˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary ꒱ ˎˊ˗ doing pottery with Leon during your little gateway together 18+ no smut just a little suggestive
"Baby, you're wrestling with the clay, relax." Leon’s voice breaks the silence from behind you, a grin playing at his lips like he knows all about the art of pottery. He planned this little getaway a while back, and finally after months of him being away here you are, a private cabin tucked away from society and surrounded by nothing but trees and mountains— the WiFi didn’t even work properly and honestly? It was really nice.
You huff, twisting slightly to look up at him with a helpless pout that screams, help me, dried clay smudged over your right cheek, and there's somehow a patch above your eyebrow.
It's endearing, really, and he can't help but chuckle at you.
"Don't just laugh at me… help, please."
His smile broadens, charmingly so, and he moves without hesitation to sit behind you, now sandwiched between his broad chest and the pottery wheel. You're instantly embraced by his warmth and the smell of his cologne, something leathery... rich and so undeniably him.
"You gotta ease into you... slowly, so you're guiding it, not forcing it." He says in that low timber that makes your skin tingle, his breath fanning against your neck, stubble ghosting over your shoulder.
His hands engulf yours, helping you move the wet clay into a more manageable shape than whatever lumpy monstrosity you were working with before. His fingers slip between your own, his palms framing the back of your hands warmly and you watch how effortlessly he guides your hands against the dirt— slow and precise, like he's got years of practice under his belt, it’s the way he handles all things when it comes to you, with this methodical precision. It was unfairly hot.
"Since when did you so good at this?" You murmur, watching his hands in slight awe.
Leon all but grins, dropping a light kiss to the curve of your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck, lingering on purpose. "What, with my fingers?" his voice drops to something more teasing as he tilts his head to brush his grinning lips to your jaw.
You roll your eyes and slump back against his chest, craning your head to catch his gaze and shooting him a knowing look, one brow slightly quirked. "Well, no. I know how good you are with your fingers, you tease."
Leon hums, the sound vibrating against your back. He ducks his head to drop a kiss to your temple whilst his hands continue to help yours mould the clay into something that could almost pass as a bowl if only it wasn’t getting progressively more and more lopsided because, if we're being honest, neither of you are really paying attention to the clay anymore.
"Cheeky," he chuckles, stubble tickling your cheek as he presses another kiss there, like he just couldn’t help himself. "No, I watched a video on TikTok," he confesses, sounding almost proud of himself, as he nudges his nose against your jaw to coax your attention back to the wheel, "Eyes on the clay, gorgeous."
You very reluctantly turn back to the dirt, shifting a little back against him to get comfortable as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.
"What're we making anyway?"
"No idea yet, maybe a bowl... or a mug? Hopefully something useful."
Eventually, the lump of mud forms into something more recognisable, a cute little mug, made entirely by both of your hands and a whole lot of love— as cheesy as that sounds. Dried clay now clings to your hands and forearms; it's a complete mess, but those stolen kisses and the way he's pressed oh so snugly behind you seem make the smudges on your new shirt worth it.
"Now what?"
"Now... we wait for it to dry, then we put it in the kiln and hope it doesn't crack."
"Mm, then I can paint it?" You ask, tipping your head back against his shoulder to look up at him.
He smiles down at you tenderly, ducking to press a kiss to your mouth, lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to whisper a quiet, "Yeah, then you can paint it after we sand it, gotta make sure it’s smooth."
Before you can get another word in, he lifts his hand and suddenly smears small blob clay over your cheek, and you gasp, face dropping in disbelief. "Oh my- Leon!"
"Shhh, shh… c'mon, let's go clean you up, baby." He chuckles warmly, tugging you up from the wooden stool with a grunt and a scheming smirk, guiding you upstairs to the rustic bathroom with plans of getting you naked and soapy.
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AN: we are all going to ignore the fact that I posted the wrong version of this, if you seen it… shhh
Could I request a fic about making those “special videos” with Leon….?
hehehe yes, yes you definitely can <3 18+ sorry its a little all over the place I’m sick lol x
There isn’t much Leon wouldn’t do for you, so when you confess to him just how much you’ve been missing him whilst he’s away at work and how porn just doesn’t do it for you anymore… well, it’s him that suggests making a little home video together, and you’re more than willing.
He starts off slowly, kissing your neck as he crowds you back against the pillows, his hands sliding under the hem of your shirt, caressing over your ribs and up to your breasts until you’re arching up into him.
“You sure you’re up for it, yeah?”
you nod almost instantly with a breathy, “uh-huh,” your lips parting as his tongue slowly licks into your mouth, the kiss tapering off into wet pecks along your jaw before he pulls back to grab your phone with a glint in his blue eyes.
Before you know it, he’s got you stripped and all spread open on your shared bed with your phone balanced against the pillows catching the way he plays with your slick pussy— his thick fingers spreading your plump folds open for the camera, running over your sticky labia.
“Aww, look at you, baby,” he coos roughly, teasing your achy clit in slow little circles, “such a messy pussy, dribbling everywhere, soaking the sheets already, and I haven’t even made you cum yet.”
You whimper pathetically, hips bucking up into his hand, and he tuts in disapproval, pressing you back down with his free hand to keep your ass flat against the mattress.
“please Leon-” your words come out all choked, hands curling into the bedsheets tightly as his fingers tease your fluttering entrance.
