#tends to make you salivate a lot

[canisalbus]

why must Finns always tell people to try salmiakki? you guys sadistic or something?? visited over there some years ago and was given that stuff without explanation or warning and was told "just try it". and then the person laughed at my pain 😭 (and now I sometimes sadistically tell people to try it eheheh)

lmao love your blog tho, your art is very shaped and your dog men are very anguished and it speaks to me as a gay man from a very religious area (not religious myself, tho). also love reading your responses to asks, interesting stuff in there. anyway keep doing what you do! unless it's feeding salmiakki to unsuspecting foreigners, pls don't do that lmaooo

I guess it's just very funny to watch how people react to it! Salmiakki is extremely popular here and comes in many forms (my current toothpaste is salmiakki flavored, so are my d-vitamin supplements), yet it's absolutely inedible to many people who aren't used to it. They aren't offering it to people out of malice and I think in most cases you get a little warning beforehand, that it's a weird local food that might taste strong and unpleasant. I've known people who have moved here and gradually developed a liking for it. It goes well with milk chocolate and that mix might be a more palatable option if plain salmiakki doesn't appeal to you.

[yandere-daydreams]

Bull hybrid itto stealing a little mate away … just sayin

tw - non///con, unhealthy relations, themes of codependance.

hnnnnnn,,,, salivating over this actually,,, just imagine being a farmer starting in a small town and taking on a young bull hybrid from a recent retiree to help you tend the fields. itto is hyper-active, overly excitable, and just a little destructive, but he's strong and enthusiastic and admittedly, you've made just as many mistakes as he has, still finding your footing in a new place surrounded by new faces. it's nice, having someone to keep you company even when you're not out sowing or pulling weeds or one of the other countless chores that need to get done. he can be a little clumsy, sure, tall enough to get his horns caught on every doorframe he passes through and strong enough to break anything less sturdy than steel, but he has good intentions, and it means a lot to you to be able to see his smiling face every day.

it means so much to you, in fact, that you're willing to overlook just how many times he's let himself into your farmhouse at night, claiming he gets lonely out in the barn and just can't wait until sunrise to see you, to ignore the odd looks you get around town and the rumors of bulls that are just a little too quick to charge that you try not to listen to. to bide your time and mind your own and forgive itto time and time again until you find yourself bent over in the middle of your own crop fields, your cheek shoved into the dirt and itto on his knees behind you, mounting you. until you're being torn apart by his thick fingers and his cock and the inside of your thighs is painted with his cum, his saliva, a few drops of your own blood. until he's leaning over you, pressing tender kisses into the back of your neck as he promises to take care of his little mate, as he tells you not to make him wait so long, next time.

as he carries you back to your farmhouse and makes you regret ever trying to stave off the loneliness in the first place.

[mandalhoerian]

lamb to the slaughter | leon kennedy x reader

read part 1: moth to a flame pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader summary: ❛ You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince. ❜ It's as easy as that three word sentence for Leon to undo a month of moving on from him right after he comes back from Spain. Easy as surrendering to sleep. Eagerness for his uninhibited love makes you forget he isn't one to open up like that in the first place, you should have known the moment he showed up on your doorstep on his own volition that he wasn't your Leon. He'd only come back to spirit you away. Yet, each man kills the thing he loves, as a famous poet would say. But what about when the beloved lets herself be led to the killing? word count: Almost 25K (im sorry) warnings: DARKFIC, proceed with caution. porn with plot, switch leon, yandere leon (kinda? he's infected/plaga leon), lots of smut (face sitting, dry humping, couch sex, rough sex, mirror watching kinda its a window, chained leon, blowjob, tail riding, kinda bondage with chains, creampies, no protection dont be like this kids), jealousy, angst, things go to shit, abduction, leon infects you, protectiveness, confinement, psychic connection through plagas, corruption, consensual arousal-inducing venom. you got the bad ending. lmao dont look at me. we are not seeing the pearly gates notes: 🐑 i say bad ending for a reason, you can accept this as a sequel to moth to a flame or just ignore it! 🐑 leon's appearance here is inspired by the red eyes mod + the mechanic of his superior species is built on what we saw with krauser and all the plaga leon fanart i've seen. though he only lets his tail out and nothing else. 🐑 the pressure of leon's characterization got too much so i threw it all out of the window. now everyone can be equally upset. thank you for all the love, i hope you enjoy this!

🌀 read on ao3!

Leon comes back from Spain a bit different. 

Different is the specifically chosen word here because you’re not accustomed to seeing him like this. It might be you who’s the problem here, but right off the bat something’s out of place to you.

A pattern has been broken.

No contact with him for nearly a month and he appears on your doorstep one night with a dreamy smile on his face you could only imagine a younger, more carefree version of Leon could afford as if all the weight of this world has been lifted off his shoulders, and as if he isn’t here to pick up whatever he’s left behind after your break-up. 

You’re more flabbergasted than anything. He’s absolutely glowing. Healthy. His black compression shirt leaves little to the imagination underneath that leather jacket, and the tight jeans hug his legs in just the right places, your nose picking up the whiff of some rich cologne that would have you normally salivating over him had it not been for the timing. 

A delivery to home directly from your late night daydreams, tempting as a mirage in the middle of a desert, as he intends to be — you’re acutely aware why in the hell he’s dolled himself up at night knowing you’d be either reviewing some documents for work or getting ready for bed, all in your humble, homely peasant outfit. 

It doesn’t feel good knowing what might be the reason. Feels even worse sensing something’s up. 

The thing is… When Leon decides he’s done with ghosting you after the eventful business trips that have him dropping off the face of the earth, it’s almost always in bad shape. It’s rare that he breaks a bone or two, but purple, yellow and green are his colors, along with the sunken, red, and sleep-deprived, exhausted eyes. He comes back to you like a cat seeking refuge from the storm outside, for a safe place to get some rest where he can switch off the survival mode. And you’ve learned to prepare for these rainy days he tends to make his return on. 

This man standing in front of you with take-out dangling from his hand, relaxed and confident with light in his brilliant blues, perfectly silky hair, and a well-rested, handsome face that lacks all the gloom? You almost don’t recognize him. His soft and exuberant voice as he greets you, “Hey,” might as well belong to a stranger. “I look that bad? Haven’t seen you make that face in a while.”

“No,” you refuse automatically, squinting your eyes and trying to wipe the sleep off via rubbing, shaking the initial shock and the whiplash off, your hand tightens on the side of the door. The more entertaining quips have escaped you, such as: ‘More like, haven’t seen you in a while, and that, second.’ But of course your woozy first instinct is to relieve him, and rooting for how Leon can’t look bad even on the worst of days, but that’s irrelevant now, isn’t it? “Sorry, I’m a bit loopy.”

“Ah, shit.” He raises his wrist and shakes it so the sleeve of his jacket would pull back to reveal his watch. “I didn’t realize it was this late. God I am so sorry—”

“No, it’s fine—”

“I bring offerings for your time, if it’s any consolation.” He looks hopeful. God, when has he last been this youthful? It’s blinding. “Have dinner with me?”

You would have jumped at the offer one month ago and done your best to keep him around as long as possible, especially when he’s the best you’ve seen him in a long while — but he’s supposed to be a stranger to you now, an ex. You have tried to move on already, it’s such a betrayal to your overworked heart that the desire to bask in his presence is still strong as ever. 

“Hey, um.” Ever so slightly hiding behind the frame of the door, you watch as his face falls, your hesitance telling everything you can’t put into words out loud. “It’s too late for dinner.”

It comes out weird from your mouth, maybe you should have worded it differently — it feels like it’s not dinner you’re talking about, and him staring with a wrinkled line between his eyebrows as if he’s trying to control his countenance isn’t helping. 

“Should seriously focus on trying to break old habits,” he chuckles hesitantly, a voice crack towards the end of the sentence, and you have to break eye contact. “I forget my normal isn’t normal sometimes. I’m sorry.” 

You fold. 

Not because it’s what you always do, but to get whatever he wants out of the way and get him out of your life as abruptly as he decided to randomly come back today. You want this to be over already. “I’m making an exception for tonight, okay? You can’t come here like this anymore, Leon. Please understand.”

Leon's hopeful expectation slowly fades, replaced by a disappointed understanding. His eyes, once filled with a vibrant light, now dim slightly, and the confident aura that surrounded him wavers for a moment. He takes a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, before nodding slowly.

"I see," he says, carrying a tinge of sadness, you kick yourself inwardly for wanting to reach out and comfort him. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just... I wanted to see you again… To—to explain, I mean."

His words catch your attention, curiosity sparking a small candle light within you. Despite the whirlwind of emotions and confusion, you find yourself opening the door wider, gesturing for him to step inside.The way he visibly relaxes, shoulders deflating and the flash of an involuntary relieved, tiny smile on his face before he follows you inside makes your chest contract in endearment. 

This is a grown man you decided to let go. This grown man walked out on you. This grown man made you lose years of your life. This grown man doesn’t need your protection, you shouldn’t want to hide him in your ribcage, you’d be taking in a fish instead of a bird. 

The aroma of the take-out food fills the room, teasing your senses and reminding you of all the shared meals and late-night conversations you used to have. Memories flood your mind, threatening to break down the walls you had carefully built to protect yourself.

God, it hurts. He brought your favorite that he doesn’t like all that much. 

You go ahead and settle at the dining table, the take-out boxes placed between you and where he usually sits — where he used to sit whenever he came over, your base instinct embarrasses you. And as you open the containers, you look back to see what’s taking him so long or if he’s left to wash his hands, and notice that he’s just standing there in the hall, engulfed by the shadows, looking alert in the direction of the living room. You can’t see his face. 

“Is everything alright?” you ask, weirded out by how tense he is suddenly. 

He turns to you, and the kitchen light reflects strongly in contrast from his eyes precisely because he stands in the dark, like some cat. “It… smells.”

“What?” You walk over to him, mortified, trying to pick up what he’s talking about. “Is it the floor cleaner? I changed it to lavender recently. What, you don’t like it?”

“No, you… You—” He takes a few slow steps away from you as if you said something hurtful to him, awe and betrayal taking over his features. 

“Leon,” you try to reach out, confused. 

He’s looking you up and down, the weird shock he went through transitioning into perturbance. “Who is it?”

“What are you talking about—?”

“There is someone else?” He points towards the living with his chin, a look of devastation twisting his forlorn features, arms basically flattened to his side. “You brought them here and— and—”

An icy wave of chills wash over your body. “How do you know that?”

“Because it smells.” He brings a hand up and puts it on his middle as if it’s hurting, alternating between rubbing his nose and down to his chest again, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body. “Shit.”

Leon's reaction takes you aback, his sudden accusations leaving you bewildered. This is the most ridiculous thing you ever heard, what is he, an animal?  “Smells? You smelled him?”

You can’t fathom how he could have possibly known about someone else in your life, let alone the details of their presence in your home.

He gestures with his hand and slaps it back to his side, pressing his lips into a thin line before speaking. “Wonderful.” 

Never in a million years would you have expected to see Leon get bothered by another person in your life. He just isn’t the type to react, this has happened before because of course you tried him, to see if he’d get jealous the way you did — he didn’t, something about you having the right to be with anyone you want and that he can’t stop you. This was early into your ‘arrangement’ — where the line was blurred between hanging out and sleeping together, and you were naive enough to bring the scattered, floating letters between him and you together to define the word. 

This right here has to be about something else, bitterness maybe, that you could move on from him. It gets you worked up, blood slowly heating up. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. We’re not anything, Leon. Not anymore.”

Leon's gaze hardens, and for a moment, it seems like the fragility of hurt and anger flashes and trickles in. He sharply inhales, his chest rising and falling as he tries to steady himself. "I know we're not anything." He flexes his jaw, turning his face to the side in self-inflicted disappointment. "And I’m the reason, that’s on me. But damn, it’s only been a month and I’ve been miserable while you—"

You take a step closer, looking to find the middle ground in all of this. "While I’m just going about my life.” Confusion swirls in your mind as you struggle to comprehend Leon's reaction.You hadn't anticipated such a visceral response from him. You don’t know why the next second you’re trying to smooth things over to spare him, there’s no need. But you still are doing it anyway. “And he and I are friends—"

He tilts his head, something entirely cold and hostile under unreactive stoicism squares his shoulders, it’s that perpetually uninviting face of his that scares everybody off. His nostrils flare, but his voice is low and smooth. “Friends that fuck on the couch?”

“How did you—” It’s the cold chills again. “This is getting weird. How can you know that?”

Leon's eyes narrow, and the tension in the room becomes almost palpable, your nervousness almost makes it like the blue of his irises are brighter. He drops to a low, dangerous tone, but he isn’t doing anything to be threatening, so why?—. “It’s dangerous, you know? Letting unknown guys into your home. Who knows what they have in mind? What they want to do to you?”

“Sex, Leon,” you bite back, a bull to red into your apprehension, thinking why in the hell should you be intimidated when he’s being the weird one, you still have to hear about how he knows about your relations. “We had sex. Don’t be dramatic.” 

He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, and suddenly it’s making sense why you felt like something was wrong when you opened the door to him. Maybe he’s drunk on something different today and it’s influencing him. Different liquors have different attitudes. 

“I, on the other hand, have to still hear about how you know. Have you been spying on me?”

“I apparently should have.” 

“Excuse me?” You shake your head, trying to rationalize the situation where he is practically lacking, lost in his own head, his usual personality is currently unavailable to the call for reasons unbeknownst to you. He is a calm guy. Reasonable. You don’t get where this immaturity is coming from, anger-related or not. “Leon, you can’t just go ahead and talk lightly of invading my privacy! I don’t want to joke around right now!”

You should send him away to talk later, or both of your hearts are going to break ugly tonight.

Leon's gaze doesn't waver, his eyes narrowing with a mix of concealed pain and anger. "No, I wasn't spying on you," he retorts sharply, giving you the information you want to know. "But it's hard to miss when the person you care about moves on so quickly."

So he must have seen something? He came back from Spain earlier than you thought? Was this visit about interrogating you all along? 

You hate the way your hands warm up immediately with his admittance to caring about you, even though he will never outright say that he likes you or anything more. It’s unbelievable that’s what your heart decided to pick up on instead of literally anything else right now. 

The hall feels suffocating. It's as if the air itself has turned tar-thick. You take a step back, and escape into the kitchen, trying to gather your thoughts amidst the rising storm of confusion.

“I thought you wanted this. Why would me moving forward be a problem?”

“Because I can’t.” 

You want to yell at him. Why should that be your problem? He wanted this. You prepared yourself because he was perpetually with a suitcase in his hand, so much so you can’t imagine his visage otherwise.

Be calm about this. You’re a grown adult. 

"I don’t understand.” Hands grabbing at the handles of a chair, you spare a glance at him over your shoulder. "I thought we would give each other space, go our own ways."

A bitter laugh escapes Leon's lips, devoid of any humor. "Space? That's just another word for running away, isn't it? And haven’t you immediately found someone else to run towards? That’s how important I was to you, huh?"

The accusation stings, and you struggle to find the right words to defend yourself, his honesty coercing the affection out of you within the ice of self-preservation. "Leon, it's not like that. I’m trying to navigate my life, this isn’t me trying to get back at you or hurt you."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration carved into every line of his face. "Well, congratulations. You succeeded anyway."

This is getting ridiculous. You don’t know how to handle the situation because he never put you in one like it in the first place. 

How are you the guilty one? How is the blame on you, now? Why? Being with him was slow torture, loving him was a doomed gambit, and now he has the gall to make you into the bad guy — for what, prioritizing yourself for once? 

The silence hangs heavily between you, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city outside. It feels as though the foundations of your bond are crumbling beneath the weight of unresolved emotions, the connection you once shared now seems fragile, teetering on the edge of irreparable damage that you’re not sure you want to let go even though it really is the best solution to let it be. You remember how you told him that break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, it seems how the afterward would be like hasn’t crossed your mind at all. 

“Ironic of you to say that,” you mumble, turning away from him with a disbelieving smile, hands on your hips. 

“What?”

“I said,” you turn around, cold anger freezing your features in a silent mask. “That’s rich coming from you. Running away, I mean. All this time I’ve known you, you’ve run away from me—” With each example you give, you take one slow step towards him. “From intimacy, from a deeper connection. I know you couldn’t help but be away for your job and that’s not the issue here.” You stop right in front of him, seething, looking up, doing your best to keep your shit together as you shake a finger at him. “But you don’t have the right to accuse me of running away.” 

He just stands there like a statue. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away. As if this means nothing at all to him, forever the unaffected, desensitized man that he is. You have to flatten your lips to keep them from quivering.

“I’ve had to chase you like some race horse while you were sitting right next to me,” you jab that finger into his chest, not to get something out of him, but because the floodgates were finally open. “I have betted on losing dogs this entire relationship.” Another jab. “I let you treat me like a doormat.” Jab. “I gave you the patience and understanding some mothers wouldn’t give to their children—” And it finally ends with a slap with the back of your hand on his wall of a chest. “Because god smite me I made the mistake of falling in love—” A fucking joyful, pretty sparkle in his eyes that has his eyebrows lifting. It bloods your boil like nothing else. “—-and all of this for you to come into my home and pick a fight over who I fuck after breaking up with me?” You push him — or, rather, try to push him further back into the hall, and when it doesn’t work, raise your arm to point to the door. “Get out.”

Leon's jaw tightens as he stares at you and you see it jump, his gaze piercing through you, ablaze. He tries to grab you by the elbows but you shake him off. “Sweet girl, I—”

The nickname has you on the edge of crumbling and you ricochet back as if burned. “No, nuh-uh,” you rapidly shake your head and one hand at him, eyes burning, deliberately looking at his shoulder not to make eye contact. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. No. Just go. Get out of my house.”

The room plummets into an agonizing quietness filled by the heavy breathing you’re doing your best to stop from shaking as Leon stands there, his hand still lingering, frozen in a futile attempt to reach out to you standing in the light of the kitchen, and him in the shadows. The absoluteness of your words is the hammer of a judge about to fall on his head, sharpened by your anger and the shattered remnants of your flightless hopes. 

You never wanted this. It had ended so peacefully, why was he back as a vengeful ghost bringing the worst out of you — why now? Why?

Finally, Leon lowers his hand, his gaze falling to the floor. There's a momentary lowering of his guard that flickers across his face, a crack in the armor he usually wears. "I know I messed up, and I've been running away. But it's not because I don't care, it's because... I'm — I couldn’t give you anything. Not anything you deserved. Not everything I wanted. And I couldn’t face any of that without having to confront I needed to get out of your life," he says softly, caked with remorse and self-hatred. “Like being somewhere between life and death, I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you feel your anger momentarily waver, you’ve seen the pain in his eyes before, the demons that haunt him from his past — you understand, you understand. In every reality possible, you’d understand, even when you don’t know. “I know, Leon.” The acknowledgment leaves you pained, but this time, don’t give anything in consolation, don’t justify the harmful outcomes of his escapism just so he wouldn’t be scared and pull himself back. Yes, you know. But that’s it. It has to be enough.  

“I want you to also know — I’m not that man anymore.” He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out tentatively, but you flinch away, unwilling to let him touch you, and he stands right at the threshold of shadows bleeding away into the light streaming from the room behind you. 

"Are you seriously about to tell me you changed, Leon? Really? No, I know you," you assert, your voice tinged with skepticism and a lick of frustration. Folding your arms across your chest, you wait for his response, your gaze fixed on him, brows furrowing but a slight smile souring your lips. “But I’ll humor you. Tell me, what could have possibly happened in such a short amount of time, because I’m not having it if it’s about us separating—” It’s mean, the way you outright grin at him, one small part of you regrets laughing at his face when he’s declaring he’s changed, but you can’t stop the poison from wanting to sink into his skin, from wanting to see yourself affecting him. “You, my late blooming pupa, had two whole years to break out of your cocoon. Don’t even waste your breath.”

Leon meets you head on, unfazed by your demeanor, it makes you feel like a child when you were in the right, brings sense to you that this was Leon you were trying to hurt, you knew he wouldn’t give you excuses some man after some piece of ass would — the hurt is bringing the girl out of you that wants to maim as she has been maimed, and he just stands there and takes it as if he wants to show you he’s had way worse before. It isn’t fair.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand unconsciously fidgeting with the edge of his jacket as he prepares to explain, raising his hands up and tracing the invisible line of the veins inside his wrist. His body language conveys a distant sense of sincerity. 

"I received a gift that opened my eyes," he confesses, his voice carrying a brooding, yet grateful significance. His eyes momentarily drift, as if lost in memories of what transpired. His fingers continue to rub along the veins, he’s recalling something, it’s not a self-soothing nervous habit that betrays his inner turmoil.

Your skepticism wavers, switched with a curious glimmer. The lamb sees the slaughterhouse and thinks it’s home again. You unfold your arms, inching closer as you invite him to elaborate. 

"It saved me. Gave me a new life. Changed me.” He pauses, looking far, far away again. “It changed everything," Leon states with a sense of conviction. He stands a little taller, his demeanor transformed by the profound impact of this revelation.

Your eyes flit in rapid blinking, captivated by his warm, honest intensity. A welcoming, pleasant surprise lingers on your face as you take in the magnitude of what he's sharing.

"Changed everything?" you question, holding back your wonder and uncertainty in fear of disappointment. Your body involuntarily leans forward, drawn in by where he’s taking this.

"Yeah. For good this time. Because I’m not… bound anymore, I’m not trapped. For the first time in forever, I know what it’s like to be truly free.” 

“Oh…” You begin to speak, but words escape you. He is uninhibited, truly elated, that soft smile on his face doesn’t carry the anxiety of what comes next. This is a first for Leon Kennedy. When you remember you mocked what might have happened to him, it fills you with shame. So, something truly wonderful did happen — could happen. It has to do with his job, that much you know. No wonder he’s insisting things have changed, what he does for a living is what haunts him like a shadow, after all, you couldn’t be more aware of that. “I’m… I’m happy for you, then, Leon. I don’t know what to say.”

“You’re not wrong for doubting me. I did.” He looks down at his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists. “I believed I had changed before, you know — had been changed, whatever you wanna call it... Because I had to," Leon admits with introspection. He pauses, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his experience. 

"Then someone I know told me no, you haven't, you just think you have. And both of those options are worse than each other in retrospect, don't get me wrong,” his voice cracks slightly, revealing the conflict within him. There's a flicker of nostalgia and longing. 

He takes a steadying breath, his eyes locked onto yours, conveying a yearning for understanding. This is the most open he’s been with you, the most you’ve seen of him, you’re hypnotized.

"I envy who I was in 1998, but I don't want to be him. The me one month ago is superior, but he was miserable and fucking blind," Leon confesses, the air around him somehow gravitating towards him, becoming hard to breathe because of how hard he’s frowning. Self-deprecating. And his eyes are on you again, back to the moment. “You wanna know how I know I’m different now? I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything.”

He steps forward, into the kitchen, into the light, and shadows dance on his face, and you know what this is — the cat has decided he wants pets, seeking to butt his head into you to initiate contact, and you step backward with the sudden panic sinking in your stomach, but he keeps advancing the more you back off. 

“I’m not afraid anymore,” he rasps, and you make a small sound at the back of your throat. “Not afraid of what I want. Not afraid of wanting. Not afraid of what comes next.”

“Leon—” you interrupt, hands shooting forward, hovering just between you two, feeling his body heat, but terrified of touching him in fear of what might ignite inside you if you do. 

But he catches both your hands, intertwining your fingers and pinning them on two sides of you on the counter the moment your hips hit the lip of it, and you’re immediately steaming underneath your skin, shutting your eyes and turning your face away as his body snuggles in, flush against you. 

“It’s pathetic, the person I used to be—” he breathes, a gentle invitation, a subtle beckoning, though his words are harsh, he’s uttering them so sweetly like it’s a love letter to you, and hot wind from his words licks the side of your face, you can feel the feathery touch of his lips moving a hair’s breadth from your cheek. Your heartbeat is hammering. “He would have bitten his tongue and gone right back home to lick his wounds. Never see you again. He would think it’s what’s best for you, that he’s protecting you this way.”

You swallow, and he chases the motion, head following the movement. His nose caresses the column of your neck, the sigh that escapes his lips echoes the hidden depth of his desires, an unspoken language of pining. 

