#the rest of the blue lions are there too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 2 months ago

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One Date and a Lifetime: Leona Kingscholar x reader

You have chosen Leona! ; aka the times Leona-i-don't-care Kingscholar puts in effort for you;

1k masterlist ; Prologue

You never thought Leona would actually take this date seriously. Honestly, when you first call him, you half expect him to suggest, "Let's just take a nap or something." Instead, his voice is low and smug, almost purring through the phone.

“Sure. I’ll pick you up later. Be ready.”

And just like that, he hangs up before you can ask for specifics. Typical. You're prepared for some half-hearted effort involving him dragging you to a secluded spot to nap under the stars or something like that. But then, a knock sounds at the door of Ramshackle, and there stands Ruggie with a bouquet.

“These are from Leona,” Ruggie says with a grin that’s two parts mischievous, one part disbelief. “He told me to get the ‘good ones,’ whatever that means. I charged him double, by the way.”

You take the flowers, cheeks warming, trying not to feel too charmed by the fact that the laziest lion you know thought to send you flowers. “Compensation good?”

“Let’s just say I’m eating like royalty tonight.” Ruggie winks before scampering off, probably with plans to milk his housewarden’s generosity for the rest of the week.

When Leona finally arrives at your doorstep, you're stunned into silence. He’s dressed to kill, sharp black slacks, a sleek button-up rolled at the sleeves. Effortlessly regal.

"You..." You blink. "You’re somehow even prettier than usual. How is that fair?"

He grumbles, averting his gaze, but you catch the way his chest puffs out just a little. “Tch. Cut it out.”

“Admit it—you love the compliments,” you tease, looping your arm around his as you step outside.

Leona scoffs but doesn’t pull away. “You gonna keep flattering me all night, or are we leaving?”

And so begins the wildest date you could have imagined: Leona, the notorious nap king, escorting you to a local festival, of all things.

You glance up at him as you stroll through the brightly lit stalls. “I thought you hated crowds.”

“I do,” he replies, but then adds in a gruff mutter, “It’s fine if it’s with you.”

Your heart skips a beat. You're lucky he looks so good because you might’ve fainted on the spot otherwise.

At one of the stalls, you spot a mountain of cotton candy, pastel pink and blue fluff that looks like it’ll melt if you so much as breathe on it. You buy a stick and tear off a piece, holding it up to Leona.

“C’mon, try it.”

He eyes the sugary fluff suspiciously. “That’s just sugar and air.”

“Exactly. Now open up.”

With an exaggerated groan, Leona leans down, and you pop the piece into his mouth. His brow furrows as he chews. “Way too sweet.”

But the next time you hold up another piece, he still eats it, grumbling under his breath about “sugar addicts.” You don’t miss the tiny, fond smile that sneaks onto his face, though.

As you continue through the festival, you spot a prize stall lined with plushies, including a little dragon that immediately catches your eye.

“I need that,” you say, determination sparking.

You try... and fail. Repeatedly. Leona watches your attempts with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s enjoying the show.

When you lose for the fifth time, he sighs dramatically. “Move.”

He steps up to the game and, with one smooth flick of his wrist, nails it on the first try. But instead of the dragon plush, he gives the attendant a lazy grin. “The lion.”

When he hands you the lion plush, you stare at it, confused. “What happened to the dragon?”

“Lions are better,” Leona says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “No debate.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but smile. It’s ridiculous, but it’s him, and somehow that makes it perfect.

Later, when he takes you to an absurdly expensive restaurant, you raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this? It’s... kind of pricey.”

He gives you a flat look. “Order whatever you want. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

So, naturally, you do. And the food is fantastic. Leona leans back in his chair, watching you with a lazy smirk as you happily dig into your meal.

When the date winds down and Leona walks you back to Ramshackle, the night air is cool, and you instinctively rub your arms. Without a word, Leona shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

You clutch onto his arm with a grin, snuggling into the warmth. “Thanks, Leona.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Of course you do.” You laugh, leaning against him. “Oh! Did I tell you what Ace and Deuce did earlier today? You won’t believe it.”

He humors you as you chatter away, recounting the latest shenanigans. “So, Grim decided to ‘supervise,’ which really just meant eating half the snacks while Ace accidentally set off the fire alarm—again.”

Leona snorts softly. “Idiots.”

“Yeah, but they’re my idiots.”

When you finally reach Ramshackle’s doorstep, you turn to face him, a little reluctant for the night to end. On a whim, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him tightly before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Leona freezes for half a second, and when you pull away, his expression is somewhere between surprised and utterly smitten.

“Goodnight, Leona,” you say softly, watching as he blinks down at you like you just shattered every lazy expectation he had about this date.

He clears his throat, looking away, but you catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah... night.”

As he turns to leave, you can’t help but feel like you’ve just unlocked a whole new side of him—and you kind of love it.

You’ve been talking about this video game figure for weeks. Every time you hang out with Leona, he hears about it. Well, "hang out" is a generous term—he naps on your lap or leans against you, and you yap his ear off about how amazing the game is and how this figure is the holy grail of limited merch.

“I’ve been doing everything,” you rant one day, lying next to him in the botanical garden. “Crowley made me do ten extra assignments this week. I even agreed to clean Grim’s litter box without arguments—twice! But it’s worth it. If I get that figure, my life will be complete.”

Leona, who’s half-asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, cracks an eye open. “That good, huh?”

“Yes, that good. There are only ten in the world, Leona. Ten.”

He grunts, shifting a little to get more comfortable. “Better hope your luck’s good, herbivore. Sounds like a lotta effort for a toy.”

“It’s not a toy,” you huff dramatically. “It’s a collectible figure, and it’s the coolest thing in existence. Just wait—when it drops tomorrow, I’m getting it.”

And yet, the universe doesn’t care about your efforts.

You stare at your phone screen in disbelief the next day. The site crashes, the countdown ends, and the figure sells out in 0.2 seconds flat. You refresh. Then refresh again. But it’s gone—snatched from your grasp like a mirage in the desert.

“No... no, no, no.” You sit there, devastated, as the weight of your failure sinks in. After all the work, all the chores, and all the emotional speeches to Leona, you’ve been denied. The limited-edition figure remains forever out of reach.

By the time you see Leona later, your mood is somewhere between tragic despair and begrudging acceptance. You find him lounging in the garden again, his favorite napping spot.

“Didn’t get it, huh?” he asks, his voice carrying that lazy drawl as you flop down beside him.

“Nope,” you sigh, resting your forehead on your knees. “All that work, all that hope... and nothing.”

Without another word, Leona pulls something from behind him and chucks it onto your lap.

You blink. Then blink again.

It’s the figure. The figure. THE limited-edition figure you’ve been pining after for weeks.

“Leona???” you squawk, holding it up like it might vanish into thin air if you let go. “What—how—why—?”

He just shrugs. “Still the second prince, y’know.”

“You—" Your jaw drops. “Did you use royalty status to get me this figure?!”

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he just asked the palace cook to make toast instead of pulling strings for a rare collector’s item.

You gape at him, torn between disbelief and giddiness. “Leona... that’s cheating.”

“So?” He leans back with a satisfied smirk, clearly amused by your reaction. “You wanted it, didn’t you?”

You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, clutching the figure like it’s the greatest treasure ever gifted to you. “You’re impossible.”

Leona tugs you down beside him, trapping you in his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Now quit yappin’ and let me nap.”

Still grinning like a fool, you curl into him, giggling into his hair. “You’re way too good to me, you know that?”

He huffs, but there’s no hiding the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hand rests lazily against your back, warm and grounding. “Hmph. Lucky I like you.”

And just like that, he drifts off into sleep, his arms snug around you. And you? You lie there, feeling like the happiest person alive, hugging your figure close while Leona naps against you, his soft breaths the perfect lullaby.

The first sign something is wrong comes when Grim tries waking you up for your usual chaos-filled day.

“Hey, get up, henchhuman! We’ve got things to do!” he says, poking your cheek with one of his fluffy paws. “It’s already late! If Crowley gets mad, I ain’t takin' the fall!”

Normally, you’d groan and roll out of bed—or at least threaten Grim with chores—but today? All you can manage is a weak grunt before you flop back onto your pillow like a defeated pancake.

“Henchhuman?” Grim nudges you again, this time with more urgency. You crack one eye open just long enough to see his ears flatten in concern. “Oi, don’t ignore me—what’s wrong?”

Your head is heavy, and it feels like your bones have melted into jelly. You try to say I think I’m dying, but all that comes out is a sad, congested whimper.

Grim’s eyes widen, and suddenly, he’s a blur of blue fur and panic. “You’re dying!” he yells, as if confirming the worst-case scenario. “Don’t go toward the light, henchhuman! I’ll be right back—stay alive!!”

Before you can reassure him—or at least remind him that people don’t die from mild fevers—Grim is already out the door, paws skidding against the floor like a tiny tornado.

Somewhere across campus, Leona is enjoying a particularly satisfying mid-morning nap in the botanical gardens when an absolute menace of a furball barrels into him.

“HEY, YOU! Lion guy!” Grim shouts, climbing onto Leona's chest. “Get up! Henchhuman’s dying!”

Leona cracks open one bleary eye. “Dying?” he repeats with a skeptical grunt, already half-expecting Grim to be overreacting. “Probably just overslept.”

“I know the difference between sleeping and dying!” Grim shrieks, paws batting at Leona’s face. “They're burning up, can’t even sit up! You gotta do something!”

Leona grumbles under his breath, but he’s on his feet before Grim can push him again. The usual lazy slouch is gone, replaced by swift, purposeful movements.

By the time he strides into your room, Leona has already called his personal doctor, much to Ruggie’s dismay (“Do you know what time it is?! Do I get paid overtime for this??”). Leona doesn’t care. He’s moving fast—like a lion with a mission.

It’s a blur after that. You vaguely register a cool hand against your burning forehead, Leona’s voice a low rumble beside you. The doctor checks your pulse, takes your temperature, and declares it’s just a fever with some exhaustion thrown in. Nothing dangerous, but definitely enough to flatten you.

“Hah.” Leona lets out a short sigh of relief, slumping in the chair beside your bed. “Told ya Grim, not dead.”

“Yeah, well…” Grim’s still pacing at the edge of your bed, tail twitching in frustration. “They looked dead, okay?! How was I supposed to know?”

“You weren’t. That’s why I’m here,” Leona says flatly, though his tone is less irritated than usual.

The next few hours pass in a fog of sleep, soft voices, and the occasional pressure of something cool against your skin. Ruggie swings by every now and then to drop off food, grinning as he deposits soup and medicine like it’s some kind of delivery service.

“Man, if I knew babysitting was part of my job description, I’d have charged extra,” Ruggie teases, setting down a tray.

Leona just rolls his eyes. “Get lost, hyena.”

Despite his usual snark, Leona is surprisingly attentive. He makes sure you drink water, feeds you spoonfuls of soup even when you mumble protests, and keeps an arm draped lazily around you when you shiver. If anyone asks, he’ll say it’s just because you’re annoying and need constant supervision.

When you finally come to, it’s because something warm and heavy is curled against you. You blink a few times, head still foggy, and realize it’s Leona—completely sprawled across the chair next to your bed, but with one hand tightly clasping yours.

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of him. Carefully, you nudge closer, nestling against his arm. The movement stirs him awake, his golden eyes blinking down at you groggily.

“You awake now?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“Barely,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Leona grunts, but the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles is answer enough.

Just as you’re about to fully enjoy the peace, a loud, dramatic voice cuts through the moment.

“Finally!” Grim bursts into the room, leaping onto your bed. “Took you long enough to wake up! I thought I’d have to hire a priest or somethin’!”

You chuckle softly, the sound a little scratchy. “Didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Pfft! As if.” Grim crosses his arms, looking away with a huff. “I just didn’t wanna be stuck with Crowley as my only companion. He’s useless.”

But despite his words, Grim scrambles onto your lap anyway, curling up against your chest with a grumble. “Don’t get sick again, okay? It’s a pain.”

You pet his fur, grinning as you feel him relax. “Okay, okay. No more dying.”

Leona shifts beside you, rolling his eyes. “What, am I invisible?”

“Shh,” you murmur, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Just let me enjoy my two favorite cats for a minute.”

Leona huffs, but there’s a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I'm not a cat. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

You grin back at him, and for once, you don’t need words to say thank you. He knows.

You like to think of yourself as a strong person. Someone who can hold their own in this chaotic, magic-ridden school where everything from magical accidents to actual ghost attacks is a typical Tuesday. You’ve handled your fair share of weird situations and even gotten through them without embarrassing yourself too badly. But… you are still a magicless human. And that’s a fact you can’t change.

So when three tall, muscle-bound Savanaclaw students corner you in a dimly-lit corridor on your way to visit Leona, your heart sinks.

"Where ya headin', little herbivore?" The biggest one grins, flashing sharp teeth that remind you just how much worse your day could get.

“Leona’s been hanging out with you a lot, huh?” another one sneers, blocking your path. “Think that makes you special or something?”

"Maybe they've got some kind of deal with him," the third one suggests, his voice dripping with mockery. "How about you tell us what’s really going on between you two?"

Your stomach twists, but you keep your face neutral. No way are you going to let them see how nervous you are. "How about you back off before you embarrass yourselves?" you say, proud of how steady your voice sounds.

The tallest one leans in, his grin widening. “Look at you, acting all tough. Too bad there’s no magic in that mouth of yours.”

You force yourself to hold your ground, though your fingers twitch toward your pocket. You really don’t want to bother Leona, but… well, desperate times. With a quick, discreet motion, you send a single SOS text.

You: Cornered. Help.

The three of them are still jeering at you when you hear footsteps approaching from behind. Slow, measured, and heavy with the kind of weight that makes everyone in the hallway tense.

"Oi," a familiar, low growl cuts through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

All three of them freeze. You glance over your shoulder—and there he is. Leona Kingscholar.

He stands at the end of the corridor, his usual lazy posture replaced by something much sharper, much more dangerous. His emerald eyes gleam with a warning, and a sly, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Seems like I showed up just in time." His voice is deceptively calm, almost bored. “What do you think you're doin'?”

The boys shift uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances.

"Just… chatting," one of them stammers, the earlier bravado leaking out of him like air from a punctured balloon.

Leona steps forward, leisurely, as if he’s in no hurry—but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes the air heavy with tension. His presence fills the space, demanding attention and submission.

"You must be real stupid," Leona drawls, "if you think you can mess with what’s mine."

The tallest boy blanches. “W-We didn’t mean—”

Leona’s grin sharpens, all teeth. "Didn’t mean to what? Annoy me? Make me waste my time on some sad, third-string rejects?"

They flinch, shrinking under the weight of his words. Leona isn’t yelling. He doesn’t have to. His authority is clear—absolute.

One of them mumbles an apology, and the others nod hurriedly, ready to slink away. But Leona’s not done.

“You ever try this again,” he says, his voice dropping into a dangerous purr, “I won’t just kick you out of Savanaclaw. I’ll bury you so deep, nobody’ll even remember your names.”

The boys scatter without another word, practically tripping over each other to escape.

