Where my “I’m a supervillain but I’m only soft for you” dynamic with Wesker and Leon. I know it’s out of character. Do I care? No the fuck I do not.
Wheres Ada’s horror when she sees Leon go up to Albert, kiss him on the cheek, and go back to shooting his boyfriend’s scientists? Where’s the “we’re on opposite sides but work and personal life are separate so it’s fine” where’s the “Chris is horrified” antics? Where’s my chaos gremlin Leon and a smug but fond Albert Wesker. WHERES MY DOMESTIC FLUFF
⋮ ⌗ ┆warning fluff . tattoo artist leon (side hustle) . possibly ooc . one night stand . female + slight shameless reader . nsfw . protected sex (at first) . age gap . mating press . minor breeding kink . vanilla sex turns into something more . horrible jokes . credits to vampyrbambi on tiktok! . 14.7k words
⤿ chapter O2 here!
The mattress dipped under the weight of the three of you, a familiar, comforting gravity. You were sprawled out, your head resting heavily in Maya’s lap while Chloe leaned against Maya’s shoulder, her eyes occasionally drifting toward your screen.
The soft glow of your phone was the only thing illuminating the room as you scrolled through Instagram, the sting of losing that drinking bet still fresh in your mind.
A bet was a bet.
… If you had to get inked, you were going to make sure it wasn’t some basement hack-job. ‘If I’m marking my skin forever because I can’t hold my liquor, it’s going to be art!’ you thought, your thumb pausing on a profile that finally checked all the boxes.
The portfolio was clean: bold lines, intricate shading, and a professional aesthetic that screamed high-end. Even better, the shop was practically a stone’s throw from your front door as you fired off a DM, requesting a reservation for tomorrow.
The response was almost immediate, asking if you had a design in mind. You bit your lip, typing back that you weren't sure yet, but you were committed to getting something.
Then, the three dots appeared… and disappeared, then appeared again. You waited, your heart doing a strange little skip against your ribs.
Two minutes passed.
“Come at 6:30am sweetheart.”
Your breath hitched. The word sweetheart felt heavy, almost feline in the way it purred off the screen. It was too informal for a business transaction, yet it didn’t feel entirely like a mistake. “Whoa,” you muttered, bolting upright so fast you nearly knocked Chloe over. “Look at this.”
Maya snatched the phone out of your hand before you could even finish the sentence, and Chloe was right there, hovering over her shoulder with a sharp, curious glint in her eyes. “6:30 in the morning?” Chloe read aloud, her voice rising in a mix of shock and amusement. “Is this guy for real? And sweetheart? Okay, Romeo.”
“Let me see, let me see!” Maya scrolled frantically through the account's feed. The three of you huddled together, suddenly wide awake, stalking the page like seasoned detectives. You looked for a ‘tagged’ photo, an ‘about me’ highlight—anything.
But the artist was a ghost. There were only photos of breathtaking tattoos, gloved hands, and the occasional shot of a sterile, dimly lit studio. “He’s totally mysterious,” Maya sighed, dropping her shoulders in mock disappointment.
“But think optimistically, he might be incredibly hot. Usually, the ones who hide their faces are either a disaster or a ten.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching out to reclaim your phone. “I’m not looking to fuck a tattoo artist, guys! I just want a tattoo that doesn’t look like a middle schooler’s notebook doodle. He’s probably just some tired guy who’s overbooked.”
‘But why 6:30 am…’ your inner voice countered. ‘That’s so early... ugh.’
The girls continued to tease you, making kissing noises and theorizing about his height until you finally groaned and climbed down from the top bunk.
You stretched your back, feeling the tension of the day begin to settle into your muscles. “I’m going to sleep,” you announced, tossing your phone onto your pillow and pulling the duvet up to your chin. “I have to be at a stranger’s shop before the sun is even fully up.”
As you closed your eyes, the word sweetheart lingered in your mind, sparking a nervous energy you couldn’t quite shake.
Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.
The Sunday morning air was crisp, but by the time you reached the address on your screen, you were breathless and nursing a slightly watered-down iced tea.
Walking had been your only option with your car still trapped in the mechanic's shop, and your legs were already feeling the trek as you pushed open the heavy glass door, a small bell chiming above you.
The scent of green soap and sterile steel hit you immediately, but your senses stalled the moment you made eye contact with the man standing behind the counter.
Holy fuck.
He was massive—easily over six feet—with broad, powerful shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his dark shirt. His hair was a striking, natural slate grey, cropped short, and a dusting of silver stubble lined a jawline that looked like it had been carved out of granite.
He looked less like a tattoo artist and more like a mountain that had decided to pick up a needle. “Y/N?” he asked. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through your chest.
You felt your jaw slacken just a fraction before you snapped it shut, forcing yourself back into reality. “Yeah. That’s me,” you managed to say, extending a hand that felt suddenly very small and very shaky.
As he took your hand in his, his grip firm, warm, and calloused as you had a fleeting, frantic thought. ‘There is no way this man is tattooing me today. He is way too hot! I’m going to pass out or vibrate right off the chair.’
“Good to see you made it,” he said, giving you a small, amused smirk that reached his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if the 6:30 start would scare you off. Usually, people only see this hour if they’re coming home from the bar, not headed to a shop.”
He stepped out from behind the counter, and you couldn't help but notice the way his biceps flexed with even the simplest movement.
He gestured toward the back of the studio, and as you started to walk, you felt the heavy, steady weight of his hand settle against the small of your back. It wasn’t forceful, just a guiding touch, but the heat of his palm through your shirt made your skin prickle. “So,” he began, leading you toward a pristine workstation illuminated by a ring light.
“Did the walk over give you any flashes of inspiration, or are we still working with a blank canvas?”
“First timer nerves,” you admitted, gripped by a sudden wave of shyness. “I still don’t really know what I want.”
He chuckled, a low sound that felt dangerously intimate in the quiet morning shop. “Well, look at it this way: at least you can’t say I didn’t give you a ‘point’ in the right direction.” He held up a sterile needle cartridge with a wink. “Sorry. Jokes are free of charge. The ink, however, costs extra.”
You let out a startled laugh, but he didn’t miss a beat. “Do you at least know where we’re putting this mystery masterpiece?”
Your brain scrambled for a safe answer—an arm, a shoulder, maybe an ankle—but before you could filter yourself, your mouth betrayed you.
“My right thigh,” you blurted out.
The words hung in the air like a neon sign. Your inner monologue immediately went into a tailspin. ‘Oh my god, why did I say my thigh? I’m fucking stupid! I’m going to have to take off my jeans in front of this man! Why am I like this?!’
But then, you caught the way he looked down at your leg, his expression professional yet undeniably intense as he began to prep his station. ‘Actually,’ you thought, a rebellious heat rising to your cheeks.
‘I wouldn’t exactly mind him being in between my legs for a couple of hours.’
“Thigh, huh?” he repeated, his tone dropping an octave as he pulled on a pair of black nitrile gloves. The snap of the latex was loud in the quiet room. “Bold choice for a first one. It’s a big canvas… plenty of room for us to get creative.”
He gave a slow, measured nod, his gaze shifting from your face down to the denim of your jeans. “Fair enough,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a register that made your stomach do a slow, dizzying flip.
“Well, go ahead and take your pants off.”
Your heart hit your ribs like a trapped bird. ‘Huh? What did he just say?’
A hot, prickly flush crawled up your neck, and you stood there with a completely flustered expression, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on your iced tea as you wondered if you’d accidentally walked into a different kind of establishment entirely.
He caught your expression and let out a sudden bark of a laugh—a rich, deep sound that crinkled the skin around his eyes. It was clear this was just a Tuesday for him, a standard part of the job that he didn’t even blink at. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached for a fresh roll of paper towels.
“You chose the thigh. I can’t exactly tattoo through denim, and I need a clear field of vision if I’m going to be working that close to your legs all morning. Unless you brought some very specific breakaway pants?”
The lightbulb finally clicked in your head. Right, that’s… common sense. “Right. Obviously,” you muttered, your face burning with an embarrassment so intense you thought you might actually melt into the floor.
You set your drink down with trembling fingers and began to unbutton your jeans. You tried to keep your movements clinical, but with him standing there—filling the room with his sheer size and that silver-grey hair—it felt anything but professional.
You stripped the denim away, your heart racing as you stood there in just your underwear. You kept making and breaking eye contact, looking at his boots, then his biceps, then the ceiling, anywhere but his direct gaze.
‘I am standing in my underwear in front of a man who looks like he could bench press a small car,’ you thought, a hysterical edge to your inner monologue. ‘Maya and Chloe are going to lose their minds when I tell them he actually looks like this!’
He didn’t say anything at first; he just stood there, his expression unreadable as his eyes tracked the movement. He seemed to be waiting for something, his silence stretching out until you realized you were just standing in the middle of the room like a statue.
“You planning on standing for the next five hours?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Because as much as I appreciate the view, it’s going to make the linework a bit shaky.”
“Oh! Yeah. Right. Sorry,” you stammered, scrambling toward the chair.
He moved with a surprising, fluid grace for someone so large, stepping in to adjust the leather seat as he hit a lever, making the chair lay back until it was almost flat.
You climbed onto it, feeling the cool material against your skin, and stared up at the ceiling lights. ‘Kill me. Just kill me now. This is the most embarrassing morning of my entire life,’ you thought, even as your eyes drifted back to him.
He was leaning over the station, the muscles in his back shifting under his shirt as he prepped the ink. ‘But if this is how I go out... at least the scenery is top-tier.’
“Comfortable?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at you. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a steady hand. I promise this won’t hurt... much.”
The shop was quiet, the low hum of a distant refrigerator the only sound until he snapped on a fresh pair of black gloves. He moved his stool between your legs, his sheer bulk making the space feel suddenly very small and very warm.
You felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the air conditioning when he pressed a cold, antiseptic-soaked wipe against your inner thigh. “Cold?” he asked, his voice a low vibration but he didn’t wait for an answer, his large hand steadying your leg with a firm, grounding pressure.
He began to sketch directly onto your skin with a surgical marker, his touch light and rhythmic. It tickled, a strange, electric sensation that made your toes curl slightly, but you found yourself leaning into the feeling.
You couldn’t help but stare down at him and from this angle, his shoulders looked like a mountain range, and every time he moved his arm to reach for a different marker, the fabric of his shirt strained against his biceps.
‘If those arms are that steady while drawing, I can only imagine what else they’re good for,’ you thought, a traitorous blush creeping up your cheeks.
You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the dark ink blooming across your skin. “So... how did you get into this? The tattooing, I mean. You don’t exactly look like the ‘starving artist’ type.”
He didn’t look up, his focus entirely on the curve of your leg. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of years handling different kinds of equipment,” he replied vaguely, his tone suggesting a history he wasn’t about to unpack for a stranger at 7:00 am. “Eventually, I decided I wanted to leave another kind of mark on the world.”
“... One that didn’t involve quite so much paperwork.”
He paused, looking up to catch your eye with a small, knowing smirk. “This might take a while, sweetheart. Since you came in with a blank slate, I’m building this from the ground up. There’s a fridge in the corner with snacks and drinks if you get restless.”
“Help yourself.”
“No thanks,” you said, your voice a bit breathier than you intended. “I’m good.”
‘I’m looking at a snack right now,’ your brain unhelpfully supplied. ‘A five-course meal, actually.’
“Suit yourself,” he chuckled, his silver-grey stubble catching the light as he turned back to your leg. “But don’t blame me if your stomach starts growling. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I don’t stop until the job is done right. You could say I’m pretty... ‘ink-clined’ to take my time.”
You groaned at the pun, but a smile tugged at your lips. “That was terrible.”
“I aim to please,” he murmured, his flippant tone shifting back into professional silence as he picked up the tattoo machine as the first buzz of the needle filled the room, a sharp, rhythmic sound. He braced his forearm against your skin, his muscles flexing with the tension of the movement.
You watched the ink settle into your skin, the silence between you feeling less like a void and more like a heavy, shared secret.
Thirty minutes bled into an hour, and your muscles were screaming. You had been holding yourself so still, terrified that even a heavy breath would make his needle slip, that you felt like a piece of frozen rebar.
He paused, the hum of the machine dying down as he looked up at you, his silver-grey brows furrowing slightly. “Relax, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice like low-grade thunder. “I’m not going to break you. If you stay this stiff, you’re going to wake up tomorrow feeling like you went ten rounds in a boxing ring.”
You let out a long, shaky breath and finally slumped back into the leather.
After another few minutes of silent sketching, he stood up, towering over you as he wiped away the excess ink and gestured toward the full-length mirror. “Go take a look. See if that’s something you can live with.”
You stood up, your legs a bit wobbly, and turned toward the glass. Your breath caught. Spread across your thigh was a cluster of spider lilies, their long, delicate petals curling around your skin with a lethal sort of elegance.
… It was breathtaking.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, turning back to him with wide, excited eyes. “Seriously, how did you do that so fast? It’s beautiful!”
He leaned against his workstation, crossing those massive arms over his chest, his biceps bulging enough to make your throat go dry.
He looked at the drawing, then his eyes drifted slowly up to yours. “I know,” he said. His voice had dropped into this dreamy, bedroom-only tone that felt like a physical caress.
‘Wait, did he just mean the drawing? Orrr… me?’ you wondered, your heart doing a frantic little tap-dance. ‘No, don’t be a delusional idiot! A man who looks like a literal god is not flirting with a college student in her underwear at seven in the morning.’
‘He’s out of my league, and I’m probably young enough to be his... well, his father’s best friend’s very attractive daughter…’
You climbed back into the chair, and the real work began. For the next several hours, the needle became a constant, stinging companion.
The silence in the shop was heavy—no radio, no background chatter, just the rhythmic bzzzz of the machine and the sound of his steady breathing.
It was killing you.
“Is it always this quiet here?” you asked, wincing as he hit a sensitive spot near your inner leg. “I thought there’d be, like, heavy metal or something playing.”
“I find the noise... distracting,” he muttered, his focus absolute.
Since you figured you’d never see this man again, you decided to fill the void with your own voice. You started ranting as you told him everything—about how your biology professors were trying to drown you in lab reports, how your internship felt like a fever dream, and how the university seemed determined to bleed you dry with loans.
“And don’t even get me started on the cafeteria food,” you groaned, gesturing wildly with one hand while the other gripped the chair.
“It’s like they’re trying to see how much mystery meat a human can consume before they develop a second head. I’m basically paying for a degree and a future case of food poisoning.”
He let out a deep, chesty chuckle that made the chair vibrate. “Sounds like you’re having a ‘ruff’ time,” he said, glancing up with a glint of mischief. “But hey, look on the bright side. At least you’re ‘studying’ the fine art of survival.”
“That was a reach,” you laughed, feeling a strange sense of comfort settle over you. “But seriously, the loans? I’m going to be paying these off until I’m your age. No offense.”
“None taken,” he murmured, his hand sliding slightly higher on your thigh to steady the skin. “Though, if you’re looking for a way to pay them off, I might know a few high-risk, high-reward career paths. But you seem a bit too sweet for that kind of trouble.”
“I can be trouble,” you countered shamelessly, staring down at the top of his head. ‘I’d definitely be trouble for you.’
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, his voice dropping low again as he looked up, his face inches from your leg. “In fact, I think you’re exactly the kind of trouble I should stay away from. But here I am, stuck between your legs for the next four hours. Tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”
You blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. ‘Did he just... no. He’s probably just being friendly!’ You just nodded like a total knobhead and went back to complaining about your student portal login issues, completely oblivious to the way he was smirking at the floor.
The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the studio floor. The six-hour mark had come and gone, and you were officially a physical wreck.
Every time the needle lifted, you let out a soft, involuntary whine, your muscles twitching with a deep, pulsing soreness. Your phone was practically vibrating off the side table with frantic texts from Maya and Chloe—likely planning a search party—but you could barely bring yourself to care.
You had spent the last two hours raiding his snack cabinet, shamelessly munching on crackers while he worked, and the conversation had shifted from your academic misery to something much more... charged. “Alright, sweetheart. We’re done,” he rumbled, clicking off the machine.
The sudden silence felt deafening.
He stood up, stretching his massive frame, and you watched the way his shirt pulled taut across his chest. He looked down at the masterpiece on your thigh—the spider lilies looking vivid and lethal against your skin—and then he looked at you.
“Think you can stand?” he asked, reaching out a hand to steady you.
As you swung your legs off the chair, your knees buckled slightly from being in one position for so long. He caught you instantly, his large hands gripping your waist to keep you upright.
The heat of his palms through your skin made your breath hitch. “Easy there,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register. “Don’t go falling for me just yet. I haven’t even given you the bill.”
You laughed breathlessly, trying to ignore how perfectly your waist fit in his grip. “I think the walking-here-and-back part of my day is officially canceled. I’m dead.”
‘I am literally half-naked in a shop with a man who looks like he’s met Shakespeare himself,’ you thought, your heart hammering. ‘and he is still holding my waist. This is not a drill.’
He began to walk you through the standard aftercare—washing, ointments, what to avoid—but he stopped mid-sentence, his eyes tracking the way you were swaying slightly.
The shop was empty now, the other customers having long since cleared out, leaving the two of you in the dim, intimate light of the closing hour. “You know,” he started, his thumb grazing the side of your hip in a way that felt entirely intentional. “It’s almost closing time, and I’m a bit worried you’re going to forget everything I just told you. You seem... distracted.”
“I’m just… tired,” you countered, though your eyes were fixed on the silver stubble of his jaw. “Tell you what,” he said, leaning in just enough that you could smell the faint scent of cedar and expensive soap.
“I’ve got the proper supplies back at my place. Better lighting, better seating. Why don’t you come over? I can show you the aftercare... much more vividly. I’d hate for such a beautiful piece of art to get ruined because you weren’t paying attention.”
Your brain stalled. ‘Vividly? Is he— is he actually asking me back to his place?’
“Is that part of the service package?” you managed to squeak out, your shameless side finally surfacing. “Because I don’t remember seeing ‘home visits’ on the Instagram page.”
He let out a low, dangerous chuckle, his eyes dark with amusement. “Consider it a specialized consultation. I’m very hands-on with my best clients.”
He tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second. “Besides, you look like you could use a drink that isn’t lukewarm iced tea. And I promise, my ‘service’ is a ten out of ten. I’m quite the... ‘ink-redible’ host.”
You groaned at the terrible joke, but you didn’t pull away. In fact, you leaned in a little closer. “You’re really leaning into the dad jokes, aren’t you?”
“Only the ones that work,” he whispered, his hand sliding just a bit lower toward the new ink on your thigh. “So? Are you going to keep your friends waiting, or are you coming with me?”
‘Maya and Chloe are going to have to wait,’ you thought, a thrill of pure adrenaline masking the soreness in your leg. ‘I am definitely going home with the hot tattoo artist.’
You reached for your bag, fumbling with your wallet to finally settle the bill, but he just caught your wrist with a gentle, firm hand. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, his thumb grazing your pulse point for a beat too long.
“Let’s head out to my place. You can pay me there. I’m not worried about you running off.”
You let out a nervous little laugh, your heart doing a high-speed skip. “If you say so.”
You turned around and bent over to grab your discarded jeans from the stool, completely oblivious to the view you were giving him. As you leaned down, your shirt rode up, revealing your white panties dotted with tiny black polka dots.
Behind you, his gaze darkened, his eyes lingering on the curve of your hips with a heavy, unshielded intensity. He didn’t look away; he just took a slow, steady breath, his jaw tightening as he watched the fabric strain against your skin. ‘Cute,’ he thought, though his expression remained that of a man who was very much enjoying the view.
‘Wait,’ you realized, clutching your pants to your chest as you turned back to face him. “Is it really okay for me to sit… well, like this… in your car? I don’t want to get ink or ointment on your seats.”
A faint, uncharacteristic dusting of red touched the tips of his ears as he met your eyes. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a bit more strained than before. “I’ve got leather. It wipes clean.”
“Alright, whatever,” you shrugged, flashing him a cheeky grin. “As long as it’s not an expensive car like a Porsche or something, then it’s fine! I’d hate to ruin a masterpiece with my masterpiece.”
He let out a short, dry laugh—one that sounded like he knew something you didn’t as he moved with efficient grace, locking the front doors and killing the studio lights.
The shop plunged into a low, atmospheric gloom before he led you through a heavy steel door toward the private parking area in the back.
The evening breeze hit your fresh ink, and you hissed, the cold air stinging against the raw skin of your thigh. You hugged your jeans to your chest, shivering slightly, until you rounded the corner and saw the lone vehicle sitting under the security light.
Your jaw practically hit the pavement as a Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT sat there, its dark, matte finish gleaming like a predator in the shadows. It was wide, aggressive, and looked like it cost more than your entire university tuition combined. “What the hell?!” you shrieked, your eyes darting from the car to him.
“You have a Porsche? Since when does tattooing people buy you a Turbo GT?! Are you secretly a hitman or something? Because if so, please take me under your wing! I need the career change.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in the quiet alley as he clicked the key fob. The headlights flickered to life, illuminating his silver hair and the wicked smirk on his face.
“I told you, I’m exhausted from all the hard work,” he joked, winking at you. “And don’t worry about the seats. Just get in before you freeze.”
You didn’t have a choice as you climbed into the passenger side, the interior smelling of expensive leather and the same cedarwood scent that clung to his skin.
As the engine roared to life with a terrifyingly powerful purr, you leaned back into the seat, feeling the luxury wrap around you. “Do you have a mansion, too?” you asked, half-joking but mostly serious as you watched his large, tattooed hands grip the steering wheel.
“Is there a helipad? A moat?”
He didn’t answer as he simply shifted the car into gear, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he kept his eyes on the road. The silence was louder than any confirmation.
‘Oh, he definitely has a mansion,’ you thought, your eyes wandering from his sharp profile down to the way his thighs filled out his own trousers. ‘I am going home with a rich, massive, silver-haired man who looks like he could snap me in half… gosh I’ve never been more excited to learn about ‘aftercare’ in my life.’
“You’re very quiet over there,” he murmured, glancing at you as he navigated the dark streets. “Regretting the decision?”
“Not even a little,” you said, your voice dripping with a newfound confidence. “I’m just wondering if the ‘vivid’ part of the aftercare involves those hands of yours.”
He didn’t miss a beat, his grip tightening on the wheel. “You’ll find out soon enough. We’re almost there.”
The high-octane purr of the Porsche was the only thing filling the cabin until you couldn't take the quiet anymore. You reached for your phone, pairing it to the car's Bluetooth before he could even protest.
A second later, the bubbly, high-energy beat of: ‘Rude! by hearts2heart’ exploded through the high-end speakers. It was a jarring, sugary contrast to the dark, lethal interior of the Cayenne and the stoic, silver-haired man sitting next to you.
You didn’t care as you rolled the window down, sticking your head out into the night air like a golden retriever, the wind whipping your hair into a chaotic mess.
You were laughing, the adrenaline of the day finally boiling over into a manic sort of fun. Behind the wheel, he kept his eyes on the road, but his gaze drifted toward you every time you shifted.
He couldn’t help but stare at the curve of your back and the playful peek of those polka-dot panties. A small, almost invisible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Finally, the chill became too much for your fresh ink, and you pulled back inside, sliding the window up with a hum. You were still buzzing, your eyes bright as you turned in your seat, the seatbelt straining against your chest.
You leaned toward him, batting your lashes with a mock-innocence that you knew was absolutely transparent. “So,” you started, your voice trailing off as you reached out. You let your fingers graze the massive swell of his bicep, feeling the rock-hard muscle beneath the fabric.
You squeezed, just a little, your eyes widening at the sheer scale of him. “Is this part of the ‘tattoo artist’ starter pack? Or do you just spend your off-hours lifting actual boulders? Because this doesn't feel like ‘drawing’ muscle.”
He didn’t pull away, in fact, he flexed slightly under your touch, the muscle jumping beneath your fingertips. “I’ve had to do a lot of heavy lifting in my time, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into that dangerous, gravelly low.
“Different jobs require different… strengths.”
“Vague again,” you teased, your fingers lingering on his arm. “Are you sure you aren’t a secret agent? You’ve got the car, the muscles, the mysterious past. All you’re missing is the suit.”
“A suit would just get in the way of the ink,” he countered, glancing at you with a predatory glint in his eyes. “And trust me, you wouldn't want me ‘undercover’ anyway. I’m much better when I’m out in the open.”
‘Oh, I bet you are,’ you thought, your mind flashing to a very vivid image of those arms pinned over your head. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing exactly how ‘open’ you can get…’
“You’re a terrible flirt,” you said aloud, though your face was heating up. “I’m not flirting,” he said, the Porsche slowing as he turned into a private, gated driveway that looked exactly like the mansion you’d joked about. “I’m being ‘arm-nest.’ Get it? Because of the muscles?”
You let out a loud, pained groan, dropping your head back against the headrest. “That was the worst one yet. I’m taking back everything I said about you being hot.”
“Too late,” he chuckled, the car coming to a smooth stop in front of a sprawling, modern estate. “We’re here. Time to see if you can handle the ‘vivid’ part of the evening.”
The living room was exactly as you had imagined—minimalist, expensive, and dimly lit by recessed warm lights that made the vast space feel smaller and far more dangerous.
You were perched on the edge of his deep charcoal leather sofa, stripped down to your oversized shirt and those polka-dot panties, while he took his place on the floor as he sat squarely between your legs, his massive frame making the high-end furniture look like dollhouse decor.
He had a specialized ointment in his hand, and the air smelled faintly of unscented healing cream and his own intoxicating cedarwood scent. “First rule,” he rumbled, his voice dropping into a low, focused rasp as he looked up at you.
“Keep it clean. No soaking it in a tub, and definitely no swimming for at least two weeks. You understand, sweetheart?”
As he spoke, he dipped two fingers into the tin and began to apply the cream to your right thigh. His touch was firm yet incredibly careful, his large, calloused fingers tracing the delicate lines of the spider lilies with a precision that made your breath hitch.
Every time his hand brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, you flinched, a small, involuntary shiver racking your frame. “Easy,” he murmured, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. He didn’t pull away; instead, he let his hand linger, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin.
“I told you I was hands-on. If you can’t handle the aftercare, maybe I shouldn’t have given you such a ‘thigh-gh’ quality tattoo.”
You let out a soft, shaky laugh at the terrible pun, but you didn’t pull back. Instead, you felt a surge of shameless confidence. You reached out, your fingers disappearing into the thick, slate-grey hair at the back of his head.
It was softer than it looked, and you began to slowly caress the nape of his neck, your nails lightly grazing his skin.
The effect was instantaneous as his jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck cording as he stared up at you from between your knees.
The professional veneer was stripping away, replaced by an intensity that made your stomach flip. ‘Holy shit,’ you thought, your heart hammering against your ribs. ‘I’m petting a man who looks like he could break a door down with his bare hands, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room…’
“You’re supposed to be listening to the instructions,” he rasped, though he didn’t move his hand from your leg. In fact, his thumb began to make slow, agonizingly deliberate circles just inches from the hem of your underwear.
“I’m listening,” you whispered, leaning forward until your face was just inches from his. “You said no soaking. I think I can manage that. What’s the second rule?”
He stayed quiet for a long beat, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. The air between you was thick enough to choke on.
“Second rule,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, “is that you don't touch the artist unless you’re prepared for the consequences. I’m a very busy man, but I think I can make an exception for you.”
You smiled, your fingers tightening slightly in his hair, pulling him just a fraction closer. “I think I’m okay with those consequences.”
The air in the living room felt like it was vibrating as you pulled him upward, your fingers tangling deeper into his thick grey hair to guide him from the floor.
He didn’t need much convincing as he moved with a heavy, predatory grace, looming over you before his weight settled between your thighs on the leather cushions.
When his lips finally crashed against yours, it wasn’t the tentative kiss of a stranger.
It was hungry and authoritative.
You met his tongue with your own, the taste of him—dark coffee and something metallic—sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.
