#Maybe show cast a little art | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pinkanonwrites · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in.

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~”

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow. Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.”

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

#transformers #valveplug #transformers x reader #rumble #transformers rumble #rumble x reader #transformers imagines #g1 transformers #my writing #long post

3K notes · View notes

aeralux · 2 months ago

Text

"Spellbound" - Daemon Targaryen

Daemon Targaryen x Witch!Reader

Summary: A witch doesn't cower to anyone... except maybe a dragon. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. Harrenhal seems to be riddled with darkness and mysteries, after all.

Warnings: SMUT (18+); rough sex; oral (f!receiving); fingering; foul language; talks of magick and its use; technically infidelity on Daemon's part; loss of virginity; mention of blood

Words: 8.3k

Notes: No description of the reader, except for dark hair. Takes place in Harrenhal when Daemon is staying there. I tried to be as accurate to Westeros lore as I could, I literally spent hours on their wiki, so I hope it shows through :)

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Harrenhal was a ghastly place. It had the biggest castle of all of Westeros. The castle had five dizzying towers, with equally monstrous curtain walls. The walls were incredibly thick, and its rooms were built on a scale that would be more comfortable for giants than humans—said to be haunted and eerie.

Perfect for sorceresses and sorcerers alike, the city had a coven of Witches who collectively went by the name "Wives of the Gods Eye." The name was an ode to Gods Eye, the largest lake of the Seven Kingdoms, located south of Harrenhal.

In the embrace of warm sunlight, the water of the Gods Eye shimmers in vibrant shades of blue and green, casting a magical glow. Yet, as winter blankets the land, its surface transforms into a steely grey, reminiscent of the coldest metal. Majestic black swans glide gracefully across the water. Just a short distance away, a winding lake road meanders near the storied Harrenhal, leading through a patchwork of rolling hills, sparkling streams, and golden sunlit fields. As one journeys further south, the landscape gives way to dense, shadowy forests, creating a clear contrast.

The lake, with its murky depths, bore a name of divine beings, yet here, amidst the towering pines and shivering mists, there existed no gods. Only monsters lurked in the shadows, and witches wove their secrets beneath the pale moonlight. As for you, you were a bastard of Pinkmaiden, an unwelcome child of a place that should have offered a home. At the young age of six, you were sent to Harrenhal, a castle steeped in blood and betrayal, to serve the lords and ladies of House Strong as one of the laundresses. The ancient stones watched over you with cold indifference, whispering the secrets of many who had come before.

Your raven-black hair flowed like a dark river down your back, framing your face and matching nicely with your unsettling eyes, which shimmered like a stormy sea. These features marked you as different, a reminder of your uncertain heritage. It was not long before the Lady of Harrenhal, with her porcelain skin and sharp gaze, grew wary of your presence. On the eve of your sixteenth birthday, she cast you out, her disdain cutting deeper than any blade.

Alone and bereft, you wandered the wilderness, uncertainty gnawing at your heart. But fortune smiled upon you when the coven of witches found you, their cloaks billowing like dark wings against the whispering wind. They took you in, offering a refuge far removed from the stone walls of Harrenhal. In their hidden glen, where wildflowers crowded beneath the trees, they made you feel cherished for the first time.

Nowadays, for most, magic is a little-understood force in the world. It has been so long since magic was truly potent that most understanding now exists only in superstition and rituals of questionable validity. But with them, you understood, the doubts of others have no claim.

"You are special," they insisted, words dripping with ancient wisdom. "You possess something otherworldly." Their voices wrapped around you like a warm embrace. For the first time, you believed there was a purpose to your existence—a spark that set you apart from common folk, a thread woven from the fabric of something otherworldly.

Under their solemn guidance, you began to practice the mysterious arts. You learned to mix herbs and roots, crafting potions that glinted with promise and danger. Each incantation you whispered held power, resonating with the essence of the world around you. The witching nights became your solace, and as you delved deeper into their teachings, the women of the coven began to call you their newest daughter—their black swan. In that embrace, you found your wings, soaring above the harsh reality that had sought to bind you.

There, in the shadows of Harrenhal, you discovered your true calling and uncovered your hidden talent: Glamour magic. The few ladies of the coven from Asshai welcomed you into their fold. Asshai, a mysterious and ancient port city nestled in the far southeast of Essos, was unlike any place in Westeros, you gathered from their stories. There, the Ash River wound its way through the land, flowing into the vast expanse of the Jade Sea, where the waters sparkled under the sun like jewels.

As you sat among the flickering candles in their dimly lit chamber, they taught you ancient spells in their native tongue. Words danced on your lips like whispers in the wind, each incantation holding power and mystique. They guided you in prayer, teaching you how to bow your head before the Red God, channelling your intentions through sacred rituals. The air was thick with incense, and the flickering shadows brought to life the stories of ages past, filling your heart with a sense of wonder and purpose.

When the wise ladies of the coven, cloaked in shadows and steeped in ancient lore, deemed you ready to embrace your destiny, they presented you with a striking necklace carved from deep black obsidian. Its surface shimmered like a starless night sky, reflecting the flickering flames of the hearth where your journey began. Though the obsidian was traditionally used to forge weapons of war, the coven believed it resonated with your spirit, a perfect talisman for what lay ahead.

As you clasped the necklace around your neck, it transformed into your glamor, an enchanting charm that bestowed upon you the power to weave illusions. With it, the magic could shift the perceptions of those around you, allowing you to appear as someone—or something—entirely different. While the shape of the necklace remained unchanged, the world could see whatever you wished it to see, bending reality to your will.

The true strength of glamors lies in their connection to the wearer. Each illusion from the obsidian was ingrained with a piece of you, making them far more potent than mere tricks of light. As you wore the necklace, you felt it pulse gently against your skin, a current of magic entwining your fate with ancient spells. The coven’s trust in you burned bright like the embers of a dying fire.

In the realm where shadows danced and whispers echoed, the obsidian necklace became more than just an accessory; it was an extension of your very being, a bridge between the world you knew and the numerous possibilities.

Through the fogs surrounding Harrenhal and its haunting towers, a figure emerged one day that would change the course of history. Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, found himself in the ancient fortress where magic lingered in the air, where witches snarled their secrets beneath the pale moonlight, and where even the strongest of men lost their minds to visions that tormented them.

The arrival of the Targaryen prince foreshadowed the beginning of the violent conflict known as the Dance of the Dragons, igniting the flames of war. The first target being Harrenhal. Daemon Targaryen, fierce and determined, led the charge to seize this shadowy castle for his wife, Rhaenyra. In his mind, it would become a stronghold for loyal supporters rising in the Riverlands.

Chaos erupted in the region, the air thick with tension and fear hanging heavily over the lords and common folk. Yet amidst this turmoil, you stood resolute, encouraged by the words of an elder from your coven, whose foresight promised their safety in these troubled times.

With unwavering determination, you journeyed to the godswood of Harrenhal, walking along the clear, winding stream that wandered gently through the emerald shrubberies. The ancient weirwood, with its deformed roots and an angry face carved into its bark, awaited you at the heart of the woods. Its pale leaves trembled softly in the breeze, whispering secrets of generations past.

Above you, birds flitted through the branches, their songs mingling with the rustling leaves, while bats emerged as shadows against the dusky sky, patrolling for their evening meal. A sly cat sneaked near the godswood's stone wall, its eyes glinting like lanterns in the twilight. In this serene moment, you felt a peculiar kinship with the creatures of the wood, convinced that you were not alone.

With reverence, you placed your offering between the twisted roots of the ancient tree, murmuring a quick prayer. You believed in many deities, each an important part of your life, hoping that at least one would consider your call. After all, in these dark times, hope was a precious thing.

Before your journey back, you felt a tug in your heart to pay a quick visit to Alys. The kind healer lady was one of the rare souls who did not cast disdainful glances at you during your time in the castle. Known by others as the “witch queen,” Alys saw past the uncanny aura that surrounded you. She had grown fond of you, despite the brooding darkness that seemed to dance in your eyes, and she understood that your best path was far from these stone walls. You stood out too much among the lords and ladies, a vision amidst the living.

Like a creeping shadow, you slipped through the secret passage, the cool air brushing against your skin as you navigated the hidden corridors. The echoes of your footsteps were muffled by the cold, damp stones, as you moved with practised ease to avoid the lurking guards. You knew better than to provoke their watchful eyes.

