My drabble/imagine masterlist (quick un-edited drabbles usually under 1k words)
Middle of nowhere
↳ It’s been a long and exhausting year for Sebastian, shooting and promoting many of his movies with almost no rest at all. So Y/N decides to surprise him with a small trip over Christmas somewhere quiet.
***Pillowtalk
↳ Reader had a longtime crush on her older brother’s colleague and on her birthday, she did what she wasn’t expecting. Now both Bucky and she have to deal with the consequences.
***The dark mind
↳ You find Bucky in your apartment, drowning in memories of HYDRA so you help him clean his mind.
Surprise
↳ Bucky comes home when reader isn’t expecting it.
Christmas times
↳ Reader and Bucky go shopping for Christmas gifts.
***Reliever
↳ The reader goes to a bar to find someone who would help her relieve some stress before the upcoming Olympics. When Lance finds out about her plan, he isn’t very happy about that.
***Love The Body
↳ The reader had her first child with her husband Chris. With pregnancy, her body’s changed and she isn’t comfortable with being intimate with her husband. Will Chris be able to change her mind?
DAY 7 ⇢ Gangbang
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader x Toji Fushiguro x Kento Nanami x Choso Kamo
Word count: 4k
Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; gangbang; oral sex (F & M receive); p-in-v; anal sex (F receive only); pure filth; fingering; cunnilingus; rimming; deepthroat/throatfucking; praise kink; protected sex; ass slaping (like once); pet names (each one calls you differently); basically 4 men 1 female gangbang
Summary: How did you find yourself passed around by four men might remain a mystery; at least it's off of your bucket list now.
[Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Hosted by: @lemonlover1110 @violetsaffron5 @septembersums @ayyy-pee and @xo2dee. Divider is mine.
A/N: With NSFW Week oficially over with this piece, I wanted to give special thanks to the radiant Fae (@kennedyswhore) for her unconditional support [that kept me from dropping the event], sublime Kit (@vagabond-umlaut) for her encouraging and kind words (that subconciously pushed me to finish each piece), Karma (@kazushawty) who infected my mind with her filth (in a good way) that resulted in this mess (and kudos to her tutorial for this GIF) and to you, who's reading this [series]. Thank you for the support! ♡
There's a thin line between reality and a dream – which can easily be blurred. Especially when the present blends with the past and gets a hold of the future within its grasp.
"What's this?"
Satoru lies spread wide on the bed; torso bared to the world and stretched out, his physique like an invitation to explore. Especially with the way the moon casts its shine onto the mop of silvery strands that crown his head.
With a soft sigh, you position one knee on the plush expanse of the bed, flicking your eyes on your lover. His curious fingers dance towards the petite diary on your nightstand; a beacon of secret desires nestled in the soft glow of tonight's moonlight.
"A journal," you reply, "of sorts," the mumble that leaves your lips is faint, tinged with skepticism. Unease. Shame maybe – even.
"Can I?" With the book already ensconced in his slender fingers, he throws you a questioning look. Seeks your permission. Your silent approval is conveyed through a gentle dip of your chin.
Satoru unfurls the pages. Flips through them. Hair clinging to his forehead, eyes darting across each paragraph and list; he takes his time reading, studying each entry. Flipping through the pages, you notice the crease between his eyebrows deepen as he reaches the last page.
The last page.
There are no hidden feelings between you. You are an open book for him – now in a more literal sense than ever before.
"This page's interesting," he mumbles to himself, yet his words reach your ears clearly. And you know what he means. A warm flush sweeps across your cheeks, causing your eyes to divert towards the sheets, where your nervous fingers fiddle with the fabric, "is this a bucket list?"
His utterance is clear, and you grasp the implication quickly.
"Yeah, well, everyone has dreams."
You feel the bed on your side dip. Satoru shifts, sits up, the sheets cascading around his lithe waist. Warm breath fans over your cheeks, adding fuel to the fire smoldering beneath your skin. His hand finds its way onto your exposed thigh, thumb caressing the damp skin.
"Yours are rather," searching for the right descriptor, the hand that was on your thigh now slips underneath your chin, gently lifting it to align your gaze with the deep, cerulean depths of his eyes, "provocative."
Filthy. That'd be more fitting, you think.
The answer on the tip of your tongue refuses to budge.
"I like that," he adds after a while. "And if you want," sitting straight, his face now stands in front of you, a breath away, "we can do number three now."
When you don't respond – only watch his face inch closer, lips hover over the curve of yours – he licks a thin stripe across your lower lip.
"And I can arrange number seven if you want," he mumbles against your lips, pushing your face towards his.
How such a simple conversation led to this will probably remain a bit of a head–scratcher. How Satoru managed to have all of them agree to this will be a mystery. Maybe he has a knack for bringing out people's hidden desires or a way of making everyone comfortable enough to do this.
But these thoughts don't really stick in your mind. Especially with the way Nanami's tongue continues to lick thick stripes over your drenched walls. Back flat against the table, legs up and spread wide. Toji keeps a vice grip on one of your ankles with Choso gripping the other one – the two men keeping your legs open for the blonde man to devour you comfortably.
You'd never imagine there would be a day when all of them would see you like this.
And that there would come a day when you discover the taste of each of their lips; the unique sensation each of their kiss can bring.
Satoru you were familiar with – hungry. Sloppy. Messy. Remaining filled with passion even after years of familiarity. Holding your face with both his hands, cradling your cheeks. Like the first plunge into a lukewarm sea that turns into swirling foam – enveloping and capricious. He always speaks with his entire body; grinding up against you and wrapping his arms around your back. A boisterous lover.
Nanami – Nanami's kiss, on the other hand, is a contrast to Satoru's intensity. It's precise, measured, and full of depth. A slow dance of passion; like the waltz. His hand comes to your face and cups your chin, lifting your head up just the slightest amount of space so that when his lips meet yours, they nestle in there perfectly. His lips meet yours with a calculated tenderness. There's a sense of control and mastery in his kiss, and it leaves you with a feeling of being cherished and understood.
Toji – like a storm. Wild and untamed, coming out of nowhere with an intensity that left you breathless. An untamed force that sweeps you off your feet. Fingers gripping your chin with iron strength, thumb pushing against your lower lip to part for him more. Tongue both demanding and teasing, as if he can't decide whether to be gentle or let the beast out. The taste of danger and desire both eminent on his lips.
And Choso – the perfect blend of sweetness and ardor. His kiss is unexpectedly tender, considering his broad, rough exterior. A hand resting on your nape, not pushing or anything, with the other sliding up and down your arm; making you feel like he had waited a lifetime for this moment and wanted to savor the warmth of your skin under his palms. He tastes like moonlight on bare skin.
So when all four kiss you, the sensation is a whirlwind – a summer storm. A combination of the intensity of Satoru's kiss, the depth of Nanami's, the wildness of Toji's, and the tenderness of Choso's.
"Mmph–fuck," Toji rumbles, teeth showing in a grimace as nails dig into the flesh of your calf. Your fingers tighten around his base when you feel Nanami's fingertips collect your wetness, spread your lips apart before his finger teases your open hole.
You want to answer, urge Nanami to finally let go of the restraints – feeling like hours have passed since he went down on his knees and buried his face between your legs. Yet it's hard to do so when Satoru's cock plunges into your mouth. So deep in your mouth that you can barely breathe as he thrusts it into you; our lips and the back of your throat rubbing raw against its pulsing flesh. You feel him hit a soft barrier and push harder.
Hands slide across your chest. Slick with saliva before the softness of someone's lips envelops one of your nipples. A kiss, soon followed by a nip of teeth. Gentle, exploring – Choso, you guess. Compared to how Toji keeps squeezing the other one. All rough and fast, his thumb flicking over your erect nipple whenever your finger presses against his slit.
"Daamn, baby," you pick up Satoru's mumbles. And with your head thrown over the table's edge, you manage to look up. To see the underside of his chin, see how he's looking up; how his hand continues to caress your hollowing cheek, thumb collecting the tears that spill over your waterline.
A moan slips past the tight seal of your lips when Nanami's finger is finally buried all the way inside your drenched cunt. You arch against him, hips grinding against his moving hand before another one presses down onto your lower belly.
"Don't move, love," Nanami's voice echoes, hot breath skittering over your wet folds moving to your aching nub, "just let me prep you."
You tighten your grip – both of them – which only earns you deep grunts. Choso's teeth swipe over the tender flesh of your breast, over the soon-to-be bruise forming upon his attack. Tongue swirling over the silk-soft skin, making it stiffen with prickly heat. Your moan and twitch at the touch.
Toji flicks your nipple, rolls it between his fingers. Eyes drawn onto the sight before him. On the way your body lies completely bared; body offered on a platter of lustful ecstasy, like a sacred offering.
As Nanami's hand slides inside of you, heat spreads through every inch of your body. His fingers are merciless, relentlessly adding another finger and curling them both up to press against your walls. Searching for that sweet spot, that one point of ecstasy that will have you seeing stars.
"Baby," Satoru whines, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth to draw your attention to him, "gonna cum. Think you can swallow me?"
Your hands continue to slide up and down Choso's and Toji's cocks, each on either side of you. Satoru stops moving, the throbbing tip of his cock resting on your upper palate. Your tongue swipes over his leaking slit, collecting the briny, pearlescent droplets before swallowing.
"Mhm," you attempt to nod, taking a deep breath through your nose.
"Good," Satoru responds, holding you in place by digging his fingers into the nape of your neck as his cock expands against your throat walls, pushing every nerve ending until a burning pleasure washes over you.
You can feel the heat spreading through your body, coalescing in the space between your legs.
Nanami's fingers continue to massage your walls, pressing against that slightly ridged spot deep inside – the one that tightens your throat, makes you clamp down on his fingers, grip Choso and Toji tighter. Everyone feeling your pleasure rise–
Satoru stills inside you. And you feel him spill. All hot and heavy; flowing over your tongue and melting on your taste buds like an ice cream cone in the summer sun. Tengy but savory.
–and rise until the dam breaks. Warmth flooding your nerves, overwhelming your senses until you surrender to it completely.
Nanami doesn't stop moving. Instead he speeds up, his fingers working you over until you are soaked in sweat; not a single inch of your skin dry or cool.
Fucking you through the first orgasm of the night while Satoru withdraws from your mouth. A feral groan escapes his lips as he watches scant droplets of his cum escape your mouth and rustle down the side of your cheek, smearing the sensuous skin with slick fluids that threaten to drip into your eyes. He leans down and sweeps up the droplets; plunging his sticky fingers deep inside your mouth.
All while the azure depths of his eyes lock onto your hazy gaze, you watching the upside down image of your boyfriend.
"You're so good," he praises, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean. You can taste it on his tongue; the saltiness, the sweetness of his spent, "ready for the real fun?"
Nanami's fingers scratch your quivering walls once last time. His lips – soft and velour – press against your opening, tongue teasingly licking along the entrance before he stands up.
"Mhm–definitely," you murmur and watch. Watch as Nanami stands up, torso sculpted into perfection. Muscles rippling under pale skin, the veins visible beneath the surface. Your fingers itch, coming closer until the tip of your middle finger nudges against the graven abdomen.
His hips pitch forward upon your touch. Hand tightening around his cock as he gives it a few pumps.
You want it. Want him. Want to feel the stretch as he sinks inside.
"Condoms," Satoru chimes in from your side, stern but only reminding everyone as his hand strokes your cheek. Nanami grips your thighs to spread your legs wider for him. Nodding, he reaches to your side, grabbing one from the small stack of them you prepared beforehand.
With one hand on your inner thigh, her rips open the foil packet with his teeth and rolls it down the length of his leaking cock.
"Ready," he asks to which you nod.
The burn is intense, numbing as you're filled in one smooth motion. His cock feels even better than you imagined it would; slick and hot inside you. You can feel every inch of him, every inch that fills you up. His hands tighten around your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stays still.
A mewl cascades past your parted lips. Body shifting, seeking more friction; movement. Nanami responds with a roll of his hips – exploring. Testing whether you opened up for him enough. And when he feels the unrestrained slide of his cock inside you, he can't help it any more. At first it's slow, shallow thrusts that have you biting your lip in anticipation.
"Fuck, get it over with already Nanami or I'm gonna explode," you hear a gruff voice.
Toji.
"Y'know," it sounds more like a moan rather than words but all four sets of eyes snap to your face, "I have two holes, don't I?"
Nanami shudders against your cunt, and you could swear he got more swollen upon your words. Choso's eyes snap to Satoru as Toji grabs the bottle of lube from the table. Yet Satoru's gaze lingers on your blissful expression.
"You sure about that?"
When he asks, your chest tightens, pulse gallops.
"She's a big girl, she can decide for herself," Toji responds, hand on your hip. He nods at you and then turns to Nanami, who looks up at him. They exchange a few words, a conversation that passes by your ears.
"Hey–"
"Satoru," you interrupt the man by your side, hand reaching upwards to touch the side of his neck, "s'okay. It's a gift for me after all."
You whimper when Nanami's cock slides out; now feeling the emptiness all over again.
"Gonna move this to the couch," Choso retorts–
Everything feels weightless. Surreal. Each kiss a caress, each touch a fire. Your thoughts are muddled, consumed by the need for him. For all of them.
–and soon enough, your legs are spread wide around Nanami's waist, his cock nestled deep inside you. You move in tandem, slow and shallow thrusts as you straddle him. He leans back against the couch, his head hidden in the nook of your neck; while at the same time, Choso stands behind it, with your lips sealed around his dripping tip.
Toji stays crouched behind you. Any other day, your face would burn over the thought – of having someone's finger up your ass. It's a strange feeling – the steady pressure of his middle finger as he twists inside you. Even with the generous amount of lube, it takes Nanami a few good thrusts and encouraging words – You feel good. Relax for us, yeah? – to get you mellowed enough for Toji to add a second finger and scissor them inside.
All while Satoru stands by the doorframe; fully naked, skin pale with pinkish hue. It feels as if he's glowing, radiant, when your eyes open and he's standing in your peripheral vision.
The motion tugs at something deep inside you. And you moan around Choso's cock. Hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against his underside as you feel pleasure washing the shame away.
Suddenly, Toji's presence leaves your body. Letting go of Choso's cock, you hold it in your hand, thumb swiping over the sensitive slit, earning you a grunt of appreciation as Satoru's eyes lock onto yours – and you feel a small smile tug at your corners before–
"What–"
Something wet slithers around your rim as Nanami stills once again. Teeth nipping at the skin on your clavicles, your lips press momentarily against the ridge of Choso's tip, tasting the saltiness before you use Nanami's shoulders to steady yourself enough to twist around. To look at Toji, crunched down, hands spreading your cheeks apart with face buried between them. His eyes, verdant windows to his carnal soul, glint in the faint luminescence as they look up at you; you can't help but gasp, mouth running dry. His tongue like fire, skin searing under his touch as he swirls around your ass before pushing inside.
"Wait, I–ugh–"
Satoru shifts in the corner of your eyes.
But somehow, it feels good. So fucking good and delightful.
"Relax, not my first rodeo," Toji rumbles when he pulls away, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh of your ass; then he goes back for more.
"Feels weird," you let out a chuckle, nodding in Satoru's direction, "but good." Hand grasping Choso's cock – who's been patiently waiting for your return – you kiss the side of the burning flesh while letting Toji devour you.
Nanami's hands slide from their spot on your hips, tracing the curves and dips of your body; settling around the globes of your breasts. They squeeze the abused flesh, kissing the tender spots. Hips having mind of its own, you circle them on top of him, causing Nanami to grow into your skin.
For what feels like an eternity, you stay this way – squeezing, warming Nanami's cock inside your dripping walls. One hand resting at the back of his head as he kisses your chest, massages your nipples and caresses your sides. The other hand moves along Choso's length, lips tightly wrapped around it as you bob your head, Choso's hand resting on top of your head, gently urging you to take more.
With Satoru watching over it all.
"Good," a sharp slap, sting on your ass when Toji finishes and stands up, "arch your back for me, kitten." His hand presses against your lower back, urging you into position.
Your body curves into Nanami's, like water around a rock.
Nanami spreads his legs more, opening you when Toji spread more lube over his cock. Tugs a few times to spread the slick, sticky substance over the condom, dipping the fingers in your ass to loosen the upcoming friction more.
You expect pain; pain of being stretched to the limit. Yet there's none when the tip of his cock slips past your rim and slowly slips inside you – further and further, until his hips are pressed against your ass.
"Fuck–good girl, ain't ya," Toji mumbles, more for himself as he feels the heat of your insides hug him tightly.
"You're doing great," Nanami's lips brush against the shell of your ear, tone quiet – just for you. "Wanna ride us?"
"Mmph–," you nod. Fingers sliding along Choso's cock, taking him in your mouth when you start to move on your own accord.
Which doesn't last too long as pleasure increases, makes it difficult for you to find a good pace. As if he can feel your struggle, Toji grasps your hips, stabilizing the pace as Nanami moves his hips.
Satoru watches on with a mixture of curiosity and admiration as Nanami starts to move; his cock sliding inside you with ease, meeting up with Toji's pace. You can feel both their cocks pushing deep within you, adding fuel to the fire inside.
Their hands never leave your body, grasping at whatever they can reach.
"Ah–" Choso's hips stutter the moment his cock breaches the entrance to your throat. You keep going, deepening the movement with each plunge. The sensation builds up in seconds, making it impossible to keep still as he grunts your name, feeling himself nearing the edge. "Gonna cum–ugh– damn."
His hands grasp your face, hips rolling forward. You grasp Nanami's shoulders, letting Choso ride out his high, his cum sliding down your throat before he slips out – spent and satisfied – and watches with grateful gaze as you swallow him down, not leaving a droplet to escape.
