Thank youuu for tagging me @savinggracee, @mrs-nonchalant I would definitely tag you guys too !! ❣️
if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!
@samwspn @maverist @severedlamb @sturnsfavgirl @cybersturn @girrlsoinlove @rafesdaydream @delilahsturniolo - and of course saurrrrr many more I literally love ALL my mooties ❤️ - no pressure, just for the funsies and to spread some love !
"You're fuckin' insane, fuck", Rafe breathes out, as he watches you with wide eyes, vein popping in his forehead.
Your legs are parted, and you trace your slit with your middle and ring finger. However, your ring finger is adorned with Rafe's gold ring, the heavy, cold band sending shivers down your spine.
"We're meant t-to be together, Rafe ", you whine, adding more pressure to your clit.
You and Rafe used to date, before his father died and he broke up with you and, barely two months later, was seen with a pogue. Someone way out of his league, a literal lesser creature.
Being raised a kook, you inherited the same mindset as the most wealthy snobs of the island.
Rafe was your dream man, sprinkling even more attention over you, boosting your ego, and loving you, roughly and violently, yes, but he was your ideal match.
You did not take the break-up well. And, he dumped you and went after a fucking Pogue? There was no way.
You were not obsessed, no, you just could not let go of what was yours. And Rafe was yours.
"Get the fuck up", he growls, keeping his voice down, as he grabs your hand, literally dragging you upwards, making you scratch your pussy lips in the process.
He stands above you, fuming, inhaling deeply, as if his insides are on fire.
You are looking up at his with glossy lips and stars in your eyes.
And then, his fingers wrap around your jawline. You moan, tongue coming out to lick at his palm.
"Rafe", you moan louder, so he pushes your face away from him in disgust, yet his eyes glint with something between lust and fascination.
"Keep your voice down, you crazy fuckin' bitch", he hisses, approaching you again.
"What, so your Pogue slut won't hear me?", you ask, spiting the words like they were venom on your lips.
"She's so disgusting, I wonder how you can even look at her. You're meant to be with me ", you growl again, now tears painting your cheeks.
"You're insane, you really need some fucking help", Rafe laughs bitterly, tapping your temple with his pointer and middle finger.
You slap his hand away, even though you crave his touch like oxygen.
"I lied for you", you breathe, chest raising and falling. He flinches, his eyes tracing your body: your nipples that poke through your top, your bare cunt and legs, your shorts and underwear lying forgotten right on his pillows.
"I love you like nobody else does. I would kill for you all over again. But don't push me, Rafe...", you warn him, your gaze hardening.
"I could just...give the sheriff the gun you killed Peterking with. Would you want that?", you ask, pouting at him.
He bites the inside of his cheek in anger, staring at you with storms in his eyes.
"So, Ray", you start, tapping at his chest seductively with your fingertips, "you're gonna be a smart boy and dump the bitch, or you won't like what I'll do."
He grabs your wrist, and twists it, pulling you closer to him. "I could end you right fuckin' now", he speaks your name, lip twitching. You feel his hardness poke at your stomach, and you chuckle.
"Poor baby", you taunt, grasping his bulge through his pants with your free hand. He grunts, as you tighten your grip.
"You haven't cum properly in ages. I know you want to fuck me, I see you fucking your fist every night, and I can read my name on your pretty lips, baby", you sigh.
Rafe's eyes widen, and you shake your head. "You really should close those curtains of yours, Rafey. It's like you wanted me to come in here and make you man up and get back together with me. Poor boy can't do anything by himself, right?"
He whines, and you smirk. "Now get out there, and do what you gotta do."
𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑺; this is short and kind of bad, but I am a little rusty after the break @essraxi @jennifrchck
once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝
pervy roommate valarr who quietly walks into your room one night to ask you something and finds you pleasuring yourself but he doesn’t leave just gets off to the sight of your body and your noises
he’s literally just right there at your door and you don’t hear him or see him
+18, DARK THEMES, DUBCON/CNC, obsessive behavior and stalking (initially digital, then in-person), home invasion, degradation kink, praise and oral sex (f receiving), rough fingering, p in v, spit kink, livestream sex, dead dove: do not eat, (breeding vibes in part 3 guysss) ᥫ᭡
you stared at the message, your heart hammering against your ribs. your apartment, your sanctuary, suddenly felt like a glass box, and he was standing right outside, able to see everything.
you scrambled off your bed and crept to the window, peeking through the blinds. down below, under the flickering streetlamp, stood his figure.
even from this distance, even with the distortion of the glass, you knew it was him. he was just standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking up at the building with an unnerving stillness.
panic, cold and sharp, lanced through you. how? how did he find you? you were always so careful. you never used your real name, never showed the outside of your building, never gave away any identifying details. but he'd used your name in the message. a name you couldn't even remember sharing. a cold dread settled in your stomach.
your phone buzzed again, the sound making you jump.
aeri0n_t: i know you're in there. please just talk to me.
you didn't answer. you couldn't. you just stood there, frozen, watching him as he pulled out his phone and typed. a moment later, a new message appeared.
aeri0n_t: i'm coming up.
no. no, no, no. you backed away from the window, your mind racing. you could lock the door and hide in the bathroom. you could-
the knock echoed through your apartment, loud and insistent.
you held your breath, praying he'd think you weren't home, that he'd just leave.
"i know you're in there," his voice called through the door, muffled but clear. it was deeper than it was through your speakers, rougher around the edges with an emotion you couldn't quite place. maybe frustration? desperation?
"i can see your light is on. please, just open the door sweetheart."
you stayed silent, your back pressed against the wall, your entire body trembling.
"please," he said again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "i'm not going to hurt you. i just...i need to know you're okay. you ignored me for four days. i was worried."
his words should have been reassuring, but they weren't. he was worried…he was so worried he'd tracked you down and was now standing at your door, demanding entry. this wasn't the sweet, reverent "silver dragon" from your chat room.
another knock, harder this time. "open the door, or i swear to god, i'll wake up every single person on this floor until someone lets me in."
the thought of causing a scene, of your neighbors seeing him, of them finding out what you did for a living, was more horrifying than facing him yourself. with a shaking hand, you reached for the deadbolt and turned it. the chain was still on, a flimsy last line of defense. you peered through the crack.
he was even more striking in person. with the lean, athletic build you'd only seen in glimpses on screen. his hair was a shock of silver-white, messy and sticking up slightly, he was dressed in dark, expensive-looking clothes, but they were rumpled, as if he'd been wearing them for days. and his face…his face was a storm of emotion. anger, yes, but also a deep, unsettling distress that made him look younger, more vulnerable, and infinitely more dangerous.
"oh fuck," he breathed, his eyes finding yours in the narrow opening. relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by a simmering fury. "why didn't you answer me?"
you swallowed hard, your throat dry. "aerion... you can't be here. how did you find me?"
he didn't answer. instead, he simply put his shoulder to the door. the chain snapped with a loud crack, and he was inside your apartment, pushing past you before you could even react. he kicked the door shut behind him, the sound of it clicking into place echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
he stood in the middle of your living room, his gaze sweeping over your space—over the soft glow of your ring light, the scattered lingerie, the laptop still open on your bed. his jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. he looked like a caged predator.
"four days," he said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. he turned his full attention to you, and you took an involuntary step back. "you ignored me for four fucking days. with no fucking explanation. i thought something happened to you…"
"you shouldn't have come here," you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself, a pathetic attempt at a barrier. "you're scaring me."
his expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. he took a step toward you, and you flinched. he stopped, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.
"i'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice gentler now, but the intensity was still there, burning beneath the surface. "i just...i needed to see you."
he closed the remaining distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate. he didn't touch you, not at first. he just stood there, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne mixed with something else, something metallic and sharp, like ozone before a storm.
"why were you ignoring me?" he asked again, his voice barely a whisper. he reached out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was surprisingly soft, but it made your heart pound with fear. "was it something i said? something i did?"
"this... this isn't a good time," you stammered, your mind racing for an excuse, any excuse. "i was... i'm in the middle of something."
he glanced over at your laptop, then back at you, a knowing, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. "a show? were you about to go live for them? for the faceless masses who tip you in tokens and don't give a shit about you?"
he stepped even closer, his body now even closer against yours. his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours, desperate and demanding. "i gave you a shit ton of tokens. i gave you my name. i thought...i thought we had something."
"we don't have anything," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "this is my job. you're a client. that's all."
"don't say that," he growled, “i'm not just some client. i'm the one who tells you you're beautiful when everyone else is just telling you to spread your legs. i'm the one who respects you!"
"respect?" you laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "you tracked me down, aerion. you broke into my apartment. that's not respect. that's borderline obsession."
"it's not obsession," he insisted, his voice rising with frustration. "it's... it's devotion. i care about you. i've never cared this much about anyone…it hurts."
you were trapped. trapped between his body and the wall, trapped by his desperation and your own fear. you could feel the hard lines of his body against yours, could feel the frantic beating of his heart against your chest.
"you're not scared now, are you?" he murmured, his hand tracing the line of your jaw.
you nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of your head. it was the truth. you were terrified. but the nod, in his eyes, was a betrayal.
his face changed. the desperate, pleading boy vanished, replaced by something cold and hard. "oh," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "you're scared. you want something to be afraid of?"
a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "fine. you want to treat me like a client? then i'll fucking behave like one."
before you could even process his words, one arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, trying to push him away, but it was like shoving against a statue. with a grunt, he hoisted you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
the world tilted, your hair hanging down in a curtain as you stared at your apartment floor. "no! put me down!" you screamed, your voice raw with panic.
you thrashed wildly, kicking your legs, pounding your fists against his back, but he was immovable. it was like hitting brick. his grip on you was like iron, pinning you in place. he stopped beside your bed, and with a careless shove, he dumped you onto the mattress. you bounced, the air knocked from your lungs, scrambling to get away, but he was on you in an instant, one hand pressing down on the center of your chest, holding you flat.
"stay fucking still," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
you didn't stop. you couldn't. you bucked and twisted, trying to squirm out from under his weight, your screams muffled by the room. he just watched you, a look of detached annoyance on his face, as if you were nothing more than a fly buzzing around his head. with his free hand, he reached over and adjusted your laptop.
"no, no, no," you sobbed, realizing what he was doing. he angled the screen, tilting the camera until it pointed directly at the bed, at you, trapped and struggling beneath him. the little green light was on. it was still live. your audience, your faceless masses, were watching everything.
"there," he said, a sickeningly satisfied smile on his face. "now everyone can see."
he shifted his weight, grabbing your chin in a punishing grip, forcing your head to turn toward the camera. you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks, blurring the view of the little green light. you squeezed your eyes shut, you wouldn't look. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"open your eyes," he commanded. "look at the camera.”
you blinked them open slightly as his grip on your chin tightened, and with his other hand, he brought two fingers up to your tightly sealed lips. "open up," he ordered.
you shook your head, a muffled whimper escaping your throat.
smack.
the sharp, stinging crack of his hand against your cheek was so unexpected it made you gasp. it wasn't hard enough to truly hurt, but the shock, the humiliation, was something that shot red hot through you.
