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shipmistress9 · 1 year ago

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Aaw, this was so cute! Perfect for them, I love it!. 🥰

Crying in the IKEA parking lot

a feysand modern au one shot written for @officialfeysandweek2023

Feyre is having an emotional breakdown in the IKEA parking lot, but luckily a handsome stranger comes to her rescue

Words: 2,2k | Masterlist | AO3 Link

Feyre had experienced many low points in her twenty-two years, but crying in the parking lot of IKEA had to be one of the lowest.

To be fair, she was having a pretty shit day, a shit year, even, but that didn’t make her feel any better as she stared at the scratch on the shiny, expensive-looking car parked next to hers.

A scratch that was one hundred percent her fault.

She let out a pathetic sob as her mind replayed the moment when she’d been too busy cursing at the furniture she couldn’t fit in her trunk to notice that her cart was rolling away from her, straight into the other car.

There was no way she could afford to pay for the repair, especially not now, when she’d just spent the little money she had on a dining table and a single chair for her mostly empty apartment.

Feyre gave the package still sitting on the ground a kick in frustration. «Fucking useless piece of shit!»

«Are you okay? Do you perhaps need any help with that…?»

The voice startled her, and Feyre whirled around, suddenly facing the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He looked at her with a mix of concern and curiosity, his eyes so blue they almost seemed violet.

«I’m fine,» Feyre answered a little too quickly, plastering on a fake smile and pretending her face wasn’t all puffy and red. She’d gotten so used to telling this lie lately, it came on autopilot.

Unfortunately, the stranger wasn’t a complete idiot, and didn’t buy her lie. The few tears still running down her cheeks probably didn’t help either. «So crying in the middle of a parking lot is just something you do for fun?» The question was accompanied by a perfectly raised eyebrow.

Smile dropping, Feyre replied, «No, it’s just-»

And that’s all it took for the floodgates to open once more.

«I’ve had a really shitty time lately, and I just needed to get a table because I don’t wanna eat every meal sitting on the floor for the rest of my life, but then I came out here and I can’t get the fucking box in my car and then I accidentally scratched the car next to mine and I know I should be the better person here and leave a note but there is no way I can afford to pay for it to be repaired!» She was full-on sobbing again, choking out the words.

When she’d managed to calm down a little, the crying reduced to sniffling, she looked up, surprised to find that the man still stood there. Feyre had expected her little mental breakdown to scare away the stranger, he’d only asked if she needed help, after all, but there he was, offering her a soft smile and a tissue. «So a really shitty day then?»

«Yeah,» Feyre replied weakly, wiping her tears.

«I wouldn’t worry too much about the car, though.»

«Why?»

He smirked, and it made Feyre want to kiss his handsome face and punch it at the same time. She really should see a therapist or something. «Because if they can afford a car like that, the asshole can probably afford a repair as well.»

This time, when Feyre smiled, it was real. It felt good, after all this time.

«So, did you need any help?» the guy asked, gesturing towards the package still on the ground.

Feyre had barely nodded before he strode over, and in a single, seemingly effortless move lifted it into her car. It annoyed her to no end, but she was also grateful, because it meant she could get out of here and forget this completely mortifying experience ever happened.

«Thanks, uhm…» She didn’t even know his name, she realized.

«Rhysand, though my friends call me Rhys,» he offered, grinning.

His name was Rhys, and he had dimples. How was it possible to be this attractive?

«I’m Feyre,» she replied, completely cool, calm and collected…probably.

«Well, it was nice meeting you, Feyre, darling. I have to go and brave the hell that is IKEA to get something for my stupid cousin, but I hope the rest of your day is better!»

Feyre actually chuckled this time, giving him a wave and a «Good luck!» as he walked away. She watched him in a totally non-creepy way until he’d fully disappeared into the large store, relishing the way she felt kinda good right now. One encounter with a kind human didn’t fix all her problems, but it gave her back some of the faith she’d lost in humanity long ago.

Still smiling, Feyre got into the driver’s seat, but she didn’t start the car. Instead, her attention was pulled to the passenger seat, and the abandoned sketchbook that’d been lying there for months now.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden urge to draw again. The familiar itching in her hands could have brought her to tears if she’d had any left. Maybe she actually could feel like herself again, someday in the future…

Glancing at the car next to hers, Feyre contemplated her choices. There was no way she could afford the repair bill, but no matter how she thought about it, the only right thing to do was choose kindness. What if the rich asshole was having an equally shit day?

That didn’t mean Feyre couldn’t make them feel as sorry for her as possible, though. Maybe if they knew what a mess she was, it would get her out of paying.

So she rummaged around in her car until she found a pencil, then she picked up her sketchbook and started drawing for the first time in months.

Feyre groaned for what had to be the hundredth time as she struggled to assemble the table. Wasn’t this supposed to be easy?!

She knew she should just go to bed and try again in the morning, but she wanted to do this, wanted to show the universe she could manage on her own.

Who knew leaving your abusive ex when you had no job, no education, no friends and no contact with your family would be so difficult?

Just when Feyre was about to give up, her phone suddenly chimed, alerting her of a new text.

Anxiously, she picked up the phone, her stomach flipping as she read the text from an unknown number.

Is this Feyre Archeron?

It had to be the owner of the car, Feyre thought. After all, she’d ended up leaving a rather creative note describing what had happened, signed with her full name and number.

