tells you.

Your throat is dry as you speak. “May I have a drink first?”

“After.”

You imagine his naked body on top of yours. More heat and sweat and pain and everything you do not want. “I feel faint, Prince Aerion. I need it now.”

His hand shoots out and knocks the cup to the ground. The water soaks into the dirt. Your eyes don’t leave it.

“You’ve never done well with distractions,” he mumbled. “See to my shoes. Now.”

Hours of sweltering heat. Hours of solitude. Hours of nothing but staring at the ceiling.

And he thought you would kneel down and take off his shoes so that he could bed you?

“I do not plan on asking again-”

“I will not touch you.”

Your husband pauses. His eyes flash to you, and you see his frown forming. “I fear I’ve misheard you.”

You remain quiet.

He sighs loudly. “Why must you always insist on ruining my mood-?”

“I feel faint,” you tell him again. “I am overwhelmed by the heat. I will not touch you until you allow me a drink.”

“Mm.”

His gaze unnerves you. You look away from him.

“I had no idea you needed a drink so badly,” he tells you. “Go on then. Have it. I will not stop you.”

You don’t understand him. You never do.

“Go on,” he says again.

You risk looking forward. He points at nothing but the mud spot on the floor.

“Don’t be shy now,” he tells you. “Let me help.”

As your husband grabs you, and yanks you across the tent, and forces you down to your knees, you start to wonder what is worse: Aerion’s cruelty, or the suffering of isolation in dry heat.

Aerion’s cruelty is worse, you decide quickly, when he shoves your face towards the ground and demands you to drink from the water pooled on the dirt below.

You cry out in pain when he shoves your face against the ground, and your nose is pressed painfully into the mud.

“You’re so damn desperate for water,” he says. “Show me how badly you want it.”

You shut your lips tight. You begin to taste bitterness.

He digs his hands in the ground, and takes a fistful of mud. He yanks on your hair, harsh enough for your mouth to open as you cried from it.

Your husband shoves mud into your mouth.

“I came excited to share my victory with you,” he spat as he tightens the grip on your hair, “yet you cannot even pretend to care.”

You shake with humiliation at this awful indignity he is forcing upon you. You try to spit it out, but he forces more past your lips.

For a moment, you fear you will die. You are scared he will suffocate you with this dirt.

You are only relieved at the fact you would be dying before bringing any children into this world.

Aerion only releases you when you begin choking. You brace yourself against the ground as you cough up everything forced upon you.

Tears and snot now run down your face as your body tries to free your airways. You place a hand over your heart, panting as you try to catch your breath.

“You look dreadful,” he tells you. “Unfit to attend any feast today.”

You remain on your hands and knees, dreadful and despaired.

“I will find another woman to celebrate with,” he says. “Ensure you are cleaned up by the time I return. Wash your face, dry your tears, and perhaps try a smile for once in your life.”

He leaves you.

You let yourself fall the rest of the way to the floor.

And as you are down there, contemplating whether or not hanging yourself would be an easier route to take for your life, you notice sunlight flicker from beneath the bed.

The fabric of the tent is not nailed into the dirt on the far wall, where the bed is. There is a gap.

And you wonder if you tore the fabric, if you would be able to leave through that gap without the guards noticing.

[dollbabypink]

HATE HIM!!!

[loveobx]

Chosen

dark!husband!Aerion x wife!reader

summary: you live your life trying to avoid your husband as much as possible, but find yourself facing his wrath after committing an accidental offense

warnings: abusive relationship, violence, toxicity, threats, dark!aerion

a/n: first post on tumblr so plsss lmk if the format is bad

***********

“Your husband requests for you to join him in his chambers, my lady.”

You pause what you are doing, hand freezing in the air as you were just beginning to pull shut the window curtains.

You turn towards the servant girl who stood uncomfortably at your chamber doorway. Your face showed your confusion. “Now?”

Your feet were bare, you were dressed down in your night clothes, and your hair was already braided for bed. You were unprepared for this.

She gave an obedient nod. “Yes, my lady. Now.”

It did not make sense to you. Your husband had never requested you at this time of night before. In fact, he never requested your presence in his chambers at all. On the brief occasion he would seek your company, it would be for a quick bedding in the afternoon, after his lunch, when his body was full of wine.

You convince yourself this is a mistake. “It is quite late,” you begin, “Perhaps he meant in the morning.”

The servant girl stood with obvious discomfort. She seemed to think carefully over her words, before repeating, “Now, my lady. He insists on it.”

You tell her, “If he asked you to bring him a woman to warm his bed, then he did not mean me. It is a wench that he wants. You will have to call one from town.”

You were not naive to your husband’s infidelity, nor would you pretend to be. Not that it bothered you anymore. You were grateful he entertained himself with prostitutes instead of you. You despised being in his company the same way he despised being in yours.

The servant shuffled in closer. “My Lady (Y/N), your husband has requested you specifically. He wants you in his chambers immediately.”

The idea of you being on his mind, especially at this time of night, made your heart drop.

A prickle of fear coursed through your body. “Why?”

“I do not know.”

“What was his mood when he sent you?”

The servant girl opened her mouth and shut it again, like she was not sure if she should answer. Eventually, she slipped out a pitiful, “He is angry, my lady. I know not why.”

Your heart beat faster.

Angry. The thought made you shudder. You had no desire to be anywhere near your husband when he was in a normal mood, and definitely not when he was angry. You had no idea why he wanted to be anywhere near you either. You were never a comfort for him, he never confided in you, he hardly ever spoke to you. You had never been called to calm him down, so you did not understand why he might want you at this very moment.

Truth be told, you had never even been to your husband’s chamber.

He would come to yours, to use your body for his own pleasure, and then leave within an hour. That was the extent of your relationship with him.

It was a loveless marriage. Everyone in the kingdom was aware of it.

Because everyone in the kingdom was aware that Aerion Targaryen was incapable of love.

You were married to the monstrous man just over six months ago, yet you were still strangers, the same as you were when you met him on your wedding day.

Aerion seemed to enjoy pretending you didn’t exist. You were glad, because it was not easy existing around him.

The two of you lived separate lives, only intertwining when he wanted to bed you, or when he placed you by his side for a public banquet.

The nighttime was supposed to be your refuge from him, and you were not willing to give it up so easily. Especially not to face his anger.

In an attempt to escape your fate, you tell the servant girl, “Please, tell my husband that I have already retired to bed. I will see him in the morning.”

“Lady (Y/N).” She spoke your name with more desperation. “Prince Aerion has told me to bring you to his chambers, and he said that if you refuse, he will punish me, and then he will send a knight to drag you there.”

Your shoulders slouched, and your panic rose even further. “…Why?”

“I do not know,” she repeated, fretfully. “But please, come.”

This servant girl was not the one married to the devil. She was not the one damned to hell. It would be unfair to delay your own fate and allow her to receive a punishment for your own cowardice.

Slowly, you relent with a nod. “Let me get dressed, and I will be on my way.”

“Thank you,” the servant whispered, her gratefulness as clear as day.

You dressed quickly. You could tell by the way the servant gripped her skirts that she was just as scared as you were.

“I do not know the way to his chambers,” you admit. “I will need you to guide me.”

She was surprised. She should be. You were probably the only wife in the kingdom to not know where her husband slept.

She gave a kind, “Of course. Follow me.”

As you made your way through the castle, you tried to rack your mind for anything that might have set Aerion off today.

He was hotheaded, easy to anger, and quick to violence. But you did not think anything specific upset him today. You spotted him a few times from the balcony of the library. He was training as always, laughing. He seemed fine just a few hours ago. Surely, if he was upset all day, he would have been frowning.

The servant stopped in front of a door you had never seen before. She gave a quick knock, before bowing to you, and taking a step back.

“Enter,” came your husband’s voice through the door.

His tone was normal, and it eased you. You stepped inside his chambers. The door shut behind you.

Aerion had his back to you, occupied by something at his desk. He was pouring wine, you realized.

Your eyes glanced around, and you notice there are no servants, nor guards in his room. You tense again.

“(Y/N),” he speaks, smoothly. “You took your time arriving.”

“I apologize, my Prince. I was asleep when you called upon me.”

It was a lie. You shouldn’t lie to him, you know this. But it came out too fast for you to stop it.

He abruptly placed the pitcher of wine back on the desk, somewhat roughly. “Were you?” he asked, his voice still neutral.

You swallowed back the nerves building inside you. “Yes.”

For a few moments, he did nothing. He said nothing. He stood exactly where he was, still and silent.

A coldness swept over you. You had never seen this from him before.

Finally, he turned to face you. His eyes were unreadable. “Would you care for some wine?” he asked, as if this was all normal. As if you were a regular husband and wife who enjoyed spending time together.

You had never drank with him, except for your wedding, and you did not want to start while he was angry. You quickly refuse. “No, thank you, my Prince-”

“Come. Drink with me.”

He closed the distance between you two, forcing a goblet into your hand. You hold it with uncertainty.

Was he trying to poison you? He would never get away with it. His father would surely find out. Yet, you didn’t put it past him to do something as cruel as poisoning you, his own wife.

Aerion stands before you, staring at you expectantly.

Understanding he is an impatient man, you decide to ignore your paranoia and take a drink of the wine.

He smiles at you. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Another lie.

“You have never told me what your favorite wine is,” he says to you. His finger brush against your jaw, causing you to flinch in surprise. “A year of marriage, and you have never told me your preference.”

“Half a year of marriage.” The words spill out of you before you can rethink them.

His fingers pause, his eyes meeting yours sharply.

Another moment passed of his silence.

You felt like you had just triggered something you should not have.

A smile graces his face again. You cannot tell if it is real or forced. “You are right. Half a year. Seems like so much longer, does it not?”

This time, you were truthful. “It does.”

“Come,” he says to you, gesturing with a short flick of the wrist. “I would like to show you something.”

Aerion makes his way to his window. You stay exactly where you are, uncertain of his intentions. You finally find the courage to ask, “Why have you called on me-”

He brushes off your question with a stern, “Come. Now.”