“Mm… fuck…” you whimpered into his mouth, your hands sliding up those massive, boulder-like biceps. You squeezed them hard, feeling the rock-solid muscle flex and jump under your palms as he braced himself over you.
He wasn’t shy; his large hands began to roam your body with a possessive heat, kneading your waist and wandering up to the curve of your breasts over your shirt.
“You’re so much trouble, sweetheart,” he growled against your lips, his voice a ragged, gravelly mess. “I knew the second you walked into my shop I was going to end up right here.”
He pulled away just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one fluid motion. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, but the cold didn’t last long.
He leaned down, his silver-dusted jaw rough against your collarbone as he began to pepper kisses down your chest. ‘God, he’s so big,’ you thought, your head tossing back against the sofa. ‘I feel like he could swallow me whole.’
He moved lower, his movements slow and deliberate. He was a professional, after all; even in his hunger, he was hyper-aware of his work.
His hands stayed clear of your right thigh, guarding the fresh ink of the spider lilies as if they were the most precious things in the room… but everything else was fair game.
He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach, his stubble grazing your skin until you were squirming beneath him.
When he reached the waistband of your polka-dot panties, he didn’t stop as he hooked his thumbs into the elastic, pulling them down just enough to expose the sensitive dip of your hips.
“Mm… please,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He hummed, a deep vibration that you felt in your teeth, before burying his face against the thin fabric covering your heat.
He kissed the hem, then the center, his hot breath soaking through the cotton. When his tongue flicked out to lap at you through the cloth, you let out a high, broken whine as the sensation was overwhelming—the softness of his tongue combined with the rough, masculine sand-paper grit of his stubble pressing against your pussy.
You began to grind your hips upward instinctively, seeking more of that friction, your heels digging into the sofa cushions. “Patience, sweetheart,” he muttered against the damp fabric, his hands sliding down to your knees.
He slowly, firmly began to pry your legs further apart, creating a wide, inviting path for himself. “I told you… I like to take my time with the details.”
He looked up at you then, his eyes dark and blown out with a heat that made you feel completely consumed. “And right now, you’re the only detail that matters.”
The friction of his stubble against your inner thighs was already driving you to the brink, but then he hooked a single, thick finger into the elastic of your polka-dot panties.
He didn’t strip them off; he simply tugged the fabric aside, exposing your soaking heat to the cool air of the living room for only a second before he replaced it with his own warmth.
You watched through hooded eyes as he leaned down, and the sound of him slicking his fingers—a blunt, wet noise—made you flinch.
Your hips gave a sharp, involuntary jerk against the leather. “Easy, sweetheart,” he rumbled against your skin, his voice a vibration that traveled straight to your spine. “I’m just making sure everything is… ‘slick’ and span. Standard procedure.”
“Mm… agh—..” you whimpered, your head thumping back against the sofa cushion. ‘He’s still making jokes while he’s down there. How is he like this?’
Before you could even process the pun, his tongue made contact. He swiped upward with a firm, rhythmic pressure that centered right on your clit as you let out a high, broken moan, your fingers tangling desperately into his silver-grey hair, pulling him closer.
Then, you felt the first stretch as he slid two fingers inside you, the transition from the soft wetness of his tongue to the internal invasion of his hand making your breath hitch.
He started slowly, his large knuckles grazing your entrance as he pushed in, testing your depth. The sheer size of his hand was overwhelming; you could feel every bit of his strength as he began to move, his fingers sliding in and out with a steady, agonizingly perfect friction.
“You’re so tight for me,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your wetness. He pulled his fingers nearly all the way out before plunging them back in, his thumb staying anchored to press against your hood.
“Does that feel like a ‘hole’ lot of fun, Y/N?”
“Shut up,” you gasped, a sob of pleasure catching in your throat as you began to thrash your head from side to side. “Just… mm… don’t ngh.. stop.”
He didn’t.
He picked up the pace, his tongue attacking your clit with a newfound ferocity while his fingers worked deep inside you. The sound of the friction—the wet, rhythmic slap of his palm against your thigh and the messy squelch of his fingers—filled the quiet room. “Ah—!”
Your legs shook, your left one hooking over his broad shoulder to give him better access, while you kept your tattooed right leg carefully braced away.
He noticed the movement, his hand shifting to grip your hip with enough force that you knew there’d be fingerprints there tomorrow. “That’s it,” he growled, his tongue darting out one last time to swirl around your most sensitive spot.
“Give it all to me. I want to see exactly how much ‘ink-spiration’ I can get out of you.”
The speed of his fingers increased until the wet, squelching sound of him working inside you was the only thing you could hear over your own ragged breathing.
His tongue was relentless, flicking and swirling against your clit with a precision that made your entire lower half feel like it was melting. “Ah! Nnghh— fuck!” you cried out, your back arching so sharply off the leather that only your heels and shoulders remained pressed down.
Your eyes rolled back into your head as a massive, white-hot wave of pleasure crashed over you, your internal muscles clenching around his fingers in a desperate, rhythmic pulse.
You had just hit your first orgasm, your body shaking with the aftershocks, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he doubled down.
His fingers continued to pump in and out of your soaking entrance, and his tongue didn’t lose its rhythm for a single second. “Wait— stop, please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you reached down with trembling hands to try and pry his wrist away.
You were too sensitive, every touch feeling like an electric shock to your overloaded nerves. “I can’t— I’m done, I’m done!”
“I didn’t say you were done, sweetheart,” he rumbled against your inner thigh, his voice thick with a dark, commanding heat as he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with just one of his massive hands, leaving you completely exposed and twitching.
You tried to bring a hand to your mouth to stifle the loud, ugly sobs of pleasure escaping you, but he nudged your arm away. “Don’t cover it. There are no neighbors out here to hear you, and I want every single sound you’ve got.”
He pulled back for a second, but only to lick every drop of your spent juices from his fingers and your skin with a slow, shameless swipe of his tongue.
You were crying uncontrollably now, your chest heaving and your skin slick with sweat, but he wasn’t finished. He raised his hand and delivered a sharp, stinging slap right against your swollen, pulsing clit. “Ah!” You let out a strangled shriek, your hips bucking wildly.
It was too much, the sensation bordering on pain but still so heavy with pleasure that you couldn’t stop the fresh heat pooling between your legs.
“Look at that twitch,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating in his barrel chest as he watched your pussy flutter in the wake of the slap. “You’re a natural at this, aren’t you? But we’ve just barely finished the first round.”
He moved with a sudden, surprising gentleness, hooking his arms under your waist to flip you over onto your stomach. He was incredibly careful with your right leg, making sure your fresh tattoo didn’t touch the sofa or his own rough denim.
You were left face-down in the cushions, your ass arched up in the air, trembling and leaking as he hovered over you like a mountain. ‘I am literally going to die in this mansion,’ you thought through the haze of your tears, your fingers digging into the charcoal leather. ‘He’s going to break me—!’
“Now,” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over the back of your neck as he pressed his heavy chest against your back. “Let’s see how you handle the ‘rear’ view.”
The rustle of foil was the only sound in the cavernous room as he reached for a condom from the pocket of his discarded jacket. He moved with a calm, surgical precision that only made the situation feel more intense.
He shucked off his shirt, the fabric straining over those mountain-range shoulders before it hit the floor, followed quickly by his pants and underwear as you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse, and your breath hitched so hard it felt like your heart had stopped.
‘Holy mother of…’
He was built like a tank, every muscle defined and scarred in a way that spoke of a very dangerous life. But your eyes traveled lower, and you felt your jaw slacken. He was huge—the sheer girth of him making your pulse throb in your throat.
You let out a soft, involuntary whine, the sound of a woman who knew exactly what she was about to be dealing with as he caught your expression, a dark, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he rolled the protection onto his hardening length.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his voice like gravel and velvet. “I’ve had a lot of practice with heavy equipment. I’ll make sure it’s a perfect fit.”
He didn’t waste any more time. He reached down, hooking his large hands into the waistband of your polka-dot panties and pulling you toward him until your heat was flush against his thighs.
He settled his weight between your legs, his chest a solid wall of heat against your back, “Wait,” you gasped, your face burning as you remembered the messy state of the couch from just moments ago. “I’m… I’m sorry about the mess. I didn’t mean to… squirt like that. It was just so fast—”
He let out a low, chesty chuckle, his breath hot against your ear. “Don’t be embarrassed for doing exactly what you were meant to do. In fact, I’m completely impressed. It just means I’m doing my job right.”
You groaned at the pun even as your toes curled as he guided the tip of himself against your entrance, and you flinched, your sensitivity still dialed up to a ten. He felt it, pausing instantly, his hand moving to the small of your back to steady you.
“Slowly,” he whispered. “One bit at a time.”
He began to push in, just the head at first, the girth of him stretching you until you were sure you couldn't take another inch.
You let out a long, broken moan, your fingers digging into the leather of the sofa. It was vanilla—slow, rhythmic, and incredibly intimate—but the sheer scale of him made it feel like anything but. ‘Mm… fuck…’ you thought, your eyes fluttering shut as he slid in another digit’s length. ‘He’s so thick. I can feel every single vein, every bit of him—!’
“There you go,” he rasped, his own breathing beginning to hitch as he felt how tight and wet you were for him. “Just keep breathing for me. You’re doing great.”
He pushed in deeper, his biceps flexing as he braced himself over you, his silver stubble grazing your shoulder. Every inch was a battle and a victory, the tension in the room reaching a breaking point as he finally seated himself fully inside you.
The slow, careful rhythm evaporated the moment he was fully seated inside you as he let out a low, guttural growl that sounded less like a man and more like a predator finally claiming its prize.
His large hand hooked into the side of your polka-dot underwear, yanking the fabric roughly to the side to clear a path for the sheer girth of him.
With his other hand, he reached around to cup your breast, his palm heavy and warm even through the lace of your bra, squeezing you with a possessive strength that made you gasp.
Then, he began to pound into you. “Ah! Nnghh— fuck!” you shrieked, your fingers clawing at the leather sofa as he hit your depth with every unapologetic thrust.
He was massive, stretching you to your absolute limit, but he didn’t give you a second to adjust as he snaked his hand down, his silver-grey hair brushing against your skin as he found your swollen, pulsing clit as he he delivered a sharp, rhythmic slap with two fingers that sent a bolt of white-hot electricity straight to your brain.
You jerked upward, your hips slamming back against his groin in a desperate, involuntary reaction. “That’s it,” he rasped against your skin, his voice a jagged mess of heat and gravel. “Arch for me, sweetheart. I want to feel every bit of you clenching around me.”
He slapped your clit a couple more times, the stinging friction and the heavy thud of his hips creating a sensory overload that had your eyes rolling back.
He moved with a terrifyingly controlled power, his biceps bulging and corded as he braced himself over you, his sweat dripping onto your back.
Despite the sheer intensity, he remained a professional to the core. Even as he hammered into you, he kept his body angled just right, his heavy thighs never once grazing the raw, inked skin of your right leg.
He was protecting his work while he destroyed you.
He reached down again, his fingers sliding into the messy, soaking heat where you were joined. He started fingering you while he continued to thrust, his knuckles rubbing against your entrance with every deep stroke.
The combination of his girth and the internal friction of his fingers was too much. “Pleasee— mm… it’s too muuch!” you sobbed, your head tossing wildly. “I’m going to— I’m goingg to cum again—!”
“You’re not going to break,” he groaned, his pace turning frantic, the wet, slapping sound of skin on skin echoing through the mansion’s living room. “You’re just going to increase your capacity. Stay with me.”
You felt the tension in your lower stomach coil into a tight, vibrating knot. Your back was arched so high it was a miracle you didn't snap, your toes curling into the sofa.
The world narrowed down to the feeling of him—the massive, rhythmic invasion and the sharp, stinging slaps against your clit.
‘I can’t breathe…!’ you thought, a hysterical sob escaping your throat as the next wave of pleasure began to tower over you. ‘I’m going to cum again because of him!’
“There it is,” he whispered, his own breathing coming in harsh, ragged bursts as he felt you begin to tremble. “Give me everything. Don’t you dare hold back.”
The rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours filled the high-ceilinged room, a primal soundtrack to the way he was systematically dismantling your composure.
He was relentless. Every time he drove into you, he hit a depth that made your vision white out, a stark reminder that this man was built differently than anyone you’d ever encountered back on campus.
“Nghh! Ah— Ah! Fuckk!!” you shrieked, your fingers scrambling blindly across the leather before reaching down to his hand. You tried to pull his wrist away, your smaller fingers wrapping around the corded muscle of his forearm, but it was like trying to move a steel beam.
His grip didn’t budge; he only pushed two fingers deeper into your soaking heat, hooking them to find that perfect, agonizing spot internally while he continued to hammer into you from behind.
“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice a jagged, low vibration against the back of your neck as your legs were turning to water, your knees shaking so violently against the sofa cushions that you weren’t sure how you were still upright.
The sheer girth of him was stretching you to the limit, a constant, heavy pressure that made every nerve ending in your lower body scream.
But as the friction built—your slick mixing with the sweat dripping from his chest—the pain gave way to a desperate, clawing need. “Mmmff!!” You buried your face into a throw pillow to stifle a particularly loud sob of pleasure, but then you turned your head, your hair a damp mess across your face.
“Fa— faasterr,” you choked out, the word barely a whisper through your ragged gasps. “Pleasee… mmff… just go fasterr!”
He let out a low, dark chuckle that sounded more like a growl. “Careful what you wish for. I’m a fast learner when it comes to what you like.” He shifted his weight, bracing his massive biceps as he picked up a terrifyingly powerful pace.
He began to pound into you with a ferocity that had you bouncing against the leather, his fingers matching the speed of his thrusts. The friction was overwhelming; you were a mess of heat and sensation, your back arched so high it was a miracle you didn’t snap.
“Ah! Ahh! Holy shiitt!” You were begging now, your voice broken and high-pitched as you bucked your hips back against him, trying to take every single inch of him.
‘I can’t… I’m going to…’ you thought, your mind fracturing into a thousand pieces of pure, unadulterated heat. He felt the change in you, the way your internal muscles began to squeeze and ripple around him in a desperate, pre-orgasmic clench.
He didn’t slow down; he drove even deeper, his thumb finding your clit one last time to deliver a sharp, rhythmic pressure that sent you over the edge. “That’s it,” he groaned, his own breathing turning into harsh, shallow hitches. “Take it all. Don’t you dare stop now.”
The pace was no longer a rhythm, it was a desperate, and heavy bombardment that had you clinging to the leather of the sofa for dear life.
You could feel the shift in him—the way his massive biceps corded with a final, straining tension and the way his breath hitched into deep, guttural growls. “That’s it... almost there,” he rasped, his voice breaking into a ragged moan that was louder than anything you’d heard all night.
He gripped your hips so hard his knuckles turned white, his thumbs digging into your skin to anchor you. “Don't you dare stop. Cum for me, sweetheart. Right now!”
“Nghh! Oh! Ahh—!” Your body finally gave way, a violent, high-voltage climax ripping through you that had you squirting for the second time, your heat drenching his fingers and the base of his length.
At that exact moment, he let out a long, choked-off groan, burying himself as deep as he could go as he came into the condom. The pulsing sensation of him filling you—even through the latex—was the final blow to your overstimulated nerves as the room fell into a heavy, charged silence, broken only by the sound of your combined, frantic panting.
You slumped against the cushions, your skin slick with sweat and your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
He stayed there for a moment, his heavy chest heaving against your back, before he slowly, carefully pulled out.
You felt the sudden, cold void of him leaving you, and you turned over with a weak, shaky movement to face him. You were breathless, your hair a damp curtain across your face, but your eyes stayed locked on him.
He was sitting back on his heels, his silver hair messy and his jaw set and without a word, he lifted his hand, the one still glistening with your shared juices and brought his fingers to his mouth as he licked them clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue, his dark eyes never leaving yours.
‘Holy... fuck,’ you thought, a fresh shiver running down your spine despite the exhaustion. ‘He is actually going to be the death of me.’
He reached down to strip the filled condom off, the sight of his seed captured in the latex making your throat go dry.
He tossed it aside onto the hardwood floor with a careless flick before leaning over you once more. He didn’t go back for the heat this time; instead, he hovered inches from your face, his hand coming up to cup your cheek with surprising tenderness.
“You’re a ‘stroke’ of genius, Y/N,” he whispered, a faint, sleepy smirk touching his lips as he leaned in to kiss you.
It was a gentle, lingering taste of him that felt like a promise as you smiled against his mouth, your fingers tracing the incredible curve of his bicep one last time.
“The couch is a bit... crowded,” you murmured, your voice a husky wreck. “Maybe we should continue the ‘aftercare’ in your bedroom?”
His smile widened, a low chuckle vibrating against your lips as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. “I think I can manage that. I wouldn’t want to be ‘bed-ly’ behaved and keep you out here all night.”
He stood up, his massive frame silhouetted against the dim lights of the mansion, and reached down to scoop you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing at all.
The transition from the living room to his bedroom had been a blur of heavy muscle and whispered promises, but the reality of his bed was far more intense than you’d bargained for.
You were now pinned in a brutal mating press, your legs shoved up toward your own shoulders and held there by the crushing weight of his chest.
To make matters even more overwhelming, your wrists were secured to the heavy, cold metal of his bed frame. You had seen the cuffs earlier and figured they were just cheap plastic toys for some BDSM aesthetic, but the way the cold steel bit into your skin told you otherwise.
You were completely immobilized, rendered useless beneath him as he loomed over you like a silver-haired titan as he didn’t waste a second. He began to pound into you again, the condom-clad length of him hitting your depth with a relentless, rhythmic violence.
Because of the way he had you folded, he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You watched, your eyes wide and glazed, as your lower belly actually bulged slightly with every deep, agonizingly perfect thrust.
“Ah! Nnghh— fucckk! Stopp— wwait!” you sobbed, though you weren't actually trying to get him to quit. You were just overloaded, your mind fracturing as you drooled uncontrollably, the spit slicking your chin as your head thrashed against the pillows.
He looked down at you, his silver hair messy and his eyes dark with a cold, predatory satisfaction. He looked like a man who had done this a thousand times and knew exactly how to break a woman down.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a condescending, dark rumble that made your toes curl.
He leaned down, his silver stubble grazing your ear as he drove into you even harder, the bed frame groaning under his sheer mass. “You’re so cockdrunk, aren’t you? Aren’t you, sweetheart? You can barely even keep your eyes straight.”
“I— mmff!!” You couldn’t even form a sentence. You were just a mess of noise and shaking limbs, your body reacting to him with a desperation that was almost embarrassing. “You’re such a good little blank canvas,” he continued, his tone a mix of a compliment and a taunt.
He reached up, his massive bicep flexing as he gripped the headboard right next to your cuffed hand, using the leverage to bury himself even deeper. “I think I like you better like this—quiet, pinned, and completely ‘stuck’ on me. It’s a ‘pressing’ matter, wouldn’t you say?”
‘I am literally being dismantled by a man who makes dad jokes while he ruins me,’ you thought, a hysterical, needy sob escaping your throat. ‘but fuck, I want him to do it for the rest of the night…’
The friction was unbelievable. You were sweating, your skin sliding against his as he hammered away at you, his breath coming in short, hot bursts against your neck.
You tried to arch your back, but with your legs pinned and your hands cuffed, you could only soak in the sensation of him filling you to the point of bursting. “That’s it,” he growled, his pace turning into a frantic, heavy bombardment.
“Keep drooling for me. Show me exactly how much of a mess you are. You’re doing such a ‘vivid’ job of following the aftercare, Y/N. I might have to keep you here permanently just to make sure you don’t… miss a spot.”
The bedroom was filled with the rhythmic, frantic sound of skin slapping against skin and the heavy, metallic rattle of the cuffs against the headboard.
He was no longer being gentle; he had shifted into a gear that felt less like lovemaking and more like a total takeover. “Ngh! Ah! Agh—! Ahhh!!” Your moans had turned into short, sharp gasps, your lungs burning as you panted and huffed like a dog in heat.
You were completely overwhelmed, your head tossing back and forth against the pillows, eyes rolled so far back that all you could see was white.
He didn’t slow down. If anything, the sight of you—completely rendered useless, drooling, and shaking under his weight—seemed to fuel him.
He braced his massive biceps against the mattress on either side of your head, his silver-grey hair damp with sweat as he drove into you with a terrifying, mechanical power.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, condescending growl that vibrated through your entire ribcage. “Staring at me like you’ve forgotten your own name. You’re so pathetic like this, aren’t you? Just a little mess waiting for me to finish.”
“Mmmff— please!— Ah!” you sobbed, your hips bucking instinctively against him, trying to take more of the girth that was stretching you to your limit.
“Please what, sweetheart?” he mocked, a dark, playful smirk tugging at his stubbled lips. He hit your depth so hard your breath hitched in a silent scream. “You can’t even form a sentence. You’re so incapable of thinking right now. It’s almost sad how easy you were to break.”
He leaned down, his heavy chest crushing yours, forcing all the air out of your lungs as he picked up the pace even further. The friction was white-hot, centered right where your belly was bulging from his intrusion. “You’re just a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” he whispered harshly against your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe.
“Walking into my shop at 6:30 in the morning just to end up pinned to my bed like a butterfly in a display case. You’re so cockdrunk you’d probably let me do this all day if I asked.”
“Ah! Ahh! Fuckk— Fuckk!” You let out a high, broken cry as the tension coiled so tight you thought you might actually snap.
You were nodding frantically, unable to even deny it, your body a slave to the rhythm he was dictating. “That’s it,” he groaned, his own voice finally breaking as he felt the first tremors of your climax.
“Keep panting for me. Show me how much of a record you can set. You’re exactly where you belong—right under me, taking every bit of what I'm giving you.”
The rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours was the only sound in the room until a sharp, synthetic chime shattered the atmosphere.
Your phone, tossed carelessly on the nightstand earlier, was screaming with an incoming call as you flinched, the sudden noise cutting through the haze of your pleasure but he didn’t stop his assault, but he reached out with one massive, corded arm, grabbing the device.
He held it up, his silver-grey hair messy and his eyes dark with a wicked, playful glint. “Maya?” he read aloud, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as your eyes widened, your heart hammering against your ribs for a completely different reason now.
You tried to lunge for the phone, but the cold steel of the cuffs yanked your wrists back, pinning you firmly to the headboard. You were completely at his mercy, splayed out and pulsing around him. “Cancel it,” you wheezed, your voice a broken wreck. “Pleeasee, just— mmph!— can… cel it!”
He didn’t listen, instead, he began to pound into you with a sudden, brutal aggression that had you sobbing into the pillows. He was hitting your depth with every thrust, the girth of him stretching you until you were sure you’d snap.
“Tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning over you until his heavy chest crushed yours. He slowed down, almost stopping entirely, leaving you twitching and empty. “Open that pretty mouth and tell me. Do we answer? Or do we keep going?”
You opened your mouth to beg him to hang up, but before a single syllable could escape, he lunged forward as he slammed back into you with everything he had, the force of the impact sending a white-hot jolt of electricity straight to your brain.
“Ahhh—! Fuck!” you shrieked, the sound tearing from your throat as your back arched off the mattress. Your head thrashed back, your tongue lolling out in a state of pure, overstimulated shock.
You were panting like a dying woman, your vision blurring into static. “Wrong answer,” he chuckled, his thumb sliding over the ‘accept’ icon.
He placed the phone right next to your ear on the silk pillowcase. You could hear the muffled sounds of the dorm—the TV in the background, the familiar rustle of snacks. “Y/N?” Maya’s voice came through, loud and suspicious. “Where the hell are you? It’s pitch black outside!”
“Even for a big tattoo, this is taking forever. Chloe says you probably hooked up with the guy. Please tell me you aren’t actually doing that.”
The humiliation hit you like a physical weight as you were pinned, cuffed, and being systematically dismantled by a man who looked like he belonged on a recruitment poster, all while your best friend was on the line.
He didn’t stop as he began to move again, a slow, deep, and agonizingly deliberate grind that made you want to scream as he leaned down, his silver stubble grazing your ear as he whispered, “Answer her, sweetheart. Tell her how the aftercare is going.”
“I– I’m...” you gasped, your voice trembling as you fought to keep a moan from escaping. You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper, your fingers curling into tight balls within the cuffs. “I’m still... nghh... at the shop, Maya. It’s... ahh it’s a lot of detail.”
“You sound weird,” Maya countered, her voice sharpening. “Are you out of breath? Are you running?”
‘I am being fucked senseless just like you said I would,’ you thought hysterically, your eyes rolling back as he delivered a sharp, heavy thrust that hit your cervix. “Just... tired,” you managed to choke out, your voice hitching as he reached down to flick your swollen clit with his thumb. “Long day. I’ll... ah... I’ll see you later.”
He let out a low, silent chuckle against your neck, his biceps bulging as he braced himself to pick up the pace again.
He was enjoying this far too much, the predatory glint in his eyes telling you that he wasn’t going to let you off the hook until you were completely spent.
The moment the words “see you later,” left your lips, he decided he’d played the silent partner long enough. He shifted his weight, his massive chest pressing you flat against the mattress as he reached over and snatched the phone from the pillow.
“She’s going to be a little later than expected,” he rumbled into the receiver, his voice a deep, dark velvet that sounded nothing like a tired tattoo artist. “We’re still... finalizing the details.”
There was a stunned, deafening silence on the other end of the line for exactly one second before Maya’s voice exploded through the speaker. “I knew it! Y/N, you absolute—!”
He didn’t give her the chance to finish, with a wicked smirk, he tapped the screen to end the call and tossed your phone across the room, where it landed with a soft thud on a leather armchair.
You were mortified, your face burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the friction between your thighs. “You... you absolute asshole!” you shrieked, or at least you tried to.
It came out as a muffled, incoherent mess of a shout because the second the phone was gone, he slammed back into you with a renewed, terrifying vigor.
“Ah! Nnghh— fuck! Stop— waitt!” Your insults were drowned out by the rhythmic, wet thwack of his hips hitting your ass.
He was punishing you now, his thrusts so deep and heavy that you felt them in your very marrow. “What was that, sweetheart?” he mocked, his voice a condescending purr against the back of your neck.
He gripped your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of your waist as he drove you forward into the pillows. “I can’t quite hear you over the sound of how much you’re enjoying this. You’re such a loud mouth when you aren!5 on the phone, aren’t you?”
“Ah! Ahh! Mmmffuckk—!!” You buried your face into the silk sheets, your body shaking uncontrollably.
Every time you tried to gather enough breath to yell at him, he hit a spot that sent your thoughts scattering like glass. You were twitching in the cuffs, the metal rattling against the frame in a frantic, desperate beat. “Look at you,” he chuckled, his silver-grey stubble grazing your shoulder blade.
“Cursing me out while you’re begging for more with your hips. You’re so conflicted, Y/N. Maybe I should just stay inside you until you learn some manners.”
‘I am going to kill him,’ you thought, even as your back arched and your toes curled into the expensive duvet. ‘I am going to kill him right after I come again. How is he so bi—? How am I still alive?’
He picked up the pace, his biceps corded and slick with sweat as he hammered away at you. He was a force of nature, a mountain of a man who was systematically stripping away every bit of your dignity and replacing it with pure, unadulterated heat.
“That’s it,” he growled, his breathing turning into harsh, jagged hitches. “Keep making those pretty noises. Forget about your friends. Forget about the shop... just— oh fuckk, just focus on how well I’m taking care of you.”
The second wave of his release hit you like a physical weight, his low, guttural growls vibrating through your chest as he filled the condom for the second time.
You were a complete wreck, falling forward onto the sweat-dampened sheets as the metal cuffs finally clattered against the headboard, the tension in your arms vanishing as he clicked them open.
Your body was shaking uncontrollably, your vision swimming. You were right on the edge, teetering on a climax that felt just out of reach because your muscles were too exhausted to cross the finish line. “I’m... huff... I’m done. I’m actually dead,” you wheezed, your voice a raspy shadow of itself. “You’re a— ngh, a fucking monster..”
