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vettelsvee · 3 months ago

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THE MOMENT I KNEW | Max Verstappen

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: After a few races where he didn't get the results he expected, Max decides to go out with some friends to disconnect from everything. Unluckily, one of those days when he arrives home after having some drinks, he finds out that he missed his girlfriend's birthday as soon as he sees the cake she ordered on the trash ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe something angsty?? Like maybe bro goes out with his friends and forgets readers bday until he sees the cake in the trash can and realizes bro screwed up

WORD COUNT: 2007

WARNINGS: Curse words, mentions of being drunk, angst

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: I've absolutely loved this one my God. With this fic, we mark a total of 6196 words written this week (not counting my uni essays and other several projects), so I'm quite proud about that! Also, thank you so much for the support all this week, hope you liked all the fics! I'll be uploading this upcoming week's posts tomorrow. Let me know in the comments or on the anon inbox your thoughts on this one! See you next week :) ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

Max stumbled into your apartment, fumbling with the keys and opening the door with trembling hands, his pounding headache reminding him that it wouldn’t be this bad if he’d listened to the bartender’s advice to stop after the last gin tonic.

As soon as he stepped inside, he froze in the doorway, scanning everything as if it were his first time entering the place, even though he had been living there for nearly five years, the last two with you. He took a few unsteady steps toward the small entryway counter, where he dropped his keys and realized the silence was far heavier than he had anticipated.

His laughter, faint and fueled by the false sense of security that alcohol had provided, quickly dissipated. Taking a cautious step further into the living room, he noticed there were no lights on, no plates or leftover food on the small coffee table in front of the TV, and most strikingly, you were neither sprawled out on the couch watching one of the romantic movies you adored nor curled up asleep with one of your cats.

Despite the glaring signs, Max didn’t panic, at least not as much as he should have, even though something inside him whispered that the situation didn’t sit right.

It wasn’t until he wandered into the kitchen to get a glass of water and rounded the island that his foot stumbled slightly, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor. Puzzled, he looked down to see what had caused him to trip. His heart sank when his eyes landed on a discarded box, its lid broken as if it had been thrown to the floor, angrily, on purpose.

That’s when reality hit him like a freight train.

He turned his gaze to the left, where the trash can stood partially open. Inside, he saw an untouched cake, decorated with intricate floral designs and a message that read, “Happy Birthday, Y/N!” The sight struck him like a blow to the chest, the pressure so intense it made him want to vomit.

“No… No, it wasn’t today…”

Desperately, and trying to figure out what to do, Max ran his hands through his hair, as if that might somehow help him calm down. His breathing grew more erratic with each passing second, his eyes glued to the cake. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t understand how he had managed to forget such an important date… you, his girlfriend’s, birthday. Something so obvious had suddenly spiraled into a waking nightmare.

He noticed his phone sitting on the kitchen counter. Grabbing it quickly, he checked for any missed calls or messages from you, only to realize after several failed attempts to turn it on that it was dead. He blamed his drunkenness not only for not noticing he didn’t have his phone with him or that it was out of battery, but for forgetting such a meaningful day and breaking every promise he had made to you.

Deep down, though, he knew all the excuses were hollow. Any justification he tried to offer would be nothing but foolishness.

Setting the phone back on the counter, he decided not to waste any more time. He headed toward your bedroom. The door was ajar, and though the lights were off, he could make out your silhouette lying on the bed, your back turned to him. You gave no sign that you had noticed his arrival. The only sound in the room was your muffled, quiet sobs. As Max stepped closer, he saw you were clutching a pillow tightly, as if it were your only source of comfort.

That was the moment Max realized he couldn’t avoid facing the situation, no matter how impossible it felt to fix things right away.

“Y/N...” he said softly.

