Ellie Tlou2 - Blog Posts
I'm full of emotions and gay cowboy feelings about all of The last of us material and need someone to make an edit of any and all everything to the song "Carry me back to the lone prairie" by Eddy Arnold please and thank you
Me:
ɪɴᴛʀᴏ?..🥀
୨୧ ɪ’ᴍ ʀᴀɪɴᴇ/ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ! ☕️
୨୧ ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇssᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴅʀᴇssᴇᴅ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴏʀᴇ <𝟹
୨୧ ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ sɪʟᴋʏ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ʀɪʙʙᴏɴs
୨୧ sʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ ⛈️
୨୧ ʜᴏʙʙɪᴇs: ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ʙᴀᴋɪɴɢ, ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ, sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ, ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ʀᴏʙʟᴏx 🫀
୨୧ ғᴀᴠ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛs: ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴏʏ ʙᴏʏs, ᴍᴄᴄᴀғғᴇʀᴛʏ, ʟᴀᴜғᴇʏ, ᴍɪᴛsᴋɪ, ᴡᴇᴇᴢᴇʀ, ᴍsɪ, ᴀʏᴇsʜᴀ ᴇʀᴏᴛɪᴄᴀ, ᴛɴʙʜᴅ, (ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ!) 🎸🎧
୨୧ ᴀsᴋ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ! ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ sʜʏ xx
୨୧ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅs: ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪᴠᴇʀ (ǫᴜᴀʀᴛᴇᴛ) + ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ (ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴᴛʜ ᴛɪᴍᴇ) 📚
୨୧ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴍᴇ ʀᴀᴠᴇ ɪғ ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟs! <𝟹
୨୧ ғᴀᴠ ʙᴏᴏᴋs: ᴛᴡɪʟɪɢʜᴛ sᴀɢᴀ, ɪ ᴀᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛ ᴍᴇxɪᴄᴀɴ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴜ ɢɪᴠᴇ + sᴜɢᴀʀ 📓
୨୧ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛs: ⭐️ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜᴡᴀsʜɪɴɢ ᴛʟᴏᴜ/ᴛʟᴏᴜ𝟸 ᴘʟᴜsʜɪᴇs ɴᴇᴡ ʙᴏᴏᴋ ʀᴇᴄs ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ
ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʏʟᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɪᴍᴍᴇᴅɪᴀᴛᴇʟʏ ᴍʏ ʙsғ 💋
ʜᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀs. ᴏʜ ɢᴏᴅ ғᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ʜᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀs ɪᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪᴛ 💕 ᴄᴏsᴍᴏᴋɴɪɢʜᴛs (ʙᴏɴᴜs ɪғ ʏᴋ ᴛʜɪs ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄ) ⭐️
୨୧ sᴀᴅ ʙᴏᴏᴋs ᴀʀᴇ ᴀɴ ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ
୨୧ ɪ’ʟʟ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ɪs ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ (ʜᴏᴘᴇғᴜʟʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴛᴏᴏ! <𝟹)
୨୧ ɪ’ᴅ ʙᴇ ɢʟᴀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴍᴜᴛᴜᴀʟs! ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ 💕
୨୧ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀʟsᴏ ᴀ ᴠᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ sᴘᴏᴛ <𝟹
୨୧ ʏᴏᴜ’ʟʟ ʜᴇᴀʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʟᴏᴜ𝟸/ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ/ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜᴡᴀsʜɪɴɢ + ᴄᴏsᴍᴏᴋɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀs ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴘᴀɢᴇ
୨୧ ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴏsᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴇᴍs (ᴡʜᴏ ᴋɴᴏᴡs?)
ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴍᴀxxxɪɴᴇ
I want both of them please 🙏
can we talk about the way she looks at dina’s lips and then pushing her down as she kisses her ?? dina is lucky in this oh my
“Nightmare“ part 1
"There's a noose 'round my neck and the further I get It's harder and harder to breathe, can I find a way to cut the rope?"
Sam: What are you scared for?
Ellie: Let's see... Scorpions are pretty creepy. Um... Being by myself. I'm scared of ending up alone.
i’m gonna be thinking about this for a while oh my god
i could eat that girl for lunch… (ellie williams)
ways you can help gaza🇵🇸
summary: you post cute pictures on your story in the hopes of gaining a certain girl’s attention… luckily you get more than what you anticipated ;)
cw: mdni, fem!reader, texting, cunnilingus, desperate top!ellie, teasing sub!reader, cannibalistic metaphors, cursing, ellie is goofy lmao
you’re this close to screaming. the winged eyeliner on your left eye somehow keeps fucking up; either looking too splotchy or shorter than your right one. what’s pissing you off the most is the fact that you aren’t even going anywhere… getting all dolled up just to take it all off in 15 minutes, just to post cute little photos on your story and, of course, just to get her attention.
ellie williams. the name rolled off your tongue with such velvety sleek. every single one of your friends knows her name; has had to endure through your countless obsessive gushes.
you two had met during a party. having been in a drunken haze, you barely remember the first conversation that sparked such an interest, but you do remember her gin breath against your ear: asking/shouting, amidst the blaring music, if you had wanted to go somewhere a little more quieter. the night ended up in you being fingered in her car, before being driven back home by her. a freckle-faced angel in a leather jacket coated with small pins and badges. you were immediately hooked. but it’s been a week since then, and you two haven’t spoken. having achieved her number, you thought of messaging, but didn’t want to come across as desperate, even though you so are.
you thank instagram suggested for bringing you her account on a platter; being filled with niche, introverted posts of every cool-looking thing but her face. she doesn’t even have a “me” highlights! you can’t tell if her lack in posting her face is a blessing or a curse. so here you are, getting ready to post on your story since you followed her the day before. the skin around your eye is starting to sting by the amount of times you’ve been wiping and restarting your eyeliner. it needs to be perfect. you’ve orchestrated all this to be perfect. you take a deep breath and focus, striving to get the perfect wing.
