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mossyivy · 7 months

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Yearn | '24 Alphabet Challenge

Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: You break off your FWB relationship with Leon after being feed up with his lack of commitment. But even after years of being apart and marrying another man you realize moving on was a lot harder than expected. An the feeling might just be mutual.

Words: 7.3k

Content Warning: 18+ content, pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby), cheating, possessive behavior, desperate Leon, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please!), cream pie, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degredation(if you squint), spit and marking.

Authors Note: Listen... This is my first time ever putting something like this online so please be nice to me. I tried and think I did decent enough.

"You want a drink?" Leon asks, pouring whiskey over some ice in a lowball glass. Looking up at you in your seat in one of his armchairs

"No, I need to go soon. Wouldn't be a good idea."

This has become the norm for you two. You come over to his apartment on the weekends. Both of you have packed schedules due to working for the D.S.O. and being on the same team. But coming over usually meant it lead to much-needed stress relief in the form of sex.

Something mutually beneficial for both of you. Leon wouldn't have to worry about you getting attached, since you knew the dangers of your job. And you... Well, you didn't really get much out of this arrangement except to stay connected to him in some form. Even if it wasn't what you wanted.

Leon wanted no string attach, no commitment. No feelings involved in the deal.

But you failed miserably in that department. Already having some kind of undefined feelings for him before starting these weekly meetings. Repeatedly getting hurt by your own actions, knowing full well how he was with this arrangement and what you agreed to.

"You got plans?" His eyebrow rises as he sips his whiskey, rounding the corner of his kitchen island and sitting on the arm of the couch next to you. Sipping his drink leisurely.

"Actually yes." You smile to yourself, gaze meeting Leon's as you look up at him. Finally, feeling happy at the thought of moving on, possibly.

"I have a date with a guy from the office. Shepard from accounting."

Leon nearly choked, covering his mouth with his arm as he coughed. Clearing his throat, his expression shifted to one of annoyance. His eyes fix on you, glaring sharply and unable to hide his obvious jealousy. Something he hasn't felt in ages now.

"And... you just decided to tell me now? What about our agreement?"

You raise a brow, confused by his reaction.

"We agreed what happens in our private lives is our business unless it directly affects one of us."

"But if you date someone, that's my business. You don't think that doesn't affect me too?" His nose wrinkles as he stands up from the arm of the couch, setting his glass on the coffee table.

He can't believe he has to even have this conversation with you. He thought it was obvious enough to not have to say anything.

"I haven't kissed him, slept with him or even held his hand. No germs or possible diseases have been swapped. How is this your problem exactly? We aren't together, we're just in a..."

You stop to ponder for a moment, really thinking about how to phrase this without coming off as a total bitch.

"We're friends with benefits. No exclusivity."

"And if you're seeing another guy, that would stop. I really don't feel like looking for someone else when what we have is good right now."

The thought of replacing you was disheartening and uncomfortable. It took him long enough to open up to you to begin with. Starting at square one again just wasn't an option he wanted to take. Your arrangement was just what he wanted, what he needed to keep his shit together.

"And what exactly did you expect of me, to just sit around and cater to just your needs?"

Your face turns to a scowl, eyes burning with a certain kind of fire that hardly anyone gets to see. You glare at him, hard. He can feel the tension rise between you two.

"I can't just wait around for someone who 'doesn't do relationships,' Leon. I have the right to be happy with someone."

"I didn't say-" He cuts himself off, swallowing the lump in his throat as he feels his face heat up. The irritation in him bubbled up in his very soul as your eyes met. He stares you down trying to get you to crack and look away first, but you don't back down.

"I didn't say you had to wait around for me. I just..." His glare faltered for a second, irritation turning to discomfort at the accusation. "I thought I'd have more time. Not just have you spring this on me so suddenly."

"Why do you think I told you? He just asked me out today, and it was out of the blue. He's a decent enough guy, so I thought I'd give him a chance."

You stand up from your chair, grab your bag from the floor and slide it over your shoulder.

"It's not like you caught me sneaking around, I told you before anything could happen. You're just pissed because you don't want to lose the only connection you have with someone outside of work that gives you the tiniest shred of normalcy."

As much as he hates to admit it, you're completely right. He knows you're right. But he's definitely too stubborn, closed off and selfish to admit it. Stepping in front of the entrance to his apartment, he crosses his arms, determined not to let you leave until everything is settled and hopefully in his favor.

"Listen, I know I'm not a relationship guy. But I'm human. I have feelings and... And needs still."

"So am I." You turn, crossing your arms as you stare back at him.

"The only reason I agreed to this situation to begin with is because... I just wanted to be closer to you and I knew you didn't do relationships." Your own words sting, admitting what you felt. And even with the new revaluation, you looked hurt over the situation.

"And I can't just sit around hanging on to the tiniest shred of hope that you'll change. That's not healthy... So I think it's time for, whatever we have, to just stop and for me to move on. And finally get fulfillment out of a relationship someone can commit to me in."

But your words cut deep. You were completely justified, Leon knew that. Despite knowing you were in the right, Leon couldn't help but feel like he was being slapped in the face. Like all the time you spent together was just nothing.

"You're just going to throw us away then? For some guy at work... What was his name? Shepard? What the hell kind of name is that!?"

"I'm not throwing it away for some guy, I'm walking away for my own sake." Your brows furrow as you glare at him again, not wanting to be hostile, but at this point it only feels like you can get the point across this way.

"I thought you of all people would understand what it's like wanting to move on from something that hurts you constantly. But I guess I was wrong."

You feel the burning behind your eyes, trying to ignore it. You sniff, blinking repeatedly to keep the tears at bay.

"All I want is not be in a situation where I know someone can't or refuses to love me like I want to be. Not anymore. I don't think that's too much to ask for."

Leon feels like he's shrinking seeing your eyes glaze with tears. He didn't even realize he was causing this much pain. Even if he hadn't intended to, he strung you along with the hopes of something he wasn't even considering. Not until now at least.

"Listen..." Taking in a deep breath, he frowns, looking into your teary eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't know I was hurting you. I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Trying and doing are two different things. That's why I want to call it quits now... Before I end up resenting you or... Or we feel bitter towards each other. We still have to work together, and I'd rather not think about how much I hate you every time I have to look at you."

You sniffle again, a few tears escaping before you can wipe them away and step towards him.

"It's just best if we just go back to being only colleagues."

"So that's it? We're just..." He stops himself again. It's not worth arguing, you've clearly made up your mind, and he should just be the bigger man and respect that. His head hits the door as he looks up at the ceiling, feeling a pain wash over his chest. He's not ready to let you go, and it's clear to him that even he got attached.

"Fuck... Okay." Rubbing his eyes, he steps away from the door, not blocking you from leaving anymore. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Reaching the door knob, you clutch it tightly as he jerks towards you. Not stepping in front of you but making sure he's visible.

"Wait. Can... Can we have one last kiss? For old times sake."

Every part of you is screaming no, but you tighten your shoulders with a nod.

"Yeah... I can do that." Moving in, you slot your hands onto his biceps, leaning in. Your lips land on his, applying a light pressure. Nothing remotely close to some of the more passionate kisses you've shared over your time together.

For Leon, it takes everything in him to not give in and kiss you exactly like he wants to. To wrap his arms around you and suffocate you completely with him. Make his last mark on you before you go your separate way. Show you how much he loves... the company you give him.

But this is for the best, to just go back to normal like nothing ever happened. His hands meet the small of your back as he takes in one last long look at you. Not wanting to let go until you step back.

As you pull back, you look up at him as his eyes meet yours. Almost like they're silently pleading for you to stay. Giving a quick rub to his biceps, you step past him, a small smile meeting your lips.

Saying goodbye just feels wrong to you, so you settle for a see you later.

"I'll see you at work on Monday..." Opening the front door, you give him a quick nod, closing the door behind you as you leave his apartment one last time.

He stares at the front door, hoping you'll come back any second now and just tell him it was some kind of fucked up joke you're pulling. You never do.

Walking back over, he slumps over on the couch, holding his head in his hands. Trying to think of where exactly he went wrong with this entire thing. Glancing up at the coffee table, he spotted his whiskey, swiftly picking it up and downing the almost full glass with a dissatisfied grunt. All before he gets up and makes his way towards his liquor cabinet once again.

You're not paying attention when one of your coworkers is droning on about whatever to Shepard next to you.

Connie? Chloe? Cassie? Whatever her name was, it wasn't important right now. What was important was the glances being thrown at the end of the sturdy brewery table.

"Are you okay, hun?" Your trance was snapped, eyes shooting back to your husband as his smile filled with concern.

"Yeah." Your voice is half-hearted and still slightly dazed. "Just thinking too much."

Thinking too much about the blue eyes burning into you from a few seats down.

You didn't blame him, it's been 4 years since you two had any real conversation outside of work. Being married for 2 years, you've tried to respect your husband and steer clear of Leon at any point. Shepard didn't know your past, and you wanted to keep it that way.

But now that you're all in the same place due to a work retreat. You don't know how long that's going to stay hidden. Who knows what could happen?

You quickly smile, as you've trained yourself to do, as you look at Shepard. He smiles back before sipping his rum and coke. Looking back at the brunette across the table talking.

"What were you saying, Cassidy?" Shepard asks. The woman nodded, sipped her wine and set it back on the table.

"I asked, are you happy she's changing departments? I bet it's unnerving having your wife risk her life every time she leaves and not knowing if you'll see her again."

"He is, he always hated how much I was away or just scared something would happen, y'know?"

"I'm always worried about my special girl. I love her." Shepard squeezes your thigh with a smile. Rubbing his thumb across your bare skin.

You feel nothing when he touches you. You never have and probably never will. He always talks about this spark between the two of you, but you feel no spark at all. Not even a little buzz.

You just smile back at him and continue to sip your wine, glancing down the table at Leon, talking with one of your other colleagues. You feel uneasy but still somehow calm. Even after being apart for so long, he always seems to draw your attention.

Leon's having a conversation with another coworker. Or at the very least tries to have a conversation...

He's watching you out of the corner of his eye, observing with a Stoic expression as it usually is these days. But to the trained eye, he's completely obvious. He honestly can't help himself from looking at you.

Just as beautiful as the day you left...

His mind wanders as his side glance lingers too long, he's still so in love even after all this time. He thought it faded from your separation, but if anything, it's gotten worse with such little contact outside important assignments or the occasional workplace banter.

It's slowly driving him nuts that sometimes he wonders if this isn't just an obsession but physically seeing you brings him right back to earth. The thumping in his chest became harder to ignore.

God, he wishes he was Shepard. To spare him the looks you gave your husband. The thought of being able to touch your thigh again without care nearly gives him a hard on.

But he catches himself. Teetering on the edge of his mind, wandering too far. He swallows it, forcing it down. Knotting the pit of his stomach to not let it show. He takes a long sip of the whiskey sour in his hand and tries turning back to the conversation.

You try your hardest to put on a fake smile as you listen to Cassidy and Shepard rattle on. Sipping your wine, you feel that familiar rubbing.

Glancing down, you see Shepard's hand gripping your thigh with a firmness you've felt before. His large hand dawned with the wedding ring matching yours staring back at you as his thumb glided across your bare skin.

For any other woman, this would be an instant turn on. But for you, that's all it is, just a hand. Nothing special or thrilling. But you look at your husband as he gives you that sultry look he thinks is flirtatious, but it just makes your skin crawl.

And not in a fun way. This is getting to be too much.

"I think I'm going to go for a smoke." You cut off the chatty Cassidy. Shepard's head turned to you with a smirk.

"You want me to come with you?" Shepard sits forward, ready to stand when you put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"No, no. I need to make a phone call anyway. Could you watch my drink though?"

He nods as you take your phone off the table and step back from your seat. Shepard clears his throat as you lean over giving him a kiss, almost as if you've been trained to do so.

Finally, you walk out of the brewery, past tables filled with chatting people and around the side of the building to the secluded smoking balcony. Surprisingly empty as you show up. Grabbing one of the two chairs, you have a seat in front of the railing.

You lean back against the seat, looking up at the dark night sky full of stars, mind wandering to the man inside.

Not your husband...

"Fuck..." You mumble, pulling the pack of Marlboro's out of your jacket and slipping one of the sticks between your lips.

You retrieve your lighter, flicking the button repeatedly. Only a tiny spark igniting with a soft click. You groan in irritation, trying again.

"This seat taken?" You nearly lurch out of your seat, quickly turning to see Leon standing next to the empty chair, drink in hand.

"Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me..." Putting your hand on your heart you feel it pound from fear, glancing up at Leon you almost swear you could feel it skip for a split second.

"Is that a yes?" He asks, his lips curling into a smirk as he looks down at you.

"Yeah, sit. I don't care." You flick your lighter repeatedly, finally getting it to light as he sits. You make brief eye contact, slipping your lighter back in your pocket.

"Following me isn't really a great look for you, Kennedy." Leon scoffs, brows knitting as he takes in your figure far longer than appropriate.

“Can’t a guy just enjoy sitting next to a beautiful woman for a while?” It's your turn to grin, taking in his old cheesy way of talking. Your eyes start to linger now, taking in his appearance.

You can see the once lively eyes he had now grown into tired and strained. Hair darkens with age to match the beginnings of crows' feet. But he still looked handsome as ever. He always will.

