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phntmeii · 6 months

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Hil

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers × S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don't know if that's too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much!

Being Stronger than Slashers .

[ SFW + Fem Terms]

Pairings: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Thomas Hewitt x petite!strong!Reader General Warnings: Descriptions of Gore/Blood, Violence, Slightly OOC, Descriptions of panic attack/episode, Manipulative behavior mention

A/N: ty anon for request <33 Back to slashers :) Sad I haven’t posted more of them literally in Halloween month but I’m working on it (last second lol) </33

Bo Sinclair

Absolutely turned on to the fucking max when he sees your strength.

Small, sweet partners was always his type. He just loves fulfilling the typical male stereotype of being a protector over his partner.

When he turned the corner, looking to finish off the last victim of the lot within his abandoned town, only to see something better.

He watched as you effortlessly were carrying the body of the victim over your shoulder like it was nothing. Head completely caved in, more of a mass of flesh and blood than an identifiable person. Your other hand held a bloodied hammer.

Bo was completely still, but not of fear. He was standing there like a man who had completely re-fallen in love again.

His eyes were shining as his grin grew wide. Approaching, he was nothing but prideful.

His voice was light with a chuckle, thumb brushing away the blood on your cheek. “Shit, sweetheart… Never knew a pretty girl like you was so… strong. I love it.”

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent was overprotective a lot of the time. He was insistent you were never near his work nor would you be involved when victims were in town.

He loved you too much to have you a part of him and his brothers’ work.

Vincent was slightly startled, hearing the door of his studio open. He knew both his brothers were out.

Seeing it was you, he approached, silently looking down at you. You could tell there was an air of disappointment at you being in his studio when he didn’t want you to be.

A ragged, strained voice spoke from behind his mask, “Why?”

With a shrug of your shoulders and a smile, you walked past him, further into the studio. “Bo said he needed a box in here.”

Watching you walk past, his eyes were hidden but widened as he watched you easily lift up a heavy table to look under it, scrolling past the items underneath it.

He approached confused but didn’t stop you. “Oh! Here it is!” Your arms held up a filled box of tools and parts.

Vincent followed you around curiously for the rest of the day like a shadow. He was completely fascinated by your strength, wanting to see it again.

Once you returned from helping Bo, Vincent couldn't let go of you. He kept his arms around you, head on your shoulder. His quiet, strained voice simply said, "Show me again... Please?"

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal always held an air of curiosity about you. Your sweet nature was like an untainted part of his life. A woman so far from himself.

Hannibal’s curiosity was never-ending. He took advantage of his intelligence to learn as much as he could. Stalking, Manipulative behaviors in “therapy”, etc.

You were almost always at his place. He liked it better that way although it provided some maintenance when it came to his extracurricular activities.

Hannibal had been making another of his fancy dinners for the two of you. The presentation had to be precise and perfect. Presentation was half the work for him.

He absentmindedly spoke while you were cutting vegetables beside him, “I have not set the chairs. I will do so in a moment, my love.”

Immediately, you wanted to assist. You always liked helping out. “I’ve got it!”

Watching you walk away, he expected to finish his current task before going off to assist you. Instead, he looked up to the doorway to see you easily walking past with a heavy wooden chair in each hand, easily carrying the two like they were just a stack of papers.

A small smirk curled at his lips as his hands slowed in their work. He whispered to himself, knowing his eager curiosity was not wasted, “You are… a delight, my love. You will make for something truly wonderful.”

Will Graham

Will was someone who was vigilant and aware. His mind always raced a million miles an hour with tiny observations and connections.

There was something about you but he just couldn’t place it.

But, what was there to prove? You were sweet and kind, seeming so far from what he knew. That was part of why he held love for you—You weren’t him.

Will was in his head again, silently panicked by his own mind. It was torturous to live in a prison of his own violent thoughts.

You were someone who always noticed. Always could pick up when these episodes started.

Holding his hands and speaking sweetly to him to draw him back to reality, unfortunately, wasn’t working this time.

His eyes kept darting back and forth while his breath quickened. With him standing still, quivering, you had to make the choice.

With simple ease, you picked Will up bridal style, walking away with him.

It took him a moment to realize what happened, breaking out of being inside his head. His eyes just stared at you when he was placed onto his bed, sweat drenching his forehead.

He broke out into a small smile, absentmindedly licking his lips, as was his habit. "I... didn't know you could do that."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No. It's... really attractive, actually."

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy was always a protector. Toward his family, it was evident. A given. Toward you, it was an inherent need.

The last thing he'd ever want is for you to be hurt, especially when victims come around.

He would lead you and Luda Mae into a room, having you two barricade it while him and Hoyt took care of the unfortunate victims who made their way to the wrong home.

You waited, albeit anxiously. And it only grew once you heard a loud thud followed by Hoyt's yelling.

"Goddammit, Tommy! The fuck are you doin'?"

Immediately you knew something went wrong. Despite Luda Mae trying to keep you in the room, you ripped away the makeshift barricade on the door and rushed out.

Tommy was on all fours, holding the side of his head. A man, you assumed one of the few victims, held a hammer in his hand. He quivered holding it, as if horrified by his own self-defense.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest chair, pulling back and cracking it hard against the man. Aimed for his head, he dropped to the floor unconscious by the impact.

You rushed over to Tommy's side, panicked. "Tommy! Tommy! God- Are you okay?"

His arm just instinctively shot out and held you to his body, protecting you in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked past you to see the victim with broken wooden pieces of the chair on top of him.

With his mask on, his expression was hidden. But inside, his heart warmed at how you were strong enough to protect him too. His own protector.

#slasher fucker #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slashers #slashers headcanons #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt headcanons #thomas hewitt x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #vincent sinclair headcanons #vincent sinclair x reader

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dalliancekay · 2 months

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The 'Aziraphale Still Believes in Heaven' Take

Is one that I see so often. Too often. The way many fans (still) say Aziraphale is so naïve, he's never learned anything, he never changes, Metatron just offered him a promotion and he happily jumped on it. Happy to go back to Heaven. Still in their clutches. Leaving Crowley behind. Cos nothing lasts forever. Amirite? Poor long-suffering Crowley. So patient. Goes through so much. Aww. Takes that say that because Crowley never told Aziraphale about the venom in Gabriel's "Shut your stupid mouth and die already", Aziraphale has no idea that Heaven is not the good guys, that he still believes they are on the side of truth and light.

Takes that claim Aziraphale wants Crowley to come to Heaven and be an angel again so they can be happy like in the good old times. Takes that basically say that Aziraphale is stupid. And blind. LISTEN Do you mean this Aziraphale:

Who knew before Crowley did that something is rotten in the state of Denmark, that things are wrong and one can get in a lot of trouble for a thing as minor as a suggestion to improve things. Is this the Aziraphale that would seriously suggest to Crowley, who he was immediately deeply anxious over, to go back to 'good old times'? What good old times? How is Heaven a place of light when:

A bunch of angels comes down to Earth to bully and PUNCH ONE OF THEIR OWN?

Why would he think they are the light when they shame him for being who he is?

Yes, I HC is that ultimately, Aziraphale still believes in God, in Her inherent goodness, even if Her tasks were often odd... and not lining up with what he thought was right. He thinks (remember my own HC) something somewhere went wrong with the what She wanted and the how it was understood and executed. And yes, Aziraphale wants to do good. But that's not tied to him being an angel. And it's not a bad thing ffs! Crowley does good as well. Aziraphale might be the only one who knows, but he knows. Maybe getting humans out of the Garden to seek knowledge was always a (certainty) possibility, and maybe not, but it was Aziraphale's decision to arm them.

And She didn't make him Fall for it. And do you remember when:

Aziraphale first openly questioned that Heaven was actually doing what God actually wanted? He had a think after the Flood, didn't he. He did what he thought was right. He trusted Crowley over his fellow angels, with his own sense of rightness. He and Crowley saved the kids that Aziraphale triple checked the Archangels saw no problem in letting die to make things easier. And She didn't make him Fall for it. In Edinburgh:

Az re-evaluated the thinking he was taught and did a full 180 degree turn, trying in few hours to save the grave-robbing girl AND the possible future lives of children that could be helped via more learning. And when we come to Metatron and his threats, we don't see the full conversation, but don't we see enough? Aziraphale says that he's not interested. Metatron keeps nagging at him. Pushing the symbolic coffee from Coffee or Death at him. Flattering him with obvious untruths. After all, Aziraphale knows what Heaven thinks of him. He tried to reason with Metatron before. Metatron tells him they know how deep his disobedience lies:

Aziraphale is not a fool. He knows this is an offer of come quietly or we will find a way to destroy you and your demon this time. Aziraphale didn't have to hear Metatron's quip of: "For one prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem." He knows the system is rotten. He knows for a LONG time. Did you see his face when he met Muriel and realised what a lonely sad existence they lead.

AND Crowley doesn't love Aziraphale despite the fact that he's being used to get out of trouble, being made to listen about random things the angel enjoys from symphonies to food and plays, and who continues to believe in goodness and kindness. CROWLEY LOVES AZIRAPAHLE BECAUSE OF THOSE THINGS AND because he sees Aziraphale for what he is, an angel who thinks for himself, changes his mind, learns, angel who is brave, who stands for the right thing, who sacrifices his own happiness for the safety of others, especially the demon he loves. They are the same. They are lonely. They are one of a kind. And they love each other.

Aziraphale wants to stay at home. In the home he built for himself and Crowley. On Earth where he's found so much to love. But he knows it is impossible. As Crowley confesses his love, Aziraphale struggles to stay on his plan to push him away, to make him stay. He'll miss Crowley terribly. He wants them to be together. For him, they were an 'us' the whole S2. However tenuously. Fragile existence and all that.

But even this was ripped away from him. And whatever he's planning, he knows he needs to do the first steps on his own. He can't submit Crowley to the torture that being in Heaven is going to be for him, an unwanted, despised angel. And that would be even worse for an unwanted demon. He had to push him away.

So he leaves. Furious. And determined. Whether it is to burn the place down or find God and ask Her all the questions to Her face I don't know. But his love will push him through.

And if I see one more simplistic take of the snarky demon is really good isn't he, so that means the stuffy angel is bad (and needs to change to be worthy of the demon) I will curse their dreams with lines about shades of grey. AZIRAPHALE AND CROWLEY ALREADY LOVE EACH OTHER

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #neil gaiman #good omens 2 #ineffable divorce #good omens thoughts #aziraphale my beloved #aziraphale is such a bastard #aziraphale defense squad #good omens meta #hc #the final fifteen #season 2 #kaypost

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netegf · 7 months

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Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot.

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath.

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were.

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another.

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding.

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway.

Some things don't change.

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses.

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs.

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too.

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister.

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend.

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you.

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere.

Much to Topper's devastation.

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise.

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply.

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you.

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow.

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely.

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again.

"You know he would do anything for you, right?"

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you.

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point."

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat.

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink.

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face.

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well.

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him.

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights.

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly.

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud.

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly.

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically.

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray.

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow.

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming.

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted.

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display.

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath.

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage.

"What the��fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it.

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there.

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him.

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking.

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint.

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night.

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates.

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs.

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway.

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?"

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again.

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently.

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you.

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after.

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else.

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?"

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house.

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt.

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway.

"I love these."

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world.

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much.

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check.

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat.

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you.

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes.

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day.

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing.

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators.

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night.

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included.

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all.

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine.

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger.

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head.

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date.

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything."

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall.

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl.

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together.

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about.

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am."

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company.

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers.

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you.

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself.

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off.

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!".

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin.

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date.

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing.

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote.

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them.

"Maybe later." You reply quietly.

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else.

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees.

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized.

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like."

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that."

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?"

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point.

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off.

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement.

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy.

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs.

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask."

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that."

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?"

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity.

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart.

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long."

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder.

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party."

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue."

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground.

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness.

