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d10nyx · 10 hours

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YES ACTUALLY IT IS MY MOST FAVOURITIST TOY EVER !!!!!

this was just... so so cute i'm chewing on my drywall

hiii i’m not sure if you particularly like writing hybrid!reader but can i pls request something with leon where he tries to feel out his bunny/dog hybrid gf’s kinks by seeing how her tail moves in response to them. like something she really likes she’ll wag her tail real fast and he finds it adorable

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!puppy-hybrid!reader

summary: leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, humping his boot, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, scent kink, dacryphilia, and size kink

word count: 2.6k

a/n: no because i love this idea so much. it's been in my head since i got it. i hope i did it justice because i think it's so cute. thank you for sending it and i hope you enjoy <3

Leon’s eyes rested upon his favorite sight in the whole world. His precious puppy girl kneeling at his feet. If he had to guess, he’d say it was your favorite place to be too. All signs pointed to that conclusion. Your eyes were wide and locked onto his face. Your body vibrated and squirmed with the urge to jump into his lap. And of course, the way your tail wagged back and forth.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

The fluffy appendage moves in a lazy rhythm right now. You were excited Leon was home and wanted to play, but you weren’t thrilled enough for it to turn to a blur. He chuckles and reaches a hand forward to rub your head. That gets it to speed up a little bit.

“You have a good day, pup?” he asks.

You scoot the slightest bit closer while nodding. You tilt your head to the side, squishing the flesh of your cheek against his knee.

“Yeah? What’d you do today?” he says.

“Took a nap. Watched the tv,” you answer, “You look tired, daddy.”

He smiles at your observation and scratches at the base of one of your ears. Those ears, which were perked up at the moment, were so sensitive to everything. The wind knocking something over outside, his car pulling up on the driveway, and of course, small changes in his inflection.

Though he sometimes wondered if that’s all it was. He sees the way your tail picks up a notch when his lips curl upwards with that smile. He wondered, if not hoped, that it was something more than just your heightened physical capabilities. If maybe, there was something within you, something deeper, some instinctive emotional connection that bound you to him. That was probably wishful thinking. Someone who understood him implicitly. Still that was how he felt sometimes, and it was always lingering in the back of his mind when he watched your cute little ass wiggle back and forth with the movement of your tail.

“A little. Had a long day at work,” he tells you, continuing the conversation.

“Oh. Was it boring?” you inquire.

“You could say that,” he says.

“I get bored sometimes when you’re not here too,” you say.

The short, curt way you speak drives him up the wall. His hand on top of your head trails down to your cheek and gives it a little pinch before his thumb lands on your lips. Your tongue darts out to give the pad a small lick.

“Cute,” he murmurs as his fingers descend to your jawline and then your throat, “Why were you so bored, puppy? You have the whole house to yourself. You have enough toys to fill a room.”

“But I was missing my favorite toy,” you say, nuzzling against his leg.

“Oh, your favorite toy, huh?” he says.

His fingers tease the edge of the smooth material that was wrapped around your neck. In place of a collar, you wore a pink satin ribbon. It bunched around to the front of your neck where it was tied in a pretty bow. Leon’s own handiwork. He never saw a reason to collar you. You were the most loyal little thing on the face of this Earth. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably just take up residence on the mat at the front door. He’d rather you look like the spoiled princess that you were and dress you in the pink ribbon to match the other pink items you wore, your camisole and panties.

You nod at the question he asked, the ends of your bow swaying with your motion.

“Yeah? Well, tell daddy. What’s your favorite toy?” he prompts you.

Your hand snakes up to the front of his jeans and paws at the area where you would soon feel the outline of his hardening dick.

“That’s your favorite?” he asks, feigning ignorance, “Wow. If I'd known that, I wouldn’t have bought you all those stuffies. Coulda saved me a ton of money. Just let you sit on my cock most of the time, and you’d be satisfied.”

You shrug, not caring to roll that proposition around in your head for actual consideration. Sure you loved your toys, but they didn’t come close to one tucked away inside daddy’s jeans.

He grins not only because you’re so fucking cute, but also because he can see your tail starting to go faster. As much as he wants to pull you onto his lap and breed you till you’re a mess of drool and tears, he wants more tonight. You were nothing if not eager, and while he loved that, it meant that it didn’t take much effort from you to get him to cum in minutes. You’d just get so tight, you never suppressed any of your moans or whines, your face always scrunched up into needy expressions of euphoria…

Anyways. He just wanted to tease it out tonight.

