#i might not be able to restrain myself. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theplaid-wearingmoose · 6 months ago

Text

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."

#miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel x reader #atsv miguel #miguel x reader smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader smut #miguel o'hara x reader

1K notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 6 months ago

Text

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.”

#aemond targaryen #my fics #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond x you #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #modern!Aemond #modern!Aemond x reader #house of the dragon fanfic #ewan nation #ewan mitchell smut

914 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 6 months ago

Text

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.”

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya @starlitlakes

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel smut #azriel x reader smut #azriel shadowsinger #a court of thorns and roses

552 notes · View notes

nerdie-faerie · 11 months ago

Text

I've just spent the last couple of days looking at plates in my spare time cus that's what it means to be an adult apparently. But it's fine because I needed to buy bowls anyway cus my current ones are too small and I've been putting it off

The problem it turns out, is that plate shopping is boring. Finding cute plates is not easy. Fun mugs and bowls existing in the plentiful so clearly curves are a better surface for creativity than the flatness of a plate. The majority of plates I found were just one solid colour or they had a bit of a design around the edge or maybe some embossing. And ideally I wanted some fun shapes and colours with fun all over designs in sets that were preferably complimentary rather than identical. I wasn't having much luck but here's some plates that passed some criterias

Starting off strong with some cute all over patterns but identical plates (I still want that strawberry plate, maybe some other time....)

Then we had some complimentary designs but still kinda boring and with no matching bowls

So next category is obviously cute and complimentary! But with no matching bowls again

The last one came in a few different colour options and I'm still kinda tempted by the first ones.....

But! The cutest category goes too....

I still really really really want these plates but I was trying to be a sensible, responsible-with-money adult and logically as a single individual I don't need a dozen different plates :(

My favourite plates however......

Were from anthropologie which is in america so I wasn't about to find out shipping costs on these. Particularly the flower plates that I'd feel too guilty to use

And the winners mainly for practically sake and because I've loved them every time I've seen them in store

Anyway that concludes today's 'ace gets excited by being an adult: plates edition' segment

Started the year with 5 plates and now my second to last plate just cracked halfway through so I guess I gotta stop procrastinating and actually buy new plates now

#ace is a mess #adulting #i restrained myself from getting the matching mugs to go with the tableware and some other cute matching mugs simply cus im a personal mugs #household typa person so the matching mugs would just be to give to the guests i do not ever have because i live in student halls #i might buy some more plates in the future though if i end up moving in to a flat with my bestie this summer 👀#in which case her opinion will be needed so im saving these plates with where theyre from for later so i might still be able to get some #i wanted some leafy/plant themed plates and there were not enough options >:( so although my chosen plates are identical rather than #complimentary they do have that plant theme i wanted as well as being suitable for every day use unlike the actual flower plates #the heart plates are cute though them with the daisy and strawberry one would make for fun decorative plates 👀👀👀#i want those cute shaped plates so badly but even the set of 4 wasnt convenient for pick up so i woulda been waiting like a week for plates #when im down to 1 i need plates immediately and the leafy ones were available to pick up the very next day so i have plates and bowls now 😊#theyre all in soak atm with my pumpkin mugs that i havent got round to doing cus i didnt want to wash them with dirty dishes when theyre no #dirty per say theyre just not clean enough to use cus theyre from the shop #i need to find pumpkin plates and bowls fyi #why are fun plates so hard to find like ive seen fruit shaped plates and that burger stack plates set and yet i couldnt find anything

11 notes · View notes

janeyseymour · 1 month ago

Text

Save Me Before I Lose Myself- part 8

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.

Summary: It's been three months. Life has changed, and the custody hearing of Millie is just around the corner.

WC: ~2.1k

It’s been about three months since you’ve moved in with your daughter’s teacher- three months of pure hell. You’ve been absolutely miserable, and with good reason. Carrie is making everything so God awful for you. Despite the fact that you have a Protection From Abuse Order, and Melissa’s lawyer friend was able to prove that Carrie was indeed abusing you (turns out, going to the doctor has its benefits- you had more sprains and injuries that hadn’t necessarily healed properly due to your apprehension over doctors), her lawyer is… he has one of the best success rates in the city.