You finally join him. You glance at the window, but find nothing of interest in the courtyard below.

“I find myself watching this window very often,” Aerion tells you.

His hand falls on the small of your back, and he pushes you closer to the glass. He fills the space behind you, and you are suddenly aware that you are trapped where you are.

“Do you know why I watch this window?”

You look desperately at the courtyard, trying to find anything that might catch his eyes. “You watch the men train,” you tried.

“No.”

“You watch to see who enters the place.”

“No.” This time, as he speaks, his hand falls to your hip. His body presses against yours.

“You…” You’re unable to think when his hand comes back to caress your face again. “You make sure the guards do not leave their post.”

“I watch this window,” he begins in a colder voice. “To keep an eye on my wife.”

As he spits out the last word, his hand grips your jaw with a tightness you were unprepared for. You cry out as he cranes your head to the left, and your eyes suddenly on a familiar balcony.

Your blood runs cold.

Your chambers. They were in view of his window. You had never seen his room before, yet his window held a perfect view of yours.

You left your candles going, and you had not drawn your curtains yet. And your room was so visible.

He could see right into it.

He could watch you.

Oh gods, he had been watching you.

The goblet of wine falls to the floor.

“Do you think of me as a fool?” he seethes in your ear, so close you feel his lips on your skin. “That I would not keep an eye on my own woman?”

No, he was not a fool, you were. Because you had not even considered this. Never had it even crossed your mind that you were being monitored in the privacy of your own chambers.

You winced as he pulled your body tighter against his, his hand still gripping your face painfully. “Do you think I do not see what you do?”

The sudden realization that you’ve had no privacy this entire time startled you, but it also further confuses you.

Because you were not a sinful woman.

You did not cheat, you did not steal, you did not even gossip.

It made your skin crawl to know he watched you through your window, but you had nothing to be guilty for.

You had done nothing wrong. No lovers, no conspiracy, no hidden agenda. Your room had been your sanctuary, to read and write and sew in peace. What could he have seen?

You try to make sense of it. Tears begin to fall down your cheek as you become unhealthily overwhelmed. “I do not understand,” you cry. “What have I done-”

His hand released your jaw, only to spin you around and slam your back against the brick wall.

You shrank under his gaze. His eyes burned with an anger you did not understand.

His eyes came up to cup both sides of your face, making it impossible to look away from him. “Am I not a kind husband?”

No. He was not. Yet, you still force out, “You are, my prince.”

“Do I not give you everything you ask for?”

You have never asked him for anything, besides the freedom to leave the castle without him, and even that he hardly gave you.

“You do,” you cry, flinching as he leaned even closer.

“Do I not take care of you?”

No. His servants took care of you, he hardly ever spoke to you.

Still, you lied, “You do.”

He brings a hand to your cheek, his fingers softly brushing away the stream of tears that had began to coat your skin.

His whispers, with false kindness, “Aren’t I gentle with you?”

No. He always held your hand too tightly during public banquets. He manhandled you in bed. He often shoved you forward when you would walk too slowly beside him.

But you feared him, so you lied. “You are very gentle with me.” Your voice shook, as did your body. He could feel your trembling. It seemed to encourage him.

After he wiped your tears, his fingers softly caressed the red bruises he had just inflicted upon you. “Have I ever struck you?”

That was the only thing he had never done. He never hit you, never slapped you. His physical punishments towards you were pinches or rough pulls each and every way. But he had never struck you.

Your throat is dry as you admit, “No. You have never struck me-”

His hand crashes against your face with a slap so strong it makes you dizzy. Your head whips to the right, and your eyes quickly prickle with a new batch of tears. Your hand flies up to protect yourself.

“Maybe that is why you behave like some lowborn whore,” he spits with rage. “Because I have not slapped enough sense into you.”

A panic arose in your chest, and you found yourself trying to push him away. “Aerion-”

Another slap, harsher than before.

You would’ve fallen to the ground had he not been holding you.

“Stop!” you cry out, eyes shut tight as you try to get away. “Husband, please-!”

“Husband!” he spits with fury. “Or do you forget?!”

“No!” you sob. “I do not forget!”

“I am your husband! You are my wife!”

You try to nod so fast your neck aches. “Yes! Yes!”

“Do not forget your place!”

“I have not!” you cry out, your face stinging from his palm.

Finally, he let go of you. Your hand flew to your face, trying to rub out the pain in your cheek, but to not avail.

“What have I done?!” you cried out again, unable to bear this any longer.

He gave no verbal answer. Instead, he walked away from you. You shut your eyes tightly, not opening them until something was thrown at you.

You look at your feet, and see a bouquet of flowers thrown to the floor.

Your heart dropped at the realization of what caused this all.

“No,” you choked out.

Realization of what he had seen, and what he must suspect, made your body plunge cold with terror.

This was all a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that could get you killed.

“No,” you all but sob. “It’s not what you think-”

“I stood at this very window and watched you allow a knight into your chambers,” he said, his voice going back to a chilling factual tone. “My wife brought a man into her bedroom, unsupervised, and accepted flowers from him.”

“No. No.” You kept shaking your head in desperation. “I sent him for flowers. I wanted flowers for my windowsill, so-so I sent Ser Emeret to bring me some-”

“And bring you some, he did. He brought you flowers, and a smile, and a cock for you spit on-”

“I did no such thing! It is a lie! I have never strayed from you!

“And who is there to prove this?”

“Ask him,” you cry. “Call-Call upon Ser Emeret. He will tell. He gave me the flowers, and that was all.”

“I cannot call upon Ser Emeret.”

“Please. He will tell you-”

“Ser Emeret is dead. He was killed in a training accident a little over an hour ago.”

The world seemed to crumble around you.

Aerion was going to kill you. You were sure of it. He brought you here to strangle you, or beat you to death, or maybe that wine was a slow acting poison after all. He was going to kill you, over nothing, because he hated you that much.

“…You-” You were so scared you felt you might faint. But the thought of being unconscious in this cruel man’s presence was even more terrifying. “You…saw that nothing happened.” You shook your head, becoming hysterical. “If you were watching me, you saw that nothing happened! He handed me flowers and left! That was all! That was all! You saw it! If you were watching, you saw it!”

Your husband once again closed the distance between you two. For a moment, you feared he would strike you once more. But instead, he began to caress your hair.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I saw it.”

“I did not betray you,” you cried. “I did nothing with that man.”

He stared at the end of your hair as he played with it between his fingers. “I know.”

You did not understand. You wept, “Then why are you doing this?”

His eyes met yours. There was a flash of something his expression, something she hadn’t seen before. His voice dropped to a whisper. “…Because he smiled at you. And you smiled back.”

“It was out of courtesy-”

Another slap hit your face. This time, he let go of you, and you fell to the ground.

You try to push yourself up, but his boot comes down on the side of your body, forcing you back to the floor.

“You cannot do this!” you cry out. “I am a Lady-”

“You are my wife,” he spat at you. “Do not forget that your life, and the conditions in which you live it, are at my discretion.”

You wanted to scream. Your throat was burning to. You wanted to scream and shout at him. You wanted to spit in his face and slap him back, maybe scratch him with your nails and leave a scar on that pretty face of his.

But you knew that even a single utterance of refusal would end violently. You did not even want to imagine what he might do if you pressed his frustration any further.

For your own safety, you clamped your mouth shut.

The flowers you bought were now scattered on the floor.

Aerion slowly squatted down beside you, brushing your hair away from your red, tear-stained face. “If I see another man in your chambers ever again, I will have every item you own burned to ashes, and I will keep you chained to my own bed while I am gone.”

You wished he would burn to ashes. You wished you were the Targaryen, and that you had a dragon, and that you could burn him to a crisp.

“In four days time, I will be traveling to Ashford for the tourney. You are no longer trusted to remain at the castle without me by your side, so I have made the arrangements for you to accompany me.”

This felt more like a slap to the face than his physical strike had.

The last bit of peace you had was gone.

His trips were the only time you ever felt alive anymore. When he was out of town, and you knew he would not call on you, was the only time you could truly breath. And now it was gone.

Biting your tongue, you tried to muffle the cry trying to force its way from your throat.

You curled up on the ground, trying to become as small as possible, covering your face with your hair, as if it would hide you from him.

“You will mind your tongue while we are there,” he continued, speaking down on you like you truly were nothing but a dog. “You will speak to no other. You will look at no other. You have no duty but to be my wife.”

You curled your face into your hands.

“You will clap when I win, you will sit up straight when we have company, you will nod when I speak. And when I bring a whore to my tent to satisfy myself with, you will sit quietly in the corner of the tent and not say a word. Do you understand, Lady (Y/N)?”

The command sparked hatred in your bones. Your face held a grimace. You grit your teeth, your fists clenching.

He repeated, “I asked you, do you understand-”

“No, I do not understand,” you hissed, forcing your head up. “You have lost your mind over me buying flowers, yet you speak of bedding whores in the very same room as me. Have you no respect for your title, Prince Aerion?”

You braced yourself for another slap to the face.

But Aerion did not lash out.

No, in fact, he smiled. He let out a laugh, like your outburst humored him. “I have never seen a woman who is so eager to be beaten by her husband.” He took hold of your hair again, this time pulling it in a way that strung your scalp. “You will watch your words carefully, or else you may hurt my feelings.”

“You have no feelings!” you scream. “There is no emotion in that cold empty heart except hatred! Why do you care who smiles at a wife you never wanted?!”

His brows dip together, and another short flicker of humor passes his features. “Never wanted? Did your father tell you that?”

You are too overwhelmed by the night to come up with any reasonable explanation for his words.

But he explains it for you.

“I chose you, (Y/N).”

The room becomes suffocating, as does his gaze.

“If you cause me to regret my choice,” he continues, “I will nail you to a tree and burn you.”

He stands up quickly, giving you no time to process what he had told you.

“You will sleep in here tonight,” he informs you. “But I have no desire to share a bed with a disrespectful wife, so you will sleep there on the floor like the bitch you are.”

He picks the goblet off the floor, fills it, and drinks it.