“You have been a good girl today. I think you deserve some time with your favorite toy,” he says, watching the specific twitch when he said the two words of praise, “You wanna play with it right now?”

You nod almost as quickly as your tail wags. A sonorous laugh echoes from him. His eyes hold that glint that lets you know there’s more.

“What’s your favorite way to play with it, baby? You like bouncing on it?” he asks, his voice gaining an amused lilt.

You don’t respond with words. He knows your nodding, but his focus is on your backside where he’s getting the only response he needs.

Swish.

“Maybe you like taking it face down, whining into the pillow?” he continues.

Swish Swish.

“Or maybe you like being on your back, legs over daddy’s shoulders?”

Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish.

“I think that’s the winner,” he chuckles, “Why is that your favorite, pup?”

“It gets deeper,” you say. He watches as you try to be subtle about scooching closer. He wasn’t going to stop you though.

“Oh I see,” he says, nodding his head in mock realization, “You want it as deep as possible, right? And to do that, I have to pin you down, keep you underneath me where I can just fill that pussy up over and over. You like being helpless, princess?”

As his tone becomes more husky, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Your hips fight the urge to squirm, but your tail can’t stop flinging itself back and forth. A tingling flame had been lit inside your belly, one you desperately wanted him to put out.

“Yeah. You love when I’m in charge. You love when all you have to do is take it like a good girl, and you can just let that little brain melt away,” he taunts. With each swish of your tail, it’s like he can hear a game show buzzer ringing in his points.

You wrap your arms around his leg that was nearest to you and pathetically whimper out “daddy.”

“What is it, puppy?” he coos.

You look up at him and give him the definition of puppy eyes. “I want it. No more teasing,” you whine. Despite your demanding words, you stay put. You were a good girl after all, and good girls wait for permission.

“What? You want it?” he mocks, “What’s the rush, baby? You don’t like daddy’s voice anymore? You sure were liking it last night when you were all sleepy. Just whining and clinging onto me, begging me not to pull out.”

The movements of your tail start to become blurry as you remember the previous night. He’d fucked you so good and talked you through it the whole time. The main difference between now and then was that then you had his cock stuffed inside you while he spoke.

“I do like it,” you defend with a pout, “But I just want it, daddy. Please. Wanna be full of you.”

“Full,” he repeats, “Does daddy stretch you out? Make you feel like there’s no room for anything else?”

You nod again, but you can’t take it anymore. You scoot forward more so your knees rest on either side of his boot. His knee kisses the space beneath your chin while the rest of his leg is flush up against your tummy, going straight between your breasts. He knows what you’re about to do, but he’s fine with it. Tilting the tip of his boot upwards, he gives you silent permission to start rocking your hips.

That was all you needed to close the gap between the top of his shoe and your clothed cunt. Lowering yourself slightly, your puffy clit brushes the leather. You let out a tiny mewl. Your face was already starting to scrunch up into a cute little look from such a simple touch.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he teases.

“Yeah, daddy. Thank you,” you whimper.

Your hips move back and forth as if on a pendulum. The rhythm is consistent like the pacing of your tail. Back and forth, back and forth.

“I think you soaked through your panties, pretty baby. You gonna get daddy’s shoe all nice and shiny? Make it smell like you?” he says with a smug grin.

“Uh huh,” you mumble.

But when Leon mentions scenting his boot, your tail starts going crazy. Absolutely buck wild. He wouldn’t be shocked if you sprained something from how hard it was moving. God, he was getting hard. A solid tent had formed in the center of his lap from watching you. So precious, so adorable. Those pants and whines of pure lust. The way your fingers were digging into the leg you held onto like you needed it to survive. The nonstop rutting of your hips matching up with the wag of your tail.

“Woah woah. Think my girl might be a little possessive,” he says as he watches you. He keeps his tone light. He wanted this to play out before he let himself have any. To stave off his desires, he palms himself over the rough denim.

Your eyes catch that, and it’s almost comical how you nearly drool. “I just want everyone to know you’re mine. You're my daddy. They can’t have you,” you say, nestling your face against his legs.

Your own pleasure builds in the pit of your belly. You’d found the perfect amount of pressure on his boot. You just had to keep grinding your aching cunt into the leather.

“Poor baby. No one’s gonna take me from you,” he croons and strokes your head. His hand moves so much slower than any of your body parts and the contrast intensifies the pleasure further.

“Good,” you say.

“Mhm. Trust me, you keep my hands full as is,” he jokes.

