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reneesbooks · 2 months

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snippet saturday

still not a thing but this is my blog and i make the rules and i'm THINKING about birdie and fabin. i swear i'll get back to jack and arthur in a second just let me scream about birdie and fabin for a minute

Emilia tucks her wings against her back, settling in the grass next to Birdie. “When do you think we’ll have to return to Morbhard?”

Birdie stares out over the fields, her pulse quickening. Emilia senses that she’s asked a question that Birdie doesn’t want to answer. Birdie lets out a long breath. “I’m not sure.”

A lie, but Emilia doesn’t question it.

Birdie glances at the sky. “The sun will go down soon. I should make preparations. It’s the full silver moon tonight.”

Emilia shrinks into her human form and sets her hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “I can make the tea if you’d like.”

Birdie smiles. “Thank you. That would be nice.”

Emilia returns to the cottage and puts the kettle on the fire, digging her toe into the floor as she mixes the herbs. As much as she trusts them, as much as they’ve all grown closer over the weeks and months at the cottage, Birdie is still hiding things.

The kettle finally starts to whistle and Emilia pours a cup of tea. She heads back out to the garden. Birdie is standing next to Fabin, clearly just arrived from the forest, smiling up at him as he complains that the deer are getting better at hiding. Her laughter dies abruptly as the silver moon’s light hits her, her preparations forgotten in the grass a few steps away.

Fabin backs away as Birdie’s silver light explodes outward, a pulse of magic flattening the grass in a circle around her. Her tripled voice shrieks, her hair lifting off her shoulders. The entire whites of her eyes burn silver.

Blood starts to run from her nose. Fabin shrinks and tries to step closer, shouting her name. Emilia grabs a washcloth and grips it tightly behind her back, the fabric straining as she twists it nervously.

Birdie’s eyes begin to bleed as well, silver light pulsing from her. Fabin grits his teeth and takes three more shaking steps through the waves to reach Birdie. He grabs her shoulders and Emilia hears him shout her name.

Blood is streaming from her eyes and ears now, the third recitation barely begun. Fabin winces as silver magic lashes out at him, cuts opening on his cheeks. He keeps hold of Birdie, shaking her shoulders, trying to wake her up.

The silver light fades and Birdie’s eyes roll back. She collapses and Fabin catches her, lowering her slowly to the grass.

“Shit.” Jack and Arthur freeze in the doorway of the cottage. “Is she okay?”

“Does she fucking look okay?” Fabin growls, glaring at them. He snatches Birdie’s handkerchief from where she’d left it in the grass and starts to gently wipe the blood from her face. Emilia picks up the cup of tea again and moves cautiously. Birdie’s eyelids are fluttering, though she is limp in Fabin’s arms.

“The tea for her throat,” Emilia says quietly, when Fabin looks up at her with another growl. “I’ll look at those cuts.”

“I’m fine.” He holds the teacup to Birdie’s lips and Emilia flinches at the audibly painful gulps. “Birdie, can you hear me?”

Her silver eyes flick up to his face before fluttering closed again. She tucks her face into his chest.

Fabin leans down to murmur something to her that Emilia doesn’t hear. He presses his cheek to the side of Birdie’s head and Emilia stifles a gasp, averting her eyes.

Fabin stands with Birdie in his arms. “She needs to rest,” he says, not looking at any of them. He winces as he adjust his hold on her and Emilia wonders what other damage Birdie’s backlash did.

He says nothing else as he carries her into the house. Emilia bites her lip as Jack and Arthur turn to her with wide eyes. “I’ll make some more tea.”

#idk who to tag in this i just wanted y'all to know about Them #yeah last time most of you saw birdie she was like seven. now she's 19 and she's a monsterfucker. fabin is the monster obv.#and her godlike power is killing her btw. every time she puts off figuring out the prophecy her trances get worse. if u cared #writeblr #writeblr community #dark fantasy #fantasy novel #original fiction #i'm gonna finally post that wip intro for the raedoran cycle and then i'm just going to start posting out of context snippets #i don't work on this monster linearly. y'all got spoiled w lacuna #the rest of the RC? a hot mess. still deciding on the ending. lacuna went so smoothly bc i already knew what was going to happen #bc it was supposed to be a prequel short story!! curse u muse!!#anyway i'm SO normal about birdie and fabin. this is the least unhinged you will ever see me about them. just wait until he meets maura :))#fabin the most unfriendly motherfucker in the world is soft for one (1) person. will rip your throat out if you even look at her wrong #not like keelan tho. keelan has attack dog vibes but he can be controlled. nobody controls fabin #what are his goals? :)))))))#rb original #the witch #the raedoran cycle #birdie #fabin #emilia #jack #arthur

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autistickaitovocaloid · 10 months

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I'm going to be fucking real with you it's 2023 can we fucking. stop posting those images that are like "this is the shoe of blessings reblog it right now or you'll never feel anything again also we'll kill you" or at the very least get better at tagging them.

