#i might not be able to restrain myself.

[autism-corner]

my friend is having her bday party on halloween weekend and im going as frankensteins monster (or at least attempting to) but i really hope i dont let myself talk about the eroticisms behind reanimation and other stimulations of human life.

[purgetrooperfox]

how come you do post much about gaza?

assuming you meant don't*? because this makes no sense otherwise? anyway

that you don't see my activism doesn't mean it isn't happening. tumblr is a terrible platform for activism, so I don't use it for that

[avemstella]

Lady Egeria the Seer, first Archon of Fontaine, could see everyone's futures as if reflections upon the water. It allowed her to cast the most perfect of judgements and change the tides of fate itself. However, there was one future that escaped her sight, that future being her own. And for that reason, she did not see how her story would end until her blood stained the sands and there was nowhere else to run.

[snekdood]

the worst types of tumblr archetypes to encounter on here:

if you're not like this? great! you don't need to tell me, and this clearly doesn't apply to you :)! just because you might share similarities, doesn't mean you're the same if you don't act this way. Be thankful you are not as extreme as these archetypes.

[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

Pic credit: @cupcakeinat0r

Warning: Rough sex, overstimulation, dumbification-ish?, name-calling, breeding kink

It started with you making your way to Miguel's office to drop off your mission report and some food from the cafeteria since you were certain he hadn't eaten today. Just before you reached the door, Lyla appeared in front of you. "Hey girly. You here for the boss?" She asked. "Yeah Lyla, I know he probably hasn't come out for food today. Plus I need to drop off my report." You answered. Lyla gave you a sheepish look. "Ummm just be careful...or maybe come back later? It might be better. He's not doing so hot. It's uh...his time of the month?"

You paused at first. You were so busy taking care of anomalies you forgot to check the calendar. Miguel's spider DNA gave him a mating cycle. The first time had taken you by surprise and your muscles ached for 2 weeks. Since then you'd been careful to time it properly and stretch but saving the multiverse from sudden collapse was becoming more and more difficult lately. You totally forgot about Miguel's "heat".

"Oh...um..maybe I'll still go check on him. Just so I can make sure he doesn't hurt himself." You reasoned to her. Lyla shrugged. "If you say so. Don't say I didn't warn you though, girly." You smiled and waved her away playfully as the door slid open in front of you. Miguel's office felt unusually cold, like he had turned the AC on full blast plus some. You didn't even have a chance to speak before hearing Miguel's voice shouting. "LYLA I told you not to let anyone in here!"

Your spider sense pinged just as you saw one of Miguel's huge monitors flying towards you. "Miguel! What the hell, it's me!" You shouted, catching the monitor before it took you out. The force of it did send you back a couple inches but you were otherwise unharmed. You swung up to his platform and set the monitor gently on the floor. "Oh...I-I'm sorry, hermosa. I didn't know it was you." He apologized. He was hunched over in his chair, his large frame curled almost into a ball. He didn't even look up at you but you could see him tense up as you neared him. "You shouldn't be here, querida. It's not safe. I don't wanna hurt you."

You put your hand on his back and Miguel bristled like a cat. "Amor, estoy serio! If you don't leave, I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He warned, his tone was harsh but also pleading. You stood firm. "I'm not afraid of you, Miguel. And I'm not fragile either. You know I can handle it. It'll hurt you more if you don't." You placed your hands on his shoulders and started to massage his muscles when he shot up from his chair and whirled around to face you. "You don't know what you're asking for this time, querida. I tried to take a suppressor and..it didn't work! It only made it worse." He growled. You could finally take in the sight of him fully as he towered above you. His hair was disheveled and sweaty, his normally maroon-colored eyes were a blazing, almost glowing, red. He was breathing heavily and his hands were clenched in tight fists like he was using every ounce of strength to keep them to himself.

You raised your hand to his face, concerned, but Miguel caught your hand in his tightly. "Miguel-" "Why do you insist on torturing me, amor? Don't you understand that the closer you get to me, the more I'm having to restrain myself?!" He pulled you to him and pressed his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. "Dios mio...you smell so sweet, princesa. I bet you taste even better." He growled against your skin. Arousal coursed through you as you felt his hard length press against you. "Miguel...I can take it.." You spoke, trying to reassure him, your voice barely making it above a whisper. He leaned close to you, gripping you by your jaw. "I won't be gentle, hermosa. I can't." He rasped. You nodded and gasped as he began to grind his hips against you. One hand ran up the back of your neck and tangled in your hair. Grabbing a fistful of it, Miguel yanked your head back and latched his mouth to your neck. You cried out as his fangs sunk into your skin, marking you as his. He sucked on your neck before pressing his lips to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. His other hand ran down your body, squeezing and groping your flesh as he went. He stopped just under your bellybutton and gripped a fistful of your suit. Your eyes widened as you felt a tug and heard the rip of the material.

You pushed on his chest, trying to protest his destruction of your suit but he grabbed your wrist, pinning it behind you, and smothering your noises with his kiss. Breathing heavily, he released you long enough to growl out "I'll make you another suit, querida" before shredding the material on your chest, freeing your breasts. He wasted zero time sucking one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth before rolling the other one between his fingers. You let your head roll back and threaded your fingers through Miguel's hair. His warm tongue flicked across your nipple, making you whimper in pleasure.

Miguel stood up straight and pushed you back against the table. Turning your body away from him, he got on his knees behind you. "Bend over for me, princesa. Let me taste you." He demanded. You bent over the table, your ass and dripping pussy completely exposed to him. Miguel groaned as he massaged your ass. "Fuck, you're so wet already, amor. You're driving me crazy."

You choked out a loud moan as Miguel shoved his tongue inside you without warning. His hands dug into the meat of your ass as he wiggled it against his face. "Oh f-fuck, Miguel! Your mouth feels so good!" You whined. Miguel hummed as he sucked on your clit and flicked his tongue over your wet hole. Two of his large fingers replaced his tongue inside you and began pumping inside you fast and hard. Your legs were already beginning to shake and you knew Miguel wouldn't have mercy on you just yet. You felt yourself coming undone as he ate you like an ice cream. You couldn't help but rock back against his face, crying out his name as you came on his tongue.

Laughing quietly to himself, he stood and wiped his face before cleaning off his fingers one by one, savoring your taste. He went back to rubbing your clit in circles as he positioned himself behind you. He pushed on your back until you were completely flush against the table. You heard his suit turn off and squirmed against him in anticipation.

A loud scream was pulled from your throat as Miguel fully sheathed himself inside you. Giving you absolutely no time to adjust, he began fucking you at such a rough pace, the monitors began to shake from the force of his thrusts. "Ay carajo, bebita...you're so fucking tight....gonna fill this pussy up so good, querida. You're gonna make such a beautiful mama." Miguel moaned. You couldn't form any words. Every ounce of your strength was going to keeping yourself upright. You gripped the edge of the table and held on for dear life. You could see your face reflected in the monitor in front of you, the orange lights illuminating your fucked out expression. Your lips were slightly puffy from Miguel sucking on them and your eyes were half open. Miguel noticed you looking into your reflection and smirked.

"You like watching me fuck you, amor? You do make such a beautiful sight. You can barely keep your eyes open, can you? Do I make you feel that good, baby? Answer me."

"Y-yes, Miguel you- ohmygod- you make me feel amazing. You're so deep inside me...fuck, you're gonna make me cum soon!" You cried. Miguel laughed darkly. "Oh you're gonna cum a few times for me, cariño. As many times as it takes." He growled. Hooking his arm under your knee, he lifted one of your legs onto the table, angling himself so he could fuck deeper into you. His pace sped up and the feeling of his cock so deep inside you had you screaming. The monitors not attached to the ceiling toppled over and crashed to the floor of the platform but Miguel kept his pace as if he didn't even hear them. You didn't even have time to announce it before your orgasm hit you, soaking Miguel's cock and stomach with your wetness. Still his pace did not slow. If anything, it spurred him on even more. "Así baby, cum all over me, princesa. Fuck you're such a good girl for me.." Miguel groaned in approval.

Grabbing your hair, Miguel pulled your head back and pressed kisses to the side of your face as he continued fucking you. "Que linda...eres tan hermosa, amor." He murmured, his gentle words a stark contrast to the rough movements of his hips. "Tell me you love it, princesa." "Ohhhh I l-love it s'much! S'fucking good!" You slurred, your brain foggy from the overstimulation. You were so blissed out you didn't realize your mouth had been hanging open and drool had fallen from your tongue. Miguel smirked when he noticed. "Oh princesa you're drooling, huh? Am I fucking my baby stupid? This cock too much for my dumb little whore, hm?" All you could do was nod and whimper in response. "Oh pobrecita..." Miguel crooned.

He reached around you and rubbed your clit as he slammed his hips against your ass. Your moans and whimpers grew loud as another orgasm washed over you, your nails clawing at the table.

"M-Miguel please...I c-can't." You sobbed, your legs shaking, dangerously close to giving out. Miguel bent over you and nibbled gently on your ear lobe. "What happened to 'I can take it, Miguel. I'm not fragile, Miguel'?" He taunted. You let out another sob of pleasure as he lifted your leg back onto the table and smacked your ass before gripping it tightly. "Don't worry, princesa. Gonna fill that pussy up soon, gonna put a baby in you and make you a mama. Fuck, amor, you're gonna look so beautiful all swollen with my babies. Gotta fuck it into you deep, baby." He moaned. Your eyes rolled back in your head at his words. "Fuck yes, cum inside me Miguel. Please fill me up! I need it!" You begged. Miguel cursed and gripped your hips hard enough that surely bruises would be there later. Sweat dripped from his hair and a thin sheen of sweat made his chest glisten.

He pounded into you hard, chasing his release. Your screams of pleasure filled his ears and soon he was seeing stars as his release finally hit. His whole body shuddered as he emptied his load inside you, coating your walls in his warm, sticky cum. With a loud grunt, he pressed his hips flush against your ass, making sure he was totally spent before pulling back out of you. Your legs gave out completely and you collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Miguel quickly joined you, pulling your trembling body against his sweaty chest. Panting against your skin, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and brushed your hair away from your face. His actions were gentle but as he kissed your cheek, he murmured in your ear.

"Get your rest now, amor. I'm not even close to done with you."

[humanpurposes]

De Jure

In light of a recent scandal, she finds herself becoming part of Aemond's plan for the future- Part 2 to De Facto.

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Main Masterlist // AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, politics (putting my degree to good use), questionable power dynamics, manipulation, dub con/non con elements, baby trapping

Words: 4121

A/n: He looked too good at the New York premiere and I couldn't help myself :)

A strange feeling seems to follow her around Hightower House, like there are eyes on her, like everyone around her is watching her, like they know something.

It’s plausible enough that Aemond likes to keep her behind late most nights because he trusts her, more so than the other staff. There’s always something they need to talk through, some crisis that needs solving, some issue they can form a preemptive strategy for. Mostly “crisis resolution” comes in the form of him bending her over the desk and tearing through her tights, or having her on her knees with his hands in her hair and his cock slipping between her lips.

Aemond is precise, attentive, relentless. He leaves her stunned and satisfied in a way that the wanting never satiates itself. 

Then there are the occasional glances, the sparse touches, his hand on her back when he walks into a room, his hand on her thigh under a desk, in the back of a car.

He’s careful to act inconspicuously around others, but there’s something about the way Maris glares at her, the way Alys watches her with her brows raised.

What if they know? How could they? How could they not?

Then she starts to get noticed by Otto Hightower. He’s a formidable figure in Hightower House, notorious for expecting the best from the staff, for his bluntness, his restrained but short temper, his intolerance for anything less than perfection– this is the man who made Aemond Targaryen the political force that he is after all.

After Aemond’s success in de-escalating the Aegon situation, Otto Hightower had personally pulled her aside and commended her. “Aemond said he wouldn’t have been able to pull it together if it weren’t for you.”

She’d been rather stunned that Aemond would mention her to his grandfather. 

“Just doing my bit for the party,” she’d said.

He nodded his head at that, mouth poised in something like a smile.

She never has plans on a Friday night these days. She’s working through some polls, anxiously waiting for Aemond to finish a meeting with the inner circle, Otto, Cole and Alicent.

Alys is watching her between glances at her laptop, the same red lipstick on her lips, an eerie white light illuminating her face from the screen. Her nails tap against the keys and the surface of the desk when she pauses to think, to stare.

“What?” she says sharply, weeks of patience wearing thin.

Alys smirks to herself before slowly closing the lid of her laptop. “It seems as though something’s bothering you.”