You didn’t answer, and your silence hurt more than a thousand words could have. Max knelt beside the bed, close enough to reach out, and gently began stroking your face. You didn’t resist his touch, but your indifference pierced him deeply.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he fought to hold himself together. “I swear this wasn’t my intention… I wanted to come home earlier, but Lando insisted we stay a bit longer, and then I didn’t have my phone…”

“You forgot, Max,” you interrupted, your tone sharp but laced with pain, anger, and sadness. You still wouldn’t look at him. “Goddammit, Max, you forgot my fucking birthday ever since the moment the clock struck midnight.”

Max fell silent. Once again, reality hit him square in the face, forcing him to acknowledge that anything he said would likely be inadequate. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, trying to find the words to explain himself calmly, to admit his mistakes while grappling with the weight of his guilt.

“You know it wasn’t my intention,” he began, his voice low. “It’s just… with the shitty season I’ve been having and everything that comes with it, I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just needed to step out of my comfort zone for a bit, to clear my head…”

“And you thought doing that on my birthday, after promising me a dream day, was the most appropriate choice?” you cut him off, finally raising your head. Your eyes were swollen and red from crying. “I know you’re not in a good place right now, but I also know that until now, every promise you’ve made to me, you’ve kept. You didn’t just forget about me, Max. You left me here, alone, all day, like I didn’t matter at all.”

Max searched desperately for a way to salvage the situation, to apologize, to do something, anything, to prove how deeply sorry he was. But when you turned on the light and sat up to face him, he realized he was out of options. He didn’t know how to continue without disappointing you further.

“You know this has been really hard for me…”

“Hard for you? Seriously?” you interrupted, leaning closer and pointing your finger at him. “And you think this has been easy for me? Watching you shut me out, never telling me what’s going on in that head of yours? Not to mention your fans… They’re fully convinced that your shitty season is all my fault, that our relationship is ruining your career.”

“Y/N, I know…”

That was a lie. He didn’t know. Max had ignored the comments and criticism because, deep down, he believed you weren't to blame for his performance, especially when you rarely even went with him to the races anymore.

“There’s nothing I can say to argue with you,” Max admitted. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve been a complete asshole today, and I’m truly sorry. I love you, Y/N, more than you know…”

“Are you sure you love me?” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “Do you love me, or your damn career? Because lately, it feels like your whole world revolves even more around cars, races, speed, adrenaline, and your constant need to be the best at everything.”

“Hey…” Max tried, his voice faltering.

“Every day, you show me more and more that we’re no longer a team… that I’m no longer a part of you. And I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

Your words hit him like a dagger, but he knew he deserved them.

“It’s not just about you forgetting my birthday today, Max. It’s everything. You don’t listen to me… you don’t give me anything, not even a minute of your day, let alone affection or support. Why should I stay in a relationship that, instead of giving me life, is killing me inside?”

Your words struck him like a bucket of ice water.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you asked, frustration and sadness mingling in your tone as he stayed silent. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t be afraid to show me who you are, flaws and all. But you’ve always done this, Max, keeping me at arm’s length, never letting me into your life.”

“I don’t do that, Y/N, it’s just that…” he began, summoning his courage to explain, but you cut him off once again.

“Damn it, Max, yes, of course you do!” you yelled, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you realize that even though I’ve been with you, I’ve been completely alone? Alone, Max, utterly alone! I’ve tried so many times to talk to you, to make you see that a few bad races aren’t the end of the world for someone like you, but…”

You stopped yourself abruptly, your throat aching and your head pounding. You felt no remorse for the way you were speaking to him since he deserved every word, but you couldn’t help but feel a deep sadness. Sadness for the Max Verstappen you had once known. A man who had been so proud of himself and his achievements after years of hard work, now emotionally shattered and, worse, so determined to hide it from everyone, including you.

“I can’t keep giving you everything I have while you keep taking and taking, without giving anything back.”

“I’m sorry…” Max muttered, but the words felt hollow.

“A simple ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t fix anything, Max,” you replied, your voice quieter now but no less wounded. “I wish it were just about today, but like I said, I feel like you’re pushing me further out of your life with every passing day. You’re becoming a stranger to me, Max,” you admitted, trying not to let your voice waver. “You’ve been like this for months, and I don’t know what else to do to stop us from falling apart… though it feels like that’s exactly what you want.”

