Every time you go in a public place and something ISNâT disgusting itâs because somebody cleaned it. Every time you feel comfortable using a public bathroom or sitting at a restaurant table or setting something on a gas station counter or playing on a playground itâs because somebody cleaned it.
Thank you to everyone who cleans the world, especially those who are underpaid and under appreciated.
-> lucky you, you get to bounce on it. what would leon kennedy be like in bed?
notes: smut/nsfw, 18+ - interact at your own discretion
- Leon would be very vocal, but not very loud. You can easily coax a lot of grunts, cusses, and soft moans from him. When heâs close, he usually lets out a barely audible whimper too.
- Leon also talks dirty a fair bit, but itâs usually in short sentences, like âfuck, you look so pretty like this.â Heâd definitely talk you through it too, with those little sentences that drive you insane, like âgood girl, ride it out for me.â
- Favourite positions of his would be mating press, pro bone, and you riding him while heâs sat. Anything where your bodies are physically as close as possible will always be his favourite.
- Leon would be a switch. In a more dominant role, heâd still have tenderness and care, so heâd be a service dom. Heâd want his partner to feel immense pleasure at all times, to the point where heâd push you with some overstimulation and praise. Youâd hear something along the lines of âKeep going⊠You can cum for me one more time right?? âŠYeah, thatâs my girl.â
- In a more submissive role, Leon would be incredibly obedient and serve you in whatever way possible with total devotion. Again, he wouldnât be incredibly loud, but you can easily earn a lot of stifled whimpers and rasped out pleas from him. Heâd also be the type to blush furiously when heâs in a more submissive role in the bedroom. Post RE2 Leon wouldnât be so easily flustered, so you can expect more of a shy demeanour with a beet-red face when heâs in a submissive role. Youâd likely hear a lot of pleading, such as âplease, oh, fuck, fuck, please donât stop, pleaseâ in a breathy whimper.
- Leon is a selfless person, and it translates in the bedroom too. He prioritises your pleasure over his - heâll slow down to pace himself if your orgasm is still far away.
- Leon Kennedy is a munch. This is said so much by so many fanfic authors that we could say itâs practically canon.
- Leon has a praise kink. He loves to hear it from your mouth - whether itâs telling him heâs doing a good job, how good heâs making you feel, and calling him a good boy⊠He wants all of it. He canât get enough of it, in fact, heâd probably get drunk on it if he could.
- He also loves to give praise just as much as he loves to receive it. It usually comes in the form of a âfuck, you feel so good,â or âyouâre taking me so well, baby.â
- As much as heâd love to sext you, especially when heâs away on a mission, thereâs a big risk that his phone could be tapped or stolen. He has no choice but to remain pent up until a mission is over. Upon his return, the both of you fuck like rabbits for a good 2 days. Youâve probably had sex on every surface imaginable in his place by now.
- Heâll fuck you hard, but never rough - unless you ask. Even then, heâs not the biggest fan of inflicting marks (aside from a lovebite or two if heâs feeling possessive) or leaving you sore the next day. Heâs very aware of his strength and heâs terrified of harming you.
- Leon prefers taking his time with you over a quickie; while heâs definitely not opposed to those, he prefers to appreciate you, and doesnât like to rush.
- Leonâs job requires him to stay in peak physical condition, so youâd probably tag along with him to learn a thing or two. After a workout, Leon usually gets such a big burst of energy that he almost always ends up horny after working out. Youâve also asked him to teach you self defense manoeuvres, but it pretty much always starts with sparring and ends with him fucking you into the mat of his home gym.
- Every time without fail, he whispers an âI love youâ during or right after. :p
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Leon's obsession with you pushes him to new extremes...and you like it?
Word Count: 2.4k
Tags: stalking, obsessive behavior, voyeurism, somnophilia vibes, yandere Leon
taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie@venus-in-roses
based on this request
Leon
It was serendipitous, really, how the two of you met. A coffee shop of all places, where your knuckles brushed up against his when you both reached for your drinks at the same time. Like some god forsaken rom-com.