A panicked feeling hums in her chest. She was too harsh. Her reaction was too obvious. “No, I’m fine,” she mutters.

“I thought you might be tired, you know, with all the overtime Mr Taragryen has you doing.”

She tries to laugh it off, to smile and shake her head, but her mouth feels stiff.

“Maris thinks he likes you.” Alys leans back in her chair, twirling a pen between her fingers.

“No more than he likes anyone else, I’m sure.”

One of Alys’ eyebrows lifts. With a short humming sound in her throat her lips break into another smile that bares her teeth. “Between us, I think Maris has a crush on him. It was cute at first but now I think she looks a little desperate…”

Desperate. What does that make her?

“... I think he likes you because you’re good at your job, but then sometimes it’s like he goes out of his way to ignore you. I thought he might be doing it to make the rest of us feel better.”

They stare at each other, locked in a silent dare. She feels her chest moving with her breath, her heart drumming under her skin. 

“I think you’re reading into things,” she says, wincing at how dry her throat is.

Alys’ smile is gone now. She has this certain look, it can be unassuming and yet unnervingly intense. But they go back to their respective tasks. She looks like she has another thought brewing in her head, but she is interrupted by the ringing on the phone on her desk.

She picks it up instantly. “Hello, sir. Yes, sir. I’ll send her through now.”

The meeting isn’t over yet, the others would have passed the office on their way out. She tries not to stand too eagerly, taking her time as she collects the papers in front of her and picks up her phone– but what if Alys thinks she’s moving too slowly? She resists the urge to tut at herself or fiddle with the fabric of her skirt.

She has to walk by Alys’ desk to get to the door, and the thought fills her with dread, like she’ll be able to see right through her head and read every thought.

“Wait,” Alys calls as she hovers in the open doorway. 

She turns to face her.

“He’s sweet,” Alys says, “and too gorgeous for his own good, but the Hightowers are opportunists.”

She knows that. The whole country knows that. For a generation, Westerosi politics has been nothing but a game between the Greens and the Blacks, a rivalry that started when Otto Hightower’s daughter caught the eye of Viserys Targaryen.

“You’re a smart girl,” Alys says. “Be careful.”

The walk to Aemond’s office feels longer than usual. The closed door feels more daunting. She taps her knuckles against it three times and pauses for a moment, until she hears his voice telling her to enter. 

The days are growing shorter and the sun is already setting, a warm glow bleeding in through the tall windows. The light makes Aemond’s hair appear more golden than silver. He’s sitting on the sofa, suit jacket open, tie discarded, the first few buttons of his shirt undone, hair dishevelled, like he’s been running his hands through it.

Criston Cole is sat in an armchair and nods to her when she walks in. Otto Hightower sits with his back to the door, Alicent beside him.

They’ve been in here for hours, the table between them is covered in empty coffee cups and newspapers with bold headlines. Some have moved on from the Aegon scandal, others have not.

She looks to Aemond for an instruction.

He beckons her with a single finger, anticipation already pooling in her belly despite their company. She stands beside him, hovering by the arm of the sofa where Aemond leans against his elbow, clutching her papers close to her chest.

Otto greets her by name. She’s rather proud of how far she’s come since her first day, scared to even step foot in his office.

He and Cole continue to discuss the Duskendale by-election which will inevitably take place in light of Aegon’s removal. Otto says this will be an opportunity for the Blacks to capitalise on the scandal, win themselves another seat in Parliament and put pressure on the Greens, on Aemond. Alicent listens all the while, picking at her fingernails.

“Rhaenyra will pick someone close to her, someone charismatic,” Otto says, looking directly at her. 

Why would he do that, does he expect a note to be taken on the conversation?

Aemond’s hand appearing on her waist takes her by surprise. She stares down at him wide-eyed at his carelessness. He doesn’t seem worried as he gently pulls her down to sit on the arm of the sofa. His arm stays wrapped around her back, his hand slotting into the curve of her body, his thumb tracing circles against her shirt. 

She tries to look at Otto and Cole without drawing too much attention to herself, but they don’t seem surprised at Aemond’s little display of affection. Alicent stares at them passively.

“Who in the Black Party has any charisma?” Cole says dryly. “She’s hardly got any allies left.”

“Jacaerys,” Otto says.

Cole scoffs. “He’s fresh out of uni.”

“He’s young but he has appeal,” Alicent says. “Certainly more than Aegon ever did.” She says it so gently but with no hesitation.

“And a good speaker,” Aemond adds, “people respond to him, he’s likeable.”

One more question remains, a ceaseless itch in her brain, as distracting as Aemond’s hand clinging to her body. She clears her throat softly. “Who’s our candidate going to be?”

Aemond’s grip on her waist tightens and he looks up at her, dying sunlight beaming over his face, catching on the tip of his nose, the curve of his lip, the lines of his jaw. “We’ve been discussing that.”

She hates this, feeling like she’s a step behind everyone else in the room. She looks up at the faces of Otto and Cole. Aemond has a sister, Helaena, but she stays away from public life. His younger brother, Daeron, is still studying. There are also plenty of Hightower cousins, people already in their inner circle. 

“If we are all in agreement,” Otto says, fixing his suit jacket as he stands. “Come, Alicent.”

Aemond’s mother has always been a glamorous woman, younger than she appears. It’s not something she’s ever noticed before but she has such a solemn look about her, wide brown eyes and fallen lips. 

Aemond stands to kiss her on both cheeks. “Thank you,” he says, softly, still loud enough for her to hear it.

“I trust your judgement,” she says.

With that the three of them leave the room and Aemond closes the door behind her.

She’s still sitting unsurely on the arm of the sofa, resisting the urge to dig her fingernails into the leather.

Aemond turns to face her. He slips off his suit jacket and places it carefully on the coat hanger by the door. He takes measured steps towards the sofa. “I have something to tell you. Sit down.”

Her stomach drops at the sinisterly soft tone of his voice, but she does as he says, slipping from the arm to the sofa itself, only to find she cannot sit comfortably. The back isn’t quite in the right place, the seat is too soft, like she’s melting into it. She tries to sit with her back straight, her legs crossed, her hands in her lap and her head held high as he approaches her.

By now she thinks she has a good read of him, the subtleties in his expressions, the hints into his mind. She can’t read him now. He looks at her with excitement, with something softer, with a look of hunger and lust. But she can tell that he’s far too happy with himself.

“You look nervous. Are you nervous?” he says, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and pulling them up to bare his hands, the muscles and tendons of his forearms.

“Well, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s exciting, I promise.”

Exciting to him, clearly.

“Alright,” she says.

Aemond stands before her and smiles, only for a moment. Usually, in this position, he’d reach out for her cheek, maybe he’d lean down to kiss her.

He just looks at her, with amusement, wonder, curiosity, perhaps even pride. With a small hum to himself, Aemond says, “we need a candidate for Duskendale.”

“So I’ve heard,” she says, quietly but defiantly. 

“I want it to be you.”

She feels her eyes go wide. The room feels cold and close. She can hear Aemond breathing through his nose, slow and steady.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond says, “what do you think?” 

It takes her too long to find her breath. “You suggested it to Otto?”

“Yes. He and my mother agree, you’ll be perfect.”

Heat flushes in her face. She feels an urge to laugh, or cry, or grab him by the shoulders and ask him why in seven fucking hells he thinks this would be a good idea.

But then this is what she’s always wanted. This is why she studied so relentlessly, spent hours and hours in the library pouring over textbooks, why she gave up sleep to meet her deadlines, missed meals to afford rent in Sunspear, dedicated so much of herself to the extra work, all so she could have the very job Aemond is offering her on a silver platter.

It would be worth it, wouldn’t it? Knowing she could actually make a difference to the world that seemed determined to have her fail.

What if she asks him “why?” What if she gives him a reason to doubt her and he snatches that chance away?

She barely registers Aemond’s hands closing around hers before he pulls her up to stand. His forehead and his nose rest against hers, his breath warm over her skin. His lips are almost upon hers but he doesn’t move to kiss her, he keeps her waiting and restless.

“They’ve all agreed,” he mutters, “we need someone with no history, no scandals, nothing that could be held against us, not after the mess Aegon’s made.”

She pauses, pulling back a little so they can meet eye to eye. “You want me because I won’t embarrass you?”

Aemond tilts his head. “I want you because you’re the best option.” He leans in again, pressing a delicate kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek. “You’d be a perfect fit, you’re intelligent, you’re meticulous, you don’t miss details and you’re unafraid to speak your mind.”

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth but she turns her head. “I want to feel like I’ve earned it,” she utters.

Aemond’s mouth trails to her neck instead, kissing her firmly. “You have earned it,” he says, his hands moving to her waist, squeezing her, claiming her. His touch roams over the rest of her body while he kisses her neck, her thighs, her rear, anything he can reach. 

It’s dangerous how she responds when his hands are in the right place, and he knows it. But she reaches for his wrists to make him stop when he starts to tug on the waist of her skirt with his fingers.

“Is that what you think this is,” she says, “do you think I’m only trying to get a career out of you?”

Aemond frowns.

“Do you think I want to be remembered as some shallow opportunist? Is that all you think I deserve?”

When he hums it catches in the back of his throat. He makes a small pout with his lips, the way he often does when he’s thinking. 

“You have an opportunity to do something remarkable here,” he says, his voice low and chilling as he takes her chin in his fingertips. “Look at all the work you’ve done for me already, why deny yourself the chance to do more?”

It doesn’t have to be a denial, does it? Saying no to him would only mean she could take a different path, her own path, on her terms. Unless this is it. Unless she says no and this is the end of everything.

His fingertips press into her jaw, as if his patience is wearing thin with every passing moment.

She looks into his single violet eye and the sapphire prosthetic set in his left socket, determined to stand her ground. “Not like this,” she says.

Aemond tuts. “Are you worried you won’t get in? You’ll get the seat, I’ll make sure you do. You’ll get the career you’ve wanted for so long, you’ll get everything you’ve worked for.” There’s desperation in his voice, something familiar and yet primal. His thumb gently strokes over her cheek to her lower lip. “I’ll keep you with me. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Reason slips from her mind and something dangerous tightens in her gut. “What do you mean–”

Her question ends up muffled against his lips as Aemond kisses her, deeply and desperately, pulling her into him, closer and closer.

She holds her hands up and the only place for her palms to go is against his chest so she can feel his heat and his heartbeat through his shirt. She parts her lips, welcoming his tongue and his teeth, welcoming the way he consumes her.

“Once you’re in Parliament we can make things official,” he mutters between their kisses.

He goes in to kiss her again and she pulls back. “What?”

He huffs impatiently, taking her face in both his hands. “I need someone reliable by my side, someone like you. It’ll be good for my image, and for the party, to appeal to family values.”

She feels herself scowling. “Did your grandfather tell you that?”

“Don’t give me that look,” he says teasingly,

“What about all the work I’ve done already? I can’t give everything up?”

“What would you be giving up?”

Infuriatingly, her mind is suddenly blank.

Through the windows behind them, the sun is setting lower and lower in the sky, the golden rays only shining brighter as night creeps in. The world is as it was when they first met. Aemond’s eye burns in the light, his eye that has bored into hers as he’s pushed her over the threshold of bliss, that finds her across crowded rooms, that must have seen every inch of her skin. 

“We’ll announce an engagement before you’re confirmed as our candidate,” he says. He comes to kiss her gently. The moment could almost feel tender, if he were not seeking to uproot her entire life. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against her lips. “Say yes to me, please, I need you to say yes.”

It’s easy to get lost in Aemond Targaryen, in his intensity, in his rare offerings of praise and approval. Her arms find their way around his neck, pulling herself into him, absentmindedly rocking her hips against his. His promises excite her as much as they terrify her.

“Say it,” he purrs, his voice catching in his throat as he walks her back. “I need an answer from you.”

The backs of her knees hit the edge of the sofa. She takes a moment to breathe and find her bearings.

Aemond’s eye is hooded and dark, his lips pressed together. She can feel it all simmering under the surface, his hunger, his desperation.

He needs her. He cannot lose this seat to the Blacks, he can’t give them space to challenge him. He can’t let Aegon’s indiscretions overshadow everything he’s been working towards. The Greens need to purge themselves of this damning image, they need a clean slate, and they’re willing to put her in the centre of government to get it.

“I’ll do it,”

His kiss is harsh when he captures her lips again, needy and commanding as he grabs at her waist.

She lets out a breath of surprise when he positions her to lay back on the sofa without parting from her. He’s over her, pressing her into the plush leather, a firm hold trailing from her neck, her wrists, her sides, her breasts through her blouse.

