melanchol1cs

[melanchol1cs]

I NEED YOU (I BREATHE YOU) PT.2

prev. chapter | Dante Sparda x reader | 18+ MDNI. SMUT, female reader, sugar baby&sugar mommy dynamics, age gap(reader is in her 20s), vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie, teasing, handjob, mirror sex, lingerie, public sex, light feminization.

Summary: The dress sits on your figure so well, little creases on your waist as the fabric wrinkles up in a seated position. Yesterday he fought demons for the mission. And tonight you will go out.

notes: thank you for my girl for proofreading this one @writingwisterias. So yeaaa...i had already this in my mind after finishing the first one, idk if there would be more after that. Reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

Pop! Your lips purse out briefly, sending an invisible kiss to your own reflection, this lipstick suits you. Dante stands next to you. He is no expert in makeup, but anytime he watches you or Trish it looks like some sort of weird magic - impossible to master, weirdly enough. It makes sense, after all he is specialised in killing demons and master in every touchable weapon. Makeup isn't a weapon, at least he isn't aware of its body count if it exists. The dress sits on your figure so well, little creases on your waist as the fabric wrinkles up in a seated position. Closer to you, on the floor there is a kraft bag with something. Dante doesn’t give too much thought into that, tired and it would be useless to pry into your business. Yesterday he fought demons for the mission. And tonight you will go out. Nice and clean.

A clap - your attention shifts to his face. You raised an eyebrow, clearly confused why he even did that. And he stays silent with pursed lips. Oops, embarrassing. Old man habits, they don't die but roots grow deeper after every birthday -  the ones you seem to get off sometimes. He hopes, watching you turn away again.

“Ready?” His fingers squeeze your cheeks in the mirror, your reflection frowns - light crease in between your brows as they come closer. Like a displeased cat. 

“You’ll ruin my look,” Your hand slaps his ones away, coaxing a chuckle out of him. “...stop” 

“Can't ruin something already perfect.” Dante coos, before his gaze falls down to your cleavage. Deep cut. Pretty. He spotted a little reddish nonlinear spot, like a nebula on the visible soft side of your boob, close to sternum. A pride fills his chest - his job, even though he didn’t intend to leave a hickey. He wants to knead your chest again, to feel its weight filling his palm. Hey, old man, dirty thoughts down - tonight is all about spoiling and enjoying each other's companionship.  

You exhale, there is no answer or “thanks”. Anyone else would think you are a little spoiled daddy bitch. Just a sigh. Your chest falls down with the air out. Not looking at his reflection, avoiding his eyes and pretending this didn’t flatter you. With all that time with you, he knows well your subtle changes in expressions - a deep exhale, avoidance but a hint of curled up lips are enough to tell him your thoughts. Brief, subtle details matter so much. You like him too much for a sugar mommy, too much than you supposed to. Sometimes for him this isn't only about money. 

“Babyyy!!” Your sweet voice. Baby, god, b-a-b-y. Again, weak in his knees - he'd fall on them just to eat you out if he had an appropriate moment. He hums softly, probably looking like a puppy - all his attention on your open palm.

“I bought something, but it doesn’t look good on me…” Dante raises his eyebrow, questioning your words silently. Bullshit, you look perfect in everything. And you don't seem to be in need of Lasik. 

“Impossible.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. Existence of Atlantis is much more believable right now. 

Your hand delves to the paper bag just to appear with a lacy lingerie in your hold, dark violet fabric, soft to touch and elegant curves of half transparent material would not shy to hint your nipples through it, the straps would sit on your waist leading his gaze to the underwear, the garment would hug your waist and hips so right, while bra would gently hold your tits - a Victoria's Secret model would die green out of envy. You are up to something.

“It’s so big for me…” You coo and Dante knows you are lying shamelessly. ”Dumb me didn’t try it before buying” 

“So?” 

You hum, tilting your head and nodding to point lingerie to Dante. “I think it’d look so good on you…”

His lips form a thin line, tensing after your words and eyeing you with that fabric in front of him. Conflicted, confused and half-hard. Should he deny your fun? Actually… no. First of all, he isn't insecure of his own masculinity, a lingerie and make up wouldn't make him a less man - to see you lit up is worth it too. Second point is… You give him money, buy him stuff for simple things; make you less lonely and entertain you sexually, he’d be damned to ruin your fun. And his. Dante takes lingerie in his hold, silently looking at your face to see the sparkle in your eyes - you are happy and grateful. This is enough for him. 

It is tight. He doesn't understand how, but he was able to put it on him without ripping and ruining the expensive fabric. It stays tight on his chest, the soft dark violet curves of lace press against the hard muscular skin. Squishing slightly his nipples. The horizontal strap sits on his waist, hugging his curves like it belongs here and forcing his mind to wonder with many doubts. Is his waist so narrow? Or did you just somehow measure his parameters? Appearing to your eyes in it, engulfing in the glimpse of admiration in them and you almost jump to your feet with a mascara tube in your hand. Again. Dante doesn't question, leaning to you so you’d be more comfortable to apply the black mascara to his white lashes. It emphasizes his bluish eyes. 

Ready to go. Finally.

This hits harder when you are close to get inside just to sit in the passenger seat. He stops you, no way. There are many raunchy magazines in his car, forgetting to hide them. And the lingerie is so tight against his chest, etching into his skin like thorns right now. Of course you stand next to his car - no way Dante lets you in when his car is full of his dumb and guilty pleasure - he quickly hides them under the seat before giving a nod. The road is clean and a pretty thing can get inside without him disappointing you. Dante isn't even sure if you care about that, but he is a 43 years old man still jerking off to women in those magazines - a sign of loser and if he may differ, he is not. 

Your eyes dart to his hands on the wheel. Fingerless gloves. Dante always wears gloves, he has probably an entire collection of them too. Something he didn't realize, but you did. Gifting every now and then new pairs, unfortunately your sweet intention was a failure, not to admit that those are not to his taste - they cover his finger tips. Too elegant. Formal. Fingerless gloves are the way, probably not for you, unaware how suitable they are for every situation in life. And he needs to be ready. Of course, they provide warmth for his palms, but that isn't the point of them - the most important part is that they keep his fingers ready for action. Perfect for situations where precise handling is required, such as playing with your nipples. He needs to feel them stiffen in between his fingertips as they’d roll while applying perfect pressure on the sensitive nubs. 

The road was quick or maybe Dante was trying too hard to ignore the tightness of the lingerie, weirdly enough it creates new sensations, his cock grazes on the fabric, making it harder - the same happens with his nipples. This is pleasant and shivering friction, he wishes this evening ends quicker just to fuck you into the mattress of your bed. Or of your daddy. That man probably doesn't care how you spend the money he gives you. Car stays still in the parking lot as the light of the restaurant hints at the liveliness of the place. It plays on your faces, loud voices sometimes reach you just to end up muffled by the car. His palms slap his thighs as a gesture “i'm ready to go”.

“Wait! I forgot about this” you mutter, rummaging your bag before pulling out a rose elliptical shaped object. A sex toy, a small vibrator. “Unbutton your pants.”

He raises his eyebrow before you add. “Pretty please, baby?”

With a heavy sigh, Dante does as you asked - after all, so polite and with his favorite pet name. God, he needs to finger your pussy while his lips would suck on your clit on the backseat. And with lipstick? Hell, this would be even sweeter, dirtier, the sight of red marks on your pussy would be close to an art piece. His cock twitches, half-hard glistening with precum that has been leaking all this road and tainting the fabric, inviting you to lick them away.. It throbs harder as the colder, hard surface of the toy joins, the lingerie helps it to press against the tip - holding there. Anything after leaving the car feels surreal, not so important due to the steady vibrations against his cockhead.

