#she’s always been a bit enchanted by him

[dinoandguitar]

hi i really like your writing, can i request a version of the dino holding his newborn baby?

could it be a baby girl?

"She’s ours & She’s real..."

New parents! LeeChan (Dino) x Afab!Reader

Genre: Pure fluff! (A little bit of crack)

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth . The setting is in a hospital. Reader has just given birth. Baby needs a diaper change.

A/N : Hi! Thank you so much for request and the support! So glad to hear that you like my work. Means a lot to me. Hope you like this as well 🫶🏾

Masterlist

He was crying before the nurse even placed her in his arms. (Ngl I love his man so much and ik for a fact that he'd have that tiny lost but in love look AHASGGSSHSJSSNNSN)

“I-I can’t....wait, wait-she’s so small,” Dino stammered, eyes wide and shiny, hands shaking as he reached out. “I don’t wanna break her, oh my God, she's so tiny... Is she okay???”

“Calm down Channie, She’s perfect,” you whispered from the bed, your voice hoarse but full of wonder, watching him fumble to take her with the most hilarious mix of terror and awe on his face.

He finally held her-carefully, like she was a fragile, glowing piece of art made from glass... and gasped the second her tiny weight settled into his arms.

“Oh no. Oh no no no. Why is she so cute?!”

You laughed through exhausted tears, heart full and aching, as he literally froze in place like his entire system had short-circuited.

“She just blinked,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Babe. She blinked at me. That was on purpose. She knows I’m her dad.”

“Oh she definitely knows,” you giggled, watching him sit down slowly, still staring at her like she’d hung the moon.

“She has your lips,” he breathed, completely enchanted. “And look at her eyebrows...wait, is she frowning? She's mad at me already. God I love her so much... She’s gonna be so disappointed when she realizes I don’t know what I’m doing,” he murmured, letting her impossibly small fingers clutch the string of his hoodie. “But I’m gonna learn. I swear. I’ll learn everything. For her. For you.”

You smiled, wiping your cheeks, overwhelmed. “She’s just trying to figure you out.”

Then-completely unprompted-he let out the tiniest laugh, the kind that breaks halfway through and crumbles into a quiet sob.

“She’s real,” he whispered, eyes locked on her. “She’s ours.”

You didn’t say anything...just watched the love of your life hold the new one, his entire world folding itself around hers in a single heartbeat. His cheeks were wet. His smile was soft. His hoodie was stained with tears and baby blanket fluff. And he’d never looked more beautiful.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

It was late now, the hospital room dim and warm, filled only with the steady rhythm of your breathing and the occasional shuffle as Chan moved around in the rocking chair with your baby girl nestled in his arms. You had your eyes closed, but you weren’t sleeping. Not really. You were too in love with the moment in front of you.

But Chan hadn’t noticed you were awake, and he was talking to her.

Whispering.

Soft, breathy little confessions like they were secrets meant only for her ears.

“Hi, tiny bean,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Did you know you’ve only been alive for like… a few hours? And already, I love you more than anything? Except for your mommy, of course. But iyour super close, okay?”

He glanced over at you, seeing that your eyes were closed, and sighed softly, a little smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “Your mommy… she’s magic,” he whispered. “She made you. And she did it so strong, and so brave, and so beautiful. I’ve always known I loved her, but today? Watching her become your mommy? I don’t even have words. She’s everything, baby girl. Everything.”

He kissed the top of her head again.“You’re so warm. You smell like… something sweet. Like happiness. Is that weird?” He let out a little laugh, eyes glancing at you for just a moment before returning to the baby. “You smell like your mommy. And that’s the best smell in the world.”

She made a sleepy grunt, shifting slightly in his arms. Chan paused, waiting, then smiled like it physically hurt to contain it. “I’m gonna take care of you both, I swear,” he whispered. “Even if I mess up, even if I get scared. I’m never gonna stop trying.”

Your heart clenched, tears fightinh to slip silently down your cheek as you kept still.

And then, the tiniest noise came from your daughter- a soft gurgle, followed by a distinct sound that made Dino’s face go pale. He looked mildly alarmed. “What was that? Are you okay? Are you… are you hungry? Are you gonna poop??”

That turned out to be exactly what he thought...

Not even a minute later, a suspicious noise came from the bundle in his arms. His eyes widened.

“Oh no. No no no no no. Wait, babe? BABE???” He whisper- shouted... turning toward the bed, panicked.

You stayed still.

He blinked at you, then looked back down. “Okay. Cool cool cool... You’re sleeping. That’s fine. You’re amazing. Rest, please. I got this.”

He slowly rose from the chair and placed her on the changing table the nurse had prepped earlier. He talked himself through every motion. “Okay. Diaper… there. Wipes… okay. This isn’t hard. I’ve watched videos. I practiced on that weird little doll. I got this.”

Cue your daughter peeing mid diaper change.

“OH MY GOD?! Is this normal???”

You bit your lip so hard trying not to laugh.

He scrambled for wipes, clearly trying to remain calm but also making faces like he was defusing a bomb. “Okay, no one panic. It’s just a little-okay, a lot of pee. It’s everywhere. But you’re doing great, sweetie. You’re amazing. Daddy might just cry a little bit. But thats okay, i got this”

He finally got a fresh diaper on her, held her up triumphantly (Lion King style ), and whispered, “I don’t care what anyone says...you are the most powerful creature I’ve ever met.”

Then he brought her back over, nestled her carefully into your arms, and kissed both your cheeks. “You’re pretending to be asleep, aren’t you?” he whispered, brushing hair off your forehead.

You blinked up at him, smiling. “You did great.”

“I panicked,” he said, eyes wide.

“You still did great.I saw you being a dad.”

His face softened immediately, and his lips twitched into the most adorable smile you loved. “Then I hope you saw how madly in love I am. With her. With you. With everything we’ve got right now.”

You stretched your arms out, pulling him into your embrace. Then, with your whole world in your arms, you whispered, “I saw. And I love you more for it.”

A quiet lull fell over the room as the three of you were together, basking in the overwhelming sweetness of the moment. The chaos of the night faded away, leaving just the three of you-together. He kissed the top of your head, then gently pressed his lips to your baby girl’s forehead, his voice low and full of promise...

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” he whispered. “You. Her. All of this. But I swear I’ll never take it for granted.I’ll spend the rest of my life being grateful for you. Both of you.”

And just like that, the world outside the room didn't matter. It was only the three of you. Your new family. And nothing else could compare.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

A/N : Hope you liked it! Please make sure to send in your request (kind of hve free time off studying haha:) Your support is greatly appreciated🫶🏾)

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

thinking about:

graduated former cheerleader!dick grayson who comes back to help assistant coach at his former college x a still there cheerleader!reader who was secretly fascinated and sort of infatuated with him when they were on the team together

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

ring pop proposal ♡

fem reader, pure fluff, childhood friends to lovers lemme alone do not perceive me yk the drill by now, lil self indulgent fic cus i love childhood friends to lovers and puppy crushes, polar opposite’s trope, this reeks of my oc x canon katsu ship sooooo shh shh do not perceive.

the first person who realizes katsuki has a crush on you is his mom because when she comes to pick him up one day from kindergarten he suddenly mentions you. it’s an innocent little interaction he had with you that mitsuki doesn’t think much about at first, simply surprised her son managed to befriend someone outside of his little group of friends until he starts mentioning you more and more.

soon you’re the only thing he talks about and katsuki even starts begging her to have you come over to play. mitsuki is extremely curious to know what kind of person you are to have been able to enchant her son the way you have, she says it’s fine as long as your parents agree.

you’re a sweet little thing, almost the complete opposite of her little devil’s spawn. you’re polite and a little shy when you ask “ is it okay if i come to play at katsu’s house, please miss katsuki’s mom ?” and how could she say no to you ? she pulls at your cheek lovingly and her son almost snarls at her.

“no touchin’ !” he snarks, pulling you against him like you were his teddy bear.

mitsuki was the first to realize her son had a crush on you when you were always around. when he found something cool during a class trip you were there and whenever he was upset it was always because you had argued about something irrelevant that seemed so much bigger in the eyes of a child.

she realized because katsuki had, and in some ways, will always be rowdy. he’s rough and temperamental and moody—basically, he can be quite the brat. (she wonders where he gets that from a lot) but he’s different with you.

he’ll always be a little rough around the edges but it’s the thought that counts. he drags you around a little too hard but it's to show you something he knows you'd like and you repay him by being patient with him and letting him drag you around to his hearts content. he let’s you use the crayons he’d just denied another classmate seconds ago and when it’s really early in the morning and you’re still sleepy unlike your more energetic friend, he waits for you. sitting with you in the reading corner quietly commenting on a little bit of everything in the book you’re sharing until you’re awake enough to start the day because katsuki wanted you to be together through anything no matter what, starting the day without you was simply unimaginable.

you offer him your kindness and he repays you with his loyalty. acting like your guard dog, protecting you from everything and everyone he considers a threat to you. he goes a bit overboard but it’s the thought that counts and he’s definitely got the right intentions.

“ i’m g’nna marry yn when i grow up !” katsuki proclaims from the backseat of the car after mitsuki had come to pick him up. she looks at him through the rear view mirror only to see he’s not even looking at her, looking out the window somewhat longingly, watching as his school fades away from his sight, further and further and further away from you. she smiles to herself.

“yeah ?” she asks “yeah !” he responds proudly, crossing his arms “ i asked yn if she wanted to be my wife an’ she said yeah, so we’re gettin’ married !”

“huh. how’d you propose ? you don’t have a ring.” she jests.

katsuki responds immediately and exclaims he does have one, shuffling around to reach for something in his pocket. he pulls out a plastic ring pop holder, the candy on top is missing and mitsuki can imagine what happened to it.

“gave her one of these !”

“so that’s why you had me buy those from the store last time,” she hums. “ you ate it, though.”

katsuki tries to roll his eyes but just ends up looking up and to the side, mitsuki recognizes it as him trying to mimic what she does a lot and she snorts.

“well duh, we both did ! ‘f i kept it in my pocket it woulda gotten gross !” he defends. mitsuki simply responds with a hum, smile on her face growing larger as she hears her son happily chatting about the rest of his day with you.

she knows her katsuki is hard to handle. extremely so. but when she sees the way you both interact she can tell something is there. you don’t ‘handle’ him. you like being around him. you like playing and talking with him, she sees how happy you make him whenever you come over for playdates. he holds your hand when you get scared and you hug him tight and beam when you see him again after he’s gotten over a nasty cold.

she can tell you make her son happy and he does the same for you in the way children do with pinky promises and shy cheek kisses, kisses over tiny wounds and refusing to be separated whenever the rowdier one of you both gets his recess time taken away for being naughty.

mitsuki hopes this crush, this love you have for her son can grow along with you. she hopes you’ll stick around as katsuki grows up more and potentially more rowdy and rougher around the edges but even more enamored with you. and with the way her son is squirming around in his seat and tugging at his seatbelt, giddy about you accepting his ring pop proposal, she has a funny feeling you’ll be sticking around for a long time.

[lunarxcity]

Why here? (Part VI to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort ( Now this one is a bit different from the rest and is a bit angsty and more Eris and Azriel focused so we'll see how that goes )

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Parts I, II, III, IV, and V if you missed them!

-

There is an enchanted chessboard older than the cauldron itself. Before the fae inhabited this world and when the creatures in the prison roamed free Fate had gifted the Mother a chessboard. They play more often than not and through the centuries the stakes have gotten higher and higher.

Around the times of the first high lords, when the lines of the courts were being drawn and the Cauldron was being built an intruder had run interference on their game. A small black tendril, nameless in nature and free in spirit, the first shadow of this world. The emergence of the first shadowsinger had awoken it, apparently teaching it to shift through the different worlds and it had accidentally stumbled upon the Mother's. The shadow had swirled around the pieces, animating them and moving them around which gave the Mother the wonderful idea of turning her pieces into the lives of actual fae as the chess games had become rather boring lately.

So for centuries, the Mother and Fate have been writing the destinies of unsuspecting fae. Move after move, piece after piece. Now this particular game has hit quite a standstill. Move after move and yet no clear winner or end in sight. The story of you and Azriel has been a rather difficult one to craft and the game has been played for hundreds of years, it's vicious and cut-throat. The Mother who has been playing for you has been going for direct and sharp moves, while Fate who has been playing for Azriel has been going for the unsuspecting moves, the ones that you don't realise are happening until it's too late.

"How long are we going to make them dance around each other for?" The Mother looked at Fate with her all-knowing gaze before she began to eye her pieces, a pensive look that only belonged to someone who is actively working out their strategy because if the Mother hated one thing it was losing.

Fate looked back at her, "We could continue this game for all eternity darling. What's the rush when we have forever? You do know how I love a slow dance." Fate had always loved the journey, he loved to craft these elaborate stories for the Mother's characters, he always told her that he believed it would make the payoff better, but she was rather fond of these characters and they had been playing for so very long.

The Mother made her move. She sighed, "Haven't we made them go through enough? I do like these ones they might be my favourites." She looks at him in his ethereal eyes, glowing with a light that was anything but mortal, "You do know the sister plotline was a bit much. She has gone through enough any more struggles and she might not even want the mating bond anymore."

He looks at her and then the pieces, competition lacing his very being, he moves his piece. "I believe that suffering is the only way to bring out the truth of someone's character. It is in these moments of darkness that we must look actually look at ourselves and truly see us for what we are."

He picks reaches out across the table and holds her hand. "This is the only time we can truly change for the better. They would have never been happy together otherwise my love. You know that you made them both too stubborn for their own good." Fate gives the Mother a blinding smile, one with all the kindness and reprise that he refuses to give the ones who's destiny he is in charge of.

She gives him an annoyed look. Not one of true annoyance but rather an I'm annoyed your right and know me well enough to know I agree with you kind of annoyance. She gives a small smile back and goes, "Yes the shadowsinger reminds me of a certain someone too. Someone who is also too stubborn for his own good and refuses to accept a loss.

At this the Mother smirks and moves her piece, she looks at Fate with a mischievous grin and forces his hand. Very few had the power to tamper with Fate, but right now the Mother had him in the palm of her hand. She smiles and for the first time in almost 500 years she it looks like the game is going in her favour, the endgame is near and she refuses to lose.

"Check."

-

In the Gardens of Velaris, there was a shadowsinger hiding in the shadows. This was not an unusual sight, as his job description entails spying and the shadows are curious creatures, what was unusual was the feeling of the mating bond that had just snapped for Azriel.

He has been yearning for this very thing for Centuries, so now that he has it, why does the world feel like it's collapsing beneath his feet. You were only a few feet away in the distance. He could literally see you. See you laughing with Eris. Eris.

Rage envelops him and a way of thinking so primal and ancient is fighting with his rational mind. Well as rational as it could be mind. A bombshell has been dropped on him and he is trying his best under the current circumstances to stay calm and not tear Eris' throat out for being that close to you and even worse, making you laugh.

Shadows emanate from every fibre of his being. The shadows take over, and Night hears them, and together, they envelop the court in an all-consuming blackness that snuffs out every light source for miles. It had only lasted for a millisecond, barely anyone had noticed it and those who did had just assumed they had blinked or it was a trick of a light, but he could tell you did.

You started looking around frantically. Cauldron save him he couldn't face you right now. He had no right to even look at you. After the initial shock of learning that you were his mate, the reality of everything that he has done came crashing down on him. Azriel can't deal with himself. The reality of what he has put you through. He pined over Mor for over a century. He almost invoked a Blood Duel over Elain. You were his mate and he had forsaken your bond. Forsaken your bond for another fae's mate. Your friend's mate.

Mother free him from this torment. Everything came crashing into him at once. Reminders of every time that he had ignored you for another female. Reminders of the flash of sadness that would flicker in your gentle gaze every time that Azriel would rain-check your plans for Elain or talk about another female.

The look of disdain that Rhys had on his face the night he found him and Elain. The uncharacteristic cruelty that had been directed towards Azriel. The distance of the inner circle and his own shadows. Everyone had known. Everyone except for him. Did you know? Is that why you left? Why you had been ignoring him for months?

He tries to tug on the bond and he winces. The bond snaps back at him painfully like a rubber band that was held taught and released. Seems like even the bond itself is punishing Azriel. So you didn't know then?

You were still looking around with your senses on high alert and it seems like you weren't the only one that had noticed the blackout. Eris in all his horrendous glory had also been surveying the area and while you looked like started pray that was scanning for predator to jump out of the bushes and attack, Eris was every bit the predator scanning the area ready to pounce.

Azriel locked eyes with Eris. Eris' eyebrows raise, his eyes holding mischief and curiosity, a truly despicable combination. The conniving fox never stops his scheming and with a smirk he puts his hand on your lower back and leans to whisper something in your ear. All while maintaining eye contact with Azriel.

His rational side is long forgotten and he luges for Eris. Pupils dilated, teeth bared, and siphons glowing. Instead of landing on Eris, he landed on a barrier of shadows which drag him through the shadow realm like a parent dragging their misbehaving toddler by the arm into timeout.

The shadows drag him through the shadow realm, struggling to constrain him, and throw him onto the floor of the training ring in the house of wind. Rhysand and Cassian arrive on the scene moments later, amusement coating their features once they see the position that Azriel is in. Cassian bursts into a fit of laughter seeing Azriel shadows trying to hold him in place and watching him fight back against them, while swearing profusely.

Rhys saunters towards Azriel, "Well took you long enough brother. Release him." The shadows immediately release their hold of Azriel. The look he's giving Rhys is filled with so much malice that anyone other than Rhys would have shivered at his gaze.

Rhys is gives Azriel a predatory smile that is anything but friendly. Rhys says, "Now that you officially know I can finally do this", and he punches Azriel in the face. Rhys looks at Azriel while he's on the floor from the hit, "You want to be my brother again. Earn it. "

Azriel's nostrils flare and he comes swinging at Rhys with full force. Cassian is enjoying this a lot more than he should have and the house agrees spawning him popcorn on the table on the outskirts of the training ring. Between Azriel's vicious as a result of a new mating bond and Rhys' pent up anger for hundreds of years of pain you endured this was going to be a very entertaining fight.

-

There were very few things that brought Eris Vanserra true unadultered joy - his schemes, the suffering of his enemies, and apparently spending time with you. For these few months with you had been the first time he genuinely enjoyed someone's company. He was sad you were leaving, of course, but that was the whole point of your stay, you would process your mating bond and return when you had distanced yourself from it enough that being around Azriel wouldn't break you.

Eris had never wished for a mating bond. He has never been surrounded by happiness, let alone love, only pain, and would never wish that life upon another. To be tethered to Eris is to be tethered to a lifetime of cruelty and a lifetime of pain. He watched his mother suffer every day at the hands of his father, the only true happiness she experienced was in the presence of Eris or Lucien, whom she seldom sees anymore. He watched the love of Lucien's life be sentenced to death by his father.

Eris knows that when he becomes the high lord of Autumn that he will have a target on his back and is one day destined to meet a bloody end. How could he sentence someone to a fate like that? Every Vanserra's is a flame - burns brightly, hurts to the touch, and is destined to go out.

Now Eris does believe in love but he also believes in choice and he has chosen to keep his circle small and tight for as long as he could remember. His walls were impenetrable and he was very guarded, he wore cruelty as a mask and indifference as a cloak with wit being his sword. He had never needed anyone, he only needed himself. That's what he told himself when Lucien had told him he was leaving Autumn for Spring. That's what he told himself when he isolated himself for hundreds of years and that's what he told you when you guys had first met in the Autumn Court library.

