#Mini Table Fireplace

[shopattonys]

Best Tabletop Fire Pit for Cozy Gatherings

Looking for a simple way to add warmth and charm to your next gathering? The KORNIFUL Tabletop Fire Pit offers a great solution for both indoor and outdoor settings. This stylish mini fireplace is perfect for dinner parties, making s’mores, or just enjoying a cozy evening. Made from durable stainless steel, this fire pit is easy to use and maintain. It runs on common fuels like rubbing alcohol,…

[enniewritesathing]

I'm really proud on how Vin's den came out. It's more of a nest than anything else, with the pillows and a thick blanket.

[gloomwitchwrites]

you've done 'in the rain'...what about "snowed in"?

I know snowed in during a mission is a pretty popular trope...but what about also a 'snowed in' while on base and everyone else is out or while on leave together.....or like neighbors who decide to keep each other company while they wait it out

Could be platonic, romantic or even a teammates who didn't get along till they actually talked kinda thing?

Jokes on you! I made the whole thing naughty! Sometimes, I really cannot help myself, and the idea of being "snowed in" with the 141 made the smutty gears turn. Some of it is cute and romantic, some of it borders on dubcon. Either way, this was completely self-indulgent.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: 141!reader, apocalypse au (Ghost’s), making out, dry humping, unprotected piv, intimacy, hurt/comfort, friends with benefits, neighbor!Price, oral sex, dubcon (Ghost), creampie, shower sex, mechanic!Gaz

Word Count: 3.1k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

“Stop your banging!” you shout as you wrap a blanket tightly around you. “I’m coming!”

Someone is at your front door, their knocking insistent and loud, stirring you from your mini-coma on the sofa. It’s late in the evening, bordering on bedtime, and there’s a goddamn blizzard outside. A brutal one that’s knocked out the power.

Flipping the deadbolt, you yank the front door open, ready to berate the person on the other side. As your eyes adjust to who stands in front of you, every snarky remark evaporates into the air like steam.

“John,” you breathe, startled that it’s him.

John Price.

The man who lives next door.

The man you’ve been hooking up with but aren’t actually dating.

Without asking—or even speaking—John steps forward, forcing you to move back as he enters. Grasping the edge of the door, John shuts it behind him. Closing out the cold does little to warm you. The power has been out for hours and all the head in the house has evaporated.

“What are you doing here?” you stammer.

John tugs on his scarf, revealing his mouth. “Came to check on you.”

“That’s sweet of you,” you murmur, stomach flipping over in excitement. “Thank you.”

He glances around, frowning. “It’s bloody freezing in here,” he mutters.

“Powers out,” you reply.

“It’s out for the whole damn neighborhood.” John returns his attention to you, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “You should come to my place.”

“I’m doing good on my own.”

John continues like he didn’t hear your passive rejection. “That’s where we’re gathering.”

“We?”

John turns away from you, heading for your entryway closet. “Where’s your coat?” he asks, reaching for the handle.

“We, John?” you prompt.

“The street,” he replies, peering into the closet. “Johnny and Simon have been going door to door. Taking people to my home.”

It makes sense. John’s home has several fireplaces and a large backup generator. No one needs to try traveling in this weather to a warming center.

“Hopefully the power won’t be off for long,” you muse.

John holds out a large coat. “This the one?”

“It is,” you answer.

He offers it to you with silence. This isn’t an optional request. He expects you to go with him.

The coat is taken, the two of you braving the blizzard together. John might be next door but the wind is brutal, creeping in to freeze your bones. By the time the two of you make it inside, you’re shivering. Inside, dozens of people loiter in the front room and kitchen, bundled up in blankets. Snow-damp coats, jackets, gloves, and scarves hang near the roaring fire to dry. On the coffee table is an arrangement of food that people pick at.

“You weren’t joking about the whole street,” you observe, fingers reaching to undo the front of your coat.

John beats you to it. “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, opening your coat and helping you out of it. “You should shower.”

You smile at him. “The power is out. Your water heater won’t work.”

He leans with a sly smile. “Hot water is a luxury I can’t live without.”

“It’s hooked up to the generator, isn’t it?”

His smile widens, and you nearly jump with joy.

It’s a sprint upstairs with John following. You don’t even care that you’re not dating him, or that there are people downstairs. The clothes come off quickly, and when you’re bare, you reach for him, urging him to join you with gentle tugs.

The hot water is delicious, but it’s John’s kisses that truly keep you warm. Pressing you against the shower wall, John holds you by your throat, seeking demanding kiss after demanding kiss. Your pussy aches with the desire of wanting him inside you. Grasping his cock, you stroke until he’s hard in your hand. John groans, nipping at your neck.

With a little shift of your hips and a lift of a leg, you guide him to your entrance. John grasps your waist, and pushes forward, sinking in until your bodies are flush. Pinned to the wall, you’re at his mercy, taking his cock as he rocks his hips forward and back. At this angle, his pelvis rubs against your clit. You keep kissing him, seeking tongue and lips, whimpering his name as John’s thrusting increases.

“Can I come inside you?” he growls against your mouth. He sounds desperate. Needy.

“Yes,” you breathe, surrendering to him.

A few more thrusts, and then John grinds forward, sealing your bodies together as he empties inside your pussy.

He goes in for a kiss. Another. Eases his cock from your body.

As the water starts to cool, John shuts off the tap, but you’re no longer shivering from the chill.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Can—can you help me?”

Your voice stutters in time with a shiver. A burst of cold air hits Kyle in the face as he opens the door wider, allowing you entrance into the shop’s small lobby.

Minutes ago, Kyle flipped the deadbolt, intent on closing up. A snowstorm rages outside, and all of his mechanics are stuck at home. He sees no reason to keep the place open in these conditions. But here you are, shivering and stranded, your broken-down car smoking slightly in the parking lot.

“Thank you,” you stammer, rubbing your arms. You’re not even wearing a coat, just a threadbare hoodie. “My phone is dead. I can’t call anyone.” You shake your head, clearly frazzled. “I pulled in here hoping someone would answer.”

“You’re lucky,” replies Kyle. “Planned on leaving.” Not that he has to go far. His house is attached to the car shop. “I have a phone you can use.

“And my car,” you gasp, pressing your hand to your forehead.

You’re a pretty thing, especially with the half-melted snowflakes covering your lashes.

Kyle offers a gentle smile. “Give me your keys. I’ll bring it into the bay.”

At the moment he might be a one-man show, but Kyle manages all the same, rolling the vehicle into the bay. It’s no longer smoking, but perhaps it wasn’t to begin with. There isn’t a burning smell that Kyle can detect. With how bad the wind is, it’s possible that the smoke Kyle glimpsed was just a trick of the eye.

While you stay wrapped up in blankets and warming your toes in front of the space heater in the lobby, Kyle checks the car over. Everything appears fine until he checks the oil level.

“When did you last get an oil change?” he asks as he takes a towel to his fingers, rubbing at a bit of grease.

“A what?”

Bloody hell.

Kyle tucks the towel in his back pocket. “Won’t take me but half an hour to do one. Should be fine after that.”

Your face falls. “I—I have no way to pay you.”

Kyle might think you a sweet thing but he’s not going to take advantage. You’re stranded and cold and he has nowhere to be.

“I’ll take care of it,” he replies gently.

“Are you sure?” you ask, standing, moving toward him.

“Positive.”

“I can’t…make it up to you?” You lean into him, batting your eyelashes.

Oh. Kyle’s in goddamn trouble.

“You don’t—”

“But I do,” you croon, gaze roaming up and then down his body.

Blood rushes straight to his dick. How long has it been since he’s fucked something other than his hand? And you’re willing?

“Sit down,” you murmur, and Kyle doesn’t need to be told twice.

As he settles into the chair your just occupied, you allow the large blanket to slide off your shoulders, revealing nothing understand.

“Fuck,” he whispers as you kneel on the crumpled blanket before him. His legs spread and you settle between, hands sliding up his thighs to toy with the front of his jeans.

A quick tug. A pop. And then you’re reaching inside, fingers wrapping around his hard dick. Kyle groans. Your fingers are no longer cold from the storm. You’re warm, and it feels fucking good.

Kyle’s eyelids flutter, head tilting back as you stroke him. But it’s your mouth suctioning around the head, tongue lapping over his slit that forces his attention back on you. The snowflakes on your eyelashes have melted, leaving behind wet lines that make it appear like you’ve been crying.

You swallow him down, and Kyle’s ball tighten.

Grasping the back of your head to ground himself, Kyle watches your lips, how they move up and down his length, how to the vein disappears and reappears with each bob. It doesn’t help that you’re completely fucking naked, or that your hand is between your legs playing with your pussy.

You slowly ease your lips upward. Kyle’s dick pops from your mouth.

“You want to come inside me?” you ask, but Kyle can tell that you’re begging—that you want this too.

“Fucking know I do,” he growls.

With a lusty smile, you place your hands on his knees using them as leverage to stand up. Kyle takes in your naked body, and then your gorgeous backside as your turn around. Leaning forward, and spreading your legs just a tad, Kyle receives a clear view of your pussy. It’s glossy with arousal.

He grasps your hips, shifting you back, lining himself up, and then you’re sinking on him. Kyle watches as his cock perfectly pushes in, disappearing into warmth and snugness.

“Fucking hell,” he gasps as you take every fucking inch of him.

You rock back, and Kyle thrusts up, both of you groaning loudly. He doesn’t give a fuck that you’re a stranger—that he doesn’t know your name. Your pussy is perfect, and the snow is thick and raging.

Kyle’s release rises. His fingers tighten their hold, digging into your skin. You try to move, but he holds you fast, sealing your bodies together, filling you with his cum. As you keep still, fingers teasing your orgasm from you, Kyle knows that you could easily stay for the evening.

No one should be driving in this weather.

And he can do the oil change tomorrow.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost finds you in a net, snow-covered and half dead.

When he cuts you down, you hardly move. It’s a shift of the eyelids and a little puff of breath that tells Ghost anything. He puts you on his sled beside the stag he’s downed, traversing the cold and knee-deep snow back to his cabin. The years have melded together, becoming one continuous understand. Ghost hasn’t come across another human in ages. He hasn’t used his voice at all. He’s not even sure if he still knows how to talk.

Not that there are many humans left in the world.

Ghost hangs the stag in the shed behind the cabin, securing the door to keep out any hungry scavengers. You he brings inside, stripping you down until you’re naked, placing you in front of the fire on a nest of worn blankets. He wraps you up, taking extra care to look after your toes and fingers. Though your limbs are cold, you appear to have staved off frostbite.

It’s a lingering quiet where Ghost holds vigil as you warm.

And when you open your eyes, you peek out from your sanctuary of blankets.

You do not scream. You do not scuttle back and away like a beetle. There is…curiosity. Ghost’s cock twitches, wanting attention, liking the way you peer at him. It’s a staring contest, the two of you watching the other without speaking.

Another human. Life. Warmth.

The tips of Ghost’s finger twitch. He reaches out, but you do not flinch. His hand slips beneath the blanket, cupping your bare breast, fingers teasing the nipple. You remain calm, gaze fixated on Ghost. The nipple between his fingers hardens. Ghost moves to the other.

But you surprise him, finally moving, grasping his wrist.

Ghost stills, but you do not draw his hand away. Instead, you bring it down, down between your thighs. You guide his fingers to your pussy, thighs opening slightly to accommodate him.

Ghost strokes, teasing your clit. Dipping into your pussy, he spreads the growing slickness around, returning to your clit. Your eyelids flutter, mouth parting slightly. A shiver runs through you, and your thighs quiver against his hand. He’s already shoving his pants down, opening the blanket to come above you.

You blink slowly, shifting onto your stomach, resting your cheek against the blankets. Ghost settles, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy. Without ceremony or warning, Ghost thrusts deep. The only sound you make is a small gasp.

Ghost grunts above you, hips snapping, your ass bouncing with each thrust. He loses himself in the warmth and tightness of you. With his face pressed to the back of your head, Ghost pins your wrists above you.

His pace increases, the need to finish a rushing, pulsing shiver beneath his skin. You spread your legs a bit wide, giving him better access.

He doesn’t ask—only grinds his hips against your ass, his cum oozing out around his dick.

The wind kicks up, rattling the covered windows.

A storm is brewing.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“He’s not coming.”

“Willing to put money on it?” asks Johnny, his mouth quirked into a sly smirk.

Matching his energy, you present a few pound notes. There’s a handshake. A verbal agreement. If Captain Price isn’t here by midday, he’d not coming in. And why would he? It’s a bloody blizzard out there. No one is driving in this.

“Without Price around to give orders,” muses Johnny, slowly counting the cash you handed him. “How should we…occupy our time?”

