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count-on-mi · 1 month ago

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Tokyo Hot (MiSaMo)

A/N: So its going to be a new series/collection of one shots about Twice and their investor, aka me. The first chapter is the Misamo at Tokyo Dome, enjoy!

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In the private box at Tokyo Dome, sunlight streams through the massive dome, casting a glow that highlights the stunning, heart-stirring figures of Misamo. As TWICE's financial backer, I have long claimed all nine of them as my forbidden possessions, each one my slave. Tonight, I invited Mina, Sana, and Momo to serve as the opening pitch guests for the Major League Baseball friendly game in Japan. Dressed in white tops emblazoned with "Dodgers" and paired with tight blue jeans, their youthful and sensual allure is deadly, every inch of their skin whispering endless submission and devotion. Mina stands on the left, number 37, her long black hair cascading like silk to her shoulders, her snow-white skin as delicate as cream, her tall and slender frame boasting endless legs and a waist as flexible as a willow swaying in the breeze, exuding an elegant yet irresistible sensuality. In the middle is Sana, number 12, her brown wavy hair flowing like waves, her gentle aura laced with intense temptation, her eyes seemingly speaking, carrying a soul-stealing smile like a seductive abyss that draws one in. To the right is Momo, number 64, her black short hair sleek and sharp, her curves exquisite, her round and perky buttocks radiating mature wildness, every move dripping with allure, her full chest faintly visible under the short top, like forbidden fruit begging to be tasted. As the three stand by the field, the audience erupts in thunderous gasps of admiration, camera flashes flickering incessantly, yet unable to conceal the silent submission they harbor deep within toward my control, adding a layer of forbidden temptation.

As their master, I have long struck a deal with their management company, their bodies and souls belonging to me, a secret transaction that infuses every glance and gesture with a shiver-inducing devotion. While the audience in Tokyo Dome remains immersed in the game's aftermath, a familiar orgiastic feast unfolds quietly between us in the box, the air thick with a potent sensual aroma. The door is locked, shutting out the outside world's clamor, and I approach the three slowly, a satisfied smile curling my lips, my eyes gleaming with limitless dominion over their flesh, my pants bulging with a hard, rigid protrusion, exuding a primal masculine scent like a beast poised to devour its prey.

"My three little sluts, it's time to serve your master well tonight," I growl, my voice hoarse and authoritative, laced with an insatiable hunger for them, every word carrying an invisible command. My gaze roams freely over their bodies, savoring the treasures that are already mine, lingering on their chests, buttocks, and long legs, my smile deepening as if anticipating the wild revelry to come.

Mina steps forward first, her movements tinged with familiar obedience, biting her lower lip as her trembling hands slowly unbutton her top, revealing a black semi-transparent silk bra. Her cleavage is deep and mesmerizing, her two plump, white breasts straining against the fabric, so tempting they make one's blood race, as if beckoning my touch. Her fingers trace the bra's edge, unclasping it slowly, and her breasts spring free, nipples pink and erect, surrounded by a faint rosy halo that glows enticingly under the dim light, like ripe cherries waiting to be plucked, their flesh quivering slightly with each breath, exuding an alluring fragrance. Sana and Momo exchange a glance before beginning to shed their clothes as well, their naked bodies appearing utterly lascivious under the dim glow, like three perfect statues radiating deadly temptation. Mina's tall figure stands like a jade pillar, her waist slender, her abdomen flat without a trace of fat, the skin around her navel smooth as silk, glistening with seductive sheen; Sana's soft curves emit a warm allure, her skin so pale it’s nearly translucent, her private area faintly revealing a hint of pink, her sparse, neatly trimmed pubic hair like a meticulously groomed garden of temptation; Momo’s voluptuous form carries a hint of wantonness, her round buttocks perky, her full breasts trembling slightly in the air, exuding a strong sensual aura, the curves of her flesh casting seductive shadows under the light, utterly captivating.

I grin wickedly and yank Mina into my arms, roughly tearing off her already unclasped bra, my hands seizing her breasts with force, nails digging into the tender flesh. I pinch her nipple hard, eliciting a sharp cry from her, the sound laced with enticing shudders. Her breasts deform under my grip, nipples hardening like small pebbles, their areolas turning red from the pinching, a mix of pain and pleasure making her body tremble involuntarily, her juices overflowing uncontrollably between her legs, trickling down her inner thighs to leave a small puddle on the carpet, emitting a pungent sweet scent like a seductive signal. I lower my head, taking her left nipple into my mouth, biting down hard, my tongue swirling rapidly around it, producing a "slurp slurp" sound as saliva drips from the corner of my mouth onto her breasts, soaking them in a wet sheen, her nipple growing even harder, the areola flushing with a fine red rash, sending waves of tingling pleasure coursing through her like electricity. "Oh… Master… it stings… more…" Mina’s voice quivers, blending pain and ecstasy, her long black hair scattered over her shoulders, her snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing aroma like a flower ravaged by me, radiating forbidden allure. Her hands instinctively clutch my shoulders, nails digging into my flesh, leaving faint red marks, her eyes flickering with shame and submission, her chest heaving with rapid breaths, the elasticity of her breasts yielding under my palms, temptation inescapable.

My other hand reaches for Sana, pulling her roughly toward me, my mouth enveloping her right nipple, teeth tugging at the areola with force. Sana lets out a soft, "Oh… Master… it’s intense…" her voice so seductive it sets the blood racing, her brown wavy hair trembling with her body, exuding captivating motion. Her nipple turns red from sucking, the areola swelling like a ripe cherry, glistening with allure like a tempting fruit. My tongue flicks rapidly over her nipple, alternating between gentle bites and forceful sucks, producing "tsk tsk" sounds, her nipple stiffening under the stimulation, the areola flushing with a fine red rash, sending waves of tingling pleasure that make her body writhe involuntarily. Her hands instinctively wrap around my head, fingers threading into my hair, nails lightly scratching my scalp, moans spilling from her throat with a trembling seduction, like an enticing melody. Her juices squirt from her core, dripping onto the floor, trailing down her inner thighs, filling the box with a thick, sweet scent that amplifies the air’s seductive aura. Her legs quiver slightly, her labia parting to reveal pink inner flesh, her fluids dripping down her thighs onto the carpet with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a potent aroma like a sensual invitation.

Meanwhile, Momo takes the initiative to kneel, her knees sinking into the carpet, her trembling hands undoing my pants. As they slide down, a thick, rigid cock springs forth, nine inches long, veins bulging, the purple-red tip glistening with a bead of precum, exuding a strong musky scent like a powerful weapon aimed directly at Momo’s face, radiating primal temptation. Momo’s eyes are filled with submission and longing, her small mouth parting slightly as she licks the tip’s slit with her tongue, tasting the salty fluid, its intensity making her throat constrict yet igniting a strange excitement that deepens her hazy gaze. Her tongue dances around the head, teasing the slit, tracing the ridge, producing "slurp slurp" sounds as if savoring a precious candy, her movements brimming with seductive finesse. She slowly takes the entire head into her mouth, her lips sealing tightly around the shaft, bobbing up and down, her tongue agilely swirling inside, alternating between forceful sucks, light scrapes along the veins, and teasing the slit, stimulating every sensitive spot to the fullest, as if her lips and tongue are luring greater pleasure.

Momo’s oral skills are skilled and delicate, her black short hair swaying with her head’s motion, strands sticking to her cheeks damp with sweat, exuding extra allure as if each hair strand tempts the eye. Deep in her throat, "gurgle gurgle" swallowing sounds emerge as she tries to take the cock deeper, the head pressing into her throat, eliciting a choking sensation, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks to drip onto her chest, mixing with her sweat to create a lascivious sheen like a seductive painting. Her hands aren’t idle—one grips the base, squeezing gently, the other massages my balls, fingertips caressing the folds, occasionally scraping lightly with her nails or cupping them tenderly, driving me to growl repeatedly, my voice hoarse with pleasure as if each touch ignites my desire. Her saliva overflows from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin to wet her chest, the smooth skin of her cleavage slick with spit, radiating a lascivious glow like a sensual canvas. Her lips, stretched red by the cock, continue their relentless sucking, her throat producing gagging sounds, yet she shows no sign of stopping, as if this cock is her sole devotion, temptation inescapable. Her tongue glides rapidly along the shaft, teasing the slit with light flicks, enveloping the head with her tongue’s surface for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make my cock swell further, veins pulsing as if ready to erupt, exuding deadly allure. Her throat reddens from the pressure, emitting "woo woo" sounds, tears and saliva mixing to drip onto the carpet, releasing a potent scent like a marker of sensual air.

"Good… you filthy slut! Keep licking!" I roar, my voice brimming with conquering delight, tinged with seductive dominance. My hands thrust into Mina and Sana’s hair, forcibly pressing their heads down, Momo’s oral frenzy intensifying, the wet heat of her lips and tongue sending shivers of ecstasy through my body, my cock swelling larger in her mouth, veins throbbing as if on the verge of explosion, radiating unmatched temptation. I look down at Momo’s mouth stretched around my cock, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I command, "Deeper! Swallow my whole cock!" The tone weaves temptation with authority.

Obeying, Momo takes a deep breath, forcing the cock deeper into her throat, the head pressing into her esophagus, unleashing an intense choking sensation, the pinnacle of temptation. Her throat stretches open, emitting "woo woo" sounds, tears falling to the carpet, yet she persists with relentless sucking, as if determined to drain my desire with her mouth, exuding deadly sensuality. Her hands grip my balls, kneading gently, fingertips teasing the folds, driving my growls, my voice hoarse with pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Her saliva drips from her mouth, trailing down the shaft to her chest, the smooth skin of her cleavage wet with spit, glowing lasciviously like a sensual artwork. Her lips, reddened from the stretch, continue their fervent sucking, her throat producing gagging sounds without pause, as if this cock is her only faith, temptation irresistible.

Suddenly, I shove Mina onto the sofa, the rough motion nearly toppling her. I tear off her jeans and panties with urgent, merciless force, revealing her pink, tender core, labia slightly parted, inner walls pink, her pubic hair soaked with juices, exuding a potent scent that ignites lust like a seductive invitation. Mina’s core glows enticingly under the light, her labia plump and pink, inner flesh quivering, fluids seeping out to trickle down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with a "drip drip" sound, releasing a thick aroma that pierces the heart with temptation. I align my cock with her entrance, thrusting the head in hard, forcing apart her tight vagina, the inner flesh stretching with a "squish" sound like splashing water, producing an alluring noise. Mina gasps sharply, "Oh… Master… it’s overwhelming…" Her vagina clenches around my cock, inner walls trembling, juices squirting out to flow down her buttock cleft onto the sofa, forming a sticky puddle exuding sensual air.

I begin thrusting violently, the cock moving in and out, the head scraping her G-spot, each thrust hitting her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s breasts jiggle wildly with the motion, nipples hardening to a deep purple like ripe grapes, glistening with allure. Her legs are forcibly spread, ankles gripped in my hands, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure coursing through her, her moans escalating in pitch. Her long black hair scatters across the sofa, snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing sheen, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive scene. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle on the sofa, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the sofa’s edge, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

Sana crawls behind me, shedding her jeans to reveal her drenched core, labia swollen and red, juices dripping onto the carpet with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a rich aroma like a tempting fragrance. She rises on her toes, pressing her core against my back, hands kneading my chest, nails digging into my flesh, leaving faint red marks exuding alluring traces. Her core is already soaked, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices trailing down her thighs to drip onto the carpet, releasing a potent sweet scent like a sensual invitation. Her legs tremble slightly, her core rubbing against my back, sending waves of tingling pleasure, moans spilling from her throat with a trembling seduction like an enticing melody. I turn my head to kiss Sana’s mouth, my tongue plunging into her oral cavity, swirling with hers, teeth nipping her lower lip, producing "tsk tsk" sounds as saliva drips from our mouths onto her chest, soaking her breasts in a wet sheen exuding allure. My other hand reaches for Momo, two fingers sliding into her core, thrusting rapidly, thumb pressing her clit, eliciting a soft, "Oh… Master… it’s too much…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down my fingers to mix with the carpet’s wet spots, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation.

"You three… are all mine! I’ll take you one by one!" I laugh maniacally, my voice brimming with beastly frenzy, laced with wild seduction. I yank Momo over, positioning her beside Mina, lifting her round buttocks, and thrusting into her from behind. Momo’s core is tighter than Mina’s, her inner flesh stretched by my cock with "squish squish" sounds, the head striking her womb, unleashing intense pleasure like the height of temptation. Her moans intertwine with Mina’s, the box filled with the "smack smack smack" of flesh colliding and their lustful cries, exuding sensual rhythm. Her buttocks redden from the impact, the two plump cheeks quivering, producing alluring sounds as if narrating her submission, temptation irresistible. Her hands brace on the sofa, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches. Her black short hair sways with the motion, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa, mixing with her juices to exude a potent scent like a seductive scene. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in intensity. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle on the sofa, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the sofa’s edge, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

I alternate between the two, sweat dripping onto their backs, juices and semen mingling, the carpet now a wet mess exuding enticing air. Seeing this, Sana takes the initiative, crawling onto Mina’s face, spreading her legs to let Mina’s tongue explore her core. Sana’s core is pink and wet, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto Mina’s face, exuding a potent sweet scent like a tempting fragrance. Mina’s tongue deftly licks her clit, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, drawing continuous moans from Sana, "Oh… Mina… don’t stop… it’s building…" Her breasts jiggle, nipples hardening, vaginal walls contracting, juices squirting onto Mina’s face, trailing down her chin to drip onto the sofa, exuding sensual air. Sana’s hands grip Mina’s hair, nails digging into her scalp, the sting driving Mina to lick more fervently, her tongue thrusting rapidly into Sana’s core with "slurp slurp" sounds, as if sucking a juicy peach, temptation irresistible. Sana’s moans grow louder, "Ah… Mina… it’s intense…" Her legs instinctively clamp around Mina’s head, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her vaginal walls quiver with Mina’s licking, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with Mina’s tongue movements like a lascivious symphony, the pinnacle of temptation.

After several minutes, I reach my limit. I flip Momo over, thrusting hard into her core, a few fierce pumps culminating in a roar as I release scalding semen inside her. Momo’s climax hits, her vaginal walls contracting, juices squirting down her legs onto the carpet with a "hiss" sound, exuding enticing air. Her black short hair sticks to her cheeks, her face flushed with post-climax redness, eyes hazy, like a lingering seductive afterglow. I then turn to Sana and Mina, both thoroughly trained to obey, kneeling to receive my second release, semen splashing across their faces, Mina’s long black hair matted, Sana’s brown wavy hair streaked with white, trailing down their breasts to drip onto the carpet, forming a sticky puddle exuding sensual air. I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You three filthy sluts are top-notch… we’re not done yet!" The tone brims with seductive provocation.

I pull Sana up, pressing her against the box’s glass window. Her hands brace on the glass, buttocks raised high, brown wavy hair cascading down her back, her graceful form casting an enticing reflection on the glass like a sensual scene. I thrust into her from behind, my cock forcing apart her labia to strike her womb. Sana’s moans echo through the box, "Oh… Master… it’s too deep…" Her breasts press against the glass, jiggling with each thrust, nipples scraping the cold surface, blending pain and pleasure like a seductive weave. Her core clenches my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, juices trailing down her thighs to drip below the window with a "drip drip" sound, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Her legs quiver slightly, her core stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in pitch. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her thighs below the window with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable. My cock moves in and out of her core, the head striking her womb with each thrust, unleashing intense pleasure, her vaginal walls clinging tightly, inner flesh trembling, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to form a sticky puddle below the window, exuding sensual air. Her hands instinctively grip the glass, nails leaving faint scratches, her cries growing more fervent.

Meanwhile, I order Mina and Momo to pleasure each other’s cores. Mina lies on the sofa, legs spread, Momo kneeling before her, tongue deftly licking her clit, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, delivering waves of enticing pleasure. Mina’s core is pink and wet, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto Momo’s face, exuding a potent scent like a tempting fragrance. Mina’s long black hair scatters across the sofa, moans continuous, "Oh… Momo… more…" Momo’s black short hair sways with her motion, her fingers sliding into Mina’s core, stirring her juices with "gurgle gurgle" sounds, exuding sensual rhythm. Mina’s legs instinctively clamp around Momo’s head, toes curling, sweat from her ankles dripping onto the sofa like sensual accents. Momo’s tongue thrusts rapidly into Mina’s core, teasing the clit with flicks, enveloping the labia with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make Mina tremble, her moans growing louder, "Ah… Momo… it’s overwhelming…" Her vaginal walls contract violently, juices squirting onto Momo’s face, trailing down her chin to drip onto the sofa, exuding sensual air. Momo’s hands brace on Mina’s thighs, nails digging into her flesh, leaving faint red marks exuding alluring traces. Her tongue thrusts rapidly into Mina’s core, delivering waves of tingling pleasure, Mina’s cries escalating. Her body begins to convulse, her core clenching Momo’s fingers, inner flesh contracting violently, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, the pinnacle of temptation.

Watching this, I quicken my thrusts into Sana, her moans turning to sharp gasps, "Oh… Master… I’m losing control…" Her core clenches my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, juices squirting down her thighs to drip below the window, exuding enticing air. I roar, releasing semen inside her, Sana’s body convulsing as she slumps against the glass, brown wavy hair disheveled across her back, face flushed with post-climax redness, eyes hazy, like a lingering seductive afterglow. I pant heavily, looking down at Sana, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, you came hard… you’re next!" The tone brims with seductive provocation.

I turn to Mina, pulling her up to sit on the sofa, spreading her legs, thrusting my cock into her core again. Her core is already soaked, labia parted to reveal pink inner flesh, juices dripping onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent like a tempting invitation. My cock strikes her womb hard, the head scraping her G-spot, delivering waves of intense pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s long black hair sways with her body’s motion, moans rising, "Oh… Master… it’s divine…" Her legs are forcibly spread, ankles gripped in my hands, toes curling, arches tensing, sweat trailing down her calves to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans growing louder. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony, temptation inescapable.