"Shit–," Toji speaks up after a second, "you just got tighter," and he grips your hips, moving Nanami's hands out the way as the intensity of his thrusts increases. "Look at you. Always knew you were a dirty one."
You can't even respond, just focus on the intense pleasure coursing through your veins. Pulling away, Choso takes a step back; steading yourself on Nanami, using his chest as leverage, you pull back. Back meeting Toji's solid chest, his hand wrapping around the side of your neck while he brings your head to his – cheek to cheek, lips pressed against your ear.
"Would kill to have you cum raw on my cock alone," he mumbles. And you know the reason for the quiet whisper. You can feel Nanami's hands move to your hips, steadying them as he thrusts in time with Toji. Together they create a perfect tempo, pushing you closer.
"Ah, ah–" you moan out as their combined rhythm sends pleasure through you, building up the intensity until it takes over every inch of your body. Until your walls shudder around them, body tensing before you let loose.
Nanami doesn't stay behind; his hands slide up your waist to grip your ribs. He feels you tense around him, and the sound of your name slipping past his gritted teeth echoes in the room as he drops his forehead to your collarbones. With one final thrust, he spills inside the condom with a groan. You can feel the tension in his shoulders relax; as if a weight has been lifted from them.
Still in haze – eyes closed – you let out a small sigh, feeling the last of Nanami's warmth seep out of your body before the scene shifts.
Satoru has you pinned against the wall, Toji standing behind. His hands grip your hips, pushing his hard, slick cock inside your loose asshole while Satoru moves in front of you, taking your face in his hands – his hands move down from your chin to your jaw, then to the side, to the sensitive skin along the bottom of your ear and your collarbone. The strong wide thumb of his right hand presses against the corner of your mouth, gently.
So you open up. Legs supported under Toji's wise grip, you offer yourself to the two. You can feel Toji behind you, his breath hot on your neck as he thrusts back and forth. Teeth marking your nape, electrifying your sensitive body – still high from another climax mere seconds ago, yet neither of the two stopped –
Satoru's lips move to your wet cheek before he inches closer again, lips ghosting yours until the tip of his tongue finds its way inside your mouth – warm and wet – a silent command for you to reciprocate, and you do. You let yourself get lost in his kiss while Toji's hips crash against yours, pushing you both forward.
The sensation is overwhelming – a mixture of pleasure and pain as both men push against each other, letting out groans of pleasure and grunts of delight that blur the line between lustful and loving. Primal and affectionate.
"Fuck–kitten," Toji grumbles, chest vibrating against your back, "gonna cum."
And even with the condom on, you feel it. Feel the sudden rush of warmth as Toji's cock pulsates inside you. His name sounds like a prayer on your tongue when he stills, flexing his arms and spreading you wider for Satoru's harsh thrusts to reach deeper. Pelvis massaging your swollen nub each time he buries himself balls deep inside your cunt – raw, unrestrained, without a barrier. Unlike the rest.
All while Toji relishes in the squeeze of your ass, the snug fit whenever Satoru hits that deepest spot inside you and bullies his cock in your walls (even if he hates to admit it).
The sensation sends your body into a new frenzy and you can feel the tension building up. Again. Watching Satoru's eyes close, the crease between his brows deepen. Hips stuttering, his hand cradles your cheek as he lets go. Your arms sneak around his shoulders, face nestled in the sharp contour of his neck.
(With all the sensations buzzing inside your body, in each nerve, you don't notice Toji leaving silently.)
A strong arm sneaks behind your back, the other placed on the back of your neck. Hips pushing into your softness as he grunts appreciatively; you feel the slickness flood your walls, paint it pearlescent white. He holds you close, whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Heat rolling over your body. His voice like honey and the sound of it alone is enough to bring you back to earth.
Until it all ends in a beautiful mess. A gluttony of pleasure, skin slick and breathless.
Pairing: Hajime Kashimo x fem!sorcerer!reader
Word count: 5.8k
Tags/warnings: no y/n; unhinged reader; manga spoilers (Culling Games + Perfect Preparation arcs); fight description; canon-typical violence; there will be eventual smut in the later parts fyi
Summary: There's murder in the air – with the Culling Games underway, a simple task of finding an angel turns to a fight for life when you meet a certain, static and 400 years old sorcerer with cyan hair and wicked intentions.
A/N: No, I did not watch Wing Chun attacks and counterattack to get the choreography right. No, I did not spend at least a full day researching that stupid martial arts style for this. No...
Artwork by poro (poro06625649) on Twittter [source]
For a better understanding of the reader's CE and CT, visit this Tumblr post.
masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
There's murder in the air – an unsettling undertone that pollutes the atmosphere. Gentle breeze carrying the metallic fragrance of blood within its currents.
The dockside keeps quiet. Sky clear, devoid of seagull calls. Walking by colossal steel shipping containers, stacked high, the scent persists. Clings to the air like a persistent specter. Each step accompanied by the gentle lap of waves against the pilings, their rhythmic cadence a stark contrast to the horrors you've seen.A soothing lullaby in the midst of chaos.
The maze-like layout of the quayside comes to an end when your muscles strain, lifting off the ground and landing atop the steel structure.
A giant panda comes into view. Its relaxed posture, perched on hindlimbs, contrasts with its impassive countenance as it gazes your way.
"Panda," you address what some might believe to be an actual animal; innocent, cute and completely harmless. Except for this Cursed Corpse – your subordinate – is none of those things.
He fixes you with your very name; a disturbing familiarity in his eyes, then the words escape his lips.
"The smell of blood's so thick," he voices as you draw near, words cutting through the tension. "There must be about three people dismembered here–"
You hold up two fingers, the other hand nestled in your pocket.
"Two actually," you intervene, voice a measured interruption, "walked past a man with a hole the size of a soccer ball in his chest."
The memory resurfaces – the sight of the man, head drooping, neck bent at an unnatural angle. Eerie web-like burns sprawled across his bare flesh. The smell of singed skin and ozone hangs in the air, a pungent reminder. Yet, it's not just that which jolts your senses. It's the residual static of someone's cursed energy, an unsettling presence that lingers.
"But that's not what troubles me," continuing, you stand next to Panda, arms now crossed as both of you watch the lifeless skies, "something bad's here. I tried following the remnants of the cursed energy of the perpetrator but it was very faint."
"Could be an expert who can turn their cursed energy on and off at will…" Panda thinks out loud.
You let the idea sit for a second. Could it be the case? Could someone in this colony be capable of doing it? Known, registered sorcerers are absent here. The majority are newly awakened, scarcely equipped to comprehend a sophisticated notion like this. And why would they feel the need to hide their cursed energy?
No.
Dismissing your doubts, you shake your head and stride toward the edge of the shipping container.
"Don't think so. Nevertheless, we're here to find that angel girl and negotiate with her." Stepping onto the container's edge, unfazed by the high drop; balancing skillfully, you extend one leg over the edge, about to step into empty space. In a seamless motion, you touch down on the solid concrete ground below.
Panda follows suit, rolling off the shipping container with agility, landing right beside you. Then he stands, an odd combination of human-like stance and panda appearance, more akin to a person in a panda costume than an actual animal.
"Our safest bet is to leave the docks. Fast. Just play pretend, avoid any unnecessary conflicts and make it out of this colony in one piec–"
The sentence's left hanging as a sudden shift in the atmosphere catches your attention. Panda falls on all fours, frozen still.
"Ah," a deeper, resonant voice rumbles from your right, the words echoing as the familiar sensation washes over you. A sudden buzz inside your mind, an abrupt surge of awareness regarding another sorcerer's presence. Heart mirroring the rapid flutter of a startled bird's wings.
Their cursed energy, concealed and latent, manages to evoke an almost primal response within you. A sense of fight or flight.
You pivot to face the uninvited presence before you.
A cascade of hair, vivid as a robin's egg and kissed by the hues of a clear summer sky, is gathered into twin buns atop his head while tendrils of untamed locks dance freely in the breeze, resembling a stormy sea. Longer bangs frame the contours of his face, softening his visage.
He stops when his eyes – the same uncanny shade as his hair – bore into yours. Carrying what you'd guess is a Nyoi staff slung over his shoulder, he stands at a slight angle. Excludes casual confidence, a sense of poised readiness.
"Another one," he breaks the silence. You stand your ground in response to his observation.
"Not interested in a fight," you remark, hands risen in a defensive gesture. Yet you don't dare take your eyes off the sorcerer. Ready and composed.
Panda, ostensibly cautious, inches closer to you, fur bristling in sync with his unease towards the newcomer's presence. The air tightens, charged with the unspoken potential for violence.
"Kogane," he calls out to the shikigami, summoning it like a wisp from the aether; the small creature materializes, its hue the shade of a serene lake, light and amicable as it floats near his head, "is the panda a player too?"
The shikigami screeches its answer, its words setting everything in motion.
"Indeed!! A player! Yep!!"
"That's a function," your pondering voice meets a forced silence. The state of perturbed ambiance vanishing as your thoughts are cut off.
A flesh of white. Empty space occupies the spot where the sorcerer was standing less than a second ago.
You sense his presence before your eyes even settle on his countenance; his eyes, framed with short zig-zag lines reminiscent of lightning bolts underneath them, a furious cauldron of murderous excitement as they lock onto yours. They widen with a manic intensity. An undertone of madness lurking deep within their depths.
A predator's gaze fixated on its prey.
In a heart-stopping moment, time stands still. The world around you fades into a blur as a primal instinct takes over. Your body reacts; a precision born of pure reflex – muscles coiled like springs, you counter his attack with a swift and calculated movement.
His volatile energy crackles in the air. Your hands snap up. Fingers attempting to curl around his bandaged forearm. Channeling your cursed energy to your clavicles, the place where his palm lays flat against you –
But your reactions prove inadequate. You're too slow. A shocking speed and heavy push; a surge of force is sent through your body, catching you off-guard. The ground beneath you becomes a temporary adversary. Your balance disrupted as you're sent flying backward.
Back colliding with the hard, metal steel of a shipping container – you watch in horror as the sorcerer mercilessly attacks Panda. Using his staff as a weapon. With unnatural speed and agility, Panda struggles against him; his valiant resistance a testament to his determination, his form a blur of motion as he evades the sorcerer's attacks and manages a few good blows of his own.
Your body feels light. A tingling sensation surging through your veins. Electric current's rushing beneath your skin, setting your pulse racing and your focus to a razor's edge. The metallic taste of blood floods your mouth. Mingles with the adrenaline in your body. Every nerve firing in response to the raw energy pulsing through your body.
It hits you then–
"Heh, electricity," you mumble, the word slipping from your lips as you raise your palms, clenching your fists. Feeling the tingling in the tips of your fingers. The slight buzzing in your ears.
–his cursed energy has a special trait. One certainly hard to defend against.
Barely seconds have passed since your body was forced to rest against the ground. It still feels too long with Panda barely matching the man's speed and force.
Gritting your teeth, the urgency of the situation anchors you, overriding any pain or disorientation as you fight to regain your footing. A sense of pride fills you when you watch Panda use his technique, striking the sorcerer with enough force that'll easily knock him out cold. One of Panda's winning moves.
Except it doesn't.
"Nice one," the man's voice rings out. A taut smirk playing at the corner of his lips. Your teeth clench, disbelief intertwining with unease as you watch. With a predominated precision, the sorcerer maneuvers his staff, entwining it with Panda's arm in a smooth motion that catches you off guard.
Exerting a forceful pull, he forces a grimace from Panda. Right arm caught in the vice-like grip, a sickening crack underscores the moment. Followed by the nauseating sensation of Panda's arm being torn from his body. Violently. And mercilessly.
Panda stumbles. Pain and agony escaping in a cry. The sorcerer doesn't waste a second. Hurls the arm back at Panda, using the momentum to charge forward. Palm aiming flat against his chest, he sends Panda flying backward – the same way he did to you. Causing your junior to experience a similar sensation to yours.
The cyan-haired man straightens, seemingly relaxing, already content with winning the fight.
"But I'm not impressed," he taunts, words an ominous echo of the violence just unleashed, "It's too ordinary."
Feeling the concrete beneath your feet, you take deliberate steps forward. With an inkling of Panda's potential strategy, you expel the pooled blood from your mouth, spitting it onto the ground.
"...Sukuna, you know where he is?" The man's words flow, attention diverted, ignorant of your presence.
A fortunate circumstance.
"No clue," Panda responds. His reply burdened with weariness and defeat; yet his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you as you position yourself, tension radiating from his weary form.
The sorcerer scoffs; a contemptuous tilt of his head, a gesture laden with superiority. "Sounds like you know something, then," he snarls, his grip on the staff constricting as his fist clenches, "Spit it out. I'll be merciful."
With the sorcerer's back turned you raise your arm. Your gaze remains fixed upon the convergence point of the two delicate lines, their path crossing at the very heart of the expanse that's the upper part of his broad back.
"I won't be," you declare; voice carrying a firm tone. A deft flick of your wrist – the current of cursed energy takes the desired shape before it's hurled toward your target. Slashing the air in front of you, aimed right at him.
His gaze veers to the side. And in a fraction of a heartbeat, he moves; executing a skillful sidestep. Body positioned to face you from the side, both hands now gripping his staff, aiming it at you; a glint of fervor ignites his eyes as they widen, locked onto the shipping container stationed behind Panda. The unforgiving force of your attack rends the shipping container apart, leaving two gaping slashes that could bisect a man.
You don't give him time to react properly.
The moment blood begins to stain his white robe crimson red from the nick on his shoulder, you lunge forward. Like a bull being waved a red flag. Feet imbued with your cursed energy, reinforced to ensure protection.
As you close the distance at a breakneck pace, you sense the distinct composition of his cursed energy. With your fingers curled around the staff, your eyes meet his, a faint grin playing at the corners of your mouth as you tug on his weapon with your full body weight. Lifting your legs off the ground, you use the staff as a fulcrum. His body feels resilient, akin to forged steel, against the soles of your shoes.
With the potency of your cursed technique coursing through your strike, the man is propelled backward, his body hurtling through the air. The Nyoi staff clings to the concrete. Left untouched upon the impact.
Flying through a shipping container, he quickly finds his footing. Stance shifting in response to your aerial maneuver. Legs splayed to establish a firm foundation, you focus your intent on targeting his jaw. Fists charged with cursed energy, you hit once; knowing how troublesome the push-and-pull effect of your technique feels once your flesh makes contact–
"Not bad," he manages to spit out, the corner of his lip stained red. A smile tugs at the corner of his lip as you sprint toward him.
The surroundings blur into a muddled backdrop, irrelevant in your unwavering concentration. The sorcerer becomes the sole axis, a focal point in a world that seems to slow to a crawl, even though only a fraction of a second has passed.
The tip of your foot touches his; a mere whisper of contact between two opposing forces.
"Not bad at all."
–he counterattacks. Hand darts forward. Grabs your wrist. With an economy of motion, he employs your own momentum against you. His grip becomes a pivot, briefly throwing you off-balance, diverting your forward surge into an unexpected spiral.
Fluidity. That's how you'd characterize his movements. A seamless transition from being a passive target to an active agent.
His chest brushes against your back as his right hand remains locked around your right wrist. Single-handedly swinging your body like a marionette, you exploit the vulnerability of your position. Using his grip as leverage to move backward, simultaneously grabbing hold of his bandaged left forearm and pulling. Crashing your body into his, redirecting the movement into a collision.
With a potent surge of intention, you force the prepared rejection and attraction effect within your clenched fist, propelling it like a bolt toward the rear of your skull. Teeth gritted, you throw your head back.
Crack.
He stifles a groan, a step taken back but footing resolute. A red trail paints his nose as you swivel to confront him. Pausing briefly to charge your energy again, you grant him a moment to speak. His expression freezes as he locks eyes with you
"You," he speaks up, his voice textured with the tang of iron as his tongue grazes his lips, "Have we met before?"
With your hand still tingling, the ripples of sensation spread up your arm, an electric current tracing a pattern beneath your skin. Your head sways subtly, dispelling the notion of a previous encounter. "Unlikely. You'd be history."
A chuckle dances from his lips, a response to your retort. "What's your name then?"
You share it deliberately, each syllable a measured beat in your dance around one another. He nods, his head tilting with self-assured grace. It's then that he takes his stance – feet planted firmly, palms outstretched, a grin playing on his lips.
"The name's Hajime Kashimo."
The words hang, a telltale echo–
Hajime Kashimo.
–recognition snaps into place when you repeat his name in your mind.
The Hajime Kashimo, the sorcerer whose score reaches a hundred points; a mark that sets him apart from any other Culling game player (except for the intricate Hiromi Higuruma). Hakari's elusive target.
And here, right before you, stands the man himself.
"Hey," you call out, a new determination blossoming, your stance embracing the challenge; retreat is no longer a consideration, "if I beat you, can I get your points?"
The corners of Kashimo's lips twitch, smile fading like a wisp of smoke carried away by the wind. Expression blank, with only his brows furrowed as he responds, "Sure, but you tell me everything y'know about Sukuna," his voice lowered to a dangerous undertone, a velvet threat veiled in words, "that is–if you're still alive."
He charges then. Doesn't spare a single consideration. The air crackles with tension as his presence engulfs you. His hands make contact – not with fists or strikes – but with the calculated pressure of his open palms. You feel the weight of his touch on your skin. Pressure on your left, then on your right ribcage.
"Don't disappoint me now," breath tickles your ear, voice a tantalizing, dangerous melody. His fingers anchor firmly onto your right shoulder, an assertive grip that both commands and unsettles, while his other hand exerts a calculated force on your left shoulder guard, propelling you into a spin.
Your training surges forth, a symphony of muscle memory and instinct harmonizing within you. With the resilience born of countless battles, you swiftly adapt your stance, shifting your weight to face him.
