#i know he could in the gardening. he seemed interested enough

[rosenecklaces]

"How can elain match his darkness?"

How would he match her whimpsy it's the real question here

[d1stalker]

Suspension Bridge Effect [Logan Howlett]

Summary: You saved one of the younger mutants during a mission, and now he's obsessed with you, much to Logan's dismay

Warnings: mainly Logan POV, jealousy, cuteness, fem!reader WC: 2.6k - MASTERLIST

----

Logan’s losing it; his thoughts are spiralling to the point where he wonders if he should be locked up.

At least, that’s what he thinks is happening as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. You’re standing near the edge of the mansion's garden, laughing softly as the kid—Johnny, a younger teenage mutant—tries to hand you a bouquet of hastily picked flowers. His face is flushed, eyes wide with admiration, and he’s practically vibrating with nervous energy as he looks up at you.

This punk, this moron, this lovesick blockhead, has been glued to your side ever since you saved him during the last mission.

It was supposed to be a standard run-of-the-mill rescue operation, but when things went south, and he was cornered, you swooped in like the hero you are and got him out unscathed. Now, the kid’s been following you around like a lost puppy, trying to win your attention, your approval—your everything. And it’s infuriating.

Logan can feel his hands clench into fists as he watches Johnny offer you the worst attempt at a bouquet he's ever seen, and sees the youngster's face turning a deeper shade of red as he mumbles something the older man can’t quite hear. Probably some dumb compliment, he thinks bitterly. The kid’s got no game.

You smile at Johnny. It's that soft, kind smile that always makes Logan’s heart skip a beat. But this time, all it does is fuel the fire raging within. He knows that smile isn’t just for him, but damn it, he wishes it were.

He wishes you’d tell the kid to scram, that you’re already spoken for, that you have a lovely boyfriend who could put together a way better bunch of flowers, but instead, you take the flowers with a gentle laugh, thanking the goblin like he’s just handed you a priceless treasure.

And somehow, the torment is never ending, it seems. Because later in the day he find’s himself lurking at the doorway of the mansion library, watching as you and Johnny sit together, heads bent over some book he know knows the little gremlin is just pretending to be interested in. That brat is soaking up every second of your attention, hanging on your every word, and it’s driving Logan up the wall.

“He’s just a kid,” you keep saying whenever he grumbles about it, but you don’t see it. You don’t see the way the bastard’s eyes light up whenever you smile at him, or how he leans in just a little too close when you’re explaining something to him. You don’t notice the small touches—the way his hand lingers on your arm when he’s pulling you somewhere, the way he looks at you like you’re the centre of his universe.

Logan sees it all, because he’s been there before. He knows exactly what Johnny’s feeling because he felt the same way when he first met you. Still does. It's that intense, all-consuming crush that makes you do stupid things just to be near the person you can’t stop thinking about.

“Logan, you’re staring,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he turns to see her smirking at him from across the hallway.

“I’m not starin’. Just keepin’ an eye on things,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’re jealous.”

He scowls at her. “I ain’t jealous of some kid.”

“Sure you’re not,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

Clenching his jaw, he knows she’s right but not wanting to admit it. “She doesn’t get it. She thinks it’s cute.”

“Maybe if you told her how you’re feeling, she’d understand,” Jean suggests gently, though there’s a knowing look in her eyes.

Huffing and turning away from the library, Logan has decided that he’s had enough of standing on the sidelines. He needs to do something before he loses his mind entirely. But it seems he can’t escape this torture, because he can’t even get five minutes alone with you.

He tried to get your attention after you finished up teaching your class, but before he could, the little devil ran in front of him and got it first. His eye twitches as he watches Johnny offer you another “gift,” this time a poorly folded paper crane. You take it with a smile, thanking him kindly, and Logan grits his teeth so hard he swears his molars might shatter.

“Hey, kid,” He grumbles, stepping forward with a growl in his throat that would send most people running. “Don’t you got somewhere else to be?”

Johnny looks up, momentarily startled by the sharp tone, but then just gives a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, no, sir. I was just, um, hanging out with her.”

“Yeah, well, she’s got things to do. Don’t you, darlin’?” Logan’s eyes flicker to you, hoping you’ll catch the hint and send the kid on his way.

But you don’t. You just laugh. A musical sound that makes him want to clamp his hand over your mouth because why should that devil's spawn get to hear your beautiful voice? He’s truly about to lose it. 

“It’s fine, babe. Johnny’s just being sweet.”

Sweet. Logan wants to snort. Sweet is one word for it. Obnoxious, irritating, and clingy are a few others that come to mind.

“You got a crush or somethin’, boy?” His tone is laced with a dangerous edge as he crosses his arms over his chest, towering over the knucklehead. He’s trying not to outright scare him, but damn, he’s close to it.

Johnny turns beet red, stammering, “N-no, I just… she saved me, and I just wanted to say thank you, that’s all!”

Narrowing his eyes, a low snarl rumbles from his chest, and Logan takes a deliberate step forward, but before he can do more, you place a hand on his arm, pulling him back.

“Logan, that’s enough,” you say firmly, giving him a pointed look. 

Well, there goes another piece of his sanity.

You’re too kind, too understanding. You just don't get it. To you, it’s just an innocent crush, something harmless, something that makes you smile. You think it’s nothing, and that only makes his blood boil more.

“Fine,” he finally mutters, stepping back, though his eyes never leave the teenager’s. Johnny seems to take that as some kind of begrudging acceptance and gives you another shy smile before scurrying off, likely to find the next token of his gratitude to bring to you.

Once he’s gone, Logan lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “This is drivin’ me nuts, you know that?”

You just chuckle again, stepping closer to him and slipping your arms around his waist. “It’s just a phase, I’m sure. He’ll get over it.”

Wrapping his arms around you tightly and pulling you in close, he feels a little bit better in your embrace, but his eyes still track where Johnny disappeared into the mansion. “He better. ’Cause if he doesn’t, I might lose my damn mind.”

You tilt your head up, kissing his jaw softly. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

He huffs, not wanting to admit it, but the truth is written all over his face. “Maybe a little.”

Smiling, you lean up to kiss him properly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Logan kisses you back, a little more possessively than usual, as if to remind himself that you’re his. And even as you melt into him, he can’t help but keep one eye open, scanning the garden for any sign of that kid returning. He might be crazy, but he’ll be damned if he lets some lovestruck teenager get between him and the woman he loves.

—

The next morning, the mansion is buzzing with its usual activity. You and Logan head to the dining hall for breakfast, with him looking a little more relaxed after a night of holding you close. But the moment you step into the room, he spots a certain demon sitting at a table, eyes locked on you as if he’s been waiting for this very moment.

Groaning under his breath, Logan mutters, “Not again,” before guiding you to a table near the windows, hoping Johnny won’t follow.

You take your seat, smiling up at your boyfriend as he pulls out his chair, and for a brief second, he dares to believe that he might actually get to enjoy a quiet breakfast with you. But just as he’s about to sit down beside you, Johnny swoops in out of nowhere, plopping down in Logan’s seat with a grin like he’s just won the lottery.

“Morning!” He chirps, completely oblivious to the thunderous look on the other man’s face.

Freezing in his place, Logan glares at the kid who’s now sitting where he was supposed to be. He mentally cycles through a list of unflattering nicknames—Useless Idiot, Captain Obnoxious, Motherfu—but none of them seem quite strong enough to capture his current feelings. “You’re in my seat, kid.”

Johnny blinks up at him, feigning innocence. “Oh, uh, sorry. I didn’t see your name on it.”

You can practically see the self-control it takes for Logan not to pick the kid up and toss him across the room. His fingers twitch at his sides, his claws itching to come out, but he holds back. For your sake, and only your sake.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to keep your voice gentle but firm, “you do know he is my boyfriend, right? And even if he wasn’t, I’m a bit too, uh, old for you?”

The young mutant's eyes widen, and for a split second, you think you might have gotten through to him. But then he glances over at Logan, his face scrunching up like he’s just eaten something sour.

“Yeah, but he’s, like, hella old,” The idiot blurts out, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as if the mutant standing right there can’t hear every word.

Logan’s expression darkens, a storm brewing in his eyes as his jaw tightens to the point where you can almost hear his teeth grinding. Hella old? Is this guy serious?

He's dealt with all kinds of enemies—mutants, monsters, government assassins—but nothing, nothing has tested his patience like this hellspawn has been. “What did you just say?” he growls menacingly.

Johnny, either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, doesn’t back down. “I mean, no offense, but you’ve got a lot of… uh, experience, you know? And you’re like centuries old. Maybe she needs someone closer to her age.”

That’s the last straw. Logan’s eyes flash with anger and something else—something more vulnerable that you rarely see. A part of him knows the gremlin’s just talking out of his ass, but the words hit a little too close to home, stirring up old insecurities he usually keeps buried deep.

Without another word, he slams his hand down onto the table, the sound echoing through the dining hall like a gunshot. The room falls into stunned silence as he then storms out, his footsteps heavy and his anger radiating off of him in waves. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t acknowledge the whispers that follow in his wake. He just needs to get away before he does something he’ll regret.

“Logan, wait—” you call after him, but he’s already halfway out the door.

You turn back to Johnny, who’s now looking a little less confident and a lot more like he might have made a mistake. Sighing, you lean forward with a serious expression. “You can’t just say things like that. He’s not just my boyfriend. He’s the person I love.”

Looking down at the table, his face falls, and he begins fiddling with the napkin in his lap. “I didn’t mean to make him mad. I just thought—You saved me and I felt something…I thought maybe you’d feel something for me too.”

You soften, reaching out to pat his hand. “Johnny, you’re a sweet kid, but you’ve got to understand that Logan’s the one I’m with, and no one can replace him.”

He nods slowly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. “I get it,” he mumbles. “I just…”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You’ll find someone your own age who’s perfect for you. But for now, you need to give us some space, okay?”

Johnny nods again, this time more resolutely. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Just… try not to instigate anything else. I’ll go talk to him.” You give him one last reassuring smile before heading toward the exit.

When you step out into the hallway, you barely have a second to process your thoughts and decide where to look before you’re suddenly pressed up against the wall. A gasp escapes your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by Logan’s mouth on yours. The surprise melts away as the intensity of his kiss overtakes your senses, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

His kiss is possessive and fierce. You can feel the frustration, the jealousy, the need to claim what’s his, pouring out of him with every movement of his lips against yours. For a moment, you lose yourself in the heat of it, letting the world around you fade as you focus solely on him.

Then, through the haze of the kiss, the practical part of your brain kicks in. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips, “Logan… we’re gonna get caught.”

He growls softly, his lips trailing down to your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “Let them see,” he mutters between kisses. “Maybe then that damn dunce will get the hint.”

You laugh, though the sound is cut off as he captures your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as if he’s afraid to let go. “Babe, really,” you whisper, trying to sound serious but failing as your body responds eagerly to his touch. “People are gonna see…”

“I don’t care,” he grumbles, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you involuntarily shiver against him. “Shoulda thrown that little shit out on his ass… let him know who you belong to.”

“You’re jealous of a teenager,” you tease, though the words come out breathless and almost lost in the intensity of the moment.

Logan pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark. “Don’t like him sniffin’ around you, thinkin’ he’s got a shot.”

You smile up at him, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him back down for another kiss. “You don't need to feel threatened by him. You’re the only one I want.”

He huffs softly, his lips brushing against yours as he mutters, “Damn right I am.”

“C’mon,” you murmur, gently pushing against his chest. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, huh?”

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering back toward the dining hall, as if half-expecting Johnny to come barreling out any second. But then he nods, taking your hand and leading you down the hallway, away from prying eyes. His grip on your hand is tight, territorial, and you can’t help but smile as you follow him.

As you walk together, you give his hand a squeeze. “Logan?”

“Yeah?” He glances over at you, his expression softening slightly.

“I love you, you know that?” You say it with that pretty grin of yours, and the way his eyes warm in response makes your heart flutter.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice quieter now, more sincere. “I love you too.”

The remaining tension melts away, leaving just the two of you walking hand in hand, ready to steal a few more precious moments together.

----

A/N: this was really fun to write!

[melzula]

Can you please write jealous Zuko? It can be however you like😊

a/n: i love jealous zuko! however this ended up being more angsty than i intended😭 hope you enjoy!

summary: a party at the palace leads to a deep revelation for zuko

He was miserable.

The palace didn’t throw parties very often these days, but the recent conquering of another Earth colony was deemed a call for celebration, and so all of the noble families in the Capital City were invited to attend. A grand feast was held and praises were showered upon Ozai throughout the night. It was one of the rare times Zuko didn’t have to worry about his father’s wrath, and so he should have been enjoying himself.

But he couldn’t, not when he could see that across the way another boy was flirting with you right in front of him.

You were Zuko’s everything- his childhood best friend that he’d always held harbored feelings for. During his banishment he thought of you constantly, and upon his arrival he immediately asked you to be his girlfriend. You were sweet and friendly, easily approachable and always able to cheer him up despite his moodiness, you were perfect. And apparently this other boy could see this too.

You smile out of politeness and nod along to the boy’s rambling story about his fire bending skills and high IQ, not very interested in listening but too nice to brush him off. It infuriates Zuko to see someone else take advantage of your kindness, and he’s unable to just sit back and watch any longer.

A harsh hand lands upon the boy’s shoulder, startling both of you in the process. Zuko’s eyes are blazing with fury, his palm scorching the fabric of the boy’s robes and scaring the spirits out of him in the process.

“Can’t you take a hint? She doesn’t want to talk to you!” the Prince bellow angrily, prompting a few guests nearby to turn their heads curiously towards the commotion. A bit embarrassed at the sudden attention, you gently pull Zuko’s hand away and drag him out to the gardens before he can escalate the situation any further. The last thing you need is for him to cause a scene at his father’s party.

“What?” Zuko says defensively as you wordlessly walk through the palace hallways. “I was helping you!”

“You were acting jealous again,” you chide gently.

“No I wasn’t!” He argues defensively only to shrink under your pointed gaze. “…I was.”

“I love you, Zuko, but I don’t love how jealous you can get sometimes. I’m your girlfriend, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” He interjects quickly, almost offended at the notion.

“Then what is it? Why do you act this way?”

