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tojisun · 12 days ago

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the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you.

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle.

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered.

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his.

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home.

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence.

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close.

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him.

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care.

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants.

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there.

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones.

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy.

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release.

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking.

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you.

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched.

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak.

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend.

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him.

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem.

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself.

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding.

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words.

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest.

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead.

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out.

#suns #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #soap x reader #cod x reader #f!reader #read tags!!

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bobafetts-princess · 3 months ago

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What Were You Thinking?

Summary: After saving civilians on a mission, Logan is furious that you almost died. (You didn’t almost die) He reminds you that he needs you in the most Logan-esque way possible.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Logan gets rough. Hair pulling, ass slapping, biting, Logan doesn’t handle his woman getting hurt very well. Dirty talk. Scott is annoying. Logan goes soft after he finishes.

A/N: If you’ve seen this on ao3, I’m the same person! I edited this so it’s a little different from my ao3 version. I like this a little more tbh.

The mission was successful. Everyone made it out alive and with minimal scratches. Well, everyone except you. You’d thrown yourself on top of civilians, trying to shield them from harm. You were a bontanokinetic, the ability to control plants, but you also had advanced healing. So even though you sustained major injuries from the bomb that went off 20 feet from you, all the civilians were safe and you were almost healed. You’d covered the civilians with plants and tree roots but only had time to cover your upper body before the blast went off. You took some debris full force, leaving you with deep cuts. Most of the them were healed by now, only the deepest still scars.

You weren’t sure that the civilians safety mattered to your boyfriend, Logan, as much as it did to you though. He always had so much adrenaline after a mission. He usually dragged you to the back of the plane and fucked you senseless to work it off. He would fuck you double when he got ahold of you this time, his fear taking the forefront. He wanted to fuck you to make sure you were real. Make sure you were safe in his arms and stuffed with his cock. He did the same when he had nightmares about you hurt or killed. He usually woke you, cock nudging at you, until he was sure you were awake. He’d plunge inside, fucking you until he was sure it had been a dream. Just a nightmare. It wasn’t real. Being buried deep inside you was the best way for Logan to bring himself back to reality. And boy, you’d fucked up this time. You were in for the most animalistic version of Logan there was.

“Are you alright?” Charles asked, hand soft on the inside of your elbow. You nodded at him, appreciative of the concern in his voice. They all knew what was to come and while they knew Logan would never hurt you, they always checked on you, to be sure you could handle him.

“LILLY.” You heard a deep voice shout your moniker and you turned towards it. Logan was striding towards you, lit cigar hanging out of his mouth. You rolled your eyes, you were fine, no one dead, the big bad in custody. He didn’t speak again until he reached you, grasping you roughly by the arm.

“What were you thinking?” He snarled, animal inside him beginning to take over.

“I was thinking I was saving some civilian lives.” You responded dryly, annoyed at his reaction. This was your job. Saving people from evil. There was always a risk with it. He needed to get over it. He began tugging you towards the helicopter, all the other mutants clearing out of your way as he thundered along.

“You could have gotten yourself KILLED.” He growled, spinning so that you were chest to chest. Even in your irritation with him you still reveled in the feel of his hard body against your softer one. He looked down on you, hazel eyes hard but laced with concern.

“I’m fine Logan, I heal nearly as fast as you do. It’s a scratch now.” You assured him, placing your hands on his chest. You moved his hands to your tattered jumpsuit leg, showing him the pretty pink scar that would disappear within the hour. His fingers trailed the puckered flesh, still sensitive from healing.

“You could have DIED.” He reiterated. His mouth crashed to yours, cigar in his hand now. His other hand grabbed the back of your neck to anchor you in place. A fire started to burn in your body and you couldn’t wait to get back to the plane. To let Logan work his frustrations and fears out, using you. You decided not to argue this time, to let him take what he needed. “I’m not losing you.” He said, his voice softer, but still a low and threatening rumble throughout his chest.

“Hey good job Lil!” A voice shouted at you from across the wreckage. “You saved the day out there. The way you handled all that debris being thrown at you? Amazing. You almost died! It was an intense moment.” Scott laughed, clapping you on the shoulder even though you were still chest to chest with Logan. The motion knocked you into him and it broke the calm over the two of you. Logan hardened, features distorted with annoyance and anger. He shot Scott a glare, mouth curling into a snarl. Scott knew that you were a sensitive spot for Logan so he’d take any opportunity to dig at Logan. Scott had never gotten over Logan’s little crush on Jean, even after the two of you had gotten together. So when the opportunity to push Logan’s buttons arose, Scott would always take it.

