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caesium-55 · 1 month

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—seven days. [ vi.ii ]

pairing: max verstappen x manager! reader.

summary: as the third time world champion, max verstappen's manager, you function on the belief that whatever max verstappen wanted, max verstappen shall get. but this time, after four years of working as his manager, you can't give him what he wants anymore and that was to stay.

author's note: guess who's not listening in her calculus lecture rn. also, wifi is acting funny rn.

tags: @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @eugene-emt-roe @bellezaycafe @barnestatic @theseerbetweenus @wcnorris @notyouraveragemochii @lpab @vildetry06 @a-beaverhausen @formula1mount @loloekie @alucardsdaddyissues @juky-ps @cassianswh0reeee @devotedlycrookeddonut @amberpanda99 @supermaxv1 @evie-119 @spideylovin @harianaswhore @formulaal

masterlist.

2020

There have been a lot of new protocols to follow. Social distancing. Wearing face masks. Races being rescheduled. Australia, China, Netherlands, Monaco, Azerbaijan, Canada, and France are canceled. Vietnam is postponed. The first race of the season takes place in the Red Bull Ring in Austria and Max gets a fucking DNF.

After exchanging Instagram accounts in December, Max has spent a normal amount of time stalking your feed. That's what you do when you’re trapped inside your apartment alone because of a global health crisis, you explore the online world.

It seems like you’ve been operating the account since your university days and a lot of your posts show a side of you that’s different from the manager he knows. He learns that you play billiards competitively. You've even reached an Australian tournament. He learns that you watch NASCAR and motocross and drift racing. He learns that you know how to drive a firetruck. He learns that you like partying in LA and you took up volunteer work in the LA fire brigade around your sophomore year. He learns that you’re particularly fond of taking pictures of the skies at different times of the day and the things you’re studying. He notices that you only post group selfies or low angle blurry selfies of you. You don't take pretty pictures of just you.

The oldest post is a photo of you offering a middle finger while smiling and filling up the gas tank of a truck. You're also wearing a red sweatshirt with the letters USC written at the front and skinny ripped jeans. If you swipe right, the next photo shows a picture of you and your group of friends writing on papers on the hood of the truck. Max sees numbers and scratches and crossed out sketches. Max notices a canned beer on your other hand while you press down on your scientific calculator buttons and shakes his head. You do not change.

The latest post is a photo dump of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2019. A picture of the aerial show, grainy zoomed in pictures of the garage, selfies with the mechanics, a bathroom mirror selfie, and a blurry picture of a beer in your hand from the after party. He presses like in every post, latest to the oldest.

you: fucking stalker

max: fuck you

max: *sent a photo*

max: nice teeth by the way

you: i hate you

you: *sent a photo*

you: ya think im the only one who looks ugly with braces?

Since then, Max’s relationship with you has considerably improved. The two of you spend a lot of nights dm-ing each other on Instagram and sending each other reels.

max: SOS

you: ??

max: I THINK THE STOVE IS ON FIRE

you: the stove is supposed to have fire

max: ITS ON FIRE

You and Max sit on the floor, back against the kitchen counter, chest heaving in quick breaths, shoulders bumping against each other. You hold the fire extinguisher close to your chest and your eyes are closed and your lips are parted a little. Max observes your side profile.

You're not a categorically attractive woman. But with the way the sun rays enter Max’s kitchen window and hit your face at all the right angles, you look like someone worth missing a sunset over. Max allows himself to stare and mentally tries to convince himself that this is a very normal amount of staring at one’s manager slash friend.

He’s crossing the line that divides friendship and something unnamed.

“Do you need me to call maintenance so we can get your stove replaced?”

Max nods.

“Yes please.”

You post a new picture on Instagram after a long period of dryness. Max gets a notification. He checks it out.

The caption reads: meet my full time dog and part time boyfriend

The picture is blurry and grainy but Max can make out your face perfectly. There’s a billiard table. Max sees a person in the background. A man. He's wearing a Williams shirt.

Is that a racer? Max immediately thinks of Nicholas Latifi. You and him are around the same age. But the blurry man in the picture doesn't look like Nicholas. The hair color and the build is different. George, maybe? He’s a year younger than Max. Do you prefer your men younger? Scratch that. That’s impossible. Max knows he has a girlfriend named Carmel or Carmen or something.

max: you have a boyfriend

you: youre fast

max: when did this happen?

you: uh

you: earlier?

Max resists the urge to hurl his phone across the room.

max: details [name]

max: i need details

you: nuh uh kid you havent unlocked that level of friendship yet

you: that's friendship level 8 ur still on level 6

max: i will hunt you down and force you to tell me

max: and don't call me kid i'm one year younger than you

you: id like to see you try

max: i think u forgot im the one who gave you the apartment where u live rn

You introduce Leo to Max a month later.

Leo is a British brunette guy with a face that one would consider mid in Europe but a ten in the US. He is one of the Williams mechanics. You mention that he used to do karting as a kid and even went up to F3 but he’s decided to discontinue his racing career because he thinks engineering and the technical aspects of a formula car is far more interesting than racing.

He’s basically the complete opposite of Max.

He’s a good guy, Max can tell. He’s well-mannered, he’s calm, he knows how to treat you right. Above all else, he makes you the happiest. You have the most genuine and beautiful smile on your face when he comes into your view.

He also handles your relationship very maturely. He doesn't demand. He understands that you work for different racing teams with different jobs and that means different priorities.

The weekly IG posts are also too cute. It looks like it came out of a Pinterest board.

Max will never tell you that he spends a good hour every time you post something with Leo in it like an obsessive freak. He tries to make sense of the feeling in his chest. Something green. Something ugly. Something he can't name.

Max should be happy that you found a guy as great as Leo. But he cannot, for the life of him, be fully happy for you. He doesn't know why.

“PR told me that you received a dinner invite from Kelly Piquet,” you state, sitting down on the empty chair across from him and putting your packed lunch on the table. You carefully lay the folded clothes on the other chair. Max deduces they will be the ones he’ll be wearing for the interview scheduled in about two hours. You already sent him the list of questions in his email but he hasn't opened them yet.

“Yeah,” Max says after swallowing. “She’s been sending invites since two months ago.”

“And you left her on seen?”

Max scoffs, “I didn't leave her on seen. I just…well, I saw them late and declined them politely.”

He knows Kelly Piquet. He’s aware of the history she shared with former Red Bull Racing now Toro Rosso driver, Daniil Kvyat. Max also knows she’s the daughter of Nelson Piquet, retired Formula One champion. He thinks it's rude to take the guy’s ex-girlfriend after he’s taken his seat in Red Bull.

“She’s interested in you,” you claim, opening the tupperware and quickly saying grace before digging in.

Max is not good with dealing with women. Twenty-three years old and he’s still girlfriend-less. But he knows how to recognize people who are interested in him. A significant number of women have tried their chances with him since he began racing professionally and he may have used you as some sort of getaway driver to get him out of all the awkward situations where he has to deal with women who are interested in him.

You have a very scary resting bitch face if you try hard enough. Its efficiency in scaring off people is proven to be, well, efficient.

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Are you interested in her?” you question.

Max thinks about it. Really thinks about it.

“Do you think it’ll be good if I get a girlfriend?” he throws you a question instead of an answer.

“You're twenty-three, man. It's about time you start doin’ somethin’ about your empty dating history.”

Max nose scrunches but doesn't say anything because it's the truth. His dating history is hilariously empty.

“What’s your opinion of Kelly?”

“Uh, cool pussy, I guess. Don't really care.”

Max rolls his eyes, “You’re so crude.”

You shrug uncaringly.

“But I don't mind who you wanna date, man. I mean, it's your life. Date who you wanna date. Live the life you wanna live. All the jazz and shedazzle.”

Max accepts the dinner invite.

The 2020 season ends with Hamilton standing at the top, officially becoming a seven-time world champion. Bottas is behind him. Verstappen, like 2019, still stands in third place. Max vows 2020 will be the last year Hamilton becomes a world champion. The team doesn't hold a big afterparty like it usually does and Max flies home to Monaco immediately.

It's been months since he's started seeing Kelly and the woman is pleasant company. Her daughter, Penelope, is the most adorable human being that ever stepped on Earth. Max loves the little bean with all his heart and he himself is surprised that he’s capable of loving a little human this much. He’s practically convinced that he’ll be a shitty father one day. He does not have a good model figure to look up to when it comes to fatherhood.

Little P, Max learns, is obsessed with crocheted things. Max sees her little bags and little hats—all crocheted. Kelly says she pays their housekeeper to make things for little Penelope because she likes them so much.

Max decides he wants to learn how to crochet. He buys the material and learns through hundreds of Youtube videos. His first masterpiece is a bag. It's white and light orange. He shows it to his mum, who questions how on Earth did her son take an interest in a hobby other than racing or anything car-related. Despite that, she compliments it and Max feels confident that you’ll like it, too, now that he’s gotten his mother’s approval.

He finishes making it by the eighteenth day of December and he calls you, hoping he has the chance to give it before you fly down to Texas for the off-season. But you already left Monaco, just the day before and are now spending the first few weeks of the break in New Zealand with Leo.

“So it's serious?” Max asks you over the phone. He stares at the dark sky in Belgium. There's no stars tonight. Only the moon and it’s looking down at him like it's mocking him. Max wonders what the sky looks like in New Zealand right now.

“Of course,” you say.

“Well then, enjoy the holidays.”

“You, too, man.”

The call ends.

2021

Max sees you enter the Red Bull hospitality. The first thing he notices is that your shoes are brand new. Same model—the black and gold YSL Opyum heels, yes he knows the name because he searched it on Google—but brand new. Your bag is also brand new and it’s not the old cream-colored tote bag with peach prints. It's a cream-colored tote bag with Van Gogh’s painting—the Starry Night—printed at the front. You show it to Max excitedly and tell him that it's from Leo, the bag and the shoes, and Max fakes a smile the whole time. When he returns to his room in the evening, he throws the crochet bag he made over December in the trash bin. Kelly sees it but she doesn't question it.

“PR suggests that you film a Tiktok.”

Max groans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Tell them no.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” you encourage him, shaking his shoulders. “There's a lot of dance trends right now.”

“I said no, [Name].”

“Max.”

You throw your hands on your waist, looking at him pointedly with your lips pursed. Max returns the stare.

He gives up after five seconds.

“Fine.”

You huff in triumph.

“But you’re doing it with me,” Max bargains.

“Oh come on,” you throw your hands in the air.

“Now you know how it feels. Tell PR that I’m not going to film a Tiktok unless you film it with me,” Max smiles cheekily.

You're not going to film a Tiktok video with him. He knows you hate filming yourself and posting it for the public. There's a reason why you avoided cameras as if it’s the sun and you're a vampire and had all your social media accounts in private.

You pull an unexpected move and you nod your head.

“Fine.”

Max’s smile drops.

You film a Tiktok using Red Bull Racing’s official Tiktok account. A simple dance. Max does not know the title. The steps are simple and it's easy to memorize. He believes he can do this fairly easily. You don't look like you’re having fun while memorizing the dance steps but you're not overly struggling.

You film the video in three takes. When Max sees the final outcome, he cringes. His long limbs look awkward as he performs the steps despite thinking that he’s doing fine while filming it. You, on the other hand, look fine.

You look good while dancing actually. There’s a certain grace that accompanied your movements.

“You dance good,” Max comments.

“It’s the Latina in me,” you claim, raising your chin a little.

Max snorts.

You show the draft video to the PR team. Without hesitation, they scratched it.

“Why?” Max asks, brows furrowing.

“Apparently, they're too tired releasing statements that we’re not dating. They're afraid that the Tiktok video would bring back our dating rumors,” you roll your eyes. “They’ve decided to just make you do a Tiktok filter game.”

Max does the one filter where he has to solve the simple math equations projected on the screen. He has to tilt his head to the side where the right answer is placed and he needs to do it quickly.

Max is not bad at Mathematics. He’s not good at it either. He’ll say that he’s just average at it like every human being on Earth.

You sit beside him, barking him the answers before his brain can even process and perform the required operations.

“60 points. That's not good enough,” he says.

You nod, “Damn right. You're not tilting your head to the right answer fast enough.”

“Maybe you're not giving the answers quick enough.”

The video gets more than ten takes. The two of you don't stop until you get the perfect score.

Monza is a disaster. To summarize: the 53-lap race is won by Daniel Ricciardo, who has now moved to McLaren. He capitalizes on a good front-row start and the crash between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton to take the race lead. Lando, Daniel’s teammate comes in second with Mercedes' Valtteri Bottas in third. Max and Lewis—DNF.

Max doesn't remember the last time he’s been that angry and the anger doubles when he sees the seven-time world champion celebrate on the tracks. Max then decides that he’s going to be more risky, especially now that he knows how safe the car is. Max is willing to risk his life for number one.

Max lies in the medical bay and he hears voices outside. Too many voices. He’ll appreciate it greatly if the voices disappear. He's too angry right now that the noise of the outside world is too much.