He watches as you keep whining and humping his boot. Your hips move like you’re on the clock. He can feel drool starting to drip on his jeans and dampen the fabric. If only he could see your eyes. He knows they’re getting glossy, hazy with the bliss coming from between your legs. Lucky for him, a particular jolt of ecstasy pulls your head back and ends with your face looking up at him.

“You’re getting to daddy’s favorite part, honey. Keep going, Keep being a good girl,” he says. Again, your tail jerks when it registers the magic words. You snap your hips with renewed fervor, chasing the elusive high. His fingers press down harder against his cock as he sees the gleam of saliva coating your chin and lips.

“When do we get to my favorite part?” you babble. Your voice was starting to give as the warmth of carnal pleasure encroaches on your mind.

“And what is your favorite part?” he asks, knowing what your answer would be.

“The part when I actually get your cock,” you whimper.

He shakes his head. “Look at you. Trying to be smart while you’re going dumb,” he teases, “Quit complaining. You’re still getting to feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” you whine instantly.

“Oh really? It looks pretty similar to me,” he says.

You make a small sound that’s halfway between a whine and a growl. Even with your frustration though, your hips don’t stop.

“I’m just teasing you, pup,” he says, stroking your jaw with his free hand, “I guess it is different. I don’t see you crying like you do when I’m buried inside. I don’t get to see those pretty eyelashes all wet from tears.”

Your eyes roll back at the mention of being so fucked out you cry. It was one of your favorites, and Leon knew it. Being reduced to a crumpled mess of sobs against the heat of his chest got you like almost nothing else.

The reactions etched across your facial features are cute, but he can’t tear his focus away from your ass moving against its will through the force of your tail.

“But that’s not the big difference, is it?” he continues, “No. The real reason you want my cock is cause you want daddy to breed you, huh?”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, it’s like his mental buzzer is letting him know he’s won the grand prize. Everything about you goes haywire. You lock around his leg while your hips rut like you’re in heat. Your tail whips around so fast he thinks it could create a breeze.

“Uh huh, daddy- ah! Mm… just wanna be bred. Need it,” you ramble.

He feels his cock twitching in his pants. He’s sure when he actually does get it in you, he’s not gonna last too long. It’s straining against the zipper as is, and he can’t stop rubbing it. He’s almost as bad as you on the boot.

“I know you do. Silly little puppy. That’s always what you need,” he coos, “Just need to be pumped full of cum. My sweet girl.”

Your tongue is half lolled out of your mouth by this point. You’re past going dumb. Your head is swimming around in absolute thoughtlessness. Not a care in the world besides getting yourself to cum all over daddy’s boot.

He nearly groans out loud from the sight of it. He can feel the warmth of your pussy all over his shoe, the plush of your thighs clamped near the sides.

“You’re doing perfect, baby,” he mutters, “You’re gonna get your treat, I promise. Just let daddy watch you cum, and I’ll make sure you get your fill.”

You want to whimper “ok, daddy,” but your mind is too far gone for words. All that comes out is a strangled amalgamation of sounds accompanied by your head wobbling up and down. And the whole time swish swish swish.

Your swollen little clit had more than enough stimulation to get you to burst. Pants turn to gasps and fluid movements sharpen. You mumble against his leg, your lips squishing all over his pants and wetting them even more with your spit.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs, which is enough to get another loud moan out of you. He chuckles and continues watching with his half-lidded, lustful eyes.

As the movement of your hips slow, your tail’s swings weaken. He still strokes your head as you catch your breath. Your chest puffs in and out while you feel your skin cooling down. It was hard not to get sleepy after you came, but before you have to worry about falling asleep at his feet, Leon scoops you up and holds you on his lap.

Rubbing your back, he presses some kisses to your forehead and temple. “There’s my girl. How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Good, daddy,” you mutter against his shirt.

“Yeah? You think you’re up for daddy breeding you for real now?” he whispers.

And suddenly, you’re not so sleepy. You sit up straight in time with your ears perking up. You nod and give him a lazy smile. He can’t see it, but he can feel that tail already starting to wag again.

#reblogs :3

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d10nyx · 19 hours

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cheers lads werewolf is gonna be the one i go for

guys if you were a monster/ummm supernaturalish creature of some kind, what would you be?

#dante leon threesome fic who cheered?

