I'm feeling the urge to redecorate Renoki's entire house again but I need to work out if this is a True Desire™️ or a i-have-exams-and-i-am-procrastinating feeling
pairing: leon kennedy x reader (ft other re characters)
summary: after the team finds out leon's married, his wife invites them over for dinner for the first time.
genre: fluff
pt 1: lovers rock
You start preparing three hours earlier than you really need to.
You want everything to be right. The food, the table, the way the apartment smells when they walk in, you know that these people are important to Leon, so they’re important to you too. You hum a song you heard online under your breath as you move around the kitchen, stirring the sauce, checking the oven, wiping down a counter that’s already clean.
Leon watches you with an amused smirk before he says anything.
“You’ve reorganized the table three times,” he points out from where he leans against the doorway.
You glance over your shoulder, smiling brightly. “Four, actually. The other forks looked a little… cold? If that makes sense?”
“The forks... Cold?”
“Yeah,” you nod, completely serious. “I think it’s the silver color, giving off a weird vibe. These are more welcoming, see?” You lift a new fork up. These ones are a different shade.
He’s even more amused, shaking his head with small laughter. “I think you’re the only person I know who can assign personalities to cutlery.”
“It’s an important skill,” you grin, turning back to the stove. “Very transferable.”
You use a small spoon to taste the sauce, eyes lighting up. “Oh, wait, this is actually really good.”
“It was really good twenty minutes ago,” Leon says.
“Yeah, but now it’s really really good,” you correct, beaming.
He pushes himself off the doorway and walks over to you, resting his hands on the counter beside you. “You’re not nervous?”
You lift the spoon up to his lips, letting him have a taste too. “Oh, I’m extremely nervous. I just decided I’m going to channel it into being very excited instead.”
“That’s healthy of you. Also, this sauce is very good.”
“Don’t I know it?” You smirk, nudging him lightly with your hip. “You’re supposed to reassure me, you know.”
“I already did,” he replies. “You just didn’t listen.”
The doorbell rings, interrupting your response. Your entire face lights up.
“Oh my god, they’re here.”
Leon barely has time to react before you’re already halfway to the door.
“Hey,” he calls after you, amused. “I thought you were nervous.”
“I am,” you say over your shoulder, reaching for the handle anyway. “But again, I’m also excited. These two feelings can coexist!”
You hear chatter behind the door, something about who’s holding the wine. You swing the door open.
“Hi!”
The group pauses for a split second, clearly not expecting the immediate burst of energy. In front of them is a very smiley woman dressed in a soft pink sweater and light jeans. They didn't know what to expect when they thought of Leon's wife, but the person they imagined wasn't as... bright as you.
Claire recovers first, her expression breaking into a smile reflecting yours. Looks like she’s the one stuck with holding the wine. “Hi!” She thrusts the bottle into your hands. “A little gift from us!”
“Oh, you guys didn’t have to, how sweet! Come in, come in,” you say quickly, stepping aside and gesturing them in. “I’m so happy to finally meet all of you.”
Sherry lights up instantly, matching your energy without hesitation. “We’ve been dying to meet you.”
“And I’ve been dying to meet you all,” you shoot back, laughing. “Leon talks about you guys all the time.”
Leon, behind you, mutters something under his breath that sounds very close to your name. You pretend like you couldn’t hear it at all.
Chris steps in, glancing around the apartment. “Nice place.”
“Thank you! We decorated it right after we moved in.” You grin.
“More like you decorated.” Leon corrects you, knowing he didn’t do anything besides hand over the credit card.
“Nice to know someone here has taste.” Jill says cooly as she steps inside. You grin. Leon did warn you already that Jill might be the most intimidating from the start, but you feel like you’re okay.
Grace is the last one in, “Thanks for having us.”
She leans in for a quick hug, and you hold her back, not expecting it but happy with it. “Of course, it’s great to meet you.” You know from Leon that she's the newest addition to their little entourage.
You turn back to face everyone. “Okay, shoes off wherever, make yourselves comfortable,” you continue, already moving backward toward the kitchen. “I made way too much food, so you’re all obligated to eat.”
“That’s my favorite kind of obligation,” Chris smirks, slipping his jacket off.
The apartment fills quickly, conversation layering over itself as everyone settles in. Leon grabs the wine glasses, pouring some of the gift and handing the glasses out. You float between the kitchen and the table, still smiling, still talking, still somehow keeping everything together.
Leon watches you the entire time. Jill and Grace, both observant as ever, see the warmth in his eyes. Grace smiles to herself, after their… experience together, she’s glad Leon has someone like you to come home to.
Dinner starts with a little bit of chaos and a lot of laughter. You insist on serving everyone, even when they try to help.
“No, no, sit,” you say, waving them off. “You’re guests. This is my moment.”
“Your moment,” Chris repeats.
“Yes,” you nod firmly, placing a plate in front of him. “Please respect it.”
Sherry giggles, leaning over to Claire. “I like her.”
“I know, me too.” Claire whispers back. Leon pretends like he didn’t hear it, but the quirk of his lips betrays him.
Once everyone’s settled, the conversation picks up naturally. They talk about their current missions, the annoyance of filling out the paper work, all of the stuff that comes along with their jobs that you don’t fully understand. It doesn’t take long before it turns to you.
“So, we’re all dying to know.” Sherry starts, leaning forward eagerly. “How did you two meet?”
You light up immediately. “Oh, I was just waiting for you to ask. It’s actually kind of funny.”
Leon sighs beside you, already knowing what’s coming. “It is not funny,” he mutters.
“It is funny,” you insist, turning to the others. “Okay, so I had just started at the DSO as a data analyst, right? First week, I’m trying to prove that I know what I’m doing, and I get assigned this project with so much data. Like an insane, messy mountain of data.”
Jill nods slightly. “Sounds about right.”
“I’m sitting there at my computer, and it’s just not working,” you explain, hands moving as you talk. “Like, every time I fix one thing, something else isn't working, and I didn’t realize I was talking out loud, but I was. Very passionately.”
“You were arguing with a computer,” Leon adds.
“I was…,” you correct. “Working out my game plan.”
Claire laughs. “As you should.”
“And then,” you go on, grinning now, “this guy just appears behind me out of nowhere and goes,” You put on a deeper voice, arms crossing. “‘You’re doing it wrong.’”
Sherry’s eyes widen. “No way, that’d piss me off.”
“Yes way,” you nod. “And it did. This random guy, judgemental as hell!”
“I wasn’t judging,” Leon defends himself.
“You absolutely were,” you say, pointing at him. “I turned around and was like, ‘Excuse me?’”
Chris snorts into his drink.
“And he just looks at my screen, reaches over, without asking, by the way, and starts touching my computer.”
“You were stuck about what to do.” Leon puts his hands up, giving up his argument.
“I was figuring it out,” you correct him. “There’s a difference.”
Grace watches the two of you, amusement flickering in her eyes.
“So he fixes it in, like, two minutes,” you continue, smiling now. “And I’m just sitting there, kind of stunned and a little pissed off, because it actually works.”
“And?” Claire prompts.
“And then he just goes, ‘There,’ like that explains everything, and starts to walk away.”
“I had things to do,” Leon mutters.
“I didn’t even know his name,” you laugh. “So I’m like, ‘Wait!’ and he turns around, and I swear, this man looks mad that I’m still speaking. As if he wasn’t the one to put himself in this situation.”
Everyone laughs.
“That sounds like him,” Jill smirks.
“I asked him who he was,” you go on, eyes bright. “And he goes, ‘Leon.’ Just Leon. Like he’s some kind of mysterious one-name legend.”
Chris leans back in his chair. “That’s because he thinks he is.”
“I do not,” Leon says.
“You did,” you and Chris say at the same time.
You grin. “Anyway, I thanked him, obviously, because he did help, and then I told him he had terrible people skills.”
Sherry gasps. “You didn’t.”
“I did,” you nod, smirking. “And he just stared at me for a second, like no one had ever said that to him before.”
“No one had,” Leon admits.
Claire scoffs, “I’m sure I’ve said it once or twice.” Leon rolls his eyes in response.
“And then,” you wrap up the story, smiling to yourself, “he came back the next day. And the next. And eventually we started having lunch together, and then coffee, and then the rest is history.”
“The whole yelling at the computer was kinda hot,” Leon smirks.
A small “Ew.” from Sherry and a few smirks around the table. You elbow his side.
Jill watches the two of you.“That’s sweet,” she smiles genuinely. It’s the most emotion you’ve seen from her so far - you like to think it’s progress.
“It’s very us,” you agree.
Leon looks back at you.“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”
He reaches under the table to hold your hand. You wrap your fingers around his instinctively.
The rest of dinner wraps up with more chatter, more sharing stories and more laughter. When everyone finishes their meal, you get echoes of thank yous and compliments on your cooking.
“Any more compliments and my head’s gonna get too big. Can’t have Leon dealing with that.” You grin, “You guys head over to the living room, I’ll clean up and join you.”
“You sure?” Leon wraps his hand around your waist, “I can help.”
You’re about to reject it until Sherry interrupts, “I’ll help!”
You nod and the two of you work side by side seamlessly, working to clear the table. She reaches for a plate near you, her hand brushing yours for a second.
Her gaze drops. She sees the ring on your finger that matches the one she sees Leon wearing. She looks back up at you. “It suits you,” she says, soft like a whisper.
“Thank you,” you smile, reflecting hers.
She nods and goes back to stacking plates. Your heart feels warm at the thought of making progress with Leon’s people, with Leon’s family.
Across the room, Leon is sitting with the rest. Him and Claire on the couch, Jill on the one seater, and Chris on the floor, cross legged. He takes glances at you near the sink with Sherry. The two of you laugh, chatting about whatever, as you scrub the dishes and she dries them. It warms his heart to know that the kid, his kid, likes you.
“It's so cute.” Claire interrupts his staring. “You two fit each other well.”
“You think?”
Chris scoffs, “She balances your fake brooding act.” Leon rolls his eyes.
“People like us need someone like her.” Jill states simply. Leon knows what she means, everyone sitting there knows exactly what she means.
He thinks back to the past few years you’ve been dating. Him coming home from a mission, exhausted, and you’re there awake and waiting for him. He thinks about the food you cook for him, knowing he hasn’t eaten a homecooked meal during his trip. Think about you forcing him to sit and wait as you stitch or wrap him up. How you coax him to bed and run your fingers through his hair as he falls asleep, you always waiting for him to sleep first.
“Yeah,” He sighs, “we do. I’m very lucky.”
