#who literally had blue hair and pronouns | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bruhstories · 28 days

Text

sweet like honey ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

summary: logan ended up spending his evenings in the bar across the street from your bakery, watching you do your job. he never approached you, never talked to you, but he always kept an eye on you, until he has a bad feeling. pairing: logan x fem!reader warning & content: swearing, violence, reader almost gets assaulted (but logan saves the day), she/her pronouns for reader, wade being wade, unprotected p in v, fluff, angst, lots of baking and mentions of food, slightly ooc logan (if you squint), slow burn, sex in a bakery wc: 6k

a/n: i don't always write, but when i do, it's a fucking thesis. unedited.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

Logan was never a fan of sweets. He hated chocolate, cheesecake, gummy bears — literally anything sweet. The only thing he could barely stomach was tiramisu, and only because it had coffee in it. Other than that, he steered away from sweets like they were the fucking plague.

Yet despite all that, he found himself enjoying the smell of freshly baked croissants, custard donuts, brownies, and whatever goods you baked in your little bakery, conveniently situated across the street from his go-to bar.

Cleverly named Flour Power, it was all pastel both inside and out, with little pots of hyacinths hanging from its window and a big sign above the entrance. Not that Logan ever went there, but he always walked past it when he went for a drink. Flour Power stood out from all the shops with its baby blue windowsills and bubblegum pink door. As much as he disliked vibrant colours, his eyes were always drawn to the bakery. But not because of how it looked or the way it smelled.

No, Logan strategically sat down by the window in the bar to see you. Every evening, he watched you sell everything you had on display, from wedding cakes to éclairs, greetings customers with a warm smile on your face. He watched you turn the sign from open to closed, lock the door, clean the display shelves, the counters, the only two tables and four chairs inside, and sweep and mop the floors. Then you disappeared in the back for a while, perhaps doing the dishes or preparing dough and frosting, before you walked out, locked the door again, pulled down the blinds over the big window on the right side of the door, and left.

It became a ritual for Logan to watch you. In a way, it brought him some peace, despite him never speaking to you. To him, you were innocence personified, the type of girl who made others feel better simply by being there, and he didn't want to disturb that peace.

Tonight was an ordinary night for the 200 year old mutant. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, drank it all, then went to the bar to ask for another round, killing time until you closed the bakery, then he could finally go back to the apartment. You closed at 7 for clients and left at 8:30 every evening except for Sundays, when you didn't work. Logan knew your schedule a little to well, even knew you opened for clients at 8 in the morning, but you were there much earlier, because he could smell the pastries at around half 6. This time, however, you seemed to have a bit more work. It was past 9, it was dark, and you still hadn't left, and Logan was slightly concerned.

He watched you like a hawk, how you tucked rebellious strands of hair behind your ear when you mopped the floor, how you wiped your hands on your cute little apron after you finished scrubbing the countertops. Logan thought you had extra orders from customers, perhaps a wedding cake. He scrunched his nose at the thought of having to try so many flavours only to pick a damn cake that he probably wouldn't enjoy anyway.

But finally, you were done.

It was almost 10 when you locked the door to the bakery, double checking to make sure it wouldn't budge. Then the blinds and off you went. Logan was satisfied to see you go, but the hairs on his back suddenly stood up, his nostrils filled with the scent of danger. Bitter, sour, it went straight to his brain, and so he finished his drink and left the bar, following you down the street but keeping a safe distance.

You walked past a group of drunk men, gripping your tote bag with your left hand and your keys with your right one. You've learned to place the keys between your fingers, like claws, in case someone attacked you. Going home at that time wasn't something you enjoyed, and you always tried to avoid working late, but sometimes that was inevitable. When you heard footsteps approaching you, you picked up the pace, but paranoia kicked in, and you didn't want whoever was following you to find out where you lived, and so you took a detour.

Logan was like your shadow, going everywhere you went, until he heard something drop in a dimly lit alleyway and he sped up, finding you round a corner, pinned to a wall by a man while another guy had his hand up your dress. It was too dark to see, but Logan didn't need eyes to know that was you. He could smell the vanilla extract and icing sugar and fear.

"Take my wallet!" You told the men, but they weren't there for the money. They wanted something else from you.

"Nah, doll, I'll take something else from you. Somethin' more precious than money." One of the men said, his breath reeking of alcohol, the cheap kind.

"Hurry up and fuck her, bro, I need my turn-"

Something flashed, then a shadow lunged at the second guy who couldn't even finish his sentence before he was struck down.

"Mike?" The man who pinned you against the wall asked, his hands trembling on your body. "Stop fucking around."

But Mike was seeing stars somewhere on the alleyway. It happened so quickly you couldn't understand what was going on. When your eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you saw him, rough, handsome and very, very angry.

"Who the fuck are you?" The man asked, but all he got in response was a guttural growl. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble. My girlfriend and I were just talking. Stay out of it." He grabbed you by the neck, dragging you away from Logan.

You seized the opportunity and wrestled out of his grasp by biting your assaulter's hand, dashing behind a bin.

"Ow! Fucking bitch!" He lunged at you, but Logan was quicker, piercing his claws through his shoulder and holding him in place.

"That's no way to talk to a lady." The mutant snarled, and you watched how his claws retracted before he punched the man in the face, effectively knocking him down.

He was the Wolverine. You had seen it all over the news, how he saved your universe, how he came from a different world. You couldn't believe he was the one helping you when you thought no one would save you in that moment.

"You alright, kid?" His raspy voice startled you and you barely nodded, still too shocked to move or speak. "You sure?"

You shook your head and tears rolled down your cheeks as you finally started to process what just happened. Logan scrunched his nose — comforting someone wasn't his strongest skill — and instead he picked up your bag and keys from the pavement.

"Shit, um, don't cry." He handed you your belongings, and you looked up at him with a frown.

How could you not cry when you saw your entire life flashing before your eyes? Logan swallowed a lump in his throat and offered his hand to help you stand up. You looked at his hand, reluctant to grab it. The only thing he could compare you with was a cat — cautious, yet curious.

"No claws." He said when he understood the meaning behind your eyes. "Come, I'll- um, I'll walk you home."

The invitation had you perk up and gain courage, and you quietly took the bag from his hand. He walked with you in complete silence, until you stopped in front of a building. You lingered, unwilling to go in. Logan asked if that was your place, and after you nodded, he offered to take you all the way to your apartment, which made you feel relieved. He could see it on your face when you sighed. You guided him up the stairs, constantly looking behind you to make sure he was there.

You stopped in front of a tall wooden door, keys in hand.

"Go on. I'll wait until you lock the door." Logan encouraged you.

"Can you stay?" You finally spoke, and your voice was sweet like honey, fitting for a baker.

"I don't know, kid-"

"Please." You looked at him with glossy eyes, pupils blown from the fear that hadn't left your body yet. The fear he could still smell.

"Yeah. Okay, I'll stay."

"Thank you."

Logan followed you in, and you flipped the light switch on before locking the door behind him. He looked around and, just as he expected, the apartment was a direct reflection of your bakery — clean, colourful and calm. There were recipes stuck to the walls with pink pins, and between them little paintings of sunsets, skies, flowers, cats. All things cute. They weren't framed, and so Logan figured they were hand-made, his assumptions confirmed by the easel in the corner of your living room.

Of course your sofa had to be colourful, too — mustard yellow with sage green cushions and blankets. Even your curtains were sage green. Despite the explosion of colours, Logan found himself enjoying being there. Not everything had to be brown, black and grey, he thought. Probably the only vibrant thing in his life was his suit, since the only people that brought colour were his friends, and they were gone.

"Drink?" You cracked the walls he put up around his heart with that sweet voice.

You shook a bottle of gin to get his attention and he nodded. Logan wasn't a fan of gin, but he didn't expect you to have any hard liquors. He watched you pull out two blue glasses from the kitchen cabinet, and of course they had to be funky, with white flowers on them.

"Where'd you get these?" He asked, swirling the drink in his hand.

"I made them. Kind of." You said. "Bought them from a charity store and painted the flowers. Do you want some tonic water?"

"Fuck no." Logan choked on his gin when you asked him that question. Simply being in a place so... colourful was enough. He didn't need a girly drink.

"I'm Y/N, by the way."

"I'm-"

"The Wolverine!" You cut him off a little too eager.

"-Logan. Call me Logan." He cringed when the beverage tickled his taste buds. It wasn't bitter enough for him.

"Logan. Thanks for tonight. Is there any way I can repay you?"

The question was riddled with innocence, but he couldn't stop the degenerate thoughts that popped in his mind when you asked him that. You were just so pure that he wanted to both protect you and ruin you.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't just walk past without doing anything." Logan lied, because, really, he wasn't just walking by, was he? No, it was downright stalking.

"I could bake something for you." You offered and he shook his head.

"I don't like sweets, kid."

"What?" You were baffled. "Everybody likes something sweet."

"Not me." He shrugged. "All I like is tiramisu and only if those biscuits are doused in coffee."

"Ladyfingers." You corrected him with a chuckle. "They're called ladyfingers."

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious! Here!" You rushed to your pantry and pulled out a whole box of them, showing Logan the name.

"That's just stupid." He shook his head. "Who calls them ladyfingers?"

"Uh, everyone?" You laughed at his surprise, and the thoughts of your bad evening slowly dissipated, like a bad dream.

Logan truly was clueless about baking, but spent hours listening to you talk about types of sugar, extracts and their uses, and the difference between baking soda and baking powder in cooking. You rambled on and on and not once did he get bored. He could listen to you talk for hours with your voice soothing. Logan thought about it, and he genuinely never met someone like you before. The women in his life were all so different, but you took the cake. You were special in ways he couldn't understand. And he was just so drawn to you.

"I'm sorry, I haven't stopped talking once!" You apologised, realising how safe you felt with him there. You would never let a stranger inside your house, let alone talk about baking while having gin. But Logan wasn't a stranger. Not after he saved you.

"'s alright. It's not every day I learn about baking." He chuckled, finishing his drink. "Listen, I should get going."

"Right." You sighed, eyes darting at the floor. "No, of course. I've kept you too long."

Logan got up and you walked with him to the hallway. He was slow to put his leather jacket on, as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything, but when you didn't, he unlocked the door and opened it.

"Hey, Logan?" You tugged at his sleeve, whispering so you wouldn't wake your neighbours. "Are you sure I can't bake you something? Not now, I mean. I really want you to try something besides tiramisu. And that way I can repay you."

"Hell, why not?" He shrugged.

"Great!" You beamed at him like a child on Christmas day. "Stop by my bakery tomorrow at twelve. It's on Granville Street."

"I thought you didn't work on Sundays."

"Oh, how'd you know?" You quirked a brow at him.

Caught red-handed.

"Educated guess."

"Fair enough." His answer satisfied you. "Be there or be square!"

Sleep was for the weak. All night, Logan tossed and turned and abused his poor pillow with with punches. The mere thought of seeing you, no, interacting with you, had him wriggle like a worm on the mattress. It didn't help that Wade instantly noticed something was up.

"Oh, my, did you shower, peanut?"

"Not today, Satan." Logan poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Mmm, and what do I smell?" Wade sniffed the air. "Wait, is that my perfume?"

"Forgot to pack mine when I swapped universes." The Wolverine barked back.

"Hah!" Blind Al chimed in from the living room. "I think tall, dark and handsome here has a date!"

Logan rolled his eyes while Wade pouted, plopping on the sofa next to Al.

"You never called me that."

"That's cause you’re a degenerate." The woman snorted.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it- ow! Stop hitting me with your cane, I know where you hide your nose candy!" Wade fought back.

"Touch it and I'll bust a cap in your ass!" Al scoffed.

"And I'll regenerate."

Logan used the opportunity to slip into the hallway, but his roommate was quicker, and blocked the door.

"You're not going anywhere until we have the talk."

"The talk?" The Wolverine snorted.

"Ah, they grow up so fast." Wade told Al. "Now, son, when a man and a woman love each other-"

"I'll give you three seconds to fuck off."

"Oh, but I need to know everything! Who is he?"

"She." Logan rolled his eyes.

"Oh my god, is this you coming out to us? Al, he's straight! I promise we love you anyway." Wade went for a hug and all Logan could do was accept it. He learned to live with Wade, even though he dislocated his jaw a few times after he moved in.

"Alright, that's enough."

"Nooo, we're just getting started. Name? Age? Occupation? We could do a double date with Vanessa-"

"Absolutely fucking not." Logan pushed Wade off of him.

"Okay, okay. Just make sure you wrap your willy, and if you need any advice, daddy's here." Wade opened the door for his roommate.

"Actually." Logan lingered in the hallway. "What kind of flowers do girls like?"

The blinds to the bakery were closed but you were inside, pastries in the oven and dessert in the fridge. You couldn't help yourself and prepared something savoury as well, in case he didn't like the lemon cake. A knock on the door startled you, and you rushed to check who it was.

Logan stood there, a bouquet of peonies in his hand. You welcomed him in with a smile, but he could tell it was different than the one you flashed your customers. It seemed more genuine. And it felt like a date.

"These are for you." Logan handed you the flowers, taking in the scent of pork pies. "I thought you were gonna bake something sweet." He flared his nostrils.

"I did, I just thought I should have a plan B in case you didn't like my cake." You placed the bouquet in a vase on one of your tables. "How did you know I liked peonies?"

Logan couldn't believe Wade was right about those damn flowers. And there he was, thinking roses would be better. Maybe the Merc with a Mouth wasn't so bad after all.

"I had a hunch." He shrugged.

"Well, Logan, I love them! Now sit, sit!" You ushered him to his seat. "I hope you're hungry, because there's a lot for you to try."

"A lot? I thought you'll make me a cupcake or somethin', bub."

"A cupcake?? Don't be silly." Just as you said that, the oven made a loud ding sound, and you turned on your heels, heading in the back.

Logan waited patiently, observing every little detail from the front of your bakery, from the spotless display shelves to the neatly organised paper bags, to the fairy lights around the window. It was obvious to him that you had put your mind, body and soul into this bakery, and his expectations were quite high after all the fuss you made. But he decided to be nice not matter how the food tasted. He couldn't bear seeing you upset if he didn't like what you made.

You reappeared with a tray in your hand, and on it two plates, one with a small pork pie, one with a croissant, and a cup of coffee. Hell, even the cutlery was cute, with swirls engraved on the handles of the fork, knife and teaspoon.

"I decided to leave the cake for last." You said, placing the tray in front of him. "This is a simple pork pie, start with that." You urged him. "Careful, it's hot."

The Wolverine struggled with the cutlery, too small for his large hands, and the brief thought of slashing the pie with his claws crossed his mind, but he decided to be civil. You watched him butcher the food, eager to see his reaction, but he was taking his time.

"I'll let it cool off a bit."

"Ooh, that's probably a good idea." You nodded.

"Aren't you having some?" Logan asked.

"Noo, no. I like to bake for others, not for myself."

"So what do you eat, then?" He sipped on the coffee.

"Instant noodles usually. I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I do occasionally have leftovers, but whatever isn't sold I take it to the local shelter." You explained.

Christ, you couldn't be any kinder. Logan was stunned by your beauty and your soul, which was why he decided that after today, he will stop any interaction with you. He couldn't ruin you, not with his lifestyle, not with the danger that followed him everywhere.

The only problem was that the conversation flowed naturally, and he felt safe with you, just as you did with him. Like you were the missing piece to his puzzle. Logan pushed away those thoughts and decided to try the food. He took a large mouthful of the pie, chewed and swallowed, and you waited expectantly.

"Shit."

"What? Is it bad?" You jumped from your seat.

"Fuck, this is the best pork pie I've ever had." Logan wiped his mouth with a tissue you provided. "I'm serious, kid. Did you put drugs in it?"

You laughed, shaking your head as he finished the rest of the pie. He truly seemed to enjoy it, and you felt so satisfied. But the real test came after.

"Pistachio croissant." You said. "I thought about making almond ones, but I figured pistachio wasn't that sweet."

"Right, let's see." Logan took a healthy bite out of the pastry, and lo and behold, he closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. If heaven had a taste, it would be that damned croissant.

"Is it good?"

"Good? Jesus, this is the best one yet." He finished the rest of it, the pistachio cream tickling his taste buds in all the right ways. "Who taught you to bake like this?"

"My grandma. She was the best cook I knew." You smiled.

Logan noticed your use of past tense, and he didn't want to bring up any bad memories. He wasn't the nosy type, but something possessed him to ask you about your life, your family, your favourite colours. He needed to know more about you, and you answered all his questions, opening up to him like a flower in bloom. But when it came to him talking about himself, Logan was reluctant.

Talking to Wade was easier, because Wade didn't take anything seriously, nor did he ask personal questions. Well, he did, but in his own stupid way that provided Logan some distraction, as well as a reason to punch him. But with you it was different. He felt like he owed you serious answers that he wasn't yet ready to tell a stranger who made a mean pistachio croissant.

"The cake!" You spun on the chair, changing the subject when you saw Logan dodging your questions like bullets.

Although he didn't say it, he was grateful that you didn't put any pressure on him to talk. He wasn't a talker. That was definitely Wade. You came back with the whole cake, and it looked so good that Logan didn't want you to cut it. Perfectly round, a layer of cream in the middle and white frosting on top. You even went so far as to decorate it with all kinds of yellow flower petals and what seemed to be mint leaves.

"Alright, hit me. What's this one called?"

"I call it the Mojito Cake. The sponge cake has lemon zest, the cream is made of lime, mint and rum syrup, and the frosting is buttercream with a dash of actual rum." You explained.

"Shit, I can't tell if that sounds disgusting or incredible."

"Only one way to find out." You cut him a thick slice, and Logan wasted no time trying it.

"I think you found yourself a new customer."

"You're too nice."

"I'm anything but nice, kid." He took three more spoonfuls. "But I ain't a liar. This is delicious." Logan spoke with his mouth full and it made you chuckle.

"Oh, there's a bit of frosting on your face."

"Hm?" He used the tissue to wipe his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No, it's still- here, I'll get it." You leaned forward and delicately ghosted your thumb over the corner of his mouth, eyes locked with his.

Without thinking about it, you dragged your tongue over the frosting, and Logan couldn't look away from you even if he wanted to. A gesture so innocent, but it destroyed any form of restraint. He pressed his lips onto yours, tasting the rum and the cream, but before you could kiss him back, he pulled away.

"Sorry. Sorry, I shouldn't have-"

You gave him no time to finish his sentence when you placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him with fire on your tongue. God, he hated being touched, but when you did it, he melted in your hands. Lust battled reason and prevailed, and you found yourself straddling Logan's lap, arms around his neck and chest pressed against his.

His large hands found their way under your dress, fingers digging in the plush of your thighs until a moan escaped past your lips. Logan could've sworn you were pure in all ways — a virgin — so, naturally, he was surprised to see you eager to jump his adamantium bones.

With the last shred of reason left in you, you glanced at the door and window to make sure they were covered, and pushed Logan's jacket off his shoulders, peppering his neck with soft kisses. He wasn't the gentle type, no matter how hard he tried, and he didn't need to be when he felt your hips grind in his lap. It was more than obvious that you wanted him then and there.

Logan lifted you up as if you weighed nothing and slammed you down the empty table. His roughness sent a chill down your spine, because you really wanted him to manhandle you from the moment he stepped foot in your bakery. He kissed you again, pressing his whole against yours until your back hit the table. You felt like a cornered animal with nowhere to go, and the thrill of it turned you on.

"Are you sure you want this?" Logan asked despite you unbuckling his belt.

"I don't want this, I want you. I need you to fuck me so hard I can't walk." You unzipped his jeans, and although he was taken aback by your sudden use of filthy words, he couldn't deny he enjoyed seeing that side of you.

"Greedy little girl." Logan's hand slithered between your legs, fingers rubbing circles over your clothed clit. "Shit, you're soakin' wet. Can feel it through your fuckin' panties already." He flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of your arousal.

With his jeans loose around his waist, you palmed his cock through his boxers, and it didn't shock you for a second that he was rock hard. What did shock you, however, was the size of it. It was probably the biggest you've ever taken, and you didn't want any other man anymore.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, making it clear that you didn't want to waste any more time. Not that you didn't want to suck his dick or explore every inch of his body and worship it the way a man like him deserved it, but you were impatient.

Logan got the hint when you whined and scoffed, and he tore the pink panties off of you, tossing them on the floor. At least he had the decency not to put them on the table, which you were going to disinfect anyway. He pushed his boxers down, and you propped yourself on your elbows to look at him, and it was a sight for sore eyes indeed. He had perfectly sculpted abs, you could see them under the half-lifted t-shirt, but it was his cock that made your mouth water.

"Like what you see?" Logan was smug, confident in his good looks.

"I need to permanently imprint this image on my retina." You told him, and he couldn't help the chuckle.

"Likewise. Now spread 'em."

"Yessir!" You very quickly obeyed, parting your legs for him, and Logan couldn't deny that he enjoyed being in control.

He wasn't one to take orders, nor give them, but watching you comply scratched an itch he couldn't get rid of. Logan pressed the tip of his cock against your slick folds, earning another whine from you. You bucked your hips, craving more, and he scoffed.

"That desperate, hm?"

"You have no idea." You dug your manicured fingernails into his shoulders, bracing for temporary pain, because you knew damn well it would hurt.

"I don't know, I didn't hear you say please." Logan frowned, and you understood what game he was playing. A game you yearned to be part of.

"Oh, please, please, please fuck me, Logan! I'll be so good for you! I'll do anything you want." You clung to his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him. "I'll even take it in any hole you want." You whispered, dragging your tongue over his lips.

"Shit." Logan was weak in the knees from your words, and the worst part was that he believed everything you said. But there was a time and place for everything.

You were the perfect mix of sweet and spicy, and you begged so nicely that the Wolverine just couldn't say no. You felt the leaking tip of his cock push past your folds and you audibly gasped at the size of it, drawing blood from his skin with your fingernails.

"It won't fit-" You whined with lust in your voice.

"I'll make it fit." Logan promised, painstakingly slowly thrusting into you.

He gave you time to adjust to his girth, constantly checking if you were alright, if you wanted him to carry on or stop, and while you loved that he was so caring, you needed him hurry up and fuck you.

To assure him that you would survive his monstrous cock, you planted a soft kiss on his nose, and there it was again, the change in your personality, from sultry to innocent. It was as though you embodied everything he ever wanted, and his desire to never contact you again went down the drain. How could Logan ever leave someone like you?

"I'm ready." You nodded, and he pressed his forehead onto yours, slowly rolling his hips.

You weren't ready, because it hurt like a bitch when he stretched out your velvety walls. But the pain was soon replaced by pleasure, and Logan picked up the pace when your whimpers turned to moans, and the slight frown on your face disappeared.

"So tight." He hummed, forehead resting against yours.

Were you tight, or was he just so incredibly big? Either way, you were a panting mess already, clinging to him for dear life, and Logan forgot his worries, even if it was just for that one moment. You were too good to be true, with your parted lips and glossy eyes — a beautiful sight for his sore eyes.

"Fuck, I- fuck!" You wrapped your legs around his waist, the table screeching under you. Not a single coherent sentence could come out of your mouth. "Logan, shit, I-"

"What's the matter? Need something?" He cooed, fingers bruising into your hips. "Use your big girl words."

"Need it ha-harder!" You cried out but he slowed down, confusion written all over your face.

"Where are your manners?"

"Please, daddy, please give it to me harder!"

The term of endearment had Logan quirk a brow at you, but he wasn't surprised in the slightest that you had a daddy kink. And he basked in being called that.

"Are you sure you can take it?"

"Yes!" There was no hesitation in your response. "Fuck, yes!"

Logan growled when he felt your pussy clench around his cock, and he delivered, thrusting deeper, harder and faster into you, until the sound of skin on skin echoed in the bakery, and your breathing became heavier.

"Fuuuuck, I can feel it in my gut!" You threw your head back when the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix.

"Filthy. Little. Slut." Each word came with a thrust and a groan, and he filled you up so good, you became addicted to him.

Your toes curled up, and your legs began to twitch when you felt your orgasm build up. Each push and pull made your vision blurry, and Logan's grip on you tightened as his hips stuttered. He was feral, and he was close, you could feel it in your bones.

"Fuck, Logan, do- oh- don't stop!" Words spilled from your mouth incoherently, and after a few more thrusts, pure bliss rushed through your body.

"That's it, let go." Logan buried his face in the crook of your neck, slamming hard into you until all you could do was chant his name like a prayer.

You felt him fill you up, pussy hot and sticky and sore, and he slowly pulled out, eyes darting at the tissues on the table. He grabbed them, gently cleaning you up, and you couldn’t stop the grin on your face. There was just something about a man like him be so gentle. And you were absolutely delighted to have him take care of you.

"You know," Logan said licking his lips, "I'm beginning to think you didn't want me to just taste your pastries."

"True." You told him smugly. "But you liked them."

"I like you more." He blurted out without thinking.

You felt your cheeks burn at his sudden honesty, and after sliding up your underwear and fixing your dress, you planted a soft kiss on his cheek.