“Max?”

The voices disappear and it's only you he can see, he can hear, he can feel. You're everything.

You said it. His name. It sounds even better than he imagined.

“[Name].”

After making sure he’s okay, you tell Max that you wish to go to Danny and congratulate him for winning. Max grabs your hand, unwilling to let go.

“You're not his manager anymore,” Max reminds you. “You're mine.”

He’s very much aware that he sounds like a child who refuses to let his older brother borrow his favorite toy but he cannot find himself to care. Screw Daniel.

You give him a long look but follows his demands anyway, “We’re gonna congratulate him later whether you like it or not. He’s our friend and he just got P1. We’re gonna be happy for him 'cuz that's what friends do. I’ll drag your ass to his hotel room if I have to.”

Jos Verstappen is not happy. When has he ever been happy with Max anyway? He calls Max after the Monza race and proceeds to yell because that’s all he ever does with Max. He yells. Max is embarrassed that he’s twenty-three and he’s still getting yelled at by his own father.

“Your Dad’s an asshole,” you stated after he ends the call. Max knows you heard his father’s voice even though he has not put the call on loudspeaker.

“Don't talk to my Dad like that,” he reprimands, though not unkindly. “But yeah, he is.”

You snort, “You okay?”

Max lets out a shaky breath, nodding weakly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You would think that after all this time I would get used to it but I don't know. It still makes me feel so uncomfortable and like I'm doing everything wrong even though I've been doing that for such a long time now and I've achieved so many things he asked for."

Your gaze softens and Max mentally begs that you stop looking at him like that. He does not want your pity. Pity is for the weak. Max is not weak.

You open your arms, “Rein it in, big guy.”

“What are you doing?”

“You need a hug.”

Max hesitates but he invites himself to your arms anyway. He allows himself to melt. In your arms, he feels like he's home and that he's good enough.

The breakup happens two race weekends later. Max is not dumb nor is he so emotionally indifferent that he cannot sense if a person is going through a breakup especially if that person is someone so close to him. He already knows there’s something wrong and he knows exactly what’s wrong and yet he still asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you say a little too quickly as if you already know that Max is going to ask the question.

“[Name],” his fingers circle around your wrist. “It's not nothing. Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?”

He wants you to open up. He wants you to say something. He wants you to share the heartache you carry so it won't feel heavy on your shoulders. He wants to be someone who’ll carry your problems with you when the world feels too big and you too small.

You sigh shakily, forcing a polite smile. Your hand comes up to squish Max’s cheek in between your palms and Max’s brows rise slightly at the action. Your hands feel cold and they’re trembling slightly and Max wants to point it out, but he sees how your lips wobble and his mind just blanks, “It's not important. You only have one thing to think about and that is to win. You hear me?”

Max considers marching to the Williams Racing livery and demanding for Leo Stark but he chooses not to. You won't want him to, anyway.

Max never realizes how horrifying blood is until he sees it dripping down the side of your head. He watches as your face changes from shock to realization to absolute anger. It’s like watching you transform from human to a rabid animal who wants to shed blood. At first, he tries to pull you away and calm you down. When he sees the girl’s boyfriend appear, Max joins the fight. No man is allowed to hit you. Not on his watch.

The higher-ups are not the happiest when they learn of what happened. The PR team is having a field day as well. Someone captured the event in video and posted it online. Max has been given a script for the video he’ll have to do to save his image but it’s written differently. Different in a way that the way the words are arranged feels odd to him unlike the way you write your scripts for Max. You write the scripts as if Max is the one who writes them. You write the script in a way Max will write them. Because you know him enough to know what kind of words he wants to use and how he’ll phrase things. You choose words that are easy on his tongue and you structure the sentences so that he can memorize them easily.

Helmut is the one who says, “She should leave the team.”

“If you fire her, I’m leaving,” Max decides.

Christian narrows his eyes at him, “You won't dare.”

“Try me,” he challenges. “I am willing to pay millions to leave if she leaves.”

The other teams want him, Max knows. They know he’s rising to stardom, a racer who can stand equal to Lewis Hamilton in the right time. Red Bull is too afraid of spitting out their star now. Not when Max is already giving Lewis Hamilton a big run for his money this year. Not when Max just showed the world that he’s capable of more than just being third place.

The wretched Hamilton fan decides to sue and Max calls upon his mother’s help to find the best lawyers to fight for you. Sophie willingly helps him.

Max is going to protect you, like you always do to him.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #f1 imagines #manager!reader #mv33 x you #mv1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 #mv33

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devilishchaos · 10 months

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aventuras em Miami | Rúben Dias Imagine

Rating / genre: M (18+); filthy smut, fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Summary: Y/N and Rúben go on a vacation with Rúben's friends, in Miami. Y/N surprises him with sex chocolate.

Warnings: Explicit smut, oral sex (f receiving), explicit talk, unprotected vaginal penetration (don't do it!!! stay safe!), hair grabbing, use of pet names "baby", "babe", size talk just for a sec

Word Count: 4 277 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The sunglasses that were once placed on top of your head, now sat on the bridge of your nose in order to block out the blazing rays of the sun on this record breaking, hot day in Miami. The sand underneath your feet felt soft, yet crunchy at the same time and very hot. A cool, light breeze had your hair blowing. The water was calm enough to be safe for those that wanted to play in the water, but still provided big enough waves for surfers to ride comfortably behind the scattered swimmers. In the sky there wasn’t a cloud in sight, which meant you were going to need help lathering sunscreen on your skin by your ever helpful and willing boyfriend - Rúben.

Speaking of Rúben - him, Ivan and their two friends, Nuno and João, were currently riding jets in the middle of the ocean, so you used the opportunity to go explore the shop that caught your attention while you guys were making your way to the beach. A sex shop. Exciting.

A red haired woman, approximately your age, looks up from the counter at the tinkling of the bell, signifying someone coming into the store.

“Um, hello..“ you say timidly.

“Can I help you?” she asks pleasantly, seeing you glance around the shop at all the various dildos and sex toys.

“I was wondering what these chocolates do..those over there..“ you pointed to the chocolate pieces, placed in front of the window, next to the front door.

“Do you know what you’re looking for specifically?”

“Mmm..not really.” you shake your head, “I’ve never used one. I want to surprise my boyfriend.”

“Alright. Good choice by the way.” she smiled and pulled out, from underneath the till, a tray with said chocolates on display. “So this is pleasure-boosting dark chocolate with high-quality natural ingredients to increase your sex performance. It stimulates blood flow, enhances performance and increases sex drive. Consists of 60% dark chocolate, epimedium, maca root and DHEA. One block consists of two servings - one for you and one for your partner. You take it, wait 30 minutes and enjoy your time.”

“I’ll take a pack, please.” you were really intrigued at this point.

The employee wrapped it up nicely for you “Have fun.”

“Thank you. Have a great day.” you smiled and made your way back to the beach.

You were back at the hotel and were currently getting ready to go to dinner.

“What did you do while we were jet riding?” Rúben asked you as he was coming out of the bathroom.

“Umm..” you played with your earrings “I..got us..something.” you turned around to face him as he was putting his watch on his wrist.

“You got us something?” Rúben looked at you puzzled. “And what is it?”

“Chocolate.” you hold up the package for him to see.

Rúben frowns, far away enough to not be able to read the words on the front “I could have bought you Reese's cups or something.”

“This is not..It’s a different kind of chocolate..” you grin wickedly “..have you heard of tabs chocolate?”

“Are they that fancy ass company that charges, like, $60 per bar?” Rúben puts his wallet in his pant’s pocket.

“No.” you laugh “These have aphrodisiacs in them.”

“Aphrodisiacs?” your boyfriend hums with a furrowed brow “Isn’t that-?”

“It’s sex chocolate.” you finally reveal your secret to him “You up for a bit more exercise today?”

“Sex-ercise you mean?” Rúben rushes to your side with a shit-eating grin, far too proud of his shitty joke. He's grabbing for the chocolates but you snatch them away, giggling.

“We take them now and have to wait like 30 min, for it to kick in.”

“Oh, spicy!” he laughs, tugging the box out of your hands, and scanning the cover “You want to take these now? See who can last longer without touching the other?”

“How strong can this little square be?” you grumble, snatching the little foil squares from their places “Okay, break..” you snap the square in two “..bite..” you hold Rúben’s portion out for him, letting him take it from your hand. His trimmed beard prickles against your skin and you bite back a giggle, stuffing your mouth with chocolate instead.

The chocolate is savory and bitter on your tongue, with just the right amount of sugar. You don’t get to swallow the chocolate and finish their signature slogan before Rúben has wolfed down his bar, tossing the package on the side table and surging for your lips “..bang.”

The kiss he drags you into nearly buckles your knees. It’s intense and hot, the chocolate coating his tongue and his fingers that dig into your waist as he tugs you closer, making it hard for you to breathe.

“Mmf..Rúben!” you gasp, dragging in a lungful of air that he’d practically stolen from you with that kiss. He’s eager to touch you, to feel you, to taste you as his lips never part from your skin, dragging down your neck, to the spot just under your jaw that makes your stomach tingly.

“Let’s get going or we will be late.” and with that you were up for an exciting evening.

Dinner was absolute torture.

Rúben always looks good in your eyes, but tonight he somehow looked even better. His sun kissed skin, peeking out from underneath his light blue shirt, made your head spin. His hand on your thigh seemed to leave a burnt imprint on your delicate skin. The air seemed to not be enough, no matter that you were seated outside.

“How strong can this little square be?” my ass. You were currently beating yourself up internally as you were all seated in the V.I.P section in one of the most popular Miami nightclubs, a U-shaped couch with a table in the middle and then a small section in front of it for people to dance and mingle. You were sitting in the corner with Rúben, his arm around your shoulders as you both tried to seem relaxed. You had to admit, with uni and the internship and Rúben’s busy schedule, you didn't really get to spend much quality time with each other. So this vacation was more than welcomed.

You were currently 3 drinks and 5 shots deep, laughing at something Ivan and Nuno were bickering over, when Rúben’s face suddenly got closer to yours as he whispered in your ear.

“I'm gonna go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” you shot him a smile and pecked his lips quickly before he got up and left the area. You were kind of disappointed honestly, because you expected him to have broken your guy’s agreement two hours ago.

“Come on, let's do some more shots.” you yelled over the music. Ivan grabbed the bottle of alcohol from the table and lined you both up with two shots each.

“You guys are crazy, man.” Nuno shook his head.

When Rúben returned, he found you and Ivan hysterically laughing, the half filled bottle of alcohol he'd left you with was now empty and a waitress was placing another bottle on the table. Rúben smirked to himself as he stepped closer to you and Ivan.

“Hi, baby.” you rushed over to Rúben, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he grinned as you nodded, you both shared a sloppy kiss before you went back to dance with Ivan.

Rúben mingled with his friends, spoke to a few people and was enjoying his evening as well when you plopped yourself down next to him, his hand naturally falling onto your thigh as you wrapped one arm around his forearm.

“You okay, meu amor?” he turned to look at you, your head resting on his shoulder and your eyes closed.

“You look so good right now..” you lured yourself into his lap. Lightly grabbing you by the neck Rúben pulled you into a kiss.

As the kiss went on, it got deeper and more needy. Rúben slowly trailed his kisses off of your lips, kissing down your neck to your shoulders. He had rotated you to the front, with your back facing him. He was rubbing all over your thighs while still kissing on your neck.

Without any words, Rúben grabbed your hips and started grinding your ass on his lap to the rhythm of the song. You knew what he wanted you to do, so his moves soon became your own. You took over grinding yourself into his lap, moving your hips to the beat. You could feel him rubbing and smacking your ass, and you were glad that it was almost too dark into the club so pretty much nobody could see you two. Rúben was clearly turned on, you could feel his hard on under you, ever so slightly brushing against your heat at times, making you go absolutely crazy for him.

At this point Rúben was ready to take you home. He reluctantly slid you out of his lap only for the fact that his friends were soon gonna be flooding back into the section. He draped both of your legs over one of his and you leaned in to kiss him one last time.

“Take me home, Rúben.” you both smiled before excusing yourselves and leaving the club.

Rúben held onto your body as he navigated you through the club, your feet hurting from the shoes you were wearing and it was making it impossible for either of you to get very far without you needing to stop. Once you got outside, Rúben sat you in the car and helped you take off your shoes. The car you were in was luxurious, the seats were ridiculously comfy, so you instantly relaxed into them, your legs stretching out so your feet were resting on Rúben's lap as he sat opposite you.

Back at the hotel, you had barely put your bag on the counter before you were pushed into it, a gasp left your mouth as Rúben trapped you. Hands on your shoulders, hips pressed into your ass, firmly keeping you in place.

“I can’t believe you made us take these damn chocolates. I already wanted to fuck when we got home from the beach.” His deep voice in my ear.

“Yeah..” I whispered softly, gripping the counter. Your head fell against his shoulder, his hands running over your front as he trailed kisses from your cheek to your neck.

