Aymer took her as a hostage, not to harm her but to force her family into obedience. What he never expected was that she wasn't afraid of him at all. Her quiet kindness and the way she looked at him like a man, not a monster, caught him completely off guard. One day he lightly bruised his hand, nothing that serious, but when she stepped in to help, he snapped at her and pushed her away, too proud to show even a small weakness. She didn't back off. She stayed where she was, steady and determined, insisting on seeing the injury. That impressed him and when her fingers finally touched his hand, the gesture was so gentle it stopped him cold. No one had ever touched him like that, careful, calm, without fear. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, at the way she genuinely cared. Something in him shifted in that moment, sharp and unexpected...
Your writing always leaves me wanting more - thank you for creating such magic ✨💜
Tale as Old as Time
Pairing: Aymer de Valence x fem!reader
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: MDNI, no physical description of the reader, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, descriptions of violence, blood, kidnapping, enemies to lovers, disgustingly sweet, proofread once, no beta
Notes: I LOVED this request, and I hope I’ve done it justice! I made him a brooding romantic, sorry not sorry.
Your heart was beating loudly, tiny beads of sweat trailing the outline of your neckline. You’ve overheard a little here and there and were lingering around your father’s solar while he and other men were discussing your fate. Grateful for the first time in your life that you didn’t have any sisters, you took it with your head high; you were to be sent away from your home, the only place you ever knew, to your distant cousins up North, in anticipation of an attack and even a possible siege that was brewing against your father and his allies.
It made more sense to marry you off, especially for an alliance, as you were more than old enough, but your father, a stubborn, headstrong man, wouldn’t even hear about it. So you were sent away, in a simple carriage, with only one of your ladies. Kissing your brothers goodbye and hugging your mother, you barely looked at your father, trying to believe he had thought all of his options through and would send enough men to protect you from treacherous roads.
Unfortunately, your instincts were right - just as the sun was gently setting on the same day you departed, and just as you were reaching the castle of an allied lord, your carriage was surrounded, loud galloping and neighing making your beloved lady gasp in fear.
“Whose flag is that?” she asked, putting her hand over her mouth, peeking through the window.
The carriage stopped abruptly, men shouting and sneering mere meters away from you. You took a quick peek through fine curtains and sighed, staring at the blue and white striped banner adorned with red martlets.
“Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke.”
“The beast?”
A terrified whimper escaped your companion's lips, but the door opened with a thud, startling you both.
“Out, both of you!”
You met Aymer once, and although you were not introduced, you knew what he looked like, and the man playing nice and holding out his hand for you was decidedly not him. You hovered your hand in the air, your eyes settling on a huge man sitting on a horse that was seemingly too small for him. You cocked your head before setting it straight again, a small, polite, learned smile gracing your face.
In three long steps, Aymer de Valence and his irritating smirk were offering you his hand. He pulled his chainmaille hood off, showing a new, ill-healed scar across his bald head.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” your hand was small, nestled inside his, his long, strong fingers elegantly wrapping around yours as he guided you a little further away. “Has the Lord Edward’s castle fallen?”
You looked up, flashing another polite smile, looking again at those piercing blue eyes.
“No, my Lady.”
You glanced at those sharp, crooked teeth when he spoke, strangely captivated by them. He was still holding your hand, breaking all rules of propriety. Yet Aymer de Valence was known for such acts, his ruthless, brutal nature caring little for the laws of men or God. His dressing up as just another soldier amongst many, trying to trick you for what seemed nothing but his own amusement, was the most tame of the examples.
“We are attempting… A negotiation.”
A giggle escaped you, a warm and earnest reaction at Aymer calling this kidnapping a mere negotiation. He frowned and clenched his jaw, but you couldn’t help yourself, your fingers tightening around the edges of his gloved palm.
“Where are you taking us, Your Grace?” you finally managed to gain some composure, your pretty doe eyes still scanning his fuming face.
“Pembroke Castle,” he spat out, swallowing hard. It took him by surprise that you sniffed out his little rouse so quickly, and then effectively disarmed him with your pretty smile and politeness, treating him like you would any other nobleman.
He remembered you from that tourney, always giggling and wide-eyed, knights swarming you for your favour.
You gave three, two of them to your cousins, and one to a handsome young knight; Aymer didn’t even think to ask, but unhorsed the knight in the first joust. He’d often remember how, while all the ladies around you were gasping and covering their mouths, you were serious, calmly looking at Aymer executing his beloved horse.
**
It’s been a whole moon since Aymer took you hostage, and the negotiations have stalled quickly after that. Your lady was ransomed, not having much use for her, and would now send you letters, hoping that you too would soon be safe away from the monster’s grasp.
You didn’t mind terribly, however. You were fed, entertained, and left alone, well, mostly. Aymer was growing bored, it seemed, and would barely leave you alone, demanding your presence at every meal, even going so far as to bring you to hunts.
You had a free rein of the castle, as much as propriety allowed, and would spend most of your days among the books in the solar or embroidering. Aymer even generously procured some special threads for you when you asked, adding a couple more spools in different colours and even fine linen fabrics to serve as your canvas.
Your father decided to keep calling Aymer’s bluff, to your growing irritation. At first, you were fearful, not knowing what Aymer would do with you, and you were saddened by the realisation of how little you meant to your father, your family.
“No harm shall find you while you’re under my protection,” Aymer awkwardly told you, finding you distraught in the solar. He sounded… Irritated, almost offended by your tears.
“I never thought it would,” you wiped your tears and fixed your hair, trying to come to terms with your father’s harsh words. “These tears are not for you,” you added quietly, swallowing another sob.
Aymer nodded, relieved and angered at the same time. He had no idea where this need to walk to you and wipe your tears himself was coming from, to embrace you and hold your face in his hands. So he left it at that, letting you grieve in solitude.
As far as Aymer was concerned, your father was a moron. Caring so little as not trying to get you back, but at the same time not marrying you off, was one of the most idiotic decisions Aymer has seen. And not that you weren’t agreeable, far from it: kind, pious, and pretty.
Pretty enough that now, during the evening sparring session, he was losing focus, his eyes constantly trailing to you, sitting on a bench with a book in your lap. You didn’t pay any attention to it, your eyes glued to wherever Aymer would swing his sword. It became a common occurrence over the past few weeks, where you pretended that you would read just as he was in the yard, and Aymer pretended he wasn’t nervous when you’d be late to those sessions.
Swing after swing, he was trying to show off his strength and precision, even if he would never admit it, going so far to fight multiple opponents, leveraging his prowess and frame to impress you, catch that tiny moment when you would be smiling at him, your eyes wide and mouth slightly agape, before you’d quickly look into your book, trying to act as if you’ve never noticed him.
And then it happened; Aymer himself couldn’t say how, but he was struck on his sword-wielding hand, a nasty cut spreading from between his thumb and forefinger, all the way to his wrist. He cursed himself for not wearing gloves. As blood was dripping from his hand, he caught you in the corner of his eye, standing up and hastily making way towards him.
Everyone around him was frozen in fear but you, calmly demanding to see the wound.
“Curse you, woman,” he spat out, pulling his hand away and immediately regretting it.
“Let me see, my Lord,” you repeated in an even softer tone, your fingers already reaching towards the bloody mess of his hand, ignoring the frown on his face.
Aymer thought of you as kind, a little timid, a little naive, but suddenly realised you were the only person treating him like he was nothing but a man. There was no fear in your eyes, no hesitation, your fingers gently, softly touching the back of his palm. He was taken aback, unable to say anything, unable to think.
It’s been years since such kindness was extended to him, and despite craving it, now faced with it, Aymer didn’t know what to do, except stare at your face.
He was still thinking about it, lying awake in his chambers hours later. Your fingers, sullied in his blood, slowly sliding over his skin, patiently exploring, following the line of the cut, assessing for depth, asking him to move his fingers, massaging gently.
“I’m sure you suffered much worse, my Lord,” you said, flashing a faint smile and pressing your handkerchief to the wound, soaking it completely in crimson, watching his face relax.
Aymer already ordered his servants to clean that handkerchief to a pristine state, despite doubting that it was possible. He should at least get you more threads, more fabric, in case you wanted to make another. Perhaps a bracelet, to apologise. He quickly shook off the last thought, a weird feeling of hollowness spreading through his chest.
Then, he heard three quick, mousy knocks on the door, and in a blink of an eye, without waiting for an invitation, you simply opened the door, with two servants in tow; Aymer was too stunned to speak, watching you walk in, carrying clean rags and ointments, servants carrying hot water.
“Thank you,” you turned to the servants, watching them squirm uncomfortably.
“My Lady?” one of them asked, avoiding looking at Aymer.
