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becertainlust · 2 months ago

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BIRTHDAY SUIT | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis: Bakugo never made a big deal about birthdays—just another day in his book. But you're not letting this one slide. As his partner, you know better than anyone that under that explosive exterior lies a man who deserves to be worshipped. And tonight, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Dressed in nothing but a gift-wrapped surprise, you give him a present no one else ever could—you.

content: smut, shameless smut, established relationship, lingerie sex, birthday sex, reader takes the reins, blowjob, sloppy, cowgirl , orgasm,

Bakugo never cared about birthdays. For once, he'd let you celebrate him.

No grumbles, no sarcastic muttering under his breath about “dumb-ass traditions” or “waste of time.” No disappearing off to train. No flinching when his friends shouted “Happy Birthday, Katsuki!”

He actually stayed. Enjoyed it.

The apartment had been buzzing earlier with close friends, laughter, drinks, and too many snacks. But now, it was just you and him. The glow of warm lights filled the room, soft music playing low from the speaker. The scent of buttercream and spiced candles lingered in the air.

“Sit,” you said, nudging him down onto the couch.

He dropped onto it with a tired, satisfied huff, one arm slung over the backrest as he watched you crouch beside the small stack of gifts left on the coffee table.

“Ya didn’t have to do all this, y’know,” he muttered. “Just havin’ you around is—”

“Shut up,” you smirked, passing him the first box. “You can get sappy after we’re done with presents.”

He rolled his eyes, but the blush on his ears gave him away.

One by one, he opened them. A couple of gag gifts from Kaminari, a surprisingly thoughtful book from Todoroki, custom gloves from Kirishima. A shirt from you he’d side-eyed in a store window a few weeks ago but pretended not to like. He’d mumbled, “Not bad,” when he saw it then—but the way he smiled when he saw it again tonight? That soft, flickering look in his eyes?

Yeah. He remembered.

But the last gift made him still.

He turned the box in his hand like he didn’t quite recognize it, even though you knew he did. You watched his fingers move slower—more careful. He lifted the lid and saw it:

A first edition, limited-run All Might training journal.

Something he’d mentioned in passing once during a midnight walk months ago. Something he said he always wanted but could never find. He stared at it in silence, thumb brushing over the embossed edges.

“…You remembered that?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. His eyes lifted to yours.

You smiled gently. “Of course I did.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, cheeks warming up in a way that had your heart blooming in your chest. “You’re insane,” he muttered. “You know that?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “A little.”

He blinked hard, then cleared his throat.

“Alright, alright—cake. Let’s get this over with before I start feelin’ like a damn Hallmark card.”

You brought over the cake, candles already lit, your face glowing in the soft flicker as you sang the most off-key, dramatic “Happy Birthday” you could manage. He groaned, but he didn’t stop you.

He blew out the candles.

You sliced two pieces, handed him a fork… then stole it right back.

“Say ah.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You really gonna hand feed me right now?”

“Our wedding reenactment,” you smiled, lifting a bite to his mouth.

He opened it, still scowling—but barely—as you fed him a chunk of cake. He chewed, crimson eyes on you the whole time.

“Good?” you asked.

He gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Yeah. sweet.”

"that so..."

You leaned in, swiped a little frosting from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips looked so soft, gilding your frosted coated thumb onto them, then kissed it off his lips, pressing your own into the softness of his. It started soft.

But when your lips brushed his again—slow, and achingly warm, and just a little longer—his hands naturally found your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap. He kissed back, gentle but hungry, lips parting to taste more of you.

You murmured between kisses, breath hot against his mouth: “Birthday kiss.”

He blinked slowly, his lips still parted from the kiss, eyes dazed and focused only on you. His hands anchored warm on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, thoughtless circles into your skin through the thin fabric. His gaze trailed over your face—your lips, your flushed cheeks, your eyes so full of mischief and adoration.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, almost like it slipped out without permission.

You kissed the tip of his nose, giggling softly. “Thank you.”

And then?

His hold tightened. Just slightly. And he pulled you into his lap.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, “I’m gonna forget we were takin’ things slow tonight.”

You leaned in, straddling him without hesitation, your thighs hugging his hips as you settled against him. His body welcomed you instantly, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips dragging the fabric of your top slightly—like he wanted less of it between you.

“I was never planning to go slow, birthday boy” you whispered, brushing your lips just barely against his jaw. “especially tonight.”

His breath caught—sharp, audible. You felt it in his chest, the way it stuttered under your palms. His reaction was subtle, but every part of him twitched with anticipation: his hands, his legs beneath you, the slight lift of his hips like he was already imagining how this night would end.

“Got one more present for you,” you murmured into his ear. “The real one.”

Bakugo’s brows lifted, suspicious. “Thought that damn journal was the real one.”

You grinned, climbing off his lap for just a moment—enough to walk toward the bedroom with that sway you knew drove him wild.

He watched, chin propped on his hand, eyes darkening the second your fingers dipped beneath the hem of your top as you disappeared down the hall.

“Oi,” he called. “What kinda present needs you to change for it?”

You didn’t answer.

But when you reappeared in the doorway—lingerie clinging to your curves like a second skin, chosen with him in mind—Bakugo sat up so fast he nearly knocked the fork off the coffee table.

Your name left his mouth like a groan.

“Holy shit…”

You were wrapped in delicate black lace, the kind of thing he never thought he’d see outside a magazine, and even then—never on you. Never just for him.

His mind blanked.

No words, no witty comeback. Just the shape of you silhouetted in the soft golden light. The way the sheer material clung to your curves, catching every dip and swell like it had been tailored with him in mind. The way your thighs moved when you walked, slow and sure, like you knew what that sight alone was doing to him.

His mouth had gone dry.

And still, he sat back—frozen on the couch, like his body had been rooted to the spot. Only his eyes moved, dragging over you with almost painful reverence.

Your presence wasn't just seen. It was felt. In the sudden hush of the room. In the way the air itself seemed to shift as you crossed it. There was a softness to it—like watching a flame flicker behind glass. Dangerous, but so goddamn beautiful.

Something in his chest ached.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw you like this—wanting him like this. That wide-eyed, breath-stolen reaction always snuck up on him.

His gaze caught on your collarbones, then drifted lower—hesitating on the swell of your breasts barely veiled by lace, down the soft line of your stomach, until it settled between your legs, where the thin strip of fabric left far too little to the imagination.

The sight knocked the wind out of him.

One of his hands, resting uselessly on his thigh, curled into a fist. The other—he didn’t even realize—had wiped itself discreetly on his jeans, sweat clinging to his palm.

Not from nerves. No. Never that.

Except maybe this time, it was.

Because you were walking toward him now, hips rolling, eyes locked onto his, and he could feel his body respond before his brain had even caught up. His mouth parted. Breath shallowed.

God, the way you moved. Like you were pouring yourself into every step. Like you weren’t just walking to him—you were offering yourself.

It made his pulse stutter.

And when you climbed back into his lap, warm skin settling over the growing heat in his jeans, he couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. Your nails dragging against the nape of his neck in ghost trails feather-light, his body withered under the touch. Your perfume mingling with his senses what scent was that? and why cant he stop sniffing you.

"You smell really good baby...really good" his nose ghosted your neck, hips pulling you closer. Your thighs oh so soft to him, bracket him so warmly.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He just looked.

Admiration wasn’t something Bakugo handed out easily—not to friends, not to strangers, and definitely not out loud.

But he was looking at you now like you were everything. Like you were a dream made real. Like he didn’t know whether to kiss you, worship you, or fall to his knees for you.