"I like you too, honey badger."

"Don't ever call me that again." Logan chuckled.

"Not happening. Now, could you pleaaaase help me clean up this place? The last thing I need is a surprise hygiene inspection tomorrow."

He couldn't even imagine what the inspectors would do if they found out you had sex in a bakery, and with a nod, Logan zipped up his jeans and began disinfecting the tables and chairs while you swept the floor.

In less than half an hour you were done, and the shop was squeaky clean. You were satisfied with the end result, and told Logan that you wanted him to have the rest of the cake, pies and croissants. He thought Wade and Al could eat something, and decided to accept your offer.

"Can I come with you? There's quite a few boxes of food." You told him, a sheepish grin on your lips.

"Is that your way of finding out where I live?"

"Maybe. I'll go home if you don't want me with you."

"No, you're good." Logan assured you. "Besides, I'm sure my roommate's gonna devour everything. He'll probably lock you up in our apartment and force you to bake for him."

"I don't know if that's a threat or a promise." You laughed.

"Both. It's both."

You walked with Logan down the street, boxes in your arms, and you were surprised to see him open up to you more. He answered almost every question you had, and you felt him more relaxed. And he was. Logan forgot how much he needed that kind of connection with someone. You were so easy to talk to, you didn't judge him, and most importantly, you listened.

He guided you up the stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door, because he couldn't reach his keys with so many boxes in his arms. You baked for a damn army.

Wade opened the door, and you were taken aback by his appearance, but it didn't scare you. Instead, you introduced yourself as Logan's personal baker, earning a chuckle from him.

"Come on in, Martha Stewart." Wade opened the door enough for you to walk through it with the boxes and not drop them.

"Wade." Logan came back from the kitchen with a croissant. "Eat. Seriously, eat."

You watched Wade wolf down the pastry without hesitation and his eyes lit up. He chewed and swallowed, then moaned, eyes rolling back. The look of disgust on Logan's face was priceless.

"Holy fucking shit, Y/N, what the fuck did you put in this?" Wade grabbed your shoulders, giving them a good shake. "It's so flaky and creamy and buttery, like a bunch of unicorns came in my mouth."

"I'm glad you like it." You giggled. "Try the cake."

"There's cake?!" He ran to the kitchen, leaving you and Logan in the hallway before coming back, a slice of half-eaten cake in his hand. "I am officially impressed. Can you make Rocky Road?"

"Yes."

"Dulce de leche?"

"Yep."

"Baklava?"

"Uh-huh."

"Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte?"

"Yes, Wade!" You rolled your eyes, then turned to Logan. "Sugar rush?"

"Oh, you have no idea. And this is him on a good day."

"Listen, sweet cheeks, if old man fuckface here won’t marry you, I will. Just don’t tell Vanessa." Wade whispered.

"Don’t even think about it, you degenerate limp dick."

"Ugh, fine. And here I was hoping all four of us could be a happy dysfunctional family. Five if you count Al. Six with Colossus. Wait, actually, eight with-"

"Wade, have you tried the pork pies?" You asked, effectively shutting him up.

Yeah, Logan could definitely get used to being around you from now on to sweeten up his life.

#logan howlett #wolverine #mcu #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #fem!reader #marvel #deadpool 3

3K notes · View notes

honeykaes · 1 year

Text

three rounds

boxer!wriothesley x reader II 3.0k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, boxer! au, modern au, blood, fighting (boxing), rough sex, wriothesley picks reader up, standing full nelson, semi-public sex, creamipes, fingering, overstimulation, dacryphilia, dumbification, childhood friends to lover, secret dating, mention of the criminal justice system, implied family abandonment, unedited

synopsis: you and wriothesley had been best friends for ages. you were there when he broke ties with his rich family, when he failed the police academy and now in his success in the boxing ring. this will be the match to decide if he earns the belt and he wants his cheerleader, whom he's secretly dating, to be there in the front seat to witness it.

The glare from the bright white spotlights made you squint and lift your hand up. Black spots littered your vision as you adjusted and stared down at the ring in front of you. Crowds surrounded the entire ring, cheering and yelping in delight excited for the match getting ready to begin.

This was the final match to determine who received the golden belt any professional boxer in England clawed their way to attain. To get it, they would have to rip it out of the claws of the previous boxing champion, Attainer. This would be no easy feat, but you knew that would not stop him from achieving his goal.

“Now we have the underdog, quite literally! Can we get some noise for the newbie with attitude Wriothesley!” the announcer yelled out from the speakers. As soon as he was introduced, the crowd’s noise grew louder, admiring the man coming out. His short black hair was as scruffy as ever, adorned with streaks of gray he insisted wasn’t from age. His eyes, piercing icy blue, looked to the crowd in determination as he lifted his arm up waving to them and a lopsided smirk.

He was extremely muscular wearing his scars littering throughout his chest, neck, and face with pride. As he slung under the ropes of the rings, he gazed at the crowd once more as they cheered—eyes scanning for someone until they settled on their own. His eyes softened and his smirk grew, winking over to you as your heart fluttered.

“Oh my god! He actually noticed me! This is the best day ever!” a girl cheered behind you. You chuckled to yourself fighting the urge to turn around and spoil her fun. No one in the ring would know that look was for you, and you alone.

You and Wriothesley have been together for a few years now. You were there when he was at rock bottom and you would be there when he finally took the heavens or himself.

“Round one! Fight!”

You knocked on the shabby door, hearing banging from the other side as your heart pumped in your chest in anxiety. Wriothesley had been avoiding your calls all day since he got out of prison and was under probation.

“Wriothesley! Open the door!” you yelled out. No response came except for the constant sound of smacking. Your hand grabbed on the handle turning it only for the door to crack open. A yelp escaped your lips watching a cockroach scutter across the floor into the hallway from the hallway. Cursing silently to yourself and surprised Wriothesley still didn’t say anything, you closed the door looking over to see the barren studio apartment.

There was hardly anything in the tiny space beside a mattress that was directly on the floor with some blankets thrown across it, a large bean bag chair to the side, and a large punching bag swinging in the middle of the room. The sound of smacking echoed out once more as Wriothesley continued to punch it, still not facing you.

Earbuds were placed in his ears, your sounds must've been drowned out by how loud he was playing his music. You slowly approached him, calling out his name once more as he continued to ignore you. With a sigh, you placed your hand on his back. He immediately tensed up and he turned around.

He scowled over to you, frowning prominent on his lips. Bags were under his eye, a fresh cut seemed to linger there too. He must’ve got it before getting out of prison. Your eyes softened in pity and Wriothesley took his earbuds out and sighed.

“Are you okay? You’ve been ignoring me for days since you got out,” you murmured. Wriothesley grumbled under his breath and sighed, wiping the sweat clinging to his brow. He must’ve been exercising for a while now.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to always check on me like you did when we were kids. I’m not the little rich kid trying to understand public school anymore…” Wriothesley muttered. You clinged your tongue, rolling your eyes at his response.

“Yeah, you’re not, which is why I don’t know why you are acting like a kid and avoiding me. We're friends. You got arrested and kicked out of the police academy, of course I want to check in with you and make sure you’re okay. Shit sucks, understatement of the year, but I want to help you through this,” you replied. He doesn’t respond and looks away, eyes narrowing in shame. Your eyes flickered down to his ankle bracelet, blinking. It will be six months before it’ll come off and he'll be free from it.

“Please can you just…” you sighed, “You don’t need to carry all of this by yourself. I’m not going to abandon you no matter how many times you try to push me out. We are in this together. I promised that to you before and I mean it now.”

Wriothesley remained quiet walking over to his mattress before collapsing on him, the springs creaking loudly as they adjusted to the new weight.

“Frankly, I’m not sure why you seem so adamant about staying beside me. Why? Do you got a crush on me or something,” Wriothesley murmured, covering his eyes with his hand. There was a pause as you struggled to say anything and simply looked away. Noticing you not saying anything, Wriothesley uncovered his face looking over at you in shock before it softened. A chuckle soon rattled throughout the tiny studio apartment.

“Ah, I guess that explains it then, huh?” he murmured, looking over to his hand covered in sports tape. He flexed his fingers, pondering the words he wanted to say to you as butterflies flew throughout your stomach. Was he going to send you out? Was he going to pretend you didn't say anything?

“...I don’t regret going to jail for what I did. I know what I did wasn’t wrong but naturally bastards with more money than me can get away with it and paint me as the villain to absolve them from their crimes,” he murmured getting up in front of you.

“I’m not going to let that stop me though,” he murmured. The pitter-patter of the rain outside hit the window as Wriothesley chuckled once more.

“London is like this, gloomy, gray with pricks who take advantage of the disadvantaged. This city eats up anyone they can. I don’t plan on being part of the menu. Something good will come out of all this shit…” he murmured. His fingers lifted your chin and a soft smile curled on his once serious expression.

“Besides, I think things are shaping up positively in some ways already. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Once his probation period ended, Wriothesley went to the gym often to clear his mind when he wasn’t working at his part-time contracting job. He wanted to join an amateur boxing ring, only for his skills to gain the attention of recruiters looking for more talent in the professional ring.

Signing on to a team and management, Wriothesley quickly flew through opponents. The crowd had deemed him as “Cerberus” for his scruffy yet handsome appearance along with his famous three-punch combo.

It had been three years since you two started this journey and this match would show if it was worth it.

“Ooh! The Attainer got a left hook to connect the frazzling crowd favorite! Can the doggie get out of this or will the beat finally get tamed!”

You snapped out of your thoughts, clenching your jaw seeing Wriothesley stagger from that hit. Blood began to dribble from his lip. A flash of anger shot through his eyes as he glowered at Attainer with frustration. As Attainer went for another blow, Wriothesley swiftly dodged to the left. Time for the final round was ticking down quickly, he’d need to make this count if he wanted to win.

Dodging another attack and seeing an opening, Wriothesley quickly rushed his gloved fist forward connecting it to the champion, Attainer.

“One,” he muttered, drowned out by the deafening noise and muffled from his mouthguard. Seeing the opening swift to try to adjust, Wriothesley refused to let him, connecting another punch in the stomach to his opponent. Attainer gasped, the wind knocked out of him from the blow.

“Two,” he grunted, dodging another desperate blow from Attainer. With one more opening he saw, Wriothesley went in again connecting his final blow to Attainer’s face.

“Three!” he grunted. Attainer staggered, body fumbling to the ground as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The referee sprung from outside the ring, smacking his hand down to the side of the opponent, counting those three numbers. Wriothesley stood to the side, chest gleaming in the stage light from his sweat as the crowd cheered in bewilderment and excitement.

“TKO!!”

Roars of cheers echoed throughout the stadium. You couldn’t stop grinning, joining in the celebration as Wriothseley lifted his arm up signaling his victory against the champion. Flashes of light flickered off as press and camera from fans, sports journalists, and anyone wanting to gobble every opportunity and second, they could to get this shot. His eyes wandered to yours, smiling wide as you gave a small wave back.

As a camera quickly came into the ring, a microphone shoved in his face to conduct the first interview of the new champion, you slowly got up from your seat and the chaotic cheers of the stadium and headed to his private quarters in the locker room to wait for him.

Thirty minutes went by before the door flew open and slammed shut as he entered. As soon as his eyes met yours, he walked up to you, arms wrapping you in a tight hug. You chuckled, wrapping your arms around Wriothesley’s torso, smelling the sweat wafting from him.

“I told you doll,” Wriothesley smirked, as you chuckled once more.

“You did!” you chimed with a wide smile. Wriothesley leaned in close, lips millimeters away from one another.

“And you know what I want more than anything,” he whispered, capturing your lips. His hands settled against your ass, squeezing the soft globes as you gasped, placing your hands on his. He massaged it, tapping it as he finally let your kiss go—a translucent string of saliva connecting your now glossy lips with his.

“W-What?! What if someone sees us? You built your reputation back up just to risk destroying it with a stupid scandal. ‘New champion has a partner caught fucking in the stadium!’ The press will eat us alive,” you stammered out. Wriothesley chuckled lowly, nibbling your earlobe.

“If they give me shit, who cares? It’s my managers who thought it best to keep our relationship a secret. I should get to celebrate how I see fit. They get their win and I get you, everyone’s happy,” Wriothesley whispered, grinding his hardening cock against your leg. You sighed at his response.

“What am I going to do with you,” you muttered. You gasped as Wriothesley smacked his palm down on your ass —the sting of dull pain shooting through your body.

“Fuck me, that’s what.”

Wriothesley brought his lips down to yours once more, the adrenaline from the match still coursing through his veins. He takes his shorts off, heavy cock popping up and rolling against his chiseled abdomen. It lulled to the side against his black happy trail, flushed tip already budding with precum as veins pulsated throughout the thick flesh.

You lowered yourself on your knees, grabbing onto his length as he sucked a sharp breath in. You smeared the precum, finger playing with his sensitive tip. You pumped a few times before opening your mouth and taking him into your mouth. The familiar salty taste of sweat and precum hit your tongue as you bobbed your head.

“Aww, giving me a little reward? You shouldn’t have,” he teased, grabbing a fistful of your hair. Your tongue swirling along the tip, sucking hard as Wriothesley’s body shuttered and hips slightly faltered. His nails dug into his thick thighs, trying to contain himself as you continued to suck and swirl against him.

“That’s it. Open up a little wider for me lovely,” he murmured, using his other hand to tap at your throat. He used the grip he had on your hair to sink you further down his cock. You fought the urge to gag, but he had trained your throat to fight against the feeling. You soon completely had his entire length down your throat, nose brushing against the thick hair of his bush.

He pulled them away, as an audible pop echoed throughout the small room while you caught your breath. Drool leaked from the side of your mouth, eyes watching as Wriosthelsey continued to jerk at his cock. It twitched in his grasp.

“Open your mouth for me like the good doll you are,” he murmured. You obeyed, opening your mouth wide as a low groan ripped from his lips, tip hovering over it. Globs of cum shot from him, falling on your tongue as you resisted the urge to spit or swallow. His hips shuttered, bucking a few times before he finally began to soften and leaned over wiping some that managed to spill out on the corner of your lips.

“Swallow for me…” he cooed. His smirk widened watching your throat bobbed as you did, trying not to shiver from the taste.

“So good for me. Get up. I think it’s time for the spotlight to be shared,” he murmured as you got on your feet. His hands gripped your bottoms pulling them down and onto the ground, before your underwear went with it. He haggardly popped a few buttons off from your blouse, showing off a bit of your chest to him. You could feel him beginning to grow against your thigh.

“Wriothesley!” you yelled out, as he lifted you up. His hardening cock slides against your drooling slit, gathering up the slick clinging onto your cunt. He does this growing harder before he’s finally fully erected once more. Wriothesley hooked his forearm against the back of your knees and leaned against the wall before he sank into the warmth of your cunt—roughly plunging inside of you.

You moan in surprise at the position, your body bouncing from his quick thrusts. Objects hung on the wall bang to his pace as the sound of smacking skin reverberated throughout the locker room.

He finally put one of your legs down, in the process reaching deeper inside of you as your body jolted in pleasure. With his now free hand, he moved his palm striking your needy clit—the shock of the pain and pleasure caused your walls to flutter down on his cock, as he groaned in delight.

“You like that, I felt just how tight you gripped me just now,” he cooed, nibbling against your neck. His fingers continued to toy with your clit, rubbing tight circles and occasionally smacking his fingers down on it. Your body shivered at the simulation he was giving you, cock brushing against the spot that made you see stars.

“Fuck! Wriothesley. There, there! There!” you babbled out, tears beginning to prick your eyes.

He shifted his position and grip on you, turning you around so your back was to the wall and keeping you up with one hand gripping tightly against your ass. Your legs had instinctively wrapped around his waist, allowing him to rut against that spot with more precision. His eyes lingered on your chest, admiring the flash of your pebbled nibble that would greet him with every bounce of your body.

His hand grasped your jaw, his blunt nails digging to the sides of it,

“Gonna cum for me? Yeah?” he murmured, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip as you rapidly nodded, tears beginning to cascade down your face. He grunted, feeling your walls cave in making it harder to continue to buck inside of you.

“Show me how good a champion’s cock is then,” he grunted. With more nodding and babbling of his name, your eyes rolled to the back of your head—body arching as you finally reached your high, shivering in pleasure.

Wriothesley pistoning his hips sloppier, let out a low moan of your name before shutting his eyes and connecting his lips with your own. His hips faltered, ropes of cum spilling inside of you and filled you to the brim with his essence.

Lifting his head up, he chuckled noticing your fucked-out and tired expression moving your body in his arms before placing you down on the couch. He admired your chest slowly rising from your chest, eye makeup messed up and smeared from your tears.

“Sorry, was that too much for you,” he murmured with a smile, leaning down to kiss your forehead. He went over and put his shorts on, tucking his softening cock beneath it. You groaned, lolling your head to the side as Wriothesly approached you again. His cum was beginning to leak down your thighs. He couldn’t stop himself from pumping two fingers into your overly sensitive cunt, pushing his cum back inside of you as you whimpered at the sensation.

“Don’t worry. Just rest here and we can leave afterward for dinner, if you’re still up for it that is,” Wriothesley murmured. A knock on the door caught his attention as he got up and walked over to the door, cracking it so your form was completely hidden by his stature. He scowled, only for his gaze to turn to shock seeing Clorinde, his manager glare at him. She let out a side, crossing her arms.

“Next time you plan on fucking your partner, please do it when I don’t need something in the locker room, that is not ours I’d like to add, and have to wait elsewhere until you’re done to do so. The papers are on the table, I expect to see them on Friday when you show up for our press briefing,” she grumbled before walking away.

Wriothesley chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“My bad, Clorinde…”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley imagines #wriothesley scenarios

2K notes · View notes

houseofhyde · 10 days

Text

“aemond, i’m out shopping…”

pairing. modern!aegon targaryen x fem!reader synopsis. ...but you’re under aegon and he’s not stopping. ( read part one here ) warnings. modern au, best friend's brother!aegon, drummer!aegon, fuckbuddy!aegon, references to alcohol & drug usage, smut ( aegon is giving switch vibes ngl, f oral, fingering, m masturbation, pussy pronouns bc aegon straight up talks to it like it's a sentient being independent of the reader, exhibitionism, hair pulling, sweat kink?, spit as lubrication, cum tasting, one single slap, mentions of sex toys & tribute pictures, dubcon but only bc the reader protests even though she doesn't mean it ) word count. 5.2k hyde’s input. my modus operandi is making a silly smut fic ( that involves aegon or aemond fucking around with their brother's love interest ) and then ( quite some time later ) writing a part 2 that accidentally trips and falls into a whole load of plot that simply must be further explored, and then oh no! a series is born! the horrors! read on ao3.

Aegon Targaryen is no stranger to waking up naked in a stranger’s bed.

It’s an occurrence that’s marked his formative years, truly. Drinking hard, partying late. Crashing harder, waking later. Last night's clothes strewn across the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen floors, an arm gone numb with the weight of the head that rests upon it. Hair of black, blonde, brown, red, blue tangled on the pillow next to his own. He’s never been picky with who he takes to bed. A warm body is a warm body, and Aegon Targaryen is but a creature of cold blood searching for some reprieve.

This, however, is new to him.

Awakening to unfamiliar walls still dressed in last night’s clothes and laying completely alone. There’s a pounding in his head that beats at his skull, harder than his foot kicks a bass drum. The smell of cheap liquor sticks to his skin — vodka, or tequila, or rum; he can’t pinpoint which he drank more of. The spot next to him is empty, cold to the touch as a hand stretches across the mattress, searching for some sign of life.

Last night is a blur of nicotine in his lungs, glitter in his hair, and far too many broken drum sticks. He needs to stop snapping them over his knee at the end of every solo. The band had been playing at some new bar, that much he does remember. Then, their set finished, and the drinks began to flow, and more than once he was called into the bathroom for a sniff of snow.

When things can’t get worse, they often do.The scream of an alarm clock, somewhere to the left of him and completely out of arm’s reach. With a groan and a grimace, Aegon’s rolling over, tangling himself in floral sheets and, there he finds the damn noise-maker, sitting pretty on a nightstand, living in the space between a pile of well-read books and a scented candle burnt down three quarters of the jar it lives in. An ashtray filled with trinkets, and earrings, and necklaces, and a single cigarette butt, sits right next to a phone, a glass of water, and two unlabelled white pills, one simple note attached.

Went 4 run. Don’t burn down apartment.

Aegon can’t even get offended by the comment. He once set Helaena’s carpet on fire, with nothing but a bottle of nail polish remover, a box of matches, and a whole lot of morbid curiosity. More than once, he’s left a pot on the stove and come back to find flames engulfing it. In a world of pyromaniacs, Aegon is a pyro-misfortunate, too typically present when things go up in flames — literally or figuratively.

Right now, the only fire is in his head, and the safety of water lies within a glass. His fingers scramble along the bedside table, grasping at straws to pick up the two pills. As one presses into the palm of his hand, the other slips off the edge. He tries to catch it as it falls. It has the opposite effect, the pill he’s captured slipping through the crack between his fingers and crashing against the floor, exploding in a powder of white. The other tablet is in no better state.

He could cry. He almost does, as he throws the upper half of his body off the bed, dangling down to scrape up the salvageable remnants of his pain relief.

“Every time I think you can’t get more pathetic, you prove me wrong.”

The voice of Aegon’s salvation.

You appear to him, an angel in the doorway. Upside down, clad in a sports bra, running shorts, and mismatching socks, your skin glistening with its own sweat, backlit by the unforgiving shine of an afternoon sun. And it’s all a hallucination, no doubt, because Aegon has not so much as heard from — never mind seen — you.

Not since that last Sunday you’d spent kneeling on his van floor.

He thought your words were nothing but a bluff. This can’t happen again. It was a bluff every other time, a silly thing to comfort the part of your conscience that feels it owes Aemond some kind of unwarranted loyalty, only to then forget about it the next time his text buzzes in, a misspelt nmeed you, or lemmesee you 2moro, or ur pxssy my mouth pls? lighting up the screen. Nearly a month since he watched you slip out his van door, it seems the only way to see you is in a come-down, hungover state of delirium.

But you’re moving towards him, and crouching down to grasp the tablets he’s left to perish, and sitting him up right, leaving his limp body to collapse back against the bed — your bed? A hand racks itself through his disjointed hair, a momentarily soothing touch, until it tightens into a fist and tugs at his roots, angling his head till his blues meet your eyes. A moan slips its way past Aegon’s lips, the delicious burn at his scalp waking his easily aroused mind.

“Look at you,” you practically spit your disgust at him, but the pity in your stare lessens the blows of your anger-laced voice. Your voice, oh how he’s missed it. “There’s a little more life in those eyes than last night, but, god, you look like shit.”

“Hmm, love it when you degrade me, baby,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips. “Gets me so hard.”

You recoil within an instant, hands off him like he’s a flaming ball of fire and you’re a barrel of oil, impending doom awaiting when both casualties collide. Aegon chases after you, however, and so you don’t make it far, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you down into the sheets with him.

Twisted limbs, wrinkled sheets. You weakly thrash against his hold, his arms tighten around you. Burrowing itself in the crevice where neck kisses shoulder, Aegon’s face seeks the refuge of darkness and burrows itself in the smell of skin, your skin.

“Ew, Aegon!” A cry from above, his warm tongue slivering out the cavern of his mouth and dragging itself along a patch of sweat stained skin. Salty, sweet, musky. Everything he likes, everything you. “Let me go, I’m all- You’re making me sweat all over my sheets!”

“Well, that’s no fun,” the pout practically drips off his voice, giving away his expression as if you can’t already feel it pressed right up against your neck. Mind of their own, his hips grind against the leg trapped between his, the swell of his waking cock slowly making itself known. “I’d rather make you sweat, without the s.”

“Weat,” the cooling damp of your skin soothes his burning headache, the perfect remedy to last night’s cocktail of bad choices. Undulating hips, setting an unsteady rhythm that nurtures the hardness between his thighs, feeds its growing hunger slowly. Too slowly. Too long since Aegon last felt you, since Aegon last felt anything. “You’re saying you want to make me weat.”

“Wet. Sweat without the s,” seizing the opportunity, he takes it upon himself to grab a hold of control, flipping you onto your back with a lack of elegance that can only be justified by his hungover state. With your earlier protests still echoing in his mind, you seem to have no issue spreading your legs and making a space for him between them, inviting the Targaryen boy to drape himself over you, face in neck, crotch against crotch, sweaty skin against sweaty skin. “Phonetically.”

“Wow, that’s a big word for you, Aegon!” Despite your grinning mouth and facetious words, deft fingers slip into the crack between your bodies and work at the buckle of his belt, worn leather leaving speckles of itself on your fingertips. “Did Aemond teach you it?”

“Ha, ha.” His hands pinch at your side, an unseen eye-roll at the mention of his younger brother. Perfect Aemond, always finding a way to make things about himself, even when he’s not in the room. The cut feels a little deeper when you’re involved, the only thing of Aemond’s that Aegon has ever dared try take for himself, a sick prize in the depths of his perverted mind. “Who needs big words when you have a big coc-”

The doorbell rings and interrupts him.