Zuko is silent, his eyes casted sullenly to the floor as you patiently wait for his answer. You take his hands in your own and give them a reassuring squeeze to let him know you’re there for him, and the act seems to coax him out of his stupor.

“I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about being with me, and once the right guy comes along you’ll realize you’re better off without me,” he admits quietly, almost ashamed to voice the thought out loud.

“Zuko…” you utter sadly, heartbroken at the fact that he could even believe such a thing.

“Why do you want to be with a boy who’s been exiled from his own country before? Whose own father burned his face? Who’s so messed up in every way possible?”

Gently carefully cupping his face in your hands, you tilt his head upward to meet your sincere gaze. His eyes are glossy with tears he refuses to let fall, and your heart aches for the poor boy before you. You wish you could take away all of his hurt in agony, but you can’t, so you do your best to take away his insecurity instead.

“I wish you could yourself the way I see you,” you tell him lovingly. “You are more than enough for me, more than I could ever ask for. You’re strong, you’re brave, you’re smart. You’re you. I love you, Zuko. No one’s ever going to get into the way of that.”

He says nothing in response but simply yanks you into his arms for the tightest hug you’ve ever possibly received. You know he isn’t the best at words or emotions, but his embrace conveys that he is grateful for every word to come out of your mouth.

He knows he may be jealous at times, but he also knows that he doesn’t have to be anymore.

Because you’re not going anywhere.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 2

Hii! Here is the second chapter. I will post the chapters when the next one is either 50% or 90-100% ready, based on how long it has been. Hope you enjoy!

previous<< Chapter 2 >>next

Breakfast became awkward as soon as you shyly walked in, hunger beating the desire to stay hidden in your room- in hindsight, maybe you should have. They were chatting so eagerly, laughing. You wanted that too but as soon as you peeked through the door the noise stopped. It was like the first day of kindergarten. Lonely, your palms were sweating with anxiety, and- and you missed your mom.

You tried introducing yourself to Richard, but you were met with a hum and one singular glance, no interest from the older boy, your supposed brother. Bruce- you’d rather him not look at you at all. It was like he was trying to read your mind and dissect it.

By the time you had it in you to speak again, to try and create some bonds, it seemed like they couldn’t get away fast enough. They both looked so tired. You’d think they would have taken their time. Your eyes meet Alfred’s icy blues once the room is empty.

“Do they hate me?... Did I do something wrong?” Alfred’s whole body flinched at the question, unseen by the untrained eye. The old man felt pity, a bit of guilt for the way he, himself, acted. But the mask of indifference he’s been trained for years to keep took its place once more.

With a gentle hand, he did his best to soothe her worries. Bruce could never hate a kid, Alfred was sure… He hoped he was. Alfred shook his head- no, he shouldn’t doubt his child- Master Bruce. He shouldn’t doubt Master Bruce like that. He knows better. The old man cleared his throat. “Here, young miss. Master Bruce wanted you to have this. Just like Master Dick has.” His explanation of what and how to use the little black card and the modern phone came just as quickly as his try at making connections between the two kids.

“Giving a kid unsupervised access to so much money and the internet sounds like a bad idea.” Your mumbling made Alfred’s lip twitch. It was and he said as much, but it was what Master Bruce wanted, and what he wanted he got… usually.

And with that, Alfred left too. You understood why he left; he seemed to be the only employee. Taking care of such a big house all on your own must take all day, and to have to cook as well… Poor man, Bruce mustn’t like him very much either. He was old, ancient to your five-year-old self, maybe you could help with something.

After finishing your meal, you take the dishes and carefully put them in the sink. You wanted to wash them but sadly, the counter was taller than you. Instead, you focused on cleaning the table and pushing the chairs back into their place.

Bruce must have gone to work, and Richard to school. Your brows furrowed and your lips stuck out in a pout. You were supposed to go to kindergarten. Neither of the adults seemed worried about that, and you didn’t know how to get there either, so it must be a deliberate choice. Maybe it was closed. Or maybe they forgot.

Your feet carried you across the manor, from the withered garden to the many floors of the cold house, relying on the whispers from the shadows to know what door you can open, and which way you should go. They were leading you in a specific direction, you knew, but what else could you do but listen? Not like you had anything else to do or anywhere to be.

You stopped as soon as the shadows stopped whispering. The overlapping murmuring going silent made the room feel colder, and yet your amazement at the object before your eyes filled you with the warmth and hope you needed to survive another day. It was a simple thing, a painting.

A couple, a woman sitting on a chair and a man standing tall beside her. The position on any other would seem imposing, controlling even, but the hand on her shoulder wasn’t gripping her. It was a tender caress of care that reflected in the man’s face as a gentle smile and his eyes fixated on the woman, his wife. The painter did a great job of portraying the love and softness the man held for his beloved, as they did for the warmth in her smile and mischievously happy gleam in her eyes.

She was beautiful, full of life. Her dress was silky white. Must have been painted on the day of their wedding. She was the perfect picture of elegance as beautiful, shining pearls adorned her neck and the bottom of her dress, and yet… Her eyes seemed as sad as they were happy. She probably missed her mami too. You couldn’t imagine marrying someone and leaving your mom, but then again, you’re young and idealistic, dreaming of things that cannot be anymore.

You sat there for what felt like hours, taking in every little detail you could. You wanted to do this, to paint, to draw, to have your art hung for generations to see. Maybe you could fix the garden as well. Make it a beautiful background for your art, and a little something to make you feel useful. Now… how do you get back to your room?

The shadows seemed to giggle at how your demeanor soured once you realized how lost you actually were. Nevertheless, once they had their fun, they led you back to where you needed to be, gently nudging your tired little self back into the walls of your room. All that walking exhausted you so much, a nap was long overdue- you were sure they’d wake you up for lunch or dinner.

They never did. You woke up at one in the morning, more tired than when you went to sleep, and ten times hungrier and colder. Maybe they didn’t have dinner? The trash in the bin and half-chopped veggies in the fridge told a different story. It seems you’ll have to fend for yourself once more.

Tag List: @bat1212

[novaursa]

To Save Us Both

- Summary: Aegon was your shadow ever since you were a child. And once you come of age and Viserys gives your hand to Lord Tyrell's son, Aegon makes a decision that would save you both—and ruin you all the same.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

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

You had always been the quiet one, the shadow lingering just outside the gilded glow of your family’s attention. As the second daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, you lived in the space between your mother’s careful plans and your father’s indulgent dismissiveness. Helaena had her dreams and riddles, and Aegon—your elder brother—had his bravado and recklessness. And then there was you.

From the earliest days, Aegon sought your attention with a peculiar intensity. At first, it was innocent enough. He would seek you out during lessons, deliberately sit beside you at the long table in the Red Keep’s library, or tug on your sleeve when you were absorbed in your Valyrian texts.

“Y/N, look at this!” he exclaimed one day, barely past eight, holding a wooden dragon he had carved—or at least claimed to have carved. It was crude, the wings uneven, but you smiled at him regardless.

“It’s… unique,” you replied, your voice soft, careful not to wound his pride.

“Unique?” His face fell slightly before he puffed up with exaggerated bravado. “I think it’s better than that. It looks like Vhagar, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a little smaller than Vhagar,” you teased gently, a rare flicker of mirth dancing in your eyes. Aegon’s pout faded into a grin, and he sat beside you, his body leaning just a little too close.

It was always like this with Aegon. He thrived on your smiles, craved your laughter, and seemed to falter when you turned away from him. When Helaena pulled you into her world of strange, whispered riddles or Aemond showed off his knowledge of dragons to impress you, Aegon’s mood would darken.

One afternoon, the court gathered in the gardens for a brief reprieve from the heat of the Red Keep. You had found a shaded spot beneath a weeping willow, a book of High Valyrian poetry resting in your lap. Aemond stood beside you, his expression serious as he recited lines from memory, his voice low and earnest.

“Se perzys ipradagon ziry ry,” he said, his pale gaze fixed on you. “The flame consumes it all.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your lips curving in approval. “You’ve improved,” you said, your voice warm, and Aemond’s face lit up with quiet pride.

From across the garden, Aegon watched, his jaw tightening. He drained his goblet of wine in one swift motion and made his way toward you, his steps purposeful.

“What’s this?” Aegon interrupted, his tone light but sharp around the edges. He flopped down beside you, ignoring Aemond entirely. “High Valyrian poetry? How dull.”

“It’s not dull,” you said, looking up at him with a small frown. “Aemond has been practicing.”

“Oh, Aemond’s been practicing,” Aegon mocked, his voice dripping with exaggerated awe. “How impressive.” He reached over and plucked the book from your lap, flipping through it carelessly. “You should do something more fun, Y/N. We could go riding or—”

“She doesn’t have time for your games,” Aemond said coldly, stepping closer.

“And you don’t have time for your lessons, apparently,” Aegon snapped back, his smile sharp. “Run along, little brother.”

“Aegon,” you said, a note of warning in your voice. He turned to you, the sharpness in his expression softening instantly.

“What? I’m just saying we could have more fun.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’d rather spend time with me, wouldn’t you?”

Your brows knit together, and you glanced between your brothers, torn. “Aemond and I were having a conversation.”

“But I’m more interesting,” Aegon pressed, his grin widening as he tilted his head, his violet eyes searching yours.

You sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only for you, dear sister,” he replied, the words carrying a weight you didn’t fully grasp.

As you grew older, Aegon’s attempts to claim your attention became bolder. When suitors began to glance your way at feasts, he was quick to position himself between you and them, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, his voice louder, his laugh more boisterous.

One evening, a young lord from the Reach had spent far too long at your side, his compliments earning your shy smiles. Aegon, seated nearby, clenched his goblet so tightly that the metal bent under his grip.

When the lord finally excused himself, Aegon slid into his place, his eyes narrowing as he looked after the retreating figure. “Do you actually enjoy listening to that drivel?” he asked, his tone laced with disdain.

“He was kind,” you said simply, glancing at him.

“Kind? He was duller than a broken sword,” Aegon retorted, his gaze fixed on you. “You deserve better.”

“And who would that be?” you asked, your voice carrying a note of challenge.

His smirk faltered for a moment, his expression turning uncharacteristically earnest. “Someone who knows you. Someone who’s been by your side all along.”

Your breath caught, his words lingering in the space between you. But before you could respond, he laughed, the moment breaking as quickly as it had come. “But not him,” he added, his usual arrogance slipping back into place. “You’re mine, little sister.”

You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scold him, but the possessiveness in his tone left an unspoken promise lingering in the air. Aegon would always vie for your attention, no matter who tried to steal it away.

The announcement had been made during a routine gathering of the family, with King Viserys seated at the head of the table, Alicent by his side. His words were spoken with the offhandedness of someone making a trivial decision, though the weight of them crashed into Aegon like a hammer.

“It’s time we secure another alliance,” Viserys had said, his gaze landing on you. “Lord Tyrell has expressed interest in a match between his eldest son and our daughter.”

You sat frozen in your seat, your wineglass trembling slightly in your hand. Across the table, Aegon’s face darkened. His lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, he stared at Viserys, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.

The conversation moved on, Viserys discussing trade agreements and naval concerns, but Aegon heard none of it. His mind was a whirl of chaos, his heart pounding so fiercely it drowned out the voices around him.

Later that evening, he stormed into Alicent’s chambers, his face pale and his violet eyes wild. She was seated by the hearth, embroidering a handkerchief with practiced precision. When she saw him, her calm expression shifted to one of concern.

“Aegon?” she asked, setting the embroidery aside. “What’s the matter?”

“I need to speak with you,” he said, his voice strained. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair, the usual air of arrogance stripped away. “It’s about Y/N.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her motherly instincts kicking in. “What about her?”

“They can’t marry her off,” he blurted, turning to face her. “Not to the Tyrell boy. Not to anyone.”

“Aegon,” she said softly, rising from her chair. “It’s a good match. Lord Tyrell is powerful, and his son—”

“I don’t care about his son!” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising. “I don’t care about alliances or power or any of it. She belongs here, with us. With me.”

Alicent froze, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied her eldest son. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t let this happen.” He took a step closer, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Mother, you have to stop it. You’re the only one he listens to.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. “Aegon, you’re being irrational. Y/N’s future—”

“My future doesn’t exist without her!” he cried, his voice desperate. “Don’t you see? She’s the only thing in this world that matters to me.”

Alicent’s lips parted, her expression shifting from concern to something more conflicted. “Aegon…” she began, but he cut her off.

“She’s everything to me,” he said, his voice softer now, trembling with vulnerability. “When she laughs, it’s like the sun breaks through the clouds. When she looks at me, I feel like I’m someone worth being. And the thought of her—of her with someone else—” His voice broke entirely, and he turned away, his shoulders shaking.

Alicent watched him for a long moment, her mind racing. Finally, she spoke, her tone measured. “You care for her deeply.”

Aegon let out a bitter laugh. “Care for her? Mother, I love her. I’ve always loved her. And if they take her from me, if they marry her off to that Tyrell boy or anyone else…” He turned back to her, his face etched with anguish. “I’ll die. Do you hear me? I’ll die.”

The rawness of his words struck Alicent to her core. She had always known Aegon’s feelings for you went beyond brotherly affection, though she had hoped it was a passing infatuation. But the desperation in his voice, the tears brimming in his eyes—it was undeniable. This wasn’t a childish crush. This was a man willing to set the world aflame for the one he loved.

“You must speak to Father,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Convince him. Tell him it’s not the right match, that she’s too young, that the Tyrells aren’t trustworthy—anything. Just stop it.”

Alicent hesitated, torn between her role as a mother and her duty as queen. Finally, she nodded, her voice firm. “I will speak with him. But, Aegon…” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “You must tread carefully. This path you’re walking—it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her by my side.”

Alicent sighed, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Then let us hope the gods are merciful.”

As Aegon left her chambers, a flicker of determination replaced the despair in his eyes. If his mother couldn’t stop the betrothal, he would find another way. He would fight, scheme, beg—whatever it took. Because losing you wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.

The candles burned low in Aegon’s chambers as he paced the floor. The wine on his table sat untouched, an unusual sight for him. Tonight, Aegon’s mind was too sharp, too focused, to indulge in his usual vices. The Tyrell betrothal still loomed like a sword over his head, and every moment that passed without a resolution tightened the noose around his heart.