Johnny says occupy slowly—almost deliberately as if he already has something in mind.

You tilt your head to the side as if in deep thought. The two of you will have the run of base for the rest of the day, possibly even the next if the predicted snowfall is correct. You and Johnny can do whatever you want while everyone else is stuck elsewhere.

The soft smile on your lips widens. “I have a few ideas.”

Ideas can be foolish. Spontaneous. Silly.

Neither of you grab your coats. It’s a simple burst of speed and sheer joy as the two of you go rushing out into the blizzard with only your fatigues on. Snow crunches under your boots, and the wind kicks up white waves that stick to your clothes and soak in until the cotton adheres to your skin.

With a screech of glee, you dive into the snow, scooping up a massive clump. Hurriedly, you shape it into a ball. Turn. Hurl it at Johnny. It strikes the back of his head, and he stumbles forward.

“Fucking shit!” he laughs, launching a snowball right back at you.

This one you dodge, giggling hysterically as the two of you dart and dance in the falling snow, slinging heaps of it at each other.

When your fingers grow cold and your cheeks burn, you somehow manage to drag Johnny inside with you. Snow-covered and shivering, it’s all warm smiles, a hot shower, cards in the rec room with the kettle on. It’s shitty jokes and board games with missing pieces. It’s an old television with poor satellite reception and a communal oven that doesn’t want to hold temperature.

“It’s a ghost town out there,” observes Johnny, glancing out the window.

There are no moving cars. No planes or helicopters taking off. All is silent and still. It’s odd really, like the two of you are locked in a snow globe.

“Yes,” you agree, shuffling the deck of cards.

With a heavy sigh, Johnny walks over to his bed, flopping down onto his side. The neat stack of cards explodes, scattering everywhere.

“Really, Soap?”

“I’m bored,” he replies, falling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Your only response is a muted grunt. Johnny turns his head to look at you directly. “Want to make out?”

You freeze; fingers just shy of lifting some of the scattered cards. “Do I what?”

With a mischievous grin, Johnny turns on his side, leaning on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Just a snog. Won’t mean anything.”

You flick a card at his face. Johnny retains that flirty smile.

“Come on,” he croons. “Just one.” You roll your eyes, then give him a quick kiss on the forehead. “Not what I meant, lass.”

As you draw back, Johnny grasps the back of your neck, tugging you to him. At first, you resist, but then Johnny’s lips meet yours, and you realize it’s not so bad after all. It’s slow and sweet. No tongue. No shoving. It’s passionate but with a hint of restraint.

“Like that,” he murmurs against your lips.

Oh. Oh fuck.

You don’t resist when Johnny goes in for another, or when he pushes you onto your back. The fatigues are gone, replaced with sleepwear. Johnny’s fingers slide beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. He pebbles one nipple and then the other, eliciting a little moan from you as he seizes yet another kiss.

There is nothing gentle about these. Johnny demands, and you surrender, allowing him everything. Boredom is melting, turning into lust, turning into panting heat. Shirts are gone, and then pants. His lips move down to taste and tease. Your thighs fall wide, and Johnny kisses your pussy before tonging it. Your fingers thread through his mohawk, and Johnny groans as your nails scrape across his scalp.

The snow falls in thick sheets outside, crusting everything in a damp cold.

But your blood is heated, and Johnny is warm.

[paintinghippos]

Beach Style Family Room - Open Picture of a medium-sized family room in the beach style with a bar, white walls, a regular fireplace, a stone fireplace, and a wall-mounted television. The room has a brown floor and porcelain tile.

[cgtaxpe]

Outdoor Kitchen Los Angeles Example of a large minimalist backyard concrete patio kitchen design with no cover

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, sexual content, husband!Lando

Notes — You'll be delighted to hear that I'm no longer restricting myself to 30 chapters. We might still be going in 20 years. I don’t want to rush any of their story.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

The house they’d rented for their mini-honeymoon was tucked into the Cotswolds, surrounded by sprawling fields and winding country roads. It was nothing extravagant — just two nights, just them, before the season roared straight back into motion. A window of quiet. A pause between chapters.

Amelia stood barefoot in the kitchen, her hair loosely braided down her back, as she watched Lando attempting to operate the stovetop espresso machine. He was shirtless, hunched with intense focus, and utterly failing.

“That’s the wrong burner,” she said, not unkindly.

Lando looked up, caught in the act. “I was testing you.”

“You’re failing.” She giggled. 

He grinned and finally turned the knob correctly. Steam hissed. Outside, a low breeze rustled the leaves. The cottage smelled like lavender and toast. One of her rings — the wedding band — clicked gently against the ceramic mug she was holding, and she stilled. Amelia glanced down at her hand, turning it slowly in the light. Both rings — the engagement and the wedding band — glinted at her, new and strange. Only a tiny bit heavier than before, but noticeable.

“I’m still getting used to the feeling,” she murmured.

Lando poured the coffee and set one cup in front of her. “What feeling?”

She tapped her fingers against the side of her mug. “Two rings. It’s a lot more sensory input than one. I keep noticing them. Like a very mild version of wearing my watch on the wrong wrist.”

He sat across from her, cradling his own mug, his legs tangled beneath the table like he belonged in every soft corner of the morning. “Is it uncomfortable? You don’t have to wear them, baby.”

“No. I like wearing them. It’s just… different,” she said, after thinking about it. “But I like that. It makes it feel real. Like a constant reminder.”

Lando smiled, gentle and full of something that felt like sunlight. “It is real.”

She looked at him, her husband, now, and felt that odd little stretch in her chest again. 

They spent the day driving lazily through villages, stopping for fresh strawberries and cream, taking photos at every stone wall and overgrown hedge. He kissed her forehead at every stoplight. She held his hand every second she possible could. 

That night, they were curled up on the tiny sofa in front of the fireplace, the embers low and warm. Amelia had her head on his shoulder, tracing invisible shapes on his chest through the cotton of his t-shirt. “I liked your vows,” she said.

Lando made a soft sound. “I, like, panicked my way through them.”

“And you cried” she added, softly smug.

“Couldn’t help it. You looked like a dream,” he whispered, kissing her hair.

“I’m glad we didn’t wait.” She told him, after a beat. 

He nodded, squeezing her, kissing her head. “Me too.”

They sat there for almost all night, the hours stretching out like soft fabric, warm and quiet and alive. The wedding day had all become a bit of a blur. Beautiful. Full of love. Their families had laughed and drank too much wine, and for one day her dad had been just that — not Lando’s boss, but his father-in-law. 

“I love being married to you,” Lando told her. 

Amelia laughed. “It’s only been a day.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s been the best day of my life,” he said.

She kissed him, slow and sure. “I like being married to you, too.”

—

The sun was barely cresting over the hills while they were packing up the car. Their two-night honeymoon had gone by in the blink of an eye. Amelia folded the last of their clothes into her duffel, zipped it closed, and watched Lando make a show of fitting the leftover snacks into his backpack.

“You could just carry the crisps separately,” she offered, watching him frown at the bag.

Lando gave her a look like she’d suggested something criminal. “The’ll fit. I don’t want to have to carry two bags through the airport.”

She sighed and leaned against the car, her left hand absently rising to adjust her sunglasses — and catching once again on the glint of the two rings on her finger. She was starting to acclimate to them. The newness was still there, but now it was becoming a kind of comfort. A tether, maybe.

They drove to Heathrow listening to a playlist Amelia had built for the car ride, songs they’d played at the wedding reception, one after another like quiet echoes. When Electric Feel came on, Lando laughed and reached for her hand. “Max dancing to this was the funniest part of the night.”

“He was off-beat on purpose,” Amelia replied, dry. 

“He says that, but I think he’s just bad at dancing.”

Amelia tilted her head. “That didn’t stop you.”

“Oh, I looked incredible on that dance floor.” He grinned. 

“You nearly dislocated your shoulder.”

“And I’d do it again,” Lando said proudly.

The flight to Austria was short, uneventful, smooth. They landed to a flurry of activity. The paddock was already humming with the usual pre-race tension and preparation, even from the carpark, they could see team trucks, personnel moving around with radios clipped to their belts, tyres stacked in neat lines like puzzle pieces waiting to be solved.

It was like re-entering orbit.

At the McLaren motorhome, people greeted them with smiles and congratulations. Someone had put “Just Married” bunting across the back wall of Lando’s garage — and the social media liaison handed her a bouquet of peonies when they walked into the paddock, filming them (for a TikTok, probably). 

“This is kind of surreal,” she said quietly, touching one of the petals. 

Lando, already redressed in head-to-toe team gear, brushed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re allowed to be a little sentimental. You’re married now.”

She nudged him. “You’re married too.”

“Right,” he grinned. “And already back at work less than a week later. Very devoted.”

“You want a medal?” She teased, 

“Yes, preferably chocolate.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to go through the pre-race engineering notes, her clipboard already full. Race week had begun, again. The season didn’t wait, wedding or not. But for a few moments more, she could still feel the softness of the last week in the curve of her shoulders and the warmth of her ring finger.

Lando jogged off toward his garage when Will shouted for him, turning back only once to catch her eye.

And she smiled. Married. Back to work. But tethered together in one certain way.

—

The walls of the Red Bull strategy room were matte grey and slightly dirty. Two screens took up most of one side — telemetry blinking in real-time, simulation models lining up neatly like soldiers. Engineers moved in and out quietly, murmuring about tyre windows and sector times.

Amelia sat in her usual spot at the table, posture relaxed but alert, tapping the cap of her pen against her notes. Max dropped into the chair beside her, dropping a bottle of water onto the table with a satisfying thunk.

"You're late," she said without looking up.

"I'm fast though,” Max countered, cracking the cap. “So it evens out."

She didn’t laugh, but her lip twitched. “You know we’re going to need to double stint the mediums if the degradation runs high again. It’s not going to be as clean as last year.”

Max leaned over to glance at her notes, one eyebrow rising. “You’ve already run the long-run overlays?”

“Before breakfast,” she said. “Softs fall off faster than predicted in traffic. If you get boxed in Turn 3, you’re going to have to stretch the second stint, or commit to three stops.”

Max hummed, nodding slowly. “And if we undercut?”

“Only if you get DRS every lap, or clean air from the start. Otherwise you’ll burn out your tyres too soon.” She pushed a tab on her tablet, flipping to a new data cluster. “You’ll need to be aggressive into Sector 2. That’s where Checo is losing time, by the way.”

“She’s so smug when she’s right,” Max said, dryly, to no one in particular.

“I’m not smug,” Amelia replied. “Don’t take Turn 9 too shallow this year. I saw your onboard. You were clipping the inside kerb last time and risking bottoming out.”

“You watched last year’s onboard footage again?” He asked. 

“Obviously.” She shrugged. 

Max gave her a long look. “When do you find the time?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I watched in on three times speed while I was peeing this morning.”

He snorted. “Multi-tasking. I like it.”

There was a knock on the open door — Hannah poking her head in. “You two ready to head over to the sim? Checo’s already in there”

Max stood, stretching. “Yeah. Think so.”

Amelia gathered her iPad and notebooks and stood beside him. “Do we have the same ride-height as last round?”

Hannah nodded. 

Max bumped his shoulder into hers lightly before they left the room together. “Wedding of the year’s over,” he murmured as they walked down the hall. “You gonna win me the championship again this year?”

She hummed. “Only if you give me a clean first lap today.”

She really liked how easy it was to joke around with Max—she could be playful and he never thought she was being mean, could always tell when she was telling a joke. 

“No promises.” He grinned. 

She smiled at him. 

— 

The fans buzzed overhead, barely cutting through the thick warmth of the Red Bull garage. It smelled like tyre rubber and brake dust and faintly of the coffee someone had abandoned near the telemetry stations. Amelia sat half-perched on the edge of the pit wall desk, ankles crossed, flipping through her iPad with methodical intent, her stylus tapping lightly on the screen.

GP approached with his headset looped around his neck, the usual controlled chaos of a race weekend thrumming behind him. He grinned at her, lopsided and knowing. “Heard you got married.”

She didn’t look up. “I did.”

“To Norris,” he clarified, eyes amused.

“Also true.”

Christian appeared just then, phone in hand, looking as if he’d just stepped away from a meeting he didn’t particularly enjoy. “I saw the photos,” he said. “Looked great. Very British.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Well, I’m mostly American, so…”

Christian held up his hands in mock surrender. “I know. Sorry. But I saw that there were scones.”

Amelia snorted. “Lando’s mom insisted.”

GP raised an eyebrow. “So you actually stayed away from the factory for an entire week? I’m impressed.”

She gave him a dry look, her stylus pausing mid-swipe. “You didn’t crash the sim server once while I was gone.”