As I thrust, I order Momo to kneel beside the sofa and lick my balls. Her black short hair sticks to her cheeks, her tongue deftly licking, alternating between sucking and teasing the folds, stimulating my senses with alluring pleasure. Her tongue glides rapidly over my balls, flicking lightly, enveloping them with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds that make my body tremble, growls escaping me, my voice hoarse with pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Her hands aren’t idle—one grips my cock’s base, squeezing gently, the other massages my inner thigh, fingertips caressing my skin, delivering waves of tingling pleasure, temptation inescapable.

"You… are such sluts… tighten up!" I growl, quickening my thrusts, my tone brimming with seductive dominance. My cock moves in and out of Mina’s core, producing "smack smack smack" sounds, the head striking her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Her vaginal muscles tighten, clinging to my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, unleashing immense pleasure, exuding sensual air. I growl, hands seizing Mina’s breasts, kneading forcefully, fingertips pinching her nipples, twisting hard, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… it’s too much…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation.

I pant heavily, looking down at Mina, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, you came hard… you’re next!" The tone brims with seductive provocation. I pull Momo over, positioning her on all fours on the sofa, thrusting into her from behind. Her core is tight and wet, inner flesh enveloping my cock, delivering a choking pleasure like the height of temptation. My cock strikes her womb hard, the head scraping her inner walls, producing "squish squish" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. Momo’s moans rise again, "Oh… Master… it’s intense…" Her black short hair sways with the motion, buttocks reddening from the impact, the plump cheeks jiggling with each thrust, producing alluring sounds like a sensual invitation. As I thrust, I order Sana to lick Momo’s nipples, her brown wavy hair falling over Momo’s chest, tongue deftly licking, alternating between forceful sucks and gentle bites, Momo’s nipples hardening, areolas flushing with a faint red glow, exuding allure. Momo’s hands brace on the sofa, nails digging into the leather, leaving faint scratches. Her black short hair sways, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa, mixing with her juices to exude a potent scent like a seductive scene. Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh scraped by the head, sends waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans rising in intensity. Her cheeks flush, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss.

I look at Momo, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You little slut, your ass is so perky… I’ll enjoy you!" I quicken my thrusts, my cock moving in and out of her core, producing "smack smack smack" sounds, the head striking her womb, delivering a tearing pleasure like the height of temptation. Her vaginal muscles tighten, clinging to my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, unleashing immense pleasure, exuding sensual air. I growl, hands seizing her buttocks, kneading forcefully, fingertips digging into her flesh, slapping hard, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… it’s unbearable…" Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation.

I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes, my voice hoarse as I say, "You three filthy sluts are top-notch… always ready to serve me!" I sit on the sofa, my cock still erect, exuding a potent musky scent, eyes burning with deeper desire like a flame of temptation. Mina, renowned for her hip-shaking dance, possesses unmatched riding skills, her agile buttocks dazzling me whether on stage or in private, exuding deadly allure. She rises slowly, eyes hazy, long black hair cascading down her back, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents. Her body still ablaze with desire, she decides to claim a second round of pleasure, temptation irresistible.

Mina straddles me, facing me, gripping my cock—still hard despite its earlier release—and lowers herself slowly. Her buttocks begin to move, mimicking her stage hip-shaking dance, the flesh quivering with the rhythm, her tight core fully enveloping my cock, producing "smack smack" sounds like a rhythmic flesh performance exuding alluring tempo. Meanwhile, Momo and Sana kneel on either side, their heads converging on my groin, lips pressing against my balls, licking simultaneously. Momo’s tongue deftly traces the folds, alternating between gentle sucks and light bites, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual air; Sana teases the other side with her tongue tip, enveloping the ball with her tongue for forceful sucks, delivering waves of tingling pleasure like a seductive melody. Their saliva mixes, trailing down my thighs to drip onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Mina moans, "Oh… so intense… let me please you…" Her long black hair flies, breasts jiggling, nipples hardening like beans, vaginal walls clenching my cock, juices trailing down her thighs to drip onto the sofa, forming a puddle exuding sensual air. Her riding skills are unparalleled, buttocks rising and falling, alternating between rapid twists and slow rotations, swallowing my cock to the hilt, as if playing a lascivious tune with her body, temptation inescapable. Her core clenches my cock tightly, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, delivering immense pleasure like the height of temptation. Mina’s buttocks move agilely, flesh quivering with her motion, alternating between rapid ups and downs and slow spins, her core gripping my cock tightly, the head striking her womb, unleashing waves of tearing pleasure exuding sensual air. Her moans grow louder, "Ah… Master… it’s exquisite…" Her long black hair scatters over her shoulders, snowy skin damp with sweat, exuding an enticing sheen, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with dazed submission like a seductive abyss. Her vaginal walls quiver with each thrust, juices flowing more freely, dripping down her buttock cleft onto the sofa with "smack smack smack" sounds, blending with the rhythm of my thrusts like a lascivious symphony.

Mina’s ride grows wilder, her buttocks spinning like a windmill, flesh quivering with the rhythm, her core clenching my cock tighter, inner flesh scraped by the head, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, her moans escalating, "Oh… Master… I/m cumming…" Her body begins to convulse, her core clenching my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, sending waves of tingling pleasure like electricity through her, the pinnacle of temptation. Momo and Sana’s licking intensifies, Momo’s tongue gliding rapidly over my balls, flicking lightly, enveloping them with her tongue for forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual air; Sana bites the other side gently, blending pain and pleasure, their saliva mixing to trail down my thighs, dripping onto the sofa, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. I growl, hands seizing Mina’s buttocks, kneading forcefully, fingertips digging into her flesh, slapping hard, her moans escalating, "Ah… Master… please… inside..." Her juices squirt out, trailing down the sofa to drip onto the carpet, forming a puddle exuding enticing air. I climax simultaneously, releasing semen inside her, both trembling in the afterglow, like the pinnacle of temptation. Momo and Sana’s tongues continue licking my balls, delivering waves of lingering pleasure, I pant heavily, looking down at the three, a flicker of smug satisfaction in my eyes.

Momo and Sana lift their heads, lips coated with saliva and sweat, eyes hazy as they look at me, exuding alluring afterglow, while Mina slumps against me, long black hair disheveled across her back, sweat trailing down her spine to drip onto the sofa like sensual accents.

A few days later, Misamo is invited to a variety show collaborating with MLB, the atmosphere lively as the three wear blue denim miniskirts, revealing their long legs, buttocks curves accentuated by the tight fabric, exuding a perky roundness. The show reaches its mid-break, staff guiding them to the dressing room to rest and prepare for the next segment. As the door closes gently, the room’s light is soft yet slightly dim, the air filled with a faint cosmetic fragrance mixed with their sweat, adding a layer of seductive aura.

However, as the three step inside, the lock clicks shut with a "clack," and they turn to see me already waiting, a familiar satisfied smile on my lips, eyes gleaming with limitless dominion over their flesh, exuding primal temptation. "We don't have much time, you know what to do." my voice low and commanding, I toss a bottle onto the nearby vanity, the crisp clink sounding like a seductive prelude.

Mina’s long black hair sways with her motion, standing near the mirror, her white top revealing a delicate waistline, denim miniskirt hugging her long thighs, exuding enticing curves. I give her no time to react, lunging forward to shove her against the vanity, the force making her buttocks collide with the edge with a "bang," vibrating the air with temptation. She gasps "Ah!" but can’t resist, my rough hand already lifting her skirt, revealing black lace panties, the thin fabric outlining her buttocks’ curve, temptation piercing the heart. The panties are yanked aside mercilessly, exposing her core, already slightly wet from tension and submission, labia pink, inner walls glistening faintly under the light like a seductive invitation. My cock, already rock-hard, is freed with urgent haste, nine inches long, veins bulging, purple-red tip beading with precum, exuding a potent musky scent like a sensual weapon. I align with her core and thrust hard, forcing apart her tight vagina with a "squish" sound like splashing water, producing an alluring noise. Mina’s moan erupts instantly, "Oh… Master… it’s too sudden…" Her hands brace weakly on the vanity, nails scraping the surface, leaving faint marks, long black hair disheveled across her cheeks, snowy skin beading with thin sweat, exuding an enticing sheen.

Sana and Momo freeze, then are cornered by my gaze. Sana’s brown wavy hair trembles with her rapid breaths, wearing a white pleated miniskirt, the hem slightly lifted to reveal her inner thigh’s soft skin, exuding alluring tenderness. I beckon her with a finger, and she kneels hesitantly, knees pressing into the carpet, moving behind me. Her small hands tremble as they touch my buttocks, the warm contact flushing her cheeks, adding a seductive red hue. She parts my cheeks slowly, exposing my tight anus with a hint of tempting air. Her tongue ventures out gently, licking the folds around my anus, delivering waves of tingling pleasure with low "slurp slurp" sounds like a sensual melody. Her tongue tip dances around the rim, dipping lightly, then sucking forcefully, saliva overflowing from her mouth to drip onto the carpet, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation. Meanwhile, Momo is directed to kneel on the other side, her black short hair sticking to her cheeks, blue baseball jacket open to reveal a white top clinging to her full breasts, exuding mature sensuality. She lowers her head, tongue deftly licking my balls, alternating between gentle sucks and light bites, delivering waves of tingling pleasure like a seductive rhythm. Their movements intertwine, the air thick with sensual aroma.

One hand presses Mina’s buttocks, the other grips Sana’s hair, forcing her head deeper, her tongue licking my anus more forcefully, penetrating the tight folds with "gurgle" wet sounds, exuding enticing heat. Mina’s moans grow louder, "Oh… Master… it’s profound…" Her core, stuffed full by my cock, inner flesh trembling with each thrust, juices trailing down her inner thighs to form a small puddle on the vanity, exuding sensual air. Her breasts jiggle under the top, nipples hardening against the fabric, outlining faint shapes like a tempting signal. My thrusts grow fiercer, each one striking her womb, delivering tearing pleasure, her long black hair soaked with sweat, clinging to her back, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with a mix of pain and pleasure, exuding seductive charm.

Sana’s tongue works my anus with increasing fervor, dipping deeper, sucking gently, saliva dripping from her mouth onto her chest, wetting her white top to reveal enticing skin, adding a sensual layer. Her hands grip my thighs instinctively, nails digging into my flesh, the sting drawing a growl, "Good… you filthy slut… keep licking!" The tone brims with seductive dominance. Momo’s tongue intensifies on my balls, teasing the folds, enveloping them with forceful sucks, producing "slurp slurp" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. Her black short hair sways, sweat trailing down her forehead to drip onto her hand, mixing with the carpet’s wet spots like a seductive scene.

The dressing room’s air grows thick, mingling with their moans, the "smack smack smack" of flesh colliding, and my heavy breaths, like a seductive symphony. The vanity’s cosmetic bottles tremble, a few lipsticks rolling to the floor with "tinkle" sounds, adding a sensual layer. Mina’s legs begin to shake, her core clenching my cock, inner flesh contracting violently, juices squirting down her buttock cleft to drip onto the floor, exuding enticing air. My thrusts grow wilder, one hand pressing Momo’s head toward my groin, aligning her and Sana’s movements into a tempting duet. Sana’s tongue thrusts rapidly into my anus, Momo’s lips and tongue roaming my balls and cock base, their saliva mixing to trail down my thighs, dripping onto the carpet, exuding a potent scent that pierces the heart with temptation.

Time ticks by, the dressing room’s lascivious atmosphere thickening, Mina’s moans turning to sharp cries, "Oh… Master… I can’t…" Her body convulses, climax nearing, exuding seductive afterglow. Sana and Momo’s lips and tongue explore my groin, delivering endless stimulation, my growls growing frequent, cock moving in and out of Mina’s core with "squish squish" sounds exuding sensual rhythm. The show’s prep noises approach outside, yet unable to interrupt this frenzied flesh feast, my eyes burning with conquest, Mina’s gaze hazy, Sana and Momo’s efforts deepening, as if this game will continue…

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #mina smut #sana smut #momo smut #twice mina #twice sana #twice momo #misamo

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thetrasha · 26 days ago

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Hello! I was wondering if i could get Ace, Marco, and Rayleigh, (maybe shanks, beckman and hongo if youre able to!) On their favorite thing they love about you!

Sure thing! I modified the request very slightly (just so I'm able to spin this into a short scenario with a catchy title🫡💕[you guys know I love my titles lol]), hope that's okay with you!! Thank you so much for such a diverse cast LOL I'm sorry I didn't include Hongo - it's just that I never heard him talk and saw him basically once in my life 😭But I included Kid and Mihawk instead just to balance it out (I was randomly inspired to choose these two), it's like a 2 for 1 deal so I hope it's not too bad (✿◡‿◡)

PS. German-speaking op fans...? My people 🤝

He Can’t Resist You…!

feat. ACE, MARCO, RAYLEIGH, SHANKS, BENN BECKMAN, KID, MIHAWK

ACE …when you listen to his troubles and comfort him!

Ace is often pretty hard on himself. He cannot count how many insults and beatings he had to take just because someone else thought the idea of the son of Roger existing was either a fabricated lie or that said child should have been killed on sight. That’s how Ace learnt to fight, took on much bigger and stronger opponents as the years went by, which eventually made him who he was. He earned his spot as one of Whitebeard’s commanders and has accepted this new family, but that doesn’t mean that rejection isn’t hard-coded into his brain. He fears not being enough and firmly believes that if he didn’t push himself so much, he’d be a disgraced pirate, terrible son and worse brother. But… he’s forgotten how to be kind to himself – he has plenty kindness for everyone around him, but Ace is a master at punishing himself for things that do not matter. It’s gotten better, though.

You’re suddenly there – and you care very much… about everyone, but mostly about him. This presence next to him that cannot be swayed is a great source of comfort for him. The first time he opened up to reveal some things about his upbringing, you were so upset that you were close to tears. How sweet… he hasn’t cried about these things in years, too intimately familiar with the pain to cope with its sorrow, but you decided to share his grief and pile it onto your own out of the pure goodness of your heart and love for him. Ace thinks it’s one of the greatest gifts he’s ever been given.

MARCO

…when you help him out!

Marco is a pretty busy man who’s always needed somewhere. Quiet days actually unsettle him; it’s like the universe is just out to get him and will decide to hand him a freshly infected open fracture if he can enjoy his morning coffee in peace… The crew is made up of excellent fighters and these men and women are just dying to test their strength time and time again, protecting their dad who’s very much capable of taking care of himself in a fight despite the chronic issues he’s dealing with. Marco has never lost his kind spirit though, meaning he’s willing to help anyone who needs it. Having you helping the man who’s vehemently trying to aid all the others is thus the best part of the day. You’re always there, even if you’re not physically present… you often leave him little snacks that remind him to eat, there’s always a pot of coffee waiting for him in the med bay, and – the best thing, honestly – at the end of the day, you come into his room just to make up for the time that you’ve lost throughout the maddening daytime. You talk, laugh and just exist together. It’s domestic bliss for Marco, who finally feels like he can wind down and relax with you curled up in his arms, chatting about your day and how you can’t look at Vista ever again because he shaved and he looks so weird and-

He listens to everything, but rarely offers his own commentary. He’s just happy you’re there with him.

RAYLEIGH

…when you look at him like he’s your hero!

Silvers Rayleigh – a name that strikes the fear of God in most people. His infamous image is that of a terrifyingly strong man who served as Gold Roger’s right-hand man; he’s amongst the few lucky men who conquered the Grandline and lived to tell the tale… at the same time, to most naive rookies on Sabaody, he’s a senile old man who keeps “escaping from” his handlers and ending up in the same auction house over and over and over again. You happen to know that strange man, though. “Dark King” Rayleigh… being in the same room as someone like him… what an honour! You couldn’t help but steal glances at him, alerting him of your presence immediately. At first, he thought you were looking for a fight. He’s seen your bounty poster near the port and wow, your picture doesn’t do you justice, sweetheart and wait a minute… oh, those eyes aren’t hostile at all. He flashes you a smile, noting how nervously you shifted around all of the sudden, looking at your crew to subtly celebrate this moment.

Well, Rayleigh cannot help but love an opportunity to show off in front of a pretty face, so… he just offers to teach you some tricks. That’s how you got to know him in the first place, having long realised that he’s just some man who know a thing or two about piracy… but every single time you come back to him, you look at him with the same look of reverence. It’s very flattering to know that he’s still got it… and he’s got the confidence and shamelessness to make a move on you. That hand on the small of your back? Oh, sorry, love, must’ve been lost in thought… You still give him the look and bashfully chew on your lip, though. Nothing’s changed. Hm… maybe the hearts in your eyes did become bigger… heh.

What a lucky man he is indeed.

SHANKS

…when you care for him like he needs it!

Shanks is just as much of a living legend who cannot go anywhere where people of a certain calibre won’t cower in fear before him. How ironic that a man like him just loves when you have to fight him just to go to bed before the daylight greets him, he absolutely adores when you repeatedly push your index finger against his bare chest to tell him that he cannot keep drinking like this if he wants to find the One Piece and he is so weak for you who berates him whenever you have the chance to do so. He could sigh like a lovesick fool at your stern eyes and firm words, knowing that your love for him runs so deep… that you’d be willing to not just take on your captain in protest, you’d take on Shanks.

He is free to be just… himself around you; he needs it more than he needs air. You respect him as a man but you don’t respect him for his status at all, you push him around more than he does his crew for God’s sake!

He loves it.

And whenever he cannot keep up the facade anymore, when flirtatiously telling you to drop it and let him keep his bad habits, you’re right there with him in his private quarters, letting his head rest on your lap as you play with his deep red locks. And you let this lovesick, drunken fool rant about his problems like he isn’t Shanks – like he doesn’t have to save the world all by himself.

BENN BECKMAN

…when you engage in deep conversations that stimulate the mind!

He’s far more dangerous than his broad frame would suggest since he’s both pure brawn and brain. His intellect is one of his greatest assets, but with such a crew… It’s honestly a trait that makes rather lonesome. Benn is extremely laid-back despite being such a serious guy – that’s many because he has never been challenged properly. Nothing is mentally stimulating enough for him to fully lock in. You’re different… Shanks, of course, didn’t recruit you because of your intelligence, that’s a skill much better suited for the city rather than the sea, but you happen to have both brawn and brain as well. Benn noticed that immediately, you’re just as resigned as he is and nothing can quite satiate that natural curiosity in you for all the sea offers are battles and fever dreams… Still, you chose this life for a reason and thus, Benn Beckman himself starts following you around. It’s weird to watch your vice captain hunt you down like you’re the enemy when you’re just trying to mind your business aboard the Red Force, but he cannot help but ask you what you’re up to. Your suspicion only ever goes away after a few times, after you noticed that he’s just… trying to talk.