Upon entering Alys's chamber, you were greeted by a familiar sight—her collection of potions and drying herbs adorned the shelves, a simple yet charming chaos that spoke of her craft. The room held a soft scent of lavender and something earthy, an aroma that always brought you comfort. You wandered over to the table, intrigued by the array of glass bottles filled with vivid liquids.

But the serenity shattered in an instant, as a cold steel blade pressed against your throat, sending a chill cascading down your spine. A sharp gasp escaped your lips, mingling with the tension in the air. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as panic surged. Who could it be, a figure lurking in the shadows, ready to end your life? The world around you faded into silence, but your senses heightened, honed by years of uncertainty. At that moment, you wondered if your last moments would be in the castle that had been both shelter and prison.

You couldn't see the face of your attacker, but you could feel the presence looming over you, the weight of their body pressing you forward. The blade dug into your skin, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down your neck. You swallowed hard, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Who are you?" a low and menacing voice demanded. And what are you doing here?"

The voice was unfamiliar to you, but there was a certain authority in it that sent a chill down your spine. You knew that whoever this person was, they meant business.

You tried to turn your head, to catch a glimpse of your attacker, but the blade pressed harder against your throat, making you wince in pain. "Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean no harm."

The figure behind you let out a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "No harm? You sneak into the healer's chambers like a thief in the night, and you claim to mean no harm?"

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, mingling with the blood on your skin. "I'm not a thief," you said, your voice trembling. "I'm a friend of Alys. I came to see her, to...to say hello."

The blade pressed harder against your throat, making you gasp in pain. "Hello?" the voice repeated, a note of suspicion in it. "Somehow I doubt you, little witch."

You knew then that your attacker was well aware of your true nature, of the magic that coursed through your veins. You thought of the obsidian necklace around your neck, the glamor that disguised you as a simple servant girl. But you knew that even that powerful magic would be no match for the Valyrian steel pressed against your throat.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you struggled to steady your breathing. The cold steel pressed harder against your throat, sending a jolt of pain through your body. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.

"I swear, it's true," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling with fear. "I didn't know anyone would be here. I thought...I thought Alys would be alone."

You could feel your attacker's warm breath on the back of your neck, their presence looming over you like a dark shadow. You wanted to turn and face them, to see the face of the one who held your life in their hands, but the blade kept you still.

"Please," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. "Don't hurt me. I'm not here to cause any trouble. I just...I just wanted to see her"

Your hands shook at your sides, the obsidian necklace hidden beneath your simple servant's gown a cold weight against your skin. You knew that your glamor was useless now, that your true nature had been discovered. But you couldn't let them know about the coven, about the power that you possessed.

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain that was sure to come. You had survived so much in your short life and had endured so much hardship and betrayal. But in that moment, faced with the cold steel of a stranger's blade, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I didn't mean any harm."

You waited for the blade to slice through your skin, for the blood to pour from the wound. But it never came. Instead, you felt the pressure of the blade lessen, the cold steel sliding away from your throat.

Slowly, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw the face of the one who had held your life in their hands. It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair the colour of spun silver and eyes as violet as an iris. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a legend, a true son of Valyria.

Daemon's violet eyes narrowed as he studied the young woman before him, his gaze sharp and piercing. He could see the fear in your eyes, the way your body trembled beneath his touch, but he also sensed something else—a flicker of something dark and dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. He knew a witch when he saw one, and you were no ordinary servant.

"A friend of Alys's, you say?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And yet you seem to know your way around this castle better than most. Tell me, little witch, what exactly are you doing here?"

He kept the blade pressed against your throat, not enough to draw blood, but enough to keep you still. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath the cold steel and could see the way your pulse fluttered. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've dealt with your kind before," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I know the tricks you play, the illusions you weave. But trust me, little one, you'll find no mercy here."

Daemon's eyes flicked down to the necklace hidden beneath your gown, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. He had seen such trinkets before. But this one was different—there was a power to it that even he could sense, a dark and ancient magic that thrummed through the air like a heartbeat.

"What's this?" he demanded, his fingers brushing against the hidden amulet. "Some kind of charm, is it? A trinket to hide your true face from the world?"

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "I can smell the magic on you, little witch. It clings to your skin like perfume. The same foul odour that clings to the healer."

Daemon's hand slid down from your throat to your collarbone, his fingers tracing the curve of your flesh beneath the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel the heat of your skin beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling of your hands as you met Daemon's piercing violet gaze. With a steady motion, you reached behind your neck and unclasped the necklace, letting the heavy amulet drop into your palm. There was no point in trying to hide your identity any longer. Your true face coming to light.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as you revealed the truth of your identity, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger. He could see the fear in your eyes, but also the aggressiveness, the spark of something wild and untamed that called to him like a siren's song.

"I am a witch, yes," you admitted in a hushed whisper, your heart pounding so hard you feared he could hear it. "But I speak the truth, your grace. I did not know anyone would be here."

You couldn't help but notice his rugged handsomeness as you spoke, the strong lines of his jaw and the way his muscles rippled beneath the thin linen of his tunic. You quickly averted your gaze, not wanting him to see the effect he was having on you.

"I'm from the coven called the Wives of the Gods Eye," you continued, voice barely above a whisper. "We practice the old ways, the magic that was once forbidden. I simply came here seeking some herbs."

You met his eyes once more, defiance mingling with the apprehension. "I meant you no harm, my lord. I swear it on my life."

"A witch of the old ways, are you?" he purred, his hand sliding up from your collarbone to cup your chin, tilting your face towards his. "How very interesting. And here I thought Alys was the only one in this godforsaken castle who dabbled in the dark arts."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "You say you seek herbs, little witch, but what say you to a bargain? Your secrets for my protection."

Daemon's hand slid down to your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat in a loose grip. He could feel your pulse fluttering beneath his touch, could see the way your body trembled at his proximity.

"I could use a witch of your talents in my service," he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You stepped back, your hand brushing against the dagger beneath your skirts. "I am not some whore," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous. "I do not offer my services to any man, least of all one who would threaten me with a blade."

You met his gaze, your own eyes blazing with defiance. "You would be wise to let me leave at once, your grace. I have no quarrel with you, but I will not be cowed by threats or promises of power."

Turning on your heel, you strode to the shelves, your movements quick and precise. You grabbed a bottle of dried hemlock, the bitter scent filling your nostrils. You turned back to face him, the vial clutched in your hand like a weapon.

"I a daughter of the Gods Eye. I bow to no man, not even a prince of the realm."

You lifted your chin, your dark hair falling in waves around your face. "Now, I will ask you once more. Let me pass, or face the consequences of crossing a witch."

Your hand tightened on the hemlock, the glass cold against your skin. You could feel the rage thrumming through your veins.

"Choose wisely, your grace."

He had dealt with witches before and had watched as they danced and writhed beneath his touch. In pain and pleasure.

But this one was different. This one had a fire in her eyes that couldn't be tamed, a defiance that only fuelled his dark desires.

"A daughter of the Gods Eye, are you?" he growled, his hand tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "How very bold of you, little witch. To stand before a prince of the realm and threaten him with your petty magic."

He took a step forward, his eyes locked on the vial of hemlock clutched in your hand. "You think that trinket will save you? That your gods will protect you from the wrath of a dragon?"

Your breath hitched as Daemon closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming your senses. The threats rolling off his tongue made your head spin, a dizzying combination of fear and thrill coursing through your veins. You had never met a man who could match the fire in your blood, his very existence seems to challenge you at every turn.

Daemon's lips curled into a cruel smile, his voice dropping to a low, seductive purr. "I have seen the faces of men and women as they begged for mercy, only to be denied. And I have drunk the blood of my enemies, their cries of agony echoing in my ears like a symphony."

"I could hurt you," he growled, his voice a low rumble. "I could crack you like this vial in my hand, leaving you a broken shell of the proud sorceress you once were."

"What do you want?" You gritted out through clenched teeth, hating the way your body reacted to his proximity. Your legs felt weak, your knees threatening to buckle as he loomed over you, his eyes burning into yours.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin at the challenge in your voice, his eyes glinting with a predatory hunger that made your blood run cold. He could see the way your body trembled beneath his gaze, could feel the heat of your skin even from a distance.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. He's just a man. Don't let him get under your skin.

But even as you tried to regain your composure, you could feel the power emanating from him like a physical force. It was intoxicating and dangerous, and you knew that if you weren't careful, you could easily lose yourself in the reckless temptation.