It didn’t make sense, he wasn’t reaping any rewards, except for keeping Logan away from Jean. Which hadn’t been an issue in at least a year and if you were being honest with yourself, wasn’t entirely Logan’s fault in the first place. The feeling had been mutual between them but Scott had a tough time seeing it that way.

Logan hauled you over his shoulder, cigar back in his mouth as he stalked towards heli-carrier that housed the X-Men on their trip back from a mission.

“Don’t you think you’re being dramatic?” You asked and only got an angry grunt in return.

“Don’t you think nearly getting yourself killed is a little dramatic?” He snapped as he walked up the ramp.

When Logan got dominant like this, it brought out his animalistic side and you ended up covered in his marks. He found your room, a shared one, and shut and locked the door behind him.

He flopped you down on the small bed, releasing himself from his uniform quicker than usual. He always went commando so he was standing before you completely naked before you even had a chance to blink. You moved to get yours off but he beat you to it, tearing the uniform with his bare hands. Charles was not going to be happy about having to replace yours, again. Logan did the same with your bra and underwear and while you thought he was being a touch ridiculous, it was also hot.

You were in for it rough this time. He was high on adrenaline, pissed, and worried. He didn’t hardly take any time to prep you, but it didn’t matter. You were so wet at the manhandling that when he thrust two fingers in you it wasn’t enough, you needed more. He replaced his fingers with his cock giving you enough time to adjust so he wouldn’t hurt you. You could hear his heavy breathing from above you, his nostrils flaring as he exercised every inch of his control. When you were ready for him you told him so and he gave you a few sharp thrusts to make sure. Logan wasn’t a small man in that area, thick and long, so he had to make sure you were ready.

Once he decided you were he started a brutal and relentless pace that only Logan could keep up with for an extended period of time. Your body heated at his dominance, the way that he chased his own release without worrying about yours. But that’s because he knew you would come either way. Your hand traveled down your body, reaching for your clit to give yourself a little extra pleasure. Before you could, your hands were pushed away, stretched out above your body as Logan’s fingers circled around it instead. His body was warm against yours, his thrusts hard and unending. His thumb circled the nub, his teeth marking your breasts. The pressure he put on your clit was intense and you pushed closer and closer to orgasm. His grunts and groans were increasing in volume and he sounded like a wild man, a caged animal. Your body ached for your orgasm, you could almost taste it, so when he bent to bite on your nipple you lost it. Screaming and clenching around him, your hips met his thrust for thrust until it was over.

Once you came down, he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach. He crawled up your body, entering you again this time, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking your head backwards. The arch in your back allowed him deep, his balls slapping your clit with each thrust. He bent to bite his way across your neck and shoulder, pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm.

“Think again, little girl, before you try to sacrifice yourself when I’m around.” He grunted, smacking your ass to emphasize his point. His name was falling from your lips, punctuated only by your groans. His words were the only reminder about why he was fucking you like this. Even though you didn’t sacrifice yourself, it felt like it to him. Your hands were braced on the bed, but he grabbed them one by one, not releasing your hair. He pinned them behind your back and held them down. You were at his mercy, you were his toy. You didn’t have the strength to get him off of you but you didn’t want to. You loved when he pinned you. Made you helpless for him. This was your favorite way to get fucked by Logan, hard, rough, and fast. Your second orgasm was building, and when Logan bit down on your right shoulder you fluttered around him. His bites got rougher when he got closer and he usually broke skin when he came.

 “Fuck. I’m gonna come in this sweet pussy.” He told you, teeth catching your ear and smelling your hair, his secret kink. He loved the way you smelled when you were turned on. His sense of smell was so strong that your sex pheromones always pushed him over the edge. You always knew he was close when he did this and you knew if you wanted to come a second time you’d have to work for it. But you were surprised when he let go of your hair and moved to focus on your clit instead. His circles the little bud, increasing his pressure with each pass. Before you knew it you were screaming your release, clamping down on his cock. It triggers his own orgasm and he roars, thrusting to the hilt and sinking his teeth in your shoulder hard enough to break skin. He empties himself into you, cock twitching in tune with your pussy pulsing.

