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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

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Title: Coveted.

Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader (+Yandere!Gojo) [JJK].

Word Count: 1.1k.

TW: Set Two or Three Years Post KFC Break-Up, Intimidation, Prolonged Stalking, Future Dub/Con, Mentions of Non/Con, and Unbalanced Power Dynamics.

[Part Two]

“You’re Satoru’s date, right?”

The voice was masculine, deep and as rough as it could be without crossing the line into gravelly. You stiffened, squaring your shoulders and burrowing your nails into your palm as your eyes darted across the table – where a man with dark hair and an off-putting smile was currently sliding into the unoccupied side of your booth. He reached out, clearly planning to shake your hand, but when you failed to move, he only let out an airy chuckle, propping his chin on his fist as he went on. “I’m a friend of his – Geto Suguru. You can call me Suguru-chan, though. Has he already told you about me?”

He was dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed – his attire limited to a form-fitting black shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants in the same color, his hair pulled into a loose bun. His tone was friendly, light. You returned it with a dead-pan stare, hoping it conveyed the weight of your exhaustion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is that what he told you to say?” Another laugh, somehow more blood-chilling than the first. Your attention shifted outward, to the late-night diner where Gojo had asked you to meet him. There were only a few other customers, the skeleton of a proper staff, but single other person would’ve been one too many. You didn’t need to make a scene, not again, not after last time. “That sounds like him. He’s always been a stingy bastard.”

With a pressed frown, you pushed yourself to your feet, but Geto’s grin only broadened. He snapped his fingers and as if it’d only been waiting for a queue, a shape manifested at the end of your bench. You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly at it, but you saw enough out of the corner of your eye; a bulbous torso, shrunken arms, too many eyes to resemble any living thing. Instantly, what little courage you still had was replaced with a knot of dread, a bolt of pure anxiety. You half-expected it to lunge, to bite, to attack, but it didn’t move, only standing guard at the foot of your table.

It didn’t move, but it didn’t have to. In a moment, you’d fallen back into your seat and shoved yourself against the wall, fighting not to shake. It was a sight Geto seemed to take a particular joy in, letting his head lull to the side as he watched you curl into yourself. “You can see them. I was starting to think I had the wrong person.” A pause, a glance towards his summoned monster before his narrowed gaze skirted back to you. “Don’t be shy, now. How much did he tell you?”

It took you a moment to find your tongue, another to swallow back the tremor in your voice. "He said he could protect me.” It was harder to admit than you’d expected – not so much that you needed protection, but that there was something you needed protection from. You’d spent so long writing off your monsters as hallucinations that it was still a struggle to act like they were anything more. But, for as unwilling as you were to confront your little monsters, the resounding ache in your right leg where that thing had dug its claws into you was impossible to ignore. “He… he didn’t mention anyone else, but we’ve only spoken once. He was supposed to explain—” You gestured to the monster. “—all of this today.”

A slight hum, a look of genuine surprise. “So, he’s got some self-restraint after all! I thought he would’ve cracked months ago, considering how long he’s been following you around like a lost puppy.” He must’ve seen your expression fall, your posture slacken, because he didn’t wait for a response before going on. “I mean, you must’ve known that, at least. Did you think he’d play knight-in-shining-armor for just anyone?”

“I…” You trailed off quickly, shaking your head. “I don’t care. As long as he can protect me, I don’t care why he’s doing it.”

“That’s a dangerous thing to say. You wouldn’t want to make Satoru feel so replaceable, now, would you?”

At that, you met his stare. “What do you want?”

His eyes skirted towards the monster, who took an obedient step back. For a second, you considered running, trying to slip away before the man in front of you or your newly-realized stalker could make you regret ever showing up at all, but Geto was quick to cut off your escape route, filling the empty space beside you before you could so much as pick which door you would barrel through on the way out. “Well, now that we’re on the same page,” Unlike his monster, he didn’t give you the option of leaving him in your peripheral; settling close enough for his leg to press into yours. At this proximity, you could pick up the smoke on his breath, the scent of stale gore clinging to him like a second skin. As if he’d just stepped out of a blood bath. “I’d like to make you an alternative offer.”

“You’d protect me?”

“Oh, I’d do more than just that.” His hand fell to your thigh. “I’d have everything you’ve ever been afraid of bowing to you by the end of the night.”

You swallowed dryly. “You didn’t answer my first question. What do you get out of helping me?”

His answer was nonverbal, but clear enough. With that same idle grin, he nodded toward the streaked window, to the building across the street. Your heart fell into your stomach. It was one of those sleazy, by-the-hour hotels – the sign missing more than a few letters and the parking lot as empty as the diner. It was the kind of place that you only went to for one thing, and you had a feeling Geto hadn’t found some miraculous second reason to want to be alone with you in one of those bug-infested rooms.

You weren’t sure why you said it. Maybe to buy yourself time. Maybe because you couldn’t stand the idea of being left in silence as what was left of your rational mind screamed at you to get out of there. “I don’t have any money.”

“It’ll be my treat.”

“What happens I refuse?”

“I kill everyone here,” His nails bit into exposed skin. “And then fuck you on this table while their bodies attract flies.”

You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so tired.

You might’ve done anything, if you could bring yourself to care about anything but keeping those awful creatures at a distance.

Stiffly, with your eyes shut and your teeth grit, you forced yourself to nod. Geto rewarded you with an impossibly wide grin, a breath of a laugh. “Smart little thing.”

This time, he didn’t pretend it was an option; reaching out, taking your trembling hand in his own, and squeezing so softly, you could almost convince yourself he was being gentle.

“It’s only a shame Satoru isn’t here to join us.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #yanderecore #yancore

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nkogneatho · 10 months

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˚ ༘♡ 𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑳𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑰𝑻 𝑶𝑭𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼

—cw: fem!reader, cum-eating, nasty

let's talk about a man who is so comfortable in his masculinity and is nasty at the same time to lick his own cum off your face, tits, ass or any part of you where he has layered his seed.

He loves the part where he pumps his cock so vigorously and shoots everything on your tits for the first time. He is obsessed. They look so pretty, all glistening in his cum. The first thing he does is bend down till he is face to face with you kneeling, and grabs your nipples drenched in his sweet seed. He loves to taste himself on you. Fuck.

The next time you give him a blowjob, he is so head over heels when you bob your pretty head, struggling with the pace because of his size. He just can't stop himself when you let the walls of your throat hug his tip, and he just pulls out and cums all over your face. Some even got on your lashes but that only makes your eyes look prettier to him. You look so beautiful with strings of cum all over your face, how can he not kiss you? He crashes his tongues on your lips, prodding them open until they are met with yours. He pulls away and licks his load of your cheek.

And finally, he always finishes the act of love with eating you out after a creampie. Your cumt was spilling his cream out. It's not his fault that he licked a stripe to prevent it from leaking. He was just making sure the bedsheets don't get dirty. So there was only one option. Slurp on your pussy hard till he has successfully sucked all his cum out of you.

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obsessivevoidkitten · 8 months

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The Werewolf's Pet Cat

Trans Male Yandere Werewolf x Trans Male Cat-hybrid Reader (CW: Noncon, mild scent kink, knotting, inhuman genitals, heat cycles, rut, werewolf yandere, reader being chased, trans male reader and yandere, yandere has transitioned via magic, general yandere behavior.) Word Count 2.1k (This is a commission for @trocha1c. I hope you guys enjoy it. Also this is not an omegaverse fic, there is knotting because the yandere is a werewolf and there is a heat cycle for the reader because they are part feline, sense of smell is mentioned because of their animal abilities, but there are no alphas or omegas in this universe.)

There were many servants in any castle, even in a smaller one like the one that you worked in still contained a sizable workforce. The dusting alone was an atrocious task. You would know, you were one of those numerous servants. Though you were the only one who was a cat-man.

Your tasks were largely various cleaning oriented jobs including dusting, sweeping, laundry, and occasionally bringing food from the kitchen to Lord Dran when he decided to have his meals outside of the kitchen.

That’s the task you enjoyed the most, it meant you got to be in his presence. He always smelled so nice. So… masculine. Even with your sensitive feline nose you couldn’t quite place what it was.

You had worked for him for about a year and you had been almost supernaturally attracted to him since the first time you met him. Of course… despite being a somewhat uncommon cat man you were still very much a commoner. And he was a lord.

You could never hope to be anything to him.

This wasn’t an incorrect line of thinking. Lord Dran was very much attracted to you as well. He could tell you were a kindred soul. He also possessed superior senses and he knew that even though you were a boy you had a pussy between your legs, and he could smell its arousal whenever you stayed in the room with him for any extended length of time.

He was once like you, a man with those parts, until he had paid a lot of money for a mage to conduct a complex ritual to give him the body he had always wanted. The fact that you were both trans made him want you much more. You’d understand him more than others.

But despite his deep seated longing for you he would have to be satisfied with stolen glances, your scent, and impure thoughts he harbored towards you, for he couldn’t ever deign to be with a commoner.

He had to use his position as a lord to solidify a political alliance for his family and strengthen the family position.

You were completely oblivious to his long stares and extra kindness towards you. In the end it didn’t matter though. They couldn’t amount to anything.

But the royal family, or at least his branch of it had a terrible secret. They were no longer human. They were all werewolves. Once a month during the full moon Lord Dran retreated to a fortified private room and grew into a large ravenous beast. One from nightmares, with a hunger for fresh game and with an instinctual need to find a mate to stuff its big knot into.

You didn’t have something so dramatic to struggle with, you only had a monthly heat cycle. They weren’t really all that bad, you just became significantly more horny, more sensitive to the scents of others, and a bit feverish. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

But it just so happened that your heat cycle coincided with the full moon.

One night, a full moon no less, you had been working late in the great hall cleaning up after earlier festivities. When you finished you headed for the servant’s quarters but for some reason you had made a wrong turn. And you were much closer to the room that no one ever went into. The one that always remained locked.

When you realized where you were you started to turn back but something alluring with a hint of danger hit your heat-enhanced nose and you were compelled to follow.

You got closer and closer to the door. What was that amazing smell? It was so strong now… and starting to cause you to make a wet spot from the arousal it was generating in you.

Suddenly you heard a muffled scream of pain through the thick door. You ran over to it and found that it was locked from the outside and through the glass panel you saw Lord Dran naked on the ground writhing in pain.

You immediately unlocked the heavy metal door and made your way inside, running to him with utmost concern.

“What’s wrong my lor-”

“Y-you… don’t.. under… stand… g-get ouuOOWWWLLLLL”

His last word turned into a pained howl as his body shook. His bones and muscles rearranged themselves before your very eyes as thick fur covered his body.

The seemingly human Lord Dran was a werewolf! A cursed Beast!

To say you were terrified was a gross understatement. Your heart was beating so fast that it hurt. Quickly, you turned to flee the room so you could lock the monster in behind you. But the speed of the werewolf was far superior to your own. He grabbed your leg, long claws raking against your supple skin, causing you to flop down on your belly.

It was at that exact moment that a shocked guard rounded the corner and saw the scene, you crying on your stomach, being pulled closer by his transformed Lord.

He had been given the duty to protect the door from anyone who may get too close, but he had left his post for a few minutes to take a leak.

And now this had happened.

You looked up at him standing in the doorway and screamed for his help, but when he got over the fear that paralyzed him he stammered out a quick apology and slammed the door before sliding the heavy lock in place, quite literally sealing your fate. He just couldn’t risk Lord Dran being released to save but one lowly servant.

The guard was sure you were going to perish in a horrifying display of blood and gore. YOU were sure you were going to perish in a horrifying display of blood and gore.

But a violent blow never came. Instead the beast flipped you over on your back and sniffed curiously at your crotch, nuzzling his nose into it. You desperately kicked away his face, but his angry growl was enough to make you stop.

The werewolf had determined that you were his mate, and while you didn’t know it yet he would never harm his partner. But… he also wouldn’t be denied his right to stuff them with his knot.

With extreme care not to harm your fragile skin, he carefully used his razor sharp claws to remove your clothing from your quivering form. You didn’t immediately understand exactly what his intentions with you were but it became clear what he wanted when he loomed over you and saw his large red cock erect and swinging beneath him. He pinned you down easily.

You shuddered as his cold nose nuzzled into your sensitive neck, taking in your sweet scent.

As his dick got closer to your entrance you renewed your struggle, forgetting the strength of the creature that was holding you down and the perceived danger he represented.

“No! No please! I-i don-”

This time he didn’t respond with a growl, instead opting to lick your neck to try and calm you down. He wasn’t going to hurt his little mate~ He just wanted to fuck you and take care of that heat cycle he could smell so clearly. He was helping you!

Encouraged by the whimpers his tongue on your neck brought out of you he started biting. Not hard enough to break skin, but they would still leave lovely little claiming marks.

The combination of stimulation from the bites, your heat, and his scent finally caused you to spread your legs for him, you barely registered what you were allowing as his cock plunged into your drooling pussy with an audible squelching noise.

With your tight wet warmth enveloping him his knot began swelling inside of you, making your toes curl and twitch as it kissed the walls of your cunt with every powerful thrust of your Lord.

Some part of your brain was still telling you to scream for help and cry and try to struggle, but it felt so nice to finally have a heat taken care of.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, grinding your pussy into his dick, as he continued biting you wherever he could leave a nice claiming mark.

The two of you went at it nearly all night, bringing one another to orgasm many times over.

At some point, very late into the night, you passed out from exhaustion with the lycanthrope holding you close, nutting in you a couple more times before finally falling asleep himself. With his knot still tying the two of you together as he caressed you.

When Lord Dran woke up he was his normal human self, holding you in his arms.

He freaked out about the situation, but as soon as the guard informed him what had happened and he had a moment to reflect he knew what he had to do.

Regardless of your social status he would have to keep you very close at all times to ensure that you never speak of his “condition” to a single soul.

When you finally woke up you were confused and sore, covered in bite marks and a few scratches. When the memory of what had transpired last night finally rushed back to you, terror gripped your heart once more.

Lord Dran was a werewolf, and he had scratched you! Would you become a cursed beast yourself?

“Oh you’re awake! We have a lot to discuss…”

The first thing he explained, as if he could read your thoughts, was that lycanthropy passed via bloodlines and complex curses. Nothing physical.

That was a relief.

The next thing he explained was that he could never let you leave his side now. You’d have to marry him and there was simply no other solution. He could not risk his secret getting out. Even if the chance of someone believing you was small.

“I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Though to be honest he was quite happy. The his to any social status was worth it to have a mate that he can be with with no danger when his time of the month came around. He was sure he would have slaughtered anyone else, but you were so special. With you there he could focus on fucking instead of violent urges, it was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Just a day ago if you had been told you would soon be in a relationship with Lord Dran you would have been elated, but now you were just terrified. You didn’t want to marry a werewolf. You had sympathy for his situation, but this is not the kind of thing you thought that you could deal with.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

ONE MONTH LATER.