"i said, open up," he repeated, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. "or the next one will be a lot harder."
defeated, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome thrill, you slowly parted your lips. he didn't hesitate, pushing his two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. the taste of his skin was salty, clean.
"get them nice and wet," he instructed, his eyes locked on yours through the camera video. "show them how good you are at following orders, sweetheart."
you hesitated, your mind screaming at you to bite down, to do anything. but the look in his eyes, the promise of pain, held you captive. you closed your lips around his fingers, your tongue moving tentatively, coating them with your saliva.
"that's it," he murmured, a flicker of that old approval in his voice, twisted now into something darker. "such a good girl when you want to be. you know how to use that mouth, don't you? it's all you're good for, really. talking to them, taking their money...and now, taking my fingers."
he began to slowly pump his fingers in and out of your mouth, fucking your mouth with his hand. "suck," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper. "show everyone how much you like it."
the degradation burned through you, but a sick part of you, the part that craved his attention, obeyed. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking on his fingers as he'd instructed, your eyes locked on his.
just then, a sound pierced the tense silence, a cheerful, electronic chime from your laptop.
ding!
unknown443: [tip: 100 tokens]
another chime followed, then another, a cascade of notifications lighting up the screen from other usernames.
aerion smiled, a cruel, triumphant curve of his lips. he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet, obscene pop. a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to his fingertips before breaking. the sound, the sight, was utterly humiliating, and a fresh wave of heat washed over your face.
"good girl," he purred, the praise a poison dart. he shifted his weight, the hand that had been pinning you down moving to your waist. with a rough tug, he yanked you further down the bed, positioning you exactly how he wanted, your body pliant under his strength. his free hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace of your panties.
"let's see what we have here," he murmured, more to the camera than to you. "let's see if the rest of you is as obedient as your mouth."
you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself, but you couldn't stop the helpless whimper that escaped your lips as he pushed the fabric aside. his fingers found your folds, and you froze. you expected pain, expected roughness. but his touch was exploratory, almost clinical, for a split second. then he stilled.
you felt him tense above you. you dared to open your eyes, and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. a slow, predatory smile spread across his lips.
"well, well," he breathed, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. he looked from your face to the laptop, making sure the camera had a perfect view. "she's fucking soaked."
he slid one long finger through your slick folds, and you cried out, a strangled sound of shame and unwilling arousal. it was true. despite your terror, despite your disgust, your body had betrayed you.
"you can scream all you want," he said, his voice a low, taunting rumble. he pushed that single finger inside you, sinking it knuckle-deep with a slow, deliberate thrust. "but your body doesn't lie. it wants this. it wants me."
your back arched off the bed, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the invasion. you thrashed your head from side to side, but it was useless. he was too strong, his hold too absolute. he began to move his finger, pumping it in and out of you.
"so fucking tight," he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment as if savoring the sensation. then he opened them, his gaze burning into yours. "and so fucking wet. all this for me? or for them?"
he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you. the sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that short-circuited your brain. your screams turned to ragged, panting sobs.
"answer me, baby" he demanded, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in a tight, cruel circle. "who is this for?"
"you!" you sobbed, the word torn from you. "it's for you!"
"yeah that's what i thought," he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty. he brought his hand up to his face, his eyes never leaving yours as he looked at his glistening fingers. then, holding your gaze, he slowly, deliberately, licked them clean.
a guttural sound of pure satisfaction rumbled in his chest. "fucking delicious," he breathed. he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that you knew the camera's microphone would pick up perfectly. "i think i'm going to start by eating your pretty little pussy."
he didn't wait for a response. he pushed himself up and leaned over you to your laptop. you flinched away, but he wasn't interested in you right now. his long fingers tapped at the keyboard, and you heard the soft whir of the camera's motor as he adjusted its position. he angled it down, capturing the entire length of your body on the rumpled bedsheets.
he returned his attention to you, his eyes dark with intent. he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, the only barrier left between you and complete exposure. with one sharp, decisive tug, he ripped them. the delicate lace gave way with a tear, and he tossed the ruined fabric aside as if it were nothing.
"much better," he said, his gaze raking over your naked cunt.
he shifted down the bed, his body a heavy, commanding presence. he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, forcing them wide. there was no escape. you were completely open, completely vulnerable to him. you could feel his warm breath on your most sensitive flesh, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body tensing in anticipation.
then his mouth was on you.
it wasn't gentle. it wasn't exploratory. it was a hungry, possessive assault. he licked a long, wet stripe up your slit, stealing a choked gasp tore from your throat.
he didn't stop. he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure-pain through you. your hips bucked involuntarily, but his hands came up to grip your thighs, holding you down, pinning you in place.
he ate you out with a messy, single-minded intensity. it was all wet sounds and desperate lapping, his tongue delving into your entrance, his teeth scraping lightly against your folds. he was devouring you, and the sounds he made were obscene, slurping and groaning as if he were a starving man and you were his feast.
"look at her," he panted, pulling back for just a second, his chin glistening with your wetness. he wasn't looking at you. he was looking at your pussy, his expression one of pure adoration. "she's so pretty. so fucking pretty."
he dove back in, his tongue swirling around your clit in tight, relentless circles. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the silver strands, but whether you meant to push him away or pull him closer, you couldn't say.
"she behaves so well," he murmured against your flesh, the vibrations of his words sending shivers through you. "she never ignores me. not like you do."
he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his tongue, fucking you with it, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed.
"no," he continued, his voice a dark, worshipful chant. "she always gets so wet for her owner, huh? she knows who she belongs to, even if you don't."
he increased his pace, his mouth working you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. one of his hands left your thigh, and you felt two fingers slide easily inside you, curling upward to find that spot that made your vision blur. he pumped his fingers in time with his tongue, a perfect, devastating rhythm.
"that's it," he groaned, his voice muffled by your flesh. "give it to me. give me what's mine."
the coil in your stomach tightened to an impossible degree. the pleasure was overwhelming, humiliating, undeniable. you could feel the audience watching, could hear the distant chime of more tips, but it all faded into the background. there was only the weight of his body holding you down, the relentless movement of his tongue and fingers, and his voice, claiming you, body and soul.
the coil inside you snapped. a blinding, pulsing wave of pleasure ripped through you, so intense it was almost painful. your body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. your thighs trembled, your pussy clamping down around his fingers as wave after wave of release washed through you.
he didn't stop. if anything, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking mercilessly against your oversensitive clit as he worked you through every last spasm. he drank you in, his groans of satisfaction vibrating against your flesh as he lapped up every drop of your release, not letting a single bit go to waste.
when you finally collapsed back against the sheets, boneless and gasping, he slowly pulled away. he didn't wipe his mouth. he just leaned back over you, his face hovering inches above yours, his chin and lips slick and shining with your cum. the scent of your own arousal filled the air between you, musky and intimate.
"taste yourself, baby" he commanded, his voice a low growl. "taste what you gave me."
he didn't wait for an answer. he crushed his mouth to yours, a messy, possessive kiss. you could feel the sticky wetness of your own release on his lips, taste yourself on his tongue as he forced it into your mouth. it was a humiliating, intimate act, and the camera captured it all. through the haze of your own pleasure, you were acutely aware of the hard, thick length of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh.
he finally pulled back, his chest heaving, his indigo eyes burning into yours. "have you ever taken a dildo?" he asked, his voice rough, conversational, as if he were asking about the weather.
your mind, still foggy from your orgasm, struggled to process the question. you shook your head, a small, hesitant movement.
a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "no? just your fingers?"
you nodded again,
"good," he breathed, the word a puff of air against your lips. "then i get to be your first."
he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. his eyes never left yours as his hands went to his belt. the metallic clink of the buckle was loud in the quiet room. he undid his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself.
and there it was.
his cock sprang free, hard and heavy. it was just as perfect as it had been on the laptop screen, but seeing it in person, feeling the heat radiating from it, was something else entirely. long and thick, with a satisfying heft, the skin was pale against his dark clothes, but the head was a flushed, angry pink, already beading with precum. prominent veins mapped a path up the shaft, and it jutted out from his body, a testament to his undeniable arousal.
he wrapped a hand around it, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. "this is what you do to me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "this is what ignoring me for four days did."
he leaned down again, his face so close his features blurred. his free hand came up to grip your jaw, his thumb pressing on your chin, forcing your mouth open. "open up," he whispered, his voice a dark, intimate command.
you obeyed, your body too overwhelmed, too wrecked to fight back. he hovered over you, his gaze locked on your open mouth, and then he spat. a warm, wet string of his saliva landed on your tongue. it was a primal, claiming act, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over you.
before you could react, his mouth was on yours again. this kiss was different, deeper, more possessive. he swirled his tongue with yours, mixing his spit with yours, a messy, intimate exchange that left you breathless and dizzy.
when he finally pulled away, a string of saliva connected your lips. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust. "my turn," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.
he held his hand out, palm up, in front of your face. "spit."
you hesitated for only a second before obeying, spitting into his waiting palm. he gave a low, appreciative hum. he brought his hand to his cock, using the combined slickness of your saliva and his to coat his length. he pumped himself slowly, his fist gliding over the rigid shaft, the wet sounds filling the room. he watched you the entire time, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach clench.
"that's better," he groaned, giving himself one last, tight squeeze.
then, without warning, his hands were on you again. he grabbed your hips, his grip bruising, and with a rough, effortless movement, he flipped you over. you landed on your stomach with a soft "oomph," the air knocked from your lungs. he was on you instantly, his weight settling over you, his knees pushing your legs apart.
you felt the hot, heavy length of his cock press against the curve of your ass. he shifted, dragging it down until the swollen, flushed head was nestled right against your entrance. you were still so wet, so open from your orgasm and his earlier assault.
he didn't push in. not yet. he just held himself there, the tip of his cock teasing your slick folds. he moved his hips in a slow, maddening circle, using your wetness to coat himself, getting the head of his cock "super wet" as he'd intended. the friction was delicious, torturous. you could feel every contour of him, every vein, as he slid against you, teasing your clit with every pass.
"feel that baby?" he breathed in your ear, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "this is what you've been waiting for..."
"...this is what you were made for."
and then he pushed in.
there was no gentleness, no slow acclimatization. he drove into you in one long, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. the stretch was immense, a burning, overwhelming fullness that stole your breath. a sharp, guttural cry was torn from your lips, muffled by the sheets beneath your cheek. he was bigger than anything you'd ever taken, bigger than you'd imagined, and he filled you completely.
he didn't give you time to adjust. he set a punishing rhythm from the very beginning, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, his hips slapping against your ass with a loud, wet smack.
the camera, positioned perfectly, captured everything: the glistening sheen of your combined wetness coating his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of you, the way your flesh clung to him on every retreat, the slick drip of your arousal running down your inner thighs to soak the sheets.
your face was smushed into the bedding, your mouth open in a silent scream as moans were forced from your body with every powerful thrust. you felt like an animal, a bitch in heat, being taken and used, and the shame of it was mixed with a dark, thrilling pleasure you couldn't deny.
