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claymoresword · 8 days

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The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 7

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Wordcount: 4.2k

Pairing: Alicent x Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, angst, fluff, smut, fingering, g!p reader, dialogue heavy, mentions of alcoholism

Note: you asked and after a year i finally delivered! this one definitely moves the plot forward but i also managed to get carried away with the smut somehow lol. if you wish to skip it just keep a lookout for the asterisks

enjoy!

Taglist: @blackbirdv98 @flaiire1805 @alicentfangirl @memarrymilf @thegayassbit-ch @vantestark @hauntedfictionland @livinginafantasysposts @baddie-on-a-mission-xx @evolutionsglory @darthtargnister @dxrewclf @rozmrazaradelfinow @wlwfanfictionss @karsonromanoff

You hold up the crown for all to see. The aged relic is a circlet of valyrian steel, set with blood-red rubies. Although only few remained, the squared cut gemstones were still a captivating sight to regard nonetheless.

The crown was once worn by Aegon The Conqueror – it seems fitting that it now be passed down to his namesake.

The dragon pit is engulfed in trepidation enough to stifle, as you gently place the crown upon Aegon's head.

It fits like a glove. A reassuring and altogether unsettling prospect.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen, is the true heir to the Iron Throne.” A declaration that rattles the silence. Your voice travels far, it ricochets off the towering walls and high ceilings.

You watched as the High Septon assisted the King back onto his feet before bowing at him in respect.

Your hand firmly resting on the hilt of your sword as you incline your head the same way when Aegon glances at you.

As he shifts his stare toward his mother, Alicent performs a curtsey. Followed by the same from Helaena.

Aemond holds his older brother's gaze for a moment before inclining his head in respect as well.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second Of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The High Septon announces as Aegon turns to face the mass of people watching the ceremony.

“Aegon the king!” You call out, and soon the crowd erupts, loud bursts of shouts and claps, all celebrating their new king.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

While you stood in the dowager queen's bedchambers, your expression twists incredulously as Alicent endlessly fusses at your breastplate. Soon, moving behind you to fasten your white cloak.

“Your Grace, I can manage this on my own, truly.” You insist once more, feeling rather queer. A queen should not be tending to you, in fact it ought to be the opposite.

Alicent remains determined, and stubborn.

“Hush.” She scolds, and you say nothing else.

“There we are.” She says, smoothing out your green tunic. After accepting the post as Lord Commander, you have since abandoned your own house colors.

Even the breastplate you have chosen for today was a foreign one, no longer the golden kraken, now intricately carved with the sigil of House Hightower instead.

Uncanny as it may be, you could not deny that it was beautifully made, and generally easier on the eyes compared to your old armor, it also fits far more comfortably.

You catch Alicent's eyes upon you, now suddenly feeling exposed, by the way she was observing your frame.

Shameless and brazen; you can't help the way it stirs something within you.

“Alicent.” You snatch her attention abruptly, forcing back your amusement.

“Hm?” The dowager queen replies, lost for a moment. It seems she only realizes she has been caught when your eyes meet. A visible blush rapidly creeps up to her face in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“You seem to be eyeing me like a meal to devour.” You point out, causing Alicent to avert her gaze entirely from embarrassment.

Gods, how desperately you wish to kiss her right now.

“You look exceptional in green,” The queen utters, her hand slips up your forearm.

In truth, her admittance doesn't surprise you.

Fascinating how she can be transparent one moment and entirely unreadable the next.

This notion alone draws you in beyond reason. With Alicent, you are always acting on pure desire and instinct.

She has completely enchanted you.

“Is that right?” You ask regardless, moving closer.

Alicent nods, her bottom lip set in between her teeth. The sight of her like this always drove you mad with the urge to ravage her here and now.

The older woman instinctively slips her arms around your neck. It takes all of your control to only place a hand on the small of her back and nowhere else, trailing tender kisses along her jaw.

“Do you enjoy seeing me in armor, Your Grace?” You whisper.

As you part her hair away from her neck, you allow your lips to meet the shell of her ear. Relishing in the way Alicent trembles at your touch.

“I do, very much.” She answers, and as you pull away, Alicent does quite the opposite, leaning in to capture your lips with her own.

Open-mouthed and eager, she kisses you with enough fervor and passion to leave you aching for more.

You can hardly help the way your hand slips lower to squeeze her rear, pulling her flush against your groin.

Alicent gasps into your mouth at the sensation, now feeling the bulge in your breeches.

She kisses you once more before pulling away, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck to hide her flushed expression.

“Lord Commander.. you are being terribly indecent.” The queen's tone betrays a playfulness, one that exhilarates you.

“I cannot help it, my queen. You drive me half-mad with want.” You remark, as your hand slides up her back in a languid manner.

Alicent exhales against your neck. She pulls you in even closer, welcoming your touch.

“Be safe today.. return to me in one piece.” The other woman utters, you meet her brown eyes, warm and enticing.

“If the Gods will it, I shall.” Your response is likely less than reassuring, but the dowager queen does not say anything to confront this.

Alicent merely occupies herself by tracing along your features delicately with her thumb. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, unable to hide the smirk that tugs at the corners of your mouth, basking in the attention she is giving you.

“Kiss me again.” You ask, and the queen moves to do exactly that, but a knock on the door causes Alicent to abruptly pull away, resuming a proximity.

The suddenness of her action nearly knocks the wind out of you and your smile quickly dissipates.

It aches, in truth, having to sneak around like this. You mislike feeling like a dirty secret– the queen's mistress.

Or perhaps her whore.

“Come.” Alicent calls, she composes herself as she straightens out her gown. A heartbeat before her father enters.

Alicent's demeanor shifts in a way you have been privy to in the past. It appears effortless the way her expression sets impassively, her hands clasped firmly over her stomach.

Now she is queen Alicent, again. No longer the woman you had been kissing just moments prior.

Otto has his jaw tightened in a similar fashion, studying you in a way that forces you to shift uncomfortably, despite yourself. “Lord Commander, it is time for us to depart.” He finally utters.

You nod, reaching for your sword belt. “Very good, m’lord.”

As you fastened the belt upon yourself, you observed as Alicent retrieved what appears to be a piece of parchment from her bedside table. The dowager hands it over to her father, whispering something to him that is intelligible to your ears.

Even as you move slightly closer under the guise of arming your steel, you are still unable to make out the sudden, and evidently secretive conversation being had between them.

You vow to sate your curiousity and confront Alicent about this later; after you have successfully delivered terms to princess Rhaenyra.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Your arrival at Dragonstone was expectedly greeted with nothing but asperity– the threat of blood shed felt imminent as you stood on the bridge.

Your army, alongside Otto's, staring down the few men who remain loyal to the Rogue Prince.

Rhaenyra Targaryen has evidently fashioned these men to act as her newly appointed Queensguard.

The notion of an agonizing death looms over all of you as her large dragon remained perched a few feet away.

Syrax is silent– as if she possessed the capacity to understand the situation at hand.

You could sense the ground beneath you rumble every time the dragon took a breath, sending a never ending chill down your spine.

“You all are traitors to the realm.” Queen Rhaenyra declares, her late father's golden crown perched upon her head.

“King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms. Confess Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne.” Otto pauses, and Rhaenyra only acknowledges the statement with a scowl, before a hardened expression takes over her features once more.

You observed as Daemon scoffed. His grip on his steel continued to advise you to keep a firm hold on your own sword.

“In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son Jacaerys upon your death.” The Hand offers, generous in any other circumstance– if it was not Rhaenyra's birthright that has been stolen from her.

“Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holding of house Velaryon.”

“Your sons by prince Daemon, will also be given places of high honor at court. Aegon the younger as the king's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the king in his good grace will pardon any knight or Lord who conspired against his ascent.” Otto finishes, and the rogue prince is quick to retaliate.

“I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king.” Daemon sneers, yet you notice Otto's resolve, he remains unfazed, confident.

One you utterly lacked, in truth. You kept an eye on a second dragon, red and much larger than Syrax, orbiting the sky.

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the conqueror's crown, wields the conqueror's sword, has the conqueror's name. He was anointed by a Septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every single symbol of legitimacy belongs to him.” Otto claims, unwavering.

This works to agitate Rhaenyra enough, her Lord husband appears more than prepared to behead any one of you currently standing before him.

“Then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses who have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their king.” The Hand adds salt to an already gaping wound.

“Stark, Tully and Baratheon have all sworn allegiance to me. As have your House, y/n.” Rhaenyra states, addressing you directly, taking you by surprise for a moment before you found the sense to meet her hard stare.

As you remain silent, Rhaenyra continues.

“I understand if you don't recall, you were still suckling at your mother's teats when your father bent the knee.” The Targaryen remarks, whether intended as a jab to your pride, it matters not, as you refuse to feel it.

“But he swore his allegiance to me, nonetheless.”

You shift your weight from one foot to another, hand resting on the pommel of your sword. “I am not here on my father's behalf.” You respond curtly.

“Then who are you here for?” Daemon inquires, he quickly continues before you can conjure a reply.

“Are you so cunt-stricken by that whore you call your queen that you are willing to abandon a sworn oath? Where is your honor?” He taunts, and this time you do feel it, like a lance to the gut.

You open your mouth to respond, but Otto quickly interjects before things get the chance to escalate further.

“Grand Maester.” He calls, extending his arm. Maester Orwyle then passes him a piece of parchment, the same one that you had witnessed Alicent give to her father in her bedchambers.

Your confusion sets in once more as Otto bravely advances forward, passing the same parchment to Rhaenyra.

The queen, in her fury, snatches it from Otto, unfolding it to discover its contents.

It was only then you noticed that it was not a letter– rather, an illustration. A page torn from a book.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon curses, ironically sharing your sentiment.

Rhaenyra remained silent as she stared at the page in her hands, her expression still unreadable.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. She eagerly awaits your answer.” Otto utters, and your face falls once you recognize the tears that escaped Rhaenyra's eyes.

A sinking feeling that you've been trying to set aside all day, re-emerges, inexplicably, you reach for your sword.

“She can have her answer now stuffed in her father's mouth, along with his withered cock. Let's end this mummer's farce.” The rogue prince hisses, as he unsheathes his steel, you immediately do the same.

In the next few moments the noise of metal scraping against scabbard charges the air as the rest of your soldiers along with Daemon's draw their weapons.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure of killing him myself.” The prince consort's command is broken by the sound of Syrax shrieking, flailing her body violently.

You flinch, but do your best to ignore the incessant pounding in your chest as you gripped your sword tighter.

Then, by a miracle, Rhaenyra subdues her uncle with a single word. “No.” She declares, Daemon is forced to set down his sword. He does it begrudgingly, and you slowly do the same.

“King's Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” The queen utters sharply before turning away, disappearing through her guards.

You stand frozen in place.

Somehow, no blood was spilled today. The simple prospect of Alicent's care for Rhaenyra seemed enough for the Targaryen to forsake her own claim to the throne.