Both of you freeze, hands burrowed in hair and fingers tracing over flesh. Aegon’s quick to recover, dragging his attention back to the shape you make up beneath him, a sight that brings him physical ache. He lets his gaze wander over the length of your torso, over the slopes and curves and dips of your body, and hooks his thumbs under either side of your nylon shorts.

“Ignore it,” he says, relishing in how easily the tenseness in you melts away as your eyes find his again, stiff muscles melting as easily as candle wax.

Layers of clothing shed away, his liquor-stained shirt now a pile of cotton by the door, your shorts tossed blindly over his shoulder. He sinks back down, your own limbs following suit, folding beneath his on-coming body. Mouths find one another, like a moth finds a flame, and refuse to part.

Aegon’s missed you. He won’t say it, but he feels it. In every brush of his tongue against your own, and every spine-tingling touch your hands drag over his naked back, and every breath he pulls in stained with the smell of your shampoo. It’s too overwhelming to think of, and so he forces himself to focus on a far more pressing matter: his fingers dipping beneath the waistline of your panties.

As thumb meets navel, a phone screen lights up on the bedside table.

He tries, so desperately, to chase your mouth as your head flees, and one less hand, five less fingers touch his skin, reaching out to grasp your buzzing phone, the name on the screen rousing contempt within him.

“Don’t answer,” he’s pleading, even as he watches your thumb swipe up on the green. “Please, don’t.”

Your eyes refuse to meet his own, you put the phone to your ear.

“Aemond,” a sucker punch to the gut, a name that reminds him of the pounding in his head. Aegon recoils from you, resting back on his haunches, the pathway to your thighs a trail laid out before him. “Hi, sorry.”

He wants to admit defeat. Crawl off your bed, scoop up his shirt, lace up his boots — wherever they are. Spare not even a fleeting glance as he takes his leave, let you stay focused on the brother that clearly owns more of your attention than him. And the worst thing is, Aegon cannot pretend this feeling is rational.

Aemond is your friend, your best friend. The one you call when you need saving, the one who pulls the weight of your textbooks out of your arms and into his own, the one who wins a smile out of you like it’s as easy as breathing air. Whereas Aegon can’t even claim he’s losing the race to his little brother, because he’s not even on the same track.

Unfortunately, defeat just isn’t in his nature.

“Oh. Yeah, I’m,” his hand on your knee, you don’t even flinch. Still won’t even look at him. The hand smooths up your thigh, a light squeeze of flesh as it reaches halfway. “Not in. Aemond, I’m out shopping.”

He snorts back a laugh and, finally, your eyes are on him. Wide, panicked, and pleading for silence.

Aegon ignores it.

Fingers dance up the expanse of your thigh, a pleasant hum rumbling out his chest at the warmth of your skin. He can hear his brother on the other end of the line, unintelligible words blending with the familiar sound of his voice. He can almost picture Aemond, a wrinkle free shirt and tailored trousers, looking up at your building from the entrance, phone pressed to his ear and frown creasing his forehead. The image stays fresh in his mind as his fingers smooth over the soft skin that melts your thighs into the curve of your hips, and sneak their way under the elastic band of your panties.

He pulls at it and releases, watches the way it snaps back down onto your skin. A foot weakly kicks at his side, that stare of yours growing deadlier.

“Are you okay? What happened?” God, the way you want to comfort Aemond, it makes him sick. Or maybe that’s just his hangover. Yeah, that makes more sense.

All is forgotten, for a moment, as he traces over the slope of your mound, finger flexing to press against your clit, hidden out of sight beneath damp cotton. You try to play it cool, like his touch doesn’t faze you, but Aegon’s too quick to notice the hitch in your breath, the way you seem to take a moment too long to reply to his brother.

“Can’t you try to speak with your professor about it, Aim?”

The nickname you speak has Aegon laughing again, a facetious chuckle he presses into your knee, spine curved as he bends down to kiss it. Another kick, this one hits his ribs. Like a saddled horse, it spurs him on, tells him to move faster, touch you more.

It’s hard to pick which sight gets him harder: the peeling back of your panties to reveal the mouthwatering view of your cunt, shining with slick and inviting him to dive right in, or the way your faux composure crumbles, for an instance, back arching reflexively and teeth pressing down against the pillow of your bottom lip, your eyes glued right on his.

“That’s bullshit,” you seem to remember Aemond’s still there, ranting along his own woes in your ear. Again, Aegon wonders if he’s outside. “You’re literally the top student in your year. Hell, you’re probably one of the top students on our whole campus.”

Aegon can’t even disagree. Resident brainiac, the younger Targaryen has always been the overachieving student, winning every useless award and wearing every golden medal. And maybe, were you not two feet below him, dripping wet in nothing but a sports bra, he’d be interested in hearing where this conversation goes, find out what exactly his do-no-wrong brother has fucked up enough not even his flawless grades can save him. His finger is dipping into you before he can even let the thought repeat itself.

“My poor girl,” he mutters aloud, eyes glued on the pretty sight between your legs, hypnotised with how the digit disappears into your pussy, all the way in till knuckles kiss the pillowy soft lips. “So tight. Has mummy not been taking proper care of you, hm? Not letting someone stretch you out, fuck you real good like you deserve?”

“Would you shut up?” You hiss from the pillows, interrupting his reunion with his best friend. He curls his finger up, gently, pressing into the spongy wall of your cunt, just to delight in how easily the animosity flees your eyes as they roll back. Only to shoot wide open again, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. “Sorry, that wasn’t aimed at you! There’s- There was just some creep harassing me about the queue. Yes, I’m okay. No, you don’t have to come get me.”

“This is a private conversation,” Aegon’s free hand pinches the skin of your thigh, that devilish grin of his unwithering as he watches the subtle grind your hips give, fucking his finger deeper into the heat of your cunt. Even in anger, you want him. “Think I need to give her a present, something to keep her nice and stuffed,” he draws the word out, slipping a second finger into you.

You squirm away, for a moment, but his hand chases after you and you’re giving right in, at his mercy, one hand clutching the sheets, the other keeping the phone pressed tight against your ear. Two pumps of his fore and middle finger, until he lets them drift apart, a gentle stretch to your clenching walls.

“Or is my baby more of a Rose toy kind of girl, huh?” Whether on purpose or on instinct, words fall louder each time he opens his mouth. The very same mouth that’s leaning down to meet you in a gasp-worthy kiss, lips pressing sweetly against the throb of your clit, tongue coming out to play in a flurry of three kitten licks, all the while he works his wrist into a dull ache, each thrust forcing his fingers deeper than the last. “Something to soothe this little clit and something to fuck this tight pussy, is that what she needs?”

The hand on the mattress finds his hair, a harsh tug that has him parting with a few strands. He doesn’t care. In fact, he hopes the near-white locks get lost in your sheets if only to be found by a curious Aemond next time he can’t be bothered masking his way home and crashes at your place. What he wouldn't give to see the look on his brother’s face, holding up the hair to see it’s not even half the length of his well-groomed, pin-straight hair.

You’re talking again, doing your best to keep your voice neutral and your breathing even, hand still tangled in Aegon. He half expects you to pull again, kick him again. Tell him to focus on getting off of you, instead of getting you off. But you don’t do that. No, actually, you’re pulling him closer, keeping his mouth pressed to your soft skin, making sure his tongue continues to dance along the nerve-buzzing runway of your cunt, lapping up the taste of you till he’s sure it’s going to seep into his DNA, alter his genetic make-up so you’ll always be a part of him, even when you’re apart from him.

The throb between his own legs is growing, pulsing your name in morse code. As much as he wants the sweet release of flipping you over, arching your back, and feeling your walls clench around the girth of his cock, he’s too attached to the taste of your skin, head burrowing itself deeper, nose smushed against your clit as the tip of his tongue knocks at your slit, soaked fingers spreading your lips open. His own desire will need to find a different method of salvation.

A free hand, switching between gripping at your waist and squeezing the meat of your thigh. It departs from your body with a muted hesitation, a momentary pause before it shrugs away his empty belt buckle and fishes out the lever to his zipper. A swift tug, his pants loosening their snug fit around his hips, leaving his fingers with the freedom to dip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and grasp at his aching cock.

“Mhmm,” you almost moan, disguising it as an agreement to whatever his brother is saying to you now. In turn, Aegon lets himself give into it, moaning loud enough for the two of you, letting the sound vibrate into your soaked cunt. “Sorry, repeat that, I- I can’t hear you.”

Shameless as he’s always been, he lets his cock spring free from the confines of the nylon material, standing to attention and slapping against his lower stomach, the tip already dribbling with pre-cum.

“See how much I’ve missed her, baby?” This time, he’s talking to you, lips in a wicked grin, shining with your own wetness. Brushing dry fingers over the mess he’s made between your thighs, a mix of spit and arousal, he relishes in watching how easily you get his fingers soaked. One curl of three fingers, pressing teasingly at that spot he knows too well, then he’s pulling away, extending his hand out towards you. “Spit. Now.”

Your eyes watch his, wide and impatient. The cool air must be soothing, he thinks, brushing against your now abandoned pussy, yet he doubts you find any solace in it. You’ve always been the kind who wants to melt, not freeze.

Phone angled away from you, Aemond’s voice still pouring out its speaker, you lean forward and let it drip: a string of spit.

Basking in the proper attention you’re finally giving him, Aegon wraps the newly soaked hand around his cock, letting the head of it slap back against his torso before he really puts the mixture of your fluids to use. Tight fisted, lips parted, he finds himself leaning back on his haunches, free hand splayed out behind him and holding the weight of himself as he puts on a show for you, stroking his cock. The bed beneath you both creaks as he lets himself fuck up slowly into his hand, a cacophony of pretty moans and desperate whines filling the space between you. Can Aemond hear? God, he hopes so.

The sight of your own hand snaking its way down between your legs is enough to remind him of his mission, the whole reason he’s not given into his want, his need to bury his cock inside you.

You barely brush over your clit before he’s slapping your hand away with a tut, a non-verbal protest as his lips reunite with your cunt, the hand between his own legs beginning a new pace, stroking over his hardness in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue and the speed of his fingers pumping into you.

Hang up, he wants to demand, but he’s got a mouthful of you and he intends to savour it until the end.

“Aemond,” your teeth bite down on your lip in sync with how his own drag over your clit, a silent warning against saying his brother’s name again. Next time, I’ll bite harder, he’s promising, only partially wishing you’ll tempt fate. “Shit, sorry, I have to go, I’m- yeah, next in line.”

Not even a goodbye.

Your thumb presses messily at the red button, the caller ID fading off your screen as the phone fades away into obscurity, left to get lost in the sheets as you give him what he’s been missing all alone, the sweet melody of moan, after moan, after moan falling from your lips, fingers pulling once more at the tresses of his hair.

“Hmm, d’ya think he can hear us, baby?” A nano-second, lips parted from your skin, his eyes flickering to the open window. “Think he’s out there waiting on your doorstep like a loyal hound, while you’re letting me get a taste of heaven?”

You’re close. He can see it, feel it, taste it, each stroke of his tongue greeted with a fresh wave of your sweetness. Both of you are a mess of unintelligible noises, hips rising off the mattress, and thrusting into open palms, sullying yourselves in the paint of pleasure.

He calls your name softly, whiplash against the intense feeling swelling within you.

“Let me see it,” he’s begging, no shame. Glassy eyed, hungover, pussy drunk, wishing you’d give him the one thing he’s been missing all these weeks without you. “Cum. Go on. Cum for me. Please.”

The chord of tension snaps and at last you’re an uncontrollable mess beneath him. Eyes rolling back, back arching up, thighs shaking with a force of nature, the prettiest cries of his name. He’s there with you, the whole time, tongue, and mouth, and hand coaxing you through the maze of lust that consumes you in your orgasm, guiding you safely to the end.

You don’t calm with ease, still trembling as he places one last chaste kiss against you before he lets his face rest on the warmth of your thigh, smearing the stains you’ve left upon him onto your own skin as he continues bucking into his hand, each thrust more desperate, erratic, pathetic than the last, chasing the fast-approaching end.

Until your hand tugs at his hair and he’s frozen beneath your gaze, mouth hanging open, chest heaving in shallow breaths, hips stuttering as he fails to fully control his urges, the tip of his cock blushing red with angry desire, desperate for release. He’s awaiting your dismissal of his own touch, waiting for you to replace it with yours, remind him of just how well you know his body. Your hand does meet his skin, but not how he expects.

You slap him.

A sting in his cheek in the wake of it, and a rush of blood to his groin, eyes rolling back for a split second. “Hmm, next time hit me harder. Promise I won’t break.”

“How could you do that?” You heave out, no doubt intending your voice to hold more power, but it’s weak, and breathy, and turning him on even more. “Aemond was- He could’ve- Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you tried. Haven’t answered my texts in weeks,” he’s aware he sounds desperate. Because he is. Or is that just his hangover again? “Would think you’d died or something, if I didn’t have to hear your name come out of Aemond’s mouth everyday.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s the one in the wrong.”

A blanket of silence engulfs you both, heavy and uncomfortable over your sweaty bodies. His hand still sits tight around the base of his cock, begging for attention, but he can’t bring himself to move.

Not until he knows you’re okay.

“I’m sorry,” the shape of it is foreign on his tongue, scarcely said and never with a speck of honesty. “I shouldn’t have put you in that situation. I just- I guess I just thought if you remembered how I could treat you… thought if I could just make you feel good, you’d-” He cuts himself off, words hardly making sense in his own head.

You heave a sigh, smooth your hand down the side of his face that still stings. “You don’t just make me feel good. You make me feel better than anyone else, and that’s the problem. First man to touch me, and now all the others can’t compare.”

Aegon is a fiend for praise, so used to words of disappointment and looks of disgust. But then one day, he dove between a woman’s thighs and heard her calls of pleasure, listened as she praised his efforts, revered his good job, delighted in his skills upon the mattress. It’s no wonder he began to find solace in the pleasures of the flesh, the first and only thing he’s done right in his life.

“You let others touch you?” A silly thing to get hung up on, yet he can’t let it slip away. The hand around his cock skates forward, stroking slowly before smoothing over the sensitive tip with the palm of his hand.

You nod your head.

“Sometimes. Guys can get touchy at frat parties, but I’m sure you know all about that.” He doesn’t bother to negate it, he knows you know him too well. No doubt Aemond shared every anecdote of Aegon during his short-lived frat days. A hiss slips past his lips as he continues the slow caress of his aching length. You clear your throat. “Stop denying yourself. Just cum, it’s okay.”

Sometimes, he can follow orders.

Especially one like this, that leaves him reaching once more for the sweet relief of release, wave after wave of it rolling down his spine as his hand works himself to completion.

“Can I,” he stutters over a moan, cutting himself off and getting swept away in the rapid currents of reignited lust, each touch more frantic than the last.

You finish the thought for him. “Cum on me, Aegon.”

White, thick, hot. Rope after rope of his spoils spill down onto your naked skin, a painting so beautiful he almost wants to picture it and sell it on as modern art. It’s better than anything Aemond’s ever made with his easel and brush.

Time melts away into nothing, fading to obscurity as he floats on cloud nine, body weightless, mind rested. Tingles down his spine, up his thighs, on his face where you still touch him, thumb smoothing over his cheek.

A giggle pulls his mind back into his body.

“I told you this wouldn’t happen again, and now look at me!” Your tone is softer than earlier, even if your voice has regained its usual energy. “God, I just might be the biggest idiot.”

“Don’t say that. You’re smart,” you shoot a sceptical look his way, wanting to negate him, but he doubles down. “You are. Don’t forget I know your best friend, I hear all the shit you’re achieving on that campus. You’ve got me beat, at least. Couldn’t even make it past my first year before I dropped out.”

“I look like I belong at some conceptualist’s art exposition on tribute pictures.”

“I could give you a real tribute picture,” his eyes are glued to yours, even as he swipes a finger over his cum upon your lower belly and brings it up to his mouth, teasing his tongue with the salty taste. “Just need my phone camera, a nice big cheesy grin from you, and a printer.”

“Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I will.”

Throwing a leg off the bed, he tests his stability, hand reaching down to tuck his limp dick back into his trousers and zip the fly up halfway. Despite the dizziness that threatens to cloud his mind, he manages to get his second foot on the ground.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, sweaty,” he calls over his shoulder, making his way over to the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” He could almost coo at you, wide-eyed gaze, legs tangled in floral sheets. You’ve sat up, and don’t seem to care about the way his cum drips down you onto the bed. All you care about is him, even if it's just for a moment, and Aegon has to physically stop himself from stumbling back over and engulfing you with his body once more.

Instead, he leaves you with a shrug and a simple explanation, “you fed me, now let me feed you.”

By the time he’s got eggs cooking on the stove and bread warming in the toaster, the sound of running water fills your apartment. A familiar buzz rings out, leading Aegon over to where his phone lays, buried in the cracks between your couch cushions. The screen lights up.

One missed call - Mother.

Unlocking at the sight of his face, he swipes up on the screen. It opens onto a chat log. Your chat log. His stomach drops as he scans over the messages, dreading what inebriated-Aegon had gone and texted.

Needyou - 04:47 am

Plase - 04:49 am

Thinik Imgonna K Hole in nnnnn bathroOm - 04:52 am

All three messages are in blue.

Beneath them, your reply lives in a muted grey bubble, yet it somehow has his eyes watering. Maybe he just needs to turn the screen brightness down.

Send me your address. I’ll be there ASAP - 04:53 am.

The pop of the toaster scares him out his own skin. He turns his head only to curse under his breath. Flames engulf the small frying pan, the food within charred black. He gives a gentle call of your name.

“I hope you like your eggs well-done.”

+extra hyde.

so, how are we feeling? do we want more of these two weirdos ( affectionate )?

i stopped doing taglists a while back bc i lowkey always forget about them but @481theralicat dmed me a while ago asking to be tagged if i ever wrote a second part to drummer!aegon and that message was partially what gave me the motivation to finish part 2, so i feel like the least i can do it tag them. i hope you enjoyed it & the wait was worth it <3

#aegon targaryen smut #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen fanfic #modern aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen oneshot #aegon targaryen fic #house of the dragon smut

233 notes · View notes

fairszy · 8 months

Text

cross dressing x genshin + hsr ! ♡

how our darling boys would react to you cross dressing ! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

contains : afab!ftm reader !! MALE terms and pronoun usage !! this one is for all my fellow roseboys ~

featuring : diluc , childe , xiao , gepard , blade , + dr.ratio ! ♡

001 — DILUC

he’s in pure and utter shock at first. he wasn’t expecting to find you in his office at the winery, cutely bent over his desk in such a revealing little maid outfit. while you pretended to fake clean something — he watched you closely.

eventually one of diluc’s hands pressed right against the small of your back, letting out a small grumble as he pushes his hips into your ass. evidence of your little idea working wonders poking into the soft flesh between both your ass cheeks. he’s still silent though — hasn’t spoken yet. turning around you find him flushed bright red, matching his hair beautifully.

“you look so handsome my little firefly . . however — i don’t think i can hold back.”

002 — CHILDE

it was his idea. he proposed such an outfit from you. being the cheeky bastard he is, its no surprise that he begs you to wear a skirt in public so he can mess around with you.

that's exactly how you ended up in the middle of a mall with his hand gently grazing your thighs every now and again. he stands behind you, one hand finding your waist and the other sliding its way up your thigh.

“imagine if all these people knew what you were really up too . . now let’s find a bathroom yeah?”

003 — XIAO

he wasn’t even aware of your plans to do this. xiao was already shy and timid as it was when you dressed in nothing but baggy shirts and tiny shorts, a mini skirt? this was a whole new ball park.

he’s cooking a dish in the kitchen when you spring on him, arms around his waist and gently tickling his neck with your hair until he finally spins to see what attire you have on and his eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

“wow . . you — . . . wow. you are . . so handsome — uh . . dinner? oh it . . can wait i guess.”

004 — GEPARD

a secret fetish of his. one he’d never ever admit. behind his stone wall expressions and his intense work ethic was a man who truly yearned for the kinky and deranged things you came up with.

him being a total virgin you always took the lead. it was you who was currently sat on his lap in a light blue babydoll, grinding your hips down onto his rapidly growing bulge while he tried to keep his moans in his throat. how could he when his beautiful boy looked this amazing?

“y-you . . really don’t have to — aeons, please . . stop teasing !”

005 — BLADE

blade is . . well — he’s different. blade doesn’t give you a change to parade around the new dress you acquired. before you even get to the door he’s on you like a leech, hands slipping under the dress you wore (deliberately might i add) and groping at your hips.

you can quite literally feel how hard he is against your ass, grunts of annoyance seep from him as he attacks your neck in a feverish attempt of claiming you as his.

“such a pretty little doll . . how could you ever go out like this when every inch of your skin is fucking mine?”

006 — DR.RATIO

at first he has no reaction when you come into the room with a new outfit, he doesn’t even seem to look in your direction until he almost can’t resist. he sneaks a look when you’re distracted speaking to someone else, his eyes trailing your entire complexion.

without a word he’s suddenly out of his chair and placing a hand on the small of your back, a silent code you two had developed for needing eachothers attention. that’s how you end up in the bathroom with him, sat in his lap while he rubs his knee inbetween your easily accessible thighs.

“of course you had to be a whore and distract me from my work. tsch, someone ought to teach you a lesson little boy. might as well be the smartest man in the room.”

261 notes · View notes

leqonsluv3r · 8 months

Note

Hey how's it going? I was wondering if you would do an imagine of re4r Leon x Wesker reader, where she is Wesker's daughter

heartbeat

re4!leon kennedy x weskers!daughter reader

— a oneshot (request)

warnings: MDNI, 18+, enemies to lovers basic troupe (bc i can and im a slut for it), some foul language, mentions of readers raging daddy issues (thanks wesker), age difference by like a few years (reader is 21 and leon is 27), reader is female and uses (she/her) pronouns, smut (obviously), unprotected sex (for the love of god please wrap it), praise (and some small degradation), hair pulling, he slaps her once, spanking, slightly soft!dom leon, bratty and stubborn asf reader and whatever foul things i’m forgetting

“he sees her in a way that makes her bones ache, like the oncoming of a storm or a tornado before it wipes people out. she sees it, whenever she’s unfortunate enough to run into him. she sees the way he looks down at her (and not just for her age, or her height) but for who her dad is. albert wesker. did she ever want to be born? carry that title at the agency? fuck no, she never did. but leon, looking down at her like scum off of his shoe…only made her burn more. in a way that was dangerous, yet thrilling.”

— or leon finally has enough of weskers daughters shit and decides to put her in her place

an: this request is hopefully what you asked for anon? and if not, so sorry in advance lol. i just took your idea and ran with it. also, it’s super long, i got carried away. also making up for how long i haven’t posted. pls enjoy <3

hate it’s a very strong word. it’s the only word she’s ever used to describe dislikes and things she’d rather not talk about.

she hates leon, even though she’s not supposed to. she’s supposed to like him, be buddy buddy with him but she can’t bring herself to be. not when he looks at her like she killed his family.

she didn’t, just for some context.

she’s tried to reconcile with the feeling of him glaring daggers at her every five seconds whenever they’re in the same room. or the way he looks when someone else mentions your name. it’s almost like a fun drinking game.

see how many times leon can glare at you in one social gathering before your hammered. she would play it if she drank, just to ease some of the tension of the heated looks that coated his blue eyes.

and what did she ever do to him anyways? absolutely nothing. she just existed and apparently, just like her father, that was enough to make her scum on the bottom of the hypothetical shoe.

her father, that was another reason she hated when leon would glare at her. it’s like that’s all he could see, she could see the hatred burn in his irises like the plague. a hatred for her, her father and seemingly all the things that her father had done wrong.

which was a lot, to be fair.

but having to be right next to leon, while your father talked to you both, it was like she was in her worst nightmare and she could pinch herself just so she would wake up.

that was what was happening right now, sitting in the organizations main office, ada standing idle at the door, almost as if she was guarding it from her or leon making a run for it.

she did not want to be here with her enemy and the guy she hates sitting next to her while they wait for her father. leon apparently didn’t want to be here either, if his grumbles and small looks of discomfort were any indicator.

he was literally sitting in his rivals office, sneaking glances at ada every so often, sending small glares in your direction, all while they waited for your father to make his designated appearance.

eventually ada gets uncomfortable with the silence and the looks and leaves, probably to stand outside the room. you thank god, crossing your legs in your chair and scooting it away from leon’s figure in the chair next to her.

it’s like the tension could be cut in this room with a knife, she could see him glaring at her out of the corner of her eye. subtle glares that she could pinpoint not just from her endless training but from the fact of leon’s obvious lack of subtlety.

“can i help you? or would you rather just keep glaring at me like i killed your puppy?” she says with a small sudden look in his direction, catching him head on. he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest, tossing some of his hair out of his eyes, “i don’t have to answer you.” he responds.

