Golden!boy!Valarr x Scholarship!girl!reader
summary: Valarr knows exactly how much your grades mean to you, so he strikes right where it hurts the most just to get your attention. And in the process, he's only pulling you closer and closer to him.
cw: 18+ (mdni), power imbalance, spoiled Valarr, non-con, manipulation, blackmailing, enemies to lovers to enemies?, breathplay(choking), toxic dynamics, manhandling, fingering(f!receiving)
You had to work ten times harder for the same results as these rich kids. You were beneath their social class, which gave them permission to view you as a lowborn. But deep down, even they knew that you were better than them, in every wayâ you were respectable, hardworking and unyielding. You werenât sponsored by mommyâs or daddyâs money.
The grades you earned defined your worth. Anything lower than 97% made you question wether you deserved the scholarship. Always on top of the classâ well, except when youâre not. Except when Valarr decides that he deserves it. The golden boy- adored by everyone, including the teachers. Once he tosses some money around, promising the teachers a promotion or handing out an envelope, he passes the class with 100%.
Of course he gets everything handed to him on a silver platter- the heir to the Targaryen dynasty. You envy him like hellâ shit, you wouldnât even know what to do with that kind of money. After a while, though, you noticed how heâs gradually stripping you of your "top of the class" title the moment you start feeling satisfied.
Valarr loves taking things away from you. His eyes are always on you the second results are posted. Three semesters ago, you only had two classes together. Now, itâs six. You hate how easily he can get through to you. But like everyone else, you know exactly how dangerous it is to mess with a Targaryen.
This game has been going on between the two of you for a long time now. In the back of your mind, youâve always told yourself that itâll be over soonâ soon, youâd never have to see him again.
Then came the day you got your final grades. You knew for a fact that your performance throughout the semester was outstanding. Always present, grinding for every possible credit point. Your exam was better than any youâd ever written.
Thatâs why itâs so jarring when you see your grade: a 64%. How is that even possible? Your heart sinks to the floor, and you donât even know how to react. It canât be. Denial is the only thing buffering the pain.
That same day, you head to your professor's office. It has to be a mistake, you tell yourself over and over. You wait outside his door, pacing back and forth, unable to sit still from the sheer nerves.
Suddenly, you hear a click- the door opens, and you see Valarr step out. He shoots you a malicious smirk. "Got a bad grade?" is all he says before brushing past you.
You hurry into the office. "Sit down," your professor says. You do exactly that, the anxiety returning to settle deep in your bones. Your hands are shaking, restlessness filling your chest. "Iâd like to talk to you about my semester grade."
You try to get straight to the point instead of dancing around it. "My exam was the best in the class, and Iâve done significantly more work than anyone else. So how did I end up with this grade?" you spit out. Silence fills the room. After a few seconds, your professor finally answers, "Iâve noticed your performance slipping over the last few weeks.â
You shake your head. "I donât feel that way at all." You take a moment to compose yourself, breathing in and out deeply. "Even if I had slipped toward the end, my exam grade is far too high for 64%. I should have achieved at least 80%," you try to explain.
"Iâve already tried calculating it every which way; you simply don't land higher than 64%. Be satisfied with it. Constitutional Law is a very difficult subject," your professor retorts.
Youâre beyond confused, your gaze fixed intensely on your hands. That grade puts your scholarship at risk. It puts your entire future at risk.
"Perhaps you aren't as good as you think you are." That sentence breaks you inside. It took you years to mentally detach yourself from that exact thought. Youâre on the verge of tears. "Iâm sorry, I shouldnât have said that," is all you vaguely register before you stand up and bolt out of the room. As you stumble out of the office, you feel your phone vibrate- a message from Valarr.
Next time, maybe you should be more careful with the words you spread about me
Suddenly, a wave of realization hits you like a physical blow. That little spoiled bastard. The tears instantly stop â instead, your entire body flushes with pure, white-hot rage. He really has nothing better to do than bribe your professors to tank your grades. Fuckâ this is his way of punishing you.
You start picking at your nail polish, a nervous habit that always surfaces when you're stressed. You force yourself to walk toward the exit with calm, measured steps, heading for the bus stop.
Your mind is spinning with thoughts of your GPA and your scholarship. Your head is so loud that it takes minutes for you to realize a car is following you. You recognize it immediately: the sleek black car Valarr is picked up in every day.
