#dark!fic

Barely anyone else came to this gym and to you it was a miracle it managed to stay open in this small and unforgiving town. When you started working longer hours, you figured a place like this would be good to get out all your frustration from the day. It operated 24 hours, flexible enough to allow you to come and go as you pleased. 

At first the times at which you came varied but about four months ago you had come a bit later, around 10:30 pm or so. You had been alone for a while, but then she walked in. 

It’s a clear vision in your head, even now. The way she kept her head down, a tight tank top pressed against her skin. You hadn’t meant to stare but there was really nothing else to look at and it was a nice distraction from the burning within your body from pushing yourself non stop. She knew her way around, that much was apparent to you. 

Ellie’s workout routine varied each night but she never seemed to stray from the weights section, her muscles straining in a way that made your eyes narrow in her direction just to get a better look. Sometimes you would make the mistake of staring too long, her eyes catching on yours for a moment only to flicker away in an instant as if you were just a fly on the wall. 

To you, that meant she either didn’t notice your constant gazes or she just didn’t care. It physically made your heart ache, a burn so deep in your chest that you were unsure if it was from your emotions or from the irritating amount of cardio you made yourself do just to stay in her presence a while longer. 

It was a ritual by now, come in at 10:30 pm, and wait for her. Each time she has shown without fail, as you took the same rest days as her just so you wouldn’t have to be in this space without her. Sundays and Wednesdays are unbearable, your skin crawling with an insatiable need to be back near her. 

She had never uttered a word to you or even given you a smile, but maybe that is why you were so fascinated with her. Whether or not you truly knew her was insignificant because your mind and body missed the way the air around you seemed to shift whenever she came by.

Now, both hands of the clock rest on 12. Beads of sweat roll down your neck as your chest heaves, frustration mixing with confusion all at once. It’s a Saturday and she should be here, so why isn’t she? 

Ellie never came late and the quiet that surrounds you is somewhat jarring. You had stopped bringing your headphones a while ago, opting to listen to her heavy breathing and the sound of the weights slamming back into place when she finished using them. 

A hollow ache fills you now, and your muscles are begging for rest. You glance over at the front desk by the door, noticing that the one worker that was usually here at this time had disappeared into the break room. It wasn’t unusual, as no one beside you and Ellie came here at such an hour. 

Well, just you now. 

Just as you are about to call it a night, the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor catch your attention. As always, your eyes fall upon her within seconds. 

But it is so different this time because she is looking right at you. Her eyes don’t skip over you, and she doesn’t break eye contact for a second. You freeze up for a moment, the shock of it crashing over you. 

It feels wrong to look away, so your head turns to follow her footsteps, watching as she walks into the locker room towards the back of the gym. Ellie only ever went in there after she finished her workout, never once had she gone in before getting started. 

All of this was completely out of order, your mind is scrambling to try and understand why all of this is happening. The routine of your nights with her felt holy in some way, and your frustration was only building because it seemed as if she were messing everything up on purpose. 

You finish stretching, but you don’t get up because you’re unsure of which move to make next. Your purse and keys were in that locker room, but Ellie hasn’t come out yet. Minutes pass, the ticking of the clock an infuriating reminder that you are wasting time. 

It is way too late, and you’re exhausted by every last detail of today. You shake your head, scoffing slightly because you had spent so long watching Ellie that she felt somewhat beyond your reach. This slight interaction makes her all too real, and you just want to get out of here before anything else can throw you off. 

You let your body move on its own, your legs carrying you toward the locker room at a slower stride than usual. Your hesitance is evident in the way you move, even if you are curious about why Ellie is taking so long in there. 

As you move further down the dark hallway, your nose wrinkles from the overwhelming scent of smoke. Undoubtedly menthols, and you knew exactly who was responsible for it. You had seen Ellie smoke outside before, but only after she had finished her workout, never before. 

Unsurprisingly, you find her sitting on one of the benches in the locker room, the cigarette nearly burnt down to the filter. She sits casually, as if she wasn’t actively flipping your world upside down with her every action today. If she notices you this time, she doesn’t make it known, her head lowered as she stares at the grimy tile beneath her shoes. 

Your eyes linger as they always do because you were under the assumption she wasn’t taking notice of your presence and you had grown accustomed to being completely invisible to her. 

Her converse are scuffed and dirty but you can really see the details of each marking now that you are closer to her, the fabric of the shoes worn down in such a way that it makes you wonder how long she’s had them for. 

Your head tilts in the slightest as your eyes trail further up, taking notice of how she is wearing grey sweats tonight instead of a black pair as she usually did. Before you can let yourself peer at her tank top, your gaze fixes upon her lap once more, only because you see something new. 

There is a slight bulge you can just barely make out, something clearly pressing against the material. The sight is enough to make your skin tingle, curiosity mixing with a desperate need to see what lies beneath the fabric. She had never been packing before today, you were certain you would have noticed if she had done it in the past. 

It caught you off guard completely and for half a moment you forgot that not only could you see her, but she could also see you. 

You had grown so comfortable with not having to hide your constant staring that now you made no attempt to conceal your fascination with her. Even now, your hands merely rested against the locker that is holding your belongings but you made no movement to actually unlock it. Your focus is entirely on Ellie and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. 

“You really are fuckin’ shameless” Ellie scoffs, flicking the cigarette butt down onto the floor as she leans forward with her elbows on her knees. The suddenness of her attention being directed towards you makes you instantly look back up at her face, feeling the air being suffocated out of your lungs as she stares right back. 

“I… I didn’t mean..” you begin to stutter, shaking your head slowly as if she were the one who had made a mistake. You’re convinced that your very being is caving in before her, exposing every inch of yourself against your will. 

You don’t try to explain properly, as there really was no reason for you to be looking at her. Instead you continuously fumble with the lock you usually had no issues opening in the past, although now your hands are shaking far too much to put the combination in correctly. 

Ellie doesn’t seem impressed with your response, or lack thereof, at all. She stands up, her demeanor formidable in an all consuming way. “What?” she questions, moving closer until she is taking up the space in the bubble you had placed around yourself so many years ago. She is blocking your locker now, forcing you to stand there with your eyes as wide as a doe staring straight ahead at a set of headlights. 

“Seriously, what were you going to say? What could possibly be an excuse for the way you were just eye fucking me the same way you’ve been doing every night?” she questions, her tone so gruff that you feel completely humiliated for thinking she hadn’t noticed your constant compulsion to look at her as often as possible. 

She is so close that you can pick up on the warmth of her scent, cigarette smoke mixed with a musky, almost myrrh like undertone that makes her feel undeniably real to you. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. You just seem so nice n’ I just like seeing you” you whisper in a tone so reverently that Ellie can’t help but feel pity. “I shouldn’t be bothering you like this. I’ll stop coming here, I’ll leave you alone” you begin to ramble, unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a split second before your eyes flicker away to soothe your nerves. 

But your efforts to console her are cut short, your voice dying in your throat as her hand grips your face. Her hand is warm, calloused from lifting weights but a soothing weight nonetheless. It isn’t hard for her to force you to hold eye contact with her now, the tips of her fingers digging into your cheeks while her palm holds your chin steady. 

The touch is sudden and intimate, knocking you out of your frantic daze as you watch a mix of frustration and amusement dance across her features. “You don’t get to just disappear on me, no fucking way” she spits, her hold on your face growing painful now but you don’t move away. 

“Do you know how hard it is to control myself when you are here? God, you really don’t know what you’ve put me through” she continues on, noticing the confusion radiating from you which only spurs her to elaborate. 

“I can feel your eyes on me all the time, but you wouldn’t speak a single word to me. I tried staying here longer just to see if you’d come up to me or just do something to let me know I wasn’t imagining all of this” 

Ellie lowers her hand now, moving towards the pulse point of your neck and feeling it frantically fluttering. It makes her smile in the slightest, although it is more akin to a smirk of satisfaction. 

“You look so pretty every time I see you” she sighs, her voice lowering as though she were telling you a secret she had kept hidden for far too long. “Your cheeks all flushed, that sweat dripping down your skin and … fuck, the way you breathe is enough to make me insane” she adds on. 

You are filled with confusion now, your mind scrambling to catch up with everything she was telling you. “Do you… do you know my name?” you question, even if it isn’t what you should be concerned about right now. 

The question makes her roll her eyes in the slightest, making you feel like an idiot. “Of course I do” she sighs, saying your name as she refuses to look away from you. “I know more about you than I should; much more than you know about me” she states with complete confidence, bearing herself to you. 

“But even after all that you ignore me. And as soon as I get you here alone, you’re apologizing and trying to get rid of me as quickly as possible” she huffs, her air of frustration filling the small space between you once more. 

“It makes me so angry, do you know that, sweetheart? It makes me want to follow you home again, just so I can watch you spend all night peering out the window because you can feel me watching you” she whispers, now using both her hands to hold your arms as she shifts your position. 

Now, your back is pressed against the uncomfortably cold lockers, your skin still burning hot from working out. She doesn’t care if it’s uncomfortable for you, cornering you completely before she spends a long moment simply holding eye contact with you, relishing in the fact that you were finally alone with her and had nowhere to run off to. 

Her words take a moment to truly sink in, the realization that she had been following you home making you tremble in the slightest. You can’t help the natural fearful reaction you have to what she is saying, even if you had been dreaming of having her attention on you. 

Ellie coos at the sight of you looking utterly terrified, taking notice of the sheen of sweat that still coats your skin. “I only did it because I care about you, doll” she hums, her voice low and soothing. 

She can’t help herself anymore, leaning down and flattening her tongue against your neck before licking upwards, moaning when she reaches your cheek and feels a salty tear melt against her taste buds. 

You should be trying to get away from her, screaming for someone to help you… but you don’t. Instead, you whimper from the relief of being close to her at last, your tears only falling because you had spent so long believing she didn’t care about your existence. 

“I didn’t want to make you angry, I promise” you say softly, whining in the slightest when she moves back down to your neck, nipping at your skin before letting her teeth really dig into the flesh. It’s painful, but it relieves the ache that has consumed your heart these past few months. 

Ellie kisses over each mark she leaves behind, her fingers now digging into your hips, fearful you would disappear if she let you go for even a moment. “I know that, silly girl. But even if it wasn’t intentional, you still hurt me. So you have to make it up to me” she says, completely certain now that you would do anything to please her. 

You can only nod, her kisses melting your brain in such a way that she now held all the power here. It felt heavenly to surrender yourself so completely to her, your eyes momentarily flutter shut as you focus on the feeling of her breath against your freshly marked skin. 

But Ellie is ravenous, desperate for the connection she had been deprived of for months. “Eyes on me” she states swiftly, pulling away to deny you the touch she knows you crave. 

It works instantly, your eyes snapping back open as your brows furrow in a way that shows her your displeasure. Although your expression smooths over when you can truly take in the details of her face, each freckle placed so perfectly upon her skin that you feel as if God had created her just for you to behold. 

Her mere presence is a blessing to you, and all you want is to belong to her in every way. 

“Do you want to come over? To my apartment, I mean” you ask, finding it hard to speak even if you knew that she wanted you the same way you wanted her. To your dismay, she shakes her head to say no and for a split second you fear that you have somehow overstepped again. 