“No,” GP admitted. “Probably because you didn’t have Max on it all day every day.”

Christian leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded across his chest. His eyes crinkled faintly. “So. Honeymoon?”

“Two days in the countryside. It was nice,” Amelia replied, not looking up. “But Austria waits for no one.”

There was a pause, a slight weight to the air.

“And after that?” Christian asked. “You thinking about doing anything nice next year?”

She turned a page in her notes. “Yeah,” she said, calm. “I won’t have to be at the factory during breaks anymore, so I’ll have more time with him, probably.”

That landed like a dropped screw in the silence.

GP tilted his head. “Wait—you’re leaving?”

Amelia nodded once. “Max and Jos have known for a while. Thought they might have mentioned it.”

Christian stood a little straighter. “Where are you going?”

“McLaren.”

The word slipped out easily. Controlled. Final.

GP let out a short breath, blinking. “McLaren?”

Christian’s mouth twitched into something unreadable — tight at the corners. Calculating. “For Lando.”

Amelia looked up then, her expression unreadable but edged with quiet defiance. “No. But if that’s what you want to think, sure.”

GP blinked at her like she’d just short-circuited his brain. “You’re really leaving us?”

“Yeah. Probably,” she said, finally setting the tablet down on her lap. “Max won’t need me next year. You’ll have the car sorted before Bahrain. I’ve already finalised the details with Adrian.”

Christian’s voice dropped. “That’s a big decision.”

“So was coming here,” she said evenly.

There was something in her tone — not defensive, not regretful, but unshakeable. The same voice she used in strategy meetings when she was right and everyone else was just taking longer to realise it.

Christian sighed, then nodded once. His jaw was tight. “You always were one step ahead.”

Amelia made a face. “I just like to plan ahead. Nothing wrong with that.” 

GP looked down at the floor, then back at her, genuine sadness flickering in his expression. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“It’s not supposed to be,” she replied, voice quiet now. “You build things. You adapt. That’s the job. That’s the sport.”

Christian glanced at her again, and some of the tightness was gone. “You know the door’s always open.”

“I don’t think I’ll be coming back.” She said plainly. 

GP gave her a nod. Christian’s eye twitched before he was walking away, murmuring something into his phone.

Amelia looked back down at her iPad. Sighed at Max’s inability to not overheat the left rear into turn one.

Just another Friday.

—

The kettle was whistling on the counter.

Amelia was curled into a kitchen chair, legs folded under her, wearing a hoodie of Lando’s that swallowed her narrow frame. The sleeves were bunched around her knuckles. Her iPad was open on the table in front of her, the screen glowing faintly in the morning light. She hadn’t typed a single word in the blinking reply box.

Lando walked in with damp hair, still tousled from his shower, his phone in one hand. “You want tea?”

“No,” Amelia said, eyes still locked on the screen. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.”

He paused by the counter. “That’s a lot of answers.”

She didn’t elaborate. Just tapped the tip of her stylus absently against the wood grain of the table, small and rhythmic.

Lando made her a cup anyway. Peppermint, no caffeine. He placed it gently in front of her, then slid into the seat across from her. “What’s going on?”

She nudged the iPad toward him wordlessly.

He read the email silently. Then again, slower this time. When he looked up, his face was unreadable.

“We’d love to do a feature on you,” he read aloud, softly. “Your career path, your unique path into the engineering field, and your part in Max Verstappen’s 2021 Championship. Your openness about being autistic. And now, the public interest in your recent marriage to Lando has made you one of the most fascinating figures in motorsport right now...”

He passed the tablet back.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured.

“Do you want to do it?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” she said again, tone clipped this time.

“Okay. Why not?”

She sighed, brushing her hair out of her face. “Because it’s… all very personal. And I know what that means. It means they’ll ask questions about my childhood and my dad and you and Max and my autism and everything. And maybe they’ll twist it into something I didn’t mean to say, and then suddenly my entire life is summed in one terrible headline.”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Maybe.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re not supposed to agree with me. You’re supposed to, like, tell me I’m overthinking and this is an exciting opportunity and they’ll be nice.”

“I’m your husband now,” Lando said, lips quirking. “Legally, I have to be honest with you.”

Amelia huffed, a soft laugh bubbling up despite herself. “Shut up.”

He reached across the table, gently brushing his fingers against hers. “So what exactly feels wrong about it? The autism thing?”

“All of it,” she said. Then, quickly—“None of it. I mean—” She took a breath, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie like she needed the fabric to hold her together. “I want to tell my story. I like the idea of it. But I’m scared they’ll simplify it. Make it into a neat arc. ‘Autistic woman makes good car. Marries F1 star. Representation! Progress!’” She winced. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is,” Lando said. “Everything about you is complicated.”

“Thanks,” she said, deadpan.

He smiled, nudging her foot under the table. “Yeah, but that’s why I love you, baby.”

Amelia didn’t smile. Not yet. Her brows pinched, eyes unfocused. “I’m worried they’ll ask about how you cope. Like I’m something hard to live with. Like I’m a challenge someone has to overcome to prove how good and kind and patient they are. Like I’m not the one making things work.”

Lando leaned forward, his voice steady. “I don’t cope with you, Amelia. I don’t endure you. I live with you. And I love you. And I respect you more than I respect anyone else in my life.”

She blinked at that. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Okay, but… what if I say something wrong? What if I let people in and they don’t understand?”

“Then they don’t understand,” he said simply. “That’s not on you.”

She was quiet for a long beat.

“I don’t want to be a mascot,” she said at last, almost a whisper. “Or a headline. Or a symbol. I just want to do good work. And be happy. And love you. And maybe go to bed early tonight.”

“You can do all those things,” Lando said, voice softening. “You’re already doing most of them.”

Amelia finally reached for the tea. It was warm. Steady. Familiar.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he added, gently. “Baby, you can think about it. You don’t have to say yes right away.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll think about it.” Then, “But if I do say yes, do you think they’ll let me read it before they post it? To make sure it’s fine.”

“I’m sure they’d be okay with that.” He nodded. 

Amelia smiled at him, her cheeks a little red. “Can we kiss for a little while?” 

He pushed his chair out and patted his lap. 

—

The interview took place in a quiet café near Paris — one Amelia had chosen specifically for the low lighting, the muffled acoustics, and the booths with high backs. The interviewer had been vetted in advance by Max’s PR team, and to Amelia’s mild surprise, she wasn’t awful. She was actually… gentle. Respectful. And patient.

Her name was Lisette, and she came alone, no assistant, no camera crew, just a voice recorder, a notebook, and a kind smile.

“Ready when you are,” she said softly.

Amelia, sitting cross-legged in the booth in a dark green jumper and her favourite wide-legged trousers, nodded once. “Okay. You can start.”

Lisette clicked on the recorder.

There was a beat of silence. Then, “Amelia, you’ve had a remarkable career already — and it’s still just beginning. Race strategist, performance engineer, design technician. You’re kind of a jack of all trades. But what I really want to know is… what’s it like to be one of the most visible women in Formula 1?”

Amelia blinked slowly. “Overwhelming. And also very cool. And also… a bit ridiculous?”

Lisette smiled curiously. “Ridiculous?”

“I work with some of the most brilliant people in motorsport,” she said. “I’m still learning every day to not cope with the constant chaos, noise, and… expectation.”

Lisette nodded, jotting a note. “And what’s the answer to that?”

“I don’t. Cope, I mean,” Amelia said honestly. “I manage. I prepare. I build systems around myself that work. And I work really, really hard to be excellent at what I do, so that no one can dismiss me.”

A long pause.

“I like that,” Lisette murmured. “Can I ask—what is the biggest misconception people have about you?”

Amelia leaned back, eyes darting to the side in thought. “That I’m delicate,” she said at last. “Because I act a little differently, and I have to wear ear-defenders more often than not, and I can’t do loud sponsor events without at-least one prep day. But I work sixteen-hour days during race weekends. I can out-logic a tyre delta problem in my sleep. Delicate isn’t the right word. I’m… I’m just precise.”

Lisette smiled. “And does that precision carry into your personal life?”

Amelia hesitated. “Sometimes.” She shifted in her seat, adjusting one of her rings — the wedding band. “I got married earlier this month,” she said, unprompted. “To Lando Norris.”

“I know,” Lisette said gently. “It looked beautiful. I saw some photos on social media. You had a lot of the grid attend.”

“It was beautiful,” Amelia agreed. “Loud and soft all at once. A sensory paradox. But it was all planned — down to the napkins. That’s how I make things manageable. We planned it for me to feel safe. And loved.”

“And did you?”

“I did. I do. All the time.”

“May I ask what it’s like, being married to a public figure?” Lisette asked. “An athlete?”

Amelia thought about that for a moment. “Well, he comes with a lot of noise.” She said, a wry smile on her face. “But he understands me,” she said finally. “Not everything, not all the time — but he wants to. And he’s not afraid of the harder parts. The shutdowns. The silences. The incessant need for structure. And I guess, in a way, I’m a public figure now, too. So we’ve evened out the playing field a little.” 

“You don’t seem uncomfortable talking about love,” Lisette noted.

“Oh, I’m not,” Amelia said. “I just don’t always know how much to share. Because once you start telling your story, people think they own it. But love… love is something I had to work very hard to understand. It didn’t come easily. So I’m proud of it.”

“Can I ask you something harder?” Lisette said softly.

Amelia tilted her head. “Um… Sure.”

“Do you ever feel responsible for being… a symbol? For other autistic people? Or young women who want to work in motorsport?”

Amelia let out a slow breath. “Yes,” she said. “And no. I want them to see me and think, ‘Maybe I can do that too.’ But I don’t want to be the only one. I don’t want to be special.”

Lisette nodded. “I understand.”

“I shouldn’t be the exception,” Amelia said.

The interview ended soon after, with soft thank-yous and a promise that Amelia would be sent a transcript to approve. She appreciated that, even though it was a pre-agreed condition of the interview.

Lando met her a few metres from the coffee shop. He was wearing a black coat and his hair was fluffy. She walked straight into his chest, fists closing around his shirt. 

He wrapped his arms around her. Squeezed. 

She exhaled a long, slow breath. 

—

The soft glow of the Parisian streets bathed the city in a warm, golden light. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of fresh bread from nearby bakeries and the sound of distant chatter as pedestrians wandered through the winding alleys. Amelia and Lando walked hand in hand, their fingers intertwined tightly. 

"Paris is much quieter than I imagined," Amelia remarked, her voice soft as they strolled along the Seine, the river winding its way through the heart of the city.

Lando glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think you’ve just gone numb to the chaos, baby.”

She smiled, a little sheepish. "Well, yeah. I guess I always compare everything to a race weekend now.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand. "Not quite like that here. It's definitely more... relaxed. Peaceful."

They paused near the Pont Alexandre III, the ornate bridge decorated with golden statues, and Lando pulled his camera from his backpack. “Can I take your picture?” He asked, already aiming it at her with a gentle grin.

Amelia blinked at him. “Now? You’re going to take a picture of me in front of a bridge?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, stepping back to get the right angle. “You look beautiful. I want to capture it.”

Her cheeks flushed, though she tried to hide it behind a playful roll of her eyes. “You’re ridiculous. I’m not even wearing a nice outfit. I’m wearing Max’s merch.”

“Exactly,” he said, already focusing on her. “And you’re still perfect.”

Amelia found herself standing still, her breath catching in her chest. 

Lando clicked the shutter. The soft click of the camera echoed in the stillness of the bridge. “Hold on, don’t move,” he said, his voice full of affection as he walked around her. “Just stay like that, okay?”

She tilted her head, amused but compliant. “What are you going to do with all these photos? I’m not a model, Lando.”

He smiled as he knelt down to get a different angle, his lens focused on her face. “Doesn’t matter. I want to remember moments like this. I want to keep them all.”

She smiled, feeling something warm spread through her chest. “Okay. Just... don’t post them on your Instagram or something, okay?”

Lando shot her a knowing glance as he snapped another picture. “Don’t worry. I’ll just keep them for myself.” He flashed a grin, his eyes lighting up with a mix of affection and mischief. “Maybe one day I’ll make a whole album for you.”

She laughed softly, walking over to him and reaching down to gently ruffle his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lando stood up, pocketing the camera. “Yeah. Ridiculous for you.”

Amelia gave him a soft look, feeling the heat of his words settle in her heart. She hadn’t expected Paris to feel so intimate, so calming. She hadn’t expected this kind of quiet joy in a city that was often associated with hustle and glamour. But with Lando beside her, everything felt like it could slow down, just for them.

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re making me fall in love with Paris all over again.”

Lando laughed, his cheeks pink. “I think Paris is already in love with you.”