It had been days since you had managed to escape the castle. With your keen animal-like senses you managed to be able to hunt and forage enough with yourself to get by. Plus you had managed to keep a bit of gold with you, just in case.

You wanted to make it to the next kingdom, but the way was long and the woods were dense. You probably had another week of travel before making it across the border. No nobles from your home country would dare cross without notice.

Night was fast approaching so you decided you would make camp until the first light of dawn. You were once again in heat so you slid a couple of your fingers into your pussy to take the edge off.

While you were masturbating you suddenly heard what sounded like branches breaking close by. You pulled your pants up and listened intently, your feline ears moving to try and locate the source of the sound.

Probably just an ani-

Your thought was interrupted by a great and blood curdling howl. And it was exceedingly close. Was it a wild wolf? Was it something… more? You didn’t stay to find out.

With your animal-like agility you wasted no time in running out into the dark. You could probably manage to outrun a wolf.

But the shadowy figure you saw pursuing you in the moonlight was no wolf.

And now that you were down wind you could smell it too.

Lord Dran.

In no time at all you were pounced upon, claws once again removing clothing and a huge erection prodding at your entrance.

Ah, his mate was already nice and warmed up for him~ How sweet!

His wolf form didn’t understand why his mate had run, but that didn’t matter now. The chase was won and he certainly would never let you have another chance at escape.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #trans male yandere #trans male reader #ftm reader #yandere monster #monster boyfriend #my ocs #yandere werewolf #My OC Dran

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shaylogic · 9 months

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Queer Experience Watching Barbie - AFAB Masculinity

I started to go into this in tags on another post but I wanted to type this up separately and try to develop my thoughts a little more. . .

Ryan!Ken’s arc in Barbie (2023) has been buzzing in my head for days.

I got fixated on it for a couple of major reasons:

1) We rarely have seen a feminist movie take time to address men with compassion in how patriarchy harms them too.

2) As a trans masc person, I think it hits a specific part of my identity that I don’t consciously let myself think about for too long. Something about being raised in a female world with sisterhood and community. Then being isolated in adult manhood without the tools to prepare you for that. Conscientious of respecting women and being unbothered by feminimity around you, but not knowing your place in the world.

How do I put it?

I know it’s not the direct intention of the film itself, but I’ve seen other trans folks (especially transmasc), reacting similarly to the feeling we get from it.

Ken’s arc feels pretty reminicent of the struggle afab lgbt folks go through when considering masculinity in their identity (butch lesbians, afab nbs, trans men, etc.)

How to make peace with masculine aspects of yourself without losing the women in your life? (One can argue Kate McKinnon’s Weird Barbie has aspects of this as well.)

Of course, then Ken goes off on the adopting patriarchy ride, which IS the point of the movie, and may skew a bit from the transmasc read on it--though I have known a trans guy here and there who avoids being misgendered so hard that they can become somewhat sexist. To which I say: “You don’t need to have a dick to be a man, and you don’t need to BE a dick to be a man.” But I digress.

Something about Ken being comfortable in a woman’s world but not understanding why he’s being shut out from socially bonding with them (in any sense! Romantic, Familial, Platonic Friendship. . .)

The overall theme of the movie for both Barbie and Ken--in an allegory of heavy gender roles harming all--leading them each to have to figure out who they are in themselves, regardless of others. . .

Trans masc folx can relate to both Barbie and Ken’s arcs.

I don’t want to detract from Barbie’s arc being the main point of the movie.

I think the reason why we get hung up on Ryan!Ken’s character is because. . . we’ve related to the Barbie plot in other movies and shows before, thinking back to our “girlhoods” as children.

I have never seen the arc Ken has in this in any other story!!!!

There are some Man Movies that have attempted to discuss the struggle of Being a Man--but they often come off as too dismissive of feminine experiences, and are therefore as offputting to transmasc people as women.

Because of the nature of the two worlds exhibited in this movie, and Ken’s backround in his setting, personality, and purpose in relation to the Barbies, he’s a Man living with Female Socialization, in a Woman’s World; he’s a male character that inherently admires and respects women in his nature (until the real world influence distorts it).

This isn’t a perfect example of a transmasc experience either, but it’s a lot closer than most of us generally get to see! That’s why so many of us are getting caught up in this.

Please, other trans folx (transfems, too!), I really need us to have a discussion about this. What were your experiences and thoughts around this movie?

P.S. Yeah, we kinda get that nonbinary allegory from Allan (not a Ken, not a Barbie, siding with Feminism in the Gender War), but he wasn’t in significant focus of the plot the way Ryan!Ken was. If I try to read into Allan, I don’t have much to work with.

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ozzgin · 3 months

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I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

#yandere yakuza #yakuza x reader #daitou

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pupcuck · 1 month

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ASKING FOR IT !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, smut, cheating (not on reader), ooc leon sorry, he’s mean, negging, misogyny, reference to past rape/non-con, unresolved trauma, suicidal thoughts duhhh, he calls reader ugly a lot, leon subs for his gf but doms reader, non-con to consensual sex, manipulation, some .. uh waterboarding? he dunks your head in water, opioid addiction but it’s minor LMFAOO

note. haii… um feedback whether it’s good or bad appreciated really forced myself to write this so im like ack. hating everything i write but! ignore typos :3 it’s not as fleshed out as i wanted .. soooo it reads pretty jolty but yah 😭 and the smut is like not. IDK I’m ugh not into it just couldn’t bring myself to extend stuff that I really wanted to develop n he’s ooc. BUT!! again ignore typos or I’ll cry n feedback/constructive criticism appreciated <3

Leon has a girlfriend. He can never hold down a girl, his ability to scare women away is preternatural, so it’s a big deal. And she’s fucking hot. Not like model hot, but pornstar hot. She’s got tits so firm they might as well be bulletproof. Bottle blonde with eyes that swallow up her whole face. Her stomach doesn’t crease when she sits. It’s the type of beauty that takes its form in slashes of red lace and nylon. Not many women are out of his league, but she is.

They have hot sex like attractive people tend to do, and it goes something along the lines of this.

He goes:

Is that dick good, baby? You like it? Right there, baby?

And she goes:

Fuck, yes, baby! Harder, deeper— Oh, right there!

And then she doesn’t cum.

So there’s that, but he’s working on it.

Leon doesn’t take well to tips on how to fuck. Reading advice columns in the Men’s Health magazine leaves a funny taste in his mouth. It might be the blood from the castrated image of his masculinity. Who knows.

He struggles with that sort of thing. A nice face does nothing for a man who doesn’t actually like anything about himself. Leon’s still that wimpy self-hating loser he was all those years ago. In all fairness to God, there are a few added tweaks here and there. Some bug fixes. Now he’s drunk and shallow too! Misanthropic when he’s at his very best.

As a kid, mom told Leon to be a nice boy so he was a nice boy. Not because he was ever a particularly nice boy, but for her sake. So instead of acting out he would go and crush ants beneath his thumb in the front yard because there is this mean part of Leon that splinters inside of him like cooked bones.

Life to Leon is being fucked into apologising for being alive so it’s no wonder he’s still harbouring the insecurities of a boy he isn't.

When he was eighteen it was by ugly old men who abhorred him for being the embodiment of whatever it was they were hiding from their wives. His legs looked nice thrown over a pair of big shoulders. They were so thin back then, model-type shit. All of those men mildly resembled his dad, but that’s something he wouldn’t quite like to crack down on yet. Leon’s being open enough as it is.

When he was twenty-one it was his headache of a first girlfriend. It was the bullet wound in his shoulder. When he was twenty-two it was being passed around boot camp like a dirty needle. When he was twenty-seven it was Luis who was nothing and everything in between. It was a picture book princess like Ashley. The scar on his shoulder. Stigmata. Glory Be. Whatever.

(And Jack, it was always Jack. Pale all over like a healed scar.)

What Leon is trying to get across, he’s not quite sure. Maybe that he's nice in theory and the reality is he’s a self-confessed charlatan of niceness. Or that he can’t fuck. He can’t fuck because he is deeply traumatised. Yeah. Maybe that’s what he’s trying to say. It’s an excuse, sure, doesn’t make it the truth though. Leon can’t fuck ‘cause he’s useless at most things that don’t include guns. He can’t fuck ‘cause he was unattractive as a teenager and that solidified the way he feels about himself now.

Leon’s got one thing going for him - he fingers her pussy till his fingers prune. Eats her out till he gets lockjaw.

“Oh, you’re so good at that,” she says, kissing his slicked-up lips.

Then her eyes flit to his hard dick and she gives him that strange half-smile. One that seems to say: Not with that. His dick. Obviously.

His shit is big enough, it’s long enough— It’s enough. And it’s pretty. Could put a bow on to make it real cute. Could manufacture a dildo inspired by it. So Leon cannot for the life of him wrap his head around her problem. It’s not his dicks fault her pussy is fucking broken. Her broken pussy doesn’t get to make his dick sad. Doesn’t get to lay devastating blows on his gone-with-the-wind ego.

Another thing is, her sister is an ugly bitch. That upsets Leon and his dick in tow. You’re a student, taking a break for some reason Leon has not bothered to fathom. He couldn’t care less. Go do it someplace else. In this house, you’re nothing more than a cockblock. Leon could forgive you for being a cockblock if you weren’t ugly. Or vice versa.

It would be okay if Leon wasn’t stuck at home with you for hours at a time. Work fucked up his back, so he’s staying here in his girlfriend’s apartment eating her food, running her taps, fucking her badly and shitting on her sister.

You’re sat on the other end of the table with a soggy bowl of cereal while he nurses a juice box like a real man. What do ugly little things like you think about anyway?

When Leon was ugly he thought about forcing his dick into the cute girl next door between his more regular thoughts of what to eat for dinner and whether he stocked up on toilet paper or not.

When he was ugly, his day was made simply by a pretty girl looking in his general direction. So Leon makes sure to look in yours. Y’know, to fuel your perverted wet dreams. Your rape fantasies. What freaks think about when they’re near hot guys. Well, it’s strange actually. You tend to totally ignore him. When the two of you make brief eye contact, you don’t flounder or duck or bow your head like you’re shy— You just move on with your life. That bothers him. Leon’s hot now. He’s not the type of man you just brush over like that. He’s the type you gawk at in broad daylight, he’s the sort of guy you see in soft porn magazines.

“Good morning,” his girlfriend greets, “have a good sleep, sweetie?” She bumps your hip when you stand up to hug her.

She’s wearing stockings today. Oh, he loves stockings. He loves pencil skirts. He loves— He loves office wear. He wants to be put over her lap and spanked raw perhaps.

“Yeah, it’d be nice if your boyfriend stopped moaning like a girl though.” It’s said into her ear, but Leon hears it.

“I’m going now, honey,” his girlfriend tells him.

Like a good boy, Leon stands to bid her goodbye. Her blouse is sheer, shows off her black bra and he eyes it with distaste.

“What’s wrong, Leon?”

He doesn’t speak. Just glares at her perfect set of tits like a baby weaned off milk.

“I can’t take them off,” she snorts.

Leon wishes she could. Hang ‘em up in the closet and pop them back on when it’s time to play. Tits are for the bedroom. Otherwise, they’re too much of a distraction. Instead, he settles on slipping his hand up her skirt to check if she’s wearing panties. (There’s no panty line showing through her pencil skirt and that’s always a bad sign.) She shoos him away.

So Leon leans in for a kiss, and she says, “Nuh-uh, honey, you’ll ruin my makeup.” Then she gives in ‘cause Leon can be kinda cute when he tries hard enough. “Just one, okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon nods. Her kisses are analgesic. Which is unfortunate considering he has an opioid addiction. Almost an addiction.

“One,” she counts, Leon kisses her again, “two, three, four.”

She’s teasing him now.

“Okay, well, keep an eye on her, Leon.”

“I’m not twelve,” you say, exiting the kitchen to spare yourself the sight of him groping your older sister.

Yeah, and Leon’s not a bang nanny.

He wipes the red from his lips, takes his juice box from the table where you’re no longer and decides jerking off in the shower will make him feel better. Leon does. He finishes. Watches his seed wash down the drain and wonders if that was wasteful. A short intermission is taken, then he jerks off in front of her full-body mirror. His biceps flex and his abs tighten, and he looks fucking good.

Why isn’t she cumming? What’s wrong with her? Is she getting too old? Is menopause hitting already? She’s only thirty-something. It can’t be that, and she asked Leon to pick up tampons last week— Unless they were for you.

Nobody in this house tells Leon anything. Another shower is what he needs. No, he needs a smoke. Leon doesn’t smoke. He does the next best thing, rests idly against the railings of her balcony, observing the ballet of D.C. life. Man, he could throw himself over right now. Splat against the asphalt and that would be it. It’d all be over. Hauling his weight over would be no problem. Catastrophizing to pass the time. Men used to do this for a living in Ancient Greece. What happened to philosophising? Leon could be a philosopher, all they did was spout nonsense and he is good at that. Not at fucking, however.

Beer. Yeah. Beer. That’s what he needs. Leon ransacks the fridge to no avail. Health-conscious living is the reason for misery, he believes. See, very insightful, modern-day Socrates right here. Lean proteins, vegan substitutes, low-fat yoghurt— It’s so girly it makes him sick.

“She’s still on a health kick,” you say from behind him, “I thought it was a New Years thing, but she’s still, like, super into it.”

Why are you talking to him? Leon blinks at you owlishly. “Right,” he says.

You give him a funny look, turning back to the counter to use the coffee machine. Don’t you want him? You’re not shy. Why aren’t you shy? Shouldn’t you be shy? Ugly Leon was mute around girls whether they were short, fat, ugly or pretty. Shit, he is clucking for a beer.

“There's Chardonnay under the sink.” Well, that’s unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t- I don’t drink that.” He would like to finish his sentence off with ‘girly shit’ but you seem like the type to find that offensive.

“Figured.” The coffee machine whirs. A lobotomised silence ensues. “Good talk.”

You’re so ugly you’re asking for it. Perfect subject for the ‘I can’t make my girlfriend cum, is her pussy broken?’ experiment. Ugly girls don’t count as a fuck, right? Not when they’re sent to the very back of your mind after said fuck. He wonders how many girls counted the uglier him as an official lay.

You’re on your tummy reading a book. The Beautiful and Damned. Leon had no idea they wrote a book about him. The door creaking exposes his creeping against his will.

“Do you need something?” you ask without batting an eye.

The swell of your ass is nice. “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Rolling over and sitting up to face him, you tilt your head to the side. “Go on.”