Leon hears your steps before he sees you. You’re holding another bottle of wine, “Who’s ready for round two?”
The bottle gets passed around, the wine glasses abandoned. The apartment feels so cozy with you all drinking, chatting, laughing. It gets to the hour where everyone decides to head home, complaining about work early the next day. Goodbyes and hugs are exchanged, Leon does the guy handshake thing with Chris.
Claire hugs you before she goes. “We’re coming back,” she states, firm. “I’m not even asking.”
“Please do,” you reply immediately. “I’ll make dessert next time. Or we can cook together. Or both.”
Claire beams. “Yes. Both.”
Jill gives you a small nod, the smile back on her face. “It was nice to meet you.”
Chris hangs back near the door with Leon. He glances at you chatting with the other women, then at Leon. “Well done,” he says simply.
Leon raises a brow. “On what?”
Chris just shakes his head, a faint but genuine smile on his face. “Everything.”
The door closes as everyone finally leaves, and the apartment is a lot quieter than before. You turn to Leon immediately, practically bouncing on your toes.
“Oh my god, I love them.”
He laughs, stepping closer. “Yeah?”
“They’re so cool,” you continue, grabbing his hand without thinking. “And funny, and I didn’t burn anything, and Claire hugged me, and Sherry and Grace are both so adorable, and Chris and Jill are both kind of scary but in a nice way-”
“In a nice way,” he repeats.
“Yes,” you nod firmly.
He watches you for a second, “Told you they would love you.”
You grin, squeezing his hand, your rings bumping a bit.
“Yeah...” you trail off. “But, I love you most.”
“I love you too.”
lovers rock part 2 as promised.. <3
take a shot everytime i said smile.... im SORRY they're all just so smiley and lovely i love them they deserve this
TAGS: @ellabslover @strawberry098 @saria1miyoko @jqsjournal @yaoduriaa @pinkswordlegion @moqnqr @qngelical @leii188 @thatintrovertedbisexual @greywardensaywhat @tera-lefay
Summary : The 11th Street Kids move into a loft. Chaos, takeout, 3AM chicken. You fall into Adrian’s lap, one thing leads to another. “Just the tip” turns into way more.
Tags / warnings : SMUT MDNI, oral (f & m receiving) unprotected p in v, sub!Adrian, whiny pathetic adrian (it’s canon)
A/N : I saw a tweet about the 11th Street Kids in a 2019 tumblr style Stark Tower fanfic and my mind went kinda wild. Also I miss them and they deserve to be a big happy (dysfunctional) family (: this could be a series idk yet 💘 share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to hear from you all 🩵 tags, and reblogs with reaction memes always make my day.
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It makes the most financial sense. The words Ads said ring in your head as you heft your fifth box up the stairs into the new loft. Sure, everyone sharing the same space was cost effective in the long run… but the execution? That was going to be interesting.
Economos was already sweating bullets in front of a nest of routers, extension cords, and surge protectors spread across the living room like a warzone.
“Do not touch anything,” he barked, waving a screwdriver like a weapon. “I’ve got the Wi-Fi, cable, and Bluetooth syncing on one master system. I don’t need one of you fucking it up.”
From the other side of the room, Chris shouted back with a beer in hand, “AlI heard was blah blah blah, I’m a virgin who plays Minecraft.”
“Fuck you,” Economos muttered, plugging another cable in. “When your Spotify starts streaming to the toaster, don’t come complaining to me.”
You set your box down on the nearest free space, which happened to be a half-built IKEA bookshelf Emilia was wrestling with.
“Hand me that hex key,” she grunted, hair tied back, eyes focused.
Chris leaned against the wall, watching her like a loyal dog. “Hey babe, you want me to tighten the screws? I’m really good at screwing.”
“Jesus Christ, Chris,” she said flatly without even looking up.
Ads, meanwhile, was hanging string lights along the kitchen island, muttering to herself about “setting a vibe.” Every so often she’d stop to reposition a decorative pillow, clearly the only one here with any interest in making the loft look like humans lived in it.
“Don’t even think about putting up that live-laugh-love crap up,” Emilia called out.
“It’s not a sign, it’s art,” Ads shot back. “And this place is gonna look depressing as hell if I don’t do something.”
Chris was in the middle of pacing the hallway with a tape measure, scribbling numbers in a notebook.
“What the fuck are you doing now?” Emilia asked.
“Claiming my room,” he said. “Biggest square footage gets me. That’s the law.”
“That’s not a law,” Adebayo said.
“Yeah it is, squatters’ rights, baby. You wouldn’t know, you grew up with morals.”
Across the room, Adrian finally wandered in, carrying a duffel bag and, inexplicably, a fucking sword. He stopped in the doorway, blinking at the chaos.
“Is there, like, a sign-up sheet for who uses the bathroom first?” he asked.
“No,” Emilia snapped.
“Yes,” Ads countered at the same time. “I already made one.”
Adrian shrugged and dropped his bag directly in the middle of the floor, like he’d already decided that was his spot. His eyes flicked to you, landing on the box you were holding.
“Uh, need help?” he asked, too casual, like the question had slipped out before he could stop it.
Before you could answer, Chris pointed the tape measure at him like a weapon. “Hey! Loft rule number one no lame ass swords.”
“It’s not a lame ass sword,” Adrian said, offended. “It’s a decorative katana. Totally different. It’s fucking sick, I’m gonna kill someone with it one day.”
“You’ll never top me killing a gorilla with a chainsaw.” Economos gloated
“I knew you were fucking with me!”
Everybody let out a unison groan. Not this again.
“If you people want Bluetooth synced in every damn room so you can blast fucking Cinderella or whatever hair metal garbage you listen to, then shut the fuck up for five minutes.” Economos huffed
Chris’s head popped up like a meerkat. “Wait… you’re saying we can play music in every room? At the same time?”
“Yes,” Economos muttered, “that’s how whole-home audio works.”
Chris grinned like a kid on Christmas. “Economos, you glorious bastard. First song’s mine. Crüe. Loud enough to wake the neighbors.”
Emilia groaned. “We’re gonna get evicted in a week.”
You drag your box down the hall, scouting out the smaller bedrooms that Chris hasn’t already measured like a deranged realtor. Ads told you to “pick whichever feels like your vibe,” which sounded supportive, but really translated to she’s already claimed the one with the best light.
You push open the door to a modest corner room. It’s not huge, but it’s yours. A single window, a bare mattress in the middle of the space, and just enough floor space for the boxes you’ve lugged up five flights of stairs.
You set one down and sigh. Home sweet chaos.
Across the hall, you hear the distinct sound of something heavy thunking against drywall. Then Adrian’s voice
“Fuck. Okay. That was structural. Definitely structural. Maybe if I—” another crash “—nope, it’s fine. Totally fine.”
You poke your head out just in time to see him trying to balance a katana stand on a shelf that clearly wasn’t meant to hold weapons. He notices you watching, freezes mid-motion, and immediately gets defensive.
“What? It’s décor.”
“Pretty sure décor isn’t supposed to pierce the drywall,” you say, leaning on your doorframe. “There goes our deposit.”
His eyes narrow. “Wow. Love how you’ve been here for five seconds and already think you’re, like what? The loft police.”
“Someone’s gotta be. You’re gonna kill us in our sleep with your ‘décor.’”
He huffs, dragging his duffel bag toward the closet like it personally insulted him. “At least I have décor. What are you putting up in there, inspirational quotes? A cat calendar? Maybe a sad little cactus?”
You smirk. “You don’t get to judge until you can hang something without putting a hole in the wall.”
He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, then stops, caught. He mutters something about “thumbtacks being for useless” and disappears into his closet, leaving the door cracked.
From down the hall, Chris’s voice bellows “DIBS ON THE BATHROOM NEXT TO THE HOT GIRLS!”
“Fuck off, Chris,” Harcourt yells back, followed by the sound of a hammer hitting wood.
You shake your head, turning back into your room. You set a box down on the mattress and start unpacking. Posters, books, a lamp. The ordinary stuff. And through the thin walls, you hear Adrian humming off-key, too loud, completely unselfconscious.
Somewhere between “Eye of the Tiger” and an enthusiastic guitar solo made entirely with his mouth, he calls out
“Hey! You want me to hook your TV up to the system? Economos said I shouldn’t touch anything but I totally figured it out already.”
You pause, halfway through smoothing a sheet over your mattress. “By figured it out, do you mean you watched someone do it before?”
“Wow. Distrust. Rude. I’ll have you know my Blu-Ray player has, like, three HDMI cables. I’m basically an expert.”
There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of him banging on the wall you share, your wall vibrating with the force.
“It’s gonna be fun roomie!” he shouts.
You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your mouth. This was going to be… interesting.
By the time the sun goes down, the loft looks less like a construction site and more like… well, a half-finished IKEA showroom. Boxes still stacked, tools scattered everywhere, and the faint smell of dust mixed with whatever cologne Chris practically bathes in.
Ads and Emilia disappear to the store after Emilia mutters something about “basic necessities,” leaving the rest of you to fend for yourselves.
Which is how you end up sitting cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by cartons of Chinese food and a pack of beer Chris proudly announced he’d “found” from Economos’ stash.
“Found means stole,” Economos grumbles, prying open a box of lo mein.
Chris grins. “Found" means brotherhood, Economos. Brotherhood and sharing. Like Jesus and the apostles, except instead of fucking wine it’s Bud Light.”
Adrian snorts into his beer. “Pretty sure Jesus didn’t shotgun a twelve-pack.”
“Yeah, well, pretty sure Jesus also didn’t have killer abs,” Chris says, patting his own stomach.
“You don’t have killer abs,” Emilia’s voice cuts in from the doorway as she and Ads return, arms loaded with grocery bags. She drops a pack of paper towels on the coffee table and shakes her head. “You have dad bod optimism, at best.”
The whole room bursts into laughter, Chris included, though he tries to flex mid-sip just to prove a point.
You crack open your box of sesame chicken and glance around. For the first time all day, everyone looks… happy. Relaxed, even. Adrian is sitting close enough that his knee brushes yours every time he reaches for another dumpling, though he doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. You always do.
Ads sits back against the couch with a beer and raises her bottle. “Alright, ground rules. Before we devolve into anarchy. Number one dishes don’t do themselves. Whoever dirties them, cleans them.”
Chris groans. “What if I can’t handle doing dishes that day?”
“Then starve,” Emilia deadpans, earning another wave of laughter.
“Rule number two,” Ads continues, “no overnight guests without a heads-up.”