"It's a free country, I can't tell you no." You continue with the banter, turning your attention back to the cigarette as you take in a drag. Glancing at him, you exhale, thinking of a way to break the building tension.

"So..." You knock some ash off your cigarette into the tray between the chairs and look at him again. "How've you been? I heard you're taking my spot as team lead. Congrats."

"Thanks, I'm doing okay." His hands move as he tries looking anywhere but you. Licking his lips, he finally looks at you again.

“What about you? You're happy about the change? Being off the field completely and all.”

"If you like sitting behind a desk all day slowly rotting from the inside out, sure... You know I'm a woman of action." You wince at your own bitterness and sigh.

"I took the new job for Shepard. He's been on my ass about taking care of myself since we..." You stop yourself, looking down at the wedding band, just another reminder of what once was between you and Leon.

"I just wanted to make him happy." You slip the cigarette between your lips again, looking down at the phone as it goes off in your lap.

Leon bites his tongue before saying the first thing to come to mind and nods instead.

Yeah, if she took that job for Shepard, she probably wouldn’t be pleased with it.

He can probably guess how much you do for him by that reaction alone.

“So... you do love him, then?”

You're mid-drag when the coughing starts, caught off guard by the sudden question. Your head snaps to Leon, coughing into your closed fist.

"Excuse me?" Leon shrugs, looking unbothered by your reaction.

"You took the job for his sake. So you must love him... Or at least want to keep the peace between the two of you. But you've always been a pretty good actor."

"He's my husband, isn't he?"

You almost sound defensive, not really giving him a yes or no response. You know the answer. Leon took note of the lack of one.

"Why are you asking?"

"Just curious." He takes a sip of his whiskey sour, shaking the glass, loose ice clanking against the misty sides as he stares down at it.

“I just thought, maybe... you were looking at me earlier. During dinner, during cocktails. I know I was staring at you. And the way you looked at Shepard. It seemed like you were almost... bored with him?”

You both loved and hated how perceptive Leon can be sometimes.

"Wow, I had no idea you were suddenly an expert at what I wanted. Little late for that, don't you think?" Your tone was sarcastic, but you knew what he was saying was true to an extent.

Even if you don't want to admit it.

He takes in your response, sipping his drink again as he nods. He has your down pat and the smirk forming on his face says he's completely aware of it.

“So am I right?” He asks, not really expecting much of an answer.

"Leon, you can't..." You look away, scrunching your nose, frowning at his question.

“Accuse you of settling? You just sort of settled on Shepard? Because he’s safe? Because he’s a good guy?” Leon continues, setting his drink down next to the ashtray. He leans forward, trying to get a glimpse of your face.

"It's not fair of you to ask that. Not from you of all people." But it's true, you settled for Shepard. Knowing he loved you and was looking out for your best interest.

"He loves me and I..." You stare at the street below, unable to finish what you started saying. The ring on your finger starts to feel heavier as it weighs on your hand and conscience.

The obvious truth was that you didn't love him, you tried. Really, really tried to but never got the same kind of attachment to him like you did with him.

With Leon...

"Sweetheart."

God no, his voice is so charming still...

"You don't love him, do you? You've... Never loved him." Finally, you look at him again, wanting to curse him out desperately.

But he's so smug, the look on his face says he already knows how to make you admit it. And you both know he'll drag the truth out of you one way or another.

"I hate that you can read me so well still." You finally answer, unable to keep up the lie. Taking in a deep breath, you extinguish the cigarette, leaving it in the ashtray. You look back at the street below, feeling Leon's eyes on you still.

"We both know how well I know you sweetheart." His voice is barely above a whisper. He leans in watching your eyes flicker at him. That natural shine he's used to seeing back again, to greet him like an old friend from years past.

It's enough of a greeting that you both know how this could end, easily.

You know that look all too well, feeling your heart thumping in your chest, harder than it has in years now. You know exactly what he's thinking about.

"N-No Leon." Your voice can't even carry a stern tone as he makes you weak in the knees with a single look. Your stomach does a flip as he just stares, look unwavering.

"I'm married!"

"You think I'm not aware of that?" He leans even closer, his hand sliding onto your thigh.

You say nothing, watching him put his hand on you, squeeze you like Shepard does.

Like when you feel nothing...

You know it's wrong, you should stop him from touching you. But the familiarity is so comforting as his thumb glides over your silky skin.

God, it feels so different with Leon... So good... So wrong, but so right at the same time.

The feeling of fireworks fills your chest and butterflies materialize in your stomach. That same feeling from years ago is rearing its ugly little head to claw its way back around your heart again. You just stare at each other, not saying a word.

“You’re married,” he speaks again, just repeating what you said. “But you’re still in love with me, aren't you?"

You swallow again, the gulp making an audible noise. Almost like you just sucked down a golf ball.

"I want to hear you say it." His voice sounds like he's on the verge of begging for it. You grab his shoulder and push him back to arms length.

"Leon, no... It's wrong. Happy or not."

"But, I want you." The words slipped out of him so easily, making you ache.

Ache in a lot of ways, in a lot of places you definitely shouldn't for someone who isn't your husband.

"Please... Just one kiss to see if the sparks are still there." He's quite literally begging now, grabbing your hand.

"Honey?" You shoot up from your chair the second you hear his voice, yanking your hand away. You quickly step past Leon as Shepard appears around the corner.

"Honey, hi!" You sound unnaturally excited to see him.

"Hey Shepard." Leon stood from his chair and sounded cold. Honestly, not caring to cover his bitterness about the situation.

"Oh, hey Leon." Shepard greets him, noticeably a bit intoxicated by how he's standing. "I didn't know you smoked."

"He doesn't!" You blurt out, gaining your husband's attention again. "He was just asking me for advice about being the new team lead. Just helping a co-worker out."

"Aww, that's so sweet of you, baby." Shepard smiles sheepishly at his wife, not even realizing you're lying through your teeth. "Speaking of baby... Could you help me get Cassidy to stop talking about her kids? Pretty please?"

You sigh with a fake chuckle. "Yeah just... Give me a minute."

Shepard nods, giving you a kiss on the cheek and walks back into the brewery.

"So, you're okay with that?" Leon crosses his arms, gesturing between you and the door.

You glare at him, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

"You're insufferable..." You rub your eyes thinking before you speak.

"Look, I don't... Love him... But I don't want to hurt him either. He's still a good guy..."

“A good guy, huh?” He whispers, stepping forward, taking your hands in his.

“But not enough to make you feel anything when he’s around. That's strictly reserved for me, yeah?” You feel your skin warm up as you pull your hands away.

"Jesus Christ..." His cocky attitude makes you groan in irritation.

"I could honestly choke you right now... I swear."

"You know, I know what buttons to push to get you all riled up. Just to come right back into my arms."

You roll your eyes looking back into the brewery, seeing Shepard start to wobble in his chair slightly. You know that he's at his drink limit now.

"Leon... Just... We'll talk later." You start walking away towards the door to inside the brewery when he grabs your wrist. Not painfully tight, just enough to get you to stop walking.

"Or we can talk now." You sigh, thinking of a solution, as Leon let go of your wrist.

"What hotel room number did they stick you in for the work retreat?"

"Why?" He grins, leaning in again. "You're going to drop by for a special visit later?"

"To talk." You emphasize, getting more irritated as you lean in closer "And only talk..."

"Fuck, you're so hot when you're mad." You groan watching him bite his lip as he looks you up and down.

"Room number Leon. Now."

"Can't ever let me have my fun, can you? Room 407." Your eyebrows furrow, of course he'd only be two doors down from you.

"I'll be over at midnight."

"I'll be waiting with bated breath." You shoot him a glare, making him chuckle as you walk back into the brewery.

Collecting your husband, with a lot of effort and his cooperation, you make it back to the hotel in a good amount of time. Unlocking the door, you help him over to the bed, laying him on his side.

Getting him plenty of water and making him take Tylenol before he inevitably passes out to avoid the hangover you know he'd definitely be having if it weren't for you.

Soon it's midnight, and you make your way two doors down. Knocking on room 407.

You hear heavy quick footsteps coming towards the door. Leon opens the door, his hair messy and his shirt's top three notches unbuttoned. This was starting to feel really reminiscent of your old hook-up days.

“Come on in, sweetheart. I was starting to think midnight would never come.”

You push your way into his room, shutting the door behind yourself, so none of your coworkers see them together. You glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You got a lot of nerve pulling the shit you did earlier."

"Oh I'm aware," Leon locks the door, stepping up to you slowly. His eyes trailing your figure again, "you'd be lying though if you said you didn't like it."

"So you think betraying his trust is better than cheating on him?"

"Y'know, I hate how you keep avoiding what I've been asking you today." His hand comes up, caressing your cheek, you grab his wrist to move his hand, but your eyes meet with his. His thumb runs along your jawline, leaning in closer, his voice becomes warm against your ears, a sultry tone tickling you in all the right ways.

"He doesn't get you like I do. Make your knees weak with a simple touch or feel how easily your pussy throbs if you're called the right name in bed... He doesn't know that side of you."

He smirks, feeling your skin become warm underneath his fingertips.

"I fucking hate you." Leon snickers, bringing himself closer to you.

"No you don't. You love me." His eyes flick from yours to your lips. Lingering for a split second before you speak.

"Do you have it in you to love me like I want?"

"Of course I do." He's known since you left how he felt.

"Prove it. Tell me how you feel then."

“I love you." He speaks without hesitation, running his thumb across your bottom lip.

"I’ve always felt this way. I get that feeling in my stomach when I look at you, that feeling whenever I touch your skin, I’ve needed you for years now. I’ve known it almost as long as you’ve known you don’t love Shepard... I miss you." Your breath hitches, hearing what you've wanted to for so long. Leon drew closer, lips centimeters from each other.

"Do you miss me?" With that question your little shred of resolve disappears.

"I miss everything... How you make me feel. Your touch... How you always know exactly what I'm thinking even when I can't put the words together..." You frown, looking at him before leaning on him. Wrapping yourself around his entire being.

Your noses touch, lips slightly parted as you look deeply into each others eyes. The beautiful blue in his eyes surrounding your reflection, encasing you completely.

"Tell me how much you want me." Your body quivers, hearing his borderline demanding tone.

"He loves me, but he's never made me feel like a woman. Not like you did before... And I want you so badly, I can feel it in my bones."

Your lips glide over each other's. Not able to hold back much longer.

"How badly do you want me?" You ask, watching him pull back from your lips. Smug smirk staring at you, almost like he's watching his next meal.

He reaches out, brushing the back of his hand across your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin radiate into his. His hand moves down to your chin, tilting your head up towards him.

"I could show you instead, if you'll allow me." He stares into your eyes, waiting for a response, any sign that you'll let him in again.

You give in with a short, simple nod.

His lips are on you, fiercely pressing his tongue against your lips, possessively pushing his way in. His hand goes to the back of your neck, hitting the hotel room door with a loud rattle.

Your hands fly to paw at his open chest, his hands prodding at your thighs under your dress, pulling your legs around his waist. Hands gliding up to your ass, squeezing it while you're carried to the bed.

He breaks the kiss, pushing your body to the bed. Leon pulls off his dress shirt, popping buttons as he rushes, tossing it to the side as he climbs on top of you. Soon, his hands are back on you, gliding up your thighs, pushing your dress up past your hips to pool at your waist.

"Well, I'll be damned. My favorite pair." Leon breathes out, sounding like a laugh as she looks at his favorite pair of blue lace panties covering your lower half. His lip curls up as he kisses above the edge of the fabric. Making your hips jolt for a second, acutely aware of how wet you actually are.

His hands travel up, pushing your dress up and over your head. Sitting up on his knees, he takes you in. Biting his bottom lip as his eyes wandered, wondering where to start first.

"I missed this body so badly." Leon traces his lips across your skin, starting to kiss under your ear and down your neck. His hands gliding under you to unclasp your bra, freeing your chest.

"Do you know what I want to do to you right now?" He growls into your ear, making you whimper in response.

You try to think straight at the moment, but all you can focus on is his strong hands roaming down your side, slowly towards the wetness pooling between your legs.

"To fuck me like you'll never see me again." He smirks against your ear, feeling your warm breath against his cheek. He chuckles darkly, knowing exactly what he wants, what you both want as his hands pull your panties off, dropping them on the floor with your dress.

"Good girl. You've always been so smart, angel." You watched him sit up and undo his belt, pulling it through the loops of his pants. Quickly making work of his pants and boxers, he stands over you naked. His thick cock standing at attention against his lower stomach.

Your legs come together as he pulls you towards the edge of the bed, grip tight around your thighs as he sinks to his knees. He spreads your legs, eyes landing on your wet slit, he playfully leans over, kissing your knee as he puts your legs over her shoulders.

His lips roam, kissing down your inner thigh. Reaching up, his finger spread your folds open. Watching the wetness from your arousal glisten against your skin, Leon let out a throaty groan in satisfaction.

"Fuck, you're so perfect like this. Ready as ever for me aren't you, sweetheart?" His lips turn to a smirk as he leans down, licking a slow gentle strip up your folds. Forgetting how much he enjoyed the sweet taste of you.

A soft moan erupts from your lips, arching off the bed to grind into his mouth, Leon placing a calloused hand on your abdomen to keep you in place. His other hand digging his short nails into your plush thigh.

With a final lick to your fold, Lean spits your juices back in you entrance, burying himself in your pussy, nose on her clit and deep in your tight hole with his tongue working your g-spot expertly.