If someone gave him the potion of truth right now and asked what you have been talking about all this evening - he’d ask them to shoot him because he has no idea. Zero thoughts, the most perfect one too. All his focus was not on the melting food on his tongue, unfortunately neither on your cleavage nor the prices on the menu, or how people were eyeing you both. Right now, he is at the edge of cumming in his pants like a schoolboy after kissing a girl for the first time. His cock keeps leaking the precum, shifting his position just to accommodate the boner straining against the lacy lingerie underneath his pants. Not sure, still in the best case scenario his jeans would have a clear small spot. Lingerie’s straps etch into his chest tightly, there would be left red marks after that with sensitive nipples, while vibrator keeps the buzzing sensation in his body, sometimes to play with him you’d set the intensity higher just to see him try to compose himself. That sex toy can be damned, he is a 43 years old man. The first wet dream he had was years and years ago, now he feels like a young man with sperm in his brain; sensitive to every hint of breeze, to every change in your gaze and to his own movement. 

You are supposed to pay for him, which you did multiple times and today is no exception. Financial field isn't his forte, but Dante can spoil you differently. And you don't seem to mind this, you like this. So it is a jackpot.Those are your relationship with him - comfy for him, gambling isn't his best  so debts with Lady won't pay themselves. Standing there, not focused on anything other than dumb lingerie etching in his skin with additional vibrations against his tip. Dante should be given an award for enduring all this. Your palm curls on the crook of his elbow just to pull him to some hall. Before that he heard you asking something, - too unfocused to listen to you or noticing weird glances from waitresses. Whatever. You push him into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Click!

The room is a single user one, clean and gives all the necessary privacy to the client better than Devil May Cry has, that one can’t even provide the light or flush the water, thank god your money keeps rent paid. Still, not comparable to the bar ones he has been to. They aren't as clean as this one, no luxuries but only yellowish lighting and sticky floor with someone throwing up loudly in one of the stalls. Some men can't even aim right. Nor do they have the wide mirror, like this was made with the idea for mirror sex. Maybe he is overthinking this, his thoughts are not always messed up with you but tonight there is no way not to think about you. You, oh, his mind generates the sight of you in different scenarios like a rapid flash; your twisted with pleasure face, your perfectly manicured nails, the eye guiding curve of your waist to your hips and your drenched cunt, puffy lips after a long session playing with it. All this, while his eyes messily drift on you, standing in front of him and leaning back. Palms hold the edge of the cold, wide flat surface - using sink as a leverage. 

Dante leans in, lost in the desire to finally, for god’s sake kiss you but the moment ends up ruined - you tilt your head away, not giving what he needs again. 

“A kiss? Mmm…” You hum. Your hand creeps to the button of his jeans and he sighs. Anticipating the freedom from the tightness. “Today my kisses ARE expensive” 

The fly is unzipped and unbuttoned, you can see what a mess he has been making all this time; lingerie is already drenched while the toy feels sticky under your fingertips. His cock bobs to his hip, twitching in the air with many beads of pre-cum rolling down from his aching tip just begging for any kind of attention. Who are you to deny it? Eventually your hand goes in contact, and it twitches in your fist, gripping his leaking cock, painfully hard and the small vibrator is finally far away from him. He didn't notice how it got placed on the sink, a rose object tainted with traces of his precum. Your face feigns sadness, like you are disappointed to end up without kisses too. Batting your eyelashes, like butterflies’ wings. Messing with him. 

“This lipstick cost a looot…”

“A lot?” Dante muses, your hand begins slowly pumping his cock, gripping tightly while making those sweet, steady movements - up and down. He swallows down a moan. Like a thirsty man in front of a cup of water, Adam’s apple bobs as his throat feels drier than it has ever been. His eyes jump to your thighs. Warm, soft and homely - he can imagine his head in between them. 

“50 bucks.” 

“Do I look like I give a damn?” His hand creeps up to hold your jaw and leans in to pepper your cheek with kisses, leaving a heavy hot red marks as the pace becomes messier, brushing the angle of your jaw and his eyes are full with the burning need to fuck you finally. This is too much. “Spoiler, I don't. Lipstick be damned.”

You giggle as he pushes your legs apart, spreading them wider to settle in between them easily. His hips buck into your hand and you know damn well what he needs right now. It is all written on his face, with the needy glimpse in his blueish eyes as his chest rises up and down heavily. His hands travel lower, to pull the skirt of your dress higher exposing your clothed pussy. His fingers curl underneath the fabric, pulling it aside to get the glimpse of it. It glistens with your slick, strings of it clinging to the folds and begging him to drop down just to swirl his tongue or to suck on your clit. He doesn't think there is too much time to do it nor is there any intention to do that. 

With a low grunt coming from his lips, his hips messily press against your, bucking up as his cock press in between your folds - this is enough to coax out a moan, your warm wetness engulfs so softly as he grinds against your pussy in a erratic pace. Bumping your clit with his hard leaking tip, before it gets impossible to endure. He needs to be inside you. Your pussy. His tip nestles in your hole briefly, like something to heighten his need to fuck you, before slipping it inside in a slow thrust. Feeling your walls stretch across his cock as it gets deeper, clenching down on him in a tight grip engulfing him more into your warmth, as the curve of his cock presses sweetly against the spongy spot forcing your back to arch into him. Your pussy makes him dizzy, breathless even so much that Dante needs to take a pause, pulling his cock out - not entirely, leaving his tip inside you. He wants to move it in and out, over and over until all he could hear would be wet and filthy noises as your pussy would gush harder around him. Just to edge himself while a poor soul may knock on the door, but seeing your hips buck into his, trying to get his cock back inside his mind refuses to torment you. At least for tonight. His cock gets buried inside you again, dragging it back and forth, trying to keep the pace steady and his balls hit your ass after every hard slam. 

Your reflections sparkle behind you, your head rolls back and is so well visible in the mirror. His cock throbs in your pussy, leaning in to pepper your neck with the kisses, in between softly biting on the skin before his tongue laps on the reddish mark, licking away the pain. All while his gaze didn't try to drift away from your figures there. Like a porn movie without a recording - this one would hit so much differently, there would be you and it is better than any professional plastic bimbo out there. His hips rut against you roughly slowly becoming messier, all he can focus on right now is the flesh-hitting sounds mixing with wet ones too. Dante doesn't care anymore, his balls tighten with every hard slam. And your shameful moans coming from your lips, trying to keep it low. Your tits bounce with every particularly hard thrust while your pussy clenches harder in a silent plea to fill it, not only with his cock, but cum too. 

Dante is a simple man, even your silent wish is a command which he will be happy to obey.

Two and more bites on your throat, before a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Your body shudders eventually too, as your walls spasm harder around him with the crushing wave of orgasm hitting you both, pleasant shockwaves dumb every thought in the head. His cock throbbed, finally spurting ropes of cum into you. The warm cum fills your pussy almost to the brim, and his mind is blank - there is a bliss written all over his face, his lips are parted. It is exhausting, flesh-hitting sounds are not heard anymore, replacing them with heavy panting. Trying to recover faster than you usually do.

It was quick, but you came too. Still, feeling like a dumb puppy that has done something wrong, he wants to apologize. For what? For cumming inside you so fast, but a quicker kiss on his lips dissipates that torment. Dante’s eyes dart around the walls, the corners of them just to check if there are any possible cameras. He rushed in again, shamelessly fucking you in some restaurant’s bathroom - what if it is recorded now? God, some lucky bastard would be jerking off of your moans and pretty face. You notice his frown, brushing your hand over his chest while looking at him through your eyelashes.