He couldn’t stop drinking you in.

How had he gotten this lucky?

You kissed him again. Slowly, reverently. The kind of kiss that curled toes and short-circuited nerves. You would use a hand to pull him by the shirt, and when you pulled back just enough to murmur, “Happy birthday, Katsuki,” his lashes fluttered low, heat gathering in his face as he let the words sink in.

His breath hitched when your hands found his chest.

Just fingertips at first, dragging over the fabric of his shirt like you were memorizing him all over again. You didn’t rush—just let your palms glide across solid muscle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as your thumbs brushed the edge of his ribs.

He was already warm under your touch. And you hadn’t even done anything yet.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw.

Then another—lower, slower. Your lips parted against his throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail that dipped down the curve of his neck. His skin twitched under each one, the breath in his lungs turning shallow, rough.

“who knew you’d do something like this,” he murmured, but the strain in his voice made it sound more like a will to give in than a tease.

You didn’t answer. Just smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing lightly before you sucked. Gently—just enough to make him feel it. And then again, lower. His hands tensed at your waist.

You tilted your head to kiss along the other side of his neck, scattering another series of soft hickies—like you were branding him in lace and affection.

A groan vibrated in his chest.

Your fingers slipped to the hem of his shirt. He didn’t resist. Didn’t even move.

He just watched you. Quiet. Obedient in a way only you got to see.

You peeled his shirt up, inch by inch, revealing the planes of his stomach—warm, lightly flushed, his abs tightening beneath your gaze. You kissed his chest slowly as you exposed it, lips brushing across firm muscle, leaving kisses that lingered just a little too long.

You didn’t break eye contact.

Not once.

Even as you sank further down, mouth worshipping the path beneath his sternum. Even as your nails lightly scratched up his sides, drawing out a low hiss from between his clenched teeth.

His body was buzzing now—caught between restraint and surrender.

And it was beautiful to watch him come undone like this. Strong and scarred and still, somehow, soft for you.

His head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, one hand gripping your hip while the other fisted into the couch cushion. His thighs flexed beneath your hands.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word half breath, half plea.

You hummed softly, letting your lips hover just above his waistband.

“You’re warm,” you whispered, voice sultry and low, like you were letting him in on a secret. “All over.”

And he was.

Buzzing. Flushed. Waiting.

With his chest bare, his breathing ragged, and his eyes glassy with anticipation—he looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Your lips hovered just above the waistband of his sweats, breath brushing against the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. The muscles in his abdomen tensed again.

And still—you didn’t touch him where he wanted you to. Not yet. Instead, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him as your mouth curved in the faintest, knowing smirk. There was power in the way he was watching you. Tension in the way his thighs shifted restlessly beneath yours. Every inch of him buzzed. For you.

“Can I take these off Kats?” you asked, voice honey-slow.

Bakugo grunted, half-dazed. “… yeah.”

I mean what the hell were you asking him. If anything he just wanted on him immediately but it was all for you to watch him be a completely different person He sounded so obedient watching every moment like a patient puppy. His beautiful crimson eyes shimmering under the soft glow of the room.

Your fingers dipped under the waistband and dragged it down slow. The fabric caught on the hardened outline of him, and he hissed through his teeth as you freed him from the restraint.

His cock sprang up, flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, like his body was pleading before his mouth could catch up.

You made a sound of appreciation in the back of your throat—soft, reverent—before leaning in to press another kiss, just above the base. Your tongue flicked out, tasting the warm skin there. "You want me this much suki"

His whole body shuddered.

“Y-you're really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he muttered, voice rough, but low with awe.

You didn’t answer.

You just looked up again, lips parted, pupils blown, hands pressing to his thighs to steady him—before licking a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip.

Bakugo cursed under his breath, his hand flying to the back of your head on instinct—but it never pushed, never forced. Just tangled in your hair, holding on for dear life.

Your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and unforgiving.

And he melted.

His head tipped back, jaw slack, a ragged moan slipping past his lips. You sucked him down slow—sloppy and deep—letting your tongue trace every sensitive vein, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you worked the base.

He was a mess.

Every time you hollowed your cheeks and sank lower, his thighs tensed. His breath hitched. His hips jerked upward before he caught himself, groaning through clenched teeth.

"Fuck... baby… you—goddamn."

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, then sank down again, deeper this time.

And he twitched in your mouth, body locking up as you moaned around him.

The sound went straight to his spine—he was pulsing now, barely holding on.

When you pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to him in a string, you wiped your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, lips swollen, eyes hooded.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, climbing back up into his lap. “Can I?”

Bakugo was panting. Eyes glassy. Completely undone.

He swallowed hard, leaning into your chest to whisper "Please.”

You hovered over him, your hair framing your face so bewitchingly. You lined him up with your entrance, already soaked and pulsing for him. And as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes rolled back and his hands grabbed your hips like he needed something to anchor him to this earth.

You moaned low as he stretched you open.

“Shit—so full,” you breathed, resting your palms on his chest.

“Look at me,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Wanna see your face.”

You did. And when your eyes met his—when he saw the way you looked at him, like he was the only one you ever wanted—his whole expression softened.

His hands caressed up your waist, slow, reverent.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered, voice shaking.

You didn’t move right away.

Not really.

Instead, you hovered just above him, your entrance brushing the slick, sensitive head of his cock—barely letting him in, just enough to tease. Just enough to let him feel the heat of you. Your thighs flexed slightly, hips rolling in slow, agonizing circles that dragged your soaked folds over the tip again and again.

A soft, wet sound filled the space between you. Your juices clung to him, thick and sticky, smearing across his shaft with every grind.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head thunking back against the couch. “You’re—fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You smirked, gaze flicking up to watch him.

And god… the way he looked right now? His chest rising with every ragged breath, his lip bitten raw, his knuckles white where he clutched your hips. Every muscle in his thighs was trembling beneath you. Twitching with the restraint it took not to thrust up and bury himself in you.

You leaned forward, your chest brushing his while your hips stayed in motion—rocking slowly, teasing him with slick, hot friction.

“I thought this was your birthday,” you purred into his ear. “Shouldn’t I be giving you what you want?”

Bakugo grit his teeth, his jaw tight with tension.

“I do want this,” he growled. “You drivin’ me fuckin’ insane like this—teasin’ me—makin’ me feel like I’m gonna explode just from the tip—shit…”

You giggled, soft and wicked, and sat back just enough for him to watch.

One of your hands reached between you, guiding him so the head rested right at your entrance again. You gave a few slow bounces—just the tip sliding in and out, each time making him curse louder.

“S-shit! Baby—fuck—fuck, just let me in—” His voice cracked, his fingers digging into your skin like he was about to lose it.

You finally pressed your hips down a little more, letting him sink in halfway.

His mouth fell open, a deep, guttural curse ripping out of him. His head snapped forward to look at where you were taking him in, flushed and wide-eyed.

And you just smiled at the desperation in his gaze.

“are you feeling good baby,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest.

“God—yes—fuck yes,” he hissed, eyes fluttering as you dropped down another inch. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. You always do. Always…”

You leaned in again, letting your breasts press to his chest as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Then you better hold on,” you whispered, breath hot, “because I’m not gonna stop until you’re a mess for me.”

And with that, you finally sank down fully. All the way. His entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

He let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—his head rolling back, hands gripping your ass like he was holding onto sanity itself.

You didn’t move for a moment.

Just stayed there, so full of him, clenching around him until he twitched helplessly inside you. And then—slowly, sinfully—you started to ride.

