Get yourself a partner that is as crazy, possessive and obsessive towards you as you're to them
Babyâs Gotta Gun (Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader)
Summary: Youâve been in a situationship with Rafe for over a year and when you show up to his party that he invited you to and thereâs another girl all over him, youâve finally had it. WK: 1.3k
Warnings: Gun play, unprotected sex, jealousy, possessiveness, reader is a lil unhinged, switch!Rafe, switch!reader, a lil fluff dashed in. Porn/no plot. 18+MNDI!
This is for me and @babygorewhoreâs Writing Prompt Game, feel free to click the link and come play!!đ¤
âTell me, tell me who owns this fucking cock.â You run the tip of his pistol over his plush split slick lips while you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it. The sound of your wet cunt and hips slapping together echoing through the room.
âYou - fuckinâ shit - you do baby, you own my cock.â Rafeâs eyes roll back when you start to rotate your hips, his large hands grip onto the fat of your ass while you ride him like a fucking succubus.
âDidnât I tell you to fucking look at me while I take whatâs mine, huh?â You move the gun to his head, shoving it against his temple as your free hand grips onto his jaw, squeezing his cheeks together until he opens his eyes. âYou look those other girls in the eyes while you fuck them or do you just get it in and move on? Because when you fuck me you take your time, tell me how beautiful I am and how much I mean to you but then youâre buried in the next hoe you see.â
âBaby, Iâm sorry. You know - oh fuuuck - you know youâre my girl.â Rafe feels like heâs about to fucking bust any second. Your pace doesnât falter for a moment, fucking yourself on his cock like youâre trying to drain him of every drop of cum in his body. Driven by pure jealousy and rage.
âYeah? Youâre always fucking saying that, Cameron. But then shit like this happens. I show up to your party, that you invited me to and thereâs some bitch on your lap with her tongue down your throat the minute I get here?â You run the barrel of the gun down the side of his face as you chuckle darkly, using your grip on his jaw to shake his head side to side. âIf you donât want anything serious why are you always buying me shit? Scaring off every dude that talks to me? Telling everyone I belong to you while youâre out fucking around?â
âItâs just⌠baby, shit, if you keep fucking me like that Iâm gonna fucking blow my load any second.â Rafe hates to admit that your possessive jealousy is only turning him on more. The crazy look in your eyes, the way youâre fucking him like you own him, while you hold his gun. Itâs really fucking doing it for him.
âDonât you dare fucking cum, Rafe. Iâm not done with you. Answer my god damn question.â You slow your pace a bit as you take his face in both of your hands, the grip you still have on the pistol causing it to press against the side of his head.
âIâm sorry, Iâm all yours from now on, alright? I fuckinâ mean it. I was just scared, baby. Youâre too perfect for me. Knew if I made you mine for real Iâd have to marry you someday.â Heâs not even sure why he said that, itâs not like he hasnât subconsciously thought about it before. You were perfect in every way before but this possessive display just makes him want you even more.
âHA! Thirty minutes ago you were dry humping some girl youâve never talked to and now youâre talking marriage? Be so fucking for real, Rafe.â You bring the gun to his temple again, leaning in so your lips are brushing the shell of his ear. âIf you were a real man you wouldâve made it official a fucking year ago.â
That was the final straw for him. If you didnât wanna believe him he would fucking show you how serious he was. He grips onto the gun, easily ripping it from your hand while his other arm wraps around your waist, using his hold on you to flip you on your back. He hovers over you, turning the tables on you by pressing the gun against the side of your head.
âWill you just shut the fuck up for a second. Youâre my girl, aight? My girl.â
âIâve heard that like a million times, pretty boy, doesnât mean shit to me. You really think Iâm gonna just-â your words are cut short when he slips the gun between your lips.
âI said stop talking, I fucking mean it every time I say it. And youâre right. I was being a pussy bitch. But now Iâm gonna show you who you belong to, who I belong too.â He pulls the barrel out of your mouth slightly before slipping it back between your lips. âSuck.â
You roll your eyes, leaving your lips open. He grips onto his cock, slamming it into your wet pussy in one swift motion, starting up at the brutal pace. âIâ Thrust. âSaidâ Thrust. âFucking suck.â
Your eyes roll back, this time in pleasure, as your wrap your lips around the cool metal, swirling your tongue.
âHeyâ His large hand slaps your cheek lightly. âFucking look at me while I take whatâs mine.â
Your eyes fly open and you're met with his intense ocean blue stare as he fucks you hard and deep, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust of his hips. âYeah, thereâs my fucking girl.â
He pulls the gun from your mouth, pushing himself up on his knees, his thrusts never faltering. He smirks down at you before bringing the spit slick barrel to your clit, circling it in time with his cock pounding into you.
âOhmyfuckinggod!â You cry out as you cum, your walls pulsing around him.
âYeah thatâs it, fuckinâ cum for me, thatâs my girl. Say it, say youâre my girl.â
âIâm your girl, daddy, Iâm your girl.â You babble and Rafe smirks, knowing he has you right where he wants you now that youâre back to calling him his rightful title.
âAnd Iâm yours baby, got it? Always been yours. Always thought about you. Always felt shitty and just wanted to see you after I fucked around with anyone else.â He feels his high start to build, tossing the gun to the side before he leans down, covering your body with his. He laces his fingers with yours and captures your lips in a surprisingly tender kiss, that completely contradicted the way he was fucking you.
âYeah, youâre fucking mine. Iâll kill any bitch that tries to touch you.â You practically growl, burying your face into his neck so you can suck on his skin, marking him as yours.
âThatâs so fucking hot - shiiiit, baby girl, Iâm gonna cum. Gonna fill my pretty little pussy up.â You bite down onto his shoulder as your long manicured nails scratch down his back, marking him up even further and it sends him over the edge. His hips still against yours as his cock twitches inside you, painting your walls with his cum. âYeah, thatâs a fuckinâ good girl, take my fuckinâ cum.â
Rafe rolls off of you, panting as he falls to his side. He pulls you into him and you lay your head on his chest, placing a soft kiss on his peck.
âDid you mean all of that?â You ask nervously, afraid to look at him.
âBabe, look at me.â He cradles your face in his hand urging you to look up at him. When your eyes meet his, he smiles softly. âYouâre my girl, okay? And Iâm yours. No more games. No more bitches. Just you and me, aight?â
âYeah, alright. That sounds nice, daddy.â He leans down, kissing you passionately as he weaves his fingers through your hair.
âPlus, Iâll kill any guy that even breathes your air.â
âYeah? Well Iâll kill any bitch that even thinks about you.â He chuckles, placing another gentle kiss on your lips. After this? He kinda believes you. But he doesnât mind, because he would kill for you anyday.
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You know, I just want her to break her marriage with Aemond and run away with Aegon and his children. Fuck Aemond.