His opinions are fascinating. He takes you stargazing and casually asks you what you think about the passage of time, what it means to be alive, what you hoped to become – he’s throwing all these deeply profound questions at you and instead of stammering through them like a silly child, you answer them with just as much seriousness as he hoped you would. You understand the gravitas of his words, process them quickly and you never say things without meaning them. You’ve become his happy place – a place where he can express himself.

KID …when you talk back!

Kid expects everyone to just fall in line with what he says… no matter how stupid his “suggestions” actually are. If he has a plan, he wants to see it executed. Someone else might offer up a better plan down the line, but Kid would be so bitter about not having the same thought first that he’d double down on his initial idea and make the crew work even harder just to prove a point. Everybody knows that he’s a complete and utter hypocrite, but they put up with him – they believe in his ability to lead and they all want to see him become King of the Pirates since he’s offered something very few captains could: Unconditional freedom. Regardless of how unconventional and socially unacceptable someone was, they’d have a place on the Victoria Punk as long as they managed to prove themselves worthy of being there and didn’t belittle anybody else’s aspirations.

…But you knew that Kid just couldn’t help dunking on people left and right due to his explosive anger. Once he feels slighted in any way, he’s making it everyone’s problem. So – after the captain called everyone on deck to rant about his loyal crew just minutes after reading that Straw Hat Luffy has acquired a new bounty in the Newscoo newspaper, you couldn’t help yourself either. As soon as the captain got to you, your unimpressed glance turned vitriolic – you went off on your captain, telling him that everyone here chose to follow him because he’s the best option, because they want to be around him and that he has absolutely no business being this upset over someone else’s bounty when he believes that he can conquer the Grandline first. He should suck it up and prove his frenemy wrong! You screamed at him, your passionate speech getting drowned out by the deafening silence of… Captain Kid…

Honestly, Killer and Heat thought you were toast.

But nobody anticipated that, with ruby red cheeks, Kid suddenly dismissed everyone on deck and gave all of you tasks that… didn’t make any damn sense!

MIHAWK

…when you trust him first!

Mihawk is the apex predator – lethal, efficient and an unprecedented danger. People instinctively know to keep their guard up around him… as does he. He would claim that he prefers it that way, but you happen to, after literal years of knowing each other, let him in, slowly but surely. Even if he can go no-contact for months on end, even if you have your own life to worry about, you both find yourselves returning to each other and maintaining a weird… friendship (?), if you could call it that. Mihawk isn’t one for talking to random strangers, but you’re no nobody. You’re capable of handling yourself and he’s seen your strength, secretly thinks you’re quite impressive even, but you’re certainly no match for him… Still, you seem to trust him to keep your secrets safe, to keep you, by extension, safe. You firmly believe that he wouldn’t abandon you.

And he wouldn’t. Trust doesn’t come naturally to someone like him. He distrusts the world and doesn’t tell anybody anything, but he does appreciate it when he isn’t viewed like a cold-blooded killer whose only goal is to maintain a reputation that came with a title.

You want to see him for who he is, you roll over and show him your belly; you basically gave him an opening to kill you – all voluntarily. You’re so vulnerable when you talk about your burdens, but you also look like confiding in… a friend (?) heals all those wounds.

Somehow, he’s determined to prove himself to you now. It’s a slow puncture wound, but your trust will eventually pierce his heart.

#one piece #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #op x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #marco x reader #silvers rayleigh x reader #rayleigh x reader #shanks x reader #benn beckman x reader #beckman x reader #kid x reader #kidd x reader #mihawk x reader #x reader #thetrasha writes #thetrasha requests

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elikajinnie · 10 months ago

Text

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

----

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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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theplotmage · 1 year ago

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Fantasy Royal Hierarchy & Government Explained for Dummies

👑 The Royal Hierarchy:

High King/High Queen: The ultimate ruler of all the lands. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They oversee multiple kingdoms and have the final say in all matters.

King/Queen: The rulers of individual kingdoms. Addressed as “Your Majesty.” They manage their own territories, make laws, and lead their armies into epic battles.

Prince/Princess: The children of the king and queen. Addressed as “Your Highness.” They’re next in line for the throne and often have their own mini-kingdoms to practice ruling.

Duke/Duchess: High-ranking nobles who control large regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Your Grace.” They’re like the regional managers, handling local governance and military affairs.

Marquess/Marchioness: Nobles who oversee border territories. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re responsible for defending the kingdom’s edges and often have a mix of military and administrative duties.

Earl/Countess: Nobles who manage smaller regions within the kingdom. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the middle managers, ensuring everything runs smoothly in their areas.

Viscount/Viscountess: Nobles who assist earls and countesses. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They’re like the assistant managers, helping with local governance and administration.

Baron/Baroness: The lowest rank of nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” They control small areas of land and are responsible for local justice and order.

Lord/Lady: A general title for nobility. Addressed as “Lord” or “Lady.” Lords and ladies can hold various ranks and responsibilities within the kingdom.

Government Structure:

🏛️ The Council: A group of high-ranking nobles and advisors who help the king or queen make important decisions. Think of them as the board of directors.

🧙 The Wizard: The royal advisor with magical powers. They provide wisdom, cast spells, and sometimes meddle in politics.

⚔️ The Knight Commander: The head of the royal army. They lead the knights and soldiers into battle and ensure the kingdom’s defense.

�� The Chancellor: The head of the kingdom’s finances and administration. They manage the treasury, collect taxes, and oversee the kingdom’s bureaucracy.

🎭 The Bard: The kingdom’s storyteller and historian. They spread news, sing songs of heroism, and keep the royal family’s image sparkling.

Other Classes:

🌳 Elves: Graceful and wise, elves often serve as advisors, scholars, or elite warriors. They have a deep connection to nature and magic, making them invaluable in both court and battlefield.

🌾 Peasants: The backbone of the kingdom. They work the land, pay taxes, and sometimes get caught up in the schemes of the nobility. Despite their humble status, they can be heroes in their own right.

💀 Necromancers: Masters of death magic. They can raise the dead, drain life energy, and command undead minions. Often feared and misunderstood, they can be powerful allies or dangerous enemies.

📚 Scholars: Also known as sages, librarians, or loremasters. Scholars are the kingdom’s intellectuals, possessing encyclopedic knowledge. They study ancient texts, advise on matters of history and magic, and often uncover secrets that can turn the tide of events.

⚔️ Heroes: Brave individuals who embark on epic quests. They can come from any class—knights, peasants, elves, or even necromancers. Heroes are defined by their courage, skill, and willingness to face danger for the greater good.

🙏 Priests/Priestesses: Spiritual leaders who serve the gods and goddesses of the realm. They perform rituals, offer guidance, and sometimes wield divine magic. Addressed as “Father,” “Mother,” or “Your Holiness”.

🐉 Dragons: Sometimes pets, sometimes pests. Always epic. They can be guardians of treasure, wise advisors, or terrifying foes.

Servants and Other Castle Inhabitants:

Steward: Manages the household and estate. Addressed as “Master Steward.”

Chamberlain: Oversees the private chambers and personal needs of the lord or lady. Addressed as “Master Chamberlain.”

Marshal: In charge of the stables and the training of knights. Addressed as “Master Marshal.”

Cook: Prepares meals for the household. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Cook.”

Maid: Responsible for cleaning and maintaining the castle. Addressed as “Mistress Maid.”

Squire: A young noble training to become a knight. Addressed as “Squire.”

Falconer: Takes care of the hunting birds. Addressed as “Master Falconer.”

Gardener: Maintains the castle gardens. Addressed as “Master/Mistress Gardener.”

Where They Dwell:

🏰 Castle: A fortified structure built for defense and residence. It includes towers, walls, a keep, and often a moat. The castle is the main residence of the king or queen and their court.

🏛️ Court: The royal household and the place where the king or queen holds court. It includes the throne room, great hall, and various chambers for the nobles and advisors.

🏡 Manor: The residence of a noble, usually a lord or lady. It’s less fortified than a castle and focuses more on comfort and domestic life.

Pro Tips:

Royal Drama: Expect lots of intrigue, secret plots, and power struggles. It’s like a medieval reality show.

Magic: Always a wildcard. It can solve problems or create new ones.

Quests: Royals love sending heroes on epic quests. It’s their way of handling problems without getting their hands dirty.

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#writer #writing #writer things #writerblr #writerscorner #writing inspiration #writers and poets #writing tips #ao3 writer #author #fantasy writing #fantasy #writers on tumblr #writing inspo #writerscommunity #writer stuff #writing prompt #writers block #fantasy books

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doll3scent · 6 months ago

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★ Pornstar 3 ★

John Price x Cam girl! reader

warnings- 18+-mdni, smut, age gap, cam girl reader, explicit language, video call sex.

wc. 5k

a/n i’m already halfway done with pt 4…i have a lot of free time…

2, 3, 4,

master list 𓂃۶ৎ

It had been a week, and Price couldn’t shake the knot of paranoia in his chest. Every time he saw your brother, he expected the conversation to turn, expected him to throw a punch or call him out for his disgusting actions. Price had barely slept, imagining the fallout: the disgust in your brother’s eyes, Ghost’s sharp judgment if he found out his captain was sneaking onto your streams.

But nothing had happened. Ghost remained oblivious and hadn’t acted any differently toward him. That only made it worse—because Price was certain you hadn’t forgotten. No, you had recognized him. You’d seen him.

And yet, you hadn’t said a word. The silence was eating him alive. Were you disgusted? Angry? Planning to expose him? The uncertainty was unbearable. He tried to keep his mind busy by burying himself in his work. But he was constantly plagued by the fear that he’d get a knock on his door, and it would be Ghost, ready to beat him within an inch of his life.

Price couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was maddening. Every quiet moment, every pause in the day, his thoughts drifted back to you—back to that call. The way you moved, the way your voice hitched when you spoke to him, and that soft gasp when you realized who he was.

He’d spent the entire week replaying it in his mind. How you’d looked, how you’d blushed when he praised you, and the way you scrambled to end the call when recognition dawned on your face. The memory made his chest tighten and his blood heat. He knew it was wrong—knew the lines he’d crossed—but that didn’t stop him. It only made the desire worse.

Nights were the hardest. Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he could almost hear your voice again, soft and sweet, calling him “Daddy” in that timid little tone. He’d clench his fists, trying to shake the thought, but it never worked. He hated himself for it—wanted to convince himself that it was just the heat of the moment—but he knew better. You were under his skin now, and he couldn’t shake you loose.

He tried distracting himself with work. Paperwork, training schedules, anything to keep his hands busy. But every time he’d pass Ghost, that familiar pang of paranoia would hit him. What if he knows? What if you told him? It was a vicious cycle—work, worry, and want, all twisting together until he was a mess of frustration.

And then there were the quiet moments when his mind wandered without permission. He found himself wondering what you were doing now. Were you thinking about him too? Were you avoiding your streams, afraid he might appear again? Or worse—were you streaming, letting someone else watch you, hear you, make you blush like that? The thought made his jaw clench.

One night, he sat alone in his office, a glass of whiskey in hand, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. He pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the app he’d used to find you. It would be so easy to look you up again, to click and see if you were live. But he stopped himself, setting the phone down with a growl. He couldn’t. Not again. But God, he wanted to.

For days, you stayed curled up in your pink, soft blankets, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. You should've been disgusted, horrified even, that your brother's captain—his boss-had been watching you like that. And yet, every time you thought about it, your cheeks burned for an entirely different reason.

You couldn't shake the way his deep, commanding voice had sent shivers down your spine. The way he praised you, so filthy and raw, had you plunging your fingers into your wet cunt again and again.

And the way he bossed you around, his tone laced with authority, had made your body ache in ways you didn't want to admit. You knew it was wrong-so, so wrong-but the thought of him, of how he wanted you, refused to leave your mind. It was dangerous, forbidden, and yet you couldn't stop yourself from wondering... what if it happened again?

You clutched the edge of your blanket, staring at the blank screen in front of you, your thoughts spiraling. He didn't know it was you-how could he? You'd always worn your mask, kept your identity hidden. To him, you were just another faceless streamer. Just someone he stumbled upon, nothing more. That thought gave you a strange sense of reassurance.

He couldn't possibly connect the dots. He didn't know you were his lieutenant's little sister. That made it... safe, didn't it? At least, that's what you kept telling yourself. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your heart racing as your mind whispered dangerous thoughts.

Would it really be so wrong if it happened again? If you let him watch, let him command you? You reasoned it wasn't personal for him —it was just the thrill of the moment. But for you... the memory of his voice alone made your stomach twist in ways you couldn't ignore.

You bit your lip, a mixture of guilt and anticipation flooding your senses. One more time wouldn't hurt. He didn't know. He couldn't know. You conjured up an email, hoping he'd respond.

Hi! Price,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am for how our last call ended. Something personal came up, and I had to leave so suddenly... I really hope I didn't upset you.

As a way to make it up to you, l'd love to offer another video call, completely free, if you'd like. Just let me know what works best for you, and I'll make sure I'm all yours this time.

Thank you for being so understanding. I hope to hear from you soon!

Yours,

Angel

You stared at the screen, your finger hovering over the send button. The thought of him finding out it was you-your brother's captain, of all people-made your stomach flip with anxiety. What if he did recognize you? What if he went straight to your brother and told him what his little sister was doing?

The mere thought sent a chill down your spine. But... then again, what if he didn't find out? What it you were careful, kept everything just right, and he never connected the dots? Your heart raced with the risk, the thrill of the secrecy. If you could just keep your identity hidden a little longer, maybe you could let this dangerous game play out. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your nerves. The desire to continue, to feel that rush again, gnawed at you. Your hands trembled as you clicked the send button.

John sat back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. The past week had been a blur of tension, his thoughts plagued by that night. He couldn't stop thinking about the look on your face when the webcam shifted, the shock in your eyes as you recognized him.

He had barely slept since, half-expecting you to show up at his door or, worse, tell your brother what you'd seen. He opened his inbox absentmindedly, eyes scanning the subject line of a new email. It caught his attention-your name glowing back at him-and a pang of curiosity tugged at his chest. He clicked open the message and started reading, his brow furrowing as he processed your words.

"I'm so sorry how our last call ended..."

A wave of relief washed over him as he read further. You were apologizing for the way things had ended, offering to make it up to him. His fingers lingered over the screen as he reread the part about a free rescheduled call, and his heart raced. Were you serious? Or was this some sort of trap? Would your brother be on the other end of that call?

John leaned back, tension settling back into his shoulders. He could feel the heat of the situation creeping up on him again. The desire to see you, to hear you, to feel that connection again was almost too strong to resist.

John leaned back in his chair, trying to suppress the rush of emotions that flooded his chest as he remembered the way you had responded to him. The soft, breathy gasps, the way your body had moved in perfect sync with his words—it was like you had become his in that moment. He could still feel the tension in the air, how you had melted at his voice, obediently following his instructions without hesitation.

Your responses had been soft, shy, and yet there was something powerful in the way you surrendered to him, something that had stirred something deep inside him.

He hadn't expected you to listen so easily, to let go of your inhibitions like that. And the way your body had moved-slow, deliberate, responding to him like he was the only thing that mattered.

He bit his lip, remembering how he had commanded, how you had obeyed. His heart thumped in his chest as he realized just how much control he had over you, how much you had let him in. It made him want to take it further, push the limits, see just how far you'd go.

His thoughts drifted to the email now sitting in his inbox, a silent invitation from you. He couldn't stop the grin from tugging at his lips. He knew it was risky, but the temptation was too strong. He had to see you again, hear you again, and feel that same power dynamic build between you.

Dear Angel,

First off, no need to apologize-I completely understand that things can come up. That being said, Ive been thinking about our last call... and I have to admit, I haven't been able to shake the memory of it.

I'd definitely be interested in rescheduling, and I'll make sure we have a bit more time to really enjoy our time. How does tomorrow evening sound to you? I'm flexible, so just let me know what works for you.

Looking forward to it.

Best,

Price

You giggle softly, your cheeks flushing as you read his reply. The thought that he's been thinking about you too sends a thrill through you. You glance at his words about his flexibility and the teasing thought crosses your mind. You want to reply something cheeky, something bold like how you're flexible too, and how he can bend you however he wants. You could say it... something bold, something that would make him want you more.

But you bite your lip, hesitant. Instead, you type a more subtle response, keeping your playful nature intact, but holding back the risqué thoughts.

Price,

That sounds perfect. I'll make myself available, just let me know what time specifically works for you. Can't wait to talk again soon.

Yours,

Angel

You lie in bed, the soft sheets wrapped around you as your mind drifts, you can't help but imagine how you'll look on the next call-how you'll make sure every inch of you is perfect for him. You run your fingers through your hair, mentally picturing yourself in the right lighting, the right angle.

You want to be flawless, to catch his attention in a way that makes him crave you more. The thought of impressing him, of hearing his approval, fills you with anticipation.

You slip out of bed, the warmth of the blankets leaving you with a soft shiver. You know exactly what you need, and the idea of finding the perfect lingerie set for him sends a thrill through your body. You quickly get dressed, pulling on something comfortable, and head out to the nearest Victoria's Secret, your mind racing with anticipation.

As you walk through the store, your fingers graze the delicate fabrics, envisioning how it will look on you. You want it to be just right, so perfect for him.

A stunning pink lace lingerie set catches your eye. The corset is beautiful, hugging the waist in all the right places, cinching you in perfectly, making your curves pop. The lace details are delicate, almost fragile, and the tiny bows scattered along it only add to the allure.

Attached to the corset is a skirt made of the same soft pink lace, flowing gently around your hips, teasing just enough.

But it's the garters and thigh-high stockings that really seal the deal. The set is perfect-sexy, feminine, and exactly what you need to make an unforgettable impression. You bite your lip, already imagining how it'll look when you wear it, and you can't help but feel a little thrill run through you at the thought of what's to come.

The next day, you wake up with a flutter of nerves in your stomach, the excitement building as the time for your call draws near. You spend the entire morning getting ready, carefully setting the mood for what's about to unfold.