“How am I supposed to keep my hands off of you, hm?” he hums, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. He sucks a patch of skin just to the left of your throat, one that makes you grab the counter even harder “You’re so fuckin’ sexy, don’t need a chocolate to think that.”

“I want you so bad, babe..” you whine and you take his hand. It's rough and strong from all the hard work he puts in the gym. It curls around yours and you lead him to your bedroom, letting him sit on the edge of the bed while you slip your dress off, leaving you only in your panties in front of his wild wandering gaze.

“Come here..” Rúben calls softly and you get closer to stand in front of him, in between his muscular thighs.

When his large hands slide up your thighs, smoothing over the fabric of your panties, you inhale deeply. He gives you a few moments of silence and they’re anything but comfortable. Tension is thrumming through every vein in your body, concentrated on whatever shapes Rúben's palms were drawing on your skin. He massages your thighs, but his thumbs edge up the curve of your ass, closer to their target. His fingers knead and squeeze at the soft flesh of your inner thighs, paying special attention to the hypersensitive skin between your cunt and your thighs. When he ghosts his fingernail over the crease there and you clench your thighs together, he knows he’s got you.

Rúben gets up from the bed, your innocent eyes follow his every move. He places his hands on your waist and with one swift move you are already laying on your back, on the bed, and he is hovering over you. The second your lips are in his line of sight, he’s on them. His own press enthusiastically to yours, a heavy pant released into your mouth as he braces his knees on the mattress.

“I can't fucking take it anymore.” he groans, choking out his words in between kisses. His tongue is sloppy, licking up your own like he’s trying to swallow it.

You’re having trouble focusing with his tongue lapping sensually at your own in smooth, eager strokes and his fingers skillfully pinching at your left nipple. When you jolt into his touch, your hips buck up and you feel his hard cock against your eager core, through his pants.

Rúben hums approvingly into the kiss, parting with a sloppy trail of saliva and speaking hotly against your lips “So needy..gonna grind this pussy all over me?”

“Ahh yes..fuck me Rúben. Please, fuck me..” you manage to breathe out he sucks harshly at the skin of your neck. You accentuate your words with another desperate roll of your hips, grinding your clothed cunt over his bulge. He's straining in the fabric of his boxers, a fact that makes your mouth water, and Rúben tears himself away from your neck to wrestle with his undergarments.

He knows you’re aching, burning with desire, because he is, too. His cock bounces free of his boxers and stands hard, angled towards his stomach and oozing pre-cum. It’s the most sexy sight you’ve ever taken in, you will never get tired of it.

Rúben hisses as his thumb carasses against your panties, his fingers slip beneath the hemline. He feels your slick soaking through the fabric at the slightest pressure from his single finger, revealing just how wet you’ve gotten while waiting for him.

“Oh my God, you’re dripping, meu amor.” Rúben groans, his voice thick and lustful as his face screws up in concentration, his sexy accent coming through.

“R-Rúben, pleasee..”

Rúben chuckled against the waistband of your panties, his hands hooked there and he pulled them down slowly, the material making your legs tingle from how gently Rúben removed them from you. He shifted further down the bed so that his head was right between your legs, and he leaned in closer and closer..you jumped when the cool tip of his nose brushed against your core and Rúben shushed you gently. The noise sent a vibration through you and you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sink into the sound, finding comfort within the very person, who was making your blood sing in your veins.

Rúben dived right in for a taste. He kissed your inner lips the way he usually kissed your mouth and you gasped, your hips arching up off the mattress to get closer to Rúben’s touches. He tested the waters with kitten licks, slow and careful, and he groaned at the taste of you. Like a switch had been flicked, Rúben’s hands curl around the plush flesh of your thighs so he could hold you open as he pressed his face into your folds, his tongue now beginning to explore your folds with a heated passion unlike anything you had ever experienced. You couldn’t help but to squeeze your thighs around Rúben’s head and the man groaned yet again, the sound sent another shockwave through your core.

“Ohh..Rú- Rúbenn..” his name fell from your parted lips like a prayer, as your pleasure heightened. You could feel the mattress beneath you moving as Rúben rutted into it at the same pace that his tongue moved against your core.

“Ah, baby..” you gasp, face pinched in half ecstasy, half dread as he sucks at your clit “..please, no..I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it.” he urges, tongue licking a long, wet, slick stripe up your cunt before diving back between your folds “Cum on my face, baby. Come on, give it to me.”

“No. Want- I want to cum..with you inside of me..please..I need- need your dick!” you reach for his face, sitting up in your pleasured haze.

“You can have it.” he promises, fingers coming to bully your puffy clit while he focuses his tongue on your vagina “Later.”

His nose rubbed against your clit with every movement, his hips stuttering now, the rhythm of his mouth broken, but desperate, and the coil within your stomach tightened. Your thighs clenched, your core did the same around nothing and that coil within you snapped. Your orgasm crashed over you, through you, like a tidal wave and for just a moment - your mind, body and soul all merged together and you saw stars.

Rúben is eager to continue even when you’ve finished, licking and sucking desperately at your sensitive pussy. It feels good, but you’re almost too sensitive already and you’re not waiting another second for his cock.

“No, no..I want- “ Rúben doesn’t let you tell him what you want - he doesn’t have to, he already knows. He knows what you really want is in between his legs, so he surges forward, locking his lips with yours and using the momentum to lay you back down onto the mattress.

“Oh, fuck..” you breathe, feeling his cock nudge at your sensitive cunt immediately “..fuck me, babe, plea-” he slams into you with no hesitation, hips on a mission to fuse with your own as he rams his cock into you. The rhythm is relentless, more desperate than you’ve ever felt him before, and you clutch at his broad shoulders as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Fuck.” he huffs, a grunting, groaning mess “Ugh..you feel so good. Oh, God.” he pants, mouth falling open and tongue flattening against your neck, swiping up over your jaw. His mouth latches there, sucking harshly just beneath your ear at the curve of your jaw. His hips drive the same steady pace into you, filling you up impossibly deep with each pump of his cock. His dick so hot and mind-numbingly hard, probably achingly painful too, as he buries it inside of you to get relief. The more he thrusts the deeper he goes in, until he’s slamming into your sweet spot, balls landing heavy against the curve of your ass as he fucks into you.

“Rúbenn..” you moan, nails scraping against the tan, toned skin of his back “..don’t- don’t s- stop!”

“I'm so close, fuck..” he grunts, voice muffled slightly in what you suspect is shame. His libido is strong and he doesn’t usually finish this fast. But with the aphrodisiac in his system you’re not surprised he’s cumming quickly, nor are you put off by it. In fact, you’re exceptionally aroused by it. The feeling of him fucking into you so eagerly, so needy - it gets you going like nothing else. You feel another wave of pleasure begining to creep in. With the constant motion of Rúben’s thick cock and every flex of his tongue over your neck, as he sucks bruises into your skin, you feel your orgasm approaching.

Apparently, the way that your nails dig into Rúben’s skin is encouragement for him as well. Your thighs tremble from the weight of your previous orgasm, and the impending pressure of your next one, his dick twitches like it’s painful for him to keep it together.

“It’s okay, baby..” you pant, scraping a hand up his back to cradle the back of his neck. He's still suckling on your neck, tongue and teeth working in tandem to mark your skin “You can cum. Feels sooo good, ughh..you feel so fucking good!”

Your encouragement seems to help and his dick twitches again. You tug on his hair and his thighs tense. You yank his head back with a fistful of his hair, pulling him out of your neck to kiss him and invite him to occupy his tongue with your own instead of your throat.

The second your tongue brushes against his own, he cums. It’s like a dam bursting, every ounce of arousal he’d tried holding in, busting from his head straight into your incredibly wet pussy. You’re already slick enough from all of your own release, but his own gushes from the seam between his cock and your vagina.

“Fuck me. Oh my God.” Rúben pants, the words flowing directly between your lips as he mouths at your mouth. He’s desperate to do something with his mouth, he always has been, and it’s no surprise that he’d taken his time to appreciate your pussy earlier.

He licks over your tongue, his own tucking to the inside of your cheek for a brief second before he sucks at yours again. It only makes your own arousal more intense, and before you know it, your second, possibly more intense orgasm is seizing you, tensing your muscles and spasming through you.

Rúben cums for a long time, dick twitching and spurting cum the more he makes out with you, and the more your cunt convulses around him. Your kiss is sloppy, it’s messy, there’s drool leaking down the corners of your mouth, and that’s what makes it so effective to stretch out his orgasm. When you’re both sure you couldn’t cum more even if you tried, he slumps over your chest, his full weight on you as he lays panting on your sweaty skin.

“Fuck..that- ” he groans, voice broken and raspy with strain “that was the best sex we’ve ever had.”

“Mhmmm..” you nod lazily, enjoying a rare moment of breathing freely “..yeah, we need to use those chocolates again.”

“For sure.” he agrees, his beard prickling against the skin at the slope of your breast “I didn’t think it would work.”

“I'm glad it did.” you said thoughtfully, and you feel Rúben shift against your thigh, his cock already half-hard again. He grinds it into you, what you think is accidentally, but his groan lets you know it felt nice.

“Baby..” you start, but he’s already rubbing up against you once more, humping his hardening cock against your thigh.

“I need- I need a little more.” he almost whimpers, tightening his hold on your upper half “Babe, i need more..please.”

“Okay.” you soothe, kissing his sweaty forehead “Okay, umm..I want to ride you.” You replied. Uttering the phrase felt like jumping over a mental fence. You basically had to force the words past your lips. Although, once they finally escaped, you felt much less shy about it. Speaking so boldly to him felt very empowering.

“Fuck yes.” He replied and lied on his back next to you, patting his thighs for you to straddle. “Ride me.” He said. It wasn’t a suggestion, it wasn’t a question, it was a command. It makes your knees feel wobbly and your legs feel like jelly.

You obliged, straddling his body. “Watch me.” You commanded back, your eyes meeting his and a moan escaped his lips. He sat up on his elbows and obeyed, watching as you slid your soaked core up and down his dick.

“Oh my god, fuck!” His eyes widened and his hands grabbed at your thighs.

You took his dick in your hand and slowly guided it to your entrance, sitting down on him and taking him deep into your core.

“Oh, fuck..you feel so big.” You said. You felt a small sting as he stretched your walls, but carried on.

“A-and your wet little pussy is so fucking tight.” The words barely escaped his mouth as he was breathless. He stayed propped up on his elbows to get a full view.

You began to slowly rock your hips, grinding your clit against his pubic bone, feeling him twitching inside of you. You moaned at the sensation, but he moaned louder.

“Fuck- move up and down..” He said, his eyes glued to the spot that your bodies collide “Let me see my dick disappear inside of you.”

You gasped at his filthy mouth once again, but granted his wishes. You moved your legs around so that you could stand on your feet and began moving up and down, bouncing on his dick, feeling how he stretched you with each motion. The new angle gave you new pleasure, he was hitting spots you never even knew existed before.

“O-oh my god, baby-“ your voice was shaking. You knew at this point you weren't going to last much longer. And quite frankly, he wasn't going to either.

“Yeah? Feels good?” You barely heard him say through the fog of your pleasure.

“Yes, Rúben! Fuck..feels- oh, so good..” You were unable to form words.

You shouted, unsure of what you were even saying, as pleasure overtook your entire body.

Your vision went white and the world became a blur. You didn’t even know if he had finished - by the time you came to your senses it was all over. You had collapsed onto his chest and his arms were around you, as he whispered god knows what into your ear. You truly were on another planet.

“..so fucking good. You were so fucking good.” He praised you.

“What?” You mumbled out, blinking your eyes a few times as you grounded yourself, which caused you to giggle.

“Are you alright, meu amor?” Rúben asked you, a smile could be heard in his voice.

“Wonderful.” You hummed. You didn’t want to move. Your body melted into his. “I like filthy sex with you, Rúbes.”

“I like any kind of sex with you.” Rúben said as he kissed your forehead.

#ruben dias #ruben gato dias #ruben dias fic #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias imagines #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias smut #ruben dias fluff #football imagine #football imagines

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steveyockey · 5 months

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While some of both Davis and Crawford’s work could arguably be described as camp (for the former, King Vidor’s Beyond the Forest; for the latter, later-era films such as Strait-Jacket and aspects of the wondrous Nicholas Ray film Johnny Guitar), that their entire careers and places within film history are defined as such does a disservice to their artistry. But they aren’t alone in representing what has become a troubling trend when it comes to women’s work. As camp entered the mainstream lexicon, especially after Susan Sontag’s landmark 1964 essay, “Notes on ‘Camp,’” the term has been increasingly tied to work featuring women who disregard societal norms. Camp is often improperly and broadly applied to pop culture that features highly emotional, bold, complex, cold, and so-called “unlikable” female characters. I’ve seen films and TV shows such as the witty masterwork All About Eve; the beguiling Mulholland Drive; the stylized yet heartwarming Jane the Virgin; Todd Haynes’s Patricia Highsmith adaptation Carol; the blistering biopic Jackie; the deliciously malevolent horror film Black Swan; Joss Whedon’s exploration of girlhood and horror, Buffy the Vampire Slayer; the landmark documentary Grey Gardens (which inspired the 2009 HBO film starring Jessica Lange and Drew Barrymore); and even icons such as Beyoncé and Rihanna be described as camp. Look at any list of the best camp films and you’ll see an overwhelming number of works that feature women and don’t actually fit the label. Usually, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, the film whose behind-the-scenes story provides Murphy’s launching pad for Feud, will be at the top of the list.