“I want to have sex with you.” Woah. Okay. That’s a genie he can’t put back in the bottle. Fuck, why does he do this stupid shit? Leon should just kill himself. All roads lead to suicide. Every sign points towards suicide and he is still holding on for dear life.

Think about Sherry. Sherry won’t care, kids hit sixteen and don’t give a fuck about much, he reasons with the voice in his head. How about Claire? Oh, she’ll think good fucking riddance. Redfield? No way. You are truly out of options, Kennedy.

“I’m sorry?”

Oh, god no, Leon’s the one that should be sorry. “You heard me.” The apology comes out incredibly wrong. “I’m helping you out.”

“Helping me out with what? I’m sorry, Leon, I didn’t… I didn’t think I— I don’t know what made you think I wanted this from you, but I don’t like you—“

You don’t like him? Why not? He’d like a list of reasons with a page-long explanation. What’s not to like? The hair. It’s the hair. Blond is too girly. That’s what it is.

“—I mean, you’re with my sister, did you really think I would say yes? I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused, where is this coming from? Gosh, I really… I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m helping you out,” Leon repeats, using his hands to gesture at your face, at your body. “No one else is gonna do it.” This apology has gone way out of bounds. A simple sorry would have sufficed.

“What..?” Something doleful crosses your face, then it twists unpleasantly. “You think I want to have sex with you… ‘cause I’m not cute? Like, you think I’m…”

Ugly, yes. He does. Only a little. Can you turn over? He wants to make you cum. “You’re a virgin, yeah?”

“Oh my god, there’s, like, something wrong with you!” You stand to your full height in a pitiful attempt to appear frightening. That face is enough to scare a man away already. “Get out— And I am so telling her when she gets back home, I told her I didn’t like you, I told her and now you just-“

Leon grabs you by the jaw, squeezes you so tight it clicks. “Okay, sweetheart, here’s how this is going to go,” he starts, taking both your wrists in a single hand, “we’re going to start over, and you’re going to be a good little girl and apologise to me like you really mean it.”

“Apologise for what?” It comes out muffled through your forced pout so he chooses to ignore you.

“I don’t know what you fuckin’ said.” Leon should just end it here, he should let go of you and check into the nearest asylum. He’s hot. Leon is box blond. He’s tall enough to dwarf most girls. His face is nice. His body is nicer. So he doesn’t know what his problem is. Once pinned down, you shrink away from him, expression so sour your skin looks ready to melt off your skull.

And then he fucks you till you stop screaming. He leaves you in a withered heap, heads back to his room to take a well-deserved nap, hides his face in the pillows. They smell like her. He should think about killing himself some more. That gun looks awfully shiny. Nth time could be the charm.

She gets home in the evening, drops her bag on the floor to alert him of her entrance.

“I missed you.” Leon noses at her neck.

“You were sleeping.” She ruffles his hair like he’s a child.

“I still missed you.”

“Even when you’re sleeping?”

In the least creepy way possible, he wants to wear her skin as a suit, and she thinks his body doesn’t yearn for her at every sleeping second?

“The most when I’m sleeping, have bad dreams without you,” Leon mumbles groggily.

“How cute,” she muses, “good day?”

“Great day.” Leon nods. “Real productive.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you get up to?” A singular red nail strokes along his spine.

“Thought about you,” he answers, leaving out the part where he spent half of his time jerking off. Oh, and the part where he fucked her sister into submission. He raped you. He did. Leon doesn’t like that word. Far too harsh.

“Now, don’t push it, mister.” When she smiles there’s a lack of wrinkles— Not even smile lines, it’s artificial almost.

Leon’s good at pushing buttons. He should get paid for it. “It’s true, if you said jump I’d ask how high.”

“You’re so funny, Leon.” She kisses his head and laughs all prim and proper.

“Serious, babe, I’m super partial to jumping,” he says to hear her laugh again. He’s more partial to suicide. It’s great. A one-way ticket off of God’s green inferno. Who would he even be without suicide ideation?

“Alright, but I’d like you all in one piece.” She kisses his cheek. “No jumping, okay, honey?” She kisses his neck and his collarbones and his Adam’s apple and he’s unable to breathe.

“Okay,” Leon says. He gets it now. She’s mommying him. Maybe this is what Leon needs. To play house. A daddy to fuck his throat and a mommy to sit on his dick and tell him that he’s a good boy and he’s needed and he won’t have to think if he has a mommy and daddy to do that for him.

Can he backtrack on the rape thing? Trust Leon to take a good thing and ruin it in the worst way possible. If he kissed you he could’ve wormed his way out of it. Told her it was the medication he’s on, that he had a mental breakdown, a midlife crisis.

At dinner, your silence slips under the radar like cumstains on motel bedsheets. You pick at your food, and when Leon’s knee brushes yours under the table, you excuse yourself. Sometimes he thinks that he is a bad person, this can be backed up by many things. Violating you might outweigh saving the world.

In bed, he thinks about changing, about calling his therapist in the morning, he might take a leap off that balcony, cleaning up his act sounds terribly hard. Leon does this all with his head tucked into the hollow of his girlfriend’s neck. The thinking has killed his boner and now he can’t get it up. So he pretends to fall asleep. It’s an unconvincing performance ‘cause the moment she swipes a hand over his ass he lets out a disgruntled noise. Leon clenches so quickly his stomach caves in.

“You don’t like that, honey?”

He shakes his head, overgrown bangs falling in his eyes. Leon has a nice ass. It’s no wonder she wants to touch it, leg presses have done him wonders, but still, it’s off-limits. She can’t sweet talk her way into this anytime soon.

“Why, Leon?” She’s cupping his ass like he’s a girl. Leon’s not a girl. “You’d look so cute.”

“No,” he whines, and it sounds kind of sexy. He gets it. He can see the appeal.

“I think you just need some encouragement, baby.” She’s taking him apart like a gun. Folding him like laundry. Milks his prostate so well he sleeps like a baby. Not even a shadow of an orgasm to be seen from her side.

She leaves early the next morning and he’s left alone to ruminate. What he finds out today is that you’re pretty diligent at sucking dick when forced.

Leon thinks he would like to break you in a way that only he can fix.

He pushes your head down on his dick till your lips are stretched so far they split at the corners, you gag wetly each time the fat tip knocks the back of your throat, heavy balls slapping against your chin.

“Aww, look at you,” Leon coos, “little girl taking big things.”

Fat tears well in your eyes, a faint tremor betrays your effort to hold them back, a single blink and they roll down your cheeks like dewdrops. It might be the dick lodged in your throat, pulsing under your tongue— Yeah, no, it’s his dick in your mouth. That’s why you're upset. No other reason for it. Leon finds you a little ungrateful. A lot of women would pay for this, to drain his balls. Hell, your sister loves to do it.

“One at a time, sweetheart,” he says as he guides you to his balls, “can’t have you choking, can we?” You look up at him blankly. Leon thought he was funny and that’s all that matters. “Go on, spit on ‘em, get me nice and wet.” The drool pooling beneath your tongue drizzles his balls in clear strings, his drippy tip bumps the bridge of your nose, rests comfy on your brow ridge.

You’re struggling real bad. He’ll take it as a compliment. The thing is, you refuse to just lick them, pulling off each ball with a wet pop! and a dry cough. Leon starts to zone out so he shoves you off and quite pathetically, you fall flat on your back.

“You didn’t shave,” Leon notes in distaste, he was going to do you a favour too.

“No— Not for you.” You squirm like a fish on the docks when he hovers over you.

“Not for me, right.”

“Anyone but you.”

“You're not gonna do it for anyone, sweetheart, know why?” Leon clicks his tongue when you dodge his kiss, twisting your neck to keep a distance.

“Why?”

“No one else wants you,” he states, “you’re lucky that I want you.”

“Well, that’s not true.” You’re stubborn amongst all your other undesirable traits.

Leon scoffs. “What, so you ever had a boyfriend?” He runs his index finger along your slit. Bone dry. Serious? He assumes you’re still sore from yesterday.

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Don’t get mad at me, honey, I’m just helping you out.” Leon spits on your pussy, then on his thick cock for good measure, jerks his shaft and presses a thumb to his tip to guide it into you. Your lips fold inwards around him as he breaches your tiny hole. There’s too much resistance for it to be a smooth sailing journey, and you’re new to cock, cunt pushing him out as your body tenses. “I’m being nice to you, so you should say thank you.”

“Oh, god,” you mutter, brows knit in what might be pain or pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s what you’re calling me now?” The look you give him is priceless, small hands settling on his chest as you push at him weakly. “No, baby, you don’t get to do that.” Leon bottoms out, he rolls his hips forward to grind the head of his dick into your cervix, the fleshly opening moulds to his tip and you cry out. He can never tell if you’re enjoying it.

Leon sticks his fingers in your mouth to coat them in spit, you retch and he rubs figure eights on your clit, only then does your cunt loosen up its hold on him. It’s a quick process, the quicker he rubs you raw, the wetter you get, biting down on your tongue to keep quiet, but low groans slip past your cracked lips.

“Oh, there we go, baby, that’s it,” Leon coos, his cock slicked up by your wet pussy, sliding in and out with ease. His hips snap forward, forcing himself deeper into your messy little pussy, so wet you’re dripping down his balls, wetness stuck to your inner thighs.

“Fuck— I can’t, I can’t do it, ‘s too big,” you whimper, a hand slipping between your bodies to lay on your stomach. What you don’t understand is that he is big, yeah, but your pussy just needs to be broken in. Like a new pair of shoes.

“You’re doing it, baby,” Leon says, ‘cause you are doing it. You’re taking it. Body going rigid with each brutal thrust into your sopping wet hole. Whether you can take it or not isn’t for you to decide anyway. “I’m going to stuff your little pussy full,” he tells you.

“No,” you choke out, scratching at his chest, nails too blunt to do any sort of damage. Thank fuck. His girlfriend would go nuts.

It’s a satisfying victory, he covers your mouth to concentrate all his energy into this creampie, fills you to the brim, seed thick enough to stick to your insides. The original aim of his ‘experiment’ is forgotten, Leon doesn’t care if you cum or cry or pass out on his dick.

“I’m tellin’ her when she comes home.” Your threat is weak. He feared the consequences of yesterday, but you said nothing.

“You’re not telling her, you like me too much,” Leon decides, “I know you do, baby.”

“I don’t like you at all.” Your bottom lip trembles, fists balled up by your sides. The contempt only turns him on.

“No, but I think you know I’m right, don’t you?” No one else wants you, and you know that. Leon knows you know that. He’s the only one that is ever going to fuck you.

“Right about what? You’re a fucking psycho— I could get you locked up, I should get you locked up.”

“You should, so what're you waiting for?” If you did report him, Leon would just kill himself, going to prison sounds like a bore. “I think, sweetheart, that secretly, you really like it when I rape you.”

And your silence proves him right.

That report never comes. Duh. You love his dick. You like being roughed up. You know you’re deserving of it. Jesus Christ, Leon needs to call his shrink. Honestly, being around you is hard. It’s like his guilty conscience has developed a human body, shambling around the apartment in the shape of a malformed ghost girl, reminding him of the shit he’s said and done to you. You’re spinning in his necrosed brain like one of those music box ballerinas.

“Leon, be a doll and do me up,” his girlfriend is facing away from him, the smooth skin of her back and shoulders bared to him.

Leon only hears the ‘do me’ part, kissing the nape of her neck, reaching round to grab at her fat tits. “I love you…”

“I love you too, baby, but what do you think you’re doing?”

Leon makes a motion with his fingers, she sees it in the mirror.

“What is that, sign language?”

“No, I want to finger you.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, baby, but it’s not the time for that. I asked you to zip me up, Leon.” He zips her up while wondering how she can be so unaffected by him being so stupid.

“Hey, are you ready to go?” You knock on the door, you keep hiding your face from him today. His girlfriend said it’s ‘cause you have makeup on. Apparently that changes things. It’s sort of cute. Like, are you shy? You should be shy.

“Oh, no one likes cliffhangers, honey,” she says, forcing you to swap out some open-toe sandals for a pair of her heels. “Okay, Leon, I’ve left your dinner in the fridge, yes?”

Yes, mommy. “Yeah, babe.”

“And there’s snacks in the cupboard now, oh, and don’t use the tap water, it tastes strange so I stocked up— Leon, will you stop doing that with your jaw?”

Sorry, mommy. “Sorry, babe.”

“He’s totally fucking gurning,” you inform her in a way that screams playground snitch. He’ll choke you out for that.

“Gurning, what’s that?” His girlfriend asks cluelessly. This bitch is in her early thirties, Leon has no idea why she acts fifty. Whatever, it’s hot, he gets a girl with all the traits of an older lady without the sagging.

“Like, y’know, ‘cause he’s on meds.” What a little shit. Is this you getting back at him? Some petty fucking act of revenge? Getting his medication taken away from him by his health freak girlfriend?

“Medication? I didn’t know about this, Leon.” She looks at him like he’s killed her mother. Or raped her sister. If only she knew.

“Yeah, for my back, my back hurts, babe— Th-That’s why I’m on leave. My back hurts.” What a compelling act. Totally not a dude that’s two minutes away from injecting black tar heroin.

“Who prescribed them, a doctor or a vet?” You cock your head to the side. Fine. You fucking got him.

“Same thing.” Leon shrugs.

She makes him empty the bedside desk of pills. “Leon, good boys don’t do this. We don’t take drugs in this household, let me take them off your hands.”

“They’re- Babe, they’re not drugs, they’re for my back— I hurt my back.” Granted, his back stopped aching a few days back, he’s just taking advantage of the break. Also, he’s not a child.

“Your back, honey, I know it hurts.” She waves him off. “We can fix it, huh? I can book you in for acupuncture or cupping— Oh, what about a chiropractor?”

“Fine,” Leon says, voice cracking, watching in devastation as she takes his pills in a black garbage bag.

“Bye, Leon, see you later, honey.” She blows him a kiss and he catches it. He has to catch it.

“Yeah, bye, Leon!” You wave at him, looking happier than you have in days.

The door opens an hour later and Leon takes his hand out of his pants. You stand in front of him with red eyes and messy makeup. Leon, being the gentleman he is, takes you into his arms and rubs your back to soothe you as he tells you, more than a little cruel, I fucking told you so.

At least now you know that some guys aren’t as nice as Leon. Some men will spit in your face without considering how tight your pussy is, they won’t even think about how good your tits look in that push-up bra. See? That’s what the real world is like.

The bath fills as he bends you over the sofa. You’re prettier from behind, dress hiked up, soaked panties around your ankles. His hand smooths down the front of your stomach to cup your puffy cunt, prodding at your swollen clit. You shaved. Funny. Thought you were going to get a dick that wasn’t his.