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks x reader #rafe x reader #i love writing completely ridiculous and unhinged side characters #topper too i always make him so weird LMAO #this is a lil rough around the edges but !! whatevrrr

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lxvebun · 1 month

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heart shaped kisses RE edition

synopsis: how Leon kisses you/ different types of kisses

content: Re2r!Leon/ Re4r!Leon x gender neutral reader. Some fluff but mostly hurt/comfort. Little bit of blood. Mention of plagas leon and the outbreak. Around 500 words. He's deeply in love with you<3 english is not my first language so i'm sorry for any mistakes!♡

D*rk content blogs do not interact! (*a)

Other heart shaped kisses fics (multi) leon m.list

resident evil 2 leon

Oh my, His kisses are as sugary sweet, and warm as he is. they're always excited and eager and a frequent daily occurrence. From the moment you open your eyes until you close them again in his arms, rest assured he will have pressed kisses to every area of skin available and comfortable for you. It never fails to make your heart beat a little faster and for your mind to blank out for a split second especially when his kisses trail down from your lips to the corner of your mouth, down to your jawline before he's pressing a feathery kiss on your neck right below your ear. He "Ruins" the moment by blowing raspberries into your skin♡ :)

His kisses were always consistent in feeling, passion, and delicateness, right up until September 30, 1998. And can you blame him? With telephone lines being cut and no way to reach you through the mess of car wrecks, fires, and infected, he wasn't even sure if you were still breathing. The utter relief and desperation he channeled into his kiss when he finally got you in his arms again was overwhelming, the blood and dirt staining his skin didn't even matter, you both just needed to breathe in eachother, caress the pulse points on your necks and feel each others heartbeat thump against your chests, just to make sure this wasn't some sick, infected fever dream, just to make sure both of you were here and alive

Re4 leon under the cut

Resident evil 4 leon

Now slightly older and slightly more worn down his kisses are still as warm and sweet as before but a lot more serious, a lot deeper even for casual kisses and he holds you so close you can almost feel his heart beat against yours through your ribcages. It's passionate and breathtaking but under all that when his lips touch yours you can sense a feeling of uncertainty laced into it. Worries and thought's he's usually good at surpressing making it's way to the surface. Is this going to be the last kiss you'll ever share? when he gets called away on a mission he can't decline, will you wait for him, or is the distance too much to handle? do you understand that his love for you is so strong, and runs so deep and never-ending, even if he turns into an abomination with poison running through his veins and a new sense of bloodlust coming from a sick infected mind he would still recognize you, he would still protect you until he's permanently put into the ground?

this Leon's kisses last a lot longer, he doesn't want the moment to end and he doesn't want to feel you pull away along with your warmth and sense of comfort, and perhaps by pulling you so close to him, he can make you linger just a bit longer on his skin. just long enough for the initial worries to subside just for a moment as his thoughts of horror fade away into images of you and the way the sunlight kisses your skin or how the stars reflect in your eyes, it's an addiction, you're addictive…..he's not just going to leave it at just one kiss that's for sure.

Buns notes: I feel like I forgot to edit something in this so if something is incredibly out of place lmk💀🩷

Thank you for reading, angel!<3

#re2 leon x reader #re4 leon x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x you #re4r!leon #re2!leon #re4!leon x reader #re2!leon x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon x reader

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optimist-pine · 2 months

Text

Returns

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl finds something in his pack that doesn't belong to him... (ps. it's yours)

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: This is a silly little thank you for everyone who's been supporting my writing! If you've liked/commented/reblogged any of my works recently, this is for you. :)

Daryl digs around in his backpack, shoving aside arrow bits and extra clothes in the search for a clean(ish) rag he knows is buried in here somewhere. Ah, there, the glimpse of a red hue must be what he's looking for. He tugs it free, but as he brings it into the daylight it comes to his attention that this piece of cloth doesn't belong to him.

He drops it immediately, head swiveling to make sure nobody saw. But no, he's tucked far away from the rest of the group, not a soul in sight. He gingerly picks up the garment before realizing how ridiculous he's being and shoves it in his pocket. He'll slip into your tent, return it, and get the hell out of there and get on with the rest of his day.

Everyone's either dispersed to other parts of the farm or busy enough completing whatever chores they've taken on to notice him. Even if he didn't already know which tent was yours, it'd be obvious from the plethora of herbs and flowers hanging to dry by the entrance, and the dog-eared foraging guidebook waiting on a lawn chair for your return.

He peers through the screen window to assure himself that you're not around before unzipping the door and stepping inside. A moment too late, he realizes the amount of dirt he's just tracked into your otherwise pristine living space, and curses. Nothing to do about it now he supposes. He squats down, opening your pack and pulling the wayward item out of his pocket.

"Daryl? What're you doing in my-" Your voice makes him jump before your words falter.

His head snaps to you; you're bent down a bit, hands on your hips with sweat dripping down your temple. Your mouth is stuck in a cute little "o" of pure confusion. He's frozen, hand halfway between him and your belongings, lungs stuck mid-breath. He really should say something in his own defense.

"Is that my underwear?" You ask a little more quietly.

"I - uh..." He gapes. He's invading your privacy in so many ways, you're going to think he's a total ass if not a complete creep. And he actually doesn't mind you too much so he doesn't want you to think of him in that way. Not that you think of him at all. But now when you do you're going to hate his guts. "They - uh..." He tries.

"Ohh. I get it." You say, nodding, like this all makes total sense. "I've got something of yours I've been meaning to return, just wasn't sure how to make it not-awkward..." You kneel down beside him, fishing around in a side compartment on your bag. "Buuuut no matter. I believe these belong to you." You hold out a pair of faded boxers that've been rolled up neatly.

"Hey, Rick wants to know if-" Glenn appears in the tent opening and Daryl can practically see the gears struggling to turn in his head as he takes in the two of you so close together, each obviously holding the other's intimates. "Y'know what? Nevermind. Just go talk to Rick when you're done or whatever, okay?" He sighs, walking away.

Daryl wastes no time grabbing his boxers, shoving them in his pocket. You do the same but with more grace, standing to brush off your pants.

You let out a small chuckle, biting down a bit on your lip. "It was so hectic when we left the CDC; must've grabbed each other's stuff then." You step outside and he follows. "Thanks for returning them." You say, stooping to re-zip the tent.

The CDC is such a blur that it takes effort to remember. There weren't enough rooms for everyone and so you'd asked to bunk with him. Even though he was sufficiently intoxicated that night, he'd been lucid enough to appreciate not being alone, your steady breaths in the unsettling darkness had quieted his nerves.

He can't seem to make his eyes stay on you for long, though that doesn't stop your gaze from lingering - he can practically feel every place your eyes land as you study him. "S'no problem." He shrugs.

"Well, I guess I'd better go see what Rick wants..." you sigh, making no noticeable effort to go anywhere.

You're leaving a space for him to say something but he doesn't really have anything to add to that. "Yeah." He replies dumbly.

A soft smile grows upon your lips. "Don't be a stranger, okay? Some of us actually enjoy your company." You nudge his shoulder good-naturedly as you walk away.

He mulls over your words, trying dissect what that last little bit means. You were just being kind, right? He's pretty sure people have barely put up with his company, let alone enjoyed it. Realizing you've already been gone for multiple minutes he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and trudges off, noting that there's at least a few hours of good daylight left to make use of. But those thoughts are still there, nagging, toying with him.

---

A couple of days later, when Daryl returns to his camp after a successful enough trip into the woods, there sits your well-loved guidebook. It's laying on the ground where you must've set it when you stopped by earlier and forgotten it when the two of you headed out. He picks it up, flipping through the bent pages and your frequent notes when he passes one that makes him stop and turn back. Next to chanterelle mushrooms you've scribbled 'Daryl - pair w/ venison' . He hadn't caught game that big since back at the quarry, and even then the geeks got to it first. A small swell of pride rises within him at the thought of you planning ahead in this way, of you counting on him to provide.

The feeling follows him as he settles down for the night. Pulling out a flashlight he figures he might as well see if there's anything he can learn from your book... Or maybe that's just an excuse to search for more of your annotations. He'll have another return to make in the morning, but he can't quite bring himself to mind all that much.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

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ceilidho · 5 months

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coworker soap who frames the fleshlight thing as a joke but with a creepy undercurrent that you cant understand why you know it isnt a joke but you also dont wanna rock the boat so you dont tell hr bc johnny the ex-military man is a model employee otherwise and you cant help but feel hot shame run down ur spine when he says it that you are, at least a little, flattered by it bc shit dude hes HOT. coworker soap who just. doesnt bring it up again. its just boiling rhe frog. he says weird, borderline creepy shit that could be passed off as "guy talk" in any other situation (regardless of readers gender). He follows you around like a puppy and where it used to be normal for you, you feel a little creeped out now but. everyone. already refers to you as a duo. itd be weird if you stopped for no reason? right?

i don't know what broke in my mind long ago that this is like, the weirdly hottest thing in the world to me but im genuinely twitching over it right now.

model employee Johnny, knows the handbook inside and out, walks elderly customers to their cars with their bags, shows up to work early for every shift, always with a smile and a positive attitude. management loves him because his sales are also record high (i mean, it makes sense - i wouldn't be able to say no if he was helping me with a purchase and tried to upsell me). he's also a spokesperson for the company in all of their internal training videos because he was hired through some "jobs for vets" program that they just rolled out (idk i'm making this up). and the guy can stack things on a shelf like no one's business lmao like MILITARY precision/organization.

all your coworkers love him and genuinely like fist pump whenever they get put on the schedule with him because he's a blast to work with, and some of your coworkers are actually incredibly jealous that he just seems to follow you around everywhere. hangs off your every word. always seems to just pop out from around the corner whenever you're having trouble reaching something on a shelf.

but he says weird, uncomfortable shit to you sometimes. way over the line. you don't even know what to say at first when Johnny jokingly tells you that he has a fleshlight at home that he's named after you, just laughs and then stares at you for a second. and you like, give a little awkward laugh, growing more uncomfortable by the second the longer he stares at you without blinking. until something passes over his eyes and suddenly he's back to normal, clapping you on the arm and wandering off back to the men's apparel section.

he does a lot of strange shit actually. maybe insists on walking you to your car when the two of you are on the closing shift and it's well into the evening. laughs a little too hard and with too much vigour when someone calls him your shadow, his eyes just a little too bright and fervent. asks if you want to sit on his lap while he shows you how to use the forklift in the backroom. begs management to let him take his breaks with you and doesn't let you have a moment of peace, just sits with you in the breakroom or follows you to your car when you say that you're going out for lunch.

and you can't complain to any of your coworkers because the second you so much as criticize his work, they bark at you to be nice to him. he's just re-acclimating to civilian life, of course he's not perfect at his job yet. they defend him viciously. and the real jealous ones even tell on you in front of him, leaving you standing there embarrassed and on the spot until Johnny just smiles and says that it's alright. you'll just have to teach him better.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap

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b00kdiary · 4 months

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I love your series with the Bat Boys and the Plus Size reader. Could I request a story where the plus-size Reader is feeling low and unpretty especially compared to the Archeron Sisters and distances herself so she doesn't burden the IC with her issues but Cassian won't let her and shows her how beautiful she is on the inside and out. And maybe they find out they are mates in the process (I hope I made sense lol and sorry for the long winded request)

Mirror, Mirror | Cassian

Cassian (ACOTAR) x Plus size reader

Y/N flees a party where it seems Cassian and Nesta can’t stay away from each other, but when Cassian comes rushing after her, more than one declaration is made and more than one secret is discovered.

A/N: I made a few adjustments to this (wherever my imagination took me) and this might be the best one I've written yet, I was literally so happy re-reading this :)

Warnings: mature themes (18 +) swearing, body-image issues, eventual smut and Cass being utterly infatuated with his thick, beautiful lady (Hint: mirror-play)

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

Nesta laughed, a wonderful, breathtaking sound and something ugly twisted in me as Cassian’s face lit up, stars twinkling in his eyes as he beheld her.

I sunk back further against the wall, into the shadows, willing them to hide me, to hide the hurt and jealousy that ate and ate and ate at me the longer I watched them.

His hand on the small of her exposed, flawless back.

The sensual curve of her pink lips as she stared up at him.

The shadows that darkened his gaze as he trailed his eyes down her perfect body, over that blood-red dress that clung to every delicate curve and lean expanse of flesh, every inch of her tan and smooth and gorgeous.

A sharp pain stabbed at my chest, directly at my heart, at the sight of them together- they looked perfect. She was everything he deserved: tall, slender body curved like sin in all the best places, and the kind of fierceness that could bring the General to his knees.

And Cassian wanted her, it was obvious, the way he looked at her, the way he laughed with her, the tension between them, it was never like that with me, he was never like that with me.

“Y/N.”

The sound of my name startles me, but I swallow my surprised gasp at the touch of shadows that dance around me, clinging to my shoulder and waist, a soft and sweet greeting and I manage the barest smile as Azriel walks over to me.

“Hey, Az,” My voice is hoarse, strained, and Azriel’s lovely face deepens into a frown at the sight of it, never one to miss any details, no matter how small, “Enjoying the party?”

“I thought I was having the least fun here, until I saw you,” Azriel’s face is contemplative, sad, and I glance down when his eyes move to Cassian and Nesta, inching closer together, “You should go talk to him, you know he wants to see you.”

“He seems perfectly content with Nesta,” I sigh, and I hate how ugly my words sound, how hollow and bitter I sound, “There’s no way I can compete.”

“There’s nothing to compete with,” Azriel furrows his brows, his shadows erratic over his shoulder and I scoff at his words, at the kindness in them, “Truly Y/N, you look lovely tonight, Cassian’s an idiot if he doesn’t see it.”

I feel heat behind my eyes, a sharp pricking sting of emotion that makes it hard to see or even swallow. I tuck my hair behind an arched ear, clearing my throat, and hating the pity in Azriel’s gaze, hating that he felt he had to compliment me just to make me feel better.

“Thanks, Az, but I think the only idiot here tonight is me,” I manage a strained laugh, and Azriel sees right through it, he sees right through me. “I’m not particularly in the partying mood tonight, I’m going to just go back to my room, and have an early night.”