“That’s not true,” he answered immediately, desperation in his voice. “Y/N, seriously, I love you more than you could ever imagine.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, tears welling up again. “Because I feel like you’re showing me the exact opposite.” Your voice trembled with the weight of her words. “Sometimes it feels like you love your career, the success you’ve achieved and the crowds chanting your name more than you love me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible. “You know I want to, but… I don’t know how to fix this anymore…”

You looked at him, your eyes searching his face for some sign, some silent promise that would make you believe things between you could change. But Max’s words only made you realize that you had to stop thinking fantasies and start facing reality.

“Maybe you can’t fix it,” you confessed, the words breaking you from the inside. “I can’t keep going like this, Max… I can’t keep feeling like I’m not enough… like I’m not good enough for you.”

“Seriously, there has to be a solution…” he pleaded, his voice full of regret. “I’ll do better from now on, I promise…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You turned to look at him, the pain evident in your expression. “Things won’t magically get better if you take me to dinner or buy me a million-dollar necklace to make up for today. That won’t fix anything, Max…”

“Y/N… Y/N, please… I need you…”

No matter how many times Max said those words, he knew that any promise he made now would be meaningless, especially considering how much he had already failed you.

Feeling that there were no more words left to say between them, you slowly got out of bed. You gathered the few belongings you had on the nightstand and, with a sense of finality, began to pack a bag, all the while feeling Max’s powerless gaze on you.

“I can’t keep waiting, Max,” you said, her voice steady despite the anguish inside. “Today, no matter how much I tried to turn a blind eye, let it go, and even put myself in your shoes… This… everything… after many tries… God, Max, all of this… That was the moment I knew.”

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edenesth · 5 months ago

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ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

Hope you enjoyed this! As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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basicbats · 2 years ago

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I have wondered why people choose specific songs that don't fully match a story for edits before but Ooh now I Get it

#How do I make this about my show #If there is two lines in there I'll do it #In my mind. Lots of respect for actual editors I love you #But also choosing to believe that the reason I have done that first part less recently is because people make excellent song choices #Also sometimes a song just has vibes I get it #You know how it's going when you're trying to figure out if and how you'd translate a certain lyric for your hypothetical edit #That you don't actually plan on making

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diseaseriddencube · 2 years ago

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😈

#akudama drive #I was talking to my mom about ordering a disk and she was all 'oh I bet it'll be all scratched up and you'll have to pay a million to return #but there's no scratches on this thing it looks to be in perfect condition #it'll take me a while to figure out how to rip it #and then assuming that works out well #I'll try and get some auto translated subs made before I upload #I'll most likely make a torrent on nyaasi #but depending on the file size (I can do a certain amount of compression if needed)#I could get a ddl made for those who can't torrent #cause I know we've got one German fan (hey Keith)#and I know that torrenting is a whole issue over there #anyways though. totk has arrived too so I'll be playing that first 😈😈😈

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just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

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Tormented Spirit | 8

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 3k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, morning sex, come marking?, cock warming) DOWN BAD!DAEMON, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: this chapter became 6k+ words so i had to split it T_T. at least that means i'll be updating relatively faster lol. i hope you enjoy since all the fluff is here HAHAHAH and if you do, please leave a comment/reblog to let me know <3 <3 <3. once again, the high valyrian is internet translated, so it might be wrong. | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching

Otto nods as he passes a group of clergy members. He makes his way down the otherwise empty temple, eyes forward as he clutches a firm figurine in his hand. He grunts as he gets down on his knees in front of a fresco of the seven pointed star.

He lights three candles in front of him, saying three different names each time. He places the figurine he brought with him beside them. Of course, it wasn't a figurine but a woolen doll. He says another name, your name, then starts this prayers.

"Father, guard my family through this trying time, my son, my daughters... my daughter," he brushes the face of the doll then closes his eyes. "Stranger, put the souls of the departed Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon to rest.