Melissa has been great- she’s willing to help you in any area that you might need assistance in. Her friend in enforcement helped guide you through getting a restraining order, another connection that she has to a law firm was able to help you file for divorce and rush the process as much as possible while also revoking Carrie’s custody of Millie for the time being. The redhead drops you off at work in the morning so she’s positive that you’re safe and then takes herself and Millie to Abbott. She’s arranged for a buddy of hers to pick you up after work and drop you back off at Abbott, where Ava is always there to greet you. She’s cleared out the office that she never uses in order to turn it into a bedroom for you. You rarely have to cook dinner anymore because the woman that took you in loves to cook. She helps with your daughter in any way that she can- making sure she goes to bed at the right time, telling her to get in the shower, ensures that she’s eaten enough, assuring her that everything is going to be okay. Melissa has stepped up in a big way for your little girl.

Not only has she stepped up for Amelia and you in terms of safety and your little girl’s wellbeing, but she’s been a pillar of support for you in the hardest time of your life. She understands how difficult this is- quietly admitting to you that she’s been through difficult divorce, and that divorce didn’t involve domestic abuse or the custody of a young child. She lets you cry your heart out when you need to and promises you that everything will be okay. She made sure that the cut to your face was always as clean as possible when it was still healing. She promises you that she doesn’t want anything in return for living with her- you’re actually doing her a favor. And while you know she’s just saying that… there’s a small part of you that believes her. There’s a small part of you that finds yourself falling for Melissa- every side of her. The protective, willing to take a bat to someone for you, side- but also the warm and soft Melissa that you’ve found yourself lucky enough to see.

Barbara is also a huge part of your support system. She takes over watching your daughter when you need a day to yourself- when Melissa knows that you can’t push your way through the day with a smile, and you need to be taken care of. The kindergarten teacher becomes something of an aunt to Millie.

You’re fairly certain that the two women that you’ve grown close to are walking angels on this earth. You have no idea how you were lucky enough to have them come into your life in such a big way when you so desperately needed them.

While the motion for divorce was a simple one- it was quite clear to all parties that your wife was abusive in more than one way, the idea of custody was hell. You were hoping that the careless attitude your wife had about Millie while you were together would make things easy and she would grant you sole custody of your daughter. And she almost did. She can’t stand the fact that Millie takes after you in every way but looks. But then she realized that she can make your life a living hell if she fights. And because she’s solely looking for revenge, she fights like hell. She’s resorting to the fact that she is the breadwinner in the household and that you cannot support Amelia on your own. Your soon to be ex-wife comes out with claws, ready to rip you and your parenting to shreds (she doesn’t have a single thing to tear you up with, but she’s sure as hell going to try- and you wouldn’t put it past her to attempt to lie to get back at you). Carrie is claiming that since she is biologically Millie’s mother, your daughter should go with her. And there is no way you are losing custody of your daughter. There’s not a chance in hell that you are going down without a fight in this regard. And so, you’re being forced to show up for family court to determine who is going to get custody of your daughter, or if there is going to be shared custody of the little girl.

Your case is being reviewed tomorrow, and you’ve taken off today and tomorrow for your own sanity. You know you can’t go to work with your head in such a fog. Melissa and Barbara have both taken off as well to ensure that you have the support that you’ll need no matter the outcome of this trial.

Dinner is simmering on the stove when Melissa comes in with your little girl, Barbara not far behind the two. The three of them kick off their shoes before they enter the kitchen.

“You’re cooking?”

“I- I didn’t know what else to do,” you mutter as you twist your fingers together nervously. “I hope that’s okay.”

“You know you can do whatever you want in this house,” Melissa assures you with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

“It should be ready in the next hour,” you tell them as you pull your daughter into your arms. You kiss her head warmly. “How was school today?”

Millie goes on a long tangent, detailing what you think might just be every second of the day. You listen intently, of course. Because your attention in solely on your daughter while she rambles on and on, you don’t catch the way that Melissa watches you with such a warmth- how her eyes are trained on you and all of your beauty. Barbara notices though- of course she does.