“Fuck. That was fucking good.” He growled in your ear, rubbing his face against your hair to soak up your scent. He releases your arms, pulling you upright against him. “Don’t scare me like that again. I don’t want to lose you.” He admits. You nodded, your body aching from the marathon his body had put you through. He spun you, kissing you gently. “I love you.” He grunts, letting his softer side show. The two of you get dressed, stealing kisses and touches between layers of clothes. When you walk out to join the others, the bite marks Logan had left on you were only small scars, save the one that broke skin. It was red but healing, barely visible under your top.

Everyone eyes Logan warily, wondering if he’d worked out all his anger. He lays a hand softly on your hip, kissing your temple and you could feel the welcome sigh of relief from everyone else.

“Are we ready to go?” He asks, strapping you into your seat before he straps himself in. Charles nods at Scott and Storm and they start to take off.

#logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #Wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #wolverine fic #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine xmen #x men smut #x men fanfic #Karie writes #bobafetts Princess writes

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luveline · 1 year ago

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𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible.

"Who is this?"

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me."

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?"

"There's someone in my apartment."

"You're sure?"

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen.

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are."

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real.

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other.

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy.

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer.

You hang up the phone.

"I know you're here."

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long.

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible.

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet.

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality.

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice.

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you."

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you.

You could be dead in the next two minutes.

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know.

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees.

"Found you."

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar.

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt.

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away.

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall.

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood.

"Stupid bitch," he hisses.

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh.

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed.

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg.

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you."

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted.

"What are you going to do?" he asks you.

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down.

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?"

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic.

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?"

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw.

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional."

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice."

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night.

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here.

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face.

"Aw. To begin with, sure."

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?"

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice."

"We both know you don't like nice."

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things."

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side."

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else.

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?"

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better."

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh.

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read.

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up."

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face.

Hotch moves in.

"Drop the weapon."

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room.

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise.

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?"

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer.

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light.

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down."

"No, I was surrendering."

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering."

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it."

You hang your head.

—

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks.

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone."

"That doesn't need a cast?"

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life.

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen?

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head.

You'll be gentle?

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy.

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock."

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?"

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently.

You don't answer.

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it.

"I don't feel well," you say quietly.

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?"

"Don't think so."

"It's shock," says the paramedic.

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?"

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's.

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?"

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval.

"Her boss."

"Not her partner?"

"He's my closest friend," you say.

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true.

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay."

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down.

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye.

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing.

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me."

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks.

"No. No, I want you to."

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks.

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay."

"I'm fine." You sound welled up.

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine."

"Yeah, I do. It's my job."

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does."

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there.

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked.

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast."

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right.

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start."

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft.

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard.

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call.

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down.

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek.

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead.

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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localkiss · 1 month ago

Text

Fucking After Party!

pairings: leon kennedy x fem!reader

synopsis: Of course your big brother coddles you. Do you find it weird? Yes. So, you slip away to a Halloween party, unbeknownst to what will happen later in the night. Maybe you'll find yourself clinging to your older brother in time of need.

cw: MDNI!! INCEST !! Knives, oral, p in v, unprotected sex, noncon/dubcon, creampies, spanking, manhandling, degradation, praise, overstimulation, poor depictions of alcohol and drinking, poor depictions of flirting (im shorry), videotaping.. um probably more but i don't wanna spoil it. LEON IS VERY OOC (since some ppl are babies about that 🙄)

wc: 4.6k

tags: @dilfstar @adiorxia @leonkennedygvrl @bunnyclaire @rigorwhoring @leonsdolly @admirxation @gettingsilly @nilpill @withonly-sweetheart @cakelitter

“Hey little sis,” he hums out, hand reaching up to pet your head with affection. Thinking about how cute you are when you look up at him with red hot cheeks. His eyes dip down your body, so soft and plush. Perfect.

“Leoonnnn!” You drag out his name in an annoyed tone. Swatting his hand away. Can't help but think that he's a pest, constantly buzzing around you. Never leaving you alone.

Like, c’mon doesn't he have a job? He's always been a bit of a lurker around you, but especially now that you're in college. Can't always be his baby sis. One day, you'll have a significant other, leave the house, and sort of cut contact for the most part. Be too busy to entertain your loser of an older brother.