Your breath catches in your throat as Leon's increasing body heat and tantalizing weight knead and melt you like dough, his words moving you from within, his proximity creating a charged volume that crackles with tension and desire you were fighting so hard to deny. Every fiber of your being is acutely aware of his presence, his warmth pressing against you, and the raw defenselessness he's revealing. 

You missed this. You missed this. You missed this. 

The blood coursing through your veins sings to him, sings for him, and you’re alive again after one month of absolute emptiness, and hate him for doing this to you.

Love him for coming back. 

His grip on your hands tightens, and you can feel the tremor in his touch, mirroring the intensity of his emotions. “Look at me.” 

You know you don’t want to, because if you were to see him right now, what he’s showing, what he’s finally allowing you to see, you wouldn’t know how to look away ever again — don’t want to hurt.

Your own heart races in response, fear and anticipation swirling within you. And he places his knuckles on your chin, gently guiding you to face him, “Don’t look away.”

Your glazed over eyes lock with his in a moment that feels suspended in time.

"Leon..." you murmur with a blend of longing and caution. The weight of unspoken possibilities bursts in color in the air between you, begging for acknowledgment.

He nuzzles closer, his lips grazing your skin with feather-light touches. Your body reacts instinctively, a tremble washing through you as his sigh tickles your neck. It's as if the world around you fades away, leaving only the magnetic pull between you, drawing you inexorably closer. It’s sweetness so intense it’s trying to hold back the bitterness, a muzzle on a hungry dog’s jaw. 

His voice, a whisper against your ear, is temptation, a pied piper. "I don't want to make the same mistakes anymore. I can't keep denying what I truly want, what my heart desires. I can’t lose you. I’m not losing you. Not like this. Please."

The admission electrifies the mood. Time stands still as you process everything, mind foggy, your own desires intertwining with his. It's a precarious precipice you find yourselves on, teetering between the past and the mirage of a future, between fear and the possibility of something more.

“That’s awfully self-centered,” you laugh weakly, not knowing if this is you unable to look away from his lips or unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze. “What if it’s too late? What if that ship has already sailed?”

He nudges your nose with his, bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You don’t want me? Look into my eyes when you tell me, then.”

In that moment, you make a choice. With an upsurge of courage, you do as he asks, searching his need-darkened patience waiting for you, and you let your guard down. Closing the remaining space between, your lips find his in a tender yet fervent kiss, an unspoken consent that verbalizes everything. 

God, you want this man with all your being. One moment of vulnerability, the confirmation you needed for so long from him was enough to melt all your walls down and conquer without war — the things you let him do to you… 

What was tenderness from you ricochets back from him as desperation, he licks into your mouth like a man starved, and a sigh shudders from Leon, you feel it roll through his entire body. He catches your waist in a tight, unyielding grip, his touch conveying a scared need to hold on to you, as if to make sure you're real, and not a fleeting dream. 

“Fuck, I want you so bad. Never wanted more in my goddamn life.” The pent-up tension and unspoken emotions flow between you, igniting a flame that burns brightly, dispelling any doubts or regrets. “Let me have you. Please, let me have you.”

“Give me half of you, and I’ll give you half of me.” His lips, soft and warm, melded with yours in a passionate embrace, separate with a wet pop. “How’s that for a start?”

Leon's lips attempt to dip into yours again, but he wavers to a panting stop, leaving a lingering, ticklish warmth in their wake. His declaration, filled with a mix of intoxication and determination, spills forth. “‘ll give you all of me,” he mutters, his kisses raining down upon your skin in a frenzy of affection. “—Give you all my love. Want all of yours, too.” 

Love. He said love. 

Someone must have hit you over the head, you feel like it, all breath is knocked out of your lungs.

Leon pulls back only inches when he feels you freeze in his arms, and you see it in his eyes — he doesn’t try to hide it… 

And you realize, you’ve seen the ghost of this look before, the shyer one, the more apprehensive, curt one that was prone to hiding away. The pure adoration on his face makes him look younger, like a whole other man. 

Yet, you ask. It’s all you’ve ever wanted from him, only a passing acknowledgement and you’re a sunflower bending over backwards with the first rays of the sun. "You love me?"

Your stomach does a summersault at feeling his heart miss a beat.  "Y... yes?" he stutters, his voice rising. "Yeah."

All that romantic talk. All the insane things he said, and it’s scary to him when the word is spelled out loud. 

The room goes completely noiseless for a moment, your ribcage might as well explode at this point, and then he lets out an audible sigh, trying to calm himself down. "Is that so strange to you?" he adds. "Is that... something you... don't want?"

He knows what you feel. Known it all along, danced around it for both your sakes. Yet, he’s still asking — exposing that defenseless underbelly of his that reveals he thinks he’s unlovable, not worth it, skeptic that someone could want him in that way. 

His eyes stay locked with yours, but some of his confidence seems to have drained away. All that's left is his look of pure, unbridled infatuation, and the expression of genuine, unwavering honesty.

Your mouth seems to have gone dry, heartbeat picking up, stomach swirling, looking at him like he's out of this world, eyes flying everywhere on his face. No words come to mind for a good while. It’s a slow blooming flower at first, but the beaming of your smile takes him aback. “It’s all I wanted,” you practically exhale. 

He makes a small noise of relief and chokes out a smile. 

As your lips mold together again, a new symphony of sensations unfolds. His kiss has the devotion of held-back hunger, lips seeking and exploring every contour of yours, and you surrender completely. To how he desires you, to the intoxicating pull between you, letting your inhibitions fall away. There is only the searing heat of his touch, the intoxicating sweet taste of his mouth, the mint from an already discarded gum and something uniquely Leon, and the synchronization of your combined breaths.

He moves downwards to take nip at the corner of your mouth and then your chin, a soft hum escapes from deep within you, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure he makes you feel by the littlest of sensualities.

“Leon…” Your hands find their way to his tousled hair and a waft of his shampoo fills your nose, you pull him closer, yearning for more of him. The room fills with the heady scent of desire, starting to pool deep in your stomach drop by drop.

He bites down on your jaw, knowing just how to make it pleasurable and not hurt, and you gasp out loud. “Sweet girl, my sweet girl,” he chants. His lips find their way to the sensitive skin of your neck, trailing a path of feverish kisses and gentle nips. “My sweet girl.” Each sensation sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, leaving you rasping and yearning for more. 

You arch into him. His hands, now guided by a primal instinct, roam freely over your body. They explore every curve and dip, tracing the contours of your silhouette as if committing every inch to memory. Fingers dance along your spine, leaving a trail of delicious shivers in their wake, before finding solace in the small of your back. 

With a firm yet gentle grip, he lifts you effortlessly, placing you on the counter, the cool surface contrasts with the scorching heat that burns even your palms up as he slots between your legs immediately afterwards. 

With a delicate yet possessive grip, his hands glide along your upper thighs, and a needy warmth trickles down to the crevice he grinds his crotch against, the roughness of his jeans delectable against where you need him. 

Your own hands, emboldened, mirror his actions, eagerly exploring the planes of his chest, nails dragging through the fabric. Overwrought fingers interchange between pulling on his leather jacket and the compression shirt that hugs him so tight it won't stretch. “Get this off."

A low growl reverberates deep in Leon's chest as your hands keep hungrily tugging at his clothing, seeking to peel away the layers that separate you. “In the kitchen? That impatient for me?” 

Ah, he’s trying to embarrass you. Not going to work. “Shut up you hypocrite, you made me come on your thigh in broad daylight, in the kitchen.”

“I don’t remember you complaining,” he grins against your lips, and you feel him grow bigger, straining against the cage of his jeans. “God, you were so fucking hot using me like that. Want to see you more — pleasure yourself more — in front of me. I was about to make a mess of my pants like some teenager, just looking at you and,” he rocks both of you upwards as he babbles, and your hands glide down to cradle his flaming neck, your eyes closing, head spinning with his words. “Your pussy on me, shit. I still feel it.”

“Stop running your mouth and get these off then,” you half-heartedly order, not at all an attempt to hide how turned on you are and practically dying to feel him already. 

He opts to tease, “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” like he’s only doing it because you asked him to, but he willingly complies, his movements hinting to be fueled by a shared hunger and a desire to feel your touch against his bare skin.

The leather jacket slides off his shoulders, revealing the sculpted contours of his chest, accentuated by the tight shirt that clings to him. And in one motion, that’s also off, you don’t even get to watch how his muscles ripple and flex, but your hands are on him right after, groaning at just how high his body temperature is, how wildly his heart is beating underneath your palm.

Your mind short-circuits at something foreign wiggling underneath your palms on his chest and not at the way he’s sucking red flowers on the underside of your thrown back chin. 

Your mind can be playing tricks on you, because you swear you can feel something move underneath his skin that’s not tendons, but before you can dwell on it, his lips, now free from their exploration of your neck, capture yours once more in a searing kiss, filled with a soulful need, an unspoken plea for more, as if he wants to consume every ounce of you. 

“Can’t believe kissing alone feels this good,” he says. “I could just do this all day. Have you on my lap, underneath me, above me, and just.” Your lips are teasingly bitten and tugged on. “Have this to myself.”

As his hands continue their tantalizing journey along your thighs, inching higher, you find yourself surrendering to the exquisite sensations. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, craving more friction as the restlessness grows tighter. 

The hardness of his crotch presses against the heat between your legs, creating a delicious ache that demands to be satisfied. He hisses and sighs into your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t wait. Hold on to me.” 

Leon has his arms locked tight around your legs clamped on his legs the next second, and begins to carry you out the kitchen as you hold onto his shoulders, once again in awe of how easy it is for him to manhandle you like this without at least grunting. 

You think he’s taking you to your bedroom and worrying if you left it too messy, but where you find yourself sprawled on your back instead, is the fucking couch in your living. 

The couch your one night stand had his way with you on. 

You sense a subtle shift in the currents of his shadowy gaze bearing down on you, in the flicker of his eyes, in the tightening of his jaw, that you glimpse a revelation you have not anticipated hidden beneath layers of charm and composure, the shifting of tectonic plates beneath calm waters. It’s uncharted territory. A dormant beast awoken from slumber, his demeanor betrays an unfamiliar greedy intensity that enthralls you. Once soft, subtle adoring nature of his, now holds a smidge of territorial longing, as if he yearned to claim you as his own, to wrap you in the cocoon of his desires, the undercurrent untamed, raw, unfamiliar — both to you and him. You’re no stranger to his intensity, his passion, but this is foreign to you. 

With surprised anticipation, you laugh to hide the nervousness. “I didn’t know you could be jealous.”

“I didn’t know I was capable of it either.” His big palm comes down on your stomach, fingers fanned out, and it drifts up as if he’s just taking you in, with some pressure sinking into you, and your shirt rides up because of it, exposing your stomach all the way to the beginnings of your lower ribs. “Of this much need to monopolize.” 

He hooks a strong arm around your waist and tugs you a bit up to meet his descending mouth to your revealed abdomen, leaving wet kisses and kitten bites all over, teasing by faking you out that he’ll go higher to play with your aching breasts, the tip of his nose touching the bottom curve of one and then going lower. Either way, it’s your loss, heat keeps pooling in the ever-so-hungry pit as your panties become uncomfortable already. He knows how to build you up.  “It’s so ugly in my head right now because of this goddamn smell—and all I think is what I’m looking at right now was seen by another man. Wanna fucking tear into you to get rid of it.”

You quip, “Does he smell that bad?” amused, an attempt to distract yourself from how easy he has you, hands finding his hair again and tugging, eliciting muffled groans from Leon, but the promise of roughness thrills you, the shiver going through you perking your nipples up. You honestly didn’t know he had this much of a sensitive nose up until today, goes to show how little of himself he showed you in the past. 

“He reeks.” He drags his blunt nails through the line of your waist soothing it with feathery, tickling, lazy strokes of faint pleasuring zaps as he bucks into your clothed core, drawing hisses and gasps from both of you. The rough zipper line of his jeans accentuated by his hardness hits just the right spot, you could do this forever — gosh, you have a wet spot in your panties, it feels gross but it’s so warm and it’s so good — 

Oh you love the way his eyes darken, the way his voice deepens ever so slightly when things you never thought would come from him in a million years are sent your way, goosebumps awaken all over you at the, god, you can’t believe you’re saying possessiveness. “We could, you know, get it reupholstered. If you’re paying for it—” 

“I have a better idea,” A devilish smirk curls at the corners of Leon's lips as he lifts his head from your abdomen, eyes glinting. His grip on your waist shifts to the waistband of your pants, teasingly tracing the edge. “How about instead I reclaim it so you won’t be able to sit on it ever again without getting so hot and bothered by what I did to you here. Hm?”

His touch sends invigorating currents coursing through your body, pooling desire between your thighs. You arch your back, wordlessly urging him to continue. and he kneads your hips, digging into your flesh with a delicious pressure. “I’ll make my sweet girl so fucked out stupid she forgets any touch that came before me.” He squeezes once and your cunt just throbs. “Only remembers my name.”

Fucking hell. 

"But if it bothers her, I'll consider reupholstering," he continues, a hint of playfulness there. "She’ll just have to pay in other ways."

A mischievous gleam dances in your eyes as you match his playful banter. "Oh, I have a feeling I can think of a few ways to make it worth your while," you purr, your fingers still tangled in his strands, urging him to bring his lips back to yours.

“That right?” Leon's chuckle reverberates through his chest, vibrating against your skin. He leaves a trail of heat and moisture on your stomach as he climbs up, capturing your mouth in a hungry kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth with a fervor matched only by his growing desire.

His heat washes over you, and your breath hitches as you struggle to control the rising tide of need, and you can’t stop the small whine from escaping when he tempts. “How would she like it?” with hooded eyes, you see him imagining — thinking, living the filth out in his brain and not hiding it from you at all. The thought of being completely consumed by him, of surrendering to his desires, sends a torrent of suspense coursing through your veins.

With deliberate slowness, his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your pants, grazing over the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen, and you nod fervently, wanting Leon to stop with the leisurely approach and just fucking throw you around or bury his fingers into your pussy already — “Use your words sweet girl.” He chuckles when he sees the delicately restrained agitation of yours, his touch is both gentle and possessive, his fingertips tracing maddening circles that dangle you over promised pleasure.

His piercing stare ensnares you, a captivating force that renders you powerless. His inquiry lingers, emphasized by his almost restlessly eager fingers massaging your skin, akin to a tantalizing vow of sensual delight. In this very instant, a revelation dawns upon you—Leon's unchained greed does not arise from insecurity alone; rather, they stem from an unquenchable thirst to know you’re his, to conquer every fragment of your being and eliminate any shadow of uncertainty.

In a flurry of emotions, your words spill forth, infused with a potent blend of yearning and submission. “Take me, I want you to take me. Wanna feel only you…” Succumbing to the irresistible yearning surging through your veins, you surrender yourself to the overwhelming craving that courses within you. “Any way you want.”

His jaw falls open slightly in shock, like the shape of language has left him, hold stilling around you in an iron grip — the way his cheekbones get slightly pinked gets you bucking up to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile, extending your arms at him like you’re asking for a hug. “Make me forget however you like.”

His chest expands with the big breath he sucks in, a guttural growl escaping his throat, a primal sound that makes him feel almost inhuman with another trick of the light that makes his veins appear darker, dancing, almost, as he pulls you up, leaves you dizzy with how quick he reverses your positions, it’s his back on the plush cushions now, one knee bent a little bit and you on top of him, straddling his lap. He’s looking up at you, and you flash to how you had him exactly that way before he left for Spain.

“Sit on my face.”

You blink a couple times. “What?”

His fingers catch the band of your pants and underwear. “I want you to ride my face.” The small grin that breaks out on his face after licking his lips is downright sinful. “Wanna be fucking suffocated by you.”

“Will you be alright—”

“It’s nothing to me,” The persuasion is nonchalant, like he has experience being waterboarded and it’s something trivial. “I said I’d make you remember me whenever you sit on this couch, didn’t I?” 

His request is bold, ramming the boundaries of your comfort zone, there’s the fear of crushing him and there’s the embarrassment of how he’d receive your weight, yet overcome by the part of you that craves to fulfill his desires, overtaken by how he always wants to give pleasure and not take it. 

You slowly rise from his lap, and he momentarily releases you from his hold. Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for the waistband of your pants, undoing them and sliding them down your legs, along with your underwear, his dilated pupils are fixated on the silvery thread of your arousal stretching. Your heartbeat quickens, a flush heating your body up at the deep assertion of, “Attagirl. Come here.”

With a deep sigh, you find the courage to surrender to the experience, encouraged by how much he seems to want this. You shift your position, allowing him to steer you to straddle his face, your knees sinking into the soft cushions on either side of his head. Your core hovers tantalizingly close to his waiting mouth, aching for the pleasure he promises to deliver. 

Not knowing when his hand sneakily crawled between your legs, you are caught by surprise when he drags a finger through your slit, gathering the moisture and spreading it around. “This all for me?”

“Hmmm,” you confirm, heartbeat shooting straight downwards, pulsing against his finger. “All for you.”

“Don’t be shy, take a seat,” A deep rumble vibrates in his chest, he’s looking drunk already, and you twitch upwards with the way hits your wetness, then, he’s massaging the tension of your thighs holding your body up. “All of your weight, sweet girl. Don’t hold back. Just sit. I promise I’ll make you feel so good, it’ll feel so good, just—” He raises his head to lick an galvanizing stripe right where you want him and you moan, the experience all the more elevated by being able to see how his eyes flutter close as if he’s feeling in and the focused pinch of his eyebrows. 

Trembling legs weakened by his begging, you begin to lower yourself onto him, the searing, wet warmth of his breath against your sensitive, aching folds making you gasp. His hands guide you and you hold onto his bulging biceps, his touch firm yet gentle as he helps you find the perfect angle, anchoring you in place. 

“Le – ah! Leo—n!” You can’t even arch off from the couch when his mouth dives into your tender cunt, only able to throw your head back and tremor in place because he has you in an iron grip against him, fingers sinking into the plush of your hips the moment he hears the stutter of your sweet whining. 

He hums, and you feel the vibrations reverberate inside you, mouth hanging open when his tongue delves in, as well. 

“So good — shit…” You fall forward, hands finding purchase on the armrest of the couch, your nails digging into the fabric as his skilled tongue dances against your most sensitive parts, exploring and teasing with an expertise that leaves you respiring, a particularly shocking jolt of ache striking and leaving your vision with dancing stars when he gently nips at your clit with his teeth, your hips spasming, but unable to even squirm in peace because he won’t let you move away from him. “That! That — ah, yes, yes!”

He is just delighted and it shows in his excited panting when it gets you to start rocking your hips in sync with him, and after a while, falling back and letting you take control of the pace. 

He traces delicate patterns against your most intimate parts, setting a pattern and then breaking it, building you up and pulling you back down, teasing and exploring with a fervent hunger. “That’s perfect — yes, Leon, you’re making me feel so good, you’re — hmm! —”

The groaning moan is swallowed by an even prettier whine when you pull on his hair, it wasn’t the intention to get him to do this, you were just particularly feeling good, but you try again, and he shudders this time, a more restrained version of the sound, you swear, literally makes you gush. 

“You sound — you sound so pretty moaning from making me feel good— So pretty—” You can’ complete the sentence as he sucks on your clit, only able to babble. “So pretty, so pretty…!”

You absolutely weren't expecting being accidentally called pretty would be the final straw to start palming himself against his jeans and fucking dry hump his hand, leaving only one hand to hold you down, and he wraps his entire arm around your waist to staple you to his mouth, you feel the veins and the flexing muscles on your skin from how much strength he’s using, and it’s enough to heighten the throb in your cunt.. 

“You’re gonna come in your pants from eating me out?” The bucking of your hips becomes harsher, faster, the coil in your stomach tightening just from seeing his blissful mien and urgency of his hip thrusts, walls contracting around his tongue. “That’s so fucking sexy—”

The pleasure builds, spiraling higher and higher, each flick of his tongue sending you higher and higher, his ability to read just when you get close is exquisite, and you enjoy him slowing you down, each flick and swirl of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy, but not quite getting you there, his own hand matching that pace and edging himself on, as well. 

The world narrows down to the sensations between your legs, the sound of your own moans building in speed and pitch mingling with his fervency, a blast of heat building deep within you unexpectedly fast, like dropping from the peak of a roller coaster, a wildfire spreading. “So close, so close, so close so closesoclose!”

You cry out his name as your pleasure crescendos, he holds your gaze the entire time through it, an explosion of sensation that engulfs you in waves of ecstasy, your voice mingling with his muffled groans of satisfaction against your sensitive flesh, body oscillating with pleasure, every nerve ending electrified by the intoxicating completion Leon provides — and he laps everything up, 

He does not give you one single break. 

The next second, you’re knocked on your back, and then flipped on your stomach like a ragdoll, and he shoves you up toward the other armrest of the couch until you have to hold onto it and hold yourself up — and you have to, from how much your thighs are trembling. You don’t even have the time to look back after hearing the frantic fumbling of his zipper being pulled down before feeling his rock-hard length gliding through your puffed and abused cunt, and a pained whine shakes your body as you snap your knees shut. “Leon—Leon—I can’t—”

“You can,” he coats himself in your dripping wetness, and you’ve accidentally created more friction for him by snapping your legs together, he’s just dragging himself against you, not entering, but pushing strong enough that it gets you to shake and squirm to get away, but he hooks one arm across your torso and grips your shoulder, pulling you up so your back is flush against his sweaty, burning chest. He extends an arm and places his hand just beside yours for support. “You’re so perfect taking everything I give you. My sweet girl, always so good to me, so gorgeous — just look at you.”

He gently nudges your chin up to get you to look at something, and —

You are looking straight at the reflection of yourself in the window ahead, Leon’s chin on your other shoulder, he is also staring, watching you there — both of you look so fucked out already. 

He seems to be in a more of a drunken daze than you are, his hair is so sexily messed up as if it was deliberately styled, the fact that it was you has you clenching around nothing. You hiss when the head of his cock slips in momentarily, only to slip out as he keeps the motion of sliding back and forth,  teasing, edging, your moans become softer, yelp-ushered, and shorter.  

“Look how pretty you are,” he nips at your earlobe, looking straight into your eyes in the window. You see the raw desire etched across your face, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, and the unbridled lust that courses through your veins — the sight of yourself, lost in the throes of passion, sends a rush of arousal through you. 

He begins to bite and suckle at your neck and shoulder as the edging persists, the tension within you, yet again, beginning to stretch beyond belief without a snap at horizon, your whole body is quivering at how fast it’s coming down on you. 

“I’m gonna— Leo–n, please, please—!”

You’re teetering on the edge of ruin, the need for release becoming all-consuming. You cling to his well-built, thick arm holding you to his chest, seeking an anchor amidst the overwhelming pleasure. A particularly sharp bite at the most meaty part of your shoulder makes you cry out and he begins mumbling in your ear, needy, and keeps up the same pace just for your pleasure even though he sounds so needy. “Come for me, I want it, pretty girl, come on, give it to me—” 

With a final plunge, Leon relinquishes the tease and thrusts deep inside you, filling you completely to the hilt, and your vision goes completely white as pleasure crashes over you in a wave of intensity, your body attempting to thrash around with the force of your orgasm, his chest shudders at your strangled cry. 

He stays buried deep within your convulsing walls and just breathes and softly hisses as you come down from your high, following you as you fall forward to rest your head on your forearms on the armrest. 

He plants kisses on the ball of your shoulder, trailing a line all the way to the other one, and then coming back to your nape. “You okay?”

You whine in response, completely blissed, and feel him jump inside you.

He sighs with force. “Don’t rile me up like that just yet.”

“‘m not doin’ ‘nything…”

“You don’t know what you do to me.” His chest rumbles from how thick and deep his voice lowers, albeit in affection. “You could be watering flowers or something and I’d go out of my mind for you.”

You weakly sputter in laughter, heart expanding nonetheless. “Watering flowers?”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“Couldn’t you have chosen something mundanely and unconsciously sexy. Like, I don’t know, sitting and reading a book?”

He scoffs, but you can tell he’s tiredly endeared. “Reading is sexy to you?”

“Well. You squint your eyes and clearly need glasses but the concentration is definitely hot.”

“I don’t need glasses.”

“You do. Leon, baby, you squint when you’re trying to read—”

“Maybe because I’m trying to understand what I read—”

“You don’t understand anything you read, then? Because you do it all the time.”