You stop walking, waiting for him to pull up beside you. And he does. The back door swings open. "Get in," he says, his tone cold and authoritative, not even deigning to look at you. You canât help the sigh that escapes your lips. "Are you actually serious right now?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Get in, or do you really want to lose that scholarship?" You don't stall any longer. You slide into the seat, and the driver pulls away instantly. A partition separates the front seats from the back, leaving you completely alone with Valarrâ though you doubt the driver would lift a finger to help you even if you were in danger.
You decide to break the silence first. "Is this one of those pathological things rich people do when nothing else fulfills them? Inflicting pain on others?"
For the first time since you got into the car, he actually looks at you. His eyes trail over the dried salt of the tears staining your face. Deep inside Valarr, a morbid, sick urge for your grief begins to take place.
"Iâm actually starting to enjoy snatching things away from you while you're too powerless to stop it. But I'm sure you already knew that."
Heâs sitting on the other side of the car, legs spread, leaning back against the leather seat with total nonchalance. While youâre internally shattering, he acts like this is just another Tuesday.
"What do you want from me?" You can feel the tears threatening to return, your chest tight with frustration. "You have nothing I would ever want."
"Fuck you." Your rage finally slips past your filter. "Tell me, is it the missing mother figure that made you such a pussy, or the daddy who never gives you any attention?"
That did it. You watch the spark of amusement vanish from his eyes instantly.In a split second, he lunges across the seat, grabbing your chin in a bruising grip. He pins you against the window, his face so close you can feel his hot breath against your skin. You feel his other hand slide between your legs. Both of your gazes drop to his hand. Valarrâ who has had wet dreams about this exact momentâ can hardly believe it himself.
"You talk pretty bold for someone whose life I could destroy." He squeezes, his fingers digging into your flesh. You quickly slap your hand over his. "Stop, you're hurting me," you whisper, your lips trembling into a pout.
The dam finally breaksâ the exhaustion of the constant pressure, the obsession with being the best, the fear for your futureâ it all floods out. You break down in tears right in front of the person who should be the last to see you like this.
Mortified, you cover your face with your hands. Valarr lets go of your chin and your leg. Slowly, he pulls you into his arms, hauling you onto his lap and holding you tight. He strokes your hair, whispering softly into your ear. "Shhh, it's okay. Itâs all going to be fine."
Over the next few days, you see each other in every single class. Valarr has decided to start sitting next to you, staying closer than heâs ever been. Even the 64% in Constitutional Law has miraculously transformed into a 96%.
Sometimes, when you step out of class, he follows you. You spend those moments together, laughing and giggling in the quiet hallways. Whenever your hair falls into your face, heâs there to gently tuck the strands behind your ear.
Valarr starts showing up at the university library more and more- something he almost never did before. You constantly find yourselves trading glances, neither of you daring to speak a word in the heavy silence of the room. But every now and then, you sneak off to make out between the hidden rows of bookshelves.
Slowly, you realize you're actually falling for him. Heâs charming, handsome, and unexpectedly devoted. Lately, heâs even started sending gifts to your house- thoughtful little things like chocolates, books- where he would mark certain sentences and words- and roses. Oh, how you loved those roses.
One night, you get a text from himâ at 2:00 AM.
You don't hesitate and call him right away. He picks up quickly, and you hear his tired voiceâ it sounds deeper than usual, and hotter. "Uhm, so what's bothering you tonight, my prince?" you joke around, a smile spreading across your face. "Don't call me that," he replies. After a moment, he continues, "I can't stop thinking about you." A giggle escapes from your end of the line. "Oh, really?" your voice taking on a flirty tone.
You can hear Valarr breathe out before he answers, "All the timeâ I think about your eyes, your lips⊠about holding your waist." His voice triggers a deep, indescribable urge inside you. "Sounds pretty great for you," you say, trying to mask your nervousness with irony and humor.
"Should I come over? Then I can show you what's great." You can literally hear the smirk in his voice. "Why did you want to call, Valarr?" "No reason, I just wanted to hear your voice," is all he repliesâand you start laughing like a girl who's head over heels in love.