Chris perks up. “Define overnight. Like, eight hours? Or are we talking multiple rounds—”
“Jesus Christ,” Emilia cuts him off, tossing a fortune cookie at his head.
Economos clears his throat. “Rule number three: no touching the router. No. One. Not even if it looks like it’s on fire. Especially if it looks like it’s on fire.”
“That’s so specific it makes me want to touch it more,” Adrian mutters, but you catch the smirk playing at his mouth.
You lean back on your hands, watching them bicker, the warm buzz of beer mixing with the comfort of greasy takeout. It feels… weirdly like family. Messy, loud, dysfunctional, but family.
Ads looks around, softer now. “Look, I know this is gonna be a shitshow sometimes. But you guys are my people. And if we can survive butterflies, blackmail, and Peacemaker’s musical taste, we can survive living together.”
Chris raises his beer in salute. “Fuck yeah. The 11th Street Kids, baby. Stronger than the weak ass Wi-Fi John set up.”
“That’s not hard,” Economos says under his breath, but he still clinks his bottle with the rest.
Adrian’s knee nudges yours again, deliberate this time. He glances sideways, and for a split second, under all the bravado, there’s something earnest in his eyes. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.
Instead, he just mutters, “Guess this makes us all roomies now.”
And somehow, that feels like the closest thing to a promise you’ll get from him.
After a few more beers, stories and laughs the loft is finally quiet. After hours of noise, shouting, music battles, and passive-aggressive debates about who left their underwear on the hallway banister (Chris), the place has gone still. You showered, slipped into pajamas, and crawled into bed around midnight, content and full and exhausted.
And then, somewhere around 3:04 AM, your stomach is begging for food.
You crack open your door and pad down the hallway, blinking against the dim light filtering in from the kitchen.
You’re halfway through opening the fridge when the front door creaks.
You freeze.
Then a Clunk. Shuffle. Grunt. You grab a kitchen knife.
And then “It’s just me, don’t stab me.”
You whip around. Adrian’s standing there in full vigilante gear, the suit zipped up, mask still on. He smells like an alleyway, sweat, and wet leather.
You raise an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”
He lifts the mask off with a dramatic whoosh, revealing sweaty curls and a flushed face. “Patrol. You know. Justice, the thing we do. Protecting the innocent. Kicking bad guy ass.”
“After you’ve been drinking?” you say, closing the fridge with your hip. “At 3AM?”
“Crime doesn’t sleep,” he says, wiping at a streak of blood, probably not his, on his cheek. “So neither do I. Also I forgot how hot this suit gets. I’m like three degrees from being soup in here.”
You slide a Tupperware of leftover chicken onto the counter and grab two forks. “You want some?”
His eyes light up like you offered him sex and a side of fries. “Do I want cold chicken from a stranger’s fridge while smelling like a sewer rat? Abso-fucking-lutely.”
You both lean against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, digging into the food in companionable silence. It should be gross. He’s still breathing heavy from vigilante cardio and you’re in the tiniest tank top and sleep shorts, but somehow it works.
He licks his fingers. “Wanna watch a movie?” He asks with his mouth full.
You glance at the microwave clock. 3:17 AM.
“Isn’t it a little late?” you ask.
He shrugs, mouth still full. “Or early.”
You hesitate. “Fine. But nothing sad. I’m too tired to feel feelings.”
Adrian fist-pumps. “You’re gonna love Tango & Cash. Or RoboCop. Ooh actually The Nice Guys.”
“You’re going to shower first,” you say. “You smell like crime.”
He mock-bows. “Your wish is my command, Roomie.”
He reappears ten minutes later, towel-dried curls wild, sweatpants low on his hips, a gray t-shirt clinging to his still-damp chest. He flops dramatically next to you on the couch like he thought about this moment all fucking day.
You’re curled up on one side, small pajama set leaving very little to the imagination. You notice how often he glances at your thighs, your collarbone, and your knee brushing his leg.
He hands you the remote. “You pick.”
You scroll. Slowly. Painfully. Intentionally.
He leans over slightly to peek at the screen and totally not to smell your shampoo. “You take longer to pick a movie than I do to pick a target.”
“You picked Magic Mike last time. You lost all rights.”
“That was a cultural experience,” he whines. “Besides, I’m more of a step up guy. I appreciate male athleticism.”
You snort, and he watches the way your shoulders shake, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
The tension is thick. Familiar. Teasing.
Your bare leg brushes against his again, and he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts closer. His arm settles behind you on the back of the couch. Not quite touching. Just… there.
You don’t say anything.
He watches you scroll a few more seconds.
“You know, you could just pick me.”
You pause. “…What?”
He clears his throat, like he surprised even himself. “Like. As a movie. I mean. Like if I was a movie. I’d be a good one. Action-packed. Explosive. Maybe a little full frontal.”
You blink. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he blurts. “I mean yes. I’m great. I’m amazing. Just—sorry, I get weird when it’s late and you’re wearing that and sitting this close and…”
You raise an eyebrow.
He holds up both hands like he’s surrendering. “Okay. I’m going to shut up. I’m gonna watch the movie. I’m not gonna say one more word unless it’s helpful or romantic or horny.”
You smile slowly, lazily dragging your gaze down to his mouth and back up to his eyes.
“That’s a very specific filter.”
He grins, eyes blown wide. “Yeah. I like specificity.”
The final choice ends up being Finding Nemo.
You say it’s for “nostalgia.” But really, it was because you remember Adrian once said, completely unprompted, that manta rays are “fucking majestic” and he beams when Mr. Ray sings “Let’s name the zones, the zones, the zones…”
So yeah. It was mostly to see his face during that part.
Ten minutes in, he’s locked in. Legs spread, arms crossed, eyes narrowed like he’s analyzing it for a mission report.
You can’t help the grin tugging at your lips.
“Popcorn?” you ask, already sliding off the couch.
He blinks, distracted. “Huh?”
You point to the kitchen. “Popcorn. The snack food. Salty. Crunchy. Legally required for any movie after 2am.”
Adrian tilts his head like a confused puppy. “…Can you put mini M&M’s in it?”
You shoot him finger guns. “That’s the only correct answer.”
You pop the bag in the microwave and prep a bowl with chocolate and salt. You hear the TV volume spike as he sings along to Mr. Ray’s manta ray jingle in the background.
When the popcorn’s ready, you grab the bowl and head back. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of Pixar animation and the occasional flash from the TV.
You don’t see the shoe on the floor.
It’s probably Chris’s.
Your foot catches.
You stumble forward “Shit!” and crash directly into Adrian’s lap.
The bowl of popcorn goes flying. M&M’s scatter like emotional landmines across the couch. Your hands land on his chest. His hands instinctively grab your waist.
There’s a heartbeat of absolute silence.
“Wow,” he breathes. “That’s one way to get me to shut up.”
You look up at him, face inches from his, your body pressed against him in every inconvenient, hot, undeniable way.
“Sorry,” you say, trying and failing to sit up. “There was a—”
“A Shoe. Yeah,” he says quickly. “I think the universe is telling us something.”
“That I’m a walking hazard?”
“That I should keep M&M’s on every surface just in case this happens again.”
His hands are still on your waist. He hasn’t let go. You’re not sure you want him to.
Your breath hitches. His eyes drop to your mouth.
“You’re gonna kiss me, aren’t you?” you whisper.
He nods, already leaning in. “I’m gonna try really fucking hard not to be weird about it.”
“Promises promises.” You tease.
And then he kisses you.
Warm, messy, a little off-center at first because of course it is, but then he adjusts, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish.
When you pull back, you’re both breathless.
Adrian grins, wide and shameless. “So… wanna go back to watching fish or should we, like, test the structural integrity of this couch?”
The kiss lingers between you like a dropped match in a room full of gasoline.
You’re now straddling his lap, legs on either side of his hips, chest rising and falling against his and Adrian is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery and doesn’t trust the system not to take it back.
His hands are warm on your waist, fingers flexing like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. You lean in again, slower this time, your lips brushing his once, twice, before deepening the kiss. His mouth opens under yours, eager and messy, and he groans like he’s been waiting years for this.
“Jesus,” he mutters into your mouth, “you’re, like… dangerously hot for someone who almost concussed me.”
“You’ll live,” you murmur, nipping his bottom lip. “Probably.”
“Not if you keep doing that,” he breathes. “I might explode.”
You grind down against him just enough to shut him up, and his hips buck automatically. The groan that escapes him is so desperate you half expect him to apologize for it, but this is Adrian, and he doesn’t know shame.
“You’re such a little freak,” he mutters, mouth dragging down your jaw. “You know that?” He laughs, breathless against your neck, and then he bites, soft, testing, and you gasp. He freezes, then pulls back just far enough to see your face.
His hands slide under the hem of your tank top, large and warm against your bare waist. His fingers move slow, like he’s savoring every inch, like he’s finally getting to touch something he’s imagined too many damn times to count.
“You’re gonna ruin my life,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head, breath catching as his thumb brushes just beneath your ribs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” he says, dipping his head to kiss just below your ear. “Not even a little.”
His kisses trail down your neck warm, open-mouthed, deliberate. He nips again, sucking lightly just above your collarbone, and your hips twitch forward instinctively grinding down on him.
He groans, hands tightening at your sides. “Fuck, keep doing that or I swear to God, I’ll—”
“What?” you whisper. “You’ll what?”
He grins against your skin. “I’ll beg.”
“I’d like that.”
“I bet you would,” he admits, nuzzling the curve of your throat. “You absolutely would. Want me to? I’ll do it. I’ll tell you how hot you look in those tiny-ass shorts and how I’ve been trying not to stare at your thighs for the last hour.”
Your breath stutters. He feels it. Smirks. Leans back just enough to meet your eyes. You reach down, grab the hem of your own tank top, and pull it over your head.
Adrian’s brain short-circuits so hard he just stares for a beat.
“Okay, cool, I’m dead. You killed me. This is heaven. Wow. Amazing.”
You lean down, lips brushing his again. “Just shut up and touch me.”
He grins, full and wild. “Oh. You’re gonna regret saying that.”
And then he’s everywhere, hands, mouth, voice a little chaotic, a lot reverent, and all yours.
His mouth is on your chest, reverent and greedy, his hands spread wide over your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself to the couch, to you, before he completely comes undone.
You’re flushed, breath stuttering as his tongue traces a line over your hard nipples. He’s muttering something, completely unfiltered and worshipful between kisses.
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so hot—how are you even real, I mean look at you—shit—okay, no, don’t look at me.”