He had spoken to Alicent, begged her to intervene, but her assurances felt fragile against Viserys’s iron will. His father had grown increasingly indifferent to the pleas of his children, too consumed by his own decaying health and dream of uniting the realm. If Alicent couldn’t sway him, Aegon knew he needed to act. He needed to ensure that there was no choice but to keep you by his side.

The idea had taken root in his mind slowly, twisting and growing until it consumed him entirely. It wasn’t honorable, nor was it kind, but Aegon was neither of those things. He was desperate. And desperation made monsters of men.

That night, as the Red Keep grew silent and the court retired to their chambers, Aegon found you in the library. You were alone, the firelight illuminating your soft features as you poured over a book. It was a scene he had seen a hundred times, but tonight it struck him differently. Tonight, he couldn’t afford to wait, to hope that things would somehow fall in his favor.

“Still reading?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

You glanced up, startled but not displeased to see him. “I could say the same to you. It’s unusual to find you here without a cup of wine in hand.”

He smirked, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose even I have my moments of sobriety.”

You smiled faintly and returned your attention to the page, but Aegon didn’t move. He stepped closer, his boots soft against the stone floor, and you glanced up again, your brows knitting in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re hovering,” you said plainly, though there was no malice in your tone.

Aegon chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to his ears. He sat beside you, closer than usual, his knee brushing yours. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. “About the Tyrell boy.”

You stiffened slightly, your gaze dropping back to the book. “Father has made his decision. There’s little point in discussing it.”

“Do you want to marry him?” Aegon pressed, his voice low and urgent.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said, your tone soft but resigned. “My duty is to the family, to the realm.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, leaning closer. “Do you want him, Y/N? Do you want to leave the Red Keep, leave me, and go to Highgarden?”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with surprise and something else—confusion, perhaps. “Why does it matter to you?”

Aegon swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Because I can’t lose you. You’re mine.”

“Aegon—”

“Listen to me,” he said, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “You don’t belong with him. You belong here, with your family, with me.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened. “Aegon, you’re not making any sense.”

“I love you,” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I can’t let them take you from me.”

Your lips parted, shock evident on your face. “You’re my brother.”

“And that makes it wrong?” he challenged, his voice trembling. “Our blood of the dragon is the same, our bond stronger than any lord or knight could ever offer you. Don’t you see? We were meant to be together.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, but before you could respond, Aegon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he were testing the boundaries of what you would allow. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

You pushed him back abruptly, your eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. “Aegon, this is madness.”

“It’s the truth,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’ll prove it to you. If they try to marry you off, I’ll stop them. I’ll make sure you stay here, with me.”

“How?” you demanded, your voice rising. “What are you planning?”

He hesitated, the weight of his scheme hanging heavily between you. “If Father won’t listen, then I’ll give him no choice. If you’re mine, truly mine, he can’t send you away.”

The implication of his words hit you like a blow, and you took a step back, your chest heaving. “You mean to ruin me,” you whispered, horrified.

“To save you,” he countered, his expression desperate. “To save us.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “Aegon, this isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way,” he said, reaching for you again. “Don’t you see? I’d burn the whole world to keep you.”

You turned away, your heart pounding, and fled the library, leaving Aegon alone in the flickering firelight. He stood there for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists, his mind racing.

If you wouldn’t accept his love willingly, then he would ensure there was no other path for you to take.

Whatever it cost, whatever it took, you would be his.

[legalmente-loca]

My Own Work Of Art

Pairing: Castiel x F. Reader

Summary: When the boys leave you alone with the strange angel, one question is answered.

Word Count: 1,950

Tags/Warnings: Comfort, nothing really spicy (you're safe), fluff.

You watched him from your place on the couch. He had his back to you, checking your items on top of the dresser. You could see his face in the reflection of the mirror in front of him, focused. Sam and Dean had left you alone with him, something about "having backup" in case something happened, but you knew it was to keep you safe and have the angel on your shoulder watch over you (although he wasn't small enough to be on your shoulder and was not behind you, but in front). You were supposed to be reading a book, but there was something about him that intrigued you (beyond the fact that he was an angel), a question that kept running through your head. He must have felt your gaze, because he looked at you out of the corner of his eye while holding your comb.

"I think there is something you want to tell me."

You took a deep breath and settled into place, putting your book aside without even marking the page you were on.

That shows how interested you really were in what you were reading.

"Have a question." You finally spoke.

He turned around this time, leaving the object on the wood, facing you with his hands behind him.

"If I can answer it I will."

You looked him up and down, studying him. You don't really know what you could conclude. How much can the appearance of an angel tell you? Since it's not even his true appearance.

"When Sam tried to contact you," you began, "You didn't respond to his call," he tilted his head with interest, listening attentively. "And then Dean prayed for you, and you showed up."

He nodded his head as he watched you from his still place. You have to admit that while you knew you weren't in danger, his aura let you know that that didn't mean he were vulnerable.

"You said you were connected to him." it was your moment to tilt your head. "And then you said you were connected to me too."

"That's right." He said simply.

"Well, I understand why you have a connection with Dean, you were the one who took him out of hell and he has your mark on his shoulder." you frowned slightly, your next question probably already expected. "But why do you have a connection with me?"

He slowly looked away, probably he already expected that kind of questioning.

"Castiel?" You softly said his name to get his attention, which you did. "I just want to understand."

His gaze traveled over your body, thoughtful, before turning around, his eyes staring at the furniture in front of him before grabbing one of your necklaces.

You thought that was it, that he wouldn't answer your question. It's not like you want to pressure an angel, so you moved to grab your book again, cursing inwardly for not marking the page.

"The first time I saw you, you were sleeping." he said suddenly, causing your attention to fall on him. "I had to talk to Dean, and there you were... Sleeping peacefully in the hotel bed, your face on one side and your hair over it, covering your features."

You listened to him, intrigued.

"There was something that caught my attention, something in me that wanted to run your hair to get a good look at your face." He continued running his fingers over your necklace, but his mind was on his memories. "And then, when we spoke formally, I knew..."

You stood up from the spot and approached him slowly.

"What did you notice?"

He didn't even turn to look at you, he simply placed the necklace back where he had found it and looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

"About a thousand years ago, I was doing my duty when I heard a voice. A voice that teleported me to a large garden," you slowly approached from behind, one step in front of the other. "And that voice spoke to me to ask me a question."

His gaze locked onto yours in the reflection. He showed no emotion, or rather, he didn't seem to want to, you noticed.

"He asked me what a perfect human would be like in my eyes," he murmured, "And I answered..."

He turned to look at you and took a step forward, making you go on alert, again not out of danger, but out of curiosity.

"I responded that I could never describe a perfect human in my eyes, since perfection is inexplicable."

He took another step forward and in response you took a step back. He watched you, understanding your action and not trying to make another attempt to be close to you.

"But I told him I could describe something close."

You took note of his eyes traveling all over your face, taking in every feature, every part that made you physically yourself.

"I described their hair, their legs and arms, their ferocity... Even their look."

You let out a sigh, something about his words making your mind spin.

"Their skin had to be soft, even when it was rough." he continued, taking another step forward, this time not getting a step back from you. "I imagined their fingers were magical. Any living being touched by them would find complete peace."

He held your hand gently, causing you to jump slightly, not expecting it. But you didn't move your hand away either, a magnetic feeling didn't leave you. You let him lift your hand and run his own fingers through it, looking at it as if it were a work of art, the best seen by him.

"But their eyes..." He slowly moved his hand up your wrist, following the veins down your arm and causing your hairs to rise at his touch until he reached your shoulder. "I proclaimed that all their power would be in their eyes." he looked deep into your eyes, feeling a shiver crawl up your spine, his hand continuing its journey along the side of your neck until it reached your cheek. "Their gaze would hypnotize and make strong and firm walls fall..."

He took another step forward, his gaze slowly falling to your lips.

"And their lips..." He gently caressed your lips with his thumb. "Oh, my Father, their lips would be magnificent, attracting the attention of everyone who looked at them, no matter how strong they think they are, they would fall at their feet."

His gaze stayed on your lips, parting his slightly. As for you... You couldn't even describe it. You couldn't move, or rather you didn't want to. You had a feeling of fear that if you did, this would end, whatever it was.

But he seemed to force himself out of the bubble, shifting his gaze to your eyes and lowering his hand, seeing his throat move as he swallowed accumulated saliva.

"After giving my answer, I returned to where I was. I spent years wondering about the purpose of His question and it was finally answered."

"Yeah?" Your voice barely came out and you cleared your throat.

"Yes." He returned his gaze to you. "As soon as we spoke, I understood that the answer to His question was in front of me," he looked at you slowly from bottom to top, analyzing you. "Both physically and emotionally, everything was there." He cocked his head, "A few words turned into a single work of art of flesh and blood." He placed his gaze on your eyes, his own half-closed. "And I can't stand not being attracted to your person in some way..." He murmured, bringing his face closer to yours.

A wave of heat ran through your body, your gaze on his before resting on his lips, from which you felt his breath. You even closed your eyes, ready to receive what he gives you.

Just when you thought he couldn't get any closer to you, the door to the motel room opened and Sam and Dean walked in, looking curiously at their closeness.

"All good?" Dean asked, looking between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

You hesitated and Castiel stood up straight, looking at them seriously, very different from the look he had given you earlier. No words left his mouth before he walked back to the dresser and went through the items there again.

The boys returned their gaze to you, waiting for a response. You nodded your head.

"Everything is in order." You cleared your throat and scratched the back of your neck. "What did you find out?" You asked as you returned to your position on the couch and grabbed the book again, not even bothering that you didn't remember what blessed page you were on.

You felt Sam and Dean's gaze on you for a few seconds before they started walking around the room, talking about their discoveries in the case. But you couldn't concentrate on a single word of what they were saying.

Your gaze hesitantly rose from the book and ended up at Cass's reflection in the mirror. You didn't really know if he felt a connection to you, if your relationship was based on something God had created, but his gaze also rose to yours in the reflection.

Nobody said anything. Hell, you're even sure none of them expressed any emotion, but somehow... Somehow there was something there...

An invisible thread that did not allow neither of you to maintain your concentration on anything other than the other.

Castiel One Shots

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[darnell-la]

just imagine logan as a lone wolf who lives in a cabin in the middle of the forest and maybe the reader is just an ordinary girl (maybe shes a farmer or a gardener) that lives behind the forest and she needs to cross the path along the forest every day to go home, it goes down to rain and she gets lost, and finds logans cabin.

Then she looks at logan for the first time and its just love at first sight.

Well maybe lust, but also love.

note: Logan lives far from civilization in this story, so you can imagine when a young lady, the only person he sees daily, accidentally steps too far into his property wet and dirty. He can’t help but invite her in and pray for the best.

———

Y/n had been running through the woods for what felt like hours, eyes constantly getting rain in them as her shoes soaked. She could barely feel her feet, and her clothes were drenched.

“Oh my god,” y/n said, coming across Mister Howlett’s house, a man she’d never seen but had heard of. One part of her was happy seeing the house, knowing she had gone the right way, but the other half still hurt her head. She has ten or so minutes of running and no walking.

Y/n walked in front of the house, about to pass until an alarm went off, almost scaring her out of her shoes.

Lights flashed on the young lady as she heard rustling coming from inside the house. “Goddamnit,” she cussed under her breath, realizing she had stepped too far into the man’s property. She never does, but it’s raining hard tonight, and she can barely see.

“Who the fuck is on my property!?” A man asked, voice sounding a bit different than an average male. “I-I’m sorry, I-I always walk this way, I just walked a bit too far into the grass. I-It’s raining heavy out here,” she said, loud enough for him to hear her over the rain.

Logan walked past the frame of his front door, revealing the shotgun he had in hand. At first, she was terrified, but her mind instantly forgot about the weapon in his hands as her eyes scanned the rest of his body.

“I see,” the man said, scanning the young lady. He wore thick blue jeans, with a beat-up heavy belt, and his tank top was white and dirty. Y/n on the other hand had an amazing outfit. A fluffy skirt with an uptight crop top.

Of course, all of it was drenched, but the man had seen how good she looked earlier today, like every day. He never gets a good look at her, but the consistency of her going to work or whatever she did every day, seemed to rub Logan the right way.

“C’mon in — Let the weather cool down a bit,” Logan suggested, tone still unfriendly, but she understood she could’ve woken him up. “Oh, uh- Thank you,” she said as she approached his doorstep.

Once the two met eyes, it was almost like everything from then was in slow motion. The way they blinked, how slow they stepped, when he talked, telling her to take her shoes off for him to dry, and when he locked his front door.

“So — What do you do exactly?” Y/n asked as she shifted on his couch to look at him who was at the end of the same couch she was sitting on. He never sits on the long couch, but tonight, he felt like it.

“Chop wood, give to the community, fix up the land, and cook,” he said before taking a sip of the whiskey he had poured and offered her, but she told him she wasn’t a drinker.

“Sounds like a lot of work,” she said, making him chuckle. “Maybe for you, princess,” the man said with a look over his reading glasses before he looked back down at the newspaper he was reading.

“I work hard — Just in other ways,” she smiled. “And what is it you do, Bub?” The man asked, now placing the newspaper down to listen. He was interested. He didn’t know why, but he was.

“I write online books and sell clothes. These! I made myself. Hope I can dry them without it messing up,” she said as she tugged on her clothes. “You made that?” He asked, slightly surprised.

“Mhm hm — Took a while, but I got through,” she smiled. “Maybe I can dry it. I mean, I don’t think the rain’s gonna slow down anytime soon, so you can just stay here until they air dry in my basement,” he offered.

“You can take my bed. It’s clean, and my room has a lock if it makes you uncomfortable that a man’s in the house,”

Y/n stayed silent, thinking to herself. It didn’t seem like too much of a bad idea. She didn’t know the man, but he was a neighbor. She passes his house all the time, and she’s sure he’s seen her before.

“I’ll stay,” she said, making Logan huff out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping in. “Let’s head upstairs. It’s late, and I was going to close up down here anyway,”

Logan had shown y/n to his room, telling her she could make herself at home as he pulled out a shirt she could wear to bed.