Still, you dismissed them before turning to him; he was sitting on the edge of the bed, without his sleep shirt. Actually, you were not sure if he was wearing anything, a heavy quilt covering his lap. With all of his muscles on display and the idea of him being naked, you couldn’t stop the flush to your face, but you pretended it was the fire burning in the hearth.
You thought him strong and handsome, especially now, warm flames dancing across his handsome features, somehow making his eyes even bluer. The skin of his torso and his arms was taut, scarred, and a little paler compared to his tanned face, and you tried so hard to control your breathing.
“May I see?”
Removing the soaked rags from his hand, you slowly washed the crusted blood around his wound before gently applying a healing ointment, a faint scent of chamomile filling the chambers.
“Are you not afraid of rumours?” Aymer tried to get a read on you so badly. He wanted to desperately know the true nature of your feelings towards him, almost like he would be able to read your mind. He closely observed your face for any tell he might have missed, for any indication that his own feelings were making him delusional.
“Rumours, my Lord?” you were still spreading the salve, your fingertips almost ghosting over his imperfect skin.
“You are alone in an Earl’s chambers.”
And there it was again, that wholehearted giggle that you couldn’t suppress, your fingers resting lightly against Aymer’s forearm. His whole body stiffened, his brows furrowing, jaw protruding. He loved your laugh, but never when it was so agonisingly pointed at him. It wasn’t anger spreading through him, it was pain - not that he was adept at handling either of those, a red flush rapidly creeping up his neck as he clicked his teeth together, almost literally biting his tongue to not snap at you.
“I’ve been your hostage for weeks, my Lord. Do you truly believe rumours are not already abundant? Probably why my father doesn’t want me back, his daughter’s honour ruined by the beast,” you continued, trying to catch your breath, your laugh turning into a wide, warm smile that had Aymer’s heart beating a smidge faster.
“Why didn’t your father marry you off?” mellowed under your smile, and focusing on the way your fingers were rubbing into his palm, he cautiously probed, now fearing you might have been betrothed after all.
“When he sent me away, I asked him the same. I was actually convinced he would do so, for an alliance; it was only sensible. But instead, he remained stubborn, and I am now here. Alone in an Earl’s chambers,” you teased him, flashing another warm smile his way, but quickly looking away. You truly didn’t want him to know the depth of your growing feelings, as you still didn’t trust him completely. Somewhere deep there was fear after all, fear that he would hurt you, ridicule you.
“Who did you have in mind?” Aymer’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, his other hand gripping around the quilt so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Who did I think I should marry, or who did I want?” you were careful to make a distinction, because you truly had two different men in mind, not that your father wanted to hear about either.
“Who did you want?” his voice falling all the way to a throaty whisper, Aymer was trying to hide a tremble in himself.
He was bracing for disappointment and more pain - there were so many young and charming Lords, much more suited for a beautiful, young Lady such as yourself. You wouldn’t look twice his way, he told himself, if he hadn’t stolen you from the world.
“I’ve heard that the Earl of Pembroke is rather handsome.”
Aymer’s whole body went rigid so fast he forgot to breathe. You stilled as well, observing his reaction, wondering if you were too direct, too unladylike.
You were toying with him, he was certain of it. Ridiculing and mocking him, the same as you saw through his rouse when he stopped your carriage, you already saw through him and his hopeless weakness for you.
“Do not tease me, harlot!”
He jerked his hand away, jumping out of the bed with such force that you fell to the floor. His short, tight braies showed off his muscular legs that made your mouth water.
“Why would I do such a thing?” you tried to reason with him in the softest, silkiest voice your throat would produce. “And he’s strong, I watched him unhorse man after man at a tourney. Although not sure what to make of his predilection for kidnapping young Ladies.”
Aymer wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t even turn from the table to look at you, chugging goblet after goblet, small drops of wine trickling down his chin. You waited, your heart beating hard, before you finally had to admit defeat, to your utter embarrassment.
“Good night, my Lord.”
“Aymer,” he growled through his teeth.
“What? I couldn’t possibly…” it took you a moment to understand what he meant at first.
“You are in my bedchambers! You’ll address me in any way I like!” he threw the goblet across the room, just above the hearth, where it echoed against the stone wall.
“Yes, my Lord. Aymer. Good night.”
**
You couldn’t wait for your wedding day to end. There were so many people present at the ceremony and even more at the feast, including the king. Joyous celebration for everyone except your family, who looked like they were attending a funeral. You were nervous, so much so that even Aymer noticed, pushing for the pro forma bedding ceremony earlier in the evening, trying to be alone with you.
“You look sour,” he commented, getting up from the bed.
“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over.”
“Married to me for less than a day, and already sick of my presence?”
“Aymer,” you followed your brooding husband out of bed. “I’ve been so excited I haven’t slept for days. And then I started to think of all the ways this could go wrong, what my father had planned, if he had planned…” your thoughts trailed off as you grabbed Aymer’s hand, gently pressing kisses against the scar.
Standing on your toes, you craned your neck as much as you could, but Aymer stood unwavering. You peppered his jaw with kisses, your hands sliding over his chest and under his shirt. You could hear your breath stuttering, and feel flush spread through your cheeks, and heat through your maidenhood.
“I couldn’t wait for the day to be over, because I couldn’t wait to be your wife,” you whispered against Aymer’s skin, pressing harder into his body.
He finally relented, dipping his head to claim you in a feverish kiss, his huge hands settling over your waist.
“I love you,” he muttered, his cheeks reddening, before gently picking you up and laying you down on the bed. “I love you,” he repeated as he settled over you, his lips gently falling into the crook of your neck.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Hi, did you see this: https://gentoftekino.dk/halloween-frankenstein-med-besoeg-af-lars-mikkelsen/ ?
I don't know where you live, but might be of interest. Lars is going to be there in person in the cinema near Copenhagen for screening of Frankenstein on Halloween.
Summary: You clash with Aymer after another of his violent outbursts, but after you overhear something you shouldn’t have, you have no choice but to turn to him.
Word count: 3.2k
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, minors and ageless do not interact, NSFW, explicit, rape/NON-CON, non-consent, dead dove do not eat, no physical description of the reader except long hair, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, degrading language, domestic violence, religion and praying mentioned, power imbalance, abuse, sexual abuse, mentiones of pregnancy, angst, murder, no beta, IM SORRY SAM YOUR ACTING TOO GOOD
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
I will delete/block all hate comments and tags. If you don't like the content, don't read it, and feel free to block me. I am not responsible for the content you consume.
Notes: I decided to ignore history and pretend Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, was a fictional character based completely on the movie Outlaw King (2018). I did draw some inspiration from history, wars, and the suffering of women/AFAB persons in general.
A continuation of A Disgusting Animal and A Dirty Pig.
You were roused from sleep by the locks and hinges opening. It was still dark, long away from dawn breaking, and your candles were almost burning out.
Before you could even figure out what was happening, a big, strong hand pulled you by your ankle, sliding you down the bed.
You shrieked.
So many thoughts were going through your head, but were overshadowed by intense panic. You screamed again, trying to kick the intruder with your other leg.
Why weren’t your guards, your jailers, coming in?
“Settle yourself,” Aymer spat out, and you took a deep breath, your body still shaking slightly.
Your husband stood between your legs, which were hanging off the bed, and you could see faint shadows dancing over his face. He looked his typical self, angry and annoyed, his brows furrowed closely, his jaw tensed. He didn’t even bother to remove all of his chainmail.
You were told he would only be arriving on the morn, otherwise you would have waited for him.
“I couldn’t wait anymore,” he murmured between his teeth, almost like he could read your mind.
He was staring at you, taking in your figure, your hair splayed over the quilts, your shift that he bunched up your thighs, all the way to your waist, your cunt on display.
He liked that your first instinct was to try to fight him off - perhaps he should be ambushing you in such a manner more. A quick sneer graced his face before he continued unlacing his breeches, his cock raging against the fabric, desperately needing to plunge into you, feel your warmth and tightness.
“Wait,” you whispered, realising his impatience, trying to raise to your elbows, but Aymer pulled at your legs quickly again, making your back hit flush against the bed.
“Need you now,” he grabbed under your knees, lifting your hips slightly off the sunken mattress.
It sent shivers through you, those shameful, exciting ones, the way desperation dripped from his lips. You clenched your sheets and pressed your teeth together, before hearing and feeling Aymer spitting at your already hot cunt.
A tiny whimper escaped your mouth, which Aymer misunderstood as fear, but you knew better. He spat again, saliva landing all over your cunt and thighs.
“Shhh, shhhh, bunny,” he dragged his cock through your folds, watching how his spit glided down through them, before violently thrusting into you, his cock impaling you, splitting you in half.
