#daft study

[abonbons]

Digital Love 💞

RIP Leiji Matsumoto 💐

Wallpaper

[osman-sadoglu]

It was in my mind almost 3 months and finally it appears as an animation.

[divinekangaroo]

falling - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

PART ONE - DAY ONE

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9

PART TWO pending

A Modern AU take on Tommy's immediate return from military service, and the period between his demobilisation and the start of S1.

(Tags shall be progressively updated)

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Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Ada Shelby, John Shelby, John Shelby's Children, Arthur Shelby, Polly Grey | Alternative Universe, Modern AU (ish), No iPhones, Awkwardness, Age Difference, Disassociation, Miscommunication, Banter, Fast Food Vendor of your Choice, Pre-Season, Past Trauma, Flirting, Have I Met You Before, Heckling, Cars, Drug Use, Past Childhood Trauma, Mrs Shelby Lives, Gender Role Dynamics, Small Neighbourhoods, Greta Jurossi Haunting the Narrative, Brotherly Dynamics, Sibling Dynamics, Class Issues, Attraction, Casual Sex, Car Sex, Military Transition Program, Willful Medical Noncompliance, Melodrama, Illegal Bookmaking, 90s Fashion, 2000s Fashion, Slow Reveal, Slow Burn, Coming Home, Dysfunctional Family, Lasting Legacy of Catholicism, Bad SMS Etiquette, Gang Activity, Domesticity, Booty Call, Guilt, Shame

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[hearts-entwine]

i think the whole aesthetic of studying is really ruined when I can only focus when I'm blasting 2000s edm

[fellhellion]

so so self indulgent but living in my hc world where miguel has got excellent natural rhythm but never dances because terminal amounts of pride as a self defence mechanism + not overly interested vs xina who really enjoys dancing but couldn't find the beat if she tried (she's not self conscious abt this at all tho) <- knows extremely obscure twencen moves however

[aerodynamicc]

I got my hair cut today

[trevlad-sounds]

Here's a year old mix that deserves so much more love.

Help me dust it off and give it a listen.

Pye Corner Audio-Electronic Rhythm Number Thirteen.00:00

CFCF-Pleasure Centre-03:37

Röyksopp-Thank You-09:04

Daft Punk-Something About Us (Pyramid Remix)-14:19

Romare-L.U.V-18:37

D-Pulse-Velocity Of Love (Original)-24:47

Poolside-Kinda Lovely - Bleu Toucan Remix-29:49

Reuben Vaun Smith-Sunshine Flute-32:50

An-2-Dusky Downtown-38:57

LUXXURY-Hello, Darkness-44:16

An-2-Beside Me-50:55

Justice-Ohio (Monsieur Adi Remix)-56:24

Reuben Vaun Smith-Trip On New Shores-1:00:27

Lindstrøm-Arp She Said-1:04:04

Ptaki-Warsaw-1:08:46

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

if the military wanted you to have a wife, they'd issue you one. Soap's heard that saying once or twice.

and here you are. claiming to be his... issuance.

you tilt your head. "you don't remember signing up for the program?"

no. no, he doesn't. his eyes dart down to your lips for a fraction of a second before returning to your eyes. he'd remember that. more to the point, he'd remember whatever he did to deserve this. he looks you up and down again, disbelief and desire flashing across his face, and not in equal measure.

you’re like if someone wrung the starry slurry of thoughts constituting what makes a perfect woman directly from his brain matter, let it ferment and clarify like honey wine, put marriage papers in her hand, and dressed her in a… in a fucking… are those stockings stretching up under your skirt?

hell’s bells. you’re one part girl next door, one part muse—the one his hand can never quite shape on the page to match what’s in his head—and several shades of his favorite porn star. an old-fashioned pin-up doll in the flesh.

"you're not John MacTavish, then," you say, peering down at the papers in your hand with a small frown. "so sorry to bother you—"

��no, hold on.” he takes a step closer. “i’m him, aye. but the program...” the application questionnaire. filling it out was nothing more than a drunken bet with Gaz, but yes, he dimly remembers it. doesn't recall turning it in, but maybe he was drunker than he thought. “it's real?"

“completely real. i was selected for you based on the preferences you specified,” you tell him. you shift the clipboard into your other arm, pleasant smile turning into a frown. "but i couldn't possibly ask you to sign a marriage certificate sponsored by a program you don't even remember applying for."

oh, that is rich. you don’t seem to see the humor here. it’s absurd. have you not seen yourself? he'd be daft to pass on someone as bonnie as you.

not to mention you seem more than a little disappointed at the idea of being turned down. that fuels his ego even more.