“Compliments will get you everywhere, sweetheart,” he murmured, though he didn’t sound tired at all as he shucked off the spent condom and tossed it, his dark eyes tracking the way your pulse was still hammering in your throat.
He reached down, adjusting your polka-dot panties back into place with a surprisingly steady hand, but he didn’t stop there. He knelt between your shaking thighs, grabbing the fabric of your underwear and pulling it taut against his hardening length.
He began to jerk himself using the silk of your panties as a buffer, the friction of the cloth against his skin making him hiss through his teeth. “Wait— no! You’re edging me!” you cried out, a needy, frustrated whine escaping you as you watched him.
The sight of his massive hands working against your own underwear was almost too much to handle.
“Just the tip. Pleasee... I can’t handle another round.”
“Just the tip, huh?” he cooed, his voice dripping with a condescending sweetness that made your toes curl. He leaned over you, his heavy chest casting a shadow over your face.
“You’re such a ‘tip-ical’ girl, Y/N. Always wanting just a little taste.” He nudged his head against your reddened, throbbing entrance, teasing the opening but never fully committing. “Does that feel better? Or are you just ‘tip-sy’ from all the fun?”
“Shut up,” you sobbed, your hips bucking instinctively as he let out a sharp breath, his patience finally snapping.
He reached for the bedside table, fumbling for the very last foil packet in the drawer as he ripped it open with his teeth, his movements impatient and jagged as he rolled it on. “Last one,” he promised, his voice a ragged growl. “I’m a man of my word, remember?”
“No, no, no—! I can’t! I’m literally going to break!” you protested, even as your legs fell open for him.
“You can do it for me, c’mon baby,” he whispered, his tone shifting into that devastatingly soft, encouraging rumble that made your resolve crumble into dust. “You’re so good at taking me. Just one more.”
You caved.
… You always did.
He took your hands, lacing his fingers through yours and pinning them gently to the pillow as he guided himself in. He was being patient now, the tip sliding in a digit at a time, stretching you slowly until you were gasping for air.
But just as he made the final, heavy plunge to seat himself fully, a sharp, rubbery snap echoed in the quiet room.
He froze.
“Shit,” he hissed, pulling back just an inch. He looked down, his jaw tight as he saw the shredded latex. “That was the last one. I have to pull out.”
He started to retreat, but your hands acted before your brain could as you reached down, your fingers locking around his thick, corded wrist with a desperate strength. “Nno! Don’t. You’re already in!”
He looked at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and a dark, rising heat. “Are you sure? Y/N, if you get pregnant... that’s not a joke.”
You let out a shaky, defiant laugh, your eyes rolling back as you felt the heat of him directly against your skin for the first time.
“Then you better come up with a good answer as to why their father is decades older than their mom.”
The air in the room shifted instantly. You could see the flash of raw, primitive thrill in his eyes—the idea of breeding you, of marking you internally without any barriers, clearly hitting him harder than any of the games you’d played so far.
He looked nervous for a split second, but it was quickly buried under a wave of pure, masculine hunger. “Fine,” he rasped, his grip on your hands tightening as he began to move. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you about the costs.”
He started to pound into you with a slow, agonizingly deep rhythm, his skin-on-skin contact making you scream into the quiet of the mansion.
He was being careful, his thumbs occasionally reaching up to rub the reddened, raw skin where the cuffs had been, his touch a strange mix of apology and possession.
‘Oh my god,’ you thought, your mind finally snapping as you felt him hit your depth without the latex. ‘I am actually going to carry this man’s child if he doesn’t stop...! Oh my god—!’
The sensation of him without the barrier was a total system shock. The friction of his bare skin, the prominent ridges of his veins, and the sheer, unyielding girth of him felt like it was rewiring your brain in real-time.
“Nghh! Ah! Ahh—!” Your mouth hung open, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you tried to process the feeling of him hitting your cervix with every unapologetic thrust.
You were too far gone to close your jaw or even think of a coherent sentence.
You were becoming a mess of pure, physical reaction.
“Hngh— ohh fuckk…!”
Suddenly, a sharp, clear-hot spike of pleasure shot through your lower stomach but you didn’t even have time to warn him before you squirted again, the sheer force of the friction sending a spray of heat across his hardening abs and the base of his length.
He let out a low, rough growl, his eyes darkening as he felt the slickness drenching him. “Look at that,” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of desire and mockery. “You’re such a ‘leak-y’ faucet, sweetheart. I haven’t even finished the plumbing yet.”
He didn’t slow down. If anything, the mess made him more aggressive as you reached up, your fingers tangling desperately behind his thick neck, while your legs locked around his massive hips to pull him as deep as he could go.
Every time he slammed into you, your back arched off the silk sheets, a thin, broken whine escaping your throat and into his ear. “You’re so pretty like this, aren’t you?” he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he leaned down.
He began to pepper your ear with condescending little comments, his tone dripping with a dark, satisfied weight. “Look at those eyes. You’re completely dumbed for me now, aren’t you? Just a little doll taking exactly what she was made for.”
‘I can’t... I can’t think,’ you thought, your head lolling back as your vision blurred. He shifted his weight, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he looked down.
From his vantage point, he could see the way your lower belly was visibly bulging with every deep, rhythmic intrusion of his length.
The sight of it seemed to snap something inside him—a raw, territorial instinct that had his biceps corded and his jaw locked. “You’re taking every inch,” he groaned, his pace turning into a frantic, heavy bombardment. “You’re so full of yourself right now, aren’t you, baby?”
He was fastening his pace, his thrusts turning into a blurred, wet slapping of skin on skin as you were drooling, your eyes rolled back as the tension in your body coiled into a tight, vibrating knot.
He was hitting that perfect, agonizing spot over and over, his forehead slick with sweat as he prepared to finally break you for the last time tonight.
The room was thick with the scent of salt and cedar, the only sound the rhythmic, desperate slapping of his hips against yours as he reached his breaking point.
He let out a low, tortured growl, his grip on your waist tightening until it was almost painful. “I’m going to— sweetheart, I’m fucking coming,” he rasped, his voice a jagged edge of pure need.
In a blind, instinctive reaction, you wrapped your legs even tighter around his massive hips, pulling him in as deep as he could possibly go. “Fuckk, please— bre… breed me–!”
You felt him hitch, his entire body cording with tension before he groaned, a long, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire chest. The sensation of him coming inside you—raw, hot, and seemingly endless—was a total system shock.
Without the latex, you could feel every throb, every pulse of his heat filling you up. Your toes curled so hard they cramped, and a high, broken whine escaped your throat as your own climax finally ripped through you, leaving you completely hollowed out.
“Mm... fuck...” he breathed, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he finally went still. You were both panting in sync, the air in the room heavy and humid as you felt the strength leave your limbs as you fell back into the pillows, your vision swimming.
You were on the absolute verge of passing out, the exhaustion of the six-hour tattoo session and the hours of relentless ‘aftercare’ finally catching up to you.
He didn’t pull away immediately, instead, he began to pepper your face with soft, lingering kisses, his silver stubble grazing your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied affection. “You did such a good job for me. Look at you... just a perfect little cumdump, aren’t you? Taking every bit of it.”
He gently shifted, laying you down on your side but keeping his massive body pressed flush against your back. He didn’t pull out; he was too tired—and clearly didn’t want to—leaving himself seated deep inside you as the initial heat of his seed began to slowly leak out against your thighs.
Within seconds, the darkness claimed you as you passed out into a deep, dreamless sleep, your hand still loosely curled around his bicep as he stayed there for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, his hand reaching out to stroke the hair away from your face.
He was about to get up to find a cloth for actual aftercare, but the sharp, insistent vibration of a phone—not yours this time—broke the silence.
He reached for the encrypted device on the nightstand, his expression hardening instantly into something cold and professional. “... Speak,” he rumbled into the phone.
The voice on the other end was clipped, authoritative—a direct line from the U.S. Government. “We have a situation. RPD is requesting immediate oversight on a new containment protocol. You’re needed back in the field.”
He stayed silent for a long beat, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form, specifically the way the moonlight hit the spider lily tattoo on your thigh.
A faint, bittersweet smirk touched his lips. “Understood,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m on my way.”
He looked at you one last time, the dangerous man beneath the tattoo artist’s mask flickering to the surface before he quietly disentangled himself from the bed.
The scene faded to the quiet stillness of the mansion. You were alone in the massive bed, the silk sheets tangled around your legs, sleeping peacefully in the shadows of a room that still tasted like him.
The sunlight hitting your face felt like a physical weight, pulling you out of the deepest, most bone-deep sleep of your life.
You reached out instinctively, expecting to feel the warm, solid mass of his chest or the rough grit of his stubble, but the bed beside you was cold. The only thing remaining was the lingering scent of cedarwood and the faint, dull throb of your fresh ink.
Your eyes snapped open, and the luxury of the mansion felt jarring in the morning light. You scrambled for your phone, wincing at the soreness in your hips, and nearly dropped it when you saw the screen.
9:15 AM.
“Holy shit!” you hissed, your voice a raspy wreck.
You had an advanced biology lecture starting in fifteen minutes, and you were currently across town in a stranger’s—well, a very hot stranger’s—mansion.
You ignored the mountain of notifications from Maya and Chloe; you could already hear Maya’s “I told you so!” echoing in your head, and you weren’t ready to face it as you swung your legs out of bed, your knees buckling slightly.
On the velvet armchair nearby, a set of clothes had been laid out with military precision: a soft, high-quality black t-shirt, a pair of athletic shorts that wouldn’t irritate your thigh, and—to your absolute shock—a fresh set of underwear and a bra that looked like they’d been plucked straight from a high-end boutique.
‘How did he even know my size?’ you thought, a shiver of both heat and nerves running down your spine. ‘Actually, don’t answer that. He spent six hours mapping every inch of me.’
You didn’t have time to dwell on the ‘vivid’ aftercare or the fact that he was nowhere to be found as you shoved your limbs into the clothes, the fabric feeling ridiculously expensive against your skin.
You did a quick scan for your own things, but your polka-dot panties were still lying in a crumpled, messy heap on the floor by the bed—a blatant souvenir of exactly how ‘cockdrunk’ you’d been just hours ago.
“No time, no time,” you muttered, grabbing your phone and charging toward the door. You didn’t have time to think about Leon, as you just knew that if you missed this lecture, your biology teacher was going to have more than just ‘worms’ to talk about.
You burst out of the mansion and into the driveway, your heart hammering as you realized the Porsche was gone, replaced by a sleek black SUV with a driver already waiting to door-open it for you.
‘He really is a freak,’ you thought, sliding into the back seat as the car peeled away.
‘... A very, very hot freak.’
The high-end SUV pulled up to the curb of the university campus with a level of stealthy precision that made a few passing students double-take.
You practically tumbled out of the backseat, your legs still feeling like jelly and your right thigh throbbing with a dull, insistent reminder of the spider lilies—and the man who had etched them there.
You sprinted toward the lecture hall, your heart hammering against your ribs. You burst through the heavy oak doors just as the professor was clearing his throat to begin.
Sliding into the row next to Maya and Chloe, you tried to act invisible, but their heads snapped toward you instantly, their eyes wide and predatory. “Look who decided to join the living,” Maya whispered loudly, leaning over so far she was nearly in your lap.
Her eyes drifted down to the expensive black shirt you were wearing—definitely not the one you’d left in. “Nice shirt. Did it come with the tattoo, or was it a… parting gift?”
“Shut up,” you hissed, your face heating up to a brilliant shade of crimson as you fumbled with your laptop. “I’m late. I’m just trying to focus on biology.”
“Biology?” Chloe snickered from your other side, her eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Because you look like you’ve been through a physical therapy session. Or a war zone.”
You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your seat felt a little too firm against your sensitive skin. ‘If they only knew about the handcuffs,’ you thought, a hysterical bubble of laughter threatening to escape.
‘They’d never let me hear the end of it.’
“So?” Maya nudged you hard in the ribs. “Give us the details. Was he actually hot, or did you just have a lapse in judgment because of the adrenaline?”
You looked down at your notes, but the image of his massive biceps and that silver-dusted jaw was burned into your retinas. You let out a soft, shaky breath, your voice dropping into an embarrassed, airy whisper. “He was… he was really hot. Like, ‘should-be-illegal’ hot.”
“No way,” Chloe gasped, leaning in closer. “Prove it! You didn’t even get a name, but you’re telling us he’s a god?”
You hesitated for a split second, glancing at the professor to make sure he wasn’t looking.
Then, with trembling fingers, you pulled up your hidden photo album.
You had snapped a quick, candid shot when you first walked into the parlor—he had been leaning over his station, his back to you, the muscles in his shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt to its absolute limit as he prepped his needles.
“Oh my god,” Maya breathed, her jaw literally dropping as she stared at the screen. “Y/N, that’s not a tattoo artist. Look at the size of him!”
“And the grey hair? Dude, he’s beekeeping age!” Chloe whispered, her eyes wide. “He looks like he could bench press a house. You actually went home with that?”
“He was very… persuasive,” you murmured, quickly locking your phone as the professor tapped his pointer against the board.
‘But at least I have the spider lilies. And the shirt. And a very, very vivid memory of exactly how he uses those hands…’
“You’re glowing, by the way,” Maya added with a final, wicked grin. “Whatever ‘aftercare’ he gave you… it definitely worked.”
chapter O2 — HERE
art credits: all are from the official game: Resident Evil Requiem
Summary: You and Leon know each other mutually through work, him doing police work for the city and you? an assistant to the Cheif of Police (the least important part in the story, honestly) When an outbreak hits, the city is thrown into chaos and they declared a state of emergency, everyone being told to evacuate the city, immediately and seek refuge till this blows over. He see's everything for himself while driving out on the streets and decides to go home, pack a bag and hit the road, on the way out of the city, he spots a cute, familiar hitchhiker.
WC. 4,600+
Warnings⚠️ Leon Switch Kennedy, Sides from his POV, Unprotected PnV (wrap it up) fingering, oral (f recieving) tit play, some light yanderish thinking from Leon (the pollen is driving them up the wall) choking kink, Leon giving pet names and having a praise kink!! Porn WITH plot (but not too much cause I'm horny too) Mentions of handcuffs, a gun and a dead body but not in detail!
"What the fuck was that?!" You say waving the gun at something in the nearby bushes you can't see but can definitely hear. You had been walking on this road for so long, the streetlights disappeared a while ago; your shoes, too, the heels hurt too much to keep wearing. If I had know hours earlier that an apocalypse was going to start, I would have picked something way more comfortable. I really didn't care what the noise was, I just knew I had to pick up the pace and make it back to my apartment, having to take backroads because of the crazy shit happening in the streets. News was reporting bad weather, animals going wild and extreme plant growth in the more rural side of the state but no one really thought about it blowing through the city.
"Its crazy how fast everything went to shit" You thought to yourself, You were outside a few hours ago but it was only a short amount of time you were even in the restaurant. "What an asshole" You muttered, fighting a silent argument in your head.
It was the first time you had been out on a date in almost a year, you just wanted to do something that got you out of the house but also, wasn't work. You had brought a small handgun you usually trade between the nightstand and the glove compartment in your car, the Cheif says everyone who works for him should own a gun but you only had this one cause your parents gave it to you when you moved to work for the city, their warnings playing over and over again in your head.
Lights filled up the road ahead from a car behind you, Not wanting to turn around and hoping they would just drive by, you didn't want any interaction after a night like tonight
"*GET OUT OF THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD*"
A megaphone shouts, instantly startling you. Turning around and lifting your hand to shield the light from you eyes, squinting to try and see who could possibly be having an ego trip right now. The window slides down, popping his head out while leaning on his elbow.
"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes"
The moment I hear the man's voice, his face pops into my mind like a flashcard I've had to look at twenty times for a test. I'd seen him in and out of the office so many times but always too busy to talk to him. One time he came in and gave the Cheif a piece of his mind for telling one of the rookies to not take a joke so seriously, saying "When you've been in the job so long, you learn to make light of it" referring to a girl who had turned up dead in a ditch. Leon Fucking Kennedy. A damn good cop who made the uniform look good. I take back not wanting an interaction tonight.
Leon and I continue to drive further out of the city
Going way past your hometown and into some areas you hadn't even heard of, hoping to either wait out the horde or survive the apocalypse. Stopping at a convenience store along the way to look for something different to wear and some shoes. Looking around, it looks like Mother Nature has overtaken everything. Aside from every town being completely empty, buildings and houses are covered in a thick ivy-like bush. Resembling Kudzu but on a Jurrassic Park level.
Your around the back of this gas station trying to kick down the door, the front windows and door are barred up so there's no use trying unless the two of you wanted to give up the cop car and drive that through it. To no luck, you walk back around the building to the pumps out front. "Why do you think its so much worse down here than in the city?" I yell to Leon, who's standing by the pump trying to siphon as much gas as he can to get a full tank. "I don't know" Throwing an extra tank of gas in the back of the car and then reaching up to slam the trunk shut.
Fuck, he makes that look really good..
Walking to the side of the car and leaning his back against it to face you, pulling a cigarette out of a crumbled up pack that he kept in his front jacket pocket, then shoving it back in.
"It probably started in a rural area first then spread to the city" Holding the cigarette in his mouth while covering the end with his hand to light it, was truly one of the sexiest things I've seen him do up close. Taking a long drag from it before looking up and down the road "All we can hope is that it's moving up and we're behind it now" Turning around to make his way to the driver seat let's you know that you two were about to get back on the road. You had told him about a cabin you went to when to as a kid in the mountains, a small one but it had a well and several box gardens so the both of you thought it was further enough out to stay at for now. The radio had been playing the emergency broadcast all night. He wasn't one for small talk but oddly would perk up if you asked him questions, anything in general but you thought it was cute when he got excited talking about the car, like it was a prized possesion. Maybe thats why he took it out of the city instead of leaving it at the station, the thought made you smile to yourself.
After hours of driving through rural towns and roads in the hills that made you question if the car would make it, he pulled into this driveway that was so perfectly hidden away, you'd miss it if you weren't looking for it. I wondered if it even had an address since I didn't see a mailbox, or a house yet, for that matter. Everything was getting dark, except for what the headlights could light up. A small wooden cabin with a red, rickety, wraparound porch. A small red tractor sat idly in the grass near the side of the house, It had sat there so long the tires were almost half buried in the ground and solidified. "This is it?" Leon says, not even sounding half impressed. I nod. "Its older than I remember but this is definitely it, it's not as bad as it looks" You say getting out of the car.
"That's probably what your parents said when they brought you here" He turns off the engine and gets out of the car, leaving the headlights on while you walk up the front porch. jiggling the doorknob but it doesn't turn. You didn't even think about it being locked and definitely didn't want to break a window, so you start looking around to see if any of them are unlocked. Within seconds of trying the windows, you hear glass break, looking over to see Leon has taken off his jacket, partially wrapped it around his fist and has shoved it through the glass part of the front door. "If I had known we could do property damage, I would have done that from the start"
"Since we've been on the road, you've stolen clothes, gas, food and you saw me smoke in the car, did you really think property damage was the line we don't cross?" He jokes, looking back at you, his hair falls over his eyes, taking a hand and combing his fingers through it to get it out of the way. The way his bicep flexed when he lifted his arm up, Such a simple move shouldn't have me like this but, damn. He's getting to me.
He unhooks a flashlight from his belt and clicks it on. Before he even steps a foot in the room, I grab his shoulder. "Haven't you noticed it's really quiet up here?" He stops.
"Its the mountains, I thought they were supposed to be quiet"
I shake my head. "Not like this, not a cricket? a frog? That's concerning"
"We came all the way up here and now you dont want to go in?"
Its been a few hours in the cabin..
Leon tried to get a fire started but after the first hour watching him throw match after match on, you had to step in and help him out. It was more for light than heat and it got hot eventually so you cracked the windows on either side to let some night air in, the two of you sat on a worn out couch in the corner. It was silent for a long time, one of us chiming in about the choice of decorating and the other saying what they would put in here instead.
"Are you ready to talk about last night?" He finally speaks up, not really prying but he did sound concerned. Yeah I guess I could talk about that, I was really heated thinking about it after he picked me up but I knew that the time wasn't right to host my pity party.
"I was on a date, we were supposed to go to this new place that opened up last month" You paused, hiding your face in your hands out of embarrassment. "He volunteered to drive me! We order our food, I had to go wash my hands and when I come out. He got his plate to go and left" I had my history with bad dates and exes but who doesn't? This was something I felt strangely bad for, maybe it was just the embarrassment eating me alive. Leon's mouth hung open slightly for a second in a state of disbelief before closing it and looking off to the side.
:Leon's POV:
I actually can't believe what she's saying right now, everything's clicking in my brain but I can't really form words. I'm mad someone would do that to her and I want to help her feel better about the situation, or just feel better in general.. Focus.
I couldn't look her in the eyes, I felt a lot of different emotions and I felt like I would stumble on my words but I had to say something or I'd seem like I'm not taking her seriously.
"You didn't deserve that" Was all I could say.
Shit. Was that too cheesy? Did I just blow my chance? Feeling my face instantly get hot, I knew I couldn't avoid eye contact any more. I looked up at her, she nodded affirmatively and then laughed.
"You're really sweet, that asshole will get whatever's coming to him" she leaned back on her hands, looking satisfied.
𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡
𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡
Oh my god, her words were playing like a broken record in my head. I was staring at her but my eyes started wandering down, I couldn't help it. Looking at her arms, down to her hands, if I kept looking for too long, I might have wondered what her hands would feel like wrapped around me.
"Hey, are you okay?" He had been silent for a second and was just staring at you. Trying to push past the thought that he looked 'hungry' and maybe you just shouldn't wish bad on someone.
"Yeah, Im fine. I'm just tired from the drive" He says stretching his arms up, the bottom of his shirt lifts a little to show the skin underneath. A very chisled v-line was exposed and trying not to stare was hard, You weren't sure if he caught you staring but he got up quickly and walked towards the back room and pushed open the door. "There's a room back here with a bunk bed" He says walking into it. "I call the top" you say hopping off the sofa and into the room. "You can have this room, I'll sleep on the couch" He's getting a blanket and pillow off the top bunk and going back into the living room? I'm confused why he wouldn't want to sleep in the same room, I guess he wanted me to have privacy.
You tried sleeping but you were very restless. Tossing and turning the thoughts out of your head. You wanted to masturbate but it was deathly silent in the cabin and not wanting to embarrass yourself If you had to moan out his name. Watching him today was really difficult, forget not going on a date, it'd been well over a year since I had gotten laid and this man was enough to make anyone weak. Fuck, I was really doing it to myself. I couldn't take it anymore. You slid out of the bunk bed as quietly as you could, I had to see him one last time before going to sleep like I was an addict and he was some of the best shit I'd ever had.
You had left the door cracked so you didn't have to open it much further, floorboards creaked under your bare feet as you walked over to the couch. There was one dimly lit candle on the end table near the couch, softly lighting up his face. He was sleeping shirtless, It was a sinful sight, him and the way you were looking at him. He laid there with his feet propped up on one arm of the sofa, his belt was undone and his zipper was down. You couldn't stop staring at his chest, squatting down beside him to watch it rise and fall with every breath. Following the lines carved into his body, up his neck and to his lips, the light flickering and casting shadows over his face had you reaching foward to move his hair instinctively. In a flash, his hand grabbed your wrist harshly, trying to sit up but immediately being stopped by... handcuffs??
"Leon, what the hell?"
"What the hell, yourself. What are you doing?"
I'm flustered, shocked and I have questions. "I just came out to check on you, why did you handcuff yourself?" He seemed way more flustered than you, His hand going to cover his face as he leans back on the sofa. You were half ass waiting for an answer and then noticed... I absolutely should NOT be looking at that. He has such a noticeable boner, I guess not completely noticeable if he hasn't tried to hide it yet but fuck, it's there and it's pitching a huge tent.
"I didn't want to get up in my sleep, I don't feel right in the head up here. I thinks it's the elevation or something" He's talking and his eyes look genuine but he's still bordering the thin line of sleep and not being all there yet, there's something darker or more serious about him. "Leon.. do you want to leave? I can take you somewhere else and you'll feel better in the morning" He rolls over to face you and wraps his arm around you in a loose hug, leaning over to whisper "Why dont you take me here instead"
There's no way he said that, I must have misheard him. I know Leon Kennedy, his gazes lingers but he's a sweet guy. He didn't just boldly ask to fuck on this couch.. Did he?
"I think we should go back to sleep, you could be getting sick"
He whines, pulling you down on the couch with him. Trapping you there, chest against his bare chest and you can feel your brain shortcircuting. "Sleep with me here" His hand goes up the back of your neck and tangles into your hair, tugging at it softly. You breathe in his scent and exhale, a mix of the clean cologne he usually wears with the woodsy smell of the forest, a blend of both your worlds. "I want to but I don't want to sleep" you say quietly, lifting your head up to look at him, he's already looking at you. "Get the handcuffs off me" Leaning down to whisper "The keys are in my front pocket" you smile and adjust yourself so that your stradling his lap, he's been hard the whole time and hasn't said anything.. You put your hand on his bulge, softly massaging over it till you get to his pocket and retrieve the small key. I couldn't take it off him yet, I felt like I had some power over him.
He looked so pretty under you with one hand tied over his head, the other hand was grabbing at your thigh greedily, he started bucking his hips up in a desperate attempt to get some relief. "I didn't know you were such a bottom" you tease him, you grind your pussy down on him slowly, bringing out a low, needy groan from his throat.
"Stop fucking with me and take them off" He sounded so pissed but damn, it was turning you on, you were only wearing underwear and if you had to guess, pretty sure they had been soaked through. His hand had made its way under your shirt and was palming your breast, massaging softly, then rubbing over the nipple with the pad of his thumb. You leaned your head back, whimpering quietly and grinding harder into his erection, he yanked at the handcuffs and it startled you. "Shh, Shh, I got it, Princess. Don't worry" He tugged one final time and the wooden pole on the couch made a sharp snap, then both of his hands were everywhere at the same time. He immediately sat up higher on the couch and grabbed at your shirt, lifting it over your head and throwing it to the floor. All you could do was moan his name while he held your tits together and kissed the nipples softly before diving them both into his mouth at the same time. Your senses overwhelmed quickly, he was being so needy but you didn't want to question when was the last time he got laid, again, not the time.
"Leon, please, I want more of you"
:Leon's POV:
Fuck, that's all she had to say.
You let your feet hit the floor and grab onto her, throwing her over your shoulder and then head to the back room with the bunk bed. Laying her on as gently as possible, then crawling on top, making the bed sink in a little. You want to take your time and be sweet, you've been wanting to talk to her for so long but this is a point beyond talking and 'being sweet'. You press into her mouth for a deep, hungry kiss. You suck on her bottom lip and she melts into it, whining into your mouth. The sound makes your dick throb, thinking about all the other ways her mouth can make you feel. Breaking the kiss to softly bite at her jaw and down to her neck, she starts pouting.
Fucking Precious.
"You taste really good" She's talking through half lidded eyes and puffy lips. "I bet you do, too" Kissing and sucking at her collarbone. I don't care about leaving marks, who's going to see them?
She makes the prettiest noises when you kiss on her body, sliding lower to her stomach, sucking and leaving little red marks all the way down to the edge of her panties. Sliding them down her legs and throwing those somewhere onto the floor, I spread her legs wide and quickly get to work.
He's a fucking beast, going at it like a man starved
He dove straight for the center, flattening his tongue to taste you and a wicked light flashed through his eyes. Pulling away only for a second, his lips glistening and a string of saliva still connected between the two of you. "You taste like you haven't had this in a long time" You feel the blush heat up your cheeks instantly. Did you tell him the truth and say every asshole you've been with never even offered something like that or lie and agree with him? Honestly, the silence was answer enough because he nodded.