No poison.

You wish there secretly was. You wish you would both die in your sleep tonight.

“Goodnight, wife.” He puts the candles out.

You pray to the gods that Aerion will die in the upcoming tournament.

[dollbabypink]

fucking hate him so much

[uhhhj13iguess]

free reign for arachnid!peter

arachnid!peter x gn! reader free use headcanons

cw: jesus christ. dead dove, do not eat tbh. smut !!MDNI!! dubcon, cnc, stalking behavior, somno, degrading dirty talk, coming inside, bondage, gags, dacryphilia. no pronouns or physical descriptors for reader used!

masterlist

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose only tell is the way the black of his pupils consume the white, a visual signal that pure instinct has taken over. that, and his uncanny silence.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who stalks you in the dead of night, often watching you sleep after he gets done with patrol. who sits in the corner of your bedroom, nestled in the dark crook of the goddamn ceiling, lying in wait.

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose every sense is focused solely on you. the way the scent of your shampoo and fabric softener intoxicates him, or how your voice would make his bones vibrate. the way he could hear the blood rushing under your fucking skin.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who often shows up unannounced and with zero hesitation to interrupt whatever you were doing before. who doesn't say a word as he bends you over the nearest surface, literally tearing the bottoms clean off your body.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to leave marks on you, a physical reminder that he had claimed you. that you were his.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who fucks you hard despite your cries and pleas for him to stop, who goes harder with the insatiable need to be inside of you. he can't stop once he starts, instinct consuming his every action as he feels the way your warm walls tremor around his painfully swollen cock.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who finally speaks, and it's even more of a shock than the unsettling silence he met you with before. who growls in your ear, telling you of what a fucking slut you are, jesus. praising you for how well you take him, because fuck you're s'perfect, baby. made for me to fuck whenever i want. nothing but a fucking toy for me to take my frustration out on.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to come inside of you over and over and over again, leaving you fucked out on the bed as he steps back to relish in the sight of you oozing his release. he loves watch as your quivering muscles push him out, proud to have claimed you inside and out with his fucking webbing.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who uses his organic webbing to his advantage, pinning your limbs down and gagging you. who traps your arms above your head until you've lost all feeling and your fingers have turned white. who fucking loves to use his webs as a plug to keep his come inside of you, especially after he's fucked you in the dead of night while you were asleep. who gets a kick out of knowing you'll wake up and have to feel what he did to you. what he left behind for you.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who loves to see you cry, even if the sight of your tears pulls a bit more of peter parker to the front. whose blackened eyes retract a bit, showing a glimpse of white - a flash of remorse - as he holds you and fucks you harder.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who hears your cries, and whose dirty talk devolves from a rasped god, such a pretty fucking crier. so desperate for my cock, you're fucking crying for it, to soft apologies, incessant pleas of i'm sorry, i'm s'sorry baby, don't cry. i'm sorry, i can't stop. you know i can't stop. it'll be over soon, you're doing s'good.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who follows you through the city as you walk home from work or the library at night, swinging through the streets and tracking your every movement. who hunts you down and strategically times his stride to pull you down a dark alleyway where he webs your mouth shut to keep you quiet and has his way with you.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who sometimes likes to leave the mask on. just the mask.

🕸️ arachnid!peter whose same primal need to fuck you is matched with the innate drive to take care of you after he's violated you. who takes his time cleaning you up and redressing you, making sure you properly rehydrate and don't push yourself the rest of the day.

🕸️ arachnid!peter who is sexy as hell??? dare i say???

[achillesinhighheels]

[nacerworld12]

[mewnbuns]

just the tip because his cock is way too thick and as it stands you’re way too tight to take the rest, but with the way you keep begging and trying to pull him closer he may just have to test another inch……

[babydollrafe]

I love nasty disgusting filthy dirty fics and this is my truth.

[cherienymphe]

Prowl

Rafe Cameron x Reader

WARNINGS: Non-Con, loss of virginity, depression, mentions of blood, semi-public sex, underage drinking, non canon ages, Carrera!reader, Rafe is an asshole with a capital A

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: Rafe Cameron never thought of himself as the hunting type, but the more you hid, the more he wanted to find you.

⭑

You curled up in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled to your chest as you faintly registered the conversation happening around you. You tried to engage enough to be considered present, but it was hard, and you didn’t think you were fooling anyone. You were positive that you hadn’t been fooling anyone for weeks, and when you glanced up you weren’t surprised to catch Kiara’s eye.

She was worried about you.

You never would’ve known if she hadn’t cornered you last week, not-so-subtly subtly trying to pry information from you to determine what had triggered this change in demeanor. You’d stupidly thought that you were behaving normally, somehow convincing yourself that you weren’t acting differently, at all. After all, you still hung out with your friends and laughed at their jokes and smiled whenever JJ showed you the fish he caught.

“You just seem…” Kiara shook her head. “…kind of spacey, I guess. Like you’re here, but…you’re not.”

That was what she’d said to you when you’d unconvincingly asked her what she meant.

You recalled letting out a near silent scoff, the realization washing over you that you weren’t doing as good of a job as you thought. It made you wonder how long the other girl had noticed without saying anything, and then, that only made you wonder about the rest of your friends too. Granted, Kiara was your sister, so she was bound to notice more than they did, but you’d also never written her off as the most observant.

Especially now that so much of her time was taken up by JJ.

So…if she noticed…

You swallowed, unable to sit here and put in more effort to appear somewhat happy. You couldn’t deal with Kiara’s periodic glances as well as wondering what they were saying about you when you weren’t around. You knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, but you suddenly felt like the elephant in the room. Even more so when all eyes focused on you the very second you started to stand.

“I think I’m gonna go home,” you said, shaking your head the moment Kiara started to stand too. “All I had today was an iced coffee, and it’s finally catching up to me, I think.”

“Even more reason to stay,” Pope told you, and you sent him a small smile.

“Even more reason to go lie down in my bed,” you chuckled.

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she stood anyway, a sigh leaving her as she reached for her keys.

“Well, I’m at least driving you.”

Her tone left little room for argument, and choosing to pick your battles, you simply gave her a small thanks. You waved everyone else bye after putting on your shoes, and you didn’t need to look over to know that your sister was staring at you as she walked at your side.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you? I mean, if you’re not feeling good someone should be home with you. Mom and dad are at The Wreck.”

“I’m literally just feeling a little lightheaded,” you assured her as you got in. “It’s nothing some noodles can’t fix.”

She didn’t look all that convinced, but she bit her tongue to whatever was clearly on her mind. The ride back home was pretty quiet outside of you flickering between stations here and there, and Kiara’s lack of protest over it clued you in on just how worried about you she was. Its why you weren’t surprised when you were prevented from hopping out the moment she parked in front of the house.

She’d reached out to you to stop you, and there was an unsure look flickering over her face. You could see that she was contemplating how to say whatever it was she was going to say, and eventually she just sighed.

“I know that I haven’t been available as much ever since JJ and I started dating,” she slowly started, eyeing you. “…but you know that if you ever want to talk, I’d blow him off in a heartbeat, right?”

You gave her a small smile.

“I know.”

She still didn’t look satisfied, probably hoping this would be an opportunity to really talk about whatever she wondered was going on with you. When it was clear you weren’t going to give her what she wanted, she merely pressed her lips together with a nod. She gave you a soft ‘okay’ before reluctantly unlocking the vehicle. You didn’t look back once you made it inside, but you didn’t need to to know she hadn’t driven off right away.

The sound reached your ears when she finally did.

You pressed your back to the wall the minute you were finally alone, and you stared at the wall before you for what felt like a long time before it eventually started to blur. Once the first tear escaped, the rest quickly followed, and your lips trembled as you roughly wiped your face. Your gaze rested on the family pictures on the wall, focusing on your smiling face in particular, and you wondered if you’d ever smile like that again.

You would never in a million years tell Kiara what was wrong. Not because you didn’t trust her and not because she wouldn’t believe you, but because you should’ve known better. You should’ve fucking known better, and instead of listening to what you knew, you ignored every instinct inside of you just to be nice. It was bad enough that two people in this world knew just how stupid and naïve you could be.

You didn’t think you could handle any more than that.

With a choked sob, you slid to the floor, head tilted back as you gazed at the ceiling. It was the same ceiling throughout the whole house, same color and all, and you found that gazing at it—as you’d done that night—brought you some comfort. It was all that had filled your vision when you’d felt more and more detached from your body, eyes tracing every inch of it as he’d pinned your wrists to your bed.

Staring at it calmed you, the sight of it much more enjoyable without Rafe Cameron’s heavy breathing in your ear.

“You want to hear something funny?”

The voice just at your ear was low, but the suddenness of it startled you, nonetheless, and when you turned, a familiar face was greeting you with a grin. His perfect teeth were winking at you as you slowly turned to fully face him, equal parts cautious and curious. Your grip on the red cup in your hand tightened for a half a second before you took a step back, thankful that no one was behind you to bump into.

“I was just at the beach,” the older guy said, leaning in so you could hear him. “…and your sister said you were at home because you’re in trouble.”

You felt all color drain from your face at his words, and by the look on his own face when he pulled back, he knew the exact effect they had on you.

“…but yet, here you are.”

Rafe Cameron looked nothing short of like the cat who caught the canary as he leaned his hand on the couch you both were standing next to. He had a drink of his own in his hand—although his wasn’t nearly as empty as yours—and his head was tilted as he eyed you. You watched him tilt his cup up to his lips, those blue eyes of his holding your gaze over the rim as his words—and what they meant—floated between you.

You scoffed at him.

“Kie would never talk to you,” was your best response, and you didn’t like the way his smirk grew.

“I never said she did,” he haughtily replied. “Only that she said it…and I heard her.”

Accepting that you’d been caught, you rolled your eyes, and the oldest Cameron only chuckled.

“You can relax, Carrera,” he drawled, laughing again before taking another sip. “Do I look like I care if Kie’s baby sister wants to sneak out to a party she has no business being at?”

“I’m not a baby,” the words flew out before you could stop them.

