You Made It Shine

Just This Once

Pairing: Kakashi x Female!Reader

Warnings: smut, breeding kink, he gets lost in the sauce frfr, situationship… ish?, this man wants to RUN, disorganised attachment style (primarily avoidant), penis in vagina sex, teasing, edging (accidental), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Kakashi discovers that he has a breeding kink. It's kind of a spiritual experience.

Inspired by @rookie98writes's fic Leave It On

—

Kakashi isn’t used to the strange sort of domesticity that comes with being in a... whatever this is. It’s not quite a relationship. A situationship, maybe. He’d say it’s something more than friends-with-benefits, but the two of you aren’t really friends, either.  

You come together every now and then. That’s all. Like two passing ships in the night. 

So why is he standing in front of your stove, cooking dinner while you sort through the pile of unopened mail on your kitchen table? Why did he offer to water your plants while you were away? Why does he want to do anything for you? 

Kakashi knows what it’s like trying to play catch-up after some time away from home—two months, in your case. He’d knocked on your door a few minutes ago with the intention of returning your key, and he must have caught you right after you got back from the store if the two bags of groceries on your kitchen counter were any indication. 

You looked so dead on your feet that Kakashi took over from there, unprompted. But now, as he stirs the pot of flavourful soup simmering away on the stove, his mind sees fit to wander.  

What the hell is he doing?  

He’s getting too attached. That’s what he’s doing.  

It’s that time again—time to cut and run, just as he always does when things start to become complicated. Kakashi makes a habit of ending any potential connection before it can even start, because he can’t afford to lose anyone else. He can’t get hurt if he never lets anyone in. It’s easier that way. 

“I need to schedule my injection,” you mutter to yourself as you read through one letter. Then you sigh and toss it back down onto the table, before you lean back in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “We should probably get used to using condoms again until I can book an appointment.” 

Your birth control must be overdue, then.  

“Sure,” Kakashi answers, feigning unbothered. The two of you used condoms in the beginning, but after a particularly gruesome mission that nearly saw him home in a box, Kakashi stopped reaching for the bedside drawer, and you stopped asking him to.  

He should have known then that he was getting too attached. 

Still, it’s your body. Whatever you want. He’ll end things in the morning either way. 

As Kakashi samples a bit of the soup he’s minding on the stove, pausing for a moment to add a bit more salt, it suddenly sinks in – really sinks in – what could happen if the two of you aren’t careful.  

He could get you pregnant. 

A jolt of arousal shoots through him.

Kakashi doesn’t want children, not now, not ever, which is why it doesn’t make a lick of sense that such a thing would turn him on. He likes the idea of his seed taking root inside of you. He might even enjoy it, the imagery his mind conjures—you bent over for him, begging him to give you a baby, your pretty yukata hiked up around your waist…  

His clan crest embroidered on the back of it.  

Kakashi swears. Loudly.

You startle, looking over at him in alarm. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he lies. Then he proceeds to play it off like he burned himself, but he isn’t fine. No, that single thought, that single fantasy, scares the complete and utter shit out of him—but it turns him on even more, and that’s so much worse.  

He’s already too attached. Way too fucking attached. 

—

Kakashi doesn’t do feelings. He has them, of course, much like any other person, but he doesn’t let them show very often, and he certainly doesn’t talk about them. He won’t say in so many words that he cares; instead, he shows you through his actions alone. 

His knees brush the underside of your thighs as he settles between your legs, bracing himself with one hand beside your head.  

What a vision you make, spread out for him like this.  

Your lamp had blown when you went to turn it on, leaving the streetlights to illuminate your features in a sickly hue of yellow-green. It isn’t romantic in the least, but he can’t help thinking that you’ve never looked more beautiful than in this moment—maybe because it’s the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this.  

The sight of you, so needy and wanting, fills his chest with something bittersweet.  

The tomoe of his sharingan spins lazily as he memorises the curves of your body, the muss of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest as you work to recover from your first orgasm of the night. His fingers are still tacky with your essence, and he smears the residual wetness over the head of his cock to make the entry a little easier. 

“You should wear a condom,” comes your breathy whisper, but you make no move to stop him. Your eyes almost seem to glow as you peer up at him in the dark, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. 

“Mm. Do you want me to?” 

His question hangs heavy in the air.  

The only things Kakashi can hear are your soft breaths and the sound of his own steady heartbeat, which quickens with every silent second that passes.  

You want to say no, he realises.  

He wants you to say no. 

“I like it better without,” you answer quietly, and the implication isn’t lost on him. Not when you look up at him with those big doe eyes, like you don’t know the risk. 

Because there is a risk, and he knows it. Kakashi hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it all night—wicked thoughts, terrible thoughts—thoughts of filling your fertile womb with his seed, thoughts of watching your belly grow round with his child, thoughts of seeing his clan sigil stamped between your shoulder blades like a mark of ownership. 

His.  

Against his better judgement, Kakashi does exactly what he shouldn’t do.  

He agrees.

“Just this once.”  

Just like he says every other time—except every other time, there hasn't been a risk.

Your coy little smile is what prompts him to lower down onto an arm and settle more of his weight on you. Kakashi dips his head to kiss you indulgently, savouring the taste of you, the feel of you beneath him. He kisses you like he hopes to convey just how much he missed you while you were gone, like you might be able to taste the unspoken words that linger in his mouth. 

He kisses you like he means it—and he does. That’s why he needs to go. 

As his tongue twines with yours, Kakashi fills you in a slow, beautiful glide that wrenches a whimper from your throat. 

He knows he should go easy on you, but he relishes in the rapid flutter of your walls as you struggle to adjust to him after so much time apart. A surge of masculine pride washes over him, tinged with a hint of guilt for stretching you open like this. He isn’t exactly small, after all, but you take him so well. 

To ease any potential discomfort, he smooths his hand up the soft skin of your thigh in a soothing caress, before he trails gentle, placating kisses along your jawline. “Is this okay?” Kakashi asks, voice low, only to be rewarded with a particularly strong contraction that makes his toes curl. 

“More than okay,” you sigh. 

As a test, he shifts his hips. When Kakashi hears your breath hitch, he knows that you can handle more.  

He starts slow, rocking into you sensually, but he already knows that he isn’t going to last. It’s been just as long for him, and you’re tighter than you’ve ever been.  

“God, Kakashi, you feel so good.”  

So do you. Kakashi sucks a bruise on your neck in response, if only to muffle the sound of his own pleasure when your perfect cunt clenches around him again.  

He needs to pace himself, or he’ll finish too soon—but then you ask him for more, and what else can he do but oblige you?

He speeds up, not overly so, just enough that both of you can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of your lovemaking. The smell of your arousal permeates the air, and he’s tempted to have another taste. 

Later. 

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. “Did you miss me that much?” 

Maybe he’s reassurance-seeking – just a little – but your answering whine tells him what he already knows. 

He’ll miss this. He’ll miss you. That’s why he needs to go. 

“Stay with me,” you rasp. You’ve always been good at noticing when he’s stuck in his head, but right now, Kakashi can’t help but wonder if you’ve just read his thoughts. You see through him so easily. It’s one of the things he likes about you. 

“Sorry,” he says with genuine apology, leaning in to capture your lips again. You let out a pleased hum into his mouth and lift your thighs up a little higher—an offering, one he’s more than happy to accept, even if he doesn’t plan to reciprocate.  