“Let me escort you,” Az steps forward, his scarred hand reaching for my waist, but I stop him, smiling appreciatively, but shaking my head, those treacherous tears rushing to the surface.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” I whisper, and his face turns hard, unforgiving at the sight of my tears, those hazel eyes sharpening as he turns his head back to Cassian and Nesta. “Goodnight, Az.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

I barely hear his farewell, already stepping away and this room and the people and the music and laughter and joy all dwindle into nothing as I leave, as the tears begin to leak down my face, as my bleeding heart erupts in pain, as I slip out into the silence.

Alone.

***

“Stupid, so stupid,” I mutter roughly to myself as I slam my door shut behind me, the door clicking shut with a resounding thud, strong enough it rattled through my bones and straight to my heart.

I sniff furiously, a mixture of anger and sorrow filling me as I stumble through my room, the distant sound of music and people echoing in through the open balcony, a far cry from the still and deathly silence I was surrounded by.

I kick off my heels, flinging them messily to the side and I sigh at the feeling of the cold floor against my sore soles, at the relief from the pressure on those two thin heels, that burned with every step I took.

Stupid, so stupid to think I could put on a pair of too-high heels and be as tall and intimidating as Nesta Archeron. Stupid to think I could slip on an expensive gown and look as beautiful as she did as if it would hide the fact that my body looked nothing like hers.

I was an idiot to think that the hair and the makeup and the jewellery, that any of it would be enough to make Cassian see me, to make him want me.

“So fucking stupid,” I choke out into the silence, and this time I don’t hold back the pain, I let one tear fall and then another and another, until I can’t make them stop. I gasp on my sobs as I collapse onto my bed, my arms wrapping around me for comfort.

Alone. Utterly alone.

That thought, the reality made me cry harder until I couldn’t see or breathe, until every single atom in me shook with the sobs, until my voice bounced off the walls, ringing through the air as if mocking me.

My hands quivered as I unclasped the tear-drop diamonds from my ears, discarding them easily to the bed beside me and my lip broke as I reached behind my long hair, unhooking the diamond necklace, the stones heavily dropping to my hands.

A gift from Rhysand.

‘Cassian won’t be able to take his eyes off you, especially if you show up to his room wearing only this’ Rhysand had teased me, and like the idiot I was I giggled- giggled, and blushed like I was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl.

Stupid.

“Y/N?” Three swift knocks against my door and I froze, “Y/N? Are you there?”

Cassian.

“Y/N,” His voice turns worried, frantic and his knocking doesn’t persist, “Are you okay, open the door for me please.”

I groan quietly, gnawing on my lip as I rise from the comfort of my bed, discarding that necklace beside the earrings, something scorched and bitter filling me at the sight of them- and when Cassian calls my name again, that feeling spreads.

I wipe the tears from my face, harsher than needed, my footsteps pattering against the flooring as I march over to the door and somehow the sadness in me has vanished, evaporated into something cold and cruel and angry.

My fingers curl around the handle and I yank the door open, my heart so loud I can hear it thundering in my ears and my face is blanketed, like a sheet of ice as I half-shield myself behind the door, unable to meet his gaze.

“Y/N,” Cassian sighs, and I hear the relief in his voice. I avoid his gaze, a pregnant pause sounding through the room as he stands there, and I see his body go stiff, “You left the party, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I clear my throat, my hair shifting forward to hide my tears and I feel Cassian’s eyes piercing down at me, unyielding and confused, “I was just tired, I’m going to go to bed.”

“Wait, Y/N-“ His voice becomes quiet, and I pinch my eyes shut at the feeling of his eyes on me, at the worry that lingers in the air, “Have you been crying? What- what happened, are you alright-“

“I’m fine, Cassian,” I try and push the door closed, trying to force him out before I crumble again but his large hand comes to the door, halting it in place and I don’t have the energy or strength to fight him. “Please, just go, go back to the party, go back to Nesta-“

“Nesta?” He interrupts, and all amusement and joy has left his voice left his face and when I lift my eyes to him, I see them narrow, hurt flashing through them, “What does Nesta have to do with this, can I please come inside-“

“No, I don’t want you here, Cassian!” I hiss, my words sharp and lethal and honed to hurt him- and they do, I see his face fall, his breath catching at the anger on my face, the anger in my words, directed toward him, “Just go back to her, I wouldn’t want to ruin your night ahead.”

His face falls, and I see the moment realisation flashes through his eyes, and the look on his face, the pity, makes me want to die.

“Y/N, that’s not-“

“Please, Cassian, spare me,” I scoff, and I force myself to be cruel, force myself to be cold and unfeeling because otherwise the reality would consume me and I would not humiliate myself further, not in front of him. “I don’t care who you fuck, just leave me alone, I’m tired.”

I release my hold on the door, my throat unbearably tight as I turn on my heel, ripping my gaze from him, unable to take the hurt in his face, unable to see him looking at me like that- he was my friend, long before I loved him, he was my friend, and I was being so horrible to him right now.

Silence stretches on as I walk away from the door, my footsteps heavy as I move to my bed, my fingers curling around the wooden pillar, needing it for strength, needing it to keep me up.

I sighed when my door clicked shut after a moment, that light dying out and I was utterly alone again. He was gone and I was alone.

I bite my lip hard enough to pierce the flesh as fresh tears brim in my eyes and I curl into myself as they fall, my head falling against the wooden beam, and I clutch it tighter as small cries break through my lips.

“Azriel said you saw Nesta and me together at the party, saw us laughing.”

I flinch at the sound of Cassian’s voice, echoing through the room and running over my skin like a phantom touch, and I gnaw on my lip harder, pinching my eyes shut and keeping my back to him as his feet step closer to me.

“I wasn’t flirting with her, I’m not interested in her, Y/N,” Cassian’s voice was tender, and calm and it made me feel sick, “Nor does she feel that way about me.”

“I don’t care,” I grit out, tasting the saltiness of my tears seeping into my mouth, “You can do whatever you want Cassian, you don’t owe me an explanation, just-just leave me alone.”

“I was with Nesta because I was nervous, I was nervous to see you,” His words turn low, and my entire body stills at the lament, his footsteps getting closer still, “I always get nervous around you, and Nesta knew that she was teasing me about it, about how I felt-“

“Right, I’m sure with Nesta Archeron standing next to you, I’m the one who made you nervous,” I drawl sarcastically, the words tasting like poison on my tongue and again, more tears fall, “Spare me the bullshit Cassian, I don’t need your pity.”

He sighs- no, it’s more like a frustrated growl, irate and furious and a sound I’d never heard Cassian make toward me. I sniff as his footsteps bound closer and my mouth parts in a silent gasp when his hand curls around my wrist and he rips me around to face him.

“Look at me, Y/N,” His canines flash, sharp and deadly, a mirror to the darkness in his eyes as he stares down at me, his wings splaying and that handsome face turning vicious, “Just fucking look at me.”

“I don’t want your gods-forsaken pity,” I tear my wrist from his hold, and I immediately miss the warmth, miss his touch, miss him- but still, I curl my lip and I scowl up at him, “I told you I’m fine, so what do you fucking want from me?!”

“You!” He bellows and the walls shake, the syphons at his shoulder blaring bright red with power and the lament, the strength behind that single word. He shakes his head, his jaw locked and eyes blazing, “I want you- I don’t pity you, I love you.”

My face drops, the blood rushing from my cheeks and I think, no, I know that my heart has stopped dead in my chest.

“What?” I breathe and all the anger and hurt and degradation has turned to ash in my mouth, as I stare up at him, at the lovely face, soft and sincere and real. “Cassian, I don’t understand-“

“What’s there to not understand? I love you; I want you, I have for so long, Y/N,” Cassian sighs, his throat bobbing with the movement, and I inhale a sharp breath when his hand comes to my face, cupping my wet cheek, “How can you not see that?”

“B-but Nesta,” My lip trembles and Cassian’s face falls at the sight, his grip tightening and when he draws me closer to his body, to the warmth and strength of him, I don’t fight it. “You could have her o-or any other female you want- why would you want me? I’m not enough-“

“Stop, don’t say another fucking word, I won’t hear it,” Cassian growls, his eyes tapering and my eyes flutter as he runs his thumbs over my cheek, soothing, wiping away the tears that can’t seem to stop, “You’re enough, you are everything and more- you’re intelligent and fierce and elegant, you’re funny and sarcastic and kind, you are the best female I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

“But I’m not beautiful, Cassian,” I mutter and the way his eyes shatter, the way his whole face shatters at my words, it’s like I broke something in him. “I’m not beautiful like the females you’re surrounded by- I’m not tall or thin, I’m not delicate or petite, I don’t look like them.”

“Oh baby, I don’t want them, I want you,” His voice cracks as he draws himself down to me, his face inching toward mine and full of so much feeling it made me breathless, “I want all of you.”

I gasped at the feeling of his lips crashing against mine and I didn’t fight it, can’t fight it when his hands curve around to the small of my back, dragging me flush against his body.

Cassian’s lips move against mine with hunger, devouring me and tasting me in a way that has my whole body reacting, all the way down to my toes. I arch my back into him, my fingers curling into his dress shirt, nails cutting through the fabric for leverage as he slips his tongue against mine.

I taste the bittersweetness of wine in his mouth and a whimper escapes me as he laps his tongue against me, firm and sure, as if memorising the feel of me, memorising the taste of me, of every sound that slips past my lips.

“Cass-“ I huff in a harsh breath when his hands, large and ringed and rough, slip down the rolls at my back, his fingers digging in perfectly as he curls them under the curve of my ass and lifts me up into his arms. “Cass!”

My protests die out on my lips, Cassian dismissing my worried cry by pulling me into another all-consuming kiss and I can do nothing but moan, my legs wrapping around to latch onto his waist and my hands slipping around his neck.

My core burns, sensitive and aching as Cassian begins to walk, every step brushing his hard, toned stomach against me and eliciting the filthiest moan from my lips. Cassian grins, gnawing at my bottom lip, his fingers kneading against my ass with reverence as he moves us.

But not toward the bed.

I flutter my eyes open as Cassian comes to a stop and the look in his eyes, the feral delight makes my body shiver. He helps me slip down from his hold and I raise a curious brow at him as he places his hands on my waist and then spins me around.

To look in the mirror.

“Cassian,” I frown, catching my own eyes in the reflection before immediately looking away, a pit of dread opening in my stomach as I latch my eyes higher, to where he stood towering behind me. “What-“

“Do you trust me?” Cassian whispered the question, his hands running soothingly up and down my arms, the touch so bare that I craved more. “I need you to trust me, Y/N.”

“I- I do,” I swallow, my voice shaking but I steel my spine and push away any fear at the kindness in his eyes, at the male I’d known for years and trusted with my life. “Of course, I trust you.”

“Good,” He nods, and my body tightens, prickling with fear and anticipation as his fingers begin to tug at the straps on either shoulder, his eyes darkening with something filthy and heady as he stares at me through the looking glass. “Because I’m going to show you how much I love you, every inch of you.”

My breathing turns shallow and burdensome as Cassian gently tugs down each strap, his movements deliberate and slow and making every second feel as long as an hour. I don’t take my eyes off his as he runs his palms down my back, moving to the zip there.

His body is thrumming with energy as he watches me, piercing and unblinking as he tugs down the zip at the back, inch by inch, the sound of it unzipping the loudest noise in the room.

He releases a desperate whoosh of air and I catch the look in his eyes, the carnal lust in them as he slowly drags the front of my dress down. I clamp my eyes shut the second the material falls, revealing my bare aching breasts and the flesh of my stomach.

“Cauldron fucking spare me,” Cassian hisses and I don’t need to see his face to know how he’s watching me, can hear the appreciation and need in every word.

I still don’t open my eyes, can’t open my eyes as his hard body shifts behind me, his touch turning rough as he begins to yank the material down my wide hips, over my love handles and down my thick thighs until it hits the floor.

My underwear tugged down with it.

My body shakes with every inhale and exhale I take, my heart pounding as Cassian trails his fingers across my thighs, hips, and waist, over the sides of my breasts and down the length of my spine.

“Open your eyes, Y/N,” His voice is at my ear, soft, coaxing, and my back arches when his rough, calloused hands curve around me, cupping my breasts and kneading them tenderly, “Open your eyes and see how fucking perfect you look right now.”

I suck in a steadying breath, the feeling of his fingers twisting and tugging on my taut nipples distracting me and eliciting waves of sparks and embers through my body. I brace myself and before I overthink it, I open my eyes.

I come face to face with myself- utterly naked, every flaw and imperfection, every roll and stretch mark, cellulite, and bump on display. And yet Cassian was looking at me like I was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

As if in his five hundred years of existence this was the closest, he had ever gotten to heaven.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” His voice quivers, emotion clogging the words and tears prick my eyes when he presses soft, loving kisses against my neck and jaw, adoring me, “I wish you knew how much I crave you.”

“Cass,” I moan, feeling his hard length pressing into my back and this time, when my eyes meet his in the mirror, I let him see how much I needed him, how much I wanted him, “Show me, Cassian.”

