[kissfae]

vee 𝜗𝜚 they/she/he, twenty. professional mediocre writer. satosugu’s angel. warning: this blog contains (n)sfw content.

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© KISSFAE 2026. — this blog is rated ‘E’ for explicit. viewer discretion is advised. do not claim, copy, repost, or translate.

[kissfae]

₊˚⊹ — it’s been 3 years and i’m still thinking about being old man!leon’s younger girlfriend…

he doesn’t understand the ‘instagram reels’ (whatever those are) that you show him. he’s usually confused as to why you’re laughing to the point of tears, and is even more confused by the look you give him when he asks you if you know the person in the video.

he’s still trying to get used to the feeling of sticky residue on his cheek, gifted oh so kindly to him by your glossed lips. he doesn’t understand why you need a lip gloss for the car, two that sit unused at the bottom of your bag, and the few dozen that are thrown haphazardly on the bathroom counter. not to mention the stash you have on your vanity. (he’ll still happily swipe his card at ulta when you find another to add to your hoard collection.)

doesn’t understand your fascination with ‘trinkets’, as you like to call them. back in his day, it was called junk. but he dare not say that to you, not when your eyes light up so easily at finding another set of those bug-eyed, tiny animal families. calico critters, he thinks? that’s what he remembers you calling them anyway. they sit proudly on every shelf in your shared home. he’s had to talk you out of making him a charm for his gun many-a-time, but he’ll never let you know it’s one of the hardest requests he’s ever had to deny.

and don’t even let him see you trying to cram at least two loads worth of laundry into a singular load. you will never hear the end of it. he will go on and on about how you should just let him do it if “you’re gonna be that barbaric with my expensive washing machine.” he doesn’t really mind though, it gives him the chance to take a look at the cute panties you bought at last week’s victoria’s secret sale.

[kissfae]

i had such a shit day at work i hope my boyfriend comes home and eats me out

[lemondrop-sunrise]

bonus:

[kissfae]

happy (kinda late) birthday!!! :D

ACK thank you 😢😢 sending you love n hugs !!

[memories]

#leon s kennedy smut and Other Things That Ruined My Life: An Autobiography by kissfae

[memories]

Pour one out for #geto suguru x reader.

[kissfae]

with the release of re9 on the horizon… i might need to write for leon again…. especially now that’s he’s 49 . i am hard

[kissfae]

editing my age on my pinned and for the first time ever, the number doesn’t end in ‘teen’. it might be time to retire guys

[bruisedboys]

steve gives his curious girlfriend her first hickey (ft. weird!girl reader hehe)

steve harrington x inexperienced!fem!reader, 1.2k words

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve hums, idly turning the page of the comic book he’s reading on your bedroom floor. “What, babe?”

“I was wondering…what does a hickey feel like?”

Steve freezes. You ask him a lot of questions, and odd ones at that, but this was the last thing he was expecting. He supposes he should’ve seen it coming, him being your new-ish boyfriend and all, and you having little to no experience with romantic relationships. But then again, you’d never asked him what it was like to kiss someone, it sort of just happened. He assumed it would be the same for everything else.

He sits up, his back clicking as he goes. “You’ve never had one?”

You’re watching him from your bed, sitting criss-cross apple sauce with a mess of beads and cord strewn across the duvet in front of you, a half-made bracelet in your lap.

You shake your head. “No. Have you?”

Steve thinks it’s cute how oblivious you are sometimes. You’re not dumb, it’s just that sometimes you have better things to think about. You spend a lot of time with your head in the clouds. It’s what he likes most about you.

He nods. “Yeah, I’ve had a few. They feel…good?”

You wrinkle your nose like you don’t believe him. “Do they? Isn’t it basically like…biting?”

Steve laughs. “Sort of. More like sucking.” He grimaces when he realises how odd that sounds, but you don’t even flinch. “It sounds weird, but it feels really nice.”

You mull it over for a few moments, probably imagining how it would feel in your head. Then you nod. “Oh. Okay.”

You go back to your beads, seemingly unfazed. Steve watches you. Something tugs at the back of his mind, begging to be spoken aloud. The words spill from his mouth before he can stop them,

“Would you want me to show you?”

You stop what you’re doing and look at Steve, blinking owlishly. His cheeks feel hot, though he’s not really sure why.

“Show me what?” You ask. Your head tilts to one side, alarmingly puppy-like.