“I know. I’ve got you, baby.” He drawls out, rubbing your clit a little firmer, faster, just to hear you whimper his name out breathlessly. Then, finally, he pushes two thick fingers into your tight hole— letting the camera capture the way your pussy swallows his digits up with a fifthly squelch right down to his knuckles.
Leon is also a big fan of making you face the camera when he’s fucking you into the mattress; he wants you to remember the ache of him filling you up when you’re alone in bed watching these little videos with your hand between your thighs, missing him.
“Look at the camera, look at how good I’m fucking my girl.” His fingers curl around your jaw, coaxing your head to the side so you can look at yourself in the reflection of your phone's camera, completely ruined, as his fat cock stretches you out so deliciously— his tip nudging that gummy spot deep inside you that makes you dizzy.
Your breath catches, a whiny moan falls from your kiss-bitten lips. He takes the opportunity to press his ring and middle fingers into your mouth as his other hand pushes one knee up towards your chest, his thrusts deepening, the wet slap of skin against skin picked up by the crappy phone mic along with the way you gurgle obscenely around his fingers as you gush around his length whilst he cums inside you in thick, hot spurts.
And obviously he’s gotta show the camera the prefect mess you’ve made together, because god forbid you forget whilst he’s away! He kneels between your legs, phone tilted down to capture the way he runs the fat head of his cock through your sticky folds, collecting his cum on his leaky tip and pushing it back inside your pussy with a rough chuckle when your thighs get all twitchy, and you whine about it being too much.
“Fuck— think you got enough material, baby?” He asks all breathlessly, dropping the phone onto the bed before collapsing beside you on the bed with a grin, looking far too proud of himself.
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💭 thinking about re9!Leon Kennedy threatening to shave his happy trail 18+ I’m insane about him oml
He’s standing at the foot of your queen-sized bed in a pair of boxers, having just gotten out of the shower. “I think I might need to shave this off soon, baby.” Your head instantly snaps up at his direction, dropping the book you were reading onto the mattress beside you.
You watch in silent horror as he runs his hand over the dark hairs that dust across his chest and down towards that delicious happy trail of his, his brows all pinched together in contemplation, even the thought of him considering it sent you into panic.
“Absolutely not. No,” you tell him, shaking your head in vehement protest as you shuffle to the end of the bed on your knees.
His eyes catch yours, and his frown softens into a grin. “Look at it, baby, it’s getting out of control down here.” He huffs in amusement, fingers still grazing over the coarse hairs, heart melting a little at the way your lips purse out into a frowny pout.
“It’s sexy, Leon.” You tell him, brushing his hands away from the sacred trail with a huff. “You’re not allowed to just shave it all off.” your fingers now toy with the waistband of his boxers.
He chuckles, cupping your cheeks between his big palms and tilting your head back. “Not allowed? What you gonna stop me?”
“No… but if you shave it off I-I-” you pause, wracking your sleepy brain for a suitable punishment, “I won’t have sex with you until it grows back.”
“Oh, fighting talk, huh? You wouldn’t last a week, babe.” He replies smugly, knowing for a fact that he’s not wrong. You barely survive when he gets pulled away by his ever-demanding job, always relying on those special homemade videos you both made.
You groan in frustration, and he coos down at you, running the pad of his thumb over your pouty lips to try and coax you to smile— but it doesn’t work, you seem genuinely heartbroken, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t amuse him just a little.
“C’mon… don’t look at me like that, baby, it needs taming.”
You don’t answer, but your expression turns determined. You lean forward, looking up at him through your lashes as you press a wet kiss right over the hard ridge of his abs. His fingers slip into your hair, tightening a little at the roots, your name catching in his chest as you drag your tongue back up his firm stomach.
“Oh Fuck-” his voice comes out hoarse, ragged.
“Promise me you won’t get rid of it.” You tell him, dragging sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down to his V-line, and when he doesn’t answer right away, you pull back, scowling at him. “Promise me, Leon.”
“Yeah, yeah, I promise… I’ll keep it, s’all yours gorgeous.” He breathes out heavily from above you, dick already hard and twitching to life against the thin fabric of his boxers.
“Good.” You beam up him happily, tugging the waistband of his boxers down a little further with a lick of your lips.
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AN: is this a safe space to say I love big hairy men and women?
💭 thinking about dad!Leon during one of those many sleepless nights with your daughter ᝰ.ᐟ
It’s late, and your daughter is downright refusing to sleep, so here you are— lying in bed with a rowdy baby who is very opinionated on the topic of early nights, blabbering nonsense right into your ear whilst Leon tries his best to coax her to lie down
“C’mon… leave your mom alone, you rascal.” He sighs, gently prying the little girl from where she’s climbing all over you.
She has absolutely none of it, letting out a fussy cry and kicking her legs out in protest as she shakes her head a firm no— already begging to blubber, bottom lip jutting out and everything.
“Mama isn’t a jungle gym. It’s eleven o’clock at night, do you understand that?” Leon continues to argue with her as if she could understand a single word coming out of his mouth, and she all but gurgles down at her father in return with a huff and puff. You can’t help but giggle into the pillows— god, she was going to be a nightmare by the time she learns how to walk and talk.
“We shouldn’t have given her that ice cream before bed.” You sigh, definitely living in regret, watching as your daughter now clambers all over Leon with a slight wobble to her tiny legs— still getting used to using those muscles.
“We live, and we learn.” He replies, bringing his hand to rest against his daughter's back so she doesn’t topple over as she climbs up onto his chest with a gleeful squeal.