It appears you shall return to Alicent safely, as she asked. You should be relieved, and yet you feel nothing of the sort.

The thought of the dowager queen welcoming you home, with a warm embrace, doesn't fill you with a sense of joy like it usually would.

It only makes you ill.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Since returning to the Red Keep you had chosen to keep away, sequestered in your quarters. Only your thoughts and a flagon of strongwine to keep you company.

You realize that you ought to visit Alicent, assure her of your safety, but still, you couldn't bear it, not today.

Endlessly replaying the moment in your head, Otto's words pollute your thoughts.

Alicent has not forgotten the love she once held for Rhaenyra, that much is evident.

So where does that leave you?

You are no longer certain you even possess a space in Alicent's life, let alone in her heart.

She loves Rhaenyra, and you are only a mistress.

You wipe away your tears, it is no use crying, you are simply mourning a fantasy. Queen Alicent is beyond your reach, she always has been.

As you continued to lose the battle to your anxieties, you fail to hear the main door of your bedchambers creaking as it gets pushed open.

Alicent catches you throwing your head back as you emptied the contents of your goblet. Her expression displaying palpable concern as she approaches you.

“Why are you drinking?” She inquires, and you scramble to your feet, perplexed in the way she somehow managed to enter your chambers without you realizing it.

“Your Grace.” You address her, inclining your head as you propped your hand against the back of the chair.

Alicent appears taken aback by your formality, nonetheless she moves to touch your cheek, but halts immediately when she notices the way you recoiled.

“What is the matter?” The older woman asks carefully, studying you with such concern that it weakens your very being.

How could she possibly place you above Rhaenyra Targaryen?

“I was convinced that I was going to die at Dragonstone.” Your voice breaks.

“But you did not, thank the Gods.” Alicent utters in relief, she grabs your arm, still unaware of your true grievance.

“The only reason my men and I were spared was because Rhaenyra commanded it as such.” You state, pausing for a moment to steady your breathing.

“and, she only did so because of you.” You accuse, and Alicent straightens her back, retracting her hand once more.

You mourn her touch, but force yourself to look into her eyes as you await a response.

When nothing comes, you decide to speak again.

“Do you love her?” You ask boldly, prepared for any response, but the one Alicent gives you is barely anything at all.

“I–” She stutters after a prolonged silence, and you scoff, moving past her to sit on the edge of your bed.

Alicent takes large strides after you, eager to explain herself.

“Rhaenyra and I, we were children together, we did everything together. She was my closest friend.” The dowager queen starts as she moves to stand directly in front of you.

“Perhaps I was in love, at one point. But that was an entirely different lifetime, y/n. A life I do not even recognize.” She admits, and you finally look up at her.

Alicent tentatively wipes away the tear that managed to escape your eye.

Despite yourself, your lips meet the palm of her hand as you hold it close to your face.

The dowager queen smiles.

“I am in love with you. Only you.” Alicent reassures, and your heart soars. Whether it is a lie to spare your feelings or a vulnerable truth, you are still thankful she cares enough to utter the words.

For now, that is enough.

“I love you too, so much.” You respond, still gazing up at her.

Alicent's auburn locks fell loosely down her shoulders like liquid fire. Her white nightdress, although modestly crafted, still managed to highlight every delicate curve and dip of her body.

She looks utterly breathtaking.

The queen snaps you out of your trance when she leans down to meet your lips with her own. A searing kiss that immediately leaves you breathless.

Alicent whimpers softly as your tongue enters her mouth, overcome with an urge to feel her, you place a firm hand on her waist, guiding her to straddle your lap.

The dowager does so with no protest, her knees quickly settling in between your hips on the bed.

Her core snug against your clothed groin, she feels so warm, so intoxicating.

Alicent grinds against your lap instinctively, causing you groan into the kiss. The queen seemingly overtaken with desires of her own, pulls away to begin trailing open mouthed kisses from the shell of your ear, down to your neck.

Your breathing quickens.

“Fuck– I cannot believe how perfect you are.” You say, and Alicent leans back to look at you. She does so comfortably with your firm hand supporting her.

“I am far from it,” She argues, and you are quick to shake your head in disagreement, guiding her close once more by the nape of her neck.

“You have no idea how ready I am to commit treason just to prove you wrong, my queen.” You remark, and the sound of Alicent's giggle fills you with hope for the first time in days, before she connects your lips once more.

As the kiss deepens your hand wanders the dowager's frame, almost like second nature, you slip it underneath her nightgown, feeling goosebumps form on her thighs from your touch.

You squeezed her rear, indecently causing Alicent to grind on your lap once more. Swallowing her gasp of pleasure as she does so.

“Y/n..” She utters against your lips, urging you on.

Soon you glide your hand towards her inner thigh, inching even closer to her core. “Can I?” Your ask is met with an eager nod. Alicent kisses you again, harsh and wanting.

“Touch me.” She says, and you do just that, finding your way to her sex. You begin to add pressure with your palm, causing Alicent's hips to buck against your touch.

She is dripping for you already– meeting your touch desperately. As you continue to move your hand against her sex, Alicent's gasps and mewls grow louder, she results in burying her face into the crook of your neck.

“Gods–” You marvel, kissing her shoulder before prodding a finger at her entrance.

The queen grips your shoulder tighter, nodding profusely as words continue to fail her.

You take it as permission to enter her. Doing so with two fingers, your breath hitches at the feeling of her walls contracting deliciously against your digits.

You would kill to feel her do the same around your cock.

“Yes, oh, Gods–” Alicent pants as you continue to pump in and out of her. Less than a minute has passed and it seems she is on the verge of release already, muttering incoherently against your ear.

She squeezes your fingers once more, pulling an involuntary groan from you, she is so wet you can feel her dripping down your hand, causing you to nearly soil your breeches.

“Come, come for me, beautiful..” You coax curving your fingers inside of Alicent, and that is all it took for her to fall apart completely.

She climaxes around your fingers with a cry, the sight of her writhing on top of you was truly the most captivating thing you have ever witnessed. You cock pulses with need, straining painfully against the fabric of your breeches.

Alicent's chest is heaving violently as she meets your gaze once more, her eyes dark amidst her pleasure.

“Thank you, for that.” She mutters before kissing you deeply, and you can't help but chuckle.

“No, my love, I should be thanking you.” You insist, and Alicent cares not to argue at this moment. Her lips meet the base of your jaw, a confidence overcomes her when she touches your breasts before moving her hand further south, squeezing your cock.

She gapes at the sensation, with a look of palpable arousal that again, nearly causes you to finish right then and there.

“You are so hard..” Alicent remarks in awe, squeezing you harder, earning a guttural noise from yourself.

“Yes, all because of you.” You confer, and the dowager bites her lip to mask her delight.

The sight drove you mad, as it always does. Quickly grabbing hold of her nightdress, Alicent allows you to lift it over her head.

You toss the garment carelessly across the room. Alicent moans anew as your mouth makes contact with her bare and sensitive breasts. You begin licking and sucking as though your life depended on it.

Another shudder of pleasure nearly immobilizes the Alicent before she grips a fistful of your locks, harshly pulling your head back.

She ground her hips again, her weeping sex pressing down on your hard cock.

“Please, I want to feel it inside me. I want to feel all of you.” Alicent pleads, and the prospect alone makes you lightheaded.

You don't plan to deny either of you the pleasure any longer.

Alicent lets out a yelp in surprise as you flip your positions, placing her flat on her back as you quickly remove your tunic, finally fumbling with the laces of your breeches before removing them as well.

The queen's stare falls onto the large shaft in between your legs, she reaches out to touch your cock, but you quickly grab ahold of her hand, pinning it against the bed as you settle on top of her.

Alicent whines in protest, arching her back helplessly, causing your breasts to press up against her own.

“Please,” The dowager queen begs once more, and you smirk with a sense of triumph, in this moment, you truly believe that Alicent is yours to worship and love entirely.

“So impatient.” You tease, placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

If Alicent aimed to respond, she was not given the opportunity to, as you thrust your hips forward, skillfully sheathing yourself inside of her.

Alicent releases a strangled moan at the sensation, whimpering like a maiden as she grows accustomed to your size. Her nails dig into your back, she lifts her leg to wrap around your waist, inevitably pulling you even deeper inside of her as you begin to move your hips once more.

“Fuck– oh my Gods..” Alicent curses, motivating you to move harder against her, with every stroke, her cunt welcomes your cock eagerly. Squeezing your girth in a way you've never experienced before.

Alicent eagerly intertwines your hands, the intimate noises of your coupling filling the room.

You groan with every thrust, feeling dangerously close to your release, you kiss her once before speaking.

“Alicent, I– I won't last much longer.” You admit, and Alicent moans at your words, anxious to witness your release.

“Don't hold back, darling.” She coaxes, letting her leg fall away from your waist, you pump inside of her again and then once more before pulling out.

Alicent continues to hold your hand as your entire body tenses, she watches your strained expression as you reach your peak.

She gasps as your seed spills onto her belly.

Your breathing grows erratic as you ride out the shockwaves from your release.

The feeling of Alicent's soothing hand caressing your forearm manages to coax you back to reality.

Alicent chuckles lightly as you collapse next to her, attempting to gain your bearings.

The queen turns to face you, placing a lingering kiss on your stomach, before doing the same on your chest.

You smile weakly, threading your fingers through her auburn locks, still feeling as though you are in a dream.

One you never wish to wake from.

“I love you..” You declare, just above a whisper.

Alicent beams, her thumb tracing across your bottom lip. “I love you too, y/n.”

#alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower smut #rhaenyra x reader #g!p reader #g!p #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

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s3thwrit3sstuff · 5 months

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❝ Comin’ back for more? ❞

warnings: yandere!leon and yandere!reader, piquerism, carving his name into r! skin, blood kink, overstimulation, leon takes pictures and videos of r!, dumbification, AFAB terminology (clit referred to as dick), use of boypussy & boy cunt.

“Actually,” Leon sighs, “I was gonna ask if you’ve seen him.”

Her shock is evident but to Leon’s surprise, it turns into exasperation.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Kennedy?” Ashley puts her hands on her hips and then points a finger at his way.

“He likes you. (Y/N) (L/N). He likes you, Leon Kennedy. So,” she comes around to him and despite the height difference, Leon feels slightly intimidated by her frown.

“Just fuck his brains out and tell him you’re not gonna let him go! That’s the only way you’re getting through to him, okay? God, I swear the both of you are so dimwitted!”

authors' note: heed the warnings, leon and y/n are high-key deranged, lmao. also i wrote this in a rush but enjoy!!

“Do you think he’s like…big?”

That alone was enough to make you rip your eyes away from your laptop. She chews on her glossy lip, twisting her phone to show you a Tinder profile of some douchebag that checks off everything on her list.

Awkwardly angled photos to show his jawline? Check.

Dimples? Check.

Two pairs of horrendous matching sweats? Check

A random photo of him holding some poor relative's baby to appeal to women? Check.