Leona watches them go with a snort, then turns his gaze to you. His sharp expression softens just a fraction, the predatory edge giving way to something lazier—something almost… fond.

“You good?” he asks, as if he didn’t just verbally annihilate three guys on your behalf.

Your heart is racing, but not from fear. No, this is something else entirely. Something far more dangerous. You’re not sure when it happened, but you are completely, utterly smitten.

“Yeah,” you say, trying—and failing—not to sound starstruck.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you tease, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Like you’re impressed.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, but you notice the faintest hint of color creeping up his ears. “Tch. Idiot.”

You laugh softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “Thanks for showing up, though.”

Leona shrugs like it’s nothing. "I told ya—just call me when you need me."

That does it. You feel yourself practically glowing at the simple promise, the quiet reassurance beneath his words.

You lean toward him, your grin widening. “What if I need you right now?”

He smirks, draping a lazy arm over your shoulders. “Then I guess I’m stuck with you.”

You let yourself melt into his side, the earlier tension gone like a bad dream. The two of you walk off together, his arm comfortably slung over you like it belongs there.

And, in that moment, you’re pretty sure it does.

The assignment in front of you is a nightmare.

You’ve been staring at the same page for what feels like hours, your head throbbing with frustration. You chew the end of your pen, tapping your foot anxiously against the floor. Why did you leave this for the last minute? Why does it feel like every word on the page is written in an ancient, cursed script meant specifically to drain your soul?

Meanwhile, Leona is draped over you like a weighted blanket, his head resting comfortably on your shoulder. You know he’s napping because of the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing. This man has zero care in the world.

He’s been napping while you’ve been spiraling. Because of course he is.

You mutter curses under your breath, willing the assignment to finish itself. But the numbers swim in front of your eyes, and your breaths grow shorter, more unsteady. Panic claws at the edges of your mind.

Leona stirs. He shifts just slightly, cracking open one eye to glance at you. “Oi,” he grumbles. “Stop breathin’ like you’re about to pass out.”

You ignore him and grip the pen tighter, heart pounding, trying to push through the stress. That’s the worst part about this assignment—if you don’t finish it, your grades will nosedive, and Crowley will never let you hear the end of it.

Suddenly, Leona's hand slips out from around you and snatches the pen from your grip. "Gimme that."

You blink as he pulls the paper closer.

"Leona, what are you—"

"Shh." He flips through the pages like they personally offended him. His eyes scan the questions with the kind of effortless ease that makes you want to scream in frustration. Without so much as a sigh, he picks up the pen and starts writing.

You can only sit there, dumbfounded, as his neat, surprisingly elegant handwriting fills in the answers you’ve been struggling with for hours.

"Wait—are you actually doing my homework?" you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

He glances at you from the corner of his eye, the barest hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Told ya. I'm a senior. This stuff’s easy."

"Easy for you, maybe."

“Then why didn’t you ask me earlier?” he drawls, finishing the last answer without breaking a sweat.

You blink at the completed assignment like it might disappear if you look away. "I… didn’t think to."

Leona rolls his eyes and tosses the pen onto the desk with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Next time, just ask. I ain't gonna let you stress yourself out over dumb stuff.”

And that’s it. Just like that, all your anxiety evaporates.

You turn to look at him, utterly smitten once again. "You're ridiculous."

He leans back, resting his head against your shoulder again with a satisfied sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

You let yourself melt into him, the earlier panic now a distant memory. His warmth, his steady breathing, the way his arms rest loosely around you—it all feels so easy. So right.

For a moment, you just sit there in silence, the peaceful kind that feels rare and precious. The assignment is finished. The world isn't ending. You don’t have to do everything alone.

You tilt your head to rest against his, your smile soft. "Thanks, Leona."

"Mm," he hums, already halfway back to sleep. But his hand gives yours a lazy squeeze, a quiet reassurance that makes your heart skip a beat.

The day passes in a haze of warmth and peace, your stress long gone. And you realize something: being with Leona feels like this—like having someone who makes the hard days bearable, without needing you to say a word.

And yeah, you could definitely get used to this.

You've thought about asking him for weeks. Maybe even months. But every time the words start forming, you chicken out. You’re this close to accepting that you’ll just live in relationship limbo forever.

It’s safer. No awkward conversations, no heartbreak. Just… endless naps together, weird dates that may or may not be dates, and him doing sweet things without ever calling them what they are.

But tonight, as you sit curled up in his arms, watching the stars from a balcony in the botanical gardens, it feels like the moment. Leona is lounging beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, the other resting on your leg like it's the most natural thing in the world. His warmth is comforting, grounding, and for once, you let yourself think: Maybe, just maybe, this is real.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. If he laughs or acts indifferent, fine. If it ruins everything—okay, not fine, but you'll survive.

“Hey, Leona?”

He hums, eyes still half-lidded. He’s relaxed, probably thinking about nothing except how long it’ll take for him to drag you back to bed.

You clear your throat. “What are we?”

Leona cracks one eye open, giving you a lazy look. “Huh?”

You shift nervously under his gaze. “Like… What is this? Are we—” You gesture vaguely between the two of you. “—a thing? Or… I mean, are you—do you even like me like that? Or—?”

He stares at you for a second, blinking slowly, like a cat woken from a nap it didn’t want to leave. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

You feel your courage start to wither, but you force the words out. “I mean, I thought… We never really said anything official. And I don’t know if this is, you know—” You wave a hand. “Something? Or if you’re just putting up with me or—”

Leona makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, like you just asked him the dumbest question imaginable.

“You really thought I’d let you hang around me this much if I didn’t want you?” he says, giving you a flat, incredulous look.

You blink at him. “So… we’ve been dating this whole time?”

He just stares at you. “...What else did you think we were doing?”

“Oh my god—” You slap a hand over your face, torn between relief and secondhand embarrassment. “I thought you were just vibing.”

Leona snorts. “Yeah. Vibing with you. Idiot.”

Despite yourself, you laugh—a little breathless, a little giddy. It’s so absurd. All this time, you’d been worried about asking him where you stood, and he just… assumed you knew.

Leona rolls his eyes but shifts slightly, turning to face you. His gaze is softer now, and the usual laziness in it is replaced by something raw and unguarded. His hand, rough and warm, cups your cheek.

“Listen,” he mutters, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “I’m not good at sayin’ stuff like this, so don’t make me repeat it, okay?”

You nod, holding your breath.

“I love you.” The words slip out easily, like they’ve been waiting there all along. “Don’t care what anyone says, don’t care what they think—I'm not good at a lotta things, but I know I want you.”

Your heart stumbles. For a moment, the world feels too quiet, too small. You reach up to cover his hand with yours, warmth spreading through your chest.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, like it's the easiest thing you've ever said.

Leona's lips twitch upward into a faint, self-satisfied smirk, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze lingers on you, like he’s not used to getting what he wants.

“So,” you say softly, “are you my boyfriend now?”

He gives you the look—that deadpan, long-suffering stare, like you’ve just asked him the dumbest question of the century.

“Then what the hell else would I be?” he grumbles.

You can’t help it. You laugh—bright, free, and maybe a little too giddy. And before you can stop yourself, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

The kiss is soft, warm, and it lingers just long enough to make your heart race. He tastes like mint and the faintest hint of something earthy, something that feels like home. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back, holding you close like he has no intention of letting you go.

When you finally pull away, you grin at him, still breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, well.” He smirks, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” you whisper, and this time, it’s him who leans in.

And just like that, the world slips away, leaving only the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in laughter, in everything you never knew you needed.

Leona saunters into your room, hands in his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him. “Hey, Falena and his family are visiting today,” he says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You blink at him from your bed, mid-scroll on your phone. “You mean the King and Queen of the Sunset Savanna are visiting.”

Leona shrugs. “Yeah. Same thing.”

You sit bolt upright. “Leona, that’s not the same thing! Those are literal royals!"

He raises an eyebrow, already amused. “I’m royalty too, you know?”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “But you’re my boyfriend!”

Leona’s smirk grows as smug as the desert sun. “Exactly.”

Oh no. He’s loving this way too much.

Despite your protests, you're soon standing next to Leona at the main entrance, sweating bullets as Falena, his wife, and Cheka step through the doors. They’re all gorgeous and elegant, the epitome of royal perfection. You’re about to pass out from nerves, but Leona? He looks like he’s two seconds away from falling asleep on his feet.

Cheka spots you first. “UNCLE LEONA!” he shrieks, barreling straight for his favorite uncle—and by extension, you. Before you can brace for impact, the little lion cub is already latched onto your legs.

“You must be the one Leona told us about!” Falena grins warmly, stepping up beside his wife, who’s equally radiant. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You gawk at him. “Wait... Leona talks about me?”

Falena’s wife smiles knowingly. “Quite a bit, actually.”

You shoot Leona a look, but he just rolls his eyes. “Don’t get weird about it.”

Meanwhile, Cheka, still latched to your leg like a koala, looks up with big, bright eyes. “You’re my favorite person now!” he declares, squeezing your leg tighter. “After Uncle Leona. But you’re mine after him, okay?”

Leona huffs out a laugh, amused by the possessive cub. “Tch. Good luck, kid.”

“I’ll fight for you!” Cheka promises dramatically, like you’re a prize to be won at a carnival. He even makes little fists, shadow-boxing an invisible opponent. “I’ll become a strong lion and beat all the bad guys!”

You try (and fail) to hold back a laugh. “Well, I look forward to it.”

Falena claps his hands together, his grin brighter than the savanna sun. “Since we’re all here, how about a walk around the grounds? It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“Nope.” Leona’s arm is suddenly wrapped around your waist, dragging you closer to him. “We’re good right here.”

Falena and his wife exchange that look—the kind that says they’ve been married long enough to know exactly what’s going on.

“We’ll leave you two alone, then,” Falena says with a chuckle, patting Leona on the shoulder. “We’re happy for you, Leona.”

His wife nods, her eyes twinkling. “Very happy.”

You open your mouth to protest—Wait, this isn’t what it looks like! We’re just standing here! I’m not even sure what’s happening!—but the words don’t come. You just sputter and blush as Leona tugs you closer, looking far too pleased with himself.

“See?” Leona murmurs smugly, lips quirking into a grin as you bury your face in your hands. “Told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

You groan into your palms. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” His grip tightens just a bit, his voice low and lazy as ever. “C’mon. Admit it—you like having a royal boyfriend.”

You peek through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Leona...”

He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Say it.”

You glare up at him, flustered beyond belief but unable to hide the smile creeping onto your face. “...Okay, maybe I do.”

He hums in satisfaction, practically purring. “Thought so.”

And just like that, he pulls you into a lazy, one-armed hug, as if holding you is the easiest thing in the world—and honestly? It kind of is.

The moment the news breaks that you’re dating Leona, you know it’s going to be a thing. A very loud thing. Ace and Deuce are the first to get wind of it, and honestly, you almost regret ever telling them.

“Leona Kingscholar?!” Ace yells, gaping like you just told him you were moving to Mars.

“Why??” Deuce adds, equally stunned. “Are you okay? Blink twice if you're in danger.”

“Isn’t he the guy who naps literally everywhere?” Ace squawks. “Like, you’re really dating a guy who falls asleep during fights?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Ace. I am.”

“Not to mention he’s scary,” Deuce mutters. “What if he, I don’t know, kicks you out of the relationship because it’s too much work?”

“He’s not going to ‘kick me out,’ Deuce.”

Ace leans in conspiratorially, wiggling his eyebrows. “Have you thought about what happens when Riddle finds out?”

Deuce pales. “Oh man, I’m not telling him.”

“You’re definitely telling him.”

“No, you tell him!”

“Do I look like I have a death wish?” Ace scoffs. “I can already hear him screaming something about ‘poor romantic judgment!’”

Meanwhile, Jack is sitting with his arms crossed, brow furrowed. “I don’t know why you’re all acting like this. Housewarden Leona’s actually cool if you get to know him.”

Ace stares at him like he’s sprouted a second head. “Jack, the man once threatened to ‘accidentally’ kick me into a bush because I sneezed near him.”

“Yeah, because you sneezed on him.”

“It was allergy season!”

“Uh-huh.” Jack shrugs. “Still deserved it.”

Before you can jump in, Grim waddles in, arms crossed like the world’s smallest mafia boss. “I don’t care who you date as long as you’re still my henchhuman. Priorities, ya know?”

“Gee, thanks, Grim.”

Then, from across the room, Epel starts cackling like a madman.

“Oh, Vil is gonna lose his mind when he hears about this!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Leona’s the exact opposite of Vil’s whole life philosophy. This is beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Ace adds, smirking. “It’s like watching two completely different wildlife documentaries crash into each other.”

Before you can stop him, Sebek jumps in, indignant. “I cannot believe you would choose that lazy lout over the Young Master!” He practically growls the words.

“Sebek, Leona is—” you try to reason, but Sebek steamrolls right over you.

“He sleeps through his classes! He’s rude! And worst of all, he doesn’t respect Master Malleus!”

You sigh. “Sebek, you can’t date someone based on their respect levels for Malleus.”

“You should!” Sebek declares, crossing his arms dramatically like a lawyer who just delivered the winning argument.

Before things spiral further, Jack mutters, “Leona’s not rude. He’s just… efficient with his energy.”

“Efficient? He calls that one freshman ‘footstool,’ Jack,” Ace deadpans.

“Maybe it’s a term of endearment,” Jack grumbles defensively.

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. The whole scene is chaotic—Ace flailing, Epel wheezing, Sebek looking personally offended, Deuce still white-knuckling through the idea of telling Riddle—and somehow, it’s perfect.

Because deep down, you know something they don’t.

Even though Leona doesn’t show it, even though he hates doing anything that even smells like effort, he cares. He really does. Whether it’s texting you to remind you to eat, draping his jacket over you when you forget yours, or waking you up from an accidental nap with your favorite snack—he makes sure you know.

You just smile quietly to yourself, heart warm. And when Ace notices and nudges you, asking what’s got you looking so smug, you just shrug.

“Oh, nothing,” you say, already counting down the minutes until you can see Leona again.

Because even though the man drives you up the wall and naps like a professional, he’s yours. And that makes all the teasing worth it.

1k masterlist ; Main Masterlist

i know lions don't purr but in my delusions, leona does. work with me here

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona x you #twst leona #leona kingscholar x you #leona #twst leona x you #1k event

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spectorgram · 7 months ago

Text

eyes wide open

pairing: theodore nott x f! reader summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought. content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+) word count: 5.46k

You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth.

Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”

“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds.

You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”

“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute.

Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates.

You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner.

Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you.

You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers.

You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”

He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”

You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”

“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”

Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”

He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down.

You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.

It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold.

It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return.

You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub.

You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.

You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps.

He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”

You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”

The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”

You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”

He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”

“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”

He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”

You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”

“Haven’t most people?”

“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it.

“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”

“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”

You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.”

Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”

“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.”

“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.

“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”

Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”

You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears.

You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.

You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts.

It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.

You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”

He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement.

You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”

“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”

You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.

Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”

He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”

“Great minds think alike then,” you say.

You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”

“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”

“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”

“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”

Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”

“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower.

Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two.

You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”

“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”

“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”

He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too.

As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.” “Does it bother you?”

“It feels like you can see into my soul.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”

You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

“Staring at me.”

His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”

Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”

You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”

He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed.

You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages.

Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”

He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Silence.

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you stay here over break?”

He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”

Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”

“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”

“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”

“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”

“We’ll go together then.”

He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask.

“Someday.”

You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet.

It all makes your heart sink.

You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff.

You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf.

Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.

You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn.

You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.

Almost.

You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner.

Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”

“What is it?”

“Christmas present.”

You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”

“Yes, now open it.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet.

Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”

He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”

“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”

Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”

“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.

“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”

“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner.

You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.

Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly.

You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”

You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”

“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.

“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”

“I’m honored. Wait right here.”

Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”

“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.

Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s.

Merlin, you think, what if he hates it? Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach.

“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”

He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”

“That’s alright.”

You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.

His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—

He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.

“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”

You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”

“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming.

Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”

“You’re welcome.”

The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.

You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him.

You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him.

He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine.

His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso.

“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”

You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss.

It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.”

He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you.

You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”

“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”

Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers.

You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head.

As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”

He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”

You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?”

“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”

“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…”

He dips down to kiss you again.

Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for.

Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile.

Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face.

This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him.

You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh.

You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back.

As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”

He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”

You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s.

Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”

“Don’t you care what your friends think?”

“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”

“Theo…”

He repeats, “Why do you care?”

“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”

“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”

“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”

“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.

“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”

You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away. He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”

“I promise.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”

“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.

author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #✶ NOVE WRITES

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amourluvie · 1 month ago

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◟✿ Twst Housewardens as animals . . .ᐟᅟ

Synopsis . . .ᐟ basically the housewardens as your pets muhehehe also sorry if it's ooc for some of them I wrote this to get rid of my writers block 😭

notes . . .ᐟ i will finish all the homicipher rqs today trust me gang

characters . . .ᐟ riddle rosehearts,Leona kingscholar, idia shroud, malleus draconia, Azul ashengrotto, kalim al asim,vil schoenheit.

Click here for this but with the vice housewardens!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS as a munchkin cat -

riddle is a very sassy and picky kitty,only wanting to savour the finest quality of cat food and expected princess treatment from you,it's beloved owner ofcourse- always wanting your eyes and attention on him and only him otherwise he would knead at your belly painfully because how can such a cute cat like him can't have attention? He's can get grumpy too at times- hissing at you as you try to pet or hold him. Don't worry he's just having mood swings- or he's jelly over the fact he smelled other cat's nasty smell on you. How can you even think of petting other cat's when he's much cuter than him? Hmph! If he could talk he would definitely gave you a scolding and taunt with a "off with your head!", Other than that,he's a very obedient and calm kitty at most times who just wants your love and affection. Come on you can't say no to his big grey eyes,a pleading look on his face as he wants to be pet.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR - a lion, obviously.

how the hell did you even managed to adopt him!? Who knows and who cares. What matters most is that Leona is a very lazy feline,a demanding one too- he's like riddle,wanting to be spoiled aswell while he's just sleeping 24/7! he's supposed to be a lion for crying out loud! Not a lazy cat! Anyways the good part is that he protects you from any danger,who would want to mess with someone who has a lion for a pet anyways ! He enjoys affection too,him resting in his bed that was made just for him as he enjoys you petting him,soft purrs leaving his mouth. Lions are just like cats but just bigger aren't they?

IDIA SHROUD - as a ragdoll cat

idia is a very shy and nervous kitty- who likes to be left alone at times. He has terrible separation anxiety too at that,poor baby. Idia loves getting affection from you- his blazing blue fur slowly turning into a light shade of pink as he leans into your touch- he always also monitored how you used your electronics, especially when you played games on your pc. He would be very interested and climb into your lap as he watched you play, being very concentrated.

VIL SCHOENHEIT as a bunny

Just like riddle and Leona,vil also demands princess treatment from you. For how ephemeral his beauty that's the least he deserves! a very judgemental bunny at that too. You know you look terrific when your bunny side eyed you,your makeup and outfit was well something else so can you blame him? He wishes he could talk so he would give Beauty advice and tips on how to become as pretty as him! He still loves you,as his owner no matter what though.

MALLEUS DRACONIA as a leopard gecko

malleus was a absolutely stunning pet for you- both looks wise and personality wise. the way he smiles at you when you hold him is too die for! he was so sweet too! Always rubbing it's face across your cheek as affection,his slitted pupils dilating as you pat him on his tiny head. Hes always sitting on the top of your head though,and it's hard to get him off.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO as a flapjack octopus

Azul would always stare at you from his big aquarium with his beady eyes,as you feed him and dipped your hand in the water to touch his head,he kinda flinched at first but leaned into your touch in no time,quickly getting used to it and demanded more. He just wishes he can plop out of the tank and crawl towards you to give you a hug for being such a good owner to him. He would literally beam when you said he was the cutest octopus in the entire universe!

KALIM AL- ASIM as a golden retriever

Kalim is the most brightest,most cuddly dog you have ever had! He was so fluffy too with his silky white mane. He would always follow you to everywhere possible - he cant help it! He's just wants to explore all the fun and adventurous places the world has to offer,with his amazing owner! He's a very curious one at that too,often analysing how things worked,also he loved when you walk him to his favourite park to meet his cobra friend- Jamil!

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Web of Gold (royal wedding)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Paring: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen (+Aemond Targaryen?)

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: aegon is jealous

- Next part: honeymoon

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995 @thisbiann @whiteoakoak

- A/N: The last part was skipping from present to past. I forgot to mention that. It has been fixed now.

The grand hall of the Red Keep has never looked so splendid. Golden tapestries hang from the walls, catching the light from the myriad of candles that bathe the room in a warm, shimmering glow. The floors are strewn with rich red and gold carpets, their colors a perfect match for the union taking place today—a union that has the blood of the dragon and the wealth of the lion entwined.

Your wedding to King Aegon II is nothing short of a spectacle. All of the nobility of Westeros is in attendance, their finery dazzling, but none more so than the families of the bride and groom. The Hightowers and the Lannisters are well represented, their seats in the front rows filled with dignified faces that watch every movement with keen interest.

At the head of it all stands Aegon, his usually unruly silver hair smoothed back for the occasion, though he still carries that familiar smirk as if he's already thinking about the revelry that will follow. He’s dressed in a regal black and red ensemble that reflects his Targaryen heritage, but with touches of gold embroidery—no doubt a nod to your Lannister lineage. As you approach down the aisle, his eyes are fixed solely on you, and his smirk softens into something more genuine, more admiring.

You, in turn, glide down the aisle with all the grace expected of a Lannister bride. Your gown is a masterpiece, shimmering gold and crimson silk, with intricate embroidery that mimics the flames of dragons and the roaring lions of your house. The entire court seems to hold its breath as you make your way toward Aegon, your steps light and confident, a smile playing at your lips.

Behind you, your uncles, the infamous Lannister twins, Tyland and Jason, follow with their usual contrasting expressions. Tyland, ever the composed and political one, watches the proceedings with an air of satisfaction, knowing how well this match bodes for the Lannister name. Jason, on the other hand, appears more relaxed, casting admiring glances around the hall and clearly enjoying the pomp and grandeur of it all. He leans over to Tyland at one point, whispering something, likely a comment on the opulence of the Red Keep, which Tyland responds to with a curt nod, his face impassive.

At the altar, Dowager Queen Alicent stands beside Otto Hightower, her father, both of them watching the ceremony with varying degrees of restraint. Alicent’s expression is one of controlled politeness, though there’s a tightness around her eyes that betrays her discomfort. She still hasn’t entirely warmed to the idea of her beloved son marrying someone who so effortlessly draws his attention away from her. Otto, however, seems entirely pleased, his hands folded neatly in front of him, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if mentally counting the alliances being forged today.

Aemond stands beside his brother, his face a mask of impassivity, though you know him well enough by now to catch the faint flicker of amusement in his eye. No doubt he finds the spectacle of Aegon getting married as something of an ironic twist, considering how hard Aegon fought to maintain his so-called "freedom." Aemond’s hand rests lightly on the hilt of his sword, as always, a silent reminder of his ever-watchful nature.

Helaena is there too, her dreamy expression focused on something far beyond the festivities, though she smiles softly when you pass her by. She’s dressed in a lovely gown of pale blue, her hair adorned with delicate silver ornaments shaped like butterflies. She murmurs something to herself, perhaps a quiet blessing for your future, though it’s impossible to tell for sure.

As you finally reach Aegon’s side, the High Septon Eustace begins the ceremonial words, his voice echoing through the hall. You can feel the eyes of the court on you, but your focus remains on Aegon, who is staring at you with a look that’s equal parts admiration and barely restrained mischief. His hand, warm and steady, slips into yours as you both face the High Septon, the weight of the crown on your head a constant reminder of the power this union represents.

“Do you, Aegon Targaryen, take Y/N of House Lannister to be your lawful wife, to honor and protect, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?” the High Septon intones.

Aegon’s grin spreads wide across his face, a flash of amusement dancing in his eyes. “I do,” he says, his voice rich with confidence, though there’s a playful edge to it that makes it clear he’s already thinking of what comes after the ceremony.

“And do you, Y/N of House Lannister, take Aegon Targaryen to be your lawful husband, to honor and stand beside, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

You meet Aegon’s gaze, the room around you momentarily fading as you reply, “I do.”

The High Septon raises his hands in blessing, proclaiming you husband and wife, and the hall erupts in applause. Aegon, ever the dramatic, doesn’t wait for the formal conclusion before leaning in to kiss you, his hands cupping your face as if you’re the only person in the room. The kiss is bold, full of the reckless passion Aegon is known for, and the court watches with varying degrees of approval and amusement.

Tyland and Jason exchange glances, Jason stifling a chuckle while Tyland remains impassive, though his eyes gleam with pride. They know the political weight of this match—House Lannister is now further entwined with the crown, and their power has only grown.

Alicent, however, watches the display with barely concealed annoyance, her lips pressed into a tight smile. She claps politely, though there’s a stiffness to her movements, a reminder that, in her mind, no one could ever truly be good enough for her precious son. Otto, on the other hand, seems entirely pleased, his eyes flicking toward Alicent as if to gauge her reaction, though he remains composed.

Aemond watches the kiss with a raised brow, a flicker of bemusement crossing his features. He shifts slightly, as though resisting the urge to roll his eye, though a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

The rest of the court stands, applauding as you and Aegon turn to face them, now husband and wife. You can feel the weight of expectation on your shoulders, but you stand tall, regal, with Aegon by your side. The cheers of the courtiers fill the hall, a cacophony of voices celebrating your union, and for a moment, it feels as though you and Aegon have already won over the entire kingdom.

As the feast begins, Jason Lannister raises his goblet in a loud toast. “To King Aegon and his golden bride! May their union bring strength to the realm!” His voice booms across the hall, earning cheers and nods of approval from the Lannisters in attendance.

Aegon, never one to miss an opportunity to revel in attention, raises his own goblet and smirks at you. “And may she forever spoil me with her affection, wine, and… other delights.”

The court erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but laugh too, casting a glance at Aemond, whose eye twitches in amusement, though he’s quick to hide it behind another sip of wine.

The night is long, filled with feasting, laughter, and the clinking of goblets as alliances are silently solidified with every toast. And as the evening draws on, you and Aegon bask in the glow of your new roles—King and Queen, dragon and lion, forever entwined in the history of Westeros.

The grand feast is in full swing. Laughter echoes off the vaulted ceilings of the Red Keep’s great hall, the clink of goblets and the shuffle of servants bringing more trays of roasted meats, fruits, and breads filling the space. At the high table, you sit next to Aegon, who is already well on his way to being pleasantly drunk. His cheeks are flushed, his laughter a little too loud, and every so often, he leans in to whisper something entirely inappropriate in your ear—something about what he intends to do later, no doubt—but you smile and nod, indulging him.

Across the table, Helaena sits quietly, her dreamy eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight as if it holds secrets only she can see. She picks absentmindedly at her plate, her fingers twirling a piece of bread like it's a delicate piece of embroidery. You catch her eye and smile warmly.

"Helaena," you say softly, leaning toward her, "are you enjoying the feast?"

She blinks, her gaze shifting to you as if coming back to the present from some distant dream. Her lips curve into a small, sweet smile. "It’s beautiful," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "But the butterflies… they’re dancing too close to the fire."

You pause, tilting your head, unsure whether she’s speaking in metaphors or if this is just one of Helaena’s usual cryptic musings. Either way, you smile back. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on the butterflies, then.”

She giggles softly, her fingers finally releasing the bread as she takes a sip from her goblet. There’s something endearing about Helaena, her quiet innocence standing in contrast to the rowdy festivities around her. You find her company refreshing—though you’re well aware that others find her eccentric nature unsettling.

As you pour another cup of wine for Aegon, who is now thoroughly engaged in a one-sided conversation with Ser Criston about something involving dragons (though Criston’s blank stare suggests he’s only pretending to listen), you feel a sharp gaze on you. Without even looking, you know it’s Alicent.

You glance up to find her watching you with that familiar tight-lipped expression of disapproval. Her hands are clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles have gone white. It’s clear she doesn’t appreciate the way you cater to Aegon’s whims, particularly when it involves filling his goblet over and over. But tonight, she says nothing, her lips pressed into a thin, sour line as she watches you with silent judgment.

You flash her a smile, sweet as honey, and deliberately pour Aegon’s cup a little fuller than necessary, making sure the wine sloshes right to the rim. He grins up at you with a sloppy, grateful smile, lifting his goblet with an exaggerated flourish.

“Ah, my perfect queen!” Aegon slurs, raising the cup in a toast that sends a bit of wine splashing over the side. “Always knows exactly what I need.”

You pat his hand and nod, biting back a laugh. “Yes, my love. Always.”

Alicent’s expression tightens even further, but she still says nothing, clearly choosing to hold her tongue rather than cause a scene at such a grand occasion. Her frustration, however, is palpable.

With Aegon now thoroughly distracted by his wine and the increasingly nonsensical conversation with Ser Criston, you take the opportunity to slip away for a moment. The noise of the feast dulls slightly as you move toward the quieter end of the hall, where Aemond stands, ever the watchful observer, his gaze scanning the room like a hawk searching for prey. He doesn’t sit—Aemond never seems to relax the way Aegon does. Instead, he stands with a goblet of wine in hand, his tall frame as rigid and poised as ever.

As you approach, he glances at you, his single eye cool but alert, that faint smirk already playing on his lips as if he knows exactly why you’ve come.

“Your husband looks quite… spirited this evening,” Aemond says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze flickers to where Aegon is now halfway through another story, clearly embellishing the details for the benefit of anyone still bothering to listen.

You chuckle, standing beside him, your fingers brushing the stem of your own goblet. “Yes, well, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? A wedding and an endless supply of wine—it’s a dangerous combination for Aegon.”

Aemond’s lips twitch with amusement. “Dangerous for him, perhaps. More tiresome for the rest of us.”