 "you're sayin' you're a part of that military partnership program, aye? and you were handpicked as my spouse based on a few questions?"

you helpfully produce a copy of his responses in pink triplicate. sure enough, he recognizes his own drunken scrawl.

none of the questions have anything to do his preferences looks-wise. career aspirations, communication preferences, hobbies, his ideal saturday night. his sleeping habits. this is a psychological profile. CIA shite, as Gaz would say.

he doubts his drunken self read more than a few lines of this paperwork while he was constructing his dream girl in the survey blanks.

as he studies the page a little too closely, your small frown turns into a frustrated scowl. "john? um, i mean."

it instantly pulls his eyes back to your lips.

you twirl a strand of hair around your finger. "it’s nice to meet you,” you say in a tone that makes it clear what you’re really saying is ‘hey, stud, i'm looking forward to the honeymoon.’

that’s your attempt, at least. but Soap sees more than you mean to show. the way you play that card--the way you twirl your damn hair--is the clumsiest, most blatant attempt to flirt. somehow, that's what catches him off-guard the most. It makes his heart squeeze. god, are you nervous? you?

he runs over the back of his teeth in the split second before his signature lazy smirk slides back across his face. "happy you got paired up with a bloke like me?"

he hands the paperwork back to you. you take it back with great relief and nestle it securely into the crook of your elbow. you’re certain he didn’t sign every single blank he was supposed to, but he won’t remember that. you’ll check the signature lines later and forge his handwriting to finish it.

you smile prettily at him. then you make it a little more coy. you should be bashful--he's handsome. "i'm lucky. you're special forces. i’m a nobody, really. if you want, you could try filing for a spouse upgrade. if you want a really good fiancée..."

“fiancée." Soap rolls the word around his tongue. "is that what i should call you?”

"well. you saw my name on the paperwork," you point out. you know very well he didn't.

before he can ask any more questions, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek and pull away, walking down the hall with documents in tow. his gaze is heavy on your back.

the documents in your arm are real enough. Soap really did complete that questionnaire, just like how he remembers. getting the application turned in is what required a little creative effort.

but as long as nobody looks too closely at the military ID photocopied in the application file, they won't notice that the mostly-obscured face of the soldier who turned the application in doesn't look much like Soap at all.

...

more Soap / masterlist

[melrosing]

why do you ship Braime ? What attracts you to them ?

like a hundred reasons i like them!!! but shortlist off the top of my head:

I like that they're both fully realised characters who can be enjoyed individually as well as together. i always get bored quickly w a ship if one of them feels kind of under developed and it's only one half of the ship that i really care about, it's not fun

I like that there are themes within their relationship that go beyond the romance itself, or rather the romance also encompasses those themes, e.g. knighthood & honour, beauty, legacy, the romance of the forest, etc

they have everything like if you want to enjoy them as a more light-hearted romance you can bc they're both daft as hell in their own ways and there are plenty of things that are weirdly sweet about their relationship, but also they have plenty of heavier themes if you want to indulge in angst

so many fucking crowd pleasing scenes that u can't really go wrong with. bearpit? banger. white sword tower? banger. bathtub confessions? banger. red ronnet? banger!!! like in many ways they're wildly unconventional but in others it's like, they just have some classic romance tropes going on like i've always thought of the bearpit chapter as the westerosi equivalent of a romcom airport dash lol i just love it

grrm writing them as his own BATB!!! this was so so real of him and i will never shut up about it

literally just everything like the matching swords the weirwood dreams their genderbend grandparents there's just a lot going on here

also generally i love their particular ship dynamic, it's a commonality across a few others i've liked in the past and i think jb just happen to be the strongest case study of that particular dynamic. so like. ofc i like them

idk i just think they're neat they just don't get old for me. still staring into space sometimes like wao..... jb

[dumpster2001]

altri studi sui Daft Punk

[mrsmikaelsxn]

Pride and Pigeons

masterlist

pairing: harry potter x any gender reader

warnings: fluff, kissing

summary: a fluffy imagine of you and harry - requested by anon

a/n: you ask for harry fluff, you shall receive harry fluff :)

song: moon - siggerr

Sitting on the couch in the common room you glance at the fire as it crackles.

It was the holidays and most people were home. Harry told you he was staying, so you decided to join him. He gave up trying to convince you that you didn't have to stay for him awhile ago.

You look down at the book in your hands and then turn your head to look out the window, getting a wonderful view of the snow falling outside. Hogwarts was so beautiful when it was covered in snow.

Harry walks out of his room and heads down the stairs quietly. He spots you cuddled up under a blanket by the fire with your book and he smiles softly.

He heads over to you and plops down next to you on the couch, places a kiss on your cheek, and puts his head on your lap. You instinctively run one of your hands through his hair, "Good morning, Harry."

"Morning, love," he looks at your eyes scanning the pages. He watches how your facial expressions change ever so slightly as you get to certain points of the novel. "You are so pretty."

You feel your cheeks warm and you look at his grinning face. "Thank you." Flipping the page, you glance back at him, "For the record, I think you're also pretty."

"Why, thank you. What book is that?"

"Pride and Prejudice. One of my favorite classics," you beam.

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Pride and Pigeons?"

You laugh and lightly wack his head with the book. "No you daft dimbo."

"I'm only joking!" Harry laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

"Mhm. Anyway, it's a beautiful book. You should read it some time, I can lend you one of my copies."

"One of your copies? How many do you have?"

You look up and think as you count to yourself. "Nine. I think."

"Nine?! Who needs nine copies of the same book?" Harry looks at you with bewilderment.

