the failure epiphany

legal • ao3: sistines

[aweskerspet]

🛁🛁🛁🛁

PLEAAAASEEEE

I’m not sure if you wanted Wesker, I have answered this here and here.

I’m going to choose… Chris Redfield for this.

Emoji Ask Game

🛁 shower/bath sex headcanon

Shower sex and Chris Redfield just makes sense to me. I think he’s super clingy in RE1, the type to invite himself into the shower with you. You tell him you’re going to go take a quick shower, and you’ll find him in the bathroom shedding his clothes.

Pre-RE5, slightly different. It’s more emotional, he’s grieving Jill (and Wesker, but we don’t discuss that.)

But, drunk Chris and shower sex don’t mix. He might slip, honestly. Do not let him in the shower when he’s inebriated…

Sober Chris will push you flat against the glass and grind his cock into you, trying to become one with you as he pushes himself flat against your back and holds you there with a firm grip. His hands are everywhere—he’s everywhere, suffocating you. He’ll hold you in a bear hug and suck on your neck ‘til it bruises and he feels satisfaction in that he’s marked yo. Enjoys feeling you shiver and twitch and jerk your hips in every direction when his hands stimulate you.

100% going to be boiling hot water pouring over you. The heat is inescapable.

[lilacgrayskies]

☁︎⋅ leon takes care of himself for you

leon never says anything right away, always taking time to observe before reacting. 

he watches the way you disappear into the bathroom before dates. the faint click of your makeup compacts, the hiss of the hairspray, the soft music you play while getting ready. by the time you step out, you’re smiling at him like it didn’t take you an hour deciding between two identical outfits.

but he notices.

notices the way your lipstick matches the blush on your cheeks. the special occasion earrings you wear only on dates. the perfume that lingers on his jackets, which change depending on the season (he likes the floral one best). 

and, of course, the questions you always ask.

“does this look okay?

“is this shirt too bright?...or not bright enough?”

“will these heels match your shoes?”

leon thought it was ridiculous at first. as if there could ever be a version of you he wouldn’t look at like you hung the stars yourself. 

it finally clicked one day while he was waiting outside your apartment. you were running late which was a rare occasion. when you finally appeared in front of him, you had an embarrassed smile while apologizing about redoing your makeup.

that night at dinner, he caught himself staring. you looked gorgeous, you always did. but he saw how clean your eyeliner was, how smooth your cheeks were, and how kissable your lips looked despite the plate of pasta you devoured. 

the thought of you taking the time and effort to be so beautiful, just for him? that settled in his chest and followed him home.

the next morning, rather than just putting on the first shirt he sees, he pauses. his hand lingers over an old, loose academy shirt before reaching for a black fitted one instead. he remembers the way you gawked at him the first time he wore it, the memory making him chuckle. 

he spends more time fixing his hair, but grows frustrated that it doesn’t move with his fingers dipped in water. that afternoon, he bought a new hair serum. one of the best, at least, that’s what the sales lady said. 

he starts using moisturizer before bed and sunscreen in the morning.

he’s more generous with the cologne that made you bury your face in his neck for a second longer than usual. 

even his workouts change. he still trains because he has to, but maybe he adds one more set. maybe he holds the plank a little longer. maaaaybe he does pushups before he comes to see you. you don’t seem to mind when the sleeves of his shirts began to fit tighter around his arms than they used to.

leon thought it was only fair, and he doesn’t mention any of it.

it wasn’t until one evening when you’re standing behind him in his kitchen, wrapping your arms around his waist while he’s washing dishes. your fingers squeezed the taut muscle of his abdomen.

“have you been working out more?”

leon glances over his shoulder, pretending to think about it. “...maybe.”

“maybe?” you giggle, feeling his arms. “your shirts didn’t used to fit like this.”

he dries his hands before turning around to face you. he leans against the counter, pulling you close. 

“you spend a lot of time getting pretty before you see me,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “figured I should put in some work too.”

you blinked. “for me?” 

he could feel his ears heating up. “didn’t seem right letting you be the only one trying.”

the look on your face (and the kisses you smothered him in) made everything worth it.

BONUS

chris stared at leon from the bathroom doorway, watching as he dripped something onto his hand before combing his fingers through his hair.

“is that…hair oil?

leon didn’t even look up. “hair serum,” he corrected. 

“alright, pretty boy, what’s next? face masks? cucumber slices over your eyes?”

“why? you wanna do some? I’ve got a few,” leon said, holding up a variety of sheet masks.

chris blinked. “...why do you have so many?”

“they’re moisturizing,” he shrugged. “my girl took all the brightening ones.”

leon said it so casually that chris had to stare at him for a second before breaking into a grin. leon gave him an annoyed look through the mirror. “what?” he scoffed.

“hair serum. moisturizer. lip balm,” chris pointed at the lineup on the bathroom counter. all the bottles were on a rotating caddy, courtesy of you, of course. he plucked a bottle from the shelf, squinting at the label. “cuticle oil? since when do you care about your cuticles?”

“since someone told me to take better care of my hands,” leon snatched the bottle away from him. 

chris barked out a laugh. “ain’t no way.”

“you don’t have room to talk,” leon said, organizing his caddy.

chris frowned. “what does that mean?”

leon turned around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. he eyed chris up and down.

“my hair’s healthier. my hands are softer,” he smirked. “and I dress better than you.”

chris looked at himself in the mirror. “this shirt’s fine,” he said firmly. 

“shirt from ten years ago?”

“it’s cotton.”

leon chuckled beneath his breath.

“you know…jill might like it if you put in a little effort.”

that caught chris’s attention. “...you think so?”

“yeah,” leon shrugged. “my girl gives me something to look at, I might as well do the same.”

chris rubbed the back of his neck. “pass me the serum,” he said.

“no. you can have the moisturizer.”

masterlist

© lilacgrayskies on tumblr

{dividers from @/cursed-carmine}

[lanadelreyylover]

understandable

Leon Kennedy x Reader

Chris finds an interesting picture in your and Leon's bedroom...

based on this request

Chris rings the doorbell, met by the twinkling sound of giddy children, scales of laughter that thumb against the window panes. Then, he hears your voice, calling out for Leon to wrangle up the kids while you get the door. A whole other life happening on the other side of that plank of wood. 

The first thing he notices when you open the door is that you’re pregnant…again. 

“Hi, Chris,” you cheer with a wide, toothy smile, rising to your tippy toes to wrap a warm pair of arms around his neck, pulling him into as much of a hug as you’re able to give. “It’s been so long. Feels like we haven’t seen you in ages.” 

Apparently. 

You have always been a beautiful woman. Intelligent, brave, strong. A hell of a soldier from what he can remember. So, it doesn’t surprise him that Leon can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. But to Chris, there’s something borderline abusive about keeping a woman knocked up all the time. 

“Hey there.” He says with a weak smile, in turn giving you a kiss on the cheek once you pull away. “Good to see you.”

“Come on in.” 

With a wave, you step further into the house, kicking toy trucks and crooked-limbed dolls from your path. “Don’t mind the mess,” you call out from over your shoulder, padding down the hallway as you lead him to the living room. “I swear we cleaned before you came, but these days, it feels like no matter what we do, there’s gonna be a toy to trip on somewhere.” 

He chuckles, nearly tripping over one himself. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Leon,” you sing as you round the corner into the kitchen. “Look who’s here.” 

Leon’s sitting on a chair, cradling a sleeping toddler in his arms. The baby can’t be more than two years old. Chris does the mental math. Seriously abusive. 

“Hey man,” he says at Chris, attempting to wave with the hand that’s cradling the baby’s back. “Let me go put her to bed and we can get this party started.” 

There’s a family portrait above the fireplace. One plus two plus two more plus one plus one plus one on the way…

You and Leon do realize that you don’t have to supply working hands for the farm anymore, right? This isn’t the nineteenth century where people had kids because they couldn’t afford workers and seeds had to be sown. Chris shakes those thoughts out of his head, or maybe they’re thrown out by the two children that latch themselves onto his lower legs like monkeys on a branch. 

“Woah, hey there.” 

“Boys,” you call out with a clap, pointing to the stairs. “I’ve fed you, I’ve washed you. You can get yourselves to bed. Hop to it.” 

The boys stumble over their own feet to trek up the stairs. 

He turns to you. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” 

“Of course,” you say, giving him the directions to the upstairs bathroom, the one connected to your room because it has the highest chances of being clean compared to the ones the children use. Apparently one of the girls is a real Picasso and took to scribbling on the bathroom wall with “washable” markers.

Chris steps into the bedroom, and a wide dresser opposite the bed catches his eye. It’s adored with a drape of picture frames, the entire surface crowded by a purposeful arrangement of memories. 

One of them depicts you and Leon on your wedding day. A black and white still of the two of you sitting at the head table, clinking champagne flutes and smiling with all teeth. 

Then, an image of you holding your first child. A couple photos of extended family. Grandparents. Cousins. Your college friends. School photos of your children, all dressed and groomed to the nines. 

And, in the corner of another wedding photo, tucked in the gilded frame is a polaroid, the edges darkened around a glowing figure. Chris can’t help the way his jaw falls slack and he peels the sticky photo from the frame’s glass pane, taking it in his fingers to inspect closer. 

It’s you, reclined on your front, ass in the air, back arched to show off the elegant length of your spine. You’re clothed in a strappy black set–something entirely wicked in the way you grin at the camera. Low lidded bedroom eyes that belong on the cover of a magazine. 

“Like what you see?” Leon’s standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, unable to ignore the strange sensation of pride blooming across his chest. 

“Holy shit,” Chris says, keeping his fingers on the photo as he lets out a chuckle. He pivots, showing Leon the polaroid. His friend just laughs, a genuine, rumbling sound straight from the belly. “I get it now, man.”

[creetale]

Chris Redfield + Leon Kennedy Dick headcanons and more

18+ MDNI, Ageless will be blocked!!

A/N: Not beta read at all, Literally wrote this whole thing in the span of 45 mins as a text to my friend. I've never posted on tumblr before so i apologise for how scrappy this looks and the sheer number of tags 😭

CW: Hyperspermia (leon), Belly button play?(leon), General in depth discussion of these two and their genitals, Body image issues (both), leon kennedy vs his body hair, Infertility (leon), CNC/Dub-con mentioned (leon), Ptsd symptoms (leon), Asphyxiation (leon), Switch!leon, Fling!Ada wong mentioned at one point (leon), Erectile dysfunction (leon), Breeder balls (chris), Ball touching (chris), Chris nearly choking a girl with his cum, authors blatant favouritism towards leon.