"What do I want?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Why, I want what all men want, little witch. Power. Control. To bend others to my will."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His fingers lingered on your cheek, his touch searing your skin like a brand.

"But with you, I want something more," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to break you. To shatter that defiant spirit of yours and make you mine."

You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, could smell the musk of his scent, and for a moment, you were tempted to give in to the desire coursing through your veins.

But you were not some simpering maiden to be seduced by a pretty face and a silver tongue.

Daemon's hand slid down to your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck in a loose grip.

"I could take you now," he growled, his lips brushing against your jawline. "I could pin you to the floor and claim you, make you scream my name until your voice is hoarse."

His other hand slid down your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip through the thin fabric of your gown. "But where's the fun in that? No, I'll take my time with you, little witch. I'll make you beg for my touch, for the sweet release only I can give you."

Daemon's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "So what will it be, my sweet? Will you submit to me willingly, or will I have to break you first?"

"You think you can break me?" You said, my voice steady and clear. "That you can tame my soul with your pretty words and your empty promises?"

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I have faced far worse than you, Daemon Targaryen. I have stared into the abyss and emerged unscathed. Your threats mean nothing to me."

Your hand slid up his chest, your fingers curling around the chain of the dragon necklace that hung from his neck. You could feel the heat of the metal against your skin, looking at him with a scowl on your face.

"But if you truly want to test yourself against me, my lord," you teased, your voice low and enchanting. "If you think you have what it takes to claim me as your own... by all means, try."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your challenge, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He could feel the heat of your body against his, could smell the scent of your skin, sweet and intoxicating.

"You play a dangerous game, little witch," he purred, his hand tightening around your throat. "To challenge a dragon is to invite its wrath."

His other hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He could feel the heat of your body, could sense the power that coursed through your veins.

"But I like a woman with spirit," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "It makes the eventual submission all the sweeter."

Daemon's hand slid up your side, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast through the thin fabric of your gown. He could feel your nipple harden beneath his touch, could see the way your body responded to his ministrations.

"I will have you, little witch," he growled, his voice low and seductive. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul. And when I am done with you, you will beg for more."

You roll your eyes at Daemon's sweet words, his attempts at seduction falling flat. He thinks he can have you with just a few pretty lies? How naive.

"You tempt me, my prince," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm no easy conquest. Besides, Alys will be back soon. I bet she won't be happy to see an old man taking advantage of her friend." You smirk cruelly, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at your words.

You try to pull away from him, but his grip on your throat tightens, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"I could seriously hurt you, you know," you snarl, your eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "Don't underestimate me."

Daemon's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. In one swift motion, he slammed you against the wall, his body pinning you in place.

"Enough of your games, little witch," he snarled, his hand tightening around your throat. "You think you can toy with me, challenge me, and walk away unscathed?"

His free hand slid down your body, his fingers tearing at the fabric of your gown with a sharp, ripping sound. Buttons scattered across the floor as he bared your skin to his hungry gaze.

Shock and fury flash through you as Daemon rips open your dress, baring your breasts to his hungry gaze. You stare at him, completely still as a statue from utter disbelief, your breath coming in heavy gasps that make your breasts heave with each inhale.

"I will have you," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "I will claim you as my own, body and soul."

Daemon's hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your breast, teasing your nipple into a hardened peak. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I can feel your desire, little witch," he purred, his lips brushing against your ear. "Your body betrays you, even as you try to resist. I will make you mine, in every way possible."

"W-wait," you try to say, but your voice comes out breathy and weak as his fingers roll your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. Your eyes roll back and a soft moan escapes your parted lips.

What is happening? How did this get so out of control? You think to yourself, your mind spinning from the onslaught of sensation. You can't believe this is happening, that you are letting a man you barely know take such liberties with your body.

Daemon's lips curled into a wicked grin as he saw the effect his touch was having on you, your body arching into his hand like a cat in heat. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way your body trembled beneath his ministrations.

His hand slid down to your thigh, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your ripped gown to caress the soft skin of your leg. He could feel the heat of your body.

"But first, I think I'll taste you," he growled, his hand sliding higher, higher until his fingers brushed against the slick, heated flesh of your core.

Even as you try to formulate a protest, your body betrays you, arching into his touch, craving more of the delicious pleasure he's igniting within you. No, I can't let this happen. I have to stop him.

But the words never leave your lips, lost in a moan as Daemon's hand slides lower, teasing you in places you have only touched in secret, in the dark of night. You are lost in a haze of sensation, your body responding to his touch despite your mind's protests.

"That's it, little witch," he purred, his fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple. "Give in to the pleasure. Let yourself feel the ecstasy only I can give you."

He could feel the wetness of your arousal, could smell the musky scent of your desire.

"You're already so wet for me," he growled, his fingers brushing against your slick folds. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind tries to deny it."

Daemon's fingers slid higher, teasing your entrance with a feather-light touch. Your walls clenched around his fingers, begging for more.

You couldn't think straight, your mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. It was wrong to crave a man you had just met, especially one who had threatened your life moments ago. But the way his fingers teased your most intimate places sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You had heard the other women of your coven speak of lovemaking, their descriptions painting it as a powerful form of magic. Perhaps you could harness this power, and use it to your advantage as Daemon desired to use you for his own pleasure.

Your hips rolled against his hand, seeking more friction. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your lips, determined to maintain some facade of control. But deep down, you knew you were in danger of losing yourself to the sensations he was eliciting.

Daemon's eyes glinted with triumph as he felt your hips roll against his hand, your body betraying your true desires. He could see the conflict in your eyes, the way you bit your lip to stifle your moans, and it only served to fuel his own dark lust.

"You can't hide from me, little witch," he growled, his fingers teasing your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how much you crave my touch."

He pressed two fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with a maddening rhythm.

You let out a loud, uncontrollable moan as Daemon's fingers delved deep into your untouched walls, his touch igniting a fire within you. Your juices flowed freely, coating his hand as ecstasy consumed your entire being.

Your body writhed against the cold stone wall, your hips bucking shamelessly against his skilled fingers as he finger-fucked you with reckless abandon. Waves of pleasure crashed over you with each thrust, your breasts heaving as he groped and kneaded them roughly.

"Your body is mine now," Daemon snarled, plunging his fingers deeper into your slick heat. He curled them just right, stroking that sensitive spot within you that made your vision go white. "You'll scream my name until your throat is raw. You'll beg for my cock like a bitch in heat."

His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he finger-fucked you with ruthless intensity. Your cries of pleasure echoed off the stone walls, mingling with the lewd squelching sounds of his fingers pounding into your drenched cunt.

"That's it, take it," Daemon growled, his lips latching onto a pert nipple. He sucked hard, grazing the bud with his teeth as his fingers ruthlessly stroked your g-spot. "Come for me, little witch. Let me feel you spasm on my fingers."

He could feel your walls fluttering around his digits, your body teetering on the brink of climax. With a final, brutal thrust, he sent you careening over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy filled the room as your pussy clenched down on his fingers, your release dripping down his fingers.

Daemon lapped at your neck, tasting the salt of your sweat. He continued pumping his fingers through your climax, prolonging your pleasure until you were boneless and mewling.

"Good girl," he purred, finally withdrawing his soaked fingers. He brought them to your lips, smearing your essence across them. "Clean them."

Your eyes fluttered open, glazed with post-orgasmic bliss. You hesitated only a moment before parting your lips, allowing him to push his fingers into your mouth. The musky taste of your arousal coated your tongue, and you couldn't help but moan around his digits.

He grins wickedly as you lap at his fingers provocatively, cleaning your essence from them. As his fingers are clean, he lowers himself to the floor, kneeling before you, as to worship you.

You gasp as Daemon sinks to his knees before you, his dark eyes fuming with raw desire. Your heart races, your pulse pounding in your ears as he settles between your trembling thighs. The heat of his breath on your most sensitive flesh sends electric shocks of pleasure straight to your core.

Dazed and off-balance, you instinctively reach out, fisting your hands in his hair for support. Your legs still feel like jelly from your earth-shattering climax moments before.

A bewildered expression crosses your face as he grins up at you, his tongue snaking out to drag along your dripping slit. You cry out, your head slamming back against the cold stone wall as ecstasy crashes over you in relentless waves.

"Mmmm, you taste divine," Daemon purrs, his hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He laps at your essence like a man starved, his tongue delving deep to drink from your most intimate well.

You can only moan brokenly, your head thrashing from side to side as he feasts upon your quivering flesh. His tongue is pure sin, licking and suckling at your clit with unholy skill.