“Y/N,” He groans, a primitive, male sound as I rub my ass against his cock, his entire body shivering at the touch and his eyes growing heavy as I press my bareness against him, “Are you sure-“

“I’m sure,” I whisper, and Cassian’s eyes turn wholly black as I lean forward, bracing my palms against the mirror before me and spreading my legs as I press my ass back into him. I glance back up, to the feral need on his face and I smile, “Take me, Cass.”

A low, terrifying grumble reverberates from him, from somewhere dark and unsatiated inside him and my core throbs when he cements himself to my back, turning my head to capture my lips in his and he tastes me like he’s addicted.

I pant as he plants one of his hands beside mine on the mirror, our fingers interweaving and the sound of him unlacing his breeches, his fingers tugging and yanking and ripping at the material makes me clench with anticipation.

“Are you ready- I don’t want to hurt you,” His face buries into my neck, biting and suckling on the flesh but I hear the concern in his voice. I grab his free hand from behind me, bringing it down between my thighs and he moans as I drag his fingers through my wetness, messy and leaking.

“I’m so ready, Cass,” I plead, my nails digging into his arm as he pulls his cock free from his trousers my eyes meet his through the mirror and he smiles at the desperate pout I wear, “Please, please-“

His head runs up and down my folds, collecting the wetness and when he stills at my entrance, teasing my hole, I go weak at the size of him.

“How could I ever deny you, baby?” He hisses in my ear, his fingers curling around mine against the mirror and a roguish smile stretching across his face- one that promised to ruin me.

“Cassian!”

He shoved his cock into me, hard and fast and unforgiving and the shriek that escapes me echoes through the whole building as he sheaths himself all the way, forcing me to take it.

I choke on my cries as Cassian moves his hand to my hips, his fingers holding onto the flesh for leverage as he drags his thick, pulsing length out of me, the stretch so far and wide that it hurt more than I ever knew it could.

But then he snapped his hips forward, stuffing it all back in and I moaned, my body wrecking with the intensity of it, with the intensity of him.

“Fuck you’re so tight, baby,” Cassian gritted out, nudging my thighs apart with his knee and pressing a hand down onto my lower back so that I was leaning forward, my face inches from the mirror and his cock slipping in so deep. “So fucking tight.”

“Cassian, oh- Cauldron-“

My tits bounced and my thighs shook as he fucked into me, his pace brutal and merciless, pounding me hard and deep, my pussy sucking him in and clenching, my eyes rolling at the mixture of pleasure and pain that throbbed through my core.

He didn’t give me any time to adjust, didn’t give me time to get used to the size of him- and I fucking loved it.

“Does that feel good?” He muttered, fingers curling into my hair and yanking my head back so that my eyes met his in the mirror and I whimpered at the pressure on my scalp, at the sound of my wetness and his skin slapping mine as he slammed his hips to meet my ass again and again.

“S-so good,” I blubbered, my words slugging together as I watched his face tighten, watching him sweating and panting and grunting, those dark eyes sliding between our bodies, watching his dick slide in and out, coated in my juices. “Don’t stop, don’t stop- please, please-”

He snarls, the sound animalistic and the electricity in my core intensifies when Cassian’s hand releases my hair, his hand slipping around to grip my throat and the angle shifts as he brings me back to his chest, our sweating bodies melting together, his fingers around my neck tight as he keeps me there.

“Look at yourself, baby,” He croons, his voice like sin as he nibbles against my cheek and I cry out when he drives into my pussy faster, his eyes watching every reaction, every movement through the mirror and it drives him on. “See how fucking perfect you look, taking my cock like it was made for you.”

“Cass, Cass,” His name is a prayer on my lips, the head of his cock slamming against a point in me, deep and untouched, a point that has every nerve ending setting alight and he laughs, like claws running down my spine, delighted at how close I was.

“So beautiful,” His fingers tighten around my throat and my eyes flutter open, latching onto the sight of us in the mirror, his body against mine, the sweat coating my skin and the absolute adoration in his eyes, “See how beautiful you look? Say it baby, say you’re beautiful.”

A command, a raw and final command.

“I’m-oh,” My head tilts back against his shoulder, my back arching as Cassian’s hand slips between my thighs and he begins rubbing brashly at my clit, fast and messy and forceful, and my knees start to quake. “Cassian, I can’t I’m- I’m-“

“No, no- You can’t come until you say it,” He growls, and I mewl when his fingers circle harder, his hips driving into me so perfectly that I can feel how red and bruised my ass is getting. “Say you’re- shit- say you're beautiful, say it, baby-“

Every word is emphasised with a snap of his hips, again and again, and the sound of him panting and moaning in my ears, his fingers ruining my clit it’s too much.

“I’m beautiful,” I moan, tears trickling down my cheeks at the tautness of my body, that bubble in my core starting to expand and expand and it hurts so good, “I’m beautiful, fuck-fuck-“

“Come, baby, come,” Cassian chuckles, dark and sinful and when my body gives out, his arm wraps around me, keeping me up and fucking me so good, sliding against my walls and ripping apart any control I had, “Make a mess of my cock for me.”

“Cass- Cass- Cassian!”

He hits that spot again and again and again, not stopping, not giving me even a second to breathe and that bubble bursts, explodes, and all I can do is chant his name over and over as releases rocks through me.

“Shit, Y/N,” Cassian curses, and my stomach clenches and unclenches, moans falling endlessly from my lips as I come, wrapping around Cassian painfully tight, and I know he’s close, know he’s barely hanging on.

I pant, damn near hyperventilating as my orgasm shatters me and my body starts to ache and burn as Cassian chases his high, his hips stuttering and his body hard against mine, curses falling from his lips as I clamp down around him, again and again.

“Shit, baby,” Cassian groans, eyes clamping shut and I watch through the mirror, enchanted as his fingers curl into my hips, his head falling to the crook of my neck as his body goes utterly still and he releases inside me.

The sound he makes, that devastating rumble of power that emits from him, is muffled into my neck and I whimper as his hips come to a jagged halt, the feeling of his warm come spreading through me making my head spin.

I can’t look away from him, not as he clutches onto me like a lifeline, canines scraping against my neck and his wings arching up high and spread wide, trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm.

“Fuck,” Cassian pants, the both of us sagging forward with exhaustion, and as he slowly slips out of me, he groans at the sight of his seed leaking out from me and down my soft thighs. “Fuck Y/N.”

I suck in greedy gulps of air as I lift my head, my heart pounding in my chest and a sense of clarity wrecking through me, waves of release fading into oblivion and the silence settling around us. Cassian smiles, tenderly, as I meet his gaze in the mirror.

But then something happens.

I freeze, my body jolting the second my eyes meet his, the second I see those hazel orbs and melt into their serenity, into their comfort.

Something clicks into place.

“Y/N?” Cassian’s worried voice greets me, pushing through the haze and fog and disorientation and I feel his hands pushing back my hair, trying to gain my attention, “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong?”

Tears burn my eyes, strong and overwhelming and maddening and when my eyes lift, when I see Cassian through the looking glass, his face pales in worry.

“What’s wrong-“

“You’re my mate.”

He stills, his entire body stills, and I release a shaking, astounded sob. Cassian doesn’t speak, doesn’t breathe as I turn on my weak legs, finally face to face with him.

“You’re my mate, Cassian,” I choke out, half-laughing, half-sobbing and my hands shake as I bring them up to his beautiful face, watching him melt into my embrace, “My mate.”

“It only took you fifty years to realise,” Cassian muttered, tears brimming in his eyes and my mouth went slack at his words, at the broken teasing in them, “Made me wait long enough I think.”

“You-you knew?” I gasp and Cassian’s hands fall to my waist, drawing me closer and the feel of his hands, his touch, ignites something raw and dangerous in me. “How-“

“I knew the very day we met,” He whispers, voice hoarse and lip trembling and more tears leak down my cheeks at the sight, at his words, “I knew you were my mate from the second I saw you, and I have loved you in silence every day since.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I croak out, my fingers curling around his cheek- I wasn’t angry but it hurt, my heart hurt for him, for the years he spent knowing and being able to do nothing.

“I wanted you to realise on your own,” Cassian says, and something breaks in my chest at the tear that streaks down his face, sinking into my hand, “I wanted you to be ready for me, for us.”

“Cassian, I love you, I have loved you from the first moment you smiled at me, from the first moment you spoke to me, from the first moment you looked at me,” I smile, rising onto my tiptoes and pressing the softest kiss to his lips.

Sparks. Utter sparks.

“I have always loved you,” I laugh as his hands cascade down my back, curling around my ass and this time, when he lifts me with ease, I wrap my arms around him, hooking my legs and bringing his face close to mine. “My Mate.”

“I’ve prayed to hear you say those words,” He muttered against my lips, his eyes fluttering at the tender touch, and I sighed as we pressed our foreheads together. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Cassian.”

____________

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z-mizcellaneous-z · 11 months

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Deku's possessiveness V.S. Kacchan's protectiveness

Bkdks. We've all read countless fics with bkdk pining after each other, of them getting jealous and whatnot. Usually, the fandom labels Kacchan as the possessive one and Deku as the protective one, but I (respectfully) disagree. I say that Deku is the possessive one and Kacchan is the protective one.

Now, when I say Deku is possessive and Kacchan is protective, I'm not saying that they don't have the other trait. bkdk are both protective and possessive of each other. HOWEVER, the way I see it is:

Deku is possessive. When he gets possessive, it feeds his protectiveness.

Kacchan is protective. When he gets protective, it feeds his possessiveness.

When you read fics from Deku's POV and he's seeing Kacchan being happy with someone else (both platonic and romantic), he gets possessive. Why not me, why THEM, I know him better, I've known him for LONGER, etc. There also is a kind of "indulging" in the "selfishness" of wanting Kacchan all to himself if that makes sense. Like yes, he'll feel bad about being jealous over Kacchan having friends, but also he can't bring himself to stop being jealous/possessive of Kacchan. Deku's possessiveness has the message of "I know Kacchan better than anyone else ever has/will, I've worked hard to stay by his side and I'm not gonna let some EXTRA take him from me."

However, when you read fics from KACCHAN'S POV, and he's seeing Deku being happy with someone else, he gets protective. He also kind of attacks himself in the sense of "I want the best for Deku and I am not the best. I hurt Deku countless times in countless ways, [person] hasn't hurt Deku like I have, and [they] will make Deku happier than I ever could. If they ever hurt him though [they]'re dead." Kacchan's protectiveness has the message of "I want Deku to always be happy. If he's happy with someone else, then I'm happy."

Again, Deku does have moments where his protectiveness shows more than his possessiveness. A prime example is the training camp arc, when Kacchan is kidnapped. It starts as possessive, with Deku basically going "Give my Kacchan back!" and Compress commenting on this and saying that Bakugo doesn't belong to anyone.

However, as his possessiveness increases, Deku's protectiveness also increases. He's a lot more self-sacrificial and desperate in reaching Kacchan to save him. To protect him.

On the other hand, Kacchan also has moments where his protectiveness gives way to more possessiveness than usual. The first example is when Kacchan is stabbed by Shigaraki. He sees Deku about to get severely injured, and he becomes protective and takes the hit instead of Deku. However, after getting stabbed, he says "stop trying to win this on your own." This is where his possessiveness shows, in which he's trying to fill the role of being a Symbol of Victory. "Let me be YOUR Symbol of Victory."

There's also the fact that Bakugo carries guilt because of his actions from the past. This has him being more prone to leaning away from being as possessive as Deku is because "I hurt Deku. I don't deserve him. Deku isn't mine. He doesn't belong to me, he never has." Because of this he leans more towards protectiveness in the sense of wishing for him to be always happy in the ways that he prevented when they were younger and whatnot.

Of course, during his apology, he also expresses how they all will help him. However, you also have the moment where Izuku stumbles and falls. Kacchan's protectiveness comes in as he rushes to grab him and hold him steady. Izuku apologizes for the things he says, and Kacchan says "I get it." Not we, because his possessiveness comes forth in that moment. It also comes forward when he talks to Class 1A and Endeavor.

"You know nothing about Deku."

"I know Deku more than anyone else."

Those are very possessive statements, which are very similar to Deku's possessive mentality.

However, Deku doesn't carry guilt. This has him lean more towards being possessive of Kacchan. "I've ALWAYS stuck by Kacchan, you must be stupid if you think YOU can take him from ME."

However, I also think that once bkdk enter a relationship and Kacchan truly, wholly believes that he is worthy of Deku's love and the relationship in general, he'll allow himself to be a lot more possessive. Like once he's had the realization of "Izuku deserves the best and he chose ME, and I trust his judgement so that means I'm the best for him," he'll go, "Anyone who tries taking him from me will lose a couple fingers. I bite bitch," which is how I feel a lot of people think he's like from the get-go, when that more blatant possessive comes later on.

Again, it all circles back to the good old "bkdk are two halves of a whole, they complete each other."

Win to save, save to win.

Victory and peace.

Protectiveness and possessiveness.

Anyways.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, bkdk is canon I will kill AND die on that hill and I do not take criticism. Have a great day.