An annoyed huff leaves your now-bruised lips. You channel your own cursed energy, a torrent of power surging through your veins.
Detain an attack when it comes,–
Knees bending, body swaying to evade the incoming fist; your left hand grips his left wrist, fingers tightening with determination, followed by your right driving into its intended mark.
–and send it away when it retreats.
Your palm meets the solid plane of his chest with a resonant thud; pushes and then pulls him back to you before sending him away again; successfully pushing back against Kashimo's pressure. It's a momentary reprieve. One that sends the sorcerer tumbling back, makes him roll on the ground, lending on one knee.
"Here I thought we were just getting started," you quip with a hint of playfulness amidst the dance of combat. Moving swiftly towards the target. As Kashimo's force ebbs, you seize the opportunity, your muscles coiling like springs.
"You're getting me–" he barely makes it back to his feet before you're at him again. With enough cursed energy imbued into your foot, utilizing the momentum of your motion, leg rising up in a calculated kick – only for Kashimo to shift; a fraction of movement that proves decisive. His arm weaves beneath the arc of your thigh, a sinuous and serpentine maneuver that seeks to entwine and subdue. As his grasp tightens, his fingers snake around your throat, lifting you from the ground, suspending you momentarily.
"–quite excited," he concludes, his voice tinged with an eerie excitement.
Once the hand is freed from contact,–
A heartbeat's pause feels like an eternity. With your legs rendered weightless and no stable ground beneath you. Despite the vulnerable position, your mind remains steadfast, honing in on Kashimo's Achilles heel. His hands are preoccupied, his grasp unwavering but his neck and face exposed.
–carry out a strike with it.
Seizing the opportunity, you make the most of the opening. Your palms press against the sharp contours of his cheeks, each hand finding its place on one side of his face. In one swift and deliberate motion, you channel the wellspring of cursed energy that resides within you into your technique. The currents of your energy converge between your palms, weaving a tapestry of arcane force that manifests as a palpable vacuum, centered precisely where his head rests.
It's an intentional manipulation. One – if done right, that is – could even lead to a cataclysmic implosion. A violent severing of life from the body. But you don't want to kill him; not yet at least. You need the points. And so, you temper your approach, exerting only the necessary amount of energy to induce a sensation of compression.
As the feeling envelops him, Kashimo's expression shifts, a flicker of realization that dances within his eyes. He instinctively withdraws. Bandaged forearms push at your body, sending you hurtling backward; a testament to his strength and strategic finesse.
"You cheeky little thing," a bead of blood traces a path from the corner of his eye. At the same time, another droplet emerges from his nose.
This time it's him who doesn't let you regain enough control as he charges at you. His approach swift and unrelenting. The tables are constantly turning – now being his time to dictate the tempo.
Another dance of offense and defense plays out as the two of you clash once again. Each move a deliberate response to the other's actions.
Chase the movement of the opponent–
As the flurry of his strikes slices through the air, you find yourself navigating the ebb and flow with a synchronicity that borders on the sublime. With a hawk-like focus, you track the trajectory of his hand, your senses attuned to his every motion.
While his hits continue to swing through both empty space and meeting your body, a fleeting opportunity presents itself. With the precision of a seasoned sorcerer, you follow the path of his hand with your own, fingers closing around his forearm as it narrowly misses your cheekbone, the other digging into the open slash wound on his shoulder.
–to continue the attack.
It earns you a hiss. A "Tsk," coming from his damaged lips.
One fluid motion; one that belies your strength. You capitalize on the momentum of his own swing, utilizing your grip to exert control. Your foot surges forward with unbridled force, the sole of your shoe connecting with the vulnerable juncture of his knee.
Kashimo's reflexes kick in as he instinctively leaps back the moment your foot makes contact with his leg. His visage bears the marks of battle, a canvas adorned with streaks of red, the vestiges of blood from the prior exchange. A mirror to his appearance, your own face likely reflects a similar narrative. Marked by the intensity of the confrontation. By his pure, physical prowess. One that, even if you use all your cursed energy, you're certain you couldn't match.
The shadows of weariness begin to cast their subtle touch on you. A weight that tempers your movements and shadows the clarity of your thoughts. Each calculated step, each strategic strike, seems to bear an additional burden now.
Still, resolute, your unwavering determination fixated on Kashimo, persevering in the face of creeping exhaustion.
Then you take off.
With a surge of action, you propel yourself into motion. Pivoting on your heel, you sprint toward the towering container crane a mere few meters behind. Kashimo's quick thinking registers in the corner of your vision—a flash of white on your right, drawing nearer.
"Running so soon?"
His taunting words reach you.
"Just limbering up," you reply. Muscles tensing, you feel his energy almost brushing against your own. So, with a leap, you vault into the air. Fingers curling around your ankle.
Time seems to slow as Kashimo's grip tightens around your ankle, his fingers like a vice attempting to anchor you to the ground. The world spins around you, the crane's towering structure becoming a blur as your body is abruptly yanked back, denied the freedom of flight.
Instinct kicks in, your mind racing to find a solution. With a swift twist of your body, you channel the energy within, your cursed power surging to your fingertips. A burst of force courses through your arm, the concentrated energy propelling your free leg forward in a powerful kick. Your heel connects with Kashimo's face, the impact forcing his grip to release.
In the split second of regained freedom, your body soars toward the container crane.
Muscles strained, you manage to grab hold of a protruding metal edge, fingers gripping with an iron determination. The harsh clang of metal meeting metal reverberates through the air as your body comes to a halt, swinging slightly from the momentum before you propel yourself higher onto the structure.
A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. The distance between you and Kashimo now a tangible reminder of your evasion. His frustrated gaze meets yours, the tension between you electric and palpable.
"Nice try," you retort, voice laced with a mixture of weariness and defiance. There's an undeniable satisfaction in defying his grasp, in proving your prowess even amid exhaustion. Without wasting a moment longer, you hoist yourself up more, using the crane's structure to propel your body upward. Your form melds with the steel as you ascend, a maneuver to gain the vantage point.
Gotta limit his movement to the minimum.
Kashimo's expression shifts, a glint of admiration piercing through his irritation. "Impressive," he concedes, the words carrying an unexpected note of respect, "but you can't run from me."
He follows your lead. The two of you ascending the crane in a synchronized rhythm
"I told you, Kashimo–," you declare, your voice echoing between the steel beams as you reach the crane's zenith, standing face to face on the narrowest edge.
Now standing face to face on the crane's uppermost beam, the narrow back reach providing only small support. Your breath heaves, each inhalation a reminder of the intense exertion. Across from you, Kashimo's gaze remains fixed upon you, his expression deceptively relaxed.
"–that I'm only stretching."
His eyes, however, tell a different story – a depth of focus that cuts through your form. Anchoring onto you with an unwavering intensity.
A mournful melody weaves through the metal lattice, the wind's haunting whistle creating an eerie harmony with the tension in the air. The gusts playfully tousle both your hair in the process. You steady yourself into a stance, your body a testament to both resilience and purpose.
"Plus I want those points," you remark, a hint of determination coloring your words.
It's then that you charge — cursed energy flowing through your body like currents of compressed emptiness. A void. Unyielding. Relentless. And pneumatic.
With a flick of your wrist, you send it slicing through the air. A blade of nothing. A thin line etches across his chest, traversing from ribcage to his already wounded shoulder — a mark of your earlier endeavor. Nowhere to dodge now that he's standing between two metal beams.
Or so you thought.
Kashimo charges. The white of his robe tainted with scarlet. The cut isn't deep.
He must've reinforced his cursed energy.
"Tsk," you utter. A flicker of irritation crosses your features. Agitated. With waning stamina, the dwindling reservoir of cursed energy depleted by your previous usage; this could've been your -ditch effort.
The final move.
And it failed.
It makes him smile. A sinister twist of lips that morphs into a grin. Moving fast, his expression resembles one of a predator closing in on its prey. The ruby stain on his robe seems to accentuate his aura of danger, a stark contrast to the pristine white it once was.
As your body contorts and arches backward, you skillfully evade the incoming fist aimed at your face. Your unwavering gaze remains locked onto his intense stare. With your palm pressed flat against the ground of the crane, you swiftly raise your leg, delivering a targeted strike to the meat of his thigh.
But before your maneuver can fully unfold, his hand seizes your ankle, pulling you towards him and locking your leg in place as he maneuvers over your body. Kashimo's grin widens, a predatory glint in his eyes that triggers a ripple of unease down your spine.
As his fist whizzes past your face, you seize the opportune moment to mount a counterattack. His fingers, still harshly locked around your right ankle, you push and pull against his grasp. Leg successfully moving to close over his thigh, the other hooking around his hip.
Legs now firmly encircling his waist, you use every ounce of your strength to push. Destabilize the sorcerer. Break his foundation. Disrupt his equilibrium.
The outcome? Both of you soaring through the air and down the crane. Kashimo's form aligns perfectly with the approaching solidity of the dockside concrete.
A rapid free fall, gravity's pull unrelenting.
If you're not getting the points, he's not getting his answers either.
His eyes momentarily flit to the ground below. Unspoken recognition of the shared peril that binds you both. The realization dawns in his eyes, widening them momentarily, before his gaze settles onto your face once more – unimpressed. Jaded.
"Oops," you jest under your breath, fingers finding purchase on the fabric of his torn clothes. An unhinged smile on your lips, eyebrows lifting in a mix of audacity and exhilaration. The wind sweeps through, rustling your hair with a cool caress that contrasts starkly with the warm stickiness of blood on your skin.
"It's accumulated enough."
That's the only forewarning you get. In an instant, the atmosphere shifts; an electrifying tension that dances along your skin. You sense the already familiar tingling as the static charges from the man beneath you. Kashimo's cursed energy now gaining intensity.
His open hand thrusts towards your face, a surge of energy gathering at his fingertips. Only to get countered by your own palm. Flat against each other. Forcing a focal point of energy converges and resistance to form. As the push effect comes into play just in time with waves of electricity.
The crackling intensity escalates, its tendrils reaching out with an insatiable hunger. Only to be pushed back by your own manipulation acting as a steadfast wall. It's a symphony of sensations — the tingling of your skin, the hum of power in the air, the gradual crescendo of pressure between your palms. The vortex throbs and pulses, a living embodiment of the forces you both wield.
The thing is – The conductivity of the vacuum…depending on how you look at it, it behaves in two different ways:
Firstly, when you examine the motion of charged particles with a constant velocity within a vacuum, you encounter an interesting phenomenon. Unlike in other mediums, there is no opposing force acting against these particles. Consequently, maintaining a steady current across any surface within a vacuum demands no additional effort.
However, a contrasting phenomenon manifests when we consider the existence of free charges within conductors. When an electric field, denoted as E, is imposed upon a conductor, it triggers a flow of electric current. This internal charge movement gives rise to a current density described by the equation: J = σE, where σ symbolizes the conductivity of the material. Notably, within a vacuum, σ assumes a value of 0; hence, electric fields lack the capacity to spontaneously induce current flow.
In this context, the vacuum departs from the role of a conductor. Even materials known as insulators, which typically restrict the flow of current, possess conductivity values that are low but not completely absent.
As a result, the resistance exhibited by a vacuum effectively amounts to infinity—particularly when you define resistance through the lens of how charge carriers in a substance respond. Viewed from this perspective, you could liken the vacuum to an insulator, given the absence of charge carriers that are essential for the propagation of electric current.
So in the end, your innate ability functions like an antistatic force.
It should be enough to counter his attack. Neutralizing his endeavor and ricocheting it back to him. Only if his other hand, clenched into a fist, suddenly hasn't entered your line of sight, aiming for your jaw.
The controlled push-only effect falters. Then crumbles. The void's pull reclaims all that Kashimo had imparted, drawing it back with an insatiable greed.
"Damn you." It now comes down to the last aspect of your technique.
Implosion.
The energies within your vacuum field converge, collapsing inwards with a blinding intensity. A jarring impact against the back of your head – or it might be the ending of your fall. Everything's just confusing. Everything blurs into a disorienting haze of continuous events.
The unforgiving touch of concrete grates against your scraped back. Each breath, now shallow and ragged, causes pain.
Above, the sky stretches wide and boundless. Until the sight is blocked by a mop of cerulean blue hair. Two buns somehow still in place. Same-colored eyes staring at your form. Arms folded and a countenance marred by bloodstains and scrapes. Each leg positioned on either side of your hips before one presses against the flat of your clavicles.
"You're quite durable," Kashimo retorts, pushing his weight down on you, "that should've killed you right there."
"Heh," you manage a wry chuckle, your voice strained but defiant, "guess I'm full of surprises."
He raises an eyebrow, a flicker of almost-amusement dancing in his eyes. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, the strain of the plummet combined with the failed attempt of your innate technique taking a heavy toll on your senses.
"It's been a while since I've encountered someone who can keep me on my toes this long. Now tell me," your name rolls off his tongue in a taunting lilt, "where's Sukuna?"
The distant sounds of the dockside begin to fade, replaced by an eerie emptiness. Despite your unwavering determination, a tide of dizziness threatens to engulf you, and you struggle to maintain your focus on Kashimo's face.
"On vaca–"
The weight on your chest vanishes abruptly. Kashimo's foot makes fleeting contact with your cheek before returning to its original place.
"Don't play with me. Spit it out."
"Oi," a voice calls to your right. A voice you know; Hakari's, "It's not very chivalrous to strike a lady like that."
From here, everything dissolves into darkness.
The world sways, a disorienting dance of shadows and sensations. Light pressure settles on your stomach with sounds echoing faintly in the distance. A gentle, steady rhythm envelops you as if you're being cradled in a cocoon of safety. Your limbs feel weightless, as though the ground beneath you has transformed into a soft cloud that carries your burdens away.
Your mind struggles to tether itself to the present, grappling with the fragments of consciousness that slip through your grasp. Colors blur, merging into a hazy kaleidoscope of fleeting images. The arms that encircle you exude warmth thought. One that lulls you back to sleep.
Yet you manage to summon the strength to part your heavy eyelids. Through the haze, you see a blur of black and white on top of you. Head resting upon something firm and solid – a breastplate, you realize. The rhythmic cadence that envelops you is accompanied by the subtle rise and fall of breath, a heartbeat that resonates beneath your cheek.
"Panda," you murmur, voice a tentative whisper as you attempt to comprehend whether or not you're dreaming, considering the creature on you is now a size of an actual teddy bear.
The toy-sized Panda remains seated on you but looks your way, emitting a surprised yelp at the sound of your voice, before swiftly turning his gaze forward again, "Hakari, she's awake!"
Your vision – still blurred – manages to trace a figure walking at the edge of your peripheral sight – right arm missing, shirt gone (he's shirtless, you discern), and crowned with purple hair. Hakari. But if Hakari's walking in front of you. Then…
Lifting your eyes, you suddenly lock onto a fleeting sight of vibrant cyan hair. The once-pristine white attire now soaked and marred with splotches of vivid red, creating an unsettling contrast. Your heart skips a beat as the realization dawns upon you.
It's Kashimo who bears the weight of your limp form.
"She's gonna pass out soon again," his voice carries vibrations that travel from his chest to your cheek with his gaze fixed upon you.
And he's right as your body, weary and battered, succumbs once more to the embrace of slumber.
Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader | single dad AU
Word count: 2.2k
Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; single dad Leon; breath play; p-in-v sex; praise kink; top!leon; blowjobs; slight face-fucking; female gendered anatomy
Summary: Just single dad Leon fucking you in the janitor's closet during class.
a/n: Canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).
Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. Q is for a quickie.
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The pungent smell of bleach hangs heavy in the air, biting your nose with every breath you take; tangling with the bright citrus notes of Leon's cologne, a potent blend of bergamot and lemon. The two scents mingle and dance, a waltz of sharp and sweet.
It’s an unexpected combination. One that should’ve clashed, yet somehow they complement each other.
Your mind tries to process the conflicting sensations, but it’s a futile effort when every sense is consumed by the man behind you and the way his hips keep pistoning into you.
Sharp, short thrusts.
Each one driving his cock deeper into your body.
Angled so that the head of his cock kisses your cervix every time. With a fervor that steals your breath. Baths you in liquid fire.
Each thrust like a battering ram, slamming into you with a force that threatens to tear you apart.
Somehow, you find yourself holding on, clinging to the nearby shelf, like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored to this world. Knuckles straining, fingers curling over the smooth surface, a rush of heat courses through your veins as Leon's grip tightens ever so slightly.
"Fuck, Leon–"
Your whine tapers off, replaced by a deep, purring hum of satisfaction as Leon’s hand encircles your throat; exerting a gentle but firm grip that pulls you closer to him. Chin nestled on the base of your shoulder, his teeth glide across the tender underside of your ear.
A tingle starts at the nape of your neck and courses through your body, like a sparkling river of sensation.
The fluorescent light above flickers intermittently, casting a ghostly and eerie glow over the confined space. The hum of the light like a faint melody.
The grip on your hips dissipates; Leon’s other arm moves upwards. His palm hovers before your lips, the tip of his middle finger tracing the underside of your lip; heartbeat picking up.
"Open up fo’ me."
And you oblige. Without a second wasted, two of his fingers find their way into your mouth. Pressing against the wet muscle, teasing your tongue and coaxing it into action; hooking behind your teeth, you manage to swirl your tongue around the fingertips.
"That’s it–jus’ like that," his words come in a low, gravelly murmur. Dripping in satisfaction. Followed by a brush of his lips against the delicate shell of your ear. "Good girl."
His words flood your body with heat; every nerve alights. His voice a velvet caress. A balm to your soul. A sweet validation.
Nudging your legs further apart with his boot, you suck at his fingers one by one; giving each a secluded attention. Leon’s breath hitches when your tongue laps at the tip of his index finger; the weight of his forehead rests on the crown of your shoulder, lips parting in a gasp of pleasure.