Your yelp was lost among his moans, and you had never heard him moan this loud, grunting, whimpering, as he repeatedly buried his cock in you, his hips hitting at the back of your thighs, his balls slapping at your supple skin.
It felt devastatingly good, the way he was plunging in and out of your cunt, the roughness making you wet, that familiar knot in your stomach appearing, the hotness spreading through your whole body, your breasts growing tender, nipples hardening, your walls fluttering around Aymer’s hard cock.
He fucked you like a man possessed, raw and animalistic and needy, desperately wanting to empty his balls into you, to bind you to himself forever.
It hurt, the way his cock stretched you, but it was nothing compared to the way his cockhead kept hitting that one spot, over and over and over, or the way you knew your thighs would bruise under his strong grasp.
“Oh, bunny,” slipped from lips, almost endearingly in the way he whispered it, his eyes following yours, which were transfixed on the spot where your bodies met, as you watched in awe how your cunt greedily swallowed him repeatedly.
He thrust harder and harder, his eyes firmly trained on your face, watching how you bit your lips, which did nothing in silencing your moans. It drove him crazy, seeing you enjoying his cock this much, even if you would never admit it.
“You’re so good for me,” he moaned. “So good for your God-given husband.”
You could tell he was close by the way his hips stuttered and how he kept moaning your nickname, babbling almost.
Aymer wasn’t away for long, but before he left, he still hadn’t had a definitive confirmation that you were with the child he so desperately wanted. It was eating away at him, coming back and not seeing you swelled up, his seed growing deep inside you.
He had no idea what to expect upon his return, but to see you now so responsive, your back arching off the bed, those sweet little moans escaping your lips despite you biting your tongue, your whole body begging for more and more of him…
Aymer watched your flushed face illuminated more by the moonlight than dying flames, watched your furrowed eyebrows and mouth agape as you took in the pleasure, as you took in him.
“I shall give you a son,” he breathed out between his grunts, as he leaned forward, his body now enveloping yours, the final harsh thrusts making your whole body tremble as he came, his seed painting your insides, long, warm spurts you felt deep down.
He stilled above you, his breathing still ragged, shallow, his eyes scanning your face. Your finger gently traced the scar on his chin. You were fucked out completely, not that you had words to describe what you were feeling, and you still wanted him back inside you, your cruel husband who could snap at you at any given moment and who seemed to still only when taking you.
It was all too complicated. You knew that you were his the moment he decided so. Still, the sheer guilt of even thinking of liking someone who slaughtered your whole family was spread thick over you, dripping through every pore of your being, suffocating you sweetly.
And then there was the shame and embarrassment of enjoying your marital duties. You liked it so much that one evening, while Aymer was away, you kneeled on the same spot he had made you swallow his cock on your wedding night, and you begged and begged, for Aymer to force you again, take you again, find his peace buried deep inside you, with his cock or his vicious tongue.
Your mind drifted.
“Are you even listening to me, you vile whore?”
Aymer grabbed your face and pressed, his fingers into your skin and you into the mattress.
While you were reminiscing, he disrobed completely, which you had noticed, but he was also speaking to you, which, in your lustful fervour, you had not.
“I asked, who was here before me?”
His spittle was all over your face, and in one terrifying moment, you wanted him to lick your face. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sinful thought, and Aymer completely lost it.
He released you from his grasp, but kept raging about someone being here before him, buried between your thighs, or worse, as he kept destroying your chambers.
You watched him with terrifying stillness, sounds of fabric being torn filled the room, bowls and trays breaking, the high-pitched rattling sounds echoing against the walls, paintings and candelabras being tossed across the room, and Aymer’s voice, yelling, growling, screaming, demanding to know who defiled you, who dared to disobey him.
You knew he wished to hit you, to grab you by your neck and squeeze, watch the last breath leave your body. You saw how his whole body went rigid and the intimidating way in which his jaw trembled. He yanked you by your arm off the bed, hard enough that it hurt from the place where his long fingers enveloped your forearm, all the way through your elbow, to your shoulder. He continued to scream in your face, his forehead pressing against yours, accusing you of being too excited and too wet, too fast.
“As my wife, you shall answer me!”
He held a dagger in his other hand, his hot breath warming your entire face. Your eyes were half lidded, your body and mind too slow to process what was happening around you. And then you realised, you weren’t scared, not of him.
What it did to you, when he was acting in this manner, was a thought experiment for another time. But now, right now, you started to realise two things: how angry you were and how much terrifying power you had over him.
You pressed your forehead back against his, trying to find every last droplet of control not to slap him. However, you pushed him away, which caught him off guard enough that he stumbled half a step backwards, his eyes widening in surprise as he let go of your arm.
“You despicable, fucking… Fucking beast!” your voice was breaking, and although you tried to scream at him, it came out all wrong, ragged and primal.
It was Aymer’s turn to watch and be quiet, to try to make sense of his gentle, meek wife pushing back against him, to defy him so fearlessly.
“Did you never stop to think with that bald head of yours that I might like it when you take me? That I enjoy the depravities you subject me to?” you were flailing your arms around and tugging at your shift, your eyes tearing up from the weight of your confession.
“You tainted and corrupted me to my core, you disgusting, wicked man!” you grabbed the first thing you could reach and tossed it towards him, which in this case was nothing but a pillow he didn’t even try to evade.
“I’m sick and tired of your temper, you squealing paranoid pig!” As you were saying it, you pushed him against his chest, but he expected that one, his body staying unyielding. There was a weird grimace on his face, and the tiny muscles around his left eye were twitching. The first light was peeking through the window, and you could swear there were tears in the corners of his eyes.
And then he left, barely looking at you.
For the whole day, you wished for him to come back, even just to taunt and humiliate you. You could barely eat, reliving every moment again and again, biting at your lower lip until it started bleeding. When you finally left your chambers for supper, you realised Aymer was throwing a feast.
Hoping he wasn’t viciously drunk already, you slowly descended the stairs and narrow hallways, faint sounds of music and singing reaching you, until you turned a corner and heard two of his knights discussing you. You covered your mouth to stop yourself from gasping in fear, and, making sure they couldn’t see you, hurried to take your place next to your husband.
“We’ve started without you,” his voice was hoarse as he addressed you curtly, not noticing your unsettled demeanour. He pushed a cup of wine towards you, a sign enough for you to turn to him.
“I believed you,” you whispered, your hand reflexively grabbing at his forearm resting on the chair.
“You’re not making any sense, wife,” he leaned back, his eyes locking onto your fingers tugging at his sleeve. You had never before touched him willingly, and certainly not before others.
If what you had overheard was true, he was the last man you were supposed to talk to, but he made sure of it so you’d have no one else to ask for help, to depend on. No matter how much you hoped, in these short moments, that you were wrong and that this conspiracy was playing behind his back, what scared you was how much you wanted him to shield you, protect you, embrace you.
You were antagonising him from the very moment you met, and yet now, you wanted him to be soft, delicate even.
“When you said that I’m only yours,” your eyes were glassy and unfixed, and your fingers slid down his arm to wrap around his hand, your thumb grazing his knuckles.
Aymer cocked his head, swallowing hard. Something was wrong, terribly wrong if you were so eager to touch him so freely, to seek comfort so openly. Or perhaps, you were only trying to manipulate him, subjugate him to your womanly whims. His jaw clenched. He opened his mouth and promptly closed it.
“Bunny,” he was too weak to resist you, and he knew it. No matter how hurt or paranoid he was, he couldn’t be cruel when you were clinging to him like this. “What has transpired?”
You remained silent until he gently closed his fingers around yours, nudging you to look at him. You couldn’t see him clearly, your eyes full of tears, but you saw him leaning in. You mimicked, your lips almost brushing his ear as you brokenly whispered, with teary moans and swallowed gasps, about who and what you overheard.
“Please,” you begged him as you finished speaking, hot tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.
Aymer wanted to lick them away, to press his forehead against yours, to kiss your nose, and pull you into his lap, to tell you how much he… But he was incapable of doing any of it, bound either by propriety or his insecurity.
Instead, he calmly stood up and walked to the drunkards. You watched him lean in to the first one, the sneering, disgusting man you never liked, and watched his face change expression and colour as Aymer whispered something in his ear, grabbing him hard by his hair before coldly sliding his dagger across his throat.
The blood gushed out, spilling over the table and floor, terrified gasps and screams escaping everyone’s lips. Music died out as Aymer approached another man, who stood up, shook his head, and put up his hands, pleading. Other faces were looking at you, silently asking you to placate your husband, as if they didn’t know any better.
Enraged Aymer was a terrifying sight, but the cold and calculated one was a bone-chilling monster. Shadows illuminated by numerous candles danced across your husband’s face as he plunged his dagger into the man’s stomach, and then again, and again, and again, wet thuds accompanying every strike as blood spurted out, dirtying Aymer’s shirt, tiny droplets landing on his face.
