Dangerous Woman (Brunnhilde/Valkyrie x fem!reader)
Warnings: SMUT (public sex, fingering, tribadism, swearing, spanking), dubcon
A/N: Couldn’t help myself and wrote a continuation of this drabble. Thank you to @searchforanotherway for beta reading thing for me! Love and hugs to you, babes! ❤️
Also, I know this gif isn’t from the MCU, but I couldn’t help but use this outfit in the fic. It’s a triumph.
Though you’re in the backseat of a car you’ve never seen before, you know exactly who the vehicle is taking you to.
Just thinking about her makes your thighs press together in want, ignites a spark between your hips. It makes you recall what happened at the club when you met her.
“Comfortable kjære?”
To this day you still don’t know what she had called you.
You stammered out an affirmation, then your eyes fluttered shut as she ran her fingers through your hair.
“Good.”
A kiss was pressed below your ear and you knew you were in trouble. Her hand moved from your hair to your face. It stayed there a moment as she appeared to take in your features. You’re certain you looked like a hot mess, lipstick smeared on glasses throughout the evening and foundation muddy from sweating due to the high temperature in the club.
When your eyes drifted away, slightly to the left to look at the men in the booth, her fingers fastened on your chin.
“No, no, kjære,” she chided you gently, “Eyes on me.”
She was so close to you then that when you looked back at her, it was perfect. Her lips slotted easily with yours. Whatever she had been drinking was sweet. It lingered on her lips and you wanted to get drunk on it. Her kisses intoxicated you.
Her lips leave yours and immediately latch to the spot below your ear where she kissed you before. It drew a gasp from your lips and you felt hers curl in a smile. You tried to forget the other patrons present at the table, though they made it easy. They stayed quiet.
Her hand around your waist, wrapped around your front, glided over the material of your dress and stopped dangerously low on your abdomen.
Your breath caught in your throat, your prediction of her next actions obvious.
“Hush for me, kjære,” her voice sounded in your ear, gentle and commandeering. It caused all apprehension in your mind to cease.
What was she doing to you? How did she have such power over you?
Her hand was on the move again, drawing near to the hem of your dress before disappearing under it. Her fingertips just barely sweep over the skin of your inner thighs.
There’s a phrase that women think with their heads and men think with their groins. In the moment, your mindset was resembling a man’s as your legs opened to grant her more access.
She hummed contentedly, the sound resonating on the outer shell of your ear as she continued to tease you.
Once she reached the apex of your thighs, her digits met the telltale damp center of your panties.
“What’s happened here, kjære?” she teased as she pulled away from you to observe your face. The hand in your hair lightly grazed across your temples and down your cheeks.
In no position to demand, you pouted pitifully.
“Oh, I see,” she feigned realization then pushed the slightest bit, the pressure granting you a burst of pleasure.
Her fingers retreated and found the side hem, skillfully pulling the crotch of your panties from where it covered your sex. Her fingers made contact with the exposed wet folds and you felt like you were going to jump out of your skin.
“Shh,” you heard her try to assuage you before her fingers ventured forward, two stationed next to each other.
It was so scandalous; you were in public, there were other people in the booth with you. Who even was she?! You didn’t know her name!
Her fingers pulled away and she made eye contact with you as she brought the digits to her lips and sucked.
Her face resembled the bliss felt when eating ice cream on a scorching day. Her eyes closed and a satisfied smile spread across her face.
With little delay, one finger was down and buried inside you again. When it was pulled out, she didn’t bring it back to her lips. Instead, you watched in dazed arousal as she dipped her finger in her drink. She swirled the digit around before she plucked it from the table and took a slow sip.
Face flushed, your lips fell on hers when she turned back to you. Her tongue tangled with yours and her hand held a firm grip on the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck.
Someone shouted your name over the loud music and sadly you couldn’t ignore it. You pulled back from her to the source of the shouting.
Just when it was nice to not know where your friends were, they had found you.
Her hands and lips left you. When your gaze returned to her, she had resumed her lounged posture and idle sipping.
Mustering up the miniscule amount of dignity you had, you scooted away from her and out of the booth. You straightened your dress, painfully aware of how aroused and disappointed you were.
