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hon3y-y · 5 months

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Roomie!sukuna doesn't even get horny for anyone other than you anymore. You have the wettest, nastiest pussy he's ever seen- and he deserves the best so nobody but you will do. You're fucking so many other fine men now that you dont even give him a second glance when he walks out the shower in just a towel to tease you. And oh, his temper when one of your hookups pick you up and you don't come home for the weekend. Or even worse, they stay for the weekend. Sukuna has never let a girl sleep over at the apartment but now there are two colognes in the bathroom, two pairs or men's shoes at the door, and he can almost never see you in the living room without some other man hanging off your side

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 4

he’s literally so embarrassingggg it’s not even funny. he’ll walk around and flex his muscles, smirk on his puffy lips as the water drips down his ripped torso. he stands outside your open door, you’re looking down at your phone deciding on whether to spend the night at choso’s or nanami’s (pick choso, nanami gets up at like 5 am 🙄), “showers empty..” sukuna basically purr’s, resting his arm on the doorway.

and you literally could not give less of a fuck💀

you just nod, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as you focus on putting both their names in a generator and letting that choose your fate for the night. let’s just say sukuna was extremely angry when a motorcycle pulls up and you just giggle and hop onto it, kissing the stupid leather clad boy while throwing on the custom bikers helmet choso had made for you. and to top it off, sukuna had to physically restrain himself from blowing up your phone on where the fuck you are??

messages;

ryo<3: didn’t see you this morning

you: i’m staying with choso for the weekend! sorry, should’ve told you last night:/

you: i also won’t be home after wednesday satoru is taking me to this festival! i’ll send pics😋

ryo<3: have fun 👍

omfg he’s losing it. he literally will spend the whole time in the gym, refusing to be in the empty apartment for longer than eight hours for sleep. he feels like there’s a cement brick in his chest when you’re whisked away by these men. but nothing is worse than when he stays over.

he being satoru.

it was becoming a huge issue. his longest “sleepover” was a week. a week where you weren’t even home for half of it. but sukuna was. he was there for all of it.

there was now a third toothbrush taking up countertop space in the bathroom, he would find satoru’s clothes in the wash (which would always somehow be in there whenever ryo specifically had to use it??), and gojo absolutely loved to make out with you everywhere but inside of your room and sukuna started to hated it. publicly claiming you in front of the guy who literally made it possible🙄 unbelievable.

let’s just say you take a break from bringing satoru over, doing your best to settle the tension at home. but sukuna couldn’t let it go, not when he stares at the stupid fucking blue electric toothbrush and knows that it’s only temporary.

at this point he didn’t even give a fuck about the other guys, you can keep them as long as he’s added onto your roster.

it’s been a while since the two of you had a movie night. something that used to, at the very least, happen once a month has been delayed due to your extra activities. the two of you relaxed into the couch, the movie was a random one you found choosing whatever looked the best by cover and for the first time in a while, sukuna felt like he had you.

“did you buy the candy?”

“shit, yeah. i think i left it in my room?”

“go get it while i make the popcorn!” you smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling excitedly. you looked so cute and soft, and ryo got a glimpse of your cute pink panties when you bent over to grab something so he was feeling just as good. he could already picture the little damp spot he’d create after teasing you and then force you to beg and make it up to him.

he thought about it the whole walk to his room, picking up the bag and then back to the living room, fantasizing about what he plans to do. and just as he’s about to turn the corner, a head of white fluffy hair is laying on your lap, legs spread to take up the full length of the couch. and the only seat available? the one farthest from you.

“i hope you don’t mind, satoru said he missed us!”

us… sukuna looked down at gojo, looking at the content quirk in his lip while he snuggled into you more, moving one of your hands into his hair to play with it. ryo’s eye twitched before he put the bag down and went back into his room, the door slamming behind him. the noise makes you force satoru up, a pit forming in your stomach. you didn’t want sukuna to feel uncomfortable in his own house—

“damn, what’s he so mad abo- he got macha kitkats!? mmm~”

*bonus*

sukuna is literally in his room about to dry heave because??? what alternative version of himself gave him such bad karma?!? in his room like this;

but quietly, because he DEFINITELY doesn’t want you to see him like this. such a fein🤦‍♀️

a/n: i didn’t put smut because i didn’t want to get repetitive BUT should we finally let sukuna get a taste?? part 4 where he finally gets her?? lmk🫶

*not edited*

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azuneekun · 6 months

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STARDEW VALLEY BACHELOR/BACHELORETTE (personal) HEADCANONS:

Maru

Is a registered nurse, but is working to become a medicinal and environmental researcher like her father (Professor Demetrius).

Robotics, Electrical engineering and Astronomy are just a few of her hobbies and passions.

Afraid of getting real piercings, so Sebastian gifted her clip-ons.

Doesn’t trust newer computers, unlike her brother.

She is nearsighted and has astigmatism.