The note had consisted of eight comic panels, first showing an overly animated Feyre looking miserable in her empty apartment, then her looking miserable in IKEA, her emptying her pockets at the register, then swearing as she tries to get the package into her car. Next featured a few panels very dramatically portraying how the cart had rolled into the car completely on it’s own, ending with Feyre drowning all of IKEA in her tears.

To be honest, she was kind of proud of it.

Chewing her lip, Feyre typed back a simple «Yes».

Mere seconds later, it started ringing, that same number appearing on the screen. She nearly dropped it in panic, and honestly wanted to just chuck it out the window. She did not want to buy a new phone though, especially not if she had to spend thousands on repairing an ugly-ass car that wasn’t even hers.

Hands shaking, she pressed reply, bringing the phone to her ear. «Hello?»

«That comic is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I’m seriously gonna frame it and hang it on my wall.»

Feyre’s heart promptly stopped as she heard the deep, silky voice. She would recognize it anywhere, if only from the things it did to her body.

«Rhys?!» she choked out.

«I told you to not worry about the car.» She could hear the smirk in his voice, and for some reason it filled her with rage.

«That was your car?! Why the hell didn’t you say so? I made a complete fool of myself in front of you-»

«No you didn’t,» Rhys interrupted her. «And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to stress you out even more. I’m sorry if that was wrong of me.»

Well, that was awfully…charming of him. Feyre didn’t know what to do with all these feelings swirling inside her. Especially not after living on autopilot for so long.

«Just tell me how much I owe you,» Feyre sighed.

«How about you let me help you build that furniture, and we’ll call it even?»

«What? That’s ridiculous!» There had to be something seriously wrong with this guy, if he thought getting to help her with her furniture would make them even.

«Text me your address, and I’ll be there in thirty. With pizza.»

And then he just hung up.

Exactly thirty minutes later, Feyre opened her front door to find Rhys on the other side, pizza in hand and a panty-dropping smile on his face. «Hello, Feyre, darling.»

«Ugh, just get in.» She was too hungry to bother with pleasantries.

He followed her into the kitchen area, setting the pizza on the counter. Feyre busied herself with getting a glass of water, trying to not let her embarrassment show as he took in the space. She really hadn’t been kidding when she’d said it was all empty.

Well, apart from the still-not-assembled table.

When she looked up, though, he was looking at her, not the empty space.

«Just so we’re clear, I have no ulterior motives in doing this,» Rhys spoke, all serious. His gaze so intense she couldn’t look away.

«I’m not gonna deny that I find you very attractive, and I would love to take you on a date some day, but right now, what I think we both need the most, is a friend.»

Her chest ached at the pain she glimpsed in his violet eyes, a fellow lost soul. Maybe he was just as lonely, just as broken, despite the easy smiles? Feyre smiled faintly, thinking that she wouldn’t mind a friend right now.

Then Rhys opened his mouth again, and the moment was ruined. «And we both know you find me incredibly handsome because duh,» he gestured to his face, and Feyre scowled, flipping him off.

«Are you even qualified to build furniture?» Feyre asked, all serious. If he turned out to be excellent at this she would lose it.

«Are you kidding me? My great-great-grandfather was Swedish. I’ll show you my family tree to prove it.»

«You’re such a prick!» Feyre exclaimed, smacking his arm, but she was laughing as she did it.

This was gonna end in disaster.

«You’re even worse at this than I am!»

«I swear, there has to be something wrong with this table!»

The puzzled expression on Rhys’ face as he sat with the final leg of the table in his hand and seemingly no where to put it made Feyre laugh so hard her stomach hurt a little.

They hadn’t gotten much further from where Feyre had been before Rhys showed up to help her.

«I don’t understand…There are four legs, and four corners, so why won’t it fit?!»

«Let me have a look,» Feyre chuckled, leaning into Rhys’ space to study the instructions once more.

As she reached forward to turn back a page, her hand brushed against his, and she let out a quiet gasp at the contact. He was so close she could feel the warmth emanating from him.

Neither of them moved for a moment, the tension between them nearly tangible.

Then Feyre turned her head, slowly, finding his eyes already locked on her, his gaze intense. It would be so easy to just lean in and kiss him, taste him.

Surprisingly, a part of her wanted to. Feyre knew she could be oblivious, but one had to be a complete idiot to not feel the chemistry between them, the spark that had been there from the very first moment.

Her life was too much of a mess at the moment, though. She needed to get her head above water first, needed more time to heal the wounds from her previous disaster of a relationship.

So Feyre pulled away, swiftly ending the moment. She could sense a shift in Rhys as well, but where she’d expected disappointment, maybe even annoyance, she only found a quiet, patient calm, the soft smile on his face telling her he understood, and he was willing to wait, but if she one day was ready, he would be there.

«I may have lied when I said I was a pro at this…»

«I knew it!»

Feyre gave Rhys a smile of her own, so grateful that he didn’t make things awkward after her subtle rejection. She hoped he could see the words she couldn’t voice quite yet.

I want to, I really do, but I’m not ready.

I haven’t had this much fun in ages.

You’ve made me feel alive again.

Having him as her friend would have to be enough.

For now.

A/N: don't ask about the header i was feeling creative today...

ANYWAY I have returned from the dead (I just started college) to give you this:):) I also actually had a beta reader this time, so kudos to my roommate! I'm sorry for making you read this and watch glee with me at the same time<3<3<3 Feel free to reblog, leave a comment or drop by my ask box, I love attention:)

Taglist: @ireallyshouldsleeprn @rowaelinismyotp

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be added to any of them!