You wrapped those pretty pink lips around the mouth of the cupâs lid, and it only took one sip to realize that the bitter dark roast scalding your tongue was not the vanilla latte, extra sweet, you had ordered at the register.Â
The baristas had switched up your drinks, scribbling your name on his black coffee and his on your sugary delight. He gave you the drinkâyour drinkâin his hand, untouched and unsipped, and you apologized to him in that honeyed voice of yours, offering to walk up to the counter and ameliorate the mishap with a fresh cup on you.Â
He didnât let you pay for another cup of coffee, however, coming up with the age-old excuse of running late for work, which he was, to hide the fact that he was perfectly content to drink from the same lid your luscious mouth had touched. A smudge of glittery lipgloss he couldnât wait to kiss.Â
You giggled as you accepted his counter-offer of giving him your number, and you scribbled the digits on a napkin, signing it with your name and a dainty heart beside it.Â
He swore he could still smell your perfume, lingering in his nostrils for days after the encounter. And every time he shut his lids, for a split second or for the five hours he attempted what he once knew as sleep, he saw your face. That angelic glow of your skin. The way your smile was so wide it made lines appear by your eyes. And your eyesâŠ
So he took you out on a proper date. Dinner under candlelight. A nightcap at a gelato shop your friend or coworkerâhe canât remember whoârecommended. It wasnât until your third rendez-vous, a walk around the park during his lunch break because he couldnât wait for the word day to be over to see you again, when he noticed it. The stares. Leon was a handsome man, and he had experienced his fair share of ogling glances from men and women alike. But this time? These onlookers werenât staring at him. They were staring at you.Â
Youâre stunning, so of course you would draw attention. A few women muttered twinkling comments in passing. An elderly woman told Leon he was a lucky man to have such a gorgeous woman on his arm. It was all fine and dandy, and in fact, Leon liked it. It filled him with the bubbling warmth of pride. You were his, though he hadnât explicitly told you yet, and you were beautifulâso beautiful that you made people stop what they were doing to comment on it.
Keep it coming, he thought.
But then a man walking his dog (that you reached down to pet, silly girl), wearing a band on his ring finger, which he tried to hide when he approachedâbastardâ and complimented you on your âout of this worldâ good looks.Â
A predator. A person like thatâa man who would walk up to a woman who was so obviously involved with someone, that someone holding her handâwas dangerous. He was bold. And Leon wasnât going to risk bumping into him on another lap around the pond.Â
âLet me walk you back to your office,â he suggested with a smile.Â
He fell hard. Like Alice down the rabbit hole. Bruised and battered. Dumb, drunk, and loopy in love.Â
Leon would trip every time the two of you stayed up till the witching hour, laughing and talking, exchanging stories of your respective upbringings, the heroic tales of his scars, how you hate your boss and your job and your coworkers, except for one who you get along with very well. Youâd tell him about your college days and how you donât know why you ended up with a dead-end job with no time for the hobbies you oh-so adore as someone with a degree and a steady head on her shoulders. And heâd tell you about how he ended up working for the government, the two of you bonding over broken plans and dreams that never came to fruition.
Heâd tumble when youâd scream his name as his tongue lapped at your pussy, sopping wet and dripping just for him. Or when youâd ride him until he was seizing and crying beneath you.Â
And he just kept falling.Â
A sick little puppy he was, with all that love and no idea how to express it in a healthy way, or so his therapist said. The watching came first. Heâd follow you home from work to make sure you arrived at your apartment safely, and around the grocery store just in case some pervert got the wrong idea and tried to talk you up in the canned goods aisle.Â
When he actually had to work and didnât have enough time to properly devote to your guard, he installed the cameras. One in your living room, another in your bedroom, two covering every inch of the hallway between themâone of those facing the front door. They were miniscule, cutting-edge scions of technology. Undetectable.Â
Heâd watch you from the device they came with, having it on-hand throughout the day, only turning it off when you were changing. Leon respected your boundaries, of course. He wasnât a freak.Â
He just wanted to make sure you were safe and his.