“There are no cameras, babe,” Your words calm the tempest that was forming in his chest. “it’d be illegal to install them in a bathroom.” Who is he to question your words anyway? With relief, he stretches his body even slightly. A loud rip can be heard and with it the tightness around his chest is gone too. Oops. You are much stronger than him to endure uncomfortable clothing for hours with layers of makeup. He prefers his women without it anyway.

[melanchol1cs]

HEAVEN IS BETWEEN HER LEGS.

leon kennedy x reader

word count: 1.5k summary: leon eating that pussy, craaazzyy styleuhh masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. porn with no plot basically, oral sex, fingering, teasing, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk leon (meow).

notes: boo. i probably could’ve thought of a better title than this, but considering this kinda just came to me on a whim, oh well. also, don’t mind if this sucks, i kinda wasted the last bit of motivation i had left just to finish this, so don’t expect anything from me in the next few weeks…

it wasn't uncommon for leon's days to revolve around getting his dick wet. and this particular mid-afternoon found him parked between your thighs, your legs draped lazily over his broad shoulders.

leon's busy tongue works its magic between your legs, his skilled mouth lavishing your most sacred spots with worship as he devours you whole. lost in a haze of pleasure, you couldn't begin to fathom how many minutes, hours, or even days he's had you spread out like this for him, your world narrowing down to the feel of his scruffy chin grazing your inner thighs and his insatiably curious lips seeking out every inch of your sweetest flesh.

perhaps it's still morning, or could the sun be high overhead casting a warm glow through the windows? time's become irrelevant when he's at work dismantling your resolve, reducing you to nothing more than a trembling mess of sensation begging for release.

you can't even begin to tally up the number of fingers he's got buried inside you, stretching your walls and coaxing out every drop of pleasure. all you know for certain is that it feels impossibly good.

those same large hands knead the globes of your ass, pulling you further open for his eager tongue. his other hand sneaks between your thighs, stroking and teasing over the hypersensitive skin until your back arches sharply off the couch in a silent plea for more.

you sighed and tangled your hands in his dirty blonde hair, urging his face deeper into your heat as he worked his way into you. leon made a mental note, his tongue flicking out to taste you anew: the spot where your thigh crests hit his chin when you're missionary, now, the dip where your knee bends, and the subtle groove that promises your clitoris...these geography lessons kept him occupied as you writhed against his lips and tongue with an impassioned 'ah'.

“fuuuck,” he growls against your soaked cunt, the vibrations almost enough to send you careening over the edge right then and there.

leaning into you further, he dragged his nose up your slit, savoring the musky taste before giving your clit a playful nip. he’s rewarded with a sweet, high-pitched sound that seemed to vibrate straight from your core into his palms pressed firmly against your asscheeks.

he loved the tiny quiver that ran through you each time his tongue or teeth brushed against your sensitive spot, the flush of pink that spread across your pale thighs.

leon hums, the low rumble vibrating against your wet flesh an additional torment you can ill-afford. not that you're trying much, really. your fingers continue to tug at the blonde strands of his hair, urging him deeper.

one fingertip swipes gently against your entrance before delving inside, the delicate invasion sending a shiver up your spine. he curves around your g-spot, relishing the subtle twitch of your inner walls in response. as he withdraws his digit with a lewd slosh, he brought it to his lips, sucking off your essence like a thirsty man rediscovering a favorite colada.

his gaze flicks up to meet yours, seeing how you're struggling to maintain eye contact in result of the overwhelming pleasure crashing through you.

"you like that?" he rasped, voice low and rough from the effort of speaking over the wet, slurping sounds of his ministrations.

the way you tighten around his tongue and the way your back arches told him all he needed to know. and maybe he was a sadist, a twisted little fuck, lapping at your wet slit over and over, denying you that final peak. but seeing the desperate way you clung to his hair, hearing the broken sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips, he couldn't bring himself to hold back, not now that he'd caught a glimpse of the fireworks in your pretty, glassy eyes.

he knows the telltale signs, the little tells that indicate you're teetering on the precipice. and hell if it doesn't make him harder.

but he's far from done with you yet. he gentles his touch, slowing his movements to a teasing pace that keeps you teetering on the brink of another release without quite reaching it. a soothing hum escapes his throat as he drags his thumb up to circle your sensitive clit, the touch so light it might barely register, but the effect is electric.

you're panting hard, gasping out his name like a prayer, a plea, a hymn to the divine sensation he's conjuring within you.

"come on baby, gimme another one," he coaxes, the words muffled by the flesh of your pussy. the words are slurred, almost indistinguishable from the rhythmic groans he's making as he eats you out with single-minded determination.

his own hand slides from your hip to gently part your lips, opening you further in welcome as he delves back in. the muscles in his broad shoulders flex beneath your thighs, the effort of maintaining position between your spread legs clear. but fuck, he's a stubborn one. unwilling to yield, even as the drool that escapes his lower lip drips onto the couch.

fuck, he's a damn masochist, too, because the desperation in your eyes, the way your voice cracks as you beg for release is like a sweet, sweet aphrodisiac to him. his cock throbs, weeping in its confines, eager to join the fray, but no, he holds back.

he's addicted to the view—your sweat-streaked face, flushed and slack, the glassy eyes locked on his, the plush thighs trembling with the effort of staying put.

he doubles down, tongue flattening against your weeping slit as he presses in deep. the squelching noises are so loud in the stillness, his ears echoing with the rhythmic wet blurp-blurp-blurp he's creating. he swirls that long, dexterous muscle around your throbbing clit before plunging back to your tender insides, over and over and over again.

to him, you taste divine, an intoxication of sweat, need and the tangy sharpness of arousal he drinks from greedily. his fingers slide up to press firm and unyielding against the shell of your ear, blocking out the world as he tongue-rapes you with an unrestrained intensity you barely understand but crave so deeply. when he senses your body start to wind down, the thrumming ache receding, he abruptly changes tack.

his fingers play around with your clit, tracing abstract patterns meant to torment and tease. your hips buck reflexively, seeking more even as your body screams for mercy. and fuck, now that he's got that addictive rhythm down, you know you're a goner, fucked six ways from sunday and you'll thank him for it later.

“lee- leon, please—“ your pleas slip out in ragged gasps against the backdrop of his relentless ministrations.

he could play coy, keep driving you to the brink before letting you crest, drawing the sweet, mindless pleasure out even longer. but he so badly wants to see (and feel) your complete surrender to him, his greedy tongue devouring you, his hands bringing you closer and closer.

his balls ache, his cock straining against the zipper, begging for freedom to bury itself deep inside you, to feel your tight, slick heat engulfing him, milking him for all he's worth. but no, not yet, not until you're wrung dry, trembling and sobbing on the edge of oblivion. that's the real prize here, watching you break apart at his mercy, your sweet surrender a reward he craves above all else.

leon's movements become frenzied, his pace a blur of tongue and lips and teeth as he chases that elusive peak, determined to push you over the edge, to hear you scream his name as you come undone on his face.

he's a goddamn addict, and this is his fix, and fuck, it's the best drug in the world.