While camp need not be a pejorative, that hasn’t stopped it from being widely used as such. In effect, being labeled as camp can turn the boldest works about the interior lives of complex women into a curiosity, a joke, a punch line. The ease with which camp is applied to female-led films and shows of this ilk demonstrates that for all the (still-paltry) gains Hollywood has made for women in the decades since Davis and Crawford worked, our culture is still uncomfortable respecting women’s stories.

That major Hollywood icons such as Marlene Dietrich, Bette Davis, Joan Crawford (and, more recently, Natalie Portman, thanks to Jackie) have been roped into this lineage isn’t surprising. Society doesn’t know what to do with women of this ilk without discrediting their very womanhood. Take artist and filmmaker Bruce LaBruce’s offensive description of Mae West in an essay on camp: “[She] played with androgyny to the degree that her final performance — her autopsy — was necessary to prove her biological femaleness.” In his 2013 essay “Why Is Camp So Obsessed with Women?”, J. Bryan Lowder expands on Sontag’s most well-known line: “It’s not a lamp, but a ‘lamp’; not a woman, but a ‘woman.’ To perceive Camp in objects and persons is to understand Being-as-Playing-a-Role.” Lowder writes, “‘Woman,’ the concept within the quotation marks, is not the same thing, at all, as a real woman; the former is a mythology, a style, a set of conventions, taboos, and references, while the latter is a shifting, changeable, and ultimately indefinable living being. Of course, there may be some overlap.” But if all gender is a performance, where does the “real” woman begin? And why does the presence of camp hold more importance than the actual work and voices of actresses such as Crawford, who have come to be defined by it?

At times, camp can feel like a suffocating label. Its proponents often misconstrue the fact that recreating oneself as a character is not merely an aesthetic for women, but rather, for many, a matter of survival. Living in a culture that profoundly scorns ambition, autonomy, and independence in women, girls learn quickly the narrow parameters of femininity available to them. When they transcend these parameters, life can get even more difficult. Women often pick up and drop various forms of presentation in order to move through the world more easily. Performance as a woman — in terms of how one speaks, walks, talks, acts — can be a means of controlling one’s own narrative. Camp often limits this part of the discussion, focusing instead on the sheer thrill of watching larger-than-life female characters cut and snark their way across the screen. How these works speak to women, past and present, becomes a tertiary concern at best, and the work loses a bit of its importance in the process; it either comes to be regarded as niche or, if it still has mainstream prominence, as abject spectacle. In turn, the conversations around these works become less about the women at their centers and more about how those women are presented.

Much of Baby Jane’s camp legacy comes down to how more recent audiences have interpreted Davis’s performance. She’s ferocious, frightening, and grotesque. But framing Davis’s performance as camp, as Murphy does, doesn’t take into account how dramatically acting has shifted over the course of film history. In some ways, camp has become a label used when modern audiences don’t quite understand older styles of acting. Modern actors privilege the remote, the cold, the detached. The more scenery-chewing performances that make the labor of acting visible — such as the transformative work that Jake Gyllenhaal did in Nightcrawler, or most of Christian Bale’s career — is typically the domain of men. (Or, at least, it’s only men who can get away with it without being called campy.) As Shonni Enelow writes in a marvelous piece for Film Comment, “[Jennifer] Lawrence’s characters in Winter’s Bone and The Hunger Games don’t arrive at emotional release or revelation; rather than fight to express themselves, her characters fight not to. We can see the same kind of emotional retrenchment and wariness in a number of performances by the most popular young actors of the last several years.” Davis’s work as an actor was the antithesis of that; she painted in bold colors. Even her quietest moments brim with an intensity that cannot be denied.

#I love being the guy who posts the article and gets to completely tear it up paragraph by paragraph until I have all my favorite parts #together 💗 but I’ve never seen Jackie and she does several paragraphs on Jackie that make me want to watch #reading #angelica jade bastién

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demigoddessqueens · 8 months

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why me?

A/n - this is based off a CR ask here , person A asks “why me?”

A/n 2 - I’ve added a bonus one too for CV Nocturne

Trevor

Not a man who’s strong suit is words, but you’re touched when Trevor tells you so bluntly, “because I love you! And after all this damned craziness, I’d always want to have you”

Alucard

Dhamphir boi is deep in his feelings, kissing you deeply as he whispers to you, “because you made me forget what it was like to be alone”

Greta

Serious as she can sometimes be, Greta has her flirtatious side. Holding your hand, kisses, listing all your good qualities and how if it wasn’t for her who else will you have in life for new adventures?

Sypha

The Speaker woman is just gushing over her feelings for you, so much so you’ve forgotten the sighted bit of doubts you had from before

Dracula

Ever passionate yet broody, the Lord of Vampires whispers of what he adores about you, how the life of solitude has the ray of light that is you to warm its icy interior

Isaac

A Devils Forgemaster who’s mastered his craft and is also a master of words; you’re more than just a travel companion to him, but one he couldn’t think to be apart from.

Hector

A soothing melodic voice who’s enticing words guarantee you that said feelings are reciprocated because there’s a new chapter in life he wants to explore within himself and you

Bonus:

Richter 🌙

Young as he is, the strong Belmont is recklessly in love with you and in his mission(s), he says he trusts you with his life no matter how perilous it may turn

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amaya-eve · 1 year

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Prettier than a Flower

“hurry up, i have places to be you know” wanderer complains, walking behind you in the crowded market place of sumeru.

lesser lord kusanali tasked you with getting the wanderer out of his shell and explore sumeru a bit. its been a while since you were able to go out of the akademiya, so you used this opportunity to grab some things you needed.

you decided to take him to the market, where he can witness the everyday lives of normal people and experience the hospitality of sumeru... and also because you needed to buy some new gear. but nonetheless you really were just trying to get him to interact with others!

today was beaming, the sun’s rays shone brightly and lit up the place, further glorifying the displays on the many stalls that lined the street. while viewing random stalls, you came across a shop that sold scrolls you’ve been looking for, and at a discounted price!

“hold on a bit will ya? this is the last store i promise”

he only sighed deeply as a response.

he had no other choice but to stand idly and wait for you of to walk around and see the place for himself.

in his opinion, he’s seen enough and just want out of this place but a small cart that sold flowers caught his eye.

the cart was very small, barely the size of a table but it looked well taken care of, especially the plants that filled it to the brim. it was a rainbow all over, from the body of the cart to its canopy.

‘blooming color’ a sign in front read. while observing a bright pink flower, he failed to notice an old lady behind him, with a sweet smile on her lips.

“i wonder who’s the lucky person?” she said.

“huh?”

“you’ve been so attentive of my flowers my dear, may i help you choose one? just tell me what kind of lover they are, and i’ll pick the most fitting flower!”

“old woman, you got it wrong. im not getting flowers for anybody” scara said, crossing his arms seemingly offended.

a soft chime of bells rang from a distance. “wanderer! im almost finished here, just have to wait for the brushes” you called out to him and he turned to look at you.

you stepped out a bit, letting the light hit your face. the golden hue of light illuminated your features, making you more stunning than you already were. and as nature does, the wind blew at the perfect timing, slightly grazing over your hair and making it dance gracefully in the air.

at this moment scara’s world paused. time worked in slow motion and he was thankful it was because he has more time to appreciate your beauty. he was lost in thought and forgot about the situation he was in.

“so she’s the one? rightfully so.” she chuckled.

lost in his imagination, wanderer finally awakens.

“she’s an acquaintance, nothing more.” he said while looking down, thought it did sound like he was convincing himself more that he was the old lady.

“take this” she said handing him a small bouquet of (color of your choice) flower. “i reckon they’re actually your lover, confess before its too late.”

...

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin kunikuzushi #genshin wanderer #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact wanderer #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #scaramouche fluff #sumeru

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ladyempty · 1 day

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Yan! Maegor Targaryen x Wife!Reader

° | !English is not my first language!|

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. |

You were certainly a cursed woman for arousing the almost immediate interest of the cruel king after his bloodthirsty ascension to the throne.

Maegor already had three wives at that time, two wives he liked and one he despised with increasing hatred.

But you were different, it was an overwhelming feeling that caught you off guard in the first contacts.

There was something fascinating to the king in his every little gesture and movement. Her so easily adorable personality and impeccable looks.

So this was love? This flame that burns without being seen? That feeling he despised when bards sang softly on banquettes and celebrations, and now it had taken over his body.

Already convinced of the strength of his feelings, the king did not delay in a proper court, he thought he had already made his obvious interest clear. The king's way of showing interest was something... Peculiar... Certainly constantly chasing you, ordering guards to follow you and always so fixedly analyzing your slightest movement, it wasn't the most gallant way.

In any case, the engagement was not long in consideration, with Maegor coldly threatening you father:

"I will have your hand beheaded or I will have your daughter's hand in marriage" His tone was as cold as the blade of his sword held firmly at his hip.

The wedding was only in Valerian traditions, the king's warm crimson blood mingling with his own and the taste of copper on his lips.

Maegor would never stoop to marrying in the faith of the seven. An action that only caused more chaos and anger from the religious.

The wedding night was certainly not a fairy tale. The king was focused on creating an heir and finally freely exploring his body. His touches were rough, strong and not at all gentle.

You better not consider moontea...

As a husband, Maegor is not the kindest. His displays of affection are not delicate and he does not demonstrate his love through words at all.

But compared to his treatment of other people, he is much softer on you.

He will still punish you if you disobey his numerous and strict rules.

Jealous and possessive are an understatement to describe feelings and behavior. You are His in every aspect of the word. Your body and soul belong to him and him alone. And not even his other wives have the right to take their You attention away from him. Your world should revolve around him the same way his world revolves around you.

Maegor is simply crazy about you, he loves you in a way he's never loved anyone else, even if it was in a distorted way, he doesn't want anyone to get close to you, touch you or even breathe and look in your direction. Anyone who approaches you will regret it bitterly when the blade of your sword pierces the person's neck without mercy.

He admired strength... But you couldn't get hurt, he liked your bravery, but there is no way he will allow you to get hurt. Never.

Maegor will not change your reason if you don't trust him. He will even think you are smart. For a while. After your patience runs out, he will simply demand your complete trust in him.

"I am your lord husband, who is more deserving of your trust than me?"

And things only got worse after Alys's deformed stillbirth...

Tyanna's whispers in her ear about infidelity and the child being nothing more than a bastard only served to increase her paranoia. The mere thought of you cheating on him was enough to make him simply lose his mind.

He imprisoned you in your private chambers, no one was allowed to enter unless authorized by the king. Guards guarded the door to his quarters.

Then, in an act of desperation, Maegor took three wives at once. But all three had deformed stillbirths just like Alys… Tyanna had lied and the king simply didn't know what else to do. He was desperate for the first time in his life.

But like a ray of light... Were you pregnant? For the first time in almost decades... Maegor smiled widely.

#yandere x reader #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #yandere maegor targaryen #Yandere Maegor Targaryen x Reader #Maegor Targaryen x Reader #Maegor Targaryen #house Targaryen #house targaryen

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foggyfrogss · 4 months

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⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.

tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content, Mentions of SA

Chapter Three - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 7.3ᴋ

He’d come to you like a lost puppy the first time you’d met him.

A flash of pink dashes by, catching your wandering eyes. In your chest a sudden warmth makes itself known, igniting the surrounding colors of the forest into brighter hues. It makes you jerk your head to follow the direction of the pink, only for you to find a boy running down the path you’d just walked.

The sound of cicadas grows much louder than it had before. Your small heart thumping against your chest. Why had you suddenly felt so… alive?

A gust of wind follows in the direction in which he ran, blowing your hair about. The wind smells crisp, entwined with woody notes from the surrounding trees. It’s wet and earthy.

Your mother pulls against you as your footsteps falter. With your attention being taken away, it causes you to stop walking, your mother tugging at your small arm. The sudden motion grabs your attention; feet picking up the pace.

The both of you had ventured towards the spring located in the forest; a way to catch a breath of fresh air. Cool water would surely help beat the heat of summer. It’s shaded by the trees, providing relief from the rays of harsh sun.

You could hear the faint laughter from the boy as he ran down the pathway, away from the springs. As you turn your head back towards the boy, you hear a groan, “Ryomen Sukuna!” It sounded very similar to the scolding of your own mother. The feminine voice resonated desperately as it called for the pink haired boy known as Sukuna.