“Surprised he didn’t leap out from your brain,” your dry tone makes Ashley pout. “Honestly, be a little proud of me, (Y/N). He’s not holding a fish,” she turns the phone to herself. Pursing your lips, you return your attention to the report that’s been rotting in your laptop.

“Yeah, his sister is probably relieved her baby’s face is plastered on a hook-up app.” Ashley reaches over and smacks your hand. The yelp you let out turns a few heads; dark eyebags and caffeine-fueled veins already making them irritable. Exclamations of pain weren’t appreciated.

“You’re such a pessimist, (Y/N). I swear I have no idea how we ended up being friends.” An attempt was made at stifling your laughter but it tumbles out from between your fingers in quick intakes of breaths. The glaring turns into mumbling but none would speak up. Between Ashley’s status and your own, along with your golden reputation, no one could find themselves wishing ill upon the both of you.

Ashley was from a wealthy family. All you'd need to do is look at her to see she was dripped in luxury brands that were so exclusive you probably never heard of them. She met you through one of her mother's annual parties. It was an attempt on her end to play matchmaker with Ashley so she was quick to push Ashley and your sibling together.

Unfortunately for her, both you and your sibling were queer. Ashley was just glad to have real friends. How did the saying go? You win some, you lose some?

"You have your mother to thank for that. Remember how she was convinced you were a lesbian because we kept hanging out? Before I came out and everything." Ashley rolled her eyes, leaning on her elbow as she scrolled through the array of people with mild interest.

“Woah, what was that for?” Her lack of reply makes your brows raise. Closing your laptop, you reach a hand out to swipe her phone away. She gasps, attempting to swipe it back but you lean back on the chair, balancing precariously on its two legs. “Give it back, you ass,” she hisses, still trying to keep her voice low as she raises from her seat. Exiting from Tinder, your thumbs work deftly to open her messages and scoff as you go through her archived chats to see her mother’s messages were there. “You put your mom in archive jail? Woah, she must have really pissed you off,” she grunts as she tugs her phone back into her hands. You let her, folding your arms behind your head as she taps out from your intrusion. “What’s up? Did she bug you about university again? I swear she’s as anal about making those planners as you are.” “As opposed to how you live through life relying simply on your phone’s battery? Not to mention, you keep overcharging the hell out of your phone too. You should really change it — “ Ashley tucks her hand to her chest as you stand up, your chair banging as you ground it before you do so. At this point, a few people have plugged in their earphones anyway. “You’re stalling, Ms Graham.”

Ashley does this thing with her mouth. Sucking in her cheeks and chewing the insides as she contemplates spilling the metaphorical can of beans. It seems she relents as she settles next to you. There’s a sense of gratitude in her eyes as your knees are now facing her as you sit.

“These recent killings, it’s got her on edge,” she said. “She’s even been telling me I should have an escort everywhere I go. I don’t know, I just want to be normal. It’s hard enough that people treat me more like a concept or a walking ATM — an escort would just further that divide.”

A glance over her shoulder makes her words more concrete. Their eyes were clear in their intentions; flashes of green embedded in the very whites of their gelatinous orbs. Whether it was envy or greed was hard to decipher but it was clear Ashley wasn’t a person to them. She was a myth brought to life.

“You told her that?” she pushes her lips forward into a pout and you cock a brow. “Like she’d let that be an excuse. I understand her concerns but I’m not a damsel in distress. The Ghostface killings aren’t even aimed at this university, they’re completely random.”

“But you gotta admit, the close proximity would set anyone on edge. Your mother just happened to be someone who was born right on it,” you reach over to poke her cheek and she swats your hand away with a huff. “Can’t you ask her to hire secret agents instead? At least that way, nobody will see them.”

Ashley groans out that you’re the opposite of being helpful. Her phone buzzes in her hand and whatever she reads is clearly exciting enough for her to completely drop the conversation because she reaches forward and smacks your knees so hard it jerks up involuntarily.

“(Y/N), look!”

You’re half-expecting a new Tinder profile but instead, it’s a shittily made poster for a Frat Party. The curling of your lips has Ashley whining and she inches closer — her knees now between yours — as she wags the phone a bit.

“Dude, c’mon! We gotta go, everyone will be there!”

And if everyone was there, Ashley would have to be there too.

“Yeah, what better way to piss off your mother than to go to an overcrowded and overrated Frat Party,” you reply dryly. High schoolers made better posters. This one with the Comic Sans font, blurry PNGs of the hang-tight emoji, and Rick Sanchez lowered your confidence in the Earth's crust. Ashley scoffs.

“Shut up. Besides, the only reason you don’t want to go is because Mr Waitlist will be there,” she dodges your attempt to smack her arm. “Seriously, I have no idea why you choose to be in denial about your feelings for him. The chemistry between you two is insane. It’s almost sickening.”

“Almost? Guess we should try harder,” you mutter as you turn to face your laptop again. Ashley does not relent. “You should. I agree. It’s obvious you two like each other. I’ve already made a wedding plan for you.”

“Ashley,” you groan out. “Nothing is happening. We’re just...close friends.” "Again. Stage 1, denial," your eye-roll makes her inch closer and closer. "Not that anyone would blame you. He looks like some European model even with those weird side-part bangs." "Ashley." The finality in your tone makes her giggle. "(Y/N). You're attracted to him. The second you see him I swear your pupils just blow up bigger than when you're on molly. What's stopping you from just being exclusive-style?" Knowing she won't stop her sudden fixation on the topic, your shoulders droop just as you slip down your chair. Sinking deeper into your oversized hoodie, you sigh and attempt to entertain her as your fingers hover over your keyboard.

"We tried, but it didn't work, Ashley."

"Barely, tried. You had one foot out of the door before the relationship even started. I still remember you trying to keep it a secret, that's not trying that's giving up with extra steps!"

The violent shushing of a particularly peeved student causes Ashley to flinch. Pink dusts across her milky skin and she bows her head apologetically, her teethy grin gone in an instant. He seems satisfied with her expression. That quickly fades when he sees the stare you give him; his brows furrow and he frowns with a slow curl of his nose. Like a kitten hissing.

You recognize him from some of the classes you took. He was the kind of guy who'd continue to badger the professor with questions, acting so smug as he did so and never catching how exasperated they'd be. Obscenely polite because his parents were big spenders in the university's bank account. His greasy fingerprints on the steel frame of his glasses and pathetic excuse of a beard piss you off enough to curl your lips into a wicked grin.

"Sorry, were we too loud?"

The apricot sweater he wears reeks of cologne, the kind that pierces your nose and makes your eyes water from how strong it is. As he lifts his arms to cross it, Ashley straightens her back to put more distance between him.

"The two of you have been loud the second you got here." There's more he wants to say, the twitching of his lips and the tightening of his fingers prove that much. But you're staring up at him like you know something he doesn't — an omen is within your eyes and the chill it gives him shuts him up enough to leave with a comical stomp and huff.

Ashley cringes, glancing around to see if anyone felt the same as he did but is distracted by your question. "Everyone is invited to that party?" Excitement flashes in her eyes as she sees the same in yours.

"Fine. I'll go too."

The music is so loud you're convinced it's rattling your bones. People are spilling out from the threshold of doors, and windows, on the stairs and the porch, and possibly on the sloped roofs of the house. The lights are everchanging. Streams of neon blue, green, and red are flashing through the fog that's flowing down from the corners of the room. The scents. The sounds. The feeling of bodies bumping into you no matter where you walk. It was a goddamn watering hole.

You had come here with Ashley, but she split off with some of her girlfriends. Last time you checked, she'd been invested in some girl's sob story as they crowded around her with red cups in their hands and slurred words. Ashley had given you a grimace but gestured for you to just enjoy herself.

You'd try to but there'd be no point in doing so considering how vapid everyone was.

So you nurse your drink in the corner, back facing the stairs, and smile as people walk by or above you. The music isn't all that bad, typical party music with some early 2000s songs that earns a good 'oh fuck, this is my song!' from the crowd.

Scanning the front door, watching every face that comes in, your hunger becomes more and more endless. Like a predator digging its claws into the bark of trees, you're restless in that little shroud of camouflage; shifting your weight from one side to the other, sighs escaping liquor-flavoured lips; grin getting more and more grim.

The touch on your nape has your head tilting away from him. Those calloused fingerpads — which not many people in this slice of "heaven" had — press into the solid bone on your nape; it elicits a barely there moan and your features soften immediately.

The cup he's holding is perspiring in his hands and you've spent enough time under his hands to know it had every right to be red and sweating. Deft fingers pinch the rim of your cup and you give him no resistance as he pulls it away to trade his drink.

"Thought you said you didn't wanna be here, Trustfund," Leon said as he leaned on the wooden panels of the walls. The shoulder bump he did is deliberate, a soothing croon to ask you to stop staring people down the second they enter the house.

"What gave you that impression, Waitlist?"Leon grunts, downing what little is left in your cup down his throat. Risking a glance away from the entrance, your eyes chase after the trail of wetness that slithers down his chin. God, he was gorgeous. A face so pretty it's no wonder he pisses off other men around him. His odd, dry, humour doesn't exactly help either.

"The lack of replies to my messages, maybe, geez, who knows."

"Oh, poor Leon," your pout earns a frown from him. "Couldn't get your dick wet when I was going through exams? Oh, poor widdle baby," he leans away from your fingers as they invade his face to pinch to what little adolescent fat still stuck to his cheeks.

"Oh, suck a dick, (Y/N)." Your smirk as you bring your lips to the rim of his cup. "Down, boy. We're in public, don't start begging just yet."

Unamused — or attempting to look unamused — Leon simply follows your focused gaze and tilts his head.

"I'll ask then. What's up with the staring problem? You attracted to doors now or what?"

The drink goes down with an awfully wheaty aftertaste and you smack your lips together in bemusement. "Fuck - what beer is this?" "Don't be an ass, they're doing a beer run, alright? I grabbed what I could. Are you gonna answer my question or not?" You swallow with a grimace. "D'you know that kid in Mr Pinto's class? The one with glasses and that god-awful voice? That know-it-all?" Leon nods. "Yeah, kinda looks like the typical nerdy douchebag, right?"

You lean in and Leon lets you. The both of you pretend not to feel the way his breath shudders as your wet lips brush the side of his cheeks.

"I wanna kill that rude little freak. Cut him open and smear his brains all over the fuckin' sidewalk." Leon's eyes widen. As you peer at him through your lashes, his grey-metal eyes all but melt to reveal that bloodthirsty animal stalking between reason and lace-thin morality. He gulps thickly, casting a side-glance briefly to the entrance before he darts them back to you.

"Why?" He strains out after clearing his throat.

Oh, this is why you adored Leon Scott Kennedy.

It was the way he tried so hard to deny how twisted he actually was. That abashed flutter of his lashes, the skim of teeth over his rabbit-tongue-colored lips; everything contrasting to how violently he used his strength to thrust a knife into someone's rib; how easily he swiped and cleaned a hunting blade using his gloves.