“I can’t wait that long” she states quickly, picking up on your unease. She presses herself impossibly close and now you can undoubtedly feel her strap pressing against you through her sweats. It makes a knot form in your stomach, a frantic need to feel her inside of you, to be connected with her at last. 

You are knocked out of your daze as soon as you hear footsteps, not coming inside the locker room, but clearly passing by. It was a sudden and uncomfortable reminder that there was a possibility of being seen and it makes your cheeks burn with shame. 

Ellie hates that something can pull away your attention from her so easily, her right hand rising to firmly tap your cheek twice. It’s not quite a slap, but the sting of it is enough to put your focus back on her, albeit you now have a pout adorning your lips. 

“Not here, Ellie. They can hear us… I mean, what if someone walks in? What if someone sees?” you whisper frantically, trying to look away again to glance at the door but no one walks through. 

This time when you look away, Ellie is not so kind. A sharp pain spreads throughout your cheek now, the impact jarring you for a split second before you realize that she had slapped you with full force this time. 

And fuck, she is strong. 

The pain takes a moment to really seep in, tears brimming your eyes as it seems to worsen as seconds pass by. But your focus is centered back on her, and that is proof to her that her actions were necessary. 

She doesn’t speak right away, pleased enough to watch more tears stream down your cheeks as you stutter over your own words. 

Lowering her head a bit, she is able to really get in your face, keeping her voice low so that what she says can’t be heard beyond the space the two of you share. “You really think those employees give a shit about what we do here?” she questions with a half hearted laugh, your apprehension to all of this amusing to her, even if she is irritated. 

Ellie leaves space for you to answer but you are still sniffling and fighting back the urge to cry more just because she is being so mean to you. After a long pause you hesitantly shake your head side to side, trying to gauge if you are giving her the answer she wants to hear. 

Much to your relief, she seems pleased by the motion. “That’s right, angel. They don’t care, and no one comes to this shit hole at this hour anyways. But I’m getting real tired of you making me be so cruel. Thought a sweet little thing like you would be willing to make me feel better, but maybe I was wrong” she mutters. 

She feigns a wounded expression, slowly but surely beginning to pull away from you until you can move freely once more. The loss of pressure and warmth from her body feels suffocating to your heart, the ache between your thighs making you acutely aware of just how badly you needed her to be touching you. 

“Fuckin’ waste of time” she huffs, not looking at you as she turns away. The thought of her leaving you here makes panic crawl up your throat, the pain from her hitting you feeling akin to a distant memory as you shake your head frantically to refuse her attempts to discard you. 

“No, no, please. Ellie, I didn’t mean it like that. I was scared, I was being stupid!” you plead with her, not even bothering to whisper now as you cry out. Your shaking hands grasp at her tank top, not truly strong enough to halt her but making an effort to do so nonetheless. 

You can’t explain what you feel at this moment, as some rational part of you knows that none of this is right and yet you are willing to go to any length to make her stay here with you. 

Without overthinking it, you drop to your knees in front of her, your kneecaps colliding with the tile beneath you. The physical pain of the action is meaningless, your mind utterly engrossed with the need to please her. 

Ellie finally stops trying to leave, her green eyes taking in the pathetic sight of you. Your breaths are uneven, your cheeks still flushed beautifully from working out only a while earlier. She can see the red mark she had left behind on your cheek and she truly hopes it bruises just to ensure that you remember everything about tonight. 

“You really were being stupid, huh?” she says, her voice calm as she watches you press your cheek against her thigh. The fabric of her sweats is so soft that it soothes you, serving as a reminder that you had managed to make her stay. 

You nod your head, so pleased that she is speaking to you again that you can’t help but smile up at her. She runs her fingers through your mussed hair, treating you like a precious pet that simply needed to be trained. 

No further movements are made by you because it is finally clicking in your mind that you shouldn’t say or do anything until Ellie wills you to do so. Instead, you remain in place, your hips slightly twitching in search of friction now because the outline of Ellie’s strap is far clearer down here, and all you can think of is the relief you will feel once it is inside you. 

Her eyes rake over you, committing the sight of you like this in her memory. But since you’re behaving so well, she finally gives you directions. 

“Everything off, but stay on your knees” she commands, her voice steady amidst so much chaos. You don’t need to be told twice, yanking off your tank top along with the flimsy shorts that had been worn down after so many sessions of working out, and kicking off your shoes and socks. Next to go is your sports bra, tits fully on display for her viewing pleasure. And when you messily squirm your way out of your panties, Ellie can swear she has reached heaven. 

You freeze up when you hear footsteps near the door again, but you know better. This time, you don’t look away from her. But she can see how fearful you are, and it makes her groan in delight. 

“Atta’ girl, following directions so well” she praises, still standing above you and fully clothed. You are clay in her hands now, waiting to be molded into something perfect, something only Ellie can love. 

She glances at your discarded panties that lie on the floor, noticing the damp spot on them, the cotton  soaked with your arousal. 

“Your cunt got all sticky just from a little bit of attention from me?” she questions, although she quickly follows up before you can respond. “Or maybe you just really like it when I hit you” she wonders aloud, already knowing how to make you squirm. 

You should feel ashamed but you don’t because she seems truly pleased with you, and that is all you need to feel content. 

So you give her a bashful smile, your hand rising to gently touch over your cheek, the same spot that was now beginning to properly bruise from the unforgiving slap she had given you. 

The movement is silent and you don’t speak up to confirm nor deny what she had said, but the adoring way you stare up at her is just enough for her to continue on. 

Ellie settles on the bench in between the lockers that she had been sitting on earlier, her legs spread open. She can feel your eyes trailing her every move, just as you had done so many times in the past. She pats her thigh, beckoning you closer but you can tell she isn’t asking you to sit on her lap. 

So you crawl closer, your hands and knees pressing against the icy tile beneath you. Chills rise on your skin but you don’t falter, settling between her thighs after a few seconds. 

You can hear her muttering curses under her breaths as she takes you in, a pitiful girl so willing to bend to her every whim. She clicks her tongue, noticing the way you let your eyes trail down toward what you had been staring at since you first saw her today. 

“Awh, why don’t you give my cock some attention, sweet thing” she suggests, as if it were even an option at this point. It is more of her granting you permission to begin, her hips already rising to help you as you tug her boxers down with her sweats so that you can get what you need so badly. 

“Thank you” you mutter, the words falling from your lips naturally. And as soon as the material is down far enough for her strap to be visible, you can’t help the low whine that leaves your parted lips. 

It’s somehow better than you imagined, the same shade as her skin tone and thick enough that you feel intimidated by the mere sight of it. The tip is a pretty shade of pink that looks all too realistic, your tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip as you take in every last detail. 

“We don’t have all night to waste” she reminds you as you stare, knowing you are in a bit of a dazed state which means you need a few reminders about taking action instead of simply ogling in disbelief. 

“Get it nice n’ wet for me, doll. I’ve been dreamin’ of having those pretty lips wrapped around my cock since I first caught you staring” she confesses, groaning as she watches your hand wrap around the base ever so gently as if she were something sacred. 

All of this feels like a dream, the lights overhead buzzing as you glance up at her one more time to confirm this is what she really wants you to do. When you see the approval you seek out, your head immediately lowers. 

It’s gentle at first, your lips pressing little kisses all the way down the shaft before rising to the tip once more. You finally part your lips for her, never daring to look away from her as you take her further into your mouth. 

You make no effort to hide your desperation to take more, letting your spit coat her cock so it only gets easier for her to push further into your throat. Even if you know there are people right outside these walls, you still gag around her strap and whine whenever it hits the back of your throat. 

Ellie watches more tears take form in the corners of your eyes, your determination to please her making her nearly lightheaded. “Yeah, fuck. Look at you, taking me so well” she praises through clenched teeth, so caught up in the moment that she almost believes she can feel the tight heat of your throat. 

She guides your head further down, her fingers ruthlessly yanking at your hair with every movement. The pain of it only makes you needier, tears now fully streaming down your cheeks. It's hard to breathe, but that is the last thing you care about when you can hear Ellie’s constant praises for letting her use you. 

“I knew you’d look so precious like this but Christ, this is…” she trails off, taking notice of the way your saliva spills from the corners of your mouth and drips down onto your tits and the floor beneath you. “This is just where you’re meant to be” she finally finished her sentence, yanking you back with ease to get a good look at you. 

Your lips are swollen, spit slick and so utterly perfect. She pulls you up just enough so that your face is close to hers, still holding the back of your neck to keep her control over you. She moves slowly now, licking over your plush lips before kissing you properly. 

The way she moves her lips against your own makes you feel seen and loved. It’s all consuming, teeth clashing as she tries to memorize every detail of your warmth. Her tongue slides slowly against yours, her saliva mixing with your own as the two of you melt into one another. 

Ellie pulls you back once she is certain that neither of you will be able to breathe without taking a break, only for her to then use her thumb to pry open your mouth once more so she can spit directly into it. 

“Swallow it” she states simply, her eyes focusing on your throat as you do what she asks of you, her heart finally at ease now that she has proof that there is a piece of her inside you. 

Your heart is soaring, even if your mind can’t yet fully catch up with everything going on. All you know is that this is where you have wanted to be for so long, and that kiss was proof that you truly mean something to her. 

“I love you” 

The words leave your mouth before you can bury them back in your heart, and you are even in shock from your inability to hide your true feelings from her. It is a completely absurd thing to say because this is the first time either of you have properly spoken and you begin to tense up, bracing for rejection. 

But it never comes. 

Instead, she brings your face closer once more and presses a soft kiss to your lips this time. 

“I love you too” she says, her voice a soothing balm to your racing mind. The words aren’t forced or false, only a declaration of the way she felt for you. 

How you end up bent over the bench with her behind you is a mystery to you, your mind so hazy that you can only giggle as you look back to see her kneeling behind you. 

She uses her thumbs to spread you open, her breath fanning against your cunt enough to make you squirm in the slightest. The movement doesn’t make Ellie falter, her lips messily pressing against your sacred place repeatedly. 

“Sweeter than I could’ve imagined” she praises  against your sensitive flesh, making a mess of herself as she lets herself drown in your taste and scent. She knows taking her time right now isn’t the best idea but there was no way she was skipping over getting a taste of you, even if it has to be brief. 

She listens to every breathy moan you let out, finding it adorable that you were doing your best to keep quiet just so that no one would catch the two of you in the act. With one final kiss to your clit, she pulls away to stand back up. 

With ease in every movement, she manages to change your position yet again so that you’re facing the lockers, your hands pressing against the cool metal to keep yourself steady as she pulls your hips back toward her. 

“Can’t really take my time with you tonight, sweetheart. But I promise it’ll feel good if you stay nice n’ relaxed for me. You can do that, can’t you?” she whispers, her lips close to your ear as her chest presses against your back. 

You already know it will be a stretch to fit her without taking her fingers hurt but you nod your head, willing to take what she can give you. 

It is too hard to talk now, your brain useless when Ellie makes it so easy to just let her make every single choice for you. But your silence doesn’t bother her since she can feel you pushing your hips back in search of her cock. 