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d10nyx · 19 hours

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I'M JUST A KID I KNOW THAT ITS NOT FAIR NOBODY CARES CAUSE IM ALONE AND THE WORLD IS HAVING MORE FUN THAN MEEEEEE TONIGHTTTTT

I'm just a kid (and life is a nightmare)

Pairing: Scene!Leon x gn!reader (ft. Ashley, Chris, and Claire).

cw: Just a comment about jerking off... otherwise sfw!

an: do these count as drabbles? these are leftovers from my Blasphemous Rumours fic that I don't think I would elaborate on, idk. You don't need to read the fic it goes with, but if you want to... Rawr xD

Another time, there was a get together at your apartment with Chris, Claire, and Ashley. After a few drinks, Ashley pulled out the ouija board she bought recently.

“Who wants to play?” Ashley asks. Her blonde hair now a bright neon green, teased to the heavens. “Not me,” Leon answers immediately. The man has his limits and inviting ghosts into the mix is not something he wants to do.

“Come on, Leon. We could ask for a nice ghost.” Ashley says as she places the board on the table. Leon shakes his head, “no thanks.”

“Dude, it’s not even real.” Chris pipes up.

“How do you know that?”

“Because ghosts aren’t real.”

Ghosts are real! At least to Leon. He thinks about ghosts at least once a day, especially at night when he’s just jerking off—what if a ghost is watching him? Buries himself in his blanket so he can quickly finish.

“I just don’t want to.” Leon then says, sinking back into the couch, his legs thrown over the armrest.

“Why don’t we just play,” you suggest, trying to help Leon out. The corners of Chris’s mouth twitch into a small smile and he throws his hands up in surrender. You, Ashley, Claire, and Chris huddle around your small coffee table. All hands on the planchette.

First, Ashley introduces the group to the spirit board. The planchette moves to spell out hello. All the while, Leon’s watching from the couch. Of course he is, he’s a curious fellow. “It moved!” Leon exclaimed with wide eyes, jumping off the couch and moving to sit at the coffee table.

“Who wants to ask the first question?” Ashley asks, looking around the table.

“I do!” Claire says.

“Will Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson ever break up?” Claire asks. You give the redhead an exasperated look, “really, Claire?” Of all questions, does the spirit even know what Fall Out Boy is? Why would a ghost that died years ago know who this band was.

The planchette moves towards yes and Claire’s eyes grow big. Yes! Claire has a chance with Pete Wentz (delusional!). “I like Pete and Ashlee, they’re cool.” Chris says, only getting an eye roll from Claire.

As the group asks more questions, it’s becoming increasingly obvious that someone, not you, is moving the planchette. This fact is missed by Leon, poor baby is eating this up.

“How would they know that?”

“Oh my god, what if Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson do break up?”

“Do you think they’ll know who’s headlining Warped Tour this year?”

That one time Leon was using your computer. He really needed to update his MySpace profile picture because you just helped him dye his hair. He was scrolling through the front page of MySpace when he saw a pop up that read, “Free Evanescence tickets if you can answer these questions.”

“Dude! They’re offering free evanescence tickets!” He exclaims as he looks over at you. You were busy cleaning up after the hair dying session, one day you’ll learn to wear gloves, but it’s so much easier to use your hands! Now your hands look like you were the one who harvested the pigs blood to throw on Carrie White.

“Who is?”

Leon shrugs, “I dunno. But free tickets!?” Before you could say anything else, Leon clicks it, why wouldn’t he? Amy Lee is hot as hell. The website is slow to load, his face too close to the computer screen.

The next thing you hear is Leon’s shout and in his attempt to flee from whatever, he falls back in the chair. Oh wow, Leon's been fooled by another screamer. What's new?

Leon stares at you, his bangs falling over his face, “oh my god,” he pants out. Screamers plus a whole can of monster do not mix. Leon’s heart rate is through the roof.

Instead of offering a helping hand, you only glare at him. “I better not get a virus on my computer, Leon!”

Another time, Chris somehow talked Leon into playing ‘Bloody Mary.’ Leon’s manhood was at stake here, he couldn’t look weak in front of Chris. Chris is that cool big brother that Leon never had, he wants to be as cool as him! A fact that Chris knows and loves to exploit just to see Leon make a fool of himself.

“Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” Leon chants into the mirror. Chris is right beside him, holding a candle. They wait for a few seconds, staring into the mirror. All Leon can see is the pair of them reflected in the mirror.

“See Chris, this isn’t—“

The candle blows out. Leon hears some shuffling and then the bathroom door slams shut. “Chris!” He shouts, unable to see in the darkness. Leon’s arms outstretched as he tries to feel for the bathroom door, his heart pounding in his chest. “Dude! Where are you!?”