You were a bit of a loner, just like he was, and he preferred it that way. No risk of any man swooping in to bump him out of the competition. He did have to worry about predators, however, because you wereâŠnaive. Too trusting. Youâd smile at strangers, divulge personal information to people youâd only known for a day, and as charming as that was, Leon knew the dangers it could bring.Â
One afternoon, a handyman came by to fix your cableâsomething about wireless interference that made your television spaz. Leon was watching through the cameras, the device they were connected to propped up on his desk as he tapped away at his computer. Hunnigan had interrupted, knocking on his door to chat about some upcoming assignment he was sure to be put on, he wasnât really paying attention toward the end of her spiel. Not when there was a strange man in your apartment, and especially not when the cameras had cut to static mid-conversation, and Leon had to muster all the strength in his body not to storm out of the office right then and there.Â
As soon as the clock struck five, he went straight from work to your place, where you opened the door with a cheshire grin on your lips, extra syrupy sweet when you locked eyes with him, and it washed away all his worries. Just seeing you, in your comfy clothes, completely at peace. It calmed his anxious heart.Â
Still, anything could have happened to you. Some old, most likely perverted man in your home, with you looking practically edible in those yoga pantsâŠ
He couldnât stand you being so far away, so vulnerable. He had to do something about that. Now.
âGood day at work?â You asked from the kitchen as you prepared dinner for two.Â
âThis place is kind of dingy, donât you think?â He retorted, changing the subject. You chuckle and mutter something to yourself.Â
âI make you dinner and you insult my home? Not very nice manners you have there, mister.âÂ
So cheeky. It makes his stomach flutter. He rises from the sofa, huffing a laugh as he steps toward the kitchen, settling on the other side of the counter so he can watch you gracefully chop a bell pepper.
âOh, you know, I was just thinking. Maybe youâd wanna quit this place and move in with me?âÂ
You swallow hard, your body tensing, and you set the knife down on the cutting board, your eyes falling with the blade.Â
âOh,â is all you give him, the tone of your voice undistinguishable. âWow, thatâsâŠwow.âÂ
âYou were telling me how awful your landlord is, raising your rent without warning like that,â he reminds subtly. âWhat do you say?â
The unreadable expression on your face suddenly contorts into a smile, and you remove your hands from the counter to rest them on your hips. âWhen can I move in?â
Your job came next. It wasnât hard for Leon to convince you to finally leave, especially when you were living with him, using the groceries he bought you, wearing the new clothes he surprised you with, not needing to worry about contributing a cent. So you put in your two-weeks notice, and every time you mentioned something about finding another job so you could pull your weight, he would quickly change the subject, or reassure you that he can take care of you both and more if need be.Â
No rush.Â
Take your time.Â
You deserve a break from working anyway.Â
Think of it like a vacation.Â
ReallyâŠno rush.