He seemed to be around your age, you noticed.

Hand in hand with your mother, you feel her halt her movements. It makes you look up at her when she does, wondering what she was doing. You observe her smile which makes you glance ahead, finding a woman standing before the two of you.

Curiously, you eyed the woman from the ground to her face… discovering she had the same lively pink shade of hair that matched the boy. She must be his mother.

“He’s excited… he doesn’t get to play like this often,” the woman says tiredly. One of her hands runs over her face while she sighs and your mother chuckles. “How old is he?” Your mother asks and the woman crosses her arms, “He has just turned 5… I swear it’s like he has an infinite amount of energy.”

At the age of 4 years old, you first crossed paths with Ryomen Sukuna.

You’re sat on your knees in the icy water of the spring, venturing about the mossy rocks as you explore. You remember how lively it felt, worrying of nothing but what sat before you. The bright greens of the surrounding nature forever embed itself into your brain. Rays of glimmering sunlight break through the limbs of the trees that tower over you, causing the rushing water to glow magically.

As you grasp at a slick river rock which lies closer towards the bank, you lift it with your small hand, looking forward to uncovering what creature could be on the underside… a shrilling sound of an excited voice interrupts you, “What are you doing?” The voices asks, making you jump.

You release the rock, dropping it into the water and causing it to splash.

“Hey!” You shout just as loudly back, instantly angered by the sudden intrusion. Yet, as you look up, you find the bright deep eyes of the boy who’d run past you just moments ago. A toothy smile is splayed across his features as he sits cross-cross on a rock just a few feet away from you.

“I’m Ryomen,” he introduces himself. His voice is sweet, you remember the rich innocence of it clear as day. It matched that of any other 5 year old, laced with a sweetness that of candy.

It struck a sudden warmth in your younger self, a small smile coming to your face. You instantly forget the rock, moving onto the next best interesting thing.

You tell him your name, bursting into a fit of giggles along with him. The two of you clicked instantly, playing about in the chilled water as your mother’s watched from the bank across the stream.

They sat together, both of them chatting away, but their eyes still on the two of you.

Ever since that day, Sukuna had seemingly found a place inside of you.

Your mother’s had become quite close as well, which meant he was able to visit your home often.

From playing in the streams during summer to the fresh mounds of snow in winter, you grew along side him. Years of connecting solidifying your bond. The warmth you found in his presence had stuck within you.

It was around the age of 8 you had noticed his sudden change… his bubbly smile had been torn away from you, locked deep within him. Though he was still kind, that never faltering; he held a different atmosphere. A subtle darkness lingered over him like a storm cloud ready to spill.

It stayed. You gradually grew used to it, accepting his growing brazen personality. Though he projected his anger of the world onto everyone and everything… he never did it to you.

No matter what, you would accept Sukuna as he was.

You recall being woken up by your mother. The darkness of your room telling you what time it has been; late at night. She brought a portable lantern, setting it down to the side of her. Your mother sits on her knees next to your futon. “Darling,” she says softly, stroking the hair from your face. The iciness of her fingers sinks into your warm skin, helping rouse you from your sleep.

As your eyelids flicker open, you catch the way the lantern paints shadows on your bedroom walls.

She tells you Sukuna’s mother has been killed.

A man had broken into their home, murdering her in her sleep and attempting to murder Sukuna as well. It had caused you to sit up in a shock, staring at your mother with wide eyes.

She then tells you Sukuna killed the man himself. His efforts to save his mother turning into an attempt to avenge her.

You knew why he had shifted. He had walled up his emotions to protect himself. The only family he knew had been taken from him, leaving him to fend for himself.

At such a young age, he killed someone.

In such a large village, he was truly alone.

Sukuna had told you he had no father… his mother had been sexually assaulted during a village raid a year before you were born.

At the time, you didn’t understand what that meant. You were incredibly young and naive, but you understood that it wasn’t a good thing. Especially when you saw the way his face twisted in disgust when he talked about it.

“I can be your family,” you told him like the ignorant child you were. A bright smile projected from your face towards him, telling him you meant it.

It’s quiet as he looks at you, his back resting against the tree the two of you are sat under. The leaves from it cast a shade onto the both of you, protecting you from the harsh rays of summer sun.

“If you say so,” Sukuna says. His voice is quiet, lacking enthusiasm. You don’t take it to heart, understanding how hard it’s been for him recently.

Your mother had instantly sprung into action upon hearing the news, taking Sukuna in. The empty spare rooms of your estate proving there was more than enough space for a child in need.

He stayed with you for a few years, until he reached the age of 13.

On a simmering day in the middle of summer, you found him training just outside the engawa. As you venture further out, you hear the bustling sounds of the cicadas and songbirds. The sounds of summer.

His pink hair soaks in the sunlight, making it glow a rich hue. When he suddenly shifts his body, the katana he wields reflects the sunlight into your eyes, making you wince. “Hey,” you make yourself known, holding a hand to shield your eyes as you step off the elevated portion of the house. He pauses his movements, turning to face you. The katana drops to his side.

“Are you training to be a samurai?” You half joked and half seriously asked, approaching him completely. “No,” he says, his voice curt and face stoic. As you near him you notice how he’s sweating… he must’ve been pushing himself.

“You better not,” you say, putting your hands on your hips, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Now I’m thinking it’s a good idea,” he suddenly says, making you gasp. You catch the small smirk he shows and your chest tightens. The sudden cracks in his walls were something you treasured.

Later that day, all that could be heard was the shouting of your father. His deep voice boomed against the paper thin walls, making it easy to hear from any part of the estate. It was angry, intertwined with a disgust you only would hear from a man filled with hatred. Bone chilling, you recall feeling.

It had all been directed towards Sukuna.

The sudden change in feelings towards Sukuna had shocked both you and your mother. The two of you sat silently as your father lashed out on the boy, expressing his true feelings.

Like a rabid dog, your father slung insults and curses towards him.

If either of you were to speak up it wouldn’t do any good.

“You are not welcome here,” he finally spits at Sukuna as the boy sits before him. You were all in the main room, summoned there by your father. “Leave my estate at once and never return!”

It’s then quiet.

Sukuna is silent.

The atmosphere of the room had grown thick with a dark feeling, almost making it impossible to breathe. Your chest felt extremely tight as your stomach flipped anxiously, watching Sukuna clench his fists in his lap.

You could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you glanced around the room. From your clammy hands in your lap that gripped the fabric of your kimono, to your father, and to Sukuna… the room became unbearable with tension.

It diminished when you suddenly stand, unable to take any more; you rush out of the room.

At the time, you weren’t sure what had provoked your father to do such a thing… but as a few years went by, you slowly came to realize.

Sukuna had refrained from telling you.

He grew more closeted, keeping to himself as much as he could… a defense mechanism to keep himself safe; even if it was you.

Even if you were the only person he could trust, he still distanced himself.

He’d moved into the home he lived in before, the small shack. It was gifted to his mother by the farmers when she’d arrived here all those years ago.

The village had grown weary of him. His strength, which grew fast, worried the people. He was immensely strong for his age, holding much wisdom on sorcery that a middle aged man would.

The village wanted him gone, exiled and forgotten. Perhaps even dead.

You remember the day you overheard your father talking about it. The paper thin walls proving useful as you hear him and a few other men discuss Sukuna.

The only thing keeping him here was you.

Though your father was cold and harsh, he was kind to you. You were his only child. That must have meant something to him. The ways in which he expressed his love were honest and kind at times, it often left you questioning him.

“My daughter is fond of the boy so removing him isn’t an option,” you hear your father say. Your heart thumps anxiously at his words.

“Keep the other kids away from him. Tell anyone else to distance themselves. Perhaps we can… persuade him to leave.”

Their way of persuasion was cruel.

It had grown darker, for you and especially for Sukuna.

Over the next few years you saw the way they shamelessly treated him like a wild animal. He was ignored by everyone. Merchants refused to sell to him, even if he had the money he worked hard to get. “Get your cursed money away!” You recall an older woman, a merchant, spitting towards Sukuna.

You stood by his side in shock, looking over from the old lady to him and watching the way he clenches his fist that held his money tight. The skin of his knuckles growing white from the pressure.

His face held the same stone-like expression, showing he wasn’t fazed.

That was the first time you noticed the dark aura radiating off of him… but it hadn’t deterred you away. The atmosphere was melancholic, thick with tension.

In silence the two of you are walking back to his home, the sounds of the village filling the background. The squeaks of moving carts and chatter among merchant stands as they packed up for the day.

The sun had began to set, emitting an orange hue among the stretch of pathway before you.

It felt serene, despite the earlier hiccups.

You realize it’d been quite a while since you last had a moment with Sukuna; especially one calm as this… being that you were 15 now, you had more duties as your father’s only child. It kept you busy.

In the midst of learning basic etiquette under your mother and other servants… be it a busy schedule, you still thought of him. Time kept its march and you constantly worried if he had enough food or supplies due to his difficulty attaining them.

Though you remember him mentioning he hunted animals in his spare time. Food was not an issue for him.

As you walk beside him, you’re glancing over, studying his side profile from the corner of your eye. Sukuna holds a sack over his shoulder which contained everything he was able to purchase. He looks the same, you notice, but as you’re looking up… you realize he has gotten taller. It makes you angle your head to get a better look.

A whole foot above your head taller.

While taking in his new height, you see the way his pink hair had grown over his ears. The length had looked unruly and you’re shocked you hadn’t noticed it when you met up with him earlier today.

Perhaps the ruthlessness of your fellow people had distracted you.

You take note of how his usual slick back look is more prominent as he attempts to tuck it behind his ears. Only to keep it out of his face.

It makes you laugh, instantly reaching a hand up to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds.

Sukuna jerks his head towards you, casting his eyes down to catch yours with his. Deep brown, which is pushing hazel now due to the sunlight, makes your breath hitch. You feel the heat rush to your face from embarrassment.

“What the hell is so funny?” He snaps, halting his steps which makes you stop as well. You take a deep breath to keep yourself from giggling, removing your hand. “Your hair,” you say in a breathy, amused tone. His eyebrows furrow together in confusion as he asks unamused, “What about it?”

“Were you growing it out?” You tease him, giving him a smile. He’s sighing, fixing the sack over his shoulder as he rolls his eyes. He’s silent but you continue on, “I think it’s cute.”

You instantly see the way his cheeks burn red, his eyes scanning over your face wide with shock. Yet, he quickly replaces his shocked demeanor with his same stone expression. He then looks away, exposing his side profile once again in an attempt to hide his flustered, red face.

You’re struck with a sudden wave of bliss as you study him. The sunset makes him glow, and your heart thumps against your rib cage in an unfamiliar way; it’s welcoming.

You feel the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, hold his face with your hands.

His skin is almost glowing gold, looking like the finest treasure in all of the land. He could be considered a treasure himself.

You wanted it for yourself.

“I have shears if you’d help me cut it,” he mumbles, cutting off your wandering thoughts. His voice is giving away his embarrassment even further, and you chuckle as you come back to your senses.

To see someone with a personality as hard and stubborn as his crack at the slightest things… it filled you with a deep feeling. Though you weren’t sure what, all you knew that seeing him able to feel anything but anger… it made you happy.

“Let’s go then,” you say, grasping onto his clothing and tugging him along. He releases a grunt as you use all your strength to move him.

Sukuna grumbles as he takes his hand to remove it from his kimono, untangling your fist to intertwine his larger fingers with yours. He lets you pull him to his home. The warmth of his hand radiated into your own.

Later on, you found yourself sitting behind him as he sat on the floor. You sat atop a small stool.

His height posed no issue but you still had to straighten your back out almost completely to comfortably reach. In your right hand held the pair of farming shears he was talking about. He must have not had shears for cosmetic use.

“How short do you want it?” You’re asking him as you take your left hand and brush his hair back. He’s silent as you touch him, your fingers digging into his scalp as you feel how soft his hair actually is. You’d never touched it before and now that you were… you didn’t want to stop.

“Your hair is so soft,” you say with a smile, hearing him grunt in response. An inner part of you buzzes when you realize he’s enjoying your hand movements. “You gonna tell me how short?” You say again, clipping the shears in the air to let him know you’re ready.

“The usual length,” Sukuna tells you. You roll yours eyes as you set the shears in your right hand down on the floor. The hand joins your left in his hair on the opposite side.

“So bald?” You joke, brushing his hair back.

He’s sighing, which makes your playful smile drop, looking ahead. You see the side of his face from behind him. His usual scowl, which plagues his features and comes off as hard as stone is gone… replaced with a softness you had not seen in many moons.

The atmosphere of the room had shifted, becoming warm.

He looks like the boy you’d met all those years ago.

“If you just wanted to play with your hair… why didn’t you just ask me?” You whisper softly, tucking the hair behind his ears. He’s still silent, almost as if he refuses to respond. You don’t mind it, so you keep on; pressing your fingertips into his scalp.