He wouldn’t stop, hard exhales rolling off his lips as he kept stabbing a corpse, until you stood up, the creaking of wood against the stone heard across the room.
“Husband,” you asked silently, but knowing he could hear you. The only sound in the hall was the cracking of burning wood in the hearth. Aymer wiped his face, dropping his dagger carelessly. Some of the ladies flinched at the sound of steel clashing against the floor. Eyes followed him as he walked to you.
“I am tired. Would you escort me to my chambers?” your voice was soft, your breathing hitched. You knew if he went uncontrolled, he was capable of slaughtering the whole room.
He extended his hand that was completely covered in blood dripping from it, and you looked at it, long and hard. Aymer’s squire, a poor lad already used to his murderous tantrums, was hurrying with a pitcher, timidly offering Aymer his own cloak to wipe his hands on.
You accepted his hand, cold and still a little wet, as murmuring voices and trembling faces followed you to exit. You were both quiet until you reached your chambers, Aymer closing the door with a loud thud.
He finally let his mask slip, his hand wrapped around your wrist. He was breathing hard, his chest steadily going up and down, as he tried to find the right words.
“No one, ever, is to even look at you again,” he gritted out, his teeth literally making a sound as they clenched together. He opened his mouth again, just to be surprised by your lips crashing into his.
You pulled him in, your hands clawing at his neck, your lips sucking at his. Aymer’s shoulders dropped, his body relaxing around yours. He let you lead as you were both tugging and pulling at each other’s clothes.
“Bunny,” he whimpered out, making your heart beat harder.
His hands were gentle, gentler than they had ever been before, leading you back to bed. You kept kissing him, desperate to feel him all over again, free of the shackles of guilt and shame.
His cock was already hard, pressed against your thigh, as you sighed in his mouth. He gently picked you up and placed you on the bed, positioning himself over you. His mouth immediately dropped to your neck, kissing you with a frightening care and softness.
Aymer wanted to get lost in you and your scent and your touch. He wished you to belong to him so badly, and for so long that he wasn’t sure what to do now, except to pray that you would stay, that this moment would stay, that it wasn’t a trick or treachery, or a cruel game. His free hand was sliding up and down your body, as if trying to memorise you all over again, almost as if he couldn’t believe that you were allowing, encouraging him to touch you.
“Oh, bunny,” he moaned into your neck, his hand spreading your legs, brushing lightly against your slick folds. To say that you were sinfully aroused by watching him execute the men planning on bringing you harm would be an understatement. You were always aroused by his violence, even if your pious self never wanted to admit it, not even to yourself.
Your hands were propped against his shoulders as you slowly pulled him towards yourself, kissing him as he settled between your legs, his cock resting lightly between your folds. He tried to keep still, but his hips were shallowly thrusting, his cock sliding over your sensitive bud. You moaned out in pleasure, and Aymer swallowed it, every little breath you would give him.
You moaned his name as he entered you, slowly pushing in, your walls struggling to accommodate him. It was exactly how you always imagined it, the way he was taking you, slow and gentle, cautious but sensual.
“Come closer, husband,” you whispered, your hands sliding over his strong chest and muscular arms.
Aymer obeyed, immediately dropping to his elbows, his sweaty body searing into yours. He moaned, the closeness overwhelming him. You traced the scar on his head, your fingers ghosting over his eye and the bridge of his nose, all the way to his lips. You pushed in slightly, tracing over his crooked teeth, as Aymer continued to slowly rut into you.
He placed a small kiss on your fingertips before kissing you, pushing his tongue into your mouth. It was wet and sloppy, but you loved it, melting into him. The knot in your stomach was warm and deep, growing tighter. You could feel every crease and bulge of his cock against your walls, every twitching vein, the slow build-up making you press harder against Aymer’s skin, leaving crescent imprints all over his neck and shoulders.
His stomach slid over yours, a little fat he had there driving you wild as you nibbled on his jaw, licking the same place to soothe it. His thrusts quickened, deepened, and your back arched off the bed, again.
“Such a good bunny,” he moaned into your temple, “taking me so well.”
The pleasure unexpectedly crashed through you, and you moaned, loud and long, and Aymer with you. It lasted longer than any of the times before, your body shaking as you desperately clung to him, your vision completely fading, and for a moment, you weren’t aware of anything except Aymer, whispering my bunny over and over again, pumping his seed into you for a second time today.
You hoped it would take, if it hadn't already.
*♡•
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: As your wedding day approaches, you wonder if Aymer will indeed subject you to all humiliating acts he promised you.
Word count: 4k
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, minors and ageless do not interact, NSFW, explicit, rape/NON-CON, non-consent, dead dove do not eat, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, mentions of pregnancy, no physical description of the reader except long hair, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, degrading language, medieval way of thinking (whatever that means), religion and praying mentioned, power imbalance, abuse, sexual abuse, first draft, no beta, IM SORRY SAM YOUR ACTING TOO GOOD
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
I will delete/block all hate comments and tags. If you don't like the content, don't read it, and feel free to block me. I am not responsible for the content you consume.
Notes: I decided to ignore history and pretend Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, was a fictional character based completely on the movie Outlaw King (2018). This is a continuation of “A Disgusting Animal”, but can be read separately.
Gifs by a wonderful @sallymaywritings
Although he demanded a complete submission and wasn’t above occasionally humiliating you in private, being betrothed to Aymer de Valence at least meant one thing: no one else was to even look at you. You were oddly intrigued by his possessiveness, but not enough to actually inquire about it.
After that first night when he forced himself on you, you entered a weird haze, being numbed to most of the things happening around you and to you, while still trying to make sure that everyone else who found themselves in the castle during the siege was doing well. Men were dead, your uncles hanged, and other women bore a fate similar to yours, but Aymer kicked most of his soldiers out to tents, lavishing them with roasts and cellar wine, ordering them to behave.
All of your father’s lands were transferred to him, and he named your cousin as the protector of those lands, requesting a monthly tithe, but allowing your family to remain in their home. As the wedding day approached, your numbness was fading, and fear started to take its place; you would often remember Aymer’s words, what he promised to succumb you to during that night, and how he still hasn’t followed through with it.
You had a suspicion that he was saving it all for the wedding night; those threats, and the one that came after as well, made your stomach drop. It made you sick, how he would pretend to be a man of religion, but then subject so many innocent people to such cruelty. However, you weren’t surprised, not really, as many of his status acted in the same manner, except his brutality surpassed them all.
You trembled through the wedding ceremony and through the feast; Aymer nudged you to eat more and drink more.
“You’re going to need strength, bunny,” he whispered in your ear, his hot breath lingering, making you nauseous.
“There won’t be any blood in the morning, so I’m afraid someone will have to witness the first thrust,” he sneered, and you could feel the blood draining from your face.
“Liar,” you whispered, knowing there were ways, a cut here or there, enough to fool the masses. And it wasn’t like no one knew what transpired on the night of the siege. No, this was nothing but another exercise in humiliation.
You watched as grease dripped down Aymer’s chin, realising he heard you, but chose not to respond.
When the time for the bedding ceremony arrived, you were drunk as never before, desperately clinging to him as your wedding guests kept undressing you both, although more cautiously than you’d initially believed.
He pulled a sheet over you both, bunching your shift up a little just enough for him to sheath himself fully in one trust.
You yelled out, tears welling in your eyes as you listened to noblemen and their ladies giggle at your pain and humiliation. It hurt so much, much more than any of the previous intrusions. The worst part was that when you looked up, Aymer wasn’t even smiling, instead looking intently at your face, his eyes carefully scanning every grimace, every expression.
“Everyone out!” he yelled with such anger that the room went quiet immediately, everyone leaving like scolded children.
“Don’t think I forgot what I promised you,” he was pouring himself more wine, leaving the bed as soon as everyone else left, leering at your body as you lay in bed, as you were wiping away the tears with trembling hands.
“Come here,” he finally said from the foot of the bed, his tone calm, but the smirk gave him away.
You hesitated, but complied, standing in front of his naked self, his cock hard, leaking, red.
“Kneel.”
You did so, averting your eyes from his crotch. Cold stone was biting into your knees and ankles, kissing your skin. You were already used to his smell, but your lips trembled when he stepped closer.
“Open your mouth,” he grabbed his cock, guiding it towards your lips, tugging at it with those despicable hand movements.
You looked up to him through still teary eyes, pleading, begging. Why was he inflicting all this sin onto you, damning you both?
“Please,” a plea escaped your lips, a desperate one. You were married now, no matter how much the thought repulsed you, and you were supposed to consummate it in the way it celebrated God.