“at least you can fucking speak. i thought you only could communicate with grunts and scoffs.” she says with a small sarcastic smile, looking directly at him as if to size him up or something. she knew she could probably take him if it came to that. the thought excited her but also made her heart pick up.

he mutters something to himself and doesn’t say anything, which is typical leon behavior when he’s even in the same vicinity as her. she didn’t know why her father wanted them both here.

and she had no clue why she was literally being forced to sit in a room with someone who avoided her like the plague. she shifts in her seat and looks down at her lap again, drumming her manicured hands against her knee and bouncing her leg as she waited.

the silence was almost as thick as the tension, it could probably swallow them both if they weren’t careful. “can you stop doing that?” she hears him say in a low voice. she rolls her eyes internally, what was his problem now?

“stop doing what?” she says in a small snap, obviously irritated as she whips her head in his direction to look at him. his blue eyes were hard, stone like and it felt like he could freeze her just with a look. she was surprised that she wasn’t.

“tapping your leg. moving it. just stop.” he says as he glances towards her legs crossed over each other in the chair, one bouncing regularly as she just sat there and did absolutely nothing.

seriously? what is his fucking deal? she thinks to herself as she rolls her eyes at him again, ignoring his request as she continues to bounce her foot in her chair. she simply uncrosses them and lets her boot clad feet rest on the floor, still bouncing one leg.

he shoots her daggers, like a look that could slice her skin clean open. she didn’t dare look at him, knowing that she was pushing him, making him more annoyed and irritated. but she didn’t really care, she just wanted her dad to be here so she could get the fuck away from leon and his penetrating look.

he doesn’t say anything, the glares and sighs and scoffs never ending as she kept bouncing her knee as she anxiously waited. eventually, he got fed up and slammed a hand down on her knee that was bouncing.

“enough. i said quit it.” he says in a low voice towards her, leaning over the arm of his chair so that he could make his message quite clear: don’t fuck with him. she swallows and her eyes go a tad wide, she looks down at the knee he’s holding, his hand so large over her knee it makes images appear in her mind that she wants to not have right now.

“okay, jesus. i won’t do it anymore, just let go of me.” she says in irritated tone, moving her knee and her entire chair away from him. he slips his hand away and just presses his lips together, his jaw clenching like a fist. she swallows subtly and just keeps herself away from him.

“good. your finally fucking learning something.” he says in a small smirk finds its way onto his lips, she doesn’t dare look over at him fully. settling for the peripheral view of him in his chair next to hers, sitting behind the desk.

she doesn’t have a chance to ask him what he means before the door opens and albert wesker finally makes his long delayed appearance. and for once, she’s glad her father is actually in the room, the lesser of two evils at the moment.

but it still rings in her mind, what did leon mean? what did any of this mean? and…why did that touch on her knee send her into such a wave of confusion? she’d hope that some questions would be silently answered soon.

turns out that the reason they were both there, was not for some lecture or some lesson. but rather for leon to teach her more about discrepancy during missions. which unfortunately for her meant that she had to train with him.

leon wasn’t thrilled about it either, he looked like he was about ready to punch her dad when he made the suggestion. and he argued, “why me? why not someone from this organization? why the rivals?” whining like a child who got paired with another child he didn’t like.

she would’ve laughed if her father wasn’t staring directly at her, glaring like she would get reprimanded for looking at him funny. but wesker didn’t answer leon’s question, just annoyingly stated that it was because he said, and unfortunately for the both of them thats how they ended up in their current position.

standing in a training room at the DSO, letting him attempt to teach her some moves. which if his instruction wasn’t good, she would be totally lost. at least he had that going for him.

she was offended by her father’s statement, not living up to his fucking beyond perfect standards. like no matter what she did, whatever mission she completed…it was like it meant nothing to him.

like she was just supposed to be just like him, stoic and untouchable. she wasn’t, she was nothing like him and he had to know that or he wouldn’t push her so hard and break her down like this.

knowing her weak spot of hatred for leon kennedy, using him as an excuse so she could get pushed harder and harder until she eventually broke into pieces. knowing how this would all play out, letting leon have his fun with throwing punches and swings her way like he’s probably always wanted too.

this is their third training session, the first two sessions spanned two weeks after the discussion with her father in the organization’s office. during this particular training session leon had been giving her shit, trying to poke at her, hitting all her weak spots that she didn’t even know she had.

“step into it and actually act like you want to hit me.” he says harshly as he looks down at her, his chest rising and falling fast as he pulls her up harshly off the matted floor. she swallows and tries to catch her breath.

“i do want to hit you. just not for training purposes.” she hisses as she lets him pull her up roughly by her arm, landing on her own two feet again, pulling out of his grab on her arm. he sends her a disappointing look, “funny.” he deadpans as he looks at her.

“oh yeah, fucking hysterical.” she moves back away from him, moving hair behind her shoulder as she does, going to the edge of the mat in the training room. he lets out a sarcastic chuckle, “maybe if you fucking hit me like you were supposed too-“

“shut up! shut the fuck up. i will hit you. i will.” she says in a hiss as she comes charging towards him, almost sprinting as she tries to land a punch to his face but he blocks her faster, holding her fist in his large hand. “enough.” he demands, pushing her fist away harshly.

he spoke in that same tone like he did four weeks ago and she felt something in her falter. something weaken, like a dying fire inside of her bones and body. she stopped, for her own good, dropping her hand back by her side.

“you need to stop being so fucking counter intuitive with your movements. i could see that weak punch coming from a mile away.” he explains as firmly as he could, sending a small look of irritation her direction. she catches the look, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

“and how does one do that?” she says with a small look of annoyance and obvious boredom. something happening within her at his firm tone that she couldn’t quite place. it just felt different, she didn’t know how to feel about it.

he takes a step towards her, slow and methodical. he takes her hand that attempted to throw a punch at her, he makes a fist with her smaller hand, forming a punch gesture. “this,” he raises her formed fist by her wrist. her breath faltering a little as he does this.

“you never ever want to form a loose fist, ever. first step,” he says with conviction and firmness, she can’t even pretend to be irritated. not now, not with his hands on her hand and his tone so firm and reprimanding.

“fist tight, curled knuckles but keep them out.” he says as he runs the pads of his fingers over her knuckles, smoothing them out as if they were ripples in the sea. she simply lets him, not having the fight left in her to even move. she simply swallows and nods, as if she could focus on his direction right now.

“second thing,” he holds her wrist up with the curled fist he formed with her fingers, “always aim with purpose. always throw your punch with intention.” he says firmly, looking down deep into her eyes as he did so the message came across.

he chuckles dryly, “not like you did before when you charged at me.” he states, holding her tiny wrist in his large hand. proving his point further by dropping her hand back down at her side. her fist uncurling as a breath is released from her lips.

“now, let’s try another defense, practice the punch and do what i told you. maybe you won’t be entirely unfortunate.” he says with a small crooked smirk, mocking her obviously as he backed up. she didn’t have it in her to poke him back, she didn’t even know what was happening to her.

like she had been reduced to a puddle at his hands, only a simple touch on her hand, a firm tone and a teaching. not even a lecture, just a simple firm instruction. she was confused, but she would continue.

even though her insides felt strange and uncomfortable, like a change that was happening inside of her that she couldn’t even pinpoint and she hated it.

a month into training sessions and she still felt that weird feeling in her body whenever his tone was firm and hard towards her, like a scolding parent.

but now it was different, she felt like she was suddenly awakened. like a part of her was different. she knew it wasn’t just his training. she could tell that much, leon must’ve sensed something.

because now he’s talking to her as they sit down on the bench of the D.S.O training room, her body turned towards him, crossing her legs in her lap. she sips from her water bottle, wiping her sweaty forehead as she feels his presence next to her on the bench.

“does it hurt?” he asks suddenly, making her snap her eyes towards him, her brows furrowed. she’s surprised he wasn’t bickering with her or lecturing her on her performance in his training he’s been giving her.

“does what hurt?” she asks as she swallows the water, looking at him, brushing some sweaty hair out of her eyes from her forehead. her water bottle clenched firmly in her lap, adjusting on the bench.

he sighs and leans forward a little, propping his elbows on his knees. she keeps her eyes trained on him, where they about to have a heart to heart? seriously? she could act shocked, but deep down within her she felt something shift. “your relationship with your father. does it hurt?” he asks in almost a whisper. like it wasn’t supposed to be spoken.

she parts her lips a little, glancing down at her water bottle as she tried to think of an answer. did it hurt? did the relationship with her father, the untouchable albert wesker, hurt?

if it was like asking if a cactus hurt if you touched it, or if fire burned you if you got too close.

she already knew her answer after a few beats of silence, keeping her legs crossed on the bench. she swallows, words that have wanted to be long awaited left her mouth, “yeah, it hurts. but not for the reasons you probably think.” she responds softly.

he glances over his shoulder at her, letting it sink in, letting her response soak into his bones. “what reasons then?” he asks her, moving some of his hair out of his eyes with a small move of his head. he needed to know if his suspicions were correct or not.

or if he had been hating her almost unprovoked by the simple nature of who her dad was.

she takes a glance back up at him, looking at the way his muscles strained against the back of his t-shirt that he had worn to training today. she feels heat pool between her legs and bites her lip, a response to his question on the tip of her tongue.

“he expects perfection, all the time. blood or not blood. and it’s like no matter what i do, no matter how many missions i go on, it’s never enough.” she explains as she tries to focus on the conversation with him, she can’t deny that her gaze on him could burn holes if she looked hard enough.

and the uncomfortable pooling in her underwear did not help this situation one bit.

but still she continues, “being his daughter is a burden when it should feel like a blessing.” she whispers as she blinks her eyes, the truth felt freeing even if it was to leon, an enemy almost turned acquaintance in this past month.

he looks over at her again, leaning up and settling straight against the bench. he looks almost like he’s finally understanding now. getting both sides of the story. like he had been looking at his enemy or his competitor as one, when really it was just her and wesker.

she wasn’t him, he knew that now. he needed to be sure and now he was. he felt guilty like he had hated this girl forever for no purpose entirely, just because her father had a tainted reputation within all agency’s.

“is it really that bad?” he asks softly, again, almost as if he’s afraid to ask it. like it had been so bad hypothetically and it was too much. leon fears he already knows the answer to his question.

his blue eyes look over her sweaty and worn out frame, sitting innocently criss crossed on the bench next to him in the training room. she looked like a hurt little girl who had scraped her knee on the pavement and now leon was the one to tend to her wounds.

not her father.

“my last mission, i went to aruba. i took down an entire fleet of enemies and people without batting an eye. i typed up the report, gave it back to him and instead of saying good job, anything…he told me that my diligence was sloppy and unnecessary.” she says with a small swallow as she looks down at her water bottle in her lap, blinking some water away from her eyes.

tears or sweat? who knew.

her hair followed her, curtaining her face only slightly. as she let out a pained laugh, shaking her head, leon had opened the emotional can of worms without even potentially realizing it. “as if me taking down people, almost an entire colony, meant nothing to him.” she cracks out, taking a small shaky breath.

she looks over at him with a slightly pained expression, moving her hair out of her eyes. he could see it in her eyes when she looked at him. he wishes he could fix what damage wesker had done by simply being her father.

but he knew he couldn’t. he could only stop hating her, and that was easier said than done. but he could try, make her have something or rather someone to latch onto, to reprimand her in a way that didn’t damage her self esteem.

“what if i told you that i don’t want to be at your throat anymore? what would you say to that?” he says with a small press of his lips, looking over her sweaty and exhausted body. his cock hardened in his training gear of the thought of what lie beneath her workout outfit.

god, what would her lips feel like? sucking him off, pretty and perfect as he slid his dick into her mouth. probably look up at him all teary eyed and desperate. hell, she would probably thank him for it.

he was trying to ignore it, his dick twitching in his pants as he saw her think over his words, the gears turning in her brain.

she felt her lips part, a small breath leaving her. was it shock? some undercurrent of happiness? she didn’t know she couldn’t piece it together right now. not when she was trying to ignore her arousal and stay focused on the words coming out of leon’s mouth.

“i’d like that a lot.” she responds with a small smile, one that he hadn’t seen before. one that she hadn’t let grace her face in years it felt like. he knew this wasn’t going to be easy, being so close to her now, not being enemies.

but still, that understanding was there. she didn’t need him hating on her anymore, sending glares that were clearly reserved for her dad, her way. she didn’t deserve that, even if her father seemed like the evil embodiment of everything he hated.

he could see she was nothing like that, he smiles only slightly and nods, “alright. friends? acquaintances?” he says with a small stick out of his hand towards her. she looks down at it, swallowing thickly, his hands painting images in her mind that weren’t exactly appropriate right now.

she nods, still smiling, “friends.” she says softly and reaches out to wrap her hand around his, shaking it. his size so clearly dwarfed hers. her heart swelled a little, her core pulsing.

they were both lying to themselves and so obviously aroused, it was only a matter of time before the tension snapped. and all hell would break loose.

the next week, she walks into the D.S.O training room and she’s nervous, nervous for what? she’s not even sure but she sees him sitting on the bench like he was last week when they agreed to be friends.

he sees her walk in, she notices something different in his gaze this time but she’s not sure what. he looks almost…hungry. like he could just devour her with one look. “hey, sorry i’m late…” she begins to apologize and he stops her with his words.

she drops her workout bag on the bench, “don’t worry about it. but i have something in mind that’s different today.” he says with a small glance over her legging and sports bra clad body.

he already felt half-hard, just looking over her body and her curves. how he could get over the hate, see her as something so attractive and so delicate was beyond his comprehension. all he knew was he had to have her now, he had been thinking about this all week.

she didn’t know what he meant, she did know that he looked at her in a way no one ever had before, something deep and unrecognizable to the untrained eye. “what did you have in mind?” she asks quietly as she looks over into his eyes, her body trying to find out what he had in store for her.

he got up off the bench and stepped towards her, looking down at her with his hungry blue eyes. “you’re attracted to me.” he just states, keeping her eyes pinned on his.

she blinked up at him and nervously laughed, “what are you talking about?” she tried to brush it off as she looks up at him, trying to fool him with a nervous smile. “are you…are you trying to mess with me leon? it’s not funny.” she releases a shaky breath again.

he chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down at her, finding her idea of trying to mask it adorable. he reaches up and tucks some of the loose strands of hair behind her ear. “no, i’m not messing with you. you need my guidance, you need to be taught a lesson. but i’m not doing it unless you want me to.” he says with conviction.

she shivers at his warm touch on her skin, simply innocent but making butterflies and arousal occur to her body. he wouldn’t do it…unless she wanted him too? what could he possibly be talking about? did he mean…?

“are-are you talking about…?” she breathes shakily as she looks up at him, her chest rising and falling fast as she does. “sex?” she whispers and it doesn’t even sound like she’s saying it. the words feel so alien coming out of her mouth.

he nods slowly, tracing his hand that was fixing her hair down to her chin. “if that’s what you want, yes. your attracted to me, i’m attracted to you and we don’t hate each other anymore.” he points these things out as a storm of emotions swirls around in her head.

he’s attracted to me? to me? the person he hated and glared at for as long as she knew him. she almost couldn’t believe it. but she got over it quickly, realizing that he was offering sex…with him to her so freely and openly.

“those are your only…reasons?” she whispers softly as she looks up into his eyes, blinking steadily as she tries to reconcile and decide within her brain what she wants to do.

“i have plenty of reasons. but those are the only ones you need to know right now. don’t believe me?” he says with a small look of intimidation in his eyes, because why would she believe him considering her history even though they were “friends” now.

she slowly shakes her head, he grabs her hand in a firm grasp like he did when he was showing her how to form a fist. he leads it down to the front of his pants, his half hard cock in his jeans resting underneath her hand. she swallows as she maintains contact with his pant clad erection.

“you see now? you understand? hmm?” he leans into her neck and whispers those words hotly against her skin, causing goosebumps to erupt all over; pebbling her skin. arousal finding its way uncomfortably more beneath her leggings.

she nods wordlessly, looking at him as he keeps his head by her neck, he chuckles lowly. “use your words, you know how to talk baby. i know you do.” she can feel his smirk against her skin as he says that.

“yes, i understand.” she says in a soft voice that sounds nothing like her own. she moves her hand from his erection in his pants to his chest, rubbing her hand over his t-shirt, feeling his muscles beneath it.

“good girl. now, i am going to fuck you.” he says in her ear, her hole pulsing at the praise around nothing. she doesn’t even have it in her to care anymore, she’s losing all sense of rational thought at his close proximity.

she hums, feeling his lips ghost over her neck as he dangerously presses a kiss to it her skin, nibbling at it. she finds herself making a small noise that’s trapped in the back of her throat.

she practically melts under his touch, grasping onto his t-shirt. “don’t worry baby. i’ll take care of you. tell me you want it. or should i find out on my own?” he says lowly in almost a predatory growl against her neck. she shivers at his words, only imagining what he could mean by that. “i want it. i want…i want you to fuck me.” she says in a slightly whiny voice.

it’s hard to believe that it’s even her, she feels nothing like herself pressed up against him, his lips nibbling and sucking at her neck, his hands ghosting her waist. she’s not in control anymore like she usually is and it feels nice to hand it over to him, especially like this.

he smirks into her neck again, pulling his lips away from her sweet pale skin. he chuckles lowly, “good. now,” he steps back and looks down at her, looking at her sports bra, “take that off.” she blinks up at him with dreary eyes, she follows his orders though.

not having it in her to say no at this point. she pulls the zipper that’s down the front of it, the material underneath a little sheer. he can see the outline of her hardened nipples barely underneath. she continues to take it off, unclipping it from the front and letting her breasts spill out of it.

goosebumps all along her bare upper half as she feels his lustful glare penetrating her chest. eyeing her breasts with hunger. she lets the useless sports bra slip onto the floor. the cold air kissing her skin.

he reaches out and massages her breasts, “mmm, imagined how they looked. gotta say, i’m not disappointed.” he says with a smirk, he guides her over to the bench, nudging her to lay down, her head resting on the bare wood as he straddles the bench. he grabs her legs lifting them up over his shoulders, each ankle resting on his shoulders.

“mmm,” he leans down and presses his mouth to her chest, taking each nipple into his mouth while massaging the other, tweaking the nipples in his hands. she writhes underneath him, making small noises, her thighs pressed up to her stomach as he leans over her and devours her chest.

she lets it slip once, only once and once it does she regrets it. everything just feels so good and his mouth working on her chest is enough for it to slip out in ecstasy. “daddy…” she moans softly.

her body freezes up a little, waiting for him to recoil, to push her away and make her put her sports bra back on. but instead he looks up from her chest, releasing one of her breasts with a small pop. his gaze even hungrier if that was even possible.

“you gonna let daddy fuck your pussy?” he says in a low rasp as he grasps at her chest again, massaging her breasts again that he had devoured. she doesn’t act shocked that he agreed to the name, she just nods mindlessly.

“good girl.” he says with a small chuckle, leaning back. he lets his hands slide down from her breasts to the hem of her leggings, pulling them down with fervor. he scoots back and pulls them off of her legs, throwing them on the floor by her discarded sports bra of the training room floor.

he gets up from the bench, popping the button on his pants and pulling them down his legs, kicking them off with his shoes, removing hers as well. she looks at his large erection that’s straining in his boxers, a small spot of precum on the top where the tip must be.

she swallows a small noise as she lays her head back down on the bench, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. he looks down at her body, “no underwear? did you know this would happen? or are you just being a naughty little girl?” he says with a mocking tone as he catches her trying to press her thighs together where she lays on the bench.

she looks up at him from where she lays against the bench, she shakes her head. “i’m not naughty. my underwear…they just get ruined too easily, daddy.” he tilts his head with a small smirk, “is that so? are you lying princess?” he says as he straddles the bench again, pulling her by her ankles close to his boxer clad erection.

she shakes her head feverishly as if she could lie to him, he leans over her, lightly smacking her cheek, “your just desperate for my dick baby? is that it? even being near me and your soaking.” he says with a small mocking laugh as she just gazes bleary eyed back at him.

the light tingle of his small smack against her cheek makes her body light up like an electric shock, her hole clenching around nothing. the degrading going deep to her core, everything that he’s saying is just making her painfully more aroused.

her core is practically aching for him at this point. she nods up at him, “yes, daddy.” she says with a small whimper, he smirks and shakes his head, looking down at her glistening pussy.

“mmm, yeah, pretty tits and a pretty pussy. your just a beautiful sight baby.” he says with a small hum. she feels herself whimper softly and become wetter at just his words of praising her body. “your practically leaking on the bench, but don’t worry. i won’t leave you waiting for long.” he says with a small smack to her pussy, making her back arch and release a strangled noise.

“dirty girl.” he says with malice, he gets up again, walking over to the training room door, locking it and making sure no one could even look in here. he then takes his shirt off and walks towards her again, “on all fours baby, do it for daddy.” he says with a small gesture of his hands.

she bites her lips and shakily gets up off of the bench and gets on all fours, he grabs her duffle and puts his t-shirt on it, moving so she can rest her head on it for stability. he crawls behind her on the bench, rubbing the flesh of her ass with his large hands.

“such a pretty ass too, baby. hmmm,” he says in fascination as he lightly skims his fingers over her asshole, making her keel forward a little into his bunched up shirt on her duffle bag. he grabs her hip with one hand, keeping her in place. “nuh-uh, no moving from daddy.” he says with a small groan. he lightly smacks her ass, making her moan softly into the fabric of his t-shirt.

he feels a grin slide onto his face, “you like that? of course you do. your a naughty little girl.” he says and adds another smack to her other cheek. she releases another muffled moan into his t-shirt again.

he chuckles slowly, licking his lips. he leans back and pulls his boxers down, releasing his cock. he sighs in relief, finally able to breathe a little bit. “i’ll give my baby what she wants, even if she’s a naughty little slut.” he says with another smack to her ass, she keels forward again, her stomach arching into the bench.

her hole kept pulsing around nothing again as he said that, going straight to her core. her body still practically aching at this point for his cock. he chuckles and grips his cock in one hand, moving it through her slick folds. he keeps one hand still placed firmly on her hip.

she whimpers into his t-shirt as she feels the head of his cock touch her clit, teasing her. “please, daddy.” her whimpers muffled into the fabric.

he smacks her ass lightly again with his free hand, “shush, princess. you’ll get daddy’s cock in a second. i just need to make sure your ready.” he says with a small chortle again, he rubs his hand soothingly over her lightly red ass cheeks.

he takes his time coating his cock in her arousal, making her squirm and make tiny noises each time he does. “mmm, i think your ready for daddy’s cock baby.” he says with a small smirk, rubbing her ass cheeks, with his firm hands, sliding one hand down to brush the tip of his cock against her wet entrance.

she moaned softly, “yes, daddy.” she managed to get out as he nudged his tip in her entrance. she let out a strangled noise as he stuck the tip in, her fists gripping at the bench.

“just the tip baby and your sucking me in.” he groans as he nudged his cock further into her pussy, stretching her out more. “daddy…” she moaned weakly as she felt some drool slide out of her mouth and onto his t-shirt that her cheek was smushed against.

“i know, i know…just a little more baby. you can take it.” he says with a strangled noise, gritting his teeth as he slides more into her pussy, his length all the way inside of her at this point to the hilt.

“uhh, d-daddy…” she feels her body go slack a little at the fullness of his cock inside of her from behind. she finds it hard to focus on anything else right now, the feeling of his cock inside of her was so delicious and distracting.

“keep moaning for your daddy, wanna hear you princess.” he says with a small groan as he feels her pussy flutter around his cock, he reaches down and grabs at her hair, a fistful of it in his hands as he starts rocking his hips slowly against her, his hips slapping against her ass as he does.

she feels her eyes roll back and flutter shut a little, practically drooling as he yanks her hair up and causing her head to look straight ahead. she moans softly again, adjusting to his length. his hips move a little faster as he keeps her hair in a tight fist.

“so fucking tight, jesus.” he grunts as he keeps moving in and out of her. she moans daddy again at each thrust of his hips. she feels so fucking full and it almost feels like her skin is on fire in the best way possible.

he keeps fucking her, his hips moving faster as he keeps one hand on her hip to guide her hips back in as he thrusts, his other hand tugging at her hair as she moans and whines. “fuck…daddy…mmm, i’m close…” she manages to get out as he keeps thrusting into her, hitting that spot inside of her that made her vision go blurry.

he keeps making small grunts and noises of pleasure, “let go baby, i’ve got you. cum all over daddy’s cock.” she keeps releasing noises at every slap of his hips against her ass. she has his permission and she cums on his cock with a few more thrusts and hitting her sweet spot inside of her.

seeing stars dance in her vision, her body dropping back to his t-shirt, her thighs shaking as she releases and clenches around his cock. he releases her hair, the other hand holding onto her hips, a low groan escaping him as he feels her cum all over his cock.

the feeling of her squeezing around him is addicting and he knows he won’t last much longer. he fucks her through it and chases his own orgasm.

she bites her lips as small tears leak out of her eyes at the overstimulation that he gives her from his cock still moving in and out of her. “shh, it’s okay…baby, i’m close…gonna cum inside your pussy…” he manages to get out in between strangled noises, his hair dampening with sweat slightly.

she cries in a small whine of pleasure as he finally releases inside of her with just a few more thrusts, her pussy milking his cum so he doesn’t spill a drop out of her. she feels her body go slack as she comes down from it all, her chest rising and falling against the bench where she stays bent over.

he rubs a small reassuring hand over the curve of her ass, “you okay? i didn’t hurt you did i?” he says with a small hint of clarity as he slightly pulls out of her. she shakes her head into the fabric of his balled up t-shirt.

