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chroni-ixx · 4 days ago

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Your sweetheart boyfriend ARMIN who feels bad when sees how hard you’ve been working recently. he wants to take your mind off everything and make you feel so good.

modern au!armin x reader, mdni. tw: oral sex

wc. 1.1k

you walk into the kitchen to stretch your legs after hours of working on a huge project. your tired eyes flicker towards your boyfriend, whos’s stood back to the sink with a glass of water on his right, palms digging into the edge of the marble counter. his eyes are already on yours like he’s been waiting for you.

“y/n, you okay?” you give a quick, disregarding nod, and for him that’s not enough.

“are you sure? can you take a break with me for a bit?” he asks in a low timbre, but you know it’s not a question.

begrudgingly, you drag your feet through the kitchen, saying, “no, i don’t have time.”

he gives you a noncommittal ‘hm’ and waits for you to move closer. As soon as you’re within reach, he grabs you by the arm and pulls you toward him. standing between his legs, you roll your eyes and take your arms from him, crossing them. his brows furrow in frustration.

“i have to finish my work, armin-” he cuts you off suddenly,

“baby, you’ve been focused on this for days, let me take your mind off it.” he’s pleading as he lifts your face gently towards his. it’s so damn hard to say no when he looks at you like that, with glossy, wide eyes and the slight pout he has in moments like these. his eyes meet with yours as if asking permission.

“i want to kiss you.” he states, almost in a daze. then his lips meet your glossy ones in a slow, yearning kiss.

starting tender and gentle, it turns passionate and sensual. he’s kissing you like he hasn’t in days, your hands moving up his biceps into the undercut of his hair. his tongue brushes against your bottom lip, begging to be let in; you let him.

as the kiss turns into a heavy makeout, armin moves his left hand to your hip, pulling you impossibly close and grinding you against him. he missed you so much, he needs you so bad.

with both hands on your hips, he begins to walk you towards your living room, never breaking the heated kiss. Your fingers stay tangled though his locks, holding him close.

once your calves hit the edge of the sofa you reluctantly pull away, a string of saliva keeping you tethered. armin sits you down, hands migrating to your knees as he lowers himself in front of you and looks at you with his large, glimmering eyes,

“baby please, let me take care of you.” he’s pawing at the waistband of your tiny cotton shorts, he knows you need this, he just wants to help you :(

thighs pressing together, you place your hands over his, you cant say no to those pretty blue eyes. “yeah love, go ahead.” he’s desperate, in seconds your shorts are off leaving your dainty pink panties exposed. damp spot, obvious.

his soft, wet tongue is on you, licking through the thin fabric. a soft whimper falls from your lips, his ministrations are teasing and not nearly enough. you want more.

you need more. you need armin just as badly as he needs you.

“armin..” you start, it’s whiny and needy. your hands brush through his hair and pull at the strands. he looks up at you through long, blonde lashes, gaze adoring as he leaves soft kisses on your inner thighs, rubbing the junction between your hips and thighs slowly. your underwear is getting uncomfortably sticky, you need them off so your pretty boyfriend can do his favourite activity.

“yeah baby?” he asks but he knows exactly what you want.

“just… just eat it already.” you stammer, pulling his face close to where you want him. your panties are down in seconds, the cold air making you shiver but not for long. armin is nose-deep in your cunt, his hands pushing your thighs apart. he just couldn’t wait. he wanted this just as much as you and you can tell.

“oh my- fuck!” you whimper, he’s so good, nose bumping at your puffy clit with every movement of lips. his tongue circles your dripping hole, collecting your sweet nectar. he wants to taste every bit of you.

he moves like he has something to prove, licking and slurping all over. he’s groaning into your pussy like he could combust at any second. he wants to cure you of your stress, make you feel good. this just happens to feel good for him too.

your moans and pitchy whimpers driving him to do more, he grips your thighs and pushes them towards your chest, having a messy makeout with your pussy. your juices and his slick spit creating a mess between your thighs.

your left hand leaves his hair to grip the couch behind you for support, your right keeping a firm grip on him as you begin to grind your cunt on his face. it’s a little depraved, but it’s what you’ve been missing.

“baby you feel so fucking good.” you moan loudly, the neighbours might not be too happy with you guys tomorrow!

“mhm, that feels good?” he questions as he speeds up his movements, desperate to taste your release on his tongue.

“Yeah, it feels so good,” you sigh out dreamily, “i wanna cum.”

he wants to give that to you, so he moves his right thumb to your clit and rubs it in tight circles. you tug his hair roughly, making him whimper softly into your slobbering cunt.

“armin, baby, i’m gonna cum” the sounds of your pussy on his face filling up the room, “please let me cum.”

he could never deny you of that. a low noise of confirmation slips from his occupied mouth as he feels your weeping hole clench around his tongue.

he flattens his tongue against you and that was all it took for you to gush all over his face, making an even bigger mess. moaning loudly, legs quivering in his forceful grip as a wave of white-hot euphoria washes over you. armin continues to lick you through it until he can’t anymore because you’re shoving his head away with a pitchy, ‘stop!’

he lifts his head, letting go of your sore thighs and rubbing them softly once they’re relaxed. “are you okay? do you feel a bit better?” always concerned with your pleasure, he is, but you’re good.

really good.

thank you armin ;3

like, comment, reblog <3

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chroni-ixx · 5 days ago

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how do u feel abt dilf!kenma 🤪

first of all happy belated fathers day <3

dilf!kenma would be such a girl dad. he’d have his little mini-me that he treats like an absolute princess.

dilf!kenma would spoil the hell out of her and would try to play age-appropriate games with her as often possible, cuz he’s busy being a ceo and famous streamer!

dilf!kenma would hate when people spot him with his little girl bc people are weird and he def doesn’t want to expose her to that.

dilf!kenma with outgrown roots and longer hair that he keeps up in his half-up half-down.

dilf!kenma would also be sure to take care of his other baby at the end of the day too, right between your thighs, giving you everything you want </3

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chroni-ixx · 5 days ago

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2:56AM

He’s not yours anymore—so why does it still feel like he’s everywhere?

bakugo x reader, angst (it's my first attempt dont bite me >:/)

wc. 1.8k

the clock beside your bed reads 2:56AM in bold green letters, too bright for your tired eyes.

you push yourself up from lying on your side, the duvet bunching at your waist, your hand coming up to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

the immediate thought of where your husband is floods through your head–you never noticed how cold the bed was until now, a chill slithering down your spine.

it’s been hard for you recently, to remember that he isn’t yours anymore.

katsuki isn’t yours.

eyes now brimming with tears, you force yourself out of bed. toes reaching the wood panels of the floor, it’s getting so difficult not to cry. the walk to the kitchen may have been the longest of your life.

you guys have been separated, not yet divorced, for over a month now. his stuff slowly disappearing from the places they once called home, a place where he once called home.

it really wasn’t supposed to be like this.

when you met that brash, red eyed boy in your first year of high school, you hated him.

“watch where you’re going.” it was said through gritted teeth to you on your first day at U.A, you could tell he wanted to scream by the way he looked at you with hardened eyes. you were lost, and trying to find the business studies wing, but instead you bumped into him.

he was rude and loud and you couldn’t imagine how he treated his mother (lol >-<)!

but after a while, seeing him in the halls, geeking out over heros, and flustered teenage interactions, led to the love you have for him. it was once in a lifetime, everyone around you thought it was forever. you thought it was forever and, god, did you want it to be.

you never thought you’d have to stop loving him.

walking out of his dorm room together, door clicking shut behind you, hand in hand, lovesick and in a daze–you were the only one he ever let touch him like that.

everybody saw how he changed when you were with him, he finally looked at peace with himself, even if it was only for the moments you were there, like you were the best thing that had happened to him. now, you couldn’t help but feel you might’ve been the worst.

“kats, can we pleeeease watch a movie with your class? i told you i wanted to get to know your friends.” it was exasperated, he always said no to things like that, like he wanted you all to himself.

but you wanted to be consumed by every part of him, have him reminded of you in every instance. to be with him and the things he loved, the people he loved, for as long as possible.

but you couldn’t.

an icy glass now set beside your fingers on the counter your palms dig into. the water didn’t work this time, it didn’t calm you down, but it rarely ever does. katsuki would know what to do, he always did.

labored breaths cause your chest to rise and fall, a pool of salty tears beginning to form on the surface below.

who knew it would be this hard to lose the love of your life.

“y/n, i’ve known since i was 15 that i wouldn’t ever be able to live my life without you in it,” he was on one knee, in the most beautiful field of flowers. eyes filled with every ounce of love the world could offer, a single tear threatening to fall. “i’ve never been a good enough person to deserve you, i’ll never understand how you looked at the most emotionally constipated kid ever, and decided you wanted him, but,”

“you’re my forever, i want to be your forever. please marry me.”

it’s unbearable, thinking about things like that, stuff he can never take back, but will never be seen again.

full sobs rack through your body. hands shaking fervently as they move off the counter to wrap yourself in a hug. oh, how you wish these arms were his instead.