"Good girl," he growls, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. "Ride my face. Grind that pretty cunt against my tongue."

Lost to the all-consuming pleasure, you do as he commands, rolling your hips shamelessly against his mouth. Your thighs clench around his head, trapping him in place as you fuck his face with feral ease.

His lips close around your clit, suckling the sensitive bud as he thrusts two fingers into your dripping channel. They curl just right, stroking that secret spot within you that makes you see stars.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Daemon groans, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering walls.

You can only whimper in response, your body tensing as another climax builds at the base of your spine. It coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

Daemon's tongue delved deep, lapping at your dripping essence with a hunger that bordered on feral. He groaned against your slick flesh, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure racing through your body.

He focused his attention on your clit, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive bud with rapid, teasing strokes. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he devoured you like a man starved.

Your fingers tightened in his hair. The public nature of your coupling only served to heighten the forbidden thrill, the rush of being taken in a place where anyone could stumble upon you.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his probing tongue as he brought you to the brink of climax once more.

With one final, hard suck, he sent you spiralling over the edge. Your scream of ecstasy echoed off the stone walls as your pussy clenched around his tongue, your release gushing into his eager mouth.

Daemon lapped at your spasming cunt, prolonging your pleasure as he drank down every last drop of your sweet nectar. He continued his ministrations until your body went limp, your cries turning to whimpers as the waves of pleasure subsided.

Finally, he pulled back, his lips and chin glistening with your juices. He stood, a wicked grin on his face as he towered over your prone form.

"You taste divine, little witch," he purred, his hand sliding up your body to cup your breast. He pinched your nipple, rolling the hardened peak between his fingers. "I could feast on your cunt for hours and never grow tired."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "But I'm not nearly done with you yet..."

Lifting you up with ease, Daemon tosses you onto the creaky bed, your body bouncing on the worn mattress. You cry out in surprise, your heart pounding as you take in his towering form looming over you. His eyes burn with a hunger that gives you chills.

"Daemon, please," you plead, your voice trembling. Your core aches, still throbbing from the intense climaxes he's wrought from your untouched body. You are no experienced harlot, but an untouched maiden, and you fear you are not ready for the sheer size of him.

Daemon's large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs wide as he settles between your thighs.

Daemon's eyes raked over your trembling form, taking in the sight of you spread out before him like a feast. His cock throbbed with need, straining against the confines of his breeches as he drank in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds.

His hands moved with urgent purpose, his fingers making quick work of the laces of his breeches. He shoved the garment down his legs, kicking it aside with a careless motion. His cock sprang free, the thick shaft jutting out proudly from a nest of dark curls.

He rubbed his cock against your slick entrance, teasing you with the promise of his hard length. You could feel it throbbing against your sensitive flesh, hot and hard and ready to claim you utterly.

"Please," you whimpered, your body trembling with need. "I... I've never... I don't know if I can take you."

A cruel smile twisted Daemon's lips as he heard your plea.

"Please be gentle," you whisper, looking up at him with wide, vulnerable eyes.

Daemon's expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something akin to tenderness crossing his features. His hand reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip.

"Shh, little witch," he murmurs, his voice surprisingly mild. "I'll make it good for you. I promise."

With that, he leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you, staking his claim over you.

As he kisses you deeply, you feel the head of his cock nudging against your entrance. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he begins to push forward, stretching you open around his thick girth.

A sharp gasp escapes you, breaking the kiss as he breaches your barrier. Pain and pleasure mingle together, your untouched walls struggling to accommodate his size.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans, his hips grinding against yours. He gives you a moment to adjust, his hands roaming your body possessively. "Such a perfect little cunt, made just for me."

He starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in. The rhythm is brutal, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.

You cried out, your back arching off the bed as pain and pleasure crashed over you in equal measure. He stretched you wide, his thick length filling you in a way you never thought possible. Your walls stretched and clenched around him, your slick arousal easing the way as he claimed you over and over again.

"Fuck!" Daemon snarls, his eyes rolling back at the tight, wet heat of your virgin walls.

Daemon sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with animalistic hunger. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he ruts into your willing body.

"Take it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure, his hips snapping against yours with ruthless force.

The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and his grunts as he took you, his cock sawing in and out of your dripping cunt. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails raking down his back, leaving red marks and bloody imprints.

Daemon's brutal thrusts tore through you, each one sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body. You screamed, your voice hoarse and ragged as he pounded into your virgin cunt. Tears streamed down your face, your nails raking down his back as you clung to him desperately.

He had taken something sacred from you, your maidenhead, and you knew your souls were now tied. The ritual of first blood, unplanned as it was, had sealed your fates together. And with a dragon as your first, the power you could now wield...

You threw your head back, your moans echoing off the stone walls as he fucked you with complete disregard. Your hips bucked to meet his thrusts, the pain giving way to a pleasure you had never known before. You were lost to the sensation, your body consumed by the feel of him inside you.

Daemon's eyes darkened at the sight of your tears, a predatory grin spreading across his face. He could feel your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock like a vice as he claimed you over and over again.

He angled his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with each brutal thrust. His hands roamed your body, groping and squeezing, leaving bruises in their wake.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with pleasure. "Take my cock like the little slut you are. Fucking mine now, aren't you? Your cunt belongs to me."

You met his thrusts with your own, your hips rising to meet him as he drove into you over and over again. The bed groaned beneath you, the frame creaking threateningly as he took you with unrestrained lust.

You felt your peak nearing, your entire body on fire as Daemon pounded into you with unrestrained fury. You brought his neck to your teeth, biting down hard enough to draw a few drops of blood. The copper taste flooded your mouth, bitter and metallic as you licked the crimson liquid from your lips.

"Now you have bled for me too," you whispered ominously, your voice thick with lust and dark magic.

But before you could reach your peak, you quickly reached for your enchanted necklace, clutching it in your hand. The ancient magics within pulsed to life, amplifying the power of this ritual tenfold.

Power surged through you, your cunt squeezing tight around Daemon's cock as you came. Your eyes rolled back, your body convulsing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Dark energy swirled around you, the air crackling with stifled energy.

"Mine," you whispered, your voice echoing with unexpected dominance. "You are mine now, Daemon Targaryen. Entwined by blood and pleasure."

Daemon's eyes flew open in surprise, his mouth falling open as he felt the surge of dark witchcraft. But it was too late - the ritual was complete.

Daemon froze, his cock buried deep inside your still-spasming cunt. He stared down at you, his eyes wide with shock and a hint of fear.

He groaned, his hips stuttering as your cunt clenched around him like a vice. The dark magic amplified every sensation, every touch, every thrust. It was overwhelming and intoxicating, and he never wanted it to end.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained with anger and pleasure. "What did you do?"

But even as he asked, he knew. You had bound him to you, claimed him in a way that went beyond the physical.

He thrust into you one last time, his cock erupting deep inside you as he came.

He tried to pull out, to break the connection, but your walls clenched around him, refusing to let him go. Panic flashed across his face as he realized the implications of what you'd done.

"You... you she-devil," he snarled, his hands tightening on your hips. "Did you plan this? To trick me, to bind me to you?"

You just grinned, a vicious, seductive curve of your lips. You could feel his fear, his anger, but beneath it all was a flicker of arousal. The power you now held over him was intoxicating.

"Shh," you cooed, your fingers trailing down his chest. "Don't fight it. We are one now."

You roll your hips, your walls clenching around his softening cock. He groans, his hips bucking unconsciously into yours.

You gasped as the obsidian stone of your necklace pulsed warmly against your throat. The maleficent force surged through your veins, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy. "Yes!" You cried out, the power exhilarating in your veins.

Your eyes, nearly black now, held his gaze as you sneered cruelly.

Daemon collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His softening cock slipped from your abused cunt, a trickle of his seed leaking out to pool on the tattered sheets beneath you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still intertwined as you both tried to process what had just happened. The energy that had swirled around you during your climax still lingered in the air, making the hairs on Daemon's arms stand on end.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes searching your face. He looked confused as he took in your triumphant grin and the blackness of your eyes.

"What... what did you do to me?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

You smiled at him, your eyes gleaming with malice. "I didn't do anything to you. I had no desire to harm you, as I stated before," you answered truthfully. "Did you know that the moment when one reaches orgasm is the most intense and the most powerful experience a human can have in life? For in that moment, the soul suddenly opens to the divine realm and the breath of God is infused. I needed another to reach divinity."