"There are just a bunch of different pretty versions," you shrug. "I'll give you one of my favorites, with annotations- which is very generous of me because I don't let people borrow my books."

"Except Hermione."

You nod, "Except Hermione." You look back down to the page and continue reading, but you feel Harry's eyes studying you. You look and meet his adoring gaze, "What?"

"Nothing. You're just so... perfect," he sighs dreamily.

You sigh with a smile and pick up your bookmark. You mark the page you're on and put the book down on the table.

Harry pulls himself up a bit and you reach him halfway down, placing your lips softly on his. You feel him smile against your lips and you run your hand through his hair and put the other on the back of his neck.

You pull away after a bit and he drops back down onto your lap and closes his eyes in bliss. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"I love you m-"

You put your hand over his mouth, effectively shushing him. "Every time we do this we just go back and forth on who loves each other more."

"Yeah," he grins, "you're right."

"When am I not?"

He scoffs, "Would you like me to make a list?"

You gasp and put a hand on your chest, "Why are you calling it a list if nothing is going to be on it?"

"Ha ha, very funny." A moment goes by as you enjoy each other's presence in a comfortable silence. "Question," he says.

"Shoot."

"Did you want to go to hogsmeade with me tomorrow? We can get some butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks and wherever else you want."

"Can we get a pet?!"

"No."

"Oh, please, Harry!" you beg him with your best puppy dog eyes. You learned how to do them from the best, Sirius Black. Who better to learn puppy dog eyes from than a dog himself.

"No," he says but you can see he's starting to give in. As he looks at you pleading he has to do everything he can to hold himself from saying yes.

"Harry. Pretty please? With five cherries, whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate shavings, and caramel on top?"

"Treacle tarts on the side?"

"Treacle tarts on the side."

He looks at your pouting mouth and brings his lips to yours for a quick peck. "How can I say no to that?"

You jump up in excitement and accidentally knock Harry onto the floor. "Oh, Harry! I'm sorry!" You pull him up.

He rubs the back of his head, "Thanks."

"I'm going to get a kitten! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're most very welcome, darling. A kitten though?"

"Well, I would get a dog but I don't think Snape would be happy if I sent it to chew on his shoes- which I would totally do."

Harry laughs, "I would love to see that."

"Harry! Do you know what this means?!" you bite your lip with exhilaration.

"We're getting a kitten?"

You roll your eyes, "Obviously," you say in your best Snape impression. "It means we are going to be parents!"

"O-oh! Parents!" Harry stutters at the thought of being a parent with you. He would love nothing more than to have kids with you one day.

"I wonder if they sell clothes. If not then I'll make some. Hm, do you think that Molly will know how to knit clothing for a cat."

"Probably."

You walk to Harry and bring him into a tight hug. He rests his head on your shoulder and places a sweet kiss to your neck. "Thank you, Harry."

"If getting a kitten makes you smile at me like that, then I am more than happy to buy you one," he trails his finger up and down your back, enjoying every second of your warm embrace.

"That's very sweet... I think we should name it Harold Jr."

[the-yellow-birdy]

Is it better to speak, or to die?

A/N: Long time no see! This is an unedited first draft of the "Call me by your name" with Jane Murdstone idea(without the grooming ofc). Please let me know if you want me to continue and idk if im gonna change this draft as well, since I wrote it a bit fast. Feedback is definitely appreciated!:)

L.O.L. - Yellowbird

//18+ audience only! - all characters are above the age of 18\\

Summer, 1867

As you felt the lightness and warmth spread across the naked skin of your body, the repeating of your thoughts was tuned out by the sound of crickets in the all-round shrubbery. Sweat dripped from your neck and down your clavicle, going further with every breath you took in of the thick mid-summer air. The serene crystals reflecting from the icy lake had never been more inviting. Your hair was drenched from your own sweat and sticking to your forehead in need of a wash from the shining water. You looked at your pocket watch.

A quarter to five.

Summers spent at your uncles were where you found the most solace. He and his wife were wonderful, they so often invited you to come here and visit them and their charming vacation home. Days here were spend, swimming in the many lakes and ponds you would find on your outings, visiting nearby cities, reading various books from your uncles’ impressive library and cherry-picking in the midday with your uncles’ wife, Mary. Mary was a warm, outgoing woman. She found joy and interest in everything she saw, while speaking terribly loud and out of order about it. A significant contrast to your more timid uncle. A quiet and closed of man, who preferred the comfort of his study and the much-appreciated knowledge of ancient artifacts from the dusty books he kept. 

When you saw through the personality differences, you found quickly, that they were made for each other. Especially when you on occasion caught a glimpse of them in the family room on your way to your chamber in the late evenings. There, in the privacy of their relation, they laugh, talk and exchange tender touches, soft laugh lines forming around your uncle’s mouth. 

More you haven’t dared stayed to witness, it would be rude and improper to impose on such tender moments.

The grass tickled your bare feet as you stretched the whole of your body.

There was to be a visitor this year. Uncle Cyrus was a widely acknowledged archeologist professor, teaching at the Da Vinci institute back in Berlin. He was a passionate individual who spent his summers nose deep in the same subject and area as his livelihood.