“kats please come home soon, i miss you.” were the words you uttered into the speaker of your phone every night. you’d typically be met with a gruff but gentle, “i’m trying to get to you baby, but you know i need to be out here, i’m a hero.”

it was different that night. you made your usual call, begging him to come home so you could see him, feel him. on this night it wasn’t taken as well.

“kats, my love, be home soon i mi–“ there was an interruption from the other line.

“stop fucking calling me when i’m working.” with that, the line went dead. he’d never been so harsh with you before, it was a blur after that.

he hadn’t come home that night, or the morning after. it wasn’t until the next night, 2:56am, that he made it through the doors of your home.

you were laid on the couch, eyes darting toward the doorway just to see the person you missed most.

it took everything in you not to run and fling your arms around him, to kiss him, to smell him, talk to him, everything.

your voice was almost meek as it started, “why didn’t you come home?” barely a question, not really like you wanted to know anyways. you were scared of what he might say.

“i was busy, needed some time away…” gravely voice trailing off as he kept his eyes on you from the front door, standing still, unmoving since he entered, brows furrowed. “why aren’t you sleeping?”

“don’t you dare ask me anything.” the words were stone cold leaving your lips. i mean how could he, leaving your calls unanswered for over a day after responding to you like you were a piece of dirt on the floor, walking in and expecting for it to blow under the rug. not with you.

“baby–”

“don’t call me that! i was so fucking worried about you, even though you were a bitch and you won’t even explain yourself!” you were madder than you’d ever been. “you never leave for more than a day without telling me, what do you want me to think?”

it may seem small but he knows you, he knows how much you love being around him, how scared you are of losing him, how worried you get when he goes out putting his life on the line everyday.

it felt intentional, even if it wasn’t..

you’re making your way to your desolate living room, empty of him.

you knew it’d be hard to sleep, it always was when you got like this, still hiccuping with moist tears drying on your face. but maybe some tv would help.

as you sit and make yourself as comfortable as you can in a spot that used to be filled with happy memories, you can’t help but to remember the worst one.

you were sat on the couch looking up at katsuki as he loomed over you, “i can’t do this anymore…” were the words that left your lips grimly.

it was so tiring. you couldn’t keep living a life where the man you loved wasn’t who he used to be. he was never in your bed at the end of the night, or waking you up in the mornings.

it was like he got sucked into the hero rankings, a permanent stain on the streets of japan, protecting them, but he lost sight of what truly mattered most.

“what are you talking about baby?” he breathed out playfully with a slight shake of head, hands moving to hold your face up towards his, those scarlett eyes you still loved so much squinting at you.

a long sigh left your mouth, your hands fiddling with each other in your lap, struggling to keep eye contact, “katsuki, i still love you so much, you’re my forever, and that’s why i can’t be with you anymore.” your eyes starting to well with an emotion you wouldn’t wish on anyone.

his eyes were quick to widen, fingers that were holding your face going stiff at the statement. he said nothing though, tempting you to go on.

“i-i’ve done everything—everything i can to make you remember that you’re more than a hero. y-you’re a son, a friend, a husband, and so many other amazing things,” you look away, taking your head from his hands and swallowing.

“everybody—not just me—wishes you would remember that when you push us all away, and place your self worth within a stupid number.” you take a deep breath, wiping your eyes and leaving your gaze on the fingers in your lap.

“until you change, it’s over.”

you still don’t know if you regret it or not. you thought it was what’s best, but you can’t talk to anyone about this, you don’t need them worrying more than they do.

as the tv in front of you flashes on and the news begins to play, you put the remote down and raise your knees to your chest. chin resting between your knees, arms wrapping around them.

you miss him more than you ever have.

the way his eyes softened when he saw you, and his rough, worked hands that were so tender when they held you. the scars all over him that made him more beautiful than any piece of artwork. his ferocious determination and will to succeed in anything he did.

you miss all of him.

your puffy eyes slowly begin to droop down, head unconsciously nestling further into your knees, the will to sleep taking over you.

that was until a deep, gravely voice was heard from the speakers of your tv. you’d recognize it anywhere.

it forced your head to shoot up in an attempt to search for him. when your eyes found him, you were drawn in, unable to look away and unable to cry any more than you have. it’s painful to see, but you endure, you have to

he’s with kiri. doing a late night interview about their latest capture and how they feel about the upcoming awards ceremony. yeah, that.

the interview is probably to play again during the day. they looked tired, likely worn out from their fighting, or because it’s 3am.

“so, how are the #5 and #12 heroes, dynamight and red riot, feeling about their spot on the ranks, in regards to the hero awards on the horizon?” kirishima looks excited to talk about this, as always, it’s manly. but you feel like you catch a glimpse of something different in katsuki’s eyes, something like regret.

it was only for a second though, you swear you imagined it, you’re delusional—thinking of something that’s not there.

there’s no way, right?

i mean, he didn’t miss you when you were together so why would he now, right?

the need to sleep had vanished by the time the interview was over, all you were concerned with was that look in his eye.

pt 2 when 👀

mha masterlist

#chrysie's obsessed!#mha x reader #mha masterlist ♪⋆.#mha angst #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugo angst

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chroni-ixx · 5 days ago

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my hero academia ⊹ ࣪ ˖

angst - ꩜｡ fluff - ۶ৎ smut - 𓏲𝄢

izuku m.

loading . . .

katsuki b.

⋆ 2:56AM ꩜｡

shota a.

loading . . .

#navi ♪⋆#masterlist ♪⋆.#mha masterlist ♪⋆.

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chroni-ixx · 6 days ago

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ARMINNN

𝐴𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑐𝘩 - 𝑀𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑡

𝐼𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑠𝑙𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑒 ( 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓 )

𝑤𝑐: 𝟓𝟎𝟎

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

One second, you were curled up against his side, the quiet hum of the movie filling the room, your head on his shoulder. The next, your eyelids fluttered open to the soft blue glow of the TV screen and the slow, rhythmic sound of their breathing.

He was out cold. Arm slung lazily around you, chest rising and falling with every breath. Your hand was still tucked beneath his hoodie, fingers curled into his warm side.

You smiled and shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.

“Mmm…” he stirred just a little, pulling you closer without opening his eyes.

“You’re clingy,” you whispered, even though you weren’t trying that hard to escape. Your voice was teasing, but your body melted into his touch.

“Not true,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your hair. His voice was rough with sleep, and the low rumble of it sent a tiny shiver through your spine.

The room was dim except for the soft flicker of the TV’s end credits. It must have been running through autoplay, silently playing through horror movie after horror movie while you two dozed. You turned your head just enough to glance at his face. Their lips were slightly parted, lashes soft against their cheeks.

You couldn’t help but smile again.

You carefully grabbed the remote from between the cushions and clicked the screen off, plunging the room into full darkness.

He shifted again and murmured something unintelligible.

“Go back to sleep,” you whispered.

“Only if you do,” he said, wrapping both arms around you this time. His embrace was warm and lazy, protective in the way they always were with you when neither of you had the energy to pretend you weren’t completely in love.

“I wasn’t really planning on moving,” you mumbled, cheek pressed to his strong chest. The steady beat of his heart was the most soothing sound you’d heard all day.

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

“I like when we do this,” they said quietly. “Just you and me. No phones, no plans.”

“You like falling asleep on top of me?”

He chuckled sleepily. “I like you falling asleep on top of me.”

You nudged his chest lightly with your knuckles. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you, baby.” He replied teasingly.

Your stomach fluttered at the nickname. Even after all this time, it never failed to make you feel warm all over.

The two of you stayed like that, breathing in sync, neither of you moving or speaking again for a long while. It wasn’t quite sleep, not yet, but it was that dreamy middle space where time didn’t matter.

Eventually, his fingers found yours under the blanket, weaving together without a word.

And just like that, you drifted back to sleep, wrapped in his arms, the quiet night stretching out before you.

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠٫ 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒٫ 𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑐 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 "𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒"٫ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡ˊ𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑٫ 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑!

𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 - @chroni-ixx @dork0valentinesss @lolsiesydkme

𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡٫ 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑛-𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 "𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔" 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠!

#my fav posted!

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chroni-ixx · 6 days ago

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𝐹𝑙𝑎𝑠𝘩 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑘𝑖𝑛 - 𝑀𝑢𝑙𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑡

𝐼𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑠𝘩 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑝 ( 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓 )

𝑤𝑐: 𝟓𝟎𝟎

It started innocently enough.