#art talks about stuff #this is a very exaggerated example i am aware #fun fact about me is that i'm extremely paranoid and while i know they mean jack shit they still can stress me out a lot #ik reblog bait is the tag meant to be used for that but 1. a lot of people just use that for ''rb and put your x in the tags'' posts #which are like. different #and then also people don't tag it at all #i'm not expecting anyone to immediately change solely just because i said so i'm just. frustrated i guess #and don't even get me started on those ''reblog now to prove you're not homophobic if i don't see this on your dash i'll block you'' posts #fuck you if you post shit like that btw #ik they were more common like 5 years ago but i still see them float around on here at times

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night-dark-woods · 2 years

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every time i see a post about how nobody reblogs things anymore and just likes them. ok. caption your goddamn fucking posts then and ill rb them.

#my posts #biting killing maiming etc etc etc #i can recognize that its also like. a wider issue where people Also just arent rbing and it doesnt make a diff to those people.#but. dont fucking come off that aggressively about it as something You The Reader are doing wrong if u dont want people to take it personal #also. i think DMs have done more to decrease reblogs than anything else bc now u just send posts to ur friends instead of rbing and tagging #the volume of posts i rb is probably less than 1/4 of what i send to my friends.#anyway. caption ur fucking posts id u want them reblogged so goddamn badly.

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mizugucci · 1 year

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lmao that set has 7 notes and literally 3 of them are mine

#(1 rb for tags 1 rb just now and a like #to make sure it goes into tags)#guess it didnt matter that it DID go into tags #its just that terrible huh #mtxt #im upset lmaooo #like if it DIDNT go into the tags #i could blame my lack of notes on smth #and yet !

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fanby-fckry · 3 months

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🕸️ angie-fluffy-bootz Follow

23 hr. ago

adam is literally sinner coded because of his war crimes. but whatever

🍸 bar-cat75 Follow

23 hr. ago

Angel, I know this is a joke, but just remember that if you go knocking on enough doors asking to see the devil, eventually he’ll answer.

🍎 luci-goosey-666 Follow

1 min. ago

Hi! :D

#jumpscaring my denizens #irl source

( 4,564 notes )

🎀 charlies-angel Follow

8 min. ago

New url now that the cat’s out of the bag.

moth-gf -> @.charlies-angel

🌈 hells-disney-princess Follow

8 min. ago

Awwwwww, babe!!! 🥹🥰💖

🕸️ angie-fluffy-bootz Follow

2 min. ago

gay

( 12 notes )

💙 ozzie-king-of-lust Follow

1 hr. ago

Lmao I love how Adam fought the radio demon, the princess of hell, and Lucifer himself, but in the end the one to put him down is a two-foot tall cyclops with a knife and blood lust.

💙 ozzie-king-of-lust Follow

58 min. ago

@.jest-fizzarolli Fizzie Frog, you cannot leave this in the tags.

🐸 jest-fizzarolli Follow

57 min. ago

#ozzie peer-reviewed my tags #is he biased? #yes #but idc ↯ #niffty lady ↯ #alastor the radio demon ↯ #adam ↯ #extermination day ↯ #extermination 2 electric boogaloo #jesters privilege #irl source

( 15,708 notes )

🕸️ angie-fluffy-bootz Follow

12 hr. ago

if I make it outta this alive, I’m gonna tell my crush I’m in love with him.

🕸️ angie-fluffy-bootz Follow

2 hr. ago

fuck

#well well well #if it isnt the consequences of my own actions

( 173 notes )

🐝 queen-bee-lzebub Follow

3 hr. ago

Nice try Heaven, but: L + Ratio + the power of friendship

#stay sinning stay winning babes!!! ↯ #extermination day ↯ #extermination 2 electric boogaloo #👑🐝

( 15,1253 notes )

📺 voxblr4k Follow

3 hr. ago

Alastor is trending again, but this time for the right reasons (getting his ass kicked and running away like the cowardly little pissbaby he is)

So I guess I won’t be deleting this hellsite just yet

↯ #alastor the radio demon #shitposting in 4k

( 794 notes )

📻 real-radio-demon Follow

4 hr. ago

I seem to have made what you might call an “oopsie daisy”

📻 real-radio-demon Follow

4 hr. ago

A real “cringe fail moment” if you will

📻 real-radio-demon Follow

4 hr. ago

I fucked up

↯ #alastor the radio demon ↯ #extermination day ↯ #extermination 2 electric boogaloo #real radio demon broadcasts

( 88,387 notes )

💀 be-gay-do-crym Follow

5 hr. ago

hey is no one gonna talk about how a fucking rpf smut writer just killed adam the motherfucking archangel?