Her tiny hands press against Leon’s stubbly cheeks, and he lies there, eyes closed, letting her smush at his face as if he were made out of Play-Doh. You shuffle closer until you’re pressed against his side, your head resting against his shoulder as he brings his free arm to wrap around you tightly— caressing the length of your back.
“What’re you doing to your poor dad, hmm?” You whisper up at her, smiling when her round, curious eyes blink down at you— blue just like her daddy’s.
“Giving me a very bad massage.” His response comes out deadpanned.
She giggles, big eyes flickering back to Leon as he pretends to nibble at her fingers, which sends her into another fit of giddy laughter— her little feet kicking at his sides and her fingers poking at his face to try and get him to do it again. You won’t actually fall asleep until three in the morning because your daughter clearly thinks it’s playtime, but maybe that’s the joy of being a parent, these late nights together.
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AN: it’s so hot in the UK right now I wrote this in a daze so my bad if it’s buns
💭 thinking about waking up next to re9!Leon who’s a little needy ᝰ.ᐟ 18+ it’s gets a little slutty at the end my bad
The bedroom is cool, quiet, save for your soft breaths and the faint chittering of birds outside— it’s peaceful, and Leon, being the first to wake as always, lies there to simply bask in it. He’s pressed right up behind you, one arm tucked under your pillow and the other draped around your waist, his hand tucked under your sleep-shirt because this man lives for skin-on-skin contact.
He’s so in-tune with your body, he could feel you start to wake even before those eyes of yours begin to flutter open, and he takes that as an invitation to snuggle in closer, pressing a smiley-kiss to your shoulder as you begin to stir.
“There she is… sleeping beauty,” He hums affectionately from behind you, his voice all rough with sleep, chest rumbling against your back, dragging you to the land of the living.
“Mfm… s’too early,” your sleepy murmur gets a chuckle from him, the sound muffled into your skin.
“It’s almost twelve pm, baby.”
You whine in disagreement, “But it’s a Sunday and we’ve got nothing to do.”
He shushes you, hand slides from under your shirt to caress the curve of your hip soothingly as his mouth moves across your shoulder carefully in feather-light pecks.
“M’not saying you gotta get up yet, baby. Come on, turn around, let me see you.”
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you shuffle, turning around to look up at him— all sleep soft and warm, the early-afternoon sun catching in your eyes. He reaches his hand out, his fingertips grazing across your face, pushing your tussled hair back so he can get a good, long look at you, and he smiles, rare and private, only for your eyes.
“Morning, gorgeous,” he whispers quietly, leaning in to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
You hum, curling your arms around his broad shoulders to keep him close as he peppers open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, his nose bumping against your cheek. “Good morning, handsome,” you reply lazily, his stubble tickling your soft skin, purposely rubbing the rough hairs against the side of your face just to hear you laugh.
“Thought you were gonna go to the gym today?” you ask almost teasingly, slipping your fingers through his hair.
He groans into your neck at the reminder, his body melting in your arms, seeking your warmth out like a sunbathing cat, “That was the plan, yeah… then I woke up, and you were all soft and warm, clinging to me nd’I couldn’t leave you like that.”
It’s almost the exact same excuse he had used yesterday, but you weren’t going to complain, not when he’s all over you and pinning you against the soft mattress, bare-chested and spoiling you with kisses.
“Unless you want me to leave, hmm?— scared I’ll let myself go, baby?” He chuckles, running his knuckles along your cheek as your hands run down his chest, fingers catching the coarse hairs that pepper his skin.
“You’re ridiculous. Obviously, I want you here.” You murmur, tilting your head to kiss him properly, deeply, his lips slotting against yours perfectly.
“Oh, obviously, is it? ” he echoes smugly, grinning against your mouth as he pushes your shirt up to your collarbones, “This is better than lifting weights anyway,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck and over the swell of your breasts— your breath catching at the feeling.
“Well, that’s not much of a competition.”
Your fingers run through his hair and he makes a low gravelly noise, leaning into your hands. “You’re right, it’s not even close— god you’re so fucking warm.” He sighs, looking up at you through his lashes with a faint grin, blue eyes glinting—he was definitely scheming.
“Gonna let me love on you a little before we get up, yeah?” He smiles against your sternum, his voice all tender yet rough with want because god you look and feel amazing like this. “Make you come on my tongue first, then fuck you, nice and slow— make breakfast after?”
“Mm, Jesus… Leon…” his name falls from your lips, broken and whiny, desperate, and he coos in response, a hushed ‘I know baby’ before capturing your nipple into his wet mouth— his tongue flicking over the hardened peak as his hand cups your other boob.
He shifts against you, slotting himself snug between your legs. You wrap your thighs around him, a whimper catching in your throat when he grinds his hard-on against your clothed pussy, arching into him for more, wetness already collecting in your panties.
“I’ll handle it… you just relax f’me, baby.” He promises, kissing his way down your tummy whilst his fingers pinch at your nipples— his free hand tugging your panties down.
Lazy Sundays were the closest thing to heaven.
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Hii could you do one where aerion is a bit of a sub and softdom!reader pleaseee ?
💭 thinking about subby!aerion whose a little bit of a brat for his wife 18+ ooh I need him bad bad
Petulant, that’s what your husband was. A spoiled princeling with no manners and that burning Targaryen pride that made him feel as if the world owed him everything at the flick of his royal hand.