WC~ somewhere around 950

Chris Redfield

Chris has an incredibly fat cock, its not that long but the width makes up for it, pretty even all the way, except it kinda has an almost crest shape where it tapers out slightly in the middle but only on the underside, kind of built like a combo of a tower shape and a 'D' shape.

Big ol head too, like a fat thing not much like a mushroom more like a bigger version of the ball on a shuttlecock. Not cut and actually quite heavy on the foreskin, his foreskin gets a bit darker nearer to his tip bc of hyperpigmentation and he used to be really insecure about it when he was younger because he thought the colour made him look dirty.

Nearly got an adult circumcision bc of it but pussied out a week before and got a telling off from claire bc it was a waste of money for the booking bc insurance wouldn't cover that.

A fling in his mid-late 20s said it made his cock look so much more masculine than others and it boosted his ego sm he was pretty much instantly cured from his insecurity.

Hes pretty hairy too but its trimmed and cleaner than most mens facial hair, he hates the feeling of being unclean like that.

ALSO BREEDER BALLS. im not sorry this man's nuts are fat and heavy and sensitive as fuck knows what, he accidentally almost waterboarded an ex with his cum after she touched them and the sensation caused him to orgasm instantly.(he now warns people about it because the guilt of nearly killing someone with his spunk is so much worse than the awkwardness of telling them about his sensitivity)

Not really sensitive anywhere else except for this one spot on his lower back that no-one knows about except an ex-situationship from when he was still a fighter pilot, she ranked over him and was one of the only women he would sub for. (i feel like hes a service dom but can be a beautifully trained sub for the right lady, or man, he isnt fussy)

Leon Kennedy

Leon has a fat long cock but with a thinner base and smaller head, and it curves out and back in again like the middle is further away from his torso than the head, also hes circumcised and his dick flushes this beautiful adorable shade of pink

When hes younger hes usually clean shaven bc he gets weirdly insecure about having quite thin and light pubic hair, but he has it done so that he almost has a fade from his happy trail because thats one of the only parts where his body hair comes in thick and hes too emotionally attached to shave it off.

An ex fling laughed at it before he started doing the fade because it just stopped abruptly where his pubes would have started and it looked sort of goofy so he started doing that.

Stopped doing it around his 30s because his body hair had gotten darker and more coarse (at last).

Also, hyperspermia. he didn't realise until he was 19 that having his orgasms last 1-2 minutes with constant spurting wasnt actually normal, nor was being unable to go more than 2-3 days without getting off unless he wanted blue balls.

Got diagnosed around Re4r era and immediately got really shy about it because he felt like it was a bit of a waste on him because he (in my opinion) doesn't want kids because of his job putting them at risk so doesn't often cum inside to be safe.

Later figures out hes actually infertile to the point of sterility (im thinking like death island-vendetta era, his late 30s caused by years of alcoholism and generalised abuse of his body from BOWs).

Goes HAM now he knows its actually completely safe to cum inside as much as he wants. gets sulky though because he cant go as many rounds as he used to and it means he cant fill up his partner as much as he wants to.

Sensitive nips, lower back, lower abdomen and neck for the pre and re2r era, by the time re4r happens only his nips and lower abdomen are still sensitive. Very weirdly sensitive belly button, had a girl shove a bullet vibe in there after she discovered how sensitive his lower abdomen in general was and he came so hard he nearly passed out.

Re4r to vendetta he refuses to let anyone choke him, has a fling with ada at one point where she tries to choke him, knowing he used to have a sensitive neck and bc it wasnt on his list of hard no-gos (i can see them engaging in CNC/dubcon and having a no list, communication is key) and he panicked immediately and jabbed her in the side, not enough to do any damage but enough to hurt and say that he was done for the night without needing his words.

Death island leon, however has recovered very well mentally, and from that point on can engage in asphyxiation without much trouble. Always insists his partner check with him first though.

Also from re4r era to Damnation/re6 era he tries to come off as a dom with all flings (except ada). by the time vendetta hits hes so mentally tired he cant keep the act up and reverts back to his old subby ways. Vendetta in particular, despite his slight erectile dysfunction/whiskey dick, cums incredibly fast from being man handled in a gentle way, like throwing him onto the bed but making sure he lands softly and holding him firmly but not enough to leave a mark? yeah no hes gone.

Also RE9 leon has a new found thing for silver streaks in his partners body hair despite being caught multiple times trying to dye his pubes bc hes adamant hes "not that old yet."

Note: Again sorry for how scrappy this is i made the random decision to post this after 2 months of it sitting in my notes. can we tell I've analysed leon more 😭😭😭

[american-tradition]

chris redfield headcannons

these are from whenever i just like this gif

- CRACKED at wii sports golf

- he pronounces chipotle as “chipottle” and target as “tar-jay” as a bit

- doesn’t really care what music is on and listens to anything he enjoys. he does especially enjoy hearing the songs he liked growing up

- probably didn’t use pillowcases for at least a while. you know how dudes will have a yellowed pillow that they’re really attached to and that thing goes caseless

- he’s the guy at the party who sees a guitar and tells people that he plays until someone asks him to play something and then he’s like “noo, noo, ok fine” and rips wonderwall

- enjoys reading and writing when it’s not work-related. even after retiring he gives himself a personal curriculum because he’s so used to going through the motions and wants to “keep his mind sharp” or something. probably also a fan of word searches

- i already have that post about how he probably jumps to slap the doorframe and someone said wesker saw him do that going into the s.t.a.r.s. office and decided then that he had to kill him (which fried me bad)

- even when he hasn’t smoked for a bit, he and his clothes always smell smoky in a way that doesn’t come out in the wash. he does not smell like dior sauvage because he’s not a liar don’t worry

- tends to dissociate and pace around the house

- owns hella white nike tube socks

- if he’s on a bike his ass does not wear a helmet

- very helpful around the house. he always has to be doing something to help and has a hard time relaxing

- not big on social media but does enjoy youtube videos

- enjoys whatever’s on national geographic

- if he can’t sleep (often) he will go for a walk (“checking the perimeter”)

[clawshots]

Cardio Session

FemReaderXChris Redfield (established relationship) Work Count: 2.5k Smut - No Minors 🔞

😬 this may or may not have been on my computer for awhile as I'm still dealing with a bit of writers block... but came up with the idea after joining a gym again cuz im gonna get as buff as Chris lol.

Other Ao3 Shit // More RE Fics

Warnings/Tags - SMUT, Choking-ish, Oral, Penetration, Explicit Language, also we ride like Leon in Requiem as it could be questionable if i proofread this. (you're stuck with just me as i have no beta and will never use ai)

It was midday as the sun was high in the sky. The pavement growing warmer as the summer heat blared its way through the day. But tucked inside of his garage Chris was beginning his next set. His weights all ready to go, however this time with another plate added.

“One, two, three…”

Each rep harder than the last, his pace growing slower as he pushes to ten.

“Eight…nine…fuck, ten!”

He lets the weights fall to his side before taking in a deep breath through his nose.

“Fuck…” Chris sits back on the bench, his arms resting in his lap as he lowers his head.

“Increasing the weights I see…” You set down what was in your hands before finding your place behind his folded bench. You can see Chris’s smile in the poorly hung mirror that’s in the garage.

Chris huffs, “Yeah and it’s kicking my ass…”

You chuckle a little before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Keep this up and soon you’ll be moving boulders.” Your joke turns into a laugh as you let your hands wonder over his biceps, your fingers following every hill and valley of his growing muscles.

Chris shakes his head, “Boulders, huh? Yeah…I don’t think I’ll be doing that any time soon, sweetheart.” Chris looks up to you, his eyes following the couple of strands of hair that are blowing across your face as a breeze pushes its way into the open garage.

You smile, “Not with that attitude.” You lean down and leave a peck on his nose. Your fingers noticing his shoulders relax to your touch. “Got your favorite for dinner by the way. Was thinking maybe we could pair it with that bottle Claire got me for my birthday?”

Chris smiles, “That sounds perfect. I can help if you want.”

You let out a sharp breath with a smile as you reach down to grab for the paper bags, “I don’t think so Mr. Handsy. You be a good boy and just stay out here.” You give him a wink as you make your way to the door in the garage.

Chris rolls his eyes and shakes his head as a sly smile grows on his lips. Chris leans his body over his legs again, his arms bracing him as he turns his head over to you. The click of your boot heels filling the space. His eyes moving to the sound.

“oh…” Chris says quietly to himself once his eyes settle on your backside. Your curves giving his eyes a reason to wonder as he trails them up and down your body.

“damn…” Chris covers his mouth with his hand before breaking away from you. As for what he thought was a quick save for himself the sounds of the bags rustling in your hands brings him back, and this time his eyes fall even lower. His sight now being filled with the color blue as he takes in the way your jeans were fitting today. The way they hugged your curves as you walked up the couple of steps to the door. Your shirt riding up a little on one side exposing just a sliver of your skin.

“fuck…” Chris grips down on his face as he turns away, his shorts growing tighter in one region as he tries to center himself again.

CLICK

Chris pulls in a deep breath as he tries to bring himself back. But while doing so he lowers his hand and lets out a big smile as he continues to think about you. “Just always knows what to do and say.” Chris tries to laugh it off as he goes to grab the weights again.

His arms now curling with each rep as he tries to calm himself back down. But doing what he can to keep his mind on his count, you continue to flood back. Numbers now a thing of the past.

“Damn it…” Chris drops the weights mid set as he reaches for his towel. His hands pressing the fabric into his face as he wipes it over his forehead, getting what sweat he could. And as he throws the towel back to the floor Chris smirks, his eyes slowly going back to the closed door.

-

By the time Chris made his way inside you were already done in the kitchen. The room back to the way it was after unloading the groceries. This causing Chris to slowly make his way over to the threshold that connects the kitchen and living room together when-

“Oh! Babe-” you feel your skin jump as you weren’t expecting him to be done already.

Chris doesn’t say anything as he takes in your expression.

You tilt your head slightly, “Are you done already? I thou- MMMM”

Chris cuts you off with his lips as he pulls you in by your waist. Your hips colliding into his as he brings you in with a force. His lips rough on yours as he slowly begins to savor you.

