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elikajinnie · 2 months ago

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Hate Is A Strong Word - N.R

P: Slytherin!Ni-ki X fem!reader

Synopsis: You never imagined that the picture perfect Slytherin would like you

Warnings?: Fluff, Misunderstandings, bullying (not from N-ki). Insecurities.

a/n: So this is the start of my Hogwarts au for each of the members. Ni-ki is the first one out! :D The next one will be Jake!

masterlist

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As the heavy oak doors of the Transfiguration classroom creaked open, you walked in alongside your friend Leeseo. The room, illuminated by large arched windows that allowed beams of sunlight to dance across the stone floor, was already buzzing with the chatter of students.

Leeseo nudged you gently, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I heard today’s lesson is going to be something really challenging,” she whispered, her excitement barely contained. You nodded, sharing her eagerness. Transfiguration was one of the most fascinating subjects at Hogwarts, and Professor McGonagall’s classes were always a blend of rigorous discipline and awe-inspiring magic.

As you took your seats, you glanced toward the front of the classroom. There, standing tall and composed by the blackboard, was Professor McGonagall. Her stern yet kind eyes surveyed the room, ensuring everyone was settled. With her wand in hand, she exuded an air of authority and wisdom, her emerald robes flowing gracefully around her.

The murmurs gradually subsided as McGonagall stepped forward, her presence commanding your attention. “Good morning, class,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “Today, we will be advancing to human transfiguration, a complex and delicate branch of magic that requires utmost precision and concentration.”

The mention of human transfiguration sent a ripple of excitement and nervousness through the room. You exchanged a quick, thrilled glance with Leeseo. This was the kind of magic that defined wizardry, the intricate spells that transformed the very essence of matter.

Professor McGonagall flicked her wand, and the blackboard behind her filled with neat, precise instructions and diagrams. “Now, before we begin, I must remind you of the importance of practice and control. Improper transfiguration can have… unintended consequences.” Her eyes swept the room, emphasizing the seriousness of her words.

With a final nod of understanding, you prepared your wand and opened your textbook to the designated chapter.

After Transfiguration, your day continued with a series of classes, each filled with the usual hustle and bustle of student life at Hogwarts. Charms was lively as always, with Professor Flitwick’s enthusiastic instruction keeping everyone engaged. Herbology followed, where you worked in the greenhouse, learning about magical plants and their properties.

As the day wore on, you eventually made your way to the dungeon for Potions class. The air grew cooler and the corridors darker as you descended, the flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. You and Leeseo entered the dimly lit classroom, settling into your usual seats near the middle. Around you, your classmates were chatting in low tones, the anticipation palpable.

The door swung open with a dramatic flair, and Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him. The room fell silent instantly, every student turning their attention to the formidable Potions Master. Snape’s presence commanded a certain respect—or perhaps fear—that was undeniable.

“Today,” Snape began, his voice a silky drawl that carried a hint of menace, “you will brew a Veritaserum.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the class. “A truth potion, which when correctly brewed, will compel the drinker to reveal their innermost secrets.”

He moved to the front of the classroom, where a cauldron was already simmering. With precise, deliberate movements, he began demonstrating the brewing process, adding ingredients with a practiced ease. His every action was fluid, almost mesmerizing, and you found yourself taking meticulous notes, your eyes darting between the instructions in the textbook and Snape’s methodical demonstration.

“Take care to follow the instructions exactly,” Snape intoned, his dark eyes sweeping the room. “Any deviation could render the potion useless… or worse.”

He finished his demonstration and stepped back, crossing his arms. “I have set up each of you with a partner, so I expect you all to work together,” he announced. The room buzzed with curiosity as you waited for your name to be called.

One by one, Snape called out the pairings. Leeseo was partnered with a Gryffindor student, and soon your name came up. “You will be working with Nishimura Ni-ki,” Snape declared.

You glanced over at Ni-ki, a Slytherin student known for his cunning nature and sharp intellect. Your eyes met briefly before he stood up and walked toward you, his expression neutral. He took the seat beside you, and for a moment, you simply looked at each other, assessing.

“Shall I cut and you brew?” Ni-ki asked, his voice calm and steady.

You nodded in agreement. “That sounds good.”

With a silent understanding, you both began your task. Ni-ki’s hands moved deftly, slicing ingredients with precision and efficiency, while you focused on the careful process of brewing, ensuring each step was followed meticulously. Though you didn’t converse much, there was an unspoken coordination between you, a shared goal that drove your efforts.

The potion started to take shape, its color gradually shifting as you added each ingredient in turn. Ni-ki’s sharp observations and quick corrections were invaluable, and you found yourself appreciating his expertise despite your limited interactions.

As the final stages approached, the potion glowed a soft, silvery hue, indicating you were on the right track. Snape prowled the classroom, occasionally stopping to observe or comment on various pairs’ progress. When he reached your desk, he paused, scrutinizing your work with his usual critical eye.

“Acceptable,” he murmured, giving a slight nod before moving on. It was high praise coming from Snape, and you felt a sense of accomplishment.

After you and Ni-ki finished brewing the Veritaserum, you let out a quiet sigh of relief and settled back into your seat. The potion simmered gently, its translucent glow a sign of your successful collaboration. With the class winding down, you pulled out your notebook and began doodling absentmindedly, your mind drifting.

Ni-ki, meanwhile, was meticulously sorting out the remaining ingredients. You stole a quick glance at him, curiosity getting the better of you. His recently dyed light hair hung in front of his eyes, accentuating his piercing stare. Despite his cold demeanor, there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that seemed to see right through people. His robes fit him perfectly, the black fabric contrasting sharply with his pale complexion. The Slytherin badge, neatly stitched into his robes, was complemented by the prefect badge pinned just beside it, a testament to his standing and discipline.

You had to admit, even if only to yourself, that Ni-ki looked good. There was something striking about him, an aura that was hard to ignore. But you would never voice this thought out loud. You admired him quietly, keeping your appreciation to yourself. Despite his coldness, he wasn’t like some of his fellow Slytherins who resorted to bullying and teasing. No, his crime was different—he was aloof, detached, and seemingly emotionless. He was an enigma, always keeping to himself and his close-knit group of peers.

As you doodled, you found your thoughts wandering. What was Ni-ki hiding behind that expressionless face? What would it be like to see him smile, to see his features soften with joy? Did he ever feel sadness, and if so, did he let himself cry? These questions swirled in your mind, each one deepening the mystery that was Ni-ki.

Before you could ponder further, the sound of chairs scraping against the stone floor signaled the end of class. Snape’s curt dismissal barely registered as you blinked, realizing how lost in thought you had become. You looked up to find that Ni-ki had already stood up and left, leaving behind a spotless workstation. The ingredients were neatly put away, the table wiped clean. In your daydreaming, you hadn’t even noticed him tidying up.

As you left the Potions classroom, the dark and cool dungeons faded behind you, but your thoughts lingered on Ni-ki. You shook your head, trying to clear the lingering questions that kept popping up about him. It wasn’t like you cared—he was distant and cold. But the fact that he cleaned up without saying a word or asking for acknowledgment—it was almost… considerate. Strange for someone like him.

You walked down the stone corridor, heading toward the next class with Leeseo catching up to you. “How was it working with Ni-ki?” she asked, her voice light and curious.

You shrugged, keeping your expression neutral. “He’s efficient. Doesn’t talk much.”

Leeseo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Efficient? That’s not the word I expected you to use.” She grinned playfully, nudging you. “You didn’t bicker, did you?”

You rolled your eyes. “We didn’t even speak much, to be honest. He just… does his part and leaves. Not much else to say.”

“Classic Ni-ki,” she mused, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “Still, it’s kind of impressive that you got to work with him. He’s got a reputation, you know.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.” You kept your voice light, trying not to dwell on the fact that you had spent the better part of Potions class analyzing the guy instead of just brewing the potion. “It’s just one class though. Nothing special.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t help but wonder why he kept himself so closed off. There was a quiet confidence about him, yes, but also a wall that he didn’t seem to let anyone through. It made him mysterious, sure, but also frustrating. What was he hiding? Or was it just his nature, plain and simple?

Leeseo and you reached the courtyard, the cool autumn air refreshing after the confined dungeon. You tilted your head up, letting the breeze rustle through your hair, trying to shake off the distraction that Ni-ki had become in your thoughts.

“Well, he’s not bad-looking,” Leeseo added with a grin, catching you completely off guard.

You nearly choked on air, throwing her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

She laughed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come on, you can’t deny it. He’s got that whole mysterious, brooding Slytherin thing going on. You’d be blind not to notice.”

You groaned, tugging your scarf tighter around your neck as you continued walking. “I don’t need any more distractions, thanks. We have enough on our plate with the upcoming exams and essays.” You tried to steer the conversation away, not wanting to admit that, yes, Ni-ki was ridiculously good-looking. Admiring him from afar was one thing, but beyond that? Absolutely not.

Leeseo just smiled knowingly, but thankfully, she let the topic drop as you made your way to the next class. Still, as the day went on, Ni-ki’s expressionless face, his precise movements, and the way his hair fell over his eyes refused to leave the corners of your mind.

You sighed to yourself. This was going to be harder to ignore than you thought.

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It all really started one afternoon at the library when you were tucked away at your usual table near the back, surrounded by textbooks and parchment. You were completely immersed in your reading when you noticed a shadow fall across the table.

Looking up, you saw him—Nishimura Ni-ki.

Without a word, he pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. No greeting, no explanation, just the soft sound of him placing his books on the table. He didn’t meet your eyes, didn’t acknowledge your surprised expression. Instead, he opened his own textbook and began reading, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for him to sit there.

You blinked, taken aback. For a moment, you considered asking him what he was doing. After all, it wasn’t as if the library was short on tables, and Ni-ki wasn’t exactly known for being social with anyone outside of his Slytherin circle. But instead, you tried to focus on your work, convincing yourself that he’d leave soon enough.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, flipping through pages, scribbling notes in his neat, precise handwriting. He didn’t speak, didn’t look at you—just sat there, quietly doing his own work. You couldn’t help but steal a few glances at him, confused by his presence. Why was he here, sitting with you, of all people?

After what felt like an eternity, you couldn’t hold back any longer. "What are you doing?" you asked, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing Madam Pince’s ire.

He didn’t look up from his book. "Studying," he replied, his tone clipped and direct.

You raised an eyebrow. "I can see that. But why here?"

For the first time, he looked up, meeting your eyes with that same unreadable expression he always wore. "Is there a problem?" he asked calmly, his voice steady.

You hesitated. He wasn’t being rude, exactly, but the way he spoke made it clear he didn’t think he needed to explain himself. You shook your head, deciding it wasn’t worth pushing further. "No," you muttered, turning back to your own notes.

And so the pattern began.

Each time you came to the library, Ni-ki would show up not long after. Sometimes he arrived before you, already seated at the same table, as if claiming it before you could. Other times, he’d stroll in after you’d settled down, take his seat across from you, and dive into his work. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were always short, almost dismissive. It wasn’t that he was unkind—just distant, like there was no need for conversation.

"Why do you keep sitting here?" you asked one day, after he’d settled into the chair across from you for what felt like the hundredth time.

He didn’t even look up. "It’s quiet," he answered simply, continuing to write in his notebook.

You frowned, not satisfied with the answer. "There are other tables. You could sit anywhere else."

"True." He glanced up briefly, his eyes meeting yours before flicking back to his book. "But I’m sitting here."

That was all he said. No further explanation, no invitation for more questions. Just a simple, matter-of-fact statement that left you feeling more confused than before.

It wasn’t like he was helping you with your work, either. He didn’t offer advice, didn’t join in on any discussions about the material you were studying. He was just… there. A quiet presence that made you hyper-aware of his every movement, even though he barely acknowledged you. It was unnerving at first, but over time, you began to expect it—Ni-ki would be there, silently doing his own thing while you tried to focus on yours.

There were moments when you found yourself glancing at him more than you should have. His hair, still that light shade, would occasionally fall in front of his eyes, and he’d push it back with a practiced motion. His fingers moved with such precision as he wrote, and his posture was always so composed, like he never let himself relax fully.

And yet, despite the quiet, there was something oddly comforting about his presence. It was strange to admit, but in the silence of the library, having him across from you became… familiar. Predictable, even.

Still, the lack of interaction left you with more questions than answers. Why sit with you every time if he had no intention of talking? What was he gaining from it? Was it simply convenience, or was there something else going on that you couldn’t see?

One afternoon, after another long stretch of silent studying, you finally broke the quiet. "You don’t have to sit here, you know."

He paused, his quill hovering over the parchment. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words. "I know," he said quietly, his voice softer than usual. "But I am."

And with that, he went back to his work, leaving you with nothing but the steady scratch of his quill and the growing confusion swirling in your mind.

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As the weeks passed, Ni-ki’s quiet presence at your table in the library became something you began to anticipate. It was no longer surprising when he pulled out the chair across from you, settling in without a word. At first, it had unnerved you—the silent way he occupied the space, his sharp focus on his own work, and the fact that, outside these moments, he didn’t acknowledge you at all. But now, somehow, you didn’t mind it.

In fact, you found yourself looking forward to it. His quiet company had a strange, calming effect, as if the library wasn’t truly complete without him sitting across from you. You had started to expect him there, so much so that on the rare occasions when he wasn’t, you couldn’t help but feel a little off-kilter, like something was missing from the day.

It wasn’t that the two of you had grown closer, at least not in the usual sense. He never spoke unless you asked him a direct question, and even then, his answers were brief and to the point. He offered no opinions, no conversation starters—just an occasional glance in your direction, sometimes a quiet nod. And yet, you had grown accustomed to the silence between you, a silence that felt oddly comfortable.

But the strange thing was, beyond these quiet library sessions, it was as if Ni-ki didn’t know you at all.

In classes, he barely looked your way. If he did speak to you, it was only because the lesson demanded it—when he was your partner for a potion, or during group work in Transfiguration. His responses were always curt, efficient, like he was checking off a box before returning to his own tasks. You would pass each other in the corridors, or see him in the Great Hall, always surrounded by his Slytherin friends, and it was like you didn’t exist. Not a glance, not a nod, nothing to suggest he even knew you.

It puzzled you to no end. You weren’t sure if it bothered you or just left you more curious. Why go out of his way to sit with you in the library if he had no interest in interacting with you elsewhere? It wasn’t like he needed help with his studies—Ni-ki was brilliant in his own right. And it wasn’t like you were friends, either. In fact, you had hardly spoken more than a handful of sentences to each other since you first started sharing a table.

You found yourself wondering more and more why he bothered. Why, out of all the places in Hogwarts, did he always choose the spot across from you? Why did he sit with you, week after week, without saying much of anything, only to act as if you didn’t exist the moment you left the library?

But you didn’t dare ask him. For one thing, Ni-ki was rarely alone. He was almost always surrounded by his Slytherin friends—usually fellow prefects or others from his house, most of whom carried an air of superiority that reminded you why you kept your distance from most of them. There was never a convenient moment to pull him aside, and even if there were, you couldn’t imagine what you’d say.

And then there was the other part of you, the part that didn’t exactly want to know the answer. What if it was something you didn’t want to hear? What if the reason was as simple as convenience, or worse—what if there was no reason at all? What if, to him, you were just a tablemate, nothing more?

You’d often catch yourself glancing over at him during Potions or in the Great Hall, trying to make sense of him. His friends would be laughing or talking among themselves, and there Ni-ki would be, sitting quietly, his expression unreadable, completely detached from whatever conversation was happening around him. You wondered if he was the same with them—distant, aloof, only speaking when necessary.

Sometimes you’d catch his eye, and for the briefest moment, you thought you saw something—maybe recognition, maybe nothing at all. But then, he’d look away, and the moment would pass as quickly as it came.

It became a kind of ritual—this quiet routine in the library, these fleeting moments of wondering. You couldn’t deny the growing curiosity, though. Why did he choose you, out of everyone he could have sat with? And why did it seem like he was perfectly fine with just… existing alongside you, never crossing the invisible line that separated the two of you?

You wished you had the courage to ask him. But each time you considered it, you reminded yourself of who he was—Nishimura Ni-ki, Slytherin prefect, sharp-tongued and unreadable. He wasn’t someone you could just ask a simple, casual question and expect an answer that wouldn’t make you regret it.

And besides, maybe it was better this way—better to leave the mystery unsolved than to shatter the quiet routine you had somehow built with him.

Even your friends began to notice. Leeseo had raised her eyebrows the first time she saw Ni-ki sitting with you in the library, but she hadn’t said anything beyond the occasional teasing. “Your silent study buddy’s here again,” she’d say with a wink when she caught him at the table. “You two make quite the pair.”

You always brushed it off, rolling your eyes at her remarks. But deep down, a part of you wondered if she saw something you were missing. Was there more to Ni-ki’s presence than what you had convinced yourself to believe?

It was during one of those quiet afternoons, with parchment spread across the table and the soft scratch of your quill filling the silence, that you found yourself thinking about it more than usual. Why, out of all the students at Hogwarts, did he choose to sit with you? Surely, he had plenty of friends or places he could have gone. And more importantly, why did he never talk to you outside of the library?

Your eyes flicked up to Ni-ki, who was seated across from you as usual, engrossed in a large, ancient-looking tome. His light hair fell over his forehead, slightly tousled from the breeze outside. He looked calm, composed, and completely at ease, as if this had been his routine for years.

A question hovered on the tip of your tongue, one you had been pushing aside for weeks now. But before you could find the courage to ask, Ni-ki suddenly closed his book with a soft thud. You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and he stood up, gathering his things with that same quiet precision.

He looked at you, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours. For a second, you thought he might say something, but instead, he gave a slight nod—his usual, silent goodbye. Without a word, he turned and left the library, his footsteps soft against the stone floor.

You watched him go, feeling that familiar, quiet emptiness settle in his absence.

What you didn’t know was that, in Ni-ki’s mind, a storm was brewing. A quiet turmoil, hidden beneath his calm exterior, had begun to take shape, and it was all because of you. He had always prided himself on his ability to maintain focus, to keep his thoughts clear and his goals straightforward. But lately, you had become an unexpected variable in his otherwise predictable life.

