#th: one column

[seyche]

theme sixteen: lavender — an attempt at a sidebar grid theme with big posts

previews: static preview, live preview / install: theme garden

features and options:

one or two columns

100px x 100px sidebar image

if you pick the one column option, your post size options are: 400px, 450px, 500px, 540px, 570px. if you pick the two column option, posts will be responsive to your screen size. please do not ask me to change the post sizes on the two column version. 

links dropdown with space for up to six custom links and an unlimited number of Tumblr pages

hide or show captions and tags on index page, optional rounded corners

ten body font options, five title font options, font sizes from 12px to 18px, and all colours customizable.

responsive for both desktop and mobile devices

notes:

Tumblr’s customize page is very buggy and when you first install the theme, you have to toggle the toggle options on and off to get them to work properly.

if you’re a gif/graphics maker and you want your images to show up exactly 540px wide, pick the 570px post size option to account for the post padding.

sidebar link icons are from feather icons. if you want to change them, go to this site, find the name of the new icon you want, and enter it in the requisite text field in the customization panel.

#theme hunter #codingcabin #resourcemarket #tumblr themes #themes #&themes #&blog themes #th: grid #th: one column #th: icon image #th: sidebar #th: responsive #hope there's no problems with this it's been a while

[gatorlovebot]

inspired by @ghouljams ghost distribution system posts <3

thinking about neighbor simon who watches you move in to the little 1 bedroom rental property next to his own. it takes it a few days for it to sink in that it’s just you living in the home. seemingly no partner, no roommates, no family. it makes his skin itch and his fingers twitch.

he doesn’t know why he introduces himself to you, but when he walks out his front door with riley, leash in hand, his feet start moving himself closer to your porch. you're struggling to hang a potted plant on a hook and even though he desperately wants to take it from you and hang it himself, end your struggle, he stays firmly planted right in front of your porch steps.

the look of triumph on your face sets something off in his stomach before you finally notice him. he can tell you're taken aback by his presence on your stoop and he's not surprised. but your eyes cut down to riley whose standing at attention by his side and your eyes soften and a smile threatens to split your lips because of his boy.

"oh, hi," you greet him, still kind to him regardless of his intrusion.

"hi," his voice is gruff, not the kindest it's ever been. he doesn't want to give away too much, how he felt compelled to come to you. "you just move in?"

he watches as your eyes slip down to riley again, probably easier to look at the grinning dog by his feet than him. "yeah, just last week." you confirm.

"just you in there?" he's prying and he knows it, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to.

you look back up at him and he allows himself to look at the column of your throat. "yeah, just me." you sound weary, good, he thinks. "is it just you and the dog, then?"

tit for tat. "ya', just me and riley."

your face softens and a smile graces your lips as you look back down at riley. "riley?" your voice is soft, like you're talking to something precious and small, it makes riley's ears perk up. "good name for a good boy."

simon huffs a breath, a tiny little chuckle of a thing. he can only imagine how ths interaction would go if he hadn't had riley with him. he would have hoped you wouldn't have been that forthcoming with a complete stranger at your doorstep. his mind is screaming at him to leave, to get off your stoop and to leave your life as quickly as he inserted himself into it. but your kindness eats away at him, settling low in his gut. he's always had an easier time listening to his body than his head.

he watches as you reach your hand out for riley to sniff, it’s not often that him and riley get approached by strangers so riley revels in the attention, nosing at your hand for pets and scratches. “i’ve been thinking of getting a dog, maybe riley can have a friend in the neighborhood.”

of course you’re thinking of getting a dog, a young thing like you on your own for the first time, your first taste of freedom getting something of your own. he shouldn't make assumptions, but he does. you had only been in your own place for a week and you're already thinking of getting something to take care of. maybe he'll have to get a tight leash to keep you on.

"haven't been on your own for very long," he doesn't phrase it as a question, instead it comes out as a statement, a fact, because it is. somehow he just knows this is your first chance at independence.

"yeah, you're right," you agree, still rubbing riley's ears but your eyes look dejected.

he can't bare to look at your far away eyes and down turned lops any longer, tugging riley closer to himself clearing his throat. "well, we should get going." he watches you give one last per to riley, cooing at the dog with a little wave. he feels something in him shift.

-

the next day when he leaves his house with riley his feet take him back up your walk and onto your porch. you aren't out today, so simon needs to knock on your door. he doesn't expect you to answer after he raps his knuckles against the wood grain, but out the corner of his eye he sees you peek out the front window to look out your porch. good, can't have you opening up the door to strangers.

you look surprised to see him, but your eyes brighten when you see riley. "oh, hi guys," you greet the both of them, your voice sweet and polite. simon takes in your appearance, wrapped up in soft, comfy clothes. he knows he should feel a bit of remorse at interrupting your time, but he doesn't, too preoccupied with the way you crouch down to stoke over riley's ears.

"thought you may want to join us," he says in lieu of a greeting. you look up at him with a confused expression, eyebrows furrowed. all he does is tug loosely on riley's leash as explanation.

"oh," you put the pieces together, smart girl. "really?," you question, "i don't want to bother you-"

"if i didn't want you to join us, i wouldn't have come over." he contends, shutting his mouth before begging words are able to slip past his lips.

your expression smooths out despite his gruff words and you give riley a meaningful look before asking him, "can you give me a minute to put my shoes on?"

#gator.writing #writing has been so tough lately and i'm not happy with this or proud of it but i needed the concept out of my head #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[luveline]

hi! your stories are so captivating😍 Thank you so much for doing them!

If you feel inspired I would love to see a story of Spencer x badass reader where she physically defends him from an unsub and/or verbally from someone they are working with like a cop or something

tysm! ♡ 1k

Sweat drips into your eye. 

It follows a line down your cheek like a teardrop and hits your swat vest with a thud. Quiet has settled with the heat, a blanket encompassing everything, your one drop of sweat enough to give you away. The unsub stills at his computer screen, white light bouncing against his jaw. He looks up like he's looking for rain. 

He turns right first. He sees Spencer. 

"FBI," Spencer announces steadily. 

You point your weapon at his chest. "Put your hands up and stand against the wall." 

Cory doesn't look like he's going to surrender so easily. "You have three children upstairs," you say, though it's not true. The children sit outside in foil blankets, and with any luck they'll be taken somewhere safer before the arrest. "Three young children who love you. What do you want them to think of you now? Come peacefully." 

Cory's face rippled with rage quickly masked. He sits back from his computer and pauses. Then, slowly, he puts his hands against the wall. 

"Reid," Morgan instructs, at your left, his gun similarly trained. 

Spencer moves forward to handcuff him. It's not your normal routine but it isn't out of your jurisdiction, quieter arrests often mean you act as cops rather than full-fledged agents. "Cory Harrison, you are under arrest for the homicide of Tara Harrison. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say–" 

The handcuffs clink as they're whipped from Spencer's grasp, one cuff open, the other closed around Cory's wrist, the links brought unapologetic to the pale curve of Spencer's throat. 

Spencer grabs for his gun. Cory pulls the cuffs tight, forcing Spencer closer to his chest and choking the air from his throat. 

You reposition your aim. Another drop of sweat curves past your eyebrow. The basement humidity and your panic threaten to blind you. 

"Let him go," Morgan says sharply. 

"I'll shoot you if I have to." 

Cory scoffs at you. "And shoot through string bean?" 

You tense your finger against the trigger of your glock. "I have good aim," you say simply. 

You have no intention of firing. Cory has a standard issue pair of handcuffs to his discretion. He isn't big or muscled enough to kill Spencer bare-handed, not quickly, and he's on unsure footing. 

You step closer. Cory snarls. "Stay back. I'll kill him, you stupid bitch–" 

Men. Cory killed his defenceless wife with rohypnol and a rope and now he thinks he can win a fight against two agents trained extensively (admittedly one more than the other) in defence. He's lucky Spencer's in the way —you would've attempted to push his nose into his brain. As it stands, you hook your leg between his and Spencer's, your teammate more than aware of the manoeuvre you're about to pull. With one hand you pull the cuff links cruelly up against Spencer's neck but away, most importantly, allowing him the room to dive from Cory's grasp, and with the other you tuck your gun out of Cory's reach. His arms up, his stomach open, you pull your leg behind his knee and grate your foot down his calf.

He collapses to the floor. You stomp your foot into his groin. 

Morgan saves you the chore of cuffing him a second time. He reads the Miranda Rights by heart as you catch your breath, stepping back into Spencer's open hands. 

You relax at his touch. He's alright, he–

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, spinning on your heel. 

Spencer pouts at you, irked at being worried after. "Of course you didn't." 

"Your neck, I almost choked you like he was," you say, mindful of the agents and specialists flooding the room to secure the crime scene and any evidential material. 

Spencer lifts his chin. "Doesn't hurt." 

There's a rubbed red line up the column of his throat, but it could be worse. You finally wipe the sweat from your face, exhausted and ecstatic that you got the bad guy. 

"Come on," Spencer says.

You follow him outside. In the grass yard waits medical, parked along the entirety of the street stands law enforcement. Hotch nods at you as you return and you take it as a job well done, slouching against the side of a cop car to take a breather. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks. 

You grab for his hand without looking at him. His fingers are warm, neat as they slot through yours. "Why do they always pick on you?" you ask. 

Hotch's voice startles you, but you don't take back your hand. "They underestimate him," he says. "And you. Do you need anything? You're looking…"

"I'm fine." You're tired, too hot, and the short-lived adrenaline of a confrontation is crashing. "Thanks, Hotch." 

He trudges away. Spencer draws closer as you bend forward, his hand on your back. "Are you sure you're okay?" 

"No, I feel awful. I feel sick," you confess. 

He's the only person you'd ever admit it to. You crave his comfort. Spencer must read your mind (or more likely, the twitch of your sore back), his hand landing in the space between your shoulders as he crowds you. "That makes sense. High stress situations make us nauseous because of the fight or flight response. Our body's aren't good at keeping neurotransmitters where they're meant to be. Adrenaline mostly, but cortisol too. It's probably the norepinephrine that's making you feel sick." 

"How do I make it calm down?" 

"Just take a deep breath," he says, rubbing your back. 

You breathe in and out until the sick feeling subsides. Spencer prompts you into standing tall. 

"You know everything," you say fondly, touching his elbow. "Thank you." 

He nudges you. "Thank you for defending me." 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[vivwritesfics]

Hungry Like The Wolf

Chapter Three

She hadn't seen her best friend, Lando, in years. She didn't run into him the last time she was visiting her father and she doubted she'd see him this time. Things were different now. She wasn't aware of his furry little problem. Just like she wasn't aware of the vampires plaguing the town.

1.2K

Vampire!Oscar x Reader x Werewolf!Lando

Series Masterlist

She spent more time in Renee's than she had expected. But she got no work done in her fathers house. Jack was warming up to her, curious as to what she was doing, and Toto and Susie asked her a million questions each.

Renee's cafe was the only place she could get any work done. Her laptop was open as she sipped her coffee, typing away at her computer.

She didn't know that Oscar had been in there every day since they first met, waiting for her to return. This time, when he walked in and spotted her, he ignored her, walking straight to the counter instead.

He didn't eat, he didn't drink, but he ordered a coffee anyway. As soon as it was in his icy cold hands, he turned and walked past her table. Nonchalant, like he didn't know she was there. And then, at the very last second, he turned to her. "Hey, Y/N, right?" He asked leaning against the empty chair opposite her own. "Jack's sister."

She stopped her typing and smiled up at him. "Oscar, right?" She asked and gestured to the seat across from her.

Oscar took it. He pulled out the seat and sat himself down with his coffee. "That's me," he answered with a smile, showing off his teeth and the smile lines around his mouth.

He was incredibly cute, that was undeniable. "What're you working on?" He asked, tapping the top of her laptop.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Just a gossip column," she answered. "I write for several different magazines." It barely made her enough to get by, but, until she could start making real money from her writing, it would do.

"Any magazine I'd have heard of?" Oscar hadn't yet taken a sip of his coffee, but she didn't notice.

"Not unless you read Teen Girl Pop Pink Bullshit," she muttered.

Oscar let out a laugh. "I can't say I've heard of that one," he said through his laugh. He lifted his now cold coffee to his lips and pretended to take a sip.

They talked and talked and, soon, she realised she wasn't going to get anything done at Renee's Cafe either. But she didn't mind, not when Oscar was the one distracting her. At one point she closed her laptop to laugh with Oscar. She didn't what he had said, but she still laughed.

They were in Renee's long enough that Oscar had to buy her another coffee and a pastry. "Do you want some?" She asked, tearing the pastry in half. She'd tried to buy it herself, but Oscar had insisted.