Her strap is still slick with your spit and your cunt is obscenely sticky from your own juices, so she knows it won’t be too much for you to handle. 

She lines up the tip with your entrance, feeling it catch after grinding herself against you a few times just to get you used to the feeling. “S’ gonna be a big stretch but you can take it” she breathes out as she begins to push her hips forward. 

Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of her strap sinking into you, inch after inch filling you in a way you never thought possible. It aches for a moment or two, making you cry out so suddenly that Ellie has to clamp her hand over your mouth. 

Even if the workers at the front aren’t very attentive, she didn’t want them to have a reason to burst in at this moment. She needs this, and so do you. Keeping you quiet isn’t something she wants to do, but it’s necessary to ensure that she can get you off  before the night ends. 

You have to breathe through your nose, your relentless moans muffled by her strong hand. Your eyes nearly roll back when she bottoms out, the ache dulling slowly as pleasure begins to take over. 

“Taking it so well, dove. S’ all the way in now, n’ you’re pretty pussy is still trying to get me in deeper” she coos, feeling you drool against her hand. 

“Gonna pull out just a bit… and slowlyyyy go back in” she mutters, drawing out her words as she explains her every move to dumb you down further. She is kind enough to give you a few slow thrusts before she begins to revert to her natural way of being. 

Each move of her hips grows messy and forceful, your skin colliding with her own until a wet slapping can be heard throughout the locker room. You can feel your knees beginning to weaken, wanting to collapse under the weight of your own bliss. 

You try to beg her to slow down a bit, that it feels too good, but all your words are incoherent and jumbled against her palm. Ellie knows you’re getting lost in the sensation of it all but she can’t let you go for even a second. 

Instead, she changes her hold once she knows you’re too dumb to form any proper sentences. She wraps her bicep around your neck, putting you in a headlock tight enough to make it easy to keep you upright. And much to her pleasure she finds that your air flow is restricted just enough that you can only let out weak whimpers and gasps as she fucks you within an inch of your life. 

Her strength is shown in the way her arm curls around your neck with such force, the hold she has on you barely needing any real effort from her. She kisses the back of your head as her hips begin to move faster, knowing that you won’t be able to hold back your release much longer. 

“Waited so long to have this, to have you. And I’d do it all over again too. I’d wait outside your window while you sleep, I’d memorize your license plate number, I’d look through your locker… I’d do it all again, all for you” she grunts as she deepens her thrusts. 

You should be terrified to know what she has done these past few months but you aren’t, not even a bit. It's sick, the way you felt proud to be loved in such an invasive way. Never in a million years did you think she would notice you and yet you were now getting far more than that. 

Your vision starts to go hazy and whether it’s from the building pleasure or the lack of oxygen, you are unsure. So you weakly push your hips back to get her to hit that spot within you that makes your entire body tremble. 

It’s all too much, and just enough. 

“I love you, pretty dove. You’re going to be mine, never alone again. This cunt belongs to me and only me, so when I tell you to finish, that’s exactly what you’ll do” she explains, knowing that you’re listening to her even if you’re clinging to consciousness. 

After one more push of her hips, she speaks up. “Cum for me, doll” she finally huffs, granting you the permission you needed to finally let go.

The intensity of your orgasm makes your legs go weak and if Ellie wasn’t holding you in place you certainly would be falling to your knees. You try to say that you love her too, but the words are strangled until they sound like nothing more than weak gasps. 

You feel so full of her, claimed completely and loved beyond all else. Your neglected clit throbs as your cunt clenches around her strap, the ache of it feeling so perfect. 

“Jesus, I can feel you grippin’ me” she scoffs, having to put more effort into pulling out while thrusting because your pussy is clamping down around her like a vice. 

“Your poor little cunt just wants my cum, needs to be filled up till it’s leaking out of you” she adds on, wishing with every fiber of her being that there was a way for her to stuff her own cum inside you to permanently mark you as hers. 

You are unable to form any meaningful reply, only whining when her movements slow while your orgasm finishes fizzling out. It’s even more upsetting when she pulls out completely, leaving you to clench around nothing but air. 

The sadness you feel from the loss of her cock can be felt, and she is quick to chase away that feeling. She releases your neck from her hold, instead using her hands to guide you back to facing her. 

Within seconds of seeing your fucked out and sleepy expression, she embraces you in a suffocating hug. Ellie focuses on how she can feel the warmth of your bare skin, the scent of your love thick in the air surrounding the two of you. 

The contact is enough to make at least part of your mind come back, leaning into her touch to show her that you adore her as much as she adores you. 

“M’ sorry for staring” is all you can whisper, your voice raspy from the extended pressure on your neck but neither of you seem to mind it. The apology makes Ellie smile, finding it cute that even after she had confessed to stalking your every move, you still felt the need to apologize for your own insignificant actions. 

“I know, angel” is all she offers in reply, kissing your lips ever so gently to make it known that she isn’t at all upset with you. 

She helps you put your clothes back on, slipping each clothing item back onto you and even tying your shoes since she doesn’t want her sweet girl having to take on such a daunting task after all that. 

Of course she opens up your locker for you, not needing to ask for the combination since she had figured it out ages ago. How she knew it was a mystery to you but it only proves to you how much she cares about you. 

It is hard to walk out of the locker room, even with Ellie carrying your bag for you and holding your waist to keep you upright. Your head rests on her shoulder as you pass by the front desk, one of the workers muttering a casual goodnight to Ellie which she returns without any sort of hesitation. 

As the cold air hits your skin you press yourself closer to her, needing the warmth she so easily provides. She doesn’t pull away, instead she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and pauses as the two of you stand amidst the dark and quiet parking lot. 

“I should get you home, don’t you think?” she hums, glancing at you with a look you can’t quite read. You still nod, a shy smile on your lips from the idea of having her in your apartment.

Everything feels soft and distant when she is with you, the rest of the world becoming background noise as she buckles your seatbelt for you once you are in the passenger seat of your own car. She turns the key in the ignition, not needing to ask for directions to your place. 

You should be wondering about why you hadn’t seen her truck in the parking lot, but some part of you has accepted that Ellie had planned all of this out. 

All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.

Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.

It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.

It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.

Almost.

But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.

You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.

You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.

God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.

You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.

This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.

If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.

Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.

Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.

Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.

This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.

The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.

His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.

The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.

He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.

"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"

There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.

The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.

You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.

“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.

Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.

Practical, like him, you figured.

Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.

“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.

He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”

You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.

Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.

Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.

"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.

The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.

He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.

It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.

“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.

His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.

You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.

Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.

He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”

You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”

He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”

“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.

Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”

You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”

You looked away, jaw tightening.

He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”

“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.

“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.

Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.

“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.

“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”

The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.

He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”

You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”

Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”

Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.

His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”

You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.

The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.

The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.

Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”

You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.

You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.

Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”

You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.

You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.

Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”

He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”

Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.

The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”

You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.

“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”

You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.

Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.

“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”

You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.

“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”

He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.

“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”

You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.

“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.

“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”

The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.

As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.

“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.

You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”

He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”

He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.

There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.

Still, something about it tugged at you.

Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.

You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.

He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.

Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”

You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”

He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”

Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”

His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.

You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.

But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.

“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”

Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”

You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.

You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.

They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.

But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.

The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.

He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.

Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”

Your heart skipped. Just one?

The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.

The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.

Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.

He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.

You weren’t sure what.

He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.

Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.

“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”

You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.

"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”

He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.

You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.

Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”

Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.

“I am grateful,” you said carefully.

“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”

You didn’t reply.

Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”

You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.

Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”

You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”

He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.

“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”

He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.

Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.

The silence returned.

You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:

He thought he was owed something.

You weren’t sure why you stayed.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.

You told yourself it was fine.

But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.

"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”

You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.

Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.

The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.

You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.

When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.

You stood quickly, too quickly.

“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.

Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”

The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.

Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.

You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.

You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.

You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.

You stared at your own eyes for a long time.

You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.

But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.

You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.

“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.

You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.

People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.

One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.

That was the plan. Simple. Safe.

You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.

You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.

It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.

He smiled back.

Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.

You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.

On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.

You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.

Joel did.

Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.

You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.

It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.

Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.

You looked away.

It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.

But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.

You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.

You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.

Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.

You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.

The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.

You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.

Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.

Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.

You weren’t that tired.

At least, you hadn’t been.

You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.

You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.

It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.

But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.

You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.

“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.

His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.

You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.

It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.

You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.

For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.

And something about that absence made your chest tighten.

You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.

Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.

“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”

Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.

You didn’t turn.

Didn’t say anything else.

You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.

Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.

You didn’t look over.

Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.

Maybe not so pointless.

You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.

You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.

But you stayed still.

You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.

“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”

His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.

That should have made it better. It didn’t.

It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.

“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”

When... not if.

You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.

He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.

You flinched.

Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."

But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.

“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”

The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.

But you knew better.

Your body knew better.

You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.

You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.

Joel didn’t go back to the chair.

You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.

Not touching, but close.

You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.

“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.

Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.

He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.

“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.

You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”

It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.

Joel didn’t move away.

His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.

His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.

You saw that.

You felt that.

Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.

You were here. And so was he.

And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.

Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.

He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.

His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.

Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.

The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.

"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.

He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.

His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.

You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.

Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.

Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.

“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”

He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.

Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.

“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.

When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.

He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”

His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.

"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.

You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.

"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.

Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.

"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.

A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...

"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.

"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.

His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."

You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.

You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.

Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."

You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.

His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.

He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.

He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.

You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.

As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.

His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.

"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."

His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.

He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.

The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.

The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.

He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.

Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.

With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.

He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.

"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.

He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.

He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.

"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.

You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.

He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"

What else could you do other then what you were told?

The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.

He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.

He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.

One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.

His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.

You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.

Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.

When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.

Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.

Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.

The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.

There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.

Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.

"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."

It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.

You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.

You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.

"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.

"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"

A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.

And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.

And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.

"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."

You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.

You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.

"Egg," she murmured, bringing the boy closer to her as they sat in front of the fire. "Might you tell me more of your family?"

Egg looked up at her, taking in her expression. When they had been on the road together, she was often full of joy, widely smiling and sharing laughter with Egg and Dunk. She had made him feel warm and safe inside. Now, he noticed, she hadn’t smiled in days. Her eyes seemed duller, as if someone had stolen the light out of them.

Egg nodded.

“Well, there is Prince Baelor, my uncle. He is the Hand of the King and the heir to the Iron Throne. He is good and just and a better man than most in my family,” Egg determined. The healer nodded, his words aligning with the other descriptions she’d heard of the man, though her mind recalled the way he’d gazed at her days ago — far less honourable than he supposedly was.

“Then there is my father, Prince Maekar. Some people call him 'The Anvil' after his win during the rebellion. He can be mean to me… and to my brothers, but I think he does like us sometimes.” She nodded again at that. Maekar seemed like a scary man, and she wished to spend as little time in his presence as possible.

“I have my older brothers and then my younger siblings. Daeron was once very happy and glad, my father says, but now he is no fun. He has dreams of the future… and they always seem to come true. It saddens him,” Egg stated. Things made more sense to the healer now, with the events of the previous night tracking now that she learnt of his dreams. He’d literally dreamt of their attempt to escape.