It’s selfish, he knows. 

The new angle does something to him, or maybe it’s because he's well aware that it would be even easier to fill you up this way. He reaches deeper like this, and the tilt of your hips would perfectly hold his cum in place, increasing the chances that it’ll take. 

He wants it to take. 

Kakashi exhales a long, shaky breath. He shouldn’t want that as much as he does. He shouldn’t want it at all.  

“Close?”  

Yes, but he’s not going to tell you that. Kakashi pulls back to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him like he’s hung the moon. It makes his heart ache.  

He stamps it down. 

“I could be,” he teases lightly—a non-answer. “Are you?” 

When you open your mouth to respond, however, he snaps his hips forward suddenly to make you trip over your words. “I— shit,” you swear, and his eyes shine with silent laughter. Your own narrow playfully as you add, “I could be too, if you keep that up.”  

“Really?” 

To pick on you a little, Kakashi withdraws from your tight heat more slowly than he has all night, agonisingly slowly, until only the head of him remains inside; and then he lingers there, purposely, until the stirrings of impatience start to take you over.  

It’s cute, the frown you give him, the pout he sees beginning to form.  

“Don’t be mean,” you tell him sulkily. 

His lips tug up at the corners, revealing a hint of prominent canine. “Maa, I didn’t realise you were in a rush,” Kakashi drawls. “And here I wanted to take my time with you.”  

Before you can read too much into what he’s just said, he slams home. Hard.

Your startled gasp brings on a flicker of self-satisfaction deep within. Kakashi relishes in the knowledge that only he can make you feel like this—especially when he starts to fuck you in earnest, prompting you to fling your arms around his shoulders.  

“F-Fuck, Kakashi, oh my god—” 

“That’s it,” he encourages gently. “Hold onto me.” He likes the closeness of it, the intimacy.

You cling to him like your life depends on it, which brings about a funny feeling in his chest that he can’t quite shake—something warm and gooey and affectionate.  

Kakashi stamps that down, too, and traces the line of your neck with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin until you shiver. Seeing your throat so littered with love bites unearths something within him, something primal, that he’s always refused to name.

He likes seeing the marks he’s left on you. He wants them to mean something. He wants them to mean that you’re his. 

He’s too attached.  

To distract himself from what he intends to do in the morning, Kakashi picks up the pace, flesh smacking against flesh as he snaps his hips into yours, fast and rough, exactly how you want it.  

It doesn’t last long. He’s too worked up.  

Kakashi knows he’ll come before you do if he continues like this, but when he tries to slow down, you dig your heels insistently into his ass. 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop, please—” 

“I’ll have to pull out soon,” he says raggedly, even though the thought of finishing in you already has him ready to blow.

When Kakashi feels you lock your ankles behind him, he nearly does.  

“Come inside me,” you whine, your breath fanning hot over the shell of his ear.  

His thoughts screech to a halt. You want him to come inside you, knock you up— 

“Fuck,” he curses, stopping abruptly, buried all the way to the hilt. His cock throbs wildly, desperate for release, forcing him to tightly grip the the sheets above your head in order to stave it off. 

If he moves right now, he’s done for.  

When you make a quiet, frustrated sound deep in your throat and wiggle your hips, Kakashi barely manages to hang on. He can feel that tell-tale flutter inside of you, the one that indicates exactly how close you are, but he’s closer. His breaths come out in short, sharp pants as he tries to hold himself together.  

You finish first. Always. 

“Don’t be mean,” you say again, but you sound a little more petulant this time.  

Kakashi lets out an exhausted sort of laugh and presses a wet smack of a kiss just beneath your ear, making you giggle. “You like it when I’m mean.”  

“I like it when you’re nice,” you clap back, voice breathy. 

Kakashi hums knowingly. “All right. I can be nice.”  

Then he pulls back just enough to pepper your face with kisses, and you squeal in delight, though it soon tapers off into a moan when he starts to trail them down your throat, each one more sensual than the last. He palms one of your breasts, gently squeezing, tweaking a nipple— 

“Come on,” you whine, digging your heels into his ass a second time. 

He laughs softly at that. No more teasing. You want him to be nice.

You inhale sharply when Kakashi picks back up where he left off, this time with quick, shallow thrusts that target your g-spot. He smooths his hand down your side, savouring the softness of your skin, then he slides it in between your bodies to rub your clit in just the way you like—the way he remembers you like, because he’s too fucking attached. And sure enough, when your hips buck from the added sensation, he knows that it’s working for you. 

“If you—If you edge me again, I swear to god—” 

Upon hearing the indignation in your voice, Kakashi laughs softly. “I won’t.” 

Then he remembers that he won’t have a chance to edge you again. Not after tonight. 

His jaw tenses at the reminder. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you gasp, holding onto him, needing him, which pulls him right back into the present. “Come with me. Please?” 

Kakashi bites back a groan and slides in deeper, readying to do what his body craves. 

No. He can’t come with you. He’d have to finish inside in order for that to happen. 

And just like that, he’s back to teetering on the edge. The filth his mind conjures nearly proves to be his undoing—a vivid image of your tight, wet cunt wringing out every drop of his cum until it takes, tying you to him, making you need him. Making you his. The threat of it simmers under his skin, but it’s starting to feel more like a guarantee. 

Get her there, then pull out. 

Kakashi repeats those words in his head like a mantra, over and over, like it’ll ensure that he lasts, and it works—at least until you start to move your hips in time with his thrusts. You meet him at the perfect angle, sucking him deep on every stroke, allowing him to slide just beyond your cervix and into that spot that sends your voice into a fever pitch. 

A choked sob escapes you as you rake your nails down his back, leaving red lines in your wake. The sting of it only sends him higher, and he sinks his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder to prevent himself from blowing too soon. 

“Right there, Kakashi, right fucking there—” 

Right there, so deep within you that if he came right now— 

He groans when he imagines what would happen, and it all ends with his baby in your belly and his family crest on your back. It shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, yet he fucks into you with purpose, now—hard, deep, powerful thrusts that knock your headboard into the wall. 

Kakashi knows exactly what that purpose is. The primal part of his brain won’t let him forget it. 

“Yes, just like that, fuck me, make me fucking yours—” 

He kisses you to shut you up, because if he hears another syllable, he’s sure to fill you to the brim. It’s not a gentle kiss, not now. He holds your head in place with a firm grip on your jaw, shoves his tongue into your mouth to assert his control, and still, he recites his mantra. 

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then pull out.  

Get her there, then—  

You jerk your head away to gulp in a breath of fresh air, chest heaving from exertion, and Kakashi’s eyes sweep over your face for any sign of discomfort. What he finds is the opposite, and he drinks in the pleasured scrunch of your brows, the hazy flutter of your eyelids, the kiss-swollen state of your lips. 

Seeing your muscles tense and strain as you struggle to keep your eyes on his is one of the most intimate things he’s ever experienced.  

“Come inside me,” you beg, and he can hear the desperation there, see it written all over your pretty face. “I need it, I fucking need it, Kakashi, give me your cum—” 

“I’ll give it to you,” he chokes out. Anything for you. Anything you want. 