To him though? You will be by his side forever. Dote on you forever and ever. Never make you pay any bills, lift a finger, or even have the time to complain about something. Because, guess what! Big brother is always here for you. To take care of you and never make you have to get a job to sustain yourself.

Leon just chuckles at your display of frustration. He wants to comment on how cute you are, especially when you say his name like that.

Wants to just snatch you up and cuddle with you until you are fast asleep in his arms. His strong, firm biceps against your body like you're a body pillow.

Imagining you scooting up close until you're snug against his body. Your ass pressing into his groin so much that he can feel your tailbone. To imagine you knocked out so he can take full advantage of you. Better yet, if you pretend to be asleep, letting him grope you in ways a brother shouldn't.

Honestly, he thought about ordering some sleeping pills to dissolve into your drinks. So when he feels like feeling you up in your sleep, he can do it while making sure you're gonna stay asleep.

And place a camera in your room so he can watch back on how you look and react in your sleep. See if you smile in your sleep. Good material to jerk off to, especially good if he manages to snag a pair of your panties.

He sucks on his teeth and shakes his head down at you. “So… where’re you headed, looking like that? Got a hot date or what?” Leon drags his eyes slowly once more. One thing caught his eye immediately. Can't believe he didn't even notice it the first time he looked at you.

You are wearing black pantyhose and a white mini dress. What are you, some cheap hooker? No, no, no… you are his baby. Only he should see you like this. Not some fucking douchebag who's going to do a pump and dump.

Man, if he ever catches some guy trying to dick you down in your bed.. it'll be over. One flash of his badge and the guy will go running off with his tail between his legs. It doesn't mean anything to Leon if your love or sex life doesn't even begin.

“I'm going to a Halloween party.” You answer bluntly, gesturing towards your sexy nurse rendition. Shifting from one foot to the other, your maroon colored heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Sighing deeply, like he's boring you.

Leon raises his eyebrows. Even worse than a date. A whole party full of immature adults whose brains aren't fully developed. Great. Perfect.

“Sure you don't want me to go with you? I can be a sexy cop,” he puts his hands on his hips with a sly smile. “I can even bring my handcuffs.”

You wrinkle your nose at that. “Um, no thanks. You'll just be watching me the entire time, again. Remember last time?”

Closing your eyes and shaking your head rapidly for a few seconds. It was weird.

“Oh come on , I was making sure nobody was trying anything funny. Can't consent if you're totally wasted.” As if he isn't planning on touching you in your sleep.

Though, you've no idea that he's thinking this stuff. Supposed to be a good guy. Good cop.

However, there is something about you that makes that dark side of his brain itch. Maybe it is because you are his little sister? The fact that you guys used to play house together? Used to do things that would be weird to do as two grown adults.

Him being the husband, you being the wife. Parents in the other room as you mimicked what they did a lot, which is a quick peck on the lips. It was innocent.

Or when you both were forced to change in the bathroom together, after swimming. It was all fine and dandy since you're family. And when it became weird, was when you were fourteen and he was sixteen.

Weird that your brother kept following you and bothering you. Or was the chaperone at dances. Always staring and glaring down at other boys. Pissed you off and you both argued on the way home. You did not have a good time at any dances because of him.

“I need to protect you from the bad guys,” he said. “Mom says I have to watch you, since I'm older than you,” he said. What is he, some sort of hero?

It only got worse when you walked in on him masturbating. You remember the way his mouth was formed in an ‘o’ shape, how his cock was flushed at the tip. How he had his head tilted back into his pillow. The lewd sounds of him fucking his fist and his soft groans and whimpers. And how his muscles rippled with each tug, the slight sheen of sweat on his naked figure.

Leon was just mumbling to himself. “Yeah? Yeah, just like that. Mhmm…”

“Take it baby, take it.”

“Please let me cum inside of you. Please let me.”

And a whole bunch of other things you simply wish you never heard out of his mouth. It makes you cringe. But you also feel disgusted for squeezing your thighs together as you watched him. He was big. Real big.

“Yeah. But I want to go, to have a good time, Leon.” You insist on leaving alone. “I'll text you if I need any help.”