As if he never forgot where it was in the first place.

The ridiculous amount of squelching alone would be embarrassing, but it felt too good to care. You hadn't felt like this in years.

Leon feels your walls convulse around his tongue as his eyes flick up to watch you quake in pleasure. A moan leaving your lips as your fingers bury themselves into the silky hotel bedsheets. Shaky breathing breaking as you feel his mouth pull off you. Your eyes shoot down watching him lick his lips clean of your juices.

"Fuck I missed making you feel this good." Leon lines up 2 of his fingers with your core, gliding them inside you. Feeling your walls clench around his thick digits. Eliciting a moan from him as he curled into the spongy spot.

"Could have you gushing on my fingers like this forever." Leaning down nibbling at the sensitive flesh of your thighs. Leaving behind subtle teeth marks. Not caring in the slightest if your husband saw it or not.

You're finally his again, and he'd be damned if he wasn't marking his territory this time. Staring at them for a moment makes his cock twitch.

Leaving one final bite, he focuses back on your pussy, his tongue slips from between his lips, gliding across your clit. Lips move to latch on and suck gently. Your legs quiver, shaky breathing signaling you're getting close to release. His fingers move in perfect tandem with your body.

"C'mon beautiful, cum for me." Your eyes roll back, glazing over as you bite down on your lower lip muffling a cry of pleasure. Climaxing on Leon's fingers and hand as he works you through your orgasm. Feeling your body relax, tension leaving as relief washes over you after what feels like forever.

Panting softly, you lift yourself onto your elbows to watch Leon lick his slick fingers clean, savoring the taste before diving back into your dripping entrance to clean things up properly as you watch him with a close eye.

"I've been thinking about this moment for years. Been dreaming about being buried deep inside this tight little pussy again." Pulling away and licking his lips, he kisses your thigh once more.

"Has he ever made you cum like that? Or has he been depriving my angel?" Your head spins at the question, swallowing hard as you try thinking of an answer as he caresses your face.

"No, never as good as you..." He moves, pulling you up onto the bed, putting you up against the pillows, crawling on top of you. Moving to kiss your collarbone up to your ear. His full weight pressed down on you, cock pressed against your inner thigh.

"Can I fuck you? Need to be buried inside you, feel you around me again." His voice sounds borderline desperate as he asks, your eyes turning away.

"You should let me show you how good it could be to be claimed as mine again," his hot breath trickles against your ear. He moves his hand down to grip onto your chin firmly, making you meet his hot gaze again.

Desperation not only poured from his words, but his expression too.

"Tell me you'll let me have you again, so I can make you mine... Fully. Just like we both know we want." You know you want to, you feel nothing for Shepard.

Nothing comparable to what you feel with Leon.

Your lips part as you give him an answer.

"I'm yours, only yours, Leon. Every part of me." His eyes lit up, leaning in and pulling you into a passionate kiss. Happy to finally have you again in every way.

"Do you remember how good I used to make you feel?" He moves forward, positioning himself at your entrance, ready to claim you completely.

"You're mine and mine alone." Sliding into you, you feel that familiar fullness of his cock inside you. Digging your nails into his shoulders as he huffs into your neck, your legs wrap around his waist out of instinct.

"Fuck, I forgot how good you feel." He mumbles against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down your throat to the top of your breasts. A deep groan leaves his chest as he rolls his hips into your tightness.

You feel your walls contract around him, almost like your molding to perfectly fit him and only him.

"Oh fuck, Leon." You breathed out, hand running up to the base of his neck, pulling at his hair.

"Feels too much like home," Leon's voice is thick with pleasure as he continues to drive into your wet pussy, feeling every bit of your heat surround him, "he definitely hasn't been fucking you right... Of course not. He's not me. Doesn't know shit about your body like I do, does he?"

He grunts into your neck, body trembling at the effort it takes not to cum immediately from how good you feel against him.

Reaching down, he grabs your ass, pulling you tighter to him, starting to pound into you. Moving his hand, he lifts your leg, hitting that angle that turns you into a hopeless puddle beneath him.

You let out a string of broken moans, louder than intended, but you're at the point of no return. Feeling the intense knot in your stomach building quickly. You can see his face getting red as he pulls back from your neck to look in your eyes.

"Close, so close." He watches your face contort in ecstasy, smirking.

"Mine to take care of, mine to pleasure, mine to claim... " He reaches in-between your bodies and starts to circle your clit, his voice becoming more unsteady as he gets closer to his climax.

He feels that quiver around his cock, your nails digging into his back and pulling at his roots as you finish around him.

"Fuck, fuck. I'm-" His voice breaks, burying himself deep inside you, he fills you, a pathetic moan slipping from his lips as he collapses on top of you.

You're both panting heavily, his head on your chest listening to your heart thump against your ribcage. He smiles, still trying to catch his breath, kissing over your chest. Your hand weeds through his hair, pushing his bangs back from his face.

"I didn't even know you could make a sound like that." He grumbles against your skin, biting your chest lightly. You giggle as he rolls over off you, bringing you to his chest.

"Shut up." But he smiles down at you, watching how easily you curl into his side. Bringing your hand up, you caress his cheek, brushing over the bone with your thumb. He takes it, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. Taking note of your wedding ring.

"Are you okay?" He questions, voice sounding a bit worried. "I wasn't too much?"

"No. You were perfect. Are you okay?" He just nods in response, rubbing his hand across your lower back slowly.

"Why don't you take a nap before heading back? You look tuckered out." His smirk returns, you simply nod, cuddling up to him. Nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck and putting your arm around him as he holds you close.

He knows he's going to struggle to let you go again.

"I don't see it out here either." You say, look around the hallway. Shepard raises his head from dragging your luggage out of the door. He slides the card into the door, locking it before turning back to you.

"Baby, it's fine. We'll get you a new one." His irritation is obvious as he walks past you towards the elevator when one of the doors in the hallway opens. Out stepped Leon from his room, bag over his shoulder as you lock eyes. He smiles before noticing Shepard, his face dropping to its usual Stoic expression.

"New what?" Leon questions, watching your husband turn his head.

"She lost her wedding ring." Shepard pushes the button, calling the elevator as you and Leon walk up behind him.

"You seemed pretty drunk last night. Maybe she lost it helping you back to your room?" Shepard looks at Leon, his face dropping and irritation evaporating in an instance.

"Was I that bad? Jesus, honey, I'm sorry." Shepard puts an arm around your waist. You look at Leon from the corner of your eyes.

Leon's shooting daggers at Shepard, who's none the wiser.

"Just check the lost and found before you leave." He suggests, looking back at the elevator doors as they open. You all step in, stuck in-between Leon and Shepard.

Leon fidgets next to you, he stares straight ahead. Trying to ignore your skirt tapping his leg, or your perfume taking over his senses from how close you are.

But in the end, he can't help himself.

His pinkie finger pops out, brushing against your fingers, fully expecting rejection in the form of your hand pulling away.

Thankfully, he's greeted with your pinkie, interlocking with his until the door rings again. You walk out ahead, Shepard, carrying your bags. You spare him one last glance and a smile before leaving around the corner to the hotel lobby. Leon smiled to himself, stepping out of the elevator.

Shoving his hand in his pocket as he walks, feeling the cool metal of your wedding ring brushing against his fingertips.

All the while knowing, he isn't losing you this time.

#🌿 ivy writes #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

A Guiding Hand 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won't let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: surprise double chapters!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You lay in the dim glow of your laptop, the screen saver swooshing back and forth, giving light to the dark. You’re limned it its idleness, in a similarly inert state. You blink, eyes dry and raw, your head pounding. Your back and shoulder pang with your inactivity as you lay on your stomach, neck twisted to one side.

Your vision is static and fuzzy, the air humming. You groan and drag an arm up, the effort alone like lifting a boulder. The world is distant and desolate. There is nothing beyond those four walls.

A chime comes from your laptop. You stare at the curtain, darkness along the borders. It’s night time already. Or again. You don’t know. You lost count of the hours, rather, days.

You roll over and peer at the abyss above. The ceiling is similarly shrouded in shadows, the corners clustered with darkness. Your head spins at the effort of your movement. Your tongue is starchy and sticky from neglect. You cough and sit up, nearly falling back against your pillow.

You don’t want to be awake. It’s so much easier to sleep. Nothing makes sense in your dreams but everything is awful in real life.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and reach for the plastic cup of stagnant water. You sip from the brim and a slam brings you back into focus. Your hand shakes and you clack the cup back on the table, turning to watch the wall as chaos erupts on the other side.

“Goddamn, Irene, get off of me. I ain’t tellin’ ya again,” the holler rolls through like thunder. “Fuckin’ skank.”

Your eyes round as your ears ring. You cover them and back up to cower against the headboard. Your lip trembles as you hear a crash followed by the shatter of glass.

“We were having fun, sweetheart,” your mother’s desperate yawl comes over the patter of her feet, “don’t go so soon, please, baby.”

“Why you actin’ like a goddamn whore?” The man snarls and you hear your mother whimper. You sniffle as you fold yourself up and push your chin down against your knee, shielding your head as if it’s you taking the blow.

“I--” your mother snivels, “I just wanna love you, hon.”

You close your eyes. Lee huffs and stomps past your door, his shadow flickering beneath. He’s just another in a line of men your mother brings around; each one as angry as the last. It always starts the same; at first, they’re nice, then you hear how they change.

“I’m too damn tired and it’s too damn late. I’ll be back when you get your head screwed on,” he retorts and hits the wall, making you jump again as the springs of your bed squeak. “And you’re a goddamn mother... should know better...”

You crouch in fear, locked up as you listen through the wall. You hear him moving around as your mother begs him to stay. You press your hands to your ears so you can’t make out her words. The front door of the apartment snaps shut and quaver out a breath.

You wait until you hear your mother retreat, herself crying, and the clink of a glass comes shortly after. You wipe your face and lift your head slowly. You won’t be able to sleep, not with your heart racing like this.

It takes all your strength to crawl across the bed and put your feet to the floor. Your stench clings to your unwashed clothes. You haven’t changed in a couple days at least. You can barely remember the last time you left your room.

You sit down in front of your computer. The metal seat of the folding chair is hard and cold, even through your pants. You squiggle your fingers over the touchpad of the outdated laptop, as thick as a book.

The screen wakes up and you key in your passcode with one finger. The wallpaper comes up, the colours stinging your eyes, and you squint as you adjust to the glare. You tap on the envelope icon to open your inbox.

At least a dozen unread emails clutter the folder. Reminders and notifications automated by your obligations and inactivity. You scroll through and delete the messages telling you to submit your assignment and noting several missed tests. At the very top, the latest of the bunch, is from a person.

Your heart sinks as you see the name and the subject line. Professor Raymond Smith, Attn: Overdue Work. God. You clutch your head and your eyes tinge once more. You don’t have enough moisture to summon any more tears. Your head pulses and your eyes itch but you can’t cry.

You shudder and make yourself look at the screen. You hover your hand over the mousepad and make yourself tap. Just one quick touch and the message opens.

The professor greets you by name. You want to dissolve into nothing. It’s easy to just be a student number on a screen but now he picks you out of the bunch and you know exactly why. You haven’t logged into the learning site in a week or more. You haven’t been able to make yourself.

‘It has come to my notice that your last tasks have gone unsubmitted. As your instructor, I am obligated to check in to see whether I can expect these assignments to be submitted for grading. As well, I would offer any support necessary for you to do so.

Please respond to this email at your convenience so we might rectify this situation. You may also schedule a meeting through my calendar linked in my signature.

Best Regards,

Professor Smith’

You cringe. How do you explain to him that this always happens? That you’re just a failure?

This was supposed to be different, but just like everything, you blew it. You thought that you could make this work. You remember the day you got your acceptance; the program is manageable and you can do it all online. You thought you were getting better but your mom stopped refilling your script and you stopped caring.

You sit, blindly staring at the screen. For an hour, maybe more, caught between shame and sadness. You can’t just run away from another thing. You take a breath and raise your hands over the keyboard. It’s just letters on a screen.

Dear Pro

Hello Professor

I apologize for not submitting my work. I will not be able to complete this course due to mental health personal reasons.

Thank you.

You read and re-read. You guess it’s good enough? You don’t know. Whatever. Just another poor excuse.

You hit send and you peek at the time. You look at the original email. It’s a bit strange the instructor would email that late. You delete the email and go back to bed, hiding under the blanket. Typical, just another stupid idea.

📓

Your head throbs as you wake up. You’ve slept too much. Nothing different than usual but you haven’t left bed for more than a couple minutes at a time. Your skull feels ready to cave in and swells with each movement.

You get up, stumbling as you find your bearings, shuffling to your door and into the hall. You go into the bathroom. It’s a mess, like usual. Your mother’s clothes are on the floor and a man’s razor is on the edge of the sink. Is he here again?

You relieve yourself and flush, washing your hands then your face. You should probably shower while you’re in there. You lift your arm and confirm the need. You stink and your clothes are damp with your sweat.

You undress and crank on the faucet. You step into the grimy booth behind the counter as the water splashes down cold and slowly warms in the whining pipes. You shiver and let it cleanse you as much as it can.

You squeeze out some of the discount soap that smells like a hospital and scrub yourself as the air steams around you. You hear an odd creak then the plastic of the toilet seat hitting the porcelain tank. What the heck?