Although this year, your uncle had decided to open his home once more for interested candidates, who would very much like to visit the north Italian countryside with many findings from the grand sea not far. It had been several years since a fellow interested had accompanied him over the summer. Your uncle was an elderly gentleman, about seventy, his wife around a decade younger having carried no children nor related to any nieces or nephews except you, therefore he had begun searching for a new candidate.

It was to be a woman, he told you. A professor in anthropology, beginning the early stages of research in the areas of archeology.

“It is a marvel! Have you ever heard such unique wonder, Mary!”, your uncle shouted out of character, several weeks ago from his office, as you were sat reading in front of the fireplace. Truly a neck-breaking sight, as he stumbled frantically out of his study, your presence going unnoticed by him, and up the spiral staircase.

A woman. You had thought. 

Never had you heard of such a thing. A woman professor in anthropology.

You weren’t a daft girl yourself, of course you knew it was possible, never had you simply heard of it, often being told as a young girl to keep your head out of the clouds, the books you read had formed. Followed later, by restriction of said books. 

You sat back on your heels and let the wind blow against the ample flesh of your chest, yawning at the thought of the walk back to the vineyard. Brown and green stains had soiled the white fabric of your dress. You had laid upon it as an alternative for the blanket you had forgotten. Your undergarments used for drying the water of your skin. 

You begin dressing yourself by efficiently buttoning up your corset, followed by tying your undergarments and chemise. As you had put your dress and heeled boots on you stepped out of the Oaktree’s shadow and began your walk back home. You couldn’t remember at which hour the candidate would arrive, so you thought it best to pick up your pace.

---------

“Y/n! Wherever have you been, dear? You look as if the bear had gotten its paws on you.”, Mary looked bewildered as she descended the staircase.

The house was a French inspired Cascina residence. Beautifully build from the first laid brick to the last, with simple tree carved windows and a robust brick red roofing. The foyer of the home displayed simple white-yellow walls with paintings placed on them and the floor covered with a variety of Axminster carpeting.

It wasn’t grand, nor expensive, yet it was charming and the life it oozed never ceased to calm you, when you spend your summers here.

“Simply by the lake, Aunt Mary. I apologize for my appearance; I… tripped… on the way back.”, you lied, trying to seal it with a genuine smile.

She came quickly to where you stood. She held a gentle grip on your forearms, turning you in her grasp to further inspect. 

Her eyes looked upon your face, “tripped you say?”

“…badly”, you added, choosing not to look her in the eyes opting for the dress.

Aunt Mary apparently chose to leave the matter at hand, knowing the visitor would be arriving at any moment now.

“Alright well, go wash yourself off and change to a dress that doesn’t make you look like a rogue child. Ms. Murdstone shall be arriving shortly.”, she gave you a light squeeze to your upper arms.

“Ms. Murdstone?”, you whispered.

“Yes yes, you know? The assisting candidate of your uncle.”

You nodded slowly, letting the name of the woman sink in. Ms. Murdstone. It was a rather odd name for an unmarried woman you pondered.

“Off you go!”

As you gave your aunt a curt smile and looked down, you went to ascend the staircase. Unbeknownst to you, a soaked washcloth was further from your reach than you had thought--

You froze in the middle of the staircase, quick steps of your uncle coming into view at the top, as three knocks had rung out in the room. Silence. 

You turned to look down at your aunt, yet her eyes already laid upon her husband. Hurriedly your uncle went past you.

“Y/n, there is no time, give a quick greeting and leave to change thereafter.” Mary whispered tightening your uncle’s butterfly.

How utterly humiliating. 

It is no secret that first impressions matter, yet your disorderly mind has kept you from making just that. This woman was going to be met by a soiled dirty looking young woman, will she not have a fright? 

Please lord, forgive my poor deeds.

As your uncle took a deep breath to calm his nerves and looked towards your aunt and you, a quick furrow of his eyebrows as he laid his eyes upon your dress, he turned the doorhandle and stepped aside.

In your peripheral you observed the darkness of the woman’s shadow, yet you couldn’t keep your gaze fixed upon the carpets any longer. 

“Ms. Murdstone, a pleasure to meet you!”, your uncle nervously laughed, his figure disappearing behind the woman.

It was the first glance you ever laid upon her.

As she sauntered through the blackwood door, the first thing you noticed was a significant height difference between her and yourself. She had the skin of a snowclad field in winter and hair black as raven feathers, styled to the sides of her head. She looked around the space as if assessing the quality of the housing, foregoing any introduction of herself. The woman wore an all-black attire, from her corsage to her skirts, to her low sitting cap. Her gloved hands were clad in front of her, trading the warm energy of the home with a sophisticated and poised aura.

The woman turned midway through the door, looking at your uncle, “pleasures all mine, Mr. Bamford”, said the woman with a faux saccharine undertone. 

She smoothly shifted her focus in front of your aunt. “Mrs. Bamford, I presume?”, her honeyed smile went wide as she looked down upon your aunt, yet her eyes held something much unalike.

You looked to your aunt, her mouth fell slightly agape, “Uh.. Uhm.. yes, welcome”. She stuttered.