The low, guttural, grunts he makes as he thrusts into you during that high. How he's so careful with his strength outside of the bedroom but during the heat of it? He's so shameless that he leaves hand-shaped bruises all over your hips and arms and even leaves indents of his teeth into your flesh. If he was really impatient, he'd fuck you all while wearing the Ghostface mask, holding that still-bloody knife to your throat as he fucked you so hard you walked funny for a day or two.

Despite how much he enjoys it though, he still asks ' why? '

Why him? Did he do something bad to you? Why not him?

Why? Why? Why?

It didn't exactly matter why. Leon never says no to you.

"He was a bitch to Ashley."

Someone bumps into him, and he braces his hand on the base rail of the stairs. Drunken laughter muffles the minute silence as he peers down at you. His broad shoulders look bigger this time. You faintly recalled Ashley slyly mentioning how he seems to work out more often now ("always jogging past near your accommodations, you must've seen him once in a while. Has he ever come over for a quick post-workout boost?" "Gross, Ashley...A few times, yeah -").

"That won't do." He said with furrowed brows. "No, it won't." Circling your arms around his waist, you pull him in with a Cheshire smile.

"Ashley's like family to me. Besides, her mom's been worried about all these — " you giggle, trying to push down the urge to by chewing on your lower lip but failing. "What?" he asks, the tip of his nose on yours as he savours the sound. "C'mon, what'd she say, babe?"

"She's worried about these Ghostface killings," you playfully hiss out. He isn't sure if it's the party, the drinks, the bloodlust, or just you but he starts laughing along with you.

"So we gotta make sure he isn't dangerous for her sake, hm?" He noses under your jaw and the way you turn your face away makes his mouth water. That neck is far too untainted for his own liking; how long has it been since you've fucked? Since he's driven a knife into someone's skull?

Ever since that awkward break-up in your car, after that honest-to-god perfect night of killing that annoying and creepy line cook and fucking under the stars in the woods. That was the last time the two of you fucked and that was months ago. It caught him off-guard. That haze of pleasure being fanned away by the typhoon that was your sudden request to just break up.

The handjob on the wooden floors of your dorm followed by a blowjob was more recent but Leon just wanted to sink into that tight hole again and again for hours for him to be fully satisfied. The only reason he even stopped was because your alarm rang for an early class, one that you apparently couldn't afford to skip. All lies. He knows the alarm was just the weekday alarm that always went off at 9 am — he knows it's because of the beat of silence that followed after you came around his fingers.

The gentle panting from both of you, the sweet kisses he was leaving on your thighs and then your face.

You only pulled away when it got too real.

It just makes him more determined to show you how deep his devotion for you was. Whatever the reason behind your fear of commitment was, there isn't a line Leon wouldn't cross to show you how willing he is to be yours.

"Exactly," you whisper. How he hears it despite the music and people should surprise him but it doesn't. His body is hyperaware of your very presence. The minute changes in your expressions, the octave changes or lilts in your voice, the wordless way you communicate with him from across the room; Leon just knows you.

"A little birdie told me that he actually has a crush on you, Mr Kennedy." Leon doesn't pause in his actions. His tongue laps at the rising pace of your pulse, teeth brushing over skin and you try very hard to continue your speech despite the hand that cups your crotch.

"Somethin' 'bout you helping him pick up his books when the fucker tripped over his own fuckin' feet." You gasped as he started mottling your skin, capillaries just imploding under his ministrations. "Fuck, Leon." The cup is crinkling under your tightening hold and Leon simply cages you in between his toned arms. It's hard to focus on anything past them as you eye the prominent veins that disappear under the sleeves of his black shirt.

"Leon, calm the fuck down." He bites your neck in retaliation and you're glad some popular song plays over the speakers because the cheers that follow mask your moan.

What a ridiculous statement. Here you are, in his hands; perfect and handsome and sexy and yet — not his. It’s all a bit fucked up for him. Growing up alone, life offered no reprieve for little Leon Kennedy. His parents dying while he was young, then going to an orphanage — it all cemented into him that he was fine being independent. A partner sounded nice but he didn’t give it much thought.

Until you came.

Stubborn, silver-tongued, rich, handsome, so fucking handsome.

Not at all his type.

Waitlist, he hated that nickname. So he crashed a little late and unprepared for his first class. Sue him. Not his fault the school plucked out his name late too. Among the giggles of the classroom, yours stood out. It made sense since you were closest to him. Ashley was smacking your arm, sharing glances his way and you turned and mouthed a ‘sorry’ that Leon knew you didn’t even mean.

But then he kept seeing you around. Bumping into him during parties, always sitting near him in classes, accidentally hitting him in the face with a ball while you were chilling on the grass.

Fate was too perfect for him.

Leon was snarky and stubborn and he had nothing to give you that you already didn’t have.

But then, the night he saw you covered in blood. Everything seemed to shift. Because suddenly you weren’t this unreachable, little asshat with a wicked tongue and Leon was no longer a mutt with nothing to offer.

Suddenly, he saw that you were just as twisted and hungry as he was. A lone wolf with its teeth stained and its ribs showing under all that extravagant fur and Leon couldn’t resist himself chasing you after that.

The man who was bleeding out next to you had been desperate to try to sleep with you. The bruising around your neck and the dishevelled state of your clothes pieced the puzzle together. Leon used that to justify killing him.

For you. Just for you.

He was finally using the sharp teeth he had. Those blunt claws he’d been desperately trying to file down dug themselves into the dirt and he ran with you all the way down to Hell. Kicking the earth behind him, his breath visible as his teeth bare into a wolfish grin and you were right there.

Two lone wolves finding each other in a world full of rabbits and squirrels and deers.

Because that's what the both of you were. Not spiders with silk-weaved webs or snakes with venomous fangs. You were a wolf stalking its prey with your tongue lolled out and eyes so wide they shine like the moon.

Unapologetic killer.

If only you’d get the fact that you’re not a solitary animal into your thick skull.

Leon grunts when you pinch his sides, forcing himself to pull away with a disgruntled glare that you return.

“Did you hear what I said about the plan?” He tilts his head. “Was I supposed to?”

You click your teeth, placing your hands firmly on his chest to push him away. Leon resists but he lets you go after a split second.

“Christ, Waitlist.”

Leon reaches his hand out but you take a turn into the living area and suddenly he’s bumping into bodies. They’re bouncing and shaking and he feels like a sailor in rough waters.

“(Y/N)!” his voice doesn’t reach past his own nose. The music is so loud he doubts you’re even deliberately ignoring him. “God fucking dammit!” Leon ignores the hand that clumsily tried to seduce him and the glossy lips that follow it, just shouldering through the sea of people.

The kitchen hails no signs of you. He’s glad to see the beer run was successful enough and grabs a bottle of your favourite to soothe whatever it is he did.

“Leon! You’re here!” Ashley pops up from across the island and Leon smiles at her way. “Hey, Ashley. What’s up?” she eyes him skeptically and places her hands on the island. She quickly regrets this because of how suspiciously sticky it is but doesn’t miss a beat as she asks him; “I was gonna ask if you’ve seen (Y/N) but I guess those beers are for him.”

Ashley wraps her hand around a can and uses the condensation to somehow alleviate the stickiness. She would use the sink but with the state of a poor boy vomitting inside it and the amount of couples fucking in the bathrooms, this was the best she could do.

“Actually,” Leon sighs, “I was gonna ask if you’ve seen him.”

Her shock is evident but to Leon’s surprise, it turns into exasperation.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Kennedy?” Ashley puts her hands on her hips and then points a finger at his way.

“He likes you. (Y/N) (L/N). He likes you, Leon Kennedy. So,” she comes around to him and despite the height difference, Leon feels slightly intimidated by her frown.

“Just fuck his brains out and tell him you’re not gonna let him go! That’s the only way you’re getting through to him, okay? God, I swear the both of you are so dimwitted!”

Ashley walks away and Leon stands there for a second to process what he’d just been told. The beginnings of a smile threaten to crawl onto his face so Leon purses his lips and just walks on towards the hallways to see if you’ve snuck into any of the rooms there.

He instead finds another person. Quite literally, they were shoved straight into his chest (thank god the beer was in a bottle). It takes a minute for Leon to notice him, really notice him, but after their half-assed apologies are shares Leon sees who it is.

From over his shoulder, he spots your half-hidden face just as you slink out of view.

“Hey, you’re...Michael, right?” the brunette perks up considerably and nods. “You’re in Mr Pinto’s class?”

Michael jumps into the conversation. “I am!” he exclaims though considering the state of the party, it is not out of place. Leon smiles charmingly and leans on the wall, offering Michael one of the bottles he’s holding.

His hands practically tremble to take it.

“You’re pretty smart, huh?” Michael scoffs at his words, his cheeks flushed despite not one sip taken. “I guess you can say that, I mean, 4.0 GPA but yeah. I guess I am pretty smart.”

This was going to be a long night, Leon thinks as he takes a swig.

Dancing with Michael proved to be easier than talking to him. He’s much more pleasant when you can’t hear him bragging about being the smartest guy in the room or how his sister is as dumb as bricks (”It’s no wonder she resorted to bulimia as a last resort to get hitched” “Oh, wow.”).

Leon thought rich kids were already unbearable but the smart rich kids were worse. The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that he’d see glimpses of you. A sliver of (H/C) coloured through the flashes of light. At times, he swears he even hears your laughter through the crowd and music.

Michael grabs at his arms and pretends to be coy as he squeezes and asks how much Leon works out. “I see you runnin’ sometimes!” And Leon suppresses the urge to cringe at how close his face is.

Did this make him an asshole? All this pretending to be nice, if God was real, was he shaking his head at Leon?

�� If God was real he’d open the gates of hell to swallow you up the second you were born, ‘ he thought derisively.

But then, the Devil answers his question in the form of you. He sees you dancing, hands up in the air with your teeth bared in a giant grin. Leon's entranced; your arms slither down to your neck and Leon's not sure how he sees it with the flashing lights but he can see the hickeys he left on you. Michael is speaking, his ears relay to him. But he can’t pull his eyes from you. Leon doesn’t understand how you do it.

When you’re in the room it’s as if you’re the sun; the very center of his universe and he wants to implode into you. Be devoured and destroyed within your maw. A hand on his face and Leon is now staring at Michael. God, he’s staring at Michael.

Before he can speak, Leon asks; “Do you wanna go somewhere more quiet?”

They’re in the back of the house now. Music is more muffled despite the way the walls reverberate. The wood panelling must be screaming from the LED strip lights pasted on it. All the lamps had a red cloth over them, the room would look terrifying if it weren’t for the clouds of smoke and slurred giggling from the bodies on the bean bags.

Michael’s palms get clammy and Leon pretends he doesn’t feel it. Deeper in the room, at the back, where the cove of a past reading nook was built. The heavy velvet curtains stink of weed and cigarettes. He doubts the stains at the end are anything but alcohol or vomit. Aptly named make-out nook, the windows are covered by old sports magazines so no one from the outside can gawk.