“… and now we’re here!” your little girl finishes with a toothy smile.

“That sounds like quite the day,” you chuckle softly. “And did Miss Schemmenti give you homework?”

“Miss Schemmenti didn’t,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “But Melissa thinks that Millie needs to hop into the shower and read for twenty minutes before dinner is out and on the table.”

“Oh,” you glance over at the second grade teacher. “Well, if that’s what Melissa thinks, what do you think you should do, little girl?”

“Go shower,” Millie sighs, and she heads for the steps. Then she turns and runs back. Her arms wrap around your waist before she softly tells you that she loves you. She does the same to Melissa, and then she gives Barb a tight squeeze with a promise of seeing her tomorrow. Then she runs up the steps, giggling to herself.

“I’m assuming with Millie’s goodbye now that you aren’t staying for dinner tonight?” you ask the kindergarten teacher.

Barbara shakes her head. “As much as I would love to, Gerald is waiting for me at home. But I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Y/N.”

You give her a tight smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“Hey,” Barb reaches a hand out, and you take it. She squeezes gently. “Everything is going to be alright- I’ve been praying over you.”

“And Barb is a straight-line to Jesus,” Melissa nudges you playfully.

“That I am!” the kindergarten teacher chuckles. “Melissa, dear, walk me out?”

The redhead furrows her brow, but she obliges the odd request. Once the two of them are in the mudroom, the gruff woman lets out an exasperated, “What?”

“When are you just going to tell that woman that you’re falling for her?” the kindergarten teacher smirks and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Barb, what?” The more defensive side of the second grade teacher comes out. “I am not.”

“Oh, girl please,” Barb rolls her eyes. “You told me months ago you had the hots for her, and if the way you look at her is any indication, you still fancy her.”

“And she’s still in the middle of a divorce and a custody battle,” Melissa counters.

Barbara shrugs. “All I’m saying is: I’ve seen the way you look at her, I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and…”

“She’s in the middle of hell right now,” the redhead reiterates.

“There’s always after.” With a smile and a few nudges, Barbara Howard exits.

Melissa makes her way back to the kitchen as she ponders what her work wife had said. Were you… was it possible that you may have also started to develop feelings for her? She shakes her head to shake the thought. But then her eyes are on you, and she can hear the soft and sweet humming as you tend to the meal on the stove. The sun is streaming through the window in a way that almost makes you glow, and her mind wanders back to the fact that she has absolutely fallen for you.

She goes to say something to you, but Millie comes down the steps with a hairbrush and a book calling for Melissa.

“Mel? Can you brush my hair for me and read with me?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” the redhead instantly melts for your little girl. “C’mon. Let’s go sit on the couch while your momma finishes up dinner.”

You can hear Millie ask the redhead, “Is dinner gonna be done soon? I’m hungry,” as they make their way into the living room.

Dinner is peaceful. There’s no discussion of the elephant in the room. Instead, the air is filled with your daughter only continuing to somehow find details that she missed earlier of her day, and Melissa tells you about the rest of her class. Your little girl makes sure to insert her own commentary on what her teacher has to say. The three of you settle on the couch to enjoy a few episodes of television before it’s time to put the seven year old to bed.

Melissa is, as it turns out to be, the magic touch the Millie needs in order to go to bed without a fight. The two of you oblige her request for a story, silly voices included. The redhead has learned that your daughter is quite particular about how she likes to be tucked in and how her stuffed animals surround her- and she’s able to perfect it, something that not even you have managed to do in the seven years of your little girl’s life. The two of you kiss her head softly, promising that you’ll be in to wake her bright and early tomorrow.

The two of you settle back on the couch, glasses of wine in hand, with a heavy sigh.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Melissa asks you quietly, breaking the silence and the tension in the air.

“I just hope I don’t lose my little girl,” you tell her. “I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t,” Melissa whispers, scooting closer to you. Her hand finds its way around your shoulders and gently pulls you in close. “You won’t.”

“But what if I do?” You look to, and you look absolutely petrified. “Carrie’s always… had a way of getting around things.”