You were standing in the kitchen, reaching up into the highest cabinet for a mug, your shirt lifting with the stretch and exposing a strip of bare skin just above your shorts. Nothing scandalous. But you didn’t hear him come in.

Not until you felt the shift in the air, followed by a low, rough voice behind you.

“Don’t move.”

You paused, hand halfway to the glass. “What?”

“Just... stay like that a second.”

You turned your head, puzzled.

Until you saw the look on his face.

He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shirtless and wearing nothing but a baggy pair of sweatpants low enough to show the band of his calvin underwear. His eyes were locked on your back, that inch or two of skin, jaw tight like he was trying to rein something in. That hungry look, one you’d gotten very familiar with, was already in his eyes.

“You stretching for a reason,” he asked slowly, “or were you just trying to drive me fucking insane?”

You raised a brow. “It’s seven in the morning.”

“And?”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, measured and slow, like a predator who’d already decided there was no escape.

You smirked, amused. “You’ve seen way more of me.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, now behind you, voice lowering as one hand reached out, fingertips grazing the dip of your spine.

His touch was featherlight, but it sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

“I wasn’t trying to tease you,” you murmured.

He dipped his head to speak into your ear. “You don’t have to try.”

Your breath hitched.

“Baby—” his palm slid flat over your stomach, pulling you back against his chest “—you could be wearing a damn sweatsuit and I’d still want you.”

You turned your head to glance up at him, and the corner of his mouth curved into a knowing smile. He was so confident, always, but not cocky—he didn’t need to brag.

“You look damn good in those matching ones you make me buy you.” It was in the way he looked at you like you were something rare, something his.

“You’re dangerous when you’re like this,” you said softly.

“Like what?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“All intense.”

He chuckled darkly, kissing the side of your neck. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.”

He smiled against your throat, both hands on your waist now, fingers squeezing with a kind of restrained need. “Didn’t think so.”

You leaned into him, warm and breathless now. He pressed another kiss just below your jaw before he pulled back, eyes heavy lidded but sharp.

“Finish your coffee,” he said, stepping away. “But next time you stretch like that, don’t be surprised if I bend you over the counter.”

You choked on a laugh. “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

“Why would I?” he called over his shoulder, heading into the other room. “Might as well let the whole damn building know.” 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠٫ 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒٫ 𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑐 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 "𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒"٫ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡ˊ𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑٫ 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑!

𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 - @chroni-ixx @dork0valentinesss @lolsiesydkme

#my fav posted!

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chroni-ixx · 6 days ago

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nobody has been there for me like the ‘x reader’ tag has been there for me

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chroni-ixx · 6 days ago

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𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑌𝑜𝑢 - 𝐿𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑆𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 @danigirls-missions, 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡𝘩𝑑𝑎𝑦!

𝐼𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑖𝑡ˊ𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡𝘩𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐿𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝑇𝑊: 𝛰𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑥 (𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔)٫ 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥٫ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑝 (?), 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑚𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑤𝑐: 3.5𝑘 The door clicks shut behind you, and you lean against it for a second longer than necessary. Work drained everything from you. Your feet ache, your spine hurts, and your brain buzzes with a faint static. You'd forgotten it was your birthday until your coworker had offered a dry “Happy whatever,” over their shoulder before clocking out.

You hadn’t expected anything. Not after the week Leon had also had.

The apartment was dark, the only semblance of light being a faint orange glow from the kitchen bleeding down the hallway. You pause. There’s a scent you can’t place. Smoky, a bit burnt, maybe garlic? A soft scrape of something moving around comes from the kitchen.

Your brow furrows. “Leon?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, you hear a sharp mutter

“Shit.”

Then, the clatter of a pan hitting something it definitely wasn’t supposed to.

When you step into the kitchen, you stop cold.

The place is a mess. Dishes stacked in the sink. Tomato sauce splattered near the stove. A wooden spoon lies abandoned on the floor. But in the center of it all, there’s a table, cleared off and dressed with two candles and two plates of something resembling pasta. There’s a bottle of wine beside them, the good one you’d been saving.

And Leon.

Standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, shirt wrinkled, a smudge of sauce near his temple. He glances over his shoulder for a moment before returning to the stove, just exhaling quietly and killing the burner. “You’re home early,”

You blink, then gesture around faintly. “What... is all this?”

He finally looks at you, his eyes soft and steady, blue eyes catching yours as he wipes his hands on a kitchen towel.

“You said last week you missed home cooked meals.”

You hadn’t remembered saying it. It must’ve been one of those offhanded comments, something small, tossed into a conversation.

But he remembered.

You step forward slowly, past the chaos, letting the warmth of the room settle over your skin. “You cooked this?”

“Tried,” he mutters, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. “It’s edible. Probably.”

You smile despite yourself. You know him—he listens. He notices. And he tries, even when it doesn’t come easy.

“I didn’t think you’d do anything.”

He walks over, tossing the towel off onto the counter and stops just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him. One hand rests on the side of your neck, the other on your jaw. “You’ve had a rough week. Figured someone should do something about that.”

You just give him that small smile, as if silently thanking him, his eyes on yours for a moment before taking your lips onto his, soft and appreciative.

As he pulls way, you both remain there for a moment, feeling his breath on yours. Leon steps back, making his way to a chair and pulling it back for you.

“Sit,” he says. It’s not a command, exactly, more of a suggestion he doesn’t expect you to argue with.

You do so, him pushing it back in place as you ease into the seat. He grabs the wine bottle and pours a glass with practiced hands, his movements efficient and smooth.

He sets the glass down in front of you.

“I bought that tiramisu you like from the Italian place,” he adds quietly. You glance up at him, face softening even more.

That gets the smallest twitch of his mouth, as if unable to help himself as he saw you smile.

The pasta’s overdone. The sauce is strong, a little too salty. But you eat it anyway, and he does too, both of you sitting in the low candlelight, the room heavy with unsaid things.

For a while, it’s quiet, just the occasional scrape of a fork or the soft sound of him adjusting in his chair.

You feel him watching you when you reach for your wine. Not staring. Just... observing. Reading you the way he always does, like he’s taking in every detail: how tired you are, how your shoulders slump a little more than usual, how your fingers fidget and twist the base of the glass.

“You shouldn’t work so late,” he says. You snort softly. “And you shouldn’t get shot at for a living.” “Thats not fair,” He laughs gently.

You just shrug, procuring another beat of silence.

“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so much lately.” You glance over at him. He’s not looking at you when he says it, voice low, guarded. Like it physically hurts him to admit he truly has been gone so much. “I know you’ve been dealing with everything on your own. You deserved a night off. A week, if it was my choice.”

Something tightens in your chest. Not guilt. Realization. Realization that he sees you more clearly than you thought.

You reach across the table and lay your hand over his. “Thank you.”

He looks up, and there it is, that flicker in his eyes. Heat. Intensity. Want, buried just beneath the surface.

He stands slowly, the legs of his chair scraping softly against the floor, and walks around the table. You glance up at him, expecting something. Maybe a half-smile, maybe a sarcastic remark about the food. But he doesn’t say anything.

When he stops beside you, he doesn’t say anything right away. His fingers ghost over the curve of your shoulder, then drop to your waist. The way he looks down at you isn’t urgent, but focused.

“Come here,” he says, voice low, soothing.

You rise wordlessly, letting him guide you towards him with a hand at your back. His touch is warm, grounding, thumb tracing idle lines through the thin fabric of your shirt.

He leans in close, not rushing, his forehead nearly resting against yours as he lets out a soft breath. “You’ve been running on empty all week,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen it.”

You swallow. His presence is overwhelming, but not in a bad way. It fills you, settles something inside you. Like he’s not just looking at you. He sees you.

“I wanted tonight to be good for you,” he continues, fingers sliding down to your hip, easing you closer. “Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but…” His lips ghost against the corner of your mouth. “Let me make the rest of it count.”

Then he kisses you.

Slow. Deep. Not hungry yet, he doesn’t rush. He lets the kiss linger as he slides one hand down to lace his fingers with yours, his other staying low on your back, keeping you close.

When he pulls back, his lips linger near yours. “You’ve had a long day,” he murmurs. You nod, still catching your breath.

“You always take care of everyone else,” he says, pressing his lips against your shoulder and breathing in the scent of you. “Let me take care of you tonight. Just you.”

“Come with me.”

You follow without hesitation, your hand still tucked in his, and he leads you down the dim hallway. The flicker of warm light spills out from the cracked door of the bedroom, soft shadows dancing along the walls.

He nudges the door open.

Your breath catches.

There, laid out across the center of the bed, is a bouquet of white roses, your favourites. The petals practically glow in the amber light of the bedside lamp. It’s simple. Romantic. Not flashy. Him.

You step closer, loosing his hand, fingers brushing the soft petals. “Leon…”

“I know you don’t like big, loud surprises,” he says from behind you, his hands coming to rest lightly on your hips. “But I wanted you to have something waiting for you. Something that lasts longer than dinner.”