#feysand #Fanfiction #acotar #sjmaas #awww #love it!#also i love the shark in the header #it's one if my daughter's fav plushies #his name is Hugo

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imyourbratzdoll · 2 years ago

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𝒃𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉

I thank @royalsweetteaa for coming up with this and putting the idea into my head, and I hope you all enjoy it.

summary - you shouldn't have gone for a swim that day, especially when a giant merman is lurking for a little human to breed and keep.

warning - smut, dubcon, inter-species, slight drowning, slight somno, breeding kink, dirty talk, slightly dark, slight kidnapping.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You arrived at the beach, and headed over to the sand, finding a secluded, comfortable spot to place your things before stripping from your clothes, revealing a small green bikini with tiny white flowers. You overlook the half-man, half-fish in the water, watching you strip and stretch, smirking as you head toward the cold, salty water, closer to the danger that lurks beneath the water. You merge into the water, slowly walking in and deeper. You let out a deep sigh as you dunk your head under and come back up, feeling refreshed.

You feel your body relax, floating on your back as you bask in the sun, enjoying the fresh water crashing softly against your tiny form. Your eyes are closed, and you aren’t aware of your surroundings. A squeak escapes you as you are suddenly pulled under. You are too busy struggling from the lack of air and the sudden fear that you don’t notice your bikini bottoms being yanked off. Once you’ve managed to get your bearings, you quickly swim back to the top, gasping for air as you look around, frightened, fearing a shark has grabbed you. Not knowing there is much worse lurking beyond the waters, as you try and keep yourself afloat, your legs rub together, and you feel you no longer wear your bikini bottoms. Your brows are furrowed as you look around and wonder. Your gaze lands on the piece of clothing floating a few metres ahead of you. Confused and curious, you swim out to grab them, not wanting to leave the water naked from the bottom below.

When your hand grabs the flimsy material, you shriek as you feel something brush up against your legs. You clutch your bottoms to your chest, freaking as you look around, finally noticing how dark and cold the ocean actually looked and how lonely you really were. No one was on the beach or in the water. You were alone and probably close to death. You don’t see the merman beneath you, staring at your core with a smirk as he feels his cock harden. Ransom licked his lips and swam closer, wrapping his large webbed hands around your legs and yanking you underneath the water.

The water swallows your scream, and your eyes sting from being open in the salty water. You stare wide-eyed at the giant man-like thing, gasping as you begin to swallow water, freaking out. Ransom huffs, rolling his eyes as he brings you back to the surface, annoyed as you cough and make a scene trying to breathe. As you huff and fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you can, a squeal escapes you, feeling something large and ribbed rubbing against your lips. You take a deep breath as your yanked back under the water, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you are impaled by something.

Ransom groans, holding you down against him by your hips, thrusting deep and hard inside your tight cunt. “You’re such a whore, going for a swim in slutty clothes and getting fucked by a merman.” He smirks, knowing you can’t understand him, but he loves to watch you struggle against his throbbing member. His long, dark blue, scaly tail swishes behind him as he pounds into you, holding you tightly against him as he glares down at you with his pretty blue eyes. “You like being stretched out by my cock? Barely being able to breathe as I pound into you?” His hand wraps around your throat and squeezes, limiting your breath even more than before, grunting as he feels you squeezing him.

You feel intense pleasure coming from your lower half and pain coming from your chest as you struggle to breathe. His large hand gripped your hips as the other cut off your airflow. Your vision was becoming black as he kept you both under the water, his hardened member plunging deeper and harder inside you. You gasp as he finally lifts you above water, oxygen entering and filling your lungs as he pounds into you, holding you close to his chiselled body.

You take a deep breath before he pulls you back under, taking you apart. Your eyes screw shut with the pleasure his ribbed cock gives you, reaching the deepest parts of you that no man has ever reached. The member is curved, hitting your g-spot perfectly, your back arched, and you don’t notice him smirking at you or his slitted eyes staring down at your exposed neck. You feel your chest constricting as you run out of air, your head becomes fuzzy, and your cunt clenches around his enormous cock.

Ransom grins, showing off his sharp teeth. He watches you begin to run out of air, feeling your walls go crazy around his cock as he leans down and bites into your neck. No one can hear your screams before you pass out from the lack of oxygen and the intense pleasure. Ransom grunts, and you clench tightly around him, causing his cock to sink deeper inside of you. His balls tighten as he begins to twitch wildly. His hands grip your body, pulling you tighter against him, releasing his thick cum into you, thrusting until he feels you spasm around him, your juices squirting out and entering the ocean. Ransom grins darkly, swimming to the surface, not waiting for you to wake or catch your breath as he takes you to his cave. He rests you above a rock and strokes your cheek. “You’re mine now, forever, little human. I hope you’re ready to carry my children.” He chuckles, slowly moving into the shadows as he watches you begin to wake.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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mandalhoerian · 1 year ago

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ghost to its haunt, I | leon kennedy x reader

read part 1: moth to a flame pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. But this time, it has to be different. word count: 6K warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, peppers of fluff as a treat, smut (blink and you'll miss it), leon being feral from day one like seriously he's unhinged, his negative self-talk notes: this installment comes in two chapters. chapter two is still being written and will be published and linked here when i'm done. header template can be found here. we're nearly at the end besties, thank you for sticking with me until the end, and please enjoy.