You try to pull back, “Ba-be” his grip strong as his hands slowly move their way up your back.

“Those jeans,” Chris presses himself into you more, “where’d you get them?”

You slowly feel yourself being guided backwards with each kiss as he slows down to let each one deepen.

You smile up against him, “Mmmm…you like em?” The back of your thighs hit the arm of the sofa as you two come to an abrupt stop.

Chris’s hands on your back fall. His palms and fingers taking in your jeans as they move over your thighs and ass. Your hands taking in his workout shirt as you lean back letting your eyes settle on his.

Chris smiles, “I do.” Chris slides his hands into the butt pockets as his palms press you back into him.

You could feel his hard bulge up against your thigh as his fingers began to grip down into the fat of your ass. His breathing warm up against your neck as he was trying to do what he could not to sound desperate. Even though his clear desperation was sending a trill of confidence through you. Your blood warming as you were enjoying this abrupt attention.

You lift his chin up a bit so you could pull his eyes back to yours. Your smile growing when your eyes meet his again.

“I thought you didn’t do cardio on the weekends?” You let a sly smile spread over your lips.

Chris raises his eyebrows at you but doesn’t say anything. Instead, Chris leans back down to you, his lips gentle this time over yours as he pushes his leg in between yours. Your ass now seated on the arm of the sofa.

Your hands fall over Chris’s chest and abs as you move them to your button and zipper. The slow unzipping filling Chris’s ears as he breaks away from you so he could watch your hands.

You sneaked your thumbs under your jeans. A push pulling them down as your underwear followed in the movements.

Chris takes in your movements and after your clothes hit the floor Chris gives your shoulders push. You falling back into the seat cushions. Your hips now resting on the arm of the sofa. And in an act to get more comfortable you lift your hips. Chris’s hands quick to stop you.

“No. Stay.”

His stern tone sends a ripple down your body. One that he can feel as well.

Chris’s fingers press into your skin as you watch him get to his knees. His one hand now brushing up your side as you lose sight of him for a second. Only to soon see him situated between your legs.

Chris doesn’t say anything. He just looks down on you. His eyes maintain eye contact with you as he lifts your legs over his shoulders. His lips getting closer to your center as he brings himself down. Your legs follow his movements, and when you try to spread yourself wider Chris slams his palms on your outer thighs. His eyes looking at you one last time before his fingers grabbed at your plushness.

“I’ve got ya.”

Your breath sticks for a second in your throat before you feel it push out. Your chest lowering as your eyes widen on him. And as he takes a moment to watch you settle, he grips your thighs tight again.

You back arches to his first movement. A sharp inhale taken when you feel his warm tongue running up your cunt. And while Chris was usually slow. A bit methodical whenever he was down there with his mouth. That wasn’t the case today.

Chris grips down even more with his fingers on your body, you noticing the subtle pain quickly. And with a pull Chris presses you completely flush up against his mouth. His lips devouring you in different sensitive places before he presses his nose into your clit. Your arms falling over your head as your hands take in the pillow behind you. His tongue fucking you as he pushes himself as far as he can go as his nose begins to move from side to side. Your center region completely in his hands as he takes what he wants.

Your chest begins to rise and fall as your breathing picks up. Your mouth falling open as you push out a moan to his movements. It loud enough for him to hear even with your thighs pressed up next to his ears. And as if letting you know he can hear you, and maybe him wanting more, he moans into you. The vibration of it moving up your body as your thighs press into his face more.

And as he keeps going. Keeps working on satisfying his hunger for you, you can feel a warmth building. Your body falling into the cushions as you enjoy the pleasure. Your moans more like hums as you let out a soft chuckle to the feeling blooming.

Chris readjusts his hands so he could pull you back in. Right back to being flush up against his lips again. And this time he presses you down tight.

“CHR-” for that short lived warming pleasure was now turning hot as Chris worked at your clit with his nose at a faster pace. His tongue making sure to take in absolutely everything you were giving. His moans now more guttural groans as he ate away at you.

You find your center beginning to burn as you were close. Your one arm holding up part of your body as your other hand gripped down tightly into his hair.

And through your labored breathing, you push out his name again. Your knees turning in as you let your body give way. Chris influencing it all as he reaps his reward.

You let way to a hiss to the over stimulation down there as your body begs for him to give you a break. And with your legs jolting in his hold, he finally pulls back. His lips, nose, and chin covered in your slick.

Chris pushes his way out of your legs as he stands quickly. “Get to your feet”

You feel your brows furrow a little to his stern tone but after he removes his shorts, you were quick to understand his desperation. And once on your feet again Chris pulls you over to him. His hands turning you around.

“Fuck babe…” Chris's one hand grips the back of your neck as he pushes you forward. Your hips high as your body bends over for him.

Chris doesn’t waste time as he lines himself up, his thrust balls deep into you as he presses your face down more into the soft couch cushions.

“fuck…” Chris brings his hips back, a sharp smack when he brings them back into you.

“Mmmm yeah that's it babe...” Chris pulls back and smacks into you again. His chest pushing out a pleased groan as he finds his rough tempo.

Your thighs were pressed up against the couch’s arm as his hand kept a tight grip on your neck making sure you stayed bent over for him. Your one hand grabs for his as your other holds onto the side of the cushion. Your body rocking into the couch at a rough pace.

“Yeah that’s it babe…so fucking perfect…” Chris thrusts into your hard, “So” and again, “fucking” and again, the back of your thighs feeling warm as they begin to turn red, “perfect…”

Chris lets go of your neck so he could steady himself. His hands pulling you back into him as he grips down on your hips. Chris moans your name softly as his hips begin to drill into you. Your thighs sore on either side as he fucks you into the sofa.

Chris lifts your hips a bit with his hands, your feet now on their tiptoes as you give him the best angle you could.

“Fuck…” Chris roughly and through his sloppy breathing thrusts into you one more time as he lets himself go inside of you. His fingers still holding onto you tightly as he made sure to give you everything he had.

And after the room settles, it now being filled with yours and Chris’s heavy breathing, Chris pulls himself out. A mix of you and him following as it drips from him to the floor.

And once empty from him, you let your body rest over the side of the couch. Your thighs sore from it all as you lay there. A bit of him slowly dripping down your leg. And with no towel nearby Chris uses his hand to poorly clean you up. A laugh coming from you when you realize what’s going on.

Chris laughs with you as he breaks away to quicky make his way into the bathroom. His hand now holding a warm wet towel as he gently works on cleaning you up.

“Not a bad cardio session.” Chris jokes as he helps you back to your feet. Your body tuning to him quickly as you shoot him a playful look.

Chris tosses the towel back over to the bathroom before he pulls you into him, “Think we got time for a little more?” He leans down and kisses your cheek, his words now a playful whisper up next to your ear, “I mean…I barely broke a sweat.”

You shake your head as you pull away from him. Your hand grabbing for his wrist as you give him a light tug, “So, what is it now, a three-minute cool down before you next session helps give you the best results?”

Chris chuckles, “I mean depends on what you’re doing. I mean for some people-”

You cut him off by planting your lips on top of his as you knew the conversation could go on for quite some time. And after you pull away you take in Chris’s soft eyes. The warmth of them always something that causes you to pause.

…But through that pause Chris gives his eyebrows a quick raise before scooping you up. Your loud yelp filling the room as it turns into laughter as he carries you to the bedroom. For as Chris said, it really depends on the person. And as for him…well…this next cardio session was going to start as soon as you heard your bedroom door click shut.

[ghostysnsfwcorner]

Just thinking about Chris holding you in a full nelson position in front of the mirror, as he watches his cock slowly slide into your slick walls and seeing the bulge in your stomach before slowly sliding back out and listening to the sound of your slick walls squelching and clenching around him, not to mention the sweet sinful moans that left your lips.

He had come from from a dangerous mission and just nodded you, without a word he had picked you up and put you over his shoulder and went to your shared bedroom, where you had been in this position for the last hour, you lost count of how many times you came, just hearing your sweet husband whispering just one more before he buried himself inside you again.

"My perfect little wife." Chris would mumble against your neck as he peppered kisses, savoring the feeling of your skin as his strong arms kept you up, your thighs trembling ever so slightly, but Chris wanted to savour being home with you, so he would take his sweet time getting reacquainted with his wife beautiful body again, inside and outside....

———♡———

©ghostysnsfwcorner, 2026. all rights reserved. !I DO NOT! consent to translations or replications or reproduction of my work on any other social media platforms and or make AI Bots without my explicit consent and permission.

[aweskerspet]

😺 🤪🎤

Emoji Ask Game

😺 how they eat the pussy

Wesker is unrelenting and cruel. He doesn’t do it for your enjoyment or benefit, let’s make that clear from the start. It’s all for his sick satisfaction and amusement.

He purposely avoids getting you off. Big fan of sensory overstimulation and even bigger fan of sensory deprivation. You already know what to expect, what to prepare for where he pries your legs apart and slots his face between them. But, even so, there are times you can’t control yourself and your limbs thrash out in attempt to regain control, so you can be stimulated properly.

So, your wrists will be tied behind your back (Sometimes handcuffs are introduced if he’s had an exhaustingly rough day at STARS, or ribbon if he’s feeling tender), and your bodyweight pins down your wrists as they lay behind you. It’s painful, and you arch your back to relive some of the strain and pressure on your chafed wrists and forearms, before Wesker’s hands guide your hips back down to the mattress.

He sucks and bites, he leaves hickeys down your inner thighs, making his territory through his familiar brutality. Your clit is left swollen and overly sensitive. He rubs his gloved thumb against it after sucking the skin of your cunt raw, watching as you gasp, your thighs almost seizing through the blissful yet agonising ecstasy, every single nerve feeling as though it’s being attacked with every precise movement of his thumb.

🤪 silly sex headcanon

Err, I struggle with these a lot because it’s hard to imagine Wesker being silly… But, would introduce a feather into sex to tickle you. I think he’d enjoy a ticklish reader, quite a lot, if I’m being honest.

It links to his sensory overstimulation, so he wouldn’t hesitate to bring foreign objects into sex to rile you up and make you laugh so he can reprimand you.

🎤 how loud they are

Quiet, but are we surprised? Low grunts through gritted teeth, more panting and heavy breathing as he tries to control himself. Sometimes bites your shoulder aggressively to stifle the sound of his pleasure.