His lips graze the back of your shoulder. Then again, lower, slower.

You shiver under the warmth of his breath as his hands begin to rise. They skimmed under the hem of your work blouse, knuckles dragging lightly against your stomach.

“Let me?” he murmurs against your skin.

You nod, and he peels the shirt off inch by inch, careful, deliberate. He drops it to the side and takes a step back just to look at you, his gaze drinking you in like it’s his first time again.

“God,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, eyes heavy with reverence. “You’re beautiful.”

He comes closer again, fingertips brushing the strap of your bra. He slips it off your shoulder with a touch so gentle it nearly makes your knees go weak. His hands don’t grope. They glide. Exploring. Admiring. Memorizing.

You reach to help, but he catches your hands, gently lowering them back to your sides. “Let me do this for you,” he says, voice thick. “Just relax. Let me show you what you mean to me.”

He leans in, lips pressing over your collarbone, then lower. Reverent kisses that trail warmth across your skin. His hands slide behind you, unfastening your bra with ease before letting it fall away, leaving you bare to the soft glow and his unwavering attention.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, looking up with calm intensity as his fingers hook into the waistband of your pants. He slides them down slowly, your coming along with them, him tracing the backs of his knuckles over your thighs as he goes.

He kisses the inside of your leg, then looks up at you again with quiet awe.

“Lie back. I’m not going to let you lift a finger tonight.”

You do as he says, crawling slowly onto the bed, the scent of the roses heady around you, silk sheets cool under your back.

Leon follows you, slow and unhurried. He kneels between your legs, eyes trailing up the length of your body as if he’s cataloging every part of you he’s about to touch.

He presses his hand on your calf and bends it as he pushes your legs a part just a bit more, placing a kiss to your knee. Then higher as he lowered his body more. One to your inner thigh. Then the other. His hands smooth up and down your legs, over the curve of your hips, thumbs brushing gently along your skin.

His breath is warm, and every kiss he places makes your pulse race a little faster.

You shift your hips just a little, aching, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He does. But instead of moving faster, he lets out a soft exhale that’s almost a chuckle, brushing his lips just barely over your center, so light it’s almost not there. And then he moves away again, leaving a trail of kisses up your stomach instead.

“Leon…” you breathe, a quiet plea.

He glances up at you from between your legs, eyes dark and full of heat.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m getting there.”

His arm slides under your hips, lifting them just slightly, adjusting you like he wants everything to be perfect for you. And still… he presses another kiss to your hip, then the inside of your thigh, then right next to where you want him. Again.

You whimper softly, biting your lip.

He’s practically worshiping you. But the way his mouth just misses your most sensitive spot again and again is driving you crazy.

He kisses the crease of your thigh. The top of your mound. His breath ghosts across your folds, but he doesn’t quite put his mouth on you yet. He looks entranced, like he’s trying to memorize you before he even begins.

It’s sweet. It’s loving. But it’s torture.

“Leon, please…” you say, this time more breath than sound, hips rising toward him before you can stop yourself.

That finally gets him. His eyes flick up, locking with yours, and you see the moment the restraint breaks.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on you.

Warm, soft, confident.

His tongue parts your folds with devastating precision, licking a long, slow line up the length of your sin before focusing right where you need it. His mouth seals around your clit, tongue moving in gentle, deliberate circles, not too fast, not yet, but hard enough to make you gasp.

He moans low in his throat at the taste of you, the sound vibrating right into your core, a moan escaping your flushed lips. His grip on your thighs tightens slightly, anchoring you as he devours you, turning hungry now, urgent with need.

He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t stop to tease anymore.

He’s all in now, focused entirely on your pleasure, like he wants to give you everything you’ve been too exhausted to ask for. Like he wants to ruin you with love, and nothing else matters tonight but this.

The movements of his tongue are steady, shifting in intoxicating patterns, circling and flicking with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble against his shoulders. He listens to every gasp, every breathless moan you give him, adjusting as if your body were a language he’s fluent in.

And when you finally come for him—hips arching, hand gripping the sheets, his name falling from your lips—he doesn’t pull away. He stays there, drinking in every last wave of your release like he never wants it to end. Lapping you up, slow and thorough, grunting into your cunt until your body is shivering from overstimulation.

“You taste delicious,” He utters.

Only then does he lift his head, lips slick with you, and presses one more kiss to your thigh.

You’re still catching your breath when he climbs up over you, settling between your legs like it’s where he belongs. And it is.

His hand finds your cheek, brushing your hair back gently, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low.

You nod, heart still fluttering, and wrap your hands around the back of his neck. “More than.”

Leon stays still for a moment, watching the way your chest rises and falls, like he’s grounding himself in the sight of you before moving. Then he straightens slowly, rising a bit more on his knees beside you, and your eyes follow the way his hands move to the buttons of his shirt.

One by one, he undoes them, never rushing. His shirt falls open, revealing the lean, strong lines of his chest, the subtle scar near his ribs, muscles prominent from years of service.

You sit up slightly on your elbows, watching as he pulls the shirt off completely and drops it to the floor. Then his belt, the sound of the metal coming off the leather loud in the comfortable, intimate silence of the bedroom.

Then his pants, unzipped with a practiced motion, pants sliding down over his hips. You can’t help the way your thighs shift a little, anticipation building all over again.

He notices, of course. He always does.

The last of his clothes fall to the side, and for a moment, he just looks at you. Bare. Open. Every inch of him bared to you with no hesitation, no shame.

“y/n,” he murmurs, that familiar rasp in his voice, “you looking at me like that… it’s dangerous.”

You smile, cheeks flushed. “You’re one to talk.”

He moves toward you, then, crawling up the bed, every movement deliberate and heavy with intent. When he lowers himself between your legs, skin to skin now, the warmth of him makes you melt further into the mattress.

You feel him, heavy and hard, against your thigh, but he doesn’t push into you yet. He presses his forehead to yours, hands cupping your face.

“You okay?” he asks again, even quieter this time. “I don’t wanna rush this.”

“You’re not,” you whisper. “Just… don’t stop.”

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you, deep and slow, as he finally slides into you, hips rocking forward with exquisite care, the stretch making your mouth part in a soft gasp.

He groans low in your ear, voice thick.

“Fuck… you’re incredible.”

His hands find your waist, your thigh, your face—he can’t seem to not touch you. And even once he’s fully seated inside you, he still doesn’t move at first. He just holds you, breath warm against your cheek.

He starts slow. Deliberate. Like he’s feeling you, not just fucking you. Like he wants to stay in this exact moment forever.

You moan softly, your hands sliding down to grip his back, legs wrapping around his waist. He sinks deeper, angling his hips until he hits just the right spot and stays there, grinding gently, eyes never leaving yours.

“Right there?” he murmurs.

You nod, barely able to speak.

His thrusts stay measured but purposeful, rocking into you with just enough power to make your breath hitch, but never too rough. He never lost that tenderness. One hand cradles the back of your head. The other stays low on your hip, guiding your rhythm, syncing it to his.

“Tell me what feels better,” he whispers, brushing his lips along your earlobe. “This…” He rolls his hips deeper. “Or…” He changes the angle slightly, nudging your sweet spot with pinpoint focus.

You cry out softly, back arching. “That. That—Leon…”

“There it is,” he breathes, kissing edge of your jaw. “I’ve got you.”

His pace quickens just slightly. More pressure, more heat. But still careful. Still giving. He watches every reaction, adjusting his hips, his hands, his mouth on your neck, your chest, your lips, all just to hear you fall apart again.

“Let go,” he whispers, voice thick with love and lust. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

Your release builds fast, tighter than the last, more overwhelming, the slow roll of his hips making it impossible to hold it back. Every thrust hits right where you need it, and the sound of his voice, whispered so roughly, tips you right over the edge.

Your body arches beneath him, fingers digging into his shoulders as the climax crashes over you, sudden and intense. Your walls clench around him, tight and desperate, and the moment it hits him, Leon groans into your neck, raw and broken, like he’s been holding himself back just for this.

“Shit—fuck, baby—”

You feel it as he starts to come, burying himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stutter just slightly, but he doesn’t stop. Even through his release, breathing ragged, he forced his body to keep moving with long, gentle rolls of his hips.

He’s trying to carry you through it. Let you feel everything.

You cry out softly, legs tightening around his waist, body shaking beneath him as the waves of pleasure ride out longer than you thought possible. It’s too much. Not enough. Perfect.

Leon’s forehead stays pressed against yours, his breath hot and uneven against your lips, his hands bracing your hips with steadying care.

Still moving inside you in slow, dragging thrusts, he murmurs something against your skin, you can’t quite catch it over the rush in your ears, but it sounds like “I’ve got you.”