“thank fuck.” you murmur under your breath once you finally get it right, before enveloping your lips in lipstick. you admire yourself in the mirror once done. you look fucking amazing.
since you spent way too long putting on your makeup, it wouldn’t be fair to yourself to only post one picture, so you post a couple. a mirror picture following up a layout of 4 images with the perfect song in the background. a little smile tugs at your lips as you replay the story two, three, four times before setting it on do not disturb and finding something else to do. your heart pounds at the thought of ellie seeing it, praying that she’ll interact. even a simple like will do.
after removing your makeup and getting into your pyjamas, you click on a movie to pass time, setting your phone on do not disturb. half an hour passes, and you’ve been neurotically checking your phone for a sign of ellie to appear on your notifications, but nothing. you check your story to see if she’s seen it but again, nothing. another hour passes, and you check for any sign of ellie. nada. look at my story, you freak! are the words etched in your head, words you wished you could telepathically scream at her. you remember you set your phone on do not disturb for a reason, so you place it far away and focus on finishing the film.
a while later, you’re slumped on your couch on the verge of falling asleep. the movie’s ended and it was so boring that you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open. you decide to check your do not disturb notifications one last time before taking a nap, until your eyes fall on the name ‘ellie.’ you immediately jerk up, awake and alert: your thumb automatically pressing the notification centre so you can see what it reads.
seventeen minutes ago.
ellie liked your story
ellie liked your story
ellie replied to your story: doll face
ellie replied to your story: you need a seat? lemme volunteer 🙏🙏
a shit-eating grin lights up your face. fucking finally! not once but twice! you excitedly draw your knees up to your chest, eager fingers tapping away, ready to respond - regardless of how long you’d been waiting for her texts. play it cool….
y/n: hahaha thank u thank u <3
y/n: (replied) oh word?
you’re surprised and very happy when you see the ‘typing…’ your heart doing goddamn backflips.
ellie: wooooord
ellie: literally cannot stop replaying ur story… bring that over here 🙁
ellie: come over
!!! your heart sinks all the way down to your ass. the hell does she mean come over?
y/n: ur not serious lmaoaoaooa
ellie: i’m being deadass,,, come over.
you look at the time. it’s almost 1 in the morning.
y/n: idek where u live bru😭😭😭😭
y/n: if anything you should come over since you’ve driven me to my house b4
ellie: mmm nahhhh
you blink in disbelief when ellie sends her location over. she’s not kidding.
y/n: girl i look bummy… i don’t even have any makeup on anymore :< took it off
ellie: i really don’t care
ellie: plsplspsls come over
ellie: u won’t regret it……………. trust 🤓🤓
next thing you know you’re leaving your house in your plaid shorts and a silly graphic tee. thankfully, ellie only lives 10 minutes away, so you take a bus before walking up to her apartment.
y/n: i’m cominggg
ellie: LOL yeaa you will be coming real soon 😇😇😇
though you cringe at her text, your body betrays you; your stomach forming a deep pit. she’s so sultry and playful you don’t know even know what to think. and there goes your heart again, hastily beating away like there’s no tomorrow. you reach the door, a trembling hand raising up to knock.
“hi.” ellie beams, smiling like an idiot. her eyes seize you from head to toe, “nice fit.”
“told you i looked bummy...” you mumbled, trying your best not to seem nervous. ellie moves aside so you can come in. her apartment smells exactly like she does; that faint campfire scent, conjoined with a forest-ey musk. a forest fire you were more than willing to burn in.
“so…“ you begin, with nothing prepared to follow up after that.
“sooooooo….” ellie repeats blithely.
“it’s been a week since… you know…” you whisper, awkwardly shifting your legs.
“since…?” ellie blinks, furrowing her eyebrows. she’s taunting you, trying to play innocent when it’s pretty fucking obvious what you’re on about.
“the party.” you respond, entertaining her coyness for no reason.
“party?” ellie pretends to think, looking up at nothing. “oh!! yeah… jesse’s one.” she smirks.
you smirk back, furrowing your eyebrows in amusement. “you could do so much better at playing dumb, y’know…”
“you think so?” ellie narrows her eyes, tilting her head as she steps closer. the impish smirk on her face never leaves. she’s having fun. you both are.
“yup. for your own good, don’t choose acting as a career.”
“for my own good?”
“for your own good.” you haven’t even realised how close you two are to each other now, daring eyes locked with another pair of daring eyes. takes one to know one. a silence permeated with tension fills the room.
“c’mere…” ellie finally mumbles before cupping your face with both hands and bringing you in for a kiss. you’re quick to melt in her grasp, your hand finding it’s way to ellie’s hair, giving it a playful tight squeeze that elicits a quiet groan from her. her hands, those goddamn hands, then move to your waist, pulling you closer. you two don’t even waste time before you’re making out with such fervor. save the sweetness for later, it’s the hunger that’s on display for now. the memory of her lips were starting to slip away from your mind and you’re glad you’re here to reboot it.
once you pull away, ellie’s eyes drift to something behind you. you follow her gaze, only for your eyes to land on a chair in the middle of the goddamn living room. it’s so random that you can’t help but burst out laughing.
“why is there a chair?” you ask in the midst of your laughing fit. it’s not even that funny, but the laughing is helping with your nerves.
“it’s for you.” ellie giggles too, a light pink tint on her cheeks that’s hard to miss.
“me?” you blink rapidly, your gaze darting from the chair to ellie, “do i sit?” you ask stupidly.
“no, you stand.” sarcasm laces her tone, as she giggles a little more, “go sit.”
“don’t order me around like i’m your dog.” you respond playfully, but you do as she says. despite your ‘tough’ front, you’d do anything she’d tell you to. guess she was being literal about offering you a seat…
ellie grins down at you, angling your chin up so you’re looking at her. you can feel the heat start to prickle in your face, down your neck and pervading the rest of your body. her thumb traces along your bottom lip, slightly dragging it down. there’s that same darkened look she had back in her car, one that makes you feel so small.
“so cute… like a human deer.” she murmurs distractedly, almost like she’s talking to herself instead of you. your head grows fuzzy, blushing even more. you mindlessly squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease the growing heat in between. ellie notices.
“you doing okay?” she softly asks, unable to mask the smug look on her face. you nod quietly. with her eyes kept on you, she lowers down until she’s on her knees, her smile growing. she kisses the top of both your kneecaps in such a tender way it sends tingles down your spine.
“can i eat you?” she breathes, her voice hollow and needy. it takes a second for those words to register in your brain.
“you…” you trail off. ellie’s gaze is very, very distracting. so intense and intrusive. she patiently waits for your answer, resting her chin on top of your knees. how can someone look so adorable and intimidating at the same time?
“please?” she adds, and you smile. a realisation has just dawned on you: you like to make her wait.
“eat me?” you cock your head to the side in feigned confusion. now it’s your turn to play dumb.
“yeah… like, your pussy.” ellie mumbles, becoming so desperate that it’s funny. she needed to be humbled at least a little. “i want a taste…”
“yeah?” you mock, and ellie’s face warps into a frown. “stop teasing me.”
“it’s only payback.” you shrug.
“for what?” ellie whines.
“for taking a week to text me.”
ellie stares at you for a moment. “then let me make it up to you…” her eyes travel down to your clamped thighs, wanting to open them up so bad. truth is, you’d let her devour you. chew you up like a deranged creature and watch her greedily lick the blood from her fingers. but teasing her was just so damn fun.
“aren’t your knees getting tired?” you tease, cupping the side of her face as she stares up at you with puppy eyes. it’s getting hard to resist. ellie immediately shakes her head.
“for you? never.” she whispers. your grin broadens in satisfaction. such sweet words. meaningless? maybe, but cute nonetheless.