The healer spoke quietly next, almost fearful for what she might learn. “And Aerion?”

Egg paused, a decisive mix of rage and pity filling his visage.

“Aerion is a monster! He killed my cat! And he has threatened to hurt me. He is evil, and – and I wish he were dead!”

The healer was stunned — she hadn’t expected such an outburst from her sweet little Egg, though from his words, she understood his fury. Dragging the boy into her arms, she soothingly rubbed at his back, letting him cry into her chest as she whispered sweet reassurances to him. The shudders that wracked his frame slowly lessened after a few moments until the boy pulled away.

“There’s also Valarr,” Egg added after a silent pause. She hummed in acknowledgement, her curiosity prompting him to continue. “Valarr is much like Baelor. He is good and kind, and the people like him. He is strong and brave, and he fights well too! Aerion becomes jealous of all the praise and attention he gets.”

She could tell by his tone that Egg greatly admired Valarr and likely wished for him to be his older brother instead. He sounded like a good man, and in her mind, she filed away his name in case she needed assistance. He’d already confronted her at the wine station and was alert to her presence in the Red Keep, but maybe he could be persuaded against Aerion one day. He didn’t seem to like him much anyway.

“It seems the crown is in good hands with Baelor and Valarr then," she acknowledged.

The pair talked for a short while longer before finally parting ways — Egg had been commanded to sleep in his own rooms that night, much to his chagrin. As she slept alone that night, her emotions returned to the surface, and she felt hot, wet tears sliding down her cheeks once more. During the day, she was strong enough to compose herself and hide her pain. But at night? With the silence and the darkness? She couldn’t hold it in any longer, and her choked sobs echoed around the room.

Dunk stood inside the grand dining room as his duty demanded, watching silently as the Targaryens ate dinner together for the first time since returning from the tourney. He had expected an uneventful evening, but the tension in the room had been high once Aerion had arrived, bringing his mistress –Dunk's healer – on his arm. To bring a mistress to a family dinner was against protocol, and yet no protest could be heard. Dunk had stiffened in shock, unable to stop the anger coursing through his body as Aerion directed a mocking glance his way. Dunk wished he could throttle the little cunt.

He'd had to endure a mix of false pleasantries, taunting jokes, and tense conversations between the family all night. Even Baelor seemed fed up as the hour grew long, letting his eyes unabashedly roll as he heard another squabble between Daeron and Aerion begin. But for Dunk, the worst part of his evening had been witnessing how the men at the table treated his healer. He couldn't be certain, but it seemed like all the men at the table had been letting their eyes linger on her, giving her long, appreciative looks. Some were more obvious, but he swore even Baelor had paused for a moment too long. Aerion had dressed her in a deep red gown — one clearly befitting a woman far above her station, and she sat adorned with heavy gold jewellery and rings. And yet, no one could deny that it suited her. Dunk struggled to reconcile that this was the same woman he had spent a year on the open road with, sharing stew and ale at taverns and sleeping under the stars.

Dunk's reminiscing was interrupted by a sharp screech, all attention falling towards Aerion. The prince was now upright, the healer firmly pressed against his side. Dunk's hands curled into fists at the sight of the prince's hands firm against her waist – he could see from her face that she was uncomfortable.

"Well, I shall take my leave from tonight's... titillating conversation," Aerion proclaimed. "I believe I have far more interesting things to attend to."

Aerion's meaning was clear as day to anyone in the room.

"Very well, nephew. Do be careful," Baelor said, dismissing the pair with a grunt. With a firm tug, they started towards the door, only for Aerion to halt suddenly. All watched on, curious for the delay. When he turned to look at Dunk, the healer knew it couldn't be anything good. Aerion winced slightly as he felt her fingers dig into the muscle of his upper arm in protest but ignored her.

"Ser Duncan," Aerion drawled. His tone was menacing, much like that when he had asked for the healer, back when he thought she was the knight's wife. It was clear he took great pleasure in taunting the knight.

"I do believe you should guard my mistress's chambers tonight. I would feel most..." A pregnant pause. "Pleased to know you would be close by if she needed assistance."

You could hear a pin drop with the silence of the room. The Targaryens were stunned. The weight of his actions was clear, as were the supposed outcomes. Dunk was horrified – how could he even suggest such a thing? Though, when Dunk looked for assistance from Baelor, or maybe even Maekar, he found none. The older men returned only blank stares, hands folded in their laps. He would not be saved from this, he realised. Dunk felt like a man waiting for his death, knowing the fate he was to face.

Dunk finally looked at his healer, only to quickly avert his eyes. Her face – he had never seen that look from her before. Not even when she had told him to leave the council chambers at Ashford. Pure devastation sat on her features, eyes shining with unshed tears. Aerion shrugged off the soft words she pleaded in his direction, dropping her expression more. She had already been stripped of all her dignity and control, and now he wished to humiliate her like this? To permanently alter how her truest friend saw her? To debase her as such?

"Please, my prince... do not do this, I beg of you."

Unceremoniously, Aerion shoved her through the open doors and directed her to her chambers, demanding Dunk follow them lest he grow mad. He trailed behind them, watching as they arrived at the chamber. Dunk could only get a glimpse of her disappearing into the rooms before Aerion slammed the door in his face. The knight stood still in disbelief, going to stand in his assigned spot, when the door suddenly opened again.

Aerion poked his head into the hall, landing on Dunk's frame, and grinned.

"Be good, Ser Duncan. You wouldn't want me to hurt her now, would you?"

Dunk instinctually lunged towards the prince, catching sight of his grin as he ducked back inside her chambers. He swore to himself and promised that one day he would rescue his healer and take her some place quiet and peaceful, where they could forget about everything that had happened in this wretched place.

Inside the room, the healer studied Aerion silently. In the few days she had known him, she struggled to understand what he was thinking. He seemed to switch from irritability to excitement instantaneously, and his anger and rage were well known. So far, she had managed to avoid his bad side. Maekar had kept him occupied for most hours of the day since they returned, and thus, he'd not been able to get his hands on her properly, though, she supposed, her luck had run out now.

"Hello, pretty dove," Aerion mumbled, making his way towards her. "How I've been waiting for this... for you."

His hands made their way to her waist, feeling the curves of her body under his palms, slowly exploring her body. He was so close to her now that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin and smell the Dornish wine on his breath. The scent of him overpowered her, oud invading her senses as he leant towards her neck, placing a tender kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She couldn't help but shudder as he pressed up against her, continuing his warm, open-mouthed kisses across her decolletage. He was so close to her, and it made her uneasy, and yet she felt her body yearn for more.

The healer let out a sharp gasp as she found herself suddenly flipped around, Aerion's fingers impatiently tugging at her laces intent on baring her to him. He continued his kisses, occasionally nipping at her skin just enough to have her gasp and flinch at the sensation. She was left only in a delicate shift, the hands at her waist returning her to face the prince once more. Aerion's body pushed up against her, his chest pressing against hers, and at the first touch of his hand against her breast she couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. She felt warm all over, and her body began to tingle as his fingers toyed with her flesh, groping at her breast and placing a heady kiss on her lips.

After his first kiss at the tourney, she had sunk into a deep pit of shame. She hadn't enjoyed it, but she hadn't disliked it. She didn't know which was worse, but the prince was skilled with his mouth and tongue, and he knew how to draw out sweet sounds with each drag of his tongue against hers. Of course, Aerion wished for her to enjoy this – the louder her noises, the more torment the knight standing at the door would endure. She felt her hands make their way over the prince's body, letting them press against his firm chest as he continued to crowd against her body. She didn't even notice Aerion smiling into the kiss as she let out another whimper, his hands having reached down towards the fat of her ass and delivering a sharp squeeze. Part of her was shocked that he had not simply thrown her on the bed and had his way with her, and the other part of her almost wished that had been so. Maybe then she would not feel so guilty for sinking in to his kisses more than she should have.

Aerion pulled away first, and the sight in front of him – gods. She was divine. Her previously done-up hair was now loose and tousled and accompanied by swollen lips that let heavy breaths pass through them. He'd barely even touched her, and she was like this, he thought to himself. He'd wreck her one day, no doubt about it.

"Kneel," Aerion commanded. For a moment, she hesitated but swiftly let her knees meet the carpet after she met his fiery gaze. Aerion took in the sight before him, groaning lowly at her wide eyes staring up at him.

"You're going to suck my cock, do you understand?" She nodded. She felt Aerion tangle his fingers in her hair, dragging her closer to his breeches.

"Take it out, pretty dove," he ordered.

With hesitant hands, she reached for the button at his waist, slowly peeling at the fabric until his smallclothes were visible. Looking up at the prince, he only hummed, directing her to continue. His hands were still stroking her hair as she removed his cock from his smallclothes, surprise flitting across her features as it sprang free from its confines. Aerion's cock was pretty, she thought, much like him. It was currently a deep shade of red, the tip visibly darker than the rest of the length, and the precum that weeped at his tip shocked her. He had been enjoying this much more than she thought.

It seemed Aerion had little patience for her appreciation of his length as he was soon shoving her head towards his tip, commanding her to open up. She could only oblige, and she quickly found her mouth full of the prince's cock.

Aerion groaned in ecstasy as he felt the warmth of her mouth envelop him. She struggled around him, spasming as he insistently shoved himself further down her throat before pulling back slightly, only to push further on his next thrust. He revelled in the grunts and gags that she emitted as he began a punishing rhythm, feeling her hands meet his thighs, pushing against the muscles. He wondered if she thought such a display would make him slow down, pull back and let her breathe. She would be sorely mistaken if she did. Instead, he was pushing deeper, grabbing at her hair to hold her down on his cock. She struggled as her nose met the base of his cock, her face smushed in coarse silver hair that surrounded his cock. Aerion grinned as she tried to pull back, only to find herself unable to move. Her palms slapped at his thighs now, a desperate attempt to gather air into her lungs once more.

"Look at me, dove."

Aerion watched her eyes meet his, tears streaming down her cheeks as he pulled her back a fraction, only to push her right back into his pelvis. A loud gag echoed around the chamber, and Aerion laughed loudly. He knew the sound of her gagging on his cock would've made it past the door and out to Ser Duncan. Finally pulling from her warm mouth, Aerion watched in glee as she slumped forward, heaving as she tried to fill her lungs. Drool ran down her face, sliding down her chin and onto the floor below. She looked like a filthy brothel whore, and yet none of those men could ever be worthy of her affections. Only a prince. Only him.

She thought maybe it had been over then, but when his fingers tightened in her hair once more, she found his cock back in her mouth with an unceremonious shove. She knew she was not doing it properly, or gracefully, and yet Aerion didn't seem to care. He didn't even seem to care whether or not she had done this before, only that her tongue was on his length and her throat was tight. She winced as she was once more dragged up and down his length, this time with Aerion's fingers clasping at her cheeks, hollowing them around his length. She heard him groan deeply and felt his hips pick up speed, now jackhammering into her mouth. He was close to his peak, and she desperately hoped he would pull her off him soon. It seemed her prayers would not be answered when the prince's hips began to stutter and he pulled her even closer, groaning loudly.