You had been about 75 and were in the Autumn Court on a diplomatic visit with Rhys and your father. You had grown bored and decided to sneak off into the Autumn Court library in the middle of the night, unaware that anyone would be there. You had just waltzed in and started grabbing text after text that Eris was actually impressed and had remained silent for two hours until he decided enough was enough and it was time to bother you. You guys argued for hours, matching each other's wit in a way that Eris had never experienced, and he didn't admit it to anyone but he was looking forward to your next visit.

You guys had always corresponded after that. Remaining good friends and regularly sending each other updates, book recommendations, and even jokes. Eris realised that he missed you, a very uncommon feeling for the cold hearted fire wielder and was elated to receive an invite to the Night Court ball. He arrived elated to see you only to find you on the arm of the shadowsinger. He couldn't be upset though, because you ran to him excitedly and embraced him in a hug.

Eris refused to be second to anybody so he gave it up and accepted his role in your life. You value the people in your life greatly and he appreciates your friendship either way but it would be a lie to say it didn't pain him to hear about Azriel for so long.

Azriel had this amazing person pining after him and he couldn't even appreciate you enough to properly give you his attention. How he didn't know you had feelings for him, Eris couldn't figure out. He was the Spymaster of the Night Court and he couldn't even notice how your eyes lit up in his presence.

When you had written Eris in a panic calling in the favor you held over him for securing certain information about Beron, Eris knew it had something to do with that Cauldrons-damned shadowsinger and had left immediately. The minute he was in that room with you and him and the rest of the inner circle, he knew the mating bond had snapped for you and that Azriel was contemplating invoking a blood duel over Elain. A blood duel with his brother. Eris was furious.

Eris is still furious. The shadowsingers stupidity almost got his brother killed and maybe you, he believes you to be formidable, but a broken mating bond has catastrophic effects on fae. It was something he would never wish upon you. Eris would lie to everyone but himself and he knows that he has sent a prayer to the Mother at least once or twice or more times asking for you to be his mate because he knows that while he could never deserve you he would do everything in his power to try to be.

Eris is not a traditionalist by any means, how could he be when his father runs Autumn with an iron fist claiming that the old way is the best way especially when it comes to fae rights, but Eris does believe in the sanctity of a mating bond. If you and Azriel had tried it out and it didn't work then he would be free to make his move, but anytime before then he deems it unacceptable. He also feels the same for Elain and Lucien, which is another reason he didn't respect Azriel.

Eris would never openly sabotage your life like that. The number one thing he wishes for is your happiness and he sends a prayer to the Mother for that a lot more than he would care to admit. That doesn't mean that Eris can't at least mess with Azriel and make his life a living hell for the period before you get together. He did cause you to suffer for so long, it's only fair.

Eris does not consider himself to be a good person. He's selfish and downright evil at times, but he believes the Mother knows him at his soul and that one day when he is freed from the confines of his father the Mother will allow him to find happiness in either this life or the next. While he doesn't need a mating bond, he is tired and exhausted from being so lonely all the time. When everyone sees you as a villian, it's so hard to not become one and Eris is ready for some change.

But today was not the day for changing for the better. Which is what Eris tells himself as he meets Azriel's gaze in the Gardens of Velaris. Based on the dilated pupils and the overall feral look of the shadowsinger, Eris assumes that the mating bond has just snapped for him. Oh goody. This would be a real treat for Eris. A bit of payback if you will.

Eris raises a brow and maintains eye contact with the shadowsinger as he gets close to you and puts a hand on your lower back. He gives some sort of witty retort and you laugh. He continues to look at Azriel while all of this is happening, just to add to the torment. He sees Azriel lunge and then disappear in a cloud of shadow. Well looks like his shadows took care of that. He'll be back eventually and then Eris can do the same thing again.

Eris has already made peace with the fact that you were not his, but he had to make sure you had the best in his absence and if you were destined to be with this male Eris had to at least test him first. Consider it a hazing ritual or reparations for the way he treated you. Either way Azriel was going to make sure this male suffered until he shapes up and became the perfect mate because you deserve nothing less and if Azriel fails to do that then Eris would have no problem sweeping the rug from under him in his own Court.

Eris loves a challenge and he has grown very bored lately. He let Lucien in on this plan and Lucien had actually spoken about wanting to give Elain the opportunity to get to know him, now that Azriel's out of the picture, so the timing was working anyways. Worst case scenario the Night Court is in shambles which would sit back and enjoy anyways. Best case scenario you leave back with him to Autumn and never step foot in this court ever again and leave the shadowsinger forever. Either way he gets to spend time with you and torment Azriel.

He thinks Rhys agreed to this arrangement just because he also wants Azriel to suffer a little bit, after everything he's done.

Eris looks at you again, snapping you out of your search for Azriel. he goes, "I have a surprise for you." You look up at him, focusing on what he's saying, but still being half distracted by the idea of Azriel being near.

"You were saying how much you were going to miss me due to you leaving of Autumn and I have business in the Night Court, so guess who is going to be staying here for the foreseeable future?" Eris says all of this with the smug grin you have been accustomed to seeing him don.

Your face lights up and he continues. "Lulu is also going to be tagging along because he adores his charming older brother so much-" You roll your eyes at him. "Lucien did not say that."

Eris cuts you off by throwing his arm over your shoulder and leads you through the arches of the garden into the ball. "But he will once he sees the havoc we are going to wreak in Night." Eris gives you a mischievous grin and for once you actually give one back as you take your official steps back into your life in the Night Court.

part vii

-

note: This chapter was actually meant to be twice as long and this was the first part but I am about to get busy so I wont be writing for the next week or so and I wanted to get something out before I fall of the grid. I will be answering to asks though I do love receiving them and hearing what you guys think I just won't have that much time to write. The style of this chapter is a lot different from the rest so I do want to know what you guys think. I didn't think it was a good idea for the reader and Azriel to interact immediately after the bond snapped for him, he was just in such a high alert state that I don't think it would be a good idea until he's at least calm again(I know Rhys has been holding in that punch for hundreds of years). Until next time my lovelies!

note note: again pls ignore the lack of editing and the sleep deperivated state I wrote this in :)

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[papercorgiworld]

"I'm not sorry"

Mattheo Riddle x Nott!reader

A game of spin the bottle with your brother’s best friend, what could possibly go wrong? 

I’m sorry I missed the deadline of Hogmarch’s first week by a day, but I battled a migraine to finish this today so that’s gotta count for something right, right? Anyways, I was so happy when I saw the Hogmarch post because it instantaneously gave me inspiration! A big thanks to @thatdammchickennugget , hogmarch is amazing and so are you! 💛

Happy readings everyone and good vibes for the new week!

Theodore Nott was a rather mysterious character at Hogwarts, but one thing was very clear to everyone that knew him. His sister was off limits. 

Mattheo considered Theo one of his closest friends. The astronomy tower and the night sky had heard many of their calmly shared secrets. Theo liked to talk about how lonely he found Hogwarts and Mattheo carelessly ranted about his anger towards everyone’s judgement of him.

But despite Mattheo’s friendship with Theo, he had been struggling to respect his one rule. You had always been on his mind, but you seemed out of reach and that made it possible for Mattheo to keep any thoughts of you buried. However, last summer when he stayed at Nott manor you had literally snuck up on him. 

Theo and Blaise had had one drink too many and had fallen asleep. Leaving Mattheo alone, standing at the balcony of Theo’s room. You had conveniently flown by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mattheo, but instead you had found him all by himself. “Hi stranger.” You whispered, making Mattheo spin around. 

It was that evening of talking and giggling that took over Mattheo’s mind when he saw you settle down with your friends for a game of spin the bottle. Your brother had disappeared with a beautiful girl and he probably wouldn’t be returning any time soon. Mattheo weighed his options. Should he? 

Well, she’s set on playing the game anyway and if she’s going to kiss someone tonight, it might as well be me. 

Of course Mattheo wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. The bottle was enchanted even before he sat down in the circle. You had a suspicion when Mattheo gave you a lobbed smile. Trademark Slytherin Trouble. 

You nervously watched as Pansy gave the bottle a spin. You could feel your face heat up as Mattheo’s eyes kept finding yours. You missed Pansy’s blush when the bottle landed on Blaise Zabini, because you were too busy wondering if you would get a chance to kiss Mattheo. Surely your brother couldn’t be angry about a simple game of spin the bottle. 

Mattheo eagerly reached for the bottle, claiming this turn. His eyes once again moving to you right before he spun the bottle made it clear to everyone in the circle that Mattheo’s intentions were set on you.

However, to everyone’s surprise there was no worry to be detected in your eyes, but rather a hint of anticipation. 

By the time the bottle had magically landed on you, both of you were too occupied with each other to notice Theodore calmly watching with his arms crossed. Surely, Matt knew to not try anything funny. If it was Enzo, then Theo would’ve already intervened. But Mattheo, he trusted. Theo was confident that Mattheo would give his little sister a peck on the cheek and say something witty to blow off any comments from bystanders. 

You both crawled over to each other, meeting in the middle of the circle, and to your brother’s horror Mattheo’s hand went to the back of your head as he pulled you in for a long and passionate kiss. A kiss that you didn’t want to ever end, so you softly bit his lip, lengthening the kiss by just a few seconds.

Enzo who had seen Theo walk in, just as the game of spin the bottle became very heated, ignored the flirty girl in front of him and gave Blaise, who now sat next to him with Pansy, a shove. “This is bad.” Blaise turns just in time to see Theo pull Mattheo from the circle. “Theo, no!” Your protest echoes through the common room as your brother’s fist hits Mattheo’s nose.

“No, no, no, no.” You protest as you get up, reaching to push yourself between the two. But Blaise, always quick to react, pulls Theo away and puts some distance between him and Mattheo with one forceful shove. 

“Calm down T, it’s just a game.” Blaise barks, while using all his strength and weight to keep Theo back. Blaise hopes that the doubt he feels about his argument was not heard in his voice or seen in his eyes, because he had been worried for a while now that Mattheo struggled to keep his eyes off you. 

“Game or not! Paws of my sister, Riddle!” Theo spits with a venomous growl as he swung an angry arm out, still held back by Blaise.

“Or what?” Mattheo’s voice wasn’t just angry, it was cold and dark. Within the blink of an eye you saw Mattheo’s wand pointed at your brother and Blaise who was still holding him back. Mattheo’s hand didn't shake, he was radiating confidence as he patiently waited for your brother to give the wrong answer.

This time you did intervene and without hesitation despite your fear. Mattheo tried to stay away from his family’s habits as much as possible, but he was and would always be a Riddle when it came down to it. 

“Matt, it’s Theo.” Your eyes carried so much pain in them for having to remind Mattheo who he was threatening: his friend, your brother and the guy who had stood by him more than any other. 

But your words didn’t register, not until you laid your hand on his stretched arm. His eyes flickered to you, his jaw still clenched. Slowly he lowered his wand and it was like the room could breathe again. 

Blaise could finally let go of Theo, since he had calmed down to the point where his breathing was steadying but his furious eyes were still focused on Mattheo.

Draco, whose eyes watched Theo carefully to assess exactly how explosive the situation still was, handed Mattheo a handkerchief. “Go clean up.” He said to Mattheo, getting Mattheo out of the room with a good excuse seemed like the best way to defuse the tension. 

Without a word or any emotion to you, Mattheo left. He disappeared in the crowd that had looked on and would surely gossip about this for weeks. Salazar, I hate this place.

The bleeding had stopped but he still looked crappy when he arrived at the astronomy tower. When Mattheo saw his brother there, he sighed and rolled his eyes. The urge to turn around was there, but he had no place to go. Tom looked from the corner of his eyes, not amused either that he had a visitor on this quiet night, but he immediately turns to his younger brother when he notices the blood.

After a moment of silence, Tom takes a last drag from his cigarette and speaks up calmly. “Care to explain the blood?” Mattheo, now seated on the ground leaning against a wall and watching the stars, simply shrugs. Tom turns back to the night view and glances with annoyance when there’s no response. 

“I kissed (y/n).” Mattheo sighs, disappointed with himself for betraying Theo and disappointed with Theo for not seeing that this could be a good thing. Tom has a pleased smirk on his face as he turns his head to his brother. Why does he always do reckless things like this?  “Was it worth it?” Mattheo is caught off guard by this question, but he immediately knows the answer. “Yeah.” Mattheo’s voice is soft, showing the vulnerability and softness that he usually hides from everyone. 

Tom flicks his cigarette bud into the distance and heads for the stairs, but not before stopping where his brother is sitting to give some brotherly advice. “Make sure she knows that and make sure he knows as well.”

Mattheo thinks over his brother's words as he hears his footsteps fade away, but before they have fully faded they stop. “Yeah, he’s up there.” Mattheo’s hard starts racing as his brother’s steps fade but new ones approach.

“Matt!” The relief when you see Mattheo makes your eyes a little watery. You sit down next to him, a gentle hand strokes his face. “I’m so sorry about this. I-” A heartfelt kiss interrupts you, but you don’t mind. You can taste the longing and you love it. How badly you have been wanting Mattheo to long for you, to feel his passion and now it was even better than you had imagined. 

When Mattheo finally parts your eyes are dreamy and his are gentle. “I’m not sorry, (y/n).” He whispers, his voice raspy. 

With those words all your worries disappear and your lips meet his again. You move closer to him until you have him startled between your legs. “Me neither.” You half whisper, half moan between kisses.

[megwritesriddles]

Tightening the Knot ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Reader is captured at the end of the war as the Death Eater's celebrate their victory. She is told she is to marry Tom Riddle, but can't figure out why he'd want her or why she isn't trying harder to escape…

Tags: Forced marriage, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, DarkLord!Tom Riddle, Set after a vague Wizarding War, Not canon or timeline compliant, Voldemort wins, Reader is a member of the Black family, Enemies to lovers (?), Imprisonment, Implied age gap (but i was thinking of it as like 10 years at most, again, not timeline compliant).

Word count: 2.6k

all fandom masterlist | hp masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: This was based on a request that I changed a bit to make myself more comfortable writing it (e.g. making the age gap smaller but vague enough so you can imagine whatever you like while you read it). Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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It wasn’t what you would picture as a prison. The plush furnishings, grand windows and monumental bookcases suggested an atmosphere of comfort and luxury, but make no mistake, this palatial room was your holding cell. The order had fallen, and the writing had been on the wall for some time now, however, there was no giving up in the fight against evil, so they fought until the bitter end. You were one of the lucky few still alive after the battle on the grounds of Hogwarts, although you hardly felt lucky given the circumstances. You stared at the ridiculously ornate, but admittedly beautiful, wedding dress hung in the small walk-in-wardrobe across from your bed, wishing it would light on fire from the anger in your gaze alone. But of course, it doesn’t. You have been stripped of your magic, your wand is who knows where and your room is enchanted to allow no magic inside it, all to prevent your escape.

Why he chose you, you can’t understand. Sure, you were from a well-established pureblood family with a deep history as he’d explained to you the one time you’d seen him since your capture, but there were many girls like that for him to have his pick of. You were angry and defiant, you didn’t wish to bend to him, you spoke back and you lashed out when he tried to touch you. Why would he choose that over, say, your relative Bellatrix, who seemed to constantly be vying for his affection and shared your heritage? Throughout the war, you had constantly found yourself facing against him. He had even commented on occasion that it was always you in his way. Perhaps, this was merely his final revenge.

“I don’t even like you!” you’d protested, sitting across from him at the grand dining table of the Malfoy or Nott or Lestrange manor, whichever of his snivelling followers house this was, shackled to the tall-backed, velvet upholstered chair.

“You do,” he’d smiled smoothly, sipping his red wine, eyes drinking you in with something like amusement. “You think I’m handsome, you can’t deny that,” he added with a smirk. Your cheeks bloomed red and you scoffed, looking down at your shackled hand, the other free to allow you to eat. He’s right, you can’t deny it, you’re aware of his skill at legilimency and you’re sure he has watched a few of the dreams you’d had since you’d got here and been told you were to marry him a few weeks ago. Filthy dreams about what your wedding night might look like, how rough he might be with you or how gentle. Later that night, a dream of him bending you over this very dining table, unaware of how close he had been to really doing so. Avoiding his eye, you continued.

“That is hardly enough to base a marriage on,”

“I have known marriages based on less,” he mused. “You will like it more than you think,” The smile that followed those words stirred your stomach in a way you don’t wish to try to interpret.

The wedding is a few days later. The decor in the manor is much darker than the decor for a usual wedding might be, feeling more mournful than anything else. It fits your mood, although from what you gather it’s merely an aesthetic consideration for the death eaters that put the event together. Your dress is beaded in intricate designs, black beads twisting around a white silk base, painting a design of thorns and roses across the fabric that almost reminds you of chains. Beautiful chains. How very fitting. Your veil is black, as is the bouquet of roses you are given to carry down the aisle. You wonder who designed everything, it was beautiful, presumably one of the death eater’s wives who had an otherwise unused eye for aesthetics. Bellatrix, the only relative you have around, is the one to walk you down the aisle, holding your arm oppressively the whole way. She is clearly bitter that she is not in your shoes, but still eager to please Riddle, who waits, standing tall and proud in front of all his death eaters in a pressed, pitch-black suit.

When you reach him, he slides his arm around your back and holds you tight, making sure you couldn’t possibly leave if you tried. He’s never touched you before, his hand is cold, large and imposing, making you want to lean in and away all at once. You are not asked to recite any vows or to say ‘I do’, the decision has been made for you. Once Riddle has agreed that he will take you as his wife, he turns you toward him by your waist and lifts your veil carefully, tutting at your unhappy expression underneath. He cups your chin and tilts your face up, leaning down to kiss you to seal your marriage. The kiss is forceful and possessive, but despite yourself, you lean in just a little, heat shooting through your veins as his lips press to yours. He is handsome and powerful, and as much as you want to resist, as much as you hate all he stands for, your body is weak. His fingers tighten into your dress, gripping the small of your back. You know what it means. You’re his now. 

Riddle keeps you held captive at his side throughout the reception as he talks and drinks with his followers. You can tell from the way they glance at you at his side, that they are as confused as you are about why he chose you to be his bride and not one of the many willing girls and women amongst his followers, but have clearly been told not to dare question his decision. Trying your best to distract yourself, you play with the wedding ring on your finger. A thin serpentine silver band winding around your ring finger, inset with emeralds and black star sapphire. Once again, you wonder who might have picked it out for you. Surely, not Riddle himself? To your surprise, Riddle also wears a wedding band. A plain one with a subtle carving of a serpent, complimenting yours without being anywhere near as ostentatious. It’s a surprise that he would want to advertise himself as being married, you hadn’t expected it, but you aren’t sure what to make of it, so you don’t dwell. At least the food at the beginning of the reception had been delicious, and the cake your favourite flavour, decorated with the same thorny patterns as your dress. 