You raise your goblet slightly, giving him a sidelong glance. “I suppose you’re used to enduring such… tiresome things, aren’t you, Aemond?”

His eye narrows slightly, a knowing glint in it. “I endure what I must. Though some things…” He pauses, his gaze lingering on you for a fraction longer than necessary, “are more tolerable than others.”

You hum in response, your lips curving into a small, playful smile. “How kind of you to say. And here I thought you preferred your solitude over any company.”

Aemond sips his wine, his eye never leaving yours. “Solitude has its merits. But there are certain… exceptions.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air between you, subtle but unmistakable. You glance back toward Aegon, who is now attempting to stand, swaying slightly as he raises his goblet in yet another toast, clearly drunk beyond reason. The sight is both amusing and pitiful, and you can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for your new husband. But at the same time, the pull of Aemond’s presence is undeniable, the tension between you two thickening with every passing second.

“And would I be one of those exceptions?” you ask softly, turning your attention back to Aemond. Your tone is light, teasing, but there’s a sharper edge beneath it.

Aemond’s smirk deepens, his gaze darkening as he lowers his goblet. He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You already know the answer to that.”

Your heart quickens, but you keep your expression neutral, unwilling to give too much away. This dance between you and Aemond has been ongoing for some time—never spoken of directly, never acted upon, but always there, clawing just beneath the surface. And tonight, with Aegon too drunk to notice, the tension feels sharper than ever.

Before you can respond, Aegon’s voice cuts through the room, loud and slurred. “Y/N! Where are you, my queen? Come! We must… celebrate!”

You bite back a laugh, casting Aemond a glance that’s equal parts amused and exasperated. “Duty calls,” you say, stepping away with a sigh.

Aemond’s eye follows you as you move back toward Aegon, the weight of his gaze lingering on you like a silent promise.

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solbaby7 · 3 months ago

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Hii could I please get a neat Moscow mule with a salt rim ❤️

🧉here you go 💗💗

[ “i don’t like the way he / she looks at you” + smut + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

There had always been whispers about Illyrian males and the possessive streak that scorches its way through their veins. How it awakened with their first cry at birth and remains until their last breath.

You’d never thought you’d witness it firsthand.

Seeing that shift in Azriel’s features is unmistakable. The comfortable lines of his stoicism usually rests heavy along his brow bone, casting shadows along his eyes until the rich amber of his iris is stark in contrast. Even then, you’re used to seeing some semblance of warmth residing in there but the danger lingering within them now is staggering—forces the object of his surveillance to raise a hand to the back of their neck, eyes scanning the crowd for the culprit.

Az is too good to be caught though. Too skilled to be seen. A wolf that blends in seamlessly in a crowd full of sheep and he detects it immediately when another predator is present. “Who is that?”

You follow his line of sight, grumbling in distaste almost instantly when you notice that familiar tuft of curly blonde hair. “Tyson,” His brow raises at your tone, stance sturdy and arms crossed over his chest. You can feel the heat radiating off of him; briefly acknowledging the sentient shadows that nudge you in closer, partially hiding you behind his bulk. Protecting what they deemed as theirs. “—but all the Valkyrie’s call him tick.”

“Tick.”

“Yeah,” Your head nods along in confirmation, fingers hooking in the loops of your leathers to shimmy them up higher on your hips. “‘Cause he latches on like one—damn near impossible to shake.”

There’s a brief pause, a rumble of a noise vibrating through his chest like a lion in wait that rests on its haunches. Azriel’s prey drive is triggered, specially attuned to the way Tyson leans casually against a post, blue eyes trained on you while you warm up, taking time admiring the way your leathers fit like second skin. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

He’s skilled with a sword, Az notes, but that wandering eye is sure to get him killed. The shadowsinger can feel the way his fingers form into fists when Tyson’s gaze meanders down the slope of your back and settles around the generous curve of your ass. It wobbles temptingly as you practice, core tight and form stunning as all sorts of daggers are shot through the air at warp speed.

Every blade hits its respective bullseye.

You're one hell of a prize. One that Tyson so foolishly thinks he’s good enough to win.

Shoulders square, feet apart, knees ever so slightly bent. Even breaths as you line up the next blade, eying where you wish for it to land. "How does he look at me?"

"Like he wants to fuck you."

You pray he doesn't notice the way your body freezes in place, grip faltering on the hilt of your dagger. A thick swallow, throat clumsily clearing and lashes fluttering with nerves as you make a point to keep your face forward. "How would you know what that looks like?"

"Because, I want to fuck you." Thighs clench at the flippant way he says it—so casually. Like it's common knowledge. As if he hasn't just rendered you speechless and filled you full of want off one sentence alone. The smell of him engulfs you when he closes the distance, his chest to your back. Shadows teasing at the sides of your thighs like phantom palms that waste no time memorizing the new terrain. "You're holding that wrong."

"Am I?" More intelligent words are robbed right off of your tongue when he presses against you, the weight of his growing erection digging into your spine, teasing around the dimples that rest right above your ass. You can't help but lean into him, allowing him to adjust your fingers around the daggers hilt.

Never once had you thought such a simple touch could ignite this kind of spark within you. A fire that damn near burns you alive; it begins in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at organs and muscle, tearing through soft tendons and sinew in its desperation for release. "Like this, baby." His lips graze the curve of your ear, forcing goosebumps to assault your skin.

Azriel doesn't adjust a thing about your form. Instead, he openly gropes at the fat of your hips. Slides his palm possessively over the soft swell of your abdomen. Trails a hand up the crease of your breasts until a five finger grip is curling its way around your throat. "What are you doing?" You whisper, craning your neck to provide more access. Allowing the steady pressure squeezing at your jugular.

He's putting on one hell of a show.

Staring that blonde bastard right in the eye as he drags his nose along your temple, pressing his lips against your skin just because he can. "Pest control." A thick thigh nudges its way between your legs, the bulk of Azriel's body blocking you from all peering eyes but one.

Tyson vibrates with rage as Az guides your hips, dragging your clothed cunt along solid muscle until lids flutter and lips part. It's an agonizing kind of pleasure—one that's everything and nothing at the same time. Stimulating but not fully satisfying when you really crave the turgid length of his cock that strains against his leathers.

It takes a second too long to realize that he's not really doing this with your pleasure in mind.

He barely pays you any real attention as discreet shadows creep under your top to twist at taut nipples, squeezing and pulling until the heartbeat in your chest travels all the way down to your pussy.

No, he merely uses you as a pawn. Plucking and toying, licking and biting at the junction of your neck until all that can be scented on you is arousal and Illyrian. "Az, I'm gonna—"

"Not yet, sweet thing. Want him to look at you when you cum for me."

#acotar x reader #acotar #acotar x you #azriel #acotar azriel #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #az smut #az x reader #azriel smut #az blurb #blurb bar #azriel blurb

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novelistwriter · 11 days ago

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The Family of Halfa's

DP x DC Prompt (With other Fandoms, this prompt was inspired by "Wished Away Series")

Danny and Wes had been together for a while. Wes was, at first, not considered part of his friend group, but as time went on, Wes integrated himself as part of Team Phantom.

Now that Wes was a full ghost, and the Consort to Danny, as he is the Ghost King, Clockwork had decided that the Halfa and his Consort are the perfect option to raise the souls of those the Time Ghost takes pity on as new Halfa's with a new start, meaning these souls don't have the memories of their past lives, but powers and such related to their previous lives.

The oldest of the reborn souls they got was a boy named Adrian Agreste, but not any Adrian, the Cat Blanc Adrian, who was plucked from his timeline before it was erased and offered a second chance at life. His power is still destruction, but only when he is feeling intense negative emotions.

The second oldest, who came a few years after Adrian, was named Callum, a boy who died at the hands of the Sunfire Elves before help had arrived. He doesn't have any unique powers but is adept at the Arcane Arts than any (fully) living person.

A few months later, another soul was given to them. His name was Eli Shane, and he perished in the Eastern Caverns during the battle with the Emperor. Eli's powers allow him to access 5 elements, with him limited to one until he switches to another, Fire, Air, Earth, Water, and Energy. And because of Junjie, Eli's other Ghost Power allows him to learn any martial arts much quicker than any being.

After a year, another soul was given to them, one of a courageous young man named Link who stopped a Demon King but suffered too many injuries to be saved. His power is time related, but not too powerful. If he dodges an attack at the last second, he is able to move faster than anyone to attack his opponent for a short duration.

2 more years later, two souls were given to Danny and Wes, Keith and Lance, who perished at the hands of a mysterious foe while giving their team time to escape. Their powers are similar yet different at the same time. They both can summon spectral lions, but Keith's is red and has fire powers, while Lance's are blue and have water related powers.

Finally, 3 years later, Danny and Wes are given 5 souls of kids, kids who died participating in a war to stop a bad guy. Aang died fighting Ozai. Zuko and Katara died in the Agni kai against Azula. Toph and Sokka died when the Airship they were on crashed in the sea before Suki could arrive on time. Aang has air and animal related powers, Katara has water and ice powers, Zuko has fire and electricity powers, and Toph has earth and metal powers, Sokka doesn't have any unique powers, but is a natural leader and adept at learning how to use any type of weapon.

After the Quintuplets were reborn from Danny, the rest of the souls were as well, as Danny needed to host their cores to have them reborn as Halfa's, Danny and Wes thought that they needed to live in a dimension, and not the Keep Danny inherited, as Danny and the reborn Halfa's need to eat regular food as well ad needing Ectoplasm, and so the kids could interact with other living people and not just the Ghosts in the Infinite Realms. So they chose a random dimension with a lot of Heroes to live in, with Clockwork giving Wes a new body to be a Halfa himself.

And now the family made of all Halfa's is living in a place called Gotham, a Gothic City with enough ambient ectoplasm as Amity, but they had caught the attention of the Vigilantes of the City, as the entire family are Alternates to the people of the dimension.

Danny is an alternate younger Jason Todd, but not as Buff. Wes is an alternate younger Roy Harper, also not as buff. Adrian is an alternate Dinah Lance. Callum is an alternate and younger Hal Jordan. Eli is an alternate Lady Shiva. Link is an alternate and younger Barry Allen. Keith is an alternate Jon Kent. Lance is an alternate Damian Wayne. Aang is an alternate and younger Bruce Wayne. Katara and Sokka are alternates to Dick Grayson. Toph is an alternate and younger Cassandra Cain. Finally, Zuko is an alternate and younger Tim Drake.

#ghost king danny #danny phantom #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcu #the dragon prince #voltron #atla #avatar the last airbender #miraculous ladybug #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #dc x dp crossover #dp crossover #dp x dc prompt #tears of the kingdom #slugterra

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torveiglyart · 5 months ago

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Red Paladin Lance!

It always kinda bothered me that they never switched armor colours. I understand why not in season 3-4 because switching the armor then would feel like accepting that Shiro is gone. They were convinced that the 'Changing of the Guard' was a temporary solution. But why didn't Lance and Allura swap when Shiro was back and Keith left?

Keith leaving was a conscious choice. They had one paladin too many, as Lance stated, and Keith felt he was the one who could, and should, leave. He had the Blade of Marmora to go to, whereas the other paladins would have nowhere to go.

The paladins knew generally where he was, and that he wasn't dead. So why not change armor?

Allura wore the pink as a symbol of mourning. But Shiro's back, so unless she really likes pink like her mother, she has no reason to continue wearing it. Lance has not flown, or talked to, Blue in a long while, and never does again until the season 8 conclusion. He's Red's paladin now.

It makes all the sense in the world for them to switch armor in the seasons after Keith's departure. So why didn't they? I think it's because of which paladin they are. Let me explain:

Keith is the red paladin. The Red Lion looks for someone 'hot-headed and stubborn', someone who relies more on instinct than skill. The traits of a red paladin are fiery, straightforwardness, impulsive, passionate, and self-certain. Keith tones it down a bit when leading the team in black and once he returns from the BoM, but he still has these characteristics.

Lance is the blue paladin. The Blue Lion looks for someone flexible, supportive, and creative. While we don't get to hear Allura's explanation of the Blue Lion, we can see why Blue picked Lance. He's a quick thinker, goes with the flow, and most of all, flexible. He makes what's given work, especially when it came to needing a red paladin. Not, by choice, necessarily, but he rolls with it.

Allura is not a chosen paladin. She does not have qualities that fit a specific lion quite as well as the rest do, but rather a mix. This is why she works as Blue's pilot. She has the flexibility required by Blue. So while she works as a blue paladin, she is technically not a better fit than Lance for Blue, but Lance is a much better fit in Red than Allura due to Keith in Black.

All this to say, it still annoys me they didn't change colours, but oh well.

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #lance mcclain #voltron fanart #vld lance #art #digital art #lance voltron #red paladin lance #red paladin #red bayard #sharpshooter #fun lighting weee #man that was a lot #lance headcanon

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whosscruffylooking · 9 days ago

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Helloooooooo, I hope you are well, I was thinking if you could make a little imagine about Paul Mescal x actress wife, what his life would be like (Maybe with children😭)

Of course! Hopefully this is something similar to what you were looking for. If not, send another request! 💕

The morning sunlight poured through the large bay windows of your home, casting a golden glow across the hardwood floors and filling the room with warmth. You were seated at the kitchen counter, cradling a cup of coffee as you flipped through a script, your eyes scanning the words half-heartedly. Your focus was pulled every few seconds by the sound of tiny, quick footsteps pattering across the floor.

“Look, Mama!” your two-year-old son, Theo, exclaimed, holding up a stuffed lion triumphantly as he waddled toward you. His bright blue eyes—so much like Paul’s—sparkled with joy.

“You caught him, huh?” you said, setting the script down to lean forward, feigning amazement. “The king of the jungle doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

Theo beamed, his curls bouncing as he climbed into your lap with the stuffed lion. He pressed it into your chest, clearly ready to start another game. Before you could entertain him further, the sound of Paul’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“Has anyone seen my coffee?” he called, his tone playful.

Theo immediately wriggled out of your arms and bolted toward the voice, his tiny legs moving as fast as they could. “Dada! I have lion!”

Paul appeared in the doorway, wearing a soft gray sweater and black joggers, his hair slightly tousled from the morning. His face lit up when Theo barreled into him, clutching the lion and giggling.

“Well, if the lion is here, then everything’s fine,” Paul said, scooping Theo up effortlessly. He glanced at you over Theo’s shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Good morning, my love. Have you seen my coffee?”

You raised an eyebrow and gestured to the half-empty cup sitting on the counter beside you.

Paul grinned sheepishly. “Right. Forgot about that.” He walked over, still holding Theo, and leaned down to kiss you. It was a quick kiss, soft but affectionate, the kind of casual intimacy that came so easily now after years together.

“Busy morning?” he asked, his gaze flickering to the script on the counter.

“Just trying to make sense of this new role,” you said, sighing as you slid the script toward him. “It’s good, but the character needs work. They’re a little one-dimensional.”

Paul placed Theo on the floor, ruffling his hair before picking up the script. “You’ll figure it out,” he said confidently, flipping through the pages. “You always do.”

You smiled at him, appreciating his quiet reassurance. Paul had this way of making you feel capable of anything, even when you doubted yourself.