Leon kneels, he spreads your ass cheeks to lick into your pussy from behind, tongue lapping up the beads of arousal that dribble down the seam of your cunt like sticky honey. He laps at your hole and you arch your back to push into him, his tongue fucking your pussy so well, sloppy sounds fill his ears.

“Been wanting to do this,” Leon says into your cunt, tongue making its way back up the centrefold of your fat pussy, he blows spit bubbles on your clit and then he nips at it until you cry out, startled by the jolt of pain. His dick kicks in his sweats. You taste good to make up for that face of yours.

You cream in his mouth so sweetly, toes curling against the wooden floor. Leon wipes his mouth on his forearm, then he wraps it around your neck, pulling your body flush to his. In his chest, his heart flutters when you press a delicate kiss to his bicep. He feels it and you can’t unfeel that.

“I’m sorry, Leon,” you get out through shaky moans as he sandwiches his shaft between your chubby pussy lips, bumping the tip into your clit as his hips move back and forth. “I’m sorry… Didn’t know-“

“It’s okay, baby.” He kisses behind your ear. “It’s alright ‘cause you know now, huh?”

“Yeah,” you agree tearfully, tilting your head so it rests on his broad chest, he gives your pout some wet kisses.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm, baby?” Leon nudges you with his nose.

Your idea of cleaning up might be far from what Leon’s is. He doesn’t think you were expecting something so extreme. But it’s for thinking you’re worth something— For thinking that anyone else would do as little as touch you. It’s to wash off that pitiful attempt at makeup.

He bends you in half over the tub. Your tits hang low enough to be squashed against the edge painfully as Leon dunks your head into lukewarm water. Holy shit. Tomorrow will be the day he overdoses. Why is he doing this?

A strangled noise passes your lips as he lets up, and you re-emerge, Leon wipes a hand over your face to rid you of the streaky mascara and sticky gloss.

“There we go, sweetheart, nice and clean.” He presses the tip into your leaking cunt, it catches on your hole, and you flail, water spilling over the edge, surface tension broken as it ripples.

Honest to god, Leon hasn’t fucked a pussy tighter than yours, and when he holds you beneath the surface? Man, you might deglove his dick. He works his cock into you, and when he’s balls deep in your sloppy cunt, Leon allows you to lift your head to which you pant and gasp and cough. All the shit a drowning person does when they’re tossed a lifesaver.

Your body sags, hanging limp with only Leon to hold you up as he roughly fucks in and out of your poor hole, heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“I love you, Leon,” you tell him, rubbing at your stinging nose with your fist, pussy tightening when he pinches your throbbing clit.

“Aw, do you, baby? You love me?” Leon laughs, the mean smile on his face hidden in your shoulder, “That’s so cute.” He rocks back and forth, shallow thrusts that are more for him than they are for you, rabbiting his dick into your squelching pussy until his balls pulse and his shaft twitches inside of you. “Real— Real fuckin’ cute,” he grits out as he buries himself to the hilt, shooting his load in your willing little pussy.

“I think so,” you whimper, thighs trembling as the knot in your stomach snaps and you coat his cock in your slick. Hey, his dick isn't a problem then.

Leon thinks about calling his shrink. The bad shit he does won’t fix itself like he wants. “Clean up,” he tells you, looking at the wet ground. The soaked rug. Your face.

“What… Leon, where are you going?” You use your palms to mop the excess water from your face. “Seriously, Leon? I just… I told you that…”

He has things to do - Leon’s going to call his shrink and very promptly throw himself over the balcony when she doesn’t answer his call.

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

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malereadermaniac · 2 months

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Serial Cheater ~ Mako x Male Reader

This takes place somewhere along season 2 - Mako having just broken up with Korra and chatting to Asami again

You are a core member of team Avatar!

Short fic! Sorry lol

Even though Mako is the kind of guy fan girls swoon over, most people would say that he's pretty down to earth

Your friends wouldn't describe Mako as flirty or as a serial romantic

But for the entire time you've known the muscular fire bender, some things have stuck out to you - most notably that he is, in fact, a flirt and a serial cheater (on accident)

Mako never actually means any harm to the girls he dates, but you have noticed a trend in his dating patterns of dating drop-dead gorgeous girls with a little overlap between them

It may just be the law of attraction - maybe Mako is just a magnet to romance and he can't help it

But it's most definitely a fact that if an opportunity is presented to the police officer, he takes it

And that is exactly what got the both of you into this situation

Mako and you were hanging out, Korra away somewhere on avatar business and everyone else at their respective jobs

The two of you were just chilling in Mako's apartment, having ordered take-out and drinking some new companies mass-produced rice-wine

As conversations drifted from one to the other, Mako started to vent about his highly active love-life

Being a good friend, you listened to the tall police officer - nodding along to assure him that you're listening to his ramble about his feelings for Korra and also for Asami

You of course throw in a joking comment or two at Mako's adulterous nature, but all in all you listen to his problems and offer your comfort

And your comforting and caring nature, mixed with the alcohol in Mako's system, was what resulted in your current situation

That being you on Mako's lap, making out with you handsome friend

Yes, you broke the kiss initially

Yes, you said you two shouldn't do this because of your close friendship with both of Mako's love interests

Yes, Mako begged for your warm, soft lips and for your comfort

And yes, you gave in...

Even though Mako was just yapping on about kissing Asami less than 24 hours ago, his chiseled face and warm brown eyes drew you in like an inescapable black hole

As the two of you made out, clothing started to make its way off of your body - the air in Mako's apartment becoming hotter and stuffier

But as your nude chest rubbed against the handsome man's pecs, a knock of the door forced you two apart

"Mako? Hey I wanna... talk about earlier!" you could hear your dear friend's voice shout

Asami was behind that door, and you most certainly didn't want her to walk in and see you and her not-so-boyfriend-boyfriend getting it on

You and Mako struggle to get off of one another and desperately reach for your clothes to cover up

You head to the bathroom to hide and dress back up as Mako let's Asami in to talk

You over-hear the two as you wait in your friends' tiny bathroom

Their conversation had ups and downs, but it definitely ended in an up

You peaked out of the crack between the door frame and the door, watching as Asami and Mako kissed goodbye

As the front door shut, you open the bathroom door and lean on the frame

"Sooo... looks like you really just can't help yourself" you say with a smirk to Mako

The tall man chuckles as he walks over to you

"Heh... yeah, I guess so"

"I don't think you deny being a playboy much longer, haha..." you joke

Mako holds you head up with his soft hand to make you look him in the eye - Mako's height being emphasised

"Shut up... and what if I am?" Mako half-lids his eyes as he focuses on your features

And while you know that it's a dick move on your part, breaking Asami's and even Korra's trust, you couldn't help but push your lips against Mako's

Your hands rest on Mako's strong chest, his tongue slipping past your lips as his masculine hands slip onto your waist

"That's what I'd do if your were... Hmhm~" you laugh after breaking from Mako's warm lips

The two of you laugh as the strong man picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck

As Mako makes his way to his bed, all thoughts of guilt float out and away from your brain

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iheartuwu · 3 months

Text

₊˚ ♡ random relationship hc’s ◞ leon s. kennedy

fem!reader, fluff, angst, established relationship, implied age gap for like one or two hc’s, wrote these in an id leon brainrot fueled spur lmfao so mostly for an older leon ig !? would love to expand on some of these in a fic, wc 0.6k ╮

gift giving is definitely one of his strongest love languages, however he’s not one for grand gestures or overtly romantic gifts. his gifts are practical, thoughtful, consistent reminders that he’s always thinking of you because he’s never been good with words. he prefers to not be present when you receive them and he’s SO deliberately discreet about it too. subtly replacing your skincare or fav products that are running out with brand new ones, delving into his mental notes of what you’re running low on when he’s at a shop. scheduling food or flower deliveries for when he’s away on a mission or work related tasks. any praise would probably make his skin crawl because he just can’t handle it

terms of endearment feel unnatural to him and rarely fall past his lips unless you seem to react positively to them. i don’t see him as someone who’s that experienced in committed long term relationships ( or relationships in general ) due to the nature of his work and lifestyle. he defaults to ‘babe’ until he learns which terms you prefer / dislike

leon would never accept your offers or attempts to pay for a thing ( i swear by this ). this doesn’t come from a place of arrogance or urge to fulfill some ‘traditionally’ masculine role. his disposable income is plentiful, and he’s happy to pay when the opportunity arises, he honestly doesn’t even think about it and merely hands over his credit card. receiving gifts can often be hard for him but he’ll never purposely display his discomfort or refuse

extremely dry texter and doesn’t really use his phone despite being tech savvy, all of his texts end with periods. rarely ever uses emojis ( his personal favs are 👍👎 and the occasional ❤️ ). typically one word responses. doesn’t understand half of the abbreviations you use. send him a keyboard smash and he’ll think you’re having a stroke. prefers to call you instead

always the driver ( he insists on it ). always has the seat warmer on for you. if you do drive he becomes a backseat driver which can be mildly frustrating. comments on your song choices when you play music in his car but would never tell you to stop no matter how grating it is on his ears and simply endures. sometimes opts for his motorcycle over his car solely because he gets to be held onto by you. would literally never let you even fathom the idea of driving his motorcycle

frequent date nights at borderline obnoxiously ritzy restaurants to compensate for his time spent away from you due to his job. also bc this man cannot cook. does not let you know in advance. he simply says “we have a reservation tonight” like an hour before which often results in you scrambling to get ready

he struggles with sharing his ( darker ) emotions, accompanied by a habit of opting to brush your concerns off. vulnerability is a foreign language to him. he’s scarily good at pretending he is fine, but you manage to see glimpses of his deteriorating wellbeing in his body language. the heavy sighs upon waking up, his slight recoil from your touch, his posture stiffening after you ask him what’s on his mind. this doesn’t come from a place of distrust in any way, he truly just doesn’t want to ‘burden’ you and convinces himself that his struggles aren’t important in the grand scheme of things. he also knows the source of his stress and trauma is for the most part confidential and he tells himself he’s doing it for your own safety and protection. when he does open up by his own volition, he keeps it brief, spares most of the details, his composure rarely falters and he’s itching to move on from the subject. you’ve never seen him cry :(

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy headcanons #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #i could go on and on about him fr

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lucid-loves · 3 months

Note

Hello

I have a request for ghost a one shot where the reader is a member of 141 and she falls for him

You got it! ❤

Come a Little Closer

Pairing: Ghost x 141!reader (fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.3k, One-Shot

CW: strong language, fluff, bullying, slight mention of violence, one-shot, clear attraction

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: You have just joined the 141 and getting to know the boys has been a lot of fun. The only one that you seem to be having trouble getting close to is Ghost. It doesn’t stop you from having a crush on him or trying to catch his attention any chance you get.

Part 1 ~ Part 2

“Welcome to Task Force 141! I’m sure that you will find this team much more fitting to work with given your skills.” Price congratulated you as he escorted you to the base’s leisure room. Many of the soldiers hung around there to relax with drinks, television, billiards, and other games. The 141 was no exception.

You had been struggling with your assigned team on base. Teamwork and trust wasn’t there. A lot of it stemmed from jealousy as you demonstrated much better skills then they had on missions. You usually ended up taking home all the glory. However, the full picture was that the others often made mistakes or overlooked things. It wasn’t your fault that you were a perfectionist when it came to your job.

They still tried to make your life on base difficult in petty ways. Trashing your room in the barracks, stealing your clothes while you showered, bumping into you on purpose. It was very clear that the team you were assigned to before was full of people that peaked in high school and thought that the military was an easy way to make money despite being intelligently average at best.

Not you, though. You worked hard. You dedicated your time to getting better each day. You stuck to your work with maturity. Thankfully, Price noticed this pretty quickly when he was looking at recruit files. Nothing out of pity either since he didn’t know about the bullying. You didn’t report any of the bullying to anyone in order to keep peace and establish your maturity.

And now, you are reaping the rewards. Being assigned to the 141 team was a fresh start. When you walked into the leisure room, almost everyone looked up at you. Women didn’t often come into the room because it resembled something more like a man-cave. Beer bottles everywhere, sports usually on the TV, and a strong, masculine energy that often made women too uncomfortable to visit.

You, on the other hand, found it exciting. You really wanted to hang with the big boys. Earn your place. Prove to everyone that you deserve to be on the base and a part of the 141 as their newest member. That started with getting to know your new teammates.

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost were surrounding a pool table, clearly in the middle of a game. Whoever was solids was getting absolutely destroyed. When Price and you got closer, they stood at attention. Price waved his hand, putting them at ease. “Men, this is our new member. She has incredible skills that are sure to add to our team’s strength. A sharp-shooter, highly intelligent, and great with hand-to-hand combat.”

You smiled brightly as you finally introduced yourself. It was time to make a great impression. Plus, you already felt like you could be yourself while doing it. “Y/n. Thank you for this opportunity. My condolences as well to you, Soap.”

Soap raised a brow in confusion, clearly not understanding what you were talking about. “Pardon?”

“Your loss. At billiards. What a brutal way to lose too. You might as well give up now and give Gaz the betting money.” You smirked, eyeing the expressions light up at your quick-wit and observation skills. Gaz and Soap were the only ones holding pool sticks. A couple bills rested on the side of the table. Their expressions before they noticed you and Price gave away who was winning and who was losing.

“Well, the newbie is sharp. You should listen to her while you still have your dignity, Johnny.” Gaz laughed, already accepting you fully into the team. Soap shot him a glare before turning to you with a mischievous look on his face.

“You think you can turn this game around for me, y/n?” He inquired, pool stick already being held out to you. Smiling like a kid on Christmas, you took the stick to play.

Kyle was quick to protest Soap’s sly move. “That’s cheating! Don’t make her do your dirty work for you, Soap. Just take the loss, bruv.”

You fished your wallet out from your back pocket, taking out a few bills of your own to add to the betting pool. “How about this? If I can beat Gaz by starting off with Soap’s miserable disadvantage, I get all the money. If I don’t, then Gaz takes all.”

Soap and Gaz looked to each other, and then to Ghost who just sat in his stool, overlooking the entire game as their referee in a sense. He’s been watching the situation unfold carefully even since you walked into the room. You caught his eye when you entered. Not many women were working at the base in general, let alone waltzing into a presumed boys-only club like you have always belonged. Not only that, your deduction skills were sharp. Your smile was optimistic. You seemed to have no fear in any of the changes you were going through.

Out of curiosity to see if you could put your money where your mouth was, he nodded. His deep, rich voice lit a little fire inside you as he finally spoke. “I’ll allow it.”

You took the stick from Soap and looked at the table, examining your situation entirely. Everything was considered as you planned your move. The position of your remaining balls, Gaz’s, even the weight of the stick in your hand. Doing the mental math, you carefully lined up a shot, your form perfect and deliberate. The margin of error wasn’t something to scoff at. You were a perfectionist when it came to your job, after all. This, you considered to be part of your job.