It makes you moan, makes you quiver around him, akin to the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
Pushing your hips backwards, you meet the sharp plane of his pelvis as his fingers withdraw; a wet string smudged over your lower lip. Slickness coats your tongue, leaving a tangy taste in your mouth.
Leon's fingers sneak under the hunched material of your skirt, tracing a wet path over the exposed flesh of your thighs. His thumb lingers at the apex, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver, attempting to bite back a moan.
Lost in the sea of sensations that threaten to consume you.
The rough pads of his fingers find your clit; the pulsating nub throbs beneath his touch. It's as if a live wire is coursing through your body, electrifying every nerve ending. Leon’s fingers move in rhythm with his thrusts–
"Leon–fuck, don’t stop–Leon–"
Words mingle together. Mind too foggy. Too fucked up to comprehend a single sentence.
-the pressure enough to send you spiralling; making your breath come in ragged gasps, quiet mewls as his fingers dance over your sensitive flesh, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.
A sweet ache coils in your belly, radiating outwards.
Both hands gripping a shelf on each side of the narrow closet, you feel like a marionette. Completely at his mercy. The wood creaks under your grasp, protesting the force of your grip. But you can't help it; the pleasure’s too intense, too all-consuming.
Leon's fingers work their magic; teasing and coaxing your body to the brink of orgasm. Each stroke and brush causing your walls to flutter, squeeze him delightfully; making his hips quake with every movement.
The heat between your legs intensifies, the wetness pooling and spilling over onto his cock. His thumb circles your clit, drawing it out and flicking it back in a rhythmic motion that has you on the edge.
Body like a coiled spring, wound tight and ready to snap, your hips push back.
Until the squeeze of his fingers on the side of your throat fades while leaving behind a warmth that lingers on your skin–
Every touch, every stroke, every kiss a building block, adding to the fire that’s burning inside you.
–and is replaced by a hand covering your mouth, stifling a sound that begins to surge from the depths of your being.
In a natural reaction, one of your hands shoots towards the intrusion, fingers wrapping around Leon’s wrist, feeling the cool material of his watch.
You moan when Leon’s hips still. Pelvis flush against the curve of your ass, buried to the brim, as if he's trying to meld his body with yours. His breath ghosts over your nape.
Footsteps echo through the door. Two sets of heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. You both freeze, bodies still tangled together in the cramped space.
You should be panicking, being seen like that. But the fire in your belly refuses to be quenched; your body a bundle of nerves, the thrill of excitement at the thought of being caught mingling with the heady rush of pleasure that Leon is coaxing from you. It's a dangerous game, one that sets your heart racing and your skin ablaze with need.
You’re sure they’ll hear the frantic thumping of your heart, the ragged gasps of breath that escape your lips.
Leon's grip on your jaw tightens, grounding you in the moment, urging you to focus only on the pleasure that he's giving you.
Instead, a whimper slips from your mouth, muffled by Leon’s hand when you feel the slow, deliberate slide of his cock out of your dripping wetness. Moving in slow motion as he withdraws, teasing you with just the tip of his throbbing cock still nestled inside you.
Every nerve in your body alive with anticipation, yearning for the moment when he will plunge back inside you, filling you up completely. You can feel the wetness coating his cock, and the slickness of your own desire as it clings to him, urging him to come back to you.
Your body’s a symphony of sensations, each note building on the last until it crescendos into a symphony of pleasure.
"Shhh," the short stubble grazes your cheek as he murmurs, leisurely drawing his cock back inside your slick heat; the footsteps grow louder, "wouldn’t want your fellow teachers seein’ you gettin’ stuffed by my cock in the janitor’s closet, would you?"
As Leon's hand exerts a gentle force on your parted lips, your head falls back, coming to rest on the sharp, angular edge of his clavicle. Capable of feeling every inch of him as he moves languidly within you, each thrust slow and deliberate, savoring the squeeze of your cunt on him.
Leon’s words, accompanied by a steady slide of his cock, capable of feeling every inch of him; it makes your core throb; your walls to tighten, emitting a gentle moan from the man behind you.
"You’re making noises too," you mumble, the words barely coherent in the midst of your ecstasy. Consumed by the heat of his body against yours, the scent of his mixed with the musky aroma of sex. The sound of his ragged breaths, guttural grunts and gentle moans of your name.
The rhythmic motion of his thrusts lulling you into a state of pure bliss.
"Can’t help it," his teeth graze your shoulder blade, "you just feel too good.." Emphasizing his words; Leon’s fingers pull from your aching nub before giving it a gentle slap. With a sudden shift, his hips deliver a sharp, forceful thrust, shattering the lazy rhythm he’d established earlier.
You inhale sharply at the unexpected sensation, but the burn of desire only intensifies.
Senses on overdrive, the footsteps pass. Leaving you and Leon alone again. It seems to drive him back deeper into you, his thrusts becoming more frenzied and urgent.
Leon’s fingers curl and stroke your clit, slow and steady, then faster, rougher, until—
Heat; A tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, consuming every inch of your being. Your mind dissolves into a haze of pleasure, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy.
–a cry rips from your throat, echoing through the room. The tension snaps, leaving you panting, trembling, and utterly spent.
Cunt fluttering around Leon’s cock, his hands snap to grip your waist. His breathing’s heavy and ragged, matching the pace of his thrusts. He holds you close, his body flush against yours, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.
"Fuck–’m gonna cum," his lips latch onto your pulsating jugular, feeling your violent heartbeat, "be good to me, get on your knees," he rasps, having a hard time formulating full sentences as the coil in his body tightens, threatening to unravel at any moment.
Hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself deep inside your leaking cunt, his breath hot against your skin before you obey.
A pathetic whine leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness when he pulls away, hands guiding you to turn around, putting pressure on your shoulders to make you sink down to your knees in front of him.
Jeans pushed down just enough to free himself, heat flushes your face at the sight of his cock, glistening with your cum. Not wasting time, your lips wrap around the spongy tip, tasting the salty tang of your own release mixed with the slightly sweet taste of his skin. Swirling around the sensitive head.
The taste floods your mouth. A heady mixture of musk and lust.
And you savor it. Like a rare delicacy.
"Fuck–look at you," Leon growls.
His eyes smolder with desire as he looks down at you, watching the way your lips stretch to accommodate him. A low, throaty moan of appreciation slips past his lips, his hand tightening in your hair as he urges you to take him deeper.
Eyes moving upwards, his chin is all you can see as he throws his head back, hand gripping the same shelf you were moments ago, knuckles white. The leather of his jacket creaks with the movement.
Coaxing out every drop of pleasure from his throbbing cock. The taste of him lingers in your mouth, a potent reminder of the pleasure you're bringing him.
Breathing becoming ragged, his body tenses under your hands.
Suddenly, his hips thrust forward with a sudden urgency that takes you by surprise. The head of his cock kisses the back of your throat for a second, causing you to lose your breath and withdraw as your gag reflex kicks in, eyes watering.
You can feel the wetness of your own saliva and his precum dribbling down your chin.
"Shit, sorry," he rumbles, eyes back on your kneeling form.
His gaze is glazed over with desire, and his hand moves from your hair to cup your cheek. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing the slickness across your skin.
"S’okay," you reassure him with a soft smile, "you can do that; just tell me next time."
He nods as your fingers wrap around his base, taking him back in eagerly, taking him as deep as you can, feeling his thick length stretching your mouth to its limits.
This time, you’re ready; relaxing your throat, you let him set the pace. Feeling the pressure at the back of your head as he guides your face towards his cock.
With each drive, he plunges deeper into your mouth. His body taut like a bowstring, every muscle coiled tight. You can feel the tension emanating from him in waves, his arousal thick in the air between you.
His cock swells inside of your mouth, pulsing with each beat of his heart. You can taste his desire, a heady mix of salt and musk that fills your senses.
Tapping his thigh, he stops his movements as you glide your lips along his cock, hand moving in the same rhythm.
You pick up the pace, tongue and lips working in perfect unison to coax out every last drop of his pleasure.
With a deep grunt of your name, he convulses, his body wracked with spasms of ecstasy. Fingernails scratch your scalp as he spills into your mouth, and you savor the taste of him, swallowing each salty, hot drop eagerly.
As he comes down from his high, he looks down at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude in his eyes.
"That’s A plus, miss teacher," he whispers, voice husky, pulling you up to stand in front of him.
Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader | single dad AU
Word count: 5.8k
Tags/warnings: no y/n; fluff; eventual smut; p-in-v; slice of life; gendered female reader; gendered female anatomy; original kid Kennedy character
Summary: He's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit; yet, he's your student's father. Handsome. Confident. Alluring. But off limits–at least he should be.
a/n: Inspired by @yeyinde’s ask. A warning beforehand; I'm not good at fluff and slice of life but I tried... (I sped things up or this would've been a multi-chapter fic + I struggled with this so bad).
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The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man hard to resist; his confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–
“So? It’s just dinner.”
The innocence of children always manages to brighten up even the darkest of days, their smiles and eagerness to learn contagious; filling your heart with positivity. It's a feeling that's hard to come by as an adult; life's challenges tend to chip away at your soul and slowly rob you of that childhood magic.
As the clock strikes five and your shift comes to an end, the school falls into an eerie silence. A lingering sense of relief washes over you when leaving the building; you've done your part in shaping young minds.
Walking out the front door, the warmth of the sun caresses your skin, its rays sliding around your bare arms like silk.
Twisting the key in the lock, your eyes catch a glimpse of slight movement from the corner of your vision. Turning your head, you see a little girl perched on the concrete steps below, her delicate features illuminated by the warm glow of the sun.
Her hair, a cascade of light brown waves, frames her chubby cheeks and the crown of her head is adorned with blonde highlights that shimmer like golden threads.
She turns to you when you address her, slowly stepping down to her level.
"What are you still doing here," you sit down, her small backpack creating a wall between your bodies.
As you sit side by side with the little girl, basking in the comforting embrace of the sunlight, she kicks her legs up; eyes up front, both of you watch the cars pass by on the street.
The Washington Spring air’s filled with the sweet scent of blooming cherry blossoms, carried on a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. The distant sounds of children playing in a nearby park mingle with the honking of cars and the chirping of birds, creating a symphony of noise that signifies the arrival of spring in the bustling city.
"Waiting for daddy," she says with a hint of excitement in her voice.
The little girl looks up at you, her eyes full of wonder and innocence. You can't help but wonder about the mysterious Mr Kennedy and his absence; an enigma surrounding his name.
Like a forgotten toy left on the shelf, the girl's father remains absent from any involvement in her education. Despite several months passing since her admission to your class, there has been no sign of him. No parent-teacher meetings, no Father's Day celebration, nothing.
An enigma.
"Speaking of," your voice trails off for a moment, "How’s your daddy doing?" you question her. You shouldn’t; it goes beyond your job description to put a kid in situations like these. But still–
Her eyes, a vivid shade of cerulean, sparkle like sunlit water as she gazes at you; smile wide upon the mention of her father, the young kid toys with the straps on her bag.
"He’s busy."
A pang of understanding pinches your heart.
–his presence (or rather the absurd lack of it) keeps gnawing at your brain.
"He fights monsters," the girl adds after a moment of silence; her tone more serious. It's as if she's describing a mythical hero, fighting off beasts in some far-off land.
"He seems to be busy quite a lot," you smile to ease the topic; well aware that the girl, as bright as she is, surely catches on as you keep asking the same question every week, "is your mom coming to the parent–teacher meeting?"
The girl shakes her head before she speaks, "I don’t know my mom."
Oh.
You know you shouldn’t push more; well aware of the unprofessionalism you’re displaying.
"The woman who picks you up–"
"–aunt Claire," the kid corrects you, "I’m sorry for interrupting, miss teacher."
You smile, trying to put her at ease. It's clear that she's been brought up with good manners.
Lost in how to answer her, you almost don't hear the sound of a car approaching. The girl jumps up, her face alight with excitement. A low rumble reverberates through the air as a sleek black SUV glides up to the curb, its shiny exterior reflecting the warm rays of the sun.
The tinted windows obscure the view inside the car, adding an air of mystery to the vehicle. As the car comes to a stop, the quiet hum of the engine fades to a gentle purr, and the driver's door swings open.
The girl grabs her backpack at the same time a man steps out of the car; you’re able to only see the light brown hair decorating his head.
"Daddy," the girl yelps in excitement. You stand up, dusting the invisible dust from your jeans.
He stands tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of the crisp white shirt, tucked tightly into the blue dress pants. A single button undone on his collar, revealing the curve of his clavicles. The sun glints off his aviator sunglasses, hiding his eyes from view. He approaches the little girl with a warm smile as she runs into her father, you presume; standing still, watching the situation unfold before your eyes.
Lowering himself to her level, he extends his arms, inviting her in. She eagerly accepts, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a welcoming embrace.
"Hey there, pup," you manage to hear his voice; low and soft. Gentle. "Sorry I’m late; got held up by paperwork. Y’know the drill."
The kid chuckles before pulling away, a sound so pure and innocent it brings a smile to your face.
Standing back up, his face turns towards you. You're struck by his imposing presence, the way he commands attention without even trying. His chiseled jawline is dusted with a light stubble, giving him an air of ruggedness. He moves with confidence towards you, one hand enclosed with his daughter’s.
The girl tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, introducing you before he even reaches your standing point–to which he smiles gently.
"Well, nice to meet you," his hand extended in greeting, "I’m Leon Kennedy. Her dad," he nods towards the girl.
"Mr Kennedy," you murmur, taking his hand in yours; noting the callouses on his palm.
As your eyes travel up his arm, they catch sight of a fresh bandage peeking out from under his slightly rolled up sleeve. But it's not until you look up at his face that you see the true extent of his weariness. Small scratches mark his jaw, subtle hues of purple and yellow decorate his cheekbone like a watercolor painting.
It’s clear that he's been through a rough patch. Makes you wander back to the girl’s words–
("He fights monsters.")
–and maybe he does. In some twisted sense.
"I actually wanted to speak with you," you release his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin lingering on your fingertips., "are you free next Tuesday? Around one PM?"
"Am I in trouble," he chuckles; the stretch of his lips exposing a slight scar on his lower lip.
The girl tilts her head, eyes studying you intently. You can't help but notice the slight beauty marks across her neck, the softness of her features, the way she looks up at her father with curiosity.
"Not really; I just need to discuss some matters with you."
"Okay," he responds, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, yet he remains stoic. Posed. "Sure."
"I’ll see you then," you nod and take your leave, but not before stealing a few glances at his back as he turns away from you. It’s impossible not to notice how his broad shoulders strain against the fabric, or how his hair cascades over his forehead; tousled yet somehow perfectly in place.
The weekend flies by, the days blurring together until suddenly it's Tuesday.
Despite his daughter's reassurances from yesterday that he'll be here, the uncertainty of whether he'll actually show up still grips you tightly.
A knock on the open door disturbs your grading.
"Mr Kennedy," you remark upon his arrival. The pen falls onto the desk with a clunk; back straighten, you invite him to sit on the chair prepared for him beforehand.
He’s dressed more casual–the black, expensive looking leather jacket squeaks against the wooden chair as he sits down after a simple "Hello". The faint but distinct aroma of sharp, citrusy notes wafts from his collar; the refreshing and invigorating aroma that catches your attention before your eyes trail to the bandage on his wrist.
Clearly seeing the way your eyes subconsciously linger on the piece of medical tape, Leon puts his other hand over it, shielding your view. Silently focusing your attention back on his eyes; the same blue hues as his daughter’s.
Sitting before you, legs spread apart, the undeniable similarities between him and his daughter are glaringly apparent. The way he holds himself commands respect, his posture erect and confident.
"Mr Kennedy, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you in person."
Fingers interlocking as you lean on your elbows, his gaze following your every movement like a predator stalking its prey; almost as if he’s sizing you up. His eyes watchful.
"Okay," he responds casually, a hint of question behind the simple word.
You clear your throat before continuing. "Your daughter is a remarkable child," a small smile accompanying your words. "She's well-behaved, intelligent, and often surpasses her peers."
Leon nods, lips pressed together.
"Got that from her mother, probably," he remarks. Almost bites back. Jaw tightening.
Leaning back, your fingers drum a quick rhythm against your desk.
"But we’re not here to evaluate your daughter; but you, actually, Mr Kennedy."
Leon’s brows arch up, highlighting the soft surprise that flashes across his face. The subtle shift in his expression does not go unnoticed by you.
"Didn’t know I was being evaluated," his voice trails off.
You nod in acknowledgement, sensing the man's confusion.
"You’re aware of our school assemblies, right?"
His face remains stoic, so you continue.
"Father's Day, parent-teacher meetings, career days, sports day," you list a few, hoping to spark the idea in the man’s mind.
"So," he leans back against the chair, arms folded on his chest.
With an exhale, upon your failed attempt to make him take the hint, you resolve to explaining the school rules to him.
"Our school mandates that the child’s parent or legal guardian be present at at least three of those assemblies per school year. You haven’t been present on any of them, not even last year."
He lifts his chin slightly and raises his eyebrows, eyes fixed on you with a look that suggests he's waiting for more information or an explanation.
"There’s actually a policy within out school that allows teachers to prohibit the child from participating in certain activities or events if a parent is not present–"
"–you’re kidding," Leon interjects, his tone laced with disbelief.
Raising your hand, you stop him from continuing, "and your daughter is a great student, so I don't expect that to happen to her. But with your continuous absence, she's at risk of being excluded from certain activities."
"My job keeps me busy. And I don’t really have a say in it," Leon retorts.
Arms still folded across his chest, his brows furrow in frustration. Defence sets inside his flesh; jaw slightly twitching, his eyes bore into yours.