She goes stargazing in hopes of finding signs of extraterrestrial life. Or just to see if she can spot a certain flying robot.

Used to follow her brother Sebastian around a lot when she was very young, but his troublemaking behavior made Maru distance herself. She still cares about him.

Loves helping the farmer with building farming machines.

Loves spending time with her best friend Penny and talking about books and trivia together.

Other than tinkering with gadgets, she also enjoys doing puzzles.

Penny

Could not afford finishing her teaching course in college due to financial troubles.

Saving up money in her tutoring job to become an elementary school teacher.

Her father abandoned them due to feeling ‘trapped’. It happened around fall—so she feels melancholic during that season.

Likes cooking but is a novice at it.

She and Emily do arts and crafts together in the library and or the (fixed) community center. (For the kids and for event decorations.)

She has a slight southern accent.

Elliott and her like to swap book recommendations.

Loves listening to Maru infodumping about her trivia and interests. She teaches them to Jas and Vincent in return.

She likes to do crossword puzzles under the tree near the graveyard.

She prefers to wear skirts.

She influenced Jas and Vincent to have an interest in archeology, thanks to her own fondness of it.

Abigail

Pets every animal they see. Sanitizes herself right away before going home due to Pierre's allergies.

Sometimes helps her dad with the general store. Pierre gives her some money in return.

Abigail loves to draw and sometimes likes to join art competitions.

Enjoys the occult and fortune telling. Has some magical ability, but is not fully aware of it.

She plays the flute and the drums.

Loves adventuring, but feels guilty killing monsters (even out of self defense). Will make graves or offer prayers to put their souls to rest.

Very interested in monsters and loves reading about them.

She has a sweet tooth; minerals taste like candy to her. She also loves spicy food from time to time.

Gets sunburnt easily.

Leah

Used to be hired as an illustrator for books in Zuzu City.

Is under apprenticeship with Robin.

Loves using different painting mediums. Current favorites are charcoal, oil painting, and watercolors.

Experienced forager—she adores making vegetable/fruit salads and stir-frys out of them.

Likes to drink the wine sold by the farmer and the saloon.

She is left handed.

She makes her own special homemade vinaigrette.

Has her own mini-garden.

Loves to help the farmer with crafting artisan equipment that involves wood (eg: kegs, preserve jars, casks, and etc.)

Emily

The unofficial hair stylist (and barberess) of the townies. (HC adopted from @/moon-boat)

Has some real spiritual power and foresight.

Her prophetic visions mostly appear in her dreams.

Knows supernatural beings and Junimo exist (and has seen them) but opts not to tell anyone directly for the creatures’ safety. (Likes to give subtle hints, though.)

Can genuinely communicate with birds and flowers.

Is very good at arts and crafts and helps decorate the festivals often.

Vegetarian. Likes to cook vegetarian dishes.

She's a very talented dancer, and she likes to do her choreography in secret.

Sandy sells the clothes she makes. Haley advertises them on her blog.

Loves all animals—especially birds.

She likes clowns and circuses.

Is very meticulous about cleanliness and housework.

Is incredibly scared of watching horror movies.

Haley

A talented cook that loves baking sweets.

Is a social media influencer. She has a popular Instagram account called StarfruitHaley and a Youtube channel named Cooking Junimo.

Likes drinking peppermint coffee and eating cupcakes.

She is a picky eater.

Learned to dance from Emily.

She and Emily are taiwanese-americans.

Her hair is dyed blonde and she wears contacts.

Freelance model, but likes doing photography more.

Does photography gigs sometimes.

Secretly admires her sister's dancing, but doesn't want to lose to her during the Flower dance.

Likes to go surfing during the summer time. (HC adopted from @/sofiaruelle )

Closeted lesbian, but came out proudly once she started to live in the valley.

Bunnies and Ponies are her favorite animals.

Shane

Prefers keeping people at a distance (so it doesn’t hurt him if he loses them), but is weak to persistent people. (eg: Emily, Sam, the farmer)

Is very good friends with Emily. Likes to joke around and share chicken stories with her.

Lost a sports scholarship in university due to injury, so he dropped out. (He took a course in multimedia arts, hence his 7 ♡ event.)

Likes to collect funny printed boxers.

Wears old clothes until they tear apart.

Doesn't bother combing his hair much.

Takes care of the animals when Marnie's not around, and teaches Jas about the ranch while he’s at it.

Most of his savings are for Jas and Marnie.

Has calloused hands from hard work.

He likes to use nicknames. Both derogatively and affectionately. (e.g. Sweetheart, Chickadee, Doll, Buddy , Asshole, Jockstrap (Alex specific), Dickhead, Kid)

Shane has excellent upper body strength due to lifting heavy boxes at work, and sacks of feed at the ranch.

Jas’ mother is his older sibling. Marnie is his father's younger sister.