"Tell me about your day." "Are you sure you want to hear it?" "Yeah, just talk," he replies, his voice calmer than usual. "I woke up with a terrible headache today, but it got better later, uhm, what else? The day went like any other Tuesdayâ OMG, I forgot to mention, that one chemistry professor was supposedly seen in a student's dorm. She claims it was for extra tutoring, but pleaseâ" your words suddenly cut off when you hear him breathing heavily. "Are you okay?" you ask, but he only answers, "Keep talking."
"Ehmâokay, where was I? Uhm, whatever, it doesn't matter. Other than that, I barely did anything. Tell me about your day, Your Highness." You try to deflect the conversation away from yourself; after all, nobody likes someone who's self-centered. "Uhmâmy day was⊠okayâ tell me more." Valarr's voice sounds different, shaky and out of breath, but you try not to pay too much attention to it.
"I don't think there's anything elseâ although⊠nope." "Shitâthen just talk about anything," Valarr's voice sounds frustrated and desperate. "Are you sure you're okay?" You have absolutely no idea what's going on. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have raised my voice like thatâ please forgive me⊠I just love hearing your voice so much."
"You are forgiven, my princeâ" "The next time we see each otherâ" "Then what? Are you going to send your chauffeur, Your Highness?" you laugh at the end. "Okay, since you're insisting so much, I want to see you again⊠preferably right now." "Should I come over?" he replies on the other end, but you can't take the question seriously since you guys are supposed to be sleeping, a little laugh escapes you.
"I'm serious, I could be at your place in 20 minutes," Valarr says before he gets up and throws something on. "Valarr, it's the middle of the night, won't your dad get mad or something?" "No, it'll be fine," he just says before hanging up and leaving you there completely confused.
"Fuck," you say as you jump up, clean your room a little bit, and get a little dressed up, a cuter pajama outfit, maybe some short shorts and a t-shirt. Shortly after, you already get a text.
You don't hesitate and head to the front door, glad he didn't ring the bell, otherwise everyone would be awake. You see him standing there, his dark hair hidden under a hoodie, dressed completely in black. You grab his hand as fast as possible and whisper, "Shhh." Quietly, you try to sneak him into your room so that nobody finds out he's here and softly lock the door behind you.
"We have to be quiet, my mom is going to wake up in two hours to go to work," you whisper again, and he just nods. While he is still standing by the door, you have already moved to the middle of the room. Valarr canât help but stare at you from head to toeâ how beautiful your face looks in the moonlight, how soft your hair looks, and how you are standing there in your short shorts and bare legs. He can't help but let his mind wander to places he tries to push away.
He quickly turns away to look around your roomâ the pictures on the walls, the stuffed animals on your bed, all the open books scattered across your desk. "If you need tutoringâ" he says with a teasing smirk, but you don't even let him finish. "If I ever need tutoring, you can be sure the world is ending," you fire back. He turns his entire body back to you and takes slow steps toward you, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him. Slowly, his other hand finds your cheek, tilting your head up to his level. "I missed you," he says, before bringing his face closer to yours, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping right before your lips touch.
You know exactly what he wants to hear. "I missed you too," you whisper, completely breathless. In that exact second, his lips collide with yours. His lips feels warm and softâ his body pressing closer and closer against yours. He smells so good, that's all you can processâa scent of warmth, his unnecessarily expensive perfume, and his body wash.
His hand wanders lower and lower, and you feel his palm rest against one of your butt cheeks, gripping it firmly, rough and fast. You can't help but groan into his mouth, your hand moving from his neck to his chest. You want so badly to keep goingâto keep feeling your knees go weak and to keep those butterflies in your stomachâbut you also know exactly where this is heading.
You gently push him away, breaking the kissâ both of you gasping for the air you lost while kissing. "What's wrong?" Valarr breaks the silence as he notices your expression. "We shouldn't..." you say, taking a step back and creating distance between you.
Valarrâs entire mood shifts instantly. You see something change in his eyes, his facial features, which looked so soft just seconds ago, harden. He doesn't take a step toward you, but the way he freezes his gaze on you nowâ like a predator calculating his prey's escapeâ makes the air between you practically vibrate.
"Why?" he asks. The word comes out dry and completely emotionless. He raises his hand and runs his fingers through his hair, pushing his hoodie back a bit. His face is now half in the shadows, only his eyes flashing for a moment as they wander down your bare legs and the tight top that rises and falls with every ragged breath you take.
"You lured me here in the middle of the night," he says, his tone so smooth that it hurts. "You kissed me. You showed me that you wanted this." He takes a step toward you. It isn't a rushed step, but a deliberate one. Your heels hit the edge of the bed. You can't go back anymore.