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oncomingnight · 6 months

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You're beautiful and I'm insane ๋࣭ ⭑˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

Pt. Two of Yandere! musician

Elias cannot fall asleep without you. If you wander away from bed due to you not being unable to sleep, he'll eventually wake up as he feels that you're no longer beside him, then, he quickly follows after you. He'll stay up as long as you need him to, he'll warm up some milk, heat up a packet of chamomile tea, or even cut up some vegetables and make you a bowl of warm soup to help lull you to sleep. Yes, he'd doing this because he deeply cares about you and wants you to be well rested, on the other hand, as I said, he just cannot and will not sleep without you.

He's got a weird sense of humor and it never fails to shine through. When someone he's not too fond of is speaking, he'll silently mock them and pull strange faces. There are too many videos of him on the internet comically eyeing the camera as an interview rambles on and asks him and his band mates odd questions. There have been many times where he's made you laugh to the point the apples of your cheeks are hurting and you're out of breath.

When you're sitting stageside and admiring your boyfriend absolutely ripping on his guitar, he's doing some admiring of his own. He'll repeatedly turn his head towards your direction, sending you a little wink along with a lovingly blown kiss. As soon as he gets off of stage, he's all over you as he whispers on about how much he adores you and how pretty you look in the dress he bought you. Oh, and now he's sneaking you off to his trailer behind the festival's stage. No one is surprised when you both come out of his trailer with him missing some patches of face & body paint meanwhile you're covered in a mixture of colors that rubbed off on you.

Elias enjoys wearing coordinated outfits and even outright matching outfits. He simply thinks its an adorable display of affection and it's a way to show others that he belongs to someone.

He has your name tattooed on his forearm in cursive, written in red ink.

He adores speaking about you to his friends, it's mostly him obsessively babbling & bragging about how perfect you are as a lover and how, soon, you're going to have a heavy diamond on your finger. An interviewer could ask him one simple question about you and he wouldn't stop rambling unless the interview was coming to an end, he loves you desperately, selfishly, and protectively.

Even if there were to be available seating near the two of you, he will always want you to sit on his lap. It's not for a sexual reason, it's more so because he finds it comforting when you put your weight on him

Elias has brutally beat people an inch of their life because they decided it'd be humorous to bother the peace in your life. Though, this doesn't mean he's only beat people. He's done much more gruesome actions towards people that he deemed as negative impacts on your life. He only ever does such things to protect you, his precious, sweet girl. If anything horrible were to happen to you, who knows what he'd do to not only the one who hurt you, but everyone else related to them.

He never lets a second go by without letting you know just how much you mean to him and his existence, he could never go on without you, he wouldn't want to. "No one could ever love me as much as you do and no one could ever love you as much as I do. Do you know what I'd do for you, baby? You've got me stuck, and 'm not complainin'"

He keeps a Polaroid picture of you in his black, leather wallet.

He adores filming you doing random things around your shared apartment, whether its you doing your hair, getting dressed, the two of you cuddling in bed, cooking a meal or baking him a batch of pastries. He also enjoys filming the two of you having sex, he'll prop up a camera on the vanity of your shared bedroom before he starts having his fun with you. He likes looking back on all of the videos he takes but especially the sexual ones, as he can re-experience your reactions and note down what you really liked.

Elias stands at a staggering height of 6'3, he towers over you and he leans down to be able to hear you better if you're in an extremely loud and packed area.

Spoiling you is something that Elias finds extreme happiness and pride in, he's the type of boyfriend to always be eager to grant your wishes in the most pleasant way possible.

He's always excited to introduce you to his favorite metal bands that helped paved the way to his musicality, his favored genre of film (horror) and video games he's fixated on for long periods of time.

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freyarabbit · 2 months

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Iᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ Mᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇs ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ⌑

w: nsfw✟

The sounds of sizzling oil and the smell of spices hit Megumi's senses and filled the room with a comfortable aroma, causing his drowsiness to disappear.

Getting off the couch, he began walking towards the kitchen. The food you cooked was almost as delicious as you.

Peeking into the kitchen, he saw you, bent over while putting something in the microwave. God it almost felt like you were wearing that short skirt to tease him specifically.

He knew he should feel like an ashamed pervert right now, but he doesn't, his mind is too clouded with the thoughts of being inside you.

He slowly approached you, akin to a panther preparing to pounce at its prey, without any sound.

You didn't realize he was there until the very last moment, as he caged your body from behind and buried his head into your neck, earning a surprised squeal from you.

"Ah- Megumi what're you doing?"

He wanted to reply with how he was hoping to do you, but he wasn't that unhinged just yet, so he just remained quiet, slowly pushing his hands up your cute oversized shirt, cupping your tits with ease, since you didn't wear a bra at home.

You sighed with satisfaction, leaning back into him as he massaged your chest. So much so, that you didn't realize when he quickly took his other hand away to slide your panties to the side.

He pushed your upper body down onto the shelf to rest, holding you down with one hand and positioning himself in front of your small hole with the other.

His huge dick pushed into you deliciously, you could feel every inch, especially with how sensitive your walls were right now. He hadn't fucked you in this position for a long while.

He only got harder looking at the way his cock disappeared into your heat everytime he thrusted in, how your legs shook as they began giving out already.

Suddenly, he saw the way you were desperately trying to turn the stove off, the pleasure he was giving you making it insanely hard for you to do so. Your words and pleas only coming out in the form of slurred words and pretty sounds.

He reached his hand out, turning it off for you, watching the way you relaxed again, drooling on the shelf as your hair fell on your face.

He tucked the strands behind your ear, bending down to give you kisses on the back of your neck.

He pumped into your tight hole faster, whispering a question into your ear,

"Re' you close, baby?"

You only nodded dumbly, at this point, your weren't even standing anymore, your legs just hung off the shelf, relying only on the shelf and Megumi's support.

And there it was, you shut your eyes tightly, but the same couldn't be said for your mouth, as you screamed out his name.

That sound threw him off the edge too, as he stuffed you with his cum. Soon after which, he said something to you in that husky voice of his.

"Oh, and I was here to ask you what you were cooking."

Definitely didn't let the milk boil over while writing this in the kitchen-becausw I was distracted...

#megumi fushiguro x you #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jjk megumi #jjk smut #jjk #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro x reader

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granaidh · 5 months

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Hi! I hope you're doing well, and thank you for writing! Could you please write a little something for Lando where the reader is also a driver (but not his teammate) and she got into a big accident at the last gp of the year and it's taken her quite some time (like a few months) to get better, so she has to miss out on the whole next season of racing. A bunch of the drivers have visited her, but Lando hasnt , bc they had a fight before the last gp and also they were both unsure of what kind of relationship they had (like kind of friends but with soft touches, longing gazes, but no guts to make a move). And he finally decides to visit her while she's away on a retreat for her mental health or smth. I long for angst, but it can go and end in which ever way you'd imagine. Thank you!

mistakes — lando norris

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: lando doesn't think before he speaks, and it quickly becomes apparent that he might be too scared to fix it.

warnings: serious injury to reader but not heavily described, casual sexism from lando, bit of angst

a/n: i'm actually proud of this at 2am but I'm sure when I reread it i'll be ashamed

The smell of flowers began to become sickly after a while. You’d never known that before. But as the small private hospital room overflowed, your senses were under constant assault to the point your head began to spin, and your nostrils burned day in and day out. You tried to push the frustration away, noting the flowers were from your friends and coworkers, with beautiful cards stacked up on the sterilised table next to you.

You sighed gently; you really were overreacting; they helped the room feel alive through your recovery, even if it left a bitter taste in your mouth. The orchids from George created a beautiful arch with their stem resting next to Alex’s arrangement of blue hydrangeas; you suspect Logan snuck his name on the bottom of the card, allowing yourself a light exhalation of air in humour at the flustered American, not wanting to overstep your very casual relationship. Lewis’s bouquet of peonies made your lip quiver lightly, while Fernando’s succulent calmed you down and reminded you of the practical nature of the Spanish man who taught you so much.

All the arrangements from coworkers you greeted so often, even if you weren’t close, made the tears well in your bottom lashes, fighting to keep the emotions at bay as you read the card definitely written by Susie from both herself and Toto wishing you all the best in your speedy recovery and return the track in the following season.

If you wanted to take one good thing from your crash, at least it was at the last race, your job fulfilled for the season, allowing you plenty of time to rot away in a hospital bed in Switzerland, far away from Milton Keynes and the extensive expectations placed on you.

Your phone flashed, a text from your teammate affectionately named in your phone ‘max v’ not to be confused with ‘max f’ or the mysterious just ‘max’ who you couldn't remember ever having in your phone. The photo was of himself, Daniel, Yuki and Christian dressed to the nines at the factory dinner. The accompanying text made you giggle, as most things from your Dutch teammate did.

“Don’t let my smile fool you, and I’m so close to ruining every sponsor this team has out of pure rage; I’ll take the blame if we have no seat next year. This suit is too tight, and if one more person asks me where you are thinking that I’m gonna give a scoop. I’m going to strangle them the way I should’ve strangled Ocon when I got the chance all those years ago. Even Daniel can’t make me feel better; I miss you being here. You would’ve judged people with me, gtg Christian barking orders again.”

You were glad Max was dealing with the dinner and not you. You last saw him a couple days ago. He dropped in with Daniel, completing your collection of flowers before forcing you to be sandwiched between them on your bed to watch a movie, finally allowing yourself to be reminded of everyday life as the two bickered and fought for a remote over your body. You didn’t stay awake for long.

The final delivery of flowers had been delivered by a charming Sebastian Vettel, who dropped in cuts of native flowers that he had brought specifically for you on his property, tied together with a repurposed ribbon from a gift you had given him years ago. However, there was a noticeable absence in the gifts surrounding you.

George arrived with Alex first, Logan trailing behind them, adding seeing you in a hospital bed to the third conversation you’d had outside of greetings. Then Bottas and Zhou with an accompanying Lewis. Fernando arrived with Oscar, allegedly heading back to the UK together afterwards. Toto dropped his flowers off at reception as you were asleep, and Yuki came with Pierre, followed by Lance and Esteban, and then Charles, who insisted on staying and catching up. Then Carlos, strangely followed by the dads of the grid, Nico and Kevin, who were far more concerned about your injuries than you expected. However, one substantial absence stood out to you.

Lando.

You knew you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but you didn’t expect him to not visit you at all. You had been in rehab, both physical and mental, for nearly two weeks now, with everyone managing to check in on you despite their busy schedules except Lando. Your crash hadn’t been pretty sure; slamming into a tire wall at 60g, passing out in the car, and getting hauled out of the upside-down chassis before getting rushed to the hospital wasn’t the best final display following your argument, but not enough to ignore you. He hadn’t even caused the crash. It was a racing incident between you and Carlos; neither of you could have avoided it; you just copped the heavier burden.

You underwent a battery of medical examinations, each a journey into uncertainty. In the X-ray room, the stark images of fractured bones mirrored the ache you felt, tangible evidence of the crash's impact. Inside the MRI chamber, the steady hum enveloped you, the machine's relentless probing revealing the hidden aftermath of the collision. It seemed to echo the pounding of your heart, a nervous symphony amidst the mechanical rhythms. Doctors' questions were like peeling layers, seeking not just physical wounds but the unseen injuries etched within. Each test marked a step toward understanding, painting a complex picture of recovery where visible injuries and unseen scars intertwined. Each evaluation was a mix of relief and apprehension, providing answers that formed a path to healing, a trail marked by uncertainty yet holding the promise of recovery.

The specialists' meticulous evaluations probed deeper into the fractures, soft tissue damage, and the corridors of your mind. Psychologists gently unravelled the knots of emotional trauma, exploring the depths of your psyche, where the crash had left its indelible mark. Their questions felt like delicate hands reaching into the recesses of your thoughts, seeking to mend the fragments of your peace. The psychological assessments uncovered the whispers of anxiety and the haunting spectre of post-traumatic stress, remnants of the crash that lingered within you. Every test result felt like a double-edged sword—confirmation of injuries and a roadmap toward recovery. The prognosis painted a journey marked by rehabilitation, a marathon of physical therapy, and a parallel track of counselling to tend to the unseen wounds.

Yet amidst the medical jargon and clinical assessments, a flicker of hope persisted—the assurance that eventually Lando would show up, flash that smile and quell all the horrible things you had both said before the race start. You grimaced at the memory.

The bustling paddock echoed with the symphony of mechanics preparing the cars, but amidst the controlled chaos, you and Lando engaged in your usual banter. Your race suits wrapped around your waists, both slowly hydrating before race preparation fully began. Your words, initially playful, began to bear the weight of deep insecurities.

“You seem pretty nervous, worried you’re not going to see the finish line again?” He smiled, his head tilted, eyelashes fluttering, not afraid to push your buttons at any given chance.

However, his teasing smirk faltered as your words struck a raw nerve. "At least I'm consistent, unlike someone. Your results have been all over the place all season, let alone your qualifying.”

The playful atmosphere shifted, an undercurrent of frustration tainting Lando's response. "Consistently average, you mean? You talk a lot for someone who hasn't even seen a world championship title in the absolute rockets Redbull have been building; your teammate will always outperform you.."

