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dilfomaniac · 2 months

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❝𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙠❝

leon kennedy x fem!reader ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

ft. Death Island Leon S. Kennedy

wc: 3.409

cw: ddlg, age gap, innocence kink, p in v, riding, creampie, praise kink, rough sex

note: This was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being a rushed fic ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა writer’s block has me in a chokehold lately, ignore parts that don’t make sense !! i’ll fix those tmrw cuz 3 in the mornin… ͟mdni 18+

The silence in the room is steep, the lack of light even more than so. Wind knocks itself against the window, every tremor making you feel like its aim is to break in. Your heart is racing, your eyes wide and on the lookout for the source of your alarm. Of course, there’s none, but you haven’t really grown out of childish habits. You’ve heard stories after stories about houses being haunted, ghosts residing in each and every corner waiting to pounce on defenseless girls like you, and it’s been stuck to you ever since. Stored inside your head as a core reminder that something’s creeping in the dark.

You’re the ripe age of nineteen, there’s no particular reason for you to believe this still. Fear of the dark should’ve been abandoned when you were twelve - when the failing of classes and smothering glare of teachers vanquished the rest of the worries. At this point, it’s just laughable. Even your stuffed animals are starting to look awfully odd. You look past one shoulder, past the other, detect no strange entities and wash down the dryness in your throat. You’re curled up in a ball, snug like a puppy, hoping to fall asleep like one when something welts your window. Your head snaps towards the sound and you see something flit behind the windowpane, flashing its ominous identity to you. The child inside you screams - you’re quick to comply with it, tossing the blanket off yourself and scampering out of your bedroom like an overgrown puppy.

You scurry your way downstairs, hand on the railing gathering dust on your fingertips. There’s better lighting here, because Daddy’s fallen asleep with the TV on, snoring to the mumbles of another sitcom you told him about, as if he genuinely watches those. You lower the volume until it’s mute, not daring to turn the TV off because it’s the only source that illuminates the room enough - save for the crescent shimmering moon which didn’t do you much help back in your bedroom. Making your way towards the sofa you observe Leon who's sleeping like a top - head over the back of the couch and mouth tipping agape. You fail to stifle a giggle, but this is no laughing matter, mind you. He promised you, oh, he promised you so many times he’d come and join you in the bed eventually, but he didn’t. “Okay, sweetheart. You go, and I’ll be there soon, yeah? Daddy has some things to finish,” No, Daddy just wants to make an empty promise and fall asleep on the couch. He always does, likes the feel of giving you a heavy heart. Your brows crinkle with lack of guilt when you go to nudge his shoulder. Leon’s a light sleeper, so his eyes burst open like a puppet, old geezer snoring cut short.

“Baby—” His chest rises in a beat, hand clutching your wrist reflexively. He takes a moment to shake the remaining sleep off, tossing his head back and clearing his throat to waken. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

The audacity he has to say that, when you were supposed to be asleep with him, not without him. Ghosts don’t come up to scratch when Daddy’s with you, because you know he’s stronger and that they’ll be put off by his mere presence. “You didn’t go to bed. You lied to me,” the accusation comes down as you sink your nails into his forearm, small flecks of red imprinting onto his skin. “You promised me.”

“Yeah. Yeah— Daddy knows,” His brows furrow. Your antics extort a rumbly groan from his throat, but it isn’t until he glares at you that you let go of him sheepishly. It’s just that you can’t help it while you’re like this. Leon is your only safe zone, but he’s so old he can’t even control when he sleeps. “Well, I thought you’d be a big girl and be asleep by the time I’m back. Guess not, huh?” He chuckles silvery and before you see it he’s propping you over his leg, letting you sit pliant like a marionette with your knees dipping in the gaps, entwining in his legs. You’re not easy to play like one, though - you opt to stay your ground by smacking him on the cheek to which he balefully clutches your wrist. “Don’t go throwin’ hands now.”

“You’re an A-hole.” You say bluntly. He blinks at you as if trying to say how insufferable you are in morse code. “Something— something was behind the window. I think it wanted to break in, and you weren’t here.” You say more like a protest than a distressed denunciation. Leon’s hands come to cradle you, from your back all the way to your scalp, holding you to himself like a baby who can’t support its head yet. He shakes his head, tongue in cheek, so sick of being woken up in the middle of the night because of things so mediocre, but all the more understanding of you. Because you’re his baby. His ray of sunshine. A pretty little thing who makes his day-to-day routines somewhat more endurable. “What, you scared of ghosts now?”

“I’m not!” You say crossly, God forbid your fragile little ego is hurt. “I’m not scared of ‘em, okay? I’m just saying, if someone were to break in, and you weren’t there, it’d be your fault.” It’d also be his fault if you had a nightmare and had no one to lull you back to sleep. Things like this aren’t easily forgivable, you want to tell him, but he already knows.

Leon takes in the scent of your pomade, fingers threading aimlessly through your hair. You can tell he’s not as worried as you are, but maybe that’s because he knows better and you’ll never know as much even if you conjoined the three remaining brain cells in your head. “Well, I promise you sweetheart, no scary monster s’gonna take you while I’m here,” then he bounces you on his knee and you feel your senses liquify. “You know you’re safe with me. You aren’t a dumb girl, are you?”

You shake your head, peeking at him between your lashes. You are a dumb girl but don’t entirely want to be one. It’s funny to see how all your worries dissipate once the honeyed lilt sinks in, putting you into an entirely different mental state. “I was scared,” you murmur. Leon only hushes you, bobbing his knee like consoling a toddler.

“I know, baby. I don’t blame you for it.” His stubble scrapes your cheek and then you’re dipping your face lower, nose brushing over a bared clavicle. Leon smells so good, so falsely evocative and citrusy and paternal. Like a daddy you’ve never had but always wanted, and it has you addicted. “Guess I have to make it up to little missy then, huh?” He stops to look you in the eye, his glare piercing and yet soothing and alluring all at once. Like he’s trying to read you by your expression alone, find out what goes on in that lil’ head of yours that can’t fit more than maybe a few social interactions per day.

You clutch the hem of his shirt and give him all the puppy eyes you’ve got, tilt your head and play dumb like he equally appreciates. “Uhm, yeah?” He cups your cheeks instantaneously, plants a slew of sloppy kisses across your forehead ‘cause cute aggression is real, and he’s more than likely to eat you up if your cheeks don’t deflate. “You owe me big time, idiot,” you pout, “ ‘Cause you never listen to me.”

You’re met with an eye roll and then Leon’s flipping you over so your positions are swapped, you now spread over the couch and him hovering above you. He holds both your hands in one hefty palm and pins them over your sternum, pushes down like he’s trying to submerge you into the cushions. You peep and fend off, even in your sleepy state because you know what comes after he’s fully overpowered you. You’ll scream bloody murder if he starts tickling you. However, to your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he shores you up on the couch and slumps beside you with a soft grunt. “Think we can reserve playtime for tomorrow?” He says. After getting you riled up? No, but, matter-of-factly, it’s way past your bedtime. You bat your lashes solemnly, cast your gaze elsewhere. When you think about it, there will be no playtime, really. Because Leon’s always off on business trips - always on the go to fill his devoir while you’re at home rotting away in pink comforters and stroking yourself to sleep. It’s unfair - so, so unfair, how he makes you wait like a puppy, because you’re so entirely co-dependent on him. You fold your arms and clamber to the opposite side of the couch, avert your face to hide the crimson scattering your cheeks. Leon knows this change of air by rote, knows that his pretty princess is upset, and he knows by heart what your doleful puppy eyes look like, even if you try to hide them from him.

“I’m just kiddin’. I had something else in mind, actually,” he coos at you, one hand planting itself on your thigh and parting it from the other. “Daddy would never lie to you, yeah baby?” The wetness across your neck takes you by surprise when Leon seals the gap between you, making you want to shrug off.

“Tickles,” you mew, raising your hand to his face which he swiftly takes hold of and sets down. You don’t object, ‘cause while you may be bratty, Daddy’s wants will never go over your head. Heat uncoils inside your lower stomach and you start rubbing your thighs with need, stealing glances from Leon who’s nipping you with such fervor, you start doubting whether this takes less energy than your regular playtime.

“Thought you’d get away so easily, huh? Not a chance,” the metal clink of the belt has you transfixed when you’ve just started squirming, as you sit stockstill beside Leon. He looks at you with a grin - you sit there with panties soaked from one-sided kissing alone. There’s that tent on his lap, like he gets in the mornings. You try to wet your lips but clamp your tongue when he sucks a hickey onto a velvety patch of skin, tugging his briefs down until the forbidden part springs up and whacks him on the gut. Seeing it makes you shudder, snap your head away so fast as if a bare look will contaminate your innocence.

“Yeah, bunny? That so? Don’t like Mr. Horsey?” He exhales with a sneer - you try not to hyperventilate because of the amount of blood that gushes to your face then. You steal one small peek and turn away again, closing your eyes as if the thing will disappear on its own, making Leon chuckle heartily. “Well, I think Mr. Horsey likes you.”

You’re sure neither you nor Leon imagined your lives would ever lead to this moment. Leon for an entirely different reason, but you due the fact that you’ve been turned down by every partner who failed to break down the nature of this play. You never realized how much it meant to you, though, to be purely virgin. “Um,” you teeter more to the edge, eyes darting to all corners of the room, “I like him too— I don’t know.”

He takes it for granted, moving closer until you feel his breath waver. The glow of the TV strains your eyes, casting a fluorescent light which disguises your blush. Leon sets your hand on his crotch, hums contentedly when your palm lays smoothly on his shaft and your fingers grip. “Yeah,” he says. “He likes it when you play with him, baby.” His hand comes to rest on his side and he lets you take the lead, leaning back and exhaling in a way that screams he’s pent, and you better get stroking.

You palm him to the best effort, watching closely to see if what you’re doing with your hand is good enough. All the jerking off you’d done before was winged, and you never really put your mind to it. Leon gave you a chance to learn to actually please a man, and you can never wait to suck up all the praise you can. “Like this?” Your voice squeaks - you suck the inside of your cheek meekly. Leon nods and lets his eyes fall shut when your hand delivers the wet squelches, pre slicking up the entirety of your palm and leaking through your nimble fingers. There’s the faintest bucking of hips and you see him tense before coming to a halt, restraining himself. You’re so wet it hurts. You need him bucking into you instead, and not holding back.

Leon’s cock oozes generously upon your ministrations and before you know it you’re moving on top to straddle him. Real cowgirl in the making - so excited to have her first ride. He croaks dizziedly, hands hooking behind your knees and helping you up on his lap. You think back to how the Redfields see you two, what they don’t know about you. Maybe the fact that Leon has a college kid for a lapdog isn’t the worst thing that's been happening around here. Maybe that he breeds it on a daily without a pinch of guilt is a fair enough transgression. The waistband of your mini is yanked down when Leon hikes you up on his knee, forcing you to shimmy out of it. He feels up the plush of your pussy, prods through your dampened panties like that doesn’t make you all the more desperate. You’re drooling, practically. If Leon didn’t know any better, he’d stick his fingers down your greedy cunt, but you’ve got to work for it first.

“Come on, baby. Rub yourself on Daddy,” he pulls your panties aside, and you’re so quick to listen. You sink down, hands perched on your ankles until your slippery folds engulf his tip. You’re making quite the mess - to that he toots but otherwise leans back to observe how his princess is willing to fulfill her duty. You buck your hips back and forth, run your nub over his slit repeatedly and whimper like a bitch in heat. When you slide too close to your hole, he slaps your tit, grips your chin between two fingers to give you a warning. This is the root of this whole ordeal - him fucking you to a pulp, turning you into a full crazed nymphomaniac and then leaving like nothing happened. It’s not fair, not fair at all - and the worst part is he’s sure to serve you justice using the same treatment. Fucking you so hard you forget you ever doubted him in the first place.

“Just like that. Good girl,” he murmurs, speaking to you like you’re mentally deficient - which you are. You test your luck by squeezing yourself down, attempting to take him in a little, but Leon’s cock springs like a twig, flaps over you with a wet squelch. You whine.

“Daddy!” you grumble like it’s his fault you failed so miserably. He shakes his head, “You know I spoil you too much,” and with that, Leon jams himself inside until he’s breaching you to the brim. You were wrong for being so hasty - he’ll give you a bitter taste.

Startled, you drape your head over his shoulder and sink your nails into his back. You could feel the jab to your cervix, and while that wasn’t particularly good, the feeling of Leon seating you to the hilt sent you straight to heaven. You haven’t had him since so long - you swore at times you clenched on nothing. Leon fills you so good, God, he fills you better than anyone has ever had, and it drives you mad when he doesn’t. You sit bandy-legged when his arms lock around your shoulders, bringing you up so he can slump you back on his cock. Horsey, right? Chris and Claire wouldn’t see either of you in the same light if they knew.