💀 be-gay-do-crym Follow

4 hr. ago

@.niffty-lady has over 1000 fics on archive of our souls including a 500k word explicit radiostatic enemies to lovers fic that allegedly caused infighting in the vees because vox wanted it taken down and velvette kept blocking his access

and she stabbed the leader of the exorcists to death

↯ #niffty lady ↯ #extermination day ↯ #extermination 2 electric boogaloo #her url is trending now so ig we are talking about it #cryms crimes

( 16 notes )

❤️ moth-pimp Follow

8 hr. ago

people think I’m exaggerating when I say voxxy has a fetish for killing the radio demon. I wish those people could see him now.

🧁 rad-velvette-cakes Follow

8 hr. ago

#hate boner doesnt even begin 2 describe it #radiostatic #vox ↯ #alastor the radio demon #rb

( 498 notes )

📺 voxblr4k Follow

23 hr. ago

for 2nd extermination day I’m deleting this entire site sayonara you weeaboo shits

↯ #extermination day ↯ #extermination 2 electric boogaloo #shitposting in 4k #irl source

( 262,976 notes )

⬜️ voxblr-meta Follow

23 hr. ago

Fanby’s Fake Dash Masterpost

#meta #fake tumblr dash

( 0 notes )

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fishyartist · 1 year

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converted an amv into a flipnote for drawing reference by using a program i found (link), really like how it looks in this form :) gonna try to make something of my own inspired by it eventually

#neon genesis evangelion //#if this shows up in the tag! 1 sorry 2 i dont post eva stuff lol. just tagginf for blacklists if anyone needs that here #not fond of some of the shit going on in eva but i do like the artstyle #no rbs because i didnt make the animation (duh) or the amv or the program.#like theres not even a prompt or anything i've truly done nothing worth taking credit for here #btw if u wanna use these just specify that they werent made in-program. idc about credit 4 this but i do care about transparency!!#the hardest part was trying to get it to stop being a strobing mess #just had to edit the config file lol #anyways i want to make cool stuff in flipnote eventually and having refs will help :)#i seep now

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juyeonszn · 5 months

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BLACK OUT OR BACK OUT

THE TBZ FRAT HOUSE IS HOSTING THE BLACK OUT OR BACK OUT COLLAB BY @juyeonszn AND @itsbeeble!

YOU’RE INVITED!

PAIRING tbz x f!reader

GENRES smut ﹒fluff ﹒minimal angst ﹒crack

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! mature language, mentions of alcohol, sexual content, more warnings per individual fic!

SUMMARY have you ever wondered what your favorite frat boyz are up to in their personal lives? if so, then these fics are just for you! join us as we take a glimpse into the tau beta zeta fraternity and see what they get up to in their free time!

MORE LETS GAURRRRR i’m so excited to announce this collab with loml reese both as a cute fun little idea we had and in celebration of her 1 year tumblr anniversary! we also realized it happened to be the same day as tbz day LOL so that’s kinda crazy 😭 my boyz have been here for 6 years wow 💔 anyways i hope all of u love these as much as we do! and always, don’t forget to rb if u enjoyed!! send an ask if u’d like to be tagged in these <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies

FALL SEMESTER

TRY HARD — LEE JUYEON (12/6)

Need to get rid of some junk? Well these college hunks will haul YOUR junk! Give us a call at xxx-xxx-JUNK and we’ll haul YOUR junk for FREE! (limited time offer)

EXCITEMENT — JI CHANGMIN (12/6)

You know, when you told your girl friends that you’d never finished before, you were expecting it to blow over like no big deal. What you weren’t expecting was for it to spiral into a whole other mess.

SEEING STARS — KIM SUNWOO (12/10)

It’s slightly embarrassing how Sunwoo is naive enough to take Eric Sohn’s “advice” to heart. Luckily, you like idiots. Especially when they kick a ball into your face and agree to do a semester’s worth of school work for you.