When Renee's closed up (had it really gotten that late?), Oscar walked with her through the car park. "Let me drive you home," he said, his hand on her back as he led her to his car.

His hand on her back wasn't pushing. No, it was somehow comforting, a guiding light in this now unfamiliar town.

She willingly climbed into his car. Oscar slid into the drivers seat, turned on the radio, and began driving her home. She tried her best to give directions, but she didn't know the roads well enough yet.

Oscar wasn't angry that it was taking so long to get her home. He didn't mind in the slightest.

It was dark by the time they finally found her house. "Sorry about that," she said through a laugh as she opened the door.

Wearing a grin, that same grin that showed his teeth and smile lines, Oscar shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said as she picked up her bag. "Maybe I could take you out for dinner next time. Now that I know where to bring you home to."

She smiled at him, trying to match his grin. "I'd like that," she replied. She held out her hand for his phone and Oscar was more than happy to pass it over. She punched in her number, sent herself a text from his phone, and gave it back to him. She kissed his cheek and left him to it, walking into the house.

Oscar couldn't hide his smile. He pulled out of the driveway and drove through town, the werewolf side of town.

There were eyes on him. One quick look to his left and he could see the two wolves, following his car. When one of them jumped in front of his car, transforming back into a human.

Oscar slammed his foot into the breaks. The car quickly stopped and Oscar climbed out, staring at the wolf in front of his car. "Carlos."

Carlos. No wolf hated vampires more than Carlos Sainz. He couldn't stop himself from growling as Oscar climbed out of the car to face him. The other wolves, far enough back that Oscar had no reason to worry, watched on.

"You're on our side of town," Carlos spat.

Oscar let out a laugh. "You're joking. I had a reason to be."

"The Wolff girl," said Carlos. He hadn't stopped growling, not even to talk. "Stay away from her. The Wolff family are on our territory, they're under our protection. You have no reason to be here."

Still Oscar stared at him. "Who has a protection order on them?" He asked calmly. It was one thing he had over the wolves, his ability to control his temper. He looked from side to side, at the wolves that hadn't approached, wouldn't approach.

"Lando," said Carlos. Lando was known to the vampires, known to be rather out of control. As a teenager he'd killed two vampires that weren't part of Oscar's family, that were preying on the humans in town.

If Carlos thought mentioning Lando's name was going to be enough to scare Oscar off, he was wrong. Very wrong.

Oscar knew of Lando. They'd met for the first time when Lando had killed those two vampires. It was the only time they had worked together. Oscar had found him cute, especially when he was angry.

He didn't know when it had been a game of trying to provoke him, to get the biggest reaction out of him. If she was helping to get this reaction out of him, Oscar wasn't going to stop.

Oscar let out a sigh. "Let me go, Carlos. I'm not breaking any rules by being here," he said and climbed into his car.

An angered growl left Carlos's lips, but he got out of the way. He knew Oscar was right. By taking her home, making sure she was safe, Oscar wasn't breaking the treaty. Carlos couldn't touch him.

As Oscar drove off, he watched in his rear view mirror as Carlos transformed back and ran into the woods, the other wolves following him.

Carlos was streaming when he returned to the pack house. He, Alex, Valtteri, and Lance transformed back. The other three wandered off to the pack house, but Carlos stayed outside and punched a tree.

Carlos hated vampires. More than anybody else he hated them. He let out a howling roar and punched the tree beside him. If anybody was going to rid the town of vampires, it was going to be him.

we have an update! i promise these chapters are going to get longer, things are short and slow at the moment for a reason i swear

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Series Taglist (OPEN): @cmleitora @booksandflowrs @evie-119 @annispamz @neilakk @ln4norizz @rayaharper @ginsengi @lighttsoutlewis @charlesleclerx @eviethetheatrefreak @rbv3rstappen @vicurious28 @val-writes

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #lando norris x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x you #landoscar #landoscar imagine #landoscar x reader #landoscar fluff #landoscar smut #landoscar x you #poly!f1 #poly!landoscar #supernatural!au

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Aemond as a Pope Edit

Series Characters Moodboard

Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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[amongemeraldclouds]

better than revenge | chapter four: lights, camera, and…

Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating 

Chapter four summary: Cue plan to bother Mattheo at a Slytherin party. It works just a little too well.

Warning: Alcohol, swearing, angst, slight violence, blood, minor injury, characters are aged up, no use of y/n. Reader acts annoying as part of the plan.

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“Are you ready for phase one of The Book?” Enzo asks.

I raise my fifth glass of firewhisky. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I gulp it down and let the heat settle in my system.

“How’s my outfit?” I ask.

He eyes me again in my black leather skirt and black lace top, his throat bobbing. “Gorgeous as always. You’ll be fine, I can fight,” he reassures me and I smile at him.

I grab his arm and we head off to the Slytherin party. I don’t miss the eyes that drift towards me, making my skin crawl. Enzo notices my discomfort and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You okay?” He checks in.

I lean into him and nod. “Mattheo’s over there,” I point my chin to a dark corner of the room where a girl lights his cigarette.

We casually circle around and by the time we near, the girl is all over Mattheo.

Enzo whispers to me, “lights, camera, and…”

“ZOZO, you have the softest hair!” I squeal as I run my hand through Enzo’s hair.

He laughs a full laugh, caught off guard by the nickname. He sits on the nearby sofa and I trip on my way, the firewhisky hitting harder than I expected. 

Enzo catches my waist in time, bringing me to his lap. “You have got to stop falling for me, dear,” he says.

I blush. “Maybe I don’t want to,” I giggle. Enzo shakes his head, brushing off my firewhisky declaration.

“You like my hair?” He asks as he runs his fingers through my hair. He then pushes it behind my left shoulder, exposing my neck.

“It’s the best!” I exclaim and he plants soft kisses on my neck as I giggle. “That tickles, Zozo!”

I look over at Mattheo. He tries to hide it, but I notice his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes.

“What do you think, Mathay-to? Or is it potay-to?” I ask, giggling. “Doesn’t my Zozo have perfect hair?”

“I’m not going to even dignify that with an answer,” he grumbles.

“You’re no fun,” I pout at him.

I turn back to Enzo, “Zozo, I want to dance!”

He releases his hold as I stand up and climb on to the table. Enzo leans back into the sofa to watch me with a lazy grin on his face. I move my hips to the beat of the song, eyes locked on his as he dares me to go further.

I move my hands to my top, teasing the lace as I bring it up and —

Gravity shifts and I’ve hit a hard wall. What the hell? The world spins and I realize I’m moving, a hand cradled down my ass. Enzo? I’m hit with the familiar scent of mint, cigarettes and cologne. It’s Mattheo.

He grabbed my legs from the table and swung me over his shoulder. Mattheo Riddle is holding me.

I missed his touch and yet everything feels so wrong. I pound my hands on his back. “Put me down!”

The music fades as he brings me to the hallway, setting me down against a column to lean on for support.

“What the hell happened to you?” He demands.

You did.

“None of your business,” I bite back.

Enzo approaches us enraged and Mattheo charges toward him, grabs the collar of his shirt and shoves him. “What the fuck were you thinking? Why did you let her drink?”

“She can make her own decisions and she wanted to. Besides, she’s safe with me,” Enzo snaps.

Mattheo throws the first punch and Enzo responds, catching him square in the jaw.

“What? You care about her now?” Enzo asks Mattheo, blood spilling from his split lip.

“Stop it!” I scream.

He shoves Mattheo away, “stay away from my girl! You had your chance. I can take care of her better than you can.”

I run into Enzo’s arms. “Please stop, let’s go,” tears spill down my cheeks. 

He wraps his arm around me and we head back to his dorm.

I dry my eyes as he opens the door. “Come here, let me heal you,” I lead him to the bed and cast episkey to cure his split lip. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry this happened, I didn’t mean—” I start, tears welling up my eyes again.

“Hey,” Enzo cups my face. “You’ve met Mattheo, right? We’ve thrown punches for lesser reasons.”

I lean into his touch and let out a small laugh, “hmm so phase one was a success?”

“Did you see the look on his face?” Enzo grins.

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A/N: I love cliches. A lot of my writing is influenced by early 2000s movies and rom-com novels. Writing these is such a guilty pleasure.

I actually wrote the next chapter before this, but this makes more sense as chapter four.

Taglist: @hoeforvinniehackerrr @i-think-you-are-gr8 @thecraziestcrayon @adreamingpendulum @themarauderswife7 @midsoulz @ultramarinetovelvet @val-writes @lafrone @daisiesformylove @mildly-delulu @allebasi05 @enha-stan @skb4000 @nat1221

#lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #enzo x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheoxreader #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #mattheo riddle #lorenzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #enzo berkshire #slytherin x reader #slytherin x slytherin #amongemeraldcloudswrites

[flowersandbigteeth]

Your shadow king husband mates you

General Plot: This is just purely smut ^_^ and advances the plot in no meaningful way :)

Shadow King (Zintius) x female reader

Word Count: 1.5k

W: tiny bit of breeding kink, nsfw monster smut, vaginal and oral sex

When you were completely bare beneath him Zintius took his time examining your body. He ran his smokey fingers down the column of your neck and to your breast, making you shudder underneath him. 

You hadn’t had many sexual partners, never having the safety or opportunity to engage in romance, but the soft bed and warm room were a far improvement over your previous encounters. 

“Let me help,” you murmured, never wanting to be a passive party in your own life, and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. 

He was frightening, massive, with his large white teeth baring down on you and maybe this was your way of having some control. Whatever it was, your silver bubble of enthusiasm pleased him and he practically shivered as your small fingers brushed his chest as you carefully undid  each button. While you worked a finger drifted over your cheek. His skin was warm and felt oddly soft, though it could be very firm when he wanted it to be. 

You were still getting used to the way his six multi-colored eyes seemed to be looking all over you all at once and the only other thing you could really make out of his facial features were his large, white teeth. 

Underneath his shirt, however, he was all sex appeal. His black skin shimmered slightly, highlighting large, well formed pectorals and a row of washboard abs. Your eyebrows went up, without your meaning them to and you had to force them back down. 

“Do I pass inspection?” he chuckled lightly, leaning back so you could get a good look and pushing back the curl of black smoke that seemed to want to persistently drift off of his forehead. 

You let out a nervous giggle, blushing and giving him a nod. As you saw more and more of him, you started to find his odd features endearing. The way his eyes slid about his face, swapping places and forming new shapes was becoming a bit fascinating. You were drawn to each one as he leaned back down to you, thinking about the colors. 

“May I kiss you?” he asked, politely, hovering only an inch above you. His scent filled you, smelling spicy and a bit otherworldly. It made your head swim a little and you just nodded. You had no idea how that was supposed to work, but it turned out he did have lips when he wanted to apply them and they glided gently over yours, making your skin sparkle. 

As he deepened the kiss his self control began to slip, his hands roaming over your hips, up your stomach, to your breasts. His tongue was rather large and hot, brushing against your bottom lip, but you granted him entry to your mouth. Perhaps at that moment you were more curious than anything, but as the agile appendage swirled yours and his fingertips cupped your breast you found yourself drawn into his passion. 

He moaned into your mouth, seeming to be utterly enjoying your flavor. Zintius had never tasted something so sweet in his life. His greedy hands were more and more eagerly pinching your flesh. You were so soft and tender underneath him.

Under the annoying scent of fake pixie musk, you smelled like fresh peaches. His long, hot kisses dragged across your cheek just below your chin, and he nibbled the flesh with his sharp teeth, making you gasp and your body jerk forward into him. He was happily there to catch you, pulling you the rest of the way into him so your warm bodies were flush. 

His fingertips drifted over each knot of your spine on their way to clutch your ass, while the other hand buried itself in your hair. He’d waited so patiently to have you in his arms, he didn’t want to waste a single touch. You felt his tongue glide down your neck, to your breasts and circle each nipple. He couldn’t help but lick away the bitter flavor of the chemical to get you. 

“You taste like heaven,” he groaned into your chest, the hand cupping your ass finding its way to your sensitive core with his long fingers. 

“Mmm,” you hummed in pleasure. No one had ever taken so much time to adore your body before, truly enjoy you. 

Your legs wrapped around his tapered hips and for the first time you felt his large shaft pressing against your heat. Eagerly grinding against him, you whimpered for more.

“Not yet, pet,” he said smiling, “I’ve gotta get you ready for me…” 

That was a lie. You were sopping wet and ready for him, but he wanted to explore more, pushing you back against the pillows and prying your legs apart. His head dropped between your legs and his long tongue dove between your folds. You keened as he fucked you with it, tasting your essence. 