You start with a long, hot shower, letting the water relax your muscles as you shave every inch of your skin. The scent of your favorite body wash fills the air, and once you're done, you lotion every part of your body, making your skin soft and silky to the touch. You follow with a layer of oil, making sure you glow. You even powder lightly, giving yourself a flawless finish, as if you're preparing for a show, not just a call.

Even though he can't smell you through the screen, you spritz your best perfume- something light, fresh, and sweet-just for the touch of confidence it gives you. It's your little secret, and it makes you feel ready.

You curl your hair perfectly, each wave soft and bouncy, framing your face just the way you like it. When you step back and look at yourself in the mirror, you feel... different. You feel empowered, beautiful, ready. The lingerie set you picked out is waiting for you, laid neatly on your bed.

As the time ticks closer, you take one last glance around your room, making sure everything is just as you want it. Even your bed is perfectly made, the soft sheets and pillows arranged just so, setting the stage for the night ahead. Your heart races with anticipation, knowing every detail is about to fall into place.

You move toward your setup, carefully adjusting your webcam, making sure the angle captures just the right view. Then, you flick on your setup lights, but only direct them toward the bed. The soft glow they cast highlights the space perfectly, making the room feel inviting and intimate. With a deep breath, you switch off your bedroom lights, letting the cool darkness surround you. The only illumination now comes from the candles you've scattered around the room. Their dancing flames flicker softly, casting shadows that add an alluring, romantic vibe to the room. The air feels charged, the atmosphere thick with anticipation.

Everything is set. All that's left is the call. Your nerves mingle with excitement, knowing this is the moment you've been waiting for.

With a deep breath, you step into the lingerie, feeling the soft lace hug your body in all the right ways. The corset cinches your waist, accentuating your curves, while the delicate lace feels like a second skin. You pull on the matching panties, the fabric smooth and soft against your skin.

Carefully, you adjust the tiny skirt, letting it fall perfectly over your hips. It's light, teasing, and just enough to make the outfit feel complete. You attach the stockings to the garters, feeling the smooth fabric stretch over your legs, the garters snug against your thighs, holding them in place.

The set fits you perfectly, every detail just as it should be. You look at yourself in the mirror, feeling a mix of excitement and a little nervousness, knowing that everything is ready now. The candles flicker in the dim room, casting soft light over the delicate lace. You take a final breath, steeling yourself for the call that's about to begin.

You reach for your little white lace mask, your fingers brushing over the delicate fabric. It's the finishing touch. You tie it carefully behind your head, adjusting it so it sits perfectly, framing your eyes and cheeks.

You sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed delicately, hands resting in your lap as you try to calm your racing heart. The soft glow from the setup lights bathes you in a flattering hue, while the flickering candlelight creates an intimate ambiance around the room.

You glance at the screen, the little "connecting" symbol spinning as you wait for him to join. Every second feels like an eternity, your nerves buzzing with anticipation.

You adjust the tiny skirt once more, smoothing it down over your thighs, and take a slow, steadying breath. The moment the screen flickers to life, your heart skips a beat. His face appears, and you're immediately struck by the way his sharp features soften slightly as he takes you in. You can see his jaw tighten, his eyes scanning the screen, taking in every detail of you.

You bite your lip, your voice soft as you finally speak.

"Hi..."

The moment his face appears on the screen, he's completely silent. His dark eyes roam over you slowly, taking in every painstaking detail-the delicate pink lingerie hugging your body, the way your perfectly curled hair frames your face, the soft glow of your skin in the candlelight.

His gaze lingers, almost reverent, as though he's trying to memorize every inch of you. The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a faint smirk, but his silence speaks louder than any words could. It's in the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes darken with something raw and unrestrained.

For a moment, the tension hangs thick between you, his voice caught somewhere in his throat. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough, and thick with desire. "Christ... you're perfect."

You smile softly, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let your eyes flicker down shyly for a moment before meeting his again. "Sorry about how I ended our last call...something came up" you say softly, forcing a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but inside, your heart is racing. You can still remember the moment you realized who he was, the rush of shock that made you end the call so abruptly. But you've convinced yourself that he doesn't know, that he couldn't possibly have pieced it together.

On the other side of the screen, his smirk twitches, subtle but unmistakable. His sharp eyes linger on you a little too long, and there's something in his expression —a flicker of amusement, maybe even satisfaction-that makes your stomach twist. He leans back slightly, his tone casual but laced with a knowing edge.

"Something came up, huh?" he repeats, almost like he's testing you. But he doesn't push, letting the moment hang between you.

You nod quickly, desperate to keep the air light, unaware that he already knows exactly why you ended the call-and that he's watching you closely, waiting for you to slip. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he says, leaning in just a little closer, his voice smooth, almost reassuring, "I understand. Things come up. We're good, yeah?"

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that lingers in the air. "So, how've you been?" you ask, your voice a little softer than usual, almost uncertain. You can't help the way your nerves spike, knowing exactly who he is-your brother's boss, a military captain in his 40s. And yet, here he is, sitting across from you on a video call, just another man on the other side of the screen. But it's not just any call-it's this call. This man, so authoritative in his world, is sitting here, watching you.

Price can't help but smile as you talk to him, he knows you're lying. He doesn't call you out on it, but he's enjoying the fact that you don't know that he knows. He can tell just by the sound of your voice alone that you're nervous, but you're trying to act polite.

"I've been good, darlin". Been missing you though", he responds with a soft chuckle. He tries not to sound too desperate or obvious, he wants to play along and see how long it'll take you to crack. You can't help but smile, the warmth spreading across your face as the sound of his voice lingers in your mind. You let out a little giggle, almost shy, but it escapes before you can stop it. "Really?" you ask.

Price can't help but smirk at your school girl giggle, the sound of which seems to go straight to his core. "Yes, really" he responds playfully. "I've been thinking about you a lot, doll" he adds, his voice low. You shift on your bed, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks. The way he's looking at you, the way his words hang in the air, makes your heart race and your stomach flutter. You can't help but feel giddy, your body betraying your attempt to stay composed.

“...Thinking about me how?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, and you can't quite bring yourself to meet his gaze. There's a pause on Price's end, a moment that seems to stretch on into eternity as he stares at you through the screen. "Oh, you want specific details, huh darling?" he asks lowly, his eyes roaming over you. He can barely keep his voice steady, his body is heating up just looking at you.

You nod softly, your fingers nervously playing with the fabric of your skirt, twisting and turning as you try to steady your breath. The quiet tension between you both feels like it's building with every second. You can't help but feel a little shy under his gaze, yet at the same time, the thrill of it all keeps you grounded, your curiosity pushing you to want to know more.

You glance up briefly, meeting his eyes for just a moment, the weight of the question hanging in the air. “..l want to know" you murmur, your voice soft but eager. Price's gaze is intense as he stares deeply into your eyes through the screen, taking in your every move.

Your shyness is only making Price want you even more, and the tension between you is growing. When you tell him you want to know his lips curve into a smirk, his eyes flickering over your body. He leans forward, the whiskey glass dangling loosely from his fingers, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Been thinking about that tight little cunt of yours, mostly. Fantasizing about bending you over every fucking surface I see"

Price's blunt words have a powerful effect on you, they make your mind go blank for an instance before a wave of heat washes over you, his voice alone is enough to drive you insane. He's watching you intensely through the screen, taking in your reaction to his filthily words.

"You like the sound of that, baby?" he asks with a smirk, his eyes roaming over you. Price's own words make his own mind start to wander, images of you writhing under him, bent over his desk flooding his mind. "I've been thinking about your soft little moans" he says in a low voice, his eyes roaming over you on the screen. "I've been thinking about how badly I want my hands on you"

Price notices the way your thighs clench in response to his words, and it ignites something in him. "Oh, darlin...are you getting excited?" he asks with a grin, his tone a little teasing. He sets the whiskey glass down, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches down to adjust his pants, making sure his growing erection is comfortable. "I can tell by the way you're squeezing those thighs together. You're fucking dripping for me, aren't vou. andel?"

Price can't help but admire you through the screen, his eyes darkened with intensity and desire. His hand reaches down to subtly adjust the growing bulge in his pants, trying to ignore the ache in his groin. Your legs are squeezing together, as if trying to find some sort of relief for the ache that's building between your legs.

Your face is flushed, your breathing is becoming more erratic, and you're struggling to keep your eyes on him without looking away out of shyness. Price's voice drops even lower, smooth and commanding, as his gaze locks onto yours.

"Call me daddy," he says, each word deliberate, like a challenge and a request all at once. He leans forward slightly, his tone thick with desire, as he adds, "Can you do that for me, sweetheart?" You blush, the warmth creeping up your neck as you nod, your voice barely a whisper.

'Yes" you reply softly, the word slipping out almost shyly. Price's gaze sharpens, his lips curling into a small smirk. "I want to hear you say it," he commands gently, his tone firm but not unkind. "Say it for me, sweetheart." The room feels heavier with his words, the air thick with tension as he waits, his eyes never leaving you, eager for your response.

You whisper it, barely above a breath, the words almost lost in the quiet room “....Yes, daddy.." you murmur, your face flushed with warmth as you feel his gaze linger on you, intense and expectant. The way the words feel leaving your lips sends a wave of nervous excitement through you, making your heart race all over again.

Price's whole body almost shudders as he hears you call him that, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. It's almost too much, hearing you refer to him like that.It's a power dynamic that he never knew he craved, until he met you. He takes a moment to collect himself, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his own desire under control. "Good girl" he praises, watching you closely to see how you react to his words.

The soft whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, a sound so quiet, yet it doesn't go unnoticed.

Price's smirk deepens as he watches you, the shift in your demeanor not lost on him. He can see how his words are affecting you, how they make you tremble, and it only fuels the desire that's already burning inside him.

He leans in slightly, voice dropping to a lower, more possessive tone. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, the words like a caress. "Let me hear more of that." His eyes remain locked on yours, searching for every reaction, every tiny movement you make.

He smirks as he sees your reaction, clearly savoring the effect his words have on you. "Such a good girl, making those sweet little noises for Daddy." He leans back, purposely giving you a glimpse of his muscular frame through his partially unbuttoned shirt.

His voice drops to a commanding growl as his eyes rake hungrily over your image on the screen. "Strip for me, angel. Nice and slow. Let Daddy see that gorgeous body he's been jerking off to every fucking night."

“Yes, daddy" you slip off your panties, tossing them to the end of bed. "Leave the stockings on," he orders, his tone smooth and firm. You slide your fingers over the delicate lace of your lingerie, the fabric clinging to your body just enough to tease, before you begin to pull it away slowly, deliberately. The tension in the air grows thick as you reveal more of you skin, each inch of you body exposed with a careful, almost tantalizing slowness.

Your hands trail down your sides, feeling the smoothness of your skin as you slides the fabric down, the lace brushing against you hips before it slips completely off. You don't rush, letting each moment stretch out, letting the anticipation build. You let the lingerie drop to the floor with a soft flutter, you body now fully exposed, save for the stockings you've kept on, the lace clinging to your legs, a final piece of the puzzle that leaves just enough to the imagination. The room is heavy with your movements, the way your eyes flick up to meet his, revealing just how much you're willing to give in this moment.

He watches with bated breath as you slowly reveal your body, his heart pounding in his chest like a fucking war drum. Every inch of exposed skin makes his mouth water, his dick hardening further in his pants. "Fuck, look at you...like a goddamn wet dream." He reaches out, his finger hovering over the screen, as if he could touch you through it. "I want to see those stockings, angel. I want to see you stand up and let me see how they cling to those fucking perfect legs of yours."

You step off the bed, moving the webcam back as you stand. His eyes lock onto your legs, the black lace stockings clinging to your shapely thighs like a second skin. He swallows hard, his mind racing with images of running his hands up those silky legs. "Turn around"

You turn obediently facing your bed.

He drinks in the view of your back, the way the stockings disappear into the curve of your backside, leaving the rest of you bare. He can't help but notice the slight sway of your hips as you turn. "Bend over," he growls. You can hear him fumbling with something before the sound of a zipper being unzipped, you try to stand and turn to see him.

"Stay," he commands, his voice low and authoritative.

He wraps his fingers around his length, slowly stroking himself as he watches you bent over, the lace stockings hugging your thighs. You let out a frustrated whine "I wanna see you.."

"Not yet," he murmurs, his eyes glued to the screen as he continues to slowly stroke himself, the tip of his thumb rubbing over the sensitive head each time he reaches the top. "Please daddy?"

His hand pauses, his thumb hovering over the tip as he hears those words. He can feel his body tensing, ready to snap. "You calling me daddy isn't going to make me show you," he says gruffly. "Spread them wider," he orders, his voice low and demanding. He watches intently as you comply, the lace stockings stretching taut over your thighs as you widen your stance.

"Put your hand between your legs and rub your fucking cunt," he growls, his voice rough and commanding. He starts to stroke himself faster, watching with rapt attention as he waits for you to follow his orders.

"Slowly." You lift you upper half off the bed enough to slide your hand down to your dripping wet pussy. You let you a whine as you start to rub yourself painfully slow.

He watches intently, his cock throbbing in his hand as he sees your fingers disappear between your legs, moving languidly over your sex. The sight of your slow, teasing touches makes his teeth grind with barely restrained desire.* "Fuck, that's it..."

His eyes narrow as he sees you try to push your fingers inside. "Did I say you could fuck yourself with your fingers?" he snaps, his grip tightening around his cock.

"No, I told you to fucking rub, not shove your fingers in like a goddamn whore."

"Im sorry daddy.."

"You'd better be," he growls, his face contorting with anger and unsatisfied lust. "Now spread your legs wider and rub slower," he demands, his voice dripping with authority and unspent desire. "I want to see your fingers barely touching your little pink folds."

"No please-"

"Yes, because if you don't start fucking listening and doing exactly as I say, I'll hang up this call and leave you fucking spread open and desperate," he interrupts harshly. "So you'd better start rubbing that fucking pussy like I told you before I lose my patience."

"No! i'll listen I promise!"

He watches closely, his cock throbbing as he sees your fingers quiver against your mound, barely grazing the swollen flesh. Each feather-light stroke over your clit makes his breath hitch. "That's it... fuck," he growls approvingly, starting to stroke himself faster.

"You're doing so good being a good girl and listening," he praises softly, his tone deceivingly gentle as he continues to watch your slow, torturous rubs. "But you know what else I want?"

"What daddy?"

"I want to see you spread your lips open with your fingers," he orders, his voice low and thick with desire.

"Use your index and middle finger, spread them open wide so I can see that fucking pink hole." You moan into the bed as you comply.

His eyes widen as he sees your fingers part your lips, revealing the glistening pink interior of your pussy. He can see the head of your clit peeking out from between your folds, and the way your inner lips are slightly puffy and swollen. "Fuck... look at that,"

He continues stroking himself, faster now, his breathing heavier as he takes in the vulgar sight of your exposed sex. His cock throbs in his hand, leaking precum. "Keep holding yourself open," he commands,

"use your other hand and rub your fucking clit. Gentle.'

"Please daddy" your other hand goes down to rub your clit. His cock twitches as he watches you hesitantly start to rub your clit, your fingers moving in cautious circles. "Yeah, just like that," he encourages hoarsely, stroking himself in tandem with your movements. "Nice and slow, get yourself fucking wet."

He watches intently as your fingers circle faster, your breathing growing more labored with each passing second. The sight of your fingers glistening with arousal makes his cock ache with need. "Look at that fucking pussy, getting all wet for me," he murmurs approvingly.

"Please let me-"

He squeezes his throbbing cock harder, feeling a bead of precum trickle down the shaft as he imagines sliding into your slick heat. "Fuck, I wish I was there, burying myself deep in this tight little pussy"

"I need you-*

The conversation takes a subtle shift as Price leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his intense gaze locked on you through the screen. His voice, low and deliberate, cuts through the quiet hum of the call.

"You know, sweetheart," he starts, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, "this would be so much better if I were there in person." You stand up from the bed, turning to face the webcam.

The weight of his words makes your heart skip, and you pause, your hands stilling on the bedspread. He studies your reaction, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he already knows the effect he's having on you. "What do you say, doll?" he continues, his tone smooth and confident, laced with something deeper.

“I could come over... see you for real." He lets the suggestion hang in the air, watching as your eyes widen slightly, your cheeks flushing at the thought. "No cameras, no screens. Just you and me."

#Spotify #cod john price #john price #john price x reader #cod mw2 #cod smut #call of duty #smut #john price smut #age g4p #john price x reader smut #john price x you #captain price #captain price smut #price smut #doll3scentwrites!

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help-i-need-a-cool-username · 3 months ago

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Been reading a lot of sw angst fic so imma make a funny idea. The clones in charge (commanders, captains) start a competition amongst each other. The goal? Kiss your general

At first its for shits and giggles. The friendly competition becomes good for morale. And then. Then the jedi figure it out and they want in

Now the brothers are competitive but the jedi have no shame. Soon theres a scoreboard. Theres rules. Theres a whole point system. Every kiss must be recorded and sent to a committee they put together just for this

It is at this point in time when the competition reaches the ears of various members of the cast we know and love. And chaos truly begins

Aayla makes the first big splash because her video manages to get leaked and go viral. She grabbed a unsuspecting Bly by the belt before tossing his helmet and dipping him. They get extra points for Bly sticking his leg up. She releases him and he walks away dazed

The video brings the competition into the public eye, while initially being controversial among the non-jedi and non-clone members of the GAR bc fraternization and conduct, the Republic itself loves it. Its funny. It humanizes the clones. Its drawing monetary interest in supporting the GAR. So it continues

Padme calls Anakin and is like "whats your plan?" "There isnt any plan. The only person i want to kiss is you-" "screw that Anakin. You need to go big. Ive got money on you" "what-" "we need drama Anakin! Some flare! A stage presence! Have you considered a cape?"