You find yourself incredibly annoyed to stand around and listen to these men talk and laugh, wanting to retreat to your room, despite knowing what will follow. It’s your wedding night, and Riddle made it clear that he expects you to comply with traditional wedding night activities with him. At first, you were angry and disgusted, but now you just feel like you want to get to it as soon as possible, only to get it over and done with. His ever-present hand on your waist or lower back doesn’t help this feeling. Finally, once he is also sick of listening to his followers' drivel, he guides you out of the hall in which the wedding was held and up the stairs, not towards your quarters, but his own. You’re tense as you walk, knowing what is drawing ever closer and closer. His hand softly rubs your waist as he escorts you, presumably trying to ease a little of your tension, not wanting your apprehension to ruin his wedding night. 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, which was somehow even larger than the one in the room you’d been staying in, you watch him loosen the tie at his neck, pouring himself a little champagne. 

“Want any, darling?” he smirks, sipping the drink, his eyes roaming the flattering figure your dress gave you. Part of you wondered whether you should drink to numb the experience, but all the same, you wanted your faculties about you. You shake your head silently and he shrugs. “Later then,” Once his drink is finished, he comes to sit beside you. You stiffen as his cold hands gather up your hair and move it out of the way, fingertips brushing the bare skin of your back. He waits a moment before popping the first clasp on your back. Goosebumps erupt across your skin and your muscles tighten, drawing in a breath. “You’re surprisingly willing, I told you that you’d like this more than you thought,” he ponders aloud with a hint of teasing, continuing to pop the clasps down your back. “I almost miss the fight,” he slips the sleeve of the dress off of your shoulder and bites down gently on the bare flesh. “Almost,”

The feeling of the cold air of the room meeting your skin sends a fit of shivers through you, the fabric of the dress pooling at your waist and baring your breasts to the air, your nipples hardening to peaks in an instant. Riddle hums, watching like a hawk over your shoulder, his hands caressing your skin just beneath your breasts, drawing yet another shiver from you. He slowly bites up and down your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp, to leave behind small possessive marks. His warm chest presses to your bare back, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against your skin, his suit jacket shed much earlier in the evening. 

“What has you so willing now, darling? You were so… incensed before,” he taunts, just gently brushing his thumbs on the underside of your breasts, his breath tickling your neck. 

“I just want to get it over with,” you mumble, observing as his large hands move across your skin. He chuckles.

“I’m sure,” he hums, clearly not believing you. You wouldn’t believe you either. “Be a good girl and stand for me,” Very hesitantly, and fighting against several tonnes of pride, you rise to your feet, jolting as he gently eases your dress down over your hips, taking caution not to rip the dress or damage the beading. Once it passes the swell of your hips, it falls easily to the ground, leaving you in only a pair of panties. You remain facing away from him, too sheepish to turn. His fingertips trace the edge of the material on your hips, down to your rear. You twitch away from his touch and he tuts. “Come now, you’re only prolonging this,” he gently grips your hips, guiding you back toward the bed, his hands skimming over you as he twists you around and lays you down against the pillows. Staring up at him, you notice a disconcerting predatory look in his eyes, despite the otherwise uncharacteristic softness in his expression. Even more bothersome is the way your stomach flips upon seeing it. He crawls up the bed to loom over you, a smirk decorating his handsome face. “Such a pretty picture you are, my beautiful bride,” he husks, leaning down to nip at your pulse point. You close your eyes. Bride. You couldn’t believe that word was real. This time, you feel the bite of his teeth and you know he’s leaving a proper mark. A whimper leaves your throat despite your reservations and you feel him grin against your skin, pleased to have evidence of your enjoyment of this, despite your performative protestations.

You keep your eyes closed as you feel him withdraw from you, hearing the rustle of fabric as he removes his dress shirt and the clank of metal as he reaches for his belt. Your thighs clench as the reality of what’s coming washes over you properly. Despite everything that you know should have you running for the hills, you are curious, too curious for your own good. So curious that when you feel his fingers hooking into the fabric of your underwear and beginning to softly tug downward, you wordlessly lift your hips and allow him to bare you to his gaze. He growls softly, presumably noticing the arousal that has gathered as he spreads your legs. 

“You don’t like me, darling?” he scoffs, repeating your words from a few days before.

“No,” you murmur. He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, which makes you part them obediently and clench around nothing. He notices your reaction instantly and gives a smug laugh.

“You are a terrible liar,” he purrs, placing his thumb on your tongue. “I think you like me very much,” he watches, enraptured, as you suckle on his thumb for the briefest of moments before you collect yourself once more. 

“I do not,” you protest weakly, finally opening your eyes to look up at him again, but you know you aren’t remotely convincing. “There is a difference between liking and lusting,” you huff. He rolls his eyes, though he looks amused.

“I suppose that is true, I’ll give you that,” he hums, using his now moist thumb to come down and begin gently circling your clit, drawing a ragged gasp from you. “You don’t like me, but right now, I reckon all that matters is lust, don’t you, darling?” Your head falls to the side as you avoid his knowing gaze, breaths coming short as he continues his intoxicating circles, the sensation enhanced by how worked up he has you. Your hips squirm lightly and he just seems to find it entertaining. You hear the rustle of fabric once more but pay it no mind, eyes fluttering shut at the syrupy pleasure he’s providing you.

You shoot up in surprise when you feel him prodding softly at your entrance, your eyes flying open to meet his. He shushes you gently, pushing you back down to lie and despite yourself, you go. His thumb never stops circling, making you more compliant than usual. He’s hot and hard against you and it makes you moan. It’s awful to realise just how badly you want him to press inside.

“You knew it was coming, just relax, we don’t want it to hurt, do we?” he soothes with his slightly patronising tone, but you just give a shaky nod. “There we go, you can be so good when you want to be,” he coos. After a few more calming circles on your clit, he’s pressing inside of you slowly. Your eyes roll back and your lips part, your walls fluttering as you do your best to accommodate him. He shifts, looming over you even more, propping his hand at the side of your head to support his weight. 

His eyes are dark as he stares down at you, growling in pleasure, finally inside of you like he has wished to be for so long. All those years of your infuriating scheming and fighting, only to end up a whimpering mess beneath him in your marital bed. The grin that graces his lips is downright devilish. He has you where he wants you, completely, rocking his hips a few times to draw those rousing mewls from your lips once more. Your hand grips his arm, the cool metal of your wedding band digging into his skin. Finally, he has you here and you’re willing, no matter what you assert. The sinful pleasure he’s giving you feels like sweet revenge as he begins to fuck into you properly, hips slamming into yours, slick sounds filling the room, claiming you entirely, consummating your marriage. The marriage you had claimed not to want, but never once tried to disrupt as it happened.

“You know what I think, darling?” he grunts, you don’t answer with anything other than a cry of pleasure as he angles himself to thrust even deeper inside you. “I think you do like me, and you will forever, whether you want to or not,”

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[crescentofthegods]

STORMY THUNDERCLOUDS!

pairing: harry potter x fem!reader

request: harry didn’t think seeing you with someone like dean could make him feel so… worthless.

word count: 2,667

warnings: FLUFF, slightly angsty bc harry compares himself to dean, swear words, lovely little smooch at the end, added a bit of romione somewhere, jealous harry, reader lowkey overthinks everything and it makes harry feel like shit, etc etc!

author's note: i’m sorry this is so late anon😭😭 i will proofread this later but i hope you like it!

taglist: @floweringrott ♡

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BEING ‘JUST FRIENDS’ WITH YOU OF ALL PEOPLE was proving to be a dangerous task for the Chosen One. Finally, he’d figured out his feelings—whatever bond the pair of you shared was certainly not cordial. And, he knew you thought it too.

            So, naturally, he assumed there was an established sort of… situationship. Harry hadn’t really talked about it with you, but he was just going with his gut; a stupid thing to think in all honesty.

            Clarification is key. But, because he hadn’t clarified it, he was forced to watch you have some sort of ‘conversation’ with Dean, who had just broken up with Ginny. There he was, laughing with you, touching your arm as you grinned in return, his fingers slowly trailing towards yours so they could intertwine—

            “You’re clenching your fists,” a feminine voice broke Harry’s agitated daze, his green eyes snapping towards Hermione, who sat before him, her expression written with disapproval. Ron was too busy stuffing his face to acknowledge the pair. Pressing his lips together in irritation, Harry cleared his throat, staring at his plate of food—bangers and mash. He didn’t even want it now, not with the image of Dean Thomas and you giggling together like you were the best of buds.

            The calm buzz of the Great Hall had returned. The sixth year hadn’t even noticed that he’d been staring for the last five minutes—why were you sitting with Dean? Sure, you shared Ancient Runes with him; that didn’t mean you had to walk and talk with him and even have lunch with the guy. You always sat with Harry—

            “Harry—you’ve summoned a thundercloud!” Hermione interrupted once again, sighing with exasperation as the brunette glanced towards the enchanted ceiling of the hall, only to see what his best friend had described—it was a thundercloud, and it looked ready to strike him; be that as it may, his bushy-haired friend was quick with her wand, causing the cloud to dissipate.

            “Thanks,” Harry mumbled, Hermione having to strain her neck just to hear him.

            “What is with you? You’re not even reading your stupid Half-Blood Prince book—”

            “It’s not stupid,” he was quick to defend his extremely informative textbook, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked away. “And, anyway, there’s nothing… ‘with me’. I’m fine.” Slurping his pumpkin juice, Ron practically guffawed, shaking his head as he placed his goblet down.

            “He’s staring again,” he nudged Hermione, Harry rolling his eyes as both of their gazes flitted towards you and Dean.

            “Ahhh,” she nodded, like she’d understood the situation at long last. “That makes sense, actually.” The Chosen One, who didn’t appreciate what his friends were trying to imply, simply scoffed, scratching the back of his head and forcing himself to stare at them instead of you.

            “I’m not bloody staring. You’re staring,” was all he said in response to Ron, zipping his mouth shut when he watched your approaching figure.

            “The fuck do you mean I’m staring—?”

            “Hi, guys!” you beamed, bright as a ray of sunshine per usual, sliding in right next to Harry as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, your strawberry-scented perfume wafting towards him as he tried not to collapse right in front of you.

            Everything about you was amazing. Your lovely, luscious locks. Your perfectly sculpted countenance. Your god-given body, not that he ogled it on a daily basis—Harry just appreciated how heavenly you appeared without even trying. An angel amongst men was what Harry once called you during a vulnerable moment… he meant every word. He’d say it every day just to see your graceful smile decorate your pretty lips, your dimples curated either side which made you shine like the planet Venus during the night.

            Despite every thought sprinting through his mind, every image of you imprinted on his neurons, he couldn’t let go of you and Dean. The way you grinned at him—only Harry could make you grin like that.

            “Harry?” your soft voice shattered his spiral, concerned eyes meeting his darkened ones, your fingers intertwining with his—Dean’s fingers had intertwined with yours—

            DEAN, DEAN, DEAN—

            “Are you alright?” Again, your murmur saved him from despair. But, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t do this. Not now, not with you.

            “Excuse me,” he muttered, suddenly sliding out of his seat, leaving you utterly befuddled as he stormed out of the Great Hall, messing with the Windsor knot of his tie as he walked. You gazed at his retreating form, thunderclouds anchoring the beats of your heart as you furrowed your eyebrows, meeting Hermione’s look of indignation—it wasn’t towards you, of course, but it was definitely aimed at Harry, who fled the scene like some coward. What was wrong with him?

            “Is he okay?” you asked quietly, fiddling with your fingers, your gaze flicking between ‘Mione and Ron. “Did… did he leave because of me?” Everything between you and Harry had been fine earlier. Perfect, actually. He had walked you to your Runes lesson, listening to you rant about the difference between ehwaz and eihwaz—

            “Genuinely makes no freaking sense. How the fuck am I supposed to remember that ehwaz means partnership and eihwaz means defense? They’re basically pronounced the exact same way!” You complained, pouting as you did so, your expression crumpling even further as you leaned your forehead against Harry’s shoulder, hearing his deep chuckle, his large hand cradling your head. “Don’t make me go in there…”

            “You know you want to. Professor Babbling’s been off sick and she’s finally back—you said you missed her.”

            “Well, yeah, but…” you ended up groaning quietly, hiding in his chest, Harry’s grin only widening. He loved seeing you like this; an adorable thing, you were, clinging to him like some bunny.

            “Come on, love,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you (he didn’t want you to go either, but he knew he’d be seeing you at lunch). His lips brushed your hair as your head tucked itself under his chin—anyone would think you were some odd, but normal couple with the way you both were embracing each other in the middle of the hallway.

            They helped him, these hugs. Distracted him, even. Voldemort, Slughorn’s memory he was yet to retrieve, his impending NEWTs mocks… Everything was just too much—

            But, you… you were his saving grace.

            “Fine,” you grumbled, pulling away, albeit reluctantly, lifting your gaze—your sullen pout still stuck to your lips as Harry laughed. “But you better meet me in the hall after.”

            “Of course. Always.”

            “—Are you mental? No,” Ron retorted, pushing his plate away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve; Hermione grimaced, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth for him as Ron tried to reassure you. “You know Harry. He’s… just a bit thick sometimes. He forgot that textbook of his.”

            “Yeah! Yeah…” Hermione agreed, tossing the napkin onto the ginger’s plate as she continued. “He’ll be back.”

            “Right…” you nodded, feeling a little relieved as your eyes fell to your lap, swallowing the lump in your throat. He definitely did not leave because of you. Definitely not. Right.

            Fuck.

            “Uh…” you cleared your throat, standing up, running your hands through your hair before readjusting your robes. “I’ll just go after him—”

            “Yes! Yeah, you do that,” Ron complied, Hermione’s head bobbing quite enthusiastically.

            “We’ll be right here!”

            With that, you zoomed off, politely pushing past people, your heartbeats growing louder by the minute—like a storm had concurred. Did something happen between Runes and now? Did you do something wrong?

            “They need to shag already,” Ron mumbled in your absence, causing Hermione to gasp, swatting his arm like his comment had offended her personally. “What?”

DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS.

            He was doing anything just to keep the thought of you away. In the comforts of his own room, nothing could bother him—not Dean, not Voldemort, not Slughorn…

            Harry was on the floor of his dorm (shared with Ron, Seamus, Neville and damned Dean), the Marauders Map in his lap, just staring at the footsteps of random students going by—the pads of his fingers itched the ancient parchment, his lips pursed as if he was concentrating. A particular trail caught his eye, the prints belonging to Draco Malfoy, who had appeared in a random hallway out of nowhere; what was he up to?

            Still and all, Harry did not care for Malfoy. Not when your footsteps decorated the page all of a sudden, leaving the Great Hall… by yourself? Shaking his head, Harry looked elsewhere, desperate to see where… well. Anyone. He couldn’t talk to you. Not like this. He was the definition of cowardice. Despair. Being jealous over a guy was… a new thing. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—

            Is this what love felt like? Is this what his father felt whenever his mother chose Snape over him?

            The difference was that Dean was a decent bloke. Nice. Respectful. Good with spells. Similar to Harry in that sense. But Dean wasn’t… cursed. He wasn’t the Boy who Lived. He wasn’t going to be the boy who would soon be Voldemort’s demise—Harry knew that was his only purpose. You could be normal with Dean. You couldn’t ever be normal with Harry…

            “Who are you spying on now?” The gentleness of your question splintered his deprecating thoughts, his head snapping towards the entrance of his dorm in slight surprise. He couldn’t tell if he was pleased or aggravated by your presence. For one thing, you caused his anxious tendencies to disappear. Anyhow, he was still peeved about Dean.

            Fucking perfect Dean Thomas out of all people.

            In your eyes, Harry merely grimaced—you had your own tendencies to contemplate and overthink… Harry was not grimacing (at least, not towards you), rather his expression was a mix of happiness and dreaded envy. Anyone could misinterpret that. The Chosen One was far too expressive, so much so that he’d normally get into quite a lot of trouble with Snape because of it.

            “I can leave… you seem, um, busy—” your smile had dropped, and Harry immediately cursed himself, interrupting you swiftly.

            “No!” his exclamation caught you off guard and he cleared his throat, looking away with coloured cheeks. “I mean, uh, no. Stay. Please,” his quiet mumble was purely out of shyness, in fear of rejection. You were special. A rainbow within a mass of thunderclouds.

            Thunderclouds that no longer caged your aching hearts.

            Your smile appeared as quickly as it left, the corners of your lips quirked up in a way that Harry knew it was genuine. He didn’t know if he was gaslighting himself, but he could’ve sworn you only smiled like this with him and no one else. In Harry’s eyes, your smile had fifteen different variations at the least.

            Shutting the door behind you, you walked towards where he sat by his bed, careful to not accidentally trample Ron’s many socks that scattered his side of the room. You tucked your locks behind your ears before sitting down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest, your bright eyes finding his face. Troubled. He looked troubled. And, even though his two best friends reassured you, you couldn’t help but ask him…

            “Did I do something wrong?” Your usually placid voice had now resounded to a disheartened whisper, something Harry was unintentionally the cause of. His head whipped around to meet your gaze, his eyebrows furrowed in slight devastation.

            His jealousy had caused you to feel like this. Damn you, Harry.

            “Of course not,” he assured, pushing the Marauder’s Map off his lap, his attention fully on you and you only. You nibbled your bottom lip, looking away from him, your knees relaxing.

            “But then… Why did you leave?” Reluctance embraced your tone like it was an old friend. Harry knew you well, knew you well enough to understand your anxieties. Your nerves. He hated himself for even assuming you and Dean had something going on—it was now clear that that hadn’t been the case.

            “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Harry sighed; it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “It wasn’t you—it’s never you,” your eyes met as he spoke with that soft tone of his, a tone he only really reserved for you. “I was… uh,” he struggled to speak, struggled to voice why he was slightly upset. He would only look pathetic.

            You noticed this, of course. You always notice. Delicate fingers trailed towards his, your warm hand embracing his larger, calloused palm, comforting him. Reassuring him that you were there to listen. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaned against his bed, not finding the courage to look you in the eye anymore—the ceiling accepted his look of despair.

            “I was jealous, is all,” he admitted, bewildering you as he scoffed to himself. “Of you and… Dean.” His words had knocked you for a twist; out of all things, you hadn’t expected him to say that—he had been jealous the entire time? Your initial bewilderment dissipated, wanting to understand, well… why?

            “For what reason?” you asked, your lips parting as Harry’s head turned towards you.

            “Just… the way you were both interacting, I guess,” he muttered, not knowing how to explain it.

            “Interacting?” you repeated, amusement lacing your tone as he rolled your eyes—that smile you always adored found his lips.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, trying not to seem so affected by your quiet giggle in response. “You were both laughing and it just… set me off. I don’t know why,” he finished with a sigh, scratching his head after turning away from you, his eyes meeting the floor. “Dean’s everything I wish I could be. You might—” he stopped himself before he could go further, and that only increased your intrigue.

            “I might what?”

            “You might…” his eyes closed. Like he was defeated. Ready to accept his fate. “You might actually like me if I was more like him. If I wasn’t… the Chosen One.”

            He was met with silence. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at you, but you were in a plight of shock; you didn’t even realise that Harry had let go of your hand. Shock might actually be an understatement. You already gathered that the rumours were true—that he really was destined to end You-Know-Who once and for all. Nonetheless, what you were contemplating over and over in your head, was his confession.

            He liked me?

            “As in… more than friends?” Harry smiled then, a breathless chuckle escaping him—he adored you, adored that you always had to be absolutely sure.

            “Yeah. More than friends.” That was all you needed. Those four words. Those two sentences of reassurement to let you know that you weren’t just imagining this. And, you hated him, moreso yourself, for not telling you sooner. For making you overthink for the last couple of weeks.