“That’s ridiculous, I’ve never had a problem with my vision.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, dumb jock of mine.”

He responds with one singular fast and shallow thrust, testing the waters, lips curling up against your shoulder at the sweet sound rising from you. “You must have gotten the rest you needed if you’re sassing me.” 

“Fuck—” you hiss at the stretch, so delicious, stings so good. “Leon, can we just—”

“No,” He presses you forward, squishing you, and one of your hands digs into the armrest and the other one on his forearm that lines like a special pillow just for you to bury your head in. Your teary eyes accuse him in the window, your mind playing tricks on you again and makes it seem like they flash a deep red at you like some demon in your imagination. “Eyes on the window, watch me.”

He starts torturously slow, setting a lazy ebb and flow, the tip of his cock aimed to hit your G-spot every time he inches into you, his fingers are curled underneath your chin and still making you watch, but you can only look at how feral he is marking your neck like he’s some vampire, sucking and popping noises spreading around your body in ripples, and behind your tears, you can see the red eyes still on yours.   

“Faster,” you sob, feeling like you’re about to pass out from yet another building orgasm but know ultimately that’s not going to happen and it’s just how well he wrecks you. 

He moans obscenely into your ear, completing that with a delighted hiss as your nails mark his forearm laced with defined veins. “Gonna come for me again, huh? How many minutes has it been, and you’re gushing already? Are you just that perverted or is it me?”

“Yes, you, it’s you.” You throw your head back and rest it on his shoulder, and he lowers the fingers on your chin to hold you by the throat against him, putting slight pressure with at the two sides of your neck — not cutting your airway, but the blood flow to your brain, plunging you into cloud-soft, pleasure-fueled fuzziness.

“Inside?” he asks for permission, strained. His thrusts pick up, not shallow, but brutal all the way, and so do your whimpers. “Can I—” 

You can imagine the sensation of the warmth of him spilling into you. You’re so thankful for actively looking for hook-ups before this and getting on birth control for it. “Yeah, inside, come inside me—”

He bites down again, it has to be a new favorite thing for him, and he reaches down to circle your clit, pressing and playing, gentle and then sharp. 

You feel a familiar fullness growing, and clench yourself up, it makes Leon hiss. “Bathroom—” you choke, panicked. “We have to stop, I have to—”

He doubles the finger on your clit and you squeak, squeezing your thighs together — something’s coming and he keeps hitting that spot over and over and over again — you’re going to fucking wet yourself — “Leon, I’m serious, I’m gonna—”

“It’s not what you think it is,” he says, reassuring, caring, peppering kisses everywhere.

How is he so sure! 

“No, no, I can’t— Leon, Leon, Leon, Leon!”

Third time, third time it’s something else, you can’t, you can’t—

“You can.” He grunts, smothering your squirming by his weight. “Go ahead sweet girl, just like that. You’re doing wonderful, I got you. Let it go. Let it come.”

You hear the brief spray of something, the trickle of liquid between your thighs and the intermittent whining of his as he comes inside, but you swear you fucking pass out for a good fifteen seconds from how the coil of pleasure detonates in your core and shatters your consciousness in a foggy haze.

You fucking squirted. 

Didn’t even know you could do that. 

He made you because he was jealous.   

“Asshole,” you cry-mumble, trembling like a leaf. “My couch.”

He just laughs. His eyes are still glowing red in the window’s reflection. 

You’re too sleepy for this.

You’re dreaming that you’re Leon. 

It’s a weird nightmarish vision bleeding pulsating black at the edges probably fueled by imagining him as a mean demon ravishing you yesterday. 

One moment you’re looking down at yourself suffering in your sleep at the backseat of a car, head resting on his lap, some blond man even buffer than Leon is driving the car, you can see the outline of a scar at the side of his face and you call him Major Krauser; and the other you’re intensely gazing at yourself in the bathroom mirror, eyes are still red, but this time, there are dark veins mapping all over your body, all over your face, and they’re pulling back and moving.

You startle awake to an unfamiliar bedroom, a dull ache in your chest, weak and absolutely sick to your stomach that it feels like your guts are restlessly moving around. 

“The hell?” Just where are you right now? This isn’t your home. “Leon? Leon!”

Soft, muted hues adorn the walls, casting a serene ambiance that envelops the room, but you’re far from calm, the tight feeling in your chest pushing up into your lungs. Gentle lighting, emanating from carefully placed fixtures, are dancing upon the surfaces, creating a mockingly soothing ambiance with a faint scent of cleanliness, mingling with freshness.

You are on the plush bed, adorned with crisp linens and plump pillows, the centerpiece of the room, with bedside tables holding the essentials within arm's reach. Ahead is a cozy seating area with its comfortable armchairs and a snug loveseat and a work desk, strategically positioned near a well-lit window or a dedicated reading lamp. This awfully looks like a hotel room. 

He emerges from a door, and you see the glimpse of a bathroom behind him before he shuts it behind him. “Hey, you’re awake.”

The anxiety of the gap in your memory dissipates the moment you see him.

“And confused, where is this? Why don’t I remember getting here?” You grimace and prop your body to sit up, pressing the heel of your hand to where your heart is, his eyes flicker to the motion, eyebrows dropping down. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, faintly smiling, trying to hide his worry. “You were sleeping.”

You reach for the bottle of water sitting on the bedside table to your right. “And why did you feel the need to bring me somewhere while I was asleep?”

He eerily looks mysterious for a second. “You remember me talking about the gift I was given?”

“Yeah..?” 

“I’ve shared it with you.” 

“Oh-kay…” God, that water was heavenly. You weren’t aware that you were parched. “Is that why I feel sick? Did we go out last night and get blackout drunk or something, is that it?” 

“You feel sick?” You stop playing with the plastic bottle when his face hardens. “You shouldn’t be hurting, why…”

“Can we dial it back a little?” You raise your hands, remembering your priorities. “Leon, where are we? I can’t be here, I need to go to work, there is this article about the Spanish guest President Graham has dropped everything to meet with today and I need to get it out—”

“I’ve called in for you. You’re good.” 

Well. 

It was truly the right call to make given just how weird you’re feeling, just on the precipice of getting badly sick, you’re grateful he took the initiative for you but it wouldn’t have been bad to be told before he did this. The newspaper could have caused big trouble. “I would have appreciated it more if you asked me first.”

Leon looks genuinely bothered, you don’t know if it’s because you’re telling him off. “Sorry about that, I had no time before—”

“Time for what?” 

“Well…” He trails off, lost in thought. “How about I start from the beginning?”

“I’m more than happy to listen, but first, where are we? Spoilers are fine.”

A voice you don’t know abruptly cuts in and makes you jump. “Spain, sweetheart. You’re in Spain.”

Why the hell is there a stranger in your room?

“Who the hell are you?” You pull the covers up even though you’re not naked and dressed in a casual outfit you have no memory of throwing on. His presence in this room feels like a security breach because you’re in bed. “Why are you — Leon, why is—“ 

“Krauser.” Leon shoots up from his seat in urgency. “I told you to—”

What he said registers suddenly. “Spain?” You’re unbelievably alert. It’s the guy you saw in your dream, driving the car. Leon calls him the same name you heard in it, as well. “Leon, who is this, what is he talking about?”

His chest puffs up in concentrated dejection, misery engulfing him as he looks at you, mute. You ask him with your eyes to tell you the random guy in your room is kidding, but he doesn’t. 

You edge closer to the other side of the bed like you’re some scared animal. “What the fuck is going on?”

The glare he gives to the guy would have scared you shitless had it not been for the shock you’re going through. “Get out.”

This isn’t a prank. 

You finally explode, hands gripping the linens in a tight ball, heart beating a mile an hour. “Listen, I would like to be spoken to! Spain? Can you please explain it to me already!”

“Your boyfriend has given you the Las Plagas parasite, and you’re here to go through the initiation ceremony, so to speak. You’re to be presented to our Lord. Sorry, kid.” A pitying chuckle. “Should have had better taste in men.”

Huh.

Huh?

The very military-looking man, with the beret and the outfit and all, says it with the most fed up and serious intonation ever that a loud, ringing, involuntary laugh comes out from you and rings in the room, but something in your stomach hurts from the force of it, so you double down in pain, gasping. Something moves in you. “What… God, fuck, ow…”

You clutch your abdomen, the pain intensifying with each passing moment. It feels as though something is writhing inside you, twisting and contorting with a sickening energy. It’s foreign. Doesn’t belong in your body, you’re about to hyperventilate. 

Your mind struggles to process the gravity of the situation unfolding before you. Spain? Parasites? Initiation ceremony? It all sounds like a macabre nightmare, but the agony coursing through your body is alarmingly real.

You don’t know when Leon moved to get to you, but he is next to you all of a sudden, supporting you, eyes widening with concern, his earlier mysterious demeanor crumbling away. He moves swiftly, his hand reaching out to prop you. "Easy, take deep breaths, it’ll pass, I promise, I’ve got you," His voice drips with something icy as the person he’s addressing changes. “You told me that shit would take away her pain.”

Major Krauser watches the scene unfold with a mixture of detachment and sympathy. His presence is imposing in his stern countenance. "I told you it would make it easier," he interjects, gruff. "The worst of it is over. Superior species process differently than the regular one."

“Can’t we just—”

Fear grips you like a vice as you try to comprehend the magnitude of what is happening. "Why... What have you done to me?" you manage to make out, wavering with both pain and confusion.

His hands move gently, yet frantically to caress your arms in attempts to comfort you through the pain. “I saved you.”

“Oh, you are gone in the head, rookie.”  

Leon looks scary, a barely contained rage just under the surface, gripping you tighter. 

Your mind races, trying to make sense of the fragmented information you've been given. It all feels like a nightmarish delusion, an absurd reality you've been thrust into.

What’s going on? Just what’s happening right now?

Gasping for oxygen, you manage to choke out a question, desperation just beneath. "What kind of sick game is this?"

Krauser, stoic and unyielding, interrupts with a dispassionate tone, his eyes fixed on you with an unsettling intensity. "It's not a game. Lord Saddler seeks vessels, chosen ones who can carry the power of Las Plagas. You were chosen, through Leon."

You reel back, disbelieving. "Chosen? Lord Saddler? Leon, what in the world—"

Leon's gaze turns somber, regret across his face. "I made a choice, so we could be together. So you would be protected." He becomes pleading. “The world is about to change forever—”

Oh what the fuck.

You begin to cough uncontrollably, slapping a palm on your mouth, whole body wrecked by the velocity of the fit.

There’s blood when you remove your hand. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper, but the spillage of blood also marks the ebbing away of the pain, it’s gradually fading.  

“Make her drink it again. It should be fine, three days have passed.” 

Major Krauser, the enigmatic man who claimed you had been infected, remains stoic but watches your distress intently before leaving the room from another door. 

Three days. Three days? You slept for three days?

“I want to go home. I want to leave.”

Leon sighs, visibly sad. “I know, sweet girl, but I can’t let you go anywhere right now.” 

“Why!” You yank away from him, crawling to put some distance between him and you. You trust Leon, you see that he is loyal to you, but can’t stop freaking out. “Then explain it to me! What the hell is Las Plagas or whatever the hell it’s called! Just what did you do to me?”

“First, you have to know I’m — I was a government agent. I work to wipe out bioweapons, the kind in Terragrigia. That’s the basic gist of it, anyways. Spain was a mission. To save the President’s daughter.”

“What.”

Throughout the long and agonizing day, you continue to plead with Leon, hoping desperately that he will release you from your confining prison. Each time, he feigns sympathy and expresses apologies, but his determination remains unyielding. The realization that the man you love has become your captor sinks its fangs deeper into your psyche, a tormenting truth that threatens to shatter your sanity.

Moved to a more luxurious room, attended to by servants who treat you as though you were some revered figure, you feel the suffocating weight of your captivity. Leon, on the other hand, freely comes and goes, moving about with an air of authority and control here in this unknown location. 

The stark contrast between your roles within this twisted dynamic only further amplifies the madness of the situation. It becomes increasingly difficult to maintain your composure when everything around you appears normal, yet you are trapped, on the verge of losing your grip on reality.

Leon's attempts to justify his actions, delivered with a soft and soothing cadence, only serve to deepen the chasm between the man you once knew and this deranged version standing before you. He speaks of a global project involving the parasitic vaccination of the entire world, claiming that he only sought to protect you and longed for your reunion in this new world order. 

According to his words, everyone will be connected through what he refers to as the Holy Body, and he brought you here to shield you from the chaos that looms outside. He even speaks of defying some enigmatic figure known as "their Lord," as if he had waged a battle for your favor against him.

It’s insane. He’s insane, but looks perfectly okay saying all of this stuff. Leon wasn’t like this one month ago, it’s Spain that changed him, the dots connect themselves — the gift that he talks about wasn’t a gift at all, he was most likely infected against his will like you were, and now believes in the batshit crazy nonsense he’s talking about like it’s gossip over tea.  

You realize quite a bit late that this is a cult because of his perfectly ordinary demeanor. He’s Leon and you trust him, and it stalls your thought process. 

You have to repeat it over and over again to process it.

Leon took you against your will, to a fucking cult. 

They even have a name for god’s sake, Los Illuminados — the ‘servants’ are cultists. It’s easy to fall into the normalcy and accept it the way Leon puts it, like some fairy tale, like telling you about news from another country. 

With the new knowledge of his past, you don’t know to be in awe of him or terrified, your whole relationship unraveling in transparent context littered between the lines as you rediscover who he is as a person and why he did the things he did — but definitely lean towards the latter the more you can’t get through to him to let this stop already, it becomes more clear to you very quick there’s a certain instability to him now that wasn’t there before, something dark as if he’s balancing himself on the razor’s edge of control, it swims closer to the surface whenever you mention you want to go home. 

The Leon you remember was gloomy at times, yes, but he was also rational, calm, and grounded. He was unyielding in the face of adversity and never subscribed to such ludicrous beliefs. The dissonance between the Leon of the past and the current incarnation, who mindlessly parrots the teachings of the cult, leaves you utterly bewildered. You struggle to reconcile the two versions, grappling with the question of who he truly is and why he committed these unthinkable acts.

In these moments, when Leon reverts into the preaching mode, his gaze becomes vacant, as if he is merely regurgitating the words he has been fed. It is only when his attention turns to your well-being that glimpses of the man you love flicker to the surface. 

The conflicting emotions within you reach a boiling point, leaving you paralyzed and unsure of how to proceed.

The gaping divide between the Leon you once cherished and this altered persona rattles your very core. Fear grips your heart as questions swirl in your mind. What now? What lies in store for you? The uncertainty looms like a dark cloud, casting shadows of doubt and despair over your fragile existence.

The answer and possible salvation comes to you in the form of a man, a mysterious figure who materializes from an entry point to the room you had no idea was there. 

The dim light casts eerie shadows on his face as he greets you with a slight bow. 

“Who are you?”

“Luis Serra, Princesita. Your only chance.” He nods, lighthearted, but you see the weight of his seriousness. “We don’t have much time. If you want to get rid of the parasite, come with me, I’ll explain on the way.”

Why do you feel like all you do is being swept with whatever current washes down your way? 

It’s bizarre to be running away — from Leon, of all people. Go with this random man number two, where? To do what? What happens to Leon, then? 

Thrown off by his sudden appearance, you try to assess the situation, searching for any signs of deception or ulterior motives. 

Despite your apprehension, something about his urgent demeanor and the glimmer of hope in his eyes instill a soft landing for trust in him, you feel that he can help you somehow — but there is the obvious elephant in the room. “What about Leon?”

“I’m doing this because he asked,” Luis replies, his words carrying a sense of loyalty and commitment. They have some sort of history you don’t know. 

Without further delay, he administers a serum, providing you with a temporary respite from the torment inflicted by the parasite Leon’s infected you with. It offers relief, albeit temporary, buying you precious time before the inevitable returns in Luis’ words.

You decide to go with him and see where this path leads, you have nothing better to do, can’t see any way out of this. 

He motions for you to follow him, leading you through a concealed passage that winds its way beneath the labyrinthine corridors of the cult's stronghold — a castle, as you’re shocked to take in. The path is bleak, the air heavy with a musty scent, but you push forward, driven by pure survival instinct to get away to safety.

Luis starts explaining not too much into your journey, hushed, he has all the answers you needed in the first place, quick to the point. "Las Plagas are ancient organisms with a malevolent sentience. They infest and control their hosts, erode their will and sanity. They were made to be… weapons to be harnessed by Los Illuminados. Those who succumb to it become pawns of their leader, Saddler, carry out his agenda. Slaves to his will. They don’t have their minds intact, just flesh prisons to obey his orders."

Your first thought is of Leon, the horrible sinking feeling unspun in your stomach. 

Luis knows what you’re thinking. “Leon… and his buddy Krauser are exceptions. They possess what’s called the superior species, newly engineered.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at the same time, like he’s contemplating a good business deal. “That means free will. To a degree. Their parasites are connected to Saddler, so their bodies can be controlled, but not their minds. Not entirely. They’re not like the inferior ganados. That’s why he was able to seek you out with his own volition.” 

The realization that Leon is trapped within this nightmare strikes you like a blow, your heart sinking with each passing moment. "He isn't controlled?" you inquire, hope blossoming in your chest. "Can you save him too?"

Luis's response is filled with regret, his eyes reflecting a sorrowful truth. "I'm afraid he's beyond saving," he confesses. "The procedure I have can only remove newly hatched eggs, and Leon... well, he's already been consumed by this darkness."

The words reverberate through your mind, the horror of the situation fraying your soul. "But... I can't just abandon him!" you protest, determination and anguish trying to overpower one another.

"You'll be gone forever too if you don't," Luis warns. "It's now or never. If you hesitate, if he catches even a hint of your trail, it will be over."

“You said you were helping me because he told you to.”

“Before he was lost, yes, he made a final wish.” Luis softens, and you realize he’s grieving, too. “He told me to take you as far away as possible from him if he ever were to try and get you involved in this mess. Because he would never do that to you in his right mind, so he said. A total romantic underneath all that ice, eh?”

He would never do that to you in his right mind… 

You flash back to three days ago, to his words, to how he said he loved you, all his adoring, the broken dam of affection and how he didn’t hold back anymore. 

He wouldn’t have decided to go through with opening up to you like that had it not been for the parasite’s influence? 

Uncertainty dangles heavy as you fight with the bitter reality you thought was a dream come true, the heart-wrenching realization that the man you love has been ensnared by the very darkness he sought to protect you from — that only giving into it broke his control of keeping away from you emotionally.

Regret etches itself onto Luis's face as he observes your inner turmoil. "I'm truly sorry, Princesita," he offers with empathy. 

The moment hangs suspended, an agonizing choice looming before you, as you weigh the love you hold for Leon against the desperate need to escape the clutches of this cult. 

You don’t want to leave Leon, even when there’s something clearly wrong with him that can’t be fixed, but on the other hand… 

“Can you honestly tell me he isn’t the man I know?”

“He is less and more.” His tentativeness bleeds into the clearest possible simplification he’s able to give you.. “But isn’t the same.” 

“So what do we do? What should I do?”

You still cannot wrap your head around your whole world flipping upside down, can’t comprehend you have to leave Leon behind, you barely processed him being an agent. You’re stalling. Hesitating. And deep down in your heart, you know why. It’s because you don’t want to go. 

Leon is still Leon. 

But you’re terrified. 

 "The choice is ultimately yours to make. But I implore you to consider your own well-being and the chance to break free. I know that’s what he truly wanted."

“I—”

But as you open your mouth to respond, a sudden, excruciating pain shoots through your head, causing you to cry out in agony. It feels as if someone has driven a searing spike into your skull, rendering you momentarily incapacitated. Your body crumples, and you find yourself on your knees, clutching your head, desperately trying to block out the piercing ringing in your ears.

Amidst the torment, your consciousness is abruptly whisked away, transported to an ethereal realm. It is a dream-like state, observing the world through the lens of another's mind. The golden chandeliers cast a cascade of shimmering light upon turning corners and ornate doors, as the person you are connected to races frantically through the maze-like passages.

The frenzied movement abruptly halts, and your vision pulsates in tandem with the rapid beat of a heart. It’s Leon’s voice echoing through the recesses of your mind, a hidden depth of anger and desperation at the heart of his control. "I feel you," he utters, a slight tremble of heartbreak. "You're in here. I know you're listening. Where are you? Why did you leave?"

Realization dawns upon you, a profound understanding that you are inhabiting Leon's thoughts, sharing his fears and confusion. The sheer intensity of the experience overwhelms you, and you cry out, "No, make it stop!" Your consciousness briefly returns to the physical realm, tears streaming down your face, the pain of the connection too much to bear. "It hurts!"

The ethereal realm engulfs you once more, Leon's emotional turmoil swirling around you. His voice billows with remorse and longing. "It might... Things might have escalated a bit too quickly," he confesses, his tone laden with regret. "It's my fault, I got too cocky, too impatient. But I never wanted to scare you off. I only ever wanted to keep you safe. You have to trust me and open your eyes so I can do that, sweet girl, okay? I'll come get you. We’ll talk it out. You can’t run."

Confusion intertwines with the pain coursing through your being. Leon's words perplex you, as if there is a hidden meaning beneath his pleas. "My eyes?" you utter, the question hanging, unanswered.

Luis gets so loud that you’re brought back to your location for a split second. “Shit. Do not open your eyes!”

Leon hears what he says somehow — and it suddenly comes to you that if you’re in his head, he is also in your head. “Luis. I should have known.”

You feel a sharp pinch at the side of your neck that cannot even compete with the tremendous headache, and the vision begins to crumble, Leon getting fainter — his presence fading away, the last you hear of him is a furious and equally anguished, “Goddamnit, no!” before everything goes black.  

Luis detects the stirring of your consciousness before you do, and as your awareness is brought back from the dormant state you were in, he calls to you in the darkness surrounding everything. “Don’t open your eyes yet.”

You shift around, feeling the coolness of a rough surface against your back and the firmness of the stone floor beneath you. The silence is broken by a peculiar sound—an unsettling symphony of metallic echoes. Chains. Accompanied by Luis’ feet shuffling around, they slither across the ground, you can almost envision their length, extending and coiling, like serpents of iron, their echoes intertwine, creating an eerie melody because you can’t see them. 

“What are you doing?”

Luis's response is calm and purposeful. "Setting the scene," he explains. The sound of nails being hammered into stone with an underlying jingle punctuates his words, causing you to jump in surprise. "For Lancelot seeking his Guinevere."

The pieces start to come together, albeit slowly. "You want to trap him," you realize.

Luis acknowledges your understanding. "Wonderful, Princesita," he praises. "You catch on fast. Leon is connected to you somehow, and we can't progress if he sees through your eyes. So, we need to create an illusion."

Confusion and concern overflow as you question the feasibility of their plan. "But Leon is... He could be listening right now."

Luis dismisses your worries. "Do you feel that he is sharing your head at the moment?" he asks. The uncertainty in your response betrays your lack of knowledge. "Ey, you'd know," he asserts. "That means he isn't present. Perfect."

Doubts linger in your mind as you consider the risks. "Will it work? He's... well, I recently learned he's an agent. I don't think it'll be easy."

"Whose side are you on?" he teases, playful. But when he senses your unease, he quickly reassures you. "No worries, I get it. He's better with the ladies, I've learned."

You can't help but feel a pang of guilt. "Luis..."

He brushes off your concerns with understanding. "I'm almost done here. He's supposed to think you're alone, so you can't look at me when I tell you to open your eyes. I'll be hiding. Don't talk to me, don't acknowledge me, just wait."

Curiosity gets the better of you as you ask, "How are you going to..."

Luis's response is concise and determined. "It won’t be me who’s doing it. It will be you. I will be your distraction.” You hear his footsteps approaching, and something small but heavy being placed on the floor just beside you, hidden from your line of sight. “You’ll hide when he arrives, and when the time comes, I want you to shoot. Don’t worry, it’s a tranquilizer gun. Wish me luck so he won’t kill me on sight, eh?”

It doesn’t take long for him to signal you. 

You open your eyes, the darkness giving way to dimly lit surroundings. The scene before you is carefully arranged, meticulously designed to deceive. The chains that previously echoed through the room now come into view, hanging ominously from the winch on the ceiling, you follow the line with your eyes to see the other end is secured to the stone wall by a circle of nails. The clinks and clanks reverberate, amplifying the tension.