As always, great chapter đ¤đŤ
1968 [Chapter 5: Artemis, Goddess Of The Hunt]
Series Summary:Â Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemondâs chronically delinquent brother Aegon.
Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.
Word Count:Â 6.6k
Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! đĽ°
đ All of my writing can be found HERE! đ
âSo you smoked grass in college,â Aegon says, pondering you with glazed eyes as he slurps his cherry-flavored Mr. Misty. Youâre in Biloxi, Mississippi where Aemond is making speeches and meeting with locals to commemorate the first summer of the beaches being desegregated after a decade of peaceful protests and violent white supremacist backlash. Route 90 runs right along the sand dunes. If you walked out of this Dairy Queen, you could look south and see the Gulf of Mexico, placid dark ripples gleaming with moonshine. âAnd swore, and had a boyfriend, and presumably, what, did shots? Skipped class on occasion?â
âYeah,â you admit, smiling sheepishly, remembering. You stretch out your fingers. âI chewed gum, I talked during mass. And I loved black nail polish. The nuns would beat my knuckles with rulers, I always had bruises. I wore these flowing skirts down to my ankles and knee-high boots. My hair was a mess, long and blowing around everywhere. My friends and I would do each otherâs makeup, silver glitter and purple shadow, pencil on a ridiculous amount of eyeliner and then smudge it out. If you saw a photo you wouldnât recognize me.â
Aegon takes a drag on his Lucky Strike cigarette, weightless smoke and the tired yellowish haze of florescent lights. Buffalo Springfieldâs For What Itâs Worth is playing from the Zenith radio on the counter by the cash register. âIâd recognize you.â
âI used to skip this one class all the time. The professor was a demon. I could do the math, but not the way he wanted me to. Right solution, wrong steps, I donât know. I learned it differently in high school, and I couldnât figure out the formula he wanted me to use. So heâd mark everything a zero even if my answer was correct. I couldnât stand that bastard. Then the nuns kept catching me sunbathing on the quad when I was supposed to be in Matrices and Vector Spaces. I racked up so many demerits they were going to revoke my weekend pass, and then I wouldnât be able to go into the city with my friends. So I stole the demerit book and burned it up on the stove in my dorm. Almost set the whole building on fire.â
Aegon is laughing. âYou did not. Not you, not perfect ever-obedient Miss America!â
âI did. I really did.â You sip your own Mr. Misty, lemon-lime. Across the restaurant, Criston and Fosco are eating banana splitsâdripping chocolate syrup and melted ice cream all over their tableâand passionately debating who is going to end up in the World Series; Criston favors the Cardinals and the Orioles, Fosco says the Red Sox and the Cubs. The rest of the Targaryen family is back at the hotel watching news coverage of the Republican National Convention, something you can only stomach so much of, Ottoâs cynical commentary, Aemondâs remaining eye fixed fiercely on the screen as he nips at an Old Fashioned. âI was wild back then.â
âAnd you gave it all up to be Aemondâs first lady.â
You think back to where it started: palm trees, salt water, alligators in drainage ditches. âMy father grew up in a shack outside of Tallahassee. No electricity, no running water, he dropped out of school in eighth grade to help take care of his siblings when his mom died. They moved south to live with their aunt in Tampa, and my father wound up in Tarpon Springs working as a sea sponge diver.â
Aegonâs eyebrows rise, like he thinks youâre teasing him. âSea spongesâŚ?â
âIâm serious! It paid better than picking oranges or sweeping up in a factory. Itâs dangerous. You have to wear this heavy rubber suit and walk around on the ocean floor, sometimes 50 feet or more below the surface.â
âWhat do people do with sea sponges?â
âOh right, you would be unfamiliar. Youâre supposed to clean yourself with them, like a loofah. Soap? Water? Ringing any bells?â
He chuckles and rolls his eyes. âYouâre a very mean person. Arenât you supposed to be setting an example for the merciful wives and daughters of this great nation?â
âPainters and potters buy sponges too. And some women use them as contraceptives. You can soak them in lemon juice and then shove them up there and it kills sperm.â
âI suddenly have great appreciation for the sea sponge industry. God bless the sea sponges.â
âSo my father spent a few years diving, and he fell in love with a girl who worked at one of the shops he sold sponges to. That was my mother. They got married when he had absolutely nothing, and by their fifth anniversary he had his own fleet of boats, a gift shop, and a processing and shipping facility, all of which they owned jointly. They just opened the Spongeorama Sponge Factory this past April, a cute little tourist trap. But my point is that they were partners from the start. My father listens to my mother, and she works alongside him, and it was never like what Iâve seen from my friendsâ parents: dad at the office 80 hours a week, mom at home strung out on Valium, just theseâŚdeeply separate, cold planets locked in orbit but never touching each other. I knew I didnât want that. I wanted a husband who was building something I could be a part of. I wanted a man who respected me.â
Aegon watches you as he lights a fresh cigarette, not saying what you imagine he wants to: And how is that working out? He puffs on his Lucky Strike a few times and then offers it to you. You arenât supposed to smoke, not even tobaccoâitâs not ladylike, itâs masculine, itâs subversiveâbut you take it and hold it between your index and middle fingers, inhaling an ashy bitterness that blood learns to crave. The bracelets on your wrist jangle, thin silver chains that match the diamonds in your ears. Your dress is mint green, your hair in your signature Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo. Aegon is wearing a black t-shirt with The Who stamped across the front. When you pass the cigarette back to him, Aegon asks: âWhat music did you listen to? The Stones, The Animals?â
âYeah. And Hendrix, The Kinks, Aretha FranklinâŚâ
âPhil Ochs?â
âI love him. Heâs got a song about Mississippi, you know.â
âOh, Iâm aware. Itâs one of my favorites.â
âAnd Iâm currently getting a little obsessed with Loretta Lynn. Sheâs so angry!â
âSheâs sanctimonious, thatâs what she is. Always bitching about men.â
âSix kids and an alcoholic husband will do that to someone.â
Aegon winces, and then you realize what youâve said. Loretta Lynn sounds a lot like Mimi. He finishes his Mr. Misty and then fidgets restlessly with his white cardboard cup, spinning it around by the straw. You feel bad, though you shouldnât. You wouldnât have a month ago.