"Stay still and take it, pretty dove. Take it all down your throat. Swallow the seed of the dragon," he rambled loudly, growing closer to his peak. "If you – ugh, if you let a single drop go to waste, I'll make you lick it up."

She couldn't even nod as her face was suddenly pressed to his pelvis a final time, and she began to gag at the feeling of his warm, salty cum spurt down her throat. He only seemed to enjoy that, grinding himself deeper into her. She felt her nails dig into his thighs harder now and knew that she had broken skin. If he felt it, he didn't show it. He kept her there for a moment until he was sure all of his cum had been swallowed, and she was sure her face crinkled in disgust at the taste.

Unceremoniously, Aerion pulled his softening cock from her mouth. He looked down at her, seemingly pleased at her efforts. She let him drag his finger to the side of her mouth, swiping at the drop of his seed that had begun to dribble from her lips. He tutted, slowly pushing his finger into her mouth and raising his brow, signalling to her to suck it from his digit. As she did, he spoke.

"It seems you know how to worship your god, dove. You did well," Aerion praised. She did not know if she wished for his praise, but she supposed it beat facing a slap to her cheek if she had not. The healer watched as Aerion tucked his cock back into his breeches, humming to himself lowly. During the ordeal, her shift had slipped off her shoulders, baring her smooth skin to his eyes – which he lapped up greedily. She truly was beautiful.

Aerion moved towards the door, leaving her weakened frame kneeling on the floor. She knew she would have bruises the next morning.

"I will come find you again tomorrow night," he decreed, his hand resting on the door handle, "though perhaps I will not be so gentle then." With that, he disappeared behind the door, leaving her to stew over his words in the silence of the room. Gentle? If that had been gentle, she wondered whether throwing herself from the balcony of the keep would be a kinder fate than the one that awaited her. Would he make her bleed? Beat her black and blue? Or would he just fuck her until she was a shell of herself?

It was only the low murmurs behind the door that snapped her back into reality, realising with a gasp that Dunk had been outside her door the whole time. Her tears returned, thinking of the pain he must have been in while listening to the wretched prince defile her as such. She froze, waiting for the sound of voices to stop – she needed to speak to Dunk, but Aerion could not catch her. She knew he must have been taunting him, recounting the way he had filled her mouth in ghastly detail and made her swallow his seed like a common whore.

Feeling filthy, the healer quickly rid herself of the now sweat-soaked shift, replacing it with a nightgown and covering herself with a heavy velvet night robe before inching towards the door tentatively. She felt the rapid beating of her heart in her chest, its beat reverberating in her skull, as she worried that Aerion would be standing in the hall. She thought that perhaps he would, just to see if she would seek out the knight. Ever so quietly, she tugged at the handle and let her head inch forward, peeking into the hallway. However, to her dismay, it was not Dunk, nor Aerion, who stood in the hallway. Instead, the hallway was empty, not even a guard in sight.

Where had they gone? She needed to talk to Dunk desperately. With a look back at her chambers, she slipped into the hall, lightfooted as she made her way down towards what she believed was the main wing of the Red Keep. Wandering through the Red Keep at night was eerie, with flames casting shadows on the walls that made her skin crawl, always feeling like someone was watching her every step. It was deathly silent as she ventured further into the Keep. With every step, she felt the panicked feeling inside her grow – she needed to find Dunk. He had to hear her out. He had to know that she never wished for him to hear that. The healer didn't even notice the way her hands had been trembling since Aerion left her chambers or how her pace had started to pick up as she began to curve around the corners of the Keep. It seemed the adrenaline had not worn off yet.

The sound of a rat scurrying somewhere behind her had the woman whipping around, catching only the tail of the rat as it disappeared down another corridor. With a start, she continued on her journey, now somewhat distracted as she rounded another corner.

"Oh!" The healer exclaimed as she collided with a hard body, only to become speechless at the prince before her – Valarr.

He looked down at her curiously, and she supposed it made sense; Aerion's mistress running around the halls alone at night in a state of improper dress was a sight to see. She'd look at herself oddly, too.

"Hello, my lady," Valarr began, pausing as he caught her taking a step back.

"Might I ask what you're doing?"

When Valarr found her in the halls, he recognised what an opportunity he had been presented with. He could tell by her ragged breathing and tousled hair that Aerion had done something to her, but to what extent? That he didn't know. But her guard was down, and with a sweet word or two, he'd managed to get her into his chambers. Now here she was, sitting timidly on his chaise, waiting for him to speak – to realise why she was brought here.

Valarr looked at her, taking in the sight of her. He needed to tread carefully. He'd let his annoyance take over at their first meeting, and he didn't want her to be scared of him – the opposite, in fact.

"Your position in this court is not safe, my lady," Valarr stated plainly, though not unkindly. "Aerion could change his mind in an instant, and you will be cast out onto the streets. Though he is... enamoured with you now, you must think ahead."

The healer was still, taking in his words. They had all heard stories of the women chewed up and spat out by the royals of times past, but for it to now be her facing this fate? Her whole body felt tense, confused and scared. She just wanted to be on the open road again, selling her tonics and sharing bread with Dunk.

"Think ahead? How – what could I do? I have no power here, my prince," she lamented.

Valarr directed his attention to his wine glass to hide the small smirk that tugged at his lips involuntarily. He knew that she had no power, obviously. She was going along with his plan so far.

"You must become useful to someone else, my lady."

"Useful?" she questioned. "As a healer, you mean? I could do that!"

Valarr quickly cut her off. He looked at her, still curled up on the chaise, her previous tremors having subsided. Gods, she was beautiful, he thought.

"Not quite... You see, my father came to me today with an interesting proposition. He spoke of the future of our house and of our line. Tell me, my lady, do you know of your family?" Valarr questioned.

She thought for a moment, pondering why he had begun such a line of questioning. She grew up in a small village in the Vale – nothing remarkable. She had lived with her family until she joined Dunk and Ser Arlan on the road.

"Yes, my prince. My mother was a healer as well, and my father a blacksmith."

"And do you have siblings?" he probed. She nodded in agreement.

"Many, my prince." That seemed to please Valarr, and he hummed lowly. She watched as the prince slowly ambled over to where she sat, setting himself down by her side. She felt her breath hitch, now being able to see the prince up close – even closer than in the council chambers. Here, she could see his mismatched eyes, the furrow of his brow, and the weariness that seemed to show in the bags under his eyes. Having him in such close proximity made her body feel alive, a warm heat spreading across her in such a pleasant way that made her inch ever so much closer to the prince.

Valarr reached out gently, letting his fingers trace the fabric of her nightgown. He had been a gentleman since he found her in the halls, but now he finally let his eyes run over her body. Aerion's doing, certainly, for the nightgown was truly indecent. Scraps of silky white fabric and lace covered her body, a low plunge highlighting her figure to him. In that moment, Valarr felt thankful to his cousin for gifting him such a pleasant sight.

"You should not have to live at the mercy of my cousin's temper, my lady."

His hand reached up to her jaw, his fingers lingering for a moment before finally cupping her face softly. His fingers brushed tenderly over her cheek, and the softness of his touch momentarily disarmed her, allowing Valarr to lean in close and press his lips to hers.

The soft gasp that escaped her lips was music to Valarr's ears, and he found himself invading her space, crowding his body closer to hers. To his satisfaction, he felt her practically collapse into his frame, limp and plush in his arms. Valarr supposed that, compared to the grunt and brutality of Aerion, he was a welcome respite, allowing her guard to drop (even if it shouldn't have). He let his other hand move lower, finding her thigh and pulling her even closer into him, feeling her own hands reach for his shoulders as if to grasp onto. The healer was eagerly kissing him back now, letting him push his tongue into her mouth with surprising agility. He could taste the need on her lips, like a desperate ache to be cared for, loved – cherished. It was when Valarr felt the first minute grind of her hips – something that he was sure she hadn't even realised she had done, against his own hardening cock – that he sharply pulled away, panting.

Valarr thought he might break then at the sight of the woman in front of him, her lips swollen from their kiss and chest rising and falling as she tried to gather spare air into her lungs. The movement only highlighted her hardening nipples to the prince, and he held back a groan that threatened to escape his chest.

He watched her open her mouth, then, as if thinking better of it, purse her lips tightly together.

"What is it?" He asked, kind and sweet as he reached to brush her cheek. He saw her hesitate again, but it seemed she finally gathered up the courage to speak.

"Did I...did I do something wrong, my prince?"

Oh, gods. She was so precious, Valarr thought. "No, my sweet girl," he reassured her, moving her off his lap gently, "it is only that I wish to move us somewhere more comfortable."

At that, she seemed relieved and let the prince lead her to his bed – a large, four-postered thing covered with deep velvet covers and plush pillows. As he lay her down, she could only think of how magnificent it was, though she quickly found her thoughts growing fuzzy once more as Valarr climbed on top of her, his warm, soft lips back on hers. Hands finding his shoulders once more, she barely noticed that he'd shed his tunic and now only his blouse remained.

The healer sank into the bed, growing more entranced by the brunette prince atop her: the way he felt and moved and how he touched her. Compared to Aerion, his touch was soft and gentle – like he revered her. It was the first moment that felt soft since she'd first met the Targaryens, and she never wanted the feeling to end. Valarr pulled away, slower this time, so as not to startle her, and looked softly down at her.

"I—gods... I promise to protect you, always. I will claim you as my own, give you a title, whatever I must do to keep you here, just like this, and far, far away from my cousin," Valarr stated, taking her in once more. The prince went to kiss her again but paused only a fraction away from her face, close enough that she could count every eyelash on his perfect eyes with him this close. She swore she saw a flicker of something in his eyes for a second – perhaps hesitation? But as soon as she put a name to it, it was gone, and he was leaning closer, moving to kiss down her neck. He mouthed at the soft skin, leaving small red marks and nipping in a way that made her gasp, tilting her neck to the side to give him better access. Valarr, pleased, let his hands wander to her thighs, pushing the silky nightgown higher until he had access to the bare skin. He groaned into her neck and slotted himself between her legs, letting his fingers wander higher and harshly gripping the flesh of her thigh as she began to wriggle under his body, the sensation of his tongue laving across her upper chest causing her to whine breathlessly.

"But there is one thing I need from you, my sweet girl," Valarr mumbled lowly, coming to rest his chin on her breastbone. It allowed him a clear view of the mindless nod she gave him in response, her body desperate for him to continue his ministrations.

"I need an heir."

That made her pause. Valarr felt her legs drop slightly, no longer practically wrapped around him. The fingers that had been tangled in his hair froze, and Valarr managed to hold back a whimper at the loss of sensation. He thought his heart might break at the sight of her face – crestfallen. Instantly, Valarr was dragging her up, gathering her face in his hands and wishing to know what she was thinking, rather than the silence he was getting.

After a moment, she spoke. "An heir? But – but should that not come from your wife, my prince?"

"Please, it is Valarr... not my prince. Not here," he requested, staring up at the woman now sitting in his lap. "My wife and I are not a love match. She has a duty, and at that she has failed. It is time I must consider other options."