Amelia smiled at the pocket holding the camera. “I guess I’ll let you keep them.”

“Good,” he said with a wink. “I’m going to make a collage of you, so we can hang it on the wall when we get home.”

Amelia laughed, shaking her head as they continued walking, the streets of Paris unfolding before them like a never-ending adventure. 

—

Amelia sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass absentmindedly.

Lando was across the room, standing in front of the mirror. He’d pulled off his jacket, looking at himself for a moment before turning back to her with a soft smile. He hadn’t said anything, but she could feel his gaze on her, gentle, loving. She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and something in the way he looked at her made her heart flutter.

He moved toward her, slow and deliberate, as though savouring the moment. His presence was like a magnet, pulling her in, making her want to forget everything else and just focus on him.

“You good?” He asked softly, standing in front of her now. His hands gently cupped her face, tilting her head up to meet him. 

She nodded, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she reached up to touch his cheek, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingertips. It was such a simple gesture, but it held everything she couldn’t put into words. Everything she felt when he was around—comfort, warmth, security.

“I’m happy we’re here,” she finally murmured, her voice soft. “I’ve needed this. Just...us. Even if it’s just one night before everything gets busy again.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing gently over her lower lip. “Me too, baby,” he said, voice low, full of affection. He leaned down, brushing his lips across her forehead, and then, with a quiet sigh, pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was slow. She could feel his heart beating through his chest as he leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around her. Amelia let herself fall into him, her entire body relaxing as she melted into his embrace. Her hands roamed to his shoulders, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. 

Lando’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, and she let out a soft sigh. It was a soft, quiet kind of intimacy—nothing rushed, nothing forced. Just them, connected in a way that felt entirely natural.

He pulled back for a moment, looking into her eyes, his breath shallow. “I’ve needed you all day,” he said, his voice quiet, full of sincerity. “You’re everything, Amelia. Mine. My everything. My wifey…”

She laughed breathily, even as her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled softly. “Me too,” she whispered.

Then, without another word, he leaned down again, his lips meeting hers with a passion that took her breath away. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their hands began to roam, exploring the closeness they shared.

The world shrank to just the two of them. Quiet laughter, soft words exchanged between kisses, the occasional gasp as they held each other closer. Their love didn’t need to be about the fireworks or grand gestures. It was about the quiet moments—the firm touches, the way their hearts beat in sync, the way they could so seamlessly become one single person. 

It was magic, in a lot of ways. 

But Amelia didn’t believe in magic. 

So maybe it was just love.

NEXT CHAPTER

[yuusishi]

mysterious beings

synopsis : characters finding your tsum running around !!

genre: fluff , established relationship

pairings : Rollo Flamme , Skully J. Graves x gn!Reader

cws/tws : none

a/n : oh yeah first fic in 4 months I can't wait for summer vacation. I actually haven't played twst in like a month cuz I'm burnt out but I still love everyone

ROLLO FLAMME

He was already informed before of the tsums’ appearance in NRC ever since he first time. He couldn’t help but think this could be yet another headache that the Headmage would thrust unto you to take care of.

If Rollo had to be honest it almost urged him to take you away from the school before the Headmage had a chance to give his work to you.

Thankfully, you texted him that everyone is taking care of their own tsums which relieved him greatly. He doesn’t need the problems of magic users to be yours as well.

He did find it peculiar that there isn’t the usual number of tsums in the picture you sent to him. That was until he heard the faintest of knocks on his door.

He opened it to find no one there until he looked down and saw…a tsum version of you.

So that’s where the last one went.

Before anyone could see, he swept tsum you up into his hands and shut the door to his dorm room. He stared and stared at the tsum contemplating what he should do until it tilted its head in confusion, a sight most familiar to him due to a certain someone (*cough* you obviously *cough*).

He let your tsum follow him around like a lost puppy as he did his student council duties until that evening where you visited him saying that the portal is opening soon.

Admittedly he was a little sad considering this was the closest he got to spending the day with you without it needing to be a holiday, but eventually he gave the little mini you back and said your goodbyes as you made your way back to NRC.

He went back to his dorm room shortly after, the silence with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace was interrupted by his phone buzzing

"There's a fair near NRC in a week, do you wanna come with me :) ?"

A small smile played on his face as he stared at the text you sent him, "Of course, I'll finish my work immediately to be with you" he replied.

(art by @ TsunTsun_tsunno on twitter)

SKULLY J. GRAVES

Scared. Like, pretty scared.

He assumed the worst and thought an evil witch cursed you to become a little stubby...thing...(he didn't know what to call it) that couldn't talk!

Then he saw five other students' little creatures and made his fears even worse, the entire school could've been cursed!

He took your tsum in his arms immediately and ran to the Headmage's office, ready to beg on his hands and knees to find a spell, whether forbidden or not, to turn you back.

As he opened the door, panting like he just ran from mortal danger, he saw you and other students speaking with the Headmage. He was stunned and thought to himself "If that's [Name], then who is this??"

Eventually he got an explanation from both you and the Headmage and he was relieved this wasn't a situation of cloning gone wrong either.

Throughout the day you would see him carrying and coddling your tsum with a smile. In classes it's sat on his lap as he wrote down notes, at lunch it sits on the table you and him are eating at and even occasionally offering it a bite of his food, and during PE placed on one of the benches a safe distance away from everyone participating in sports or broom flying (he doesn't want it getting hurt).

When it's time for the tsums to leave he's SO sad, literally crying as he lets go of your tsum and watches it levitate into the portal in the sky (the tsum doesn't have a hint of emotion on its face).

You have to remind him that the original you is still here but his argument is that he's was so happy with TWO of you 💔

He gets better eventually and you both probably go on an ice cream date after.

[solbaby7]

If ur still taking requests can i ask for azriel x reader. Where reader and Az are newish friends. One day Elain asks reader for help on how to please a man (I imagine elain always on her back 🤷‍♀️). Reader asks elain if its to show Az and elain just blushes sweetly saying "maybe". Reader being a girls girl shows elain how to be ontop and how to do other favors like if they were besties. ( idk if uve seen game of thrones but a girl shows khalessi how to ride khal drogo. The girl straight up straddles her with clothes on of course, And shows her. I have it in my head that while reader straddles elain Az walks in and is like 😮😮). Readers a bit jealous cuz she has a mini crush on azriel but doesnt show it. She sees elain with some hickies and what not and she decides she cant be around Az anymore (hurts too much blah idk lol). Az is like wtf! Turns out that Elain was asking for sexy help for lucien!!! Doesnt have to be detailed smutty at all, whatever ur comfortable with is cool with me. Oh btw i so so loved that possessive toxic azriel fic u posted the other day. 🫠🫠🫠 🥵🥵🥵

I love love love love love this idea! So happy you requested it🤍💗

—

Teach Me

azriel x reader

[ part 2 ]

“Well—can you help me with that?” A furious blush fans across Elain’s cheeks, eyes wide and hands fumbling at her sides. Dainty fingers dig into the intricate lace detailing of her dress, nails raking over the pattern in attempts to calm the racing of her heart.

“You want to know how to please a male,” You repeat gently, slightly shocked after she’d timidly slipped into your bedroom with flushed cheeks and sweaty palms. It took Elain ten whole minutes to reign in her rambling until she’d finally blurted it out. “Anyone in particular?” She doesn’t meet your eye, shifting her weight from foot to foot and your stomach rolls at the turn your mind takes. Elain had been spending a lot of time around Azriel; afternoons spent tending to the garden and evenings were blocked off to trail behind as she baked some new sweet treat. “Az, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Elain mutters softly, subtly taking in the contents of your room. The pictures propped against your side table and the endless jars and creams stacked neatly on your vanity. “Can you please teach me?”

Pushing side your curiosity, you offer an encouraging smile, patting at the spot beside you on the bed. “Come here.” The first step is hesitant and so is the one that follows but Elain still finds herself following the gentle command and complying even further when you urge her to lie back. You can feel her thighs shake when you swing a leg over to straddle them but the trembling subsides when you adjust her hair and straighten out her dress. “Sex is like a dance.”

Immediately, she’s hooked, hanging onto every word as if you were the Mother herself coming down for a personal visit. Briefly, Elain’s gaze flicks to the door, shoulders relaxing when noting its shut and locked; curtains drawn and the fireplace crackled with life. The smell of you is everywhere. Something light yet memorable, soft and elegant, classic and slightly sweet—soothing in every way. “A dance?”

“It starts off slow,” You begin, a sliver of your abdomen exposed in your Night Court attire. A breathable onyx top that seemed to wrap around your chest like a bandage, blending into a lighter material that was slightly see-through. “Lingering glances from across the room, the heat of feeling his eyes watching you long after you’ve looked away.” Her confusion is palpable in her furrowed brows and slight pout. “Love always begins in the eyes—I’ve heard of women who’ve finished males with nothing more than their gaze alone.”

“Finished?” Your brow raises, a teasing smirk accompanying it and the implication alone has Elain’s cheeks rosy once more. “Oh, gods. I don’t think I’m capable of anything like that.”

Your fingers trace along the length of her bare arms, holding her hands and guiding them to the sides of her head as you hover, voice low. “You are a woman. You’re capable of anything.”

Elain swallows thickly, taking in the words as if it were the first time she truly wanted to believe them. “What if he doesn’t like it? Like me or the fact that I’m not very experienced.”

“They don’t care about if you have experience or not. They simply desire what they’ve never had.” She hangs onto every word, analyzing the way you guide her through the motions of what she’d do. Talking her through the scenarios on how she’d touch; when to kiss and gently tug at hair. Eventually the blushing becomes less frequent, Elain’s eyes fluttering closed as she visualized it, working through the new feelings that brewed at the thought of being able to use such teachings.

“And they like that? Us on top?”

“If you like it then they’ll love it.” You rest her hands at your waist, demonstrating the sensual rocking of hips going back and forth. “Fae males are not like the human men you were accustomed to—all sweet and gentle. Fae’s fuck. They take control,” You’re still above her, watching as her thoughts race a mile a minute, thick lashes fluttering before she moves in a flurry. Quickly the position is changed and while it’s a little sloppy, Elain was obviously paying attention as she hooks her leg over your thighs the same way you had hers. “Good job—exactly like that.”

She lets out a laugh, seemingly surprised in her own actions but the thrill of it all is evident across ethereal features. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“Breathe through it and always remember that no matter how highly you think of him in your mind, no matter how highly others think of him—in that room, he belongs to you. There for you to do as you please and if you’re ever uncomfortable you can always say no. You can always stop no matter how far you’ve gotten.”

Elain nods in understanding, dainty fingers barely gripping at your wrists. “Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d do if—just, thank you.”

She lingers a tad longer, following every instruction you give and just as you’re about to correct her, your door creaks open. A familiar voice calls out your name, shadows slinking across the wallpaper but they freeze once they take you in—sprawled out against the bed with Elain straddling you, hands pinned by your head.

“We were just—“ Elain scrambles off of you, cheek and chest a furious red as her mouth opens and closes; unable to come up with a reasonable explanation before she’s sliding past Azriel and rushing down the hallway.

“Most people knock.”

But Az wasn’t most people. You’d been friends for years and long since had he forgone the formality of knocking before entering. He hasn’t moved an inch, still donning his fighting leathers and surely he must’ve just rushed in from flying because his hair was a fucking mess. Inky strands lay messily atop his head, flopping over his forehead and teasing the thick of his brows. “What was that?” A finger points in the direction Elain had just disappeared off too and you’re unable to explain why such anger swells in your gut—all too aware of the fact that another female would be using your moves on him.

Seducing him in a manor that belonged to you but would never actually be you.

“Just wait a little, I’m sure it’ll make sense soon.” Confusion sweeps over the angles of his face at the vagueness of your words, skewing the corners of his mouth and you have to physically tear your eyes away before you did something stupid. Like, kiss him. You suck in a sharp breath, a hand curling around the doorknob. “You should get to bed, Az. It’s late.”

You can’t bear to see the look on his face when you close the door on him but it was for the best. It was one thing crushing on him while knowing he wanted another. But it was more complicated now, teaching the object of all his desires exactly what to do to him—how to please him and draw out the sounds you’d been dreaming about for decades.

You flop down on your bed, nose scrunching at the lingering smell of Elain on your pillows.

Sleep doesn’t grace you with her presence that night, instead offering a series of scenarios of what could be happening a few hallways down.

Elain’s back two days later, a goofy grin spread across her cheeks and a line of hickeys branding the side of her neck in a way that makes your stomach turn. It takes everything in you to hide the jealously, to smooth over the embarrassment of ever possibly thinking that Azriel would go for you when he had a blushing Archeron hanging off his arm. “I take it that it went well.”