âAegon,â you say gently, and he reluctantly looks up at you, sunburned cheeks, blonde hair shagging over his eyes. âWhy do you ignore your children? Theyâre interesting, theyâre fun. Violeta invited me to help her make cakes with her Easy-Bake Oven last week. And CosmoâŚheâs so clever. But itâs like he doesnât know who you are. He might actually think Foscoâs his dad.â
Aegon takes one last drag off his cigarette and discards the end of it in his Mr. Misty cup. Now heâs fiddling with it again, avoiding your gaze. âI donât have much to offer them.â
âI think you do.â
âNo you donât.â
âI do,â you insist. âYou can be kind of nice sometimes.â
He frowns, staring out the window. You know he canât see anything but darkness and streetlights. âI should have been the one to go to Vietnam. If somebody had to get shot at so Aemond could be president, I was the right choice. No one would miss me. No one would mourn me. Daeron didnât deserve that. But I was too old, so Otto and my father got him to enlist. Now heâs in the jungle and my mother has nightmares about Western Union telegrams. If I was the son over there, I think sheâd sleep easier.â
Iâm glad youâre still here, you think. Instead you say: âYour children need you.â
âNo they donât. Between me and Mimi, theyâre better off as orphans. Helaena and Fosco can be their parents. Maybe theyâll have a fighting chance.â
The glass door opens, and a man walks into the Dairy Queen with his two sons scampering behind him, all with sandy flip flops and carrying fishing rods. The dad is at least six feet tall and brawny, and wearing a Wallace For President baseball cap. You and Aegon both notice it, then share an amused, disparaging glance. You mouth: Imbecile bigot. The man continues to the cash register and orders two chocolate shakes and a root beer float. At their own table, Criston is mopping up melted ice cream with napkins and telling Fosco to stop being such a pig.
âMe?!â Fosco says. âYou are the pig, that spot there is your ice cream, do not blame your failings on poor Fosco. I have already let you drag me to this terrible state and never once complained about the fried food or the mosquitos. And that thing out there is not a real beach. The water is still and brown, brown!â
âFor once in your life, pretend you have a work ethic and help me clean up the table.â
âYou are being very anti-immigrant right now, do you know that?â
Aegon begins singing, ostensibly to himself. âHereâs to the state of Mississippi, for underneath her borders, the devil draws no lines.â
âAegon, no,â you whisper, petrified. You know this song. You know where heâs going.
Heâs beaming as he continues: âIf you drag her muddy rivers, nameless bodies you will find.â
Now the man in the Wallace hat is looking at Aegon. His sons are happily gulping down their chocolate shakes. Criston and Fosco, still bickering, havenât noticed yet.
âOh, the fat trees of the forest have hid a thousand crimes.â
âAegon, donât,â you plead quietly. âHeâll murder you.â
âThe calendar is lyinâ when it reads the present time.â
âHey,â calls the man in the Wallace For President hat. âYou got a problem, boy?â
Aegon drums his palms on the tabletop as he sings, loudly now: âOh, hereâs to the land youâve torn out the heart of, Mississippi find yourself another country to be part of!â
In seconds, the man has crossed the room, grabbed Aegon by the collar of his t-shirt, yanked him out of his chair and struck him across the face: closed fist, lethal intent, the sick wet sound of bones on flesh. Aegonâs nose gushes, his lip splits open, but he isnât flinching away, he isnât afraid. Heâs yowling like a rabid animal and clawing, kicking, swinging at the giant whoâs ensnared him. You are screaming as you leap to your feet, your chair falling over and clattering on the floor behind you. The manâs sons are hooting joyously. âGit him, Paw!â one of them shouts.
âCriston?!â you shriek, but he and Fosco are already here, tugging at the manâs massive arms and beating on his back, trying to untangle him from Aegon.
âStop!â Criston roars. âYou donât want to hurt him! Heâs a Targaryen!â
âA Targaryen, huh?â the man says as he steps away, wiping the blood from his knuckles on his tattered white t-shirt, stained with fish guts. âAll the better. I wish that bullet they put in Aemond woulda been just another inch to the left. Directly through the aorta.â
Aegon lunges at the man again, hissing, fists swinging. Fosco yanks him back.
âAre you gonna call someone or not?!â Criston snaps at the girl behind the cash register, but she only gives him a steely glare in return. This is Wallace country. Thereâs a reason why it took four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to finally desegregate the beaches.
âWe should go,â you tell Criston softly.
âYes, we will leave now,â Fosco says, hauling Aegon towards the front door. Then, to the cashier: âThank you for the ice cream, but it was not very good. If you are ever in Italy, try the gelato. You will learn so much.â
âI canât wait âtil November,â the man gloats, ominous, threatening. His sons are standing tall and proud beside him. âWhen Aemond loses, you can all cart your asses back to Europe. We donât want you here. America ainât for people like you.â
âIt literally is,â you say, unable to stop yourself. âItâs on the Statue of Liberty.â
âYeah, where do you think your ancestors came from?!â Aegon yells at the man. âAre you a Seminole, pal? I didnât think soâ!â Fosco and Criston lug him through the doorway before more punches can be thrown.
Outsideâunder stars and streetlights and a full moonâAegon burst out laughing. This is when he feels alive; this is when the blood in his veins turns to wave and riptides. You didnât think to grab napkins from the table, so you wipe the blood off his face with your bare hand, assessing the damage. Heâll be fine; swollen and sore, but fine.
âYouâre insane, you know that?â you say. âYou could have been killed.â
Aegon pats your cheek twice and grins, blood on his teeth. âThe world would keep spinning, little Io.â Then he starts walking back towards the White House Hotel.
~~~~~~~~~~
When the four of you arrive at your suite, Aemond, Otto, Ludwika, and Alicent are still gathered around the television. The nannies have taken the children to bed. Helaena is reading The Bell Jar in an armchair in the corner of the room. Mimi is passed out on the couch, several empty glasses on the coffee table. ABC is showing a clip they recorded earlier today of Ludwika travelling with Aemondâs retinue after he made an impassioned speech condemning the lack of recognition of the evils of slavery at Beauvoir, the historic home of former Confederate president Jefferson Davis. The reporter is asking Ludwika what she thinks makes Aemond a better presidential candidate than Eugene McCarthy, as McCarthy shares many of the same policy positions and has an additional 15 years of political experience.
âThis McCarthy is not a real man,â Ludwika responds, her face stony and mistrustful. âHe reminds me of the communists back in my country. Did you know he met with Che Guevara in New York City a few years ago? Why would he do such a thing?â
Now, Otto turns to her in this hotel room. âI love you.â
Ludwika takes a sip of her martini. âI want another Gucci bag.â
âYes, yes. Tomorrow, my dear.â
âWhat happened to you?â Aemond asks his brother, half-exasperated and half-concerned. Criston has fetched a washcloth from the bathroom for Aegon to hold against his bleeding lip and nose. Aemond is still wearing his blue suit from a long day of campaigning, but heâs taken out his eye and put on his eyepatch. His gaze flicks from Aegonâs face to the blood still coating your left hand. On the couch, Mimiâs bare foot twitches but she doesnât wake up.
âThere was a Wallace supporter at the Dairy Queen,â you say. âAegon felt inspired to defending you.â
Aemond chuckles. âDid you win?â he asks Aegon.
âI would have if the guy wasnât two of me.â
On the television screen, Richard Nixon is accepting his partyâs nomination for president at the Republican National Convention in Miami, Florida.