You rose from the bed, slipping your ripped dress back on and throwing a cloak over yourself. "I simply used you... as you have done to many women in your life, I'm sure. Do not fret, my prince," you smirked.

Daemon stared up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a hint of grudging admiration. He pushed himself up to sit, his naked body on full display as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

"Used me?" he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "I've never been used like this before."

He stood, his cock already starting to harden again at the sight of you, despite his anger. He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to grab you, but he stopped himself.

"What are you?" he demanded, his eyes raking over your form. "What kind of witch are you?"

He snatched up his discarded breeches, roughly pulling them on, his mind reeling from the events of the past hour.

"I should kill you for this," he growled, but there was no real heat behind his words. He knew he couldn't, not now. Not with the bond between you, however unexpected it may be.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked, rage clearly visible in his eyes.

You sauntered over to Daemon, your hips swaying seductively. The rip in your dress left little to the imagination, your full breasts on display for his hungry gaze. You could see the desire warring with the anger in his eyes as you approached.

"Nothing anymore, my prince," you purred, your voice like honey. "My powers have been amplified. I owe you a debt of gratitude for that."

You traced a finger along his jawline, feeling the prickle of his stubble. "Though I wouldn't mind having you take me again. I doubt I'll find another man as virile as you in all of Westeros."

You leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "You've awakened something in me, Daemon Targaryen. A hunger I never knew I could satisfy."

Your hand slid down his chest, your nails raking lightly over his skin. "I am yours. And I suspect you are mine as well."

You pulled back, your eyes locking with his. "What say you, my dragon?"

Daemon's breath hitched as you touched him, his body responding instantly to your proximity despite his anger. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise as he glared down at you.

He pulled you closer, his other hand gripping your hip. "You want to be taken again?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll fucking ruin you."

522 notes · View notes

luvrxbunny · 1 year ago

Text

fangs

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Summary: You see Miguel’s fangs for the first time.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fangs, very minimal self-doubt, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.9k

A/N: I used google translate for the spanish so if anything is incorrect im sorry

‘Your package was delivered’

Your face brightens at the notification as you hop out of bed and rush to the front door. When you open it you’re met with the broad, muscular back of your boyfriend, Miguel O’Hara.

“Miggy?” You say with a laugh. “What are you doing out here? Oh my god, are you my package?!” You’re hunched over, laughing at your own joke as Miguel stands from his seated position, casting his large shadow over you.

“Hi, amor.” He places a kiss on your forehead and walks in. “How has your day been?” He asks as he strips off his suit top and walks to the bedroom but you don’t answer, still wondering about something.

“Why were you just sitting out there?” You ask while closing the front door and taking your slippers off. Miguel hasn’t said anything, letting a long pause draw out before answering.

“I was calming down.” He comes back out in a t-shirt that’s tighter than it needs to be and some gray sweatpants.

“The fight was pretty intense, a little demanding y’know? So I just wanted to- I wanted to calm down before coming inside… But how was your day?” You don’t let the subject change, still confused with his statement.

There have been plenty of times when Miguel would burst in, still aggressive and amped up from the latest fight, adrenaline still coursing through him. The first time it happened you were a little scared of course, you’d never seen him like that, eyes clouded with violence, his claws out in the air and threatening, with a deep scowl on his face. But that was a long time ago.

You’ve mastered the art of turning him from Spider-Man to Miggy. You learned it quite some time ago, which just furthers your confusion from his response. He’s rummaging through the cabinets, muttering about how he’s starving and you realize he hasn’t met your gaze since you found him which is incredibly unlike him.

“Miguel, is that the truth? I mean- You’ve come in all amped up before so…” You trail off as Miguel freezes in the kitchen before sighing and running a hand through his hair. He closes the cabinet gently and turns to you, eyes cast downward before meeting yours. He takes another breath and walks to you. “It’s the technical truth uh… The whole truth is that my fangs were out and… I just- I don’t want you to see them.” He finishes his sentence and walks past you, to the bathroom and closes the door.

You stand at the entrance to the kitchen in a stupor as you process his words and go chasing after him. You’re pounding on the bathroom door, begging him to let you see them, to let you kiss him with them out, and every other thought that comes to your mind, hoping it lightens the situation. You stop pounding after a few minutes, arms growing tired and getting a little embarrassed at his silence. You make your way over to the couch as you wait for him.

You think about what he said, that he doesn’t want you to see his fangs and you feel a little pang of hurt in your heart that ripples through your body.

He doesn’t want me to see them? Why though… Does he think I won’t like them? Does he think my opinion of him will change or something? I love him though, doesn’t he understand that?? Maybe it’s something super intimate, maybe he just doesn’t feel enough for me, for him to expose himself like that. Maybe he doesn’t trust me enough to be that vulnerable, to give all of him to me…

Your thoughts turn your mood sour as Miguel finally emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and face newly washed. “I don’t want to show them to you.” The words strike your heart again as you nod your head at him, not even looking up at him as you fall into your negative thoughts. He watches you stare into the carpet, obviously deep in thought but you look sad.

“You okay, hermosa?” He wipes his hands in the towel around his neck as he sits beside you on the couch. You don’t hear him, too inside your own head, leaving him ignored. He watches you for a bit before grabbing one of your thighs and turning your body to face him, knocking you out of your trance. You have a deep, heartbreaking expression on your face that you quickly mask with happiness when your eyes meet his. “I asked if you were okay, baby.”

“Oh! Y-yeah! Yeah, I’m fine, sorry.” You giggle at him but it sounds hollow, making him guilty. He already knows why, he knows how your mind works, he knows how you think. He pulls you in, one leg is extended past him and the other is folded on the couch, touching his leg, your face a few inches from his.

“Mi cariño, no tiene nada to do with you, okay? Nothing. I just-” He emphasizes ‘nothing’, willing you to believe him. He’s absently rubbing your calf as he tries to piece together what he wants to say. “They’re weapons. I feel like… I don't think I want you to see that… A part of me that’s a weapon. You look at me like… como si fuera tu todo, like I hung the stars… I love that and I don’t want it to change. Nunca quiero que eso cambie.” His eyes are looking at your calf, how his hand wraps around it instead of you.

(“My love, it has nothing to do with you okay?” “...like I'm your everything…” “I never want that to change.” )

If he had been looking at you he would’ve seen the look of utter disbelief that rested on your face. You put your hand over his and pull yourself closer to him, placing a kiss on his forehead before speaking. “Miguel, I look at you that way because, despite the way you feel about yourself, I believe that you deserve every good thing the world has to offer. I want you to know that you don’t have to show them to me if you really don’t want to but be aware… I will love you for the rest of my life.. and there is nothing that can change that, my feelings for you literally cannot decrease.”

He stays silent, avoiding your gaze still but you let him. You know that expressing himself is hard for him and hearing people speak positively to him is even harder. You giggle softly at his silence and place another kiss on his head. You’re about to get up from the couch when he pulls you back in, pressing his lips to yours with a bruising intensity that has a fire starting up in your stomach. Your lips part for him as he sighs into you, his hand grips your hair and he grunts as you feel something push against your mouth. He’s breathing faster, kissing you more passionately as you try to pull away.

Eventually, you break from his grasp and try to look at him but he’s already turned from you. You want to protest but don’t want to push him. You bring one of your hands to rest at his nape, playing with some of the hairs there, trying to soothe him. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t need to turn away, you can leave until he’s calmed down but he turns to you. His mouth is shut but his eyes are so fragile, like they’re pleading with you to be gentle. He holds your eye contact for a bit before opening his mouth in a smile-grimace expression.

A gasp slips from your mouth and your hands come up to hold his face, pulling it to yours. You inspect his fangs as his warm breath floats over your face. You bring one hand from his face to tail over one of them, earning a flinch from Miguel but you run your other thumb across his cheek, attempting to soothe his worries.

They’re much bigger than you expected, they look like they’d barely fit in his mouth. They’re smooth and glossy like marble, cleaner than you expected too. You wonder silently if he lets them come out, brushes them, and then retracts them as your other hand comes from his cheek to his mouth. They’re thick, they look like they could leave a sizeable puncture wound if he bit you. Your fingers squeeze around both fangs, feeling their width for yourself. Your fingers run along the length of his fangs and then go up to his gums.

You’re completely captivated by his teeth, you haven’t even looked back up at him since he opened his mouth. You absently caress his fangs while inspecting his gums, trying to understand where they go when retracted. You give up on that when your thumb runs over the bottom of his fangs.