It was clear that the woman’s intensity had gotten the better of both Aunt Mary and your uncle.

“And this is…?”, you quickly turned your head to the woman who now, was meandering in your direction. Her eyes were trained on your face, and unamused expression had fallen upon hers. She looked back at your uncle as if expecting an answer. 

“Uhm Y/n, sorry... Ms. L/n…, Ms Murdstone”, you looked down. Your vision was disrupted by black fabric coming to place right in front of you.

Ms. Murdstone gave an unimpressed glance to your aunt and uncle, “I see. Look at me girl.”

A hand came to lift your chin.

You watched as she tilted her head to observe the state of you. Definitely not impressed. Your eyes searched for your aunt and uncle, who simply ignored your silent pleas, and kept up their mannered smiles. They gave each other a short-whiled look and went back to woman and the scene unfolding.

As your eyes went back to the woman, your spine chilling at the sight of the woman’s light blue eyes and found she had been staring directly at your face. 

Hopefully she is not bothered by it, it is not simply a dress to clean.

She quickly let go of you again. Her gaze leaving as fast as it came. Ms. Murdstone wandering further into the house, “My belongings have been left outside by the carriage, I believe a maid will fetch it, or am I to do so myself?”

“Oh yes, of course uhm, right away!”, exclaimed your uncle and went to call for the staff, while your aunt scurried after the observing woman, already entering another area of the house.

*click*

As you closed the heavy wooden door you watched your reflection in the window. Nervously you studied yourself. 

I don’t believe I have any filth on my face.

Tagelist:

@readingtheentrails @ladybathoryy @aemilia19

[traceyc-uk]

What was meant to be a quick study drawing grew to a daft rotoscope. Is rough and unplanned but thought it looked alright considering

[denim-devil]

Mike Schmidt x male reader pleaseee. Begging him to go to work with him, only to end up blowing him under the desk and maybe getting bent over by him🤭

•.* Sugar | M.S •.*

Summary - Just one night you promised, knowing the dangers, Mike put rules in place to make sure you were constantly monitored, he should of know why you had asked to join him…

A/N - I’m fucking obsessed with this man, like he could defile me in ANY WAY POSSIBLE and i’d thank him, please enjoy me spiralling for this man- (ALSO NOT PROOF READ)

“Please?”

You almost began to beg, gripping onto his baggy grey hoodie which captured the slight annoyance written against his features, the constant tugging on his sleeve resembled a hyperactive child but it had Mike question just how far you would go with the begging.

“Why? Why do you wanna go so bad- it’s a rundown shit hole”

He mumbles gruffly, hazel eyes darting down to meet with your own, trapped within a everlasting battle of a shared gaze, his eyebrows furrowing when finger tips graze just above his groin.

“I just wanna keep you company…is that such a bad thing?” Your words were a mere whisper, goosebumps now present over his cloth-covered skin, could he be so harsh to deny you? You were the only source of his happiness, just one night wouldn’t be so bad right?

He sighs, eyes shutting as he groans once you go lower, massaging the spot next to his growing ache. You had a way with not only words but it always seemed to work, each touch, each blink you gave had your lashes flick ethereally.

“Fine- but you better stay in the office, by my side at all times, you don’t know what’s lurking in the dark there”

An eager “yes” escapes your parted lips and it warmed his heart, that certain fuzzy feeling that left him daft and in love lingered and he couldn’t help but pull you into him, it had taken time to get to this point, especially for Mike, you had opened so many doors for him, his arms squeezed you close against him, lips placing a soft, chaste kiss to your temple in silence.

“Thank you Mikey, I appreciate it…”

He smiles with certainty downwards, his hold had loosened now but just enough so he could see how your cheeks grew with scarlet blossom, how timid you had gotten underneath his stare.

“Anytime…”

Knowing how easy it was to get underneath his skin like a blue beetle had a certain grip on you, thoughts about making it worth his time had riddled your brain, confusing both kindness and lust all in one.

Mike had his own ideas to pass the time, yet they were still for you to uncover.

• • • •

The night was quiet.

Mike questioned the silence at points, it was unusual for the place to stand still, slightly ominous in it’s restlessness, in it’s abandonment.

“So…is this what the job is?? To sit and watch camera’s?”

You sassily remark, eager to get a reaction from him, his office chair swirled as he span slowly, eventually facing your slumped frame, his eyes scanned your body from head to toe, slightly annoyed that you weren’t taking this seriously.

“No, I do actually have to check around, see if anything or anyone gets in, hence this-“

He poked the heavy golden badge latched onto his attire, just above the bold letters “security”. You couldn’t stop the laugh that rattled from the base of your chest, glancing over the cutesy child’s toy.

Mike’s brows furrowed, slightly confused but he understood, it was slightly silly, what else was he going to do with his time here? Sit in the same chair for six hours straight whilst going slightly insane?

“Really Mike? Where did you even get that?”

He glared with a certain tone, almost studying you.

“I found it out back…with everything else”

Interest spiked within you like the love you had for Mike. You reach over, hands gripping onto the warmed arm rests of his chair, pulling him closer until your lips were mere inches apart.