No response from Chris makes his anxiety grow. “Chris!? Dude!” His hand finally reaches the doorknob and he turns the knob but it doesn’t open.

“Oh my god, what if Bloody Mary got him?”

#reblogs :3 #guys i love scene leon

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d10nyx · 19 hours

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guys if you were a monster/ummm supernaturalish creature of some kind, what would you be?

#dont ask why uh... just work with me here x

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d10nyx · 21 hours

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had to put them together for a c.ai bot they look like they're in love and they should kiss and be gay x

#me when i lie and i'm actually making a fic first bcs i cooked too hard with the idea x

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d10nyx · 21 hours

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READ THIS ON AO3 AND FORFOT TO REBLOG OOPS BUT UM I LOVE IT CHERRY COOKED AGAIN X

black water - one !

ft. og4!leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. cop!leon, corruption, mentions of harassment/rape/drugs, body horror, raccoon city incident never happened but there r bioweapons, suicide ideation bc leon, character death, there’s smut in later chapters i promise, public sex, creampie, hate sex, slapping, choking, gore descriptions

note. hi trying something new! i know raccoon city is in the midwest somewhere but to be frank idgaf ab the usa and know nothing about any part of it so i decided that it’s a southern state in this fic bc i wanted to make reader have the cute accent bc she’s a farmer :3 only the first chapter so like um this is honestly just more of a test to see if anyone would like this erm smut comes soon prommy.. reader implied poc but like um :3 PLEASE GIMME FEEDBACK N IGNORE MISTAKES!!

summary. there is something in the water, you want it gone before it eats more than just your livelihood.

You know pigs, so you know men.

This one has blue eyes, it is the type of blue you’d dip your toes into, you let the waves lap at your calves until it drags you under. His gaze taps a gun to the back of your head and demands full attention.

He is subjecting you to himself, and you hate it.

The glint of his blue-gold badge is nebulous in the dark. “Officer Leon S. Kennedy.” He offers you a look at his ID card - has the sort of face that lets him get away with things. “Criminal Investigations Department.”

Beside him, a dog with intelligent eyes stands sentinel. Officer Kennedy drops the leash and the dog sits back on its haunches. “Now, what’s this about pigs?”

The RPD is one great big circle jerk. Brian Iron’s doctrine is an easy one to follow, and Leon is not opposed to easy. His innards spill into the middle of it all as the lump in his throat dislodges, adding to the slurry of toxic waste that coats their blackened underbelly.

There is a horrible liminal quality to the place, footfall echoes in halls lit by jaundiced bulbs. The scent of sex is a wisp of smoke in his nose as he passes the chief’s office.

Raccoon City is a backwater bog, and to match the inhabitants are insular primitive beings who cling to antiquated ways. To be stationed here by choice was a lapse in judgement - snark is the currency of social interaction.

Leon is often taken by women.

He met this one back in Brooklyn, where he and his family lived above a Deli, an older southern lady with a gap in her teeth. Had the pleasure of crossing her path—Something about her just stuck. Led him to believe that all women round these parts had big hearts and even bigger bosoms. A place to rest his head for the night, a neck to hide his face in, blonde curls just shy of silver to tickle his skin flower-pink.

She talked all like:

Well, ain’t you just the sweetest peach I’ve ever seen! Oh, I could just eat a feller like you up, get me full as a tick.

Whatever it was that she said and meant, he liked it. And so guided by the expertise of his dick, Leon landed himself here.

There are a handful of beautiful women that Leon has seen, met, fucked.

(He weeded out the ugly ones the moment he was given access to the file room.)

The thing is, small town beautiful is different to New York pretty.

He has an ex over in Manhattan who could turn the sidewalk into a catwalk. She had Leon, a man built like a god, fumbling like a teenage girl. The last girl he fucked here was homely - she had the hushed urgency of a military wife and her monotony was sobering.

One girl he dated on and off for a year or two. She worked at a car wash and she was needy. Real needy. She missed the taste of his dick so he provided her with the scent of pussy instead. Every weekend he’d drive over and watch her clean the sex from the backseat of his cruiser just because he could.

Things are slow in this marshy cesspit, a never-ending conveyer belt of nothing much. The wind carries the scent of magnolia blossoms and sewage. It gives Leon a lot of time to think of the filth that is his underfurnished life. He lowers his head to the desk, allowing himself to fall in and out of spasms of lucidity.