“fine…” you sigh, leaning back and gesturing for ellie to go forth. ellie’s face lights up like a bulb, eagerly parting your legs. the movement makes you shiver, as you can feel the heated moisture of your arousal seep through your underwear. despite your shorts still being on, ellie’s lips travel up, both hands gripping your sides as her lips leave fond, wet kisses along your inner thigh. her teeth clench around the hem of your shorts, letting out a muffled chuckle as she playfully pulls your shorts down with her teeth. she’s kidding around but that’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life.
you adjust your knees so that your shorts can be pulled down. you’re so wet your underwear is fucking see-through. you just know she’s about to say something.
“someone’s real excited-“
“shut up and keep going.” you hastily cut her off out of embarrassment. ellie laughs, glancing at you one more time before leaning back down again, dragging her ardent tongue up your inner thigh. you gasp quietly, and that little noise influences her to do more, letting out a sigh of her own; the sort of sigh you do when relaxing in a hot bath, or when pissing after holding it in for so long… like she’s needed this. you’re startled when ellie drags her tongue right in the center of your clothed heat, your breath hitching. you want more.
ellie’s teasing is relentless and mean. she sucks your clit through your underwear, eyes on you; observing the way your hips are desperately buckling up, the way your thighs are twitching.
“so mean…” you whine as ellie flicks and rolls her tongue against your underwear.
“did you want something?” ellie blinks. again with the coyness. you scowl and ellie grins in return.
“you can’t outdo the do-er, babe.” she chirps, pulling the drenched underwear off your legs. she opens your legs wide, staring at your pussy like it’s the best piece of artwork she’s ever seen. you can practically see sparkles in her eyes. you shiver when you feel her fingers pry your cunt open.
“so fucking hungry for you…” she whispers, her breathing shallow and her eyes glazed-over. she gets to work immediately, a firm trail up your vulva before kissing it with her lips. a fleshed moan doesn’t fail to escape your own lips, as your eyes flutter shut. of course she’d be good at this.
ellie moans too, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer, burying her face in between your legs as she goes to town on you. she’s moving like she’s starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks and has been presented with a banquet.
her lips tug at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit. every single time her lips hit your clit it elicits yet another strong reaction from you. she’s so vigilant that she’s quick to notice that that’s your most delicate spot, so she abuses it; kissing it and pulling on it, her head shaking as she pleases you with her tongue. you nourish her with hushed praises: ones like “yes, yes…” or “you’re doing so good” to keep her going. it fuels ellie like no other, and drives her to go harder, a little faster.
her movements are so consistent and perfect that you could froth in the mouth right here and now. you grip her hair tightly, and ellie adores it: groaning happily when you squeeze too tight. you mindlessly push ellie’s head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose buried in. your moans begin to crescendo. you’re in fucking ecstasy.
“getting close, are we?” ellie pants, her thumb rubbing your clit in slow, teasing drags as she resumes sucking on your cunt.
“i’m gonna cum… i’m cumming… e-ellie…” you babble, tears threatening to pour; and it isn’t just the eye tears we’re talking about here…
“yeah? you gonna let yourself go?” ellie stares up at you, her voice a little higher and breathier. her face is warped into one of pleasure, like she’s the one being fucked.
“yeah… please ellie, i’m really close…” you whine: barely coherent, light tears streaming down your face. ellie chuckles at how adorable you look, taking a second to appreciate how good you look when needy. she dives back in, her nails digging into your thigh as her mouth moves with the perfect vigour to push you off the edge. and oh, you do.
one last strong lick gets you off: your spine bending backwards, same as your head as you let out a strangled scream. you grip her hair tightly, your eyes momentarily rolling to the back of your head as ellie purposely continues to extend the high a little bit. eventually, she pulls back. the both are you are completely out of breath - huffing and panting like dogs.
you slump back in your chair, completely out of it and in a daze. ellie smiles.
“you okay?” she murmurs, appreciating your cute, spent look. you nod quietly in response.
“fuck, my knees.” she mumbles, before sitting back and stretching them. you laugh a little.
“there was no need for the chair.” you reply.
“i know… but i wanted to. it was hot.”
“it was.” you smile. you’re glad you decided to get dolled up for your story tonight.
a/n: i’m back! i’ve been so caught up in school that i haven’t been able to post fics as much but i’ll try 2 be more active :33 i’m absolutely obsessed with billie’s lunch so i made an ellie fic based off of it. hope u enjoyed and if u have any requests leave them in the ask inbox !!!
Fucking during a “no talking” fight with Abby
It was no secret that you loved Abby. You had been friends since you were children and she had always been the most loyal, caring, funny woman you could ever ask for. It was the other parts of her personality that sometimes got you mad enough to get into situations like this in the first place. Her impulsiveness, her lack of…agility, perhaps, and then still refusing to take the necessary precautions on patrol.
She frustrated you. At the very least. There were some nights were she’d caress you and care for you, after the essential multiple rounds of “stress relief” of course, and tell you, “don’t worry, I won’t be on patrol tomorrow, I can spend more time with you” only to switch places with people to get more assignments and it fucking killed you. She loved it, the life we have now where it’s normal to kill fucking monsters, even fully non-mushroom kind. You felt comfortable with it too, you supposed, and you loved all your friends and the freedom of the WLF base, but sometimes you felt like an intruder in your own relationship, like all the times where you would hang out and relax was taking away from gym time and fucking up scars.
You knew it was wrong to feel like that, she loves you, anyone with eyes can see that, but when she went out on a high risk assignment after already being gone a week beforehand and not even asking you first, that was your final straw, and instead of lashing out at her, you gave her the mercy of skipping straight to the post fight silence. A strict “no talking rule.”
Unfortunately for the both of you, the silence lingered on a little too long for comfort, and while you knew deep down you could wait, life, especially with the kind of lifestyle you lived, was too short not to spend with your own girlfriend, and your body certainly agreed.
Abby returned from the assignment and immediately sprawled herself across a lounge chair. She knocked off her shoes and grabbed a book she had read 5 times already. One of her favourite uses of down time, other than being with you. You spotted her there, rolling her stiff shoulders. Her muscles where slightly more defined from the tank top and the very light trickles of remaining sweat on Abbys body, though by some miracle she still smelled amazing, and that made the situation all the more difficult.
“That book again.” You speak with caution, the first word you had said to her in 3 days. She opens her mouth to speak but you shake your head.
“Don’t talk.” She nods, watching you with those deep blue puppy dog eyes.
Disregarding everything, you walk over to her, positioning a leg on either side of one of her thighs. Her already dilated eyes widen and she wants to talk but you stop her again.
“I said no talking.” You remind her, hips grinding ever so slowly forward on her thigh.
“Mmm…fuck.” You gasp, a small smile on your lips. She puts her hands on your hips and you’re not surprised by just how quickly Abby got on board. You quicken your movements, moaning more at the feeling of your bare legs on Abbys jeans, the feeling of your cunt, separated only by the fabric of your panties. Abby enjoyed the dress you had put on. There had been a few times you had worn this short black dress for “comfort” around the base, but you and her both knew it was for Abby’s benefit.