You were so sweet and delicious he’d forgotten about pleasuring you and was holding your legs open getting his fill of your juices. The noises he was making as he lapped at you were purely animal. Your hand went to his head without thinking that there would only be smoke to grab, but to your surprise there was something soft there to clutch. It wasn’t exactly hair, but it was more like lots of tiny smoky tentacles. The details didn’t matter as you exploded on his tongue flooding his mouth with your flavor. 

He leaned back, sighing with pleasure as you watched his blood red tongue lick his bright white teeth. Two fingers slid into your sensitive cunt, scissoring you open, which was again entirely unnecessary, but Zintius wanted to touch you, play with you, lick you, whatever he could do to enjoy your skin and your scent. 

Shivering against the pillows in front of him, he thought you looked like a goddess from some ancient painting as you writhed on his fingers, your eyes heavily lidded and your mouth slightly parted as you moaned. The other hand worked his pants off and his cock bobbed free, dripping precum. 

“I’m going to fill you up and make you mine, pet,” he promised you, working his fist over his shaft, “I’m going to seed you with my heirs and make you my Queen.” 

His sharp eyes watched you like a wolf as he considered how he wanted to take you, deciding he needed to see your face. He wanted to watch you unravel for him. Pulling you up off of the bed, he pulled you facing him in his lap, before sinking his cock deep into you with one rabid thrust.

 His big white smile took over his face as you screamed when he entered you, stretching your tight cunt in just the right way. He loved watching the way your eyes rolled back in your head and the way you tossed your hair as you accepted him inside of you. 

“That’s it, pretty little pet,” he groaned, cupping your neck as he moved you up and down on his cock and watching you desperately scratch at his chest, looking for something to hold onto. Straddling him, he went so deep with every thrust, his eyes laser focused on your face. Whatever misgivings you had about this arraignment were being quickly and efficiently pounded out of you. 

“Yes, yes, yes, please, master,” you begged, not really wanting anything in particular but for him not to stop. 

“Like that, pet?” he teased you, letting his thumb drift to your nipple to play with it. He chuckled, “do you even know whose name to call, my sweet little slut?” 

You tipped your head into his warm chest, babbling nonsense. 

“It’s Zintius,” he grunted, thumbing your clit while he forced you down on him extra hard so you wouldn’t forget, “say it. I need to hear you say it.” 

The only thing that tumbled out of your mouth for a long time after that was that word. Unable to contain his composure any longer, he hurriedly flipped you over, pushing your cheek into the bed and slammed down into you forcing incoherent squeals past your lips. 

“Fuck! You sing so pretty little bird,” he panted, still circling your clit with a finger. 

He could feel you spasming and tightening around him as he touched you, reveling in your hot, spongy walls caressing him. His other big hand spanned your waist, holding you in place as he ravaged you. 

“I-ah-AH!” you wailed as you saw a kaleidoscope of colors reminding you of Zintius’s eyes as you came, throwing him over a steep cliff as your cunt dragged him deeper, clutching it. Your knees lifted off of the bed as he grabbed your hips and emptied himself inside of you, slamming through his end. He groaned, rocking himself inside of you for a second, appreciating your heat. 

He had no interest in giving you up though, pulling you with him still inside of you onto the bed. You murmured nonsense, going limp in his arms, your eyes hooded and heavy and he chuckled. 

“You took me so well my sweet mate,” he purred and a little smile bloomed on your lips from his praise. Letting out a soft sigh you found yourself drifting off into the first safe night’s rest you’d ever had in your life.

#monster smut #monster x human #monster x reader #x reader #monster x girl #monster boyfriend #monster lover #yandere male #yandere x reader

[halaxia]

cw | smut, semi-possessive sol, nsfw under the cut mdni

Solomon was a patient man.

He kept mostly to himself whilst at RAD, stealing glances your way in the subtlest of fashions whenever you might have happened to share a class, purposefully brushing his hand against yours after he asks you to hand him something, sending a playful wink in your direction when nobody was looking.

He was not one to enjoy answering incessant questions about himself and his personal affairs, and with how quickly rumours spread at RAD (usually thanks to Asmodeus’s natural ability to never be able to keep his mouth shut when he sees an inkling of a relationship between any two individuals), Solomon knew that the two of you would not be immune to being the center of demon-gossip around the school.

Whenever he would find himself at the House of Lamentation (which was quite often, seeing as you frequented there nearly every day and he took it upon himself to walk you back to Cocytus Hall after a long day spent being an attendant to the brothers), he let himself be a little more lax around you; lingering touches and innuendos did not go unnoticed by the brothers, nor did they fail to tell you just how much disdain they held for the sorcerer, always when he just happened to be in earshot.

Solomon cared naught for the contempt the brothers held for him, whether they voiced so or not—he always lurked around corners just long enough to hear you defend him.

He did not let his resolve crack around the brothers, not even around Simeon and Luke—despite how unnecessarily handsy everyone was with you, at the end of the day in Cocytus Hall when you were pressed up against Solomon with greedy lips roaming your body, he made sure you knew exactly who you belonged to.

“Solomon,” you moaned, arching your back as he pounded into your aching cunt. His hands moved from your hips to your throat, pulling you up so that your back met his chest, both of your bodies coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“They can’t make you feel like this, can they?” he said breathily into your ear, kissing the spot just below it on your neck. “Those…those brothers think they know you better than I do, but they don’t, do they? Not when I have you like this, hm?” His hand moved slowly down your stomach to tease your clit, his other hand moving up and down the column of your neck slowly as you shook your head fervently, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

“Use your words,” he encouraged, voice low and sultry as he slowed the movements of both his hips and his fingers, the change of pace prompting you to whine his name in protest.

“N-no,” you stuttered, desperately clenching around his cock, the constriction forcing his breath to catch in his throat.

“No, what?” he managed before his lips returned to your neck, biting gently on the places he knew would drive you insane—he knew, nobody else did. “You can do better than that.”

“Th-they can’t make me feel like this—please, Solomon,” you begged, a smirk tugging at his lips at your affirmation as he picked up the pace once again, the tips of his fingers brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to elicit a wanton moan from your lips.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed the skin of your neck with more urgency; his girl—you were his, and he was yours.

Solomon was patient, yes—he would hold his composure around others, ignoring (but not overlooking) the way the brothers’ eyes lingered on you when you turned your back to them, the whispers of you amongst the students at RAD, the apprentice of the strongest (and only) human sorcerer in the Devildom. He was patient because, at the end of it all, nobody knew you like he did—your secrets, your troubles, your body, you laid it all bare for him, nobody else.

Solomon relished in the fact that, no matter how desperately anybody else wanted you, they’d never get to have you—you’d chosen him over everybody else, and although he’d sometimes glance at the faded pact marks on your skin with disdain, they meant little to him when he knew that he was the only one who could have you under him in such a manner. His was the name that would be the first you’d utter in the early morning when you’d whine about having to wake up so early and beg for five more minutes with him, and his was the name that would be the last to leave your lips at the end of the night when the moon would shine brightly on your skin through his window, illuminating you so beautifully for only his eyes to see.

“I love you,” he breathed against your skin, your chests rising and falling in sync before he caught your lips in a kiss, much gentler than he had been with you a moment ago.

“I love you too,” you whispered, and Solomon felt peace knowing that his would be the only ears to hear you utter those words in the three realms. Not any angel, not any demon, and not any other human—it was just him and you.

#*ೃ༄ leena’s writing #✧.* after dark #ੈ✩‧₊˚ obey me #solomon x reader #obey me solomon #solomon x mc #om! solomon #solomon x you #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x you #obey me x mc #obey me x y/n #obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me nb #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #obey me solomon x you #solomon smut

[bllk-hq]

I read that fic about reader telling some twst boys they're prettier than Vil and I'm living for it! Could I have the same concept but with ADeuce, Epel, Trey, and Malleus? Thnx!

𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 .𝟎𝟐

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Note: Of course! Anytime !!!ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ Also this might suck because I'm running out of ideas and when I'm out of ideas they are kind of short.. so... sorry :(((!

Characters: Ace, Deuce, Epel, Trey, and Malleus Dictionary: _ (not any that I remember)

Ace Trappola:

Ace would be the same way when receiving compliments, except he mostly acts as if he knows already. He only does that to try to make him look cool in your eyes.

But when Ace uses that method, he says it in a way that could shatter your interest in him; or at least that could go one way.

The other version of how this whole idea would go is, You would randomly say it catching him by surprise.

"Could you repeat that?" He says with a slight tone of sarcasm.

He patiently waits for your response as he tries to hold in his laughter.

-

One of Ace´s basketball games ended with a rival school, who we´ll say is RSA. He lets out a huge sigh of relief as he makes his way to one of the benches, that´s right in front of where you sitting.

He opens his eyes wide open as he stops in front of the bench to see you sitting on the bottom column right in front of him. A wide grin spreading on his face, ¨Did you see me out there Y/N? I was cool right?¨

You nod as you pay your attention to his hair, ¨Y/N~ Why are you looking at my hair-¨

¨ I think I like this hairstyle way better. Makes you look hotter than Vil no?¨

An annoying grin comes up onto his face, as he leans closer to your face, leaving only inches apart. He crosses his arms locking his eyes with you.

¨ Y/N- I- You're suddenly in a flirty mood today huh?" A red hue covers his face as he realizes the closeness between you two.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce generally has never really comprehended how to act after someone just complimented him. He only usually accepts them with an unsure smile on his face.

His heart nearly stops as you utter the most breathtaking compliment.

-

It was the end of the first period as you look at the clock. You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you’re surprised when you hear someone shout your name.

"Y/N are you coming?" Deuce says as he stops mid-way from getting up from his chair.

"Oh yeah- Sorry." The both of you walk out of the classroom and you stare at Deuce in awe.

"Have you gotten prettier? I swear... you're more pretty than Vil."

"I-I don't think so."

He looks to the side as a red hue spreads on his face, "But if you say it... I might believe it."

Epel Felmier:

Epel probably handles compliments depending on his surroundings.

For Example: In the vicinity of the Pomefiore dorm he would try and be as masculine as possible because, a) vil could be near and he doesn't want to be seen as weak by him, or b) there are too many people starring at the two of you.

-

A pink hue of blushes covers his whole face, to the point where his skin tone turns into a light shade of pink. An uneasy smile puts together all his cute features.

Widened aqua-blue eyes look at you in shock as he blanks out, every single part of his body freezes in place. It took some words from your mouth to get Epel out of this state.

As he gets out of this embarrassing state he's in, he folds his hand in a tight fist alongside his chest area. Instead, a stern and serious face gathers on his features.

Blush still is formed around his face as he then scrunches his eyebrows, suddenly trying to look all tough-looking and masculine.

He can't let himself look all weak! What if Vil's around? He can't let himself be a scene in this state, he's trying to prove he's not weak to him y'know!

He's broken out of his wondering state of thinking as he's met with your confused eyes. Epel breaks out into a mini-state of panic as he realizes how wrong he came off.

"Th-Thank you for your compliment Y/N, it's my fault for expressing my emotions in a.. confusing way!" He exclaims as he quickly breathes in, bowing to you with a hand over his chest.

"I'm glad you think I'm more handsome than Vil!!" Epel's voice sounds like he's almost screaming from the amount of passion in his voice.

Trey Clover:

Trey is taken back for sure, him? More handsome and prettier than Vil? Why he doesn't know if he could believe that if he tried!

You reassure him that what he just heard was correct, he's a shy-stuttering mess. Trey thinks of himself as a completely average guy with average looks, not anything close to the image of Vil Schoenheit.

-

He tries to choke out words from his mouth, but his racing heart says otherwise. Someone needs to make sure Trey doesn't have a heart attack from how fact his heart is going.

Trey chokes out a rushed 'thank you' as he tries to calm down his pulsating heart.

His hand clenches his chest as sweat drips down his rose-colored face.

"Y/N, you said that so suddenly, once again thank you, darling."

Malleus Draconia:

Argue all you want with me but... Malleus can be cocky from any sort of affection you try and give him. (⌒▽⌒)♡

He finds it mostly amusing and endearing how you think of him in those ways.

Malleus can't help that he thinks you are the cutest when you come up to him and say it directly to his face. His light up in such curiosity, he's glad to inspect such an interesting person.

A smile appears on his lips as a warm atmosphere drifts around the air. More handsome than thee 'Vil Schoenheit' huh? It flatters him, to say the least.

His eyes gleam with such flirty intent, he then puts his finger under your chin and lifts your head.

"Y/N~ Child of man, you wanna repeat that?"

A cocky smile forms on his lips as he stares at you with narrow eyes, waiting for your answer.