The way your fingers wrench into his hair belies a hunger that matches his own, and you drag him down for another kiss, messy and insistent, demanding that he make good on his promise to pump you full. He can feel the ripple of your inner walls as you come undone, feel the painfully tight squeeze of your legs around his waist, holding him there, ensuring that he stays; and never in his life has he felt so overwhelmed.  

He can’t pull out. Not now. Not when you’re so willing to milk him dry. 

Kakashi kisses you with everything that he is as he shoves himself impossibly deep inside of you, acting solely on instinct to drown your cervix in hot, sticky spend. He lets out a sound of pure male satisfaction that you eagerly swallow down, your tongue massaging his in tune with every erratic jerk of his hips as he empties himself inside of you, painting your insides white, marking you as his.  

It feels good. It feels right. 

He’s too attached. 

He doesn’t care. 

As he comes down from his high, all Kakashi can think about is how fucking risky it is, what he’s just done, which only ruins him more when the post-orgasm clarity finally hits. 

Why the hell did he do that?  

What the hell did he do?

Your thighs tremble and shake, a sign that he’s done his job well, though he feels no pride in it—just a growing sense of panic.  

He needs to go. He needs to go right now. Not tomorrow. Now. He needs to get the hell out of here and never look back, right fucking now.  

Then he hears your quiet sob, and his heart leaps into his throat. Kakashi jerks his head down to look at you, and when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks, he actually does panic.  

“Did I— Shit,” he quickly pulls out to check on you, more attentive than he’s ever been, “Did I hurt you?” 

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s accidentally hurt a woman during sex, but he really should have taken it easier on you. He probably went too deep and hit your cervix a little too hard. That’s what usually tends to happen. 

“No,” you sniffle. “I’m fine. I just... I really missed you.” 

Fuck. Don’t say that. You’ll make him want to stay.  

His eyes soften as they trail over your features – the colour of your irises, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips – and he gently smooths your tears away with the backs of his fingers. “I didn’t hurt you?” 

You shake your head and offer him a watery smile. “I also came really, really hard,” you add matter-of-factly, and he huffs out a relieved laugh. It’s hormonal, then. “They’re happy tears, Kakashi. Calm down.” 

Teasing or not, someone telling him of all people to calm down is an otherworldly experience. The phrase lands strangely, and for the first time since he came to see you tonight, his thoughts quiet down to a dull background murmur. 

They’re happy tears, you said. 

You’re happy with him. 

He’s happy with you, too. He doesn’t want to go.  

You frown, then, and lean up onto your elbows to look at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”  

Kakashi can’t be sure what you see in his expression to warrant that sort of question, but the fight finally leaves him. He sits back on his heels and drags a hand down his face, feeling defeated for a reason he can’t explain.  

“I was just...” Happy, for a moment. Happy to be with you. “Worried,” he finishes lamely. He can’t look at you, not when he feels the heat of a blush creeping up his neck. 

You laugh and turn him back towards you, gently cupping the side of his face. “Okay. Well, I’m fine,” you pat his cheek in playful reprimand, “but I am leaking all over my clean sheets, and it’s your fault, so...”  

That draws his attention. When Kakashi sees the creamy mess spilling out of you, his flaccid cock twitches with interest even after he remembers why his stomach is in knots.  

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely, transfixed by the sight. 

He wants to do it again.  

He shouldn’t want to do it again. He feels fucking crazy for having done it once already, when the two of you aren’t even in a relationship, let alone in any way prepared for a child. But again? A second time? He’d have to be certifiably insane. 

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, and Kakashi wonders how the hell you can possibly be taking it so in stride. He came a lot. There’s so much of it dripping out onto the sheets that it’s starting to create a small puddle under your ass, and there’s even more inside of you—a lot more, judging by how hard he came. 

It might take. It might seriously take, and you think it’s fine? 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him, and his eyes snap back up to yours. He’s in his head again, you mean. Then you chew your lip for a moment, hesitation evident, before you ask carefully, “You’ve been acting a little… off tonight. Is everything okay?”  

Every single one of his instincts is telling him to run. That’s where this conversation always leads, but he’s not ready for it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

He swallows thickly. “I’m fine.” 

When you frown at him, skeptical, Kakashi shifts uncomfortably under your gaze.  

“Okay. I won’t pry. But, um, I’m here. You know. If you ever need to talk.” You say it a little awkwardly, like you aren’t sure if he’d be offended by the suggestion, and the worried crease between your brows only grows at whatever you see in his expression. “Or... Or not.” 

You laugh nervously, then, and shift away from him, only to wrinkle your nose when more of his cum oozes out of you.  

It’s cute. You’re cute. 

“You said it’s fine. Why?” The question leaves him before he even thinks it through, but it’s too late, now.  

“What?” 

This wasn’t the first time he’s come inside of you, not by a long shot, but it’s certainly the riskiest. “I finished inside. Why aren’t you more upset?” 

“What do you mean? You finish inside me all the—” Then you stop, and your brows shoot straight up onto your forehead. “Wait, is this because of my birth control?”  

“Well, it’s overdue, isn’t it?”  

You stare at him for a prolonged moment, and he can almost see the gears turning in your head. Then your nostrils flare. “Are you kidding me? You thought my birth control was overdue, and you still—” Scandalised, you slap him on the arm. “Kakashi!” 

Oh. Well. It must not be overdue yet, then. 

Of course you wouldn’t let him come inside if there was a chance that you might conceive. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“That’s so bad! What if you actually got me pregnant?” 

A lick of heat shoots up his spine upon hearing you give voice to what’s been on his mind all night. Kakashi stares at you, wide eyed, and blushes all the way to the tips of his ears.  

You study his face for a moment, before you purse your lips, looking a little troubled. Or pissed off. He can’t really tell. “I mean... Did you want to get me pregnant?” 

“No,” he rushes to say, his cheeks burning hot because yes, he did, but not for real.  “No. Not at all. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and...”  

How the hell is he supposed to explain himself? Neither of you are exactly vanilla, you’ve explored a number of kinks together, but this is something else entirely. Then again, a breeding kink would make the most sense out of any, considering it stems from a biological urge to procreate. 

But would you even believe him if he said he only gets off to the fantasy of it, and not the reality? Because if a woman ever said that to him, he’d run away as fast as he could. 

A sly smile tugs at your lips, then, a knowing smile, and Kakashi quickly averts his eyes to the window, embarrassed. 

“You like it, don’t you?” you hum, seductively walking your fingers along his shoulders. “You like the idea of knocking me up.” 

Refusing to look at you, Kakashi clears his throat, trying to ignore the arousal that comes on from your suggestive tone, never mind the words you speak in it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“No?” The sheets rustle as you reposition yourself, and then, when your fingers delicately wrap around his cock, he inhales sharply and bites the inside of his cheek. “Then why are you so hard?”  

And he is, too. He’s already fully erect and ready for another round, and he knows that there’s no way to lie his way out of it anymore. As you start to work your hand over him in slow, sensual strokes, up and down, coaxing the answer out of him, his head drops back. 

“Because,” he rasps.  

The sheets shift again, and then you crawl into his lap. He welcomes you gladly, splaying his hand over your lower back to steady you, though he still can’t face you. He’s too embarrassed. 