“come on baby, do it for me…”

he utters against your soaked slit before he curls his tongue into that perfect 'come-hither' formation, seeking out the swollen little bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. one, two, three languid swirls around it, stoking the embers of your arousal until it's a raging inferno capable of incinerating any thought of restraint.

your hips jerk wildly, trying in vain to grind against his relentless tongue or mouth or whatever he's using to torment your oversensitive clit and swollen lips into one glorious, never-ending orgasm.

the pleasure is so overwhelming you barely register the choked-off cry that rips from your throat.

when the aftershocks finally subside, leaving you limp and trembling against the couch, he finally releases you, pulling back to admire his handiwork with a cocky smirk. your thighs still clench weakly, trying to keep him close, but he's not about to complain.

you're half dazed and delirious, and leon’s breathy whispers barely penetrate the haze of lust clouding your mind.

“just one more baby, please?”

tags: @bonnibuckets @kuntprodukt

[melanchol1cs]

hehe ily pookie ^.^

literally us rn:

[melanchol1cs]

i <3 my mutuals hehehe :3

[melanchol1cs]

my dream as a fanfic writer is for one day, one of my fics to be someones comfort fic. like the fic that they reread when they don't feel good and want to be happy. i want my words to comfort someone one day

[melanchol1cs]

the kitten was caught :(

[melanchol1cs]

ily eva, thank u for the tag!! <3

tags (no pressure): @lovelake @bonnibuckets @vesperaominosum @blythedolly @sadest-bookshelf + anyone else who wants to join

TAG GAME

first pin that shows up on your pinterest when you search: animal, hobby, tattoo, and celebrity crush

omg ty @bonesinplywood for the tag!! this was super fun :3

no pressure tags: @solardrop @losermuse @harlotistic @vaaaaaiolet @rigorwhoring

[melanchol1cs]

[melanchol1cs]

[melanchol1cs]

the person holding the knife was so mesmerizing i forgot i was bleeding.

[melanchol1cs]

I NEED YOU (I BREATHE YOU)

Dante Sparda x reader | 18+ MDNI. SMUT, female reader, sugar baby&sugar mommy dynamics, age gap(reader is in her 20s), vaginal sex, unsafe sex, creampie, teasing, blowjob, nipple play, tits sucking, cowgirl position, light feminization.

Summary: Dante isn't the best in the financial field. Too many debts, every cent he gained at missions they slipped through his fingers simply trying to finally close those damn debts - so a good question emerged in his mind; can a man be a sugar baby? At his age? Turns out the only woman that wants him is younger than him.

notes: this is unplanned and a quick fic, wrote it without too much thought and i didnt even proofread it so if you see mistakes then you are wrong and ignore them, english isnt my first language anyway. reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

Dante isn't the best in the financial field, doesn’t mean he is dumb - last time he opened a dictionary the definition of smart didn’t include the ability to manage one's money well. Too many debts, every cent he gained at missions they slipped through his fingers like sand by paying too much stuff and trying to finally close those damn debts - any good bank would tell him to fuck off and ban him from even thinking about setting the foot there. 

So a good question emerged in his mind; can a man be a sugar baby? At his age? Only sugar babies he heard of were young women in awful financial need or just with daddy issues. Jackpot! Hit the bullseye - he is both, with an additional bonus of mommy issues, if not worse. There shouldn't be a sex discrimination, men can work for those money not worse than women, surely there would be a woman of his age - in need of a good dick and waste her money. 

Turns out the only woman that wants him is younger than him. By 20 years. Where the fuck do you get money? Daddy’s money, probably. He wishes that's not true cause at his 43 the less drama from strangers the better it is. And he just wants to throw those debts in the bin finally. Perhaps there is some kind of sugar baby chain he isn't aware of? Patience and silence, Dante, money doesn't like shit talking - and you are too perfect for him, so fucking eager to feel his hands on your pretty body. This is weird, unusual even - companionship for such a pretty tight piece while you could find any other better man than whatever the mess he is.

And you like him too much for a sugar mommy. God, can he even call you like that? Mommy. Sugar. Sweet like one, but not a mom. Yet. His coat collection became richer than before, some stuff he'd never wear, but it is a nice thing to have - just to watch or give it to Nero, boy clearly doesn't believe Dante found someone finally. Maybe some devils were just too much into fashion. 

“Did you rob a bank? What the fuck, Dante?” Nero frowns at the sight of another new coat on Dante, leather one - not those used and already patched leather, like rings of cut tree showing their age. No-no, this one hugs his shoulders nicely and if he even bothered to button it then the curve of his waist would be hugged nicely. “Since when is there a big demand for you?”

“Or maybe someone learnt how to settle down“ Trish would poke at him, ambiguously raising her eyebrow. Damn her.

“Ehhh… who knows,” Dante shrugs. She eyes his face, probably already caught his uncertainty. Uncertain if he even should tell his sugar mommy to them - you. Young, god, they’d think he is a creep - like raunchy magazines weren't already enough. 

Too many doubts, Dante, one should be grateful for money in exchange his dick would get wet so easily, of course, little to complain. Rent gets paid with debts, other additional stuff is just a nice dessert.

Maybe Dante likes this too much than he is supposed to.

His heart melts everytime your head lays in his lap, while he is on the couch, doing jack shit - “watching” some crappy movies (no raunchy magazine with you, he isn't sure if you would have approved those) and drinking beer - not the cheapest, the best one. The curves of your hair in his laps, luring him to rest his hand on you, brush away the curls from your face to see your half lidded gaze settled on him and feel the warmth of your silk skin. Curling like a cat, trying to draw out of his warmth before returning it back by sucking him dry.

“What are you watching?” your voice pulls him out of the trance you've given him just with your presence. Somehow he doesn't even know himself, his eyes dart to the screen that has been illuminating your bodies for a good hour. A cheap movie with a bimbo with over exaggerated curves and some cliche muscular hero - it’d be a miracle if those actors didn't end up washed up after two years of their career. 

“Whatever on the TV” He shrugs, not wanting to admit he just put some crap. It is good food for your brains after a hard day. You hum mindlessly, as your fingers creep up under his shirt to feel his skin better. And he shivers, going straight to his cock with the image of you kissing his happy trail just to take his dick in your mouth. Sweet, better than magazines - they dont suck him off as you do, nor do they get wet his dick.

“Doesn't sound fun” Dante raises his eyebrow at your words, taking a quick sip of his beer.

“What’s fun for you?” His finger pokes on your forehead “I believe I’m fun enough” 

“Not shitty movie with bimbos and beer clearly” 

Dante stays silent, purses his lip thoughtfully,- more like a disapproval. He can't really voice it. But you are right. 

“Baby” your hand raises his shirt, his abs tense after getting exposed to the air and your gaze. Your fingers brush on the hard surface, squared shapes on his stomach are so pleasant to trace your finger tip on - lower and lower to his white happy trail like a sign guiding your eyes to the zipper of his jeans. Unzip me! Like a present.

“Mmm?” Baby… Baby, b-a-b-y… Baby, - god he likes this so much, how it rolls on your tongue like a candy melting slowly just to leave a cavity - the one he wouldn’t get rid off. His cock throbs beneath the fabric. 

“I have a present for yoouuu” And you have all his attention now, even more than before. He hopes it is something expensive or just cash - not that he doesn't like gifts, it’d be sad to sell them and unlikely he will anyway. 

You sit up, pulling out a long little dark object, he has seen it multiple times - lipstick, Trish uses identical one. It makes him feel weird. 

“What's that for?” Dante raises his eyebrow. Pop! It opens and slides out a sharp tip with the pretty cold red color. He isn't the expert here, but looks like a new buy - smells nice too. 

You don't answer. Your fingers grip his cheeks, squeezing them to purse his lips with a glee smile on your own. 

The curve of the lipstick presses on his lip, slowly sliding side to side and covering his slightly dry skin with a new color - your eyes lit up, like he has never seen before in you, getting off of the sight of lipstick on him and he can’t even say anything. Another pop! And something next to his eyes - trying not to blink too much, but he will be judged tonight cause it feels impossible. His eyelashes and eyes aren't used to the mascara. 