“Uh.” Steve clears his throat. He’s suddenly nervous, and the look on your face isn’t helping. “What a hickey feels like? I can give you one, if you want.”

You blink at him some more. “Would you?”

“Yeah!” Steve nods, all of a sudden too eager. He cringes and dials it down a tone. “I mean, yeah. Sure, if you want me to. It’s sort of what boyfriends do.”

That earns a laugh from you. “I know, Steve.” Steve likes the way you say his name like it means something. You put down your bracelet and get up onto your knees. “You really want to give me one?”

Steve nods. “Only if you want one,” he says quietly.

You smile at him. It’s an odd sort of smile, almost like you can read his mind. “I want one. Stay there, handsome. I’ll come to you.”

You climb on your knees to the edge of the bed. Your beads roll around the duvet as your weight rises and falls but you pay no mind to the mess. Steve will be finding beads in your bed for the next few weeks, he thinks.

You slide off the end of the bed and sit in front of him on the carpet, crossing your legs underneath you. Steve copies. He notices vaguely that your socks are mismatched, one polka dot and one with pink flowers.

You grin at him, curious. “Okay. Now what?”

Even if he wasn’t about to give you a hickey, Steve just wants you in his lap. You look so pretty, your too-big tshirt slipping off your shoulder, your hair tucked behind your ears unthinkingly, your mascara smudged a little at the corner of your left eye. He reaches for you.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, tugging at you gently. You go easily, letting him pull you into his lap, your thighs caging his hips. You put your hands on his shoulders and Steve holds your waist.

You watch him expectantly, your pretty eyes all doe-like with patience, looking at him like he hung the stars. Steve almost passes out.

He clears his throat.

“Listen,” he says. “If you don’t like it, you’ll tell me, yeah?”

He’s stalling. He knows you’ll like it. But he’s outrageously nervous right now.

You nod. “Okay. It won’t hurt, will it?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently. “No, baby. I’ll be gentle.” He reaches up and brushes some hair away from your shoulder. His fingers skim your bare skin where your shirt has slipped. You’re very warm. “You want it on your neck?”

“Is that where they usually go?” You ask quietly.

Steve hums. “Usually. But they can be anywhere, wherever feels nice. I’ll just start with your neck, okay?”

You nod. You’ve gone all quiet. Steve thinks you're probably feeling as shy as he is right now.

“Relax,” he tells you, thumb rubbing circles into the dip of your waist.

Steve leans in. You stay very still. The juncture between your neck and your shoulder begs to be kissed. Steve presses his mouth to your warm skin and you shudder minutely.

“Don’t be nervous,” he murmurs into your skin.

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

Steve takes your bicep in his hand and rubs the slope of your shoulder with his thumb. Then he kisses you again, right over your pulse point. He starts slow, just kissing in the same spot over and over, your skin glistening under each languid press of his mouth. Once he’s warmed you up a bit, he steels his nerves and gets greedier, lips searching and hungry for your warmth as he takes your skin into his mouth and sucks ever so gently.

Your breathing hikes. You curl your fingers into Steve’s collar and your pulse quickens beneath his lips.

“You okay?” He murmurs, half dazed.

You hum softly. “M’fine,” you whisper. Your fingers brush the nape of his neck. “Don’t stop.”

Steve wasn’t planning on it. If anything, your breathlessness makes him even more earnest, though he makes sure to be very gentle with you. He sucks away at your soft, warm skin, eliciting the prettiest, softest sounds from you. You don’t moan, but you gasp and sigh when his teeth graze your sensitive skin, and that’s about enough for Steve to feel as if he might go up in flames.

When he’s done, he pulls away an inch to assess his work. Your skin is already darkening, a purple-red splotch blooming like a flower over your pulse point. Steve drags his thumb over it.

“All done, pretty.” He pulls back to look you in the eyes. You’re still breathless, your skin all flushed and your eyelids heavy. Steve reckons he did a pretty good job despite his nerves, “How was that?”

You swallow. “It was really nice,” you say dizzily.

Something hot and fiery stirs in Steve’s gut at your obvious pleasure. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Mm. Yeah, it felt really good, Steve. You’re good at that.”

Steve grins, feeling suddenly awash with something like lovesickness.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He reaches for your face and tucks a rogue lock of hair behind your ear. You’re practically putty in his hands, all melty and warm. His hand lingers at your jaw. “Would you…want another one?”

Steve would be lying if he said he wasn't asking purely for his own benefit. But, as he expected, you nod.