Giving him a flat smile, you click clack your way to your friend's car outside. Getting inside the vehicle and driving away swiftly. Looking out the window and seeing Leon wave goodbye to you.

As soon as you arrive at the party, you are bombarded with the smell of weed, sweat, and alcohol. Just the right scent notes for a candle!

You shimmy your way into the kitchen for a red solo cup to fill up with some concoction of alcohol and juice. Doing so, you find yourself flirting with a guy who is dressed up as a vampire. And he convinces you to dance with him.

Making your way to the dance floor, he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. Slowly moving it down towards your hips. It’s a bit weird for someone to be so confident and comfortable with touching a woman like that immediately. But you ignore it for the time being.

Slowly getting to know him and all of his interests. Barely giving you any time to talk about yourself. It's whatever. He's cute.

It sure is fun letting loose and drinking all your sorrows away.

You feel his hand start to slip down towards the top of your ass. Still, you don't say anything. Maybe it's just the alcohol dulling your senses, you just can't find a care in the world to stop him.

He leads you back to the kitchen, pouring you a drink. Urging you to finish what he made you before you both got back to the dance floor. Kind of weird, but alright.

Shit. All you can see and feel is his soft body against you, his dick grinding up against your stomach. The black shaggy hair and his stupid vampire collar. And his old spice ass cologne, ugh. Headache central.

You excuse yourself and go to the kitchen. Fixing yourself another cup, because fuck it. And then another man comes up and starts chatting away with you.

Eventually, you both make it outside. Talking about the most random bullshit you could think of.

This guy's pretty cute too. No costume though, from what you could tell. And, he's eyeing you up like candy. Like he wants to eat you up here and now. Hot…!

He's tall, skinny, and has dark brown hair. Oh, not to mention the weird black lines on his face. Maybe…it's his costume? You hope.

“So, what's your costume?” You gesture towards his outfit.

“I'm dressed up as Choso from Jujutsu Kaisen, you probably don't know it. It's an anime.” He explains with a shrug of his shoulders and a smirk to his lips.

Oh! So he's one of those guys. Yeah, nevermind. No thanks, Mr. Nice guy.

“Oh, okay… Cool. I'll be sure to look that up later,” you hum and nod your head.

He created this awkward atmosphere. Best to just swipe it under the rug and talk about something else. Or, just get more alcohol! Because alcohol fixes everything!

Both of you make your way back into the house and you grab some more of that good stuff. Gulping it all down and smoothing your slutty nurse outfit out. Bending over to fix your stockings, to make sure it looks cute still.

Somebody comes up behind you and whistles. That gets your attention in the wrong way. Doesn't matter to the guy though. Attention is attention. Can't help but wrinkle your nose at him, watching him walk away with a smug look on his face.

You straighten up and sigh, checking your phone. It's only been two hours?

God, it feels like it's been an eternity in this swamp of horny drunk adults. You can't see your friends anywhere, assuming they've already left and are going to hookup with some stranger. Like always, leaving you behind to fend for yourself. It's cool though.

Rubbing your bleary eyes, you stumble out the front door. The chilly air of October coming to bite you in the ass. Quite literally. It's almost hanging out with the way it keeps riding up. It's not too cold, as you have some liquid courage in your system! Thank god for that!

Feeling your teeth start to chatter, you manage to send your location to Leon. Opening your camera, you take a good look at yourself. Fixing yourself up to take a few photos. Might as well, since you look absolutely amazing. Wouldn’t want this makeup to be all for nothing, now would we?

As you smile and pose for the camera, you feel two arms slipping around your waist. But no groin pressing up against you. Odd. You bite your lip and turn your head.

“What the—Leon?”

“Yes, silly. That's my name, don't wear it out.” He chuckles down at you. “What? I was getting ready to pose for a picture with you.”

You roll your eyes, feeling his chin rest on your shoulder. And at the last second, he moves his hand to come up and squish your cheeks together. Ruining the photo.

Turning around, you let out a huff of air. Hitting him once in the chest before making your way to his Jeep. Not bothering to chastise him for doing that. You've had enough of men for today.

Buckling yourself, you squeeze your legs together, trying to warm up quickly. The warm air fanning all around you, undoing all the prickles in your skin, it's refreshing. Leon gets into the driver's side and buckles himself before driving back to your guys’ house.