“here, here.” he grabs his boxers, climbing off of the bench and pulling them over his legs, he sits down on the bench. “put on the t-shirt, then cmere.” he says in a gentle but firm tone. she shakily moves her limbs and grabs his t-shirt from where it was crumpled up on top of her duffle.

he grabs his sweat rag from his own gym bag, patting his thighs for her to sit on. she adjusts his shirt over her body and moves to sit in his lap, burying her head into his neck and holding onto his bare chest with weak fists. he cleans up the inside of her thighs, over her sensitive folds.

she shivers and tries to move away from it, “shh, it’s okay. it’s okay. i’m just cleaning you up.” he whispers into her hair, pressing a gentle kiss there. she nods slowly, her eyes fluttering shut and relaxing into his lap, he pulls the rag away and puts it in his duffle next to him on the bench.

“was that good?” he says into her hair, looking down at her face with a small crane of his neck. “yeah, it was good.” she smiles softly as she tilts her head up and opens her eyes lazily. he smiles and rubs a hand over her back in a soothing gesture, feeling his heart bloom into a cathartic way he hasn’t felt in years.

“how about i take you out for dinner sometime? hmm? properly treat you.” he says with small squeeze of her hip, she smiles up at him, nodding. “i’d love that.” she says with a small sigh of content.

she held him as he held her in the aftermath of their love making and deep down they both knew that this was the beginning of something new for the both of them. something real, something exciting and full of love.

they couldn’t wait for what the future held in store for them.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

taglist: @heartsforvin

(go to this post to join the taglist, pls reblog and follow for more, my asks are open in my bio. i love you all <3)

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon kennedy smut #re2 leon #re2 remake #re4 remake #leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy drabble #re6 leon x reader #resident evil #re4 leon x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader

282 notes · View notes

treysimp · 2 years

Text

Sleepy? (TWST X OBEY ME)

GN!Reader/Leona Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland) | VERSUS | GN!Reader/Belphegor (Shall We Date? Obey Me!)

Rating: T (Language)

Tags: Crossover, petty jealousy, love at first sight, Leona can never spit it out because he’s a tsundere, GN!Reader, reader’s body is not described nor are pronouns used, this is mostly silly and I just wanted to see the boys being bratty haha

Words: 1.5k

Want more TWST? Here’s my masterlist!

This fucking guy.

Leona was irritated. Of course he was. How could he not be?

This guy, this dumbass, sleepy, blue-haired asshole, was getting his demon smell all over the herbivore.

That job is already taken, buddy.

How did his day even end up like this?

He knew he should have said something the second this guy sauntered his way into his business, but he just assumed that a demon wouldn’t care about something as trivial as a human.

That was a mistake. Clearly.

Earlier that afternoon, Belphie was trying to reconcile the pain of the less-than-literal hell of his time on the Night Raven exchange trip with his enjoyment of visiting somewhere new.

As excited as he was to get the chance to explore, he also had barely gotten any sleep. He felt like he might pass out at any moment, and while taking a nap was easy, finding somewhere comfortable is not.

Wandering aimlessly on campus looking for somewhere comfortable to waste a few hours, Belphegor found himself quite taken by the large and elegant greenhouse that lurked on the outskirts of campus. It reminded him of the Devildom Botanical Garden, which was a perfect place to relax. Hopefully it was just as comfortable. With a shrug, he wandered inside, trying to spot a nice bench or a patch of grass to occupy.

As soon as he passed into the barrier, Belphie was overcome with a lovely herbal smell. Like chamomile tea and moss after the rain. Following the smell, he saw something unexpected.

You.

While Belphegor wasn’t the quickest to warm up to humans, he had gotten better at being at least civil to them. He was not the type to pay much attention to humans around him (especially in a place like this, with enough wizards to feel like there were hundreds of excitable little Solomon’s running around) but something about you was different.

Something about you was intoxicating.

He watched you from afar, listening to you quietly speaking to the small plant that you gently brushed with your fingertips. You had a book in your hand, and seemed to be reading it to the plant from it.

From what he could hear, it sounded like you were reading out care instructions and then asking the plant if they were correct. It was mindless chatter, clearly the habit of someone who liked to talk themselves through their thoughts. Cute.

While Belphie had been rather set on having a nap, you seemed far more interesting at the moment.

Having an idea, Belphie approached you, putting on his most innocent look as he shyly tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Hey, I’m lost. You’re a student, right? Can you help me?”

Your eyes raise to meet him and Belphie feels like his heart could fall out of his chest when you smile up at him.

“Ah… that uniform. You’re from the Devildom?” You asked. Belphie nodded excitedly at your question.

That saved him an explanation. Cute and clever. You were just getting better and better by the minute.

“Sure, where do you need to go?” You were seemingly prepared for the question, giving off the impression of being someone that is used to answering similar inquiries.

Straightening yourself to your feet from a crouch and brushing the dirt off of your knees, Belphie felt his mouth getting dry. This was too much for a first meeting, but everything in him was begging him to touch you.

You had donned a lab coat and some goggles, over your uniform. The oversized goofiness of your outfit only making you look all the more charming with the dichotomy. He could now see that the book you were holding was named ‘Plants Care Laid Bare: Making Potions On the Cheap’.

There was certainly something here he wouldn’t mind seeing bare.

“It’s embarrassing, but I was trying to find a place to take a nap. I don’t have a dorm assignment yet and I’m dead on my feet. Are there any good places around here?” He asked sweetly, keeping his tone friendly and sheepish in order to get closer and encroach on your physical bubble just a bit. Unsurprisingly, you were even cuter up close.

You giggled, which caused your nose to wrinkle just so. Oh man, he hadn’t fallen this fast since he… okay, we aren’t going to think about that actually.

“I have it on good authority that over there is actually the preferred nap spot of a friend of mine.” You say helpfully, pointing over to a cove comprised of flowering bushes.

Belphie looked over to where you were indicating, noticing what looked to be a… rope of some kind peeking out. Huh.

“Unfortunately it’s currently in use.” You say with a wink, reading the questioning lilt of his expression.

“There’s a patch of clover near the flower garden though, which is my personal favorite spot.”

“Oh, really? Will you show me there?”

“Sure!”

And that started your flirtatious friendship with Belphie. You spent time sitting in the clover talking for hours that day, getting surprisingly deep. You talked about your school, your friends, your likes and dislikes. Time went by both slow and fast, causing both of you to drift into a comfortable nap under the sun.

By the time you woke up, Belphie had nestled into your side and you felt a small trail of drool coming from the side of your mouth. Ew. Thankfully Belphie was asleep.

You felt a light kicking at your ribs and heard an irritated sigh.

“Hey. Herbivore. Wake up damnit.”

And here’s the reason you woke up in the first place.

“Hey Leona. What brings you here?”

Leona’s lovely face was knit with irritation. His emerald eyes were narrowed and strangely intense with an expression that you weren’t familiar with. His hair slipped gracefully over his shoulders as he leaned over you, blocking the sun and giving him a halo in the light that peeled around the edges of his silhouette. It was exhausting how pretty he was sometimes, you thought.

Belphie stirred from his place on your chest from the sound, hazarding an eye open to see a man with animal ears and a tail glaring down at him.

Putting two and two together, he looked at the newcomers expression of irritation and the playful smile you gave in response.

And from your earlier comment… that wasn’t a rope earlier, he thought. It was this guys’ furry widdle tail.

Looking at the appendage that was swinging in irritation in front of him, a smirk crossed Belphie’s lips. Did he have competition here?

“The hell you think you’re doing cuddlin’ up to a stranger in the middle of the day?” Leona groused.

And why wasn’t it him?

“Belphie and I were talking and accidentally fell asleep. I’m sure the king of naps himself can relate?” You say with a raised brow.

Okay, yeah you had a point. Even Leona had to agree with that one.

“Whatever. It’s dinner time anyway. Don’t be late or your annoying friends will come and bother me about where you are again.” Leona huffed, flipping his hair over his shoulder and planting a hand on his hip.

Belphie had to resist a giggle fit. If his competition was this guy, then he had nothing to worry about. This kind of smug, ruggedly-pretty boy would rather choke than show a real emotion. Easy pickings.

Belphie murmured your name softly as he put his hand over yours. He met your surprised gaze with a sweet smile.

Leona felt his eye twitch from seeing this grimy demon put his mitts on his precious friend. Did this little cud-chewing brat really think he could just waltz in here and steal your attention?

“Can you show me to the cafeteria? I should probably find my brothers.” He said, giving you a positively infectious smile.

You nodded and stood up, offering your hand to help Belphie stand up. Taking your extended arm and using it to get to his feet, with a ‘thanks’, Belphie conspicuously refused to let your hand go once he’s finished getting up.

You can feel the tips of your ears burning slightly.

Leona can feel a vein in his forehead about to burst.

“See you at dinner, Leona! Text me if you want me to grab you anything.” You say habitually, waving goodbye to your sourpuss of a buddy. What’s his problem today?

You and Belphie walked out towards the exit, and before you make it out the door, Belphie spared a glance to see the hilarious seething expression of his haughty rival.

Feeling smug, Belphie made eye contact, wiggled a brow, and made a lewd motion that is best left to the imagination.

Leona returned the lascivious farewell with a one-finger salute and stalked off, wanting to throw something at that little jackass.

If that little calf thought he could just waltz into the lion's den and steal what wasn’t his, he was going to have another thing coming to him.

Belphie is such a troublemaker I just wanted to see what he would do to get under Leona’s skin. So cute. 🥰

I hope y’all didn’t mind the crossover but I’m dying at all the possibilities hehehe

Let me know what you thought, love you reader!

Requested Tags:

@naniky , @lotus-sukimoto, @angrybees , @supernatural9000 , @youaskedfurret , @omg-its-ailatan , @acherrytart , @venniin , @chillywinterbreeze , @shytastemakerthing , @lovelynai, @fightmeucowardlmao, @riddle-simp , @leonkae , @kit4kat256, @dari-kun , @bluesylveon2 , @fr0llo, @witch-waycult , @stillserene , @rebel-faes-writing , @chopid-lulu, @rosalie-in-twisted-wonderland , @sunnyseaside, @sarahyumiko2 , @star-gods , @ninjas-are-the-shit , @kumiko-desu , @aikochan4859 , @hxlcyon , @buckketboy, @sideofblog , @daeda21 , @yandere-kou , @readinganas

#twisted wonderland #obey me imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst leona #leona x reader #twst reader insert #twst x reader #belphegor avatar of sloth #shall we date belphie #belphie x reader #obey me crossover #twst crossover #obey me x twisted wonderland #leona twst #leona kingscholar x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me short fic #twst #disney twst

1K notes · View notes

punkeropercyjackson · 6 months

Text

Transfem Percy Jackson is a hilarious ass headcanon not because of 'huehuehue men being called women is so funni!!' transmisogyny bullshit but because it was completely untentional coding yet it's so instrinctly built into her writing that it becomes funny

Percy's always like 'Sigh.....I wish i didn't have to be a stereotypical guy but i guess i have to be to fit in......Anyway time to never actually try to act like one'.She's canonically described by the unlabeled butch and first gay boy as 'not their type' because she's not masc looking/presenting enough for her and isn't the ideal man he thought she was.The book where she officially becomes a teenager by virtue of being 13 in it introduces The Hunters of Artemis,an archaic mythological group who were a metaphor for lesbians and confirmed in-universe to accept trans girls,and a major plot point is her proving herself to be extremely different from the men they've known before along with the death of the aformentioned gay boy's older sister who she becomes an older sibling figure and pseudo-parent to and she acted the same towards said sister AND it also had her being jealous of a punk girl because she wanted to be treated and seen as same as her.She said her female love interest has princess hair when she first saw her and then it turns out Percy's dad is the king of Atlantis and told her 'The sea does not like to be restrained' and he's the same guy who found out one of his crush's was transmasc so he gave him a male body with his god powers

Her first girlfriend was a bombshell redhead weirdgirl who's obsessed with art and is an activist despite being only in high school and she was in love with her because she made her feel normal and because they could be completely honest with eachother.Her male best friend is a Team Dad like how she's a Team Mom and who's werewolf-adjacent and the walking embodiment of positive and healthy masculinity and her idea of calling him hot was to compare him to Superman and he worships the ground she walks on and they're 'two sides of the same coin' narratively.This one's not funny but her biggest villain was that older creepy guy who pretended to be her friend at her summer camp when she was 12 only to turn out to have been using her and he spends up until his death stalking her and acting entitled to her attention and he's also a canon pedophile who's meant to be an illustration of how 'hot older men' who go after younger people are in fact just losers and child abusers that use conventional attractiveness and practiced charming abilities to their advantage to hide what monsters they are so they can deny it to themselves too

She's surroended by literal male sex gods but hates all of them,Persephone favors her over other demigods,Artemis fw's her and the last book of the og series is her befriending the first ever eldest daughter in Hestia.The second book of the sequel has a SECOND instance where Percy gets an all girl mythos group plotline in the Amazons who she ALSO proves herself to.These are all literally canon,i am NOT joking guys.She deserves a blue estrogen burger and she/sea themed pronouns fries i think

75 notes · View notes

handittothefandom · 11 months

Text

Red, White and Royal Blue Headcannons

- Alex falls asleep with his glasses on, Henry takes them off

- LIGHTSABER BATTLES

- Alex knows EXACTLY how many moles Henry has

- Henry asks June if proposing on New Year’s is cliche

- The both have their pronouns in social media bios

- The first time Alex actually spoke spanish in front of Henry he had to sit down

- David spends a lot of nights laying in Alex’s knees and Henry isn’t sure if his dog stoled his boyfriend or if his boyfriend stoled his dog

- “I love you” “That’s gay” “Alex I am quite literally gay”

- Henry is always playing with Alex’s hair and Alex is always playing with Henry’s hands

- The next time they go to the lake Alex jokes about how Henry better not run away this time

- Alex is always stressed and tries to play off his panic attacks by joking, Henry holds his hands in his and sits with him until he breathes

- Ellen refers to Henry as her favorite son

- They smash so much cake in each others faces at their wedding

- Alex has a tattoo only Henry has seen

- Alex wears makeup for their first pride, seeing him and those damn eyelashes with mascara leave Henry unable to talk when he looks at him for the whole day

- You bet your ass Henry always buys Alex yellow roses on their anniversary

- Bea tells Alex that their dad would have really loved him

- Henry ends up so obsessed with Alex because he’s the first person who didn’t pretend to love him for someone he wasn’t

- Henry has a super specific skin care routine, and even wears a headband while he does it, Alex washes his face with bar soap and it makes Henry so mad “You really don’t do anything and look that good”

- When they’re together Alex rubs Henry’s back till he falls asleep, when they’re apart they having matching teddy bears they sleep with and Alex calls and reads to Henry on really bad night

- “you might be the prince of whales but you are the king of my heart”

- One night Alex is putting their kids to sleep and Henry over hears him telling their love story as a bed time story, “Sometimes you’re wrong and that’s okay because when I admitted I was wrong it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me”

- Alex is obsessed with matching Halloween costumes

- Henry definitely calls him princess

- Henry dedicates his first book to Alex

- Alex is very ticklish to Henry’s advantages

this list is only gonna get longer but here

Also if you like any of these and want to write a whole fic please do, send me a link when you’re done

#firstprince #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry fox #headcanon #alex claremont-diaz

137 notes · View notes

childofsardior · 26 days

Text

IT'S TIME FOR SOME MORTON HEADCANONS FROM MY PERSONAL HC/AU!

↓↓↓ Read it all below! ↓↓↓

General Info:

Full name: Morton Koopa Jr. He was called simply “Morton” before being adopted by Lord Bowser, at the age of 5. The Koopa King, who had only heard about his own father at the time, (“the Magnificent Emperor of all the Koopas”) recalled some rumors about him being conveniently affected by melanism and called Morton, just like his new son. So the King, who has always loved pretending that the kids were his own, put there the “Jr” in Morton’s ID to feign a continuity in the family, even if everyone always forgets about it. Too bad the Emperor’s actual name happens to be “Mortimer” (Bowser won’t be pleased when he’ll find out).

Gender and pronouns: He is probably a cis man. Pronouns are he/him, mostly because he’s used to them and fit him well. If he questioned himself a bit more than he does nowdays, he could even come up with the realization that “It/They” could work as secondary pronouns. But the truth is: he doesn’t really care. Feels good in his body and how other people see him? That’s enough.

Sexuality: Nobody knows for sure. Morton doesn’t think about it much - he never had a crush or some interests in other Koopas or people in general, but he’s totally chill with it. His siblings, though, are always theorizing about his tastes even if Morton literally doesn’t care at the moment. Iggy, for example, claims that Morton’s apparent lack of attraction to anyone is easily fitting under the aro/ace umbrella. Roy claims that Morton is probably just a het guy that still has to “wake up from his childhood”. Wendy thinks her brother is just a bit shy and will find out eventually. Lemmy tries to defend Morton, reminding everyone that it is none of their business to label their dark scaled brother.

Age: He’s currently 14 (in “canonical” years). In Royal Koopa age, comparing their development to Humans and such, he’s like a 16-years-old. But Morton’s specific development is quite peculiar. Physically speaking, he is way bigger than the average Tarrasquin of his age - in fact, he’s slowly getting bigger than Roy himself; the castle doctors can’t understand why he is so big - yet healthy and all. Iggy theorizes about the fact that Morton is the only one that follows a perfectly balanced diet for a dragon-turtle, with vegetables and fruits along with meat, but Roy jokes that if it was only for the greens, Morton would look like a cauliflower by now. On the other hand, Morton seems to have some kind of development issue, specifically considering his unrefined speaking. Roy and Larry would occasionally call him “dumb guy” or even “stupid” when angry at him, but Morton is actually one of the wisest of the family, and both Iggy and Ludwig agree that Morton can prove everyone to be quite sharp and smart in many situations.

Species: Tarrasquin (also known as "Royal Koopas" or "Dragon-Turtles") - that happens to be a powerful and rare species related both to Koopas and Dragons. The lack of horns at a young age and the number of spikes on the shell may point to the subspecies known as Plains/Field Tarrasquin, while some other details could suggest a "mix" with the Vulcanic bloodline. In addition, all the Koopalings seem to share an innate inclination toward magic and some other unusual details never found before in Tarrasquins, such as tail feathers or natural armors protecting the limbs, along with peculiar tiny gem-like scales scattered around their bodies in different patterns.

Physical appearance: He suffers from a partial melanism that made his scales darker than usual. His head/shoulder skin is white, with some gray details - noticeably, a big star-shaped birthmark on his left eye. He shaves most of his head, leaving only some thin black hair on the top. His eyes are dark gray-blue, and he has got a “quartet-straight upper and lateral” Royal Fangs pattern at the moment. His shell is a deep gray-brown color, almost black, with spikes that are getting golden on the top as he grows up. On his body, some bigger and darker plaque-like scales cover his arm, legs and tail like natural armor; his crocodile-like tail is big and strong and can be used in battles to deflect attacks.

Personality: Morton looks and acts like he is not very smart. He tends to talk in third person, is usually very stoic with his facial expression and looking at him in the eyes may suggest that not a single thought is running in that big head. Most people that he meets will probably think about him like a rough and very simple Koopa. But in reality, Morton is just a chill dude that doesn't talk much, this partially because he can’t speak very well (the reason isn’t clear; the royal doctors ipothized during the years about some speech development issue or maybe some trauma-related consequence that could have happened when he was very young). In everyday life Morton is usually an obedient young brother and a (sort of) responsable big brother - he is very patient with Larry and Junior, and probably the only one that will happily volunteer to spend hours with the two, especially with the Prince, without going mad at the end of the day. During missions, though, his soldier side comes out and he becomes much more serious and aggressive, especially with the Crown's enemies. If he's working along with his siblings during a conquest, Morton's innate protective nature will mix with his on-duty mode creating a very dangerous opponent, especially if the enemies try to hurt Junior or Larry. Morton also got a very big heart under the shell, even if he rarely show emotions - but he does “have feelings too”, believe me. He is usually the one that gives the most useful gifts at birthdays, and the one that finds the most straightorward-yet-wise solutions when in trouble. In the end, Morton's indifference towards insults and such beats even Ludwig's deafness against other people's opinions and Iggy's total inability to acknowledge jokes about him. Morton will only listen to critiques from his superiors, as Junior or Bowser, and rarely from his other siblings, and only when he is convinced he actually did make some mistakes. Hobbies and passions: For a long time Morton’s siblings claimed he actually had no real passions nor hobbies - he would just come over and help the others whatever they were doing, if asked. But they were wrong. Sure, Morton does enjoy helping or playing with his sibs, and will probably never say “no” if one of them ask him for help or company, but he actually has some hobbies on his own. Since childhood, for example, Morton has been fascinated by rocks - cool rocks, shiny rocks, perfectly-shaped stones and so on - and he actually started a collection for fun when he was little. Growing older, Morton started to actually *learn* about the rocks he was collecting, finding an interest in geology and later in ancient architecture, too. He his fascinated by ancient buildings, especially from distant cultures, and this curiosity actually inspired him to learn some theory about building and construction on one hand - and his family knows about it, since Morton was chosen as a Royal guest to co-lead some of the Super Kart Games’ courses projects - and to learn ancient languages on the other hand - but almost nobody seems to know this. In recent years he also found out he likes to cook… or at least, he likes to try it. He’s still a bit insecure and his fear of burning himself with the grill or the oven will usually lead to a overcooked meal, but he is really trying his best to impress Junior most of all. Morton also likes ducks, a lot. He started buying duck-related accessories for his outfits, rubber ducks of all sizes and also some duck plushies since the day he saw real ducks for the first time during a mission - a duck mom with her ducklings swimming peacefully in a crystalline lake near the Rock-Candy Mines. He now wishes to have a pet duck someday.

Relationships:

With his siblings: Morton is protective by nature, and him being giant mixes well with it. Even since he was quite young, he has always tried to help taking care and watching over the others - even to the point of snitching on them if needed when they were doing dangerous stuff. He can now literally work as a walking wall and deflect powerful attacks with his own body, but also making company and - mostly silently - support to his sibs in a “I-am-here-if-you-need-but-won’t-talk-if-you-don’t-ask-me-first” kind of way.

Now, for each relationship with the siblings:

Ludwig: Ludwig likes to boss him around, knowing Morton will likely follow his orders. Morton does it, but only because he’s firmly convinced that Ludwig is a good leader for the bunch. The two don’t spend much time together otherwise, but Morton is the only one that volunteers to listen to Ludwig WIPs or rough pieces from time to time, even if Ludwig will spend the whole day trying and editing and re-trying the same piece.

Lemmy: Lemmy and Morton have a chill relationship. Lemmy knows that if he wants to hug someone for no reason, Morton will always be happy to be the target. When fighting together against some enemies, Lemmy tends to jump over Morton’s big shell when fighting melee, creating a funny duo of the biggest and the smallest of the family. Morton allows Lemmy to ride his shoulders too from time to time, when the latter is tired from his trainings and all.

Roy: Roy is sort of trying to maintain a sort of rivalry between the two… without much success. Roy knows he can play rough with Morton without hurting him, and they do often train together - but Morton is also the one defending the others from Roy’s occasional bullying or critiques, details that bothers the pink one a bit.

Iggy: Morton and Iggy spend quite a lot of time together, especially during hikings in the Dark Lands looking for plants, animals and minerals, or when Iggy needs a silent company while working on a project. Iggy is also the one taking notes on Morton’s progress with speech and grammar, usually offering his time to “teach big ol’ Morton some new conjunctions!”, and also noting all the smart ideas the dark-scaled brother comes up with, ready to use them to defend him in front of the others.

Wendy: The two don’t interact very much, but Wendy, like Ludwig, bosses him around from time to time, mostly for muscle work - especially if she wasn’t able to convince Roy. Morton is the one that usually carries all her luggages when traveling, the one that helps her while redecorating her bedroom with new furniture and that offers to carry her shopping bags - but he will do it without needing much effort. She will sometimes bring Morton with her during her beauty-days-out in return for all his favors.

Larry: Larry is one of the two brothers Morton feels like his own responsibility. He will watch over him during missions and will try to keep him safe - even if Larry is now capable of doing this himself. Larry often complains about Morton's “baby-sitting” thing claiming that there is only 1 year of difference between the two, but Morton won't listen. Larry is hyperactive, clumsy and most of all, younger than Morton? Then Morton will continue watching over him like a good big brother. They also often spend time together playing games, along with Junior and sometimes Iggy, too.