“Yes please,” you say, halfway to begging.

And how could Steve say no to that?

[kissfae]

missing you like crazyyyyyy

hii anon !! i miss being on here as well ! i’ve just been busy with work and other things in my life:( i promise i’m working on some drafts though! slowly but surely, they’ll get posted! ^^

[andtosaturn]

SABRINA CARPENTER in TEARS (2025) SUSAN SARANDON in THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW (1975)

[kissfae]

did u grow out of love for re?

oh my gosh never!! i’m assuming you asked because of my lack of writing for / posting anything new in regards to RE + my deletion of most of my leon fics.

i was seventeen when i started writing for re / leon, and looking back at my works, i was not as proud of them as i once was. my love for RE will be eternal, as it is a franchise i grew up with.

i stopped writing it for a multitude of reasons, the main one being that my main interests are always rotating, and i tend to focus all of my attention on one or two at a time. another reason is i thought the fandom was getting a little… weird for me. going through the tags and seeing copious amounts of dddne / inc*st was a turn off for me. no hate or judgement to those who indulge in that sort of thing, but it just wasn’t my cup of tea.

i hope to start writing for leon again, whether it be little blurbs, or possibly restarting clementine. i’m sorry if you guys think i’ve abandoned you :(

[kissfae]

it is CANON geto has NO tattoos or piercings. it’s SHOWN in the manga and anime.

dontttt careeeee

[kissfae]

₊˚⊹ thinking about having matching piercings with suguru…

you’ve found yourself more times than you can count sat in his lap in front of a small box fan on a hot summer’s day, stifling small giggles as you sloppily mash your lips together, the plump flesh of his lips sticking to the gloss that coats yours as the two matching barbells that reside on both of your tongues interlink for a brief moment.

or sitting atop the bathroom counter, cleaning his gauges for him as he stares at your newly stretched lobes, a very recent modification you had made to your body after seeing a cute set of gauges at the mall last week. you gave him the sweetest doe eyes you could muster up, insisting you had to do it since the shade of purple perfectly matched his irises. he almost fainted right then and there.

you’re currently trying to get him on board with the idea of his belly button being bejeweled like yours currently is. and he has to admit, the idea does appeal to him, but not as much as the thought of matching nipple piercings. he doesn’t know what would hurt more, a needle piercing through both of his tender peaks, or the raging boner you’d find him sporting at the mere glimpse of the newly adorned barbells pushing against your small tank top.

he supposes there’s only one way to find out.

[sugussugar]

imagine coming home with suguru after a late night of dinner and drinks with shoko and satoru.

you're exhausted. your eyes are drooping shut, your legs feel abnormally heavy, you swear your skull is shrinking in size at the pain of your headache, everything hurts and all you want is sleep.

and suguru, ever the gentleman that he is, refuses to let his baby do anything while in this state. (← or in general at that.)

he starts by carrying you from the car to inside the house, cooing as you begin to fall asleep. he steps inside the bathroom with you nestled in his arms and places you on the toilet, meticulously undresses you, ridding your body of any clothes jewelry or accessories.

he sets you in the tub, delicate as ever, making sure all he thinks about is how fragile you are and how much care he must handle you with, and cleanses your entire body for you; whispering soft: “no no, baby. you get your rest, i'll take care of everything.” every time you so much as think to lift a finger.

he would be so tender when drying your body, kissing all along your body as he goes while murmuring quietly into your skin: “you're so beautiful... so perfect.”

he rubs a vanilla scented lotion into your skin afterwards , using that as an excuse to litter your body with even more kisses before picking you up and strolling off to your shared bedroom.

he doesn't get you dressed, something he insisted wasn't necessary: “sleeping naked is much more intimate, my dove.” or something like that. (you were half asleep when he said it) however, he does pick you out an outfit for tomorrow and folds it up neatly on your dresser.

you're laying in bed, quickly losing consciousness as he does that until you're startled by him gently tapping your cheek: “no no, lovely. i still need to brush your hair. sit up for me?”

he doesn't give you time to respond, already slowly hoisting your body upward into a sitting position, cautious not to startle you too much.

he then brushes through your locks, starting from the bottom and making his way to the top, kissing the back of your head then whispering: “doesn't that feel nice?”

afterwards, he lays down in bed with you, pulls you close, and finally grants you your wish of sleep.