Your hips began to move again—slow, like honey melting in warm sun, like a wave building over time until it crashes. You circled them, let your walls flutter around him just to feel the way he shuddered beneath you. His eyes opened halfway, heavy-lidded and glazed, following every sensual sway of your body like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And to him—it was.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, your palms gliding up his abdomen. “You’re so deep.”

A sharp breath hissed between his teeth. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, but his hips bucked once—shallow, needy. You kept your pace measured, deliberate, grinding down into him with that same velvet friction that made his head roll back again.

“Shit,” he groaned, the sound low and desperate. His hands were clutching at your waist now, not to guide, but to ground himself. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, mmm"

You leaned down slowly, dragging your lips across his collarbone. Then lower—pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, his nipple. As you moved, your body rolled into his, your rhythm never faltering, hips undulating in a steady, torturous rhythm.

Every time you sank down, he twitched inside you, groaning louder.

“I love the way you sound baby,” you whispered, licking the salt from his skin. “All desperate and sweet. My perfect birthday boy.”

He looked at you like he’d melt.

One of his hands slipped up your back, tangled into your hair, tugging lightly as you nuzzled his neck. You licked a stripe just beneath his ear, then suckled gently at his skin, your teeth dragging slightly—leaving soft, loving hickeys along his neck and collar.

And every one had him groaning, his cock jerking inside you.

“Gonna mark you up tonight,” you murmured. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I already do,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, “fuckin’ been yours.”

You smiled into his skin and sat back again, palms braced against his chest as you began to bounce now—slow, deep, full bounces that had him clenching his jaw and moaning through his teeth. His abs flexed beneath your hands. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

Your name left his lips like a prayer.

Your hips found a rhythm—delicious, sticky, sinful—and the way he filled you, the way he responded to every little grind, made your legs start to tremble.

He felt it. His hands slid down to cup your ass again, helping support your movements as he watched you from beneath heavy lashes.

“Baby,” he breathed. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me come—just like this?”

You leaned forward again, kissed him deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Yes. Inside. Don’t hold back. I want you to come just like this.”

He let out a wrecked moan, his hips finally thrusting up to meet yours, matching your rhythm.

Faster now.

Deeper.

You clung to his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the coil inside you tightened and tightened—

And then he gasped—eyes rolling to close, mouth open and his cock twitching violently inside you as he spilled, deep and thick and hot, fingers bruising your hips while he cursed your name like a confession.

You didn’t stop.

Not even then.

Still slow. Still steady. Still riding out every aftershock as he moaned beneath you, overstimulated and undone. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and soft as they met yours. His hair stuck to his forehead. His chest heaved. His hands slid up your spine, arms curling around you as he held you close.

Your chest heaved against his, his heart pounding against your ribcage like a war drum. He was still buried deep, twitching, oversensitive—but you didn’t move. You just cradled his face, tilted it up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Listen to you,” you whispered, voice sultry and sweet as sin. “Mouth full of curses… all because I couldn’t help creamin’ all over this fat cock.”

Bakugo groaned through clenched teeth, face flushed and jaw tight like he was holding onto the last thread of sanity.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” you murmured, grinding just enough to make him jolt, to let another wet, obscene squelch fill the space between you. “God, the noise we made—bet our neighbors think I was drowning in it.”

He groaned louder, head falling back against the couch.

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering, then whispered, “Soaked you, Katsuki. You feel how messy I made you? Look at your lap—look at what you did to me.”

He peeked down—eyes glassy—and let out another hoarse, broken curse when he saw the slick still glistening between your thighs, watching how you both were still connected before you lift your hips to show him, with such a sly smile it did something to him, watching his cum dripping slowly out of you onto him.

You guided yourself back in, rocking your hips again, so delicately, and he twitched inside you, helpless. His whole body shivered with a groan, his head collapsing on your shoulder "fuck enough"

You grinned. “You liked it when I sat there and shook my ass on it, didn’t you? Teasin’ you right on the tip ‘til you were cussin’ like you were about to lose your damn mind, yeah?” you grind.

“You’re—fuckin’ evil,” he gasped, fingers twitching against your waist.

You kissed his jawline this time, biting lightly just below his ear. His hands gripped you tighter again, like he was about to flip the script—but he was still spent, still weak from how you dropped your ass on him, He just held you there instead, breathing ragged, letting you purr filth against his skin.

"A little"

#bakugo katuski #mha smut #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #boku no hero academia #becertainlust #birthday smut #birthday sex #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou

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kumikocchi · 2 years ago

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currently in the odd hyperfixation phase of my cycle

#i want a custom book embosser #so badly #but also am going to fix my skin #and finish crocheting a blanket #don’t forget putting in 40 hours a week gaming #and then another 30 writing #truly i need help

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slitherinky · 4 months ago

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Masterlist | About me | Requests

Seductive Betrayal

Setting: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader

Summary: Working the evening shift at a small bookstore, you’re surprised when a familiar customer walks in. With his effortless charm, Draco convinces you to let him stay the night—but it doesn’t take long for him to show you, that his dark side never truly left..

Warnings: 18+ smut, MDNI, dom!Draco, dubcon, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v, hair pulling, a pinch of good gir

Length: 3k words or 12 minutes

Please be aware of the warnings before proceeding. If you are underage, sensitive to depictions of violence, or intense explicit content, it is do not to read further. This story is purely fictional and does not reflect or endorse such behavior in real life. Any attempt to replicate the actions described in this story in real life is strongly discouraged.

Harry Potter and the Wizarding World is a trademark of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

The bookshop was quiet.

Not the comforting kind of quiet—the kind that wrapped around you like a warm blanket, softened by the rustling of parchment and the occasional murmur of an interested customer. No, this quiet was heavy. It sank into the wooden floorboards, curled in the dim candlelight, pressed against the corners of your mind like a lingering ghost.

Outside, Diagon Alley was a different place than it used to be. The cobblestone streets were no longer filled with bright chatter or carefree laughter. The war had left its mark on everything, from the shattered windows of still-abandoned storefronts to the wary glances exchanged between passing witches and wizards.

You exhaled softly, running a hand over the spine of an old book, your fingers trailing over the gold-embossed letters. You should have been used to it by now—this new world, this fragile attempt at normalcy. You told yourself you were moving forward, that working here, in the tiny bookshop nestled between a half-repaired apothecary and a closed-down broom maker’s stall, was proof of that.

But some nights, when the silence stretched too long, you wondered if you were just hiding.

The bell above the door chimed softly.

It was late—too late for customers, but you looked up anyway, expecting to tell someone you were closing soon. Instead, your breath caught.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light of the shop. His hood was drawn back now, and even in the flickering glow of the candles, you could see how pale he was. How tired. But beneath the exhaustion, there was something else. Something magnetic.

"Y/N," he murmured, stepping further inside. You didn’t expect him to recognize you after all this time. But he did.

You swallowed hard. It had been years since you last saw him—back at Hogwarts, before the war turned everything to dust. Draco Malfoy had always been arrogant, distant, wrapped in privilege and sharp edges. You had noticed him, of course—how could you not? There was something magnetic about him, something intriguing beneath the sneers and cold indifference.

But now, standing in your bookshop with the night pressing in behind him, he was different. The arrogance was still there, but it felt strained, the distance less like a choice and more like a shield. His sharp features were worn with exhaustion, his once-perfect composure just slightly unraveled.

And yet, despite everything, he was still intoxicatingly attractive. Perhaps even more so now—raw, untamed, and dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with his name.