“Because why?” you ask breathlessly. Kakashi lets out a pleasured sigh as you kiss and suck your way up the side of his neck, stroking him steadily, before you purr into his ear, “Because you want to give me a baby?” 

A soft sound of approval rips out of his throat, and his cock twitches into your palm. “Don’t—Don’t say that,” he pleads. 

“Hm? Why not?” 

To hell with it. No sense in hiding it anymore. “Because I might actually do it.” 

“Yeah?” Your teeth tug playfully at his earlobe before you pull back to look at him, and Kakashi finally wills himself to meet your sultry gaze, humiliated though he is. “You know,” you muse, “I don’t like condoms for a reason. Do you know why?” 

The breath leaves his lungs with a whoosh.

Oh, he should have known. You’re just as filthy as he is. Of course you’d have a breeding kink, too, though he’s exceedingly grateful that you’d kept it to yourself until now. You’ve never been shy about sharing the things you enjoy, which means you probably figured out how he’d react. That’s the only explanation. 

He likes that you understand him as well as you do. 

He likes you.

“I think I might be able to guess,” Kakashi says knowingly, a smile playing at his lips. When he leans in to kiss you again, all he can think is: maybe it’s not a bad thing to be too attached. 

—

Snippet #1:

“You said it was overdue,” Kakashi tells you. 

“No, I said I needed to make an appointment,” you correct, and he can see that you’re struggling not to laugh. “I still have, like, a week left on it. I just didn’t think I’d be able to get an appointment that soon. It doesn’t hurt to be careful.” 

While you cook breakfast for the two of you, Kakashi wraps his arms around your waist from behind and traces the shell of your ear with his tongue.  “And what if I don’t want to be careful?”  

He feels the shiver wrack your body, but then you do laugh at him. “Down, boy. Three rounds wasn’t enough for you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know...” Kakashi pulls you back against him, allowing you to feel the answer for yourself. “You tell me.” 

—

Snippet #2:

Kakashi hides his face in your pillow, feeling distinctly vulnerable without his mask. “Don’t tease me,” he groans, muffled. “I have a delicate constitution.” 

You cackle at his discomfort, like the cruel woman you are. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But I’m really, really curious.” Then you hum thoughtfully. “Do you want to know one of mine?” 

He shifts his head just enough to reveal one curious eye. 

You squirm a little, then, like you’re finally starting to realise exactly how embarrassing this is to talk about. “I, um...” A pause. “So, you know how...” Another pause, and you take a deep breath. “Okay. I like to imagine that I'm being used to—to repopulate a clan, I guess. Just, over and over. Lots of kids. But not for real.” 

He feels another jolt of arousal at your admission. 

Looks like you’re on the same page, then. 

Then Kakashi leans up onto his elbow to regard you properly, and then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to point out how closely that particular fantasy hits to home. 

That’s when you seem to realise who you’re talking to – the sole remaining member of a clan that could probably stand to be repopulated – and your eyes go wide, before you nearly trip over yourself to add, “It—It has nothing to do with your clan, specifically, Kakashi, it’s just—” 

“A fantasy,” he finishes for you, amused. 

 You worry your lip between your teeth and nod. 

“Well,” Kakashi says, considering his answer for a moment, “I might have imagined that, too. Specifically.” Then he gives you a roguish grin, intending to pay you back in kind for your teasing. “How many children do you think would be enough for my clan to be sufficiently repopulated, hm? I’m thinking eight.” 

Mortified, you bury your face in your hands. “Oh my god! Eight?” 

Payback’s a bitch. “Well, I was originally going to say ten, but—” 

When you squeal in embarrassment and yank the blankets over your head, Kakashi barely manages to stifle a laugh.  

—

A/N: This is the first thing I've posted in a hot minute, so your feedback would mean a lot - please let me know what you think :)

𝐓𝐇𝚬 𝐒𝐖𝚶𝐑𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝚬 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝚩

tags:18+ minors dni, fem reader, reader has lamb attributes, prone bone position, fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex under the stars, creampie, mentions of vouyerism

synopsis: the chemistry between you and a certain bough keeper finally blooms with a night under the stars.

If one were to ask Dainsleif what was the catalyst for these events he would say he doesn’t know - whether this was a result of a slowburn of events or a case of him rushing into things head first like in his youth, he would not be able to say. All he knows is that he wants you - has wanted you since the moment you first smiled at him. So sweetly, so happily as if he was a man and not a rotted relic from a nation bygone to the world above. People with animal features are not usual in the world of Teyvat - cat, dog and foxes ears paired with tails are ever so present so it wasn’t surprising to see the rather endearing round ears of a lamb on top of your head, pressed against the fleece like texture of your hair. Of which is pressed into the ground as his hand molds into the shape of your head, his forefinger and thumb rubbing at the softness of your ear that can be felt even with his gloves on.

A part of him grows guilty - taking you from behind, pressed into the dirt it isn’t right, he should at least put his cape on the ground. That would be the right thing to do, the knightly thing to do but when you press closer to him, your undressed flank pressing to his front and your little cotton tail almost tickles the starved skin of his pelvis he can’t find himself to care about right and wrong. All he can think about is how your walls suck at the fingers that are in you, slowly curling to rub against the spongy nerves in your walls and you can only moan so softly when his thumb rubs against your clit.

Dainsleif hisses when you squeak his name, your blown out eyes looking over your shoulders to catch the pink on his cheeks and the barely contained groan ripping from his lips at how tight your cunt sucks at his fingers, blue eyes with stars in the center meet yours and you cum when he looks at you like he wants to make you his. Dainsleif groans, the flutters of your cunt and the way it soaks his hand, running from his fingers to his palms are all in time with how his cock aches in his pants. Your hands are clutching at the ground, nails leaving lines in the dirt when he pulls his fingers out - huffing at the ache of not being filled anymore, it pulls a laugh from him as he tugs away at his clothing as quickly as he can.

“Desperate are we?” He asks, voice rough by desire and by the annoyance of not being in you right now. You can’t even give him a vocal answer, only nodding and bending further down, presenting yourself to him as if you were in heat. Your tail trembles,raised and enticing and Dain can’t help himself to reach out to touch, to stroke the softness with his thumb. His cock, pink and ruddy is present when you moan at his touch to your sensitive tail, if you could look over rather than collapsing into your crossed arms at his touch you would have seen how his cock twitches at your sweet sounds.

“Come here, I won’t fuck you like an animal.” Dain grumbles, bringing his hands to your waist to press down, letting you lie flat on the ground as he crowds you from above. Your underwear is ruined, ripped and soaked from his fingers and the pretty skirt you wear on hot days is rucked up to your waist. Even your breasts that heave with each breath are free and they hover over the ground, your nipples puffy and tight for him to pinch at as he directs the shaft of his cock to the dripping slit of your cunt. When the head catches onto the opening he can’t help but hiss at how you whine, sighing so prettily at how he slowly inches his cock into you.

“Dain - please!” You whine, keening to high heaven as he gives you more and more, pressing a hand onto your back to keep you flat on the ground even as your back arches at the pleasure of being filled makes you bow into him.

“Shh, shh why do you cry sweet lamb? Am I not giving you what you want?” He rumbles from above, the scent of sex is so potent in the air if he were to wet his lips he’d taste your cunt in the air. You’re trembling beneath him, gasping and shaking with each breath as your fleece-like hair clings to your hot face. It takes you a minute to do anything but take what he gives you and as he finally is pressed against you again - your little tail tickling his exposed pelvis makes him laugh, breathlessly and emptily.