Theo, meanwhile, had wandered off to his play corner, where a train set and blocks were scattered across the rug. You and Paul watched him for a moment, a shared sense of wonder filling the space.

“Sometimes I can’t believe he’s ours,” Paul said quietly, his voice laced with awe.

You glanced at him, your heart swelling at the sight of him watching Theo with such love in his eyes. “Me neither,” you admitted. “He’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”

Paul looked at you then, his expression soft but intense. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you laughed lightly. “You’re too smooth for this early in the morning.”

He shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “What can I say? I’ve had practice.”

The premiere had been a whirlwind of flashing cameras, laughter, and the hum of excitement that came with the release of a highly anticipated film. You and Paul had walked the red carpet together, his hand resting protectively on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd of photographers and reporters. You’d both been dressed to perfection—him in a tailored black tuxedo that emphasized his broad shoulders, and you in an elegant, curve-hugging gown that made his eyes linger a little longer than usual.

Throughout the night, you couldn’t resist teasing him. It started with a subtle touch—a hand brushing over his thigh during an interview or leaning a little too close while whispering something playful in his ear.

“Do you have any idea how distracting you are?” he murmured at one point, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up at him with a mischievous smile, batting your lashes. “Distracting? I’m just enjoying the night.”

His lips twitched into a smirk, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t fooled.

By the time the premiere had ended and you’d finished mingling at the afterparty, the tension between you had built into something palpable. Paul’s hand never strayed far from you, his touches lingering just a bit longer, his gaze flickering to you every time you laughed or leaned in close to speak with someone else.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face. He reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his and holding tight. You caught the way his jaw clenched slightly, his gaze fixed out the window as though trying to keep his composure.

The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city lights filtering through the curtains. The weight of the evening still lingered, a blend of champagne, laughter, and the subtle tension that had been simmering between you and Paul all night.

Paul closed the door behind you with a soft click, loosening the tie at his neck as he turned to you. His eyes swept over you, taking in every detail—the way your gown shimmered in the dim light, the way your smile curved just so, a knowing look dancing in your expression.

“You’ve been enjoying yourself, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing as he stepped closer.

You arched a brow, tilting your head. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled softly, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. “It means I’ve been counting down the minutes until we got back here,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple.

You smiled, your fingers resting against his chest as you looked up at him. “Well, here we are,” you said, your voice just as soft, just as playful.

Paul leaned down, his mouth grazing your ear as he spoke. “A night without a baby,” he began, his voice a mix of humor and something deeper. “Maybe we can make another one.”

You laughed lightly, the sound dissolving into a breathless hum as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands sliding to your lower back. “That’s quite the plan,” you whispered, your heart racing as his lips traveled down to your jawline, then back to meet yours.

His grin was mischievous, his eyes darkening with a mix of affection and desire. “Well, I’m nothing if not ambitious,” he teased, guiding you gently toward the bed.

When the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, he leaned in, his forehead brushing against yours, his breath warm and steady. His hands moved to cradle your face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles against your cheeks. His eyes searched yours for a moment, a flicker of something tender and unspoken passing between you before he closed the distance.

His lips met yours softly at first, the kiss slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second. You let your hands slide up his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The two of you desperately claw at each other’s clothing, tearing them off and discarding them without a thought.

The kiss deepened, growing more urgent as Paul tilted his head, his lips moving against yours in perfect rhythm. His hands slid down to your hips, tugging you flush against him as he leaned over you, the mattress dipping beneath your weight.

You sank back onto the bed, bringing him with you, his body warm and solid against yours.

The room was cloaked in the kind of quiet that felt sacred, the only sounds the soft rustling of sheets and the steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the stillness. Paul’s hands moved over your skin with an unhurried tenderness, fingertips tracing patterns as if he were committing every curve, every detail, to memory. His touch sent warmth blooming beneath your skin, a quiet intensity in the way his hands lingered, his palms firm but gentle.

There was a certain rhythm to the night, an unspoken language in the way you moved together. His lips found yours again and again, soft and seeking, while the heat between you built steadily, growing in waves. The quiet gasps, the way his name slipped from your lips like a whispered prayer, filled the space between you, creating a melody that was yours alone.

Paul’s forehead rested against yours at times, his breath uneven as he murmured your name, each syllable carrying the weight of his devotion. The peaks you reached together were like fleeting moments of euphoria, your bodies and souls intertwined in a way that felt endless, infinite.

When the stillness returned, it wasn’t empty. It was full of something deeper—a profound sense of connection that only seemed to grow with every shared moment. His arms wrapped around you as the night stretched on, his lips brushing your temple in the quiet aftermath.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion, his words a vow as his hands continued their soft, soothing paths along your back.

The room was yours, the night infinite, and the world outside didn’t exist. In Paul’s arms, with his breath steadying against your skin, you felt completely and utterly whole.

#paul mescal x y/n #paul mescal fic #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal x you

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elsecrytt · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 6

Threesome | Cock Ring | Hypnotism

Pairing: Sukuna/Reader/Gojo (poly)

Warnings: semi-public sex, situationships.

Sukuna and Satoru fucking hate each other.

It’s no news to anyone. Two powerful sorcerers at Jujutsu Tech – one of them from a great clan, the other from nothing. Both exceptional in a way none of their peers were.

There were a lot of strong sorcerers this year – look at Suguru, or Shoko, or even you – but the two of them had this weird fixation on who was the strongest.

What did that matter, really? They were both strong enough to defeat the most dangerous spirits all alone. What did it matter which of them was stronger?

Satoru would shrug, Maybe it doesn’t matter. But I am.

Sukuna was less generous, That Gojo brat is too arrogant for his own good.

On principle, you’d agree with Sukuna, but Sukuna is a raging asshole, and Satoru’s just an annoyance. They don’t pick on you so much these days, though.

As much as he started out as a self-centered jerk, Satoru’s got Suguru’s calming influence on him, softening out his mean remarks and obnoxious behaviors. You have a shared sweet tooth that means he likes to hang around with you after class and try out new candies together.

Sukuna usually just can’t be asked to speak to you, gruff and shoving his way through the hallways of the classes, glaring as though a blue-eyed menace could pop up from any corner - a sentiment you could relate to.

One day you’d caught him sulking in an empty classroom during lunchtime (from Satoru’s mocking words, he’d given his lunch to his “stupid little brother” who’d lost his), and you’d offered to share.

It was surprising that he took the offer. You’re almost more surprised that he actually splits it with you, instead of taking the lion’s share like Satoru does with your foreign imported treats.

And after your years at the school together you’re hesitant to call yourselves friends – you think of them more as starving dogs you were foolish enough to feed.

Either one would show up now and again for your attention, rarely together. They come to you for food and entertainment, not quite company, you don’t think.

But then, there’s a lot of things you think you know about Satoru and Sukuna. Not all of them are right.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was when you walked in on them making out in an empty classroom.

Lips parted, hands grasping and clawing at one another as if they wish to tear the other apart –

A shove, a shuffle.

Two pairs of eyes, red and blue, wide and staring straight at you.

Open, panting mouths. Flushed cheeks. Red and purple marks littering their throats.

You cock your head. “Oh. Sorry, don’t mind me. Go back to eating each other’s faces, or whatever you were supposed to be doing.”

“Fuck, no – ” “It’s not like – ”

They speak in unison, only to stop and glare at each other at the overlapping voices.

Satoru is leaning back against a desk, his coat uncharacteristically undone at the top. Sukuna’s collar is always loose, but you catch teeth marks underneath it.

The excuses they make are actually really funny.

They interrupt each other, Sukuna even shoves Satoru for blithe remark about how I wouldn’t even if he paid me, teeth bared as he scoffs and growls, Oh but you sure moaned like you were being paid to, you little porn star –

“Enough!”

You shut the door behind you, locking it, and slide yourself up to sit on a desk. The two of them stare at you while you rest your chin on your hand.

“I told you,” You say, “Don’t mind me. Go back to what you were doing.”

There’s a hint of red that creeps over Satoru’s pale cheeks. It’s just as noticeable on Sukuna’s face, the blush of his hair bringing out the pink on his face.

“Well? I’m waiting. Go on. The least you could do is give me a show.” You lick your lips, “The catfight thing is cute and all but I’m super curious.”

Were they just making out like a couple flighty virgins, or was someone’s dick going to come out at one point? You’re kind of excited to find out.

“I-” Sukuna is cut off as Satoru’s lips press into his mouth. He growls and pushes back on pure instinct, shoving hm right into the desk you’re sitting on.

“Hey!”

Red eyes burn in satisfaction, a wide hand reaching around Satoru to cover your ass.

Satoru moans (oh wow, he was like a porn star), jumping up to sit himself in your lap.

You’re not sure what to think, as Sukuna grabs your mouth for a kiss and you watch Satoru whine and nip at his ear. You’re not even sure what they’re doing with each other.

You know that Satoru grabs your hand, tugs it to the front of his pants where you dig out his long, slender, pretty cock, already hard and weeping.

Sukuna’s comes out too, brushing against your fingertips, his hands with yours clenching their cocks together to jerk them in unison.

Soon you know what Satoru’s pretty pale skin tastes like, sweat-dewed and trembling with his pitiful whimpers.

Sukuna shoves his fingers in your mouth, coated in their cum. He stares into your eyes with a wild grin, pressing down onto your tongue until you drool and Satoru licks it up.

You know how it feels when Satoru sinks down to his knees and slips aside your panties, diving onto your leaking cunt like it’s another dessert he doesn’t want to share.

How hard Sukuna’s teeth dig into your throat, leaving marks just like the ones you’d seen on Satoru’s neck.

Satoru’s hair is as soft as it looks, that the way he moans when you tug on it is enough to bring you over the edge.

It must do something to Sukuna, because he drags your chin, forcing you to hold eye contact while you cum.

You know when Sukuna pulls Satoru up for a kiss, tugging his mouth open to lick it clean, like he's impatient for a taste of you - it sends a thrill like no other dripping down your spine.

You know all these things, but you don’t know what’s going on.

That’s okay. You don’t think they do, either.

Even if the liaison between them came as a surprise, you’re somehow not surprised to find either of them spending more time with you, in the coming days.

Suddenly, it’s not Suguru who’s Satoru’s constant companion, though you see him eye you with a smirk every now and then. Satoru clings to you like a shadow, whinier than ever – but Sukuna can’t seem to leave you alone, either.

It’s hard to tell what you are. A buffer? An excuse? They include you enough. You don’t stand by and watch them dance around you. You can reach out and touch – they’ll let you. They’ll thank you for it.

You’re still working on Sukuna, but his gratitude is silent. Doors held open, extra lunch boxes or vending machine snacks. A coat when you’re cold, a glare at anyone who bothers you.

Satoru is more open about it. People ask if you’re his girlfriend and you just laugh it off, but he’s not afraid to sling his arm over your shoulders and pull you close. Even though Sukuna is glaring harder than ever.

They’re not a team, never a team, not Sukuna and Satoru. The two of them are always in competition.

"Be my girlfriend," Satoru whispers, "Sukuna doesn't take anything seriously, this is just a game to him. But I like you for real, I'll go on dates with you out in public, tell everyone you're my girl-"

"The fuck you will," Sukuna grumbles, wrapping his own arm around your waist, “She’s my girl as much as she’s yours.”

So you date both of them.

And dating them, you learn a lot. Not about jujutsu or how strong they are. About Sukuna, and Satoru, the boys you’re dating.

You learn that Sukuna is actually a cuddler. He’s much better at it than Satoru, too.

Satoru is clingy, long limbs wrapping around anything and everything he can.

Sukuna likes to get into a nice comfortable position, you or Satoru or both of you on his broad chest, arms strewn in an easy, wide embrace.

Perfect for lazy hours spent laying down listening to them bicker, flirt, or complain – often including you too. Kisses peppered in with nips or smacks on whatever place was easiest to reach.

Sukuna’s the quiet type, the type that can enjoy just sitting in the same room while you do things.

He’s not a bad study buddy, all things considered, although getting him to help with anything is like pulling teeth – purely because it entertains him to make you work for it.

But if you want someone to just give in and hand you everything, that’s what Satoru is for.

If Sukuna is a stray cat with his independence and pride, Satoru is a puppy who would follow you to the ends of the earth. Constantly at your heels, making Sukuna frown and growl in envy at the closeness.

He’s too darling, really, your Satoru. If you need someone to talk, to chatter on and distract you or make you feel like the center of the universe, Satoru could do that. Always ready with a kiss or a credit card, eager to help in any way he can, rub it in Sukuna’s face how much better he is. He loves to be used.

With Sukuna, your fondest memories are his little gestures of kindness.

With Satoru, your most cherished moments are you doing things for him. You hand him a candy and his face lights up. You bring him a drink, you remember the homework from last night, you offer to dry his hair.

Satoru drinks in affection like he’s been starved all his life.

You think him and Sukuna are alike in that way.

Satoru learned to give everything he could in hopes of getting something back. Sukuna learned to expect nothing and take whatever he could get.

They’re so alike, and yet so different.

You learn that Satoru likes it when you cum on his mouth. He likes it when Sukuna does, too.

It’s an attention thing, you think, from how he looks up at you when his mouth is on you, fluttering his lashes, moaning sluttily.

He especially loves having his hair pulled, and Sukuna’s brutal with it, shoving Satoru up and down his cock. It’s hotter than you’d imagined – no one should look that hot sucking dick. It makes you nervous to go down on either of them, sometimes.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. Sukuna likes eating pussy more than he likes sucking dick, so Satoru is delighted whenever you go down on him.

For his part, Sukuna’s more careful with you than he is with Satoru, but Satoru’s an insatiable whore who likes to join in, either touching you while you suck Sukuna off or putting his mouth right on that dick with you.

Sukuna likes it hard and rough. He’s brutal with Satoru; they love to maul each other and throw you in the middle, seeing who would back away first.

They love it even more when you watch, when you goad them on, striving to impress you. Sukuna says he doesn’t care what other people think, but you see him lifting Satoru’s face for you to better see (or ride).

When he comes to you, he’s the picture of control, wielding a sadism tailored to your tastes. He’s always eager, always excited to push you to some new ledge, to find your limit and dance exactly on the line and no further.

He’ll let Satoru come between you only to wear him out completely, turning back and taunting him with the sight of you on the precipice, begging and pleading for release.

Satoru comes to you for gentleness. He loves a good fuck but his favorite is classic missionary where he gets all needy and teary-eyed, desperate for kisses and praise.

Every ounce of affection you pour into him is repaid tenfold, with eyes that look at you like you hung the stars, a mouth that worships you with word and tongue alike.

Sometimes the gentleness is slapping him around, shoving him down, dominating him in a way that he doesn’t have to fight.

Sometimes Sukuna’s cruelty warps, demands hastening and sharpening into something more than plain desire, hands clasped against you to do more than just hold you in place.

They both have things they don’t want the other to see.

You learn they have some tacit agreement to leave each other some alone time with you.

The vast majority of your time is spent in both their company, but there are days you get to spend exclusively with Satoru or exclusively with Sukuna.

Whoever got left out always seems ravenous for company after. A little rougher, a little more demanding.