Your smile wavered, stung by the barb. "You're one to talk, Mr. 'Lando NoWins’' every season. Maybe if you stopped focusing on social media and YouTube content, you'd actually win something."

The words hung in the air, a charged silence enveloping them. Then, in a moment of unchecked frustration, Lando's retort cut through the atmosphere like a blade, "Maybe you should listen to the folks who say women don't belong in F1."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, hurt etching lines across your features. A heavy silence engulfed you both, the weight of Lando's words causing an irreparable breach in your banter. The unintentional insult lingered, an unexpected wound that pierced deeper than you initially intended.

You felt the sting of Lando's words like a visceral blow, the hurt and frustration twisting inside you. You turned on your heel, striding back toward your team garage without a comment. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the paddock floor, a resolute rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, blood rushing to your ears. Ignoring the concerned glances of your crew, you brushed past, focus singular—preparing for the race ahead. The air hummed with an electric intensity as you suited up, the layers of protective gear around your face against the emotional turmoil swirling within, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

There was a steely determination etched on your face as you tightened the straps of your helmet, shutting yourself into a cocoon of concentration. The roar of the engines outside became your anchor, drowning out the echoes of the hurtful exchange. Silent and resolute, you climbed into the car, the cockpit becoming a sanctuary. Your jaw set in determination, you flicked switches and adjusted controls with precision, shutting out the world beyond the confines of the racing machine. Your eyes, usually bright with laughter, now held a fierce resolve as you rolled out of the garage, the determination to deliver a race that would drown out the hurt, speaking louder than any words you could utter. You sighed raggedly, the memory taunting you as you shakily stood up to make your way to your therapist's office, looking forward to speaking about how everything had played out.

"You know, doc, I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could handle the pressure, the banter, the camaraderie. But that day, everything shattered. Every hurtful word was a crack in the facade I'd built. I thought I was tougher, stronger, but it turns out I'm just… human."

You sat in the therapist's office, the weight of Lando's words still heavy on your heart. The echo of that conversation on the track had ricocheted into every corner of your mind, leaving a maze of emotions you struggled to navigate.

"I wanted to prove him wrong, to prove everyone wrong. But those words... they cut so deep. It wasn't just a simple jab. It was everything I've fought against, the doubts, the stereotypes, all laid bare in a single sentence by someone I trusted."

Your therapist, a comforting presence amidst the storm within, listened attentively, offering a reassuring nod.

"I geared up for the race, determined to drown out the pain, to prove I was more than what he said. But as I sat there, strapped into the car, I realized I wasn't racing against the others anymore. I was racing against myself, against those doubts that suddenly felt louder than the roaring engines."

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of frustration and vulnerability, emotions you'd kept at bay for too long now threatening to spill over.

"I wanted to prove that I could compartmentalize, that I could shove aside the hurt and focus on the race. But I couldn't, and it scared me. It was like I was driving blind, my mind clouded by everything he said."

The therapist's gentle gaze conveyed empathy, a silent encouragement to continue pouring out the tangled emotions.

"And now, they won't clear me. They say I'm not in the right headspace, that I need another week. But what if a week isn't enough? What if I can't shake off these doubts? What if I'm not strong enough to brush off those words and just race?"

The vulnerability in admitting these fears felt raw and exposed. The therapist's reassuring words offered a lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the storm.

"I just... I want to race, to prove I belong here. But right now, I don't even know if I believe it myself."

The confines of his Monaco apartment felt suffocating, the glossy exterior a facade that failed to shield him from the turmoil. Lando's fingers drummed an erratic rhythm on the polished surface, a restless manifestation of his internal conflict.

The memory of their heated exchange replayed in his mind like a relentless loop, each word a shard that pierced through the armour of his racing persona. He had always navigated the paddock with ease, charming smiles and quick wit masking the tumult of emotions that roiled beneath the surface. But with your absence, the mask had slipped, revealing a vulnerability he hadn't reckoned with.

Regret clawed at him, a persistent ache in the pit of his stomach. "I should've been there," he muttered, the weight of those words heavy on his conscience. The realisation of not being by your side during your most vulnerable moments gnawed at him, a pang of gnawing guilt that begged for resolution. The retreat, whispered about in hushed tones among the racing circles, stood as a sanctuary amidst the chaos—a refuge where you sought solace for your fractured spirit. It beckoned to Lando like a beacon, a chance for redemption in the quiet comfort of nature.

The decision simmered within him, a tumultuous blend of apprehension and resolve. It wasn't solely about seeking forgiveness but an acknowledgment—a reckoning with the depth of his feelings that he'd buried beneath layers of uncertainty. As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting hues of amber across the harbour, Lando made a choice. He would seek you out, traverse the distance to where you had found peace, and confront the storm he'd helped brew.

The journey to the retreat felt like a pilgrimage, each mile an introspective passage into the recesses of his own heart. With each passing mile, the layers of bravado peeled away, revealing a vulnerability he'd long kept shielded. The serene setting of the retreat, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled tracks you had both grown accustomed to, seemed to mirror the quiet turmoil within him. The rustling leaves whispered of a chance for redemption, a fragile hope that clung to the edges of his conflicted heart.

Steeling himself, Lando walked the pathways to where you were staying. Each step felt like an echo of his hesitation, a testament to the emotional weight he carried. The consequence of his absence, the depth of his regret, and the burgeoning realisation of his feelings surged within him, propelling him forward.

The serene sanctuary of the retreat wrapped around you like a comforting shroud, nature’s symphony a balm to the chaotic discord within yourself. The sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky with strokes of soft pinks and fiery oranges, casting a serene hue over the landscape. Into this tranquil setting stepped an unexpected interruption—Lando. His sudden appearance punctured the peaceful bubble, jolting a concoction of emotions within you—shock mixed with uncertainty and a flicker of hesitant hope. As your eyes met, the unspoken weight of past conversations seemed to hang thick in the air.

"Hey," Lando's voice, typically confident, now bore a tremor of hesitation, an attempt to break through the thick blanket of silence.

"Hi," your response carried a symphony of emotions—guarded hope woven with the remnants of hurt and unresolved tension. The atmosphere crackled with an awkwardness so palpable it felt suffocating, a thick fog between you two. It was as if the tranquillity of the retreat intensified the discomfort, amplifying the awkwardness to an almost unbearable level.

"I... I'm sorry," Lando's words stumbled out, laden with regret. "For what I said. It was out of line. I was... I was frustrated, but that's no excuse." His apology seemed to echo in the quietude, each word a jarring note in the serene backdrop—a fragile bridge amidst the uncomfortable silence.

"It hurt," you confessed, the echoes of his words still ringing painfully. "It felt like everything I've fought against in my career was thrown back at me in that moment by the person I trusted the most." Lando's composure softened his admission, a mixture of regret and helplessness.

"I didn't mean it. I let my own insecurities cloud my judgment. And I should've been there for you, especially when you needed support." The admission felt like a rock lifting off your chest, yet the tension remained, wrapped tight around every word.

"I know. It's been tough, not just physically, but emotionally too," you admitted each syllable a struggle against the thickening tension. "I wanted you here but didn't know if I was ready to confront this." The confession lingered in the air, a painful echo amidst nature's serenity—a tentative step in the sad dance of awkwardness and unresolved emotions you were both partaking in. In the peaceful surroundings, amidst the beauty of nature's embrace, a strained encounter unfolded—a painfully awkward ballet of discomfort and unease, each word thick with the weight of past hurt and unspoken feelings.

Amidst the exchange, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees as if nature sought to alleviate the tension between you both. Now, a mere sliver above the horizon, the sun cast elongated shadows that danced across the landscape. You invited him in, allowing him to sit on the lounge. Lando's gaze softened, a silent plea evident in his eyes. "I've regretted my words since they left my mouth. They were careless, thoughtless..."

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, his voice's rawness echoing your internal struggle. "I know," you replied softly, the hardness in your tone softening. "But it's not just about those words. The silence followed the absence when I needed someone." The weight of unspoken apologies hung between you, heavy yet fragile. It was as though the air crackled with the energy of unresolved emotions seeking solace in the tranquillity of the retreat.

"I should've been there," Lando confessed, his voice tinged with regret. "I let my own doubts cloud my judgment, and I failed you."

The admission was a tiny fissure in the wall of tension, a sliver of understanding breaking through the emotional barrier. "It's been hard," you admitted, the vulnerability of the moment embracing you. "I needed you, not just physically, but emotionally." The words lingered, suspended in the air, a fragile bridge attempting to span the chasm that had grown between you. The sun dipped further, casting a golden glow that seemed to infuse the charged atmosphere with a faint sense of hope. As the silence stretched, the symphony of nature resumed its soothing melody, offering a backdrop to the tentative reconciliation taking root amid the serene setting—a delicate beginning to healing wounds that ran deep.

Lando shifted, his features etched with a blend of remorse and determination. "I want to make it right, if you'll let me," he implored, the vulnerability in his words echoing the sincerity in his eyes.

Your heart wavered, torn between the ache of past hurt and the flicker of a desire for resolution. "I don't know if I can just forget everything," you admitted, the weight of uncertainty evident in your voice. The rustling leaves provided a natural rhythm to the conversation, a gentle reminder that even in discomfort, a cadence existed to life's complexities.

"I don't expect you to forget," Lando responded earnestly, a note of conviction underlying his words. "But I hope, in time, I can earn your forgiveness." The sincerity in his plea was palpable, a fragile bridge extending across the chasm of hurt. You searched his eyes, seeking reassurance, a sign that the rift between you could be bridged.

"I need time," you whispered the words, a plea for patience and understanding. A tentative truce hung between you—a silent agreement to navigate the path towards healing, acknowledging the wounds but willing to embark on the journey toward reconciliation. The symphony of nature continued, a reminder that harmonies were waiting to be rediscovered amidst life's dissonance.

The air hung heavy with even more unspoken words, the weight of past hurt and hesitation thickening the silence between you both. But amidst the tranquillity of the retreat, a fragile shift began to unfold—a faint glimmer of understanding breaking through the cloud of discomfort. Lando's gaze continued to soften, a silent plea for forgiveness and reconciliation mirrored in his eyes. "I want to make it right more than anything."

The tension seemed to dissolve, the air clearing as you felt the walls around your heart soften. "I... I want to try, too."

He closed the distance with hesitant steps, each movement tentative yet resolute. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you, pulling you into an embrace that felt like a homecoming—a silent promise of healing and renewal. "Forgive me," Lando's voice was a whisper against your ear, each word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Tears threatened to spill as you buried your face in his chest, a mix of relief and vulnerability flooding over you. "I want to, Lando. I really do." In that moment, amidst the tranquil backdrop of the retreat, the barriers crumbled, leaving behind an outpouring of emotions too long-suppressed.

"I love you," he confessed, the words a melody of earnestness and devotion. "More than I ever knew was possible." The confession was a key, unlocking the floodgates of your own feelings.

"I love you too," you admitted each syllable, an echo of admiration and affection. "More than words could ever express." In a tender embrace, you found solace—a silent understanding that transcended the hurtful past. The kiss that followed was an affirmation, a sweet promise of starting anew—a union of hearts, mended and strengthened amidst the serenity of the retreat.

Lando made your food as you sat on the counter in the secluded haven of the retreat, time seeming to slow as you stood facing each other, a tapestry of emotions woven into the fabric of your comfortable shared silence. The fading sunlight casts a golden hue over the landscape, mirroring the warmth blossoming within you.

"I've missed this," Lando confessed softly, his voice hinting at vulnerability.

Your heart ached with longing as you met his gaze. "I've missed you too, Lando."

Your hesitance dissipated as Lando closed the distance, drawn to you by an invisible thread of shared history and unspoken promises. The tranquillity of the retreat cradled your tentative reunion, an embrace of renewal amidst the quietude of nature. "I've been a fool," Lando murmured, his regret palpable in the softness of his touch along your thighs.

Your defences continued to soften, a flicker of hope kindling within you. "I've been waiting for you." Your embrace deepened, a mutual understanding evolving with each shared breath. It was a moment of reconciliation, of letting go of past grievances and embracing the promise of a future together.

"I've loved you endlessly," Lando's admission was fervent, filled with a determination to make amends. Tears glistened in your eyes, a testament to the depth of your emotions. "I've never stopped loving you."

Your lips met in a tender kiss—a blend of forgiveness, yearning, and a silent vow to rewrite your story. It was a kiss that spoke of redemption, a reunion that promised to rewrite the script of their relationship. In the quiet whispers and the gentle caresses, you found solace—a shared resolve to nurture the love you’d reignited amidst the serene embrace of your retreat. As the tranquillity enveloped you both, the surroundings bore witness to your heartfelt reconciliation—a canvas painted with promises of love rekindled, crafted with unwavering devotion and the resilience to begin anew.