“You’re big - so big…ah…s’good.” You mutter, in shortened and sweet gasps that only break up more when he begins to fuck into you with slow, deep strokes that make you want to curl up into yourself to the point where you become a little speck rather than a person. You like it slow, he remembers from the time the two of you spent a night in a small hotel in between Liyue and Sumeru, and he could hear you pleasuring yourself with slow little touches to your clit and cunt. While Dansleif will forever bemoan his life as a sinner, a blasphemous man but still he has a man’s pride and to see how much he pleasures you to the point of tears from both your eyes and your cunt strokes his ego more than he’d like to admit.

“Sweet girl, shh, just take what I give you, can you do that for me?” He murmurs to you, one hand leaving your hips to grasp at your breast, fingers tugging at your tight nipple that it makes you mewl paired with the way his cock strokes at the nerves inside of you. You sigh, moan, cry, whine his name and each time it sounds more beautiful than the last iteration. Tight in the clutch of your cunt, your pliable flesh in his grasp Dain can’t help but think - is this what it’s all for? The destruction of his home, the failure of his duty and his suffering from then to now was all of it meant to make this moment with you all the more tantalizing sweet than it would have ever been? Dain can’t think about it anymore, not when he grunts when he feels you cum around him, your silken walls fluttering and milking at him with such desperation he wonders if you are trying to take his whole being into you and not just the physical.

“Dain, Dain - Dain! M’cumming, oh!” Your breaths are short and clipped, and you are tight but soft around him and he feels the tug of your cunt on his soul. He keeps you there, pressed into you even as you crumble beneath him to the point you go lax, thighs twitching as you take stuttering breaths. Your cunt burns, aches from the sensitivity and of being stretched so full in a way you’ve never been able to with your fingers alone. It’s sticky, wet and messy where you are connected - strings of your release clings to his skin and he can’t help but indulge in the cruel thought of fucking you fast and harsh unlike how he was before.

“More, give me one more.” He mutters into the fleece of your hair and the hand playing with your breast reaches down, down until it’s stroking at the wet nub of your clit and he picks up the pace again. Your breath goes from stuttered to haggard at the pleasure, it burns so good you feel the strings of pleasure ache in your lower belly from your sensitivity. Though strong of heart you are weak of body and you lack of stamina is demonstrated at how you ache with each swipe at your pearl as his cock fills you again and again. With your eyes blurry and hazy, you peer down your front to see where you are connected and you only gasp when you see the ring of sticky white that can be seen eahc time he pulls out only to fuck himself back in as the same white cream of your cum stains his still gloved left hand.

“D-did you cum in me?” You wonder, cunt clenching at the thought of a man like Dain giving you more than his cock but a physical reminder that he was deep inside of you. He grunts, sweat running down his temple as he feels his own hair begin to stick to the now pink tinted skin of his face.

“No, not yet,” He pauses to groan into your hair as he crouches down to press his front to your back and keeps his hips at the even pace he’s kept them at. His wrist burns and pleasure snaps at his spine and he knows this is it.

“It’ s just you so far.” He hisses into your ear, rubbing his not rotted cheek into the softness of your form, affection given in the middle of your coupling that makes your heart skip a beat and cum around him for the second time. It’s too soon, and the unexpected tugging of your cunt as you finish around him makes him come with a cut off groan of your name to the night sky above the two of you. He cums in you, it’s hot and thick and you even try to clench around what he spills into you as if to keep him inside you forever.

You both stay there, for a little while an Dain finds it hard to even think about the consequences of what follows from here on out. It doesn’t matter he thinks. You’ve turned your head and you press a fleeting kiss, something small an sweet just like you are and he finds it more charming than it should. You are warm, soft and sticky but he doesn’t think he is any different from you. Placing his hands on the ground next you he lifts himself up to press a kiss to your temple, you hum and he huffs seeing how that ever so cute tail of yours almost wags at the affection.

“Here, head back to the camp. I’ll get us water from the stream.” Dain says, reaching up to tuck back some hair from your flushed face. You nod, voice lost from all the noise you made and Dainslief is in awe at how beautiful you are, here under the stars and fucked out beyond what you’ve ever experienced before.

“Do you promise to comeback?” You ask, voice crooking and Dain can only nod, he can’t deny you anything. Not anymore.

It happens as he asked, together you sleep on your sleeping matts with the exception of now they are pressed together to form one big matt rather than on opposite sides of the fire like before. Dain doesn’t sleep right away, instead he watches you rest with your cheek pressed to his chest and thinks of you. Thinks of how he wants you, again and again until eternity comes to an end. He thinks of what you’d like for breakfast when dawn breaks and how he’ll carry you from the soreness of your legs. He thinks about keeping you safe, until his destiny comes to it’s end.

Most importantly, he thinks about how right now it doesn’t not matter. You are his and he is yours. That’s enough, no matter what it is the Seven or beyond say.

maybe in another universe

this duck LOVES pink drink

hii 💕 i have a leon oneshot request!

basically leon has been gone on a mission for much longer than expected and reader is soso worried it is eating them alive. and then one night in the middle of the night reader hears the door open so theyre scared because god knows who it could be so they go to check and its leon! theres then crying from the reader and lots of love and comfort that eventually leads to sweet comfort sex 💓

idk if you take requests on specific versions of leon but og re4 is my favorite version 😋 if you dont thats fine <3

Of course I take requests for specific versions of Leon!

I haven't written for OG RE4 Leon before but I tried my best to capture his sass/surliness. So here's what I think comfort sex would look like for him :)

Lmk if you want anything changed! I'm super happy to edit it as much as you'd like so it better suits your vision~

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

OG RE 4 Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Synopsis: Leon comes home after a prolonged mission.

Tags: 18+ (smut), MDNI, hurt/comfort, established relationship, re4!Leon, AFAB reader, oral (m receiving), p in v, cowgirl position, missionary position, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, mutual comfort sex (Leon has feelings, too!)

WC: 6,270

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

You’d tried everything to quell your roiling stomach: chamomile tea, peppermint tea, shots of apple cider vinegar, a whole bottle of Tums consumed over the course of three days (which, now that you think about it, could have actually worsened your condition). You’d gone on walks to distract yourself. You’d taken a yoga class with a close friend. You’d taken pilates with a not-so-close friend. And in an act of utter desperation, you’d called your mom to make small talk about the weather and her current hobbies just so you wouldn’t have to stew in your own thoughts. 

But your anxiety hadn’t been assuaged, not even remotely. In fact, it festered, kept alive and well-fed by your incessant tears and the late nights spent hunched over the porcelain bowel of a toilet. Like black mold clinging to the back of your kitchen cabinet, it thrived on your misery, on the dampness of your cheeks, on the way your breathy screams humidified the gelid, sterile air of your bedroom when you had yet another gruesome nightmare. 

Leon had been gone for almost two months now and he hadn’t called. Not once. Not a singular call wherein he’d sit silently on the line just so you could hear him breathe. Not a singular email or text or goddamn smoke signal to indicate that he was still alive. 