Obi-Wan comes to Cody with his own dramatic plan and the men peer pressure Cody into doing it ("kiss him! Itll be good for morale!" "What is Commander Cody a coward!?"). They lose to Mace by two points. Both involved unecessary acrobatics

Depa figures out how to weaponize the jedi and vode's love of younglings by getting Caleb to kiss the cheek of a trooper's bucket as a thank you which jumps to the top and sets off a whole new bracket of the competition for younger Padawans

Plo, very mad that he can only participate under very specific atmospheric conditions, buys a stamp in the shape of a kiss mark and stamps the foreheads of his entire battalion. He's quickly swamped by votes from other jedi who cant kiss their clones or who dont have lips

You know that video of the guy covered in kiss marks and the cameraman is trying to figure out who did it? And at first you think its the girl because she's wearing the same lipstick but then the camera pans to a guy who's also wearing it but its super smudged and he's genuinely like "i wonder who did it?" That was Ahsoka's and drunk Anakin's submission and it was Rex's armor covered in kiss marks

The whole thing slams to a halt at Yoda's. The old geezer manages to win the whole thing. The man rolled out his whole 900 years of life and connections with the younglings in order to pick the greatest scenario for the most votes and points as possible, proving he is grand master for a reason

#hinacu sw #star wars #tcw #clone troopers #blyla #cobywan #commander bly #aayla secura #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #mace windu #depa billaba #caleb dume #plo koon #master yoda

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blueberrisdove-sideblog · 5 months ago

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𓂃𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 . PLEASURE AND PAIN ?!

⊹₊⟡⋆ paring : incubus Phainon x witch fem!reader

⊹₊⟡⋆ synopsis : As a powerful witch, you’ve always been in control—until Phainon, an incubus with a devilish charm, crosses your path. He’s the temptation you never saw coming, a force that leaves you powerless in the face of desire. With every encounter, magic and lust intertwine, pushing the boundaries of pleasure and control. You may be a master of spells, but Phainon has a magic of his own, one that makes you crave the very thing you swore you’d never surrender to.

⊹₊⟡⋆ warnings : nsfw/smut, vaginal, creampie, daddy kink, leash play, power dynamics, dominance/submission, rough s*x, hand job, explicit language, c*m play, chocking, manipulation, dark content/themes, fingering, rituals/blood rituals, objectification, p*ssy teasing, size kink, consent boundaries pushed, dubcon, humiliation and degradation, also a bit of fluff/aftercare. :>

⊹₊⟡⋆ note : dunno if this is ooc for Phainon.

⊹₊⟡⋆ edit : A LOTTT OF TYPOS. (I edited them) Thanks for anon for telling me.

The moonlight filtered through the thick forest, casting shadows that seemed to dance and pulse with an energy of their own. The air smelled of earth and something darker, something more intoxicating. You stood in the clearing, hands raised, whispering incantations with practiced ease. The power flowed through you, a familiar, heady rush that you had come to crave.

Tonight was supposed to be like any other ritual—a simple offering to the ancient forces you had learned to wield so expertly. But as you uttered the final words, a cold chill swept through the air, and the ground beneath you trembled.

Before you could even react, he appeared.

Phainon.

The incubus was a living manifestation of temptation. His fiery eyes locked onto yours with a predatory gleam, and his lips curled into a grin that made your pulse quicken. The darkness that surrounded him seemed to press in, pulling at you, urging you to give in.

"Did you think you could call for power, witch?" His voice was low, dripping with dark amusement. "You might be able to summon it, but you can’t control it—not when I’m here."

You knew the danger, felt it in your bones, but there was something in his gaze, something in the air, that made you hunger for it. Hunger for him.

Without a word, he closed the distance between you, his fingers trailing over your skin like fire. His touch was a command, not a request, and you couldn’t stop yourself from responding, your body betraying your mind.

"Strip," Phainon ordered, his voice like silk wrapped in a command. You obeyed before you even realized it, your clothes falling away until you stood bare beneath the cool night sky, vulnerable yet burning with desire.

The incubus’s eyes raked over you, his gaze possessive, hungry. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the curve of your throat before he snapped a leash into your hand, the leather cold against your skin.

“Tonight, you belong to me,” he whispered, pulling the leash gently, dragging you into a world where you no longer had the power, but where pleasure and submission were all you needed.

The leash felt oddly heavy in your hands, its cool, smooth leather both a promise and a warning. Phainon’s eyes locked onto you, his grin widening as he saw how easily you obeyed, his words already weaving through your body like a spell.

"You think you can summon power, witch?" he taunted, voice thick with dark amusement. "But what good is power if you don’t know how to use it?"

His fingers traced down your neck, leaving trails of fire behind. You shivered at his touch, not out of fear, but something darker, something you couldn’t deny. He pulled the leash, just enough to make you move closer. Your heartbeat thundered in your chest, and you bit your lip to keep from reacting too loudly.

“I didn't summon you,” you managed to whisper, voice shaking with a mix of defiance and need. “You came on your own.”

Phainon chuckled, low and dangerous, his face inches from yours. “You can say that, but I know exactly what you crave.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the teasing was gone from his eyes. His grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Strip,” he commanded, tone brokering no argument.

You hesitated, but only for a second. You knew you wouldn’t be able to resist him. Slowly, deliberately, you shed your clothes until you stood bare before him, the air cold against your heated skin. His gaze slid over every inch of you, the intensity making your legs wobble.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, his hands now roaming over your body, touching, teasing. It made you ache for more, the power shift between you only adding to the need building inside.

You tried to fight it, tried to push back the overwhelming desire, but Phainon wasn’t having it. His hand snapped the leash, pulling you toward him. "On your knees."

It wasn’t a question. His voice was dark, demanding, and all you could do was obey, dropping to your knees, your eyes never leaving his.

“Good,” he murmured, and you could hear the approval in his voice, like it pleased him that you knew your place. He tilted your head back, the grip on your chin bruising, his thumb brushing your lips. “You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat, but you forced them out. “I’m not some... toy, Phainon. I’m not just going to let you—”

“Not some toy?” His lips curled into a grin. “Then why are you already on your knees, witch?”

You couldn’t answer. The truth was written all over your face, your body betraying you in the most delicious ways. Phainon leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You will beg for it soon enough. I’ll make sure of that.”

Phainon’s smirk deepened, his gaze never wavering from yours as if he were enjoying every moment of your struggle. “Still pretending you’re in control?” he mused, his fingers lightly tracing the edge of your jaw, the touch almost mocking. “How amusing.”

He was right. Every inch of your body betrayed the resolve you tried so hard to maintain. Even though your mind screamed at you to resist, to fight back, your body was already responding to him—aching, yearning, desperate.

“I’m not pretending anything,” you shot back, the words barely a whisper as your chest rose and fell in rapid succession. “You’re just... not what I expected.”

“Oh?” He chuckled, low and rich, the sound a smooth caress against your senses. “And what did you expect, hmm? A soft touch? Maybe some gentle seduction?” He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m an incubus, sweetheart. I don’t do gentle.”

His hand tightened around the leash again, pulling you toward him with a sudden jerk. “You’re mine for tonight. Don’t try to fool yourself into thinking otherwise.”

The words were harsh, but there was an undeniable pull to them, a darkness in his voice that sent a shiver straight down your spine. You found yourself unable to look away, your pulse racing in sync with his every command.

Phainon’s gaze softened just slightly—just enough for you to catch a glimpse of something more than just hunger. “You could’ve resisted,” he said, his voice quieter now, though still dripping with that same commanding tone. “But you didn’t. You knew exactly what you wanted the moment you summoned me, didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue, to find any words to protest, but they were lost in the heat of the moment. There was no denying it. You could feel it—the need, the craving, the desperate want to give in to him completely.

“I—” You started, but Phainon silenced you with a firm tug on the leash, pulling you closer until your faces were inches apart. His eyes were intense, the kind of intensity that dared you to challenge him.

“Don’t speak,” he commanded, his voice low and deadly serious. “Just feel.”

And with that, his lips crashed onto yours, hot, demanding, and all-consuming. Every ounce of defiance you had left melted under the force of his kiss, your body aching, desperate for him to claim you fully.

Phainon pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his gaze dark and unyielding, like he was seeing straight through you. "I thought witches were supposed to be strong," he mused, his voice dripping with amusement. "You seem... a little weak for that title."

You clenched your fists, your body trembling with a mix of anger and desire. “Don’t push me, Phainon. I’m not some—”

“Not some what?” He cut you off with another tug of the leash, pulling you forward until you were almost flush against him. “Not some helpless little thing?” He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “Because you sure as hell look like one right now.”

You hissed through your teeth, anger flaring up, but his hand was on your throat again, not enough to choke, but just enough to remind you who was in charge. His fingers were light, almost teasing, but it made your breath catch, your mind dizzy from the power he was holding over you.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning down, lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make sure you remember your place. But you’re going to enjoy every second of it.”

His words were a challenge, a promise, and somehow that only made your pulse quicken even more. You didn’t want to admit it, but the thought of giving in to him, to letting go completely, made your body ache in ways you couldn’t control.

"Stop fighting it," he urged, his grip tightening, a soft, commanding growl in his chest. "I’ll make this worth it, I promise you. But only if you let go."

Your lips parted to retort, but no words came out. Instead, you found yourself nodding, just a little, the slightest admission that you wanted—no, needed—this. Needed him.

“Good,” Phainon purred, the approval in his voice like a drug you couldn’t quit. “I knew you were smarter than that.”

He stepped back, tugging at the leash again, pulling you closer until your knees buckled under the force of his pull. “On your back,” he ordered, his voice unshaken, leaving no room for hesitation. "Now."

You obeyed, settling on the cold ground, your body laid out before him, vulnerable and bare. Every nerve in your body screamed for more, for him to touch, to claim you, to make you his in the only way he knew how.

Phainon crouched down, his hands gripping your thighs, parting them with ease, his eyes glowing with that hungry fire. “You’ll beg me for it soon enough. Don’t try to deny it.”

You swallowed hard, the words heavy in the air between you. But in that moment, you realized you didn’t want to deny it.

His fingers traced over your inner thighs, slowly gliding upward, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He paused just short of your core, teasing, his touch whisper-soft and maddeningly light. "So responsive to me," he murmured, as if pleased with himself.Then, as quick as a flicker of smoke, his hand made contact.

Two long, slender digits delved into your folds with ease, coaxing out your arousal with a mere stroke. Your body betrayed you, arching into the sensation, a needy moan slipping past your parted lips."So wet," Phainon commented, his thumb circling your clit in a tantalizing rhythm. "It's a good thing you surrendered willingly. I'd hate to force it out of you."

He pumped a steady beat, his fingers curled just so to hit all the right spots, driving you insane while somehow keeping you from reaching climax. It was a balancing act, and one you suspected he'd mastered over centuries of seduding countless human victims.

His thumb danced, a merciless tease, over your throbbing pearl, and you found yourself thrashing beneath his touch, desperate for more, any more he cared to give.Phainon's other hand came into play, joining in the torture.

Phainon’s fingers wrapped around one of your tits, squeezing just hard enough to elicit a whimper from your lips. He'd know every response, every subtle twitch and quake, and it would be agonizing.

A thrill ran through him at the prospect of stripping the last vestige of control from you. He pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger, rolling it back and forth, while his other hand never wavered from your sensitive flesh. Two fingers pumped steadily in time with his thumb, maintaining that maddening pace against your clit.

The other hand continued its exploration of your tits, fingers sweeping over the swell, tracing the contours until he gripped the other nipple. It was a cruel delight, playing both sources of pleasure against each other, keeping you on the razor's edge with nothing but the promise of more. Phainon’s thumb danced harder against your clit, increasing the tempo just enough to heighten the friction, the pressure.

The wetness was overwhelming now, soaking through his fingers with a slick heat."You'll come for me," Phainon breathed, his lips grazing your ear. "It's only a matter of when, not if. Your body wants this, craves it, needs it."

"Ngh—daddy! I’m going to cum!" you cried out loud, your pussy clenching around his fingers.

The desperate, pleasured cry that tore from your throat only spurred him on. Your core was squeezing around his fingers, a rhythmic pulsing that threatened to undo him, but he held steady.

No, he'd make you come like this, at his command, before he allowed you any relief. "You'd better," Phainon ground out, his thumb rubbing merciless circles over your swollen clit. "Because I'm nowhere near finished with you."

He quickened the pace of his fingers, pumping in and out as the pressure mounted. Your body was tightening, coiling, the tension building to unbearable heights.

"Now!" Phainon barked, his fingers plunging deep as he pinched your nipple with unyielding force. The dual assault pushed you over the brink. Your sex spasmed wildly around his plunging digits, milking them as ecstasy ripped through your core. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in white-hot bliss as you came undone in his grip.

Phainon's lips curved in triumph as he felt your inner walls clench and flutter around him. "Yes," he murmured, savoring the moment. "That's it. Take it, witch."

The pulsing of your sex, now hypersensitive following the intensity of your climax, continued to milk his fingers. Your climax was still rippling through you, and your back arched as if begging for more. But he wasn't done with you yet.Withdrawing his touch from your trembling flesh, Phainon stood, slowly stripping off his weapons and armor piece by piece.

The cool air of the dungeon washed over his skin, making him shiver slightly as he revealed his muscular physique, the white marks of his tattoos standing out against his pale flesh.He towered over you, his imposing figure almost intimidating after the intimate scene they'd just shared.

Despite the differences in their natural abilities, there was a power about him that drew you in, an aura of dominance that was impossible to resist. Your gaze was drawn to his hardening cock, already sporting impressive length and girth, a clear sign that he, too, was aroused.

His eyes, those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see into your very soul, gleamed with dark desire and sinister intent. Lowering himself onto the bed of furs, Phainon spread his legs invitingly, as if presenting himself for your exploration and pleasure.

A devilish grin curled his lips, and his voice took on a sensual, seductive timbre. "Well, witch? Doesn't it seem time to return the favor?" His hands reached for the hem of his pants, sliding them down over powerful thighs, hips that shifted fluidly with every subtle movement.

Muscles rippled under fair, unblemished skin as he kicked the fabric aside, fully exposing himself. As if entranced, your eyes drifted over the expanse of his torso, down to the thick, substantial evidence of his arousal, cock jutting proudly from a thatch of pale white hair. "Don't tell me I've got you weak in the knees already," Phainon teased with a smirk as he reclined back on his elbows, watching you with predatory interest, awaiting your next move with bated breath.

You took in a sharp breath, your body still trembling, but your voice remained steady, filled with defiance and the hunger you couldn’t deny. Your eyes met his, unblinking, as you slowly crawled closer, each movement deliberate and confident.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Phainon," you said, your voice low and dangerous, a smirk curling at the edges of your lips. "You think you’ve got me? Think again. I’m not some helpless toy you can just control."

Your hands moved to his chest, tracing the lines of muscle beneath your fingers. "You may be an incubus, but I know exactly how to handle power. The question is... can you handle me?"

A low, indulgent chuckle rumbled in Phainon's chest as your dainty fingers danced over his skin, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that spoke volumes of the intimate encounter they'd just shared. "Oh, witch," he drawled, reaching up to wrap his strong arms around you, holding you pressed against his warm, enticing body.

"I think it's quite transparent what you crave. And yes, I most certainly can handle you."His hands ghosted down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass as he pulled you impossibly closer, their sexes now aligned, the heat of his desire brushing against your still-sensitive folds. "You forget yourself," Phainon murmured, his lips skimming the nape of your neck in a soft, teasing caress.

"I am not a novice. I know exactly what I want, and I'll take it however I please."

Leaning in, he inhaled your scent, his nostrils flaring with arousal as he savored the heady aroma of your desire. With deliberate, unhurried movements, he guided your hand to wrap around his thick erection, the contrast between your soft skin and his hard length a delight for both of you.

"I want you to worship my cock," Phainon hissed with pleasure as your hand enclosed around his hard length, fingers just barely meeting to encircle him. "I want you to feel every throbbing inch as you take turns showing just how skilled you really are. "His voice was laced with dark promise, eyes gleaming with an unholy hunger.

A gentle but firm press urged you to begin exploring his member's contours. As you started to stroke him slowly, he angled his hips to drive himself further into your hand. Each smooth, sleek glide ignited fresh sparks of pleasure that coursed through his body, building his anticipation and arousal. "You're incredibly good at this," Phainon purred, leaning to nibble along your shoulder. "Almost as if you were designed to serve and pleasure me." The thought seemed to stir him even more, his cock throbbing harder against your palm. "Go on, witch...let's see what else you can do."

You grumbled softly as you stroked his length faster, pressing your thumb against the tip of his cock. Phainon groaned softly, as he tugged on the leash that was around your neck harder.

A sudden, sharp tug on the leash made you gasp, your eyes widening as Phainon's fingers dug just a little deeper into your throat.

Despite the hint of choking, the sensation elicited no alarm from him. Your breath caught in your lungs, your pulse quickening at the unfamiliar sting.Now, with your attention momentarily diverted, Phainon seized the opportunity to slip that first finger inside you, curling it upwards to make contact with a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

He knew well its effects, and he reveled in the knowledge that the sensation would only heighten your pleasure, even as you struggled just a little against the leash's restraints. "Yes," Phainon purred into your ear, the finger inside you still, "like that. Perfect," he praised. His hand loosened from your throat, then closed again to grip the leash, once more tugging the slender chain around your neck to draw your face closer to his erection.

The pleasure building to a fever pitch within him demanded release, and with a guttural growl, Phainon seized control, his hand closing over yours to guide the pace of your strokes. "That's it, witch...just a little more..." With his own fingers intertwined with yours, he set a relentless rhythm, each thrust of his hips meeting your touch perfectly, until finally, with a burst of ecstatic cry, he reached his peak.

Arch of his back, hips jerking, and spurt after spurt of hot, velvet essence pulsing out to coat that expert hand still wrapped around him—every sensation reached a crescendo before slowly subsiding, Phainon spent but sated in the aftermath of his climax.

"Excellent," he sighed, finally releasing your hand. He turned his head to languidly lick his lips, tasting your essence on them. "You learn quickly when faced with...motivation." With a gentle pat on your cheek, he slipped out from beneath you, and rising in stages, finally stood, his spent cock now flaccid against his thigh. However, the gleam in his eye betrayed his ongoing, insatiable appetite for more from you.

You felt something hard between your legs making you gasp. From his leisurely stroll crossing the room back to the bed, Phainon paused to let your gaze devour every muscle and sinew on full display. A sly, knowing smile curled his kissable lips even as his rigid length began to harden once more, a traitorous cock seemingly possessed by a will of its own.

Giving in to instinct, he shifted back closer to you, hands sliding down to palm his renewed erection as he stood between open legs, fully on display. "It seems I'm not thoroughly sated," Phainon murmured, his voice a deep, seductive rumble.