âHeâs a buffoon,â Otto sneers. âSo awkward and undignified. Look at him sweating! Look at those ridiculous jowls! And he comes from nothing. His family is trash.â
âAmericans love a rags to riches story,â you say. And then, somewhat randomly: âHe loves his wife. He proposed to Pat on their very first date, and she said no. So he drove her to dates with other men for years until she finally reconsidered. He said it was love at first sight. Heâs never had a mistress. And jowls or no jowls, his family adores him.â
Aegon turns to you, still clutching the washcloth against his face. âReally?â
You nod. âThatâs the sort of thing the women talk about.â
Thereâs a knock at the door. You all look at each other, confounded; no one has ordered room service, no one is expecting any visitors, and the nannies have keys in the event of an emergency. Fosco is closest to the door, so he opens it. A man in uniform is standing there with a golden Western Union telegram in his hands. Alicent screams and collapses. Criston bolts to her.
âItâs okay,â you say. âHeâs not dead. Whatever happened, Daeronâs not dead.â
Otto crinkles his brow at you. âHow do you know?â
âBecause if he was killed, there would be a priest here too.â They always send a priest when the boy is dead. Aegon glances at you, eyes wet and fearful.
âMaâam,â the soldierâa major you see now, spotting the golden oak leavesâsays to Alicent as he removes his cap. âI regret to inform you that your son Daeron was missing in action for several weeks, and weâve just received confirmation that heâs being held as a prisoner of war in Háťa Lò Prison.â
âHeâs in the Hanoi Hilton?!â Otto exclaims. âOh, fuck those people and their swamp, how did Kennedy ever think we had something to gain from getting tangled up in that mess?â
âBut heâs alive?â Aemond says. âHeâs unharmed?â
âYes sir,â the captain replies. âIt is our understanding that he is in good condition. The North Vietnamese are aware that he is a very valuable prisoner, like Admiral McCainâs son John. Heâll be used in negotiations. He is of far more use to them alive than dead.â
âSo we can get Daeron back,â Aegon says. âI mean, we have to be able to, right? Aemondâs running for president, heâll probably win in November, we have millions of dollars, we can spring one man out of some third-world jail, right?â
The captain continues: âTomorrow when your family returns to New Jersey, the Joint Chiefs of Staff will be there to discuss next steps with you. Iâm afraid Iâm only authorized to give you the news as it was relayed to me.â He entrusts the telegram to Otto, who rapidly opens it and stares down at the mechanical typewriter words.
âI have to pray,â Alicent says suddenly. âHelaena, will you pray with me? Thereâs a Greek church down the road. Holy Trinity, I think itâs called.â
Obediently, Helaena joins her mother and follows her to the doorway. Criston leaves with them. Otto gives his new wife a harsh, meaningful stare. Ludwika, an ardent yet covert atheist, sighs irritably. âWait. I want to pray too,â she says, and vanishes with them into the hall.
As the captain departs, Mimi sits up on the couch, blinking, groggy. âWhat? What happened?â
âGo with Alicent,â Otto tells her. âSheâs headed downstairs.â
âWhat? WhyâŚ?â
âJust go!â he barks.
Mimi staggers to her feet and hobbles out of the hotel room, her sundressâpatterned with forget-me-notsâbillowing around her. The only people left are Otto, Aemond, Fosco, Aegon, and you. The fact that you are the sole woman permitted to remain here feels intentional.
After a moment, Otto speaks. âYou know, John McCain has famously refused to be released from the Hanoi Hilton until all the men imprisoned before him have been freed. He doesnât want special treatment. And thatâs a very noble thing to do, donât you think? It has endeared him and the McCains to the public.â
Aemond and Otto are looking at each other, communicating in a silent language not of letters or accents but colors: red ambition, green hunger, grey impassionate morality. Fosco is observing them uneasily. Aemond says at last: âDaeron wants to help this family.â
âYouâre not going to try to get him out.â Aegon realizes.
Aemond turns to him, businesslike, vague distant sympathy. âItâs only until November.â
âNo, you know people!â Aegon explodes. âYou pick up the phone, you call in every favor, you get him out of there now! You have no idea if he has another three months, you donât know what kind of shape heâs in! They could be dislocating his arms or chopping off his fingers right now, they could be starving him, they could be beating him, you canât just leave him there!â
âItâs not your decision. It could have been, had you accepted your role as the eldest son. But you didnât. So itâs my job to handle these things. You donât get to hate me for making choices you were too cowardly too take responsibility for.â
âBut Daeron could die,â Aegon says, his voice going brittle.
âAny of us could die. Weâre in a very dangerous line of work. Greatness killed Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Huey Long, Medgar Evers, John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Vernon Dahmer, Martin Luther King Jr., does that mean we should all give up the fight? Of course not. The work isnât finished. We have to keep going.â
âWill you stop pretending this is about America?! This is about you wanting to be president, and everything youâve ever done has been in pursuit of that trophy, and you keep shoving new people into the line of fire and itâs not right!â
âAegon,â Otto says calmly. âItâs unlikely weâd be able to get him out before the election anyway. Negotiations take time. But if Aemond wins in November, heâll be in a very advantageous position. The North Vietnamese arenât stupid. They wouldnât kill the brother of a U.S. president. They donât want their vile little corner of the world flattened by nukes.â
âStill, it feels so wrong to leave a brother in peril,â Fosco says. âIt is unnatural. Of course Aegon will be upset. We could at least see what a deal to get Daeron released would entail, maybe his arrival home would be a good headlineââ
âAnd who the fuck asked you?â Otto demands, and Fosco goes quiet.
âOkay, then tell Mom,â Aegon says to Aemond. âTell her youâre going to pretend Daeron made some self-sacrificial vow not to come home until all the other POWs can too. Tell her youâre going to let him get tortured for a few months before you take this seriously.â
Aemond replies cooly: âWhy would you want to upset her? She canât change it. Youâll only make her suffering worse.â
âWhat do you think?â Otto asks you, and you know that he isnât seeking counsel. Heâs summoning you like a dog to perform a trick, like an actor to recite a line. Heâs waiting for you to say that itâs a smart strategy, because it is. Heâs waiting for you to bend to Aemondâs will as your station requires you to, as moons are bound to their planets.
âI think itâs wrong,â you murmur; and Aemond is thunderstruck by your treason.
Without another word, you walk into the bathroom, turn on the sink, and gaze down at Aegonâs blood on your palm. For some reason, itâs very difficult to bring yourself to wash it away.
~~~~~~~~~~
Itâs mid-August now, the world painted in goldenrod yellow and sky blue. The Democratic National Convention is in two weeks. You and Aemond are posing on the beach at Asteria, surrounded by an adoring gaggle of journalists who are snapping photographs and jotting down quotes on their notepads. Youâre sitting demurely on a sand dune, youâre building sandcastles with the children you borrowed from Aegon and Helaena, youâre flying kites, youâre gazing confidently into the sunlit horizon where a glorious new age is surely dawning.