"That's what I figured" He rested his thumb on your bottom lip "Open" you part your lips slightly and he puts his thumb in your mouth "Such a good girl" He lowers his head and slides his tongue up and down your folds then slips it into the center as far as he can, his nose pressing agasint you, spreading one leg further to hit a deeper angle. You swear you can see stars, you grab onto his arm and use it help grind down onto his face and he swaps out the thumb for his index and middle finger, sliding them further into your mouth and then hitting the back of your throat. You gag enough to tear up a little, your eyes watery. He coats his fingers in your spit then brings them down to your pussy. Using one finger at first, sliding it slowly in and letting you adjust to it, then slipping in his middle finger to stretch you out. He was already hitting all the right spots but then he put his hot tongue to your clit and you didn't know how much more you could take.
"F-Fuck Leon, I think I'm gonna cum" You moaned his name loudly, he showed no signs of slowing.
"I dont wanna stop" he says all whiny, half buried in your pussy. "Cum on my face and I'll keep going" You weren't sure if that was a threat or not but that feeling in you was building fast and dammit, he was persistent, he soon made you realize you could finish more times than you thought. The sight was intense, how he'd scissor his fingers open inside of you, watching you cum and clench around nothing, then pulling them out to lick them clean.
My world was hazy and I needed to feel him. "Please, I can't take it anymore" Teary eyed and pleading with him. I felt so vulnerable and pathetic. "What's wrong, Princessss?" He drags out the 's' like a snake while he crawls up to kiss your lips. "I'll do whatever you tell me to" His fingers still deep inside and feeling him press to add a third one. "No! Please I need to feel you. Do whatever you want just please fuck me." The smile this man had plastered on his face after you said that was cocky as hell, If it could kill; the numbers would be devasting. He gets up and slides out of his jeans and boxers in one go, his cock had sprang out and he wasted no time in grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him. Putting one knee on the edge of the bed and sliding his dick through your folds to coat himself in your previous high. "You ready?" Such a teasing tone, he squishes your cheeks to look up at him, having your vision dead set on how hard he was and how his tip was shiny from precum. You were on a different planet, right now. Whining and nodding, you grab his hand and slide it down to your throat. He leaned his head back, letting out a breathy moan as he wrapped his fingers tightly around you and slid all the way in. The stretch was perfect, feeling his tip pressing as deep as it can inside you was going to bring tears to your eyes.
"Do you like that? You're so tight I feel like I could bust if I moved" His vulgarity alone was enough to send you over the edge, you try to form words but all you can do is nod, it doesn't satisfy him. His hand still wrapped around your neck, his other hand lets go of your leg to press down on your lower stomach and he starts pulling out halfway just to go balls deep back inside you. "F-Fuc-k Leon!" His name was the only word burned into your brain. That, and the chain of curses that would follow after screaming it."I want you to tell me how good I'm making you feel" Both of his hands dropping down to your hips, fingers digging in harshly, the handcuff still attached to his wrist has left red marks on him but he doesn't seem to care about it at all. "So good- You're doing so good" Digging your nails into his arms, moaning and trying not to slur with his unforgiving pace This just deepened his thrusts, not slowing or changing his rhythm, but coming closer to put his arms on either side of your head and locking his eyes with you. Fuck, he got intimate so quick. I don't know how much more I can take. "I've thought about you saying that to me before"
His confession was so soft, almost a whisper. He lifted your leg up to get behind you on the bed, with an arm wrapped around you and another lifting your leg up by your thigh. "You've thought about me?" He's buried so deep inside you, maybe he's so lost in his own pleasure he doesnt even know what he's saying. "Mhmm, I think of you all the time" He's kissing the back of your neck and shoulders with the tenderness of a lover but the way he slamming into you shows he's only fucking you with one goal, his own release. "I'd imagine what you sound like when doing this to you" Your thoughts were all over the place, on one hand, you've thought of him like this too but on the other, you definitely didn't have the guts to act on it in person. Whatever had happened, lowered your defenses but also make you see, you had a worthy option the whole time.
"I dont think I can pull out" He admits, sloppily trying to catch up to his own pace. "Do you want to fill me up?" He has his face pressed into your neck, he nods furiously, pushing you foward onto your stomach and getting behind you. You grind your ass up onto him and his dick reaches depths in your pussy you didn't know could be hit. "Just like that" You move so that his tip is roughly pushing against your cervix "I want you to cum right there" His chest is pressed flat against your back, one hand coming up to pull your hair and the other, wrapping firmly around your throat. "Shit, you think you can take it all?" His fingers dipping into your mouth to gag you. He's whiny, his pace is erratic and with one final thrust, he releases into you, feeling his hot, thick ropes fill you up instantly.
He lays his head against yours, exhaling deeply into your hair before rolling the both of you on your sides. He's still hard and hasn't pulled out yet. Just keeping you there in his arms, kissing on your shoulder that now has marks. You're still shaking a little and trying to catch your breath, everytime you clench it feels so good but you are insane levels of sore right now.
He hisses when you squeeze around him "Give me a minute and I'll take care of you, princess" Oh god, theres no way he's serious. "No, thats not it. I didn't mean to-" He presses a thumb to your mouth and you bite it playfully. "I'm fucking with you, but if you keep acting like that, then you'll have a problem" His teasing is like water and I sure am thirsty.
"You're very persuasive, Officer."
AHHHHH OKAY THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN AND I'VE HAD THIS IDEA FOR SO LONG!
Okay so answers: Yes y/n lost that key, who tf knows where it went. somewhere on that couch while they were fuckin (or in the writers twilight zone)
Did I write this cause I live in the south and wanted it to get some love? Yeah absolutely, could you really not tell?
and YES if you thought it was quiet cause the critters were fuckin, then you were RIGHT DING DING DING HERES THE KEY TO RACCOON CITY
This is the first fic I'm posting on my profile so I did want to have fun with it. Likes, reblogs and comments are more than welcome! If you have any commissions or questions I'd love to hear from everyone ♥️
It's kind of hard to deny Leon of anything when he's on his knees between your legs in the back of his Porsche. Maybe it's the wet dog look he has, or the fact that he's got a little bit of stubble that makes you dizzy in the head when he's got his lips on you and gives you just the right amount of pressure, but you don't really think about it.
"Hello gorgeous." Leon licks his lips, staring down at ur pussy.
"You're insufferable—" Your words are cut off when Leon's tongue presses flat against your pussy, barring you from any thought process as his nose brushes your clit. "God."
"Nope, still Leon, sweetheart." Leon pulls himself from between your legs, slick on his chin and honey on his tongue as you groan in complaint. What a loser.
"You sure you want Sherry waiting for you? Aren't we supposed to be looking for a certain someone right now?" You raise a brow at him, and he glances at his watch.
"We have twenty minutes to spare." Leon hums, palm pressing to your inner thigh as he nudges your legs open wider. "Bet I can get you off twice in that time."
"Uh huh? Better get to it then, Leon." You lean back against the seat as Leon lifts your legs over his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit as he stares at you.
And, well. If the two of you are a minute or two late to the scene, then it's no one's fault but his.
engine ;; mirror sex . vendetta leon
word count '' 1.6k
GUN SPECS . [ 18 + , smut , f.reader , praise kink , subtle size kink ]
Leon had been watching you get ready for bed before everything, admiring you leaning against the counter as you tried to wipe off your mascara with a cotton pod, soaked in micellar water.
Your frustrated grumbling wasn't lost on him, and he'd walked over, a hand moving to naturally rest on your hip, "Seems the mascara wants to sleep on your lashes too." He teased, and it was a bad move, because you'd turned and stared daggers at him, "Haha, so funny. It's not ff- coming off!" You desperately wiped, and when you in return saw a lash or two come off onto the cotton, you let out a muffled scream.
The man hummed, considering the situation, "Why don't you let me-"
"You?" You'd interrupted immediately, "Please, I'm a big girl Leon, I can handle myself."
Leon's brow furrowed at that, shutting down the flicker of annoyance before snickering, "Really?" He inquired, and you rolled your eyes, "Oh please, what could you do to possibly get this shit off?"
You'd then, felt hands grasp the black panties you'd been wearing and slowly pull them down your thighs, "..Just watch."
And that's exactly what happened, five minutes later.
"Eyes up, come on." Leon urged when he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up into the bathroom mirror where he was taking you, his cock stuffing you with every thrust forward.
You whined into his hand, trying to turn your head away.
Of course, Leon wasn't having it.
His eyes were dead focused on the light ripples that went across your soft ass, everytime he pushed his hips into you firmly. He snickered when he saw you trying to look anywhere but at your reflection in the mirror, your abdomen pressed against the marble of the bathroom counter.
"Don't be like that.." He lazily cooed, taking great pleasure in your determination to save some dignity, kissing sloppily along your neck with a hand sneakily roaming under your navy blue lace cami, pawing at a breast, almost needily.
Leon could be fuckin' needy, real goddamn needy.
The man squished your cheeks in, eyes hooded while he watched your mouth hang open, nothing but sweet moans leaving it while yo felt that slight curve in Leon's cock snug up perfectly against your G-spot, "Leon!" You babbled pathetically, making the older man hum, "You cry so pretty, don't you? My pretty baby, come on- give it to me."
Desperation, that's what painted Leon's voice as he groaned deeply into your ear, panting heavy while he quickened his thrusts, really putting force into it now.
It had you arching your back and your thighs trembling while your soft, drooling cunt leaked down your thighs, too full of Leon's thickness for your slick to really go anywhere else.
Leon kept eye contact through the mirror, his laser focused eyes meeting your foggy ones that went wide with every harsh thrust between the regular ones, a silent scream on your lips.
A smug smirk twisted on Leon's own, nibbling gently on your ear, "I thought you were a big girl, you were bragging about it earlier, weren't you?" He reminded, a soft moan when he felt you clench around him, "Jesus..hm? Come on, isn't that what you said to me?"
You knew damn well what you'd said to Leon - you'd been egging him on secretly, trying to get a reaction out of him.
And a reaction you'd gotten alright.
Leon felt his ego flare when all you did was whimper and keen, pathetic sounds that had him laughing, "Yeah, you're a real big girl huh? You've got my dick deep in this greedy pussy and suddenly you're not such a big girl now, are you baby?"
When no coherent answer came out of you besides your mindless sounds of pleasure, he kissed at your pulse point, "That's what I thought..and I think this wet pussy thinks the same. Look at it, dripping down my cock."
The mascara you'd had on your lashes, resisting your makeup remover, was now easily coming off as your tears built with Leon's relentless pounding, making the most lewd wet slaps to remind you just how helplessly soaked you were, and all because you'd opened your mouth.
Sometimes it was good to keep your mouth shut.
The black pigment began to slowly streak down your blissed countenance, and Leon groaned, "My pretty fuckin' baby, look at you. You're gorgeous when you're crying on my dick..that's it, keep crying for me, I'll make you feel so good." He growled, a promise.
One he was keeping, because Leon began rutting into you faster, hand moving off your chin to press against your lower belly, applying pressure to add more stimulation when he hit your bundle of nerves.
You let out a high pitched squeal, the sound immediately flowing into a desperate moan as Leon began ramming into that specific squish with such precision, "Ah! Yes, yes! Feels so, good..! Leon!!" You whined out, and Leon snickered.
"Yeah? Good, I want you to feel good..this pussy deserves nothing but," He took a look at your pussy, sloppily full of his veiny dick as he kept thrusting, seeing the red tinting your puffy lips.
His gaze quickly looked up however, his pride stoked when he saw the mascara running down your face easily.
Bingo.
"See that? Take a good look baby," The hand under your cami moved to grab your hair at the scalp, pulling you up carefully and keeping your head in place as you watched yourself in the mirror, getting fucked from behind roughly, the way Leon stuffed your messy cunt which leaked down your thighs and onto the floor most likely, and then the mess of mascara running down your face.
It emphasized the flush on your face beautifully, but it did on either thing - it proved Leon right.
And Leon wasted no time reminding you, "Look how easily it came off," He pointed out with a sweet tone, peppering kisses into your neck as he felt you squeezing more rhythmically - you were gonna blow.
But it was too fast, way too fast. He didn't want that.
Confusion settled on your features when Leon began to slow down, shallow movements that had you whining, "Leoon..want it, please.." You croaked, and he nodded, "Mhm, I bet baby.." he murmured, waiting for your high to somewhat settle and wash away - most of it at least.
You decided against arguing, opting to wait for what Leon was planning.
Leon felt the last of your little flutters around his length, and he dragged his hips out all the way, the head just barely inside the ring of muscles, "Holding onto something wouldn't be too bad of an idea." He hinted, his voice somewhat low.
Just the way his big cock stretched your pussy, like it might it pop..like it was struggling to even keep him in - it was driving him beyond insane.
Before you could even fathom why, Leon slammed his cock into you all the way, making you practically scream, "Oh!!"
"Mhm," Leon hummed, repeating the agonizing process of pulling out, and slamming in roughly, "scream like that."
Leon's brows furrowed while he continued to go so deep into you, making your eyes roll back and choked out whimpers leave you in a symphony, "Ah! Please, please- mm! Hard! S'too hard!"
"Is it?" Leon's voice had grown low, cold even you could say - his hand yanked at your hair, "I thought a big girl like you could handle yourself. Come on..fucking take it." He challenged, putting even more force as he fucked you right open, slowly tearing you up.
Every single snap of the hips had you gasping, melting against the counter and downright crying, "No! M'sorry!" You hoarsed, and he tutted, "Well that's too bad, isn't it? A big girl like you's gotta face her consequences, don't you?" He cooed mockingly against the shell of your ear.
He watched you cry pathetically on his dick through the reflection, but he didn't relent - he just kept at it.
"I told you I could help. See how your mascara's flowing? It's basically gone," Leon spoke, every thrust making your body jolt harshly, a soft wail and a pathetic moan leaving every single time, "you just needed this wet little pussy stuffed good, and now you're makeup's all gone. See?"
He suddenly picked up the speed, sending you straight into a cry and a series of mindless sounds loud enough to warrant a noise complaint as Leon began hammering your poor pussy, "Good girl, hm? Good fucking girl, taking my dick so well up your greedy little pussy. So high maintenance though, aren't you?" He panted, groaning as your pussy squeezed him like a fist, "Fuck."
You were lost, hands moving off your death grip on the counter to splay your palms against the mirror instead, your tears endless and your mouth wet with your moaning and babbling.
Leon grinned, feeling his own orgasm approaching, "My pretty girl, you're so good for me. Fuckin' amazing, keep screaming like that. Cum on this dick and show me just how good this pussy is, how good my girl is." He encouraged albeit the dirty words laced with it.
But it worked so well cause when Leon's hand moved to rub blindly at your clit and make you tighten insanely, you were cumming instantly with your eyes rolling back into your skull, a blubbered out moan and a plethora of whimpers as you were creaming over Leon's cock.
Leon gritted his teeth at the sensation, hammering into you ruthlessly before he slammed in one last time, an animalistic groan leaving as he dumped himself entirely in you, leaving the two of you breathless.
You went somewhat lax, but Leon caught you immediately with a strong arm, holding you to his chest and kissing your cheek firmly, "My girl did so good, hm? And look, we got all the mascara off.."
His tone was gentle and it put you at ease immediately. Leon's eyes softened, a small smile, "Let's go sleep, hm?"
**
V8 . 09:34. kinktober list . masterlist . requests here . intro interlude
It's kind of hard to deny Leon of anything when he's on his knees between your legs in the back of his Porsche. Maybe it's the wet dog look he has, or the fact that he's got a little bit of stubble that makes you dizzy in the head when he's got his lips on you and gives you just the right amount of pressure, but you don't really think about it.
"Hello gorgeous." Leon licks his lips, staring down at ur pussy.
"You're insufferable—" Your words are cut off when Leon's tongue presses flat against your pussy, barring you from any thought process as his nose brushes your clit. "God."
"Nope, still Leon, sweetheart." Leon pulls himself from between your legs, slick on his chin and honey on his tongue as you groan in complaint. What a loser.
"You sure you want Sherry waiting for you? Aren't we supposed to be looking for a certain someone right now?" You raise a brow at him, and he glances at his watch.
"We have twenty minutes to spare." Leon hums, palm pressing to your inner thigh as he nudges your legs open wider. "Bet I can get you off twice in that time."
"Uh huh? Better get to it then, Leon." You lean back against the seat as Leon lifts your legs over his shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit as he stares at you.
And, well. If the two of you are a minute or two late to the scene, then it's no one's fault but his.
☆彡 Yan!rookie cop Leon Kennedy x fem reader (no outbreak au)
☆彡 Day 17: messy sex, service kink
☆彡 Kinktober prompt list
☆彡 I do not condone any 'yandere' behaviour in real life
!TW: noncon, drugging, stalking, Leon is kinda pathetic in this one, period sex, cunnilingus (reader receiving), kidnapping, yandere and possessive behaviour, MATURE AUDIENCE ONLY/MINORS DNI
Hot water cascades down your body. You let out a sigh at the nice sensation, your muscles relaxing after what feels like an eternity.
Ever since Leon has been stalking you, you thought you'd never experience this feeling again.
At first, you were happy when you met the rookie cop at the coffee shop where you work as a barista. He didn't talk to you initially, only giving you a shy smile or awkward compliment here and there. It took him one week after seeing you nearly everyday to gather his courage and strike a proper conversation with you. Leon told you how he just moved to town for his new job as at the Raccoon City Police Department, and how he was hoping to find a pretty girl to ask out as well. He shot you a not-so-subtle glance, and you laughed, deciding to take him out of his misery by telling him you'd love to go on a date with him.
Big mistake.
The first date was sweet. Leon behaved like a gentleman, and you genuinely had a good time. The second one went fine. And after the third date, when he took you back to his place, starting to undress you and mumbling that he had hoped you'd choose the matching lace bra and underwear, you knew you had to get away. Because no matter how desperate you might be, you're not gonna date a stalker.
Unfortunately, Leon doesn't take no for an answer.
He's been sending flowers that are accompanied with letters expressing how sorry he is and how much he loves and needs you. He's been harassing you at work until your boss stepped in and banned him from the coffee shop. And whenever you have go back home from a late shift, you swear he's following you, either as a your shadow on foot or in a police car on patrol.
You paid a visit to the RPD and filed for a restraining order, but despite their reassurances, you knew they wouldn't act against their buddy, because Leon's stalking still hasn't stopped.
So you decided to take matters into your own hand.
Your boss gave you a recommendation so that you could transfer to another store from the same company you work at, one that is halfway across the country. The lease for your apartment was due soon anyway, and you haven't made too many friends in Raccoon City, so this would be your best option to get away from Leon once and for all.
You keep your eyes closed as you remain in the shower even after you finished washing yourself, simply enjoying the warmth of the water and the soft music you put on previously that's emitting from the stereo. You might not be particularly attached to this city, but you certainly love this apartment, so you try to make most out of it before you leave in a couple days.
You don't hear the sound of the lock of your front door being picked, or the footsteps drawing closer to the bathroom. Only when a hand clamps over your mouth and a needle is stabbed into your neck, you notice you're not alone. By then, it's already too late to fight back, since whatever you've been injected with starts working it's course through your body. Your limbs grow heavy, your mind foggy.
Leon turns off the shower and carries you to your bedroom.
"Shh, it's okay, sweetheart," he shushes with a gentle smile on his face. "I'm not here to hurt you."
He lays your naked form on your bed. Your sheets turn damp from the water residue on your skin. Leon shoots you a look that's filled with so much affection, if you hadn't drugged, you'd probably smacked it right out of his face.
"I'm sorry it had to come to this," he murmurs, his hand cradling your face. "But you didn't leave me much of a choice. You can't just pack your things and move across the country, not when I need you right here. With me."
His eyes wander down your body, taking in your naked form with clear reverence and lust. When they land on your mound, they widen: a trickle of blood has pooled underneath you on the sheets.
"Are you on your period?" The surprise in his voice is evident.
He doesn't wait for your answer (not like you could give him a reply in your drugged state anyway) and instead gently lifts up your hips and opens your legs. Sure enough, you can feel the blood seeping out of your hole.
"Oh no, baby, you must be in such pain. Let me help you with that." Leon's face moves closer to your cunt until he's lying on his stomach with your legs dangling helplessly over his shoulders. His hot breath fans over your pussy. "I've heard some of my colleagues talking about how they pleasure their ladies during their time of month, it supposedly helps relief the cramps. I wanna help you, too. Wanna make you feel so good."
Without hesitation, he buries his face into your pussy. His hands find their way to your thighs, holding onto them as his tongue drags from your hole through your fold right to your clit. You let out a soft moan in your haze. Leon eats you out like you're the most delicious meal he's ever tasted, like he could live between your legs. He seemingly doesn't mind the blood, if anything, you might think he likes lapping it up with how he pushes his tongue inside you. You're not sure if he actually enjoys the taste or simply the fact that he's the one servicing you, the one who brings you pleasure.
Leon alternates between fucking his tongue into you and sucking on your clit, keeping you on your toes. Maybe the drugs in your system enhance the sensation, maybe it's the fear in your, or maybe he was right and getting eaten out on your period is that good, but you quickly feel your orgasm approaching. And like an eager dog who's craving his treat for being good, Leon drinks everything you give him as your peak rolls over your body, your hips lifting off the mattress from the sheer intensity.
As you catch your breath, Leon eventually rises from between your legs. His mouth has some traces of your blood left when he smiles at you, which he seems to notice as well, so his tongue quickly catches the remnants.
"Was it good? Are the cramps better now?"
When you simply give him a small, instinctual nod, his grin brightens.
"I'm glad, baby. Next time the guys are talking at work, I can join in and tell them it helped my girl feeling better."
'My girl.' The thought alone makes you sick to your stomach.
Leon shuffles over to your closet, picking out some clothes. Of course he knows where everything is, thanks to his stalking sessions.
"Alright, my love. I'm gonna get you dressed and then we drive back home. Don't worry, you're gonna love my place."
Newly single, you decide to fly solo to the Maldives, because why not enjoy a non-refundable trip your ex already booked? Unfortunately, as you discovered on board the airplane, he had the same idea.
ao3 ☼ wc: 9,892 ☼ based on this request!
tags: Leon Kennedy/cisfem!reader, any era Leon, smut, angst, hate sex, leon is an eater, dry humping, arguing!!, teasing, dirty talk, one bed trope, creampie, p in v, nipple play (f receiving), semi-public sex (reader gets eaten out in a sauna), mentions of cheating (no one actually cheated tho), reader protests a lot but doesn't mean it
“Group one, welcome aboard.”
You picked up your carry-on and fished your boarding pass from your purse as you shuffled into line, clutching it tightly until you held it over the scanner with a beep. “Enjoy your trip,” the attendant said with a smile. You returned it with a thank-you and trekked through the boarding bridge until you were breathing the sweet, stale air of the cabin, thanking yourself for packing a hoodie as the conditioned air nipped your arms. After all, you didn’t need cold-weather clothes where you were going.
You settled into your window seat and set your bag in the empty one next to you, kicking your feet in the ample leg room. First class seats. Your ex-boyfriend’s job really had really some perks. If only he’d shown you more upsides to being with him while you were together.
You tried not to be sad that the middle seat was occupied by luggage instead of him. You should be nestling in arm-to-arm right now, flipping through travel brochures and deciding what movie to watch on the way, but instead, you were alone.
Hard to complain about a solo trip to the Maldives, though. You’re just glad he couldn’t refund the tickets. You’d get the last laugh, after all.
“Excuse me, miss, you’re in my–”
Your heart stopped beating and dread filled your body as you looked up to find Leon with the same slack-jawed expression. He was thinking the same thought as you: no fucking way.
You could see his eyes turn red and his jaw clench as he threw his duffel bag in the overhead compartment, and then he returned to you, who was still watching in disbelief.
He gestured to your luggage in the seat that was supposed to remain empty. “Can you at least move your shit?”
All you could do was stare and guffaw. He rolled his eyes and grabbed it himself with a heavy pinch of attitude, throwing it alongside his own.
“Hey, be careful with that, my laptop’s in there,” you snapped, his harsh treatment willing you to speak. He ignored you and plopped down to sit.
Both of your eyes were set on the headrest in front of you as the painfully awkward situation set in, but he was too close not to notice every little thing. His hands were clasped together to squeeze his biceps in, very clearly not wanting to brush arms with you. His breathing was heavy and you were sure he was irate. Just the slightest sound of his breath through his nose pissed you off.
Oh my god, I’m gonna be stuck here with him for hours, you realized, and then a whole five days on a remote island.
You hadn’t even left the boarding gate, and your vacation was already ruined. Not only that, but you were caught red-handed trying to go yourself.
“I didn’t think you were going to come,” you squeaked out.
“No shit,” he whispered harshly. “Non-refundable, remember?”
“Yeah.”
It was excruciatingly awkward. Your hopes of dozing off until you landed were dashed by the palpable tension in the pressurized air, and each minute felt like an hour. He radiated so much anger and annoyance that you were surprised it didn’t set off the smoke detectors. You felt bad for the other first class passengers, because surely you were shattering the feeling of luxury for the whole section.
You tried to think of a way out of it, but then you lifted off and the wheels retracted, and you were totally and completely stuck. You cursed the Wright brothers for inventing what was now your cruel enclosure.
You rested your head against the window, looking out at the clouds below and succumbing to your fate. Five days with him, and then a flight home, too. It was supposed to be your anniversary. He’d booked a romantic cabin. You didn’t know if you’d survive.
When you landed, he didn’t even take your bags down for you. He slung his over his shoulder and walked away. You stared daggers at his back as you yanked yours down.
There was no reason not to be beside him, although you kept a minimum buffer of six feet between as you waited for your checked bags and the shuttle to the resort. It should’ve looked beautiful as you approached, the sun setting on the horizon and the palm trees in the wind, but it looked more like a prison. And then, you got to your cabin.
One bed, of course. This was a couple’s cabin after all.
“Looks like you’re taking the couch,” Leon taunted and entered the room. You left your things by the door and quickly tailed him to argue.
“Absolutely not, are you kidding me?”
“Who paid for this again?” he retorted with raised eyebrows and a tilt of his head.
Your face was scrunching and burning with anger. Every ounce of chivalry he showed when you were together was clearly dead and gone. You couldn’t argue with his point, though.
“You’re a real asshole, Leon. You were planning on soaking this trip up on your own, same as me.”
“Now neither of us can, since you decided to take advantage of it.”
“Oh, take advantage? Like you took advantage of your missions to oggle at other girls?”
That shut him up. It was the reason you broke up. It cut through the tension and hung in the air like Damocles’ sword. He grumbled and picked his bag up again, leaving the room in a storm, not missing the chance to bump roughly against your shoulder on the way out.
“Fine. You take it tonight, and then we’ll switch. Fair?”
“Fine.” You smirked with satisfaction as you moved into the room. We’ll see about that.
You closed the door and collapsed into the plush king-sized bed, letting yourself sink inside the fluffy comforters. You got up to unpack into the dresser, moving in with no intention of trading with him tomorrow, sighing as dusk took over the view outside the window. It really was beautiful here.
You made a decision: you were here, and the only thing that wasn’t perfect was your company. You’d do your absolute best to enjoy this trip in spite of him. Might even feel good to have him watch you being perfectly happy and blissful without him.
You itched to wash the airplane germs off of your skin. That’s when you realized the first obstacle to your relaxation: you’d marked the bedroom as your territory, making the rest of the place effectively his. You flinched as you turned the doorknob and put on a smug expression as soon as you opened it.
“I’m showering,” you announced as you beelined for the bathroom, not stopping to hear any response or even look at where he was.
Your second mistake was not bringing your nightclothes along with you, which you only realized when you turned the water off. You pulled the towel tightly around you and did your best to hold your head high as you beelined back to the bedroom. You groaned after closing the door behind you. Relaxing was gonna be harder than you thought.