Bowser Junior: Morton and Junior are best pals. Junior considers the dark-scaled brother his “buddy” and will choose him over the others for everything they have to do together, from playing to go on missions to go on trips and so on. Morton will do his best to protect the little Prince during quests and to keep him happy in general - he even started to cook thinking about Junior's always-demanding belly. Morton is also the only one that can resist the Heir's brattiness at its full power, with an infinite patience that even Ludwig envies.

* * *

With King Bowser: Morton is the only one that calls Bowser “KING DAD” or “ROYAL DAD” in the family. He mostly treats Bowser as his superior rather than as a father, with a soldier-like attitude when reporting to him, but he actually acknowledges him as his adoptive parent. Bowser is aware of Morton’s loyalty and strength, and will likely send him in difficult missions knowing he won’t get hurt, even if he’s one of the youngest.

With his mother (OC): They had a good relationship. Morton was the most obedient and less chaotic kid of the whole bunch, and their mother was actually grateful for that. He always wanted to help and was the one that snitched on his siblings when they did things they should not, always angering them for this. With the Mario Bros., Princess Peach and Mushroom Kingdom: Morton can be soft as bread with his friends but dangerous as heck with his enemies. Since the Mario Bros. are enemies to the Dark Lands Crown, Morton will fight them with all his resources when on his way. During truces, though, Morton will mostly be neutral around them - for example, during the Super Kart official competitions in the Mushroom Kingdom. Morton is instead quite nice and kind - in his own way - with the Princess, never treating her badly and actively asking her to bake stuff together when she happens to be a “guest” at the castle. Least but not last, Morton will lead attacks to the Kingdom’s borders when ordered, but he normally doesn’t really care about it.

Peculiarities & co.

Left handed: Just like his youngest brother, Morton is naturally left handed. He trained himself to use his right hand as swell while fighting with melee weapons, to be as versatile as possible.

Speech: Morton seems to have a hard time talking. He often talks without conjunctions or with evident grammar errors, and refers to himself in third person. He is also very loud when he talks, usually scaring smaller creatures (Lemmy included) when he starts to speak out of the blue. His writing is very concise but usually more refined than his speech (even if he still uses the third person). Roy often jokes that Morton is just faking it and is only trying to build up a characteristic character for himself, while Larry thinks Morton’s a genius because he’s the one spending less energy talking like that. Oddly enough, if Morton is reading aloud an ancient poetry or translating an ancient language on the spot, he will talk perfectly and with the right intonation. Body quirks and special abilities: Partial melanism aside, Morton’s body is a mystery. He is way bigger than the average Royal Koopa of his age and gender, but also strong and resilient as a rock. He has darker plaque-like scales protecting his arms, legs and tail, which mixed with his Tarrasquin’s impenetrable shell makes Morton a sort of walking tank. He can resist most types of non-magical attacks and injuries, and he actually heals quite rapidly. His health is exceptional and the palace doctors don’t recall him having ever been ill. For some unknown reasons, his stomach seems capable of digesting almost anything, while being resistant to toxins and poison. Lethal doses for any other creature would leave Morton just sick for a while.

Random Facts:

He didn’t talk in caps-lock when he was a hatchling, probably because he was too tiny and his voice wasn’t strong enough.

Legends even say there was an ancient time in which Morton was very small and talked normally, and A LOT. Nobody knows if this is true.

He has a super refined handwriting. Ludwig envies it.

He’s actually the only one in the family, Bowser included, that follows an actual balanced diet for a Tarrasquin: he eats all the meat that the species normally need, but also a good amount of fruits and vegetables. He will eat fish and seafood in general, and any kind of sweet from time to time. He is the opposite of a picky eater.

His siblings often give him the food they don’t want. Most of it is veggies. Morton will eat it all without question.

Morton is the only one Junior will genuinely listen to: he’s concise and will just say what he has to say. Junior appreciates that.

Junior will often ask for Morton to play together with LEGO-Laz (or whatever LEGO-like brand they have in SM world lel) since Morton’s skill in creating whole scenes with it is unbeaten in the whole castle. He will sometimes spend an entire night fitting the pieces together. And if they need to dismantle some pieces, Morton will do with a single punch.

They say he can break a rock with a punch. They do not know he can also break rocks with headbutts.

In reality, the Super Kart organizators asked him for help during construction because of this - he could destroy small but hard rock with great precision and low effort. But then they actually discovered Morton’s passion about the whole building thing, and let him co-lead the constructions along with the demolitions.

To Bowser’s relief, Morton actually shares the name with a great-grandfather from the King’s bloodline. The “Jr” thing will still make sense… kind of.

When he’ll grow older, he’ll let grow a short sort-of-a-mullet of black hair. Nobody in the family will like that.

Once Morton is asleep, you *can't* really wake him up on purpose. You can try, of course, but legends says he won't wake up neither under a Bob-Omb shower - not until he is rested enough.

When he was in the egg, there was a white star-shaped mark on his egg as well. Same thing for Larry.

Both his egg and Larry's were from the same clutch, but for unknown reasons Morton hatched almost 1 year before Larry.

#koopalings #morton koopa jr #headcanon #personal hc/au #my art #bowser koopa #super mario #text #child of sardior

32 notes · View notes

thegnomelord · 2 years

Text

Beastly Urges

Pantalone x reader

MINORS DNI

Word count: 4.3k

CW: nsfw, afab Pantalone, cock and cunt used for the genitals, Dom!Bottom!Pantalone, Sub!Top!Reader, pronouns are gn(referred to as You and Beast sometimes) but reader has two cocks and has monstrous features, size difference, dom/sub, oral, cum eating, size kink, butt plugs, double penetration, anal, vaginal, belly bulging, cream pie, gags, cock slapping, marking, biting, bit of a slow burn?

Go easy on me peeps, this is my first time writing smut. Feel free to give back criticism, tell me if I'm missing any tags, or make requests!

There were plenty of reasons why a fool would think twice before crossing the Tsaritsa, chief amongst them — You; a Beast amongst men, terrifying in both appearance and merciless ferocity, hunting down all who oppose Her with reckless abandon. It doesn't matter how long or how far they run, you are always near, tracking them down to the very borders of Teyvat... or until their legs give out.

And with such renown comes gossip.

From the high society nobility all the way to the brothel whores, they wonder how you must be behind closed doors. Surely, you must be a greedy lover, no less savage in bed as you are on the battlefield. Surely, you must take all your partners can offer and then demand more, fucking your partners into the bed until you are satisfied regardless of their opinion on the matter...

Pantalone would have found such gossip annoying if it wasn't so amusing. He would sometimes even laugh when he heard the newest round of, dare he say, fantasies, the common folk came up with about you and your supposed unlucky partners.

It was a source of pride for him, knowing the true version of you the rest of the world would never see. You were... gentle, soft, nothing but feather light caresses and loving confessions muttered into his skin as you did all he asked.

If anything, you were too gentle. You handled Pantalone like he was made of glass, afraid that the moment you put more than the barest amount of pressure — he would shatter.

Last time, you had accidentally nicked his skin with a razor sharp tooth. Despite his arguments that you hadn't even drawn blood, you hadn't dared to touch him since then.

It's been two months.

And your sweet, little lover was prepared to show you the error of your ways.

You didn't suspect a thing when he greeted you with a sweet kiss the moment you took a step into your home, stealing your ability to think with every peck on the lips. Nor did you think of anything when he lured you to the bedroom with the promise of receiving more of his affection.

How that turned into you literally chained to the bed and naked as the day you were born, you still couldn't tell.

Before you could even argue, he had presented you with a second surprise — a device, something between an open mouth gag and a bit meant for horses (No doubt of Dottore's making). It kept your mouth wide open, displaying all your monstrously sharp teeth in all their grotesque glory.

He gave you a way out if you wanted to, he always did, yet despite the worry bubbling in your chest about the possible harm you could bring him... you were curious.

Slim, manicured fingers curled in your hair and pulled your head even closer. "Right there," Pantalone breathed out, grinding his body down so your tongue could worm deeper into his cunt. His thighs hugged your head like a vice, leaving no place for your teeth to go but dig into his soft flesh. Each tooth left behind dark blue imprints in the skin, but thankfully didn't draw blood, though Pantalone seemed almost disheartened, rocking his body down with a "Don't you dare stop."

Despite the time spent apart, he was as tight as you remembered, if not more, his cunt constricting around your tongue as if intending to snap it off. He didn't care, groaning as his cum pooled in your open maw, nearly choking you when you forgot to swallow. But you couldn't swallow all of it, and more often than not the mixture of his cum and your drool would escape your mouth and roll down your skin to join the wet mess on the sheets.

But Archons, he tasted Divine.

A low moan left your chest as you gulped down his fluids, your head heavy and clouded by pure bliss. You pressed your nose flush with his lightly haired groin, breathing in his scent and curling your tongue in a way you knew he liked.

He let out a high pitched moan and sharply rocked his hips into your tongue, your teeth digging into his skin, a single drop of iron tainting your taste buds—

You jerked your head back on instinct, fearful you had hurt him.

You didn't get far.

Pantalone fisted your hair, forcing your head still. Through bleary eyes, you saw him lean back— "Behave."

A harsh slap landed on the head of your cock.

Your entire body buckled as you nearly threw him off, the low shrieking of metal and the groaning of wood masking the embarrassing sounds that left your throat.

A second later two more slaps came, one on each head of your dual cocks. Pantalone sat up on his knees as he delivered a third slap, your tongue sliding out of him, which you surely would have bitten off had the gag let you. This time, there was no way for you to muffle your sounds, your body straining against the bonds, pleasure and pain burning at the base of your spine.

He wretched your head up, forcing you to meet his disappointed gaze. "You didn't touch me for two months, and now this is how you act?" He asked, a coldness in his eyes many debtors knew too well. "If you break anything, I will throw you out and won't touch you until Rex Lapis comes back to life." Even breathless, his singular threat was enough to make your heart stop. "Am I understood?"

You forced yourself to stay still, nodding your head as much as you could. A warbled "Soh-hrh." was all you could say.

His grip remained harsh, but Pantalone's eyes softened. He leaned down, obsidian black hair falling over his shoulders and around your head like a curtain, isolating you two from the world. "That's my good beast," He cooed, like you were a mongrel mutt, and you would never admit how those words made your chest burn.

He scooped up a streak of fluids from your chin. You could do nothing but watch him bring his wet fingers to your open maw, easily slipping past the hellish device.

Pantalone took great pleasure in feeling up your teeth, poking his thumb on every tooth and gently wiggling a few as if to deny their dangerous potential. Then his fingers found your waiting tongue, he hummed and let you curl your tongue around his fingers, pulling and tugging on it like it was just another toy.

Like you were just another toy.

He pressed his fingers to the back of your tongue. Your maw tried to close, but the gag in your mouth only allowed an inch of movement as you jerked back.

"Ah ah. Stay." He leaned back to sit on his knees and pulled his fingers from your mouth, punishing your body's reaction with another harsh slap to your cock head.

Clenching your eyes shut, you miraculously managed not to move. "Good." His grip relaxed, fingers gently carding through your hair as a reward. "See, that wasn't hard." His fingers returned to your mouth and you let him in.

You whined as Pantalone moved his fingers across the entire length of your tongue, your cheeks burning when you registered the taste of your cum on his skin. He let out a small laugh, letting you lick his and your cum off his fingers.

You watched as he trailed his drool covered fingers down the contours of his stomach, your spit gleaming in the firelight. Those clever fingers traced over his thighs, a groan leaving him as he pressed on the dark bruises left by you teeth before coming to rub his cock.

He let out an unabashed moan, his head lolling back. "You made me feel so good." His fingers slid further down, two of them spreading his lips so you could see a hint of his pulsing tunnel. "But it looks like you don't want to service me any longer." He huffed.

A loud whine tore through your chest, your body moving on its own to get closer to him. Only his sharp gaze kept you from tearing through the flimsy chains.

Pantalone just laughed at you, his voice both melodic and condescending. “What’s this? Has my beast changed their mind?" His fingers didn't stop moving, two of them lazily fingering his twitching hole. "It is such a shame you didn't touch me for so long. I got lonely." Your eyes were glued on his fluttering cunt, drops of his cum dripping on you and burning your skin like hot magma. "Eyes on me when I'm talking to you, Mutt."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his gaze.

“Beg,” He ordered, voice rich like wine.

Oh, what a cruel lover you have. The gag silenced any words you could form, yet you still tried. It resulted in garbled pleas and soft whimpers, you even stuck your tongue out when nothing seemed to work — offering your services like some cheap whore.

He drank in the sounds as they left you, an arrogant smile gracing his features. "You could do better." He smirked, and your heart froze, a pathetic whine leaving you. "But this will do." He said. You laid still as a statue while he moved back over your open maw, his hand finding itself back in your hair. "Make me cum, Darling, and I'll give you a reward."

How could you refuse?

You pressed yourself flush to his groin before he even had a chance to pull you close. Your teeth lightly dug into his skin, his breathy groan sending a shiver down your spine. You licked at his cock, small kitten licks at first to re-familiarize yourself with it, growing bolder as his breathing picked up. You pressed your tongue flat to his cock when he began rocking his hips, the momentum ensuring you could lick his cock from root to tip with the right amount of pressure.

The reaction was instant — Pantalone doubled over you with a groan, his things tensing around your head as fresh drops of cum dripped on your tongue. "Y-yes, just like that." Pantalone groaned, fingers curling into your hair as he rutted against your tongue. "Harder."

You did as he commanded and pressed your tongue harder to his cock, letting him rock against your maw as you tried to gulp down his cum. Then, on one rough thrust, your tongue slipped into his cunt. "Fuck!" Pantalone moaned, not even stopping, riding your tongue like it was a cock.

You could tell he was close when he began babbling, a litany of "Yes- good, Darling - just like that! Harder- Yes!" Spurring your body on to dig and twist your tongue deeper into him, to let him use you however he saw fit, the vibrations of your whimpers only adding to his pleasure.

His fingers clenched in your hair — His orgasm crashed over him, cunt constricting like a vice around your tongue as his thighs hugged your head. You milked him for all he had, doing your best to gulp down his cum, but it was futile as more would just stream down your chin.

Pantalone shivered as he slowly released you, both of you groaning when your tongue slipped out for the last time. Both of you were left breathless as he leaned back to partly sit on your chest, his bruising grip turning soft as he carded his fingers through your hair.

You looked up at him, breathes and bleary eyed. He laughed, soft and gentle. "You look wonderful like this." He cooed, scooping up the cum on your chin to watch you wordlessly clean his fingers. "Such a darling beast, all for me, yes?"

You tried to answer, but the combination of the gag and your tongue curled around his fingers made it impossible.

He giggled, and it was the most angelic thing you had ever heard. "Right you are." His hands shook when he reached for the gag, and you lifted your head to help him remove it. "How is that?" Your cheeks and the corners of your lips ached as you moved your jaw, but thankfully you couldn't taste any blood, only his cum.

Your voice was gone and your tongue didn't want to listen to you, so instead of voicing anything you simply nuzzled your head into the hand gently carding through your hair.

You thought this would be the end of this session.

You found satisfaction in his release, even if you hadn't cum yourself, but it was the norm for you; you were big in more ways than one, and both of you being busy people left little time to properly prepare, and you were fine rubbing one out after Pantalone was satisfied.

Then he spoke. "I would be remiss not to reward such good behavior."

Your eyes snapped open (when had you even closed them?) just in time to see him scoot back. He left a wet trail of cum across your entire torse, but you couldn't mind that when he ended up straddling your lap. He smirked, playfully rubbing his ass against your cocks.

You jumped, a hiss tearing through your chest. The overwhelming sensation of your abused cocks finally getting Pantalone's attention banged on your head like a hammer, yet your hips snapped up in an attempt to get more of that feeling.

"Such a simple, single-minded creature." Pantalone tsked, gently slapping your hip as a command to stay still. "I have a surprise for you."

You perked up, keeping yourself still, your eyes glued on him as he turned around on wobbly legs, putting his perfectly shaped ass on display for you.

And the surprise in it.

Not even his ass cheeks could hide the silvery base of the toy. His ring stretched obscenely around it, red, puffy and fluttering around the base with every breath he took. "Since you ignored me for so long, I had to get creative." He hissed, breathless, looking at you over his shoulder, his onyx black hair cascading over his back. "Do you like it?"

You couldn't say anything as he used one hand to grip the plug, beginning to shallowly thrust the toy into himself. "It was a-hah," He groaned, bucking his hips, his cum leaking down his thighs. "-a pain to get it." It was mesmerizing how his ring fluttered around it, clinging to every artificial vein. "But so worth it."

He braced a hand on your thigh and slowly pulled the plug out, his ass clenching even harder around the toy. It finally plopped out with an obscene sound, his ass clenching around nothing and rapidly destroying what self control you had.

And now you could see that it looked like a replica of your own cock, if a bit smaller.

You didn't know how your brain was functioning.

He laughed when he saw your expression, tossing the toy to next to your head as he turned around to face you. He reached behind himself and palmed your cock. Your hips bucked, and he flicked the head as punishment, a low whine coming out of your throat. "Behave," He reminded, "Only good beasts get their rewards."

Holding still while Pantalone rose to his shaky knees to line you up with his holes was worse than any torture you had ever inflicted or experienced, the sinfully wonderful feeling of his walls clenching around one of your cocks driving you to madness. You clenched your hands shaking as he slid down in one fluid move, skin slapping against skin as you bottomed out in him.

Both of you groaned, a high pitched keen leaving your mouth as his hands found themselves around the second cock, pressed flush between his thighs. "I had a lot of time to practice since you ignored me for so long." He explained with a scoff, rocking his hips down as he played with the head of your second cock. "It's a real shame I couldn't practice with the real thing." He hissed, clenching around you and flicking your head.

"Please!" You gasped, unaware of what you were begging for. Distantly, you could hear the chains groan as they struggled to hold you, but you couldn't force yourself to care when his clever fingers played with your slit and his sinfully tight ass fluttered around your length.

"Begging for mercy now are we?" Pantalone mocked, slowly rising and falling back down. "I shouldn't give you any after the stunt you pulled." His hiss turned into a moan as your hips snapped up just as he was descending. Yet that didn't earn his pity, and he continued to leisurely ride you, as if you were no better than the toy, his cruel hands palming your sensitive head, running his fingers over the shaft just to tightly grip the base when you'd bottom out.

Seconds passed like centuries, you didn't even know when you had started begging, only that you moaned when his fingers left your cock. "You are lucky you're so well behaved." He sighed, "Now stay still."

He rose up, his walls like a vice around your poor cock, until only the head was still inside. He pressed the head of your other cock to his cunt, stretched so wide by your monstrous tongue that the head popped in without any trouble.

But this time he couldn't take you in on the first time, his little body not used to taking in so much. He stopped a little before half way, holes fluttering and clenching around you as if his body didn't know whether it wanted to push you out or draw you in deeper. "Oh, Darling." He moaned, breathless, one hand on your stomach for support, the other hand on his stomach where your cocks bulged his stomach. "So good for me."

He rose up slowly, thighs trembling as he slid back down, drawing in half an inch more with every rise and fall. His hand clawed at your skin, whole body trembling when he finally, finally, sheathed you fully in him.

You had never done this before, mostly out of fear of hurting him, but now...He looked beautiful.

Sweat damp locks clung to his forehead, his eyes half glazed over, lips parted to let out breathy moans. You could feel his hand through the muscle of his stomach, rubbing at your heads as he clenched down on you. Even the bitten and bruised thighs were beautiful, glistening from his cum and your spit, dark blue bruises forming a brand of ownership from when your teeth had dug too deep into his skin. He spread his trembling thighs wide over hips, giving you a perfect view of his throbbing cock standing proud while his cunt clenched like a vice around you.

"Se-haah." Pantalone shivered, a blush spreading from his ears down to his chest as he rubbed you through his stomach. "See how well I fit you?"

You didn't know how he was able to speak when you were leaking your brain through your cocks as precum, pleasure so powerful it was on the cusp of pain burning at the base of your spine and in the pit of your stomach.

He braced both hands on your stomach and rocked his hips down. "Fuck!" You both moaned so loud you were certain half of Teyvat heard you. He began rising and falling back on your shafts achingly slowly, thighs trembling, core muscles tense. "Oh, yes!" He groaned as your hips gently snapped up to meet his downward thrust.

You continued this slow pace until you were at the cusp of madness, fire burning in your veins as you attempted to buck up, only fail when he would rise up so you couldn't get deeper in him. You whined, a tightness in your belly, you needed more of his heat, you needed more of him!

"Wh-hah, what's wrong?" Pantalone mockingly asked, clawing at your stomach as he rode you even slower. "Not sati-fuck- satisfied?"

You nodded, clenching your teeth, the chains groaning louder in your ears.

He peered at you from beneath his lashes, "This -archons why are you big-" He groaned, rising up and stopping there, keeping just the heads of your cocks inside him. "This is how I felt all those two months." He growled as you whined, not budging no matter how much you begged and whined.

"If you don't lik- hah- like it, do something about it." He hugged, gently slapping your stomach as you once again tried to buck up into his tight heat. "Or-" He looked you straight in the eyes, a devious smirk on his lips. "-shall I go back to the toys?"

Snap!

Next thing you knew, you were sat up. Both hands gripping his thighs and forcing him down as you snapped your hips up.

"Yes!" He shouted so all Snezhnaya could hear, clenching around you like a vice.

His thighs shook as you helped him rise and fall while fucking up into him, using him like a toy to your heart's content while he moaned and groaned.

Pantalone let out the sweetest moans, trying to silence them by hiding his head in the crook of your neck as he bounced on top of you, yet it was futile. Moaned order of "Like that, go on, harder, please!" rung in your ears like a mantra as he pressed searing kisses on your skin, winding his arms around your neck to get you even closer to him.

You felt his lips over your pulse point, pressing a kiss there before he bit you — your hips snapped up sharply, all caution flying with the wind.

You snarled, tugging him closer to you with a bruising grip as you fucked up into him, bullying your way into his clenching holes until he was screaming your name between his moans.

His holes clenched around you tightly, destroying any lingering worry when his hips would fight against your grip every time you'd pull out, his body so desperate to have you in him that he couldn't wait the second it would take you to snap your hips into him.

You could tell he was close, silky soft tunnels fluttering around your shafts before gripping them like a vice. You pressed the pad of your finger to his cock, and he let out a broken moan as you fucked him, rubbing his cock every time you lifted him up just so you could hear the fucked out sounds he moaned into your skin.

Itching need gnawed on your brain, the familiar pressure in your belly telling you that you wouldn't last long. "Close," You hissed out, hugging his body close to yours, caging his smaller body in your bulk, safe and sound from the rest of the world in your embrace. "Please."

"Yes yes yes go-" he gasped out, his hands gripping your shoulders, as you rubbed his cock. "Go on, inside! Cum inside!" His walls clenched around you, threatening to snap your cocks off, as with a thunderous shout he came, biting your pulse point again.

Your own release shot through you like lightning, frazzling your brain as you shot your loads, Pantalone letting out a broken moan as you filled him.

Archons, he had missed this. He forgot how much he loved it when you filled him up, your hot release bulging his stomach even more, proclaiming that you were his and no one else's. "Good, so good darling," He moaned, babbling, completely unaware of his words as you both try to catch your breaths.

You tried to pull out, but he stopped you, grumbling something under his breath as his holes clenched around you. "Don't." He mumbled into your neck, hugging you closer to himself.

Resigned, you lied back on the bed, laying Pantalone on your chest. Your fingers ghosted over the black and blue bruises forming all over his pelvis, long scratch marks left by your claws only now starting to clot.

"Quit that, I can see what you're thinking, dear." Pantalone lightly swatting at your chest.

"But-" He cut you off by gently kissing a trail up your throat, not minding the sweat, drool, and his own cum staining your skin.

"Let me remind you that I wanted this." He clenched around you, pleasured pain burning up your spine. You clenched your teeth and hissed, but he just chuckled. "I wanted you to be rough with me."

"You could have asked." You mumbled,

"And you wouldn't have agreed to it." He just rolled his eyes, resting his head on your chest as his fingers traced mindless patterns on your skin.

A heavy sigh left your chest as you apologized for the two months you didn't touch him, it was never in your intentions to ignore him.

"Oh, my darling beast." Pantalone sighed, a sweet smile gracing his features. He reached out to cradle your cheeks, pulling you down into a kiss, not bothered by your sharp teeth. "Such a gentle beast," he sighed against your lips, kissing you once more. "Only for me?"

"Only for you," You agreed, chest light like a feather.

"Good," he leaned back, lifting himself up by bracing his hands on your stomach. Then his eyes narrowed and he swatted your chest. "You're paying to fix the headboard, you brute."

You turned your head - sure enough, you had shattered the ornate headboard the chains had been attached to, the broken cuffs still attached to your wrists... You couldn't find it in yourself to feel too bad about it.

"Later," You said and quickly picked him up as you stood up. He yelped, clinging to you, drops of your cum getting past the plug created by your shafts, leaving a trail as you walked. "Bath?"