You grab the edge of the curtain and peek around it, smearing lather along the plastic. It’s opaque enough to blue your silhouette but not completely hide you. That man, Lee, belches as he holds his dick and pisses. He looks over and smirks.

“Ah, sorry, darling, didn’t know you were in here,” he chuckles and turns straight, leaning to brace the wall as he sighs, “goddamn, my balls are tight.”

You pop back behind the curtain and grimace. Ew. It’s not the first time you’ve had an awkward run in with one of your mother’s suitors, for lack of a better term, but no less jarring than any other. You shut off the water and back up, reaching past the other end of the curtain to grab the towel.

Something closes around your wrist and has you yelping. You cling to the curtain, staying behind it as Lee tugs on you.

“Don’t needa be shy, darlin’,” he tries to drag you out, “doubt it’s much different than your mama.”

You try to yank back but he’s too strong. You slip and barely save yourself as you grab onto the towel bar. You cry out, “let go! Please!”

He squeezes and you wince, pressed against the curtain as your knees buckle. Your soles are slippery on the wet tile. You whine and whimper, heart pounding in your chest.

There’s a knock at the door and he lets you go. You quickly pull free the towel and hide in the shower to wrap your body in it. You don’t think it’s clean.

“Everything okay?” The door groans with your mother’s entry.

“Ah, I’m just tryna piss and your daughter’s making all sorts of fuss,” he scoffs and flushes the toilet, “like she ain’t never seen a real man before.”

“Oh, Lee, you shoulda let her finish--”

“What’s the big deal, she was in the shower,” he deflects, “you know I ain’t her for that brat.”

You pant and lean against the wall, veins coursing with adrenaline. Your mother grumbles as they leave. You feel the draught of the open door and warily sidle out from behind the curtain. You gather your clothes and check that the coast is clear and find your way back to your room.

You pull on a fresh hoodie and your least dirty pair of sweats. You need to do laundry desperately. You need to do a lot of things. Your computer bings as if to agree with that sentiment.

You sit down at the table and stare at your laptop. The folding plastic thing has barely enough room for that and your notebook. You sigh. All you do is sigh. Everything is just a disappointment. You have nothing but trash around you and you fit right in.

You open the lid and login. You could watch that play through of the new fantasy game you can’t afford. Or you just break that damn thing. You have an email.

You don’t click on it right away. Instead, you scroll through a subreddit on an obscure television show you streamed on Youtube. All the posts are years old and the place is dead. If you’re good at anything, it’s avoidance.

Finally, your anxiety knots tight enough for you to do something. You close your browser and open Outlook. You make a strange noise as you see the response to the email you sent days ago. Or by your estimation. You scratch your neck until the skin burns.

You work at deleting the spam from your inbox before you’re forced to face the Re:

You click and read with trepidation. Again, the professor addresses you by name.

‘I understand that you are dealing with personal obligations. Considering how far we are in this course, I would like to allow you the opportunity to complete it successfully. If the current workload is too much, we can discuss alternatives to meet the learning objectives.

I would prefer that we have this conversation face-to-face. If you would like explore your options, please use the link below to meet with me on Tuesday at noon. Please confirm here and I look forward to meeting and speaking with you then.

Also let me know if I can do anything else.

Professor Smith’

You want to melt into nothing. You want to evaporate from existence. You want to just keel over and die. How embarrassing!

You want to delete it a forget. You want to say now and through everything away. You want to go back to how you’ve always been. You want to be a slug in the dirt. You want to stop hoping because it only ever ends like this.

But you can’t. You hit the trash button but then you can’t help but stretch your fingertips between CTRL and Z. The message reappears and you read it again and again and again. It feels like this is the moment. This is the big decision you make; is your life always going to be like this or are you going to try?

You hit reply.

‘Thank you, Professor Smith. I will meet you on Tuesday. I appreciate your understanding and I will do better.’

Your eyes blur as you move the cursor over the little arrow. You take a breath and tap your fingertips. That’s that, then.

#raymond smith #a guiding hand #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #professor au #the gentlemen #raymond smith x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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misc-obeyme · 9 months

Text

I tried to resist. (I didn't try at all.)

Instead I got carried away and wrote this.

*drops the Satan cat collar smut and runs*

(Special thanks to everyone who gave me some input on this idea. I'm still rusty with writing at the moment, so I apologize if it's terrible. I'm considering writing an alternate version involving some pegging... so let me know if you wanna see that lol.)

Okay, you can read the alternate version here.

GN!MC x Satan

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: soft dom!MC, cat collar with bell and cat ears, praising, use of Tantan as a nickname (because I love it lol), lil bit of biting, penetration (reader receiving), please let me know if I've forgotten something

It might be difficult to tell from an outside perspective, but you knew that Satan was soft for you. The way he trusted you entirely with his feelings, even his anger, let you know that he was perhaps more comfortable with you than anyone else.

So it wasn't entirely a surprise when you started to pick up on some little hints of something he didn't seem to have worked up the courage to ask you directly.

You weren't sure what was happening right away. It started one day when he showed you a collection of cat collars that were for sale online. He scrolled through the pictures on his phone, finally stopping on one with a little bell.

"This one is especially cute, don't you think?" he asked.

You smiled indulgently. "Yeah it is. Are you going to get it for one of the strays in the garden?"

Satan blinked as if he was surprised by this suggestion. He looked at you and the confusion in his eyes was clear. Then you watched as a deep blush spread across his face. "R-right," he said. "Yes."

He immediately changed the subject, but you couldn't stop thinking about his reaction. Like maybe the two of you had been talking about different things.

You puzzled over this for a little while, a suspicion starting to form in the back of your mind.

Confirmation came in the form of a cosplay catalog that Levi left in the common room. The cover featured an anime character wearing cat ears and a collar.

Satan picked up the catalog and you could tell that he had known it was there. "Levi must have left this here," he said. He showed it to you. "Wh-what do you think?"

You looked at the cover. "Hmm," you said. "I like the cat ears. The collar should have a bell, though."

You watched in satisfaction as Satan's face flushed so hard and fast you thought steam might come out of his ears.

After that, you knew what you had to do.

You were careful about your purchase. You made sure it was obtained discreetly.

The collar itself was thick and black with a large silver buckle and a round silver bell. You had chosen black cat ears to match. You left them on Satan's bed with a note that said, Is this what you had in mind? MC.

And then you waited.

The next time you saw Satan was at breakfast. He sat across the table from you and met your eyes directly. He held your gaze for a moment too long before looking away. Nobody else seemed to notice and he acted completely normal the rest of the day.

You had no other indication of his reaction to your gift. For days, you waited for him to do something or say something. Was he upset? He wasn't acting angry.

And then one day you walked into your room and nearly died on the spot. As soon as you recovered, you closed the door and made sure it was locked. And that's when you remembered that everyone else was out of the house today. Was that what Satan had been waiting for?

You turned back to your bed to take in the sight of him.

There he sat, on his knees, with his hands pressed onto the bed between them. The collar was clasped perfectly around his neck, the bell and buckle shining. The cat ears were nestled in his hair, their black tufts a nice contrast to his bright blond. He was frowning, his eyes were closed, his face flushed, and he wore absolutely nothing else.

You slowly approached him, watching him as he stayed still. When you got to the edge of the bed, you stopped. You cupped his cheek, tilting his head to look up at you, even though his eyes stayed closed.

"Look at you," you said softly. "What a beautiful boy you are."

Satan's blush deepened, but he opened his eyes. You saw desire and pleasure and nervousness and embarrassment tumbling through the shades of green.

You brought up your other hand and held his face. "Don't be embarrassed. You look amazing."

The frown eased just a little. "I didn't think you would actually want to do this."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What? Why would you think that?"

Satan looked away from you. "It doesn't… make you uncomfortable?"

You rested your hands on his shoulders and kissed his forehead. "No. It makes me horny as fuck. And I can see what it's doing to you, too."

You looked down deliberately where Satan's cock had been steadily growing as soon as you got close.

Satan buried his face in his hands, causing the bell around his neck to jingle slightly.

"No, no, no," you said softly, pulling his hands away. He opened his mouth like he was going to protest, but you cut him off with a kiss.

Satan responded to you instantly, opening his mouth for you. As your tongues entwined, you let go of one of his wrists to reach up and grab the collar. You used it to pull his head back, giving you easier access to his mouth as his hand now tugged on the edge of your shirt.

You pulled away to kiss the wrist of the hand you still held, trailing your lips down his arm and up his shoulder. He was breathing heavily as you traced your tongue along the edge of skin where the collar stopped, ringing the bell playfully with your fingers.

Satan moaned, his tugs on your shirt feeble but persistent.

You gave in, moving away from him to remove the shirt quickly, along with all the rest of your clothes. He waited patiently, mouth open, skin flushed, cock straining.

You sat beside him on the bed, putting two fingers beneath the collar to pull him toward you. He moved easily with your guidance, the bell tinkling ever so softly as you caught his swollen lips with yours again.

You ran a teasing finger along the shaft of his cock and it came away covered in pre-cum. Satan whined against your lips and the sound of it sent a shiver through your body.

You pulled away just a little bit. "Use your words, Tantan. Or would you rather meow for me?"

Satan shuddered and the bell tinkled. "Please, MC," he said, his voice low and gruff. It seemed he wasn't quite comfortable enough to meow and his eyes were closed again, his face turned slightly away.

"Look at me," you said.

Obediently, Satan opened his eyes and looked at you. He might have been frowning if he wasn't so overcome with lust in that moment. You took in the darkness of his eyes, the heat clearly visible on his skin, the expression that vacillated between need and embarrassment.

You realized you could tease him for hours if you really wanted to. You also knew that he would let you. Something about the way he was looking at you let you know that he was trusting you entirely. That he was putting himself in your hands, letting you do whatever you wanted to with him.

Certainly, part of this had been previously discussed. The two of you had an established routine, after all. But he was entrusting you with more than he normally did and you recognized that extra vulnerability.

The light of your room hit the silver of the bell around his neck. You took in the collar, the ears. Maybe next time, you could get him to meow for you.

For now, though, you wanted nothing more than to hear that bell chime with every thrust.

You leaned forward, running your fingertips down his cheek. "You're such a good boy," you said, loving the way he seemed to melt whenever you praised him.

You took hold of his collar again, this time pulling him with you as you lay back on your bed. You had considered other positions, but you wanted to see that bell as it sounded through the room.

Satan moved where you guided him, but when you let go of the collar, he no longer waited for your direction. He put his lips on your neck, his hands on your hips, and you could feel the tip of his cock pressing gently against you.

Satan hesitated, pulling up to look into your eyes. It was as though he caught himself being too eager and now he needed your confirmation.

You smirked. "Go ahead. You've earned it."

Satan didn't wait for anything else and he sank his cock into your heat. You arched as sensation filled you, your eyes fixed on the brightness of the bell around his neck.

To your great satisfaction, that bell did indeed jingle with every thrust, louder than it had from anything else. The sound mingled with your own moans as you gripped Satan's arms. He was rumbling deeply, seemingly okay with purring if not meowing.

Satan didn't seem to notice anything other than what he was feeling inside you, but he couldn't hold back from nipping at your skin. You gasped every time his teeth pierced you, a little zing of pain to go with your overwhelming pleasure.

"S-Satan," you moaned out, feeling yourself getting close, the tension rising.

Satan seemed to understand what you needed. He reached between your bodies so he could stimulate you further with his hand. You gasped and your hips rose up into him.

You reached up to grab the collar, wanting to hold onto it as your entire body tensed hard, the brightness shattering behind your eyes as you cried out Satan's name, the bell continuing to tinkle merrily through it all.

Satan strained hard against the collar, but you still had it in your grip. You felt the warmth of his cum filling you and your fingers slipped away as you collapsed back against the bed.

Satan looked at you, a question in his eyes. The cat ears were still on his head, but they were askew, poking oddly out of his blond hair.

You reached up to fix them. "Promise me you'll wear these again."

Satan let out a huff, frowning. "I couldn't refuse you even if I wanted to."

You smirked. "Good thing you don't want to, then."

Perhaps next time, you would bring a little leash, too. You were curious about how he would react to such an addition. Although he seemed unlikely to do this again when his brothers were around, so you might have to wait. You caught yourself kind of hoping one of his brothers would come home just to hear the consistent jingling of the bell on Satan's cat collar.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

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chukys-mouthguard · 4 months

Note

smut #19 w vince dunn maybee??!? pls

Prompt: “I’m weak for you.”

Note: um hi…can someone please explain how I never knew this gorgeous specimen of a man aka Vince Dunn existed? Cause wow 🥵 might have watched like 20 tik tok edits of him before writing this and now I’m down bad…thank you anon 🫶🏼

Warning: sexual content

“Fuck!”

Vince cursed as he ran his hands through his hair, groaning as he’d lost yet another game of whatever it was he and his teammates spent hours playing every night. You never paid much attention, only knowing they shot at each other and were trying to be the last person standing to win.

You didn’t mind hanging out while he spent a few hours playing his video games. Just enjoying being in his presence. But you’d be lying if you didn’t get some enjoyment out of the moans and curses that would leave his lips from time to time. Whether he realized it or not, they were hot. Point blank period.

Each time another moan escaped his lips you’d feel yourself getting more hot and bothered. Squeezing your legs together as you could feel yourself getting wet just by the sound of his voice.

Normally if Vince were online where he could be seen, you never sat in the room with him. But, tonight not being one of those nights, you figured you’d try your luck at getting him to call it quits early.