Leon pressed Michael to the window panes and he gasps, hands coming to rest on Leon’s waist. He does that annoying squeezing thing that makes Leon’s skin crawl. His lips are on him and Leon narrows his eyes, staring at the smiling bodybuilder with his bulging muscles and tanned skin. Superman underwear and all. Leon wonders what he’d think of the sight before him; if any of these frozen-in-time athletes coo and gasp at the scandalous activities this nook has seen.

The curtains rustle as Michael chews on Leon’s lower lip. He’s biting down harder than he should — Leon jerks back, hissing softly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry — Are you okay?” Michael pauses as the curtains part and your giggles flood through, tendrils of smoke slipping through your teeth. An act. You’re closing in for the kill, and Michael has nowhere to run.

Still, he looks oh-so-smug as he tightens his grip on Leon.

“Leon?” you gasped while Michael sneered at you as he took a handful of Leon’s crotch. Both pretend not to feel how soft he is. He squeezed and purred. Leon’s eyes remained on you, brows raised in a challenge. “He’s busy with me, (L/N). So move along,” Leon slid his toned arms around his waist. The sight was like a match being struck, and your eyes burned with fury.

‘ Now? ‘ his eyes ask. You nod, reaching for the pocket knife you tucked away in your (Leon’s) leather jacket.

‘ Now. ‘

Leon wanted to kiss you so badly that he felt his fingers shake as he reached for his own hidden knife.

“Dude, not cool. You can’t make out with me like 10 minutes ago then just make out with someone else!” You exclaim, clambering into the nook and letting the curtains naturally slip close. “Leon — c’mon,” you beg so sweetly when you’re pretending. Michael sighs, getting his filthy hands off Leon, and faces you.

One finger jabs at your chest and you tilt your head at it.

“Fuck off, alright? Not everyone is dying to fuck your used hole —“

He inhales sharply, lashes fluttering as metal sheathes itself into his flesh. Leon pulls out his knife and then plunges it inside his back.

Again and again and again and again and again.

Michael braces his arms on your shoulders, and your breath shudders. He looks up at you in panic. He doesn't pay attention to the knife you’re holding too, he inhales and the way his mouth opens tells you he’ll try to scream.

The blade sinks through his neck, and when he tries to swallow the blood that floods his airway you can feel his muscles and Adam’s apple squish and move it. So you twist and dig in deeper. Leon’s blade pulls out again, blood is quickly spreading beneath Michael’s legs but the room is already cast in red — as if anyone would see.

“You enjoyed the little shit, Kennedy?” Michael claws at your jacket as you tilt the knife up, slicing through more of him until he starts spasming. His choking and gasping makes you groan in relief, breathing in his death with a smile.

"He was". You don't dare pull out the knife. Not now. A little puddle of blood is fine but more than people will really notice. The thrill of it all is too much for Leon; the crowd of people being hidden only by curtains, a warm body sputtering and choking on you as you held the knife; your eyes staring up at him with nothing but adoration in them.

Try to deny him as much as you want, (Y/N). You can't hide from Leon's hunger.

Ashley's voice echoes through his head.

"Kept groping you like some sort of pervert, what a fucking loser. Heard he got caught stalking the swim team captain. Pathetic, right? Think we can drag this pile of shit to the pool?"

Why are you talking about this waste of space?

Leon grabs him and with no more than a grunt, tosses Michael's body to the window pane where he thuds and slides down onto the floor. Splatters of blood spray onto the magazine covers, forever staining them just like the vomit stains on the curtains, and Leon pushes you against the window.

You replace the knife you held with Leon's jaw, smiling into the kiss as he sticks his tongue into your mouth. Fuck, he tastes good. Like your favorite beer. He's relentless as his hands grab the mounds of your ass.

From the outside, people snicker at the thumps they can hear.

"Fuuuck, Leon — Mfph, you're so fuckin' hasty," you groan. "Sorry for rushing when — fuck — when there's a dead body next to you."

You laugh and when Leon dives in again to suck the soul of your body he tastes the heavy smoke of marijuana lingering in your mouth. Michael is grunting, attempting to pull out the knife in his neck and you're especially cruel as you dig the heel of your shoes into his crotch. When he groans spurts of blood come out of him like a deflated waterbed.

"You're acting like this is something new," you retort. Leon just focuses on your neck again. Sucking over his marks and the slight pain that follows causes you to moan, gripping onto a fistful of his hair as your legs part.

What did Ashley say exactly? Fuck your brains out and tell you he's never letting you go?

He kneels abruptly, you're still catching your breath when he licks up your stomach, his bloodied knife now in his hand. You help him by lifting up your top, watching him lap at your happy trail with a dark blush across your face.

"Gonna suck my dick? You miss it that much?" Leon does not reply. Instead, he unbuttons your pants and you're chewing on your lip in excitement, gulping thickly as he pulls it down under the swell of your ass.

There's a wet patch on your underwear and Leon moans, pulling your pants down even further until it pools at your ankles. His knife is cold on your outer thigh, you hiss softly as the edges press and nick you but his tongue lapping at your dick through the cloth derails any complaints.

"Shiiit, Leon — " he slips the knife under your underwear, the serrated edges licking at your hips before a riiiiiiip! is heard. Ashley would be pissed knowing one of the designer underwear she gave you as a gift was purposefully torn apart but perhaps she'll be forgiving knowing it was to fulfill horny, filthy, purposes.

He must be really fucking excited. Leon's tongue is making a wet spot appear on your underwear and as if flimsily slips away from your hips, you swear you can feel the growl he releases as he sucks your exposed dick.

It twitches on his tongue, flushed from his attention as his tongue laps underneath it and his lips wrap around it.

"You miss me, baby?" You let out a sound of confusion at the question. "Yeah, you fuckin' do. You're so fucking hard."

Was he...was he talking to your cock?

"Bet you're dripping for me too, hm?" "Leon, what the fuck are you — "

The knife is now between your thighs, Michael's blood smearing itself there as he presses a kiss to your cock.

"If you're gonna cut me, wipe that pig's blood off." Your sneer is the last thing Michael sees as his eyes finally cloud over. In all honesty, you'd forgotten about him until now. The thought of his blood on you just disgusted you.

Leon wipes off his blood in his signature move; simply using your ripped undergarments in replacement of his gloves. Despite your annoyance, you won't deny how hot it was seeing him do it.

"Want me to cut you?" he hitches the blade to your inner thighs, the still-warm blade makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand. "Can I?"

"...Not there. Somewhere else."

Leon stands, the tip of the blade on your stomach. He towers over you, his broad shoulders making your cunt ache for more. "Here?" You shake your head so he flicks his gaze to inspect your torso.

Taking the edge of your shirt from your hands, he instead slips it between your teeth and you narrow your eyes at him. With your hands free, you lean back onto the windows, chest rising and falling in anticipation as Leon traces the knife all the way up to your chest.

He pauses at your collarbone but you shake your head once again and so he lowers it to your pec. You shake your head but Leon is gazing at it intently. He strokes tenderly over the surgery scar then pulls the skin of your chest taut and before you can protest he digs the tip of the blade in.

You bite down on your shirt, hissing as he drags down the tip. Crimson seeps through, beading up like delicate pearls before it gushes out in small streams. Leon's knee digs up your cunt and the spark of pleasure makes you lurch forward to grip Leon's shoulders. He pushes you back, the thump once again earning giggles from the group on the outside.

"You know I love you, (Y/N). I'm sick and tired of pretending you don't love me back."

Bewildered, you stare at him with furrowed brows.

He twists the blade and you inhale sharply as he slices it, lifting the knife at the end which cuts you shallowly at the end of his...symbol?

What the fuck was he cutting into you?

"Since you're too fucking stubborn to accept it, I'll make sure you know it. I don't know what rich boarding school trauma you have or if mommy and daddy never showed you how love is supposed to work — you're fucking mine."

He drags the blade down, three quicks slices follow and your eyes well with tears while your hips gyrate down on the delicious friction he has provided.

"You think I won't understand you? Think I'll hurt you? I'm the only one in this fucked up world that'll love you unconditionally, Trustfund. I love you, (Y/N)."

The next letter — you belatedly realize — hurts more as he carves a jagged O.

"I love you. I love you, I fucking love you, I'll love you till the day we die, and even in Hell, I'll find you and I'll love you."

N hurts less, Leon's gotten the hang of the angles and how quick and deep he should do it.

"I'll burn the whole fucking world down if it meant I could stay by your side."

Your chest is bleeding, rivers of red escaping and it stings in the cool air so Leon presses himself closer. The warm of his body on yours numb out the pain of the pressure he had applied. Blood is staining your torso, dripping and mixing with your slick and his jeans and you're so turned on you can't find the words.

Leon just kisses your cheek, licking up the tears that escaped and you moan as he kisses you.

Leon thinks his ears are fucking with him. He pulls back, not far enough to let your lips leave his but far enough that he can look at you. There's a dopey grin on your face, and he can feel the shape of your lips as you speak.

"Luh — Love you too, Leon...Love you s'fuckin' much."

It's a miracle no one has pulled the curtains back.

Maybe the noises were keeping them away. Everyone's a voyeur until the chance is actually presented in front of them, right? Hearing the both of you is enough. Seeing is too embarrassing.

You're completely wrong, by the way. Ashley had chased everyone out, locked the goddamn door of this red room with a giggle. Not knowing the true horrors that were hidden.

It was for the best.

Leon has you lifted in his arm, lapping up at the blood on your sternum as his cock bullies in and out of your cunt. The gymnast staring at him from over your shoulder makes him grin and he pulls you firmly down onto his cock, groaning as you squeal.

"Fuh — Fuck! Fuck! Leon!"

You're gripping onto whatever leverage you can find purchase off without ripping off the pictures. But he's balls deep and you keen, hands finding itself tangling with the curtain rod. Leon is so rough, so intent on destroying your cunt as his hot breath protects his name from the air, every jostle and thrust makes you clench around his cock like a vice.

"Fuck, this boypussy's made just for me, huh? Sucks me in every time I pull out, greedy little cunt." His words are making your vision blur with tears, he latches onto your nipple and your arm jerks.

The curtain rod falls with a crash and Leon immediately pulls you in. He shield your naked body with his own, completely ignoring the dead body inches away. He expects horrified screams. The both of you are greeted with silence instead.

The room is empty.

More space to fuck you in, he thinks as he smirks.

Limply, you lay out like a starfish on the couch. Cunt gaping and slick with your juices and blood and his spit. His dick is streaked with blood and your cum coating it, he spits a glob off spit onto your dick and you whine, reaching for a throw pillow to hold onto as he uses his thumb to jerk it.

"Fuck, you look so fucking handsome right now."

"How...how have you not cummed yet...?" You pant out, hips lifting and twisting in an attempt to escape Leon's thumb. He presses your hips down with his other hand and you groan, eyes rolling back.