“You might just be the dirtiest girl, yeah baby?” He groans, and the tone alone is enough to have you gripping. You shake your head, dirty isn’t exactly your most-liked title. “No?” Leon thrusts deep and you jump up with him, hugging him tight for comfort.

“No! ‘m not—” He rocks you on him, does all the work cause you’re a pillow princess even on top. So spoiled, and yet he’s to blame. Maybe you’ll change one day, but so far he hasn’t had the guts to work you for that outcome. “But you woke Daddy up so you could have his cock up that drooly pussy, didn’t you?” he says and the words jab straight into that spot. Leon groans and then you’re moving on your own, sheathing yourself on him over and over until a ring of white gathers around the base of his cock. Now you get it. Now it’s horsey.

“Sorry, Daddy. I missed you so much— sorry,” you recite like a plea, stumbling over your words after a moment, until it’s just unintelligible moans, because Leon’s cock pounds you so good. You lick the sweat off his temple, watch his brows furrow when his hands grip your hips and squeeze impossibly tight, lips catching over yours when your movements grow shaky.

“Sorry— I’m sorry, sorry— Daddy—” Leon shushes you when he begins to thrust in tandem with your wobbly hops, thrusting to a depth you thought was impossible to reach before. You see it flash before you and soon he’s lifting your body, holding you up as he drives relentlessly into your wetness, back arched and nose nuzzling the crook of your neck with sharp primal grunts. Daddy fucks you so good. Daddy pampers you so much. Daddy loves you to the moon and back, and he’s going to give you warm milk to put you to sleep.

“Fuck, baby— You’re a natural. Rode the horsey so good, now it’s Daddy’s turn—” your heart skips a beat when you’re thrown over the coffee table, all the items toppling over with a row of clattering, and Leon being able to dig deeper into you when you thought he’d reached your limit. You throw your legs over his shoulders, your panties begin to tear and the table begins to crack until you’re screaming his name. Fuck. God. The pressure inside you amplifies and then you’re struck by unadulterated bliss, the familiar warmth coating your inner walls which is quick to gush out the seams as Leon gives one last jab to secure the tip against your cervix. His hair is wet and he heaves like a dog, hands still holding you tightly against the table which you fear might collapse any minute now. You shiver - he gives your side a good smack and pulls out of you with a plop, all what he planted inside you oozing out in thick dollops. Not on his watch, though, ‘cause he pushes it back placidly, panting.

“Good enough for today, princess,” he says but you’re already out of it, lashes fluttering as you try to grip onto your consciousness, but Leon knocked all the breath out of you, you’ve expired. You hum, feeling your walls pulse and chest swell in a slow-paced rhythm. It’s like that one time you convinced him you’d be able to handle an all-nighter but fell asleep one hour past midnight. “Well, you set yourself a record,” because it’s just one hour later which is impressive for a little girl like you.

He’ll have to change you into something more comfortable. A miniskirt and knee highs on a winter day? What, were you trying to whore yourself out to the Ghosts? He gets it, you were just asking for it, just wanted to stick your cute ass to get his attention, but sometimes you’re genuinely stupid. His stupid girl. Drunk off Daddy’s milk - he’ll bear that in mind. Sliding his hands under your frail body, he makes the dire mistake of trying to lift you when the coffee table caves in and snatches you with it. Auntie Jill called Daddy a ‘fucking cheapskate’ once when she was over - now you get what she meant.

#૮ • ﻌ - ა⁩🐾#fics 💌#leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #leon x reader smut #death island leon

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undercoverpena · 2 months

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5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

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For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x reader smut #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #francisco morales smut

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hellfireghoul · 11 months

Text

A Midnight Visit

Leon S Kennedy x F!Reader

Prompt: “And I know that we’re not… we’ve never been anything more than casual but God life’s too fucking short and I’m so in love with you.”

Summary: A brief knock at your door on the early hours of an unspectacular Tuesday evening had disturbed you from just about falling asleep. You knew there was only one person that called this late.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Mainly fluff with a bit of angsttt.

A/N: I started writing this ages ago and only just recently finished it. The tropiest trope ever (Leon showing up at readers door in the middle of the night, it's been done a million and one times) but I'm doing it again so here. The end is also v cringe soz

The clock had just gone 12am. You were sitting in your living room, curled up on your couch nestled in a blanket watching trash TV in an attempt to numb your emotions.

Harsh rain pattered on the windows, providing ambient noise as the rest of the street for once, was completely silent under the night sky.

A lamp emitted a warm, dim glow across your living room. You’d stay here until you fell asleep. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept in your bed, the unoccupied sheets and silent room feeling uninviting and cold. Listening to the chattering on the TV of some old sitcom rerun you’d seen a million times, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Until…

Knock knock

A brief tap on your front door shot you awake, your eyes immediately darting in that direction as if the door was about to be kicked down. You froze for a second, wondering who on earth was knocking at your door at midnight on a Tuesday. Hell, any day of the week really. Your stomach twisted in knots, wondering if this was it, the moment you’d been dreading the past few weeks. The knock at the door to tell you the worst news of your life.

No, it can’t be, anyone else would have to buzz up to your apartment. Stop thinking like that.

You tried to talk some sense into your panicked brain. Rubbing your eyes, you grabbed your phone to double check the time, and as you did, another knock occurred. You were still rooted to the spot, knowing there was only one person that could be knocking at this time. The only person you wanted to see.

Heart pounding in your chest, you took the few steps to your front door. You didn’t bother to look through the peephole, knowing who you’d find at the other side. He’d kill you if he knew you hadn’t checked, though.

(“Seriously? A knock at your door at midnight and you didn’t double check just in case it wasn’t me?”)

With a deep breath, you unlocked your door and swung it open, and nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight before you.

Leon S. Kennedy. Your on again off again situationship, stood in front of you battered and bruised. One of his eyes was almost fully closed due to a great purple bruise forming around it, and his pretty lips were swollen and cut. His jaw was incredibly swollen, and that was before you’d even glanced below his neck. His arms, thick and muscular were covered in cuts and lacerations, his hands bruised and scabbed over. You gasped, clamping a hand to your mouth at Leon’s disheveled appearance, your throat forming a prominent lump and your eyes threatening tears.

“Leon…” Was all could manage, from behind your hand that was still covering your mouth in utter horror.

Suddenly, all the anger that had been festering towards this man over the past few months was cast aside. Caring instincts overwhelming you instead.

2 months earlier

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as the door to your apartment slammed. You heard the furious footsteps of Leon thundering back down the hall, until they faded into silence.

You sat for a moment, shell-shocked at the argument you’d just had. You argued at times, but never like this. Never so much that he’d stormed out of your apartment.

You and Leon had never been serious, you couldn’t be serious due to the nature of his job. He was like a living ghost. You clung to him when he was here, but he vanished as soon as you thought you had a tight grasp on him, your fingers clutching around smoke.

That, coincidentally, had been what the two of you were arguing about. It had started off about something silly, trivial, something your exhausted brain couldn’t even summon the memory of. It had slowly built into something magnanimous, something you weren’t sure either of you could come back from. Leon hardly ever lost his temper. He was a patient guy, especially when it came to you, but you had seen a different side to him that night. Venomous words were flung at each other in the heat of the moment. You were just as guilty as him, both saying things you didn’t mean. Words that echoed around in your brain as you desperately tried to shake them off, knowing neither of you meant it.

But still, that was Leon’s last night in the country before leaving for a mission in Europe. You didn’t know how long it would be this time, or even where in Europe. He never divulged the nature of his missions, he couldn’t. You knew that. So for all you knew from what’d you gathered about his role (by putting the pieces together, he’d never outright told you anything) he could be checking in on civilians after a war crisis, or putting his life on the line to prevent a deadly outbreak of a bio-weapon. Potentially dead within the hour or being deployed home early, there was no in between. And it killed you. The not knowing, and the constant circles your brain liked to do on nights when you couldn’t rest.

One time, you hadn’t heard from him in six weeks. Not so much as a whisper. You were beside yourself with worry, awaiting a man in uniform at your door and flinching anytime you heard a knock or a buzz to come up. During those six weeks, a horrid thought kept festering in your mind: What if no one told me? What if he was gone, and because he and I aren't a couple, no one would think to notify me? Does anyone even know that I exist? And that I care about him?

Leon had seen the state you were in after that, what he’d come back to. You supposed it should’ve been obvious to him then, how you felt. That your feelings ran deeper than what the relationship had started out as. You suspected he did, after all you couldn’t do much to hide how distressed you were, even if part of you felt it was wrong to feel so strongly considering the two of you had never been officially together. Leon never breathed a word of his suspicions however, if he had any.

After that one trip, he’d promised to get a message sent through to you at least once during his assignments. Whether it was a message via Hunnigan, or a direct phone call transfer, you didn’t care. A simple message being relayed of “Hey, I’m alive:)” was enough to keep you going. The phone calls were very rare, and didn’t consist of much talk about what he was up to, mainly because it couldn’t. Instead, Leon would want to know in detail about what you’d been getting up to, how you were and how your day had been. You’d always return the questions, knowing he couldn’t give you a straight answer, but you still asked anyway, only to receive responses like “Oh, you know, just another day in the office.” or “Weather’s nice here.” It was mildly frustrating but you didn’t care much, just hearing the sound of his voice made you feel better. Sometimes, you could hear how worn down he sounded. Sometimes tired, or troubled, and that never failed to make you worry all the more. Especially because you knew he’d always try his best to hide his troubles, he always did, so if it was something you were picking up on you knew it must be affecting him badly. You always stressed over the phone for him to be careful, he teased you a lot for it but you just couldn’t help it. The thought of something happening to him was unbearable.

This is why, when you hadn’t heard from Leon within the first month of his deployment to Europe, you started to worry a little. Well, maybe a lot. Sure - the two of you had argued before he left, and the first few weeks or so you just put it down to that. He was busy, you hadn’t left things on the best terms, he wanted space. That was understandable, even if there was a trace of anger simmering amongst all the worry too, indignance and outrage at the fact that yes, you’d argued, but he couldn’t stop being petty for one second and let you know he was still alive for fuck’s sake?

But as the four week mark crawled up, worry had settled fully in the pit of your stomach and never truly left. You knew that even if Leon was still angry with you, he’d still send a message just to let you know he was okay. He still would hate the thought of you worrying. Ritually you checked your phone and laptop for updates, willing something to come into your inbox from Hunnigan’s private email address, or your phone to light up in your hand from a withheld number you just knew was him - but nothing.

Still, you reassured yourself that the record for his silence was six weeks. Six weeks with no contact before now, and he had been absolutely fine, well as fine as he could be. You told yourself that, told yourself over and over again that he was fine - until the six week mark hit. And then that six turned into seven, then seven into eight. You couldn’t eat or sleep. Your stomach in a constant state of nausea, your chest feeling unbearably heavy but hollow at the same time. It was torture. At some point around the eight week mark, you’d convinced yourself that was it. Preparing yourself for the inevitable news at any point now, and you thought if you heard even a single buzz to your apartment or your phone ring from a withheld number you’d throw up on the spot, knowing it would be bad news. You'd, in some ways, gone through the first few stages of grief, as dramatic as that sounded, your mind was landing on the worst conclusion possible in an attempt to prepare you, to protect you from the shock. The past month or so, you’d cried yourself to sleep every night. And the little sleep you did get was filled with torment, nightmares seeing Leon meeting a fate much worse than the last each time you closed your eyes. It was agony, especially knowing the way you’d ended things. All the things that were left unsaid. That is why, two months later on a very unspectacular Tuesday evening, you could’ve dropped straight to the floor at the sight of him.

“Leon…” You breathed again, your sobs causing your shoulders to shake as you stood, mouth still slightly agape taking in the broken man that was not the one you'd left behind.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Leon said, his voice rough but quiet. Your stomach would’ve done a somersault at the pet name under any other circumstance.

“What- what on earth-” You began, unable to fathom the millions of questions you had into one sentence.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course…” You said, absentmindedly, eyes not moving from Leon as you stepped aside to let him into your apartment. His injuries were still fresh, angry and sore, bruises newly formed, but his clothes looked clean and he looked freshly showered. You wondered just how long ago he’d got back. A fresh pool of blood began forming on one of the many cuts on Leon’s face, a trickle of red emerging just on his cheekbone.

“Shit, you’re bleeding Leon. Let me grab something, I need to patch you up… errr… I think I have some first aid stuff in the bathroom cabinet…” You were mumbling to yourself now incoherently, still in complete shock as you turned to grab a tissue from your coffee table to dab up the fresh blood on his beaten face. As you spun on your heel, a tissue plucked from it’s box at the ready, you stopped dead in your tracks.

Leon was down on one knee, his knee cushioned on your plush rug, his bruised face looking up at you in an expression of complete sincerity.