"that's it," he grunted, his voice a low, rhythmic pant. "take it. take all of it. take all of this fuckin’ cock…you're so fuckin’ tight, baby."
he brought his hand down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap. the sound echoed in the room, followed by your yelp. "such a good girl for me. taking my big cock so good..."
his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, forcing your arch deeper. he panted, his words punctuated by the relentless slap of his skin against yours. "remember our first private show? you said you didn't know how you'd ever take all of me." he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. "look at you now. taking every inch."
he slowed his pace for a moment, grinding into you, his cock pressing deep, making you whimper. "it makes me wonder, though..." he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper he knew the mic would pick up. "if this pretty little pussy is this tight... i wonder how that cute, tight asshole would feel."
panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the haze of pleasure. he was looking at the camera, a speculative smirk on his face. "what do you think, chat? should i find out?"
"no!" you screamed, the word tearing from your throat. "no! please!"
you started to thrash weakly beneath him, trying to squirm away, but his grip on your hip was like iron. your pathetic struggles only seemed to amuse him.
he laughed, a deep, cruel rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "shhh shh calm down, honey" he soothed, his tone mockingly gentle. "don't worry. this time, i'll just enjoy the cunny i came for."
he released your hair and grabbed your hips with both hands, his grip bruising. he resumed his brutal pace, fucking you harder, deeper, chasing his own release. your protests died in your throat, replaced by the mindless, desperate moans of a body completely overwhelmed.
one of his hands left your hip, snaking around your body to find your clit. he began to rub it in tight, fast circles, his touch knowing, exact. the additional stimulation was electric, shooting through you like a lightning bolt.
your body, already pushed to its limit, spasmed in response. the sounds of your slick wetness grew louder, a filthy, rhythmic squelching that mingled with the slap of his skin against yours and the distant, cheerful chime of tips flooding in.
"that's my girl," he grunted, his rhythm never faltering.
he leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear. "this is the last time you'll ever go live for them," he panted, his voice a low, possessive growl. "you understand? after tonight, i promise to take goood care of you.”
your mind, a haze of pleasure and pain, could barely process his words. you just wanted it to stop but you wanted it to never end. you nodded dumbly against the sheets.
a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "yeah, you do," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. "fuck, you're so pretty when you get cock dumb…"
that was it. the coil inside you snapped again, harder this time. your vision went white, your body convulsing as a powerful orgasm tore through you.
a long, broken moan was ripped from your throat, your pussy clamping down around his thick cock like a vise. you could feel your release gush out of you, soaking the sheets beneath you, a final, humiliating surrender.
he groaned as your walls clenched around him, his pace faltering for a moment as he savored the feeling. he rode out your orgasm, his strokes slowing as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
he leaned back up, his hand still resting possessively on your ass, and looked directly at the camera, a triumphant smirk on his face. he gave your ass a light pat.
"and that's cum number two," he announced to the live audience, his voice clear and full of arrogant pride. he watched the comments fly by, the tips pouring in. "how many do you think we should go for, huh?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he were taking requests.
"how many times do i have to make her cum before she decides to forgive me and stop fucking ignoring me?"
Overview: Clark called you one night- told you he had something amazing to show you. Something that would change both of your lives. Now you're stuck here in this endless hell with a thing that wears your boyfriend's face and wants to consume you whole.
a/n: I haven't even seen the Backrooms movie. Although I do enjoy playing the games with my friends. But this is born solely from the fact that I've got a Finn Bennett earworm rn, basically. And I just caught up to the latest part of @the-darklings Better Bobby series. It's literally the only fanfiction I've been able to wholly consume- in one sitting, no distractions, absolutely enthralled- in months. Her writing is crack, I'm not even joking. Finishing that gave immediate inspiration for this odd exploration into the liminal horror of the Backrooms.
wc: 6.6k
warnings: canon-compliant minor gore and body horror
“Hey, Bobby, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry, I… I can’t really explain what happened. This place– I can’t leave. Not now. Not anymore. Forget about me, Bobby. I can’t find my way back– what was that– Hey! Hey! No! Don’t go that way, Kat–”
The message abruptly cuts off; three beeps from the answering machine follow your scream. It rattles through him, echoes through the dark apartment. He’s been sitting on the couch for two hours, just listening to your message over and over and over…
Until he’d memorized the words, the exact tremble of fear in your voice. You’d tried to sound brave at first, for his benefit. You’d pretended that this was a decision you had made autonomously. Like wherever you were didn’t have you petrified and screaming out your best friend’s name.
Kat went missing the night after you. He doesn’t know where either of you are. But you’re together, and that would comfort him if he wasn’t so terrified by the agonising, inhuman screeching he’d heard in the background of your last message. How could you pretend everything was okay when he could hear that it wasn’t? He could still feel your last words echoing through the marrow of the apartment, seeping and staining the last evidence that you’d been here.
The mugs on the counter, the coffee you never finished drinking, your clothes left scattered on the bathroom floor. It was all here; in this liminal space between where you’d once existed and the absence you’d left behind.
Bobby gets to his feet; he grabs his keys and walks out the door. He doesn’t have a real plan in place. He’s been walking in a fog ever since the morning he’d realized you were missing. When you failed to come back from your night shift and the hours dragged on too long for you to just be out running errands.
He’d been forced to wait the full forty-eight hours before he filed the missing persons report. And then he’d had to file one for Kat, too. It wasn’t enough that you were gone; now your best friend was gone with you.
The police looked at him first. Poked holes in his alibi and watched him with mistrusting eyes. It didn’t take long for the accusations to melt away and turn into something more pitying. They’d asked about your relationship with Kat. How close the two of you were? Had you seemed unhappy before you left?
As if you’d run away with her. Like you couldn’t stand being with him a moment longer in your cramped apartment and listless life, he’d almost believed them, until he got that message. Until he’d heard the fear, the screaming, his name on your tongue. It was soft in the way you used to say it, but that softness was ruined by the jagged edge of your own panic as you rushed out one last message to him.
Bobby didn’t know what his plan was until he found himself standing in front of Clark’s store. The last place he could honestly say you were. The lights flicker behind the glass doors, so dim they might as well not be on, but it catches his attention.
He knows the police picked this place apart with a fine-toothed comb. When they couldn’t point the blame to Bobby, they’d turned to Clark instead. And then they couldn’t find him, either. It all circles and drains back to this one shitty, dying furniture store.
Bobby swipes away the police tape and pushes at the door. It shouldn’t be unlocked, but it falls open nonetheless. The lights brighten as he steps inside and chills break out along his skin. It feels like there are eyes in the corner of the room, watching him as he slowly makes his way through.
With each step closer to the back of the store, the lights burn brighter, the hum of the fluorescents buzzing incessantly at his back. He struggles to shrug off the feeling. Rather, he chases it, follows it until he’s standing at the top of the basement stairs.
There are muddy footprints on the stairs, from where the police investigated or from you… He doesn’t know. But he’s going to find out.
He rushes down the stairs, and it feels like there’s a touch on his back. Something just there, just out of sight, guiding him down the same path you’d taken the night you went missing. It leads him down to where you used to do inventory.
Sometimes you’d invite him to keep you company. You had that night, but he just… decided not to. He was tired and didn’t want to spend the night at Clark’s stupid fucking furniture store. And now you’re gone.
He finds himself standing in front of a wall. Just a wall. Nothing special, nothing important, nothing… Except the perfect square outlined in blue tape. The size and relative space a door would take up. Bobby’s head tilts, brows furrowing as he observes it. Something about the way the light of the basement catches it: it almost seems to shimmer, to shift right before his eyes into something that is… definitely not a wall.
Bobby reaches out, expecting to find nothing but solid cement beneath his hands. And then… he’s falling through.
“Don’t fucking move,” you hiss, trembling as you take Kat’s hand in your own. You’re tucked into one of the holes in the wall with Kat. It’s one of the few places the thing seems to look over.
It calls your name again, in his voice. Kat’s wide eyes shoot to you. “Are you sure it’s not–”
“It’s just another trick,” you choke out, tears burning across your cheeks as you peer out into the hallway. You see his back, the cutoff denim shorts, cropped tee, messy blonde hair. But the spine protrudes too much at the neck. The arms are too long. His gait is stilted like he’s still getting used to his body.
He’d almost gotten you when you’d first gotten here. And then Kat. He doesn’t care which one of you he gets; he just wants someone new. Someone else to consume.
You’d found his lair a few– days? Has it been days? Or months?
It doesn’t matter. Time has no meaning here.
The point is, you found his lair. Found the skeletons and shredded clothes of pets he’s taken and devoured. The bodies of wanderers he’s found himself enchanted by and then bored with. Now, he’s taken Bobby from your memories, made a clone of him, and wears the skin suit like that’ll be enough to convince you it's the man you love.
The fluorescent lights flicker before they burst. Kat lets out a sharp gasp, clapping her hand over her mouth. You shoot her a crazed look, eyes rimmed red from too many nights without sleep.
“There you are,” you screech as a skeletal hand reaches inside the hole. The skin it wears stretched taut around the arm until you hear it begin to rip. It claps its hand around Kat, dragging her. You scramble forward, reaching desperately for something to grab hold of.
But she’s screaming, being dragged from safety into the dark. You crawl out after her and find some of the lights beginning to turn back on. Like emergency backups, they barely make anything visible, but you can see enough.
You can see the face of your lover, crooked and painted on wrong, back bowed, and form largely monstrous as he holds Kat in his hand. His jaw opens inhumanly wide, and there’s nothing you can do but watch as his sharp teeth clamp around her neck. Blood spurts out from his maw as he rips her head clean from her body.
“Wake up!” Hands wrap too tight around your shoulders, shaking you until your eyes are shooting open and you're surging up with a gasp. Kat kneels beside you, head tilted and hair messy as she regards you warily.
“Are you okay?” she asks, hands trembling as she hovers over you. Her eyes are bloodshot, head constantly on a swivel, too afraid to take her gaze off the shadows.
You shake your head, wipe sweat from your brow, and force yourself to forget the nightmare. It’s another warning from it. Another threat of what will happen if you continue to deny it. “I’m fine. We need to get out of here, though.”
Kat frowns as you stand, wiping your sweaty palms off on your jeans. “But the door–”
“I know, Kat!” You hiss, glaring down at her. “Just… trust me, okay? We can’t stay here, right now.” It’s not safe. Not with those hungry eyes watching you from the dark alcoves.
“Where should we go, then? Nowhere is safe,” she snaps back at you, getting to her feet. It’s hard, maintaining your composure down here. Those fluorescents flicker; there’s a constant, droning buzz that settles in the back of your skull that never lets you completely relax. It’s a never-ending reminder that you don’t belong here. You’re an outlier in a place where everything wants a taste of you.
Nerves have been fraying ever since your first encounter with it. Him. That thing that lurks in the liminal space between one breath and the next. For you, he wears Bobby’s face. But for Kat, he had worn your face. Had beckoned her from the basement and down here with you, using your voice.