I think he’d view it as a weakness, to make sound during intercourse. Sex is already something depraved and far too human for him, he believes himself to be too superior to indulge, but does so anyway because after all, he is human, even if he believes himself to be god-like or ethereal.

[sistinesarchives]

Hey guys so uh! Life update and fic updates!

Sooo, as some of you may know I recently moved in with @lattleswirls about a couple of weeks ago. Before that, I was living in an extremely controlling and verbally/emotionally abusive household. I literally planned the way I left as an escape. I will say it’s so refreshing to be somewhere where I can be myself and live without being judged or controlled. It took me over a year of planning to be able to leave that shithole.

Anyways—I left a bag containing all my electronics behind. Left it in my sisters room so she could bring it to me later. They found that bag, went through it, and stole my laptop from me. I found out they made my sister reset it (and she purposely bricked it! Thank you queen!) but then they went and got it fixed, and are now selling it. They also went through my room and took my $300 purse, my guitar, as well as one of my VERY expensive perfumes, as well as some other stuff I’m pretty sure they have with the intentions of pawning/selling.

Not having a laptop sucks, because I write strictly on my laptop. I’m not sure why but it bothers me to write on my phone. I have so many fics I’m trying to work on but have put to a halt because, you know, life. I should have the long awaited Grace fic out soon (I have been working on it off and on for almost 5 months, I feel so awful for those that have been waiting on it… I didn’t abandon you guys, I swear!) as well as a few requests from my inbox.

I love each and every single one of you, and I am so grateful that you all have been with me these last few months and have been supporting what little writings I’ve shared with you all 🥹 I promise there will be some new stuff from me very soon.

I am also still trying to mentally recover from the realization of some things and the fact that I am literally shunned by half of my family now for leaving. I will never be able to see my nephews or my little brother again and it sucks that it has to be that way. All I can say is, life will prevail and the only thing I can do for now is move forward.

[lanadelreyylover]

Better Than the Movies

Pairing: RE8!Chris Redfield x Virgin!Reader Rating: Explicit Summary: If waiting so long meant getting to experience your first time with a man like Chris, it was well worth it Tags/Warnings: first time/loss of virginity, heavy kissing and petting, p in v, oral, praise, #christalksyouthroughitandtellsyouwhattodo, happy ending (literally and figuratively) Word Count: 2.9k

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal @bloodysnow15

It’s never a particularly fun conversation to have with a man, mostly because they get one of two looks in their eyes, the first being this primal 

If it’s the first, you immediately thank them for the date, find some excuse to leave, and block their number in your phone on the way out. If it’s the second, you don’t have to do any of those things because they’re the ones kissing you goodnight on the cheek (with a lot more restraint than they showed at the beginning of the evening), shuffling you out the front door with a million reasons on their tongue why you can’t stay the night. 

Chris has neither, and maybe it’s the vulnerable position you have him in–straddling his thighs with his erection growing between your legs–but it seems that he might just be the one to break your losing streak (or not-losing streak). 

“So what do you wanna do?” Chris asks, referring to your ramble about never, ever, ever doing this before, and that you might be bad at it, and that he might not want to waste his time, him being a very, very important man with more very, very important things than you to do–

“What?”

“I asked you what you want.” He says it with a slight shrug of his shoulders as he leans back into the sofa, his hands still on your thighs, caressing the outer pockets of flesh, thumbs grazing your skin. His eyes are still locked on yours as he continues to touch you in such an intimate way like this with such indifference it’s as though it’s the simplest thing in the world, he does it all the time–doesn’t have to think much about it at all. 

He’s giving you the choice. He’s not pouncing at you like a jungle predator, with bared teeth and paws ready to claw. And he’s not ushering you off his lap, across the floor of his living room, shutting the door behind you with a quick ‘I’ll call you tomorrow”, yet never does. 

It’s a kind of grace you haven’t been given before, and it does nothing to sate the growing ache between your legs. 

“I want to do this with you,” you finally say, and as though the words corralled some superhuman courage within you, your fingers fall to the fly of his dark jeans, immediately making work of the button and zipper. “Right now.” 

He chuckles, flickering his eyes up and down your face, as he grabs your wrist, stalling your motion at his crotch. “Slow down.” You’re too dumb-drunk on the thought of being with him that you don’t react, not with a pout, nor with bent brows. You just let him speak. “There’s no rush.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak, lowering your head, your eyeline back to his chest, a broad expanse of what you can only imagine to be hard-earned brawn beneath the plaid of his button-down. “I’ve just waited a really long time, ya’ know?” 

Chris nods once, a solemn, understanding gesture, and still wears that barely-there grin on his mouth. His hands continue to roam up and down your thighs, just caressing with a kind of gentleness you never expected from a man of his size or profession. Part of you was scared to let it get this far, but he pursued you, and you’d be out of your ever-loving mind to turn down a man like him. 

“I get it,” he says. “But we’re still going to take things slow. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Your eyes shoot back up to his face, reading the expression plastered upon it that tells you he doesn’t just mean causing harm to you physically. He’s far deeper into this than you realized. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he starts, removing his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, stroking the length of skin beneath your cheekbone with his thumb. It’s rough against your soft skin, yet you nuzzle into it like a kitten on a ball of yarn. His other palm runs up your hip, under the hem of your shirt, to settle in the curve of your waist. “We’re going to stay here for a bit, just kissing, okay?”

“Chris,” you croon. “Come on–”

“Hey,” he says, cutting you off, however softly. “This is just as important for me as it is for you, okay?” His eyes, blue and hooded, beneath dark, squinting brows, find your lips, and his own don’t hesitate to follow. 

You dip your head half-way, meeting his mouth in a warm, gushing marriage of a kiss–the kind that makes you wish you had never done it with anyone else, and had saved your lips for only him. The kind you see at the end of films right before the credits roll, and think about for the rest of your life, wondering if and when you will have the chance to experience something as passionate. 

He adjusts his hips on the sofa cushion, the motion slightly dragging the length of his clothed erection across your pussy, also clothed, though there’s not enough fabric in the world to hide the evidence of either of your arousals. He moans–so soft, so tittering of a sound, you sit in quiet disbelief that this machine of a man can produce so lulling of a sound. It riles something scalding in your stomach. 

The two of you stay put on the couch for what feels to be torturously long, mouths open and glued together in an expert union of tongue and lip. His hands crawl up and down your back, one settling on either ledge of your shoulders, pushing you further down onto his lap as he lifts his hips, tilting you back just an inch to gain enough leverage on his feet to rise to standing. Without grunt or gripe, he carries you into his bedroom, keeping his mouth locked on yours.

You’ve been in his apartment a few times before, on the occasions the two of you would watch a movie or sit at the dinner table over dirty, long-untouched dishes, talking until your eyelids get heavy and he offers to drive you home. You’ve seen the powder room offset from the kitchen, the living room, the kitchen, but you’ve never been in his bedroom until now. 

Breaking from his face for a single moment, you turn to survey the space, as dark and masculine as the rest of his home, curated to natural perfection with well-loved furniture and linens he folds and smooths after getting out of bed every morning. The walls are mostly bare, the night table on the right side of the plush king, housing a lamp and a picture frame of him with a younger girl in a red leather jacket and a blonde man about her same age. In the corner, there’s a laundry hamper and a dresser. In the other, a pair of boots, untied and lined up like soldiers awaiting a battle cry. 

The next thing you’re able to see are the four corners where the ceiling meets the wall, and Chris’s head above you. He plants one more kiss on your mouth before he retreats from the mattress, straightening to standing by your feet. You rise up on your elbows to watch as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, taking a painstakingly long amount of time to reveal his bare chest. Thankfully he did, however, because if he had removed it in one swift yank, leaving you to take in the sheer brawn of his torso without preparation, your head would have spun around so fast you’d be left without one. 

His tan skin, baked and bronzed, and slightly freckled at the balls of his shoulders and the tops of his forearms, arouses a pool of saliva beneath your tongue. You drink in the sight, taking in the details of the valleys and hills of his abdomen, strong, carved pockets of muscle lying beneath a healthy layer of flesh and skin, a dusting of dark hair across his pectorals and down the line of his stomach. The tiniest amount of pudge rests on his hips, the band of his briefs beneath his pants digging into it. 

You sit up completely, pulling off your shirt with one graceful swipe as Chris toys with the waist of your skirt, the hem that falls just above your knees, deciding whether he wants to see you totally de-robed, or if he’s satisfied pushing the fabric to your hips, eating you out under it. 

He chooses the former, manually lifting your hips with one hand while he removes the article with another, gingerly sliding the material down your thighs, your knees, your ankles, until you’re lying before him in nothing but a pair of panties and a bra you quickly unclasp from behind. 

“Fuck,” he hisses to himself, so low a rumble you almost miss the syllable entirely. He rests one knee on the edge of the bed, cap digging into the mattress as he shifts forward to grab your breast, kneading it with the palm of his hand, reveling in the delight of your soft skin beneath his hand, calloused and marred by years of fighting. 

You let out a tiny, gasping whimper as he rolls your nipple between his fingers, pinching the bud once before climbing over you to latch onto it with his mouth. Wet lips suck at the hardening peak, the tip of his tongue flickering across its sensitivity. 

“Chris,” you coo, running your hand over the back of his head, short, soft strands of chestnut tickling your palm. “Please stop teasing me.”

He removes his mouth, a strand of saliva connecting his bottom lip to your darkened nipple, looking up at you with eyes full of want; whites glistening, pupils widening. Nodding in understanding, he lowers himself back down to the edge of the bed, sinking onto his knees, pulling you by the thighs with him until your seat slightly dangles off the mattress. 

Fingers hooking on the band of your underwear, he makes quick work sliding them down your legs, tossing them onto the floor. You’re now completely bare in front of him

“Very pretty,” he says to your pussy, opened wider by the palms he has on the insides of your knees, keeping you spread for him as he admires the sight. Your whole body shivers, from the thought of the scene that’s about to play out before you, the air conditioning billowing from the vent above, the hands roaming your legs and waist, the tongue that licks all the way up the length of your inner thigh. Chris punctuates the movement with a kiss, mouth very close to your entrance. 

Then, his face shifts slightly and he plants a kiss onto your clit. It sends a vibration through each limb and digit, the sensation made more intense by the way his facial hair tickles your skin. Another kiss, like an offering placed at an altar before a prayer. 

