BLACK ROSE.
✿ ‧₊˚. ᯓ the flower of rebellion, unrequited love and tragic endings.
ft. siren!rafayel
synopsis; the beast you were sent away to marry in exchange for the freedom of your village is needy and uncontrollable during his heat.
content; monster x human, NONCON, possessive behaviour, rafayel thinks he owns you (you were sold to him), injury, pain, blood, a siren in heat, mating bond mentioned, f!reader, biting, forced marriage, forced breeding, use of plugs, pregnancy mentioned.
notes; kinktober day 24 - prompt: noncon. dividers by @/cafekitsune + @/saradika-graphics
wc; 2386
A gentle touch stirs you from your slumber. The hand dances across your chest, following each curve and dip like it's trying to memorise your body. You stretch, a low groan slipping past your lips, and your fingertips brush pass something unfamiliar, something slimy and wet and—
You jump up, so fast that your vision blurs. You find your feet unsteadily and a sharp pain ripples up your left leg when you try to step away from the bed you woke up on.
Your heart sinks as your memories slowly begin to worm their way back into your head. The blissful moment where your mind was too sleepy to fully comprehend where you were is cut even shorter than usual today, thanks to him already being by your side.
"I see my beautiful bride is finally awake, took you long enough. You must have been tired." Says the man—beast—whose care you find yourself under.
"I am not your bride." You state, voice hard and certain. "I had no choice, they chose me. Th–they sacrificed me."
He sighs, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Perhaps, but you are mine now nonetheless. Come back to bed." He pauses, noting your lack of movement. "Please."
You wince, it's unusual for him to ask anything of you with… manners. His politeness is unnerving, but not as unnerving as the scales that dot themselves across his otherwise pale skin. You're not dense, you recognise the signs, you grew up hearing stories of the great Sirens—how they only have one true mate, how intense the bond can be, how it makes their heat cycles even more potent…
The scales on his skin are light in colour, with blue and green hues to them like he's the embodiment of the ocean itself. You take a moment to let your mind run wild before he asks of you what you know he will. In your head you scream at your parents, your village, at how callously they all discarded you in exchange for the measly scraps this monster offered them.
You breath deeply, the beginning of his cycle is less demanding, he's more needy, more desperate for any touch your unwilling hands will provide. The rest of his cycle is another thing entirely… It's like a switch flips in his head, he'll bite you, tease you, mock you for being so easy to control. His nails will drag across your face and he'll lick the blood that trickles down your cheeks. He's cruel—crueller than what you thought possible from another living thing.
But when he's pawing at you, whispering sweet things into your ear in those weeks between heats it's easy to pretend that that is it, the only him you'll ever see. That sweet, caring, very overbearing and slightly controlling monster. The one that makes you feel more loved than you've ever felt before.
The click of his tongue forces your head to turn back to him, snapping you out of your melancholic daydreams.
You've lived through two of his heats since being locked in this place. You know that no matter how sweet he sounds now by next week you'll be sore, bruised and exhausted from his ruthless, brutal fucking. And no amount of showers or time spent scrubbing at your skin will ever rid you of the feeling of his hands on your body.
"I said come back to bed." He states, voice already ragged and much more sharp than it was mere moments ago.
There's a flash of something dangerous in his eyes, so you relent. You take a tiny step forward. The change in his demeanour is laughable, or it would be if you weren't so terrified. No longer is he narrow eyed and gloomy with that familiar anger written plainly on his face—an anger that is capable of making you bend to his every whim.
Instead, he actually smiles at you, soft, gentle, like the moment you get within his reach he won't pull you into his arms and pin you underneath him until he's satisfied with how stuffed your cunt is with his seed.
A burst of flame erupts behind you, forcing you to stumble forward out of harms way. You can feel the warmth graze your back. The smell of singed clothing fills the room. You yelp, the pain from your ankle reigniting when you put weight on it again. Tears well in your eyes, your head aches from the broken sleep you've had recently and so you let him pull you into his arms, already wishing this night to be over.
He tuts at you, his touch is gentle as he slowly peels your burnt lavender slip over your head. He discards the material absentmindedly and his eyes glaze over as he catches sight of your hardened nipples. You draw your hands up to cover your exposed chest, wanting nothing more than to pluck his eyes from his skull to stop him from looking at you. But you know there's no point hiding, you know what he wants from you.
And he always gets what he wants.
He grabs your wrists and pins them down by your sides easily. You hiss, a cat-like noise that comes from deep within your throat. It fills your heart with triumph when you notice the shiver that runs down his spine at the sound.
The light in your room is warm. In those hours when he leaves you alone you curl up against the wall and think about all those times you used to watch the sunset before bed. It reminds you of home. The orange colour is familiar in a way that's painful. Maybe that's what he wants.
"You know how badly I ache for you, it's not fair for you to hide yourself from me. It upsets me when I can't see you." He pouts, tears already spilling from his bloodshot eyes.
God, you wish it was calculated. It's been so long since you've had any contact with another person… maybe you're just used to him now, but, fuck, you can't stop yourself from feeling a little sorry for him—sorry for hurting him.
You can see so clearly that the pain on his face is real. The way he shivers when his lips latch onto you, rolling his tongue over your neck. Marking you in that horrific way only he can do. The last bite marks he left have yet to fully heal and when he pulls away from your neck you can see tiny speckles of your blood adorning his wet lips.
He wraps his arms around your head, caging you in and pulling you closer to his chest. He towers over you, his monstrous size still surprises you. You've never asked—never wanted to learn more about the beast—but at a guess you'd say his tail alone reaches 7 feet. As a man he isn't so huge, but he probably still stands over 2 feet taller than you.