Leon has done bad things, but he doesn’t qualify as a bad guy. The badge and the blue forbids it. Take Redfield for example, that guy got deployed in Penamstan. Y’know what happened there? He shot a kid or two and now he can’t get it up. He’s not a bad guy, not at all, he’s got a photo of his smiling face plastered in the lobby.

He’s a hero.

The only problem folks have with him is that heroes have nice, hard cocks and they fuck for hours. No matter his sex drive atrophied by gore splattered on the barrel of his gun, or how the studded underside of his boot caused flesh to crumple like the newspaper with his name on it—It doesn’t matter. To be built like a brick shithouse and have something soft between your legs, well, that just ain’t right, is it?

Over in Penamstan, he would say, you introduce yourself over the sound of gunfire, shake hands as the earth is split in half, kill an orphan to bond.

A good man for sure. So good his little sister went ghost.

(Leon finds her postcards in the mailroom. For Redfield’s sake, he hides them in the bottom drawer of his desk alongside all sorts of ephemera. He’s acquired quite the stash.)

Valentine is alright. She’s quiet. The moral fibre has been plucked out of her with a pair of forceps, and now she doesn’t think much about where she points her gun. They often sit in shared silence, and sometimes it is like looking in a funhouse mirror that creates a shape far slinkier than his bulk.

Chambers is too nice. Vickers is fat. Burton is old. Frost is ugly. These are all irrefutable flaws, but none of them are bad, and none of it is intentional. Not bad by Leon’s standards at least.

(The entirety of the STARS unit would be better off if they stopped kissing Captain Wesker’s flat ass, but that is like asking for sympathy from the devil.)

Man, he has too much time on his hands.

“Kennedy, you busy?” Rita knocks on his desk. The fabric of her shirt creases inwards to grasp the dip of her waist as she places a hand on her hip. She’s poised, but something about her gait is wobbly.

“Mighty busy.” He nods.

What they have is not history, but something much smaller. It is a word blotted out on a torn page from a burnt book, it is ground into powder by mortar and pestle.

It is Leon’s hand in her back pocket when nobody’s around.

“I’m sure.” She straightens her spine, eyes heavy with the weight of her lashes. “Up in Black Water, something about a dead pig.”

“They have gators,” Leon points out. He may be bored to the point of suicide, but he is not in the mood to wrangle any gators.

“I know,” she says, lifting her eyes from the ground to meet his sidelong gaze, “go check it out, she sounded real spooked, take a dog if you have to.”

She, huh.

Wonder what she looks like. He hopes she has big tits. He hopes she isn’t a cousin-fucking, peat-smelling hick.

Black Water has a lot of those.

“Took ya long enough.” Your voice skims the air like a bullet, it strikes Leon in the chest.

You are she. And you, well—You’re both the needle and the spoon.

Doused in the lantern glow, the egg-whites of your eyes are streaked by small, bloody streams, your mac is zipped up to the chin, and your rainboots are the same colour of boxed rubber duckies.

You’re no sole-crushed peach, making the ground its canvas in a pitiful splatter, you’re a tart cherry that he would like to pick, melt into a glaze and store in a jar.

“Oh, we’re mighty busy.” Leon wipes Rita’s wet from his fingers on the front of his tailored pants, it’s gotten sticky like pomade. He thinks of her tailbone digging into the flesh of his stomach as he sits her on his lap.

“I bet.” You raise your brows. “How many lines did’ja do?”

Leon leans forward to watch your face with unblinking eyes. “Don’t say that too loud, Wesker’s gonna get worried, y’know, start digging through his stash.”

“Hah.” Your laugh is hidden into the collar of your mac. “He seems like the type.”

“You met him before?” An unpleasant squelch is heard when he steps where you do, it seems deliberate for a moment, that you’re avoiding a well-trodden path to give him a hard time. He stumbles forward in the dark—His shoes are fucked, and these socks deserve a funeral service.

“Think we all have.” Your body is lost in the shapelessness of your attire, clothes draped over your frame like you are more hanger than human. Effortless femininity lost to androgyny. “You’re not from these parts.”

“You don’t look like you’re from these parts, pumpkin pie,” he mocks your twang and is met with a tut.

You stop and Leon bumps into you with a grunt.

He shines his torch at the ground and isn’t quite sure of what he’s looking at. “That’s a pig alright.”