In the future, his beautiful blue chickens will become recognized as a standardized breed by the farming community.

Harvey

Used to be a surgical oncologist. Left this position due to emotional distress.

Came from a prestigious family of doctors, lawyers, and professors.

Has a twin brother. ( HC adopted from @/coinly )

Loves science, history, and the documentary channels.

He used to be in a long term relationship but it ended due to LDR.

He can cook but doesn't feel happy eating by himself—so he just heats up frozen meals.

He smells like nice soap and hand sanitizer.

Has a wonderful singing deep voice. (HC adopted from @/hannahstumble )

Likes to drink wine every once in a while to relax.

Jazz music is calming to him. He owns many cassettes of the classics.

Elliott

Was a music professor in a private university.

Is from a wealthy family, but left to become more independent.

Humble and isn't very materialistic, but is very strict with his well-kept appearance.

Keeps his pencils so sharp it might as well be a weapon.

Isn't very good at taking care of plants, but is learning how to.

A little clumsy with housework and repairs, but tries to keep tidy.

His favorite pastime with his father was fishing.

Likes to drink, but can’t hold his liquor at all.

In his youth, he has gotten some recognition for his published short stories and poetry, but has yet to make a full length novel.

Commissions and collaborates with Leah on art and ideas for his books.

His piano actually came from Robin's. Sebastian used to own it but preferred playing the synth now.

Sebastian

Is very skillfull at using a knife (for fish and seafood).

He is a lazy genius.

His Korean name is Seojun. His biological father tried bringing him to his home country when he and Robin divorced, but Sebastian opted to stay with his mother.

He loves cats as much as frogs and bats.

Sleeps very messily. Ends up in weird positions on the bed, with pillows dropped onto the floor.

Loves exploring the mines and wants to join the Adventurer's guild in the future.

Does his (and his friends') piercings.

Has a long deep scar on his left leg due to a rock crab.

The town go-to mechanic, alongside Maru.

He’s jealous of Maru, but doesn’t hate her. Doesn’t know how to express himself, so they end up fighting. He thinks he’s not the best older brother to have.

Insomniac. Needs medication to help sleep, sometimes.

Likes to tease and scare people.

Also gets sunburnt easily—but in return doesn’t get affected by the cold weather as much.

Best billiards player in Stardew.

Alex

Has dyslexia, but is not aware of it (until the farmer points it out).

Likes to help cook with his grandma.

Makes and sells his own icecream.

Is the local town mailman. (HC adopted from @/ryllen )

Childhood friends with Haley, but pretended to be her boyfriend in HS to shield her from men (as per her wishes).

Not only was he a varsity quarterback for gridball, but he was also an ace baseball player.

One of his favorite pastimes is watching the gridball game every Sunday.

Thinking about saving money to go to a vocational college or getting a scholarship.

Interested in becoming a physical fitness coach if his dreams to go to the league fall through.

Afraid of being vulnerable to people, because he wants to be seen as strong and reliable.

Sam

A popular boy in school.

Was influenced into loving music due to Sebastian.

Likes flowers but has severe hay fever.

Has a scar on his eyebrow from a skateboard accident.

Loves his mom's largemouth bass fish casserole.

Thinks being a submarine captain might be cool as a job (thanks to the night market), but would prefer being in the music industry.

Likes to DJ and compose his own music.

A little forgetful, so his wrists and hands are full of scribbles and rubber bands as reminders.

Likes cactuses and the flowers that bloom from it (and especially loves cactus fruit).

Him and Alex both like to collect branded sports shoes, and talk about it together sometimes.

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queenoffists · 3 months

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Day 1 of Electric Forest ✨️🌸💚🍄🌿🦋🪐

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littlelamy · 17 days

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drew x younger!reader; date night in Venice

as the sun sets on the canals of venice, the evening breeze carries a soft warmth, brushing against your skin. drew had just finished the last of his commitments for the film festival, and now, the night was yours. he emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered, wearing a sleek black shirt that fits him perfectly, the top two buttons undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his toned chest.

“ready for our night?” drew asks with that irresistible smirk, eyes glinting with excitement. his hand reaches out for you, pulling you into a slow, intimate kiss. the scent of his cologne lingers as he whispers, "i’ve been looking forward to this."

the two of you step out onto the streets of venice, the lights reflecting off the water making everything glow in a dreamy, golden hue. drew insists on taking a gondola ride, guiding you into the boat with his hand on your lower back, sending a wave of warmth through you.

as the gondola glides through the canals, drew pulls you closer, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. you lean into him, the soft hum of the gondolier in the background as drew tilts your chin up to meet his gaze. his thumb brushes against your lip, and he gives you that boyish grin before leaning in for another kiss, deeper this time, his hand finding its way to your ass.