“Y/N…” Leon began, and for a second you just stood there, transfixed as your brain tried to compute what was happening. Was he hurt? Why was he on the floor? Questions swarmed dumbly in your mind, but you couldn't spare a second to rationally think about one. As if to make sense of everything, you fixated on the small amount of blood slowly trickling down his face, reminding you of the task you had just begun to carry out.

“Leon, what are you - your face, it's bleeding…” You mumbled, going to reach forward to dab his cheek when he held a hand up to stop you.

“Y/N, marry me.” Leon spoke in barely a whisper, his voice low but his tone and the look in his eye deadly serious. You blinked.

“What?”

“Marry me.” He repeated, his blue eyes still gazing into yours with a look that could melt you into a puddle.

“Leon, I’m- What? Is this some kind of sick joke?” You gasped, unsure if you were dreaming at this point. In your mind, you’d convinced yourself this man that you loved was dead. You hadn’t heard from him in just over two months. And here he was, bloodied and beaten, kneeling on your living room floor at midnight asking to marry you. You’d finally cracked, surely.

“The mission I’ve just been on, I’m not going to lie to you it was-” Leon broke off, his brows knitting into a frown and he averted his gaze from yours for a second, stringing the sentence together seemed painful. He was very carefully choosing his next words, ensuring to spare some details as to not hurt you anymore than he knew he already had.

“Let’s just say it was bad. Real fucking bad. I wasn’t sure if I would make it home. I used to not care if I never made it home, I’d accepted my fate. The line of work I do, I figured I was bound to die on the job one day. And I was okay with that, was.”

He paused on his last word, his blue eyes piercing yours as he rekindled eye contact.

“Until, well until I met you. It hit me, I was… let’s just say I was in a bad spot. And I didn’t know if I would make it.” He tensed as he noticed you flinch and shut your eyes tight at his words. He continued after swallowing thickly.

“And the thought of not coming home to you, never seeing you again and leaving you alone like that. I couldn’t bear it.”

There was a pause, and you drank him in and his words, unaware there were soft tears trickling down your cheeks.

“And I know that we’re not… we’ve never been anything more than casual but God life’s too fucking short and I’m so in love with you.” Leon finished, his words hanging in the air like an unfinished song. You were still too stunned to speak, just digesting his words and you swallowed hard, wiping your tears away and taking in a shaky breath. An overwhelming feeling of sheer relief washed over you, your chest no longer tight and aching as it had been for as long he’d been gone. It had subsided finally, knowing he’d come back to you. You still had a million and one questions as your eyes searched his. You couldn’t help your brain flitting over the thousands of compromising positions he could’ve found himself in, and your heart wrenched as you pictured the vision he’d half painted for you.

“Y/N? You still with me?” Leon asked, tentatively.

“Yes, yes” You breathed, your attention resurfacing.

“Yes, you’re still with me or yes…?”

“Yes. Yes and yes.” You said suddenly, as if you’d been shocked back to reality. “All the yes’s. Of course I’ll marry you.” You flung yourself wrapping your arms around Leon, his head resting just under your chest as he was still kneeling.

Leon huffed, slightly winded at the force of you flinging yourself around him, but his sore face soon relaxed into a warm, relieved smile against your stomach.

“I love you too.” You whispered into his hair. He clung onto you for dear life, fingers almost digging in too hard as he pulled you close to him.

“God am I glad to hear that.” Leon chuckled softly and you held eachother for a moment, Leon still kneeling. It wasn’t till you felt a warmth on your stomach that caused you to pull back slightly, noticing a red stain had pooled onto your white t-shirt.

“Ah shit- sorry-erm-” Leon apologised, getting to his feet to fully stand now, as he did, another drop of blood dripped onto your plush cream carpet and he swore again.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Fuck, let me clean it up for you.” Leon started towards your kitchen, wiping his blooded cheek on the back of his hand till you gently grabbed his equally battered arm to stop him.

“Leon, do you think I care about my cheap rug right now?” You smiled gently but didn’t give him time to answer before you were pulling him in for a soft but desperate kiss. He tasted like heaven and home all in one, you’d missed him so desperately, more than you even could comprehend.

You took a fistful of his own t-shirt, deepening the kiss and his own hand found its way into your hair.

“Wait, wait…” Leon pulled away breathlessly, his cut lips even more swollen and pink.

“You forgot something.”

You raised an eyebrow giving him a puzzled look, before he produced a striking deep blue, boxed sapphire ring in front of you. It had never left his hand, and in the heat of the moment you hadn’t apparently noticed he had been holding it out to you. You gawped for a second, the ring sparkling beautifully even in the dimly lit living room. It was nothing short of stunning, two clustered diamonds framing a large sapphire stone in the middle. You dreaded to even imagine the cost, you knew Leon got very well paid for what he did but it didn’t stop you from being a little bit mortified.

“Leon, how did you? When did you…?” The questions tumbled out of your mouth all involuntarily.

“I got back this morning. Went and bought it straight away. Here, try it on.“

Leon said, softly and taking your left hand in his and sliding the ring onto your ring finger. It fit perfectly.

“How’d you know my ring size?” You queried.

“I have my ways and means.” Leon replied, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth in what seemed to be nothing short of pride. You took a moment to examine your hand, not questioning his comment, the ring looked beautiful and the sapphire complimented your skin tone flawlessly.

“It’s perfect.” You breathed.

“I’m glad you like it. I’m just sorry that the proposal wasn’t too romantic. Not my ideal choice for proposing but-“

“It was perfect. This is perfect.” You said softly, cupping his cheek with your hand. His other cheek had began pooling blood again, and you sprang into action, finally going to finish the task you started what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Sit down Mr. Need to patch that cut up.” You ordered, and Leon threw his hands up in a weak surrender as you lead him to the bathroom. Your mind was still reeling, but you ordered him to perch on the bathtub whilst you raided the first aid kit.

“I really need to get this topped up.” You muttered to yourself as you noticed the lack of plasters and bandages.

“You’re off your game, Y/N.”

“Well, sorry I’ve been a little busy worrying myself sick for the past 2 months.” You mentioned this in a matter of fact way but it come across slightly harsher than you’d intended.

“I’m so, so sorry. I lost contact with Hunningan. I knew you’d be worried sick.”

“It’s fine Leon, you’re here now and that’s all that matters… this might sting.” You reassured him quietly as you dabbed an alcohol soaked cotton pad on his wound. Leon didn’t flinch but you knew it must’ve hurt, and you apologised under your breath.

He held your wrist gently, to stop you as you went to grab another cotton pad.

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It never has been fine.”

You sighed, as he held your wrist still and you gently pulled yourself away, gazing into his eyes before you spoke.

“It’s your job. I’m with you either way, I understand what I’m signing up for and I’m still here, aren’t I?” You smiled sincerely at him, the conversation deemed over in your eyes. He seemed to tired and blissful to argue any further.

You cleaned up the rest of his face in a comfortable silence, the stillness and calm was pleasant. This was the most at peace you’d felt in months.

“All done.” You whispered, packing the rest of the first aid kit away and storing it back in your bathroom cabinet.

“You didn’t have to,” Leon began, but you shot him a look he knew all too well. The look of “don’t you dare start apologising again”.

“Have you eaten?” You asked softly, taking in his worn exterior.

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Leon answered, as he stood to stretch from the side of the bath.

“Worrying about you is my job. You’re gonna have to get used to it.” You quipped.

“I suppose I am." Leon chuckled softly. "How’d I ever get this lucky?” He gave you a soft smile as he snaked his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him. You melted under his touch and doting eyes.

“You should also know, it’s my job to take care of you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, I hope you know that.” Leon said lowly. You smiled softly at his words, bringing your arms up to rest around his neck.

“Whatever it takes?" You hummed, feigning deep thought before continuing with a faint smile. "Okay, you can start by kissing me.” You proposed, your faint smile turning into a grin.

“Would be my pleasure.”

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #re4r #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil

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itsthestutterforme · 24 days

Text

Terrible Liar (Jack Reacher Drabble)

Summary: You were sparing with a coworker when he got a little rough, leaving you with a bruised cheek. You avoided Reacher for as long as you could but it didn’t last very long.

Warnings/Notes: GIF is not mine, all mistakes are my own, protective Reacher, soft!Reacher, and a little sub!Reacher 👀, sexual themes (riding, p in v penetration), MINORS DNI

Prompt credit @writing-with-emy : “Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“He’s wound up tight again. This is our second missed bust and he’s starting to get a little angsty.” Neagley explains to you over the phone.

“He’ll catch on if we keep doing this, Neagley.” You tell her.

“Or maybe he already knows and doesn’t mind seeing your pretty face.” She jests and you grimace, staring at your reflection through the glass in your cubicle

“What just happened?” She asks. “What are you talking about, Corporal?” You fire back.

“You just made a face,” “And the how did you- I’m not going to ask. I was sparring with Tiago the other day and his elbow clipped my cheek.”

“Shit,”

“Yeah,” you said with a sigh. You’re not proud of it, but you’ve been avoiding Reacher for this very reason.

It doesn’t matter if you said it was an accident or not. If it was a man who did it, he would hold him responsible. Everything was black and white with him.

Your relationship with Reacher teeters between friends and.. something else.

Neither of you or him decided to put a label on it. But two things are known to everyone with eyes.

You don’t mess with the special investigators.

And if you touch Y/N, you’ll end up with a broken jaw.

“Well if anyone can keep him relaxed, it’s you.” “Come on, please.” She adds when you hesitate and you let out a groan of frustration.

“Fine,”

No one could miss the way Reacher’s shoulders relaxed when he walked back to his desk to find you sitting in his chair sipping on your milkshake.

Neagley and David found it particularly fascinating to see the hard, mountain of a man turn to mush at the mere sight of you.

“Isn’t it my favorite mountain man,” you tease, sliding the to go box from his favorite soul joint across the desk.

You place a brown bag on top of the to go container and a smile threatens to spread on Reacher’s face.

“Are those..?” He starts.

“Of course,” you take another sip of your milkshake and he digs into the bag, popping a hush puppy in his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Is this to distract me from the fact that you’ve been avoiding me?” He starts, reaching back into the bag.

“I have not been avoiding you, Reacher.” “No?” “No,”

He stares at you for a moment and when you realize what he was doing, you set your milkshake down. Standing from the chair, you crossed your arms as you neared him.

Neagley and David watch the entire interaction like it’s their favorite sitcom. Which it is.

“You’re not trying to intimidating me like I’m one of your soldiers, are you Reacher?”

“Not at all,” he examines your features, his gaze falling to your bruising cheek that you covered with make up this morning.

“Please tell me you’re a better liar than this when you’re on missions,” you retort.

“I’m a better liar than you. That’s for sure.” “Do you really want to talk about who’s better?”

He reached back into the bag but you snatched the hush puppy out of his hands and took a bite out of it. He was shocked but not entirely surprised at the betrayal.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the reason why you’re avoiding me has something to do with the make up on your face. Am I right?”

You finished the hush puppy and reached for your milkshake. “It’s just a scratch,” he finally pried out of you.

“From?” “Sparring with a friend,”

As amazing as the food smelled, it was long forgotten at his point. “Which friend?”

“Reacher,” “Answer the question,” he crosses his arms. “It was an accident,”

“No, the person was irresponsible when they weren’t practicing self control. It’s sparring, not boxing.” He seethes.

“He didn’t mean to. He apologized.”

His face hardens when you mention a him, although he suspected it was a man.

“I don’t care. I bet it was his idea, wasn’t it? To spar with you.” “Yes, but-” “Because he found you attractive and wanted an excuse to touch you,” he said matter of factly.

You were about to object but then you pondered about the past interactions you’ve had with Tiago.

You guess you could say that he’s been testing the waters with lingering touches and you subtly created distance between you.

You didn’t see Tiago as anything else besides a coworker honestly.

“You think so?”

“One hundred percent. In their eyes, you’re attractive and single so you’re considered free game.” He clarifies, clenching his jaw.

“That would be their mistake, wouldn’t it?” You state, causing him to look at you. He didn’t miss how your eyes drifted to his lips before returning to his eyes.

“Fuck, keep doing that.” He groans, his grip tightening on your hips as you bounced on his cock. His body twitched when you clenched around him hard.

Throwing your head back when the tip of his cock thrums over a gspot deep inside of you. His hands slide from your hips and wraps his arms around your chest to hold you in place when he drills into you from below.

You bounced quicker on him and a breath gets caught in his throat when he cums into the condom.

Your legs started to tremble when you slow your movements and rest your hands on his thick chest as you both tried to control your breathing.

Leaning up, he cupped the back of your head and pressed a messy kiss on your lips.

You lift your hips a bit and he slides out of you, not breaking the kiss just yet. He finally pulls away from you and takes off the condom before tossing it in your trash can in the bathroom.

“Well that was..” “Long overdue?” You finish and he chuckled before adding, “Definitely over due,”

You rolled on your back when you felt a cold air blowing from the vents. You snuggled deeper into the sheets but goosebumps still littered your skin.