âI like coming home to you,â he said, joining you at the dining table, sitting down to a hot meal under the tall taper candles you had bought. And the candle holders. And the tablecloth.Â
Leon also liked the way you made his cold, bachelor apartment more like a home. It happened almost instantly, when the two of you merged lives and the last box was unpacked and taken down to the recycling bin. Then, bit by bit, youâd buy pillows for the sofa that matched the rug he definitely didnât pick out himself, and the curtains he helped you hang. A plant or two to breathe life into the stuffy air of his industrial loft. A photo of you and Leon captured in a gilded frame, sitting on the bookshelf among a bunch of the cute trinkets you collect.Â
âAnd you cook like a dream,â he mumbled, mouth full of half-chewed food. âI could get used to this.âÂ
You giggle, the twinkling sound bouncing against the sky-high ceilings, the white walls now broken up with framed artwork and photos of the two of you. âJust let me know if you ever get tired of it, and Iâll get out of your hair.âÂ
He stalls, mid-bite, cinching his coarse, dark brows. You lean back in your chair, watching as he swallows hard. âI would never.âÂ
âGet tired of me? Or tell me if you did?âÂ
Leon shakes his head, incredulous. âBaby, no.â His brows release. âYouâre not going anywhere, not if I have anything to do with it.âÂ
And he meant it. He tried to not be controlling, like some gargantuan storm cloud hovering over your every move, but he couldnât help how much he worried every time you left the apartment without him, every time you spoke to someone that wasnât him.Â
And for some crazy reason, you didnât seem to mind.Â
In fact, it seemed to turn you on every time he let one of his dark thoughts slip through the cracks in his cool exterior. You sank to your knees and sucked the soul out of his dick when he said heâd chop off the hands (and other precious limbs) of any man that so much as touched you. You sat on his face and rode his mouth till you came down his throat when he mentioned that he followed you home in his car after your fourth date, just to make sure you were safe on the road.Â
What he couldnât divulge, however, was that he would sometimes sneak into your apartment in the middle of the night, picking the janky lock at the front door until he finally convinced you to get it changed and he could snag a copy of the new key.Â
He would watch you as you slept, memorizing the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed soundly, the little quiver of your lips as you dreamed. Other times, when his resolve was worn thin and maybe he got hit too hard on a mission and needed soft skin to touch, heâd get into bed with you and hold you tight against him, or sit on the edge of your mattress, and caress the locks of your hair splayed out across your pillowcase. Nothing more, of course. Again, heâs not a monster.Â
He justâŠlovedâŠintensely.Â
Obviously, the next step was marriage, because in order for him to own you, body and soul, he had to put an obnoxiously large ring on your finger. The only thing better would be a fat baby on your hip, half-him, half-you, but for now, the diamond would have to suffice.Â
You were going to be his forever.
You
It was the buildingâs handyman that noticed the cameras, and it was an accident at that. Something about the interference with your televisionâs signal that led him to be suspicious of any other wireless technology in your apartment. He found the first one, tucked into one of the shelves of the bookcase in the corner of your bedroom, angled to give the watcher a perfect view of your bed.
He asked if you knew it was there, which you didnât, but you said you did.Â
Because you knew who put it there.Â
The same man that followed you around the grocery store, on your commute to and from work, the man who shot daggers at anyone who looked at you the wrong way.Â
You were creeped out at first, sure, but the line between obsessive stalker and protective lover quickly blurred, and you began to find Leonâs little quirks rather charming. All they proved was that the man would do anything for you, to keep you safe, to take care of you, and you werenât about to push that away.Â
Not when you had the opportunity to quit your lousy, dead-end job and move into a luxurious penthouse loft in the middle of the city. To be doted on and adored by the most attractive man you ever met. To be taken care of for the rest of your earthly life, never having to so much as lift a finger. So. youâll keep this information close to your chest and let him continue to obsess. Â
Plus, Leon ate your pussy like his life depended on it. Ainât no way youâre lettinâ that go.
Leon thinks back all the times he has corrected you when you call him âsirâ or âMr. Kennedyâ, always requesting that you use his first name, for purely selfish reasons. He just wants to hear it on your lips, those soft, plump lips that have never once been used to talk back to him, to second guess his ordersâthe kind of flack he gets from the junior agents heâs been tasked to train. Speaking of, he should really pass the baton to someone else. For the first time in his career, heâd much rather stay holed up in his office, clacking away at his computer, doing the mind-numbing work of writing reports, all so he can be within an armâs reach of you.Â
You remember how he takes his coffee, mostly black with the tiniest dollop of cream, hold the sugar, but be generous with the honey. And somehow, you get the ratio just right every time. A real Goldilocks, you are.