🌀 read on ao3! 🌀 NEXT CHAPTER

i. Leon knew right from day one when you’d breached the solitary safety of his shadowed corner in the bar of his unusual drinking choice, that you were tempting and twice as dangerous as a mirage to a parched man lost in the desert.

In the pleasantly neon-lit sanctuary of a bustling bar, amidst the cacophony of clinking glasses and spirited conversations, he stuck out like a sore thumb with the air of melancholy around him, making people near his booth uneasy with the way he was observing everything — to them, he was not to be approached, as if one look to his way would be enough for him to start a fight, but in reality it was his inability to relax in crowds, subconscious calculating for unlikely scenarios to unfold and contingency plans on how to get away. Yet he’d wanted to come here just once anyway, see what made here one of Major Krauser’s favorites, it was psychological torture, but Leon did it to himself anyway, knowing so.

You came to Leon first when nobody would approach him, setting a starting point of the pattern in your relationship where this’d be repeating over and over again.

The stifling hot humidity of the South American forest and how heavier the stench of blood stuck at the back of his nose still followed him around months after, and you tracked the trail like a shark in the water, it was in the way you’d been openly watching him upon spotting him in his corner, in the way you slid towards him in the booth, eyes glinting, seeking, curious, expecting — giving straight away of how fresh you were to this compared to the poor unfortunate soul before you chasing after Operation Javier.

You looked young, around his age, but had a certain softness and eagerness that reminded him of an unprepared rookie back in 1998, so before you could get a word in, he’d said, “I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.”

You know how this ends.

Such first words. What a way to doom an entire relationship and a person.

If Leon knew how his words had shaped the reality he’d chosen, he’d have gone with something promising, more open, like, “How’d you know I wanted company?” — he’d expressed himself more, made his attraction more prominent, secured you to him better, but he was always about safety and protection, wasn’t he? Paranoid beyond belief, self-sabotaging. Of course he’d warned you about taking caution so you wouldn’t get hurt, especially given what had happened to the previous journalist looking into the operation.

Your reaction to this was opting to buy him a drink instead of getting intimidated. Leon had made it clear over and over again he wouldn’t tell you anything and to go your own way. You didn’t know anything about him other than being a connection of the White House to Operation Javier somehow and he certainly wouldn’t be the one reporting this back to the base, so he made sure this was about saving one more person’s life from being ruined in vain even after this brief encounter had led to a hasty hookup in a bathroom stall and eventually to a hotel room like he was some teenager with no control over his dick —

You had ruined everything.

Unabashedly interested in him and just pushing, eager, genuine, passionate as you kept talking about your job in wanting to expose corruption the more he kept things dry and silent, and he just saw the same spark in you that he had once; how naive, how idiotic, how endearing — such respect-worthy dignity and enthusiasm and drive that you had managed to find him of all people in your pursuit. He’d never been attracted to anyone quite like this, not the same way with Ada, not in that elusively mysterious and alluring, dangerous and unapproachable, thrilling distance, but the other end of the spectrum, the sort that fed on kinship and admiration that made him want to protect you from what he knew would happen if you kept going like this.

Jesus, it should have been discouraging you from this path and nothing more, instead, Leon had been randomly snapped out of years of dissociation and autopilot since Raccoon City, and for what? Mind-blowing sex he didn’t even know was coming for his throat on a random fall night in 2002?

Really, it was his routine being broken that had done it.

His life was meticulously governed by strict routines and unwavering habits, as if each day were a precisely choreographed fight, a paragon of order and structure. Leon’s world thrived on meticulous organization, where every document, tool, and weapon had its designated place. Even the symmetry of his living space mirrored the precision of his mind, with every item aligned flawlessly, punctuality eventually becoming second nature to him, his internal clock a finely tuned instrument, ensuring he was never a moment late, not at all a result of being late in his first day as a cop. Time was a precious commodity, a resource he safeguarded fiercely, as he understood that even the smallest delay could have dire consequences. This devotion to structure allowed him to remain laser-focused on his objectives, and also avoid hellish punishments back at Offutt Air Force Base located near Omaha, Nebraska where he had spent quite some time as a special agent trainee.

Military would make a clockwork out of anyone, but being trained under Major Krauser had turned him into a well-oiled machine that only had training and mission objectives in mind. Leon used to be highly adaptable and open to surprises before, but his encounter with you had revealed just how unprepared and anxious to impulses he’d been molded to become. Spontaneity had ended up a stranger to him, an unwelcome disruption that threatened to dismantle his carefully constructed world, and as an extension, anything else was regarded as losing control — which was, an unthinkable notion; he had been trained to maintain composure in the most chaotic of situations.

There wasn’t even the semblance of composure in how he handled you.

Never in his wildest dreams would he entertain the thought of someone managing to unbelievably, randomly, turn him on so uncontrollably one day that he’d lose his mind enough to risk public indecency in a fucking bathroom stall with pants around his ankles not only once, but twice.