            “Harry James Potter,” you exhaled, shaking your head with disbelief. “You really are as thick as Ron says.”

            “Wait. What—?”

            The softest of lips mingled with his as soon as you leaned in, testing the waters before Harry reeled you in completely, your hand landing on his chest so you could steady yourself. Your eyes were closed, Harry simply enjoying how they felt like his pillows, your lips. How they felt heavenly against his. Gentle, light, tender—nothing like the palpitating storms that bothered him daily. As you steadied yourself, his hands found your hips, bringing you as close as possible so you could settle in his lap, the pair of you unable to break the kiss as it developed into something more; hunger, need, desire. You could feel it escaping him—every word he couldn’t give voice to melted like molten, hugging your heart like it was something you were used to; the thunderclouds disappeared long ago, and yet, Harry was making sure they were gone for good.

            Lips locked together in a lovely embrace. Soft clicks filling the dorm like this was a normal occurrence.

            Harry had never felt more at home. You in his arms. You in his heart.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: this masterpiece being on repeat made me like this 😵‍💫

HOUSTON'S BEST. | Aaron Pierre

Terry Richmond x Black! Female Stripper Reader.

Warnings: MDNI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( oral sex, (male receiving) penetrat!on (unprotected p in v, don't do that!), breath play, water sports, slapping/hitting, degradation), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread.

Summary: in which Terry meets an exotic dancer during his deployment and recounts their heated sexual relationship.

you used to strip out of east Atlanta,

probably where you learned all your talents.

He never knew her real name, or anything that was actually concrete to her, but he did know how his hazel eyes stayed trained on the exotic dancer in front of him the first time he saw her, the strobe lights made it a bit impossible to focus in on her face—as well as her many tricks and whirls around the pole. But her silhouette was perfect, and with a body as perfect as hers he was sure her face had to be a perfect match.

That wasn't his usual scene though, he'd been nearly forced there with his homeboys. Due to his recent breakup at the time, and a dreary deployment, his friends swore he needed a night of fun. And obviously their idea of a night of fun, was six deep in an east Atlanta strip club. He didn't usually spend his pastimes in Atlanta strip clubs, blowing his last dollars on a half-dressed woman, but if every stripper was enchanting as this one, he understood.

They introduced her as Houston, something he only understood when he found himself at her apartment. Only a few blocks away, from the club she worked at four nights a week, the other three days were supposedly spent in trade school where she was training to be a dental hygienist.

Not to mention, her face definitely did match her body.

Terry was unsure of how he made it to her quaint apartment the first time. He remembered how she sauntered over to the bar sometime after her set, she sported an oversized jogging suit, her low, brown eyes seemed to stare right through him, her smile was sinful. Everything about her screamed, trouble.

Anyway, even with a couple of shots flowing through him he was sober enough to hear the country edge to her voice—soft, elongated vowels, with that slight drawl that captivated him with each word. For a man who'd been deployed in and out of the states, he knew a Houston accent from anywhere, he'd spent four years there after all. That's where her stage name came from.

She'd never volunteered her real name, and always seemed hesitant when he asked about it. Obviously there was things she was keeping secret from this arrangement, and even three months deep into this said arrangement, she was still just Houston.

Terry never knew how they advanced to sex so quickly, the first time. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol in his system that night, maybe it was how naturally bold Houston was. Maybe it was because she kept casually sitting on his lap, complimenting him. Looking at him with those low, seductive eyes.

But it wasn't the first time anymore. Or the second. Or the third, and that was because Houston kept him coming back. She was a needed stress reliever. She knew what she was doing.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing though. And she was best at the shit too. The art of seduction through her dance—had nothing on her art of seduction in the bedroom. She would stare at him through her long lashes and low eyes, when she had him halfway back in the back of her throat. Coughing, gagging, eyes watery and red, but she still managed to hold that mockingly innocent gaze with him. Her hands nuzzled in the thin material of the strip lingerie she wore for him, vigorously rubbing away at her hard clit. Pleasing him, pleased her—and all that shit pleased him.

"Fuuuuckkk," he'd grunt, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as she fucked her own throat on his dick, almost like she was eager to taste all of him, her tongue swiping the underside of his dick as she eagerly took all of him. Her almost violent gagging and choking seemed to not deter her in the slightest, and it definitely hadn't deterred him either. Both his hands cradling the back of her head as he fucked himself into her throat, his own brows furrowed, lips parted as his grunts and groans seemed to follow one after another, eyes boring into hers. The feeling of the tightness of her throat, around him was unmatched. The way she did this shit like she had no regard for him was unmatched. Breathing clearly didn't matter to Houston. The hardwood flooring underneath them had collected a puddle of the saliva that seemed to pool out of her mouth and off of him, in the process.

"Fuckkk, imma nut! Imma nut, bae—jus' like that!" He rushed out, breathless and slurred. His hips stilling, but she never stopped taking him in, fucking her own throat once again, she looked up at him. His own eyes, slowly falling closed as she kept up her volatile movements.

"Mhm," she hummed on his dick, her blurred vision taking him in earnestly, her own fingers slipping inside her hole once again as she watched his facial expressions hungrily, as she brung him over the edge. The loud, groans queuing her to his orgasm, she pulled back from him with a loud pop. A growing smile on her lips as she stroked him off over her face, the warm ropes of cum painting her face just as she liked. What a messy girl she was, indeed.

She was the best at that shit.

But then again, she was the best at everything. She was definitely the best at doggystyle. Her face pressed into the cushioning of her sofa, his fingers squeezing and kneading the meaty flesh of her hips as she sat on her knees, ass perfectly arched up for him. Tip pressing against the spongy spot that caused the slight trembling in her thighs, and those deep gasping breaths to leave her mouth. Her hands flying up to the arm of the couch to gain leverage to slam back against him, her ass ricocheting off his pelvis with loud plaps. He'd run his thumb over the small butterfly tattoo etched into the skin right on the top of her ass.

"Don't run," he'd coach firmly, his voice stern hands growing tighter around her waist, his knees following hers, a harsh slap to her ass following his words, "don't fuckin' run. I can't get in that shit?" He'd ask over her whimpers.

"Yesssss," she'd slut out loudly, his stern voice and harsh slaps always put her back into motion, taking it like he knew she could.

"Right there, right there, right there!" She'd urgently call out, voice shaky and strained. "Right there, baby! I'm bout to cum, daddy!" Her whimpered voice muffled by Terry pushing her face down into the cushions, his focus solely on hitting against the spot, she repeatedly referred to.

"Where it's at?" He'd mutter, the lingerie of her little strip tease outfit now bunched around her waist, in his grasp as he used it as more leverage to thrust into her. "Where it's at, baby?" He'd ask again when he received no proper response from her, just her inaudible babbling and squealing moans.

"It's right there, daddy!"

"Give it to me then," he coolly replied hand roughly slapping at against her reddening brown skin, "give that shit to daddy, paint my dick. Lemme see it," he'd coax her orgasm right out of her, with her erratic breathing and faltering limbs.

Houston was also the best at missionary. And she didn't even have to do anything in this position, she just always looked so pretty and dazed. Mouth agape, eyes soft and low, darting back and forth between Terry's gaze, and his dick slipping in and out of her slick pussy. Her loud guttural moans would follow behind Terry's soft groans, his hands placed steadily on the back on her thighs, his knees allowing him to steadily drop dick in her. Her walls squeezing around him tighter and breathing hindering, every time he went just a little too deep.

She always looked too good in this position. His hands clamped tightly around her neck, he'd watch the color in her face tint to red. "You wanna breathe don't you? Yeah? Squirt on my dick then, show me how bad you wanna breathe. Show me that shit." He'd taunt, his dick roughly plowing into her, he'd watch with complete adoration as her eyes rolled back, her chest heaving, no sound leaving her lips but he strained breathing as he neared her orgasm. No sound would alert him, just her juices spurting out of her wildly, drenching her lower tummy and thighs, as well as his.

Or maybe she was the best at riding. Balancing her weight on the tips of her toes, her hands fisting the top of the couch on either side of him, strings of sticky arousal from her pussy connected the two, as she milked him up and down with loud sticky plaps. His thumbs and pointer fingers tweaking with her pierced, sensitive mounds. Pulling and pinching at her nipples as he muttered, lewd phrases and exploitative words against the flesh of her neck.

"You gon nut?" He'd ask her at the same time. Watching her nod eagerly over a series of moans. He'd slap against her cheek firmly, not quite satisfied with her non-verbal response. "You gon nut?" He'd ask again.

"Yesss!" She'd cry out, nodding vigorously, big brown eyes brimming with tears, the tightness in her belly threatening to burst open.

"Nah you ain't," he'd reply, eyes staring into hers so casually as if he wasn't having her plow herself onto his dick for his pleasure, "you been cummin' all night. It's my turn."

"Look at you fuckin' yourself on my dick," he tsk'd, his hand coming up once again to firmly slap against her cheek, "you ain't gon tell nobody about this right? Bout how you bein' such a lil easy bitch on my dick, makin' a mess. You ain't gon tell nobody?"

"No, daddy!" She'd stammer out through hindered breaths and broken moans. Her eyes slowly falling open as she continue to fuck herself on his dick, he was making her edge herself, and the shit felt torturous.

"Jus' like that, baby," he'd praise, hands dropping to knead both her ass cheeks as she rode him, "make me nut. Make me nut in this pussy." Hand leaving a series of hard echoing snacks there, until he came deep inside her.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing.

Hope you enjoyed, Houston! <3

tag list: @avoidthings @megamindsecretlair @nickidub718 @keehendrixx @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @b2hotty @partypoison00 @grooveoftiro @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dxddykenn @motheroffae @kaylaahisthebestest- @hello-therree

[kabr0ztrousers]

If you are comfortable with it, can you do chubby fem reader x orc step dad x orc dbf? Step dad's been trying to set her up with his friend but she is not interested. One day they both corner her. Step dad is mainly holding her against him while his friend is burying his face and cock in her pussy. The step dad doesn't penetrate her but gropes and says some really gross things. Heavy breeding kink on this one.

Sounds hot! And it'll be nice to get back to some high fantasy!

Kabr0z Writes episode 42: Orc Daddy

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Dubcon going to enthusiastic consent; size difference; age difference; father-daughter; arranged marriage; breeding; deep penetration; groping; extreme cum;

A/N: Wow, episode 42 already. I definitely should've written a special one for today in advance to mark this particular milestone, but oh well.

There's 10 stories in the queue at time of publication, so if you send a request and don't see it for a few days please have faith, it's coming.

On the subject of requests, please do keep them coming! I have a couple of anons claiming emojis, so if you want one then you might want to grab it early!

Any idea, kink, scenario, whatever, drop me an anon or a DM and I'll make it happen!

#####################################

The village was never quiet. Orcs all have a competitive streak, the young ones always brawling, racing, drinking, trying to outdo one another. To say nothing of the constant sounds of work being done, labourers chopping wood in the forest, mining ore out of the mountain, singing bawdy songs waiting for the charcoal to bake, and your step-father smithing the tools that made it all happen.

You'd been adopted into the village almost 15 years ago as a child after bandits attacked your family in the mountains. Only you got away and were found by a hunting party days later, half starved and freezing. They brought you back to the village, unsure about what to do with you. An extra mouth was a burden, and a human no less. You were lucky the village blacksmith, a hulking, bearded orc named Mazorn.

Of course, you're in your early 20s now. The young orcs in the village were all interested in you and while you'd had the odd roll in the hay, Mazorn wasn't keen on any of them getting too close to you. He kept on going on about one of his friends from another village nearby, a grizzled warrior called Oreg. You weren't particularly interested in the idea of an arranged marriage to begin with, let alone with some old friend of your father's.

It was raining hard when the caravan arrived. Furs and trade goods from the city, along with a huge figure clad in platemail. The whole village came out to see, the suit glowed with enchantment, emblazoned with shining gilt fittings and a rich red cloak, a matching shield on his back and a longsword on his hip. A bit much for a caravan guard. Your father stepped out towards him, and they grabbed one another in a hug, Mazorn's huge hand clapping on the shield, the knight's clanking on the orc's back. They laughed heartily before Mazorn brought him over to you

"This is the daughter I've told you about!" Mazorn gestured to you as the other man lifted his helmet.

Underneath was a scarred orc, tusks filed short and short-stubbled. "I see you raised her well, old friend!" Oreg clapped Mazorn, looking at you "Certainly haven't been under-feeding her"

You blushed, conscious of his eyes on you. You weren't sure if it was the armour, but it was kind of turning you on. Oreg and Mazorn walked back to the smithy, you in tow as they reminisced about their glory days. You hadn't taken your old dad for a warrior, but apparently they used to be shield brothers in some war or other. The ale was flowing freely between them, perhaps too freely as you noticed Oreg taking longer and longer glances at you. The armoured orc was gradually taking pieces off, bracers, greaves, miscellaneous plates protecting his joints and flanks.

You could smell him as the armour came off, strong and musky. It wasn't unpleasant per se, you'd spent your life around orcs, but it was noticeable. Oreg motioned to you to help him with some of the harder to reach buckles and straps "I'd normally have a squire around to help with this, but he's helping the caravaneers. You should know your way around all this anyway, your father made most of it"

The last plate to come off was his cuirass, once he stripped the chain surcoat and the gambesson underneath, Oreg was sat half naked and glistening with a thin layer of fresh sweat. His shoulders were broad, his back criss-crossed with scars. Only a loincloth covered his manhood. Muscles rippled under his skin as he stretched and shook himself, cushioned by the layer of fat ubiquitous among the strongest orcs in your village.

You caught yourself staring, swallowing the mouthful of drool you'd produced looking at him.

Your father looked at Oreg "Thirty gold pieces"

Oreg laughed, "Done! She's worth at least fifty"

Were they talking about you?

Mazorn lifted you, as though you weighed nothing. He held you under a shoulder and gripped your thick thighs, forcing them apart and presenting you to the other orc. You blushed, underwear wasn't a part of your wardrobe, so your unprotected pussy was completely bare to Oreg "She's useful about the house, but she's a been a bit of a whore in her time, already laid with half the lads her age. Want to get shut of her before she gets herself knocked up"

Oreg touched your pussy, opening it up with his calloused fingers "Hmm, certainly not a virgin, but clean and well cared for... Thirty is fair."

You heard a coinpurse hit the table. You'd been sold, like a prize hog at market. Or a breeding sow.

Mazorn shifted you in his grip, holding you upright by the tits, his huge hands groping you as Oreg pulled his loincloth aside

"I'd better see to her properly now she's mine" His hands were rough and strong, but his nails well manicured and clean. He tore off your skirt and got down on one knee in front of you, eyes level with your already moist pussy as you struggled against your adoptive father's grip.

Oreg held one leg up as he filled you with a thick finger, the rough skin making you shudder in anticipation as it gently worked its way inside. Another finger joined it, you whined as they stretched you, but Oreg was careful not to hurt you as he slowly twisted them inside you, going this way and that, paying attention to where made your breathing catch, your pulse quicken, your toes curl.

You'd stopped struggling now, holding your legs open for the big orc to finger you, Mazorn's voice came from beside your head "See? I told you she's a slut, already she's giving herself over to you! And after all her complaining about wanting to pick her own mate!"

You couldn't disagree. You'd fancied Oreg since you'd set eyes on him, you were probably going to try and get this orc 20 years your senior to finger you tonight anyway. You bit your lip, the sensations getting to you. Mazorn started groping at you faster, your whines cued Oreg to let go of your leg, using that hand to rub your clit.

You came with a wail, your cunt eagerly accepting the fingers rolling around in it, your hips thrusting, trying in vain to fuck him back. Oreg stood up, holding his erect member in one hand, he could probably fit two of those hands next to each other on his cock and still have length to spare.

Two of his hands, or one of you.

He lined up his cock with your pussy, looking down into your begging eyes as he rubbed it against your clit and your hole. It was almost comically thick, the head pressing against the cit and the opening at the same time.

You nodded at him, putting your hands on his waist as he gently rubbed himself into you.

"Take it, take your new husband" Mazorn growled into your ear. You knew he'd fantasized about doing this himself so many times, muttering your name as he wanked himself to sleep when he thought you were asleep. You could feel his cock getting rock-hard behind you, pressing against you through the fabric of his trousers. But you were Oreg's now, and there was nothing he could do about it as you rubbed your ass against him. The bastard had sold you, the least you could do was give him some seller's remorse.

Oreg pushed himself in. It didn't hurt, the stretching from his fingers and the liberal amount of your juices on his cockhead meant he slid in without pain. It still made your eyes water, tears building as your mouth lolled open and you groaned from the immense pressure inside you. You moved your hips against him, wrapping your legs around his trunk, but you could no more hurry him that you could pull up an old oak. Slowly, carefully, he pushed into you. You felt his tip kiss your cervix and moaned again, open mouthed and animalistic.

He stayed still for a moment, resisting the pulling of your legs, the urging in your eyes. "Please" you breathed, barely a whisper "please, more"

Mazorn laughed "See? The slut wants it all! She's well broken in, brother, you can have fun"

Oreg looked into your eyes, waiting for your nod.

You gave it.

He pushed.

You felt the cock slip by your cervix, pushing deeper into you as be bottomed out in you. Your eyes defocused as you wordlessly begged him. Your hips moved on their own, without rhythm, running on sheer desperation for his cock.

He started to fuck you properly now. Starting slowly, thrusting in and out in long motions, slathering himself in your juices and getting your fuckhole relaxed as he built up speed. You felt like you were melting into him. Your legs started to slip a little as he fucked you senseless. His hand came up to your face, the two fingers that had been inside you thrust into your mouth. You sucked on them, tasting your wetness. You felt your cunt drooling out even more as he invaded your mouth

"You like your face being fucked too?" Oreg grinned "Your father's a fine smith, but no salesman"

His fingers fucked your face harder as he pounded into your cunt. You felt your body start to twitch and tense. Your head was spinning. Your legs clenched around him. You moaned again and again, the noises merging into a wail of release as your cunt tightened and relief filled your body. You could feel the waves of warmth and pleasure making your pussy pulse around Oreg's cock.

He groaned in time with you. He thrust himself in, his balls pressed against your asshole as they pulsed and tightened into him. Surge after surge of hot liquid pumped up into you. You could feel the pressure of it squirting it into every corner of your cunt, flooding your womb and leaking out around his cock, and it kept coming.

You could hear Mazorn grunting as well as the bulge of his cock started to twitch, a damp patch spreading on your back as you leaked the younger orc's cum onto your stepfather's clothes.

Oreg wrapped his arms around you, and Mazorn released you into his embrace. The knight carried you, still buried in your cunt, and sat down.

The way he looked at you, with such tenderness, you wouldn't believe his cock was buried over a foot deep in you if you couldn't feel it in your guts. You kissed his chest and rested your head, letting the blissed-out feeling take you as you both dozed in each other's arms.

You left with him in the morning.

It was over a month until the caravan got back to Oreg's home, every night punctuated with another round of intense, yet strangely gentle, lovemaking. Your monthlies hadn't came, you reckoned that a gallon of orc cum every night had seen to that. It turned out Mazorn had rather undersold Oreg to you. He wasn't some foreign warlord, he was a duke under the Imperial crown. Apparently the old war they were drinking to was a crusade against a lich king, and for his valiance he was granted a noble title. He'd spent the last twenty years as a paladin of Pelor and had only recently received permission to take a wife and continue his lineage.