You continued moving, rocking your head back from the pleasure. She starts rocking her leg and god the sounds you made left Abby soaked. You revel in the sensation a little longer before you’re seeing stars and can’t avoid it anymore, grabing Abbys face and moaning into her mouth deeply between kisses, tasting her tongue, feeling her large hands on your cheek. When you finally cum you’re gasping for air, as if someone has stolen all the oxygen you previously owned before this moment. You pull away, getting off of her promptly.
“Well, um…thank you.” You blurt out. Abby’s smile is wider than the fucking universe. You laugh softly.
“You…can talk…but I’m still not fully over our fight.” You say, still catching your breath.
“I’m so sorry about everything.” Says Abby through a desperate plea. “God that was so hot I….I wanna get off so bad…”
“Oh yea?” You ask, walking back over to her and kissing her deeply again.
“As I walk away, remember this feeling. This is how I feel when you don’t allow me to come on your last minute assignments.”
“What- you wouldn’t-“
“After this we’re square.”
“Love…love please-“
“God I love hearing you beg. Thank you again for the orgasm.” You tease with a provoking smile. “Later.”
The door closes.
𝐹𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝒷𝒷𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝒸𝒽 o𝓌𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇
Part 1: If you guys like it I can write part 2 (with smut)
@osteologistimpostor
@mitski-lovesems
A/N: Despite my VERY frequent Abby x female reader stories, I actually write original pieces too. This one isn’t an original piece- the character is still Abby, but I’m pushing outside of my comfort zone and I’m doing Abby x OC. It's also modern(ish) day Abby
So without further adieu:
Light drifted across the room, pouring onto the table where a rather unimpressed and not-very awake girl was seated. She chased the letters of the paper in her hand, paying more attention to the lack of colour more than how interesting- or rather, uninteresting- the words were.
The view from the balcony was gorgeous, it’s serenity drifting through the house and offering enough “fresh air” to cure a lifetime of hangovers. And still, it was lonely. Not the cleansing kind people often searched for when investing in large areas of land just to have 5 unneeded bathrooms with pretty tiles to be admired; but the desolate and painfully boring kind that was becoming all the more prominent to a woman new to adulthood with her whole life worth of dreams and ambitions with no aim or prospects to go about pursuing them.
Of course any talk of leaving the nest was disregarded as swiftly as it was brought up by her rather reserved, single father, who was more protective of her than anything. This was unsurprising of course. She had great beauty and wit who would be sure to have people swooning over her had she been raised in the city, and this prospect was what scared him the most.
“Good morning Clara.” Spoke a tall, scrawny brunette who grabbed the paper off of the table and sat beside her. “Anything interesting?” He questions, more to the paper than to her. The girl shrugs, using just as much energy to remain neutral as she did to bury the rather obvious deep seated resentment she held towards him. With most guilt, of course.
“Nope.” She replies quietly, getting back up from the table and walking over to the kitchen.
“Coffee, dad?” The man is unresponsive, eyes drifting happily over the page. Clara rolls her eyes.
“Coffee-“
“Huh? Oh yes, yes thank you sweetie.” Clara nods, walking over to the machine and pressing a button, the espresso machine pouring out the rich smelling liquid with a loud and familiar noise.
“Oh, I hired a new ranch hand…by the way.” Explains her father in an awkward mutter. Clara turns her head with a force which very nearly gave her whiplash.
“A ranch hand?” She exclaims, already forcing herself to believe it was just her mishearing over the sound of the coffee. Her father sighs.
“Why don’t you bring that over here?” With a pounding heart, she obeys, bringing the coffee to him and sitting in the chair in front, fiddling with her hands and noting how the two textures feel as she rubs her hand on one another. The man takes a deep breath.
“I figured we could use the help just in case you…end up going to college. Sometime soon, maybe. And I saw this girls ad so I thought…” Clara doesn’t say anything, partly due to her state of disbelief but mostly because she believes saying something will break this reality in two, and that her dad would instead, change her mind and ask her to stay forever.
“Anyway, it’s just a trial run-“ Clara leaps over and hugs him.
“Thank you dad. When does she start?” The man lets out a short laugh.
“Tomorrow.”
***
Clara had spent the morning cleaning the dishes she had put off doing last night, watching TV in her bed and chilling on her balcony naked. She had been painting something out there and had lost motivation for it recently. As for the lack of clothes, she had a tendency of spilling paint on her clothes to a point she had decided just not to wear them since she was home alone. Or at least she thought that until she heard a loud thud in the barn.
Flinching so high she almost saw the heavens, she knocks the painting, causing the stranger to reveal themself at the noise.
There she was. A beautiful, unfamiliar woman with long blonde hair braided ever so nicely down her back, black tank top revealing arms bigger than on any man she had seen, and a face so stunning Clara was blushing even before returning to the realisation that she was butt naked.
The woman immediately covers her eyes with her hand and turns away from her.
“I…I…am sorry-“
“Who the fuck are you?!” Demands Clara, picking the painting back up and hiding as best she could behind the frame.
“Uh…I’m Abby. I think your dad hired me. I take it you’re…Clara?”
“Fuck.” She says, taking a stabilising breath. “No, the new hire is coming tomorrow.”
“I decided to drive in early, I was going to start organising the barn to make it easier for myself when I start tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to look.”
“No…No it’s my fault, I’m sorry Abby.”
“I can come back if you want to…keep painting.” She clears her throat awkwardly. “Naked.” she adds. Clara laughs softly.
“No I uh, think I’m done with that. Let me put some clothes on and I’ll come down.” Abby blushes, head still glued to the floor like the most interesting object she could fathom was there. “There’s no need for that miss-“ Abby blurted out, but Clara had already returned to her room.
The second those doors are closed, Clara is hitting her hand over her head in dismay. Of course this would happen to her. Her first god damn impression with some tank, godess-of-a-woman stranger was that she’s some sort of farmer hippie who paints in the nude. It was only somewhat true, but regardless it made her want to move out and start a life as an actual hippie some place where no one will find her. In a scramble, she grabs a dress from one of her clothes piles on the ground. She couldn’t be sure it was clean, but it certainly looked better than her other shit. Thankfully she spotted a coat on the rack behind her door. Mind you, mildly clashy, but better than nothing.
“Abby?” She asks warily. Abby steps out of the barn, face bright red.
“Still here Ma’am.”
“Oh. Yes…good.” Clara says, mentally kicking herself at each word. Abby nods, words failing her too.
“My…dad said he saw your ad. That…you stayed with two seperate families from a young age.” Abbys expression bears much interest, allowing Clara to take her time with what she's saying.
“They kept you on for years so you must be pretty good at what you do. Why’d you decide to take this job instead?”