“You look gorgeous,” your eyes scan his face, finally finishing your job. “Maybe we should go to some places too..” You slip lower. “Some expensive restaurant,” On your knees in front of him now. “Maybe with a dress too, like a pretty girl.”

Dante’s eyes are set on you in between his spread legs, caressing his hardening cock under the jeans before they free it. Unzip, unbutton and tug on his boxers -  easy, simple. And he groans just from the anticipation. His cock bobs up to his hip, hard flesh with trimmed pubes - he isn’t a teenager to even care about his or someone’s body hair. And you don't seem to mind. Your gaze traces his cock, the red tip with an already formed bead of pre-cum on the slit, flinching under your gaze as a plea for your mouth to wrap and taste the light bitterness on your tongue. To trace his tip and underneath it with your tongue, slowly moving to the base and to feel the prominent vein of his cock pulse before cumming in your mouth.

Your palm curls on his cock, gripping it steady and Dante can see a new manicure - pretty, dark red with a sharp kitty-like shape slowly stroking his dick.

“Pretty nails..” He lets out and you sparkle up like a Christmas tree - a subtle detail can easily excite you, reminding him how young you are. Confirming his theory too - you may have daddy issues too.

Your lips press against his tip, slowly kissing around it. What a tease for him, your tongue peeks out to lick away precum his tip leaks before sinking your mouth on his cock. The warm and wet heat of your mouth envelops it, your tongue flicks along the shaft. Dante can feel himself getting harder and his hips buck back in response, letting quiet groans.

Briefly his tip brushes at the back of your throat, forcing another buck of his hips into your mouth before it pulls away from his cock. You cough slightly, having a hard time to take him entirely in your mouth - deepthroating isn't the born talent, more like an acquired skill. Dante pats your cheek with a cocky smirk.

“Don't bite off more than you can chew, doll” His hand creeps in your hair to push you up. Your lips are puffier than before, glistening with the saliva and the sight makes his cock throb painfully. His cock twitches in the air. 

 “Fuck, come on” Dante grunts, too impatient, pulling you up and his fingers dip in your plush thighs, the skin squeezes softly in between free space of them. “Your gorgeous girl needs to feel your pussy” He smirks, leaning back on the couch. “You wouldn’t deny me, right?”

You straddle him, your pussy hovers over his wet cock, as his arms snake around your waist - slowly pushing your hips lower: his tip nudges your hole, slipping inside and burying himself deep inside you. Warmer, wetter and so much better than your mouth, your walls stretch around him so right, gripping his hard skin tightly - surely you will feel every little curve of his cock inside you. Pressing and hitting your g-spot is so good too, like you were born to have him inside your pussy - or vice versa, he was born to be used by you. Your hips roll together with your body, it arches into him, his cock sinks deeper into your pussy and your clit grinds against his pubic bone - coaxing more moans out of you, as his arm slowly coils around your waist to pull you closer.

Your tits bounce so well in front of his face - in the sea of pleasure he leans in to bury his face in them. Slowly kissing and biting on the plush surface, coaxing more moans with a sweet perfect arch of your back. His hand creeps up to knead your boob, while sucking on the nipple of the other. Hard bud against his tongue, slowly sucking on it. Light bite, while his eyes are set on your expression twisted in pleasure. He could die here and now - but satisfied and fulfilled as a man. 

He can feel his balls tighten easily, slapping against your ass as you keep riding him. So close, you are too, after all his playing with your tits didnt go to waste. Your pussy clenches tighter his cock, signaling your own orgasm is approaching too. His hips bucked up to meet yours in a messy pace as everything became more and more overwhelming. With a final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, giving last and soft kisses to your tits. Your body shudders eventually too, your walls spasm harder around him as the crushing wave of orgasm hits you, pleasant shockwaves dumb every bad thought in the head. His cock throbbed, finally spurting ropes of cum into you. You rest on him. Your heavy breathings feel  the room, no more flesh-hitting and wet sounds, just you and the forgotten movie rolling on the tv - some crap dialogues in the background you both don't care about.

Dante was last to get hold of himself, you leaning back brought him back to you. Your hair sticks to your skin, forming wavy forms and giving a much cuter look he has never seen you having before. Something is missing. 

“No kissing for your best girl?” Dante teases again, a toothy smile on his face flashed from sex and you notice his lipstick got smeared and messy without your ministrations. A sparkle of jealousy, or whatever it is. Not sure why and from where. Your hand runs through his white strands just to grip and crush your lips into his. Smearing even more the lipstick on his mouth, but this time tainting yours too with that pretty red. His mouth opens to deepen the kiss, tongue brushes at the seam of your lips just to end up denied and pulled away from you just to meet your own toothy grin dirtied with lipstick. 

Huh, seems like he ended up kissblocked. Not cockblocked, at this point uncertain what's better end for him.

[melanchol1cs]

𝘋𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦!𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

Fresh-Faced Good Boy He’s still that wholesome, eager-to-please guy. First day on the force, he shows up too early, shirt pressed, tie straight, coffee in hand for everyone. Literally everyone. He’s the guy who says “yes, ma’am” to sweet old ladies and holds the door open for everyone at the precinct. Just an absolute ray of sunshine.

Dates Straight Out of a Rom-Com Dates are wholesome af. Bowling nights where he tries to act cool but ends up laughing at himself when he gutters three in a row. Weekend flea market strolls, late-night diner, watching old dramas and critiquing the procedures with a mouth full of popcorn. He loves driving you around (despite being an ass driver). One hand on the wheel, the other reaching for yours. He’s totally the “I made a playlist for us” type.

Smitten as Hell He falls hard and fast. Gets this goofy smile when he talks about you. His coworkers tease him mercilessly for it, but he doesn’t even deny it. Always says things like, “You’ve gotta meet them, seriously...they’re amazing,” to literally everyone. You’re his favorite topic.

Overachiever He’s still trying to prove himself, and that spills into your relationship. Plans perfect little surprises, keeps track of your favorite coffee order, and acts like any mistake on his part is the end of the world. He’ll literally apologize for sneezing too loud around you. That’s how much he wants to be a Good Boyfriend™.

Softie He gets along so well with kids. You see him talking to a little boy at the station one day, kneeling down to their level, asking about their toy dinosaur, and you just know: yeah, he’s The One. Also, animals love him. He’s the type to stop mid-patrol and feed a stray cat, then text you a blurry picture like, “new friend 🐾”

Nervous Confession The way he asked you out is SO awkward and endearing. He fumbles through it, “I mean, only if you want to—like no pressure—just maybe dinner? Not like, dinner dinner—unless you want dinner dinner?” You say yes, and he’s all boyish smiles, like he just won the lottery (he did).

He's Always Checking In Texts like, “Hey, did you eat yet?” or “Let me know when you get home safe.” He genuinely cares.

Loves Being Domestic with you Grocery runs with you are his idea of peak romance. He’s pushing the cart, tossing in snacks he knows you love, and grinning when you catch him sneaking in too much cereal. Makes you breakfast on his days off. Pancakes shaped like hearts that are kinda wonky but made with so much love.

Officer Kennedy Is Kinda Bad at Saying No People at the station totally take advantage of how nice he is. He’s always covering shifts, staying late, running errands. You’re the one who gently reminds him, “You don’t have to say yes to everything, Leon.” He pouts, “But they needed help...” You roll your eyes, then kiss his forehead.