You laugh, gasping as he sucks a mark into your skin, one hand sliding up to cup your breast while the other grips your thigh like it owes him money.
And then right when he’s panting against your skin, hips twitching up into yours like a man possessed, you thread your fingers into his curls and tug his head back just enough to look him in the eye.
“Adrian,” you whisper, voice low and wrecked.
He freezes. “Yeah?”
You bite your lip. “Take me to my room.”
He blinks once. Twice. Like you just told him he won the lottery and offered to punch his high school bully.
“Like… carry you?” he asks, voice cracking in real time. “Or are we talking a sexy walk? ‘Cause I can do both. I can—I mean—I can run if you want—”
“Pick a method,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down the back of his neck, “but get me there now.”
Something in him snaps.
“Fucking finally,” he growls, hands tightening at your waist as he surges up, lifting you effortlessly with you still wrapped around him.
You yelp, half laugh, half moan as he bumps into the coffee table on the way, too frantic to care. He all but drops you on the bed, immediately climbing over you, grinning like an unhinged idiot with hearts in his eyes.
“I’m gonna ruin your sheets,” he says, mouth already trailing down your stomach. “I’m gonna ruin your life.”
You reach for him, lips already swollen, voice wrecked.
“Good.”
He hovers over you, mouth trailing down your neck, breath hot and erratic. His hips grind down with just enough pressure to make you gasp, his hands everywhere like he can’t decide what part of you he wants to touch first.
You push up on your elbows, your fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.
“Off,” you whisper.
He scrambles back onto his knees like a man possessed, yanking the shirt up and over his head with the grace of a horny frat boy mid-striptease. He tosses it somewhere, it lands on the lamp, but neither of you cares.
That’s when you see it.
Purple bruising blooms along his left side. Some shallow cuts, too, not deep, but red and angry. It’s nothing life-threatening, but it’s clear he’s been hit. Multiple times. Probably jumped a fence or two. Definitely didn’t dodge when he could’ve.
You sit up, instantly sobering. “What the hell happened?”
Adrian blinks. “Huh? Oh. That’s from earlier. Patrol. I might’ve, uh… tackled a guy through a fence. And then maybe also the guy’s friend tackled me. But I was fine. Am fine. Very fine. Extra fine, even. They’re dead. If you wanna check, I can flex—”
You reach out gently, your fingers ghosting over the edge of the bruise. He hisses through his teeth and flinches, not from the pain, but from your touch. Like it’s too much.
You cup his face, thumb brushing along his jaw. “Why didn't you say anything ?”
He shrugs, suddenly weirdly shy for someone who was sucking hickeys into your chest two minutes ago. “Didn’t wanna ruin the vibe. I was gonna, like, ice it later. It’ll be fine.”
You sigh, and then kiss his shoulder. Slowly. Then the top of the bruise. Then lower.
He freezes. “W-What’re you doing?” he asks, voice suddenly pitched up.
You look up at him, soft and serious. “I’m taking care of you.”
And that’s when he breaks. Like, literally mouth parted. Breath held. Eyes wide. His whole body tense like he’s waiting for someone to tell him this is a joke.
“No one’s ever—” he starts, then stops. “I mean, yeah, okay, this is… happening. You’re hot and you’re nice and now you’re in nurse mode, and that’s, like, unfair. You can’t just do that. You can’t—”
You kiss the spot again, softer.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
You trail your fingers lightly along the bruised side of his rib cage, kissing the uninjured skin in between. “Tell me where it hurts.”
He exhales sharply, head tipping back. “Everywhere, babe. Especially my dick.”
You laugh, and the sound makes him shiver.
Then you shift, gently pulling him down so he’s lying beneath you. Your hands trace over his body like it’s sacred, careful, curious, reverent. You kiss every scrape and mark. And with each one, Adrian melts.
“I don’t know what’s happening,” he says, barely audible. “You’re being… really nice. And I’m still kind of hard from, like, five minutes ago. But also emotional? And I might cry? Or cum? Possibly both?”
You press your forehead to his. “You don’t have to be the tough guy tonight.”
His hands fist the sheets, his voice wrecked “That’s so fucking hot, oh my God.”
You smile. “Let me take care of you, Adrian.”
He nods like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
He’s beneath you, sprawled out against the sheets like some overexcited rescue puppy trying to stay still but failing miserably. His curls are a mess, his mouth parted, chest rising and falling fast, every muscle vibrating with barely restrained need.
You’ve kissed down his chest, over the bruises, the scrapes, and every part of him that deserved softness but probably never got it.
And the way he’s reacting to it? Devastating.
“I, uh,” he starts, blinking up at you with blown pupils and zero self-preservation, “I don’t know what to do with my hands. Or my face. Or my dick. Honestly, everything’s kind of… flailing.”
You straddle his hips, slow and deliberate, pinning him down with nothing but your weight and your gaze.
“You don’t have to do anything,” you murmur, trailing your fingertips over his collarbone, light enough to make him twitch. “You just have to lay there and be good.”
Adrian makes a noise that is entirely inappropriate for a man who kills people in a mask.
“I can do that,” he breathes. “I’m great at being good. The best, actually.”
You press your palm to the center of his chest, firm enough to keep him still, and his hips buck instinctively. His eyes flutter shut.
“Oh my God,” he groans. “I’m not gonna survive this. I’m gonna die.”
“You’re so dramatic,” you whisper, leaning down, dragging your lips just along his jaw. “You can kill a guy with a fork but you fall apart over a little praise?”
“Yes.” His voice breaks. “Because forks are predictable. You’re not. You’re like… if kindness had tits.”
You laugh and reach down between your bodies, palming him through his sweats. The sound he makes is obscene somewhere between a gasp, a whimper, and an “oh fuck yes” that he doesn’t even try to hold back.
“Okay, okay,” he pants. “I’m not gonna cry, I swear. But, like, if I did, it’d be in a hot way. Like a really masculine, emotionally intelligent way.”
You stroke him again slow, firm, purposeful and he arches, gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing tethering him to the planet.
“Adrian,” you say, voice low, steady. “Eyes on me.”
He obeys immediately. Like it’s instinct. Like he’s never heard anything hotter in his entire life.
You hover just over him, lips brushing his, your hand still moving at a maddening pace between his legs.
“You’re so easy to ruin,” you whisper. “Bet you’ve been thinking about this for weeks.”
“Months,” he whines. “Since before the loft. Since, like, the first time you wore those shorts. The pink ones. With the—Jesus—fuck, do that again”
You squeeze just a little harder. His eyes roll back. His hips stutter.
“You want to be good for me, Adrian?”
He nods so fast it looks painful. “Yes. Please. I wanna be so good. I’ll be the best. I’ll do anything.”
You smile and pull his sweats down just enough, and the way he moans when you finally wrap your hand around him without the fabric between you
“Then lie still,” you say sweetly, “and let me make you come just like this.”
Adrian whines — actually whines — but obeys, fists knotting in the sheets like that’s the only way he can keep himself from grabbing you. His eyes are glassy, locked on yours, desperate.
You kiss lower. Over bruised skin, over the sharp lines of his stomach, until you’re hovering over his throbbing cock. The heat coming off him is near unbearable.
You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a prayer. Then you take him into your mouth, slow, deliberate, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue.
“Holy f—fuck, babe, oh my God,” Adrian gasps, eyes snapping shut, his hips jerking up helplessly before he forces them back down. “Okay, okay, I’ll be still. I’m still. I’m so still. I’m like a sexy statue—fuck—don’t stop—”
You press your tongue against the slit, swirling slowly, and he bucks again, louder this time.
“Jesus Christ,” he pants, head tipping back. “That’s—oh fuck.”
Your hand works in time with your mouth, stroking what you can’t take, squeezing just enough to make his thighs tremble. You hollow your cheeks, sliding deeper, and he nearly chokes.
“Oh my God. You’re so good. You’re so—fuck, you’re perfect. You’re—shit—babe, I can’t—” His voice breaks, wild and desperate. “I’m seriously gonna—don’t stop, don’t ever—ohhh fuck—”
He’s a mess beneath you, babbling praise, swearing like it’s the only language he knows, his whole body trembling as you take him apart piece by piece.
You swirl your tongue over the slit again and he yells, eyes flying open, staring down at you like he’s watching a miracle. His voice cracks when he moans your name, high and raw, followed by a frantic rush of words.
“Please—please—please—oh my God, you’re so hot, you’re so fucking good, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you—”
He groans, his hips bucking despite himself, his voice pitching higher, desperate.
“Babe, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum, I can’t—I’m begging, I’m begging, let me, please, please let me—”
You suck him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and that’s it. He chokes out a cry, his whole body jerking off the bed as he spills into your mouth, moaning like he’s being exorcised.
His hands finally leave the sheets, tangling in your hair, not to push but to anchor himself as he falls apart completely. His voice is wrecked, whiny, so very Adrian.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh my God—thank you—holy shit—don’t ever stop being the hottest person alive—fuck.”
He collapses back against the mattress, boneless, panting, eyes glazed over as if you’ve completely broken him. And honestly? Its so fucking hot.
You crawl up to him smug and satisfied. One hand runs lazily along his chest, tracing lazy shapes.
“You good?” you whisper, a little teasing.
He huffs out a laugh. “Good? Good? You just turned me into a puddle of sex emotions and left me here like a used napkin.”
You grin into his skin. “A very cute napkin.”
He groans and covers his face with his arm for a second, his other hand still tight around your waist like he doesn’t want you moving. Ever.
Then, after a beat, his fingers trail down. Over your ribs. Your hips. A little lower. His voice drops.
“My turn,” he says.
You look up at him. “What?”
His eyes are locked on yours now hungry, laser-focused, still Adrian but different. Wrecked but resurrected, like he got a second wind and now has a mission.
“You think I’m gonna just lay here after that and not spend the rest of the night making you fall apart? Absolutely not. I’m not built like that.”
You raise a brow. “Are you sure you have the energy?”
He smiles, slow and sharp. “My dick is running on adrenaline and your thighs. I’ll live.”
Before you can even tease him again, he’s flipping you gently onto your back, kissing down your neck like it’s a prayer, hands gliding lower with reverence and zero hesitation.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “It’s insane. You’re like a weapon. A sexy landmine. I wanna explode on you. No wait, explode you. Shit—wait…in you? Fuck that’s not right—”
You laugh, breath hitching as he slides between your legs, already pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs before sliding your shorts off. “You’re a mess.”
He looks up, grinning like a lunatic. “A certified mess. But I eat pussy like it’s a team sport and I’ve been waiting my whole life to make you scream, so buckle up.”