“Thanks,” you gripe to your friend, teetering away and towards the rest of your group.
“Jesus, dude, do you know who you were making out with?” she asks, pulling you away. “She and those guys are in some shady business. It’s best you don’t tango with her.”
The night had ended with a basket of chicken tenders and fries with a milkshake. The following weeks consisted of you throwing yourself further into work. You didn’t go out much, you stayed long hours at the office. Every time you thought about her, you remembered what your friend told you and went back focusing on spreadsheets and stats. You probably shouldn’t get involved with a dangerous woman in shady business you didn’t know about.
That is, until you were picked up by a mysterious vehicle after work today.
The car comes to a stop and you begin to gather your things.
“Don’t worry about that, miss,” the driver says, “I’ll bring it in later.”
Your body stills and about a dozen questions run through your mind.
Later? How long will you be here? What are you doing here? Why did you decide to get into a mysterious car that picked you up on your way to the train station anyway? What were you thinking?
“Just go in and take the elevator to the twelfth floor.”
Making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror, you blindly search for the door handle. Once you find it and make your way out of the vehicle, the car starts again and turns around the corner.
You step into the building, greeted by an ornate white-and-gold schemed lobby. Trying not to get distracted, you follow the driver’s instructions and go to the elevator and press the “12” button.
The doors open at your destination and you step into a penthouse. Marbled floors and walls almost envelope you, with a hallway to your right and the golden light from the sun to the left, coming from what you can assume to be the windows in the living room. Piano music plays and you decide to follow the melody.
Upon entering the living room, you see floor to ceiling windows, your view of the city unimpeded, save for the place where a television hangs on a wall panel. There’s ample places to sit, couches and ottomans, even the rug looks comfortable. To the right, you see a large all-white kitchen. There’s a dining area in the corner and next to it, a piano facing the windows where she’s perched.
“You’re very difficult to track down, kjære,” her voice sounds over the keys. “Seems you’re a very good girl. My area of expertise is the police...their systems, their records. And there’s nothing on you. No DUIs, no speeding tickets, not even a parking violation. I had to give my colleague my best bottle of mead to persuade him to help me.”
“Help you?”
Her fingers hit a wrong note, purposefully, it seems.
“Yes. Help me.”
She rises from the piano and turns to you. Donned in another power suit, this time with a pale pink blazer with slits for her arms to move freely covering a shiny ivory bralette and trousers to match the blazer, she raises her eyebrows.
“Did you not understand? I’ve been looking for you.”
“Looking for me?” It seems the only things you can manage to say are paraphrases of the last words of her statements.
She chuckles, though you don’t think she’s finding much humor in the situation.
“Indeed. Ever since our night at the club nearly a month ago and you sadly picked your friends over me, I haven’t stopped thinking of you.”
“Thinking of--” you stop yourself. “I...I didn’t pick my friends over you. When I looked back you were already drinking again. You didn’t...seem like you wanted to continue.”
She steps to you slowly, her heels clicking against the floor. You’re caught, frozen where you are and you imagine yourself as a gazelle and her as a lioness.
“Hm,” she cocks her head, putting up an act of curiosity, “I see. And what does it seem like now?”
When you don’t respond, she hums again and repeats her question, her words punctuated with the sound of her shoes meeting the floor.
Standing in front of you, her hand comes to your hair pulling a lock over your shoulder and twisting it around her fingers.
God, her fingers…
She gives a couple light tugs to the tresses, as if prompting you to answer.
“It seems...you want to continue.”
She gives an almost mocking smile.
“I do.” Her smile fades quickly and she plants her hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the smaller couch adjacent to the larger, L-shaped one. One light shove between your shoulder blades and you stumble forward.
“Bend over.”
Your springy, light floral skirt swishes around your knees before settling as you obey, bent at the waist and palms resting on the seat cushions.
Her hands smooth over your back and down over your bottom. You feel the hem of your skirt brush higher and higher across the backs of your legs as she bunches the material up and lays it on your back. Her hands come across the roundest part of your ass. One leaves before her palm comes back, a cracking sound echoing from the contact. With each blow your hips jut forward into the back of the couch and your breath escapes you.