He groans out, loud and ragged against your face.

Your eyes flicker up to look at him and his eyes are rolled back into his head, eyebrows furrowed as he moans out a loose rendition of your name. You’re staring at him in awe as he mutters out a mix of unfinished words. You immediately look down into his lap and see a patch of dark gray spreading out.

A moan rips from your throat as you press your hand against his hard, twitching, leaking cock and kiss him. His hips instantly twitch up into your hand, using the friction to prolong his orgasm. He’s moaning into your mouth, his hands are frantic as they push your head into his face, his fangs digging into your lips almost painfully. You slide your tongue into his mouth when he moans again, you explore it, feeling the fangs instantly and running your tongue over them.

The action earns a gut-wrenching whine from Miguel as he starts to tremble. His hips are still bucking up into your palm, overstimulating himself as his cock spurts out mini loads.

You pull away from him slowly, your hand gently massaging his cock as he comes down. He drops his head onto your shoulder as he pants, unsteady syllables of your name falling from his lips.

He lifts his head from your shoulder once his cock stops jumping in your hold. There’s a rare pink hue over his face as he leans in to kiss you. You accept it with a smile, kissing him back before pulling away again.

“So…” You start semi-awkwardly, a light laugh in your tone as he groans out, embarrassed. “Did that feel good? Are they sensitive?” A shuddering breath leaves him as he recalls how your fingers felt gliding over his fangs, how arousal punched into his gut the moment you touched them.

“Yeah… It felt-” His sentence is cut off with a whisper of a whine as he thinks about it, breathing speeding up, chest heaving at the fresh memory. You’re surprised at this, you’ve never seen him so delirious so… fucked out. “Me sentí tan bien, bebé. N-no sabía que me sentía así. I loved it so much, you made me feel so fucking good, amor. Te amo tanto, cariño.”

(“I felt so good, baby. I-I didn't know I felt like that”... “I love you so much, darling.”)

A smile graces your face at the one phrase you understand, ‘Te amo’. You pull him in for another kiss before whispering. “Good.” He groans and pulls you into his lap, whining when your weight presses against his sensitive cock. You smile into his lips and kiss him again, pulling away again to giggle at him.

“ ‘S not funny.” He grumbles out as he leans back, laying down on the couch with you on top of him. You continue giggling into his neck and you can feel his cheeks fatten up with his smile.

You guys stay there for the rest of the night, intermittently waking up to smother the other in kisses before falling back to sleep.

Thank you so much for reading!! Please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all!

5K notes · View notes

strwbrychffoncke · 8 days ago

Text

"—baby take off my clothes cause i got somethin' to show ya,, 1.9k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: your plan to make rafayel stay with you a little longer before his newest art exhibition works a little too well.... contains: nsfw! lnds rafayel x afab!reader ,mc!reader ,reader is wearing a dress ,teasing (giving) ,u get carried ,kissing ,making out ,marking ,biting ,missionary(?) ,needy!raf ,kinda whiny!raf ,overstimulation (brief) ,creampie ,some cute fluff afterglow ,implied cunnilingus ,thomas cameo at the end lmao ,think thats it note: (mostly edited pls standby....) released much later than i intended but i had sm trouble writing but we somehow prevailed..........

"do you really have to go, raf?"

he lets out a long sigh, strokes from the paintbrush light and airy on the canvas in front of him.

"i already told you that you should come with me."

"but i want you to stay here with me," you almost whine, wrapping your arms around his neck from behind and leaning forward, pressing you body against his.

his breath stutters ever so slightly at your clinginess, heart picking up its speed in his chest.

"and besides...."

you rest your head on his shoulder, lips just centimeters away from his ear.

"isn't this a little much for an art exhibition?"

your voice is a hushed whisper, the sheer sound and feeling of it sending sparks through rafayel's entire body.

he's long since lost interest in his current piece, vouching to save it for later as he feels you unravel your arms and step back to give him room to turn around.

and rafayel feels his breath hitch at the sight before him.

its nothing extravagant, but maybe the simplicity of it is what stirs something up inside of him: you're wearing a silk pink slip dress, the color resembling a seashell you once found on the beach and gifted to rafayel, for good luck you'd said with a smile— and he feels like he was feeling that look right this moment, being able to look at you like this).

the neckline is just low enough for some cleavage to peek through, the top part hugging your breasts so nicely, simple crystal-like ornaments embellishing the outline (reminding him of the way light reflects off of the ocean's surface) while the bottom accentuates your waist and falls perfectly around your hips, ending just above your ass— if you so much as bent over slightly, you'd easily flash someone.

"'too much?'" rafayel mumbles your words back to you, hands reaching out to grab a hold of your hips.

"if you ask me, this is too little."

you can't help but let a laugh slip as he pulls you closer, hands pinching and caressing the silk of the fabric hugging your hips, gaze roaming up your body before making eye contact with you.

"no way am i letting anyone else see you in this."

his eyes are narrowed but his expression resembles a pout as he holds you close against him.

ah, there was that possessive side of him.

you laugh again in amusement, short and sweet, hands moving up to cover his momentarily before slowly trailing up his arms then up to hold his face, one of his hands shooting up to wrap around your wrist, turning his head towards it and planting a kiss directly onto the pulse point.

you pull him closer towards you, leaning down just slightly as if you had some special secret reserved for his ears only (despite the studio being occupied by only you both).

"then take it off."

in the next second, you capture his lips with yours, and as rafayel kisses back with equal and slowly growing fervor, the last thing on his mind is the art exhibition he's supposed to be attending in a little under an hour.

rafayel thinks you must've cast some sort of spell on him

since the very first time he met you to this life, you've had him wrapped around your finger without even trying— the sea god, folding to your every will.

sometimes, he thinks you forget the sheer amount of power you hold over him.

you don't know when exactly he's carried you to his bedroom, but you feel the soft mattress beneath you as he continues devouring your lips, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close as his hands roam over your body and slowly begin sliding the silk straps of your cute dress down, eager to free your breasts. he doesn't waste a second in leaning down to kiss and mark one, sucking hard on the nipple while squeezing and prodding the other in his warm hand.

"hah, raf—ah—"

your hands bury themselves in his unkempt hair, tugging at his lavender locks, pleasured sounds filling the room as rafayel switches to the neglected one, swirling his tongue around the bud, taking his time marking your tits in pretty bruises and bites.

after a couple of minutes he releases the mound with a pop, pulling back slightly, hair a mess and panting, taking in the sight of you.

he leans up towards your face once more. "you're terrible, y'know?" he mumbles against your lips before stealing kiss after kiss from them. "invading my mind like this... look what you do to me, princess."

he pins your wrists against the mattress, swallowing your whines when he bucks his hips between your thighs— against your dampening panties.

patience wearing thin, he leans back to his full height, ridding himself of his pants and freeing his hard, leaking length from their confines.

you feel your mouth water at the sight, wanting nothing more than to be filled of him completely.

rafayel smirks at the sight, stroking himself a few times before grabbing you by the ankles and pulling you impossibly closer, groaning at your choice of panties— a thong-shaped one with lace, color matching your dress— sliding them down your legs and tossing them to the floor. he grabs hold of your thighs, spreading you open, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder and holding it there with one hand, other aligning himself with your leaking entrance.

"ready, princess?"

he doesn't wait for your answer.

with a single thrust, he buries himself completely inside of you, immediately moaning at the feeling of your walls hugging him tight at the sudden intrusion and growing more aroused at the moan you let out, back arching off the bed and gripping the sheets tight.

already impatient, his hips quickly form a rhythm, throwing his head back and panting into the air of the room, pleasure heightened by hearing your sweet whines and groans.

"sl-slow, slow down, raf—"

"can't— you can take it, can't you? the way you're— ahh— squeezing me tells me en-ough—"

his voice is strained and god he sounds so needy despite being the one on top, and he is— he can never get enough of you; no matter how much time you spend together, its never enough.

he's been patient, so patient, and every day with you is a blessing and a curse because he always wants more.

and you can feel it in the way he's thrusting into you, beads of sweat forming on his body, hotly panting and whining as you squeeze his cock because he always felt too good to imagine.

you think he's a bad influence. his neediness has rubbed off on you.

but he's more than willing to give every part of himself to you in every way you desire.

"ah—!"

"that feel good, princess? there?"

he pries the leg against the mattress wider, granting him more space between you as he continues hitting the same spot within you that seemed to make you flutter around him.

at this point, he knew your body and mind exceptionally well, making his mark on you in every way that he could.