Sitting on the toilet with your back to his chest, one leg spread wide open over his knee and the other hiked up in the air from his elbow, you basically limp in his arms as all you could concentrate on was shutting your mouth tight enough not to make noise as he wildly bounced you up and down on his lap — and the next thing he knew after blowing his load right after with no rest whatsoever was that he had you flat against the graffiti-stained door separating a bunch of girls from what the two of you were doing, one hand clamped on your mouth, having you press your thighs together so he could languidly slip back and forth against the tight crevice of your wetness and the plushness combined that he had to use all his control for the door to not rattle and feeling your pussy spasm each time he grazed your clit, his head buried in the crook of your neck whispering filth he didn’t know his mind was capable of conjuring right to your ear with no filter —- how much of a pervert you were to be enjoying this when all it had to take was a peep from you for people right in front of you to discover you were getting off to the thought the humiliation of being looked at while getting fucked from behind, all the while it was Leon who was dying to explode from how horny he was that it was unbearably painful.

And the only thing he could think about was to hell with it all and the hammering of his heart to hear you moan uncontrollably, he could just plunge inside you right then and there, had to bite down on your clothed shoulder to hold back the impulse, hell, it took everything in him to keep his breathing steady and not heave, every second the girls didn’t leave was dragged torture, his legs were trembling from holding back and the sheer excitement, but holy shit was it concentrated ecstasy that had his eyes rolling behind his head when they had finally left and he’d rammed himself in to the hilt so forcefully that the hinges of the door had almost broken off.

You had consumed him whole, your skin, your scent, your taste, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and pleasure and just digesting his whole being that he didn’t even have one grain of logic or common sense as a pea brain or nothing — just that he wanted to keep fucking and it was so soft and everything just felt so good and good god Leon was going to have an aneurysm from overheating because of you.

The post-nut clarity after all that was interesting to say the least.

A blood clot had to have shot up to his brain for his sanity to have snapped like that … And for him to think this wasn’t enough and he wanted more as you rested in his embrace — in a fucking bathroom stall. He wasn’t a people person. He simply didn’t do this shit in the first place, what was even happening?

Leon didn’t know what to be embarrassed about: of himself for doing this kind of thing in a place like this or disrespectfully exerting a woman to this degree, he had no idea whatsoever where all the talk about getting discovered had come from, didn’t that make Leon the pervert? Good lord.

He had to be thankful that you were coming down from a high and had no energy to turn around and look at his face, because you surely would see him transition from all shades of red out of shame. What the actual hell had come over him?

Leon was made aware that night that it’d been such a long time since he’d felt such a visceral physical response to someone that his whole body was in a flushed flurry — the kind of intensity that hadn’t even scraped the top of his heated need, he couldn’t even think before suggesting you two take this to somewhere else better that he could drown in this feeling some more.

The man who said this basking in your afterglow and the man who warned you about how this ended were two different people.

The man at the very beginning of this would have known better than to let himself indulge in you.

But your pull was worse than that of a black hole’s, and in Leon’s mind, him taking you to a hotel room was equivalent in his mind to tossing you over his shoulder like an impatient caveman foaming at the mouth, and he knew he’d looked so constipated and unenthusiastic about it back then because he was trying to keep his shit together and not let his libido rush straight to his head, it was absolutely batshit crazy that his mouth was fucking salivating over you and he had to physically fight not to get hard where he stood, especially after having a taste of how you melted in his arms and he just couldn’t keep his together and — this was unreal, Leon had never went into a frenzy over someone before and you’d just taken it.

He wanted to be gentle, enjoy it, savor it, and you weren’t even going anywhere, but even after he’d gotten him and you a room, Leon had taken you like he hadn’t fucked in his life before, like his dick had gotten hard for the first time in his life, and pathetically like he was desperate for his skin to touch another human being’s — and you…

You.

You had made everything worse.

He still remembered that exact moment when your hands found his hair, the gentleness of the caressing contrasting his rough rutting, he remembered how the rhythmic squeaking of the bed stuttered and gave it right away that he was caught off guard even though his head was buried in the cushion of your tits — embarrassing, utterly disgraceful, all that you’d done was pet his fucking head and his heart had purred like a goddamn cat, and even more shameful was that he’d come right on the spot when you’d started pulling on his strands, Jesus fuck, he wanted to die on the spot.

One condom change and a carry to the bed later (because Leon had shattered upon passing the threshold of the hotel door and he’d wrapped your legs around his hips and had you against the door, again) things had finally begun to become mellow and sensual as he’d started enjoying you, significantly calmer and more collected compared to before, paying more attention to how you liked it and what you liked, where you liked better, putting those observational skills to more gratifying uses.

Somehow this was the most satiated he’d been yet, actually taking in the sight of you struggling against the pleasure brought him the unexpectedly superior fulfillment to chasing his own height. He was alerted and awake, sensitive to the very last cell watching you, endeared, wanting to give you every last drop of euphoria he could just to see how you’d react to it. And the more he explored, the more he couldn’t get enough, so adorable, so sexy, so hot, how could he take pleasure in making someone cry? How and why the hell couldn’t his dick stay down for five minutes?

By the time he’d finally become downright spent and quenched the fire inside, the sun had already risen, the floor was just littered with ripped condom packets, you were covered in hickeys, bite marks and bruises that he’d questioned if he was a feral animal, and the sheets were… disgusting.

Leon was a repenting sinner with an imaginary tail between his tails when he’d wrapped you in clean linen and laid you on the sofa, changed the sheets, and straightened the pillows, getting you to pee and drawing a bath for you afterwards, it was mortifying he’d made you basically unable to walk for the time being, and he surely didn’t deserve your insistence that you two share the bath together, twice as horrified and disturbed at the tender intimacy with which you’d washed him, warm fingers massaging his scalp almost lulling him to sleep.