Even more so when you got ready the next morning and remembered you’d exclusively packed your hottest, most flattering, boner-inducing bikinis in the hopes of having a steamy vacation rendezvous with a well-off stranger that’d make even the best romance authors bow before you. Maybe you still could, but Leon would be the primary individual who saw you wearing them. But you certainly weren’t bringing any bachelors back to your place. Leon’s bad attitude in the living room would scare them off if you even found the balls to try.
Whatever. This was your vacation, not his. Might feel good to know he sees all the heads you turn. Rub it in his face that you’re available to every man but him.
You wrap a skirt around you— not that it covers much, it’s more of an accessory— and leave your room.
Breakfast is on the stove, and Leon isn’t around. You shrug and grab a plate, filling it with room temperature eggs as you wait for bread to crisp in the toaster.
You lean back on the counter and take in the place you’re staying at. Tall windows with plenty of natural light shining onto the luxurious furniture and reflecting off the glass frames that house tasteful artwork on the walls. A fully stocked kitchen and hardwood floors that are begging to be covered in sand as evidence of your enjoyment. Everything so clean it practically sparkles. It’s not huge, but it’s nice. Really, really nice.
It would’ve been so much nicer if you were here for the intended purpose, if you weren’t newly single, if your ex wasn’t lurking around and was wrapping his arms around you instead, before your breakup transformed him into a raging dick.
The toaster pops and you take your plate to the table. You look at the sofa in the living room and see the tousled throw pillows and the lingering shape of his body still inlayed in the upholstery.
You look up at the sound of him entering from the bathroom wearing nothing but swim shorts. You quickly mind your business and look down to your next bite of food. You know what his body looks like, you don’t need to stare. You definitely don’t want a reason to add his rippling pecs and washboard abs to the things you should’ve been enjoying here.
Leon gazes at the stove as he passes through the kitchen on his way to his makeshift bed. “I see you helped yourself.”
“Yup. Went cold, though.” A hidden double meaning.
He raised a brow as he sat down on the couch, picking up the pamphlet on the coffee table. “You’re welcome for making enough for you.”
You sighed and leaned back in the dining chair as you swallowed. “I think we’d both appreciate not spending the week fighting. Can you do that?”
“Easy, we’re sure off to a great start.” Dripping with sarcasm.
He was really getting under your skin now. You rubbed your palms into your eyes and picked up your empty plate to throw it in the kitchen before grabbing your totebag of beachside essentials.
“Whatever, Leon. I’m going to enjoy myself regardless. See you around.”
He was very much distracted by your ass moving under your very small bikini as you walked out the door. He blinked to snap back to reality.
“Don’t charge your drinks to the room,” he called after you. You were far enough away that you could pretend not to hear. A drink was a great idea. Who cares that it’s still morning? You’re on vacation.
You really did enjoy yourself. You spent a good while walking around and exploring the resort, and you had absolutely zero complaints. The ocean glittered all around you, an inviting clear blue, you even saw some cute little fishes swimming under the piered walkway. You took a menu from the day spa and decided you’d absolutely book the sauna at some point. The main bar was empty of people, but you couldn’t wait to see it at night. It was kinda fun to roam around and pretend you could afford to be here on your own.
You’d killed an hour and a half and decided to head for the beach. The sun was rising towards noon and was starting to draw sweat from your skin, which made a cocktail sound better than ever. You hummed as your toes met the cool white sand and sauntered over to the beachside bar, all smiles as you relaxed onto the stool and ordered whatever sounded the most refreshing. The tender stopped you before you left with it to ask if you reserved a beach chair.
“Oh, I didn’t know they had to be reserved.”
“They’re all booked up for today. What’s your room number? I can double check if you have one?”
“Sure, thank you.” You sipped through the straw as they clicked on a tablet, until they shared the good news. It’d been reserved in advance as part of the package. “Amazing, thank you!”
You giddy stride as your day got off to a good start was cut short as you approached the chairs. It was just like the airplane, but now Leon had beaten you there. You had half a mind to turn heel until you remembered your goal not to let him rain on your sunny day.
You sat down with a huff, ignoring the way he looked over from under his sunglasses. You pulled out your book and settled in, cocktail still in hand, nestled under the shade of the wide umbrella above.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah, I am,” he replied.
You wanted to keep it civil, and the tense small talk was a start, but you just couldn’t bite your tongue, could you?
“I figured, plenty of girls in bikinis to keep you entertained.”
He looked up as he started ranting, waving his hands towards the sky like he was talking to god and not you sitting next to him. You closed the book you hadn’t even began as you watched him.
“I told you it wasn’t like that, jesus christ. I didn’t lie to you, I didn’t cheat on you, I don’t know how you expect me to prove a negative.”
You nodded slowly. “Sure fooled me. Guess you’re not even sorry anymore.”
He sighed and covered his hands with his face. He wasn’t lying, but explaining himself was just as impossible now as it’d been in the days-long argument before he threw in the towel, which in your eyes just confirmed that he’d exchanged you for another and used the argument as an excuse to drop the burden of being taken. He regretted the decision after, knowing it was driven by emotional impulse in the heat of an argument, and was ultimately the cowardly way out. The way you accepted it and left in a string of insults solidified it as a lasting choice. It made you certain that he’d actually done something wrong, and that frustrated him worst of all, especially as it was thrown back in his face.
But what was he to do? Try to get you back? He was the one who broke up with you, and the door back in was barricaded shut.
When you stood up and took off your skirt before announcing you’d go for a swim, unwrapping your body so close to him that he could smack your ass if he wanted, he decided he had to try. God bless polarized shades for assuring him you wouldn’t be able to see him watch you strut all the way into the water if you’d looked back.
He grumbled as you plunged below the surface, wetting your hair and reemerging like a siren. He reclined back and closed his eyes, pulling his knees up a bit to hide the tent that was forming in his shorts.
When you got out of the water, his chair was empty, and it remained so for the rest of the many hours you spent cozied up with your book and the melting ice in your cocktail. It was hard to focus on reading, though, as your thoughts always went back to the words he’d said.
There was still a part of you that ached to believe him, that wished it never happened and you could pick back up where you were. But he was the one who broke up with you. He didn’t want you. It wouldn’t be any closure to believe him because then you’d have to mourn a relationship that ended over nothing.
The sun on the outside and the alcohol on the inside pulled you into drowsiness, and the breeze lulled you to sleep.
You woke up with a start and rummaged through your tote bag for your phone. It was four in the afternoon. You’d totally slept through lunch, and now you were starving.
You rubbed the sleep off your face and decided to take another dip, letting the water wake you up, giving you enough energy to walk back to your abode. You thought Leon might be out until you saw the back patio doors were left open and you poked your head through to see him sitting on the edge, kicking his feet in the water as he looked out in the distance.
He hadn’t noticed you were there yet, and you couldn’t help but watch him. God, his back muscles were so hot. You walked back in to avert yourself.
“I’m back,” you called from the living room. He turned his head to see you. You sat on the carpet and stretched a little bit, enjoying the fresh air pooling inside.
“Hey,” he said, and gazed back ahead.
You furrowed your brow. He sounded kinda sad. Dejected maybe? Gloomy. It made you feel bad, because if he was, you definitely caused it. You just couldn’t help yourself. You paused and pursed your lips.
“I’m sorry for–”
“Don’t,” he interrupted. “It’s fine. I’m an asshole, I know.”
You inhaled to say something sharp, but he cut you off again. “No, I mean it. I’m not just saying it ‘cause that’s how you see me.”
You rocked on the ground, a puzzled expression on your face. It was the closest thing to an apology that you’d gotten so far, and remorse was the last thing you expected to come back here and find. You thought he had more to say, but he must have decided against it, because he stood and walked past you to the bathroom, leaving you alone and kinda confused.
Whatever. You didn’t have to help him with his emotions anymore. He’d relieved you of the job. You leaned forward and grabbed the pamphlet from the coffee table, looking for your restaurant options.
You felt a little weird as you sat alone at your table for two. You’d idly scanned around for wealthy benefactors, but they all had a well-dressed lady on their arm or a gold band on their finger. And none looked anywhere near as good as the man who was back in your room.
You rested your chin in your hand as you stared out at the amber sunset on the ebbing expanse of the ocean. The candle on your table flickered and birds chirped as they flew towards their nests for the night. Your food arrived and you dug in, then left cash on the table so you didn’t spend more time waiting around in silence.
You returned to find Leon kicked back on your bed, scrolling on his phone with his legs crossed. There goes your calm mood.
“Oh, hey. Food any good?”
“Are you seriously gonna make me sleep on the couch?”
He shrugged and didn’t look up. “You agreed. I swapped the blankets for you.”
“Unbelievable,” you muttered as you swiped up your necessities from the dresser and the bedside.
“If you really want to sleep here, we can share.”
“You wish, asshole.”
You closed the door behind you and fell into the couch. It felt like concrete compared to the bed.
The next morning, you woke up to the sound of clinking dishes and pressed the pillow over your ears with a groan.
“Morning sunshine,” you heard him mock through the pillow feathers. That was enough to ensure you woke up on the wrong side of the sofa.
It was all grumbles and slammed doors as you got yourself ready. You dragged your blanket back to the bed and returned his to the couch dramatically. And then, the daunting task of getting dressed.
Your hands hovered over a cherry red bikini with a smirk. That was one way to get under his skin.
You sauntered out of the room like you were unaffected by the sour start to the day. Sure, you could’ve put clothes on over your bikini for now, but where was the fun in that?
Leon, however, was made of glass. It was all too obvious the way his neck craned as he watched and his mouth ever-so-slightly parted.
You grabbed the sunscreen from the entryway and stepped onto the back patio, keeping the doors open as you covered your body in the sheer, glossy mist. You took your sweet time rubbing it in, literally and definitely figuratively. It was important to get in every nook and cranny, wasn’t it? You made sure you didn’t miss a spot, gliding your fingers an inch under the fabric in case it moved around.
You suddenly looked back up to catch Leon staring. He was caught red-handed and stuttered in a thin attempt to act like he wasn’t looking. You shook the canister in your hand.
“You need some?”
“Um, uh, yeah.”
He walked over to you all too quickly, acting like a desperate schoolboy. You smirked as he stood in front of you with visible nervousness, waiting.
“Here ya go.”
You shoved the sunscreen into his chest and walked away, leaving him there to die.
As you pulled orange juice from the fridge, you heard him scoff, and then the quiet sound of the spray. You didn’t watch. No way you’d make the same mistake he just did.
He set it firmly down on the kitchen counter as you sipped from your glass.
“That was cruel.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You flashed a smile so sweet it could’ve rot his teeth. He shook his head and gathered his things from the entryway. Sunglasses, sandals, other things in already in his tote (one you definitely bought for him).
“I’m hitting the beach. You coming?”
You grabbed the sunscreen and followed. “Sure.”
The tension was better now that you felt like you had the upper hand. You were actually able to read your book as the waves and bristling palm fronds sang a sweet white noise around you. Leon reclined his seat back to lay down, hands resting behind his head as he soaked up the shade, his earphones acting as a room divider between you. It really wasn’t half bad.
Before long it was time for lunch. You decided to avoid another unplanned nap and led the way back, being certain to put your hips into your walk as he followed slowly behind. The minute the door closed behind you, the easy vibes were over.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“Is it working?”
But instead of Leon walking away in a huff of frustration or returning a sarcastic jab, something in his gaze darkened in a way that made you feel almost scared. He took measured steps towards you until he was close enough that you stepped back to keep the distance, like he was closing in on his prey.
“You’ve been nothing but a bitch to me this whole trip, acting like you hate me,” he said, voice low and husky, looking at you from under his brow.
“I do hate you.”
You wished it sounded more confident as you tried to match his serious expression. The back of your thighs hit the sofa’s armrest and you gripped it to keep balance, trying to appear as if you were half-sitting on it casually, as if you weren’t just there because he’d cornered you.
“Then why are you acting like you want something?”
You inhaled sharply as he leaned over you, his hands on either side of the armrest, caging you in, so close you had to lean back.
Shit, maybe you’d gone too far. You looked back and forth between his eyes as you tried to get a grip on the situation and where it was going. You should’ve thought your teasing through.
He cocked his head mockingly. “Where’s all that venom now, babe?” He raised an index finger to curl under the string of your bikini that rested between your breasts, pulling it away from your skin and letting it go with a snap that stole your breath. “Y’don’t seem to be talking back now, huh?”
The air went thick as you held his eye contact. A smirk bloomed on his face. And then you were flying backwards onto the couch, and he crawled right over with you.
He was fervent and hungry, devouring your lips with wet, open mouthed kisses that were all tongue and spit. If you had ownership over your mouth you would’ve gasped, but you were struggling for air. You held onto his arms and felt the warm, stiff muscles of his biceps flexing in your grip, making you squeeze them tighter without even meaning to.
You also didn’t mean to arch your back, sending your hips curling against his hard dick in his boxers. You took in the much-needed oxygen as he unlatched from your lips, instead nipping and sucking the skin under your jaw, making him chuckle before he pressed his body closer into you, grinding against your bikini-clad center.
“Your mouth is much better used for this than all that smart talk,” he said as he put two fingers into your open mouth. You knit your brows as your tongue instinctively met the salty pads of his fingertips, and he pushed them further in response. The meat of his palm lightly pushed up from under your chin as he made a blunt command. “Suck.”
You held back from moaning around his digits as he grinded into you with more precision, feeling the wetness begin to seep out under the friction of your bikini as he rubbed himself against your clothed clit. Your head was spinning and you were lost in a daze as he slowly drew his fingers in and out of the vacuum of your mouth. Your eyes flitted open as he rolled his hips with intoxicatingly slow intention, and you found him staring down at you with cruel amusement.
You turned your head and all but spat his fingers out, pushing your hands against his pecs to get him off, but you didn’t try all that hard, really. You looked away from him in embarrassment.
“Get off of me, Leon.”
He pressed his cock against you firmly, keeping it there, ceasing his movements. Your body betrayed you as your hips twitched in search of movement.
“You sure that’s what you want?” He pressed in a little further and you swore you felt him throb against you. Or maybe it was your own sex that was throbbing. You weren’t gonna think about it enough to find out. You couldn’t think about anything when he leaned in and toyed with the hem of your top and took your legs tensing around him as permission to pull it down and latch onto your nipple.
“Oh,” you moaned in surprise at the sensation. It felt like ages since you’d been touched like this, or at all. His tongue slipped around your nipple in crude, soft circles. When he sucked it up into his mouth, he moaned around it, and the vibration sent an electric currents straight to your pulsing cunt. When he pulled off with a wet pop and started flicking up and down over it, you had to put all your effort into not writhing needily under him.
“Could do this somewhere else on you,” he mumbled before sucking and twirling his tongue again.
You felt like you were losing your mind. You needed to get a grip before you completely lost sight of your resolve. This was already miles beyond a bad idea; letting him go further would be insane. You really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, even as his hand brushed your stomach and traveled downward towards your navel. Especially then.
You pushed against his chest with a lot more purpose. “I said get off of me.”
He did, leaning back on his haunches, one knee in between your legs and another on the ground, arms up in a mock surrender.
“Whatever you say, babe.”
You scrambled to rise, yanking your bikini back in place and running your fingers sharply through your hair before you hightailed it towards the bedroom, face red and still out of breath.
“You’re a fucking pervert, Leon. Stay the hell away from me.” You knew he was smiling as you slammed the door behind you.
You felt gross. You could still feel his saliva coating your hard nipple under your top, could still feel his body heat on you. Worse, you were so turned on you felt dizzy. You changed out of your bikini to get the evidence off of you. You paused in horror as your bottoms were mid-thigh, heart hammering as you saw the thick, creamy evidence of your arousal. You bunched them up and threw them in the corner to get them as far away from you as possible, as if that’d separate you from the feelings in your body.
You shouldn’t have let him get that far, not even close to it. And you’d let him get so close to giving you more. Thank god you stopped him so he wouldn’t discover how wet a little dry humping had made you.
You threw on a fresh pair of underwear, the least sexy ones you’d packed, and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. You threw your hair up in a clip and stormed out, kicking your sandals on while you were halfway out the door.
“Where ya going?”
“Out,” you barked as you fumbled to step into your stupid non-cooperative shoes.
“Where to?”
“Away from you,” you turned to nearly shout as you finally got them on, and then you were off, hands in fists at your side as you walked towards you-didn’t-know-where.
You walked past the guest services building and past the bars and restaurants. You thought about stopping for food, but you’d lost your appetite now, and you didn’t want to sit out in the open where he might find you. A sign pointed towards a different shore than you’d been going to, so you followed it. A five-minute walk and your sandals met sand, and you just kept walking, putting as much distance between you and Leon as possible.
The effort of walking through soft sand in the beating afternoon sunshine forced you to finally slow down. The rigidity of your body from your wired nervous system was replaced by the soreness of your calves and the sweat you wiped from your forehead, forcing you to relax to conserve your energy, or at least focus on your body and not your racing thoughts. You should’ve brought the sunscreen, and you stepped under the shade of the palms that line the far side of the shore. Eventually, you reached the end of the beach where it curved into a small peninsula and sat down under a tree.
You were physically more relaxed, but as you gazed out at the water, your head was filled with the angry white noise of cement crushers and destructive heavy machinery loudly whirring and clanking. Your mind was a demolition zone as you grappled with frustration and confusion and the stupid, undeniable want that still throbbed between your legs.
You wished you brought your phone, but you’d left it in your beach bag. You could really benefit from phoning a friend right now. But what did you hope to hear? That you should kick him out somehow, or you should give him another shot, even if it’s just for hot vacation sex? You wished you could do both, and it made you want to rip your hair out.
You stayed there for a long while, until you calmed down enough to enjoy the scenery again, and decided it was best to avoid him altogether. Then you’d have less opportunities to speak and wouldn’t risk seeing the results of your provocations again, and you wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening or not.
When you got back, he made that hard. He had takeout sitting on the counter next to an unopened bottle of wine. The very kind you liked.
“What is this, an apology?” you muttered to yourself as you inspected the label. You grabbed a fork and a glass, took it all to your room, and ate cross-legged on the bed with your laptop open playing your comfort show. You were glad for the large windows, because even holed up inside, you didn’t miss out on the tropic amber sunset.
The wine didn’t help your thoughts, though. You were a touch dehydrated from your long walk, and one glass hit harder than it should’ve. You set the container of food down on the bedside table and curled into the sheets, arms wrapped around yourself. You weren’t trying to sleep, just waiting to be less tipsy.
Unfortunately, the sheets now smelled of him. Faint enough not to be overpowering, apparent enough to be constant. Pine and balmy musk, with a small hint of sharp spice. Distinctive and comfortingly familiar. The scent you used to savor on all his stolen hoodies, and steal the shampoo in his shower to take a part of him home in your hair.
The image of what happened earlier that day flashed behind your eyelids. You groaned in ire and pressed your thighs together. You flicked off the lamp, kicked your shorts to the floor, and ignored it until you slept.
You woke up. Day three. Two more days and you’d be on a flight home and could forget this ever happened.
But now your problems had doubled. Leon made himself impossible to escape. He stood in your way intentionally, forcing you to stand way closer to him than you wanted to before he moved, acting like he just wasn’t paying attention. He beat you to lunch plans, ordering food to the room, but of course he didn’t tell you that until you were just about to get ready to find a meal on your own, so you were stuck waiting in the room with him because for half an hour it’d be there “any minute”. And the bastard booked you both the sauna that night. Son of a bitch found the spa menu you took and knew you well enough to guess what you most wanted.
“I’ll pass.”
“Oh come on, I already paid for you. You didn’t pass up wasting my money to go on this trip, don’t start wasting it now.”
“Eat a dick,” you replied, but you were already moving to get changed.
The sauna was woefully small. You sat across from him but had to keep your legs in so they wouldn’t touch his. You had a full view of his cut figure as he rested his arms across the top of the seat and his jawline as it tipped back in relaxation. You closed your eyes and breathed in the steam as it filled the bamboo room, trying to relax and not regret agreeing to be here. But your worst mistake this trip, and maybe your entire life, was picking a brand new white bikini to wear.
“You really aren’t subtle,” he said, making your eyes slowly open in question.
“Excuse me?”
“I thought the red bikini was hot, but this one takes the cake.”
You followed his eyes to look down at yourself.
Oh no. No, no, no, this can’t be happening to me right now, you thought as you saw the dampened fabric that was once opaque cling like a second skin, clearly showing the outline and hue of your nipples on the top, and creasing along your folds on the bottom. Your knees banged together as you closed them and you crossed your arms against your chest, embarrassed beyond saving. He giggled as he watched, like it was the cutest joke he’d ever heard.
“How long were you staring before you told me?!” You cursed yourself for shopping online and not reading the reviews.
Leon shrugged. “C’mon, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I saw them just yesterday.”
You reached out a foot to kick him as your face grew hot. He’d seen your body in grotesque displays of nakedness, yeah, but you hadn’t planned on this. In fact, you were planning on never showing your naked body to him ever again.
With sympathy, he looked around at the sauna and listened for anyone outside.
“There’s no cameras in here, you’re fine. I’m right by the door, I won’t let anyone come in.”
You relaxed just a touch, but not enough to expose yourself. He scoffed disbelievingly at your shyness.
“Would it make you feel better if I took my shorts off? Then you’d be the most modest one in–”
“Shut up.”
“It’s a sauna, you’re allowed to be naked.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” you sneered.
He looked you up and down and you noticed he definitely had a bulge growing. “So what if I did?”
“‘So what?’ ‘So,’ you broke up with me, Leon. ‘So,’ you don’t get to paw at me like a horny teenage boy anymore.”
“You sure liked it yesterday.”
You turned in an attempt to face away from the truth in his statement, which only egged him on.
“My offer still stands.”
“What offer?”
“To do the thing you like with my tongue somewhere better than your tits.”
He leaned forward and the humidity billowed around him like smoke. From the corner of your eye you could see the moisture sticking to him, dampening his hair into a darker shade of brown, every crevice of muscle shining like he was oil slick in the low light.
You breathed out your thoughts. “You are so vulgar.”
You inhaled shakily as he sank down to his knees. “You didn’t say no.”
“I’m not gonna fuck you, Leon, and definitely not here,” you pleaded. But it fell on deaf ears as his big hands took hold of your knees and slowly pulled them apart. His eyes were blown as he looked up at you between kisses up your inner thighs.
“You don’t gotta fuck me,” he cooed between each soft peck, “just let me eat you out. Don’t gotta return the favor.”
He bit softly at the crease at the fork of your thigh and your cunt, making you gasp and twitch towards him, your legs spreading on their own and giving him just enough room to thumb under the hem.
“Hey,” he said lowly, interrupting your focus on squeezing your eyes shut. He looked up at you through the mist, his face inches away from you. “Lift your hips for me.”
You uncovered your chest and lifted yourself up, turning a blind eye to the way he hummed at the sight of your breasts before pulling your bottoms down to dangle around one ankle. You sat yourself back down closer to the edge so he could access you, and leaned back to accept your decision. He was already spreading you apart in his hands like he was marvelling at the sight.
There was no use in protesting now. You’d given in to him. The promise of an orgasm was too enticing to resist, because you knew how skillfully he’d get you there.
He slowly dragged his velvety tongue up your folds, letting it flatten on your clit before he flicked it back into his mouth with a bite of his lower lip and a furrow in his brow, like he just got a taste of the finest thing on earth and he was ready to dig in. Then he did it again, saliva pooling in his wake, adding to the sap that was escaping from your entrance.
It was getting hard to breathe through the steam, and you felt hot and dizzy all over. Each time he passed over your clit, your thigh twitched in his hands and left you desperate for more as he started all over again, excruciatingly slow.
“Stop teasing.”
“M’not,” he licked again, “just enjoying myself.”
“Thought this was for me, not you.”
“Hmm-mm,” he hummed the negative into you, “just said you didn’t have to get me off. Can get myself off just from this.”
Your jaw went slack at the sight of him pushing down his swim trunks to pull his cock free. He was already rock hard and leaking just from this. He pumped himself slowly, hands twisting to gather the leaking pre-cum at the tip, and rubbing it all the way back down.
He could be such a perv sometimes, needing it everywhere and anywhere. You wished it wasn’t so hot of him so you could close your eyes and imagine it was anyone else, but he looked way too good not to watch.
You arched your back, pushing your hips into his puffy mouth. He moaned just from that, gruff and unashamed of what he was doing and where. His arm flexed as he stroked himself faster as he pushed his face into your cunt, his tongue burying itself and fucking into you crudely. He shook his head from side to side and his nose rubbing against your clit made you moan a little louder than you should’ve.
He planted a kiss onto the sensitive bud. “Maybe I should stop, ‘know you can’t be quiet to save your life.”
You grabbed his hair and pulled those smiling lips back in. “I can be quiet, ahhh… you just, make it hard.”
“Oh yeah?”
He and his goddamn tactical precision, tongue finding your clit like a heat seaking missle. He caught your eye contact as he moved it back and forth until you were ready to combust.
Your breath hitched and you whispered a string of swears as he returned with purpose. “Leon, fuck… gonna make me cum, please.”
He went even faster, head all but thrashing to add to his speed. He pushed a finger inside with no precursor or warning. He curled it against your walls and that was all it took for stars to explode in your vision.
You whined and ground into his face as you came, nerves sparking and sizzling with electricity as your muscles seized and jittered towards his thirsty mouth that slurped every drop with wet and embarrassing sounds. He never showed any mercy when you came; his eagerness to taste you only ever drove him to a faster, deliciously sloppy speed, regardless of how it sent you reeling towards overstimulation.
Your thighs clamped down around his face and you tried to push him away by the forehead, but by the looks of his heaving back and arm pumping at breakneck speed, it wouldn’t be over until he was done.
But then he suddenly stopped, grunting and shaking as he lay his head on your thigh and squeezed the base of his cock. “I can’t cum here...” Clearly he was overheating, too. “Let me give you another, baby.”
“M’not your baby,” you huffed.
You winced as he stuck his tongue out to lick your sensitive folds once more. “I could cum here.”
The idea stole your breath away. Getting eaten out in a sauna was one thing (and was already pushing it, frankly), so there was no way in hell you’d let him creampie you here.
“That’s such a bad idea, Leon. It’d still be way too messy.”
He kissed up your body– taking special pause over your boobs, of course– until he was sucking at your neck. Slowly, his hand moved up and down his shaft again, the tip pressed into your inner thigh, which you had full view of as a bead of precum leaked out and smeared against the point of contact.
He spoke directly into your ear. “Could just eat you out again to clean it up. I’ll make it real good for you, promise. Just the tip?”
You held onto his shoulders as you quivered, and you looked down to see him not-so-subtly inching his dick closer to your entrance. Right now, you wanted it, you really did. To feel his girth fill you up, his length hammer against your g-spot, watch him fuck into you like he didn’t care who saw.
“J-just the tip. Only the tip.” He lined himself up, both of you looking down to see his head slip up and down your sopping hole. “Promise me.” He didn’t respond as he pressed it inside. “Leon, I’m so serious, don’t ahh, go any further, and don’t you dare cum in me.”
It drove you crazy the way he whined in a pitch too high to believe that he produced it. And that was his only reply.
He shallowly fucked you, holding your legs up around his waist as it glided in and out. You were surely leaving fingernail marks on his shoulders with how you held onto him, but it was the only way you could keep yourself from obeying your desperate pussy that fluttered in its desire to draw him further in.
“Feel so good, sweetheart. So fucking tight for me.” His tip was fully disappearing inside of you now, and maybe a centimeter more. “You fuck anyone since we broke up? Or you kept it just for me?”
You trembled as you watched him test his limits, seeing just how much more he could add before you stopped him, whispering such filthy things in the hope of obliterating your composure.
And the truth of it was that you hadn’t slept with anyone new. Leon was pretty blessed down there, and you highly doubted you’d win the luck of a draw if you had a one-night stand. It was an objective reality, not a matter of yearning, that you thought a random guy wouldn’t come close to comparing. So you didn’t even try.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Tell me, I wanna know. How many guys have you fucked since you’ve been gone?”