As you posed yourself on the table for the shot, Ghost couldn’t help but look over your form. Neither could most of the other guys in the room since women coming in was rare, but his opinion mattered the most. You were on his team now. He was going to be working with you nearly every day from here on out.

And damn, did you look fine bending over the table like that.

You took a deep breath as you struck the cue ball, having it hop over Gaz’s stripe in front of it to hit the solids behind. From the force, the solids scattered, three of them sinking based on pure luck. You stood up from your position, satisfied from your play. Bewildered expressions looked between you and the game. “Your move, Garrick.”

And just like that, you earned more respect from your team. Price chuckled at Kyle’s nervous look, now realizing that he was probably going to lose all his money if your skills and luck withstood for the rest of the game. It seemed like he had nothing to worry about when it came to you. You fit right in like a piece of their puzzle.

The following several weeks have been a blast for you. You have gotten close to your team in a way that made the base feel more like home to you. They helped you train, gave you pointers, invited you to meals, and played all the games you wanted to play. Except, they no longer wanted to put money on the table lest you rob them blind.

The relationship between everyone was a breath of fresh air for you as well. No fighting, no bullying, no arguments. They clearly respected each other. They respected you too. There was teasing a lot of the time, but it was all out of friendliness and brotherhood.

The only thing you were wary about was Ghost. You’ve caught him staring at you on occasion, his eyes giving nothing away once you noticed his gaze. He didn’t talk to you much either. But you knew that he noticed you. You knew when too, given that you were growing attracted to him.

Ghost has always been a legend around the base. He had impressive records of nearly every scoreboard around the training centers. Tales of his missions spread like wildfire each time he would return from deployment. The rest of the team was equally as impressive as well. Yet, there tended to be more of a buzz when it came to Ghost. Part of it was due to his expertise. Another part of it was the mystery of the skull mask he always wore. The last part of it was his physique. He was huge compared to a lot of the guys around here.

You were no exception to the admiration bandwagon. Seeing Ghost’s records and hearing the stories actually inspired you to hang in there with training. You aimed to be strong, resolute, and confident in work just as he is. However, that was purely a muse infatuation. Nothing more than looking at him as a prime example of what a soldier should be. Now, you began to see him differently.

It started with the little things. Subtle shifts in his body language, changes in tone when circumstances changed. You took notice of those things as a means to find a way into getting more friendly with him. As you continued to observe, however, you felt your body reacting more to his being. The way he towers over you with his massive frame. The way his muscles flex with each movement when you sparred. The way his fingers lightly brush against yours when you hand him completed paperwork.

There were moments of chivalry from Ghost too that never failed to make your heart hammer inside your chest. He’s caught you from losing your balance when you tried to reach for a file that was too high on a shelf a couple of times. His hands would instinctively grab your waist, pull you close to him, and anchor himself to stay steady from the force of your fall. He never failed to ask you if you were okay as well in that baritone voice you began to get butterflies from. It didn’t take long until he began reaching for things you needed for you after those instances.

Ghost has also taken up the habit of always opening the car door for you, making sure you could get your spot sitting in the middle without having to crawl over anyone. Even in instances of realistic training, having to rush into a vehicle as quickly as they could, Ghost always made sure the door was open for you to get in first. The close proximity to him given how small the backseat usually was contributed to your growing crush on him too.

On the surface, Ghost never seemed to mind helping you out. Many of his new habits were taken upon himself once he began working with you. Yet, he still never really talked much to you and you could never decipher his staring. It made you worried that he was growing resentment over feeling like he needed to help you out with the mundane.

Ghost still had a strong wall when it came to you. However, you were determined to break it down.

It was the first Saturday night back on base after a tense, two-week long deployment. For the first time, the 141 saw you in action. You picked things up quick, you followed orders to a tee, and you were spot-on with your sniper. It certainly helped the team get things done, but it didn’t stop the mission from being long and dangerous. There were a couple of medical scares, plenty of gunfire, and a few secrets revealed. It didn’t end until you put a bullet through the target’s brain.

So, the team wanted to decompress on their first Saturday back on base. They also wanted to congratulate you for getting the final snipe on the terrorist leader they were hunting. It was your first deployment with them, something that also deserved to be celebrated too.

The team headed out to a nearby bar. A hole-in-the-wall kind of place that not a lot of people knew about. A classic place with an old-school jukebox, war-plane memorabilia, and a simple bar menu. After buying you your first couple of drinks, the men began to disperse to socialize and see if they could get a little lucky tonight. All except for you and Ghost who sat quietly at the bar, drinks in hand. The silence between the two of you was awkward at first. At this point, you have never been in a casual setting alone with him. You were either working with him or the rest of the boys were with you.

However, to say nothing would be a wasted opportunity. Even if being alone with him made you feel gooey inside like a school-girl with her first crush, you still wanted to know him better. Soap had given you good information about him to use too.

Casually, you took a slow slip of your liquid courage. “Johnny says you have a good sense of humor.”

Underneath the mask, Ghost quirked a brow. He didn’t realize that you talked about him with his teammates when he wasn’t around. He wondered what else you talked about when he couldn’t be there with you. For now, he played along. “It’s dark humor. Probably not your cup of tea.”

When he looked at you, he saw a bright light. Clever, ambitious, brave. Ultimately sweet too. Along with him acting chivalrous for you, you have been considerate of him as well. You often brought tea to the team, but Ghost’s cup was always different. You always brought his favorite tea flavored exactly how he liked it. Everyone else liked theirs plain. He liked his with a little milk.

You have also tidied his desk a few times after he complained about not finding something he needed. He never knew how it would get so messy. Before he knew it, his desk would look like a tornado ran through it. However, you would straighten it just enough for him to find what he needs. Enough to jog his memory of where he put it down without having to look through unfamiliar organization.

In his mind, you were someone that needed to be protected for the darkness of the world. Starting with himself and his dark humor.

Still, you persisted. “Try me.”

Ghost looked at you for a moment, causing your heart to skip a beat. You could see him contemplating something. Fortunately, he let you have this one. After the past two weeks, you deserved just a little glimpse into who Ghost really was as a person. “Why don’t blind people skydive?”

“Why?” You grinned, eager to hear the punchline. Finally, you were talking with Ghost like this!

“Scare the shit out of their dogs.” He finished, taking a sip of his bourbon while waiting for your reaction. He expected you to scrunch your nose up in disgust or give a fake laugh just to humor him.

Instead, he was graced with your genuine laughter. You actually found the joke pretty hilarious. “Damn, that’s pretty good! Alright, I got one for you. Why did Sally fall off the swingset?”

A small smile crept along his face as you began your own joke. “Why?”

“She doesn’t have any arms. Here’s another one. Knock knock.” You continued, not feeling at all discouraged by his lack of laughter at the first joke. The second half was always better.

“Who’s there?” He followed along.

“Not Sally.” You finished, earning yourself an honest chuckle out of him. This was the first time you have seen him smile and laugh. The sight made you feel warm and fuzzy. Slowly, the crush you had was turning into something more. You actually imagined a future with him for a second.

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts, garnering your full, undivided attention just as he gave you his. “That was actually pretty funny. I’ll give you that one.”

Before Ghost knew it, his walls were crumbling down as you exchanged jokes and laughter with him. His own curiosity about you was turning into something that he didn’t think he would ever have for himself.

You and Ghost had been growing closer ever since breaking the ice at the bar. He felt more comfortable talking to you casually, you felt more comfortable asking for his help, and there was more peace within yourself as you learned that Ghost never harbored resentment towards you. He was just a little rough around the edges.

For some reason, that made him even more attractive to you. The thought that you have actually been able to get his guard down around you had you chipper than a songbird in the morning. You’ve been eating up his special attention too. Every time the team went out, Ghost and you would always find the time to talk. Just the two of you. It had you over the moon each time.

Despite your growing feelings, you kept them to yourself. You didn’t want to ruin the peace that you have so carefully inserted yourself into. You didn’t want to jeopardize your friendship with him as well. It took a lot of time to get to where you were at with him. Being open about your love for him wasn’t worth the risk.

However, it didn’t stop you from daydreaming. You often found yourself daydreaming about what it would be like if Ghost was your boyfriend. You haven’t seen his face yet or used his real name even though you already knew it. Yet, you knew that he was devilishly handsome and his name would feel incredibly on your lips. You wondered what kind of pet name he would pick out for you if he was the type.

You even thought about what he may be like between the sheets. It was hard not to imagine it when you sparred, feeling just how powerful he could be when it came to getting what he wanted.

Jesus, you were down so bad for him.

Your daydreaming continued as you showered in the community bathroom. It was late at night, most soldiers already turned in for the night. You had just gotten back from another great night at the bar with your team. Humming and bathing, you didn’t even notice the door to the bathrooms open up.

Once you were all done, you wrapped a towel around yourself and stepped out of the stall in order to grab your clothes. However, you were surprised to see that they were missing. This kind of thing hasn’t happened in a while. You nearly forgot that it did since you were having such a great time with your new team.

How could your old teammates still hate you after being gone already too? To even go as far as to pull this kind of shit again?

You sighed in frustration, looking around the bathroom to see if the culprits were still hanging around. When you found no one, you tightened the towel around your torso and prepared to head to your room as quickly and quietly as possible.

The barrick halls were quiet save for a few snores from behind locked doors. Your hair was dripping water along the beige tiles. The stone was cold under your bare feet. The halls seemed freshly waxed too. If you weren’t careful, you could genuinely fall and break your neck.

As you carefully made your way to your room, you could hear footsteps behind you. As soon as he called your name, your cheeks began to turn red in embarrassment.

Ghost was taken aback by your appearance. You were in nothing but a blue towel, dripping hair creating a slipping hazard in your path. In and outside of work, you were careful to keep up appearances. You didn’t seem like the type to shower and walk the halls nude.

It would be a lie if the only feeling he had was concern, though. At the same time, his feelings of attraction towards you began to stir. Something that has been getting harder to fight since meeting you.

You gave a nervous laugh, refusing to turn around to face him. This was mortifying. “H-Hey! I forgot my clothes back in my room. Guess I had one too many from earlier. My room isn’t much farther now. So. . . what are you doing here in this part of the barracks?”

From his jacket pocket, he pulled out a wallet. Your wallet. You haven’t even noticed that it was missing. “Found this in the backseat of the car. Figured that you would be missing it sooner rather than later.”

Now, you were hoping that someone would assassinate you to save you from embarrassment. Perhaps your white lie earlier was actually a little true. More importantly, it felt like Ghost was giving you no choice but to completely turn around. But, you couldn’t possibly face him like this. Face on fire, heart racing, breath shuttering. What started as a fun night was now one of your most humiliating ones.

“Thanks, Ghost. . . Do uh. . . Do you think you can hand it to me after I change?” You scrambled, trying to find the most graceful solution to your predicament. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Ghost avert his gaze and give you a nod, trying to give you as much privacy as he could given the circumstances.

Awkwardly, he followed you to your room, trying not to completely violate you with his eyes. It was difficult trying to determine what was enough distance to put between the two of you. Ghost wanted to be right next to you, shielding you from the world as you were obviously very uncomfortable. At the same time, he didn’t want to upset you by crossing a boundary.

On top of that, he really wanted to see what was under that fluffy towel of yours. It was an involuntary thought, but he still felt horrible about it.

Finally, you approached your room and took out the key that you made a habit of hiding in your shower caddy rather than with your clothes. However, it became apparent that despite having locked the door, it didn’t stop anyone from invading your space.

When you opened the door and turned on the light, you revealed a complete disaster. Bedsheets ripped to shreds, mattress stained with beer, personal belongings destroyed. Even family pictures that you so delicately framed on your walls were scattered along the floor, broken glass everywhere. Your dresser had been rifled with as well, all of your clothes ruined from various stains, rips, and wrinkles.

Everything was damaged. All of it. And you didn’t understand why. It has never been this bad before. Why now?

When Ghost noticed that you haven’t walked into your room yet, frozen in a state of shock, he finally walked over. He nearly took a step back himself when he noticed all the damage. He’s never seen anything like this before. It made him upset immediately.

No, not just upset. Furious. How could anyone think this was okay? How could anyone do this to you?! Ghost clenched his fists and his jaw, trying not to explode with fury. At first, he wanted to make his anger be known for all the barracks to see. He wanted to call everyone out of their rooms and force a confession. He would then beat the absolute shit out of the culprit right in front of everyone.

However, that’s not what you needed right now. It’s probably not what you would’ve wanted either. Over the time he’s spent with you, he has realized that you preferred logical, calm, and peaceful solutions. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself or anyone else from calling attention to mistakes. You took care of things with grace. Yet now, you looked like you were going to fall apart.

Ghost was quick to realize that this wasn’t a sudden attack based on your expression. This was something that you have been dealing with for a while. It just got to its worst tonight. If he had to guess, he would guess that you hadn’t just forgotten your clothes back in your room either. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were stolen.

The fucking bullies were gonna make you walk around the whole base naked. Ghost really wanted to kill someone now.

But first, he had to take care of you. Swiftly, he removed his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, covering you up as best as he could. Your attention trained on the disaster that was your room slowly began to shift towards Ghost as the warmth of his jacket seeped into your chilly shoulders. Gingerly, he draped wrapped his arm around you, using his body to cover you up even more. “Let’s go, love. I’ll take care of you.”

Needing comfort, you followed Ghost closely, not minding at all how close he was pressed to you as you walked side by side. His warmth was welcomed as you shivered from the chill of being nude and the shock of losing your valuables. With the pace you kept up with, it didn’t take long for the both of you to approach the door to a different room across the base.

Ghost’s room.

He unlocked the door and ushered you in, making sure that no one saw you out in the hallways. Once the coast was clear, he closed the door and turned on the light. Compared to his desk, his room was pretty clean. His bed was made perfectly, his clothes were all put away, and his TV stand was free of clutter. The whole room smelled of him too. Teakwood, leather, and bourbon.

You almost couldn’t believe it. You were really inside of Ghost’s room, a place that not even the other 141 men have ever been in. As you looked around, Ghost went through his dresser for suitable clothes for you. Soon after he began looking, he picked out one of his shirts and adjustable pajama pants to wear. “Here. I’ll turn my back.”

Silently, you began to dress in his clothes, your senses flooding even more with everything that was Ghost. The t-shirt and pants were large on your frame, but they were warm and soft. It covered you well enough too. As soon as you were done, Ghost turned back around. Once he saw you, it was like his breath was stolen straight from his lungs. He didn’t think that you would look so good in his clothes. As oversized on you as they were, he still found it perfect.

He cleared his throat, regaining his composure at the sight of you. You yourself were feeling restless about being in his private space. The way he looked at you, the way he protected you, and the way he held you made you really realize that you definitely had more than a crush on him. You fell in love with him.