"Just going to stay silent huh? Fair. Now come, I want you to show me how much you think of how pretty am I~"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twst fanfic #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #epel felmier x reader #trey clover x reader #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Eleven: The End of All the Endings

summary: all things come to the light eventually (5k words).

warnings: 18+. oral, m receiving; p in v sex; alcohol consumption; unwarranted aggressive touch from another person.

modern day! rich! fake husband! steve harrington

masterlist

——

  It’s easy to feel like a beautiful, powerful being when you quite literally stand in front of the mirrored elevator donning a shimmering midnight colored dress that shifts with every step, red bottom heels beneath clicking with your pacing movements. Around your neck, you wear a diamond necklace, the same very one Steve slipped around your neck that morning and whispered would be the only thing you wore when he fucked you later. 

Heat dances to life in your belly at the memory, disrupted by the ding of the elevator, revealing the handsome appearance of your husband in a too expensive suit and bow tie standing there at the entrance. He’s been at the office all day, wanting to make sure the final pieces of the New Years Eve party were set into place. Had told him to let the party planners handle it, but seeing as it was also a charity event, he wanted everything to be perfect. 

He greets you with a kiss, bent elbow there for you to slide your hand into, shoulder bumping against his. There’s a giddy spring in your step, a delighted burning behind your ribcage that has you asking him where his office is, having never been there to visit him. 

“My office?” he asks, not quite understanding, but leading you down a separate hall all the same. 

The building is all sprawling gray walls, glass cubicles, black desks. A conference room that looks more like an auditorium than anything else, a fully stocked cafeteria and countless other rooms he doesn’t get to name as you’re suddenly swept toward a door that has his name plate affixed to it.

“Mr. Steve Harrington,” you murmur to yourself with a grin, smirking up at your husband as he leans down to push the handle and allow you in. 

Inside, you’re met with a large mahogany desk set against a wall with a sprawling bookshelf that spans one wall to the other. Against the opposite wall he has other shelves, boasting plants and photos that you’ve seen before because some of which are the same you have back at home. 

Your wedding photos, with the two of you looking so happy for two people who barely knew one another at the time. Your fingers brush along the frames, over the sight of him with his hand around your waist, your veil draped over both your heads, foreheads pressed together. The next is another photo from the ceremony. Him, sliding up a ring onto your finger, saying those final, fateful words. 

“You looked so beautiful that day,” he muses, coming up behind you, arms curling around your waist and pulling your back against his chest. He kisses your shoulder, your neck. “You look stunning today, too, Mrs. Harrington.” 

Turning around, you give him a swift kiss and curl your palm around his, dragging him over to his desk. You plop him down in his office chair and notice the photo settled on his desk, set in a dark frame. It’s a newer photo from the holidays. Of you, Charlie and Steve. Your little family finally together, with wide smiles and full hearts. 

“I love this one,” you whisper, settling down on his knee. 

“I love you,” he breathes out, smiling into your searing kiss. 

It’s meant to be innocent. A soft brush of your mouth against his. But being here, in this office with this man, has heat ratcheting in your belly. Desire thrumming, you shift on his lap, hip against his stomach, fingers inching up along the column of his throat, mouth brushing over the hollow of his ear until he shudders beneath you. 

“I want to try something,” you say, sliding down off of his lap, knees resting against the carpet below. “Been dreaming of it.” 

“What are y —”

“Shhh.” 

He leans back into his chair with hooded eyes and a shaky exhale, watching your fingers glide up along his thighs, pausing at the button of his pants, palm smoothed along the hardened ridge of his cock outlined beneath, straining desperately against the fabric. 

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out as you undo the button and shuck his pants down, freeing him from the confines, thumb gliding over the tip already glistening with pre-cum. “Honey honey honey.” 

Delight curls low in your cunt as his head tips back as you take him into your mouth, too eager to waste any time teasing him further. His curses spur you on, taking him halfway into your mouth, trying to relax your muscles and take him deeper, palm curling around the rest of him and setting a pace that has his fingers clutching against the leather armrests. 

The rasps of your name on his lips and the breathless sighs of him start to fill the room as you start to bob your head, wetness pooling between your thighs that rub together as his hips shift against leather, aroused knowing you’re the one pulling these beautiful sounds from him — you’re the one reducing him to incoherent babble, praises of your mouth, utterances of his love.  

“Oh fuck —” He glances down, your eyes on his face as you smile around his cock, his thumb pressing to the corner of your lips. “Look so pretty like this. Touch yourself, baby. Play with your clit. Wanna watch you.” 

You’re humming around him as you touch yourself. Fingers dip into the well of slick between your thighs, dragging up to your clit, rubbing along it in a way that has Steve’s hand falling to the back of your head, not hindering your pace on his cock, only tethering himself to reality. Craving that nearness as the veins in his neck strain against skin, hips fighting to not thrust up into your throat. 

“Waitwaitwait —” His voice comes out in a rush, your head popping off of him with a loud pop, fingers still rubbing against your clit, needing friction. “I want to be inside you when I come. Get on the desk.”

“What?” 

“On.” He kisses your brow. “The.” A kiss presses against the corner of your mouth. “Desk.” The last is against the shell of your ear, nipples pebbling beneath the slinky material of your dress at the unbridled desire imbuing his tone. “You’re not the only one who’s been dreaming. Know how many times I’ve thought about fucking you right here on my desk?”

He noses along your jaw, down the curve of your shoulder. Slides the shoulder of your gown down just a bit to lay a little nip into the skin there, settling into the cradle of your hips. Ringed fingers move down to push your dress up higher on your hips, fingers pushing your underwear to the side and trailing through your already slick center. 

Your lungs practically fail you as Steve grips himself in hand and tugs you closer to the edge of the desk, sliding into the hilt in a long thrust. Nothing ever prepares you for that initial stretch — the feeling of being so full of him you might explode, heart hammering away like a tattoo against his ribcage. 

“So pretty,” he rasps, setting a brutal pace, fingers clutched tight around the fleshiest parts of your hips, “God you feel so good. Always so good for me.”

It’s a dirty, frantic thing. A push and pull of hips. A furious rush to a finish line you can’t see, and yet flashes behind your eyes. Beneath you, the desk rattles. Shakes with each hard thrust of Steve’s hips against yours. Papers flutter in the air. Pens come crashing to the floor beneath. Your fingers clutch tight in his shirt, his body bowing over yours and knocking you backward so he can cradle your head with his elbows. Your thighs curl around his hips, hoarse cries and whimpers spilling freely, uncaring of those who might hear, as he picks up his pace. 

It’s perfectly obscene. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you. His ragged pants. Your peals of his name. The echo of his desk screeching against the floor. His fingers grip your thigh tight, opening you further, rolling into you with abandon. And you’re screaming — crying his name into the open room as the rubber band snaps and heat lights your body awash in flame. It dances behind your eyes, rattles your bones as you tremble around him, your fingers sliding behind his head to tangle with his hair, dragging him down for a sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, his hips falling out of motion as you swallow his own moans as he comes. 

You lay like that for a while. His chest rising and falling against yours, your forehead in the crook of his neck, his hands on your waist and hips. Your dress still sits high on your thighs, he’s still resting on you and within you, your thighs tremble, but all you feel is the glow of love for him. The steady beat of it that lingers behind your ribcage at all times now. 

You murmur it on a breath, his head lifting a bit to take in your features. And then once more. A whisper of, “I love you, Steve.”

He knows this. He’s heard it countless times since you’ve both said it for the first time. But that smile — that amazing smile that slides over his features will make it worth it every time. Like he’s hearing it all over again. Like he still can’t believe it, like he’s still basking in the revelation that as much as you are his, he is yours. Your person, his person, his family.  

“I love you,” he breathes back, brushing his lips over yours and murmuring quickly for you to lay still so he can run into his adjoining office bathroom to clean you up. 

He tends to you in silence. In little brushes along the insides of your thighs, along your hips where he tuts at the marks already forming on your skin, ones you welcome happily and will wear for days with the memory of being loved so well by Steve Harrington. 

Your own fingers rise up to help Steve tuck his shirt back pristinely into his pants. And his gentle palms slide your dress into place, moving down to run along your calves and give them a quick squeeze, before holding a palm out for you to take. You rise to your feet on shaky limbs, leaning into his body for a moment as the wobbly feeling in your thighs subsides. 

“Ready to go?” he asks, offering you the crook of his elbow. You slide your arm through his, looping him in close, just as he should be — as he always should be. “If I get pulled away by clients, please make sure you find me by midnight.”

“Wanna kiss me or something, Harrington?” you tease, but your heart still bubbles with joy at the prospect of ringing in the new year with your favorite person and love of your life, all wrapped in one. 

“One of many New Year’s kisses to come,” he says with a laugh, brushing his mouth against your forehead as he closes the office door behind the both of you. He leads you back down the hall you came, the click of your heels and slap of his Prada hitting the pristine floors, echoing. “I am a man of tradition.” 

“Can we make what we did back there a tradition too? I suddenly am a big fan of family traditions.” 

You’re only joking. Trying to get a rise out of the man — make his cheeks glow red like they always do when you crack an inappropriate joke his way. Something salacious that always seems to ruffle his feathers. Your businessman husband, always so serious. Except now. Now there’s a wicked gleam in his eye at your words, and you know it’s a promise. 

  ——

  In actuality, you lose Steve in the ebb and flow of the crowd early on. As you initially entered the party, your breath hitched at the sight of the place. The rooftop of your husband’s business has been turned into the winter wonderland of everyone’s dreams, only heaters are appropriately placed so it doesn’t quite feel like one in the dead of winter in the city. 

Everything is awash in a lovely blue hue. White furniture has been placed pristinely around tables with golden accented centerpieces, with frostbitten edges. All around you, women and men are dressed to the nines. Gorgeous gowns and designer heels, jewelry with insurance policies attached to them, men in perfectly tailored suits, cufflinks encrusted in gemstones boasting their last names, proof of their elitism above all others. 

Up here, you once again feel out of place. Like so long ago now, on that night Steve had pulled you away for a game of pool. You’d felt it then. This feeling that you were merely Cinderella. Not invited to the party, garbed in a too-fancy ball gown that wasn’t your own, ready to lose one of your Louis Vuittons at the door. 

“And that’s when I said, sweetheart, I would love a third vacation home,” the woman in front of you prattles on, telling you a story that you’ve barely followed for the better part of a half hour, head glancing over her shoulder to where Steve stands near the bar with some expensively dressed clientele of his. “So we are now looking for a place in the Hamptons. We would love it if you and your husband would come by sometime.” 

“That sounds lovely, Linda,” you tell her, offering her a pitying smile. 

From what Steve has told you, her husband is on thin ice with the company as of late. Always showing up late, handing in deliverables late — simply late. But you don’t tell her maybe her husband shouldn’t invest in that new property, as it’s not really your place. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Cami rushing over to the bathroom, and your heart thunders wildly in your chest at the opportunity to escape the increasingly uncomfortable room tightening around you. 

“Oh — I’m so sorry. It was wonderful chatting with you. I need to go help my friend with something. Please excuse me.” It comes out in a breathy rush, Cami’s long head of red curls slipping further and further from view. 

“That is no worry at all, Mrs. Harrington. I’m sure we will see each other very soon at another one of these functions.” 

You want to tell her no, no you won’t but you refrain, hiking up the bottom of your gown in one hand and rushing off behind Cami in the next instant. She’s there, in front of the mirror, when you find her. A beautiful green dress that clings to her every curve. Lovely and dominant — just as she has been every time you’ve seen her. Only this time you notice the rims of her green eyes are tinged red. Like she’s been crying. 

She wipes a tissue along the bottom of her nose and sniffles, just as her head lifts and she catches your reflection in the mirror. A pitiful, watery laugh spills from her as she waves you closer, body turning toward yours once you’re beside her, her arms looping loosely around your shoulders. And then she’s crying. Not softly — full on sobs that wrack her form and have your palms sliding up to press against her back, rubbing up and down like you do for Steve before he sleeps some nights. 

“He’s cheating again,” she whimpers. And your heart breaks over the word again. You recall those memories of your initial meeting with her. How she seemed so sad when she admired your photos, claiming you’d gotten the ‘good Harrington.’ “He thinks I’m an idiot, but it’s not hard to put two and two together when he upgraded my engagement ring. Last time, he bought me diamond earrings.”

“Cami…” 

“I thought he was done,” she cries, palm wiping at her face from over your shoulder. “But he’d been working late and missing the kid’s events and I — I should have figured it out. I went through his phone.” Within your gut, your stomach drops. 

“It’s been going on for months,” she continues, sniffling loudly. “He’s been fucking her for months. His last business trip…there was no business trip. He’d gone away to Miami with her. I found the hotel booking. Two people, single bed. Fuck — how can I be so stupid?”

“You’re not stupid, Cami. He’s an asshole,” you tell her, pulling back a bit to cup her face within your palms. “Him. He’s the asshole. You have a beautiful family together and he’s taken advantage of that. What are you going to do?” 