"Didn’t think you’d still be around," he said, his lips curling into something that almost looked like a smirk. "Figured you’d have left for a shinier life somewhere else."

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "Not all of us had the option of running, Malfoy."

His smirk faltered, just for a second, before he laughed—a quiet sound, amused but lacking real mirth. "Fair enough."

You studied him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the faint bruising beneath his eyes. He looked worn down, but even like this, there was something about him. Something alluring.

You shook your head slightly, breaking the spell. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

His gaze flickered around the empty shop, lingering on the books stacked in uneven piles. "I was just… passing through."

"Liar."

His eyes snapped back to yours. For a second, something unreadable flickered across his face. Then, instead of snapping back, instead of defending himself, he did something unexpected. He smiled.

It was slow, effortless, and gods, it was dangerous. "Alright," he said, tilting his head. "You got me."

You hated how your stomach twisted at that.

"I don’t have anywhere to go."

You didn’t react at first. You just blinked, trying to process his words. You knew things were bad for him—you’d heard the whispers, the murmurs about the Malfoys falling from grace. But somehow, you never thought Draco Malfoy would ever be desperate enough to admit it out loud.

And yet, here he was.

For a moment, you considered telling him to leave. That it wasn’t your problem. That he had made his choices, and now he had to live with them. But the words didn’t come.

Instead, you sighed. "You can stay at my place tonight."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Just like that?"

"Don’t make me regret it," you warned.

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

The walk to your flat was quiet, but Draco kept close to your side, his presence a steady warmth against the chill of the night. You were hyperaware of him—the way he moved, the way his fingers occasionally brushed against yours as you walked.

"Not bad," he mused when you finally reached your flat. "Could be worse."

You snorted, unlocking the door. "It’s not Malfoy Manor, but it’s cozy."

He stepped inside, glancing around. "Cozy," he repeated, as if testing the word. Then he turned to you, eyes gleaming in the dim candlelight. "I like it."

You swallowed hard. Something about the way he was looking at you sent heat curling through your stomach. He was close now, too close, and you could smell the faint scent of rain on his clothes, the warmth of his skin.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer now. "For this."

You opened your mouth to say something, but then—

His fingers brushed against your wrist. Light. Barely there. But it was enough to make your breath hitch.

"I never realized," he said, tilting his head slightly, "how beautiful you are up close."

Oh.

Your heart stumbled in your chest. "Malfoy—"

"Draco," he corrected smoothly, his other hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "If we’re going to be sharing a space, we might as well use first names, don’t you think?"

You should have stepped back. You should have told him to stop. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself be pulled into the slow, deliberate way he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel your pulse pounding as his fingers trailed along your arm, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your ear.

You didn’t.

And that was when everything changed.

Because in the next breath, something sharp pressed against your back.

Your wand. He had taken your wand.

Your eyes snapped open, realization hitting you like a slap to the face. But before you could move, Draco stepped back, his own wand raised. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was steady.

"I really am sorry, love," he said smoothly. "But I need the money more than I need a place to stay."

And then he flicked his wand.

"Stupe—"

You moved before he could finish.

Years of instinct kicked in, and you lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could complete the spell. The shock in his eyes was brief—then you twisted, knocking the wand from his hand with a sharp strike.

But you weren’t fast enough.

Draco recovered in seconds, and before you could grab your wand, he moved. Faster than you thought possible, he grabbed your arm, twisting you back against the wall. Your breath left you in a sharp gasp as he pressed forward, pinning you in place with the weight of his body.

"Nice try," he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

You struggled, but his grip was firm. He was stronger than he looked, and the sheer confidence in the way he held you still sent a shiver down your spine.

"You’re full of surprises," he mused, tilting his head. "I almost underestimated you."

"Get off me, Malfoy," you gritted out, your pulse racing.

He smirked. "And if I don’t?"

Your hands twitched, fingers itching for a weapon, for anything to fight back. But Draco was already one step ahead, his body pressing you firmly against the cold wood of the wall.

"I should have known you'd be a fighter," he murmured, his tone almost admiring. "Makes this more fun."

His eyes flickered down to your lips for half a second—so brief you almost missed it. Almost.

The worst part? You didn’t hate it.

And he knew.

"Now," he murmured, leaning in just slightly. "How about we make a deal, love?"

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your spine. Your pulse pounded in your throat, a mixture of anger, adrenaline, and something far more dangerous—something you refused to name.

"You really think I’d trust you after this?" you snapped, testing the strength of his grip. It was no use. He had you right where he wanted you, and worst of all, he knew it.

Draco chuckled, low and smooth. "Trust is such a fragile thing, isn't it?" His thumb brushed over your wrist, the touch almost gentle. "But let’s not pretend this is just about trust."

Your breath caught and his smirk deepened.

"Oh," he mused, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "I see. You like this, don’t you?"

You glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Draco leaned in closer, until his lips were just shy of brushing against your ear. "I can feel your heart racing," he murmured. "Is it fear? Or is it something else?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected smoothly. "You were saying it so sweetly just moments ago."

You gritted your teeth. "Let me go."

"Hmm. Tempting offer," he drawled, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrist. "But see, I have a dilemma. I could let you go… or I could keep you right here, exactly where I want you."

He shifted his hold, pinning your hands above your head with one swift movement. The motion pressed his body flush against yours, and your breath hitched involuntarily.

Draco noticed. He noticed everything.

His free hand drifted down, fingers grazing your jawline, then lower, tracing the exposed skin at your collarbone. The touch was barely there, light enough to send a shiver through you.

"You don’t hate this as much as you want to," he murmured, his lips barely an inch from yours now. "Do you?"

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Your fingers curled into fists, but not to fight. Your breath stuttered, and the warmth pooling in your stomach was a traitorous, infuriating thing.

Draco tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he had just figured out.

"Admit it," he whispered, his breath teasing against your lips. "You want to know what it would be like, don’t you?"

You did.

You hated him, you hated the way he was holding you, hated the fact that he had turned this whole situation into something twisted.

But you wanted it anyway. And he knew.

His lips grazed against yours, soft and teasing. It was barely a kiss, but your pulse leaped at the touch.

"Mhm," Draco hummed. "That’s what I thought."

The way his hands moved then was smooth, practiced—like he had done this countless times before. You didn’t have a chance to resist as he swept aside your skirt, baring your legs. His touch was swift, deliberate, and despite yourself, you felt your pulse pound in response.

Draco’s fingers stroked over the outside of your underwear with a smoothness that left you breathless.

It felt good—really, really good. Your hands were still pinned above your head, but now you were leaning into him, your legs trembling. He picked you up, putting you down on the kitchen counter next to you. Draco leaned into you, making your back arch slightly as he kissed you roughly. His right hand pulled down your underwear, allowing it to drop to the ground.

Draco pushed one knee between your legs and you gasped from the contact. He smirked and slipped his knee even further between your legs. He pushed up against you, with the fabric of his pants rubbing against your pussy. You gasped and arched further. Your breathing became quickened and your cheeks turned pink. "I adore how hot you are for me, love," he purred.

His mouth slowly made his way down to your pussy. He started by kissing up your thigh. He used his hands to spread your legs even wider. You felt your pussy start to drip and he noticed, "so wet for me," he grinned.

He then placed his mouth on your pussy. You cried out from his touch. He stuck his tongue out and licked your pussy slowly. His tongue brushed over your clit and your entire body stiffened. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He started licking your clit harder. He took his fingers and slipped one inside of you. Your moans became loud and filled the room. His fingers moved up and down inside of you while his tongue moved in circles around your clit. The feeling of your orgasm built up inside of you and you tried to hold it back. You didn't want to cum already. But then he slipped another finger inside of you and your legs started to shake. He picked up the pace of his tongue on your clit and the orgasm was coming.