Luis is nowhere to be seen, but his presence lingers, a silent reassurance that you're not alone.

In the deafening silence, doubt gnaws at you, and you question the madness of your current circumstances. 

You’re unsure of what you truly desire, unable to look over how you really just found yourself going along with Luis's plan, not because it feels right, but because your mind is clouded, unable to think clearly. You feel like a reluctant child, accepting the path laid before you simply because it seems to be the only option available.

Uncertainty presses heavily upon you as you contemplate the impending encounter with Leon. Fear grips your thoughts, entwining with the deep-rooted emotions you still harbor for him. Despite the revelations and warnings about his true nature, your heart remains entangled in a web of love and trust, the idea of seeing him again evokes a conflicting mishmash of longing and apprehension. 

You find yourself yearning for his presence, against the knowledge that he is not the same person you once knew when the mere thought of his return conjures a happy expectation of hope within you, a desperate desire to be whisked away from the nightmarish reality that has unfolded — deep, deep down, you pine for him to be the savior, the one who can shield you from the horrors of this supernatural ordeal he inflicted upon you himself.

Yet, simultaneous fear engulfs your soul, you question your own liability, knowing that you still trust him, still harbor the potential to be swayed by his words and actions. The thought terrifies you, the notion that you might have readily agreed to his plans had he presented them differently, had he explained the sinister truth of the parasite in a more inviting manner. It's a terrifying realization, the awareness of your own susceptibility to his influence, and despite everything, he’s the only anchor you can hold on to not be swept away into that chaos. 

You want him to enter the room, to make everything right again, tell you all of this is a nightmare you made up in your head because in the real world you still miss him, and at the same time you also fear what his arrival may entail.

As if attuned to your thoughts, a prickle in your mind disrupts your musings—a subtle trickle of awareness, the sensation of being watched by an invisible presence sharing the same space as you.

So you wait, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of the impending confrontation with Leon bearing down on you. Every second feels like an eternity as you strain to listen for any sign of his approach. The air grows heavy with anticipation, and your senses are on high alert.

Suddenly, a noise echoes through the chamber, a faint, careful creak of a door opening. Your breath catches in your throat, he was so deadly silent infiltrating the building this basement is in, and you scramble to crouch and hide behind stacked boxes facing his direction, praying to god he hasn’t heard you. 

His eyes search the room in  a hardened gaze, a mask of determination, scanning every corner, every shadow with professional coldness. 

Leon cuts through the silence, as if he’s been hurt by you somehow. "Come on, I know you’re here, you don’t need to hide from me, I’m just here to talk.. Don’t be afraid of me.”

Your heart aches at the sound of his voice, you fight back tears, reminding yourself that this is necessary, for both his sake and your own — you can’t crumble right now, absolutely dreading what actually hearing him out would do to you. 

Luis emerges from where he’s hiding, unknowingly coming to your rescue, stepping forward with calculated confidence. "Looking for someone, Leon?" he asks, dripping amused intrigue.

"Where is she?" Leon demands, and you’ve never heard him like that before — that bone-chillingly cold and intimidating, menacing, low tone is downright terrifying. 

“Not even a hola for your old friend?” 

Leon fucking pulls a gun on him and your heart jumps to your throat. “Where. is. she?”

Luis raises his hands in a placating gesture, a sly smile playing on his lips. "No need for violence, my friend. I'm here to help."

Leon's grip on his weapon tightens, his suspicion evident. "I don’t need your help anymore. Tell me where she is."

Luis chuckles softly with a trace of mischief. "Ah, the stubbornness of a man in love. But I'm afraid your Princesita is in another castle."

Anger flashes in Leon's eyes, his frustration mounting. "Don’t bullshit me Luis, I know she’s here. What are you up to?"

Luis takes a step closer, sympathetic as much as he’s purposeful. "I've done what you asked of me. She's safer without you." 

Leon's face contorts with disbelief and fury, threatening to consume him. "Safer? You have no idea what you’re talking about. There is no safer place on earth right now than by my side. The world's about to go shit. The President is down, and the impending mass vaccination is nothing but a precursor to chaos. Do you think this is some deranged lover’s obsession? No."

With hopeless resoluteness, Leon continues to pour out his frustrations and fears. "Someone, be it the WHO, Terrasave, or the BSAA, someone will eventually expose the truth about the parasite spreading through medicines. And when that happens, all hell will break loose — do you understand the scale of what I’m talking about? The illusion of a smooth and controlled resolution is nothing more than a lie, and we both damn well know it."

Emotions wash over Leon, leaving him vehement and exposed, self-deprecating, raw. "I may have failed in my mission, and I may have failed everyone, but I refuse to let her become a mindless puppet like those villagers and cultists. I won't let her perish chasing scope after scope for news articles that’ll get her killed. She's all I have left." His voice quivers with a defeated tenacity and desperation, he shakes his gun at Luis. "So yes, I made a choice. It's the right one. It's the only one. A choice where I can be with her, where she can stay safe. A choice where I become the monster, but I can’t care less about the consequences anymore. So, get out of my way, Luis, and take that getaway chopper of Ada's while I'm still giving you the chance. That a good deal?"

“What happens when Saddler loses?” Luis sighs through his nose, totally unaffected by all that talk. “What happens if you die on that hill?”

His question lingers for a moment before Leon responds, less baleful and more mournful, even accompanied with a strange sense of happiness. "I know the end. As long as I get to die in her arms, it doesn't matter."

In that instant, something within you snaps. The anguished anger and the raw empathy you feel for Leon flow through your veins, overpowering any rational thought. Without hesitation, you make a decision that feels both natural and inevitable — to shoot the tranquilizer. 

You pull the trigger, the dart finding its mark with an unsettling precision, and time slows as you watch it puncture his skin, him flinching with a hand clamping around the dart and yanking it out, his wide, red eyes finding yours as you stand up, the realization dawning in his eyes. 

You want to cry when it’s relief and happiness that comes first to him upon seeing you as if on instinct, and confusion and hurt wash over his features next as he sees what’s in your hands. It's a sight that cuts through your heart. He staggers, toward you, his body fighting against the encroaching numbness, as if defying the very fate that befalls him. With outstretched arms, he reaches for you, fingers trembling, yearning for connection amidst the sense of betrayal. 

Yet, despite his desperate efforts, his strength fails him. His legs give way beneath him, and he tumbles to the ground, his reach falling short. You watch, your heart splitting in two, as he crumples in a heap of confusion. His fingers graze at where your presence is, a touch that never finds its mark.

In the waning moments before unconsciousness claims him, his eyes search yours, pleading for answers that you struggle to provide. You stand rooted to the spot, grappling with guilt and anguish, questioning the validity of your actions, second-guessing the choices that have led to this heartbreaking scene.

As Leon finally succumbs to the claim of the tranquilizer, his body surrendering to the oblivion of unconsciousness, you're left with your final commitment, crystal clear. 

Your heart was set on this from the start. You were just too scared to admit it. 

You’ll stay with him in this darkness.

Leon’s all alone here, knows he’s doomed by the narrative, can’t leave — and all he thought throughout that was you and what would happen to you. 

You can’t leave this man in the solitude of tragedy, with the first ever selfishness of his was seeking you out despite himself to protect you. No moment has solidified his love for you more than this. How he thinks of you tremendously. 

You can’t not love this man. You can’t bring yourself to obey his wishes and abandon him.

The lamb doesn’t want to leave the slaughterhouse. 

With a heavy yet determined tone, you utter the words that seal your fate. "Go, Luis."

Luis protests, filled with concern and a touch of reluctance. "You can’t—"

Tears well up in your eyes as you gaze at Leon's unconscious form, lying helpless on the cold ground. The depth of your emotions overwhelms you, but you gather your resolve. "I can't abandon him now. Not after everything he's been through. He needs someone by his side."

Luis hesitates, torn between honoring your wishes and his genuine concern for your well-being, making a final attempt to persuade you. "I understand your heartache, but you're risking everything for him. Are you sure about this? There's so much at stake — you’ll become just like him, you know? You’ll never be able to leave Los Illuminados and go back to your old life."

“You don’t get it do you? It’s true that I'm scared, Luis. Scared of what lies ahead, the stuff you’ve talked about is straight out of a dystopian novel. But I'm more scared of losing him in all of this.” It haunts you how he said it doesn’t matter if he gets to die in your arms, no regard for his own well-being and health. Leon has never cared for himself enough, that much you know, but to think his entire system has collapsed like this, to the point where he’s let himself go entirely and came to you while wounded… It’s something you can’t turn a blind eye to. A cry for help you can’t ignore. “He looked for me in this chaos. Underneath all of the excuses of protection, Leon’s just scared. He doesn’t want to be alone.” You can’t look away now that you’ve seen everything. “I can’t go back anyway after knowing this. I’d never forgive myself. It's better to face whatever’s coming with him, no matter what horrors it holds.”

“There’s absolutely nothing I can do to change your mind?”

The fact that he’s set on doing this and looking out for you until the last second because he has promised Leon and is truly concerned warms your heart up. “You really should catch that ride before it’s too late.” 

“You’re making a mistake.” His concern mingles with a touch of admiration for your unwavering will. “But he’s hell of a lucky bastard to have you by his side throughout it all. This is the sacrifice of your life, I’m not joking. And I hope it’ll be worth it.”

He’s not like you, and that’s okay. You actually admire and envy his sense of self-preservation overweighs his loyalty and promise to Leon, that’s how a normal person should be. But the situation is far from normal, and you’re infected by a mind-altering parasite for fuck’s sake, and you’re not even sure you’re going through the quarter of what Leon has. 

“Thank you Luis.” Touched by his understanding, you reach out and take Luis's hand, gratitude shining through. “For everything.”

A somber atmosphere settles in the room as Luis grows more melancholic. He takes a deep breath before making his final request. "Before I go, there's one last thing I want to ask. Considering we don't know how he’ll react when he wakes up, I think it's best to be cautious. We should chain him up, just to be safe. I don't want him accidentally hurting you in his confused state."

You hesitate, unsure about the idea of restraining Leon, but Luis's earnestness compels you to consider it. "I don't think he would ever harm me..."

Luis interrupts gently. "Oye, let me worry about that, Las Plagas is unpredictable and dangerous. Do me this favor, it’s the least you can do to pay me back, yeah? A little caution won't hurt. And if Leon questions it, you can blame me. I can handle it from a safe distance out of his reach in the comfort of my luxury ride."

With Luis's words echoing in your mind, both of you set to work, struggling like you’re trying to roll a boulder up a hill with the weight of Leon's unconscious body. The effort is tremendous, sweat pouring down your faces as you maneuver his unexpectedly heavy frame. 

Exhausted from the strenuous task, Luis hands you the key, his face flushed with exertion as you finally finish securing Leon in chains. The room is filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of your own labored breaths.

As the unvoiced question of what happens now makes itself known between you two, caught in the tension between Luis’ desire to stay and the necessity of his departure. His words come out disconnected, hesitant, obviously having an awkwardness that comes from bidding farewell under such circumstances. "Well..." he begins, trailing off as he struggles to find the right words. "It was a pleasure to know you, Princesita." His smile is half-hearted, betraying the mixed emotions within him. "I hope we never have to meet again."

The unexpected humor in his remark catches you off guard, and a genuine laugh escapes your lips, the sound reverberating through the room, mingling with the faint clinking of the chains as Leon stirs behind you, his presence a constant reminder of what you’ve decided to get yourself into.

Luis's insistence breaks through the brief moment of levity as he implores you, his eyes flicking between you and Leon's kneeling form. "Take care of him," he urges, a sense of responsibility coloring his words. "And yourself."

You offer him a reassuring smile, endlessly thankful for his guidance in getting you to realize Leon’s perspective. "Will do. You too, Luis," you respond, nothing but warmth in your heart for him as you acknowledge his efforts. "Don't feel bad about not being able to help us, please? You've done all you can."

He nods once, his features a blend of bittersweet defeat and acceptance. With a final glance, he retreats into the shadows, his presence fading away. The room feels emptier without him, and sadness washes over you, a stab of guilt for potentially failing him now that you are left alone with your thoughts and the finality of the decision you have made.

The room remains shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the faint sound of Leon's steady breaths and the gentle rattling of the chains that bind him. 

Your gaze inevitably falls upon him, bound and unconscious before you. 

The sight of him, held captive by the chains, elicits strange emotions that defy explanation. There is an undeniable allure that emanates from his restrained form, drawing you in despite the chaos that surrounds you. It is a conflicting blend of fascination and revulsion, a cocktail of sensations that confound your senses. You should be consumed by panic, overwhelmed by the dire circumstances and the looming threat of the parasite within you. Yet, in this moment, a strange calm settles within your being. Is it the influence of the parasite that dulls your anxieties, or is it a resolute acceptance of the path you have chosen?

Despite the restraints that hold him captive, there is an undeniable attractiveness that surrounds him, gluing your eyes to the sight before you.

Kneeling on the floor, Leon’s muscular physique is accentuated by the susceptible position he finds himself in, the chains tightly holding his wrists above his head, rendering him defenseless and at your mercy. His sculpted arms, stretched taut and slightly strained, display the evidence of his strength even in his helpless state, veins beneath his skin appear more pronounced, as if awakened by the touch of captivity and the strain of gravity. His tousled locks of blond hair cling to his forehead and darken in shade where they meet with sweat, adding to his prettiness. Even in his unconsciousness, there is a magnetism that emanates from his chiseled features — strong jawline, cheekbones, and glistening lips that have known both determination and tenderness. The pinch of his eyebrows low over his eyes adds a touch of rugged toughness, contrasting with the vulnerability imposed upon him by the chains. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, betraying the calmness of his unconscious state. Light and shadow dance across his defined torso, revealing the slopes and curves that bear witness to his physical prowess. 

It is an unintended pull that arises from the juxtaposition of strength and exposure, dominance and surrender. The image of Leon bound and kneeling, his arms raised and secured by the unyielding chains, creates a powerful visual dichotomy — a captivating blend of control and submitting, strength and fragility.

You didn’t know you were into BDSM. Is this what it is? Why the hell does he look so mouth watering in chains to you when there are more dire matters to feel about — you are being a giant pervert about an unconscious man. Sympathy, desire, and protectiveness intertwine, blurring the lines between what is right and what is alluring. In this moment, you are both drawn to his physical presence and compelled to ensure his well-being, torn between the magic of his bound form and the urge to set him free to not let your thoughts run further.

You have no idea how much time passes before Leon's eyes flutter open, blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, and you stand up from where you were sitting, hands clasped before you in an anxious gesture, fearing his reaction. Panic briefly flashes across his face when the drowsiness clears enough for him to notice he’s bound by heavy chains, his arms held aloft and his movements restricted — the harsh tug on the chains makes you jump and that’s how he spots you standing nearby, concern etched on your features.

"You’re okay," Leon breaks the silence, his words a murmured astonishment. It's not a question, nor is it a statement of certainty. It's an observation imbued with gratitude. He's taken aback, as if his mind is struggling to comprehend that you are here with him at all. That’s the first thing he worries about? That’s what he cares about? “You stayed.”

The corner of your lips tugs upward in a soft, bittersweet smile. "Yeah, I did," you reply. The way he looks at you, as if you hold a small piece of his shattered world together, tugs at your heartstrings.

Leon’s more wary and threat-seeking when he brings up the stranger. “Luis?”  

You start playing with your fingers. "He left.” A pause. “It was my decision.” 

He sits up straighter, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Is… that so?”

It’s so bizarre having a serious conversation with him in chains now that you’re living it. “I’m… I’m sorry for the chains, I, Luis, uh—”

“No, I get it.” He says it like it’s a given and he doesn’t mind it — and that’s when you’re reminded again that he’s a specially trained agent, that’s where the attitude weirdly used to these kinds of things has to come from. “I haven’t given you a reason to trust me.” He gazes at you, his eyes betraying remorsefully hidden emotions, voice dropping down to a low whisper. “Yet you stayed anyway even when I’m like this. I never thought... I never expected anyone would ever, for me… You know.”

Your heart is a soaked towel and he has just wrenched it dry. The way he sees himself physically hurts. "I couldn't leave you, Leon.” You sniffle, head shaking as you confess, revealing your devotion. “I could never leave you."

He reaches out, his restrained hands straining against the chains, as if longing to touch you, to reassure you of his own unwavering devotion. But all he can offer is his words. "That’s all I’ve been terrified of," he admits. It stays unknown to you if the subject of the sentence is you leaving him or you not leaving him. "Ever since I caught myself falling for you, that’s what all this has been about and — this shit inside me amplifies the worst in me, and you’re still here. Damnit.” 

Tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you refuse to let them fall. "Leon, you are not alone in this." You want to kiss away all worries and fears he keeps to himself, now in front of you in all of their intricate, overthought glory. "I made this choice because I believe in you. I believe in us."

His gaze intensifies, searching you for any trace of doubt or unease. But all he finds is unwavering faith, and a love that refuses to be shaken. "I don't deserve you," he murmurs,  barely above a whisper. All of a sudden, the tiredness you know all so well pushes down on him. "Not after everything."

A soft smile graces your lips, a gentle warmth spreading through your entire being. Luis is wrong. He is definitely wrong — this is Leon, and he’ll always be Leon. "And I don’t deserve your love." He immediately looks like he’s going to disagree on the spot, but you don’t give him the chance. "But here we are anyway. I'm here, no matter what. I’ve made my choice. If you’ll have me too—"

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe," he vows, engraved with purpose. Just the way he says it could be added to a resume, the self-confidence and intentness of a professional in his field behind the power. "I'll prove to you that I can be the person you deserve."

"Leon, I already know the person you are. And I'm not going anywhere."

Leon's widened gaze inflames, breathing becoming more labored as he hangs his head down and nods a couple times while hiding his face from you. “Okay.”

You didn’t expect that to make you burst out laughing, and his head shoots up when he hears your laughter echoing in the chamber. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth, turning around to not let him see and think you’re mocking him. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you.” You manage to turn it down to snickering, screaming at yourself to stop already. “It’s just… that was so unironically you and… God, help. I don’t know why this is so funny to me—”

“Okay...”

“Stop! Stop saying okay.” You laugh again at his intonation, pushing the back of your hand against your nose. “That’s all you can say?”

Some sort of fascination surfaces beneath his stoic mask, like he’s someone who’s hearing the birds chirp for the first time. “Actually, I have a lot to say, but…” You watch him rise, his height allowing him to hold his chained wrists on his waist level. He reaches out with his shackled hands, beckoning you to come to his side, yearning for a connection, “You’re too far away for it.”

You jokingly tease. “Will you be a good boy?”

It has an immediate effect on him, sweet adoration stains into something suggestive, lingering between you like a charged current, and you can feel the shift in his demeanor, the warning tilt of his head, the faint red shine swallowing the blue of his eyes, the chains rattling as he grabs onto them in a tight, restrained grip, body tensing, a coiled energy barely contained. 

As his voice emerges in a single, sharp syllable, a low and husky whisper, “Don’t,” it sends a shiver all over your body. The words are measured, deliberate, and carry an undertow of caution that both entices and warns. It's a dark invitation. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

It’s not just you. 

You’re both fucked up. 

And you take a step closer, closing the distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest, and he watches you like a hawk. “I’m just asking a question.”

His eyes glow with an intense crimson hue in response, piercing through the dim light, making you halt when there’s only about five feet left between you and him. Black veins spread across his skin like intricate patterns of ancient curses, marking him up. And extending from his lower back, a large scorpion-like tail emerges, its barbed stinger poised in the air, and just as how the spine is a series of individual vertebrae, small bones stacked one upon the other, his tail too is articulated, allowing it to curl like a snake, curving and undulating with an eerie grace, almost as if it has a life of its own.

It dances through the air, floating towards you, its presence both beguiling and unsettling. You watch, apprehensive and curious, as Leon manipulates his tail, rotating it to show you every angle. As he nudges you gently with it, an unexpected tenderness shines through his alien appearance. "It won't hurt you," he emphasizes, a soothing reassurance. He looks like a creature plucked from the pages of a fantastical novel, but his care for you remains undeniable. "Try touching it."

You observe the chitinous exoskeleton, marveling at its texture and the otherworldly allure it possesses. "Will you feel it?" you ask, a snap of fidget in your curiosity.

Leon's eyes meet yours, a flicker of a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips. "That's a dangerous thing to want, don't you think?" His words carry a double meaning, an underlying invitation to explore the depths of desire that lies beneath the surface. In that moment, you realize you've unknowingly become a participant in his intricate game, a delicate dance of discovering boundaries.

"Leon, half-insect or not, I would want every part of you," you confess, unapologetically honest and smoking with desire. A swelling of boldness overtakes you, fueled by a mix of desire and affection. You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to grasp his tail. The texture surprises you—smooth and warm, defying the expectations of a creature born from nightmares. Leon's tail jerks slightly in response to your touch, the connection between you both sending a jolt of static through where you’re touching, and he is momentarily stunned, his ardor momentarily subdued by your unabashed declaration. “I want you, always.”

"Alright, alright. You made your point," he interrupts, a flicker of bashfulness visible beneath his attempt to maintain a composed facade. The teasing spark in his eyes is replaced by a rare sentiment, his emotions laid bare before you. "Well. " Some sort of self-consciousness fogs his expression as he looks down. "Though I do feel the same,"  he concedes, pink creeping across his cheeks.

But you're not finished. You close the remaining distance between you, your eyes locked with his. "Leon, I love you." You pour your heart into those three words, stronger, unmoving, louder, hoping he understands the depth of your affection if he hasn’t gotten it yet.

He looks away for a brief moment, his gaze fixated on something indiscernible, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. "Yeah," he mumbles softly, almost lost in the space between you.

Undeterred, you reach out to gently grasp his face, turning his gaze back to meet yours. "I love you," you repeat, scolding him that he’s not taking you seriously. You want him to hear it, to understand the magnitude of your feelings.

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, quickly replaced by something akin to relief, leaning into your touch as if you’re the coolness he needs on a hot summer day. He likes hearing it from you, that much is clear, but the unfamiliarity of the sentiment leaves him momentarily at a loss for words. "Okay," he finally responds, his voice a soft affirmation.

You're about to reprimand him, demanding that he say the words you long to hear in return before you unchain him. But before you can voice your frustration, a sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you, throwing your world into disarray. Your vision blurs, the room spinning and tilting on its axis. You desperately blink, hoping to clear your sight, but the disorientation only worsens. The force of gravity seems to intensify, tugging at your stomach and weakening your legs, causing you to stumble forward. The pain strikes you with a merciless blow, knocking you off balance and into Leon's waiting arms. Your hands, once cradling his face, now find purchase on his shoulders for support.

"Hey!" The weight of your limp body causes Leon to follow you down, sinking to his knees just as you do. However, the chains that bind his arms above his head prevent him from fully supporting your torso. In a swift motion, he maneuvers his tail to secure your body against his, stopping you from falling backward. Your head lolls on his shoulder, basically shaking against him.

"Hang in there, come on," he pleads, trying to reach you. "Talk to me, what's happening?"

Struggling to keep the pain under a manageable level, you reply briefly, not wanting to talk. "I don't know... Felt… dizzy..."

"Shit, okay," he curses softly, his concern deepening. "Does it hurt?"

You just make a curt sound, wanting him to let it go and keep yourself from flopping like a fish out of water on the ground from how it’s ripping you apart. 

“I gotta know if it does. Can you tell me?”

You’re suffering, how does he not see? Does he need verbal affirmation that badly?

“Yeah,” you say behind gritted teeth. “Sure does.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to sting you, alright? Only a drop of venom into your bloodstream,” he explains as merciful and comforting as he’s able in your state.  “You’ll feel a pinch but it’ll relax you. It might put you in an… aroused state because of your parasite, but you’ll no longer feel pain — it’ll feel good. I’ll take care of you.”

The mention of the potential side effects of whatever he wants to do to you makes your brow furrow in confusion, but there's no time to dwell on it. The pain has become unbearable, hacking at your every thought. "I'll feel good?" you question, dying for any kind of escape from the burning.

"Yeah," Leon affirms, a tenderness that reaches deep into your soul. "You'll feel good."

A stream of questions floods your mind, but Leon interrupts before you can voice them. "Not now," he interjects, pressing the syllables with more stress and emphasis. "Will you let me take care of you?"