“When you wake up, I’ll have your clothes in front of the door, alright?” He asked. “Okay, uh- I know I’m asking for a lot now, but is it possible to take a shower?” She asked.

Logan looked at her body, almost forgetting she wasn’t clean. Her legs had mud in them, her skin was wet, and her hair had branches in leaves in them. He had ignored all of that before. He hadn’t cared what she looked like. She looked pretty no matter what.

“Of course,” the man said before he went into his closet to grab a towel. “You can use my bedroom bathroom. It’s clean too,” he said, making sure she didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Thank you for this all. I’ll repay you someday,” she looked up at him as he gave her a towel. “You don’t have to. I would never leave a pretty girl in the dark,” y/n giggled at his response, happy she knew he thought she was pretty.

“Hey, Bub, I almost forgot to give you some soap. Those in there are a bit strong smellin, so I’ve got some normal scents for ya,”

Logan knocked on the door bathroom door a few minutes after the had started the shower. “Oh my, thank you!” Y/n said as she hopped out of the tub and slightly opened the door, covering anything that could be seen.

“Of course, princ-“ the man had cut himself off as he looked behind her, seeing her figure in the mirror. “What's wrong?” Y/n asked as she followed his eyes, looking behind him before she let out a scream.

“Oh my god!” The main tried covering herself up as the door slowly opened. Logan wanted to look away, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the younger woman.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Y/n said, covering as much as she could as she looked up at him. “It ain’t like Ian seen a naked woman before, Bub,” Logan said. Y/n let out a sigh, knowing a man who looked like him had definitely seen enough naked women to not feel disgusted or anything by her.

“Okay, okay,” she caught her breath, still covering herself up as Logan stood in the door frame, scanning her body. Her wet skin which wasn’t completely clean yet, made him feel a type of way. She made him feel a type of way, but he wanted to be respectful.

“I’ll leave you to it, princess,” Logan said before he went to turn around, but y/n stopped him. “Wait!” She said. “I-I need the soap,” she spoke low, making him realize he never exchanged it with her.

“Oh, shit- Yeah, yeah,” Logan said as he handed the bottle to the young lady. Y/n grabbed it, pulling at it so she could take a shower and ignore how embarrassed he was, but he kept a grip on the bottle.

He had no idea what he was doing, but he wanted to see what she would do.

“Is something wrong, Mister Howlett?” She asked. He loved the way his name rolled off of her lips. He never thought he’d love his last name more. What was this random girl doing to him?

“Yeah, it’s just- I don’t know,” he said, making her smile slightly. “I-If you wanna join me, you can. You know, to save water?” She suggested, surprising the man. She even surprised herself.

“You sure, Bub?” The man wanted to make sure he hadn’t been dreaming all night. “Yes-“ Before she could finish, the man threw the soap bottle to the side, grabbed the woman by her face, and pulled her into a rough passionate kiss, making sure his tongue slipped right in.

Y/n instantly maimed in his mouth at the aggression. He gave back a groan as he picked her up and placed her on the wooden sink counter.

Logan ripped his white tank top off before pulling his jeans down, revealing the hard-on he had since he saw her outside in the rain.

“Got me so fuckin’ hard, Bub. Don’t know why,” he said, making her giggle. “Maybe because I’m pretty?” She suggested, making him laugh. “That’s definitely one reason, Bub,”

Logan spat on his fingers before wiping the across her cunt which was already leaking. “Fuck,” y/n cussed under her breath as her body hitched.

“Mhm, potty mouth,” she said with a smile before he licked his fingers, tasting the mess he had just wiped across. “Fuck, you taste good,”

Logan put his cock in hand before lining up. When he pushed at her entrance, she instantly tightened around him. “Fuck,” Logan groaned, hands gripping the sides of her ass to pull her into him.

“Oh my god,” y/n cried out as his length buried inside of her completely. “Fuck, yes,” the man huffed out as he rested his head on her shoulder. “Ian gonna last,” he admitted, slightly embarrassed, but she loved it.

“Good — Makes me know you like me back,” she said. The man chuckled against her skin, moving his face until his slips were on her neck. “You gonna take it all?” He asked, kissing along her neck with a few nibbles.

“Yes, Mister Howlett,” she said. “C’mon, Bub — Ian that old,” he chuckled as he moved his hips, slowly thrusting into the woman to take in his good or felt, the way she gripped him.

“I like them old,” she admitted. “Oh, really? Is that why you’re so wet right now? Because you’re working my cock so fuckin’ much,” the man said in her ear, making her whine.

“Yes — Yes, that's why,” she admitted again. “Well luckin’ me,” Logan snapped his hips, getting ready to spill deep into her.

“P-Please cum in me,” she begged as she wrapped her legs around his waist, making sure he knew she really wanted it. She needed it.

“Wasn’t gonna do it any else were, Bub,”

[skyahri]

And Suddenly |JJK Men X Reader| HC

Characters: Sukuna Ryomen, Gojo Satoru, and Geto Suguru

Summary: They proposition you for a baby.

Warnings: Cult Leader!Geto, Heian Era!Sukuna, Canon Gojo. A little smutty, but nothing specific.

Masterlist Ko-fi

- - - - -

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna swears he doesn't play favorites.

He always gives the same response when prompted by Uraume- that he hated everyone equally and that if anything, they were the only person he could tolerate. That specific line of questioning always riled him up, oftentimes making him irrationally angry and defensive.

Despite what he says, everyone on the estate knows he's full of shit. No one else is dumb enough to call him on it out of fear of being brutally murdered, but it's clear he does have a favorite. That fact is only further cemented when he approaches you in the middle of the garden and publicly demands that you give him a child.

"... what?"

"Are you deaf? I need an heir and you're going to give me one. Let's go."

Just like that, you're being slung over his shoulder and carried off. You only manage a peak at Uraume before the door closes, but even they seem surprised by the sudden declaration.

When you finally reach his chambers, he sets you down on his bed and drops his robes to the floor. When you don't move to do the same, he shoots you an impatient look, but you only offer him a confused one back.

"My Lord, I apologize if this is out of line, but what brought this on?"

"I want an heir."

"Yes, but why now? And why me?"

"Are you denying me, woman?"

"No, of course not, My Lord, I'm just- this is all very sudden."

After the initial spark of anger that flashes through him, he does genuinely think about it for a moment. Requesting a baby was quite the ask, and it would be in his best interest to keep you happy. Perhaps he could at the very least answer your questions...

"You are fertile."

"Is that really the only requirement you look for when considering the potential mother of your children?"

"Of course not."

He hates that little look you give him. It's pointed in a way that makes his nerves flair. It's not direct enough for him to ever call you on, but it screams defiance nonetheless.

"I don't have to explain myself to you. You should feel honored to have been chosen. Be grateful, brat."

Your face doesn't change. You only cross your arms and wait for his little tantrum to pass in hopes that he'll be a more willing participant in the conversation.

"What do you want from me?"

"Honesty, My Lord. That's all."

He bares his teeth at you. It's an empty threat- that much you learned long ago. You're well aware of his soft spot for you, and while you typically don't use that against him, you really did just want answers.

In the three years you'd served him, he had never once mentioned wanting children. He'd go as far as to kill any concubine who fell pregnant or even brought the topic up. Something was most definitely amiss, and you weren't one to cave into his ridiculous demands so easily.

After a momentary standoff, he sighs and stands a bit straighter in front of you.

"You are well aware why I have chosen you."

"Am I?"

Oh, if looks could kill you'd be six feet under already. He seems almost... embarrassed? It's not something you've ever seen on him, the red tint to his cheeks and ears are undeniably different from when he's angry. His lower right hand twitches ever so slightly and you can nearly hear his teeth grinding together.

"It is possible, that I may not entirely hate you."

"Careful, My Lord, that almost sounds like a confession."

"If that is what it takes for you to agree, then so be it."

You won't get anything more out of him, at least, not today. You'd been fully expecting him to choose an easy way out, something about biology or hierarchy or whatever, but this? No, this was a thousand times better than anything you could've imagined.

"Now, as to why, My Lord?"

"Is it really so surprising to want a child with you?"

You... don't know how to answer that. His response both does and does not answer your question. You were initially looking for something more, concrete? Something like him needing a successor or maybe needing to prove himself in some way.

Whether he intended to or not, he had given you a very intimate response that you were not in the last bit prepared for.

You were very aware that he treated you differently, not just from the other concubines, but from everyone in general. You had certain privileges that others did not, like joining him for dinners and baths or sleeping in his chambers. He indulges you with little acts of affection, things like kissing and brief touches. You spoke out of turn without consequence and could get away with doing things without his explicit permission.

But all of that was a whole Hell of a lot different than wanting a family. The man would sooner die than admit to liking you, but here he was admitting to wanting children with you. Not wanting an heir, not allowing you the privilege, no- wanting children with you.

"I accept."

"You say that as if you had a choice."

"We're alone, My Lord, there's no need for the tough guy facade."

"It's not a facade. Don't forget I can kill you, woman."

"Mhm, if you say so, My Lord."

Satoru Gojo

"You know,"

He slowly slides his hands up your sides, slipping them underneath the hem of your shirt.

"With the kids being so busy nowadays, I can't help but feel like our nest is a little empty."

He moves his head from its resting position on your head to trail kisses down your face. He pauses at your lips for a moment before continuing down your neck.

"Lucky for us, I know just the thing to fix such a problem."

You're only half paying mind to the attention he's giving you, the majority of your thoughts running over his recent behavior, trying to piece together anything that could've prepared you for the current situation.

He was a little upset when Tsumiki had gone full swing into high school last year. She had lots of friends, joined a few extracurriculars, and took her classes seriously. It didn't leave her much free time for family. You understood, and so did Satoru (albeit reluctantly), but that didn't make it any less bittersweet.

With the new school year starting, Megumi had begun drifting as well, and it didn't help that he was living on campus now. Of course, Satoru was one of his mentors, but that only meant their time together was spent working.

Both kids had always been independent, most likely a side effect of their shitty unconventional upbringing, but it seemed time was only making that fact more apparent.

You'd noticed he'd been a little deflated lately, but you'd chalked it up to extra stress from the council. You never thought it would be over something like this- not that you doubted how much he loved his pseudo-family or anything, he's just never shown any particular interest in expanding at all.

Even now, aside from a few stray comments about missing the kids and prioritizing family dinners, nothing he did really popped out.

"Satoru-"

He pulled away and took your hands in his, bending down a bit to make the height difference less obvious.

"Just hear me out,"

He swallowed hard and squeezed your hands a bit tighter.

"I know it's not something we've really talked about, but I can't stop thinking about it. I love raising kids with you and I don't want it to end."

"Babies and toddlers are a lot different than kids, Satoru."

"I know."

"It's a lot of work. We'd be starting over just as they've become self sufficient."

"I know."

"There's also significant risk associated with having Satoru Gojo's biological baby."

"All the reason to work harder."

Usually, when he wants something, he gives you this sappy, wide eyed, puppy dog stare and tries to bargain wit you. This, however, is starkly different. His gaze is intense, like he's peering straight into your soul, but it's also desperate, like he wants you to say yes but for once in his life, he's not going to pressure you.

Not that he'd have to, honestly.

He's right. You have enjoyed raising kids with him. He's dorky and definitely on the irresponsible side, but he cares for Tsumiki and Megs more than anything else in the world. He'd take them to the park, engage in whatever board games they wanted to play, and always did his best to make it to school events. He's a good dad, and you aren't eager to see the end of the peak quite yet.

The house is also very quiet as of late. There's no bickering, no loud music, and no one pestering you to make snacks. There's no more homework to help out with and no more rides to give. It's rather lonely.

So you put on your best poker face, just to spook him a bit, and focus your gaze on his pretty blue eyes. He looks hopeful. He knows you well enough by now to know you're going to say yes, but that little bit of fear overshadows any certainty he has.

"I think, maybe, possibly, that our family doesn't quite feel complete just yet, and might have room for one more."

That's all the confirmation he needs before he's scooping you up, pressing sloppy kisses against any surface of your skin he can reach, and taking you straight into your shared bedroom.

Suguru Geto

He had truly never thought about the prospect of having kids before. He was seventeen when he took in the twins and life had been pretty hectic since then, not leaving much room for additional personal affairs.

But he couldn't get the girls' words out of his head.

They'd come home from school last week and told him about one of their classmates who had just received a baby brother. He wasn't sure if they knew the scope of what they were asking when they started begging for a little sibling, but it did get him thinking. So he told them he'd consider the idea and sent them off to do their homework.

He wasn't... completely against the idea. He's at a point where he has the means to provide for one more. He loves Nanako and Mimiko more than anything and he's sure he can love another kid all the same, but that wasn't the issue.

It was having another kid that was difficult. He'd essentially kidnapped the twins, and while the deed was justified, he wasn't eager to do it again. Anything formal was off the table, being a mass murderer slash cult leader, and all.

That's when you entered his field of vision. Like an answer to his prayers, you walked past him with a bright smile on your face and a quick 'Good morning Geto-sama' before running off to wherever the girls currently were.

The answer seemed a bit too obvious. You'd joined not too long after he'd taken over, offering support in any way you could. At the time, he was having a hard time adjusting to everything. Raising children was a lot harder than he'd anticipated, mostly due to the trauma they'd endured. You took some of the load off of him. You watched them while he was in meetings, cooked them meals, and made sure they got to and from school when he couldn't.

You're around his age, smart and pretty, and essentially already a mother to his kids. You loved them as much as he did, so surely, you'd be more than happy to help him out with this, right?

"You... want me to give you a baby?"

He wasn't sure what to make of that response. It was ambiguous, and your blank expression didn't lean any one way the other.

"Yes. Nanako and Mimiko would like a sibling, and I've decided to indulge them. Would you be so kind as to help me?"

"I'm not pregnant, Geto-sama."

"I'd hope not."

Your confusion only grew. There was no precursor to this conversation. Just yesterday you were discussing the week's itinerary and what all was expected of you. He hadn't looked at you any differently, hadn't dropped any hints, or asked any strange questions. This was truly out of the blue.

You must've taken too long to continue the conversation because there's suddenly a hand grabbing yours. It's warm and rough, and despite the newness of it, it's grounding.

"Please don't feel pressured to say yes. I'd like an honest answer. This will only work if both parties are consenting."