"Draco, I'm going to cum," you moaned. He groaned in response and that's what sent you over the edge. You exploded in pleasure as the orgasm hit you. "Oh Draco, fuck!"

He pulled away, "what's that, love?" he smirked, "are you asking for more?"

You nodded, "please," you begged.

He chuckled and kissed up your thigh until he reached your pussy again. He licked your pussy some more while slipping his fingers back inside of you.

"God, you taste amazing," he moaned, "you're so wet for me."

He then put his fingers on your clit and started rubbing. You moaned in pleasure. His fingers slid around your clit and you could feel another orgasm building up inside of you.

"Oh fuck, oh Draco," you moaned loudly.

He smirked, "cum for me love, cum all over my fingers."

At that, your body stiffened and another orgasm hit you. You started to cum all over his fingers. He watched with a grin as the orgasm continued to wrack your body.

Your body shook and your breathing became ragged.

He then stepped away from you. You panted as you looked up at him. He smirked down at you, "did you think I was done with you love?"

You stared at him, your eyes widening as you realized what he meant. He pulled away completely, leaving you panting on the counter. His face was smeared, and it was hot. He slowly pulled down his zipper and pants, revealing his cock. It was big. It was so big that it made you feel self-conscious.

But Draco didn't let you dwell on those thoughts. He continued by pulling off his shirt and you were distracted by the sight of his abs. They were perfect. He smirked at you, leaning even further over you, his cock pushing up against your pussy. It was hard and it felt good. You started to drip even more, excited for this to happen. He smirked as he felt your juices dripping over him.

"Good girl. This is how I like it."

He then gripped his cock and started to rub it against your pussy, making you moan.

"You want this? You want my cock inside of you?" He asked, teasing you with the tip of his cock, rubbing it around your pussy.

You moaned loudly, "yes please, god yes."

He smirked, "beg me for it. Ask me nicely and I might give you what you want."

You stared at him. "You expect me to beg you after you almost robbed me?!"

He gripped your hair with one hand, pulling your head back. His expression changed into one of anger, "I'm your master for the night, so do as you're told or I will punish you," he warned.

You shivered at the threat. You had never felt so turned on in your life and decided to give in.

"Please Draco," you asked, "let me feel your cock inside of me."

“Good girl.”

He slowly thrusted himself inside of you, making you gasp at his size. He pushed in further, making your back arch from the feeling.

"Oh Draco, oh fuck!"

He started to move inside of you, slowly at first then quickly. You tried to push back, but he stopped you. "No, love," he chuckled. "Take it like a good girl."

He moved his cock up and down, filling you completely and hitting all of the right spots.

He turned you around, so you were facing away from him. He then pushed his cock inside of you again, starting up a racing pace. You cried out at the feeling. He held onto your hips as he pounded into you. His right hand grabbing your hair, making you arch. His cock felt amazing inside of you, it stretched you to your limit but still fit perfectly.

"Fuck, oh god," you cried out.

He then reached around with his left hand, placing his finger on your clit. He rubbed it as he continued to pound inside of you. You cried out, overwhelmed with pleasure.

"Draco!" You screamed.

Your orgasm hit hard and fast, it wracked your entire body and left you shaking. Draco continued to fuck you through the orgasm until you were at your limit.

His grip tightened on your hair, pulling you even further into his thrusts. His breath stuttered and you felt his cock thicken inside of you as he came. His cum filled your pussy.

"Fuck," he moaned as he came. "Oh god, it feels good."

He then pulled out of you, leaving his cum dripping down your legs. Your mind was foggy from the pleasure and you couldn't think straight. Your body laying half collapsed on the counter.

"Come on, love," he mused. "Your bed awaits, or have you forgotten that I'll stay the night?"

You want more? My Masterlis

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gia-d · 9 months ago

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Back in October last year, I started reading This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja.

By the time I had made it to chapter 5, I had already started typesetting this story as I read because I knew this would be one of those stories that I needed to have on my shelf.

When I finally caught up to the story at chapter 31, I begged the author to let me bind this when it was finished.

Nearly a year later, and what is probably the most important bind of my life is finally finished. Check out these glamour shots, and if you want to hear more about the actual binding process and about how this fic actually changed my life, see below.

So funny story, before I get into the technical side of this bind, but this fic actually changed my life. Not as in I was greatly emotionally moved by the story, though don't get me wrong I absolutely was, but genuinely this fic introduced me to some of the best people I have ever had to privilege of knowing (Hello Class, you know who you are 🩷), and also, it introduced me to Freyja, the incredibly talented author, who, as I type this, is curled up in bed next to me fast asleep after flying half way around the world to go on a two week long date with me.

Moral of the story folks is comment on the fics you like. You might accidentally meet the love of your life on, and I can't believe I'm saying this, AO3.

Anyways, about the bind!

This bind was a challenge from day 1. I had to do the typeset for this 300k word fic 4 times, and had to split it across 2 volumes. This was the longest fic I have ever attempted to bind, and it was so thick I couldn't get it in the paper trimmer.

To make this book as durable as possible, I attempted a few techniques. I secured it with 3 tapes, I made an Oxford hollow, I rounded the spine, I made a slipcase and I used 2.3mm boards where normally I use 1.8mm.

The slipcase is covered with embossed faux leather, buckram and plain ribbon, and lined with gold satin fabric. I've never made a slipcase before so this was an experience.

The books are covered with an emerald green silk finish bookcloth which really gave the books the luxury they deserved. I foiled custom end papers as well as every chapter title page using heat reactive transfer foil on toner ink (never again I am never doing that again omg it took days). Huge thank you to @la-sera for letting me use her artwork which helped inspire this fic!

The grey flashback chapters I had to use HTV for the border decoration and I'm very happy with how that turned out because it was so easy and straight forward, unfortunately it just wasn't viable for the whole book.

It feels weird to finally have these books done. They have my blood, sweat, tears and my heart poured into them, and I've been working on them for so long that it's odd to actually have them finished. I'm so proud of this bind, and feel like I've grown so much as a fanbinder by making these.

Anyways, if anyone has any questions about the process, please don't hesitate to ask!

(and if you are an Linked Universe fan and haven't read Adjuration yet, this is your sign!)

#linked universe #bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #this is an adjuration #my binds #ivyring bookbinding #hi freyja!

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mahalachives · 3 months ago

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Part 2: Plot Twist: You're All Fictional

Summary: You were just rereading A Court of Thorns and Roses in bed when the universe decided to yeet you straight into Prythian, landing face-first in Rhysand’s lap. Now, you're a pajama-clad disaster with Cheeto fingers, emotionally harassing Azriel, befriending Mor, verbally sparring with the High Lords, and naming feral chickens after the Shadowsinger. You may not know why you’re here, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to make it everyone's problem.

Genre: crack humor, drabble, minor az x reader (bcus why not)

Oops, I tripped Into Prythian - Masterlist

You had been in Prythian for exactly one week, and it was time to address the most pressing issue of all.

These people didn’t know they were in a book series.

You discovered this terrifying fact over dinner, when you accidentally let it slip that Feyre’s “entire life arc” hit harder than your student loan debt.

Feyre paused mid-bite. “My what?”

Cassian looked up, suspicious. “What did you say?”

You blinked. “Uh. Your... life arc. Like, the plot. The narrative. The emotional beats? No?”