His distress resonates with your own need for relief. "Yes," you respond without hesitation. "Yes, okay. This pain is killing me, just do it."

With a swift movement, his scorpion-like tail hovers near your exposed nape, its barbed stinger poised and ready.

"I promise, it'll be over soon," Leon whispers, dead set on his goal. "Just hold on."

The venomous tip of his tail makes contact with your skin and a sharp pinch sends a jolt of sensation through your body, but the initial pain subsides almost instantly, replaced by a soothing coolness that spreads from the injection site. It's an odd sensation, the venom working its way through your bloodstream, numbing the pain and replacing it with a peculiar mix of relaxation and heightened sensitivity.

A soft exhale is pulled from your lips as the effects continue taking hold, the relief washing over you like a gentle wave, and you melt against Leon, wrapping yourself around him, having automatically sought him out on pure instinct. He carefully adjusts his sitting and goes down on the balls of his feet to allow you to crawl on him, ensuring you're comfortable, his tail retracting to support your back for a more comfortable embrace.

"You're doing great," he murmurs, his voice a soothing melody amidst the chaos. "Just let it take effect, I’m here."

The heaviness in your limbs dissipates, replaced by a newfound lightness, as if a mass has been lifted from your body. The world around you becomes hazy, the edges blurred as the arousal Leon had warned about intertwines with the relief spreading through your veins, 

It begins with a tingling warmth that spreads across your limbs, akin to tiny sparks dancing on your flesh, and then, the heat gradually intensifies, caressing your senses with a gentle yet invigorating burn that awakens every nerve ending. But amidst the rising warmth, the usual wave of the venom’s coolness follows, like a frosty breath gently kissing your skin. The burn and the coolness entwine, creating an annoying race of who gets to be on top. The heat stimulates your awareness, drawing attention to how good it feels to have Leon’s strong body against you, how you would like more, how you want to explore this new form of his as he’s ribboned up like a present before you; but simultaneously, the coolness acts as a tranquil connection to reality, tempering the fiery sensations with its gentle touch.

Leon’s unique smell underneath your nose pours into your circulation from your heaving lungs, you snuggle in to get more of his scent, in the crook of his neck, right behind his ear… You can’t help but rub your head against it like it could somehow pass to your own body — it’s all instinct, the space of your head pleasantly misty, the feeling of only wanting to get closer wiggling enthusiastically inside. You notice your hands are on the move later, running up his sides and his back, only when you feel the ripple of bumps on his spine following your fingers gliding up and down as if responding to your touch. 

“Leon…” He sucks in a sibilant sound when your nails run down his back, momentarily shivering against you. “Leon…”

“Yes, I’m here.” It’s his tail that cuddles you against him because his hands are unavailable. “What do you need, sweet girl, hm?”

How do you say you want to fuck his brains out and do as you wish with him as he’s chained when he can’t retaliate, and how turned on you’re getting by the minute? “I need you.”

You hear the chains rattle and glance up briefly to see his hands balled up in the restraints. “How do you need me?”

His tendency to take things slow and enjoy the augmentation of need as it builds up is a formidable adversary to the you of the present, the frustration is testing the limits of your endurance. There’s something carnal in the way you want him right now, eating away at your patience for playing games with him. 

You rise on your knees still framing the outside of his thighs, and taking advantage of the small difference of height it gives you, yank his hair back to make Leon look up at you, his eyebrows arch upward in an arc, the ascent giving away the shock, and his mouth falls agape, lips parting to release a whispered exclamation “I don’t need this dirty talk, I want your dick in my throat.” You stare him down, catching your reflection in his red eyes and see that the same blight webbing him up is also infesting you, shining in your eyes in the same shade of crimson as his. You simply don’t care. “Is that a satisfying answer?”  

His chin lowers, leering lascivious, and you swear the veins on his face become a more prominent shade of black. “Jesus Christ.” He yanks on the chains, the harsh sound higher in pitch with the power behind it. “Gimme the key.”

“Nooooot gonna.” He leans towards you when you scooch away from his lap, but is unable to chase you fully. You fixate on his crotch, mouth watering, throat anticipating taking in his shape, phantom soreness reminding you what’s coming. You reach out to his thighs and place your palms on his knees, running them up awfully slow, feeling the rigidifying limbs under your touch. 

“Huh? Hey, what do you mean—” He’s stuck between trying to get up and staying that way for you. “What, you’re not untying me?”

“Shut up, I’m in heat right now.” You pop the button of his jeans and bring down the zipper, palming his half-hard bulge above his underwear. “Stop complaining.”

His hips jolt up into your hand, eyes fleetingly rolling behind his head from the satisfying contact, and his cock continues to swell up in your hand, straining against the confines of his briefs. “I’m not complaining — ”

You yank his underwear down, his head popping free and dangling, you bring the underwear underneath his hips along with his jeans with a little help from him rising up and allowing them to slide down better. “You brought this on me, so I’ll feel good the way I want to. Stop. Talking.” 

Chuckling in an underestimating mirth, he’s in the middle of saying, “Yes, ma’am—” mockingly when you lift the edge of his top up to shove the crumpled fabric into his mouth, exposing the carved dips and curves of his chest and stomach. He’s rendered shellshocked for only a second before he lukewarmly glares at you, that’s how you know he doesn’t hate it and only acts like he does. That interested swishing of his tail would be enough to break the chains, but he doesn’t attempt it at all. A silent communication passes between you two, that this is an extension of the role-reversal sex you had the day he left for Spain, and he makes it clear he’s down for whatever you want to do with him. 

Without breaking eye contact, you kiss down his chest and the pads of your fingertips glide along his heated, soft and firm skin, and slow down when you reach the plane of his pronounced abs that tense with each lick and open-mouthed nibble from you, the tautness increasing when the way down from his navel and the path you follow along the veins end up becoming torturously unhurried. 

He has to breathe from his nose, and you pick up where he is on the scale of impatience from his control breaking for it to seep into how sharp or deep they become 

You decide to go on your stomach for now,  letting him remain perched, the coldness filtering into your clothes from the ground not really all that important compared to drinking in all of Leon’s crumpled microexpressions. 

A satisfied noise rises from him as you take him into your hand and give a couple pumps and purposefully stick your tongue out to let your spit dribble considerably on it for better slip and slide, he’s starting to get red in the face. 

And when he thinks it’s about to start with the usual opening of getting him in the mood by the standard jerk-off and the buildup from there, you catch him off-guard by taking him all the way into your throat in one go, concentrating to keep your gagging and choking at a manageable bodily response that won’t make you recoil and start coughing — and surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt, whatever’s in that stinger of his is making everything feel different, you are actually scratching an itch at the back of your throat with Leon and it feels so fucking good to give him head and hearing him respond so eagerly to it. 

The sound he makes despite holding his shirt up with his mouth is choked and powerful as his hips jerk forward and pushes into your mouth, his guttural whine stutters from Leon as you swallow around him. He can’t talk and respond or tell you how you’re doing, but all the pretty noises, from gruff groans, to desperate humming, and restrained moaning tell you all about how he’s feeling. 

You run your nails along the skin underneath his naval and the muscles there jump, the bobbing of your head picking up unexpectedly as you’re literally working to rip his climax off, and he doesn’t feel it sneak up on him, breathing getting more rapid and panicked at how fast you’re wrenching it out of his dick and unconscious shallow thrusts meeting your movements right in the middle — you know exactly when he’s about to come from the slight swell of his dick in down your fluttering esophagus and the tightening of his stomach. 

That’s when you stop and take him out with an audible pop, your lips puffed and red, eyes teary. It twitches before slapping against him and his shirt falls from his teeth in an agonized and disappointed groan as his hips stutter forward in an attempt to search for friction, the fucking saliva trail connecting his lips to the fabric makes your heartbeat swoop downwards. “Why? I was right there!—”

You bat your eyelashes at him, blowing cold air on his denied arousal. “I know, baby.”

“You…” His lips draw back in the middle of a low sound at you gripping his base and giving the head kitten licks, alternating between swirling your tongue around and focusing on sucking the tip only. “Ah, what the fuck.” Your tongue delves into the slit of his head and precum gushes forward, his teeth are exposed in a breathy sharp hiss and a jolt.  “Yeah, that’s it… Shit.” 

The view of his fat chest and his strained, sweat-glistening strong neck swallowing is divine, you pick up the momentum again just to see him get worked up enough to throw his head back for the sight of his striking Adam’s apple, the black veins are doing something else to you that has your insides flipping.

You catch the glimpse of his tail swishing in the air, curling at tandem with your movements. You try taking all of him again to see how it’ll move and the sudden stop and trill has you wanting some friction between your legs. “Fuu—ck, your mouth is a vision, full of me.”

You lick along the bigger vein trailing up under his cock. “Does it feel that good?”

He only nods and thrums a small shudder, but you don’t let him off the leash just yet. “How easy.” Leon’s eyes snap open at the audacity. “Being chained and played with like this…” You give him a particularly harsh pump and the chains jangle because of his sudden tug. “Letting it happen because you want it so much. Desperate to be fucked.”

The degradation alone gets him to pulsate in your hand a couple times, his brow wrinkles as if he’s suffering. “You like this.” You drag a sluggardly strong grip up his weeping cock and his tail whips the ground. “Say it.”

His muscles tense and release, creating a rhythmic movement beneath the surface of his groin upon your teeth getting into the mix. “Shit — I love it.” His arms flex, causing his shackles to rattle. “Everything you do — everything you do to me feels amazing. Keep going, nearly there, I’m about to—”

You hum around him, and he clearly feels the vibrations, rising his hips in an unbelievably hot fluid movement and cursing under his breath, ruby-stained eyes glassy and feverish and mouth thinned and bit from inside. His thighs caging you begin to shake, and you’re made aware he’s close again. 

And this time, it’s him who knows you’ll pull back when he needs it the most. “Oh no, you don’t.” 

Something coils around your torso and pins you in place so his dick can’t slip out of your mouth, you struggle for air and attempt to pull back, but Leon barges in on your alarm, hoarse and gravelly. “Easy, it’s just me, don’t worry.”

Your hands grasp to the fabric of the jeans on the inside of his thighs, finally able to comprehend he used his tail to bind you — surprisingly gentle yet immovable, it doesn’t suffocate you, nor hurt you in any way. 

Mouth still around him, you look up to see he’s watching you, possessing a smoldering zeal, hunger a glint on a knife’s edge, shadow of a sly smile dances upon his lips, a knowing smirk, a sense of assuredness amplifying how he has you, one that reveals all that he’s thinking and claims control from your hands. With every heavy breath he takes, his chest rises and falls, revealing the heightened state of his arousal, and it seems his irises glow a shade darker crimson, a pulsating energy radiating from him, a palpable magnetism that ignites a fire within your own being.

“I’m going to move us around, stay still.” 

He makes sure to remove his erection from your mouth without hurting you before it’s with a natural predator’s grace he rises and stands up, his tail maneuvering you around to sit on your knees right in front of him, and you can only gape as he wraps the excess of chains around his wrists so they don’t get in the way, his forearms and biceps pop like they belong to a god like this. 

“Pretty mouth, waiting just for me.” At this height, he’s able to reach down and run a thumb along your bottom lip and push in, rubbing through the length of your tongue, fascinated.  

The giant appendage, then, unwinds around you, but much to your astonishment, doesn’t slither away, the thinnest end sneaking its way between your thighs instead and your legs clamp around it, but the drag forward defying your refusal has you squeaking. God, the jointed nature of it, like some weirdly shaped anal beads, is acting as periodic zaps moving against your heated sex. It even has the strength to fucking lift you up. Your panties are going to be ruined at this rate. “Leon, what—”

“Wanna make you feel good too.” You’re boosted up when it gives you a particularly harsh press, stars shooting everywhere in your vision with the delicious press not just focusing on one area, but rolling through your clit and dipping to make your entrance contract. “I’ll move it, you focus on taking me.”

Fuck, this is basically the thigh riding from before but on another level, that’s so hot —  

His manacled hands wrap around the angry red of his cock, the size of his hands so titillating fisting the length. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth, is that okay?”

You reflexively swallow, mouth watering instantly. “Please. Please.”

“Such a good girl, begging for my cock down your throat. I can’t refuse when you plead like that.” He rewards you by a rich thrust of his tail forward, your eyes closing in delight, you’re sure that a wet spot is forming with all that moving around. “Open up.” 

You obey and loosen your jaw as much as you can to let him set the pace, hands grabbing on the moving appendage between your legs in preparation to be used like some glory hole, but unlike your aggressive start from before, Leon is much more deliberate and unhurried in bottoming out, your head is swimming in a sea of dizzyingly gratifying smog, white and blanked out as he pleasures you through it. 

You get so lost in it that he sharply hisses and caresses your forehead with shaking hands and has to warn, “No teeth, sweet girl. Relax… Yeah, just like that. You’re doing so well, so perfect, making me feel so good.” 

You don’t mean to mewl around him the way you do, but his praises are so sweet as if he’s always getting his dick sucked for the first time, makes you feel appreciated, makes you feel special. 

Tears are streaming down your face, saliva drooling down your chin, you’re sure you’re gonna have a sore throat after this, and that sight would be ugly and messy to you, something you wouldn’t want to show anyone, needlessly embarassing, but it spurs Leon on, he craves prettying you up as he says, loves that you become a mess just for him — and you had missed all of that being a sign of neediness before all this. He loves the feeling of being special just as you do, loves that he’s able to get you filthy like this. 

“Shit — can’t believe I get to have this forever, now… Never thought… Never—” He breathily laughs, the sound turning into a wanton growl as your throat constricts through his drawn-out, unrushed thrusts. He’s babbling like a man in a confessional, speed beginning to pick up, the movement of his tail also reflecting the frenetic climb, sending your snowballing itch spiraling into completion. “Don’t care what happens anymore — don’t care, don’t care, only need this—sah, fuck!”  

His hands hastily rest on top of your hand to keep you in place and you whine and squeal, his stretch digging impossibly further down, a long groan echoing in the chamber at the same time of something metallic shattering and falling off with incredible strength, Leon’s hips twitching in place with your nose buried deep in the fuzz of hair at the base of his cock. Waves of warm spurts drizzle down your esophagus, and you don’t taste anything, but have a go at swallowing on instinct, and it coerces a strained, debauched moan out of him. 

His tail moves to pull you away from him and you sit back on your heels, shaking more so from your impending orgasm being pulled right under your feet like a rug because of the abrupt halt of the rhythm, unable to stop the coughing, wrapping a hand around your throat for dampening the soreness, and before you know it, his lips have taken the place of your hand, smothering your neck and your face with kisses. 

“You did so good. A fucking angel of sin — for me only.” He doesn’t hesitate to entwine his tongue with yours tenderly as if it’s a honeyed treat to lap up, his gratitude and enthusiasm running high as before. The way he speaks into your mouth gets you pressing your legs together to ease the painful, sweet throbbing between your legs. “You were amazing, sucked the soul out of me, holy shit.”

A whiny, “Leon,” and a tug on his shirt is all he needs to know you need him.  

“I know sweet girl, I have you.” His tail sneaks around your waist again, loose in case of your refusal. In the corner of your eye, you see the winch fastening the chains on the ceiling is squashed on the floor, yet his hands are still bound. “You trust me to make you feel good, right?”

“Yes, always.”

“You can say no if you don’t like this.” The sensation of being moved so easily by something alien is frightening as much as it’s arousing when it’s coming from Leon, your anticipation is about to drip down your legs at his tail gently propelling you up to stand on both feet steadily and turning you around so your back is facing Leon. You are bent down from the waist, and the fear of falling makes you jump, but the appendage is fully supporting you, almost making you float, you could stand on your tiptoes with full body weight and you wouldn’t crash on your forehead. “Is this alright?”

You are about to break down in a series of tremors from how much this is turning you on. “Yeah.”

His hands run along your tailbone. “I’m going to chain your wrists behind your waist. That okay?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Tell me if it’s too tight.” He doesn’t need to reach for your hands, you align them to rest on your waist on top of each other. He does adjust them a bit and sets you straight after you crane your neck to take a good look at what he’s doing — you’re only able to get a single frame of him unwinding some of the restraints around his wrists to bind them around yours, affectively connecting both your shackled wrists together in a short line of chain. One of his hands grabs and tugs, securing his tail around your torso a bit better at the same time. “How is that? Any discomfort?”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Can you please just fuck me already, I’m about to die.”

He lets you go to slide two fingers up your clothed pussy, your folds quite literally pulsing at the contact. “It’s burning up —- you want to brand me, huh?”

You don’t indulge in his running mouth, just wanting to enjoy the fiery pleasure his fondling fingers light in their wake. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He switches to pulling your pants down together with your panties, but not all the way down, making it hang in the middle of the most supple part of your thighs, efficaciously getting them to act as yet another restraint, this time, around your legs so you won’t be able to part them. Two digits easily slide inside and you yelp, held in place mercilessly. “Fuck,” he says, faintly, a subdued composure, the voice going straight to your pussy and making you clench over his fingers. “You eat me up so eagerly. That hungry, sweet girl?”

Your head’s tingling and buzzing from all that rush of blood in this position, everything gets more overwhelming when you bow your head. You just want him inside you. “Please…”

 You pitifully moan at the loss of your fingers, and the brief squeeze of his tail is comforting. “I’ll relieve you.” The replacement of his bulbous tip running through your lower lips is enough stimulation for your toes to curl inside your shoes. 

You’re shaking with the release of your anticipation, and he curses. “Fuck, you’re sucking me in.” The same chain that binds you both rattles when he grabs your bound wrists, your eyes widening at how his tail also simultaneously pulls you towards him to sink into his girthy length, working together with his hips. 

He’s working you. Using you. Manhandling you, drilling you into him like he’s using a fleshlight as he pleases and everything feels so euphoric, your mind descending into a foggy, floaty bliss despite the tears of instant gratification; the whole burden of responsibility, decision-making, and external pressures melt away and only he exists, and the ecstasy Leon’s spoon-feeding you.

He checks in on you, pulling on your binds, voice tight. “Feel good, sweet girl?” 

“I wa—” You hiccup, followed by a trembling whimper, wanting something for your neglected clit, you can’t reach the threshold like this, you keep rising but not enough. “I wanna come, please, let me—”

“Sshh.” His tail is circling you, like a snake twisting around its prey, and you don’t get it at first that he’s getting more of it into the grip for the fat and curling part of his stinger to be able to reach and roll over your unattended, swollen nub. 

Your mind is so sunken into the pleasure you can’t even worry about the barbed part getting near your vulnerable parts, but he’s an expert at making it knead just the way that gets you uninhibitedly screaming. “I got you, I got you.”

Your legs collapse beneath you, his tail carrying your entire weight as your climax fractures within you unexpectedly, not even taking some time to grow and spread and take time aching — it just explodes, making your body convulse in aftershock shudders, unable to contain your palpitating sobs. 

“Ah, Jesus Christ, fuck!—” The clamp of your cunt around Leon also dropkicks him into his own orgasm, shooting straight into your cervix. He rams into you a couple times before he bottoms out to the hilt, his chained hands having yours in a death-grip, staying like that until the twitching of his cock subsides and he starts going soft. 

When you come to next, the chains are completely gone, broken and shattered on the floor, even. Your clothes are straightened and he sits cross-legged on the ground, his back to a wall, and you’re on his lap, tightly hugged by him, still struggling to catch your breath. The view of his muscular arms around your waist is a delight, as always. 

“I feel disgusting,” you say. A sense of discomfort washes over you, amplified by the lingering physical sensations of sweat and fluids. Your face contorts with a mix of satisfaction and unease, the need to cleanse yourself from the stickiness that clings to your skin uncomfortable.

“I think that was amazing.”

You snort. “Not that — I mean, I want to take a bath, everything feels so sticky.”

Leon plants a kiss to the side of your head. “I’ll take you.” 

He probably means somewhere you can clean yourself, but you can’t help but ask. “Take me where?” 

He pulls you in to snuggle better, resting his forehead on your shoulder, tired but playful. “Well, there’s this castle.” 

He still hasn’t told you all that much about what’s going to happen. There is no salvation from the parasite inside you anymore, it has its home in you, but you know you’re not a captive, not when you share the same chains as him. “After our visit, can I—can we return home, then?”

“I…” The sentence dies as it starts. “I don’t think that’s possible. Not for a while.”

“Because you won’t let me?”

“Because I don’t know what Saddler will want with you.”

He knew the consequences. 

Something inside you makes you change your mind — no, he chose the lesser of two evils for you knowing what was coming. 

You can’t bring yourself to blame him, this was meant to happen — you were meant for this gift, meant for this fate, to carry this creature, share it with him. You feel less doubtful and sure of this now, feel the same red of Leon’s eyes, the black of his veins, you shoulder the agony together. 

Your common sense gives a last breath as it fades into non-existence. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

He chuckles, shielded and spiteful. “Yeah.”

“But you still wanted me by your side.”

“I was worried.”

“You were lonely.” He succumbs into a muzzled silence, and you try to reach out once again. “At least we’re together, right?” 

“Yeah… Together in this hell.” You don’t get to see what kind of face he’s making. His deep voice is raspy, and despite his contrition, he’s holding onto you tighter than before. Failure is a shame upon him, and he doesn’t let himself be comforted. “I’m sorry for bringing you down with me.”

“I’d burn for you, anyway. I don’t care.”

He’s brusque and uncompromising. “I wouldn’t let you burn.”

“Then I’d burn with you.” You turn in his lap to look him right in the eyes — his red meets your red. “Together in this hell, right?”

Lambs to the slaughter. 

[compacflt]

can i just say that I'm haunted by the image of Ice wearing "one of Mavericks cheapest rolexes". One because of the mental immage of Maverick being the kind of men who not only owns multiple watches but also Rolex, which is absolutely delightful, because oh the quiet vanity of that. And two because of the implied and groundbreaking (to me) domesticity (and defiance of the not talking/acknowledging the thing between the 2 of them) of wearing another person watch. I'm screaming into the void about your brilliance. So I need to ask, do they do that on purpose (before the mission) in a sort if roundabout way of acknowledging each other presence in their life? What would Mav wear that belongs to Ice (apart from that USNA ring eheh)?

pilots/sailors/doctors etc who do high-level specialized work with their hands tend to really be Watch Guys. and “cheap” rolexes (sub $7k ish) are actually pretty affordable if you’re making >$150k a year and want to treat yourself every fifth christmas or something. source: know several sailors & doctors. ALSO the watch ice is wearing in his famous gay plane photoshoot is actually a rolex. So theres some evidence ice at least is (annoying, ostentatious, bad with money, and) a Watch Guy. Maverick’s also wearing a kickass chronograph in TGM so i think he’s also probably a Watch Guy. also… you know, status symbol, honor, et cetera et cetera…

they probably wear each other’s socks because in-regs socks all look the same and they’re both men so who cares. i also hc that they’ve always worn the same size in shirts so each other’s t-shirts are also free game. and was very confusing at the start of their relationship when trying to figure out whose shirt was whose after a midnight rendezvous. lots of accidental shirt mixups. and, yeah, each other’s watches, because most people only see the status and don’t see the detail, and most people aren’t around both ice and mav enough to recognize that “omg last month adm kazansky was wearing the same omega chronometer capt mitchell is wearing today!! theyre totally together!!!” so if ice buys a new watch and maverick salivates over it, sure he can borrow it, whatever. and i think there’s a scene in wwgattai when maverick wears ice’s pj pants hold up lemme find it

“in bare feet.” now wtf does that mean. that could use a rewrite.

ice also wears mavericks leather jacket when they’re on their baseball date in debriefing. at some point when you live with someone long enough your stuff becomes their stuff which was the point of this graf

thinking about it… trying to decide if they’d wear each other’s cologne. that seems like a little much. no i don’t think so.