He's Weirdly Obsessed With Holding Your Hand On walks? Holds your hand. Sitting next to each other? Pinkies linked. Driving? One hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, or fingers laced with yours over the center console. Says he just likes “knowing you’re there.”

Brings You Little Things All the Time Coffee. A cute sticker. A weird magnet from the gas station. A rock that “looked kinda cool.” He’s always thinking of you. You’ve got a growing drawer of “Leon Things” and every time you add to it, your heart gets a little softer.

He's Secretly Incredibly Sentimental Keeps notes you wrote him in his wallet. Has a photo of you taped inside his locker. Saved your first voicemail and listens to it sometimes when he misses you. You tease him for being sappy and he just grins, shrugs, and goes, “Guilty.”

[melanchol1cs]

this is how tag searches feel

[melanchol1cs]

you season 5 was crazzzyyy

[melanchol1cs]

would you guys be down to read leon drugging reader at the bar lollll… 😵‍💫😖

[melanchol1cs]

let me hear you.

—♡ you’re a famous popstar and leon kennedy is your beloved bodyguard. between the public eye and having to keep your relationship private for your safety, leons professionalism is once again tested.

—♡ warnings: bodyguard!leon, jealous/possessive, men being gross, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected p in v, choking, size difference, pet names.

leon never used to be the possessive type until you landed in his grasp. even though he knew nobody could ever steal you from him, it was a quiet fear of his. the thing is, to the public eye, leon was nothing but your bodyguard. your protector. although, most people were afraid of him based on his physique. standing at 6ft tall with arm muscles the size of the average human head tends to scare off weak insecure men, he would constantly have to witness these men lusting over you. his girl, and it made him seethe. It was hard to continually remind himself that this was part of his job, and you were a famous popstar. obviously, you're going to get a lot of attention, and he was ashamed to admit that it still bothered him. 

like today. he overheard two men talking about you, he didn't recognize them. which was quite rare, considering most of the time these award show afterparties were full of other extremely popular musicians. but no matter who was in that room, and how famous they were, you always stole their attention and lustful gazes. 

“just look at her, god. the things i’d love to do to her…” the man says to his friend, shaking his head in what appeared to be disbelief as he watched you speak to one of your friends. 

“i know, did you see her new music video? leaves very little to the imagination for sure” the other man chuckled. before the two could say anything else, you finally spotted leon standing behind the two and a delicate smile graced your face. the boys then turned around, finally noticing leon standing there. they went pale in the face as you approached. knowing that he’d definitely heard every word they said based off the angry look leon was giving them. he could truly be terrifying when he wanted to. you’d seen that side of him many times, but never aimed at you of course. leon was a powerful man, able to get rid of them with a simple snap of his finger. you stood next to him, not realizing his displeased expression until you’d tilted your neck up to look into his eyes. he was still staring at them.

“leon, is everything ok?” you asked, tone worried as you followed his gaze and set your eyes on the two men you hadn’t even noticed before. he didn’t respond, his large hand wrapped around your arm as he led you away from the area. not questioning a single thing as it was crystal clear something was bothering him a significant amount. once the two of you had made it back to your hotel room, you turned to look at him as he closed the door.

“are you mad because they were looking at me? because you know i’d never even think to-” you began to explain.

“i know you wouldn’t.” leon interrupted, and your gaze softened.

“then what’s wrong?” you ask once again, approaching him slowly, looking into his eyes. he eventually met your eyes after a moment. “what were they saying?”

“nothing that you need to worry about, doll.” he reassured, resting his forehead against yours. never would you have imagined leon could be so soft.

“alright,” you say, a soft smile reappearing on your face. “i’m just gonna freshen up a little, ok?” you add, pressing a kiss to his lips before approaching the bathroom. leon sat down on the couch, hands rubbing his face as he tried to forget about what he’d heard earlier in the night. which was almost impossible, considering he heard those exact voices outside of the door. the familiar anger began to rise once again as he got up from the couch and passed towards the door, opening it quickly and immediately spotting the same smug faces he was mentally murdering moments ago.

they both gulped, eyes wide as they stood in front of the front door a meter from yours. they quickly entered the room to avoid confrontation. leon stood there for a moment, wondering what the fuck they were doing in the room next to yours. before he could do anything else, your voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“was someone at the door?” you ask, he turned his head to face you. looking at you adorned in one of his large shirts. quietly admiring the way your body drowned in it.

“two boys just went into the room next door. I assumed they’d reserved this floor for… other famous people i guess.”

“the ones that you were giving the death stare to earlier?” you ask, a cheeky smile on your face. “baby, they are famous.” you chuckle as you stared at your boyfriend. he shook his head, trying to hide his displeasure to the information he’d just heard.

“well, excuse me for not being up to date with pop culture, i dedicate all of my time to protecting you”

he says, you loved when he’d get sassy like this. their words from earlier kept repeating in his head as he approaches you, placing his large hands on your waist, kissing your lips delicately. “they don’t look like the famous type,” he says as he places his mouth to your neck, the feeling of his lips tickling your skin in the most delicious way. you whined softly. and that’s when he got the idea. the idea that would show those stupid guys who you belong to. who really gets to fuck you.

he smirked against you, lips abusing your skin and his hot tongue trailing over your sensitive spots. his hands found your ass, squeezing your cheeks sadistically which caused a sudden gasp to escape your throat. normally, leon would place his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet when you weren't at home, just in case people were around. the hotel was unreasonably fancy, but the walls still seemed paper thin, but this time he didn’t. you didn’t question it. you never questioned him.

“that’s it, let me hear your pretty sounds,” he says as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the pristine king-sized bed. 

he dropped you onto the mattress and hovered his frame over yours. his lips found yours once again, and you whined as his tongue slipped between yours. he’s all too familiar with how vocal you can be. even with his hand over your mouth or your head buried into the pillow, he can hear you crystal clear. he knew anyone nearby would be able to hear if he didn’t hush you, and that’s exactly what he wanted. for those stupid little pricks to hear how good he makes you feel. over and over.

his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft skin. you whined louder this time. you were so goddamn submissive under his touch, it drove him crazy.

he raised his stolen t-shirt up your body, exposing your torso as he lowered his head. trailing kisses all over your soft skin. you were addicted to the feeling of his stubble against you, he’d barely done anything and you were already a whimpering mess. his head trailed lower and lower. licking the skin above your panty line as he hooks his fingers into the edges of the fabric. effortlessly peeling them down your legs and throwing them off to the side.

he began peppering kisses to your inner thighs, feeling his hot breath against your dripping cunt was driving you wild.

“leon…” you whimpered loudly, legs trembling in suspense of the act that he was about to do. you were expecting him to respond. something like “be patient” or “good girls know how to wait” but he didn’t, he latched his lips onto your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. your hand flew to your mouth, biting down on the side to muffle your moans. but leon stopped.

“no, baby girl. let me hear you,” you nodded your head, staring down at him between your legs. noticing the glistening shine of your wetness on his chin under the dull lighting of the room.

“good girl,” he said before diving back in. aggressively eating you out as he’s done many times before. your moans were quick to fill the room. your hands flew down to grasp at his blonde hair. you spread your legs wider, giving him as much access to you as possible. to say he was addicted to your sweet essence was an understatement. the way you shivered with every delicate swipe of his tongue against your sensitive crevices. his tongue studying each and every one, torturously slow, with enough force to send you into oblivion.