“you look beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. his fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh as you sit beside him, completely captivated by his presence. “i don’t think I’ve ever wanted you more.”

you finally make your way to a quiet, hidden restaurant, the dim candlelight casting a golden glow on his face. throughout dinner, his gaze never leaves you, filled with a mix of adoration and desire. every touch, every smile, every stolen kiss heightens the electricity between you two.

by the time dessert is over, you can feel the anticipation building. drew takes your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as he whispers, “let’s get out of here, princess.”

back at your hotel, the door barely closes before drew pulls you against him, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss, his hands wandering down your sides as he pushes you back onto the bed. the night, filled with passion and desire, is everything you had both been waiting for.

and just before you drift off to sleep, tangled in each other, drew pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead as he whispers, "i love you."

#rafe obx #drew starkey #drew starkey x younger!reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew obx #drew queer #drew Venice #drew x reader #drew #drew starkey x reader #queer film #venice

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starcrossed-lov3rz · 3 months

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The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 1

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mild smut (at the end), threesome

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: ~1.9K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“God my head fucking hurts,” you whine, sitting up to rub your eyes. “That wine really hit out of nowhere.” Your head pounds, it has to be part of a hangover. The last thing you remember before drinking yourself to sleep was getting fired. Your boss hadn’t even had the decency to let you know face to face. An HR representative and your manager requested a zoom call at the end of the day and politely told you to ‘clean your desk.’

After nearly three years of work with the same accounting firm, it was weird to not wake up early and head into the office. The worst part really was that your performance was still stellar, the firm was just hemorrhaging money after several questionable expansions.

Despite the pounding headache and sensitivity to light, you force yourself to open your eyes. “What the fuck?!” Glancing around the room frantically, you panic as you realize you weren’t waking up in the comfort of your room. You had to be the subject of some prank reality tv show because the decor was undoubtedly some renaissance festival shit. The walls were brick with large tapestries decorating the stone. You were laid in the center of a giant four poster bed, black and red canopies flowing.

Slipping from the tangle of sheets and blankets, you pad towards the door. “Okay,” you call out, “you got me. Very funny.”

Silence.

“This is so weird” you murmur, pushing the door open as gently as possible to peak out. A woman rushes by you, dressed in some kind of drab linen and an apron. “Excuse me!” you shout, attempting to get her attention.

The short woman slowed down, stopping to curtsy quickly at the sight of you. “My lady, forgive me. I didn’t you see you there!”

“My lady?” You asked. “What are you talking about? This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, my lady,” she replied quietly. “Please don’t tell your wife I was making jokes! I swear I meant no harm-”

“My wife?!” Everyone has officially gone off the deep end. First this medieval times shit, now apparently you have a wife.

The woman’s eyes go wide, “Your wife, Queen Rhaenyra. My lady, are you unwell?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I have no idea what’s going on. I lost my job. I don’t know where I am or apparently who I am. I just want-” You choke off into sobs.

“Let me help you back to your room,” she offered, taking your elbow. “I’ll let the Queen know you’re unwell.”

You nodded, letting her lead you back into the room. The woman helped you into a steaming bath and left you to soak while she fetched your wife. “Can’t believe someone made an honest woman of me,” you laugh.

At some point, the entire situation stopped feeling like a prank. Maybe it was watching the maid fill the tub painstakingly bucket by bucket, or the significant lack of electricity. Either way, your situation was beginning to feel more and more real. You grab the bar of soap and lather up a cloth, scrubbing furiously at your skin.

“That’s weird,” you murmur as you notice that your skin seems far too perfect. You usually had a couple scars littering your arms and legs, leftovers from frequently crashing your bike as a kid and general clumsiness. They all seemed to have vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but perfectly smooth, supple skin behind. “Okay, I’m officially going crazy.”

You see a small mirror on the ledge next to the tub, and reach out with shaky hands. You sigh in relief as you glance into the mirror and see that you look the same. At least you have something familiar here.

“Admiring the view? I know I am.” A deep voice purred from behind you.

Tossing the mirror back, you swiftly cover your chest and pray that the water obscurs the rest of you. “What the fuck?!” You yell, turning to confront whatever pervert decided to interrupt your bath. A tall man towered over the tub, his white hair practically glowing as the candlelight reflected off of it.

“I’m trying to have an existential crisis in here,” you hiss. “Can you come back later or something?”

He snorted a laugh, stalking forward to grab a brush from the side table and sit behind you. “And miss this opportunity? I should think not, my love.” He gently began detangling your hair and brushing it out.

“My love? You do know I’m a married woman?” You retort.

“You never let me forget,” he replied, kissing the top of your hair.

“I mean I have a wife, asshole!” You twist around to snatch the brush from his hands, but he lifts it out of your reach.

“What a coincidence,” he purrs, blatantly staring at your breasts. “I do too. Two, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes dart down to your left hand, as if he knows something you don’t.

You glance at the ring that’s been there since you woke up. The black metal has a dragon insignia that looks awfully similar to the embroidery on this man’s shirt. “Fuck.”