"And now you want to call it off?" he asks, a cold, thin smile curling his lipsâ one that has nothing to do with the man who was gently holding your waist two minutes ago. "You know exactly what I'm here for."
The realization hits you harder than the shock itself. He isn't here because he likes you. He's here because he can be. Because he thinks he can take whatever he wants just because his last name carries him through life. The anger inside you replaces the fear. It's a hot, stinging feeling that hits you in the stomach. He's just like every other spoiled guyâ a hollow shell with a massive ego.
"Leave," you say, and even though your voice shakes, it is sharp enough to cut through the silence. "Get out of my room, Valarr. Right now."
A short, mocking scoff escapes him before he grabs you with a speed that takes your breath away. His hand closes tightly around your neckâ not tight enough to cut off your air, but tight enough to strip away all your authority. He shoves you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you sink onto the mattress. He towers over you, a dark shadow swallowing the remaining light in the room.
He leans down so low that his lips almost touch your ear. "Quiet," he hisses, a dangerous, calculated calmness in his voice that makes you tremble more than a scream would. "Your mom is sleeping right next door. Do you really want her to see what you're up to tonight?"
He doesn't loosen his gripâ on the contrary, his thumb presses against your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His gaze is completely stripped of the warmth he was faking so convincingly just moments ago.
"Do you really think you have a say here?" he murmurs, and the smirk spreading across his face hurts worse than any blow. His eyes slowly scan your face as if evaluating the damage he just caused, all while using his body weight to pin you against the mattress so you can't move an inch. He is enjoying the power he has over you, and he knows damn well that in this moment, you have no choice but to stay still.
Hot tears collect in the corners of your eyes, burning like fire as they run unchecked down your temples and into the pillowcase. It isn't just the fearâ it's this deep, bitter hurt because, for a second, you actually believed there was more behind his touch.
"Please..." you manage to choke out between sobs, your voice barely more than a tortured whisper. "Stop. Please, Valarr, let me go." You feel the tension in his body suddenly shift. He freezes above you.
An understated curse escapes him, almost sounding like self-hatred. He looks at you, and for a fraction of a second, a painful regret flashes in his eyes beneath the dark mask of obsession. He doesn't loosen his grip on your neckâ instead, his fingers slide just a bit gentler across your skin, like a caress that stands in stark contrast to his harshness.
He leans closer until his lips brush against your ear. His breath is hot, and his voice is suddenly that soft, honey-sweet drug that lured you into this trap in the first place. "Shh, don't cry, princess," he whispers, and the contrast between those tender words and the fact that he is still forcing you down onto the mattress with his entire weight is absolutely disturbing.
âYou know how much I hate it when you cry. Why do you have to make this so difficult for me?â With his free hand, he runs it over your arm, almost tenderly, while his thumb remains firmly under your chin, holding your head in place. He strokes you while simultaneously controlling you and keeping you trapped.
âYouâre so beautiful when youâre like this,â he breathes, and the coldness in his eyes is now mixed with a frightening, almost manic affection. He wants to comfort youâ he needs you to calm down againâ but he has absolutely no intention of letting you go.
âCome on, breathe for me. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me that you belong to me, and I promise Iâll be very gentle with you.â âSay it,â he urges, his voice a rough plea that only tears you apart even more.
While one hand forces your chin upward so that you have to look at him, the other glides over your arm. His fingertips press firmly into your skin, traveling from your collarbone slowly over the neckline of your top. He takes his time, tracing the curves of your body as though marking a valuable piece of property that belongs to him alone.
Then he pushes the fabric of your top aside with a cold, precise movement. Your skin burns beneath his touch, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he strokes the back of your neck at the same time. You flinch, instinctively trying to twist away from beneath him, but he reacts immediately. His knee slides between your legs, pressing you deeper into the mattress and taking away any room to move. He uses his weight to pin you completely while his free hand finds the waistband of your pajama shorts.
He completely ignores your renewed sobbing. âYou belong to me,â he murmurs against your neck, and his lips leave a hot trail along your jaw that almost feels like a kiss, but something far more possessive. âYou have the scholarship, you have that place at the schoolâ all of it belongs to me. And thatâs why,â his fingers now push deeper beneath the fabric of your shorts, searching for your bare skin, âyou belong to me too. You have no choice but to enjoy this now.â
He feels your resistance, but instead of stopping, he presses his body even more heavily against yours. He enjoys the power he holds over you in that moment. He caresses you while humiliating you, and the cruelest part is that he acts as though heâs doing you a favor.