“Cold already?” He states when he comes back into the bedroom to see you shivering under the covers.

“Don’t patronize me, mountain man.” You retort and he shakes his head at your antics.

He slides under the covers and wraps an arm over your frame to effortlessly pull you into his side.

You sigh when he rubs his warm hands over your smooth, bronze skin all the way to your ass.

“You’re really good at that you know,” “Mm, I know.” You smiled, relishing the moment his eyes rolled back when you first sank onto him.

“You’re really pretty when you do it too,” he brushes his nose against yours against yours.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Reacher.” You say against his lips, not wanting to kiss him just yet.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll gladly finish it.” He kisses you slow and passionately, his tongue smoothing over yours.

He cups your cheeks and you wince when his thumb grazes over the sensitive skin on your cheek.

“Sorry,” he apologizes when he pulls away from your face.

“It’s okay,” “No it’s not. Tell me who did this to you.”

“I’ll find out either way, Y/N.” He adds when you hesitate. “I’ll only tell you if you let me handle it first.”

“Fine,” “It was Tiago,” “That fucking prick,” he says lowly, gripping your thigh harshly.

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” He attempts to negotiate. “Yes,” “What if I just break his nose a little?”

“Reacher,” you scold.

#black!reader #reacher x reader #jack reacher x reader #alan richardson #jack reacher x black!reader

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noassparetime · 10 months

Text

RUN BABY RUN . ( leon kennedy x f﹗ reader ) PART TWO ﹗

DISCLAIMER: THIS FIC IS DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT .

IVE ALSO NEVER WRITTEN SMTH WITH MORE THAN ONE PART BARE WITH ME﹐ I ' M NERVY

enjoy ❤️

CONTENT WARNINGS : stalking﹗ breaking and entering﹗ DUBCON ₍ pls this isnt a joke ₎ ﹐ oral sex ₍ f receiving ₎ ﹐ p in v penetration﹐somnophilia﹐ KNIFE PLAY .

some of the content within this chapter may be disturbing to some audiences﹐ reader discretion is advised . PART 1 HERE 1270 words no proofread

CREDIT : gif credit to me lmao

GIF SOURCE : HYDRAFXX on twitter

FILTER BY 161FR0ST on twitter

AS USUAL﹐ NO MINORS UNDER THE LINE PLS AND THANK U

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there she was﹐ my little dove . so innocent﹐ so peaceful . she was absolutely fucking oblivious to the fact that i am in her house right now﹐ watching her live like this was some kind of twisted reality show﹐ except﹐ she didn ' t know about the cameras .

she ' s sat on a rocking chair﹐ watching some sitcom on tv . she ' d giggle to herself occasionally﹐ my heart fluttering at the sweet﹐ sweet sound of my little dove ' s joy . soon enough﹐ [ Y / N ] made her way upstairs﹐ her robe hitting the floor﹐ revealing her perfect tits﹐ the only think keeping her somewhat modest being her flimsy lace panties . she got in bed﹐ her eyes glued to her phone as i watched from the small crack between the closet doors . she really has no situational awareness or any sense of danger﹐ does she﹖ it doesn ' t matter﹐ i ' ll teach her all of that soon enough .

as soon as i was sure she was asleep﹐ i stepped out from my front row seat to the show . i walked towards her﹐ she smells just as good as she did before . i slipped the covers off her body .

sweet fucking jesus .

she ' s perfection laced in ecstasy﹐ wrapped in a pretty pink bow just for me . leaning down﹐ making sure the mattress didn ' t dip too much﹐ my hands grazed her thighs﹐ her legs falling open almost instantly . she ' s fucking captivating . i settled on my stomach﹐ my lips gently met the skin just below her belly button as i kissed my way down . goosebumps followed my trail﹐ spreading down her skin as she arched her back slightly . i couldn ' t help but grin as i felt her react to my touch . my poor little dove ' s body is betraying her .

my lips trailed downward﹐ kissing her slit through the thin piece of material . fuck﹐ it wasn ' t long before i was intoxicated﹐ drunk on her from just a taste . my tongue darted out of my mouth﹐ licking a stripe from her entrance to her clit . her body jerked﹐ my eyes shot towards her﹐ making sure she was still asleep . my little dove needs to enjoy this . i placed my knife on the bed next to me﹐ just in case she tried something stupid .

i hooked a finger on the material as i pushed her panties aside﹐ i was in awe as i stared at her perfect cunt﹐ glistening wet﹐ and begging to be worshipped . fuck it . i shoved my face into her﹐ my lips latching onto her clit as i sucked﹐ hard . her hips jerked in response﹐ her eyes shooting open . shock coursed through her tiny frame﹐ her hands pushed my face away﹐ i happily obliged﹐ taking a step back . she shot up﹐ pushing her body back . disbelief painted her features﹐ her beautiful face pale .

❛ shh . . . ❜ i cooed﹐ picking up my knife from the bed . her taste still on my tongue﹐ a smile forming on my lips . i crawled onto the bed﹐ my cock straining against my jeans .

❛ come on now﹐ little dove﹐ don ' t make me use this . ❜ i held up my knife﹐ the blade glinting in the moonlight . i sat down next to her﹐ running my fingers down her shaking face .

her mouth opened slightly﹐ her words caught in her throat . my hand met her arm﹐ pulling her body over mine﹐ her legs on either side of my hips . her poor frame shook as i raised the blunt side of my knife to her throat . i could see a tear slip down her already flushed cheek .

❛ unbutton my jeans﹐ angel . ❜ i spoke﹐ adrenaline coursing through my body as i stared at her .

shy hands moved down my body as she closed her eyes﹐ her fingertips sending shockwaves up my body as they grazed the skin just above my waistline . i sucked in a breath﹐ biting back a moan . the sound of my zipper sliding down filled the room﹐ my jaw clenching as she took the initiative to pull my cock from my underwear .

❛ such a good fucking girl . ❜ i cooed as i watched her﹐ her thighs clenching against my body . my words had an effect on her﹐ i know they do . she can ' t lie when her body reacts like this . ❛ ride it . ❜ i continued﹐ my tone authoritative . her eyes widened for a second﹐ her mouth falling open once again . she didn ' t say anything﹐ instead﹐ she aligned my tip with her entrance﹐ her eyes squeezing shut as she sunk down . i heard a whimper tumble from her lips as her cunt hugged my cock so tight﹐ practically sucking me in .

a deep groan snuck up my throat as she sat﹐ adjusting . i couldn ' t believe this was finally happening﹐ i was balls deep in the woman i loved﹐ the woman i craved so deeply .

❛ that ' s it baby . ❜ i cooed softly﹐ ❛ all of it﹐ like a good - ah﹐ fuck - like a good girl . . . ❜ my breathing was quick and shallow﹐ matching hers as my other hand rested on her hip .

i guided her﹐ gently urging her to rock her hips - she did . it was like the heavens had come down and bestowed upon me their greatest blessing﹐ my perfect [ Y/N ] and her tight pussy .

she moved faster﹐ taking the opportunity to lift herself up and drop down﹐ using me and my cock to chase her high . her moans fell from her lips like diamonds﹐ adorning the room with their sparkle﹐ illuminating our bodies in this disgusting act of lust and sin . her hand drifted to my cheek as she rode me﹐ running from my jaw to my lips﹐ she smelled like heaven﹐ she felt like sin .

i could feel myself getting lost in her﹐ completely and utterly ruined by her . i studied her face﹐ the way she started enjoying it made my heart beat faster . her eyes shut as her head rolled back﹐ my tip kissing her cervix oh so gently . fuck﹐ she ' s magnetic . i dropped the knife﹐ using both hands to grip her hips as i stilled her .

the moaning ceased only for a moment﹐ our heavy breaths in sync as i thrusted up into her . the sweetest sound left my little dove ' s lips﹐ her hands gripping my wrists for support . her nails dug into my skin﹐ the burn stinging so good .

❛ fuck﹐ baby . ❜ i moaned as i watched her enjoy every ounce of pleasure she was getting from me . her walls tightened around my shaft as her legs shook softly . i gripped her left hand﹐ moving her fingers to her clit . we were close﹐ so fucking close . ❛ small circles . ❜ i instructed﹐ watching as her tiny body writhed in pleasure .

the familiar sensation hit me like a truck﹐ my body shook as i pulled her down﹐ her bare chest pressed against my shirt as my arms wrapped around her small body .

i held her close as her climax hit﹐ forcing a scream from her throat as she shook﹐ her unoccupied hand tugging at my hair .

her walls contracted a few more times as we came down from our highs﹐ my hips still slowly rocking my dick in and out of her perfect pussy . i planted a soft kiss on her forehead .

i knew there ' d be questions soon﹐ but for now she seemed tired . i waited for her to fall asleep before slowly and gently cleaning her up and tucking her in .

maybe she ' d think it was just a dream﹐ or maybe my dove will finally come home .

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #leon kennedy x reader #re4 leon #leon kennedy smut #yandere leon kennedy #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy reader insert

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evanchantingpeters · 4 months

Text

T(h)rust in me, I’m not over you... (Fanfic - Alex from Adult World)

Pairings ─ Alex (from Adult World) x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff

Summary ─ Y/N and Alex (aka Evan Peters in Adult World) are exes who haven’t quite let go. A friend’s birthday party turns into a comedy of errors when a black-out drunk Y/N accidentally enters Alex’s postcode as her own for a cab ride home. As Alex finds her at his doorstep and takes her in his place, old feelings resurface and steamy times go down in his bathroom.

Warnings ─ Swearing, smut, unprotected sex p in v, drinking, oral (m receiving), rough sex, nipple teasing, hangover sex, doggy, pretty smutty guys you’re being warned :)

Word count ─ 3.7K

18+ > If you’re a minor, DO NOT read!

The birthday cake of your friend, Beatrice, stands proudly in the centre of her living room, decked out in colourful frosting and flickering candles.

You and the rest of the guests belt out the overdone ‘Happy Birthday’ song in what you think is perfect harmony. But here comes Jerry, Beatrice’s younger brother, who starts hollering the lyrics off-key, stealing the show.

Snorting, the birthday girl nudges her brother away, leaning over the cake to blow out the candles. Just as she’s mouthing her wish, Jerry, wearing a wicked grin, swoops in and dips his sister’s face right into the cake.

The room erupts in uproarious laughter as Beatrice’s expression goes from shocked to amused. She taps her cake-covered eyes to remove some chocolate. Then, she turns to Jerry with a look that’s half playful, half ‘I’m plotting revenge.’

“You’re in for it now, Jerry!” she barks. And just like that, an all-out frosting war breaks out, turning the room into a sugar-fuelled battlefield. Cake crumbs are flying in every direction, but you manage to dodge most of it with only a few cake-bulleted stains along the hem of your black dress.

You retreat to a corner of the room, sipping your Prosecco like you’re watching sitcom chaos unfold from afar. Suddenly, you notice a stranger in a fancy tux sauntering over, a sly grin playing on his plump lips.

“Well, looks like you’ve stayed mostly unscathed… or shall I say un-caked?” he chirps, his voice deep and throaty as he nods toward the cake war raging on.

You just shrug, tossing him a faint, uninterested smile, “Good reflexes, I guess,” you quip, giving him a quick once-over before turning back to the cake madness. You feel his dark green eyes scanning you as if you’re going through airport security.

He chuckles, and leans in. “If you need someone to scrub the marks off your dress, I’m your guy,” he whoops, playfully thumping his chest. He extends his hand with an inviting smile. “Tony.”

“Y/N,” you reply bluntly, your energy matching that of a deflated balloon.

Unfazed by your meh vibes, Tony decides to turn up the heat on the handshake, taking you aback as he begins to stroke your wrist. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous,” he purrs, his eyes never leaving yours.

In a bold move, he lightly kisses the back of your hand, his stubble scratching your skin.

You instinctively pull away, trying to force a polite smile, but a nervous twitch is all you manage. Your intrusive thoughts kick in, lecturing you (as usual), ‘Give the guy a chance, Y/N. Seriously, after Alex, all you think about is eye-gouging dudes with a spoon? Get a grip and move on!’

“Enjoying the party, Y/N?” he asks, snapping you out of your mental mess.

“It’s not too bad. I’m here for Beatrice,” you retort, fetching a glass of wine from the buffet. Your eyes drift to the birthday girl, now caked from head to toe and giggling hysterically. You can’t help but crack a smile.

“Sorry, gotta go. Trice’s calling me,” you blurt out and lunge toward your friend, catching a muffled, “No, she didn’t” from behind as you’re practically escaping.

As the night barrels on, your party spirit is like the Energizer Bunny on steroids. You’re all in, downing shots and cocktails like they’re on a liquid clearance sale.

Yet, the question looms in the air: Are you drinking for the sheer fun of it or just drowning sorrows in that cocktail shaker? Alex heartache mode on.