You learn it’ll be a cold day in hell before either one talks about his feelings.

This is another contest, another waiting game they’re playing against one another. Who can win you over, who can fuck you better, who goes weak or slips up first.

If there were a knife to your throat, you couldn’t say who the winner would be.

You don’t think either of them ever will.

Satoru won't stop whining about how the pistachio ice cream is out of stock. It's getting on your nerves - you know he won't shut up about it if you don't change the subject, but you really just want to relax.

"Satoru, get under the table and eat me out if you're so hungry.”

It’s not a full minute before he’s down there, lifting your skirt, kneading at your thighs as he plays with your panties.

Sukuna's nose scrunches up with his scowl, the one you can't call cute to his face for fear of Satoru never shutting up about it.

"What, Gojo whines and you’re rewarding him?" He complains, like a damn child.

It's funny how similar the two of them are when they're not at each other's throats.

Sukuna scoots closer since you can’t move. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against him, nuzzling lazily into your neck as Satoru fucks you with his tongue.

You’re lucky this place isn’t busy, the server doesn’t say anything about Satoru being ‘missing’ – not that either of them would care, anyways.

If you’re stuck flushed and squirming while Sukuna smirks and Satoru licks your cum off the inside of your thighs, nobody else seems to notice.

It's surreal, how easy it is to fall in step with both of them. How easily your life twists to accommodate them in every aspect.

How easily you bend for them, even when you're not trying to.

If it was just a competition, why do all this?

Are they enjoying it? Just doing whatever’s the most fun?

You know the answer is yes, the answer must be yes, that you’ll have them for as long as they’re entertained and not a second more, but –

When you’re sick one day, they show up to your house – separately, one after the other.

Sukuna comes first, actually, knocking on the door and then breaking the lock to get in. Loudly announcing his presence, making himself at home in your kitchen. Bringing you warm soup, water, helping you sit up and stand.

It’s hours later that Satoru arrives with bags of convenience store painkillers, electrolyte water, cooling pads and your favorite takeout.

He rubs it in, too, gets into an argument with Sukuna like it’s an old pair of shoes, the conversation sliding into the air easily. Sukuna pets your hair and he massages your shoulders as they argue over who the better boyfriend is.

Maybe this is just the next step in their eternal contest to be the strongest. They just want to beat each other at something, and you’re lucky to be that something.

Maybe they’re just having fun, and you’re thinking too much about it.

Maybe this is something real, and you’re all too afraid to say it.

They’re all distant thoughts that fade under Sukuna’s strong embrace and Satoru’s grasping hands.

When you fall asleep, it’s with a warm body on either side of you – and you wake up like that, too.

Kisses in your hair, on your neck, a swat and a hypocritical chastisement as you’re offered water, breakfast, an orgasm (“Seriously, Gojo?”) – and a healthy dose of cuddles and companionship for the rest of the day.

“What do you mean, seriously? Of course it’s a serious offer! I’m always serious!”

“Shut it, you dumbass, they’re still napping. Let them fall back asleep, they’ll recover faster.”

“An orgasm would be even better for that – ”

“Well who fucking says you should be the one to do it?”

…you hope they never stop fighting.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #sukuna x gojo #sukuna x reader x gojo #jjk #lemon #female!reader #kinktober

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to-the-stars8 · 7 months ago

Text

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Plus One

Galas were exactly what you expected. It was a room full of rich, middle-aged people talking about the latest upper-class gossip with the most divine food. It would usually make anyone not from the dazzling world of the Gotham elite shiver and shake.

Fortunately, you weren’t just anyone. You were the nanny for Bruce Wayne.

The week before, Mr. Wayne had informed you that you would be attending the gala with him. At first, you were thrilled and honored to be invited along, but the dream of catching a rich man was cut short when Mr. Wayne added you would be watching Dick and Cassandra. Luckily, you loved the two kids like they were your own, so it caused you little grief.

“What about the other kids?” You had asked.

Bruce spared you a passive glance as he tended to some papers in front of him. “I have a rule that the kids can’t join a gala before age ten. And, please, don’t try to bring the younger ones. The kids already understand this rule. In any case, they don’t want to go half of the time.”

You scoffed, telling Mr. Wayne that you weren’t planning on bringing the rest of the kids despite that being exactly the case. Luckily, he had taken some measurements to dissuade you from doing so, i.e. promising you more days off.

The younger kids moaned and groaned about not going when they heard that you were going to be there, and Mr. Wayne was only able to soothe them over with a promise to Disney World during spring break. Then, the day came for the gala and the only ones ready were Mr. Wayne and you.

“Sir,” Alfred had said, coming into the foyer where you and Bruce had been waiting for Cassandra and Dick. “Master Dick and Miss Cassandra have changed their minds about the gala.”

“What?” Bruce said, going to call them down before you stopped him.

“You said it yourself, Mr. Wayne, half the time the kids don’t want to go.” You started to take your coat off in anticipation of having to stay with the children.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

“Someone has to watch the kids,” You said, going to hand your coat to Alfred, but he didn’t take it.

Alfred spoke pointedly to his charge. “Master Bruce, I can take care of the children, I did it before and I don’t mind doing it again.”

“I…” Bruce began, pausing to look at you before nodding. “I mean, you’re already dressed and I’m out a plus one. Plus two, actually.”

You grinned, shrugging your coat back on as you followed him out the door.

And that’s how you ended up sitting with the Gotham elite telling another one of your long, intriguing tales. Bruce, looking at you from across the room, was surprised at how well you managed to acclimate yourself to the setting. Usually, when new folks entered the closed-off upper class of Gotham it was like throwing a person in a starving lion’s den. Somehow, you had managed to befriend the lion.

Bruce was too busy watching you to see Harvey saunter up to him, eyes switching between his friend and you. Harv could understand why his friend was staring. You were beautiful, sitting there so poised in a perfect-fitting blue dress as you charmed your way with the small crowd around you.

With a small smile, he finally addressed Bruce, “Something caught your eye?”

Bruce didn’t seem surprised by Harvey’s sudden appearance. “Not exactly. I’m more impressed by just how well she’s doing, and that she’s not embarrassing me.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Harvey admitted.

Bruce shrugged, trying to be dismissive. “I’m her boss. I don’t think I’m meant to be too nice.”

“She watches your kids, so I’d be careful.”

Bruce chuckled and shook his head, eyes going back to you. The longer Harvey watched his friend, he could see the wheels turning in his head. There was something Bruce didn’t want to admit, but it was stuck there behind his eyes.

Harvey, always the one to create his own amusement where it wasn’t provided, leaned in to ask, “So, is it okay if I ask her to dance?”

“I don’t care, Harvey,” Bruce said, eyes not leaving you.

“Then, would you care if I asked her out?”

Harvey finally got his friend’s attention. “I’m not her father, so you don’t need my permission.”

“Oh,” He said, thinking about how risque his next words would be but decided to damn it all. “So, I can take her home tonight, too?”

“Don’t be a pig, Harv,” Bruce mumbled before throwing back the rest of his wine. When the waiter passed, he quickly replaced it with another.

Harvey took that as his cue to go over to you. Upon his approach, your eyes trained on him like he would be your next target for whatever you had planned. Excusing yourself, you stood up and met him halfway. Harv couldn’t say exactly why but suddenly found himself flustered.

You held out your hand expectantly, and coyly said, “I believe you were going to ask me to dance.”

Speechless, all Harvey could do was take your hand and smile.

—

Bruce tried to watch passively, but he just didn’t like the way Harvey was using you. He might have had some qualms about your behavior, but no lady deserved to be treated like a piece of meat. Alfred had raised him better than that.

He thought about going in to cut in, and the only thing that stopped him was the flock of women that suddenly came to him. They were all asking about you, the ‘odd’ woman who had arrived on his arm of all people. Bruce attempted to not be offended on your behalf. He only half listened as they talked at him, asking asinine questions like what it was like to be so rich and if he really did date a princess for a solid week. He did, but it wasn’t a short-term relationship he wanted to delve into when you were only twenty feet away from being sized up for the taking.

It was a little while later when Bruce looked up again to find you and Harvey missing from the dance floor. Worried that you might have fallen for the devilish suave lawyer trick Harvey tended to put on, he tore himself from the group.

Bruce stopped to ask a waiter if he had seen you leave with a man in a navy suit. “I think I saw the lady go out the side service door.”

Okay, he thought, this was a bit more concerning. Following the waiter’s directions, after tipping him a hefty hundred, he did manage to find you again. You were huddled up on yourself against the evening chill with your phone pressed up against your ear.

“What did I tell you two about pulling hair,” You said, tone stiff with passive irritation, as you slowly paced in a circle. “You’ll go bald. So, listen to Alfred and go to bed. If I come home to you all awake no Disney.”

You turned to see Bruce standing there and pointed to the phone, mouthing that it was the kids. With a few exchanges of light threats followed by some sweet soothing did you finally end the call.

“Kids, am I right?” You huffed, hands on your hips. “What’re you out here for, anyway? Last I saw you, you were entertaining some ladies.”

Bruce leaned against the wall, reaching into his suit pocket for a pack of cigarettes, and said, “Didn’t think it would be appropriate if you stepped out with Harvey.”

“Him, hah!” You snickered, holding your hand out for a cigarette. “I had him pegged right from the moment he was crossing the dance floor that he wasn’t thinking with the right head. Guess it was a bad idea for me to accept his offer for a date, but oh well.”

Before Bruce could reach for a lighter you were already pulling one from your little handbag. You lit your cigarette before stepping close to light his. He told himself the cigarette was taking his breath away and not the smell of your perfume.

“What was that phone call about,” Bruce asked, wanting to fill his mind with something other than you.

You blew out some smoke, smiling as you explained, “I decided to check on the kids, and, it turns out, Tim and Jason have some sort of beef going on.”

“I think Jason didn’t like it all too much when I brought Tim home—made him feel like a replacement.” Bruce was smiling a little despite how sad the story sounded. “We’re working it out.”

“I couldn’t tell,” You sarcastically remarked, side-eyeing him. It was easy for Bruce to say they were ‘working it out’ because you did all the work. You drew in another puff before looking at the cigarette in your hand again. “Hey, what’re you doin’ carrying these around? You seem too tight-laced to smoke.”

“What’re you doing asking so many questions,” Bruce meant to say playfully, but it sounded too defensive. Before you could rebuff, he added, “I took them away from Dickie.”

You gasped. “No.”

Bruce was grinning now, thinking about it. Alfred had caught Dick and Jason smoking behind the garage one day, and, boy, did they get the lecture of a lifetime. He had forgotten about the pack, having thrown it into the glove box of his car, until he ran into a particularly rough night at a gala. Now, he’d gone through most of the pack.

You shook your head. “That boy is something else.”

“I know,” Bruce said. “I love him to bits. All of them.”

“I know,” You said quietly, looking up at Bruce through those long lashes.

Damnit, you were beautiful. Shaking his head, Bruce threw the last bit of his cigarette to the ground before offering you his hand.

“Let’s go back in, hm? If we’re out here too long they’ll assume I have you hiked up against the wall.”

You rolled your eyes and said cheekily, “A girl can dream.”

Bruce snickered as he tried the door, but it didn’t budge.

Damn, he realized he’d just locked the two of you out of his own gala.

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 6 months ago

Text

Pick a Card: Message from Aphrodite

I dedicate this reading to Lady Aphrodite. I deliver this message from her to the collective. Take what resonates and leave the rest behind, baby. But always be open to new experiences. Decks used are the star spinner tarot, the romantic Lenormand and occult tarot.

🌸Tip your Reader💖

_________

PILE ONE 🤍

Astrology: Leo, Libra, Virgo (maybe Scorpio)

Song: EVIL by Melanie Martinez

Vibes: Pink, dark purple, aquamarine, peacocks, lions, pheonix, whales, pixies, ship in a bottle, sunflowers, clear night sky, 1010, 2020, 2029

Cards: The Hermit, 10 of Swords, Queen of Wands, Queen of Cups, The Lovers (Gay), Sallos (2 of Cups), Woman, Garden

Hello, pile one. Lady Aphrodite is telling me that you aren't very kind to yourself. She wants this to change. I think you do too. Maybe you aren't sure what being nice to yourself really feels like. No one ever taught you. They taught you how to serve others. They taught you how to neglect your own needs. This isn't helping or working for you anymore. It is honestly just making life harder than it needs to be. I see this self-hatred could be leading you to depression. You try so hard to focus on other peoples problems so you don't have to focus on yourself. Lady Aphrodite says she wants to help you tend to your garden. She wants to nourish your soul. She wants you to learn about yourself and bring light to the darkest parts of your soul.

I am going to attempt to directly channel her.

"My dearest, you aren't undeserving of love. You bring the utmost sincerity to understanding every person and everything around you. I do so wish you would bring the loving energy you do to those topics to yourself. I want to fill your life with abundance. I wish to see you bloom, my flower. I wish to watch you flourish and grow past what you ever imagined was possible. Hear me, little flower. You are deserving of cherishing. It doesn't matter what the crowds say. It is truth. You are deserving of being known to your core. You don't have to fawn anymore to protect yourself. I will protect you from now on, my darling. Those previous lovers did you no good. Self-love is where you must begin. Start at your lust. It will lead you to where the hurt is. So, you may begin to heal."

Lady Aphrodite has seen your pain and wants to take away the pain you have been feeling. The pain you have been causing yourself isn't deserved. She knows you have been self sacrificing and is asking you to stop. Stop hurting the one person who has been looking after you this whole time. Yourself. Give yourself some slack and see yourself as the person you truly are. Don't filter your perspective of yourself through the lenses of others. All they know how to look at is reflections. You are not their reflection. The things they say are just their own self-hatred reflected off of you. You aren't what others see. You are more than that. Allow yourself to open your mind to experience yourself anew. Lay down your sword. You don't need to fight yourself any longer.

________

PILE TWO 💎

Astrology: Taurus, Capricorn, Pisces

Song: Nobody Else by Em Beihold

Vibes: Deep purple, deep blues, burgundy, yellow, gray, wheat, keys, time, clocks, gold fish, coy fish, bears, bulls, stars, alstroemerias, wishing well, thistles, 345, 78, 11

Cards: 8 of Pentacles, Hierophant, Empress, 4 of Wands, 7 of Cups, Whip, Fish, Balam (page of wands)

Pile two, welcome to you reading. Lady Aphrodite wants me to tell you a couple different things. First, why do you need to earn what you have deserved all along? I see how hard you work. She see's it too. You have this hyper independence and this unbridled need to prove yourself. These beliefs of yours are holding you back, love. Why do you think you need to be punished in order to receive? My dear these beliefs are from generational trauma that was passed to you. You don't have to work to deserve. You are inherently deserving of all that you need. You are lovable. You should be seen and recognized for all your hard work. Lady Aphrodite asks you to stop inheriting pain and start inheriting pleasure. Just for the sake of being happy. Just for the sake of your mental stability.

I will channel Lady Aphrodite directly so you can hear her clearly.