The healer looked at him, stunned, still unsure of the proposition. A child was not a small ask. To give him a child would change her entire life, and in ways she could not predict. Never had she really thought too deeply of the possibility of a family, aside from knowing it would be expected of her one day, but for a long time she had been content with travelling on the open road. And now, Valarr came to her with such a proposal. A future King’s bastard to grow in her belly — surely it would not be well received by the smallfolk.

"Surely, you jest?" She asked.

"Your mother was fruitful," he began, returning his hands to her thighs, "and I see no reason you would not be too. Otherwise, perhaps I have misread this."

She looked at him in confusion, offhandedly noting the way Valarr's fingers had crept under her nightgown once more, the fabric now pushed up to bare the full expanse of her bare leg.

"Perhaps you wish to return to Aerion's side... I am certain he would be glad for it," he continued, watching as she flinched at the suggestion, almost imperceptibly. "I do not doubt he would be pleased to fill you with his monstrous child in my stead."

At that, he saw the flash of fear in her eyes, and he knew – he had her. The notion of being tied in eternity to a man like Aerion could convince even a Septa to take up his offer. Valarr let his fingers move once more, slowly inching towards her core. At the first swipe of his fingers through her slick folds, she was falling into his arms again, whimpering at the pleasure coursing through her body. He moved lower, slipping a finger inside of her cunt and cupping his hand just so to let it press against her sensitive bundle of nerves, watching as this time, she cried out. When she began involuntarily grinding into his hand, Valarr felt his own cock harden even more. Pulling her head back from its now slumped position on his shoulder, he sought an answer.

With Valarr letting his finger be joined by another, curling and rubbing against her ribbed inner walls, she spoke in between moans. "I – are you sure? You – oh! You will protect me? You swear it?"

Valarr nodded, letting his free hand squeeze tenderly at her breast, fingers rolling her nipple just so to make her squirm. With the dual stimulation, she was finding herself growing hazy with the pleasure.

"Give me a son – even a daughter would suffice, to start, and I will make sure no one ever dares to wish you harm. You would not stand to wonder whether your days would be filled with kindness or pain. You would be mine."

Valarr watched the last shred of sense leave her head and, with a sense of sheer unbridled victory, witnessed the moment she nodded in agreement. He saw the hesitancy still lingering, and yet he could not find it in himself to care. Surging forward with a passionate kiss, Valarr removed his hand and pushed the nightgown up and fully off her body, baring her entirely to him. Gently dropping her back into the mattress, he hovered over her and took in her bare frame. She was The Maiden herself, lying there for the taking.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered whilst finally freeing himself from his breeches, "you will be so loved."

A sharp knock drew Valarr from his slumber, though it seemed it had not woken the woman curled up at his side. Tenderly removing himself from under the covers, he made his way to the door. Behind the wood stood Baelor, still and stoic as ever.

Baelor took in the sight of his son, bare except for linen sleep shorts. Valarr's neck and chest bore signs of a pleased woman, with splotchy red marks and scratches scattering his skin. Looking past his son, he laid eyes on the woman sleeping in his bed, tangled up in sheets and as bare as the day she was born. Baelor took in the sight, tracing his eyes upon the pieces of exposed skin available to him, and pretending that the slight stir of his cock was simply an inconvenience. That the sight of a well-fucked woman was not spurring envy in his chest.

"I see that she agreed to the proposition, then?" Baelor questioned, still not drawing his attention from her figure.

Valarr's head tilted slightly, watching his father's lustful gaze. He noted to keep an eye on that.

"She did," Valarr agreed, "though she was hesitant at first."

"Good. I suppose I shall speak to Aerion on the morrow, then," Baelor grimaced. His nephew would not take well to losing such a precious gem, least of all to the cousin he despised. The cousin with the title, the reputation, and the power that he craved.

"He will not take the news kindly, Father," Valarr uttered. He, too, turned back to look at the healer in his bed, grumbling in expectation of the new day. She was too alluring, her form too enticing – he almost wished she'd been plainer; that way, he wouldn't have had to compete with his cousin. But knowing that he could soon flaunt her in front of Aerion sent a sick shiver of satisfaction down his spine. Maybe he'd let Aerion watch next time – make his cousin fist his cock in his own hand while Valarr thrusted into her, making her cry out in pleasure. He'd probably like that, Valarr thinks.

Baelor interrupted his darkening train of thoughts with a firm grip on his shoulder. "You have done well, my boy. Return to bed, and we will speak soon."

Valarr nodded, watching his father leave with one last glance at the healer, before he himself returned to the bed, slotting in by her side. Subconsciously, her body found his, pushing herself into his willing arms and snuggling closer to his chest. She felt safe with him; that was clear. She stirred ever so slightly as he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, a pleased hum ever so quiet escaping her lips.

Tomorrow would bring chaos, but for now, Valarr sank back into sleep with his healer in his arms, content at the thought of the life they would bring into the world together.

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“Her. Right over there. Can you not recognize her?”

You pretend not to notice the man pointing your way.

“That’s the wife of Aerion the Monstrous.”

The way they speak your husband’s name sends shivers down your spine.

“The vile bastard. How dare she comes here.”

You continue your way down the crowded street. The royal guards surround you, forcing a path forward and keeping pedestrians at a distance.

The guards are enough to draw the attention of those you pass by. The Royal emblem they wear makes all the stares become hateful.

You hear a scoff. “The nerve of these royals. How dare she walk through this town after all the blood spilt by the vile Targaryens.”

You try to pick up your pace. It is difficult with the guards blocking your way.

Another man further back mentions, “The Ashfords welcomed this barbaric family with honor. I would rather see them hung in the streets-”

He was hushed quickly by a woman nearby, warning, “Shh. They could hang you for saying such a thing.”

You ignore the prickles of fear that encompass you as you are escorted past angry citizens. You were granted temporary freedom, and this time, you would not take it for granted.

“Go to the market. Buy new bathing oils. Something that smells sweet. I despise that floral scent they keep putting on you.”

You repeated the command in your head, over and over, so that you wouldn’t forget it.

“Have yourself prepared for me by this evening. I have already told you I dislike braids in your hair. Fix it by the time I arrive.”

You take out your braids as you walk, letting your hair fall down your back.

Nearing the market, the street becomes even more crowded. More eyes cast your way.

Whispers follow you as you go. It should not bother you to be talked about so often. You should be used to it, seeing as you are a royal now. But even with a royal title, you still have the same sensitivity that you were born with.

Growing up, your mother always chided you for being so soft and easily angered. One of the many reasons she was so terrified for you to be married to a man who was just as angry.

There is giggling laughter trailing behind you. You glance in that direction. A woman stares at you. Your face burns red, yet you do not know why. It makes you feel weak to be getting this riled up by what others do.

“You will stay here,” you command the soldiers once you reach the busier area. “Just outside the market tent.”

“We must stay by your side,” one informs you.

You do not want that. People will continue to stare and point. You feel so small under their pointing.

“It is dangerous for me to go through the crowd with guards,” you try to say. “They will assume me rich and try to rob me. Stay here, where you can keep an eye on me, but you are not to follow unless I need help.”

“I am afraid that is not possible. We must stay by your side.”

You try not to show weakness. Men always tried to push their control when you showed weakness.

Aerion’s words return to your mind. ‘You are a Targaryen now. A commoner’s word will never outweigh yours.’

A knight was not a commoner, but you tried anyway. “You will stay here. It is an order.”

“Lady (Y/N), with all due respect-”

“My husband is very insistent on me having privacy for my shopping,” you say to him. “If you have an issue with it, then perhaps you should find him and ask him about it.”

The knight goes quiet. A burst of satisfaction rolls through you.

They would never dare seek out Aerion and you know it.

They are scared of him. It is so…different to use someone’s fear against them. You are so used to fear only being used against you.

You like it, you realize. You like that these men, the ones who left you alone in the tent at Aerion’s mercy, have suddenly been placed at your mercy.

“Line the tent,” you command them. “Do not enter unless I permit it.”

“Yes, Lady (Y/N). As you wish.”

You’re even more satisfied, relishing in the power you never knew you had.

The guards line themselves by the entrance. You pull your scarf over your head and enter the tent.

Your hair and head garment hide your face. You made sure to not wear any Targaryen colors.

You try to muddle yourself in the crowd. After a few moments, you seem to blend in, no one turning your way any longer

It’s not as if anybody knows you. They know drawings they’ve seen of you with your husband. Without the guards, you were sure you were nobody to these people.

The first thing you do in the market is buy what Aerion has ordered you to buy.

New bathing oils. Sweet ones that remind you of warmth.

The market is hot and humid. The thought of another bath excites you.

“The oils can go in the ends of your hair as well,” the sales woman tells you. “Would you like a hairbrush to go with it? We sell ones that hold the oil longer.”

“Yes,” you say. You browse the booth without a care. “These ribbons as well.”

You do not care how much it costs. You hope you spend all his money. You hope you spend so much that his father chides him about his spending habits.

Glancing at the end of the market, you can see the guards staring inside. They are far too far to hear you.

“Have you been...watching the tourney?” You curse yourself for sounding so nervous. It was a simple question.

“A bit. My husband is more interested in it than I am.”

“Does he know any of the knights?”

“A few.”

“Does he perhaps know a…” You pause your words, wondering whether or not this saleswoman has a loose tongue. Probably. All salespeople do. Yet you ask anyway, “…Ser Duncan the Tall?”

“Never heard the name in my life.”

Your spirits drop. And once again you find yourself wondering why this stranger of a man is controlling your mood so dramatically.

“Just these items then,” you tell her, a lower pitch in your voice.

You pay the woman, and she begins wrapping your purchases for you.

“Did you say you were looking for Ser Duncan?” a voice calls out.

A scandalously dressed red-haired woman nears you, a basket slung on her hip. She picks up an object from in front of you, eyeing it, before carelessly dropping it back into the pile.

“The tall one?” she continues. “Big oaf of a fella? Goes by Dunk?”

Your eyes light up, and you finally find some proof he is still real. “Yes. That is the one.”

She laughs. “Whatcha wantin’ him for?”

The sound of laughter prickles at your survival instincts. Laughter is always followed by violence with Aerion.

You are careful, reminding yourself that no one in this city is to be trusted. “I was only wondering which day he will joust.”

She lets out a humored snort. “Probably never. That one’s still beggin’ to get on the lists.”

A frown forms on your face. “He’s not signed up yet? The tourney is half over.”

“He says his knighthood wasn’t properly filed or somethin’ of the sort. He’s not recognized by the castle yet.” She shrugs. “He could just be sayin’ that, I suppose. Not the first man to lie about being a knight.”

“He does not seem like a liar to me.”

You defended him too quickly, and she notices. The woman’s expression changes. She glances over you, and you see her eyes pause on the clothes you try to keep covered with your scarf. “You’re right. He don’t.” She leans against a wooden table, not caring about the fruit she leans on. “You don’t look like you’d know him. You look a little too...posh to hold that man’s company.”

Her eyes continue to devour your appearance, as if trying to match you to a memory.