#reblogs :3

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d10nyx · 22 hours

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sigh

THIS IS GONNA BE ME. FUCK. WOMEN CALLING STRAPS COCKS AND SOEBWOXEKZBEOZNEOSNSJ. SQUIRTED MY HOUSE DOWN ACTUALLY X

d is for delightful

mdni

jill valentine x reader

warnings: incest, mother - daughter incest, fem!reader, jill fucks with a strap, reference to a strap as a cock, mommy kink, age difference, mommy kink, mother jill/daughter reader, dead dove: do not eat

a/n: would say this a 500 follower special but. that would be a lie. sorry xx. i'm not officially back from my hiatus but i just felt like writing so here x. tag for @prettyevermores because i promised i'd tag her x

title is from d is for dangerous by arctic monkeys

wc: 1.7k

There are many lines that you live by, ones that stem from plain stupid to ones that belong to the bible. Really, the Vehn diagram looks fucking messy when it comes to one liners to pull out.

‘Momma didn't raise no bitch’ is something you swear by, especially when you're stuck on a shitty date, with a shitty girl and with shitty food. You must've lucked out.

Multiple tactics cross your mind. Bathroom doors, main exit doors, a bar and many other possibilities to end this date flow freely in your head.

It's not like this girl can use the excuse that ‘the man should always pay on the first date’, because you're both women, and you're not butch either.

You're just mediocre, so the fact you even landed this date is calling yourself lucky. But with this bitch opposite you? A wonderful state of affairs.

“I'm going to use the bathroom.” The words tumble out, and you can't even take it back. Who even takes back about going to the toilet? Nature calling to you is a very serious situation and must not be taken lightly.

“Okay.” Not even a glance. Maybe you don't deserve one, and maybe it's better that way, because the look of sheer defeat of the stale date covers your face like you've caught the plague.

You don't even look back as you head outside and shakily pull your phone out. Ma needs to pick you up, and Ma also needs to hear about the gone to shit date.

So, yeah. You'd say ‘Momma didn't raise no bitch’ is your go to line. Even though you are a bitch, because you ditched a date and let a poor unassuming woman pay for it. And for what?

Getting the ick can be dangerous, maybe even fatal, you supposed.

“Your date went so badly that you had me pick you up in less than an hour?” Unfortunately, yes. Shit happens, and getting cold feet while on a date is one thing.

Your mother doesn't look impressed, and really, you don't blame her. Waste of fuel, waste of time, waste of a lot of things, but whatever.

But you're sitting in her car, the warmth blowing in your face as you head home. Rather than a stuffy restaurant, you're in a stuffy car. Just your luck.

“Either you have really high standards,” She pauses, then turns to you. “Or she was a bitch to the core.”

You look at your Ma, you really do look at her. Her hypotheses are sound, and you'd agree on the second reason because that is technically why you left.

The real reason is not there, but saying anything on it would be spoiling it for your mother on your true intentions, and you'd rather have her keep guessing.

“She wasn't uh--” The right words don't come, you just kind of sit there with your jaw ajar, waiting for the right words, until they do. “She wasn't great to be honest.”

Damn straight. And also that you're infatuated with your mother, Jill Valentine.

–

With many discoveries, there's always that clarity of realisation that strikes through man. It leaves you on cloud nine, leaves you rushing to figure out more or let your mind wander on it more.

Then, it's regret. To be fair, crushing on your mother isn't exactly the thing people win awards for. Moreso lands you with a jail sentence and lifetime regret.

You'd hoped it was a phase. Don't all adults say that? That depression you suffered when you're that youthful age of fourteen, with scars on your wrists or thighs, that's a phase.

What about the drugs? Thirteen year old you smoking cigarettes and clashing empty vodka bottles in parks on a swing until you threw up. That's just plain old rebellion.

Is being utterly besotted with your mother a phase? It's sick, and awfully twisted. Maybe it's just a set up to just drag you down, or maybe just to send you spiralling down a road you'd rather not go.

You were never crazy, by your standards. You are who you are, living regrets and such is foolish. But this? It's bound to cling to you, taint your whole being because although being in love with her may merely just be a phase, it also happened.

Such a subject is not something you can tell over a late night drinking session with your partner either. It's something that has to stay dead and buried in your head, six feet under and hope it doesn't swell up into some reanimated corpse.

A diary could work, but even so, a misplaced diary could be fatal. One of your future kids (god forbid you even do have kids, that's commitment that you'll never be ready for) goes looking for it.

Wouldn't that be a story to tell?

You don't want to think about whether your mother reciprocates these feelings. You hope she doesn't, simply because the thought of her finding out tends to a shiver in your bones.

Rejection is harsh, rejection clings to a poisoned knife and digs its way into your heart. Yet, it's also a blanket, one all fuzzy and keeps you and your toes warm.