"Maybe her mother could–"
"–not an option," he stops you before you manage to finish the sentence.
You nod in understanding. Leaving forward, you hope to appeal to Leon’s sense of responsibility a little more.
"In that case; we’re having a sports day this Friday. If you could just show up to support your daughter, I could mark it as you being present."
Leon chuckles, his voice smooth. Looking out the nearby window, he stares into the field right next to the school for a moment, deep in thought. The sunlight filtering through the window casts a warm glow on his sharp features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.
Silence passes before he speaks up, "Wouldn't a dinner suffice instead?"
You clear your throat and try to compose yourself, feeling your heartbeat pick up at the unexpected request. "That's not very appropriate, Mr Kennedy, " you say softly, attempting to hide the fluttering in your chest. "Let's see each other at the soccer match."
"Sure. I’ll see what I can do; is that all?" he asks, head turned to the side. You gaze upon the now exposed wound on his jawline, vaguely resembling a cat’s claw scratch. The bruise colors on his cheek faded over the past few days.
"Yes," you assure him.
"Y’know, this whole thing could’ve been an email."
You smile wryly, "Would you react to that email?"
Looking back at you, there’s a flicker of mischievous dancing in his eyes. Leon's gaze holds yours for a moment longer, and you find yourself drawn to the subtle crinkles at the corners of his eyes, evidence of his amusement.
"You got me there."
The sun blankets the field in gold, casting elongated shadows of the children as they scamper around in pursuit of the ball. It’s still quite early. The air’s crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and; sound of excited cheers and shouts echo throughout the surrounding area.
It’s comforting. Soothing in a way.
With a group of teachers, you watch the little girl darting across the field, her movements resembling that of a graceful gazelle as she expertly maneuvers the ball. She weaves in and out of the other players, a look of determination etched on her youthful face.
A chorus of her name echoes across the field, drifting like a wispy trail of smoke. The other kids cheer her on as she makes her way towards the goal, her tiny frame seemingly defying the laws of physics with her quick and nimble movements.
A round of applause erupts when the ball meets the back of the net. You watch as the little girl’s teammates rush to congratulate her.
"And who is that," a woman’s voice tears your gaze away from the cheerful moment, hands stopping mid-clasp.
Curious, you look at her. The other teachers already gazing to your right. To the parking lot.
Leaning against the sleek car, its design demanding attention; even from further away, he exudes an air of quiet confidence that's impossible to ignore. Eyes covered by another set of sunglasses, the same leather jacket strains against his folded arms.
Mr Kennedy.
Leon Kennedy.
Something about him always seems to draw attention; to captivate anyone who catches a glimpse of him.
It’s odd. Uncanny–
You should know better than to think in such a way about your student’s father.
–and you wonder if it’s just you who feels that way.
As the group of teachers chatter, a voice pipes up, "Is he someone's father?"
"He has to be," the conversation carries on, "or he wouldn’t be here–"
"–or he’s a creep."
Turning to face the person who said it, you scoff at the teacher before speaking up.
"He’s her dad," You nod in the direction of the girl with a beaming smile on your face, as she energetically waves at Leon. His response, though polite, is less enthusiastic, evident by the restrained movement of his hand.
Escaping the gossip, you follow the white boundary lines of the field towards your target, the soft grass crunching beneath your feet. Leon's eyes are fixed on the field, his sharp features softened by the spring glow.
But he's quick to notice your approach, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. It makes you feel naked as he shamelessly watches you coming closer.
"Mr Kennedy," you greet him.
As you approach, the warm spring breeze ruffles your hair, the sweet scent of blooming flowers mixing with his heady aroma. Posture relaxed, his broad shoulders almost blend with the darkness of the car behind him.
"Just call me Leon."
Eyes back on the field, a tinge of carelessness in his voice, a small tug on his lips. Hesitating momentarily, you put your hands in your pockets.
"I’d rather stick to being professional."
It makes him chuckle; voice rumbling with amusement–
"You’re making me feel old," he teases.
–making your chest tighten. His words brush against your ears like the gentle rustling of leaves on a cool autumn breeze.
The lightness in his tone, the hint of playfulness, stirs something deep within you.
It’s your turn to return the light laugh. The sound mingling with the chirping of birds in the distance.
"It’s good that you’re here. Your daughter seems to appreciate it as well."
Leon's eyes flicker to his daughter, still surrounded by her teammates; a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips.
"Yeah," he says, the warmth in his voice evident, "she’s been talking about this game for a week."
"She’s really talented in sports."
A cool breeze brushes against your skin as he removes his sunglasses. Eyes reminiscent of the clear waters of a mountain lake–the color seems to deepen and intensify as he looks at you, drawing you in.
"That she got from me," the corners of his mouth curve up into a charming smile. His voice deep and smooth, like a glass of well-aged whiskey. You can sense his confidence, the way he carries himself with ease, and it's hard not to be drawn in.
It's alluring. The way he exudes a sense of self-assurance.
Smiling lightly, hand resting on the cool hood of his car, you both watch the children race each other. Cheers fill the soccer fields.
Even in momentarily silence, it’s comfortable–
"Well, she certainly inherited some good genes, Mr Kennedy."
–there’s no awkward cluster around the two of you. It’s natural.
It draws Leon’s attention back to you. Arms folded, his fingers sneak around his bicep, gripping gently as he shamelessly looks at you. His face a canvas of chiseled features and sharp lines. reminiscent of a Greek statue carved out of marble. A faint scent of musk and cologne lingers around him, blending with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers in the air.
"Just so you know, miss teacher," his voice soft melody that lingers in your mind, "the dinner invitation still stands."
It’s tempting.
The words hang in the air, tantalizingly close.
A whistle cuts through the sounds of the soccer field, interrupting the moment. Leon’s attention briefly flickers towards his daughter, checking as the little girl sprints towards the two of you, before returning to your face.
"And I should remind you, Mr Kennedy, that it’s not very appropriate to ask your daughter’s teacher out."
The voice in your head keeps telling you to be professional, the thought of spending an evening with this man is hard to resist though. His confident, easy-going demeanor, the way he doesn’t give up easily–
"So? It’s just dinner," his tone is almost conspiratorial, as if he's sharing a secret with you.
–it makes you feel alive.
(Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. It’s not strictly forbidden.
Only frown upon. Harshly.)
It's like he's the sun, and you're the earth, drawn into his orbit.
"Daddy," his daughter doesn’t hesitate, jumping straight into her father’s arm; yet Leon isn’t phased at all, hoisting her into his arms, "Did you see my goal?"
"I did, pup," arm sneaking underneath her knees, you notice the bandage gone, "you killed it."
"Miss teacher," the kid addresses you, hand sneaking into her dad’s hair to hold him tightly while looking up at you with bright, curious eyes, "Did you see me? Did you see my goal?"
"Of course," you answer with a warm smile, "you did great. Seems like you got good genes for it."
The little girl beams with pride, hugging her father even tighter. Leon chuckles, the sound low and rich, and nods his head in agreement.
"I’ll see you on Monday then; pleasure seeing you, Mr Kennedy," as you turn to leave, you can't help but feel a twinge of regret.
The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by occasional laughter and the clink of glasses. The dim lighting casts a warm glow over the wooden booths and bar, giving the place a cozy feel. The smell of fried food and beer lingers in the air, adding to the ambiance of the traditional American pub.
From a corner, a live band plays classic rock tunes, and the patrons nod along to the rhythm, singing softly under their breaths. It's a perfect spot to unwind after a long workday, catch up with friends. Or even make new connections.
Your little freedom.
Away from responsibilities. From the stress of daily life.
This is your escape, your sanctuary, where you can let loose and just be yourself.
Coming to the bartender, you order another round for the group you’re with, only to be taken back by a familiar voice saying your name.
Turning to look at the man by your right, the white stripes on his jacket contrast against the dim, warm ambiance of the room. Fingers tapping on the rim of the glass of whiskey, he takes a sip, his gaze fixed on you; the amber liquid catching the light, casting a glow across his features.
"Mr Kennedy," you exhale, almost in disbelief by the sudden situation.
Mind whirling with surprise and curiosity; the bar is chill against your exposed arm as you lean onto it, turning to look at the man by your side.
"Wouldn’t expect a teacher to be in a bar on Friday night," he smirks, the corner of his lips curving up in amusement.
"We’re not as frigid as people have us to be," you replied, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips.
Voice like a smoldering flame, waiting to be ignited, he tilts the glass towards you, "Oh, really."
The allure of his presence tangible.
A gravitational pull.
"Well, Mr Kennedy," the words roll off your tongue smoothly, "I suppose we all have our ways of letting loose after a hard week."
He chuckles, the sound deep and throaty; making your pulse quicken, heartbeat pick up. "I couldn't agree more," he says, taking another sip of his drink.
You study him for a moment; taking in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, how his hair fal across his forehead in a disheveled yet stylish way. There’s something undeniably attractive about him, something that draws you in against all odds–
–like a moth to a flame.
Life has a funny way of working out.
You should stop.
But ‘should’ doesn’t exist in the moment of impulse. In the realm of desire. Pure, unblistered passion. The temptation to follow desire is too strong–
The world falls away.
–and all thought of 'should' dissipates.
Leon's hands slide around your thighs, gripping the flesh firmly as his body pushes against yours. Pinned to the wall; his lips trail the pulse of your neck. The tip of his tongue leaving wet patches on the heated skin.
The sudden intrusion of reality makes you gasp,"What about—".
It’s Leon’s hand on your breast; squeezing, teasing the clothed flesh through the thin material, thumbing at the erect nipple, that earns him a moan. His daughter’s name spilling over into a sound so soft. Inviting.
Like a hummingbird.
A content hum echoes in his chest; pressed tightly against yours. Feeling the muscles contract beneath you, respond to your movement; to the way your hips press against the growing bulge in his pants.
"—she’s stayin’ at my friend’s," he mumbles against the curve of your collarbones, teeth grazing the firm area.
With a strong grip, your fingers entangle in his hair. The texture soft and silky, like running your hands through fine threads of spun gold.
"Isn’t she young for sleepovers?"
It makes him look at you. Eyes glazed over; hungry. Primal–
He pulls you into an embrace, arm wrapping around your back, his palm cupping your ass. The heat of his body seeps through your clothing, searing your skin with its intensity, his breath ghosting over your lips as he whispers, "I really don’t wanna talk about my kid right now."
It’s a command rather than anything else.
Followed by your clothes.
He has you bare before you make up your mind.
–causing your skin to crawl.
With every touch, every whisper, every breath, he leaves you feeling more exposed, more vulnerable.
Limbs tangled together, lips pressed against each other; there’s no beginning and no end. When one begins, the other follows, like an unbroken circle of passion and desire.
Utter consumption by the fire inside you.
Leon’s hands feel scorching. Each stroke branding your skin.
He splits your apart, fills you to the brim. The head of his cock kisses the innermost parts of you as you stay seated on top of him. Nails scratching the firm muscle of his breastplate; he grips your sides. Digs his fingers into the soft, plump flesh there.
Teeth nip at your chin. Gently nibbles accompanied by your hips circling on top of him.
Cascade of groans, grunts and moans echo throughout Leon’s bedroom; each sound building on the other to create a crescendo of pleasure. The mattress beneath you creaks and strains under your knees.
Lost in the feeling.
His words a salacious melody; sung in a sultry whisper followed by his teeth, nibling at your earlobe; securing your grip on his shoulders feeling the strength of his muscles as he guides your moves.
Up and down. Up and down.
Circle your hips when your pelvis meets his. When your ass touches his thighs; when his fingers dig into the round flesh.
The rhythm builds, the tension mounting with every breath. The ache of desire deep inside, a longing that can only be sated by him. With each movement, you feel closer to the edge, your body aching for release.
Leon whispers encouragement, his voice like a caress against your skin. Head buried in the crook of your neck, your arms tighten around his shoulder. Face buried in the top of his head, the scent of him fills your senses; a heady, intoxicating aroma that envelops you in its warmth.
You breathe him in, savoring the subtle notes of bergamot and spice, the rich undertones of musk and earthiness.
Leon’s name leaves your lips in a soft, breathless moan, a prayer to the god of pleasure.
His lips brush against your collarbone, lingering there for a moment before trailing lower, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Skin erupting in goosebumps as his breath tickles your chest, your body bows like a taut bowstring, a supplication to his touch. Offering yourself up to him completely.
Hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and planes of your skin with reverent fingers. As if he knows just where to touch you.
With a strong pull and push, your back meets the hard mattress. His hands move over you like a painter's brush, each stroke bringing out a new hue of pleasure. Hips grinding against yours.
Pressing your body closer to his, chest to chest, he rocks against you. The intensity of his movements leaves you gasping for air, a low moan escaping your lips as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he continues to rut into you.
Long lost is the slow motion–
Your pelvis meets his in a harsh, demanding thrust.
–now he’s chasing his own high. His own release.
His hand slides to cup your jaw, grip your shoulder, eyes boring into yours; intense and unwavering, as if he’s trying to read your thoughts through the depth of your eyes. Consumed by the heat of you.
Head thrown back, you close your eyes; unable to match the fire in his as he grinds against you; his breaths ragged gasps, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of sheets and the slapping of skin against skin.
Leon knows he won’t last long. Not with the way your mouth remains agape, nails digging into the firm tendons of his biceps; heels digging into the flesh of his ass, pushing him deeper. Demanding him to go harder.
You just look so pretty underneath him.
Fingertips trace the warm flesh of your curves. They move slowly, mapping the supple contours of your body with precision; each touch deliberate, a way of committing the curves of your form to memory.
The sensation is electric, every nerve ending on high alert.
His thumb finds your clit, circling it with teasing precision, a feather-light touch. Pushing your hips into his, he obliges your silent demand – adding a bit more pressure with each pass. The slow, steady rhythm of his touch in bright contrast to the sharp thrusts.
Building the tension inside you, until you feel like you might burst. But he doesn't let up, not yet. He's savoring every moment, enjoying the way you writhe beneath him.
Your breath hitches, body tensing as he works you with an almost clinical precision. The ache between your legs grows, spreading through your entire body. He watches you, gauging your reactions, and adjusts his touch accordingly.
The way he focuses on you, with a singular, unwavering intensity, is both thrilling and terrifying.
As for Leon, every movement, every sound, is calculated. He wants to make this last. He wants to make you lose control.
His muscles tense as he drives into you, each thrust bringing him closer to the edge. His breaths come in short gasps, matching the rhythm of your moans. The heat between you intensifies, a physical force that binds you together.
With one final push, final flick of a thumb, he takes you over the edge, his name on your lips.
Clenching around him, walls fluttering, his thrusts grow slow. Leisurely.
As if he’s tantalizing himself. Savoring the feel before he lets go with a groan; a guttural sound that echoes through the bedroom; body spasming. The two of you entwined in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
There should be some sort of regret.
Standing by the foot of Leon’s bed, still searching for your clothes amid the scattered chaos of the apartment, covered by a random shirt you’ve found on the ground (that’s definitely not the one you’ve come with), you can’t help but be drawn to the sleeping man lying before you.
The sheets barely cover the curve of his lower back, and even in slumber, the muscles of his back remain visible; the outline of his physique remains defined and sharp, even in relaxation. The memory of his back muscles beneath your palms lingers on your skin, as if he were still present with you in that moment.
There’s no regret.
Exiting the bedroom, you walk past the kitchen into the hallway. The emptiness of the space is palpable, with nothing adorning the plain white walls; no family photos or decorations to add personality. Only the essential pieces of furniture remain. The floor creaks beneath your bare feet as you open the door closer to you–
(It’s almost like he doesn’t have anyone.
A sense of desolation creeps in you.)
–and are met with a blinding contrast to the rest of the apartment. Rainbow colored sheets neatly tucked into the small bed, pillows in shape of various animals. Light furniture covered in school supplies; and a photo decorating the nightstand.
You pick it up, immediately recognized the two people. It might be the first time you’re seeing Leon actually smile, wide and bright. Happy; with his daughter tightly wrapped in his arms. Faces pressed together, smiling at the camera.
"I hope you're not trying to steal anything," Leon's voice interrupts your reverie; low and husky, still laced by the morning sleep, "I don't have much, y’know."
As you pivot to face him, you can't resist noticing how his bare feet stand out against his fully-clothed form. Hair tousled and messy, only adding to his rugged appeal.
An irresistible wave of attraction washes over you as you scrutinize his appearance, and his playful tone only adds fuel to the fire.
"Don't worry, I'm not after your prized possessions," you reply with a smirk, feeling emboldened by his proximity.
Leon's eyes twinkle mischievously as he steps closer to you, his warm breath brushing against your cheek. "Well, in that case, what’re you after?"
"I was just looking for a bathroom."
Leon's gaze lingers on you, lips curled up in a half-smile. "The bathroom’s down the hall to the right," he points with a nod of his head.
You nod back, trying to ignore the electric sensation that courses through you at his proximity. "Thanks," you say, stepping past him towards the direction he indicated.
As you walk down the hallway, you can't shake off the feeling of emptiness that you felt earlier. It's clear that Leon lives a minimalist lifestyle, but the lack of personal touches leaves you with a sense of melancholy.
Entering the bathroom, you take a moment to splash water on your face, trying to compose yourself before facing Leon again.
His voice echoes through the small apartment as you make your way towards his voice, entering the kitchen; you're struck by how immaculate it is. Everything’s in its place, and there isn't a single dish out of place. The countertop is spotless, the sink free of any debris, the stainless-steel appliances gleam in the light.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee fills the air with the morning sun streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room.
"I’ll pick her up in an hour," Leon stands in front of the refrigerator, two mugs in one hand, bare feet making a soft thumping sound against the linoleum floor. His hair’s still tousled from sleep, his t-shirt is wrinkled, clinging to his muscles as he holds the phone to his ear.