"My little dove, you can relax now. There is no one looking over your shoulder anymore. What are you trying to prove? You don't need to prove yourself to anyone, baby. You are just perfect. You will still be abundant if you take a second to breath. I'm so sorry your loved ones and career have made you feel like you aren't enough. You are more than enough. My love, I don't want you to think that you need to work so hard to get what you need or anything you want. You can take a minute to breath. I will take care of your desires, my dearest. I know you are getting all choked up about the needs and wants. Cry if you need to. Let all that built up pressure out. You don't always have to hold your composure like they all claimed you needed to. Relax your shoulders and unclench your jaw, my love. I wish you didn't feel the need to prove yourself. You have already proven yourself over and over. A thousand times you proved you could do anything. You don't have to anymore. Let go of spite. It doesn't matter if someone thinks you can't. Their opinion of you don't reflect the truth. It only spreads light onto their insecurities. You are perfect. You are perfect even when you aren't trying so please my dearest. Stop trying so hard. Just be."

Lady Aphrodite wants to take anything that is bothering you away so you may have the time to rest and recuperate from all that work you have been doing. You have done enough. You are enough. She can see it. She wants you too see it too.

___________

PILE THREE 🐰

Astrology: Cancer, Scorpio, Aquarius

Song: PUPPET SHOW by XG

Vibes: Sky blue, cyan, navy blue, indigo, green, purple, rocking horse, carrousel, apples, ibis bird, lilys, yellow roses, angels, mermaids, sparrows, unshed tears, circus, 45, 4444, 13

Cards: Queen of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, Star, 4 of Cups, 5 of Swords, House, Child, Berith (King of Pentacles)

Welcome, pile three to your reading. Lady Aphrodite has a very strong and stern message she wants me to tell you. You really might not like to hear this so continue if you desire but just know I warned you. You are 'playing house' with someone who doesn't want to play the role that they agreed to. You think if you coddle this person they will warm up and get back into playing with you but they won't. No amount of babying will make them play with you, my friend. This could be a romantic partner but more likely I see they are a FWB that you want something more with. This person is extremely childish and doesn't want to commit to you but wants all the benefits of being with you. I'm hearing you set up this persons doctors appointments and making their lunch. You are acting like a mother to this person. It is leaving you really disappointed and unsatisfied. You want something real with this person. You aren't scared to commit but the person only wants to take from you. They don't want to give. Lady Aphrodite thinks you deserve more than that. You deserve your desires to be fulfilled. This person can't do that for you.

Now I am going to try and channel Lady Aphrodite. She wants a couple words with you.

"I do not enjoy how that person treats you. Excuse my language but they are a bitch for not making a commitment to you. You deserve dates, flowers and A RING. You deserve the world and this person isn't giving that to you. All you are receiving is a second rate sexual experience and motherhood you never signed up for, my dear! I don't think kicking this person to the curb is going to work right away but you need to change how you think about this person. I would much rather you just leave them but I sense it wouldn't be safe quite yet. Don't worry, my dearest. I will set everything up just for you. Please, in the mean time while I set up your new love-life, start treating this person like a friend. They don't act like a lover so do not treat them like a lover. They will hardly notice, my love. There is nothing to fear. I will remove this person quickly from your life very soon so I can give you a new and better person. This new person will be perfect for you, just you wait and see. They are going to treat you exactly how you have always dreamed. I guarantee you some princess treatment and romance. I guarantee you a ring and a lovely life with this new person. You might have to leave some old behaviors and habits behind with the current person but I promise you good things will replace the things you will leave. Good luck, my love. You have me on your side."

You won't have to wish for your current situation-ship to step up for you because someone else will. You don't need to yearn much longer. You are a queen and you must be treated like one.

________

PILE FOUR 🌸

Astrology: Aries, Gemini, Sagittarius

Song: Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter

Vibes: Pastel pink, cobalt, cornflower blue, blonde, hawk, starling, rodents, garlic, cheese, peaches, walnuts, pecans, pineapple, dyed hair, orange peal, fish bones, illusion, 1212, 333, 5858, 55

Cards: Knight of Wands, Knight of Swords, 5 of Wands, 3 of Swords, 8 of Cups, Clouds, Mice, Gamigin (5 of Pentacles)

Pile four, I hope you are ready because this one is a doozy. Lady Aphrodite wants me to tell you that you need to run far away from whoever has been breaking your heart. She is telling me there is someone you are getting close with and have known for a while. It could be a romantic interest but not necessarily. They are probably an air sign. This person she is telling me about is changing into someone nasty behind closed doors. You have been seeing it too. You have been ignoring the red flags because you have known this person for a very long time but you haven't ever known them really. It has been little red flags or orange/yellow flags so you dismissed your own worries and haven't really entertained the thought that this person is turning into a pest. Those yellow flags are going to pile up, my friend. You will loose so much. Lady Aphrodite is really serious about this and wants me to say that if you don't break your own heart now. This person will do it for you and they won't be as kind as you are. They are growing close with someone who is a terrible influence on them. If you try to confront them about your concerns they will brush you off. Do not let them convince you. You aren't imagining anything. You are seeing the signs.

I will now channel a direct message from Lady Aphrodite.

"My dearest. Get away from them and their 'new friend'. While you still can. This person is a manipulative vexation and they are turning your friend into someone gross. This is the only way I can protect you from them, my love. You need to run. Hurry away. They are luring you into false security. Don't let this little rat of a person eat up your money, your time, your self esteem or anything else that is rightfully yours. Do not give away your power to these vermin. I know you might feel guilty, my dearest. Do not. I swear on the name of love that this person is not worth the guiltiness you feel. If you don't trust what I am saying. I suggest you find your person's new friend's previous partners and inquire about them secretly. Then you will have your proof. They have a pattern, my dear. They say the same pickup lines and take every person to the same date. They are not healthy for you or your friend but your person is in to deep now. I cannot protect you unless you help me protect you. I cannot save you if you refuse to save yourself. Please do not turn a blind eye."

I know it might be lonely at first, my friend but there will be new people coming in to take the spots that will be left empty. You will be provided for. You won't have to be alone forever. I understand that this air sign person you don't want to leave behind has helped you feel less abandoned in recent years. Lady Aphrodite won't let you be lonely for long. Your friend just has some lessons to learn that you don't need to be involved in. Please stay safe, my love.

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lemon-russ · 3 months ago

Note

Your lion fic was beautiful. May I request more? Anything will do really. But here are my requests.

Lion angrily jerking it after experiencing one (1) emotion

Lion aggressively cuddling you. You're not hurt or sick or have lost feeling in your lower body temporarily, he just wants to be close to you. And be an ass about it.

You wear his legion colours/symbols and he gets really horny.

40k Lion reminiscing about an old lover from 30k (using that term loosely, they were probably just fuck buddies) and maybe they meet again in 40k. Let's say a perpetual reader.

Anyway these are just my brainworms. Feel free to ignore.

And yes, I am aware I have a thing for stoic men losing it and being absolute freaks. I am currently in search for a good therapist.

Sorry for the delay, but I feel adjacent to a human today, so I finally finished this! Also the way you presented it made me snort laugh haha, the kind message into "angrily jerking it" lmfao

Anyway here's The Lion straight jorkin' it (I like all your suggestions and might come back to the colors one especially!)

Tags: @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk

Thanks @squishyowl for the dividers!

Lion El'Jonson X Fem!Reader

CW: Lion straight up jorkin' it. That's all.

Stupid woman, Lion thought, slamming his chamber doors closed.

He started angrily undoing the belt of his tunic as he marched to his bed, fingers frustratingly fumbling the latch in a hurry.

Stupid, infuriating woman.

Guilliman had sent a representative to give The Lion updates about some missions the Ultramarines had been on, just the average doldrum of war talk. But the representative he sent was his little Ambassador pet.

“My Lord?” You had said, looking up at him between explaining supply lines, “You seem very tired. Did you not rest well?”

He’d been shocked by the simple question. He had indeed been without a proper rest for a bit too long. But, no one ever asked such things about him. He was a god to most baselines, infallible and untiring, beyond mortal needs. But you spent a majority of your time around his brother, so of course you could read him better than a random serf could. And you’d been… concerned. For him.

“Wh- I…” he had stuttered, caught off guard. That annoyed him. Being flustered by a tiny baseline woman’s concern for him annoyed him. The pang of unnameable emotion that shot through him annoyed him. The sudden pulse of pressure below his stomach, especially annoyed him.

“Don’t be daft woman-” he had spat back. You’d just smiled softly at the verbal attack, soft eyes scanning his face, studying the circles forming under his eyes. Then for some warp damned reason, you had gone and made him a cup of recaff. You placed it in front of the flabbergasted Primarch and returned to explaining your papers like nothing had passed.

Stupid woman.

The minute you’d given him a quick aquillan salute and been on your way out the door, He had turned on his heel and stormed off to his quarters, leaving confused serfs in his wake as he pushed them aside, some even falling to the floor. “No one disturb me.” He had growled, stalling their pursuit of him.

He finally pulled his pants down, holding his tunic aside as he knelt on his bed. That feeling that you had invoked in him had shot right between his legs. The whole rest of the meeting, he was struggling to focus on anything but how hard you had made him.

He grasped himself, groaning at the friction at last as he stroked. Your image assaulted his mind. You leaning over the table just enough that he could see down the far too loose tunic dress you wore. He growled remembering that glimpse of your breasts, infuriatingly framed in ultramarine blue. It should have been HIS colors.

He grasped himself tighter as he assailed his aching cock, falling back on his pillows. It should be Dark Angels green you were in. No- it should be nothing at all. You should be naked in his bed. You should be panting in his lap-

His hips bucked himself fruitlessly into his hand at the image. Your sweet face, flush and gasping as you rode him. Did you look at Guilliman the way you’d looked up at him? Did you fetch him drinks when you noticed he was worn? The thought enraged The Lion. How dare you go back to the Macragge’s Honour, back to anywhere but his bed.

He gripped the sheets, yanking at his tunic as he frustratedly picked up speed, ignoring the slight soreness from his calloused palm attacking his cock without anything to help the friction. It wouldn’t be an issue if it was you on him instead. He bet you were plenty slick, and tight-

He felt his balls start to tighten, drawing in a hissing, ragged gasp through grit teeth. His bed creaked with the cadence of his hips jerking up into his fist. You should be here. You should be wrapped around him, holding on for your life as he used you like a cocksleeve- he imagined your small hands splayed over his stomach for balance, trying desperately to hold yourself down against his bouncing.

He fisted his cock faster, frustrated by the sub-par sensation of his own rough skin, barely slicked with his pre-cum as he drove himself forcefully toward an orgasm. He was frustrated he’d immediately given in to such base instincts. He was Frustrated you could drive him to this with one little question, with one sweet look.

His mind flooded with the image of you giving him that little smile, eyes soft and concerned in defiance of his sharp words-

He let out a snarl as the heat in him snapped, shooting his spend over his stomach in jerking pulses. A few more hard pumps on his cock drained him, shuddering and mind blank, before he collapsed back on the bed, legs shaking and ragged gasps wracking his lungs.

He lay panting, covered in his own seed, twitching his hips up in the aftershocks. This was your fault. You stupid, damnable woman.

He groaned and let his arm fall to his side as the sensations eased from his need-drunk mind.

He had a very stern demand to draft. If his brother wanted him to keep playing nice- which he had been, he’d been very cooperative he thought, he earned some credit- If Guilliman wanted Lion to keep his word about their plans and supplies and defenses-

Then the cost was merely one insignificant little diplomat woman.

#lion el'jonson x reader #my work #asks #lion el'jonson x f!reader #reader insert #wh40k fic

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Text

Fire and Gold (no soul to hear)

- Summary: Rhaegar chooses you over her. And Ceresi never forgives you for it.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Note: This is the final chapter.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: coat of gold and three heads

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

The banners of the Great Houses fluttered in the wind over Harrenhal, the sigils of lions, stags, and dragons rippling in the evening breeze as the crowd gathered for the feast following the grand tourney. The air was still alive with the energy of the jousting, and although the excitement had begun to wane, there was a certain anticipation in the hall. All eyes were on Rhaegar as he made his way through the throng, his violet eyes bright with the joy of victory. He had won, of course. He always won, but this time it was different. This time, he had crowned you as Queen of Love and Beauty.

Your heart had raced when he placed the crown of blue roses upon your head, the sweet fragrance mingling with the heady scent of victory. The world had held its breath as Rhaegar declared you, his sister-wife, the fairest in the realm. You could still feel the weight of the roses on your brow, the petals soft against your skin, though their meaning was sharper, darker, than anyone else knew.

The feast was in full swing now, the hall alive with laughter, the clink of goblets, and the melodies of minstrels. Yet amid the merriment, your eyes flickered over to where Cersei sat, brooding in silence beside Robert Baratheon, her golden-haired children at her side. The sight of her soured the sweetness of your triumph, her jealousy almost tangible. She had wanted this life, wanted Rhaegar, wanted everything you had. But she had been given to Robert instead, and though the two of them had "produced" golden-haired heirs, the bitterness in her eyes was undeniable.

Cersei’s fingers curled tightly around her goblet, and she forced a smile as one of her children, a boy with bright, golden locks, tugged at her sleeve. You saw the flicker of resentment there, the edge of anger she could not hide. Robert was drunk, as usual, leaning back in his chair and boasting loudly to those around him. He paid no attention to Cersei or the children, too absorbed in his own revelry. Tywin Lannister sat nearby, his eyes scanning the room, calculating, always calculating. He was trying, as he had for years now, to regain the favor of King Aerys, but with little success. Aerys barely looked at him, his disinterest in Tywin as obvious as the growing anomasity between them. The king’s gaze flitted to his daughter—you—and then to Rhaegar, approval gleaming faintly in his eyes, as if Aerys himself was pleased by the choice of queen for this evening.

You smiled to yourself as you let your eyes drift over the crowd, searching for a figure you had been keeping watch for. And there he was, standing by the shadows near the far end of the hall—Wisdom Rossart. His pale face gleamed in the torchlight, and his thin lips curled into a grin as he caught your eye. The firelight danced in his eyes, and he inclined his head, awaiting your signal.

You gave it with the faintest tilt of your head, and Rossart bowed slightly before slipping silently from the hall, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. He knew his task. The plans were already in motion.

Beside you, Rhaegar’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, his touch warm, grounding. He had been smiling all evening, more at ease than you had seen him in months. Perhaps it was the joy of the tourney, of winning the crown and crowning you, his beloved, in front of all the realm. Or perhaps it was something deeper, the belief that after all the grief and anger that had filled your lives, you were finally finding peace again. You could see it in his eyes—the relief that, after the loss of your son, you were calm. Too calm.

He watched you now, his gaze soft but searching, as if he were trying to understand the change in you. Since the murder of your child, a fire had been lit inside you, one that had burned so brightly it had frightened him at times. But now, he believed, that fire had dulled. You were content, or so it seemed.

“Y/N,” Rhaegar murmured, leaning closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ve been calm these past months, my love. Are you... happy?”

You turned your head to meet his gaze, your smile serene. “I am,” you whispered back. “I have made my peace with what has happened.”