You blink. “Did you just say—” But then his mouth is on you, and the rest of the sentence dies in your throat.
Adrian is viciously good at this. Too good. The kind of good that comes from obsession. From thinking about it too much. From laying in bed for weeks with his hand down his sweats, jerking himself raw to the idea of how you’d taste, what you’d sound like, what kind of noise he could pull from you if you’d ever let him.
And now you are.
His lips close around your clit, sucking gently, and the first broken sound that falls from your mouth makes him moan right back into you. The vibration sends a shock through your body. Your hips jerk, and his fingers dig into your thighs like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
He alternates, messy and intentional — slow, lazy licks that curl your toes, followed by sharp, focused strokes that have you crying out, clutching the sheets.
And God, he loves the sound.
“Yeah,” he groans into you, his voice wrecked, unsteady. “Give me that. Say my name again—fuck, that’s it—”
You don’t know what you’re saying anymore. Probably nonsense. Maybe begging. Definitely his name, over and over, like it’s the only word you remember.
His hands never stop moving. One slides up to your chest, tweaking your nipple until you gasp. The other curls beneath your thigh, pulling you closer, like he wants you suffocating him, drowning him in everything you have to give.
Then his tongue plunges inside you, sudden and deep, and the sensation rips a cry from your throat. Your back arches clean off the mattress, body shuddering.
You grab a fistful of his curls, pressing him closer, harder, needing him deeper.
And when your eyes flick down, you catch his.
He’s watching you, wild-eyed, smug, filthy satisfaction curling his lips even as his mouth stays locked between your legs. He looks at you like he’s devouring you whole, like watching you tremble under his tongue is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
He moans when you clamp down around him, the sound vibrating through you, and it makes your thighs shake. he doesn’t stop there. Of course he doesn’t.
He pulls back just enough to flatten his tongue against your clit, sucking hard, while two fingers slide inside you without warning, curling in a way that makes you see stars.
“Holy shit—” you gasp, your whole body arching.
Adrian pulls back just enough to grin up at you, his face glistening, eyes wild. “Never had anyone do that, huh?”
You shake your head, barely able to breathe, let alone answer.
His grin widens, filthy and proud. “Yeah. Thought so. I’ve, uh… practiced. A lot. On myself. Don’t ask.”
And then he does it again, fingers stroking that perfect spot inside you while his mouth works your clit, messy and relentless. The combination makes your vision blur.
Your hips buck wildly, but he just groans and holds you down, pinning you to the bed with strength you forget he has until it’s pressed against you like this.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he babbles between licks, his words muffled against you. “I could do this forever. Wanna make you cum so hard you forget your own name, just mine, only mine.”
Your hands claw at his hair, tugging, needing more, and he laughs into you. Actually laughs. “Oh my God, you’re so hot like this. You’re shaking. You’re gonna lose it, aren’t you? Come on, babe, give it to me”
Then he does something you’ve never experienced, sliding a third finger inside you as his tongue flicks in a ruthless rhythm, sucking at your clit like he’s determined to wring every sound out of you.
Your cry is raw, broken, and he groans like it’s his reward.
“Yeahhh, that’s it. That’s it, fuck yes, you’re perfect, you’re so perfect, holy shit, do it again, cum for me, babe”
Your orgasm hits hard, violent, tearing through you so intensely you half think you black out. Your thighs clamp around his head, your nails dig into his scalp, and all you can do is say his name as wave after wave crashes over you.
And Adrian doesn’t stop. He rides it with you, licking you through it, fingers never faltering, moaning like he’s the one coming.
By the time he finally pulls back, you’re trembling, utterly ruined. He crawls up your body, his face slick with you, grinning like the absolute freak he is.
He kisses you sloppy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and whispers against your lips:
“Told you. Viciously good. And I’m just getting started.”
You blink at him, dazed. “Holy shit.”
Adrian’s grin is still plastered on his face when he says, “I accept tips. And snacks.”
You laugh, breathless, chest still heaving. Then, with a sly smile, you murmur, “What if I just want your tip?”
He freezes. Blinks. Looks like his brain just blue-screened.
“…Like… just the tip?”
You keep your face straight, biting back a laugh. “Maybe.”
“Oh my God,” he whispers, sitting up like he just heard the word of the Lord. “You’re serious. You’re—holy shit, you’re so fucked up. I fucking love it.”
“Or we can go to sleep,” you suggest knowing it’d drive him crazy.
“No, no, no, don’t take it back. This is like…this is the pinnacle. This is the final boss. The horny Mount Everest. Just the tip. I can do this.”
You snort. “You really think you can handle that?”
He nods furiously. “I’ve been training my whole life for this moment.”
He settles between your legs reaching down to rub his swollen tip against your sensitive clit. The contact makes your hips twitch which he enjoys. He rubs himself against you again and again making you clench around nothing.
“Adrian,” you beg, bringing your hands to his face to pull him in for a kiss. You moan against his tongue and feel as he guides his cock down to your entrance. He pushes the tip in and stills. He clutches the sheets beside your head like it’s taking everything he has not to slam forward.
“Holy fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping against yours. “Okay. Okay, this is fine. This is good. This is so much worse than I thought it’d be.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Worse?”
“In a hot way,” he whimpers. “In a—oh God, in a really hot way. Like the rest of my dick is begging to go inside.”
You squeeze around him deliberately, and he shouts.
“Hey! You can’t—don’t—holy shit, you’re trying to murder me! You said just the tip. I’m following instructions. I need more.” He pulls it out only to thrust it back in over and over again.
You kiss his jaw, your voice wicked in his ear. “Beg for it.”
He lets out a strangled laugh, breathless and desperate. “You’re so mean. You’re perfect. Okay—fine, I’m begging. Please. Please let me give you more. Please let me ruin this whole ‘just the tip’.”
You pretend to think, still grinding your hips just enough to drive him insane. “Hmm. Tempting.”
“Not tempting!” he nearly cries, clutching you tighter. “Necessary! This is a medical emergency! I’m gonna—oh my God—please, please, please—”
You finally nod. “Put it in.”
And when you let him sink all the way in, his groan is guttural, like something pulled straight from his soul.
“Ohhh, fuck.” He drags as his hips begin to thrust slowly at first like he’s savoring the experience. You clench around him and he moves faster. The room is thick with heat and noise, the creak of the bed, the slap of skin, Adrian’s desperate groans spilling out against your neck.
You shift, straddling him, hands braced on his chest, riding him hard and slow, and he’s losing it.
“Holy shit—yeah, fuck, don’t stop… gonna—oh my God,” he babbles reaching up to pinch your nipples.
And then the Bluetooth system kicks to life in the room. The speakers rattle the walls as a sleazy guitar riff tears through the silence.
“She’s my cherry pie! Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise!”
You both freeze mid-motion.
Adrian’s eyes go wide, pupils blown, curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. “Oh my God… that’s Warrant.”
Before you can reply, the chorus explodes again — “She’s my cherry pie!” loud enough the floor practically vibrates.
Adrian bursts out laughing, half-delirious, half-aroused. “Are you kidding me?! This is—this is the sex soundtrack of the gods!”
You’re laughing too, breathless, your rhythm faltering as you press a hand to his mouth to shut him up. “Do we stop?”
He pulls your hand away, still grinning like a lunatic. “No, no, no—don’t stop. This is fate. We’re doing this. We’re—oh fuck—yeah, baby, ride me like a sleazy ‘80s music video!”
You slap his chest, giggling, but you don’t stop moving. If anything, the ridiculousness only spurs you on, each thrust syncing with the pounding chorus.
From down the hall, faintly over the music, comes Chris’s unmistakable bellow
“YOU’RE WELCOME, ASSHOLES!”
Adrian moans louder, throwing his head back. “Yes! Oh my God, he knows! He knows and he’s helping!”
You choke on a laugh, burying your face in his neck as he clutches you tighter, rocking up into you with frantic, needy rhythm. The song blares on, shameless and obscene, as you both fall apart in each other’s arms, sweat-slick and grinning like idiots.
The song finally cuts, either because Chris passed out or Emilia stormed into the living room and murdered him with her bare hands.
The silence that follows is heavy, warm, and a little absurd. You’re both still catching your breath, tangled together in a sweaty knot of limbs and sheets.
Adrian rolls onto his side immediately, pulling you with him like you’re his human pillow. His curls stick to his forehead, his chest is still heaving, and he’s smiling so hard it looks painful.
“You’re, uh… you’re incredible,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Like, capital-I Incredible. Like, Avengers-level Incredible. Except better, because they don’t cuddle after. At least I don’t think they do. Unless Thor—”
“Adrian,” you murmur, stroking his damp curls back.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up and sleep.”
He hums happily, kissing the side of your neck once, soft and quick, before burrowing closer. Within minutes, he’s out cold, his arm heavy around your waist, his breath warm and steady against your skin.
You fall asleep not long after, smiling in spite of yourself.
When morning comes Adrian is still asleep. You grab your shorts and a hoodie before slipping out of the room. The kitchen smells like burnt bacon and coffee strong enough to take paint off a car. Everyone’s crammed around the island, Ads scrolling on her phone, Emilia trying to fix Chris’s massacre of scrambled eggs, Economos nursing a black coffee with the face of a man already done with life.
You slip into a chair, hoodie pulled low, trying to look normal. Adrian strolls in not long after, hair wild, still humming Cherry Pie under his breath. He plops down next to you, immediately stealing the mug out of your hands.
Ads doesn’t even look up. “Sooooooo. That was fast.”
“Fuck off,” you mutter, heat crawling up your neck.
Chris turns around with the frying pan, grinning like a maniac. “You’re welcome, actually.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
Adrian perks up, interested. “Wait—you were the one who turned on Warrant?”
“Duh,” Chris says, proud. “Walls are thin, dude. We could all hear you going at it. Economos was crying about it. So instead of cockblocking, I made it a vibe.”
Economos slams his mug down. “I wasn’t crying, I was trying to sleep!”
Ads snorts, finally glancing up. “You guys are disgusting.”
Emilia, without looking up from the eggs: “If I ever have to hear Cherry Pie again, I’m burning this place to the fucking ground.”
Adrian throws his arm around your chair, completely unbothered, smug as hell. “Honestly? Best soundtrack of my life. Perfect rhythm. Inspirational, even.”
Economos groans. “Jesus Christ, shut up.”
Chris points his spatula at the two of you, grinning. “Face it, we’re the best roommates in the world. We literally made you a sex playlist without trying.”
Ads makes a face. “Please, never phrase it like that again.”