There’s a certain charm to his disheveled appearance that you find appealing.
Looking at you, he makes no effort to stop the call, instead a playful undertones his voice as he hands you a mug and motions towards the coffee machine, "yeah, just woke up. Had a long night."
Shaking your head at his words; he watches you with a small, amused smile, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.
"See you then. Bye, Claire,” he ends the call, turning his full attention to you.
"Y’know, miss teacher," he pours himself a glass of water, "if you just wanted to skip the whole dinner thing, you should’ve just said."
Tags/warnings: smut; no y/n; infected Leon (las plagas); p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; rough sex; creampie; manhandling; Leon's a menace and this is yet another pure filth
Summary: Hidden in the village, Leon's condition keeps deteriorating; somehow, his kiss seems to ignite something deep inside you. Something primal — savage in its roots.
A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. R is for rough sex.
I sincerely apologize for this mess.
masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3
You notice the veins around his eyes growing more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. It’s as if something inside him is struggling to break free from its confines, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.
The glow of the sun filters through the gaps in the wooden walls of the shed, illuminating the space with a warm, golden light. You stand there, hidden away from the villagers (who managed to overrun you not even an hour ago), as a gentle breeze weaves through the nearby trees. It's a sweet melody that accompanies the soft whispers of the diary's pages, its newfound freshness almost palpable as you trace your fingers along its surface.
The air still carries the scent of damp wood and earth, with a hint of mustiness. The shed’s been abandoned for too long, left to the mercy of the elements. Like a forgotten tomb, filled with the memories of a long-departed soul. Neglected in its wake.
Reading page after page – each with intriguing materials hidden inside its folds, you let the ink come alive, painting vivid pictures of his observations.
July 10, 2004
Today marks another day of failed attempts at finding a cure for the outbreak in this village. The scarce resources and limited materials available make it even more challenging to uncover a solution. However, after much experimentation and observation, I finally managed to identify the mode of transmission – horizontal transmission. The virus can replicate its DNA and spread throu–
The shadow of a figure looms over the creaky door, pulling your gaze away from the passage. Your hand slinks towards the gun holster on your thigh, fingers tapping the handle with precision, safety off. You stare at the door, alert like a hawk on the prowl.
With a soft thud, the diary shuts; your senses stir in anticipation as the door opens. The hinges groan under the weight of the door. Recognizing the person entering, an exhale leaves your lips.
Leon's silhouette is backlit by the dimming light, creating a halo effect around his head. His large frame takes up almost the whole space of the door, blocking out any remaining slivers of sunlight that had managed to seep through the cracks.
He swiftly shuts the door behind him, sealing off the outside world like a fortress protecting its treasure. With practised ease, he places a chair underneath the handle, securing it.
"Shit," you cuss as you snap the safety back on the gun, "don’t try sneakin’ up on me like that again, Leon."
Leon's eyes flicker up, scanning your tense frame, alert for any signs of aggression. He nods, a wordless apology for startling you, and steps towards you with a cautious gait.
Restarting the reading, you skip through the rest of the page, flicking to the next one.
–indicates that the virus' spread is heavily influenced by the host's behavior and their relationship with the recipient.
As Leon shuffles past, the air is infused with the heady aroma of his shirt, like the sweet, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. The mustiness of its faded blue is mixed with the sharp tang of his cologne, reminiscent of the crisp bite of a green apple. He runs a hand across his smooth-shaven face, the coolness of his skin a temporary relief from the relentless fever burning inside him.
Today's findings have shed new light on the behavior of the virus. My latest analysis has revealed that the virus has a peculiar ability to alter the composition of the host's saliva. Strikingly, I discovered that infected individuals have elevated levels of–
Your eyes dart across the page, scanning the words with lightning speed. The words blur together as you scan through them with lightning speed, eager to reach the end of the entry in hopes to find a way to help Leon.
The implications of these findings are tantalizing, and suggest that the virus may be manipulating the behavior of its hosts to facilitate its own spread.
"What’re you readin’," Leon asks, stepping to your side with the knife holster dangling from his grip like a coiled snake.
The close proximity of him allows your arm to brush against his chest, the solid mass of muscle beneath his shirt a somewhat comforting presence in the chaos you’ve found yourself in. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, squeezing it gently like a reassuring pat on the back as his eyes dart towards the diary.
You don’t hesitate to show it to him, its cover slightly worn and creased from your constant handling.
"It’s some kind of a diary," you watch as Leon flips through the pages, occasionally pausing to read it, "found it in one of the houses. It’s written by–I think–a scientist who was here; Doctor Javier García."
Leon's fingers trace the faded lines, the foreign letters, as if absorbing the knowledge contained within, yet the puzzled expression on his face tells you otherwise. The rustling of pages sounds like a whisper in the quiet room as he flips through them.
"It’s in Spanish," he grumbles with a tinge of frustration, his voice breaking the tranquil atmosphere. He hands the open diary back to you before rubbing his eyes wearily.
You can't help but notice the subtle movement of dark veins around his eyes, like ink spreading across a page. They're barely perceptible, but the sight still sends a twinge of unease through you.
"Yeah, that’s why I’m here, remember? Your Spanish is shit."
Leon emits a faint chuckle, so quiet that even in the closeness of your positions, it's barely audible. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through the mass of light hair, revealing beads of sweat on his forehead. Exertion fills the air around you as he moves.
"Right," taking a step back, the soles of his shoes crunch against the first floor. You sneak a peek at his arms; the veins, network of obsidian tributaries, ripple just beneath the surface of his skin, "Right."
"Did you find out Baby Eagle’s position?" you inquire, your voice echoing through the empty space.
Leon shakes his head, causing the pushed-back hair to fall back over his face, before he speaks again in a soft, hushed tone, "No; got a call from Luis. They’re hiding in the castle." His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, and you strain to hear him.
Speaking of Luis–
Looking back at the book in your hand, you remember the last passage. The first thing you read when you were left alone in this shed.
"About Luis," you murmur, , your fingers deftly flipping through the pages until you reach the last inked page. Leon’s eyes follow your hands as you open the page, the words there shaky, the paper wrinkled and smudged with ink. It's like a relic from another time, something that has weathered the storm of time and come out the other side. Written in a hurry; but it’s there as you read it out loud, slowly translating the foreign language:
September 18, 2004
Today, another scientist arrived in this remote village. After a brief conversation about my project, he evaded my queries about his presence here. He divulged information about a private island facility and expressed a keen interest in developing a cure for the virus. However, I couldn't help but sense an underlying malice in his intentions towards the virus. I intend to find out more about this man.
Your eyes scan the smudged ink of another passage, attempting to make sense of the faded words, but it’s no use.
Back facing Leon, you speak, "That’s gotta be Luis, right?," voice filled with suspicion, "Two weeks ago, this García met Luis and now he’s gone. His personal belongings are all here - don't you think that's a little suspicious?"
A low groan interrupts your train of thought, causing you to furrow your brow.
"Leon?"
You turn around and watch as Leon stands a mere footstep before you. Palm resting on his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, you feel your heartbeat pick up; the veins now spreading like poison ivy, creating an intriguing mosaic. The ebony tendrils slither over his skin, covering his neck and sneaking inside the folds of his dirty shirt.
Another guttural growl emanates from his throat, so animalistic and raw that it sends shivers down your spine. Your hand instinctively reaches for Leon's blade, which was left on the table moments ago, while your other hand grips the wooden surface to steady yourself.
"Leon," you repeat in hopes to reach the man’s attention, "what’s wrong?"
Your attempts to reach him prove futile; you stand patiently, gaze firmly following his every movement–with a precise step, you stroll in front of him. Another guttural sound finds its way out of Leon as he moves his hands to his temples, pushing against the thin skin as if he could alleviate a headache.
As you watch, the veins around his eyes grow more prominent, twisting and pulsing like roots searching for water. Something inside him seems to be struggling to break free, a dangerous force waiting to be unleashed. With a sudden jerk, Leon looks up at you with an intense fervor; the sclera now twisted into a sickly yellow, the inky tendrils reaching towards his pupils, enveloping them in a macabre embrace.
"Leon!"
You take a step back as he lunges forward, his movements erratic and uncontrolled.
Anticipating a strike, you raise the knife, its point aimed at Leon’s upper body. Your heart jackhammer in your chest, you brace yourself for the attack; muscles coiled and ready for defence. But before you can make a move, Leon's hand is already on your wrist, his grip vice-like as he twists the blade away from you. You gasp in pain, feeling the sharp sting of the metal cutting into your skin.
The ground feels gritty beneath your feet as you struggle to maintain your balance, trying to free yourself from Leon's grasp. But the man seems to be in complete control, his movements fluid and effortless. Your heart races faster as you realize the danger you're in. This man could easily overpower you, could easily harm you if he wanted to.
A pained gasp leaves your tightening throat as Leon’s hot breath fans over your face. And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.
It’s messy. Needy.
Wet.
Taken by surprise, your mind races; struggling to make sense of what’s happening. The taste of his lips is familiar, certainly not the first time he kissed you. But never like that – and never when infected.
You can taste the slight tinge of mint on his tongue as it sneaks inside your mouth. His hands, strong and calloused, grip your jaw, tilting your head as his hips back you against the table. Leon’s body easily keeps yours restrained, his body heat almost scorching you. You can feel his every move, every twitch of a muscle, every shiver that runs down his spine. It's like being consumed by a wild, untamed force that you can't resist.
The dominance in his behavior, the way he takes control and leaves you powerless and vulnerable; it all makes your mind fuzzy. A blank canvas.
For a moment, everything fades away–
–until the realization hits you.
He’s infected.
Pressing your palms firmly against his chest, your body freezes momentarily upon feeling the taut muscles of his breastplates before you push with all your might. He barely budges. Yet, when your lips momentarily separate, you manage to call out to him one more time, "Leon!"
His eyes open. Now clear, back to the blue as a tranquil ocean on a sunny day, the agitated storm within them subsided. He looks back at you.
"I’m so sorry," he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. You can see the fatigue etched into his features, the bags under his eyes betraying his lack of sleep. As he meets your gaze, his eyes plead for your understanding.
The sound of his groan echoes in your ears as you watch him crumble before you, his once-strong body now appearing weak. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your lips, a bittersweet reminder of what has just transpired. The dust swirls around him, adding to the already chaotic scene. You can feel your heart racing, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you try to catch your breath.
"Fuck, Leon," you hurry towards him.
You kneel beside him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of consciousness. His lips, bruised and swollen, part lightly as he takes a laboured breath. You can see the pain etched on his features, the lines on his forehead deepening with each passing second.
Minutes flow as you sit by Leon’s side, watching the dark veins fade slowly as he regains his strength. His chest rises and falls steadily now, the rest of his gear lying on the table alongside your gun. You take in the sight of him, his rugged features softened in the moonlight. His hair, disheveled and covered in dust, frames his face like a wild mane, adding to his already striking appearance.
You reach out to brush a strand away from his forehead, your fingertips tracing the curve of his cheekbone, tracing the areas recently covered in ebony veins.
As you sit there, the sounds of the night surround you–the chirping of crickets, the whispering of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze washes over you, the scent of earth and foliage filling your nostrils. You take a deep breath, the freshness of the air soothing your nerves.
But despite the calming surroundings, the sensation within you is like a storm raging inside, the winds tossing and turning your thoughts. Your body feels like a furnace, burning with a heat that can't be quenched. Heart beating faster, the thumping becoming almost unbearable as your body begins to ache with a deep, pulsing desire.
You try to shake it off, thinking it's just the adrenaline still coursing through your system, but the sensation only intensifies. Focusing on the sounds of the night, hoping they’ll calm down the tempest within; but even the gentle rustling of trees sounds like a deafening roar. The once refreshing gust that swept over you now feels like a tantalizing stroke, sending your nerves alight.
Confusion sets in as you start to feel an uncontrollable need for Leon, a hunger that you can't explain. You try to push it away, but the urge grows stronger with each passing moment until it consumes you completely. You begin to tremble, feeling as if you're on the brink of losing control.
You look down at Leon, feeling both embarrassed and ashamed. The urge like a vine, coiling around your body, tightening its grip with every passing second.
Hand reaching towards Leon’s, your fingers skim over his naked palm, the gloves previously protecting his hands now discarded on the table. His skin is cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the feverish heat that consumes your own body. Just as you’re about to give in to the fear, a twitch in Leon's hand catches your attention. His fingers curl around yours, gripping them tightly. His eyes slowly flutter open, revealing a deep shade of blue that glistens in the moonlight.
"You had me worried there for a moment," you say with a tight-lipped smile, elbows resting on your knees, fingers digging into the naked flesh there.
You feel like you’re burning. Hot coals pressed into your skin.
You take in his appearance, the way his hair’s matted and sticking to his forehead. Sweat beads on his skin, a testament to the fever that has been plaguing him. His skin’s still pale, but his eyes are no longer clouded with ferocity. They seem clear, focused, and alert.
"I’m sorry," he murmurs again, but this time his voice is stronger, more resolute, "I don’t know what that was."
"Don’t be," you reply gently. You try to comfort him with your words, hoping to ease his troubled mind.
"Let’s just find you a cure."
He nods before sitting up, his movements slow and deliberate. He looks fragile, like a delicate flower that might break with the slightest breeze.
"How long was I out?"
You let out a shaky breath, relieved that he's awake. "Not long," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. Your gaze returns to him, studying his features with an intensity that you can't explain. The sharp planes of his face, the way his jaw tenses as he speaks, the curve of his lips. You try to push the thoughts away, but they persist, like a buzzing fly that won't leave you alone.
"You good to get up?"
"Yeah," Leon exhales.
Dusting the dirt off your knees, you get up and reach out, helping him prop himself up, his body leaning against yours. The heat from his skin seeps into yours, soothing the burning that has been coursing through your veins–
–which doesn’t go unnoticed.
"You’re burning up," he notes. His knuckles lightly press onto the side of your neck, against the jugular vein. Heart thumping, you swallow as you feel the uncomfortable ache between your legs only intensify the longer Leon’s hand remains on your throat.
"Your heart rate’s elevated," his hand finally leaves your skin, "something’s wrong."
With a firm grasp on your upper arm and without much struggle from your side, he beckons you onto the table decorated with all your gear. Skin pricklening with sensation as he guides you onto the table – it’s old wooden surface creaking slightly underneath your weish as you settle onto its surface, feeling the rough wood groan underneath your palms.
The firm press of his hands on your ribcage is like a spark to a fuse, igniting a flame within you. The heat spreads throughout your body, intensifying with each passing moment. You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the wave of desire that threatens to consume you.
"I’m alright," you assure him, trying to maintain your composure; yet you allow him his hands to roam over your body as if you were actually hurt.
Leon's eyes bore into yours, intense and unwavering. His sharp gaze betrayed his concern, a worry etched into the creases of his forehead. You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that he was only looking out for you.
As you gaze at him, you notice the veins slowly returning to his skin; slowly faded over, the pinkish hue underneath his eyes seems to conceal them, but only from afar. Up close, you can see the delicate tracery of veins pulsating just beneath the surface of his skin.
"Are you sure?"
There’s worry evident in his voice as he rests his palms next to yours, enclosing you in his arms.
The weight of his touch’s comforting your heating body.
Your hand moves like a feather, tracing the intricate network of veins spreading across the contours of his face; his eyes flicker down, on your legs, as you stay mesmerized (and slowly being consumed by the raw power of your desire) by the way the veins seems to gain color, fill into the same darkness they were before, underneath your touch. As if they were following your lead.
Leon’s breath quickens as you continue. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the growing tide of desire that threatens to overwhelm you, but it's no use.
Leon's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and unwavering as the color regains its sickly yellow tone, thin black veins dancing inside his irises like ink on paper. You can see the concern there, the worry that something might be wrong, but you also see something else. Something that sends a thrill through you despite the situation. He's looking at you like he wants you, like he's been waiting for this moment for ages.
The air thinkens with a palpable tension as you both hold each other’s gaze, lost in the charged atmosphere between you. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the electricity in the air, the way your heart races in your chest.
"I’m fine," a faint breath leaves your parted lips when your thumb reaches the slightly wider black vein leading towards his lower lip.
Everything after that seems like a haze. As if you’re observing from afar. Watching a play unfold from the balcony. Detached.
Your lips lock with Leon’s with a wild, raw passion.
It’s fervent.
Intense and fueled by a primal yearning that’s been brewing inside you ever since he kissed you a mere hour ago. Your hands grip Leon’s shoulders, steadying yourself against the mass of muscle standing between your legs.
His kisses are searing – cardinal, almost animalistic and completely uncontrolled; fueled by crude desire that seems to consume him fully. He kisses you with reckless abandon, as if he can't get enough of you. His lips are hot and wet against yours, his breath ragged, and you can feel his heart pounding in his chest as he presses himself against you. It's like he's trying to meld his body with yours, to become one with you, and the sheer intensity of it all is almost too much to bear.
Leon’s hand roam over your body with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. Guttural, deep grunts reverberate through your body.
Hands reaching between your bodies, you tug at the shirt covering his torso – the fabric slides over his head like a curtain revealing a work of art. Taut muscles and veins ripple beneath his skin; your eyes pierce into his chest, the mosaic of black veins creating a network of rivers.
As you trace your fingertips over his skin, every nerve ending seems to come alive, humming with a primal energy that electrifies your senses. The heat emanating from his body is like a flame, casting flickering shadows across the walls of the room; his skin’s like silk, soft to the touch, but strong and sturdy underneath.
The scent of sweat and musk fills your nostrils, overwhelming and intoxicating, pulling you in even closer to him. It's like a drug, addicting and heady, and you can't seem to get enough of it. As you run your hands over his chest, feeling the muscles ripple under your touch, you can feel yourself losing control, your body responding to his in the most sensuous way.