With each gesture that he made towards you, you fell even deeper for him. You could hardly find the words to say back when he spoke so softly towards you. “Take my bed tonight, love. We’ll get you squared away with a new room first thing tomorrow.”

Not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable than you probably already were, Ghost attempted to make his way out. However, you grabbed the back of his shirt, making him freeze. You couldn’t just take his space without at least sharing some gratitude. You were grateful, and he deserved to know it. Besides that, you saw this as more of an opportunity to be with him. You were getting greedy. “Thank you, Simon. But. . . do you mind staying? If you want to leave after I fall asleep, that’s fine. I just. . . don’t want to be alone tonight.”

At the sound of his name upon your lips, he melted. He could feel all of his insides heat up as you said his real name. As dangerous as it was now to be alone with you, he could never say no. Not when you asked him like that.

“Get into bed. I’ll turn off the light.” He agreed. Relief washed over you as he reached for the light switch and waited. As soon as you got into his bed, cozied up in soft, clean sheets, the room went dark.

You could hear the shifting of clothes as he changed into something more comfortable. With the moonlight shining through the window, you could just make out his broad, bare chest, strong shoulders, and scars along his toned body. You hoped he didn’t notice you staring as he got changed, your gaze not even breaking once as he began unbuckling his belt. A part of you was hoping that he would crawl into bed with you half naked like that.

After he threw on some pajama pants and a cotton t-shirt, he reached for his mask. For a moment, he contemplated taking it off. You were still in the room with him after all. Was he ready to show you his face, even in the dark?

Finally, he decided that he was. Not just ready to show you, but ready to pursue you too. You’ve earned everything from him. His respect, his praise, his space, and his trust. You even earned his heart as he realized that he had fallen for you. His bright light. The perfect puzzle piece in his life. It was scary how seamless you seemed to insert yourself right into his life and his team. However, he wasn’t going to take it for granted. You belonged with them. With him.

Whoever wanted to mess with that was going to face Ghost’s wrath. Starting tomorrow after he helped you get a new room.

Now, he removed his mask, revealing how right you were about him being devilishly handsome. His defined jaw, his perfect lips, his silky blonde hair. You could shower it all with kisses if you could.

He got into bed with you after the mask was off, his body heat immediately warming up the bed. Still keeping some comfortable boundaries, Simon made sure to leave some space between the two of you. You didn’t mind it. You were just happy to have gotten this far with him. Perhaps having a romantic relationship with him wasn’t completely off the table after all.

When he finally settled in, you whispered good night. “Really, Simon, thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it, love. Just try to sleep tonight.” He humbly brushed off, his heart bursting at the seams with how sweet you sounded in your gratitude. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from calling you by the new, truthful nickname either. Something that your own heart couldn’t get enough of.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep, the comfort of Simon being with you like this much too nice to fight. Once he knew you were fast asleep, he began to try to rest as well. Eventually, he took the risk and wrapped his arms around you while he slept. He normally had a hard time sleeping. Nightmares usually kept him up. However, tonight was different. He felt more at ease with you even if you did make his heart race at the same time. For the first time in a long time, he managed to have a good night’s sleep.

All it took was to have you in his arms.

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celluloidbroomcloset · 5 months

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(Carrying on from this post. Note that I'm really just sharing my own thoughts here.)

Ed is as fully steeped in toxic masculinity as Izzy, but his reaction to it is different. The pirate life is destroying him slowly, and it's destroying him from the moment we meet him. Stede offers him an alternative; Stede is outlandish for a pirate, but Ed doesn't see this as an inherent weakness. It's something that he finds immediately fascinating. The longer he's around Stede, the more exciting he finds Stede's world and its expression of masculinity. He does "fancy a fine fabric," and he likes the things that Stede shows him - both for themselves and, increasingly, because Stede loves them. He fully indulges in Stede's games and stories - his own crew remark on how happy and open he is. To Izzy, this appears a further descent into unacceptable masculinity.

It should be noted that Izzy has been angry at Ed for moving outside of the Blackbeard persona before we even meet them. Izzy remarks that Ed has been getting gradually crazier and crazier, and that Izzy himself has been protecting him. We don't see much of that immediate past, but this is a case where we can extrapolate from what we do see and what we learn about the characters. Ed is having a breakdown. He's bored, he's tired, and he's contemplating death as the final great adventure. He tells Stede that nothing is fun anymore; he barely has to do anything. Being Blackbeard is exhausting and isolating.

Izzy sees this too, but he draws the wrong conclusions - he thinks Ed needs to simply "man up." He remarks on the struggle it takes to "manage your increasingly erratic moods" without apparently understanding the reason behind them (which Ed offers up pretty clearly, both to Izzy and then to Stede). Stede and Ed's relationship represents an even further "descent" as far as Izzy is concerned.

The conversation in "Discomfort" and in "Wherever You Go" are clearly mirrored. In the first, Ed is finding light at the end of the tunnel in the form of Stede and Izzy is desperately trying to push him back to where Blackbeard lurks. In "Wherever You Go," Izzy further pushes Ed back into the toxic masculinity box, his prescribed masculine role, by directly insulting his manhood and insinuating that his expression of grief is emasculating.

Again, this is not an issue of Ed being affected by Stede's absence, necessarily, but how he expresses it. Izzy's homophobia is very much about outward expression and what is and is not acceptable to be thought "a man." Ed is expressing grief in what Izzy sees as an effeminate "namby-pamby" way - wearing Stede's clothing, crying, eating marmalade, writing songs, and trying, in his own imperfect way, to replicate the things that he loved about being on the Revenge with Stede.

But the only acceptable emotion, for men, is anger. Not for nothing is Izzy's main emotional expression in Season 1 rage; Wee John even refers to him as "that little angry fecker," and we rarely see him genuinely smile, laugh, or cry. Ed can be heartbroken, that's something Izzy cannot control, but he cannot show it like that. He must be furious. He must be angry. He must be violent. He must want to kill Stede for inflicting pain on him. He must be Blackbeard.

Izzy expresses near joy when Ed tries to strangle him - "There he is" - and threatens him if he doesn't go back into the correct persona.

Ed and Izzy do come from the same world, and they have shared experiences. But Ed's fall into the Kraken"Blackbeard persona takes all the internalized grief and pain and expresses it using the only emotion he's now permitted - anger. The result is horrific, to the extent that Izzy himself is dismayed at how far things have gone. But Ed's reaction is a natural progression - if this is what men are, then he's going to be everything that a man is supposed to be. That the result is monstrous is very deliberate, on the part of Ed and on the part of the show.

Izzy attempts, too late, to bring back Stede's ethos by invoking the "talk it through as a crew" line. He and the crew are genuinely worried about what has happened to Ed, but it is clear that Izzy himself does not understand his culpability. Ed said at the start that the only thing left for him was death; having been stripped of all the things that were joyful or soft, and therefore unmasculine, all he has left is death. His only mode of outward expression is anger and violence. There is no "talking it through."

None of this is to say that Izzy deserves to be shot, simply that this is the natural thematic outcome of everything that has been developing since we first see them together in Season 1. "Kraken" is indeed Ed's fault; he chooses to push Lucius off the ship, discarding first the "fine thing" that represented his connection to Stede, to softness, and to all the gentler forms of masculinity that he's now going to destroy. Ed's behavior belongs to Ed and Izzy's to Izzy.

It is not for nothing that Ed only cries in private. The viewer sees the grief and sorrow lurking beneath the surface, the fantasies about marrying Stede, the sobbing at night. But on the surface, Blackbeard must remain Blackbeard, and the only acceptable emotion is anger.

This descent on the part of Ed turns itself around on Izzy, too. The invocation of Ed's angry masculinity then becomes violence inflicted on Izzy himself. Izzy very much becomes the focal point of Ed's rage, beginning with the loss of his toes and leading to the loss of his leg.

Once more, Izzy's perception is unreliable. He says that it is Ed's feelings for Stede that have resulted in the toxic atmosphere on the ship. But it is Izzy himself who has told Ed that his earlier emotional expression is wrong, even subhuman - a "thing" he's become. It is the warping of grief and pain into anger that has resulted in Ed's madness and suicidal depression, and Ed's anger with Izzy is not misplaced. In a lot of ways, Izzy has shot himself in the foot.

The darker elements of this show indicate how deeply and horribly warping toxic masculinity is, but also that there is hope in the depths, not just for Ed...but for Izzy.

(Gonna carry on with the queer joy part of this later, because we should really remember that this show is very much about not living in darkness, even if darkness is a part of us.)

#ofmd season 2 #ofmd #our flag meets death #ed teach #edward teach #izzy hands #stede bonnet #blackbeard #tw: homophobia #ofmd meta #i know i'm gonna regret tagging izzy but dammit he's a fascinating character and his arc is SO DAMN IMPORTANT

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prettyprettypaci2 · 5 months

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Squire - Part 1

"Her Majesty's squire must make no attempt to displace the collar."

Your fingers are tearing at the heavy strap of pink leather fastened to your neck when you're startled by the deep, masculine voice behind you. Despite the welts you've dug into your skin, the thick ring of material remains snug against your throat. The collar is so tight that you can feel the blood in your face pounding with every thump of your heart. Your breathing is slow and heavy, and you feel dizzy for want of air.

"I demand to be released!" You croak. Your body defies you with a coughing fit as you sacrifice precious oxygen for your outburst. You grab the post of the small bed in the chamber, struggling to regain control of your airflow and wheezing until your lips are coated with spittle. Mucus oozes from your nose, and you reflexively move to wipe the excretions on your sleeve. Instead, you paint your bare arm with the slimy drippings -- an unpleasant reminder that your clothes were stripped before the guards locked you in here.

"Her Majesty wishes to impress upon her new squire the totality -- and the finality -- of this arrangement," the low, posh voice replies. When you reassemble your composure, you turn your head to get a glimpse of your captor. The first thing you notice is his waistcoat: stitched with an exotic Persian motif, its polished onyx buttons gleam darkly against shimmering gold threads. His prominent cheekbones and clean-shaven face give him a sunken appearance, and make his shifting eyes appear as though they might leap from their sockets at any moment. He rests his long fingers on the silver handle of a thin black rod that taps the stone floor as he walks.

"There has been no arrangement!" You sputter, your eyes watering as you continue to tug at the suffocating collar. "I am the eldest child of the Duke of Berceau, with all the rights granted by age of majority. I have come in good faith to sue for peace, and your guards have behaved perfidiously!"

"Her Majesty's squire will refrain from using words with more than two syllables!" The man with the waistcoat barks. "Just because the squire is not yet padded does not mean its obligations to the Crown are forfeit. This level of tutoring is unseemly."

"What did you call me?" You cough, giving up on the collar and focusing your efforts on breathing. "I am no lady's squire, and I am no 'it!' My name is --"

"Unimportant!" The man with the waistcoast interrupts ferociously. "A squire has no personhood and no possessions within the walls of this palace; not even a name. Her Majesty will bestow a name on her pet if she sees fit to do so. Until then, it is 'squire.'"

The man approaches you, and you calculate your odds of success in a brawl. He stands a head taller; a bit gangly, but not unhealthy. Your debilitating collar and lack of clothing make you a vulnerable target for the thin black rod he twirls in his hand. You decide against violence, for now.

The man reaches out with his left hand and grabs your scarlet cheeks between his fingers and thumb. He squeezes your flesh so that your lips form a crude pout. A chill runs up your spine and you flinch as you're forced to stare deeply into the man's bulging eyes.

"Her Majesty prefers squires who are obedient, delicate, and beautiful. A squire at court should be joyful, silly, shameless, and dumb. It does not use long words. It giggles gaily at jokes it does not understand. It vanishes when unneeded and makes merry when commanded. All together, a squire must be Her Majesty's jester, servant, hound, and whore. Does it understand?"

Your labored breathing intensifies. It's clear this terrifying man expects an answer of you, though he speaks as if you're not even in the room. You manage a whimper of confused protest, which the man stifles by tightening his grip on your cheeks. The corners of your lips are now touching, your face scrunched up like that of a child imitating a fish. Unsatisfied by your silence, you feel your jaw bump painfully into your pink collar as he forcibly nods your head up and down in an indication of 'yes.'

"I am Blackwood, Minister of the Queen's Holdings," the man says, pulling his hand away abruptly. "I am responsible for Her Majesty's horses, pigs, cattle, and dogs. The health and training of Her Majesty's squires fall under my portfolio. The squire will also work closely with Madame Matilda, who sees to the palace servants."

Cattle and dogs?! You take a step back from Blackwood, and feel the glass of the cold window on your bare back. You had examined it earlier when you were first imprisoned in this chamber, but determined you would not survive the fall had you attempted to jump. You wonder if that would not have been the easier fate.

"There has been some grave mistake," you groan, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"There has been no mistake. Her Majesty's squire will dress itself and accompany me to see Madame Matilda. She will then see to the squire's diapering."

"Diapering?" You gawk, certain you've misunderstood. "What do you mean by this?"

You yelp in agony as you feel Blackwood's rod cut across your stomach. You double over and descend into another coughing fit, concerned that you might vomit from the pain and inability to breathe. A dark purple line begins to form on your abdomen where the stroke of the rod connected with your flesh.

"I will waste no more time," Blackwood says haughtily. "The squire will dress itself or it will walk the palace naked. It's clear that it has already gone too long without being padded."

You struggle to remain standing, using the stone wall for balance. "What is it I am meant to wear?"

Blackwood sighs as if the answer to the question were obvious. He walks over to the simple bed and stoops to open a drawer you hadn't noticed beneath the straw-filled mattress. He retrieves a folded garment and tosses it to you roughly, clearly pressed for time.

You unfurl the cloth, which feels luxurious and silky in your hands. You gasp as you behold what Blackwood has given you: a small, tight dress with short billowing sleeves, the same soft pink as your leather collar. It has an immodest feather skirt that flares from the waist, which would leave your legs and loins almost entirely exposed. You're not even sure that the frilly garment would fit you.

"This is entirely inappropriate!" You wince as Blackwood grips his rod again; less annoyed, perhaps, by your protest than by your offensive use of so many syllables. You make a supplicating gesture to indicate you intend to obey. Concentrating on your breathing, you pull the silky pink dress over your head and slide your arms through the loose sleeves. The wound from your beating stings as you pull the tight bodice into place on your torso. The starched feather skirt sticks out nearly two feet in all directions without the need for a petticoat. There is no mirror in this room, but you're sure you look ridiculous.