You still weren't happy about being sold, but figured you could live with it, Mazorn always was looking out for you, in his way

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This is another one I really enjoyed writing! A little exposition, Oreg's actually based off a D&D character I played in my first proper campaign in that system, though his monstrous manhood never came up then. Just goes to show inspiration can strike from anywhere.

Hopefully you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and again if you have any ideas, scenarios, kinks, fanmail, hatemail, whatever, drop me a DM or an ask and I'll probably wind up writing it!

Again, there's 10 in the queue right now, but it will almost certainly get written 😁

Post-post script: I still haven't figured out how to reference the posterior fornix without feeling like I'm giving a biology lecture

[prythianpages]

Hopelessly Devoted | Eris x Reader

Eris x Reader x Azriel | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

warnings: slight angst, reader being a bit delulu

*also disclaimer that I am no expert in astrology and my knowledge is usually what I gathered from friends or tiktok so if I'm wrong, please correct me but do it nicely pls bc I am sensitive lol*

a/n: I wasn't sure whether to include Az or not in the pairing but I liked the idea of leaving this fic up to your interpretation. Anyway, happy reading! <3

As you entered the Night Court’s observatory, you traced your fingers along the edge of the great celestial map laid before you. You could feel the soft hum of magic beneath your fingertips, still smell the faintest hint of sage–a remnant of your father’s last ritual here. For centuries, your father has served as the Night Court’s astrologer. He’s guided and advised High Lord Rhysand and on occasion, Keir, the steward of the Court of Nightmares.

Above you, constellations and planets danced across the domed ceiling, the stars gleaming as though they were ready to whisper secrets just for you. You took a deep breath, centering yourself, and placed a palm flat against the massive zodiac wheel etched onto the floor. It began to glow, a warm golden light tracing symbols of the zodiacs and planets.

“Stars above and stars below, reveal the path I seek to know,” you quietly murmured.

The markings on the wheel shifted in response, aligning and realigning with clicking sounds, the warm golden light following. Then, your own chart had appeared, shimmering above you. It was a translucent web of stars and planets connected by silvery lines. You’ve read your birth chart many times, become so familiar with it that you knew it by heart even.

But tonight, you needed the extra reassurance. So you looked up, watching as the planets moved slowly. Your heartbeat a little faster as you spotted Jupiter making transit through your seventh house. The promise of growth, abundance, luck and most important of all, love filled the air. 

You slipped a small vial from the hidden pocket of your cobalt blue dress. The words Love Potion No.9 gleamed on the glass, the dark red liquid swirling. It was the enchanted perfume you’d bought from a witch last week—a little love potion designed to make you irresistibly alluring to your soulmate.

You felt a bit foolish, seeking a witch for guidance on love of all matters. Witches were frowned upon in the Court of Nightmares, after all. But impatience had finally nudged you to venture beyond the court’s dark mountain and into the surrounding forests, in search of someone who could help.

“Seek the one who walks between light and shadow with a mask of cool indifference, where fire meets the edge of night. There your heart shall find its match,” she had told you as she handed you the enchanted perfume.

Her words had only confirmed what you had been suspecting for years, centuries even.

Azriel was your soulmate. 

Azriel, the very embodiment of cool indifference, wore a mask of stoicism in the Court of Nightmares, just as High Lord Rhysand did. But his hazel eyes always seemed to burn with a hidden fire. And when you were alone with him, away from the cold nobility of the Night Court, Azriel would let that mask slip, revealing a kinder side that laughed and smiled with you. He was your friend and not only did he literally walk among shadows, he wielded them. It had to be him!

And then, there was your birth chart. Your seventh house lay in Taurus—a sign ruled by Venus. With Venus positioned in your twelfth house, everything pointed to the idea that your future soulmate would bring your happiness and pleasure. And since you met Azriel all those years ago during a counseling your father led, happiness had been an emotion you'd grown more familiar with.

The stars couldn’t have given you a clearer message!

**

There was a flutter in your stomach as you approached Azriel. The two of you had been stealing glances at one another, as you usually did anytime you found yourselves in the same place. He looked as beautiful as ever. As dreamy as ever. 

Though your High Lord and High Lady had moved to the center of the ballroom for a dance, he had stayed by the dais. “Hello,” you greeted him with a small smile.

Azriel turned to you, that mask of his slipping for just a brief moment to smile back at you. He took the extra wine glass in your hold, murmuring a small thanks. He turned his head back to the dance floor, attentive to his High Lady’s whereabouts. But he shifted closer to you, the coolness of his shadows caressing your bare arm and you couldn’t help but wonder if the perfume was working.

“You look nice,” he commented.

“Thanks.” A blush rose to your cheeks. You’d taken care to match your dress to the exact shade of his siphons. And he noticed. “So do you.”

“I wear this all the time.” Azriel replied drily, referring to his usual Illyrian leathers.

“Yeah, I know.” You cursed yourself inwardly for the awkward response, then shifted closer, leaning toward him. “Do I smell to you?”

Azriel paused, his shadows brushing close, as if curious themselves. “No,” he said after a moment.

“Oh.” Disappointment seeped into your voice despite your best efforts, and his gaze shifted to you, a hint of a frown in his brows.

“Do you want to smell?”

There’s a teasing edge to his tone, a subtle quirk of his lips. You shook your head, letting out a small, nervous laugh. "No. I just wanted to know if I smelled any…different…,” and then, in a much quieter tone, you murmured, “to you.”

Azriel considered your words. He looked to you in what seemed like permission. You gave a nod of your head and he leaned in, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine. “You smell the same to me.” At the breath you let out, he quickly added: “which is good by the way. You smell nice.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile, albeit a bit awkwardly, the flutter you had felt in your stomach earlier twisting into a knot. 

“Y/n, is everything alright?” Azriel asked softly.

“Yeah, I just thought—” You stopped, not sure how to explain without sounding foolish. It wasn’t like you could admit to feeling disappointed over the lack of reaction from an enchanted perfume you’d spent quite a fortune on. Especially when he was the sole purpose for it. Had the witch scammed you?

Azriel waited for you patiently, concern flashing in his eyes. Maybe the perfume hadn’t worked, but the stars and planets had never led you astray. That still had to mean something, right? 

“I’m fine.” You finally said.

“Are you sure?”

The way he was looking at you had warmth creeping up your neck and settling deeper in your cheeks. “Yeah.”

A single shadow curled around Azriel’s ear and in the blink of an eye, his head turned. Your gaze followed his, to where Rhysand and Feyre were standing. Rhysand sent him a slight nod and with a sigh, Azriel returned it.

“Sorry, I have to go.” Azriel said, quickly downing the remaining wine from his glass.

You held out your hand, offering to take it for him.

“Thank you. I’ll be back. Don’t have too much fun without me, alright?”

“I’ll try not to,” you replied.

You watched Azriel disappear into his shadows before turning away from the dais and making your way to the refreshments table. You were eager for a refill on your glass. Perhaps a little more wine would help ease the sting of disappointment. But he’d said he’d be back, hadn’t he?

As you scanned the room, you noticed your father in conversation with one of Keir’s sons and your mother eyeing potential suitors for your older brother. As an elite warrior of the Darkbringers, he had no shortage of admirers, and it was only a matter of time before your mother secured him a match—perfect or not.

You suspected you’d be next on her matchmaking list, so you busied yourself with small talk among familiar ladies. Conversations were always a mind-numbing, the ladies your age exchanging beauty tips that centered around the male’s eye or fawning over this season’s most eligible males. Which this season just so happens to be your brother. Gross. If only they knew him the way you did….

Second to him was Bret—or some equally uninspiring name. A Scorpio, of all things, which clashed miserably with your chart. Not that it mattered. You had no interest in any noble of the Court of Nightmares. Or any male here. Most, if not all, were cruel and narcissists, only viewing females as child bearers and nothing more. 

There was a reason why this court was burdened with the title “Nightmares.”  And to marry someone from here would mean never waking up from this darkness. No stars to light your night skies, only endless shadow and despair.

So, you’d taken fate into your own hands. You’d turned to your birth chart, hoping the stars would lead you somewhere beyond Hewn City, beyond this never-ending nightmare. And they had. They led you to believe it was Azriel. Azriel, who was not only honorable and single but also, technically, part of the Court of Dreams. He’d been your friend for centuries, seeing you for who you are rather than an object or prize like most males here. 

As you sneak away from the conversation, you bump into something–someone. Behind you, a deep voice huffed a low, mocking chuckle. “Easy there, librarian.” 

You could recognize that voice anywhere, could recognize the heat radiating from him. It pressed down on you, leaving you simmering with irritation.

“I’m a libra, not a librarian.” You bit out. It hasn’t even been a minute and already you were exhausted by the searing presence behind you. “And besides, to you, it’s Lady Y/N.”

When you turned, you found Eris looming over you. His amber eyes gleamed with a familiar, infuriating mischief. He gave you that signature smirk of his, the one that made his sharp features all the more arrogant. “Such a harsh tone. Hardly fitting for a Lady.”

Your gaze hardened into a glare, only to have it stray toward a movement across the ballroom.  A flicker of shadow caught your attention, and your heart gave a small, hopeful jump as your gaze softened. There he was—Azriel.

He had returned to the ballroom…but he hadn’t returned to you…

Eris raised a glass to his lips, amber eyes flicking lazily between you and Azriel. “Disappointment doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” You muttered hastily.

He gave a scoff, his smirk widening with dark amusement. “Please. I can practically feel it.”

“Liar,” you shot back. 

“Azriel said he’d find me again and unlike you, he’s a male of his word,” you continued, not sure why you were telling Eris this. “He’s…”

Your words trailed off as you watched Azriel, who stood next to Nesta and Elain. He laughed–actually laughed!-- at something Elain had said, shadows absent from his frame as his focus remained solely on her. You couldn’t miss the soft smile playing on his lips, nor the warmth in his gaze. Did he do that with every female he knew? You thought he reserved that just for you…

The bubble in your chest slowly deflated.

“Keep dreaming,” Eris huffed out. He seemed to take special pleasure in your reaction. It prompted your cheeks to flush but this time, with irritation.

“Oh, go away, you prick,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?" he replied, leaning closer, his sharp gaze burning into you. You missed the flash of longing in his amber eyes, too focused on Azriel. Or the way the words that had been on the tip of his tongue faltered as your scent suddenly overwhelmed him, his breath hitching slightly.

 "You smell.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled absently.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice gruff and pupils flaring. “You smell different tonight…good...”

You blinked, barely processing his words. Was he actually being nice to you? In all the years you’ve known him, he’s always had snark remark after snark remark for you. The way it would roll smoothly off his tongue always left you wondering if he’d rehearse them for his visits to the Court of Nightmares. 

You fidgeted, fingers grazing your wine glass as you cast a hesitant glance back at Azriel. Your chest tightened as he remained engrossed in conversation with Elain. Turn around, please. But he hadn’t even looked your way once. 

Eris stepped in front of you, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze roamed over you, your dress. He took in the shade and he knew why you had chosen it–and for whom.  "You know," he said, his gaze lingering on your face.  "Red suits you far better.”

“And there he is, you’re back…”

"I’m serious. This—" He gestured to your gown with a slight grimace, his fingers brushing the silk fabric in disappointment. "This color washes you out. Red would bring out the color of your eyes…”

Your jaw clenched but you remained silent, refusing to admit that his words stirred something within you. Eris was insufferable, arrogant, and yet you couldn't deny his eye for detail. He, after all, was always dressed impeccably in the finest Autumn attire. But you would never give him the satisfaction of admitting he might be right.

His smirk widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. “Do you want to know another thing?”

“No,” you said immediately.

But he leaned in anyway, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re hopelessly devoted to a male who doesn’t even look your way.”

Your mouth opened, brows furrowing in protest, but he went on. His smirk softened, fading into a half-smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes, dimming the fire that usually burned so brightly there. And then, in a much quieter, reluctant tone, he murmured, “And I am no different, it seems.”

"But…" You stammered, resisting the urge to steal another glance at Azriel. "He does look my way…sometimes.”

Eris’s smile faded, his expression tightening. A flicker of pain crossed his face. So brief, you almost thought you imagined it.  "You’re delusional.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You scoffed, heart pounding.

“Better than being a fool.” 

The mocking tone was there but the usual sharpness had been softened by a strange, subtle sadness. Was this… pity?

You swallowed, lifting your chin defiantly. “The stars wouldn’t lie to me,” you said, though the conviction in your voice wavered. “He’s the one for me.”`

You met his eyes then and Eris held your gaze. His amber eyes warm and molten, the intensity of his stare prickling at your skin. An unsettling flutter erupted in your stomach, rising to your chest. A feeling you quickly dismissed when you felt something cool brush against your arm.

“Is he bothering you, y/n?”

Eris scoffed at the sudden presence beside you. It sickened him to see that sweet, adoring look on your face, the triumphant gleam in your eyes as you looked up at Azriel. The sight made Eris grit his teeth. His instincts roared at him, the fire in his veins was scorching.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze, realizing both males were waiting for your answer. “No,” you said but the way you shifted to stand behind Azriel said otherwise.

Azriel’s gaze hardened as he looked toward Eris. “Stay away from her,” he seethed.

A low growl rumbled from Eris’s chest as he took a step forward, his amber eyes flaring with rage. Though not as tall as Azriel, he seemed to tower over him at this moment. His teeth flashed as his lips curled into a snarl. “I do not take orders from bastards like you.”

Azriel’s wings tensed, threatening to unfurl and the movement of his shadows quickened. Like a storm ready to unfold. But before it could, you placed a hand on his arm. Right over one of his glowing siphons that seemed to be growing hotter and hotter, daring to match the fire coursing through Eris’s veins.

“Az, don’t,” you told him gently, not wanting to draw any attention to the three of you. You felt his muscles ease under your touch, his shadows brushing over your hand in agreement.

Eris’s gaze dropped to your hand on Azriel’s arm, his expression darkening into something unreadable. He exhaled sharply, turning his head as though trying to shake off whatever thought had crossed his mind.

When he looked back, his features had shifted into his usual cool mask, that infuriating smirk sliding back into place. He looked right at you.

“When you wake up from this deranged dream of yours, come find me.”

You watched him, feeling a strange, unwelcome tug in your chest as he turned to leave. Perhaps, one day you’d realize that the enchanted perfume you had bought was not a scam. 

And that the male you searched through the stars and planets for was not the one standing beside you, but the one who’d just walked away.

a/n: sorry if you're not a libra, I just thought it'd be funny for Eris to purposely say reader's sign wrong as he knows astrology is a huge influence on her.

[series masterlist]

[Eris masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits15, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[dramioneasks]

Top 10 Most “Kudos-ed” (Completed) Fics on AO3 of 2024:

BLOODY, SLUTTY, AND PATHETIC by WhatMurdah - E, 21 chapters, Words: 195,969 - “In my humble opinion there’s only three things that men should be and that is bloody, slutty, and pathetic.” And, on a good day, Draco Malfoy can be all three. When war heroine Hermione Granger and Azkaban-tattooed war criminal Draco Malfoy are forced to wed as part of Shacklebolt’s controversial Reconciliation Act, they openly fight the match and each other—their public brawls breathlessly reported by the press. Secretly, a deeply traumatized Draco delights in Hermione’s attention and pines for a real marriage with her—even as her forced proximity to the Black family magic irritates the cursed scar Bellatrix left on her arm, reminding her why she can never truly trust or forgive him. Then Hermione discovers that Draco’s blood will soothe the scar . . . and Draco is willing to trade his blood for her body. (With post-war blood purity politics, black market potioneers, Pansy Parkinson’s career advice, the Malfoys blackmailing Hermione’s Wizengamot opposition, BDE Neville Longbottom hunting Death Eaters, a slutty Theo Nott serving as Draco’s right-hand man, and Crookshanks loose in Malfoy Manor.)

The Gallows by gillianeliza - E, 23 chapters, Words: 47,332 - Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts the Ministry of Magic has one more wizard to bring to trial: Draco Malfoy. However, it's not a trial they're after, it's a spectacle to celebrate the end of the Death Eater regime with the execution of their final prisoner. When Hermione realizes their plan, she halts the trial and invokes The Gallows Law — an ancient law that pardons any pureblood male without an heir if a witch will marry him. What Hermione isn't ready for is the reality of bonding a broken, shell of a wizard and her new life as she moves into Malfoy Manor as the new Lady Malfoy.

Meet Me In Dreamland by sinflower81 - E, 39 chapters, Words: 229,631 - If there’s one thing Hermione Granger is good at, it’s using magic to fix her problems. And this time, her problem is sex. Luckily, she has the perfect solution: a locket enchanted with the Patented Daydream Charm. Whenever she opens it, she’ll find herself in Dreamland, where she can live out all her filthiest fantasies risk-free. The magic is a bit tricky, though. For some reason, Malfoy keeps showing up there with her. Thank goodness it’s only an illusion—if that was really him, she would never live it down. Meanwhile, Draco is determined to figure out who the fuck is cursing him to suffer through highly realistic, erotic hallucinations of his secret childhood crush. When he finds the culprit, there will be hell to pay.

The Missing Sister by singularritae - M, 75 chapters, Words: 652,727 - The owl appeared late at night and left just as suddenly, he recognised the handwriting immediately and ripped open the envelope. She is yours. If something happens to us, I want you to hide her. Name her Hermione, for she will have my last libation before I sleep and be the messenger of dreamers. Moony and Mary know. Three words. Three words that forever changed the course of the war.

A Gallows Marriage by MilaBelle - E, 31 chapters, Words: 162,244 - “Glee was the last thing she felt staring into the empty eyes that should have been a bright grey. His face had always looked pointed and sharp, but now that gave way to gauntness. His hair, which he had been so particular about in school, hung long and limp. It reminded her of how his father had looked in his mugshot. How he had wanted to be just like his father growing up. And now he was, maybe more than ever. A ghost.” After doing more than her fair share in saving the Wizarding World and bearing the scars of what it cost, Hermione Granger thinks she has earned herself a little respite. But when a charismatic albeit chaotic Theodore Nott convinces her to use an old law to save a dear friend who is about to meet the Dementor’s Kiss, she simply cannot stand by and watch. Follow Hermione as she navigates a world that still believes in blood status, a marriage to save the life of an old enemy and the hurt that comes with surviving.

an ever-fixed mark by ninepiecesofcrait - E, 28 chapters, Words: 208,118 - It was a comedy of errors how Hermione Granger ended up engaged to Draco Malfoy, really. A series of unfortunate events. // Malfoy looked at his bloodied hand and the ring on the cobblestone floor, and sighed. “Well, Granger.” Grey eyes finally raised to look at her. “Now look what you’ve done.” // [while working to break a curse in malfoy’s cellar, hermione accidentally touches an enchanted betrothal heirloom from the noble house of black. things rapidly fall apart from there.]