Sharing the room service breakfast, streaks of golden sunlight of the early hours washing your face and making the white of your bathrobe glow as he tried not to make it obvious he was ogling, you’d tricked him into promising you a date for all that he’d put you through that night, you’d be calling in sick; and Leon was covering his face in guilt and embarrassment inside even though all that he’d presented you was an abashed grin and an, “As the lady wishes.” — stupidly giddy enough to have lowered his guard (like that idiot in 1998) that you hadn’t suggested this because you wanted information out of him but were genuinely interested in his company, in him.

He wasn’t overthinking it back then, just reveling in your presence, luxuriating in the fluffy, satisfied, peaceful feeling, new to him, not afraid of how it could be ephemeral. He was drunk, and not conscious about the fact just yet.

The withdrawals had hit right after parting ways with you — this was a mistake, this was a huge mistake, he shouldn’t have promised anything, he shouldn’t even have done this in the first place. Leon had no time for this, couldn’t even keep a plant alive if he committed, didn’t know how it’d work, nobody was allowed to know about the kind of work he did, the world of bioterrorism was a secret kept so tightly it became nooses around the necks of nosey individuals.

He just couldn’t allow himself to loosen the leash around his normal because if he did let go of himself, he would make a mistake. That mistake could doom you.

More importantly than it not being fair to you, he’d be putting you in danger just by being in your proximity.

All that fretting around, putting the stress of wishing to see you again but the garbage feeling he mustn’t (that he hadn’t expected to make him this moody) into exercising more intensely than before, and ending up scaring the folks around the office unintentionally in work, only to feel immediately like spring had come at the drop of a hat when you’d called saying because he hadn’t, apparently, and you were waiting for him.

This was terrifying. How you made him feel... It was entirely out of his control.

I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.

Leon should have kept telling this to himself.

ii. The date was at your place, planned from start to finish by you, an attentiveness and special treatment he didn’t deserve, but Leon got warm inside anyway, especially after you said this seemed like the better option since he didn’t seem to do well in crowds. Something about him being noticed on this kind of personal level had caused him to confuse his right from his left and he was sure his palms were sticky just from that and the way you smiled.

You’d said you wanted to get to know him, and Leon unfortunately didn’t have enough going out experience to decide if cooking together and then sitting down to solve a murder mystery game was the most creative thing ever or not, because he thought it was.

At the end of this, he knew you much better, and had shown you himself in a way that wouldn’t be possible by answering questions.

Leon had approached the murder mystery solving game with a calculated and analytical mindset, trained to think strategically, he had diligently assessed every clue, scrutinizing them for hidden meanings and connections. He hadn’t meant to get invested this much, but he had ended up approaching the game like a covert operation and a blast from the past to his police academy days, examining evidence with sharp attention to detail and requiring evidence instead of just a hunch like you kept hitting him with. Each clue was like a piece of intel, and he’d taken the murder of Mrs. Huntington very seriously. Relying on his instincts, leveraging his experience in decoding complex situations to unravel the layers of the mystery, his logical thinking and ability to tackle every single thread of this one by one had brought structure and organization to their investigative process.

In contrast, you had embraced the game with innate curiosity and unlike him, a childlike interest — like a game should be perceived. As an investigative journalist, he’d seen that you had a natural knack for delving deep into stories and uncovering hidden narratives, embarking on the game with a keen eye for the human element, looking beyond the surface level clues to understand the motivations and emotions of the characters involved. You thrived on the adrenaline rush of piecing together the puzzle, always seeking out the next lead or breakthrough, and brainstorming on the possibilities, which clashed with Leon, leading to a sort of bickering that was entertaining, really. Your inquisitive nature and intuition led you to explore alternative perspectives, constantly questioning assumptions and seeking out overlooked details.

When was the last time he’d had this much fun? Leon didn’t remember.

All that you’d given him that night was a kiss, he hadn’t minded you halting things before the heavy makeout session that had his brain melting like jello could escalate into something more, and he definitely didn’t mind being hypnotized into saying yes for doing this again sometime in the future — when he should have cut things off.

Leon really couldn’t seem to think coherently around you.

And, despite his better judgment, there was a third time. There also was a fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Seventh. Until he forgot it was a matter of numbers and he simply kept seeing you — that was it.

Amidst the unlabeled dates that unfolded between you and Leon, there was an undeniable disparity in your cooking styles. While he considered himself a decent cook, you couldn't help but find his dishes lacking in flavor and spice, often describing them as bland. Nonetheless, there was a silver lining to this culinary discrepancy: Leon's competence in the kitchen ensured that all ten of his fingers remained intact, a feat that seemed elusive whenever you attempted to prepare a meal.

Your culinary misadventures had reached a crescendo one fateful day, as Leon returned home to a scene of chaos. The kitchen lay in disarray, food scattered about, a bloody rag, and a knife ominously present. Heart shooting up to his throat, he practically shouted, "Oh my god, what the hell happened?"

It was then that you revealed your mishap, a deep and severe cut that required stitches. Despite the severity of the injury, you had opted not to seek medical attention to avoid the burden of an exorbitant bill. Unbeknownst to you, Leon possessed exceptional suturing skills, honed through the necessity of tending to his own wounds after the hazards of his missions. He hadn't disclosed this fact of course, but rather emphasized his meticulousness when it came to first aid that he’d taken a course on it in the past.