CLUMSY — JU HAKNYEON (12/10)

When Haknyeon ran into you at a TBZ party for the first time, he didn’t think he would fall for you so quickly. Or literally. Or both simultaneously. But there’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

“FRIENDLY” COMPETITION — LEE SANGYEON (12/14)

The TBZ frat had always had a rivalry with the KAT sorority. At least, they did when you and Sangyeon became the presidents three years ago. What happens when you mix a little friendly competition into this rivalry of yours?

JE NE SAIS QUOI — JACOB BAE (12/14)

Jacob thought the concept of fraternities was stupid. So stupid that despite every single one of his friends being in one, he still refused to join. However, after meeting you at one of the TBZ parties, he’s starting to think maybe they’re not that horrible.

SPRING SEMESTER

LET LOOSE — KIM YOUNGHOON (12/19)

Younghoon has hated you. He thought you were stuck up with that better-than-you princess attitude of yours. What better than to just…fuck it right out of you?

(NO) STRINGS ATTACHED — LEE HYUNJAE (12/19)

Becoming friends with Lee Hyunjae after his valiant attempt to save your life (stopping you from drunk driving) was certainly not on your year’s bingo card. Also not on your bingo card? Waking up in his bed every other night following, but it’s not like you’re really complaining.

NO BITCHES? — ERIC SOHN (12/22)

When you met Eric, you’d thought he was just another frat boy, looking to get into any woman’s pants (particularly yours at that moment). You never would’ve thought that he was just a loser who really liked FNAF and just thought you were pretty.

PARTY O’CLOCK — CHOI CHANHEE (12/22)

In spite of being a frat boy himself, Chanhee could never actually see himself enjoying the luxuries of the title. Besides, how could he with all the responsibilities of being treasurer? Enter you and your carefree spirit and Chanhee’s got a real big problem on his hands.

PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER — KEVIN MOON (PT. 1 1/1, PT. 2 1/3)

It wasn’t like you and Kevin hated each other. In fact, you quite admired him despite his somewhat indifferent attitude toward you. Well, now that you’re paired up for the last dance of the year, you guess it’s the perfect time to find out why.

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pupcuck · 6 months

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ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil smut #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader

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fangirl-dot-com · 6 months

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Chapter 6 - Ok It’s Happening! Everyone Stay Calm!

This chapter is going to span Tuesday night into Wednesday night. Nothing really happens in between the initial post and family dinner, so I tried to add some things to fluff it up. You finally get to read a bit of reader-lore. The next chapter, “Family Dinner,” will be posted Wednesday night. Enjoy and don’t forget to comment to be added to the tag list :D

Arthur had to leave early Monday morning. You were sad, but were thankful that he was able to come spend a few nights with you. You almost forgot why you were in London in the first place.

Oh yeah, to become one of the best freaking F1 drivers there ever were. You could see the TikTok edits now. You hoped there would be at least one with an Olivia Rodrigo song in the background. Or maybe Taylor Swift? The possibilities were endless.

You were able to drive the car a few more times in the span of Monday and today. You really felt like you were becoming more familiar with it. One of the last times, they put you into the RB-19, just to get a feel for it for Vegas.

Speaking of Vegas, something popped up on your Instagram that you just had to share with Vito.

“Hey Vito, can you find me someone to marry while I’m in Vegas?” you nonchalantly asked while the two of you were having breakfast. He nearly spit out his orange juice.

“Excuse me?” he responded while wiping his mouth with the nice cloth napkin. The brunch place was very high end. You ended up getting pancakes though, while Vito got something you didn’t even want to try to pronounce.

“Well, there’s this Formula 1 wedding chapel, and I thought, how cool would it be to get married there while it’s up? So, I thought I’d ask to see if you could find me someone.”

Vito took a deep breath before massaging his brow. He was “this close” to quitting. But he would never do that to you. Instead, he said, “Kid. You cannot get married in Vegas.”

He thought you would have put up more of a fight, but you just shrugged and stuffed your mouth full of another bite of pancake. He shook his head as he tried to take another sip of his drink. The breakfast went well after that. You didn’t try to bring it up, but somehow, you would find your way to this chapel. Even if you weren’t going to get married.

As the two of you walked out of the building, you angled your body to Vito. “So, what do I have to do?”

He looked at his phone, “So you have to approve your helmet. And then we have to take some pictures for your post tonight. Tomorrow we have a flight to catch that will take us to Vegas. After, you will get settled at the hotel and then eat dinner with the team.”