“Change of pace. Mr and Mrs Harkin are lovely people but, both well into retirement. It was their families farm and they had a lovely house up their when they were newly weds. Had their own jobs on the farm. I guess now that they’re older, they’re less able to enjoy the space. Plus Mrs Harkins has a lot of medicine she needs to refill and…well there ain't many hospitals nearby and if I do it every day the sheep don’t get fed and…well they’re movin in to their sons house.”
“Must have been a shame…” Clara offers, eyes drifting up and down the taller woman. Abby nods.
“Yeah. You know, I’m surprised you live out here. Most of em’ farmers are old folk or entrepreneurs.”
“My dad’s an entrepreneur. Sort of. He sells like IT to big companies. He leaves often for work trips.”
“Leaves you here? I can’t imagine many babysitters being willing to drive all the way out here when you were younger. Did you go with him?” Claras eyes soften and she shakes her head.
“My mum stayed with me. When she was alive.”
“Oh…Miss I’m so sorry.”
“Ah, don’t be. And yeah it is pretty lonely but, on the plus side, I can’t imagine painting in the nude being appropriate in whatever city you come from.” Abby laughs.
“Utah.” Claras eyes widen.
“Utah?” She nods with a smile that makes Claras whole body tingle.
“Salt lake city.” She explains. Clara nods.
Each breath that left the muscular woman seemed to ripple in the space between them, and Claras own breathing mirrored it, as if they’d fallen into a rhythm only the two of them understood.
“I hope the painting can still be salvaged.” Abby spoke after some time. Claras eyes widen.
“What?”
“Well, you kinda knocked it when you…”
“Yeah.” Clara interrupts, not needing the memory of her naked body being exposed to be rehashed. “Though I wouldn’t care if it was ruined. I’ve never been much into art. Too impatient. I paint when something drives me to. A feeling or something inspiring but, I’ve felt that less and less of late.”
“Hm.” Abby responds, examining Clara as if to squint in between the lines she had placed.
“If not art, then what? Surely a sweet thing like you has some big ambition. Art school maybe?”
Sweet thing like you. Repeated the voice in Claras head. Each word lingered in the air, thickening the atmosphere between them, drawing her in closer as if to shield her from the world. It was a delicate label, yet it bore an unexpected weight, making her feel seen in a way that both thrilled and unsettled her, like stepping into the sun after a long winter.
“Have I said something…?” Abby asks, her own nervousness becoming obvious as she talks. In truth she hadn’t expected such beauty. An old man and an already married daughter was what she had expected when Claras father had accepted the ad, not a scrawny, decently young man and his perfect fucking daughter. One who, from what Abby had seen on the balcony, had a physique that mirrored that of an angel itself.
Fuck. Thought Clara at the realisation that she had no recollection of what Abby possibly could have asked her.
“No…sorry I, what did you ask?” Abby smiles reassuringly.
“I was just asking about your plans for the future, but…well I should probably get back to work. I’ve already wasted enough time as is just gettin’ you out here and…well I shouldn’t waste your time any longer.” Clara nodded shortly.
“I’ll be in the house…my rooms just there if you need me.” She offers, stepping away from Abby this time.
***
It had been days without contact from her. Or at least, face-to-face contact. Clara had found herself on that balcony more often than ever. Waking up at dawn to the sound of tools being russled in the barn and the sheep making happy “baas” in response to Abby feeding them. She would look out and see her tending to the crops, sweat on her skin illuminated by the morning sun and bringing a colour that painted her like one of the finest artworks in creation. She had Claras mind coursing in ways that she would warrant was unhealthy. Daydreaming. Fantasising. There was a yearning that words couldn’t describe.
She wouldn’t face her though. Their first conversation had an unspoken definitiveness to it. Like they would speak only as formalities when situations required them to. Plus it’s not like Clara had that kind of confidence. No, that kind of confidence was only discovered at the bottom of a bottle of alcohol most of the time, and thankfully her dad was away for yet another weekend trip, leaving his stash of expensive bourbon unattended to.
There was some point into her night where she had stumbled her way into the barn. It was her hiding spot when she was younger. Nothing much to do on a farm as a kid other than force your parents to play games, and now Clara found it offered her some comfort. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was looking for when she opened up those barn doors. A quiet place to chill out that wasn’t the same four walls of her room? Or was it Abby? She couldn’t be sure.
Clara climbed up the ladder to the top level of the barn, heading over near the small window where a desk and a beanbag was. She clambered onto the beanbag, forming a small ball and closing her eyes. That was till the a haybale dropped, pulling an audible noise of shock from Clara. Abby gasped.
“Shit, fuck Clara?? Are you in here?” Clara simply laughs at the reaction.
“Calling me by my first name? Not very professional-profess?” She asks, continuing to stumble around. “I profess myself in banqueting to all the rout…”
“I…Miss I don’t-“
“It’s Shakespeare ‘Miss’ Anderson. You know, Cassius? Othello?”
“Oh.”
Clara’s voice, playful and teasing, had an ease about it that left Abby feeling unmoored and unsteady. She could barely keep up with what Clara was saying, but the mystery of it, the way her name sounded from Clara’s mouth, filled Abby with a raw, delicate ache.
“What are you doing in here?” Abby asks gently, walking over to the ladder. Clara shrugs.
“I live here. What are you doing in here? You know my dads away right? What if you were like a burglar who…burgled.”
“Are you drunk?” She asks, though the tone lacks any sort of accusation. Clara sighs.
“Come, look at the stars with me.” She hums. Abby sratches the back of her neck.
“Uh….well I really shouldn’t be…”
“Oh come on. You gonna leave a ’sweet thing like me’ up here by herself?” Abby laughs at her words, giving in and climbing effortlessly up the ladder.
“You can do that one handed? That’s hot.” Clara remarks. Abby just tilts her head with confusion.
“What did you just say?”
“I said that out loud?” Clara asks with a tone of genuine confusion. “Oops.” Abby blushes as she sits on the floor beside her.
“You usually get drunk like this? Just you?” Abby inquires. Clara shrugs, her smile fading a little.
“That over there, that’s Saturn.” Clara explains, shifting a lot in the beanbag. Abby looks at her, surprised.
“Saturn? You sure it’s not a star?”
“Nope. Saturn is m’most….mmm” Abby laughs, using her middle finger to push some hair out of your face.
“You’re so drunk.”
“Do you like me?” Clara asks, a rather sudden and drastic shift in both emotions and conversation.
“Well, sure Miss you seem uh, real nice.” Abby says simply.
“No I mean…you saw me. Naked. Did you like what you saw?”
“Wh- I…I wasn’t looking. Honest.” She states, parting the wisps of her blonde hair framing her face away from her eyes.
“Oh.” Clara replies, feeling the drunken urge to start bawling appear.
“Why do you care what I think anyway?” Abby asks, noting her expression and relaxing her tone as she spoke. Clara shrugged.