“I admire your bravery…”

His breath was sharp, taking in what he could before he dipped slightly, latching his own onto yours, the kiss was slow, played with the imaginary heart strings you conjured up in your head, a professional guitarist lingering the tips of his fingers amongst them, twanging each one as he pushed for it, pushed for more.

He pulls away, just enough to break it, break you out of it. The office was cold, the concrete checkered floor doing nothing to secure the heat in, Mike was your only source, not that you were complaining.

“Why did you ask to come tonight?”

In all honesty, you had nothing in your roster to fight back with, instead, a wandering hand of your own timidly trails down his denim clad thigh, rubbing the area earning a soft grunt, one he tried holding back.

“I’m not sure…but I can show you-“

That drew Mike’s attention back to your face, his lips slightly agape, jaw slack when you gravely reach for the spot you grew quickly acquainted with.

It was a surprise…he was already half hard, almost bursting at the seems once the continuous rubbing began, your palm was a source of comfort and desire for him.

“Yeah?…”

Mike still questioned himself, he shouldn’t really be distracted on the job, he had so much to uncover but the stress, god, it riddled every muscle and organ he had, he ached for it, yearned for something warm and wet.

“Is this okay, Mikey?”

He nods, almost to eager for it, you understood though, kicking your own chair behind you whilst lowering yourself, knees folding once you hit the hard floor with ease, it wasn’t the first time.

His eyes bore holes into you, like a scorching fire, they glowed with uncertainty and lust which served as a hard time, you weren’t entirely sure if Mike really wanted this.

Laying your head against his thigh, your hands slowly figure out the zipper, tugging the small piece of metal down before fingertips dig into the small opening created, pushing the thin material of his white briefs, unveiling the very source of your own impulse.

Glaring with both anticipation and admiration your eyes flicker, darting from certain points of his thick cock, his head a deep crimson, tints of purple like it had lacked something, a singular vein ran thickly on the underside from base to tip, it stood tall and proud, it always had and will for you.

The view you would never ever get use to, he always surprised you, how could it be both so beautiful and…big.

“Think you could help me out baby-“

The question lingered in the air for sometime whilst you hands began to work over him, both fists enclosed over it, jerking back and forth, watching excess skin slip back and forth, uncovering the tip once again.

“Yes Mikey- fuck, look at you…”

A few more wrist flicks you give, just to get him there, just to allow him to taste it in the air, to taste just what your about to do.

Your Eager lips wrap sultry around his pre-slicked head, engulfing the first two inches whilst using a hand to massage the rest, the other fondling the heavy sack just below, thumbing the spot between both testicles.

“Fuck- I gotta, we can’t be-“

He groaned before restless hands ran through your hair before resting at the base of your neck, pushing you down, this was now beyond your control, you were his to use, freely.

The last few inches slip inside, past the corners of your stretched lips and into the back of your throat, there the tip lingered and the heaviness on your tongue grew, chin resting lightly against his balls.

That’s when you choked and gagged, a thick layer of saliva trickling from the corners of your occupied mouth, gathering at the base, joining the thin layer of brunette hair.

The man above you groaned so loudly that it rattled the thin walls of the room. You could feel a gush of fluid dripping out of your throbbing cock which began to seep into the denim of your trousers, Mike was to busy rolling his hips into your throat to focus on anything else but his release, you wanted him to know just how much this got you to.

With a loud slurp and pop, you sucked and lapped the head of Mike’s aching cock, you wrap an eager hand around his length, squeezing and pumping as you mouth at his balls, slurping them both into your mouth and licking the underside.

“Baby- fuck, I’m so fuckin’ close”

Mike gripped at your now matted hair, forcing you back into his length, pushing you down as far as possible until he settle himself fully down your throat, watching as you begin to struggle, choking and sputtering for air.

His eyes focus on the tears slipping from your damp lids. Watched the copious amounts of saliva drip and leak from his balls and chair to the floor, you proved to be a mess and it had his insides churning and his cock jump and twitch.

“Baby-“

He came with a shout, hands still buried in the thickness of your hair, holding you there, making sure to take every single drop, in which you do, before proceeding to suck him dry, pull off with a hungered gasp.

The point yet again was proven, Mike needed you by his side constantly, the time flew and if anything, the stress seemed to subside, replaced with a certain lightness he compared to bliss.

You tuck him away, secreting the mess within his briefs before scrambling up into his lap, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He held you for a while, kissing softly at your ear.

The ache, the one from before hadn’t really fully disappeared and he felt guilty, yet he wanted more, craved more, this was nice and all, he loved this usually but…he wanted more of you.

Wiggling slightly earns a rumble of a grunt, he still wasn’t ready to leave this office, not until he had his fair share.

“Mikey…”

You trail off, feeling him grow harder by the second, it hadn’t even been ten minutes, what have you gotten yourself into?