His tongue darts between parted lips as he spreads your pussy with his fingers, diving straight into the feast without warning. 

You cry out at the sudden feeling of a thick tongue lapping at the bud, Chris’s face completely buried in your cunt, devouring it like it’s his last supper, and he’s been long craving you. It’s the first time a man has been between your legs, whether it’s his mouth making work of you or his fingers, and it’s better than you could have imagined–better than anything you could buy tickets to see on the silver screen. 

No fantasy could do this justice. And just when you thought nothing could possibly intensify the pleasure building behind your abdominal wall, Chris starts talking. 

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he starts, the reverberation of his voice against your clit making your vision sparkle. “Ah fuck.” 

He growls, another vibration rattling your core. “Doin’ so good for me, baby, you’re so close. I know you are.” 

How he knew before you did, you’re not sure, but he was no less correct, predicting the wave of euphoria that crashed into you, just after the most violent peak of your life. It viciously rocked you, the coil in your stomach tightening, your walls clenching, a falling sensation making you grip the sheets until all color drained from your knuckles and you could do nothing but scream out his name until your voice gave out. 

Chris gives you one last brush of his lips on your ruined clit, and retreats to smudge the wet evidence of your orgasm from the corner of his mouth onto his tongue. You close your eyes to watch the glittering constellations of static that dance across the black stage of your eyelids. The chime of a metal belt buckle, the rustle of fabric. When you open your lids, you see Chris, standing at the end of the bed, pumping his hard cock in his fist, a bead of anticipation leaking from its angry, red tip.

He climbs back on top of you, his chest falling flush to yours, legs parted around him, his hand cupping your face with the gentle touch of a man who didn’t just ravage your cunt with his face. But alas, Chris is not so one-dimensional. 

“I want you to do that again while I’m inside you.” 

You can only nod, your front teeth embedded in the plush flesh of your bottom lip to keep your chin from quivering. 

“Is this alright?” He asks, lifting up onto his arm to give you a better view of his hand between your legs, wrapped around his length as he glides the tip up and down the slope of your pussy. It makes you shiver, legs instinctively closing around his waist. 

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.” 

“Inside?” 

You nod, walls immediately clenching at the sensation of his head prodding at your entrance. He prompts you to breathe once he realizes you’re too tense to fully enter without making this more uncomfortable than it needs to be.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he says from above, his eyes locked on yours as he gives you an assuring up and down of his head. “You have to relax, baby. Deep breath,” he repeats, his words completed by a cleansing inhale of his own. 

You follow his direction, breathing in and out until your hips sink further into the mattress and you feel the tension you’ve been holding in your middle release. “Move.” 

His face contorts into a wince, the wrinkles at his forehead, around his eyes, deepening as he lets out a rumbling moan, feeling your tight walls around the entirety of his length. He swears before opening his eyes to gaze down, searching your expression for permission to continue. 

Finding it in the sheer splash of pleasure on your features, he pumps in and out, slowly at first, but soon quickens the pace at your desperate direction. The way you stretch to accommodate his size is sheer torture, ecstasy bubbling at the sensation of being filled. 

You don’t anticipate to feel the threatening taunt of pleasure simmering in your gut, because that is one thing the movies always get wrong, and you’re not naive enough to think you’re the exception to the rule that one can never reach pleasure during their first time. 

However, as one of Chris’s hands moves between your bodies to begin rubbing your swollen clit, the amalgamation of that feeling alongside the frictious sensation of his cock dragging against your pussy is all too perfect. Until it’s not, that sweet spot before you begin to fall lasting as quickly as the first spark of a flame. It soon erupts into a roaring fire in your belly, your heart beating so fast it just might rip out of your chest, your head dizzying. Even your feet, though your ankles are wrapped tight around Chris’s back, feel ungrounded as though you’re hiking on rocks and lose your footing before tumbling down. 

“I–I can’t, Chris,” you cry out, scratching at his back, fingernails digging into the brawn. 

“Yes, you can,” he groans from above. 

“No, no, no,” you slur, screwing your eyes shut, hips attempting to writhe beneath his plunging thrusts.

You’re making all sorts of horrendously desperate sounds, whimpering, whining, a scream threatening to leap from your throat. So pornographic and lewd, you raise your hand to cover your mouth until Chris grabs your wrist and pins it above your head. 

“None of that. I want to hear you.”

“It’s too much. I can’t,” you repeat, frantically shaking your head, your body nearing a loss of total control.

“I know you can. Come on, let’s make this real special for you, baby. Just breathe and let go.” 

Those words, so obscene, have your back arching off the mattress as your pelvis leans into the pleasure at his hands. His fingers continue to work you through your second orgasm until you’re a slobbery, blubbering mess beneath him, crying for reprieve. 

“That’s it,” he roars. “Give it to me.” 

He makes the sound of an angry, huffing lion as he gives into the feeling of you clenching his cock, sucking him dry with every twitch of your walls around him. After he finishes, he collapses onto you, your bodies melded together with the sticky glue of sweat and saliva. He smiles against your cheek as he whispers dulcet praises in your ear, completely content to be adhered to you as you both come down from your respective high. And, once you do, you melt into a blissful sleep, back flush to his chest as your hearts beat in sync.

Much, much better than the movies.

[sonarspace]

imagine like femreader having a really high sex drive like just being really horny and needy around leon and. always wanting to jump him but he's getting old 😔 and tired so he puts her in her place (or smth, you can choose, i just had this idea of a freaked out reader and old leon)

✰ cw. 18+. established relationship. sex toy. overstimulation kinda. multiple orgasms (f!reader). unprotected p in v.

an. thank you so much for this request anon!! hope you like it <33

it had started reasonably enough. you'd tried, in your defense. you'd been good about it all week and it had been four days and you had needs and leon was right there and you'd asked nicely.

"i'm tired," he'd said, not looking up from his book.

"you're always tired lately."

"i'm getting old."

"you're not that old."

"forty three next month."

"leon that is not old—"

"tired," he said again with a finality. he turns a page.

you stared at him. "you're seriously choosing a book over me."

"it's a good book."

"i hate you," you said pleasantly, and went to the bedroom.

the toy had been a recent purchase. you'd mentioned it to him once, held it up, and he'd looked at it and then at you and said "hm" in a tone that gave you absolutely nothing to work with. you took it out now with the energy of someone trying to make a point. you tried to not be petty, to be mature.. quiet and  dignified.

you managed to… for about four minutes.

it felt good and you were frustrated and four days was a long time and the sounds started soft and then got considerably less so, and somewhere in the back of your mind you were aware of this and didn't particularly care anymore.

leon read the same sentence five times.

he put the book down. picked it up. put it down again.

sat there listening to the sounds coming through the wall with an expression doing several things at once.

then he got up, walked to the bedroom, and leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed.

you looked up at him flushed and breathing hard and had the audacity to look unbothered. "can i help you?"

"just checking on you," he said.

"i'm fine."

"clearly." his eyes moved to the toy and back to your face. "don't let me interrupt."

you stared at him. "seriously?"

"go on." he nodded at the toy. a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. "you started without me. finish."

"leon—"

"make yourself cum," he said simply. "go on. since you clearly don't need me."

your face went hot. which was annoying because you were already most of the way there and he'd just made it significantly worse, standing there in the doorway looking completely unbothered while you were falling apart. you tried to look indifferent about it. you failed. and when you came it was with your eyes on him and a broken sound you couldn't quite swallow and his expression shifted into something that made your stomach drop.

"there it is," he said quietly. and finally came into the room.

he took the toy from your hand before you'd even finished catching your breath.

"hey—" you started.

"you'll get it back," he said. and settled between your thighs and pressed it to your clit and turned it on and you immediately tried to close your legs and he held them open with one hand, patiently. "you wanted this so bad," he said. "so have it."

"i already—"

"again," he said. "come one more time. prove to me this is enough. that you don’t need me." his voice is gruff.

you tried very hard not to make noise for him. you really did. you bit your lip and gripped the sheets and stared at the ceiling and lasted approximately thirty seconds before a sound slipped out that you could not in any way defend, your hips rolling up toward the toy despite everything your brain was trying to tell them.

leon made a soft sound like a proud mocking tut. "there she is."

"i hate you," you breathed.

"mhm." he kept the toy exactly where it was and watched you with dark eyes as you tried and failed to stay quiet, and when you finally came apart the second time it was humiliatingly loud and he watched every second of it.

he let you come down for exactly long enough to mock you about it.

"aw," he said. tilting his head slightly. "are you all done now?"

"don't," you said.

"all worn out?"

"leon i swear to god—"

"tired?" he asked innocently . and you grabbed his collar and pulled him down and he laughed against your mouth, low and warm.  

except he doesn't laugh for long.

because the thing about leon is that he'd been holding himself together this entire time. standing in the doorway all composed, sitting between your thighs like he had all the patience in the world, keeping the toy exactly where it was while you came apart twice and made sounds you'd probably be embarrassed about tomorrow. and it had cost him. you could see it now that you were paying attention. his breathing was coming a little short, a little patchy. he shifted his weight, restless, and you looked down and looked back up and raised your eyebrows.

"leon."

"don't," he said.

"you're—"

"i know," he said, clipped.

you almost smiled. "this whole time?"

his breathing was, a little uneven, and when you reached up and curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss he made a sound against your mouth that was very close to a whine and very far from the composed man who'd stood in that doorway looking unbothered. his hips shifted forward without permission. his breath kept catching in these short little bursts against your lips, like he'd been clenching his teeth through it for so long that now that you were touching him he couldn't quite get himself under control.

you slid your hand down and wrapped it around him and felt how hard he was, hot and rigid, the veins along his length pulsing under your palm, and he grabbed your wrist. not stopping you. just gripping it, jaw tight, breathing hard through his nose.

"leon," you said again, softer this time.

"yeah," he said. rough. a little wrecked. and then something behind his eyes just gave out entirely. "okay. no. i can't."

and all that patience he'd been so smug about evaporated completely. he reached over and grabbed the pillow and tucked it under your hips and then he pressed forward and the first slide of him into you made you both go still for a second. you were so wet, embarrassingly so, slick and warm and your walls gripping every ridge and vein of him as he pushed in slow, filling you up inch by inch until he bottomed out and exhaled hard through his nose.