You do. You let it happen. Let your body tremble and melt against his, overwhelmed and full and safe.

Eventually, his pace slows even more, until he’s just rocking with you, barely moving, your bodies locked together in heat and sweat and something too deep for words.

And then he stops, staying inside you as he leans back slightly to look at you.

Your cheeks are flushed, your lashes heavy, your lips parted as you try to catch your breath. His expression softens.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your fingertips still curled against his back. There’s something so genuine in the way he says it, like it’s all he can manage after being so overwhelmed by you, like it’s the only word he knows right now that won’t fall apart in his throat.

You tilt your head just slightly and whisper back, “Hi.” He smiles, slow and soft, with his lips still pink and parted from how hard he came, and that small twitch of amusement in the corner of his mouth, like you just made his whole week.

You stay there, tangled together in the warm hush of the bedroom, your skin flushed and damp, the scent of sex and roses still hanging in the air. His thumb strokes absent circles into your side.

You can hear his heartbeat slowing against your chest, syncing with yours.

Eventually, he eases off you, careful and slow, pulling out slowly, murmuring an apology as you flinch from the sensetivity. He presses a kiss to your stomach before slipping off the bed, grabbing the nearby towel he left folded by the nightstand and dipped it in a small bowl that lay beside it.

He planned this, clearly, even if the kitchen disaster said otherwise.

When he returns, he kneels beside you, gently wiping between your legs with warm water. “You’re okay?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“I’m great,”

“You deserve so much more,” he says softly, setting the towel down on the side and pulling you into his arms, fingertips idly brushing your spine, lips brushing your hair. “A real birthday. Something better than a wrecked kitchen and cheap candles. I just needed you to know how much I love you.”

You glance up at him, the candlelight dancing in his tired blue eyes.

“I do,” you murmur. “I know.”

His hand stills at your back, fingers curling with a quiet exhale.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 - @chroni-ixx @danigirls-missions @dork0valentinesss @lolsiesydkme 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡٫ 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑛𝑜𝑛-𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 "𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔" 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑠!

#leon smut #leon kennedy x reader #this is fire #its wet!

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chroni-ixx · 7 days ago

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𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑓 - 𝐿𝑒𝑜𝑛 𝐾𝑒𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑑𝑦 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐿𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑠 𝘩𝑖𝑚 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 - 𝑎𝑢 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝘩𝑒ˊ𝑠 𝑆𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑦ˊ𝑠 𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦𝑠𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟

𝑇𝑊: 𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑠𝑒𝑥 (𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔)٫ 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔

𝑤𝑐: 1.6𝑘

You had to admit, you felt horrible every time this happened. You were Sherry’s babysitter, not a working girl, Leon didn’t pay you to sleep with him, he paid you to take care of his daughter.

It didn’t make it any better that you were at least 15 years younger than him. At least you assumed- you never asked, not wanting to make yourself feel worse.

But it was just so good-- you couldn’t deny him, not when he came home tired and angry and in need of some sort of outlet. You were always happy to be that for him.

Sherry had just been put to bed, and you were sat on the brown leather couch, watching some slasher with the volume too low to enjoy the movie, a pillow clutched in your arms when he returned home.

He looked rough. He was tired, that practically perpetual frown on his face, his dark coat covered in mud and god-knows what else. Tossing that and his keys off to the side, he made his way to the kitchen without acknowledging you, cracking open the fridge, not even the fluorescent lights of it making him look bad in your eyes.

Picking at what seemed to be some cold chinese left overs, he muttered something under his breath and tossed them back into the fridge, instead replacing them with a beer. Finally turning to you, he said, “Beer?”

You give him a little shrug, to which he takes as a yes, and heads over to the couch, practically tossing himself on it, a dip in the cushions from his weight, and he hands you the beer.

“Terrifier, really?” He asks as he cocks up a brow in your direction while using his palm to open the top. It always baffled you how he did that, so you simply tilted your beer in his direction for him to do the same.

“It’s scary,” you reply with a slight frown.

“Turn it off,” he asks, not stern or demanding, more so pleading. You meet his eyes for a moment, taking the controller in one hand and clicking it off, which prompted him to look at the darkened tv and take a deep swig of the beer, downing almost half of it in one drink, his adams apple bobbing as the liquid went down his throat.

You just take your own, much smaller sip, his eyes on the way your lips wrapped around the tip of the bottle, making him set down his own just in front of the couch.

He shifts a little closer, and places his hands on the pillow you hold on your lap. You just nod lightly as you place your beer elsewhere, as if to give him permission to move it. And so he does, tossing it to the other side of the sofa.

Taking a moment to admire your form in the simple pyjamas, he sighs, as if the baggy shirt you wore and the small, heart printed shorts were enough to make his day that much better.

“I hope you it’s okay I took one of your shirts- I dropped some pasta sauce on my own while cooking Sherry’s dinner,” You say, breaking his trance, tired ice blue eyes searching your face before cracking a small smile.

“It’s more than okay, y/n,” he practically mutters as his hands find your waist. “You look amazing.”

His words make you smile back lightly to him, placing your hands on the meeting between his neck and his shoulders. Palms find their way under the hem of your top, well his, technically, but nevertheless, the callouses on his hands send shivers down your spine as they trace up your sides, around your shoulders.

“Can I?”

“Mhm,”

Those same callouses run over your breasts, the peaks hardening as he kneads the flesh, his gaze glued to the way the fabric shifted over his knuckles as they flexed and unflexed.

Your breath hitched when his thumbs brushed over your nipples, slowly circling, trying to wring out a gasp from you.

“You’re always so warm,” he murmured, voice gravelly, thick with exhaustion. “So fucking soft.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, then another down your neck, tracing along your jaw. Each kiss was slow, warm, lingering.

You tilted your head, giving him access, and he took it gladly, mouth dragging down over your collarbone, leaving a wet trail of heat that made your skin goosebump.

His hands moved with purpose, sliding down from your waist to the hem of your shorts, fingers hooking under the waistband, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Can I take these off?” he asked, voice low

You nodded, cheeks already flushed, pulse pounding in your throat. “Yes,” you breathed, barely audible. “Please.”

That was all he needed. He pushed himself off his seat and knelt before you on the carpet, hands slipping your shorts down, peeling them away like he was unwrapping an expensive gift.

You lifted your hips slightly to help him, the cool air of the room brushing over your now bare legs, only intensifying your sensitivity. He discarded the shorts somewhere behind him, his eyes drinking you in from between your knees, which he gently pushed apart.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hand over his face like he was trying to steady himself. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

He ran his palms up your inner thighs, large and warm and just rough enough to make you shiver. He pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then another, working his way up slowly. Painfully slowly. The stubble on his jaw scraped softly against your skin as he moved higher, his index finger pushing the cloth of your lace thong aside, and when his breath finally hit your core, you nearly whimpered.

He hovered there for a moment, not touching, just taking you in, eyes locked to yours as if waiting for some last-second hesitation. When he saw none, he dipped forward slightly, slowly dragging his tongue through your folds with a low, needy groan.

Your hands gripped the couch cushion beneath you, gripping it as your back arched lightly. His tongue was hot and slow, lapping at you with the kind of focus only Leon could possess, like you were the only thing in the world that could bring him peace.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped against you, voice muffled by your body.

He wrapped his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch, locking you in place as his mouth worked on you.

His tongue slid up and down, teasing your entrance before moving to circle your clit in tight, deliberate strokes. You gasped, hips jerking, and he only held you firmer, pressing his mouth tighter to you, like he needed it—needed the way your body responded to him.

The soft, wet sounds of his tongue mixed with your uneven breathing, the occasional whimper escaping your lips as the pressure built.

He shifted slightly, sliding one hand from your thigh to rest on your stomach, holding you down as your hips bucked beneath his mouth. His other hand moved to your folds, parting them carefully so his tongue could focus directly on your clit. He sucked it into his mouth, slow and firm, before flattening his tongue against it and moving in slow, heavy circles.

Your thighs quivered against his shoulders, a broken moan slipping from your lips, which you attempted to muffle with a gnaw at your lip. You looked down at him as a hand threaded into his hair, his eyes were on you, always on you, dark and heavy. His mouth glistened, jaw flexing as he pushed deeper, eating like a man who hadn’t been fed in days.

It was intoxicating, the way his tongue pushed in and out of you, the way he held you open so he could drink in every last drop of you.

“Leon—shit, Leon, I’m—” Your voice faltered as your body started to tense, hand clenching the locks of dirty blonde hair, waves of pleasure building fast and hot and deep.

He didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down, speeding up his strokes, tongue relentless and perfect and so much. His thumb pressed down on your stomach gently, grounding you, while his mouth sent you spiraling. The pressure in your belly tightened into something unbearable.