"Warrior, strengthen my daughter and spare her and her unborn child from succumbing the same fate. Mother, grant her comfort and good health through her journey to motherhood. Crone, guide her and grant her good discernment, so that she may not fear the unknown. Maiden, preserve her beauty, her light."

He opens his eyes and stares at the point that represented the Smith. He grits his teeth before sighing in defeat, "Smith, fortifier... mender... I beg," he sighs, "mend her heart. Mend her body. I beseech you. Let not my prayer fall deaf on your ears any longer."

The candlelight before him glows as he waits another day for the answer to his decade old prayer.

Meanwhile, the candles in your room have long been put out, including the one you normally keep lit by your bed. You are first to rouse today, and yet you could not rise from bed, as you were pressed beneath the body of your husband. Daemon sighed contentedly on your chest, one arm and leg draped over you. You have never slept together (or so you think) so you figured that Daemon probably moved a lot in his sleep, which is how you both ended up in this position.

You stare at the top of his head, continuing to brush through his silver hair. In truth, you did not want to rise. You wanted to stay in this peace, in this stillness. It would not last long, you knew it— you dreaded it.

Goosebumps form on your skin when you feel your husband's hand brush over your belly before hooking on to your hip. You begin to feel your heart race as you remember what your father told you the night before.

How could you tell him? How could you possibly tell Daemon that you were with child, when you knew he was so diligent in assuring you would not be? Was it even possible to carry his seed when he never finished inside you?

Against yourself, you remember the day you caught Gwayne kissing a lady behind a curtain, and how you attacked him because you thought he had gotten her pregnant. The poor girl ran away as you beat your twin, and Gwyane defended himself, saying that's not how you do it. You did not know any better, so you told him you did not believe him and nearly forced him to go to your father to announce you would be marrying the lady. He, in turn had to explain what he knew, to both your horror.

You were no fool to simply believe the words of your stupid twin, so you made it your mission to find out the truth. After sneaking books from the Citadel itself, you read many a book only to find out your twin was telling you the truth.

That was why dread rippled across your skin, for could there ever be a world where Daemon purposefully pulled out and is not angered by this news, where he does not accuse you of infidelity?

You go between worry and peace as you brush your fingers across the prince's skin. You try to convince yourself that all will be well, but each time you do, another part of your mind raises that nothing's ever been well with you. You decide then, even if just for this moment, you will pretend the calmness of your husband will remain.

But the world is cruel, for at this same moment, Daemon awakens.

He stirs with a groan, face rubbing against your sternum. The robe you had on was no longer covering your chest. Your heart races as he looks up at you, his violet eyes still sleepy, "sȳz ñāqes."

You do not understand, but you assume it means good morning, and so you say, "good morning."

Daemon sighs as he pushes himself up, removing his pants. You tense as he comes atop you and kisses your neck. He nudges your head to the side with his own and soon, he pushes your legs apart with his knees.

Your hands come to his hip bones, where you then dig your nails in, making him groan. You whimper when you feel him grind his groin into yours. He is half-hard.

"Sesīr isse ñuha ēdrugon, jaelan ao." Even in my sleep, I want you.

You whimper yet again when he begins to rock against you, digging your nails deeper into him.

"Gīda ilagon," he mutters as he fully parts your robe, repeating in common tongue, "calm down."

You are taken aback by how he pecks your lips once before kissing your neck again.

"Dreamt about fucking your pretty cunny," he mutters lowly between kisses, "wanna make it real."

His words make you ache and throb. In a way, you were comforted by the thought Daemon wanted you, even if it was just your body. You close your eyes and let yourself relax. You sigh against his ear, nuzzling into his shoulder, and brush your hand up his back. As your hands trail to his biceps, his skin breaks out with gooseflesh and a high pitched whimper leaves his lips.

"Fuuuuuuck," he whines out rather pathetically.