You want to tell her to leave him. To hang his ass out to try for all he’s worth. To make him regret every choice he’s made toward his wife who quite literally radiates sunshine. And yet — you know you can’t. Can’t tether that line of friendship. Ultimately, it’s her choice. You can try and make her see the light, to make her understand what you’ve seen from the moment you met the man, but you also understand there are years of history between them. Two children between them. 

“After the holiday, he booked us a trip. He wants to work on our marriage. Apparently he got another raise and wants to spoil me.” She brushes beneath her eyes, trying to fix the mascara lines along her lower lashes. “He’d probably booked it right after I found out. So tonight we’ll put on appearances, I’ll be the perfect wife like he expects, we’ll go on our vacation…and then I plan on staying with my family for a while. I’ll take the kids with me.”

“Good,” you whisper, reaching around her to grab a tissue. Pressing it beneath her eyes to collect her tears, you add, “Steve and I are here for whatever you need. In any capacity. Even if you just want to text me.”

“Thank you.” She swipes at her face, turning to the mirror to pinch at her cheeks and bring some color back to her pale, freckled skin. “We should get back out there…before people notice we’ve been gone long.”

“Hey, Cami?” She pauses at the door as you call out her name, offering the barest of smiles. “It’s gonna be okay, you know?”

She presses her lips together. A tense line, cheeks and eyes still flushed from her crying. “Thank you. Really.”

“We’re family, right?” you offer her a little weakly.

“Right.” 

She nods, holding out a hand that you take to offer her strength and comfort as you slip back out into the main party area. There are no words. None that come to your mind, at least, to quell Cami’s heartbreak. To ease the sting of her husband’s infidelity. But there is anger — anger that burns and grows as he appears in your line of sight, taller than most of the crowd surrounding him, taking in the two of you as you slip back into the crowd. 

Breaking away from his conversation, he rushes forward, mouth open to speak to his wife, but she cuts him off with a simple, “I’m going to grab another glass of champagne.” She glances your way, pleadingly, “Will you come wi —”

“Actually, I have a matter of utmost importance to share with Mrs. Harrington.” His eyes land on your profile. Seedy and unrelenting. Stoic as ever. 

“I’ll come find you, Cami,” you tell her, following Theo through the throng of guests, leaving the saddened redhead nodding solemnly in the distance. 

Once out of earshot, and in the privacy of a corner, Theo spits out, “Whatever she told you, you don’t know the full story.”

“Oh, I think I know enough.” You splutter the words out, shocked he even has the nerve to try and defend himself for cheating on his wife. “I knew you were an asshole, but you have a wife — and a wonderful one at that. A family. How do you sleep at night?”

He chuckles. A low, dark thing that has your skin crawling. “How do I sleep? That’s sweet, coming from you, darling.”

You pause, throat tightening. Around you, the music blares. Little sparkles of the beginnings of fireworks dance in the moonlit sky. “What are you —” Swallowing, whirl on the heel, intent on leaving, muttering, “You know what? I don’t want to know. I’ll be getting that dr —”

A hand shoots out to grip your forearm. Tight. “Listen, you little rat. I knew you were up to no good, sniffing after the Harrington name. Taking what was mine. And now I have proof.”

“I don’t know what you’re —” You wince, gasping at the pain radiating from where he’s holding you with a strength that’s sure to bruise. “Theo — you’re hurting me.”

He tugs you forward. Your side wedges between the table and his body, his form keeping you sequestered away from the rest of the party goers, just as he pulls out his cellphone. It’s what he pulls up, however, that has all the arguments rising up dying instantaneously on your lips. The realization of the image sitting before you. The forms are blurry, sure, but there’s no doubting the white dress you wore for your bachelorette. 

No doubt that the silhouette of the person glowing brightly on his iPhone is you.  

His voice is biting. A chilling, dark sound that curls and crawls uncomfortably down your spine. Leaves you breathless before him. “I think it’s best if you watch this and then listen very carefully.”

  ——

  Singing. You’re singing. Wailing. You’re not even sure. And Steve? Steve’s a natural born performer — or rather, he is when tequila is involved. It’s the loosest you’ve seen him. His hair lies messy and unkempt on his head, from having run his fingers through it a dozen times out of nervousness as you pull him onto the stage. 

Your friends start the song and you’re both enjoying yourself. Maybe for the first time throughout the whole process. And it’s nice — honest to goodness nice to simply let loose with him; to pretend you’re not getting married soon under the guise of falsifying a will and procuring money to secure a debt. 

So it’s not really all that shocking when Steve grips you and tugs you near to his side as those final lyrics of the song draw to a close. Nor as his hand loops low around your back and he lowers his mouth to brush over yours. 

It’s an immediate rush of flame. A fire that dances and brims. That grows with every swipe of his tongue with yours. You can taste the salt on his tongue, the tequila on his skin, the sweat in the summer heat. He’s perfectly delicious and, at least for the moment, yours. 

It’s dizzying. A lovely free fall. A spiral and a leap. He tugs you closer and the whoops and whistles of your friends greet your ears. To them, you’re a loved up couple on the eve of a wedding — to you? To you, it’s a stolen moment. A dropped facade, a wall lowering. Until, that is, Eddie and Robin tug the two of you apart, practically scolding you both as they lead you to a side room and toss water bottles your way, telling you to stay out for a few minutes. 

You’re giggling. Hips pressing Steve further into the wall you slam him into once the door closes, his palm tight around your hip, mouth roaming over your throat. Hot. He’s so hot and it’s so hot in this room and you want nothing more than to let the moment simmer. To let yourselves steal a second for yourselves. 

And then he’s laughing. A boyish thing that makes your stomach clench. “I can’t believe we did it.”

“They believed it.” 

“They totally think we’re in love,” he laughs out, sides shaking as he tugs you closer. “I knew it would work, but I thought we’d at least have to do a little convincing.” 

“Looks like you just got yourself a company, Harrington.” Your words slur a little, sides trembling with your own laughter. 

“Looks like I did.”

  ——

  The video ends as Steve draws you back in for another kiss, his palm clutching the dough of your ass a little indecently. The room is spilling, and you know there’s music booming loudly all around you, but all you can hear is the throbbing of your heart. 

The ringing in your ears. 

Because Theo knows. 

He knows. 

And in your silence, he catches you. 

A rabbit caught in a trap, his glittering teeth like that of a jackal. 

And he’s grinning. A satisfied looking one across his lips, his eyes locked on your form. 

Breathing becomes harder as you clutch at a table’s edge, trying to maintain your balance. 

Fear clamors like a cymbal in your chest. A loud, rattling thing. An echo that thrums in your bones. Body bright with uncomfortable electricity.  

“Where do you —”

“Mr. Hawthorne.” Linda’s husband. With him already in jeopardy of losing his job — it makes sense. Your blood chills at the realization. “Funnily enough his family owns that venue. He had the video saved to his phone in case he’d ever need it, he told me. You see, we all have our secrets in this world, and need to be prepared for anything. And, well, when he had his most recent meeting with your husband, wherein his job was threatened — well, fear is a wonderful motivator. He’d been venting to me for weeks and happened to show me the video at lunch one evening…”

The knot in your throat tightens like a crude noose. 

“He’d never watched the whole video, you know? Just saved the video of his drunken boss in case he needed to diminish his character. And then I heard it. The two of you, what you were saying. And all these months you lied to my face, tried to act like you’re so much better than me, meanwhile you’re just like the rest of us.” 

Tears burn behind your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. 

Refuse to cower down to Theobald. 

“So don’t you dare comment on my marriage, when yours is nothing more than a drunken mockery of one.”

“It’s not.” Your voice breaks and his lips tip upward. “I love him.”

“So here’s the part where you listen, darling.” 

You say nothing and he loves it. 

“You’re going to march back to your husband’s side. You’re going to pretend you know nothing — but you’re going to convince him to sign the company over to me like he should have all those months ago. Aah aaah, no speaking. I know you’re a good actress, I’ve seen you playing a role for months. That boy is in love with you for reasons I’ll never understand, but he’s in love with you all the same. And you’re going to use that to your advantage. You have a month.” 

“A month?” 

“A month. If not, I’ll bring it to my lawyers.” 

Lawyer. Figures, dollars, numbers. Meetings, hearings, depositions. They all flash in front of your eyes. All things you can’t afford. All things you would never be exposed to, had it not been for the decisions made months ago with the man you now know intimately and love. Worry follows in suit, crawling up your throat and cutting off your windpipe. 

“Now go,” Theo instructs, pushing at your back, guiding you in the direction of Steve. He’s surrounded by various businessmen, head thrown back in a laugh, and when his eyes lock on yours from across the room, it ruptures your heart. “It was lovely speaking with you tonight, Mrs. Harrington.” 

The sentiment isn’t returned, and your feet feel like lead as they carry you over to Steve, but you do as he’s instructed all the same. As you approach, Steve opens his arms to allow you in, introducing you to the people he’s talking with. He’s charming as ever, completely unknowing of what you’ve just been hit with, the gravity of your situation presently weighing you down. 

And, for now, it’s better this way. 

Tomorrow, you decide, tomorrow you’ll take action. 

But for now you giggle and trill and act. You portray the image of a dutiful wife, slipping into your husband’s world as you slip on a mask. His friends laugh at your remarks and smile at you like they’ve known you for years. They act like they adore you, and you do the same. Faux niceties, because inside you’re reeling. Inside, you’re wanting nothing more than to scream and run and hide from the crushing reality all around you.  

And later, as the countdown to the ball dropping begins, and the room erupts in chaos and cheers, Steve pulls you in close. He says, “I love you,” before his mouth descends over your own and you taste the bubbly champagne on his tongue and the sweetness of a new year. If it lacks emotion, he says nothing of it. Only kisses you harder, grinning into your skin at the prospect of his tradition he spoke so happily of only hours ago now. He’s kiss bitten and all charm, smitten and in love. And god, you love him too. 

Fireworks explode across the sky. They illuminate Steve’s face as he holds you against him, your back to his chest. His chin hooks over your shoulder as you stand, staring up at the colorful lights flashing above, mouth leaning in to press the sweetest of kisses to your cheek. 

And there, when your eyes lower and trail across the room, you find Theobald with Cami holding herself at his side. Catch the sadness on her face — her hardened stature a direct contrast to the smugness of Theo’s features as he locks eyes with you. 

“A month,” he mouths, sliding his cellphone out of his pocket just enough that the screen sparks to life once more.

And like a stem of a flower snaps when exposed to too much pressure, your heart breaks too. 

——

please let me know what you think. it means the world to us writers. one more chapter, and then the epilogue. 🩷🩷

#lunalovessteve #steve harrington x you #Steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader

[orderforbrian]

Day 6 - Time Travel for @jonmartinweek!

im late again but only bc i drew waayyy too much for this lol - i couldnt help it tho i really love those kid-centric aus where jon and martin's future kids come visit their s1 selves - they're just full of so many cute moments and little jokes 🤭 i'm also just a sucker for anything jmart kid related. plus watching s1 jon and martin, who have budged hardly an inch past absolute loathing, grapple with the fact they not only get married in the future but have KIDS too is soooooooo good 😆they get to talking and realize "oh god you really are my ideal partner ohno OHHH NOO"

[Start ID: Multiple images of Jon and Martin from The Magnus Archives as well as their future children for an AU. Jon is a thin Persian man with dark, curly hair streaked with grey and rectangular glasses. Martin is a fat, mixed Polish/Korean man with dark brown, wavy hair, browline glasses, and a beauty mark by his lip. 1st image: Jon and Martin are sitting at a wedding table decorated with flowers, a plate with half eaten cake, and a green napkin. Jon is wearing a white shirt with a dark green bowtie, his hair is slicked back into a low bun with some styled stray hairs. His black suit jacket covers the chair behind him. He has light beard and a gold column earring. Martin is wearing a white shirt with a dark blue bowtie, his hair is styled back as well and he wears a gold diamond drop earring. They sit side by side, noses almost touching - Jon smiles wholesomely at Martin, holding up a coupe glass of champagne, and Martin smiles back with his eyes closed, left hand resting around the base of his own coupe glass. Jon's left hand sits on top of Martin's, each hand has a gold band on the ring finger. The drawing looks like a polaroid, Jon's handwriting at the bottom says "Jonathan and Martin Blackwood-Sims. June 27th, 2023." Martin has placed a red heart sticker and written "J+M" in blue marker on the photo. 2nd image: Jon and Martin are older and pose with their children on their backs. Their children, Mina and Jules, have dark, curly hair like Jon's, Mina has a beauty mark by his right eye and Jules has one on her left lower cheek. In this image Mina has her hair tied back into two pigtails and is smiling with one tooth gone. She wears overalls with a scalloped shirt, a sensory bracelet on her right wrist, and sneakers. She is riding on Martin's back, gripping his shirt with one hand and lifting up the other one behind his head, laughing loudly. Martin side eyes her with mirth, his hair is more choppy and down past his shoulders, he has a patchy beard, and wears a simple lined shirt. In this image, Jules has her hair tied back into a ponytail and is wearing a t-shirt, jean shorts and sneakers with a star on them. She sticks her tongue out towards the camera and winks one eye, both her arms are laced around Jon's neck. Jon's hair is past his ears and he has a fully grown mustache and beard, he wears a collared short sleeve shirt. Underneath ths photo Jon writes "Picnic after 2nd year primary. Mina (7) Jules (8)." Martin has drawn a yellow sun and written in blue marker "too old!!" and a crying face. 3rd image: Mina and Jules (off frame) hold up multiple photographs to younger Jon and Martin (season 1). Martin is wearing a collared shirt and his hair is side parted, cut just past his ears. Jon has his hair slicked back aside from a couple large curls at the front and wears a suit jacket, collared shirt, tie, and vest. Martin and Jon stare down at the photos with flustered surprise, confusion, and disbelief, both blushing. Martin pinches one of the photos with his right hand. Jon holds his glasses in his right hand.