And then it snapped.

Your climax dragged through your entire body, dragging a cry from your lips that you almost didn’t catch with your hand, and Leon moaned into your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

He stayed there, lapping at you as you pulsed and spilled against his tongue. Every drop of slick that dripped from you, he chased, tongue stroking deeper, lower, like he was determined to clean you out.

He drank you, shameless and unrelenting, until your legs shook and there was nothing left for him to take, drawing every last tremor from your body until you were collapsing back against the cushions, boneless and dazed.

Even then, he didn’t move right away. He gave you a few more gentle, teasing licks, ensuring he more affection than arousal now, before finally pulling back with a satisfied grunt. His chin was slick, his lips swollen, his eyes glazed over with hunger and pride.

He kissed the inside of your thigh one last time, then rose slowly from his knees, hands gripping the couch back on either side of your shoulders.

“You alright?” He muttered, you on his breath.

A nod was your only reply before he leaned down to kiss you, deep and filthy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

When he finally pulled back, he was smiling faintly, that rare, exhausted softness in his expression.

#oh fuck yeah #i love leon kennedy #leon x reader #my fav posted!

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chroni-ixx · 7 days ago

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𝑃𝑎𝑦𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑑 - 𝑀𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑡 >:) 𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 (𝑎𝑏𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑢𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙)٫ 𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 (200%)٫ 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘 (𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑒)

𝐼 𝐾𝑁𝐸𝑊 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑖 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝘩𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩٫ 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑦٫ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑٫ 𝑠𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡ˊ𝑠 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒! 𝑙𝑜𝑙! 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 "𝑅𝑢𝑙𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟٫ 𝑅𝑢𝑙𝑒 𝐵𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑟" 𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑀𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜

𝑤𝑐: 5.1𝑘

Your assassin droid, IG-11, kept up, sending blaster shots towards the Mandalorian whenever you stumbled on your steps, reminding you of just another business deal you'd made with the man. He’d traded the droid to you after a piece of the Crest had malfunctioned, all since you'd refused to take his credits, determined on acquiring a bodyguard instead. People knew not to trust you and what you sold. Half of the time it was broken, or defective, you being too lazy to fix it. But you were one of the only people in the galaxy to have certain parts, so they landed on faith. It didn't get many of them too far. It made you hated, and a couple of unlucky sales later, it made you wanted.

You managed to evade the bounties thanks to Mando’s IG-11, but you knew it was he, himself, who’d come after you if you ever did such a thing to him. But you needed the credits, and a functional engine capacitor was just not in your cards when he came asking.

A quick turn of your head revealed a green blaster shot heading straight for the droid, hitting the coolant pipe on his left arm. Fuck, you thought to yourself as thick gray liquid began to pour form the punctured pipe. IG-11 wouldn't last long without it, especially not in the Naboo heat.

And you were right, nearly 10 seconds later, it crumbled to the ground, leaving you no backup and a shitty aim to hold the bounty hunter off. He was relentless. No wonder he was so notorious. Notorious was not what you wanted after you right now.

“Mando,” you yell without looking back. “Ill fix the fucking piece for cheap,” you try to reason with him, though you’re quickly shut down by a blaster hitting your close right, shuffling dust and debris on the ground, making you yelp, “for Maker’s sake, Mando!”

“Free,” he gruffed, you not realizing just how much he’d gained on you without IG-11 holding him off. “Yes, fine, fine- just put the blaster down,” you say, slowing down, turning around to see him slow to a walking pace as well. You back up, keeping distance between you.

But he doesn't set his blaster back in its holster, rather pointing it directly at your temple and saying, “get on the ground.”

“What?” You practically blubber. Did you just fall for a false promise?

“On the ground” He repeats, his voice a bit louder now through the modulator in the helmet.

Without much of a better choice, you do as asked, lowering yourself to your knees, your hands up in surrender, eyes where you'd imagine his own were under the visor.

Approaching you, he pushes your shoulder down into the dirt, removing the cloak off you and tossing it aside.

He looks down your body, searching for any weapons, the useless blaster you'd been trying to shoot at him having been dropped somewhere along the way.

With one hand, he pats down your sides, your legs, the edges of your boots. You wished you’d stored that knife in the footwear today, even if you knew it would make no difference against him.

With a pleased grunt, he cages your hands with cuffs, which you knew better than to question where he procured from.

“Mando, please,” you utter as he pulls you to your feet, though keeps that insolence beneath the mask, straight backed and not bothering to look at you as he practically paraded you down the street.

Heads turned and whispers shared, some of the men you’d stolen from, and some you’d sold to, cheering.

It took more than a comfortable amount of walking to reach the Razorcrest, parked in Pell Motto’s workshop, and seeing the hunk of metal it was truly made you wonder what it would feel like to be frozen alive.

You spot her, pit droids chirping at the sight of you restrained, and she gives you a solemn nod, greeting you before your imminent death. She was one of the only few people you purely sold undamaged goods to, so she had no problems with you, though she knew interrupting a Mandalorian from a bounty was not a good idea.

As you pushed towards the door of the Crest, he instead threw you off to the left, towards the engine, which he’d needed the piece for. “Fix it.” He commanded.

Your eyes turn to him for a moment, and you let loose a breath you didn't know you were holding. You felt like rambling of your thankfulness and extensively cussing him out at the same time. Instead, you settle on offering him your hands to remove the restrains.

It took hours under his intense gaze, sweat and grease on your face and clothes and hands by the time you finished, an assortment of tools and metal scraps all around you. Turning back to him finally, silently commanding him to run it.

He simply nods, the helmet dipping as he walks towards the hull’s entrance and disappears inside, a roar in the metal making you jump and retreat away from the ship.

After a moment of steady humming, he turns it off once again, standing at the top of the ramp and saying, “Come here.”

You're conflicted wether trying to run again or actually following direction. You knew that if you tried to escape him, you wouldn't get far, not without IG-11.

So with slumped shoulders, you stride, ever so slowly, into his ship.

He doesn't make move to restrain you again, leading you through the cockpit, past the carbon freezing chamber, and towards a small cot, him resting his back on a storage container.

“Like to play with your food, or..?” You ask, clearly a bit intimidated but not afraid enough to not poke at him as you usually did.

“You pull some bullshit like that again, y/n, and I swear-- a bounty won’t be why I kill you.”

The words make you sink back into the wall a little bit, his helmet fully trained on you, all dirty and disheveled after being chased, pushed, and forced to work.

“You need to work better on who you trust then,” You respond through the clenching in your gut.

You could tell immediately that he did not like that. As he takes a step forward, you raise your hands up in surrender for the second time today.

“Business is business, Mando, and unless you think I’m pretty enough to be a working girl-- money is made however it needs to be made.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “I fixed it, didn't I?"

“After I wasted my time on you.”

You scoff. “That was a great chase, im not sure what you’re referring to.”

He took a long pause, not to agree, but also not to disagree. “You better get IG-11 before the Jawas get to him first.”

You took that as the last free pass you'd get to leave the ship alive.

──────────═━━━┈┈━━━═───────────

It only took him a few weeks to return to your shop, if one could even call it that. It was a small hut set up near the outskirts of town, near the landfills, so that anyone passing by would think what lay surrounding your home was nothing more than scraps. The assassin droid had let him in, though his blaster had remained trained on a joint in the armor as the Mandalorian approached your work bench. You were hunched over the droid’s broken temperature regulator, a worn welding mask over your face, stick welders on either hand, melting a tube to the side of the device to replace the one Mando had broken.

Right now, IG-11 had some scrap piece you knew would break down within weeks, something to hold him off while you worked on his actual replacement.

“I need a landing foot.”

Not hearing his words over the buzzing of the wands or noticing him from the blocked view of the mask, he hunkered behind you, gripping the wire running power to the equipment and pulling it. As they shut down, you look back, confused, and catch a glimpse of the beskar on his thighs, letting out a sigh that made him aware of your resignation.

“Landing foot. Now.” He repeated as you raised the mask, your only response being, “1400 credits.”

He let out what sounded like a smug chuckle. “Ill give you 400.”

You twisted your face in slight offence “Are you insane?” your tone a lot more disrespectful than you knew you could afford to be to him. “400 or I take you in.”

Huffing, you say, “With his gun on you? I don’t think so,” gesturing towards IG-11.

“Oh, please, he makes one move too sharply and that haphazard tube will pop out of his arm.” He replies just as fast. “Don’t think the helmet is too thick for me to realize what a coolant device looks like.”

Watching him for a long moment, you get up and walk towards a pile of opened boxes, unorganized scattered pieces inside. “1050,” You finally say as you pull out a piece of clean metal, wide in your hands, the strip to support the ship the size of your abdomen alone.