Before you know it, you’re totally sloshed, messily sprawled on a plush couch, using Tanya’s (another friend of yours) knees as your personal pillow. “Iiiiii reeeeally like your boooody, bodyyy, yeah. I reaaaaally wanna get naughtyyyyy I think you’re such a hottieeeee,” you croak out each word of the pop track with a slur, laughing uncontrollably. Your eyes are shut, lost in your boozy world.

As you ramble on, Tony, who’s been lurking around, seizes the moment and leaps out from behind the couch. He casually nudges Tanya’s arm, yelling, “You heard that, Tansy?” with theatrical flair. “She thinks I’m a hottie!” His grin spreads wider than a rubber band as he arrogantly points at himself, acting like he’s the main character of your drunken karaoke.

Tanya clicks her tongue in mild annoyance and cuts in with a hiss, “Tony! Behave, man!” She softly kisses the top of your head in a futile attempt to soothe your booze-induced storm.

“I offered to clean up her dress…” Tony goes on, hovering over the couch. “But, not gonna lie, I’d rather have it crunched up on my bedroom floor as she moans my name,” he murmurs, emphatically banging his fist on the couch before doubling up with laughter.

“Oh, hush it, Tony,” Tanya roars and waves him away, turning back to you and your delirium, which has hit the roof. “I need to get you home, girl, and none of us is fit to drive…”

Tony, not one to give up easily, chimes in once more. “I volunteer! I’d give her a lift all day, all night.”

“No, we’re all catching a cab,” she declares with a tone that brooks no argument. She lightly pokes your shoulder. “Y/N, my love?”

Your tipsy babbling starts to fade into a murmur that seems to be lulling you to sleep. “Y/N,” Tanya repeats. “What’s your postcode, sweetie?”

Your alcohol-soaked brain struggles to register this simple question. “P-postcode? P-o-s-t-d, no. P-p,” you stutter.

“Yes, darling. Confirm your postcode for me, would you? I don’t have it saved,” Tanya says calmly, holding her phone in front of your face.

With a grunt, you manage to sit up, but the world continues to dance spinning salsa around you. With an unsteady hand, you reach for the device, and your fingers fumble as you try to type out the letters and digits.

Deep in your drunken haze, you unconsciously punch in a code that matches anything else but your address.

“To the hottieeeeee,” you shout, throwing your fist in the air before dropping yourself back onto your friend’s knees.

“Ma,am, we’re here,” the taxi driver announces to Tanya that’s sat next to him, his hoarse voice slicing through the quiet of the car.

Tanya swivels around to face the backseats, where you’re laid down, totally passed out. “Y/N,” she calls softly, giving your leg a gentle rub, but you don’t stir.

She hops off the car and speed-walks to your side. With great care, she helps you out by wrapping her hands around you. Your arm is looped around her shoulder for stability. “Biyatchhhh, I saiddd whooo I saeee… who da biyaatch? Am da biyatchh,” you hoot, swaying and leaning heavily on your friend as you pinch her cheek with a goofy smile.

“Y/N, just a sec,” Tanya huffs out as she shoves herself back in to retrieve your purse and coat from the car floor.

You both stumble your way through the labyrinthine apartment complex. “You got your house key?” she asks, catching her breath.

It takes a hot minute for the information to hit as you stare at your friend like a deer in headlights. With an unexpected burst of energy, you break free from Tanya’s hold, almost tripping a few steps away. “My Tanoushka, I'm sho happy you haar!” You cry out and lurch back toward her, showering her with enthusiastic smooches on her cheeks.

Then, in a theatrical whirl, you pop open the purse and jangle your keys in her face. “Jiggly, jiggly. Okiee, goooo, go, go!” you cheer in a wobbly dance, urging Tanya to get back into the car.

With an anxious look on her face, Tanya stands by the open car door. “Alright, phone me once you’re indoors,” she insists, her worried eyes laser-focused on you.

You shoo her away absentmindedly as you stagger toward the complex’s main door. You wrestle with the key, wriggling and twisting it into the lock, but miserably fail to get in the building. “Bad key,” you playfully scold, wagging a finger at the stubborn piece of metal before giving it a light slap.

Soon after, your fingers impulsively begin to clumsily hit the buttons on the intercom, creating a cacophony of buzzing sounds that echo through the entryway. “O-o-o-pen uuup,” your slurred shouting rings through the intercom. “Shtupidd thaang,” you whine, practically bashing the device.

Out of the chorus of tenant voices that crackle through the speaker almost simultaneously, Alex’s familiar voice stands out.

“Y/N? Y/N is that you?” Hearing the shaky and uncertain voice, Alex doesn’t waste a second. He dashes down the stairwell and swings the entrance door wide open, facing a dishevelled Mia, rocking around about to collapse.

“Y/N,” he gasps and sprints to you. “What happened? Why are you here?” His brows furrow in confusion as he observes your smudged makeup and dress that’s askew.

You look up at him with a lopsided smile, your eyes all bloodshot and half-lidded. “Alex, my hottieee. I mishhhsed you so muschh!” you exclaim, your sentences meandering as you lounge at him for a sloppy hug.

“Shit, you’re hammered,” he mutters, worry spurs him into action. With superhero speed, he scoops you up, your butt facing upwards, hands hanging loosely off his back.

Your giggles echo as Alex carries you onto his shoulder with ease, making his way to the lift that leads to his place. In a soft, reassuring whisper, he says, “Don’t worry, baby,” and plants a kiss on your thigh that’s now resting on his chest. “I’ll take care of you,” he adds, giving you a playful spank on the ass.

Once inside, Alex makes a pitstop in the kitchen for a water bottle while you dangle off his shoulder like a ragdoll, humming nonsense. He heads to the bedroom and gently lays you on the bed, making sure your landing is as comfy as a cloud.

Kneeling beside you, he begins to delicately take off your high heels, rubbing your legs along the way. “Who needs a napkin when your dress can double as a tissue, right?” he chuckles softly, tracing the dry cake marks on your outfit, unaware of the sugary fight earlier. “You’ve officially introduced ‘cake couture’ to the fashion world,” he teases, trying to bundle you in a blanket like a burrito.

You slowly lift your head from the pillow, your neck muscles tightening with the effort as you stare at him with bleary yet intent eyes. “I want shyour cakey,” you mewl, wriggling under the blanket on a mission to liberate your hands.

You tug on his hoodie, pulling him closer until he loses his balance and topples onto you. Your bodies press together, and your voice comes out in a pleading whine. “Alex?”

“Yes?” he rasps out, his dark brown eyes flicking down to your lips and then up into your eyes.

“Kiss me,” you mumble and perk up, slowly grazing your lips against his, eyes shut.

The strong scent of alcohol wafts from you, but, in that moment, Alex seems beyond minding. His heart races too erratically to care, and his breaths are too jagged and wild to bother. The room seems to shrink for both of you, and he swallows hard.

“No, Y/N,” he snaps, his voice firm and resolute as he jumps up. “I’d never let this happen... not right now... not with you being like this.” He snatches the water bottle from the bedside table, unscrewing it with a sense of urgency.

Slightly dazed, you touch your lips. “Tickles, tickles, ticklish,” you squeak, breaking into soft giggles. In a sudden and wobbly move, you shift position, popping up on your knees on the bed. “Huggies,” you whoop facing him, arms wide open for an embrace.

But, just as quickly, your mood takes a detour, and now you’re wincing, yanking at the fabric of your outfit in frustration, “This dresshh is prison, tightiee,” you grunt, hiking your dress up only to reveal your red panties.

His eyes can’t help but stare down there as he rubs the back of his neck almost compulsively, his breath hitching in his throat. At the sight of you half-naked, the dilemma of whether to give in or resist intensifies, swirling in his mind on end.

“Hold up, I don’t want you catching a cold or something. I’ve got a top you can slip into,” he says, puffing out his words while pacing toward his wardrobe to avoid looking at her.

“Heeey,” you yell with an unexpectedly stern tone that catches him off guard. But, just as swiftly, your face softens into a sweet, almost kiddish smile that instantly cools things off.

You wave Alex over, beckoning him to approach. “Come, come, comeyyy,” you coo.

You perch next to him again, still rocking that mischievous smile. “It’s a secret, tiny winnie one,” you whisper-shout, pinching your index finger and thumb near your face, closing one eye for added drama. “Just between you and me,” you poke as you emphasise ‘me.’

Alex nods as his grin stretches from ear to ear. “Okay…” he chuckles, officially joining your light-hearted moment.

“Shhhhh,” you dramatically hush, squishing your index finger against your lips like you’re sharing classified intel. “Secret-t-t-t.”

Alex snorts. His rolls his lips into his mouth as he lowers his head to hold back a laugh. “My bad, my bad. Go on,” he whispers with exaggerated enthusiasm. He’s clearly having a blast with your goofy antics.

“Don’t tell Alex… Neva eva!”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he assures you, theatrically raising his finger for a pinky promise.

You take an unusually long moment to process his gesture and what it represents. A sober person would never… Eventually, you sloth-slowly glance back at him, nonchalantly deciding to give up on the symbolism behind the lifted pinky finger. “He’s the kindestsht… and p-p-prettiest boy I’ve eeeeever met,” you exclaim. Your fingers—guided by intoxicated conviction—clumsily roam over his face, stretching his nostril and trailing down to his bottom lip.

Your drunken self radiates an innocent sincerity that makes Alex’s heart throb like a hammer. Flattered and charmed by your confession, he gazes at you bashfully.

His warm smile broadens as he keeps on staring and admiring you.

“He’s shhhuper,” you squeal, forming a heart shape with your fingers, peeking at him through it. “Do youse… hic… I should gimme… no… not me… him, give HIM head to say thank yew for treatin' spoooooon good?”

Alex can’t help but crack up, though his cheeks turn rosy—a testament to his shy nature. He cups his chin and narrows his eyes mischievously, like he’s in deep thought. “Hmm, if we’re talking about Alex, your ex...I think you should give him head, BUT,” he exclaims, throwing a finger into the air.

You gasp, playfully covering your mouth like you’ve heard the most shocking news. Your eyes bulge with feigned surprise. “Beyond all,” he argues, “I think you should totally get back together. He thinks you broke up for something very silly, and he’s dying to be with you.”

You abruptly jerk away from him, gagging as if you’re about to throw up. You feel the blood draining from your face as a wave of distress washes over you.

Alex’s eyes widen with concern as he instinctively rises from the bed, “Off we go to the bathroom,” he insists, rushing to follow you.

Your nausea takes a sudden turn, and you can’t hold back any longer. Barely making it to the toilet in time, you let it all out. Your body heaves with each retch, and you feel miserable.

Alex, the unsung hero, drops to his knees and chucks the water bottle on the floor. He gently pulls your hair back, creating a makeshift puke-proof barrier. All the while, he rubs your back to make the whole ordeal less horrible.

Then, he’s quick on his feet, grabbing some toilet paper for the post-barf clean-up. As you dab your lips, he hands you the bottle to rinse. “I’m disgustiiing, don’t look,” you grumble, shooing him away as you spit water in the toilet before flushing.

“You’re still a wonder to my eyes,” he whispers, running a hand through your loose hair. “And the timing—you puke just as I suggest we get back together, Y/N” he mocks, adding a sprinkle of humour to the less-than-glamorous moment.

You groan and let your head flop onto the toilet seat. “Ahhh, my moussth feels weird… bruushh,” you mumble, rubbing your lips.

Alex lifts you up, guiding you to sit on the edge of the bathtub. “Not brushing yet, baby. We’re swishing with some hydrogen peroxide and water to protect the enamel,” he instructs you, preparing the said concoction in a small measuring cup next to you. “Here you go, wash off.”

“Shhh, you’re a niiieeerd,” you whine after spitting the liquid, feeling it sting your tongue. Giggling, you yank at Alex’s hoodie and playfully sway him back and forth, your minty breath fanning his face.

Then, you suddenly stop and fix him right in the eye. “Aleeex?” you whimper, lips pouting.

“Yes, Y/N,” he asks calmly, sweeping a few strands of hair off your face as a half smirk curls up his lips. He enjoys the banter that weaves through your drunken fog.

“Fuck me,” you plead, fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

Alex’s pulse quickened for a second, held in an irregular rhythm. All the while, your fingertips caress his lower stomach, trying to slip through his trousers and onto his boxers.

You let go when he clears his throat loudly, a deliberate attempt to regain composure. Breathing heavily, he manages a tight-lipped as he strokes your head, tenderly placing it on his shoulder.

“Ohhh, I knoooow,” your exclaim and sit up, your index finger playfully pressing against your mouth. “I willshh brush me an’ you fuck me.”

Forty minutes later, you’re done with her hardcore toothbrushing session, complete with a few rounds of gargling mouthwash. Alex hands you a towel with a warm smile. You’re still wobbly but muster a grateful grin.

“Thaaank, yew rock,” you slur, clumsily patting your face dry.

Alex chuckles, “Better?”