The Best Mistake by Chels_Writes_a_Fic - E, 26 chapters, Words: 127,444 - Hermione Granger does not make mistakes, at least not often. After making the biggest, dumbest, most horrible mistake of her life, Hermione must deal with the repercussions while keeping her relationship with her Auror partner, Draco Malfoy, strictly professional. He, of course, has other plans. Amidst a resurgence in Death Eater activity, the likes of which Britain hasn’t seen since the First Wizarding War, Hermione will come to realize that the mistake she’s made with Draco might not be so bad at all. It just might be the best mistake.

disparate by Stars_in_motion - E, 4 chapters, Words: 40,708 - au where omegas who go neglected by their alpha for a long time often go into breakthrough heats when being around a different, compatible alpha who displays one (1) caretaking trait around them "You– you brought me supper?" Malfoy eyed her warily. "Don't look so stricken. Do you think I haven't noticed you've been starving yourself for days? You were at your desk when I arrived this morning and haven't moved since." He opened the box of fruit and plucked out a single grape with his sinfully long fingers. Still seated in her desk chair, Malfoy loomed over her entirely so she couldn't look anywhere else. Sometimes it was easier to forget how large he really was. "Now eat."

Mind the Bump by Soap1 - E, 28 chapters, Words: 84,050 - Hermione Granger and her colleague (and, though she sometimes hates to admit it, her friend) Theo Nott, are busy at the Research Institute for the Alchemical Sciences, working together on an innovative, though secretive, project that more than one person might like to get their hands on. She doesn't have much time for dating, and certainly isn't ready to think about starting a family. But after an exciting, though unexpected, one-night stand, she finds herself pregnant. With Draco Malfoy's baby. As her research continues, as her pregnancy progresses, will she be able to make room for Draco in her life?

Détraquée by Hystaracal - M, 108 chapters, Words: 728,097 - "All her growth was the conveying of a corpse of hope." (From 'The Rainbow', D.H. Lawrence) This is a story about coming into one's own, a meditation on the twilight of girlhood and the violence of crash-landing into womanhood. Follow Hermione as she navigates through the quagmire: Saving the world, getting top grades, falling in love, lust, and a whole lot of trouble, and comes out of it hopefully (at least) partially sane.

[cavegirlpoems]

A story from back when I played D&D. It might have been 3.5 or pathfinder or fantasycraft or one of that ilk. Might even have been 4e. It was like a decade ago.

So. Standard D&D. A party of bold adventurers of diverse origins and skillsets gets together to explore a perilous dungeon and stop a cartoonish baddy. The usual.

I end up building a fairly typical character for me. A goblin Rogue/Assassin. A stealth/melee build designed to get the drop on an enemy, do a bunch of rapid damage, and then fuck off.

She was lawful evil, and firmly in the team-fortress-two-sniper school of "You know who has a lot of feelings? Men what bludgeon their wives to death with a golf trophy. Professionals have standards." school of being a mercenary. I think I even did an aussie accent.

Anyway her schtick was that she'd noticed 'Adventurers' got to do as much violence as they wanted without social consequences, and she loved violence! So she was gonna do a stint as an adventurer, so once she was done she could go home with a big sack of gold to spend on booze and cake and hot girls. But right now she was on the job, so she was an extremely professional team player with a strict code of conduct. Always be honest with the team, follow the plan, don't mess things up for the team, split the loot evenly. Standards.

Verna was a horrible efficient little murder gremlin who was also proudly guild-certified. * * *

Now, another PC was a chaotic neutral gnome bard who was leaning hard on the 'gnomes are amusingly racist to goblins and kobolds and think this is funny and endearing' thing. He teased Verna a bunch about being green and ugly, which she studiously ignored because - remember - she had Professional Standards.

Anyway, there was a human NPC we met that she didn't like, saying he was a bit stupid and very annoying. Our gnome bard decided it would be very funny to use one of his enchantment spells to make Verna suddenly horny for him and watch what happened.

Verna sees the gnome who keeps fucking with her walk up, wave his hands and babble some arcane nonsense, and now she has weird funny feelings she can't explain. She does some thinking and concludes that she'll pay the human for a snog later, because right now this guy's just obviously cast a spell to mess with her mind, which was Not Okay. Of course, she had Professional Standards, so...

She walks up to our gnome friend and basically informs him: "Hi! I know you just did some magical brainwashing on me, and I am not going to tolerate this! However, because we're in a team together, and I don't want this to become a problem, I am going to very generously allow you to settle the matter with me. We will have a bout of single combat to first blood, and then whoever wins I will consider the matter settled and my honour satisfied, and you won't do that again, and we won't mention it. This is a very kind offer of mine, because I have Standards; where I come from the normal response would be to say nothing and strangle you in your sleep tonight."

And our gnome, who is a spellcaster not a combatant, looks at this and decides he doesn't want to get shown up by her, and basically tells her that if she doesn't like getting messed with she can go back to the goblin village, and laughs at her.

So. Shrug. Quickdraw as a free action. I get a surprise round. You're flat footed, so it's easy to hit and I get sneak attack damage. 3/4 of his health is gone. Initiative. He says he wants to say sorry. I respond that he can say that when it gets to his initiative count, but right now it's my action and he's still flat-footed and here's my big pile of d6s for sneak attack and oh dear I think that's him on -10 hp, so he's not going to get the chance.

* * *

Anyway this kicked off a massive shitstorm ooc about how I just kicked off PvP and murdered a PC for no reason and the game fell apart because the gnome's player genuinely didn't seem to understand that 'mind control' is a hostile action. This was in the bad old days before safety tools and I was playing in a fairly neckbeardy group, so 'a man makes a woman horny against her will to humiliate her and laughs about it' was apparently not a deal-breaker while 'the woman stabs him for it' was.

I still think I wasn't the bad guy in this scenario.

There is no point to this story I just wanted to share it.

[kleftiko]

❦ GUYS MY AGE

“guys my age don’t know how to touch me, don’t know how to love me good”

cw: mature, age gap, oral fem!receiving, cowgirl, slight spanking, daddy kink

the speaker was broken. music that pulsed through the summer night bar was half static—you couldn’t figure out what song was supposed to be playing, but it didn’t matter much when your attention was across the room. you had come here just for him.

lounging casually, half slouched against the rickety chair that could barely support his large body, pint of beer in his one hand that was nearly about to spill as he waved it around, too engrossed in his story to notice. His shirt was open, as usual, tendons and muscles flexing ever so easily as he bellowed out a deep laugh. And that damn smile of his; that carefree, sultry smile surrounded by stubble that so effortlessly had your thighs rubbing together. His eyes caught yours, enchanting grin being directed towards you as he called your name. You were shocked, as if you didn’t expect this to happen, despite your consistent staring. But you grabbed your drink and made your way over at his beckoning.

“sweetheart, don’t you look good tonight.” he called as you approached.

“she always looks good, captain.” lucky’s voice piped up from somewhere, but shank’s eyes were glued to your figure.

“that she does.” he answered, taking a swing of his beer as he watched you sit down in front of him. “little present for your boy?”

your jaw clenched slightly.

“don’t have one anymore.” you took a sip of your own drink, wondering why you would order something this nasty.

it’d been a few months since you last saw shanks, and at that time you had a boyfriend, so he was used to you shaking off his playful advances and harmless flirting. but now that you were single, you felt you could indulge a bit. it didn't matter that nothing would probably come of it; shanks was almost 15 years your senior, but you just wanted to enjoy the attention and the feeling of being desired for the first time in a long time.

"what happened to the poor bastard?" he asked.

you shrugged, "i guess we just... grew apart."

shanks nodded, his eyes still fixed on you with that familiar twinkle of mischief, as if he could see right through you. “well, you can’t expect a boy to know how to properly treat a lady.”

you didn't have to explain yourself any further, it was as if he knew. you're sure he'd seen you and your ex together; saw how he treated you—or lack thereof. but he never said a word about it, even now, he silently held out his pint, clinking it with yours as the two of you downed your drinks.

you put up with the burn of the liqueur down your throat, trying not to make a face in front of him. you wanted to show off your best side tonight. low cut shirt and a flirty attitude that you could finally give rein to, you weren’t about to mess that up by making it seem like you can’t handle your alcohol.

if you could get the emperor of the sea to blush even once tonight, you’d leave a happy woman.

“next round on you?” you asked, mustering up the courage to be bold.

which seemed to work as the captain’s crewmates ooo’ed around you, and shanks himself blessed you with that cocky grin of his.

“of course, sweetheart.” he said.

his arm reached towards you.

“if you grace me with your company,” he grabbed at the seat of your chair, and effortlessly dragged you right up beside him. you were engulfed by the scent of him—sea salt and booze—as he leaned to whisper in your ear. “i’ll buy you drinks all night long.”

~*~

you stumbled into your bedroom, shanks hot on your tail as you threw your keys somewhere unknown.

his stubble scratched at your cheeks as you made out, hand selfishly grabbing at your body as you led him to the bed. your own fingers raked across his exposed skin, feeling the hot flesh as you pushed off his shirt.

your knees catch the corner of the bed—shanks caging you against the sheets—his fingers and mouth undressing you til you’re bare. and you knew instantly that you were stone cold sober; your mind could never have imagined something this erotic. the jolts of pleasure shocked your nerves, pulling your body magnetically closer to the large man above you. the skin he exposed burns like the sun on a hot day, and you can't help but yank him closer, like you were begging to be scorched.

he licks a long stripe up your unclothed cunt, and you let out a heavy sigh, half recovering your breath from shank’s tantalizing lips, and half unbothered. you’d been eaten out dozens of times, and you couldn’t say it was your favourite, especially when the guys between your legs didn’t even know how to get you off. you were prepared for this, lips already parting to let out a soft and inauthentic moan, ready to put on a pathetic performance until he finished in a minute or two, when the breath in your lungs is stolen, a meek cry instead slipping out as shanks flicked your clit.

“stay with me, doll,” he said, bringing you back to reality.

and he didn’t say anything else as the pad of his tongue swipes along your bud again, eliciting another provocative sound from you.

seems your noises did the trick, because in the next second, shanks is attacking your cunt. sloppy, drooling licks, sucks, and assaults on the most sensitive parts of you have you nearly shaking, back arching off the sheets in an attempt to get away from the overwhelming pleasure.

only for shanks to lay his heavy arm across your stomach—trapping you against the sheets—as he makes a beeline for your clit once again. his focus on your pleasure is unwavering, his movements becoming more urgent and precise as he brings you closer to the edge. your body responds eagerly, every touch sending waves of ecstasy through you. it couldn't be more clear that shanks is determined to drive you wild with desire, leaving you no choice but to surrender to the overwhelming sensations. you can’t help but to grip his auburn locks in an attempt to ground yourself, your fingers twisting in his hair, tugging harshly at every jerk and wince shanks elicits from you. his sinful groans underneath you at your own assault on his hair drive you to push harder, wanting to provoke more of those delicious sounds from his lips.

but shanks has the upper hand in this situation. within a moment he has you tumbling into your orgasm. it’s the first time a guy had ever made you cum with his tongue, and you don’t know why, but that makes it so much harder as you cry, fingers tangled in his hair yanking him towards you and suffocating him between your legs.

you don’t even get a chance to calm down from your high when shanks is crawling back above you, tongue flicking out and swiping against the cum you left coating the bottom half of his face.

“ready for another, sweetheart?” he asks your dumbfound face.

your haze riddled mind can’t comprehend what the man is asking you, and you can only manage a weak, “huh?” before shanks is grabbing at your body, so easily flipping you two over and seating you on his lap, his hard cock pressing into your ass. shanks smirks at your confusion, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he positions you exactly where he wants you.

"i'll take that as a yes," he almost growls, before sliding into you with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

"fuck!" you nearly screech, the angle of his cock perfectly hitting that spot inside you.

"that's it, baby, let it out." he bucked his hips. "lemme hear how good you feel."

there was no need to tire yourself out bouncing; shank's hips and arm around your waist kept you at a steady pace while he continued to thrust into you.

"shanks—please." you gasped, your voice catching as the pleasure grew more intense.

you felt his hand leave your hip, only to feel it smacking against the flesh of your ass a second later, tearing a yelp from your throat and toppling your balance forward, falling into shank's chest.

"c'mon, pretty girl, what do you really wanna call me?" he tempted you, not easing up on his thrusts into your wet pussy.

you whined into his chest; how could he possibly have figured you out? were you that easy to read?

but when you wouldn't answer him, his hand came around to rub at your already sensitive clit.

you gasped.

"daddy!" you said in a breathless whimper.

"there we go, sweetheart." shanks picked up the pace, fucking up into you with a newfound urgency. "who's making you feel this good?"

at this point, you can't say anything other than that godforsaken title. chanting it like a mantra as shanks quickly brought you to your next high, all too fast. you vaguely hear him tell you to cum with him as you throw your head back like a woman possessed. you reach the peak and release a primal scream of ecstasy, feeling his own cum fill you up.

after a moment, you collapse against him, exhausted and more satisfied than what you thought was possible. as you catch your breath, shanks holds you close, leaving half-baked kisses against your skin as you both bask in the afterglow of your shared passion. the intensity of what just happened lingers as you realize that this is something better than you could have ever found.

you push your hand against his chest, only lifting yourself enough to look him in the eyes.

"we're definitely doing that again."

[archivingkal]

last updated: 24/03/2025

note: unless otherwise stated everything on this list is completed

THE MARAUDERS ERA

JAMES POTTER

I THOUGHT YOU'D BE DIFFERENT BY @livinginshambles

A cinderella story (maybe a little romeo and juliet while we're at it) but Hogwarts - Enemies-ish to lovers. You find an enchanted parchment through wich you anonymously talk to a stranger (James). When you meet him at the Yule ball, he is not who you expected, but you give him a chance. When you realise that was clearly a mistake, you flee cinderella style.

ALSO BY @/livinginshambles:

NOT RIDICULOUS AT ALL

You are part of the marauders, always having felt special when they called you part of the gang, but also consequently too embarrassed to admit to wanting to be more feminine, afraid that they would no longer deem you cool enough to hang out with you. You are hurt by James' comments and James might realise something when you're avoiding him.

I'VE GOT PLANS, SORRY

James is whipped. He adores his girlfriend so much, to the point that it starts to bother his friends. His reaction to a confrontation about it with his friends is to completely pull away from you, always finding new excuses to avoid you, leaving you to try and approach him. When you overhear him trying to be cool under peer pressure and say that you're too clingy, you also start pulling away, using the same excuses.

TIME WARP BY @astonishment

When the time-turner breaks, you find yourself at the start of 6th year once again. The only difference? It’s 1976. Stuck in a time you shouldn’t even be alive in, you do your best to blend in, anxiously awaiting to see if Dumbledore can help you get home. That all goes out the window when you catch the eye of a certain bespeckled boy. And the more time you spend with him, the harder it gets to walk away. But you have to… right?

ALSO BY @/astonishment:

DARLING, DEAREST, DEAD (CORPSE BRIDE AU)

James plans on proposing to Lily. Trying to calm his nerves, he goes for a walk in the woods, then somehow finds himself in the land of the dead, engaged to Y/N, the corpse bride. With his friends and girlfriend looking for him, can James make it back to the land of the living? Does he even want to?

IF I KISS YOU, I'M SORRY (FAKE DATING AU)

A miscommunication at a party leads to James asking Y/N to be his girlfriend and the two quickly find themselves going from strangers to lovers. The problem is, it’s all fake… until it isn’t.

TOTALLY JUST FRIENDS BY @singmyaubade

you and james might have been "flirtatious" but it's strictly platonic, right?

BET ON YOU BY @santaasi

james bets you that if he wins his next match, you owe him a date. he wins, of course — but you’re not going to make it easy for him.

WINGMAN BY @evermoreness

james definitely has a crush on you, but he won't admit it. so his best friend sirius steps up to be his wingman.

SIRIUS BLACK

WHAT WE WERE, WHAT WE ARE BY @jimblejamblewritings

The worst thing that ever happened to Y/N Lupin was getting sent to Azkaban for a crime she didn’t commit. The second worst thing was when she got out on parole and not because her name was cleared. Trying to get her life back proves difficult when everyone has moved on into the present while she only has memories of the past.

A LITTLE BIT OF SCANDAL WITH A PINCH OF DEFAMATION BY @bartonomy

someone has made it their personal mission to ridicule the eldest black sibling in the school newspaper’s anonymous Spotlight column and the entire school is entertained- except Sirius

more to come...

[imorynn]

── ꨄ︎ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 ( a. amberg)

── ꨄ︎ pairings : avis amberg ✘ fem!reader ── ꨄ︎ word count : 5.5k+ ── ꨄ︎ warnings / mentions : SMUT , fluff and bit of plot, gift giving, face sitting, overstimulation, oral ( avis receiving ), soft!dom!reader, strap usage ( reader using ), sub!avis, praise, cunnilingus, smudge of orgasm denial, fingering, romantic shittttt bc im fucking delusional

── ꨄ︎ tags : @multifandomme @multixfan @nutritionat @ephemeral-love-4

── ꨄ︎ dividers by : @cafekitsune !!!

a/n : DOES IT REALLYYYYY have to be one day of love when it can be the entire month ( ignore the fact that we're abt to end the month, ZIP it before I start swinging all sleep deprived ). ENJOYYYY bc I pulled 4 all nighters while doing personal art projects and now I am going to crash hard <3333

── VALENTINE’S DAY was a celebration Avis Amberg never thought she would revisit — certainly not like this. Not with a fervent devotion that poured unbidden from her every touch, nor with someone whose gaze held her as though the universe itself revolved at her feet. It simply was never meant for women such as Avis Amberg.

Or so she had convinced herself through the decades — each February fourteenth arriving like a hollow echo of what could have been.

Once upon a time, she had celebrated it with girlish enthusiasm, basking in the thrill of passion and romance, the holiday had been a canvas for her to paint her devotion in vivid strokes.

She had forgotten feeling like this. A melancholy of unspoken longing had always lumbered, it had always been this way ever since she was with… well, him. Decades were spent enduring his neglect and it had drained her of that hope to feel, to experience. The extravagant dinners and impersonal gifts he offered in the past were all exhibitions, vacant deeds to maintain appearances rather than tokens of affection.

Those years had extinguished something in her — bit by bit, day by day, until she believed there was no longer such purpose for such a superfluous day. For Avis, Valentine’s Day had become a performance — one she no longer cared to attend.

And then came you, rekindling that long-forgotten flame.

You were far from anyone she had ever encountered, youthful and unjaded by life’s cruelties. There was a vehemence in the way you treasured her, solely not for her beauty or her appellation, yet for the very profundity of her existence.

You worshiped her, something she had not thought she craved for until she got a taste of it, greedily consuming every droplet of whatever you provided. You did not see Avis Amberg, the former starlet or the long-suffering wife of Ace Studios’ kingpin; you saw a woman that longed to be cherished. And in return, she found herself rekindling the capacity to love, wholly, impenitently.

From the moment her eyelids fluttered open, the day unfurled exceedingly just for her. Her bedroom, once upon a time a mere retreat for sleep, had transformed into a haven of serenity, soaked in the gentle hues of dayspring's gold as it poured through extensive windows.

“Good morning, my love,” a soft peck had been met with her temple while she had blinked away the dosage of sleep. Your eyes were brimming with childlike enchantment as you stared down at her, as if the entire day ahead were a present waiting to be unwrapped. Breakfast awaited for her in the dining room, fruit glistening, pastries warm, tea rich and hot — just how she liked it.

Humming, Avis had simply reached for your hand and held it, her thumb circling the skin there with a smile upon her lips, auburn locks nestled against the elegant line of her clavicle.

“You’ve been busy, haven't you?” she mused, tone still soaked with rest, yet undeniably teasing when her gaze swept over you, your flushed anticipation, the way your body all but reverberated with the desire to please.