That was until he found himself beneath you, on your shared bed, with your delicate fingers stuffed into his mouth and his cock buried deep inside your wet cunt— your hips painfully still on top of his own.
“Ple-ease!— please move, please-” he chokes out desperately, words muffled around your digits that were now slick with his saliva, your fingertips pressing down on his warm tongue, a punishment for his attitude he has no doubt, and yet he sucks on them eagerly— welcoming them deeper.
His hands grasp at the fat of your hips, pulling and pushing, in a feeble attempt to get you to move, but you’re oh so stubborn… and gods does he love it.
“Who do you belong to?” It’s the third time you’ve asked, and each time he has refused to answer… then you give a deliberately slow roll of your hips, and he whines loudly— his back arching beautifully and his cock twitching inside you.
Then you still again, and it utterly breaks him.
“You!— you, gods, I belong to you, my queen, my world, my ruler… I’m your throne- please, please-” he cries, big tears trickling down his pink cheeks as he bucks up into your heat, the slick arousal of you both pools filthily from where you’re straddling him, smearing along your inner thighs.
“I’ll be good, I’ll hold my tongue. Please, my love… please...”
You know it’s a lie, but he’s your husband, and you can’t help but take pity on how pathetic he really is. Despite his awful attitude, he was quite the pretty crier with his lashes all clumped together wetly, cheeks flushed, panting beneath you.
For all his faults, and there were a lot, he was unfortunately quite the sight.
“You’ll write an apology to that Lord you embarrassed, hmm, won’t you?” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand, and he knew that— he could feel it in the way your fingers curl under his jaw with a harsh squeeze, fingers pressing into his cheeks, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“Ah! yes— yes, I’ll write it, anything— just please-” he gasps, nodding his head dumbly, his kiss-bitten lips parting around a whiny moan as you rock against him, your knees digging into the mattress from where they’re bracketing his hips— finally giving into him.
The bed creaks as you find that dizzying rhythm, his hands sliding from your hips to your ass— his fingers digging into the plush fat so he can fuck up into your warm pussy like the desperate mess he was, chasing after that release he’d been so cruelly denied.
“Say I’m good— tell me I’m good-” he begs, shiny lilac eyes blinking up at you as he tucks a hand between your bodies to massage your clit, watching you in a dazed sort of awe whilst you ride him.
The wet slap of skin and your shared moans filling your shared bed-chambers as he ruts up into you senselessly, the fat head of his dick nudge against that spongey spot deep inside you again and again and again until your pussy is gushing around his thickness, fluttering around him.
“You’re good- ah- my good boy,” the words finally fall from your lips, all breathless, your hands moving to cradle his face as he spills inside you in thick, hot spurts— making a sticky mess between your thighs.
He tugs you down against his damp chest, tilting his head to give you a clumsy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue— his arms circling tight around your body, the pair of you flushed and panting, connected, until you eventually move off of him with a faint wince.
“Don’t forget about that letter, Aerion,” you mutter, voice stern as you tug your robe over your shoulders— he can’t help but chuckle, completely enamoured by you.
AN: oh my gawd I’ve been lacking bad… I miss writing :(
જ⁀➴ There are rare moments when Daeron isn’t drowning himself in wine, where he is no prince, but rather just a man, a husband, a father ᝰ.ᐟ
Daeron knew deep down that he wasn’t the ideal husband— he was a drunk, always so sombre, distant, rarely slept, and when he did, he woke screaming. He knows he’s a broken man, cursed some might even say.
But then came along you with your endless patience, never demanding more than he could give, always so soft spoken, even in your disappointment and frustration. It bewildered him that you were so adamant on holding him close to your heart despite all his sharp edges, so he tried to meet you halfway; it was the least you deserved.
It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was real, sacred, and meant more to him than any title could ever.
Then you gave him a daughter, and his whole world had completely shattered when you placed the baby girl in his arms, his girl, with your eyes and his white hair.
Sweet, sensitive Naerys who looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky. Gods, the girl, now three, brought him to his knees effortlessly, made him fight harder to be the father she deserved, the husband you could be proud of.
There were days, however, where he thought about how much easier it would be to just let himself sink back into the embrace of his vices— then the gods would grace him with these private moments of precious time, such as this one…
Your shared chambers were doused in that gooey, orangy afternoon light that drapes itself over Summerhall like a veil, warming the stone floors and air that was sweetened by something citrusy.
“That’s beautiful, flower.” Daeron’s voice comes quietly so as to not startle Naerys, who was sitting on the floor, drawing butterflies.
He was lying beside her, bathed in sunlight like a lazy cat, propped up on his elbow, watching her in quiet awe— the pride in his eyes gleams a little brighter when his gaze meets yours, a rare smile curling at his lips.
“She’s talented, our daughter,” he whispers, nodding down to the parchment.
“That she is. She’ll make a great artist one day.”
“I think she’s already there,” he hums proudly, reaching up to tuck back a wayward curl from Naeyrs’ eyes lest it gets in her way. “These are worthy enough to hang up.” he adds quietly.
He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around how such an innocent thing came partly from him. Daeron remembers how terrified he was when the Maesters broke the news of your pregnancy to him, how he had prayed that whatever poison flowed through his veins didn’t drip to the babe.
He found that the fear never really left him as the years passed, it now drives him to protect her, to be there for her as any good father should— a gentle hand to guide her through life’s challenges.
“Papa, help?” Naerys asks softly, pushing the parchment towards her father with a pout— the poor thing was getting sleepy, he could tell, she got that same look in her eyes that you did after a long day.