âMr. Targaryen, what is it that makes your partnership so successful?â a journalist asks as flashbulbs pulse like lightning. âWhat do you think is the most crucial characteristic to have in a wife?â
Aemond doesnât need to consider this before he answers. He always has his compliment picked out. âLoyalty,â your husband says. âNot just to me or to the Targaryen family, but to our shared cause. This year has been indescribably difficult for me and my wife. I announced my candidacy, we embarked on a strenuous national campaign that weâre currently only halfway through, I barely survived a brutal assassination attempt in May, in July we lost our first child to hyaline membrane disease after he was born six weeks prematurely, and at the beginning of this month we learned that my youngest brother Daeron was taken by the North Vietnamese as a prisoner of war. To find the strength not just to get out of bed in the morning, not just to be there for me and this family in our personal lives, but to tirelessly traverse the country with me inspiring Americans to believe in a better futureâŚitâs absolutely remarkable. Iâm in awe of her. And when she is the first lady of the United States, she will continue to amaze us all with her unwavering faith and dedication.â
There are whistles and cheers and strobing flashbulbs. You smileâelegant, soft, practicedâas Aemond rests a hand firmly on your waist. You lean into him, feeling out-of-place, bewildered that youâve ever slept with him, full of dull panic that soon youâll have to again.
âHow about you, Mrs. Targaryen?â another reporter asks. âSame question, essentially. What is the trait that you most admire in your husband?â
And in the cascading clicks of photographs being captured, your mind goes entirely blank. You can think of so many other peopleâAegon, Ari, Alicent, Daeron, Fosco, Cosmoâbut not Aemond. Itâs like youâve blocked him out somehow, like heâs a sketch you erased. But you canât hesitate. You canât let the uncertainty read on your face. You begin speaking without knowing where youâre going, something that is rare for you. âAemond is the most tenacious person Iâve ever met. When he has a goal in mind, nothing can stop him.â You pause, and there are a few awkward chuckles from the journalists. You swiftly recover. âHe never stops learning. He always knows the right thing to do or say. And what he wants more than anything is to serve the American people. Aemond wonât disappoint you. Heâs not capable of it. He will do whatever it takes to make this country more prosperous, more peaceful, and more free.â
There are applause and gracious thank yous, but Aemond gives you a lookâjust for a second, just long enough that you can catch itâthat warns you to get it together. Fifteen minutes later, he and the flock of reporters are headed to one of the guest houses to conduct a long-form interview. This will be the bulk of the article; you will appear in one or two photos, you will supply a few quotes. The rest of the story is Aemond. You are an accessory, like a belt or a bracelet. Heâs the person who picks you out of a drawer each morning and wears you until you go out of fashion.
Released from your obligations, you return to the main house and disappear into your upstairs bathroom. You are there for fifteen minutes and emerge rattled, routed. You pace aimlessly around your bedroom for a while, then try again; still no luck. You go back outside and stare blankly at the ocean, wondering what youâre going to do. Down on the beach, Fosco is teaching the kids how to yo-yo. Ludwika is sunbathing in a bikini.
âWhatâs wrong with you?â
You whirl to see Aegon, popping a Valium into his mouth and washing it down with a splash of straight rum from a coffee mug. âHuh? Nothing. Iâm great.â
âNo, somethingâs wrong. You look lost. You look like me.â
You gaze out over the ocean again, chewing your lower lip.
Aegon snickers, fascinated, sensing a scandal. âWhat did you do?â
Your eyes drift to him. âYou canât make fun of me.â
âOkay. I wonât.â
There is a long, heavy lull before you answer. When you speak, itâs all in a rush, like you canât unburden yourself of the words fast enough. âI put a tampon in and I canât get it out.â
Aegon immediately breaks his promise and cackles. âYou did what?!â Then he tries to be serious. âWait. Sorry. Uh, really?â
Youâre on the verge of tears. âIâve been bleeding since I had the baby, and I hate using tampons, I almost never do, but Aemond wanted me to wear this dress for the photoshoot and itâs super gauzy and from certain angles I felt like I could see the pad bulge when I checked in the mirror, so I put a tampon in for the first time in probably a year. Iâm not even supposed to be using them for another few weeks because my uterus isnât healed all the way or whatever. And now I canât get it out and itâs been in there for like six hours and Iâm scared Iâm going to get an infection and die in the most pointless, humiliating way imaginable.â
âOkay, calm down, calm down,â Aegon says. âThereâs no string?â
âNo, Iâve checked multiple times. It must be a defective one and they forgot to put a string in it at the factory and I didnât notice, or the string somehow got tucked under it, I donât know, but I canât get it out, itâs likeâŚthe angle isnât right. I can just barely feel it with my fingertips, but I canât grab it. Iâm going to have to go to the hospital to get it taken out, but Iâm scared word will spread and journalists will show up to get photos when I leave and then everyone will be asking me why I was at the emergency room to begin with and Iâm going to have to make up something andâŚandâŚâ You canât talk anymore. There are other reasons why you donât want to go to the hospital. You havenât stepped foot in one since Ari died; the thought makes you feel like you are looking down to see blood on your thighs all over again, like youâll never have enough air in your lungs.
âDid you bleed through it? Because that should help it slide out easier.â
âI donât know,â you moan miserably. âI mean, I guess I did, because there was blood when I checked a few minutes ago. I had to stuff my underwear with toilet paper.â
âWhy didnât you just tell Aemond you couldnât wear this dress?â
You give him an impatient glance. âIâm tired of having the same conversation.â When do you think youâll be done bleeding? When do you think itâll be time to start trying again?
Aegon sighs. âDo you want me to get it out for you?â
âPlease stop. Iâm really panicking here.â
âIâm not joking.â
You stare at him. âYou canât be serious.â
âI have fished many objects out of many orifices, you cannot shock me. I am unshockable.â
âIâd rather walk down to the sand right now and strangle myself with Foscoâs yo-yo.â
âOkay. So who are you gonna ask to drive you to the hospital?â
You hesitate.
âIâd offer to do it,â Aegon says, grinning, holding up his mug. âBut Iâm in no condition to drive.â
âBut you are in the proper condition to extract a rogue tampon, huh?â
âTwo minutes tops. Thatâs a guarantee. My personal best is fifteen seconds. And that was for a lost condom, much trickier to locate than a tampon.â
Perhaps paradoxically, the more you consider his offer, the more tempting it seems. No complicated trip and cover story? Over in just a few minutes? âIf you ever tell anyone about this, I will never forgive you. I will hate you forever.â
Aegon taunts: âI thought you already hated me.â
You arenât sure what you feel for him, but itâs certainly not hate. Not anymore. âWhere would we do it?â
âIn my office. And by that I mean my basement.â
âYour filthy, disease-ridden basement? On your shag carpet full of crabs?â
âYouâre in luck,â he jokes. âMy crab exterminator service just came by yesterday.â
You exhale in a low, despairing groan.