"Needa' make up for lost time," he says as he licks his lips. "Missed this hole so badly. Shit, look at the way he's winking at me."

"Stop talkin' to my cunt!" He grunts as you kick his shoulder, turning to bite into your calf with a gleeful chuckle.

"Fuck, I wanna make a movie with you." Your pretty little prince-y parts are more forthcoming than you are. Your cock jumps and he sees the way you squeeze down.

"Say less, baby." You try to kick him again but he leans back faster than you. He meanders towards his discarded pants, pulling out his phone. You try to catch your breath, one arm tossed over your eyes as your legs go lax, thighs twitching as you try to calm your heart rate.

The light from his phone feels warm, but maybe that's just you being sensitive. He makes sure it takes in all the details of his carved name, then pans down to your sopping hole and a throaty moan escapes you as his fingers slip inside with ease.

"Jesus, I can feel your heartbeat." The casual way he says it makes you whine, he pumps his three fingers in and out before curling it up, and your back arches. The cutest "ah!" coming from you.

He hopes the phone picks it up. He admires the way you as he lines up his cock to your cunt. Slides it through your lips, hissing in pleasure as he bumps his cock with yours, and you squirm, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Leon, cum in me. Please, fucking Christ, just cum in me already."

His cock is so thick. The stretch of it never fails to make your mouth open in a silent scream, choked-out moans of his name or God escaping. When his balls smack against you, you see white behind your eyelids, and Leon chuckles as he feels your walls spasm around him.

He pulls back. The streaks of liquid on his cock just make him all the more eager. Leon lets the camera take in your body as it takes him. Plowing into you with abandon, bracing himself on his fist as his hips rattle yours.

"Fuck, yes. Tighten up around me, that's it, baby. Yeah, that's it."

He angles the phone away, wanting to see your face without it blocking him. It falls onto the floor and Leon steals your breath away as he kisses yo. His mouth tastes like blood and beer and you.

His brows pinched as his back rippled with pleasure. "I'm close," he warns and you whimper, locking your ankles behind him just as you wrap your arms behind him.

"C'mon, baby. Fill me up, yeah —Nghah! Yeah! There, right there! Fill me up, Leon, please — Ah!"

Pressing his forehead with yours, he claims your lips once again and his thrusts get sloppy, uncoordinated. He comes with a moan of your name, sheathed in as deep as he could get and the warmth that fills you makes your cunt clench around him tightly, milking him as your orgasm washes over you for one last time that night.

"Fuck, (Y/N)..." Leon presses gentle kisses to your cheek, stroking your neck as he pants.

"I...I promised Ashley I was gonna jog with her tomorrow," you mumble out, whining as Leon's hips stutter into you. He chuckles, trailing kisses down your neck.

"I'll take responsibility." "You better."

"Poor Michael," Ashley's brows slope as she watches the TV replay the news.

You're honestly impressed Leon managed to sneak out with the goddamn body, he wrapped it up in the curtain if you recalled, and placed it on his backseat. Leon didn't wanna leave you in the car but you were passed out, sleeping peacefully. So he spent a good hour or two just tossing the guy's body in the school's pool.

When you came to, you were at home with him wiping you down and your chest wrapped up.

It's been a week since the two of you were official, Michael's case seemed more and more hopeless — Leon had done a good job erasing traces of evidence. Like a proper killer.

His fingers squeeze your calves, and you groan softly, curling your toes as he massages it. Ashley turns back to peek at the both of you. You with your legs splayed over Leon's lap and him casually working out the kinks in them, all while you were wrapped with a blanket around your shoulders.

"You two aren't the slightest bit scared? He was at the party y'know. Michael and that Ghostface dude," she shudders and looks ahead at the screen. "Fuck, what if I made out with him!?"

Leon snorts, shaking his head. "I'm sure you didn't, Ash." You nod in agreement, adjusting the pillows under you, ignoring the sting of the wound under the bandages.

"Bet if you did, you'd know. He'd be so fucked up you'd probably taste blood in his mouth or somethin' freaky like that." Leon glances your way, and you give him a grin.

Ashley pouts, sinking back. You reach a hand out to play with her golden locks. It makes her shoulders droop and she leans back to you.

"You didn't even know the guy, Ashley. Ya' know what they say about killers, right? They only kill the people they know, you know any killers?"

She thinks about it.

"...You scream at the sight of a cockroach and Leon can barely parallel park without getting teary-eyed..."

"Hey," Leon's ears turn red. "That was one time and everyone was staring, okay?"

Ashley laughs, shaking her head as she switches the channels. Yeah, you were right! She didn't know any killers. She was safe hiding out here in your apartment with Leon until the police wrapped up their investigations.

As long as she had the both of you, she'd be safe. Which she wasn't wrong about — Ashley meant too much to you to be hurt. Her mother didn't have to worry about the Ghostface killers attacking her, the two of them were right behind her. Braiding her hair, asking if she wants popcorn for their movie night.

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male!reader #ftm reader #transmale reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x male reader

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teaforthotxxx · 7 months

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Thinking of Wolfstar and how I sound like a freak trying to explain how

This

Became this

Like I would love to explain how around 2014, there was a sudden rise and resurrection second coming of christ our lord saviour Wolfstar. And, we fancasted so hard that almost 10 years later, we’re still stuck on this. And how most of the hp queer fandom started to latch onto these characters cause there was no other representation and these two started it all.

In the wake of she-who-shall-not-be-named spitting in our trans brothers and sisters’ faces, more of the hp fandom has retreated to the Marauders Era (a completely fanon lore with POCs and Queer people). That somehow this fanon non-profit lore had a better understanding of the world than canon and redeemed Slytherins by showing how inter-generational trauma affected them. By showing us that Bellatrix Lestrange was only a pawn in the Black family’s game. That Narcissa and Regulus were only doing what they had to do to survive. Sirius’ madness was not just for eccentric reasons.

This fandom highlighted the treatment of house elves. Talked about slavery. Talked about Queen Dame Lily EVANS’ childhood!! She wasn’t just a plot device to redeem Severus Snape. She was the muggle voice in the group. She was the witch that was outcasted by her muggle sister because she believed in magic. She was minority in two worlds. She was the Marauders’ friend. She wasn’t a prude or a damsel to be saved. She wasn’t just Harry’s mother. She was one of the brightest witches of her time. Harry inherited her WIT, her perseverance, her defiance, her pride, unrelenting nature. Harry Potter inherited more than her eyes. He inherited her ability to thrive in the face of trauma.

Joanne could have never given this to us. I don’t think any one person could give us this. This was a collection of rewritten lore from people who loved the universe it created but wished to be seen. And, I love my sometimes problematic and inconsistent little fandom.

How do I not sound insane doing this?

#marauders era #hp fic #harry potter #james potter #marauders #jegulus #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #sirius black #severus snape #wolfstar #lily evans #anti jk rowling #hp fancast #regulus black #quillkiller #most noble house of black

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melonteee · 6 months

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About Sanji being feral with men/older men, I remember reading once in a fanfic how an OC or SI (I can't remember which ^^; ) suggested that the reason why Sanji is nice to women and rude to men is because of his family. That at a young age he formed the mindset that women tended to be good people while men tend to be bad people because when he was young only women (his mom and to an extent his sister) were the only ones to treat him with kindness while the men in his life (his brothers and father) treated him like shit.

That kind of makes sense and I can no longer unsee it.

I'm so sorry this got so long because I have so much to say about Sanji and his perception of gender so read under the cut LMAO

Anon the SECOND his WCI story was revealed, that was the literal first thing I noticed. As always, Oda has an incredible show don't tell ability - and while it is implied (and maybe Oda didn't have the intention), there's certainly an idea that Sanji puts women on a pedestal due to how men abused him.

But considering Reiju helped Sanji, and how there were maids around Sanji who were also kind to him, along with his own mother, I'd say it's extremely intentional. Reiju also isn't exactly the nicest person either, like she's presented as a total grey area. It's not that Reiju was kind to Sanji just because she was a 'nurturing' big sister, but because she was the only one who didn't have her emotions literally programmed out of her. Reiju still gave Sanji a tough time, and still didn't help him unless it was behind Judge's back, but she still showed him more kindness than Sanji's father or brothers EVER did.

While there's an obvious misogyny in Sanji, and it IS undeniable, it certainly slides much further up on the misandry scale. When he was first brought into the world, the only people nice to him were women. His first memories and first acts of care and love came from women. He was allowed to cry around his mother, he was allowed to let his guard down around Reiju, and he was allowed to be his 'emotional' self with the women that surrounded him. It is undeniable Sanji has elevated women up to a being higher than men, and much higher than his OWN existence. This has all mixed and formed inside him due to his time with the Vinsmokes AND his time with Zeff.

After all, combine Sanji's first and only real acts of affection coming from JUST women, with Zeff's ideology that women are NOT to be harmed, of course you're going to create a boy who idolises women as this holy deity.

Not to go a bit off track, but it's why this idea that Sanji HATES himself, and why he has ZERO self worth, is ALSO something people tie to his gender. Does Sanji take pride in being a 'manly man', or does he think that's what he needs to be for women? Does Sanji compensate his hate for his own self by being this extremely overdone, heteronormative gentleman? By projecting his love onto beings he believes he can never be nor measure up to?

When of course, these 'beings' are just women. Just people, like himself.

The discussions surrounding Sanji and gender, combined with his abusive male environment and this clear confusion/hatred for men, is WHY there are many who have picked up this idea Sanji perhaps does not want to BE a man. It can be called a stretch, or wishful thinking, but it's something people within the queer community have seen nonetheless.

After all, we have SEEN Sanji's happiness upon being perceived as a woman - TWICE.

Sanji quite literally has a deadname he refuses to be referred to as.

And now, with his current mutation happening, he is becoming afraid of - and displaced IN - his own body.

Sanji is such a weird and complicated character to fathom, honestly. It could VERY well be these were all things Oda just accidentally tripped and banged head first into, but WCI as a whole had a pretty big focus on not JUST familial roles, but expectations and roles of GENDER as well.

Katakuri's need to be stern and emotionless as an older brother, Pudding's abuse due to the fact she wasn't 'pretty' enough, Big Mum's daughters being married off unless they proved they can serve some OTHER purpose, Sanji's brothers forcefully cold and emotionless, Reiju needing to bottle her own emotions with fear of being bullied, SANJI'S bullying due to being an emotional boy, Judge HIMSELF being made fun of for his crying.

Combined all with Reiju telling Sanji "You're a boy, don't cry!"

WCI was fucking RIDDLED with gender discussion and gender expectation that comes with blood family, but this idea is pushed to the side due to the themes of familial abuse being the most prominent. Yet a BASE of familial abuse IS expectations of gender roles that comes WITH a nuclear family.

As much as people don't want to see it or CAN'T see it, Sanji's character and arc includes areas of toxic gender norms JUST as much as it covers blood family abuse. It's just something that's taken to an extreme in this hyper fiction setting, and thus, it can become invisible beneath the surface. But I see it! And obviously, you see it too anon!