âHere you are, sir,â you say, the words dripping from your lips like the honey you have stirred into the coffee you set down on his desk, bowing slightly at the hips as you do. The pervert heâs come to be in his old age, Leon bends to the side to catch a glance at the slope of your ass. So pert, the taut curve enunciated by that form-fitting skirt youâre wearing.Â
As soon as the bottom of the saucer hits his desk, he grabs your wrist. The jarring touch prompts you to look down at him as he sits up straight in his chair, leaning forward with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âHow many times do I have to tell you to call me âLeonâ?âÂ
You giggle, slithering from his hold on your hand. Not offended, you donât shy away like you are. Instead, you retain the kind of confidence that leaves you unshakable in the face of his absurdity.Â
Silly old man.Â
Itâs as though you send the message telepathically, the way you smirk down at him before turning on your heel and stepping toward the door. Leon tests the strength of his dress pants beneath his desk as he watches the sway of your hips, the way the muscles in your legs flex as they carry you. So lithe. So graceful. Like a ballerina trapped in a jewelry box. Heâd like to immortalize you in resin, dress you in a tutu, and keep you stored away on a shelf to twirl for him anytime he pleased.Â
Silly old man, indeed.
Hand on the knob, hair flipped over your shoulder, you pivot just slightly to glance back at him. Such a coquettish minx you are, yet entirely too naive to be either. He has to hide his mouth behind a closed fist, tracing his lower lip with a fingernail, willing himself not to crack, however difficult it is when you look at him like that. Like you respect him. Like he walks on water. Like youâre begging to be proven wrong.Â
âIf thereâs anything else I can do for you, Mr. Kennedy,â you coo sweetly. âYou know where to find me.â
Unfortunately, itâs true. When you shut the door behind you, and leave him to his own devices, the voices of the devil and angel on his shoulder which are much louder in the silence of his office, he knows exactly where to go.Â
Itâs not long before Mr. Kennedy needs something else, beckoning you to his office. He opens the door, slipping his head through the crack, finding you at your desk just a few feet down the hall. He calls your name, waving you over.Â
Itâs half-past-five, and both of you were still working. He typically reprimands you for staying late, playfully of course, but the sentiment still stands. Tonight is different, however. Itâs as though he was relieved to see you still at your desk, the lamp light still on, illuminating the cold patch of hallway you now have all to yourself.
You nod, finishing the work at your computer, hopping to your feet as soon as physically possible so as not to keep him waiting. He works so hard, always arriving early, leaving late. He doesnât deserve a lazy assistant, not when heâs been nothing but polite and helpful to you as you adjust to the new position.Â
âSir?â You ask as you arrive at the door. He gestures for you to close it behind you. Itâs obvious that heâs stressed, half-moons of purple skin beneath his reddened eyes, hair that has been raked through over and over by a restless hand. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, his blazer strewn onto the sofa, not neatly hung on the coat rack, nor folded and placed delicately on the armrest.Â
âYes, come in,â he says, and you obey, venturing further into his office. His voice is hoarse. Perhaps heâs going to ask you to make him tea. âTake a seat. I want to talk to you about something.âÂ
Your heart drops as your body does, lowering yourself into one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. Heâs dressed in one of his typical white button-down shirts, pressed and tucked neatly into his slacks, sealed with a leather belt.Â
Three months. Three months youâve been working for the department as Mr. Kennedyâs assistant, and itâs going to end today. In the beat of silence that falls over his office, you rack your brain for any idea as to what you could have gotten wrong. Maybe you forgot to alert him of an important meeting and he missed it. Perhaps you made one too many typos on the mission briefs youâd write up for him.Â
Saying a silent prayer, but preparing yourself for the worst, you sit, with your hands in your lap, awaiting your impending termination.Â
âI donât know if I tell you this enough, but you do such great work here.âÂ
Like a dog at the promise of a treat, your head shoots up and your eyes widen. âReally?âÂ