He’s a callous man, though, not one to share his emotions so openly. He’d improved with you; he’d developed a heart when you’d sobbed and half-heartedly beat his stupidly toned chest with the sides of your fists the last time he’d been gone for a while. He’d developed a habit of calling you at least once a week. Sometimes he’d speak, but most of the time he’d just let you do all the talking. That was enough, usually, and he never complained — well, not after you’d given him a proper tongue lashing for his total lack of sympathy. 

Leon’s apology had been sincere. He’d gotten you flowers, taken you to a lavish dinner, and showered you with expressions of deep remorse. He’d made up for it in the bedroom, too, and how could you really stay mad at him after that? 

Easily, you think now. You can easily stay mad at him. He’ll have to do a lot more than bring you to climax a couple of times to make up for this — if he’s alive, that is. 

You let out a small sob. He could very well be dead now. He could very well be dead and you’ll have no way of knowing. It’s not like you two are married — you’d been dating for a while, but nowhere near that level of commitment. You wonder if the U.S. government paid courtesy visits to girlfriends. He didn’t have family, and all of his friends were also government employees, so they’d certainly know well before you did if he’d made it out alive. 

You remove the heating pad sitting on your stomach, roll out of bed, and pad over to Leon’s dresser. You’re close to exhausting his supply of t-shirts, so you’d taken to rationing them like some kind of doomsday prepper. They’re now reserved for nights you’ll predictably get little to no sleep, but when was the last time you’d slept through the night, anyway? No wonder you’re down to his last three shirts. 

It still smells like him, like leather and whiskey and cedar wood. You take off the shirt you’re currently wearing—it’s also his but his scent isn’t as pungent—and slip the new one on over your aching body. You bring the collar to your nose, inhaling deeply. Tears prick your lids. God, how are you not out of tears yet? But a muffled jingling of keys and the distinguishable sound of the front door unlocking breaches the silence that had befallen your apartment these past two months. 

Your blood turns to ice as you hear the door creak. It’s shut with painstaking care. You tiptoe across the room, and extract a baseball bat from underneath your side of the bed. You return to Leon’s dresser, reach into the drawer, and silently sheath the length of the bat within one of Leon’s socks. 

There’s shuffling coming from the other room. Heavy boots on hardwood make minimal noise as they creep into—are they in the kitchen? You want to laugh; you’ve never before had a hungry burglar. Cabinets creak open and shut. The fridge door, sticky and always more difficult to open than one would assume because Leon had fucked with its hinges when he was trying to be “helpful”, opens a second later. Its dim yellow light is visible through the crack in the bedroom doorframe. You can faintly see a broad silhouette standing before it. 

Leon’s apartment isn’t large. The bedroom feeds directly into an open plan living room and kitchen. You could use this opportunity to sneak up on the intruder. Judging by their stature, they can’t be too much taller or stronger than you but you’d be foolish to assume you could beat anyone in hand-to-hand. And what if they have a gun? 

You resolve to stay put, to stay hidden. They’re likely to come into the bedroom anyway. You’ll get the jump on them as they enter. You take a deep breath, bat clutched tightly between two hands, and ready yourself behind the door. You’ve never killed anyone before; you hope you won’t have to do so tonight, especially with a bat. That just sounds preposterously messy. 

The fridge door is closed. A plate is dropped in the sink. A stream of curse words are emitted in hushed tones. Your breath hitches at the familiarity of the voice but you shake your head and chalk the resemblance up to your own pathetic optimism. Leon would’ve called. Leon would’ve given you a heads up. Leon would’ve—

The footsteps grow closer. Your heart is practically in your throat. Shit, you curse to yourself, shit shit shit shit shit. You press your back against the wall, bat clutched tightly between white-knuckled fists. You try to make yourself as small as possible, to shrink to the point of imperceptibility, and as the door opens, you hold your breath. 

Your draw blood as you bite the inside of your cheek; its metallic tang inspires waves of nausea. The door slowly closes. You clench your teeth, and flex your taut fingers along the handle of the bat. Your heart is in your throat. The intruder pauses after closing the door, glancing curiously around the room. And just before they’re about to turn around, you bring the bat down over their head. They somehow manage to catch the it before it makes contact. 

“—Wait, stop,” they shout. 

You can hardly hear them over the roaring of blood in your ears. You pull the bat toward you, subsequently unsheathing it and leaving the intruder holding only the makeshift scabbard. You swing it horizontally with as much strength as you can muster. It makes a sickening whack as it collides with the person’s stomach. They stumble backward, one arm wrapped tightly around their abdomen. The other arm is outstretched, in search of something along the wall next to the door. 

And before you’re able to ready a third swing, the lights turn on in the bedroom, and you come to the realization that the intruder isn’t an intruder at all — it’s Leon. 

You gasp and bring your hands to cup your mouth. The bat falls to the ground with a resounding thud. 

“LEON?!” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he manages to choke out in between retches. He’s heaving; the collision had winded him entirely. He slumps against the wall and slides down to sit on the hardwood flooring. “That was a—that was a good swing.” 

“Leon, oh my god,” you shout, rage replacing your initial shock. “Leon, what the fuck are you doing here?!” 

“It’s my apartment.”

“That’s not what I fucking meant, asshole. How are you alive?” 

Leon lets out a labored chuckle and rests his head back on the wall, “Believe it or not, I’m good at my job.” 

“Clearly,” you spit. “Clearly you’re so fucking good at your job that you managed to stay under the radar for two months. I haven’t heard from you in two months, Leon. I thought you were fucking dead.” 

“Which is why I expected a warmer welcome. Fuck me, I guess.” 

The anger flaring in your chest abates as you finally take him in — bruised, battered, bloody, and filthy. His clothes are ripped, his lip is swollen. He must have come straight home, you realize. He hadn’t stopped to so much as sign his name on a report. He won’t look at you—can’t look at you—when your irises hold such ire. You take a few steps toward him, fists curled tightly at your sides. “Yeah, fuck you,” you spit. 

“Fuck you, Leon,” you repeat, voice cracking slightly. 

Tears cascade down your cheeks in fat rivulets now. “Fuck you.”

You collapse to your knees at his feet. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, Leon Kennedy.” 

But your tone lacks conviction; syllables spill from your chapped lips in an unprotected free-fall. Your words are slurred, garbled by the tightness in your throat. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, and bury your face in his chest. It’s quickly soaked through, but Leon doesn’t dare move except to gently cradle the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” 

“You s-should be,” you hiccup. “I thought you were dead.” 

“I know.” 

“I was fucking worried sick.” 

“I know.” 

“I called my mom, Leon. I called my mom, and spoke to her for an hour because I hadn’t heard from you in weeks.” 

“Shit,” Leon chuckles, “that bad, huh?” 

A wet giggle escapes your throat, “Yeah, asshole. That bad.” 

He holds you tightly, sore arms coiled around your shoulders. You want to squirm out of his hold, to recoil at the feel of his calloused hands through the thin t-shirt. You want to revile his absenteeism, his negligence, his indifference. A scream bubbles in your chest, a simultaneous cry of apostasy and piety now that he’s home. The acrid sting of bile kisses the back of your tongue. You choke it back; you choke back your anger, too, because it’s irrelevant now. It’s petulant. It’s ungrateful. 

He’s home. He’s home and he’s holding you. He’s home and he’s holding you and you’re holding him. 