“Geez, that seems like a lot doesn’t it?” You opened the driver door to your vehicle. Vito had said that it was your time to drive. You wanted to argue that every other waking moment was spent behind the wheel, but you knee that he wanted to be the passenger princess for once. He said that was not the case as he couldn’t handle you picking Country Girl by Luke Bryan one more time.

He said he even heard the song in his dreams.

You thought that was total madness. How could someone get tired of Luke Bryan. Maybe Daniel would listen to it with you at some point, if the two of you got close enough. Vito had walked around the car, got in, and started to buckle.

Using the button to start the car, the engine came to life. You carefully backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the road. Per the request of the Vito and Mitch, you were to return to RB to go over some last-minute paperwork and things of that nature.

Since the drive was so familiar by now, the time seemed to fly by even faster. You knew what you were doing. It was crazy to think that just last week, you were winning your F2 championship with no future plans. And now you were pulling up to headquarters like it was just another Tuesday.

Time was weird like that.

At the building, you almost cried when you saw your helmet. You wanted to make a joke, but decided against it. You could do that later over the radio in free practice one. It was everything that your little F1-loving heart ever wanted. The white and silver had a great contrast. But your favorite part was the glitter. You tried it on and had a couple of pictures taken. You let them know which ones were your favorites.

You later found yourself in a conference room going over last-minute legal things. Vito made sure that you knew what you were getting into with a multi-year contract and how much it would damage you if you were to break it. You were still 100 percent with it all. You also discussed what picture you wanted to use for their official statement. You picked one that had been taken after your first F2 win of the 2023 season. You sheepishly smiled when they pointed out the Mercedes logo, but you told them that it was there since you had won a sponsorship to help pay for everything. You had no loyalties to the other British team.

“All right, I think that wraps things up. Any questions, comments, or concerns?” one of the lawyers asked as he packed his things up.

With multiple shakings of heads, he bid farewell and left the room.

Now that it was just you, Mitch, and Vito, you spun your chair to face the two of them. You felt like a villain out of a movie as you put your hands together.

“Mitch, did you bring the special thing that I asked for?” you said in a darker tone, wanting to feel mysterious.

She rolled her eyes as she got up and walked to a clothing bag that was laying on the end of the table. She brought it back over and laid it over your lap.

You unzipped the bag and stared at the item. It was a vintage Red Bull bomber jacket. Just the sight wanted to make you cry.

You stood up and carefully put the jacket on. You turned towards Mitch and Vito.

“How do I look?” you asked. Now you were getting shy. You might be loud with people you were comfortable with, but you always put people’s opinion of you over anything else. They both had comforting smiles.

“I think you were born to wear that jacket kid,” Vito said, with almost tears in his eyes.

“Same here Y/n. You truly belong with us,” Mitch said as she gave you a hug. You let a few tears fall when doing so. It had been long since you really felt accepted somewhere.

With your parents, you constantly wanted their approval, but never got it. That drove you to be the best at everything. People always told you to quit in F4, but you slowly rose above them as you entered F3. There, people told you that you, a girl, did not belong in F3. You were only 15 at the time.

You proved them wrong as you became the first female to join the ranks of F2 two years later. You spent 3 years fighting for your hard earned right to be there. It got easier with the help of friends, but you always wanted more. One more chance to prove yourself. And you got that with the F1 seat.

“Could we take a few pictures for me to post later?” Mitch and Vito agreed. You three found a nice spot on a hidden balcony. It basically looked like you were on the sidewalk, but you wouldn’t take that risk. It was too close and you had people right where you wanted them.

You had grabbed an iconic can of Red Bull on your way out and cracked it open to pose with it. It took a good 30 minutes for you to get the pose correctly.

While going through those photos, you spoke up.

“Did you know that my first kart had the Red Bull logo on it. I loved that thing, even if I crashed it multiple times.” You chuckled at the memories.

“What goes around comes around,” Vito muttered as he went through the photos.

“Reminds me of that Taylor Swift sound on Tik Tok. It’s been a long time coming.”

Mitch gave a playful scoff, “You should use that as your caption.” You hadn’t thought of that! Mitch definitely thought that you wouldn’t, but the look on your face showed her that you really wanted to do it. She, once again, rolled her eyes at your antics. But, she herself was comforted by your easy-going personality. She had only known you for a couple of days, but you were becoming very dear to her.