[seakicker]

YOU’VE AWOKEN SOMETHING IN ME:

no one can convince me diluc doesn’t prefer chubby women. soft tummies, plump breasts and thighs, and a big ass; he loves all of it.

typically a reserved man who prides himself on his restraint, all of that goes out the window the second he sees his sweet little darling wearing something a big too tight and a bit too revealing. his eyes rake your body top to bottom and spending extra time practically salivating over the sight of the outline of your belly. diluc often wonders how he got blessed to have something so demure and perfect and full. you’re truly a sight to behold to him; to anyone. he loves throwing you over his shoulder to hear you squeak at the movement and will silence any and all ideas you have of being ‘too heavy,’ because really, he’s buff as fuck. beefy arms.

on the days he feels vulnerable, let him spend hours resting on your stomach, tits, or thighs (he almost always picks your tummy). his fingers trace over every roll and dent with so much love and affection, occasionally pinching and squeezing at your thighs and hips. and boy does he LOVE your hips. they’re just so grabable and practically made for his hands. his rough palms love settling upon them and massaging the muscle and fat till your practically asleep at the soothing motions. the sight of the pads of his fingers pressing in to have the fat of your hips bulge around them makes him swoon. you’re just so perfect to him. you’re everything to him.

and when he’s feeling horny…. dear god. oh man. oh boy. what i said about him throwing you over his shoulder? yeah. he does that a LOT when he’s feeling needy. diluc dies and is reborn every time he’s allowed to manhandle your sweet body. it’s half a show of strength and half a show of dominance. you need to know he’s the one in charge here and he’ll to anything to take care of you. in such intimate moments, he can never find just one spot to put his hands thus they tend to roam. from squeezing the plushness of your thighs and hips, to groping your full breasts, all the way up to grabbing your chubby cheeks in one hand while choking you with the other. he’s absolutely obsessed. he’ll rut in and out of your cute cunt at speeds you didn’t even knew were possible just to see fat tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. he thinks you look prettiest like this; body on display, filled to the brim with him, and big watery eyes wordlessly begging him not to stop. and why would he? when his cute baby just needs to be bred full. he’s got a massively long and THICK cock (extra emphasis on thick, it’s like a soda can) paired with huge heavy balls just desperate to cream inside you. and man when he cums, he cums hard. it’s always paired with a broken and low moan as rope after rope of viscous seed spills inside your precious pussy. diluc always has huge loads and never fails to force it all inside you, desperate to make you swell further with his kids. if it doesn’t work this time, he can always breed you again. and if it does? his dick will stay hard until you give birth, loving the feeling of his even bigger wife against his side. he’ll be certain to fuck you until the baby arrives (he says it’s for good luck but really he just can’t get enough of you and your round belly.

I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS ASK LITERALLY SINCE THE MOMENT I WOKE UP I!!!!! you blessed me with an entire fanfic for FREE i'm not worthy... please you had my full and undivided attention from the moment you said "no one can convince me diluc doesn’t prefer chubby women" because you are SO RIGHT

the juxtaposition of strong, beefy diluc and his soft, chubby wife had me thinking about full nelson breeding with diluc... his thick, strong, veiny arms were MADE to hook under your thighs while he breeds you absolutely senseless. he could (and does) spend hours fucking you like this in front of a mirror; your belly jiggles so cutely while he has you folded up in half like this!

god. very, very delicious ask. thank you for saving my LIFE

[eternalmarvel]

MK1 BI-HAN X READER ~ feint ~

an: no wayy almost close to 100 notes in just a day of posting my first work in so long thanks so much everyone 🫶 in honour of this ill be posting a short drabble (lets see how long this really is after im done writing) anyways this work is inspired by THIS tiktok linked below vvv !! if u don't watch it u won't understand what prompted this fic so highly advise u watch this before u read

note: bi-han and reader are married in this story

also guys this story WILL be having bespectacled bi-han bc u can NOT tell me that man does not wear reading glasses when he gets older. i can totally see his vision getting worse and him having to begrudgingly resort to glasses to read documents and books .... i included a rough image of what that looks like (dont come for me im not an editor)

it was not often that you saw your husband battered from kombat. most days when he went out to spar or fight, there's be a few bruises and scratches here and there sure, but nothing that was so severe that you had to sit down and tend to his wounds. even if he did get injured, most of the time he patched himself up before you could lay eyes on him. it was a bright fall day at the lin kuei stronghold, with most of the ombre-braised leaves littering the ground of the courtyard. you had taken over as a mentor at the lin kuei, focusing on the academics of each initiate's journey to becoming a ninja (though it took a lot of convincing your dear old husband before he ever agreed to let you onboard).

~~

"c'mon, bi-han. you can't just train the initiates physically. they gotta be trained mentally too! you can't possibly think the only problems people face are the ones in front of them -- it's the ones that are in their heads that they gotta defeat too."

bi-han propped himself up against the headboard of your marital bed, his hair messy around his head with his feet outstretched in a relaxed manner (which was much too rare for the grandmaster). he had his reading glasses on and a lounge hanfu wrapped loosely around his body, skimming some documents. rather than entertaining your antics, he ignored you and continued to read the ledger in front of him. you groaned sheepishly, prompting bi-han to look up at you with a hint of annoyance, as you plopped yourself right beside him.

"it's a good idea and you know it.....you just won't admit it..," you playfully pouted. bi-han continued to skim through his document as he gently ran his fingers through your hair and your scalp, prompting a deep sigh from you.

"not a sustainable idea, (name)." you quickly got up and faced him, determined to make a point. "i can make it sustainable! you have to give me a chance to prove it though."

bi-han closed his reading and you could now see the glasses perched up on the plateau of his nose. he was older now and his cryomancy did no favours for his vision -- as he increased his use of snow, his vision degraded. it was you that gave him the nudge to rectify his vision but he didn't budge, said that his vision was fine. it took getting suckerpunched by a VERY apologetic initiate at close-range for him to finally realize that his vision was nowhere where it used to be and if he wanted to retain his position as grandmaster, changes were going to have to be made. you made sure to help pick out his glasses, choosing the frames and lens meticulously and helping him put them on. you could hardly control ur salivation looking at him try on reading glasses that made him look all sophisticated and scholarly. after much pushback, you both decided on a subtle and sleek pair that wouldn't garner too much foreign attention (spoiler alert: it absolutely did). the first few days that bi-han wore the glasses, everyone found it hard to pry their eyes away from him. tomas had to stifle his giggles out of fear that bi-han would strangle him, kuai couldn't help but tease him everytime he laid eyes on his glasses, and the younger initates mistakenly (accidentally? who knows) referred to him as "dad."

bi-han leans forward, his hair clinging to his face, leaning for a kiss but you put your hand between the two of yours' lips as a barrier.

"you get nothing unless you agree to my idea, grandmaster."

bi-han leaned back against the headboard, faced towards you. he took a few brief moments to speak before giving you a soft small smile and gazing at you cautiously with his mellow brown eyes.

"if that is what my wife wishes," he whispers lowly.

~~

you had given most of the initates a set of books that they were to have studied by the end of the year. this prompted a bunch of groans and boos from some of the students, seeing that they wanted to get to the 'ninja' side of things rather than slowly well-rounding all their skills. no one dared to personally say anything to you though, considering you were the grandmaster's wife and any complaint directed at you would be personally dealt with by the grandmaster himself (and it would not go well for the complainant).

you drew out an elaborate web of themes and concepts on the board in front of you.

"alright students, which one of you would like to tell me what this represents. how can we use it practically in our routine?," you say, pointing to one of the themes on the board. the room was pitch silent and you could hear a few yawns here and there.

"come on guys. i'm not doing this for myself, i'm doing this to help you guys out. the quicker you guys can answer this, the quicker we can get out of here," you say matter-of-factly. before you can continue on with your lesson, you hear people arguing and yelling outside. 2 of the initiates at the back of the room pry open the training room's doors ajar so they could take a look and listen to what was going on outside, but you didn't entertain this at all. yelling, fighting, whatever it may be, it was a stronghold, of course it would be common.

"hey. there is nothing going on outside that you need to be familiar with more than what we have in here. pay attention to the lesson please!" you exclaimed with an exasperated expression. the initiates nodded their head and let out a meager "sorry ma'am" for their inconvenience.

"now, everyone. as i was saying, wh-" before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the training room were thrown open. you could probably punch a whole through the wall with all the anger you were feeling. who the hell decided this time that it was a good idea to interrupt you?

"(name), ma'am, the grandmaster is injured and i think you should take a look at him," one of the initiates breathlessly whispers. it's clear that he ran all this way to get your attention.

"what?! oh my god......is his condition stable right now? is he doing okay? where is he?" you exclaimed.

the initiate gestured you to follow him and you agreed.

"alright students, just a mere diversion but by the time i get back, you all better be done the next chapter because i'm gonna grill you on it!" you proclaimed as you zoomed down the stronghold's corridors. when you finally made it to the room bi-han was in, you walked in to see kuai, tomas, sektor, and cyrax crowded by his bed in the infirmary.

"bi-han...." you whispered quietly as your eyes went wide. your husband was laying in the bed, resting like a mummy. bandages curtained his chest, arms, and forehead. his face was stressed -- he was asleep and yet a frown graced his face indicating that he was conscious but unaware of his surroundings. your first instinct was to push past sektor and sit down beside bi-han on the chair. kuai had intentionally left the seat empty so that you could comfort bi-han.

"how the hell did this happen kuai?" you asked, furiously. kuai grimaced at your expression.

"don't blame this on me, (name). he's your husband. you know he takes too much on himself and then ends up all injured."

you looked at the physician who had just finished cleaning up your husband's wounds in desperation, wondering what the hell even happened.

"he's alright. i've patched up any severe wounds and stuck him to an IV. you'll have to nurse him for the next few days though." the bespectacled physician prompted, pushing his glasses to the ridge of his nose.

you chuckled, putting your hands on your bandaged husband's chest, caressing him. "nurse him? what is he, a baby? you said he should be fine."

the physician prepares for a response before bi-han stirs awake. you smile at him as you await him to fully regain consciousness.

"huh....who is....wha..." bi-han murmurs as his eyes adjust to the natural lighting of the infimary.

"bi-han....you're awake! i'm glad." you smile brightly, as your hands move up and down his treated chest. bi-han glances between your hands on his upper body and you, before letting out a loud groan and plopping his head back on his pillow.

"don't."

you look at him confused. "what?"

"i have a wife......she'll kill you if she finds out you've laid your hands on me," he says sternly with his hoarse voice.

you get up from your seat and lean in closer to him with a big smile shone across your face, a light blush spread across your cheeks. you found it adorable that even in such a horrible condition, your husband was loyal to you and you only. kuai looks confused at bi-han, wondering if dementia has caught up to him after all these years while tomas lets out a small chuckle at what his grandmaster was saying knowing that bi-han is too weak to really do or say anything to him.

"i am your wife, my love."

bi-han looks back at you with a neutral expression on his face and you can see his face shift into surprise, then pure flush. you stand there beautifully over him with the hair moved from your face, your scent lingering over him. there is a perfect mix of concern and amusement engraved into your expression, much to bi-han's arousal. a heavy blush creeps onto his face, unlike one you've seen before, and the monitor regulating his heartbeats goes off the charts. it's evident that bi-han's heartrate has boosted EXPONENTIALLY.

"well i'll be damned. our grandmaster might just have a crush on someone." cyrax states. you and the rest of the ninjas turn around and look to cyrax, chuckling but bi-han's gaze remains on you. it's almost as though he is in awe that he married someone like you.

"clear the room," you demand authoritatively. the ninjas and the physician bow their head and comply with your demand, leaving you and your husband alone in the emptiness of the infirmary.

"do you need more heat? are you doing okay my love?" you ask as you get closer to your husband. he looks at you carefully before speaking again.

"perhaps....a little more heat." you smile and obey, grabbing a few candles from the cupboard in the corner of the room and bringing it closer to him. bi-han props himself up against his pillow and disregards everything you're doing just to stare at you. it puts a bit of pressure on you and you get nervous. even if he was on litres of morphine, he was still a LITTLE intimidating. he grabs your forearm gently and starts to bring you close.

"i meant in perhaps a different manner....."

you entertain him.

"i'll let your wife know that you desire to engage in intimate relations with me," you smirk bringing yourself closer to him. he leans back and looks at you in pure confusion and a hint of disgust.

"but i t-"

you ignore his protests and put your lips on his, murmuring "joke, my love" into his mouth as he kisses you back passionately. the morphine was doing its job and bi-han was entranced by the passion. you could get used to your husband being all submissive like this for you for a while now.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Mixing It Up

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in The Shape of Youniverse

The Prompt: You lavish some attention on Steven’s nipples for a change

Requested by: my literal everything @my-secret-shame

Pairing: Steven x afab!reader, background Jake x afab!reader, and Marc x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Spice-O-Meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶 (Rated Tre Explicit, Minors DNI!)

Word Count: 3.1k

CW/TW: Bondage, nipple!play and lactation kink (m and f receiving), dare I say some soft!fem!dom dynamics, dirty talk, pregnant!sex, p in v sex, woman on top, mommy!kink, a bit of orgasm denial, handjobs, and mucho communication in the afterglow since Moon Knight and Moms are complicated. Oh and Jake makes an appearance in this, so mentions of anal sex

A/N: Oh man I surprised myself with this one 😅 I would like to thank @plethora-of-imagines as well as darling Fen here bc their list of “what will steven do with readers breast milk on the babymoon” made the prompt click for me! It clicked and then we sailed straight off the rails into kinkytown!! As always, Jake has a couple Spanish phrases here that I’ve translated below.

“We should do this more often I think,” you mused with a quintessential “cat that got the cream” smirk.

The image before you was truly a sight to behold. Each Steven’s wrists were tied to a bedpost, and apart from the bathrobe sashes restraining his arms, your husband was stark naked atop the sheets. You salivated as your eyes drifted along the dips and planes of his golden skin, then to the dusting of wiry hair across his limbs, finally focusing in on his thick cock, flushed and standing at attention for you.

His length wasn’t the only part of him that was erect for you, each of Steven’s nipples were pert and pebbled on his chest. They were the object of your attention today.

“Ye-yeah,” your husband replied, craning his neck up from the pillows to look at you. You stood at the foot on the bed, completely nude as well, and unable to see your feet over your bump anymore.

This was another installment of “babymoon” sex at the country house you two rented in France which you were currently enjoying. The plan was to get in as much wild, nasty, uninterrupted fucking as you could before Caleb, your unborn son, arrived since soon there would be two children draining your time, libido, and energy.

Seeing Steven so submissive and prone for you was a novel thrill. You tended to be the more submissive partner in the bedroom - you had to be completely on top of it as a mother, in your career, with your friends - but when you were with your husband, it was the one arena where you felt like you could let go. Steven, though he could definitely take charge if he fancied it, skewed more submissive than his alters sexually. And in a happy coincidence, you enjoyed being a bit more in control with him when you two made love.

This was perhaps the most dominant you’d ever been though, tying your husband to the bed and towering over him with a glass of your breast milk in hand.

“I’m going to make you feel so good darling,” you purred, “just like you do for me.”

Steven nodded feverishly in agreement and you crossed to the nightstand to set the glass down temporarily. Any and all movement at 35 weeks pregnant took a lot of effort, and you need to situate yourself accordingly.

It was the most comfortable to lie on your side, and once you were in position, you began by dancing your fingers across Steven’s chest. You used the tips of your nails to draw little parallel lines from one pec to the other, building up the anticipation. 

“I always thought you had a nice chest,” you remarked lazily, the warmth of Steven’s shaky exhalations against your skin getting you even more drunk on being the one with the power here. 

“Mmmm?” 

“It’s true,” you confirmed. “You have these nice big broad shoulders, such defined pecs, and then these…”

You trailed off to swirl the pad of your fingertip around his nipple. The reaction was immediate. Steven whimpered, and even in your periphery you could see his cock jump. 

“Oooh you like that baby, don’t you,” you cooed, moving your fingers to the opposite side of his chest to give his other nipple the same treatment. “All this time we’ve only played with my tits, but you’ve been holding out on me.” 

You lightly pinched his nipple, ripping a yowl from Steven, the sound shooting straight down to your pussy. “So responsive. Can I give this one here a kiss?” 

Apparently Steven was too turned on to properly speak, but the enthusiasm of his nodding and his broken moan served as consent enough. Your husband’s entire body convulsed when your lips brushed the delicate skin of his bud. It spurred you on further, flicking your tongue across the peak while you applied pressure with your hand to its twin. Steven encouraged you with the most delicious breathy little cries while you narrowed your tongue into a point to draw circles around the circumference of his nipple.

Your ministrations were a mix of repayment and revenge. You were performing on him the moves that drove you wild and made you come, partly in gratitude for all of the bliss he’d bestowed upon you, and partly to assert that you could reduce him to the quivering mess Steven so expertly did when he suckled from you. 

“Duh…dar-darling!”

You pulled off of him to check his features, searching for any discomfort or displeasure. But you recognized the hunger in his expression immediately, Steven wanted more. You sent him a devilish smile and reached for the glass. 

Before you did anything more, you checked one last time, “Shall we?” 

“Oh please,” he sighed, the breathlessness in his tone making your slit leak with arousal. 

You tipped the glass ever-so-slightly over Steven’s right nipple, withdrawing after a few splashes had coated the skin there. Then, you mopped up the liquid with your mouth, licking every square inch where it’d splattered.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Steven’s voice had dropped into his chest, his voice now a rasp. 

If you thought about it for too long, the fact that you were lapping up your own breastmilk might have thrown you. But just like Steven, you were too high on your shared lust to be too concerned. Besides, it was really just colostrum - the proper milk wouldn’t come in until Caleb was delivered, and the mild, nutty taste was offset but the tang of Steven’s sweat. That was a flavor you’d never get enough of. 

You repeated the action on the further of Steven’s pecs, moaning as you lavished licks and little nibbles on the skin there to add an extra layer of stimulation with the vibrations. When you pulled away for a breather, Steven’s sculpturesque features were wracked with pleasure to the point of pain. 

“I bet you wish you could touch your cock right now, don’t you, baby?” You inquired with put-on innocence. 

Steven’s response was basically a sob. 

“Hmm, I suppose I could for you?” Playing naive always drove Steven bonkers. “Would you like that baby?” 

More whining and nodding relayed his assent. You kissed down his stomach and when you reached straining member, now weeping and a dark ruddy hue, you cooed, “Look at that pretty prick. He wants his mommy, doesn’t he?”

You had no idea where that came from. Though you’d been calling your husband “daddy” long before Nyla entered the picture, you steered clear of its counterpart given Marc’s past trauma and abuse. 

Your heart dropped when you realized what you’d said, yet before you could backpedal and apologize, Steven replied, “Please mommy, please.” 

Given that he was still was so turned on and the word hadn’t thrown him, you continued with the act as you tried to mount him without too much wobbling, “So big and hard for me.”

“This is going to be quick,” he warned you while you took his dick in hand to position him at your entrance, “Can’t believe I haven’t come already, if I’m honest.” 

You found yourself answering, as if your mouth was independent of your mind, “You come only when I tell you to. And I’m going to first,” 

You could swear you saw a tear escape from the corner of Steven’s eye at the announcement. It made you pause for an entirely different reason. “That alright?” 

“Puh-please sit on my cock mommy. I’ll be so good I promise.” 

And with the go-ahead, you did just that. Both of you groaned in satisfaction and relief at becoming one. You’d been teasing your husband for the better part of an hour, therefore his eyes nearly crossed at the feeling of your warm, tight channel encasing his member so swiftly and smoothly. 

“Remember, no coming til mommy says so,” you sing-songed, “Gonna use this huge cock exactly as I like.” 

You were in no state to bounce on Steven’s dick like you usually did, but instead you allowed yourself an extra moment to revel in the feel of his thick girth inside of you, and squeezed around him just to drive him even more mad. 

It felt heavenly to simply be full of him, to catalogue every vein and ridge without any movement. Your hand dropped to your clit, strumming your little bundle of nerves and enjoying the sight of Steven’s drawn neck. You studied the prominent tendon in his throat as he struggled to behave for you while you gave him too much and not enough all at once. 

Soon the feeling of being full of your husband’s fat erection and playing with your clit wasn’t sufficient, you began canting your hips as much as your baby-heavy baby would allow you. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, you writhed on Steven’s cock while you kept your index finger firmly working at your nub. You were entranced by your husband’s devastatingly handsome face while you took your pleasure freely from his body, transitioning from rocking back and forth on his hardness to swiveling your pelvis in a circular motion so his member could invade every crevice of you. 

“So deep,” Steven whimpered. 

“It’s good isn’t it?” You surveyed, “Making mommy feel so good. God you’re so hot, can’t believe I get to ride this dick whenever I want.” 

The revelation inspired you pick up the pace on your clit and embrace the burn in your thighs to slam your hips down just a little harder, “Oh Steven, fuck. Railed me so hard that you put another baby in me, then you even let me tie you up and use your fat prick however I see fit.”

“Jus’ wanna be good f’r you mommy,” he slurred. 

“So good,” you assured him without hesitation, “all my friends are jealous that I have such a fit, caring husband who drinks from my titties aaaah-and licks my pussy like it’s his goddamn job.” 

Steven couldn’t help but join your movements at your praise. He planted his feet onto the surface of the mattress and began meeting your stilted thrusts as best he could, his hands were still tied up which meant he didn’t have much leverage. It was enough though, because you could feel yourself barreling toward your climax like a runaway bullet train.

You were reduced to babbling at this point, “You’re so good for mommy, so good for mommy, so good for mommy, so good…suh—ohhhhhhhhh.” 

The orgasm was so intense you feared it’d send you into labor. Your eyes rolled back in your head, the pleasure so white-hot you momentarily forgot what year it was. Even though you felt like you’d entered a different dimension, you were aware of the feeling of your husband sneaking his hand between the root of his cock and your spasming cunt. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered that Steven was staving off his own peak to follow your order. Your sweet, obedient husband. You were going to make him come so hard. 

As much as you wanted to lift yourself off of Steven’s now-sticky erection, demand a sponge-bath, and pass out, it was your turn to send your spouse to the moon and back. You powered through the exhaustion that had begun to descend over your limbs to dismount from Steven’s lap and scooted down the bed some, leaving a trail of your own juices on the sheets in the wake. 

You glanced at the glass on the nightstand and gasped, “Oh no! We’re out of milk!” 

Steven jerked and pulled at his restraints, letting a plaintive cry escape when he heard you. 

“Guess I’ll have to give you some fresh,” you pondered aloud as your hands snaked up your sides to cup your heavy breasts. They were already feeling a bit engorged since it’d been hours since Steven milked you with his hands or mouth, so it only took a couple pumps of your palm for more liquid to dribble out and coat your hand. 

Steven, who’d been holding up his head to watch your little display, dropped it at the sight of you wetting your hand with his favorite substance. 

“You were so patient for mommy, now she’s going to give you your reward,” you intoned wrapping your drenched hand around his cock, already made slick from your arousal and his precum. 

You stripped his length with firm, quick strokes, only getting a dozen or so in before Steven was lurching against the sashes and crying out as he came. His seed was spurting from his thoroughly abused cock so intensely that you swore that if you hadn’t gotten your mouth around his tip in time, his cum would’ve hit the ceiling. 

You jerked Steven through his release until you felt him soften, and when you glimpsed up at him, he’d sank into the pillows and against his bonds like a ragdoll. 

Immediately, you brought your clean (well, cleaner) hand to caress his forehead. “Baby? You okay?” 

You wasted no time untying the sashes from the bedpost, and a moment later, your husband’s lids fluttered open. You knew by the smug quirk of his lips it was Marc gazing back at you instead of Steven. 

“Hi sweetie,” you greeted him. “Not freaked out, are you?” 

“No I’m fine,” he assuaged you. “Who knew the gorgeous in-house consultant I was assigned to work with on my first job all those years ago would be even better in bed than she was at her job?” You preened at Marc’s praise, moving to untie his other wrist while he added, “And she was really fucking good at her job.”

“He came so hard he forced a switch, didn’t he?” 

Marc nodded, rubbing and twirling his wrists to get the blood flow back. “Also, Jake says he’s not crossing the English Channel to go home until he gets to fuck your ass. “

You rolled your eyes. “Despite my best efforts to be one on this trip, he knows I’m not a sentient sex doll, right? That I’m in the home stretch of cooking his second kid currently? I told him we’d do to it before we left, we still have all of tomorrow.”

“Anoche,” Jake pushed forward to demand. 

“Mañana.” you countered. “Unless you let me take a nap now and make dinner. And clean up afterwards.” 

“Bien.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Lockley.” 

“That’s enough of that,” Steven reclaimed the body to declare. “Let’s take a bath, yeah? Then you can nod off?” 

“Yes please,” you grinned. “But first can I just…I need to catch my breath.”