Walking over you wrapped your arms around his neck, a soft moan escaping your lips as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. The kisses trailing down to his neck as he moaned against your touch, subconsciously tilting his head to give you better access.

“Fuck…”

He cursed as his breath hitched in his throat. Your hands having moved down his chest and grazing over his crotch. Nothing the growing bulge in his sweats. He head falling back as you palmed him over the fabric.

“Guys I don’t know how much longer I can play. I’m getting fucked tonight.”

Trying not to chuckle at his choice of words, you made your way in front of Vince. Sinking to your knees as he stared at you with lust filled eyes. The muffles of his teammates in his headset as they were surely trying to convince him to play another round.

He lifted his hips as he saw your hands making their way to his waistband, giving you easy access at pulling them down along with his boxers. Freeing his cock and earning a slight groan from him at the feeling.

Looking over your shoulder you’d noticed they started another game, but you were already having your fun, so why stop now?

Bringing his cock to your mouth, you slowly began licking up the sides before taking him in your mouth. “Holy shit…yeah no no I just sniped someone. All good.”

Vince doing his best to not get too distracted, but as you deepthroated him that was proving to be harder than he imagined.

“Fuck! Okay that’s it-“

He tossed off his headset as he exited his game, pulling you from you knees and into his lap. His lips finding yours, hungry and full of need.

“God, someone decided to be a little naughty tonight huh?”

He slapped your ass, adding emphasis to his words as he bit his lip. Grinding yourself against his cock you elicited another moan from him, never getting tired of the sound.

“And someone didn’t really seem to want to stop me from acting on my impulses, huh?”

Mocking his words playfully you locked your fingers in his hair as his hands traced up your back before he lightly tugged on your hair.

“Mmm, what can I say? I’m weak for you.”

You were practically dripping at this point. The way his words were laced with so much want, while still being cocky enough to not sound needy.

Vince’s lips now covering your neck in kisses, mixed with the occasion bite. He was loving being able to touch you and not have to watch his words or control his noises.

“God damnit-“

Vince’s phone buzzing on the table as he pulled his lips from you.

“Hello? Yeah, no dude I’m literally getting fucked tonight. A little urgent, sorry.”

Tossing his phone back on the table his fingers playfully teased at the waistband of your shorts.

“Now, get these off so you can ride me baby.”

#vince dunn #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fics #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #nhl smut #Vince Dunn smut #Vince Dunn fic #Vince Dunn blurb

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clarkeylesbian · 13 days

Text

The Frog-Off

[Sypnosis : you and arthur attempt at the clay tiktok trend]

The camera turns on, and Arthur is grinning at it with his usual mix of smugness and charm. “Right, so!” he starts, his excitement barely contained. “Today, I’ve got a very special guest—my girlfriend, Y/N!” He gestures to the side of the frame.

The camera swivels to reveal you waving shyly. You’re already covered in a layer of clay because, true to Arthur’s style, you didn’t prepare at all before starting the intro.

“We’re diving into the clay modelling challenge that’s been blowing up on TikTok,” Arthur explains, picking up two lumps of green clay. “We’ll recreate a model we find online, and then you all get to vote on who did it better. But let me tell you, it’s going to be me.”

You fold your arms and raise an eyebrow. “You’ve never even touched clay before, Arthur.”

“It’s all about confidence, babe.”

Arthur pulls out his phone and shows it to the camera. The model you’ve chosen is a cute frog sitting on a lilypad. Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

“Alright,” Arthur says, squinting at the clay like he’s about to solve a complex maths problem. “Frog on a lilypad. This should be a piece of cake.”

You are already deep into your clay, focusing intently. “You say that now, but I’m already feeling like I’m failing this frog.”

The camera zooms in on your work, which resembles more of a squashed loaf of bread than a frog. Meanwhile, Arthur is still staring at his clay as if it’s the love of his life.

“You know,” Arthur muses, poking at the clay, “frogs are naturally lumpy. So, this is just me capturing their true texture.”

The camera pulls back to reveal Arthur’s creation: a round blob with legs sticking out at odd angles.

“I don’t know what that is,” you laugh, “but it’s definitely not a frog. It looks like a rejected Pokémon, bless.”

“It’s abstract,” Arthur defends. “You’ve got to feel the frog, not just mould it. This is art.”

“You seem more in love with your attempt at a frog than me,” you joke as Arthur kisses you on the head.

“I could never.”

You try not to laugh as you add eyes to your frog, which only makes it look high. Arthur plops two giant clay lumps onto his frog’s face, but they immediately fall off.

“Well, that’s just offensive,” he grumbles, trying to squish them back on.

There’s a brief pause before you point at the mess with a grin. “R.I.P. to your frog.”

Arthur shrugs. “We still have the lilypad. This is where I can shine. I can make circles.”

He grabs another lump of clay, slams it down on the table, and flattens it with his palm. “Behold, the lilypad.”

The camera pans to reveal something that looks more like a deflated pizza dough than a lilypad. You’re carefully shaping yours into a leaf-like form, too focused to notice Arthur’s attempt.

Arthur dramatically announces, “Oh, babe, get ready to be amazed.”

He proudly sets his “lilypad” on the table and places his pancake-like frog on top. It stays put, though it doesn’t exactly look stable.

You glance over and start laughing, trying to keep your own frog intact. “Is that… supposed to look like that?”

Arthur looks at his creation proudly.

As he adjusts his frog, one of its legs suddenly breaks off. Arthur throws his hands up in mock defeat. “Well, it seems like my frog’s had a bit of an accident.”

[] []

With your frogs and lilypads (if you can even call them that) side by side, you both step back to judge the results.

“Alright,” Arthur says, rubbing his hands together like a game show host. “It’s time to compare. Let’s see who's frog reigns supreme.”

You both lean in to examine the creations. Arthur’s frog looks like it’s had a rough day: half-melted, one eye missing and legs that are on the verge of breaking again.

Your frog isn’t perfect, but at least it’s recognizably a frog. It’s lumpy with one leg too big, and the lilypad looks like it was made from Play-Doh, but there’s a certain charm in its beady eyes.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” Arthur says, trying to hold back laughter. “Your frog is.. fine. It’s decent. But mine has character. It’s got a story. It’s been through some things.”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Your frog looks like it’s seen the apocalypse.”

Arthur places a dramatic hand on his heart. “Exactly. It’s got emotional depth. My frog feels things.”

You both crack up as Arthur picks up his frog, and the legs fall off once more.

“Well,” Arthur shrugs, holding up the dismembered frog, “I think we all know who the real winner is here.” He turns to the camera. “But you guys, comment below! Who do you think made the better frog?”

You shake your head, still grinning. “Clearly me”

The camera zooms in dramatically on Arthur’s clay disaster as he whispers, “Art.”

“If you enjoyed this chaos,” Arthur says, trying to sound professional despite the mess, “don’t forget to like, subscribe, and hit the bell. And if you want more couple challenge videos—”

You jump in, “Please don’t make us do more clay.”

Arthur chuckles. “Yeah, we’re officially banned from clay. But seriously, let us know what you want to see next.”

“Vote for mi-” you attempt to say before the video cuts off.

[note: I've never made a fic before, so sorry it's not the best!]

#arthurtv #arthur frederick #oneshot #british youtubers #arthurtv x reader #oneshots

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milkypompon · 4 months

Text

Chapter 2 | Scrawled Nothingness

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

content: coffeeshops, fluff, flirting, angst (mentions of Marc's past)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: Thank you for all the love in the first chapter! I'm so happy summer's started, so I'll have more time to write out more chapters AND get to the fun and silly asks you sent me!! My inbox is always open for unhinged thoughts and requests. Enjoy!

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

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–

Marc shows up at Coffee for Two at 11:59 p.m. on the dot every Monday night.

Not a Monday morning when people showed up in slacks or pencil skirts for a shot of espresso. And certainly, not a Friday night when teenagers line up for a tooth-achingly sweet drink they found the recipe for online.

Besides, he likes his coffee black.

The closing shift was clockwork at this point after helping your Nan for years — prop the chairs snug against the table, wipe the floors, and cheekily bag up a couple of pastries for the next day’s breakfast.

Your eyes flick over at the clock nearly striking midnight, as you lean the broom against the edge of the countertop.

Marc should’ve been here by now, shoulders pulled back and head tilted down, ready to sweep the to-go cup and splash stick.

You remember that he typically parked a white limo… Maybe he chauffeured for a party, hence the break in the weekly conversation. If you could even call it that. It was more like an exchange of stolen glances and nods before parting again.

The logical part of you yearns to walk back to the apartment sooner than you planned and plop down face-first onto the couch. But a nagging twinge irked you to stay a little longer to see if he’d stroll in as usual.

You could already imagine his face if he saw the sign flipped to close, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, and a crease between his brows.

You laugh to yourself at the image of Melodramatic Marc instead of Moody Marc then ultimately deciding to give in to the latter. Maybe you’d curse yourself out when you have to wake up in a couple of hours to prepare the croissants for the next day, but you wanted to take your chances right now.

Rounding the corner of the counters, you duck your head under the cabinets and look for the roast you wanted him to try and the materials you need for a pour-over.

You place the paper filter onto the dripper then unfurl the bag of coffee beans and toss just the right amount into the grinder. The crushing hum and toasted smell of the grounds was a welcome change after a day of listening to grating ice and spurting whipped cream. With a kettle in hand and the setup complete, you gently trickle the water into circles, watching the grounds set in and coffee drip down the other end.

You grab a white cup, soon covered with drawings of stars and sparkles, reminiscent of the few you could see from the window. The moon outshined them all, full and on display without a cloud in sight.

You pour the coffee into the well-dressed it (scrawled with Marc’s name in the annoyingly very pink Sharpie) and notch the lid.

Checking the time again, you realize it’s well past midnight.

Maybe it’s time to go home, but you didn’t have the heart to toss the drink away. You take a sip, the liquid barely touches your tongue before you hiss at the bitterness.

How does Marc drink this?

No sugar, no milk.

You drizzle in a couple of pumps and squirts of your preferred add-ons, vowing to yourself to never take it purely the way he does. Drink and purse in one hand, you turn the sign to “closed” and twist the lock with the other.

Hermano, just check if the place for your coffee fix is open. It won’t hurt, Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc mutters, “No, we don’t need another pitstop after the shit Khonshu just dragged us through.”

Maybe they’ll still have those biscuits I like to eat with the tea! Steven's heart flutters at the thought of eating a couple of the raspberry linzer heart cookies.

He concedes. “Fine, but the moment I see the closed sign we’re going straight home. I didn’t ask to be in charge of snack runs, ya know?”

A unison of hurrahs echoes in his headspace, he can’t help but smile. In the whirlwind of events of carrying himself in a country that reminded him of crumbled relationships and even faultier progressions of moving on, the desire to find a place where he belonged was something he hated to admit.

Marc was good at playing the part of blending in for missions. Tugging on a disarming smirk to draw out intel from loose-lipped drunkards at the bar came naturally. As easily as turning on the charm while bargaining at the market for the first edition books Steven claimed was what he’d been searching for his whole life (Oh my days, I need those for my collection!). Or, yet another pair of leather gloves for Jake (Those are fingerless and the straps look cool).

But stripped of bells and whistles created by answering to every whim of humans and gods alike, Marc was just… him.

Steven had his apartment filled with knickknacks and collectibles.

Jake had his car housing his armaments and gadgets.

What did he have?

Marc frowns at the thought as he leaps across the rooftops, the moonlight catching the arc of the cape.

A cot in the storage unit and a fuck ton of baggage that couldn’t fit in his duffel bag.

But maybe Coffee for Two could be his.

As he leaps down behind the shop, his ceremonial suit unravels, tucking in on itself to reveal his black shirt and jeans. Surely, it’d be closed by now, but he still wanted to check.

Marc turns the corner and sees a sign written in big, loopy letters.

closed let's have "coffee for two" tomorrow

He sighs. “Told ya, who in their right mind would’ve kept open for one customer.”

A gust of wind ruffles his hair, Khonshu’s presence stronger than usual.

“Alright I get it, you damn bird! I get that we have another mission–”

A post-it flutters onto his shoe. He bends over and holds it under the streetlamp.

If you’re Marc, keep reading. if you’re not Marc, why are you still reading this?

I think you can keep reading.

“Jake, shut up.”

I drank your black coffee. Don’t know how you drink this. It tastes like battery acid.

Steven laughs out the last two words. Think this sweet ol’ message made up for you looking so miffed, mate! She’s right about it though. I oughtta steep her a good cuppa.

“Hey, it keeps us awake! Your hot leaf juice makes our piss smell like flowers and does nothing else.”

Marc carefully tucks the paper into his jacket pocket.

–

A week after Marc’s absence, he walks in and you greet him with a tired smile as if there was no time lost in between.

“Black?”

He cocks his head up and grins. “Yes, miss.”

That’s new, you note.

“Got any of those uh, berry cookie thingies?” He makes two “Cs” with his hands and connects them, forming a crudely shaped heart.

Your eyebrow quirks up and the air is quiet with stillness before laughter bubbles up in your chest, pointing to what he was referring to. “Oh! The Linzer cookies!”

Marc flashes his teeth. “Mhm, a couple of those with the coffee.”

“I’m a little surprised you liked them. Did the sweetness grow on you?”

“Not for me, actually.”

“Did you want a second drink to pair with it?”