âHey, would you rather do it on the dining room table? Iâm game. Your choice.â
You watch the seagulls swooping in the afternoon air, the banners of sailboats on the glittering water. âOkay. The basement.â
You walk with Aegon to the house andâafter ensuring that no one is around to noticeâsneak with him down the creaking basement steps, the door locked behind you. Aegon is darting around; he sets a small trashcan by the carpet and tosses you two towels, then goes to wash his hands in his tiny bathroom, not nearly enough room for someone to stretch out across the linoleum floor.
Youâre surveying the scene nervously. âI donât want to get blood all over your stuff.â
âYouâre the cleanest thing thatâs ever been on that carpet. Lie down.â
You place one towel on the green shag carpet, then whisk off your panties, discard the bloody knot of toilet paper in the trashcan, and pull the skirt of your dress up around your waist so itâs out of the way. Then you sit down and drape the second towel over your thighs so youâre hidden from him, like youâre about to be examined by a doctor. Your heart is thumping, but you donât exactly feel like you want to stop. Itâs more exhilarating than fear, you think; it is forbidden, it is shameful, it is a microscopic betrayal of Aemond that heâll never know about.
Aegon moseys out of the bathroom, flicking drops of water from his hands. He wears one of his usual counterculture uniforms: a frayed green army jacket with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, khaki shorts, tan moccasins. He kicks them off before he kneels on the shag carpet. He checks the clock on the wall. â2:07. I promised two minutes max. Letâs see how I do. Ready?â
You rest the back of your head on your linked hands, raise your knees, take a deep and unsteady breath. âReady.â
But he can see that youâre shaking. âHey,â Aegon says kindly, pressing his hand down on the towel so youâre covered. âDo you want me to go to the hospital with you? Iâll try to distract people. Iâll pretend Iâm having a seizure or something.â
âNo, Iâm okay,â you insist. âI just want it out. I want this over with.â
âGot it.â And then he begins. He stares at the wall to his left, not looking at you, navigating by feel. You feel the pressure of two fingers, a stretching that is not entirely unpleasant. Heâs warm and careful, strangely unobtrusive. Still, you suck in a breath and shift on the carpet. âShh, shh, shh,â Aegon whispers, skimming his other hand up and down the inside of your thigh, and shiver like youâve never felt before rolls backwards up the length of your spine. âRelax. You alright?â
âFine. Totally fine.â
âOh yeah, itâs definitely in there,â Aegon says. His brow is creased with comprehension. âNo stringâŚyouâre right, it must either be tangled up somehow or it never had one to begin with. Maybe you accidentally inserted it upside down.â
âNow you insult my intelligence. As if Iâm not embarrassed enough.â
âI should have put on a record to set the mood. What gets you going, Marvin Gaye? Elvis?â
âThe seductive voice of Richard Milhous Nixon. Maybe you can get him on the phone.â
Aegon laughs hysterically. His fingertips push the tampon against your cervix and you yelp. âSorry, sorry, my mistake,â Aegon says. There are beads of sweat on his forehead, on his temples; now his eyes are squeezed shut. âIâm gonna try to wiggle it outâŚâ
As he works, there are sensations you canât quite explain: a very slow-building indistinct desire, a loosening, a readying, a drop in your belly when you think about the fact that heâs the one touching you. Then he happens to press in just the right spot and there is a sudden pang of real pleasureâcraving, aching, a deep red flare of previously unfathomable temptationâand you instinctively reach for him. You hand meets his forearm, and for the first time since he started Aegon looks at your face, alarmed, afraid that heâs hurt you again. But once your eyes meet youâre both trapped there, and you canât pretend youâre not, his fingers still inside you, his pulse racing, a rivulet of sweat snaking down the side of his face, his eyes an opaque murky blue like water youâre desperate to claw your way into. You know what you want to tell him, but the words are impossible. Donât stop. Come closer.
Aegon clears his throat, forces himself to look away, and at last dislodges the tampon. It appears dark and bloody in his grasp. âNo string,â he confirms, holding it up and turning it so you can see. âFactory reject.â
âJust like you.â
He glances at the clock. â2:09. I delivered precisely what was promised.â He chucks the tampon into the trashcan and then grins as he helps pull you upright with his clean hand. âSo do you like to cuddle afterwards, orâŚ?â
Youâre giggling, covering your flushed face. âShut up.â
âPersonally, I enjoy being ridden into the ground and then called a good boy.â
âGo away.â You nod to where he disposed of the tampon and say before stopping to think: âYouâre not going to keep that under your ashtray too?â
Aegon freezes and blinks at you. He smiles slowly, cautiously. âNo, I think that would be a little unorthodox, even for me.â He pitches you a clean washcloth from the bathroom closet. âThat should get you upstairs.â
âThanks.â You shove it between your legs and rise to your feet, smoothing the skirt of your dress. âI owe you something. Iâm not sure what, but Iâll figure it out.â
âHey,â Aegon says, and waits for you to turn to him. âMaybe Iâm not that bad.â
âMaybe,â you agree thoughtfully.
Just before you hurry upstairs, you steal a glimpse of Aegon in the bathroom, the door kicked only half-closed. He has turned on the water, but heâs not using it yet. Aegon is staring down at the blood on his hand, half-dried scarlet impermanent ink.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hi, itâs me again. Iâm in solitary confinement. Thereâs a guy in the cell next to mine; we talk to each other with a modified version of Morse code. Tap tap tap on the wall, he taps back, etcetera etcetera, you get the idea. Youâre not going to believe this, but he says his name is John McCain. Well, actually, he told me his name is Jobm McCbin, but I think thatâs because I translated the taps wrong. I might be in the Hanoi Hilton, but at least they have me in the VIP section! Hahaha.
Every few hours the guards show up to do a very impressive magic trick: they wave their batons like wands, I turn black and blue. Sometimes one of my teeth even disappears. Isnât that something? Houdini would love it. Thereâs a rat that Iâm making friends with. I give her nibbles of my stale bread, she gives me someone to talk to. Sheâs good company. Iâve named her Tessarion.
Allow me to make something absolutely fucking clear.
I would very much like to be rescued.
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That was intense. I hoped he would get more lovely with reader (in his own twisted way), but after reading your comment ... poor reader.