"god," he groaned.

he hooked your leg up over his shoulder and the angle shifted and you felt him impossibly deeper, hitting somewhere that made your eyes flutter, and when he started to move it was not slow or patient and the sounds you both made were the kind that the neighbors would probably complain about tomorrow. his hips drove forward in deep rolling thrusts, every ridge of him dragging against your walls on the pull back, and you reached up and gripped his arm and held on.

"couldn't wait?" you breathed.

"no," he said. simply and without apology. and pressed in deeper.

“gonna fill you up,” he’d said right before, voice wrecked, almost like he wasn’t meaning to say it out loud. “fill this up.” his hand pressing down just slightly, possessive, and you’d clenched around him so hard he’d moaned and his hips had stuttered.

now he looks down at you, panting, and presses a little firmer against your belly. watching your face.

“you feel that?” he says quietly.

“yes,” you breathe.

“yeah?” his thumb moves in a slow circle against your skin, that same unbothered focus he gives everything, except his voice is rough and his chest is still heaving. “you like that. being filled with me.”

it’s not really a question. he can feel the answer in the way you clench around him, still so warm and gripping onto him, and the sound you make is small and helpless.

he stays there for a long moment, hand still pressed to your stomach, neither of you moving. then he exhales slowly and drops his forehead to yours.

he presses his lips to your temple and says nothing for a while.

"not that old," you said eventually.

"no," he agreed. comfortable. satisfied. "not that old."

you felt him smile against your hair.

"book was good though," he said smiling.

[leonsleatherjacket]

i love mockingg🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤

[lanadelreyylover]

first time

Leon Kennedy x Virgin!Reader

Leon talks you through your first time

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal

(one day, I'm gonna remember to put the taglist in BEFORE I publish)

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks into your mouth, mid-kiss, although he can read your mind. Perhaps he’s reading your body language instead, the way your shoulders tense, your lungs expanding to full volume, how your fingers tremble as you unbutton his shirt. But none of those physical manifestations of anxiety can eclipse the pure, unadulterated need in your stomach, far beyond the innocent flutters of butterfly wings at first blush. This feeling–the flame across your cheeks, the throb between your legs–it’s something utterly sinful. There’s nothing sweet about it.

“I’m sure, Leon,” you say, the words carried from your throat on the back of a hitched breath. How unconvincing. 

Then, to make things worse, you pull back. Why did you pull back? 

“Everything alright?” He asks, already high off the taste of your mouth, forcing himself from his euphoria to check in with you, though there’s nothing he wants more in this moment than to rip the cloth from your body and ravish everything that was beneath it.

You swallow hard, a nest of fear and guilt caught in your throat, scratching the gummy sides of your esophagus on the way down. “Don’t freak out, okay?” 

Leon can’t help but let his eyes go wide. His mind travels to dark places in the beat of silence between you. “What is it?” 

Maybe you don’t tell him. You still have time. Act coy and coquettish, write your hesitation off as flirtation when he asks why you pulled away. Still, looking into his eyes, all large and fawn-like, and filled to the brim with such care you’d be an ass to keep anything from someone so understanding and willing to listen, especially something as important as this. He deserves to know, like he deserves to have all of you.

“I’ve never done this before. Ever.” 

His brows furrow. “What?” Then, as if you can see the cogs turning through a window in his forehead, you watch him put the pieces together, nodding at his conclusion. “Sex?” 

“Mhm.” You cut your eyes, unable to meet his. “Sorry.” The apology quickly slips from your lips, a formality you’ve taken upon yourself more than bending under the pressure. It’s not as though you’re embarrassed or ashamed, but it seems like something to say at the moment. 

“Hey, look at me. No need to apologize,” he promises, crooking a finger under your chin to direct your gaze back to him. 

“I haven’t scared you off?” 

“Honey,” he says with a laugh as if you just told him the sky is green. “It takes a lot more than that to scare me.” And you know he’s not lying. “But–”

“You don’t want it?” 

The tension in his brows melts, and he tilts his head as though personally offended by your assumption. “That’s not true, and you know it.” He grabs your face in his hands, dipping his chin to give you a sweet peck on the forehead. “I just want to make sure it’s something you want. Is it?” 

You nod against his lips, then he pulls away, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“Can I hear you answer in that pretty voice of yours?” 

“Yes. Yes, Leon, I want it.” 

He smiles with a little bit of tooth. “Good.” 

“Deep breath. Come on, deep breath.”

You inhale, pushing your lungs to their full capacity, savoring the scent of Leon’s skin: musk and clove, black pepper, and that specific smell attached to men who don’t try too hard to smell good but it seems to be embedded in their DNA. 

“That’s it. One more time. Just relax.” 

Another inhale. This time, you feel your hips melt a little further into the mattress, your head dizzying as though you took a hit of a joint or sipped on a glass of wine. A good, deep breath is a drug in and of its own. 

“There you go,” he coos, pumping himself in his fist. You try not to look, already intimidated by the sheer size of him. Not too thick but, boy, is he long. And pretty. With a pink head, already weeping with a bead of anticipation, and a few sprawling veins that crawl up and down the length. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay. I’m here.” 

He could make you kill a man if he asked you in that voice. 

From above, his eyes are affixed to yours as he awaits your signal. “You ready?” 

You nod. “Yes. Please.” Parting your legs just a bit more to accommodate the width of his hips between them, you allow the head to glide up and down your pussy, waiting teasingly at your seam.

He chuckles lightly at your plea, manually lining himself up with your hole, already sopping wet from the work of his tongue. Then, he enters you. One inch at a time until he’s half-way there, another promise. The stretch is something you could never imagine on your own without experiencing it once or twice. It burns. Like that time when you were a kid and fell off your bike, knees scratched and gouged. And it stings. 

You hiss through gritted teeth, immediately regretting it once Leon’s hips stop moving, and he’s caught, half-way inside.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, looking down at you. Strands of icy blonde hair hang down like curtains, the tips tickling your forehead. “You okay?” 

Biting down on your lower lip, you nod. “Yes, keep going.”

He doesn’t. One hand comes to cup your cheek, the other smoothing your hair down the side of your head, his weight still resting on his elbows, dug into the mattress top. “If you want to stop, just tell me, okay?” He would really hate that, though. You’re so tight around him, squeezing his cock to the point he’s unsure if it’d let him go. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Leon plunges the fullness of his length inside you, causing you to cry out like a wounded animal on the forest floor, or a future piece of roadkill on the side of the highway. 

“You’re doing such a good job. Keep breathing for me. Just relax.”

He goes slow at first, warming you up, waiting for the signals that your pain has melted into pleasure. Once he hears your cries turn into gasping moans, he picks up the pace, hips slapping against your pelvic bone, the sloppy, wet sound like a cheer from the sidelines of a race. 

“That’s it,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. “You’re taking me so good.” The praise is punctuated by a whimper of his own. “Doin’ so good for me, baby.” 

You dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulders, tethering yourself to him, sure the movement could saw you into the mattress if you didn’t hold on to something. His chest begins to beat against yours, his heart thumping through his pec, the beat matching the rhythm of his thrusts

“You feel me stretching you? That feels good, huh?”

Not sure what to say, worried you’ll make a joke or something just as stupid, you nod quietly, drinking in the sounds of his pleasure, each moan and yelp from him adding to your own. It does feel good. Not quite the screaming, crying type of ‘feels good’, the kind of euphoric pleasure he inflicts on you when he eats you out, but it has the potential to be.

He tries so hard to elongate the act–it’s your first time after all. That’s the least he could do. 

But that all too familiar tension grows in his abdomen, the muscles there contracting and releasing at an erratic pace, and his cock begins to throb as he continues plowing into your pussy. Your pretty, wet pussy–fuck–he’s gone. 

Not even two whole minutes and he’s already finishing inside you, seizing and thrashing as he releases his pleasure. For a man who wasn’t, at all, inexperienced, one would think it was his first time.

[dollyivy]

being older.ᐟ leon kennedy’s passenger princess, who keeps him company while he drives tirelessly. you lean over the armrest, skirt pulled up and no panties, because you’ve thrown them into the footwell under your seat. leon’s navy blue pants are unzipped and pulled down his waist and his black leather belt undone.

your glossy lips, drenched in spit, lock sealed around the head of leon’s cock and the taste of sticky precum mixes with drool inside your needy mouth, so warm and sweet, perfectly fitted for him. his big hand rests down the curve of your ass, rubbing lazy circles on your skin.

you swirl the tip of your tongue around leon’s sensitive spot and his fingers squeeze into your ass tighter. you can feel the curl of a teasing smirk forming in the corners of your stuffed mouth— it’s your sign to take it slower, because you’d never want to distract your boyfriend away from the road and make him pull over and fuck you. leon doesn’t say a word, except for low grunts and tension in his jaw betraying his composure, whenever you dare to take more of his hard cock inside your mouth.

you take your time, one hand fisted lazily around the thickness of his cock to keep your busy mouth company. his veins pulse rapidly under your touch and you keep jerking him off with playful, sloppy strokes, up and down his cock to meet your jaw. leon’s blue eyes land between your legs for a few seconds when a moan escapes muffled past your lips, right where you keep two fingers pressed around your puffy clit.

your pussy is soaked and lonely, almost dripping wet down your inner thighs and pooling and he hasn’t even touched you and yet, your cheeks burn and you feel dizzy. you feel perverted for getting soaking wet, just from being a such good girl and sucking your older boyfriend off in his car. the more pleasure seeps through your core and radiates through every inch of your body, the more your legs spread instinctively and your lids rest half open.

“let me just—mmm. fuck, don’t-” leon’s grip tightens around the steering wheel and he slows down on the highway, because you swallow more of his cock, almost sinking it down your throat. his other hand moves right onto the back of your head, controlling the pace for a few seconds; it feels so good to fuck you mouth.

“spread your legs a lil’ wider for me, sweet girl.”

the position, despite being slightly uncomfortable, doesn’t bother you. leon manages to get his hand down to your pussy and he slides two fingers up and down your folds to lube them, from your slick entrance to your swollen clit, “there we go. much better. want me to stuff my fingers inside you, angel?”

you mumble an short mhm, catching you your breath, wiping some drool off the corners of your mouth and chin. you adjust in your seat in a more comfortable position and leon buries his middle finger inside you and his index follows, coating both in layers of your oozing sweet juices.

the moment you feel your walls stretch around him, you moan, with no urge to control yourself and it makes his cock twitch painfully. you’re quick to lock your hand around leon’s wrist; you nails dig slightly in his skin the deeper he pushes and curls his fingers up to your sensitive spot.