The man’s brows furrow, “what’s wrong?” He sets the brush down, grabbing a sheet and pulling you from the bath. He wraps you up and sits you in his lap. The warmth seeping into your skin feels so familiar and you feel yourself begin to break. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you burrow your face into his neck to hide them.

Warm hands rub up and down your back soothingly. “My love, I cannot fix whatever is wrong if you don’t tell me.” He hums. “You don’t even have to tell me. Just give Rhaenyra a name and I will ensure whoever made you cry will never breathe again.”

You laugh at the irony. “I don’t know who Rhaenyra is. I’m not sure I even know who I am.”

Before he can respond, a door slams. “Daemon, thank Gods you’re here. The maid said y/n was acting ill and didn’t rememb-”

Your head peaks up over the man–Daemon’s shoulder to see the woman who ran in. Her hair is just as white as Daemon’s and her clothing adorned with the same dragon insignia. This must be Queen Rhaenyra.

“Y/n?!” Rhaenyra rushes over, kissing your cheek before she hugs you tightly.

“My queen,” Daemon greets, leaning in for a kiss. You find yourself pressed between the two, and as much as you don’t want to admit it….the warmth and pressure feels comforting…like home.

“I hate to break this up,” you say, wiping the last of your tears away. “But can someone tell me what is going on. The last thing I remember was being fired, getting wine drunk, and going to bed early.”

“Fired?” Rhaenyra looked confused and immediately started inspecting every exposed inch of your skin. “Did you try to feed Caraxes again? He’s a temperamental old man, just like his rider.”

“Who is Caraxes? Do ya’ll have a dog or something?”

“Dog?!” Daemon sounded almost offended. “A dog?! Rhaenyra we should fetch a maester. Our little dragon is either begging for a punishment or in need of a healer.”

Rhaenyra attempts to cover her laugh. “Caraxes, Daemon’s dragon? You insist on telling him a goodnight story at least once a week.”

“He’s a dragon of war for fucks sake,” Daemon mutters. “You’ve been making him soft.”

“Dragon?!” Your eyes go wide. “You’re joking. You’ve gotta be fucking me right now.”

“We are most definitely no-”

“We certainly could be-”

Daemon and Rhaenyra spoke at the same time. You would have laughed, but the implications of Daemon’s words were starting to settle in.

“Wait,” you being. “So if Queen Rhaenyra is my wife….and Daemon has two wives…and you two seem to be close…that means-”

“That you both are all mine,” Daemon purrs.

“Daemon, we must call for the maester. This seems serious, she doesn’t even remember us.”

“What year is this?” You ask, not sure if you want the answer.

“125 AC.” Rhaenyra responds.

“And where are we?”

“The red keep.”

“What, is that like England or something?”

“We are in Westeros.” Rhaenyra feels your forehead. “Daemon, put y/n to bed while I have the maids summon the maester.”

You yelp in surprise and Daemon stands up, holding you close to his chest. He carries you to a vanity, setting you gently on the bench before rummaging through some drawers. “Arms up, love.” He says, pulling a white shift over your head. You stare of into space as Daemon gently braids your hair.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” You ask as he ties a ribbon at the ends of the braid.

“You and Rhaenyra are quite the demanding duo when you want to be,” he snorts. “The staff might revolt and establish Rhaenyra’s cunt of a half-brother as king if I bothered them everytime you both needed your hair done.”

“Language,” you chide. Daemon rolls his eyes before he sweeps you back up into his arms. He carries you to the bed, depositing you in the center before he climbs in. Daemon sits up, back against the headboard as he pulls you in to lean against his chest.

“Do you really not remember us?” He asks.

“How long have we been married?”

“Five years. We were married in the old ways. Your High Valyrian wasn’t as good back then though.” Daemon laughs. “But it was perfect, and I wouldn’t trade you both for anything.”

“So if Rhaenyra is queen, what does that make you?” You ask. He had to be King, right?

“A lucky man.”

You laugh, and lightly hit his chest. “No, really. I don’t remember anything. Help a girl out here.”

“Prince consort.” Daemon answers. You nod, so Rhaenyra must be in charge around here.

“So how’d I end up married to Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon?” You ask in the poshest British accent you can muster.

“You threw yourself at my feet saying ‘Please Rhaenyra, I cannot live without you! You are the sun that brightens the sky and the stars that guide ships home!’” Rhaenyra teased. You sit up to see that Rhaenyra isn’t alone, she brought back some balding man with her.

“I didn’t say that-” You protest.

“Really?” Daemon laughs. “My queen, it’s not proper to toy with someone who is ill.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rhaenyra says, raising a brow. “You seemed rather close when I came in earlier.”

You groan. How did you manage to survive these two for five years.

!!SMUT BELOW!!