I loved it đ¤
After Hours Lesson
dark!Professor!Coriolanus Snow x f!Reader
A/N: i imagine coryo as being in his late 30s to mid 40s in this fic, but I left his age open to imagination. Reader is 21 and I imagine her as not being a virgin
Warnings: noncon, forced sex, somno, fingering, choking, strangling, drugging, teacher x student relationship, slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink
it wasnât everyday that one of your university professors invited the entire class out to dinner at a nice restaurant, so of course you wanted to dress your best. looking at yourself in the mirror, you felt that the soft button-down white shirt and grey houndstooth jacket paired well with your pleated grey skirt, knee length white socks and black mary janes, and it was an outfit that would surely impress your professor.
only a couple other students had arrived so far and as soon as you made your way over to the table, you noticed his eyes on you. ây/n! sit by me,â he smiled at you charmingly, gesturing to the empty chair beside him. you nervously complied, shooting him a smile before sliding in to the open chair.
the entire night you could feel him looking over at you, even when he was in conversation with other students, his gaze always seemed to drift over to you.
it was your senior year at university and you had opted to take an elective class with a popular professor, professor coriolanus snow. you were surprised when you walked in on the first day and found that most of the students were women. apparently rumors about professor snowâs good looks had gone around the school, but you hadnât heard anything about them when you were registering for classes, you just thought the course looked interesting.
âare you going to get a glass of wine?â
his question roused you from your thoughts and you blinked at him before he questioned you again. âwell youâre 21, right?â
âi am, but i donât know if i should drink tonight.â you replied nervously. âi mean, would that be okay?â
you looked around the table, noting that two of your classmates were also drinking.
âof course, y/n.â he told you before addressing the table, âdinner and drinks are on me, iâm paying for it all.â
you smiled at his generosity and thanked him before picking up a menu and browsing the wine list.
even though professor snow was in a conversation with the other students, when he saw you looking unsure about what to order he leaned over and pointed to an expensive vintage red.
âthis is one of my absolute favorites. i think youâll love it.â he caught the eye of a waiter and ordered you a glass before you could even think it over, much less process the price.
the appetizers were brought out to the table quickly, and you were excited to try the array of choices professor snow had ordered for the table.
before you could reach for one of them, coriolanus picked up the plate you had been eyeing and offered to serve you.
âoh, yes please, thank you very much professor snow!â you smiled at him and offered your own plate to him.
he placed two pieces of toasted bread on your plate before grabbing small bowl of the tomato sauce it came with to spoon some onto your plate.
his wrist slipped however and he accidentally dropped a bit of sauce onto the exposed skin of your mid-thigh, just below where your skirt ended.
before you could even react, your professor was apologizing profusely and he grabbed a napkin off the table and gently wiped up the red sauce.
you shivered when you felt his fingers brush against your skin as he cleaned you off and you felt a hot flush rising to your cheeks.
âthanks, iâm gonna um, finish cleaning this up in the bathroom.â you nervously told him, flinching away from his touch and rushing to the restroom.
you quickly locked yourself into a stall, breathing heavily as you tried to calm yourself. he was your professor! you didnât want to be getting butterflies in your stomach at his touch.
you finished cleaning off the small remnants of the sauce on your leg, taking a deep breath and collecting yourself before going back out to the table.
your wine had arrived, as well as all of the entrees and you took a bite before trying a sip of the wine. it was probably the best drink you had ever tasted in your life and you looked over to see your professor staring at you with a raised eyebrow, as if to say âwhat do you think?â
âwow this wine is amazing!â you told him appreciatively and he grinned back at you.
âi knew you would like it, y/n. young ladies like you usually donât have such good taste, but i had a feeling you would appreciate it.â
his thoughtful words made your cheeks flush again and you bashfully thanked him for the compliment.
you sipped the wine, enjoying the way itâs flavor profile complimented the dish you got perfectly. it must have been a higher alcohol percentage than usual however, because you were already feeling itâs effects strongly after drinking less than half.
âwhat are your plans once you graduate, y/n?â the sound of your professorâs voice surprised you and you met his gaze as you answered.
âiâm hoping to go to law school after i graduate.â you responded, pride rising in your chest as you thought of all the hard work you had put in to reaching your goal of law school.
âthat makes perfect sense for a bright girl like you. iâm sure youâll excel there,â he confidently told you.
his focus shifted to the other students and as the night carried on and you drank more of your wine, you found yourself feeling very tipsy.
after professor snow paid the bill and everyone finished up their goodbyes, you stood to leave and you were surprised when the world started tilting beneath your feet.
a firm hand steadied you at your waist, and you turned to see your professor behind you.
âare you okay?â he asked, voice filled with concern.
you tried to stand on your own again, only to nearly fall over a second time. âi donât think so, i feel kind of drunk,â you slurred.
he frowned and looked at you with worry on his face.
âi donât think you should drive yourself home right now, y/n. why donât you let me take you?â
you wanted to argue with him and disagree, but when you tried to stand on your own again and felt so dizzy you could have fainted, you realized he was probably right.
âokay,â you mumbled, allowing him to support you as he walked you to his car.
your professor helped you in to the passenger seat, making sure you had buckled yourself in before going to the driverâs side.
you leaned your head against the cool window, trying to stop your head from spinning as professor snow pulled out of his parking spot and started driving.
you were watching the street lights blur past, struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open, when you realized you hadnât told him your address.
you opened your mouth to speak, but the next time you blinked, darkness filled your vision and you slipped into unconsciousness.
you woke to the feeling of warm, wet lips enveloping one of your nipples.
when your eyes cracked opened, you were almost too shocked to believe what you were seeing.
your jacket was missing, and your white button up top was split open, exposing your bare breasts. your professor was positioned on top of your, lips attached to your nipple as his hands squeezed and caressed your tits.
you were laying on a large bed, in what was definitely not your house and you felt like an idiot for not realizing that everything was off earlier.
terror filled you chest, lodging itself in you throat, and you tried to squirm away, but your body was frozen in place and your limbs felt so heavy you could barely move.
coriolanus sensed that you had woken up and when he looked down at you with a devilish grin, you shivered in fear.
âdonât try anything, y/n.â your professorâs cool tone made your stomach twist in disgust and a horrible chill passed over you as you realized this was why he had offered to drive you home.
âprofessor-â his lips smothered yours, cutting off your wavering voice before you could protest. your stomach flipped when he kissed you and your jaw dropped in surprise allowing him to force his tongue into your mouth.
when he finally pulled away, you gasped for breath. you saw stars behind your eyes and you werenât sure if you were dizzy because of how fast the room was spinning or because of the way he had kissed you.
âyouâre so beautiful, y/n, you know that?â he softly breathed. âever since entered my class that first day, i thought you were perfect.â
your pulse was racing in your ears, anxiety gripping your throat as you helplessly looked up at him. everything was moving too fast, and your brain couldnât accept the reality you had woken up in.