He leaned down, allowing his hot breath to fan over your skin as he whispered against your ear, "The devil in me isn't quite done with you yet, witch...and I doubt you'll mind."With a slow, deliberate stroke against your inner thigh, he was once again in full control, his body primed for an onslaught of your passion and his unending appetite for more of your exquisite surrender.

As if sensing your anticipation, Phainon began inching closer, eyes locked onto yours as if trying to see into the deepest, darkest recesses of your soul.

The air grew heavier with tension, each ragged breath stirring the musky scent of arousal thicker than the mist—shrouded moors in the gathering dusk. Without warning, he lunged forward, pinning you beneath his weight as he settled on top of you. "Witch," he hissed against your throat, hot, rough lips skimming over your pulse point in a reverential worship, "you'll pay for all the times you tormented me with your lovely form and refused to succumb to a taste."

His hands were everywhere at once—gripping your hips, trailing up your sides, kneading the delicate skin of your tits. Each touch sent shockwaves straight to your core as your nervous system tingled with expectation.

Phainon's rigid cock throbbed urgently against your skin, his arousal unabashedly apparent even through the thin sheet of magic that usually protected those who bore your mark. Yet there was no time for reflection, not with his lips continuing their relentless assault on your skin, and the heady, primal heat that emanated from his form threatening to consume you all.

You moaned softly, one of your hands grabbed his dick. Rubbing the head of his cock on your entrance. "Fuck me. Now."

With an animalistic growl, Phainon positioned himself over you, his impressive length nudging insistently against your inviting warmth. "Patience, witch," he purred, his fingers tangling into your hair to yank your head back, exposing the elegant column of your throat. "I've waited far too long for this sweet release."

He dragged his tongue up the sensitive skin in slow, deliberate drags before latching onto your pulse point, suckling gently as his hips pressed forward, the bulbous head of his cock breaching you incrementally.

The velvety texture glided against your inner walls, the slight stretch almost unbearably pleasurable as inch by inch, he sank deeper into your welcoming heat."Oh, yes," Phainon moaned, breath gusting against your skin, "just like that...so soft...warm...perfect." His tempo quickened, each deliberate thrust driving him in deeper, the force pushing you to meet him, to crave more of that exquisite friction. "You take me so well, witch," he praised, voice thick with desire, "so utterly, wickedly perfect."

The pace of his plunges intensified, each deep stroke sending the head of his cock stroking across that elusive sweet spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Phainon growled with pleasure, his own arousal growing more insistent as the witch's inner muscles clenched and rippled around his plunging length. "Not stopping," he snarled, "until you can't remember a life without me buried deep within you like this." With renewed hunger, he redoubled his efforts, hips snapping relentlessly as he drove into your welcoming heat.

The sound of flesh meeting flesh mixed with your gasps and moans, a symphony of lustful abandon in the darkness of your private sanctum.

As if sensing he was about to reach the precipice, Phainon clutched your hips hard enough to bruise, every muscle taut, his rhythm chaotic as he fought for control against the tidal wave of pleasure threatening to consume him whole. "Mine," he rasped, breaking the carnal soundtrack just enough to rasp the word against your ear, "you're mine now, witch, utterly and completely...in body and soul."

"Phainon!" you cried out, his cock thrusting into all of the right places.

The last vestiges of Phainon's control shattered, his climax building to an almost unbearable peak. "Take it, witch," he commanded through gritted teeth, his hips moving in powerful, frenzied thrusts as he pursued the heights of ecstasy. "Let me fill you up with my essence," he grunted, the head of his cock battering against that tender spot inside you with every plunge.

"Feel me...claim you...mark you as mine," his voice ragged with lust, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within him.

The moment of surrender loomed close, and with one final, ragged grunt, Phainon buried himself to the hilt inside you, his throbbing cock pulsing and twitching as he exploded in a flurry of intense, raw release.

Waves of hot, potent seed washed over your trembling walls, each contraction milking him of every last drop as your body instinctively rode the aftershocks of his climax together.

Hours later...In the soft, intimate afterglow of their passionate encounter, Phainon stirred, his strong arms encircling you as he lazily drew comforting circles on the small of your back. "Will I meet you again?" You asked him, teasing your eyebrow. You didn’t want him to go. Yet.

Phainon chuckled, the vibrations resonating through his chest and against your ear. "Oh, I'm quite certain we have unfinished business to attend to." He turned his head, kissing the crown of yours softly. "In fact, my dear witch, I've grown quite...fond of you." There was an edge to his voice, a hint of mischief that made him sound almost...playful?

"Unlikely," Phainon said at last with a nonchalant shrug, releasing you from the embrace as he rose from the bed. "Still, do enjoy whatever peace this sanctuary grants you, witch. I promise you won't be kept waiting for long. "With an easy grin and a wink, he sauntered out of the room, leaving behind the lingering scent of his presence and the ghost of pleasure's sweet taste.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

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bealorelai · 2 months ago

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MasterLloyd x reader smut 18+ nsfw

warnings: rough sex, cum play, size kink, breeding kink, choking, Dom!Lloyd, manhandling, restrained wrists, aftercare if you squint.

The sun hung low over the training courtyard, casting long golden streaks across the polished tiles where Sora and Arin moved in tandem under Lloyd’s stern gaze. He moved like a blade—sharp, controlled, every muscle taut under the thin white gi that clung to his torso, fabric soaked in places with sweat that glinted in the light. His sleeves were pushed back to the elbows, revealing forearms veined and strong, flexing each time he corrected Arin’s stance or deflected Sora’s strikes with effortless precision.

But it was the bandana that did it.

That bright green cloth tied around his brow, dampened with sweat, loose strands of blond hair curling around it—it crowned him, made him look half-warrior, half-god. It wasn’t fair. That headband had no right to make him look so fucking dominant and fuckable.

You leaned against the wall with a water bottle in hand, barely pretending to watch the kids. Your eyes were all for him. The way his muscles rolled under his gi when he moved, how his voice dropped when giving a command, the barely leashed authority in every movement—it had your thighs clenching in silence.

Then it happened. He looked at you.

Just a flick of the eyes during a lull in sparring, but the smirk that tugged at his lips said everything. He saw your flushed cheeks. He knew.

Later, the kids were dismissed. And Lloyd stalked over to you the moment the gates closed behind them.

“Thought you were being real cute over there,” he murmured as he cornered you against the wall, his breath already warm against your cheek, “starin’ like that. You think I didn’t notice?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he cut in, low and dark, pressing you back with his body, hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. “You were watching me like you were about to drop to your knees right there. Is that what you want, baby? You want your Master?”

The word made your knees buckle, and he caught your thigh, gripping tight. He chuckled, lips brushing your ear.

“Upstairs. Now.”

You barely made it to the bedroom before he shoved you face-first onto the bed, tearing your clothes off with practiced urgency. You gasped at the sudden chill of the air, then moaned when his hands were on you—everywhere—palming your breasts, squeezing your hips, dragging you backward until your ass was pressed flush to his already hard dick.

“You know what this outfit does to you,” you whined, voice muffled against the sheets. “You know.”

“Yeah?” he muttered, tugging the green bandana from his head and twisting it in his hands. “Then maybe I should teach you a fuckin’ lesson for staring.”

He grabbed both your wrists and yanked them behind your back, binding them with the damp bandana, the fabric still warm from his sweat. The knot was tight, secure, pulling your shoulders back, arching your spine.

And then he stripped. You didn’t have to see him to feel the weight of his cock as it brushed against your thigh—thick, heavy, hard. When he lined up behind you, dragging his length slowly through your folds, it made your back arch even further, your toes curling.

“You’re dripping,” he hissed. “All from watching me train. Fuck, that’s pathetic.”

You whimpered—then screamed when he thrust in hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke that made your whole body seize. He was massive—stretching you past what felt possible, splitting you open with each thick inch. Your bound wrists twisted behind you, useless against the force of his hips as he began to pound.

“L-Lloyd—!”

“You take it,” he growled, one hand in your hair, the other pressing between your shoulder blades, forcing you down. “You take every inch. You like it when I fuck you dumb?”

“Y-yes, yes—! So full, ffuck—!”

“That’s right. Can feel it in your guts. Gonna fill you up till I break you.”

His balls slapped against your soaked pussy, each thrust accompanied by loud, wet smacks. Your cunt clenched down, spasming around his cock with every brutal stroke, your body drooling slick onto the sheets.

He reached down and slapped your ass hard—once, twice—then gripped both cheeks and spread you wide, watching himself fuck in and out of you.

“Look at that,” he muttered, voice tight. “You’re stretched wide open. Bet you can feel me in your fucking womb.”

You could. God, you could. And it was too much. Too thick. Too deep. You were delirious, drooling against the bedspread, sobbing, your walls fluttering around him in desperate spasms.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty thing? Huh?”

“Please—please”

He pressed a hand around your throat, dragging your head back so you could gasp for air—just enough—before he fucked harder. Deeper. You screamed, body convulsing, the orgasm ripping through you like lightning.

But he didn’t stop.

“Gonna cum so deep in this tight little pussy you’ll be leaking for days.”

“D-do it—please—please!”

He growled something incoherent, yanked you up by the bandana at your wrists, and slammed into you one last time, balls tight, cock throbbing.

Then he came.

Hot. Endless. A flood of cum spilling into your womb, thick and warm and so much, it forced a moan from your lips. You could feel it—ropes of it, jet after jet painting your insides, coating every inch of your pulsing cunt.

He held there, buried, cock twitching inside you.

You collapsed forward, breath gone, body trembling, still bound. Lloyd leaned over you, lips brushing your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “Took it all. So proud of you.”

Then he pulled out, slowly, and you felt it—his cum leaking from your sore, gaping hole. He knelt between your thighs and used two fingers to spread you open, watching it drip.

“Look at that mess. Fuck, I’m gonna need to stuff it back in, huh?”

He did—fingers pushing his spend back into your cunt, slow and indulgent, while you whined beneath him from the overstimulation. His voice dropped soft again, coaxing, praising.

“Shh. You did perfect. Just relax now. I got you.”

And he untied the bandana, kissed your wrists, kissed your spine, your shoulder. Gathered you into his arms, still naked and wrecked, and laid you in his lap like you were something precious. Something his.

“Next time you stare like that,” he whispered, lips brushing your temple, “I’m fucking you right in the training yard.”

“Poor Arin and Sora…” You mumbled.

Reblog and like if you liked this :3 this is my second smut dunno i just got inspired watching master lloyd again and i want him sooo bad, such a pure golden boy 😔 lemme hit dat

bye bye love yalll!!!

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fanfictionismyaddiction · 10 months ago

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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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ruewritesoccasionally · 6 months ago

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Caught In The Act | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, masturbation (f), use of toys, voyeurism, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, squirting, dirty talk, teasing, choking, power dynamics

Summary: A stressful week, a late-night release, and thin walls lead to her wildest fantasy—or is it reality—when her neighbour Terry intervenes.

Word count: 1.5K

a/n: chapter 4 of the reunion is underway but i'm procrastinating because writing a series kills me - i warned y'all lol 😩😩 but enjoy this nonetheless

The week had been unforgiving. Every deadline, every expectation, every passive-aggressive email seemed designed to crush her resolve. By Friday evening, she was a coiled spring of stress and frustration. The bourbon in her glass offered some solace, the amber liquid warming her from the inside out as she leaned against the kitchen counter. But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—to ease the tension thrumming beneath her skin.

She’d seen him earlier that day, crossing the car park with his toolbox in hand. Terry Richmond, the maintenance man for the complex, had a way of moving that felt unhurried yet commanding, as if the world bent to accommodate him. His low-cut black hair gleamed under the evening sun, and his stormy grey-green eyes seemed to see more than they should. He was a walking distraction, with broad shoulders that tested the seams of his work shirts and a voice that lingered like a touch.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the image of him. But as she wandered back into her bedroom, the thought of Terry lingered, simmering just beneath the surface. Setting her glass on the nightstand, she opened the top drawer, fingers brushing over the sleek contours of her favourite toy. Tonight, she wasn’t going to wait for relief to find her.

The dim light of her bedroom cast long shadows on the walls as she settled back against the pillows. The first hum of the rose-shaped vibrator sent a shiver through her, the tension in her body slowly unwinding as she focused on the sensations. Her free hand roamed over her skin, seeking out every nerve that cried for attention. The stress of the week melted away with every gasp, every arch of her back.

She didn’t hear him at first. The walls were thin, yes, but she was lost in her own world, her soft moans carrying through the quiet apartment. Terry heard them, though. Sitting on his sofa, he’d been nursing a beer when the muffled sounds reached his ears. At first, he thought it was the television, but when he muted it, the unmistakable cadence of pleasure became clearer. His brows lifted in surprise, a slow smirk curving his lips.

Curiosity got the better of him. Setting his beer aside, he crossed the hall, standing outside her door. He stood, his beer abandoned on the counter, and moved to his door. It was late, but curiosity—and something darker—drove him. He’d always noticed her in passing: the way her hips swayed when she walked, the curve of her smile when she greeted him, and those moments when she’d look at him just a little too long. Now, she was practically begging him to come over, her cries cutting through the stillness of the night.

He could hear her more distinctly now, and the heat pooling in his stomach was undeniable. He knocked once, then twice, but there was no answer. The sounds continued, unabated, and something in him stirred—a mixture of mischief and possession. He reached for the master key on his keyring, rationalising it as a neighbourly duty. After all, what if she needed help?

The door opened silently, and Terry stepped inside. The living room was dark, the faint glow from her bedroom spilling into the hallway. He followed the sounds, his pulse quickening as he neared the source. When he reached the doorway, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. “You’re filthy, aren’t you?” he muttered under his breath, a dark chuckle slipping free. “Giving me this kind of show.”

He let himself in, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with something heady and warm. The sight stopped him in his tracks: she was bare, utterly exposed, her dark skin glistening in the soft light. One hand gripped the sheets, the other guiding the toy between her thighs as it hummed against her slick heat. Her head was thrown back, lips parted as soft cries spilled from her. Terry’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening on the doorframe. He couldn’t stop himself; his free hand slid down to palm himself through his sweatpants, the sight before him stirring a hunger he hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath caught when she let out a desperate moan, her back arching.

She was close—he could tell by the way her body tensed, the way her cries grew higher, needier. He stepped further into the room, his presence finally cutting through her haze of pleasure.

“I knew you were keeping something sweet behind these walls,” he finally said, his voice teasing, cutting through the haze of her pleasure. “But this? You’ve been keeping this from me? Naughty girl.”

“Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low, rough, and it hit her like a jolt of electricity.

Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled to cover herself, mortification colouring her cheeks. “T-Terry?” she stammered, reaching for the nearest blanket.

He stepped closer, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice soft but firm. “You’re going to ruin the view.”

She froze, her heart pounding. He moved to the edge of the bed, towering over her, his presence overwhelming. “You know there’s more to my job than being the handyman, right?” he murmured, his tone laced with innuendo. “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, words failing her as he stepped closer. His gaze raked over her, dark and intent, and she felt exposed in more than one way.

“Now,” he continued, his voice laced with amusement, “you’ve got two options. I can stand here, and you can finish putting on that little show for me. Or,” he leaned down, his face inches from hers, “I can really make you feel good. Your choice.”

Her breath hitched, her body betraying her as his words sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her. Her thighs clenching instinctively. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded, her lips parted.

“Good girl,” he purred, his hand sliding up to her throat, applying the faintest pressure. “You like that? Being handled like this?”

A whimper escaped her lips, and he smirked, leaning down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss. He tasted of beer and sin, his tongue dominating hers as he pressed her into the mattress. His hand trailed down her body, teasing, until he found the vibrator still buzzing against her clit.

“You can’t handle it, can you?” he taunted, his voice a growl against her ear. “You’re shaking, but you’re not begging me to stop, are you?”

He alternated between the toy and his fingers, driving her to the brink again and again. With the sheets soaked, her thighs trembling and tears pricking her eyes, he finally relented, pulling her hips to the edge of the bed. He positioned himself between her legs, his dick thick and hard as he slid into her, inch by agonising inch.

Her nails dug into his arms as he began to move, each thrust deliberate and punishing. He pinned her wrists above her head, his grip firm but not painful, and growled, “You’ve been doing this with me right next door? Thinking about me while you fuck yourself? Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you don’t need to be by yourself again.”

His eyes never leaving hers. “Now, let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me.”

The night unfolded in a haze of pleasure and command, Terry’s touch igniting every nerve in her body. He teased her relentlessly, alternating between strokes, his mouth and the toy, pushing her to the brink again and again. His voice was a constant, low rumble in her ear, praising her, taunting her, claiming her.

He took her body as if he owned it, she was a trembling mess, every nerve alight with overstimulation. The world narrowed to the feel of him, the weight of his body, the rough timbre of his voice as he murmured filthy promises against her skin. His rhythm grew relentless, his hand sliding to her throat again as his other thumb circled her clit. When she shattered around him, crying out his name, he followed, spilling into her with a low, guttural groan.

The room was shrouded by silence except for their ragged breathing. But just as the pleasure began to fade, she woke with a gasp, her hand buried between her legs and the vibrator buzzing against her clit. Her chest heaved as she came back to herself, the haze lifting—and with it, reality came crashing in.

She wasn’t in Terry’s arms. She was alone, sprawled on her bed, the toy still humming weakly in her hand. Her climax had been real, but the rest? A vivid, all-consuming dream. She blinked, disoriented, her heart still racing as the echoes of her fantasy lingered.

A knock at the door shattered the quiet, and her breath caught. Pulling on her robe, she padded to the door, her pulse pounding in her ears. When she opened it, Terry stood there, a familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Evening,” he drawled, his eyes sweeping over her. “Everything alright in there?”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Her heart thundered in her chest as she met his gaze, her fantasy and reality colliding in a way that left her breathless. Maybe reality was about to be even better than the dream…

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo (i am behind on editing the taglist because there's a few more people who want to be added to it but let me know if you wanna join it as well)

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond smut #terry richmond #rebel ridge #aaron pierre

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inkykeiji · 1 year 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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jamesmcalover · 7 months ago

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entangled - pt 1

Dimitri Kravinoff x Reader

Warnings: slight angst maybe?? vulnerability, Dimitri is inecure & has daddy issues :(

Summary: Reader was hired to steal something from Dimitri Kravinoff

Part 2

5.2k words

Breaking into a place like this wasn't supposed to be hard.