“I’ve been alone a lot. Thought I liked it, but…I watch all’em mmm….romances and the sit coms…never once been desired like that. Or desired…” Her words trail off, as if Clara is on the verge of sleep. She quickly snaps back into it.
“Anyway…I don’t know why I’m sayinallthis t’you. You’re…big…muscly…pretty. Sure you’ve had your fair sure of desir-ara-bles?” Abby laughs harshly at this.
“I think we should get you some water…”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Abby’s gaze softens, confusion clear.
“My apologies, Miss. What did you ask?”
“Don’t give me that. You saw me, even if you said you didn’t “look.” what’s wrong? Y’don’t like girls? Or do you just not like me??”
“Clara, it’s simply something I don’t want to talk about while you’re not sober enough to know what you’re saying. I think you’re very beautiful, but I don’t feel comfortable talking about how I…looked at your body without your consent.”
“Fine.” Clara says, unbuttoning her comfy red flannel. Abby gasps, immediately covering her eyes with her hands.
“Jesus, Miss-“
“I consent now, just look.”
“I’m not gonna-“ Abby starts to say, the corner of her eye betraying her as she sees the outline of a lace, purple bra.
“Wanna see something else?”
“NO- no just…wait here, I’m gonna get you a blanket mkay?” Abby stammers, getting up in a rush. A solid grip quickly stops her.
“I’m sorry.” Clara says. Abby smiles softly, turning to look at her face, (as well as she could) with reassurance.
“Don’t be. Being drunk alone is…well, I’ve done that once or twice should we say.” Abby says, kind blue eyes staring into Claras green. “Tomorrow morning we can talk as long as you like.”
“You’r staying here?” Clara asks, bewildered. Abby shrugs.
“If you’ll have me.”
“Yes.” Clara responds at an embarassing speed.“Though we are in a barn, don’t you want to go to my room?”
“Miss, I’ve worked here less than two weeks. What would your father think if he finds me on your bed with you?” Clara rolls her eyes.
“Fine, but you better grab me that blanket.”
“Be right back, your highness.” Abby teased.
Claras eyes drift closed in Abbys absence, hearing faintly the sound of her heading down the ladder. Even while in a state of almost sleep, she can still sense Abbys presence return beside her—the steady rise and fall of a chest, the delicate sigh of a muscular and yet still soft form settling in. A stray strand of hair slips across her cheek, stirring as she breathes, and she reaches up with barely a thought, brushing it aside before realising she’s also touched the woman beside her. Their hands meet, fingers resting in a quiet, unplanned tangle.
That’s how they wake up, too. Clara, who is usually as opposite to a morning person as one could fathom, wakes up before Abby, feeling dehydrated and disorientated. She moves to get up before feeling a body. A muscular body that builds her with the fear of the reality that she hadn’t simply dreamt of coming onto Abby while in the comfort of her bed, but rather that she had done that, and that it was rather thick, barn air she was smelling.
“Fuck.” Clara cursed under her breath, waking the other girl who calmly rubbed her eyes.
“Morning.” Abby says.
Fuck.
A Dragonriders handmaiden
(A Rhaenrya x Mysaria story)
@cattjull @mitski-lovesems
Warnings: C#nnilingus, N!pple play, restraints, candle/wax play, sc!ssoring, choking, fingering, Edging (M to R)
A/N: One thing I always laugh about is Mysarias reaction to Rhaenyra claiming vermithor. Whether that was just the actress completely in awe of Emma (which would be completely understandable) or it was intentional I’m not sure, but regardless I can imagine Mysaria and Rhaenyra genuinely being into dragon role-play.
“Oh you want me to claim you, hm?”
“Yes Rhaenyra claim me.”
“Lykiri.”
“Fuck…”
PFFT. Anyway enjoy the story.
The politics of the realm have always been a complex affair. While it is true that wars have been settled for less, it was simply disheartening for both nobles and common folk alike. Watching a family, those who are considered by many to be gods, fight over power and title.
Not only did brother fighting brother leave a distaste in the mouths of those who were forced to account for it, but it causes chaos, anguish, death, and it has been causing devastation since the crowning of Aegon.
Rhaenyra Targaryen was but one piece on a board far bigger than her, perhaps larger than her entire bloodline. Born an innocent, with her fathers smile and logic, as well as his desire to solve issues with peace, rather than with the fire that danced in her veins.
Mysaria, “white worm,” had always been a character in Rhaenyras youth. She had heard of her skill in various fields. A consort, a mistress of whisperers. She had also heard at length from various sources the extent of her beauty. It certainly enthused her uncle.
It was strange that 15 years later she would be practically kneeling at Rhaenyras mercy. This wasn’t to say she begged, however. No. Mysaria always believed her life to be valuable, even when men, no matter how old, stupid or ugly, would tell her otherwise.
A knock, one night, at Rhaenyras chambers. The hour is quite late and there is but a single guard posted at her door.
“The white worm, your grace.” The guard informs her, and Rhaenyra gets out of bed with such exertion she is worried she has strained something. A hand goes over her silver hair, putting any loose strands into the correct place in her extravagantly braided hair. She isn’t sure why she is fixing her appearance, or even now why she is so conscious of it.
“Your grace…”
“What? Oh yes, bring her in.” Rhaenyra says, her fingers still caressing her hair. Perhaps as a nerves thing.
“I apologise for the disturbance, your grace. I understand the hour is late, I would not have come if I thought it could wait.” Mysaria explains. She nods simply, her eyes tracing every inch of the white worm, as if looking for something. A reason for Rhaenrya not to trust her, perhaps, as there had already been so many people she couldn’t trust in her life.
“It is alright, Lady Mysaria. What is your news?”
Mysaria nods, her expression serious as she begins. “It has come to my ears that Prince Daemon has been sending his men on missions of great brutality. The tales of their actions grow more gruesome with each retelling, and his men...” She pauses, frowning slightly before continuing. “His men are starting to question their loyalty to a liege who makes them commit such horrors. It would not be surprising if some of them deserted.” Rhaenyra groans, her patience growing weary.
“So in fact he does not which to usurp me at all? No. My husband would rather create more enemies in my name and cower back to me like a babe cowers from their punishment. What else have you heard?”
Mysaria hesitates, her gaze flickering to the others gentle blue. “There are whispers, your grace, that the Lannister army may be preparing for battle.” Mysaria announces, the warmth of the candlelight feeling all the more hot.
"You think their movements are advancing already? A result of criston coles stupidity, no doubt, and now at the hands of prince Aemond."
“I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard. Daemon often acts quickly and without a second thought. Telling you now may give you time to consider a strategy to pursue before he conducts a new idea that will no doubt rally more enemies against us.”
A peculiar smile pulls at the queens lips at this. The smile was gentle, genuine. It offered a sense of childlike peace that brought Mysaria back to when they were younger. Simpler, potentially, though not necessarily better.
“Us?” Rhaenyra asks through a soft chuckle. “You got comfortable fast.”