"you feel too good, too good— hah, ahh— should buy you more of those pretty dresses, yeah?"

you huff out a laugh that's quickly cut off by a moan, throwing your head back deeper into the mattress, hands flying up to grip his strong arms hard as you feel yourself coming undone.

"close— so close, rafa-yel, please—"

"gonna— hah— cum inside, ah—"

your arms reach up around his neck again, pulling him closer to kiss him.

your tongues dance to their own tune as his hips slam into yours, and with some final particularly hard thrusts you gush around his cock, breaking the kiss as you cry out in pleasure.

rafayel lets your thigh down in favor of leaning his body against yours, keeping you in place as his lips trail down your jawline towards your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin as he chases his own orgasm.

"too— much, too much, raf—"

you're whining into his ear, sensitive from your orgasm, overstimulation intense, legs wrapping around his waist and tugging him impossibly closer against you to try to ground yourself in any way.

"so good, so good, princess, i'm gonna cum—"

with a couple more thrusts and a harsh bite to your shoulder, he spills himself inside of you, cry escaping your lips at the sensation of his teeth as his warmth fills you.

he rides out his high with a few more languid thrusts, planting soft kisses against his marks on your neck and shoulder before his movements completely cease.

neither of you speaks for a long moment, only holding each other close as you both catch your breath.

you rake your hands through his messy hair (courtesy of you), giggling as he pushes into your touch, eyes flitting up to you.

"so needy," you jest with a little smile.

rafayel lets out a scoff, lifting his head to look at you properly.

"says the cutie that was vying for my attention," a teasing smile tugs at his lips. "it seems i'm rubbing off on you," he proclaims, all too smugly.

"you're a bad influence," you huff, pinching his cheek.

"your bad influence," he winks and you roll your eyes, reaching to peck the same cheek you pinched.

you both stare at each other for another long moment before the artist moves to get off of you, standing at his full height, holding your thighs as he slowly pulls out, rubbing them in an act of comfort when you let out a small whimper at the loss.

"hey," you breathe out, lifting yourself up onto your elbows. "aren't you going to be late?" you tilt your head, remembering the reasoning behind this passionate night in the first place.

he lowers himself to the ground, face level with your heat, watching the globs of cum drip and stain the sheets below. he can feel himself get hard again at the sight as his hands give your thighs a gentle squeeze, planting a kiss on the inside of one before his dark gaze meets yours.

"who says i'm still going?"

epilogue:

thomas called the familiar number for what felt like the upteenth time that evening, trying not to lose his mind outside of the venue where more and more guests began showing up.

"where the hell is he???"

by the time and hour had passed since the designated time of arrival, thomas had already baked up some half-assed excuse as to why rafayel wouldn't be showing his face at yet another exhibition.

thomas lets out a frustrated sigh once he gets the chance to take another breather.

"at least i have the paintings," he mumbles to himself, swirling the glass of champagne in his glass as he fishes out his phone from his pocket to check for any update.

1 new message.

he unlocks his phone to check it out, and in the next second, he's gripping it so hard he thinks he might crack the screen.

"oops left my phone off thx for covering for me"

the animated sticker that accompanies the message does nothing to quell his frustrations as he shoves his phone back into his pocket without bothering to answer and downing the champagne in one go.

he makes his way back inside, deciding he'll need a lot more than just one glass tonight.

a/n: why is rafayel so hard to write for i have to scroll through art to get inspo but i love him very much :x

252 notes · View notes

rue-isabelle · 2 months ago

Text

Author's note: This is a dark story!

Age is just a number (Part 3)

The sun was setting outside Carlos’s window, casting the room in warm orange hues. He sat on the edge of his couch, phone propped up in his hand, waiting for the familiar buzz of an incoming FaceTime call. It had become a ritual—Yn’s voice and face were the highlights of his evenings. Tonight was no exception. His heart skipped a beat as her name flashed on his screen.

He swiped to answer, and there she was, her long hair cascading over her shoulders, face glowing with excitement.

“Hi!” she greeted, her voice light and bubbly. “You ready for another round of my super interesting daily updates?”

Carlos chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Always. Tell me everything.”

Yn tilted her tablet toward the camera, revealing a sleek pair of black ankle boots with silver embellishments. “So, first of all, I bought these amazing shoes. Aren’t they cute?”

“They’re beautiful,” Carlos said, though his eyes didn’t stray from her face. He couldn’t help but be captivated by her excitement.

“And,” Yn continued, moving the camera up to reveal a small haul of makeup items, “I finally got that lip gloss I told you about. The one that was sold out last time? Look, it’s so shiny.”

She swiped some on her lips, puckering at the camera with a playful smile. Carlos’s heart raced.

“Perfect,” he murmured, voice softer than he intended. “It suits you.”

Yn giggled, her cheeks flushing. “Okay, okay, enough of my shopping adventures. I also got some work done. Look!”

She switched her camera to show her tablet screen, where perfectly organized school notes were displayed in elegant handwriting, adorned with soft pastel highlights and little doodles in the margins.

“See? Aesthetic, right?” Yn asked proudly.

Carlos leaned closer to his phone, feigning serious study. “Wow. I didn’t know notes could look like art. You really do everything perfectly, don’t you?”

“Stop,” Yn said, brushing off the compliment, though her smile widened. “But yeah, I figured if I have to study, it might as well look nice.”

“I wish I had been that organized in school,” Carlos admitted with a laugh. “My notes were just scribbles. I think even I couldn’t read them half the time.”

Yn laughed, her whole face lighting up. Carlos stared for a second too long, completely mesmerized. She shifted the camera, now angled toward her outfit—a cute sweater and pleated skirt.

“I threw this on earlier, but wait until you see my pajamas!” She darted off-screen, returning moments later with a fluffy pastel pajama set covered in little cartoon clouds. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Carlos couldn’t hide his grin. “Muy adorable. But you could wear anything and still look beautiful.”

Yn rolled her eyes playfully, though her blush deepened. “You’re too sweet. But enough about me—what about you? What have you been up to today?”

Carlos leaned back, shifting the phone in his hands. “Not much,” he said vaguely. “You know, just the usual. Some workouts in the morning, then I spent the afternoon planning a little holiday.”

“A holiday? That sounds fun! Where are you going?” Yn asked, her eyes lighting up with interest.

“I was thinking about somewhere warm. Maybe a beach,” Carlos replied, keeping the specifics vague. “I like to stay active even on holidays—some hiking, swimming, things like that. And then there’s the food. I’m all about finding the best local spots to eat.”

“That sounds amazing,” Yn said wistfully. “I wish I could go on a holiday like that. But it’s not like my parents would ever take me. They’re always so busy.”

Carlos’s brow furrowed. “They travel a lot for work, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Yn sighed. “They’re never home. It’s just me most of the time. Which is fine, I guess—I’m used to it. But still, it would be nice to have someone around, you know?”

Carlos’s chest tightened at the hint of loneliness in her voice. He had been thinking about it for days, but now felt like the right time to bring it up.

“Yn,” he said carefully, his tone soft but serious. “What if I came to visit you?”

Yn’s eyes widened. “You mean… here? Like, in person?”

“Sí,” Carlos said, his lips curving into a small smile. “I want to see you. For real this time. We’ve been talking so much, but I feel like I need to meet you in person. Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Yn’s smile grew impossibly wide. “Are you kidding? I’d love that! My parents are never around, so we’d have the house to ourselves. I can finally show you my favorite spots in town.”

Carlos felt a wave of relief wash over him at her enthusiastic response. “Perfect. I’ll arrange everything. Just say the word, and I’ll be there.”

“Word,” Yn said with a grin, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Carlos laughed. “Alright. Let me figure out the details, and I’ll let you know when I can come. It won’t be long, I promise.”

“You’d really do this?” Yn asked, her voice tinged with wonder.

“For you? Of course,” Carlos said softly. “I’ve been wanting this for a while, Yn. I can’t wait to see you.”

Yn’s cheeks flushed again, her smile never fading. “Me neither.”

As they continued talking, planning out the logistics of their meeting, Carlos couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. He knew this wasn’t a typical situation, but something about Yn felt special—different. And he was willing to do whatever it took to make their connection even stronger.

-------

The next day, Carlos arrived at Yn’s house just as the morning sun cast a golden glow over the quiet neighborhood. Yn stood at her front door, dressed in a simple sundress that flowed with the breeze, her long hair catching the light. Her heart raced as she watched him step out of his car, wearing a casual button-up shirt and jeans that somehow made him look effortlessly perfect.