He nodded his head, "Sounds lovely." He kissed your neck, mumbling into your skin, "I just imported new conditioner from Sumeru, the merchant said it should do wonders for your hair."

You just smiled; He had taken care of you, now it was your turn to take care of him.

#Centerpieces of the Hoard #pantalone #top reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #x reader #sub reader #bottom pantalone #dom genshin x sub reader #dom pantalone #gender neutral pronouns #genshin pantalone #I spent too much time on this #bottom genshin #pantalone x reader #switch pantalone #switch reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin

729 notes · View notes

bisexual-horror-fan · 1 year

Note

I know you’re requests are closed but I had an idea for a Mickey fic and I’m an awful writer and you’re amazing so imma just leave this here. What if reader and Mickey are both the Ghostfaces along with Nancy and they’re both like, literally insane. Like to the point where after they kill they gotta fuck then and there whilst covered in their victims blood blah. blah but in the end Nancy kills one of them and it makes the other completely fucking INSANE for revenge.

OKAY! SO! Anon! I fucking love this ask. I went so hard. I hope you enjoy this enemies to friends to lovers over 7K massive fic! I stretched out the timeline of Scream 2 because fuck you, this is fanfic and we can do whatever we want to! I love this request and where it leaves off? I already have a sequel planned and mostly plotted. So thank you Anon seriously. Also, shoutout to @mrsaltieri-real for helping me out on this one! You are the best.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 7.9K. Mickey Altieri X AFAB! Ghostface! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer. Reader Has Anger Issues. Fighting. Taunting. Teasing. Mickey And Reader Are ASSHOLES To Each Other. Blood. Gore. Murder. Death. Mild Fluff. Enemies To Friends To Lovers. Ghostface Partners In Crime Couple. Mickey Is Crushing Hard. Angst. Hurt. Crying. Emotional Pain. I Apologize In Advance.

—

“So Good To You.”

—

You never cared much for the idea of getting a college education, or at least that is what you told yourself because financially it was way out of reach for you, an impossibility. That was until you got an offer you simply couldn’t turn down, what that offer was? It was for a free ride at a college by a benefactor with money to burn and some revenge she needed to be carried out. It would be a hindrance for some, but not for you. The reason you were chosen was because of not only your previous experience with this, but your outright willingness to spill blood. So you accept, you follow her instructions to the fucking letter and arrive at school in September.

Once moved into your dorm, a few days into college you were meeting up with her in person, all the correspondence up to this point has been online and on the phone, meeting her had to be done carefully. The meeting is not even in town, the process must be delicate, and the wrong people cannot see you together lest there be talk and suspicion. When you show up and see that she is not alone you are confused, when you sit down, and she explains that you are not the only student she is “sponsoring” you are pissed.

You don’t hide this either, gripping your menu, so tightly it might bend, speaking in a hushed yell whisper, “Nancy, what the fuck?”

He, whoever he was, agreed, leaning forward and voice low, “Yeah actually, what the fuck?”

Nancy tried to have a measured response, attempting to calm you both, she set her own menu aside, fingers laced together, hands resting on top of the tablecloth. She says your name and then his, “Mickey-” you scrunch your nose, who the fuck is named Mickey? Like the fucking mouse?

“-I have to make sure this happens. You both know the motive and I figured having two of you would make this better, all the easier. I can be very hands-off and honestly, you are both such great talents. How could I choose just one of you?”

That pissed you off further. You keep your voice hushed, not wanting to be overheard, “It sounds to me more that you don’t think I can handle this myself and that I need some shitty fucking guy’s help to kill.”

Mickey scoffed, a roll of his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed as he said, “Yeah, you are such an empowered woman who doesn’t need any help to kill. So tough. So strong. If you are so capable, why do you need someone to fund your college career?”

You hated him. Everything about him. His stupid spiky hair, the dumb shade of blue on his sweater, his face, his voice, what he said in tone and also in content. “It’s called a scholarship. I know it’s a big word, you’ve probably never heard it, and what about you? She thinks that YOU need a woman’s help to kill, how sad is that for you?”

By the way his eyes narrowed, you feel like he doesn't like you either. Good. You don’t want him to.

The dinner is tense, but you manage to make it through and Nancy makes it clear that if you want to go or if he does that you can, but she will pull her funding and whoever is left will get to do it alone. You don’t back down and neither does he, so you are forced to work together, and you accept this fact with extreme reluctance.

The plan is for you and him to get as close to Sidney and her friends as possible, to insert yourselves and get in the right position at just the right time to make sure that this happens just as Nancy wanted. You did, and you were barely able to restrain your rage against him, it comes out sometimes, everyone else thinks it is an affectionate thing, a long-running joke of both of you disliking each other and exchanging barbs, but no one thought it was serious.

You had to get used to his presence, but that proved to be difficult, you would sometimes get so riled up after an argument with him that you felt like screaming and ripping your hair out, he got under your skin in the worst way possible. You got to him similarly it seemed, you sometimes knew he left your interactions being the one who could barely reign in his temper, part of you liked getting to him like that.

Staying away from him and avoiding any time you and Mickey were solo was a must, but sometimes you can’t help it when you are in the same friend group like this. You and he were at the same party and Sidney left to go use the bathroom, and Randy went to go get a drink, and that left you and him in proximity.

You and Mickey were both leaning against the same wall. He speaks first, “Getting real friendly with Sid there.”

You smile, proud of yourself, you were making a great impression, fantastic progress, you allow yourself to indulge in feeling pride as you agree with his assessment, “Yeah, I am.”

“She seems super invested. You do know that you need more than a low cut shirt to get her fallin’ all over herself for you, right?” He turned to face you, and you turn too as you respond, “Yeah unlike you, I am not a total slut, I am not trying to fuck her.”

“Why not?” He asked, and you laughed into your cup, making sure to keep your voice low enough just for him to hear, “Who am I? Billy Loomis? Gonna fuck her then gut her?”

He shrugs before taking a sip from his own cup, a swallow before he says casually, “I’ve read your papers in film class, derivative is your whole thing.”

“Is it now?” You ask and he says, “It is. Taking from someone great, and regurgitating it back out as if it is some amazing new or profound thought, something original all your own, when it very obviously is not.”

He was such an insufferable asshole.

You swallow what is left in your cup and then push off the wall, “I need another fucking drink if I am gonna have to be around you.”

He lets you go.

After lunch one day you, and he ended up in the same direction, you don’t want to deal with him and so you pick up the pace, walk faster, and he makes sure to speed up too, “Awe where you off to in such a rush? Gonna be late for your gender studies class, princess?”

“Gross, do not call me that shit.” You say as you adjust your backpack, rolling your eyes before you retort, “You ready to fail that test tomorrow? I know you haven’t been studying.”

His hands are thrown up, eyes skyward and a grin as he says, “Heaven forbid, I wanna enjoy the college experience and make the most of it out and about, not with my nose in a book all the time.”

“I think you could stand to be a little more well-read, you are painfully fucking dull whenever I am forced to talk to you.” Breaking off for the turn you head towards the building for your next class, he calls after you, “I am so, so hurt. Hey, don’t forget to spell women with a y, you’ll lose points otherwise, okay?”

He knew just how to really fucking bother you.

You know how to bother him, too.

A different day, you and him were meant to have a meeting with Nancy. You were waiting for her to arrive, and he was boasting about how he had gotten in with Randy and Derek, you said, “Finally, took you long enough. It’s weird, though, considering that you are the fucking worst.”

“I’m the worst?” He asked, and you nod, “Yes you are, I don’t know how you pulled it off, I have seen your acting ability.”

His hand rubs over his eyes as he asks, “You insult my acting ability now? What is wrong with it?”

“Mickey. Virgin teens faking on prom night are better actors than you are.”

His jaw drops, brows pinch together, and you pile on before he can respond, “You seem so chummy with Randy though, you blown him yet orrr?”

Nancy walked into you both locked in another augment, and she slammed the door, making you both stop. “Can you please, please, for the love of God, not fight for one day? I know it must be very hard, but do it for me?”

“It isn’t my fault she is such a frigid bitch.” He spits, and you say back, “Rich coming from the school slut, seriously, do you sweat chlamydia?”

Mickey opens his mouth and Nancy cuts him off, “Please, save it! Can’t you be the bigger person here?”

Mickey doesn’t even look at her, eyes locked with you, he says, “I know you are a real maternal figure, but I am not your fucking son so can you not talk to me like I am?”

You have to bite back the laugh you were about to bark out, and Nancy was just done, thoroughly over you both and your petty rivalry. “If you both don’t knock it off, I will call off the whole thing!”

That had you and he both turning to her, “You can’t!”

It is reminiscent of a tired parent on a car trip sick of hearing, “Are we there yet?” and responding with, “I will turn this car around!” When she tells you both, “I can, and I will if you don’t play nice at least in front of me!”

You and Mickey both know she is serious. You do your best to chill the hell out and just get through this without killing each other.

The road is long until the first kill is meant to happen. You and he have ebbs and flows of seriously deep hatred, neutral times of acceptance and even an instance or two of actually kind of getting along, at least on the surface. Below that, you still find times of hating each other.

One night after yet another tense meeting, after yet more endless frustration, you and he locked in another fight it happens without you meaning to. Both of you are just too pent-up and when he spits, “I am so tired of you being such a bitch, have you tried loosening up sometimes?”

“How would you recommend I do that in between keeping a low profile, getting closer to Sid and the rest, and keeping my grades up?” He tells you with crossed arms over his chest, “I’d recommend you taking a good dick every once in a while.”

“Does it always gotta come back to that? Just fuck my stress away and that will fix me?”

“Why not try it?” And he says it so smugly, something inside just snaps inside of you, leading to you both being in your bed. Your clothes don’t even totally come off, it is a messy hate-fuck, “I knew you wanted me-”

Your teeth sink into his throat, a sharp bite that makes him jerk back, his hips faltering as you respond, “I don’t want you, this means fucking nothing, you mean fucking nothing, okay?”

“Fine, fuck.” Another roll of his hips pulls a moan from you before he mutters out, “Crazy fucking bitch, just stop biting me.”

A terrible idea hits, and you execute it, a slap to his face as opposed to a bite and it is so shocking, catches him so off guard he has to actively fight the urge to cum. “Better?”

You ask sugary sweet, and he grits out, “I fucking hate you.”

“I fucking hate you too.”

Hate fucking when the wait for the plan to kick off becomes a somewhat regular occurrence, one neither of you chose to acknowledge unless you were splayed over a surface together.

Currently, you were in Mickey’s place. You and he agreed to head over to a party together to meet up with everyone else, you were in one of those times when you didn’t totally hate his guts, just mostly did, so you could tolerate his presence. You were getting impatient, you were a punctual person, and he was not when it came to things like this. You were tapping your foot on the bottom rung of a stool as you sat at the bar as you waited, calling out to him while he is in his bedroom, “What are you doing in there? Jacking off? I’d like to go sometime this century.”

“Yeah, I bet you like to think about that.” He called back, and you scoffed, “As fucking if.”

While you waited, your eyes flitted over the bar, and you noticed there were scattered papers about, you are so bored you start to sift through them, looks like some kind of project he was working on. You look further, wondering what it was, you skim pages and words caught on, “slice” and “blood”.

You start to look further, flip through pages, and you find descriptions of murder, violent kills, strangulation, knives stabbed into warm bodies. You read of terrible brutality and the feelings that are invoked while experiencing it. You become so absorbed in the reading when his hand touches your shoulder, you jump nearly a foot in the air, heart hammering.

“Catching up on some reading?” He asked with a grin, and you roll your eyes as you shake off his hand, “Creep.”

“Says the girl who is currently rummaging through MY shit.” Your eyes are back on the papers, ignoring what he said, and instead you ask, “What even is all this? Some fucked up project for a class?”

He takes the seat on the stool next to you, “It’s my work before coming to school.”

Your eyes go wide, you look at him, “Wait is this-”

He brightens further, “A scrapbook, yeah! I was rearranging it before you showed up, got a bit too into it, lost track of time, so I couldn’t clean it up before you came in, and then you were fucking rushing me-”

“Holy fucking shit, you have a scrapbook of your previous kills?” You flip through, detailed accounts, pictures, small souvenirs, more still. It was amazing but also infuriating, how the fuck did you never think to do something like this? Most you had was scrawled out diary entries post kill, but this was truly in depth, a testament to his commitment to wielding a knife and bringing pain.

He leans closer, starts pointing out particular details, and you have to admit, an impressive body of work, clear effort put forth into this catalogue of violence. “She was the first. She was in my math class in high school, the kind of girl who thought she was way too good for everyone, you know the type.”

His eyes meet yours, a taunting smile, and you find yourself letting out a laugh. He kept talking, and you kept listening until he says, “You are being awfully quiet.”

“Am I not allowed to be quiet?” You ask, and he laughs, “No. It just isn’t like you, normally you make your opinions very painfully known.”

You sighed, “I just can’t get over what a good idea this is, I’m fucking pissed I didn’t think of it myself.” You admit, and he laughed louder, “I got one up on you and you admit it? Fuck, it is a good night.” He gets up, collects the papers and puts them in the open box nearby. You try to stop him, “Wait, where are you going?”

You ask as he takes the box back to his room, and he says, “We have a party to get to, remember? I’ll let you read it in full another time for you to cream yourself over, alright?”

Yeah, sure, cream yourself over is what you’d do. You are simply curious about his work before you both met, you liked getting a feel for him and what he had done, it only makes sense since you are going to work together. He comes back and you both leave, but that night you had to admit is what started the shift, you started to look at Mickey a bit differently, had more respect for him. He obviously had skills to back up his talk, it was a comfort as well as just nice to get to know him on this level. No one else understood that side of you, getting to talk with someone else who has killed, he understands the depth, the complexity and more, you didn’t know how nice it would be.

After that night, you and he talk some more about it, his kills and yours, it is bonding, and it goes from hating each other and somewhat tolerating to being more like co-workers. A different night you were in your dorm room alone and both going over what your pasts. He showed you his newly minted scrap book, and you read aloud from your diary about how your first date ended in your killing the guy.

“How often have you gotten blood in your mouth?” He asks, and you gagged jokingly, “Too many times! You never think that it is gonna spray like that until the first time you slash a throat, right?”

“Seriously. Okay, okay. Least favourite part?” He asked, and you groaned, “Disposal, dead weight is such a bitch at times. Once a guy almost got away from me, I cornered and killed him at the bottom of some stairs, but once he was dead I had to drag him back UP those same stairs.”

“Fuck, how did you do it?” He genuinely asked, and you tell him, “With ropes and determination. How about you?” He hums, “My least favourite part has to be when the chase goes on for too long. Nothing worse than being winded before you even get the knife in them, feel like I can’t enjoy it properly, and I hate to do a rush job like that. It’s like the option is taken from me.”

“Lack of control is truly the worst.” You agree.

While you felt closer, a small kinship as well as more mutual understanding, Mickey could still be a bit much at times, you still clashed on occasion, but those times were becoming fewer and further between. It makes the path to the plan easier. You study on occasion, able to have meals together, Nancy is pretty pleased you’d both calmed down, and you find yourself consumed with regular daily life. The hate fucking isn’t so hateful and has also slowed considerably to a near stop.

When you got the go ahead, you and he were giddy. Alight. It caused one of the worst fights you had with him where you insisted that you be the first one to kill, you wanted to show that you could, prove yourself and also, it had been so, so fucking long since you had. Eventually, Nancy sides with you but insists Mickey be nearby in case shit goes screwy, and you can deal with that.

You revel in it. The phone call, the break in, the case and the actual kill. You being on top of her, stabbing her, running her through with one hand as your other is over her mouth. She struggles and whines, and you feel powerful, watching the light drain from her eyes the same way the blood does.

Perhaps you linger just a touch too long, but you just can’t help it. Mickey comes to get you, urge you out, and then he sees it, the aftermath. You still sitting on top of her in your costume, the knife to the hilt inside of her, and you turn, ghostly white mask with small spots of red and his breath catches. He read your accounts, you’d talked in depth, he’d killed people himself, but this, seeing it, you, post kill, was a totally different animal.

You pull off your mask, hair a mess, face sweaty with the effort, a manic smile as you ask, “What’s up?”

He lingers by the door of the balcony you were on, stuck in the threshold, the sliding glass was acting like a metaphorical doorway as much as a physical one, a turning point, one that cannot be forgotten or ignored. A shifting tide, your relationship, how he viewed you, permanently changed. His mouth feels dry, he swallows and says, “We have to go.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right, just got a little uh-” You look down at the body, pull the knife out and drive it in one last time, you sound gleeful, “-stab happy.”

The laugh spills from you both unbidden and then, you flee the scene of the crime. Costumes stowed in bags and knife hastily wiped down. He couldn’t stop looking at you after that night. Every time he saw you, it was like you went from black and white static to live and in colour, as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. He had it and had it so fucking badly for you, it was embarrassing.

You could get him, understand him on levels no one else could or probably ever would.

Mickey started treating you differently. You think it is because of what he saw, he finally was respecting you and sure it was part of it, but much more than you could have realized went into it. He was being much more than pleasant to be around, he was nice, fun to be around, he wasn’t an asshole like previously and slowly, much, much too slowly, after many meals bought, coffees given and notes shared you figure out that you think, he has a crush on you. It slips through even when with your “friends” and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially because he doesn’t hide it. He is kind, he flirts shamelessly, he makes his wants and intentions known.

You don’t know how to deal with or process that.

So you don’t.

You let him treat you better, you feel previous hate and anger melt, but you write it off as friendship, nothing wrong with that considering what you were doing. You take his compliments with a smile, you laugh off his over the top promises of “I’d be so, so good to you.” with a wave of your hand.

The plan continues on, stretches out from days to weeks, Nancy claims she wants Sidney to really suffer, and you aren’t going to question or complain.

The next kill is up to Mickey, you weren’t able to be there, but you got to see him after. Amped the fuck-up and excited, he told you about it all, how it went. “He was so pathetic, you should have seen him, begging for his life, crawling on the ground, oh my God.”

You watched him pace back and forth, animated hand gestures, his t-shirt was sticking to him from the sweat, your eyes aren’t sure where to linger, defined arm muscles or that wide sick smile. He flops onto the couch beside you, a large exhale, “It was fucking incredible.”

“And what are you feeling like, right now?” You asked as you looked down at him, and he says as his head pitches to look up at you, “I am feeling fucking starving. You want to order in a pizza?”

So you did. You ate sprawled on the floor and talked about the fact everything was meant to ramp up soon, that you and he were expected to both go in hard within the next few weeks.

It still goes on, you and both grow closer, another kill here, one there until finally there is a night where you have to murder together. The talking beforehand is frantic, both planning what was going to happen, honestly excited to do this together. You and Mickey started off hating each other's guts, but that seems so far away now, you and he were actually good friends and a united front on this plan.

It doesn’t go well at first.

The struggle is hard, you and he almost lose the two people you were planning on killing, but you manged it. Watching Mickey up close, not only that but you both doing this together, it makes something in you and your perception of him change. It is startlingly intimate, you are so in the moment, weirdly in sync with very little verbal communication, at one point you are gutting one of them while he holds them down and even through the masks, you know your eyes are locked, you can’t see his gaze, but you feel it.

It’s then. Between the smell of blood, the sweat making your black robe stick to you, over the screams of your shared victims, that all of it hits you.

It all comes crashing in, you thought he was the only one with a crush, with deeper feelings, that is not the case. You’ve come to realize that you have feelings for him too, deep and intense, scary and all consuming feelings, you care about Mickey and more than as a friend, a fellow killer, a partner in crime. You like him. Old memories flow through your mind now tinged differently, a highlight reel of neon recollection, synapses sparking, forcing you back, dragging you along to really look at those moments in the new light and context of your now fully exposed feelings. Raw and wriggling and out in the open air for you to contend with, screaming for acceptance and to be dealt with in some fucking fashion.

You had liked him for a long while and were far too stubborn and stupid to realize it. And you can’t ignore it any longer.

Snapped back into the moment you are staring. His strong gloved hands around the bitch’s throat, you can see the power he has, the way his arms strain from the effort, you can’t look away.

Once it was over, once they are both dead, you and he had to separate, and it made your mind run. You were so nervous, you trusted him completely now.

You knew Mickey was more than capable, but still, the thought of him actually being caught, you don’t know how you’d handle it. The sudden change steals your breath, you feel crushed by your new feelings, the unexpected care you feel for him.

The emotions run high during a kill night on the best of times, but the rough and rocky start, the joined act of killing, the fact the police presence as stepped up, it all mixes together. You were worried, very fucking worried, and that makes you terrified.

When you come back to the meeting point, he is already there, his mask is taken off, and you hastily remove your own. Staring across the space at each other, heavy breathing, and the look in his eyes upon meetings yours, he knows. He knows you feel differently now, and it can be felt in the air. You stride forward first as you exhale out, “Thank fuck you’re okay-”

As soon as you are close enough Mickey’s hands are on the sides of your face, pulling you to him and his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing you up in him, preventing you from speaking, stealing all words, you return his affection hastily, clumsily and with a moan of relief. Even during all your hate fucking, it wasn’t like this. There were no presses of your mouth to his, the only times your mouths were used were to bite, cause pain, or on occasion give each other some truly rough but brutal oral sex.

You are greedy, need to make up for lost time. You kiss him hard, want to make him as breathless as you are, more than the chase made him. You and he end up on the couch in his place. Costumes are long forgotten on the floor. His hands wander, touch you all over, help pull clothes away and aside, “I’ve been thinking about this so fucking much.”

A laugh slips out as you straddle him, helping him out of his shirt and throwing it aside, “Yeah Mickey?”

He takes in the view of you in just your pants and bra perched on his thighs, his hands run up your sides, fingers press over an already flowering bruise left from when one of your murder victims kneed you in the ribs. You hiss slightly, a sharp intake of air from the stab of pain, you retaliate, fingers in his hair, you thread, twist and pull. He gasps, smile widens, and he nods as much as you allow, “Yeah, been thinking about you just like this.”

“Just like this?” You grind on his lap, bare down on his clothed erection, short muted sounds of pleasure leave you both as you lose yourselves in the action, the friction before he manages to get out, “Almost, there are no clothes in the way, and I am buried deep again in that sweet fucking cun-”

You pull even harder and his sentence breaks off with a groan as you prompt him. “Stop talking and start doing.”

He was losing it. Normally whenever he hooked up with people he was sure, in total control, but you got the drop on him. He should know better, especially after all the previous very violent hook-ups.

At first, he was on top, or rather, he was trying to be, but all of a sudden a leg was around his hip and hands were on his broad chest pushing him until he fell onto his ass, back propped up on the arm rest of the couch. You settle into his lap quickly, straddling him and then lowering yourself, taking him deep, to the hilt, before he could protest. The moan leaves him on an exhalation at feeling how soaked and hot you are. His hands are on your hips, and he rocks up into you once before your hands are in his hair once more. Fingers thread anew, wrap around and twist before pulling, it makes his eyes shoot open, a harsh inhale from the pain, brows knitted together in confusion when you tell him firmly, "Stay fucking still. This is for me right now, not you."

He is shocked, stunned, your tone so harsh, leaving no room for argument, and you start to move, hips rise and fall as you ride him for all he's worth.

You look fucking stunning, gorgeous, and you feel even better.

He didn’t know he could be so into this, but he thinks it is because it’s you. He has seen you kill, seen how capable and powerful you are, he is so fucking into you, feels so deeply for you, he thinks you could carve your name into his flesh and he’d beg for more. The praise tumbles out between groan and gasps, timed with the falls and of your hips, the rolls of your body, and it makes you laugh breathy, “You are really into this.”

“Been a, fuck, while.” He confesses, and you slow your hips, “Mickey, have you kept it in your pants? Stopped fucking half the student body?”

You knew he was seeing other people in between your fucking for a while, but when you and he stopped, did he not get his fill elsewhere? He shrugs, tries to seem unbothered, but it’s hard when his hands are gripping your hips so tightly, browns pinched together, you clench on him and his head is thrown back against the arm rest of the couch. Sweat is down his temple, tendons in his throat as he swallows thickly, “Been busy.”

It is all he can force out. This is serious. Mickey the slut stopped screwing anyone else because he was crushing on you so severely. He did really like you, holy shit. Not an act at all, he was so consumed with you that fucking other people wasn’t something he wanted.

The emotion radiating off him is filling you, bleeding back into you, and you let it take you without trying to show it too heavily. You fucking care about him, you really fucking do.

Your hand below your waist, quick fingers bring you to your peak twice in short succession as you ride him before he finds his own high. The first time is frantic, needy, more about getting it out of your systems after so long without. It is undeniably satisfying and thoroughly enjoyable.

The next time happens that same night. With reheated Chinese and in his bed. You talked about it all, how the kill that night went and in the process worked yourself up once more and made the shower you shared after your time on the couch utterly pointless from how sweaty you got again.