“True that it wasn’t long since I was thrust into the darkness. An echo of a great spy. But when new pathways alight, I am not one to wait for the opportunity to run away with the candle.” She bobs her head in agreement subconsciously appreciating her mannerisms.
“You could have gone anywhere.” Rhaenyra reminds her, stepping closer and touching her hand. She wasn’t even sure she had made a decision to touch her. All she knew was she had stepped out and suddenly her hand was caressing Mysaria’s. Her skin was so soft and the contact was electrifying. Logically, of course, Rhaenyras own hand was warm from being under the covers of her bed, but to Mysaria it only confirmed Rhaenyras birth right, a true born dragon.
“You know, I could have had your head for that?” Rhaenyra says with a grin. Mysaria’s eyes widened with confusion before she elaborates.
“For waking me up to hear MORE disappointing stories about Daemon. He is all I hear about these days, from everyone who wants to undermine me. I hear his name more than I speak it myself as he is never. fucking. here.” Mysaria smiles weakly.
“Daemon is a…troubled mind. A character to be certain but, well.”
“His issue is he goes around taking what he wants while genuinely believing there will be no consequences. People like that shouldn’t have a dragon.” The caressing spreads to up Mysarias arm, making her gasp in enthusiastic surprise.
“He was everything I wanted when I was a child. Everything I wanted to be. Perhaps both.” Rhaenyra explained, and Mysaria watches intently, like there is no sound she would rather hear, even late at night on the edge of war.
“I was everything he wanted too. The rightful heir, young enough to…mould into whatever he wanted.”
“I do not like that he took advantage of you, but, I certainly see why he was so captivated.” The soft movement across Mysarias skin stops and she takes a cautious step back. It’s so small it’s barely noticeable.
“What?”
“I remember your father. Kind, peaceful, humorous, I see him when I look at you. But without that, you are strong, intelligent, beautiful. You are a great mother and a great queen. One who appreciates the subtleties of war. A level headed ruler the realm deserve-“
Mysarias gasp of surprise is silenced by Rhaenyras tongue as it enters her mouth. She presses her warm hands on both of Mysarias cheeks, moaning and deepening the kiss, feeling a passion unmatched to anything she had ever felt before. Those words were like honey. They affirmed her in ways she wasn’t sure she had ever felt. Always so worried about her claim, her children’s claim, the whole being-a-woman thing. Never did she have someone loyal and beautiful who would actually speak to her without hidden agendas or to disagree. No, these words were gratifying and intrigued every part of Rhaenyra.
Mysarias pretty light grey gown was the first to drop to the ground, revealing beautiful skin and curves that had been so criminally concealed. Rhaenyra smiles as her eyes familiarise herself with her body. Her perfect breasts are a refreshing sight for someone who practically had only seen the pair she, herself, possessed. The cool air hardened her exposed nipples, and at this point her head is spinning. Even so, Rhaenyra managed to pull her attention to the rest of Mysaria. Her perfect cunt Rhaenyra started to imagine she was tasting was becoming more inviting by the second. Her stomach too was an image of perfection, much like something she would see sculpted in the galleries back at kings landing.
“I’ve never…” Rhaenyra began, surprised by the sound of her voice in the deathly quiet room. It was rare for her to depict such vulnerability in these scenes. With most men she had been with, she was the one in charge. Always towering over them, taking what she wanted, using them to feel good, to feel as powerful as she was deep down. Even during her first time she was the one who instigated, never like this. Mysaria gives her a reassuring smile.
“If it is any constellation, your grace, I have never had royal pussy, either.” Rhaenyra laughs at her rather vulgar statement, feeling less tense than before.
“I want to taste you…” Rhaenyra says, clearing her throat and installing a shroud of false confidence to her words. “May I?” Mysaria nods, sitting at the edge of Rhaenyras bed and spreading her legs. Rhaenyra follows suit, kneeling in front of her. When Mysaria is in view fully now, she notices a scar through her folds which causes her to look up for reassurance.
“Will it hurt?” She questions. Mysaria shakes her head.
“My father gave that to me when I was very young.”
“Oh.” She mutters, caressing Mysarias thigh. “That’s awful. I’d understand if you don’t want me to-“
“No. I want you to. Giving me pleasure in the same place he cut seems a rather satisfactory form of revenge would you agree?” Rhaenyra smiles at this.
“I would.” She hums into her inner thighs, kissing and sucking at the skin there.
An excited gasp leaves her mouth and Rhaenyra notices the way Mysarias excitement drips.
“Need to…” Rhaenyra lets out, tone desperate. Mysaria nods. “Go for I- mmm.” Rhaenyra licks quickly over her clit and the higher sections of her cunt. The pace is eager and unrelenting, causing Mysaria more pleasure than she had anticipated from someone new to all this. Mysaria wraps her hands over her head, fingers weaving into the silver braid she so adored. Now Rhaenyra goes lower, in between her folds and all the way down to her pretty hole, tongue exploring the entrance and pulling a cacophony of noises from Mysaria all at once.
She tugs on the braid a little and uses strands that had fallen down onto her face to guide her to where she wanted, bringing her closer by the second.
“fuckfuck…so…ahh-“ Rhaenyra goes even faster, if possible, moving her head now in rhythm.
Mysaria tugs her hair tight as she cums. Her orgasm rippling through her in waves. Rhaenyra licks every delicious drop, moaning in satisfaction at her new found favourite hobby. She almost felt angry at herself for not experimenting with girls in her youth. Especially when she could have been doing this the whole time.
She stands up, smiling nervously at Mysaria.
“Was…that…um…” Her chin is glistening, like that wasn’t answer enough, but Mysaria new words of affirmation was needed right now. Maybe always.
“You did amazing, my queen.” She speaks breathily. Rhaenyra grabs her hips, pulling her in. Then she starts licking and sucking over her chest, making Mysaria gasp again. When she pulls away, Mysaria sucks on Rhaenyras neck, hard, untying the string of her nightdress as she did so.
“This alright?” Mysaria asks. Rhaenyra nods, letting out a hushed “yes.”
Rhaenyra is a sight just as breathtaking. Her smooth, beautiful Targaryen features making Mysaria flush. Perhaps she had chose the wrong Targaryen all those years back. Not that it was much of a choice.
“You must have a lot to teach me…” Rhaenyra says, feeling exposed in the cool air. Mysaria chuckles softly.
“Go to the bed and lie down. We will test the waters. See what you like.” Rhaenyra nods. Her imagination could think up many things to be certain, but at the same time she had no idea what she was in for.
Mysaria gets on top of her, legs on either side of Rhaenyras waist. Her body travels from her collarbone to lower stomach, then to her sensitive cunt. Mysaria raises an eyebrow.
“You’re so smooth down there.” She remarks. Rhaenyra laughs.