Of course, that didn’t need to be said, but despite the fact that you were only one year younger than Kiara and your friends, they had a moderately annoying habit of treating like you were a child. You suspected it was because Kiara always acted like she was much older than you than she actually was. The girl was twenty, not twenty-nine, and her behavior had long rubbed off.

You didn’t know if you liked the onceover Rafe gave you, blue gaze slowly taking you in from your hair all the way down to your platform flip flops and back.

“No shit,” he said matter-of-factly and leaning in, a crooked smile on his pink lips as he shook his head. “…but you’re two years younger than me, so unfortunately, that makes you a tad more childish than I am.”

“Rafe Cameron? Childish? Never,” you sarcastically said to him just before finishing your drink.

Rafe seemed to be really entertained by you for some reason, and when you lowered your hand, his gaze fell to your cup. When his eyes met yours again, he threw you a playful smirk.

“Do you want another drink?”

You held his gaze for a few seconds more before glancing away, eyes taking in the party that you weren’t supposed to be at. It wasn’t like your parents could actually legally stop you from walking out of their house and going to any party you wanted, but considering you were still at home with no means of independence whatsoever, you didn’t see the appeal in blatantly disrespecting them. Especially since you deserved your lashings for mishandling money they gave you.

You were starting to think you’d pushed your luck enough.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” you told Rafe, throwing him a sheepish look. “I should probably go home.”

Rafe didn’t immediately respond to that, only staring at you for a moment before eventually nodding. You watched him take another swallow of beer, his eyes still on yours.

“You got a ride?” he wondered.

“Yeah.”

You answered too quick, and Rafe tilted his head at you, giving you a look that let you know he didn’t buy that.

“Really. Who?”

All of your friends were currently at the beach with your sister, and Rafe already knew that none of them knew you were even here. When you sighed in defeat, Rafe’s smirk grew, the corner of his lips pulling upwards.

“Fine, I walked…and I’ll walk back,” you told him with a shrug.

“Mm mmm,” Rafe hummed with a shake of his head as he downed the rest of his drink. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

He took your empty cup, and along with his, set them both down on a nearby table. You hesitated as he dug in his pocket for his keys, lips parting as you mulled over if this was what you wanted to do. It wouldn’t be the first time you walked back home from a party no one knew you were at. Granted, thankfully nothing had ever happened, but you didn’t know. It could finally be the night your luck ran out.

Nothing hardly happened on this side of the island much, anyway, but you started to feel silly for contemplating turning down a perfectly fine ride home. Rafe could be kind of an asshole, but nothing worse than the average Kook you encountered on a regular basis. Besides, even though you were far from friends, it wasn’t like you didn’t know him. You were literally best friends with his sister.

“Are you sure?” you asked him. “I really don’t mind walking.”

Rafe chuckled at you like he thought you were cute, and he gently touched your arm as he guided you through the full house. His chest grazed your back as he remained close, keeping you steady and on track to the door.

“Walking home in Kildare County on a Saturday night?” he wondered in your ear. “Never mind the drunk drivers, but you never know what creep might come along and just pluck you off the street.”

You scoffed at him, and Rafe’s laugh was in your ear as he led you outside.

“Is it bad?” Kiara wondered, looking between your face and your plate. “If dad’s off his A-game tonight, you can tell me.”

Pope and JJ chuckled at that, and you merely shook your head, pushing your food around before sitting up.

“No, I…” you licked your lips. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

When your eyes met Kiara’s, she was frowning, and you could tell that a small lecture about your eating habits was on the tip of her tongue when Sarah spoke up.

“It’s not good to eat so much on an empty stomach, anyway,” Sarah jumped in, throwing Kiara a look before smiling at you. “Just take your time.”

You appreciated that, and you sat back in your seat as Cleo asked John B. something about a noise his van was apparently making earlier. By the uptick in conversation at the table, you got the sense that the noise had some crazy story attached, and you tried to listen—you really did—but your mind kept floating somewhere else entirely, and when a familiar face flashed behind your eyes, you desperately craved a drink.

You had just set your empty water glass down when you heard a voice that might as well had been a bucket of ice for you. Your gaze was glued to the table as you froze, fingers grazing the glass, and even though you told yourself you were imagining things, your heart wouldn’t slow down. It felt like it was going to jump straight out of your throat, doubly so when the voice became so much clearer.

“I told you she’d be here.”

That haughty drawl made your hair stand on end, and you were so glad that your head was down so that no one could see the way your eyes watered. Sarah made a noise of disapproval, and you shared her sentiments completely. He wasn’t alone, Kelce and Topper’s voices reaching your ears too, and as much as you wanted to be anywhere but here…

You couldn’t move.

You were completely frozen in your seat, pinned down by some invisible force that wouldn’t allow you to get up and get as far away from Rafe Cameron as possible. You’d done a good job of avoiding him for damn near two months—avoiding any party or outing he might be at—but you were running out of excuses as to why you wanted to stay home or why you didn’t want to take advantage of a free meal at your parents’ restaurant.

You reached up to wipe your face just as he spoke again…closer this time.

“Rose said whenever you’re done doing…” he paused. “…whatever it is you’re doing to come straight home.”

You didn’t need to look up to know that small sneer was on his face. You could almost picture it, those blue eyes sparkling and those nostrils of his flared—almost in disgust. It was a very vivid expression, one you recalled being on the receiving end of when you begged him to stop. He’d looked at you like you didn’t have the right to even find the audacity to ask him such a thing.

“Did you ask what she wanted?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but the barked laugh that left his lips was answer enough.

You blinked at the table, still so…still, and some part of you—an irrational part—wondered that if you remained still, maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t see you. Maybe he wouldn’t acknowledge you. Even if he didn’t do it with his words, you didn’t know if you could handle being on the receiving end of that blue gaze.

However, the way that your skin suddenly pricked told you that your efforts were in vain.

“Lunch on the house with your friends?” he wondered to Sarah no doubt. “That’s cute.”

He dragged it out in a mockingly condescending way. After a beat of silence, you heard Rafe hum.

“I’d hurry up if I were you,” he advised. “Rose made it seem like it was urgent.”

You heard him walking, and it sounded like he and his friends were making their way towards the counter.

“Nice to see you all again. JJ, Cleo…”

He was slowly acknowledging everyone at the table, and you felt bile rising in your throat at the realization. The feeling became even worse once it became clear that Rafe was saving you for last, and your stomach violently turned when his lips finally curled around your name.

“Y/N.”

You felt light—too light—and where you once even felt maybe too cold you now felt overheated. Sarah was complaining about his lingering presence when you finally glanced up, hating the way your name fell from his tongue. You were unsurprised to meet his gaze, and if you thought for a moment that Rafe would look at you in a way that was anything like indifference or contentment…you were wrong.

It happened so fast as Sarah shooed him away. There was a glint in Rafe’s eyes when they looked into yours, and it was a look that spoke volumes. A small smirk danced along his lips, and there was nothing content about it. It said so many things without Rafe uttering a single word, doubly so when he gave you a quick onceover. Rafe had only said your name, but you understood him loud and clear.

We both know I had you and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

The moment he was at the counter with Topper and Kelce, you finally found the strength to move…and you used all of it to stumble to your feet and out of The Wreck. Kiara was quick to follow you out of the restaurant, on your heels just in time to witness you throwing up what little you ate all over the pavement. Her gasp was barely registered as your stomach heaved again, and you could hear that it was no longer just your sister with you.

“Cheese on bread,” you heard Cleo say in shock. “Pope, go get a napkin or something.”

By the time he came back, there wasn’t anything left in your stomach, and you thanked him as you took it. Kiara’s eyes were wide and concerned when you looked at her, wiping your mouth and tongue.

“Are you okay? Was it…the food? You barely ate anything,” she added, and you shook your head.

“My stomach’s been a little upset all day. Maybe Sarah was right, and I ate too much and too fast.”

Your words came out a bit slurred, and you noted how hot and lightheaded you felt. You remembered that vomiting dehydrated you, and Kiara seemed to remember the same thing, reaching for her keys.

“We should get you home,” she finally said, turning to glance at your friends. “We’ll see you guys later.”

You frowned at her when she pushed you towards her car.

“Kie, I’ll be fine. You can come back after you drop me off,” you told her, gesturing to them.

She merely gave you a look as you both slid into the vehicle. You could tell that she didn’t agree with that suggestion at all, but there was also something in her dark gaze that gave you pause. Worry clouded her face as she pulled out of the parking lot, and you found yourself eyeing her. Kiara was never one to keep her thoughts to herself when she clearly had something serious she wanted to say.

You were put out of your misery halfway to your house.

“Are you pregnant?”

Somehow that was the last thing you expected to hear her blurt out, and her concerned gaze met your wide one. While not entirely impossible, you were almost one hundred percent sure that you weren’t, and you gave her a ridiculous look.

“What? No!”

“Don’t…! Don’t look at me like that, alright? That’s not a crazy question-.”

“That’s not a crazy question…” you repeated, sounding more like a statement.

“No, it’s not,” she doubled down, looking between you and the road. “Not when you’ve been acting strange for two months! You’re not really here and I feel like we barely see you now and then today…”

She shrugged.

“You threw up in the middle of the day despite the fact that you’d barely eaten a thing.”

“…and you don’t think I’d be eating a lot more if I was pregnant?”

Kiara seemed to think that over, sitting back in her seat with a sigh. Her hands were tight on the wheel, and you could see her accepting how crazy that seemed. She roughly exhaled.

“Well, something’s wrong with you,” she forced out, sounding defeated, and you weren’t able to hold her gaze when she looked over. “I’ve been trying to be a good sister and just…let you know you can come to me in your own time.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“…but I’m getting scared.”

Her voice was small, and you didn’t have a good response to that. Denying that anything was wrong would just insult her intelligence and probably make her worry more. You swallowed, fighting back tears and wondering how you could ever tell her what happened. You barely even wanted to think about it—despite how much it plagued your thoughts—let alone actually talking about it.