You hesitate for a moment. It's not like you haven't thought about it before. Not this specifically, but being more of a permanent fixture in Geto household. It's usually a fleeting feeling, a fantasy of sorts. You'd never allowed yourself to mull over it, assuming that it was a lost cause.

"Why me?"

A perfectly reasonable question.

"You're already a mother to my children, what's one more, hm?"

"And this baby..."

"Would be ours, if you're willing if course."

Suguru is actually pleased by your hesitation. A fair number of his followers would jump at the invitation without much thought. He finds it rather pathetic that some would follow him so blindly, so your reluctance only further cements his confidence in his decision.

"And what would all of this mean for me?"

"I suppose you'd be a wife of sorts. 'Nanny' seems a little degrading for someone bearing my child."

He laughs and it immediately cuts through any tension in the air.

While the offer is certainly jarring, denying it had yet to cross your mind. Geto is a harsh leader, sure, but he's incredibly kind to those close to him, and that extends to you. He's a great dad and loves his children, and you're sure any baby of yours would meet the same fate.

"Yeah, okay."

"Good. Why don't you meet me in my quarters after you put the girls to bed."

[vera-deville]

Hello! I really love your works for twisted wonderland! I was wondering if i can make a request please?

Maybe a one shot of leona with a s/o that is very sweet and shy that used to have a very toxic relationship before meeting him, maybe in some moment the reader's ex tries to get back together but to everyone surprise(and Leona's pride) reader ends up slapping their ex.

I hope you're good! If you don't like this request just tell me!

The Quiet After Roaring

05/01/2025

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader Word Count: 3,299 Warnings: Reader deals with an ex, hurtful sentiments, mentions of toxic relationship with the ex Gender: AFAB Tags: @viviennevermillion, @achy-boo, @savanaclaw1996, @atomatoho3, @qaxdea, @katzline Notes: Thank you so much for your ask and for your kind words! I've written so many fics for Leona and I can never seem to get enough. ^-^ I hope you enjoy this! Masterlist

It was always the little things that lingered.

The ghost of a grip too tight on your wrist. Words with edges that sliced deeper than any spell. Silence used like a blade, sharpened by disappointment and left to cut you open when you least expected it. It had been months since the supposed end of it, months since the relationship had ended, but there were nights where you swore you could still hear his voice - sickly sweet and poisonous at the same time - echoing in your head.

You hadn't told anyone. Not outright. Because how could you?

You should have known better. Because you were the fool who stayed too long. Because you were the girl who once flinched at kindness, who didn't know how to take a compliment without instinctively brushing it off, who apologized for existing.

It didn't matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter that things were looking better for you now. It didn't matter that you had begun anew. The cracks in your foundation followed you wherever you went.

And Leona noticed.

At first, you thought it was just his usual laziness. He always had a strange way of showing interest - flat-toned grunts, sarcastic remarks, occasional glances like he was trying to decide whether you were worth getting up for. But then he started sticking around more (well, more than his usual boyfriend duties were). There were no big declarations. Just...small things.

"Eat," He muttered one afternoon, tossing you a neatly wrapped sandwich while lounging in his favorite sunspot behind the botanical garden. You blinked at the sudden gift, half-expecting there to be a prank hidden inside (that would be far too much effort on his side), but when you opened it, it was just food. Normal. Real. Warm.

"Leona, I-"

"You skipped lunch." His tone brooked no argument. "Don't make me waste good meat."

And that was the first time.

The second time was when he caught you flinching from a raised voice in the cafeteria. Some Savanaclaw students were roughhousing again - nothing out of the ordinary - but something in the deep, guttural shouting triggered something sharp and suffocating in your chest. You'd dropped your tray. Frozen.

The sound of it clattering to the ground was what pulled you back.

And then, there was Leona. Standing over you, growling low in his throat, amber eyes flicking dangerously toward the students responsible.

"Pick it up," He snapped - not to you, but at the others.

Ruggie darted in from the sidelines with a rag, mumbling apologies, trying to smooth things over.

"Jeez, Boss," He said later, trailing behind Leona as they exited the dining hall. "You're kinda hovering these days."

Leona didn't answer. He didn't have to. His tail flicked once behind him, low and controlled.

You weren't stupid. You noticed, eventually.

The way Jack seemed to suddenly pop up in your elective classes. "Must've swapped schedules," He claimed with a shrug. How Ruggie would "coincidentally" run into you in the halls with some silly errand. Or how Leona just happened to be sunbathing exactly where you needed to walk through to get to the greenhouse.

It wasn't a coincidence.

It was a net, strung tight but invisible, a protective perimeter you hadn't even asked for. But gods, did it make your chest ache.

You didn't know what to do with that kind of care. You didn't know how to handle someone noticing without demanding. Caring without controlling. Protecting without possessiveness.

So you tried to ignore it. You tried to pretend you were fine.

You smile politely. You laughed when jokes were told. You passed your classes. You stayed out of trouble. You were perfect.

But Leona could see it - the subtle stiffening of your shoulders when someone stood too close, the polite distance you maintained with even your closest friends, the carefully measured responses that lacked real warmth.

He wasn't the sentimental type. But he'd been raised among beasts. He knew what fear looked like - even when you tried to wear it like armor.

So he said nothing.

Instead, he watched.

When a group project came up in Potions, he made sure Ruggie requested you as a partner.

When Vargas assigned a brutal fitness test, Jack "accidentally" jogged beside you the whole time, keeping your pace.

When Crowley announced an upcoming academic field trip (one that would only last a day) to Royal Sword Academy, Leona joined the delegation, despite grumbling endlessly about it being a "waste of time."

You were surprised when he volunteered. He usually avoided anything that required effort. But he just grunted when you asked.

"They needed someone competent. Guess the bar's that low."

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You knew the truth. He was going because you were going.

And you were starting to realize...he always had been.

He never pressured you to talk. Never pried about your previous relationship, despite you mentioning it in passing. But in the quiet, in the ways he looked at you, you understood: he knew enough.

You once caught him standing outside Professor Trein's classroom after your lecture ended, arms folded, posture lazy. But his eyes scanned every student exiting the room until they landed on you.

You'd raised an eyebrow. "Waiting for someone?"

"Yeah. You."

"Awwww, look who's being a sweet boyfriend~"

"Tch, just wanted to walk back with you. You look like you're about to pass out."

You hadn't realized you were shaking until that moment.

You didn't ask how he knew. You didn't need to.

Leona wasn't soft. He didn't coddle. But he was steady - solid like sun-warmed stone - and he never once made you feel like you were broken.

He was patient in his own rough way. Like he was giving you time.

Time to trust again.

Time to breathe.

Time to heal.

And thought you hadn't said it yet, hadn't dared to, you were starting to feel truly safe again.

But safety is a fragile and fickle thing. Sometimes, all it takes is a name from the past, a face you hoped you'd never see again, to shatter it in an instant.

And that moment?

That was just around the corner.

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You didn't expect to run into anyone familiar at Royal Sword Academy. The trip had been framed as a formal exchange - a handful of NRC students invited for a tour (and vice versa), a diplomatic gesture between the two rival schools. It should've been simple. Stiff handshakes, polite smiles that didn't quite reach the eyes, and a quick tour of immaculate halls that smelled like lemon polish and self-righteousness. No drama.

But of course, fate was much crueler than that.

Your group had just finished viewing RSA's main greenhouse - a pristine, sun-drenched dome filled with flowering, magical herbs - and students had dispersed into smaller groups to explore the campus. You were trailing behind Leona, thinking about how much more you liked the gardens at NRC than this, despite its grandiosity, when a voice slithered through the air like a snake in the grass.

"Well, well. I didn't think I'd see you here."

You froze.

No. Not here. Not him.

Your breath caught, shoulders stiffening as you slowly turned toward the voice. And there he was - your ex. Tall, arrogant, that same smug tilt to his chin that you used to find charming and now could only see as infuriating. His uniform - RSA's pristine whites and golds - looked too noble for someone so rotten.

Leona stopped walking. His tail gave a flick, catching the tension in your stance.

Your ex smiled. "Didn't think they let charity cases into these kinds of events."

You clenched your fists.

"Walk away," you muttered under your breath, barely audible.

"What was that?" He asked, stepping closer. "Didn't quite catch that, sweetheart."

You flinched at the pet name. It rolled off his tongue with the same venom as always.

"You don't get to call me that," You said, voice shaking.

"Why not? It's not like you've upgraded much," He continued, now eyeing Leona with thinly veiled contempt. "This your new keeper? Figures you'd end up with a mangy stray."

Leona, who had been silent until now, lifted his head. "You got a problem, Herbivore?"

Your ex ignored him entirely, eyes still on you. "I've been thinking, you know. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I mean, sure, things got...heated sometimes, but I think we could work things out. You were always a little too sensitive-"

Crack.

The sound echoed across the courtyard before you even registered what you'd done.

Your knuckles stung. He was clutching his nose. Silence followed.

Dozens of heads turned. RSA students paused mid-step. Your NRC friends froze. Even Leona blinked in mild surprise.

And then - "Ha!" Leona laughed once, sharp and impressed. "About damn time."

Your ex reeled back, still clutching his face with as much delicacy he could muster, lest the pain increase tenfold. "Y-You crazy bitch!"

Leona growled low in his throat.

"Say that again," He said, stepping forward. "I dare you."

But he didn't have to. RSA staff and faculty were already converging at the scene. Murmurs broke out among the crowd. You felt dizzy, heart hammering in your chest as the reality of what you'd just done hit you like those trucks in isekai novels.

You'd punched him. In public. On another school's campus. In front of students, teachers, and Leona.

And then - like a blade through the whispers - came a calm, authoritative voice.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Headmaster Ambrose stepped forward, robes flowing, gaze sharp and unreadable behind small glasses. He looked at you, then at your ex, then to the watching crowd.

"Miss," He said to you. "And you, Mister Klyne." His voice was soft, but it carried. "To my office. Now."

You felt your legs turn to lead.

Leona took a step forward like he was about to protest, but the headmaster raised a single hand. The courtyard fell silent.

"This is not up for discussion."

Leona's teeth clicked together in frustration. You turned to him briefly, and he gave you a tiny nod. "Go. I'll be waitin'."

You swallowed hard and followed the Headmaster across the courtyard, your ex trailing behind. The walk was long, the silence deafening. Your mind raced - what if they banned you from future exchanges? What if they told Crowley? What if-

"You're not in trouble," Ambrose said suddenly, his voice slicing through your panic. "Not yet. But I'd like to hear what happened before I reach a conclusion."

You blinked up at him.

He wasn't angry. Not yet. Just...watchful. Fair.

In the ornate calm of the Headmaster's office, you sat on a soft leather chair, hands clenched in your lap. Your ex tried to speak first, but Ambrose cut him off.

"I'll hear from her first."

You looked up in surprise. The Headmaster gestured for you to speak.

So you did. You told him everything - your past with the boy across from you, the emotional manipulation, the veiled insults, the slow eroding of your confidence. You explained how you'd tried to stay quiet, how you didn't want to cause a scene, but he pushed and pushed-

"I see," Ambrose said, once you finished.

He turned to your ex, who sputtered with indignation, trying to refute every word with half-truths and shifting blame. But the more he talked, the deeper a frown settled onto the Headmaster's face.

When the boy finished, Amrbsoe sat back in his chair and let the silence hang for a moment.

"I appreciate your honesty," He said to you. Then, turning to your ex, "You will receive formal disciplinary action from RSA, and a written apology will be sent to Night Raven College on your behalf. I expect it to be delivered by the end of the week. Until then, consider yourself restricted from cross-campus interactions.

Your mouth dropped open.

"And you," Ambrose said, turning back to you, his voice softer, "Have nothing to fear. While I don't condone violence, I understand provocation. I also understand the importance of standing your ground."

You blinked back tears you hadn't realized were forming. "Thank you, Sir."

He gave a small smile. "You're welcome, dear. You may rejoin your group now."

As you left the office, your heart felt lighter, if only a little. The crowd had mostly dispersed, but your NRC group - Leona, Ruggie, Jack (definitely not a coincidence that these three were the ones to accompany you to RSA), as well as a few others - rushed toward you the moment they spotted you.

"What happened?" Jack asked, brows drawn in concern.

"Did that guy try to mess with you again?" Ruggie added.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'm okay. The Headmaster...he listened. My ex is getting formally punished and has to send a written apology."

"Serves him right," Ruggie muttered.

Jack nodded. "Good."

Leona didn't say anything right away. He just looked at you. His gaze wasn't intense, not sharp or cold like it usually was. Just...steady.

"You alright?" He asked, voice low.

You nodded, and for once, it didn't feel like a lie.

"Damn right you are," He said, and turned away. "Come on. Let's go. These sparkly bastards are makin' my skin itch."

You laughed, a little watery, and followed him.

Leona didn't offer a hug, or a pat on the back, or even a hand to hold. But he slowed his pace so you could walk beside him. He kept glancing at you, tail flicking every time someone looked at you too long. And though he didn't say it, you could feel it.

He was proud of you.

And that was enough.

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Ramshackle was unusually quiet that night.

Grim had long since retreated to his own bedroom, tail flicking behind him and muttering something about not wanting to be caught in any "mushy drama" (you think that's his nice way of letting you spend time with Leona). The shadows of the old dorm stretched across the cracked wooden floor. And the wind rattled softly against the windows. You and Leona sat side by side on your bed, still dressed from the long trip back from Royal Sword Academy. The air hung heavy - not with tension, but with the weight of everything that had happened.

You hadn't said much since returning. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, pulling at loose threads, unsure of what to do with all the leftover emotions that swirled inside you like a storm. The rush of confrontation, the relief of justice, the fear of it all blowing up in your face - now that the dust had settled, it all had nowhere to go.

Leona hadn't said much either, but that wasn't out of character. He sat leaning back against your headboard like he belonged there, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded in that lazy lion way of his. But his tail flicked restlessly at the edge of the bed, betraying that he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he looked.

"I should've seen it coming," You muttered.

Leona's ears twitched. "What?"

"I should've known he'd be there. Should've stayed away. Should've just...I don't know. Disappeared."

He cracked one eye open, gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture. "You blaming yourself for running into that walking dumpster fire?"