You pull away to look at him more fully, as if in disbelief that this isn’t yet another nightmare. But then the scent from his soiled clothing wafts in your direction as if affirming his existence.

Your nose crinkles as you say, “You smell awful.” 

“Two months in the middle of nowhere will do that to you,” Leon chuckles. 

You inspect his shredded knuckles and the healing gashes along his forearm. “Middle of nowhere do this to you, too?” 

He catches a stray tear with a hooked finger, “Classified, sweetheart. You know that.” 

All you can do is nod. You bite the inside of your cheek. He cups the side of your face, and brings your forehead to meet his. 

“I missed you,” he whispers. “I thought of you every night, if that helps.” 

“It does… and it doesn’t.” 

“You’re fickle.” 

“You’re unreliable.” 

Leon exhales humorously through his nose. “I’m trying my best not to be.” 

“I know,” you whisper. “I know it’s not your fault, too.” 

Leon’s shoulders drop. He swallows thickly, frustration scrabbling for dominance in his aching chest. It doesn’t win out, though, and he clenches his jaw as the tear he’d been suppressing for the better part of his conversation splashes onto his scabbed hand. You kiss away the subsequent tears. He notices the dryness of your lips, but doesn’t mind. You’d been through it — he’d put you through it. His stomach flips at the thought of you writhing in bed at night, at the thought of you weeping into his pillow, utterly alone. 

You stop kissing his tears when they become overwhelming, when he starts sobbing into your shoulder and uses your shirt as a catchall instead. 

“Leon,” you sigh, “Leon, it’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.” 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he manages to choke out. “I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart.” 

“I know you are. It’s okay. Don’t cry; I’m here.” 

It takes a few minute for Leon to regain his composure but you don’t mind. You’d gladly spend the rest of the night pulling him into your chest, coiling around him like a snake just to ensure that he never left again. You run your fingers through his matted hair, gently untangling the knots riddling his chestnut tresses with each pass. You lightly scratch the nape of his neck. He hugs you more tightly when you do; it’s his favorite. He kisses your neck as a show of gratitude. You refrain from kissing his cheek — it’s coated in a thin layer of dirt. You’ll need to bathe again. Leon’s the first to pull away. 

“You know,” he sniffles, “that’s not what this sock is for.” 

He holds up the sock you’d used to sheath the bat with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“No shit, it’s a sock.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Your brows furrow first in confusion, then in disgust. “God, Leon,” you grimace, pushing at his shoulders.

He wraps his arms around your waist, and works to keep you locked in his embrace. 

“Let me go!” You shout. 

“Were you not just crying because you missed me, sweetheart?” 

“I changed—my mind. Go away—forever,” you giggle between pathetic tries at freedom.

“So fickle,” he laughs. You shriek with laughter as he blows a raspberry into your neck, and tickles your sides. You fall onto your back in your forlorn attempt to escape; he follows suit but he’s unrelenting in his assault. He kneels between your legs, swatting away your taloned hands with ease. His laugh is rich albeit hoarse and gravelly from weeks of overuse; yours is similar in tone. 

Panic rises in your chest as his tickles continue. Your ribs are growing sore, your lungs are screaming for air. In desperation, you prod his stomach with your foot. Thankfully, he takes the hint, and stops. Leon places his hands on your knees. You sit up on your elbows, melting beneath the warmth of his gaze. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you sigh, nodding toward the bathroom with a small smile. 

He reciprocates your smile then helps you onto your feet. His hands don’t leave yours as you walk to the bathroom, or as you start the shower. He lets you undress him, lets you lower yourself onto your knees and make quick work of the laces on his boots. He watches as your fingers furl around the tattered fabric of his compression shirt, gingerly remove his belt, and undo the buttons on his fatigues. You don’t make eyes contact. You don’t think you’d be able to finish without crying if you did. 

Leon’s thankful, of course. He wouldn’t have made it through without crying either. He wasn’t lying when he told you he’d dreamt of you every night. He hadn’t been trying to placate you with empty platitudes — you’d occupied his every thought. 

It had been his most strenuous mission thus far, the most physically and emotionally taxing. Only his horrific sense of humor—your words, not his; he thinks he’s hilarious—and the prospect of coming home to you had kept him alive. Maybe he’d tell you about it someday. Unlikely, but he so desperately wants to share this part of himself with you. He’s sick of walking through the world feeling unknown, like a fraction of a human or wandering specter whose soul is tethered to both realms. 

His fingers find the hem of your—his—t-shirt, and pulls it over your head with aching, uncharacteristic geniality. You step out of your panties, eyes fixed on the extensive bruising along his torso. You run a tentative finger along the length of a particularly deep wound. He suppresses a wince, terrified of worrying you further. 

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” he croaks. “You’re not that strong.” 

You snort. “I should focus upper body next time I’m at the gym then. That way I can give you what you actually deserve.” 

He gives you a soft smile, cupping the nape of your neck. “You wouldn’t prefer that I train you instead?” 

“So I can hear quip after quip about how weak I am? Absolutely not.” 

“Ouch,” he rasps, “you have no faith in me.” 

“None at all.” 

His lips ghost over yours. “Then why is it my name you always scream when we’re having—?” 

“They’re curses, Leon, not prayers,” you sigh.

The nails on Leon’s free hand dig into the plush of your hips. “Right,” he affirms, voice low and gravelly, “they’re curses when you’re on your back, but prayers when you’re on your knees.” 

He walks you back into the glass door of his standing shower. You gasp as your fevered skin makes contact with the cooled glass. He nips your earlobe, and presses gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Then what’ll it be tonight, sweetheart: curses or prayers?” 

“Neither if you don’t get in the shower,” you gasp. “You smell like a fucking sewer.” 

He tosses his head back in laughter. “I’d’ve preferred the sewers in all honesty. But fine,” he kisses your cheek, “I’ll be good and listen.” 

“For once.” 

“Only once,” he confirms, stepping into the steady stream of hot water. His hands find yours once more as you step in after him. His voice soften when he asks, “Don’t let go of me, yeah?” 

“I won’t.” 

Leon hums in approval, his hold on your hands tightening as he closes his eyes. When he’s confirmed that you’re here, you’re present, you’re real and with him, he allows his head to loll back and the water to drench his neglected scalp. 

Your fingers trail up his torso, his chest, his neck, and weave into his hair once more. Your lower lip tucked nervously between your teeth as you usher him out from beneath the shower head. You let go of his hand. His chest rises as a breath gets caught in his throat, and falls once he realizes what you’re doing. 

“I’m going to let go, but just to get the shampoo,” you say. “Ready?” 

He clenches his jaw then nods. It devastates you, how tense he grows in the absence of your touch. You lather the eucalyptus shampoo in your hands. It’s his favorite scent, the only one that soothes him when he returns from missions. You delicately work it into his hair, paying particular attention to the nape of his neck, and his temples. His deft thumbs mirror your ministrations, tracing circles along your pelvic bones. 

“Okay, rinse,” you instruct softly. 

He listens, leaning back into the water. And you repeat this process, not once compromising the fragility with which you slough off the dirt and grime from his tired body. It melts off him like second skin, collecting in muddy puddles around your feet. Once he’s clean, he returns the favor: he lathers minty smelling soap along your arms, your legs, the valley of your breasts. His unoccupied hand trails after the fluffy loofah, kneading your soft skin in grounding, almost as if he’s committing your body to memory. 