Rejection is easy, acceptance is complicated.

It's supposed to be the opposite way around, that's how it should be. For you, it's not. Self destructive tendencies and all, you reek of them.

“Honey.” A hand threading through your hair, moving it out of your face as you look up at her. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

Yeah, you should. Instead, you're spiralling about an issue you should (need) to get a grip over. Shit like this happens, why can't you accept it? “Ma.”

You can't accept it. Truth is, you want to rip the bandage off, be out with your secret to your mother. It's better that way, easier that way. Rejection, right? “I love you Ma.”

Jill's got that smile on her face, that one where it displays her endearment for you, the one where you say something sweet. But she doesn't get it, she doesn't.

You cling to her, the signature blue tank top furrowing under your fingernails, scarred with creases from your grip. “No- you don't get it. I love, love you.”

Your mouth is open, the temptation to say more is but a second away, however a finger rests just shy of your lips. “You shouldn't think like that-”

“I know- I know but I really love you, and I know it's probably a phase-” The floodgates are out. Well, they aren't fully open, but they aren't completely shut.

Embarrassment fuels you, adrenaline of the cynical situation drives you to speak, drives you to do something, just anything.

But you don't, you don't do anything. Instead, she does something, your mother does.

She kisses you. Lips on lips, you know, the standard stuff. It's a peck, not on the cheek, but more. “Did that feel wrong?”

Thinking about it seemed foolish, because really, it's been awhile since someone else's lips touched yours in such a way, and of course it wouldn't feel weird.

But it's Ma's lips, not some girl you went on a date with, or a drunken mistake, or anything else of that calibre. It's your mother, it's Jill Valentine, Miss Valentine.

“No- no Ma- it didn't.”

–

Whines and heavy breaths escaped your lips, the twisting and turning of your body as the pleasure scars through your veins, dulling all your other senses.

“Do you like it?” Faint on your ears, but loud as it echoed around the room. ”Do you like my cock?” You follow it with a nod. What else can you do?

One thing leads to another, it always does. So when you're laid on your stomach, hands clutching at the bed sheets while your mother fucks into you with her ‘cock’, you wonder what it all meant.

“Pretty fucking girl.” It's tight on her lips, a hand already running through your hair and pressing your face down into the sheets beneath you, uncaring of how painful it is on your nose. “Aren't you my pretty baby?”

“Yeah– Mommy's pretty baby.” You're quick with that response, eagerness slipping through your tone like it had no business being there. “I wanna be Mommy's pretty girl.”

“Oh yeah?” She laughs, it's like silk woven into the sound, an easy rest on your ears despite the jabbing at your cervix. “How bad?”

“So– so bad, really wanna– shit– really wanna be perfect for you.” Holy shit, you're besotted. It's like you've been caught under a spell, an enchantment of sorts. “Perfect for mommy.”

A reassuring squeeze from the hand sewed into your hair, before it tugs and chokes. “That's what I like to hear.”

The strap continuously suffocates you, giving you near little of any coherent material. Not like you had any in the first place, you're in love with your mother.

But that isn't coherency, that's insanity.

Noisy squelching sounds blend in with the pleasure you feel, the vulgarity of them truly not hitting you as the rope in you threatened to snap.

You vaguely register Jill's hand pressing your head down into the mattress still, the grip on your hair faltering as she chases the pleasure for you.

“You close?” A nod suffices, well, that's what you think anyway. It's hard to nod with the way your head is positioned, but you make it work. “You gonna cum for mommy?”

Words don't reach you, but instead, your release hits you. It's like a tumble of emotions, like waves crashing against the shore.

“There we go.” Coddling, yet teasing and such. It's like she's caring for you after you'd scraped your knee, or got a papercut and there's tears rolling down your cheeks because of it.

A haze sets over you, one full of mindless words that are never uttered, yet they spin around your head and mush into nothing.

“Baby,” A pause, then the hand once woven into your hair now brushing it aside, making your face clearer. “Are you alright?”

You can't speak, you can't. You're like soup, and she's a fork, trying to pick you up but you only slip through the seams.

But you try, and the only word that leaves your mouth is her name. “Ma-”

A look, and you're able to push yourself up, just so you can fully see your mother. And you do, you see her. “Don't you-”

“No.” Stern, her hand gesturing for you to stop. It's like you've stolen a cookie, or something that you shouldn't have off the top shelf. “Let's get you in the shower, yeah?”

#reblogs :3

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