Your lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know what I'm doing," You admitted. "I thought I was better. That I'd moved on. But seeing him again just...it brought back everything. I still feel like the person I was when they were hurting me."

Leona was quiet for a long moment. Then he shifted, leaning over to pluck a throw pillow from the floor and chucking it lightly at your face.

"Hey!"

"You're not that person anymore," He said bluntly. "They don't get to live in your head rent-free just 'cuz they crawled out of their little sewer hole for a day."

You let out a weak laugh, catching the pillow and hugging it to your chest. "Yeah, well...it's hard to believe that. Especially when I'm the one who keeps spiraling."

Leona exhaled through his nose, irritated. But not with you. "Tch. That's what pisses me off. You keep doubting yourself when you're the one who slapped that bastard into next week. That wasn't just some scared girl from the past - that was you now. The one who doesn't take shit. The one who stood there in front of all those students and made it clear you weren't gonna be stepped on anymore."

You looked at him, surprised.

"...You really think I was strong back there?"

Leona scoffed, eyes rolling like the question was offensive. "What, you think I get proud over just anything?"

He sat up a little, tail curling around his waist lazily. "You got guts. Way more than most people I know. You think Ruggie or Jack could've stood there without trembling? Please. I've seen Jack trip over his own tail when he's nervous. And Ruggie? He'd have tried to scam the guy out of his lunch money and run."

Despite yourself, you smiled.

Then you looked down again. The smile faded.

"But what if I'm still...broken?" You asked quietly. "What if there's some part of me that they ruined? And it'll always be there? I'm scared that someday, I won't be good enough for you. That you'll wake up and realize I'm not strong, or I'm too much of a mess, or-"

Leona groaned and flopped fully onto the mattress, dragging you with him until your cheek landed against his shoulder.

"Stars, you're annoying when you get like this."

You stiffened.

"Not because of the way you fell," He clarified, lazily stroking your hair. "That part's fine. Emotions, trauma, all that crap - I get it. Life kicks you in the face, and it leaves a mark. But this constant fear that I'm gonna up and walk away? That I'm gonna get tired of you? That's what's annoying."

You blinked up at him, mouth slightly open.

"I don't do things I don't want to," He said flatly. "You should've figured that out by now. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't be here. I'd be asleep somewhere way more comfortable, not stuck in this dusty-ass bed in a drafty-ass dorm with peeling wallpaper and one cranky raccoon-cat as a roommate."

"Hey, Grim's not that bad."

"You're deflecting," Leona said, flicking your forehead gently.

You winced. "Ow."

"I'm serious," He said, voice softening just a little. "I chose you. I keep choosing you. And if you ever say that 'not good enough' crap again, I'm gonna make you write a ten-page essay on why that's bullshit."

You choked on a laugh. "Leona-"

He reached up and smoothed a hand down your back. "You're not broken. You're healing. And yeah, sometimes that means you'll fall apart a little. Doesn't mean I'm gonna ditch you. I'm not scared of what you think is a mess."

You buried your face into his shoulder, not quite crying, but close. The tension in your chest began to uncoil.

"...Thanks," you whispered.

He grunted. "Don't make it weird."

You both lay there for a while, wrapped up in the quiet hum of Ramshackle and each other. His arms stayed around you, his breathing steady and warm against your skin. It wasn't grand. It wasn't overly sentimental. But it was real.

Comfort, given the Leona way - through presence, through sarcasm, through quiet truth.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Leona shifted again and tapped your chin to make you look up at him.

"You listenin'?"

"Mmhmm," You mumbled.

"Good." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead - gentle, warm, and startingly tender.

"Sleep," He said, voice low and gruff. "I've got you."

And somehow, with all the broken pieces still stitching themselves back together, you believed him.

Author's Note: As soon as I read this request, I just knew that I had to make as long a fic as I could out of this. I had so many ideas and had a whole sequence planned out for the story. I like to imagine the ex is from Royal Sword Academy (just cuz I like the irony of it). I don't know when or how the Reader dated him, but who cares? She's got Leona now. Wish that were me. Also, I know you specified slapping the ex in the request, but I just thought it would be so much more satisfying to punch the bastard, so that's what I wrote. (Hope you still liked it)!

Masterlist

[pedriosofia]

CAR, HECTOR FORT. ﹙001﹚

➤ Summary: You have a fight because of his jealousy, so he gets stressed out with you in the car.

➤ Warning: SMUT +18, Unprotected sex, start angust, Cute ending, violent sex. Toxic.

➤ Author's note: Translated into English, meaning there may be spelling errors.

Hector didn’t like the feeling. A warm knot in his stomach, like something was out of place. The party was still going on in the background, with colorful lights flashing in the garden of one of his teammates’ houses, but to him it all seemed like a blur. His eyes were fixed on her—and the guy she was laughing with.

He was one of her friends from college. Handsome, confident, cool. His hand would brush her arm a little too much whenever he laughed at a joke. Hector knew the look of an interested guy—because he’d looked the same way. But what really irritated him was that she didn’t seem to make an effort to pull away.

She was wearing that tight black dress he loved. She knew the effect she had on him. And now, in this moment, she seemed to be throwing it in his face. Like she was teasing him.

When she pulled away from her friend and turned, she found Hector leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. His gaze was dark, hard.

“What is it?” she asked, frowning.

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

"Like this?"

“With him. Laughing at his jokes, pretending not to notice the way he looks at you.”

She snorted.

“Hector, he’s my friend. That’s all.”

“Fucking friend,” he snapped, pushing himself off the wall and walking toward her, his body tense. “He wants to fuck you, and you know it. He’s loving the attention.”

She crossed her arms.

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then stop acting like you’re single.”

The silence between them grew heavy. She stared at him defiantly. He stepped closer, the tension between them almost palpable.

“We’re going to talk,” he said firmly. “Now.”

He grabbed the car keys and pulled her by the hand, not giving her any room for argument. She went, out of pride and anger, but also because she wanted to understand how far he would go with this.

The silence was thick inside the car, broken only by the sound of the engine. Hector drove fast, his jaw still tense, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. She stared out the window, but she could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face from time to time.

When he stopped on a more deserted street, far from the house, he turned off the car with a sharp click. He turned to her.

“You like to tease me, don’t you?”

She turned her face slowly, her eyes burning.

“I don’t have to walk on eggshells because you’re insecure, Hector.”

He laughed humorlessly.

“Insecure? Do you think that’s it?”

“I think so. Because I didn’t do anything wrong. I just talked to a friend. If you see that as a threat, that’s not my problem.”

He licked his lips, staring at her with that intensity that always came before he lost control.

“Do you want to see how far I’ll go?”

She didn't answer. She just challenged him with her gaze. And that was enough.

Hector leaned over the console and kissed her hard, his hand going straight to her thigh, pulling up her dress. The kiss was hot, angry, full of everything he couldn't say. She responded with the same intensity, digging her nails into his arm, pulling at the hair on the back of his neck.

“Is this what you want?” he whispered between kisses, his lips trailing down her jaw, biting the skin down to her neck. “To drive me crazy? To remind me that you’re mine?”

She gasped when she felt his hand between her legs, firm, determined. His touch was urgent, possessive. He knew exactly how to tease. And now, he made sure to make it clear who was in charge here.

She squirmed in the passenger seat, trying to maintain control, but his fingers were already sliding firmly up the inside of her thigh, pushing their way in with authority. The car was dark, stuffy, the windows beginning to fog up with the difference in temperature between the inside and the world outside.

Hector pulled the back of her seat hard, reclining it all the way back, making her body slide a little. He straddled her with one knee on the seat, his eyes fixed, wild.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his voice low and filled with more than just lust. It was control. A warning.

She hesitated, just for the teasing, and saw his eyes grow even darker. He dug his hand into the base of her neck, squeezing lightly.

“I said... open.”

She obeyed. Slowly, defiantly, but she obeyed. And he smiled sideways, satisfied.

“That’s the way I like it.”

While the hand on her neck kept her there, submissive, the other slid between her legs with a precision that set the rest of her body on fire. She moaned softly, trying not to scream, but he leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“Shout to me. The car is ours. The night too.”

She moaned louder, the sound muffled by the heat of the moment, and he bit her jaw lightly as his fingers delved deeper. She trembled, arching against him, and he held on tight, as if he owned her every reaction, her every breath.

“Only I can make you tremble like that. Speak.”

“Only you,” she gasped, her eyes nearly closing with pleasure.

He removed his fingers and licked them slowly, his eyes fixed on hers.

“You will prove it to me.”

In one swift movement, Hector unzipped his pants, pulling the fabric just enough. Gripping her thighs tightly, he positioned himself between them and thrust into her, deep, angry, needy. The bench creaked beneath them, the leather slipping with sweat from their skin, and her moans mixed with the wet, rhythmic sound of his movements.

His hand returned to her neck, squeezing a little tighter now, but not hurting—just enough to show her that she was his. That he could take her to the edge and bring her back.

“No one else is going to touch you. Ever,” he growled, his hips thrusting hard. “You’re mine. Understand?”

She tried to respond, but all she could do was moan, her eyes watering with the intensity. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against hers, keeping his grip firm on her neck while his other hand gripped her waist roughly.

“I fucking love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I’m like this. Crazy. Possessive. Addicted to you.”

The climax came like a rough wave. She writhed beneath him, gasping, her muscles contracting around him. He lost himself with her, slamming into her hard one last time, hissing a husky groan against her sweaty skin.

They stayed like that for a few seconds. Panting. Silent. The only sound was their hearts beating fast in their chests, still processing what had just happened.

He gently removed his hand from her neck now, and kissed her there, like a silent apology. The anger was gone. All that remained was that intensity that always connected them, even in the worst moments.

“No one will ever love you the way I do,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

She ran her fingers over his face, feeling the stubble, the sweat, the weight of the moment. She knew it was true. And even if she wanted to, she couldn't escape it.

“I’m yours,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

He smiled. A small, satisfied smile, and kissed her slowly this time.

Do not copy or translate. Copyright @pedriosofia on Tumblr!

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SLIM PICKINS ♡

track nine of the short n’sweet series. pairing: bountyhunter!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song slim pickins by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

maybe you were just understimulated and bored. maybe you kind of liked when he got jealous.

you sit at his side on a bench outside the motel room for a while when you bring it up. he’s stiff, got you pinned to his side with an arm around you like someone forced him to do it. you figured he was trying to bond, show affection — but still had that little fear you’d just up and run off. the two of you stare out over the desert and a horse whinnies in the distance.

“y’know i had a boyfriend ‘fore you stole me.” you tell him quietly. you try not to sound accusatory, voice quiet enough to do so but his nose twitches to turn up anyway.

“you…what?”

“on the barn. where i lived.” you begin, treading carefully and he turns to glance at you, curious. “he lived in the farmhouse the other side of the land. my age. we knew eachother since we were little, used to play on the tire swing in my garden. only recently he became my boyfriend.” you reminisce and rafes spine tingles and his neck feels a little hotter at the way there’s still a tinge of sadness to your voice after all this time of travelling with him. nothing was ever enough for you.

however, he’s got nothing else to do and he’s curious.

“yeah? what’s this boyfriend of yours like then?” he drawls, clearly unimpressed but you seem unshaken. rafe had talked to you in crueller ways before.

“brown hair… brown eyes. he was really generous, would do anything for my family. sometimes he played it a little safe i mean, he waited so long to even ask to kiss me but… he was sweet. i miss when men were sweet.”

“i can be sweet. i’m so damn good to you.” rafe blurts out, and you nearly laugh because of how irritated he sounds in contrast.

“you kidnapped me.”

“ugh— right, ‘cus— ‘cus it’s always my fault right? you know my dad made me— whatever.” he steams off into a lecture and you relax at his side, unbothered. it almost bothered him more that you didn’t react to his explosiveness anymore, especially at a moment like this. you were still thinking of him.

he sighs, petulantly and sits back in his seat too, rubbing beneath his nose, legs spread casually as he thinks. you figure that would be that, and you knew not to poke the bear. surprisingly, after a minute — rafe speaks again.

“if you could… if you could go back n’be on that barn where i took you from… would you… would you be there, with him?” he gets bashful and snappy, enunciating with a flat hand extended. rafe always talked with his hands and you found it interesting.

truly, you don’t know. to pose such a complex question after all the time you’d spent together made that line appear between your brows. he doesn’t have to look at you to feel you shrug.

several hours later and he’s got your face in a pillow, ass in the air. no matter what kind of day the two of you had, what kind of conversations bestowed upon you — if rafe needed to get his dick wet, that was exactly what would happen. he’s basically in your guts, and you’re sobbing so loud as your walls spasm around him that you’re sure the motel would receive noise complaints.

a coarse hand slides up your spine and grips the back of your neck as he pounds you before he slots around to the front to hold your throat off the bed, bicep bulging at the position. he talks, and it takes you a second to digest it. you’re not used to conversation out of dirty talk.

“did he ever make you feel good like this? that— that boyfriend of yours?” he grits his teeth. you shake your head, mouth too occupied with forming an ‘o’ shape as he hits a new spot and he lightly smacks your cheek. just hard enough to regain your attention. “yeah you better use those words—”

“no! no— he didn’t.” you pant like a puppy, a string of drool still attached to the pillow from your lip.

“uh huh. yeah i fuckin’ bet.” he chases you up the bed a little when you arch away, too sensitive and holds you down, continuing to rough house your sore pussy. “might’ve been good to you but he wouldn’t fuck you like this huh? wouldn’t make you cum this god damn hard.”

you respond something, but by this point it’s muffled — head dropped into the pillow suffocating all sound. gripping the hair at the back of your head, he yanks your head up and licks his lips, determined to hear you. “nah, speak.”

“too— mmph—”

“yeah?”

“too nice! he was too nice!” you wail, walls fluttering and he huffs out a smirked chuckle, jaw clenching as he uses you like a sex toy.

“mm. that’s uh, that’s real fucked up baby. just needed a big mean man to get you right, huh?”

rafe was fucked up, but he wasn’t often wrong.

[22ayla21]

Hello! Could I request a continuation to student Anaxa and chronic napper. It’s up to you what you want to write and take your time but they’re literally the cutest dynamic I’ve ever seen. Thank you!!!