“‘Course darling,” he acquiesced, “Frankly, the offer of a bath was too ambitious on my end. I can’t move my legs right now.” 

“You were okay with all of that?” You needed to get straight to it. “I know that kind of got away from us just — got away in the best way possible if you ask me —but just…is there anything you wouldn’t want a repeat performance of? I know the word ‘mommy’, when we’re not referring to me with Nyla, is loaded for you.” 

It was if Steven’s tongue back too big for his mouth. He struggled to shape the words with his lips, and a crimson hue stained his cheeks while he searched for what to say. “No? I mean that’s actually worse, innit? Because I loved calling you mommy just now and I know I shouldn’t? After everything Marc actually went through…fuck, that’s messed up.” 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge,” you tried to comfort him. “From what you told me, your memories of her are so different than his. Intentionally so, right? It wasn’t until what, the last like six or seven years you knew otherwise.” 

“I suppose so,” he mumbled. 

“And you know how I much I love calling all of you daddy. I said it for the first time when I slept with Marc, ages before Nyla.”

“Guess it’s not too much of a stretch, given how obsessed I am with your tits,”  he surmised, then obscured his face with his hands, “Fuck, I’m a proper pervert, aren’t I? With a dose of D.I.D. thrown in with no extra charge.” 

“Stop,” you gently tried to removed his hands. When that didn’t work, you said, “You may be a perv, but you eat pussy like a champ, so who cares?” 

That got Steven to uncover his face. When you were met with his frown, you amended yourself, “I’m kidding. Obviously. Honey, if you want us to talk about this with Dr. Moorhead, I’m more than happy to do it so we can unpack it properly. But honestly? That was so bloody hot. It was fun to play with the power dynamics a little. I’m not sure if I’d want to do that every time we make love but…” 

“It was quite a treat for a special occasion, wasn’t it?” Steven admitted at last.

“Just think, in five weeks Caleb will be here and we won’t be having any sex whatsoever, so you’ll have plenty of time to mull over if we want to do it again.” 

“Well hopefully not ‘any sex whatsoever’,” Steven protested. “We snuck a lot in with Nyla.” 

“First baby luxuries,” you reminded him, “but don’t worry, your all-access pass to my titties will be restored.” 

Steven hummed in delight. “They’re just so big and tasty for me,” he murmured, his lips enveloping your nipple and tenderly suckling. 

It was your turn then to collapse back amongst the pillows. You carded your fingers through his wavy, salt-and-pepper locks as he relieved you, lost in the sensation. Steven switched tits, drinking from the other just as delicately as he did from the first. He only got a few sips in before the absence of his mouth sent a little shock of cold air on your nipple and you heard, “Eh! I’ve waited my turn.” 

Jake. 

“Then give me Steven back so he can bathe me,” you negotiated, too exhausted to open your eyes, “I’ll take my nap, you’ll make dinner, and I’ll be so naughty for you Papi, I promise. You can pound my ass until sunrise.”

“Joder nena, I’m not giving anything back when you talk like that,” he rasped, dropping a kiss to your neck. 

“Please honey? I need to close the loop on what we were talking about.” 

Thankfully, Jake agreed without any more fuss and Steven returned. 

“I think it might be good for us to talk with Dr. Moorhead,” he shared a few minutes later while you waited for cottage’s the copper tub to fill. “Because I want to do that again, but it’d be nice to not feel so weird about it.” 

“Sounds like a plan, love,” you grinned, drawing him in for a chaste kiss on the lips. “God, imagine what we’ll be like when there’s no weirdness.”

Steven’s open, wholesome smile turned wicked. “Exactly.” 

A/N: Y’all...what just happened there? Not even I know 🙈 but I hope everyone enjoyed!!! The more I write the more I realize my destiny is to be barefoot and pregnant with Oscar’s baby 🤷‍♀️🤰🏼The final prompt fill is 95% written and will be coming to all of you lovelies who have waited ever-so-patiently v soon! Also yes, I’m naming all the doctors in this AU after the MK series writers!

Taglist: @twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi​, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo​,  @weirdo125  @damnzelsoul​ @missmarmaladeth

Translations: 

Anoche - Tonight 

Mañana - Tomorrow 

Bien - Okay 

Joder nena - Fuck babe 

[sexy-sea-basss]

You want filthy ghoul thoughts?? You can have ‘em, hope this distracts you! Soz if this wasn’t what you were after, but you mentioned murder ghouls and they live in my brain rent freeee

Oh and a little cameo of rain’s tentacle. Heh, fair warning, this got a little (lot) out of hand. Sorry if it’s too much to just dump in your inbox… enjoy?

Cumulus is THE murder ghoulette, like babe was put on this earth to commit atrocities, you cannot change my mind. She’s always cold topside, but nothing warms her up quite like fresh human blood. Cirrus tried to get her into vigilante killing, if she’s really gonna end that many humans, but to no avail. Girly wants to eat what takes her fancy.

And what takes her fancy is pretty humans… male, female, whatever. They all taste the same when her fangs are buried in their throats. She loves the dance they have around each other, the mental chase of flirtation, and then the inevitable physical one once she reveals her true nature (and fangs. They tend to scare people.). If Lulu plus her cards right, she can be satisfied in multiple ways from a hunting trip.

Girl’s all about balance though, when she finds a victim she’s fair: they get to eat her out, then she gets to eat them!!

She’ll return from a hunting trip an absolutely mess, covered in blood and all manner of other things. Sometimes even clothes(!). When she’s like this, Cirrus just can’t deal, she likes the humans up here a bit too much to want to taste their stale blood on Cumulus’s tongue. Rain however… ooooo boy is obsessed with her. Dew too, to a lesser extent, tbh he’s a little intimidated by her when her eyes burn this brightly, and her fangs look that sharp.

Rain goes as feral for her as she went for the humans. He’ll lick every inch of her skin clean of dried blood, acts like he’s drinking the sweetest nectar he’s ever tasted, moaning and salivating uncontrollably. Eventually he’ll move on to his real prize and bury himself between her legs. He’ll hiss at the taste of any human that still lingers, but he always makes sure Cumulus will taste of no one but him once he’s finished.

She loves to see him like this, mindless in his desperation for her, his tentacle even emerging for a taste of its own. Rain won’t be satisfied though, not until he gets the feel the full ferocity of her hunting guise. She’ll bare her fangs at him, dripping with venomous saliva and still stained with the red of human blood. Rain moans from deep in his chest, and refocuses his mission to clean them too. He’ll lick deep into her mouth, twining his tongue with hers to taste every last hint of human devastation.

What he really needs though, is to feel her power. Rain will bare his neck to her, whining in submission as he continues rutting his tentacle against her, smearing it in the last smudges of blood on her body. The sharp sting of her fangs sinking into his throat draws more desperate noises from him, the lance of pain from her venom radiating through his veins makes him keen. The final straw is when Cumulus will pull away and feed Rain the taste of his own blood, thick and deep blue. He finishes against the jut of Cumulus’s him with a scream that echoes with the death knell of a thousand humans past.

Hope the brain sads go away, I’ve seen lots of bottom-omega discourse floating around today which might also be a nice distraction 👀👀

i read this like a million times. i wanna keep it forever hidden in my inbox. but GODDAAAMN!!! ITS SO GOOOD!

Lus is the murder ghoulette. She’s so hot. so intimidatingly hot. Lus and rain?! hehehe got me kicking my feet and giggling over here. Ugh i love tentacle action 🤤🤤🤤

this is exactly what my brain needs today. Thank you thank you thank you!!

[avocado-writing]

Kinktober #23

aisling1985 bratdoll666  lady-jane3  kermit-emoji  underratedboogeyman  ltlthetrifecta  zuzusoo  venusthepirate (tagging y’all who said you would be interested in non tan ones)

Some a/n for this one - thank you to lady-jane3 for helping me with Russian pet names! Also as a note, this blog is 100000% SWer positive!

23) Gags // Fucking Machine // Erotic Dancing

To be fair, it isn’t a bad gig. Much better than the dancing job you had back at home anyway. You find clients tend to be a lot more respectful of you and your body in this club. Though, maybe it’s because the people who come here know who’s running it. 

And crossing him usually doesn’t end well for them.

You count your tips. Seventy thousand yen, decent for a night’s work. You’ve covered a lot of your rent in that. If you have another good night tomorrow you might treat yourself to a fancy meal after your shift. The ideal has you salivating, knowing you only have instant food at home. 

There’s a shared dressing room for the dancers, but you’re the only one in here at the moment. Everyone else is either on stage or giving private dances. It’s a little oasis of calm in the busy bustle this place usually contains, of workers laughing and teasing each other.

You’re reapplying your lipstick in the mirror when your friend Aoi appears behind you. You don’t take your eyes off of your pout, speaking to her without looking.

“What’s up?”

“The boss is in the back. He, ah, wants to speak to you.”

“Wait, ‘he’? Not Yoko?” Yoko is the manager on shift tonight. What can she…?

“No, not Yoko. The real boss.”

You finally tear your eyes away. When you catch Aoi’s reflection, you can see how frightened she looks.

Oh.

Your lipstick falls from your hand.

Him.

You don’t know his name. He’s only ever been called The White Death, but really he’s just referred to as ‘boss’ around here. He doesn’t come to the club very often, even though it makes him a pretty penny. You suppose he’s too important. But occasionally he likes to check in on how his investments are doing personally. 

You’ve met him precisely once.

It must have been a couple of months ago. You’d heard the rumours that surrounded him, of course. The particular brand of punishment he liked to dole out to people who upset him. So when you were told he was coming to the club you made an exceptional effort to keep your head down. No point singling yourself out.

And your plan had gone quite well. Whatever business he was conducting was clearly far above the paygrade of the dancers who are employed here. In fact, when you’d stepped out for a smoke, you’d almost entirely forgotten he was around. 

Until you run into him in the alleyway outside. 

He’d locked eyes with you and there was no mistaking who he was. Six-and-a-half feet tall, long grey hair. Steely gaze. You swallowed thickly. Frozen like a deer in the headlights, a cigarette hanging between your painted lips.

The two of you stared at each other for a long time. He’d made no secret of looking you up and down, taking you in. He dropped the butt of his own cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. When he started walking over, you winced.

But it was simply to offer you help.

You’d been too frightened to say much. So you’d just let him cup his free hand around the end of your cigarette and light it for you. He had a flip-lighter, silver, with an engraving on the side. You hadn’t caught what it was. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, you know. Bad habit,” he’d said. His voice was low, accented. You couldn’t quite place it. Russian, maybe? That seemed familiar from the stories you’d heard. 

You’d inhaled a shaky puff, the bitter taste flooding your mouth. It helped steady your nerves a bit.

“I’m trying to quit,” you replied, “it’s not going very well.”

He’d laughed at that, a single gravelly chuckle. You liked the way his mouth turned up as he smiled.

“Next time, no cigarettes. You’re too lovely to smoke your life away.”

Oh. You can’t pretend that that didn’t do something for you. Send a shiver down your spine all the way to the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Good.”

And with that, he’d walked back inside. 

“I don’t think he wants to be kept waiting,” Aoi says, shifting uncomfortably. You can’t blame her. She probably wants you out of the way so she doesn’t have to deal with whatever you’re getting caught up in. You stand on shaky legs and make your way out the door. The belting music of the club is reduced to a muffled thump under the thunder of your heart in your ears. You could well be walking to your death. 

‘The back’, as you colloquially refer to it, is the nicest room you have. Plush sofas, low lights. Intimate. There are two men posted up outside but they seem to be expecting you - one of them even holds open the door, like you’re walking into a fancy restaurant rather than a place for private dancing. 

It’s dark. Of course it is. But there’s enough dim light for you to see you’re very much not alone. 

There are members of the White Death’s syndicate. You recognise their masks. The boss himself sits on one of the long leather couches at the edge of the room. Between the two of you is a low table, a man either side of it. They’re both shaking. They look up at you with tandem looks of fear on their faces. 

One of them has a gun in his hands. 

You gasp, take a step back, but the White Death calls out to you. 

“Ah. I’d hoped for this to be over by the time you got here. Come, this shouldn’t take much longer.”

His legs are spread so he can fit his massive frame comfortably on the sofa. One large tattooed hand pats his thigh, inviting you to take a seat. You aren’t paid to argue, so obediently cross the room and perch on him. 

He’s warm. That hand which beckoned you over comes to rest on the skin of your waist, spanning far more of you than anyone else’s has ever done before. In a caress you weren’t expecting, he rubs his thumb in an arc. 

“You’ve not smoked, have you?”

You shake your head. 

“No, sir.” Not even looked at them since last time. He smiles, just a little, but it’s something you’re desperate for more of. 

“Good,” he reaches up with his free hand, takes your chin gently to be able to tilt your head and look at you. “Good.”

It’s an oddly intimate moment considering there are so many other witnesses present, but when he looks into your eyes, you’re entranced. A whimper from one of the men at the table breaks the magic. 

“Now,” the White Death straightens up, back to business, “these two men owe me money. And they’re late on paying it. I’ve decided to be very generous and give one of them a chance to extend his loan, so they’re playing a game to see who gets the opportunity.”

You know the rumours well enough to guess which game it is. Especially with the gun. 

“Does death frighten you?” he asks, dropping his voice low so only you can hear. You shake your head. 

“No, sir.”

You’ve seen death before. Strangers in the street who have OD’d. People getting on the wrong side of a thug. In fact, even bodies being dragged out of this very room. Probably the fault of the man whose lap you’re in. 

“Brave little thing,” he chuckles, then once again turns back to the men. “Go on then.”

The man looks at the gun in his hands. He sobs as he puts it to his temple. He pulls the trigger. 

The gunshot cracks throughout the room, his brain matter paints the opposite wall, and he slumps down dead. His opponent weeps in relief. 

“Well, Mr Tanaka. It seems fate has plans for you yet. You have another week,” the White Death announces to him. With a click of his fingers one of his men takes the cowering survivor by the collar and frog-marches him out the room. The others begin to tend to the body. 

“Don’t look at that, куколка. Look at me.”

You’re not sure what he’s just called you, but the sound of it makes your heart face. So you do. It’s remarkably easy to ignore the gory scene and concentrate instead on the handsome face of the man next to you. 

“I’ve heard you dance well,” he says. You nod. 

“I try to, sir.”

“Why don’t you show me, hmm?”

Well, that you can do. 

You turn your back to the goings-on in the room behind you, focus all of your attention on the White Death. Carefully, sensually, you stretch one of your legs over his other thigh, so you can sit face-to-face with him, kneeling on the sofa while keeping his hips near yours. 

He’s enraptured as you start to move your body. With slow, sensual movement you undulate your hips, drawing out every thrust. At first you try to leave some space between the two of you, tease him a little, but the sheer size of him makes that a difficult task. So you simply give in to the closeness and grind your hips down on him. 

He lets out an airy chuckle of satisfaction the first time you do it, and on the second both of his hands come to rest on your waist. Your chest presses up against his as you continue. You can feel his heartbeat, steady compared to the rabbit’s-pace yours is going at. That’s what you feel like. A rabbit at a hunter’s mercy. So why do you love it so much?

You let your hands alight on his broad shoulders. The way you’re holding each other now is almost like a lovers’ embrace. If only you were anywhere else but this room, and anyone else apart from who you both are. 

Gingerly you bury your face in his hair. Not deep, but enough to feel how his hands tighten their grip on you. 

“Lovely,” he breathes. 

You wonder if he’d kiss you now, if you were alone. You wonder if you’d let him. 

“Sir…”

Neither of you move, but you do both turn to face the man who’s approached. Even under his mask you can see his nervousness. 

“We’ve just had word from your son. It appears he’s in trouble.”

The White Death curses under his breath. You don’t know the language but understand the sentiment behind the words. He turns back to you. You feel him reach into his pocket and grab a wad of notes. He thumbs out a plentiful amount and tucks them in the band of your underwear. Just eyeballing it, you think his tip might have been more than you made this entire month. 

“Duty calls me elsewhere,” he seems genuinely… disappointed, “but you will dance for me again.”

It’s not really a question, more a demand, but you still whisper:

“Yes.”

[gojoho]

SEND IT

✑ ciq. gojo satoru

✑ w. contextual voyeurism+ exhibitionism, implied oral, no reader orgasm, established relationship

✑ n. the strongest man in the world also tends to be a natural born whore on camera. its the highlight of his away missions. anyways let’s normalize sending videos with the sound on. not proofread, like at all, my apologies in advance. hopefully you all still enjoy!

gojo sataoru

💌 you have ( 1 ) new message!

it’s unsolicited; an impromptu message late into the night that you don’t expect much from at first, but the blacked out bubble and it’s play button baits you in. there’s nothing to grasp in the first seconds, no warning of the big idea and just painful sounds of friction while the camera is repositioned. there’d been too many possibilities behind what you were waiting for, and that mystery finds your curiosity despite your exhaustion. so when light strikes a comprehensive surface and reflects back to the camera your patience is generously rewarded

it’s a sobering realization when the lewd shape comes into focus and the deep grunt behind the camera only confirms that it’s a shared moment of clarity when his cock comes into view, dead center of the camera.

oh. oh…

his large hand encases his girth with much more ease than both of yours combined ever could, caressing it’s length in gentle rhythmic pumps. each delicate thick vein throbbing to the flushed glistening tip of his cock, a familiar sight that has your mouth salivating. is it sad to admit you’re kind of jealous?

credit where it’s due—satoru’s big. a simple fact your legs so desperately clench at and had you never felt every last inch buried deep beneath them, you’d been squeezing them shut for much different reasons.

“you’re making me drip baby,” he whispered out, whatever fantasy in his head making his quick strokes slow just a bit. “you want to see that cock drip?”

immersed and fully invested, you nod as if he’s right there in front of you, watching as he slowly tugged down to the hilt and back to the tip. a single perfect pearly bead dribbling from his slit.

“bet you wish i was there, huh?” you can hear the smirk in his tease, but when his strokes hasten again he grunts. “don’t worry baby, i miss you too. i miss you a lot.”

the camera wobbles with his heavy breaths while he abuses his tip. up and down. up and down. you watch attentively as his hands swivels in the motion, stopping every so often to wag the harden limb. “i miss that pretty little mouth milking me dry…you miss my cock on your tongue baby? mhm, yeah you do.”

his rambling rattles your throat, hollows your chest, and warms your core. the tendon in his hands become more rigid as he stiffens his grip, thrusting his hips up into his fist. “you’re gonna make me cum, oh fuck—”

satoru can hardly get the words out before his legs straighten, and his cock jerks in his tight grip pumping thick white ropes of cum down his hand and all around his length till it’s pooling against his hilt. allowing for the camera to capture a few last strokes before leaving you in a thick simmering layer of sweat and a waking frustration that would take all night to calm.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎! reblogs & interactions are appreciated !

[rise-my-angel]

Do you think that there was ever a way for Jaime and Brienne to end up together and have a "happily ever after"? Or do you think Jaime was always "meant to die" with Cersei? (Also, thank you so, so much for responding so beautifully to my ask about them earlier. Your writing is so poignant and lovely~) ☺️

Oh no thank you, I love having an excuse to talk about Jaime! But I have a few thoughts on that, first being I tend to think Jaimes story would not end up the way it was in the show.

It ties partially into Cerseis's end as well. When Cersei goes to Maggy the Frog, she is told a prediction of her future which ended up heavily dictating the course her life took. The most important part being when Maggy tells her this:

"When your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

The word valonqar is High Valyrian, translating roughly to the words "little brother." Cersei herself has become convinced this is referring to Tyrion. Their mother Joanna died giving birth to Tyrion three years earlier, and this vision of her future consumes her.

In the books as well, Jaime and Cersei have made many comments about how they think their lives and deaths are intertwined. That they were brought into this world together and therefore will leave it together. But the how, may not be romantic as they both perhaps once thought. They also both separately begin to think the other has become a stranger to the other. And in the Faith of the Seven, The Stranger represents that of death.

The thing is, there is a strong chance that it actually could very well be Jaime.

The most obvious being that Cersei was born first, making Jaime technically her younger brother. But also, Jaime's story revolved a lot around learning to let go of this toxic attachment he has to Cersei and becoming his own man, really for the first time in his life. His feelings about her severely deteriorate once Brienne gets him back to Kings Landing. In the books he literally burns her letter pleading for him to come fight for her when she is arrested by the faith militant.

I think it would've been smart to have Jaime lose the golden hand somewhere along the way, showing his final choice to leave her behind finally, the hand she had made for him after he returned to her a different man. I also think it would've been smart to somehow include Tyrion here.

Now I can actually see the way the show took as not unrealistic in its own way. Kings Landing is in a position where it will not survive the burning Daenarys is certainly about to horrifically inflict on the city, if not the Red Keep alone.

I think Jaime leaving to return to Cersei made sense but not how they did it. I can see Jaime thinking that if she is going to die, perhaps it should be by his hand. They came into this world together and they will leave it together but Jaime could come to see killing her himself is the final sever. He will never be free if she is alive to always try and pull him back in.

Have Cerseis final moments be so convinced against Tyrion to the point she likely may be desperate enough to try and kill him herself, only to have Jaime be the one to kill her. Not to end his last ties to Cersei, but in the end, kill her to protect his little brother.

I cannot see an ending for Jaime where he has any love for Cersei left, but that he kills her in the end not for himself, but to protect the little brother she always thought would kill her first. So in a way, both brothers were the valonqar one on each side of her in her death.

It also links back to the only time in Jaimes life when he made a choice as his own man to murder King Aerys II when he was young, and the second time he makes a choice as his own man is the literal representation of the one person who will never allow Jaime to be separate from her in the way he needs.

Now I do admit, I struggle to see a happy ending for him and Brienne, as much as I would salivate at them being genuinely happy accepting this strange love no one else understands but them, only unlike Cersei, his with Brienne is real and based off of respect.

But SO MUCH of Jaime's story revolves around living his life so toxically linked with Cersei. I do think their story does end with a mutual understanding between he and Brienne that what they have is real and Jaime does not doubt or question that, but whether or not he actually lives to see that through is very difficult for me to see.

Because even though, especially in the books, Jaime and Brienne are essentially written to represent two soulmates. Thats how much their own seperate arcs complete each others too, his entire life is defined around two things. Cersei, and the one time he made a choice to stand as his own man and murder his King.

And I think it makes sense that his final choice revolves around protecting his little brother, from the sister who spent HER entire life revolving around her obsession with Tyrion being the one who will kill her.

Jaime spends his entire life thinking his death will be with Cersei, and in the end, it is, but as a man that would not exist without Brienne having helped him get there. But he and Brienne, are not so toxically co dependant on each other, and so she lives, to make sure what they had together is not yet forgotten.

If only, just remembered by her. Because they love each other, but they don't need each other. Cersei needed Jaime to the point it was always going to be the reason it ends them both.

I have a lot of feelings about the end of Jaimes story, and Jaimes first sacrifice was his image and reputation for the sake of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. And his final sacrifice is his life for the sake of his little brother, who is innocent against the vengeance their sister sought on him her whole life.

I also like the idea personally of Brienne being the one to keep the golden hand, or Jaime before leaving for Kings Landing to kill Cersei, leaves Brienne the golden hand on purpose. The thing that Cersei had made for him, that so heavily represented a life Jaime did not fit into anymore, being kept by the woman he came to love so much that she was the reason he did not fit into that life anymore.

She has his sword, his armour, and the hand representing in their own way, how much Brienne influenced him to become his own man.

That she keeps it, because he could not have become this man without her. And she will always now be able to remember that.

[eldritch-spouse]

Santi has heat👀What's his like,is it similar to Breg's or a little different?I feel he'll just be a horny mess. Will he use his harem or no? Or will his s/o's body change or "adapt" for his heat (also the design for the mark is very beautiful and alluring I'm sure any design you settle for will end up amazing<33)

[Aaaa thank you! :7]

When posed with the fact that concubi can have heats, you might think to yourself- Hold on now, if they feed off intercourse, what is the point of having heats in the first place? They're likely to reproduce as they are, with such a libido.