Nesta slowly set down her fork. “Why does she sound like Gwyn when she’s two poems deep into a wine night?”

So naturally, because you had zero impulse control and no concept of self-preservation, you decided to fix the situation.

By holding a book club.

You gathered the entire Inner Circle in the House of Wind library and dramatically unveiled the stack of ACOTAR books Mor had helped you recreate with a little Illyrian smuggling and Helion’s glamour spells.

“Welcome,” you declared, arms outstretched, “to your unsolicited literary awakening.”

Rhysand eyed the books like they were cursed. “You’re telling me someone… wrote down our lives?”

“Multiple someones,” you said solemnly. “And then sold them. Worldwide.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked. “So strangers know... everything?”

You nodded. “Everything.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning. “Even about-”

“Yes, Cassian,” you interrupted. “Even that.”

He fist-pumped. “Nice.”

Feyre picked up A Court of Mist and Fury, frowning as she flipped through the pages. “Why does this make me sound like a YA protagonist with trauma and a painting fetish?”

“Because you are,” you said helpfully.

She blinked.

Nesta grabbed Silver Flames and skimmed a few pages before muttering, “Well. This is uncomfortably accurate.”

Cassian peeked over her shoulder. “They really wrote that scene? That scene?”

Nesta smirked. “Word for word.”

Rhysand was halfway through A Court of Frost and Starlight when he scowled. “Why does this one feel like filler?”

“Because it is,” you and Nesta said in perfect unison.

Mor, gleeful, held up Wings and Embers. “Wait-does this mean Cassian is officially a simp?”

“Yes,” you said. “Certified. Trademarked. Embossed in gold.”

Cassian threw a pillow at you. “And what about you? Are you in these books?”

You shrugged. “Sadly, no. I am but a humble interdimensional interloper. However…” You dramatically pulled out a custom-made novella cover with YOU x AZRIEL: Mating Bond Mayhem printed on it in shimmering Night Court silver.

Azriel stared at it like it personally offended him.

“Please tell me that isn’t real,” he muttered.

You winked. “It is in my heart.”

Rhys flipped open A Court of Thorns and Roses, reading aloud. “He was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen.’”

You leaned in. “Yes. And that’s Tamlin. Remember him?”

Rhys dropped the book like it burned. “Unclean.”

Feyre giggled.

Nesta snorted.

Even Azriel’s shadows flared like they were trying not to laugh.

Then Elain, who had been quietly reading in the corner, finally looked up.

“I like this version of me,” she said softly.

Everyone froze.

You blinked. “You… what now?”

Elain held up A Court of Silver Flames, pointing to a scene where she verbally eviscerates Lucien. “I like that I get mad. That I have feelings. That I say things.”

Cassian whispered, “Oh gods. She's awakening.”

Azriel looked genuinely alarmed.

“Elain,” Feyre said slowly, “you’re always allowed to say things.”

“I know,” Elain replied, deadly calm. “But now I have dialogue.”

Mor cackled.

Nesta looked like she’d been waiting years for this. Rhysand leaned over to Feyre and whispered, “Do we… encourage this?”

You stood and raised your hands. “Friends. Fae. Chaos incarnate. I have one final proposal.”

Cassian perked up. “Does it involve more books?”

“No,” you said gravely. “It involves us starting a book club.”

Rhys groaned. “We live the events already, why would we-”

“Because,” you interrupted, “it’s different when you know spoilers.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “Spoilers?”

You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know who your mate is?”

Everyone froze.

You turned dramatically toward him. “Spoiler alert: It’s me.”

Azriel turned and walked away.

You cupped your hands around your mouth and yelled after him, “I HAVE FANFICS TO PROVE IT.”

He didn’t stop.

But Elain, flipping through A Court of Mist and Fury again, murmured, “Wait… what’s fanfic?”

And you smiled.

Because Prythian wasn’t ready.

And neither were they.

To be continued.

#acotar #azriel x oc #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #rhysand #cassian #feyre acotar #nesta acotar #mor acotar #elain acotar #sarah j maas

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marauder-misprint · 3 months ago

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Hiiiii! I was just wondering if you could write Remus Lupin x reader where they have a meet cute in a book store? Like reader can't reach the book she wants and Remus happens to be right there and helps her, kinda thing? If not then that is totally okay 👍 Thank youuuu 🤞🙏

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ We love a lil meet cute. I guess this went a little modern/muggle au - they have cellphones but like that's it.

Hoping this cures the writer's block I've been fighting the past few days. And I hope you enjoy it :)

Silver embossing

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

1.3k words

cw: fluff

The bell of the door jingled as you entered the bookshop. Despite living in the area for most of your life, you hadn’t been down this street much and were delighted to discover this used bookshop. You like shops that sell secondhand goods. It felt like giving items another chance at life, and you never know what treasures people may have discarded.

At the surface level, the shop smelled of the incense burning near the register. The register which was unmanned. You glanced back at the door, which had a closed sign facing you. Okay, so the store was open. Lights were on, door was unlocked. But no employee was in sight.

As you walked more into the shop, the scent of old books and dust enveloped you. You took slow steps past the shelves. They were packed with various titles and authors you’d never heard of – just another aspect you loved about these used bookshops. You continued to browse the books, occasionally taking one off the shelf to flip through it and read the summary on the back.

From somewhere deeper in the store came the sound of a door opening and closing. While you might’ve been alone in the little shop before, you no longer were. You weren’t stealing or anything like that so you had nothing to worry about.

A book with intricate silver embossing caught your eye. It’s on the top shelf, one you could never reach. You looked around you and let out a sigh. There’s no step stool within sight and you don’t recall having passed one on your way to this aisle. Even though you knew it’s fruitless, you tried to stand on your tippy toes, stretching your arm as much as possible. Your fingertips barely brushed against your desired book.

You pursed your lips together. You were determined to get this book. You lifted your leg as if to climb the shelf and you were about to quickly move to place your weight on the foot that was now resting on a lower shelf. You would only be on the bookshelf for a second!

“Oi! Don’t climb the shelves!” a voice called from the end of the aisle.

You returned both your feet to the ground and turned to see the source. A tall man, around your age by the looks of it, was walking toward you. He had shaggy brown hair and a face full of scars. He looked kind. His attire, although fully fitting for a bookshop, gave him a cozy air.

“Sorry for raising my voice,” he said once closer to you. “Just can’t be having the shelves tip over. My boss would murder me…” He offered you a polite smile. “Which book were you going for?”

Oh, that smile. Even if it was just a customer service smile, it made you feel warm inside. You knew that you were staring, but right now, you couldn’t help it. The longer you looked at him and that smile, the more you wanted to get to know him and spend time with him. Perfectly normal, logical thoughts to be having about the employee of a bookshop that you’d never been in before, and whose name you didn’t even know, nor had even said your first words to.

“Miss?” he asked patiently. “I can grab the book for you if you tell me which one you wanted to see.”

“Oh, erm, that one, with the silver,” you said, pointing at it.

He grabbed it with ease and handed it to you.

“If you decide you don’t want it, or if you need another book, just let me know.”

He turned to walk away. You panicked. He was just too pretty to just be a random encounter.

“Have you read this book?” you asked quickly.

He stilled for a moment before turning back to you. He lifted the book in your hands just enough so he could see the title. He hummed noncommittally.

“Can’t say I have. Plenty of books in here I haven’t read, actually.”

“No?”

He smiled at you again. You decided that it wasn’t a want to have this man in your life. It was a need.