At first, he had taken little notice of you. You were just another student, one among many who populated Hogwarts. But then, slowly but surely, that indifference had shifted to something else—curiosity. He began to notice the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you studied, the way your lips would curve into a small smile when you finally grasped a particularly tricky concept. There was something intriguing about your determination, something that pulled at the edges of his awareness.

As he continued to share those quiet moments in the library with you, he found himself observing you more intently. He noticed the small things: how you tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, how your expressions shifted subtly as you worked through problems. You were a puzzle he hadn’t expected to encounter, and with each encounter, the mystery deepened.

But it didn’t stop there. What began as a mild curiosity morphed into confusion. Ni-ki couldn’t quite articulate it, but there was something compelling about you—something that made you linger in his thoughts long after he had left the library. Why did your laughter echo in his mind? Why did he find himself glancing in your direction during meals, seeking you out in the crowded Great Hall, even when he was surrounded by his friends?

It was disconcerting, to say the least. He was known for his stoic demeanor, for being the type of person who kept his emotions in check. Yet, here he was, caught in an unyielding tide of thoughts about someone he had initially dismissed. It was frustrating, and a little alarming. He was supposed to be focused on his studies, on his role as a prefect, on maintaining the reputation he had carefully crafted. So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that there was something deeper to explore with you?

Every time you caught his gaze across the Great Hall or shared a fleeting moment in the library, the storm would build inside him—curiosity colliding with confusion, a need to understand you battling against the fear of opening up. What if you didn’t feel the same? What if this was all one-sided, and he was just a distant presence in your life? The idea sent a jolt of uncertainty through him.

Ni-ki’s friends began to notice his distraction. They would tease him about how often he seemed to lose focus, how he would sometimes pause mid-conversation, his eyes drifting off to the side as if searching for something—or someone. But he brushed their remarks aside, masking his inner conflict with indifference.

He found himself wrestling with a mounting desire to approach you, to understand the enigma you represented. But every time he would gather the courage to break that silence, to say something more than the necessary exchanges during class, he hesitated. The distance between you felt both comforting and suffocating.

It was a confusing dichotomy, and Ni-ki was left to navigate his own feelings in silence, unsure of where this newfound intrigue would lead him. All he knew was that every time he sat in front of you in the library, the storm inside him would shift—pushing him closer to the edge of wanting to reach out, even as fear held him back.

He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know why he kept coming back, why he couldn’t stay away, even though he knew that sitting there, in silence, only made things more complicated.

But he couldn’t stop. And he didn’t want to. He just needed to figure out how.

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It started gradually, almost imperceptibly. The silence between you and Ni-ki began to shift, not in any overt way but in small moments that made it feel… less heavy. The library sessions continued as they always had, with Ni-ki sitting across from you, his head bent over his books, while you quietly worked on your own assignments. But there were times now when you found yourself speaking.

It started off with casual remarks. Maybe it was the stress of exams or the overwhelming workload that had you venting aloud, but Ni-ki never seemed bothered by it. He didn’t offer much in return—just a short nod or a quiet hum of acknowledgment—but he listened.

One evening, after a particularly difficult day, you couldn’t hold back anymore. "I just don’t get it," you muttered, staring at your Transfiguration textbook in frustration. "No matter how much I study, I can’t seem to get this right. And McGonagall keeps assigning more complex material like it’s nothing."

Ni-ki looked up, his eyes flicking to the page you were stuck on before settling back on your frustrated expression. He didn’t say anything, just kept watching you with that same quiet intensity you had grown used to.

"And," you continued, feeling a strange comfort in speaking your thoughts aloud to him, "there’s this Slytherin who won’t stop picking on me. Every time I pass by them, it’s like they have to make some snide comment or knock my bag off my shoulder. It’s ridiculous." You sighed, shaking your head. "But I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes."

Ni-ki’s eyes darkened slightly at your words, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. You didn’t expect a response; you were just letting off steam. Somehow, Ni-ki’s silent presence always made it easier to say the things that were weighing on you. You could talk to him without fear of judgment or interruption. He just listened, and that was enough.

The next day, something changed. The Slytherin student who had made it their mission to irritate you suddenly stopped. They no longer sneered at you in the halls, no longer made rude remarks or tried to provoke you. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid you altogether. You didn’t understand why, but you weren’t about to complain.

And then, there was the folder. It appeared during one of your classes, a neatly organized folder filled with notes on every subject you had been struggling with. The handwriting was unmistakable—precise, clean, and undeniably Ni-ki’s. The notes were thorough, covering all the topics you had mentioned having trouble with. It was as if he had gone out of his way to compile everything you needed to help you catch up.

You didn’t know how to react at first. Gratitude and surprise warred within you as you thumbed through the pages, recognizing the meticulous effort that had gone into writing them. Ni-ki hadn’t said a word about it, hadn’t even hinted that he was going to help you like this. He had just quietly, and without fanfare, made sure you had everything you needed.

The next time you saw him in the library, you didn’t hesitate to thank him.

"Ni-ki," you began softly, looking up from your books to meet his gaze. His head lifted slightly, acknowledging that he was listening. "Thank you—for the notes." Your voice was sincere, full of the appreciation you felt. "I really didn’t expect it, but it helped a lot."

He didn’t say anything in return. He just nodded once, his face remaining as impassive as ever, as if this grand gesture was nothing out of the ordinary. For Ni-ki, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe that was just how he operated—helping silently, without drawing attention to it, without expecting anything in return.

But for you, it meant something. A lot, actually. It was a reminder that beneath Ni-ki’s cold exterior, there was more to him than he let on. His actions spoke louder than any words could, and though he kept his distance in almost every other part of your life, in these quiet moments, he was closer than anyone.

And so, you didn’t ask what had happened with the Slytherin who had suddenly stopped bothering you. You didn’t ask why Ni-ki had gone through the trouble of writing those notes for you or why he had stayed by your side all this time in the library. Because somehow, you knew. This was just Ni-ki’s way—silent, unspoken care hidden behind his cool exterior.

And that was enough for now.

One evening, during one of your usual study sessions in the library, you were stuck. The upcoming exam loomed over you, and no matter how many times you read the same question, the answer refused to reveal itself. You sat there in silence, frustration building as you stared blankly at the page in front of you.

The library was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of parchment and soft footsteps in the distance. Ni-ki sat across from you, as usual, his head bent over his own work. The silence between you two was comfortable by now, and you didn’t expect it to be broken anytime soon. You sighed, trying to push through the mental block that had settled over you.

Then, you heard movement—a soft rustling. Glancing up, you saw Ni-ki standing. For a moment, you thought he was leaving, and disappointment bloomed unexpectedly in your chest. You looked back down, resigned to continuing your struggle alone, but then something surprising happened.

You felt the faint shift of air and the quiet creak of the wooden bench, startled, you turned your head and found him sitting right next to you. His presence was closer than it had ever been during these sessions, and it made your heart race for reasons you didn’t entirely understand.

"Where are you stuck?" Ni-ki asked, his voice soft but clear. There was no trace of his usual distance, just a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

Blinking, still mildly in shock from the sudden change in his behavior, you pointed at the question that had been giving you trouble. You half-expected him to glance at it, make some passing comment, and return to his seat. But instead, Ni-ki leaned in slightly, examining the material with a focused expression.

He began speaking, his voice calm and smooth as he explained the concept in clear, concise terms. There was a quiet assurance in the way he spoke, his words precise and easy to follow. He wasn’t just repeating the textbook either—he was breaking it down in a way that made it understandable, relatable even. You listened closely, hanging onto each word, and slowly, like fog lifting from your mind, the confusion began to clear.

With each sentence Ni-ki uttered, the material started to make sense. What had seemed impossible moments before was now manageable, the concepts clicking together as he guided you through the steps. His voice had a soothing quality to it, calm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to sit with you and explain.

You found yourself glancing at him occasionally, taking in the way his eyes stayed fixed on the book, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration as he worked through the material with you. There was something unexpectedly gentle about the way he spoke, something that contrasted with the cold, distant persona he usually kept up. And in this moment, sitting side by side in the dim light of the library, it was hard to remember why you had ever thought of him as distant at all.

When he finished explaining, you stared at the page for a moment, absorbing the new understanding. It felt like a weight had lifted, and for the first time in hours, you felt a surge of confidence that maybe—just maybe—you could actually manage this exam.

"Does that make sense now?" Ni-ki asked, his voice still soft.

You nodded, almost dazed. "Yeah… it does. Thanks."

He didn’t say anything in response, just gave a small, barely noticeable nod before settling back into his seat, returning to his own work as if nothing unusual had happened.

But something had shifted between you. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but the air felt different now—less like the quiet companionship you had grown used to and more like… something else. Something unspoken.

You sat there for a few moments longer, still processing both the study material and the fact that Ni-ki had just sat next to you, helped you. He hadn’t done it begrudgingly either; he had simply done it because you needed help. And his presence, his voice, had made all the difference.

As you returned to your notes, you couldn’t help but glance at him again, wondering what other sides of Ni-ki lay hidden beneath the surface.

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One evening, after hours of studying and flipping through books, you found yourself exhausted. Your eyes were burning from reading the same passage over and over, and you sighed loudly, resting your head on the table. Ni-ki glanced up from his work, giving you a quizzical look.

“Long day?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, almost concerned.

You nodded, not lifting your head. “Yeah. Between Potions, Transfiguration, and Herbology, I feel like my brain is going to melt.”

There was a pause before you heard him shifting in his seat. “Potions is your weakest subject, right?”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. It wasn’t like Ni-ki to make small talk, and the fact that he remembered your struggles in Potions caught you off guard.

“Yeah,” you admitted, sitting up straighter. “It just doesn’t click for me like other subjects do.”

Ni-ki seemed to consider this for a moment before responding, “I used to be terrible at Potions too. In second year, I once brewed a Sleeping Draught that knocked out half the class. Snape wasn’t pleased.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a laugh escaping you. “No way! You, bad at Potions? I can’t believe it.”

“Everyone starts somewhere.”

Another time, while working on your Charms essay, you noticed Ni-ki was unusually quiet—even for him. He wasn’t reading or writing, just sitting there, staring at his open textbook with an intense focus that seemed off.

You hesitated before asking, “Are you okay? You seem… distracted.”

He didn’t look up at first, his fingers absentmindedly tapping the table. “I’m fine,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual confidence.

You waited, sensing that he wasn’t fine at all. After a long moment of silence, Ni-ki finally spoke again, quieter this time. “I’m… just thinking about some things. It’s nothing important.”

You could tell that was a lie. He was always so composed, so in control of his emotions, that seeing him unsettled was strange. But you didn’t push him. Instead, you offered something simple.

“If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Ni-ki glanced at you, his expression softening just a little. He didn’t say anything, but the small nod he gave you felt like a thank you.

Another late night, the library was almost empty, save for you and Ni-ki at your usual spot. You had been studying for hours, and exhaustion was starting to settle in. You stretched, groaning as you reached for your quill.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you muttered. “My brain is fried.”

Ni-ki glanced up from his book, closing it with a quiet snap. “Take a break.”

You blinked at him, surprised by the suggestion. “You? Telling me to take a break? What’s gotten into you?”

“Even I take breaks sometimes.”

Skeptical, you raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve never seen it.”

Instead of responding, Ni-ki stood up and stretched, motioning for you to follow him. “Come on. Let’s walk around for a few minutes.”

Confused but curious, you followed him out of the library and into the cool night air. The two of you walked in silence for a while, the soft breeze helping to clear your mind. After a few minutes, Ni-ki broke the silence.

“You push yourself too hard sometimes.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the observation. “You’re one to talk.”

He shrugged “Maybe. But I know when to stop.”

But perhaps the most unexpected moment came one late afternoon, as you both sat in the library, quietly working on your respective assignments. You were in a lighter mood that day, having finally finished an essay that had been plaguing you for weeks. Feeling more relaxed, you absentmindedly began talking about the ridiculous antics of a few fellow students during Herbology, mimicking the professor's reactions with exaggerated gestures and voices.

Ni-ki, as usual, didn’t say much, just listened with his usual calm expression. But then, something shifted. When you imitated Professor Sprout tripping over a Mandrake root, you caught it—the faintest twitch of his lips. At first, you thought you had imagined it, but then it happened again. His lips curved up into a small smile, and for a brief moment, Ni-ki’s usually composed face broke into something entirely different.

You froze mid-sentence, staring at him in shock. Ni-ki—quiet, serious, and often unreadable—was smiling. Not just a polite smile, but a genuine one, and you could see a glint of amusement in his dark eyes.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he noticed your stunned expression.

“I… I didn’t know you could smile,” you blurted out, completely forgetting your earlier train of thought.

Ni-ki’s smile widened, and then, to your utter disbelief, a soft chuckle escaped him. It was quiet and brief, but it was there—a real laugh. And suddenly, the cold, distant image you had of him cracked just a little more, revealing something warmer, something softer beneath the surface.

He quickly composed himself, the smile fading but not disappearing entirely. “I’m not a statue,” he said dryly, though there was a playful glimmer in his eyes that you had never seen before.

“I mean, I guess I just assumed…” you trailed off, still processing the fact that you had just witnessed Ni-ki laugh.

And then, with a small smile still playing at the corners of his lips, Ni-ki returned to his work, leaving you to sit there.

But one of the most memorable moments between you happened during a study session where, for once, things were going smoothly. You were both focused on your work when a random thought popped into your head, and without thinking, you said it aloud.

“Do you think Professor McGonagall’s animagus form ever accidentally knocks things off tables like a real cat?”

Ni-ki looked up at you, clearly confused. “What?”

You laughed, suddenly realizing how ridiculous the thought sounded. “I mean, she’s a cat, right? What if she just can’t help herself and bats things off desks?”

For a moment, Ni-ki just stared at you, and you thought he was going to tell you off for not focusing. But then, to your utter shock, he started laughing—a real, genuine laugh. It wasn’t loud, but it was pure, and the sound of it made your heart skip a beat.

“Why would you even think of that?” he asked, still chuckling.

You shrugged, grinning. “I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

Ni-ki shook his head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

But there was no malice in his words, only a warmth that hadn’t been there before. And in that moment, you realized just how much closer the two of you had become. And seeing him laugh—really laugh—was something you wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

----------------------------------------

It was a quiet afternoon when it happened. You had just finished another study session in the library with Ni-ki. He had helped you with a particularly difficult problem, and though he was his usual quiet self, you had left feeling a sense of warmth—like things between you were truly starting to shift. Maybe Ni-ki didn’t always show it in public, but you were sure he valued your time together, even if it was mostly in the library.

However, as you made your way through the corridors, feeling content from the productive session, a group of girls—Ni-ki’s admirers, if you were honest—blocked your path. Their expressions weren’t friendly, and you could tell right away that something was off.

Before you could say anything, they pushed you into an empty classroom, closing the door behind you. The leader of the group, a girl you recognized as one of Ni-ki’s more obsessive followers, crossed her arms, sneering.

“So,” she began, voice dripping with disdain, “you think you're special, huh? Just because you spend time with Ni-ki in the library?”

You froze, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what to say, so you just stared at them, trying to keep calm.

“Do you actually believe he cares about you?” another one chimed in. “He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but the leader cut you off. “Oh, please. He pities you. You should hear the things people say. They’re always wondering why he wastes his time on someone like you.”

Her words hit hard, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “That’s not true. He helps me because he—”

“Because he what?” she interrupted with a cruel laugh. “Because he likes you? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates you. He never talks to you outside the library, does he?”

That made you pause. It was true—Ni-ki never approached you in the halls, never spoke to you outside of your library sessions. He barely acknowledged you in class unless it was absolutely necessary. Even when you saw him with his friends, he acted as if you didn’t exist.

They could see the doubt in your eyes, and the girl smirked, sensing victory. “See? You know it’s true. If he really liked you, why would he act like you don’t exist when you’re not sitting across from him in the library?”

You stayed silent, unable to find an answer. The doubts they were planting in your mind started to grow roots, wrapping around your thoughts and pulling you into a spiral of overthinking.

“He probably thinks you’re a burden,” one of the girls said with a mocking laugh. “I mean, why else would he avoid you in front of his friends? He doesn’t want them to see him hanging out with someone like you.”

The words stung, each one cutting deeper than the last. You tried to fight back, tried to tell yourself that Ni-ki’s quiet nature didn’t mean he didn’t care, but their accusations fed into your worst fears. What if you really were just a burden to him? What if he did pity you, and that’s why he never spoke to you outside of your study sessions?

You kept quiet, and they could see they had hit their mark.

“Face it,” the leader said, stepping closer with a satisfied smirk. “Ni-ki feels sorry for you. You’re nothing to him.”

You bit your lip, holding back the sting of tears. You didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but the words had already wormed their way into your head. Why did he only talk to you in the library? Why didn’t he ever approach you outside of that space? You thought you had gotten closer to him, but maybe you had been wrong all along.

They left you there in the empty classroom, their mocking laughter echoing in the halls as they disappeared. You stood frozen in place, your thoughts swirling with doubt and confusion, questioning everything you thought you knew about Ni-ki and your growing connection with him.

That one question kept repeating in your mind: Why didn’t he talk to you outside of the library?

After that confrontation in the empty classroom, you couldn’t shake the words that had been thrown at you. The girls' taunts, the doubts they had planted in your mind—they echoed endlessly, gnawing at your thoughts and twisting everything you thought you knew about your relationship with Ni-ki. Every time you walked through the halls, you felt a strange weight on your chest.

You began to pull away, slowly at first. It started with cutting your library sessions shorter. Where once you might have lingered for hours, speaking to Ni-ki about anything and everything, now you found yourself packing up your things earlier, offering hurried excuses about homework or other commitments. Ni-ki would glance at you but never say much, and his silence only added to your doubts. It was almost like he didn’t notice your growing distance, or maybe, you thought bitterly, he didn’t care enough to ask.