He replies cooly, “Nah, nothing like that. Just, for my brother.”

You give a noncommittal hum and turn your back to him, looking for a box to place the cookies in.

Marc chuckles, the corner of his lips curling. “Woah, don’t come pouncing at me all at once.”

“I just meant to mention that we have a promotion of buy two get the second drink half off for your partner.” You smile to yourself, the view obscured from him. “That’s why it’s called Coffee for Two after all.”

“Mm, right.”

Quietness blankets the pair as you assemble his orders.

He couldn’t recall the last time his headspace wasn’t buzzing with chatter without gut-wrenching aid, a bandaid haphazardly stuck on. Drowning out the noise wasn’t necessarily the problem, it was finding a way to keep a constant peace of mind. At the very least, keep it at bay. The past year was saturated with blackouts and memory gaps, the swirling gold whiskey dipped him into a hazy state. It wasn’t his favorite way to keep the quiet, but it did the job.

Every twist of the cap dragged him back to what was soon to come.

Every whiff of the liquid reminded him how her hot breath, seething with disdain, warmed his cheek.

And the heat he felt after chugging it was reminiscent of how she would hit the other, turning his head to the side.

The soft shifting of the pen on paper brought him back.

“See? Told you I give good service.” You slide the decorated coffee cup and a box of cookies in front of him with a smile.

Marc thumbs over his name, a little surprised you spelled it with a "c" instead of a "k", along with the twisting designs. “Nuh-uh. Think you forgot something again.”

“I worked hard on that masterpiece!” You frown, feigning annoyance. “You should be asking for my autograph.”

“I should be asking for your number.”

You don’t reply for a beat. “Well, are you going to?”

He smirks, pausing to mimic your surprise before saying, “Can you write down your number?”

You nibble your bottom lip, failing to hide your giddiness.

He reaches over to pluck the alarmingly pink Sharpie from the pot and hands it to you. “Think that godawful marker was made from toxic waste. Nothing in the natural world could create that color.”

You scrawl your number on it, careful not to spill the coffee. “Well that ‘godawful marker’ gave you an opportunity to claim that promo.”

“Can I use it now?”

“Not until you call me.”

Marc chuckles and picks up his order. “Well, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“See you when I see you. Monday at midnight again?”

“Or sooner.” His eyes flit over to your hand, knuckles white from the grip on your apron.

“Uh, not sooner. I’m closing for the week. There’s a couple of things I need to sort out… for the shop.”

Marc nods, not bothering to push the matter further. “I have a funny feeling you waited for me to come before you closed.”

You smile, the tension eases from your body.

–

Marc wakes up from the early sun rays filtering between the cracks of the curtain. He grumbles, Jake always forgets to pull it close before going to bed. He knew that if he stood up to fix it, his body would betray him and lose the cottony sleep he felt. With a groan, he flops over to his side, but before his eyes flutter close he catches an unfamiliar cup standing on his nightstand.

He doesn’t remember buying it yesterday and god forbid anybody forces Steven to drink anything quote battery acid unquote.

He picks it up, he notices the drawings… and a set of numbers.

So, it must be–

Marc flings the blanket off of him and stalks to the fish tank.

“Jake! I know you’re there!”

Gus peers at him curiously and releases little bubbles.

“I’m gonna slash your tires if you don’t come out!”

Jake stares back at him and raises his hands in surrender. Ay, you and I both know you wouldn’t do that. My driving gigs are one of the few ways we stay afloat these days.

Marc buries his fingers in his unruly curls. “It was mine!”

What was yours?

“Going to that place!”

I don’t get it–

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Marc bristles. “Couldn’t I just have this one thing without one of you weaseling your dick into my life?”

Hermano, look, I was just trying to help. We thought it was about time you make a friend... or something.

"And you didn't bother asking me first?"

“Oh and remind if I'm remembering this wrong, the last time you set up Steven was when you asked out his coworker to the steakhouse! He’s a vegetarian for god’s sake!”

Don’t get your panties in a twist.

Can we all just calm the “ef” out? Steven appears on the kettle’s reflection. Take a time-out or whatever you Americans say.

Marc fights the urge to raise his voice again in an attempt to dispel the ringing in his ears. If the pair tried to explain the situation, they’d be in for another scolding.

He opens his mouth before they can. “We can’t do this right now.”

Don’t speak for all of us, pendejo.

He fists the cup, it crumbles in on itself and tosses it into the bin.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

Taglist: Open (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!)

@rachelsnows @basicalyrandom @cleothegoldfish @batsycline69 @lonelyisamyw-0love

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #moon knight fic

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namyaliving · 2 years

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100% cotton bedsheets, cotton quilts (jaipuri razai), elastic fitted bed sheets, round table covers and other table linens crafted with the art of hand block printing.

#fitted bed sheets #cushion covers online in india #round table covers online #dining table cloth

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vintagerpg · 8 months

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Skate Wizards is another zine that feels like it should forever be a zine, never a book. A collaboration between Michael C. Hsiung and Loot the Body, it's about, well, skating, cool tunes, wizards and…uh…pipe weed that is totally medicinal. The back cover perhaps says it best, “Once the world was cool. Then it sucked for a really long time. How it has a chance to be cool again or suck forever. It’s all up to the Skate Wizards!”

The system is based on Maze Rats (which I am unfamiliar with) and Nate Treme’s In the Light of a Ghost Star (which I am). This boils down to a lite, three attribute D&D derivative with some unusual spells. Each skate wizard gets the same Permanent spells that they can cast at any time — Ramp, Sidewalk and Rail — which conjure the necessary skating surface. They can also cast one Rando spell per day, the effects of which are determined by rolling on a table and mixing descriptive words, which are then hashed out by the player and the GM. I just rolled “Dope Expanding Fire Tree.” Finally, a Skate Wizard has one Bootleg spell prepared from their collection of skate videos that allow them to perform a specific reality bending trick, like defying gravity for five minutes. There are skater specific magic items and if a Skate Wizard’s health drops to zero, they become a Poser and roll on a table of six lame-o fates they suffer in their new normie existence. A big heap of adventures and a table for generating skate trick names rounds out the package (though, online, you can also listen to the kickin’ soundtrack).

It’s a real treat to have so much of Michael’s wizard art in one place. I love his bold, clean linework and how he often flattens details and patterns so they look like textiles or stitching. And the illustrations are just bursting with humor and personality. Classic.

#roleplaying game #tabletop rpg #dungeons & dragons #ttrpg #d&d #rpg #Skate Wizards #noimport

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talesofadragon · 2 months

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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐞

Chapter III - Synopsis: There's something profoundly heartfelt about Y/N and her daughter. They're the portrait Steve has always longed to behold—the kind of magic no artist could ever capture. He’ll be damned if he ever lets their vibrant hues fade away.

Pairing: Professor!Steve Rogers x Student!Reader/Mum!Reader

Warnings: Age Gap (14 years. Both are adults), teacher/student dynamic, abusive relationship, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, terrible partner, co-parenting.

Word Count: 4.4K Words

All Masterlists | Paint Me Midnight Blue Masterlist

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐋𝐄-𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 his credentials before logging into the online platform. He had always been meticulous, exceedingly determined to overcome headwinds that stood in his way. Yet, technology was one of those pesky challenges that seemed determined to thwart him. Whenever he thought he finally got the hang of it, the insidious alien would be one step ahead, either pulling a new update from under its sleeve or decisively crashing and glitching—outright mocking him every single time.

Maybe it was because he was an artist. And artists often clashed with that treacherous leech, mixing like oil and water. But today, Steve hoped for a touch of mercy from his computer since Y/N had agreed to attend the class virtually.

Under normal circumstances, this class was offered on-site. But this was one of those rare instances where Steve had the upper hand and could bend the rules to his advantage. After all, what was the point of being Chairman of the Arts and Culture Department if he couldn’t make a few exceptions? As long as he agreed to teach this one class online, no one could contest it. No one would even know.

Steve had logged into the virtual classroom with a sense of accomplishment, feeling as content as Bob Ross on The Joy of Painting. With ten minutes to spare before the class began, it was no surprise to find Y/N’s profile in the virtual waiting room.

He cleared his throat and hovered his cursor over the “admit” button. Steve expected Y/N’s face to pop up—her image pristine as always. Or, if she decided to turn her camera off, then he anticipated the soft cadence of her “good morning” filtering through his laptop’s speakers. Instead, his camera framed large, midnight-blue eyes—two luminous gems reminiscent of precious jewels and full of innocent wonder.

“Hi!!” Nyla, the owner of those sparkling eyes Steve remembered from their day at the park, greeted him with a wide, radiant smile. She waved energetically, her face nearly pressed against the screen of the device Y/N was using for the online session.

“Well, hello there, Little Princess."

Steve’s smile grew wider, genuinely delighted as he watched Nyla’s giggles cause tiny tremors in her small frame. Nyla was perched on a wooden chair. Steve saw a cozy kitchen with sage green walls and charming white cabinets behind her.

“I’m not a princess,” the little girl said with a shy smile, her elbows resting on a round wooden table and her little hands propping up her cheeks. “I’m Nyla.”

Steve gasped dramatically, covering his mouth with his hand in mock surprise. This elicited another burst of giggles from the toddler.

“No! How can a young girl with such beauty and cuteness be anything but a princess? That’s outrageous. I refuse to believe it.”

“But it’s true! I don’t live in a castle. I don’t even have a crown.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully, examining her through the screen. He tilted his head and peered intently at her head. “Well, I don’t see a crown on your head,” he pointed out, pretending to scrutinize her for hidden regalia. “But I’m not falling for that. Cinderella didn’t have a crown at first, neither did Belle, Ariel, or Snow White,” he listed, catching Nyla’s rapt attention with each name. Something good came out of his friendship with Tony Stark, the owner of this university, and the father of young Morgan Stark, who was currently in a Pocahontas phase.

Nyla listened intently, her blue eyes sparkling with admiration. “You know almost all of them! Are you a prince?”

Steve’s lips twitched, tugging to the side to draw a grin on his face. “I don’t live in a castle,” he quipped. “I don’t even have a crown.”

“Silly you! Princes don’t always wear crowns!”

“Well, if that’s the case, then maybe princesses don’t always wear crowns either. So, I’m sure you must be a princess in disguise.”

Steve mock bowed, his hand resting over his heart in a dramatic gesture. It had been a long while since he had a carefree conversation, away from the weight of responsibilities, meetings, and deadlines. He had missed this—living in a bubble of make-believe, adrift from the real world.

Wasn’t this how art was born? Wasn’t creativity a child of uninhibited imagination, meandering along endless fields of wild inventiveness?

Nyla shifted, her lips parting and her hand raising in the air. As she began to speak, ready to continue their delightful chat, another voice suddenly emanated from Steve’s speakers—belonging to someone much older than the toddler.

“Ny! Sweetheart, how many times have I told you? Don’t lean on the table while standing on the chair. You could hurt yourself.”

As Y/N rushed into view on Steve’s laptop, she wrapped Nyla in her arms, gently lifting her off the table and settling her back into the chair. With her back turned to the screen, she was oblivious to the camera, which gave Steve a clear and unobstructed view of her backside.

Pink swept across Steve’s cheeks, his throat suddenly feeling dry. Though he was raised as a gentleman, the first half of the term could not negate his genesis and nature. In other words, his natural instincts prevailed, drawing his eyes to Y/N’s ass no matter his best efforts at looking away.

In his defense, Y/N was wearing purple pajamas—her long-sleeved top tucked into bottoms that were either unusually snug or simply accentuated her curves remarkably well. It wasn’t just her striking eyes that commanded attention; her silhouette, subtly framed by the tight fabric, held a magnetic allure all its own.

What the hell are you on, Rogers? Get a grip, you fucking moron! You sound like a horny teenager.

“Uh… good morning, Miss Y/L/N.”

Y/N jumped at the unexpected greeting, almost knocking over whatever was on the table in her haste to turn around. Steve couldn’t blame her; even he cringed at how restrained and awkward he sounded.

“Professor Rogers!” Y/N exclaimed, gripping the table for dear life. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out, at least not loud enough to be picked up by the speakers. She glanced between him and her daughter. “I-I… uh. How long have you been on the call?”

“Not long. About five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

“Yes.” Steve cleared his throat, trying to hide his amusement at Y/N’s fluster. He craned his neck, his eyes returning to Nyla. “I had wonderful company.”

Y/N followed his gaze, turning her attention to her daughter. Steve wondered if she did that partly to hide the growing blush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t touch anything,” Nyla asserted, anticipating her mother’s question. “The screen was blank, then it just popped up!” She raised her hands next to her face, all ten fingers spread wide for dramatic effect. “I was just taking a look.”

Nyla’s innocence and cuteness seemed to ease Y/N’s demeanor. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed as she gently stroked Nyla’s hair. She kissed her cheek and whispered something in her ear. Nyla nodded understandingly, then jumped off the chair. She gave Steve a shy smile before scurrying away to sit right next to Y/N.

“I apologize, Professor. I realized I had forgotten my glasses, so I went to fetch them. I didn’t think you’d be on the call this early, or I would have taken the time to mute myself and turn off the camera.”

As Steve watched Y/N put on her glasses with a slight blush, the lenses accentuated the sparkle in her eyes, making them look even more captivating. They fit her well.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Miss Y/L/N. I’m about to begin the session. Feel free to keep your camera on if you like. And if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Noted, Professor. Thank you.”