He then leans back, pressing his large back into your knees, leaning into you. You gasp, but not loud enough to where he notices.

Your heartbeat quickens when you realize how close he actually is.

“I have to head home soon, Ryomen. The sun was setting before we got here-“ he cuts you off. His voice is low as he speaks, “Just a bit longer.”

In the racing thoughts of your mind, you realize this is probably the first time he’d been shown affection since his late mother. Your heart jolts, painfully. The vision of his cheerful mother comes to life in your mind as you comb his hair with your fingers.

“Anything for you,” you whisper.

You eventually do cut his hair that night, trimming it to his preferred length.

He walks you back to your home, making sure you survive the walk across the village.

“If you need me to cut your hair again, just say so.”

Your words catch Sukuna off guard. He fully knows what you mean by your words, shifting his dark eyes towards you. He stops his steps right before the entryway to the gardens of your estate; Sukuna isn’t allowed in.

He’s staring down at you, eyebrows furrowed together once again.

A single nod; it’s all he gives you. His troubled expression dropping into a much simpler one. Not cold, like his usual self… this one reminded you of who he really was. It was soft; soft in his terms, which you understood.

You knew he was grateful, so his absence of verbal gratitude didn’t bother you. You could feel it.

From that point on, small touches like hand holding and anything in between had become common. It wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything… you looked forward to it. Though it wasn’t often, when it did happen, it was fulfilling. Each time awakened a fire within you that you hadn’t felt before.

When you’d turned 16, your father had introduced you to your first possible suitor. A man whose age doubled your own… you immediately declined. Disgust had instantly bubbled within you upon seeing the man for the first time.

It was many attempts after the first to marry you off. Your father wanted what connections he could get.

Your mother had grown distant, leaving your studies to the maids as she kept to herself. She mostly stayed in her own chambers, one separate from your father’s. At times you would visit, but even then you felt like she didn’t want you there.

In a way, you began to feel alone.

Aiko had come to you shortly after your 16th birthday, a gift from your father to help you with your path to womanhood… she was supposed to go with you to your suitor’s estate.

Sukuna had not taken the news well. He had gone silent for almost a week upon hearing you were to eventually be married off.

When he’d returned, you were waiting outside his home, expecting an explanation. He only told you it was for training purposes, which you naively fell for.

At the time, you weren’t sure why he acted the way he did… but now, you knew.

In the current time now, at the age of 25, he’d finally found it within himself to let you in. In the years between then and now, you had done your best to keep the suitors away.

Michizane Suguwara had slithered his way through the cracks in your walls, claiming his spot. Almost as if he was a parasite, latching himself to you just to benefit himself.

You hear Sukuna’s demands echoing in your mind, but another voice takes over.

“Just do as he says,” your mother tells you in a tired tone.

You’re both sat on the engawa, feeding the winter birds. They peck away at the small seeds that litter the snow.

In the corner of your eye you can see your mother toss a handful of seed out, causing the songbirds to scurry around to get as much as they can. Food was scarce for them when it snowed.

You sigh, closing your eyes in frustration. In the distance you can hear the song birds who reside in the bare trees. Their song putting at least some part of you at ease.

If only you could live like them, their only worry being when they eat their next meal.

“Usually you’re on my side when it comes to these things,” you say to her, opening your eyes to look over at her. She’s already looking at you, tired eyes reflecting into your own. She looked just like you.

Some would say she was your twin.

“He’s already spoken to me. I… I think it’s in your best interest to accept,” your mother says. Her voice is just above a whisper. You clench your teeth; annoyed and angry. “He said the same thing. I don’t really think I even have a choice… do I?” You’re asking her quietly.

“You are to marry him when the snow melts,” she says with finality, looking away from you now. The silence that follows her words is loud, even the birds had stopped for a moment.

So it is to be.

Michizane Sugawara will be your husband.

Your chest aches, twisting at the thought of it. Damn it all, you think. Your life was never your own and you’d at least tried to make it your own until now. It was fun while it lasted.

You think of Sukuna’s words, telling you that if Michizane were to touch you… he’d kill him. That surely would set your father over the edge, you think.

Though you knew Michizane was quite the strong individual… you were worried Sukuna would go through with it. Michizane’s head on a stake just for bumping into you on accident.

The thought definitely had you on edge.

“I’m sorry,” you mother says quietly. You almost didn’t catch it, but you look towards her. Her hands are clenched on top of her lap. The fabric of her kimono wrinkles from the grip she holds. “I just want you to be happy… but I fear we are cursed.”

As you study your mother’s movements, seeing the obvious distress… you’re gritting your teeth.

Cursed.

“In time you’ll know,” she suddenly says, “for now I believe you need to deal with more pressing issues.” She is looking back at you, her gaze soft. “What do you mean?” You question, raising an eyebrow.

She chuckles, “Sukuna is just a man. Don’t hurt him. It’s been hard enough for him as is.”

Your mother had always been on his side, as were you.

Her words make you smile. “Of course you knew,” you’re muttering as you feel the heat on your cheeks. “I’m your mother,” is all she replies.

As the day slowly moves towards night, you’re accompanied by Aiko as you walk down the hall towards dinner.

“It’s been a long day,” Aiko says with a sigh and you chuckle. “It has?” You’re replying, and she looks over to you. “I’ve had to “run errands” in town today and do my chores. It’s been a long day. I also still have more to do,” she tells you. You’re nodding, listening to her. “Mind you,” she adds, a sly smile on her features, “if he’s supposed to come by you will probably need my help.”

“I will not need your help,” you tell her. You hadn’t needed it before and succeeded sneaking Sukuna in after dark for years now. “It’s best if you stay out of what you can. If my father were to hear word of you aiding in that… he’d get rid of you.”

Your words make her nod, showing she understood. You were right.

When the two of you arrive to the main room, Aiko slides the door open for you. You instantly find that there are only two lap tables.

Michizane sits at one, opposite to the one that you assume is yours.

Joy, you think to yourself. Your father had been one step ahead of you after all. Deep inside you fight back the distasteful feeling swirling in your gut.

“Good evening,” he greets you with a smile. You’re entering the room, doing what you can to not to turn around walk off. “I assume it will just be us?” You ask, voice calm. Michizane nods, shifting in the spot he sits.

“Is that an issue?” He asks you, one of his eyebrows raised. You instantly feel the shift in mood, finding he may be challenging you.

“No,” you release, taking your seat on the cushion at your table. It’s quiet now, the only sounds being that of the bustling servants who begin to bring out your meal.

Even as you eat, it’s dreadfully quiet.

The room felt off, unbelievably so. If anything was bound to happen, it’d happen here.

Before you sat someone so high of rank and you wanted anything but to sit where you were now. You wanted nothing to do with the man.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until you caught his eyes with your own. His gaze rises from his food to connect with yours. The electrifying blue holding your gaze, studying you.

What you notice is the stark white of his uncovered hair. He no longer wore his head piece, which covered it before. The long strands of white were tied back into a pony-tail behind his head. White bangs framed his face.

“I’ll get to the point,” he suddenly says, looking away to the food before him. You internally thank him for that. “I know I just arrived only this morning, but I’d like for us to be friends.”

He’s taking a sip from a cup of tea as he looks back up at you. His eyes emit a faint, cerulean glow.

“Friends?” You ask skeptically, voice just above a whisper. Though your tone came off rather defensive he says nothing of it. He nods, placing the cup down to pick up his chopsticks. “Well we’d have to start somewhere… let’s be friends,” Sugawara insists with a smile. You sigh. He was persistent, you could admit. “If that’s what you wish,” you say.

“You don’t sound happy,” Michizane pushes. You almost laugh but hold it in.

He’s still staring at you, waiting for a response. Eyes locked with his, it almost feels like a staring contest.

“May I speak honestly?” You ask a few seconds later. He nods.

“If you were in my position… would you be happy?”

He is silent for a few moments, studying your features. By the look of his face, you could tell he was thinking to himself.

Suddenly the calm pattern of conversation shifts, jabbing your brain from the suddenness.

“I would say you should feel grateful that I even answered your father’s pleads for me to take you,” he lets out, “It’s sad hearing a grown men beg another just to sell off his own seed.”

You’re in utter disbelief from his words, gawking at him with your widened eyes. It makes your heart thump. Rage takes its home inside of you, swirling about in intense waves. Your fists clench.

“How dare you,” you hiss, voice low.

Michizane rests his left elbow on the table, holding his cheek against his closed fist as he smirks at you. “You’re nothing but a tool I need to give me an heir. A son preferably,” he’s moving the tea cup to his lips with his other hand to take a sip, “A daughter like you would simply not do.”

Within just a second after his words, you’re standing, refusing to hear such disrespect come from a man you barely know. Especially if you were destined to marry.

As you stand, the table you sat at is pushed back, shaking the plates which cause noise.

He stares up at you, a challenging look in his wild eyes. Almost as if he was amused; enjoying a show.

“I refuse to marry any man who sees me as such!” You release angrily, clenching your teeth you turn towards the door to leave.

You get a few footsteps away, just about to reach the handle of the sliding door… you’re then grabbed by a pair of rough hands. The largeness of them take your shoulders, slamming into the closest wall. The the air is knocked out of you almost completely.

You’re gasping, eyes wide as you come face to face with a set of devilish blue ones. The glow they hold is brighter than before.

Michizane lets go of your shoulders to find your wrists at your sides, quickly taking hold of them. He pins them to the wall above your head. His movements are too quick, leaving you powerless against him.

It frightens you.

Trembling, you shrink under him.

Your heart rate quickens.

Stomach churning, you try and steady your irregular breathing as he leans his face towards yours. His white bangs brush across the skin of your face.

You can smell the alcohol on his breath, thinking he may abuse the substance. It makes your throat constrict, pushing back the vomit that threatens to come up.

“I refuse to let a woman talk to me in such a way,” he says, recalling your last set of words thrown at him. His grip on your wrists tightens, making you wince. Was he actually trying to hurt you?

You wriggle in his grasp in an attempt to break free but he only pushes harder.

His face holds the same sick smirk he held before. Though it was darker now, letting you know he had no limits on what he could do. Not knowing what could happen next.

“You’re not talking now?” He asks you with a chuckle, pressing his body into yours. The man is heavy, pushing his chest against you. Your stomach instantly twists sickeningly. He was too close. His breath can be felt at your ear, his voice quiet but deep as he demands the words, “Say something!”

“What do you want from me?” You choke out in a sob, closing your eyes. All you can hear is him chuckle, the stubble of his face brushes against yours.

“Submission,” his breath is hot against your ear. It’s revolting.

“I want you to accept that I own you now,” he adds, pulling away from your ear. His knee separates your joined legs, pushing itself between them; molding you to his preferred position. The feeling of being completely paralyzed and powerless under him has you sick to your stomach.

No man should ever treat you this way.

As he pulls his face away, locking his eyes with yours… you see the darkness that swims within his eyes. A wave of chills down runs down your spine.

“If you submit and accept, you’d be everything a man would want. Pretty and obedient.”

On a split second decision, knowing it’ll hurt you… you’re cutting him off by slamming your head into his. Foreheads make contact, instantly sending a burst of white hot pain throughout your skull. Behind closed eyes, it’s bright from the pain.

While you hold back crying out from it, Michizane doesn’t. He’s grunting, reeling his head back to prevent you from striking again.

He was smart for that move, you think.

His grip against you doesn’t weaken, but he growls. The deep sound rips from his throat behind clenched teeth, almost shaking the walls of the room. “You bitch!” He yells, shaking his head to relieve some of the pain. His grip on your wrists tightens and you cry out, feeling his fingernails dig into your skin.

It’s when you hear the sliding of the door… Aiko enters in a flash. Head turned, you see how her eyebrows are raised above her widened eyes. Shock etches itself into her young features as she sees what’s happening.

“My lady!” She yelps, coming to your aid to help in any way she can. Her hands grasp at the man’s clothing, attempting to pull him away.

It does nothing.

Michizane scowls, finally releasing you to turn towards Aiko.

In a blur, you watch as the man takes the back of his hand and strikes her, sending her to the floor. The sound of his hand coming into contact with the flesh of her cheek echoes through the room, pulling a gasp from your throat. Aiko stumbles, the sounds of her landing mix with her grunts.

With your chest heaving from fear, you’re collecting your scattered mind; eyes jumping to Aiko’s collapsed body. She’s moving a bit, doing her best to sit up after being struck with such force.

Michizane has his back facing you. His focus on Aiko.

The three of you are still. Only the sounds of heavy breathing could be heard.

Inside, you’re boiling with anger. The bubbling of it reaching the brim. Your teeth ache from the force of you clenching them.

It’s when you feel the rush of adrenaline, probably brought on by the sudden action, that you hear ringing in your ears. You unclench your teeth to bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that you are numb.

The only thing you felt was the undeniable desire to hurt Michizane Suguwara.

Slowly, you stand straight, staring at the back of his head. His hair is falling from his hair-tie, coming loose in a fan of white.