“c’mon, use my fingers to fuck yourself.” he coaxes and you listen.

you take control of the pace, still holding onto leon’s big wrist for support. you masturbate using his fingers and he feels each time you squeeze your walls around his tighter, forcing him to bury himself inside you up to his knuckles.

“good job, doin’ so well, sweet girl. keep goin’- yes, just like that.”

you take a third long finger and stuff it inside you and feel unable to think— this entire thing feels like a dream through your hazed mind. leon’s name slides past your lips and sultry moans fill the his car entirely.

“you’re gonna make me pull over and fuck you. that look in your eyes… can’t wait any longer, huh?” he leaves you all empty and whiny when he brings your fingers to his own lips— eyes still on the road, “tell me i’m wrong, sweet girl.”

he shoves them inside his mouth, tongue licking you off his fingers, savoring the text of your pussy on his lips. the more he licks it turns into sweet nectar and he grunts lowly, because he could come just from this alone.

“y’know me so well, leon.”

you smile, leaning back in the leather passenger seat, holding onto his wrist once again and shoving his hand under your skirt. he teases you, resting the tips of his fingers at your entrance, motioning slow circles up to your clit, back and forth.

“g-gosh! stop being such tease! you’ve been driving for five hours. don’t you need a little break, hmm?”

you don’t have to tell him twice.

[lanadelreyylover]

seven minutes

DomID!Leon Kennedy x Reader

Stuck in a storage closet with Leon, surrounded by infected with nowhere to go and nothing to do...but each other.

based on this request

“So we’re stuck in here?” You ask, the question punctuated by a frustrated groan, you already knowing the answer without even needing to inquire. Still, you do.  

“Well, we’re surrounded by infected, and you don’t have any ammo left, so unless you want to punch them while I shoot, yes, agent, we’re stuck in here.” 

You roll your eyes, your jaw flexing in annoyance at Leon’s attitude. Where the hell does he get off, speaking to you like that? Like you’re some kindergartener hanging off his boot? You’re a special agent, same as him, yet he treats you as though you’re a parasite, bogging him down, gnawing away at his flesh. 

He wishes. 

Asshole. 

“But you called backup, right?” 

He nods once, his eyes closed as he rests the back of his head against the wall, cranium meeting chipped plaster with a thump. “Yep.” He opens his lids to look down at the watch on his wrist, its glowing green letters cutting into the darkness of the supply closet. “They’ll be here in seven minutes. Until then…” He mutters something incoherent under his breath and you laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, face devoid of the same amusement crawling across your own. 

“Nothing,” you say, still giggling at the thought. 

“We have–” He checks his watch again. “Six minutes and forty-three seconds before the rest of the team arrives. More than enough for you to explain what you find so amusing about this situation.” 

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” You bow your brows at him but his face doesn’t change. “It’s stupid, but whatever. You know that game? Seven Minutes in Heaven? The kissing one where you spin the bottle and whichever two people it lands on, they have to go into a closet and kiss for seven minutes?” 

His head finds the wall once more, his eyes cutting down at you from where you’re crouched onto a step stool. “I’ve heard of it. Though whenever I played, back in my day,” he adds with a snide smile as though he’s so much older than you, affirming the fact that he thinks you’re a kid, though you’re not more than a year behind him. “We always took it one step further.” 

“Naughty.” 

“Yeah.” 

A moment of silence passes between the two of you. Your eyes can’t help but glide up and down his arms, hidden behind the squeaky sleeves of his leather jacket, the rise and fall of his chest beneath one of his quintessential navy blue shirts, always just a hair too tight. No one around headquarters complains, though, and neither do you. Even if he’s an ass, he’s still a specimen to see in the flesh. 

“So,” he starts, drawing out the syllable, cutting his eyes to the side, then back to you. “Wanna play?” 

You straighten up, pointing a finger back at yourself. “Me?” 

He looks around the room in performance to prove his point. “Who else?” 

“Right. Um–”

“We don’t have very long,” he interrupts your stutter. “Kind of the point of the game, so make up your mind. Wanna fuck? Yes or no?”

“Yes.” 

God yes. Yes, yes, yes. You swallow your excitement as Leon lunges at you, his hand immediately coming to grab your jaw, pushing your face into his, locking your lips in a kiss that is all ice and fire. The heat shoots straight between your legs, your stomach flipping back and forth before dropping to your feet.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, swiping the drum of his tongue along your front teeth. “Bend over. Hands down.” 

You obey under no pressure at all except the gravely roar of his voice and the manual command of your body beneath his hands, rough and calloused and hungry. Your upper body is pressed onto a crate, the perfect height to bend you in half as Leon snakes his arms around your waist to make work of your belt and the button of your pants. He wastes no time in shoving them, along with your panties, an unimpressive cotton pair (not that he takes any time to notice them), down your thighs, grabbing the meat there as continues to push them all the way to your knees so they can part in preparation. 

His own belt buckle clinks and the next thing you hear is the metal teeth of his zipper screeching, and then the rustle of fabric. With one hand on your back, pressing you down, he takes his cock in the other to fist it to its full stiffness, the thing already red and weeping, eager to dive into your cunt. Leon presses two fingers inside you, and you yelp at the sudden stretch, nails digging into the plastic crate. 

“Shit, you’re tight,” he remarks to himself. “So fucking tight for me,” he says a little louder, to you this time. “And wet, huh? This all for me?” He pumps in and out, gathering enough moisture to spread throughout your folds, onto your clit. When you don’t answer, he removes his hand and swings it across your cheek. You yelp, hips jolting in response to the unexpected sting. He needn’t repeat himself. 

“Y–yes, Leon. It’s all for you.” 

His watch beeps. “Think I can make you mine in five minutes?” 

Already drunk on the few seconds he had his fingers inside you, the man could propose and you’d say ‘yes’. For another time…

“Please,” you cry as his hand comes down to sooth the red mark growing on your skin. 

“Alright, sweetheart, you ready for me?” 

You can feel the head of his cock prodding at your entrance, ready to dive once you give him the word. “Please,” you repeat. The plea sounds more desperate on your tongue the second time, and when you glance over your shoulder, you see Leon grinning down at you, his face contorting into a wince the second he thrusts his full length into you, not sparing a moment or a single inch. 

The stretch is bittersweet, an amalgam of pleasure and pain so beautifully interwoven into a sensation that has your knees buckling beneath you. If it weren’t for the crate supporting your upper body, you’re sure you’d be a puddle of limb and bone on the floor. 

“Holy fuck,” he hisses as he begins to move, thrusting into you at an unforgiving pace. His girth stretches you to new dimensions, and as his tip beats your cervix like a drum, white stars begin to splatter across your vision, the black hole behind your lids turning into a Pollock painting. “You feel–god, you feel so good. Doin’ so good,” as the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass echoes against the narrow space.

The praise makes you clench around him, encroaching walls threatening to milk him dry till there’s nothing left to give. Not even two minutes in and he’s approaching his climax, a whirling hurricane of a thing, spinning in his core, begging for release. 

He pulls out, only to flip you onto your back, lifting you until your seat is dangling off the ledge of the crate, ass held in his hands as he penetrates you once more, continuing his pace. Now, his curve is sliding against the button behind your front wall, hitting the back of your clit over and over again until you’re gushing all over him, your climax sneaking up on you, striking in a vicious attack. 

“Leon.” 

He nods, knowing exactly what your voice isn’t strong enough to ask with words. “I’m coming inside.” It’s not a question, not one you can answer in the negative, anyway for he is far too determined and you are far too weak to refuse. So you agree, nodding your head with a pathetic kind of enthusiasm you swore you’d never show in the presence of this man. 

Leon finishes with a final punishing thrust, coming down on flexed arms that bracket your waist, his head hanging so low you can feel the soft strands of his dark blonde hair tickling your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. 

Softening inside you, yet to remove himself, he looks down at his watch, then angles his wrist to where you can see the illuminated face. A countdown. One minute and fifty-five seconds. “Would ya’ look at that? Record time.”

[luveline]

explicit content Leon experiences a moral shock when he realises just how badly he loves teaching you to touch him. In bed and outside of it—every woman he’s ever been entangled with knew more than him, and he learned how to touch women through their hands. How to pet their hair back, how to kiss too-sensitive places. How to coax a woman into his lap, and nip her throat, and make her shudder.

You know nothing. He’s your first boyfriend, lover, partner. You’ve never been touched, which is his own private agony, and a delight at all hours of the day as he gets to be your first kiss, your first fuck, and your first cuddle. He teaches you how to open your mouth and use your tongue, how to take what you need from him and anything else you want, too. He teaches you how to relax when you’re against someone, and how to draw shapes down their back. He shouldn’t find it so achy. He’s never been like this before. The hesitant way you tuck hair behind his ear as you lean up to kiss his cheek has him stirred and quickly useless, your hand tumbling down his back to tickle him like a damn slap. He shivers when you scratch his scalp and says, That’s perfect, bub, with enough condescension to hide his sincerity. He’d love you if you knew everything there was to know, want you without introductions, but he loves being trusted so deeply by you, and he loves the way you smile when his patience exceeds your expectation. He doesn’t get mad. Doesn’t ever laugh at your shy questions. He’s putty in the palm of your trembly hands.

The worst of it is that you know. Not that you like it, being led and taught and told, commanded around with a gentleness he can’t fake, no. The worst part is when you wait to be told what to do, after a hundred kisses and hours upon hours boiling up in his lap. Like this? you ask into his neck, your teeth dull at his pulse and your tongue hot.

Leon grabs you by the thighs and yanks you against his front every time, a poor picture of restraint, praising his baby through gritted teeth. Yeah, honey. You listen so well.

[lanadelreyylover]

Perfect Fit

Chris Redfield x Thick/Curvy!Reader

Chris catches you feeling insecure about your body. And that's a big 'no no' in his book...

based on this request

“These won’t fit me,” you say matter-of-factly, handing the folded BSAA-issued cargo pants back to your Captain. 

His brows bend, creasing the skin between them, the bridge of his nose wrinkling beneath the gesture. “What do you mean they won’t fit?” 