PREVIEW FOR PART TWO

“No,” Daemon scolds, clasping your hands together in his larger one and wrenching your body into his. “You’re not in charge here. You’re going to listen and obey like a good little girl.” You whine in response, nodding furiously in agreement. Suddenly, Rhaenyra’s warm body brushes up against your back. She nibbles lightly at your ear before kissing and licking her way down your neck.

“No need to be cruel,” Rhaenyra purrs. “Our little dragon is just begging for attention the only way she knows how.”

You whimper, canting your hips into Daemon’s. He slides a thigh between yours, pressing it up against your cunt. Your eyes roll back and you moan at the friction. “Please,” you breathe out, your teary eyes meeting his.

NOTE: Hey all! I'm not dead, sorry for disappearing! Life happened (new job, had to travel home for a funeral). But, I got my shit back together after taking some time for myself and I'm ready to give y'all the stories I've been cooking up. I have some steamy and inspiring requests I'm working on for Feyd Rautha (so if you requested...they're coming). Glad to be back and BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR PART 2!!!! - Lacie <3

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #daemon x rhaenyra #daemon x rhaenyra x reader #married life #isekai #game of thrones #reader insert #fem reader #hotd daemon #hotd rhaenyra #hotd fic

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good-griief · 23 days

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losing game pt. 1

HEYYYY i'm actually back with a lil smutty angsty ellie fic bc i needed to write for this woman... anyway here's part one its only a lil angsty i just wanted an excuse to write rly gay smut so enjoy and p2 tmrw!!

as most of yall know any reader i write (as a poc writer) has no race, i just wanted to use a picture of taylor momsen bc i love tpr and that's definitely the vibe of the music in this fic

part two part three

read me click me

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Being in the rock scene was your dream. You started with small gigs, then small venues and festivals, and now you had a band to go along with your music. Your career was kicking off and it felt like heaven; every performance, every song, all the adrenaline made for some of the best nights of your life.

When you picked your band, you hand-selected each member, and to say you picked your guitarist for any reason other than how pretty she was would be a lie. Yes, she was amazing, but you also couldn’t speak when she walked in for her interview. She just smiled, laughing at the way you stared at her before your manager started talking for you. He often did, she came to realize.

She still accepted the moment you offered her the position, but she made it clear that she didn’t like your manager. She accepted for you; to be with you.

And she slowly became your favorite part of performing. You had this way of connecting with each other — of course, you were close with all of your band members, but she was different. You’d spend time together one-on-one, smoking a joint and talking about nothing until one of you had to force yourself to go. You’d get coffee together, have dinners, and even spend the night at each other’s apartments. Whenever someone asked about you two, you said you were best friends. Even when she was waiting for you at the end of the carpet, and you both laughed at your answer like it was some kind of inside joke.

Even when you were onstage, on your knees, singing your most sensual song to her as she melted to your level, smirking as her hips thrust against the electric guitar. Sometimes, she even sang with you. You’d hold her face, or thread your fingers through her hair as you held eye contact or rested your forehead against hers with shut eyes, and if there was a break in the song you’d kiss her hard — a stage kiss that the crowd would erupt in cheers over. But they happened offstage, too… after a shared joint or during a party. Nothing more.

She’d let you place your fingers on the strings of her guitar to find the chords as you stood behind her, her head leaning back on your shoulder in a way that showed the muscles on her neck as she breathed in heavy, hot breaths. She let you wrap your hand around her throat, groaning in your ear as fans caught pictures of you dragging your tongue over her sweat-ridden jaw or biting her shoulder as she grinned.

There was one night you let her take over the mic as you danced along. She played her guitar, singing and watching you until you sang with her. Your hands drifted down her thighs as you kneeled behind her, the crowd screaming as you lifted her shirt and came around to kiss the line of hair below her belly button. She smirked, stopping her playing and fisting your hair to pull your head back as you laughed.

Nights when you’d take off your shirt, tossing it into the audience and pouring your water on yourself before she came to lick it up, tongue dragging over top of your breasts as you sang breathlessly. There were times she had to wrap her arm around your back to keep you standing when she did that, the action so intimate, so arousing, that it was hard to remember why you were on stage and not in your dressing room, alone with her. Some nights she’d take her shirt off and give it to you if she didn’t want anyone else to see you, smiling at you with her shirt on before you came over to kiss her cheek.

There were moments with other band members, but none of them were like her. They didn’t make you feel the same — none of them were her.

So, when the end of her contract came up and she talked to you about leaving to pursue other things, you were devastated. You didn’t think she’d leave, but after a talk with your manager, her decision was set.

“I think you should,” you told her anyway. “Whatever makes you happy, Els, seriously. I’ll support whatever you do.” She smiled, taking your hand to kiss. On the inside of her fingers, and yours, you could see the matching tattoos you got months ago, threading your fingers together so they match up.