After ten, her hand presses gently into the skin as if to soothe it. Moving her hand to the middle, she glides her palm downwards until her fingertips reach the wet patch on your panties.
“This is familiar,” she quips.
Your hips move back in an attempt to get some relief with her touch, but she removes her hands completely from you.
“Lie down.”
Straightening your back, your skirt falls as you look at her. Her eyes point to the couch, a silent repetition of her instruction.
You comply, lying across the cushions with your ankles together and arms at your sides. She comes to your feet, picking up one ankle and removing the black slip-on loafer from one foot before doing the same with the other.
As if she’s moving the limbs of a doll, she places your legs back next to each other before coming to stand by your midsection. Taking the wrist closest to her, she brings your arm over your head. You take the initiative to bring your other arm to match the other and she smiles.
Hand still on your wrist, she steps out of one heel and brings her knee to rest between your body and the back cushion. Her other knee follows and she straddles you.
She grasps your other wrist before gently running her hands down the exposed skin of your forearms. She cups your face for a few moments, then her hands travel down the column of your neck and over your decolletage. When she reaches the first fastened button of your shirt, she plucks it open carelessly. The rest follow until she reaches the waistband of your skirt. To your surprise, she stops there.
Tracing a finger over your belly, she draws swirling patterns before reaching the cups of your bra. She moves one cup to expose your breast to her, to which she leans forward and breathes a warm exhale. The peak of your nipple stiffens and her tongue darts out to lick at it. She brings her thumb and forefinger over to pinch and twist, stimulating you and drawing gasps from your lips. Her other hand lowers the other cup and she licks at that one, teasing it with her mouth.
By now, you’re aware of the wetness pooling between your thighs. Where she straddles you puts pressure on your lower tummy, where she had just barely teased you the night you met.
When your hips rise, she gives a light nip at your breast, causing you to squeak.
She unbuttons her blazer and your hands immediately gravitate to her chest, cupping at the mounds there and squeezing. Her eyes close at the attention you give her and you dare to lean up and press your mouth to the skin you can reach, teasing with your mouth. Her fingers dig into your hair, tugging at the roots at the nape of your neck.
Your hands move down to the fastenings of her trousers, undoing the many buttons that hold the garment in place. She reaches back, gathering your skirt up your knees and grasping at the waistband of your underwear and pulling the garment down as far as she can.
She rises for a moment, standing to rid herself of her lower clothes as you kick off your panties the rest of the way. She shimmies out of her own underclothes before coming back over you, one leg over yours and the other resting between your knees so her pussy is aligned with yours. As she gives a few gentle, experimental thrusts, your hands station at her waist and she brings your free leg up so your ankle rests over her shoulder.
When one good thrust makes you cry out, she adjusts so she can grind against that one spot over and over. She fucks you hard and fast, stimulating your clit as her excitement pools and drips and mixes with your own. She leans forward, stretching your leg as it follows her shoulder, and kisses you all teeth and tongue.
You let out a slew of profanities as you near your end, spurring her to buckle down, delivering a few hard, deliberate thrusts.
Your orgasm is explosive, your grip on her waist so tight, you’re certain there will be red crescent shaped marks where your fingernails are digging into her skin. She continues to ride you to achieve her own end, humming in satisfaction as she falls over the edge. Her thrusts slow and she gently moves your leg down to lay flat on the couch.
Languid kisses are exchanged as you both come back down to earth.
“Fuck,” you sigh.
“What?” she chuckles.
“You tracked me down, fucked me, you have a nickname for me…”
“Mm, and what of it, kjære?”
“I didn’t even know whose name to shout when I came.”
She chuckles again, this time you know there’s humor there.
“Brunnhilde. The Valkyrie of the city.”
It’s your turn to laugh. “That’s a long thing to shout. Can I just say ‘Val’ next time?
She smirks, “You think they’ll be a next time to shout after?”
Your hand reaches down to meet the wet flesh between her thighs. “I do.”
Tagging: @saiyanprincessswanie