“The hair that grows there is very fine but I still like to remove it when I have the chance. You like?” Mysaria puts her middle digit onto Rhaenyras tight bundle of nerves, drawing a satisfied “mmm” from her lips.
“I like.” Mysaria agrees. Her two middle fingers continue, going a little slow just to offer the chance to revel in every sensation. Then, Mysaria curls her fingers inside her loosening walls, hitting every inch so good her eyes were rolling back.
“Y…you’re good at that.” Rhaenyra breathes out. Mysaria gives a grateful smile.
“I have been wondering something my queen.” Mysaria says, going a little faster. Rhaenyras eyes flutter.
“P..please… if we are acquainted enough for you to…put your fingers in me…you can at least use my name. Mmm…”
“I have been wondering, Rhaenyra, if it’s true about Targaryen’s being immune to fire.” Rhaenyra lets out a half laugh, half moan.
“That is meant to be legend. Though I hear some Targaryen’s truly can withstand… ohgods..ahem…um…fire.”
“And you?” She asks, removing her fingers and grabbing the flickering candle by her bedside table.
“Can you be burnt?”
Rhaenyra nods slowly, her eyes dancing with the flame.
“Some women like mixing a little pain and pleasure.” Mysaria explains, moving the candle in circular motions in the air. “Do you?” Rhaenyras gaze is deadly and intoxicating as she ponders her words.
“Perhaps…we can see.” She says, and Mysarias eyes sparkle in response, well, that and the candlelight reflecting so brilliantly in Mysarias deep coloured eyes.
“We should have a word to say if you want me to stop.”
“A word? What’s wrong with…’stop’” Rhaenyra questions genuinely. This brings another smile to Mysaria.
“Often when pleasure or pain is overwhelming us in the best way possible, we say stop stop. Even if theres nothing we would want less than to stop. A word like…tart, is an effortless distinction to put a foot on the wheel.” Rhaenyra nods.
“Tart…I like it.” Mysaria switches the candle to her left hand, putting her fingers back into Rhaenyra with her right. Cautiously, Mysaria pours the wax onto her body, making Rhaenyra shudder in pain. The combined sensation of her nearing orgasm caused her to cry out.
“Do…you need to say tart, Nyra?”
“N..no…Fuck it feels…I’ve never felt…” Mysaria nods in silent understanding, continuing to pump in and out of her.
The wax solidifies on her skin and Mysaria puts the candle down, rubbing her fingers over it, already sensitive from the burning.
“So…so good.” Rhaenyra hums, eyes shutting tight.
“I know…let it out I know you can.” Rhaenyra obeys, orgasming intensely and grabbing onto her tightly.
“What else?” Rhaenyra asks when she finally catches her breath.
“Need more.”
Mysaria is both surprised and impressed. She starts pulling off the thin bedsheet that was previously perfectly sat on Rhaenyras bed. She gives her a confused look.
“What are you doing with that?”
“This,” Mysaria starts to say as she pulls at the sheet. “Can be used for restraints. Put your arms up.”
Rhaenyra does so and Mysaria ties it.
“Have you ever experienced such intense sensations you wanted to scream and writhe around in your pretty bed, but you couldn’t move your arms at all? Couldn’t…defend yourself, almost.” Rhaenrya shakes her head, the idea already exciting her in a way she doubted was healthy.
“Remember the wor-“
“Tart. I know.” Rhaernya says impatiently. Mysaria grins at the queens eagerness and spreads her legs before climbing over them and positioning her own, wet cunt above Rhaenyras. Slowly, she rotates her hips, making Rhaenyra immediately moan in surprise. She watches Mysarias movements and wants so badly to level herself with each hand and move with her, but they remain very much bound.
“Ahhh…fuck…” Rhaeyra moans again as Mysaria goes even faster, grinding right over her clit over and over again. The sound of them sliding together, slick coating warm skin, it was a melody that would sell for millions.
The familiar, scream worthy feeling in her stomach swirled and her head revelled as Rhaernyra grew closer to orgasm, eyes rolling back, curses and moans falling out of her lips constantly. That was when Mysaria got off her, standing up in front of where she lay on the bed. Rhaenyra groans in frustration.
“Why did you stop?” She asks bitterly. Mysaria says nothing, ensuring she makes direct eye contract as her fingers plunge into herself. Rhaenyra gasps at this.
“Wh- in front of me?”
“You must have been close, huh?” Mysaria taunts. Rhaenyras eyes darken.
“Mysaria. Get back here.”
“Beg.” Mysaria says. Her words are dangerous. Status wise Rhaenyra has almost infinitely more power than Mysaria, and with men that power always translated. Never would she beg for anything. Never…
“Please.” Mysaria smile is wider than the narrow sea before she returns to her position on Rhaenyra, rocking her hips back and forth.
“Ah~ seven hells that- fuck you, don’t stop..” A mischievous look paints Mysarias eye as she obeys Rhaenyra. She wasn’t going to stop. Not even if she was begging for it. When Rhaenyra cums harshly, her hands still restrained. She expects the unrelenting pace to let up, her cunt already so sensitive.
Mysaria stands up, curling her fingers inside Rhaenyra again.
“Gods- Mysaria what are y- ohfuckstopstop mmm”
“You know the word.” Mysaria reminds her. And she does. Tart. A word as bittersweet as the ones she used to pick the lemons off of as a child. It was a lot, in truth. She had cum all over her fingers, she had her pussy soaked against Mysarias and now her fingers were inside her again. She was covered in sweat, wax and slick, whether it was hers or Mysarias she didn’t know. It would be a perfect point to stop. To clean herself and lie in Mysarias arms. But as her fingers pumped in and out, making her scream in pleasure and pain, she simply couldn’t bring herself to say the word.
“I kn…know.” Mysaria hums in satisfaction, continuing her thrusting harder now. When Mysaria finally lets up after her third orgasm, she unties Rhaenyra and kisses her deeply, tongue caressing the inner walls of her cheek. Rhaenyras hair is a mess. The braid, whatever remained of it, was over half out, with strands sticking to her face in different places.
“That was…yes.” Rhaenyra says a little awkwardly. Mysaria nods.
“Does this mean I can say I have ridden a dragon?” Rhaenyra laughs at the statement.
“Daemon is a targraryean too. Thought you were already a dragon rider.”
“That was a long time ago. I’d rather be with you any day than the father of a school of bastards who runs for the hills and makes bad choices.” Rhaenyra sighs at this. She is right, of course, but her words sting to hear.
“My sons…they” Rhaenyra started to say. Mysaria smiled brightly.
“I know. They are perfect.” She says, exchanging a knowing look that lasts long enough for the silence to spread.
“At least you needn’t worry about mothering my children, Rhaenyra. We don’t exactly have the requirements for it.”
The unexpectedness of the sentence causes them both to laugh and Rhaenyra pulls her in to a hug.
“Thank you for your support.” Rhaenyra mumbles. Mysaria nods.
“Of course your grace.”