You hum, nodding, but your bleary eyes suddenly light up mischievously. Out of impulse, you slide into the tub, turning the water knob. You start splashing around, water welling up everywhere as you laugh uncontrollably. Alex, caught in the aquatic crossfire, shields himself with his hands.

“What’s the goal? Turning this into a water park?” he jokes, still trying to dodge the watery onslaught. But you’re having none of it. You grip his arm and drag him into the splash party.

Soon, you’re both a wet, tangled mess, laughing like loons, lost in the bliss of the moment. As water skims through the contours of your bodies, there’s a switch in the atmosphere. Amidst the fun chaos, your eyes meet inches away from each other, and the laughter mellows into a shared silence.

Before you realise it, your lips crash in a spontaneous kiss. You spread your legs, letting him wade through and tower over you. Soft moans escape him, and the vibrations against your mouth send delightful shivers down your backbone. You know that’s not just a collision of flesh; it transcends into a harmonious blend of passion and connection.

“I want you, Alex,” you sigh with newfound clarity, miraculously not stumbling over your words in an intoxicating joy for the first time tonight. You push the back of his head to deepen the kiss, your tongues now twisting and twirling in a sensual waltz.

He hungrily gropes handfuls of your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses across the crook of your neck.

“Y/N.. no... stop it,” he protests when your hand ventures down his trousers, rubbing along his growing bulge. Your quivering breaths mingle as he breaks the kiss. Skillfully, he turns off the water as he steps out of the tub. “It’s the alcohol talking now, not you.”

You frown, clutching on the edges of the tub for balance. “The alcohol has shut up; I speak now,” you groan as you stand on your feet. Your drenched dress clings to your body, outlining your figure. Feeling the weight of the soaked fabric, you decide to free yourself from it.

You strip down to your panties, and your soft, pink nipples rise like rosebuds in bloom, betraying a quiet anticipation. Alex sucks in a sharp breath as he watches your every move all mesmerised, eyes widening, lips parted.

“Ever seen someone redefine the art of walking a tightrope?” you chirp, water dripping down your half-naked body. Sinking to your knees, you get on all fours and slowly begin to crawl to him.

You sway your hips in a sensuous, almost hypnotic rhythm, eyes fixed on Alex. All the while, you trace a perfectly straight line to him, proving your recovered sobriety.

Arriving at his pelvic level, you gracefully sit back on your heels with a coy smile, maintaining eye contact. “See?” you whisper, tilting your head as your eyes travel down at his erection. You don’t dare to touch; you just marvel at his full length (realistically speaking).

Staring down at you with a knowing, crooked smirk, he runs his fingers through your damp hair, tenderly petting your head.

“Someone’s suffering here. Let’s free this big boy, shall we?” you purr, brushing your fingers along his hard rock crotch, feeling it twitch upon touch.

He quickly nods in despair as if he’s unable to utter a single syllable. You slowly roll down his trousers and boxers. He gasps as you finally take hold of his large shaft.

You push his tip in your mouth, flattening your tongue, and swipe down the underside ridge of his stiff dick, humming in delight. He groans louder than you expected as you slowly work his cock in and out, grazing your fingers over the ridges of his abs under his t-shirt.

You pull him back out of your mouth just to slide all the way back down. He’s practically growling at this point, clasping onto the corners of the sink—his vein-y arms make your sex twice as moist.

You regain your slow, teasing pace just to gauge his reaction. Letting out a whine like he can’t take it anymore, he grips your hair tighter, pushing you all the way down his dick. His head is now building on pressure as it strikes the back of your throat, bringing tears to your eyes. His hair grip loosens as his breaths start escaping him in choked, punchy gasps.

You’re sucking him whole, from his taint down to his balls, dripping your saliva all over him the harder you draw him into your mouth. Your swollen pussy is tingling for him as you feel him hardening in your mouth, forcing loud moans out of you.

Knowing that your next move will finish him, you slow down again and grab him by the waist, gazing up at him. That’s when you begin to take him in faster and rougher, feeling his hips thrust harder each time.

And… proven! With the change in speed, he lets out a series of choppy moans only to shoot his hot cum in your mouth right after. He stares down at you breathless, mouth agape, as you gulp down his sweet taste with rapid, eager swallows, savouring his taste with a giggle.

“My girl,” he rasps out as he picks you up from the floor effortlessly yet almost in a trance, his dick still throbbing in your hands. He peels his t-shirt off, turning you around so you both face the large bathroom mirror.

Positioned behind you, he holds you close and smacks your ass hard, making you squeal with surprise. The squeal soon turns into a moan as the pain fades into pleasure.

You smile slyly as you observe his muscular hands travelling from your hips all the way up to your waistline and tits. You gasp softly when you feel his erection on your back as his mouth nibbles the flushed skin of your neck, leaving soft love bites in his wake.

“I want you to cum inside me, Alex” you blurt out and take hold of his shaft from behind, slowly sliding the head though your tight moist slit in short thrusts.

“Oh, yeah,” he grunts, biting his bottom lip as he feels your wet lips wrap around him. He instantly fills his hands with your hard nipples, squeezing and rubbing them as he looks at your reflection. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he mutters against your ear in a low, husky voice before knocking himself deep inside you, balls deep, making you scream. His hands roughly grip your thighs to keep you steady and close to him.

Small sobs leave you as you instinctively grab the ends of the sink, bending over to cope with taking him deeper. “Just there,” you yelp, panting, as he starts pounding harder, your hair twisted around his hand. With each thrust, his sack slaps against your clit, making you lose your shit.

Every time your pussy gets to the base of his cock, you pump into him with an intense tempo and move your hips around, making his cock swirl inside your body.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you cry out with shallow, jagged puffs, rising and resting your head on his shoulder.

He pinches your nipples between his knuckles with one hand while with the other, he starts massaging your clit with circular motions.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper in pure ecstasy as a hot flush courses through you, your cunt aching and begging to release.

“You take in me so well, baby. Give it to me,” he groans, his voice a throaty sensual rasp that makes you shudder.

“Yeees,” you scream, writhing and grinding against him until you feel warm liquid dripping down your legs.

He keeps riding your orgasm out with you, fucking the liquids in back until he hits his own high. And then it happens—his cum gushing inside you, stuffing you up.

Out of breath, Alex pulls himself out of you, watching his cum leak out. He lazily grins at you, his curls sticking to his head, and you tuck them all back with trembling hands, giggling.

“This pussy and her owner over here will be the death of me,” he chuckles, gasping for air as he pulls you in for a sloppy, heated kiss.

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deandoesthingstome · 6 months

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Haunted Fantasy

Pairing: Ghost!Mike x Reader

Summary: Just a little fun.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v (doggy style), monster fucking (right?).

A/N: This is about half as short as the others, but I still love it and I hope you do, too. This is my first time writing for Mike as main and I hope I did him justice for those of you who live for this guy.

A/N 2: For those of you who picked a different character for this visit, just know, you weren't entirely wrong. He's coming.

A/N 3: And finally, at one point I had imagined these chapters could all stand alone. Walter feels differently, so maybe check out the masterlist if you're new here.

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

August was a hit just like you knew he would be. Maybe your best writing yet. Something about the experience with him just brought it out of you and the story flowed from your fingertips to the keyboard as soon as you stepped into your apartment the next morning.

Yes, you had sprung for an actual overnight. And though he didn’t sleep with you, he was there when you fell asleep and woke again the next day. Apologizing, if you could believe it. He felt he hadn’t truly given you the strict dom experience you had asked for and wondered if he could talk you into a do-over. Maybe even throw in an add-on for free.

You were flattered, but assured him the night had been wonderful and you’d definitely felt satiated this morning. You did want to ask about the…sounds you’d heard the night before, but something told you it wouldn’t be received well so you just thanked him again, enjoyed a little morning coffee while you showered and changed, then headed home.

Where the story practically wrote itself and was up on the site by the evening.

MNstrluvr: what do you mean? sendmeanangel: it was like someone knew I was in there with August MNstrluvr: so you DO think it was him sendmeanangel: idk. Probably just wishful thinking darkgothnightengale: you have it so bad for him don’t you? sendmeanangel: it’s ridiculous. He must have seen dozens of women in a month or two. I don’t know why i would think he’d be thinking of me ever darkgothnightengale: because August said as much. And Sy too for that matter MNstrluvr: yeah, didn’t Sy tell you Walter rarely uses his gifts during visits? And August said he’d see you at the window. He has it bad for you, too, no doubt sendmeanangel: it doesn't matter anyway. I don’t even know his last name. And i haven’t been able to find any available bookings for him for weeks. darkgothnightengale: well, are you at least going back? sendmeanangel: if i do, i need something lighter. The room, the bite, August…it was all so intense. MNstrluvr: so the ghost? sendmeanangel: the ghost

When you closed the door to room 7-743, you found yourself in what looked like the living room of every house on every sitcom you'd ever seen. TV. Couch. Dad's recliner. Coffee table. End tables. A few bookshelves. A fireplace. Standard middle-class scenery. Nothing ornate or fancy. But also, no bed.

You wondered if the door across from the entry led to a bathroom, or another room, similar to the suite you'd found yourself in with August. Before you could step to the other side of the room to find out, a chill passed through the air around you and just as suddenly, as if to counter the effect, a roaring fire eased to life in the fireplace.

"That's better."

"Hello?" you called out in response to the voice, that was both a whisper and a warm tenor in your ear. "Is anyone there?"

Nothing. No answer. Despite the fire next to you, you felt goosebumps and crossed your arms to rub your hands over your skin.

Another deep breath before you continued across the room, determined to see what was behind the other door. Before you made it, an end table lamp switched on.

"Who's there?" You turned in place, looking for any form in the room that could have turned the light on. You were starting to wonder if this was not the haunting you’d signed up for. As you turned again, you felt a cool breeze drift across your chest, and while it felt nice, it also felt a little invasive. “This isn’t funny.”

“Easy, sweet cheeks. It’s just me.” A not-totally opaque figure appeared right in front of you, wide-eyed and with an apologetic smile. “I probably took that introduction too far. I’m Mike.”

You reached your hand for his and grasped nothing but air while he grinned like a fool at you.

“Cute,” you smiled back, even while wondering if you’d ever get to place your hands on something solid this evening.

“Why, thank you,” he took a small bow as you reached to smack his shoulder and found your hand drifting through air again.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” you laughed.

“Oh? You don’t find me pleasant to look at?” Mike grabbed at his chest and stumbled back as if deeply wounded, and for a moment you thought you really had hurt his feelings. “That’s alright. I have a feeling I can change your mind.” Mike stood tall and wiggled his eyebrows at you. Yeah, he definitely had the height you’d come to desire. You wondered about the rest.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply… I was just talking about the…” you waved your hand through the air to indicate his less-than-corporeal state and threw a worried look on your face to match your concern that you’d flubbed this meeting already.

Mike let out a full body laugh. “Don’t worry. I’m only joking. You’re free to like whatever looks you like. Wanna sit?” He swept a transparent arm toward the couch as an invitation. You sat on one side, while he drifted down to the other. “You did know you booked the ghost room, right?”

“I did. I don’t know what I was expecting. Not that, obviously. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, but I should ask. Do you want me to stay in this form?”

“You mean this form that I can’t actually feel?” you teased.

Again as if floating, Mike sidled over the length of the couch and right on next to you. You still couldn’t feel a physical connection, no matter how close to you he appeared to be, though the shiver that ran through your body was certainly not due to his cool temperature. He really was cute, no matter what little word games you’d started to play with him.

“It’s that much of a bummer, huh?”

“I mean…”

“Okay, look. I can do one, or the other, or both.”

“Both?” You were intrigued.

“Yeah, but honestly. This can be good and I’d love to show you. Doesn’t have to be now, though. We can start solid.” Mike raised an eyebrow at you and waited for your nod.

“I think for the storyline, it makes more sense, yeah?”

“Oh, fuck!” he exclaimed, suddenly off the couch as if embarrassed. “I totally spaced that! Yeah, yeah, of course. The scene.”

You laughed out loud. This guy was honestly a trip already and you weren’t even naked. In the next moment, you could suddenly no longer glimpse the room through his translucent form and you stood and took another moment to take it in fully.

Black Chucks, dark-washed blue jeans almost too tight around the thighs and definitely supporting a package that appeared to match his predecessors, plain white tee, and a black leather motorcycle jacket. The perfect delinquent boyfriend planning to sneak into the house once the kids you were watching were sound asleep, their parents still several hours away from returning for the evening. To be fair, you weren't sure how you expected a solid form host to deliver the ghost fantasy, but thankfully it sounded like Mike had a plan. And that had to be plenty of time for some fun.

“I’ll step out for a minute. Reset the scene, okay?” he tilted his adorable head full of somewhat unruly curls at you, gave a ridiculous wink and exited the room.