He undoes the buttons slowly, kissing the exposed parts of her flesh of her chest and stomach. When he has the blouse off completely he makes quick work of undoing her bra, discarding that to move his attention to her breasts. He toys with her nipples with his thumbs, lips and tongue until she’s writhing beneath him. She can already picture the bruises that will bloom in his wake.

He’s slow with her skirt too, she can hardly stand it, feeling the fabric and his fingertips dragging down her legs. With her shoes removed, Aemond sits back on his haunches and wraps his hands around one of her ankles, smirking as he strokes small circles over a sensitive spot of her skin.

“Please,” she utters, reaching her fingers out to graze his stomach, still hidden underneath a perfectly white shirt.

“I know, I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers in her panties to pull them from her legs. “I just like seeing you like this.

He wastes no more time, placing her ankle over his shoulder, spreading her other knee with a wide palm and leaning down until his face is between her legs. He knows to start slowly, to tease her with slow drags through her folds. It’s an infuriating feeling but she savours it. It’s the burn she loves, being dragged towards pleasure like a continual tide lapping at the shore.

She craves these unhurried moments, and she supposes there will only be more once Aemond gets his way.

His motions increase in speed when her breath quickens and she starts to squirm, with whispered mumblings of “please… I’m so close… please.” He borders on frantic, hums of approval vibrating against her centre.

It builds and builds until it releases a bloom of warmth in her belly that soon fades back into need when Aemond untangles himself from her. She watches him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, as he unbuckles his belt and yanks it from the loops in his slacks. He bares himself to her. There’s no pride this time, just awe when he looks at her.

He positions himself above her, running the tip of his cock, already hard and leaking, against her, pushing against her clit with every gentle thrust.

She holds onto his arms for leverage, letting herself succumb to the sensation, the smell of his aftershave and his sweat, the heat and the sound of their breaths in unison.

“I mean it,” he says with a sigh, “I think you’re perfect.”

She smiles, planting a peck against his lips, before she slides a hand between their bodies and positions him at her entrance. She’s taken him enough times but the initial stretch has her gritting her teeth. 

Aemond stills. “We can–”

“I want to take it,” she utters, “I want to feel you,”

His resolve melts, but he doesn’t push further, waiting for a nod from her before he inches himself deeper inside her.

Their bodies mould against each other, her arms around his shoulders, his head nestled into her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he pants. She watches him thrusting into her, chasing his own pleasure as he nudges against a spot inside her that leaves her feeling weightless. 

He tries to increase his pace, but the back of the sofa hinders him somewhat. He grunts in frustration, gathering her in his arms and moving them both to the fur rug on the floor with ease. He brings her legs onto his shoulders and pushes into her once more, to the hilt, eliciting a gasp from her.

He chuckles to himself, showing his teeth and licking his lips. “You like that?”

“Yeah, fuck,” she breathes.

“Know you like it when I’m nice and deep,” he mutters, fucking her with swift snaps of his hips. With one hand on the floor he takes a gentle hold of her neck with the other, leaning in so her thighs are pressed against her chest. “My pretty girl, my perfect girl.”

Her second climax is within reach, she feels the heat rising inside of her, her hips trying to buck but she’s caged by him.

Aemond’s hold on her neck tightens. “You’re close,” he says with a wicked smile on his lips.

Her back arches from the floor, head thrown back in ecstasy. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, “please don’t fucking stop…”

She clings to him, each one of them at the other’s mercy.

“I’ve got you,” Aemond says, continuing to drive his hips against hers. He must be reaching his own end, his pace is starting to falter, his moans unrestrained. 

Usually he makes a habit of spilling himself over her body, her stomach or her thighs.

“Aemond?” she breathes.

“You’ll take what I give you, won’t you?” he says, “you’re mine now, we might as well get a head start.”

The realisation makes her stomach drop. “Wait–” she tries to murmur between her whines, “you can’t– not yet–”

He leans in to kiss her, to soothe her, to silence her.

He comes with a guttural groan, his hips stilling against her and a warmth spreading inside of her. Her own pleasure erupts after that, she can feel herself clenching around him, her body greedy for everything he has to offer her.

Aemond stays pressed against her for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. He withdraws from her slowly, bringing her legs down– she sees the way his eye lingers between her legs, something hot and wet dripping from within her. He gathers it with the tip of his cock, pushing himself into her again with short, shallow thrusts.

He takes her by her neck again, demanding her attention.

She gazes back at him, breathless, wide-eyed.

“There’s my good girl,” he coos. “With any luck we’ll have a due date to announce alongside your victory in Duskendale.”

[tadpolesonalgae]

Bloodlust.[*]

Azriel x reader

a/n: thank you, anon <3, I had a lot of fun writing this 😌

warnings: smut, spitting, hate-sex, slight power imbalance?

word count: 4,170

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Where’s your report?”

“I thought you were doing it.”

The look Azriel gives you is filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twist into an expression of silent hatred.

“You have thirty minutes to get it written up and on my desk,” he says shortly, words icy and clipped in the exact way that has irritation scratching at the back of your mind. “That’s completely unreasonable,” you reply bluntly. “Besides,” you say, holding his dark gaze, “I thought you were my superior. I was just there to offer assistance, so there’s no need for me to submit a formal report.”

“My desk. Half an hour,” he repeats coldly, his tone blunt and unforgiving. “Not a minute later.”

Then he turns, closing the door with enough force it creates a distinct hissing noise on the way shut, leaving you to struggle with the deadline.

————

Twenty-nine minutes later you deliver three forceful knocks to his door, blood hot as it boils in your veins, report still stuck to your clipboard which is in turn tucked beneath your arm.

“Enter,” he calls, and a muscle in your jaw ticks at the tone. Curt and demanding. Still, you step inside, allowing the door to click shut, dropping the clipboard on his desk on top of a file he was writing in, hopefully smudging the ink as the board clatters upon the surface. “Good enough?” You nearly spit, but manage to tone down the venom just enough.

Thunder claps from outside as your eyes meet, and he picks the report up, leaning back in his chair as he begins to read through the hurried scrawl. You bite down a snappy remark, hands clasped behind your back in proper fashion as you’re forced to wait for him to complete his review. You get the distinct impression he’s taking his time.

His dark eyes pause a third of the way down the page, brows narrowing before dragging his gaze to yours. “The disposal was rushed and excessively violent. Diplomacy would have been preferable, and much more suitable?” He reads aloud, voice rough and gravelly with barely restrained ire.

“You asked for my report,” you counter lowly, unable to help the disagreeable twist of your features as you glare at him. “Diplomacy did not guarantee the mission’s success. It would have been a waste of time,” he replies.

“That’s just like you to rush into violence,” you hiss, nails digging into the skin of your wrist with the amount of restraint you’re using to keep from doing something you’ll regret. “You resort to slaughter at the slightest inconvenience,” you seethe, nails piercing the skin. “Fucking Illyrian,” you spit.

Ire blazes behind his eyes, reflecting the hatred burning in your own gaze.

Not breaking eye-contact, he reaches for a blank sheet of paper and places it before him on the desk, jabbing his finger once down atop the page. “Rewrite it. Now.”

A startled laugh barks from your throat as you stare at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I won’t repeat myself.”

You stare at him longer, furious indignation boiling your blood, able to feel as your temper begins to bubble over with blatant provocation. “You’re a spiteful piece of shit,” you seethe lowly but he doesn’t buckle beneath your rage. You wouldn’t hate him as much as you do if you could so easily get the better of him. “You just want me to write a report in your favour. You can’t stand that you might have made the wrong call.”

“It was the right call,” he replies harshly, a hiss in his voice, “your lack of experience is limiting your understanding. I knew you weren’t fit for this mission—I’ll have you moved to a more suitable position.”

“You’re the one in the wrong position,” you spit, stalking forward so you’re right before his desk. “You’re too prone to excessive violence. You needlessly took a life that could have been saved. It would have been of no consequence to us if he lived.”

“His existence would have only perpetuated the problem,” Azriel repeats lowly, his own temper beginning to show as he stands from his desk, palms flattening across its surface as he leans forward. “Purge from the roots, or it will only return. Now write the report.”

Gritting your teeth any tighter would have surely caused one to crack beneath the pressure, and you can perfectly imagine how it would feel to launch yourself across the desk and wrap your hands around his throat. To squeeze until he’s thrashing beneath you, that indomitable figure writhing beneath you as you begin to pry the life from his body…to set him alight and watch him scream.

You ease out a breath, soothed by the surprisingly violent imagery. You aren’t one to generally resort to that kind of solution, but with him it seems almost irresistible…the call of violence, how good it would feel to watch blood bead on his skin.

Frustration slightly abated, you drag the paper from beneath his hold. “Give me the clipboard.”

“You’ll complete it here, where I can see you,” he replies icily.

“Fine. Give me the clipboard,” you bite out, rage already rising again.

“You don’t need it. You’ll write it here,” he says, gesturing to the desk.

A tinge of red creeps into your vision, and it takes all your discipline not to reach for the blades tucked beneath your clothes. Stiff with rage, you drag the paper to the side of his desk, walking around to his side as you take a pen from the pot, making a point of reaching through his personal space. Then, as you’re retracting, you decide you’ve had enough of restraining yourself. “Illyrian scum,” you hiss out, gaze piercing into him as your hand tightens around the pen, clutching it as though it were a blade.

His pupils narrow into slits and his fingers crush at the soft skin of your throat. Your entire body contracts beneath the brutal touch, the tip of steel already poised to slice into leather and cut through his blackened heart. Stalemate.

“You’re a fucking piece of work,” he snarls out gutturally, expression twisted into picturesque wrath, ignoring the stinging pain as you slide the blade deeper, sharp enough to pierce the leather with ease, poised to cut into flesh. He seems to remember himself, hold lightening only marginally…enough you have to pull back on the blade or else he’ll be justified in his hostility.

“Infighting is forbidden,” you manage to get out, making sure to keep the steel close enough to his flesh he knows you won’t hesitate anymore. “You broke a rule, Spymaster.”

“And what will you do?” He asks, cruel mirth glittering in his dark hazel eyes. “Will you try for diplomacy now?” He hisses, squeezing the sides of your throat painfully.

“Why would I bother with a brute?” You rasp back, neither of you bothering to conceal the venom in your voices. “Clear aggression is the only language you’ll understand, so I’ll just have to act in a way that’ll get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Brandishing a weapon against me is enough to have you permanently removed from your position,” he hisses down at you.

“Fine,” you breathe, coming to the same conclusion as he has for the expulsion of rage that’s been building up inside of you. “Hand-to-hand combat it is.”

His hand releases your throat at the same time the blade falls from your fingertips, his grip sliding to the nape of your neck as your arms snake over his shoulders, nails raking through his hair as you’re magnetically snatched against one another, hardly a breath of air to be found between your bodies as you’re crushed against one another. Teeth flash as canines scrape, but his fingers dig into the tendon at your neck, forcing you to seize as he pries you apart with his tongue and mouth. Your lip curls in a snarl as he pushes into you, able to see how his wings have instinctively flared at his back, shadows writhing and deepening with unsuppressed fury.

Without giving him a chance to defend your arms surge further down his back, nails brandished as they scratch across the intimate skin of his wings, slicing the leathery surface jaggedly. He recoils, a vicious snarl cutting through the room that has satisfaction blazing across your chest. Rage bleeds across his features and his hand returns to your throat, shoving you down onto his desk, papers flying as ink spills across the surface, pens clattering as they drop to the floor. Your hands fly to his wrist, scratching at his scarred knuckles but his mouth has already descended over yours again and you move to grip at his hair, silky and soft beneath your violent touch. Heat swarms your skin as his shadows pin you down, writhing pleasantly across your body in a way that has your insides fluttering.

Azriel again pries your lips apart, tongue sweeping in as his mouth slants invasively over your own, flicking and stroking while his fingers hold your jaw in a vice-like grip. A strange feeling skitters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, minimising the space between your bodies as he presses flush against your centre.

You can feel him.

Oh Gods, you can feel him completely.

Your mouth parts as you push against him, tongue sweeping across his own, the kisses hot and wet as each of you refuse to lighten your grip on the other and your thighs squeeze him closer, determined you won’t be losing this battle.

Azriel pulls away abruptly, and you look up at him, watching keenly for any move he’ll make, aware what kind of beast you’re taunting. “Keep still,” he commands roughly, voice like gravel as his shadows swarm your body, and you snarl as the hand that was pinning your throat to the desk drops to the hem of your shirt. Before you have a chance to counter he’s lowered to your neck, hair having fallen back onto the surface so he has plenty of room as his shadows shove your face to the side.