“Of course, c’mere little one, let’s see what I can do.” he takes the pencil from her as she curls up against his chest with a tired little sigh, watching him finish the other wing of the butterfly she was drawing.
“This one’s for mama.” She whispers, glancing over to you with a shy smile before ducking her head back under Daeron’s chin.
“Mama will love it, sweet girl,” he replies in that same hushed whisper, brushing a kiss to the top of her head.
His free arm curls around her, keeping her close, and it doesn’t take long until shes dozing off into a peaceful sleep.
“And there she goes, passed out.” He chuckles, scooping her up in his arms and sitting down on the velvet sofa beside you— she stirs ever so slightly against him before settling, she grounded him in a way nothing else could.
“She’s had a busy day, all that drawing and running around,” you muse under your breath, “You’re tired too.”
Daeron hums, tipping his head back against the cushions, looking up at you with that silent devotion that didn’t need words or grand gestures— just a single glance and his purple eyes did all the speaking.
“I will be forever indebted to you, you know that? For what you’ve given me, I could never thank you enough.” He says, his hand finding your own, lifting it up to brush a kiss over your knuckles, then another to your wedding band, lingering.
“Stop that, there is no debt between us, never.” you chide softly, and he chuckles through his nose.
“Still, I will spend every day trying to be worthy of this… you, her,” he replies, reaching his arm out to curl around your shoulders and tug you into his side, “now come here before I say something else utterly ridiculous.”
You melt into his side with a contented sigh, head resting on the opposite shoulder to where your daughter was curled, who was now snoring softly. Daeron doesn’t sleep, but he doesn’t move either, not a single muscle; he’d rather sit there and count each of your combined breaths, basking in the weight of you both— his girls, his entire world there in his arms, safe.
💭 thinking about Husband!Aerion who likes biting his pretty wife a little too much ᝰ.ᐟ nasty thots 18+
When Aerion first bit you, you had hit him out of pure reflex, right across the cheek, hard enough for his skin to pinken and sting under your palm, enough for him to gasp and pull away from your mouth with a glare.
“You hit me. You hit your husband. Your king,” he had all but gawped, staring dead into your eyes.
“Yes, because you bit me, Aerion. You drew blood.”
Your retort had only brought a smirk to his face, smug and sardonic and when he reached a hand up to your mouth, it was not to soothe but rather to press his thumb against your bottom lip and smear the blood across your chin in pure awe.
Since then, he’s been a terror, like an untrained puppy who nips and chews on anything it can get its canines on.
When you try to fix his hair in the mornings, he tries to nip at your fingers. When he’s bored, he’ll lean in and bite your cheek and jaw without a care who’s watching and in bed? Well, he’ll sink his teeth into every beautiful inch of you.
You’d try to push him away when his teeth dig into your skin a little too hard, your hands squishing up against his face, but it’s a fruitless endeavour because gods, he’s relentless— his hands pinning yours into the pillows, his hips pressed firmly to your own, grinding against you clumsily.
“Don’t push me away,” he whines, the petulant creature he was, his breath hot against your jaw, “just one more, right here… my sweet wife, for me? Please?”
His favourite place to bite is your thighs and hips. He loves to see his teeth marks as you ride him, loves pressing his fingers against the bruises when you're on top of him, just to watch your rhythm falter and feel your cunt clench around his cock.
It’s a sick fascination he gets, watching the way your soft skin moulds under the shape of his teeth. He’s obsessed with the marks he leaves, the bruises and aches that bloom after— he adores watching you wince when you sit down or walk the halls, the hitch of your breath and the subtle furrow of your brows.
What thrills him the most, though, is when you snap, pulling him back by his white hair or grabbing his jaw tightly to wring him away from you— his lips all kiss-bitten and shiny, pupils blown. Nothing turns him on more than watching you lose your patience that you normally hide behind politeness.
“You’re a leech, Aerion.” You seethe, and your stern tone makes him dizzy, the sick man he was. “I told you not near my neck… as if people don’t already talk enough.”
“If you think I care about what people say… then you’ve sorely misjudged me, wife,” he boasts pridefully, turning his head to nip at the inside of your wrist. “Besides, was it not you who told me to pay no mind to the opinions of those whom are beneath us?”
The smugness of him irks you in ways you’ve never thought possible. He’s an untameable beast, and when he ducks his head to kiss at your neck, all slow and open-mouthed, almost apologetic if it were anyone but him, you know he’s got you right where he wants. “I’d eat you alive if I could, my sweet wife,” he whispers, nipping at your earlobe, and you think he just might.
AN: I finally got around to watching this show and now Vampire!Aerion is all I think about these days smh 😔
i beg re9 taking care of reader, like spoiling them while reader is like calling them old man or whatever silly names
જ⁀➴ Re9!Leon taking care of you even if you’re being a brat about it ᝰ.ᐟ
You’ve been practically glued to your laptop all day, hunched at the screen for hours on end without moving a single muscle. The most he’d gotten out of you since this morning was a plea for help when you got stumped on how to spell a certain word, but for the most part, it’s been complete radio silence.
It was admirable at first to see you so passionate, but now you’re rolling your shoulders every few minutes, murmuring under your breath like a crazy person, frowning at the words on the screen like they’ve got you hostage.
It was worrying him, so he figures you need an intervention.
“Alright. You’re done.” He says, literally dragging your chair away from the desk until your laptop is out of reach, much to your dismay.