There is a languidness to his movements unlike you've ever experienced. His normally brash and pointed demeanor is soft and gentle, his kisses even more so. There is no sense of urgency whatsoever as he rolls his hips against you. If you didn't know any better, you would have believed that he wanted to savor the moment.

He did. He wanted to savor your body, as dreaming of it had him feeling some indistinguishable way. You would never know this though, for he would never tell you.

By the time you've become shaky and your cunt was absolutely sopping wet because of Daemon's now fully hard cock rubbing up against it, he finally pushes into you, drawing out a deep groan from your throat. You tighten your legs and arms around him and your teeth sink into his shoulder.

Daemon grips your thighs as he thrusts into you. He barely pulls out, seemingly determined to go deeper and deeper each time, wanting— needing to be pressed flush into you. His hands sneak beneath you, fingers raking up your shoulder blades to your nape before tangling into your brown hair. He breathes heavily against your ear as your bodies grow hotter and hotter.

You both remain in this snug position, doing this constricted dance until your bellies begin to burn. He doesn't speed up at all or pull out any more than he already has. You feel your body begin to tense and your climax begin to build, and then, just then, a spirit overcomes Daemon.

The next moment, he has his hand on your jaw, forcing your head back. Just as you reach your peak, he pulls out and thrusts his wet cock on your slick folds, once, twice, until his hard member is soft and twitching. His load shoots out up to your chest and sputters down on your belly, garnering a surprised gasp from you. It's hot and viscous against your skin and you wonder what it would have felt like had he released in you. There's so much of it too.

"Fuck, fuck, fu-" Daemon repeats, thinking the exact same thing you were.

You expect him to roll over, because there is no way he wouldn't after soiling you, but you gasp yet again as he comes crashing down on you, skin sticking with a squelch.

He is arrested by your warmth and wants nothing but to plunge into you again. So, in his greed, he grabs his still twitching cock and pushes it into you, releasing a long and throaty groan as he does so. It makes you tremble and whimper his name. You were not expecting the intrusion, so you brush your cheek against his, hoping he understands to give you a moment of repose before going again.

After a while, though you still felt tender from your orgasm, you brush your cheek against him once more, signaling you were ready for him again.

He does the strangest thing however, and simply brushes his cheek back. He pulls his head back, looking down at you, "litse riña." Pretty girl.

You notice the softness of his violet eyes and knit your brows at it. He is so overwhelming you cannot help but kiss him. There was still remnants of morning breath in your mouths, but neither of you cared.

Daemon is loathe to have you pull away. He leans into your touch as you brush his unruly hair back. You slowly shake your head, "I do not understand, my prince."

"iksā sīr rāpa se bāne," you are so soft and warm. He brushes your noses together, "ñuha ābrazȳrys," my wife.

A line forms between your brows at the foreign tongue. You wait for him to translate as he brings his hand to your cheek. He stares at you for a long moment, thumb brushing your skin.

He makes no attempt to decode the High Valyrian for you, and soon, a knock comes upon your door.

Daemon is instantly irritated as he glares over his shoulder, muttering, "who the fuck is that?"

"My servants. I-"

Before you could even finish, your two servant girls are waking in, and Daemon watches them as they head for your bathroom, horribly and painfully unaware of him. He waits for them to reemerge, and the moment they do, he is instantly screaming, "FUCK OFF, CUNTS! THE DOOR'S CLOSED FOR A REASON."

You hear their gasps, squeals, and apologies before scurrying off, slamming the door behind them as they did.

Instantly, yet again, Daemon relaxes and nuzzles against your neck.

"D-Daemon," you whisper, sinking your fingers into his long hair, "they normally wake me up at-"

"I don't give a fuck," he quips, tightening his hold on you, "they'll know better now."

You clench your jaw and sigh, making mental note to apologize to your girls for the prince's actions.

You begin to doze off, as does Daemon in all his gluttonous glory. The two of you stay in bed until lunch time, which is far longer than you've ever personally stayed.