The distance grew wider as the days passed. You started skipping your library sessions altogether, avoiding the places you knew Ni-ki would be. The once-familiar space where the two of you had shared quiet moments now felt like a weight, a place filled with uncertainty and confusion. You didn’t know what to make of your feelings, or of Ni-ki’s. Were you really just a burden to him? Did he pity you, as they had said?

It hurt too much to face him, so you stopped trying.

In the hallways, you could feel his gaze on you. Even if you weren’t looking, you knew when Ni-ki was nearby. It was as if some invisible thread still tied the two of you together, but now it felt frayed and fragile, a connection you didn’t know how to mend. You passed by him in the corridors, your head down, avoiding his eyes at all costs. In the Great Hall, you chose seats far away from where he and his Slytherin friends sat. But somehow, it didn’t matter. You could feel his eyes on you from across the room, his gaze following your every move, and each time, it sent a wave of guilt crashing over you.

You never looked back at him, though. You couldn’t.

You skipped classes you shared with him. It started with one or two missed lectures, but eventually, it became a pattern. Without him, you struggled, barely scraping by with borrowed notes from friends. They weren’t as clear or detailed as Ni-ki’s notes, but they would have to do. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him for help again.

Despite all your attempts to avoid him, Ni-ki’s presence lingered everywhere. You didn’t know if it was your mind playing tricks on you, or if he really was watching you more closely now. Whatever it was, you felt more conflicted than ever. You wondered if he noticed your absence, if he cared, but then that gnawing insecurity crept back in, reminding you of what those girls had said. He’s just too polite to tell you to leave him alone.

The more you thought about it, the more you withdrew. Doubts clouded every memory of your time with Ni-ki, twisting your perception of everything he’d done for you—the notes, the help with your studies, the quiet moments you’d shared. What if it had all been one-sided? What if you had been nothing more than a project, a pity case?

And so, you kept your distance, avoiding the boy whose piercing gaze you could no longer bear to meet, and wondering if maybe, in the end, they had been right all along.

-----------------------------------------

You had been so lost in your thoughts, your mind circling around the same questions, the same doubts, that you didn’t even realize where your feet were taking you. It wasn’t until you glanced up that you noticed the dim, cold lighting of the dungeons, the walls lined with stone, and the distant murmur of voices. You froze, recognizing how close you were to the Slytherin dorms.

Instinctively, you were about to turn and head back the way you came when the sound of laughter caught your attention. It was light, warm, and carefree—a sound that felt almost foreign in this part of the castle. Curious, despite yourself, you peeked around the corner.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Standing there, casually leaning against the wall, was Ni-ki. His head was tilted slightly back, his face scrunched up in genuine amusement, his white teeth flashing in a wide grin. He was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the edges, his normally stoic expression completely replaced by something so light and happy that it shocked you. You had never seen him like this before. His laugh, his smile. It made him seem younger, softer, almost…adorable. For a moment, you were completely transfixed, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

But then, your eyes flickered to the people surrounding him. His friends—other Slytherins you recognized—were standing nearby, laughing along with him. Among them, you spotted a few of the girls who had cornered you in the empty classroom, their cruel words still echoing in your mind. The sight of them, standing so close to Ni-ki, chatting and laughing as if everything was normal, sent a jolt of discomfort through you.

And then, before you could react, one of Ni-ki’s friends noticed you. His expression shifted slightly as he leaned in to whisper something in Ni-ki’s ear.

Ni-ki turned.

Your heart dropped.

His gaze locked onto yours from across the hallway, his laughter fading instantly. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a gasp escaping your lips as you quickly turned on your heel and speed-walked down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between yourself and that scene as possible.

Your heart was pounding, your thoughts racing. He was laughing with them. With those girls… The image of his bright smile, so carefree, so natural, was seared into your mind, but it was tainted now by the memory of the people surrounding him—the people who had made you doubt everything.

Had he heard what they said? Did he know?

You didn’t wait to find out. All you knew was that you needed to get as far away from the dungeons, and from Ni-ki, as quickly as possible.

You didn’t exactly know how you ended up in the library, but here you were, tucked away in a quiet, hidden corner that no one ever really bothered with. It was your place, somewhere you used to come to study, or more recently, to avoid. The shelves towered above you, enclosing you in their safe, comforting silence, but it did little to ease the heavy weight in your chest.

Wiping away the stray tears that had already started to fall, you slid down to the floor, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your bag dropped beside you with a soft thud, the books spilling out carelessly, but you didn’t bother to pick them up. It felt like too much effort, like you couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but curl in on yourself.

Tears fell freely now, and you buried your face in your arms, trying to muffle the soft sobs that escaped. Everything had just… built up. The confusion, the distance, the hurt from what Ni-ki’s admirers had said, and now seeing him so happy without you. You had tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that he was just a library acquaintance, but the truth was that it did matter. More than you wanted to admit.

The quiet of the library felt like it was pressing down on you, suffocating in its stillness, yet at the same time, it was the only place where you could let go like this. Where no one would see you, no one would ask questions, and no one would tell you that you were being silly for feeling this way.

You cried softly, the hurt you’d been bottling up for so long finally breaking free. The words of those girls echoed in your mind, their sneering voices telling you that Ni-ki pitied you, that he didn’t care, that you were nothing to him. The worst part was that you had started to believe it.

The image of Ni-ki laughing with his friends flashed before your eyes again, and it only deepened the ache in your chest. He seemed so happy, so… distant. And you? You were nothing but a fading presence, something he could ignore outside of your shared library sessions. You had convinced yourself that maybe you had become friends, maybe there was something more, but now, it all felt like a lie.

The sobs came harder now, your chest tightening painfully as you curled further into yourself. You didn’t want to care this much. You didn’t want to feel this way. But here you were, hiding in the shadows of the library, crying over someone you weren’t even sure cared about you at all.

The quiet shuffling beside you broke through your tears, making you look up from your curled position. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw Ni-ki standing right there, holding your bag in his hand, his face full of worry. His usually composed expression was soft, eyebrows knitted together as he searched your face.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost hesitant.

You sniffled, quickly wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve and nodding, though your heart wasn’t in the gesture. You looked away, half-expecting him to leave like always, to walk away and give you space. But instead, you heard him set his bag down. You glanced at him, shocked, as he sat beside you on the floor.

Ni-ki leaned back against the shelves, closing his eyes for a moment before sighing deeply. "I know you’ve been avoiding me," he said, his voice softer than usual, yet it held a vulnerability you weren’t used to hearing from him. He opened his eyes, looking directly at you, and asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

You sat up, startled by his question. "What? No, no, of course you didn’t!" you answered quickly, panic rising in your chest.

He tilted his head slightly, clearly unconvinced. "Then why…" His words trailed off as he sighed again. He looked at you, his expression filled with something close to concern. "Please… tell me. I’m worried about you," he admitted, his voice quiet.

His words made your heart clench. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it made it harder to stay quiet. You gulped, trying to steady yourself. This was the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to say the words that had been haunting you since that confrontation. But seeing him here, sitting beside you, waiting for an explanation—it was enough to make you break.

"I…" You began, your voice shaky. "It’s not you, Ni-ki, really. You didn’t do anything wrong." You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. "Some girls… they confronted me, said that you pitied me. That you thought I was a burden… and it got in my head. They asked why you never talk to me outside the library, and… I started wondering if they were right."

Ni-ki’s expression shifted immediately, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What? Why would they say that?"

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. "They said I was stupid for even thinking we were friends… that I didn’t matter to you outside of studying."

There was a long pause, the silence hanging heavily between you. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, too afraid of what you might see in his eyes. But then, after what felt like an eternity, Ni-ki’s voice broke the silence.

"That’s not true," he said quietly, his tone firm but gentle. "You’re not a burden. I don’t pity you."

You slowly looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. His usual calm exterior was gone, replaced by something raw, something real.

"I didn’t know you felt like that," Ni-ki continued, his voice soft. "I… I just didn’t think you’d want to hang out with me outside the library. I didn’t think I was someone you’d want to be around like that."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. "What? But… you’re always surrounded by people. Why would you think that?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, people, not friends. Most of them just see me as Ni-ki, the Slytherin prefect or whatever. I don’t… I don’t let people in easily. But you…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. "I guess I didn’t realize how much I enjoyed your company until you started avoiding me."

His words made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of warmth amidst all the confusion and hurt.

"I’m sorry," you whispered. "I didn’t mean to make assumptions or push you away. I just… I didn’t know what to think."

Ni-ki shook his head, his gaze softening. "It’s okay. I should’ve been more clear with you." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "I want you to know… I don’t just think of you as someone I study with. I…" He trailed off again, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his demeanor. He looked vulnerable, in a way you had never seen before.

"I care about you," he finally said, the words slow and deliberate, as if he had been holding onto them for a long time. "More than you think."

Your breath caught in your throat at his admission. For a moment, you just sat there, staring at him, unsure of how to respond. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was looking at you—it made your chest tighten in a way that was both overwhelming and comforting.

"I…" you started, your voice faltering. You didn’t know what to say, how to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

But you didn’t have to say anything, because in that moment, Ni-ki smiled at you—genuinely smiled, the corners of his lips turning up, his eyes softening. It was a small, almost shy smile, but it was enough to make you realize that everything you had been overthinking, all the doubts and insecurities, had been for nothing.

Ni-ki cared. He had always cared.

Ni-ki stayed by your side, his presence steady and comforting as you finally let the weight of everything spill out. You told him about the girls, your voice shaky at first, but as you continued, you felt lighter, as though every word lifted a little bit of the burden off your chest. His expression shifted the moment you named them, his brows drawing together in a way you’d never seen before—serious, almost dangerous.

For a moment, you worried that he might storm off, that his calm demeanor would crack and he’d go after them. But instead, he simply listened, his face tight with restrained anger, and when you finished, he surprised you once again.

He opened his arms.

Without a second thought, you slid into his embrace, feeling his warmth surround you, his arms wrapping securely around your back. His chin rested lightly on top of your head, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you smiled—a real, genuine smile.

"They were wrong," he murmured softly, his voice vibrating through his chest. "You mean so much more to me than they could ever understand."

You felt your heart swell at his words, the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling. He didn’t hate you. He never had.

When you finally pulled back from the hug, your gaze met his, and the intensity of his eyes made your breath hitch. His face was still close, his cheeks tinged with the faintest blush. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he paused, swallowing nervously.

"I…" he began, his voice a little shaky. "I need to tell you something." His eyes darted away for a moment before finding yours again, determination setting in. "I’ve been… thinking about this for a while, and I just—" He sighed, clearly flustered. "I don’t know how to say it."

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden vulnerability. Ni-ki, the calm, collected boy who never seemed to let anything rattle him, was stuttering and blushing, his usual composure unraveling before your eyes.

"I-I like you," he blurted out, his face now fully red. "A lot. I have for a while, but I didn’t know how to say it. I’m not good at this stuff, and I didn’t want to make things weird between us, but when you started avoiding me, I—"

He was rambling now, his words spilling out in a rush, and you could tell he was struggling to keep up with his own thoughts. It was so unlike him, seeing him this vulnerable, this unsure. It was endearing.

Before he could continue, you acted on impulse, reaching up to gently cup his face and pulling him toward you. His eyes widened in surprise just before your lips met his.

For a split second, you could feel his shock, his body freezing beneath your touch. But then, just as quickly, he melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to cup the sides of your face, pulling you closer. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, but then the kiss deepened, his movements growing more sure, more confident. He held you like you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The world seemed to disappear around you, the weight of everything that had been bothering you fading away in the warmth of his embrace. It was just you and Ni-ki, the soft press of his lips against yours, the way he held you like he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than either of you realized.

When you finally pulled back, your heart was racing, your face warm from the intensity of the moment. Ni-ki stared at you, his lips slightly parted, still processing what had just happened.

"I… uh…" He blinked, his usual calm demeanor shattered, and it made you smile.

"That was your way of saying you like me too, huh?" he asked with a sheepish grin, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek.

You laughed softly, nodding. "Yeah… I like you too, Ni-ki."

His smile widened, this time filled with a mixture of relief and happiness. "I’m glad," he said softly, his voice warm and full of sincerity.

For a moment, you both just sat there, basking in the newfound closeness, the tension that had been between you for weeks dissolving into something sweet, something real.

"Let’s forget about those girls," he murmured after a while, his forehead resting gently against yours. "They don’t know what they’re talking about. All that matters is you and me, okay?"

You nodded, your heart full. "Okay."

#enhypen fic #enhypen #enhypen niki #niki x reader #ni ki x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen riki #fanfiction #riki x reader #niki fluff #niki imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 2 months ago

Text

Racing for Love

word count: 1.6k

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wife!reader, ft. thier child

Summery: Max and Y/n navigate the challenges of raising their young son Noah, encouraging his love for racing while standing firm against Jos Verstappen's intense training methods to ensure Noah's happiness comes first.

_____________________________________________________________

The afternoon sun poured over the track, its warm glow casting long shadows as you watched your son, little Noah, zoom around in his mini-kart. He was just four years old, the spitting image of Max—same piercing blue eyes, same determined scowl as he concentrated on mastering every turn.

From the sidelines, you could feel Max’s pride radiating as he watched Noah. It had been his dream to share his love for racing with his son, and now that Noah was old enough to drive a kart, it felt like the beginning of something special. But to you, Noah was still your baby, and seeing him behind the wheel so young filled you with both excitement and a sense of protectiveness.

“He’s a natural,” Max murmured beside you, a smile pulling at his lips. He was quiet today, simply enjoying the moment without any of the pressure that used to weigh so heavily on him.

But that peace shattered the moment you saw Jos pull up to the track. You stiffened, your grip on the fence tightening instinctively. Max noticed your reaction, his own expression darkening slightly. He loved his father, respected what Jos had done for him, but the scars from his own childhood were still there, buried under years of discipline and hard-earned success.

Jos strode over with that same commanding presence, eyes flicking from Max to Noah on the track. “He’s got the Verstappen blood in him, that’s for sure,” Jos said with a grin, but there was something in his tone that sent a chill down your spine.

“I know what you’re thinking, Jos,” Max said calmly, though his jaw clenched. “He’s not me.”

Jos scoffed, folding his arms. “If you want him to be the best, Max, you can’t go easy on him. You know what it takes. You can’t coddle him.”

Your heart sank. You knew exactly what Jos was thinking—long nights on cold tracks, harsh words, endless drills until exhaustion took over. It had shaped Max into the world champion he was today, but at what cost? You weren’t about to let the same thing happen to Noah.

“No,” you said firmly, stepping forward. “We’re not doing that. Noah is not going to be pushed like that.”

Jos turned his gaze on you, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You think I went too hard on Max?” His voice had that edge to it, the one that made it clear he didn’t care for dissent.

“I know you did,” you shot back, feeling your protective instincts rise. “Max went through hell growing up, Jos. I won’t let you put Noah through the same thing. He’s still a child. He’s not going to be pushed until he breaks.”

Max stood silently beside you, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. His hand slipped into yours, his grip tight, supportive.

“He’s got talent,” Jos insisted, his voice rising. “He’s got to be toughened up if he’s going to make it.”

Your eyes blazed as you stepped forward, standing your ground. “Noah is four. He needs to love this sport first. I won’t let you take that away from him the way you almost did with Max.”

The memory of Max’s childhood—a mixture of triumphs and painful sacrifices—hung heavily in the air. You knew how deeply it had affected him, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself.

Max’s voice was low but firm when he finally spoke, his eyes locked on his father. “She’s right. I don’t want Noah to go through what I did. If he’s going to race, it’ll be because he loves it, not because he’s afraid of failing.”

Jos’ expression faltered for a moment, a flash of something you couldn’t quite place in his eyes. “I made you a champion,” he said, but the words lacked the conviction they usually carried.

“And I thank you for that,” Max replied, his tone softer now. “But I want to be a different kind of father. I want to enjoy watching Noah grow, not push him until he resents me—or the sport.”

For a moment, the three of you stood in tense silence, the sounds of the track fading into the background. Noah, blissfully unaware of the conflict brewing, came speeding around the corner, his face lit up with joy as he handled the kart like a pro.

Jos sighed, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, glancing at Noah. “But don’t come crying to me when he’s not tough enough.”

You exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave your body as Jos turned to walk back to his car. The relief was palpable, but you could still feel the remnants of anger lingering in the air.

Max wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You did good,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until you said it.”

You leaned into him, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. “I just want him to be happy, Max. I don’t care if he’s the best driver in the world.”

Max smiled, watching as Noah jumped out of the kart and ran towards the two of you, his laughter infectious. “He will be,” Max said softly, “because he’s got the best parents in the world.”

As Noah raced toward you and Max, his tiny legs barely keeping up with his excitement, his helmet still bobbing on his head, you knelt down to meet him at eye level. His wide smile, the mirror image of Max’s, made your heart swell.

“Mom! Dad! Did you see? Did you see me go around the corner?!” Noah’s voice was filled with that pure, unfiltered excitement only children could have.

Max crouched down next to you, reaching over to ruffle Noah’s messy hair. “We saw, buddy. You were incredible out there,” Max said, grinning proudly.

“You were so fast,” you added, placing your hands on Noah’s small shoulders. “But were you having fun?”

Noah nodded vigorously, his blue eyes shining. “Yeah! It’s just like Dad! I wanna go even faster next time!”

You smiled, though there was a flicker of concern in your heart. “I know you do, sweetheart. But remember, it’s not about being the fastest. It’s about enjoying yourself.”

Max leaned in, adding softly, “Your mom’s right, Noah. The most important thing is that you love what you’re doing.”

Noah frowned a little, looking between the two of you. “But, Grandpa said I need to be the best. Just like you, Dad. I wanna be like you!”

You felt your stomach tighten at the mention of Jos. Max glanced at you before looking back at Noah, his voice gentle but firm. “You will be, Noah, but you don’t have to be the best right away. I wasn’t the best when I started either. It takes time.”