“Leon, no. I need to finish this paragraph— just one more hour.”
He ignores your protests with a disapproving tut of his tongue. “I already gave you an extra hour, baby. I’m not asking, I’m telling you. You are done.”
He’s using that tone, the ‘dad voice’ as you had called it once, just to take a jab at his age. The sternness in his tone leaves no room for if’s or buts, and you know from past experience he isn’t above manhandling you into relaxing for an hour or however long he sees fit, really, so what else is there to do save for letting him steer you into the living room?
You plop yourself down onto the couch and instantly melt back into the plush cushions, a relieved sigh falling from your lips.
“C’mere you stubborn girl.” He mutters, sitting down beside you and tugging you closer— his big hands clasping around your shoulders with a deep squeeze, slowly working the tension from your taut muscles.
Despite how much you want to huff and puff at him, to tell him he was being ridiculous, he was good with his hands, and you were weak to his touch— especially when his thumbs press over that spot at the base of your neck, slowly smoothing out the tightness at your shoulder blades.
He chuckles under his breath when you lean into him with a faint whimper that you fail to bite back, your fingers curling into a throw pillow.
“Mmm, s’this how it feels to be your age, old man?” You giggle teasingly yet arch into his hands.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up— I’m old, it’s hilarious.” He mutters, but there’s no denying the fondness in his voice. He’s used to your little jabs by now, and to be honest, he kinda likes them. “But sweetheart,” he muses, leaning in to brush a kiss to the nape of your neck before you could get another word in, “only one of us here is currently groaning like a grandma.”
You scoff in feigned offence, and he doesn’t need to see your face to know that you’re rolling your eyes at him. “Mm, whatever, it’s not like-” your sentence gets cut off by an honest-to-god moan when he presses over a certain spot that aches a little too good.
You stretch your back out and roll your shoulders, and Leon all but coos behind you, “ohh, that’s it’s, big stretch f’me baby.” You fight the urge to hit him over the head with a pillow.
“Ugh… hush it, old man,” you mutter weakly.
“Mhm, you gonna let this old man run you a bath?” he smirks against your shoulder as you slump back against his chest with a pout, and you feel him chuckle behind you, the sound vibrating against your back. “Come on, let me spoil you tonight, you pouty little thing.”
“M’kay… fine,” you sigh, melting under his loving affection, trying to fight back the fluttery warmth in your chest when he coos a soft, “There’s my girl.”
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
AN: I’m on my period and this turned out way more horny than it should have.
I wanna get headlock by Leon fucking Kennedy while he fucks me hard, also I wanna be his controversial young gf😝😝 (sorry I’m in my ovulation phase)
no ur so real for this babe don’t evaa apologise!! 18+
because like yes… it starts out innocently, warm morning light spilling through the kitchen blinds as you cook pancakes in your lacy little bralet and a pair of his boxers with him behind you, rubbing his hands all over your curves, kissing at your neck and shoulders, hard-on pressed against your ass.
It doesn’t take long until you’re bent over the sleek marble countertops with those boxers pooled at your ankles and his fat cock buried deep inside your dripping cunt, stretching you out around him, groaning against your shoulder as you writhe against him.
“You’re too perfect, baby, looking all pretty, cooking me breakfast, letting me fuck this tight pussy— fuckin’ angel.”
Then his big arm wraps around your neck to keep you still, warm muscles tucked snugly under your jaw, your cheeks all squished between his bicep and forearm… and your cunt clenches around his thickness, pressing your ass back against him with a choked whimper of his name.
“Ooh, does my girl like that?— y’like when your old man chokes you a little, gonna cum, huh?” He coos roughly, his arm tightening just a fraction to feel your slick walls clamp around his cock once more. your eyes flutter shut as he ruts himself against your ass, the tip of his cock hitting that perfect spot deep inside you over and over again, the wet slap of skin filling your mind.
“Answer me or I stop.”
You gurgle, fingers desperately curling at his arm, blabbering nonsense, spit dribbling down your chin and pooling filthy at the crook of his elbow before finally managing out a whiny, “Fu-ck— yeah, yes!- hnng-” gushing around his dick as he fucks his load into your fluttering pussy, his face buried in your sleep tussled hair, moaning about how fucking perfect you are.
Then he’ll make you pancakes with extra syrup <3 (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
જ⁀➴ going undercover with Leon is stressful and you both blow off that steam together ᝰ.ᐟ 18+
The hotel room is sleek, with elegant silks and high ceilings, big windows, soft colours and warm lighting. It’s a presidential suite because, of course, it was. A big room that overlooked the city nightlife, from up here it felt worlds away— like a distant memory.
“You did really good tonight.” That’s how it started, a simple praise spoken behind closed doors— private, intimate in the way his voice drops to that hushed, tender whisper, and a smile warms his expression.
Your body was still thrumming with adrenaline from the night, the fake name, the made-up backstory, pretending to rub shoulders with shadows that no one spoke to and gaining information that wasn’t meant for your ears— it was thrilling, dizzying, it was burning through you.
Leon could feel it in the air, could taste it on the warm skin of your bare shoulders where he trails slow, open-mouthed kisses— the scratch his stubble shoots a tingle down your spine, your flushed skin cooled by the window that he presses you up against.
He pulls back to get a good, long look at you and that dress you squeezed yourself in, all curves and satin— how he managed to keep his hands off of you all night? God fucking knows. “Look at you— fuck, look at you, baby,” he groans, voice roughened by want that runs hot through his veins. He tugs you closer by your hips, his head ducking to mouth at your jawline like he just can’t help himself.