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pinkkittysaw · 7 months

Text

BUT I CAN’T STOP STARING IN THOSE EVIL EYES

title is based off a lyric in lady gaga’s MONSTER

my halloween night of horrors masterlist can be found here!

pairing: plaga leon s. kennedy x plaga f!reader

summary: while wandering through an ill kept factory, you and leon grow closer in unimaginable ways due to unforeseen circumstances

word count: 5,648

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI you will be blocked!) minor dub-con (in the beginning), slightly rough leon, mind control, notes of voyuerism, fingering, male masturbation, boot humping, minor breast/nipple play, unprotected p in v, creampie, breeding, degradation, praise, petnames (baby, princess, sweetie) leon steps on you, reader is wearing a skirt

*some things to note: though saddler is willing leon and reader into having sex, they both want to sleep with each other of their own volition regardless of the plaga’s influence, it’s the circumstances surrounding it that makes them apprehensive

there are lines of dialogue from RE4R used in paragraphs 12, 14-15, 18, 23 & 39. i do not claim to own these lines or any media from Capcom

a/n: first time writing for leon so please be kind!!! i am just a simple mouse girl :( i thought it’d be interesting to write the plaga “overtaking” him and reader in a sense, watching his mood change drastically much like how it does in the OG RE 4 in this scene with ada (choking cw)

divider by @/benkeibear

You stare at the huge chunk of amber in front of you; it's pretty. The reflecting light gives it a soft orange hue, brightening the dull room it inhabits. After closer inspection, you notice what appears to be hundreds, if not thousands, of Las Plagas encased in the resin. You were almost too scared to be looking at them for so long, fearful that the parasites would jump out at you from their confinement once you crossed a certain threshold.

Cocking your head to the side, you think aloud, "I wonder if this is where they extract the plaga."

Leon, who's rummaging around the room looking for any spare supplies, pipes up, "Who knows? I certainly don't feel like waiting around to find out. Come on." He waves you over, walking toward the exit after determining that none of the scrap in the room was worth taking.

"Alright," you agree, beginning to move towards him.

Then, all of a sudden, your movements are halted, unable to continue forward. "Fuck, no no no,” you think to yourself. Leon looks behind his shoulder, noticing that you haven't moved from your position.

"What are you doing? Let's go." You can barely speak, clenching your teeth together as you force the words out.

"I can't fucking move." You demonstrate your lack of mobility as you attempt to force your body forward, but the most that happens is the slight twitching of your arm and legs.

"What?" Leon's about to stride over to you when the door opens behind him. He's quick on his feet, his gun in the air, aiming his pistol at the tall figure and a group of robed cultists that soon follow him into the room.

"Welcome, my children," he states as the two followers remove the hood of his purple robe, the rest filing around the two of you.

"I am Osmund Saddler. The speaker for our Lord."

Leon, obviously fed up with all the loony bullshit, shoots Saddler straight in the eye. "Tell someone who gives a shit."

Saddler reels back from the shot but doesn't die, staying hunched over due to the impact. "Foolish lambs," he scoffs. "Why do you deny grace?" The volume of his voice rises, and all at once, Leon keels over, taking a knee as he almost completely falls to the floor in front of you, now frozen in place while his gun falls from his hands.

You try to reach out to him, but your movements are stunted.

"Now, abandon your body." Your body is not your own.

"Obey, obey the voice of our lord," Saddler commands as your forced motions bring you closer to Leon. There's a ringing in your ears as he gives you orders; the noise is so piercing that you're ready to stuff your ears full of cotton just to make it stop.

Leon's now back on his feet, his veins turning black against his skin as his arm reaches out to you. His body trembles as he extends forward. You're compelled to move onward slowly, reaching down for Leon's pistol.

"Stop, please," you plead, your wrist swaying back and forth as the gun locks onto Leon. "No," you grit, resisting with everything you have while your arm continues to wobble. Tears stream down your face as you're forced to pull the trigger, shooting one of the cultists to Leon's side, watching them drop dead to the floor.

"Sweet child, do not resist." His commands turn into scolding. The ringing in your ears gets louder as your arm moves again. "Please," you wail into the open air, willing to give anything as long as it meant that he stayed alive. The trigger is pulled again, and the other masked figure drops to the ground.

Leon's face coils up, and his body jerks, trying to reach you, but to no avail.

"I'm sorry," you whisper as you pull the trigger for the final time, scrunching up your eyes, not wanting to witness his lifeless body drop to the floor. The gun clicks and falls in front of you while you collapse onto your knees, sobbing onto the floor beneath, your tears staining the dark concrete floors.

Leon is released from his own entrapment and rushes over to comfort you, placing both his hands on your shoulders. "Are you okay?"

It's funny, you think, in a twisted sort of way. You almost killed him, and here he was, asking if you were alright.

"Pray forgive these wicked sinners," Saddler exhales while shaking his head. Leon's about to lunge for his gun when you're both halted once more.

"Injecting one's blood with the plaga isn't the only way to diffuse it among the populous."

Both you and Leon are manipulated until you're standing in front of each other, his hand reaching out to grab at your hip.

"What are you doing?"

"It's not me, I-"

He gets cut off by Saddler. "The plaga can reproduce sexually as well as through implantation." And it's all of a sudden that you feel a certain heat growing inside you—desire, a sort of carnality—and if the crimson on Leon's cheeks is anything to go by, he's feeling it too. There's a certain glint in his eyes now, a hunger that wasn't there before. Both his and your irises turn a bright vermillion as the plaga fully takes control. It's overwhelming. All of your senses are heightened, now very much cognizant of Leon's hand on your hip, the warmth of his skin permeating through your skirt. All you want now is for him to bend you over and take you.

You shake your head in the hopes of clearing your mind. God, when did you start harboring such intense feelings for him like this? This can't be okay, can it? He saved your life. He's a government agent simply doing his job to rescue you from this hell hole. That's what these feelings are—just misplaced appreciation. You try to reason with yourself as the growing need between your legs calls more and more for your attention.

"What the hell's going on?" Your voice is harsh as it cuts through the air. Leon's grip tightens on your hip, almost as if he's holding himself back.

"Is it not obvious, sweet child? You two have perfect compatibility as sexual mates, and since you're both able to resist killing each other, I'll just have to change my line of thinking and make things easier for you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Leon grunts.

"Why deny it? It's quite clear that you're attracted to each other."

"I barely even needed to coax the plaga into doing anything."

As fucked up as this entire situation was, Saddler wasn't wrong, at least in regard to your side of things. You were intrigued by Leon from the moment he found you, rescuing you after being hog-tied and thrown into one of the wardrobes of an abandoned cabin. He was still incredibly handsome, even if you didn't trust him at first. From the subtle bounce of his soft ashen hair when he jogged to the bulge of his biceps whenever he slicked his fingers through the silky strands and how he was so protective over you, so kind. You could go on and on listing the things you found attractive about him. How he looked suplexing zealots, the slope of his nose bridge, his little smirk after roundhousing ganados, the thickness of his thighs, the swell of his **very** defined chest, and god, his ass. His cute, full-pert ass that you could just-

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

This isn't right. You shouldn't be thinking of him this way, but no matter how much you try to resist, you're always coaxed back into these feelings of sensuality. You'd be lying if you said you didn't think of him fucking you against one of the crumbling walls in the village, holding you so tightly against him while he tugs on your tits. Arousal pools in your panties as heat rushes to your face at the thought.

"Fuck," you murmur, and Leon looks over at you, his breath more labored than before.

"Submit your bodies and release yourself from fear!" Saddler booms, waving his staff around in the air. It's then that you feel Leon's hand underneath your skirt, cupping your mound through your tights, his other hand still gripping at your waist.

"Leon-" you say exasperatedly.

"I'm sorry, I just..." he leans into you, inhaling your scent. "I'm sorry." His lips press into the side of your neck, slowly moving against the sensitive skin. It's so gentle and kind, and if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend that you're somewhere else, not in a dusty room of an old factory, being coerced to have sex through the means of a parasite.

"You're so soft...smell so good," he mumbles into your ear. Even if you're forced to fuck in front of Saddler and his devotees, Leon at least wants his words of care and fondness to be private—to be yours.

You can't help but moan out loud at his ministrations on your neck, feeling your skin crawl with a newfound heat. Your nipples pebble in your bra, and how desperately you want his hands to be on your breasts, kneading them. You wrap your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into the smooth, pale tresses at his nape.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he confesses over and over. He knows this is wrong. He should have a stronger will than this. He shouldn't be sleeping with the hostage he was tasked with saving. This wasn't how it was supposed to go, if at all. He probably wouldn't have confronted his feelings in any other circumstances, seeing how wildly inappropriate they were. He would've rather taken you somewhere nice—maybe a fancy hotel—and do all the sappy, romantic shit you deserve—the candles, the music, the mood lighting. It'd be sweet and kind, but no. Instead, you get this, being made to breed like cattle. The only comfort he can offer is through his words, his mind trying to fight against the plaga, but you smell too good, your skin so supple and warm against his mouth; it's almost as if he can feel the blood pulsing through your jugular vein. He gently grazes his teeth over the area, biting and pulling the skin taught.

"Don't apologize. You feel good too," you exhale, pushing your chest against his.

"I shouldn't let this sick bastard have so much control over me, but god, you feel so good against me," he groans, worming his hand under the band of your tights and underwear. You loll your head back as his assault on your neck continues. He sucks the skin gently as the worn leather of his gloves makes its presence known against your mound. His finger swipes between your slit, gathering the wetness leaking from your entrance to rub soft circles on your clit.

"Christ, you're already so wet for me, baby," he groans against your neck, your breath hitching at his words.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" An amused tilt now present in his voice, the soft circles on your clit continuing as he speaks against your throat. "You like me calling you baby?"

"Yeah," you mewl, your hand reaching down to grip his forearm.

"That's it. Just focus on me making you feel good." Your cute noises cause blood to rush to his cock, making it stiffen in his pants. Your head rests against his chest as he continues to play with you.

"You want my fingers, baby?"

"Yes," you pant, pressing your face into the middle of his chest. He lets out a lighthearted chuckle, his digit circling your entrance before sinking into your warm cunt. "Oooh, you're so tight, sweetie. Squeezing my finger real nice."

"I can't wait til you're on my cock." he mumbles against your throat once again, smirking. His finger curls deep into your soaked pussy, thrusting in and out as you grind against his palm.

"Yes, yes, yes," you gasp, his lips resuming the suckling of your skin as he adds another finger, stuffing your cunt with their thickness, the leather of his gloves wet with your slick as it glides against your clit. You look down from his chest to see his hardened cock starting to poke through his utility pants. Your hand wriggling down to slowly palm him through the fabric, a soft moan rearing from his throat at your touch.

Through feeling him against your palm, he seems to be an impressive size, definitely girthy from what you can make out.

You slide your hand back and forth against the crotch of his pants, his hips lightly bucking into you as a grumbled "fuck" falls from his lips. He sounds so hot when he moans, and you want to hear more.

"I need you to come for me, sweetheart. I need your pussy on my cock so bad." He curls his fingers some more, hitting that soft, spongey spot that makes you see stars. A few more thrusts from his digits and nudges from his palm have you arching into him, his mouth swooping down to swallow your moans through a kiss. He's the only one that gets to hear you cum, despite the audience you both have.

He keeps his fingers stuffed in your cunt as you ride out your orgasm, the sensation of your pussy squeezing down on him making his head whirl in anticipation.

"That's it. That's a good girl," he murmurs, guiding you through the waves.

Despite having just came, you're still just as eager, if not more so, to palm him through his black cargos.

"Easy, easy. You'll have me soon enough," he coos in an attempt to pacify you, removing your hand from his erection while you whine and grumble in response to the loss of touch, wanting him to mount you already.

He guides you onto the floor, laying you flat on the chilled concrete. The cold seeps into your clothes and skin, causing you to shiver almost uncomfortably so as you arch your back, spreading your legs as far as they'll go in your tight skirt. You take to palming your tits through your top, desperate for any kind of prolonged pleasure.

"Someone's needy," he chuckles to himself while he looms over you, his broad shoulders casting a large shadow over your form.

"Come on, you'll be a good girl for me, won't you?" He moves to remove both of his belts, unbuckling them and letting them drop to the floor. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest decision to leave himself so exposed, but neither of you could be bothered enough to care.

The next thing to come off was his shoulder holster, the leather straps meeting the other discarded materials on the floor. It's only after his confines are removed that he begins pleasuring himself, reveling in your position on the floor, legs spread deliciously while the rest of you becomes utterly debauched, your expression filled with nothing other than need and want.

You whine out a little, desperate for his touch even after the fact. He smirks while walking toward you, his heavy boots echoing throughout the room with loud thuds til he stops just short of your cunt and sneers. Something about him is different.

He plants his foot atop your mound, grinding the sole into your folds. There's no real force behind it, but it's oppressive and demeaning. He's not the same Leon. The Leon who told dumb jokes at every opportune moment, who ate multicolored herbs, both raw eggs and fish WHOLE, yet looked at you as if you were the crazy one for refusing, choosing not to believe him when he said they'd "mend your wounds." This was not the same Leon who pulled you aside after you ran off scared, giving you words of reassurance and encouragement just as he had throughout this whole endeavor. No, this Leon was more sinister.