You were becoming very dear to everyone. Every worker was amazed at your talent. A few even compared you to Sebastian Vettel and their very own champion Max Verstappen. But Mitch wouldn’t tell you that in fear of scaring you off. It was a big thing to be compared to the two legends, but you didn’t need that pressure on you. You already had been through so much. Vito had let Mitch know before of what has happened with past race strategists. She never wanted to be like what you’ve had to deal with.

You now were beginning to explain the entirety of why Taylor Swift was re-recording her albums in the first place. Your hands were pointing at invisible objects in the air while Vito just stood and listened. Mitch thought it would be hilarious to see you and Max discuss race tactics.

There was the Maxsplaining and the Leclerifying. Now you would be Y/n-strating (illustrating but with your name in front).

“And that is why we don’t like Scooter. We’re gonna come for his ankles before he can come for ours. Mother never told us to be nice to him,” you gestured as you finished your rant. Vito looked bored to death while Mitch was just smirking at the two of you. You wondered what she was thinking about.

Oh well. She could read your mind but you couldn’t read hers.

When it got dark, you and Vito headed back to hotel to pack before you were supposed to be at the hotel. Riggs, Lacy, Mitch, and other personnel would be flying out with you. There would be no commercial flight, instead there would be a private plane for everyone. You couldn’t wait, since this would be the first time to fly privately.

There was really nothing different to it until you actually got on the plane. Security was the same and the private lounge area wasn’t much different than the ones you had already been to. There were fewer seats on the plane, but everyone fit comfortable.

You were excited that you didn’t have to pay for WIFI on the plane to watch your TV shows. There were a couple of Brooklyn 99 episodes that you hadn’t seen yet. Once those were finished, you told yourself that you’d take a quick nap and wake up way before you landed.

That was a lie.

You practically slept the entire way there, and was only awoken by the plane landing. You were excited to be back in the states. You hadn’t been in years. Texas would always be your favorite state though, since you lived there for 5 years when you were in your teens. You had begged Arthur and Ollie to go with you once, but they declined and you ended up not going. You couldn’t wait to drive at COTA.

The nap really helped as you weren’t exhausted when you got to the hotel. Vito told you though that you had time to sleep before you needed to wake up the next morning. But the nerves were getting to you.

At 9 a.m. Red Bull would be posting the statement. Which reminded you to do the same. You inhaled sharply as you picked the pictures on your Instagram. You were able to find a picture of your old kart, and you definitely used Mitch’s suggestion for the caption. You tagged Red Bull before posting and turning off your phone. You could deal with everything tomorrow morning when you had gotten a good night’s sleep.

Well, that good night’s sleep was way too short for your liking. Your alarm sounded way too loud and interrupted the nice dream that you were having. It was something about marrying some dude at the F1 chapel. You just couldn’t get it out of your mind.

You took a shower to at least feel better. The staleness of the plane air clung to you throughout the night. Should you have showered after sending the world into a panic? Yes. But did you? No. Your phone might as well have combusted last night. Turning on the front screen, there were thousands upon thousands of notifications. You simply swiped left and deleted them all.

Opening your Instagram, it was worse. Your face was everywhere. Happily, enough, almost everything was a positive outlook. Only a few bad ones stood out, but you knew better than to look. While scrolling, you were interrupted by a face time request from Ollie. You quickly picked up and were met with the sight of his face. With jaw dropped, he just stared at you.

“Hello to you to?”

You pulled the phone away from your face as he started screeching. You just listened as he ranted for another 10 minutes before he went silent.

“You done?” you deadpanned.

“Uh, yeah. I think so.”

“Ok good.” You went on to tell him about everything that happened in the past week. He definitely whined when you told him that Arthur knew before he did. He demanded that you tell him next time. And you told him that you hoped that there wouldn’t be a next time. You were determined to stay with Red Bull for as long as possible.

After the phone call, you kind of just chilled around the room all day. Dinner wasn’t until later and you had time to get ready.

After watching episodes upon episodes, you saw that you needed to get ready. With your trusty playlist, cans of hair spray, your makeup, and your curling iron – you were ready for the battle that was looking perfect for dinner.

Each curl had to be calculated, each face product must be weighed to the exact suggested amount. Did you do either? No.

You just did it how you normally did, and somehow you got it done. You took a quick picture and posted it on your story. The dress you picked was black. A long slit showed just enough leg, while there was only one sleeve. You paired it with some gold heals. You only hoped it wasn’t too much, but you wanted to make a good impression. Vito had gotten the go ahead from Christian beforehand. The restaurant was supposed to be of the upmost hoity-toity-ness and you hoped you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself.

With a knock on your door, you knew it was time to meet the family.

(Your story)

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