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back against the headrest. The bumps and the soft sound of the radio killing you to sleep. Thankfully Leon doesn't say anything the rest of the way home.

As the car slows to a stop, you wake up from your little—but much appreciated—nap. Groaning, you unbuckle and get out. Staggering your way up the stairs and waiting for Leon to hurry up and unlock the front door.

His thick hair bounces with each step he takes as he jogs his way towards you. Opening it and walking inside, shutting it and locking it behind you.

He takes his shoes off, leaving them at the door and disappears into the hallway. You sigh, taking your heels off and hurrying to your room. Closing it behind you, you set your shoes on the floor. Flopping onto your bed with a groan.

Before you could begin to take off your clothes, the power goes out. Leaving you in complete darkness. Double tapping your phone, you put on your flashlight.

“Leon?” You call out, crawling out of bed to open your door.

A few beats later there's a loud thud, which makes you jump. Okay, now you are really scared. Soft hums and deafening white noise fills your ears. You go to his door and knock on it.

No answer, yet again. Did this asshole fall asleep? Great.

Making your way towards the living room, you hear yet another noise. “Ha ha.. very funny Leon! I know its you.”

You hope it's just him pulling a prank. Hope.

And when you finally reach to your destination, you move your phone around to see if anyone's there. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a tall black figure.

Screaming, you almost slip and fall trying to run back into your room. But before you could make it, their hands grab onto your waist as tight as possible. Pulling you back towards their chest. God damn it, you dropped your phone!

“Please let me go!” You start panicking and sobbing, kicking your feet out in hopes that they drop you. “I don't wanna die! Please…!”

They don't, obviously. And you try to elbow them in the stomach, hearing them groan and tighten their grip around you. Putting one hand over your mouth with ease.

The man drags you back into the living room, throwing you on the couch and straddling your hips. You hear him snort and in turn makes your stomach churn with disgust mixed with fear. Sobbing, you feel weak due to being inebriated and scared. Unable to try and push him off of you.

“You're so stupid,” he says lowly, his gloved hands pinning your wrists down with one, the other one squishing your cheeks together. “So slutty too.”

His hand leaves your face and traces the curves of your body. Too bad you can't see his face. Stupid mask.

“W-What do you want from me?” You squeak out, feeling his hand start to grope at your chest with interest.

“Your virginity, baby.” He coos, ripping off your skimpy nurse dress. The buttons go flying everywhere. His voice sounds familiar though.

In the state of shock, he takes the opportunity to pull out his knife and cut through your bra. Watching the way your nipples pebble up and how your tits jiggle. Putting his knife back, he groans. Grabbing a tit and squeezing it before letting it go to slap it.

“Stop it! Why are you doing this to—”

Listening to the way you gasp and whimper. He repeats it a couple times to each tit, before he pulls up his mask just enough to see his mouth.

Leaning down, he forces you into a kiss. His hand lightly holding you down by the neck, his thumb gently squeezing the side. Letting you feel lightheaded so that you still panic at the thought of him killing you.

“Taste so good, pretty girl.” The man laughs into the kiss before he gets off of you.

Maneuvering you into the missionary position. Pushing your legs down with his weight as he ties your hands together.

Once he deems it good enough, he gets up and starts to shuffle things around. And lights a few candles, making you squint, noticing something being propped up. Blinking a few times, you see it's a fucking camera.

“Please, don't do this to me. Please…” you beg him, watching him make his way back to you.

His hands sliding up your legs, playing with the stockings you have on. “Cute tights you've got on, slut.” He hums, his thumbs trace the lace.

Moving up until he reaches your panties. “Hm, cute thong too. I see it's nice and soaked for me. And here you were, screaming and crying for me to stop.” He cuts them off of you, dragging the dull tip of his blade against your skin. Seeing you jump as he gets closer to your chubby cunt.

“Got nothing to say?” The man puts his knife away, his thumb swiping over your folds. Not rubbing where you want him to rub, just teasing around it.

“Please…” you whine out, trying to move your hips in a way that makes his thumb press against your clit.

He chuckles, laying between your thighs, holding them up over his shoulders. “I know, I know. You want your pretty pussy to be played with. Want it to be raped too, huh?” Licking up and down your lips, teasingly dipping his tongue into your hole.

Groaning, he starts to suck and swirl his tongue around your clit. You moan and squirm under him, feeling his hot tongue against your clit feels soo good. Moving your tied hands down to grab at his head. Needing to hold on to something.