You inhale sharply as his teeth graze the sensitive expanse, grip tugging on his hair to get him closer, eager to have him working his mouth over the intimate area. “Hurry up,” you hiss, eager to be rid of the burning heat as soon as possible.

“I’ll go at whatever pace I like,” he replies darkly before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard enough to leave more than just a mark in his wake. A noise of pleasure seeks to slip from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as he targets a spot just beneath your ear, kissing down your neck as he makes his way to your collar bones, littering your skin with deep bite marks that will surely remain for days, even with accelerated healing.

“You’re an arrogant prick, you know that,” you pant, putting as much venom into your voice as you can manage, thighs tightening around his hips so you can feel him more acutely, the thick length of him rubbing over your centre. “And you’re turned on by that?” He counters sharply with a hungry glint in his eyes.

Heat flushes your skin as you make to deny his claim, but his shadows have been untying the laces of your trousers making it easy for him to roughly grip the waistband and shove the material away, dragging it over your thighs and off past your ankles, leaving you with only your underwear to conceal your lower half. “Slow down,” you snarl, searching for a way to regain control of the situation. You hate that he’s the one in charge.

Azriel grips the underside of your thighs, guiding them to wrap snugly around his hips again as his hand slips beneath your shirt again, settling over your breast, fingers skimming your nipple tauntingly. “Hurry up. Slow down. Which one is it?” He goads, something that looks too close to male satisfaction passing through his expression for you to stand. Your lip curls and before you can second-guess yourself you’ve spat at him.

He freezes for a moment, motion halting and you find yourself holding your breath, keeping entirely still beneath him. Waiting for the storm to break.

Fury engulfs his eyes, features twisting in a snarl as he grips your jaw, fingers squeezing at the muscle as he forces your mouth open, spitting down between your lips. Your eyes widen as arousal flutters violently in your lower abdomen, unable to help the way your hips buck as you swallow. Sadism glints in his hazel eyes, his own arousal beginning to filter through into your lungs but to your surprise you don’t hate it.

“Like that?” He croons lowly, leaning over you while still gripping your jaw, eyes dark and dangerous yet there’s an unmistakable heat that he’s not quite able to entirely suppress. Rage pierces through your mind and your palm smacks across his cheek, nails catching on his brow and temple as you snarl lowly. “Try that again,” you hiss in warning, “I’m not against walking out right now if you pull something like that again.”

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he replies icily, syllables dragging from his throat.

“Prick,” you snarl.

“Brat,” he bites back.

You make to smack him again but his shadows snare your wrists faster than you can blink, slamming them painfully back onto the table, the impact ringing through your bones but you refuse to show your wince. You open your mouth to hiss something at him—what, you haven’t yet decided—but the intention dissolves on your tongue as you feel him cup you through your underwear. Heat unravels in your lower stomach, liquefying into a torrent as arousal breaks all at once across your skin and you find yourself breathless. Cruel, dark hazel eyes pierce into yours, watching intently as he rests the heal of him palm over the apex of your thighs, his middle finger running tauntingly over your entrance, applying a light pressure to the dip between your legs.

Male satisfaction is written across his features but you find you can’t think of anything to knock it away: your hands are pinned, your legs slung over his hips, and you’re in no state to control the small amount of magic you possess. Azriel’s mouth remains in a loathsome cut, but you can still make out that heat in his gaze, the slight ember that’s the cause of this whole mess—you wonder how clearly it’s showing in your own eyes.

“Nothing to say?” He asks lowly over your mouth, silky hair brushing against your brow like a tender caress—the gentlest touch either of your will ever share between one another, and entirely unintended. “Don’t worry,” he rasps coldly, thumbing your underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel his cock slide through the wetness that’s coalesced between your thighs. “I’ll make sure to fuck the brat out of you.”

“At least my negative traits can be removed,” you manage to hiss out ruefully, wishing to be able to rake your nails across his skin somehow. “There’s no changing what you are.”

You don’t need to remind him of your earlier comment. He’s been hearing the words repeat through his mind since you spat them out: Illyrian scum.

Icy fury glitters in his gaze, fingertips biting bruises into your hips as he lines himself up and swiftly pushes in, the entrance made almost effortless by how wet you are; you’re somewhat relieved when he makes no comment about it.

Your spine arches helplessly, lips parting as he pushes in, filling you up in a way you hadn’t anticipated or even considered. Satisfying the ache that had been thrumming between your legs, giving you something long and thick to squeeze. Your only saving grace is that he seems to be as breathless as you are, brow lowered to the top of your sternum, lips grazing between your breasts as his hands remain firmly on your hips. From another angle you’d think it looked reverent, but then you’d also look in the heights of pleasure, and no matter how Azriel might be able to make you feel physically, there’s no removing the guttural hatred that burns between you.

“Move,” you whisper, panting softly. “Move.”

His wings twitch almost imperceptibly at his back, then he’s dragging himself upright, pulling away from you to stand to his full height as he looms above. You swallow thickly, having enough sense to squeeze your thighs around his hips, legs locking as you urge him to move; to give more. “Hold still,” he breathes, and your muscles instinctively relax, giving him room to shift.

“So you can follow orders,” he muses lowly, holding you tight as he draws back.

“Fuck o—” you begin to say, but he rolls his hips firmly to yours and your head tips back onto his desk, falling to the side as his cock rubs so delightfully against you, pleasure brimming at your edges from being so full, so spread out. He doesn’t give you time to recover. After another firm roll of his hips, as if testing you out, he finds his rhythm instinctively. Hard, punishing movements that allow him to pound into you, shoving the breath from your lungs as he repeatedly slams into you.

Your spine arches, writhing on his desk as you tug at the shadowy constraints, desperate noises being forced from your chest as his cock drives into you over and over again, thoughts practically falling out of your mind as it turns to mush beneath the utterly overwhelming onslaught of pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can concentrate only on the purest part of the sensations, zero in on the flutter of arousal between your legs, the rightness of being so full up, of having him pressed so tight between your thighs.

You allow yourself to fall deeply into the pleasure, allow yourself to be washed away entirely, submerged in the heated waters as you keep just enough of a hold on him to prevent your legs from falling off the desk. A moan slips from between your lips as your control begins to disintegrate, content to bask in the pleasure and forget who’s providing it. Azriel doesn’t make it that easy, though.

“Things would be so much better if you just learned to shut up and take it sooner,” he mutters down at you, shadows crawling leisurely over your body, pushing the fabric of your top up over your chest so their master can watch as your figure moves with each of his thrusts. Pleasure blossoms as his darkness teases the sensitive peaks of your breasts, pinching and playing with your nipples, and you try to dig your nails into your palm, teeth pushing into your lower lip to keep the noises from becoming louder.

“You’re so well-behaved now,” he muses lowly, and even if his expression wouldn’t show his pleasure, you can hear it the rich timbre of his voice, the satisfaction he’s feeling at getting you to shut up. “So docile,” he taunts, and your eyes snap open to shoot him a furious glare for trying to disrupt your pleasure. For succeeding. But no sooner than you open your eyes, his thumb presses over your clit and any resistance is utterly obliterated.

Azriel hadn’t anticipated how it would feel however, how your body would respond to the intimate kind of stimulation he was subjecting you to, and is unable to bite down on the rough groan that drags viscerally from his chest as you tighten around him, as if trying to pull him deeper so he’ll never leave.

The both of you are near your breaking point though neither wants to admit it. But the signs are there. Your panting breaths, the gleam on his skin, the heat to your cheeks, the tension in his body—it’s all there for the other to read. He rubs against a spot and despite subduing your reaction he somehow knows where to aim, targeting it repeatedly as his thumb soothes over your clit, the pad sliding effortlessly over top from the slick that’s coating the both of you. It’s so much that your discipline slips for a moment. “Azriel…”

It’s softer than a breath, quieter than a whisper, but he hears it. Of course he hears it. And he finds that he likes the way you moan his name. Especially while getting to take his tension out on you so roughly. It’s probably more satisfying than any method he could have thought up on his own.

His grip tightens on your hips, angling them slightly upright as he leans over you. “Say that again,” he commands quietly, but firmly. An intensity in his demand that has your throat rolling. You don’t want to, but you can feel his concentration piercing down on you, the intensity of his focus weighing so heavily that you feel like your skin is prickling.

“Piss off,” you manage to get out, but you can feel how swiftly release is gathering, how close you are to that wonderful high that will knock you clean from your feet.

For a moment he continues with his punishing movements, but it seems like he’s committed now. You hadn’t fully understood what it would mean to have his entire attention upon you, but when he roughly rips you from his desk, jerking you up against his chest as he turns the two of you around so your back is shoved up against his wall, you feel the consequences dawn on you.

From this position you’re forced so much closer, the physical intimacy catching you off guard as your breasts press flush to his chest, staring into cold hazel eyes that can be no more than a few inches from your own, able to feel each puff of breath that’s expelled from his body as it brushes over your lips. He takes up all of your vision, wings flared slightly at his back as shadows crawl up your body, pinching at your nipples, pressing against your clit as his hips buck roughly to your own and you feel yourself unravel.

The orgasm pulses through your body once, before crashing down on you in its entirety, and your mouth parts in silent ecstasy.

His hand slides through your hair, your own having found their place on his shoulders, and he angles your head so you’re forced to look at him. “Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing over yours, and your world is thawed enough that you yield.

“Az…riel…”

A heavy sigh warms your mouth, then his teeth grit, head dropping to your shoulder as you feel him find his release. Your hips buck, hands grappling to reach over his shoulders, pulling him into you as the waves of pleasure continue to pulse through your body, muscles turning custard-like beneath the overpowering sensations. Reaching weakly over his back, you have enough energy to lightly skim the pads of your fingers over the ridges of his wings, and if it wasn’t for his proximity to you, you’re almost certain you would have missed the soft moan that involuntary parts from his lips. He tenses briefly, the only sign that he was caught off guard before his teeth settle over your shoulder, biting lightly at the side of your throat.

Breaths pant between you as you ride out the aftershocks, basking in the waning pleasure for a few moments longer before your hold relaxes on him, and he steps back, hands still keeping your hips pinned to the wall despite your feet now being on the ground.

You bite back a hiss as his cock leaves you feeling slightly cold and empty, but you’d rather take a near-lethal dose of faebane than tell him that. His gaze meets yours and for a second you’re unsure what you could possibly say to one another. But his expression remains cold, your own features shifting habitually towards neutrality.

“You have until tomorrow morning to redo the report,” he mutters, already having his clothes back in place as his shadows push your trousers to your stomach, and your hands wrap around the bundle of fabric.

“Want me to write a report on this, too?” You reply, relieved that the heat is beginning to cool, sensing you’re back in control of yourself.

His brow narrows, the hollow beneath darkening with loathing. “You’re more trouble that you’re worth,” he mutters, stepping back to give you space.

You meet his icy gaze, a sharp glint in your own as victory sparks darkly across your chest.

“Liar.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[butcharium]

Going braless (bra/bralettes/sports bra/binder) is not a privilege reserved to those among us with small tits and is rather something we all should do I think.

I have medium-large boobs and ditched bras 5-6 years ago, and the muscles which has then developed to support my boobs in everyday life actually made me able to pop my pecs long before ever hitting the gym. I also regularly run/sprint short distances at least to catch the bus, and the only thing which hurts then is my sense of pride and dignity (and sometimes my shins since the bus stop is downhill from where I live).

You don't have to go full bra burner if that doesn't speak to you (but personally I must admit I'm rather pro bra burning), at least reducing the amount of restraining your boobs will be beneficial for your health. Also when I first started going around in public with my boobs loose under my shirts I would be very in my head and a bit neurotic and would for example exaggerate every look from strangers and so on. But if anything the long term effect of freeing my boobs have been a far better relationship with myself and my body than ever before where I feel more grounded and less neurotic and in my head than what I used to be!

For both physical and mental benefits there might be a transitional period of discomfort you have to sit through before things get better tho unfortunately, just like with all growth. :(

(also for the transmascs and transmen who follow me I am a woman who doesn't try to pass and yet I have been taken for a man on several occasions, even when wearing just a t-shirt with nothing underneath (both by like customer service workers but also in longer conversations with people))

[dolldefiler]

Sir, I want you to tie me to the bed blind fold me and play with my senses I want to submit only to you.

[@sleepyylaylaa helped figure out how to do this, sorry for the wait @ladywestropebunnie]

C/W: Bondage, rape

It’d be fun watching you walk into a trap of your own making. I’d host self-defence classes, teaching women how to protect themselves. I’d show them where and how to use their hands. I’d teach them to control their bodies in just the right ways. But I’d rarely make a move. No, I’d only make a move on a girl like you. A girl that doesn’t realise she’s the perfect target to be raped. 