“More than well,” Elain confessed, dressed in a pale shade of green with ivy’s laced into the thin sleeves. “It was perfect—everything was perfect thanks to you.” She continues on, divulging naughty details and devastating descriptions of Azriel’s fingers grazing at bare skin, the tickle of his hair against her cheek, the warmth radiating from his body when the nights chill became too much. “I’d always heard whispers about the males of Autumn but you guys really weren’t joking,” Your head tilts to the side at that certain detail, brow quirking and your spoon halts its swirling about the teacup. “Fire really does run through their veins.”

“Autumn males?” Your hair flicks behind your shoulder with the wild way you turn to face her, arms crossed loosely over your chest. “You were with Lucien last night?”

Elain nods with a knowing smile growing at the corner of full lips, the tulle of her dress shifting obnoxiously when she takes a seat on your bed.

“I guess I just assumed you’d be with Azriel.”

“Not quite my type,” She replies wistfully, gaze far away as if she were reminiscing on the night before and the male involved. “He’s yours though,” It’s not a question but a statement, thrown out there as if it were a known fact amongst others and you were the last to be let in. “—you like him.”

The teacup pressed to your lips muffles the words but Elain still understands perfectly clear. “”He’s my friend.”

“Friends don’t really look at friends the way he looks at you.” You swallow audibly, attempting to hide your interest and yet it’s the quick flick of your eyes that gives you away. “It’s exactly as you said the other night,” Elain raises from the bed, a gentle hand trailing up your arm the same way you’d done to her. “Love always begins in the eyes. Just look at him—really look at him and see what’s right in front of you.”

Your hands tremble in your lap and for the first time in a very long while, it was you that felt like the blushing virgin searching for answers and not knowing where to look. “I don’t think I’m capable of handling what I might find.”

“You are a woman,” Elain softly answers. “You’re capable of anything.”

[avaf00rd]

Oh I wanna let her unwrap me

Leah Williamson x reader

warnings: slightly suggestive

summary: you and Leah partake in an outdated but funny trend

a/n: I’VE RISEN BITCHES

You’re not sure how your Christmas rom-com marathon was forgotten and you were now covered in a so called ‘mini dress’ made of Christmas wrapping paper.

“That’s too much!” You squealed as Leah kept doing circles around your waist with the roll of paper.

Whose idea was this? Yours. Who was enjoying it the most? Your girlfriend.

“Enough!” You laughed, pushing Leah away to stop her from doing too much.

“This looks great hang on” Leah said holding the paper in place with one hand and ripping the tape with her mouth.

Hot. Died.

“Brilliant” she smiled proudly, stepping back to admire you. “Chefs kiss!” She clapped her hands proud of herself.

You were in nothing but wrapping paper “now I know what I want for Christmas” she smirked as you smacked her playfully

“Okay where is your phone?” She asked looking around for it, as your movements were currently restricted. You would both film the TikTok together.

“On the coffee table”

Leah unlocked your phone before getting up the audio

oh I wanna let him unwrap me like oooh

get on top of him by the fireplace

Halfway through you posing for the camera, Leah jokingly starts to pretend to rip the paper off, causing you to squeal and cover yourself up before the video ends.

“Naughty!” you point at her

“That’s why I’m on the list” Leah smirks and shrugs before swiftly picking you up bridal style and placing you on the floor near the tree. She quickly reached for the popcorn bowl on the coffee table and places some in her mouth

“Okay, pretend, you’re one of the presents under the tree from Santa and I’m a child waking up on Christmas morning. okay? so just stay there” Leah explained, mouth full of food

“Lee-“ you laughed before she walked around the corner

Before she reappears, fake yawning “oh merry Christmas my family” she says facing the kitchen, before turning to you making you grin excitedly “oh look what Santa brought me!” she giggled with you

She was stupid sometimes

“Better open this one before my parents wake up” she winks

“Keep it PG mam, you’re a child in this role play of yours”

“hm I’ll decide” she says standing over you with her hands on her hips “what did the song say again about getting on top by the fire place?” she smiled

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to the 1993 Bubble House in Karalee, Queensland, Australia. 3bds, 2ba, 4,477 sq ft. The price isn't available unless you sign in, but you can see the photos. (It's over $1m.) It has 11 domes and 20 rooms.

We're goin' in. It's actually very beautiful inside.

The hall is like entering a space tunnel.

Not bad, huh? It's not a new house, but it's so spacey, it's still relevant. So, this is a dining area.

The living/family room is round and clustered around an elevated fireplace.

The stovepipe goes clear thru the 2nd floor and out the roof. I'm thinking that this is a bedroom suite- look at the niches in the walls, and there's a door, possibly to a bath.

Down here there's a multi-level TV room with home theater seating. Look at the swirling window.

Off the main area there's a bar in a separate room.

A kitchen in the round. The island is round and makes a nice table when chairs are placed at the counter.

2 floor library.

Downstairs, there's a proper library, also.

That window looks like it should open, but I doubt if it does. Either that, or it reminds me of the Nautilus. I think that this could also be a bedroom with a lofted area.

Upstairs is a larger, more formal living room.

The round home office has room for 3.

The bath looks like a mini pool with an escape hatch.

Even the laundry room is spacey. And, there's also another fridge in here.

Out on the large patio there's a pool, an outdoor kitchen, and a terrace above.

And, here is another view of the house.

Check out the entrance gate.

The lot size is 1.27 acres.

https://www.realestate.com.au/property/79-81-elanora-way-karalee-qld-4306/9

[cailinsblog]

Nico's Perfect Birthday Celebration | Nico hischier

Nico hischier x reader

It was a crisp January evening, and Y/N Hischier was bustling around their house, putting the final touches on a surprise birthday party for Nico. It was his 26th birthday, and she wanted to make it extra special. Over the past week, she’d secretly coordinated with Nico’s teammates, planning every detail down to the Swiss-themed cake as a nod to his heritage.

The house was adorned with soft string lights, candles, and red and white decorations, reflecting the colors of the Swiss flag and the Devils. In the living room, a large "Happy Birthday Nico!" banner hung proudly above the fireplace, with pictures of him from different stages of his hockey career pinned underneath.

Lilly and Nick, the couple's 2-year-old twins, were running around in miniature Devils jerseys with “Daddy” and Nico’s number 13 on the back. Lilly was clutching a red balloon tightly, while Nick toddled after her, giggling uncontrollably.

“Lilly, Nick, come here!” Y/N called, kneeling down to adjust their little party hats. “Remember, when Daddy comes home, we’re all going to yell, ‘Surprise!’ okay?”

“’Prise!” Nick squealed, clapping his hands.

Y/N smiled, scooping him up and planting a kiss on his cheek. “That’s right, baby boy.”

The team began arriving shortly after, each player bringing gifts and good spirits. Jack Hughes was the first through the door, carrying an oversized stuffed bear for the twins. “Where’s the birthday boy?” he asked with a grin, ruffling Nick’s hair.

“Not home yet,” Y/N said, ushering him inside. “He thinks we’re just having a quiet dinner.”

As more of the team trickled in, the house filled with laughter, chatter, and the smell of Swiss fondue that Y/N had prepared in honor of Nico’s roots. Dougie Hamilton and Jesper Bratt were in charge of setting up the food, while Jack and Luke Hughes kept the twins entertained, playing a mini hockey game in the hallway.

Finally, Y/N got the text she’d been waiting for: “On my way home. Be there in 10.”

“Alright, everyone! Places!” she called out, turning off the lights.

The room went quiet as the front door opened. Nico stepped inside, his hockey bag slung over his shoulder. He froze when the lights flicked on and everyone yelled, “Surprise!”

His eyes widened, a grin spreading across his face as he took in the room filled with his teammates, balloons, and his family. “What—? How did you—?!”

Y/N walked up to him, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday, my love. You didn’t think I’d let your day go by without a little celebration, did you?”

Nico laughed, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice soft.

“Daddy!” Lilly and Nick ran up to him, their little arms outstretched. Nico scooped them up, one in each arm, his heart melting at the sight of their happy faces. “You guys planned this, huh?” he teased, kissing each of their cheeks.

The party was in full swing soon after. The team gathered around the dining table to sing happy birthday, with Nico blowing out the candles on his Swiss chocolate cake. Y/N had added a small, playful touch—a tiny fondue pot as the cake topper.

“What’d you wish for?” Jack asked, elbowing Nico as he cut the cake.

Nico chuckled, glancing at Y/N and the twins. “I think I’ve got everything I could ever wish for.”

After the cake, the evening turned into a mix of games, stories, and laughter. The twins were the center of attention, especially when Nick tried to “help” Dougie with his plate of fondue, resulting in a small cheese spill that had everyone in stitches.

As the night wound down, Nico found himself sitting on the couch with Y/N, Lilly asleep in his lap and Nick dozing off in hers. His teammates were still chatting and laughing in the background, but his focus was entirely on his little family.

“Thank you for this,” he whispered, leaning his head against hers. “You always know how to make me feel so loved.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with happiness. “You deserve it, Nico. You make every day special for us. This is just my way of showing you how much we love you.”

He kissed her softly, his lips lingering against hers. “Best birthday ever,” he murmured.

Y/N laughed quietly, running her fingers through Nick’s hair. “Just wait until next year.”

And with that, Nico leaned back, soaking in the warmth of the moment—the love of his wife, the sound of his friends, and the quiet hum of happiness that filled the room.

It was, without a doubt, a birthday to remember.

————————————————————————

Repost helps a lot and requests are open

[rafeysvenicebitch]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Off to the Races Valentines Day Special ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Older!Rafe x Reader ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, impact play, use of “daddy”,cussing, breeding kink, cum swallowing, Rafe’s kinda rough, size kink, MDNI!!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ a/n: Happy Valentines Day loves!💋💗more fics coming soon!!

Rafe had never been one for grand gestures, but tonight was different. He’d surprised you with a pink Supra, sparkling jewelry that caught the light with every movement, and a dinner he had somehow managed to cook himself—though he would never admit how much of it was made by the chef with a little personal flair. You couldn’t help but laugh as he stood at the stove, holding a pair of tongs with a look of intense concentration. “You’re gonna love this, Darlin’,” he’d said with a smile, setting the table with care.

As the evening settled into its warmth, you found yourselves curled up on the couch, the soft glow of the fireplace dancing around you both. Your head rested on his shoulder as he lazily stroked your hair, his breath warm against your cheek.

“You know,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jawline, “I think you might just be the best gift I could’ve gotten tonight.” Your voice was playful, teasing. “Although, I’m curious to see what you’ve got planned for later.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a slow smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You’ll see soon enough, Darlin’. You’ve been good tonight. Now, you just relax.” His hand traced your arm, sending shivers down your spine. His thumb brushed lightly across your lips before he kissed you again, soft and lingering.

You couldn’t resist being playful, your voice hushed but still full of excitement. “What if I don’t want to relax?” you whispered, your lips brushing against his neck. “What if I want you… right now?”

Rafe’s grip tightened around you as he smirked. “If that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice dropping low with heat. “I’ve got no problem making sure you get exactly what you need.”

With that, he swept you off the couch, lifting you in his arms as if you weighed nothing. You let out a small laugh, kissing him all over his face, trailing little kisses down his neck as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “You spoil me, Rafe,” you whispered with a smile, as he carried you effortlessly to his room.

He gave you a look that was both tender and full of desire. “It’s not spoiling you if you deserve it, Darlin’.” He set you down on the bed gently, his hands brushing over your body as his lips followed every inch of your skin. “Now, let’s see just how much I can spoil you tonight.”

Rafe pulled your pink mini skirt down before toying with your panties . He whistled,”Damn, my favorite. I’m gonna have fun ruining these, I know you’re so wet for me right now.” He pushed them to the side.

“Rafey! Don’t mess them up!” You giggled.

He smirked smugly and stuck two fingers in you,”Hm, well last time I checked I bought them. So I can do whatever the fuck I want, Darlin’.” He explored your cunt before finding your sweet spot.

“Right there, Rafey!” You squirmed and squeezed around his fingers.

”Are you sure, Darlin’?” He sped up his pace and started sucking your clit.

You gasped and moaned, closing your eyes,”Oh fuck! Yes!” You put your hands on his head,”Keep going.” You gasped breathlessly. He chuckled and did in fact keep going until you came.

After a minute or so he pulled back, taking his fingers out and putting them in your mouth,”Fuckin’ taste yourself baby, this is all me.”

You took his fingers out of your mouth, one of your hands on his wrist and your other palming his hard cock,”You need a lil’ help with that, Rafey?” You giggled, teasing him.

He groaned and put his head back,”Fuck, yeah I do.” He took his belt of and wrapped them around your wrists,”You wanna help me?”