It’s hard to rebuild that trust when yours had been the first face she’d seen. And your face had nearly ripped hers off.
“Party rooms,” you tell her, taking her hand in your own. “It’s risky, but it's the closest place.” Kat shudders, but she follows you without protest. You can’t blame her; you don’t like the party rooms. You don’t like the children’s birthday decorations. Or those fleshy monstrosities that look like hazmats chemically bonded to human skin. Their drawn-on, twisted smiles make your stomach churn. But it’s easy enough to manage if you stay quiet and hidden.
His presence is weaker there, anyway. He seems more powerful, more potent, on this first level. With its yellow walls, musty smell, and never-ending flickering lights. That is his domain. And he can find you anywhere, but you’re not going to make it easier for him.
Kat’s grip is tight around yours, fingers lacing together as you walk side-by-side. It had been Clark who had dragged you down here, tricked you into thinking this was something grand. Something miraculous.
It was miraculous in the most twisted sense of the word. That a different pocket of reality full of eldritch horrors and a labyrinth of never-ending rooms could exist beside a furniture store was miraculous. But he had been crazed, talked to you about staying down here forever.
He had tried to drag you into this hell with him, and when you’d refused, he’d attacked. Knocked you out and left you stranded without a way back to the door. When you’d found Kat, after she’d come looking for you, you’d both learned how important it was not to let go of one another. How easy it would be for an entity to rip you apart.
Having an actual human beside you is the only reason you’re still sane; you’re sure of it.
“This way,” you mutter, leading her down the hall and to the third door on the right. It’s concerning, but you’ve been here long enough to start learning some of the curves to this place. Kat opens the door, but it’s not confetti walls and stiff carpet you’re greeted by. There are no balloons or party decorations.
This…
This is a poorly reassembled copy of Clark’s store. The store you’ve worked the past year. It’s the display floor, the couches and tables arranged almost exactly how it had been when you’d left.
“What the fuck?” Kat mutters, stepping into the room, leaving you no choice but to follow.
“This isn’t right,” you whisper, turning slowly. You haven’t found this room yet. You shouldn’t have found it. This should have been the party rooms. “Is he changing things?”
“Clark?” Kat’s hand rips from your grasp and you whip around. She’s running from you, toward one of the couches. Frowning, you follow behind her. Then you see it, the back of Clark’s head, the collar of the purple shirt he’d been wearing when he’d disappeared and left you for dead.
Kat rushes toward him, and you try to stop her, but she’s already leaning on the armrest of the chair. “Clark–” she swallows, eyes widening with horror and whatever she sees. She doesn’t have time to scream as two gnarled hands shoot out, wrapping tight around her throat.
Bobby falls to the floor, nose slamming to musty carpet. He lets out a low groan, slowly crawling to his hands and knees. He looks up and around, eyes widening as he takes in his surroundings. This is all wrong.
This can’t be real.
Walls with fraying and stained wallpaper stand freely in the large room he’s in. There’s tape that goes down a few of the hallways. Fluorescents flicker above him. He can’t make out much more beyond that. There’s a shadowed abyss beyond the walls that swallows whatever light tries to breach it.
He stands on unsteady legs, breath shortening as he tries to take everything in. He looks over his shoulder and sees nothing but a wall. There’s no marker for where he’d fallen through. Frowning, he walks forward and presses his hand to the surface. But it doesn’t sink or give way, not this time.
The doorway he’d used to get through has sealed.
With no other choice, he turns back around, trying to tamp down his rising panic. It’s hard, though, when all he can think about is you. He doesn’t even know if you’re here or if he just got himself trapped in some hellish purgatory with no way out.
Maybe this isn’t even real.
Maybe he’s at home, on the couch, tripping on something. You’ll walk through and roll your eyes at him, make him take a cold shower while you cook dinner. It’s all just been one bad acid trip.
There’s a scream somewhere in the distance. Bobby jumps back, heart racing as his back falls against the wall. It’s not human– not right. This is something else. Just like the noise he’d heard in the last message you’d left him.
Something runs past in the dark, a flash of color that has his heart leaping to his throat. Beneath the buzz of the lights, beneath his blood rushing, he hears what sounds like his name. Whispered in your voice, panic edging your tone as you call out to him.
Something runs past again, and Bobby surges forward. He calls out your name. “Bobby!” He hears in return: you’re screaming now. Bobby runs forth without a second thought, shouting your name as he follows the figure in the shadows.
“Bobby, this way!” You scream; something lurks beneath your voice. A low growl that doesn’t sound right. But he doesn’t have time to think about that as he follows after you.
He finally sees it, a flash of your hair, the tilt of your face over your shoulder as you race ahead of him. Bobby screams your name, trying to catch your attention as you race through the darkness. He’s not paying attention, doesn’t notice as the walls begin to close in. You turn a corner, and he follows… barreling right into a wall.
His head bounces off it as he drops to the floor.
There’s low laughter, familiar and distant all at once. A cold touch against his arm and he jerks up, eyes shooting wide. You jerk back, surprise painting your face as you hold up your hands.
Bobby scrambles to his feet, glancing around with a sick sort of shock. He’s back home. Back at the apartment. You’re still kneeling on the ground, in your favorite pair of pajamas with brows raised. You look relaxed, comfortable, more at peace than he’s seen you in weeks.
“Hit your head too hard?” You tease, getting to your feet. You brush past him, cold touch lingering on his arm as you turn back toward the food you’d been cooking. Bobby’s still standing there, still just staring.
Everything looks right. The sun is setting in the background, golden light filtering through the living room. The radio is on, soft music playing that you’re humming along to. This is his apartment. His home. You… you’re just like you always are. Cooking on the weekend because you don’t feel like eating his shitty attempts at cooking right now.
But this doesn’t make sense. He had just been in that– that–
Where had he been?
His head is fuzzy. You said he’d hit it. Did he? He doesn’t remember.
He knows that he’d been doing something. But what? What had been so important that he’d been chasing you, calling out your name? Just to end up right back where he started. Did he start here?
“Bobby,” you call, finally giving him your full attention. Your head tilts in concern, but your jaw tips too far, chin slants strangely as you watch him. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Had he been looking for you?
He looks over at you, and there’s relief, but he doesn’t know why. He reaches for you, and you fall into his arms easily. It should feel good, familiar like it always does. Your softness pressed up against him, head tucked into his neck. But your arms are too tight, the bones press against him in a way that bruises.
“I don’t–” he can’t finish the thought. It slips through his hands like water, dribbles down to the floor. His eyes drop, lingering on the stove, on the “food” you’re cooking. It’s just a white hunk of something in the pan, melting down like butter. It bubbles and creates the nauseating smell of burnt flesh.
“No,” he shakes his head and looks down at you again. Your hair is ragged, different than he remembers. You smell not right. “No,” he shoves back, and you stumble. Or the thing wearing your face does.
Your eyes narrow, the color being swallowed by a void of darkness as you scoff. But it’s not your voice anymore; it’s something darker, older. “Almost,” you mutter, clicking your tongue in annoyance.
He hears it now… the sound the music was trying to cover. Your voice, your real voice, screaming. But it’s not his name you’re screaming; it’s Kat’s. “Kat! Watch out!” over and over, echoing until it’s all he can hear.
Beside him, the thing wearing your face begins to let out a long croaking noise. Your mouth drops open inhumanly wide, and he stumbles back a step, watching as your shoulders bow. Your spine snaps in two as you contort in ways no human should. Your form grows taller until the skin begins to rip at the edges.
Bobby turns, running before it can sink its hungry teeth into him. He runs through the apartment door and finds himself back in the room with the yellow walls and winding paths. It’s welcome compared to what he’d just seen.
He follows the sound of your voice until he’s worried it was just another trick of this place. Then, he comes upon a hallway filled with doors. Decaying doors with stains, steel doors with rusted locks, all kinds. And behind the one on his right, you’re the loudest.
He barrels through and finds himself standing on the display floor of Clark’s store. It’s not quite right; something about this place feeds into that off feeling he’s had since he dropped into this hell.
But there you are, waving around a floor lamp like a weapon as you beat on something that’s crawling over Kat. You let out another scream, cocking the lamp back and hitting it as hard as you can.
The body goes flying off, and he realizes you’d been beating another failed copy of someone. Clark, he thinks. You drop the lamp and reach for Kat’s hand, tugging her into you. Bobby hesitates at the door. Is this you? Is he dreaming? Is it just another trick?
Kat sees him first; her eyes go wide, lips parting in silent shock. You frown, turning to follow her gaze. He waits for it, the recognition, the relief, the way you say his name when you’re happiest to see him.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, your stare hardens as you stumble back from him. “I told you not to use that face!”
He shakes his head, holding his hands out hopelessly. “Baby,” he breathes out. “It’s me. I swear it’s me,” he’ll get on his knees and beg if that's what it takes for you to believe him. You stalk forward, ripping your arm from Kat’s grip. He almost smiles, but then you’re reaching out, hands wrapping tight around his throat as you slam him into the wall.
“Fuck you,” you hiss, tears lining your eyes. “You’re not him, don’t call me that!” Your teeth are bared, like a wild animal lashing out. He wants to stop you, to fight back. But he doesn’t want to risk hurting you. He tries pleading with you again, swearing it’s him, not some entity wearing his face.
But your thumbs are digging into the hollow of his throat, and his eyes are rolling back as you let him fall to the floor.
You stand over that thing's body, brows drawing in as you stare down at it. It should have disappeared, sunk through the floor, and started hunting you once more. You shouldn’t have gotten close enough to choke it before it snatched you up.
Kat comes up behind you and takes your hand tentatively in her own. “He’s not getting up,” she whispers, just as confused as you.
You glance over at her before kneeling. Reaching out, you press your fingers to the pulse point of its neck. There should be nothing. No pulse, no warmth, nothing to give away life. But it’s there, faint after your attack, a heart beating beneath flesh that’s been warmed by real, pumping blood.
“Fuck,” you gasp, tears lining your eyes as you stare down at the body of your boyfriend. “I think he’s real.”
Kat frowns, dropping beside you. She reaches out, same as you, and sees for herself. Her hands come up to her mouth, gasping as she looks over at you. “Oh, my god. Did you kill Bobby?”
“No!” you hiss, whipping around to glare at her. “I can feel his damn pulse. I just… knocked him out. Shit.”
This place doesn’t give you time to linger or rest. Not once since you’ve gotten here have you been able to catch your breath. Even now, just behind you, you can hear creaking. A body pulling itself back together. Flesh reknitting from where you’d busted it open with the heavy end of a lamp.
“We need to get him up, help me.” Kat doesn’t waste time; she throws one of Bobby’s arms over her shoulder while you grab the other. Neither of you spare the entity wearing Clark’s face a second look. You can’t. They only get more horrifying when they come back. You can’t afford to let terror freeze you.
You drag him back through the door you’d come from and slam it shut behind you. Clark’s copy slams against the door, pounds his fists, and lets out inhuman, croaking noises that make your entire body shudder.