I’d offer you free tutoring, worried about your lack of progress. I’m sure you’d agree, the silly little bimbo fuckdoll that you are. Over time, we’d progress through different scenarios, each getting wilder than the last until… One day, after class, I’d lead you to the back room again. In the middle of the room would stand a large bed. Turning to you, I would say, “What if your partner were violent in your most vulnerable moment? While you’ve been tied up while playing around with BDSM.” I’d spit that last word out, as if disgusted by the prospect. As if I weren’t going to break you on this very bed while your body lays restrained. Weeks of earning your trust would lead to this moment.

You’d get on top of the bed and I’d tie you up, gently asking if it hurt. Your hands and your feet, all tied up. I’d slip a ballgag into your mouth. “You never know what might happen,” I’d say when you look at me, concern in your eyes. But you would open your mouth willingly and lift your head, allowing me to secure it firmly. Finally, the blindfold. Everything would be in place now.

“Struggle.” I would say. “Struggle as if you were about to get raped, sweetheart.” And you would comply while I strip my clothes off. I’d walk to the bed, and you’d feel my weight shift around. You’d feel something long, hard, and warm tap on your face. Something familiar. You’d pause. “Struggle as if you’re going to be raped, sweetie,” I would say, “because you’re going to be raped now.”

You’d pause, shocked, before violently thrashing against the tight rope. You’d try to headbutt my dick, but I would simply pin you down by your neck and continue rubbing my shaft against your pretty little face. You’d hear me groan as pre-cum begins to spread across your skin. I’d lose myself, pressing my balls against your nose, and pumping against your sextoy of a face. I’m sure you’d never forget the musky scent of your rapist’s balls.

Minutes later, I’d pull your top up and your pants down, until I could see the only important parts of you. Your tits and your cunt. I’d press my cock between your legs, and roughly maul at your lewd chest. In your blindness, you’d feel every fucking touch on your skin. You’d feel my fingers dig into your soft skin, my weight pressing down on your body, and… my cock pressed against your entrance. You’d feel me push in, uncaringly, my violent, throbbing cock making itself home in your hot cunt. You’d hear the bed creak around you and my grip on your tits becoming tighter as I indulge my cock in the pleasures of your pussy. 

I’d watch your face distort in pleasure and hatred and laugh. I’d spit on your ballgag, my saliva trickling around your mouth with every brutal thrust into your worn-out body. “Come on, fight back.” You’d hear my voice say as I mock you. “Show me how to defend yourself.”

I’d rail your tight fucking cunt harder as I feel your blindfold getting damper and damper from your tears. I’d fondle your vulnerable body as your body begins to accept it can’t do anything. That you can’t do anything. I’d ask if you were on birth control, but it’s not like you’d be able to answer. It’s not like your answer would change anything anyway. I’d press against your waist, depositing every fucking drop of seed into you. 

Perhaps you need more self-defence lessons to make sure this never happens again. We wouldn’t you to be a traumatised, tied-down rapesleeve, would we?

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about the Mirror Scene

also know as horny edition, reprise, again I decline every responsability if "feelings" arise during the reading of this thread. I'll be tempted of discussing the scene frame by frame, but I shall restrain myself to the most important points maybe

1) Words. This is not just about the speech at the beginning of the scene but also throughout the entire piece. I'm a writer, ofc I love when people use words well. Pleas don't make me say how many times I though about Mr Colin "I love dirty talking" Bridgerton (a couple of people actually knows) because it could become uncomfortable very quick.

2) Consent. Consent. Consent. I'll repeat every time because it's the sexiest thing I've seen. What do you mean it ruins the mood? Your partner is checking in with you and it builds trust connection and intimacy. It's not apart from the act. It's a fundamental part of the act.

3) Boobs. I'm sorry to report that, even as a fellow member of the perfect breasts club, I'm absolutely not immune. Not even one bit. I'm not even sorry I'm not immune. Thank you, Nicola, your service was wildly appreciated. (But seriously, did I buy a more revealing dress because I was a bit more confident of my own because of this bit? Yes! So, jokes aside thank you Nicola for your service)

4) Guidance. Gentle Dom Colin is my favorite Colin and I will never be able to hear the word "lie down" without thinking of him. But also, the tenderness displayed, the softness, the attention to the partner's needs, it's all part of a pattern of Colin being the most attentive partner.

5) "You are so beautiful", I'm not going to lie, I'm still walking 5 feet taller because of that. It healed something in me. It doesn't magically cure all the self issues problems, but it hit me the first time and it hit me again everytime. And if it was healing for you as much as it was for me, let me give you a hug. You are so beautiful!

(I can't believe I can't find the gif, if someone knows where to find it, please tell me, i'll edit the post)

6) "Not there. Not yet." Colin Bridgerton, Master of Edging. I see you Sir. I approve you wanted to wait for round 2 for that. But don't hide you did say that because you would finish in 0.1 second if she would arrive that. Still, even just for the cutest expression on Pen's face, it was worth it.

7) "Is there more?", Pen I want to hug you (respectfully and dressed, of course). His nod. Her blinding smile. Lord (don't) forgive me, I do not care about sinning when it never looked and felt better.

Gif by @polinsated

8) All the moments where you can see the lust and the pleasure in Pen's eyes. I will never shut up about it. They send me always into the stratosphere because it feels real. I don't know they do it, but it just feel real.

9) "Can we do it again?" What can I tell you? It's always the quiet one (I should know, I'm also a quiet one 😏) I'm not sure Colin realize what he did awake but he will become aware soon. I'm sure he doesn't mind.

(it's not my gif, stupid Tumblr, it's from @polinsated )

10) Let's be honest. All the above are real, but what really sell this scene is trust, connection and intimacy. It's not an easy thing to communicate but somehow they do it perfectly. And the nudity is functional to this goal. It adds another layer.

I love this scene but the me I was some years ago might have hated it because it is a mirror indeed for me. The me I am now is grateful that this scene exist. Because it's kind of the goal, to have that trust, intimacy and connection. So maybe it's a sign from the Universe. Maybe it's a sign of things to come. I certainly do hope so.

Maybe one day I might be able to talk about this scene without tearing up, but today is not that day.

[papaya-twinks]

It's me again (the anon who asked for the Short fic of Lando) 🤠🤠🤠

I'll identify myself as Lia (I don't post openly because I'm embarrassed, but I already consider us great friends ❤️ haha)

About a sequel to this story, I can only say "YES PLEASE" (I would ask anyway 😂)

I was thinking that for the reader's first victory, Lando would be amazed by her beauty on the podium, after taking a champagne bath, her golden glow after the victory etc. And that will make him crazy and very horny for the reader. However, our reader is keen to play with Lando. she will "run away" from him all day claiming to have meetings with the team after the race and at night, despite them being together at the same party, she makes a point of not talking to him and always being involved in a group with more than one person so he can't talk dirty to her or something.

This makes Lando even more thirsty for her but they only manage to have a moment alone in the elevator, returning to the hotel room. Lando wants to punish (not with violence) her and please her at the same time for being so stubborn during the day and so beautiful and seductive, so he gives the reader multiple orgasms with his fingers and mouth. The reader even thinks that she won't be able to get to the part where he uses his member, but she does, and OMG it's the best sexual experience of her life.

That's what I thought for a second part 🤭. I apologize for the length of the text and for any mistakes, I'm Brazilian and not very good with English. (Feel free to change anything if you're not comfortable writing about something I sent).

Eagerly awaiting the continuation 🫶🏻✨

Warnings: Smut, 18+, teasing, kinda breeding

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - firstly I don’t judge requests <3, but also, I’ve heard of someone else on here called Lia. Are you alright with messaging me or something? Also making part 2

Lando’s words rang out in your ears for ages afterwards. What happens after you win a race. It was like motivation, a fuel of some sorts, driving you forwards to win. Which is exactly what you did the following week. “And Y/N Y/L/N has won her first Grand Prix here in Canada!” the commentator yelled as you screamed and cheered through the radio. 

As you thanked the team, all you could think about were Lando’s words. “Wow, Y/N,” the interviewer smiled, “what a victory! So close to Lando,”. You smiled at the words, “Yeah, Lando was really close, it was hard keeping him off,” you laughed, “but yeah, a win’s a win,”. Lando congratulated, evidently impressed, his hug lingering a little longer than usual. 

“And in first, Y/N Y/L/N!” you ran onto the podium, beaming as you locked eyes with Lando on his second place step. “Well done,” he whispered as the anthems begun. You held the trophy aloft, Lando’s eyes tracing your movements like his life depended on it, his own trophy limo at his side as he watched you. And the podium music began, Lando was his signature bottle slam, as he immediately sent the spray to you. 

You shrieked, feeling the bubbly liquid coat you, your skin radiating with the golden glow. Lando had to physically restrain himself from falling to his knees right then. You were gorgeous. Oh what he’d give to just bend you over right then and there. “Remember our promise?” he said, subtly whispering into your ear as you took the podium picture. “Might do,” you shrugged, a small smile on your face. 

“Team debrief,” you said, following the man who collected the trophy as Lando watched you, disappointment etched on his face. “After,” he said. And when the debrief finished, you told him you had another PR meeting. “Done, finally?” Lando asked, seeing you emerge from your motorhome.  “Mhm,” you nodded, pressing a kiss to his neck, “oh, wait, I have another meeting,” you said, blinking innocently at him as he groaned 

“You’re doing it on purpose,” Lando grabbed your arm to stop you from walking away, “you’re being a brat on purpose,”. You looked at him, as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. “Don’t give me that,” he said, eyebrow raised at your expression. “And here I am, trying to reward you for winning. Now you’re gonna get punished,” your eyes widened at his words as he took your hand, pushing you back into your room. 

Any of the real meetings you genuinely had were gonna be missed. 

“Lando,” you gasped as he tugged at your team shirt, clawing it off your chest, your baggy trousers coming off with it. “What?” he said, eyebrow raised as he pushed you against the wall, his hand twisting the lock of the door. “Fuck,” you gasped as he nipped at your neck and collarbone. “Feel good?” he asked, lifting your legs up, onto his waist, his hands firmly on you ass. 

Your lips met, a warm, passionate kiss filled with lust and desire, as he moved one hand to your hair, the other one tugging your panties down. “Fuck” he pushed you onto the bed, “you’re soaking, y’know?”. You couldn’t help the whine that left your lips as he threw your legs onto his shoulders, your hands tugging at his curls as his mouth came to your folds. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, his lips pressing featherlight kisses to your pussy, your wrists in his hand, your breast in his other. “Lando feels s’good,” you gasped, tugging at his locks, your hips pressing against him as he groaned, pushing you down. He moved his hand down to your stomach, holding you down, his mouth staying on you as you wriggled. “Fuck, Lando!” you shrieked, your orgasm was like heaven. 

He moved away from your core, his wet, warm lips trailing up your abdomen, his lashes clinging together with your wetness. “Feel good, doesn’t it?” he asked, your body shaking a bit from your high, “Doesn’t it?” he asked again, voice more demanding. You nodded, a small whimper leaving your lips as he took one of you tits into your mouth, swirling his tongue round the sensitive bud. “Lando, fuck” you gasped, his finger running through your folds again. 

Oh he meant punishment. You moaned again as his finger pushed into you, your hips bucking into him, his lips still sucking. “Lando don’t stop,” you rolled your hips against his hand as he pushed his middle finger in, curling inside of you as gasped, the sensation was heavenly. “Oh god, fuck,” you felt another high coming up. 

Your eyes rolled at the sensations, cheeks fiery red as you moaned - at this rate, you wouldn’t be able to take his actual dick. “Lando, Lan…” your voice trailed off, filtering into mewls and moans as you felt another orgasm wash over you. “So good f’me,” Lando mumbled, pulling you onto his lap, your body tired against his, “looked so good on the podium, y’know?” he cooed, pulling his own joggers down. 

One hand pumped his length, the other with his fingers deep inside of you, pumping slowly. “Gonna give me one more, okay?” he asked, lifting you up, before letting you sink onto his cock. “So fucking tight, Y/N, always so tight f’me,” he groaned, bouncing you softly on his lap, his hand coming to circle your clit. 

You were already sensitive from your last two orgasms, the knot building up quicker…faster, as his pace deepened. “Lando, Lando, I’m close,” you whined, your head on his shoulder as he bounced you. “That’s it, yeah? Cum for me,” he whispered in your ear, one hand dangling in your hair. “One more, okay?” Lando said, still bouncing you gently. 