You didn’t know how to even begin to tell Kiara that your friend’s brother had raped you…in your own house…in your own bed, no less. You couldn’t stomach walking her through what happened that night and its eventual horrifying end. You didn’t know how to tell her that you’d been so stupid…and you especially didn’t know how to tell her that Rafe Cameron was walking around like he wasn’t even somewhat remorseful about what he did.

…but instead proud.

You didn’t know how to voice any of that, so when she parked, you were quick to be the first one out. You fixed her with a look that was meant to reassure her, but you didn’t know if you pulled it off. Gazing into Kiara’s eyes, you lied straight to her face with a small smile.

“I promise, it’s nothing.”

You didn’t give her the chance to respond, making your way up the driveway.

You’d been standing at the top of the stairs for a minute too long when your mom called for you again. When she’d called you down the first time, you hadn’t even considered what it could be for, just acting on instinct and pulling yourself out of bed. You hadn’t given much thought to the fact that you’d heard her answer the door only moments before. However, the moment you reached the top of the stairs, you’d tried to tell yourself that you were imagining that voice.

That hauntingly familiar voice.

His soft laugh reached your ears at something your mom said, and the sound of it brought tears to your eyes. Like at The Wreck only just the other day, you found it hard to move. Your hand was on the staircase and one foot was already on the step below, but you were finding it so hard to will yourself to move—to act like everything was normal.

To act like Rafe Cameron wasn’t in your house.

Again.

“I wonder if she’s…” your mom trailed off when she rounded the corner, face lighting up at the sight of you. “There she is! Come on, you’ll never believe it.”

Her presence—and her hand reaching for yours—gave you the strength to finally put one foot in front of the other. The whole ordeal felt like an out of body experience, your lips parted and eyes fearful as she led you into the living room, forcing you to come face to face with those blue eyes yet again. There was a grin on his lips as he stood by your door. To your mom, it was charming.

It was predatory to you.

“You will never believe what Rafe found,” she said, sounding so pleased.

When the other guy held his hand out…you wanted to be sick.

“It was just there…at the beach,” his smooth voice explained, and you were certain now more than ever.

You were going to be sick.

When your gaze lifted to meet Rafe’s, finally pulling your eyes away from your wallet, your heart sank. Your mom was going on a tangent in thanking him while you had yet to utter a single word. You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to push him into the street, and you couldn’t even fix your mind to take the damned thing.

Rafe didn’t find your wallet on any beach.

You knew it, and he knew it.

He’d taken it the night he raped you.

Despite how terrified you were, you couldn’t break the gaze. Why? Why was he doing this? The oldest Cameron had gotten exactly what he wanted from you, so what did he get out of this? It wasn’t enough that he broke your trust and violated you, but now he meant to torment you too? You hadn’t even told a soul what he did. You hadn’t gone to the police, done a rape kit or anything, he got away with it, so what was the point of all this?

Beyond the despair and confusion, you could feel a hint of anger flaring within you, and that small flare must have made itself visible through your eyes…because the look Rafe gave you had you taking a step back. Your mom noticed, and she rubbed your back.

“Everything’s in there,” she assured you. “I know we got you a new one and everything, but at least you can know it found its way into good hands.”

Both her and Rafe chuckled at that, and your lips parted as you stared at him.

The look that Rafe had given you… For that brief moment when you felt a hint of anger, just a smidgen, the look in those blue eyes had made your blood run cold. There was a crooked smile on his lips and a softness to his visage, but Rafe’s eyes had told an entirely different story. There had been a glint in his gaze—a challenge—like he was almost itching to see what you would try and do to him.

At your mom’s urging—and with shaky hands—you hesitantly reached out to take your wallet, careful to avoid touching his fingers. You didn’t even recall thanking him, but you must have, because Rafe looked you over with a quickness your mom missed, that smile of his growing when your eyes met again.

“You’re welcome,” he slowly responded, almost dragging the words out in that smooth baritone.

“Rafe, would you like something to drink before you go?” your mom offered, and both of your minds seemed to go to the same place.

Tears kissed your eyes as her steps traveled to the kitchen, and Rafe full on grinned, briefly pulling his lip between his teeth as he brushed past you. You leaned away from him as he grazed you, and you didn’t imagine the way he’d turned his head to keep his eyes on you as he did.

“Just some water, thanks.”

Those words made your knees buckle, and you reached out, struggling to safely sit down on the couch. Your wallet fell from your hands as you heard him compliment her on the house, and the more he talked, the more your stomach churned.

“It’s so bright and cozy in here,” he praised. “I almost wish Y/N would lose her wallet again just so I have an excuse to come back.”

Wholly unamused by whatever he was doing, your tears spilled over, and you didn’t bother to make your exit known as you stood and stumbled through the front door.

“Hey, you mind if I can get some water?” Rafe said to you the moment he parked in your driveway, turning to you with a small smile. “I drank more than I thought I did, and I kind of want to sober up a little before I get back on the road.”

Your brows rose at that, stupidly under the impression that Rafe only had one beer, but there was no telling just how long he’d been at the party before bumping into you. You probably should’ve asked, and even though you knew Kiara—and maybe even your parents—wouldn’t approve of inviting a guy inside the empty house on a Saturday night, Rafe had driven you home. The least you could do was give him some water to make him feel better about driving.

“No, yeah, that’s fine.”

Rafe got out after you did, following behind you as you took your keys out. Saturday nights meant a packed restaurant, so you weren’t expecting anyone home for another few hours at the least. It wouldn’t take any time at all to give Rafe something to drink and send him on his way.

“It’s quiet in here,” he commented as you tossed your keys on the table by the door.

“The Wreck on a Saturday? Both of my parents kind of need to be there for that madness.”

Rafe amusingly agreed, and when you reached for a glass from the dishwasher, you glanced over to find Rafe’s gaze on you.

“What…?”

He was leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. You only just paid attention to his shirt and the way it pulled against him with every movement.

“Never pegged you as the type to sneak out. Seems more like Kie, to be honest.”

His comment made you laugh, and you tilted your head at him when you handed him the glass.

“One of us is just better at it,” you teased. “Besides, I snuck out for an hour and a half at the most. It barely counts.”

Rafe simply eyed you as he drank the water you gave him. You felt a tad awkward being alone with Rafe in your house, but it was only because you guys were far from friends, and you couldn’t recall a time you’d ever even had an actual conversation with him.

“I’m surprised you went to some Kook party,” he hummed, lowering his arm. “What? No boyfriend on The Cut you wanted to meet up with?”

Rafe’s gaze was so intense as he held eye contact, and it was then that you realized you didn’t think you’d ever been on the receiving end of it before. At least…not for an extended period of time like this. Having all of his attention felt strange.

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I don’t really date.”

Rafe blinked at you, folding his arms again as he tilted his head. There was a curious twinkle in his eye, and you didn’t miss the way he ran his gaze over your face.

“Why not?” he wondered with a frown.

“Um,” you said, rolling your eyes towards the ceiling. “…because a lot of you are assholes.”

Rafe laughed with you, nodding his head.

“That’s fair,” he admitted. “…and smart. A lot of guys wouldn’t know what to do with you, anyway.”

You gave a chuckle at that, not because you found it funny, but because you didn’t know how to respond. Your gaze traveled to his empty glass while his remained on you, and a silence descended between you that reminded you he shouldn’t be here.

“Do you want another before you go?” you asked him, trying to politely kick him out.

There was a faint smile on his pink lips as he stared at you, and when he handed it to you, the corner of his lips twitched.

“That’s sweet of you…”

His fingers brushed yours when you took the empty glass, and you could feel his gaze on your back when you made your way to the sink. Your own gaze was on the faucet, and you were thinking about the shower you were going to take when you felt something brush against your arm. The feel startled you, and the glass fell in the sink when you jumped.

You hadn’t heard Rafe move, so you were shocked that he was so close.

“What are you…?”

Your words died in the air when the blond kissed you, his lips covering yours so expertly that you might’ve appreciated the opportunity under different circumstances. When you reached up to push at his chest, Rafe only responded by backing you up against the fridge. The only way to get your words out was to turn your head.

“Rafe, what…? Stop,” you gasped, pushing at his chest.

You liked to think that he was more drunk than either of you realized, but when he reached up to grab your hand, holding you against him as he pulled his face away, that mocking grin on his lips told you otherwise.

“Why?” he asked you like it was the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

You ducked your head when he tried to kiss you again, harshly pushing at his chest, now, but Rafe was just as strong as he looked. When his lips met yours again, this kiss was rougher, and an uncomfortable gasp escaped you when one of his hands found the side of your neck. His teeth nipped at your lip, and following his lead, you bit him. Hard.

Blood welled on his lip when he snatched himself away from you, and the look he fixed you with broke you out of your momentary stupor. Your heart sank low in your chest, something in you screaming at you that Rafe wasn’t joking, and he wasn’t just trying to get handsy.

“Rafe, I think you should leave.”

Your words amused him, and he laughed to himself.

“…and if I don’t want to?”

You swallowed, and his eyes zeroed in on the movement.

“I’m serious,” you told him, voice cracking. “I want you to leave.”

Again, your demand clearly tickled him, and you realized then that this wasn’t going to work this way.

You made it as far as the hallway before his hand fisted your shirt, yanking you back so hard that the fabric pulled against your throat. The wind was knocked out of you when your back roughly collided with his chest, and once he got his arm around you, the door became farther and farther away.

“Rafe, you’re not funny,” you said to him, panicked and out of breath as you fought to get his hands off of you. “Rafe!”

Deep down, some part of you wanted it to be a joke gone too far, that maybe if he heard how scared you were then he would stop. To your horror though, Rafe seemed to like the fear in your voice, pinning you to the wall as he leaned in to press sloppy kisses to your neck. He was kissing you and yanking you up the stairs, and that only made your panic grow.

You hadn’t realized you’d started crying until your vision—and Rafe along with it—grew blurry. Your face felt cold as the air hit your wet skin, and in that moment, oddly enough, you were furious that yours and Kiara’s room doors were labeled because Rafe knew exactly which one to force you in. Your stomach turned at the thought of this taking place in your room.