“l-leon, i’m about to… i can feel it-” you whine breathlessly as your orgasm approaches. hitting you fast before you could continue your stuttered sentence. loud whiny moans filling the room as you rode out your high.

he didn’t halt until your legs began twitching, licking up all of the cum you provided for him in exchange for an orgasm. he climbed back up your body slowly, leaving sloppy kisses up your stomach along the way.

he was proud of himself knowing how good he could make you feel with little to no effort. enamored by the way your body reacted to his touches. he know the boys would’ve heard everything he’d just done, but of course, he wasn’t satisfied just yet. his hand wrapped it’s way back around your throat once his face aligned with yours, his chin damp with your cum.

“all wet,” you said, smiling as your hand raised to his face. tracing along the wet area of his face. “wanna make somethin else wet too,” you added, moving the same hand between your bodies and palming his hardened cock over his pants.

“where did you ever learn to be such a dirty girl?” he grunted, a slight smile on his face as he moved your hand and pinned it beside your head.

“we both know the answer to that,” you bit your lip as his hand tightened around your wrist, looking up at him through squinted eyes. he moved back to remove his shirt, and you bit your lip as he did so. you followed his steps and removed your own. clothes thrown carelessly to the floor.

he unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down, not bothering to completely remove the articles of clothing. he was getting impatient. he hovered over you once again, his large hands separating your thighs as far as they could go and lined himself up with your dripping entrance. he wasted no time, thrusting forward and impaling you with his cock with no warning. you screamed, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as he quickly set a brutal pace. your back arched off the mattress, pressing firmly against leons as he pounded into you. legs wrapping tightly around his muscular body.

“oh, f-fuck. leon!” you moaned, the head of the bed clunking against the wall with each of his intense thrusts. he grunts into your ear sadistically, fingers leaving crescent shapes on your thigh as they dig into your skin.

“wanna feel you cumming around me, baby. think you can do that for me?” he asks, you nodded your head. tears dripping down your cheeks as the pleasure because too much for your body to cope with. it didn’t take long for another orgasm to pulse through your body, legs trembling around leons torso as you chant his name. before you could process anything else, he’d flipped you onto your stomach. shoving his cock deep inside you once more as he held your hips to him. despite being extremely sensitive from your previous orgasms, you still craved more of him. your loud moans echoed off the walls as he took you from behind. clenching your walls around him to coax his orgasm out of him. craving the feeling of his cum flooding into you. 

you felt another orgasm approach as his thrusts became sloppy, indicating that he was also moments away from finishing.

“leon!” you moan, clutching the bedsheets below as the two of you came together. leon eventually stopped once your highs had subsided. he tiredly flipped you onto your back once more, tracing his rough fingers along your damp cheek.

“mm… leon… y’think anyone heard us?” you ask, voice breathy as your tired body rests comfortably beneath him.

“hard for em not to,” he replies, tracing his finger along your bottom lip before placing a soft kiss there.

and it was safe to say they’d definitely heard based on the looks they were giving the two of you the following morning. leon smirked proudly, hand resting on your waist as the two of you walked past them. and even if they'd somehow not heard leon fucking your brains out, your obvious limp would easily give it away.

[melanchol1cs]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤFRESH FLOWERㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Leon S. Kennedy x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It doesn’t start with blood. Not yet.

Leon first notices you during one of his brief returns to the States. A quiet afternoon at some government building—you’re not even special. Not supposed to be. Just someone who works at the same place, maybe typing up field reports he never reads, passing him in the halls with your head down, apologizing too softly when your shoulder bumps his. You smell like vanilla and cheap drugstore shampoo. You hold a coffee cup like it’s the only thing anchoring you to Earth.

And that should’ve been it. He should’ve walked past you, like he does with everyone else.

But he didn’t.

Because you looked at him. Just once.

And you smiled.

Not some flirty thing. Not a “he’s hot” look. No—you looked at him like he was human. Like he wasn’t just a body with scars walking around on borrowed time.

Like maybe someone could love him, even if he didn’t think he deserved it.

From that moment on, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

At first it’s just your voice, your laugh, the way you never quite make eye contact unless someone makes you. The way you get flustered when people praise your work. How you always check twice that the microwave is actually off. How you twirl your pen when you’re thinking. He stores every detail. Files it away like evidence.

He learns your routines without meaning to. What time you clock in. Where you park. Which vending machine you like. What your grocery bags look like when you get off work.

And then he means to. He means to watch you. To learn you.

Because he needs to keep you safe. That’s what he tells himself. That’s always how it starts.

When he follows you home for the first time, it’s just to make sure no one’s tailing you. He tells himself that while he sits in his car across the street for two hours, watching your windows. Watching the light in your bedroom flicker. Watching your silhouette move. Watching your shadow get undressed.

He doesn’t touch himself.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s loyal. Monogamous. Faithful to a woman who doesn’t even know he’s hers.

And he is yours. In every sense. Every beat of his heart belongs to you. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know it.

You start finding little things. A better brand of coffee in the breakroom. Your broken office chair suddenly replaced. Your car tire mysteriously fixed when you were sure it was flat the night before. Your favorite sandwich waiting for you in the fridge with no name on it—but no one claims it when you eat it.

You don’t know it’s him.

You don’t know how much it calms him to do these things. How he holds your half-drunk coffee cup in his gloved hand like it's sacred, just to feel the warmth of where your lips once were. How he saves the wrapper of the gum you chewed, tucks it into his jacket pocket like a photograph.

It gets worse when he’s away.

When he’s knee-deep in rot and guts and monsters again, he hears your voice in his head. He reads your emails over and over, even if they’re not for him. He dreams about you begging him to come home, even though you don’t know he’s gone.

He kills faster for you. Survives harder.

Because you’re waiting. Even if you don’t know it.

And when he returns, looking tired and bruised, and you say something stupid like, “Rough day?”

He almost breaks.

Because you care. Even if it’s shallow, even if it’s nothing—it is something to him.

And it feeds that thing growing inside his chest. The thing with claws and fangs and your name burned into it.

He never means to cross the line.

But it happens. Of course it happens. All it takes is you crying one day. Quietly. In a hallway. And Leon finds you. Touches your shoulder. Offers you a handkerchief and silence. Just his presence.

You tell him your boyfriend broke up with you. You say it with a cracked voice, eyes on the ground.

Leon wants to gut the guy like a pig.

But instead, he hugs you.

He holds you like a man on fire.

And that’s when it truly breaks. Something in him. Something fundamental.

You’re his now.

After that, the jealousy gets sickening. He hates everyone who makes you laugh. Everyone who gets too close. Even friends. He wants to peel their eyes out. Crush their hands. Sometimes, he fantasizes about dragging you somewhere far away. Quiet. Safe. Just the two of you.

He wouldn’t hurt you. Never.

But he would chain you up if he had to.

Not to punish you. Never to punish.

To protect. To keep you safe from the world that breaks things. The way it broke him.

He watches you sleep more often than you’ll ever know. Sometimes in person. Sometimes through your webcam.

He buys you things you never ask for. Gifts that show up without a note. Perfume you once mentioned liking. A necklace that matches your birthstone.

Once, you come home to find your entire apartment cleaned. Nothing stolen. Just… cleaner. Neater. Lovingly touched.

You start to get scared.

But Leon doesn’t stop.

He can’t. He loves you. And love, to him, is everything. It's obsession, devotion, sickness, god. It's a bullet in the chamber with your name on it.

And if anyone ever hurts you—

They don’t live long enough to do it again.

You are the last light in his world of rot and smoke.

He would burn the planet to keep you warm.

And he will always be watching.

Just in case you forget that you’re his.

Forever.

There’s something desperate in the way Leon touches your name now. He types it into search bars like a prayer, like maybe the internet can tell him what you’re thinking. Where you are. Who you’re with. The idea of another man holding you, kissing you, looking at you the way Leon does—it makes his stomach twist. Makes his jaw clench.