“Stupid whore,” he mutters towards Aiko, standing straight. His height towers over you.

Your heart beats once as you suck in a quick breath, and you’re on him. From where you stand, you’re pouncing; fingers latch into his long hair, pulling harshly. It gets a grunt from the man, causing him to stumble back a bit.

Though you try to wrap your legs around him to take him to the floor, your kimono restricts the movement. It gives him the upper hand.

One of his hands finds the wrist attached to your hand in his hair, gripping around it firmly. The feeling of his fingernails in your skin makes you release. Sharp pain bursts up your right arm as he uses his other hand to take hold of the cloth on your back, throwing you off of him.

A gasp leaves your lips when you feel the sensation of falling.

You’re crashing into furniture, hearing the plates and cups break. The pain is suddenly unbearable as you realize you’re able to feel again. Pins and needles, but worse. It’s hot, white hot. The room is bright as you find you’re no longer moving, staring up at the spinning ceiling.

Aiko calls your name. Her voice echoing through your throbbing skull.

Unsure of how much time had passed, you feel your body being lifted, Aiko’s dark eyes finding yours. “You’re okay,” she coos, giving you a minute to gather yourself.

You eventually find your right mind after being thrown across the room.

“He left,” Aiko is telling you as she helps you stand. “Let me take you to the servant’s quarters… he won’t find you there. I can clean your wounds.”

Your eyes squint when you realize what she had just said, throwing her a confused gaze. Wounds?

“You’re bleeding quite a bit, let’s hurry.”

Aiko’s voice holds urgency, but comes off as calm. It’s when you finally glance down, you see the torn fabric of your kimono. Your favorite color fabric tainted with the rich hue of your own red blood. The crimson substance makes itself known.

You also find it’s the source of the excruciating pain. It’s hot; throbbing up your arm and down your back, into your legs. As if fire itself had come to life inside the gash.

As the two of you walk, you’re slumped into Aiko, letting her support you. Your left arm is draped over her shoulders and her right arm hooks around your waist. Walking proves difficult as you feel the waves of pain take hold of you.

“I’ll clean the trail of blood before morning, do not worry.”

In all honesty, you could care less on the state of your home.

Her words make you roll your head slightly to look at her. Aiko’s cheek is angry, showing evidence of Michizane’s abuse. It sends a displeasing wave of electricity through you. Anger spikes within you once again.

“He will pay for touching you,” you rasp out and she sighs. “Let’s worry about you first,” Aiko mumbles.

The two of you come to a stop, standing in front of the door to the servant’s quarters. You’d been here many times in search of Aiko in the past, your father or any one above a servant showed no interest in this area.

No one would find you in this state.

The door slides open, revealing two servant girls already inside. They immediately look towards the two of you, eyes wide and mouths open. “Leave and I’ll explain later,” Aiko demands, shuffling the both of you inside. They gather their things, standing. “Tell no one!” You hear her hiss at the two girls before they leave.

“Take a seat. I will fetch the supplies needed to dress your wounds,” she says after opening the door. You find enough strength in you to slowly walk to the center of the room on your own. An iori had already been lit, fighting off the winter cold. You sit next to it, basking in the heat.

In the moments of silence Aiko leaves you in, you’re beginning to tremble. The aftershock of what had occurred only moments ago had hit, making your fingers achingly grasp at your clothing in an attempt to ground yourself.

The door then opens again. Aiko scurries inside, dropping to your side. She brings a basin of water and a few rags, placing them beside you. Her fingers then grasp at your kimono, pulling your layers off.

“Those girls won’t talk. They are not fond of him either.”

She means Michizane. Her words make you nod, relieved. You weren’t really troubled by it anyways.

You’re slowly revealed to the fresh heat of the iori, upper body exposed. Tingles prickle your flesh, throbbing in places that you assume are bruised.

It’s when you feel the sudden wetness from a damp rag, you wince. “Shit,” you curse, jerking away. The cold water stings and the fabric of the rag is rough. Aiko apologizes, gripping your wounded arm to better inspect the cut. She’s cleaning the blood off. “It’s not terribly deep,” you hear her say quietly, “but I will need to stitch.” Her words make you sigh, dread hitting your gut.

“Let me fetch the supplies for that after I finish cleaning,” she tells you and you nod. “I didn’t get everything all at once. My thoughts are not clear,” she adds. “It’s alright. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong,” you say in a low, tired voice.

Aiko shifts in her spot, studying your face for a second. The worry she holds is obvious. She was never good at hiding her emotions.

“Thank you,” you say soon after your last words, “Your effort to protect me means more than you will ever know.”

She processes your words for a few short moments, a faint smile on her lips. All you can hear is the faint crackles of burning wood beside you as you await her response.

“I would do anything for you, my lady.”

You’re aching all over. The pain had began to make itself known in every area you were hurt. Most prominent areas were your arm and wrists… the thought makes you glance down at your left wrist that rests in your lap.

Even in the faint light emitted from the fire, you see the angry bruises begin to form around your wrists.

After a few minutes of silence passes, Aiko releases your arm. The sudden movement has you looking back to her, watching her stand. “Pardon me,” she excuses herself, leaving to fetch more supplies. Quickly, she exits the room.

It gives you a chance to glance at the damage of your right arm.

The cut stretches across your forearm, almost 4 inches in length. It’s angry, throbbing. Fresh blood had began to run again, the flow constant. You guess that’s why she was in a hurry. Perhaps stitching it would help stop the flow.

It usually stopped for Sukuna.

With all the times you’d patched up Sukuna after he’d carelessly gotten hurt… you were sure you could do this yourself. Yet, with how shaken your hands were and shallow your breathing was; it was best for Aiko to aid you.

Your mind and body freeze.

Fingertips grow cold as a feeling of dread washes over you.

Sukuna would be coming by tonight, you remember. His deep voice booming in your memories along with the line of, “if I find out he so much as touches you… I’ll kill him.”

“My lady,” you suddenly hear in real time, letting Aiko’s voice bring you back to reality.

It’s almost like slow motion, as you turn your head towards the door. Your eyes scan from the ground to where the door is, finding Aiko’s feet… yet, there are two pairs.

One much larger than the other.

You suck in a trembling breath as you slowly scan your eyes upwards… finding a set of deep ones that have already found yours.

His gaze is electrifying even now.

“Ryomen,” you whisper, confusion and fear swimming within your quiet tone.

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oneshotnewbie · 3 months

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heyy!!! i don’t mean to seem eager or like i’m spamming you, but i have a second request if that’s okay! if you’re comfortable, i’d like it to be an x child!reader unless you feel the need to change it to fit your idea of the story better, or whatever makes you comfortable, in which i don’t mind.

reader is Emily Prentiss’ daughter, who is around eight or so and reader is a little daredevil. like, she climbs on things and does these little stunts that scare emily half to death, so she’s always scolding her about it? maybe one day reader ends up doing one of her little stunts and gets hurt – nothing major, just a scraped knee or something, and emily cleans her up and explains why she can’t be doing things like that because it’s dangerous and she could get hurt again? reader tearfully agrees and promises not to do it again, or just something along these lines. i hope you keep your motivation, and are doing well, you’re a wonderful writer!

thanks!! - 🍄 anon

ᕚ---ᕘ

Emily sat on a wooden park bench in front of a small playground while the first warm rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees. The sounds of children playing in the background and the happy chirping of birds formed a harmonious melody. She breathed the scent of the first blooming flowers and freshly mown grass into her nose, watching you play on the climbing frame, fueled by a childlike energy that seemed limitless.

"Honey, please be careful! And don't even think of climbing the trees, love!" She shouted to you as she stressed trying to stay calm while reading a book.

You were a little daredevil with wild curls on your head, ignoring your mother's admonitions and deftly disappearing from her sight to climb a low branch of a nearby oak tree. Your mother sighed and shook her head uncomfortably, not understanding your indomitable need to explore the world. This made Emily particularly anxious, making her heart soar every time she walked outside with you.

"Y/n y/m/n Prentiss! If you don't get down there now, there will be no ice cream for the rest of the week!" She scolded, her voice laced with a hint of concern as she finally tossed the book back into her bag, deeming it pointless to even try to read the first page of it. Emily stood up with a sigh and walked over to you, who was already sitting on the branch, looking up triumphantly and giggling happily to herself. "Oh mom, I have everything under control. Look how high I am!"

"You may have everything under control, but I'm not so sure I have it," she stood on her toe-tips, leaning on the thick trunk of the tree and reaching for your small hand. "Please come down, you little daredevil, before I have a heart attack from being anxious."

You cleverly climbed down again, jumping the last few centimeters into the arms of your mother, who was holding her arms outstretched towards you. Your eyes were still shining with excitement as you sat on her hips and wrapped your hands around her neck. "Mom, look. I'll show you something else I can do."

You wriggled out of her arms and before your mother could say anything or continue to hold you, you began attempting a shaky handstand that you seemed to have copied from the older kids on the lawn a few meters away from the playground. Emily held her breath and didn't look away from you. You swayed menacingly and her fear increased as her mind turned to the worst possible outcomes that could happen if you couldn't keep your balance. But you managed to land on your feet again and beamed proudly at your mother.

"See, Mom. I said I could do it!" You announced happily, clapping your hands together in joy. The black-haired woman couldn't help it and sighed in relief. "Yes, yes. You are really brave, my little devil. But please do me a favor and be careful. I don't want you to get seriously injured and have to go to the doctor. You hate doctors."

You nodded seriously and understandingly before running off to go on the next adventure, banishing what your mother had said to the farthest corner of your brain. Emily shook her head with a smile and thought about how much courage and desire to explore you had and where it came from in the first place. Life was like an endless playing field for you, full of possibilities, and she couldn't deny that deep down she was proud to have such an adventurous daughter.

Worried, she sat back down on the bench and tried to read her new novel once more. You continued to rage around, your energy inexhaustible. And this time, your mother had no idea that the second half of your adventure would be different.

Only minutes later, she heard a surprised, long scream followed by sobbing noises and your voice calling loudly for her. Her maternal instincts kicked in and she quickly jumped up to see what had happened. You sat on the floor, your hands clutching a scraped knee. "Y/n! What happened?" She called out worriedly as she rushed over to you.

"I fell off the wall, mom. It hurts so much!" you sobbed and she immediately knelt next to you in the sandbank to carefully examine the scraped area. Her slightly cold fingers ghosted over your injured skin and as she tried to blow the scratchy sand out of the wound, you began to cry. "Oh dear, that looks really painful. But don't worry, mommy will take care of it."

Emily stood up from her crouch and lifted you back up onto her hip. Your tearful, wet face buried itself in the black-haired girl's shoulder while your hands wrapped tightly around her neck and didn't want to let go. With you, she walked back to her seat and carefully sat down with you on her lap.

She quickly rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a disinfectant spray, zinc ointment and a plaster. As she carefully cleaned and treated your knee, she couldn't help but quietly explain to you how important it was to be careful. "You know how much I love you. Right? That's why you really need to be more careful. These small but dangerous adventures could seriously hurt you. You could hurt yourself more than you can imagine."

With tears in your eyes gently falling down your cheek, you looked up at her, simultaneously playing with a lost strand of her hair that strayed in front of your face. "But it's so much fun. I just wanted to see if I could climb it."

Emily let out a sigh as she carefully stuck the band-aid in place. "I understand it's fun, darling. But safety always comes first. You can have other fun without getting hurt. Mommy is very worried about you."

You lowered your head, rubbing your dirty and grimy hand at your eyes to wipe away the usual tears that remained. A feeling of regret washed over you. "I'm sorry. I promise I won't do it again and if I do, I'll call you so you can hold me."

Emily gently stroked your hair and smiled comfortingly before placing a big kiss on your forehead. "This is my brave little adventurer. I know you're learning and understanding. Sometimes we just need to protect ourselves from ourselves. And since you can't do that yet, I'll do it for you."

You nodded and got up from her lap. She straightened your shirt and pants after the fall, patting them a few times to remove the dust from the sand from you before you took her hand and pulled her to the slide, where she was supposed to slide and swing with you for a few laps.

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marthawrites · 8 months

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Congrats Martha!! 🎉🎉

Could I request Rhaenyra x reader with the prompt “Spread your legs for me, I want to see all of you” pretty please?

Thank you 😍

Absolutely, Fae my darling! I hope I brought your prompt to life and gave it justice! 💖

Honeyed Promises

Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.8k+

About: While visiting your great uncle, Lyman Beesbury, at King's Landing, you weren't expecting secondhand stress to affect your lord husband so. Princess Rhaenyra takes notice and is happy to steal moments away with you.