Adrian leans in, voice loud and shameless. “I think we should test the sound system again tonight. For… science.”
Emilia slams the spatula down, glaring daggers. “You test it again and I swear to God, Adrian, I’ll shove that Bluetooth speaker so far up your ass, you’ll be humming Def Leppard until you die.”
Adrian just grins wider, stealing another sip of your coffee. “Worth it.”
rich bf!lohen who spontaneously takes you out on shopping sprees, telling you to pick out whatever you like. don’t worry about the price, he just wants to spoil his darling
rich bf!lohen who will carry ALL of your bags while you shop around (probably to show off his strength and chivalry). a big, loving grin on his face as he has piles of bags digging into his arm, looking at you with admiration. his free hand around your waist as he eagerly asks, “where to next, schatzi?”
rich bf!lohen who will shove you aside to pay at the counter first, he insists. his apology for being a little rough? paying!
rich bf!lohen who just gives you a bag of mora just because. he’ll smile and say with a cheeky tone “get yourself something nice, mein liebe”
modern rich bf! lohen, alternavitvely, just gives you his card! wtf! he knows you won’t go crazy with it, but that’s why he wants you to still self indulge a little. you’re too careful, he wants you to live in luxury as you should!
rich bf!lohen who will surprise you with new gifts frequently. bouquets, clothes, expensive food, random trinkets, perfume/cologne, plushies, etc. he doesn’t need to be paid back, as long as you love it, it’s enough for him!
rich bf!lohen who loves to take you out on fancy dinners, the ones where if you don’t wear something extravagant, you’re not let in. he likes sitting across from you in the candlelight, watching you pick from the menu where the prices aren’t even listed because it’s so prestigious! he’ll dreamily watch you eat, your eyes lighting up when you taste just how good a little expensive treat can be. what can you do to repay him? hm…let him feed you? maybe shower him in kisses when you get back home?
rich bf!lohen that doesn’t skimp out on the rings. he wouldn’t get an obnoxious rock on your finger, no. try multiple small expensive gems on a band with pretty engravings from one of the finest creators! it’s elegant and meaningful, not showing off just his wealth, but his attention to detail and your style. maybe he’ll pair your birthstones together, or put your favourite gems.
rich bf!lohen who spoils you with luxury vacations. maybe a nice resort with relaxing activities and 5 star service, or somewhere with lots of adventure and fun attractions paired with beautiful scenery. you also best believe your honeymoon will be top notch!!
rich bf!lohen who wouldn’t buy any expensive mansion, but your dream place that you two can really call home. all the money going towards any specific decoration you had in mind. maybe cute things on the walls, any specific kind of kitchen amenities, a garden if you desired, your dream backyard set up, all the furniture you desire. he’ll do anything to make it your wonderland, no matter the cost.
What’s on the menu? Hands, hands!— what’s on the menu? HANDS! (Please get my reference)
Includes: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyuu
Note: Just what I think their hands would be like! Also this is my first time doing this list typa thingy so be nice
Sanemi Shinazugawa // Wind Hashira
— His hands are rough and calloused. Scratchy, in a pleasant way. You can probably smooth the corner of a rough wooden plank with those palms and he wouldn’t even feel it.
— Scars decorate his skin but are most prominent on each of his fingers, probably from doing something in the kitchen, and across the back of his hand. He knows that you don’t like it whenever he comes home with a new, fresh scar.
— His palms are actually quite big. They are almost as big as your face is, meaning he can hold a lot in them. Your thighs, rear end, cheek, hand in his and whatever else needs holding from time to time.
— Sanemi’s hands are almost always flexed into a fist out of habit. Sometimes he’s not even angry about something, his fists are always ready to punch someone though if needed!
— He’s still a little shy about handholding. On some days he initiates it because he craves your touch more, but Sanemi almost always wants you to do it first. To feel your hand in his makes him feel safe. Although you both know he could crush someone’s skull with his thighs alone.
— Sometimes he forgets to keep his strength in check, meaning he grips your wrist too tightly, making you bruise. Whenever that happens, he wants to curl up in a ditch and stay in there for demons to devour him.
— He has many reasons to use his hands, some more obvious like using his katana, but there are also more sweet reasons; patting your head, holding your face, cherish your being and forfeit all his possessions to you (willingly).
— His nails are always chewed off and the skin surrounding them as well to the point that they bled. He is a certified nail-biter and not even out of anxiety but out of lingering habits from when he was suffering from crippling stress and fear. Despite now that things are better, his nail-biting hasn’t died down yet.
Kyojuro Rengoku // Flame Hashira
— His hands are a little chubbier and so are his fingers. Kyojuro has plenty of callouses, mostly on the underside of his fingers and knuckles.
— As the rest of his body is, his hands are pleasantly warm but only in his palms for some reason. His fingers are always a little cold and you have to warm them up by cupping them with your hands.
— His palms aren’t big but they are big enough to cup both of your (facial!) cheeks in his hands. It’s almost like a romantic movie scene whenever he does it— although Kyojuro mostly does this to warm up his own fingers that freeze a little too easily.
— Whenever he uses his hands in any way, you can’t help but watch the way his muscles flex all the way in his forearm, how his fingers grip around the sheath of his katana as he stores it away, how he puts his whole body into kneading dough and how his fingers leisurely play with yours whole he watches the sundown.
— Also, he knows that you stare at him whenever he carries buckets from the well to the inside of your bathroom. He finds it funny how fascinated you are with his hands.
— Kyojuro loves your hands as much as you like his. He is fascinated by the size difference between your palms whenever you put them up against each other jokingly. A grin spreads on his face as he interlocks fingers with you after a few moments of looking, pulling your knuckles up to his lips to kiss.
— He is well aware of his strength and knows how to control himself to the fullest. Still, sometimes his grip around your arm as another man approaches gets just a little bit tighter, or how his fingers relax in your hand when you take his hand into yours to inspect for any injuries.
Gyomei Himejima // Stone Hashira
— It’s obvious that just one of his hands can crush your skull easily. You’re not keen to find out for sure though.
— His palms are larger than his fingers are long and his hands are almost always fairly cold, mostly thanks to sitting under a waterfall, chanting the matra. Heating him up does nothing for some reason, they always remain cold. Even after sitting in fire for a couple of hours afterwards.
— Surprisingly, Gyomei doesn’t have a lot of rough callouses. His hands are incredibly soft, almost as if he’s taking it seriously to keep his skin moisturised and clean. His nails are taken care of too! You could almost swear he had them manicured or something.
— His hands are stubby and his fingers are thicker, the backside of hands are incredibly veiny and they move whenever he flexes his muscles, or really, moves his hands at all.
— This man is a god with massages. You asked him once if he can crack your shoulders to get rid of some stiffness, and now you beg him every evening to work on your back. He obliges happily.
— Because of his blindness, he relies on his other sensed much more, which also includes touch. Gyomei always reaches out to you carefully and gently brushes his fingers over your skin. Over time, he learned how to exactly locate the exact area he wants to touch. His favourite thing to do is to brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, feeling the warmth there.
— He has a couple of scars, but they are minor and barely noticeable. Gyomei doesn’t like it too much when you fuss over his past injuries, but he does the exact opposite in return and takes his time to trace over yours, his respect for you and your resilience only growing.
Giyuu Tomioka // Water Hashira
— His fingers are a little more slender than expected, them being slightly longer than his palms. They also aren’t the largest hands you’ve ever seen but are almost the same size as yours, making them perfect to hold!
— His hands are always a little sweatier and warm on the touch. You’re not sure if Giyuu is constantly nervous around you and sweats because of that or if he’s just warm. His face doesn’t really give it away.
— He has callouses but when his palm brushes over your skin, his touch feels incredibly soft despite them.
— His hands are almost always bruised for some reason, despite not going out on missions or training much lately. Giyuu sometimes accidentally bumps into things and in result bruises very easily, meaning his hands have bruising here and there, maybe some light cuts from his katana.
— To be honest, he is a little insecure about his hands. They are a slightly more on the feminine side when comparing them to Sanemi’s scarred up fists and Gyomei’s large palms that could create a gust of wind if he waved them around too much. Giyuu’s hands are not like that and sometimes, it gets to him. It’s stupid and he knows it.
— He is actually really skillfull in a way with his hands. You stare whenever he eats his soba noodles, his fingers flexing slightly as he uses his chopsticks. It’s nothing interesting, but for some reason, it’s kind of attractive.
— Also, he is really gentle with his hands. You could melt every time he touches you and feel jealous of the kittens he kneels down to pet on the street. Him cupping your face to kiss is probably your favourite way for him to use his hands. His fingers have other great uses, mostly inside the bedroom.
yall finallyyyyy got what u were BEGGING me for.. it was really funny checking my inbox every few hours and seeing a NEW person begging for pt 4 though like damn guys… horny asf??
✦ . LEON W/ ROOKIE!READER PT. 4⊹ ❜ ᵎ
LEON KENNEDY x fem!reader
— nsfw content
summary; leon is left alone with you in your apartment, and he can’t hold himself back any longer.
notes: nsfw content, mean leon, degradation, p in v, choking, unprotected sex (don’t do this kids) , sex while reader is injured (don’t do this either) (i kinda forgot she was injured until halfway through when they were fucking so just forget that) lots of body fluids, no beta read we die like luis, i suck at dialogue during sex
this is the final part thank GOD
part 3
Leon always expected your house to be full of clutter, mess, and laundry. For each room to be a disaster, the kitchen ablaze, and your shelves to be full of stupid figurines that a nerd like you would enjoy. He was half right— your shelves were full of dumb little critters, bed sheets wrinkled, laundry hanging out of your hamper.
But it was also warm, small and cozy. Consoles on your TV stand, books varying from numerous genres decorating your cart, kitchen stacked to the brim with all the spices you’d ever need. You weren’t wrong, you were a good cook, and you could tell by just looking around. Cookbooks, fridge filled to the brim with ingredients, every kitchen appliance on the market.
The scent of warm lasagna filled the air. It lingered around the apartment as you busied yourself in the kitchen, cute little apron wrapped around your soft body, hair up to prevent any strays from landing in your pot. He admires you from behind, watching your body move seamlessly as you cook. It made a part of his body ache; he was never a good cook. All he knew was basic meals that let him survive through the night. Protein powders. Eggs. Meat. Microwave meals, frozen pizza.
His eyes drift to your shelf, finding a photo of younger you, smiling. Holding your graduation certificate. A bright smile, pretty hair, cap and gown.