He kept on boomeranging back to you every time he regretted the previous entanglement the morning after, dreading this was bound to end badly and he should leave you alone. He could… He could get sex elsewhere, he was a dog on a leash because stumbling on physical compatibility on this level had made him an idiot, that must have been it, he thought.

But that wasn’t the issue at all. Nothing had thrown him off and even affected his daily life the way your absence did. It wasn’t craving the skin contact and fantasizing about the next affair that did Leon the damage, it was simply wanting to see you and be by you that even his appetite was lost along the way — he had been scared of what this was. The utter enormity of it made him panic.

In the depths of his soul, a bubbling longing simmered up and up, getting close to the surface the more he deprived himself of you, taking over him with an intensity that defied description. His heart echoed with the fading echoes of your laughter, a melody he yearned to hear once more and came back to him when he least expected it — in the field he could chase away all thoughts and concentrate, but in the waking moments devoid of action, his thoughts collapsed toward you, unable to escape the gravitational pull of your absence. A hunger, primal and unyielding, gnawed at his core, a hunger for the touch of your hand in his hair, the warmth of your embrace, the nightmare-free, cloud-soft sleeps by your side. He’d come to find solace in fragments of memories, savoring the remnants of your presence, like faded polaroids etched in his mind. It was unbelievable to notice the world around him grew muted and colorless, as if drained of life's vibrancy, each passing day intensifying the ache, searing his heart with an inconsolable longing, fueling he urge he kept resisting to bridge the chasm of his own making that separated him and you.

Leon had to accept he liked you despite himself, liked you to the point of no return, and that he was afraid to admit the stronger word.

iii. He couldn’t tell you who he truly was and precisely because of that, couldn’t fully let you in.

Countless reasons came up to defend why this was for the best — it not only protected his heart but also protected you by keeping you at a certain distance from all of this ridiculous baggage…

And he took notice of you noticing and being accepting regardless, settling for whatever you could when you shouldn’t.

He was such a selfish man to keep taking advantage of that to stay however he was able to, a hedgehog’s dilemma.

Leon had managed to find boundaries of your unpredictability and had managed to establish a routine, an ebb and flow of some sorts, entirely dependent on the volatile schedule of his missions that you had no idea of and tried acting nonchalant about — the absences, the bruises, the emotional unavailability after losses he had to keep to himself. He had to be wearing you down, crawling back through the dirt and the blood and the undying monstrosities only to be mute about everything and go straight for your embrace in search of a moment's peace.

And what about you?

The part of himself that was still sane knew he was making you suffer because of his selfishness, stringing you along in this unlabeled affair with the excuse it was with your eventual well-being in mind when it was easier for him — in the sense that if it came to the worst, you’d be able to come out of this on top and just hate and keep blaming him so you wouldn’t be hurt in the long run.

But it was selfish, he still wanted to keep being around you, though, didn’t have the right or face to say he wanted you, so orbiting you was the best he could afford to do.

Just for a little longer. A bit more.

Leon wished you would be done with him and tell him to leave you alone so he could finally get out of your life for good, but in all his returns you welcomed him coming back with open arms. It was the garden of Eden and he didn’t belong there, feeling like a pillager sneaking in and getting whatever he wanted and fucking right off afterwards, each and every time leaving you with less and less and a faded viridescence.

But he couldn’t stay. Not for as long as he wanted. Never in the way you deserved.

And before Leon knew it, he and you had toppled two years of his bullshit — and you were still here throughout it all..

In 2004, the truth of bioterrorism and the existence of monstrous abominations with no regard for human ethics were thrust upon the world, and wiped yet another Raccoon City off from the map of the mediterranean — and things got so much more confusing in regards to what was allowed to be secret or not.

Unbeknownst to you, it was this incident that unknowingly contributed to the growing rift between you. Leon carried the heavy burden of witnessing the President's decision to deny AUPIT’s assistance to the FBC, leaving him as a mere bystander while hundreds of lives were lost due to the incompetence and inexperience of those involved. Even Terrasave, an organization not known for its extraction expertise, fared better in their efforts.

The Terragrigia Panic became a turning point, a catalyst for Leon's introspection, the weight of the world he couldn’t lift one finger to help pressed upon him, driving him towards self-destruction and an ever-deepening spiral of despair, soul scarred by the consequences of inaction and the haunting memories of present lives lost and a past city long in the dust. He questioned the system that bound his hands, preventing him from making the difference he so desperately yearned for. It was during these tumultuous times that you stood by him, unaware of the inner battles he fought and the toll it took on his well-being, and it made him feel so much worse about everything.

His heart trammeled with the inevitable conclusion he could no longer ignore, he made the painful decision to set you free from the grip of his own shortcomings. Overwhelmed by a sense of unworthiness and consumed by his own greed, he knew he had to release you, unable to bear the weight of his own inadequacy any longer.

The timing, eerily close to the anniversary of the day he first met you, held a bitter irony. It was as if fate had conspired to test the limits of his resolve, presenting him with the most challenging mission of his life just as he made this life-altering choice. Bound for Spain, his path was paved with uncertainty, fraught with danger — but he’d sworn that things would be different this time and he could actually return, reformed and squeaky clean, somehow this mission could be his saving grace and actually wipe his brain clean of grime and rust.