“Why don’t you get undressed and bend over my desk, all pretty for me baby, I gotta have you…”

[dulcewrites]

ewan in the saltburn trailer is j sooo giving private school filthy rich aemond i love it

AND YES HE NEEDS HIS POC GF

I have been feeling…. less than inspired lately about hotd tbh but hopefully this will spark something. I know no one asked for this lol. This was inspired by Beyoncé’s Upgrade U. Honestly, I don't think Aemond would be much of a loser in a modern setting. He would be far too elusive and people would find him interesting simply based on that. But I am combining/changing some lore here so he is a #loser in this like I am assuming Ewan's character is Saltburn is.

Upgrade You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x rich!reader (wc: 2k)

Summary: You have always enjoyed having a project to build or fix up and Aemond Targaryen is no different

You flick a spoolie brush over your brows as you finished up your makeup. The lights from your vanity mirror illuminating you as you put the last touches on your face.

"I don't get it," Melanie sighed as she hugged one of your pillows to her chest. She sat crossed legged on your California king bed. "You're like the smartest person I know. Why do you need to be tutored?"

"Everyone can improve themselves, no matter what someone's specialty may be. Remember that."

Melanie nodded enthusiastically. Sweet girl, you think. A little daft at times but nothing some time under your guidance cannot fix.

She tilts her head curiously. "You are pretty dressed up for a library meeting too."

"Another lesson," you fluff your curls then turn from the mirror to her. "Do not let anyone tell you that you are overdressed. Does the library have a dress code?"

Melanie shakes her head slowly.

"So, who is going to tell me to change?"

"... No one?"

"Exactly."

Melanie chews on her lip in thought as if she is taking mental notes in her head. Though she is not wrong you are quite dressed up just to be studying. But your advice was also not wrong; any moment to be noticed should be taken and made the most of. If are to come into contact with any of your peers, why not make the best impression possible. You also do not have in it in you to tell your new pupil about the real reason as to why you were making this little trip. Best move through life with your cards close to your chest as your mother tells you. You can only imagine how wide Melanie's hazel eyes would get if you told her what you had up your sleeve.

Much like how you help the girls around you cultivate their futures, you must look out for your own as well. Your phone dings, and you smile when you check the notification.

Aemond Targaryen.

Archaic, some would say. Sending the feminist movement back 50 years, many could argue. Being realistic is more how you would put it. You have money, sure. Your parents have afforded you all the opportunities they wanted you to have, and for that you are grateful. But you are not naive; this is still very much a man's world. No matter how much money you have, there will be people who will look at you and hate you for having the gall to want more. For having ideas and wanting to express them. For looking the way, you do - for using the way you look against them.

You may not be able to have a seat at the table... but you can have someone build another for you.

Your family may have resources and money. But they do not have 'my father can use company family buy his way into politics; my mom has ancestry that traces back to French royalty' reach.

Luckily for you, there is someone who does have that access.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing some TLC cannot fix. It was one of your best traits: finding the diamonds in the rough and polishing them off so they shine brighter than before.

You go over to your closet and open the double doors. As your eyes search over the different handbags, you call out back to Melanie.

"Watercolor Dior saddle or creme Bottega Jodie?"

"Dior," she calls back.

You check yourself in the mirror before existing the closet.

"Well," you twirl for Melanie. You run hand over your midi turtleneck dress. You knee length boots clanked around as you moved in a circle.

"Perfect," she beams.

She sees you out to your car. With the window rolled down, she waves you off like a mother seeing their child off for kindergarten.

"Happy studying!"

Sweet and simple, just how you like em.

———

You always thought the best thing about Oxford was how it looked in the fall. The leaves begun to change, sprite green to a blend of red, orange, purple, and brown. Made the most picturesque background. But it seemed like how gently the leaves fell from the trees was the only thing that was coming easily.

Maybe it was naivety on your part, but you thought when you showed up in four-inch patent leather Aquazzura heels and literally no books, Aemond would have got the hint. And yet, here you were talking about the components of stockholder’s equity, as if you cared.

"So," you interrupt him mid rant. "Any fun plans for Winter break? I know it is a while away, but everyone is already taking about what they are doing."

He wrinkles his nose, his glasses being pushes up in the process. "Probably just dinner with the family."

Right. The compound. At least that is what the Targaryen main home looks like. You of course needed to your research.

"Well, there is this crazy Christmas that happens before everyone leaves," you shuffle closer to him, and you hope he gets a whiff of your perfume. "Maybe we can go together?"

Aemond snorts and looks down bit sheepishly. "Highly doubt, I am invited."

You fight the urge to sigh wistfully. Cute, smart, wealthy as fuck... and apparently awfully insecure. Everyone throwing the party should be falling at their knees to have him around. But you have since understood during your time at Oxford that many students here do not understand the opportunities in front of them.

If Aemond had any real confidence, he'd say fuck it because he could buy everyone going if he wanted to. They ignore him because he allows them to. And then you realize he is one of those people; the delusional 'I want to get by on my merit not my name' kind of people.

Oh sweet, silly boy.

"That doesn't matter," you wave him off. "Besides, if anyone says anything, you can just say you're with me. Consider it a thank you for doing this for me."

You let your hand slip on his thigh and squeeze slightly.

"Better yet, let's call it a date."

Rhaenyra would think for the amount of money her family has; they would be able to afford stronger liquor. But she has a feeling that it has nothing to do with money, and more about the 'champagne only' rule Alicent liked.