You’re back within the yellow walls. And nothing about this place is safe. But, at the very least, you’re more comfortable here. Because here, you know what lurks in the shadows; you know what to expect.
“Over here,” you tell Kat, nodding toward one of the larger holes that have been beaten into the wall. You don’t know who put it there. If it was someone else who got trapped here like you. Or those people who you occasionally see in hazmat suits. But these little alcoves in the wall are one of the few places the entity seems to pass by.
You crawl in first, grabbing Bobby’s wrist as you help Kat drag him in. You pull him up into your chest, folding his legs so there’s room for her to squeeze in on the other end. “What do we do now?” she asks, voice trembling as she wraps her arms around her legs.
You shake your head and glance down at your boyfriend. Tears line your eyes as you squeeze him, his arms, his hands. Feel the warmth that you’ve missed for so long. Your head falls forward, tears leaking into his t-shirt as you wrap your arms tighter around him.
“Please be real,” you whisper, and the lights flicker in response.
The lights are out now, just a dim humming that it can’t completely extinguish. It’s passed by your wall three times now, calling out your name, wearing Bobby’s face. Bobby stirs in your arms, and Kat’s eyes shoot up in alarm.
You curl around him tighter and see his lashes flutter as he begins to wake up. Quickly, you clamp your hand around his mouth. He seizes in your grip, panic beginning to take over. “It’s me, it’s me,” you whisper. “Don’t say anything, Bobby, please. It’s right there.”
Kat’s across from him, frantically shaking her head as she keeps her own hands wrapped around her mouth. She can’t trust herself not to make a noise either. The thing outside the wall goes still, and you duck down, watching as it turns on too long legs.
Bobby goes lax in your grip, head tilting up to get a better look at you. His eyes widen as he takes you in. The sharper angles of your face, the deep circles beneath your eyes that almost make you look corpse-like.
You’re not perfect, not a flawless uncanny representation of yourself. He turns in your grip, arms thrown around your waist as he buries his face in your neck. You cradle the back of his head, forehead pressed to his shoulder as the thing walks past you once more.
The lights flicker back on, and its form disappears before you can blink. “Okay,” Kat mutters, motioning outside with her head. You nod, and she begins to crawl out. Her head swivels around, checking your surroundings, before she turns around and waves you forward.
“Come on,” you nudge Bobby. “We gotta go.” He slinks back, but his grip doesn’t leave you. He holds onto your hand as you both crawl out from the wall. The second you’re standing, he jerks you forward, dragging you into his arms.
He lets out a shuddering breath against your hair, shoulders shaking as he holds you. Kat cares little for the reunion. Her hand finds yours on instinct, too afraid to let go for so long.
“I thought– I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he whispers, pulling back. His hands go to your face, cupping your cheeks as he looks you over. “You’re here,” he can’t quite seem to believe it.
You reach up and take his wrist in your hold. “What the hell were you thinking coming in here?” you scoff with a wet laugh, tears spilling down your cheeks. It’s him, it’s really him. He’s alive and here and warm and…
This fucking idiot never should have followed you.
He should have been safe, mourned you and Kat, and moved on. But you can’t find it in yourself to scold him. The lights flicker and Kat gasps, hand tightening around your own. You don’t have time for a reunion, either. That thing will be circling back soon.
“We need to leave,” you tell him, lacing your fingers through his. Bobby trails behind you and Kat, gaze roaming across the vastness of the strange backrooms.
“Where are we?”
You suck in a shaky breath, coming to a stop at a dead-end. For however long you’ve been here, you’ve been looking for the door that brought you here. At every turn, you’ve been kept at bay by something you can’t see.
“I don’t know,” Kat answers.
“Clark brought me here,” you tell him, turning to face them both. “He called it the backrooms. Said he wanted to stay here. I haven’t seen him since he left me.”
Bobby’s face screws up, “Left you?”
The lights begin flickering behind him, popping off in the distance one by one. Something creeps ever closer in the darkness. Not the thing that wears your face. This is something different. Something new that follows behind you with thudding footsteps that shake the floor.
“We have to move,” you hiss, tugging their arms. “Now!” you shout, dragging them both behind you.
There’s no time to find a hole to crawl into. No time to do anything but race through the endless darkness and yellow halls, hoping for something new. Another door. Another path. Anything to put space between you and the footsteps following slowly behind you.
“Watch it!” Kat shouts, tugging you back before you slip into a shadowed abyss. Before you is a sharp dip in the floor. It slides down into nothing but darkness. You haven’t seen this before. Haven’t found it while you explored.
The footsteps stop suddenly behind you, and you whip around. Bobby tugs on your hand, and you frown. He lets out a yelp as something grabs him in the darkness. His fingers slip through yours as he’s dragged to the floor.
“Bobby!” He screams your name as his legs descend into the darkness. You throw yourself onto your stomach, desperately grasping at his flailing hands. You manage to grab one of his arms as Kat drops, hands grappling at the collar of his shirt.
“Come on,” you grunt, glancing over your shoulder and watching as a form splits from the darkness. You tug on Bobby, not giving up until he’s dragged from the darkness and lying beside you. Your eyes drift over him, down to his ankles, and you see angry red welts going up his legs.
Kat moves to help him to stand just as that touch snatches up your leg. Their eyes widen as they turn toward you. But you don’t even get to scream before you're dragged down.
There are no fluorescents down here. Just the dull buzzing that usually comes along with them. You lay curled up in the shadows, knees tucked to your chest as you weep. You want to be strong. You want to face the monsters in the dark with some form of bravery. But you’re a coward. You always have been.
It’s easy to pretend, when you have someone to pretend for. When you have Kat or Bobby beside you to take care of. You can live in a world where you have to be the strong one.
But in this dark hole, with wide eyes staring at you from the shadows, you’re not strong enough for anything except crying.
You can hear them, above you, screaming your name. Feet beating against the floor as they search for you.
“They won’t find you,” that voice – his voice – whispers in your ear. The creature that wears Bobby’s skin and wants you trapped here with it.
“Leave me alone,” you cry. It chuckles, inhuman and unnatural as its form curls around you. Hands, too many hands, grapple at your body, tug on your clothes. Testing your mortal form as it keeps you locked away here in the dark.
“Why should I? I finally have you right where I want you.” You’re ripped from your spot, forced to your feet as you’re pinned to the wall. There’s a little light– just enough for you to see the twisted visage of your lover’s face on the wrong body.
Fingers that are too long drag along your skin. Like a snake’s tongue learning the air around it, the environment, through taste and touch, he licks at your skin tentatively. His nose pushes up against your neck, taking in a deep inhale of your scent.
You can’t help but whimper, eyes clenched shut as his body contorts around your own. His lips trail up your skin, rough tongue scraping at your flesh as he goes. It reminds you of a cat’s, too barbed and too demanding to be human.
His face hovers over your own, skin warping like a stone that’s just been tossed into a puddle. You can’t stare into those black eyes too long. Did he even know his mask had begun to slip?
“If you stay here,” it’s Bobby’s voice, but something is lurking beneath it. Something very old, something lonely and unused to the company of mortals. “I’ll let them go.”
Your heart races, eyes shooting up to the voids where irises should be. “You’re lying.”
He shakes his head, lips curling into a too-long smirk. “I don’t need to,” he whispers, jagged finger tilting your chin up toward him.
He doesn’t need to because you’re desperate. Because you’ve been running through the seven layers of hell and now you’re stuck in an endless, looping purgatory faced with all your worst fears. You’ve been here so long that you’re losing parts of yourself, and these rooms are filling in the holes left behind.
You can’t let that happen to Bobby.
Slowly, you nod, his face goes slack, as if he hadn’t actually thought you would accept. His eyes narrow, head tilting at an inhuman angle, and you just nod again. “If you swear you’ll let them leave.”
“A deal struck,” he whispers, and that ancient voice reminds you of mythological tales of fairies. Of eldritch horrors that trapped humans in bargains and deals they hadn’t realized the enormity of.
His head dips, lips slotting hesitantly over your own. He doesn’t understand this mortal shape. He knows that he craves this; the taste and touch of you. But he doesn’t understand how to retrieve it. He’s pilfered through your memories, stolen your favorites and replicated them poorly.
Now, he can’t even give you this.
There’s a violent tremble in your hands as you reach up to grasp his shoulder. You almost push him away when the distinct lack of his taste fills your mouth, when his rough tongue scrapes against your own. You have to remind yourself who this is for.
This face that it wears is the man you’re trying to save. The one you love enough to sacrifice yourself for.
Your heart races, breath stalling as you feel his tongue begin to explore the wet caverns of your mouth. Two hands settle around your waist, but there’s still a touch pushing up your chin. You can’t open your eyes. If you do, you’ll see too many arms, too many eyes and teeth.
You clench your eyes tightly shut, chest heaving as that tongue steadily expands. It strokes against your own as he pushes you further up the wall, thigh slotting between your own. Rough barbs tickle the back of your throat before probing deeper. It wants to explore every inch of you, map out the workings of your frail, human body through touch.
Your stomach seizes with panic; tears slip from your eyes as your nails dig into shoulders that are too broad and bony. Pleasure spikes in your core against your will. Another hand, dragging up and up until it’s wrapping around your throat and feeling your pulse beneath cold flesh.
Wrong. Wrong. WRONG–
Something inside you– your hindbrain– pieces of yourself from the eons where humans were the prey and these creatures were worshiped– Whatever it is, it screams at you that this is inhumane and heartless.
It will hurt you. It will split you open and lap your blood up from the floor like a starved mutt.
In the distance, you hear him, screaming as something thunders just behind him. He’s not screaming for himself, though. It’s you, your name that he’s calling out.
Through sheer force of will, you make your eyes open. Make yourself look at the twisted visage and poor attempt at humanity. And just beyond its shoulders, you see it, a light. Like a flashlight, desperately searching through the darkness for you.
Your teeth clamp down around the tongue. Thick, viscous blood pools in your mouth and the thing backs up with a hiss. The tongue slithers from your throat, dragging along the flesh of your mouth until you’re gagging, gasping for breath as you slump to the floor.
“We had a deal,” it hisses.
Bobby screams your name in the distance, and you spit out the blood pooling in your mouth. It splatters black against the carpet. “Deal’s off,” you hiss, ducking under its too many arms and running toward his voice.
“Bobby!” You scream, and you hear it roar behind you. Anger and misery that’s too complicated to formulate into something your human ears can understand echo throughout the entire level. You follow that waving beam of light until you’re crashing into your boyfriend.
“Bobby,” you gasp out, trying not to sob. There’s no time; that monster is still behind you both.
His arm wraps around you, his other hand stuck in Kat’s vice grip. And just behind him, the flashlight– it belongs to a group of people in hazmat suits. “This way,” one of them orders. And then they’re all running, barely giving you time to follow.
You chase after them, hold tight to Bobby, and force yourself not to turn around. Not to face the hunger and lust of something that wants to chew through you until it hits marrow, until it's licking at your soul and consuming you entirely.