“But Grandpa said I have to work harder,” Noah pressed, his little brow furrowing in confusion. “I want to be like you, Dad. I don’t want to let you down.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, at how much he wanted to impress Max. You reached for Noah’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “You could never let us down, Noah. We’re proud of you no matter what.”

Max shifted, his expression growing more serious but still tender. “Look, Noah,” he said, placing a hand on your son’s small shoulder. “I know Grandpa says a lot about working hard and being the best, but that’s not everything. You’re still so young. Right now, it’s more important that you have fun and learn to love racing. You don’t need to be perfect.”

Noah looked up at Max, his eyes wide. “But… what if I don’t get as good as you?”

Max smiled softly, his eyes full of warmth as he gently cupped Noah’s cheek. “I don’t care if you’re the best driver in the world, Noah. I just want you to love it. If you love racing and want to get better, we’ll help you. But if you decide you don’t like it anymore, that’s okay too.”

“But I do love it!” Noah insisted, his small fists clenching with determination. “I love it so much, Dad. I wanna race forever!”

Max chuckled, glancing at you before looking back at Noah. “Then you will, buddy. And I’ll be there every step of the way, but we’re going to do this our way, okay? Not Grandpa’s way. You’re going to race because you want to, not because you have to.”

Noah seemed to process Max’s words, his tiny face deep in thought before he nodded slowly. “Okay, Dad. I like that.”

You smiled, pulling Noah into a hug. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Noah. And when you’re ready, we’ll help you go even faster.”

Noah giggled into your chest before he turned to Max, his eyes wide with excitement again. “Can we go again tomorrow, Dad? Please?”

Max looked at you, his smile softening. “We’ll see, champ. But let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”

Noah nodded eagerly, clearly satisfied with the answer. “Okay! I’m gonna be so fast!”

Max stood, lifting Noah up in his arms as your son beamed with pride. “You already are, Noah.”

As the three of you started walking back toward the car, Noah resting his head against Max’s shoulder, you caught Max’s eye. He gave you a soft smile, his free hand slipping into yours.

“You know,” Max said quietly, “I always thought I wanted Noah to be a driver just like me, but seeing him today… I just want him to be happy.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “He will be, Max. He’s got you—and us—showing him what really matters.”

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inkykeiji · 7 months ago

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + allowing you to ride him

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pet/master dynamic (use of the term Master), toxic relationship, edging, pet names, fem!reader words: 665

Alastor doesn’t normally enjoy being ridden; Alastor doesn’t normally allow you to ride him. It relinquishes too much control, grants you too much power, and leaves him feeling bored and restless.

Most of the time.

But sometimes, he gives in. Sometimes, he lets you use him like a toy.

And sometimes, when he’s feeling especially cruel, when he’s feeling like he wants to put in the effort and play, he’ll force you to edge yourself on him, eyes never leaving the pages of his novel as he nonchalantly instruct you to speed up, slow down, swivel, bounce, stop, hold, hold, hold—cockhead digging into that swollen patch of flesh buried deep within you, his hips shifting in micro-circles as he grinds into sensitive flesh, pained little sounds climbing higher and higher, tinged with pleasure, and don’t you dare fucking cum, darling—now begin again.

So you do, and he drones on, commands drawling from his lips without casting you a single glance, eyes skimming over the words in front of his face, sometimes hovering, sometimes retracing their past trails, but never leaving the page.

It’s almost offensive, how bored his tone is, how much he acts as if this doesn’t matter to him, as if he doesn’t care, as if it’s all for you, despite the way his cock twitches and his breath hitches, the very edges of his words gone wispy whenever your orgasm is on the cusp of cresting.

He knows your body so well that he doesn’t even need to see you—doesn’t need to read the expressions on your face, features twisted tight with hedonism, doesn’t need to witness the harsh trembles rippling through your flesh—to know when you’re teetering on the edge of full-blown pleasure.

No, he can feel it, feel it in the way your cunt begins to pulse with irregular flutters around his shaft; he can hear it, hear it in the cracked gasps he keeps forcing from your chest, fragments catching on thick moans; he can smell it, smell it in the dense, heady arousal copiously coating his thighs, slick and shimmering.

“Please, Master,” you’re finally sobbing, when every muscle in your body has gone achy and heavy with continuously coiled tension, never allowed to loosen, release, snap, constantly rewound with a few simple orders. “Please, please, let me cum. It—It hurts!”

It’s supposed to hurt, you silly little girl. It’s not fun if it doesn’t.

“Now, now,” he’s saying conversationally, the slight breathlessness to his tone the only indication he’s being affected at all. “You wanted this, remember, sweetheart? You asked for it. Begged, actually, if I recall correctly.”

You did, you did, but you’ve been at this for over an hour now, your body lacquered with sweat, quivering as tiny tremors of overstimulation bolt through your veins with each brush of your clit, each rub of his head, leaving your flesh feeling hypersensitive, overexposed.

“I just—I thought—I wanted to—” hiccups stutter your words, nose twitching with a harsh sniffle.

A coo drips from his lips, spoiled syrup, sick and sadistic. Poor, pathetic baby.

It stings, his disregard corrosive, gnawing away at your cheeks. A fresh torrent of tears floods your eyes, casting a thick watery shield that bulges along your lash line, wavering on the verge of overflowing, a single slow blink sending them cascading down your face in glittering streams.

“Really, you should’ve known better,” he’s saying as you collapse against his chest, weeping into the curve of his neck. “What else did you possibly expect?”

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t remember, brain gone melty and stupid beneath the constant enticement of pleasure, held just out of your grasp. Something tangles on your tongue, garbled and wet as it seeps into his flesh, fingers curling in starched cotton as you attempt to pull him closer.

“Oh, dear,” he sighs gleefully, a palm petting your head. “If you want to ride me, you have to pay the price.”

#alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #alastor headcanons #hazbin smut #inky.alastor #inky.hazbin

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themissinghand · 2 months ago

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Genshin Impact: Beneath His Gaze

Summary: In which you’re Capitano’s executive assistant who’s a little too good at their job (and coincidently, very good-looking too).

Or, Capitano hates competition, after all, you belong to him.

Pairing: Jealous! Il Capitano x Strong! Male Reader ft. Pantalone and Dottore

Note: Yes. Capitano single-handedly took me out of my writer’s block. That 5.0 update was quite something. This became longer than I ever expected.

Warning: Slight NSFW. Possessive behaviour, flirting, biting and non-consensual touching. Capitano has claws and sharp tongue.

★・・・・・・★

Il Capitano is a fearsome man.

True to his title, he is powerful but honorable, respected yet feared by all. Perhaps it was his tall statue, the dark mysterious mask he dons, or maybe, it was his silent demeanor.

Or perhaps his ruthless means and aura that screamed death.

People do not simply stroll up to Capitano like they would with Tartaglia, but he detests flies regardless.

Then he met you, with almost an impressive statue matching himself, but with a much more…approachable face. Pretty as the Damselette would call you.

You were competent, strong, and most importantly, adaptable. A face that could be remembered from either side of the light and dark.

People described you as the face of an angel, but cunning like the devil. Hence, he promoted you to his only assistant (after all, he needs no assistants, much less bodyguards). However, you seemed to do more than what is required for a mere assistant.

“Master. Please, have some tea.” When you bring him tea and snacks in the middle of work.

“Master, the weather is cold outside, please take this.” When you give him a heat pack, imbued with your pyro powers.

“Master, please allow me to take care of these vermin for you.” When you reduced his anger with a slight touch on his hand on his sword, which almost would have destroyed a major section of his mansion.

Capitano will not admit it, however, his life seems to be filled with a lot of noise, albeit it becoming much easier, and warmer.

“Don’t you think Commander (Y/N) would make a good malewife?”

Capitano freezes in his steps. Honed in battle, naturally his senses are much more sensitive than others.

“Are you drunk? I know you’re gay, but how could you go after the Commander? Didn’t you remember how terrifying he was when he almost worked us to death in training?”

There was a little infuriating laugh.

“But, have you seen him smile and compliment us? Can you blame me? Have you seen others ogling at his half naked body after training? Hey, didn’t you have a crush on him?”

“T-That was before, and quiet down. Someone might hear you.”

“I wonder how he would taste…” Steps resumed in the halls, this time, they were quick, but silent.

“You’re crazy. C’mon, let’s go before someone hears-”

“Think about it, he has a big chest, and his ass-”

“Shut up-”

Suddenly, a large shadow casts over them and they slowly turn around, suddenly feeling cold all over.

“Master-”

A scream, before silence finally returned to the halls.

“Master.” Il Capitano hands you his coat as always, often stained with blood.

But as always, it was never his.

“Master, Allow me to serve you tea. I obtained this from Sumeru, and it has quite the enticing scent…”

Again, you chatted as you prepared tea for Capitano, starting from small pleasantries, to his schedule and current affairs. You stood beside him as always and even though your Master did not say a single word of response to you, you knew he was listening.

Everything was a routine and a reward to you, after all, you were very honoured to assist someone as highly regarded as Il Capitano.

As fearsome as your Master appears, he allows you to speak your mind, and use his authority as necessary. It was difficult to obtain his trust and you were happy with your progress, even if you had to hide your disgusting feelings for him.

Yes, you had a crush on this man who everyone fears.

After all, who doesn’t like a rich, powerful, and respected man?

“Sit.” Suddenly, your Master commanded you. You stop in your ramblings at his command, and you obey. Respectfully seating yourself to his right with a look of quiet surprise.

You were used to following his orders without question, but Capitano rarely asked you to sit with him like this. Normally, you were too busy managing his affairs or reporting on the state of his forces to sit idly.

As well, he did not touch his tea once today.

Capitano’s mask obscured most of his face, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and intense. It was as if he was measuring you, trying to read your thoughts, though you kept your face carefully neutral.

Finally, he took a slow sip of the tea, his silence stretching on as he continued to watch you. You shifted slightly in your seat, feeling the intensity of his focus, but you didn’t falter. After all, this was Capitano—your Master. You had served under him for years, and you pride yourself on your ability to remain composed, no matter the situation.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a low rumble.

“Do you know what they say about you?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“What do you mean, Master?”

“The Fatui agents. The ones who flirt with you. The ones who look at you as though you are theirs to claim.” Capitano’s words were clipped, and you could hear the irritation lacing his tone.

“Do you know how they speak about you?”

Your brows furrowed as you recalled those moments. A fleeting regret crossed your mind; you should have dealt with those pests like everyone else.

After all, you’ve maintained your image and physical appearance only for your Master, and no one else.

“Master, please forgive me, I will ensure this will not happen again. I assure you that their actions do not affect my duties.”

Capitano’s eyes darkened, his claws gripping the arm of his chair with enough force to make the wood creak.

“That’s not what I asked.”

The tension in the room thickened, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of unease. Capitano rarely raised his voice or showed any outward signs of frustration, but now… there was something different in the air.

“I… don’t concern myself with such things, Master,” you answered carefully. “My focus is on serving you and fulfilling my responsibilities.”

He stood abruptly, his large form towering over you, casting a shadow across the room. His claws reached down, grabbing your wrist with a firm but controlled grip.

“And yet, they continue. They think they can speak about you as if you’re theirs to take, as if they have any right.”

You looked up at him, the weight of his words sinking in. There was no mistaking the intensity in his voice, the tension that simmered just beneath the surface. It was an emotion you hadn’t expected from him, at least not toward you.

Could it be-

“Master, I—”

Before you could finish, Capitano pulled you up from your seat with one arm, his strength undeniable as he carried you effortlessly. Your breath hitched as you were suddenly pressed against his chest, the cold metal of his armor a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body.

"You're mine," he growled, gripping your waist. "No one else can touch you."

Your heart raced in your chest as you stared up at him, mind spinning as you adjusted and adapted as you always had.

This was new, unexpected.

You had always been his assistant, his soldier, but now… it was clear that Capitano saw you as something more—his.

A slow, sly smile tugged at your lips.

“Master, I am loyal to you.”

Capitano’s grip on you tightened, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear.

“Then show me. Let them know you’re mine.”

His words sent a tantalizing shiver down your spine, and for the first time, you found yourself questioning whether you were just his assistant… or something far more dangerous.

In the dim light of Capitano’s private quarters, the air was thick with tension—unspoken, yet undeniably present.

It had become a dangerous game between the two of you.

You stood by his desk, pretending to review the reports you had brought, while Capitano’s presence loomed behind you, closer than necessary. His claws brushed against your lower back, the contact brief but enough to send heat through your body. You didn't flinch; instead, you leaned into his touch ever so slightly, your pulse quickening at the daring proximity.

"You’re late," he muttered slowly, his voice like gravel, yet there was no malice in it—only something darker.

You turned to face him, a smirk dancing on your lips.

"I had to ensure no one would notice my absence. Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation, Master."

His eyes, cold to the world, burned with a heat only you had the privilege of seeing. Without a word, he reached for you, pulling you close with a force that left no room for protest. His lips were on yours in an instant, urgent and commanding.

His claws roamed your body, memorizing every line and muscle as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

"Careful, Master," you whispered against his lips, your voice teasing. "If we’re caught…"

He silenced you with another kiss, rougher this time, his grip firm as he pressed you against the desk.

"No one will dare."

You reveled in it all.

As his executive assistant, your dedication to work and training had caught the attention of many, including some of the Harbingers.

One evening, after a rigorous training session with Capitano, you quickly changed to a clean appearance and immediately rushed to your Master’s office. However, it seems there were people waiting for you in the halls, which seemed to be a common occurrence recently.

This time, it wasn’t just Fatui Cicin Mages or Agents though. Much more difficult, but not hard to handle.

After all, you worked your way up to this position for a reason.

“Well well well, who do we have here?”

“Lord Dottore, Lord Pantalone. How can I be of assistance?” Dottore’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he observed you, something you were keen to notice.

“A fine specimen indeed…” He approached you casually as you stayed still and kept your eyes low.

Pantalone, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a sly grin. “I must say, you look like someone who could handle more than just being an assistant. I’m sure we could find a place for someone with your… capabilities.”

You pretend not to notice their serpentine eyes, or the sudden arm over your shoulder, or the slow squeeze on your bicep, and you couldn’t help but shiver when an arm grabbed your waist.

“How about working for me? I’ll be sure to treat you well.” A seductive whisper to your ear. And you feel trapped beside these powerful men.

Truly evil.

You returned a little smirk, which somehow seemed to intrigue them even more.

“I serve and am loyal to my current Master, however, I am honoured to receive your offer.”

Before they could respond, you felt a familiar but imposing presence approaching you. Heavy steps that suddenly decided to reveal itself.

(Y/N).” His voice was deep, drawing all eyes to him.

“Master.” You greet him as usual, and you hear a little ‘tch’ from beside you.

The halls fell silent. Pantalone and Dottore straightened, their casual airs replaced by a more respectful demeanor. Capitano’s gaze was locked onto you, and you shivered in slight excitement knowing that he was angry.

“You’re late.” Capitano states before walking off, as if prompting you to follow him. After you bid farewell to the two other amused harbingers, who seemed quite intent in touching your muscles one last time before letting you go.

You followed your Master down the hall into his office, the tension between you palpable.

Once the doors shut in his office, Capitano turned around, and you felt like you couldn’t move or breathe.

“You are quite the vixen.” Sharp claws wrapped around your throat and raised you up to his eye level.

Before you could respond, his lips crashed onto yours in a fierce, demanding kiss. The sudden intensity took you by surprise, but you quickly found yourself responding with equal fervor.

When he finally pulled away, you felt breathless as you stared back at him.

“You enjoy their attention.” he stated, disappointment evident in his voice.

“You’re mine, and yet, you dare covet something more?”

You met his gaze with a smirk, showing your true colours.

“And if I enjoy their attention?”

Capitano’s eyes darkened further. He pulled you into another heated kiss, his claws gripping your hips firmly. You were sure that would leave some bruises.

“You must be punished.”

“Master-urgh!” You resisted the urge to scream as sharp teeth sunk into your collarbone, and an alien tongue swept over your neck.

It was the right choice as you felt a pair of eyes glaring at you, so you remained silent before he dropped you onto the floor. Instantly, you inhaled sharply and struggled to catch your breath as you quickly kneeled for your life.

“Please, forgive me, Master. My life is yours.”

For Capitano, he felt a sick satisfaction seeing you beg like a little dog.

Il Capitano believed he had to tighten his leash.

During the next few days, you did your best to focus on your work, trying to push aside the lingering tension. But you could always feel a pair of cold eyes constantly on you. Especially when you interact with other people.

“Well, well, how is our little assistant holding up?” Pantalone grinned as he cornered you again in the hall. “How long before Capitano locks you away, hm?”

Dottore chuckled darkly, his fingers lightly trailing down your arm, sending a shiver through you.

“The offer is still on the table. We’d take good care of you,” he said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “You’d be in much better hands.”

With the same fake yet alluring smile, you slowly back away from their touch. You didn’t need to say anything after all, you could practically feel him coming.

The familiar sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor.

In an instant, Capitano was beside you, his claws gripping your shoulders firmly. Without a word, he pulled you away from the two Harbingers, his strength overwhelming as he practically dragged you down the hall. Pantalone and Dottore watched with amusement, smirking at the sight of Capitano’s thinly veiled rage.

You didn’t even have a chance to speak as Capitano led you into his private quarters and slammed the door shut behind you. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes—what little you could see through his mask—burned with a mixture of anger and desire.

“You’re mine,” Capitano reminded, his voice low and dangerous.

Before you could respond, he lifted you with ease, your feet leaving the ground as he pinned you against the wall. His massive claws gripped your waist and ass, claws digging into your flesh as his lips crushed against yours in a kiss.

You gasped into the kiss, and wrapped your legs around him. He clawed at your chest as if he was trying to prove a point—that you belonged to him and no one else, and you whimpered when you felt pain.

And despite everything, you found yourself leaning into him, drawn to the darkness that radiated from him.

"Master, I'm yours."

His touch was intoxicating, and even though you knew how dangerous this was, you couldn’t help but be pulled deeper into the web Capitano had spun around you.