The expansive backyard was decorated impeccably, as it always is for the annual holiday party that they throw. Twinkly lights in the trees, red and green everywhere, and even a frankly nouveau riche ice sculpture. The affair was black tie, and Rhaenyra could feel the eyes of some guess when she showed up in a red fitted suit. Taking small sips from her glass, she looks around the area. She swears the more years go on, the less she recognizes who is invited to things like this.

"Don't tell me step-mommy has put you in timeout."

She rolls her eyes when she hears a familiar voice. Daemon comes to stand next to her, with a small glass in his hand.

"No, you fucker," Rhaenyra then frowns. "Where did you get the scotch?"

"Why do you think I am in timeout?"

Her uncle always found a way around the rules. Rhaenyra blows air out of her cheeks in annoyance. She looks down at her watch; another rule is that they were required to stay at 2 hours. Only 45 minutes has passed since she arrived.

"Heard you are going to the company retreat this year," Daemon downs the rest of the drink and winces at the burning.

"Someone has to represent the family with dad," she shrugs, a small amount of smugness seeping into her tone. "He asked me to go."

"Hmmm," Daemon smirks at her smugness. "You and Aemond."

Rhaenyra blinks confused. "What?"

"Yup," he leans against the wall. "I suppose Viserys found a new muse."

Rhaenyra snorts at his words but then licks her lips nervously. It sounds cruel to think, but it was never something she ever really worried about - her father preferring her siblings over her. At least not something she worried about in her adulthood. Sure, as a girl, newly off the passing of her mother, seeing her father marry a woman only six years her senior rattled her. Aegon being born shortly after only made things more tense. But, and to his own detriment really, Viserys had made sure she came first.

"I did not know Aemond had an interest in the company in the first place."

"He didn't," Daemon's mouth pinches a little. "Not until... recently."

Rhaenyra follows her uncle's gaze out to where Aemond was standing. He always managed to look more grow up than his sibling, more than Helaena and Aegon. A mimicry that Rhaenyra thinks he picked up from his mother, but something seemed different now.

New haircut, no glasses, new suit. Armani? No, Tom Ford. With a Cartier tie clip and sparking cuff links to match. He is surrounded by some of the lawyers that work at the company.

"Looks like university has done him well," Rhaenyra tries to sound as even keeled as possible. "Good for him."

"No," Daemon sounds bored with her strained pleasantries. "That is what pussy does someone who has never got any before."

Rhaenyra blanches. The last thing she wants to think about is her younger brother having sex. She sets her champagne down in disgust.

"Don't be gross."

Daemon huffs before directing his attention towards the other side of the courtyard. His eyes zero in on Alicent, who tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder as she laughs with a young woman. A pretty young woman.

"Only met this semester and managed to get a holiday party invite, and a seat next to mother dearest. She must some charmer."

"You know," Rhaenyra starts. "Not every woman that is around this family is some sort of ruthless social climber."

"Of course, not every woman. Only the smart ones."

She sighs. That was not just pointed at the girl, but at Alicent too. Even though Alicent grew up with an even cushier life than they did. A type of old money that even the Targaryens had to give credence to. Strangely enough, Daemon seemed to take Viserys remarrying worse than Rhaenyra did. Even Rhaenyra over the years has grown to accept the fate that is their blended family. Accepted it enough to be cordial, albeit sometimes still awkward, with Alicent. They have forever been bonded in having to deal with the moods that come with Viserys Targaryen. But Daemon... it seems like he has never forgiven his brother for the act of moving on. He seemed to only grow more jaded since the divorce from Laena.

"How do you even know this?"

"Aemond told Aegon who told Helaena who told Rhaena who told Baela who told me."

Rhaenyra breaks her gaze from the two women. "Keeping tabs on your nephew that you barely speak to?"

Daemon gave her an empty smile. Almost a little cruel like he would crush her like a bug if it would not so pitiful. "You naive little thing. When you figure things out, let me know."

Rhaenyra wants to ask him what he means by that, but Daemon pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against to leave Rhaenyra alone.

Alone was a feeling she was used to. Rhaenyra often found solace in the loneliness that she found herself stuck in. If she did not find comfort in it, it would swallow her whole. Jaw unhinged and bloodthirsty.

Her eyes went back to the where Alicent and the girl were sitting, but Helaena seemed to replace the girl's place to speak with her mother. Instead of getting chummy with Alicent, the mystery woman had gone over to Aemond. Rhaenyra felt a little queasy watching them. Like watching two little dolls or those silly little cake toppers people get. Picture perfect like the stock photos that came in picture frames.

She shook her head at herself with an internal laugh. Here she was picking apart her baby brother's seemingly first real relationship; she was no better than Daemon if she did that. It was she told herself when she watched one of the wives of the company's lawyers come up to the girl and give her kiss on the cheek. Like they were old family friends.

Rhaenyra suddenly finds herself straightening out her jacket and her heels moving across the outdoor area. Might as well introduce herself... as a kind sister figure, of course.

She has a funny feeling she will be seeing this girl around more often.