Rhaegar studied your face for a moment longer, searching for something, anything, that might betray the depth of what truly lay within you. But there was nothing. Your calmness was a mask you had worn so well that even he, your dearest Rhaegar, could not see past it. At last, he smiled, his own shoulders relaxing, the tension melting away from him. “Then I am happy, too,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Your eyes flickered to your children, Aelor and Visenya, sitting just a few feet away, laughing with their attendants and watching the minstrels with wide, curious eyes. Aelor, now one and three years old, was the image of his father, regal and composed even at his young age, while Visenya, still so small, clung to her brother’s side, her laughter bright and full of innocence.

You leaned over to their attendants, your voice gentle but firm. “It is time for the children to be taken to their chambers. Escort them to bed.”

The servants nodded, quickly gathering the children and ushering them from the hall. You watched them go, your heart tightening just slightly, but the calmness never left you. They were safe. Tonight, at least, they were safe.

Rhaegar’s arm slipped around your waist as he pulled you closer, his attention returning to the revelry before them. “It is good to see you content, Y/N,” he said, his voice soft with affection. “For so long, I feared I had lost you to grief.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, smiling as you brought the goblet of wine to your lips, but as you drank, the taste was empty, as if it were nothing but air passing over your tongue. You couldn’t taste the wine anymore—hadn’t been able to for months now. It didn’t matter.

As the feast continued, you felt Rhaegar relax further, confident that the woman he loved, his sister-wife, was finally at peace. He didn’t see the storm that still brewed beneath your calm exterior, didn’t see the fire that burned quietly, waiting for its moment. You had found your peace, yes—but it was the peace that came before the blaze. You glanced once more at the empty space where Rossart had stood, the faintest smile tugging at your lips.

Let them enjoy the night, you thought. For soon, fire and blood will come for those who deserve it.

And when that time came, you would watch them burn, just as the dragon within you had always longed for.

The grand doors of the hall groaned as Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Lewyn Martell pushed them closed, sealing the gathered lords, ladies, and knights inside the vast chamber. The sound of music halted abruptly, the melodies fading into an eerie silence that settled over the hall like a shroud. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive, as if the very walls of Harrenhal had begun to press inward.

King Aerys stood from his seat at the high table, his thin frame silhouetted by the flickering torchlight, his mad eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. His lips curled into a twisted smile as he raised his goblet, the movement drawing every gaze in the room. His voice rang out, sharp and high, cutting through the stillness.

“A toast!” Aerys cried, his voice laced with both malice and glee. “A toast to family, to blood, to fire!”

The gathered courtiers lifted their goblets with hesitant smiles, though an undercurrent of unease rippled through the crowd. Aerys’s words, his tone, carried a weight that none could ignore, and for a moment, the feeling of dread set in, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

But before Aerys could continue, you stood, your movement slow and deliberate. All eyes shifted to you, and a murmur passed through the hall as they watched, waiting. Rhaegar, seated beside you, glanced up in surprise, his brow furrowing as he watched you rise.

You raised your goblet with a serene smile, your voice carrying through the hall with a calmness that belied the storm within you. “To family,” you began, your tone measured, almost hypnotic. “To the bonds that tie us, the blood that runs through our veins, and the fires we tend... and those we ignite.”

The hall fell deathly quiet. The courtiers exchanged uncertain glances, and you could feel their unease spreading like a ripple through the room. Rhaegar’s hand brushed against your arm, a silent question, but you didn’t acknowledge him. Your gaze drifted across the faces in the hall—Cersei’s sharp eyes, Tywin’s calculating expression, Robert’s oblivious drunken grin. All of them, guilty in your eyes. All of them about to pay.

Cersei, seated beside her golden-haired children, felt a prickle of dread. Something was wrong. The lighting in the hall had been off the entire evening, the flicker of the torches casting strange shadows across the room. She had noticed it earlier, the way the flames had seemed to shift unnaturally, but now... now it felt as if the very air had darkened. She glanced toward the walls, her breath catching in her throat.

And then she saw it. Hidden behind the stone pillars, tucked away in the alcoves—wildfire. Casks of it, stacked and waiting, glinting faintly in the low light. The green shimmer of death.

Her eyes widened in horror, and she opened her mouth to scream a warning, but it was too late.

The arrow came first—a single flaming arrow that cut through the air with a hiss, loosed by one of Wisdom Rossart’s men from the far end of the hall. It struck the nearest cask of wildfire, and for a split second, time seemed to freeze.

Then the world exploded.

The wildfire erupted in a brilliant blaze of green flame, the cask detonating with a force that sent a wave of heat and fire cascading across the hall. The explosion set off a chain reaction, and one by one, the other caches hidden throughout the room ignited. The once-grand hall was transformed into a living inferno, the flames licking up the walls and across the tables, consuming everything in their path.

Screams filled the air as nobles and knights scrambled to flee, their silks and finery catching fire as the green flames spread with terrifying speed. Tables overturned, goblets shattered, and chaos reigned as the court dissolved into panic. The smell of burning flesh and smoke filled the air, thick and suffocating.

Aerys stood at the high table, his wild laughter echoing through the hall as he watched the devastation unfold. “Burn them all!” he cried, his voice rising above the cacophony of screams and flames. “Burn them all!”

You remained seated, a strange calm settling over you as the chaos swirled around you. The heat of the wildfire licked at your skin, but you did not flinch. You lifted your goblet of wine to your lips once more, but the liquid was still tasteless as ever.

Rhaegar, his face pale with horror, grabbed your arm, trying to pull you from your seat. “Y/N, we need to go!” he shouted over the roar of the flames, his eyes wide with panic. “The hall is burning—everyone is burning!”

But you refused to move, your gaze fixed on the flames as they consumed the hall, as they devoured the faces of the guilty and the innocent alike. “No,” you whispered, your voice eerily calm. “I want to watch.”

Rhaegar’s grip tightened, his voice frantic. “You have to move! This is madness!”

You turned to him, your eyes filled with a cold, unyielding determination. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Rhaegar. Don’t you see? It was never about who was guilty or innocent. They’re all guilty now. They all deserve this.”

Rhaegar stared at you, his heart breaking as he realized how far you had fallen into the depths of your grief and rage. “This isn’t justice,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “This is destruction.”

You smiled, a soft, bitter smile. “Sometimes, destruction is the only answer.”

Rhaegar’s hand fell away from your arm, and he took a step back, his expression stricken. The flames continued to rise around you, consuming the hall, but you remained seated, watching as the traitors, the schemers, the guilty all burned before you. It no longer mattered who had killed your son or who had sought to kill you.

They were all guilty now. And they would all burn for it.

Cersei’s world had become a nightmare. The roar of the flames filled her ears, deafening and relentless, as green wildfire consumed everything around her. Her once-beautiful gown now hung in tatters, singed and blackened from the heat. Smoke stung her eyes, her lungs burned with every breath, and all she could hear were the screams—the screams of those dying around her, the wails of terror as they tried in vain to escape the inferno.

She staggered through the hall, her heart pounding in her chest as she searched for her children, her golden-haired babes, but the flames had already devoured everything. Her son had been next to her, pulling at her sleeve only moments ago, but now... now he was gone. Panic gripped her, cold and fierce, as she called out their names, her voice hoarse and ragged. “Joffrey! Myrcella! Tommen!”

There was no answer. Only fire. Only death.

The flames leaped higher, hungry and unstoppable, swallowing the tables and tapestries, the banners of the great houses, as though the gods themselves had unleashed their fury upon the court. In the center of it all, at the high table, King Aerys stood with his arms raised, laughing maniacally, his voice rising above the chaos. “Burn them all! Burn them all!” His eyes gleamed with madness, the light of the wildfire reflected in their violet depths, and he reveled in the carnage, his joy as twisted as the flames themselves.

Cersei’s gaze swept to the high table, and there, amidst the wreckage and ruin, she saw her. The Targaryen princess, seated calmly as though nothing was amiss, a goblet of wine in her hand, her expression serene. She looked untouched by the flames, as if the destruction around her was nothing more than an afterthought. The faintest of smiles played on her lips as she watched the hall burn, the madness in her eyes mirroring her father’s.

But it was Rhaegar’s face that sent a chill through Cersei’s blood. He stood beside his sister-wife, his expression one of sheer horror, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He did not move, did not try to flee, even though the flames raged all around him. His hand hovered near her, as though he was still tethered to her, bound by a devotion that transcended even the madness unfolding before them. He had always been devoted to her, to his dragon. Even now, as everything they had built turned to ash, he could not leave her side.

Cersei’s heart twisted in fury, in despair. Everything she had wanted—everything she had dreamed of—had been stolen from her. Rhaegar, the crown, the power. And now, the children she had borne for Robert—Jamie—those golden-haired innocents who had nothing to do with this madness, were gone too, swallowed by the flames this woman had unleashed.

Her hatred surged, white-hot and blinding, as she staggered forward, her voice cracking with rage. “You!” she screamed, her eyes wild, her hands trembling as she pointed toward the Targaryen princess. “This is your doing! You... you bitch!”

Cersei’s curses echoed through the hall, but Y/N did not flinch. She merely turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with Cersei’s, as if the flames and the screams meant nothing to her. That faint, bitter smile remained on her lips, and she took another slow sip of her wine, unbothered.

“Burn in hell!” Cersei shrieked, her voice raw with grief and fury. “Burn with the rest of them! You—”

Her words were cut off by a deafening roar as another explosion ripped through the hall, the ground beneath her feet trembling with the force of it. The fire surged forward, a wall of green flame that tore through the remaining survivors, devouring everything in its path. Cersei’s world became a blur of heat and smoke, the taste of ash thick on her tongue.

She barely had time to scream before the wildfire found her. The flames engulfed her in an instant, searing her skin, melting the world around her into an endless sea of agony. Her last thought, before the darkness swallowed her, was of Rhaegar’s face—his horror, his devotion—and the serene, untouchable calm of the woman who had destroyed them all.

And then Cersei was gone, swallowed whole by the fire she had cursed.

Jaime raced through the courtyard, his breath ragged, heart pounding in his chest. The smoke billowed into the night sky, a plume of green flame flickering at its heart, the glow so unnatural it seemed to come from the very depths of hell. Screams echoed from within the great hall, carried on the wind like the wails of the damned. He could hear them, high-pitched, desperate, the sound of agony that could not be silenced by stone walls or iron gates.

Ser Gerold Hightower stood like a sentinel before the grand doors, his face set in a grim mask. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard held his ground, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other outstretched as if to bar Jaime’s path. Jaime skidded to a halt before him, panic flashing in his eyes.

"Let me in," Jaime gasped, trying to shove past him, his eyes wide with fear. "Ser Gerold, let me through! My sister—"

Gerold shook his head, his voice low and steady, but there was no comfort in it. "No one can enter, Ser Jaime. It’s too late."

Jaime’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. "You can’t keep me out! The king—my sister—she’s in there!"

Ser Gerold’s expression remained impassive, but the deep lines etched into his face seemed to deepen. "The king gave his orders. No one is to enter until the screams stop."

The screams. Jaime’s blood ran cold at the words. He glanced toward the doors, his heart hammering against his ribs. The screams were everywhere, filling the air, filling his ears, echoing through his skull. And then, just as Gerold had said, they began to fade. One by one, they were snuffed out, like the last gasps of life. And then, finally—silence.

The only sound that remained was the faint crackle of flames and a soft, chilling laughter drifting on the wind. King Aerys’s laughter.

Gerold stepped aside, and without another word, Jaime pushed past him, his hand trembling as it gripped the hilt of his sword. He shoved open the doors, the heavy wood groaning on its hinges, and stepped into a nightmare.

The hall was a blackened ruin. The once-grand tapestries were ash, the banners of noble houses curled into smoldering remnants, their sigils erased from existence. The long tables were overturned, charred and broken, and the bodies—gods, the bodies—were scattered like kindling, some burned beyond recognition, others twisted and frozen in grotesque shapes, caught in their last moments of agony.

The smell of burning flesh hit Jaime like a physical blow, turning his stomach. He forced himself to keep walking, stepping over the charred remains of courtiers and knights alike. He couldn’t find her—couldn’t see Cersei. His heart seized with terror, his eyes scanning the destruction for any sign of golden hair, but all he saw was ruin. The fire had devoured everything, leaving nothing but blackened bones and scorched memories.

At the center of it all, seated as though she were holding court, was the Targaryen princess. She sat still, her face serene, a goblet of wine in her hand, though it had long since emptied. The crown of blue roses Rhaegar had placed on her head earlier that evening still sat delicately upon her brow, untouched by the carnage around her. She didn’t look at the destruction, didn’t flinch from the horrors she had unleashed. Her expression was calm, almost peaceful.

Beside her stood Rhaegar, his face ashen, every line etched with shock and sorrow. His wide, disbelieving eyes flickered between the ruin and the woman at his side, as though he could not fathom how she, the woman he loved, could remain so untouched by the destruction that engulfed them just moments ago. And yet, he did not move away; his hand still hovered near her, torn between reaching out and retreating, his devotion unwavering even in the face of this incomprehensible madness.

And there, sitting on his twisted throne, was King Aerys, his laughter now reduced to a soft, satisfied chuckle, his mad eyes gleaming with the joy of destruction. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his chair, as if he were composing some cruel melody to accompany the charred remains of his court.

Jaime stood frozen, unable to move, his mind struggling to comprehend the scale of the devastation. He couldn’t see Cersei. He couldn’t see her, but he knew—deep down, he knew—she was gone. She, and everyone else who had been in this hall, were now nothing more than ashes. Burned whole or reduced to the point of no recognition. The golden-haired children, the proud lords, the scheming ladies—all were gone, consumed by the fire that had claimed the night.

The hall was silent now, save for the faint hiss of dying flames. So different from the water that devoured the House Reyne in its time of reckoning by his House. Jaime’s mind flashed back to the stories he had heard of Castamere, how the rains had washed away the blood and bone, how nothing had remained but silence and ruin. Now, here at Harrenhal, it was the same. But this time the fire had taken everything.

And in the center of it, the Targaryens sat, untouched, unscathed by the inferno they had unleashed.

Jaime took a step forward, his voice hoarse, barely a whisper. “Cersei… Father…”

No one answered. Only the flicker of flames greeted him.

His gaze flicked to Y/N, still seated in her chair, her eyes distant, as if she had found peace amidst the destruction. Rhaegar turned his head, his eyes meeting Jaime’s, but the prince said nothing. There was nothing to say. Jaime’s hand clenched into a fist, the weight of his failure crashing down on him. He hadn’t been able to save his sister. He hadn’t even been able to reach her.

The silence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. The reign of the lions had ended, just as the rains had ended the Reynes. And now, the dragons had written their own song, with fire and blood.

#asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf x you #game of thrones #got x reader #got x you #got x y/n #rhaegar x you #rhaegar x reader #rhaegar targaryen #rhaegar x y/n #house of the dragon #fire and blood #fire and gold

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

Text

The ship was shaking like a kid holding a goldfish bag.

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time.

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her.

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus.

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing.

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor.

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed.

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it.

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet.

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing.

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different.

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it.

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed.

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one.

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop.

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material.

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge.

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –”

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

part two

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