Arryk, who had been stationed outside your door for a while now, is concerned by this. He raps at the entrance to your room and calls your name. When he receives no response, he peaks inside and inspects the stillness of it all. Unnerved by the idea you were sleeping in, he thinks the worse and walks in, calling your name again. His breath is forced down his throat when he sees the flash of white hair on the bed. He sees a hand rub down a toned back and he immediately reels back, quiet and as quick as he possibly can.

You wake the second time because of the growling of your stomach. It is loud and painful, so much so, it wakes your husband.

He groans, brushing his nose against you, "hungry?"

You huff, craning your neck to look at him, finding his closed eyes, "clearly, I'm starving."

A rich chuckle rumbles from his chest. He opens his eyes and they twinkle with mischief, "I could feed you something meaty."

Your face contorts, "I do not think you'd want me to bite your cock, my prince."

Daemon laughs, hard enough to fully awaken him. He wheezes, and rolls of your chest, "I did-" sigh, "not say it was-" wheeze, "my cock."

You hum, "oh, of course not. Apologies."

Your sarcasm only maddens him further into amusement.

You take this as a chance to wriggle away from him, and so you do. The semen still on your skin is tepid and pasty as it smears against your chests. Your robe is completely lose as you come to a stand. You decide not to dirty your garment with Daemon's seed by covering yourself, so you head for the bathroom with your robe open.

You gasp at the swiftness of how your are grabbed and pulled back. Your body collides into Daemon's chest. Your care for your satin robe if for naught, because it sticks on his come anyway. Daemon's is hypnotized by your scent. He is quick to brush your hair over shoulder and mumble against your nape, "you wound me with your eagerness to flee me, wife."

His hands come to squeeze your breasts and you whimper as you turn to him. You knit your brows and pout, "that is not true."

"No?" he says a little louder than he ought as his emotions slightly get ahead of him, "are you not running from me this moment?"

You frown and fully face him, having to peel your robe off his chest as you do, "I'm simply going to bathe." You stare at his chest, "you've made a mess of me."

Daemon tilts his head, "not nearly enough, in my opinion."

You find the self-satisfied grin on his face, "you should too bathe with me."

"Mmm, well then," he takes your hand, "bathe we shall."

The water that your servants had brought was now cold, but you both made do with what you had. Daemon is simultaneously unsurprised and taken aback by how you tend to him first, he does not know why. You've bathed him once before, and yet it somehow feels different. You scrub his chest with cloth and inspire him to do the same for you. You lean into his touch as he washes you off, and it makes his stomach roll.

He takes a good look at you, your skin, the marks he left on it, your nose, your knees, your hair, everything, and he cannot believe something so... so immaculate, so resplendent could be borne from a man so detestable.

"You are not your father's daughter," he says so casually.

You look up at him, freezing because of his random sentiment.

"You are the gods promise to me. A woman made to sate my fire."

Your brows knit at his words. You tilt your head and it makes him nearly goes mad. How darling you ask, "I sate your fire?"

He hums and pulls you into him, kissing your arm as he did, "stoke, perhaps, is truer."

Your breath hitches when he brings you to his lap. He sighs as he feels your flesh against his, it wont be long until he's hard all over again. He licks a stripe up your left breast, "I am, in fact, insatiable."

Your heart races and he peppers kisses up your neck. You lean your forehead against his after kissing your lips. You whisper in earnest, "I will try."

Daemon pulls back, hands coming to your neck as he looks at you.

"I will try to sate you."

Fuck. The thought should have made him laugh, but it doesn't. It makes him burn. He cannot say anything, for his mouth seeks yours. He kisses your lips and you two sequentially spend another hour or so turning the water warm as it splashes all over the floor.

You're antsy and eager to feast by the end of it all.

You help each other get dressed, and Daemon finds the way you hastily button his doublet ever-so-endearing. When it's his turn to help, he shushes you and rubs your shoulders before securing your corset from behind, "your food will not fly off the window."

You rub your aching stomach, "I pray it flies into my mouth soon."

He snickers as he finishes tying your laces.