“I’ve been scolded for reading on the job. This is a store, not a library,” he said, giving you a brief impression of who you assumed was his boss. “If he made me buy every book I’ve tried to read when it gets slow in here, I’d be more broke than I already am.”

You chuckled as you turned the book over in your hands. There’s no summary, but the book, like the man in front of you, is just too pretty.

“Has your boss considered that being knowledgeable about the product might help you sell them?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I think he figured people come in here to browse or they’re searching for specific titles. So as long as I can help people find what they’re looking for, I’ve done my job.”

You nodded, understanding where his boss was coming from. You had come in here with the intention of just browsing.

“So, erm, did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, shifting his weight to be more comfortable. He hoped he didn’t look uncomfortable – talking to you wasn’t uncomfortable.

You tilted your head, scanning him up and down.

“Looking for a name for the cute guy in front of me?” you replied before biting the inside of your lip nervously.

You really aren’t the most forward person, nor are you usually the one to flirt with a stranger. Something about him though, it made you take the risk.

“Oh,” he said as blood rushed to his cheeks. “Remus. My name’s Remus.”

You told him yours and stuck out your hand. He shook it with a soft laugh. His laugh fit him, you thought.

“I feel like I just did a business deal.”

“That’ll be soon enough,” you said, giving the book a shake. “But, um, do you mind if I ask when you’re off?”

“Oh!” Remus said again. “I get off at four, but my friends are expecting me… I could give you my number. I work tomorrow until the same time or really any time this weekend?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. Your boldness was paying off. He could’ve easily left it at his friends were expecting him, or just not told you when he was off. He offered his number and his schedule; it was more than you were expecting.

You fumbled for your phone. You handed it to Remus so he could put his number into your contacts. He gave it back to you with a brighter, more friendly version of the smile that made your heart melt only minutes ago.

“I’m not… I’m not usually this forward,” you muttered as you pocketed your phone.

“I’m glad you were. Apparently it’s against company policy to ask customers for their numbers and then I’d be telling my friends about this beautiful girl who came through the shop.”

Now it was your turn to blush. Then you got an idea. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and sent a simple “Hi :)” to Remus’ number.

“There,” you said, looking up at Remus with a smile on your face. “Now you can tell your friends that you’re texting that girl and she’s really looking forward to seeing you again soon.”

“They’ll be so proud of me,” he replied.

Your phone dinged with a message from your mother.

“Shoot, apparently I wouldn’t have been able to see you after your shift anyways…” you groaned. You sighed and looked back at the book in your hands. “Well, still getting this.”

“Then let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

You followed Remus to the register. He bagged your book and handed you the receipt.

“Have a great rest of your day and I’ll text you after I get off.”

Tags: @navs-bhat

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #request #remus lupin fic #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff

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bookwormjust · 9 months ago

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Gifts for a new family (established relationship with Azriel)

As you walk through the lively streets of Velaris, the city sparkles with the magic of the approaching Solstice. Snow gently falls, dusting your dark curls as you move from stall to stall, gathering thoughtful gifts for each person you hold dear. The vibrant energy of the city surrounds you—laughter, chatter, and music drifting through the air—but you’re focused, determined to find the perfect gift for each individual.

The Archeron sisters, your dearest friends, are at the top of your list. For Nesta, something elegant but practical—a sword charm, small yet intricately carved, reminding her of strength and grace. For Elain, a collection of rare seeds wrapped in delicate ribbon, the kind that will bloom into the most beautiful flowers in the gardens she adores.

Then, there’s Lucien. The idea of him being alone during Solstice tugs at your heart, especially with Elain’s rejection lingering in the air. No one seems to have thought of buying him anything, but you do. After a few moments of wandering, your eyes fall on a beautifully bound book on rare herbs and healing remedies—a subtle but kind offering, something that speaks to his knowledge and appreciation of the natural world. You smile softly, hoping it will be a small comfort to him.

And for Azriel—your shadowsinger. Your heart flutters as you think of him, the way his shadows dance around him like they know you. You’ve spent hours pondering the perfect gift, wanting to show him how much you care, how much he means to you. You finally settle on something simple yet deeply personal—a custom-made leather sheath for Truth-Teller, engraved with symbols of protection and strength, paired with a small silver pendant representing hope, something light for him to carry, always close to his heart.

Azriel’s mother, though you’ve never met her, is also on your mind. After all, she’s an important part of him, and you want to honor that. In a small shop tucked away in a quieter corner of the city, you find a delicate silver bracelet adorned with small, shimmering crystals that catch the light just right. It’s a token of kindness and respect, a gesture to show you’re thinking of her even before your paths have crossed.

With your arms full of gifts, you make your way through the bustling streets, feeling the warmth of the season and the love you have for everyone in your heart.

As you continue through the vibrant streets of Velaris, you think about the gifts for Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian, wanting each of them to feel the thought and care you’ve put into their Solstice presents.

For **Feyre**, you know how much she values art and expression, how it centers her and allows her to find peace in times of chaos. You eventually come across a beautiful set of high-quality paints from an artisan's stall. The pigments are vibrant, and there’s an array of colors Feyre could use to bring life to her next masterpiece. Alongside the paints, you pick up a small, hand-crafted sketchbook with a leather cover embossed with Velaris' iconic skyline, a symbol of home and her new beginnings.

For **Rhysand**, the High Lord of the Night Court and someone whose burdens are heavy, you want to offer him something that will remind him to find moments of rest and joy, despite his responsibilities. After wandering a bit longer, you find an elegant silver cuff with an intricate, celestial design that mirrors the night sky—the stars and moons delicately engraved into the metal. It's imbued with a subtle magic that encourages calm and relaxation when worn. A small but meaningful reminder that he, too, deserves peace.

And then, there’s **Cassian**. His boundless energy, laughter, and warrior spirit make you smile as you think of him. You search for something that speaks to his strength but also shows that you understand the heart beneath his brash exterior. After much deliberation, you find the perfect gift—a beautifully crafted pair of leather vambraces, sturdy but detailed with intricate patterns of wings and flame, symbolic of both his Illyrian heritage and the inner fire he carries. There’s also a bottle of rare Illyrian whiskey from one of his favorite distilleries, a little something extra to bring him joy on Solstice night.

With every gift now carefully chosen, you feel a warm sense of satisfaction. Each present carries a piece of you, a reflection of how much these people mean to you, and you can already imagine their reactions as they unwrap their gifts. The Solstice, after all, is about connection, love, and light—something you’re more than happy to share with those you call family.

As you stand on the bustling street, snowflakes dusting your shoulders and your arms full of carefully chosen gifts, the weight of the bags starts to pull at you. You smile softly, thinking how wonderful it would be to have Azriel here to help carry them—and to see him, of course. Through the bond, you can feel his steady, quiet presence, a warm pulse of calm beneath your skin.

You reach out gently, letting your thoughts drift toward him. *Azriel?* you send, a soft, playful nudge through the bond. *I may have gotten a bit carried away with the Solstice shopping...* You glance down at the many bags you're struggling to hold. *If you're not too busy, do you think you could come rescue me?*

For a moment, there's silence, then you feel a ripple of amusement from him, his presence wrapping around your mind like a comforting shadow.

*Rescue, hmm?* he responds, his voice a deep, smooth caress in your mind. *I’ll be there in a moment, love.*

A warmth floods your chest at his words. Within minutes, you catch sight of his familiar form gliding effortlessly through the crowd, his wings tucked close to avoid the bustling shoppers. As he approaches, his shadows swirling gently at his sides, his hazel eyes lock onto yours, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

Azriel takes in the sight of you, arms full of bags, and chuckles quietly. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he says, his tone warm as he reaches for the bags, easily lifting them from your hands as if they weigh nothing. His fingers brush yours as he does, sending a shiver of warmth through you.