“600”

“1000”

“800”

“900”

The mandalorian pauses for a moment. “850”

“Fine.” You utter, tossing the mask hovering over your head onto your desk, placing the foot in front of him, stretching out your hand.

“Ill transfer you after it’s installed into the ship.” He says as he looks down at your palm, calloused and covered in cooling liquid.

“Its a fucking landing foot, Mando, how could it be defective?”

“You always manage to find a way.”

“Maybe you just like me,” You shrug, knowing better than to tease him but unable to help yourself.

A scoff from under the helmet and a shift in the cape around the skin of his neck, “Don’t start.”

And so, he made you come back with him to the ship.

Kneeled under the raised hull, you twisted the wrench with a push to loosen the heavy screw, the muscles in your arm aching with the resistance of old metal. You gritted your teeth, finally feeling the bolt give, and reached back without looking.

“Smaller one,” you muttered, hand blindly searching.

He let out a grunt, clearly unamused by your tone, but passed you the thinner screwdriver from the box beside him. The thick fabric of his gloves grazed your palm, the contact hot despite the barrier. You felt it. You knew he did too.

“You're breathing on me,” you muttered, annoyed, but not enough to actually shift away. He was close. Looming, really.

“I’m not leaving you unattended,” came the low, flat reply.

You snorted softly. “Afraid I’ll sabotage it again?” “No. Just know you like to test people when they’re not looking.”

Your hands paused.

You twisted your head over your shoulder to glance at him. He hadn’t moved. Still standing solid behind you, close enough that if you pushed back even slightly, youd hit hard, cold beskar.

“You always assume the worst,” you say, fingers still moving as you twist the next piece into place.

“I’m usually correct.” His voice dropped slightly. It wasn’t harsh if it was a simple fact.

You felt heat curl up the back of your neck. Maybe it was the sun. Or the proximity.

Still working, you asked, “Get tired of watching me yet?”

A long pause.

“Not yet.”

“Fuck,” you yelp suddenly, bumping back as a hinge from the top of the rusted landing foot almost lands on your stomach, making you drop the screwdriver, your back now pressed hard against the armor.

He reached his hands under your arms to catch you from stumbling back further, his visor trained on you, as if silently asking if you were alright.

“I’d bet all my credits this is the closest you’ve been to a girl in m-”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence.”

The stern words made you swallow whatever smart-ass remark you’d tried to make, his commanding presence practically beckoning you to never speak again. But his hands remained on you, one splayed across your ribs, the other just a fraction lower, right above your waist. His fingers had a firm grip on your shirt, as if you'd just fallen, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go.

Still, you swallowed whatever begged you to just shut up and finish the job.

“Didn’t take you as the handsy type,” You say with a mocking smile, head tilted up to be able to meet the helmets view.

“I’m not,” he replied, though it was low and cut short.

He still hadn’t moved. The beskar pressing into your spine, the silence thick enough that you could hear the faint hum of the ship behind you, the sound of your own breathing. You were sure he could hear it too.

You twisted slightly in his grip, just enough to glance over your shoulder. “Then let go.”

His hands didn’t budge.

“You’re reckless,” he said simply like it explained everything.

“And you’re still here,” you shot back, barely a whisper.

Silence.

“Turn around.”

Your heart jumped. It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t threatening. But something in the way he said it, unreadable with that authority of his made you move before you even realized what you'd been doing.

You turned. Slowly, hesitantly, rotating in the tight space between him and the hull, until your chest brushed the curve of his chestplate. You had to look up to meet the black of his visor.

He didn’t step back.

The space between you felt too small now, filled with dust and tension.

“I’m not going to run,” you said, voice quieter than before.

“I know,” he replied.

His helmet tilted, just a fraction, as if scanning you. His gloved hand lifted and hovered near your jaw. Like you were a malfunction he couldn’t fix, just had to keep coming back to.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Just traced the air near your face like he was deciding something.

You didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

Then, his voice came again, no less sharp.

“You think this is a game.”

You blinked once, slowly. “No,” you said. “I think it’s a job.”

His hand lowered to your side, settling at your hip, possessive in its stillness.

“I should lock you in the carbon chamber,” he muttered.

You smirked. “But you won’t.”

Another beat. Another breath.

“No, I won't."

You raised an eyebrow, heart thudding loud in your chest. “Then what?”

His hand slipped down, enough to curve around your lower back.

“You fix things with your hands. Break them, too.”

A pause.

“I’m still trying to figure out which one you’re doing to me.”

Your mouth opened, but you didn’t have a witty comeback for that. Not when his hand stayed right where it was, not when his body was a wall of heat and beskar mere inches from yours.

“I’m not doing anything,” you murmured.

He leaned in just slightly, visor inches from your face, voice sharp and quiet through the modulator, “Exactly.”

Then his hand shifted once again, curling tighter on your waist, the leather of his glove warm now from your burning skin under your shirt. He leaned in, not enough to touch, but close enough that you felt the air shift when he spoke again.

“Inside. Now.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a threat.

It was a command.

You swallowed hard, smirk twitching at the edge of your lips. “You ordering me around on my own sale?”

“You're not selling me anything.”

His voice was measured, dangerous. You didn’t push further as he took a reluctant step back, his hand falling to his side.

Stepping out from under the ship towards the ramp, you became aware of his steps behind you. The ship loomed, a dull silver in the afternoon sun. The air felt heavier with each footstep.

By the time the Razor Crest’s ramp closed behind you with a few clicks on the control panel at his wrist, your breath was shallow and your palms were sweating.

You turned, maybe to tease, to ask what the hell this was, but he was already a breath too close again.

“Don’t play dumb now.” His voice was a rumble at your ear, the modulator not doing much to mask the timbre in his voice.

You tilted your head up at him, biting back a smile. “I thought you didn’t come back for second rounds.”

A beat passed.

“Neither do you.”

The words between you sparked the memory; oil-stained hands on your hips, the sharp edge of your workbench digging into your stomach, biting back moans because his hand was over your mouth. The fact that you hadn’t spoken of it since made it burn hotter.

“I figured you were too proud to admit you liked it,” you murmured, stepping back toward the wall of the hull, letting it catch you, letting him corner you again once again.

He didn’t take the bait. Of course he didn’t.

Instead, he just stared. Helmet angled slightly, like he was assessing damage, or weakness. With a scoff, he took a step forward, knowing he was letting you win. His gloved hand came up slowly, dragging two gloved fingers along the underside of your jaw.

“You talk too much.”

You smirked, chin lifted. “You do too little.”

His hand moved in a blur, catching your wrist as you attempted to pull him closer, pushing you back, your spine thudding gently against the wall behind you. His other hand was already sliding down your side, trailing across waistband.

“Still remember how to beg?” he asked, tone flat, unbothered, his hand dipping under the pants and palming your ass roughly.

You refused to flinch. “I didn’t beg last time.”

He laughed, not much more than a sharp huff of air through the modulator, and bent forward, voice low.

“You know you did.”

You opened your mouth, something defiant on your tongue, but it turned to a breathy curse when his gloved hand raised back up, hooking on the loop of your pants and pushing them down, just enough to see your simple black underwear, expecting you to do the rest.

Which you gladly did, hastily removing them and tossing them god-knows where while he removed his gloves and discarded them as well.

His warm hand ran slowly down your thigh, hooking on your knee and raising it to give him access to your cloth-covered cunt.

Once raised, you knew, placing your thigh on his hip, calf wrapped around the back of his thigh as his hand traced back up, thumb kneading the soft flesh.

But he just kept going up and up, thumb pressing into sticky fabric, tracing slow circles over your already throbbing core.

“Already soaked,” he murmured. It wasn't a compliment, more like a confirmation to suspicion.

“You gonna stand here narrating it, or—”

His fingers wrapped around your throat, gentle but not soft, thumb pressing into the edge of your jaw. He leaned in close again, visor nearly touching your skin.

“You’re not in charge here, mesh’la.”

You shivered. It hit you harder than it should’ve: the nickname in that voice, underlined by steel. You remembered the first time he used it, gritted out under his breath as he fucked you from behind, fingers tangled in your hair. You’d asked what it meant, and he’d told you it was the word for “beautiful” in his language. You hadn’t been able to forget it since.

Now, his hand slipped between your waistband and skin, calloused fingers dragging rough over you as he pushed further down.

“You remember how to say thank you?” he asked.

Your breath only hitched.

“No?”

Two fingers pressed your clit teasingly, refusing to give you what he knew you needed as you practically dripped precum.

“Then I’ll make you remember.”

“Mando,” You utter, eyes lowering slightly, refusing to show him how good he made you feel without even being inside you. You knew he could tell anyways, skin burning and heartbeat pounding southward.

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he responds, low and demanding.

“Say it.”

“Come on,” It’s an annoyed tone you take with him, and it makes him squeeze your throat just a bit tighter, dip the tip of one finger into you then remove it just as quickly to let you know exactly what you were missing.