The people in the suits weave through the narrow passageways with ease, following black tape on the floor. Your eyes try to follow the path, but you only feel yourself grow dizzy with panic. “Hurry!” they shout, the booming footsteps growing closer behind you all.
They come to a stop near what looks like a research post. Cameras, computers, all sorts of technical equipment stacked haphazardly on desks that have been abandoned. Beside it, there’s a shimmer on the wall, the type that Clark had first dragged you through.
They run through, and Kat doesn’t hesitate to follow, dragging Bobby and you behind her. There’s a loud screech, a sting down your back as you fall through. Bobby trips on Kat and you both hurtle to the floor.
You land on his chest, the air rushing from you as pain screams down your back. “Ah,” you croak, reaching behind you. Your hands come back bloody.
“Shit, it got you,” one of the researchers hiss. You look up and realize you’re in what looks like a warehouse. More people in hazmats, more equipment you don’t understand. “I’ll go get a medic,” they tell you before rushing off.
Bobby still sits below you. His eyes rake over your face before he’s tugging you into his chest, arms wrapping around you, uncaring for the blood that stains them. You wind yourself around him like a serpent, grip damn near choking as you grasp onto these last strands of reality.
“You found me,” you whisper, too afraid to start crying again.
“Always,” he swears, burying his face in your neck.
Something clicks in your head. Something you haven’t had time to think of while you’re running for your life. “Bobby…” you pull back, catching Kat’s eyes over his shoulder. She’s still shaken, still catching her breath. “How did you know how to find me?”
His brows furrow as he shakes his head. “You called me.”
Your heart stops, chills raise along your skin, and you would swear you could feel eyes from the wall behind you. “No, I didn't.”
𖥔 ݁ ˖ summary: you made it your mission to break valarr’s perfect composure. the only problem? he was always better at the game than you were. and now, with your grades on the line, there’s only one person who can save you—your annoyingly perfect, effortlessly composed boyfriend, valarr targaryen. (wc: 2.1k)
𖥔 ݁ ˖ cw: mdni, fingering, bratty!reader, fem!reader, tutor!valarr, brat tamer!valarr, tension, power dynamics, teasing, stubbornness, he just loves to put you in your place
𖥔 ݁ ˖ a/n: okayyyy so we’re back on the brat tamer!valarr propaganda. do we love bt!valarr or do we love him? also can you guys guess i just love the word composure/composed. + rewatching gotham knights rn, only for oscar morgan
the scent of old paper and expensive sandalwood clung to the air of valarr’s study. it was a room that mirrored him: pristine, organized, and suffocatingly composed. you sat across from him at the heavy mahogany desk, the glare of the desk lamp bouncing off the pages of a textbook that felt like it was written in a dead language. to the rest of the campus, you were the darling—the girl with the permanent, sunny smile and the helpful hand, the one who never missed a beat in social grace. but here, under the steady, judging gaze of your sweet boyfriend valarr targaryen, that mask was slipping.
you weren't stupid. you were just bored, and the effort of actually caring about the curriculum felt like a chore you weren't paid for.
"the third paragraph outlines the economic collapse of the era," valarr said, his voice a smooth, effortless.he didn't look up from his own notes, his posture perfect, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to reveal forearms that were far too distracting for a tutoring session. "i believe i asked you to summarize the primary catalyst. you've been staring at the same page for ten minutes."
you let out a long, dramatic groan, leaning back in the chair until it creaked precariously.
"this is torture," you whined, tossing your pen onto the desk. "why is it so long?why are there so many dates? val, please, just tell me the answer so we can stop."
valarr finally looked up. his eyes were cool, shimmering with a hint of amusement that didn't reach a smile. he was the golden boy, the pride of his father baelor’s connections, the man who had volunteered to save your GPA not out of pity, but because he viewed your laziness as a challenge to be conquered. and cause he loved you
"because knowing the answer isn't the same as understanding the process," he replied calmly. "and because you are currently failing, which is a tragedy for someone with your intellect. focus."
you glared at him, your chest tightening with a mixture of irritation and an ache you refused to acknowledge. you loved it when he was like this—composed, untouchable, acting as if your tantrums were nothing more than a mild breeze. it made you want to tear that composure apart.
slowly, you shifted in your seat. you kicked off your shoe, the soft skin of your foot meeting the fabric of his charcoal trousers. you didn't start bold; you just let your toes brush against his ankle, a tentative, teasing ghost of a touch.
valarr didn't flinch. he didn't even pause his breathing.
you emboldened yourself, sliding your foot upward, tracing the line of his calf, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric. you pushed further, your toes seeking the heat of his inner thigh, moving slowly, deliberately. you watched his face for a crack—a twitch of the lip, a widening of the pupils, anything.
suddenly, his hand shot out.
his fingers clamped around your ankle with a grip like iron. the suddenness of it made you gasp, your breath hitching in your throat. he didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt, but the possessiveness of the hold was electric. he didn't look at you; he simply guided your leg back down to the floor and released you.
"the catalyst, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "unless you'd prefer i report to your professors that you're spending our sessions practicing your footwork." you felt a flush creep up your neck. the rejection should have stung, but the way he called you 'sweetheart'—that low, commanding tone—sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.you weren't finished.
"my chair is uncomfortable," you declared, standing up abruptly.
before he could respond, you rounded the desk. you didn't ask. you simply stepped between his legs and lowered yourself onto his lap, sitting sideways. you felt the immediate, firm pressure of his thighs beneath you and the heat radiating through his clothes. you leaned back against his chest, settling your weight comfortably, your hip brushing against the growing hardness in his trousers. valarr stiffened for a fraction of a second, but he didn't push you off. he didn't even stop holding the textbook. he simply shifted his arm to keep the book open in front of your face.
"if the chair was the problem, i'm glad we've resolved it," he said, though his breath was slightly heavier now. "now. the catalyst. try again." you let out a soft, feline hum, tilting your head back to look at him. from this angle, his jawline looked like it had been carved from marble. you reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his collar, playing with the top button of his shirt.
"i can't think when you're being so mean to me," you whispered, shifting your hips. you ground yourself against him, a slow roll that made you feel the exact shape of his cock through the layers of fabric.
valarr’s hand left the book. be didn't grab you; he simply rested his palm on your waist, his thumb digging slightly into the soft flesh of your hip. "you aren't being bullied," he noted, his voice steady despite the friction. "you're being tutored. there is a difference."
"i hate you," you lied, leaning in to press a lingering, wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. you didn't stop there. you trailed your lips down to his jaw, then to the sensitive skin just below his ear. you nipped at his lobe, feeling him shudder beneath you. you could smell him—the sharp scent of leather,cedar and the cologne he always wore. you moved your mouth to his neck, sucking a small, bruising mark into the skin, your tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin.
"valarr..." you breathed against his pulse point.
"love," he commanded.
you paused. you didn't want to give in. you wanted him to beg. you wanted the golden boy to break. you shifted again, rubbing yourself against him, feeling the dampness of your panties soaking through to his lap.
"hmm?" the composure finally snapped, though not in the way you expected. he didn't lose control; he took it.
one hand slid from your waist to your upper thigh, his fingers digging in with a sudden, bruising intensity. his other hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. he didn't pull hard, but he exerted enough pressure to force your head back, making you look him directly in the eyes.
his gaze was no longer cool. it was predatory.
"you think this is a game," he whispered, his face inches from yours. "you think you can just distract me with a few rubs and some kisses and I'll forget that you're failing this course."
"maybe i don't care about the course," you whimpered, your voice trembling.
"i care," he countered. "i care about your education. and i care about the fact that you've spent the last hour trying to see how far you can push me."
he shifted his hand from your thigh, sliding it upward.his palm brushed against the hem of your skirt, the fabric sliding up as he pushed his hand underneath. you let out a sharp moan as his fingers found the lace of your panties. he didn't go inside yet; he just pressed his palm firmly against your slit, rubbing in a slow, circular motion.
you were drenched.the friction of his palm against the thin lace sent sparks through your nerves, and you arched your back, pressing yourself harder into his hand.
"are you really that needy?" valarr asked, his voice returning to that terrifyingly calm, analytical tone. "can't even focus for one hour without needing to rub yourself on me? i thought you were my smart girl. i didn't realize you were this desperate."
"i'm not..." you gasped, but a loud, wet squelch sounded as he pressed harder, the moisture of your arousal lubricating the fabric. "i'm not desperate."
"your body says otherwise," he murmured.
he hooked two fingers under the elastic of your panties, tugging them ruthlessly to the side. the sudden exposure to the air made you shiver, and then his fingers were there—bare skin on bare skin. he didn't enter you immediately. instead, he used his middle finger to trace the length of your outer lips, dragging it slowly from your perineum up to your clit.
you cried out, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. "so wet," he observed, his voice a velvet caress. "it's almost embarrassing, isn't it? all this noise, all this bratty behavior, and you're practically dripping for me."
he pushed one finger inside you. he sensation was overwhelming. be entered slowly, testing the tightness of your walls, feeling the way you clamped around him. you let out a broken sob, your head falling back against his shoulder. "now," valarr whispered, his finger beginning to move in a steady, agonizingly slow rhythm. "since you're so fond of distractions, let's make a deal. for every question you answer correctly from the last chapter, I'll give you exactly ten seconds of what you want. if you get it wrong… i stop."
"please," you whimpered, "just... please, val."
"answer the question, sweetheart."
he began to move faster. the sound of it filled the quiet room—the slicking, wet noise of his finger sliding in and out of your drenched heat. you felt the air being pushed out of you in short, jagged gasps. he found your g-spot, hooking his finger upward, and you nearly blacked out from the intensity of the pleasure.
"the primary catalyst for the collapse" he demanded, his voice firm, commanding.
"the... the devaluation of the currency!" you screamed, the words tumbling out of your mouth as you chased the peak
"correct," he murmured.
he accelerated. his finger became a blur of motion, hammering into you, the friction creating a heat that felt like it was consuming you from the inside out. your right hand was locked onto his shoulder, your left hand reaching down to grip his wrist, not to stop him, but to pull him deeper. you were hovering on the edge, the tension in your lower belly coiling like a spring, your clit throbbing with every thrust
"and the secondary factor?" he asked, his voice a low hum against your cheek
"the... the war in the south!" you wailed, your hips bucking wildly. "the war in the south! oh god, valarr, please, i'm close, i'm so close—"
"one more," he whispered, his finger sliding deeper, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made you gasp. "who was the presiding monarch during the transition?"
"i... i don't... i don't remember!" you sobbed, your body shaking, your muscles tightening in anticipation of the release. "i don't remember! just let me cum! please, please, val—!"
you were right there. the peak was a shimmering wall just inches away, and you could feel it crashing down on you. your breath was a series of broken hitches, your vision blurring.and then, in one swift, clinical motion, he pulled his fingers out. the sudden emptiness was violent. you froze, your body still vibrating, the orgasm denied at the very last millisecond.you let out a sound that was half-scream, half-sob, your chest heaving as you stared at him with wide, betrayed eyes.
valarr didn't look bothered. he slowly brought his fingers to his lips, licking the cream of your arousal from his skin with a deliberate swipe of his tongue. he watched you do it, his eyes hooded and dark.
he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, the contrast to his previous ruthlessness making your head spin. he gently turned your face toward him, forcing you to look at him. your lips were parted, a pout of pure frustration and longing on your face, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears of desperation.