“Don’t look at me like that, bunny,” he whispered, something dangerous infused in his tone, his brows furrowed.
“Now open your mouth. And don’t even think of biting."
Again, you complied, opening your mouth a little, head of his cock smearing something over your lips, as he nudged in. One of his hands tangled in your hair, holding you still, the other settled on your jaw, his thumb pressing surprisingly lightly at your chin.
You opened more, allowing for all of his thickness to slowly enter, his cock lying heavy on your tongue. He moaned, his hips shallowly thrusting, dragging over your tongue and lips. You were nothing but an object, a living statue he used to satisfy his carnal, sinful needs.
You realised he was taking your mouth in the same manner he took your maidenhood and would probably spill his seed down your throat.
It churned your stomach, what he was doing; it went against every lecture the nuns instilled in you, and yet again, how could you not obey your husband? The first edict they taught was submission, and wasn’t that exactly what you were doing? Submitting to Aymer the Valence, a man who forcefully took you against your will, but then married you, a man who was now forcefully pushing his cock in your mouth, moaning and licking his lips.
And then you realised only half of him was in your mouth, and a new wave of fear overcame you. How much will it hurt, when he pushes all the way in? Where will it go?
For now, he was more than happy with the current arrangement, his thrusts deepening a little.
“Yes, bunny, well done. Just like that,” he moaned loudly with every other thrust, ordering you to keep your eyes open. You didn’t know if it was wine or him, but you felt that heat down there again, like you did when he took you the very first time.
Your cheeks flushed immediately in shame, an odd tear rolling down your cheek onto his fingers. It was so debauched what he was doing, sinful, wrong, and yet you strained to open your mouth wider without him even asking you to, your tongue tentatively moving a little, almost licking him, exploring his undershaft.
“Oh, bunny,” he moaned again, and you could feel his cock harden even more in your mouth, his tip now hitting the back of your throat in quick, frenzied thrusts. Saliva was dropping down your chin, and you tried wiping, but when you started gagging around him, you instinctively leaned your hands on his muscular thighs.
Still, he wouldn’t stop, thrusting harder until his heavy balls were hitting your chin, his wet skin sticking to yours.
“Almost there, bunny, I’m almost there,” he moaned out, pulling at your hair, although not painfully so.
With one thrust, he sheathed himself all the way, spilling on the way over your tongue and down your throat, the taste of his seed surprising you as you swallowed. It felt sticky and salty, not a bad taste at all, not like you were taught.
Aymer pulled out, his cock leaking over your pristine shift, and he smiled, showing off his crooked teeth, looking down at your puffy lips and red eyes.
“Remember what I promised you, bunny? That I’ll ruin you so badly you’ll start enjoying yourself. Are you enjoying yourself?”
He laughed when you shook your head, a tiny sob escaping your burning lips. Aymer ordered you to get up and then pulled your shift off you, tossing it to the ground.
“What’s that, bunny?” he asked, pointing at a wet spot on the floor where you were just kneeling, a treacherous proof of your arousal. He smirked as your arms covered your breasts.
“Don’t be shy now, I’ve seen them before,” he whispered, pulling your arms apart by your wrists, and pressing in, hard. You looked up to him, and he kissed you, tasting himself on your tongue, before playfully biting your lower lip. You gasped.
He walked you back to the bed, his lips tugging at yours, his tongue penetrating your mouth, but allowed you the grace of climbing on, instead of outright pushing you to the bed. He crawled over you, and you prepared yourself, closing your eyes, waiting for another assault.
Instead, you felt his lips in the crook of your neck, sucking, leaving more tiny bruises upon existing ones, his bald head dragging against your face, and then lower, to the swell of your breasts.
He sucked on your hardened nipple, playing with the other one between his fingers, groping, massaging; it felt devastatingly good, that ache between your legs growing again.
He rubbed his face over your skin, small gasps and moans escaping his lips as you kept yours pressed tight.
You wanted him to touch you again, make your whole body spasm, force you to experience that unholy pleasure that was plaguing you during your waking hours.
“I know you’re too chaste to ask for this sorta thing,” he mumbled against the sensitive skin of your stomach, his head sliding even lower. “But I shalll never deny you.”
Deny what, you almost asked, but held your tongue.
“By the sunbreak on the morrow,” he continued, pressing kisses just above your opening, “you’ll be enjoying yourself so much you might even grow fond of me.” He laughed directly into your cunt, his hot air sending shivers through your spine, before licking a wide strip all over.
“Aymer, please,” your voice trembled, religious teachings roaring through your head all over again, the same thoughts about sacred union and sin passing through your mind.
“I think I want to be a disgusting pig tonight,” he taunted you, pulling you by your hips and guiding your legs over his shoulders. You felt so exposed, vulnerable, literally naked.
Your throat was still hurting, and you touched your swollen lips.
“Your taste, bunny! Wars were fought for a cunt this delicious!”
Another taunt, you thought, but as Aymer went back to licking you, you wondered if he was telling the truth after all.
It was hard to relax, but Aymer wouldn’t back down for a moment, his tongue pushing into you, then licking at your sensitive bud, sucking at it like a hungry animal, before introducing a finger inside you.
You almost gasped, but pressed your teeth together, swallowing any sound that threatened to escape your bruised throat, trying to control your uneven breathing.
You reminded yourself again that he already ruined you, and wondered if enjoying yourself would cast you deeper in the pits of hell. Perhaps, you were simply too weak to resist. A first moan escaped your lips, as Aymer continued his advances, lapping at your cunt like a man starved, moaning into you, sending deep shivers through your whole body.
It started to feel good, so good.
“Please,” you shamefully whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear you, but he laughed, introducing another finger into you, using them like his cock, plunging in and out of you, constantly commenting on your taste and smell, threatening, promising to do it every night from now on.
You were hoping so badly that he would tire, you were even praying he would get mad at you and punish you instead, but his tongue was relentless, determined.
“Are you close, bunny? Are you going to come in my mouth?”
You could feel the smirk against your folds, his fingers now lazily pumping against your rather limp body. You just let yourself go at one point, and stopped fighting back, not even sure if you were allowed to after the priest blessed your union.
“Don’t make me force your mouth open again,” he peeked at your face, noticing how strained your jaw looked. He lapped at your cunt some more and then smiled again.
You knew why: you could feel yourself trembling around his fingers, that treacherous feeling in your stomach close to exploding, flooding your body with warmth and pleasure. Aymer pressed just above your opening with his other hand, making you feel a little uncomfortable at first, but soon you focused on the feeling only.
Of course, you had opened your mouth as he requested, and you tried to relax as he also requested. When in doubt, always listen to your husband, that awful nun would say, and partially to spite her, you decided to listen.
His tongue and his lips still wouldn’t leave your sensitive bud, and he curled his fingers, touching a part of you that you never knew existed in the first place.
You felt heat pooling, and also heat in your face, but at the same time, a weird feeling in your breasts, around your nipples, like they were being touched, despite his hands firmly pressed against or in you, and your own gripping the sheets like your whole life depended on it.
The rest of your body tensed a little as well, heels digging into his back, your hips raising slightly from the bed into his mouth. The very first moan escaped your mouth, and then the second. Aymer continued, as you moaned his name, burying your head into the nearest pillow; he didn’t correct you this time. The whimpers continued to spill from your mouth as you agonisingly bit into the pillow.
Then, that wave of pleasure washed over you, your vision cutting off, your body starting to tremble slightly as you writhed in overstimulation, feeling it harder, stronger than before. You opened your eyes suddenly, realising your cunt was doing something different as well, a gush of liquid flooding Aymer’s face as he started cackling like a madman.
Surely, you thought, this is how it ends.
A wife is meant to endure, to receive, not to let herself wickedly enjoy the sins of the flesh, even if it was her husband offering them freely. And this was a test, it must have been, and now you’ll feel the full grasp of Aymer’s wrath.
Yet, he continued to lick and suck, at your inner thighs, rubbing his face all over your skin, making it all sticky with your juices.
“Oh, bunny,” his whisper broke the silence. “How am I to tear my face off your pretty cunt now? How can I deny us both this pleasure?”
To say you were confused would be an understatement, trying to still your breathing, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. Your legs were still shaking, and your eyes were teary once again, this time from the intense pleasure Aymer graced you with. Before allowing you to come down fully, he turned you, pulling you to your hands and knees, and biting your buttock, hard enough for you to yelp.
And then, he mounted you like an animal.
The intrusion wasn’t painful at all, but the position was utterly humiliating.
“What are you doing?” your voice was high, quivering.
Aymer immediately set a pace, thrusting quickly in and out of you, his hips hitting at your backside, just like his balls, his hands possessively gripping at your waist.