Your head tips backwards against the window, a choked noise trembling past your lips when his teeth nip at your pulse point, soothing the sting with a slow, wet lick of his tongue, dragging out another moan from your throat. He looks so good like this, his hair tussled up from your fingers, the top few buttons of his dress-shirt popped open, and his tie tugged loose around his neck. You want to kiss him badly, and so you do; your hands reach up to cup his face, and you pull him into a rough kiss, messy and desperate.
“Mmhm, fuck me please-”
“I’m getting there, be patient.” he murmurs into your mouth, words swallowed up between greedy kisses.
His hands hike the fabric of your dress up around your hips, his fingers pressing over the damp lace of your panties. “God, you’re soaked.” He pulls back to look at you, his gaze heated, “been like this all night? Hm? You got turned on hearing them call you Mrs Kennedy, didn’t you?”
You nod your head, whimpering a shameless little, “Yes,” as your hips give a pathetic little buck into his palm where his fingers rub over your wet pussy through your panties.
“Turn around. Hands on the window.” He tells you, low and commanding, and you don’t hesitate— not when your body aches for him to fill you up, not when you’ve spent the whole night thinking about this, about him.
Your panties fall to your ankles, and you press your ass back up against him with a whiny noise as he pushes the thick tip of his cock through your wet folds, spreading your pussy open around his length— lubing himself with your slickness before pushing into you with a filthy squelch.
He groans against your shoulder blade, panting something about how tight you are when your cunt squeezes around the thickness of his cock. “C’mere, give me those hips, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you closer before slowly fucking into you from behind with deep grind of his hips— the fat head of his cock nudges that spongey spot deep inside you, and his hands squeeze at your hips to keep you from falling.
“You like being my wife? Huh? You like me showing you off, dressing you up?” He rasps against your ear, running a hand down your front to circle your throbbing clit. “y’gonna cum for me, Mrs Kennedy?”
“Yes- ah- fuck, yes, yes, please-” the words fall from your lips, slurred, drunk from pleasure as your head dips forward, forehead meeting the window with a soft thud as his thrusts become sloppy, desperate.
“That’s it, baby… gonna fill you up so fucking deep. gonna make you mine, my pretty wife.”
Your pussy spasms around his cock, gushing around his thickness. He fucks you through it lazily— kissing on your neck as he spills inside you in hot thick spurts, pulling a guttural moan from him, your thighs all sticky with a messy mixture of you and him that trickles down his length as he pulls out of your cunt with a slick noise.
“Oh— oh fuck-” you pant shakily, knees threatening to buckle as he tucks himself back into his boxers.
“Easy there… I’ve gotcha, Mrs Kennedy.” He soothes teasingly, picking you up bridal style before you could collapse onto the floor like a baby deer and lying you down on the bed.
“Shut up… god, you’re so annoying,” you mutter weakly into the pillows, and he chuckles as he grabs you some water from the mini fridge— and for a few more moments you let yourself enjoy being his ‘wife’.
જ⁀➴ Resident Evil Masterlist જ⁀➴ General Masterlist
AN: I haven’t written actual smut in so long, omfg bruh
જ⁀➴ Leon Kennedy gives his favourite bartender a visit, after another gruelling mission, with an offer ᝰ.ᐟ
You hear him before you see him— motorcycle engine rumbling when he parks up outside, his boots scuffing against the wooden floorboards as he makes his way over to his usual spot and lo and behold, when you step out from the backroom, there he is, all leather and hardened edges.
You watch his expression soften just a fraction under the warm flickering glow of the bar lights, and despite yourself, you feel your throat clench, heart stubbornly skipping a beat or two. You had missed him.
But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that from you.
“We’re closed.” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest like you haven’t been praying to see him walk through those creaky doors for months now after he had upped and left without a single word.
He smirks, slow and annoyingly charming, his dark brows raising in amusement. “Really?”
“Yes, really, Leon. You’ve been coming here long enough to know the rules.”
Still, he shakes his jacket off, rolling the sleeves of his compression shirt up to his elbows, and it takes everything in you not to stare at his big arms— damn him.
“True. I also know that you break those rules… regularly,” he shoots back knowingly, his blue eyes fixed onto you as if he could tell exactly what’s going on in your mind. A part of you thinks he just might.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve. Seriously. You’re not gonna ask me how I’ve been?— or where you’ve been?” you mutter, giving him a weak glare that he sees right through.
“It’s a long story and one I’m not telling sober, sweetheart,” he nods over to the bottle of whiskey you keep tucked on the top shelf with a wink and a silent ‘please?’ in his eyes. You just can’t refuse.
You shake your head, uttering an insult under your breath as you turn your back to him and grab the bottle of whiskey, pouring him a glass— no ice, no mixers, just straight from the bottle because he likes the burn as it goes down, likes the sharpness, the way it makes his skin prickle.
You called him a masochist once, and he chuckled, telling you that you ‘didn’t know the half of it’— you hadn’t asked him what he meant that night, just poured him another drink and let him stay way past closing hours, maybe that was your fault, feeding a stray, because the next night he came back.
Somewhere along the line, it stopped being about the drink and more about you— your smart mouth, your laughter, that stubborn little frown you get when a patron gets a little too loud or the gentleness in your voice when someone comes in looking a little weathered.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he sighs in relief when you slide him his glass, the amber liquid glinting like gold under the lights. He doesn’t drink it in one go; instead, he savours it. “You taking care of yourself?”