He nods, a smile spreading across his face, flashing a set of white teeth. âReally.â You watch intently as he leans forward to rest his elbows on his desk, still covered in a bunch of loose leafs of paper and random sticky notes reminding him of approaching deadlines and assignments. âYouâre always so attentive to my needs. Itâs kind of impressive, how you seem to read my mind, knowing what I want before I even know it.âÂ
You giggle, cutting your eyes to the floor beneath the praise. âI donât think so.âÂ
He stands up, walking around the corner of his desk to stand in front of where you're sitting, leaning his seat against the ledge. He supports himself on his palms, reclining back at the same time as he shifts his hips forward, settling into the new position.Â
Heâs so close that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne as it radiates off the patch of skin exposed by his loosened collar. This closeness, his body so near to yours, it conjures a simmering gurgling of anticipation in your gut, a primal instinct left by your ancestors to tell you that danger is near.Â
Well, maybe not danger, but something altogether wicked.Â
âHmm,â he hums, nodding, as though truly considering your statement. âYou donât think so.â Itâs not a question, heâs simply testing the thought on his tongue. âHow about we test out that theory. What am I thinking about now?â
All that confidence you try to muster has swiftly made its exit, slamming the door behind itself, leaving you like a crustacean, naked without its shell to protect its gummy center.Â
Your eyes cut past him to see an empty glass, the tiniest drop of amber resting at the bottom, betraying the liquid courage he downed before you walked in, as if you couldnât smell it on his breath as he spoke.Â
Mr. Kennedy isnât a big drinker, youâve learned, but he indulges on occasion, digging into a small bottle of whiskey he keeps locked in a drawer behind his desk.Â
âIâI donât know,â you stutter. âThat itâs late and you want to go home.âÂ
He cocks his head to the side. That wasnât the answer he was looking for, and you know that.Â
âThat I should win employee of the month because of how good of a job Iâm doing?âÂ
You know good and well the DSO isnât the kind of organization that has enough spare time to indulge in such corporate fantasies, but youâre buying yourself time, not quite ready to be done with this song and dance.
Mr. Kennedy laughs, tossing his head back, letting the sound loose from his chest. Then, he glances back down at you, leaning forward at the hip, ever so slightly. Not near enough to touch, just near enough to threaten it. âClose, but not quite. Though I do think you deserve a reward.âÂ
âHow about five more vacation days?â You arch a brow, a smug grin on your mouth. âPaid. Or maybe just a trophy.â
That elicits another tittering chuckle. âYou drive a hard bargain, but no.â He kicks a foot out to tap yours, nudging it to the side, your knees parting slightly in consequence. The blast of air conditioning billowing from the vent in the wall wafts between your opened legs, tickling the exposed flesh of your thighs. Goosebumps rise on your skin, to which Mr. Kennedy takes notice, licking his bottom lip at the sight.Â
âThen what are you thinking, sir?âÂ
He lets out a puff of air he was harboring in his lungs, closing his eyes as he takes in that sound, caught between both hating it and needing you to say it again.Â
Without another second wasted to hesitation, Leon bends down to catch your lips, pulling them into a passionate dance of tongues. If his words, his presence near you, were the igniting sparks, this was a roaring flame. White-hot with blue tips, it burned, leaving singing marks in its wake, marks youâd proudly wear.Â
âSir, Iââ
âLeon,â he murmurs, cutting off your speech. And thank goodness for it, because you spoke purely out of ceremony, not even sure what you would have said if he hadnât interrupted. You surely werenât about to tell him to stop, to push him away on principle of him being your boss, your superior. He tastes far too good to give up now. Mint and sweet liquor and need. Itâs thick on his tongue.Â
âWhat?â You ask, your voice weak and flinty, hardly able to carry out a single word. He asks you almost every day to use his first name, to which you always pleasantly refuse, the back-and-forth becoming a little game between you both. Tonight, however, the name carries more weight than it usually does, sounding almost desperate the way it leaves his throat on a breath.
He retreats, just an inch to âYouâre gonna call me âLeonâ when you come on my face.âÂ
Youâve never actually seen Mr. KennedyâLeonâuse the sofa in his office. It sometimes serves as a coat rack, other times as a filing cabinet, scattered with manilla folders and loose pages of paper. But he doesnât sit on it, at least not that you know of, the upholstered cushions never indented, never a hair out of place.