Your cheek lifted. “Just trying to give my love everything she deserves.”

That earned you the warmest gaze she always gave when it came to you. Lips puckering to linger on yours in a sweet kiss, fingers stroking the angle of your jaw.

Then, with the refined elegance of a woman who always knew what she wanted, she pulled away and shifted, fingers still tangled with yours when she moved to straddle your chest. Her robe, a silk, lush red, loosely tied, pried open just enough to display the velvet skin of her cleavage.

“But you wouldn’t mind if I took my time waking up first, darling?” she murmured and tilted her head, amusement flickering those pretty browns when she rolled her hips forward, just enough for the heat of her to press into you.

You gave her a cheeky smile, her fingers carding through your hair. “None at all.”

Flutters within her flowing core, damp lace between her thighs. Desire blazed from your gaze and searing palms curved over her ass beneath robes. Even through silk, she felt the force of your teasing smack against her thigh before yanking her down to your salivating mouth.

You worshipped her, a queen seated upon her very own throne carved by flesh, blood, and bones. Valves of heat trickled down the base of her spine and slithered into the pit of her stomach with every lap, every slurp, every soft suction you gifted.

Desire drove your tongue, lapping at the dripping seam of her cunt; prying open the puffy folds and you indulged in more of her slick cascading from her hole.

She almost choked on a moan of pleasure when you squeezed her rear, her clit kicking against the press of your nose as you sealed your mouth over her plump cunt.

A constellation of tears clung to the edges of her fluttering lashes, flaming sparkles swirled in her vision. “That’s it, baby, fuck…”

Vocals were stinging within her throat and she struggled to breathe, thighs constricting around your head while your hands curled over her hips, controlling the slow, gyrating motions created as they escalated.

The gentle suckle of your lips coaxed the knot in her stomach to unfurl, your own veins flooded with white hot bliss and her nerves frayed. A blistering moan puffed against her searing skin as her juices spewed, translucent weaves webbing your fervently moving lips, dribbling down your chin as you drank up her intoxicating fill, lovingly coaxing her to ride out her orgasm.

Your hands slid her hips down to your stomach, propping yourself up in order to capture her ecstatic features entirely in your mind. For a second, all she could do was breathe, her chest rising and falling, fingers twisting over your shoulders. Eyes fluttered open, gaze heavy-lidded when she looked down at you with a fulfilled smile.

“That’s a way to start the day,” she serenaded in her exhalation, stroking back a few damp strands of hair from your forehead, her thumb then sweeping across your cheek. “You spoil me, darling.”

You turned, pushing a kiss into the center of her palm and paralleled her expression. “That is exactly what I intend to do this entire day.”

The hours passed in a blur of ecstatic indulgence. You had arranged everything meticulously, ensuring she needed only to follow your lead, already tinkering ahead of time for her to not be needed in the studio. A decadent breakfast — her favorite — enjoyed on the balcony overlooking the fine greeneries and lush flowers of her garden. A leisurely afternoon spent exploring a curated selection of vintage records and rare books you’d sourced, each one chosen with her particular tastes in mind.

And then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the pinnacle of your plan unveiled itself.

Even though you had made it clear today was to spoil her endlessly, Avis spared no expense, of course. She never did when it came to you. She was not the type to hold back, and Valentine’s Day was no exception. A new dress in your preferred hue, tailored to your every dip and curve. A box of imported confections that dissolved like velvet on the tongue. A cord of dazzling pearls clasped around your neck by her own fingers, her lips brushing the slope of your collarbone as she breathed out just how stunning you appeared sporting them.

And apart from the luxury, there was a heartfelt sincerity woven through her generous gestures in which reminded you that this was not just some display of wealth. It was love, fervent and deeply rooted.

Now that fervent love was awaiting to be unleashed with her gloved hand clasped atop of yours, opening the door and allowing for her to step in first. The household had been empty for the night, seeing as you paid the staff generously to give you time alone with Avis, and Claire had been out and about on a romantic rendezvous with her boyfriend, so everything had been greatly set in plan.

“After you, love.”

Her lips, lacquered in a shade of wine, tilted upward in an alluring curve, only for it to widen and chuckle at the feel of your palm squeezing and gently pushing at the clothed curve of her ass. “What surprises await for me now, hmm?”

You tapped her lower back, motioning for her to go upstairs. “You’ll see.”

A flawless brow rose at the light laugh erupting from you, and her hand pried away from yours. She clutched at her bouquet of crimson roses you had gifted her, the point of her nose brushing along their floral leaves, inhaling their aroma.

As she sauntered forward, she could not help but tilt back and look at you. It was still there, that lovesick smile. The smile lingered on your kiss-supple lips, hiding behind the faint stain of her ruby lipstick there as well, clogging her brain at the notion that you were hers.

You were studying her figure intently, no doubt making a mental list of all the places your lips would caress once you got to the bedroom. The jacket cinched at her waist, its sharp lines softened by the trim that rested over her shoulders. Her matching skirt hugged the plump curve of her hips, ending just below the knee, the sway of it graceful with every step.

She came to a stop at the front of the doors. Turning, she came chest to chest with you, and she sighed deeply. Overwhelmed at that stare of adoration when you became her line of vision. Overwhelmed at the way you nudged your nose across the bridge of hers, inhaling her with fluttered eyelids, and that made one of the two moan.

You gave a small laugh at the way she felt foreignly bashful, because of course she was the one who moaned. The simplest acts of affections done by you will always draw a reaction out of Avis. “You are crushing my roses now.”

Hazed eyes, seemingly only aware of her and that flushed demeanor that went perfectly with the rust wine of her outfit, fluttered quickly down to the flowers in her hold, yet the proximity with Avis was not lost. Your forehead brushed hers, murmuring, "Don't worry too much ... there's more of them in there."

Avis glowered, eyes darting between yours when you reached for the door and pushed it open, motioning for her to go in. She stepped further into the room, and her breath seemed to catch, her gaze darting to every delicate detail you had so thoughtfully arranged.

Velvet-soft petals lay scattered like whispered promises across the floor and the vast expanse of the bed, their rich hues a striking contrast against the crisp linens. Candles adorned every surface, standing in elegant stillness, their wicks unlit yet their scent lingered in the air.

For a long moment, nothing was uttered by her. The soft click of the door closing behind her felt distant — her focus entirely enraptured by the romantic beauty laid out before her. Her breath slowed, her chest rising and falling in measured anticipation as her eyes traced the scattered petals, the curve of the bed, candles sparking to life as you moved around the room, lighting them each.

When she finally moved, it was hesitant, as though afraid to disturb something sacred. The pads of her fingers brushed along the edge of a petal on the bed, and it was soft, so soft, that it drew a tremble from her.

"You did all this for me?" There was wonder in her tone, but beneath it, something sounded a little fragile.

"Well, it wasn’t that much trouble," you started as you lit the final candle, words spewing out a tad bit faster than your thoughts could catch them. "The staff was kind enough to help — truly, they were wonderful. I just had the idea, but they made it happen, and—"

Her dark-aligned brown irises softened, and it was enough to make you string together the rest of your sentence. " I just wanted everything to be perfect for you."

The words disintegrated on your tongue when the soft click of her heels echoed through the space. She set her roses upon the table in front of the windows and then stood front of you. Her hands slid along your jaw, angling your face just enough for her lips to kiss yours.

She captured every ounce of breath from your lungs and caged them within her ribcage. Molding, desirous, loving. "What did I ever do to deserve you, sweetheart?"

The longer you gazed at her, the more you discerned just the way she adored you, the way she was still reconciling herself with being adored in return. How much she missed this type of love, just how much she needed you as you her. Yearning for her was an all-consuming feeling, your entire being craved her in any moment, that yearn amplified beyond reason when she looked at you like that, it surpassed understanding. "Simply exist."

She tried stifling her giggle, letting you pull her close and connected your lips, desire spilling out of you and into her, discarding her from clothing.

The gloves were the first to go — your fingers sliding them off one by one until bare skin burned against yours. Then your hands moved to the buttons of her coat and silk beneath, slipping them free slowly, savoring every inch of skin you uncovered. Avis mirrored you, her touch just as flaring, just as desperate, and soon you were both shedding the every top layer that kept you away from basking in one another's entire blaze.

Her heartbeat grew unrelenting when you made her sit at the hem of the bed, her body sizzled into your frame while tucked beneath her soft jaw was your head, the twines of your hair grazing her warm-toned flesh with every movement of you burrowing deeper into her neck. “You are breathtaking, Avis.”

Two of your fingers had been raised to trace down her spine, tips soon straying from its path to outline every exposed ridge and valley of her back, to follow every speck and slope. The lingers of your torturous ascent elicited a shiver from your lover, an elicit you hoped for.

"Hm, do that again." Her request did not surprise you. She reveled in your touch without a shame in her bones. Avis longed for your hands on her being and you could never deny her, so you of course obliged. That hum of approval from her she only ever gave to you, it was what you were after, it was what you basked in. To provide. To grant her what she deserved.

Your nose stroked down her clavicle, softly moving over the skin there while your digits stalked her side, sliding to the swell of her breasts, descending, sliding the stockings down the curve of her thighs, rolling them down. The slip followed soon after, leaving her in lace and warmth and the gentle flush spreading across her chest.

You created a seamless transition from tender graze to demanding massage between her legs. There was a moan, a low one, it expanded inside her with a plan to free itself. And it was the reaction you sought after, your intentions made known when you smiled against her.

“Y/N.” Her voice was of warning, one you did not pay regard to. “Don’t tease me.”

Your giggle reverberated through her and you tilted your head towards her, “I didn't do anything.”

She pulled you closer, lips becoming fervent, rougher. Her hips wounded into your touch and you could tell she was in need of direct contact. Your lips mapped along the lines of her neck, trailing open-mouth kisses along it.

Breathing you in was second nature. Three distinct scents intermingled on your person: the waft of your fragrance, the expensive one she bought for you because she knew it would pair perfectly with the second one, your natural essence. The last one, unyielding lust paired perfectly with the prominent aromas.

She loved them all, embracing it all as you slipped your fingers into her tailored skirt. “Lift your hips for me.” low, rough, a hushed command. Your voice dipped into that tone you knew unraveled her. Without hesitation, she obeyed — lifting off the bed and offered herself up to your hands. The skirt dragged down, fabric whispering against her skin as you bared more of her to your gaze, your fingers grazing every curve. Cool air struck her most delicate, making her gasp and quiver alike. “You’re a damn sight, Avis.”

Your warm remark tugged a bashful chuckle out of her, one that immediately morphed into a low moan when you stroked two fingers from her swollen nub to her awaiting hole.

Plummeting in and out of her at the most excruciatingly slow pace known to an aroused and desperate woman, known to mankind, taking time to bask in her oasis, to sweep and press along her walls with your wandering finger pads. Your strides elongated, digits slick as they shoved within her warm cunt.

Your way with her was both something that made her adoration grow for you, The way you took your time with her, always, always. The flat of your palm nudging her swollen clit with each thrust. Digits extending inside of her that made her crave more.

“Fuck…” You inhaled deeply, her rich fragrance whirling within your lungs, hoping to keep it there as your only source of oxygen, letting your tongue slowly lap down the length of her neck before allowing your teeth to so subtly sink into the junction there.

You were fond of leaving your mark upon the older woman; it drove you both mad, the idea that you could nip at her skin so lovingly, that you could trap the textured skin between your lips and leave feverish blemishes behind, blending with the boldness of petals beneath her. Scattered across the flesh of her neck, continuing its descent from her collarbone to bosom, and uniquely crafted by your mouth and no one else's. Body, existence tethered completely to you. “You're drenched, Avis.”

All she could manage to release was a honey dipped moan as she allowed her head to bow back when she hitched her hips into your hand, pace slowing down — fucking hell, how and why did you slow down even more? — until your thumb soothed over her eager clit, each caress more gratifying than the last. “Am I making you feel good?”

She nodded, breaking the potent eye contact to shut her eyes tight. She was heaving, so consumed by pleasure and completely overwhelmed by amber heated lust blown into shards, piercing, and wanting to deliciously seep into her every bone, every nerve. Something only you could ever conjure within her.

“No, uh uh, keep those eyes on me, hmm.” You hovered over her naked body, her chin gently clasped between your thumb and forefinger in order to lower her eyes, so brown and abyssal, towards yours. “There we go, Avis … just let me see those pretty eyes. Please, momma?”

Your digits were still carving deep into the soft velvet hush of her walls and when you spoke in an almost sweetly deriding manner, she released a sigh that prolonged into a whimper, right into your parted lips.

You were aware that she yearned for you to kiss her senselessly, she was feening for your tongue to be down her throat, but your mind had been fixated on another route. You kissed her, something more fleeting to describe it as a peck, and it made her huff, consumed by pleasure and completely overwhelmed by lust and exasperation. 

“Darling, I need more. Please, give momma more.” Her aerated speech met your grinning mouth. Your head shake created a spark of friction that she wished would flicker into a blaze and consume her to the core.

“I know, I know, love. I am going to give you more, just be a little more patient with me, okay?” Her palm clipped to your nape and yours once more found her soft soaked mound, pushing so deliciously. It had her hips rocking forward into a rhythm you so easily recognized and synchronize with.

Auburn locks were free from their habitual up-do, curling at the swell of her heaving chest, alluring, hypnotizing you closer and before you knew it, your lips and teeth collided there with her bare breast, suckling her so sweetly, so leisured it tormented her. With every carnal swirl and flattening of your tongue around her nipple, leaving oozes of thick spit behind before switching to the other.

Avis remained filled as you tore yourself away from her soaked front in order to slide down and between her legs, knees burying into the rich rugs beneath you, keeping her own apart while you watched her nectar spilling slowly from ripened blossoms, absorbed into the silk sheets beneath.

“Sweetheart, you’re killing me …. do something, for God’s sake, please!” A beseech assisted her words, unfurling her body in response, and you grinned at the sight.

She was never one to beg — always one to command, but somehow, it was you who had coaxed her to the edge, filling her to the brim with a yearning that stripped her of pride and left only need.

You allowed your middle finger to push through dampened folds, stopping at her clit, and proceeded at a torturous pace. You wanted to make her wait for it, push her even more to beg for it, the shadowed depth of your irises spoke enough.

Your hand emerged to your mouth, tasting her, your favorite flavor, dissolving and becoming one with your taste buds. You never hesitated to display just how much you relished it, and in other situations, she would have you utter to her just how much you liked momma’s taste.

Your gaze remained fixed on her, hot, unbreakable, and you slowly drew your finger out of your lips before sucking it back, each pull igniting the hunger already coiled tight within her.

You marveled at the way you had the ability to unravel someone such as Avis, at the way you left her drenched in desire, pure and lustrous, moaning into your mouth that she belonged to you, body and breath. It happened often, and each time, you still could not fully grasp the depth of your own power over her.

Your gazes locked, a silent rope yanking tight between you as she watched you lean down, blow a soft breath, and eat her out. The sight alone was a decadence, but the sensation, goodness, the sensation was something beyond earthly.

Your tongue lolled out, wide and flat, before your head moved forward and licked a bold stripe from above her spasming hole, slowly up to her nub, creating the motions in a relentless tempo, building, coaxing her toward that precipice with each stride and press. She was opening, trembling, clutching under the luxury of your mouth.

You added your digits once more into the mix, into the soaking heat of her, filling, stretching, curling just right. You hummed into her cunt, fingers accelerating, beckoning her orgasm forth. “You’re close, love? Gonna come around my fingers?”

Your words had opened the floodgates of ecstasy within her. You could feel her convulsing around your fingers. “I wanna make you happy.”

You added another one and she palmed at her tits as you pumped her. She breathed in deep, matching your rising chest. Your eyes carried something, it was hard to decipher at first, but when you spoke, her smeared mouth twitched in familiarity at your words.

Your mind… your mind had already drifted to the secret she kept, the one you had both indulged in before. The items she kept so discreetly tucked away — elegant, carefully hidden, but not unknown to you. Of course Avis Amberg, well connected and wealthy, had connections to such items.

Her lower lip curled its way between her teeth while the ends hoisted into a soft grin, “Yeah? What do you wanna do to make momma happy?”

“Avis…” you rasped, “I want to use one of your little secrets on you tonight.”

You did not miss the flicker of excitement that sparked in her eyes — lustful starvation and something even softer beneath it. “Which one?” she breathed out, hands running through your hair.

You grinned a bit, pace escalating, hardening between her thighs and you murmured against her stomach, “The one that lets me fuck you properly.”

The sound she made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her body already arching toward you and you seized that in uttering more words, suckling softly at the skin. “I want to fuck you, wanna make momma feel so good.”

“Hmm, yes, yes, shit, baby do whatever you want—” You felt it, the etchings of her awaiting orgasm. It was right there, so close she imagined tasting it. Yet it never came. You had committed your first act of cruelty of the night, the one she did not expect especially tonight; you had denied Avis Amberg her release.

Your fingers left her squirming hole and were brought up to her parted lips, stopping the spills of retorts and moans. “Not yet.”

Frustration colored her features, but she eased when you pecked her lips, once, twice, and retracted. You retrieved the toy from her dresser; the contents were just as you remembered: delicate silk ties, polished glass, smooth shapes made of fine materials, and your fingers brushed over it — dark, sleek.

She could not help the breathless laugh leaving her at your anticipation, biting her lip before muttering a soft, “Come here.”

You stood before her, and she scooted at the edge of the bed, her hands hot and sure as they slid along your waist. She helped you, steady and practiced, the leather straps sliding around your hips, fingers adjusting the buckles, brushing against your skin teasingly as she worked.

When it was finally in place, her hands remained at the front of your abdomen, and her chin tipped up to look at you, dark lashes fluttering. “You wear it well, darling.”

Your kiss deepened, murmuring against her mouth, "Lay back for me."

You reached your hand between both your bodies, gripping the lathered dildo, and positioned it at her sopping entrance as she sprawled herself open with two fingers. One more glance and her eyes spoke more than enough. "I'm ready for you."

You obliged, and the feeling of you entering her was overwhelming, the stretch burning only slightly. You moved in gently until the entire length of the strap pushed inside her wanting hole.

“Oh fuck!” The cry jumped from her throat to your ears. It was enough to ignite the flame within you, one that blazed brightly. Your thrusts angled as her breathing picked up. Digits flexed around her hips, pushing into the impressionable sensitive flesh with your thumbs as you fucked into her in a measured pace.

Wet lips caught hers for a passion-filled kiss and both of her legs hooked around your hips. “How does that feel?”

All she could manage were incoherent slurred babbles. Carmine nails chafed your back, pulling you closer than humanly possible, and her stiff peaks penetrated into your breasts. Wielding power to make Avis feel every single divot as you fucked her amplified your own lusty desires.

“I need you to speak when you are spoken to. Can you do that for me?”

You did not believe it possible that Avis could get any wetter, but my, she was full of surprises. Her juices lubricated your drilling, making your job easier as you pulled back completely before shoving back in.

“Y-yes, yes — I-it's perfect, you're making momma feel so good.” You smiled then at how her face crumbled, your pounding lessening its pace, however you did not lose its hard impact. "B-baby, go faster, please—"

“Not yet, love. I want you to feel everything I'm giving you.” You continued your slow, languid jolts, and she wanted to wail. The deeper you plummeted, the higher she unraveled — each nudging stroke drawing her closer to that edge, closer to the place where she felt most at home. She belonged here, beneath you, cradled in your arms, her body yielding so perfectly to yours.