"maybe now you're going to learn to listen, sweet girl," he said, his voice returning to that composed, golden-boy perfection.
he didn't help you up. he simply tapped your thigh with his hand, a silent command.
"stand up. go back to your chair."
you didn't move for a second, the ache between your legs pulsing with a heavy, throbbing need. you felt ruined, empty, and more attracted to him than you had ever been in your life. slowly, you slid off his lap. as you stood, you felt the cold air hit your damp skin, and the uncomfortable, heavy wetness of your panties clung to you, a constant, dripping reminder of your failure.
you walked back to your chair, your legs feeling like jelly. you sat down, the mahogany desk once again separating you from him.
valarr leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and picking up his pen as if nothing had happened. he looked at you—really looked at you—and a small smile played on his lips.
"now," he said softly, pointing to the next page of the textbook. "let's start from the beginning. and this time, i suggest you pay very close attention."
𖥔 ݁ ˖ masterlist
𖥔 ݁ ˖ taglist: @valarrmylight @icebearcucumber @wooceanic @baeylei @sunshineflowersandkisses @darylandbethfanforever9 @pinkdoeweirdo @comzetogether @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @madefor-softerskies (let me know if you wanna be added or removed🤍)
cw: nsfw, sexual tension, no smut sadly, making out, drug use(weed/smoking), teasing, biting/blood kink themes, piercings, mdni
punk!aerion targaryen who is all sharp edges and black leather, a dragon in ripped jeans and a red leather jacket with a belt buckle shaped like a snarling wyrm, its eyes tiny, glittering rubies. his hair is pale, shaved on the sides, long on top, and he’s got more metal in his face than a hardware store—silver rings in his brows, his lip, his nose. and his tongue.. you’ve felt the barbell there, cold and surprising against your skin.he’s even had his canines filed to sharp little points. “they’re dragon fangs, angel,” he’d corrected you with a sneer when you called them vampire teeth. “don’t be basic.”
you’re curled on your bed, a soft, worn thing in a room full of pastel blankets and fairy lights, trying to focus on a dense chapter of political theory. he’s a dark, restless shape beside you,having promised, with a mocking cross over his heart, that he’d just “exist quietly” while you studied.the lie was obvious from the start. you feel him roll onto his side, the mattress dipping.you keep your eyes on the page.then you smell it—the sweet, skunky scent of his weed.a plume of smoke drifts deliberately across your textbook.you cough, a little involuntary jerk.
“aerion, stop,” you whine, waving a hand.you’d tried it with him a couple times, the world going fuzzy and warm, but right now you need a clear head.
he doesn’t stop.he blows another stream, right at your face, closer this time.you can feel the heat of him against your side. “makes me feel like a dragon,” he murmurs, his voice a low, smoky rasp. “breathing fire.”
you huff, trying to ignore him, to sink back into the words on the page.for a second, you think he’s listened.the smoke stops.
then you feel it.something cold and wet traces a slow, deliberate line up the side of your neck.the metal ball of his tongue piercing.followed by the sharp, dangerous scrape of his pointed teeth.a shiver, hot and immediate, coils low in your stomach.you’re wearing nothing but one of his oversized black band shirts and a little pair of red lace panties he’d bought you, and you feel suddenly, terribly exposed.
“aerion..you need to stop,” you breathe, but your voice is weak, thready. It’s not even convincing to you.
you can feel his smirk against your skin, that dragon-grin.he doesn’t stop.he licks, he bites a little harder right behind your ear, sending another jolt through you.his mouth moves to your jaw, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses.his hand, heavy with cold silver rings, slides up your bare thigh, his fingers tracing maddening, idle circles on your stomach, right at the elastic band of the lace.your own fingers tremble, clutching the textbook like a lifeline.his other hand, the one holding the smoldering joint, comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.it’s possessive, grounding.
then he moves.in one fluid, predatory motion, he’s over you, not crushing you with his weight but caging you perfectly.he kisses you, and it’s shockingly soft—a brief, gentle press of his lips.you can feel the cold metal of his rings as his hand continues its slow ascent from your stomach.
before you can process the tenderness, he snatches the book from your grip and tosses it off the bed with a dull thud.his lips come down again—or they start to.he pulls back at the last second, hovering just inches away, his blue eyes glinting with cruel amusement. he’s making you chase it.making you needy.
you see the smirk in the corner of his eye as you pout.he takes a long, deliberate drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs, watching you squirm.then he moves fast, crushing his mouth to yours. It’s all tongue—the piercing a shocking, cold counterpoint to the heat—and he exhales, the smoke flooding from his lungs into yours.you whine against his mouth, dizzy and wanting.
you can feel him, hard and insistent even through the thick black denim of his studded jeans, pressed against your thigh.he kisses you deeper, biting at your lip, each nip sharper than the last, until you’re arching up into him, a silent plea.
he breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at you.your lips are swollen, your eyes hazy.his expression is one of pure, triumphant mockery.
“what’s wrong, dove?” he purrs, his thumb swiping roughly over your bitten lip. “thought you had to study. thought you were so busy.” he grinds himself against you, slowly, making you gasp. “you don’t need books.you need me.you’re aching for it.i can smell it on you.” he leans down, his voice dropping to a vicious, hungry whisper against your ear. “so why don’t you be a good girl and beg for it? crawl for it. show me how much you really need your dragon.”
thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request!!! i lost a bit of my sanity trying to translate the high valyrian… but we persevere!!!
winds roared outside the walls of dragonstone, salted water crashing up on the rocky banks as the western sky bled from vibrant oranges and pinks into a black ink spill. inside the runic castle, jacaerys velaryon, the queen’s heir, held onto his lady wife with a bruising grip, her beautiful moans cresting his ears as he rutted into her slick.
“look at you — such a good girl. so pliant and sweet for me.” sweet whimpers of ecstasy leave your lips, hitting jace straight in the gut as he continues his tirade of praise over your body.
“jace!” you squeal, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons in their wake. your husband only grins at your whines, speeding up his movements and hiking your legs higher until the sweetness of your moans grow louder in a crescendo.
brushing your hair off of your forehead, jace grips your cheek, his hold tender and soft, a warmth spreading in your body that only he can wield.
“ñuha gevie riña,” he whispers, smoothing his fingers down the expanse of your collarbone. his hands are a juxtaposition of themselves; one a bruising grip on your thigh, while the other flits softly down your skin, leaving you a speechless, blubbering mess. “nyke daor pāsagon iksā ñuhon.”
the high valyrian wraps around jace’s tongue like ivy on archaic stone, his words unknown to you, yet the softness of them leaving you to believe they’re nothing but praise. your hands move from his shoulders, cupping his face with the softness of the maiden as jace stares down at you lovingly, a sheen of love in his eyes.
“you’re mine,” he laments, holding onto you a little tighter. “and i love you so.”
ñuha gevie riña: my beautiful girl
nyke daor pāsagon iksā ñuhon: i cannot believe you are mine
no I DO NO THINK YOU GUYS COMPREHEND, Rafe is one of the most fascinating characters EVER WRITTEN, stuck in a shit show...the most interesting facts about him were not even shown in the series, we were shown only the surface of the iceberg, and THERE IS SO MUCH MORE about him that we will never know...his childhood, his teenage years, how his father is just as much a psycho as he is, and the lengths Watd would go to protect his image and hide his son's deeds, how Rafe would be if he moved to different states, we resume to smut (don't get me wrong, it is amazing) BUT WHAT ABOUT HIM? HIS SOUL? I want to collect every particle of his soul bro, he is...miraculous.
-18+, arranged marriage, forced proximity!!!, husband!aerion loves pussy, controlling behavior, power imbalance, dornish/targaryen political tension, apology through sexual intimacy, oral f receiving, cum eating, aerion begging, dubcon-ish, no full intercourse!!
aerion targaryen had not wanted a martell bride, that was the simple truth of it.
when the match had first been proposed, he had regarded it as what it was, another arrangement crafted by older, wiser people who believed they knew what was best for the realm.
best for him.
he remembered standing beside a window overlooking blackwater bay when the news had been delivered. "a princess of dorne?" he had said flatly.
his father had given him a look. "a beautiful princess of dorne."
"i do not particularly care." and at the time, he had meant it, or at least he had thought he did.
then he met you and, unfortunately for aerion, everything became much more difficult, because you were beautiful, not merely beautiful in the way courtiers described ladies to secure favor, you were genuinely, devastatingly beautiful.
you were kind.
gods, he hated how much he liked that. your confidence, your sweetness, your fire…
the trouble began when they were forced to spend time together, before marriage there had been dinners, walks, appearances and conversations neither of you could reasonably escape.
at first aerion had expected them to be tedious, instead he discovered that you were clever. you challenged him, argued with him and even laughed at him. the first time you laughed directly at one of his dramatic declarations, he had stared at you in complete disbelief. "how dare you laugh."
"because you sound absurd!!”
aerion's jaw tightened at your insolence, but something in him stirred at the sight of your unapologetic smile. no one- no one- dared speak to a targaryen so, let alone laugh at their pronouncements.
"you find me absurd?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.
"i find your declaration that 'all lesser houses should bow before the might of dragons' rather theatrical for a supper conversation," you replied, taking a sip of wine. "especially when the only dragon present is the one carved into your knife handle."
he stared at you, speechless for a moment. the courtiers nearby had gone silent, their eyes darting between you both like spectators at a tourney.
"you walk a dangerous line, princess," aerion finally managed, though he couldn't keep the faint hint of amusement from his voice.
“and i must admit, your family's reputation precedes you." you said with a shrug.
a flicker of his old arrogance returned. "as it should."
"as it should," you agreed, much to his surprise. "but reputations are often exaggerated. i prefer to judge people by their actions rather than their bloodlines."
"and what have my actions told you so far?"
"that you enjoy being admired," you said thoughtfully. "that you're accustomed to getting what you want. and that beneath all that targaryen pride, there's a man who doesn't particularly enjoy being laughed at."
he leaned forward, "and what else have you discovered?"
"that you're lonely," you said simply.
his immediate instinct was to deny it, to push back with some cutting remark about dornish impertinence, but the truth of your statement left him momentarily defenseless. "i have a family," he said finally. "a dynasty."