You moaned again as he didn’t stop, your body tightening round his as he groaned. “Fuck, Y/N, gonna cum in you,” he mumbled, “gonna fill you up good,”. His words were what sent you over the edge, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he rode out your high for you, before he followed. “Oh fuck, Y/N,” he groaned as you tightened round him, your body against his chest. 

“So tight, fuck,” he gasped, “gonna fill you up, fill you right up,”. You felt his warm, hot cum shoot in this ropes inside of you, his head thrown back, resting his weight on his arms, which were shaking, his eyes squeezed shut as he rode out his high. “Mmm fuck,” you groaned, eyes shut again. “Feels s’good,” you whined. “I know,” he said, a kiss to your cheek. 

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ VIGNETTES — levi ackerman

contents. sfw, mention of pregnancy & marriage, angst, maybe unrequited love, fem!reader, 1.8k

notes. there is no dialogue in this, and it's purely poetic and prose because i wanted to do something different & levi is very important to me. posting this before i get nervous bc i feel as if i have poured too much of myself into this. idk if anyone will want to read it, but enjoy anyway !

you fell in love with levi ackerman the moment you met him. 

you fell in love with him in the underground, when you were both still young, his brashness and strength intimidating to even you, a member of the survey corps. the way your eyes had met through the filth and the grime, levi restrained, teeth bared, an image of a flame that refused to be put out. against every intelligent bone in your body, your heart had stuttered in your chest at the fierceness in his deep blue eyes, the way that, even when he was narrowing his gaze at you with something of hatred, he was still the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. 

you fell in love with him in training, when you watched a man who had never had any proper guidance become the strongest soldier that the survey corps had ever seen. levi was at home in the skies, free from the restraints and the waste that he had been born into, a natural when it came to odm gear. though he scoffed at you every time you tried to give him any pointers, you still felt some warmth in your face—he never needed any advice from you, anyway. it was just an excuse to talk to him. 

you fell in love with him when he lost his friends, the first time you’d had a conversation with him that didn’t end in a sour remark, an expression that made you think he saw you as nothing more than a military pawn. you’d let your mouth fall open, and then you’d shut it, a mumble of condolences coming out, before you’d admitted, hastily, that you knew what it was like to lose your only friends. but something changed in levi after the death of furlan and isabel—he wasn’t just a flame, he was a forest fire, rearing bright and deadly.

you fell in love with him when he became a captain, a man of status that allowed him to hand pick the members of his squad. and though you thought you’d be stuck where you were, not standing a chance to be chosen for a squad of the strongest scouts, you’d been the first on levi’s list. perhaps, it was only because of the kinship he felt towards you, but you’d never be able to forget the way you’d smiled on your way home from the meeting, your new assignment reigniting the sort of giddiness you hadn’t felt since you were a schoolgirl with a crush. 

you fell in love with him when you understood him. when the bite that followed the end of his every sentence didn’t seem so menacing, so sharp when you realized that your words held just the same amount of bitterness. his quips, dripping with sarcasm, fell on your ears lightly, bringing a smile to your lips, spreading across your teeth as everyone else stared back at him like he’d grown two heads. levi would meet your gaze across the room and you’d swap a secret, a loathing for the system, even if you’d always be grateful that it brought you together.

you fell in love with him even when someone else proposed to you, a member of another squad that had been in love with you since you were cadets. where he’d gotten the courage after all those years, you weren’t sure. perhaps it was because he’d seen the way you stared at levi, or maybe it was because you drew closer to death every time you ventured outside the walls. you’d said yes in a panic, a regret that you’d never forget, because you were so afraid of being alone that you’d never considered that levi might have loved you too. 

you fell in love with him when eren jaeger came into the picture, and suddenly, all your quiet moments with levi didn’t seem to mean a thing, not when there was a new hope for humanity, and if you could just save this boy, keep him alive, then maybe you could be free. but levi turned a blind eye to you once you got married. his secret smiles were sparse, his eyes darkening when he lost soldier after soldier, but never you. suddenly, you were the last of the levi's original squad, but you might as well have been dead too, for you felt like a ghost in your own unit. 

you fell in love with him even when a ring rested on your finger, a glittering gold band that was too pretty to be worn by a such a gruesome soldier. levi’s eyes drew to it, sometimes, and it sickened you, made you want to cut off your own finger and feed it to a titan, because how shameful it was to have given yourself over to something you had never wanted. you went home to your husband, the one you didn’t love, and dreamed of a man with pretty blue eyes, born from nothing and known by all. 

you’d always be in love with levi ackerman. he’d just never be in love with you.

levi ackerman fell in love with you the moment he met you. 

he fell in love with you in the underground, the emotion hitting him like a tidal wave, unfamiliar after years of feeling nothing but the need to survive. when his eyes lifted, finally meeting yours with just feet between you, the sight of you had nearly taken his breath away. you were beautiful, more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen in his entire life, and suddenly, he understood how furlan could drone on and on about the woman he’d slept with, because levi could’ve written paragraphs about the way your steel coated tenderness could force even the strongest men to their knees. 

he fell in love with you in training, when you moved so smoothly, with so much more gracefulness than levi’s brash, aggressive movements. levi knew he’d picked up most things better and faster than anyone in the survey corps, but he was certain he didn’t look as angelic as you did slicing through the neck of a titan. perhaps he didn’t understand the reason you so dutifully followed orders, turning a blind eye to the darker side of the military. yet, there was something about you, something that drew levi to you and made him wonder if there was more to your polite smiles and softened voice that he wasn’t catching onto. 

he fell in love with you when he lost his friends, and you were the first person to acknowledge that he was, truly, alone. no attempts were made to sugarcoat it, to say that at least you still have the scouts, when none of them could’ve understood the depth of levi’s pain, the way he’d dreamt a better life for isabel and furlan that would never come to pass. your smile was, he’d thought, brighter than even the sun, the fiery emblem that he’d longed for his entire life. maybe the two of you were bad at understanding each other, but levi loved listening to you… even when you didn’t quite love listening to yourself. he could’ve sat for hours and heard everything you had to say, for you kept it to yourself too often. 

he fell in love with you when he became a captain, and he knew that he’d do anything to keep you close to him. you were a puzzle he couldn’t unravel, hot and cold and everything in between. you were a beacon of light, warm and welcoming, and yet, you kept people at a distance, facing the dark side of the planets that no one but you could see. you were gracious and caring, vocal about your hope for humanity, sparing love where you could, even if you shied away from it. there was something gentle about you, but when levi made a crude remark, you were the first to laugh, the first to drop your guard and speak to him without the upbeat inflection in your voice.

he fell in love with you when he understood you, and he saw that whatever hollow shape his heart had turned into, yours slotted right within it. there was something about you that was the same, your souls crafted from one star, slowly dying, but burning bright, intimidating and loathsome, all at once. if levi believed in soulmates, in the fate that was written in the constellations, he was certain yours would’ve been intertwined, beautiful and lonely, sides of a coin that seemed the very same. 

he fell in love with you when someone else proposed to you, the expression on your face telling levi everything he needed to known. you could’ve been happy with that man—he was cheerful and tender, loving and sweet—everything that levi was not. a human obvious with his affections, and perhaps, levi had been wrong all these years in thinking that you were the one for him. how could you be, when he saw the way your fiancé worshipped the very ground you walked on, kissed you without caring who was watching. levi could never be that sort of man. not when he was so private and silent, his love shown only in the way he protected you without fail, spoke to you in secrets he would never share with anyone else. 

he fell in love with you when eren jaeger came into the picture, and levi screwed his head back on straight, deciding he could no longer pine for a woman that was already married. he threw his mind back into a war, reminding himself that happiness was fleeting, but loneliness was not, and he needed to get used to that. levi lost the members of his squad, people he'd grown to call friends. still, he refused to speak with you, because he knew that he was a weak man. a softly spoken word from your lips would’ve broken everything levi had worked to protect himself from, the gripping emotion within his heart that wouldn't leave unless it cut it out with your own blade. 

he fell in love with you even when a ring rested on your finger, and you requested to leave the scouts because you were expecting a child. levi tried to stop his face from falling, tried to ignore the twisting of his chest. because, maybe, he’d stood a chance when there was nothing but a sheet of paper protecting your marriage, but a child...? levi ackerman was a selfish man, but not to that point. not when he knew he’d be a terrible father anyway, that he was a fool for thinking that was a life he deserved. levi accepted your request, and then asked you be taken off his squad if you ever chose to return. erwin, for all his lack of tact, had said nothing, simply nodding at levi with something akin to pity. 

levi would always be in love with you. you’d just never be in love with him.

[fandomfucker]

Judgement Day x reader Where the reader is an absolute cuddle bug, but is afraid they might be too clingy. So Judgement Day assure them that they love how cuddly they are?

Word Count: 2,053

Reader's POV

Ever since I was a child, I was extremely touchy. I always felt the need to be not only emotionally close to all my friends and family but also physically close.

I would hug each of my friends at least twice a day, along with my teachers and parents and my usually unwilling siblings.

I was able to calm down a bit by the time I got to middle school, restraining myself from hugging just my family members and my friends who were used to it by now. High fives and wrapped arms around shoulders and waists became a norm for anyone interacting with me.

In high school, I had better learned to keep my hands to myself, only occasionally hugging my friends. But, my friend group was also a bunch of pretty touchy people so sitting next to each other with our legs touching, or laying down with our head in the lap of the other while they finger-brushed our hair was a norm for us within our friend group.

I had accepted long ago that my love language was touch but that it wasn't for everyone. One potential partner in high school even broke things off because of how touchy I am. They said it was suffocating and just 'way too much'.

Touchiness has never been an issue with my four wonderful partners now, though. Rhea, Dominik, Damian, and Finn all seemed to appreciate my touches and would even go out of their way to be closer to me sometimes.

And I love and appreciate them all for it.

My partners are all very aware of my need for touch. So, on days when I get home from work, both physically and mentally exhausted, they'll center me a a big group hug until I feel better.

When I wake up in the morning, Dominik smothers me in hugs and kisses, usually ending in hours-long cuddles until we're forced to move.

Damian often has me sit in his lap, no matter where we are. A party, backstage at a WWE show, or just hanging out in the living room of our house.

Whenever I had a particularly bad day Finn would shower me with affection, figuratively and literally. He would help me take a shower, giving me small kisses on my shoulders all the while, before giving my shoulders a massage in our bedroom.

Rhea was surprisingly the most touchy out of all my partners. She constantly had to have a hand on my waist, shoulder, arm, thigh, you name it she was touching it. She's very protective and always had to make sure that not only was she giving me what I needed, but also making sure everyone else knew I was hers as well.

The doubts didn't start until about six months into our five-way relationship when I had been at home on the couch scrolling through social media while the four of them were at Monday Night RAW.

My for you page had decided to randomly show me a video of someone who had compiled a bunch of videos and pictures of me with my partners. They had all zoomed in on my partners' faces whenever I specifically was touching them and not the other way around. The person who made the video was saying "Look at how uncomfortable the Judgment Day looks. Y/n needs to stop fucking touching them and leave them alone."

The video instilled a spark of fear in me as I read all the comments agreeing with the original poster and for the next three hours I went down a rabbit hole of TikTok videos through the search from the original video; "Y/n Y/l/n being clingy".

There were at least a hundred different TikTok videos talking about it, with tons of comments throughout. I found videos so long that they had to post them on YouTube in which what they said about me was even worse because guidelines are a bit more lax.

For those three hours until my partners got home, I watched all the mean videos, read all the mean comments, saw all the mean posts, tweets, edits, etc, and sobbed as I realized that my partners probably were just doing it all because I wanted to and that they actually just hated me.

A little after midnight I heard the garage door open and Rhea's truck as they pulled into the driveway. I threw my blanket off my lap and sprinted up the stairs to our master bath. I needed to make it look like I hadn't been crying the entire time so I threw myself into the shower, making the water as hot as possible.

3rd Person POV

The four members of the Judgment Day walked through the door, into the house doing their best to stay quiet as with all the lights off they figured their partner was probably already asleep.

Hearing a noise coming from the living room, Dominik curiously made his way towards the couch, beginning to move around blankets and pillows.

Y/n's phone fell out of a blanket and bounced onto the thick carpet floor, it's face glowing up at the ceiling as a TikTok video played on a loop.

Hearing the clunk from the phone hitting the floor, Dominik tossed the blanket he was holding back onto the couch before bending down to grab the phone.

Mention of The Judgment Day along with Y/n's name made Dominik pause, focusing on the video playing. 

"I mean, just look at their body language whenever Y/n touches them. They all always just look so uncomfortable."