Sorry for the rant I am just VERY passionate about Sanji's complicated relationship with gender LMAO

#ask #melonask #Sanji #SORRY AGAIN LMAO

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dyemelikeasunset · 7 months

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I can't sleep so I'm venting. for the most part i love my d&m readers, but oml sometimes i get qpoc blues so bad 😭😭

It's just liiiike. ppl either don't talk about Mor or completely misinterpret her personality. Like I can always tell if my readers are black or not because nonblack readers no NOT see Mor's significance, or just miss the mark when they talk about her, or they misread her personality. Like I don't understand what's so hard to understand about a cute and thoughtful artist??

AND LIKE LMAO Dom's sexuality gets brought up all the time but no one talks about Mor being a lesbian and how rare that is to find in media 😭 white lesbians are always talking about "we need more open lesbians in media!! ppl shouldn't be afraid to use the word lesbian!! blah blah" and i'm like "here you go!!" and no one claps at all lmao. Like I get it, i know why it happens, i understand racial microaggressions, i know how fandom spaces treat Black women, I UNDERSTAND BUT I CAN STILL BE UPSET. I have the right to be upset about it!!! 💀💀 And I know fem lesbians get ignored all the time, invalidated all the time, but it just sucks to see it happen to my character. I just feel like her being lesbian doesn't clock a lot of people, and I get asked to do more thirst trap art of Mor and I do want to but i'm also trying to be careful about like. Idk reducing a dark skinned fem lesbian to being validated only thru being sexy? LMAO.... Mor should be able to be attractive and lovable without tons and tons of thirst trap art (and it's not like I don't do it at all!! I'm not trying to be overprotective or deny her sexiness but I guess it's considered not enough?? give me a break)

And mannnn I was so mad actually that several comments voiced thoughts that essentially said Mor didn't "help" or "take care" of Dom enough, and that when Dom was finally opening up to her it was "Morgan finally doing something" LIKE HELLO??? HELLO??? It's DOM'S flaw that she can't open up? And Morgan does a lot??? I know immature ppl do not appreciate more soft and domestic/feminine forms of care bc they're used to taking their mothers for granted lmao but wooow I was taken aback. First of all, like, I try to show that Mor is the main cook, works just as much as Dom (let's go double income household), is always checking in on Dom's comfort as she navigates being queer, and is overall a very considerate girlfriend. AND SECOND OF ALL LMAO like even if she didn't do all that she doesn't need to have relationship currency to have a doting girlfriend, like the fucking trope of black women needing to suffer for love is so terrible I'VE HAD ENOUGH AND i"M NOT EVEN BLACK. Like there is NOTHING WRONG with their typical dynamic and I'm sick of people acting like there is. SOMEONE SAID DOM WAS LIKE A COMFORT PILLOW W NO AGENCY AND i"M LIKE WTFDYM???? She has TONS of agency and her sense of agency says she wants to LOVE AND DOTE ON HER PARTNER LIKE LMAO. WHAT?? Why is that hard to understand??? Is it because I made one (1) joke bout Mor being a pillow princess and the anti-princess squad are grinding their teeth in the bushes seething over it? Ppl are so twisted sometimes oh my goddddd. Like as an ace who was very confused navigating the lesbian dating scene as a teen and young adult I WISH i had met a pillow princess. Sometimes ppl don't realize that stone dynamics are very safe for aces!! Dom literally says she prefers it!! It's not Mor being selfish like lord please GOD ALLAH I'M TIRED I'M SO TIRED

and like on the topic of Domi overall she is more "popular" but sometimes I feel like people don't even really take the time to appreciate the significance about her either. She's not just a funny thirst trap 😭 and I feel like ppl dont acknowledge that she's asian half the time. I have so many white aces who only zone in on that aspect of her and it's like YEAH I GET IT, I'm ace and we don't have a lot of nuanced rep but she's also got more layers than that too. Tons of people related to her in the chapters where she talks about her childhood abuse yet very few people really, like, talked about the type of generational trauma that is very deeply embedded in her different cultures, no one saw that and oooof idk idk it felt inivisible. It's sometimes harder to talk about the racist microaggressions that Domi experiences thru my readers bc ppl will argue "well most webtoon leads are asian" but not many of them are asian in a way that like. talk about it. I'm born in the US so my experiences with being othered as an asian is just gonna be different and it's gonna affect my art and writing but it feels so unappreciated. I've had some queer asians relate to her but i can count them on my hand 💀 (I actually think it's two LMAO i"M SO SAD)

And going back to Dom and the comfort pillow w no agency comment lmao. This is another thing that rubs me the wrong way is once again, people are ignorant to the ways asians get pigeon-holed to media roles that have us being depicted as incapable. Maybe I want Dom to be more of a protector archetype bc I'm tired of meek Asian women in media? 🤔 Maybe I want Dom to be a prince-like character because asians get emasculated a lot?? 🤔🤔 Maybe I want Domi to maintain her prince persona instead of being "'physically' androgynous/masculine but really soft and girly on the inside uwuwu please treat me like a 'real' girl" because even in east asian media we won't allow women to exhibit strength and dependability??? 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 Like why is a tough girl empowering but once we have a gentle and doting personality in a romance it's considered cliche and the flaw of her partner for being "too weak." MAYBE THEIR PRINCE/PRINCESS DYNAMIC COMPLIMENT EACH OTHER??? HAVE YOU CONSIDERED? I WROTE THEM THAT WAY FOR A REASON??

Good lord this turned into an essay but I have so many things on my mind always

if you read this all. Thanks. I mainly needed to scream into a towel and put this down somewhere bc I complain about these issues to my discord and they understand/validate me all the time, but I wanna give them a break 😭 I also lowkey wanna document my various feelings as I work through Dom & Mor so I can remember and also grow from it

#text heavy /#long post /#i am full of gratitude but also anger

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amphibious-thing · 10 months

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The thing that gets me about people saying that we don't know what d'Eon's pronouns were is that we actually have much better information on her pronouns than we do for most historical figures.

Take Princess Seraphina for example. Most of what we know about Seraphina comes from the trial of Thomas Gordon (5 July 1732). In the trial some witnesses who knew Seraphina use she/her pronouns. For example this is how Mary Poplet talks about the Princess:

I have known her Highness a pretty while, she us’d to come to my House from Mr. Tull, to enquire after some Gentlemen of no very good Character; I have seen her several times in Women’s Cloaths, she commonly us’d to wear a white Gown, and a scarlet Cloak, with her Hair frizzled and curl’d all round her Forehead; and then she would so flutter her Fan, and make such fine Curties, that you would not have known her from a Woman: She takes great Delight in Balls and Masquerades, and always chuses to appear at them in a Female Dress, that she may have the Satisfaction of dancing with fine Gentlemen. Her Highness lives with Mr. Tull in Eagle-Court in the Strand, and calls him her Master, because she was Nurse to him and his Wife when they were both in a Salivation; but the Princess is rather Mr. Tull’s Friend, than his domestick Servant. I never heard that she had any other Name than the Princess Sraphina.

However others use he/him pronouns, this is how Mary Robinson talks about Seraphina:

I was trying on a Suit of Red Damask at my Mantua-maker’s in the Strand, when the Princess Seraphina came up, and told me the Suit look’d mighty pretty. I wish, says he, you would lend ‘em me for a Night, to go to Mrs. Green’s in Nottingham-Court, by the Seven Dials, for I am to meet some fine Gentlemen there. Why, says I, can’t Mrs. Green furnish you? Yes, says he, she lends me a Velvet Scarf and a Gold Watch sometimes. He used to be but meanly dress’d, as to Men’s Cloaths, but he came lately to my Mantua-maker’s, in a handsome Black Suit, to invite a Gentlewoman to drink Tea with Mrs. Tull. I ask’d him how he came to be so well Rigg’d? And he told me his Mother had lately sold the Reversion of a House; And now, says he, I’ll go and take a Walk in the Park, and shew my self.

So what do we make of this? Did Seraphina use both he/him and she/her pronouns or is Robinson misgendering Seraphina? This is an issue we unfortunately have when talking about queer people we have very little information on. We can guess at the answer but we can't know for sure.

But with d'Eon not only do we know that her friends, family and most of the English public used she/her pronouns for her but we even have examples of d'Eon using she/her pronouns for herself when writing in third person. This is probably the best evidence we are ever going to get for someone of this period. It's an amazingly clear source for the pronoun question. Like wow there's the answer right there in ink on paper.

[Invitation from the Chevalière d’Eon to Lord Besborough c.1791, via The British Museum (D,1.268-272)]

#chevalière d'eon #princess seraphina

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happilychee · 5 months

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thinking about aromantic lucy

I saw a terf saying aspec people aren't actually queer so fuck them here's aromantic lucy heartfilia

cw: a few mentions of internalized arophobia

lucy who doesn't know that the word love exists until she reads it in one of the few fairytale books in her father's extensive library. lucy who doesn't quite get the kissing and the physicality and the fiery proclamations, but thinks that it's an okay price to pay for someone to be so passionate for her. to choose her and care about her, like her mother did before she passed.

lucy, who's eight years old and crying after another argument with her father, who summons aquarius and asks "do you love me?" aquarius feels her blood pressure rise, but seeing the broken look in her wielder's watery eyes, she decides to drop the snark. "I do, kid." "does that mean you wanna kiss me?" aquarius almost smacks lucy over the head.

lucy who doesn't quite understand the difference between how she cares for her spirits and how she felt about her mom. lucy who cares deeply for everyone who's important to her, who thinks that aquarius could just as easily be her knight in shining armor as the storybook prince. lucy who reads romance books because she wants someone like that in her life. lucy who's never had any friends besides aquarius. lucy who thinks it must be nice to have someone choose you, care about you, protect you. lucy decides that that's what love is.

lucy who's old enough to know she doesn't like her father. lucy who's so confused when she hates him but still cares about him. lucy who's old enough to run away from home but too young, too young.

lucy who joins fairy tail and has no idea what to expect. lucy who's startled by her new friends' openness and easy acceptance of her. lucy who blushes when natsu throws an arm around her, who feels warm and fuzzy when gray guides her by the small of her back, who has a lopsided grin on her face when erza links arms with her as they walk. lucy who suddenly thinks that she's in love with three people at once and panics (her storybooks never mentioned that!!).

lucy who turns to who she can confidently call her best friend, levy mcgarden, for help. levy sits her down with a cup of hot chocolate and cookies. they talk for hours about sexuality and attraction; lucy sleeps over that night. the word that sticks out the most in her mind is aromantic.

lucy who gets drunk at a party and gets a little too close to cana, and suddenly they're in cana's apartment, making out like there's no tomorrow. lucy who feels guilt creep up in the morning because she knows cana and gray and loke have something going, and she might've just ruined it. lucy who tears up when cana laughs because she's so, so confused. cana's expression morphs into concern and she wipes away her friend's tears, warm skin on skin. cana who tells lucy that what she does with gray and what she does with loke doesn't restrict her from what she does with other people. "we talked about it, I promise." cana reassures her. then, leaning in with a sexy smirk on her face, she whispers, "besides, they're probably jealous I took you home first~" the rush of heat is enough to make lucy's mind go blank with joy.

lucy who shyly asks cana about her relationships and learns so much she feels like her head is going to explode. lucy who has a crisis about her storybooks and her ideal romances. she's never going to have that, she realizes. it feels like someone's scooped out her chest.

lucy whose feelings ebb and flow like the tide. she's not used to this. being so... different. her storybooks are scattered across the floor, thrown in an angry fit. her door is locked, but her window isn't, and that's how natsu gets in. "you okay, luce? we haven’t seen you in a while."

the dam breaks. lucy sobs in natsu's arms, and all she can think is that this is the exact type of hurt/comfort scene she loves in her stories. she wishes she were normal, so she could love normally, so she could love natsu the normal way and be done with it. she doesn't realize she's talking out loud.

natsu cups her face, onyx eyes boring into chocolate ones. he squishes her cheeks together, the way he does when he thinks she's overthinking something. and then, natsu breaks through her entire crisis with three little words.