“Oh, bunny,” he murmured, following it with another wave of moans.
It felt treacherously good, his fat cock dragging between your walls again, pushing and pushing, his cockhead kissing all those pretty places that made you feel so good.
You bit your lip hard to keep such thoughts at bay, but that wave of shame and guilt you were so patiently waiting for never came.
He was so obscenely loud, and yet you had to admit, deep down, you liked the praise. You liked hearing him say that he enjoyed you endlessly and wanted to spend every waking moment buried in you. You even liked it when he kept on babbling about how he wanted to make you come every day. And you especially liked it when he said he wouldn’t be parted from you, ever.
“Your cunt,” he mustered between heavy breaths, “is so tight.”
He was fucking you like he was trying to prove something, mark you, possess you, own you.
“Are you enjoying yourself, bunny?” you could hear him smile, his fingers pressing eagerly into the sensitive skin between your waist and hips.
An especially deep and painful thrust brought you back to your senses. He was fucking you like you were a bitch in heat, a completely undignified way to treat his new bride.
“Stop it!” you exclaimed in despair, trying to move, but his hands held onto your waist and hips, his knees locking yours in place on the bed.
“You are mine,” he pressed through his teeth, fucking into you harder, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room, echoing on the floors and walls.
You still resisted, trying to escape his feverish grasp, but to no avail; no matter how much you tried to move, desperately reaching towards the bedframe or crawl forward, you were helpless against Aymer’s determination and strength. He effortlessly held you in place, not even gripping harder, his huge hands simply enveloping you.
He didn’t mind you on your elbows, as long as your ass was presented up, your red and aching cunt on display. His head fell onto your back, sliding over your sweaty and soft skin with every thrust. And he was speeding up.
“You are mine,” he grunted again, emphasising every word with thrusts that were making you cry out. He was aggressive, strong, wild, taking you with such force as never before, trying to cling to his claim.
“You shall give me an heir, bunny,” he breathed out. “Strong, proud children. I shall seed them into you every night.”
You were still squirming under him, making him crazy.
“You are mine, bunny!” he roared, his teeth dragging across the small of your back, all the way to the sides of your ribs. “Say it!”
“No!”
“Say that you’re mine!”
“No!”
And then he started biting, leaving teeth marks across your skin, grunting like a feral boar, fighting to hold you steady as you desperately clawed at the pillows, trying to reach the headboard.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he raged, until he finally spilt deep inside you, hot, sticky seed filling you whole, his hands still gripping you tight.
When he finally let go, you fell forward, flat on your stomach, heaving, gasping for air.
Aymer was pressing open-mouth kisses up your spine, his hand cautiously, gently caressing you, moving your hair out of the way. He lay down on you, pressing his whole body weight against yours, burying his head in the crook of your neck. He mumbled something against your jaw, but you couldn’t quite understand him.
“My bunny,” he mumbled again, pulling your face towards his, kissing you tenderly; no biting, sucking, or licking, just a long caress of his lips against yours.
You shivered, shocked at the amount of sweetness he was capable of showing, showering you with, drowning you in.
His fingertips were ghosting circles over your shoulder blade, as he was pressing quick kisses against your cheek.
He finally allowed you to slip his grasp. Your legs shaking, you walked toward the pitcher of cold herbal tea, using it to clean yourself up. The cold made you shiver, your thighs clenching against the feeling, although it felt good against your battered cunt.
But the more you did it, the more you shook, until you finally broke down, sobbing. You sank to the floor, not even noticing the scrape against your knee, but hearing quite clearly the jerking motion with which Aymer stood up.
“Shhhh, shhh, shhh,” his voice was soothing against your forehead, his hands pressing you against his still sweaty chest - you didn’t even notice when he sat down next to you.
“Why didn’t you ask me?” you wept, clutching at his arms, your nails digging into his muscles.
“All of this could have been avoided, the siege, the deaths, the cruelty… If only you came to me.”
“What are you speaking about, bunny? What is troubling that lovely head of yours?”
“The marriage,” you looked up to him, his brows furrowed, his mouth slightly ajar. “When my father refused, why didn’t you come to me?”
He wiped your tears away with his thumbs, the frown becoming more prominent.
“What good would it do? So you could also laugh in my face?” he spat out with a ferocity of a wounded animal, his face almost reflexively taking on that enraged expression.
“I would persuade him,” your hand reached up, acting as if on its own, pressing your open palm against his scarred cheek.
What you didn’t expect was for him to melt into it, a short exhale escaping his lips.
“You would have never taken me, bunny. You never wanted me,” his voice was barely above a whisper, a slight tremble in his voice. “A dirty pig, you called me.”
“Aymer… Of course I would. I was well aware of your reputation and thirst for slaughter. And you could still… You could still do whatever you pleased, with me,” you swallowed sharply, memories suddenly burning at you.
He didn’t respond, his huge hand resting at your neck, the knuckles of the other one still caressing your face. It felt almost loving, romantic, the way he was looking at you, the way he was speaking.
You stood up, Aymer with you, steadying you, his hands tracing your arms.
You reached for the cup of tea, but he swatted it out of your hands, the wooden cup clinging against the wall.
“How dare you?” he screamed in your face, grabbing your shoulders. His temper finally rearing its ugly head, a man who just a mere moments ago was caressing you like you were the most precious thing in his life was not staring at you like he wanted nothing more than to snap your neck.
You were so shocked you couldn’t even cry out, staring back at him.
His face was flushed, sweating profusely, the grimace so enraged and so terrifying you couldn’t even think. If you thought you saw him angry before, you were wrong.
And then it clicked.
“It’s not that type of tea,” you mumbled, but it was obvious he couldn’t hear what you were saying.
“I know you’re with child!” he pushed out his jaw when he spoke, his thumbs digging deeper into your shoulder. “My child!”
“Aymer,” you tried to steady your voice. “It’s not that type of tea.”
His eyes were observing your face, his teeth grinding against themselves, and then, like in a trance, he simply eased his touch.
“It’s chammomile,” you said gently, grabbing another cup and bringing it up to his face.
“I prefer it to water.”
You didn’t dare tell him that it was truly too early to tell if you indeed were with a child.
Still, the seed of doubt was planted in his mind, and he resolved to keep an eye on you, and if he couldn’t do that, then keep you locked up. It would be best for you and your fragile psyche, really, and he could also keep you away from prying eyes and prying hands, away from those lustful lords and their poisonous tongues.
Yes, Aymer decided back when you talked back to him in front of all those lords and knights causing his cock to immediately harden under the weight of his heavy chainmail, you were to be his, by will or by force.
Yes, Aymer decided as his body enveloped yours, pulling the furs over you, you were to be locked up, kept safe. He listened to your deep breaths, watched as your body relaxed into his. His poor, poor bunny, trembling in fear before he found you, before he saved you.
*♡•
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: In which your timid baby finally bares his teeth.
Word count: 1.4k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, unprotected sex, p in v, slight biting, porn without plot, plot what plot, first draft yolo, no beta
You were rolling your hips slowly, excruciatingly so, his cock deep inside you as you rode him.
To him, it felt like hours since you started your torture, bringing him to the brink and then not allowing him to come. His handsome face was flushed, sweaty, and teary-eyed, his muscles tense, strained, and his fists constantly going from open to clenched and back, shaking the whole time.
“Please,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Please, what?” you rolled your hips a little faster, drawing a surprised gasp out of him.
The sheets were drenched in his sweat, and you could feel his thighs trembling under you. His eyes were so wonderfully glassy, fixed on you. Your slick spilt over him, the wet skin sticking together.
“Please let me touch you,” he whimpered, his lips pouty, but his eyes were begging.
A soft afternoon light was peeking through the blinds, illuminating the tiny beads of sweat on his taut skin.
“Is that all you want, baby?” your hand dragged over his chest and his abdomen, dragging more pathetic whimpers out of him.
“I want to come,” his voice was weepy, breaking. “Inside you,” he quickly added, one of his hands hovering over your hip, hoping you’ll allow him to wrap his long fingers around your waist, but knowing better than to do it without asking.
And yet, you still hoped you would break him soon, that one of his whimpers would be too much, too far, and he would pin you against the mattress in a second and take what he wanted. Perhaps, soon, you thought, licking your lips, moaning as you circled your hips, angling yourself so his cockhead would drag those pretty sounds from your lips.
You liked how nothing else existed in his mind at that moment but you. The whole world could be falling apart around you two, and he would still pitifully beg to be buried inside you for a moment longer.