You quickly run towards the vanity and hastily begin to brush your still damp hair.

He watches you bounce your leg and the faintest of smiles graces his lips. He watches your chest begin to rise and fall rather quickly, and soon his brows furrow. He walks up behind you, "aeritta run." Restless thing.

He takes your hand and your jaw, but it is unlike most times he does so. His touch is gentle. He does not force you to hand your brush or look forward, but you do. You look at each other from the mirror; your chest continues to heave.

"Paez ilagon," Daemon enunciates, "say it for me, won't you?"

Your brows furrow in slight confusion. You release a breath, "pez ilegon."

"Paez," he corrects.

"Paez."

"Good," he nods, "ilagon."

"Il... Ilagon."

"Rōvēgrior," Daemon leans in and mumbles against your temple, "excellent. Now..." he kisses your temple, "once more: paez ilagon."

You take a breath, doing your best to mimic his accent, "pa...ez i- ... lagon."

"Arlī," again, he motions with his pointer, "speak confidently."

"Daemon."

"You can do it," he tilts his head at your reflection, "paez ilagon."

You sigh and nod your head, "paez ilagon."

His violet eyes twinkle, "rōvēgrior," excellent, he claps his hands, "spoken like a true Valyrian."

You turn to him, breath hitching at the sight of his smile, "wha-"

Daemon takes your face and makes you turn forward.

You look at his reflection and grip your skirt, fearing you'd upset him. But then he begins to style your hair and butterflies overcome your belly. You try to ignore the thump of your heart by clearing your throat, "what d-does it mean?"

"Paez ilagon is slow down."

"Ahhh," your jaw drops in slight embarrassment, "I see."

Daemon points, "hand me your pin."

You get the hair pin on the vanity and hand it over, "and the other one?"

"Hmm?"

"Ro... roz- rovevegregor."

Daemon tilts his head as he chuckles through his nostrils, a soft smile remaining on his face as he finishes securing your hair in a similar manner he does himself.

You witness all of this and your heart skips a beat.

"Rōvēgrior," he repeats, "try to roll your tongue."

"..."

"Go on."

"RRRRozeofoieve-"

He laughs and takes a hair tie from the table. He quickly does his own hair then takes you by the hand. He ushers you to the door as he continues to chuckle, "we should get you something to eat. You sound ill."

You are hypnotized by his melodic laugh. You don't dare interrupt it, so you whisper under your breath, mostly to yourself, "but what does it mean?"

"Excellent," he says, hearing your whisper. He opens the door for you, "it means excellent, gevie."

You do not notice Arryk as you exit your chambers, "but what about that?"

Daemon does not notice him either, "what?"

"Ge- gevie?"

"Gevie?" he repeats.

You nod.

Arryk bows and greets you, "princess."

You turn to him as he bows again, "my prince."

Daemon does not spare him a glance. Beautiful, it meant, but he instead tells you, "it is a secret."

You do not respond to Daemon, but he does not mind. He is fully content to stare at you. You smile at your ward, taking a second to guess who it is, "good morn, ser. Are you... Erryk?"

Arryk examines you, finally breathing a sigh of relief to know you are unharmed. He is also glad to see you are not dressed in attire that... exposes the good works of your husband. In the same second, he notices your said husband, and how keenly is gaze is set upon your beaming form. He clenches his jaw, "nay, your grace. Neither am I my brother, nor is it morning."

"Oh," you purse your lips, "my apologies, dear Arryk."

Daemon quickly pulled out of his haze, raising a brow at dear Arryk, "you may go."

Arryk turns to him.

"I will keep my wife company today," he says, wasting no more time in idle chatter, taking you by the hand.

You both walk off and you offer Arryk a smile and nod in regard.

Arryk clenches his jaw but forces himself to smile back at you. He is uneasy by the prospect, knowing how fickle and volatile Daemon can become regarding you. He stares at your joined hands as you walk away, deciding to trust the prince for your sake.

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst #daemon #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon

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