You nodded eagerly,”Mhm!”

He chuckled,”Needy needy girl.” He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and took his dress pants and boxers off. He spat in his hand and pumped his cock a few times before lining it up. He winced as he slowly pushed his tip in.

You felt an uncomfortable stretch and you whimpered,”Rafey.” You whined.

He kissed your forehead while he started a steady movement,”You okay, Darlin’?”

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to contain a squeal.

He gently grabbed your jaw,”Come on baby, I wanna hear you.” You nodded again and let out a high pitched squeal. He smiled,”There’s my Darlin’, keep making those noises f’me baby.” He put your hands around his waist and moved quicker, making the bed creak loudly.

You clutched onto the pillow as Rafe ruthlessly pounded into you,”Fuck! Rafey it’s too much! Daddy!” You yelped, squeezing your eyes closed.

He grunted,”You want me to stop, Darlin’?”

“No daddy!” You responded.

He groaned,”Perfect.” He drawled,”I don’t I was able too, this tight cunt keeps sucking me back in.” He leaned down to kiss youdeeply then pulled back,”You’re so beautiful, y/n.” He smiled

down at you. You couldn’t respond, so you smiled back at him. All of a sudden, he pulled out and turned you over on your stomach then hovered over you.

You whimpered,”Rafeee, why’d you stop? I was almost there!”

He sighed,”Stop complainin’, Darlin’. I’m not done yet.” He lined himself up again and roughly shoved himself in you,”See?” He grunted,”I’m not done.” He delivered a rough smack on your ass before grabbing it, his hard callouses on his palms digging into your ass.

You squealed,”Daddy!” You squeezed your eyes shut.

He smirked,”Keep calling’ me that baby.” He slapped your ass again while fucking your your cunt, making your shake under his touch.

You moaned,”Daddyyy.”

“That’s a good girl.” He groaned,”You want my cum, Darlin’? You want me to fill you up?” He grabbed your face, making you stretch your neck to face him. You whimpered. He shook his head,”I need a fuckin’ answer.” He said a tad bit more aggressive.

You nodded, gasping,”Y-yes I do!”

“Say it like you mean it.” He slammed into you roughly before returning back to his original pace.

“I do! I really do!” You squirmed, your nails digging into the leather of Rafe’s belt.

He slapped your ass a few times and stretched the waist band of your panties, making it snap off,”C’mon, say the exact words, Darlin’.”

You groaned,”Fuck! I want your cum, daddy! I want you to fill me up, daddy!” You screamed.

He chuckled,”There’s my girl.” He lowered himself on you, trapping you in your position.

“I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered barely above a whisper, but Rafe somehow heard you.

“Cum f’me baby, Daddy just needs a few minutes.” He slowed his pace down slightly.

You felt the familiar feeling of an orgasm forming, your mouth opened and you let out a moan,”Fuck!”

He kissed your neck softly,”Keep squeezin’ my cock. I’m almost there.” After a few minutes, Rafe slowed down, his hips bucking into you. Soon after, you felt warm ribbons of cum in your sore cunt. You both laid there in silence, breathing heavily. He pulled out of you and rolled you back over on your back before plopping right next to you, evidently still hard.

You smiled at him,”That was good.” Your hands slowly trailed down to his cock,”You still wanna go?” You swirled your thumb over the tip and stroked his cock slowly.

He put his hand over yours, guiding your motions,”Mhm.” He rolled his eyes back and he moved your hands faster,”Fuck.”

You moved his hand out of the way and positioned your mouth over his cock, licking the tip before taking some of him in your mouth. His hips bucked and he gently put his hand on your head pushing you down,”Damn, your mouth feels s’ good around me.” You giggled around his length, still stroking the base. He pushed your head down more,”Tap my thigh if it’s too much.” You nodded, looking at him with your glossy eyes. You sucked gently, which made him shudder,”Fuck! I’m bouta cum, Darlin’.” His hips met your mouth and his hands pushed your head farther down, then you felt Rafe’s hot cum in the back of your throat. You pulled your head back, gasping and swallowing what he gave you.

He motioned for you to come lay your head on his chest,”Did I hurt you baby?”

You shook your head, smiling,”Nope. I’m good.” You drew circles, hearts and stars on his chest with your pointer finger.

“Good. You want me to start the bath? I bought you those bath salts you wanted.”

You sat up and gasped, peppering kisses on his his face,”Thank you, Rafey!”

He smiled and picked you up off the bed,”Anything for you, Darlin’. Any day.”

Taglist: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @greengoblinswifey @whoreislands

[beloveds-embrace]

More fairy reader pretty please!!!

Fairy reader post

Enjoy!! :D

In the end, your wings make the decision for you; still far too weak to properly and safely fly for long-term, you stay with them and thus with the passage of days, you become a fixture of the cottage. The four men adjusted seamlessly, weaving you into their routines. Mornings began with the quiet bustle of preparing tea, coffee, and breakfast. Johnny always saved you a few sweet crumbs from the food they’d made, setting them on a tiny dish for specifically bought just for you with an exaggerated wink. “Here you go, wee lass, breakfast for you too.” he’d say, making you giggle.

You grew more comfortable exploring the cottage, gliding from shelf to table with wings that were growing stronger every day, and thus brighter. They marveled at the subtle sparkles of light trailing behind you. It was as if tiny stars followed your every move. Simon, for all his quiet observation, had taken to leaving out curious objects- a shiny coin, a small piercing- just to watch your eyes light up with interest at seeing the shiny, human trinkets you’d normally not find in your routes in the forest. Coins especially were your favorite; you’d make the happpiest squeaks whenever you’d find one.

One rainy afternoon, as droplets drummed against the windows, you perched on the edge of a mug, watching Kyle and John play a game of cards. Their banter was familiar and comforting by now, a low murmur that mingled with the crackling of the fireplace you steered yourself a safe distance away from. When John noticed your intent gaze, he grinned. “Want to play, little one?”

You nodded eagerly. He handed you a card with great care, its weight surprisingly manageable. Determined, you mimicked their expressions of deep thought despite not really, fully understanding what was so special about these cards or how the game was played, earning a soft, rumbling laugh from John. “She’s got a poker face better than yours, Gaz. Might give you a run for your money.”

As weeks turned to months, your presence transformed their quiet lives and you remained, even once your wings were fully healed. No longer were you just a guest; you were family. Together, you then showed them the forest, and all the hidden nooks and crannies that made for perfect places to rest and have a picnic there. Sometimes, you’d catch lights flickering within the depth of the forest but yet… you didn’t want to return to your kin.

One evening, as the sky blushed with a beautiful, reddish sunset, you sat on the windowsill, watching the woods. Simon stood nearby, still and thoughtful. “You could leave, you know,” he murmured, voice soft, almost hesitant yet too curious to stop. “If you wanted.”

You turned to him, youe wings lazily around your body instead of your usual mini-blanket. “I know,” you whispered, your glow flaring gently. “But I… don’t want to.”

His head dipped in a nod, and though he said nothing more, you could feel the relief in the air. You leaned back and dropped the blanket, flying up to curl in his palms, and felt a warmth bloom deep inside you. Here, you’d found a place to rest your wings—and you were happy to stay.

[strippinjimmy]

RED RIDING HOOD, duncan vizla x reader

t.g: daddy-daughter stepcest, smut, reader calls duncan dad multiple times during sex, piv, oral, squirting, creampie, mentions of suicide, daddy kink (wc2.6k not proofread), crossposted onto AO3!

a.n: i had three hours of sleep and a dream, mini celebration now that my exams are over, no lurking please give me that interaction, minimal dialogue because i say so.. also hi mads fans.. no hannibal content anytime soon from me imsorry..

It's been like what, five- six years since he's taken you in? Duncan took up a gentleman's handshake with the devil, swore to never grow close to anyone, to let another person bare the dread of living in constant fear. Yet he has you, up in the cabin where you could be mistaken for one of the lambs, blending in the pale, blinding snow whenever you wear that coat, consisting of wool and Duncan's blood, sweat and tears whilst he watches over you like a wolf, it doesn't help with those fucking husky teeth of his (your favourite quality of him), that snarl whenever he instructs you to tuck yourself away into one of the four corners of the cabin for every creak he hears in this already old, already rotting cabin.

Five years further from tragedy, every second closer to Duncan. That oath was long forgotten since he's met you, turned to fucking ash. Took you under his wing to raise you right, "proper training for the real world," he says. Whatever that means. He swore he'd never let a thing harm you, even if it meant sacrificing himself and his morals. He'd never expect you to repay him, it's not your responsibility to bare, at least it wasn't when you had to lay by his side for warmth, now you've grown accustomed to it, to admit it is one thing, to like it is another.

"Lunch," He mumbles, placing a hearty bowl of goulash paired with a side of mashed potatoes, delectable. "Specially for my girl," He ruffles your hair as you reach for the utensils across the table. It wasn't a lot to work with, yet he's given you the best. He displaces the resting cigarette from his mouth down to the stove, letting it light the butt up, he takes a long drag to recharge, closing his eyes as he enjoys his dinner. You chow down at the food like you always do, he gazes at you longingly, like he always does. This time it's completely different.

He breaks past your personal space to the dish he's prepared, his palm rests against the back of your hand, your wood chopping scars look like papercuts compared to his, laboured and scathed to give you a comfortable life.

You gasp, feeling the cold air around you grow humid, eyes widening. Not his first time expressing affection, no. Not his first time making you feel this dizzy, either. Sure, hypothermia causes you to see stars, just not the ones Duncan causes, ones like sparks from a gunshot. He savours a bit of the goulash, eyes shut to reminisce all his warmest memories, occasional drives downtown, reading a book by the fireplace, hugging you for comfort.

His pupils dilate, he flinches slightly as he breaks away. There is no fucking way in Hell he's even thinking about that last part in a "sweet", "happy and homey" way. No, he's finding solace in fisting his dick while you laid in bed by him, clueless of his intentions, expressions - the things he's wanted to do to you.

He rests on the swingset he built you the same day he's seen you circle on one of those old-ass catalogue books. By now, he's on his second stick, reaching into his pockets to find a light.

You join him after a while, "I did the dishes," You tremble at the cold, always a first time experience with it, Duncan pushes away before he cups his hand into a tight fist, his nails dig at his skin, accepting his fate. He can't stray past an already remote distance, any more and the bad guys will set out to get you, that's all you know, it's all you've heard. "It was amazing, thanks, Dad." Now you're exchanging roles, you break past his personal space to lean by his shoulder, you reach into your pocket, the lighter crackles as you light his cigarette. It'd be wrong to admit that he's proud of you, not like gentle parenting is in his cards anyways. "Mm," He hums, pleased. "Go inside, I'll join you in a bit." He instructs, you do as you're told, the weight of the snow dips, growing shallow for every step you take back to the cabin.

Duncan is a simple man — he's content living the way he is, been years since he's fucked, let alone get a girl to moan his name, it'd been a shocker to know that he can still get his dick up, it took him long enough, just until he'd met you. He likes to watch from afar, he watches you at a comfortable distance to not harm you, to watch you cluelessly angle yourself in positions where he could just rip off that nightdress of yours, get you to transition from "Dad," to "Daddy." Zero to a hundred in his head.

He puts the cigarette out, flicking it down to the snowy compound. He walks back to the cabin, pinching the bridge of his nose, he deserves a comeuppance for thinking like this, gun to the temple if you ever resented him for touching you. He shuts the door, loud enough for you to hear it.

The pale moonlight transpires after ages of hiding behind the foggy clouds. Duncan feels odd tonight, especially since you've debuted a cute minidress, it's a warm night in the cabin, the fireplace rages with the mixture of coal and wood burning. You head past the corner of the cabin to show Duncan, hair slithering to your shoulder as you give him a twirl.

He's watching like a rabid dog, it doesn't show past his mind, but holy fuck, it's like the devil's playing mind tricks on him. You would've expected a better response from him, annoyed, you inch closer to Duncan, resting on his lap, he feels as your panty clad ass rubs against the fabric of his pants, his throat bobs in fear.

"Dad, don't you ever feel alone up here?" You ask out of curiosity.  He can't just tell you as it is, right? Porn is a passable material here, as taboo as it is, no hooker is willing to freeze her tits off for a measly $20. "Yeah, it does — nothing I can do about it, either." He jokes, despondent as he grows older. "No one wants to fuck an old man, either." He lays all his cards on the table. "Everyone? Is that true, dad?" You play dumb, literally, it's not just for sure, you're just a very speculative girl with zero context clues. "Yeah, everyone, now go to bed," He retorts gruffly, "I'll be with you in a minute." You don't give up, yet you listen to him like you always do.