When their eyes met, Carlos smiled warmly, striding up to her with an ease that made her knees feel weak. Before she could say a word, he wrapped her in a gentle hug, his arms strong yet comforting, his cologne surrounding her in the most intoxicating way.

“Hola, hermosa,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Hi,” Yn whispered, her cheeks flushed. “You’re really here.”

Carlos chuckled. “Of course I am. I told you I’d come.”

She beamed, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. “Come on, I have so much to show you!”

Her excitement was infectious, and Carlos followed her through the house as she gave him a tour. She showed him the cozy living room where she watched movies, the kitchen where she often experimented with baking, and finally, her bedroom.

“This is it!” Yn announced, throwing the door open dramatically.

Carlos stepped inside, taking in the soft pastel tones, the neatly made bed, and the little trinkets and photos scattered around. It was so perfectly her—sweet, bright, and full of personality.

“It’s beautiful,” Carlos said, smiling as he glanced at the fairy lights strung along the walls. “Just like you.”

Yn blushed, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “Stop flattering me. It’s not that special.”

“It is,” Carlos insisted, his gaze soft as he looked around. “You can tell a lot about someone by their room. Yours is cozy, warm… it feels like home.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She pointed to her bookshelf. “Okay, but this is my favorite part—my little library.”

Carlos walked over, brushing his fingers along the spines of her books. “You read a lot.”

“I love it,” she said with a shy smile. “It’s my escape.”

He turned to her, his expression tender. “I can see that. It suits you.”

After the tour, they headed to the kitchen, where Carlos suggested they cook together. “I’ll teach you how to make perfect spaghetti Bolognese,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves.

Yn lit up. “I’d love that! But fair warning—I’m not the best cook.”

“Don’t worry, mi reina,” Carlos teased, “I’ll guide you.”

As they started, Carlos positioned himself behind her, his larger frame enveloping her smaller one. His hands gently covered hers as he showed her how to chop the onions and garlic.

“Like this,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

Yn’s cheeks burned as she concentrated, his proximity making her heart race. “Am I doing it right?”

“Perfect,” Carlos said softly, his voice filled with pride.

When it was time to stir the sauce, he guided her hands again, standing so close that she could feel his chest against her back. Once she got the motion right, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“You’re a natural,” he praised, his lips brushing her temple in a soft kiss.

Yn felt herself melt into his embrace, her body relaxing against his. “It’s because you’re a good teacher,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the bubbling sauce.

Carlos couldn’t help but smile. He was obsessed with their height difference—the way she fit so perfectly in his arms, her head just below his chin. It made him want to hold her forever.

As if reading his mind, Yn turned her head slightly to look up at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. Her breath hitched as their eyes met, the air between them thick with unspoken emotions.

“Carlos…” she murmured, her gaze flickering to his lips.

“Yn…” he whispered back, his voice low and filled with longing.

Slowly, they began to lean in, their lips just a breath away from touching. But before they could kiss, a loud hiss broke the moment—the water from the pasta pan was boiling over, spilling onto the stove.

“Oh no!” Yn exclaimed, breaking away from Carlos to grab the pot.

Carlos groaned in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “The timing!”

Yn giggled as she turned off the burner, her cheeks still flushed from their almost-kiss. “Maybe it’s a sign we should focus on cooking before we burn the kitchen down.”

Carlos laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe. But next time, no distractions.”

Yn felt her heart flutter at the promise in his words, and as they finished cooking together, she couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something even more magical.

--------

After finishing their dinner, Carlos and Yn moved to the living room. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as Yn scrolled through the movie options on the streaming platform. She was curled up on the couch, her knees tucked under her as she scanned titles, while Carlos lounged beside her, his long legs stretched out and his arm resting casually along the back of the couch.

“How about this one?” Yn asked, glancing over her shoulder to show him the screen.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “A romantic comedy? Again?”

Yn pouted, her lips forming a small, exaggerated frown. “It’s my favorite genre! Please?”

Carlos sighed dramatically, pretending to be reluctant. “Fine, fine. I can suffer through one more,” he teased, though his smile betrayed him.

Yn grinned triumphantly and pressed play. As the movie began, she settled beside him, leaning just slightly into his side. Over the next hour, their positions gradually shifted. First, Carlos’s arm slid lower, resting on her shoulder. Then Yn tucked herself closer, resting her head against his chest. By the time the credits started rolling, she was lying completely on top of him, her small frame fitting perfectly against his.

Carlos’s arms wrapped securely around her, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head. He could feel her breathing, slow and steady, and the warmth of her body against his sent a wave of contentment through him.

“Comfortable?” he asked softly, his voice teasing but warm.

Yn tilted her head up to look at him, her cheek pressed against his chest. “Very.”

Carlos smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re going to fall asleep on me like this.”

“Maybe that’s the plan,” Yn replied with a sleepy giggle.

He chuckled, holding her a little tighter. “You’re impossible.”

As the room fell quiet, Yn let out a small sigh. “We should probably go to sleep.”

Carlos hesitated, not wanting to let go of her just yet. “You mean I should go sleep on the couch?”

Yn sat up slightly, looking at him with an expression that was equal parts amused and bashful. “No, I meant we should go to my room.”

Carlos blinked, taken aback. “Your room?”

Yn nodded, standing and grabbing his hand. “Come on.”

Still surprised, Carlos let her lead him down the hallway to her bedroom. The pastel hues and soft fairy lights he’d admired earlier felt even cozier now. Yn turned to him, her cheeks slightly pink.

“You can sleep here with me,” she said shyly, motioning to the bed.

Carlos tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She laughed softly, brushing past him to climb onto the bed. “Just don’t hog the blankets, okay?”

Carlos kicked off his shoes and joined her, lying down on his side. Yn turned off the lights, plunging the room into a gentle dimness illuminated only by the soft glow of her fairy lights. The bed dipped slightly as Yn slid closer, curling into his side.

Without thinking, Carlos pulled her into his arms, his larger frame easily enveloping her. Yn relaxed against him, her head nestled under his chin as he became the big spoon.

“This okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Yn hummed in response, her fingers lightly gripping his arm around her waist. “Perfect,” she whispered.

Carlos smiled, his heart swelling. His hand moved to her waist, stroking gently, his fingers brushing against the soft fabric of her pajamas. Every little movement she made, from her breathing to the way she shifted slightly to get more comfortable, made his chest tighten with affection.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her neck.

Yn shivered slightly under his touch but didn’t pull away. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her voice tinged with sleepiness.

Carlos chuckled, his lips brushing her ear. “You know, mi pequeña,” he began, his voice dropping to a whisper, “I could stay like this forever. Just holding you.”

Yn smiled, her fingers gently brushing his arm. “I like being in your arms. It feels… safe.”

Hearing her say that made Carlos’s heart ache in the best way. He kissed her neck again, his lips lingering this time as he whispered sweet nothings in Spanish.

“Eres mi todo,” he murmured. “Mi hermosa estrella.” (You’re my everything. My beautiful star.)

Yn let out a soft sigh, her breathing evening out as she drifted off to sleep. Carlos stayed awake, his hand still lightly stroking her waist. He couldn’t help but admire her—the way her face looked so peaceful, the soft rise and fall of her chest, the way she trusted him so completely.

As his thoughts wandered, doubts began to creep in. What would the guys think if they saw him now? If they knew about Yn?

Lando’s voice popped into his head, sharp and serious. “Mate, are you insane? She’s 18! This isn’t like you. You are acting like a fucking pervert.”

And Charles, always the moral compass, would be even more dramatic. “Carlos, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind? This is—this is crazy! She is younger than your sister. Fuck she is younger than the youngest drivers on the grid. Have you lost your mind?!”

Carlos groaned quietly to himself, shaking his head. He knew they’d judge him. They’d be shocked, maybe even disgusted. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain it to them—or if he even could.

But then Yn shifted in her sleep, her small hand clutching his shirt, her body pressing closer to his as if seeking his warmth.

In that moment, all his doubts vanished. It didn’t matter what anyone else thought. Yn was here, in his arms, trusting him completely. That was all that mattered.

“Te quiero mucho,” he whispered into her hair, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “I’ll protect you. Always.”

And with that, Carlos closed his eyes, letting himself drift off, his heart full of peace.

#f1 x reader #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz #dark!fic #dark!carlos sainz

304 notes · View notes