If he wasn’t your captain, and didn’t command your respect by being so decent of a person and superior, you’d ask him if he wanted to think about what he just said and ponder whether it makes any sense. And if he was more than your…whatever he was–whatever this was–you just might let him in on that insecurity of yours. 

Spoiler alert, it doesn’t. And he isn’t.

He takes the belt loops in his hand, letting the legs fall from the fold, and holds them up to your body, inspecting the dimensions. 

“Looks like they’d fit.” 

“It’s not about the waist, Captain,” you gripe, pushing the pants away, folding your arms as you step back into your room. Chris pushes the door open and follows you inside, closing it behind him. 

“Woah, what’s going on?” He asks, voice thick with sincerity. It makes your stomach churn, just how sweet he is. He sets the pants down on your desk, his hands raising to his belt.

Men and their tiny hips, they can pick up any pair of pants and as long as one of the numbers is correct, they’ll fit perfectly.

“I–I–those just don’t fit me.” 

“How would you know?” He shrugs, bewilderment still embedded in his expression. 

You groan. “I just know.” 

“You haven’t even tried them on yet.”

“Oh my God, Chris, fine,” you say, stomping toward your desk in the corner, snatching the pants and tossing them onto the bed. You shove your leggings down until your bottom half is covered only by panties and a pair of socks. His eyes widen, out of lust or fear, you’re not sure, but you hope your outburst proves your point anyway. 

You grab the pants, the material stiff and unforgiving and step into the pant legs, attempting to pull them all the way up. Like you suspected, they stop at the tops of your thighs, and don’t even begin to go up over your ass. 

“See?” 

Chris’s almond eyes narrow as he surveys the scene, and he nods solemnly. “Yeah. I’ll see if I can find you another size.” 

You shimmy out of the pants, folding them, and handing them back to Chris. “I don’t need another size in the pants. I need to be another size.” Groaning dramatically, you slouch down on the edge of the bed. 

“What are you talking about?” He discards the cargos and sits down beside you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. 

“My ass is humongous.”

He chuckles a hearty, rumbling sound that comes straight from his chest, and presses his palm to his heart. When he sees that your face is unmoving, not a peep passing your sealed lips, he wipes the grin  off his face and clears his throat. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. I can’t find pants that go over it, if they even make it up my thighs.” You dig your fingers into the meat of your still-bare legs. He laughs again, unable to help himself. “Stop laughing,” you command, but there’s not much heat behind it. “It’s a real problem and you’re making fun of me.” 

Chris’s hand comes to your thigh, palming the flesh, caressing your skin with gentle up-and-down strokes. “I’m not making fun of you, kid. It’s just that…I don’t know. It’s just funny that you hate those parts of you, even though they’re what make you so–is ‘hot’ the wrong word to use right now?” 

His face looks so sweet, those little puppy-dog eyes looking at you with all the care and affection in the world. He could call you a ‘bitch’ right now and you’d still want to kiss him. 

So you shake your head, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to stifle a smile threatening to eclipse your face. 

“‘Hot’ it is then.” His jaw tenses as he thinks of what to say next, the words playing out in front of him. He pivots another inch, drawing closer. “Your legs–that ass of yours? Kind of the hottest things about you. And before you skin me alive, I also happen to think you’re incredibly smart and so, so strong, not to mention really good at what you do here. But there’s a reason I can’t even be in the same training room as you. Fuck.”

“You think I’m hot?” You tease, dipping your head to look up at him through batting lashes. That elicits another rolling chuckle, the sound tickling your skin. 

“Yeah, I think you’re hot.” He slides off the edge of the mattress, settling onto his knees beside it, parting yours to accommodate his chest. His fingers dig into your outer thighs as he plants hot, open-mouth kisses along the trails of skin between them, snaking his hands beneath you to grab your cheeks. They’re a perfect fit around them. “Can I show you?” 

[lanadelreyylover]

sit on it

RE4!Leon Kennedy x Reader

After coming home from an especially brutal mission, Leon can't keep his hands off you, or his face...

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie@venus-in-roses@ghostieistiredd

You don’t have many rules for how you’re touched, how you touch. You don’t draw too many lines in the sand. But if you did, you’d make special exceptions for the days after Leon comes home from a mission. 

The poor man, always battered and bruised in one way or another, whether his injuries are skin deep or cut below the surface. He sees so much out there, wherever he goes, only bringing back snippets of his experiences he’s willing to divulge. You have to fill in the gaps. Sometimes, you find a piece of the puzzle in what he reveals in his twilight state, stuck between earth and his dreams, as he cries out the names of people you’ve never met. He never wakes up after those midnight scares, just falling back asleep in your lulling arms only to rise in the morning like nothing happened. 

“Leon.” His name seeps through your parted lips like a prayer.

He comes through the door, already rinsed clean and smelling of antiseptic from those showers he has to take at headquarters to make sure he doesn’t bring home a virus on his skin. It’s always scrubbed raw, pinpricks of blood rising to the surface. You kiss it better as he clings to you like a sloth to a branch. 

And he doesn’t leave your side. Not as you guide him to the bath you prepared for him when you got the message he was on his way home, his arm breaking through the cast of bubbles floating across the surface to touch your hand. Not as you put away his boots and duffel bag, the contents inside it. He wraps his limbs around your waist as you finish up the dishes from the leftovers you warmed. 

You let him, however much it slows you down, and has the potential to get on your nerves. Because he deserves it. Because he needs it. That is made apparent by the way his hands hungrily knead the flesh of your ass, your hips, feeling the slope of your waist. All desperation and greed, etched into the lines of his palms.

His requests are far and few, which is probably why you’re always so willing to comply, because you know that when he asks, it’s not based on some frivolous whim that whipped through his mind like a tornado. It’s careful, planned, the details mulled over again and again. That’s his way. It’s what makes him so good at his job. And it’s what makes him an especially talented lover. 

So no, you rarely dismiss his requests. 

Except for one. 

“Please.” 

“Leon,” you groan, rinsing the dish soap from your hands, toweling them off before turning around. His arms bracket either side of your body, fists dug into the ledge of the counter behind you. “No.” 

“Come on,” he goads, tilting his head. He never put on another shirt after his bath, now standing in the kitchen, bare torso a sight for sore eyes. You hate his job, but you don’t mind the way it carves his body into something entirely mythological. No other man looks like Leon, because no other man does what he does. A double-edge sword you’d willingly plunge into another if it meant you had him home all to yourself, not having to worry about what beast was attacking him this time around. Even if it meant those muscles expanded into a healthy pudge.

Okay, you’d miss them a little. 

“No, I’m just not comfortable with that.” 

His brows cinch together. “Not comfortable? Baby, we’ve done everything else, or do I need to remind you?” A wicked grin splashes across his face, and you swipe at him with the towel still in your hands. 

“Gross.” You dip below his arm, freeing yourself from the cage of his arms. 

“Wasn’t gross when I was fucking you on that balcony,” he mumbles to himself. 

“What was that?” You ask, flicking off the television, making sure the front door is locked and the candle blown out–the little routine you have in place to make the days feel less like they’re blurring into one glob of time when he’s gone. 

He follows you down the hallway, into the bedroom. 

Fresh sheets for a man returned from war. They call his name, his bones aching for relief, skin itching to be wrapped in a sarcophagus of cool, crisp cotton. He knows how much you hate putting on the fitted sheet. It warms his heart to know you do it for him every time. 

Still, the gesture is not enough to eclipse the true desire in his heart. 

He approaches you again, not wanting to go a moment without his flesh touching yours in one way or another. He joins you on the edge of the mattress as you face the nightstand, searching around in the drawer for lotion. His hands wrap around your middle as you apply the salve to your hands, your knees. 

“Pretty please?” He whispers in your ear, breath tickling the skin below it. 

“I’ll suffocate you, Leon.” It sounds more like a threat than a consequence. 

He scoffs, as though offended by the accusation that dying between your thighs wouldn’t be the highest honor. “You think I’d mind? Come on, baby. Please.” 

You cut your eyes at him, swaths of blonde hair framing his face like curtains, blue irises peaking through the windows between strands. 

“I got infected,” he confesses, voice as low as the lights filtering from the lamps on either side of the bed. “Could have died out there.” 

“What?” Your mouth falls agape, your gaze widening. 

“Yep. Could have died,” he repeats. “Without ever knowing what it felt like to sit under your pussy.” 

Cinching your brows, you grab one of the pillows off the bed and hit him with it. “Leon,” you gripe, drawing out the syllable. “Not funny.” You only beat him with it twice, feeling like any more swipes at his arms would be abusive toward a man apparently cured from some life-ending disease. 

The nightgown you’re wearing rides up your thighs as you lift your arms to throw the pillow at him. He takes that as an invitation, falling back on the bed and taking you with him, his hands pressed into the flesh of your legs, yanking you up to his face. Completely thrown off balance, you can’t help but become as malleable a marionette, the strings attached to your uncoordinated limbs wound tight around his fingers as he places you on his face.

And it’s heavenly. The feeling of his nose rubbing against your pussy, his tongue immediately finding your hole, licking you from seam to clit. Your hips jolt against him, and you kneel into the feeling, grinding down against this face. He groans, the vibrations slithering like live wires through your veins, icy-hot and vengeful. 

You arch your back to anchor yourself, placing shaky hands on his torso. This new angle gives you the leverage to move your hips at a metronomic pace, the rhythm slowly building alongside your pleasure. He growls against your pussy again, mumbling something completely incoherent against your lips and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your waist, pushing you further down onto his face as he devours your pussy like a king at dinner. 

“Need it,” you hear him whine, the words reverberating against your clit, pushing you one step closer toward the edge. It’s viscous and violent, the way you feel yourself begin to tumble, the sensation akin to losing your footing on a staircase–the anticipation of the fall, the vulnerability that races through your body when you realize you’re no longer standing on solid ground. 

You whimper his name, alerting him to your impending climax as the coil behind your abdomen tightens, clit throbbing beneath the pace, cunt clenching around the absence of his tongue. 

“Leon,” you gasp, the curve of your nails tugging into the skin of his chest, leaving behind half-moon indentations in their wake. “I’m so close.” 

“Give it to me. Come in my mouth,” he moans, and although you want nothing more than to extend your pleasure to last all night, the desperation in his voice lends you to give him exactly what he wants.