Includes: Unhappy political marriage, mentions of verbal fighting, and smut. Featuring reader's first sexual experience with a woman, oral sex, vaginal fingering, and scissoring

Note: Hello lovely reader ❤️ This is my very first time writing a wlw fic - ahh! It's a complete honor to do it as a request for Fae! Story takes place during Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor. It is implied she hasn't had children yet. Reader is nondescript. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Little had changed since your last visit to King’s Landing when you were a young girl. The Red Keep, in all its sprawling glory, loomed just as large as you remembered. A rarity, you were beginning to understand – for things you thought grand as a child were all but normal to you, now. The Keep was a being of its own, however. Almost a living, breathing, sentient thing. For an outsider its walls seemed to morph into the dark; changing, shifting… holding onto its secrets like the dragons its Kings bonded with.

You weren’t a stranger to politics. But, you were a stranger to the volume of aristocrats which surrounded the Targaryen dynasty. Lyman Beesbury, your great uncle, served as master of coin on King Viserys’ small council, and before him, King Jaehaerys, and was as deep into politics as a man of a smaller House could be.

A great honor.

Uncle Beesbury extended an invasion to his nephew, your lord husband, to attend a royal affair at the capital. He gladly accepted. Using it for not only an excuse to get out of Honeyholt for a while, but also to catch up with family, the long journey felt worth it.

Your marriage had yet to bear fruit. Little love bloomed between you and your husband. It was a marriage of duty rather than love, and it showed it more ways than you two cared to admit. If only you could swell with his child to put an end to all the talk of furthering the bloodline.

Each passing day at King’s Landing showed you a different side to your husband. Whatever he and his uncle conversed about in private soured his mood, and his harsh tongue somehow grew harsher towards you. No matter how you tried to soften him with gentle touches, tender words, and initiating marital affections, he was unsatisfied and dour.

“Your lord husband seems quite the ray of sunshine, my lady,” princess Rhaenyra whispered to you one night during dinner. Her voice lilted with sarcasm and her violet eyes dazzled with amusement when she met your gaze. She held it with confidence. With a softness. Knowing.

“Is it that obvious, princess?” You asked with some of her same amusement. “He was so excited to come here. I thought he’d be happier than…,” you waved your hand in a sweeping gesture, adding, “this.”

She smiled softly. “Have you had the chance to explore? There are many wonderful things here to distract you from tetchy husbands,” she said and tipped her goblet towards you, sipping to hide her smirk.

“Perhaps on the morrow I will,” you said, heat and butterflies filling your blood at her tone and implication. Could the princess be… flirting? Your heart quickened a tick. Surely you’re mistaken. Your bedtime stories of suave knights must be getting to you.

“I’ll gladly show you around. I too could use a distraction from the small council.”

She didn’t touch you, but the way her gaze lingered from your neck, up to your lips, and down to the exposed swath of your chest, made gooseflesh pebble your skin as if she had.

Nearly a week went by and unfortunately Rhaenyra had yet to keep true to her word. You couldn’t blame her, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Each day passed with a sting. The only thing that made it better was the conversations you were able to steal at dinner. The lingering looks, the briefest of touches, Rhaenyra reaching to brush away dust from your gowns… you thought your heart might truly leap from your throat when she wetted the corner of her napkin with her mouth to clean a drop of sauce from your chest.

And, all the while, she sat by her husband, Laenor Velaryon, and you sat by your lord husband; the men either uncaring or none the wiser to the simmering attraction and tension between you and the princess.

The following day, after a particularly curt argument in hissed voices, you stomped away from your lord husband and left him in one of the numerous corridors. You didn’t stop your angry pace until you were standing in the gardens. Unchaperoned, unguarded, and completely alone. Just how you wanted to be. Heavy gray clouds began to gather over the castle. It didn’t deter you from wanting to make the most out of the remaining blue sky.

Your mood lightened by the minute. Flowers, shrubs, and trees bloomed everywhere. Heady scents filled your nose and it made you yearn for home. King’s Landing was lovely. But, to you, there truly was no place like home.

Akin to your married name, you quietly followed a trail of honeybees until you found their hive. Deep and hidden in the gardens, you wanted nothing more than to simply stay there for the remainder of the day. Perhaps even the rest of your stay. Honeybees were busy and gentle creatures. As long as you didn’t disturb them or their hive, the working girls were unbothered by your presence.

Finally, with one final whisper of goodbye to the bees, you left the secret spot and began to make your way back to the Keep. Raindrops started to fall and you knew a full on downpour wasn’t far behind.

Then, right there in your path, stood Rhaenyra. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed, and her palms were open up towards the sky as if in prayer. You felt like you were interrupting something sacred. Excitement jumped to your throat and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “princess…?”

She turned to look at you with partially lidded eyes. “What ever are you doing out here right now?” She asked with genuine confusion.

“I needed a breath of air. My husband, he…”

Before you could finish she held a hand up and offered a small shake of her head. “Needn’t worry to explain, then,” she said, appearing to come back to herself. “If the storm didn’t brew out of nowhere, and if I knew I’d run into you, I’d insist on taking you astride Syrax with me,” she said as she stepped into your space, eyes bright and dark alike. She freely reached for your hands and grabbed both of them. “There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dragon flying.”

This is more thrill than I’ve felt in a long time, you wanted to say. You wondered if the words flashed across your face. Briefly flustered, you smiled. “I, uhm… thank you, truly, princess. But I much prefer the ground.”

“That’s because you’ve never tried being in the sky,” she said, voice soft, so soft, as she leaned into you. “You cannot deny something so quickly if you haven’t tried it…”

Desire, excitement, and wonder filled her pretty eyes. Violet, and silver, and always donned in the loveliest gowns, you understood how the rumors of Targaryens being closer to Gods than men traveled all over the Seven Kingdoms. She was close enough that you felt her breath tickle your face. Smelled the oils of her skin. Something electric pulsed between your almost pressing bodies. “This is the closest I’ve been to a dragon and I am positively thrilled,” you whispered in reply, gently squeezing her hands.

“Sweet girl…,” she cooed as she tilted her head and pressed a delicate kiss to your waiting lips. Whatever pulsed between you before thrummed to life like a wardrum, now. You returned her kiss and that’s all she needed. Both her hands cupped your face as she deepened the affection, savoring the smoothness of your lips. Your tongue.

Just then the sky opened and emptied warm rain on the city. Within moments you were both soaked. Shock led to laughter as you both ran to find cover. Rain water dripped from your nose as you looked at Rhaenyra with renewed delight. “It came out of nowhere!” You said once in the dry safety of the Red Keep’s walls.

“Which part?” Asked the princess, mischievousness alighting all her features. She pulled you along, now, looking over her shoulder and daring you to keep pace with her.

Challenge accepted.

Arm in arm, you kept pace with Rhaenyra and paid little mind to any onlookers who might be giving you curious glances. She was light and quick on her feet and you were beginning to have a hard time keeping up with her. Still, the light air of playfulness danced around both of you.

An ornate door was guarded by a single man and the princess was quick to say, “you may be relieved from your post for now, ser.” He offered a bow before turning to leave. She opened the door and latched it once you were both inside. Locking it, she turned to face you with a smirk that had you giddy.

“What of your husband, princess? And mine?” Despite it only being the two of you in her private bedchamber, you whispered.

“Laenor and I have… we have found common ground with a pact, you see. He would be happy that I found joy and thrill in chasing you. No one will know of our kiss. That, I promise,” she said, mirroring your tone, as she traced the backs of her fingers along your jaw. Your neck. Whispering them over your collarbone. “As for your husband? Well… I haven’t even seen him kiss your cheek since you’ve been here. Such a shame.”

Your heart was doing flips in your belly. Your lord husband never made you feel like this. Not even on your wedding night. “Th-this–,” you started, uncharacteristically stammering, “–I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only ever been with my husband.” Heat warmed your cheeks and you hoped she didn’t see it.

“That’s okay,” she purred. “Let me show you, my lady.” Her eyes searched yours. As soon as consent passed between you, she began to help you out of your wet gown. You helped her out of hers, too, and before too long you stood in front of each other in only your chemises; thin material doing little to hide your bodies.

Now on her bed, your curious fingers trembled over her skin as you explored her body. Your lips shuddered atop her flesh as you grazed tentative kisses along her. Your breath caught in your throat when she did all the same, and more, to you. She was so soft, and so warm, and so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Her hands on any and every part of your body had you melting further into her mattress. “Can you.. Can I…,” you said dreamily. “Can I feel your skin on mine?”

Grinning like a cat, Rhaenyra pulled your chemise over your head. She tugged hers off too. Leaning down, she balanced her weight atop you as she crashed her mouth to yours in the neediest hungriest kiss you’d ever experienced. Your breasts squished together, and your bellies, too, and it was the single most exciting thing you’d ever felt. “Can I finish taking all your clothes off?” She asked, half breathless, one hand snaking down to the ribbons of your smallclothes.

“Yes,” you panted. “Please,” you begged.

Having neither the will nor the want to keep you waiting, she obliged. She tugged the ribbons open before sliding the final garment down your legs. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she looked from the center of your body to your face, violet eyes dark with desire. “Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you.”

A wave of shyness washed over you. Now, you were praying doubly that she didn’t see the blush of your face. Your legs parted with hesitation; butterflies roared from your scalp to your toes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing. It shouldn’t make you timid. But the intimacy, the lewdness, made your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Rhaenyra watched all the while. Despite the clawing arousal in the pit of her own belly she let you go at your own pace and made no move to hasten or startle you. “Men often don’t appreciate the true beauty of a woman,” she said, low and gentle. “But I am no man and you are beautiful. Be a good girl and open them further. It will be worth it, I promise.”

Her words struck a chord in you. Before you fully realized what you were doing, your legs spilled open to expose the fullness of your eager cunt. It glistened with your arousal. The pink at your very center begged to be touched. To be spread. To welcome whatever Rhaenyra might bless you with. “Will you also take yours off?”

“Soon,” she answered all too quickly, already leaning forward between your parted thighs. “But first I want to kiss this pretty cunny.” And she did. She kissed the tender flesh at the inside of your thighs, your mound, your budded pearl. Her smooth mouth kissed again and again until you were squirming beneath her, and it was then, and only then, that she traced her warm tongue up your slit.

Your breathy gasps turned into a choking mewl at the sensation of her tongue. “Gods…!” You looked down at her and burned even hotter at the sight. “Please don’t stop, princess. Please don’t stop.”

Rhaenyra licked and lapped again and again, making no move to stop even as you shuddered beneath her. You were too warm, too lovely, and too responsive for her to even consider stopping. When she eventually ceased her licking, she instead sucked on your clit until she felt your entire cunt convulse and throb. Your sounds of pleasure were everything she imagined and more. As soon as you relaxed from your first peak she slid two fingers into your empty cunny. Working her tongue and digits in tandem, she gave you another climax. The natural tang of your body gave way to the sweetness of orgasm, and with that taste on her tongue she finally crashed her mouth to yours once again.

You whimpered into the affection, smiling and purring like a spoiled cat. “You’ve got a magical mouth, princess,” you said dreamily.

“How do you like your taste?” She asked, kissing you again, slower, deeper.

“Like I want more,” you said. “Let me taste you. You can guide me along. Show me how to make you feel good like you just did me.”

She giggled into your neck. “I know a way to make both of us feel good at the same time. Do you trust me?”

You nodded, the darkness of your eyes glittering with desire.

Rhaenyra discarded her smallclothes and positioned herself between your legs. “Relax and let me show you how to hold your legs, yes?” She spread yours a little wider while moving one of her own beneath your leg. She spread her other one wider and hooked it over your waist.

It was an odd position, one you’d never been in before, but one that immediately sent your blood soaring. She rolled her hips once. Once. And that’s all it took for you to feel the slickness of her cunt slide against your own. If you thought her mouth was magical it was only because you hadn’t yet felt her cunny against yours. You gasped sharply. “More,” you croaked, eyes black with lust.

“Move your pelvis with me,” she said thickly, lust darkening her features just as much as yours.

You happily obeyed. Your pleasure was her pleasure, and hers, yours, as you both rolled and ground your hips and pelvis in a delightfully obscene rhythm. Moans and whimpers were accented by the slick echoes of your centers. Your breasts started to bounce with the effort; both of your hands pressing and digging into any soft flesh it could find. You felt drunk. High. Buzzed on the saccharine scents of her skin and your combined arousal.

The shared pace grew firmer, quicker, sloppier. Sweat sheened your bodies. You both chased your high on the other’s cunt. You tumbled into orgasm first, white hot fire exploding out from your belly to every nerve of your body. Rhaenyra quickly followed.

You both rode it out slowly. Intensely. Savoring every second that passed between you.

When your limbs finally managed to untangle, she collapsed beside you and smiled. After a few moments of breath catching, she asked, “which was your favorite, my lady?” Her words breathless, her tone playful.

You hummed in thought. “I don’t quite know… I think I’ll need a reminder again, just to be sure.”

“I think we can arrange that,” she said with a laugh.

“Can we do this again?”

“As many times as we can sneak away together, I am happy to explore with you.”

You laid together for as long as you could, until the golden hour summoned you to the day’s final meal where you both said next to your husbands; relaxed and sated.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra smut #rhaenyra fic #wlw #request

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