âStop,â you force out, your voice breaking as you try to press your knees together.
But he only laughs softlyâ a dark, amused sound that seems almost too loud in the silence of the room.
His hand finds its way, relentless and demanding. He ignores your attempts to fend him off completely. When he enters you without any warning, you let out a muffled cry that you immediately bury in the pillow, terrified that your mother in the next room might hear something. The violation you feel is almost physical, a shame so deep that you feel as though you might lose your mind.
At first he moves slowly, as if testing you, as if wanting to see how long you can keep fighting against yourself. Your hands clutch at the fabric of his hoodieâ you want to push him away, want to struggle against him, but your body betrays you.
The stimulation is too much, too direct, and against your will your nerves begin to respond to him. The anger that had driven you moments before starts to drown in a wet, hot haze. Your breathing becomes shallower, faster. Your resistanceâwhich had been the firm clenching of your legsâbegins to fade. Your muscles relax, your hips lifting involuntarily to meet his rhythm.
It happens so quickly, so overwhelmingly, that you do not even notice how you have changed. Your head falls back, a soft whimper escaping your throat as the wave crashes over you. You are so lost in this physical betrayal that you fail to notice how the hands that had just been trying to push him away are now digging into his back, pulling him closer.
When you finally tremble, your head pressed firmly into the mattress, and only then does he slowly and triumphantly bring you to stillness, the room is utterly silent.
He lowers himself onto you, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing heavily. You feel his smile against your ear before he speaks.
âWell, look at that,â he whispers, his tone pure poison, a mixture of mockery and cold satisfaction. âYou fought so hard that you didnât even notice how wide you opened your legs for me. You stopped fighting before I was even finished.â
He pulls back slightly, only so he can look directly into your eyes. The expression on his face is triumphant, almost pitying, as though you are putting on some sad performance.
âHow does it feel, princess?â he asks quietly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. âTo know that your body is so much more honest than your mouth?â
A burning hatred floods through your body, hotter and more intense than the shame that had paralyzed you moments before. You gather the last scraps of your strength, clench your hands into fists, and shove him away with all your strength. Surprised by the sudden resistance and caught up in his own sense of victory, he actually rolls backward.
You seize the moment to retreat like a wounded animal to the other end of the bed, clutching the blanket to your chest like a shield.
Valarr lands on his feet, standing there like a black silhouette in the darkness. He seems unnaturally relaxed. As he casually adjusts the erection in his sweatpants beneath the black fabric with almost arrogant self-assurance, a short, dry laugh escapes him.
âFuck you,â you manage to say.
Your voice is hoarse, little more than a trembling rasp, but in the silent apartment it sounds like a hammer blow.
Valarr pauses. His laughter fadesânot because he is offended, but because he has lost interest in teasing you. Now things are serious.
He takes a step toward youânot aggressively, but with the slow, threatening calm of a man who knows he holds all the cards. One hand braces against the mattress as he leans over you until his face is so close that you can smell the sharp scent of his cologne mixed with the stale sweat of the last few minutes.
âYou can throw as many insults at me as you want,â he whispers, and his tone is now ice-cold; every trace of tenderness has been erased from his voice. âBut think carefully about who will be standing there tomorrow at school when this gets out. Your scholarship? One word from me to the administration and youâre out before you can say âno.â And your motherâŠâ
He pauses theatrically, studying your reaction. âIt would be a shame if her life suddenly became just as complicated as yours, simply because you canât control yourself.â
He brushes your cheek with his index finger, a gesture so condescending that it makes you want to vomit. He enjoys the absolute helplessness in your gaze. He knows he has you.
âSleep well, princess,â he murmurs, and his voice is once again that sweet, cruel honey.
He leans forward one last time. You freeze, expecting a kiss on your mouth, your neckâ somewhere that will hurt. Instead, you feel only his lips, brief and almost reverent, against your forehead.
Then he turns away and disappears into the darkness as silently as he came, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of your room.
a/n: my mind is flooded with ideas and thoughts but Iâm just to lazy to write them down, but trust me Iâll be more active!