“Was this after University?” He asks, picking up the frame carefully. He turns to you, watching as you set the sheets of lasagna down onto the baking pan, setting meat, cheese, and ricotta between each layer. You hum at his words, peeking over your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you say casually, “criminal justice. I watched too much Criminal Minds.” You grinned lazily. With one of your arms being in a sling, you struggled to cook. Noticing this, Leon steps up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. A small flinch shakes you at the sudden contact, whipping your head around, only to be met with his nose a centimeter from yours. Your gasp is barely audible as he looks down at you, his eyes glancing at your lips before looking back up at your big eyes, frantically blinking at him.
“Let me help.” He mutters, gently scooting you aside to make room for his big frame. If it's one thing you’ve noticed with the older man, its how comfortable he’s become with touching you. Hand on your lower back to guide you, patting your head when you succeed, flicking your forehead when he’s annoyed. It was all constant, it felt like a rare moment when he wasn’t in contact with you.
And right now, with his shoulders brushing against yours as he carefully set another layer of lasagna over the ricotta, pouring cheese and meat, the tension had never felt so obvious.
Your eyes rake over the baking pan, a pinch of parsley coming to mind. It would complete the meal. You reach over to the cabinets, leaning up on your toes, fingers aiming towards the little glass bottle. Leon has the same idea as you apparently, his large hand moving to grab it at the exact same time. Your hands grab onto each others by accident, making you both blink at each other in silence.
“Ah, oops,” You mumble, squinting at the shared herb in both of your hands. “Looks like we’re in bit of a.. parsley situation.”
Leon stares at you, a long pause taking over. He looks like he’s considering if its too late to just walk out.
“That was horrible.” He grumbles, moving back. He takes the parsley with him, sprinkling the green leaves over the final layer of cheese. He eyes you hesitantly, “how’s the stitches?”
You glance down, reminded of the wrapping around your abdomen. The pain-killers you had numbed it all down, forgetting you had gotten stabbed days before. Now that he mentioned it, there’s a faint sting, pulling slightly when you shift.
“It stings when I move too much,” You shrug, trying to sound tough. You don’t want him to stress or baby you. “I’ve had worse.”
Leon doesn’t look too convinced, considering he’s giving you the same look he does in the field when you try to brush off something too serious. He’s not shy as he reaches for your shirt, lifting it casually to check out your bandages. They’re snuggly wrapped around your abdomen, concealing your wound from the air.
“Worse? Worse then a stab wound on your first field assignment?” He looks up towards your eyes, unamused. Your lips twitch at his proximity. He had no shame around you anymore, always a breath away. It’s like he knew it made you nervous.
“Woah, we’re like, really close.” The words leave your mouth weakly, your voice smaller then intended. He straightens his back, towering over you, so close you can feel his clothing brush against yours. Your heart rate speeds up as you hands dangle cluelessly in the air, your brain short-circuiting suddenly.
“Like, this is when the two characters in a romance movie would kiss, y’know?” A soft croak leaves you.
He stares down at you, gaze unrelenting. The tension only thickens, and every breath you take feels even heavier. You could feel his gaze drift down to your lips slowly, the quietness ringing in your ears. Instead of parsley and tomato in the air, you can smell his cologne and leather.
“Shut up.” He grunts lowly, hands sliding up to hold you by your biceps. Your stomach flutters.
“I’m just saying, the moment is very cinem—“
He doesn’t think twice when he presses his lips against yours. It felt right, you were being annoying again, and he wanted to. He’s wanted to kiss you ever since he saw you in his office a month ago, standing there all pretty. And throughout the last few weeks, his feelings have only grown stronger, to his displeasure.
Your breath catches against his lips, hands going to hold onto his biceps to keep your balance measured. If not, you were positive you would have buckled onto the floor in shock. His hands shift onto your waist, tugging you closer as a soft moan leaves your throat, feeling this big man pull you close and kiss you so desperately.
Pulling away from your lips might be the most painful thing Leon has ever done. He can feel your hot breath against his mouth as he parts slowly, nose bumping against yours, eyes slowly opening. He gazes at you silently, centimeters away from you. He’s waiting for you to say something, to assure him he hadn’t just made a mistake.
“Leon.” You gasp to yourself, pulling back like the moment burned you, lips parting as your breath shakes. For a moment, you stand there, processing the fact your hot boss—who you thought hated you for a hot minute— had just kissed you, and you had kissed him back. Everything feels distant, like you’re watching this happen from a third point of view. You’re trying to make a sense of everything in your head, but nothing clicks together.
The warmth of his palms slide up further, cupping your cheeks softly as he steps closer, eyes drifting down to your lips. He wants more, and he feels selfish. He wants to devour you and swallow you whole, keep you forever.
“Please, sweetheart, shut up for once and let me enjoy this.” The words leave him in a soft growl, and he waits for you to give him any sign of consent. The second a breathless nod leaves you, he’s crushing his lips back against yours, walking you backwards. You fall back onto your couch, his large body crawling over yours, cautious of your injuries. He’s selfish, being so greedy while you’re injured and so much smaller then him.
“Tell me to stop—” He groans against your neck, hands pawing at your curves, trying to memorize the feel of your waist and hips against his hands. The soft fabric of your shirt, pants, lips, hair, scent.. “If you don’t, I wont.”
“Don’t stop, Leon.” You gasp softly as his stubble ruts against your neck, making you shiver and press against him harder, in need of him everywhere. “Please, mmm..” Your legs squirm under him as he presses harder, slotting his body between your thighs.
A dry chuckle leaves him, hungry eyes taking in the sight of you, squirming and flustered underneath him, clothes wrinkled and pushed up. The bandages wrapped around your soft stomach catches his attention, and he curses mentally. He leans down to plant another kiss against your mouth, before trailing them up to your nose, forehead, and then proceeding to direct his line of affection down to your stomach.
“You’ll tell me immediately if I hurt you, okay?” He commands softly, looking up to you. He waits for your nod before continuing down, his breath panning over your clothed core. “You’ve been a little brat for weeks now, making me dread coming in for work, you know that?”
You would laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that he was currently taking off your pants with an evil look in his eyes. “I didnt.. mean to.” You mumble shyly, cheeks warming up as the cold air hits your soft thighs. You thank yourself for wearing cute panties this morning.
And then a sudden wave of dread washes over you. You haven’t been home in almost a week because of your field mission, and then the overnight trip to the hospital, which means you haven’t taken an everything shower in over a week.
You squeak, your hips bucking up as his large thumb reaches up to press down on your clit over the flimsy fabric, rubbing tight circles. “L-Leon— I haven’t— I haven’t shaven, please, maybe we can reschedule this?”
Leon blinks, almost offended, before scoffing harshly and yanking you closer to him. He watches your expression twist in pleasure as he rubs your clit harsher, driving your body to squirm helplessly. “Baby, Im a grown fucking man. You think I’m scared of a little hair?”
“B-But— hah, it's, Im—” You squeak as he swats your pussy over your panties, your hips bucking up into his touch. It burns slightly and it feels so good.
“Shut that pretty mouth of yours. I've been waiting to fuck your brains our for weeks,” He whispers roughly, pulling your panties down your legs and exposing your wet cunt to the air. He sits infront of your pussy, throwing your legs over his thighs as he leans over. “Dont fucking move.”
One hand leans down to wrap around your throat, holding you steady against the soft cushion underneath you. His other travels between your thighs, rubbing more mean circles, waiting just for your orgasm to near, only to pull away and slap your clit. Your cry is lewd and pathetic, thighs trembling over his.
“Y-You’re— you’re not serious, Leon!” You gasp, your brain not able to think properly. Not when he had his hand around your throat and another between your thighs. Your small hand reaches up to weakly paw at his wrist, not trying to move it but instead settling, holding onto to him.
“Shut up and take it,” He mutters, rubbing two fingers against your hole. He hums lowly as he watches it flutter around his fingers. His hand around your throat squeezes softly, your eyes scrunching weakly to remain focused.
Another weak moan leaves you as he pushes two of his thick fingers into your walls, hot and warm against your gummy walls. You whine at the stretch, toes curling and squirming around. He shifts closer, watching your face closely, biting back an evil grin. It felt good, finally being able to punish your dumbass. This was payback for all those shitty jokes.
“What’s wrong?” He croons, his hand rubbing your pulse softly. He slowly starts to scissor your small hole, driving quick shaky breaths from your throat. He watches your chest heave, eyes fluttering open and close, lips parting in a silent moan. “Never had this stupid pussy fucked right? I’ll fix that.” He mutters.
He starts to thrust his fingers, slow at first. He’s not a monster.
It starts off gradual, pulling in and out, brushing against your g-spot like a feather each time. It’s teasing, letting you slowly get used to it. Once he feels your pussy relax around him, he speeds up, relishing in your soft gasp. Your head pushes back against the cushion, squeaking as he squeezes your throat. You couldn’t move, you were completely trapped underneath him as he fingered you hard.
“Leonnn, nghh- god, please—“ The words leave you in a stumble, hips shifting and squirming as he fucks into you harder. Leon can only watch in amusement, as you drench his fingers into your juices, providing him more lube. He loves this, watching you fall apart and suddenly be so respectful. He wants to drive his fingers in so deep you tear up.
“You gonna cum?” He hums, flicking his fingers harder into you. It’s too much, and you can’t handle it. Your eyes are welling up with tears, especially as he tightens his grip around your neck. “You think you deserve it? After being a little bitch to me? Driving me insane?” He whispers darkly, leaning over you more. The laugh in his throat bubbles up.
“I-I’m sorry,” You sob, a hot tear rolling down your round cheek. He bites his lower lip at the sight, leaning down to lick it from your soft skin. His fingers thrust relentlessly, torturing your small hole. “Please— I’ll be, I’ll be such a good g-girl, I’ll.. I’ll do whatever— lemme c-cum,” A hiccup leaves you.
“Hmm,” He starts gently, his rough hand finally leaving your throat, moving down to grab the fat of your thigh and pushing it up against your chest, opening you up even more for his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Leon!” You squeal, back arching off the cushion. You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I’m— I’m g-gonna cummm..” He smirks meanly and pushes his fingers harder, deeper. Massaging your g-spot firmly, forcing you to cum over his fingers.
Your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami, vision going spotty, body tensing and a choked sob leaving your throat as your sticky cum releases over his fingers. He doesn’t stop for another minute, fucking you through your orgasm, powering you through it all and forcing the last few streams out.
Only after a few minutes does he pull his fingers out, hand relaxing on your thigh and gently setting it back down. He scissors his fingers in the air, watching the stickiness stretch.