You hop on the bed like a bunny, inundated with the amount of blankets and throw-overs, you cast some of the fabric aside, leaving room for Duncan to lay closer to you. Just as you finish doing so, he softens the contrast of the lamp, strips himself until he's just wearing his sweats, he joins you, only at a distance, feasible enough for you to savour him, imagining your nails scratch at his back, tracing red marks over the ones that have just healed.

And so you do. You trail your nail over the hump of his back, slithering over his neck, you press kisses at his scruffy beard, feeling the hairs nick at your skin, your thigh rides up to his waist, "Jesus," He moans, manhandling you with ease, he lies flat, gets you to lay where his knees are, just past his dick, hard, it's hitting his stomach like it owes him money. You bite your lip at the sight, no fucking way you've been sleeping next to him without curiosity spilling and sticking like honey on the sheets, memory foam holds a heavy impression.

"Dad," You wail,

"What was that?"

"Dad," Once more.

He smacks the flesh of your ass, groping it to soothe the scarlet brand.

"Daddy," You sob out.

"That's what I thought." Honest to him, he hates it, hates the thought of it, hates the way they do it in porn, it's so forced, not even the same nose, same eyes, and they've got spirit. You definitely climbed up the ranks tenfold, nice to hear it come from you, nice to hear how reassuringly gross and fucked up his actions are, nice to hear how you reciprocate.

He slips his hand past the band of his sweats, lowering it as you scratch his stomach out of a gruelling mix of desire and fear. He interlocks the fingers of his free hand with yours, off a tangent to reassure you.

His cock slaps at the base of your pussy, he hums keenly, teasing you at your clothed clit, you bite your lip out of hunger. He looks up at you, savouring his little girl's movements, her miniscule reactions — twitching, moaning, shivers as he peels the fabric, pulls it to the side, you shift your hips slightly upwards, giving him more room to slide his dick in, which he does inadvertently, you're just too wet, Duncan is caught off guard, a breathy moan escapes his lips as well as yours. "Fuck," a small giggle at the end of his cue.

Up, down, up, maybe move into a more comfortable position, this one is kicking your ass, you lay by the flat side of his palms, he caresses your waist as he guides you, "Like that, you're doing so good," he praises, it's genuine, like all the times he's been proud of you.

"Dad, dad," You mewl, Duncan's eyes flutter shut, he's shocked to find that you take him so easily, more than that, he hates that he loves hearing you call him that — he does deserve a bullet through that skull of his. "Like that, sweetie?" You lose your composure. From holding his hands, you slip past it, luckily enough you manage to position your hands by either sides of his head, good enough for him. The two of you gain momentum, Duncan thrusts, the fervor piles on. The sounds of moans and skin slapping hits the air, it echoes like the howling winds right outside.

"Kiss me," He orders, you oblige needlessly. You sink in closer to Duncan, kissing him hungrily, he laps at your tongue with primal desire, lips pressing, his hand is at the back of your head. reeling you in closer to savor you a little more. He thrusts harder, the momentum is steady, but he's cracking at your cervix, Duncan evidently grows closer, you push away, "Dad— need to pull out," God knows where you've learned to talk that way, you didn't need it, the birds and the bees thing happened once yet you know your lines better than a pornstar. "You're– fuck, you're right," It just occured to him, yet he doesn't even act on it, pulling you closer like he's begging the inexistent gods to impregnate you, maybe one or two more rounds until it takes.

Duncan grows weak which makes it easier for you to pull out, you watch as his cum rivulet down your thighs. Breath heaving, you strip the dress off of yourself, it has no use, could look better clean instead of being tossed to the side after Duncan would very likely jerk off to it, you like that more than you'd admit, but you're better off with Dad cumming in and on you instead.

You lay on your side of the bed, by now Duncan grows hard again and your eyes widen, body jolting slightly, he grips at your wrists, cuffing you lightly, he pulls you to the end of his side of the bed, by the fireplace where you glow like ember. He gets on both knees, "Dad wants to eat you out, sweetheart, can he?" He questions, not like he's gonna take no for an answer, even if you're weary, you doubt this would resurface, so you oblige. He watches you nod, teeming with excitement, it doesn't show, a common occurrence.

The broad of his tongue savours you past your flesh, like a sapling, you tremble as he spits on your clit, slick coating your walls as he repeatedly bullies your poor, swollen pussy, it's overstimulated, yet you don't give out. "Dad," You whine, "it's too much, gonna cum," He won't complain if you do, it's unjust if you don't.

"Look at me," You're slightly dumbfounded, mind evidently hazy, your lower lip is left hanging, drool flows, the thick of it hangs at the end, shaking with constant momentum, Duncan orders once more, "Look at me when you cum, got it?" You stare at him, heavy lidded, he watches as your breathing grows more laboured, he curls his tongue inside you, hands digging at either sides of your waist til' you're nearly bleeding, your eyes widen, body convulsing as your insides grip onto the flesh of his tongue like a vice, the other hand snakes to your chest, thumb swirling over your pebbled tits, sending your brain into overdrive, your eyes roll back, body shuddering, pressure whips at your clit, and you squirt — you twitch, over and over until you have to physically wrestle yourself out of Duncan's reach. He didn't want to scare you off, but he doesn't blame himself for wanting another selfish taste.

"You squirted," He states the obvious, it's bitter to say in reality, yet he relishes the sight before him. "Your first one too," He gets back to the bed, you nod in embarrassment as you shift back to your side, "The bed," you point out meekly, "Don't worry about it," He insists, "Definitely not going to be our first time, get some rest." He mumbles to himself, resting facing the end of the bed.

[wholoveseggs]

hey sistaaaa, i was wondering if you could write another elijah x inexperienced reader pretty pls 🥺🥺

( preferably a black reader but whatever ur comfortable with )

p.s I LOVE UR WORKKKKK !! 🤍

Adore

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!black!Reader} When Elijah catches you lost in a steamy novel, he’s determined to turn fiction into reality...

♡♡ Thank you for this request lovely anon!! I love writing first-time stories, they are always such a treat ~xo ♡♡

3.5k words - Warnings: smuttt, shy!reader, teasing, oral (f!receiving), praise kink, virginity loss, Elijah being utterly obsessed with you, aftercare, a warm shower, and whispered confessions in the firelight...

@starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss @eternalnoble @darth-laeka

When Elijah found you sitting in his study, curled up in his armchair with your nose stuck in a book, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips.

He always loved seeing you like this, all comfortable and relaxed, your rich brown skin glowing in the warm firelight. The furrow of your brows deepened as you became further engrossed in whatever it was you were reading. And today, he had to admit that it was even more adorable than usual because you had chosen to steal one of his shirts, slipping into the light blue button-up and wearing nothing underneath. The way the fabric draped over your curves and contrasted against your skin made his mouth dry.

You didn’t look up when he entered the room, nor when he walked past the fireplace where the flames burned low. He stoked them with care, adding more wood before making his way toward the mini-bar and pouring himself a drink.

It wasn’t until he spoke that you finally tore your eyes away from the pages and looked up at him.

"I don’t recall lending you my shirt," he teased, swirling the amber liquid around his glass, watching as your cheeks warmed under his gaze.

"Sorry, I couldn’t help myself," you mumbled sheepishly, averting your eyes. "You know I love the way you smell."

Elijah chuckled at that, making his way over to you.

"Don’t worry, love," he hummed, placing his glass down on the coffee table before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. "I love seeing you in my clothes."

You smiled at that, leaning into his touch.

"What are you reading?" he asked, taking a seat on the arm of the chair next to yours.

"Nothing," you replied, holding the book close to your chest. "It’s really not interesting."

"Really?" Elijah chuckled, cocking an eyebrow. "It seems you were rather absorbed in it. Let me take a look."

You clutched the book tighter, your eyes going wide, but Elijah only smirked, snatching it from your grasp and looking down at the cover.

"Well, I didn’t expect this," he commented with a laugh. "Is this erotica?"

"I... well," you stammered, feeling heat creep up your neck and pool in your cheeks.

"Hmm? What’s the matter, sweetheart?" Elijah teased, opening the book to the page you had been reading and skimming the text. "This part seems interesting. 'His hands traveled down her thighs, and he pushed them apart gently. He lowered his head between her legs, and she gasped as she felt his tongue swipe against her-'"

You grabbed the book back from him, interrupting his reading.

"Why are you reading it out loud?" you hissed, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

Elijah smirked at your reaction, finding it quite endearing. He noticed the way your thighs were pressed together, and he could only guess what you had been up to before he had walked in. He couldn’t resist the urge to tease you a bit more.

His eyes roamed over you, lingering on the soft curves of your legs and the way his shirt rode up higher on your thighs. He was pleased to see that you hadn't bothered to do up the first few buttons, allowing him a tantalizing glimpse of between your legs and the full swell of your breasts.

He knew you were a bit shy, the two of you were talking things slow, and the most intimate thing the two of you had done was kiss without many articles of clothing on. You seemed to be enjoying the way things were, so he hadn't wanted to push you too much. But lately, it was getting harder and harder to keep his hands off you, especially when you walked around in nothing but his shirt.

You felt your heart rate increase as Elijah's eyes raked over you, taking in every inch of your body, making you feel hot all over. You tugged on the hem of his shirt, pulling it down in a futile attempt to cover yourself, and he grinned.

"Keep reading, I'm going to add more logs to the fire," he told you, kissing your forehead once more before getting up and walking over to the fireplace, giving you time to calm your nerves.

You watched as he kneeled down to rearrange the wood, the muscles of his back shifting under the fabric of his shirt as he worked. Your mind flashed back to the story you had been reading, and you wondered what it would feel like to have his strong hands caress your bare skin, to feel his lips pressing kisses down your stomach and between your thighs.

He looked over his shoulder at you, almost as if he could tell what you were thinking, and his smirk sent a jolt of heat to your core.

You averted your gaze, quickly picking up the book and trying to continue from where you had left off. But it was impossible to concentrate with Elijah's eyes on you. His gaze was like a physical weight, making your heart race and your palms sweat.

After a few moments, he seemed satisfied with the state of the fire, standing up and walking back over to you. He grabbed his own book along the way, and settled on the floor in front of you, leaning back against the armchair.

He casually placed a hand on your leg, draping it over his shoulder and opening his book, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin. You cleared your throat, trying to focus on the words in front of you, but it was impossible with his touch making your body burn.

"I-I can't read with you doing that," you finally blurted out, squeezing your thighs together, trying to alleviate some of the pressure that was building between them.

"Why is that, sweetheart?" Elijah chuckled, closing his book and setting it aside.

"Because," you stammered, shifting slightly in the chair. "You are being distracting."

"Distracting how?" he asked innocently, turning to face you.

You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your skin, his dark eyes looking up at you, waiting for your answer.

"You know how," you said, letting out a small gasp as he leaned forward and kissed your inner thigh.

He grinned at your reaction, his hands cupping your ass and pulling your hips to the edge of the chair, so his face was level with your center.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"No," you breathed, feeling your body melt against him.

"Good," he murmured, kissing his way up your thigh and pressing his lips to your clothed sex.

You gasped, your hand tangling in his hair as he sucked lightly on your clit through the fabric. He groaned at the taste, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"These are so pretty," he murmured, trailing his fingertips along the front of your panties, feeling wetness already seeping through the fabric.

The sight of him, kneeling before you, his dark eyes filled with lust, felt like something out of a dream.

"Can I take them off, sweetheart?" he asked, his fingers teasingly playing with the waistband.

"Yes," you whimpered, unable to stop yourself from grinding against his hand.

Your heart was racing, the anticipation almost unbearable as his fingertips brushed against your skin, the fabric sliding down your thighs. He took his time, teasing you, his touch so light it was barely there. His hands gripped your knees, gently spreading your legs open, revealing all of you to him.

He leaned forward, his mouth inches away from your center, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly dragged his tongue up the length of your slit.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, your grip tightening in his hair.

"Delicious," he murmured, lapping at you like a starving man, his tongue sliding inside you.

Your breath hitched, the feeling unlike anything you had ever experienced. You had pleasured yourself before, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

Elijah was in heaven. You tasted even better than he had imagined, your wetness coating his tongue as he ate you out. He wanted more ,needed more.

He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking gently, sending waves of pleasure through you. Your back arched, and he took advantage of it, sliding his tongue deep inside you, fucking you with it. Your thighs squeezed his head, your nails scratching his scalp, and he groaned.

He had waited for so long, and now, here you were, spread open for him, your body trembling as he devoured you. The way you tugged on his hair, the way you moaned his name, the way you rolled your hips against his face, trying to get him deeper, drove him crazy.

"'lijah," you whimpered, your eyes fluttering closed as he slid a finger inside you, curling it slightly, grazing that sweet spot deep within.