“You want to come, baby? Spill inside?” you continued your slow movements, enjoying how his cock made you feel tiny shivers through your whole body. Poor guy had no idea what he had: those huge, sexy hands that made you crazy any time he would place them on you, those big, needy eyes that were constantly observing you, watching intently what you liked, no, loved, and that big, veiny cock that had you unravelling in no time. And the way he would say please every time, the way he would wait for you to come home on his knees, begging to lick you before you even had a chance to take a shower.
His utter devotion already made you come three times, twice in his mouth and once on his cock, that beautiful, fat cock that deserved to be worshipped over and over again, no matter what he believed.
“And you promise to be good?” you touched your tits, squeezing your nipples and watching his eyes go wide.
The first time you allowed him to touch you like this, he simply placed his hands on your waist and sped up a little. You still liked watching his face as he came, feeling his seed spill in you, his desperate little pleas, but you just needed more.
“I promise,” he whined, now fisting the sheets like his life depended on it.
He smelled so sweetly when he begged, the flush spreading through his whole body, his cock twitching inside you.
“And do you remember the rules, handsome?” you watched as his face turned a deeper shade of red at your compliment, from his chin all the way to his ears, his eyes fluttering at your lips, almost as if unsure of what you just said.
“I can -fuck, I have to be rough and fuck you hard,” his eyes were now glued to your bouncing tits again, his sweaty hair glued to his rugged face, another moan freely escaping his throat as your pussy momentarily spasmed around his cock.
“And the most important rule?” you asked, guiding his hand to your mouth and sucking at two of his fingers.
His whole body went rigid instantly, his jaw clenching and eyes flickering shut, his abdominal muscles tensing as he desperately strained not to come, despite wanting to fill you so badly and watch his seed leak out of your fucked-out pussy.
“I…” his voice stuttered a little. “I focus on myself. On my pleasure.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing so shyly.
You flashed him a smile that knocked the breath out of him, parting his lips, his beautiful blue eyes flickering with adoration.
“Fuck me, baby,” you cooed sweetly, wondering what he would do. Same thing as always, press his fingers into your flesh, and then continue the torturous tempo, while obsessing over how you feel? Or would he finally do as a trained lap dog and fuck you hard and rough, as you asked him to?
He snapped his hips, making you fall forward with a playful shriek, your hands pressing firm against his chest, and then, in one quick move, turned you both around, your back hitting the soaked sheets.
Guiding your legs around his waist, he started slowly, still pacing himself, but his tongue was hard and demanding in your mouth, his lips sucking on yours, his forearms framing your head.
His mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth dragging over your sensitive skin as he picked up his pace.
“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered against your neck as he slammed hard, drawing a loud, pleasurable moan out of you.
“Don’t stop, baby,” you breathed out between moans, your nails dragging over his back. “I need you, baby, don’t stop.”
“Like this?” he inquired, his voice rough and laced with something different as his cock slid in and out of you, the knot in your stomach tightening.
“You feel so good, baby, so big,” you continued cooing sweetly in his ear, encouraging him further, chasing your own pleasure as he fervently fucked you into the mattress.
A moan escaped him, as it always would when you praised him and his skills in bed. Your sweet, needy boy, trying so hard to give you what you asked for, fucking you in the way he never did before, making all those pretty little sounds escape your lips, sounds of moans and whimpers mixing with his grunts.
“Does it feel good for you too, baby?” you dragged your lips over his temple, your nails digging deep in the skin of his back. You were close again, so close, and you were scared he was holding back because he could feel your cunt fluttering around him.
“I want to make you feel good,” you moaned out when he didn’t respond, desperately clinging onto him.
“Baby, please,” more desperate pleas spilt from your lips as you dug your heels into his back, pushing him deeper into you.
He stilled, and you could feel his cock twitching inside you; he bit your shoulder, hard, and grunted, the intensity of his orgasm overwhelming him.
The way he clung onto you and bit you, his body pressed over yours, the desperate sounds of him coming, and the scent of his sweat were enough to tip you over as well.
You came, for the fourth time this afternoon, whimpering his name, completely losing yourself in his arms and the feeling of warmth and pleasure spreading through your whole body.
“Oh, baby,” you peppered his temple with soft kisses, your hands tangling in his ruffled hair. His breathing was still ragged, and you could feel little droplets of his spit around where he was still biting you.
He finally got up on his forearms, immediately crashing his lips against yours, kissing you passionately.
“You’re still shaking,” he sounded slightly worried, and yet, didn’t even try to pull out. He loved nothing more than to stay in you, for as long as possible, feeling his spend slowly drip out of you.
“Yeah,” you laughed, playfully kissing his nose, your fingers playing with his hair.
“That’s all on you, though,” you teased him, watching his ears get red again, a shy smile spreading on his face.
Instead of responding, he buried his face into your neck, mumbling into it.
“Can we go again, please? Like… Can we try it this rough again?”
“Yeah, baby? Would you like that?”
“More than anything.”
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: Your favourite coworker is tense, and you want to help him relax - with your mouth.
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, oral (m receiving), facial, slight exhibitionism, porn without plot, plot what plot, speed write, first draft yolo, no beta
Notes: Are we going to give him a name? He looks like a Nate to me.
You closed the door behind you, biting your lip.
“You look so tense,” you said, before he even had a chance to speak, that tired expression marring his face; he flashed a smile, an exhausted, almost tormented smile, and let the pen drop from his long, nimble fingers.
You knew what was bothering him - your relationship, the undefined hookup you had last week. He kept repeating after, how it shouldn’t have happened, even apologising once that he took an advantage over you, you being a junior employee, and him a psychologist technically in charge of your well-being.
Not that you ever had a session together, but morally, your situation was definitely grey, and yet, not only did you not care, but it turned you on.
Your sweet, pliable, stunted boy, moaning hard from the moment you impulsively kissed him until the moment he came, gripping at your hips like his life depended on it, his fingers leaving a faint bruised imprint against your skin.
“We should talk,” he finally mustered, a long sigh escaping his lips after you sat on the table, in front of him. Still, he didn’t tell you to get off. Sure, the glass was frosted, but anyone could see an outline from outside. Worse, the door wasn’t locked. You bit at your lip to suppress your own sigh, trying to ground yourself, pace yourself.
“About how you’re overworking yourself? You need to relax, baby,” you pouted, trying to get a reaction, but he remained silent. Still, you could see signs of his resolve faltering when his fingers wrapped around the knot of his yellow tie, pulling at it. You smiled.
“Please, let me help you relax, baby,” you whispered again, sliding down, all the way to your knees, rough carpet scratching the skin of your palms as you steadied yourself. You could see him already straining against his trousers, his mouth slightly open, his chest already noticeably going up and down. You moved a little more under the table, waiting for the moment his resolve would finally break.
You knew he wanted you, in any way imaginable. He was a little insecure and repressed, and utterly obsessed with you already. When you kissed him first, he looked at you with those confused puppy eyes, almost as if believing you mistook him for someone else.
It turned you on a little how, despite being older than you, he was still a little inexperienced. You still giggled just thinking of how red his face was when he asked if he could take you from behind, like he was asking for something perverse.
Finally, he slid his chair closer, his hand already grasping against his thighs before you even had a chance to unzip. Slowly, sliding your hands up, you freed his cock, a wet spot already blooming on his boxer shorts, surprised all over how heavy it felt against your palm. Your thumb reflexively slid over the raging, glistening head, and you kissed the tip of his cock, your hand grasping him at the base.
He was trying so hard to stifle his moans, grasping so hard at his things, you almost felt sorry for him. You kissed the knuckles on his hand, sliding your tongue over his fingers, before you finally took pity and started licking his cock. A glorious whimper escaped his lips, and you looked up through your eyelashes, his blue eyes already locked onto your face, his breathing rough and uneven. You didn’t even take him into your mouth, and he was already unravelling.
“Tell me when you’re close,” you whispered against his hot skin, tracing a bulging vein with your tongue, before finally taking him in your mouth. Another drawn-out needy moan filled your ears as you started to suck, just a little, intent on teasing it out for as long as possible. You had this one specific fantasy, and the heat was pooling in your pussy already, but you firmly decided on focusing on his pleasure only, not wanting to push him that hard at the moment.
You took a break, parting your lips from his cock, a thick line of spit connecting you; he whimpered at the sight of it, his cock twitching in your hand. How was this man unravelling so hard above you, all because of a sloppy blow job, was escaping you, but you were enjoying it. His office, usually clinically silent and devoid of any scents, was now filled with his tiny gasps and a faint smell of his sweat. He hopelessly pulled at his tie again, and you returned to worship at the altar of his cock.
It felt so divinely heavy against your tongue as you struggled to take him deeper, to swallow it all, desperate to feel the soft hairs of his happy trail caress your face. You succeeded for a moment, despondently trying to breathe through your nose, but his cock was pressing so deep and hard you gagged around him. Your eyes teared up, and you went back to sucking him, listening to his moans growing louder.