“This is family court, and the judge does what he or she thinks is best for the child. They usually have the child testify too, and I am positive that your daughter would much rather be with you than your ex.”

“I just… I don’t know what I’m going to do if Carrie somehow gets custody of her,” you sigh as you lean into her warm figure.

“You have a solid case, and your lawyer has your back,” the redhead promises. “And ‘sides, Barb and I are there to help support your case. We see how good you are with Mill, and we both have experience with Carrie.”

You just give a hum in response. The two of you finish your glasses of wine and head to bed. Neither of you get great sleep- not with what you have the next day in your minds.

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights @kmaxmadness @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you

189 notes · View notes

butcharium · 1 year ago

Text

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))

#butch #butch positivity #lesbian #transmasc #musings

1K notes · View notes

strunger · 1 month ago

Text

FREE USE WHORE! ♡

synopsis . a free use whore in the office for hire?

ft . jjk (gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso, & sukuna)

tw . free use (obviously) , size kink , consensual dub-con? , overstimulation , degradation , legit filth , fingering, squirting , uh rough sex? , deepthroat/blowjob , big boobs (jjk) , unrealistic job stuff , fear play (choso) , spit mention (choso) , weird geto lol

note . this is NOT for 100% dominant woman, your feelings might get hurt! i got a hand cramp writing this wtf!! idk if you can tell this is free use but that’s what it was intended for. happy reading, weirdos.

JJK most of them show up on the job sexually frustrated because of how much work is put upon their shoulders so when the office starts hiring pornstars for that specific problem — their dicks start jumping inside their slacks. and you, a broke woman, finds this out — you jump on! (their dicks)

sukuna is definitely the roughest out of all the other men. he may not have the highest sex drive (but it’s super high icl) but he dicks you down every-time he can. sometimes he fucks you too long to the point he forgets about his work and you have to be banned from walking to his cubicle for a set amount of time til he finishes everything. and after that… oh boy does he fucks you mad.

“f-fuck!” he pants through gritted teeth when his thick, angry cock finally gets to be plunged in your warm pussy. he’s been waiting too long for this, stupid job didn’t allow his pussy to get near him til he was done with his assignments. “kuna! w-wait! s’too sensitive!” you wail when he pushes your face on the desk, your cries fall on deaf ears because he keeps fucking going. it hurts when he drills his dick into your gummy walls but it still feels so good you can’t help but whimper for more. but it’s too good you start trying to push him away but when you’re bent over a desk with a head being squished on a desk, it’s hard. plus, he’s so much bigger, so much stronger than you, it’s absolutely pointless. he notices this and starts laughing while grunting. “the fuck are you tryin’ to do? aren’t ‘ya supposed to be a free use whore?” he says when he gets fed up with your pathetic movements, grabbing both your arms and crushing them with only one hand. great, now you’re restrained and can’t do anything now. you’ll have to endure this pleasurable torture until he’s done with you. maybe one day he’ll quit this stupid job and make you quit as well.

satoru is the one with the highest sex drive. but what sets him apart from his coworker, sukuna, he’s able to get things done while also satisfying his needs. how? making you suck him off under the table while he’s trying his best to keep it down!

“hmp-! angel! fuckk…” your mouth was deadly to him. it was warm and soft just how your pussy feels but the thought of you looking at him with doe eyes while literally sucking his soul from his dick turned him on too much. but he couldn’t get distracted just yet, he still had a job to do. so while you were busy wrapping your tongue around his cock, his phone rings and with the amount of noise he’s restraining, he’d probably just ignore but a business part is on the other side so he’s obligated to pick up. “hello.. uhhg… sir fushiguro!” he says loudly to his phone. while he’s doing that, you’re thinking of the times he’s been mean to you. obviously not as mean as sukuna but mean enough to hurt your feelings. you decide to make him pay for his little stunts. sure, you could keep using only your mouth but a big boy such as him could handle it, so why not add your hands? maybe be his own personal sex toy. your hand snakes up his thigh and wraps tightly around the base of his cock, earning a deathly glare from him, begging you not to do what you’re about to do. it makes you wanna do it even more. you stack your other hand on top and start twisting them in opposite directions, successfully earning a whole moan from him. “agh-!” he clears his throat “sorry i spilt water on myself. mind if i call you back?” he hung up. shit — he grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to take his full length into your mouth. it hit the back of your throat and you gagged. “don’t do that..”