"does it matter?" he furrows his brow. "you're lucy, and I'm natsu, and I care about you." "but- I don't feel romantic attraction-" natsu huffs, frustrated that lucy's not getting something that's apparently obvious to him. "luce. I care about you, and I trust you, and I want to take care of you and protect you. who cares about anything else?" lucy blinks once, twice, and then she's sobbing again. natsu panics, because he knows he can be blunt and dismissive sometimes, but lucy barrels into him, clutching onto his scarf tightly.

"you care about me?" she whispers in a child's voice. that's more important to her than anything. romantic, platonic, the gray area in between, none of it matters as long as natsu cares.

natsu tightens his grip, wondering who he has to pummel for making his girl feel that way. "course I care about you, dummy. I'd burn down the world for you. and so would erza and gray and cana and everyone else."

lucy who has a really hard time moping when natsu's there every step of the way, trying to cheer her up. erza and gray show up, too, and it's hard to stay sad when she's being tickled by erza while gray cooks dinner and kicks natsu out of her kitchenette.

lucy who feels the hollow fill with something warm and gooey when erza gives her a hug, confessing that she often has trouble figuring out how she feels about anything. lucy laughs when erza tells her about the shenanigans that have happened when she doesn't pick up on someone flirting with her but gray and natsu do. she feels all fuzzy when gray leans against her, telling her that he feels the same way. his hand plays with hers, and she thinks it's nice how well they slot together.

lucy realizes when natsu falls asleep in her lap, arms wrapped protectively around her waist. lucy realizes when gray falls asleep at her side, erza tucked to his chest. lucy realizes that her friends make her feel like she's on top of the world, and she doesn't need a fairytale prince when she's got fairy tail.

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djarinslover · 8 months

Text

The Story Of Us

Here is the ask where this fic was born. Thank you to my sweet patient anon, you're the best. I hope I did your idea justice!

Pairing; Nami x Fem!Reader (no y/n, sliiight description of reader being shorter)

Warnings; canon violence, TW for queer being used as a slur, swearing

Word Count; 1.8k

You and Nami had been childhood friends, the two of you playing at the edge of the tangerine grove, making tangerine windmills with Nojiko and their mother. Unfortunately, everything changed when the pirates raided and killed Belle. Nami traded her freedom to Arlong, though that was something you didn't learn for a while. Once, when Nami came to collect the Berry the village owed Arlong, the two of you met each other's eyes and it seemed that sparks flew. It had been about six years since you truly saw her and she had grown into a beautiful young woman. She had the same thought about you.

The two of you danced around the feelings you had developed for some time before you made the first move and confessed. It was awkward and hurried but you were determined to let her know. You felt elated when Nami confessed she felt the same way, that she had a slight crush on you as kids. She never thought she would be able to have a chance with you.

But ever since you started dating Nami, all the people of Coco Village shunned you. You ended up keeping to yourself in your small corner of the village. They hated you because you were dating someone apart of Arlong's crew, Nami no less, who they believed betrayed them as well. After Nami had finally told you the truth, she swore you to secrecy. The townspeople wouldn't understand and she didn't need them possibly getting their hopes up and alerting the other fishmen to her plan. You ignored what the people had to say about you two - you were happy and in love with Nami. You didn't need anyone else.

Nami brought you all the supplies you would need whenever she came back home after her journeys. She didn't want you to have to deal with any harassment or ridicule the town would give you if you tried to go buy food or clothing. When Nami did come home, they would stare, glare and whisper about you two under their breath. Nami always glared back, making the cowards turn their gazes away in shame or embarrassment. You never knew which it was they were feeling but it didn't matter when you had your girlfriend back in your arms.

Having her in your arms at all times wasn't as often as you wanted, though. You weren't allowed to stay with her at 'Arlong Park', which honestly was fine with both of you. You weren't comfortable around all those pirates and Nami loved the privacy you two got when she stayed at your home. You just wished she could live with you, so you could say "our home". Someday soon, she promised, a kiss pressed so softly, so sweetly against your lips.

There were times you went to 'Arlong Park' to spend time with Nami though, like today. She was headed out the next morning on her next journey and Arlong wasn't letting her wander around. So he sent one of his men to bring you there. Nami had demanded to see you before she left and the pirate knew better by now than to deny her the privilege of being with you.

Nami was playing poker with the men, clearly winning. You stand to the side to not draw unwanted attention to yourself until she was done with the game. You never wanted to distract your beautiful girlfriend when she was focused. She shoved all her chips to the middle, as stone-faced as she could be. "I'm all in, boys."

Some of the fishmen grumble as they throw their cards down, giving up. One fishman was staring her down before throwing the rest of his chips into the pile as well. He set his cards down with a flourish and a wide grin. "Beat that, human."

There's a fake pout on Nami's lips. You knew what that fake pout meant - she tried to use it on you all the time when you wouldn't give her what she wanted. It usually worked. "Read 'em and weep." She lays down her four queens gently before standing, scooping up her winnings.

"Nami, that was so good!" you cry out, heading to your partner and throwing your arms around her waist.

"Hey, babe! I did it to show off," she says with a wink, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"Fucking queers," the fishman who lost grumbles.

You freeze, feeling fear grip your throat at his words. You feel Nami stiffen under your embrace, her hands shaking on your back. She gently shoves you away, head cocked to the side as she looks at the man who spoke.

"What was that?" she asks in a low, dangerous tone.

"I said, fucking queers," the fishman spits, a snarl on his lips.

Nami purses her lips as she nods, a hand rummaging around in her bag. She pulls out a knife and spins it around. "I'll give you a chance to take it back and apologize."

"Ha! You wish, princess."

"Your choice," Nami says with a frown.

She spins the knife again before stabbing the pirate in the hand, making him scream out. The others stand around, some laughing while others look on worriedly. You back away into a corner, trying to disappear back to your cozy little home. Nami towers over the pirate who name called you, watching with cold eyes as he squirms. She twists the knife in his hand.

"Well? Still want to call my girlfriend a name?"

He shakes his head, tears rolling down his face. "N-n-no. I-I'm sorry. Please, it hurts."

"Yeah, I bet it does. So does calling people fucking slurs."

He whimpers, whole body shaking with fear? Anger? You were unsure, only aware of your own body shaking with anxiety. Nami looks back at you, eyes softening briefly before she whips her head back around to stare the pirate down. She twists the knife one more time. "Apologize to my girlfriend. Now."

He raises his head to meet your gaze, lips trembling. "I'm- I'm sorry, okay. Please . . . call her off."

Nami pulls her weapon from his hand, wiping it clean with his shirt. "Get out of my sight."

He scrambles to the others standing to the side, letting them support him as they make their way further inside 'Arlong Park'. Nami comes to your side, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. She takes your hand in hers, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. "Come on."

You trail behind Nami to her room; technically it was the map room where she was held captive for the first few years she spent with Arlong. You hated the room simply because it was where Nami felt powerless for far too long. The chain that had been around her ankle was still sitting on the floor. You thought it was a reminder to her that Arlong controlled her, no matter what she thought or what he let her do. She would always have to go back to him.

Nami spins around to face you, noticing how quiet you are. She squeezes your hand, pulling you closer to her. She leads you to the edge of the bed, pushing you down softly by the shoulder. "What's wrong, my love?"

You shake your head with tears burning, threatening to spill over the second you spoke. She kneels in front of you, her hand caressing your cheek. Somehow, even on her knees, it felt like she was taller than you. Maybe you just felt extra small due to what happened outside. You swallow thickly, forcing yourself to speak. "I just . . . hate what he called you, called us. I get it enough from some villagers but to hear it from a pirate hurt ten times worse. I'm not sure why, considering I don't even have to live around them."

"Because pirates are assholes. No one wants to have to deal with them, let alone deal with a slur being hurled at them. He was out of line and you let me know if he ever bothers you again. Hell, if he even looks at you, I want to know. Okay?"

"Nami, why are you still with them? Run away with me, we can find a little unoccupied island and make it our own," you plead. "I don't think I can keep waiting here for you for weeks on end. It kills me that I never know if you're okay until you come back. I don't feel safe, with the way people treat us simply because we're both women dating."

"My love," she sighs, cupping your face in both hands. "You know why I'm doing what I'm doing. I want this whole village to free. That especially includes you." She takes in your expression, eyes wide and roaming. "I would love to run away with you, say 'fuck you' to Arlong and just be with you. But we both know he would hunt us down and hurt you just to get back at me. I won't let that happen."

You wipe away your tears roughly, sniffling. "I know. He'd never let us just walk away. God, I hate this. I hate him."

"I know," Nami says. "I hate him, too. But I just need a little more and then we'll all be free from him, I promise. Can you wait a little bit longer?"

"For you, I'll wait forever."

Nami giggles, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'm sorry he upset you, baby. What can I do to make you feel better?"

"I could use some cuddling."

"Sounds perfect."

She climbs into bed with you, adjusting so she's the big spoon, her longer legs entwined with yours. She has an arm under your head while the other was over your body, tracing patterns absentmindedly on your stomach. Her touch lulls you back into a comfortable state, wiping your mind clean of the nasty word you had been called. She had a way of making you feel like nothing could ever be wrong.

"You know," Nami says after the two of you had been sitting in silence for a while. "One day, there's going to be a story of us."

You frown, confused as to what she means. You roll over to meet her eyes, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the story of us. It's going to be an epic one we'll get to tell people one day. The story of how we defeated the dreaded fishman pirate Arlong and saved a village."

You giggle, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. "That sounds like some story."

"It's going to be badass. And I'm going to have you right by my side for all of it."

"I can't wait."

You snuggle deeper into her arms, feeling warm, safe and content. She was your safe place and you wouldn't trade all the trouble and hardship you go through for a thing. You would climb the highest mountain to be able to say Nami was yours. The story of us sounds pretty damn good, you think as you drift off to sleep.

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