You dedicated your last show with her to her. It was a surprise, and she cried when you said it in the beginning, but she just turned away to shake it off quickly. At least, she did until you started crying during a song you wrote for her — it was another surprise from you and the rest of the band, but the minute she saw you crying she couldn’t keep it together. She came over to hug you, kissing the top of your head as she let you hide your face in her chest. The crowd awed, but Ellie took the mic to say you’d be back. She set it down and lifted your head to make you look at her. “I love you, pretty girl,” she said, away from the microphone so no one heard her, but they could sound it out if they wanted to. “Please don’t cry.” She wiped beneath your eyes, ignoring the camera flashes and screams from the crowd. “I hate that I can’t do anything about it right now.”

You smiled. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”

She laughed at you. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” She nodded to the microphone. “Finish my song, I wanna hear the rest.”

“You’re an idiot,” you said, now standing at the mic and making the audience laugh.

You were such an idiot.

She never told you what other things she wanted to pursue, but you should’ve known.

Of-fucking-course she was pursuing her own music. Of-fucking-course she was starting her own band. With yours. Of-fucking-course all of their contracts ending over the course of a few months would amount to this. Of-fucking-course each last show you dedicated to them meant nothing.

You couldn’t even be mad. It was smart. But you were beyond hurt.

And she still dedicated her first show to you. She texted you herself, asking you to come.

When would you learn your lesson?

“I just want to thank you guys for coming,” she said to an audience of mostly your fans. “You might know me — us — from a backup band, but we got a little tired of being backup, didn’t we?” The band laughed. “So, uh, my name’s Ellie if you don’t know… probably don’t,” she laughed as if you’d never thanked or introduced your band before. “And I just want to dedicate this show to the previous artist I worked with. I wouldn’t be here without her, so she means… a lot,” she said it so fucking snarky, “to me, and… I have a few songs for her… if you all wanna guess which ones they are.”

And her first song was the biggest Fuck You song you’d ever heard.

Still, she texted you after the show.

She didn’t ask you to come to another show, and maybe that was because you announced a break from music, or because she was getting so much attention that she didn’t care. You saw her at award shows sometimes, and she would cheer when you won. Of course, you’d cheer for her too, but it never went beyond that. Almost like it was an unspoken rule that you weren’t on speaking terms.

But the minute you came back to the scene, almost a year later, she texted you for the first time since her first show.

You didn’t reply at first. You hadn’t kept up with her at all during your break, your manager telling you to stay away from any of her and her band's promotions and interviews. He had you block all of them and their numbers, but you couldn’t bring yourself to block Ellie’s. And you were glad you didn’t. Usually, you didn’t have your phone on you until late at night, your manager having your assistant handle your messages and social media, but you were about to fall asleep when she texted. As if she remembered your schedule.

And it prompted you to look her up. Then her and you, and you could see countless videos.

every time ellie has mentioned “her” compilation was what you decided to click on. It was made by an account that was clearly a big fan of hers, so you readied yourself for any hate that’d be thrown your way.

The first clip was an interview, asking her why she split from your team. “You know, I really loved her and her team,” she said, “still really love her. It’s just hard being reminded, constantly, that you're a stepping stone and your time is running low, you know? We might’ve held her back if we stayed, and she was moving on to better things,” it sounded like she was quoting someone else. “—I mean, she always wanted us to shine, and I’m so grateful for her. I really miss being on stage with her, but I don’t miss anything else besides her and I think that says a lot.”

Another was on her way into a hotel, a reporter asking if you congratulated her on an award. You could remember seeing her at the show before your manager called you over just as she was walking your way. She laughed, “haven’t talked to her in months.”

Another of a sit-down interview with the whole band, your name being brought up and Ellie snapping at them, “You know I really wish people would stop asking me about her.” She got choked up as the others answered, nose reddening when the question finally circled back to her. “We’re not friends, we don’t talk, she doesn’t want anything to do with us, so...” She shrugged, pissed off.

The next was another interview. It seemed she was just having to get used to being asked about you. “I’ve tried to reach out,” she said, “maybe she changed her number.”

Another. “She was my best friend, I miss her a lot. I hope she’s doing okay.”

And another, asking about her songs. “Yeah, I wrote a lot about her — No, I don’t regret it. I feel like it reflects a moment in time, you know? It was a really nice moment — I mean, I still have our matching tattoos,” she laughed, showing the tattoos on the insides of her fingers.

Another, after a show. She was always emotional after shows, and it made it harder to watch as she wiped her eyes when the interviewer asked what your relationship really was. “I don’t fucking know,” was her answer before she walked away.

Some of them were sweet, memories you shared that made you laugh. Others made you sick with guilt, like when she mentioned your lack of response or you blocking the band. Some just made you sad. And you felt like an idiot for doing this, but after reading the comments, some defending you for not running your socials or phone, or angry with you for the same reason, you played a compilation of the two of you together from the same account.

Then you called Ellie.

It rang once before sending you to voicemail and you just hung up. You kept your attention on the video to distract yourself from how much that stung.