Your chest burned, but you answered in a squeak. “N-none.”
The truth was a bad answer. You should’ve said a hundred, or said that you met a guy with a giant penis who made Leon’s look like a marble. But you told the truth and his eyes lit up with that wicked, smug-faced smile. He thrust a little further in.
“Leon stop, you’re going too deep, you said–”
“That was before I knew how much she missed me. Fuck, can’t believe you saved it for me… I didn’t fuck anyone else either, never want another pussy. Look at her grip me, baby, look how wet you’re making my cock.”
You looked and really shouldn’t have because it was a filthy sight, and the blame was spread equally between you. You huffed as your body opened up, and he drove his hips forward harder, distracting you from how he abandoned his initial proposition by yanking your top down to grope at your tits. Your eyes rolled back as he twisted your nipples and he captured your mouth with his own, knowing you were on the brink of being way too loud again, muffling your sounds with his tongue as he sped up and bottomed out.
He couldn’t go too fast or else the sound of slapping skin would give away what you were doing, and it kept you right on the edge, teetering towards another orgasm like a tight rope walk.
“C’mon, give me another, fuck I can feel how close you are.”
His words made the knot tighten and tighten until it was nearly about to snap.
Then, the timer went off.
“Shit, shit,” he muttered as he clamored to pull out and bring his shorts up. He watched the door and blindly tugged your bottoms up to your knee to help you in your own flurry to recover yourself.
The minute you both stood, the door opened and a woman in black scrubs greeted you with a smile. You both froze like you were at attention, flashing your most convincing grins as she chimed, “time’s up! Did you enjoy yourselves?”
Leon rushed to speak and if your heart wasn’t pounding against your ribcage so bad it hurt, you would’ve laughed at his hands clasped in front of him to hold down his hard on.
“Absolutely! Could we get some towels?”
As soon as she turned around, Leon yanked the door closed again and turned around to tie his drawstrings. You gave yourself another once over as you scolded him as sharply as you possibly could in a whisper.
“I told you that was a bad idea, I fucking told you, are you out of your goddamn mind?”
“Shut up,” he grumbled as he palmed his cock like it’d deflate.
“Don’t tell me to–”
The door opened again and you both snapped back to niceties. Leon thanked her and grabbed them, tossing one to you as he rushed to pull his around his waist.
“I’ll give you two a minute. I’ll wait in the hall,” the woman said, leaving the sauna door open as she left.
You bumped into Leon rudely as you stepped out of the steam and into the air conditioning, rubbing your face with the towel and pressing it into your swimsuit to absorb the excess moisture in hopes it’d return to its dry opacity. He walked out a moment later looking criminally unphased.
“It’s fine, she doesn’t know, I’m sure they see that all the time.”
You clutched the towel to your chest as you turned to him. “That doesn’t mean we should risk getting caught. What if she does know? What if they kick us out?”
He rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. “Then they would’ve kicked us out. They didn’t, so relax.”
You bit your cheeks as your face twisted up, wanting to snap again. He probably thought you had nothing to come back with, but you had plenty. What made it hard to talk was how good he looked flushed and wet, chest still rising and falling with the remaining breathlessness, skin glossy with steam and sweat, muscles pumped and defined from his labors. You gumbled and looked for your clothes. “You’re so stupid, seriously.”
“Keep yelling at me, it’s helping me go soft.”
You threw your towel right in his face and tugged your shorts on with difficulty as your own damp skin clung to the cotton.
You stormed ahead with heavy steps pounding on the boardwalk as you rushed to get back to privacy. You let the door close behind you and heard him stop it from slamming in his face.
“Don’t be like that, you liked it.”
You were in a full on rage, pacing around aimlessly, arms waving in vexation. “Fuck you, Leon, seriously. I cannot believe how reckless you are, you have no consideration for anything but getting your rocks off.”
“You calling me a selfish lover? I remember it starting by getting you off.”
“Because you started it. You got on your knees and begged for it. It was your idea.”
He wasn’t put off by your little stormcloud at all. In fact, he was smoothly approaching you. You scoffed and pushed him away, but he followed at your heel to the bedroom.
“What are you even doing?” he said as he watched you enter.
You held the door and tried to close it, but he was standing in the way.
“Oh,” you laughed, “don’t even think I’m taking the couch tonight. If anyone’s ever deserved to sleep on the couch, it’s you.”
“You can take the bed tonight,” he shrugged cooly.
You blinked and rolled your eyes, leaving him standing in the doorway as you tried to find something in the room to act like you came in there for. You settled on pulling your hair and sitting on the bed, and you sighed in relief as he left.
But it wasn’t for long, because he returned with his blanket and tossed it on the foot.
“What are you doing?” you asked, only slightly simmered down after a moment to collect yourself.
“You can sleep in the bed, but it’s still my night, so I’m sleeping here too.”
“Like hell you are.”
“I don’t know why you’re so resistant,” he started as he walked around to be in front of you. “Clearly you want me, too. I mean, come on, letting me put the tip in?”
You shut your eyes as he stood over you, shaking your head in frustration at yourself as much as him, because he was ultimately correct. You felt his shadow cover you as he closed in. A shiver went down your core as his voice deepened close to you.
“We both know you want it, so let me finish what I started.” His hands trepidatiously swept up and down your thighs, and you hated how turned on you still were. You got so close to release before it ended so abruptly. “I’ll make it up to you, promise. I’ll be nice, I won’t bother you. I’ll make you cum until you’ve had your fill and then I’ll leave you be.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you watched your legs part again. You’d gone this far. He’d already fucked you, and despite your hot temper, he wanted to again. No use in not getting yours now.
You yanked him by the nape of the neck and connected in a searing kiss. He groaned as your hands tightened painfully in his hair and crawled on top of you, pushing you back onto the bed as he started fumbling with your shorts.
You opened your tongue to him as you raised your hips, letting him remove your shorts and bikini bottom in one fell swoop. He threw them somewhere behind him and returned to your top, reaching behind you to untie the strings and letting it fall out of place to expose you. You didn’t hide this time, and he relished in it even more, moaning at the sight of you coming undone before he pushed it all aside to grab and suck on your tits again.
You arched in search of his body heat and he eagerly provided it, grinding his hips into you once before deciding he couldn’t take feeling you through clothing a second longer. His mouth trailed down until he landed sloppy kisses against your cunt, sucking and lapping only a few times before he crawled over you again with a groan.
He smacked your still-sensitive clit as he stared down at you, lining himself up with a taunt.
“This what you need to feel better? Need my cock to stop your bitching?”
He thrust inside to cut off the possibility of further balk talk. You gasped at the feeling, already gone tight again in the time between the sauna and here, the friction of your walls grabbing at him as he entered. He hardly drew back before pushing in again, settling onto his forearms while he stayed flush to the hilt. Only then did he start a steady rock of his hips, bluntly coming down with force that made you cry out.
“You love taking this dick, don’t you? Just look at you, baby, already a fucking mess. You hear how wet you are? ‘Cause I can feel it.”
“Stop talking,” you whined, wrapping an arm around his back and threading your fingers through his hair.
“Mmm, you love my dirty mouth. You think I forgot what my girl likes? Think I don’t jerk off to the thought of giving it to you every night?”
He was right; you did love it. Every knock against your cervix was a thought-terminating cliché, and the filth paired with graphic confessions and the words ‘my girl’ made your head swim even more. And the the confession that made the earth tilt on its axis:
“Think I don’t still love you? Because I do.”
You felt it bloom and burst in your chest, though you couldn’t form words to reciprocate. He was everywhere: his warmth all around you, solid muscles and smooth flesh, the woodsy scent of his skin peppered with the tart musk of sauna sweat. The soft edges of his hair brushed against your face as they swayed with his hammering pace. All the little things you’d tried to get over and fought so hard not to miss, all the reasons you’d treated him poorly to push the yearning away.
“You should be thanking me after what a pain you’ve been,” he muttered the taunts against your neck and traced your pulse point with his tongue. “Shouldn’t be fucking you at all, but you just needed it so bad.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you breathed, not a trace of conviction in it.
He held you by the pit of your knee to drive in at a deeper angle, building momentum to go faster and faster.
“You love it.”
“I– oh– hate you…”
“Keep telling yourself that, babe. You love this dick a whole lot more.”
Your eyes rolled back as he gritted his teeth and hammered in, firmly holding you in his bulky arms as his navel slapped against you, and his cock smacked against your sweet spot. Pornographic sounds echoed in the room and the sheets were undoubtedly earning a wet spot, you could tell by the way he looked down at where you connected. You chanted ah, ah, ah, like a prayer and he folded you in half until each thrust pushed the sounds out of your lungs whether you wanted to be loud or not.
“Cum all over my cock, pretty girl, say my fucking name when you cum.”
Two sharp up tilted snaps of his hips and you fell apart under him, unable to see anything but heaven as your eyelids flickered. You moaned his name so loud you knew you’d feel ashamed later, but right now all you felt was ecstasy as he kept going while you writhed.
You barely started coming down to earth when you noticed him losing his grip, a smile twitching faintly before his face scrunched up in concentration.
“Let me fill you, please, let me cum in your pussy,” he begged.
“Do it, fuck,” you moaned at the mere thought.
He grunted and then his body seized in unsteady shakes and sputters, and your mouth fell open in a gasp as you felt it spill inside.
With every weak thrust he sank further and further down onto you, until he stilled and you were pressed firmly under his weight. You rubbed his back as your teeth buzzed and soaked in the sensation of his cock twitching inside.
You laid there in the afterglow and watched the dimming sunlight dance on the ceiling, wrapping your head around what happened today and the fact that you didn’t feel angry right now.
You patted him as his breathing evened so he didn’t fall asleep on you. He rolled off, both of you hissing as he pulled out, and then collapsed beside you with his arms above his head.
Damn him for being stretched out like a greek god. Damn you for loving it.
He caught your eye as you stared and neither of you could help but huff out a smile. It lingered there until he looked at your lips and then back to your eyes.
“Want me to make dinner reservations?” he asked in a rasp.
“if i go tonight, i doubt the world would change. i just pray they don’t forget my name.”
lexy | twenty two | black | nov scorpio | eren and jungkook’s pretty gf
before clicking any further my blog is 18+ and all my writing is nsfw!!! any minors or blank blogs that interact will be blocked with quickness <33 now that that’s out of the way pls enjoy my writing!!! also this is not a democracy any comment i don’t like will simply be deleted as well any hate in my inbox xoxo
attack on titan ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧
eren yeager
peaches and coconut + peaches and coconut pt 2 ft jean kirstein
peaches and coconut drabble #1 (eren teaches reader how to masturbate)
peaches and coconut drabble #2 (eren and reader have sex in the bathroom during a church service)
peaches and coconut drabble #3 (eren and reader have high sex in his car)
peaches and coconut drabble #4 (a glimpse of eren and reader in the future)
basketball player!eren x chubby!reader fic
basketball player!eren x chubby!reader pt 2
basketball player!eren x chubby!reader pt 3
plug eren hc’s #1, #2
plug!eren drabble #1 (eren fucks readers mouth w his glock)
plug!eren drabble #2 (eren pulls his glock out on someone while he’s w reader)
plug!eren drabble #3 (reader sucks eren off while his glock is pointed at her head + reiner cameo)
plug!eren #4 (eren and reader discuss his hair length before having nasty sex)
plug!eren drabble #5 (reader is craving skin to skin contact and eren helps)
plug!eren drabble #6 (eren punishes reader for being bratty)
aftercare w plug!eren
nerd!reader x eren drabble #1
nerd!reader x eren drabble #2
jailbird!eren drabble
toxic baby daddy eren fic
mma fighter!eren drabble
childhood best friend eren fic
aot boys squirting hc’s
rough sex w eren drabble
ceo!eren fic
nerd!eren x nerd!reader fic
eren eating pussy w grills in
sex w toxic bf!eren
nerd!eren drabble #1 (eren has a big dick)
nerd!eren drabble #2 (eren’s first bj)
nerd!eren drabble #3 (eren cums a lot and loves to be overstimulated)
nerd!eren hc’s
oral fixation drabble
incubus!eren drabble
actor!eren x playmate!reader
sticky! sticky! sticky! ft. suguru geto
bfs!geto x eren drabble #1
musician!eren
best friend!eren drabble
your teeth in my neck
giving bf!eren head while he’s otp
construction worker!eren hcs
jean kirstein
raw
aot boys squirting hc’s
oral fixation drabble
armin arlert
pervert!armin hc’s
pervert!armin fic
aot boys squirting hc’s
bfs armin & choso #1
bfs armin & choso #2
connie springer
plug!connie drabble (lil intro to plug!connie)
plug!connie hc’s
angeleyes
make me juno (angeleyes au)
levi ackerman
plug!levi hc’s
semi sub!levi drabble
aot boys squirting hc’s
reiner braun
aot boys squirting hc’s
oral fixation drabble
househusband!reiner hc’s
mikasa ackerman
sub!mikasa drabble
erwin smith
bfs nanami & erwin
onyankopon
bf!ony puts you in your place
jujutsu kaisen ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧
toji fushiguro
the girl next door
rendezvous
stretch you out
sheriff!toji
69in’ with bf!toji
public sex with fwb!toji
jjk men as my fav sexy songs
kento nanami
nanami putting you in a full nelson
dry humping with nanami
bfs nanami & erwin drabble
jjk men as my fav sexy songs
gojo satoru
hide n’ seek
drabble of satosugu eating it at the same time
jjk men as my fav sexy songs
geto suguru
plug!geto x reader
pussyjob with plug!geto
sticky! sticky! sticky! ft. eren yeager
bf!suguru drabble
plug!geto drabble
bfs!eren & geto drabble #1
drabble of satosugu eating it at the same time
throat training w/ bf!sugu
jjk men as my fav sexy songs
choso kamo
drabble about choso getting milked
feelz
bfs choso & armin #1
bfs choso & armin #2
ryomen sukuna
jjk men as my fav sexy songs
tokyo revengers ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧
draken
big dick kenny drabble
ran haitani
drabble about getting slutted out by ran and rindou
rindou haitani
drabble about getting slutted out by ran and rindou
The first thing Jean and Marco Kirstein do for their first free day back on Paradis, is bringing their children to a fully in bloom garden.
The sun has risen over the horizon and yet the overworked 22-year-old man refuses to open his eyes. He can feel the heat reflecting onto his half-naked body, slipping through the thin curtains, he simply turns to face away from the morning light.
Yesterday was such a pain in the ass that he’d much rather lay underneath the cozy bed sheets all day; lying next to the one he holds dear. Speaking of which, he suddenly feels a much better warmth placing onto his arm. It shifts closer until its lips press against his forehead. The man cannot help himself opening one eye to gaze upon the smiling face before him.
“Good morning, Jean dear.”
“Mmm, you too Marco.”
Such soothing voices they love to hear every morn.
“What time is it exactly? Feels like I’ve been sleeping forever.” The taller man rubs one of this eyes as he sits up in their bed, the other eye stares out of the window.
“About eight at least, so not too long.”
“Really? *yawn* bit early don’t you think?”
His husband is more of an early bird than Jean is; always right as rain to give him his best smile to wake up to. However, he’s not sure on why still so early, as today is suppose to be their first day off in a long while. Guess some habits never do go away so easily.
Sorry, but you know how a little someone will get cranky if we sleep in.” Marco reminds him, gesturing his head towards two cribs over in the corner of their bedroom.
Jean’s sleepy eyes get the picture. “Oh yeah.”
Standing up steadily, the taller man walks his way over to those said cribs, staring away adoringly at two small buds snoozing soundly. One of them being a brown haired boy clutching onto his blanket, the other, a girl with a similar brown shade of hair like Jean, nibbles her nail in her sleep. Such precious angels for the young couple.
When was the last time Jean felt such peace when looking at them like this? Normally he’d end up feeling sad for as soon as he got up, he and Marco would call in a sitter while they prepare for a long day of ambassador work. Yes, they could’ve gotten some days off but some tasks were never easy for just their friends to tackle alone; especially when it came to dealing with the Jaeger Faction.
But now that things have quiet down for the time being - thanks to Historia - they’ve been given their needed day off to spend time together as the new family they should be. On such a warm day too.
Jean is so overjoyed from the inside he can’t help but lift his sleeping daughter into his arms - he does his best to not wake her up. Doesn’t last long as the little girl blinks awake, rubbing her baby blues in the same manner as her daddy did earlier. A grumble escaped.
“Sorry, baby.” Jean whispers. “But good morning to you.”
All she does is rest her head into his shoulder for comfort. Marco, whom is right beside them, smiles blissfully and the wholesomeness of the interaction. He reminds himself to pick up their son from his sleep as well; he’s not as fussy as his twin sister as he remains asleep when lifted.
It feels like an hour of the men just gazing and gently rubbing circles on each toddler’s backs, but it’s all they really need right now. Despite that, Marco is the first one to speak.
“So you think it’s about time we get changed and have breakfast?”
“Isn’t it better to wait for them to fully awake first?” Jean asks in a half-pleading tone, as if he just wants to stay holding his daughter all day.
Marco lightly giggles. “We have all day to play with them. Right now we all need something to eat.”
“Alright, alright.”
The content couple agree to carefully have their children lie down on their bed, with one of them keeping a close eye whilst the other changes in the washroom. It doesn’t take too long for each of them to slowly wake up by themselves - the girl getting instantly confused once her eyes fully open.
“Dada?” She speaks suddenly.
Hearing that word makes Marco’s heart feel full.
-
It’s around some time after half-past eight now and the stomachs of the Kirstein family are filled up. They remain seated in one of the hotel’s private eating rooms, attempting to feed their little ones with what’s left on their plates. While the boy’s a bit fussy, their daughter gulps it all down like it’s nothing - she does have big enough appetite for her age.
The warmth from outside continues to shine through the windows and onto Jean’s skin, he cannot resist looking out at the clear sky weather, and on that note also notices the hotel’s back garden.
Summer has just came into season and so has all the flowers out there. There must be dozens of different colors blossoming in the sunshine; there’s some blue, some purple and most yellow. Not to mention many touches of green from the trees, hedges and plants surrounding the place. Everything together appears more stunning than any painting Jean’s ever seen.
His husband along with his daughter seem to both notice the awe on his face. “Beautiful out there, huh?”
“Hm?” Jean turns around. “Yeah, definitely.”
”When was the last time we ever saw a garden in full bloom?”
Jean knows Marco isn’t attempting to lower the mood at all, but it still brings back some sorrowful memories. He’s right though; throughout the past years there’s been nothing but plain fields left to right. They were very thankful to have seen the vegetation on Paradis growing well.
“Couldn’t say.” He replies softly with a smile. “But it’s nice that the moment is now.”
He stares down at his little girl, who herself is staring out at each flower bed. Turning towards her freckled dad on the opposite side of the table, she babbles in a slightly demanding tone:
“Walk.”
The men should be surprised to hear one full word coming from their daughter’s mouth but they have been told by the sitter a few times that their kids have been developing their sense of speech very quickly for their age, so they’ve been expecting this. What they didn’t expect was for her to sound super instructing.
“Walk?” Now the little boy speaks too, only more like questioning as if it’s what they’re doing next.
“Well Rosie, we could go outside but only if you ask nicely. Okay, sweetie?” Jean gives her the ‘fair but firm’ look down at her.
For a few seconds, Rosie plays with her fingers while looking a little sad in her eyes. Her pouty face reminds Marco of Jean from their youth a lot - he thinks it’s cute.
“Walk pwease?” She repeats, more politely this time.
“Of course we can.” Jean smiles.
Marco thinks to himself as he picks up their son - whom I should state his name is Philip -from his lap: ‘I never thought I’d see him acting so doting yet understanding to children, including his own. Seems we really made the right choice that day.’
-
One step out of the door and the tender, calming breeze is the first thing they experience. The ringing of an old wind chime somewhere in the garden only adds to the natural atmosphere, so peaceful and so inspirational. Jean and Marco take a good look around and spot a wooden bench over by the patch of daisies, in fact, Rosie happily points to the area like she recognises it (the sitter must’ve taken them out here times before) and so they decide to go and sit.
Well, actually, Rosie keeps on babbling in joy, pointing at any flower they cross, nearly falling out Jean’s arms from her squirming. Good thing he has a good grip or else her fragile toddler body would get seriously hurt from the stone tiles beneath. She seems to really love this place as much as her dads do, so once she’s done wriggling does Jean place her down on her feet to go exploring.
“Remember, don’t let go of me while we’re here.” Jean informs the distracted Rosie, but she nods anyway.
As they slowly walk at a pace to have her at his side, Marco keeps an eye on Philip, keeping him close to his chest on the bench. Seems he can’t take his eyes off of those daisies either, naturally, it gives him an idea.
The flowers all look much prettier up close than from the window; all of them dance in the summer breeze delicately. Whenever Rosie walks across one which she likes, she bends down to gaze and take a whiff. Jean occasionally does the same when Rosie pleads him to do so - he does stop her if she tries to pick any of them too.
“Wantit!” She whines over a pinkish dahlia so badly that her voice pitches to a squeak.
“Sweetie, we can’t just pick flowers from the hotel’s gardens. Besides, if you pick those flowers they’ll die.” Jean attempts to be calm and explain to his fussing daughter.
Thank god it took less than a minute for her to calm down - usually she’d move on to the crying - and buries her face into the crook of her dad’s neck.
“Don’t be sad, Rosie.” Jean coos whilst rubbing her back. “Do you wanna see what papa and your brother are doing?”
Sniffling is all he receives.
They both head back now only to be greeted with a stunning surprise. Marco has Philip sitting next to him on the bench, weaving together daisy crowns as steady as a turtle. Their son already has one upon his head so the other small one Marco is currently on must be for Rosie. He jolts a little once he notices his husband standing next to him.
“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He chuckles.
“I-It’s fine. I… knew you can braid hair but daisy chains as well?”
“Growing up with a younger sister, you’ll end up doing these sort of things.”
“I see. Can I maybe try?”
Marco gives a confused look at his husband; not that he finds Jean making flower crowns weird, he’s just never asked him before. He scoots over on the bench to make room for Jean, which he does and then turns Rosie over to show her papa’s masterpiece.
“Look darling. Papa has made this for you. What do you think?” Jean smiles once again.
Instead of being moody and turning her head back again, she gleefully perked up and shows grabby hands towards it. Marco gently places it on top of her head as if crowning a little princess. She returns the favor with a tiny giggle which is like music to both of her dads’ ears.
“Do you like it baby? What do you say?”
“Than’ wou.” Rosie attempts to say ‘thank you’ with her babbly way of speaking at her age.
“Aww, you’re welcome sweetie.”
Her smile is almost as bright as Marco’s. Whenever they see it, they can’t help but smile back. So now that she’s happy again, they leave her at the side to play with her brother, their little crowned prince. As they watch them play, Jean places his arm around his freckled husband in awe of the familial moment. Marco lovingly gazes back at him… and then back to Rosie… pondering.
“You know, she’s growing to become more like you, Jean.”
“Really? How so?” He asks.
“One minute she can pretty grouchy and act in charge, the next she shows a much sweeter side. A lot like you if you ask me.”
“Har har. Very funny.”
“I mean it. Things have been rough on you for the past few years, but every time you see our children you act like your usual self again. I can’t wait for the day for things to eventually calm down so we can be like this again. Be a real happy family.”
Jean feels like crying happiness right now. He’s extremely lucky to have married this man, his closest friend to his lover, whom wishes the same as himself - a wish they’ll for certain make true. Looking back at the baby twins smiling, their own little buds are still growing, and they wish for them to sprout within a peaceful world. One where they can play in and have fun as children should; a far cry from the walled in military they grew up in.
The couple stare at each other once more before leaning in for a quick kiss on the lips. Jean breaks it first for his response:
*IF YOU ARE A MINOR, AND YOU SEE A FIC TITLE ON THIS LIST WITH THIS EMOJI BESIDE IT: 🔞 PLEASE DNI WITH THE WORKS LISTED BELOW AS THEY ARE 18+ ONLY! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!*
Shelter (Daryl Dixon)
Reunited (Levi Ackerman)
Meeting The Prince (MHA Fantasy AU Prince!Shoto Todoroki)
Take A Break (Timeskip!Katsuki Bakugo)
Reunited After The War (Post War!Levi Ackerman)
She Misses You Loki (Loki Laufeyson)
Promise (Hero AU Pro Hero!Touya Todoroki/Dabi)
Escape (Loki Laufeyson)
Cage Fight | Rogue (Logan Howlett)
Reunited (Bruce Banner)
Promise Me... (Peter Quill)
Challenge Day (T'Challa)
Going To The Carnival (Shoto Todoroki)
Phil? (Agent Phil Coulson)
The Kissing My Best Friend Challenge (Katsuki Bakugo)
No Regrets (Levi Ackerman) *STORY CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE ATTACK ON TITAN OAD EPISODE(S), NO REGRETS AS WELL AS SOME OF THE NO REGRETS MANGA! IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE EPISODE(S) OR READ THE MANGA, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY UNLESS YOU WANT TO READ MAJOR SPOILERS ANYWAY! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!*
The Truth (Loki Laufeyson)
The Stone's Warning (The Vision)
Worst Fear (Tony Stark)
The Prisons (Loki Laufeyson)
Together (Tomura Shigaraki)
With A Bottle of Wine (Pro Hero!Shoto Todoroki)
Hiding (Owen Grady)
You'll Always Have Me (2012 TMNT Raphael Hamato)
One-On-One (Prince Vegeta)
Sharing (Isaac "Zack" Foster)
A lingering kiss before a long trip apart (Pro Hero!Katsuki Bakugo)
A lingering kiss before a long trip apart (Pro Hero!Izuku Midoriya)
chapter summary ; Jean was used to silence. he never expected it to be heard near you, however, and he never expected to see you under the moonlight, seething.
chapter warning ; angst, daddy issues (?LMFAO), major historical inaccuracies but its for the plot, lesbian situationship/unrequited love (for the plot. again), idk if the plot of this makes sense yet but please bear with me
a/n ; sorry for abandoning this fic i genuinely forgot how to write for it but then i reread it and turns out i kinda just adopted this writing into the rest of my fics. so. anyway! hope you enjoy this :)
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Jean wasn't used to his house being quiet.
The halls always echoed of sounds that stuck to the walls, to the perfectly carpeted floors, to the panes of the many windows that decorated the structure. It was either his own merriment - his band of clowns, as his mother had termed it, that were the sole cause of the noise, or it was the peaceful silence that rarely came with their company - the type of silence that felt enjoyable, a quiet that came as a repercussion of being alive.
No, Jean wasn't used to his house being quiet. Which is why it sent shivers down his spine when it finally did.
On the incredibly rare occasions of when his father - Viscount Kirstein, he would demand to be called - acknowledged his own home with his cold presence, the halls remained silent. Every footstep caused a heavy thud. The crumpling of paper sounded like thunder splitting up the ceilings. The house felt like a skeleton without life, a corpse bled dry, despite having living organisms feeding it.
Jean knew he’d never get used to that suffocating silence. But what Jean didn't know, however, was just how silent it would be after his father passed. Moving from the countryside to his father’s estate in the gentle bustle of the town, with the halls that he had called his own left behind, the bones of this new house felt hollow. Empty. Devoid of the affection that tainted the bricks of his previous one. Despite the same people living inside its walls, there was the same impending silence that Jean couldn't quite shake, leeching into his organs, threatening his tendons.
It was the same silence that choked him now. His collar seemed to be too tight around his neck, the cuffs of his sleeves felt mismatched, riding up his arms waiting to be pulled down again.
He did what he was asked to do. Exchanging his smiles with the all-too-important crowd that blurred into faceless figures draped in the season’s fineries, humming in agreement about the taste of the wine despite not having had a taste himself, nodding to unimportant tales of a family that was on the cusp of being ruined. The glittery glow of the candles did nothing to ease him, burning under his lids as he blinked.