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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The Dragon's Right (1)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is firstborn and only son of King Viserys I and late Queen Aemma, is older brother of Rhaenyra and bonded with Silverwing. For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mild 13+ (rating will go up)

- Word count: 6 000+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This story is heavily rewritten my AO3 fanfic that was deleted with my account there. The jist is the same, but now it's a reader insert work.

The small council chamber is drowned with anticipation, the grand room filled with the scent of parchment and the low murmur of voices. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting silhouettes across the stone walls adorned with tapestries of dragon lore. King Viserys I Targaryen sits at the head of the table, a rare glimmer of excitement in his eyes as he speaks, the tone of his voice vibrant with pride.

"It has been far too long," Viserys begins, his hand absently stroking the armrest of his chair, carved with intricate dragons that seem to come alive under the firelight. "Three years... three years since my son rode off on Silverwing to defend our borders, and now, at last, he returns." There is a warmth to his voice, a father’s pride that softens the usual formality of the council. "He has done well, our borders are secure once more. The Dornish have been driven back, and our lands are safe. It is high time for a celebration, wouldn’t you all agree?"

Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, leans forward slightly, his shrewd eyes never missing a detail. "Indeed, Your Grace. Prince Y/N’s valor has become the talk of the realm. His presence on Silverwing alone was enough to strike fear into the hearts of our enemies. His return will surely bolster the morale of the court and the realm alike."

Viserys nods, the pride in his son clear on his face. "He is as brave as he is handsome, and wise beyond his years. The gods have truly blessed me with a son who will make a fine king one day."

At the mention of Y/N’s potential future on the throne, the room falls silent for a moment, the weight of those words hanging in the air. It is a truth that cannot be ignored, even as Rhaenyra remains the apple of Viserys’ eye. The King’s heir, the eldest son, would always hold a special place in the line of succession.

Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, clears his throat, his voice a deep rumble that commands attention. "While I share in your joy, Your Grace, we must not forget the threats that still linger beyond our shores. The Stepstones remain a festering wound, one that will continue to bleed if not dealt with. Prince Y/N’s return is a boon, but we must not grow complacent."

Viserys waves a hand dismissively, a rare gesture of impatience from the usually composed king. "The Stepstones can wait, Corlys. We have just won a great victory in the south; the Dornish have been repelled, and my son will soon return to us. Let us not dampen this moment with talk of more war. His nameday approaches, and I will not have the mood soured by concerns that can be addressed later."

Corlys’s mouth tightens into a thin line, but he says nothing further, knowing better than to press the issue when the King’s mind is set on matters of the heart. Beside him, Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, nods in agreement with the King’s sentiment. "Your Grace is right. A celebration is in order. Prince Y/N deserves a hero’s welcome. His deeds should be sung from the highest towers of the Red Keep."

Otto Hightower shifts in his seat, his sharp mind already calculating the implications. "It will be a grand affair, Your Grace. One befitting the heir to the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies of the realm will flock to King’s Landing to pay homage to your son."

Viserys smiles, the thought clearly pleasing to him. "Yes, they will. And when they see him, when they see the man he has become, they will know that House Targaryen is strong, united. The blood of the dragon runs true in him.

The conversation shifts to the logistics of the upcoming celebrations—feasts, tourneys, and the spectacle that will greet you upon your return. But beneath the surface, other thoughts swirl, unspoken but understood by all in the room. The return of the heir will undoubtedly shift the balance of power, rekindle old rivalries, and perhaps even spark new alliances.

As the councilors discuss the details, Viserys leans back in his chair, lost in his thoughts. His mind is far from the Stepstones, from the politics and the courtly intrigues. Instead, it is on his son—the pride of his house, the dragon who has returned home.

Though you are not yet present, your presence is felt keenly in that room, a force that commands respect, admiration, and perhaps even a hint of fear. The small council, ever the stage for power plays and whispered conspiracies, is tonight a place of celebration, anticipation, and a father's love.

The fire burns low, the shadows growing longer as the hour advances. But the warmth in Viserys' heart does not wane, nor does his excitement at the thought of seeing you again after these long, hard years. Soon, you will be home, and the realm will be reminded of the strength and glory of the Targaryens—of fire and blood, and of the dragon that you are.

The sky above King’s Landing is clear, a brilliant blue that contrasts harshly with the golden scales of Syrax as she descends towards the Dragonpit. Her powerful wings beat rhythmically, sending gusts of wind sweeping across the hillside, causing the banners of House Targaryen to flutter wildly. The Dragonpit, ancient and formidable, looms ahead—a structure built to house the great beasts of House Targaryen, and today it eagerly welcomes one of its own.

Syrax lands with a graceful thud, her massive claws digging into the earth as she lowers herself to allow her rider to dismount. Rhaenyra Targaryen, resplendent in her riding leathers of black and red, slides down effortlessly, her golden hair whipping in the wind. There’s a fire in her violet eyes, a look of exhilaration that always follows her flights with Syrax. She pats the dragon’s side affectionately before turning her attention to the awaiting figures.

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stands ready to greet her, his white cloak flowing in the breeze, a symbol of his unwavering loyalty. His face is stern, but his eyes soften with affection as Rhaenyra approaches. "Welcome back, Princess," he says, bowing his head in respect.

"Thank you, Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra replies, her voice bright. "Syrax needed a good stretch of her wings. It’s a fine day for flying."

"It is indeed, Your Grace," Ser Harrold agrees, though his expression remains stoic. "The city is bustling with preparations for your brother’s return. The people are eager to see their prince."

Rhaenyra’s smile broadens at the mention of her brother. "As am I. It has been too long."

As they speak, a carriage pulls up near the entrance to the Dragonpit, its polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. The door swings open, revealing Alicent Hightower, her gown of pale blue perfectly complementing her auburn hair. She steps out gracefully, her green eyes lighting up as she spots her dearest friend.

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls, hurrying forward, her face a picture of delight.

"Alicent," Rhaenyra responds warmly, pulling Alicent into a quick embrace. "I wasn’t expecting you to come all the way to the Dragonpit."

Alicent laughs softly. "How could I not? The court is abuzz with news of your brother’s return. It seems everyone is eager to see him again." She steps back, regarding Rhaenyra with a knowing look. "And what of you, Rhaenyra? Are you excited to see him after all this time?"

Rhaenyra’s eyes soften, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "Of course I am. I’ve missed him terribly. He’s always been my closest confidant, ever since we were children. The realm may see him as a warrior, a dragonrider, but to me, he is simply my brother."

Alicent smiles, though there’s a hint of something more in her eyes—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. "I’ve heard the ladies at court whispering about him," she says, her voice light, almost teasing. "They say he’s become even more handsome over the years."

Rhaenyra raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her gaze. "None of those ladies have seen him in the last three years. He was always handsome, even as a boy, but I suppose the tales of his exploits have added to the allure."

Alicent nods, her expression thoughtful. "It’s the word from the Dornish border that precedes him. They say he cut a striking figure on Silverwing, that he was a beacon of hope for our men and a terror to our enemies."

Rhaenyra’s pride is palpable, her chest swelling with affection for her brother. "That’s the brother I know. Always strong, always brave. I’m not surprised the tales of his deeds have spread far and wide. But I’m more eager to hear them from him, to see the man he’s become with my own eyes."

Alicent smiles gently, seeing the deep bond Rhaenyra shares with her brother. "The two of you are much alike, you know. Dragons in human form. It’s no wonder the realm speaks of you both with such reverence."

Rhaenyra looks away for a moment, her thoughts lingering on her brother, before she turns back to Alicent, her expression lightening. "Come, let’s return to the Red Keep. I’m sure there are a thousand things waiting for us there. Besides, I need to freshen up before I see him. I want to look my best for his return."

Alicent chuckles, following Rhaenyra as they make their way towards the carriage. "As if you ever need to worry about that. But I understand. Today is special, after all."

The two young women climb into the carriage, and as it begins its journey back to the heart of King’s Landing, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—gossip from court, plans for the upcoming celebrations. But beneath the surface, there is an undercurrent of anticipation, a shared excitement for the return of a beloved brother, a dragonrider, and a prince who has been away from home for far too long.

As the city comes into view, Rhaenyra’s thoughts are filled with images of her brother—of the last time she saw you, of the stories she’s heard in your absence, and of the reunion that awaits. Soon, very soon, the Targaryen family will be whole again, and the dragons will once more soar together over King’s Landing.

The morning sun had only just begun to cast its golden light across King’s Landing, illuminating the bustling preparations already well underway for the day’s grand celebrations. In the Red Keep, servants and handmaidens hurried through the halls, their arms full of silks and jewels, the atmosphere buzzing with the anticipation of the prince’s one and seventh nameday. The tourney grounds outside the city walls were already alive with the clashing of swords and the cheer of spectators, but within the princess’s chambers, a quieter preparation was taking place.

Rhaenyra Targaryen stood before a polished mirror, her golden hair cascading down her back as her handmaidens worked to braid it into an intricate style fitting for the occasion. Her gown, a deep shade of Targaryen red, had been carefully selected, the rich fabric adorned with subtle embroidery that caught the morning light. Yet despite the attention to every detail, Rhaenyra’s thoughts were elsewhere.

Suddenly, a low, resonant horn echoed across the city, its deep tone vibrating through the very stones of the Red Keep. The sound was unmistakable—the return of a dragon. The call stirred something deep within Rhaenyra, her heart leaping in her chest as she pushed away the fussing hands of her handmaidens.

"Princess, please! We haven’t finished—" one of the servants protested, but Rhaenyra was already moving, her eyes bright with excitement.

She rushed to the balcony, her breath catching in her throat as she leaned over the edge, searching the skies. For a moment, all was quiet except for the distant hum of the city below. Then, she saw it—a glint of silver against the blue, a shape growing larger as it approached.

Silverwing.

The great she-dragon cut through the sky with powerful, sweeping strokes of her massive wings, her silver scales gleaming like molten metal in the morning light. Her wingspan cast a shadow over the city as she soared over the rooftops, the people below stopping in their tracks to look up in awe. The sun seemed to dance upon her scales, turning her into a living beacon, a symbol of House Targaryen’s might and majesty.

As Silverwing approached the heart of the city, a roar of cheers erupted from the streets below, followed by the blare of trumpets signaling the return of the King’s heir. The sound swelled and spread, filling the air with the jubilant energy of thousands of voices raised in celebration. From her vantage point, Rhaenyra could see the figures of people flooding the streets, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the dragon and her rider.

And there, atop Silverwing, was you. Even from this distance, Rhaenyra recognized your figure, sitting tall and proud in the saddle, your pale blond hair whipping in the wind, your violet eyes sharp as they surveyed the city below. You guided Silverwing with the ease of long familiarity, a natural extension of yourself. There was a power in the way you commanded the dragon, a grace that spoke of years spent in the saddle, and a bond forged in fire.

Rhaenyra’s smile brightened, her heart swelling with pride and affection. Her brother had returned, the prince of the realm, the heir to the Iron Throne. And now, the whole city knew it. Silverwing let out a triumphant roar as she flew low over the city, a declaration of your presence that sent another wave of cheers echoing through the streets.

As you guided Silverwing toward the Dragonpit, Rhaenyra watched in breathless anticipation. The dragon angled her wings, banking smoothly toward the massive structure where the dragonkeepers awaited her. The escort wagon, finely adorned in Targaryen red and black, stood ready at the entrance, flanked by members of the Kingsguard in their gleaming white armor. The sight of it all—the dragon, the city’s response, the return of her brother—made Rhaenyra’s pulse quicken with excitement.

She turned back from the balcony, her voice ringing with urgency as she addressed her handmaidens. "Hurry! I must be ready in time to greet him."

The handmaidens, who had been momentarily frozen by the excitement of the dragon’s arrival, snapped back into action, their hands flying over the final touches of her attire. They tightened her bodice, pinned the last of her braids into place, and secured the Targaryen emblem at her shoulder with swift, practiced movements.

One of the handmaidens, a girl no older than Rhaenyra herself, smiled as she adjusted the drape of the gown. "You must be eager to see him, Princess."

Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled as she met the girl’s gaze in the mirror. "More than you can imagine. It’s been three long years. I want to be the first to welcome him home."

Alicent entered the room just as Rhaenyra was giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. "I see the excitement has reached you too," she said with a smile, noting Rhaenyra’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

Rhaenyra grinned back at her, unable to contain her joy. "I’ll never grow tired of seeing him return. I need to be ready. He deserves a proper welcome, don’t you think?"

Alicent nodded, helping to smooth a stray lock of Rhaenyra’s hair into place. "He’ll be just as eager to see you, Rhaenyra. The bond you two share is special."

Rhaenyra smiled, touched by Alicent’s words, though her thoughts were already racing ahead to the moment when she would finally see you up close. "He’s been away too long. Today, we’ll be together again. I can’t wait to hear everything he’s been through, to see how he’s changed."

Alicent chuckled, gently teasing. "Just don’t keep him to yourself for too long. There’s an entire court eager to see the heir to the throne."

Rhaenyra gave her a playful look but nodded. "I suppose I can share him. But only for a little while."

The final adjustments made, Rhaenyra took one last look in the mirror, her excitement barely contained. The morning had begun with a dragon’s roar, a herald of what was to come. Soon, she would stand by your side once more, the dragon prince and the dragon princess, united in the heart of the realm.

With a deep breath, Rhaenyra turned and made her way towards the door, her handmaidens following closely behind. The day had only just begun, but it already promised to be unforgettable. As she stepped into the corridor, her heart raced with anticipation. Soon, she would be at the welcoming ceremony, ready to embrace her brother and celebrate his return to the world they both cherished.

The throne room of the Red Keep was a magnificent sight, its grand scale and ornate decorations a testament to the power and history of House Targaryen. Banners of black and red hung from the high ceilings, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryens prominently displayed. The Iron Throne itself, forged from the swords of defeated enemies, loomed at the far end of the hall, a jagged symbol of absolute authority.

King Viserys I Targaryen sat upon the throne, his posture tense with anticipation. His eyes, the same violet as his children’s, were fixed on the massive doors at the other end of the hall. Courtiers and lords stood in silence, lining the path to the throne, their eyes darting between the King and the doors. The room was filled with a barely contained excitement, the air thick with the importance of the moment.

Viserys shifted in his seat, trying to maintain his regal composure, though it was clear to those who knew him well that he was impatient. It had been three long years since he had last seen his son, and the waiting was almost unbearable. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of the throne, his thoughts racing with memories of the boy who had ridden off to war and the man who would return.

Just as the tension in the room reached its peak, the doors to the throne room creaked open, and a late arrival hurried through. Rhaenyra Targaryen, her cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath, slipped in as quietly as possible, her eyes immediately seeking out her father on the throne. She exhaled in relief when she saw that she had made it just in time. She quickly moved to join the courtiers, standing beside Alicent Hightower, who gave her a sympathetic smile.

The doors opened fully with a deep, echoing groan, and the room fell into a hushed silence as Ser Harrold Westerling, flanked by the Kingsguard, stepped inside. "Prince Y/N of Dragonstone, heir to the Iron Throne," Ser Harrold announced, his voice carrying across the hall.

All eyes turned to the figure that stepped through the threshold, and the sight was nothing short of breathtaking.

You stood tall, your presence commanding the room as you entered with the easy confidence of a man who had faced both war and dragons. Your short, pale blond hair, tousled by the wind of your flight, caught the light, glinting like spun silk. Your deep violet eyes, so reminiscent of your father’s, scanned the room with a quiet intensity, taking in every detail. The armor you wore was finely crafted, a blend of polished steel and dragon motifs, but it was the Targaryen sigil emblazoned across your chest that drew the most attention—a bold reminder of the blood that coursed through your veins.

As you strode forward, your movements were smooth and measured, a dragonrider’s grace evident in every step. There was a power in your gait, a strength that spoke of the battles fought and won, of the years spent defending the realm. The courtiers and lords bowed their heads as you passed, acknowledging the prince and future king. Whispers followed in your wake, the court abuzz with murmurs of admiration and awe.

Rhaenyra, watching from a distance, felt her heart swell with pride. Her brother had always been strong, but there was something different about him now—an air of authority and purpose that had not been there before. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched you approach the throne, her eyes glistening with emotion.

Beside her, Alicent Hightower blushed deeply as you passed, her gaze dropping to the floor before sneaking another glance at you. There was a palpable tension in the air, a mix of admiration and something more, as she tried to compose herself. Rhaenyra noticed, but said nothing, a small smile playing on her lips.

Your focus, however, was solely on the man who awaited you at the end of the hall. King Viserys rose from the Iron Throne as you approached, his expression shifting from regal formality to one of barely contained joy. The distance between father and son narrowed with each step you took, and by the time you stood before him, the room seemed to hold its breath.

Viserys paused for a moment, looking you over with the eyes of a father who had missed the growth of his child into a man. His gaze was proud, but there was also a trace of sadness for the time lost. "My son," he began, his voice formal but thick with emotion, "you have returned to us a hero. The realm owes you a great debt for your service."

You bowed your head respectfully, your voice steady and warm as you replied, "Thank you, Father. It was my duty to defend our lands, but it is good to be home."

Viserys nodded, but the formality of the moment quickly gave way to something more genuine. His stoic expression broke, a broad grin spreading across his face as he stepped down from the throne. Before the courtiers could fully register the shift, Viserys crossed the remaining distance between you and embraced you with a hearty, almost crushing hug.

"My boy," he said, his voice choked with emotion as he held you close. "You’ve grown so much. It’s been too long."

You returned the embrace just as fiercely, your own voice betraying the depth of your feelings. "I’ve missed you, Father."

The hall erupted in applause, the sound echoing off the stone walls as the courtiers and lords showed their approval. It was a moment of unity, a rare and cherished sight in the often fractured world of court politics.

Viserys pulled back, his hands still on your shoulders as he looked at you with a father’s pride. "Come," he said, his voice lighter now, almost eager. "There’s so much to tell you, so much you’ve missed in these three years. The court, the realm... you must hear it all. And I want to hear every detail of your time in Dorne."