Your shirt soon follows Leon's, falling to the ground in a heap as you find yourself back in the kiss. It's like a symphony of tangled limbs, gasping breaths, and frenzied moans, each one building on the last until you're both lost in a wild, primal dance.
"Fuck–"
Everything seems brumous.
A cloud of haze covering your brain.
Feeling the wetness pool between your legs, heart beating heavy and strong against your ribcage, Leon’s name escapes your mouth as his lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses in their wake; the scrape of his teeth against your skin, nails digging into the flesh of your hips.
As Leon's fingers trace the contours of your curves, the sound of your ragged breaths fills the room, intermingling with the sound of his own. You find yourself lost in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers seem to know exactly where to go, where to press, where to tease.
Your bodies collide with a force that leaves you gasping for air. Like the collision of two stars, sending shockwaves through the universe.
Unbridled desire. Wild, untamed dance of bodies.
No longer two separate beings, but a single entity, fused together in a frenzy of passion.
Leon's hands move with a speed and precision that makes your head spin, as he undresses you with an urgency that feels primal. His lips, soft yet insistent, cover yours in a heady, dizzying kiss that leaves you breathless.
It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and all-consuming–
–addicting.
The room spins as you lose yourself in the frenzy of desire. Every touch, every kiss, every breath ignites a fire deep within you, a hunger that can only be sated by this man before you.
His fingers find your cunt–wet, completely soaked as if you’ve already being fucked; yet he hasn’t even touched you.
"Jesus Christ," Leon groans upon the feeling of your slick walls enveloping his fingers, "you’re already soaked."
Head tilted back, your hips buck into his hand as he traces the length of your cunt, pressing his thumb against your aching clit. Pain shoots up your body, spreading like venom. It's almost too much, the intensity of it all, but you find yourself craving more, unable to resist the addictive pull that Leon has over you.
Sweet as poison.
A plague.
The tension in your muscles melts away with each inch of Leon’s fingers sinking inside you; a groan escapes your lips as sense of release washes over you; the tension in your body melts away, like ice thawing under a warm sun. Eyes closed, you focus on the sensation of Leon’s fingers pushing deeper, stretching you in a way that feels both strange and satisfying.
Your mind is clouded with a dizzying cocktail of lust and desire as Leon takes control, his touch igniting a fierce hunger that you can't ignore.
Your hand grips his hair, feeling the strands slipping between your fingers like silk. You pull him towards you, wanting to be as close to him as possible. His eyes meet yours, and you see the intensity in them, a hunger that matches your own.
"Fuck me, Leon—"
The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think. Your body has taken over, consumed by a desire that you can no longer control.
—you just can't help yourself anymore.
As Leon strips down, piece by piece, you find yourself drawn to the way his body moves with such fluidity. Your eyes take in every inch of him, from the rippling muscles to the way the light dances across his skin. Leon’s body completely covered by the system of ebony veins, your eyes following the lines for a second.
It's as if his body was made to be admired, and you find yourself doing just that.
The vulnerability of the moment is not lost on you, and the thrill of it all sends a jolt of excitement racing through your veins. Here you are, both of you completely naked, with nothing to hide. It's as if you've shed your layers of clothing and your inhibitions along with it, leaving only raw desire in its wake. The air between you is charged, electrified with anticipation and lust, and you can't wait to explore every inch of him.
Leon follows your order. Hand wrapping around his throbbing cock, your legs spread wider to accomodate his hips. Your eyes fixate on the thick, pulsating vein that runs along his length, now pitch black in color; like a lightning strike, surrounded by smaller ebony veins.
With each pump of his hand, the bulging head glistens with precum, taunting your hungry cunt.
His name leaves your mouth in a gasp as the tip brushes against your slick folds, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire and a hint of mischief, as he teases your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His hips move forward, the tip disappearing inside you, stretching you wide with a delicious ache.
His arm reaches forward; guiding you down to lie onto the rough surface of the wooden table as he slowly splits you apart. The bark of the table scratches against your skin, adding an edge to the pleasure that courses through your body.
Once fully buried inside you, he stills.
Only momentarily.
As he sinks deeper, Leon's hand finds your collarbone, securing his grip. The roughness of his thumb grazes the sensitive skin of your throat as his hand sneaks underneath your knee to bring your legs higher – wrapping them around the narrow of his waist, you urge him deeper while wrapping your fingers around his forearm, feeling the muscles tense, veins darken.
Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into Leon's eyes, now obscured by the black veins that writhe across the blue irises. The intensity of his gaze burns through you, stoking the flames of your desire to a fever pitch.
With a fierce growl, he ruts against you. Wild.
Leon’s a primal force, a beast unleashed, and you revel in the raw, savage power of his movements. His grip on your collarbone is almost painful, but you crave the sensation, the way it anchors you to the earth as he pounds into you with abandon.
Like an animal focused on breeding; there’s nothing but pure ferocity in the way his hips snaps against you–
– and you welcome it. Meeting his thrust.
The rough bark of the wooden table digs into your skin, but you barely register the pain as waves of pleasure wash over you.
Letting him absolute ravage you. Bring you to the brink of ecstasy way too soon. The smooth, velvety skin of his cock slides in and out of you, hitting all the right spots with unerring accuracy. You can feel the heat building inside you, the coil of pleasure winding tighter until it's all you can do to hold on.
The sight of him, his eyes dark and wild, the veins snaking across his skin like living things, only serves to stoke the fire inside you Moans mix with guttural noises; grunt, growls. Everything mixes together in one dance of primal breed.
Cock-drunk.
Fucked stupid.
That’s how you’d described the feeling when his thumb presses against the front of your throat, hooks underneath the necklace he gave you to your first anniversary.
String of curses, incoherent sentences and something vaguely resembling your name leaves Leon’s lips, painted over with black veins, eyes wide open and staring straight at you. His hand moves to toy with your clit; yet just the single flick, the rough touch uncoils the tightness inside your abdomen. Mouth open, back arched, a silent scream pushes itself out your throat.
But Leon doesn’t stop. The way your walls flutter, squeeze his cock only add to the primarity of it all. Securing his hand behind your neck, he lifts your body up, lips connecting with yours in a heated kiss as his thrusts increase.
A pathetic whine leaves your lips when he pulls back completely. Hands gripping your sides, you gasp when he single-handedly turns you around. Pain shoots through your body as he slams back inside you in one single thrust.
The table creaks and groans beneath the weight of your bodies as Leon relentlessly pounds into you.
His hips meet the flesh of your ass every time his cock kisses your womb – at least that’s how deep he feels. The air thick with the scent of sex, you groan when Leon’s hands grip your hips, forcefully pulling you towards his snapping hips to meet his thrust.
Slick with sweat, you can feel his body heat radiating against your own.
You reach one hand behind you in a feeble attempt to feel him underneath your palms. Nails digging into the wood, your fingers manage to sneak into his hair; grabbing a fistful, you force his face towards yours.
The muscles in your neck strain painfully as you tilt your head to the side to connect your lips in a teeth-clashing kiss – all while Leon’s hand sneak to tease your oversensitive clit while the other covers your hand on the table.
Meeting his thrusts, you stay in rhythm as you feel your high approaching again. Spreading your legs more apart, arching your back, the new angle allows Leon to hit deeper. To split you apart.
"Fuck!"
The pain mixes with pleasure, and you can't help but cry out in ecstasy.
"Oh my god–"
His teeth sink into your flesh, the stinging ache sends you over the edge. It feels almost as if he managed to break the skin atop. With each thrust, it felt like he was hammering against the tight seal of her womb, trying to break through it with sheer force.
The room echoes with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he relentlessly pounds into you. His cock feels like a battering ram, delivering a punishing blow with every thrust. You can feel the impact reverberate through your body, causing you to shudder and gasp for air. It's as if he's trying to breach the walls of your very being, to leave his mark on you in the most primal and intimate way possible.
"Fuck; Leon–’m gonna cum–gonna–"
You feel your cunt pulce around him, like a drumbeat racing against his teeth sinking into your delicate skin. A surge of ecstasy floods your veins, a heady cocktail of pleasure and victory that weighs heavily on your mind like an anchor.
You arch your back, pushing against his chest and whispering his name into the frosty night air as his thrusts become unsteady.
Leon's tongue traces the bite mark he left on you, hands gripping you tightly as he drives himself deeper into your slick heat. His groans mix with the sound of flesh smacking together, his balls slapping against your wetness with each thrust. You cry out as he sends you spiraling into another wave of pleasure.
As he moves inside you, you can feel every inch of him. His muscles ripple against your skin and his breath is hot on your neck. His hands grip you tightly, pulling you closer and deeper onto him.
You convulse around him, your body responding to his every touch. His groans intensify, as he thrusts even harder into you, giving into the raw passion between you. He pulses deep inside of you, filling you up with his warmth.
"Fuck!"
As he moans out your name, his lips trace a path across your skin leaving a trail of wetness. You can feel the heat emanating from his hands as he grips you tightly, branding you with his touch. His body trembles as he savors the last remnants of pleasure, and the evidence of his desire stains your insides like a lustrous sheen of polished marble.
He’s branded you inside and out.
Infected you with his venom.
Your skin is hypersensitive to his touch, as if each nerve is its own entity, firing off signals that jolt through your entire body. The dull ache of pleasure and pain radiates from the points where he grips you, leaving you feeling like a canvas painted in shades of blue and purple–
–and black.
As his weight presses down on you, you feel a dull ache spread through your body, every nerve ending alive and sensitized from his touch. You can still feel the ghostly imprint of his fingers on your skin, branding you with his touch.
His forehead is hot against your shoulder, the dampness of his breath tickling your skin as he rides out the last waves of his release. Each thrust feels like a punch to your gut, leaving you reeling and gasping for air.
The sticky wetness between your thighs is a testament to his desire, a reminder of how deeply he claimed you as his own. You feel the pulse of his spent cock still buried inside you.
Your gaze follows the lines of black veins snaking up his forearm, a stark contrast to his now pinkish skin. You watch as they slowly fade from sight, disappearing like a memory slipping away. Each movement feels heavy, weighted down by the aftermath of his passion.
After a while, Leon finally withdraws from you, a pang of loss echoes through your body, leaving you empty and longing for more of his touch. The heat of his body lingers on yours, branding you with his mark and making it hard to differentiate where his skin ends and yours begins.
You close your eyes, still feeling the ghostly touch of his lips and fingers on your skin, as if he's imprinted himself upon you forever. The room is filled with the heavy scent of sex, a reminder of the raw passion that just transpired.
Tags/warnings: smut (pure unfiltered filth, no plot); voice kink; p-in-v sex; unprotected sex; female gendered anatomy; female masturbation; fingering; cunnilingus; established relationship; no y/n; references to Christianity and ferocity; extensive wordplay
Summary: It's been known that Leon is one kinky bastard.
A/N: Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. N is for narratophilia aka being aroused by sexual storytelling.
Tried something a little bit different to explore my knowledge of English. A wordplay of sorts (I basically threw random words together in hopes that it'd make some sense). Bon Appetit.
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“You enjoying yourself?”
As Leon discards his gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity.
“If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”
It started as a joke, a fleeting spark in the sea of banter. Leon’s flirtatious nature entwined in perfect harmony with his tender heart.
Fresh out of the shower, your heart longed for the man whose sudden departures have become routine. A standard in your life.
The sun made its final descent below the horizon, the sky painted in shades of amber and gold – the bedroom awash in a warm and inviting glow, as if every object was kissed by the sun's final rays. The light filtered through the sheer curtains, creating patterns on the floor that danced like flickering flames.
And in the midst of it all, Leon's call came through, cutting through the stillness.
The conversation began innocently. Calling to let you know he’ll be home soon. It was as though his tenderness was butterfly's wings, fluttering in your chest and making your heart skip a beat.
His sincere words slowly spilt over into something else. Something more. Something promising.
It’s now that the phone lies next to your ear, and Leon's voice, like a silk ribbon, unwinds into your consciousness, stirring a deep and primal desire within you. Building the anticipation need inside you.
“After that, I’d bent you over the table. You’d already be naked and dripping,” Leon’s voice a song of Solomon, “but I’d be far from done with you.”
A gasp, soft and quiet, escapes your parted lips. Every fibre of your body, every cell is set on fire. The setting sun casting flames over your naked skin of yours. Flesh burning. Body wrapped in a cocoon of passionate flames – your palm pressing against the sensitive nub, the pressure light as a feather. Slow, languid strokes of your fingers follow Leon’s words.
Muscles tightening as the pressure keeps adding with each sentence. Slow and steady. With a pace of a gentle stream. Dipping one finger deep inside your slick walls, only to stop when you reach fully inside.
A stream of docile moans flows from your throat.
“Just to feel you take my cock. Hear those gorgeous gasps as you beg me to give it to you,” hand gripping the messed-up sheets underneath you, squeezing tight as you add another finger, curling them upwards.
“Rough, just how you like it. Pretty sure we’d break the table,” Leon’s words are accompanied by a light chuckle, hiding much more sinister and vivid ideas inside his head.
The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him cuss. Your voice carries the weight of longing, desire, and devotion. Making Leon wish to finally be home.
“Fuck. Could spend all day between those lovely legs of yours.” Leon’s voice descends to a low murmur, tinged with raw, feral hunger.
With a touch as tender as a butterfly’s wing, thumb circling the aching nub of nerves; it ignites a wildfire of ecstasy within your body. As you lightly graze your opening, feeling the softness of your slick walls, a delicate gasp escapes your mouth, akin to a prayer of submission to this moment of pure passion and pleasure.
“Just to taste that pretty pussy of yours on my tongue.”
Leon's voice pours into the phone, rich and sinful. You hear the front door open with a soft creak, the sound echoing through your body. He's finally home, his presence filling your senses with a heady aroma of musk and lust, a tantalizing potion that you can't resist.
He gazes at you with eyes like storm clouds brewing with desire. The air is thick with the scent of sex and your yearning, hanging in the dimly lit bedroom, resembling a heavy fog. You keep your gaze locked with his, transfixed as Leon strides in, his figure outlined by the glow of light seeping in from the hallway.
You don’t stop–
–instead, your fingers delve deeper. Nails grazing the tender walls, the slight discomfort only adding to the pleasure. Like a deer caught in headlines, your eyes stay on his.
The sound of your slickness echoes in the room as you thrust in and out, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Leon's steps – left in, right out, left in, right out – a dance of carnal desire.
And just like that, he stands on the side of the bed.
Leon’s eyes gleam with a fierce intensity. A perfect blend of predatory sensuality and effortless ease. With the grace of a pather; clad in a black henley shirt, the first two buttons undone, exposing the slight curve of his clavicles. It molds to his chiseled form as though it was a second skin, making Leon exude a primal magnetism that draws you closer to your high.
Spellbound by the scene in front of him – by you; fingers deep inside, eyes glazed over with orgasmic ecstasy as your work yourself to your high.
The air is thick with the sweet scent of your desire, a heady aroma that fills his senses with an overwhelming urge to indulge in your rapture.
He steps closer, placing one knee on the bed. The mattress creaks under his weight, but his gaze never leaves yours. It's as if you're the only person in the world that matters to him right now. The heat emanating from his body is palpable, and you feel your heart race as his presence commands the room.
“You enjoying yourself?”
His tone is low. A seductive purr sends a wave of electricity through your veins. Hot like molten lava. Dripping like honey, sweet and luscious. They linger in the air, coating everything around you with a sticky warmth.
His name leaves your lips in a deep sigh. Soft walls squeeze your fingers.
As he discards his fingerless gloves, casting them aside like insignificant relics, you feel the pillow crumple beneath his weight. A testament to the force of his being. The air feels sizzling hot, thick with heat and suffocating in its intensity.
Leon’s arm flexes, the sinewy muscles bulging when put to work. Your eyes lock onto his, drinking in the raw masculinity and primal allure of his being. A contented moan escapes your lips, an instinctive reaction to the overwhelming sensuality of the moment.
“If I knew my words would get you so riled up,” his other hand cups your breast, thumb circling the erected nipple and watching as goosebumps rise over the sensitive skin, “I’d do this much sooner.”
His towering form casts a shadow over you as he leans closer. Lips so close you can almost taste the desire that emanated from him. The heat of his breath dances across your skin, making your senses swirl in a dizzying haze of lust; igniting a fire that burns with the intensity of Samson's strength.
“Wanna gimme a kiss?” he whispers, his lips almost brushing against yours. You’re still able to feel the soft graze of the plump skin atop of yours, sending a fluttering sensation to your heart.
You can't help but feel intoxicated by his voice, each word rolling off his tongue with a silky smoothness that sends shivers down your spine. It's almost like he's casting a spell, using his voice as a weapon to ensnare you in his grasp. And you willingly surrender, caught in the web of his honeyed words; like Delilah, powerless to his will, swept away by the power of his seduction.
Lips grazing his, you push your face upwards to be closer. The kiss is both gentle and fierce; a tantalizing dance of lips and tongues that leaves you breathless and wanting more. The taste of him a mix of mint and spice. You stop the movement of your wrist between your legs. Stilling, feeling the wet squeeze around your fingers, your mind becomes a blank canvas, a vast expanse of nothingness.
The taste of him lingers on your tongue as he pulls away. Thick fingers wrapping around your wrist, he nudges your fingers out of you. A displeased grunt leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness. Only to have your breath stop; watching as Leon brings your hand, fingers visibly sticky with your juices, tongue swirling around the tip of your index finger before taking two of the fingers in his mouth. It’s as if he’s tasting the forbidden fruit, savoring the flavor of your arousal like the sweetest nectar.