“Mmh.. right there,” you mewl, grabbing at his head harder. Hearing him slurp and moan into your pussy like he's the one that's getting head.

“Yeah, right here?” He goads, taking your clit between his teeth gently. Nibbling on it and swirling his tongue all over it. And all thoughts in your head became mush.

It creeps up on you like a jump scare in a movie. One minute you're fine, next minute you are jumping. Not because you're scared, but because you came so hard your body couldn't help but thrash around.

“I'm… I'm c-coming!” Loud cries came out of your mouth as your legs shook and planted themselves against his head. The fact a camera is recording your every move and word, slips out of your brain and out into his mouth.

And he greedily latches his mouth onto your hole. Getting every last drop of your cum before he sits up on his haunches and removes his mask. Maybe it's because you just came, but you aren't so alarmed that it's Leon.

“What the fuck? Leon?!” Your cunt throbs, feeling your heart sink down straight to your ass. You can't even move properly and that makes him smile.

“What the fuck, Leon?” He mocks you, leaning down to get all up in your face. “So fucking cute,” he hums, squishing your face together before moving it away from him, “so stupid though. I mean, fuck. You'd get wet and spread your legs for any man who wants to lick you open?”

Leon tuts, giving your cheek a few taps before he pushes down his black sweats. His cock already hard and flushed red at the tip. Giving it a few slow strokes, his other hand gently roams up your body, giving your boob a feel.

“Gonna let big brother take your virginity? Let me split open this cute cunt?” Leon watches you intently, tapping the weeping tip on your sensitive bud. “Not gonna fuck you until you beg for it.” Grabbing your left leg and lifting it up against his chest.

You feel your eyes well up with tears once more. Lifting your head, you watch his heavy cock play with your pussy lips. Blinking them away, you swallow the thickness in your throat.

“Please.. fuck me,” you mumble out, looking away, towards the camera unknowingly.

“What was that? Speak up, princess.” Leon guides the tip to your hole, letting it kiss your opening.

“Oh my fucking god! Just fuck me, Leon!”

Shaking his head disapprovingly, he leans down, pushing it in slowly. “Big brother's gotta fuck this attitude out of you, hm? Yeah, he's gonna keep this fat cunt nice and full until she's learned her lesson.” His dirty brown hair falls into your face as he moans from the sensation of your cunt around his length.

Keeping his eyes locked into your face as he sinks deeper into you. “Does it hurt, baby?”

“Yeah,” you clench down on him, your velvety walls squeezing him just right. “It's too big.” A deep whine in your throat bubbles up.

“Aww, poor pussy’s gonna go through it, yeah? Too bad big brother's cock wants to punish his little sister's cunt. Mhm…” he presses his lips against yours as he humps your wetness, softly making out with you. His hand goes up your arm and holds your hand in reassurance.

As you lock tongues, he takes the opportunity to go just a bit harder and faster. Groaning as you flutter and cant your hips into his pelvis. The shaven patch of hair just runs against your clit just right.

Pulling away, he lets go of your leg and hand, holding onto your hip and pushing your face towards the camera. “I'm recording this, smile for the camera baby,” he says between gritted teeth.

Moaning, you look directly into the lenses, tightening around him. “Mmhh—fuck—please!” you squirm, moving your arms to block your face. Too embarrassed to look into it while he's fucking you.

“You camera shy now? So adorable, lil sis,” he grunts, plowing even harder now. Both hands gripping onto the fat of your hips, listening to the squelching from your wetness. “You hear that? Sopping wet for your big brother. Tightened up when you were forced to look into the camera. It's okay baby, nobody else will see this video but me.” His thumb starts to swirl around your clit hard.

Rubbing it fast, feeling you start to come undone on his dick. The feeling of his leather gloves catches onto your clit deliciously. You feel red and hot all over, your stomach tensing up. And you start screaming, legs going numb, feeling your upper body jerk forward as you cum. “Leon!”

“Fuck!” Leon rabbits his hips into your squelching heat, roughly fucking you into the couch, “didn't know you'd squirt so easily.” He lets out a mix of a moan and a laugh, giving your pussy a few taps before putting you into a mating press.