Those Who Simply Exist Together

When a boisterous suitor bursts into their silent rhythm, Anaxa begins to understand that even the quietest coexistence can speak louder than words.

Previous part

In the academy, where every day seethed with formulas, arguments, and the quiet hum of intrigue, it seemed nothing could shake the fragile balance established between Anaxa and her. Their silence was something personal, almost sacred. Their unspoken ritual seemed unbreakable.

Until he appeared.

The newcomer. With a certain defiant confidence, a smile capable of illuminating the amphitheater, and a voice that sounded like triumphant fanfares. Not stupid, no – one of those who takes by the force of charisma, not strength, and who dispenses compliments as casually as others do spells.

He noticed the girl when she was once again dozing off in the reading room, nestled comfortably against the armrest of the chair next to Anaxa.

"Hey," he said, stepping too close and leaning on the table where Anaxa was intently drawing complex diagrams. "Mind if I borrow her for a minute?"

Anaxa didn't answer. He simply looked. Or rather, he cast a glance that would send shivers down anyone's spine.

"She's sleeping," he said quietly, as if it were a self-evident fact.

"Come on, she can't sleep forever," the guy chuckled, trying to defuse the situation. "I just wanted to invite her for coffee. Or something more interesting. There's a new chimera menagerie that just opened up, can you imagine?"

As if on cue, she slowly raised her head, blinked, and looked at him.

"Noisy," she mumbled sleepily and dropped her head back onto her folded arms. Anaxa barely smiled with the corner of his lips. But he didn't move.

The guy turned out to be persistent. The following days, he literally stalked her. He would slip candies into her notebook. He would leave notes with silly jokes on her desk. Once, he even brought a pillow, deciding it would be a "sweet gesture," since she was constantly sleeping.

She didn't react in any way. No gratitude, no irritation. She just... ignored him.

Anaxa watched. And he didn't like it at all.

He didn't know what jealousy was. He had never experienced anything like it. Too rational, too absorbed in his own thoughts. But now, a strange, unpleasant feeling was rising in his chest.

He began to glance more often in the direction of the familiar voice – the newcomer's voice. He noticed his attempts to get closer. How he would sometimes try to subtly touch her elbow – she would imperceptibly move away each time. But the guy seemed not to notice or didn't want to notice.

One day she missed a lecture, and Anaxa sat staring at the empty space beside him. His fingers nervously drummed on the table. Waiting for the end of the class, he immediately went to look for her.

He found her on a bench in the garden, where she usually wasn't. Next to her, of course, he was sitting and telling her something enthusiastically.

"...and I'm saying, to hell with those snake chimeras, they'd be better off breeding a hybrid with a rabbit! A long-eared chimera, can you imagine?!"

"No," she answered sleepily, without opening her eyes.

Anaxa approached. He stood between them, without saying a word. He just... stood there.

"Hey, buddy, can you wait a bit? I'm actually..."

"She's sleeping," Anaxa repeated. The guy sighed, stood up, and slapped his knees.

"Alright. A girl with character, I respect that. But maybe you could at least let her speak for herself?"

"She did."

Anaxa looked down at the girl. She opened one eye and muttered almost inaudibly:

"He's disturbing my sleep."

That was enough. The guy raised his hands and stepped back.

"Okay, okay. No offense, I get it. Competition isn't for everyone."

When he left, Anaxa slowly sat down next to her. He said nothing. But something intangible, fragile, hung in the air.

"He didn't understand hints," she said quietly, without opening her eyes.

"Obviously," Anaxa replied just as quietly.

Silence fell. But now there was a little more warmth in it. A little more closeness. He carefully moved the pillow that the guy had brought – and that she had discarded – closer to her.

"Uncomfortable," she mumbled.

"Then..." he hesitated, paused for a second, "use me."

She opened her eyes slightly. He blushed. Imperceptibly, of course. But the tips of his ears turned slightly pink.

"As a pillow," he explained. "I don't make noise. I don't move. And I hope I don't smell intrusive."

She silently settled down so that her head was on his lap.

"Yes, you'll do," she approved, closing her eyes. Anaxa looked away.

Now, as she slept, and only the rustling of leaves broke the silence, he allowed himself to lean down slightly and gently stroke her hair.

Silently. Tenderly. As if afraid to wake her.

And that was enough.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her  hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton. 

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet. 

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress.  Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange. 

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back. 

“Anthony” It was not a  question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude  he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession. 

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook  his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending  tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts. 

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of  (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory. 

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 4

I may have girl bossed a bit too close to the sun and finished Chapter 5 and 6 too- I'm not quite happy with those so I'll go through them again before posting Ch5 😅

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 4 >>next

Well, we all knew they would never have time for you. They never do until it’s too late. That’s why funerals are for the living to say goodbye, to mourn, to let go of the guilt. It still hurt… It hurt so much to be brushed off by Alfred, to be ignored by Bruce, to be yelled at by Dick. You couldn’t even think of Jason without tearing up, and Tim was just straight-up mean. But at least he was honest. Cassandra and Barbara’s avoidance hurt the most since they were your only female interaction in years.

Everything you tried to do to prove yourself was, at best, ignored, at worst, compared to someone else and diminished. You had nothing in common with Richard besides knowing a few of the same bands. But that wasn’t enough to raise his interest in interacting with you. Every time he looked at you it was like he was angry and sad at the same time.

Jason and you were so similar. Finally, someone you could relate to, who knew how life on the streets was, how terrifying the big space of the Wayne residence was compared to the lives you once had. And yet he was more interested in Dick, no matter how rude the oldest boy was. You couldn’t blame him, you also wanted Richard’s attention. Your heart felt like it was rolled through needles and lemon juice when Jason got everything you wanted just for you to watch him get buried. Dick was angry when Jason first showed up, jealous, but by the time Jason grew up he was just as angry. You hoped that wouldn’t happen to you.

You were a great student, thriving in your classes and finishing middle school earlier than others, what else were you supposed to do when you had no friends? Of course, that was nothing to Tim’s brilliance. And every time you tried to bond with him on that or show him your achievements it would be a tired “I don’t have time for you.” or an uninterested “I achieved that when I was younger than you.”

Barbara is everything you wanted to be when older, smart, beautiful, had friends and the family's attention. It hurt so much to see her get along with Cassandra but not you, never you. And Cassandra… You tried. You tried to befriend her without overwhelming her, but since the first introduction, she had started ignoring you too, downright leaving the room if you entered it. Bruce went to all her recitals, but he never had time for your galleries or competitions. You stopped asking everyone to come when you found the invites and pamphlets balled up and thrown in the trash bins.

By the time Duke and Stephanie came around you had given up, what use was it? It’ll be another rejection, so you just took care of the garden and did more art, your room overflowing with it. You spent at least half of the monthly allowance Bruce gave, and yet you could still be a millionaire.

You gave up on the Waynes, only speaking to them if they spoke to you. You were done with them, with their secrets, with how they would talk between each other in whispers and then get quiet when you stepped into the room. They’d always look at you like you were a stranger, an enemy. And perhaps you were. So, fuck them. Fuck the boys, fuck the girls, and fuck Bruce and Alfred too.

Sneaking out was the best thing you have done for yourself- sure it was a long way from the Manor to the city and back, but it was all worth it. It was worth it to see the other street kids, to hear their stories, to hang out with the homeless and the girls on their smoke break, it was worth everything when you found your mom’s grave. It was nice, it felt like home.

Was it dangerous? Yes. But as long as you stuck to Red Hood’s territory you were fine, his rule of keeping kids safe seemed to also apply to you. He was nice, even if he never spoke around you beyond hums and grunts, but you enjoyed how gentle he was with the other kid, how he ruffled your hair, and how he helped you clean your mom’s grave. He was nice, and surprisingly so were most other rogues.

Ivy enjoyed helping you with tips for the garden, some of the flowers you grew there on every 13th of the month were made into bouquets for her, your mom’s grave, and Jason’s too. Two-face was surprisingly nice about your inquiry of the law and Penguin enjoyed helping you with your business classes. The Riddler made you want to smash your head against a wall most of the time, but boy was he good with philosophy.

You avoided the Joker like the plague. You couldn’t find it in you to care for him when Harley reminded you so much of your mom when she came with a black eye or busted lip asking if you could take care of Bud and Lou for a jiffy. You could never say no to her.

If Red Hood wasn’t keeping an eye on you, it was Bane or Killer Croc, both men letting you climb and swing from them like a spider. They enjoyed seeing a kid not tremble in fear at the sight of them, despite whatever they may tell you. Mr. Freeze was nice too, lonely like you. Sad you simply couldn’t take the cold for long no matter how many layers you put on.

You loved them all to a degree, but Catwoman always made you feel like her kid, not just a kid. Sometimes you felt guilty for wanting to call her mom, you had a mom. But she made you feel all soft and mushy, calling you her kit, crying with you when you first heard her call you that. She thought she had hurt you, oh, how panicked she was. But her hug was so warm, so loving once she found out that no one had called you their kid in so long.  You wish she would steal you away, she does too, but she made a deal with Red Hood. Selina wishes she had just taken you and moved across the country, everyone be damned.

Unknowingly, you had created the garden to hold flowers that reminded you of all of them, even the Waynes. You couldn’t bring yourself to kill their flowers, to make bouquets of them or sell them- you just didn’t have it in you. So, you just kept on growing them, talking to them, and telling those flowers what your alleged family would never listen to. And then Bruce ruined it all.

He wasn’t sure why he did it, exhaustion or paranoia, maybe both? But all Bruce knew he was seeing is his mom’s garden flourishing after years of it being neglected, of Alfred overlooking it at Bruce’s request to focus on what rooms were being used inside the manor instead. He didn’t think twice about grabbing the pesticide designed for Poison Ivy, didn’t think about asking Alfred, about asking the kids, he just reacted.

Bruce was drinking his guilt away in his office, forehead pressed against his desk as one hand held a whiskey glass and the other gripped at his hair. He had never seen his youngest that angry, crying so much-… He wasn’t sure when the last time he saw her smile or hang around the family was.

“What have you done?!” He remembers how pained and angry you sounded as he killed the last flower, his flower. He remembers how he acted, how annoyance rose in him as he explained, and he remembers how his heart fell out of his ass when you said that you took care of the garden and that you spent years building it.

His face remained unmoving as his hands shook, as his jaw clenched, as he could feel the sky crash on his head in tempo with your tears falling down your cheeks. He tried to justify himself, come up with a lie, something that would make him feel less guilty, but- “Yeah?! Well, maybe you would have known if you actually spared a glance in my direction from time to time- You should have left me in an orphanage, no- it should have been you instead of mom!”

You were hurt, you didn’t mean it, he was sure. Even after you went into the manor, crying your heart out, Bruce still sat there. He wasn’t sure what he could do, the pesticide ruined the soil, he didn’t even remember what flowers he saw. The man just went into his daytime office, grabbed his father's liquor, and drank. Bruce knew he should go and apologize and try to talk to you. He poured himself another full glass, instead. Tonight, Batman will be sleeping, and tomorrow Bruce will raise your allowance. If he remembers.

You knew to some degree Bruce didn’t like you, but for him to not even notice that you poured your blood and sweat into that garden when Alfred and even Cassandra did felt like a punch to the gut. You were a good kid, you tried your best to be, so why was this the hand you were dealt? Did he honestly think the flowers in the manor were bought by Alfred? The old man was so busy the last thing on his mind was to buy flowers for the house.

You couldn’t believe him, you could only cry for the lost plants, for one of the three things that brought you happiness. You curled into a ball under the warm duvet, crying into your knees until you could not anymore. The shadows did their best to soothe you, lulling you to sleep as the exhaustion of crying helped them.

Dreams didn’t come easy to you, sure, you had the usual nightmare, but calm dreams were a rare occasion. And this one felt so nice as you drifted in the endless dark space, two figures you couldn’t quite make out helping you stay afloat as they talked… chanted? You weren’t sure. It sounded like Latin, but it also didn’t. No matter, it was soothing, warm, it was what you needed.

You felt light as a feather. You felt free and- you hit your head… The pain not only confuses you but also wakes you up, the throbbing on the side of your head making you groan. Your tired eyes looked around trying to figure out what you hit as your hand rubbed the sore spot.

Maybe you were still dreaming. You must still be dreaming. Panic set into your veins- there was no way this was actually happening, it couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be a meta- Batman hated metas and he worked for your- he worked for Bruce- You were fucked.

It didn’t matter that as soon as it happened and you panicked your body hit the floor so hard it rattled your nightstand, making a framed picture fall and break, it didn’t matter that you didn’t register the pain, or notice that you broke the floorboard where you hid all your diaries and drawings you made for the family- all your brain knew is that you should leave before Batman throws you in Arkham or GSP.

So that’s what you did. You grabbed your sports bag that you used for art supplies, stuffed it with some clothes, your laptop, phone, the chargers, took a few sketchbooks and pens, and the card with Bruce’s money. Not like he’ll notice, he didn’t notice that you spent thousands every other week at a fast-food joint for the homeless and street kids, didn’t notice that you spent millions every other year at retail stores for the same people, he didn’t notice the donations. He was as blind as a bat.

“Leap of faith” is what Superman once said in an interview about how others with the power could learn to take off. “It’s just a leap of faith.” He was right- you almost pissed yourself, but he was right. You understood why he always was floating above the ground; it felt so freeing to fly, circling the manor to the top, feeling the air around you. It was so nice. You should move, fly away, and yet your eyes can’t leave the destroyed garden. You should make a few stops before fully leaving… just a few.

When each of the rogues found one singular flower in their favorite seat, their window sill, on the weapons and cars they owned, all withered and falling apart, they knew what it meant.

Ivy was the first, she knew the second the plants died. After all, she helped keep the plants alive, nothing could thrive on the Wayne land anymore, almost like it was cursed, as if Death herself lived on the grounds. But seeing the burned and greying orange trumpet vine told her everything she needed to know, that it wasn’t you who destroyed them. Bruce Wayne and the Bats didn’t know what was about to come their way.

You’ll miss your friends, the kids, the rogues. You’ll miss Catwoman, but she always told you to be a bit more selfish. This was the moment for that. Doubt settled in at some point, but you had nothing holding you attached to the Waynes, Catwoman couldn’t or just wouldn’t take care of you, it was time to let go and abuse Bruce’s ignorance, make a new life for you where you don’t need to hide in the night for some social interaction.