4th image is a 7 panel comic. Mina and Jules both wear glasses and school uniforms with a backpack, Mina wearing a tie and vest, her hair done in two braids, and Jules wearing a collared shirt and tie, her hair in a bob with two clips. 1st panel: Jules outstretches her hand while looking angry at Mina who is looking away with a huff. "We would've gotten here way sooner if you didn't have to stop and pet that dumb dog!!". 2nd panel: Jon crosses his arms and sneers at Martin, who is looking unimpressed and annoyed and holding a tea mug. "They get that from you...". 3rd panel: Mina points at Jules and retorts "Well if you weren't so impatient we wouldn't have gotten caught, stupid!!". 4th panel: Martin lifts up the tea mug to take a sip and shoots back to Jon, who frowns, "They get that from you...". 5th panel: Mina and Jules yell at each other with closed eyes and hunched shoulders, "UGH!!! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS ARGUING WITH ME!!!". 6th panel: A simplified drawing of Jon and Martin, one speech bubble connecting both of them saying "They get that from you". 7th panel: Jon and Martin whip around and stare at each other with offended anger, saying "ME?!".

5th image is of Mina and Jules in full color. They have the same descriptions as in the comic, the school uniform is a purple gray, the skirts plaid. Mina wears a green colored sensory bracelet and Jules wears a blue colored one. Mina has a nervous frown, a couple sweat marks coming off her head, while Jules smiles with quiet confidence, a couple gold sparkles by her head. They hold hands in the middle, Jules is slightly taller than Mina. Above Mina are the following words: Mina (Mia) *younger sibling *a bit shy *fave color is green *loves when Dad does her hair. Above Jules are the following words: Julia (Jules) *older (by 11 months) *more adventurous *fave color is blue *loves when Baba buys her ice cream. End ID.]

#jmart #jonmartin #teaholding #jonmartinweek2023 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #order up! art tag #jmart kids #time travel au #kid au #the magnus archives #tma

[atrueneutral]

'Husband' & 'Wife' Part II (Raphael x Tav)

There's smut in this. [Part I] --- She stared at him.

And he stared at her - waiting for her to strip.

“Is there a problem?” Raphael inquired with faux innocence and a raise of his brow.

Well, no… and yes.

It was neither the act of stripping nor the thought of actually being naked in front of the cambion that delayed her from enacting the first half of her bargain; it was the fact that they had appeared in the entrance hall - and it wasn’t empty.

To their credit, half of the debtors paid them no mind because they had no mind left; they shuffled around in despair, mumbling to themselves whilst the other (seemingly-more-lucid) debtors silently worked on their hands and knees to clean the marble floor with rags and a bucket of water.

Also to their (and Raphael’s) credit, they were clothed.

Suddenly her poor-decision-of-an-offer to clean his House naked became just that: a poor decision.

Another poor decision to add to her List of Regrets…

The List was never to be revealed to anyone, and therefore Raphael would never know how many times his name was mentioned; what he did need to know was that she was a woman of her word (most of the time), and she would, in-fact, clean his house naked for eight hours if need be.

(What-in-the-devil possessed her to say eight hours? Of all the hours! Why not five? Or even two?

One would have sufficed, surely…)

“No, there’s no problem,” she said sweetly, holding eye contact as she began to undo her belts. “It is rather toasty in here…”

His intense, heated gaze wasn’t helping.

Not in the mood to entreat Raphael or the debtors to a striptease, her belts were casually discarded to the floor. Footwear was next in line to be removed, but because her boots did not simply slip off, it became mildly embarrassing as she balanced on one leg at a time and wrestled each foot from imprisonment - all with Raphael watching with crossed arms and the hint of a smirk. Tav smirked, too, albeit with slight sarcasm once she dumped the second boot, and she swiftly moved on to pulling down breeches and smallclothes in one go. She stepped out of the puddle of garments whilst lifting her tunic from over her head, and the pile continued to grow with the added shedding of her brassiere.

All that was left-

“Leave your footwraps,” Raphael commanded, reading her intention of going for the strips of cloth around her feet. He inspected her as Tav straightened to shamelessly stand beside her shorn gear. His brown eyes were unapologetic in their scrutiny, and both she and her arousal unapologetically liked the way the cambion slowly burned a path from her face, down the column of her neck to drink in the sight of her breasts and hardened nipples. Further netherwards they went, trailing along her waist, hips, and thighs to magnetically settle on her sex. “I married well, it seems. You are exquisite. Haarlep does not do you justice - in more ways than one, I’m sure.”

Heat tinged her cheeks (the cheeks of her face, though her other cheeks were warmed from the temperature within the House), and Tav mentally reproached herself; this scenario was leading to danger, which was not good seeing as how the last time she stripped naked in front of a fiend…

“I’m very flattered you think so, husband,” she said with a pinch of haughtiness. “I presume my eight hours has officially begun? Where am I to begin cleaning? It looks as if this hall has been taken care of.”

“You will be cleaning the Archive. You know the way I believe?” Raphael dramatically gestured for her to take the lead down the hall. “After you, my dear.”

Tav stuck her nose in the air and airily began to guide them down the steps and through the passage that led to the dining hall.

“I can’t help but notice that you have yet to thank me for coming to your coin purse's rescue,” Raphael remarked behind her.

“You will get your thanks when I have the breastplate in hand,” Tav replied. “Besides, if anyone should be thanking anyone, you should be thanking me for my offer to do this - let alone in a state of undress.”

“Mm, you are quite right, Little Mouse…” said the cat, his voice dipping into a purr. “Thank you.”

She refrained from glaring at him; there was no-doubt that Raphael was appreciating the view of her assets as they moved through the dining hall and towards the Archive. The loitering debtors strategically fled or turned their backs at their approach, and Tav tried not to pay attention to the worrisome amount of wispy, spectral souls that skimmed through the air overhead.

Thankfully, for this visit, there was no need for her thieves’ tools; the doors to the Archive were open for visitors, allowing her to head straight for the expansive room she had at one time browsed all by her lonesome. During that uninvited drop in of Raphael’s treasures, the Archivist had annoyingly hovered over her shoulder (even after she successfully persuaded him that she was Someone Important), and, by the looks of things, the very same Archivist still had a job.

Not bothering to cover up, Tav stopped a number of feet away from the snobbish servant.

“If it isn’t Verillius Receptor,” the Archivist said snidely after getting over the initial surprise of her nudity. He then smoothed down his hostility once he saw who it was who followed behind and he bowed. “Oh, and my lord!”

“You are not needed - begone,” Raphael ordered in greeting.

Unable to help herself, Tav discounted the Archivist’s presence as she gave Raphael a simpering smile, “I look forward to seeing your treasures up close, husband.”

At the moment of leaving her, she regretted the way her words could be misconstrued as innuendo. Nothing lost on him, her ‘spouse’s’ eyes glinted with amusement - and more.

The ability to sputter like a goldfish was passed from her to the Archivist; his mouth opened and closed as his eyes flicked from her to his lord - confusion apparent. Panic then sprouted, for his delay caused a change in demeanor from Raphael and the servant hastily bowed again before scampering off.

“Close the doors behind you,” added the master of the House.

The Archivist obediently obliged, and the set of doors shut at his exit.

Wanting to avoid Raphael’s stare, Tav appraised the items that sat behind impervious shields. The Amulet of Greater Health and the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength remained on their marble pedestals, but the center pedestal was empty of any item or any contract belonging to a specific person.

Raphael stepped closer. “I’ve yet to find anything to match the significance of what was there.”

“Yes, the contract of your Crown’s courier,” Tav answered. She rotated to face him, and her heart stuttered; Raphael was closer than expected - well within arm’s reach. “Congratulations, by the way. As I understand it, you’ve achieved a number of victories since gaining the object of your heart’s desire.”

“Yes, but, as is natural when a desire is fulfilled, another must take its place.” His eyes drifted to her lips, and the rapid beating in her chest hurt. “Would you like to know my latest heart’s desire, Little Mouse?”

“Please share - unless you’d like me to find out through the reading of your diaries.”

His expression turned calculating at the recounting of her indiscretion, and Raphael invaded her space further with a single step, his head leaning in for her ear as he had earlier in the armor shop. A chill coursed through her when the back of a finger ghosted along her arm. “It’s my heart’s desire that each pedestal be cleaned to pristine perfection.”

He pulled his smirking (and stupid) handsome face away, and Tav quelled her own heart’s desire to punch it.

Snap!

At their feet, a bucket of sudsy water and a number of rags appeared from a plume of smoke and embers.

“Be sure to do a better job than the debtors - I’d hate to have to punish my wife.”

Tav internally fumed; he thought to lord himself over her? When there is no contract between them? She could win right here and right now; she could forget the breastplate! She could leave - leaving Raphael a thousand gold short with a breastplate he didn’t need or want, and with the remnants of a bargain to be made between him and the dwarven shop owner!

Tav mentally burned the List of Regrets (to avoid adding her next decision to it).

Oh, she’ll show him! She’ll make him beg!

“I’d hate to be disobedient.” She smiled demurely as she gracefully lowered to a crouch while looking at him. Her head came to be at the level of his crotch as she picked up the rags and then the handle of the bucket with the same hand. Her eyes fell from his face to consider what lay beyond the fabric of his breeches, and Tav caught a sliver of her lower lip between her teeth.

She rose without a second glance to the cambion and swayed her hips on her way over to the first exhibit displaying the Amulet of Greater Healing.

Raphael prowled after her.

“Oh, does my lord husband have nothing better to do than to watch his wife clean?” Tav asked as she stepped up the few stairs. She set the bucket down on the top step, just shy of the pedestal’s base.

“Past experience has told me that I can trust none else in this House to see to it that a mouse doesn’t get into mischief,” Raphael answered, landing at the foot of the stairs and effectively blocking her path from leaving the golden, fenced-in enclosure in which she stood.

“I’m sure the mouse meant no harm in seeing where the cat - no, pardon me, the fox - conducts his business.” Again she crouched, and Tav stuck out her backside as she grabbed a rag and dunked it into the foamy water. The rag was rinsed of any excess before she arranged herself to begin.

“Had there been harm, the mouse would have suffered for it.”

“Duly noted.”

She would clean to the best of her abilities, and she would do it whilst posing in the most provocative manner possible. Currently, this meant placing herself beside the pedestal - her position remaining low as she spread her legs and hovered above the floor on the balls of her feet, giving pedestal and floor an eyeful of her sex.

Nothing for Raphael, of whom she did not bother to acknowledge while ‘focusing’ on her task.

Hand and rag slowly moved up the smooth, arched portion of the pedestal before making its way back down again, wiping the marble of any accumulated dust and grime. When it came to more ‘stubborn areas’, Tav decided to add a bounce to her body in rhythm to her vigorous scrubbing.

“What are you doing, Little Mouse?” Raphael inquired with a substantial drop in his pitch.

“I’m cleaning in the nude - per the terms of our agreement,” Tav said pleasantly, moving to re-dunk her rag.

“Do you typically clean in this manner?”

“No, I typically clean with clothes on.”

“You know my meaning.”

Tav shifted the bucket over and threw a smirk over her shoulder as she once more sunk down and spread her legs - providing the front of the pedestal en eyeful of her front and the cambion a nice picture of all that her backside had to offer. “No, Raphael, I’m afraid I don’t know your meaning.”

“Then let me speak plainly - do you typically clean as if there were a cock beneath you?”

With the bucket slightly out of reach, and because she hadn’t rinsed her rag fully, Tav squeezed a nominal amount of water from the cloth, providing Raphael the illusion that her sex was soaked to the point of dripping.