As his students filled the classroom, Steve began explaining the next chapter in their course: Neo-Expressionism. While contemporary art aimed to advance creative ideas and styles, it did so by building on the palettes of its predecessors. This movement marked a return to figurative painting and emotional intensity with a contemporary twist and a more confrontational approach to presentation.

As an introduction to this style, Steve wanted to keep it light, especially since almost half of the students seemed distracted, too lost in their thoughts. He glanced at Y/N, surprised to see that while she had muted herself, she still kept her camera on.

From his peripheral vision, he saw her jotting down notes. Nyla appeared engrossed as well, pushing her chair closer to where Y/N sat. Y/N, in turn, fondly gazed at her daughter, bending down to gently scoop her into her arms and place her in the chair.

Booping Nyla’s nose and tickling her stomach, Y/N reached to the side to bring the coloring books and pencil case closer. She observed her daughter coloring while her little feet enthusiastically kicked in the air with delight.

Steve’s heart swelled, and he sounded overly enthusiastic when he featured Riding with Death by Jean-Michel Basquiat, but it wasn’t like any of his students were paying much attention. He fielded occasional questions from the crowd as he showcased works by Anselm Kiefer and Georg Baselitz next.

His laptop pinged. Of course, Y/N would be the only one engaged enough to ask thoughtful questions, even when she wasn’t physically present.

Y/N Y/L/N: What are the defining features of Neo-Expressionist art, and how do they differ from earlier Expressionism?

Steve smiled unabashedly, his expression clear on the camera as he mouthed one word: “smart.”

He straightened up and spent ten minutes explaining the differences between the two movements.

“Neo-Expressionism, meaning New-Expressionism, infused the earlier epoch with a new sense of purpose. While early Expressionism emerged in the early twentieth century as a response to societal conflicts and World War I, Neo-Expressionism thrived in the late twentieth century, challenging conceptual art and minimalism. In essence, Neo-Expressionism rebelled against these movements to create more vivid and visceral art, both literally and figuratively.”

The rest of the class continued in this vein, with Y/N being the main instigator of his artistic discourse. Even when other students raised their hands, Steve had to stifle a groan, suspecting their questions would pale in comparison to Y/N’s.

Not that he was favoring her over his other students—except that he was. So far, she was the only one who hadn’t made him question his decision to pursue academia as his next career step.

“Alright, this concludes today’s class. Please sign your names on the attendance sheet on your way out. You can email me any questions you have about this chapter so far or visit my office during the allocated office hours,” Steve announced, as eager students signed their names and left his class.

Smiling at each student as they passed, Steve began to pack his things, placing his books and notebook into his satchel. After flinging the bag around his neck, he picked up his laptop, keeping it open to avoid interrupting the call with Y/N. She was still on mute, with no sound coming from her end, but her camera remained on, showing her pursed lips as she jotted down more notes in her book.

It was a long walk to Steve’s office. When he opened the door and stepped inside, he let out a long exhale of relief. After setting his satchel aside and placing his laptop on his desk, he sank into the comfort of his snug office chair. The chair's wheels whirred as it skidded across the tiled floor. Steve adjusted the laptop and flashed Y/N a bright smile.

“Do you have any more questions, Miss Y/L/N?”

Y/N looked up, her gaze disoriented. She blinked twice at the screen, clearly startled by the end of the class. She had been so engrossed in her notes that she hadn’t expected the session to be over.

“Oh… uh, Professor Rogers. No, that’s okay. I can come by your office another time to ask.”

Steve chuckled softly, his amusement evident. Y/N’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink.

“We are, or rather, I am already in my office, Miss Y/L/N,” Steve said with a smirk. “It’s office hours now, so feel free to ask me any questions you might have. No matter how many questions you’ve scribbled in the margins of your notebook.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, her head dipping to hide her lightheartedness. Nyla glanced at her mother, her blue eyes darting between Steve and Y/N. Seeing her mother searching for a question, Nyla seized the opportunity. She leaned closer to the screen, her small frame angled towards it as she asked, “Did they use crayons or watercolors during New Expressy-m?” She had the most serious expression plastered on her teeny tiny face, ears perked up and eager to hear the response.

Y/N’s hands flew to cover her mouth, probably in an attempt to mask her amusement. But even though Steve and Y/N wore matching grins, their hearts easily melted at the innocence and cuteness of that question.

“They used a lot of tools, Little Princess,” Steve replied, noticing Y/N’s interest in the nickname he used for her daughter. “Mainly acrylic paint. But who’s to say they didn’t use coloring pencils or watercolors?”

Nyla bobbed her head understandingly, taking in everything Steve said. She tapped her index finger against the side of her mouth, her gaze steady but her thoughts whirling around her little head. “Are ac-lilic paints the big girl paints Mama uses sometimes?

Steve swiftly caught Y/N’s nod while his focus remained uninterruptedly on Nyla. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Are artists only artists because they paint and draw?”

“No. Art is versatile. It means that it doesn’t have one form. Anyone can be an artist. And it looks like you are one! Are you a secret artist, too, Little Princess? My, my. Can I sneak a peek at those coloring books you have?

The most radiant smile decorated Nyla’s face. The toddler excitedly squealed, reaching for her coloring books. One was already open, displaying a half-completed image of a ballerina. Nyla gripped her book tightly, proudly displaying her work for Steve to see.

Instead of the soft pink and light colors that usually accompanied a ballerina’s image, the tutu was a vibrant shade of purple, and the ballerina’s hair decorated her face in a halo of wild embers—orange and phoenix red shadows hung like an autumn crown atop her head.

“This is…wow. I’m speechless.”

Y/N snorted, unable to rein in her expression at the double meaning behind the phrase. She covered it with a cough, distracting her daughter with a hand around her waist.

Nyla, for her part, did not seem to understand or suspect any subliminal implication. She jabbed her finger across the page, tracing the purple tutu, reminiscent of Maleficent’s envenomed magic.

“You said that art in New Express-ym is vibrant,” Nyla explained the reasoning behind her technique, emphasizing the “i” in vibrant. “I made the bal-rina in their style. Is it pretty?”

“No, it’s not,” Steve replied. In the split second it took him to continue, he noticed two things. The first was the tremor of Nyla’s lips and the silver mist in her night-sky irises. The second, equally striking, was Y/N’s clenched jaw and acrimonious eyes. But Steve was undeterred as he said, “It’s glorious. Why aren’t you a student in my class, Miss Nyla? You’d give your mother a run for her money!”

Nyla laughed. Her euphonious and soothing sound filled his ears and spread through every corner of his office. She bounced up and down in her seat, her excitement sparkling like iridescent fairy lights on a cozy summer night. She hugged her coloring book tighter and beamed at her mother. Y/N was also smiling, a transparent sheen threatening to become visibly emotional in her eyes.

She cleared her throat, though whether to stop herself from crying or to clear her airways, Steve couldn’t tell.

“Ny, didn’t you promise to read me the new story you were learning the other day?”

Gasping, Nyla nodded eagerly. She opened her mouth to respond but then turned back to the screen. “What’s your name?”

“Steve, Little Princess,” Steve answered with a soft smile.

Nyla mimicked his expression, then turned her attention back to her mother. “Can Steve stay to listen?”

Precious. So freaking precious.

Unfortunately, Steve could not. For various reasons, none of which were due to the one Y/N mentioned. She carefully peeled the coloring book from her daughter’s hands, her fingers intertwining with Nyla’s tiny ones. “Ny,” she said softly, like the whispers of a spring breeze caressing flower petals after a long absence. “Professor Rogers has to get back to class.”

“But–”

Y/N gently lifted her daughter into her arms, placed her on her lap, and kissed the crown of her head. “We’ll have to say goodbye for now,” she said softly, brushing her daughter’s hair aside and rocking her as she spoke. “I’ll tell Professor Rogers all about the story when I see him.”

“You promise?” Nyla’s irises gleamed with hope, her little pinky extended towards Y/N.

Y/N’s pinky wrapped around hers. It amazed Steve how Nyla’s hand was even smaller than Y/N’s. “Pinky, double sugar-coated promise.”

Nyla surged forward, giving Y/N a wet kiss on her cheek. Her bright eyes met Steve’s, her happiness radiating even through the distance between them. “Bye, bye, Steve!”

“Bye, Little Princess. Thank you for your time. See you soon, Miss Y/L/N.”

“See you soon, Professor Rogers. And thank you, truly.”

The screen turned black faster than Steve had anticipated, the silence both loud and deafening in his empty office. For the first time in a while, the quiet was a welcome reprieve. In the solitude, ideas swirled and emotions flared in the back of his mind. He reached for his sketchbook and grabbed the charcoals from his desk. With vibrant, bold strokes, he sketched with abandon, letting his emotions flow freely as he tried to give form to love and laughter.

“Come in,” Steve’s voice resonated through his office, cutting through the rhythmic scratching of his pencil on yellow paper. The dark lines shaping the silhouettes were an extension of his focus, his thoughts too absorbed in the image to stray.

He heard the door creak open, followed by the soft click of heels on the floor. Steve lifted his gaze from the sketch, an expression of mild disinterest clouding his eyes. “Miss Y/L/N,” he greeted, almost awkwardly, as he noticed her standing at the door. He quickly closed the sketchbook, his feet shuffling as they found solid ground. “Why are you still standing? Please, take a seat.”

Y/N nodded politely, settling into the chair opposite Steve. She waited for him to make himself comfortable, his sketchbook set aside and his hands intertwined on the desk. “Professor Rogers,” Y/N began, her voice soft, “I won’t take up much of your time. I wanted to thank you—for the last session, I mean.”

It had been two days since Y/N had attended the online class. He had seen her today, but she had arrived later than usual. Technically, she had been on time, but the room was already crowded, leaving no chance for a private conversation. Not that he expected one. He was just glad she made it.

“There’s no need to thank me, Miss Y/L/N. Your dedication didn’t waver even virtually, and for that, I must thank you for taking the class so seriously.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed with a delicate pink, deepening as her eyes met Steve’s. “That’s too kind of you, Professor. You’ve always been so thoughtful and accommodating to your students’ needs. And in that regard, I also wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Apologize for what?”

“For our earlier interaction in your office,” Y/N clarified. Steve didn’t press further, but she noticed his confusion. Inhaling deeply, Y/N straightened her posture. “Earlier this semester, you wanted to adjust my grades. I reacted… rather aggressively to your offer. And I’m terribly—”

“If anyone should be apologizing for this situation, Miss Y/L/N, it certainly isn’t you. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Steve’s voice was firm and precise. Y/N’s fingers nervously picked at the skin on her hands. “Professor?” she responded, unsure of how to proceed.

Steve stretched his fingers, almost as if he was reaching for her hand. A second too long, his brain caught up to his actions. Briskly, his fingers retracted, curling inside his palm and under his thumb.

"You’re not just the best student in my class; you’re the best I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching," Steve said earnestly, observing Y/N’s newfound shyness. "What I saw at the park and during Wednesday’s session only strengthened my belief in your abilities and character. However, I realize my actions might have overstepped. I want you to know that favoritism was never my aim, and your impressive achievements have earned you every bit of recognition and success in my class.”

Y/N blinked, her gaze fixed on Steve. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips as she absorbed his words. She nodded slowly, the only sign she acknowledged his sentiments.

Steve waited for her response, giving her space to process his words. To his surprise, Y/N delivered the last thing he expected. “I will be dropping out of your class.”

Steve’s posture stiffened, his eyes widening. “What?”

Y/N tightened her grip on her bag, her purse in her lap seemingly more interesting than the professor before her.

“As you know, I…have a special situation. Not that I’m seeking or ever sought special treatment! Besides you and Professor Barnes, the university’s administration office is the only one aware of Nyla. I wouldn’t have disclosed it if the records didn’t require it.”

“Is everything alright with your daughter, Miss Y/L/N?”

Y/N sighed heavily, and it was then that Steve noticed the strain on her shoulders.

“I am Nyla’s primary, or to be more specific, only caretaker, Professor Rogers,” Y/N shared. Though her tone held no remorse and accepted no shame, yet there was a layer of hesitance there. “She’s my first priority. My life revolves around her and so does everything I do. I take morning classes to accommodate my kindergarten schedule. But, unfortunately, Nyla has been facing issues with them.”

“What kind of issues?” Steve blurted out before he could restrain himself. He opened his mouth again, to apologize for his slip, but Y/N continued.

“The children there have been horrible to her due to…certain reasons. And with her mother being a twenty-two-year-old college student, the administration isn’t taking my concerns seriously.”

Steve’s heart ached under the weight of her words. Almost instinctively, he let his hand move to Y/N’s side, his fingertips brushing against hers with a feather-light touch. Her breath caught, and her eyes locked onto the contact, a flicker of surprise and vulnerability crossing her face. He made no attempt to move closer, his fingers lingering in place—barely making contact but reaching out with a silent offer of understanding and support.

Y/N’s delicate fingers trembled slightly against his, a subtle tremor that spoke volumes. Steve felt a shiver run down his spine. He blamed it on the nerve endings beneath his fingertips.

“And what happens now?” Steve asked.

“I pulled her out,” Y/N replied sheepishly, her dejection evident in the tremor of her voice. “I tried to fix it as much as I could. But it looks like the only solution is to homeschool Nyla for the rest of the term. It’s too late to enroll her anywhere else.”