Your body was on fire, the pleasure overwhelming. His mouth hurling you towards total bliss.

"Eli.. I-I'm going to-!" you stammered, your voice breaking, the familiar tightness in your stomach.

Your whole body tensed, your walls clenching around his finger, as the most intense orgasm you'd ever had washed over you. You cried out, his name spilling from your lips, your back arching, your eyes rolling back, everything else fading into the background as your body was consumed by ecstasy.

You collapsed back against the chair, panting, a layer of sweat coating your skin, glowing in the firelight. Your curly hair framing your face and sticking to the nape of your neck. Your chest heaved, and your hands trembled. You were beautiful, and Elijah couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked, gently running his hands up and down your thighs.

You nodded, a content smile gracing your lips.

"You.. you are really good at that," you chuckled, your voice slightly hoarse.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Elijah hummed, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above your mound.

He continued kissing his way up your body, until his lips found yours. You moaned softly as his tongue slipped past your lips, tasting yourself on him.

You could feel his hardness pressed against your thigh, and you felt a fresh wave of arousal course through you, your need for him growing with every passing moment.

"I want you," you murmured against his lips, and his eyes lit up, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You started to unbutton his shirt you were wearing, exposing more and more of yourself to him.

"Sweetheart, are you sure?" he asked, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, feeling a little shy as the last button came undone and his shirt fell open, displaying your naked body to him.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his eyes roaming over you, drinking in the sight of you.

You felt so warm under his gaze, the way his dark eyes roamed over your body, admiring every inch of you, making you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

His hands reached under your hips, giving your ass a gentle squeeze before pulling you towards him. You let out a small squeak of surprise, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself.

"Elijah!" you laughed, a bit embarrassed.

"What?" he grinned, leaning down to place a kiss on your nose. "You have a wonderful ass."

Your cheeks heated at his compliment, and he smiled, placing a hand on either side of your face.

"So gorgeous," he hummed, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, eliciting a soft groan from him. You loved how soft his hair was, and how he would sigh whenever you ran your fingers through it.

"Come on, let's move to my bedroom," he suggested, lifting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

You giggled as he carried you down the hall, the sound muffled against his neck as you kissed and sucked on the sensitive skin there. He was always so careful with you, his touch gentle and loving.

He set you down in the middle of his bed, and you scooted backwards, propping yourself up on your elbows. He crawled after you, his eyes filled with lust, the sight causing heat to pool between your legs.

He hovered over you, his hands resting on either side of your head, and leaned down, his lips brushing against yours.

"I can't tell you how long I've been wanting this," he breathed, his dark eyes gazing into yours.

"Me too," you admitted, biting your lip.

He smiled, his thumb gently tugging your lower lip free, before leaning down and capturing it between his own. His kisses were slow and sensual, his tongue slipping past your lips, and you moaned, your fingers curling in his shirt, tugging at the buttons.

"Impatient, are we?" he chuckled, pulling back and helping you undo the rest.

"Maybe," you smirked, your hands gliding over his chest and shoulders, pushing his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor.

His skin was so smooth, and warm, his muscles firm under your touch. You trailed your fingertips down his stomach, following the light dusting of hair leading down into his pants. He watched you explore him, a small smile playing on his lips.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

"About you, about this…" you confessed, your eyes meeting his. "Ever since we started dating, I've been wondering what it would be like."

"Really?" Elijah grinned, his hand sliding up your thigh, stopping just below your hip.

"Mhmm," you nodded, feeling butterflies flutter in your stomach. "I knew... I knew it would be you."

Elijah smiled at that, leaning down and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

You gasped, feeling his bare chest against yours, your nipples brushing against his skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The warmth of him, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, it was all intoxicating.

"I've thought about this too," he admitted, kissing his way down your neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin. "I've thought about what it would be like to have you underneath me, moaning my name, coming undone on my cock."

You had never heard such filthy words come out of his mouth before, and it only served to turn you on even more.

You felt him undo his belt, his pants joining the pile of clothes on the floor, his hardness pressed against you.

Your heart was pounding, a mixture of excitement and nervousness coursing through you. You were ready, you had never been more sure of anything, but you still couldn't help the small tremor of uncertainty that went through you.

"My love," Elijah's voice brought you back to reality, his eyes searching yours, a worried expression on his face. "Is everything okay? We can stop if-"

"No," you interrupted him, a little too quickly. "I want this, I want you. I'm just… a bit nervous."

Elijah smiled, his thumb tracing small circles into your hip.

"We can go as slow or fast as you want, my darling," he told you, his tone genuine and tender.

"Okay," you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"How about we start like this," he hummed, lowering his head and taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, his tongue swirling around it.

"Ohh," you gasped, arching your back, his other hand massaging your other breast.

You squirmed, the pleasure building up, the tension inside you getting stronger.

He moved to your other breast, his hands continuing their exploration of your body, the feeling of his skin on yours making you dizzy with desire.

"And this," he whispered, lifting your hips to grind against him.

"Shit, 'lijah," you moaned, feeling his hardness against your aching core.

"Does that feel good?" he asked, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw, his breath hot against your ear.

"Yes," you whimpered, bucking against him.

He grinned, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

"And then, if you want," his lips grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver through you, "we can move on to this."

He slowly rolled his hips, his cock brushing against your clit, the sensation making your head spin.

"Yes," you moaned, feeling desire coil in your core.

He repeated the motion, a little harder this time, and you arched your back, pressing closer to him. He grinned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his pace increasing.

You felt dizzy, pleasure rippling through you as he continued thrusting against you. It was amazing, but it wasn't enough, you needed more.

You lifted your hips, trying to grind against him, wanting to feel him inside you, but he stopped, pulling away from you slightly.

"Patience, sweetheart," he chuckled, his hand trailing down the valley between your breasts, over the curve of your stomach, until he reached your clit.

You gasped as his thumb circled the sensitive nub, his eyes never leaving yours. "Are you ready?"

You bit your lip, nodding, unable to form words. He hummed softly, positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against you.

"Just relax," he murmured, holding your gaze, his eyes filled with nothing but affection.

You felt his lips press against yours, soft and warm, his fingers still gently rubbing circles into your clit. And then, slowly, he eased into you, the stretch a bit uncomfortable at first.

You whimpered against his lips, the pain making tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and he stopped.

"Are you okay, love?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Yes," you managed to say, trying to relax and adjust to the new feeling. "Keep going."

He obliged, slowly pushing further into you, stopping once he was fully sheathed inside you. You breathed deeply, adjusting to the feeling of him, the pain fading into pleasure.

"How does it feel, darling?" he asked, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"It feels good," you replied, your heart fluttering as his lips brushed against your temple.

He started out slow, rolling his hips, getting you used to the feeling of him. His hands caressed your body, worshipping every inch of your skin, his lips leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck.

"You feel amazing, my love," he murmured, his fingers trailing down your thigh and hooking underneath it, pushing your leg up and changing the angle.

The change in position allowed him to sink even deeper, and you let out a cry, the sudden rush of pleasure catching you off guard.

"That's it," Elijah whispered, his hips picking up the pace.

You wrapped your legs around him, your nails raking down his back as he moved. Your eyes fluttered closed, the sensations overwhelming, your body trembling with desire.

You let out a string of incoherent curses, his touch sending you spiraling even closer to the edge. He could feel it, too, the way your walls clenched around him, the way your body writhed beneath him, the way your breathing became more labored.

"Come for me," he whispered, his teeth scraping against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

That was all it took. You threw your head back, your back arching, his name spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, washing over every nerve, consuming you. He kept thrusting, chasing his own release, his hands intertwining with yours, pinning them above your head.

He groaned as he reached his peak, the sound making your toes curl, it was such a sexy sound, strained and intense. 

He collapsed on top of you, panting, his forehead pressed against yours. You giggled softly, the euphoric bliss making you giddy.

"I love you," you hummed, tracing your fingers over his jaw, relishing the way his stubble scratched against your palm.

"I love you too," he murmured, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

You were both panting, trying to catch your breath, your bodies glistening with sweat. He looked down at you, his eyes roaming over your features, his hand reaching up to stroke the side of your face.

"We should get cleaned up," he mused, placing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

"Mmm, but I don't want to move," you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.

"You don't have too," he grinned, scooping you up into his arms and carrying you into the bathroom.

You laughed, snuggling into his embrace, feeling safe and loved. Elijah turned on the shower, letting the water heat up, before stepping under the warm spray, holding you close. He lathered up a washcloth, gently cleaning your body, his touch light and reverent.

"Thank you for making this special for me," you said, running your hands through his hair, loving the way his dark hair curled a bit when wet.

"Of course, my love," he hummed, his lips pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I would do anything for you."

You spent the rest of the night tangled in each other's arms, exploring each other's bodies, and whispering sweet nothings, before falling asleep.

You were the last thing on his mind before he drifted off, and the first thing on his mind when he woke up. You were his world, his everything, and he would do whatever it took to keep you feeling safe and loved, no matter what.

[riddlesrizzler]

Mini Fic #1

"And it's hard to be at a party with an opened wound, it's hard to anywhere these days when all I want is you" - mattheo riddle

The party was loud. Too loud.

Laughter echoed off the ancient stone walls of the Slytherin common room, bouncing between bodies packed too tightly together, a blur of heat and perfume and clinking glasses. Someone turned up the music with a flick of their wand. Someone else spilled Firewhisky on the rug. No one noticed. Or cared.

Mattheo stood in the corner, back against the wall, arms crossed like armor.

He didn’t want to be here. Not really. But leaving meant thinking. And silence meant remembering. So he stayed. Let the noise drown out the ache in his chest.

The ache you left behind.

It had been weeks since you’d stopped talking. Since you pulled away. Since that night on the Astronomy Tower, when everything cracked between you in a single breath.

“You don’t get to act like I mean something and then run the second it’s inconvenient,” you had said, voice trembling but eyes fierce.

And he-idiot that he was-had stayed silent. Because love was terrifying, and letting you in felt too much like surrender.

He thought maybe you’d come back. But you hadn’t. And now, here he was-at a party with an opened wound.

He watched you across the room.

You were pretending.

Smiling like your heart wasn’t shattered. Laughing like you hadn’t once cried into his shirt at 2 a.m. when nightmares wouldn’t let you sleep. You stood by the fireplace, surrounded by friends, dressed in that way that made it impossible not to look at you.

He hated how beautiful you were. He hated how he still knew you inside out. He hated how the world kept spinning even though you weren’t his anymore.

You glanced toward him-just for a second. Eyes locking.

And for one split moment, the world hushed. The music dulled. The chatter faded.

It was just you. And him. And all the things you never said.

His heart clenched. Because the truth was, it wasn’t just hard to be here. It was hard to be anywhere.

The Quidditch pitch? You once kissed him under the stars after curfew. The library? You used to drag him there and pretend he wasn’t completely hopeless at Charms. Even the damn Great Hall was a graveyard of memories-breakfasts where your legs touched under the table, dinners where he’d steal the marshmallows off your plate just to make you glare at him.

He couldn’t breathe.

Theo said something beside him, but Mattheo didn’t hear it. His eyes were locked on you as you turned, laughing at something one of your friends said-but your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

He knew that smile. He missed that smile. And Merlin, he was such a fool.

He downed what was left in his glass and shoved through the crowd, heart pounding, vision tunneled. You didn’t see him coming until he was right there in front of you.

You froze.

He looked like chaos bottled in a boy-messy curls, knuckles scabbed, eyes stormy with too much emotion.

“Can we talk?” he asked, voice low.

You stared. “Here?”

“No,” he said, gaze flicking to the hallway. “Please.”

Your friends exchanged glances, but you nodded.

You followed him out into the corridor, the noise fading behind you.

The moment the door closed, the silence pressed in.

“I miss you,” he said. Just like that. No preamble. No armor.

You blinked. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I know.” His jaw clenched. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m saying it anyway.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, the chill of the dungeon air biting at your skin. “You pushed me away, Mattheo. I tried. I was there. And you just… shut me out.”

“I was scared,” he whispered. “Scared of what it meant. Scared that I’d ruin it. Because everything I touch turns to shit and you-you were the only thing that ever felt good. And I didn’t know how to handle it.”

A pause.

He stepped closer, his voice breaking on the words: “It’s hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you.”

You looked up at him-really looked-and for a moment, your eyes softened.

“You hurt me.”

“I know,” he breathed. “But I’ll spend every day trying to make it right, if you’ll let me.”

Silence stretched again, thick and heavy.

Then-

Your hand found his. Hesitant. Soft.

“I’m not saying it’s fixed,” you whispered. “But I miss you too.”

And maybe that was enough-for now.