“Just a bit,” you reply, smiling up at him. “I didn’t realize how much I was carrying until I tried to walk back.”

Azriel shakes his head, his shadows whispering around you both as if they’re pleased to see you together. “Good thing I’m here, then,” he murmurs, his eyes softening as they linger on you. “Shall we?”

With his strong arm around you, you feel a sense of lightness, knowing that together you can face the chaotic streets and the busy holiday, each gift chosen with care and love for your new family. You walk side by side through Velaris, the snow falling softly around you, as Azriel quietly and effortlessly carries the weight that had become too much for you—just as he always does.

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x female!reader #acotar reader imagine #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #Spotify

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novaursa · 9 months ago

Text

The Games We Play

- Summary: The dragon catches Otto’s attention, and he decides to charm you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Otto Hightower

- Note: The reader is the younger sister of Viserys and Daemon.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: ambition of the heart

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The corridors of the Red Keep stretch before you, gilded by the warm glow of the morning sun, filtering through the windows. The tapestries sway with the faint breeze, but your attention is on a page of a history book about Old Valyria, which you clutch with both hands as you walk.

Your brother, King Viserys, had gifted you this particular tome, knowing how fascinated you were by dragon lore. But as you turn the page, you nearly stumble over the hem of your gown, the sudden sound of footsteps catching you off guard. You look up to find Lord Otto Hightower approaching, his expression warm yet carefully measured, as if he is calculating every word he’s about to say.

“Ah, Lady Y/N,” Otto begins, his tone gentle, though you catch the way his eyes sweep over you with a touch more interest than is typical. “You appear most immersed in your studies. May I ask what has captured your attention today?”

You give him a polite smile, lifting the book to show the embossed cover. “A history of Valyrian customs, my lord. It speaks of the rites and traditions our ancestors held dear.” Your voice holds genuine excitement, your mind already drifting back to the text. Otto, however, is more interested in your smile than in the book.

He clears his throat, trying to lean just slightly closer without appearing improper. “A most fascinating subject, indeed. Perhaps you might enlighten me with some of that knowledge over a walk in the gardens later?”

Before you can even formulate a reply, Viserys appears around the corner, oblivious to the undercurrent in the conversation. “Ah, Otto, Y/N! What a happy coincidence. I was just about to ask Y/N to join me in the Small Council chambers. I thought she might offer some insight.”

Otto’s lips twitch, the friendly mask slipping just a little, though he recovers quickly. “Of course, Your Grace. Her wisdom is always a boon.” He steps back with a courtly bow, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as Viserys leads you away, completely unaware of the exchange.

The next encounter is by the training yard. Daemon’s laughter rings out as he spars with Ser Harwin Strong, the clash of blades echoing in the brisk morning air. You watch from the sidelines, amusement curving your lips as Daemon lands a particularly cheeky blow against Harwin’s side, earning him a grunt of irritation.

A voice speaks up beside you, smooth and almost conspiratorial. “Your brother always had a flair for the dramatic, didn’t he?”

You glance to your side, finding Otto there, hands clasped behind his back as he observes Daemon with a raised brow. He offers you a small, knowing smile, and you nod, the corner of your mouth quirking up.

“He’s always believed that swordplay is as much about showmanship as it is about skill,” you reply, amusement tinging your words.

Otto seizes the moment, leaning in slightly as if to share a secret. “Perhaps you would prefer a quieter setting, my lady—something more suited to your interests? A stroll through the library, perhaps? I would be most honored to accompany you.”

You blink, caught off guard by the offer, and are about to respond when Daemon’s voice cuts through the air like one of his blades. “Careful, Hightower. My sister’s too good for the likes of you.” He grins wickedly, tossing his practice sword to a waiting squire. “And she doesn’t need a shadow breathing down her neck.”

You glance at Daemon, trying to suppress a sigh. Otto stiffens beside you, his expression momentarily tight, but he forces a gracious chuckle. “A jest as sharp as your sword, Prince Daemon.”

Daemon claps you on the shoulder, ignoring Otto altogether. “Come, Y/N. You’ve seen enough of Hightower’s dour face for one day.”

You glance back at Otto, who offers a strained smile as Daemon drags you away, muttering under his breath about meddling advisors and their hidden motives.

During supper, Otto’s attempts are more subtle, but no less apparent to those who know where to look. As you sit next to Alicent, your brother’s new wife, Otto keeps finding reasons to address you directly, his voice warm and tinged with admiration.

“I trust the evening finds you well, Lady Y/N? The cook prepared your favorite roast, I believe,” Otto remarks, a meaningful gleam in his eye as he gestures to the dish before you.

You murmur your thanks, a little puzzled by his attentiveness but assuming it’s mere politeness. Alicent, however, stiffens beside you, her fork pausing mid-air as she glances sharply between you and her father.

“Father, I did not realize you were so concerned with Y/N’s tastes,” she remarks lightly, though her tone holds a note of warning. Her eyes meet yours, a question in their depths.

Otto only smiles, lifting his goblet. “One must pay attention to the finer details in life, Alicent. It’s what makes one a capable advisor, after all.” He casts a quick, almost shy glance in your direction, and you catch a hint of something earnest behind his carefully constructed facade.

Before you can respond, Viserys claps his hands together, drawing attention back to him. “Ah, yes, the finer details. That reminds me—Y/N, have you considered taking a seat at the council yourself? Your insights are always so valuable.”

Otto’s expression falters, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face as the king unknowingly redirects the conversation away from his attempts at wooing. He sips from his goblet, though his gaze keeps drifting to you throughout the meal, undeterred by the setbacks.

It’s in the gardens, a week later, that he makes another attempt, catching you after your walk with Alicent. As she steps away, leaving you alone among the rosebushes, Otto approaches, brushing a stray leaf from your shoulder with a practiced air.

“Lady Y/N,” he says, his voice lowering as if to make this moment more intimate. “I do hope you’ve been enjoying your time in the Red Keep. It must be lonely without the presence of a companion to share your thoughts with.”

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious smile. “I have my family, Lord Otto, and the company of friends. Though I appreciate your concern.”

For a moment, you see the faintest hint of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he’s weighing whether to speak plainly or continue his subtle dance around the subject. But before he can decide, Daemon strides into the garden, his expression darkening as he spots the two of you together.

“Isn’t there a council meeting you should be attending, Hightower?” Daemon’s tone is pointed, his arm slipping around your shoulders in a gesture that is both protective and possessive. “Or perhaps you’re looking to add ‘gardener’ to your list of titles?”

Otto’s jaw tightens, but he bows with forced politeness. “Prince Daemon, always a pleasure. I shall leave you both to your... conversation.”

As he walks away, his shoulders a little more rigid than before, you can’t help but stifle a laugh, leaning into Daemon’s side. He rolls his eyes but smirks, shaking his head as if the whole ordeal is a great joke.

“What exactly did he think he’d accomplish? Flirting with a dragon in front of me, no less.” He squeezes your shoulder. “You’d best keep an eye on that one, Y/N. The only thing more dangerous than a snake is a lovesick one.”

You chuckle, glancing back to where Otto’s figure disappears around a corner, already plotting his next approach. Though you don’t quite understand what he’s after, you can’t deny that his efforts—though misplaced—are amusing.

And as you return to the keep with Daemon at your side, you can’t help but wonder if Otto Hightower might just be as persistent as he is ambitious.

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