“And you’re taking an extra semester off to tend to her needs?”

“Yes,” Y/N affirmed without hesitation.

“Miss Y/L/N.” Steve bit the inside of his cheek, his tone almost like a reprimand. “Y/N,” he added, surprising himself by using her first name and drawing a look of surprise from her. Steve lowered his head slightly to meet her gaze, offering a warm, sincere smile that reflected his admiration and empathy. “You are truly admirable. One day, your daughter will look back on what you’ve done for her and feel immense pride in having you as her mother.”

Y/N’s tears began to flow, cascading gently down her cheeks. Seeing her vulnerability struck something deep within Steve. He hesitated, feeling a pang of helplessness as he observed her from across the desk. Acting on impulse rather than thought, he reached out with the lightest touch, catching a single tear as it glistened on the edge of her cheek. He brushed it away with a tender stroke, his fingers gliding across her face like delicate butterfly kisses on a silky canvas.

Y/N’s downcast eyes raised, two gemstones hidden behind a glassy frame. Devastatingly beautiful, Steve’s mind murmured. A classical masterpiece.

“As your professor, and as someone who cares about your well-being, I cannot allow this to happen.”

“But–”

“No, buts, Y/N. There must be a way. Why don’t you enroll her in the university’s early childhood center?”

The mention of the center made Y/N pause, but she remained unconvinced. “It’s expensive, Professor.”

“It’s free for faculty and staff,” Steve countered promptly.

“But I’m neither faculty nor staff.”

Dammit! Steve had forgotten that detail. His mind raced with possibilities, frustrated by the unfairness of the situation. Perhaps it was his hero complex, his altruism as Bucky had pointed out, or maybe just a reminder of his own past. But Steve was determined to help Y/N—especially because she was Y/N.

He withdrew his hand, already missing her warmth. If only she had worked at the university. He didn’t want to involve Tony or even Hill; Y/N didn’t need additional scrutiny or accusations of favoritism. But there had to be something he could do!

His eyes fell on his files and closed sketchbook. Was this really the right time to be overwhelmed by paperwork?

‘You really need an assistant to help you file through all these papers,’ Bucky’s words twirled in his head.

And then it clicked! He didn’t trust anyone with his material. But Y/N wasn’t anyone.

He smiled widely, his joy contrasting with Y/N’s solemnity. “Miss Y/L/N,” Steve said, hope lacing his voice. “What if I told you I might have a solution?”

Requested by @crazyunsexycool

At this point, this series depicts the love Steve is starting to have for Nyla. Isn't she the freaking cutest?! I mean, if this melts your heart, then you're definitely not ready for what chapters 4 and 5 will be bringing!

Let me know how you're feeling about this series so far!

All the love,

Sab.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #marvel mcu #avengers #the avengers #professor!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x single mom!reader #age gap steve rogers #girl dad!steve rogers #professor steve rogers x student reader

49 notes · View notes

chickenparm · 7 months

Note

almighty chickenparm are you cooking up any hsr stuff by any chance.....we are starving

i'm so-very-slowly working on an aventurine(x reader ofc) fic, but i don't know when it will be done because big parm has little motivation these days. but here's the first bit of it, go crazy, brother

---

The first time the app is suggested to him between rounds of digital slots on his phone, Aventurine thinks it’s a joke. He can’t help but laugh at the simplistic nature of the advertisement, with simple adornments that clearly lay out what the app is for. Not to mention it’s based in Penacony, and that’s a long ways off from where he’s lounging in Pier Point.

And it doesn’t cross his mind until a few weeks on, when he’s between assignments once more and passing the time with a few rounds of online blackjack. The stakes are low, practically nonexistent, so he lets his mind wander a little after the advertisement shows up again.

What a ridiculous concept, he thinks as his heel taps against the floor and his knee bounces. Professional cuddling - how silly. The only people who would solicit such services would be those who are incredibly lonely and desperate. On the screen, his score changes, showing he has a neat twenty. His thumb hovers over the button as he contemplates the risk of taking it further.

Aventurine’s turn ticks down, and the player to his right at the virtual table hits twenty-one. The jingle of the advertisement echoes faintly in his ears as he loses.

A handful of months trickle by, a few assignments, a few wins, some losses. It’s after one of these narrow wins that he counts his luck and tucks his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he listens to Topaz get dressed down by their superiors.

Topaz dodges his invitation to assist with the Penacony job, a bit more brusque than he was expecting. It’s not like they were friends, but he at least expected her to be a bit more open to it all. Her loss, he thinks as she abruptly hangs up on him and he’s left staring at the wall with his phone falling silent.

Something nags at him - it always has. But up until now, there’s been little point in picking that apart and examining what he’s so quietly caught up on. Unfortunately, as of late, it’s been crawling up his back and whispering in his ear in ways that can’t be ignored further.

Aventurine is well traveled. The IPC sends him far and wide to suit their needs. A backwater planet comes to mind, some place with a low grade and a high debt. The hotel he’d stayed at was the best he could find, built of bricks and covered with ivy that crept close enough to his window that opening it would disturb the vines.

The owner of the hotel had workers trimming back the plant, and he’d overheard him griping to said workers that the ivy was a nuisance and grew back thicker each year, no matter how often it was pruned.

Loneliness is like that, he thinks.

#hsr #aventurine #x reader #aventurine x reader #snippet #wip

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

girls just wanna have fun 5

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, blackmail, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your struggle to push back against your controlling father result in a misguided crush. (Silverfox AU)

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

Shelby leaves and you deflate. You’re bored. You’re going to be bored forever. Your dad bitches at you until you do the dishes and vacuum but that only makes you more restless.

As you decide to read on the porch, more a cover for your peeping behaviour, your dad appears with his golf bag and clears his throat. You sit up on the bench and take your feet off the little table. He hates when you do that.

“Going to play a few rounds. Try not to make a mess.”

“Yes, sir,” you say dryly.

“I mean it,” he sniffs.

“Alright. Jeez. Not like I'm doing much to make a mess.”

“Oh yeah? Definitely not,” he mutters. “I didn’t find an empty bottle in the recycling...”

“What?” You bat your lashes innocently. “I swear, it’s not mine.”

“Sure, whatever. One won’t kill you but I don’t want it in my house,” he points at you.

“Fine,” you huff.

He leaves without much fanfare. No see yas, no I love yous, he’s never been that kind of dad. Only the type to point out everything you’ve done wrong.

You wait for him to drive away as you plot behind your book. You can’t use your own friend to get your way. That made you feel too rotten. The answer is obvious but not one you relish. There is someone you can use but you don’t know if it’s worth it.

As you mull over the failure of last night and hide behind the book, the low whir of an engine approaches. A car door brings your gaze above the pages and the very man on your mind appears. For once, it isn’t Bucky.

Hm. Your mouth slants as you weigh the choice. Sam gets out of the car and bends to check his reflection in the side mirror, taking off his sunglasses as he winks at himself. God, he’s so annoying but he said he could help. Everything you’re doing is exactly wrong.

You close the book and drop it on the table. You skip down the steps in your crop top and cut-offs and come around the white picket. He stops as he sees you and smirks at your advance. You stop before him, your chest bouncing shamelessly.

“Well, hello ladies,” he makes no effort to hide his leering. You scoff.

“Sam,” you say pointedly and fold your arms over your chest. “How?”

“How what?” He tilts his head as he eyes you, bring up the arm of his glasses to chew on the tip.

“How can you help me get to Bucky?” You ask.

“Ha,” he laughs, “you’re really serious about that? You ran away last night.”

“That was for my friend. She was scared.”

“I don’t know, you looked pretty freaked out yourself.”

“I’m not afraid,” you insist. “Maybe you are. Maybe you lied. Talk a big game. I shoulda known. You’re just like all the boys I know--”

“Now hold up, I’m no boy. This right here, that’s grade A man. American meat,” he declares, “you want Buck, I get it. He’s got the whole angry old man thing the girls drool for. But I want something first.”

“You’ll get it but how exactly can you help me get what I want?” You barter.

His cheek dimples and he sucks his teeth, “well, I know my guy. Trust. And I know what he wants.”

“Which is?” You narrow your eyes.

“Now, now, I can’t just give away the good right away.”

“Tell me, please,” you plead as you clutch your hands together.

He huffs and looks towards the house, “are you sure you wanna go down this road?”

His doubt stokes your own. Why wouldn’t you? It’s harmless. Just sex, right? It’s what adults do! You’re twenty years old and you don’t want to go back to campus a virgin.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles again, “you’re exactly his type. He’s playing hard to get.”

“Hm?” You perk up, “really?”

“Yeah, I hate to admit it but he’s into you.”

“He is?”

“Calm down, sweetheart, we have a deal. You wanna get to him, you go through me. Which ironically, is what he’s into.”

“Uh, what?” Your voice crackles.

“Yeah, he loves to watch.”

You laugh nervously, “you’re messing with me. I knew it.”

“I’m not,” he’s more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “One day, when you’re older, more experienced, you’ll realise the freakiest freaks walk around like they have a stick up their ass. Hell, sometimes they do.”

“So, what does that mean? What do I do?” You lower your voice, shaky as you realise what you’re asking.

“Well, pretty kitty,” he boops your nose, “you look real good in those shorts, but you got anything sexier?”

“Um, sure, I have some thongs.”

“Good start, Lace?”

“Probably,” you shrug.

“Right, why don’t you show me? You need an expert.”

“Really?”

“You asked for my help. I’m helping.”

“Ugh, you better not be fucking with me.”

“Not right but hopefully soon,” he snickers.

“Whatever, come on.”

You turn and stomp back up the sidewalk. He follows casually and you peer around. You hope no one sees and tattles to your dad. Maybe you can make something up about a clogged pipe. Doesn’t matter right now. You doubt he even cares.

Sam pulls the door shut behind him as you reach the stairs. You make a swift ascent and he comes up a few steps back. You enter your room and rush over to the dresser. You sift through and pull out your sexiest pairs. You can hear him tinkering around with your shit.

“What are you doing?" You snap over your shoulder.

“Just looking,” he comes up next to you and reaches into the drawer. He pulls out the vibe and rolls it between his fingers, “Mmm, this will be handy too.”

“So?” You ignore him and spread out several pairs across the wood. “Which ones?”

“Now, baby, I can’t decide if you don’t try ‘em on. I need the whole effect.”

You huff. He keeps delaying. And it feels like he’s playing with you.

“Promise you’re not lying.”

“I swear,” he shows his palms and backs up. “I’ll close my eyes. The black lace.”

He sits on the foot of the bed and slaps his hands down on his thighs. His pants are taught across his bulge. Oh god. He closes his eyes and you turn back. You pull of your shorts and switch out your panties for the black lace thong.

“There? How is it?” You stand before him.

He opens his eyes and grins, “turn around?”

You cringe but obey. He lets out a long breath and tuts, “damn, that is a fine ass.”

“Sounds like a yes,” you face him again, “so, it’ll work?”

“Oh, you think it’s just the thong? No, baby, no,” he scoffs, “this is how it’s going to go down. I’m gonna tell Bucky I found a real fun girl. It’s been a while, he needs it, and you’re going to be waiting, in just that,” he reaches forward to touch the lace, “and you’re going to let me fuck your mouth, you can fuck mine too. That’ll get him nice and worked up.”

“What?” You bluster, “you’re fucking with me. Oh my god. I can’t believe--”

“I’m really not. We share all time. Or used to. Been a while, not gonna lie. Like I said, he is in need.”

You step back and stare at him. You were prepared for Bucky. Prepared for just one guy at a time, but both. You’re not so sure. You put your hand to your neck and turn as you think.

“I don’t know... maybe it’s stu--”

You hear the digital shutter of a lens and face Sam as he holds his phone up.

“What the fuck? Did you take a picture?”

“Collateral,” he shrugs as he stands, “can’t have you flaking.”

“Delete it.”

“No.”

“Delete--” you try to snatch his phone and he holds you at arm’s length.

“Your dad would hate to see this, wouldn’t he?” He taunts. “You want help, you got it. You bring your fine ass and I’ll bring Bucky.”

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #dark sam wilson #dark bucky barnes #dark!sam wilson #dark!bucky barbes #sam wilson x reader #bucky barnes x reader #girl just wanna have fun #series #drabble #au #mcu #marvel #falcon and the winter soldier #avengers #captain america

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misc-obeyme · 9 months

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Well okay. One whole person stated they would like to see the pegging version of catboy Satan so here it is.

I see you, @cactusmisslittle. I hope it’s okay that I tagged you, but your tags here are the only reason this version exists lol.

An important note! I've been calling this pegging because that's how I've been thinking about it, but I also wanted to keep things gender neutral if possible. I don't know if I succeeded, but to that end, I've used the word "cock" in place of "strap." So if you're imagining a strap, let's just say you call it your cock, okay? I don't know, I couldn't come up with a better way to go about it.

Oh yeah and one more thing - I didn't talk about the putting on of a strap, either, but it would happen when MC is taking off their clothes. Tantan is being patient and waiting for them lol.

The beginning part is all the same, with Satan dropping hints and MC walking into their room to find him. The only part that's changed is the actual sex. Once again, I apologize for low quality, I'm still getting into the swing of writing again.

GN!MC x Satan

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: soft dom!MC, cat collar with bell & cat ears, praising, use of Tantan as a nickname, still a lil bit of biting, penetration (Satan receiving, could be read as pegging hopefully)