A scenario enters your mind, one where she may see you by Aerion’s side one day and recognize you. If she did, she may sell information about you, spread gossip that you are fancying some hedge knight. You tilt your head down. “I was only asking. That is all.”

“I hear he’s havin’ a shield painted by a girl that does puppets.” Another shug. “Maybe check the Dornish tent if you needa find him.”

“The Dorish tent?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you know what a Dornish tent looks like?”

“Yes,” you mumble. You wonder how pitiful you look for her to have to ask. “Yes. Thank you.”

That was all the information you needed. Your best bet was to leave before she could get a better look at you.

But something else gnawed at you.

You knew what she was.

No, it wasn’t very obvious to most people, but it was obvious to a noble lady. She is dressed in a way you were always told not to dress, because people in those clothes attracted the wrong attention.

The woman before you was a prostitute, and she was somehow familiar with Ser Duncan. It should have been obvious why she knew him, yet your hopeful nativity tried to tell you there could be other reasons. Reasons beyond the usual man seeking a wench’s body.

“Do you mind if I ask-” You feel shy continuing, eyes glancing down at her dress clinging to her hips. “I was only wondering, how do you…know Ser Duncan?”

“How do you think?”

You get an unpleasant feeling in your stomach. It is not your business, but your selfishness makes you confirm, “He has paid for your...services?”

A chuckle. “You sure are a proper girl, aren’t ya? Can’t even hardly say the words.”

Embarrassments hit you again, like so many times before. It is bad enough being laughed at by men, women laughing at you stings sharper.

“I apologize. It is not my place-”

“He hasn’t laid with me, if that’s what you’re scared of. I helped him get in contact with a knight he was looking for.”

You feel yourself relaxing. So wrapped up in feelings for a man you hardly knew.

Duncan sought help from a prostitute. Only the most mature of men could do such a thing.

She smiles at your visible relief. “Are you some lovergirl of his?”

“No.” You hurry the refusal. “I have a bet placed in the tourney, that is all.”

“Mhm.”

“Thank you for your help,” you tell her. You recall the coin purse in your pocket, you reach into it, and pull out two coins. You hold them out. “Let him know there is a noble lady who wishes him luck, if you see him before I do.”

You do not need to leave your name. He will know.

She snatches the coins from you, smiling. “I’ll do just that.”

As you leave the market, you feel a happiness that you haven’t felt since the last time you saw with Ser Duncan.

Oh, how childish you feel. Daydreaming of a man you’ve had less than five run-ins with.

“I have another stop to make,” you inform the guards.

“Yes, Lady (Y/N).”

You feel in control for the first time in a long time.

Walking along the busy city, you spot a tent with large paintings along the side of the canvas. Dornish paintings of puppets and dragons.

You imagine it is these beautiful paintings that drew Duncan in.

Cheeks blush crimson as you picture Duncan finding this place, his kind heart being amazed by pretty paintings in the way other men weren’t.

“You will stay here,” you order the guards. “I have private business to attend to.”

One argues back, “Lady (Y/N), we cannot allow you to be out of sight.”

“It will take no more than five minutes. If I am not out by then, you may enter.”

“Prince Baelor instructed us to stay exactly by your side,” one insists, his tone becoming impatient. “We allowed you in the market where we could see you, we cannot allow you to enter a tent alone. You could be accused of anything, and we are meant to be your witnesses.”

Your confidence in the idea slowly dwindles.

“Stand near the entrance,” you eventually say. “I will be no longer than a moment. I have to speak of confidential things involving Prince Aerion, and he will be very angry if he learns there were any eavesdroppers.”

Once again, it works. They feared Aerion more than Baelor.

Who didn’t?

They line the entrance of the tent, and watch you as you enter.

It is cooler inside. Cooler than the sun, and much cooler than the market.

You spot a woman. It is only one, and you are grateful. You would feel shy if there were more than one.

It is a tall, slender woman, one that holds herself elegantly, even hunched over and working

She does not hear you come in. She bends over a table, pressing down fabrics. You clear your throat. “Pardon me-”

You flinch as she whips around, the fast movement reminding you too much of your explosive husband.

But she is not rude at all. All she asks is, “Yes?”

“You are…one of the puppeteers?” Again, you chide yourself for how awkward your voice is.

“I am. Are you looking to buy a ticket?”

You glance out the tent. The guards cannot hear you from this distance, yet you still drop your voice to a lower volume. “I was told that you know Ser Duncan the Tall.”

“Oh. Dunk.” She nods. “Yes. I do.”

“He is having you paint a shield for him?”

She looks over you like the other woman had. “Yes.”

“How much are you charging him?”

She frowns. “I am not overcharging, I assure you.”

“No, no,” you quickly say. “I was not suggesting that. I only ask because-” You pull the coin purse from your pouch. “I wish to pay for it for him.”

“…You do?”

“What is the price?”

She tells you what she is charging him.

You reach into your coin purse and pull out double. Handing it to her, you say, “Please, make sure you do your best job on it.”

She stares down at the coins, before asking, “How exactly do you know this knight?”

“He is a friend of mine.”

Once more, she looks you up and down. “You must be the ‘princess’.”

You frown. “No, I fear you’ve mistaken me.”

“Dunk told me that he is riding with the favor of a ‘princess’,” she informs you. “And that is why he knows he is destined to enter the lists.”

Did he think you were a princess? He had seen you with the royal family at your arrival. Did he think you to be a blood Targaryen?

“I am no princess.”

She laughed. Not like the others. In a kinder way. “I told him there were no Princesses in Ashford. Then again, he spoke the title with more…admiration than formality. As if he knew he were the only one to call you such.”

You were no princess. Not even your parents referred to you as so. The main thing you were called growing up was ‘difficult’ and ‘melancholy’.

You tell her, “Perhaps he speaks of someone else.” Because that is what your self-doubt tells you.

She holds up a finger, before moving behind the table. “When Dunk first came to me, he requested a shield painted. A symbol. A shooting star over a tree. Said it meant something important.”

“Do you know what?”

“No.” She knelt down to gather something. “But just the other day he told me that he was given favor by a princess. He told me that he was not allowed to speak her name, but he wanted to find another way to thank her for her generosity.”

Generosity? She had not done anything generous prior to paying for his shield.

The woman stood to her feet. You could see now that she was holding a shield. She turned it to show you. “It is unfinished, but as you can see, he requested I add a few apples to the tree.”

Warmth falls on your heart like a blanket in the winter.

Your lips part in surprise as she presents the shield to you.

“I tried to explain that I had not drawn an apple tree,” she laughs. “But he did not care. He said the princess would recognize it as a thank you.”

You stare at the painting. It is beautiful to you. Not just because of the picture, but because of what it is.

She had painted proof that someone had seen you. The only proof in the realm that someone had known you.

Not a single gift of yours, not from your childhood, not from your wedding, certainly not from your husband, had ever captured a part of you in the way this had.

The man who let you hide behind him to eat apples, now wore apples proudly on his seal of knighthood.

Ser Duncan has made you feel more like a princess than your royal husband ever has.

You stare at it for another moment, for the first time in your life, you feel too overwhelmed to speak.

“I hope you like it-”

“I do,” you quickly tell her. “I very much like it.” You clear your throat, snapping out of your haze to hand it back. “You are doing a marvelous job. Thank you for helping him with this.”

Placing down the shield, she pulls out the coins you have given her. She holds some out to you. “I am glad to have your satisfaction, but I must inform you that you have overpaid. It is too much-”

“Keep it,” you beg. “As a thank you for helping him.”

“I cannot accept this amount,” she tells you. “It would not be right.”

“Take it as a donation to the puppetshow.” Your eyes gaze upon the half painted dragon. “It looks like hard work.”

She smiles. “Come see it. The main show will be in two night’s time.”

“I fear I’ve grown somewhat tired of tales of dragons.”

“Perhaps you will like this one. The dragon dies in the end.”

*****

You took great effort in perfecting your appearance that evening.

You spent nearly an hour in the bath, the servant girls brushing through your hair with the new oils, others plucking the hair off your body.

If being beautiful and quiet is what it would take to keep Aerion from getting violent with you, then so be it.

A beautiful, quiet, submissive wife. If that is what your husband wants, that is what you will force yourself to be.

‘Lips sealed,’ you tell yourself. ‘No replies, no rebuttals, and no backtalk.’

Your hair falls long down your back. You hold up your foggy hand mirror. A smile forms on your lips.

You look like a princess. A princess who dresses in the most beautiful of gowns in case she passes her knight in shining armor on the street.

You are so happy with the thought of Duncan that the smile stays on your face for a long time, dropping only when two visitors enter the room.

Ser Thenty and Madam Pricher. The sight of the woman makes your stomach hurt.

“Good evening, Lady (Y/N),” Ser Thenty greets with a quick bow. “I trust you got much needed rest today.”

“I did. Thank you. Were you able to rest as well?”

“Abundantly. Prince Baelor gave us the entire day to revive our energy. Your thoughts are appreciated.”

You risk a glance at Madam Pricher. She meets your eye with a sharp gaze. You look away.

Madam Pricher intimidates you in a way no one besides your husband does. She could get you killed one of these days. She has practically tried to already. She went behind your back to tell Aerion about Valarr approaching you the day prior, and you are lucky it did not end with another split lip.

“They brought in wine,” you tell Ser Thenty. “I will be called to dinner soon and have no way of finishing it. Please, have some.”

You are fond of Ser Thenty because he reminds you of Ser Donnel, as well as the other knights at home. He is the first knight of the Targaryen castle that is truly kind to you, and you hope that rewarding him for his kindness keeps him from turning into the devilish type of man the other knights were.

Yes, he is kind. But not as kind of Ser Duncan. You suppress another childish smile that starts to form at the thought of the tall man.

You begin to pout Ser Thenty a cup. “You are welcome to partake in any of the refreshments brought to me-”

“You are not to serve wine to a man that is not your husband,” Madam Pricher chides.

The thought of Aerion dulls you, but you try not to show it. “I merely mean to show him my gratitude-”

“Aerion will not be pleased when I tell him that you and Ser Thenty are sharing drinks together.”

Spiteful bitch, your mind screams.

“You will not bother my husband with such things.”

“I certainly will.”

You speak to her as you spoke to the guards earlier. “My husband tells me I can place orders on you,” you insist. “And I order you to be silent. If you fail to do so, you will have to answer to him.”

“I look forward to answering to him. Answering any questions he may have about your behavior.”

In a single moment, all the power you felt that day has been stripped down to nothing.

You feel like a nobody again. Nothing more than a misbehaved pet that’s being trained on how to act properly.

“I need no wine, Lady (Y/N),” Ser Thenty tells you. “Have some yourself. It will calm your nerves for your husband’s arrival.”

You know you cannot dare drink the wine. You cannot risk any drunkness. You must be hyper aware whenever Aerion is around.

“Your hair should be braided,” the older woman tells you. “It is improper to have it undone while you are a guest at a feast.”

“My husband enjoys my hair when it is down.”

“I have seen the things your husband enjoys, and they are classless.”

You burn with hate for her. “Aerion wants it down,” you insist.

You will do what Aerion wants. Her insults will never hurt as much as your husband’s fists.