"Her Majesty's squire will be given stockings and shoes after it is fed and securely diapered," Blackwood says, as if reciting some dull speech from memory. "Understand that until such time as it has been trained and earned the Queen's favor, it is not to leave the Squirey. If it makes any attempt at escape or at removing its diaper, the punishment will be unforgiving." He clicks his rod against the stone floor, causing you to jump. You feel your stomach tying itself in knots with all this talk of diapers. You glance uneasily about the room, noticing for the first time that there is no chamber pot for relieving yourself. Surely that doesn't mean...

"The squire will walk in front of me as I direct it to Madame Matilda's squiring hall. Make haste, but do not outpace me."

The stone floor is freezing as you march barefoot through the corridors of the palace. You try to commit the twisting passages and stairwells to memory as Blackwood directs you, to get a better sense of your location in the vast estate. But you find yourself distracted by the feather skirt which rustles beneath you and squishes through narrow doors. You're sure you could not find your way back to the bed chamber if you tried.

At last, Blackwood produces a ring of keys and passes one of them through an iron lock on a heavy oak door. With a little effort, he pushes it open and you feel as though you've stepped into a completely different building. The windows are enormous, casting ample light on the elegant and colorful tapestries depicting scenes from classical myth. Your feet, aching and numb from the cold ground, find succor in the soft pink oriental carpet that has been laid from wall to wall. You hear the sound of running water, and a chattering of high-pitched voices. Blackwood looks visibly uncomfortable in this luxurious space.

"Madame?" He bellows, barely inching across the threshold.

The chattering falls silent, and a severe-looking woman with long red curls and a black gown emerges from an alcove.

"Minister!" She shouts, her green eyes flashing with ill temper. "Let us hope your management of the Queen's Dairy is more timely than that of Her Majesty's squire, or we'll all be drinking spoiled milk!"

Blackwood seems to visibly shrink in this woman's presence. "It is a stubborn one, Madame. And it has been educated. I fear Her Majesty will be most displeased."

You're not sure whether to feel proud or insulted.

"Trust me, Minister; within a season, Her Majesty's squire will have forgotten more of its tutoring than you ever had." The red-haired woman seems to size you up, as though inspecting a cut of meat for purchase. "Quite an unusual choice. Not unprecedented, but highly unusual."

You feel the urge to speak, but think better of it. Blackwood takes a step backward out of the carpeted hall. "I will leave you to your business, Madame. Please keep me informed of the squire's progress. Her Majesty hopes it will be trained for appearance at court within a matter of weeks."

"Bah!" The woman throws up her hands. "I could train a monkey to appear at court in a matter of weeks. I will have this one barking on command in five days. Out with you! I've much work to do."

Blackwood bows stiffly and taps his rod on the ground before slamming the heavy oak door. You're left shivering beneath the gaze of this overbearing woman.

"I am Madame Matilda; but an educated squire shall have already figured that out," the woman says. Every word out of her mouth feels like a dare to see what happens if you challenge her. "The Minister is bound by tradition never to address you directly as a person; and it is true, you are not a person. But within the Squirey, such niceties are impractical. I will address you directly when necessary. Do not mistake this for leniency."

You swallow hard, feeling the leather collar's unrelenting grip on your neck.

"It was a mistake to leave you collared without diapering you immediately. It gives squires a silly notion that they are a prisoner, and prisoners think only of escape."

You take a deep breath and test your luck with a question. "Am I not a prisoner, Madame?"

"Ha!" Madame Matilda laughs cruelly, grabbing your wrist and leading you deeper into the carpeted chamber. "A prisoner lives in a very little world, but lives for themselves all the same. You do not have a self to live for, squire. You are owned in your entirety by Her Majesty. The Queen owns how you walk, and crawl, and sit. She owns the words you use to speak and the thoughts that are in your head. And when you dine on her food and drink from her streams, she owns your nourishment, too. You will keep these gifts from Her Majesty in your diaper, gratefully, until such time as she permits you to discard them."

As you turn the corner into an alcove, you see a cadre of three young women in white robes standing around a high rectangular table. Leather straps dangling from each corner give it the ominous appearance of a torturing rack, but there is no winch. One of the women is holding an object in her hand: a white rectangle of padding. It appears to be overlaid with an odd material that glistens in the light. The strange diaper unfurls noisily in her hands, the shiny material crackling like a flame as she spreads the white cloth out on the table.

"Your time has come, young squire," Madame Matilda whispers in your ear, making your hair stand on the back of your neck. She tugs playfully on your pink leather collar, and your sudden dizziness makes the room spin. "From this moment, your only purpose in life is to be dainty, docile, diapered, and dumb. You are a pet, destined only to serve Her Majesty and to fill the soft padding forever clinging to your hips. Get up on the table, and embrace your new life. There is no turning back."

👑 Part 2 👑

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper pee #diaper sissy #diaper training #diaper bulge #diaper gal #diapered247

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bumpkinspice0 · 5 months

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Parallels: Chapter 14 The Predator

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: Explicit (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: With Miguel in full rage mode, it’s up to you to save the day . But what happens after you finally stop the anomaly?

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, blood kink, biting, feral Miguel, borderline marking (don’t fucking look at me) fingering, oral f receiving , rough sex, possessive Miguel, waxing poetic about cumming (I said don’t fucking look at me!!!)

A/N: Sorry this took a while! My only excuse is that I was WAY over thinking this chapter and I also started another fic because why not. I hope this being absolutely filthy makes up for the wait....

Previous - Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 14

The Predator

This must be what mice feel like under the gaze of a cat. Like a rabbit that wandered into a foxhole. A spider caught in her own web— completely helpless.

The man you admire stalks towards you with inhuman, jerky movements. Whatever Kraven had poisoned him with had burned through his power suppressants and left you with the part of him you still didn’t fully understand. The part of him you both feared— now walking free.

He’s right in front of you now, your head hanging directly at his eye level. He leans closer and you shiver as you feel his hot breath against your neck. You need to break your restraints, you need to move but panic freezes over your limbs.

“Miguel,” You say softly, “It’s me. I-it’s me. Fight it.”

Your spider-sense is ringing in your ears and you’re not entirely sure what it’s telling you. You can only assume it’s doing the same for him.

“Arañita,” He draws back, his piercing red eyes shooting right through you. You can see the battle raging behind them. The struggle within himself. He recognizes you, yes, but is he in control?

Mocking laughter takes his attention away from you. Kraven is perched in a tree just above.

“There you are,” he says pridefully, “There is the beast worthy of my prowess. Let the true hunt begin!”

Miguel roars, leaping after the crazed hunter. His movements are more powerful than you’ve ever seen. You feel every reverberation of his powerful claws as he scales the trees. You swear you hear the massive redwood crack through its center as he does so. His every move was lethal— deadly. A killing machine.

And it’s exactly what Kraven wanted.

The hunter bounds from branch to branch again, giving Miguel chase with a chorus of maniacal laughter. He was enjoying this way too much. And here you were, dangling by your own webs— helpless.

Miguel brought you here to help him, to be a team. So you’re going to help him.

You manage to swing yourself to the tree trunk the snare trap was attached to. You stand horizontally, your feet easily sticking to the bark. With yourself anchored down it was much easier to get the proper leverage to break your webs. With one final flex, you shrug them off and immediately follow Miguel and Kraven.

You couldn’t see them anymore but they were making enough noise to alert the entire forest. Several small critters run through the branches in the opposite direction. Follow the sound of breaking twigs and masculine roars and you’d be on their tail in no time. Who needs a spider-sense.

Even in the panic you still find yourself on high alert with your surroundings. Kraven had laid traps that stopped both of you already. Who knows how much of the forest he boobytrapped. Who knows if Miguel could even sense them anymore in his state.

This wasn’t just about catching an anomaly anymore. This was about protecting Miguel. Protecting him from himself. You have no idea how you’re going to do it but you have to get them separated, get Kraven in a cage, and get Miguel calm and somewhere safe.

You’re fucking Spider-Woman. This should be easy… That’s what you tell yourself anyway.

They’re fast but you still manage to catch up. You keep a loose pursuit a few dozen yards back. The two men too distracted with fighting each other to bother with you. If you keep stealthy you can work this situation exactly like the Electro mission. Miguel distracts while you capture. You don’t have any of the cyber traps but you could still web him up. At least long enough to kick him into a portal.

If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.

Miguel grabs Kraven’s ankles and they both plummet to the forest floor. Perfect. You shoot to the upper branches. With the higher vantage point, you’d have a clear shot with your webs. Luck seems to be on your side for once in this whole fucking ordeal.

They grapple and wrestle wildly around the ground. You just needed a split second of an opening and you’d have him. It’s all you needed— Just a second.

Miguel pins the hunter to the tree you’ve perched yourself in. The force of the impact ripples all the way up the trunk. The wood groans and cracks in protest. They haven’t spotted you, your form still concealed by the branches.

This is it. It’s your chance to end this. He’s right there. Miguel raises a mighty claw to the hunter and you ready your spinnerets.

It happens all within a fraction of a second.

You shoot a web. Kraven twists out of Miguel’s grasp just as his claw comes down. Kraven slips away with practiced ease and Miguel slices through the tree. With your web's original target now gone, it explodes on the ground at Miguel’s feet. His gaze shoots up directly to you— A gaze completely devoid of the man you know.

Well fuck.

He begins to crawl to you, Kraven completely forgotten behind him. A thunderous snap rings out of the wood from Miguel’s claw marks at the base. The tree gives one final groan before cracking under its own weight. The tree begins to tip backward, yet Miguel seems unbothered by it. He had a new target.

Double fuck.

“Forget her!” Kraven yells as he pulls Miguel back, “I will deal with her next.”

You leap from the falling tree, swinging yourself to safety on a nearby branch. The two men below you continue their constant power struggle, seemingly unbothered by the falling giant next to them. Seems like Miguel took Kraven’s advice. He’d forgotten about you.

You don’t know much about how Miguel works when he’s in this state. He didn’t have a strategy or the same carefully planned movements you were used to. It was only rage. Unbridled rage.

There were only the things in front of him. Whatever caught his attention. That’s what he could focus on. That’s what he was capable of. You couldn’t take a passive role here and just wait for an opening like you planned. If you had any chance of getting to Miguel, you still had to separate them.

What better way to do that than to forcefully insert yourself.

“Please be able to sense me coming, big guy,” You shoot a web across the clearing where the two were fighting. You grasp it tightly and take a deep breath that comes out more as an irritated sigh, “Tallyho.”

You swing.

Your prayers are answered and Miguel seems to sense you, ducking out of the way of your dramatic entrance. Your feet make contact with Kraven’s face, your full momentum sending him flying several feet. You roll to a stop, poised perfectly between the two men.

You’re back to Miguel. You can feel his rage. His anger. His confusion. You slowly turn to face him, peeling off your mask as you do so. There was no need for it here. You feel the shared buzzing in your head amplify as recognition flashes across Miguel's face, just for a moment. He feels it too. Primal instincts ruled him now. The spider-sense tells him what your words never could.

We’re on the same team.

“Stupid girl!” Kraven shouts behind you, “You interfere with destiny!”

“You’re interfering with reality, so I think you have me beat.” You spit back.

“Do not come between a hunter and his prey.”

“A little late for that, buddy.” You scoff.

Miguel roars, bounding over you and directly for Kraven. The hunter leaps for him too.

Within a fraction of a second, you make a decision. Maybe you couldn’t separate them like this, not when instinct ruled the fight. Not when they were so much stronger than you. If you couldn’t get them apart then you had to move them together, just like when you brought Miguel back home from his dystopian mission all those weeks ago.

You don’t have to play by The Hunter's rules. Take Kraven out of his element and force him into yours. Get him in chains then help Miguel. And the plan was still the same as the old one… forcefully insert yourself.

Time seems to speed up again and the two predators are bounding for each other right above your head. In mid-air, they’re the most vulnerable. You leap between them, a portal springing from your wrist as you do so. All three of you tumble through together and blip across reality.

The trip back to the tower was long considering the position of this universe in the multiverse. You could jump to most realities in a matter of seconds, here you would be traveling through wormholes for just over a minute—a minute with these two raging men. An eternity by multiverse travel standards. You could do it. You could keep them under control. It’s only a minute.

You’re quite literally trapped in the chaos. Both of them seemingly unbothered by the sudden change of environment continue fighting while you struggle to get free from the tussle. Not the most ideal situation but at least you’re out of the booby-trapped forest. Once you’re in the tower everything will be okay.

It’s only a minute.

Sandwiched between the two raging men, you kick both your feet as hard as you can, effectively using your body as a crowbar. You spiral through the wormhole with Kraven, Miguel trailing further behind. They’re both in front of you now, Kraven crawling to get closer to you and Miguel clawing to get closer to Kraven.

You take advantage of the newly established distance and ready your webs at Kraven. If you could subdue him just a little, this whole thing would be so much easier. You shoot but he’s still too quick. He grabs the web and pulls you into him. It’s moments like this you wish you had claws.

He pulls you into a bear hug, squeezing every ounce of air from your lungs. You swear you hear bones crack.

“You couldn’t say out of it could you, dorogoy!” He growls in your ear, “You want this to be your fight so bad? Fine.”

Just past his shoulder, you can see Miguel is nearly on both of you now, claws ragging and fangs bared. With a loud grunt of effort, Kraven quickly flips you both around. Before you even have time to guess his plan, you feel it— a stabbing pressure in your neck and warm blood trickling down. Movements too fast Miguel couldn’t stop himself until it was too late.

He’d bitten you, venom now injecting into your veins. Paralizing venom meant for Kraven.

Miguel removes his mouth from your shoulder and the instant he does your spider-sense explodes in your head. Fear, confusion, anger, rage— you cycle through every emotion in an instant as venom starts to pulse through your body. In the slew of feelings, one stands prominent. Panic. Sheer panic.

You can’t see his face behind you, but you can feel him— the same as you. Panicking, even amid his animalistic rage he’s still a man. Still your Miguel. You swear you can hear his thoughts screaming in your head.

What did I do? What did I do?!

A mocking chuckle starts in Kraven’s throat again. You don’t want him to have it, a moment of victory. He hasn’t stopped either of you. Not yet. You still have precious seconds before you’re paralyzed and useless. Seconds you won’t waste.

You swing your head forward, colliding with Kraven’s. You feel his nose crunching under your forehead. It’s enough for his grip to loosen just enough. You leap from between the two of them, webbing Kraven’s hands together in the process. You pull him forward away from Miguel, now left trailing behind again.

The exit portal sneaks up on you— your one minute is up. You burst into the 2099 reality dragging the Kraven anomaly on a leash. You pull him from the portal and swing him into the closest wall. You’d teleported to Miguel’s lab. You can feel your brain fogging. Limbs weakening. Contain him— now. That’s all you had to do.

You quickly look around for anything you can use. By some stroke of luck, a pile of cyber traps sat on a nearby desk. You throw one without hesitation. Before Kraven can get back on his feet he’s trapped in a glowing cage of energy.