Your safe space.

When it became clear that you wouldn’t be able to get away by fighting him off, you screamed.

Rafe had you pinned to your bed at this point, and he didn’t like the sound, fighting to cover your mouth. With one hand free, he could still pull at your clothes—the dress you’d warn to the party literally being ripped off of you. Everything was happening too fast, your mind fighting to understand how you’d just been downstairs getting him water not even fifteen minutes ago.

“Rafe, please,” you tearfully begged him, pushing against him and hitting him despite the little damage it was doing. “Get off, get off, please!”

The light from the hallway cast onto his face, and so you didn’t miss the sneer Rafe gave you. You didn’t miss the way his lip curled over his teeth, a look passing over his face like he couldn’t believe you dared to ask that of him. He even let out a soft laugh. He pushed against your chest as he reached between you, painfully holding you down, and your legs kicked around him, nails drawing blood on his arm.

You felt like you were having a panic attack when you felt the tip of him graze you. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and Rafe didn’t kiss you again until he was inside of you, taking full advantage of your shock and agony. You felt frozen, eyes squeezed shut as the pain between your legs became unbearable, and when he tasted the inside of your mouth, you noted that there was hardly a hint of alcohol in his.

You sat behind some stranger’s car, arms wrapped around your knees as you fought to catch your breath. The sounds of the party on the beach reached you all the way to the parking lot, and you wondered why you fought so hard to act normal when nothing was normal. You weren’t okay, and it was growing increasingly more difficult to pretend you were.

You just wanted Kiara and your friends to stop worrying.

You hadn’t expected to see Rafe of all people on the beach when you joined the festivities. He tended to prefer a fancy house party with coke and other party favors. One look at him had you stopping in your tracks, and you’d made sure to look elsewhere before Cleo could notice.

“You okay?” she’d asked you, and unable to come up with a believable lie, you just told her you’d be right back.

That had to have been at least twenty minutes ago, and no matter how many times you started to, you couldn’t bring yourself to get up. Rafe was tormenting you…and you didn’t know why. You hadn’t missed the slight curve of his lips when your eyes briefly met his before you left the crowd. Before… Before you just thought that he’d sunk to a new low, just being an asshole about what he did. Now though…

Now, you were sure that he was seeking you out.

…but you didn’t understand why.

After that God awful day at your house, you rarely left it. Any annoyance your mom still had over that abrupt departure, it had long faded the more you holed away in your room staring at your wall. There were only so many excuses you could make, only so many times you could say you just didn’t feel good before someone demanded you go see a doctor.

Out of excuses—and just wanting to ease everyone’s worry—you tagged along tonight…and now you regretted it.

You didn’t know how to go back out there and pretend like he wasn’t in the crowd—watching you, no doubt. You wouldn’t be able to relax for a second, too busy looking over your shoulder and avoiding Rafe Cameron at all costs. You pressed your hand to your mouth, struggling to breathe as you cried and telling yourself that you had to do something because if they weren’t already, your friends would be looking for you soon.

With difficulty, you pushed yourself to your feet, thankful the car was an older model whose alarm didn’t go off at any mere touch. You didn’t know what excuse you were going to give to Kiara who’d no doubt been informed by Cleo that you’d been gone for too long. You wiped your face, and you told yourself that if anyone questioned it, you’d just claim you’d had some bad food that made you sick.

“Cute dress.”

No other voice could shatter any amount of composure you’d built up like that one. It was like being doused in cold water, all train of thought lost and only able to focus on how freezing and miserable you were. You didn’t even attempt to convince yourself you’d imagined it this time because you knew without a doubt now that Rafe was going out of his way to torture you about that night.

When you finally looked over, the man in question was leaning against someone else’s car. He was sprawled against it like it was his, and upon closer inspection, you recognized it as Topper’s jeep. You wrapped your arms around yourself at the sight of him, and you wondered just how long he’d been there…watching you.

“Rough night?” he quietly wondered, eyes raking over your frame, and you shuddered under his scrutiny.

“Leave me alone, Rafe,” you breathed, moving to go back to the beach when he blocked your path.

You tried to get around him, but Rafe wasn’t having it.

“Woah, hey, I just want to talk,” he laughed, reaching out to you.

You stumbled back away from him, fearfully eyeing him. You weren’t quite as alone with him as you were before, but it was just enough for Rafe to do whatever he wanted should he find himself determined enough.

“What could I possibly want to talk about with you?” you breathed. “…and what could you possibly have to say to me?”

You continued before he could say anything.

“We both know you’re not sorry,” you choked out. “You’ve done nothing but make my life hell…and I don’t know why because you got what you wanted.”

Trying to get by him only resulted in him reaching for you again, and so you reached for your phone. Rafe’s hand followed yours, and so as soon as your hand was around your phone, his was around your hand, and the fight over the device was quick. Tears of anger kissed your eyes when he held it out of reach, and your breathing was heavy when he leaned in.

His nose touched yours, and in your efforts to back away, you backed right into the car.

His eyes flickered between yours, and the more you leaned back, the more Rafe followed until he was practically on top of you. He shifted, and you both felt and saw both of his hands come down on either side of you to rest on the vehicle, effectively caging you in. He was so close that you could faintly smell the cologne he put on before he left the house, and when his gaze lowered to your lips, your heart sank.

You pushed at his chest, but Rafe wasn’t budging.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get you alone?” he murmured.

His words made you freeze, and your eyes widened.

“…and I guess that’s my fault,” he said with a shrug. “You’re always…in the house or…with your friends, now.”

He leaned in some more despite the pressure you put against his chest.

“You make it so difficult to get you by yourself, now,” he continued with a small smirk. “So, all I’ve been able to do is just dream about that night…instead of reliving it.”

His hand on your face had you jerking away, hands pushing against his chest as he leaned in to kiss you. You made a noise of protest, and Rafe only shushed you, lips grazing yours. One of his hands completely dug into your hip at your attempt to scoot back on the car.

“Relax,” he whispered in what was probably meant to be a soothing manner. “Just relax.”

One of his hands was behind your neck, the other kneading into your upper thigh when he kissed you. He swallowed any noise you attempted to make, and like before, Rafe didn’t seem to care that you didn’t want this.

“You should’ve told me you were a virgin before I fucked you,” he murmured against your lips, smiling into the kiss. “I would’ve been nicer about it.”

The reminder of the blood that night made more tears spill over, and you were in awe that Rafe saw that night as something to look back on with the idea of fun while it had completely turned your life upside down…but maybe that was the fun part for him. He had to know how much what he did affected you.

He wouldn’t stop kissing you—wouldn’t let you make a sound—and when the hand on your thigh settled itself on your back, you tripped over your feet when he pulled you away from the car. You could hear your phone going off wherever Rafe had abandoned it, and you had no doubt that all of your friends and Kiara were looking for you.

Unfortunately, Rafe was forcing you into the back of Topper’s jeep.

Your hand was on the opposite door handle as soon as you were inside the vehicle, but with one successful yank back, Rafe climbed over you and closed it. You heard the resounding click of the locks, and you pushed against the seat when you felt Rafe lips trailing along the side of your neck.

“I didn’t get what I wanted,” he whispered against your skin, making you tremble. “…because I still want it.”

Rafe had you completely pinned between him and the seat, and your struggle grew frantic when you felt how hard he was against the back of your thigh. One of Rafe’s hands snaked its way underneath you, circling around your throat as he left kisses along your skin. His other hand was trailing along your frame, and when it started to push at your dress, the hand around your neck tightened.

You could barely breathe properly now…let alone scream.

Rafe’s breathing was heavy, evident in the way his chest heaved against your back. It didn’t stop him from pulling your head back and kissing you though, all the while releasing himself, the sound of his zipper loud in the otherwise car. Your friends were long gone from your mind, now, with your only focus on how you were going to handle this again.

Tears kissed your face as you reached up to pull at Rafe’s hand, but his grip was tight, and your grip started to slip the moment you felt him press the head of his cock into you. Your toes curled, body going still as memories of the last time flashed behind your eyes. Your underwear pulled over his hand, his fist keeping them completely pushed to the side as he slowly pushed his way into you.

“Just like I remember,” he purred against your ear once he’d pushed his cock into you to the hilt.

His movements had you gripping the seat of Topper’s Jeep, your feet kicking back at the door. His thrusts were slow, reminiscent of the last time, but unlike now, Rafe had only slowed his pace then once he saw the faint blood on his cock. Now, you didn’t know if he’d meant what he said earlier about being gentler or if he was simply trying to savor it.

When his hand finally let your throat go, you greedily sucked in air, but your relief was short-lived when his whole arm found its way around your neck. You had no choice but to hold onto it as he snapped his hips against you, the slow plunge of his cock forcing a whine from you. Rafe’s forehead rested on the back of yours, and you could both feel and hear how much he was enjoying this.

“I almost didn’t want to leave that night,” he breathed, a gasp escaping when he curved his hips against you. “I could’ve fucked you all night.”

The inside of the Jeep was filled with the sound of your reluctant moans and Rafe’s heavy breathing and words. You could feel your body becoming lighter and lighter, and you knew it had nothing to do with Rafe’s arm around your neck. The feel of his thrusts became easier to bear, and like that night, you found your gaze focusing on the door…just as you’d done with the ceiling.

The knowledge that he hadn’t just been tormenting you but had been seeking you out for a reason left you feeling a little numb. The whole reason you hadn’t done a thing about it in the first place was because you just wanted to avoid Rafe Cameron at all costs. He was violent and terrifying, and those two things had scared you into simply scrubbing yourself raw that night before crying yourself to sleep. You thought that he’d gotten what he wanted and would leave you alone.

…but you never considered that it wasn’t about the sex or the power, at all.

It was about you in particular and the power he wanted over you, the gratification he wanted from you.

It was why he boldly acknowledged you knowing exactly how terrified you were of him. It was why Rafe dared to enter your home once again, knowing exactly what the sight of him in there would do to you. It was why he taunted you and challenged you to even dare to retaliate. You didn’t know if Rafe was just some bully who decided you were it, or perhaps something just a tad more sinister.