Y/N crouched by the door of Dmitri Kravinoff's apartment, her lockpicks glinting faintly in the dim hallway light. The silence of the building was oppressive, almost too quiet, but that was exactly how she liked it. The faint smell of expensive leather and something else – something musky, like cigar smoke – hung in the air.

The information her boss had given her was frustratingly vague, just that Dmitri, the youngest Kravinoff, was in possession of an artifact that could 'change the game.' All she'd been told was that it was a 'special knife.' Why it mattered wasn't her concern.

Her job was simple: get in, grab it, and get out. Something she'd done countless times before, slipping into the shadows, taking what wasn't hers, and slipping out without leaving a trace. She'd never failed.

The lock clicked open, and Y/N slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her. The place was dark but far from empty. Moonlight spilled through half-drawn curtains, casting shadows on bookshelves, a cluttered desk, and a mounted map on the wall. It was nicer than she'd expected, but it didn't feel like a home.

She found the knife easily enough, displayed in a glass case above the fireplace. There, resting on a velvet cushion, was the knife. It shined in the dim light. The Kravinoff crest engraved on the handle caught her eye, and she frowned. She'd expected something a little less… personal.

Doesn't matter, she reminded herself. Her fingers were already outstretched, reaching for the display case. Just another job. Nothing more.

The lights flicked on.

Y/N spun, her hand instinctively moving toward the small blade strapped to her thigh. But Dmitri, so she thought, was already there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a faint smirk on his face, but the way his hands trembled slightly gave him away.

"You know," he said, his voice low and even, "I'd ask how you got in, but I’m more curious about why you thought you'd get out."

Y/N took a step back, already calculating her next move. "I don't want any trouble, Dimitri," she said, trying to keep her tone even. She wasn't sure why, but there was something unsettling about him. His hands were clenched tight, and there was an edge of desperation in his eyes.

His smirk faltered, and for a moment, his guard dropped. He looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he stepped forward with jerky movements, as if trying to command some authority that wasn’t there. "Who are you?" His voice cracked, and his jaw tightened. He clearly wasn't used to this.

Y/N took a step to the side, ready to dodge around him. Dimitri flinched, but before she could move, he grabbed for her arm, not with the strength of someone who had planned this out, but with the panic of someone desperate to stop her. She easily twisted out of his grip.

"I can't let you leave. Not with-," he said, voice tight. He wasn't fighting with confidence, but with an almost erratic energy, like he was terrified of what might happen if she escaped. His fear wasn’t just physical, it was as if he was holding on to this moment for some other reason.

Y/N hesitated. This wasn't the Dimitri she had expected. She had assumed he would be like the rest of his family. Cold, calculated, a master of control. But here he was, vulnerable and unsteady.

With a sudden, desperate lunge, he reached for her. His movements were jagged and uncoordinated, more out of panic than control. She instinctively stepped back to dodge, but he caught her arm, pulling her toward him with an almost frantic energy.

She tried to twist away, but Dimitri's grip was tighter now, and in a blur of motion, they both went tumbling to the ground. The air was knocked from her lungs as they crashed, and for a split second, everything seemed to slow. But then the edge of a table slammed against the side of her head.

A sharp pain exploded in her skull, and everything went black.

When Y/N's eyes fluttered open again, she was groggy, disoriented. Her head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing with each heartbeat. The world around her was a blur, but she could just make out the dim light of the apartment, the faint scent of leather and smoke still lingering.

It took a moment to register the feeling of rough rope cutting into her wrists.

Dimitri was sitting across the room, picking at the skin on his fingers nervously. He seemed less the confident figure from before, more like someone desperately trying to keep it together.

Y/N tested the ropes around her wrists, her mind clearing faster now. She was in a tight spot, but this wasn't a total loss yet.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Y/N" Dimitri said without turning his head to face her, his voice firm but not unkind. Y/N frowned slightly, almost unnoticeable, when he mentioned her name. He found out who you were. "But you shouldn't be here."

Y/N smirked, even as she flexed her wrists against the ropes. "Did you really think tying me up would stop me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not exactly in control here, Dimitri."

He stopped at that, his shoulders stiffening, but he didn't respond right away. When he finally turned, his eyes met hers with a cold resolve. "I'm not trying to stop you from leaving. I'm trying to stop you from taking what's mine."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "The knife? You really think your father's going to notice you for this?" Her voice was softer now, probing.

Dimitri's expression faltered for a brief moment. Just a flicker, but it was there. Why did this woman know so much about his family? "I don't need his approval," he said, though his voice lacked the conviction it had earlier. "Who the fuck sent you?"

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, a silent standoff. Y/N's mind was racing, considering her options. She wasn't going to escape from the ropes without help, and she wouldn't give out information about the people who hired her so easily. She still needed that money she'd been promised.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him with renewed interest. "You're not really going to keep me here forever, are you? I mean, we both know you don't want that. You don't want me tied up in your apartment," she said, ignoring his question.

His gaze flicked to the ropes around her wrists, and his jaw clenched. He seemed to wrestle with himself for a moment, the internal battle playing out across his face.

He didn't answer right away, instead taking a step closer to her. The distance between them was still significant, but she could feel the weight of his attention, the way he studied her, as if trying to decide if he could trust her.

"I don't know," he admitted after a long pause. "I don't know what's worse. Letting you go or… keeping you here. But either way, I won't just give up the knife. It’s mine."

Before Y/N could respond, a loud knock echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of footsteps. Dimitri's body stiffened, his eyes wide. He turned abruptly, his gaze locking on the door, panic flashing across his face.

Y/N's pulse quickened. Dimitri wasn't exactly subtle in his reaction, and she could tell that whoever was coming wasn't someone he wanted to see.

Dimitri quickly moved across the room, a frantic urgency in his steps. "You need to hide," he hissed under his breath, rushing toward her. "Now."

Before Y/N could even ask what was going on, Dimitri was untangling the ropes around her wrists, his hands quick but rough. "Move," he urged, not meeting her eyes. "I'll deal with this. You just- stay quiet."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. She could've run. He wasn't just afraid, he was terrified. But before she could say anything, he half-guided, half-shoved her toward another room. She didn't run.

"Stay in here. Don't make a sound," he whispered, practically shoving her into the room before quickly closing the door behind her.

Y/N stood still in the dark, her heart racing. She could hear Dimitri's footsteps retreating to the living room, just as the front door creaked open. She quickly glanced around the room. It was his bedroom. The big king-sized bed took in most of the space, the faint smell of expensive cologne and cigars lingered in the air, the same as it had in the living room. The windows were big with a great view over London, but the they were no escape; way too high and there was nothing to climb on outside.

There was no way out.

Y/N huffed, turning toward the door. She pressed herself against the wall, barely breathing.

"Dimitri," a voice drawled, deep, and unmistakable. Sergei. Dimitri's older brother.

Y/N could hear the clinking of metal, the sound of someone stepping into the living room she'd been tied up in a minute ago. Dimitri was standing nervously by the big marble table, trying to look casual, but his body language was stiff with tension.

"Sergei," Dimitri greeted, his voice too high-pitched. "What's up?"

There was an amused chuckle from the doorway as Sergei saw the ropes laying on the floor, clearly used. He sniffed the air, his eyes narrowing, his nose twitching. "I smell perfume."

Y/N held her breath now, too scared of giving herself away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," his younger brother said, and Sergei wasn't convinced, but he didn't seem to want to press. Instead, he gave Dimitri a long, sidelong glance and a toothy grin. "You know, I just wanted to check on you on your birthday but you seem like you're having fun. Just make sure it's all consensual."

Dimitri's face went bright red, his eyes darting to the ropes on the floor and then back to Sergei. "It's not-" he started, his voice cracking before he cleared his throat. "I mean, it's not what you think."

Sergei's grin widened, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. He leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "No need to explain, little brother. You're a grown man now. Who you bring into your home is none of my business."

Dimitri shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. Y/N, still pressed against the wall in the bedroom, bit back a smirk. She could practically hear the nervous energy radiating off Dimitri, his attempt at nonchalance falling flat. If this was how he usually handled himself, she could see why he was desperate to impress someone or anyone to be honest.

Sergei sniffed the air again, his brow furrowing slightly. He glanced around the apartment one last time, his gaze lingering on the ropes for just a beat longer than comfortable. "Well, happy birthday, Dima. Enjoy your… evening."

With that, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

The moment Sergei was gone, Dimitri let out a long, shaky breath, leaning heavily against the table. He stayed like that for a moment, his head bowed, before he finally pushed himself upright and made his way back to the bedroom.

Y/N, now sitting on the side of her opponents bed, raised an eyebrow as he opened the door, his face still flushed. "So," she said, her voice dripping with amusement, "happy birthday."

Dimitri groaned, running a hand down his face. "Don't."

"Oh, come on," she teased, crossing her arms. "That was adorable. 'Just make sure it's all consensual.' Your brother thinks you're tying up your dates for fun."

"I said don't," Dimitri snapped, though the crack in his voice and the flush in his cheeks betrayed any attempt at authority. He turned his back to her, pacing a few steps into the room like he didn't know what to do with himself.

He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his head bowed, the flush of embarrassment still painting his cheeks. The air between them was thick with tension, and Y/N could see the cracks in his composure. This was a man teetering on the edge, caught between his desperation to prove himself and the weight of his insecurities.

Y/N tilted her head, studying him carefully. "You're really desperate to make daddy proud, are you?" She teased.

The words hit like a whip. His head turned slightly, just enough for her to see the muscle in his jaw tighten. When he faced her fully, his expression was caught somewhere between fury and humiliation. "Shut up. You don't know anything about me."

"Did I strike a nerve?" she asked, feigning innocence. She didn't back down, even when he took a step closer, his eyes darkening. "I know more about you and your little family than you think."

For a moment, Dimitri said nothing, just stared at her with a mixture of frustration and something else. Something more vulnerable. He stepped back suddenly, scrubbing his hands over his face as if trying to compose himself. "I didn't ask for this," he muttered. "Any of it."

Y/N tilted her head, intrigued. "Then why are you doing it?" she asked, softer now.

"Because I have to," Dimitri said quietly, as if the words cost him something. "You wouldn't understand."

Y/N let out a low laugh, shaking her head. "Try me."

He didn't answer. Instead, he turned sharply and left the room, leaving her alone. She considered making a break for it but dismissed the thought just as quickly. She heard Dimitri rummaging around in the other room, muttering under his breath. When he returned, he carried a glass of water and a small first-aid kit. He placed them both on the nightstand and glanced at her, still visibly conflicted.

"You hit your head. I don't need you bleeding all over my carpet," he said gesturing to the expensive looking white rug beneath his bed.

"Aw, you're so caring," she teased. "You're just full of surprises."

He rolled his eyes but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he opened the kit and pulled out some antiseptic. She couldn't help but notice how his fingers trembled, though whether it was from nerves or something else, she couldn't tell.

"Why didn't you give me up to Sergei?" she asked suddenly, watching his face closely.

He froze, his hand hovering over the cotton swab. "What?"

"You could've sold me out. Told him I was here to steal your precious knife. Hell, you could've made me out to be some assassin sent to take you out, and I bet he would've believed you. But you didn't." She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing. "Why?"

Dimitri avoided her eyes, his jaw tightening as he busied himself with the cotton swab. He dabbed at it with antiseptic, the sharp scent filling the air.

"I didn't do it for you," he muttered, finally meeting her gaze, though his expression was guarded. "If Sergei knew why you were here, it'd be more than just my problem. He'd take over, and then my father would find out. And I…" He hesitated, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "…I can't let that happen."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "So this is about you, then? Self-preservation?"

He flinched at her tone, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. "You don't understand," he snapped, but there was no anger in his voice. Just frustration, layered over something deeper. "If my father finds out I let someone break in here, I'm done. This is my one chance to prove I'm not… worthless."

His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, Y/N saw past the posturing and panic to the insecurity he tried so hard to hide.

"Prove you're not worthless by what? Guarding a knife?" she asked, her tone softer now. "Seems like a pretty low bar."

Dimitri scoffed, shaking his head. "You wouldn't get it. My father doesn't care about anything but power, control, appearances. If I can't do this one thing right…" He trailed off, his hands gripping the first-aid kit as if it were the only thing grounding him.

Y/N watched him in silence, piecing together the picture of a man who was just as trapped as she was. Though by very different circumstances.

"Well," she said finally, her voice light but not unkind, "if it makes you feel any better, you did technically stop me." She smirked, gesturing to her still-sore head.

Dimitri's lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but he quickly smothered it. "You don't know when to shut up, do you?" He had almost forgotten to patch up her wound. The blood was slowly drying up, as he slowly dabbed the cotton pad around her temple to clean it up. Y/N scrunched her face up in pain when he alcohol seeped into the small cut. She could've easily fought him now. But she didn't, and Dimitri asked himself why. For a moment, he focused on her wound, dabbing carefully despite the slight tremor in his hands. The silence between them felt heavy, filled with unspoken questions and tension neither of them seemed ready to address. He avoided her gaze, keeping his attention on the task as if it were the most important thing in the world.

She smirked, but there was something softer in her expression now. Something almost curious. She could feel his hands trembling, could see the way his eyes darted to her face when he thought she wasn't looking. He was scared. Of her, maybe, but also of whatever was going on in his own head.

Y/N took a deep breath, the words forming carefully in her mind. "Take me to him."

Dimitri froze, his expression a mix of shock and suspicion. "What?"

"You need proof, right?" she continued, keeping her tone even. "Proof that you can protect what's yours. That you're not just some screw-up who let a thief waltz in and take it. If you bring me to him – alive, empty-handed – you'll have a trophy. Evidence that you stopped me."

Dimitri stared at her, his brows furrowing as he processed her words. "Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice low and cautious. "Why would you help me?"

"I'm not helping you," she said quickly. "I'm helping myself. We make a deal."

"A deal?" He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

"I need money," she said bluntly. "Since I'm not getting it for a failed mission, here's a pitch: you tell your father I broke in, but I didn't find anything because you stopped me before I could take the knife. You get your moment of spotlight and I walk away with cash. From you."

Dimitri's expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he stared at her like she'd just offered him a poisoned chalice. "You think my father's going to be proud of me me for letting a thief break into my apartment? For showing up with you instead of throwing you in some ditch?"

Y/N smirked, tilting her head. "He might. If you frame it right. I didn't let her break in; I stopped her. She didn't get the knife. I captured her, proved I'm not useless." Her voice dropped an octave, mimicking a deep, commanding tone. "You'd look like a hero, wouldn't you?"

Dimitri shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting at the hem of his sleeve. She could see the flicker of doubt, the hesitation, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of hope behind his eyes.

"I don't need your help to prove myself," he muttered, his voice lacking conviction.

Y/N leaned forward, her voice low and confident. "Oh, but you do. Because I know you, Dimitri. You're not like him. You don't have his power or Sergei's ruthlessness. But you have this-" she gestured toward herself, "and if you play it smart, you might finally get his attention."

His lips parted as if to argue, but no words came out. Instead, he looked away, jaw clenched, the internal battle playing out across his face.

"And what if he doesn't care?" Dimitri finally asked, his tone sharp but brittle. "What if he laughs in my face and says I'm still a screw-up? What happens then?"

Y/N shrugged, keeping her expression neutral. "That's not my problem. You get me the money we agree on, and I disappear. Whatever happens between you and Daddy Dearest after that? That's on you."

Dimitri narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms defensively. "How much?"

"Sixty thousand."

His eyes widened. "Sixty- are you insane?"

"Twice as much as I was offered," she said with a shrug, unfazed. "I figure someone like you can afford it. Or are you telling me the youngest Kravinoff is broke?"

His cheeks flushed a deep red, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair. "Fine," he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" she asked, tilting her head mockingly, her tone laced with amusement.

"I said fine!" he snapped, spinning to face her. His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly regained composure. "You'll get your money. Just- just don't screw this up."

Y/N smiled, satisfied. "Now we're talking."

Dimitri let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as if the weight of their deal was already pressing down on him. He turned away, pacing the room as he muttered something under his breath.

"So," she said, breaking the silence. "What's the plan? Are we just going to march into your father's estate like it's show-and-tell?"

Dimitri stopped pacing, his jaw tightening. "It's not that simple," he said sharply. "If I'm going to bring you to him, I need to make it look… convincing."

"Convincing, huh?" Y/N crossed her arms casually. "What's that supposed to mean? You're not planning on tying me up again, are you?"

His face flushed. "No," he snapped, too quickly. "I mean- I can't just walk in with you looking like this." He gestured vaguely at her, his frustration bubbling over. "You don't exactly scream 'dangerous thief.' You look-"

"Careful, Kravinoff," Y/N cut in, her tone sharp. "Finish that sentence, and I might reconsider our little deal."

"I won't take you to him," he started and Y/N almost interrupted him with protests but he continued before she could say anything. "I'll bring him here. He'll see you, tied up on that chair."

Y/N raised an eyebrow as he paced up an down in his bedroom, puzzling together a plan. "So I'll be tied up again? Great," she said, leaning back on her arms. She was starting to get tired and the bedding felt pretty comfortable under her hands.

"Yeah. You- You'll be unconscious! Or at least play unconscious.

Y/N blinked, barely suppressing a laugh. "Unconscious? That's your master plan?"

Dimitri stopped pacing to glare at her, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment. "Do you have a better idea?" he snapped. "Because if we don't make this convincing, my father will see through it in an instant. He'll know it's a setup, and trust me, neither of us walks away from that."

She tilted her head, studying him. The nervous energy radiating off him, the way he avoided her eyes when he mentioned Nikolai. It wasn't just fear of failure driving him. It was something deeper. Something personal. "Alright," she said after a moment, her tone softening. "Unconscious it is. But if you tie me up too tight this time, we're gonna have problems."

Dimitri let out a breath he didn't seem to realize he was holding, nodding sharply. "Fine. I'll make it believable without… overdoing it."

"Good boy," she said with a smirk, watching as his ears reddened. "Now, what's your big plan for when he actually gets here? You think Nikolai's just going to pat you on the back and call it a day?"

His jaw tightened, his eyes darting away from her. "I'll handle him," he said, though there was no confidence in his voice. "That's not your concern. You just play your part."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Bold of you to assume I'll just sit quietly and let you sell this performance without input."

"You'll have no choice," he shot back, his voice firmer this time. "If this goes wrong, you won't get your money. So do us both a favor and keep your theatrics to a minimum."