Marco’s eyes on his despondence barely went noticed by everyone but Jean. His mother seemed to be mingling well, having left his side the moment she entered in favour of some ladies he barely remembered the names of. His best friend cleared his throat from Jean's side, leaning towards his ear to whisper, “are you doing alright?”
Dark brown eyes cloaked in concern, and the silence in Jean's ears lessened, though its weight remained. He nodded once, letting himself hear the melodies of the orchestra echo throughout the wide room, battling the sound of the crowd itself.
“I just need some air.” he said, adjusting his collar for the nth time that night.
“We just have to greet the host,” Marco confirmed, his eyes roaming the room, threading through the faces until he found the one he was looking for. With a warm smile gracing his lips, Marco nodded to the person of interest. Sometimes Jean wondered why Marco couldn't have been born in his place. He seemed more suited for the roles that trapped himself - Marco was more of a leader than Jean ever could be, despite his extensive and forceful training, why Marco couldn't be the one born as a Kirstein, why fate decided on the least likely fit to be the one to bear the unfortunate title rather than his Advisor.
Jean’s eyes followed his. The crowd seemed to part in interest of the host, some bowing their heads in a respect that Jean wasn't entirely sure was earned.
Lord Ackerman's posture was pin straight. Well taught, well learnt, well performed. His hair is trimmed, beard clipped close to his cheeks, enough to show his age but hide his wrinkles, vain in a way that was only expected from men. Beside him was who Jean knew to be Levi Ackerman. His performance was less of the act that Lord Ackerman portrayed, hands behind his back with a bored expression, eyes remaining sharp, studying Jean under the too-bright lights.
Jean bowed just as the crowd did. “Lord Ackerman. Thank you for hosting this evening,” he says. Practiced, precise, jaw clenched. Making sure his smile - polite and small and barely-there - remains intact through it all, he feels like he’s wearing a mask of himself. Forced upon his face, strategically placed just as the colour he was wearing tonight.
He feels eyes on him. Observant and knowing, making his own eyes glance towards the room to find them, impatient.
Ah.
You look beautiful. He knew as much - you’re beautiful even under a large coat, hiding your entire figure in darkness, even under the deep shadows of the night with nothing but the dim glow of the moon shining the sides of your face. You stand now, however, dressed in the same shade of blue as the night that he had met you in, your face shining under the thousands of twinkling candles, highlighting the pupils of your eyes and the softness of your cheeks, your eyelashes casting a soft shadow on the apples of them.
For a moment, he’s in awe. For a moment, a slight mishap, his mask falls. But it’s back on his face again as Lady Ackerman, whose voice is shrill against the band that plays its peaceful tunes furiously, tells him that she’d introduce him to Mikasa.
Jean glances at her, nodding in agreement, smile remaining on his face. If Marco notices anything, he makes sure it remains unknown. Lady Ackerman makes quick work, dragging a rather pretty young lady towards him, with your hand looped into hers. For another moment, brief and soft, Jean swears the silence in his mind ceases completely, just as it does on the nights his sleep is a far fetched thought, just as it does when the sound of your scribbles carve themselves into the soft flesh of his brain.
But the moment passes, and Marco answers the question that was not directed towards him. “yes, only recently. About two months I’d say? Right, Jean?” he says, his eyes scanning the side of Jean's face.
He nods and states something in vague agreement. Lady Ackerman has her arms proudly around her daughter. Her dark hair is pinned neatly behind her head, only a few strands escaping its forced placement, her gown matching his suit - perfectly tailored, gold ornamenting it with gaudy simplicity - deep red. An indirect contrast to the dress you were wearing, and Jean couldn't help but observe; as artists living under a precarious guise usually do, that you were the only one dressed in blue within this family, a silent but obvious outcast.
You - his artist - did not belong with them.
With his mask falling back into its rightful and grand place, he acknowledges Lady Ackerman introducing Mikasa, who bows just as practiced. Jean does the same, capturing her gloved hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles, his other arm pinned behind his back. By the time his spine straightens, you're nowhere to be seen.
“We are glad to have you here,” Lord Ackerman's voice rings out, deep and commanding attention.
Jean shakes his head, his smile remaining cemented. “It is my pleasure,” he says. The silence rushes into his ears again, deep and condensed, settling against his eardrums like thick cotton, reminding him what he’s here for.
He sets his eyes back on Mikasa again, lacking much of the warmth that would usually be seen towards his closest comrades, towards his artist, clearing his throat. He makes sure his smile is charming and inviting before uttering the statement that he’s sure locks the cage he’s trapped in even further, the bars tightly closed with no chance of escape. “Would you like to join me for a dance, My Lady?” he asks her, unrecognizable to himself.
With a glance towards her mother - who only nods with a well-concealed threat - she casts her thundering eyes towards Jean, nodding with not much choice.
He smiles with faux satisfaction, offering her his arm to take, leading her to the dancefloor that waits for them, his shoes making no noise.
“You’ve learnt this dance well, Lady Mikasa Ackerman," Jean comments, his feet stepping to the sound of the orchestra, the strings playing out a familiar tune.
Mikasa is shy. This is what he prefers to deduce - not that she, much like him, is being forced into a life that hadn't felt like hers to begin with - because being under a facade is preferred over becoming the corpse of their living bodies. She maintains her distance, keeps eye contact as she answers, "I've been taught from a young age. Same as you, I presume?” she asks with not much room for him to answer.
Jean tries to enjoy himself. If this were him more than a year ago, he would’ve been sure to join the festivities with his friends by his side through his forceful and tempting persuasion. Not that he had to persuade Connie Springer to join a party - the mention of merriment would spark a glint in the man’s eyes. Sasha Braus didn't need any other reason to join a plan other than the prospect of glorious food. Marco would have joined him regardless, much as he is now, but rather than staying silent at his side, Jean would often find him charming people (mostly ladies) with an easygoing smile and strategic conversations.
But so much wasn't right. Springer wasn't here, weaving himself through the crowd with music in his steps. Braus wasn't there to flock around the tables of pastries, and Marco remained glued to the wall, knowing his place in this town.
His comfort was nowhere to be found. He was sure he dreamed up his artist in a shade of indigo that only accentuated your eyes, as you had slipped away like a ghost, away from his presence.
He was nowhere to be found. He doesn't recognize what he’s saying, and he doesn't know who this performance of himself has become.
But he continues. Presses on - he knows if he is to be wedded to Mikasa, he would not let her remain a stranger sharing his walls.
“What do you interest yourself in?” he asks. He feels like a little boy again, a dusting of pink scattering across his cheeks as he wants to shrink in embarrassment of the obvious prodding.
Surprisingly, Mikasa's lips twitch. For a fraction of a second, as if she finds either him, or the situation, amusing. Entertaining. Jean wants to breathe a sigh of relief.
He does not need this to be pleasant. No, pleasant and comfortable are reserved for someone else. He needs this to be tolerable.
Yes. That is what he settles for.
“I… suppose reading does.” she says curtly. After a beat, she asks, “and you?”
There is an air of obviousness. A bare open conversation flows between them, and under the guise of small, well worded questions lie a larger confession. They do not wish for this, but this is what they’ve gotten dealt with. They did not wish for this, but they can make it less hellish for each other by being tolerable.
Jean answers. Tells her, making sure to keep up with the rhythm, that he enjoys playing parlor games that he’s grown familiar with.
He asks her what she prefers to read. She tells him she’s interested in History and Geography - books that Jean would not personally reach for. She asks him what his favourite parlor game is in return, and the dance continues much like the game that Jean prefers - his turn, and then hers, and then his again.
Tolerable. That is what they settle for; an unsaid understanding.
Marco’s promised breath of fresh air arrives just after the two finish their dance, Mikasa excusing herself, leaving Jean to find Marco.
His best friend stands outside the main venue, near the doors of the hall overlooking the garden. At night, its beauty is less noticeable, flowers lost under darkness, grass only partially shining under the soft glow of the heavens. But they make themselves present by providing a home for the cicadas that chirp their own symphonies of the night, away from the stringed quartet that plays out inside with the clinks of glasses and tinkling of jewelry.
“How did you fare?” Marco asks, a cheeky smile replacing his polite mask as Jean finds himself beside him.
Shaking his head, he breathes out an incredulous laugh. “I’ll be sure to ask her grading of me, if that is what you're asking.” he says, unsure of how to feel with the proclamation he had been dealt with, the sudden air he’d been given after being suffocated by this godforsaken collar-
“You just need to feel comfortable around her.” Marco says as a light, helpless suggestion.
Jean sighs. Nods because he understands, but his mouth tumbles a “It might take a while.”
There's a brief silence. Jean tries to pay no attention to the way Marco is looking at him; placating, concerned, understanding despite not being in his shoes, and instead decides to immaturely kick around the dirt near his perfectly polished shoes, the leather almost reflecting his own face through its weathered wrinkles. The cicadas chirp in the cool summer night, restless, and Jean’s slight shuffle seems to harmonize with their symphonies. If the night was perfectly silent, he would hear the rustling in the bushes that could be mistaken for some simple wind playing with the leaves, but Jean pays it no mind, all too consumed with the silence within and around him.
“I’m not looking for a….grand love match,” Jean says. Declares, really, because he’s already made up his mind about this topic only a couple nights ago, when he’d found out about it. His father’s will and his perfect handwriting - poised and taut - and Jean's own undoing loyalty brought him to send a letter to Lord Ackerman. It only so happened that the Ackermans were in a dire enough position to find their funds dwindling, needing help from the Viscount.
Really, Jean had no choice but to obey. He’d been taught how to since his childhood, given to him as a far-off scenario with a hopeful future. No, Jean had no choice because his father had conspired with Lord Ackerman, waging off the children's future for an - although sizable - tangible fee.
“Im not.” he says, convincing himself with finalty. “Love is the last thing I desire. The point of any of this is simply to tolerate each other long enough for us to be recognized by the king and queen. And if the Ackerman's prized possession can bring this as such, then so be it. I will find it in myself to tolerate her.” he says. His words are forced, clipped to their letters, allowing no room in his mind to argue.
There’s another pause. Jean prepared for a reprimand from his friend, but it came in the form of, “You know i can tell when you’re ly-” cut off by a noticable CLANK.
In the bushes. Jean should've known. Really, he should've known this silence was being heard by someone other than himself.
“Who’s there?” he asks loudly, stepping forward to a direction he’s unsure of. Before any answer, he finds his feet leading him towards a suspiciously tall bush that would be beautiful in the sunlight, but bathed with shadows seems like a thief. Like a mask.
There's another rustle, to which he replies, “you’re not being slick, i can hear you-”
Ah.
Its you.
The brilliant, deep blue of your gown almost blends in with the night, almost enough to make you invisible with the lack of any jewels to show your being, your hands curled up at your sides. Your hair shines under the moonlight as if the night only basks its spotlight for you, following you everywhere you go. Or at least, that’s how Jean sees it. It's you, his artist, under the glorious moonlight, just as when he first found you, just as he kept finding you, stealing his nights with witty comments under your breath and whispered laughs.
“It's you,” he breathes out, eyes scanning every bit of you, memorizing it like he’s studying his painting subject.
But you're looking at him with…. mild disgust?
Marco finds his footing next to Jean as he always seems to. Jean pays him no mind, even as he introduces himself to you with his usual charming smile, lips stretching as if he was the one who was acquainted with you before this meeting.
“Fine evening, isn't it? Marco Bodt, the Viscount’s Advisor,” he says, his arm stretching out to take your knuckles into a polite kiss as greeting.
You eye his hand. For a moment, nothing happens. But when you do start, when your hand does stretch towards his - Jean's blood almost boils - it shakes Marco's hand.
Confusion blooms across his friend’s features, exchanging the same glance with Jean. Your gloved hand returns to your side again, and you're back to how you’d been discovered; angry. At Jean, it seems, and he only smiles a little in a way that seems natural with the conversation he’s used to having with you.
“Pleasant evening, is it not?” he asks, repeating his friend’s greeting, trying not to seem too giddy in seeing you without your guise.
“It was. I… hear you’re planning to wed Lady Mikasa,” you speak, voice cold.
Jean steps back, if only slightly, in surprise.
“I…am.” he says. He’s unsure of his place - he’s familiar with you. Arguably more than he would be with most other people in this town. Yet you act like you’ve never met him. Or worse, that you’ve been burnt by him before he was even aware of the spark.
Oh, he knows this silence. He realises this after you’d called Mikasa by her first name without her last. He realises it with ice spreading in his veins. The silence is louder now, more noticeable, the cicadas seemed to have stopped chirping, the world stopping completely to hold its breath. Not in anticipation, but in dread.
Yes. He knows this silence. It sits in his bed, waiting for him to crawl into it, to give into the truth that lies within it all. Silence that tells him that his choice has already been made. Silence that tells him he’s nothing but a pawn in hands that have never held him. Silence that has pushed him to the brink of insomnia, chasing the streets for something that would help his ears - chasing the streets until he found you.
And it comes rushing to him, pushing him further back on his heels. His feet are still planted on the plush, firm ground, his face still as stone, gauging you.
Marco steps in before you speak your mind as Jean knows you will. You’ve always been honest, something he admires in a town full of whispers that are half lies and half stories, but he knows what a double edged sword this honesty can be. He's seen it in the mirror himself.
“Perhaps I can take you inside, miss? Get you a glass of the champagne, I hear it’s wonderful-”
“And love is not what you desire?” you ask, attention solely on Jean’s eyes.
He doesn't flinch. Not this time. The silence consumes him in the inches that he’s apart from you, and your voice travels to him in a vacuum. He doesn't speak. He knows you’ve made up your mind.
“How do you plan on marrying her without love, Viscount?” you say, his name remaining so painfully obvious but so obviously hidden, a calculated move. Your voice refusing to say his name despite it being given to you previously, the same voice that told him just the other week about his sketch being lively. About his sketch making you feel, and how you had confessed, in a voice smaller than it has increased into now, that it made his scene seem alive. That his hands lack famed magic but have experience and stories that somehow can't be kept hidden even when he tries to. The voice that told him something about himself that even he hadn't known; the voice that finally, finally broke through his silence without a shout or a scream but rather a softer whisper.
“I will do as I see fit.” he says, mouth forming a hard line.
You nod once. “I see.” another pause. Marco doesn't intervene - he doesn't dare to - and you speak again, “you have this all planned out, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“I see.” you repeat. He can see you making your mind up. “Have a good night, Viscount. And you, Mr. Bodt.” you say, taking your final bow.
Jean watches your silhouette as it heads back into the venue with its lights seeming even more menacing than before, almost swallowing you whole.
His chest aches. He breathes, once - in, and out - adjusts his collar, and the cicadas continue to chirp as if he hadn't been talking to his revered artist in what he assumed was without secrecy. But the secrecy upheld still, too loud to ignore, too large to move past. You weren't yourself.
Silence swallowed him whole, settling into his lungs like thick tar.
Marco looked at him, questions swimming in his eyes. Jean only spared him a glance before turning around into the venue himself, leaving his friend bewildered and even more concerned than he previously was.
Your legs ached when you finally made it to your little attic-turned-room. The worn gown you had been given by Lady Ackerman was removed promptly after the ball, not allowing any more contact with you even by you a second after its promise was over - a fact you were glad for; it was far too uncomfortable to move around in.
Your body collapsed into bed without protest.
Mikasa had asked about your absence, and questioned you about your sour mood afterwards, but you had deflected it with the same exhaustion that clung to your bones now. While undressing her, you'd asked her about how her dance with the Viscount went, and she had replied with a curt nod and a, “it was fun.”
You know she hadn't meant it. She knew she hadn't meant it. It was a truth that was meant to sit in silence until it would rot.
You didn't question it. You didn't prod - half for your sanity and half for hers.
The Viscount was to wed your best friend. The Viscount was your muse. The Viscount was to marry your employer. The employer was your best friend. The Viscount, your muse, was to marry your employer, your best friend.
Too many titles. Too many relations. You wished - for once - that you would've kept your conversations to yourself. That you wouldn't have opened your heart for either of them. Maybe it would've saved you from the trouble of caring for them so deeply.
The Viscount - Kirstein, Jean, your muse, all the same person - had been clear about one thing. He was not to marry Mikasa with the intention to love her.
You scoffed. Absurd. Why was he in this, then? Mikasa was a perfectly capable young lady with interests and a mind of her own, guarded and beautiful. How could the Viscount not even allow a potential to fall in love with her?
How could the Viscount be so cruel to not give your best friend the love that you dreamed of for her?
Out of everyone, it had to be her. It had to be her to have someone that loved her. Out of everyone - and you knew this to be true because she was your best friend - she had to be loved. She had to be. And the Viscount couldn't provide her with that. He never intended to. What kind of a friend would you be if you just sat back and allowed it to happen?
The house made no sound, the grandfather clock that was sitting in Lord Ackerman's study was the only proof of these walls ever being a home to you. The walls were hollow and unwelcoming, and despite the merriment and mingling having just taken place downstairs, it seemed haunted. Emptied out, unlived in, too pristine.
Using your elbows for support, you pushed your body upwards, observing your unkempt room with tired eyes.
You could run. You could pack up your scarce belongings and run again. You need not leave a note this time; not many things here will remember you. You won't leave proof. It would be as though you never existed. You'd be far away from here, from your best friend, from your artist.
You could learn to live without the latter. But Mikasa had ingrained herself into your life with a force that left you wheezing and catching your breath. Holding your hand to lead you out of that basement, even as yours stubbornly shook with refusal. Her hands were too perfect, too soft - and when they held yours, it felt like a blessing disguised as punishment. Your palms were cut up, rough, calloused. Too worn for someone as young as you were. But she didn't mind. She held your hand, and in doing so, grabbed your heart along with it, and you were afraid she still hadn't let go.
Or maybe - and this was the worst of it all - your heart, being as stubborn as the rest of you, hadn't left her.
The Viscount had to love her. He had to feel the same softness that she had lent you, the same warmth that lies in her breath as she succumbs to a sleep that she had told you wouldn't come. He had to feel the same breath in his lungs that you had felt after she hadn't let go.
The Viscount had to love her. If not him, then you’d only leave after making sure that someone did. You'd be damned if you ran away without accomplishing it.
The canvas in the corner of your room sat patiently. Your eyes swept over it, lost in thought, and you noticed the half-painted ginger cat that you spotted only a few nights ago with your muse - the Viscount. Not your muse. Not Jean, not Kirstein. The Viscount.
Despite your obvious fatigue, you made your way over to it, studying it with eyes that were now detached from the stranger (because that’s all he was - Hitch was right) that had unknowingly claimed this piece for himself before even knowing its existence.
The candle burnt low when you were finished with it, the sun peeking out of its cave.
And just as it was born - spontaneous, unplanned, ugly - it was kicked under the bed, fossilizing its unknown fate.
summary: you and Jean have been dating for a few months now and you’re thinking about how good a dad he would be someday. maybe, just maybe… title is from "juno" by sabrina carpenter.
tags: jean x fem!reader, mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff, oral (m and f receiving), pet names (babe and baby), slight breeding/pregnancy kink, jean and reader are in their late 20s here
minors and ageless DNI! 18+ only, please.
Dating Jean Kirstein made you feel like you'd won the lottery.
Obviously, he was an absolute dreamboat looks-wise. You loved his tall, muscular build, soft ash-brown hair and light brown eyes, not to mention a smile that could rival the sun in wattage. In another life, he could make a killing as an Abercrombie model.
However, it's his personality that really made you fall for him. He's impossibly sweet and kind yet has a strong sarcastic streak you love. He adores you, of course, but also loves his friends (even though Sasha and Connie in particular drive him nuts sometimes) and would do anything for his mama. Of course Jean wasn't perfect; he had his flaws, but when it comes to boyfriends, you couldn't see how you could do any better.
You and Jean had been dating for almost a year now. You'd met him through Hinge; dating apps had always seemed a bit scary to you, but one of your best friends convinced you to put yourself out there. You were charmed by his witty answers to his profile prompts and very attracted to his pictures. It turned out that he was utterly charming even through text, and after one date at a local Italian restaurant Jean adored, you were absolutely smitten (and the feeling was mutual). The two of you have been dating for nine months now, in absolute bliss.
Life was good right now, but your mind couldn't help drifting to thoughts of the future, especially after you and Jean went to see his best friend Marco's new baby boy. Callum was an absolute cutie, with his dad's dark brown hair and nose but his mom's bright blue eyes.
"Hey babe, could you get a pic of me with Cal?" Jean asked. He had Callum perfectly cradled in his arms and you just about melted at the sight. Jean looked so at peace holding the baby, like this was second nature to him. You quickly took your phone out of your pocket and took a candid snap of your boyfriend lovingly gazing at the baby, then another one where he looked directly at the camera, smiling softly.
Jean passed Callum back to Marco's wife Adelaide, then peeked over your shoulder to see the photos you took. "These are perfect," he said, beaming. "Thanks, baby."
Marco and Adelaide hurried over to see the photos and "aww"ed over them, making Jean's cheeks flush with pink. "It's amazing how much the guy who used to shotgun whipped cream in high school looks like a dad here," Marco joked.
You snickered, but after the laughter subsided, you couldn't help but agree with Marco. Jean looked so comfortable with Callum; if anyone didn't know any better, they'd think Jean was posing with his own son.
The image of Jean holding Marco's son stayed in your mind for days after that visit. You'd been on the fence about having kids, not sure if you wanted to go through the whole ordeal of pregnancy or if you'd even make a halfway-decent mother. But seeing Jean cradling a baby had stirred a desire in you. Maybe having a kid wouldn't be so bad...especially if it was with Jean.
You were nowhere near ready to have a kid right now, but the idea of having a baby with Jean somewhere down the line was sounding more and more appealing. Jean was pretty much the hottest person alive, and it would be cool if some baby was lucky enough to get some of his genes. The only issue was actually telling your desired baby daddy. What if he got scared off by you already dreaming of having kids with him? You hadn't even been together for a year yet. You decided to squash that dream of yours for the moment, not wanting to freak him out.
You were in bliss. Jean had come over to watch Howl's Moving Castle ("It's a crime that you haven't seen it!" you insisted), but as soon as the credits started rolling, he'd pulled you onto his lap and pressed soft, slow kisses to your neck. You sighed, happily, grinding yourself against Jean and making him gasp.
"Babe, watch it," he spoke in a strained voice. "If you keep doing that, I'm gonna go crazy, and I don't think I have a condom with me."
You were so horny you couldn't think straight. "I don't care, you can finish inside me," you blurted out.
Jean flushed bright red, saying your name with a gasp. "Um, while I would love to do that, I'm not tryin' to get you pregnant right now. I know you're on the pill, but better safe than sorry, you know?"
Jean's words tugged at your heartstrings. What a man! He could be so anxious when it came to sex at times, but you knew it was because he deeply cared for you and wanted to make sure you were happy and safe. And he was right; this would not be the right time to have a baby.
Your hidden thought popped back into your head. Fuck it, why not just tell him? He'd given you the perfect opening. "I appreciate that, Jean. But one day I do want to have kids with you. I don't know when, but I've been thinking about this for a while, and I want you to make me a mom."
When Jean stayed silent for a few moments, you got nervous. Then his eyes started to well up with tears. "Babe, are - are you sure this is what you want? I mean, I'm so down for this, but I know when we first started dating, you were on the fence about children."
You were so relieved that your irrational fears about Jean's reaction hadn't played out. "Yes, I'm sure. I've been sure ever since that day two weeks ago when we met Marco's baby and I took those pictures of you holding him," you answered, your voice shaking with emotion. "I know we haven't even been together a year yet and maybe this is too soon to be talking about this but - I want it. A house and a family, with you."
Jean wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him, and peppered your face with kisses. "Babe, I love you so much. I wouldn't want to start a family with anyone else."
"Well I should certainly hope not," you joked, needing to lighten up the moment a little bit. Jean laughed before burying his face into the side of your neck and nuzzling you.
It was a tender moment, interrupted by a particular something poking you in the side. "Jean. Did you really get hard because I told you I want to have your babies one day?" You couldn't help but giggle.
Jean lifted his head from your neck, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry babe. I just pictured you being pregnant and...I guess I got excited."
You lightly punched your boyfriend in the arm, pretending to be scandalized. "Jean Kirstein, you are a pervert!" You couldn't lie that it was a little bit hot that he would still find your pregnant body desirable, to be honest.
Jean smirked at you. "Can't help it. You're gonna be the hottest mom in the neighborhood, baby."
Zing. Jean's words went straight to your core. You lifted yourself off of his lap and sank down to your knees on the floor, looking for permission before you unbuttoned your boyfriend's pants.
"Babe, what are you doing?" he questioned with a chuckle, though there was a dark glint in his eye.
"Well, I was thinking, if we can't have sex right now, we can still do...other stuff. And I figured I’d help take care of your little problem.” You flashed him a coy smile.
Jean groaned before unbuttoning his pants and letting you take his length into your mouth. He moaned your name, looking like he was trying not to bust a nut right then and there.
"What did I do to deserve someone as amazing as you?" Jean asked, his eyes shut with pleasure as you sucked him off and fondled his balls. You giggled before pulling your mouth off of him and kissed the tip of his dick, causing Jean to let out a guttural growl.
Before you could return to your blowjob, Jean had joined you on the floor, capturing your lips in a deep kiss before smooching his way down your body.
It was your turn to ask, "Babe, what are you doing?" Even though you knew damn well what was about to happen, and your body tingled with an excited energy.
"It's only fair that I return the favor, babe," Jean said, casually pulling your underwear to the side before diving in like a starving man.
Yep, you'd definitely won the lottery with Jean Kirstein. And you had a feeling that things would get even better once the two of you were actually ready to try for a baby.
synop; only son of the multimillion dollar Kirstein estate Jean returns to his hometown after six years to attend Marco’s engagement party and stumbles into something he never expected
cw; teen pregnancy, baby daddy jean, cliche asf but it’s indulgent for me lmfaoooo
It had been years since Jean had been back in San Francisco. Not since... things happened and he moved to New York to become the man he is today. He honestly didn't even think he would be back in San Francisco, like ever since moving away. But his childhood best friend, Marco Bodt, had just got engaged and what kind of a friend would he be to not show up to the engagement party??
The gathering took place in the Presidio of San Francisco, right off Pacific Avenue in the house that Marco grew up in. Jean was familiar with it, spent countless nights sleeping over right up until the shift of life. Back when it was Marco's parent's house, that baby blue shade Marco's mother loved oh so much. Surrounded by potted plants that she would sing to as she watered them. Now all these years later it had been handed down, now painted a pretty slate gray that Marco's fiancée had picked out.
Jean, even being the oldest friend of Marco's there, felt so damn out of place. Sipping the champagne in the crystal flute, eyes darting around to see if he remembered anyone in this damn backyard. But so far it was just people Marco befriended in college, coworkers and colleagues and family members. Bubbles fizzed in his throat, mouth feeling just as dry as he felt awkward. Everyone around him mingling, laughing. Marco, who Jean had a conversation with earlier, was doing his rounds as host and groom to be. Probably somewhere introducing another one of his second cousins to his fiancée. Jean didn't mind, he was here to celebrate Marco after all.
He just needed to stay until maybe a speech was made, a toast or something. Just as proof that he showed up and he wasn't that asshole that ditched everyone that he felt like he was. That he actually was. But even after all this time, six years after Jean left, Marco still acted like they were the best of friends. Arms wide open with the biggest smile when he had seen that Jean had actually flew in for it.
"Holy crap!! Jean Kirstein, in the flesh!" Marco chuckled in disbelief, arms already wrapping around Jean before he could fully step into the backyard. The two men stood on the side of the house, right by the gate they used to sneak out of to go to the late night bonfires on Ocean Beach. Usually always Jean's idea that Marco would always go along with happily.