But she called right back.

You stared at the phone for a moment, seeing the contact poster of the two of you at her last show with you lighting up your screen and feeling your words get caught in your throat as your eyes stung. You grabbed the phone, answering quickly. “Ellie?” It was silent, “Ellie, I just wanted to say, I had no idea… I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but I—“ You cleared your throat, trying not to sound like you were about to cry. “I’m really sorry.”

“I thought — I didn’t think you were going to — It feels so good to hear your voice,” was what she settled on after stammering through a few sentences. “You have no idea how much I’ve, just, wanted to talk to you…”

You bit down on your lip as you listened to her. She didn’t sound angry, but she clearly had so much to say to you. Her voice was filled with feeling as she went on, trying to get everything out as if she thought you’d hang up the phone at any minute. You just listened, shutting your eyes and bringing your hand over your face as hot tears spilled down your cheeks. You couldn’t bring yourself to understand why you were so emotional, maybe it was the fact that you misunderstood her so easily, or that your manager had ruined your relationship with her, or maybe it was even that you were just getting to hear her talk after so long, but she paused the moment she heard you trying to calm your breathing.

“Please don’t cry.” She already knew. “I hate it when you cry and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “Keep talking. What were you saying?” You looked at your computer, auto-playing something else of the two of you. It was clips of you on stage and during interviews, heads on each other's shoulders, hugging, kissing each other’s cheeks, singing together. You pursed your lips, tears coming quicker as you slammed your laptop closed. “Ellie,” you cut her off, biting at your lip as you looked at the empty spot on your bed she used to take some nights, “what are you doing right now?”

“I’m on my way,” she said quietly, and you could hear her shuffling on the other line. She was probably getting ready to go to sleep, and wake up to no response just like every other time she messaged you. And you would have woken up with no idea she even texted you. “Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“If you’re already headed to sleep—“

“I’m coming over,” she said. “I’m already in the car, I’ll be there in ten, okay?”

“Okay…” Now you felt bad for making her leave her house, looking outside at the snowfall and sniffling as you tried to wipe your eyes. “I’ll see you soon.” You hung up the phone and groaned at yourself, shoving your head in your pillow.

You opened your laptop, typing in the song names people speculated she wrote for you and queuing them all. Not one was the one you heard during her first show, and it made you feel even worse by the time the doorbell rang. You moved off of your bed, wiping your eyes and going to the door to buzz her up to your apartment.

You waited by the door, balls of your feet kicking at the floor as you crossed your arms and waited for her to knock. It was the same rhythm she used to knock in, and where it usually made you smile, it made you cry more. God, you missed her, and you didn’t even realize how much until now. You took too long to open the door and you heard the lock click. She still had her set of keys, and that made you feel worse, too. She’d probably texted you about returning them, and you never got to see it. Nothing was making you feel better as she opened the door, and seeing her face just made it worse.

“God,” she muttered, immediately bringing her arms around your waist. She tucked her head into your shoulder, shutting her eyes as your arms went around her shoulders. Her hands held you like you’d disappear the minute she let go, thumbs running soothingly back and forth over your shirt. “I missed you so much,” she said. “They all wanted me to get over it, but I knew there was no way — I knew we had something more than just — fuck, I know you better than they do. I know I do.” Her lips brushed your skin with every word. “I missed you so fucking much,” she repeated, hugging you tighter.

Just her touch made your tears slow to a stop, relaxing into her hold and hugging her so tight, but she didn’t care. She was happy to be back in your arms. Your hand drifted to her hair, cradling her head to your shoulder. You could remember the nights you spent playing with her hair until you fell asleep and the thought made you run your fingers through it. She sighed, pulling her head back but refusing to let you go.

There was a silence as you moved her hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ear. Slowly, your hand cupped her cold, flushed cheek. She leaned into your touch, eyes falling to your lips as your thumb stroked her cheek.

“Ellie,” you muttered and she hummed, turning her head to kiss the inside of your palm. “I missed you, too,” was all you chose to say despite the wanting in the way you said her name. Her hand took yours as she kissed the inside of your wrist. “So much…” Her kisses trailed up your arm, with more of a meaning behind them than any of the kisses you’d given each other before.

You moved your hand back to her face, turning her head toward you. She met your eyes, hers shining in the low light. They fell to your lips again and she leaned in, kissing your cheek. She kissed away every tear stain, still wet and warm. She moved closer and closer to your mouth, but never kissed you, kissing away the stains on your other cheek instead.

Then you turned your head, catching her lips for a brief moment before she pulled back. There was a moment of hesitation, neither of you able to speak before she pressed her lips to yours. They were still cold from being out in the snow, but they warmed as you kissed her back, pressing your body impossibly closer to hers as she sighed into your mouth. She couldn’t tell you how long she had wanted this, but she knew it was long enough that her waiting for you was pathetic.

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