New York City should be the perfect place for it.

Tag List: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry

[novaursa]

Twin Fires

- Summary: Both you and Aegon have no problem expressing your desires openly and torment everybody in the Red Keep.

- Pairing: reader (twin!wife)/Aegon II

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N. For full chronological order of these works visit my blog. The list is pinned on the top. Or, you can read it as a one-shot.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 2 665

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

You sit on the chair beside Aegon, your hand resting lightly on his arm. The room is filled with the dull murmur of the small council meeting, the voices of the Lords Tyland, Larys, Jasper, Otto, and Grand Maester Orwyle blending into an almost rhythmic drone. You can see Aegon's eyes glazing over as his mind drifts away from the discussions of grain supplies and tax levies. You know exactly where his thoughts have gone.

Aegon shifts in his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. He can't stop thinking about the night before, the way your skin felt against his, the warmth of your breath on his neck. The council's voices fade into the background as he remembers the way you gasped his name, the look in your eyes as he pulled you closer. His lips twitch into a small, satisfied smile.

"Your Grace," Otto's sharp voice cuts through Aegon's reverie. "Would you care to join us in the present? We were discussing the matter of the Dornish threat on our southern border."

Aegon blinks, attempting to pull himself back to the present. "Yes, yes, of course," he says, though he has no idea what Otto was talking about. His mind is still on you, on the way your hair spread out across the pillows, the way you whispered his name.

Otto's eyes narrow. "It seems your thoughts are elsewhere, Your Grace. Perhaps you would care to enlighten us on what is so captivating."

Aegon feels the eyes of the council on him, but he can't help the smirk that forms on his lips. "Just thinking about my Queen," he says, his voice low and suggestive. "Last night was... eventful."

You feel your cheeks heat at the memory and the implication of his words. The council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, while Otto's face turns a deep shade of red.

"Your Grace," Otto says through gritted teeth, "perhaps now is not the time for such... reflections."

Aegon laughs, the sound rich and warm. "Oh, come now, Otto. Surely even you can appreciate the joys of marriage."

Tyland coughs, trying to hide a smile behind his hand, while Larys's eyes gleam with amusement. Jasper seems to be studying a particularly interesting spot on the table, avoiding looking at anyone.

The Grand Maester clears his throat. "Perhaps we should return to the matter at hand," he suggests diplomatically.

"Yes, let's," Otto agrees, his voice tight. "As I was saying, the Dornish—"

Aegon's thoughts drift away again, this time to the look on Otto's face when he walked in on the two of you in the gardens. Aegon had you pressed up against the stone wall, your skirts hitched up around your waist. Otto had stammered and turned bright red, backing away as quickly as he could.

"Y/N," Aegon says, turning to you with a wicked grin, "do you remember when Grandsire walked in on us?"

You can’t help but laugh softly, nodding. "Yes, I do. He looked like he was about to faint."

Otto's knuckles are white as he grips the edge of the table. "Your Grace, please," he grinds out. "This is neither the time nor the place."

"Lighten up, Otto," Aegon says, waving a hand dismissively. "A little levity never hurt anyone."

The tension in the room breaks slightly as the other council members chuckle. Otto, however, looks like he's about to explode.

"Perhaps we should adjourn for today," Aegon suggests, rising to his feet. "I believe we've accomplished quite enough."

Otto opens his mouth to protest, but Aegon is already moving, taking your hand and pulling you to your feet. "Come, Y/N," he says, his voice low and intimate. "Let's continue this discussion elsewhere."

As you leave the room, you can feel the council's eyes on your back, but you don't care. All that matters is the warmth of Aegon's hand in yours, and the promise of what the rest of the day holds.

Aegon leads you through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, his grip on your hand firm and possessive. The flickering torches cast long shadows on the stone walls, creating an intimate atmosphere that sets your heart racing. The echoes of the small council meeting fade away, replaced by the anticipation of what is to come.

Instead of heading to your private chambers, Aegon pulls you toward the grand library, a place of quiet refuge and intellectual pursuit. The scent of old parchment and leather-bound tomes fills the air as you enter, the dim lighting from the candles casting a warm glow on the rows upon rows of books.

"I've been thinking about you all morning," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't wait to continue where we left off last night."

You shiver at his words, your own desire mirrored in his eyes. He leads you to a secluded corner, hidden from view by towering bookshelves. Aegon presses you against the polished wood, his hands eager as they roam your body. The library's quiet solitude only adds to the excitement, the risk of being discovered making your heart race.

But just as Aegon is about to pull you into a passionate kiss, a soft cough from behind a nearby shelf makes you both freeze. Aegon straightens, his head snapping towards the sound. Emerging from the shadows, a book in hand and expression stern, is Aemond.

"Aemond," Aegon says, a smirk playing on his lips. "I didn't expect you to be lurking in the library."

"I can see that," Aemond replies dryly, stepping into the candlelight. "Must you always be so public about your... activities, brother?"

Aegon laughs, the sound deep and unabashed. "Why not? What's the point of being king if you can't enjoy yourself?"

Aemond rolls his eye, clearly unimpressed. "There are other ways to enjoy oneself that don't involve making a spectacle."

Aegon pulls you closer, his hand slipping around your waist. "But where's the fun in that, brother? Life is too short to be so serious all the time."

You can feel the tension in the library, but there's also a hint of amusement in Aemond's gaze. He shakes his head, exasperated but not entirely unamused. "You are impossible, Aegon."

"That's why you love me," Aegon replies, grinning. "Now, if you don't mind, we were in the middle of something."

Aemond raises an eyebrow. "Clearly. But perhaps you could exercise a bit more discretion. The walls have ears, and not all of them are friendly."

Aegon waves a hand dismissively. "Let them listen. Maybe they'll learn something."

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, the absurdity of the situation not lost on you. Aegon turns his attention back to you, his eyes dark with intent. "Shall we continue, my love?"

Aemond sighs, shaking his head again. "Very well. I'll leave you to it. But please, try to keep it down this time."

As Aemond turns to leave, Aegon can't resist one last jibe. "Don't be jealous, Aemond. You'll find your own fun one day."

Aemond pauses at the doorway, glancing back with a faint smile. "One can only hope."

The door closes behind him, and you and Aegon are alone once more. Aegon pulls you into a deep kiss, his hands eager and insistent. The interruption seems only to have fueled his desire, his need for you more urgent than ever.

"Now, where were we?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice a seductive whisper.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Right here," you reply, pulling him closer.

As the passion between you reignites, the lingering humor of Aemond's intrusion adds a layer of excitement to the encounter. The grand library might have its hidden eyes and ears, but in this moment, all that matters is the fire burning between you and your king.

Your bodies are entwined, the weight of Aegon's heated skin pressing down on yours as you both clutch desperately at each other in the dimly lit library. The scent of parchment and aged leather fills the air, mixing with the intoxicating musk of your fervent lovemaking. Aegon's platinum blond hair falls over his eyes, glistening with sweat, as he murmurs your name — Y/N — with breathless urgency.

"More, Aegon," you gasp, fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer. His lips are on your neck, your shoulders, everywhere at once, as if he can never get enough of you.

"You always want more," he grins against your skin, his voice a low growl of pleasure and amusement. "And I always want to give it to you."

You arch against him, your breath catching as he moves within you, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. Your world narrows to the sensation of his body, the heat of his touch, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with your own.

Just as the world is about to shatter into a million pieces of ecstasy, the library door slams open with a thunderous crash. "Aegon! Y/N!" Dowager Queen Alicent's voice rings out, sharp and furious.

Aegon jolts, startled, and the sudden motion pushes him deeper into you, causing you both to cry out in unexpected bliss. The impact sends you both stumbling backward into a massive bookshelf. There's a moment of stunned silence before the entire row of shelves begins to topple like dominos, books cascading to the floor in a chaotic storm of paper and bindings.

As the dust settles, you find yourself pinned beneath Aegon, both of you as naked as the day you were born. His violet eyes are wide with a mix of shock and lingering desire, but there's a hint of laughter in them too. You can't help but chuckle softly, the absurdity of the situation taking hold again.

Alicent stands there, her face a mask of fury, flanked by a pale and trembling Grand Maester Orwyle, who looks like he's about to collapse. His precious tomes from the Citadel lie scattered and crushed around you.

"Mother," Aegon starts, still half-laughing, "I didn't hear you knock."

"Knock?" Alicent's voice rises in pitch, her hands clenching at her sides. "You have no sense of shame or propriety! Look at you both!"

You glance at Aegon, then back at your mother, feeling no shame whatsoever. "We were...occupied," you say with a coy smile.

Aegon shifts slightly, still positioned rather intimately, and you can't help but stifle a giggle. "We were, indeed," he agrees, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Alicent throws her hands up in exasperation. "Occupied! In the library! Grand Maester Orwyle has important matters to discuss, and you are here...doing this!"

Orwyle makes a strangled noise, his eyes darting to the ruined books. "My...my tomes..."

Aegon looks around, still atop you, and shrugs. "They can be replaced, Orwyle. Unlike my dear sister-wife, who I cannot get enough of."

You can't help but laugh, reaching up to pull him down for a quick kiss. "Flatterer," you murmur against his lips.

Alicent's face turns an even deeper shade of red. "Enough! Both of you! Get up and get dressed this instant!"

With exaggerated slowness, Aegon finally rolls off you, standing and offering you a hand up. You take it, rising gracefully despite the chaos around you. Neither of you bothers to cover yourselves, reveling in your mother's discomfort.

As you both dress leisurely, Alicent mutters angrily under her breath, and Orwyle looks like he's aged a decade in mere minutes. The library is a mess, but to you and Aegon, it's just another amusing chapter in your reign as King and Queen.

Once clothed, Aegon winks at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Shall we continue this...discussion later once more, my love?"

You return his smile, feeling the heat already rising again between you. "Oh, absolutely, Your Grace. I can't wait."

Alicent groans, turning away with a huff. "Seven save me," she mutters, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. Despite her anger, even she can't deny the unbreakable bond you share with Aegon.

You and Aegon stride through the open doors of the library, a sea of wide-eyed servants parting before you. Whispers and shocked glances follow your every step, but you and Aegon remain completely unaffected, wearing expressions of amused indifference. The thrill of your recent encounter still lingers, and you can feel Aegon's hand subtly brushing against yours, a promise of more to come.

"Well," Aegon muses loudly, his voice echoing down the hallway. "Since the library is no longer an option, how about the throne room next?"

You hear a gasp from a cluster of maids, their faces a mix of scandal and fascination. Just as you are about to reply with a cheeky retort, Alicent's voice rings out from the library, where she is still consulting with Orwyle. "Aegon! Y/N! I swear by the Seven, if you even think about it, you'll both be confined to your chambers for a month!"

Aegon grins, leaning close to whisper in your ear. "I think she's bluffing. The throne room would be quite the statement, don't you think?"

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Perhaps another time, Aegon. We should at least pretend to heed her warnings once in a while."

He sighs dramatically but nods, his arm slipping around your waist as you continue down the hall. "Very well, my Queen. For now."

The next morning, the sun filters through the windows of the council chamber, casting a warm glow over the ancient stone walls. Alicent paces back and forth, her brow furrowed in frustration. Across from her, Otto Hightower sits at a polished wooden table, his expression calm but concerned.

"Alicent," he begins, his tone measured, "we need to address the behavior of the twins. This...scandalous display cannot continue. It undermines their authority and brings dishonor to the throne."

Alicent stops pacing, turning to face her father. "Believe me, Father, I am well aware. Yesterday's debacle in the library was just the latest in a long line of their...indiscretions."

Otto sighs, folding his hands on the table. "We must find a way to curb their impulses. Aegon and Y/N's bond is undeniably strong, but it is also causing disruptions. The court is buzzing with rumors, and the smallfolk are beginning to talk."

Alicent nods, her frustration evident. "I've tried talking to them, scolding them, threatening them with confinement, but nothing seems to work. They simply don't care."

Otto leans back in his chair, considering. "Perhaps we need a different approach. Something more...persuasive. Have you considered involving the High Septon? His influence could carry weight, even with those as headstrong as Aegon and Y/N."

Alicent's eyes widen slightly at the suggestion. "The High Septon? Are we really at that point, Father?"

Otto nods solemnly. "If we are to maintain order and respect, we must consider all options. Aegon is King, and Y/N is Queen, but they must learn that their actions have consequences beyond their own pleasure."

Alicent sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Very well. I will arrange a meeting with the High Septon. Perhaps he can impress upon them the seriousness of their duties."

Otto reaches out to place a reassuring hand on her arm. "It is for the best, Alicent. For the realm, and for them. They must learn to balance their love with their responsibilities."

As Alicent nods, determined but weary, you and Aegon lounge in your chambers, blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place. Wrapped in each other's arms, you share a lazy, contented morning, your laughter and whispered promises a stark contrast to the serious discussions unfolding elsewhere in the Red Keep.

Aegon presses a kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. "What do you think Mother and Grandsire are plotting now?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No doubt some scheme to rein us in. But we have each other, Aegon. Whatever they plan, we'll face it."

He smiles, a slow, lazy grin that makes your heart flutter. "Always, my love. Always."

[4m0r1m]

Moonlight and Mischief

SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)

WORD COUNT: 2,727 words

PAIRING: george weasley x reader

The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.

George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.

You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.

George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.

“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”

“I am not,” George muttered.

Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”

George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.

Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”

George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”

“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”

George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.

Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”

That got George moving.

He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”

Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”

George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.

You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.

“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”

He blinked. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”

George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”

You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”

He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”

Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”

George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.

He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”

You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”

“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”

You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.

“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”

“By me?”

He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”

You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”

The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.

“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.

George flushed. “Did he now?”

“He also said you had a crush.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”

You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”

He blinked. “Someone like me?”

“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”

George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.

You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.

“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.

George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”

You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”

He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”

“Please do.”

As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.

He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”

You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”

You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.

“Of course.”

“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”

You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”

“And I’m not?”

“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”

He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”

Your breath caught.

Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”

“And now?”

“Now I think you might ruin me.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”

He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.

When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.

George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”

You laughed. “Oh, you have no idea.”