He clapped you on the back, turning to lead you away from the throne, his excitement palpable. "But first, let’s get you out of that armor. We’ll talk as you prepare for the feast. The entire court is eager to see you again, and your sister has been counting the days until your return."

As the two of you began to walk down the aisle, Rhaenyra watched with a smile, her heart full. She followed at a discreet distance, blending in with the other courtiers, but her eyes never left you. Alicent, still by her side, looked after you with a softness in her gaze, her earlier blush still lingering.

The doors to the throne room slowly closed behind you, the applause fading as the court returned to its usual murmur of conversation. The welcoming ceremony had ended, but the day was just beginning, and it was clear that it would be filled with moments to remember.

Rhaenyra, watching you disappear through the doors with your father, knew that the bond between the two of you was as strong as ever. Today, the Targaryen family was reunited, and the city of King’s Landing would celebrate in grand fashion.

But for Rhaenyra, the true celebration was in the simple joy of having her brother home again. The dragons of House Targaryen were together once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of this day.

The echoes of the applause still lingered in the halls as King Viserys I Targaryen led you away from the throne room and into a quieter, more private part of the Red Keep. The ornate corridors, lined with tapestries depicting the history of House Targaryen, gradually gave way to more intimate surroundings—the King’s private chambers. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court, the formalities of royal life could be set aside, if only for a short while.

As the door to the King’s chambers closed behind you, the weight of the last three years seemed to melt away. Viserys gestured for you to sit at the table near the window, where a light breeze drifted in, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city’s celebrations. The table was set with wine and bread, simple fare for a king, but comforting in its familiarity.

Viserys poured two goblets of wine, handing one to you before taking a seat across from you. For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, noting the subtle changes that time and experience had etched there.

"You’ve grown, Y/N," he said, his voice soft, almost in awe. "I knew you would, of course, but seeing you now... it’s different. You’ve become a man in these last three years. I’m proud of you, more than words can say."

You took a sip of the wine, savoring the taste before replying. "Thank you, Father. It wasn’t an easy task, defending our borders, but it was necessary. The Dornish were becoming bolder by the day. They needed to be reminded of our strength."

Viserys nodded, his expression serious. "I’ve heard the reports, of course. Your presence alone was enough to turn the tide, or so they say. Silverwing must have been a sight to behold on the battlefield."

A small smile played on your lips as you recalled the days spent soaring over the arid Dornish lands, the wind whipping through your hair as Silverwing roared her defiance at the enemy below. "She was magnificent. The Dornish learned quickly that Targaryen fire is not to be trifled with. But it wasn’t just about the battles. The men needed leadership, someone to rally behind. I did what I could to be that for them."

"And you succeeded," Viserys said, his voice filled with pride. "The realm is safer because of you. The people know they have a prince who will protect them, a future king who will lead them with strength and honor."

You inclined your head, acknowledging his praise, but there was a wistfulness in your expression that Viserys did not miss. He reached across the table, placing a hand on your arm. "What troubles you, my son?"

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice tinged with a quiet sorrow. "I was just thinking of Mother. She would have been so proud to see this day, to see how the realm is at peace because of what we’ve done. I’ve missed her, every day."

Viserys’s face softened, his own grief mirrored in your words. "I miss her too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not a day goes by that I don’t think of Aemma, of what she would say, how she would guide me. She was my heart, and I know she was yours as well."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he continued. "I regret that she is not here to see you thrive, to see the man you’ve become. But I believe she is watching over us, that she sees you and is as proud of you as I am. You were her joy, Y/N. She would be so very proud."

You lowered your gaze for a moment, the memories of your mother flooding your mind—her gentle smile, the warmth of her embrace, the way she had always known just what to say to ease your fears. "I’ve tried to honor her memory in everything I do," you said quietly. "Every decision I make, every battle I fight, I think of what she would want, what she would have done. She’s never far from my thoughts."

Viserys smiled sadly, his hand still resting on yours. "She lives on in you, my son. In your strength, in your kindness, in your sense of duty. Aemma’s spirit is with us, even if she is not."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the weight of shared loss hanging between you. It was a grief that had shaped both your lives, a void that could never truly be filled. Yet, in that silence, there was also a sense of peace, a shared understanding that you both carried her memory with you, honoring her in your own ways.

Viserys broke the silence first, his voice lighter now as he sought to lift the mood. "But let us not dwell too long on sorrow. Today is a day of celebration, after all. The court is waiting, and I hear you plan to compete in the tourney yourself."

You chuckled, the sadness easing from your features as you looked up at him. "I do. It’s been too long since I’ve had the chance to test my skills. The Dornish provided plenty of real battles, but there’s something to be said for the honor and tradition of a tourney."

Viserys grinned, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "You’ll make quite the entrance, I’m sure. The court will be watching closely. It’s not every day they get to see the heir to the Iron Throne in action."

"I’ll do my best to give them a show," you replied with a grin of your own. "But it’s not just about the spectacle. It’s a chance to remind the realm of our strength, of the unity of House Targaryen. We’ve faced threats from the outside, but there are always threats from within as well. The court needs to see that we are strong, that we stand together."

Viserys nodded, understanding the deeper meaning behind your words. "You’re right. There are always those who would seek to undermine us, to sow discord. But today, let them see that House Targaryen is united, that the blood of the dragon runs true in you."

He raised his goblet in a toast, his eyes filled with pride and determination. "To your nameday, my son. To the future of our house, and to the memory of those who came before us."

You clinked your goblet against his, the sound ringing softly in the quiet room. "To our future," you echoed, your voice steady and sure.

As you both drank, the atmosphere lightened, the bond between father and son reaffirmed. The burdens of the past were still there, but for now, they were set aside, replaced by the promise of the day ahead.

Viserys set his goblet down, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now, tell me—are you planning to win this tourney? Or should I place my bets elsewhere?"

You laughed, a genuine, hearty sound that filled the room. "I plan to give it my all, Father. But I suppose you’ll have to wait and see if that’s enough to claim victory."

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very well, I’ll keep my bets close to my chest. But I’ll be watching with great interest."

The two of you continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily as you recounted the events of the last three years, the battles fought, the alliances forged. Viserys listened intently, asking questions, offering advice, and occasionally regaling you with the goings-on in King’s Landing during your absence. The weight of rulership was ever-present, but in this moment, it was simply a father catching up with his son.

Finally, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Viserys glanced out the window, noting the time. "The feast will begin soon, and the tourney will follow. We should make our way back to the court."

You nodded, standing as he did, your heart lighter than it had been in a long time. "I’m ready, Father. Let’s go and give them a day to remember."

Viserys clapped you on the back as you walked to the door together, his smile full of pride and affection. "That we shall, my son. That we shall."

And with that, the two of you stepped out of the King’s private chambers and back into the grand corridors of the Red Keep, ready to face the celebrations that awaited. Today was your day, a day to honor the past, celebrate the present, and look forward to the future. The dragons of House Targaryen were united once more, and nothing could dim the brightness of the day that lay ahead.

The grand corridors of the Red Keep were filled with the rustle of fine fabrics and the murmur of anticipation as courtiers made their way towards the tourney grounds. The air vibrated with excitement, the prospect of watching the finest knights in the realm compete thrilling everyone. The ladies of the court walked in groups, their laughter and whispers echoing off the stone walls as they discussed the events of the day—and the prince who had returned after three long years.

Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower moved among them, their own excitement tempered by a more personal interest in the proceedings. They had just witnessed your return to King’s Landing, and the image of you standing tall and proud before the Iron Throne was still fresh in their minds. As they walked, Rhaenyra’s mind buzzed with thoughts of you, while Alicent seemed quieter than usual, her expression contemplative.

"You haven’t said much since we left the throne room," Rhaenyra noted, glancing at her friend as they walked. "What are you thinking, Alicent?"

Alicent blinked, as if pulled from her thoughts, and offered Rhaenyra a soft smile. "I was just thinking about your brother. It’s incredible how much he’s changed. I almost didn’t recognize him when he walked in."

Rhaenyra nodded, her lips curving into a fond smile. "He has changed, hasn’t he? When he left, he was still young, still learning how to lead. Now... now he seems so sure of himself, so strong." There was pride in her voice, but also a hint of something else—an undercurrent of longing for the time when the two of you were younger and life was simpler.

Alicent’s eyes flickered with understanding. "You’re proud of him, Rhaenyra. Anyone can see that. But I imagine it must be strange too, seeing how he’s grown in your absence."

"It is," Rhaenyra admitted, her voice quiet. "I’ve missed him so much. We used to spend all our time together. Now, it feels like he’s returned a different person, someone who belongs more to the realm than to me."

Alicent gave her a sympathetic look. "That’s only natural. He’s the heir to the throne, after all. But that doesn’t mean he’s changed in how he feels about you. You’re still his sister, Rhaenyra. That bond doesn’t just disappear."

Rhaenyra nodded, though her heart still felt heavy. She knew Alicent was right, but the feeling of being left behind, of losing the closeness you once shared, gnawed at her. "I know," she said, forcing a smile. "But sometimes I wish we could go back to the way things were, when it was just the two of us."

Alicent was about to respond when the soft murmur of the ladies walking nearby caught their attention. The two of them slowed their pace slightly, enough to overhear the conversation unfolding around them.

"Did you see him? He’s even more handsome than the rumors said," one lady whispered excitedly.

"And did you notice how he carries himself? So regal, so commanding," another added, her voice tinged with admiration.

"I heard he’s competing in the tourney today. Can you imagine how thrilling it would be to watch him fight? I’ll wager every lady here will be hoping for his favor."

The ladies giggled, their words filled with admiration and excitement. Rhaenyra’s chest tightened as she listened, her earlier feelings of pride mingling with a sharp pang of jealousy. She had always known you were admired, but hearing these women fawn over you, imagining themselves catching your attention, stirred something possessive within her.

Alicent, noticing the change in Rhaenyra’s expression, touched her arm gently. "Rhaenyra... you know they’re just infatuated with the idea of him. They don’t know him like you do."

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened slightly as she nodded. "I know, but it still bothers me. It’s like they’re trying to take something that belongs to me." Her voice was low, almost bitter, the jealousy she felt hard to suppress.

Alicent gave her a thoughtful look, choosing her words carefully. "It’s understandable, Rhaenyra. You’ve shared something special with him, something no one else can claim. But he’s the heir, and as much as it pains you, others will be drawn to him. They see the prince, the dragonrider, but they don’t see the brother you know."

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders relaxing a little as she processed Alicent’s words. "You’re right," she said, her voice softer now. "It’s just... it’s hard to watch. I miss the days when it was just the two of us, when I didn’t have to share him with the rest of the realm."

Alicent squeezed her arm reassuringly. "I’m sure he feels the same way about you, Rhaenyra. He’s always been devoted to you. Don’t let the chatter of the court make you doubt that."

Rhaenyra managed a small smile, her earlier jealousy easing, though not entirely disappearing. "Thank you, Alicent. I just need to remind myself of that."

As they emerged from the shadowed corridors and into the open air, the roar of the crowds from the tourney grounds greeted them, the excitement palpable. The stands were already filled with lords, ladies, and smallfolk alike, all eager to witness the spectacle. Banners fluttered in the breeze, the sigils of noble houses displayed proudly, while the smell of roasted meats and the sound of trumpets filled the air.

Rhaenyra and Alicent were escorted to their seats in the royal box, a prime position that offered a perfect view of the lists. As they settled in, Rhaenyra’s eyes scanned the grounds, her thoughts still partly on you, wondering what you might be thinking as you prepared for the tourney.

The ladies around them continued to chatter excitedly, their conversations now shifting to the knights who would compete, but Rhaenyra’s thoughts remained on you. She couldn’t help but wonder how you would perform in the tourney, whether you would acknowledge her in some way, and what it would mean to see you in your element once more.

Alicent, ever observant, leaned closer to Rhaenyra. "You’ll see him again soon, you know. And when you do, you’ll have his attention. The bond you share is something these other ladies can only dream of."

Rhaenyra nodded, a determined look settling on her face. "You’re right, Alicent. I’ve spent enough time longing for the past. Today, I’ll celebrate the present—and the fact that my brother is finally home."

Alicent smiled warmly at her, proud of her friend’s resolve. "That’s the spirit, Rhaenyra. Now, let’s enjoy the tourney. I have a feeling it’s going to be one for the ages."

As the trumpets blared once more, signaling the start of the day’s events, Rhaenyra allowed herself to relax, focusing on the excitement of the moment. The tourney grounds were alive with color and sound, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of contentment. You were home, and that was what mattered most.

The day was young, and there was much to celebrate. Rhaenyra settled into her seat, ready to watch the tourney unfold, knowing that no matter what, her brother would always be her closest confidant, the one person who truly understood her. Today, the dragons of House Targaryen were united, and nothing would take that away from her.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x male reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #rhaenyra x y/n #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x you #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #house targaryen #silverwing

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lurkinginnernarrator · 3 months ago

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Cang Qiong's rumor mill has a new topic.

Peak Lord Shen hasn't been seen in two weeks. The last time he was seen was flying back from An Ding, where he purportedly commandeered some unknown objects from An Ding's storerooms after a hasty discussion with Peak Lord Shang. He entered the Bamboo house and hasn't emerged since.

The most popular theory is Peak Lord Shen is conducting some sort of toeing-the-line-of-taboo ritual.

Eventually, someone convinces Mu Qingfang to do a wellness check.

The Qing Jing disciples greet their Mu-shishu respectfully, the disciple escorting him to the Bamboo House inquiring as to the nature of his visit, seeing as 'Shizun wasn't expecting shishu today.'

"This master is merely here to visit your Shizun."

The disciple bows after announcing Mu Qingfang's arrival.

Mu Qingfang opens the door.

"Shen-shixiong?"

"Mu-shidi? To what do I owe the pleA—FUCK get BACK HERE YOU ARE NOT"—the sounds of struggle reach Mu Qingfang's ears and he leaps to action, striding in to take stock of the situatio...n.

Shen-shixiong is flat on his stomach; outstretched hands tightly grasping a precocious ball of fluff. His eyes gleam in victory, the scene casting it in a more crazed light. There is a heaviness to Shen Qingqiu's eyes that cultivation cannot banish and miscellaneous stains on his person. And, looking around, the Bamboo House is a disaster. Books, brushes, scrolls, inkwells and fans are scattered around, many haphazardly dropped on the floor. There is. Also. Hay?

Mu Qingfang freezes in the doorway. Ball of fluff and Shen Qingqiu also freeze.

"Is... Shixiong alright?"

This seems to snap Shen Qingqiu into action. He scrambles up firmly but with care, cradling the fluffball. Shen Qingqiu gets himself in order as best he can with both his hands occupied and clears his throat.

"Ah...Yes. this master is fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?..."

The fluffball twitches, wriggling until Shen Qingqiu loses his grip on it. It hops to the floor. A juvenile Whitecrested Snowrabbit of Agility stares up at Mu Qingfang.

"This. Shidi could come back at a more opportune time?"

The bunny starts chewing on a scroll.

"I believe that would be best."

Mu Qingfang backs out of the doorway.

He does send tea to help with Shen-Shixiong's fatigue and a subspecies of carrot that Whitecrested Snowrabbits are supposed to favour though.

I wonder what the next topic of Cang Qiong's rumor mill will be?

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #mu qingfang #qing jing peak #svsss au #svsss crack #an ding peak #shang qinghua #cumplane #mushen #-ish #svsss drabble #researcher shen yuan

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howyouloveyourdragon · 9 months ago

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Tԋҽ Sσϝƚҽʂƚ Lσʋҽ

summary: sometimes all you need is a gentle lover and a comforting hand, Jacaerys knows this all too well with you at his side and a crown at his temple request: Hii can I request a softest love prompt 2&7 for Jace:)))) pairing: King!Jacaerys x reader pronouns: she/her dividers by: saradika and cafekitsune wordcount: 2,659 prompts: 2. touching foreheads in a hug, 7. that gaze--tired, soft, their thumb gently rubbing your cheek, noses touching, silently mumbling an "i love you" banners by myself A/N: i really hope you enjoyed this anon! let me know!

“AND IF we are unable to find said payment or refuse, then it is a reasonable assumption to make that–” The droning speech of Isembard Arryn, Master of Coin, continues despite the Jacaerys’ clenching jaw and slitted gaze. “War is no solution.” Lord Cregan Stark swiftly interrupts him, glancing his King’s way as the words pass him. It is no secret that the King is not fond of division nor war. Jacaerys stays staring ahead, gaze hard and impenetrable. “We have the money.” He contributes, voice uncharacteristically gruff. You squeeze his hand but as quickly as you can blink, he brings your palm to his lips and places a deft kiss there. Soft and gentle as it had always been. The council pauses at the motion then returns to the matter. They shift in discomfort, they continue to look at his stiff form. “I believe, our liege, that–” Lord Thaddeus Rowen, Master of Laws and lord justiciar begins. “My Hand is right, let us rest on the matter.” Jacaerys snaps briskly. Lord Rowen clears his throat and lets a childish huff pass him. “The decision should be made with haste, your grace, Lord Baratheon shall not be so kind. He will–” Arryn presses further before– “We will let it rest!” Jacaerys shouts with suddenness. He stands and slams one cold, commanding fist against the table. Each breath is held at such an outburst and for once, the King is not blinking at the nothingness of a floor or blankly ahead. Purpose takes flight in his eyes, directing their focus as sharp as a blade on the infuriating man.

Silence presides over the table, It echoes and flickers with the rage of a King’s charge. Your King had spoken and if his council continued to defy him, you were certain that it would end less than favourably for them. And so, you circle your thumb of his hand and latch your eyes on the side of his face until the pull of your attention tugs him back to you. His eyes lock on your own–at first they stare with the stark hardness of stone. They swim with slitted irritation and glare with a gruffness unknown to you. But he is still your Jacaerys and it takes not long before he softens at your own gaze, you are enough to gentle him. You always are. Jacaerys swallows and turns his gaze back on his dispersing council. “I meant not to frighten you.” He uttered quietly. His body lightened like a feather and his sights trained on the stone table before him. As easily as he does so, you stand and cup his face with your unarmed hand. Your fingers flatten against his face and turn him once more before you. “You could never frighten me.” You reply simply, closing your eyes. Simpleness was your most favourable quality. Everything you cast him was with ease, no secrets stood between you both. It was a relief after so long at troublesome court for you both. A bated huff fluttered with purpose through his nose and it took little for the both of you to rest your foreheads together. He releases shuddered breaths which follow the seam of your mouth. “I love you.” He whispers. A smile pinches at your lips. “I love you too.” You return as the doors swing shut. Another sigh passes through your husband and relaxation washes over him.