You settled back down on the couch, grabbed the random book sitting on the end table and started to thumb through the pages, as if just settling down after putting the kids to bed. The passage you flipped to caught your attention and you barely even noticed that you’d read through several pages before a loud bump sounded on the ceiling above you, followed by the sound of chains dragging before the window behind you started rattling.

“Jesus! What the fuck!” you exclaimed, already forgetting the story you’d put yourself in. You set your book down and stood, ear tilted up waiting for more noise before you stepped to the window, placing a palm against the glass to still the shaking. You checked the lock and found it holding, so imagined yourself safe again.

You sat back down, picked up the book, flipped a few more pages before you decided to turn on the TV, first glancing at your watch to check the time. He’s got to be close now, you thought. This was the time I told him to come. The kids are out like lights.

The TV sprang to life with a scary movie already in progress. You recognized it and wished Mike were here, already. If you knew the time marker, you were about to be scared out of your wits. The imagery always made you jump, no matter how many times you saw it. Almost on queue, a heavy knock sounded at the door, just as the jump scare presented on screen, and you could swear you heard the chains rattling again.

At your shriek, the door burst open and Mike had you in his arms.

“You okay, sweet cheeks? I heard a scream just as I got here. Sorry I was late.”

“Mike! There’s something in the house. Plus this godforsaken movie.” You clung to your temporary boyfriend, trembling in his arms.

“Whoa, whoa, something in the house?” he inquired with concern. “Want me to take a look?”

“NO! Stay here with me,” you implored him. “Please, Mike.”

“Okay, okay. Come on, let’s sit. But if we hear something else, I’m checking it out, okay?”

You agreed and took a spot on the couch, waiting for Mike to take off his jacket and sit down as well. You cuddled up next to him, curling your knees under you and leaning against his side. You draped a hand over his chest and could hardly stifle a small smile as you felt his firm body beside you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and his hand and fingers caressed your upper arm.

The movie only got a few more moments of your eyes before Mike’s hand began to wander further and further from your upper arm to instead drape down the front of your collarbone and onto your breast. At your soft moan, Mike gave a small squeeze as if testing the waters further and your response gave him permission to begin to knead in earnest as he bent his head to capture your lips with his.

His kiss was hungry and erratic, a little messy partly due to the orientation of your bodies, which Mike took upon himself to remedy. As deftly as anyone had ever been, he simultaneously withdrew his arm from around your shoulder, turned and pushed you eagerly to your back while he scooped your legs straight to stretch you out beneath him.

He slotted a leg between your thighs and pressed into your tender core as he bent to kiss you again. It was then that you realized the hungry, messy style had nothing to do with body positioning. His tongue swiped over your lips and into your open waiting mouth and you gasped as a hand roamed all over your body, but paid special attention to your breasts.

“Mmm, Mike, that feels so nice,” you moaned.

“I’ll gladly give these amazing tits more attention,” he smirked, pulling the v-neck of your loose t-shirt to give his mouth room to move. You didn’t think about how you would never get the shape back and the shirt was basically ruined, but honestly it wasn’t the most comfortable feeling so you pushed him back a bit to give you space to cross your arms and grab the hem.

As soon as he saw the motion, he was grappling with your body and the fabric around it with the same frenzy he used to kiss you. It wasn’t exactly a help, but together you removed your shirt and bra, tossing them to the floor as you reclined back to receive him over you again. More kisses, with his lips burning yours and your hands running up his back and neck to grip into his luscious brown wavy hair and hold his face to yours. More grinding of your hips up into his where the growing bulge in his pants pushed into your belly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned into your ear before nipping his way down your neck and back onto your chest. Wet, sloppy kisses trailed down the swell of your breast before he wrapped his kissable lips around your ever-hardening bud, licking and nipping and sucking several moans from you before giving the other nipple the same attention.

At the same time you felt fingers trailing down your tummy and into your jeans, where they slipped between the fabric of your underwear and the slick already seeping from you.

“Holy pussy, you are wet!” Mike exclaimed and you giggled, relishing the lightness of the evening. This was simply a little fun, with a bit of strapping young fluff and you were grateful for the time already.

“It’s all for you, baby. I get so wet for you. Can’t wait to feel you.”

Mike dove for your lips again, pressing his tongue into your mouth and his fingers into your burning core. He was driving you crazy and you never wanted it to stop. Mike withdrew his fingers only long enough to pop the button and pull the zipper down on your jeans, allowing more space for his hand to snake behind your panties and curl into your aching cunt.

With what felt like very practiced ease, he stroked and nudged your walls, pushing in and pulling out while he pressed a thumb against your tender pearl. With every new moan of pleasure, Mike slid his fingers a little deeper and crooked them a little more until he found a spot that clearly made you scream in a way that was so completely unlike the one he heard when he re-entered the room that he had to crack a wide grin, knowing he was making you come undone. He kissed the last of your gasps away, still stroking slow and lazily around your soaked folds.

You let him place one last deep kiss on your lips before you gathered your wits and pressed him back, moving up and over to straddle his lap. It was your turn now to kiss him deep while your fingers curled around an article of his clothing and you urged him to lift his arms so you could remove his shirt. With the break of the kiss he found time to ask a quick question.

“Are you sure they won’t be back soon?” he asked, still playing along with the fantasy that you had made up for the room.

“Mike, since when have you cared if you get caught fucking the babysitter?” you teased.

“You’re right, I don’t. But I think you do, so we have time, right?”

God he was so sweet. “Yeah, baby. We have all the time we need. Now sit back and let me make you feel good.”

You pressed up to standing so you could step your legs inside his and kneel in front of him. Once you’d pulled off his shoes and unbuttoned his jeans, he helped you drag them down with a press of his hips up off the couch. God, you wanted to feel that press into you.

You licked your lips to get ready as you pulled them all the way off, along with his underwear. You were positively salivating. From your spot on the floor, you took him into your mouth and began to bob, slowly at first, building up saliva to lubricate your movements before you started to really go for it.

When he put his hand on the back of your head, the moan you let go reverberated through your body. As you peered up at him through your eyelashes, you saw him toss his head back as he pushed one last time into your throat before he stilled both his hips and your head and held you there, telling you how he was "about to come in that pretty little mouth of yours, just gimme a minute cause I don’t want to finish just yet, and oh fuck!" the moment you wiggled your tongue in your mouth and sent him over the edge.

He had just pulled you back up into his lap, pressing your chest against his and kissing you again, completely unfazed by any lingering come he might encounter as he dipped his tongue into your mouth, when the noise returned.

You jumped right off his lap, grabbing for any shirt you could reach and holding it over your chest.

“Jesus, sweet cheeks. You weren’t joking,” Mike said, bending to grab his pants. “I’m checking it out. Stay here.”

You looked around the room, trying to identify the safest place to huddle up. Why you decided standing with your back against the door was it, you couldn’t really say. Mike stepped back to the door on the opposite side of the room. The one you’d never had a chance to open. You had no idea where he was going.

Or how long he’d be gone.

It had to be two hours later, when you woke up to find yourself curled up on the couch, Mike’s shirt all the way on, your feet freezing. Had you really fallen asleep waiting for Mike to come back? Had you bothered to call anyone? What had happened?

You heard a door open and shut and sat up quickly, expecting to see Mike returned from wherever but instead you saw nothing. No one was there.

You felt a chill near you for a brief moment before it started to warm against the skin on your back, and you felt the breath on your nape.

“I told you. I’m gonna take real good care of you,” the voice whispered in your ear while invisible fingertips slipped the shirt from your body, pausing for a moment to appreciate that you hadn’t put your bra back on. You arched into the squeeze and wished that when you lifted your arms behind your head, you’d have been able to grab onto the back of his head as he continued to nuzzle into your neck.

Instead you felt a gentle pull and push that had you backed up against the back of the couch, slouched low so that your jeans came off easily enough. Funnily, you hadn’t bothered to re-zip or button them before you fell asleep apparently.

You didn’t have time to think about that any longer because suddenly, the most amazing, ethereal touch was drifting up one thigh and then the other before settling back inside your pussy. And for a few moments, it felt so familiar and you trusted Mike to get you where you needed to go now, the same way he did then.

But he didn’t. What he did instead was put his ghostly mouth right on your flower, slipping the feeling of a tongue deep in your core as if he were a bee seeking the nectar. There was nothing for you to do but enjoy it. There was no head to clasp onto, no hands to reach for, no face to caress. There was only the exquisite feeling of having your pussy eaten, with licks and sucks in the exact right combination to keep you moaning and begging for mercy even though he knew you could take more.

You were right there, almost there, you could feel it and then it was suddenly gone and your eyes sprung open when you heard the voice in your ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I could do that all night, but fuck what I really want right now is to bend you over and fuck you. Can I do that? I’ll go back down if that’s what you want, but I would love to make you come all over my cock. Wrapped of course.”

You were dumb-struck, trying to swim back to shore. You’d been so close and you thought it was over, but every word that dripped out of his mouth made you clench around nothing and you wanted to be clenching around something.

“Fuck yes, Mike. Fuck. Please fuck me,’ you pleaded.

And you were well rewarded. A gentle, but urgent force shifting you to bend over, knees on the edge of the couch, hands braced against the back. Sounds of crinkly wrapper. Faint rubbery squeaks as he struggled to fit the condom over his erection. Pop of top and cool liquid rubbed into your heat. Tip pressed in, head popped through, length dragging along your insides. In and out and for all you knew there was an actual body behind you, fucking you into the back of this couch like there was no tomorrow. A body you were bucking back against as well.

When you twisted your head back, to try to get a glimpse, to try to see what this guy looked like fucking into you with wild abandon, angling to reach all the good spots, you saw nothing. It was like you were just going through the motions in some kind of fever dream, but it felt so fucking real.

And it sounded real, too. Because for as many moans and gasps and ohs and fuck yeahs that come out of your mouth, the same number of sensual and mind melting sounds came from him somehow too,

“Fuck, yeah, sweet cheeks. Fuck back onto my cock. Just like that.”

“God Mike, I’m gonna come again.”

“Yeah you are. You’re gonna come all over this cock. Just like that.”

And with that he managed to speed up just enough to send himself careening over the edge, widening and pulsing inside you, so that you, too, got to join him on the trip back to the bottom. From the highest of the highs. You felt like you were floating.

When you woke up again, you were back in Mike’s shirt, a blanket over your lap, and Mike’s arm around you as you rested your head in his lap. Him. Solid Mike. Jeans and socks. Nothing else.

“There you are, sweet cheeks. Have a good nap?’ he grinned down at you.

“I don’t think I had any other choice but to try to recoup some energy after you completely and totally fucked me into the void. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Mike replied in a tone you could tell was meant to dispel your concern. “Sweet cheeks, we have as long as you need.”

It took you a moment, but you finally realized what he was saying.

“Do you have the same gift Walt, uh, the werewolf, has?” you asked, hoping Mike didn’t hear your slip.

“Yeah, sweet cheeks, Marshall and me have the same gift.”

Well, no luck. Wait a minute…

“Who’s Marshall?” you asked.

“Walter. Walter Marshall. Our werewolf,” Mike answered. “Well, former werewolf.”

It was like a record scratch. You knew now why finding a slot with him had proven so hard lately. And you knew his last name.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

#mike hellraiser #mike x reader #hellraiser mike x reader #hellraiser mike #ghost!mike x reader #ghost!mike #ghost!hellraiser mike #ghost!hellraiser mike x reader #henry cavill characters #hellraiser mike fanfiction #mike hellraiser fanfiction #spoopy season #henry cavill fanfiction #haunted fantasy #mine #deandoesthingstome

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funhouse-mirror-barbie · 4 months

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Nuanced and Multifaceted Conflict vs. “Good v. Evil” in fiction

So. This is another thing I’ve wanted to talk about for a while. I promise I won’t always be focusing on Helluva Boss in my critiques, and I actually have quite a few other series I want to talk about.

There’s a big chance that I’ll be saying everything other people have already said, but I can’t help but WANT to talk about this specific character in regard to the story’s conflict. I think that it’s important to recognize when a character is written to be a complex person, and when a character is written to be an enemy to be defeated, and how not following through with your set-up can affect your story.

And HB does that A LOT in my opinion.

So. Let’s get into it. This time I’ll be talking about complex conflict between characters vs. black and white conflict, and I’ll also be touching on story set-ups and audience expectations.

I want to talk about a character who could have really made some of the internal character conflicts have so much more depth and intrigue. I want to talk about Stella Goetia

*as a side note this post is MUCH longer than I intended but I really wanted to get into a lot of the background and reasons for how Stella’s character development has actually completely changed what HB’d story conflict could have looked like. I’ll try and sum up everything in the end in a TLDR for y’all

So. Most of the reviews of her character I see talk about how she’s been “ruined” by the writing team revealing that she’s always been very abusive towards Stolas

I have to start off by saying I actually don’t think that Stella or her portrayal was “ruined” by the writing direction her character has been taken in.

In fact, this critique bothers me, because it doesn’t really get to what I think the actual root of why people are disappointed in Stella’s characterization, and the type of conflict that now exists between her and Stolas.