“God- Please,” you beg, whinier than intended.

“Please what?” His voice was silk over steel, a rasp because of the modulator that somehow made everything worse. Or better. You couldn’t decide.

You tried to shift your hips against his hand, chase the friction, but his arm locked around your waist and held you still.

“Use your words.”

You scowled, even as your breath trembled. “You’re such an—”

He slipped two fingers into you, sudden and deep, and your insult died as a strangled moan instead. His other hand held you firm, pinned with nowhere to go but onto him.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, mesh’la,” he growled, voice low and amused, but there was a warning in it too.

You clenched around his fingers, hips rolling instinctively. It wasn’t enough, not with how slow he moved, not when he deliberately avoided that one spot you needed most.

“I didn’t know you were such a tease,” you gasped.

“I’m not teasing,” he said, curling his fingers just slightly, dragging a delicious moan from your lips. “You’re the one who begged last time, remember?”

Your head remained tipped back as you bit into your bottom lip to keep from groaning again. You hated that he remembered that. You loved that he remembered that.

Still, your voice came out sharp, defiant. “And what? You think I’ll beg again?”

His hand withdrew entirely, leaving you clenching around nothing. Cold air hit your slick skin.

Your eyes flew open. “Wait- !”

He tilted his helmet. “You were saying?”

“Fuck you.”

“Eventually,” he said, tone maddeningly casual.

You tried reaching for him, grab his wrist, to drag him back where you needed him so desperately, but he caught both your hands in one of his and pinned them to your chest. His other hand dipped back down slowly, so, so slowly, and you squirmed against the wall, practically panting.

“You don’t get to take,” he said, pushing your thighs wider with a knee, “until you give.”

You let go of your lip with a slight pop. “Fine.”

A pause. Then, “Please. Touch me.”

And Maker, he did.

His fingers worked you open with ruthless control, stroking slow and deep, your whimpers caught against the inside of your teeth. The sound of your slick was obscene in the silence of the ship, each motion dragging you closer to the edge.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he said, helmet pressed right at your ear now. “Just from my fingers. And next time…”

His hand slipped lower, thumb grinding over your clit, puffy and pink as you bucked against him.

“You ask nicely from the start.”

Your hands curled against his chestplate, nails scraping the cool beskar, desperate now.

“Say it again.”

“Please—fuck—please, Mando, don’t stop—”

“Good girl.”

That did it.

Your legs shook, body clenching tight as the orgasm hit you sharp and fast, his fingers never slowing. You gasped his name again, louder this time, barely caring how wrecked you sounded.

He didn’t stop until you were twitching, breath gone, head falling back against his shoulder.

Then, finally, he eased his fingers out and wrapped both arms around you from behind, holding you steady.

“Are you going to be good now?” he murmured, voice still dark, still in control.

You were already nodding, a little too fast.

Your legs still felt weak when he pulled you toward the back of the ship, your shirt pushed halfway up your abdomen. He didn’t give you a chance to fix it, only guided you forward with a hand firm on your hip, thumb stroking once through the fabric as if to remind you who put you in this state.

“Box,” he ordered simply, nodding toward one of the metal crates bolted down along the wall. You recognized it; some forgotten supply locker you’d helped him dig through once, heavy with scrap and spare parts. Now it looked like an altar.

He turned you around, hand on the back of your neck, pushing until you were bent over it, the metal seeping cold onto your chest flush against it.

“This feel familiar?” he asked, voice thick through the modulator as his fingers hooked onto your panties, pulling them off this time. “Last time it was a workbench.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, breathless. “You didn’t even buy anything.”

“Didn’t need to.” His hands ran down the curve of your back, stopping to grip your ass in both palms. “You offered.”

“I didn’t—fuck—”

He cut you off with a sharp slap to your ass, making you jolt forward with a gasp.

“Offered,” he repeated. “And begged.”

Your fingers dug into the edges of the crate as he spread you open with both hands.

His thumb slid between your folds again, spreading the mess you’d already made. “Still soaked.”

“You gonna keep stating the obvious?” you shot back, trying to regain some control, even with your knees trembling and your spine curved just right.

Another slap. This time lower. You cried out.

“You gonna keep talking?” he said.

Then you heard it: the sound of his belt unfastening, that familiar shift of armor plates as he freed himself just enough.

A rough hand wrapped around your waist, hauling your hips back slightly, angling you where he wanted.

“Stay still.”

You barely nodded before he pushed inside—slow at first, thick and long and unrelenting, stretching you until you could barely breathe.

“Fuck—Din—”

He didn’t answer, only groaned low behind the helmet, hands tightening around your hips. His thrusts started slow, controlled, brutal. Every motion shoved you harder into the crate, the joining of your stomach and your thighs hurting from the sharp edge, but you didn’t care. All you could feel was him.

You could hear the restraint in his voice when he finally spoke again, his voice rough with strain. “You act like a brat just to get fucked like this?”

You moaned, louder than you should’ve. He snapped his hips harder.

“Answer me.”

“Yes—shit—yes.”

“Good.” His hand reached up, fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to see your face as you moaned for him.

Each thrust hit deeper, timed with the curve of your spine and the helpless gasp you let out every time his hips slapped against the backs of your thighs.

You couldn’t find words anymore. You just breathed, shuddering and barely holding yourself up on the crate as he used your body exactly how he wanted.

“You like being taken like this, huh?” he muttered. The modulator distorted his voice just enough to make it darker, more guttural. “Bent over. Obedient.”

You whimpered. Nodded. That was all you could do.

He fucked into you harder for that. One sharp thrust that had your toes curling inside your boots.

“I didn’t say nod.” He let go of your hair just long enough to slap your ass again, the sound echoing off the hull. “Use your voice.”

“Yes,” you choked out, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your neck gave out, forehead now resting against your crossed forearms. “Yes, fuck—yes.”

“Good girl,” he growled, and you felt the shiver that rolled down your back like he’d pressed a cold blade there.

Then his hand returned to your hip, anchoring you in place, while the other found your clit again, fingers still bare, working quick, tight circles that had your thighs shaking.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he ordered. “Just like last time.”

You remembered last time. The mess. The way you’d been too dazed to speak after. And now, with his body pressed so tight behind yours, with his cock filling you just right and his fingers coaxing every bit of sensitivity from you, you were close, too close.

“Din, I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” His voice left no room for argument. “You will.”

Your body snapped.

You came with a cry that wasn’t a word, wasn’t even a thought. He didn’t stop, kept fucking you through it, letting you tremble, fall apart around him, squeezing tight, soaking his cock as you pulsed and gasped under him.

And only when he felt you start to come down, did he finally taper off. His hips slowed to a halt, body tense, hands gripping you hard enough to leave marks.

The air was thick with heat and the scent of pleasure. The only sound was your breathing, rough and shaky, and the low mechanical hum of the ship.

He didn’t speak. Just rested a hand on your upper back, slow and grounding, tracing along your spine with the pads of his bare fingers like he was checking that you were still whole, still alive.

You stayed like that a moment, bare and used, before finally murmuring, lips curved against the crate:

“So... do I get a bonus?”

But he moved. Stepped back, adjusted his armor with a quiet huff through the modulator. A moment later, something soft landed beside you on the crate. Your pants, folded haphazardly. Then your underwear.

And then the jingle of credits. A small handful of them, tossed down casually onto the same box you were still bent over.

“Keep the change,” he said flatly.

You turned your head to glare at him, but he was already walking off. Composed again, like nothing had just happened.

He paused at the threshold of the cockpit.

And with just the tilt of his helmet over his shoulder, voice low and dry, he added, “Next time I won’t let you overcharge me.”

Then he disappeared into the piloting room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Leaving you half-dressed, a little wrecked, and already thinking about that “next time.” 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠٫ 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒٫ 𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑐 𝑥 𝑜𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 "𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒"٫ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡ˊ𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑٫ 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑!

#my fav posted!#i dont know shit abt starwas but this is peak

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chroni-ixx · 7 days ago

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how do u feel abt dilf!kenma 🤪

first of all happy belated fathers day <3

dilf!kenma would be such a girl dad. he’d have his little mini-me that he treats like an absolute princess.

dilf!kenma would spoil the hell out of her and would try to play age-appropriate games with her as often possible, cuz he’s busy being a ceo and famous streamer!

dilf!kenma would hate when people spot him with his little girl bc people are weird and he def doesn’t want to expose her to that.

dilf!kenma with outgrown roots and longer hair that he keeps up in his half-up half-down.

dilf!kenma would also be sure to take care of his other baby at the end of the day too, right between your thighs, giving you everything you want </3

#chrysie’s requests ❀⋆#kenma x reader #girl dad

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chroni-ixx · 8 days ago