Finally everyone has left, Jacaerys’ arms wrap around you and fingers are already pawing at your gown. It comforts him to feel you, to clench that fabric up in his balled hands and know you’re there. What feels even better however is when a warm, firm kiss is planted against your forehead. And then you hear the most lyrical words…“I love you so much I can barely breathe.” And you let out a shaky exhale. You flutter against him and it almost entices his arms to hold you tighter. The sweetness of his voice plays like a melody through your ears until they circle your brain and lull it to stop the whirring. The whirring that had become so painfully familiar. So painfully consistent. It reminds you of your lover. Not your husband but your lover. The marriage had been chosen for you but that did not mean that your love had been, as Jacaerys cares to remind you each eve as he twists those silken fingers through your hair, as he kisses his affection down your neck until caressed bruises lay in his wake and colour with the pink of his love. Because he does love you. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you, he loves–He loves to be yours, he reminds you as he pulls away. The drapes flutter the cold air inside as swiftly as you can imagine wings could. It folds over you in the space between yourself and your husband. Slowly, your eyes open to find him already gazing at you with his wear lovesick gaze. The gaze that buckles your knees and has you unable to as much as glance away from him. Not for a single moment.

A shaky sigh sputters from The King of Just’s lips. The people had named him as such after the activities of his on-running reign. Of the odd mercy that he had approached his former enemies with. You think of these events as his fingers dance into your hair. His eyes follow fast to his own actions, fascinated in the treasure within those fingers. Of what he has been blessed to hold, he vows to hold you dearly. Tenderly. Softly. As he does so, your own sights linger on his face. At his pillowed lips and dark, thick eyelashes. At the short scar that stretches along his jaw and chin. The tips of your own fingers flutter toward it like a moth to light. Your thumb lays gentle touch upon it and smooths along the surface. Again, a sigh passes through him but with the gentleness of a doe. With the timid, uncertain glance of a doe. The thought amuses you but you allow it to settle. Breath threads between you both and tugs you ever closer. Ever where you belong. But when he finally presses a kiss to your lips, it barely greets the skin. There is something divinely religious in the way he caresses your lips with his like an idol. Worship dances along his tongue and almost expels prayers from his warm mouth. His thumb detangles from your hair and cups your face. His thumb rolls slow circles into your cheek as his kisses press on between unkempt words. “I love you.” He utters in repetition. “I love you, I love you,” His nose burrows into the side of your own until you almost become one body entwined only with itself. The words tangle themselves in the sweetest patterns throughout your brain and chest.

Your face turns to face the tall dark door. “They must know that war will not be sustainable.” Utters through you, the spell of confusion and aged bewilderment leaves through an exhale. “We have funds to cease such affairs, why cause a fate of destruction?” Jacaerys feels his jaw soften and his eyes stare distantly into your face. With two gentle fingers, he turns you back towards him. “Men will destroy aplenty for power. I know that all too well.” His gruff words murmur through the air. Your eyes stare into the harsh darkness of his gaze – warm amber turns to stone. Your eyes continue to trace down his ridged nose and chiselled jaw, his plump lips. Something possesses you to caress them with your thumb – slowly parting them until his teeth peek out like shining pearls. His throat bobs but his shoulders stay calm as he leans in again. Jace had been not only your dearest love but your most sweet and that meant more to you than words could ever detail. His lips brush against yours before diving between them and all you can remember is that he feels like home. Jace feels like home. Your Jace. His soft love addresses you and only you – he needs not hide it from anyone. Not even from irritative lords in council chambers. Because you were not only his wife but his Queen. And he has no intent to keep that a discretion. His kiss blossoms your flesh like the blooming of your affection; tentative, tender and tenacious. You would not release it for the world. Not for any Kingdom or cure from mortality for you would happily die in his embrace. Endure any erratic wars or gruelling hardship. It is hard to imagine that you would ever deny him your kiss – the memory flutters the reverberation of a laugh from your mouth.

Jacaerys has never thought himself one to offend but even less so to cater to the whimsy of romance, yet the moment your laugh reaches his ears, he feels himself reflect one himself. The hair of his fringe passes your own forehead as your press ever-closely together. The thought of parting from you for even a moment brings him heartache. His hands wrap atop the circle of your waist and squeeze with a playfulness unknown to those outside your threshold. “What is that which has you fluttering?” He delights in good charm. He cups your face with one broad, warm hand and rubs the skin. “Hm? What has my dereworthy darling fluttering so?” His amusement only triggers you moreso. When you return him your gaze, Jacaerys can recall why he wished to paint your face upon glass. He wishes to keep your sculpted, smiling face forever in view. It matters not should you outlive him so long as he need not spend a single moment without the sweet, shining eyes of yours. The brows of his face cannot help but droop at your mere sight. His expression stays tender and intense. How could he ever meet a woman of your beauty? He is certain that your charms were not merely a gift of Gods but the heavens themselves. “My joy, I nearly refused you.” It is that of befuddlement which pinches and clouds your pleasant face. A shake of your head rustles the strands of your hair. “How could I ever have refused you? My heart…”

A chuckle rumbles throughout the King’s chest and he tucks the brushes of hair behind your ears. His sights skid across your features but not in search – he has every answer he could ever need and in the safest of vaults. The vault of his heart. You truly were the sweetest of wines, the holder of hidden truths and the wielder of worlds – his at least. “Tis not your fault, you had not met my charms until our day.” At the mention of such a date, he earned his years of prize – your smile. “To all truth, such an hour frightened me once.” “I know.” He murmured, grinning like a feline. “Of course, then I knew too.” Your eyes widened and the shortest intake rushed to your mouth. “Surely, you jest!” You all but scold, horror in your eyes. He shakes his head, humour all-consuming as he doubles over and squeezes his eyes. “I do not!” Jacaerys claims. “I was quite nerved by it, for what reason is it that had you to assume I not taken you to bed that eve if not your considerations?” His left brow rises and the air suddenly feels stifling. “I…” You stumble with abash. “I had presumed you had not taken a liking to me yet.” At that, Jace is quick to disagree and nuzzle his nose to yours. “I could never not want for you, sweet wife. You are the most beautiful of women and the most kind.” Your head tilts in that darling way that it only calls for when you are unclued. “For days I–” His voice lowers, his gaze flickers over your face. With a swallow, he summons his courage and rubs his thumb over your jawline. “For days, I took witness to your reading in the gardens. To my cousin on her walks there.”

You had not realised he had seen you with little Jaehaera. The recollection of memories flushes your cheeks. You do not know whether it is your own self-pride or embarrassment. It makes him smile–how easily he can fluster you. “I saw you while passing a window and…Well, you charmed me. Heart and soul, you charmed me.” For a moment, all he can do is stare into your eyes, his gaze soft. “I…” You hesitate, wracking your mind for any clue of the past to which you had ignored but you find nothing. “I had no idea.” You murmur with the quietness of a newborn lamb. He only smiles. “I know, my darling.” Tease carries through his voice. “That is why I love you so; you had not a clue as to anyone witnessing you and your beauty at all.” Adoration was not new to Jacaerys; he had been well accustomed to the Goddess before him for years now. The hand not upon your face runs small circles on your middle. “It is when nobody is watching that I see your heart.” He lands a feather-light kiss to your nose. “I love you, my darling, I love you.”

Your love is one of quiet halls and whispered confessions. Your love is of a King seeking for the mercy only his QUeen can bring him. The mercy of a gentle home. A gentle life amidst the meddling and politics of a life forever in court. You admit that your own love for your husband came later–the fear of marrying a prince heavy on your mind. The expectation that would come with that also gives no bounds. You still recall how trembles had shaken your form as your father hurried you through the luxurious spectacle. The aisle had been a long, empty space in where you could barely catch the face of your soon-husband and Septon. Surrounded by men and women, ladies and lords of note and yet you had not known nor met. Yet when you had finally forced your figure to stand beside the three men who would cement your future, the only calm you found was through the comfort and Jacaerys’ hand resting on yours. Both of your fates to be entwined and tied. You were together, hands warm and clammy with nerves but together. You were not alone. When he searched your eyes for any hesitance throughout the ceremony and whispered in your ear to ask if you were certain–that was when you knew. You were not alone. He would not allow you to be alone.

Now, as tears kiss your cheeks. Of affection and warmth–you can still see that look in his gaze. That kind, soft, assurance that you are not alone. “I love you.” You whispered to him, unable to hold back. It does not take long at all for him to press his lips to yours again. His hands caress your face and his care is unavoidable. And when you parted, he still chased for you. “We should retire to bed. The children will have missed us.” You explain quietly, reluctant to leave. A sigh spills from him and although you both stand there together for another second of tenderness, of softness, you know that he agrees. Ever the dutiful father. He would not let a single eve leave them without a story before their rest. “Do you think they would prefer another tale of Nymyria?” “I think they would care greatly for it.” You agree. He takes your hand in his and draws you out of the chamber. The door closes quietly and so are your footsteps as the two of you walk through the hall. The soft rays of sunlight passing down to caress the dusk echoes around you. And like his love–some things are better kept soft.

General Taglist: - @hopelesswritergall - @succnfuccubus - @madame-fear

HOTD Taglist - @wrendermedone - @its-actually-minicika - @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly - @adelusionalwriter - @cookielovesbook-akie - @maximofftwinsbitch - @ughhthisbitch - @daenerysapologist - @savagemickey03

Jacaerys Taglist - @fairysluna - @jacevelaryonswife - @maximofftwinsbitch

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gigamuffinsofie · 1 year ago

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the bbc 4 radio shows are my biggest guilty pleasure

#its not... good?#like i have no frame of reference on what makes a radio show good. but i at least enjoy this somehow #enjoy is a strong word. it's more like a 'it feeds my autism beast' kinda enjoyment #i like the cast at least. most of the time when i read the books i do use the voices that are from the radio show #not master and commander. thats not jack!!#its all fun and games them BAM SEX!!!#its especially bad in master and commander and hms surprise #like stephen is currently out there being tortured and you're thinking about the time you cucked harte???#other than that i liked hms surprise im weak for it its my favourite book in the series #sorry i have lots of thoughts and no one to listen!! and today unfortunate follower is you🫵!!

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velarisdusk · 1 month ago

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Twisted Silk

Day 10: Bondage | Azriel x Reader word count: 1.2k author’s note: fr do not put me in a room with azriel he will get WORN OUT ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The shadows curled tighter around your wrists, holding them high above your head, their cool, silken touch a stark contrast to the heat simmering in your body.

You were splayed out beneath him, legs parted, Azriel’s shadows keeping you bound in place as they slithered over your skin. They moved with a life of their own, teasing, and yet unyielding. No matter how you squirmed or tugged, they held you fast, perfectly obedient to their master’s will.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your body arching, but Azriel remained still, watching you with those piercing hazel eyes. He stood over you, bathed in the low light of the room, his wings casting dark shapes across the walls. He hadn’t touched you where you needed him to, not yet, and the frustration of it was almost unbearable.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need.

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, a shadow of satisfaction flitting across his face. "Patience," he murmured, his voice a velvet rasp that sent shivers down your spine. The shadows tightened just slightly around your wrists in response to his command, a reminder of who was in control.

Your breath hitched as his hand finally grazed the inside of your thigh, the sensation a whisper against your sensitive skin. The ache between your legs had grown into a steady throb, but Azriel took his time, his touch agonizingly slow, deliberate, savoring every reaction he drew from you.

“Do you feel that?” His voice was low, a quiet rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. His thumb brushed the inside of your thigh, just enough to make you gasp. “That’s what you get when you earn it.”

You bit your lip, stifling a groan as his shadows coiled more firmly around your hips, holding you down even as your body strained against them. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but he wouldn’t let you fall apart just yet. Azriel’s control was absolute, and you loved it as much as it drove you mad.

His wings rustled as he leaned down, his breath hot against your throat. "You're so needy tonight," he whispered, his teeth grazing the tender skin at your pulse. His shadows tightened, pulling your wrists taut above your head as if sensing your growing desperation.

“Please,” you managed, barely more than a breathless gasp.

But he only hummed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, as he dragged this out for as long as possible. The shadows shifted over your skin, sliding along your body like a lover's caress, teasing, denying, heightening every sensation until the line between pleasure and torment blurred.

“Not yet,” Azriel murmured, voice like dark honey, as his hand finally cupped you where you ached for him most, but even then, it was only a fleeting touch, gone before you could do more than gasp.

Your body quivered beneath him, every inch of you aching for more, but the shadows held you in place, reminding you of your helplessness—and how much you craved it.

The shadows moved like tendrils of dark silk, coiling around your body, teasing with light touches that never lingered long enough. They dragged across your nipples, your hips, the insides of your thighs—but none of it was enough. Every brush of them left you breathless, straining, your pulse pounding in your ears. Azriel’s shadows knew exactly how to keep you on edge, and so did he.

He was still watching, a dark sentinel standing over you. His eyes gleamed with something possessive, something dangerous. The power he held over you was intoxicating.

“You think you’re ready for me to touch you?” His voice was low, teasing, but laced with control. He hadn’t so much as brushed your skin except for that fleeting graze between your thighs, leaving you raw with need.

“Yes," you gasped, almost a whine, your body arching up toward him in desperation, the shadows pulling you back down in a mockery of restraint.

He hummed again, pleased by your helplessness. His wings shifted behind him, a soft, leathery sound filling the stillness of the room, his presence looming over you like a storm waiting to break. "I don’t think you’re ready," he mused, one corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk, though his gaze never wavered from your trembling form.

You wanted to scream at him, to beg, but all that came out was a ragged exhale. You were at his mercy, and you both knew it.

His hand returned to your thigh, slowly, maddeningly slow, dragging up the inside of it. You whimpered, hips twitching in response, but the shadows wouldn’t let you move—Azriel wouldn’t let you move. He held all the control, his shadows wrapping you up tighter, pressing into your skin just enough to remind you of the power he wielded.

“Azriel, please," you begged, your voice breaking on the last word. It wasn’t enough to just feel his shadows anymore. You needed his touch—desperately.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his body hovering just out of reach. "Is that all you have for me? A simple ‘please’?" His voice was a purr, dripping with amusement.

The shadows rippled over your skin again, tightening around your hips and thighs. They seemed to echo his teasing cruelty, holding you open, leaving you vulnerable while he watched you fall apart without even laying a finger on you.

A low, dark laugh escaped him, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’ll have to do better than that, love.”

Your chest heaved, a mixture of frustration and lust building into something molten inside you. Every inch of you was hyper-aware of his closeness, of the way his breath ghosted over your skin, of the cool skin of his hands that barely skimmed your body. But he was holding back, making you suffer in the most delicious way.

His fingers finally curled under your chin, lifting your face so you had no choice but to look into his eyes. They were molten, full of promises he hadn’t fulfilled yet. The heat in them sent another shiver racing through you, but his touch was still just a tease.

“Beg for it," Azriel commanded softly, his voice like a razor's edge.

Your throat was dry, but you obeyed, your voice trembling. "Please, Azriel. Touch me. I need it—I need you.”

His eyes darkened at your words, satisfaction flickering in them.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours for the briefest of moments.

And then, finally, his hand slid between your legs.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers brushed over your soaked core, the sensation a lightning bolt of relief and fresh desire. His shadows writhed around your body, holding you down as you bucked against his touch, every nerve singing with pleasure. The moment his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric between you, you knew you were lost.

Azriel’s smirk deepened, his thumb circling with agonizing slowness, sending waves of pleasure through your body. “Is this what you wanted?” His voice was low, mocking, though his eyes gleamed with something darker—something primal.

You nodded, unable to speak through the rush of sensation that flooded your senses. His shadows tightened again, almost possessive, holding you down, keeping you at his mercy.

“Good,” he growled, his hand moving in deliberate, controlled strokes as you came undone beneath him.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @randomgurl2326

@scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @sizzlingstarlightsky @fourthwing4ever

#kinktober #acotar #acotar smut #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut

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littleprinces · 6 months ago

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The Professor's Pet

Stayc J x M! Reader

Note: The story is a work of fiction and is intended for mature audiences only.

I couldn't believe my luck when I saw Yeeun, the Korean goddess, enter my English Lit class, her tight ass swaying with each step. She was a student, but I was her teacher. It was wrong, but I couldn't help it. I had to have her, no matter the cost.

The first day of class, I watched her unblinkingly, my pants growing tighter by the minute. I knew I had to have her, but how? I was her teacher, and she was just a student. That's when I hatched a plan. I'd find a way to degrade her, to make her beg for my cock. I was the master, and she was my pet.

After class, I called her to my office. She came in, her eyes wide with fear.

"Um, yes, Professor. I'm trying my best," she said, her eyes cast downward.

"I'll help you, but you have to do something for me."

She nodded, her eyes still on the ground.

"Come here," I commanded, patting the chair in front of my desk.

She hesitated but slowly made her way to me. I reached out and caressed her cheek.

"Yeeun," I started, "I noticed you're struggling with your English Lit assignments."

"Um, yes, Professor. I'm trying my best," she said, her eyes cast downward.

"I'll help you, but you have to do something for me."

She nodded, her eyes still on the ground.

She hesitated but slowly made her way to me. I reached out and caressed her cheek.

"Kiss me," I whispered.

Her eyes filled with tears, but she leaned in and kissed me softly. I deepened the kiss, my tongue probing her mouth. She moaned softly into my mouth, and I knew she was mine.

"Come here," I commanded, patting the chair in front of my desk.

