Leons personal heater 2.0
Leon’s a bottom (Re2 leon btw)
You’re the top x
Its real short bare with me i just had a thought
It was the dead of winter in racoon city, but the worst of it all was the heating being out in the apartment. Not even the heaters could help at all, and even in jogging pants and thick hoodies the cold was relentless, after you found yourself a small pocket of heat under your blanket Leon had found his way into your room and practically begged for a spot in your bed. You didn't mind cuddling with leon, you're just friends after all right. Right?
Turns out Leon was getting a little too comfortable in his spot and started wriggling around, at first you just thought he was trying to get comfortable, but after a while it was just him backing up into you more. You thought nothing of it until it started to get annoying, even though him being there was warm, it was a little weird for him to be rubbing up against your crotch, but you brushed it off again and assumed he was just trying to mess with you.
After getting woken up between drifting off for little naps, leon was poking your ribs with his elbow and whisper yelling
“Hey.. hey!” he continued
“Yeah?” you replied
“You awake man?” he asked, after shifting your position in bed and yawing you opened your mouth to reply
“Well yes, why?” you replied
It took a second for him to reply and you were starting to drift off again but then he spoke
“Can you help me out?” he asked, your eyebrows turned in confusion
“Sure, with what?” you questioned, Leon didn't reply, he just held onto your arms that were around his stomach and pulled them lower, you were thinking nothing of it until you felt something hard, then he squeezed around your hand so you felt more of it.
If you were a normal person you would have pulled your hand away and might’ve even told Leon to leave, but since this wasn't the first time you humored him. He continued to squeeze your hand down and you let him. He kept on rubbing your hand against his hardness until he let go and dragged your hand down his pants. It was warm, and already leaking at the tip. You gave it a gentle squeeze and he groaned again.
You slowly stroked up and down until he started to whine about you going faster, so you took it seriously. Even though you did want it to last longer and you didn't mind helping him out, it’d be a lie to say that you weren't tired. You tugged up and down damn near at a lightning speed turning Leon’s tiny groans into him panting and moaning out your name, of course it didn't take very long for him to start shooting ropes into his boxers but you didn't even stop there.
Now leon’s face was red, and he definitely isn't cold anymore, even with your hand all slippery with his cum you still jerked him until he came again, he was much louder this time and he was moaning like he was getting railed ( he unfortunately was not ) now that you were sure he’d be tuckered out you took your hand out of his boxers. Jokingly you waved your cum covered hand in his face and told him to lick it, but was pleasantly surprised when he really did it. As soon as he was done he turned to face you, and nuzzled deep into your neck.
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Helping Hand 13
Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, manipulation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader
Part of the Bookstore AU
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
The dull hues speckle in your vision. You've grown used to the haze and when it fades, you long for it. The pain melts way enough for comfort but not enough to be forgot. Always there, always aware of your own futility.
It isn't the pain that rouses you that night but a sensation just as pertinent. At first, you're not sure what it is. Gentle waves on your skins, spirals that raise bumps, caresses that make you shiver.
You bring your hand up to meet another. Your touch lingers on Jonathan's wrist as your lashes flutter open. His silhouette is limned by the lamp behind him. The shadows set his features in a sinister way.
You murmur but don't speak. He hushes you, trading the strap of the sling that binds your arm. You groan at the ripple of pain underlined by something more. Something unbidden.
“All I want, dear, is for you to feel better,” he says as he pets your cheek, “do you know that? It's all I've ever wanted.”
You blink. You have no strength to argue. To point out the obvious. He's the one who has you at your worst.
“That day in the bookshop, when we met,” he turns onto his shoulder and lays on his side, “you looked lost and I felt as if I'd found you.”
You shake your head and squint. His words confuse you. He weaves such sweet soliloquys yet what he's done cannot be painted with pretty lies.
“You put that man above you for how long? And even after he abandoned you, you still could not put yourself first,” he cradles your face, “darling, can't you see that's all I'm doing.”
“No…” you whisper and close your eyes.
You whimper and try to turn your face away. He catches your chin and tuts, keeping you in place as he lifts himself again. He surprises you as his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, as if he means every word he says. A new sort of pain sparks in you.
He lets his fingers dance to your hairline. He moans into your mouth as his tongue delves inside. You squeeze your eyes tight, unable to resist. As much as you could blame the drugs, you know it's as much your own weakness. Just like those days you laid on your back and fulfilled your vows.
His fingertips graze your temple and cheek, down tour neck and along the crook of your collarbone. Further and further, feeling you through the light layer of fabric. That too big tee shirt that serves as your only shield.
He grips your hip as he leans over you, the slight pressure of his weight makes you squirm. You break away from his lips and gasp, grabbing him with your free hand, the sling keeping you trapped below him.
“Please, Jonathan,” you beg.
“Darling, darling,” he kissed along your chin, “I only want to take care you, hm? Just because he never did, doesn't mean no one will.”
“No, stop,” your voice crackles, “please…”
“Sorry, darling, sorry,” he rasps between nibbles along your neck, “I won't mention him. It's best…” he kisses your shoulder, “if we both forgot that pesky ex.”
“N-no,” you squirm, “please…”
“I won't…” he let's the sentence dangle, “no, I only want a little.”
You wriggle, groaning at the agony it nails into your bones. You still to quiet the pangs, whining as he lifts himself over you. His hand wanders up and down your side as his lips descend your body.
He pushes up the bottom of the tee and bares your stomach. You babble and hide beneath your eyelids. He rolls the fabric above your chest as his lips tickle the tender flesh there. You quiver as he nips and pecks at you.
For a moment, you think it might be delirium. That the painkillers have skewed your mind. You want to believe it but it's all too real.
Just as real as that flamed stoked in your core. That glimmer of desire that lights your horror. You shouldn't like it. You shouldn't want it. It's that desire that comes from neglect. Of desperation.
His hand roves over your body, admiring you, worshipping you. No, consuming you, controlling you, violating you. You shudder as he teethes and kisses along your chest, toying with your sensitive buds and your overwrought nerves.
“It feels nice, doesn't it darling?” He speaks into your flesh, “I can tell, the way you tremble…”
You let out a moan, tortured but easily mistaken for delight. His hand brushes along your hip and down your thigh. He cloying drags his fingers back and forth, circling nearer and nearer your vee.
You bite your lip as he nudges you lightly, shifting his legs between yours. He hovers over you, smothering your lips once more. He kisses you hungrily as his fingers trail along your pelvis. He delves between your folds as he swallows your groan.
He rubs you, slow but firm, curious but certain. His touch awakens your body even as your mind stays foggy. He draws pleasure from you easily. Expertly.
As before, you are defenseless. You have no way to resist him. He is above you in every way. More than physically.
He rolls your bud beneath his fingertips. He kisses you ravenously, puffing and panting, moving his hips in time with his hand. He slides his fingers down and dips them inside you, pressing the heel if his hand against you.
He rocks his hand, electricity shooting down to your toes and up to the crown of your head. You tense as the unyielding pain mingles with your stolen delight. You whine and turn your head away, his lips smearing across your cheek.
He breathes in your ear, growling as he tilts his hand, adding to the pulsing pressure in your core. You can feel how wet you are. You can hear it. You bite back another moan.
This isn't fair. It isn't. But life has never been very fair to you. Nor have the men in it.
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