“Not typically.”

She heard a low growl behind her, which pleased her to hear in more ways than one as she progressed on in her cleaning of the pedestal’s surface. After a handful of minutes, Tav got to her feet to return to the bucket but was stopped by a new directive.

“Move on to cleaning the center pedestal.”

The roughness of his voice drew her attention, and Tav knew she was doomed to live out her fantasies - if not solely due to the look Raphael was giving her; his eyes were dark and glazed over with want, and he gripped the stiffened outline of his cock through his breeches.

The devil was unraveling - because of her.

Tav grabbed her rag and bucket to then sidle up to him.

“Do you typically get aroused while watching debtors clean, Raphael? I wouldn’t put it past you,” she murmured whilst glancing from his eyes to his parted lips - the top of which was frozen in a partial curl.

“Only when watching you,” he replied huskily.

Tav tightened her hold on the bucket handle, lest it slip from her fingers and she make a genuine mess. The urge to kiss and taste that mouth of his was churning within, but she could not give in per the rules she created; he must bend and break first.

“I see.” She smiled as she stepped past him, and Raphael trailed after her to the center enclosure where the empty pedestal awaited to be cleaned.

Tav was at the top step when she paused and thought better of the placement of her bucket. She pivoted and slowly strutted back over to Raphael, who, yet again, acted as a guard to the section’s entrance and exit. The bucket was gently set down to the side, and she half-kneeled before him while she drowned her rag within water. With her eyes on that-which-couldn’t-be-ignored, Raphael capitalized and worked to free his erection from confinement.

It was then that a string of happenings happened within seconds of one another; Tav came face to face with the cambion’s well-endowed and well-engorged cock, her mouth went dry somewhere in the middle of ringing the water from her rag, and there was the painful realization that she might end up as the one begging.

Raphael languidly began to stroke himself - precum gathering at the tip.

Needing to clean and possessed by desire, Tav leaned in and swiped her tongue across the exposed head of him, causing Raphael to groan and twitch. She looked up, meeting brown, dilated pupils that were filled with longing, and there was the cursory thought that he, with his fiendish arrogance and pride, would simply take what he wanted rather than-

Tav’s musings were cut short when Raphael’s other hand wove itself into her hair.

“Tav.”

The sound of her name was perhaps the closest she would hear to a plea, and her response was automatic. Tav licked her lips before bringing them around the head of his cock, taking him into the heat of her mouth and planting her tongue against him. The rag was dropped and forgotten as her hand came to replace Raphael’s in wrapping around his shaft, and she took over in pumping him slowly, causing an audible breath to leave him. His hips reacted, matching her pace, and his fingers entwined in her hair - adding a gentle pressure to the back of her head as it moved.

Raphael’s heady gaze emboldened her to gradually increase her pace - her tongue circling and licking at his head, her cheeks hollowing out as she sucked. His shaft became slick with her saliva, assisting her in her strokes…

And then she stopped with a teasing smirk. He growled in disapproval as Tav removed his cock from her mouth, and she did not blink as she snatched her rag and stood.

“Forgive me for getting distracted - I’d better go clean what was requested,” she rasped.

Every purposeful step she took away from Raphael and towards the pedestal caused her cunt to throb with need, and Tav decided to play out her fantasies; she would be the one to bend for him.

Up the few stairs she went with his eyes never leaving her, and she began to leisurely wipe down the top of the pedestal.

Oops! How clumsy of her to drop the rag behind the massive obstruction!

Needing, of course, to retrieve her item, Tav bent over the pedestal, positioning her stomach against the cool surface, and she made a half-hearted attempt to reach the rag while presenting herself to the cambion.

She gently wiggled her ass in invitation, and, at the sound of a burst, bootsteps became jingling bootsteps in their approach.

Her wiggling ceased the moment she sensed and felt Raphael behind her. The fabric of his clothes pressed against her bare skin, his cock nestled between her legs, and a delightfully warm, clawed hand splayed across her back to then follow down the line of her spine. The hand palmed her ass before giving her a firm spank.

Tav yelped in surprise and twisted to glare at the fiendish, winged and horned form of her ‘spouse’.

“A punishment for being so careless,” he said lowly, treating himself to a handful of her smarting cheek. “I warned you, did I not?”

“I suppose you did,” Tav conceded with a sigh. Her expression changed to include a charming smile as she batted her eyelashes. “But, be a dear and get me another rag so I may continue in my duty?”

“No,” Raphael said. His other hand gripped her hip while the hand on her ass traveled to her aching sex. Fingers slipped between her soaked lips and across the sensitive bud of her clit, causing her to jerk and keen. Raphael practically purred at his findings, and Tav gasped when two digits pushed inside her after a moment of exploration. “I have my mouse right where I want her - squirming under my claws.”

He began to pump, and the mouse squirmed as she held onto the pedestal.

“Have you always wanted this, my dear?” Raphael asked, curling his fingers to elicit a cry of a moan from her lips. “Why else would you offer what you did?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about this - too often…” Tav admitted in between breathlessness.

The claws at her hip dug further into her flesh, and Raphael hummed - sounding positively pleased by what he heard in the middle of positively pleasing her with his fingers. Once she was substantially wound up and to the point of nearly-begging, the cambion removed his digits, leaving Tav feeling empty and needing to be filled.

Eagerness and anticipation spiked her blood at the feeling of his ridged cock sliding between her lips. He coated himself with her desire for him before the head of him pushed at her entrance. 

“As have I,” Raphael said, easing himself inside her walls with a shudder.

“Oh, gods!” Tav moaned. The size of him stretched her, and she choked on breaths as they both acclimated to one another.

He began to move, ripping pleasure through her body while both of his hands gripped her hips.

She clung to immovable marble as the devil she knew fucked her from behind. Raphael buried himself within her cunt with each thrust, and his rhythm seemed to match that of primal need. Her head turned to look at him, and his eyes ensnared her with a blazing fire that held flames of possessiveness.

“My Little Mouse,” he growled.

Danger manifested before her, and the meager amount of wisdom Tav had fought to keep her mouth shut - to neither confirm or deny his claim over her.

But every other aspect within her stupidly liked how it sounded…

“Oh, my lord husband! My Archdevil Supreme!” she exclaimed, causing Raphael to shudder again.

Well.

Her wisdom tried.

As he continued to fuck her, Tav wished to have access to her clit to help push her over the edge, but even if she was not to come undone herself, there was immense satisfaction to be felt and seen in the cambion’s undoing. He became absorbed in having his way with her, which was an ego boost as much as it was a turn on, and Tav was confident that her time for sexual bliss would come in the hours ahead.

Cleaning the House was no longer a priority for either of them.

“You should also know how often I’ve thought about you coming inside me - filling me with your seed...”

In exchange for her confession, Raphael growled something feral. A hand roamed across her skin before pushing into the small of her back, and she was held to him and pedestal both as his pace signified that his climax was nearing.

With a last, rough jerk of his hips, Raphael finished and spilled inside her cunt - his fingers trembling against her skin while every drop seeped into her womb.

His hold left her as he leaned forward and braced himself upon the sides of the pedestal surface. He panted over her, getting his bearings, and Tav was stunned when the cambion eventually leaned over to plant a kiss on her shoulder before slipping out of her and stepping back to give her room to move.

Tav peeled herself away from the marble, leaving perspiration behind.

“I would get my rag…” she cheekily remarked. “But I’m afraid I’m not done soiling this pedestal.”

Raphael’s head snapped to her, and he ravenously watched as she hopped up to properly sit upon the marble top, her legs spreading to showcase his come that leaked from her.

“What's next, dear husband?"

#this is all over the place #it be what it be #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #raphael x tav fanfiction #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #my writing

[fyeahnix]

Sevika is a bit of a thrillseeker when it comes to sex. She's adventurous, equal parts voyeur and exhibitionist. Loves the idea of someone finding her fucking the shit out of her girlfriend (what a show-off). Also loves the idea of her girlfriend putting herself on display in less-than-ideal environments for Sevika's eyes only.

cw: femme!reader, public car sex, modern-ish AU, Sevika still has the fully functional prosthesis because I said so

taglist: @gaudesstuff @archangeldyke-all @abitohoney @lesbeaniegreenie

You thanked every deity out there that Sevika parked in a remote spot of the underground parking garage. Whether she did it on purpose was anyone's guess. Given how she couldn't keep her damn hands to herself during the movie, though, you opted to think it was pre-planned. Nearly three hours of torture made it difficult for you to keep your head on straight.

Sevika hadn't bothered starting the car, just smirked at you while she sat smug in the driver's seat. Two of the three buttons on her henley were undone. You desired to attach your lips to that exposed patch of skin, right next to the gleaming silver cross on her chest. And her damn cologne...

After all that teasing under the cover of darkness in the movie theater, fuckable was an understatement.

She glanced past you and around the area. You mimicked her. Only a few cars parked on this side of the garage and none of them were even close. You knew what Sevika was suggesting as she patted her left thigh, and there was no excuse to prevent you from following her lead.

Not that you'd reject anyway.

You rolled your eyes. She rolled her seat back and reclined. You climbed into her lap, legs on either side of her.

Sevika was solid and muscular, and that's something that never got old to you no matter how many times you sat on top of her. You rolled your hips for good measure, relishing the thickness of her thighs and core. She matched your movement once. She was an expert at keeping her desires muted in the right scenarios. But the fire burned hotter in her grey eyes now that conditions were optimal.

"Looks like someone's needy," Sevika said. One hand hovered over the back of your thigh.

You swiped at it, hitting the rings on her fingers. "You're one to talk. Should pin your ass to that seat. Make you watch me get off on you."

"Mierda... Don't threaten me with a good time, cariño." She planted that same hand right where she intended. She traveled up your dress and grabbed a handful of your ass before giving it a smack.

You flinched.

"C'mon. Get those straps off. Show me those pretty tits."

You pursed your lips as Sevika motioned to lower your dress straps. You allowed her. Her stupid fucking grin at your breasts on display pulled a smile from your lips. One pull of her hand convinced you to lift up and lean forward, putting your chest right in her face.

She kissed your right breast and kneaded the left. Her lips grazed over your nipple, teasing, until she sucked on the underside, coaxing a moan from you.

"Missed them so much," she murmured.

"You just saw them four hours ago!"

"Somethin', somethin', absence and heart..."

"Shut the fuck up, Sev..."

You settled in, let Sevika work on worshipping you. In the midst of her ministrations, you leaned down to capture her lips in heated kisses. You led, adding tongue and biting her lip when she squeezed your ass. She wasted no time brushing her fingers over your pussy, hoping to get a quick rise out of you.

It worked, of course. Not like she had to do much in the first place.

You pressed back into her, granting permission.

It took no effort to enter you. Sevika's hands weren't small and neither were her fingers. You didn't want to admit it out loud or give her the smug satisfaction, but you were thankful for the prep time to get riled up.

She teased your entrance, slid her finger in, slow enough to make you feel it. You threw your head back and she chased you down to drag her lips up from breasts to collar to the column of your throat. Her teeth grazed up your jugular. She planted open-mouthed kisses there to match the rhythm of her pumps.

You slid into a trance and planted a hand on her chest to keep your balance. You had no issue being a little devious in public spaces. Sevika introduced you to the kink years ago, and while it made you anxious at first, you understood the thrill after the third time getting away with it. When one finger became two, you drove deeper, only stopping suddenly when you heard a car door slam shut in the distance.

You dipped down, hiding in Sevika's chest.

She kissed your forehead. "Baby. They can't even see you. Keep goin'."

"You don't know that!"

"So? What are they gonna do? Tell you to stop?"

She rubbed against the front wall of your cunt, urging you to start up again.

You hesitated.

She smacked your ass.

"Sevika!" you whined.

She laughed. With another devilish grin, you could tell she was fired up, excited by the prospect of someone catching you two. And, well... Maybe she had a point. It was one guy two sections over and Sevika's windows were tinted.

Fuck it.

You rose again, putting yourself on display for your girlfriend. She watched you ride her fingers with feral eyes. Your breasts bounced in her face, and she licked her lips as her gaze darted between them and your face.

A slew of swears ripped from your throat as you came. You balled Sevika's shirt in your fist. Clenched your cunt around your fingers. And when you turned your attention back towards the man in the distance, he whipped his head around confused. Maybe he heard you. Maybe he didn't. But that was all part of the fun, wasn't it?