"Good girl," I said, breaking the kiss. "Now, get on your knees and suck my cock."

She hesitated for a moment but then slowly unzipped my pants, revealing my hard, throbbing cock. She took it in her small hands, her innocent eyes looking up at me.

"Please, Professor," she begged, "I've never done this before."

"Don't worry, Yeeun," I said, stroking her hair. "Just take it slow and use your tongue."

She opened her mouth and took my cock in, her tongue lapping at the head. I groaned, grabbing her hair and guiding her movements.

"That's it, baby. Suck it like a good little whore."

She sucked harder, her eyes watering as I fucked her mouth. I could feel my cum building up, and I wanted to fill her tight little ass with it.

"Stop," I commanded, pulling my cock out of her mouth. "I want to fuck you in the ass."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with fear.

"Please, Professor. I've never done that before."

"I know, baby," I said, stroking her hair. "But I'll make it good for you. Trust me."

She nodded, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. I led her to the shower, turning on the water and letting it cascade down our bodies. I bent her over, her tight little ass on display. I spread her cheeks, revealing her tiny hole.

"Please, Professor," she begged, "I'm scared."

"Don't worry, baby," I said, spitting on her ass. "I'll take good care of you."

I pushed my cock against her tight little hole, feeling it resist. I reached around and started rubbing her clit, feeling her body relax. I slowly pushed my cock in, feeling her tightness surround my cock.

"Aaah," she moaned, her body trembling.

"That's it, baby," I said, thrusting harder. "Take my cock in your little ass."

"Ahh professor, i don't know i can take it or nah" Yeeun moan loudly

"Don't worry babygirl, it will be really good session" i say and still fuck yeeun's ass so hard

I fucked her hard, her moans echoing in the shower. I could feel my cum building up, ready to explode. I pulled out, my cock glistening with her ass juice.

"Get on your knees, whore," I commanded.

She obeyed, her eyes filling with tears.

"Open your mouth," I said, stroking my cock.

She opened her mouth, and I shot my cum into her. She gagged, but I kept cumming, filling her mouth with my hot load.

"Swallow it, whore," I commanded.

She swallowed, tears streaming down her face. I zipped up my pants, leaving her there in the shower, covered in my cum.

I walked out of the room, feeling satisfied and powerful. Yeeun was mine, and I would use her whenever I wanted. The thought of her cheating on her boyfriend with me made me hard all over again.

Well, i just post from my draft, not new smut

#stayc smut #jang yeeun smut #j smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #kpop x reader

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servantofthefates · 4 months ago

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10 Reasons Why I Love Being a Witch

1) Witchcraft loves me back.

With witchcraft, you get what you give. If you respect a spell’s instructions and perform it with faith, it will work. If you treat your tarot deck with regard, it will give you honest answers. Witchcraft yields results here and now, instead of promising eternal happiness after death.

2) It embraces who I am.

Witchcraft will never censor your truth by asking you to suppress your emotions. Pride, anger, greed, lust, envy… These are what make you human. And they are fuel for rituals. The craft teaches you how to harness and direct them, so you can live up to your potential.

3) It does not care about money.

Whether you use a $30 or a $3 candle will not affect the outcome of your spell. And the number of tarot decks, crystal balls and pendulums you own does not reflect how good a diviner you are. With witchcraft, faith and power are the only currencies that matter.

4) It allows me to avenge myself.

Turning the other cheek may sound nice. But it and self-love cannot co-exist. And in witchcraft, you have to love yourself before the occult allows you command it. The craft lets me practice self-love by giving back malice to anyone who sends it to me.

5) It allows me to help myself.

When your natural gifts are not enough to survive a challenge or accomplish a task, witchcraft lets you call upon the old gods and their minions for assistance. Spells that protect and disarm, heal and harm, grant and transcend are all at your fingertips.

6) It allows me to help others.

Witchcraft requires you to give back. But not through tithes or other taxes like that. Whenever you come across another soul who you think deserves your assistance, you can cast spells for them or perform divination on their behalf.

7) It lets me master myself.

Most people only know their conscious self. As a witch, you will be introduced to your other selves: your higher self and your shadow self. When the three of you have a strong understanding of one another, there is no obstacle you cannot conquer.

8) It lets me glimpse what is hidden.

Through divination, witchcraft allows you to witness things that have not yet come to pass. It also gives you access to the concealed present and the hidden past. This means you can look into people’s souls and see all their hidden motivations.

9) It dissolves my fears.

As a witch, you know that you are always where you are meant to be. Any unexpected, painful or tragic detours are only meant to reroute you to your true purpose. Witchcraft leads you to your true path. It is impossible to get lost.

10) I am the Pope of my religion.

Even though my family taught me the craft, I was given the chance to put that knowledge to the test. Nobody forced me to believe in anything that did not show itself to be true. And whenever I want to talk to my gods, I do not need a middle man. I always have a direct line.

#Witchcraft #Witch #Witch tips #Witchblr #servantofthefates #Pagan #All About Witchcraft

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austinbutlerslovers · 7 months ago

Text

Fight Training

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin has been practicing non stop to learn the art of Kali stick fighting for his upcoming role as Feyd Rautha for Dune Part Two.

Austin is so invested in his craft he comes home physically exhausted and begins a cycle of only cuddles, showers, and sleep with you.

Without sex you begin to lust for him. Your cravings for his body reach fever pitch when he returns home after a training session still sweaty.

This time you refuse to let him shower and sleep instead you make him submit and satisfy both of your sexual urges.

Established relationship girlfriend

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Female in heat• unsuspecting Austin•female sexual aggression• sub Austin•coercive edging on Austin• dirty talk •Oral sex on Austin• breast play•nipple play•clit play•P in V• simultaneous orgasms• cream pie •aftercare

Master List ••• Upcoming List

Thank you for this request. I have a glitch where I can’t post the story with it! But please enjoy 💝

Fight Training

Austin finishes his training with Roger Yuan for the day. It is in preparation for his latest film Dune Part Two. He has been cast to play the villain Feyd Rautha. A bald and menacing character who is a psychotic swordsman.

Austin has learned the art of Kali stick fighting with Roger over the last few months and is in near perfection of the skill. When they practice now instead of sticks they have upgraded to stunt blades.

Austin as usual has been intensely focused and highly determined to get every aspect right. The fighting team of the film began to take notice of Austin’s natural ability within the first week.

Now at the final stage even Roger compliments him “You pick up on the skill masterfully as if you have been doing this for years Austin” He affirms making Austin beam with pride.

On this day in particular Austin perfectly completed the choreography and flawlessly swept kicked his stunt stand in for Timothee Chalamet, who will play the hero Paul Atreides.

Roger stepped in to test his command of the routine for the film and Austin matched his pace perfectly once again.

At the end of the training session Austin still isn’t done practicing. He wants to go over a section with Roger where he presses the blade inches from his own eye.

They get into stance Roger kneeling forward pushing the blade towards Austin’s eye as Austin holds the handle with him and tries to resist being stabbed.

The stunt team gathers around because of how dangerous the move is even with a stunt blade. “You’re controlling how close the blade is going” Roger warns seeing how Austin is allowing the sharp point closer than necessary to his eye.

“Well let me see …” Austin says cutting himself short as the blade tip actually pierces lightly into his orbital socket. The stunt team begins panicked murmuring.

“Okay there it is” Austin says calmly knowing exactly how close the blade can get and corrects himself pressing it away from his eye.

Everyone is on pins and needles that Austin would take such a risk but Austin just laughs looking over at their worried faces “ I was just trying to see” he says through a smile setting them at ease.

The training session concludes after Austin’s last minute request and everyone begins to say their farewells to leave the fight studio.

Roger pats Austin on the back. “You have been non stop training Austin and it shows, even at home you are practicing?” Roger asks to confirm.

“Yes” Austin confirms . “Even at home, every minute I can. My girlfriend really enjoys the show” Austin admits grinning. Roger smiles back to him “Go home to her now, we start filming next week. Soon everyone who watches the movie will enjoy your skill” He says proudly.

Austin gets into his black Audi covered in sweat. He wears a black shirt and matching sweats. His shirt has white and green lettering on it which reads “Tad’s Chicken & dumplings” a restaurant popular in Oregon.

He blasts the AC as he drives home playing death metal to stay in focus for the inherent evil nature of his movie character.

When he arrives to his Los Angeles hills estate he looks forward to rinsing off in his elaborate shower before crashing in exhaustion with you on the couch or the king size bed to rest.

Pheromones

Austin enters the front door as usual but this time you come to hug him which you haven’t done before. He likes to hug you after he’s showered and clean and tries to stop you from getting covered in his sweat. “Baby I’m soaked I worked out so hard today look at me.” He says tugging his damp shirt.

The pheromones emitting from him drive you wild today. All of his muscles are bulging and he is glistening in sweat. His blue eyes flash with excitement to see you and his full lips and cheeks remain flushed pink which is his tell-tale sign he’s worked out too hard.

He finally sees your sexual desire for him as you continue to advance. He tries to avert your intentions away, he wants to shower first and be clean for you. “Baby…” he says with a wary tone as he places his hands out in a gesture to calm you.

“Come here Austin !” You command him smiling at each other as he makes you give chase. He quickly walks backwards through the living room with his arms outstretched keeping you at a distance. “Baby calm down” he says playfully.

He makes quick glances at the path behind him ensuring it’s clear as he walks backwards trying to keep you at bay.

Deep down you know you are going to pounce on him. You can see he is in a weakened state after his extreme training and you can easily over power his physical strength at the opportune moment.

You crave him, he has been busy and tired for days on end. The night before last he cuddled you to sleep. Last night he didn’t have sex with you due to his exhaustion from training. This morning he left you in bed because he woke up too tired. You’ve been without him for far too long.

Now seeing him wet with sweat as he smiles playfully staring into your eyes makes a surge of your pent up sexual desire rise for him. You lunge him just as he backs to the couch making him fall onto it.

You climb his body and attack his mouth first. He whimpers not wanting to give in but he can’t resist you and surrenders into your kisses clutching your head in his hands kissing you in return.

He breaks the kiss and grins staring into your eyes. “Did you miss me baby?” He asks knowingly and you smile in return. “Yes I missed you and I want to reward your for all the hard work you've been doing. I see you fight training in our courtyard everyday and it drives me wild Austin you look so good.” You admit and trail your hand down his shirt to lift the hem. You plunge your hand under the band of his sweats and begin massaging the head of his softened cock.

“Fuck baby!” He chokes out as his body tenses trying to stop the mixed signals of exhaustion and arousal surging through his body.

His head finally falls back into submission for arousal and he relaxes as your hand slowly rubs up and down his thick long soft cock. “I know you’re tired Austin but you deserve a reward.” You say peering down into his softened blue eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he nods yes and gives in to you.

His panting increases as you gently squeeze and stroke his cock until he is semi hard.

You climb on top of him straddling his hips and slowly grind your pussy on his length. “Baby you’re so…hot for me…-you must need my cock in you…badly” he pants out as he grabs your waist.

“Yes Austin I need you so badly you look so good. Im aching to have you inside of me” you respond as you work your hips in a rhythm pressing your pussy against his large cock as it hardens solid.

“Thats it baby …fuck -you’re getting me so hard…I-I’m gonna satisfy you completely… I..I’m gonna make you cum…I’m sorry I’ve ….been so busy.” He pants out.

“That’s exactly…what I want Austin.. I want you to make me cum.” You confess nearly breathless. You place your hands on his chest for leverage and feel the friction of his hardened cock rubbing against your folds intensify beginning to satisfy your pent up sexual urges.

You lightly moan using him to get yourself off and he stares up at you continuing to pant and groan as you grind harder on his cock edging you both.

You stand from his lap when his cock is rock hard. His eyes follow your movements as you kneel between his legs and tug at the band of his sweats. “Baby please let me shower.” He begs worried that he will taste like sweat, he wants his cock clean for you, he wants it to have no taste at all.

But you are persistent, his pheromones smell so sweet it’s driving you insane with lust.

“I want you like this Austin, I want to know what your cock tastes like.” You admit as you lift his shirt trailing your finger tips down his abs.

His six pack tenses showing every muscle as your finger tips reach his pelvic line. You see his hard cock twitch in anticipation through his tenting sweats and you softly squeeze the tip making him grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut.

“Beg me to suck your sweaty cock Austin” you command and he looks down at you while he lays flat, his eyes are pleading for you not to make him say it.

Your lips curve into a smile you love that he is so clean and perfect he is unable to even say the words.

You trail your hands down to his testis giving them a soft squeeze making his cock twitch a second time as he gasps “…baby please don’t make me say it.“ he begs.

You pull his sweat band lower releasing his large cock. His shaft sways and you hold it straight making him gasp again sensitive from your touch.

You form a fist around his cock and place your mouth above it “beg me” You command him looking into his eyes. He feels the heat of your words on his sensitive tip and restrains from bucking his hips up into your mouth.

You lick your thumb for saliva and swirl it around the tiny hole of his sensitive cock head making him lose his mind. His abs tense and his legs spasm as his hips buck up. “ Please suck my sweaty cock baby please !” he begs loudly making you smile. “As you wish” you tease him.

You lower your mouth on him as much as you can take and moan on his cock from the flavor. He tastes sweet and salty at the same time driving you insane with lust as you begin to drool.

“Do you…...- like it baby?” He pants struggling to form words as you suck him. “Mmhmm” you moan on his cock as your lock eyes with his. He becomes more aroused knowing you enjoy it.

You savor his cock as you suck all the way up releasing your mouth from his tip with a wet pop before diving back down on him and licking your tongue against his shaft in a repeated cycle.

He lays flat just panting and moaning in pleasure at the feeling of your mouth. The way your tongue explores his cock is different from anything you’ve done before and it sends shocks through his entire body feeling like your are trying to suck the flavor right off of him.

His cock twitches already wanting to cum in your mouth. “ fuck baby” he breaths out, and sits up on his elbows to watch what you do that pleasures him so much.

You guide your mouth on his cock bobbing up and down sucking him non stop. His body tenses as his cock pulses ready to cum. “P-please let me…-cum in your pussy baby…” he begs already at his climax. “Please..-let me …-s..satisfy you… I know you need me….” He says breathlessly.

You hold his thighs and lift your mouth from his cock “I need you Austin I want you to cum in me” you admit standing up preparing to ride him.

He sits up on the couch breathing heavier as he shivers from almost cumming in your mouth. He removes his socks and sneakers first then pulls off his damp shirt. He is extremely fit from his strength training for his role as Feyd.

His chest and abs are chiseled to perfection with his once defined arms now fully bulked. He lifts up his hips to pull his sweats and boxers off revealing his muscular legs. His nice thick cock is fully erect in between his toned thighs. Once completely naked he looks up at you to show he is ready.

You smile in satisfaction studying his pretty face and body. His full lips are parted and panting. The pupils in his blue eyes are expanded so wide from arousal they are almost all black.

You step closer standing between his spread muscular thighs and run your hands through his sweaty hair. You press the wet strands on his forehead back into his hairline as he smiles up at you with admiration in his eyes. He is so beautiful.

You plant a kiss on his smiling lips and step back to pull off your top and shorts with your panties. You climb on top of him a second time straddling his hips, this time you are both naked. He holds you around your waist and slowly kisses your mouth. He tastes himself on your tongue and he smiles that you like it.

As you begin to kiss heavier his hands wander up from your waist to cup your full breasts squeezing them together as he flicks your nipples with his thumbs.

He lowers you onto his cock and you both moan in unison as you settle on his base. “Austin you feel so good” you confess having been denied him so long due to his training schedule.

“Baby…you feel so good too… but -I-Im not gonna last long …you sucked me too good” he confesses panting against your neck with his hands on your waist. Feeling your tight pussy on him already pushes him to the verge of an orgasm.

”Make me cum then baby” you command and he immediately latches his mouth on your throat sucking hard and flicking his tongue to mark you.

You wrap your arms around his neck and moan against his ear as you ride his cock. You work your mid back with your hips to feel him even deeper and he praises you with kisses across your neck as you climax.

He parts his legs wider and holds you firm to him as he begins powerfully thrusting his cock back into you. “A-Austin YES!” You moan out loud.

He releases one arm from you and reaches between your bodies as he thrusts. His thumb finds your swollen clit and swirls circles into it as you moan and orgasm hugging him tightly around his neck. “I-I’mcumming Austin!” You cry out. “Yea?.. Me too.” he confirms.

Moans emit from both of your mouths as his cock pulses his warm cum into you. “Fuck!” Austin cries out thrusting faster bouncing you on his cock. He empties all of his cum into you, painting your walls and filling you up before he slows to a stop.

You both breathe heavily and are covered in a light sheen of sweat staring into each others eyes. “I love you” he declares feeling the rush of endorphins from sex. “I love too” you say breathlessly as you rest your forehead to his. You come down together in the intimate moment.

He holds the nape of your neck planting kisses on your lips as he guides his other hand to your waist. He helps you lift from his lap, sliding his cock out of you.

He holds you close as you stand in front of him while he sits on the couch. His ear is pressed to your chest as his hands caress your back. “I missed us having sex, thank you for making me realize” he says as you lovingly stroke through his wet sweaty hair. “You work so hard Austin you forget to take care of yourself sometimes” you say lovingly.

After a moment of him affectionately holding you close you break the silence “We should shower together Austin” you say smiling knowing what he wants to do next.

He looks up at you grinning with his eyes full of elation. He presses a firm kiss between your breasts and responds “finally”making you both laugh.

💙🩵End 🩵💙

Mr. Butlers Baby Sitter Part 3 TBA (next sorry for the delay) Mr.Butlers Babysitter

🏷️ The Always Tag List ♥️ (for the new smut fics)

@faegoddessog @purejasmine @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @magicovento @star017 @buckysteveloki-me @cauliflowercounty @elvismylove04 @burnthheparaphilia @emeraldsgirl @fallofthedamned @lindszeppelin @shegatsby @darlingisntit @unicoreads @feydsociety @phil2135561 @softboo

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