âand then tonight when you walked in with this innocent little school girl look? fuck, it took all of my self control not to rip this off of you and bend you over the table in front of your classmates,â coriolanus chuckled darkly, eyes scanning your body as he did.
his words were revolting, but even worse was the feeling of his fingers brushing your thighs as he lifted up your skirt. coriolanus situated himself between your legs, greedily admiring the soft skin of your thighs before pushing your skirt up and exposing more of you to his probing eyes.
when he saw the white, lacy panties you were wearing, he paused, tongue flicking out to wet his lips as he took in the view before him. âaw sweetheart, did you wear these just for me?â
your cheeks flushed with shame and embarrassment at his words and he chuckled again at your silence.
the older man traced the lace near your hips before looping his fingers under the soft material and tugging your panties down. you tried to squeeze your legs together to stop him, but your professor easily pushed them open again and dragged your panties off of you.
you flinched when you felt professor snowâs hand nearing your core, and he held down one of your legs in a tight grip.
the tip of his finger traced your slit and you whimpered at the feeling. was this really happening? how had you found yourself drugged out of your mind at the mercy of your professor?
coriolanus watched your face as he slowly slid one finger into your heat. you were already so wet, he didnât even need to warm you up, and the way you clenched around just one of his fingers had his pants growing tight.
your lips parted in surprise, a small moan crawling out of your throat. his finger curled inside you and tears came to your eyes when you felt yourself squeezing around his finger.
âyouâre so wet,â he groaned before sliding his middle finger into you.
you tensed beneath him, whining when the pressure between your legs doubled.
âjust relax,â your professorâs voice was a bit shaky as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt.
coriolanusâs thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive cluster of nerves. your body was tingling, every sensation was heightened in your fear and you couldnât stop yourself from loudly moaning as he massaged your inner walls.
you realized you could feel yourself growing wetter and you blinked hot tears from your eyes. you were disgusted by everything that was happening, so why were you shifting your hips to match the thrusts of his fingers?
the twisted pleasure was building in your gut and coriolanus could feel it too. his thumb swirled over your clit and you came undone around his fingers. your thighs quaked as your professor fucked you with his fingers through your orgasm, and your mind felt blank as you numbly sagged against his bed. shame and guilt fogged your mind, and you felt completely betrayed by your body
coriolanus slowly pulled his fingers out of you before pulling them apart slowly and watching your slick juices stick to his spread fingers in thin, pearly strings.
the older man brought his fingers to his lips, licking your juices off of his fingers while gazing at you through half lidded eyes.
âmmm, you taste so sweet, y/n,â he purred and when you realized you got butterflies in your stomach at his words, you felt bile rise in your throat.
he started unbuttoning his shirt and you could feel the room spinning around you. you wanted to look away, but you were weighed down by terror and too scared to even blink.
coriolanus removed his shirt, revealing his muscular, but still lean physique. panic began to really set in when he unbuttoned his pants and removed them and his boxers. your eyes widened at the sight of his erect length. he was bigger than any of the few guys you had been with before, and also unlike your previous experience, coriolanus was determined to take things at his pace.
you felt light-headed and you could barely twitch your muscles, much less move your limbs. that didnât stop you from trying though, and pure adrenaline gave you the strength to squeeze your legs shut and attempt to prevent what you already knew was coming.
given everything your professor had done to you up until this pointâ drugging you, kidnapping you, trapping you in his house, and now forcing himself upon youâ you would have thought that you wouldnât be surprised when he slapped you across the face with the back of his hand.
any delusion you may have been desperately clinging to that coriolanus snow was a âgoodâ man shattered then and there.
your head whipped to the side and your field of vision went white for a moment. white hot pain seared into your cheek and when you opened your eyes again, they were blurry with tears.
the sight of you trembling and crying beneath him was a sight that your professor had been secretly fantasizing about for months and now that he was finally witnessing it firsthand, he was eager to make all of his deepest desires a reality.
âdonât fight it, y/n.â his voice was shaking with excitement as he positioned himself between your legs and started lining up the tip of his cock with your slick cunt. you whined when you felt the head slide between your lips and start to push inside of you.
his tip slid past the resistance of your tight grip, but he tilted his hips back to pull out, and you felt confused and hurt when your body wanted more.
professor snow grinned down at you wickedly, relishing the sight of your eyes begging with his and you plump lips parting more when he moved again, sliding the tip of his thick cock into your cunt a second time and earning a heavenly whimper from you.
âyou like that, sweetheart?â he asked softly, smugness dripping from his voice like rancid honey. he pushed himself an inch or two deeper, and his arms, which were caging you in beneath him, were shaking slightly as he held himself back from sheathing all of himself in you at once.
your professor grabbed your wrists, holding them above your head tightly as he slowly stretched you out with his cock. his face was so close to yours that your noses were almost touching and he swallowed your noises of protest with messy kisses.
tears were streaming down your face when the tip of his cock nudged your cervix and you tried to shift beneath him to adjust to the intense pressure between your legs, but he pinned you to the bed with just one of his strong arms. his other hand rested on the outside of your thigh, roughly gripping your curves.
you were terrified, completely disgusted with your professor and desperate to escape his iron clad hold on you.
âplease no!â you quietly whined, straining to break free of his grasp and failing. âitâs too big!â
coriolanus groaned when you twitched around his cock, and the pathetic way that you tried to resist him was so adorable it almost made him laugh.
he tilted his hips back and started pumping his cock into you. you could sense yourself getting more slick as his length dragged along your walls, and your legs instinctively wrapped around coriolanusâ torso, pulling him in closer to you.
your professor peppered open mouth kisses over any exposed skin he could find, making his way from sucking on your tits to sliding his lips over yours, and you didnât want to admit to yourself that the sensation made something twist deep in the pit of your stomach.
when you moaned against his lips, his hand captured your jaw, keeping you trapped beneath him as his hips snapped against yours. his cock stretched you out again and again and coriolanus was relishing every sigh and gasp you gave him as he fucked you.
âyouâre squeezing me so tight, doll.â professor snowâs voice was strained, his teeth gritted as he began thrusting into you harder. the hand at your jaw traced to your throat, and you looked up at him through your lashes in fear when he started choking you.
âprofessor!â you forced the word out past the crushing hand at your throat and you swore you felt his cock twitch inside you in response.
his pace was relentless. after feeling tortured by you for an entire semester, coriolanus snow was going to take what he believed he was owed, whether you liked it or not.
the fingers at your throat tightened and your eyes widened in terror when his second hand wrapped around your throat as well.
each stroke of his cock made your sensitive clit tingle with overstimulation and you couldnât stifle your whines any longer as you were pushed over the edge.
you squeezed your eyes shut when you came, unable to look at your professor after he made you come undone against your will for the second time that night.
his grip on your throat strengthened as you tightened and spasmed around his length, and you hopelessly gasped for air that wouldnât come. you were beginning to feel lightheaded now, the pain of his hands constricting your neck was making your vision grow fuzzy around the edges.
the blondâs hips snapped against yours furiously, punishingly; and desperately scratching at the hands at your throat only seemed to make him choke you harder.
you were petrified at the thought that if you didnât do anything to stop him, you were about to die, but his hold on you was so tight that you couldnât get away. he was so much bigger than you, there was no way you could overpower him.
as your vision slowly faded away, you heard professor snow groan loudly, thrusting into you a few more times before pushing himself as deep as possible and gripping your thighs tightly as he spilled his sticky seed deep into your sore, weeping cunt.
and then everything went black
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