“You know why I'm doing this? Hmm?” You burrowed your face into her perspired neck, gnawing the spot lightly, tongue slowly gathering every individual droplet that it made her moan straight into your ear.

The action steadied you somehow, allowing you to dive the dildo in further, to hit her bundle of nerves deep within. This angle was new, but held the same severity.

"Because you deserve it, Avis," You pulled out, filling her up once more without warning. "You deserve all good things. You're so fucking perfect for me. You know that, right?"

The tip of her nose brushed the side of yours as she nodded, but that did not satisfy you. "Words, momma. I need to hear you."

How good you were to her. How she wallowed in that dominating side you had, besides always wanting to take care of her with your affections. Avis would never tire of it. "I-know that, y/n, I'm perfect for you—"

"That's right, yes you are—" You grunted at her words, rocking in and out of her cunt and finally speeding up. Every jerk of your hips drew her orgasm near and she latched on to that feeling, that ceaseless yank.

"You're gonna come, love?" Lips wrapped around her nipple, nipping at it.

Fingernails practically sliced the skin at your shoulder blades. The jolting pain caused you to hiss, combining with the lustrous joy you were experiencing. “Yes! Make me come, baby, I need it—”

An ocean of thoughts swam through your hazed mind, not a single one of them a coherent one. There was never a moment when you did not believe Avis Amberg was stunning, a single glance at her and you were ruined and drenched, but fuck, when she came? All kinds of things it did to you, bringing forth moans from your throat. 

Her moan was boisterous, booming, certain to startle those outside of these four walls, the entire household even. It made you come seconds after her, your forehead collapsing to her swaying breasts.

You gently pulled out of her and heard her shudder out a soft moan, immediately missing the feeling of being filled. Soft kisses were nuzzled between her breasts, gently moving aside her disheveled curls to ascend your kisses over her collarbones and shoulders as you soothed her.

“I know, love, I know.”

Words were caught in her throat, vision yet to return to its normalcy. "B-baby, I-I-"

You only shook your head and sweetly kneaded her hips. " 'T's okay. Would you like a massage? Does that sound good to you, Avis?"

Her head fell back against the cushion, still catching her breath. Her hand lifted in the air before giving you a loose flick of her wrist that indicated a 'yes'.

You chuckled and leaned down, placing a kiss on her cheek, then her mouth. "I adore you."

Avis huffed out a chuckle and watched as you got up. "And I love you, sweetheart. Thank you ... for taking care of me."

You settled back onto the bed with her preferred soothing oils, and you simpered at her soft expressions. "oh, just wait till you see how I take care of you even more later."

She hummed at the feel of your lips latching on her neck, already anticipating for that later to inch closer. "Momma."

"How does it feel having me deep inside you, hm?" It was a rhetorical statement this time — Avis could not form a response, not with the way you had her positioned, in her request. Arms were stretched out against the mattress, hands rumpling the sheets, the side of her face embedded in the pillows tucked beneath, the soft material smudging the remains of makeup.

Yet you enjoyed hearing Avis struggle as your strap tunneled into her cunt from behind, so you queried her again, a tinge of firmness. “You didn't hear me, momma?”

Avis gasped something out of place and you chuckled before dragging the girth's expanse back into her in rapid strokes. The third orgasm of the night was reaching its peak, and you made sure it dragged out as long as it could the last round. This time, you decided to be fair, fingers snaking their way from her hip down to her clit and rubbed generously.

"it feels great — Fuck! O-oh, keep going! c-close—"

"We're almost there, momma. Almost there. Fuck, just look at how well you take my cock." Her depths enveloped you so perfectly, gushing, gliding, squelching louder at your salacious speech.

Your spine curved, breasts pushed against her upper back and your arm looped around her middle to hoist her up a bit. Just sufficient enough for your lips could soothe the flushed shell of her bejeweled ear. "Come on, give it to me."

Her fingernails dug into the sheets at this angle, cheek mushed against plushness, and Avis was unraveling with you inside her, knocking with full force against the spot that spiraled her.

You kissed the slope of her shoulders, lips tracing over each freckle stroked by time and crease carved within her flesh. She gasped, threading through each individual letter of your name, and she sank into the mattress. Your touch followed, avid fingers squeezing over the swell of her ass, crest of her hips, tremble of her thighs, soft slope of her stomach, hushed praises sinking into her bones.

Panting, she tipped her head back, gaze slipping over her shoulder, half-lidded. As you pried out of her fluttering hole, kisses still being delivered upon her skin, her hand reached back to tug on your hair in hopes to get your attention. "Darling."

Your smile was second nature when you stared into those whiskey irises, knowing exactly what she wanted. Your neck bent, lips coming down to meet hers sweetly, considerately. The kiss was lingering, exactly what she anticipated as she spoke an 'I love you'. The gentleness of it, the affection that powered it.

You pressed one more kiss to her smiling mouth, and you knew there was nothing you would not give her, no part of yourself you would not offer. Because Avis Amberg deserved this, all of it. The softness, the fervency, the love. You would spend every moment you had making sure she never forgot it.

[ahqkas]

♯ JUST LIKE MOVIES ; mattheo riddle

PAIRING! mattheo riddle x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! mattheo riddle, half-naked and utterly captivating, was a vision that would be hard to forget (based on this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 3.5k

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff, kissing, pansy serves like always . lmk of more if missed !

NOTES! all credits to the pretty devider below belong to @v6que !

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BEST FRIENDS COME AND GO but Pansy Parkinson wouldn't let her closest friends parish without a serious reason. Her loyalty to those she cared about was above the standard (if there any was) and so was the commitment to mark her presence in her friends' lives in a way they wouldn't forget. She was cunning and mean, but she meant well. Most of the time.

It was a regular evening in the Slytherin common room, the dim light from the enchanted green flames casting flickering shadows and a warm glow on the ancient stone walls. You were nestled comfortably on one of the plush, dark-green couches, a loved book balanced in your lap as you tried to focus on the chapter in front of you. Despite your best efforts, your eyes kept drifting away from the page, your thoughts straying to someone who wasn't in the room yet.

Mattheo Thomas Riddle had been occupying your restless thoughts far more than you cared to admit. You tried to brush it off (an impossible task), convincing yourself that it was simple because of how often you saw him. After all, with the both of you being in the same house and friend group it was impossible to not cross paths with him constantly. But deep down, your heart knew there was more to it than that.

The way his dark curls fell over his forehead when he was lost in thought, the way his eyes seemed to darken with an intensity that made your heart race, the way he was looking straight at you every time a small joke slipped past his lips — it was all becoming increasingly hard to ignore. Still, you did your best to keep your feelings hidden, especially around your curious friends. You didn't need anyone picking up on the fact that the nonchalant Mattheo Riddle had you utterly smitten and wrapped around his finger.

Your eyes flickered back to your book, trying to push thoughts of the boy out of your mind. ❛And one asks oneself where are one's dreams. And one shakes one's head and says how rapidly the years fly by! And again one asks oneself what has one done with one's years. Where have you buried your best days? Have you lived or not?❜ But it was to no use. Every little sound made your stomach twist in nerves, wondering if it was him finally entering the common room. You were too distracted to notice when Pansy Parkinson, your ever-observant best friend, slipped onto the couch beside you, wearing a sly grin on her pink lips.

Pansy, always perceptive and mischievous, noticed the direction of your gaze. She had been scheming something ever since she realized the mutual pining between you and Mattheo, and tonight was the perfect opportunity.

"What are you staring at?"

You didn't realized you zoned out a bit and you've been staring at the entrance that led to the boys' dormitory rooms for a while now. You quickly looked down at your book, pretending to be engrossed in the words of literature. "Nothing. Just reading."

The girl next to you snorted at your obvious lie. "Right. And I'm excellent at Quidditch."

Shooting her a glare from the corner of your eyes, you still kept up with your excuses (which didn't seem to work but it was still better than running around telling the truth). "I'm just reading, Pans, really."

"Sure thing, if that's what you want me to believe. But I've seen the way you look at a certain someone."

Your poor stomach did a nervous flip at her words, and in the moment you wished it was for rather different reasons. You kept the expression on your face neutral but you were crumbling on the inside. How did she know? "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, it's obvious, even to a blind git like our Berkshire. You've got it bad for Riddle."

An instant heat rushed to your cheeks, aiding to your growing embarrassment, and you fumbled with your words, trying to come up with a denial that didn't sound ridiculous. "I — no, it's not like that."

"Right," the word was drawled by the dark haired witch who was clearly not buying it. "That's why you can't take your eyes off the door, hoping he'll walk in any second now. Face it, you've got it bad for him."

"Pansy, please, don't make this a thing."

"I'm not making this a thing," she held her hands up in a mock defense, the pale skin of her palms facing you. "But if you're going to sit there and pine over him without doing anything about it, someone's got to step in."

And that someone would gladly be Pansy Parkinson.

You shot her a warning look but the girl's bored mind was already made up. "What do you mean by that?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of her devilish lips as she got up from her seat, quietly slipping away without anyone noticing. Panic surged you as you realized what she was about to do. You stood up after her, set on following the girl you so dearly called your best friend, but it was too late.

She was already out of sight, heading straight for Mattheo's dormitory room. You stood frozen in place for a moment, heart pounding against your rib cage, unsure whether to run after her or pretend none of this ever happened. Before you could make a decision, Pansy reappeared with a smug look on her face — and in her grasp, she was holding one of Mattheo's shirts.

You stared at her in disbelief as she sauntered back over to the spot she claimed as hers on the couch, picking at the green and silver shirt with her slim fingers. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, nothing," she said innocently, her tone betraying her mischief. "Just thought I'd borrow a little something from Riddle. He won't mind, will he?" As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"He's going to kill you."

The girl shrugged, completely unfazed. "He can try."

Just as you were about to protest further, you heard the door to the dormitory burst open, and then you saw Mattheo storming down the stairs like his life depended on it.

The air around you seemed to shift. The usual hum of chatter died down as all eyes turned toward him. Water droplets still clung to his skin, glistening in the dim, green-tinged light from the enchanted flames in the fireplace. His dark curls, damp from the shower, hung slightly over his forehead, giving him an almost rugged, untamed look.

His broad shoulders and chest were on full display, the muscles there defined and sculpted, showing the hard work he's done throughout the years of Quidditch. His skin, a shade somewhere between pale and lightly tanned, was smooth, with the occasional freckle or mole adding to his character. Every line and curve of his body was honed, from the subtle ripple of his abs to the V-line that disappeared tantalizingly beneath the towel wrapped low around his hips.

The towel itself was just barely doing its job, clinging precariously to him, revealing strong thighs. He moved with a certain grace, despite the situation, his confidence evident in every step. His dark eyes, framed by thick lashes, swept over the room, taking in the scene with a mix of amusement and challenge. Those eyes, usually so intense and guarded, now held a glint of playful irritation as they locked onto Pansy — and then softened when they found you.

His lips, slightly parted as if caught in mid-thought, were full and curved into a smirk that sent a wave of warmth through you. Even in this slightly ridiculous situation, Mattheo exuded an aura of dangerous charm. There was something about the contrast of his bare, vulnerable state and the raw power he embodied that made it impossible to look away.

Despite the fact that he was clad in nothing but a towel, he didn't seem the least bit self-conscious. If anything, he seemed entirely comfortable, like he knew exactly the effect he was having on everyone in the room — especially on you. As he approached, the air grew thick with unspoken tension, his presence overwhelming in the best way possible.

And then, as if just to make your heart race even more, he ran a hand through his damp curls, pushing them back from his forehead, giving you an even clearer view of those piercing eyes and the strong lines of his jaw. The sight was almost too much — Mattheo Riddle, half-naked and utterly captivating, was a vision that would be hard to forget.

"Give it back," he growled at the witch, but there was a playful edge to his voice.

The rest of your Slytherin boys in the common room immediately took notice of the situation, and a chorus of laughter erupted. You, on the other hand, felt your cheeks heat up, your gaze inadvertently wandering over Mattheo's exposed torso before quickly looking away, embarrassed.

"Come and get it, Riddle!" Pansy taunted, her grin widening as she stepped behind you, holding the shirt just out of Mattheo's reach.

Mattheo rolled his eyes, clearly used to Pansy's antics, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze when he looked at you— something that made your heart skip a beat. He stepped closer, and the room seemed to quiet down as all eyes turned to the two of you.

"Pansy, seriously. Give me my shirt back," Mattheo said, his voice softer now, his eyes flickering between her, the shirt in her grasp, and you.

Pansy, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, finally tossed the clothing over to the Slytherin beater, but not before giving you a knowing wink. Mattheo caught it effortlessly, but instead of putting it on right away, he turned his attention back to you.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, concern lacing his words.

You nodded, still feeling flustered. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "Listen, I — there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Your heart pounded in your chest. You had a feeling you knew where this was going, but you couldn't quite believe it.

"What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The boy glanced around the common room, noticing the curious stares from his friends. With a slight smirk, he leaned in closer, so only you could hear him. "Maybe we should talk somewhere a bit more private?"

Your breath hitched as you nodded, and the two of you slipped out of the common room to the stairs leading to the dormitories, leaving behind a very smug-looking Pansy and a bunch of amused Slytherin boys.

Mattheo motioned for you to follow him, and you trailed after him up the staircase that led to the dormitories. The common room was still buzzing behind you, but the further up you went, the quieter it became. You stopped halfway up the stairs, where the shadows were deeper, the flickering green light of the common room barely reaching this far. It was secluded enough to talk without the eyes of your peers on you, but there was still the chance that someone could come down at any moment — a chance that added an unspoken tension to the air.

The Slytherin leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his still-bare chest, the towel securely wrapped around his waist. His expression was softer now, the teasing smirk from earlier replaced with something more serious, yet still unreadable. You mirrored him, leaning against the opposite wall, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, though your heart was hammering in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, filled with everything that had gone unsaid for so long. Mattheo's eyes were on you, dark and intense, as if he was weighing his words before speaking them. You were keenly aware of the proximity, the way the confined space of the staircase seemed to draw you closer together, despite the few feet that separated you.

"I'm going to guess Pansy did that on purpose," you finally said, trying to break the tension with a small smile.

Mattheo huffed a quiet laugh, the sound low and rough. "She has a way of meddling when it suits her."

You nodded, the small talk serving as a brief reprieve from the weight of the moment. But you could feel the real conversation hovering just beneath the surface, waiting to break free. And it did, when Mattheo's gaze sharpened, his demeanor shifting slightly as he uncrossed his arms, taking a small step closer.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, his tone even, but there was an edge of something more — something almost vulnerable.

You blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement. "I — well, I didn't think you'd notice."

He frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as if the idea was absurd. "Of course I noticed. How could I not?"

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your breath catch, and suddenly, you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his gaze. You looked down at the stone steps instead, tracing the cracks with your eyes as you tried to gather your thoughts. "It's just — well, with everything people say about you, about us . . . I didn't want to make things awkward."

Mattheo stepped closer again, now close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, the scent of soap and something distinctly him filling the small space between you. He lifted a hand, hesitating for a split second before gently tilting your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

"Awkward?" he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "I think you're the only person who can make me feel anything but awkward."

Your breath hitched at the implication of his words, but you didn't pull away. His thumb brushed against your jaw, and his eyes were locked on yours, as if he was searching for something, some sign that you felt the same way. You didn't need to say anything; the look in your eyes must have been enough because Mattheo's expression softened, a quiet resolve settling over him.

"I didn't want to make things weird either," he admitted, his voice steady but laced with the same tension you were feeling. "But not saying anything has been driving me mad."

The vulnerability in his voice was unlike anything you'd heard from him before, and it made your heart clench. The boy who always seemed so sure of himself, who carried an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, was standing before you, baring a side of himself that few got to see.

"And what exactly is it that you're not saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mattheo's hand dropped from your chin, but instead of stepping back, he closed the distance between you, the barest of gaps left between your bodies. His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt natural, like they were always meant to fit together. He took a breath, and for a moment, you thought he might back out, but then his grip tightened, and his eyes bore into yours with a determination that sent your heart racing.

"That I like you, more than I should," he said, each word deliberate and measured, as if he was afraid of getting it wrong. "And it's been driving me insane because I've been trying to act like I don't, but I do. And I can't keep pretending otherwise."

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and for a long moment, all you could do was stare at him, the weight of his confession pressing down on you. But instead of feeling suffocated, you felt something else — a warmth that spread from where his hand held yours, blooming outwards until it filled your entire chest.

"I think I like you too," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could second-guess yourself.

The relief in Mattheo's eyes was immediate, and before you knew it, his other hand had moved to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against the apple of your cheek. The touch was so tender, so full of unspoken emotion, that it made your chest tighten.

And then, slowly, as if giving you every chance to pull away, Mattheo leaned in. His lips hovered inches from yours, the anticipation crackling in the air between you. You closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then something shifted, and the kiss deepened, turning desperate and hungry, as if all the tension that had built up between you over the past few weeks was pouring out in this single moment.

The world around you faded, the only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hand held your face as if he was afraid to let go. Your free hand moved to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, grounding you in the reality of what was happening.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, Mattheo didn't move far. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he caught his breath, his fingers still laced with yours.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You couldn't help but smile, your own heart racing. "Me too."

You stayed like that for a moment longer, savoring the warmth of his presence, the way your hand fit perfectly in his. There was still so much left unsaid, so much you needed to talk about, but for now, you were content to just be here, with him, knowing that whatever happened next, you would face it together.

Just then, a faint creak echoed from the foot of the stairs, pulling you both out of your bubble. You instinctively stepped back, your eyes wide as you turned toward the sound, and Mattheo straightened up, though he didn't let go of your hand.

A first-year student, with wide, curious eyes, was standing at the bottom of the staircase, frozen in place. He looked like he was caught between curiosity and the urge to bolt back down to the safety of the common room. The young boy's gaze flicked between you and Mattheo, clearly unsure if he had interrupted something important — or perhaps he was simply trying to figure out what a shirtless Mattheo Riddle was doing on the stairs with his hand in yours.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks, but before you could say anything, Mattheo let out a low chuckle. He looked over at you with a smirk that was both amused and reassuring, as if to say, Don't worry, I've got this.

"Hey, kid," Mattheo called out, his voice casual, though the edge of his smirk hinted at something more mischievous. "You lost?"

The boy blinked, his face reddening slightly as he shook his head, clearly flustered. "Uh, no . . . I was just . . . going to bed."

Mattheo nodded, his expression softening as he gestured towards the upper floors. "Well, don't let us stop you. But you might want to keep what you saw to yourself, yeah?"

The boy's eyes widened and with a quick nod, he scampered up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time as he disappeared into the dormitories.

Once he was out of sight, you turned back to Mattheo, who was watching you with an amused expression. The tension from earlier had melted away, replaced by a lightness that made you smile despite yourself.

"You're terrible," you whispered, though there was no heat behind the words.

Mattheo grinned, pulling you close again, his forehead brushing against yours. "I prefer the term 'irresistible,' actually."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from your chest. As you stood there on the stairs, the echoes of your laughter mingling with the distant sounds of the common room, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together — starting with getting back to the common room before anyone else stumbled upon your little moment.

But for now, you were content to stay here just a little longer, savoring the feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be — by Mattheo's side.