If he were literally anyone else, you’d scoff and make some blunt, sarcastic remark, but it’s him, and the genuine concern that softens his usual rough tone breaks your defences.
“Yeah, I’ve been taking it slow, one day at a time,” you tell him, idly cleaning a glass with a little more enthusiasm than needed, clutching onto the towel like it owed you money.
He notices the tension in your shoulders, the way your jaw clenches down onto words that get left unsaid in favour of your stubborn pride as you potter around behind the bar, cleaning things that don’t really need cleaning just to keep yourself busy.
“You free this weekend?” The question makes you freeze, fingers fumbling with the glass— it irks something inside you.
“Why?”
“Let me take you out, somewhere quiet, private.” He pauses, watching your expression closely as you take in his offer, your eyes narrowing at him. “You can ask me whatever questions you have, and I’ll answer them.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Only one way to find out.” There it is again, that stupidly handsome, smug smirk that makes you scoff. “That noise a yes?”
You mull it over for a beat longer, pursing your lips to the side in contemplation— you’d tell yourself it was just curiosity as you give in.
“Mm, alright. Fine. I can be free— only if you pick me up on that motorcycle, though.” you grin back, slinging the towel over your shoulder, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he chuckles, the sound deep and warmed by the whisky.
“Yeah, I think I can do that for you.”
AN: this is lowkey buns but welp >_< I'm still trying to get into a writing flow lol
PLEASE I NEED RE9 LEON SO BADLY IK HE WPULD LOOK AFTER US SO WELL PLSSSSS
I cant
જ⁀➴ Aftercare with RE9!Boyfriend!Leon ᝰ.ᐟ 18+
Leon wasn’t a stranger to hard work or long distance— he was trained for it, quite literally. That’s why he cherishes his time at home, with you, why he settles for nothing more than to worship every inch of you in bed.
He’s gotta make up for the lost time somehow, right?
And fucking you into the mattress until the only thing on your mind is him… is exactly how he does that, and he’s damn good at it too. He knows your body like he knows his way around a gun; it’s second nature to him. He knows exactly how to coax those breathless moans from your perfect lips and how to get you to arch up into him, when to press deeper and when to ease up, how to bring you over that edge and keep you right on the brink.
He gives it to you good, so it’s only logical that he takes care of you after he’s done fucking you dumb.
“You always take it so good, baby,” he coos against your shoulder blade, where he brushes a series of feather-light kisses, his lips trailing slowly down your spine— his stubble whispering against your flushed skin. “You okay, hm? not too sore?” he almost sounds proud of himself.
“A little achy, it’s a good ache though.” You hum into the pillows from where you’re lying on your stomach, face buried into the silk— your voice lazy and a little muffled.
“Good, means I did my job right,” you can feel his lips curl into a smug grin as he presses his face into the nape of your neck— his big palm running over the curve of your hip. “c’mere, let me hold you.”
Your body, heavy and boneless, relaxes into his big warm arms— he had joked one time that they were shaped to hold you, just like this, with your head tucked under his chin whilst his fingertips run nonsensical patterns up and down your spine in long soothing strokes, his touch grounding you in the moment, his heartbeat under your ear.
“Want me to go run you a bath?— reheat that pizza?” he murmurs against your temple, brushing a kiss to your hairline as you tilt your head to gaze up at those baby blues of his that the warm lamplight catches.
“Mm, in a minute… just wanna look at you first,” he smirks at your needy response, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through your hair, a silent 'I'm here' in his touch.
“Don’t think there’s much to look at… m’just wrinkles now baby,” he says, a faint chuckle catching in his deep voice.
He watches you roll your eyes at him, in that fond way you do whenever he says or does something ridiculous and god does he just thrive off of your little expressions— it’s free ammunition, that frown you get between your brows and that pout to your lips of yours that he loves to kiss right from your mouth.
You huff, muttering something about him ‘ageing sexily’ as you press a kiss to his stubbled jaw, then another to the corner of his mouth, lingering for a moment. “You’re still my man.”
“Damn straight I am, baby, all yours.” He beams, pride warming behind his ribs and bleeding all through his chest as he hauls you closer to him— dragging your thigh across his hips, your soft curves pressing up into the hard planes of his body like puzzle puzzles. “My girl,” he whispers as if to remind himself, bumping his nose against yours before stealing a slow kiss that has you melting further into him with a pleased noise.
Your fingers thread through his salt and pepper hair, smiling against his mouth when you feel him lean into your hands with the faintest hum— his forehead dropping to yours.
“I’ll build you that bookshelf tomorrow, after I make you breakfast.” you feel his voice rumble through his chest like distant thunder as he speaks, low and yet impossibly tender— always tender with you. “Right now, I’m gonna run you a bath and get some food in you.”
And all you could do was nod, humming a grateful thanks. His words weren’t up for debate, not when it came to looking after you.
AN: oh my god writers block has been beating the shit out of me lol. I’m watching someone play Re9 and got the sudden urge and wrote this <3
BABEEE you write robert robertson so hot I swear, like ugh when you write him you write him GOOD. I need him. I need to consume your writing physically. They are my sweet treats.
omg thank youuu so much my lovely! (⸝⸝⸝>﹏<⸝⸝⸝)
I do need to get back into the bakery lol, I have unfortunately been lacking.
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