Feeling the wet tip of his tongue swirl around your fingers, you can’t help but let out a soft moan. The rough texture brushes over the pads of your fingers. Licking every drop of you off of your fingers, leaving them clean before he licks his own lips.
“Missed that taste.”
His eyes never leave yours, dark and intense with desire as he slowly releases your hand.
“Missed you almost that much too.”
His words wash over you like a warm embrace, seeping into your pores and settling deep within your bones. As his body moves over yours, his hands glide across the burning expanse of your skin, tracing patterns of passion that leave you breathless in anticipation. The soft touch of his lips on your navel sends ripples of pleasure through your body, each sensation building on the last until you're gasping for air.
Leon sinks to his knees at the end of the bed; his movements smooth and graceful. Years of never-ending training left him in full control of every muscle. Arms sliding underneath your knees, he holds you firmly as he grips your hips with unyielding strength.
A single tug. Confident in its prosecution. He brings you to the edge of the bed, your glistening cunt hovering in front of his face. The sight of him there, between your legs, both captivating and overwhelming.
The wet tip of his tongue peaks from within his kiss-bruised lips.
Before you know it, you’re completely undone. A mess. Leon's tongue turns your body into a temple of pleasure; his movements sinuous and calculated. With each flick and swirl of his tongue, he's coaxing you to heights of ecstasy.
His tongue traces every inch of your throbbing cunt, flicking and teasing your clit as you squirm beneath him, one hand grasping his soft hair while the other squeezes your breast. His fingers, thick and rough, plunge deep inside of you, finding all the right spots to drive you wild. Each thrust of his hand sends jolts of pleasure through your body, making you moan and writhe with need.
"Such a fucking filthy little thing," he growls against your skin, the heat of his breath making you shiver. He devours you with his mouth and hands, taking you to the brink of ecstasy and back again; fingers scissoring and pumping, working you over until you're a quivering mess of desire.
The blunt pressure of the tips of his fingers pressing mildly against your inner walls sending pinnacles of bliss across your body until you’re mewling at the sharp pleasure that ripples down your spine.
You claw at the sheets, unable to control the waves of sensation that crash over you.
And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you let yourself go, your body convulsing in waves of pure pleasure. Ecstasy; Leon’s name a sweetened melody on the tip of your tongue.
He stands up afterwards, a towering figure before your eyes. Your aching legs fall from his shoulders onto the bed. Leon looms over you, appearing almost god-like, a divine being sent to ravage you with its passion.
Disposing of his shirt, you lay on the bed motionless, senses on high and in anticipation as you watch the man strip. With every article of clothing that comes off, Leon’s body reveals itself in all its glory. Shoulders and chest sculptured, shaped by years of intense training. Someone who’s worked hard to achieve such a physique. Rippling muscles that flex with every movement he makes. His arms thick with veins and biceps that bulge with raw strength, capable of holding you up effortlessly. You can see every ridge of his abs, each one chiseled to perfection.
“Enjoyin’ the view?” he rasps after ridding himself of the last article while you shamelessly stare at Leon’s sheer size and the strength of him.
“Very much,” you breathe out when he crawls on top of you.
His cock rests atop your stomach, heavy and pulsing with need; leaking as he marks you in his precum. Yet, neither of you moves. Unbothered, you remain locked in his gaze before his lips capture yours in a short passionate kiss. Drawn together by the irresistible pull of gravity, your lips meet in a collision of desire and longing.
Legs wrapping high around his waist, his hand leaves the side of your neck and travels the side of your body, igniting a trail of heat as it goes. Leon strokes the length of your thigh, only stopping when his fingers rest under your knee momentarily. Then you feel the blunt tip press against your aching cunt. The anticipation inside you unravels like a tightly wound spool, releasing a flood of sensations that spreads throughout your body.
“Ready?” he breathes out; his warm breath tickles your skin as his lips brush against yours once again.
The silky texture of his hair brush against your fingertips. Legs tightening around his upper body, you pull him closer to you. “Yeah.”
The pressure against your throbbing cunt intensifies as Leon presses forward. The crown of his cock splits you open with ease, enveloping him. Welcoming him eagerly in your wet heat. As if he belongs there.
Leon’s touch’s electric, sending shivers down your spine as he claims you with each bite and kiss. His teeth graze your chin, softly nibbling at the skin as he lets out a guttural grunt. Keeping one hand on the side of your neck, possessive and tender, surely to feel the rapid pulse of your jugular vein, he hooks his thumb underneath your jaw and pushes upwards.
When your head is tilted upwards enough to his satisfaction, his lips latch on the front of your neck. Small, quick bites decorate the stretched skin. Followed by a wet kiss, he sucks on the skin. Vulnerable and exposed.
Moans cascade from your lips, an ode to his cock splitting you apart slowly. A divine intrusion into your depths, filling you.
He stills when he’s buried balls deep inside of you; bottoms out in your quivering walls, slick with post-orgasmic arousal.
The feeling of fullness, of being completely filled, is almost too much to bear. Your breath hitches in your throat, body trembling with pleasure as it strains to accommodate him; to make enough space to take him in.
Your eyes flatter shut as he waits, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck while his hand cups the underside of your breast with his thumb teasing your nipple in a leisurely manner.
A moment of content falls between you. Bodies molded together; two halves of a whole.
After a few seconds, you press the sole of your feet into his skin, feeling the taunt muscle contract underneath you.
A subtle but unmistakable gesture. A wordless plea for more.
A fuck me of sorts.
Your body speaks volumes, a language he's learned to decipher. And with a low growl, he responds to your invitation. A low roll of his hips. A test of your readiness. It becomes a measured beat that tests your strength, the pressure of his cock firmly pressed against the walls of your cervix.
It has you sent into a harmonious frenzy.
Leon continues with the rhythm. Relishing in the tight squeeze of your cunt, in the way you sing for him, his name a sacred hymn on your lips. Your body responds eagerly to his touch, every nerve ending on fire as pleasure courses through you.
His hands sear a blazing trail on your burning flesh. Every touch feels as if he’s branding you, etching himself onto your skin.
The wetness of his lips causes goosebumps to raise on your skin. Moving like a reverent prayer. Worship of your body as his tongue swipes over your sensitive nipples.
Your name escapes his lips and is met with a low moan.
Tantalizing and peaceful.
Leon’s unhurried movements slowly transform into something more. Rough and hasty. Teeth nibbling at your jawline, feeling the bone underneath the skin, your nails bite into the tight muscle of his shoulder blades. Surely to leave indents that will bloom into bruises and marks. Your back arch, offering yourself up to him as you focus on meeting his thrusts.
As his hand wanders down the length of your body, his fingers dance along the curves of your waist and hips before grazing the globes of your ass; giving it a rough squeeze before wrapping his fingers under your knee and pulling away from your neck.
Meanwhile, his other hand braces his body weight by your face. Leon’s fingers entwine around your ankle. Pushing your leg up and over his shoulder, you moan over the painful stretch of your hamstring as he gazes at you.
He moves with a frenzied urgency. Lowering himself to rest on his elbows, his fingers find their way to your clit.
The way he flicks over the sensitive nub elicits a series of moans and cries from you only to be silenced by his lips crashing onto yours.
The kiss is wet and messy. Hungry. Both of you eager to take and dominate, his tongue dancing with yours in a frenzied manner.
It's like he's a man possessed, lost in the rhythm of his movements and the feel of your body beneath him. You writhe and moan, lost in a haze of sensation and desire as he takes you higher towards that ultimate release. That sweet orgasm. Every motion is a symphony, a perfect blend of power and finesse, as he explores the contours of your body with a deep hunger.
Mind becoming blurry, your senses are consumed by the raw, primal desire Leon elicits with his thrusts. Moving to brace himself better, it feels impossible when you feel the blunt pressure hit even deeper than before. Gasping, you move your hips, trying to take him as deep as possible.
The smell of sweat and sex fills the air, and you can hear the sound of skin slapping against the skin as Leon moves with increasing speed and intensity. His determination to tear you apart only grows each time your hips meet, sending bolts of electricity throughout your every cell. His thumb flicks over your clit, applying pressure and circling the aching bud until you’re quivering underneath the mass of a man above you. Inside you.
The sound of his grunts and moans blends into a symphony of pleasure, each note building up the tension within you. You feel like a volcano on the brink of eruption, bubbling with molten passion until it finally snaps. Erupts.
A tidal wave of pleasure washes over you. Sweeping you in a vortex of delight. A thousand stars explode in your mind, each one brighter than the last, painting your vision with vibrant colors. Your body convulses, spasming in rhythm with the waves of pleasure that ripple through you.
Gasps leave your lips. Desperate for air, you cling to Leon, whose thrusts never wavered. Whose fingers continue to tease your clit, now throbbing and exploding with sensitivity. His eyes lock on yours, lips parted with low moans escaping from between before you bring his face down to you, swallowing each cry of pleasure but eventually, he pulls away.
You watch as Leon’s eyes snap shut, brows furrowing in pleasure as he stills. His full length buried inside of your spasming cunt, filling you up with his cum.
Your body’s spent. Yet your mind’s still reeling from the sheer intensity as Leon remains buried inside; his breath ragged and uneven before he pulls out with measured slowness, teasing your oversensitive clit with a gentle tap. You shudder at the sensation of him trickling out of you.
“Hi.”
The simple word leaves your mouth in a breathless whisper. A mere welcome that was meant to be addressed when he first entered your home instead of now. A warmth spreads through your body, settling low in your belly as you take in the sight of him; the way his blond hair falls across his forehead, resembling a halo of an angel. Cheeks tinted in light pink and lips curved into a small smile as he looks at you.
Tags/warnings: domestic fluff; established relationship; implied and mentioned smut; kissing; slightly sub!Leon; canon compliant; pre-canon; 2nd POV; no y/n; purely self-indulgent; leon being written by hozier
Summary: It's mornings like these, bathing in the warm golden glow of the rising sun, his hands wrapped tightly around you, that you cherish the most.
or; you and Leon spend the last morning together.
A/N: Partly inspired by @creativepromptsforwriting's Twenty-Four Touches; prompt 8: An arm sneaking around a waist, holding them close.
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Beneath you, he’s a masterpiece. A work of art. Canvas to be explored. And you, the artist, the only one with the privilege to appreciate the beauty before you.
It’s moments like these that make your heart bleed with longing, the knowledge that this can't last forever. But for now, you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring every touch and caress, every kiss and nip.
The feeling never fades, no matter how hard you try to bury it. It lingers in the recesses of your mind like a relentless drumbeat. Every step you take, every choice you make, brings you back to the same gnawing question – is this what you truly want from life?
It's been haunting you for as long as you can remember, from the days when you had to choose which school to attend. The urge to explore, to roam the world like a restless spirit, has been with you since childhood. You long to escape, to be no one and nothing, but a wandering soul, free to roam wherever your heart desires.
The crossroads stretch endlessly, a maze of choices and uncertainties. Days blur together in a monotonous routine, each one a carbon copy of the last. The worst part is leaving him behind, the one person who makes you feel alive in a world that can feel suffocating. You long to tell him everything, to unburden your soul and share your deepest fears. But the words stick in your throat, choked back by the fear of rejection.
His heart beats slow and steady against your ear. You trace the soft tissue of his breastplate with your fingertips, committing every detail of him to memory. For now, this is where you belong – in his arms, in this moment of fleeting bliss. His naked skin nuzzled into your side; you feel like you could easily live like that forever.
With him by your side.
Young and reckless.
As the first rays of dawn break through the window, casting a warm golden glow across the room, you stir from your slumber. Sitting up, you let the covers slip past your bare chest; shivering momentarily as the morning air dances across your naked flesh. Leon stirs beside you, his eyes still closed as he reaches out, his hand resting on your thigh. Fingers digging into the skin there, thumb tracing lazy shapes over your hip bone.
Leon’s hand continues its ascent, moving up your body like a serpent, coiling tightly around its prey. He tugs backwards, his chest a soft cushion against your back.
"Good morning," he rasps, his voice still heavy with sleep. You turn in his embrace, hands sneaking into the mess on top of his head as he reciprocates the embrace, both hands sneaking around your hips to secure you closer.
A wave of contentment washes over you as you feel the softness of his hair beneath your fingers. You can't help but let out a contented sigh as his lips explore your neck, his teeth playfully grazing the sensitive skin. Every touch feels like a spark of electricity, igniting your senses and filling you with a sense of bliss.
"How did you sleep?" he murmurs against your skin. Wet lips trailing a path along the curve of your suprasternal notch, leaving a glistening trail of warmth that tickles your senses. Fingertips as gentle as a feather dance over your spine.
You chuckle softly, the sound rumbling in your chest. "Like a baby, with you by my side."
The rough texture of his jawline presses into the softness of your palm as you cup his face, tilting it towards you. Leon's eyes are half-lidded, still drowsy from sleep, yet there's a glint of affection in them; love even. Beneath the pad of your thumb, his lips curve into a sleepy smile, plump and inviting like a ripe peach. Memories of last night flood your mind, and you can't help but let your thumb trace the outline of his mouth, savoring the feel of his skin against your fingertips.
The sound of your name escaping from his lips was like a reverent hymn. His fingers digging into your thighs, leaving marks that you could feel for hours afterwards. The way he held you tightly, pressing his body against yours, and whispered hot breath onto your neck. The kisses he planted on your lips; passionate, almost violent, fuelled by a primal desire that consumed you both. The scent of sweat and sex filling the air, a heady aroma that made your heart race. Your body on fire, completely consumed by the passion and lust that Leon had ignited within you.
Leon’s teeth bite into your fingernail. A playful gesture that makes your lips turn upwards. His hand sneaks around the back of your neck to bring you closer. You can feel his warmth radiating against you, and you can’t resist burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin; the warm musk of his skin.
Beneath you, he’s a masterpiece. A work of art. Canvas to be explored. The gentle curve of his spine, the sharp lines of his collarbone, the delicate slope of his shoulder blades, all begging to be traced by your fingertips. The morning light illuminates his skin, casting a soft, tender glow over his form. And you, the artist, the only one with the privilege to appreciate the beauty before you.
It’s moments like these that make your heart bleed with longing, the knowledge that this can't last forever. But for now, you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring every touch and caress, every kiss and nip.
Leon’s lips move to capture yours, only to be stopped by the palm of your hand. Eyes wide and questioning, the bright blue of his eyes was like the dazzling sunlight on a clear day.
“Not until you brush your teeth,” you mumble, the words a playful jab. Gently pushing your naked form forward, your lips press a soft kiss onto his forehead, leaving behind a trail of warmth.
His hand, strong and calloused, catches yours in a tender grasp. The light dances in his eyes as he watches you move, admiring every curve and line of your body. It's as if he's seeing you for the first time, and he can't get enough.
Fingers intertwining, you flash a loving smile before slipping away towards the bathroom. The cool floorboards a shock against your warm skin. His touch lingers on your skin; a trail of stardust, each particle a memory of the sparks that flew between you.
His arms sneak around you, tight as a bear hug, while his chin rests on your shoulder, hot breath tickling your cheek. Leon’s embrace a warm blanket on a cold winter night, safe and comforting. Something you could definitely get used to.
“Do I get a kiss now,” he murmurs against the side of your face, his voice a soft caress.
“Did you brush your teeth,” you tease, turning to face him and wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, scratching lightly and eliciting a contented moan from deep within his chest.
“Two minutes; thirty seconds for each quarter,” he responds. Eyes moving to meet yours, a gentle squeeze of your side as his gaze flickers to your lips like a puppy waiting for its treat after completing a new command.
“Good boy,” you respond with a smile, the hand tangled in his now brushed hair pushing his face towards yours. A playful glint dances in his eyes as he leans into your invitation. Lips brushing against his, you can feel him smile as his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. The taste of mint floods your mouth, a refreshing burst of flavor that mixes with the warmth of his lips.
Your body responds almost instinctively, drawn to Leon's presence like a magnet. Feeling the cool surface of the kitchen island, you let him back you into the edge. Leon's lips continue their tender exploration of your mouth, his tongue a velvet brush that sets every nerve in your body alight with a fierce intensity. The soft caress of his hands on your exposed thighs rewarding him with a content moan; blissful and idyllic.
Losing yourself in his presence, the back of your legs up in the air as he sits you onto the counter. The gentle strokes of his tongue ignite a fire within you. Head filled with dizziness, you let yourself get lost in the moment; succumbing to Leon’s assault. The warmth of his hands seeps into your flesh, rendering you powerless to resist his every touch. The kiss like a languid river. Lazy, leisurely and deliberate. No rush. Only content as both of you bathe in each other’s embrace.
The moment is only ripped away with a chime of your phone. Momentarily vibrations pull Leon’s lips away like strings. His smile mischievous, playful as he reaches over to grab the strawberries you’ve been cutting. Putting one in his mouth, he lets you reach for the phone to read the incoming text.
“When’re you leaving,” he looks behind his shoulder onto the few suitcases sitting in the hallway.
Finishing responding to the text, you look back at the man before you. Curious eyes stare back at you, fingers dancing along the soft skin of your knee while he continues to nibble on your breakfast.
“In fifteen minutes, it seems,” you respond. Sneaking one hand onto his jaw, you turn his face towards you; this time to be stopped by him for change – his hand steadily grasping your ribcage, a squeeze indicating you to stop.
“Fifteen minutes,” he looks between you, at the exposed flesh of your legs, “and you’re still in pjs,” shaking his head disapprovingly as he finishes the fruit bowl and adds, “No distractions. You need to change.”
“Hey,” you scold him playfully, “don’t use my lines. I said that last night.”
Leon smiles in exchange, pulling away from in between your legs, “I’ll be in Raccoon City next week. Then we’ll have all the time in the world,” he kisses you for the last time before leaving the kitchen to help you pack the last necessities.
If only both of you had known that it would be the last time you saw each other.