Dominik watched in disbelief, as he beckoned the other Judgment Day members over to him. The group has always been pretty out about their relationship and some of them about their sexualities so haters were a norm but it was beginning to cross a line by hating their partner, who wasn't in the spotlight at all.

He beckoned the other three JD members over as the video began to play from the beginning again, holding the phone out for them all to watch.

They all watched the video in concern, Damian took the phone out of Dom's hands once it was over and began to backtrack, looking at what had previously been watched before that video.

There were several more videos about this particular topic at hand which the four of them scrolled through with growing disgust.

After several minutes of this, Rhea had a thought. "Where's Y/n?" She asked the group in a small panic.

They all looked at each other in concern before Rhea bolted up the stairs, yelling their partner's name, the boys quickly following suit.

Reader's POV

I was still in the shower about ten minutes after I had heard the garage door open and my partners come in when I began to hear Rhea screaming my name as four sets of footsteps thudded up the stairs, becoming louder as they got closer to the bathroom.

Banging soon began against the door as they all reached it. I heard each of my partners distressedly shouting my name, Rhea, however, being the loudest.

I turned the water off in a rush, wrapped my towel around myself, and got out of the shower. I fumbled with the lock, unlocking it before swinging the door open in a rush. I was met with the four panicky faces of my partners.

"What's going on, is everything okay?" I asked, genuinely confused.

Rhea rushed forward, pulling me into a tight hug. My face was squished into her chest (not that I'm complaining) and was squished even further when my other three partners came around to join the group hug.

"Guys?" I asked nervously, tilting my head up and resting my chin on Rhea's collarbone so that I could see all of their faces above me.

Finn spoke aloud for the group from my left, "Love, you left your phone open downstairs. We saw what you were looking at."

The blood would have drained from my face had it not all rushed there as the tears began to fall again.

I dropped my chin off of Rhea's chest and covered my face with my hands, the top of my head now resting against her chest instead. The four of them hugged me tighter in attempted comfort which only made me feel worse.

They hated me hugging them and just generally being all over them all the time and were now hugging me to make me feel better.

"I-I'm sorry. P-please don't be m-mad," I managed to get out through the massive sobs. I began trying to push away, out of the hug barricade they'd created around me but I wasn't able to turn around very well with how tight it was, and Rhea's way too strong to move when she doesn't want to be moved.

"We're not mad, Princesa," Damian spoke gently from behind me. That just made me cry even harder.

I was crying so hard that I was struggling to breathe. My four partners kept me close and I could feel someone stroking my hair before someone gripped my hips and turned my body to face them. 

I dropped my hands from my face to my partner's waist, realizing who it was.

Looking up, my wet, red-rimmed, eyes were met with Dominik's wide brown ones. "Hey, hey." He shushed me softly. "Those videos are fake, mi amore. Okay? We all love how touchy you are. We love your hugs and kisses and all your little touches. If we didn't we wouldn't reciprocate them."

My sobs turned to sniffles at his sweet words. He gave me a small smile as he brought a hand up to my cheek, wiping away any remaining tears from my face with his thumb. 

I closed my eyes in acceptance, another tear or two slipping out at the action which Dominik was quick to swipe away. "We mean it, Cariño," Damian spoke up again, now on my right. "We love you and your cuddliness," He reassured me, his lips kept close against my hair as he gently pried me away from Dominik and tucked me into him.

"Promise?" I questioned faintly. It was directed generally towards all four of them.

I felt Rhea's hands snake around my waist, gently swaying me towards her a bit, "We promise. We love you so much and nothing and nobody will ever change that." She gave my temple a lingering kiss, squeezing my waist before turning me towards Finn.

"Don't listen to those morons on social media, love. We're just constantly uncomfortable on camera, especially around you just because we're worried about you. There's a lot of people and a lot going on and it can get overwhelming so we're a bit on edge trying to protect ya'." He explained smoothly as he brushed a few stray hairs off of my forehead and back behind my ear.

With their protective natures, this explanation did make a lot of sense. I mean, one time Rhea actually almost fought a fan at the airport because of how close he was to me despite, me telling him to get away. I guess them being my own personal bodyguards would make them a bit tense.

"Come on, as much as I hate to say it, let's get some clothes on you and put you to bed," Rhea ordered, shoving the boys out of the way to lead me back into the bathroom. I giggled at her statement, flushing bright red as she winked at me before closing the door to the bathroom, leaving me alone again as I quickly dried off and threw on some of my partners' clothes I'd stolen.

Coming out of the bathroom I saw all four of my wonderful partners seated on the edges of our giant bed, waiting for me to get into the middle for cuddles.

I grinned and got a running start, jumping full force onto the bed. Dominik made an exaggerated 'oomph' sound as I landed, causing Damian to swat the back of his head.

Laughing at my partners' antics, I crawled under the covers before opening my arms, signaling that I was ready for the puppy pile of cuddles I was about to receive.

I made my own 'oomph' sound as Dominik flopped on top of my chest, grinning wickedly as he playfully glared at me before sticking his face into my neck.

With all four of my partners now lying on top of me or next to me to some degree, I'd never felt safer or more comfortable.

Drifting off to sleep I only had one more thought.

"I love you guys."

[kteezy997]

The Heart of a Bene Gesserit-Part Six//Paul Atreides

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, reader losing virginity, breast sucking, female receiving oral sex, slightly possessive Paul, cumshot

A/n: This is a long one, grab a snack probably

"No matter the path I take, I want you here with me. Will you do that for me?" he caressed his thumb over your hand. It was strange to feel such tenderness from such a hardened man. Perhaps he was just the boy you knew on Caladan. He wanted to love and be loved, just the same as you. He is the one you have always wanted.

"I will be here as long as you need me. I love you; I have always loved you."

Paul smiled softly, dropped your hands only to pull you into his body. "I'm so happy that you finally know how I feel." he put his forehead onto yours. "One day, very soon, you will be my Empress. Your incredible mind will rule over the Empire with me. And with any luck, our children will take over in the future."

"I think the Known Universe will be all the better for it." you put your hands on his arms.

He then leaned in, and you couldn't believe it was actually happening. As you relished in the feeling of his warm lips, you marveled at how you had secured the man you thought was lost to you, destined to another woman. But prophecies were not always set in stone.

When you pulled away, you touched his face as you gazed lovingly into one another's eyes. "Paul, do you think we should return for dinner?"

"No. If we go back into that room, I won't be able to restrain myself from taking you on that grand dinner table, for all to see." he spoke plainly.

You blushed as he took you by the hand, leading you out of the room.

"Come with me to the royal bedchamber: your new bedroom, my Lady."

…..

You were able to allude the crowd together and make it to Paul’s room. He grabbed you instantly as the door was closed behind you.

You held onto him, and he kissed your neck in a rush of ragged breaths. “Oh, my Emperor,” your hand went to the nape of the back of his neck, “you are sweating.” You move your hands down to unbutton his tunic, whispering, “Let’s get this off of you, my Lord. Feyd-Rautha made you nervous, didn’t he?”

“Nervous? No. Pissed off? Yes. He came for you, I could not tolerate it.” He allowed you to take the garment off of him.

“I guess your cousin really has a talent for bringing out the worst in you.” You touched his hair, feeling the softness of his curly mane. Up until now, you had only fantasized about doing this. “Your curls are just the same now as when we were kids.”

“Hm. We were children once, but I am not a child any more, nor are you. You have transformed into a strong, intelligent, devastatingly beautiful woman.”

“You flatter me too much, Paul Atreides.” you put your arms around his neck.

“I have to admit something.” he said as he tucked his arms around your body. “It turned me on, hearing you use the Voice on Feyd.”

You giggled, “I used it on both of you. Otherwise…you might have killed him.”

“I would have, if it meant you would be saved. I’d do anything for you.” he gently placed his hand on the back of your head, so he could kiss your forehead.

“I know.” you said, closing your eyes, feeling his kiss. You felt warmth in your chest, unlike any feeling you’d ever experienced.

“Now,” he pulled away taking your hand to lead you to the bed, and he sat down on it. “I wish to see you. I’ve dreamt of your body many times, and seen it in a vision or two, but I need to see it now, in the flesh.”

You felt a nervous lump in your throat as you tried to swallow. As you unbuttoned your robe, you realized that no man had seen you intimately. In fact, the only sexual activity you’d been apart of was with your fellow sisters in school. The older classmates would teach the younger ones how to seduce, how to create pleasure. This was all you knew, not yet had you felt a man’s touch.

You stood before Paul in your dress, “Can you help me, my Lord?”

Paul nodded and you turned around. He unbuttoned the back your dress, letting it fall, leaving you naked. “Face me.” he said.

As you turned back around, you were very aware of how exposed you were and how clothed he still was. It felt quite erotic.

“I cannot tell you that amount of times I’ve pleasured myself thinking of your breasts.” he put his hands on them, “Wanting to suck them, lick them, bite them if you’d let me. Fuck, they are beautiful. You are beautiful everywhere, my dear.” he brushed his thumbs over your nipples.

You shivered at the rough texture of his hands on your soft breasts. The contrast made you dampen with lust.

“Come here, lay down.” he put his hand on the bed where he wanted you to be.

You got on the bed and he planted himself on top of you. His lips met yours. You moaned in his mouth, put your hand in his hair, gently weaving your finger into his curls. You both got braver after a moment, letting your tongues swipe over eachother, his darting into your mouth.

He let you suck on his tongue for a second. You were rewarded with a thrust of his hips. “Y/n.” you breathed out your name looking down at you.

You could see only a small portion of his chest as his shirt was partially unbuttoned. But you need more. “Take off your clothes.”

In your trance, the Emperor shed every article of clothing he had on. Your eyes scanned over his pale, strong body. It was imperfected by marks and scars, but he was beautiful. “You are the one person in the world that may use the Voice on me without consequence.” he said, smiling cheekily. “My dear, some of my features may remain unchanged from childhood, but my cock is that of a man.”

You giggled, shaking your head at him, then caught a glimpse of his male member, your first time seeing one. You wondered if all men were as large as him, but surely that was not possible. Paul was absolutely one of a kind.

Now, you were both naked, and he resumed his place on top of you on the bed, but lower this time. He parted your thighs with his hands, and eyed you as he tucked his face between them.

"I have wanted to do this for such along time." Paul admitted.

"My Lord, I have dreamt of it." you confessed as well.

He perked back up, his brows raised at your admission. "Well then, let us hope I do not disappoint in reality."

As he put his lips to your slit, you knew that he could never know that Feyd-Rautha was in your dream as well.

Paul slipped his tongue between your pussy lips, sliding it up to your clit. He stroked his tongue up and down and around in circles.

You closed your eyes, bit your lip, quieting your moans of pleasure. Your toes curled, and you dug your heels into Paul's back as he massaged his lips into your clit. You soon found yourself unable to catch your breath. You were on a high, you were chasing it. You had to grab your lover by the hair to ground yourself. "Paul!" you cried.

"No, no, no." he said, removing himself from the apex of your thighs, "I do not want you to come yet, I want you to let go with me inside of you." He moved up your body, resting his lower half between your legs. "Ready?"

"Yes." you said, still breathless.

He put the tip of his member on your slit.

You gasped softly, then took in a breath.

"This may hurt. But only for this first time." A push from his hips, and he was inside of you.

You felt full and warm, Paul caressed your face. You were stiff initially, but the pressure inside of you subsided, and the pain went away. He thrusted softly, slowly, letting you get accustomed to the feeling.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his hand in your hair.

You nodded, "Yes, it feels good." you wrapped your legs around him tighter.

Paul grinned, picking up his pace, slamming his cock into you.

You clamped your hands onto his back, running them downward on his damp skin, resting on his lower back. You cried out his name, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

As you arched your back and your chest raised, Paul leaned down, carefully snatching your left nipple in his mouth. He sucked on it, moaning on your breast.

It did not hurt, in fact it was just the opposite: it was intense pleasure, sending waves straight to your pussy. You whimpered, piercing your fingernails into his back.

Paul groaned in reaction, retracting from your nipple and switching to the other one, lapping at it. He grabbed your right breast, and kneaded the tender mound in his hand.

You wanted to hear more from him. You took it as a challenge and used all of your strength in your hips to roll Paul over onto his back with your hands also on his shoulders.

He looked up at you in awe his blue eyes practically glowing as he placed his hands on your waist. "Oh, yes, my y/n, be good and make love to your emperor.”

You pressed your hands to his chest and rolled your hips against him. You let loose, and gave him all of the pent up passion you had held for him over so many years.