[snail-day-deactivated20251016]

God, thinking about hair stylist! Suguru who just pampers you endlessly whenever you're in his chair. You’ve known each other since childhood, and even then, he was constantly playing with your hair, violet eyes bright with excitement as he begged you to let him try new styles or colors - requests you playfully denied until he earned his professional license.

Well. Now he’s licensed.

The salon practically worships him, clients lining up just for the chance to sit beneath those skilled, tattooed hands. Just to catch a glimpse of the way the light catches in his silky, dark hair, always tied back into a loose, low bun, or how the sun glints off the silver and gold piercings lacing his ears, giving him that ethereal look. that screams, out of your league.

There’s a bowl tucked behind the reception desk, filled with phone numbers scribbled on receipts and café napkins. Mostly women. A few bold men. He never throws them out. Claims he’s “not a heartbreaker,” says it with a foxlike smile and a shrug, as if he’s the one being courted against his will.

Yet, no matter how overbooked his schedule gets, no matter how many influencers, models, or high-paying clients beg for a slot, he always makes room for you.

Always.

Even cancels on celebrities from time to time. Especially one in particular, with annoyingly white hair and a cocky grin.

“I told him I had someone prettier to take care of,” Suguru says easily, lips twitching into a little smile as he greets you at the door. "He didn't take it well." As he pulls you to his chair, violet eyes meet yours in the mirror as he drapes the cape over you.

You blink. “Satoru?”

Suguru hums. “Didn’t say that.”

His fingers slide into your hair, his touch gentle, slightly sensual, and lingering between sections. “You’re my favorite client, princess,” he muses, gaze softening as he combs through your strands. “The usual?”

Before you can reply, he tuts, already inspecting your ends with mock dismay. "You haven’t been using the leave-in I gave you, have you?” His voice like silk, but there’s a scolding tone as he reaches for the product. “What am I gonna do with you?”

You try not to get distracted by the way the sunlight catches on his earrings, the gentle glint of his rings as his hands move expertly through your hair. But it’s impossible not to watch him, his focus, his elegance, the way he bites the inside of his cheek when he’s trimming. Causally measuring the strands, the soft brush of his fingers on your cheek when he's looking at you so intently.

And then he tilts your chin up with two fingers, knuckles brushing against your skin. “Look here for me, princess,” he says lowly, voice dipped in honey. You meet his gaze, heart skipping when his thumb strokes the line of your jaw.

“Perfect,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

You barely recover before he adds, casual as ever, “You always make my chair look good. Practically the prettiest girl I know.” You flush. Suguru grins.

And then comes the massage while he's washing your hair. His broad fingers working slow, hypnotic circles into your scalp, coaxing little sighs from your lips. It’s impossible not to melt. His touch borders between sinful and affectionate.

“So,” he murmurs, voice teasing at your ear, “seeing anyone special lately?”

When you say yes, there’s a pause. Barely noticeable. But you’ve known Suguru too long not to catch it. His hands still for a second too long. His smile tightens, almost imperceptibly.

“Is that right?” he echoes, leaning down until his breath fans your skin. “They must be so lucky…” Another pause. His voice lowers, warm and smug. “Though I can’t imagine anyone appreciating you quite like I do.”

You barely manage a sound as he shifts gears again, moving to blow dry your hair, playful but professional, brushing a curl behind your ear, only to messily tuck another strand back, pretending to fix it with a smile. “You’re impossible to improve,” he murmurs. “But I’ll keep trying anyway.”

Suguru doesn’t rush with you. Never has. He moves with the kind of care that makes time feel like it stretches, each moment a little sweeter than the last. His fingers glide through your hair, gentle as possible, his voice low as he murmurs between motions:

“Let me get this just right,” or, “Only perfection for my girl.”

And when he finally spins the chair around, revealing your reflection in the mirror, already moving behind you. tousling your hair a little to really showcase his work before his hands rest gently on your shoulders, thumbs grazing the fabric of your cape with the softest touch. His midnight gaze meets yours in the mirror, warm, and so unflinchingly soft it makes your stomach do a small flip.

“Beautiful,” he says, voice quiet, meant to be under his breath.

You make a small, flustered sound, and you’re grateful, almost embarrassingly so, when the door opens behind you. His next client. Saved by the bell. Nearly jumping to pack up your things.

Suguru steps back with a soft chuckle, already calling out a lazy greeting over his shoulder, but not before giving you a little wave. That same slow, familiar wave he’s always given you since you were kids.