The break-up had loomed before Leon like an impending storm, and he had steeled himself for the emotional turbulence that would surely follow, however, what caught him off guard was the resignation from you, as if you had anticipated his intentions and thoughts, ready to release him with open arms — eager to say yes the moment the words would slip out of his mouth.

Devastated would be an understatement to describe him — he’d sat frozen on the kitchen chair, his mind a tempest of confusion and disbelief, the composed and scripted nature of your words waterboarding him as you continued to speak, nonchalantly expressing your expectations of this inevitable departure. You seemed braced, almost as if you had been reading his mind, as if you knew this day would come. The nonchalant manner in which you spoke of his leaving, seemingly devoid of any emotional attachment, tore at his heart. It was like time itself had paused, and Leon felt the dissociation creep in, his mind unable to process the scale of what was happening, the world around him blurring, finding himself lost in a void of numbness. How could it be that you were so ready to let him go? How could you speak of no hard feelings when his heart was shattering into countless fragments?

Yeah, right.

Betrayal was it.

He’d felt betrayed by you when he had no right to be angry like that — because he had warned you right from the start.

You know how this ends.

You’d taken his advice. Leon should have, as well.

iv. It wasn’t only his jacket that’d got taken away by the village freaks, but also the watch you had given him as a gift — which the loss of was more personal and lethal to him.

And he had no time to look for it between saving and taking care of Ashley and trying to navigate a much bigger conspiracy.

Coming to terms with the fact that it was gone, just like you, seemed poetically fitting, a form of karma that he should lose a memento of you when he hadn't proven himself deserving of it in the first place.

At the back of his mind was the memory of you trying to act like it wasn’t for anything special when Leon knew it was the first anniversary of the day you and he met, you just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, walking around eggshells around him with the vaguest boundaries and definitions unspelled so he wouldn’t run away — Leon knew all too well.

He had mentioned going for some type of Casio G-Shock when recounting he’d been meaning to buy a new one, and you’d apparently paid attention to that, not at all questioning why he would want a solar powered watch with 1312 ft. of water resistance — and had given him another much more sporty Longines stainless steel chronograph watch on the side, absolutely humbling him on the spot with just how much money you had to have spent on these two — and the amount of thought you had put into it.

Modifications on both watches were specifically allowed by him, he'd gotten your initials and the Roman symbols of that day in the fall of 2002 engraved at the back of them to deceive himself, interchangeably using them, the Casio one in the missions, and the Longines in casual days, not bothering to buy any other watch for himself after that. You would see him wearing it all the time, but fortunately for his abashed pride, never commented on it, having no idea just how important they were to him.

And it was Ada who casually reunited him with it, her throw of the watch certainly gentler than that of the jet ski key’s, as she was walking away with the Amber, a mysterious, knowing glance in his way, a perfectly shaped smile on her glossy lips. “Here. Consider this an equal exchange. Learn to take better care of special things, Leon.”

Somehow she wasn’t just talking about the watch and it irritated him, but she was right.

v. The depths of Leon's feelings for you were intertwined with an overwhelming sense of terror.

It terrified him to realize how much he needs you, how your presence has become an integral part of his existence, that you were now the surface he swam up to breathe after hours in the dark of the ocean, and the desire for reciprocation, for you to need him just as deeply, and knowing that you do but unable to bring himself to do anything about it, all filled him with longing and apprehension, both holding hands hiding behind the walls of his own making, pulling each other back as they kept watching you from afar.

He feared that he may not be enough for you, that his flaws and past were going to inevitably cause harm and ruin.

The emotions that surged through him when you were near, the way his heart raced and his thoughts became consumed — it was new, it was unknown, it was exhilarating, it was petrifying. The spotlight of the vulnerability he’s put in was a double-edged sword, for it exposed him to the potential for joy, but also, immense pain.

He could lose everything and it would lay waste to his soul, yet in the face of this fear, he couldn’t bear the thought of pushing you away completely, because the terror of being without you somehow had become equally paralyzing that he couldn’t breathe in the PTSD-rooted nightmares of them anymore.

Thus, you had found yourselves trapped in a state of limbo, unsure of where to go or how to proceed, but it was his fault, he thought of himself as a flightless bird sitting up on a roof with you, who could obviously fly; if he attempted to follow you he could fall, if he let you go you would migrate to warmer lands and would never come back. so you were both stuck there, and none of the scenarios involved — what if he could also fly? What if he could do what he thought he wasn’t capable of?

The thought of losing you now, after experiencing the depth of how far he could go with you; the promise, the mirage, the illusion, the dream, was a sense of impending devastation. And yet, he was plagued by the fear that it may already be too late to salvage what he once had with you. What he could have with you, if he allowed himself to surrender —

Leon had changed, he wasn’t the same person, but he also hadn’t changed, hadn’t lost himself no matter the cost, hadn’t strayed from the original path he was treading on — he was capable of saving people, capable of changing the ending.

Spain was as traumatizing as it was eye-opening and life-changing, through the reunion with Ada, the betrayal of Major Krauser, the loss of Luis and the successful extraction of Ashley, one single thread of hope had been holding Leon up and running:

He had to get back to you.

He would come back to you, no matter what, even from the grave, even knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t take him back. To hell with taking comfort in a self-defined ending, to hell with the facade of protecting you when it was just protecting him, to hell with everything.

This time, it had to be different.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #quote in the summary belongs to baneofambitions

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