His gaze follows back to you, watching your body quiver gently. He wipes the cum off on your thigh and crawls over you, planting soft kisses on your lips and cheeks, hands busying himself with pulling his pants off. His cock springs out, heavy and thick, pressing against his abs from how hard he was.
You finally blink back to reality, watching him plant himself above you and fist his coc slowly, the pre-cum dripping all over his hand. Your pussy clenches down around air, scared but excited. You mumble soft, shy words.
“Is it gonna fit?”
He has to hold himself back from letting out a mean chuckle. He’s big, bigger than average, with a girth that would stretch any poor hole out. He knows you’re probably scared.
“It will.” He leans down to kiss your temple, his other hand rubbing your cheek softly. “It’ll hurt though. But you can take it, yeah? My sweet girl.”
Your head moves by itself, nodding stupidly as you watch with big, love-struck eyes as he positions the thick head against your sticky hole, rubbing back and forth for a few seconds before resting there. He looks up at you one last time, blinking slowly, before leaning down to connect his lips with yours.
The sensation of him slowly pushing inside you is so many things. Painful, overwhelming, euphoric. Its tenses your body, your legs spreading wider and bending at the knees, inhaling deeply to stabilize your breathing, exhaling into his mouth. His tongue moves against you skillfully, licking at your teeth and tongue and gums, he’s trying to imprint himself on you.
His hip bone meets you, and he finally pulls back from your lips with a string of saliva, panting softly as he presses his forehead against yours. Your warmth squeezes him tight and he’s struggling to stay still. “Fuck.” He grunts.
The softness of your body against his sends him deeper into his mind. He wraps his arms around you, squeezing you gently and nuzzling his face into your neck, gentle rubs to your back as he calms your breathing. “Shhh, you can take it.”
You nod weakly, nuzzling softly. A soft coo as he rolls his hips. Thick and heavy, stretching you out, yet all you can think about is how close he was. His hot breath against your ear, his stubble scratching your throat, his veiny arms around your soft stomach.
“Move, please,” You whimper. He has to hold himself back from groaning at the soft little noise. He doesn’t hesitate as he starts thrusting his hips, slowly, stretching your walls at each movement. He listens to your noises, keeping track of every little thing.
“You feel so good.” He rasps lowly, maintaining a steady pace. His eyes are glued down to where you’re taking him, watching his cock disappear into you over and over again, coming out covered in stickiness. He gulps deeply.
“You’re so much tamer with a cock inside you.” He can’t help but grin, leaning down to smile against your neck, biting down. Your gasp drives him harder into you, your body squirming around. His hands shift you onto your side, pushing one of your thighs up to make room for him as he kneels, holding your thigh in the air as he slowly pushes his cock deep into you.
“Yeah?” He smiles at your destroyed noises, pushing your thigh to your chest and holding it there, leaning over your side as he starts a harder rhythm. Slow, deep, hard. His rough palm slides down your tummy, stopping just above your mound. “You feel me here? I’m teaching my dumb brat how to behave.”
Breathlessly nodding, you’re squeezing your eyes shut and moaning softly into the couch. He glances to your side and picks up a pillow, his other hand gently lifting you by your neck to slide the pillow underneath. You let out a small hum and snuggle into the pillow, which makes him have to hold back from genuinely pounding you into this couch.
A sharp gasp is ripped from you when he suddenly slams into you, your body tensing. His hands grab at you firmly, holding you down as he hovers slightly, gaining a new leverage point on you. He starts thrusting into you harder, his jaw tensing from how good it felt.
“A-Augh, fuck,” He curses lowly, focusing on ramming into your warm, wet pussy. His hands grope softly at you, holding you down. Your noises fill the room, as well as the sound of skin slapping against skin. His hand trails to your face and grabs at your cheeks, squishing them and forcing you face down into the couch, muffling your noises as he pounds into you.
“Not— N-Not so fucking a-annoying.. anymore.. huh? Can’t do anything but lay there,” He huffs, watching how you whine and squirm. “Shhhh, shut up. Take it. You deserve this.” He growls, punching his cocks shape into your walls. You were going to remember this for days.
“Leon—!” You gasp, your words rubbish. You can’t speak properly with the way he was battering your insides, like he was trying to rearrange your guts. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open. It was all too much. “M’gonna… m’gonnaaa..”
“Gonna cum? Gonna soak me with your cum, dumb girl?”
Frantically nodding, your back arches as you let out more sobs, tears pouring down your puffy cheeks. You were wrecked, inside and out. You would feel the imprint of his dick inside you for days to come.
A few more seconds of rough thrusting has your pussy clenching down tightly, exploding over his length and covering him in more sticky cum. He groans lowly, fucking you through it, leaning over to grab you harder and pound harder into your over-sensitive cunt.
Your noises grow louder as he fucks you through your orgasm, forcing more and more cum out. He’s making sure you’re completely empty, blissful and content under him before he finally releases his own load, filling up your warm hole with his own. A long minute stretches between the two of you before he slowly pulls out, panting heavily. His eyes drift over your bruised, battered form, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on your lips.
“Get some rest, and after we’re going back at it for the rest of the night. I’m gonna make sure you never talk back to me again.” He whispers. You groan into your pillow. You shouldn’t have have been such a bitch to him the past month, huh?
summary: you and holly finally have an opportunity to an escape, so you take it, with some help from derek, and with max, you finally believe you can leave. but it doesn't go according to plan.
warnings: dark, henry's possessive af in this, he's his own warning, mind manipulation, borderline brainwashing, reader is sexually frustrated and repressed, predator/prey, (lowkey that's his kink lol), choking, spoilers, etc.
a/n: photos are references for the aesthetic, not an appearance for reader btw! no appearance is described, and I use terms such as feeling face warming up/ heating up, but no blushing, if it's incorrect and inclusive, please let me know, I will change it. ALSO, fuck that was such an intense vol 2. smut might be in the next and final chapter, I'm not entirely sure yet! I want to explore other stranger things stuff and etc... more Henry in the future of course, but yk what I mean?
You knew everyone was more fucked when you saw that the kids had arrived. More of them, actually. You knew he wanted holly, but this? what was he planning?
Well Holly managed to tell you.
the kids seemed to warm up to you. but with Henry holding your hand as he explained it all to them, you had no choice but to go along with it. He did it as a warning, not to be affectionate. You never took him as an affectionate guy anyway.
He wanted to draw a new world to this one. Aka, merging it. Now, you assumed at first it was the upside down. Either way it wasn't going to be good.
but now you're not sure.
And apparently, the kids have powers? You don't think it'll end up good at all. You can't even bring yourself to say anything. But you put on a smile and nod.
You didn't have much time.
One day.
You stand up."I baked a cake for all of you very special children. I'll be right back." You smile, and watch as they clap. Entering the kitchen, you take it out. Then you panic, just a little.
You take a deep breath.
It's going to be okay, you'll be back with your brother and family soon, you thought. at least he hadn't been taken.
now that you think about it, he could've been taken at any time after.
maybe it'd been a trap for you all along.
You have a panic attack that very same night. You're shocked it even becomes night. but it does, in henry's mind. When he chooses. You stare out the window.
You liked the beautifully decorated bedroom you had. Soon though, he'd want more from you. He wanted you officially, as his bride, as his wife.
the irony.
It became morning fast. Your memory getting foggier and foggier every minute. But you held on, which was why you didn’t completely give in.
he wants you to break, but not for the reasons he wants others to break.
Submission is what he wants out of you the most.
So you need to be defiant.
You’ve seen the possessive side of him before. A dark part of you enjoys it. That part also wants to stay but you’re stronger than that. You’ve got your morals and most of your goodness.
Well, you’re average.
But you know that you can’t.
You have to save everyone. He wants them to have powers to make his stronger. Then he’d kill them and you probably.
Maybe not.
The kids are always going to be first for you. You would stay here if it meant they’d get out. Although they’ve been more and more brainwashed than ever.
Kids were easily manipulated. You knew that. It was probably why he picked them to begin with. Was that why you were picked?
You sighed.
You waited for an opportunity to come. And it was slow.
The children liked you, which you liked as well. They referred to you by your name most of the time, but here, you were Mrs. Whatsit, lovely.
Until finally.
“Y/N,” Holly whispered. You looked around, then decided to take a chance with Holly. “I have an idea,” she whispered.
you nodded.”they’re distracted. we should be able to get away, even for a short while.”
“I’ll explain on our way to max,” she said.
you nod again.
Parts of your memory that were fading, were the ones fighting not to run. Those parts loved Henry. You weren't sure if you could hold on for much longer if you stayed in the house.
It didn't matter, you'd get away, and well, it'd all be fine and swell. you held onto something of Eddie's. It was a necklace that he gifted you. you held onto it forever, even after he was gone.
as long as you had it, you'd stay connected, and not become completely brainwashed.
you walk alongside holly, and after a while, you manage to get to the caves after encountering max.
now that all of you were out, and with Derek aiding, you didn't really think you'd be caught so easily.
you could've sworn you were on the same path.
you heard footsteps behind you.
then, you hear his voice," I'll give you a head start, sweetheart. run." you do so, running as fast as you could to catch up to max and holly. although if they got out and you didn't, you would've been fine with that too.
god, there were parts of you that wanted him so badly. the parts that really hadn't gotten much touch from in a while. not since Eddie. and he'd been so good.
you hated the frustration and repression you felt while being in the creel home, and with Henry. you hated the sexual attraction you began feeling.
but you could feel him getting closer. "you just wanted me to catch you, didn't you sweetheart?" he asked, surprising you as he pins you down.
"no," you say, and his eyes roam your body. he liked this. you were the prey.
he was the predator he always wanted to be.
his hands soon wrap around your throat, not in a way of wanting to kill you, but for something else. pleasure.
you gasp as he does so, but you don't fight it. you can't, really, he's stronger than you.
you could've sworn-
"it wasn't hard to get information from Derek, a child," he said."did you really put all of your trust in him?"
"he's smart..." you say.
he lets go of you, but keeps himself on top of you. the arousal was beginning to appear.
you hated it.
you hated the response you did from him. from what he'd done. "why do you think I killed Eddie, hm?" he asked, ripping your necklace off, but keeping it with him, not discarding it completely.
"he... thought he could have what was not his."
so he has had eyes on you since then. for a year. wow.
"I love him..." you whimper.
"your body's telling otherwise, oh, and your mind," he says to you. your vision begins blurring, with your mind and memories becoming too much.
he had a grip on you. and you were about to lose control.