As you rode him, he palmed your breast with one hand and cupped your cheek in the other. “My slave cousin has likely fantasized about this is. And I hate him all the more for it. Thinking of you is my privilege.” he panted.

“I am yours Paul, and I always will be. He will never have me the way you do. I have loved you since I met you.” you spoke slowly, catching your breath when you could as you bounced on his cock.

“If he comes near you, ever again. I’d simply have to kill him.” He kneaded your hips, moaning softly. “You are mine. You belong in my bed, y/n.”

You were overwhelmed with sensation: his needy words and his thick cock prodding at your cervix. Your pussy throbbed and you had an orgasm with his cock inside you. Just as he wished.

“Oh, Paul.” you huffed, smiling contently.

He rolled you over so he was on top once more. He pulled his cock out, finishing himself quickly. His sperm squirted out onto your belly.

“Looks like the sisterhood won’t be getting their heir tonight.” he teased before collapsing next to you.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blind Offer 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a leak causes you to evacuate your apartment, your landlord offers a vacant unit that's too good to be true. (short!plus!reader)

Character: Steve Rogers, additional characters to come

Note: Loooooook. I was gonna restrain myself but this all just got outta hand. This is one of my Corrupt-A-Wish requests but I won't reveal which one right away because it'll be part of the plot!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me &lt;3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

You keep your slippers just away from the edge of the puddle. The sheet of water extends almost completely across the kitchen. You hug yourself, still slightly groggy from your early and rude awakening. The washing you put in last night hadn’t finished and instead the sudsy mess had leaked out around the door.

There’s a sigh and a clank as your landlord pulls his arm out of the machine. Your sopping laundry is in a bucket by his feet. His shirt is visibly wet from his struggle to stem the steady flow dripping from the brim of the washer door. You worry you may have overloaded the compact stacking unit.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” you say as you sway guiltily.

“Don’t be,” he puts his hands on his hips and blows out. A golden strand dangles down his forehead, “it’s not you. My own fault. I thought these things might hold out for a while…”

“Oh?”

“Not the first time I’ve had to fight the beast but it worked. I should be sorry, I should’ve just replaced it.”

“Well, uh, what are you gonna do now?” You look at the wet tile, the scent of laundry detergent thick in the air as the water creeps closer to your slippers.

“Uh, yeah, well, obviously you can’t stay here.”

“I can’t?” You raise your head, running your hand up the front of your robe and clutching the fluffy fabric.

“No, bylaws say you need to evacuate until I can get a new unit in here. And clean up. Leak like this can leave mildew and mold,” he combs his large hand over his head, “I feel bad enough, I couldn’t let you live in this.”

“Okay… um, I have to work in a couple hours–”

“Oh, geez. Well, er, maybe just pack up a few things and I can take you over to the new place? You can always come back to grab more if you need.”

“I guess…” you chew your lip. His blue eyes fixate on the gesture so you stop. “How far is it?”

“Not very, about twenty minutes east by car.”

“East?” You utter dully, “that’s a bit far. I work up near the metro area.”

“There’s some bus stops that way but I could give you a lift tod–” There’s a sudden gush and he looks back to the machine, a bubble of water flowing up over the brim. He shuts the door, stemming much of it. “You won’t even be able to cook in here,” he says, “look, bylaws say I have to relocate you. I have a property free which means I don’t have to splurge for a hotel. If you prefer somewhere closer, then it’s on you.”

You frown. He’s not the worst landlord you’ve had but he definitely talks like one. He’s only really worried about his liability. Yet, most others wouldn’t have even brought up that clause and left you to wallow in this puddle of dirty laundry water. You shrug, hopefully the other place isn’t too bad.

“Right, uh, I guess I’ll go get dressed,” you relent.

“Great,” he says with blatant exasperation, turning back to face the trembling washer, his voice deflating to a hoarse rasp, “goddamn.”

You hesitate as you stare at his back. The gray fabric of his jersey henley strains across his shoulder blades as the back of his forearms clench, veins pulsing out. He rolls his head on his neck and heaves out again. 

You turn on your foot and slowly pad out of the kitchen. You hear his sole squeak subtly but refuse to glance back again. You can’t help but feel that it’s all your fault. You’re sure he’s too nice to say so. Or too distracted by the chaos you’ve caused.

🖤

The new apartment isn’t an apartment at all. It’s a walkup townhouse with a sleek black and white exterior. The neighbourhood is far out of your range but you won’t complain. You suspect Steve is already aware of the deferential.

“Wow, this place is really nice,” you say as he holds the door for you. You step inside and take in the space; a narrow staircase to the next floor, black frames around grayscale photography, and minimalist decor in the form of a standing geometric floor vase and a coat rack with bent arms. 

You stop to take your shoes off on the mat as Steve squeezes in behind you and shuts the door. You trip away from him, surprised by the friction of his body against yours. You’ve always been overly aware of yourself and how much room you take up. Your size makes it hard to not feel crowded, still the close brush rattles you.

He swirls the keys around a finger and stills them in his fist. He looks around emphatically and waves a hand.

“Well, this is it. It’s my only vacant property at the moment, so, it’ll have to do. Fully furnished, at least.”

“It’s great,” you assure him as you step further in, your duffel hanging heavy from one arm, “wow, it’s…”

“A lot bigger than your place. Yeah. New development. Invested at ground floor. You’ll be the first tenant, at least for the time being.”

“Ah, right,” you go to the narrow bench of black acrylic and place your bag atop it. “I’ll try not to mess it up.”

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh, yeah, but obviously it’s above my paygrade,” you scoff, “I appreciate it and sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really. Dropping a couple hundred on a new washer woulda saved us both trouble. I only got one person to blame,” he holds out his hand, “you don’t need a tour, do ya?” He offers the keys and you step up to take them, “I’ll be back around noon to get you to work but I got running around to do.”

“Um, I should be able to figure it out–”

“Oh, wait,” he puts a finger up, “the door code. Just in case. Also, you’ll wanna override the security system when you get in.” He turns and points to the sleek black box mounted beside the door, “I got it on my phone but you’ll just need to pop it open and put in the number.” He slides out his phone, “I’ll just text it before I forget.”

“Right,” you nod as you clutch the keys tight, “got it. I think I can manage.”

“Anyway, you got my number, you need anything, you know how to reach me,” he checks his watch, “noon,” he repeats as he points at you, “I’ll be back.”

He spins and opens the door, swiftly stepping through before swinging it shut behind him. You’re left slightly stunned and don’t move right away. You cross the floor and twist the latch of the door, a cautious habit likely unnecessary in this neighbourhood.

You turn back to your new abode and let your eyes rove. Wow. All this just for you. You wonder how much one of these places go for. Your monthly pay probably wouldn’t even cover a single week.

You shuffle forward, uncertain, expecting for Steve to come back through and tell you it’s all a mistake. 

You peer around at the immaculate decor. Each piece is perfectly set and carefully curated. The long leather sectional and the matching square backed armchairs before the artificial fireplace in the wall. A low coffee table on a rug patterned in black and white, a touch of red in the throw pillows and the curtains.

Then the kitchen, white, pure marble, and pale silver appliances. The tile is marked by subtle dove grey diamonds, and a table sits against the wall with two chairs. You go back into the hallway and down towards the front of the stairs. You peek up at the top as you pass the small half-bath embedded on the other side.

Upstairs, you find two bedrooms, a full bath, and what appears to be a study, along with several spacious closets. It’s truly a dream. Who knew a broken washer could get you a stay in heaven.

Well, you should get settled in. Enjoy it while it lasts.

🖤

As promised, Steve shows up just before noon. You have your uniform on but feel less than ready to go. The abrupt awakening, the displacement, and the typical dread of the overcrowded box store. Your job is less than glamorous and the townhouse underlines that even more as you bid it a reluctant goodbye.

Steve’s car is sleek and red and overpriced. You don’t know much about cars but you can just tell. The interior is squeaky and so clean you’re sure it must be right off the lot. That new car smell fills your nose and threatens to inspire a migraine.

You put your purse in your lap and buckle up as he turns down the volume on the stereo. You recognise the song, surprised by his taste. He didn’t seem the angsty type. As far from grungy as you can imagine.

“Smashing Pumpkins?” You comment.

“You don’t like them?”

“Don’t mind em,” you shrug, “just figured you were more into… I don’t know, just not them.”

“When I’m not unclogging toilets or changing smoke alarms, I actually do have fun,” he scoffs.

“Oh, I didn’t mean–”

“Kidding,” he assures you as he pulls away from the curb.

You watch the townhouses pass by as he slowly rolls down the street. It’s eerie. There are no other cars lined up in the spots parallel to the pavement. In fact, you don’t see anyone else around. Not through windows, not coming or going, no one so much as walking down the cul-de-sac. It is oddly isolated from the suburbs all around.

“Not like I have great music taste, I’m a disco junkie,” you try to laugh off the tension.

“Fun,” he muses dully.

You don’t respond. You’re on your phone checking Uber prices for the way back. Eek. You pull up the bus routes for the area; at least two transfers to get there. Shit.

“So…” Steve begins, “who you chatting with? Telling them about your tight-ass landlord or what?”

“Uh, no,” you put your phone down and black the screen, “I was just… tryna figure out how I’m getting home. Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Nothing important,” he assures, “what time are you done?”

“Nine, closing,” you explain, “it’s fine, there’s buses. I’ll just have to remember not to go to my usual stop.”

“I can come get you,” he offers.

“That’s… that’s fine. You don’t have to. You’ve already done enough–”

“Really, I don’t have much else going on. Besides the washer but my buddy’s taking care of that for me. I’ll be available.”

“If you don’t mind, but really, I’m gonna have to learn the route. Actually, when do you think I’ll be back at my apartment?”

“Couple of days at best. After we left, the water got into the motor of the dryer– to spare you the whole spiel, the dryer needs to be replaced too. And the floor might need to come up, water’s done a number on the laminate–”

“Oh,” you grimace, “I… that sounds bad.”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed. Look, I know it’s probably not ideal for you to be all the way out here. I’ll keep you updated,” he speaks with one hand as his other remains on the wheel.

“Oh, no, I appreciate all your help. It’s just…” you cross your ankles and nervously wiggle your foot, “I’m just anxious.”

He hums and a thoughtful silence rises between you. He turns a corner and clears his throat, “about the apartment or work?”

“What?”

“What are you anxious about?” He asks.

“Oh, uh, yeah, uh, work, sure. Work always makes me anxious. Lots of angry customers and we’re headed into that season, you know?”

“Makes sense,” he nods, moving his hand low on the wheel as he sits back and steers lazily with the clogged flow of the city traffic.

“And the apartment,” you admit, “I’m not the best with change.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he agrees, “I’m a bit of stickler. I like order, you know? Everything has its place. Everyone has their role.”

You mull his words. It’s a strange way of putting it but you get it. You find your life erratic this time of year, when your schedule goes from predictable to hectic and fluid. Everyone wants to switch shifts and all the managers are trying to fill the schedule with as few bodies as possible.

“I mean…” he breaks the lull, “you know, I keep a pretty strict schedule with myself. Try to. You never know when you’ll get a call at 5am.”

You suck in air and look at him from the corner of your eye. His allusion isn’t subtle. The pit sinks further in your stomach. You don’t need one more person disappointed in you, not when you’re about to face Gwen the manager and her omnipotent clipboard.

“Yeah, uh,” you bend your arm and rub your neck, “sorry…”

“You apologise a lot,” he interrupts, “I’m not mad.”

“I know, I just feel bad,” you move your thumb to chew it.

He glances over at you before quickly refocusing on the road. He laughs, a hollow, gristly chuckle, “trust me, if I was mad, you would know.”

You blink. What? You’re not sure what he means. Is he joking? Maybe it’s that he’s such a nice guy that the change would be unmistakable or maybe he’s being sarcastic and you’re too stupid to pick up on it. Either way, you just want this car ride to be over.

“Right,” you eke out, “I’ll, erm, be sure to stay on your good side then.”

He slides his hand around the wheel to the top, squeezing until the leather squeaks. He shifts in his seat and exhales, “girl like you, I can’t imagine you being too much of a handful.”

His remark sticks in your ears. Again, you’re confounded by him. You can't read his tone as it's quickly washed away by the sudden blare of music as he cranks up the volume.

“This is a good one,” he calls over the music, “I’m sure you know it.”

Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage Someone will say, "What is lost can never be saved" Despite all my rage, I am still just a rat in a cage

Now I'm naked Nothing but an animal But can you fake it For just one more show?

The creaky tones of Billy Corgan’s lilt surrounds you as Steve bobs his head. The swirl of noise and the shadow of tension mingle and suffocate you. You’re starting to look forward to work.