When he flipped you onto your back, he didn’t like the blank look in your eyes.

“Uh uh, look at me,” he softly demanded, lightly tapping your cheek. “Look right at me.”

When you refocused on his face, more tears spilled over, and you were sure Rafe liked the sight of them. He leaned down with a hand on your throat, your knees to your chest and your feet resting against his stomach as he leaned over you, stuffing you full of his cock. The sound of it sliding into you over and over again was loud in the vehicle.

Your eyes were on Rafe’s, and his blue gaze never left you, lips parting as he watched your face. He slowed his hips down, thrusting into you at a languid pace, and when you clenched around him, a slow smile danced along his lips—crooked and taunting. He studied your face like he was fascinated by it, and you were reminded of that night at the party.

He’d looked like the cat who caught the canary. In your own house, he’d reminded you of a wolf toying with some poor deer before putting it out of its misery when you looked back on it. Every time your eyes had met his in public—including now—Rafe looked like nothing would be more fun than taking you between his teeth.

As he continued to fuck you in the back of his best friend’s car, you had the realization that around Rafe Cameron, you very much felt like prey, and the man on top of you had long come to that same conclusion before you did.

…and he’d pounced the moment your back was turned.

[mildewedantler]

no one you know is a good person

[perriaeyjeve]

[dollbabypink]

psst…. come here! you! yes, you! come here! do you want to fuck niko bellic? do you want me to write about you fucking niko bellic? because that’s what i want to do!

so i ask again, do you want to fuck niko bellic?

yes!

no…

Voting ended onJul 23

[twolegsandbleeds]

simon riley x reader in which he has a really fucked up way of caring about you and your personal safety. cw: dddne afab+f!reader, breaking and entering, noncon to dubcon to full con, bondage. 2.5k words total.

your bedroom window was fucked. truly fucked. simon had registered it the first time you'd dragged him into your home like a feral cat and proceeded to fuck him on your ridiculously soft sheets. he registered it every time that he entered the room - which was often now he had a taste for bedding that wasn’t military issue (and for you, obviously).

he’d asked you to fix it. then he tried telling you to fix it. when that backfired spectacularly and he was kicked back out onto the street to freeroam again - before coming back with his tail tucked between his legs - he asked you as politely as he could manage to contact your landlord. carefully explaining that your ground floor flat in a not great area already wasn’t a brilliant decision in terms of personal security, especially when the window to the room you spent eight hours unconscious in didn’t actually latch properly.

but you were stubborn. annoyingly so. stupidly so, really. but that's one of the reasons he actually liked you. you were just as hard headed and disagreeable as him - so he knew that just doing it for you would result in worse than just a temporary eviction. that if he just fixed the obvious security issue, instead of acting like he’d done you a favour, you’d most likely take it as an insult to your… independent nature and re-home him entirely.

and that just wouldn't do. he liked his new semi-domesticated life.

so tonight he just wanted to prove his point. that's all, really. and yeah, he knew it was twisted. even for a man whose moral compass was remarkably off kilter, skewed by a lifetime of nothing but fists and sharp edges, he was aware that that this wasn't a thing most people would do to someone they cared about.

but.

he'd run out of options. so it was for your own good that he's stood like a shadow outside your bedroom window in the early hours of a thursday morning.

well. simon wasn't outside your window, not exactly.

it was ghost lurking there.

mask on, duct tape in his vest pocket as he stared dead eyed through the glass.

the thin curtains don't do anything to disguise your sleeping form, silhouette illuminated by the side light you've left on. you're sprawled out on your front in just a vest top and underwear; sheets kicked down to the end of the bed. legs open just slightly like an invitation.

one he won't resist taking.

getting the window open isn't effort. the flat of a blade used in just the right way and it pops open enough for him to haul himself through; dropping down on the other side with a silence that's eerie for a man his size.

you don't wake.

he can see drool puddling on your pillow; knows that you're so deeply asleep even a bomb going off couldn't wake you.

it's something he's jealous of, sometimes. that you can sleep like you're not waiting for the next thing to happen - that you're not constantly teetering on the edge of wakefulness. that your brain fully turns off and lets you slip into peaceful unconsciousness. but now? now he just sees it as another security risk.

his knee finds the mattress between your thighs and the springs protest under his additional weight - but you still don't stir, not properly. just a small huff of air through your parted lips.

it takes every inch of his self control not to bury his nose in your hair. to not run his hands over the curve of your waist; trail his fingers down your spine nodule by nodule until you're awake under his palms.

instead he reaches for the duct tape in his pocket. tears off a strip with his teeth. leans forward, chest almost brushing your back as he slides one gloved hand across the mattress towards your throat.

he strikes.

hand wrapped tight enough that your scream cuts off with a choked gasp before it ever really leaves your mouth. duct tape flattened over your lips before your face is dropped back onto the pillow.

you thrash, trying to roll onto your back; hands scrabbling behind you to dig into skin and only finding thick fabric your nails are no match for.

“good girl.” he thinks as he pushes you back onto your stomach and reaches for your wrists; taping them far too tightly together in the small of your back. “trying, at least.”

your head is thrown over your shoulder, eyes wide; screams and whimpers muffled against the tape. legs kicking out wildly at the black clad, skull faced intruder in your bed. panic flooding every cell in your body, stomach turned to a solid block of ice in your abdomen as the reality of your current situation hits you.

“this is the end. this is how i go. is this all my fucking life has amounted to? a statistic? an article in the local paper?” your mind jumps from one panicked thought to another, and for the first time you genuinely understand what it means to have your life flash before your eyes - flickers of memories one after the other like a slideshow of your personal history projected onto the back of your eyeballs.

simon doesn’t flinch as your expression shifts from panic to fear to something like resignation; he simply places the same knife he used to open your window on the bedside table. a silent threat. a promise that if you don’t behave there’s so many ways he could make you suffer more.

your eyes track the way the light catches the blade and diffuses across your walls like a sun catcher in the form of your imminent demise.

you try to scream. it dies in your throat.

fight, flight, freeze, flop, fawn.

you brain flickers through each one as a potential option. working through scenarios unconsciously until it finds the one that means you're most likely to survive this. the one that means you’ll come out of this mentally traumatised but hopefully physically intact.

your brain chooses flop.

your body becomes soft; almost like liquid. face sinking into your pillow as you become nothing but dead weight and an empty head. ribs digging into the mattress as you shift into docility.

“think you're better off just letting this happen?” he ponders out loud, wondering if you'll pick up on his voice in your fear stricken state. if you'll register the familiar shape of him. the brown irises buried deep within black eye paint.

you don't. not really. there's a flicker of something in your eyes. like for a second you're considering that maybe this isn't some random man, that actually you're not the protagonist in a horror film but rather a fucked up porno. but then your eyes land on the blade again and the flicker of whatever it is dies as quickly as it appeared - resigned to your fate at the hands of this unwelcome guest in your home.

simon runs his gloved hands up the back of your thighs, fingers pressing into the flesh as he pushes you onto your knees, breath hot over your cunt even through two layers of fabric.

you arch away from the feeling; or maybe into it - you're not entirely sure when your body isn't quite under your control. when your brain has decided the best way to protect you is compliance.

one hand grabs your taped wrists to hold you in place; other hand finding your clit with his thumb through your underwear, pressing mean little circles against it that you can't crawl away from. he watches with half lidded eyes as the white cotton covering your cunt darkens with slick, the familiar musk of you filling his nose as he drags muffled whimpers from your throat - half fear; half unwanted, treacherous pleasure. you try and bite back a moan when he presses just right, trying not to give whoever the fuck this is the satisfaction of seeing you enjoy this. you fail.

he low rough noise gets dragged out of his chest - he can't help it; not when you're so sweet and soft for him - or for the sick fuck who's broken into your home you think he is, anyway.

your underwear gets dragged down the back of your thighs until it pools around your knees; his breath catching in his throat when he sees the way your cunt practically glitters in the dim light of the room; two fingers reaching to spread you open and watch you your slick pool and drip down onto the sheets.

“look at you, bird.” he murmurs, gloved fingers probing your entrance just to watch your cunt flutter.

bird.

the pet name echoes in your head.

“simon?” it's not really a word, more just the shape of his name muffled behind the duct tape. your head twists to peer over your shoulder again, eyelashes wet and fluttering against your cheeks as you really focus on the shape of the man in your bed. the set of his shoulders. the barely visible glint in his eye. the voice. it's all feels oh so familiar and you're almost sure.

almost.

“told you to fix the fuckin’ window, bird. an’ this is why.” he murmurs, ripping off his glove to sink two fingers inside your cunt without warning; pressing down on the spot he knows makes your legs tremble and your insides feel like syrup. “some cunt could just break in an’ ‘ave his way with you. tie you up and fuck you.” he emphasises his point by dragging his fingers almost all the way out of you almost painfully slowly before curling them back inside you so harshly you lose all the air from your lungs.

oh.

now you are sure. relief mixing with an earth shattering fury deep in your bones.

“asshole!” still muffled, still just the shape of the word. but your narrowed eyes and knitted brows say more than your mouth ever could.

he simply tightens his grip on your taped wrists with one hand and crooks the fingers of the other in response, dragging the pads of his digits over the squishy spot on the front wall of your cunt.

you still try and stifle the moan the action elicits - this time because you’re sure that giving in would convince him this was a reasonable thing to do to the woman that allowed him access to her soft sheets and her life. who took what was effectively a wary animal in human form and slowly filed down his claws until he didn’t shred everything he touched.