After that night, you were together. You and he often fucked, maybe more than you should, but you just could not get enough. You’d been so busy that you hadn’t really fucked anyone other than him since getting here over a year ago. Times in your dorm or his, shared showers, traded oral in places that you shouldn’t like between library stacks. Once you had sex in the band pit of the theatre, your hands over his mouth and his over yours as you worked to keep quiet, him thrusting up into you, and you are slamming down on him as you worked each other over, bringing him and yourself to Earth shattering pleasure.

Both of you kept it more hush, hush, but another secret just added to it. You didn’t run from your feelings, nor did you attempt to hide how into him, you were. The dates squeezed in everywhere you could also try to make up for your stubborn bullshit earlier. Affection was, often, moments of tenderness and vulnerability in private were shared.

There is a moment that you keep coming back to.

Another kill. You and he are blood splattered, you had a quickie next to the body, a rushed moment of passion with you pushed over a desk. Your legs were shaking from the strength of the orgasm he fucked out of you. Over the past while you’d gotten much more comfortable with him taking control, it wasn’t a fight for dominance, it was shared responsibility that you give into as often as he does. His cum was leaking out into your panties that you had just pulled back into place. You were heaving, body slick, and resting for a moment when he comes around the desk. His mask is pulled up, and he leans down, gloved hands come to your face, one hand holds the knife in his leather clad grip, the other holds your cheek. You feel the knife handle against the opposite side, and he moves in, he kisses your forehead half-in-half-out of his killer garb, and you melt. You smile up at him and he returns it.

The lies and secrecy shouldn’t turn you on like this. Lying to Sidney and everyone else, the high you are both on from so far getting away with it is immense. You and he are too perfect of a fit.

It’s the day of. You and he are about to head out when the urge strikes. “Hey-“ Your hand quickly reached out and grabs his wrist, pulling him back from the door, so he was stood facing you again. His hand dropped to your waist, and he smiled down at you, that stupid damn devastating smile you used to hate that you now couldn’t see yourself living without, “- before we do this, there’s something I wanna tell you. Just in case.”

He noticed you looked almost nervous, weight shifting from one foot to the other, he had never seen this emotion on your face before, and he knew exactly what was coming before you took a deep, unsteady breath and opened your mouth to speak again. “I lo-”

“Don’t.” He said quickly, eyes wide, raising his hand to place it over your mouth, an action you had both done to each other God knows how many times in a much different context. “Save it. Tell me after we’ve won, okay?”

You rolled your eyes slightly, prying his fingers away from your mouth. “God, you’re such an overdramatic dork, Mickey. Okay.”

It was stupid. You shouldn’t have listened to him. You should have said it.

You and he and Nancy were in the theatre with Sidney. The monologue was underway, big speeches, reveals, shock and awe. You’d been watching from afar, waiting for your cue to come in, when it happens all too quickly. Sidney made Nancy so angry so fast, unable to control herself, and she points the gun and with a simple move of her finger, the trigger is pulled and all of a fucking sudden just like that night your world is coming crashing in. He wasn’t expecting it, the bullet holes in his chest pour blood out rapidly.

You are frozen in place. Rooted to the spot. You watch as his body falls. Here then gone. Stole from you in a single moment, no time to react, nothing to do, no time to process either. He was ripped from you, and it takes a moment for everything to come back into focus. Sidney and Nancy are struggling, and you find the strength.

You move.

The weapon in your hand is used on Sidney, not the way you’d intended to, the butt of your own gun is smacked full force on the back of her head. You knock her out and let her fall to the stage. You are left standing there with Nancy, who is wondering what you are doing. You are holding up the gun, pointing it straight at her, questioning her in the same way, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Why are you pointing that at me?” She asked in seeming disbelief, and you scoff, “Why do you think?! I heard you! I heard what you said, I watched you shoot Mickey, I know you want me dead next, right? Clean up the loose ends?”

You spit it at her with vitriol before you do your best impression of her annoying voice during her speech to Sidney, “There was a big scuffle, and you-” your foot kicking Sidney’s boot for emphasis, gesturing down to her with your other hand, “-shoot Mickey-”

Saying it makes you sob. Tears start to stain your cheeks, “I cannot believe you! Bringing us here, making us do your dirty work, and you were planning on killing us the whole fucking time!”

“What, did you really think that he’d get away with it? His big plan about blaming the movies? What jury would believe that-” She shouts, and you stomp your foot, “Shut the fuck up, that isn’t the point!” You weren’t going to tolerate her speaking ill of him, not while he is still bleeding out in the band pit, you kept talking, “You double-crossed us!”

Your gun moves down, and you shoot, getting her in the knee. She crumples under the weight of her own body. She is on the ground, and she is the one sobbing in short order. You make your way to her, you step onto her busted knee, grinding your boot down into it and revelling in her anguished screams. Blood gushes and you still are not satisfied. You sink down, you lay into her. First the gun across her face, teeth are knocked out, displaced and rattle as they roll across the wooden stage.

You hit her again and again, next the gun is dropped, your hand takes over, punching her, nose breaks, cartilage cracks, bones snap, she is coughing and wheezing and weak. Your knife is removed from the holster stored in your boot, and you hold it to her throat, “You are such a stupid fucking bitch.”

She was delirious, and you slammed her head against the stage, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Her eyes are unfocused, but they are on you, “This is your fault. You are going to die, but you didn’t have to. You killed him first, and now I’m gonna kill you.”

The response is weak from her dry cracked lips, “Why?”

“Why?” You asked, a bitter laugh, you hold the knife closer to her throat, “Dumb cunt wants to know why? Sure, I can tell you.”

A deep inhale before you say, “You brought me here under false pretenses, made me work with one of the most annoying and insufferable people I have ever met in my life, forced me to be around him and in the process made me realize that…”

You can’t bring yourself to say it, but you instead say, “-That I care about him. That I needed someone else who could truly understand me on this level, who cared, who showed me how I deserved to be fucking treated and then, you just…You kill him, snuff him out, like he was nothing!”

You feel the tears falling again, “After all we’ve done to make your fucked up dream of a revenge plot come true, and you expect me to just lie down and take it when you kill him?!”

You can’t see her properly, not through how watery your eyes were. A steadying breath before you say, “And the way you did it. With a gun? It is insulting! Where is the intimacy? The care? The artistry, if he had to die by murder, he deserved better! Do you care about the art form at all?!”

You are tired of her, the anger and sadness had been bubbling up, it all comes to a head and bursts, the knife slices through her throat, she is choking on her blood when you tell her, “I’m not playing along, I’m not doing your stupid plot, not anymore. I’m rewriting it, Sidney’s gonna live.”

You don’t stop there. The knife is forced into her over and over. By the time you are done, her stupid white unflattering white suit is stained completely red.

Getting up from the complete mess, you look over your shoulder, Sidney is still passed out. This is your chance to run, but you can’t. Not yet.

Your steps are tentative, your knees hurt from how long you were on them while hunched over Nancy’s body while you were killing her. Your hands shake, and you peek over the edge of the stage and see him down there, amongst upturned band chairs, and your breath is stolen. You and he hooked up down there weeks prior, and now he was down there, looking wrong, totally fucking wrong. He looks lonely, and you hate that, you move quickly, one hand on the edge of the stage, and you jump down, it hurts your ankles from the height, you don’t care.

You stay there with him. You cling to him, you are reminded of that conversation, your least favourite. Dead weight. Quickly going cold, lifeless eyes staring up, past you, to some point on the ceiling, unseeing. You let yourself cry. You want to say it, tell him the depth of your feeling want to force the words out, you want to tell him you love him, but now it doesn’t feel right at all. He should have been able to hear those words from you while he was alive, while you still had a shot at a future together, whatever it would have looked like.You let yourself say this at the very least.

“You were right…” You sniff, you wipe at your cheeks and say, “The time we had was short but fuck. You were so good to me. I should have let you be good to me sooner. I should have been better to you, too.” The next words sit heavy on your tongue, no matter how much you want to they are left unsaid, and you make yourself leave him.

Before you do, there is one thing that feels necessary, like you have to. Hands cradle his face, one hand still holding the knife, and you lean down, you press a blood stained kiss to his forehead, near his hairline just like he did to you before. A mirror of that previous act of tenderness on a scarlet tinged afternoon but so much sadder because it was the last moment like this you’d ever have with him and again still, it was totally wrong. He can’t feel it, because he’s dead.

You get up and with one last forlorn look to him, you run.

Sidney wakes up unscathed but dazed, Mickey dead and Nancy too. You hadn’t revealed yourself, she hadn’t seen you, Nancy and Mickey hadn’t made mention of you, you’d been wearing gloves and there was none of your blood or DNA at the finale’ site, so you got away with it. They think the last person is still at large, but they have no clue who.

Your sadness is understandable, your real grief is able to be spread around, it is believable that it is for Hallie and Derek and everyone else but Mickey on the surface. You and Sidney drift apart. You tell her it’s too hard and she more than understands, she was initially suspicious at first, but you were too good an actor, your alibis too well planned and airtight.

The unmarked account that your tuition came out of was still full. You intend to transfer to a different college next semester. You can’t stay here, the idea of graduating from here without Mickey is horrible. You need a new state, a new school, a fresh chance to try and attempt to move on. It’s after winter break at that new school that you meet.

The events happened over a year ago, and you were still not doing good. Still sad, you wonder how you can ever process this pain, this total loss, no way can you talk about it, no way another person could ever understand.

Until that is one fateful day, you get a knock at your apartment door. You answer it and standing in front of you is a ghost, one person who you thought, just like everyone else, was dead, and maybe, perhaps, the only one who can relate to you.

Brows furrowed and gripping the door, so your legs won’t buckle, you asked nervously, in total shock and disbelief, “Stu Macher?”

He grinned with a point to himself, “That’s me. Can I come in?”

#Mickey Altieri X reader #slasher x reader #Ghostface x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE #HAVE IT #ENJOY IT #FUCK #FINALLY #Been working on this one for a WHILE

154 notes · View notes

descendantsramblings · 29 days

Note

I have a little idea for Male!Reader x james Hook and morgie

Male reader (son of Rapunzel maybe?) Went back in time with Red and Chloe, Hook and Morgie took a certain interest in him cause the boy is a stubborn little thing with a big mouth.

The Reader is mostly annoyed/amused with Hooks flirting and finds Morgies teasing Interesting. Reader is interested in morgie (sorry hook) but the Reader knows he cant put a move on morgie even if he wants to cause that could cause problems with the timeline and the future

Its all just a mess for the reader but he may or may not become weak at one point cause lets be honest- who can resist a Dork that acts like a golden retriever.

Having the Morgie boys be some of the main people in my inbox is literally my favorite thing. I love him so much, this is wonderful.

In Another Life

Morgie le Fay x Time traveling!Reader/James Hook x Time Traveling!Reader

Pronouns Used: He/Him/His

Summary: When Rapunzel’s son is dragged back in time by his childhood best friend he finds himself the object of two villains’ affections.

Warnings: suggestive comments, crying technically, minor swearing, a few words in German, bad ending, mentions of death, the reader is kinda mean to Chloe in the first paragraph

Word Count: 2.9K

Translations (I don't speak German so I hope this is correct)

hau rein - "see ya", mein sonnenschein - "My sunshine"

“How was I supposed to know that I’d get us sent to the past when I grabbed you? You have to forgive me at some point!” The blue-haired girl looks nearly animated in her movements as the argues with him. Chloe had managed to get him thrown into every single negative situation she’d gone through the entire time they’d known each other. But this? This takes the cake. “I can’t believe you! How dare you act like this is just a little spill, we’re stuck here Chloe. Stuck, no going home until some Wonderland kid we just met decides we can. This is not something I’ll just ‘forgive you eventually’ for! I should be at home with my family, not here in a point of time where our country doesn’t even exist yet!” His arms move wildly in the air around him as he yells. The last day with his parents until family day and now he had to spend it with someone else? And he was supposed to, what? Trust a kid who just convicted his best friend’s mother of treason? This was ridiculous. Everyone should know not to trust the person who got your mother sentenced to death to help save their mother. “What about my family? If we didn’t come back then my mom would for sure die.” “No Chloe, not we. If you and Red didn’t. This doesn’t involve me. I don’t want to be here!” “And you think I do?”

He turns on his heel, storming off towards the woods behind him. “(Y/n) Fitzherbert! You don’t even know where you’re going!” The boy huffs, waving a hand at her as if to brush her off “Well, guess I’ll just have to get lost!” Normally he wouldn’t be so huffy. But normally normal things were happening to him. Being the first person to experience time travel was not part of his bucket list, he could promise you that. He just needed to clear his head, regroup. That would fix him, surely it would. The woods felt no different to the ones in his own part of the timeline, though then again, how could they be? They were just woods, just trees and grass and morning dew. It smelt fresher though, as if the air was cleaner somehow. Perhaps it was, the past couple decades had the time to affect the air, would they not? (Y/n) would never tell his friends about where exactly he went when he was alone in the woods, they all assumed he spent his time at the enchanted lake, and he assumed it was better that way. Some things should get to be secrets, if not he’d never be alone again. He deserved to have his secrets. Everyone did, didn’t they?

And there it was, the old shell of a hideout that looked newer now, nicer. Not that it looked nice per say but it wasn’t what he was used to back home. The boy slowly makes his way to the side of the lagoon, jumping from rock to rock as he approached his slice of solitude. It felt like he was where he was supposed to be for the first time in the four hours he’d been stuck in the past. Listening to the familiar thump of his converse on the large flat pieces of stone put him at peace. Maybe for only a few minutes he could be at home, that’s all he wanted. Home, god Red better be able to get them back there. He just needed his taste of it, then he’d go put on a pretty face for Chloe and Red and apologize to his best friend for yelling at her. Of course he would, he always did.

At home, he was pretty much the only person who even knew about the black lagoon, no one else was ever there. So why would he expect someone now? The two boys sitting in the hideout were a shock to him. How had he never thought about who would have used the place before him? He was smarter than that, surely he was. Had the boys been facing away from him, he would’ve just left. Actually gone to the Enchanted Lake or maybe just turned back to Chloe. That wasn’t his luck though, instead they stared at him nearly challenging him. Silently but visibly questioning what made him think he was allowed to be in their space.

“What have we here?” The boy with the darker hair steps towards him, hook swinging towards him in a manner that almost felt playful. “We don’t get many Princes around here. What a surprise,” he slides the dull end of the golden hook down the boy’s cheek, smirking at him, “Come here looking for something, did you?” The seductive tone of the pirate was so thick you’d have to be a fool to miss it. Something similar to how he’d spoken to Chloe earlier when she was more than ready to fight him. No doubt the pirate was just like that. His eyes go over the boy, giving him the up and down twice before scoffing, “Not for you.” Hook drops his arm, stepping back slightly with a brow quirked. “Oh really?” The other boy comes up behind him now, hands resting on Hook’s shoulders as he peers over him at the Prince. “So you’re here for me then?” His lip slots between his teeth as he looks at the boy. Something about the teasing tone Morgie used had his stomach flipping. The smirk on his face was softer, an almost hopeful twinkle in his eyes. “Come on, Darling, we both saw how you were looking at us back in the courtyard. Who’d you come to see?” Hook crosses his arms as he speaks, shamelessly checking out the Prince.

“Actually,” (Y/n) steps away, heading over to that old seashell chair he adored and falling in it, “I was hoping the place was empty. Shouldn’t you two be in class?” Morgie’s brows furrow, that was his seat, why would he take his seat? “Shouldn’t you be in class, Darling?” Eyes roll back in their sockets as he runs his hand down the fabric of the chair. It was so much nicer right now, going back to the way it was in the future was going to suck now that he knew its potential. “You don’t need to worry about where I should be.” “Oh no,” Morgie waltzes to his side, perching on the chair beside him, so close their thighs brush as he sits, “Well, you’re in our space and my seat. So I think we do get to worry about where you’re supposed to be.” Morgie's seat, huh? He hums, a smirk on his lips, “If you say so.” “I do,” Morgie lets his eyes shamelessly linger on his mouth, taking in the smirk that seemed to tease him back. This was the closest he’d ever been to a royal without actively harassing them. He thought the stranger would pull away, maybe move from his chair all together, but he didn’t. He simply adjusted in the seat, their legs getting closer as he did, now pressed to each other, solidifying his stance on moving. “Listen boys, you can pretend I’m not here, I don’t really care. I just need a piece of home and this is as close as I can get.”

Hook and Morgie share a look, seeming to communicate through their eyes. This exchange student didn’t fear them in the slightest. It was new, almost a rush for the both of them. And in that moment they seemed to silently agree on something. This was going to be their new little game it seemed. Who could get the new boy’s affections first? May the odds be ever in your favor.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Pretending he didn’t know exactly where they were going while walking with Red and Chloe to the Black Lagoon was harder than he thought. Surely if he was too obvious they’d get suspicious. And he couldn’t imagine how they’d react if they knew he’d spent a whole class period with two boys who would help lead to the mess they’d been facing back home. Not that he’d meant to spend time with them, of course not. Why would he? They were villains, or at least they were supposed to be. He wasn’t so sure he could call them that though, not after the way he saw them. How would those two boys, the ones who were teases as best, go on to end up on the Isle of the Lost? How would Morgie end up there at all? Surely it would have to be similar to how the VKs from his part of the timeline did, wouldn’t it? Just a victim to his family line, nothing more. Not that he knew him. Of course one afternoon wasn’t enough to know a person, but the way he spoke, the innocence in his eyes when (Y/n) had confused him a few times, that seemed a little hard to fake.

He lags behind the girls as they walk away from the Lagoon, lost in his own mind. Not that they’d notice, too wrapped up in talking about the prank that was meant to be pulled in two days. Chloe being a touch too distracted by the red lipstick painting the other princess’ lips. He took a mental note to tease her for that later, some point where they could all laugh about all this. He could feel eyes on him from behind, pausing to put more space between the girls before him and himself. Whoever was trailing them didn’t need to bother the princesses, he could handle them alone for sure. Left hand reaching for the sword on his hip as two bodies collide with his back. Chests to his shoulders. “Are you following us now, Darling?” “Miss us that much already?” (Y/n) turns to look over his left shoulder first, smiling at Morgie and sending him a teasing wink before turning the other way to look at Hook. Hand falling away from his sword, he wouldn't need it against them. “It seems to me you’re following me, Captain. Considering you ran into my back when I stopped walking and all.” “Touché,” he smirks, putting his hook under the boy’s chin with a smile, “Can you blame me? Watching you walk away is quite the view.”

He laughs, stepping away from the pirate and slightly running into Morgie. “You pirates are all so shameless. Ego’s bigger than your ship isn’t it?” “Oh wouldn’t you like to know? You should come ride it some time.” He winks at the Prince, words obviously holding a double meaning that should've brought a blush to his cheeks. (Y/n) laughs, taking notice of the gentle hand that had found its way onto his shoulder from behind. “Oh, I’ve seen the Jolly Roger, she’s not that impressive.” Hook raises a brow, “Oh you have? How haven’t I seen you before, then?” Shit, he hadn’t seen the Jolly Roger while Hook was the Captain. He shouldn’t have let that slip. “I’ve visited Neverland a time or two, guess you just aren’t that observant.” Hopefully it was convincing enough, he turns to the sorcerer behind him, the boy looking down at him. “You would’ve noticed me, wouldn’t you?” He hoped it would help make his earlier words more convincing or at least serve as a good distraction from them. If it hadn’t been so dark, the boy would’ve seen the pink hue drawn to Morgie’s cheeks and ears. The villain silently thanking Uliana for wanting to wait until dark to discuss their plans for revenge, had they done this earlier he would’ve been caught for sure. “Of course I would. Look at you.” It wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped for, nothing like the line delivery he’d had in the daylight but he could still see a smile play across the Prince’s face, teeth and eyes sparkling in the pale moonlight.

“I’d hope so, I like the attention.” He knew better than to play with him like that. Who knew how they’d be changing the future just from a small interaction. Though it seemed that Chloe and Red hadn’t, (Y/n) did learn a thing or two about the Butterfly Effect. He could only hope to all things good that he wouldn’t ruin his own future by just being between the two boys. If he was stronger, maybe he'd move. It was hard not to linger there though, with that sweet look on Morgie’s face and the burning feeling of the pirate’s eyes on him. Boys back home never looked at him like this .Never stared at his lips the way Morgie did, it felt good. And if he wasn’t so scared of changing things, he might have just given in to those half lidded eyes that were locked on his lips and leaned up. Were they as soft as they looked? It was like the other boy could read his thoughts, Hook turning him to face away from Morgie with a teasing smirk playing on his lips, “If it’s attention you’re looking for, I know a great source.” (Y/n) laughs, shaking his head as he pulls away from both of them. “You don’t know when to quit, do you, Captain? Well, hau rein boys, have a good night.”

Morgie hates to admit to how hard he was staring as he watched the prince walk away from him. Eyes locked on the royal strut, he knew Hook’s would be too. It was nearly impossible to look away from him. “What language was that?” He spares Hook a look when the darkness swallows the boy’s receding form, brows raised in confusion. “I,” Hook stops, turning to look at his friend with an equally confused face, “I’m not sure.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Two days in the past shouldn’t have this effect on him. It’s embarrassing, how did he let a boy he just met get him so wrapped up like this. A boy he couldn’t even have, and yet he was begging for an extra thirty minutes in the past to just say goodbye. Running through the halls of Merlin academy just hoping to see a flash of black and green. He had to say goodbye, he just, he had something he had to do. For himself. Where would a sorcerer whose friends all just got frozen by a magic cookbook be hiding? Where would he be if Chloe had just been frozen?

Looking for whoever did it to her. Without a second thought he’d be looking for whoever hurt her. And if Morgie was anything like him, that's what he'd be doing too. So that means, he needed to retrace his steps from the office to Red’s dorm. Running back towards the dorm and straight past it he ends up slamming into a solid chest. Two strong hands grabbing his arms and stabilizing him as the impact almost sends him falling backwards. He looks up to see a pair of hazel eyes that had plagued him for the past two days. He assumes they’ll be haunting him for the rest of his life now. The boy being forever unattainable. The thought was nauseating.

“Hey! Careful there, you almost wiped out,” Morgie’s hands slide down his arms, ghosting over the bewildered look on his face, “You okay, (Y/n)?” He didn’t know the boy well, Morgie couldn’t deny that. But he could feel in his heart of hearts that the way the boy laughed at his question was out of character. “I was looking for you actually, lucky me that you were,” he looks at those pretty eyes again, letting out a shaky breath, “Right here.” A pale pink lip slides between his teeth, disrupting the smile that was trying to spread across his face, “Lucky I was, someone had to catch you.” (Y/n) shakes his head, breaking eye contact, “People don’t tend to catch me very often.”It makes Morgie place a single knuckle under his chin, tilting his face back up so he has to look him in the eyes again. “I’d catch you every time. I actually was looking for you too. I needed to ask you something.”

The sorcerer had that hopeful look back in his eyes, the one he'd had back in the hide out. It made (Y/n)’s chest hurt. “You did?” He nods, smile stretched across his face as he pulls his hands back to himself, fiddling with his fingers as he speaks. “Listen, I know that it’s super late, considering it’s tomorrow and all, but I was wondering if you’d go to Castlecoming with me? I know we just met and all but there’s no better time to get to know each other right?” He knew from the way the Prince’s face fell that there was no way he’d get the answer he wanted. If he was smarter, maybe he would've run away.

“Oh, Morgie, in another life I’d be able to answer that the way I want to.” He frowns, brows furrowing, “Well, why can’t you?” He lets his palm rest on Morgie’s cheek, and despite the fact that the boy’s heart was visibly breaking, he nuzzles against his hand. “You could never understand how us being together would effect where I’m from,” it’s shaky, a slow breath following his words. His voice was weaker than he wanted it to be. “Is it,” he takes a shaky breath, eyes growing a little blurry as he looks at the prince. He thought he was different, that maybe his family wouldn’t matter to him, how silly he was to believe that. “Is it because I’m a villain?” (Y/n) knew better when he leaned forward, he knew better than placing his lips on those pretty pale pink ones. It was a kiss he’d compare to every one that followed. Soft, sweet and sad, a poetic moment that would only ever get to be a memory. He knew he’d regret it when he went home and nothing felt like the lips of the second generation sorcerer. Forehead resting on the other boy’s as he lets out a sigh, eyes still closed because he knew he couldn't look at the boy and get his words out. The way he caught feelings for the first person to show him attention was embarrassing. “Mein sonnenschein, I didn’t get to know you well, but I know you are no villain. In another life I’d be your happily ever after.” Morgie frowns, pulling away from him, “I wish it could be this one.” Eyes opening at the loss of contact, (Y/n) looks up at the boy, his words were doing more harm than good. He knew he should turn away, he needed to get back to Red - to his home-, but tearing his eyes away from the boy would hurt. “Yeah,” he wipes a tear he didn’t mean to let slip, “Yeah, I do too.”

Yeah, there was no way he'd just "forgive Chloe at some point" over this one. No one is supposed to break their own heart.

Find Part 2 Here

#descendants #descendants imagines #descendants rise of red #descendants fanfiction #james hook #morgie le fay #morgie x reader #morgie le fay x reader #descendants x reader

30 notes · View notes