You definitely havenât seen him use it like this before.Â
He has you sitting with your hips settledâpractically danglingânear the edge, your legs parted, skirt pulled up, panties pulled down. His face is buried in your pussy, the evidence of your previous two orgasms painting his chin, knees digging into the carpet beneath him. After your first climax, you were worried about his joints, and you had asked him such. He responded with a click of his tongue and a hand on your lower stomach, keeping you pinned to the sofa.Â
âFuck, you taste so sweet.â The vibration tickles your clit as he takes the bud in his mouth, suctioning his lips around it. Your hips jolt upward, and it takes an enormous amount of willpower not to cower beneath the stimulation. His tongue laps at your cunt once more, dragging slow, languid lines up from seam to clit, gathering your wetness on his tongue. âThis is much better than a vacation, huh?âÂ
âI donât know about that,â you giggle, the sound eclipsed by a moan as he slaps your pussy, warning you that this reward could quickly turn into a punishment. âDefinitely better than a trophy, though.â
Victor Frankenstein after achieving the impossible and building a fucking person from scraps of the dead: Oh god, ew, ew it's ugly! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew! Ew! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew!
has a tendency of sleeping for over 18 hours at a time on his weekends off and proceeds to grumble every single time when he finds out youâve deep cleaned the house in that time, cooked dinner, meal prepped for the upcoming week and gone shopping without him. You should be relaxing with him! So why on earth are you doing all the work? A deep massage and many kisses is the only way heâll forgive you.
bear!hybrid nanami who always raids the kitchen of any berries, nuts and fish you have. Youâll catch him in the middle of the night, fridge light illuminating his shirtless form, shoving handfuls of raspberries in his mouth at once. His ears twitch shamefully when he sees you watching him, embarrassment filling his entire body after eating all the food for the week again.
âItâs okay, ken. We can just go shopping and buy some more. Itâs no trouble, really,â you reassure as he buries his face in your neck and mumbles strings of heartfelt apologies.
bear!hybrid nanami who hates when you donât live in sync with your own menstrual cycle. Seeing you wake up early during your luteal phase and do intense workouts during your menstruation makes him cringe, and if heâs nearby heâll drag you back to bed with him with the most offended expression you could possibly imagine. He knows how terrible he feels when he doesnât stick to his own hibernation cycles, so he can only imagine how thrown off your body feels when you start demanding too much of it.
bear!hybrid nanami who has the biggest breeding kink ever. During his rut, all he can think of is filling you up with his cum and making you carry his babies. Just the thought of his own cum dripping out of your pulsing hole has him rutting against the mattress early in the morning. Nanami can barely keep his hands off you in the evenings, fingering you over the kitchen counter, eating you out on the couch, fucking you senseless in the bedroom.
bear!hybrid nanami who starts slow and controlled, not wanting to hurt you, but as soon as he bottoms out inside your warm, welcoming pussy, he snaps. His hips slam against your ass, lewd moans and grunts filling the room as he keeps you pinned against the mattress, chest to your back as an attempt to cage you in.
âKen- kenny! Hmm, youâre sososoo big,â you squeak beneath him, face buried in the pillow as his bulbous cock head kisses your cervix with every thrust, just light enough to be noticed but not painful. Nanami only finishes after youâve finished, the feeling of your walls tightening around him and the sound of your sweet, delicate moans immediately sending him over the edge. His hips falter as he tries to thrust just a few more times before collapsing on top of you.
bear!hybrid nanami who keeps his cock nestled inside of you for the next few minutes before starting aftercare, wanting to make sure that every sperm cell has a chance to do its job. Even after he pulls out and cum dribbles from your hole, you still feel extremely bloated and full, one hand resting on your stomach as he tends to you with warm towels, hot drinks, and bucketfuls of affection.
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