"a family is not the same as companionship," you replied, your voice softer now. "a dynasty is a burden. a companion is a choice."
the evening ended with an unspoken understanding between you. as you parted ways, aerion found himself watching you retreat, the sway of your dark hair against your vibrant silks, the confidence in your stride. he had come to this marriage expecting to endure it, to fulfill his duty and nothing more.
now, for the first time, he wondered if duty might not be such a burden after all.
then came marriage and forced proximity finished what attraction had started because now you were everywhere.
at breakfast.
at supper.
reading by the window.
laughing with your ladies.
sleeping beside him….
the chambers that had once belonged solely to aerion suddenly felt empty whenever you left them. you had somehow become part of every routine, and months later, the transformation was complete. aerion adored you. there was no point denying it anymore, the servants knew, everyone with eyes knew, he followed you around the red keep whenever possible.
if you entered a room, somehow aerion appeared shortly afterward, if you mentioned liking something once, it mysteriously arrived days later.
flowers. spices. books. rare dornish wines.
anything.
everything.
the greatest shock, however, was how gentle he became with you…true, aerion targaryen would never be soft, but he was gentle. his hand always found the small of your back, he noticed when you were tired, when you were cold, when court became too much. it was as though he had developed an awareness of you that bordered on obsession.
yours and his first major argument had been simmering for days. you wanted to visit your family in dorne for the harvest festival- a reasonable request, in your estimation. aerion, however, saw it differently.
"you are my wife," he'd stated, his voice dangerously quiet. "your place is here. with me."
"and i am your wife, not your prisoner," you'd retorted, "i have not seen my siblings in nearly a year. my mother sent a raven specifically requesting my presence."
that night in your chambers, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. you stood by the hearth, arms crossed, while he paced before you like a caged dragon.
"it is not safe," he insisted. "the roads are perilous this time of year. and i do not trust dornish hospitality toward a targaryen princess."
"my family would never harm me," you said, exasperated. "this is not about safety. this is about control."
he stopped pacing and faced you, his eyes blazing. "i have given you everything- books, wines, silks from across the narrow sea. is that not enough? must you always test the limits of my generosity?"
"generosity?" you laughed without humor. "you give me trinkets while denying me the one thing i truly want- a connection to my home, my family. these gifts are chains, aerion. beautiful, expensive chains."
“you will not go and that is final.”
the finality in his tone was absolute, a royal command that brooked no argument. he stood before you, not as the gentle man who brought you rare wines, but as the targaryen prince who expected obedience.
for a long moment, you said nothing. you simply looked at him.
"very well, husband," you said, your voice dangerously soft. you turned away from him and walked to the window, gazing out at the darkened gardens of the red keep. "as you have commanded me."
a flicker of triumph crossed his face, quickly replaced by confusion. this was too easy. he had expected tears, pleading, another sharp retort. he had not expected this quiet, hollow acceptance.
"good," he said, his voice gruff. "it is for your own protection."
you didn't turn around. "of course. everything is for my own good. i am a fragile thing, after all. a targaryen princess who must be kept in a gilded cage, lest i break."
the sarcasm in your tone was a subtle poison. he took a step toward you. "that is not what i meant."
"isn't it?" you finally turned, your face a mask of serene indifference that was more cutting than any glare could have been. "you do not trust me. you do not trust my family. you do not trust my judgment. you only trust your own will."
you walked past him toward the adjoining dressing chamber.
"where are you going?" he demanded, his voice tight.
"to bed," you replied without looking back. "alone. i find i am not in the mood for company tonight."
you disappeared behind the screen, leaving him standing alone in the grand chamber. the silence that fell was heavier than any shouted words.
he stood there for a long time, the silence in the chambers growing heavier with each passing moment. the victory felt sour, hollow. he had won the argument, but in doing so, he had lost something far more valuable. the rooms, once filled with your vibrant presence, now felt cavernous and cold. the fire crackled, but it offered no warmth.
an hour passed.
the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting silver shadows across the rugs. he could not sleep. he could not think. all he could do was feel the vast, empty space you had left beside him. he was a dragon prince, heir to a dynasty, and he was being tormented by the absence of his wife.
finally, with a low growl of frustration, he pushed himself away from the chair and strode toward the dressing chamber. he didn't bother to knock. he threw the door open with enough force to make it slam against the stone wall.
you were curled up on your side in the smaller, simpler bed, facing away from the door. the room was dark, save for a single candle burning low on a table. you didn't startle at the intrusion. you didn't even move. you had been expecting him.
"get up," his voice was a low command, rough with exhaustion and anger.
you remained still, your breathing even. "i am comfortable here."
"i did not ask for your comfort. i gave you an order," he said, taking a menacing step into the room. "you will not sleep in here like a scorned servant. you are my wife. you will sleep in my bed."
slowly, you rolled over to face him. your face was illuminated by the flickering candlelight, serene and utterly devoid of the passion he so often provoked in you. "i am obeying your command, husband. you commanded i not go to dorne. you commanded i stay here. i am staying here. is this not what you wanted?"
his jaw tightened. "you know what i meant. do not play these games with me."
"i am not playing a game," you said, your voice quiet but clear. "you made it clear that my will, my desires, my home- they mean nothing. you have decided what is best for me. so i have decided what is best for me tonight. and that is to sleep alone."
the calmness of your response was infuriating he had not expected this quiet, unassailable wall of indifference. it was a rejection far more profound than any shouted insult could ever be.
he crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not bruising. "i will not be made a fool in my own home. you will come with me now."
you allowed him to pull you to a sitting position, your body pliant, but your eyes remained locked on his, filled with a chilling resolve. "drag me if you must, husband," you said softly. "force me back to the bed you wish to share. but know this. you can command my body to be there, but you cannot command my heart to follow."
his grip on your arm loosened. he looked down at you, at the woman he adored, who was now looking at him with the weary resignation of a prisoner.
he stood there, torn between the urge to throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to bed or leave you be.
"it was not my intent to make you angry with me." he muttered, his voice rougher than usual.
it was a pathetic attempt at an apology. he wasn't truly sorry about the slight, just sorry that you were upset, and you knew it.
"i am not in the mood for your excuses, aerion," you replied.
the thought of sleeping apart- of a night without your warmth, your scent, your skin pressed against his- was unbearable.
"please," he breathed, reaching out to gently take your hand. he pressed his lips to your knuckles, kissing them with a reverence that made his usual arrogance seem distant.
the targaryen pride that usually demanded submission from others suddenly bent its spine for you. he released your hand and dropped to his knees on the cold stone floor of the chambers, the silence of the castle amplifying the sound.
he reached for the hem of your sleeping gown, his hands shaking slightly as he worked the silk upward, exposing your legs to the golden glow of the firelight. aerion didn't waste a moment, he pressed his lips to the inside of your knee, his mouth hot and eager against your skin.
he worked his way down slowly, kissing his way along your calf, his tongue darting out to trace the path, his breathing growing heavier. he reached your ankle and gently kissed your bare foot.
"lay back, my darling," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, losing the boyish panic for a more settled, desperate need.
you obeyed, sinking into the softness of the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin. "you are not to make love to me tonight," you reminded him, your voice breathless as he settled between your spread thighs.
he froze, his mouth hovering just above your skin, his breath warm against your inner thigh. the command was a stone wall thrown up in the middle of his desperate supplication. for a moment, the arrogant prince warred with the pleading man. he had come here to conquer this silence, to erase the distance with the one language he knew you both spoke fluently. to be denied it now, when he was on his knees, was a humiliation he hadn't anticipated.
he lifted his head, his eyes locking with yours in the dim light. they were dark with a mixture of frustration and a raw, aching need. "you would punish me so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "you would have me worship you and then be denied?"
"i would have you understand," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs. "you cannot buy my forgiveness with pleasure. you cannot command my affection with your hands or your mouth. you denied me my will. tonight, you will be denied yours."
he stared at you, and you saw the moment he understood. this was not just about sleeping arrangements. this was about power, about respect, about the very foundation of the strange, fierce love you had built. he had tried to wield his authority like a sword, and you had just turned it back on him, showing him its edge.
slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head again.
for a long moment, he remained perfectly still, his forehead pressed against your thigh, his breath warm and ragged against your skin. then, slowly, as if testing the boundaries of his new submission, he turned his head. his lips, soft and reverent, brushed against your inner thigh, a question asked without words.
when you did not pull away, he grew bolder. his kisses became open-mouthed, his tongue tracing lazy circles against your skin, tasting the salt of you. he was worshiping, just as he had promised, but with a new, desperate humility. his hands, which had been clenched at his sides, came up to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there, a silent plea for permission.
"let me," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick with a need that went far beyond the physical. "let me show you."
you remained silent, your body still, but you did not stop him. that was all the encouragement he needed. he shifted, settling more comfortably between your thighs, his shoulders pushing them wider. the firelight gilded the white-silver of his hair as he lowered his head, and then his mouth was on you.
there was nothing hesitant about it.
it was a hungry and desperate.
aerion targaryen, the proud prince, was a man starved, and you were his feast. his tongue flattened against your folds, a broad, firm stroke that made your back arch off the bed. a soft gasp escaped your lips, a sound you couldn't contain. he heard it, and a low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh.
"gods, you taste like honeyed syrup," he slurred, his words muffled against your cunt. he was messy, unrefined, his usual aristocratic grace completely abandoned. he ate you like a man dying of thirst, his tongue delving inside you, fucking you with it before moving up to circle your clit with a devastating precision.
he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucked, hard. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands, holding him to you. he took it as encouragement, his enthusiasm redoubling. he alternated between sucking and flicking his tongue rapidly against you, one of his hands moving from your hip to slide two fingers inside you.
"is this for me?" he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat, his mouth never ceasing its assault. "this sweet, perfect cunt? all for me, my love?"
you could only whimper in response, your hips rocking against his face, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly giving.
he was a mess, his face slick with your arousal, his chin dripping. he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust and adoration, and the sight of him- your proud husband on his knees, his face buried in your cunt, worshiping you with his entire being- sent a bolt of pure ecstasy through you.
"that's it, my darling," he coaxed, his voice a husky whisper. "let me taste you. give me your forgiveness, pretty girl."
he curled his fingers inside you, finding that spot that made your vision white out, and sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.
“please? please?…” he continued to beg, his voice sounding whinier and whinier. "sleep with me in bed, come back to me..."
the tension that had been coiling in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. you cried out his name, your body convulsing, your thighs clamping around his head as you came.
he stayed with you through it all, his tongue lapping gently, his fingers stilling inside you as you shuddered through the aftershocks. when you finally went limp against the sheets, he gently withdrew his fingers and placed one last, lingering kiss on your swollen, sensitive flesh.
he crawled up your body, not to lie beside you, but to hover over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. he didn't try to kiss your lips. instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling slightly. he was still hard, a testament to his own desire, but he made no move to seek his own release.
"i am asking for forgiveness" he whispered, his voice raw and hoarse, “i am regretful, my love.” it was different from his earlier attempt. this was not an excuse. it was a true apology of a sort, stripped of all pride, offered in the aftermath of his complete surrender. "not for making you angry. for taking your will."
he lifted his head, his face still glistening with your essence, his dark eyes searching yours. "i will spend the rest of my nights proving my respect to you, if you will let me."
aerion looked at you as though you had hung the stars over king's landing with your own hands and perhaps, in his mind, you had.
his beautiful martell princess with your warm smile and clever tongue and impossible ability to make him love you- aerion targaryen had long since discovered there was only one thing he could never bear losing.