It’s done. The bots can take care of the rest. It’s over.

Finally, Miguel bursts from the portal behind you. Oh yeah, you think briefly.

It’s not like last time though. He’s not all ragging claws and gnashing teeth. He sits there, crouched down and completely still. The portal blips from existence and an eerie silence fills the room. It’s then that you notice something. You feel— fine.

The effects of Miguel’s venom are nearly instantaneous, you’d seen it before, yet here you stand completely okay. You lightly touch the wound on the apex of your shoulder and neck and pull your hand away. You don’t know what you expect to see, maybe neon green mixed with crimson red, something alien and inexplicable, but it’s just blood. It’s just blood and you’re just fine.

But what about Miguel?

He still sits there, unmoving. You dare to take a step closer. “Miguel?”

“Don’t” he growls, his shoulders tensing. “Finish it.”

You glance down and see his claws digging into the floor, pulling up the metal paneling. He’s trying to get himself under control. You quickly turn to grab a dose of his suppressants when that fucking voice stops you.

“Oh, this I did not expect,” Kraven laughs from his small prison in the corner. “A viper can not poison one of its own. And here I thought I’d get you out of the way. You two are of the same making, no? Well, what does this mean?”

“Shut. Up.” You sneer at him. You hear Miguel’s claws digging deeper into the floor— holding himself back.

Don’t let him provoke you.

“Perhaps this is still your fight, dorogoy,” the hunter tuts, “A shame I’m not part of it, though.”

Miguel turns to him, his face completely cast in shadow. Only the reds of his eyes seen from the dark void, “She said… shut up.”

Kraven’s expression shifts. His eyebrows raise in amusement, a sickening smile curving in the corners of his mouth. “Oh. Oh, I see. Not a fight but… perhaps something else. You both reek of it. Desire.”

“Shut up. Shut up.” Miguel heaves. You feel like you can’t move.

“You’re part of her now, flowing through her veins. You’ve claimed her,” His disgusting words send shivers down your spine, “Or have you claimed her already, beast?”

The tension snaps. Miguel hurdles toward the cage. Claws and blades clash against the force field with an ugly static crack. He moves so fast his arms are almost a blur, struggling to break past the barrier. A raging frenzy to get closer to his target. Kraven doesn’t move, standing still with that gut-wrenching smile never once faltering. He didn’t win the fight, sure, but he’s enjoying taunting Miguel.

You’ve decided you’ve had enough of this madness— from both of them.

“Miguel!” you scream so loud it echoes through the entire lab. Miguel freezes, glancing over his shoulder at you. You should be afraid of him, and maybe some part of you is, but you know who he is. The man underneath all of this, “He’s not worth it.”

He remains frozen. You’re not sure if he’s debating if you’re right or not— or if he’s just trying to fight the animal inside. Eventually, he steps away with a loud grunt, crawling back into the shadows.

A faint sigh of relief passes through your lips, “Lyla, get him out of here.” you call to the room. Several bots crawl into view and begin taking the cage out.

Kraven’s eyes were glued to you, that sickening, amused smile still there, “Do svidaniya, dorogoy.” You hold back the urge to spit in his direction until the door shuts behind him.

He’s gone. Now just one more thing to deal with.

You grab the injection gun from his desk. Miguel sits in a dark corner facing the wall. You approach him cautiously, dampener serum in hand.

“Mig?” You coo softly, “Let’s take care of you.”

“Leave it.” He growls through gritted teeth, “I’ll… do it myself.”

“You can’t,” You take another step closer.

He whips around, a spine-chilling sound rumbling from his throat. “Just… go.” his words dripped with rage. With something inhuman. He’s fighting so hard to be present.

You can’t just leave with him like this. How can he expect you to just walk away now? Even though you're annoyed by his insistence, you understand why. He’s still ashamed. He’s scared of what he’ll do and with good reason.

I don’t want you to see me like this.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to just leave him.

“No.” You stand your ground. “You don’t scare me, Mig.”

“I should,” He stands, lumbering toward you, massive arms hanging low at his sides. Each heavy step closer sends a shock wave up your body, “Look what happened.”

He grabs your injured shoulder forcefully. He stares down at the fresh bite mark, blood still weakly dripping from it. There was almost no pain with it anymore, but maybe… something else.

You feel the spider-sense stir between you.

“But it’s okay,” you assure him softly, “I’m okay. Nothing happened.”

“But we didn’t know that,” He grits out, “We didn’t know you’d—”

A pained moan escapes his lips and he steps away. You feel it rising— the heat in your belly.

“Please,” he whimpers, “Just go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You stand still for a moment, debating if you really should. If you even could. Is something calling you to stay with him or is it just your own selfish desires? You decide you don’t care. You feel it now stronger than you ever have. The need for him. His smell. His taste— everything.

You step towards him again, into the shadows. You place your hand on his chest, letting the touch linger for a moment. You feel his heart beating at a record pace.

“You could never hurt me.”

It all comes crashing down, both of your paper-thin resistance. He attacks your mouth hungrily, bringing you both to your knees. You drop the injector gun, leaving it long forgotten on the floor. He crawls on top of you, you cling to whatever part of him you can.

It’s a frenzy. A feverish, lustfully brawl you want to surrender your entire body to. In a way you already have. The sense sings and moans with the two of you in a way it never had before. Something deep and primal and sick— you loved it.

His mouth is on your neck, trailing across your throat to the bloody mark he’s made. He pauses when he gets to it, his lips hovering just above the bloody bite. Your skin pricks in anticipation, for what exactly, you don’t know.

He licks a long, hot stripe across the mark before bringing his mouth completely down on it. You don’t expect it. Electricity shoots through your entire being. You grab at his head, not to pull him away, but to push him closer— impossibly closer. He moans at your encouragement, drinking from your neck like it’s the holy grail itself.

You fucking love it. Why do you love it? Why do you want him so badly this way? Questions that shoot through your head at warp speed but you decide you don’t really care to answer any of them. You don’t care about the why anymore. You just want him.

He comes off you with a gasp, blood smearing his mouth. His eyes are lidded and dazed as he looks down at you. The look sends a wave of arousal straight to your core— and it doesn’t go unnoticed. A predatory spark flashes across his face and he descends on you again.

His massive hands wrap around your midsection, squeezing roughly. You can feel him trembling. He drops his forehead to yours, “Do you feel it, Arañita?”

“Yes.” you breathe.

He closes his eyes, breathing you in slowly, “Tell me to stop.”

Your hands come up to his chest again, his suit fading away in an instant. His breathing is heavy and ragged. You could stop this all now. You should stop this— but—-

“Never,” you pull him into another kiss, blood still fresh on his lips. He moans into you before taking control again.

He turns you around onto your hands and knees, ripping a sloppy line down the back of your suit. The material falls away, exposing you to him entirely. He grabs your hips roughly, pulling you back and licking a long stripe up the length of your spine. The sensation nearly makes your knees give out.

“Oh god,” you hear him murmur against your skin, “Look at you. Fucking look at you.”

“Miguel, please,” You whine. You need him. You fucking need him now.

“Poor thing,” He growls, fingers ghosting over your waiting cunt. He pushes one in, slowly. You bite your lip, suppressing the moan he’s pulling out of you, “So wet for me. Always so goddamn wet for me. Such a good girl.”

He adds another finger and the air in your lungs dries up into a breathless gasp. He pumps into you, once— twice— Three times. Lude wet sounds fill the massive space. He rips his hand from you, and you almost scream at the sensation, the sudden emptiness. Then you hear it again, lustful, sickening wet sounds followed by muffled moans— He’s licking his fingers clean of you.

His wet hands grab your hips roughly with a loud slap. He pulls you back towards him, dragging you along the floor. You preen under him, arching your hips higher.

“So filthy,” he growls, squeezing your hips to the point of bruising.

He comes down on you again. You scream when you feel his tongue dragging through your slick folds, stopping just at the edge of your seam, the bridge of his nose nudging at your hole. He greedily laps at you, pulling the most sinful sounds from your throat. You fall on your forearms, displaying yourself even more for him. The position was so vulnerable yet so delicious. You were at his full mercy.

And again, he fucking pulls away.

You whine, nearly screaming from the loss this time. But he doesn’t let you move, hands still firmly grasping your hips.

“Shhh, Arañita.” His wet lips hover along your back again, kisses placed along their trail up your spine. You finally feel his hard length resting on your ass. He pulls himself down and slicks himself through your folds. Already overstimulated, it feels like heaven.

He jerks you back, and in one fluid motion completely buries himself inside you. Your face contorts into a silent scream, the stretched pain easily melting into pleasure. He holds you there, just for a moment. His breath is already heavy and ragged. You feel every inch of him. You feel him throbbing inside you.

“T-take me so well, baby,” You swear he spits it through clenched teeth. He drags you off him painfully slowly and slams you back at light speed. You choke out a delighted moan, “Tan jodidamente buena.”

He starts a punishing pace, using you as he sees fit.

You reach down to your aching clit in dire need of relief. His hand instantly swats yours away, his fingers quickly working over your swollen bud. He leans over you, his free arm practically caging you in while his hips keep up their brutal pace. He nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck, right next to the bite mark.

“Who makes you feel this good?” He growls in your ear, “Say it.”

By some divine miracle, you're able to form speech.

“Y-you do,” you moan back, “Only you.”

“That’s right. Only I can fuck you like this. Only me.” He says it like the most assured thing in the world, and you know he’s right. His fingers work quicker over your clit, sending you to a new high. You’re close. So fucking close.

His mouth comes back down on you, suckling again at the bloody mark he’d left. He’s consuming you in every sense of the word— at his full mercy.

You know you surely scream loud enough for the entire tower to hear, and you don’t fucking care.

You come like a crack of thunder, loud and ungodly powerful. It surges through you, ripping you apart and rebuilding you again from the atomic level. A numb, euphoric moment where you're drifting on the clouds of the world, experiencing all of creation at once before plummeting back down to earth in a flaming ball that threatens to burn you up entirely. You almost want the flames to consume you if it meant you could be like this with him forever.

Then you’re finally gasping for air again, Miguel still pounding into you like a fever dream.

“Oh god,” A pained groan drools out of his mouth. “S-so– so tight when you come.”

He pulls you both backward, holding you there on your knees while he continues to fuck up into you. He held you close to him while he chased his pleasure now. You arch back into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His fingers haven’t left your throbbing clit, nearly blinding you with how sensitive you were now. His other hand drags along your body, coming up to squeeze your breast. Every small movement on your skin was like fire.

You’re an absolute mess. A stammering, over-stimulated, cock drunk mess. You feel your vocal cords straining yet can’t seem to stop yourself from wailing out in pure ecstasy.

His movements have become more desperate so close to release. He pounds harder and harder until he’s falling down around you with a choked gasp. His quivering muscles cage in around you as he pumps you full of everything he has. You feel him throbbing, his cock straining inside you until he’s completely spent.

He relaxes, his giant form pinning you down to the floor. The steady breathing of his chest pushing into you as you both gather yourself.

It’s seconds, it’s years, you don’t know how long it is until you both move. He rolls off of you slowly, a pained grunt he tries to hide when he slips out of you. It all leaks out of you, trailing down your thigh and instantly sending a cold shiver up your spine when it meets the air. You both lay there shoulder to shoulder, naked in a glistening mess— completely unsure of what to say now.

Whatever you’d both just done, what you’d experienced, was indescribable.

You see him reach over and grab the injector gun, shooting the dose into his shoulder instantly— though you’re not entirely sure he needed it anymore.

“Told you I could do it myself,” Miguel sighs as he lays back down next to you.

“Such a big boy,” You taunt him, rolling over to cuddle up to his side.

He pulls you in without hesitation. He places a kiss on the top of your head before letting a final deep breath sigh from his mouth. You expect him to suddenly come back to reality. To remember all the blood and start profusely apologizing. To beg you to leave so you didn’t have to look at him anymore and get back to work, his whole usual shtick.

Instead, he says something you never expected.

“Let’s go home.”

__________

Miguel needs to stop making promises to himself he can’t keep.

You’re in his bed again, curled up in one of his shirts fast asleep. You’re staying the night— again. It didn’t feel right to just send you home after what you’d both been through, but maybe he just didn’t want you to leave either.

He can’t sleep, sitting up and watching you as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Part of him hopes you would just vanish, then it would mean none of this was ever real. There’d be no consequences and he could go on living his life without the looming threat of you being gone one day.

To his simultaneous disdain and relief, you’re still soundly sleeping in his bed.

He runs his finger over the bandages now adorning your neck. Various other scrapes and bruises from him were scattered around your body. It should be completely healed by morning but he’ll always know what he did to you. He’ll always know what you both did tonight.

It’s not something he can explain, and if he’s being honest he doesn’t want to think about it either. Something took over him, of both of you— and he loved it. A part of himself he’d fought for years to keep caged was out and it felt amazing. It was amazing because you were there for it all. You did something to him.

But what would happen if you weren’t there? This is the second time you’ve saved his ass. The second time he’d dragged you specifically into trouble he’d created. He’d never needed rescuing before. Had he gone soft? Or was he perhaps going at everything too hard? He doesn’t know for certain but he’s sure of one thing— it was better when you were there.

Yes… you’d definitely changed something in him, and he’s not entirely sure it’s for the better.

He was a protector. He stood up for those who couldn’t do it themselves, for his community, for his colleagues, the whole universe at large. Yet here you were, saving him from himself again. It wasn’t right. It was unfair to put his burden on your shoulders too. You didn’t ask for any of this, but neither did he really.

You’d both known from the beginning that this wasn’t going to be anything. It was only an arrangement out of necessity until he could free you both. A freak coincidence. And now it’d become so much more, hadn’t it? He wants to kick himself for letting it get this far. He knows better. But when it came to you, he just couldn’t help himself.

It can’t continue. He had the means to end it and he will. The serum is ready and waiting. The cure. You’d likely hate him forever, and that’s fine. He’ll be fine with seeing you live your life from a distance, knowing you’d both be safer for it. That’s what you’d both agreed upon after all, wasn’t it?

Yeah, he really needed to stop making promises he couldn’t keep.

Tonight, he’ll just hold you close. Memorize every line on your face. Every valley of your body. The sound of your breathing. He’ll lock the memory of you deep down and hold it close so it never gets out again. Tonight, you’re still his.

Tomorrow, he’ll finally put an end to this madness.

____________

Translations:

Arañita- Little Spider dorogoy- Darling or dear Do svidaniya, dorogoy- Goodbye, dear Tan jodidamente buena- So Fucking good

And of course do Correct me if any of this is wrong <3 I'm gonna go touch some grass now bye

____________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3 @del-ightfulling

Taglist post here!!!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara x you #across the spiderverse #parallels fic #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader

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