And you'd be right! See, heats have different purposes for lust demons, and therefore, are only considered "natural" in very select instances. A lust demon will experience ruts in the following circumstances:

Transition into adulthood. This is considered the "second puberty", and it lasts for the better part of a week once full sexual maturity is reached;

Starvation. It's a last ditch effort to force the concubus to feed themselves;

Eating too much. During these heats, the concubus does not feed, they exist solely to expend excess magic/energy- Duration depends on how much needs to be expelled;

Being exposed to the aura of their perfect match for the first time will trigger a smaller heat, that can last up to two days;

See, the vast majority of time, Santi experiences heats because he eats too much, gluttonous pervert that he is. In spite of him being a high-ranking incubus, which makes him capable of handling a good amount of magic (think of it as having a particularly elastic stomach), Santi's gotten used to overeating and maxing out his own "storage capacity", so to say. It's... Kind of the lust demon equivalent of an eating disorder.

So while he does get thrown into heats relatively often, they're not "natural", per say. If you want to avoid them, you'll have to confront Santi about his overeating. Which I do not recommend, because he gets a bit defensive, it's kind of like trying to rip a steak from a lion's mouth. Tread lightly. Ultimately, these heats aren't dangerous, just inconvenient.

The harem is used before he meets you, once he meets his perfect match, the harem is disbanded and you'll be the focus of it, unfortunately.

Santi's heats are curious in the sense that a lot of his charm vanishes. He simply does not have the patience to make witty banter or woo you into bed. Either you're there to fuck or you're out of his sight. He becomes a lot more irritable, and that's when you're likely to remember he's a demon, not just a funny, sexy guy with horns.

Physical changes happen overnight. Body temperature skyrockets, it's a good thing he's already basically naked all the time- Even then, it's not uncommon to see him huffing and fanning himself, dunking his body into the tub like a cinder block. He salivates excessively, his slit lubricates constantly and his eyes are perpetually glowing to attract fuckmates or drive off competition/danger. He also cannot help the pheromones that spread everywhere he goes. If a rutting concubus enters a room full of people, it will devolve into a mindless orgy within minutes. Other than those details, he's generally the same in in terms of appearance.

Adding onto his significantly curt demeanor around this time, he leans almost entirely on dominant mindsets, especially since you're human, and therefore smaller than the demon. If you're hanging around the house, you're getting fucked near constantly. There's a good and bad side to this. On the one hand, Santi is not feral, so you definitely won't get fucked to death, and there are intervals where you're properly tended to. On the other, you very much won't be able to think clearly around the incubus and will basically experience the equivalent of a muted heat yourself.

In the moments where Santi is apart from you, for whatever reason, he's usually snarling and grumbling, jerking off madly in an attempt to burn through energy faster. In fact, get ready to catch him grinding against things like a bitch in heat, it does help end the rut faster, though it'll probably only result in more sex, since you'll inevitably be turned on by the sight.

Now, this is the standard heat, without you being marked. Because, having his mark changes things quite a bit...

Marks aren't as wholesome as just a symbol of infatuation, they're not a pretty indicator that a concubus has their eyes on you- They're mechanisms of control, embezzled ones sure, but they still equate to an invisible leash. Having Santi's mark connects you to him in ways you can't control, and one such is how in-tune with his heat you are. In fact, funnily enough, Santi's likely to know he's about to enter a heat when the mark on your mons starts getting a pink tint to it.

Right off the bat, your body temperature will also increase, you're going to be extremely antsy when Santi's away, something keeps telling you that you need to be by his side, that he needs something you have, that he'll be upset if you stay away any longer. Santi knows you're going to be feeling this way, and neither does he have a desire to stay apart either, as his brain will immediately target anyone with his mark as a prime candidate for relief.

Albeit a form of betrayal from your own body, you'll feel great levels of arousal when Santi is looking at you, or establishing physical contact of any kind. There's a trigger that goes off in your mind, and suddenly the only thing you want to do is get on your knees in front of the demon. Needless to say, Santi loves having you like this. And sometimes, just sometimes, he purposefully triggers heats just so he can see you beg to fuck him.

It essentially becomes a much more mutual ordeal. Will someone wake up in the middle of the night getting fucked? Probably. Will it be you or Santi? Hah, find out!

You should probably not leave the house in this state, your impromptu arousal will lead you to turn to other people for "help". And Santi will not like that one bit.

[redbuddi]

How will you handle the characterization of characters like Sam and Tucker? Danni?

What are some of the biggest changes to the overall story you are looking forward to exploring?

*cracks knuckles* alright here we go!

Sam and Tucker are extremely important to the series, more important than I think people tend to give them credit for, and that importance would be retained in Redux.

Tucker would be more or less the same as the OG Tuck, he's still a big tech geek, still loves meat, is still simultaneously the comic relief and the voice of reason depending on the situation, etc. I mostly plan on just making a few subtle tweaks to his character to flesh him out a bit more than the show was willing to.

Now is the time to mention that Redux will take place the same year the OG show came out, 2004. So the tech that Tucker salivates over will be tech that's dated by our standards, he still uses a PDA like a cell-phone, and carries around a lot of big chunky gadgets like portable CD players and such. While he is mostly a programming guy, he will build and invent things, and will help Danny do the same. He invented Danny's goggles and co-invented the Thermos with Danny.

Tucker is the most emotionally available of the trio, he doesn't always have solutions but he's willing to hear people out, and with his weak constitution he is the least fond of fighting, tho not purely pacifistic. He is the most outgoing of the group as well, but doesn't desire popularity, he's pretty satisfied with his lot in life. He's just a pretty amicable guy and likes to talk a lot. Like in the show, he's been friends with Danny for the longest, and knows him the best.

"Time to hack the mainframe..."

*swats away computer*

"Hello! This is the front desk, right? Sorry, I'm new and no one's told me the company password yet..."

I'd also take out his more wannabe-casanova traits, cause it's just kind of uncomfortable. I see him as more of a jughead-type, commenting on the drama and romance from the sidelines while never himself being too interested in it. He'll still joke about ladies loving him, but it'd be more tongue-in-cheek and self-aware.

Overall he tends to try to outsmart or talk his way out of situations, which can be a huge help, but also sometimes makes things worse. His smooth-talking has a 50/50 success rate.

He has a pretty good relationship with his parents, but can be kind of distant with his Dad, who is pretty overbearing and really wants Tucker to follow in his footsteps as the Mayor. It would be a running joke that Tucker is so disinterested in being the Mayor that he often times doesn't even justify his dad with a response. He will literally just leave if he can tell that that's where a conversation is going.

Sam is probably the character that would be overhauled the most. The OG Sam isn't terrible, but is very obviously an attempt at a counter-cultural character by people who know nothing about counter-culture.

The biggest change I'd make is that she no longer comes from old money. I get what the OG show was trying to do, but even as a little kid I couldn't really buy it or her whole rebellious thing. Not when she still greatly benefited from her family's money.

Instead, she comes from a well-off upper middle-class house, and she hates her parents. Not just because they don't understand her, but because her parents are actually horrible. Her Dad is a lawyer who is always looking for loopholes to get the rich out of trouble, and her Mom runs an MLM selling cheap clothes to desperate housewives (Think LuLaRoe). Her parents don't not love her, but they are deeply terrible people who, at the end of the day, only really care about themselves. Sam has sworn to do everything in her power to not be like them. The only reason she hasn't run away is because they're not home often enough for her to have to deal with them too much.

Danny: "Ow! Watch where you're poking!"

She tries to do as much on her own as she can, up to and including making basically everything she wears out of discount clothes and thrift shop purchases. While she does get an allowance, she doesn't spend any of it, she's saving her money so that she can leave home the moment she turns 18 and never look back. She is more interested in fashion than she often lets on, and dreams of running an eco-friendly fair trade boutique. After destroying capitalism, of course. She designed and made the alterations to Danny's jumpsuit, with the help of spectral thread that Danny had invented for her birthday.

In this series, Sam isn't just a holier-than-thou goth girl, she's a full-on anarchist punk-rock bitch, and she's proud of it. She will always speak her mind when she feels an injustice is taking place, and unlike in the OG series, Danny and Tucker will usually be there to back her up. That said, there's plenty that she gets up to on her own, she has had her brushes with the law, she's gotten into fights, she does not protest peacefully, and she usually doesn't involve Danny or Tucker because she doesn't want them to feel obligated to help her and then get hurt because of it.

She is strongly antisocial, and generally pretty closed off. She is the type of person who will listen to everyone's problems but won't speak about her own unless pushed. She is deeply loyal to and protective of her friends, sometimes to the point of being a little overbearing.

As for Danni, I certainly have thoughts, but I haven't settled completely on how she would fit in to the overall story. I do want her to be in the series, I just need to figure out what her deal would be.

EDIT! Completely forgot to answer the second part of the question!

The biggest change I'm looking forward to is giving Valerie more screen time, haha.

[thescentofrainonstone]

On Class in Britain and why the same kind of actor ends up getting our panties in a twist (see Hiddleston, Cumberbatch, Goode, etc...)

Isn't it peculiar that all this adoration and fandoms tend to be about white-cis mostly het (thought admittedly that's the more laxed of attributes) able thin, tall, pale but most importantly coming from riches guys?

You look at a Tom Hiddleston and his first headshots and roles and the wonder has got to be there: "how much time and means were available to him to get his degree from Oxbridge and then decide to do another entire BA on top of it at RADA?"

Admittedly he gets off easy going back historically("just" baronets in his line) when in his league we have Benedict Cumberbatch, whose existence is literally dependant on the slavery his direct ancestors built their empire on in Barbados, and were paid compensation when the end of slavery came to England. Finally his Wikipedia has a full description of this even though when I worked on the essay that took the Downton Abbey series and films as examples of the inhumane social divide the UK depends upon, it was all incredibly well swept under virtual rugs with a vague quote from Mother Cumberbatch advising her son to change his surname in case "they come after you for money" where money stands for "reparations" and considering the luxury of an arts career like the last few Cumberbatches have had is something intrinsically entrenched in wealth and privilege makes perfect sense if you ask me. A councillor in New York carries the same surname and she is Black. Slaves carried the surname of those who owned them.

Let that sink in: there is currently a commissiomer (and Professor at Columbia) in New York who carries the Cumberbatch surname because they are a direct descendant of the Slaves the Cumberbatches owned and owe their fortune to. Stacey Cumberbatch.

So yeah, when people think the UK is not the US, they Invented class and the divide that come with it. It is so crucial to come from a family that can afford you connections and the luxury to work for nothing while never risking bills or rent going unpaid.

And I guess what I'm trying to say is: it's ok for all the fandoms to salivate over anyone, I just think it's important we know why the media propels in front of our eyes the same prototype of Englishman over and over, and perpetrates the production of new pieces of media that casually seem naturally meant for white, rich, het passing people.

The system works like a bottleneck for privilege and I think the SAG-AFTRA strikes also show that: everyone that had some privilege and didn't do anything to average out the system will see their own reduced over time until only the tip of the top remains. And "eat the rich" is going to be another post but you get the gist.

That is to say, next time I go to Insole Court (the Victorian house where a Lot of A Discovery of Witches was filmed, including Matthew's "rooms at Oxford") will I touch every single book of the reading room because likely I will have touched something Matthew Goode touched when he was there filming? Sure.

I also do know that house was paid for by coal miners who actually died in a tragedy in the mines owned by the Insole family and that admittedly I find the only decent way to keep real estate built with the blood of people can just be that: give that back to the people.

It's about educated choices, that's what I'm trying to say.

Fun fact: I started watching a discovery of witches because after filming the essay at Insole Court, wanting to bring down the bourgeoisie, I learned the show was also filmed there. So i went and found it and now I have another white, pale, lanky, English twink to lose sleep over just because he's been given a character created by the mind of a woman who dreams enough, possibly because unfulfilled in some part of her life -because when we're happy we go out, we don't vomit pages over pages let's be honest -.

If none of those elegant white British men who embody the characters we love come from a program that allowed them to raise from the working class... or are anything but white or adhering to a white-er standard (Rege- Jean Page is the quintessential example of this, better than nothing but still, my point)...Maybe we should ask ourselves why, and how is that ok.

Just a random though on a day I wanted to go back to Insole Court for the aforesaid reason.

[teaveetamer]

In a way, it reminds me of how people say the right-leaning conservative groups actually tend to be the ones who are easily provoked when something doesn't go their way or they don't win a debate. Heck, the way the die hards go against Faerghus/Nabatean fans for existing and not agreeing with their narrative in order to "stick it to the haterz" reminds me a bit too much of how certain groups say and do shit in order to, in their own words, "trigger/own the libs".

Honestly I think it's cuz when you make your entire identity about "owning the haterz" or "owning the libs" you kinda set yourself up for failure?

You've just proven that you will do absolutely anything in your power to upset another group of people, which means if they just stop caring about you then you have literally no power or satisfaction.

Then it becomes like chasing a high I guess. You have to keep doing more and more extreme things to try and get their attention and get that satisfaction. So where before maybe you were just responding to people's comments on Reddit now you're seeking out other social media accounts to find new people to argue with when it becomes clear you're not getting the satisfaction you got on Reddit anymore. Then it becomes harassing, block evading, sending links and screenshots to your friends, spreading their names on other platforms, etc.

Meanwhile you've basically proven that your ego is reliant on a constant feedback loop of "dunking" on the haterz and getting accolades and attention, while also demonstrating that you care a lot about this subject (like maybe way too much) and you're super sensitive about it. Which just. Like I said, not that I think it's a good thing but it definitely gets the trolls salivating.

[likeastarstar]

THE BETA TESTER PT. 3

summary: you asked a random guy to take your virginity and now you're obsessed with him and his penis...help!

Part One. Part Two.

"I wanna buy you a toy," Jungkook said against your lips, walking you backwards by his hands on your shoulders.

"I have a vibrator," You informed him, rolling your eyes.

This is the problem with guys- they think that just because a girl is a virgin, she must have no idea about what an orgasm is. On the contrary, you'd bet you've had more orgasms than he had himself- you loved your vibrator, it was your best friend.

"Yeah, I know- Miss Bumble," He laughed, lips cracking into a wide smile when you made a little buzzing sound under your breath. "I wanna get you a new one- one we can use together. Sounds fun, right?"

"Oh," You froze, cheeks flushing to the idea. You were still too shy sometimes, knowing that he had sex with you and had seen you naked and that you told him about Miss Bumble. "Y-Yeah, that sounds fun. I'll pay for it though."

He frowned at that, clicking his tongue without saying what he was obviously thinking. You let him lay you down on the bed and watched him strip his shirt off. You bit your lip, running your eyes down the chiseled expanse of his torso, waiting patiently to get your hands on him. He smirked down at you, a knowing look on his face. You pouted, making grabby hands towards him.

"Get on top of me," You mumbled, letting your legs fall open.

The sundress you had on slipped down your thighs and Jungkook's eyes looked to them instantly, climbing over you quickly. You smiled, kissing him as you held him pinned against you, ankles hooked against his lower back. 

"I also ordered you this...I dunno, what do you call these things? A set. Lingerie, I ordered you lingerie, but it's that purple color you like and it has flowers on it."

"Why do you keep trying to buy me things?" You asked flatly, laying quick kisses down his jaw. You sucked on the skin beneath his ear, liking the soft exhale he let out in response. You felt him rock his hips gently against you, seeking out a release of tension.

"I do this a lot, sorry, I tend to buy things for people I-" He stopped, eyes wide and zipping around the room instead of of partaking in his normal favorite activity of staring straight into your soul.

You started to get anxiety from all the silence and the waiting and searched your mind for something, anything that would relieve this feeling-

"Can I suck your dick?" You asked, staring up at him with wide eyes. The slow rocking of his hips against yours bucked, making you yelp softly. He didn't say anything for a second, balking for a response and making you grow in confidence.

"Please, Jungkookie? Teach me how?" You whispered, sucking a bruise into his neck and running your teeth over it like you knew he liked, "I remember your instructions but I want to practice. Can I please practice? I'll make you feel good, I'll try my hardest, I swear."

"Oh my god, stop." He groaned, "Yes, okay? You can suck my dick just- don't make me cum in my pants this fast."

You snickered, watching him roll off of you and onto his back, chest heaving with labored breaths. It's how you ended up sitting neatly between his knees with a pillow under you, Jungkook sitting on the edge of your bed, tucking your hair neatly behind your ears so it ran down your back.

You had stripped down to your panties, Jungkook stark naked sitting in front of you. You weren't sure how he was so comfortable being so...naked in front of you but you really appreciated it, staring with loving eyes at his erection laying against his skin, pink and pretty. Your mouth salivated looking at it, the way it curved slightly, the veins that ran down the side of it, the dusky pink head leaving a wet smear of precum against his skin. You wanted to lick it off but you waited patiently, like he told you to.

"Remember your safe word, pretty girl?" He asked quietly.

"Freak," You smiled, "And if I can't talk, I'll pinch the shit out of you."

"As long as it's not my nipple, I'll get the hint," Jungkook nodded too solemnly to match the humor in his words, "Okay- here we go, you ready? We can take this slow-"

"No, I want you to fuck my mouth," You said plainly, "If the last time I got a stomach bug is any clue, I don't have a gag reflex and if I do-"

"Pinch." He finished. "Okay, just- come here, first."

Jungkook leaned down, hands bracing at the nape of your neck before he kissed you.

Your tongue clashed against his and you kissed him back with a ferocity you hadn't felt for anyone else in your life, leaning up to stand on your knees to get more of him. His other hand brushed your chest, fingers grazing your nipples and you felt a chill run down your spine, back arching up towards him.

"Don't make fun of me if I'm bad at this, please?" You whispered, pleading eyes boring into his.

"Kiss my cock the same way you kiss my lips and I'll love every minute of it, promise." He assured before diving back in to suck and bite and lick into your warm mouth.

You moaned against him, your hand floating down to his cock and caressing it, giving it a tentative squeeze.

"Okay, pretty girl," He muttered against your lips with a deep drawl, accent slipping into santoori. "Let's see what you got."

You squealed excitedly, pecking him once more on the lips before trailing downwards, kissing the center of his chest before just above his navel, teeth scraping against his skin.

"You're gorgeous all over, Jungkookie," You flattered, batting your lashes up at him.

"Thank you baby," He smiled, a blush spreading across his chest and down his torso.

He was so hot blooded, warm all the time and flushed all over. You scanned his body before keeping your eyes on his cock as you smoothed your hands up from his knees to his inner thighs. You squeezed the flesh there, nails digging in as you leaned forwards, planting a sweet kiss on the weeping head of his cock. You licked your lips after and liked the taste, comparing it to how you tasted on his fingers that night when you first slept together.

You wrapped a more confident hand around him and began to stroke slowly, watching as his cock plumped up in your hands. It was fascinating- who knew a penis could be so interesting? You stroked faster and liked the effect it seemed to have on him, noting the way Jungkook's hands went from politely at his sides to tensed, holding his body upright with clenched fists around the sheets.Precum was weeping out of his slit and it made the slide of your hand so much easier. You twisted your wrist experimentally and Jungkook threw his head back with a loud moan, "Just like that."

"O-Okay," You stammered, looking up at him with starry eyes. You leaned forward, Jungkook's voice on the phone that night running through your head on a loop. You licked a broad stripe up the length of his cock and kept one hand at the base, the other one holding onto his balls like they were a comfort stuffie, squeezing every now and then.

You slapped the tip of his cock against your tongue to make Jungkook laugh and you succeeded, liking his giggle that broke the silence in the air. You took advantage of it, wrapping your lips around his cock and sinking down.

His laughter turned into a groan and you felt your panties dampen, squirming until you could sit on your heel. You went faster, lifting and dropping your lips on him when you felt his hand sink into your hair. You preened, humming happily as you maintained your pace, senses overwhelmed with the smell, taste, feel of Jungkook.

"D-Doing so well," Jungkook stuttered out, "You're doing so well, taking me so well baby."

You wanted to go farther, take more of him than the three-fourths you were working with but when you tried, you gagged slightly. Jungkook froze beneath you, watching you lift off of him and keep your lips parted, hovering above his leaky tip before wetness dripped from your mouth and mixed with his precum, rolling down the underside vein of his cock.

He moaned- light, airy, broken moans as it traveled down. The air must've cooled the liquid as goosebumps rose along Jungkook's thighs. You blew cool air on in experimentally and watched his back arch because of it, grinning sadistically as he began to crumble beneath you.

"F-Fuck," He breathed out in a high pitched whine as you squeezed the base of his cock, one hand still playing with his balls. You shook his cock lightly, watching it sway before you transfixed by how delicious he looked from this angle.

Was it normal to be this attracted to someone?

"Stop playing with my cock and put your mouth on it, Pretty." Jungkook barked, his dark eyes filled with lusty venom.

You laughed softly but nodded, vaguely acknowledging that he was beginning to use Pretty to refer to you more often than your own name. Pretty girl, Pretty, Princess, Baby- he had a lot of names for you. Maybe he just liked caring for people, maybe that's why he keeps trying to buy you things.

You didn't know when this started to feel like more than just a sex favor but it did right now- when you were Pretty and he was yours.

You sunk down on his cock again, noting that you didn't have to move much anymore- now, Jungkook was giving shallow thrusts into the warmth of your mouth instead, holding you steady by one hand digging into your scalp fisting into your hair. You liked the force he was using, his biceps bulging as one hand flexed behind him, keeping him anchored on the bed while his hips snapped up against your soft lips.

You felt like his more than ever now, when he was taking his fill of what your body had to offer him.

"Such a good fucking girl," He grunted, hips quickening. "All you wanted was to get your pretty little throat fucked, huh? You're always begging for my cock like some kind of-" He stopped himself, sighing instead.

You frowned up at him, swiping your teeth against his sensitive skin so sharply he gasped and keened over, twitching in your mouth. He was close to cumming but you pulled back until just his tip was in your mouth, "Slut. Call me a slut." You offered, "It's okay, I want it. Wanna be your slut."

Jungkook's eyes widened and got sunk back down, tapping his hip lightly to continue fucking into you.

"You're something else," He muttered under his breath, resuming slowly.

Jungkook's thrusts got rougher and rougher, the two of you losing yourselves in the moment.

"Fuck yeah, take my cock," He grunted, "You wanna be my slut so bad? Begging for my cock everyday, making me wanna spend all my money on you. God, your lips look so good wrapped around me."

You moaned around his cock and he mirrored you, "Reach down and touch yourself while I fuck your mouth," He ordered.

You immediately snaked a hand down your body, slick with sweat and fingertips already wet with Jungkook's precum. You dove into your underwear, rubbing fast circles around your clit.

"Good girl," He cheered, rolling his hips against your mouth now. You inhaled deeply and could feel how close he was without him having to say it.

He was trying to make himself last longer, you could tell by how much tension he was holding in his body. Instead, you decided to throw him off that cliff and drag your teeth against the thick vein by your tongue, hearing him shout sharply before he flooded your mouth.

You hummed, letting him fill you up as you kept touching yourself, drunk on him. You swallowed because everyone always tells you to and honestly the idea of spitting Jungkook out made you sad- another clue that this really was not just a sex favor.

Jungkook collapsed back on the bed, whining as you pulled off of him and licked calming little patterns up his body. You sucked bruises where you wanted to, making yourself a little trail up to his lips where you had climbed up on top of him. You sat on his stomach, nails scraping through his sweaty scalp soothingly as Jungkook lay there panting, eyes closed, lips parted.

"That was so good," He sighed, out of breath. "You're a quick learner."

"I have a good teacher," You replied, laying down so your chin rested on his chest, gazing up at him.

Jungkook dragged a loose hand up and down the length of your body, exploring you randomly, trying to familiarize himself with every soft part of you.

"Teacher was gonna start with cumming on your tits- wasn't gonna make you swallow your first time." Jungkook noted, "You made me cum early."

He had an adorable pout on his face that made you laugh, kissing the top of his pec as a consolation prize, "I wanted extra credit."

"Teacher wants to kiss now," Jungkook informed, looking down at you and cracking an eye open.

You obliged, shifting up so that you could kiss him how you wanted to- slowly, dirty, carefully. 

"Jungkook?" You said softly, anxiousness pooling at your stomach.

"Yes, Pretty?" He responded, mimicking your airy tone.

"Do you want to hang out sometime?" You asked carefully, "Like, outside of a bedroom? Maybe with our clothes on?"

Jungkook paused, looking at you with wide, surprised eyes before nodding slightly, his cheeks blushing, "Y-Yeah, we can do that. We can definitely do that."

"Okay," You said softly, "I'm gonna kiss you again now."

Jungkook cheered lightly and you kissed him again, and again, and again.

masterlist.