You belong to him.

But it’s getting harder to pretend.

You’ve been acting different.

You’ve started locking your doors. Pulling your curtains shut. Changing your passwords.

He can feel you slipping. Slipping through his fingers like water.

And Leon—Leon doesn’t lose. Not people. Not you.

So he gets closer.

He takes a few vacation days and spends them camped outside your building in an unmarked car. It's not even that weird—he's done worse surveillance missions overseas. But this time it’s not a mission. This time it's personal.

He watches you go about your day like normal. Grocery run. Phone calls. Work. That little routine you built for yourself like a cage. You think it keeps the world out.

It doesn't.

Because he’s already in.

When he follows you on foot for the first time, it’s just to make sure you’re safe walking home. That’s what he tells himself.

But when your scarf slips off your shoulders and drops to the sidewalk, he picks it up like it’s something holy. Holds it to his face. Breaths it in.

You smell like vanilla. You smell like roses.

That night, he wraps your scarf around his knuckles like a bandage. Falls asleep clutching it. Dreams of you. Dreams of you soft and crying in his arms, telling him you love him, whispering you need him, “Don’t leave, Leon—please.”

He wakes up with his pillow wet from tears.

You start dating again.

Some guy from your friend group. You talk about him casually, like it’s nothing. Like it’s not a knife twisting in Leon’s gut every time your lips form his name.

Leon smiles when you tell him.

Tells you he’s happy for you.

But inside?

He’s already planning the guy’s funeral.

He follows him. Watches how he talks to you. How he touches you. How he doesn’t deserve you.

He thinks about how easy it would be to make it look like an accident. A mugging. A hit-and-run. Hell, Leon could make it clean. Professional. No trace.

But… no. Not yet.

Because you’re still looking over your shoulder. Still flinching at shadows. Still scared of the silence in your apartment.

You’ve noticed him.

You just don’t know it’s him yet.

So he waits. Watches. Smolders.

And then the guy hits you.

Not hard. Just a shove during an argument. You don’t report it. You don’t even tell Leon. You just show up to work with a shaky smile and red-rimmed eyes and act like everything is fine.

It’s not.

It never will be again.

Because Leon sees it.

And that night, the guy disappears.

You never hear from him again.

The cops never figure it out. You try to act like it’s not weird. Like he just left you. Like maybe it was your fault. Like you drove him away.

Leon lets you believe that.

He visits your place two nights later. Not as a stalker this time. Not hiding. No gloves. No mask.

He knocks on your door like it’s normal. Like he’s just your friend, checking in. Just Leon. Tired, sweet Leon. Blue eyes, tired smile.

He tells you he heard what happened. Says he wanted to make sure you’re okay.

And you let him in.

Because he looks at you with concern. Because he smells like gunpowder and leather and that shampoo he always uses. Because his voice shakes when he says your name.

Because deep down, you’re starting to feel safe with him.

Even though you know something's wrong.

He sits on your couch. You make tea. You talk.

And then—your hand brushes his when you hand him the cup.

And something shifts.

He leans in, too close. His breath is warm on your cheek.

He whispers, "I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

You don’t know what to say. You laugh awkwardly, try to change the subject. But he doesn’t move.

His hand catches yours.

His voice is hoarse. "You don’t have to be scared anymore."

You freeze.

And that’s when you know.

That’s when it hits you. The late-night creaks in the hallway. The lost scarf. The replaced groceries. The way your passwords kept resetting. The ghost of a man always watching.

You try to pull back. You try to make it seem casual.

But Leon is already smiling.

That same, tired smile he always gives you. That smile that hides too much.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” he says. “You just didn’t see me.”

You realize you’re alone in your apartment.

You realize he locked the door when he came in.

You realize you’re not leaving tonight.

And yet…

You don’t scream.

You don’t run.

Because his eyes are wide and glassy, like he might shatter if you do.

He doesn’t hurt you.

No.

He just sits there. Holding your hand. Eyes closed.

Like a dying man praying to a god that finally touched him back.

You should have kicked him out.

You should have screamed, called someone, fought.

But instead… you let him stay.

You don’t even ask why he’s here. Why he’s saying these things. Why the man you trusted is looking at you like he’s not just in love, but drowning in it. Suffocating in you.

You stare at him, hand still in his, and all you can think is:

He’s beautiful.

Not handsome. Not cute.

Beautiful.

His cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.

His lashes thick and black against that glassy blue.

His lips—soft, parted, like he’s waiting for permission to breathe you in.

And maybe it’s something about the look in his eyes—like he’s never been held right, never been kissed gently, never been told yes, I see you—that makes you hesitate.

Because maybe you’re a little fucked in the head too.

Maybe all those long nights of silence and unease did something to you.

Maybe you liked being watched. Liked the invisible eyes. The feeling of being wanted that much.

It made you feel safe. Precious. Loved.

You lean back against the couch, still watching him. Still trying to understand why you’re not afraid.

Your voice is soft.

“…How long?”

His eyes flutter shut like a prayer.

“Since the first time we meet.”

You let the silence stretch, heavy and strange.

His thumb moves across the back of your hand—slow, reverent. Almost worshipful.

Your lips twitch. You don’t know if it’s a smirk or a tremble.

“And you thought stalking me was the best way to deal with that?”

He doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

You laugh.

A dry, bitter sound. “You broke into my apartment.”

Leon tilts his head, blue eyes wide and childlike. “But I never took anything.”

A beat.

“Except your scarf. But that’s different. It smelled like you.”

He says it so seriously. So softly.

You study him. Really look at him.

Not just the sharp suit or the clean cut hair. Not the tired lines around his eyes or the faint stubble on his jaw.

But the damage under it. The cracks. The haunted corners of a man who’s killed too much, lost too much, lived through hell and came out with bleeding hands and a single need:

You.

And here he is. On your couch. Holding your hand like he might unravel if you pull away.

And god help you, but you feel something twist in your chest.

Not fear.

Possession.

Because if you’re the only one he sees—if you’re the reason he’s still breathing after all this time—then maybe it’s okay.

Maybe he deserves you. Maybe he’s earned the right to want this bad.

Maybe you want him just as bad too.

So you lean in, slow. Testing.

He stills. Like prey. Like something caught and trembling.

He’s bigger than you, stronger than you, but somehow in that moment, he looks breakable.

Your mouth brushes his ear.

“You ever touch me without permission again,” you whisper, “and I’ll gut you.”

His breath shudders out. “Okay.”

You pull back, searching his face. His pupils are blown wide. His lips are slightly parted.

“…But if you ask,” you murmur, “maybe I’ll say yes.”

And that—that—breaks him.

He kisses you like a starving man, like he’s dreamed of this so many nights he’s memorized the shape of your lips. His hands tremble as they touch your face, your jaw, your hair.

Like you’re something holy.

He doesn’t push for more. Doesn’t undress you.

Just clings to you like he’ll stop breathing if he doesn’t. Like he’s finally home.

And you let him.

Because maybe you’re both broken.

Maybe you like the way his love curves around you like armor. Maybe you like the idea of a man who would burn the world to keep you safe.

Maybe you like how it feels to be the center of someone’s universe.

Maybe you’re tired of being lonely.

That night, you fall asleep tangled together on the couch.

And when you wake up, your front door’s already unlocked. Your windows are cracked open. Your passwords are reset. There’s a knife under your pillow.

And a note on the table in Leon’s handwriting.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t miss me too much. — L”

You smile.

Because now you know.

You’re not just being watched.

You’re being loved.

And maybe that’s worse.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