suguru, he wasn’t a stoic man. not really, but he gave you the heebie jeebies. he barely even fucked you with his cock. but that’s okay, his finger game is fire.

you’re being sprawled out on his lap, legs lazily draping over his own. he’s writing with his right hand while his other dangerously roams around your most sensitive parts. he fiddles with your erect nipples like they’re.. fidget toys..? whatever. but now he’s crawling closer to the waist band of your trousers. he caresses his arms back and forth on your womb before he dips his whole hand inside, practically cupping your sweet pussy with his large hand. the warmth of your lower area was disrupted by his impossible cold hand, you shivered. he never stops scribbling on that stupid notebook, even when he massaging your pretty clit. “more..” you need more. he gives you more. without warning, he adds two fingers into your dripping cunt, making you gasp in pleasure. he starts pumping them vigorously, the palm of his hand scissoring your cunt. your knees felt weak from the action. immense pleasure rippling in you. “hagh! please!” squelching noises could be heard because at this point, you feel like you just pissed yourself. no you didn’t, you squirted. it stained your grey trousers. “did you just squirt?” he asks, finally stopping to look at your soaked half. you embarrassingly nodded, trying to hide your face from him but he squishes your face in place to look at him. “no. don’t look away, you’re a whore. it’s okay, that’s what you do.” he says with the littlest bit of empathy before he starts fingering you again. wow, back to scribbling you thought. wait. what the fuck. he wasn’t even hard yet.

choso, finally. the office’s new hire! he’s just so cute. he’s even cuter when all his coworkers introduce you, the free use whore. you’re dressed up all cute, tits literally spilling out of your tight tank top. standing in the middle of all the men, smiling directly at him with lustful eyes.

after that night, whenever you pass by his cubicle, he drags you in. he’s gotten used to this whole free use thing. he takes up the overnight shift which also forces you to stay that long with him. and that’s exactly why he picks it, even when he has nothing left to do. he was a pathetic vigrin when you first met him but now, he is a full fledged freak. he has a game where you turn off all the light in the office and hide. if he finds you, he fucks you while you’re still scared from his jumpscare. you can hear heavy breathing coming around you but you can’t see anything or sense anything. your eyes begin darting across your hiding spot — choso’s cubicle. a scream in-front of your face jolts your up, making you scream. you can feel warm wet tears bubbling from your eyes. “aw, did i actually scare you?” his deep voice chuckles while he lifts you up and places you face up on his desk. you’re still crying and sniffling when he pulls your skirt away along with your cute lacy underwear. your hands come up to cover your face because you feel humiliated. “was it that bad?” he asked but you didn’t respond. he sighs when he levels his face with your cunt. his finger come in to play with your clit, he spreads your folds open and massages it. you don’t give in and continue crying. that’s when he starts licking it. strong, fast flicks of his tongue toy with your clit turn to slow, languid strokes that cover your whole pussy in his spit. which ends in him slipping his tongue in but when that fails, he brings in the big guns. his big dick. he starts thrusting into you, trying to somehow get a noise out of you but you’re so stubborn right now. he wraps you into a tight hug while still fucking you. that’s when you break. moans mixed with cries start coming out. this was somewhat oddly comforting? “there she is.” he says kissing you. he’s a nice, fucked up man that knows how to get you fucked. you just hope to get a better hiding spot.

359 notes · View notes

ir-abelas-vhenan · 3 days ago

Text

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

#solavellan #lavellan #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #solas #solas meta #solavellan meta #solavellan hell #solavellan heaven

124 notes · View notes

moirindeclermont · 5 months ago

Text

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.

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin positivity #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton spoilers #luke newton #nicola coughlan #colin bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #penelope x colin #bridgerton netflix #mirror scene #colin my wife bridgerton #long post

334 notes · View notes

papaya-twinks · 6 months ago

Note

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.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #f1 #lando x reader #lando norris x you

239 notes · View notes