The moment was already smelling nostalgic, that greeny Presidio air mixed with the chatter of people from the backyard. Like another one of Marco's big family parties Jean was always tagging along to. "Yeah, yeah," Jean patted Marco's back as he let off that half smile he always does, "You didn't think I wasn't gonna come, did you?"
Marco pulled back, hands still warm on Jean's shoulders, "I prayed you'd come. But no,, I didn't think you would. You barely answer my texts anymore bro." Jean internally winced at that, especially since Marco was being so sincere and not even mad that Jean barely responds to him anymore.
Jean just gave an awkward shrug, trying to mask that wave of guilt that hit him. "Sorry man, been busy."
Marco smiled and shook his head, tufts of his middle parted bangs swishing from side to side. "Oh boy, haven't we all. Went from having you over every summer sharing my bed to having to get updates from your damn Instagram. And you don't even post that much."
A soft sigh left Jean's lips, remembering those days where he would basically be living with Marco for the summer. Late nights staying up watching movies in pillow forts in the living room and sneaking out to meet friends at the park down the street. "Mm yeah, your mom made the best grilled cheese."
"Still does," Marco's smile softened a bit, maybe happy that Jean actually remembered his life before moving to New York, "She's here, by the way. Asked about you, if you were comin'. She might guilt trip you into staying a little longer."
That made a pang of said guilt thump in Jean's chest. "I'll say hi before I go." He nods weakly a couple times, already starting to feel bad that he didn't keep in touch as much as he should have. Feeling like he had somewhat abandoned everyone back in San Francisco the moment he had stepped on that jet ride straight to that private school in New York.
Marco's smile fades just a little, like he could feel the tension that's coursing through Jean's nervous system right now. "So... how long are you in town for?"
Finally looking up, Jean can see that hopeful look in Marco's eyes, which just fueled that guilt in his chest even more. "Just the weekend. Took the red eye last night."
"Still allergic to San Francisco huh?"
"Somethin' like that," Jean pursed his lips into a bitter smile, a huff of breath leaving his nose.
They both stood there in the lull, the clinking glasses and chatter from the back being the only thing filling that awkward silence that most definitely would have been there. Marco stuffed his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, leaning back against the side fence like he would do back in sophomore year as he waited for Sasha or Connie to text him that they were outside.
"Ya know.. it's okay to miss it," Marco's voice is softer now, more reassuring, " Home, I mean. Even if it got messy."
Jean didn't answer at first, just stared out into what he could see of the once familiar backyard. The hydrangeas still that soft baby blue that used to match the original color of the house. Instead of those tiki torch lights Marco's father had stuck around the perimeter of the yard there were now twinkly string lights strewn above, definitely put up by Marco. And the crowd, all people he couldn't recognize.
"Yeah," he finally said after a beat that probably lasted longer than he intended, "I guess I just don't know if it misses me back." His amber eyes were pointed down, watching his Brunello loafers kick a pebble so he wouldn't have to look at Marco with his guilt ridden eyes.
Marco studied him for a second like he wanted to say something more. Like he almost did. But then someone called his name, some distant aunt that had a shrieky voice that echoed throughout the yard and shook Jean out of that somber ass nostalgic daze he had fell into.
Marco clapped Jean on the back on the shoulder one last time, that same chipper Marco smile on his face once more. "Glad you came, man. Really. It means a lot t'me."
Jean watched Marco walk away and I standing start to laugh it up with some family members he doesn't recognize, and smiles to himself. "Yeah, me too." He really did miss his best friend.
Finally, after getting out of his head, Jean stepped into the packed backyard, bee lining straight to the champagne. He needed something to take that edge off, cause he was definitely feeling it. Taking big gulps, that bitterness coating his mouth as his eyes scanned the crowd. Everyone in their little groups, laughing and talking like everyone knew each other and he was the odd man out. The only stranger.
In all honesty he didn't know what to do or where to go, which was unlike him. He was so used to commandeering a room, being able to talk to anyone like he had in New York at school and at college and now at the company he was next in line to inherit. He passed a few strangers who nodded at him and gave polite smiles. Shook hands with one of Marco's uncles he recognized from way back when. And then;
"Oh—Kirstein?"
Jean turned at the sound of the voice, oh so familiar but so so different. And there she was, Sasha Braus, holding a tiny plate with a half bitten crab cake, a couple crumbs on her face like back in middle school. Her smile was unsure, all confused and shocked with pursed lips and stuffed cheeks. Just awkwardly stuck there like she didn't know whether to hug him or turn in the other direction. She settled on an awkward chuckle after she swallowed, still blinking like she couldn't believe it.
"Sasha," he instantly brought her in for a side hug, making sure his blazer didn't bump into her plate or get any stains on it, "Good to see you."
"Wow. You look... older," her eyes raked up. Jean had definitely grew into his looks. No longer was he tall and lanky, but more filled out in his arms and shoulders. Stubble grown in, hair much longer than Sasha remembered.
Jean smiled, still that same spunky weird Sasha he remembered, always blunt and saying things in that Sasha way that you'd have to really know her to understand, "You too, Braus."
"I mean,, not in a bad way. You look good. I just meant... you know, time. Time passed and now we're like, old." She tilted her head side to side in that so so way, still raking over his features and stopping at every new thing she noticed.
"Twenty two is ancient, huh?" He chuckles, sipping more of his champagne. One hand one in the front pocket of his dress pants, a habit he picked up from countless galas and events and formal parties with colleagues.
Sasha rolled her eyes, smiling as she finished that last bite of her crab cake. "You're still a smart ass."
Jean smiled, but his eyes were pooled with other emotions, emotions he usually avoided but this place was starting to bring out. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
"I mean, Marco is still my boy. We're still all close friends. Even after everything," Sasha defended, brushing the crumbs from her fingers with the napkin she held under that tiny plastic hors d'oeuvres plate.
Jean nodded slowly, "Mm. Right." He felt a bit self centered for thinking that their friend group had ceased to exist once he had moved to New York. Of course they still all hung out, why wouldn't they?
"So..." Sasha tried to fill that tiny awkward silence, glancing around like maybe she needed an exit from the conversation. "You've been in New York this whole time?"
"Yup," Jean gives, taking another sip of his champagne, wishing it was whiskey so he could erase any weird emotions he was starting to feel. Champagne wasn't strong enough for what he was trying to drink away. Didn't make him numb fast enough. "New York for six years. Way different from Frisco."
"Big Apple Jean. That's cool. Real cool," Sasha nods, eyes flitting from Jean to around the party. "You, uh, ever talk to anyone from around here?"
He knew what she was asking. He didn't answer right away. Just looked around at anything but her face. "Not really."
Sasha hummed, nodding a little too much like overcompensation. "Yeah. That makes sense."
He looked back at Sasha, brows creased just a bit like he was biting his tongue to stop this question from rolling off of it, "You still hang with her?"
Sasha blinked, like she didn't think he would actually ask about her. "...y/n?"
There it was. His chest tightened just hearing her name aloud. Sasha could see the way Jean's eyes glazed over a bit as the name spilled from her lips.
"Yeah. Of course. She's still my best friend," Sasha plastered a smile on her face, although her eyes were looking past Jean and around like she was searching for something. "She's doing good. Real good."
Jean tried to keep his face neutral, just nodding. Even if his heart was just lit on fire with kerosene feelings and a flaming match that was her name. "That's good."
Sasha's eyes were still wandering, like she suddenly remembered something. "Well, hey, it's good to see you again. Really."
"He nodded, "You too, Braus."
She started to take a few steps into the crowd, and turned back once more, just now with a half somber look, "Don't be a stranger, alright?" Then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd with her plate in hand.
Jean exhaled deeply, finishing that flute of champagne and turning to get another one. He needed to do something with his hands before they turned too clammy. Something to sip, to swirl, to pretend with.
He weaved through the sea of happy guests, politely nodding and smiling even if he still didn't recognize any of the faces. His phone buzzed once then twice in his pocket. Probably his fiancée. Or maybe his assistant confirming his flight home. Home. He hated how far that word had drifted from this place. He used to love this city, and now it was like a distant memory, all hazy and tinted with that achey nostalgia.
The champagne table was perched right at the edge of the yard, Jean's back facing the crowd as he filled his glass up with more Dom Perignon. He needed something with the highest alcohol content and he needed it fast. That honey colored bubbly that foamed up at the top just a bit, fizzy and bitter. He took a sip then nodded in satisfaction before turning back.
He could hear the jumbled laughter of children, backing up as a couple of them zoomed past him. He smiled, shaking his head as he watched them pass, reminding him of the days him and Marco used to run rampantly in this backyard as well. After he thought the coast was clear, he took a step forward.
"Watch out!—" A tiny voice yammered out just a little too late. Jean barely had time to look down when a tiny blur of motion darted around the corner of the gazebo just a little too fast, colliding directly with his leg. His hand jerked, the crystal champagne flute slipping from his fingers. Fragile glass somehow breaking even in the grass.
"Oh nooo," the little voice whimpered as they backed up, a little gasp coming out as if she might cry. "'M so so sorry, I didn't mean to! I was running after my friends and I didn't see you and—"
Jean blinked, mouth slightly parted. Down at his feet was a little girl, no more than five or six, in a pink tulle dress and ballet flats that were a bit muddy at the bottoms. Hair pulled back into a clip, a little messy and coming undone from playing all day. Cheeks all red and warm from embarrassment and overexertion.
She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes and for a second Jean forgot how to breathe. Because those eyes? They were his. Same shape, same color, same sharp arch in those eyebrows. And the way they furrowed together out of apologeticness? That was his too.
"Are–are you okay?" He stammered out to ask, kneeling down to her height and dusting the mud and grass that was now stuck to her knee instinctually like it was second nature. She nodded quickly, then shook her head no like she couldn't decide. Her lip jutting out, quivering.
"I'm not supposed to run in the grass with my shoes cause they're slippery," the little girl started, words already hiccuping out of that childlike fear of getting in trouble, "and now I spilled your drink." Jean could see the way her eyes were starting to water and how her chest was heaving a bit from heavy breaths.
"Hey, hey. It's okay. I didn't even like that drink," he tried to reassure her, dusting off that last bit of mud that was caked into her now reddening knee.
She raised her brow at him, blinking dumbfoundedly with those watery amber eyes. "Then why'd you get it?"
He mirrored her raised brow, then chuckled at her question. "Honestly? I dunno. Just to be like all the other adults I guess." The sport coat he adorned feeling tight as he shrugged, and maybe a little warmer now that he thought this little girl seemed too familiar to be a stranger.
The little girl squinted as she looked down at him, still bent to her height. "Well that's silly. You don't gotta do what everyone else is doing. My mama says that all the time."
A smile formed on Jean's face, a soft and genuine one that he probably hasn't smiled like in forever. "Yeah? She sounds real smart."
"She is! She's sooo smart. She helps me with my homework and knows how to do hair and makes me a bento every day for school," the little girl excitedly droned on, counting each little fact off on her tiny fingers as her eyes drifted in that way that kids did when they were deep in their train of thought.
Jean was still kneeled down, one elbow resting on his bent thigh for balance as he kept eye contact with this little girl he had just met. His heart was hammering right now, ears ringing as his head was swirling with every damn emotion in the book.
There was something about this little girl. Something about the way she talked with her hands all dramatic. The way little dimples formed every so often when she smiled mid sentence. It was all too familiar.
"What's your name?" He asks with a quieter voice, like he's still way too deep in his thoughts.
"Amelie. But my mama calls me Mimi and my uncle Coco calls me Melie," she grinned, all pearly baby teeth still.
Coco. That's Connie's nickname that–The more he stood there with this little girl, the more he felt in limbo. Like he was gonna cry or pass out or just shout out what the fuck is going on. But nothing came out, he just stared at the little girl.
"Do you gotta name?" She asked, head tilted curiously, eyes all bright and wide. Blinking those lashes that were so long and heavy they drooped a bit.
He laughed under his breath, shaking himself outta it. "Yeah, 'm Jean."
"John?" She asked, brows raising and meeting in the middle as his name rolled off her tongue, lip quirking up on one side like only one other person he knew.
He let out a heartfelt chuckle, eyes crinkling. "Close. Jean. Like with a soft J."
She nodded a little too exaggerated, hair coming even more loose from that clip that held it back, "Okay, Shawn."
He didn't even correct her, just watched her do these dramatic expressions that felt oh so familiar. Amelie squatted down to poke at the broken champagne flute that still sat in pieces in the grass. Curious and nosy just like someone else she reminded him of.
"Careful," Jean murmured as he gently stopped her hand, "you could cut yourself." His hand stayed holding onto her tiny one as he watched her mouth make that little 'o' shape he's seen somewhere else before.
And right as he was about to ask that little girl another question, a new but oh so familiar voice pierces through the muddled sound of the party. One that froze Jean right in place.
"Amelie, what did I say about running in those shoes? What did you break??" The voice was filled with that maternal concern, looking for the little girl in the sea of guests. Wedge heels silent in the grass as she made her way closer, Jean's silhouette still blocked by the little girl and her big puffy tulle dress.
Jean's stomach dropped straight to hell. Because there she was. y/n. And Jean felt like the universe was both blessing him and messing with him at the same damn time. Still clueless to his presence as she walked up to Amelie, that slow high heeled waddle as that gray sundress she wore shifted with each step, cropped knitted cardigan slung over one shoulder lazily, perfectly. Face etched with motherly worry. That expression dropped the second she saw him. She froze midstep, cutting off midsentence. Breath caught in her chest like she saw the damn ghost of Christmas past or something.
"Jean." she said, voice barely audible, heart pounding louder than the words she had just spoke.
Jean was still kneeling in the grass, heart falling out of his chest and into those broken glass pieces because his heart had just been pierced open. "You–you're here," he says in disbelief as if the woman were a mirage he'd been thirsting for all this time.
y/n didn't move, her eyes just flickered from him to the broken glass to Amelie. Amelie, whose hand was still in Jean's grip. Amelie, who had his whole face. Amelie, who was this whole amalgamation of these two people who were now seeing each other for the first time in years.
y/n swallowed hard, a shaky breath leaving her mouth as she spoke a little unsteadily now. "She ran off with the other kids while I was busy talking to Connie. I didn't know she would–"
"I didn't know you were here," Jean cut her off, finally rising to his feet slowly, still in disbelief.
"I didn't expect to see you either," she responded, eyes widening as she finally takes in this grown Jean. Way taller than he had left San Francisco. Just looking like a whole new person with leftover bits of that old Jean that she knew all too well.
"Is she...?"
Oh god. The question y/n had been avoiding for six whole damn years. She stammered, eyes wide and mouth open like she didn't want to answer. Because she really didn't. And from across the yard, Sasha had turned, seeing what she had helped hide for so long finally come to the light.
“Everything you need to know about the: Arranged Marriage AU”
Or —
Here it is! The arranged marriage AU, also known as the “Eren fumbled a baddie” AU, also known as the single dumbest Eren in all of the ✨ROVERSE✨.
First, it is useful to clarify the social tone of this story!!!
Although it is set in the Regency period, the society depicted here resembles the world found in Jane Austen’s novels far more than the highly dramatised version popularised by Bridgerton.
Jane Austen’s Regency is comparatively restrained and grounded in everyday social realities. Her stories tend to focus less on titled aristocrats and more on the landed gentry (families who possessed land, income, and local influence but did not necessarily hold noble titles). Bridgerton, by contrast, presents a far more theatrical vision of Regency society. Its narrative centres on the titled aristocracy and places heavy emphasis on spectacle: The Season, the marriage mart, lavish balls, scandal, and heightened drama.
So, if you have followed this blog for some time, you may have noticed hints of another Regency project. This one, Bed of Roses, leans much more toward the tone of Bridgerton. In that story, Eren is a marquess and Mikasa a young lady entering the marriage mart with the clear objective of securing a titled husband. That setting naturally invites glittering ballrooms, fashionable soirées, elaborate social rituals, and the kind of dramatic entanglements that often become delightfully ridiculous.
This arranged marriag AU, now titled This Calamitous Love, moves in a different direction. While This Calamitous Love will still contain its share of drama, its world is not meant to be as dazzling or socially extravagant as Bed of Roses. Rather than focusing on the glittering circles of titled aristocrats and London’s marriage market (here represented by Mitras), the story centres on the rhythms of country life and the landed gentry. The social sphere is smaller, the concerns more domestic, and the setting grounded in estates, neighbouring families, and the everyday interactions of people whose lives unfold largely in the countryside instead of grand ballrooms.
Because of that, the concept of the gentry becomes important. After the peerage or nobility (dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons) came the gentry.
In this fic, the Ackerman and Yeager families are members of the landed gentry: they own property, collect rents from their land, and enjoy a comfortable social position, but they (Eren and Mikasa and their parents) don’t possess noble titles. Except perhaps for their grandparents and their older uncles, because both Eren and Mikasa are children of second and third sons, meaning no noble titles for them. Characters such as Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice or Mr. Knightley in Emma are good examples: wealthy landowners of considerable status within their communities, yet not members of the peerage.
And that said, here we go!
Eren and Mikasa come from neighbouring families who live in Shiganshina on properties very close to each other. Their houses are separated only by a small river and a bridge.
Their grandmothers are close friends who always wanted to unite their families. Eren’s grandmother is a viscountess and Mikasa’s grandmother is a baroness. Both women had about three children, but those children married outside the families, so the union never happened.
The viscountess’s third son has a son (Eren) at the same time the baroness’s third son has a daughter (Mikasa). The grandmothers immediately decide to arrange a marriage between the two newborns.
They declare that Eren and Mikasa will marry when they turn eighteen and arrange the betrothal through the children’s parents, who are visibly uncomfortable with the idea but not fully opposed.
Eren and Mikasa grow up together. They are educated together and spend much of their time playing and visiting each other’s homes across the bridge.
They share a close friend, Armin, the grandson of the village church’s vicar. The three of them become very close.
Around the age of twelve, Eren and Mikasa finally understand what marriage means. Eren reacts badly to the idea and says cruel things to Mikasa, including that he would never marry a boring, lice-ridden girl like her.
Mikasa is deeply hurt and stops speaking to Eren. Eren also stops speaking to her, and the distance between them grows.
When they are sixteen, Eren decides—against his grandmother’s wishes—that he wants to join the army. His grandfather, the old viscount, gives him the money to buy a commission.
((A commission is the official appointment as an army officer, granting ranks such as Ensign, Lieutenant, Captain, Major, or Colonel. Buying a commission meant paying money to obtain a rank in a regiment.))
((The system existed so that only men of money or social standing would become officers. Men without money could join as privates and might rise to corporal or sergeant but almost never became officers because those ranks usually required purchasing a commission.))
Eren buys a commission and enters the army as an Ensign. Over the years he rises through the ranks and becomes a captain at the age of twenty-three.
During his years in the military, Mikasa writes letters to him, but Eren never replies. He deliberately ignores them, and eventually Mikasa stops writing.
The next time he receives a letter from her, she informs him that his grandmother is ill and has asked him to come home because there is something important she wishes to tell him. Eren ignores the letter.
Later he receives another letter from his father informing him that the viscountess has died.
Eren returns to Shiganshina, only to discover that his grandmother has already been buried. Her last wish was that Eren should be happy, so she and Mikasa’s grandmother had broken the engagement before her death.
He also learns that Mikasa’s grandmother died a year earlier. The baroness left Mikasa a considerable inheritance, enough to support her for a season with the assistance of Baron Ackerman (now Levi).
Eren celebrates the fact that he no longer has to marry. When he attempts to speak to Mikasa again, however, she treats him with complete indifference.
Eren asks Armin (who is now the village vicar) why Mikasa treats him so coldly. Armin tells him plainly that Mikasa is resentful because Eren never answered her letters.
Eren argues that Mikasa should be happy now that she is free to marry someone she truly loves. Armin reacts sharply and tells him something along the lines of, “And how exactly do you know she doesn’t love you, you jackass?”
Meanwhile, Mikasa begins preparing for her season and attends neighbourhood dances and social gatherings, where she quickly attracts attention.
Eren also attends these dances, since his grandmother had not wanted the household to remain in mourning forever.
At these dances, teas, and gatherings, Eren begins to see Mikasa differently. He notices how beautiful she is, how intelligent she is, how she refuses to be controlled by men, and how capable she seems at everything she does. Slowly, he realises he is falling in love with her.
The realisation makes him miserable. He grows jealous when other men show interest in her.
Armin mocks him for it and says he has no chance of winning Mikasa back. Eren, stubborn as ever, takes that as a challenge and decides he will win her back.
When the season begins, Mikasa travels to Mitras. Eren follows and attends several of the same social events.
During this time, a particular man begins to show strong interest in Mikasa.
One evening at a gentlemen’s club, Eren overhears that man boasting that he intends to marry Mikasa no matter what because he needs her money. He even suggests that if necessary he will ruin her reputation to force the match.
Instead of confronting the man directly, Eren goes straight to Mikasa and warns her about what he heard.
Mikasa rejects the warning and sends him away, telling him he has no right to involve himself in her affairs. She reminds him that he never cared about her before, so he should not pretend to care now.
Eren does not know what to do, but he remains nearby and continues trying to protect her even though she openly rejects him.
Later, Mikasa begins to express doubts about marrying the other man, which prompts the man to put his plan into action.
His method of ruining her reputation is uncertain. One possibility is that he sneaks into her room at night so that people will discover them together. Another possibility is that he arranges a kidnapping.
If it is the kidnapping, Eren rescues her, but the man spreads rumours afterward, damaging Mikasa’s reputation anyway.
Mortified by the scandal, Mikasa decides to return to Shiganshina.
Unfortunately, the rumours spread even there. Because of this, Mikasa asks her father to find her a husband quickly so that the gossip will stop.
Privately, Mikasa’s father approaches Eren. Although Eren behaved badly in the past, he was the one who saved Mikasa, and her father cannot think of a better man to marry her.
Eren sees this as his chance both to save Mikasa and to win her back, so he agrees to marry her.
However, Mikasa remains cold and indifferent. She makes it clear that their marriage was arranged once before, and that is exactly what it is now, nothing more.
How will Eren win Mikasa back? I don’t know, friends, haha!
fem reader, overstimulation, praise, pet names [bunny, baby, my girl], multiple positions, size kink [tengen], mentions of multiple orgasms, mentions of creampie
[‹ TENGEN ›] to treat you after a long mission!
by the time tengen's back from a tireless, drawn-out mission, he makes it all-too-clear how much he missed you from how he kneels behind you on the bed and pushes your chest against the comforter. his cock twitches at just the familiarity of it all as the pent-up weeks of being without you pleasing him is wracked hard in his limbs.
"god- missed this pussy so much," tengen grunts out as he slips the head of his cock between your walls, the conversance tight slickness of your pussy pulling a shuddered exhale out of his chest. his lips trail over your nape, the rasps in his groans making your clit throb and cunt tremble around him. "fuck, feels like she missed me too, huh?"
"missed you, tennie... forgot how big," you murmur whiningly into the sheets, knees shaking on the mattress as he rocks his hips quickly with wet smacks. you could cum from just the stretch alone, his cock prodding at the spot that makes you shudder hard. "s-so close already..."
tengen sneers and fucks into you fervently, and the sheer push and pull of your slick walls around him is enough to have him keening for his own climax, too. his smirked jeers of 'c'mon, show me what i missed, baby' are enough to egg you on, your body shuddering underneath his brawny frame as you cum hard around him.
"ah- there you go baby, big one, huh?" tengen chuckles out between broken grunts, his cock twitching as his abs flex and shudder from his own high burgeoning in his chest. he'll promise to make up for lost time and give you as many orgasms as he can - and a couple of his own, to make up for lost time.
"mmph- gonna fuck you all night. think you can gimme a couple more, baby?"
[‹ AKAZA ›] to hear your pretty sounds!
nothing sounds prettier to akaza than when you're whimpering out broken pants of his name. he envelops you closer against his chest as you straddle his lap, his cock grinding up into the hilt of your pussy with every rough rock of his hips - and akaza things he could pass out just from the shudders in your cadence.
"feels good, huh? got you shaking a little," akaza leers out with a heaved sigh, admiring the glimmers of pleasure in your eyes as you wrap your arms around his shoulders a little tighter with each rough grind. the way you tighten up around him pulls a gasp from his chest, and he can't help but fuck into you faster just to see how hard he can make you shudder again. "hah- god, you're so pretty like this, bunny..."
"yes, yea-yeah, feels so good," your whimpers come out in a slur as your clit grinds against him again and again. akaza can tell you're barely grounded, head swimming with pleasure and now all he wants to do is send you reeling. "gonna- fuck, cum... g'na cum for you!"
akaza pants out heavily as he rocks his hips hard enough to shake the bed, arms tightening around your waist as he grunts out against your shoulder. his murmurs of 'cum for me, cum for me' are enough to tip you over the edge, your frame shuddering as your vision blurs and stuttered whines leave your lips.
akaza can't help but feel a twitch in his cock from just the sheer prettiness of your whimpers, and now his goal's started to turn a bit egotistic - he'll promise not to overstimulate you too much as he chases the own euphoria jolting through his body.
"give me a few more of those moans, hah- promise i'll give you what you want soon..."
[‹ KYOJURO ›] on accident!
kyojuro just can't help but get lost in the soft push and pull of your walls around him - enough for him to feel hazy with a twitch in his cock that just won't go away until he fills you up with all the cum he has to offer.
"you want it just like... this, right?" kyojuro grunts out as he ruts his hips to hit just the spot he knows makes your knees weak. his fingers dig into the plushness of your thighs as he rocks his hips at a quick pace, wet smacks flooding the room as you heave shallowly beneath him. his thumb finds refuge on your clit, circling the nerves until he can feel your thighs shake in his hands. "there you go... does it feel good when i touch you like this?"
"hah- yes, yeah, right there kyo," you murmur as your head lolls back against the pillow, your frame shuddering with every quick thrust of his hips. he's only focused on your pleasure - enough to have you on the verge with jolts of euphoria driving up your spine from his every move. "c-cumming, gonna cum..."
"oh, there you go, so perfect for me..." kyojuro's eyes widen and glitter with pride at the way your body keens for him, shaking harshly as whimpers of his name fall from your mouth like a chant. the way you tighten up around him draws a grunt from his throat, his eyebrows furrowed as his cock throbs with every slicked rut.
kyojuro doesn't realize he's overstimulating you until you desperately grasp his hand between your thighs, pulling his thumb away from your clit as it throbs against the cool air. he lets out a slew of rapid apologies, only for his eyes to widen at your words of 'it's okay, i liked it..."
"i'll keep going just like this for you, have to see you cum like that just one more time..."
[‹ SHINJURO ›] for his own enjoyment!
shinjuro just adores the glimmers of euphoria in your teary eyes as he fucks you just how he knows you like it - maybe because it fuels his ego, or maybe because he likes to see you feeling good enough to cum hard on his cock time and time again.
"that's my girl, fuck- keep fuckin' me like that," shinjuro grunts out from beneath you, your mind clearly lost in the rhythmic smack of your hips against his as you ride him. every harsh press of his cock hitting the hilt of your cunt is enough to jolt your frame, and all shinjuro can do is smirk at the sight. "so pretty, aren't you? ridin' my cock just like i told you, huh?"
"f-feels so good, shin..." your mind is hazed and vision blurry as you bounce in messy grinds on his lap, his hands gripping your hips being the only thing keeping you stable and grounded. every brush of his cock against your sensitive walls has you shaking, climax building up around him as you keep your sloppy pace up. "god- gonna, fuck- gonna cum..."
"oh fuck, atta girl," shinjuro chuckles out as he feels your slick burgeon around his shaft, the tightness of your pussy sucking him in and forcing a low grunt out of his chest. his grip tightens on the plush of your hips to keep your quick bounces going, his cock rocking into you hard as you ride out your high.
shinjuro can't help but get a little bit greedy as he holds you stable and fucks up into you - after all, you feel so tight and soft around him that he can't ignore the twitch in his cock any longer.
"fuck, baby... you can take a lil more for me, can't ya?"