Out of spite, you add, “But I will be sure he knows how classless you find him.”

You want her to be scared. Instead, she laughs. “I have known Prince Aerion since he was a small boy. There is no insult I have not given him straight to his face.”

Another feeling of hopelessness settles over you. You don’t understand how a maid is able to make you feel so powerless.

Even more so as Madam Pricher says, “If you intend to control me with your husband, you will fail. I answer to Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar. That spoiled Aerion has no hold over me.”

She has read right through you. She has seen your plans, and is letting you know that you have failed them. Your shoulders slouch.

You will never get a break from the cruel torture that is life.

Dinner was still half an hour away. Aerion was still ordered not to come near you yet. You spend the rest of the time in silence, counting down the minutes you have left before your tormentor returns.

Aerion arrives the exact moment the bells ring for evening dinner. It was if he was waiting directly outside the tent until the very second he was allowed to come back to bother you.

Your husband entered the tent with a smug smile, and overflowing confidence.

“Much better,” is the first thing he says to you.

You despise him.

Aerion stops himself just in front of you, eyes on your dress as his fingers graze over the fabric. The dark red seems to reflect in his eyes.

Aerion touches your hair next, running a hand through it and moving it out of your face. He leans in and places a kiss on your neck.

His face lingers as he inhales the scent of you. He is checking to see if you have obeyed him, if you have found new bathing oils. You wonder what the punishment would have been if you had not.

Pulling away, he seemed satisfied with the new scent. “You have listened to me for once, (Y/N). I am glad. I would have had to cut the dress off your body had you still been in the wrong color.”

You wish you could cut the heart out of his chest and watch him die in front of you.

Your husband’s eyes land on his second favorite thing in the room. “Have you not touched your wine? I had it chosen specifically for you.”

“I poured a cup,” you tell him.

He moves to the desk, and begins to pour a glass for himself. “You did not like it? Tell me now if that is the case. I will reprimand the boy that suggested it.”

You lie, “I liked it-”

“She poured a glass for Ser Thenty, Prince Aerion, not herself. She has not drank any.”

Your heart drops.

Aerion pauses.

Your lips part in mere shock at the comments. Ser Thenty seems just as startled.

Your husband slowly turns to you. “You gave my gift to your knight-?”

“I offered him a glass but he refused,” you rush out. “He did not have it.”

His jaw sets. “Why was my gift offered to him?”

A lie comes to you fast. “It-It is customary in my homeland for a guard to drink any open liquid before we drink it ourselves. The wine was sent unsealed, I did not want to risk sickness. That is why I did not drink any, because he refused.”

Aerion stares at you. One moment, two moments, three moments. Then, you hear a low scoff. “You think I would allow something to reach my wife without going through poison prevention? Do not be so stupid.”

He gives you a glass, and you take it without complaint. You will be obedient, as long as you are able. You take a sip as he watches you.

“Where did you go today after you left me?” he asks you. His voice is casual, the tinge of suspicion in his eyes is not.

“To the market,” you tell him. “And to the baths.”

He pours wine of his own. He takes larger drinks of it. You pray he will not be drunk tonight. “Only those two places?”

You knew the guards saw you at the Dornish tent. They would most likely inform someone. You quickly add, “I tried to stop by a tent for a puppet show. They told me they are only held at night, so I left.”

He halts the cup in his hand, frowning. “A puppet show?”

“I went in and left. I was there for only a few minutes. You can ask the guards, those are all the places I went.”

“What interest do you have in a puppet show?”

“They are...interesting.”

“They are childish. Do not seek one out again.”

He can’t even let you have that? It was a fake interest, yet he will not allow you to have it?

“As you wish, Prince Aerion.”

He finishes his wine, and he takes your cup from you as he realizes you have only sipped from it. He finishes it for you. Carelessly dropping the empty cup to the floor, he says, “My father is expecting us at dinner with Lord Ashford. Need I remind you of your rules?”

Your eyes go to the floor. “No, Prince-”

He snaps his fingers in your face. You flinch, eyes flying back to him. “Do not look away while I speak to you. Need I remind you of your rules?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, Prince Aerion. I remember them.”

“Stop looking so cowardly and pale. Stand up straight and act like a woman.”

You stand straighter.

“You have been a royal for almost a year yet you still hunch like a peasant.”

Half a year. You wish to correct him, but your mind screams at you not to. You stay silent.

He snaps his fingers at you again to say, “Let us go.”

He leads you out, Madam Pricher and Ser Thenty trailing at a distance, three other guards following as well.

“Valarr won his match today,” Aerion informs you. “But his competitor was hardly any competition. Sometimes, I wonder if his father pays for him to receive the worst knights to joust.”

There was a hint of disdain in his voice. He seemed disappointed he was not the only victor.

To combat his shifting mood, you tell him, “You also won your match today.”

A flicker of a smirk rises on his lips. “Not that anyone doubted I would.” He whistled behind you. “Pick it up, you old hag.”

You glance behind the two of you. Madam Pricher is struggling to keep up with his fast pace. You do not care to defend her. In fact, you hope she passes out from the exertion.

“Pick up your skirts when you walk,” Aerion commands you. “You are not a maid. You should not drag your clothes on the ground.”

You hold them higher, and say, “Yes, husband.”

He sends a look your way. “Use that mocking tone on me again and you’ll receive a slap to the face.”

You truly do not understand him.

Does he want you submissive, or does he find it mocking? Does he want you kind, or does he find it false?

You make a mental note in your head of the tone you used. It might have been too high pitched, or perhaps too soft. It was not a tone he believed, so you would make sure not to use it again.

You do your best not to make eye contact with anyone as you enter the Ashford Castle. You keep your eyes on the ground, where Aerion seems to like them.

The two of you are announced as you enter the dining hall.

“Prince Aerion and Lady (Y/N).”

You put so much work into keeping your head down, you had no idea who was at the table until you were fully seated.

It is an eight seat table.

Prince Baelor and Prince Maekar hold the ends of the table. Besides Baelor, on the opposite side of you, is Valarr. He does not look at you this time. You are grateful.

Aerion sits beside Maekar. The rest of the seats are empty. You risk glancing around, wondering if the Ashfords are late for the meal.

“The Ashfords are not coming to dinner,” Valarr says to you. “If that is who you are looking for.”

Aerion’s head snaps your way. You quickly stare at your lap, pretending as if you do not hear Valarr.

“Lord Ashford thought it best not to bring his wife and daughter,” Valarr continued, “After learning Aerion would be arriving.”

“Valarr,” Prince Baelor says cooly.

Aerion is staring at you, you can feel it, waiting for you to make a reply. You do not. You continue to pretend no one is speaking to you. The reaction seems to satisfy him.

“You sound spiteful this evening,” Aerion tells his cousin. “Are you angry that you were not the only one who won their match today?”

“I am more proud over the fact that no animals were harmed.”

Maekar hums in disapproval. Aerion chuckles. “You know, we may face each other eventually, cousin.”

“If you make it as far as I do,” Valarr nods.

“Perhaps we will be the finalists.”

“This tourney will be going longer than expected,” Baelor speaks. “Many knights entered the lists after learning of our presence here. I assume many men wish to apply for our royal guard. I estimate another week of jousts.”

Your blood runs cold.

Another week?

Another week of this torture of sharing a bed with Aerion?

The idea sounds horrid. Yet…another week in the same city as Ser Duncan the Tall does not.

“That is your doing,” Maekar tuts. “You allow in every knight that begs to enter.”

“Every rightful knight.”

“And you know them to be rightful?” Maekar asks. “Like the hedge knight that had not even a witness to his knighting?”

“I told you, I recall the Ser Arthur he spoke of.”

“Even the worst knight wouldn’t have thrown knighthood onto that giant brute.”

The word ‘giant’ catches your attention. You suppose it always will from now on.

“Regardless, he is entered.”

“Perhaps you should enter your favorite knight,” Aerion says to his uncle. “See if he is as brave as he pretends to be.”

Baelor barely glances at Aerion. He lets out a low sigh. “And who might my favorite knight be, in your opinion?”

“Ser Thenty, is it not?”

Your eyes widen, and you turn to see Ser Thenty is tense as he waits along the wall.

“He must be if you have chosen him to watch over my wife.” He turns to you. “And you find yourself very fond of him, yes-?”

Maekar made another sound of irritation. “Enough.” He snapped his fingers before his son could continue. “We have waited too long. Bring out the food.”

A serving boy asked, “Are we not expecting anyone else, Prince Maekar-?”

“No. Serve the food now.”

“No other guests are comfortable dining with the family,” Valarr begins. “Here we are, in someone else’s castle, yet no one else wishes to dine with us-”

Maekar slams his hand on the table.

Valarr falls silent.

The whole room falls silent.

It is so interesting for you to see how much power Maekar holds over this family, despite being the younger brother. Baelor will inherit the throne one day, yet his brother commands the rooms.

“Speak of the tactics used during your match today,” Baelor tells his son.

Valarr does so. He speaks of the books he’s been reading on jousting, how he’s been practicing holding his lances at different angles, how he’s taken notes.

Valarr is finally behaving like a calm scholar, the one others in the kingdom so often describe him. He is said to be a good man that is right and just, and finally you begin to see it. In fact, all the men seem to finally be able to converse without argument.

Except, Aerion isn’t conversing much. He is only listening.

Listening, and watching you, as if waiting for you to misbehave so he can put you in your place.

Again, the family seems to read right through you. Dinner is halfway over when Baelor says, “As you can see, Lady (Y/N), this family is capable of sharing a decent meal together. It is not often the boys bicker so much, I hope you do not see them in a bad light because of this.”

You do not answer him, especially not while Aerion stares right at you.

Baelor then says, “I hope you were able to enjoy Ashford more today. My guards tell me you made your way around town.”

He speaks to you, but it is your husband who answers.

“Yes, she came to watch my match,” Aerion tells him. “She helped me discard my armor, and recover from my soreness.”

You hear Valarr’s voice, “I’m sure she was thrilled to be there.” His tone held thick sarcasm.

Aerion seemed amused by it. “She was. She came on her own accord, even after your father tried to banish me from seeing my own woman.”

You clench your skirt fabric in your fist. You hate when they do this. When they speak about you as if you are not there.

You tense when he reached over and brushed his thumb over your cheek. “She brought me much luck.”

All eyes have fallen on you once more. You think of what to do. Your husband lives for flattery, so you give him flattery. “You had no need for my luck, Prince Aerion, you win every match you are in.”

You have pleased him with the comment.

Dinner ends smoothly. You are proud of yourself for your silence.

When the two of you return to your tent, Madam Pricher and Ser Thenty stand near the entrance. You try to pretend they do not exist.

“You did well tonight, wife,” Aerion says to you. “You will be rewarded for it.”

The reward he gives you is his mercy.

He does not rip your clothes when he strips you. Instead, he unbuttons them and places them on the table.

He does not shove you onto the bed to fuck you, he merely lays you down and gets on top of you.

His hands do not grab and pull at you, they merely brush over your skin.

When he enters you, it is not brutal and all at once, it is slow, and the pain is lessened.