“might be an asshole.” he agrees, self aware at the very least. “but this was a lesson you needed to learn, bird. just be grateful it's me teachin’ it.”

his fingers withdraw completely and your body makes a treacherous little whimpering noise that you resent it for immediately at the sudden emptiness of your cunt; soft walls left clenching around nothing yet again.

your knees get pulled out from under you at the same time he uses his grip on your taped wrists to push you flat; full body weight pushing you prone against the mattress. the vest top you’re still wearing dragged up with rough hands as high as he can with your wrists bound behind you.

thighs nudged apart by his knees; the clink of his belt and the drag of his zipper almost unbearably loud in the quiet of the room.

your body goes lax again - this time not because your brain has decided this is the best way for you to survive the night but because you’re getting fucked either way - and now you know it’s your prick and not a random one off the street you might as well enjoy it.

he shifts behind you, dragging the head of his cock through the soft heat of your cunt before pushing inside in one brutal stroke; bottoming out with a soft grunt through his mask against the back of your neck. “christ, you’re tight like this bird.” it’s low, rough and accompanied by a snap of his hips that you feel all the way in your diaphragm; grip on your wrists yanking you all the way down the length of him until the curve of your ass presses flush against his pelvis. you cry out - can’t help it, not when he’s stretching your walls and filling you so completely . he lets out a noise that might be a laugh before repeating the motion again - one hand landing on the headboard to stop it chipping the plaster off the wall as he slams into you on repeat.

he drops his grip on your wrists - satisfied you’re done fighting back - sliding his hand between your stomach and mattress to pinch at your clit.

you make a noise that can only be described as a high pitched, pathetic whine - he laughs again, wool of the mask brushing the back of your neck as his chest presses against your back. “gonna let me make you cum even though you're pissed at me, bird?”

your head snaps over your shoulder, eyes narrowed. but when he pinches your clit again he swears you actually go cross eyes for a second before your face drop back against the pillow with a muffled moan. “that’s a yes then.” you can hear the smirk in his voice.

you bounce your ass back against his hips almost like revenge; but all it does is cause the head of his cock to press against a spot inside you that makes your spine arch and your chest press into the mattress - tension pulling in your lower stomach like an elastic band about to snap. you’ve stopped fighting the noises leaving you now, letting the pleasure shift and build and grow with each snap of simon’s hips; with every press of his fingers against your over sensitive, swollen clit.

it builds and builds until it snaps like the string of a bow pulled far too tight, heat spreading as your whole body trembles between simon and the mattress; his name a blurred whine against the tape still covering your mouth as your cunt pulses around his cock.

his pace stutters as you walls cling to him, burying himself as far as he can in your cunt before pulling out with an almost pained hiss; hand reaching to steady his throbbing length as he spills over your back in thick, warm ropes that feel almost like a brand on your skin.

you tuck your head over your shoulder when you feel the mattress shift underneath you; watching him tuck himself away as he stands.

he doesn’t make any move to remove the tape, just tilts his head to the side as he stares down at you. “reckon i’ll leave you like this bird. maybe i’ll come back later an’ ‘ave another go.”

your garbled protests are lost behind tape as he disappears back the same way he came in; leaving you covered in his cum and bound in your own bed as you watch him climb back out of the window and blend back in with the night.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Breaking News - Vincent Whittman (Vox) x Fem!Reader SMUT

Summary: Vincent fucks you on his newscaster desk while the rest of the studio employees are out to lunch.

Contents/Possible Warnings: Rough sex, Semi-Public Sex (they fuck in an empty news studio), Fingering, PIV Sex, Creampie, Mentions of filimg sex, no actual filmed sex, Degradation, Praise, SMUT, MDNI

You always admired the way he looked while he reported the latest news story; eyes focused on the camera as he read off his notes, the small smile he'd do at the beginning of each segment, the way he'd absentmindedly fidget with the pen in his hand as his co-host spoke, a boredom on his face the average viewer wouldn't pick up on. It all made him so handsome to you, so lovable. Seeing it in black and white on the television was one thing, but seeing it all in color just a few feet away from it all was another. It was almost entrancing.

"That's all for that story, folks," Vincent spoke confidently, smiling into the camera as he brought the report to a close, "and remember, trust us with your news." He finished, and the camera panned out before turning off, leaving a studio full of employees eager to go on break, including him. You moved past the crowd and towards the newscaster's desk, mouth curving into a grin as you came to him, his lunch in your hands. His eyes turned upwards from his papers to look at you, a pleased smirk making its way onto his face at the sight of you visiting him at work, something you didn't always do often.

"You left your lunch at home again," you spoke with a smile, setting it down on the desk.

"Maybe I meant to, after all, it did earn a nice little visit from you," he replied, motioning for you to come sit on his lap. You obeyed, taking a seat on him as you both leaned in, lips meeting in a sweet kiss that Vincent soon turned heated, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as you separated for air. You let out a gasp as he grabbed you by your hips, grinding you down against him.

"Vincent!" You hissed, the sound turning into a light moan. "What's gotten into you?! We're in public!" You scolded, your words falling on deaf ears as his lips moved to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

"And? That isn't going to stop me from fucking you right here on this desk," he purred against your neck. "Come on, be a good girl for me." He insisted with a growl, moving down to push the skirt of your dress up, the fabric bunching around the top of your thighs as his hands slipped down to your underwear, tugging them to the side eagerly. A finger slipped into your wet heat, fucking you slowly as he chuckled at the noises slipping out of your lips, and the way you hurriedly covered your mouth with your hands to suppress them.

'V-Vincent," you stuttered, "h-hold on, we'll get in trouble—" you slapped your hands over your mouth again as he added a second finger, then a third not long after, your cunt clenching down on them out of reflex as the pleasure shook your body. It was all happening too quickly, and you were struggling to keep up with every wave of ecstasy that overtook you.

"Fuck, look at you, dripping all over my hand like a slut." He curled his fingers, brushing over your sweet spot, your legs shaking as a jolt of pleasure shot through you, your toes curling. "Hmm? You like that, honey?" He purred, voice sickeningly sweet as he mocked you, repeating the motion. "That's my pretty girl, coming undone all over my hand like the little whore she is." You moaned at his words, head reeling with the rush of it all.

"Vincent 'm gonna cum," you slurred out, barely able to speak as the pleasure began to fog your mind, unsure just how he was managing to fuck you dumb with just his fingers so quickly. "Fuuuck, gonna cum, Vincent! I—" You let out a long, frustrated whine as he pulled his fingers out, the beginnings of your orgasm already starting to ebb away. "Dammit, Vincent!" You hissed.

"Shut up." He growled out, picking you up and laying you on the desk, the lunchbox you had placed on it earlier falling to the ground with a loud 'clang'. "Can't believe how fucking desperate you are right now, just a few minutes ago you were asking what was wrong with me." He pulled your panties down, letting them fall to the studio floor before he moved to unzip his pants. He pulled them down just enough to free his hardened cock, the large tip already leaking pre-cum as he lined himself up with your wet pussy.

He slid in with one swift movement, the desk jolting beneath you both as he began to move, not bothering to give you any time to adjust to the stretch of his cock splitting you open. He let out a pleasured grunt as he began to fuck you, watching his thick cock disappear into your tight cunt with every thrust, your pussy gripping him. "Fuck!" He growled, rutting into you roughly, hips snapping against yours. "That's right, take me like the good little fucktoy you are." He hissed, lips moving back down to your neck, nipping at the flesh, making sure to leave a mark you'd have for weeks to come.

"Can you imagine someone walking in on us? You'd be so fucking beautiful, wouldn't you? Gripping my cock like a whore while you take me, all those little sounds leaving your lips while someone watches." He groaned at the idea, fucking you deeper, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin filling the large room. "They couldn't touch you, because you're mine, aren't you, honey? My sweet girl. Come on, baby, say it, say you're all mine."

You moaned in response, head falling back as your eyes screwed shut, unable to speak as he pounded into you, every thrust rougher than the last.

"Answer me." He barked, grabbing your face, "Tell me who you belong to."

"You! I belong to you, Vincent!" You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him even closer. "I'm all yours! Fuck! I don't want anyone else!" He chuckled in satisfaction at your declaration, kissing you roughly, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as he grew closer to his climax.

"I should get the cameraman in here next time, yeah? Record a nice little movie of you. Maybe I'll show it off to the others, show them what they can't have." He moaned out, rutting into you deeper. "I'm gonna fucking cum," he announced, looking into your eyes. "I'm gonna fill you so fucking deep you'll be dripping for days." He came hard with a long groan, hips stuttering as thick ropes of cum shot into you, spilling onto the desk. You came soon after, shaking with ecstasy as your orgasm ripped through you, clinging onto him desperately as you rode out the last waves.

"Fuck," he panted, hair slick with sweat. "That was the best sex I've ever had." He buried his face into your neck, riding out the last aftershocks of his climax with shallow thrusts before his hips stilled. He pushed himself up off you, sitting back in the chair as his eyes drifted over to the clock.

"You know, we still have a while before the others come back from lunch..."

[born222late]

okay but imagine clark kent with a daddy kink inspired by this ask ♡

it starts one night, it just slips out. clark's fucking you, your brain is fuzzy, you're whining and mumbling and then suddenly a high pitched "daddy!" slips out. he faltered immediately, hips stilling, yet somehow growing even harder inside you, earning a whine from you. "d-daddy?" he repeated, staring into your dazed, glassy eyes. you nodded softly, still somewhat out of it. he laughed breathlessly, dropping his head into your neck and slowly regaining his pace.

after that night, it became a regular occurrence. it doesn't just 'slip out' anymore, it's purposeful. clark would never admit it, but hearing that word turns him painfully on. you just have to whisper it in his ear and he's ready for at least three rounds.

you use it outside of the bedroom, too. it became more of a pet name from you, something sweet to call him. it drives him insane how casually you say it, like it's his name. in a way, to you, it is.

going to the nail salon to fix up your pretty pink nails only to get a call from him, answering with an enthusiastic "hi daddy!" it's enough to make him blush over the phone. he tried explaining that you shouldn't call him that in public but it never stuck, leading to many uncomfortable situations for him, though you were always too oblivious to realize.

what's most dangerous about your little 'habit' is how much it turns him on. everytime he hears you whine it, looking up at him with glassy eyes in bed, it makes him want to ruin you. he knows it's wrong, but god when you look at him like that. suddenly his morals (and self-restraint) are gone.