"Sure thing, partner," she drawled, leaning back on her elbows with an amused glint in her eye.

Dimitri glared at her, but she caught the flicker of amusement behind his eyes.

"Alright," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "Let's get this over with."

Y/N grinned, flexing her wrists. "By all means, Kravinoff. Tie me up. Again."

The sharp click of approaching footsteps echoed through the apartment. Y/N, bound and pretending to be unconscious, kept her breathing slow and even, her head hanging low, hair in her face as if she'd passed out. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to spring into action if needed.

The air shifted, colder somehow, as Nikolai Kravinoff stepped into the room. His presence was imposing, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the dimly lit apartment. Dimitri stood stiffly by the door, his shoulders square but his hands fidgeting at his sides. A nervous habit he couldn't quite suppress.

Nikolai's gaze swept across the room, landing immediately on Y/N. His sharp features twisted into something between approval and disdain. "So," he began, his voice low and gravelly, "this is the thief who dared to challenge our family?" He approached her, his boots barely making a sound against the carpeted floor. "She doesn't look like much."

Dimitri swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak. "She got in," he said, trying to keep his tone steady. "But she didn't get out. I stopped her before she could take the knife."

Nikolai turned his head slightly, giving his youngest son a scrutinizing look. "Did you, now?"

"Yes," Dimitri said quickly. "She was fast, but I was faster. I managed to subdue her before she could escape." He gestured to the knife, now prominently displayed on the table beside them. "The knife is still here, untouched."

Nikolai stepped closer to Y/N, his sharp eyes studying her as though she were an insect pinned under glass. He reached out, almost absently, and grasped her chin, tilting her face toward him. Y/N fought the urge to flinch, keeping her body limp and her breathing shallow.

"You tied her up and left her alive," Nikolai observed, his tone unreadable. "Interesting choice. Most would've ended the threat."

Dimitri's throat worked as he struggled to find an answer. "I thought you'd want to see her," he said finally. "To question her. She might have information about who sent her."

His father let the silence hang for a beat, then let out a quiet sigh. "You finally achieved something. I'll give you that." There was no pride in his voice, only the acknowledgment of the bare minimum. "But don't get comfortable. This doesn't change anything."

Dimitri didn't respond, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his composure under his father's sharp gaze.

"I don't care for information from a little girl." There was an almost unnoticeable pause before he added, "She's your responsibility. If she becomes a problem, it's your head. Do with her what you will, but if she proves to be more trouble than she's worth…"

He didn't finish the thought, but the implication was clear. He turned toward the door, his footsteps heavy and purposeful as he walked away. As the door clicked shut behind him, the room seemed to breathe again, though the atmosphere remained thick with unspoken words. Dimitri stood frozen for a moment, his eyes still on Y/N. He wasn't sure what to feel. His father's words echoed in his mind: You finally achieved something. But it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like he had done the bare minimum, like a child who had only met the lowest expectation.

Dimitri exhaled sharply, his breath shaky as he looked to Y/N. She was still tied to the chair, her eyey fixated on him as if she was trying to read him, but she didn't dare to say anything. The silence between them stretched long.

He should feel proud, right? But all he felt was a gnawing emptiness in his chest, the way he always did when his father's praise was nowhere to be found. No approval. No pride.

Finally, he took a hesitant step toward her, kneeling down in front of the chair. His hands trembled as he began untying the thick ropes. He could feel the tightness in his chest, the heat of unshed tears threatening to spill, and he hoped Y/N wouldn't notice. But of course, she did.

Once her hands were free, she reached up, her fingers gentle as she brushed away a blonde lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Her touch was soft, almost soothing, and it made the weight of his emotions feel even more suffocating.

"You're not so tough, are you?" Y/N said quietly, her voice low but not unkind. "Not as much as you like to pretend."

Dimitri's gaze dropped, and he clenched his jaw. He didn't want to show it. He didn't want to give her any more reason to see him as weak. But the truth was, he'd been feeling that way for far longer than he wanted to admit.

His throat tightened as he finally looked back at her. "I didn't want this," he said, the words escaping before he could stop them. "But it's like… it's like I'm stuck, Y/N. I can't win, no matter what I do."

Y/N's fingers paused on his face, and she studied him for a long moment. The way he was kneeling in front of her, sad and vulnerable, did something to her. There was something in her eyes, something like understanding, but she didn't speak right away. Instead, she just let her hand linger there, her thumb brushing against his skin in a way that made him feel exposed.

"You're not stuck, Dimitri," she said softly. "You just haven't figured out how to break free yet."

He sniffed, wiping a small tear with the back of his hand without looking at her. Then, without another word, he stood up and left the room for a moment. When he returned, he was holding a stack of cash.

"Forty." he said, his voice almost sheepish. "This is all I've got lying around right now. You can come back for the rest later." He walked over to her, his eyes briefly flicking toward her before he handed her the money, his fingers brushing hers just slightly. She took it, her gaze flickering up to meet his.

She didn't say anything, just glanced at the cash in her hands. The silence lingered, but this time it felt different. Less tense, more contemplative.

Dimitri shifted uncomfortably, looking away. "Just get out, alright?"

Y/N smiled faintly but didn't argue. She could feel his tension, the quiet storm brewing beneath his guarded exterior. There was something else there, something more than just their deal. But she wasn't going to press him for answers Not yet

"Fine," she said simply, slipping the money into her pocket. "But I'll be back for the rest. Don't think you're getting off that easy."

Dimitri didn't reply, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Something almost like relief, or maybe resignation. He nodded, his expression hardening once more as he turned away, but for the briefest moment, the distance between them felt just a little smaller.

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Part 2

#dimitri kravinoff #dmitri kravinoff #kraven #kraven the hunter #dimitri kravinoff x reader #dimitri kravinoff x you #fred hechinger fanfiction #fred hechinger x you #fred hechinger x reader #fred hechinger

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d-z20 · 8 months ago

Text

Not Like Before (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Witch Reader

Summary: You and Agatha go on a date, and when you return home, the evening intensifies as you both get more turned on and you try a new experience.

- OR -

Agatha fucks you with the strap for the first time and its magical

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, smut, top Agatha, enchanted strap, somewhat innocent reader, tiny bit of praise

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Requested fic :) In my head the strap is enchanted in the way she can cum from it being stimulated but like her orgasm is normal, not like gp orgasm if that makes sense?

AO3 | Master List

The night is alive with a quiet hum of energy. The small, upscale cocktail lounge you’ve chosen for tonight’s date thrums with an undercurrent of power that only those attuned to it can feel. It’s a haven for witches—neutral ground where enchantments and glamour are as commonplace as the expertly mixed drinks. The air shimmers faintly with unspoken spells and whispered charms, weaving through the soft candlelight that flickers on the polished wooden tables.

Agatha sits across from you, her presence as commanding as ever. Tonight, she is a vision of sharp elegance in a tailored black suit with a plunging neckline. Her hair is swept back into a sleek style, exposing her jawline and the glint of earrings that catch the dim light with every movement. She exudes control, a master of both her appearance and the simmering magic that radiates from her in subtle waves.

You’ve dressed to match her energy, knowing full well that anything less would pale beside her. Your outfit—a fitted, dark ensemble with just the right amount of daring to complement her sharp sophistication—keeps her eyes lingering on you just a moment too long every time she looks. Those glances, and the way her lips curl into a smirk as her gaze sweeps over you, leave your cheeks warm and your pulse racing.

The two of you play this game all evening. A brush of her fingers against yours as she hands you a drink. The faint spark of magic you send in response—a subtle flicker of warmth at her wrist that makes her eyebrow arch in interest. She teases you with her words, her tone low and syrupy, while you meet her challenge with coy smiles and the occasional playful hex—minor spells to warm her glass or dim the candlelight whenever her smirk grows too smug.

“You’re being particularly bold tonight,” she murmurs, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. Her blue eyes bore into yours, her lips curving into that slow, deliberate smile that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And you’re enjoying it,” you shoot back, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass idly. A soft pulse of magic flickers from your touch, making the ice cubes inside melt slightly faster than they should.

Agatha tilts her head, her smirk deepening. “Perhaps,” she allows, her voice rich with amusement. Under the table, her hand brushes up your thigh, the faint static of her magic dancing across your skin. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed your little tricks.”

Her words send a thrill down your spine, though you mask it well. “Oh, those?” you say casually, tilting your head as if bored. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

Her laugh is low and dangerous—the kind of laugh that makes your breath hitch. “Careful, darling,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your knuckles. “Keep this up, and I might forget to be gentle.”

The flicker of heat in her voice makes your control slip for just a moment. The candle on your table flares slightly before settling, its light casting flickering shadows that seem to dance to their own rhythm. Agatha notices, of course. She notices everything. Her smirk grows as she leans back in her chair, swirling her wine glass lazily as though savouring her victory.

The tension between you builds all night—an invisible thread pulling tighter with every lingering glance, every casual brush of magic exchanged between you. The air feels electric, charged with unspoken desire and the potent power both of you wield so effortlessly.

When the server comes by to ask if you want dessert, Agatha doesn’t even glance at the menu. “We’ll take whatever’s at the top of the list to go,” she says smoothly, standing with a grace that’s almost otherworldly. She extends a hand toward you, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “Shall we?”

—

The walk home is a blur. The cool night air does little to temper the heat between you, and every step feels like an eternity. You feel the subtle hum of her magic brushing against yours—a silent challenge you can’t help but answer with a flicker of your own. Her hand slides to the small of your back as she guides you up the steps to the door, and the moment you step over the threshold, all pretence of restraint vanishes.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, Agatha’s lips are on yours—hungry, urgent, filled with the fire she’s been stoking all night. You barely have time to gasp before she pushes you back, your spine hitting the wall with a soft thud as her hands pin yours above your head. Her kiss is relentless, her teeth grazing your bottom lip as her nails dig lightly into your wrists. Your knees weaken under the sheer force of her need.

“You’ve been driving me absolutely mad, teasing me, pushing me..." she growls against your lips, her voice rough and breathless. “Did you think I’d let your little games go unanswered? You should know me better than that.”

Before you can respond, she sweeps you into her arms with effortless strength and carries you toward the bedroom. You let out a startled sound as she tosses you onto the bed with surprising roughness, her smirk wicked as she towers over you. Her magic swirls in the air, palpable and electric, making the hairs on your arms stand on end. The fire in her eyes sends a thrill racing through your body.

Agatha wastes no time. With a wave of her hand, your clothes begin to peel away, each piece tugged free with deliberate precision. The fabric slides off your skin as though it has a mind of its own, her magic coaxing and caressing every inch of you it touches. You shiver under the sensation, your breath hitching as her power leaves you bare before her. Her smirk deepens as her eyes rake over you, dark with desire and satisfaction.

“You look absolutely devine like this,” she murmurs, her voice thick with lust. Her hand grazes your cheek, but there’s nothing gentle about the way her magic wraps around you—tight, commanding, and impossible to resist. “Completely at my mercy.”

She climbs onto the bed with the grace of a predator, straddling you as her hands press firmly against your shoulders. Her lips crash down onto yours with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, her teeth scraping against your skin as her nails rake down your arms. The soft flicker of her magic tingles where her hands don’t reach, adding an intoxicating edge to every touch.

You arch beneath her, your own magic surging in response, flickering like fire across her back as your hands grip her waist. She lets out a low, guttural sound that sends heat straight to your core, her lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then down to your neck. Her teeth nip at the sensitive skin there, and the faint spark of her magic sears against you, making you gasp and clutch her tighter.

“Getting bold again, are we?” She teases, her voice breathless but dripping with amusement as she presses her weight into you, pinning you firmly to the bed.

You barely manage a breathless laugh, your lips brushing against hers as you whisper, “Would you want it any other way?”

Her answering growl is all the warning you get before her lips claim yours again, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat, power, and the relentless pull of her touch. Every brush of Agatha’s lips against yours setting off sparks that race down your spine. Her hands roam freely now, trailing from your shoulders to your sides, exploring every curve and hollow with a possessive kind of hunger. Her lips find your neck again, and the sharp scrape of her teeth leaves you gasping, your fingers tangling in her hair to pull her closer.

“Such a tease,” she murmurs, her voice low and dripping with amusement. Her hands slide lower, her touch firm and deliberate, and the heat pooling in your core intensifies. You shiver as her fingertips trail over your thighs, brushing teasingly close to where you crave her most. When her hand finally cups you, the gasp that escapes your lips is enough to make her smirk against your skin.

Agatha doesn’t stop. Her fingers press just right, her magic thrumming faintly against you, adding an intoxicating edge to her touch. Your breaths come faster, your body arching into her as her lips return to yours in a kiss so heated it leaves you dizzy. She pulls back, hovering above you, her lips curled into a smug, satisfied smile as she brushes stray strands of hair from your face. Her own breathing is ragged; her normally pristine control frayed at the edges in a way that makes her look even more devastatingly beautiful.

You barely manage to form words between pants. "I... I want more tonight. I need more.”

Her eyes darken at your admission, a flicker of surprise mingling with the raw desire that’s already written across her face. She leans in closer, her lips ghosting over yours as she whispers, “Are you sure?” Her tone is soft, but the hunger beneath it is unmistakable. She’s been holding back, waiting until you were ready, but it’s clear how much she wants this.

Rather than answering with words, you pull her into another heated kiss, pouring every ounce of need and certainty into it. Her lips crush against yours, her hands sliding up your body as the kiss deepens, growing more fervent by the second. She groans into your mouth when your own hands begin to explore, trailing down her sides with deliberate curiosity. When your fingers brush between her legs and find a firm bulge beneath the fabric of her suit pants, you freeze.

Your wide-eyed gaze snaps to hers, startled by what you hadn’t expected. She pulls back slightly, her smirk widening as she takes in your reaction, her eyes glittering with amusement and pride. “Did you think I’d wait to put it on after the way you just kissed me?” She teases, her voice low and sultry.

“Oh,” you breathe, momentarily lost for words, “I love magic.”. Then curiosity takes over, your hand exploring the unfamiliar sensation, gently pressing and teasing. The way Agatha’s lips part, a soft moan escaping, sends a thrill through you. Her hips twitch under your touch, and it clicks—you realise she can feel everything.

Her moans grow sharper as your hand strokes the bulge through her pants, and her forehead falls to yours, her breath hot and uneven. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling,” she groans, her voice trembling with restraint.

You smirk, feeling emboldened by the way she’s unravelling under your touch. “I really, really love magic,” you murmur, your tone dripping with mischief.

Her answering laugh is low and guttural, a sound that sends heat racing through your veins. “You’re going to be the death of me,” she growls, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, her magic sparking faintly against your skin as her control slips.

When she finally pulls away, you’re left breathless, your skin burning with anticipation as she leans back and stands. Her eyes never leave yours; the promise in them is enough to make your pulse race. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she clicks her fingers, and in an instant, her body is engulfed in a swirling haze of purple smoke. It lingers for only a heartbeat before dissipating, leaving her standing before you completely bare—except for the deep violet strap now secured to her hips.

“Ready for more?” She asks, her voice low and velvet-smooth, a dangerous smirk playing on her lips as she steps toward you.

You nod, your breath catching as she climbs back onto the bed. Her hands glide over your thighs, parting them gently as she settles between your legs. The heat of her body against yours is electrifying, her magic humming faintly where her skin brushes yours.

Agatha’s hands find your hips, her grip firm yet tender as she lines herself up with practiced precision. Her gaze meets yours, her smirk softening into something darker, more intimate. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she murmurs, her voice a low purr.

Her fingers dig slightly into your hips, holding you steady as she takes her time, letting the anticipation build as her body moves closer to yours. Agatha’s gaze never wavers as she presses forward, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you all the time you need to adjust. The initial stretch draws a gasp from your lips, and her grip on your hips tightens, grounding you with her steady touch. “That’s it,” she murmurs, her voice low and soothing despite the obvious strain in it. “You’re doing so well.”

Her pace remains measured, her hips rocking in shallow, careful movements. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and you feel the tension in her body as she fights to hold back, letting you catch your breath and find your rhythm.

But restraint has never been Agatha’s strong suit—not when it comes to you. It doesn’t take long before the careful control begins to slip. Your legs wrap around her waist, pulling her closer and urging her on with breathless gasps and moans that spur her to move faster, deeper, and harder. The moment she senses you’re ready for more, any pretence of caution vanishes.

“Fuck, doll, you’re perfect,” she growls, her voice rough and thick with desire. Her hips snap against yours with a growing urgency, and the world dissolves into a blur of heat and movement. The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with the symphony of gasps, moans, and her ragged breaths in your ear.

Her name tumbles from your lips like a prayer, and Agatha responds with a low, guttural sound, burying her face in the curve of your neck as she drives you higher. Her teeth graze your skin, her nails pressing into your thighs, and every thrust sends sparks racing down your spine. You lose yourself in her—her strength, her heat, the raw passion she pours into every movement.

“God,” she groans, her voice heavy with awe and lust. “You feel… incredible.”

Her pace grows erratic, and she moves like a woman possessed, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to the edge. When your hands clutch at her shoulders, your nails dragging across her back, she lets out a sharp gasp, her hips stuttering for a brief moment before resuming with even more intensity.

You can feel her magic surging, wild and untamed, spilling over in waves that leave you breathless. It’s all-consuming, pulling you under like a riptide. When the climax crashes over you, it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—a white-hot explosion of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath her, her name a broken cry on your lips.

Agatha follows moments later, her hips slowing as her head falls to your shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against your skin. For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.

When she finally lifts her head, her lips curl into a satisfied smirk as she brushes a strand of hair from your damp forehead. “I told you teasing me was dangerous,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of smug amusement.

You laugh weakly, your hands still clutching her waist as you try to catch your breath. “And I’d do it all over again.”

Her laugh is low and rich, and she leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, her movements now gentle and languid. “Careful, darling,” she purrs, her magic flickering faintly in her fingertips as they trace lazy patterns on your hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

With a sly smirk, she leans back, her fingers snapping once more. The faint glow of purple magic surrounds her, and in an instant, the strap is gone, replaced by an effortlessly regal floral robe that shimmers like liquid starlight. She stretches lazily, her eyes glinting with mischief as she looks down at you.

“Rest while you can,” she murmurs, her tone laced with promise. “We’ve got a long night ahead.”

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