Feeling your lace stockings against his head as he drives into his own orgasm. “All fucked out now, mhm. Yeah, big brother's g’nna feed your pussy his cum. Get you fucking pregnant, oh—”

He growls as his balls plap against your ass. Filling you up with hot white sticky ropes, stuffing you to the brim. But his hips don't stop fucking it into you. Pressing his cold lips against yours, he slows down.

Leon huffs and leans back, pulling out his still hard cock soaked with a mixture of your fluids and his. Watching your cunt open and close, oozing out his spend.

He unties your wrists and rubs up and down your sides. “Let me fuck you again, please lil sis?” Feeling your body hiccup and twitch from overstimulation.

Rubbing your ruined eye makeup, you weakly nod your head. “Uhuh, want it again.”

And then he's back all over you. Kissing you and groping your tits. Twisting your nipples and pinching them as his mouth makes its way to your neck. Begining to litter you with marks to insinuate you are taken.

He switches to the other one, giving it the same love and attention he gave to your right breast. And before he stops, he presses a kiss in the valley of your breasts.

“Okay, on your stomach now.” He guides you to flip over, spreading your ass to watch your holes wink at him. Gives it a smack, loving the way it moves.

Leon braces himself on his forearm as he pushes the head back in. Whimpering as he presses his chest against your back, arms caging you into the couch.

“Good god, you're so tight,” humping into you, he whispers into your ear. His breath hot and his voice low, sending chills down your spine and it warms your belly up.

“This slutty pussy is mine, alright? Won't let any other man come near you. You're my little sister.”

“Uhuh, s’all yours big brother,” you feed into his fucked up mindset. Letting him fuck you into his idealization of you. Soft, sweet, and pliant.

Rocking your hips back, you moan into the cushions. With each thrust, he goes deeper and deeper. Making you arch your back from how deep he is.

Soft squeaks and punched out groans rise from your throat, “Leon, please,” grabbing ahold of his hand and squeezing it. “Oh, fuck, please.”

His pace starts to pick up, watching the way your head bobbles from his thrusts. Heavy balls plapping away at your clit, making you cry out. He drives himself harder into your wet hole, striving to make you cum again.

“Yeah? Gonna cum for me? Soak my cock again, uhuh, c’mon baby,” Leon encourages you, whimpering and growling in your ear. The loud slapping noises echoing throughout the room. The smell of sex and sweat twirling in the air like dust particles.

Hot and heavy breaths against your neck as he clumsily kisses your pulse point. You shivering beneath him, milking his cock for all its worth is what drives him crazy. Pushing on your lower back as he grips a cheek and then slaps it. Over and over again.

Hearing you crying out for him is enough for him to spill his seed once more. He pulls your hair and makes your face visible to the camera, coaxing you through your final orgasm of the night. Listening to you squeal and call out his name.

“Good girl. You ready for me to pump this cunt up full with my cum?” Leon starts humping you, barely pulling out as he waits for your answer.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Eyes rolling into the back of your head as he slams his hips against your ass.

About a half a dozen of thrusts, he spurts his load deep into your womb. Letting go of your hair, he lazily grinds his seed into your throbbing pussy as much as he can, before all of it comes pooling out.

“Fuck me, jesus christ. ‘Bout emptied my balls into you. Fuck, I was backed up.” Leon pulls out of you and spreads you open, watching it bubble and pop out. Biting his lip as he pushes it back in with his thumb.

Pulling up his pants, he grabs a few tissues to clean you up. As well as the couch. Oops, hope your parents don't notice any stains!

“I'm so full,” you mumble, wincing as you turn on your back. “It's going to be your fault if I can't walk tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He snorts, giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

“Oh shit, I've got to stop the recording,” he goes over and shuts it off with a dopey smile on his face. “taking your first time on our first tape together.”

Groaning, you push him away as he begins to snuggle with you. “God. Gross, get out of here.”

“C'mon, I'll buy you as many sour patch kids and chocolates as you want. But first, let's go clean up properly.” He convinces you and you allow him to carry you bridal style into the bathroom.

Of course, with a roll of your eyes with it too. “You better.” Because you wouldn't be his cute baby sis without having some sort of attitude towards him. Even after he fucked your brains out.

(genuinely forgot where i got the divider for the content warning. augh. I'll find it later.)

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #resident evil smut #leon smut #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy x reader #localkiss #divider by cafekitsune

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