#Sevika #Arcane #Sevika Arcane #Arcane Sevika #Sevika x You #Sevika x Reader #reader insert #femme reader #lesbian #wlw #writing #headcanon #headcanon: sevika #Sevika 'I love to kiss tittiess' Arcane #if you get that reference you clearly follow me on twitter

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The Whale house is for sale again! Can you see the whale's head? The door is the mouth, there's an eye on the upper left, and what looks like a little sailor hat to me, too. It was built in 1978 in Santa Barbara, California, has 3bd, 3.5ba, & is listed for $3.250M. It's so unique- take a look at this

As soon as you step inside, you see how unique the entrance hall is. Notice the carved door and curving architectural features- even the walls.

Look at the natural stone fireplace, the big tree trunk columns & beams, the curving shingles like waves, and I especially love that white wavelike back on the built-in sectional.

This home is like an art sculpture- not the curving rock walls in the dining room.

Look at the little doors in th windows.

You just look and keep seeing different things. Curving kitchen cabinets, a triple sink, the whale painting on th fridge, the little stovetop set into the stone wall, the sculptured walls.

The kitchen is quite long. Look at the double oven set into stone.

Cool guest powder room

On the 2nd level, in an open balcony is the main bedroom with interesting things built into a stone wall The tub looks like a little grotto.

And, check out the sink and double shower in the main en-suite.

Guest room with stone fireplace and an artsy door. I wonder what's behind that door b/c it appears to have a lock.

The 3rd bedroom is cute and cheery.

Isn't this a nice bath, with vintage tub and sink.

Here's some towels for when people come in from the pool thru this hall.

The grounds around this home are just stunning.

Look at this grotto to swim thru.

This looks like a lovely guest suite or bedroom and family room.

Above the laundry room and bath is this cozy little lounging loft.

You can see how large the house is.

Beautiful big patio. And, above, you can see the pool entering the grotto.

#whale house #unique homes #houses #house tours #home tour #dream homes

[bun-lapin]

Confessions

Summary: Floyd confesses his love to you.

A/N: Fourth one shot! This one is a bit on the short side as it was a pretty busy week for me. But I feel like I'm hitting a good stride with this series! Hopefully I don't run out of idea though lol lots of characters still to get through~

Confessions series: Rook, Kalim, Idia, Floyd, Vil, Silver, Leona, Trey / AO3

Standing under an ancient apple tree, you listen to the peaceful sounds of wind rustling through green leaves and birds chirping on a high branch. On the other side of the courtyard, you hear a handful of students having quiet, friendly conversations among themselves. You lean back against the gnarled bark of the tree with a sigh and let your eyes wander across the scene in front of you. You visually trace a path across the lush grass lawn, over a few wooden benches, down the paved pathway, and continue up the stone columns supporting the roof of the exterior corridor. Your gaze finally stops there on the corridor roof where Floyd sits, legs dangling over the side and lazily smiling down at you.

"Easy enough, right? Now come up here and join me!" Floyd calls down to you with a slight waggle of his fingers.

You walk over to stand on the pathway under Floyd’s perch and call up to him, “That was a very impressive parkour demonstration but”-you consider the considerable height from the ground to the roof and shake your head with a grimace- “there’s absolutely no way I’m going up there.”

Floyd gives you an exaggerated pout and whines, “Aww, that’s no fun shrimpy!” He reaches into his back pocket with a smirk on his face and holds up a small familiar looking object. “I guess that means you don't want your wallet back then."

You give all of your pockets a quick pat down before letting out a long frustrated sigh. That is indeed your wallet up there in Floyd’s hands. With your hands in your pockets you look over the lanky and relaxed figure sitting high above, and you briefly weigh your options. Your hands close around a small peppermint candy you had grabbed from the Mystery Shop earlier and an idea flashes in your mind.

“Floyd, I’m not going up there so why don’t you just DROP IT?!” you yell out the last few words as you pitch the small candy as hard as you can at the hand holding your wallet.

"Whoa Shrimpy!” Floyd nimbly dodges the thrown confectionery and looks down at you in disbelief. “Did you just throw something at me?!"

You look up at Floyd’s face, his eyes wide and his playful smile gone without a trace. For a few tense seconds, you stare at each other and you begin to wonder if you should make a run for it.

Floyd’s face suddenly breaks out into a wide, sharp grin and he throws his head back in a fit of high pitched laughter. He looks down at you, eyes sparkling with laughter and exclaims, “That's too hilarious! You're pretty bold, shrimpy! I guess that's why I like you." He smiles in an appreciative and relaxed way at you.

You cross your arms over your chest, regretting the failure of your candy plan, and reply in a dry, sarcastic voice, “Yup, that’s me. Just a regular old charmer. You’re so lucky to be my friend.”

Floyd’s smile drops instantly and is replaced by a small frown. "You're not hearing me right, shrimpy.” He stands up and places your wallet back into his pocket. “I said I like you."

You raise your eyebrows questioningly at him and reply, “Yeah that’s basically what I said, right?”

Floyd looks down at you in silence for a few seconds, an unreadable expression on his face. He then takes a step off the corridor roof and lands as effortlessly as if he had just stepped off of the ground. You watch him casually walk over to you with rising curiosity and when he finally stops to stand in front of you with arms crossed over his chest, you tilt your head inquisitively at him.

After staring at you thoughtfully for a moment, Floyd smiles in a secretive way. His mismatched eyes twinkle playfully and crinkle at the corners, as if he knows something hilarious that you don’t. Reaching out towards you, he gently takes both of your hands in his and breezily says, “Let me phrase this in a way that makes it crystal clear for you.”

Floyd begins to slowly walk a circle around you and, with your hands still firmly held in his, you find yourself turning in a circle as well while still facing him. It’s almost as if the two of you are dancing some sort of very slow and lazy kind of waltz. You laugh softly at the thought and Floyd mirrors your laugh with one of his own. He leans a little closer to you and his voice is quiet yet excited, like he’s telling a funny story during class.

"I never know what I'm going to get with you. You're wild, unpredictable, and perfect. To me, you're like endless fireworks falling over the sea. One minute, hot sparks of gold and red. The next minute, cool sea foam floating on the water. Never the same way twice but more wonderful every time after."

He stops walking and, still holding on to you, Floyd looks you over in silence. His expression is one of pure appreciation and marvel. The way he looks it’s as if he’s found sunken treasure and you feel a pleasant tingling in your cheeks, swept up by Floyd’s infectious excitement. Studying his face, you think that it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him.

Leaning in closer still, Floyd places his lips close to your ear and whispers with an airy laugh, "A guy could really get hooked on someone like you."

He leans back and smirks when he sees your wide eyes and slightly flushed face. Giving your hands a quick and gentle squeeze, he finally lets go and reaches into his back pocket. He hands your wallet over to you and simply says, "Take a look inside."

With Floyd’s words and cryptic actions swirling and tumbling through your mind, you almost feel like bursting from curiosity and excitement. You open your wallet and in the main pocket you find a small folded piece of paper. Upon unfolding it, you see a message written in a familiar hand. Written in red ink are the words “I love you” with a tiny heart drawn in the corner of the paper.

You suddenly feel a large hand gently land on your shoulder and you look up from the message in your hands to find Floyd’s face right in front of yours. You softly gasp from surprise but with his hand on your shoulder you can’t step back. His face is so close you can almost count his eyelashes and you find yourself tracing the sloping lines of his eyes with your gaze. Looking at his odd colored eyes, one bright and one dark, you feel as if you’re simultaneously looking at the morning and evening sky. It’s a confusing yet exhilarating kind of feeling.

Floyd laughs softly and flashes you an easygoing grin. “So what do you think, Shrimpy? Did I surprise you?”

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfic #twst imagines #twst floyd #floyd leech #floyd x reader #gn!reader #fluff and romance #bun-lapin écrit

[florence-end]

The Wedding Video

Rhysand x reader

Request: Could you do one with rhys during a wedding ceremony with reader?!

Summary: You and Rhysand decide to elope while away travelling. But when you get home, you have to break the news to your family.

Warnings: just a tiny bit suggestive at the end

As Rhysand landed gracefully on the roof of the townhouse and placed you back on your feet, you turned to face him nervously.

“Do you think they’re mad?” you asked, worrying your lip between your teeth.

Rhys reached up a hand and tugged your lip free before placing a gentle kiss in the same place.

“I’m sure they’ll be suitably dramatic for a while but no doubt they’ll be very happy for us. You aren’t having regrets are you?” he teased, knowing full well that you were beyond thrilled to call the high lord your husband.

“Not yet, although I might change my mind if Azriel cries,” you joke.

“10 gold pieces says Cassian is already crying,” Rhys bet, chuckling. Before you could answer, a deep voice bellowed from an open window.

“GET INSIDE YOU TRAITORS”

“Well at least he’s not crying,” you winced as Rhys took your hand and led you inside.

You had been on your way back from visiting Helion in the Day Court when you flew over one of the beautiful temples that was home to some of the priestesses. Despite both wanting to get married as soon as possible, finding the time to plan the wedding had proven difficult and when Rhys asked if you would marry him then and there with the priestesses as your witnesses, you were thrilled.

It was only when you took to the skies once more, you realised that your family may not take the news so well. In order to give them some time to adjust, you told Rhys to speak to them mind to mind and break the news before you got home. He did as he was asked, but immediately jumped out of their minds and slammed up his shields before he could hear their responses. Cowardly Illyrian baby.

Now you were home and it was time to face the music. Mor and Cassian were pacing back and forth in the centre of the living room, Azriel was leaning against the far wall half shrouded in his shadows, and Amren sat in the comfy armchair by the fire reading a book that was almost as large as she was.

“Hi guys, we missed you!” you attempted as you both stepped into the room, looking guilty as sin.

“Hmm it seems like a lot of people are missing a lot of things today,” Cassian snarked, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Before you could muster up a response, Mor chimed in.

“How could you not invite ME? I understand excluding these brutes, they look odd in formal clothing anyway, but I could have winnowed immediately!” She ignored the chorus of ‘hey!’ that came from Cassian and Azriel.

“Cousin, brothers, we’re sorry. It wasn’t planned, we just saw the temple and I realised I couldn’t possibly wait another second without making my mate my wife.” Rhys explained. Mor, Cassian and Azriel didn’t react immediately. You glanced at Amren who winked at you over her book, letting you know they weren’t really upset.

“How about Rhys shows you everything, and then it’ll feel like you were there? And Mor, you can have full creative control of the party you are no doubt already planning,” you offered.

Cassian’s facade immediately disappeared as he nodded excitedly. “Well show us then Rhysie!”

Everyone allowed their mental shields to drop and Rhys projected his memory into all of your minds.

Rhys’ POV

Gods this is the best idea I’ve ever had. The temple is light and airy, fae lights twirl up each of the stone columns dotted throughout the chapel and the priestesses’ angelic voices fill the air. Noticing all of this is secondary to me however, as all my focus is on the magnificent being making her way towards where I stand before the altar. She’s wearing her travel clothes, her hair swept back and fastened on top of her head, her face bare. And yet I’m just as awed as I would be if she were wearing the finest gown and jewels in Prythian.

She ascends the stone steps to the altar and I remember myself enough to reach for her hands. I know without a doubt this is the happiest I have ever felt, and her smile tells me she feels the same.

The ceremony passes in a blur, the high priestess delivers a sermon on everlasting love, the choir sings, and we each repeat our vows to love one another in sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer.

It takes little prompting for me to dip my beautiful bride low and kiss her as if it’s the first and last time I’ll ever have the privilege. New whorls of ink cover my hands, matching with the fresh designs on hers. The physical proof of our promises to each other.

We thank the priestesses and accept their blessings for our union, before I sweep my new wife off her feet and fly us both home to begin our lives as husband and wife.

You saw everyone’s eyes refocus as Rhys’ memory came to an end. Mor was crying and even Azriel looked emotional, although his shadows were working hard to conceal their master’s show of vulnerability. You looked up at Rhys to find he was already watching you with soft eyes.

“Do you think they’ve forgiven us enough that I can kick them out of the house now?” He spoke into your mind, raising an eyebrow suggestively. You elbowed his ribs jokingly before you were consumed by a group hug, instigated by Mor and Cassian but eventually including Azriel and even Amren.

“We are immensely happy for you Rhysand. And we will protect and serve you both for the rest of our lives,” the tiny ancient one declared. You nodded your gratitude.

“Yeah yeah yeah, protect and serve. Now, this party-” Mor started, cheered on by Cassian’s whoops of approval.

Without waiting to hear another word, Rhys winnowed you both upstairs to your bedroom, using his power to open the front door as an unsubtle hint to your family as he whisked you away.

Backing up towards the large bed, you watched your husband stalk towards you with feline hunger on his face.

“Allow me to show you how I intend to serve you for the rest of my life, my love,” he whispered as he dropped to his knees before you.

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I may have gone out of cannon with the wedding ceremony bc fae ones probably aren’t the same as human weddings but hopefully you still like it! Thank you for requesting🥰

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand x you