The main reason I believe people are unsatisfied with Stella is because they believed that her character was being set up for a complex and nuanced conflict between her and Stolas, and then that turned out not to be the case.

A quick disclaimer- I do think it’s possible to subvert audience expectations about story and characters in a satisfying way. But it has to be done in a way that respects the audiences intelligence and willingness to think about the story.

If your plot-twist, unreliable narrator, subversion, or what-have-you is done well, the audience should be able to either figure out what’s going based on the little information you’ve given them, and if they don’t, the change or subversion should still make sense and CLICK in hindsight.

Otherwise, your subversion will end up feeling cheap or confusing. Or worse, like a lie.

And this is one of the MAIN issues I think people have with Stella.

As the audience, we were NOT given enough information on her or her character before it’s revealed that she’s just “evil” and always has been, apparently since she was a literal child.

Again, I don’t think it’s an inherently bad decision to have a flat or pure evil villain. I’m fine with Stella being one, even if it’s less interesting to me personally.

But it’s definitely very different from what was initially implied and set-up, and the audience can pick up on that.

Before S2E1 “The Circus” we see Stella a total of 3 times in person, with one time being a flashback.

I’m going to go over those times to analyze if anything set-up in Stella’s appearances points towards her being. Well, totally and irredeemably awful and abusive I guess.

The very first time we see Stella is in the same bed with Stolas—Octavia calls for her parents, both Stolas AND Stella. Stella grumbles and refuses to get up and tells Stolas to go. This doesn’t immediately strike me as a sign of her being a terrible person. That exact scenario is present in a lot of family comedies, kids’ movies, and sitcoms.

Nothing about this screams that Stella is a terrible parent or an abusive partner to me. It just tells me she’s tired and doesn’t want to get up, which again, is not uncommon.

The next time we see her, she’s yelling at Stolas, and she throws a servant at him in anger.

Now, there’s no excuse for this, her behavior here is not okay, regardless of her feelings. But we understand why she’s acting the way she is--she’s furious with Stolas for cheating on her. At this point with the information we have, it’s also very reasonable to believe her feelings have been hurt.

Later Octavia talks about how her parents didn’t used to hate each other, and the way Stolas’ tries to explain their failing marriage to her comes across like his relationship with Stella is one that’s always had difficulties that they have tried and failed to overcome.

None of this information is enough to really convey or hint that Stella is and has always been abusive or evil. It shows that Stella and Stolas have a very rough relationship, and that Stella most likely has anger management difficulties, but you have to do lot of extra work to come to the conclusion that Stella is completely at fault here.

The next time we see her though, things have clearly escalated, because it’s revealed that she’s one that hired Striker to assassinate Stolas.

Now. Usually. Yeah. That would be a HUGE red flag. And I mean. It still obviously is.

But, and I never thought I’d use this uno reverse card, this is one of the few times where the explanation of “But it’s hell, what did you expect???” actually makes sense to me.

Because yeah, it is hell. It’s the end of episode 5 when we learn this, and our protagonists have killed and assassinated multiple people. Taking a hit out on people really doesn’t seem to be that uncommon of a thing in hell.

Even the next scene after the reveal that Stella is the one who hired Striker makes light of how serious this is, by showing that Stella was basically yelling her assassination plot right to Stolas’ face.

This is played for laughs! I genuinely am not sure if the writers intended for this to be foreshadowing of Stella’s abuse or not because if so, they turned her attempting to kill her husband into a joke!

If you cannot keep your themes or tone consistent, how is the audience supposed to follow your story?

There is subtle storytelling, and then there’s tacking information and character points later on in your writing. And this can have two causes.

Either your audience has to do the work of story-telling for you and make up their own reasons for what’s happening to make the story coherent OR they will be disappointed and dissatisfied by the final product.

I think that’s the main reason why S2E1 of Helluva Boss felt so jarring story-wise, and why Stella, to me at least, suddenly felt like a brand new character.

Like I haven’t been this confused by a character being suddenly evil since Hans from Frozen.

(like seriously why the hell did they put this scene in if not to just trick the audience. This isn’t giving us any plot info it’s only giving us contradictory info on his character. Like I talked about before, Hans’ heel-face-turn doesn’t feel like a twist. It feels like a lie.)

Okay so, how does any of this actually affect anything? Who cares if Stella is evil, that doesn’t automatically make the story bad!

Well. Yeah, of course not. Ironically, having the main conflict your story being a battle between “Good v. Bad” characters is neither good nor bad. It’s just a story decision. And ultimately at the end of the day, the writers of Helluva Boss can choose to tell their story however they’d like.

But, depending on how this is executed, good v evil stories can be a lot less interesting than morally grey or complicated conflicts and characters.

I am more interested in the version of the story where Stella and Stolas are imperfect and messy people. I am more interested in the story where Stolas has an affair to escape being in an arranged marriage, and Stella overreacts by arranging a hit on her husband (unless calling out a hit is normal in hell, but we can’t know b/c there is no baseline for what is considered normal in hell)

I am so much more interested in the story where Stolas and Stella are both depicted as being in the wrong, as being incredibly hurt by each other’s actions, and as not knowing how to repair their broken relationship for the sake of their daughter.

That story feels very real to me. It’s one I want to engage and invest in.

I want to see if these characters can grow to accept their mistakes and learn and change for the sake of Octavia and having to co-exist with each other, or if they’ll slip back into mutual destruction and toxicity.

But that’s not the story we’ll get to see, because it seems like the writers are more interested in keeping Stolas from having to grow as a character. And because of that, Stella has been turned into an evil obstacle that must be defeated, instead of a nuanced and real person.

I also feel like I have to say. I know I would be MUCH less frustrated by this if I hadn’t seen an HB crew member talking about how their show is similar to Bojack Horseman.

Because. It’s just not. I’m sorry, I’m not saying that to be mean, or condescending, or rude, but the way characters are written in Helluva Boss is almost completely black and white at this point.

Regardless of the writer’s intent, the vast majority of the choices they have made in Season 2 come off as explanations to excuse the protagonist’s mistakes, and give them a “get out of being potentially in the wrong” free card.

Compared to the writing decisions in Bojack, which almost always has characters confront their wrongdoings, for better or worse, HB honestly feels like it’s the Anti-Bojack.

It would take a TON of character development and time to make HB’s characters as interesting, fleshed-out, and as real as Bojack’s are, and at this point that’s I don’t think it will ever happen.

Again. Having black and white conflict is FINE. It is a choice in story telling that can be done very effectively. But if you are making a black and white story where one side is always terrible and evil, and one side can do no wrong, you can’t act like you’ve written something that is deeper and more emotionally complex and grey than that.

And the first time the writers gave Stella more than 3 sentences to string together, they made it very clear that any chance of her being a more complex and engaging character was being tossed out the window.

————

TLDR:

The main reason people are upset about Stella being shown as abusive in S2E1 of HB is probably because the initial depictions of her didn’t give us enough information on her character to tell that she was just evil/a terrible person.

The way the story was written in S1 to set up the possibility of a very interesting and complex conflict between Stella and Stolas, and when it was revealed that she’s just. The worst. There were people that were disappointed by this, because they expected more.

Audiences actually aren’t idiots, and when you subtly foreshadow something and then completely change things, that can be frustrating.

It’s MORE than okay to write a straightforward good v evil story, but it depending on the way it’s written and executed, it may not be as interesting to mature audiences as a more morally grey story would be.

If you can’t write characters confronting their flaws and being in the wrong, please don’t compare your writing to Bojack, I mean. C’mon.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss critique #character critique #stella goetia #hb stella #helluva boss stella #media conversation #media critique #media criticism #writing female characters #writing critique #writing #funhouse convo

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puffein · 9 months

Text

WAITING HOURS AND SUNRISES | late spring [v.]

summary: wanda's abrupt change in attitude marked the beginning of an unrepairable disaster. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: angst, profanities, insults, mean wanda word count: 1117 a/n: my personal fave chapter...!

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New Brunswick, New Jersey

Early-July 2022

Thomas Christopher Greene once stated in a book, "Time can be slowed if you live deliberately. If you stop and watch sunsets. If you spend time sitting on porches listening to the woods. If you give in to the reality of the seasons."

But right now, time doesn't slow down for you as you sit hours and hours long on the window ledge of your best friend's dorm living room. You can feel the hardness of the wall right at your back, your knees pulled up tightly on your chest, arms wrapped loosely around it.

You gave in to the reality of the season though, summer nights are always wonderful for some people, however, these past summer nights have not been made for you as you have spent them waiting patiently for a certain someone to arrive safely in the comforts of their room.

Your hair shifts lightly with the swift motions of your head turning upon hearing the quiet sound of keys and profanities right behind the door.

Altering your body out of the ledge soundlessly, you mutter, "Where were you?"

"Jesus, you scared me." Wanda's soft voice echoes throughout her dorm, clearly having the knowledge that her loud voice wouldn't wake up her already sleeping roommate.

She huffs out, slender fingers going through her unruly hair, "You're here again?"

You watch her quietly, nodding your head in resignation as you walk past her, "Just wanted to see if you arrived safely." you say.

Wanda. Wanda has been doing this for the past months. Going out late, going home late. Missing your friendly dates, the sitcom days, the months of months plans the both of you made last year was now forgotten, thrown out like a piece of antique.

Useless and vintage.

You didn't know what changed.

"I'm not a child, you know." she harshly replies, accent coming out strong and venomous. You halted your steps, shoulders tense at the voice she was using at you.

"You don't have to go here, bother Darcy, and wait for me to arrive like some obsessed best friend who can't seem to live without hanging out with me. Stop being so clingy."

Okay.

"I just wanted to see if you arrived safely," she mocked, her phony voice skirting around the corners of your breaking heart. "Bullshit. We both know you're just afraid to be alone. Well, guess what Y/N, I am sick of that. I am sick of you."

Ever felt like someone stabbing you right in your chest, okay, wrong. This doesn't feel like stabbing to you, this felt like a bomb going off, and the pieces of your heart fly in different directions and it doesn't stop there. The pain continues on as someone's pair of hands and feet crush every tiny piece laying steadily on the floor.

That pair of hands and feet are Wanda's.

"You're not gonna say anything?" she says exasperatedly, face warp in aggravation as she stares at your back.

You have many things to say to her. Many unsaid things that you know will go deaf in her perfectly working ears. You want to say how she's been a shitty best friend ever since she met that dude at a party, how you are grasping at that tiny piece of friendship that you knew is being broken piece by piece as the time goes by, how when you look at her, you don't see her, you see a stranger living in the body of your best friend. Of the one you dearly love so much you would go into deeper depths just to see her happy.

You wanted to say that but instead, you utter these words, "What do you want me to say?"

Wanda groans, "Anything! Just— I don't know, say something." she says desperately, trying to make you understand something that you clearly can't comprehend.

"I'm gonna go." You take a step forward, towards the door only to be stopped by her tight grip on your arm.

"You can't just go."

"Wanda, I can't fucking understand you right now. Are you drunk? Are you high?" you snapped at her, voice in an edge as you turn to stare right at her face.

She opens her mouth to say something but you are clearly not done with your words.

"What do you want me to fucking say? That you've been such a bitch lately? That, what, the old woman I met on the bus weeks ago felt more like a best friend than you ever did for these past months? What do you want me to fucking say?" you finally declare, your brows furrowed, jaw tense with fist clenched tightly against your palm.

Wanda loosens the grip on your arm as she drinks in every word you have said to her. Not wanting to stare longer at the realization that is coming to her face, your back faces her again as your hand clutches the doorknob and latches it open for you to walk away.

"Y/N, wait—"

You whip your body fast to glower at her, "No, you listen. I fucking don't know what has gotten into you to treat me like this. We were doing fine then I just woke up with you ignoring me. I did this because I care and the friendship I have with you matters."

The timbres of your voice quiver, undertones of heartache can be heard in the staggering of your hardened voice, "But fucking shit, Wanda. You could've just told me you're tired of being in this friendship. I would have respected that, you don't have to make me feel so worthless."

Watching the light trembles of her lips and the brave step she took closer to you, you can see the morphing of hurt flashing right at her face. You're confused. She intentionally spurted those words at you, how come she has the guts to look so anguished?

"Y/N, I just—"

But you are already walking away, time slowing down with your breathing rigid and labored. Your steps are filled with regret at how you have thrown those words at her. You didn't mean it, as much as you want to mourn for whatever has gone downhill for the both of you, what you have said to her was the truth and you didn't really care right now as you are greeted with a magnificent vision of the sun slowly rising for the world to see.

Funny, you should have listened to Thomas Greene and spent your time sitting on porches listening to the sound of the woods instead of waiting till the sun rises just to make sure your best friend arrived safely.

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#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff mcu #wanda fanfic #wanda maximov #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff marvel #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda marvel #wanda mcu #wanda x y/n

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