You wanted him to tangle his hands in your hair, to pull you against himself, drive his hips against your lips, fuck your mouth the same way he fucked your pussy, just give in and use you as if you were nothing more but a vessel for his pleasure, but you knew he was too timid for it, for now. He was still swallowing hard, his eyes almost shut as he looked at your puffy lips, his fingers grappling at the fabric of his pants, his whole body rigid and controlled, acting as if he was inconveniencing you.
“I’m close,” he muttered to your surprise, because you really didn’t do that much at all; you could feel the slick dragging against your panties from how horny you were, knowing you were making him this crazy. You continued, working with both your hands and your mouth, to bring him closer, until you heard the beginning of that one long moan that would always betray him.
Then, you pulled your mouth off him slightly, still jerking him a little, his seed painting your face in hot little spurts; he came with a broken whine that was awfully close to turning into a sob. You licked the tip of his cock clean, feeling the sticky fluid glide down your cheeks and nose, before your fingers greedily guided it all to your lips.
“Can I fuck you, please?” His voice was quiet, stuttering.
You looked up to see his face red again, embarrassed, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Of course, baby. How would you like it?” You smiled, still licking your fingers.
He whimpered.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: Your timid boyfriend is desperate to fuck you.
Word count: 0.6
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, whimpering (male), porn without plot, plot what plot, first draft yolo, no beta
“Please,” he whimpered, his whole body flushed, different shades of red creeping across his skin. His baby blue shirt was open fully, showing off the soft muscles you knew he was hiding under all those three-piece suits.
He pushed his boxer shorts down impatiently, now rutting between your folds, your panties completely soaked with your slick and his precum, his sensitive cock dragging over your clit. He already made you come twice, his tongue licking and sucking, his long fingers pumping and playing with your panties until you were all but screaming his name.
His hair was a mess, eyes heavy-lidded and on the brink of tears, his hands gripping your legs as he nestled between them, watching your tits bounce just a tiny bit.
“Please,” he repeated, a desperate plea, begging you to allow him to finally bury his cock inside you. You could see sweat soaking his shirt, tiny beads sliding down his neck to his glistening chest, knuckles turning white from desperation.
“Come here, baby,” you whispered, and he immediately complied, sliding to his elbows, his face so close to yours, yet he held back from kissing you.
You did it for him, tangling both of your hands in his hair, pulling him close to smell his desperation, crashing his lips onto his, nudging his mouth open with your tongue.
He moaned into your mouth, small thrusts of his hips forcing your legs even wider, his skin soaring into yours.
“I’ve been good,” he whimpered out between kisses, his voice breaking, his sweat falling freely all over your naked body, your hands teasing his neck, sliding over his shoulders and back again into his auburn hair.
“How long do you think you’ll last, baby?” you teased, wondering if he’d do it without your permission.
He let out a rather pathetic whimper, pressing his nose against your face, his whole body trembling. You moved your panties and guided his cock to your opening.
“Fuck me, baby,” you finally whispered softly.
One.
Before you even finished your sentence, his cock was dragging over your walls, and you moaned out, goading him further. In an attempt to flip the script just a little, he stayed buried, his whole body straining not to immediately blow his load.
“You feel so good in me, baby,” you whispered into his ear, as more moans escaped his lips.
Two.
You knew what he was doing, trying to drag it out as long as possible, trying to enjoy you as much as possible. You’ve never had a man be this pussydrunk on you, so obsessed with making you come and just being in you.
“It’s okay, baby,” you cooed. “You deserve this, making me feel so good. You deserve to feel good too,” you mewled, feeling his cock twitch between your wet walls. “Are you gonna flood my pussy?”
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
You could feel him before you could hear him, hot spurts deep inside you, a loud broken moan into your mouth, his blue eyes barely staying open. You could feel his cum leaking out, dripping down your skin and soaking your panties further.
It took him a while to come down, his body on yours, his head buried in the crook of your neck as you gently stroked his hair, pressing an occasional kiss to his temple, his softening cock still buried in your pussy.
“Such a good boy,” you whispered, feeling him harden inside you again.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: Deputy Governor Hayes wants his pretty little secretary
Word count: 1k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, vaginal fingering, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, porn without plot, plot what plot, first draft yolo, no beta
Notes: I re-watched Starred Up and went down a horny spiral. I can’t quite form coherent thoughts right now, so I hope @cintoasted will forgive me for borrowing the format that she uses for her sinful thoughts.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who, as time passes, openly leers at you anytime you are in his office. He likes it a lot, you noticed, when you wear pencil skirts, and sometimes you even tease him by bending over in front of him to pick up a paper that accidentally slipped your fingers.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who lets you clean up a nasty cut on his cheek that he earned from a prisoner. He sneakily trips you so you fall into his lap, still focused on his cut and almost naively unaware of the way he looks at you when his huge hands inevitably find their way to your ass. It’s practical, really, he tells you, so you don’t slide off while attending to him.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who is jealous of every other man you flash a smile to, especially Oliver, the bane of his existence. Oh, how he would like to mark his pretty face, beat him until his nose is broken and bleeding.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who realised quite quickly the effect you have on him - where before he wanted to rage and destroy, now he channels all that energy into scheming how to be alone with you and how to get into your panties. There are days when he feels like just one finger would be enough to satisfy you both.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who palms and tugs at his cock every night in bed, your name falling from his lips in shallow whispers, as he imagines your mouth around his tip, swallowing him like a good girl as he face fucks you mercilessly.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who literally corners you in his office when your hands are full. Your blouse is loose, he says in that deep voice, his eyes trailing lower. You follow his gaze, realising that your button has wrangled loose, exposing your lacey bra. He doesn’t wait and doesn’t ask for permission, but simply steps closer, his hot breath on your face as you stare at his long fingers that slide over the flimsy fabric, one of them gently touching your skin, and buttons it up for you.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who enjoys making you blush and hearing your breath hitch, who loves watching how you desperately press your thighs together when he leans in and whispers something into your ear.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who gets into the habit of putting his hand on your ass when you bend over his table. It’s on you, really, he tells himself, even after you kindly ask him to stop. If you really wanted him not to do it, you would stop bending over like that.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who purposefully keeps you working longer hours when most of the offices are empty, so he can coax you into his office and offer you a drink. You refuse, but change your mind when he asks if you’re sure. It’s whiskey, strong, and he chuckles when you cough. You jump out of your chair when he locks the door, your face looking like a little doe caught in the headlights.
I’m not gonna hurt you, love, he says, approaching you, moving your hair away from your face and your neck, as he swiftly turns you on your feet and presses your back flush against his chest.
Sir, you plead, and immediately realise that was a wrong decision, as you feel his cock harden against your ass, his hands trailing over your waist, his face sliding over your neck as he trails your exposed skin with his nose.
He moans hard as one of his fingers dips under your skirt, trailing the wet spot in your panties.
Tell me this is for me, he whispers in your ear, pressing his lips there. Tell me you’re this wet because of me. You nod, half in fear, half in excitement, noticing he’s grinding against you in the same tempo as he’s circling his fingers over your clit. He ignores your sniffles and doesn’t stop until you’re done shaking after he made you come, your nails buried into his forearms.
Deputy Governor Hayes, whose possessiveness over you only grows over time after you start avoiding him, unsure what this callous man wants of you. You swallow hard every time you see him, and avert your gaze, flush spreading over your cheeks, driving him wild.
Deputy Governor Hayes, who finally breaks one night when you’re late in his office, both trying to find a document you swore you left on his table in the morning. You’re already bent over the table, sifting through paper after paper, when you realise his hands are on your hips, and his cock is hard against your ass again.
Sir, please, you try again, but he takes it as permission, ripping your stockings and pulling your panties down.
Sir, you ask, your voice trembling, frozen in place as he grinds against your ass, holding you in place. He pushes you a little until your face is against the table, and then he pulls your skirt up.
Such a pretty sight, he moans, and you can hear him unzipping, rubbing his leaking cock over your stockings.
Did you wear this for me, he asks, lining himself against your glistening opening and pushing all the way in, ignoring your pleas to stop. He drags his cock through your walls, hitting all the way to your cervix; he’s impatient, but you’re tight, so impossibly tight, and he wants to make you feel good, too. I wanted to fuck you for so long, words slip from his mouth as he pounds into you harder, rougher, his hands digging into your waist.
Sir, please stop, you try again, I’m not on the pill. Your eyes are all teary, and your breathing shallow, but you can’t deny he’s making you feel good, perhaps better than any man before has made you feel. His cock stretches you in such pleasurable ways you’ve never known existed.
Good, he says, and you can feel spurts of his seed painting your insides. I’ve always wanted children.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