You don't see his tail often. But sometimes—when he's had a particularly bad day, or he just craves that extra bit of affection—he likes to make you watch him swim. There's a large curtain that covers the wall furthest from your bed. Or rather, you thought it was just a wall, until the first day he had asked you to watch him and he had pulled it back to unveil the largest water tank you've ever seen.
Sometimes when you stand there watching him preening you forget where you are. The colours of his tail are beautiful, it's impossible to deny that. It looks different every time you see it, the evening light makes him seem purple, with soft patches of dark blues and greens woven in. In the early hours the scales seem more pink, with hints of orange and sky blue littered along the side.
His skill under the water is remarkable, he manages to seem so delicate—he reminds of you a figure skater with how precise his movements are—that it's hard to believe his kind can be capable of such horrific violence.
After all, he is the reason your village is in such a wreck. That's why your parents were so willing to send you away.
Your life in exchange for your villages freedom.
"What are you doing? You're not looking at me…"
The beast's voice cuts through your daydreaming. There's a pout sitting on his face, his cheeks are flush and his eyes are lined with unshed tears.
"What do you want?" You snap, your voice uncertain but filled with a raging fire that makes your captor shiver with anticipation.
Your head is turned away from him but with just one finger on your chin he tilts your face until he's satisfied with how close your lips are to his.
"Don't look away from me, how many times do I have to tell you this?" He sighs like he's trying to think of ways to remedy the behaviour of a misbehaving child.
You don't answer. Instead you struggle against his hand, trying—and failing—to wrestle out of his grip.
"You know you can't overpower me, sweet girl." He chuckles, as if your struggle is amusing. "But we can rough-house if you'd like. We've never done that before, but I could never refuse my bride's wishes."
Your eyes widen. You go still and an ice cold shiver runs up your spine. With a slow shake of your head you refuse his query.
He smiles. "You're so beautiful," he sighs dreamily. Seemingly forgetting about your snappy tone just seconds ago.
Rafayel—the name he insists you call him—brings a cold hand towards your face, pushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. He leans towards you before tilting his head questioningly. There's an unusual look in his eye, one that you can't quite place.
"You're going to help me now."
It's not a question.
You whimper, but fear keeps you from shaking your head. You feel rooted to the spot, a shiver runs over you that Rafayel seems to take as you being nervous with anticipation.
"It's okay, little thing, don't be scared." He coos softly, like he's worried about you. "You've helped me so many times before–you're perfect. You'll never let me down, will you?"
He slides a hand down your hair, softly petting your head, like you would a troubled dog or a shy cat. The repeating motion does manage to calm you slightly, he can tell by the way your breathing slows and how your eyes slowly begin to flutter closed.
He smiles as he moves your legs apart, running a finger down the inside of your thigh. You're so small, so delicate. Easily broken if he's not careful.
When he pushes his cock into the wetness between your legs he swears loudly, his body shakes violently as the mating bond ignites. He feels it take over, the rational part of his brain disappears completely as a raw, animalistic growls slips out of his mouth.
He hears your whimpers, but they're distant, far away, not something he's concerned about right now. All he can think about is the way you wrap so perfectly around him, taking him so well, like you were made for him.
You—his love, his bride, his mate.
He trembles, arms shaking and he buries his nose in your hair, breathing in your smell like he's done so many times before. He fucks you relentlessly, hard and fast and rough enough that you'd be bouncing off the bed were he not holding you so tightly.
His thrusts begin to get sloppy, mewls of your name fall from his tongue as he works himself closer and closer to the edge.
You cry out, from pleasure or pain Rafayel doesn't know, and suddenly the thread holding his sanity together snaps. He grips your hair tightly, pulling your head towards him and smashes his lips to yours. Your hands scratch at his back and he can't hold himself back any longer.
With a final grunt he cums, spilling his seed into your cunt. He knows he's filled you, he can feel how stuffed you are. He's certain that it'll drip down your thighs and pool beneath you once he can bring himself to pull out.
He always makes sure to plug you up once he's finished, pushing the cum that drips out onto your legs back inside you with his fingers and rubbing it all over your pussy. Sometimes he even brings it to your lips and forces you to taste it on your tongue before he smashes his lips to yours and runs his tongue across your face.
He also likes to keep his hand on your pussy after he's pulled out, keeping your entrance covered and making sure not to let any more of his seed escape.
Because you never know… Maybe this time it'll stick and he'll finally be able to call you the mother of his child.
The very thought sends a shudder over him.
His groaning fills your grey cell as he collapses on top of you, already pathetically whiny and needy. He pulls you into his arms, cock still nestled inside you—for now—and buries his head against your face, nuzzling and pressing chaste kisses to your skin.
It's always like this, like a switch flips in his head the second he cums. He's still possessive, but as he places kiss after kiss on your skin you can't help but wonder if maybe he's not all that bad.
Because… you were made for him. You've always been his, long before you met, long before your village was built.
If this was wrong, surely you'd have felt it by now?
Surely you wouldn't understand what he means when he says the mating bond pulls him to you?
Surely you wouldn't relate to the stories he tells of how true mates have an understanding beyond words?
These thoughts swirl around in your head and you shudder, eyes screwing tight as you slowly slip unconscious. Rafayel's voice lulls you to sleep, his whispers of adoration and obsession filling your head and squashing any thoughts of disobedience.
He's yours.
You're his.
This is forever. Why not accept that?