Your whines and mewls get a little more pathetic, rolling your hips and grinding yourself on his boot in a desperate attempt for any friction that he'd give you—which wasn't much, but still, anything was better than nothing!

In the midst of your pouting, you catch Saddler's eye. His expression is blank, almost as if he were watching paint dry. His attendants were dismissed by this point, as they had no need to witness the impregnation take place. You can't help but stare at him, his eyes oddly captivating, unable to help but wonder what he thinks of this. Surely he’s the one controlling you both, but is this a last effort of sorts? Making two "subjects" fuck like rabbits just for the sake of spreading his message, his word, and his so-called "vision" Was sex something that he looked down on? Something shameful?

You're pulled out of your thoughts when Leon whistles at you. "Would you rather fuck him instead, princess?" He jeers in a mocking tone. You frown and furrow your brows, glaring at him as you deliver a bratty "no" in response.

"Then keep your eyes on me, yeah?" He sneers as he grinds his heel into you some more, swiping his foot from side to side, knocking the grooves into your clit. He laughs as you continuously mewl into the air, squeezing your tits through your clothes, begging for more attention. Instead of aiding you in your frustrated disposition, he decides to be a little crueler, reaching down to palm his cock through his pants. His head lolls back as he lets out a soft groan, the sound causing more arousal to flood in between your legs.

You moan, your eyes scanning his features—the bob of his Adam's apple, the softness of his jaw, the way his teeth dig into the plush of his bottom lip.

Deciding to prod further, he pulls out his leaking cock from his pants, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you at the sight. He has an adorable ash-blonde happy trail running down his navel that fans into darker, coarse curls at the base of his cock. It has a slight left curve to it and a pretty pink tip. The look of it is tantalizing and mouth-watering. Your mind is flooded with every memory you’ve had of wanting Leon to fuck you silly during this godforsaken nightmare. Now you have a visual to go along with your many fantasies—a pretty cock for an equally pretty man.

You expected him to be in a hurry to fuck you, but he does something unexpected. He keeps his foot on your cunt. You attempt to sit up, your abdomen contracting as you begin to move upward, when he plants his boot on your chest instead, right on your sternum, effectively pushing you flat on your back again.

"Did I give you permission to move?" He stares, cocking his head and quirking a brow, looking down at you as if he were scolding a misbehaving puppy. His carmine irises meet yours as you attempt to shove off his foot by his ankle, though soon finding it pointless as the boot remains firm and steady against you.

You shake your head with a petulant "no," grumbling as his foot takes hold of your chest, pressing lightly on your rib cage, making it somewhat difficult to breathe.

"Then don't get greedy," he chastises, moving his boot back to its previous position on your cunt, leaving a muddy footprint in its wake. Instead of providing you with the friction you wanted, his limb now lays idle against you.

You frown at the brown stain left on your top, glaring at him once more. "You ruined my shirt!"

"I'll tell you what: when this is all said and done, I'll get you a new top. How bout that princess?"

You roll your eyes, grumbling as his hand moves toward his mouth, yanking off his fingerless gloves with his teeth and tossing them among the pile of his other forgotten items.

Warm palms slither down his torso, making their way to his cock, where he squeezes the base, shaking it in the air a tad, teasing you with it.

It's well-known at this point how much you desire him. The plaga floods both of you with nothing but thoughts of you two fucking each other. He watches you eye his cock thoroughly, gnawing at your bottom lip with how badly you wanted him to fill you up.

He languidly begins to pump his hand up and down, precum leaking from his pretty tip all the way down his shaft, creating all the slip he needs. You start to buck your hips against his boot, desperate for your own pleasure, which he still refuses to give you. His hand continues to move along his cock; the rough callouses on his palm are a stark contrast to the glisten of his slick-covered dick.

You huff and puff as he continues to jerk off, growing tired of being teased and tormented. His thumb glides along the slit of his cock head, causing his hips to buck and shudder. You were like a rabbit on a treadmill, his cock being the carrot on the string you were being teased with, so close yet so far...

"Leon, you're being mean," you scowl, feeling grumpy and grouchy, tired of his damn games, your panties soaked through with your arousal, craving any sort of attention.

"Mean?" he asks, pressing his foot further into you, pumping himself a smidgen faster while his pectoral muscle begins to bounce with his quickened pace.

"If I were mean, I'd make you cum just like this while you watch me jack off."

"And since you want to act like such a little brat, maybe that's exactly what I'll do." He speeds up again, twirling his wrist as he fucks his fist, his grunts and groans filling the air among your whines.

"No, no, no, no," you cry, watching him buck into his hand as the slick makes his cock even more slippery.

A pink hue floods his cheeks as heat builds in his body, sweat gathering on the threads of his clothes.

"No?" he mocks with a feigned pout. "You want my cock that badly, huh? Want it to fill you up? Stuff you full?"

"Mhm," you nod incessantly, heat flooding your own face as well, the arousal so overwhelming that you feel as if you’ll burst.

"Why don't you beg for it? Beg for my cock."

You look at him apprehensively. Was he really gonna make you beg for him like a cock-hungry fool?

"I'm not joking about finishing you off with my boot. You'll get no dick and no cum." His efforts hastened, his hips twitching every so often. He’s serious, and so are you, so despite your "strong-willed bratty nature," you beg and you plead for his cock like a good girl.

"Please gimme your cock, Leon. Need it so bad. Need you to fuck me dumb; turn my brain into mush."

"I think you can do better than that princess," he smirks down at you, huffing slightly from the continued pleasure.

Your words turn into a slew of pleas and jumbled moans varying from saying you'll "die without his dick," "how badly you need it," and "how desperate you are for it," all of which boil down to you whining please over and over and over. When he's finally decided that you've made your case, he staves off his release, gripping the base of his cock so as not to finish right in his hand.

He drops to his knees, grabbing and pulling you towards him by your hips, your thighs settling on either side of his while he hovers over you. All his movements are quick and hasty in nature as he hikes up the bottom of your skirt over your pelvis, allowing you to spread your legs further and welcome him into the warmth between your thighs.

He stares down at your black tights below him, now transparent enough to see through to your pale-colored underwear from the fabric being stretched so far. He wastes no time in grabbing the crotch of your tights at the seam and effectively tearing a huge hole in them, his biceps bulging as he rips the fabric from your body. He stares down at the cute design of your panties as your tights lay in shreds against your leg, his eyes settling on the front of the fabric, the wet splotch soaking through from your previous orgasm.

He moves his hand over to your cunt, running his middle and ring fingers through your slit. He settles on your clit, rubbing the sticky fabric against you as he swirls the bundle of nerves in slow circles.

"I've wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I'm surprised that I held out as long as I did without fucking you."

"Leon," you groan. "No more… I wanna feel you, please," you mumble, reaching out to him as a final stand to get what you desperately crave.

He finally gives in, tugging down the waistband of his pants, landing on the swell of his thighs and below the curve of his ass, exposing the stretch marks that litter his hips and upper thighs.

"See something you like, princess?" he teases, pumping his cock a few times in preparation.

"Mhm, mhm," you nod eagerly as he begins to move toward you. Luckily, your panties are spared from his strength as he chooses to simply pull them aside instead of tearing them apart. He mumbles a grumbly "fuck" as he gets a look at your sweet cunt for the first time. The hair covering your mound shines as your arousal spreads throughout your folds. He doesn’t stop himself from running a finger in between the seam of your pussy, gathering the slick on the pad of his digit and sticking it in his mouth, groaning at the taste of your sweetness.

"Delicious," he mutters as he lays his cock against the warm heat of your sex, giving you a closer look at just how big he is.

He lines himself up at your entrance, and without so much as a warning, he thrusts into you down to the base. You arch into him, your breasts pressing into his chest as your back curves in his direction, a hearty moan coming from both of you. He stretches you out better than in your fantasies, your warm, wet walls clenching down on him as he twitches inside.

"Let's take care of this, yeah?" He asks, lifting your upper half into the air and placing you on your elbows. He lifts your top over the peak of your breasts, ogling the sight of your tits filling out your bra, trapped within their confinement, before he's reaching behind you to fumble with the clasp of the garment. A part of you is amused while watching him struggle, but it's not long after that the cups are falling from your body, your breasts free to Leon’s eyes and the open air as he pulls the straps down your shoulders, flinging the undergarment toward the pile of other forgotten items. He decides to keep your shirt on, enjoying the disheveled, fucked-out look you have with your clothes half on and half off, letting the top stay wrinkled above your tits.

"Perfect," he mumbles, moving his head toward your chest to mouth at it, planting open-mouth kisses along the swell of your breast as his hips begin to roll languidly. He gives you a few slow strokes, just to get acquainted with each other's bodies, before it quickly turns into a hurried fucking.

His hips knock into yours in quick succession, his girth smoothing over every ridge and groove in your tight cunt, leaving you panting into the air as he grunts and groans against your breast. His body pressed so tightly against yours.

His lips find your nipple, his tongue swirling around the areola before pulling the nub into his mouth. The roll of his hips and the suckling of your nipple add to your growing pleasure. You buck your hips in tandem with his, desperate to feel every bit of pleasure you can.

"So greedy, huh, princess? Just need your cute cunt, fucked huh? Anything goes as long as you feel good, right?"

You whine, clenching down on him, squeezing his cock tight as he fucks you thoroughly. He pulls away from your chest, grabbing your hips tight in his grasp, his fingers digging deep into your skin.

"God, you’re perfect for me," he mumbles, leaning back so he's standing straight on his knees, his hands pulling you down on his cock as he brutally thrusts back into you. "So perfect for me to breed." You swear you can see a glint in his eyes as he says that, and your pussy pulsates around him even more.

"You like that, huh?" he teases, punctuating every word in the sentence with a brutal thrust. "You like the thought of being all mine? being claimed by me? Me fucking my kids into you? Knocking you up?"

You mewl and wail, nodding and gasping and heaving; the only thing you care about at this moment is him fucking you full of his seed.

The snap of his hips continues to get quicker, your soft breasts bouncing so pretty as you lay beneath him, your worn and fucked-out expression giving him nothing but joy. His rhythm gets so quick that he manages to slip out of your vice-like grip, causing a low and extended whine to draw out from your lips. He chuckles, enjoying how desperate you are for his body, and leans himself into you once more while he guides his cock back into you, his thrusts regaining their previous speed.

His hand pushes one of your thighs toward your chest, rolling his hips deeper so he can more easily hit the spot that makes your eyes cross, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter as he fucks into you with more vigor. You can’t stop your hands from wandering as you grab the plush of his ass, squeezing the fat while you writhe underneath him. You pant into his mouth, trying to signal him for a kiss, to which he happily obliges, meeting your lips with his as he continues to drive you further and further to the edge.

"Gonna cum for me, princess?"

"Gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?"

"Want it so bad, please?" You moan, sneaking your hand down to the front of your body and rubbing quick circles to your clit.

"Go ahead, princess, cum for me," he mumbles, nestling his head in the crux of your neck, sucking on your pulse point. As his hips continue to thrust into you, you arch intensely into him, moaning loudly as you reach your climax, your eyes rolling into the recesses of your mind as your nails claw into the meat of his ass, leaving pretty, red crescent-shaped divots in his porcelain skin.

You run your hand through his silky blonde strands as you position yourself next to his ear. "Cum with me, Leon," you mutter, still reeling from the aftereffects of your high, the additional thrusting adding to the lingering pleasure still felt. "Cum in me, please. Wanna be stuffed full of you." You lick a stripe up his neck, the salt from his sweat lingering on your tastebuds.

It's a few short and sloppy thrusts later that he's grunting loudly into your skin while he cums, ropes of his seed traveling to your womb.

The door can be heard shutting behind you as Saddler makes his exit, Leon's hips slowing to a full stop once he’s left. With the impregnation going through, he no longer needs to bother himself with whatever the two of you do from here on out.

It’s a few minutes later that the both of you begin to feel normal again, or as normal as you can be given the dire situation. It doesn’t take long for Leon to recover, his baby blues greeting you once more as he snaps to attention, getting himself situated as he puts on his gear and adjusts his clothes, keeping a watchful eye on you as you start to do the same, picking up your bra from his things on the floor.

After getting dressed, he’s immediately at your side. "I'm so sorry. I-"

You cut him off with a finger placed on his lips and a shake of your head. Your face is tired and weary, and your voice a little strained as you tell him, "It's alright."

He’s not willing to argue with you on the ethics of what went down, at least not here, so he decides to put off the conversation til you’re both safe back home, hopefully having figured out some sort of plan by then.

"Are you good enough to move? We shouldn't linger around."

You nod, moving to fully take off your tights before making your departure, seeing as you have no more use for the tattered fabric. The torn material catches his eye, causing embarrassment to rise throughout his face, his cheeks taking on the same rosy hue as before.

"I'll make good on my word, I promise. I’ll get you a new shirt and some tights when we get back. For now…" He walks towards the exit. "We need to get rid of these damn things," he says, pointing to his chest. He checks his jammed gun, ejecting the magazine and resetting the casing before gesturing you over toward him, readying the weapon in front of him before the two of you begin to make your way out of the factory.

Needless to say, this would NOT be going in his incident report.

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