You’re cleansed from the pain of the past two months, scrubbed raw and vulnerable and anew by the same hands that had caused it. His marred body tells the most unholy of tales, but you’d done your best to dispel the horrors it had endured. He appreciates it—appreciates you— and the effort you expel to wash away as much of his sins as possible. They’ll never go away, the scars. He wishes they would, wishes he could flush them away as easily as you had scoured the debris and filth from his wounds. They serve as a constant reminder of his culpability, of his part in your misery.

But then you kiss the winding scar tissue bisecting his chest. It had healed improperly, leaving the skin gnarled and warped and puckered at its pink seams. He’d sustained the injury shortly after deployment. He’d worried endlessly about the way you’d react. He’d ruminated on the possibility that you’d reject him, that you’d find him utterly repugnant. He’d mulled over every possibility except this. 

And it nearly does him in. 

His chest collapses the closer your lips come to his heart, and once he feels your gentle kisses settle over the muscle with stinging finality, it collapses, too. He grips your wrists; your hands flex in surprise. 

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“I love you,” he returns, peppering the insides of your wrists with warm kisses. You watch him intently, curiously. He winces as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Your eyes widen; he strokes the sensitive flesh of your wrist with a calloused thumb in dismissal. 

“Did you hear me,” he asks with a chuckle. “I said I love you.” 

“I know,” you giggle. “I was just making up my mind if I’ll be cursing or praying to you.” 

“Oh? What have you decided?” 

“Wouldn’t you rather me show you?” 

“Absolutely,” he grins. He flinches harshly as he reaches behind him to shut off the water. You grab his waist reflexively, worry grappling at your chest. Leon gives you a sheepish smile. You give him a pointed look in reciprocation before stretching your arm past him, and turning the knob. 

You usher him out of the shower, push past him, and retrieve one of the plush white towels hanging from behind the bathroom door. You dry each other off, unhurried touches taking on different meaning as the towel and curious hands graze over sensitive skin. You let out a small whimper as he cups your breast and his lips leave slow, fevered kisses along the column of your neck. 

“Bed,” you gasp. He hums in approval.

You stumble backward through the bathroom door, body still warm and damp from the shower, but before collapsing onto the bed, you flatten your hand against Leon’s chest. 

“Curses,” you breathe. “But they won’t be mine tonight.” 

He arches an eyebrow in question, so you guide him onto his back in wordless explanation. His eyes soften as realization dawns. 

“Sweetheart—“

“Please let me, Leon. Please.” 

And how could he say no? He can’t very well argue, not when your eyes glitter in supplication and excitement. But he can’t acquiesce to your desires right away. That would be wholly uncharacteristic.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he says with a facsimile of a pout. He places his hands neatly behind his head, and gives you an expectant smile, eyes flicking from your mouth to his half-hardened cock. Your immediate frown dissolves into a warm smile as his breath stutters, shattering the facade. 

You take his length in one hand, and with agonizing care, stroke him from base to tip. He swallows thickly, cock twitching in anticipation. God he’d missed this. He’d missed the feel of your soft hands working him into submission. His eyes flutter shut, breath hitching as your lips find the gruesome scar defacing his muscular chest once again. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Leon,” you whine, hand quickening in its ministrations. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

He hardens in your hands, a sharp juxtaposition to the way his muscles relax the closer your mouth comes to his throat. You suck on the delicate flesh, nip it until it flushes red, then lavish it with apologetic kisses. The love marks you leave behind are meant to compensate for the violence shown to the rest of his body — it desperately needs reminding of how deeply you cherish it. 

You capture his lips with your own, slip your tongue into his mouth and pour as much affection, as much frustration and relief and adoration into it as possible. He returns the action in kind, hands leaving the base of his neck to cup your face. He pulls you closer, kisses you more deeply, and litters your neck with bruises of his own. 

Arousal spreads like spilled sunshine in your lower abdomen, warming you from within. You feel yourself grow damp as he palms your breasts, as he rolls a pert nipple between two fingers. He cups your cunt with his free hand; you can’t help but keen at the contact. 

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” he rasps. “Did you touch yourself at all while I was gone?” 

“No,” you admit, heat rising to your cheeks. You whimper as he parts your lips, and coats his finger in your essence. “No, it doesn’t compare.” 

“Damn right it doesn’t,” he groans as you swipe your thumb across the tip of his cock. “Am I going to get to taste you tonight?” 

“Later,” you keen. “For now, just lay back, okay?” 

He doesn’t listen immediately, too reluctant to retract his hand from between your legs. You have to pry him from you, beg for him to let you make your longing known. Smiles spread across both of your faces at the playful struggle that ensues: Leon pinches your nipple, you squeeze his cock, and urge him to lay back by threatening to cease all ministrations until he obliges. He chuckles sweetly as your expression softens, as you resume pumping his length, and trail wet kisses down his torso. 

You bat your eyelashes at him coquettishly as you reach his pelvis, fingernails sinking into the flesh of his thighs. He emits a small grunt of approval, hips bucking in anticipation. His eyes grow glassy, unfocused in his lust for you. He tries to close his eyes but the attempt is met with a sharp nip to his upper thigh. 

“Eyes on me, Leon.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, retort on the tip of his tongue, but it’s drowned out by a guttural growl. You drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, eye contact unwavering. You take him in your mouth slowly, inch by inch, the salty tang of his precum sending waves of desire through your system.

Your pace is slow at first, hesitant more than self-assured. It grows quicker as you acclimate to his size. You hadn’t forgotten how large he is — in fact, you’d been looking forward to the day when he’d mold you to himself once again, to the day he’d stretch you so thin you’d see sparks behind your fluttering lids. But your lungs can’t keep up with the pace with which you take him and soon enough, you see the blackened wisps of asphyxiation enter your periphery. You slip a hand between your legs, and rub tight concentric circles along your clit. You use your free hand to compensate for what your mouth can’t reach.

You moan around him as your orgasm builds; he moans in return, savoring the way the sound reverberates through his system. He cradles the back of your head, strokes it lovingly as you take him deeper, deeper, deeper. The coil in his stomach tightens — he’s so close. He can tell you’re close, too, based on the arrhythmic tempo with which you take him.

An overwhelming need to take you, to hold you, to make you his once again grapples at his chest. It had been so long since he’d had you, so long since he’d showered you with praise and affection. He feels his consciousness slipping, mind growing fuzzy as his arousal reaches a fever pitch. He wants to tell you to keep going; he need to tell you to stop. But his words come out as garbled nonsense the more you tighten your lips around his length and the more you hollow out your cheeks.

Unable to control himself much longer, he thrusts up into you. You’re taken aback, gagged as the head of his cock collides with the back of your throat. You give him a warning glare, pausing halfway down his cock, tears pricking the inner corners of your eyes. He could come from the heat of your scowl alone. 

“S-sorry,” he chuckles as the fog slowly lifts, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.

He sits up to caress the back of your head. You mirror his posture, removing his cock from your mouth to press your forehead to his. He’s mesmerized by the way your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath. 

“I just… didn’t think we’d get the chance to do this again,” he whispers through a choked sob.

And you heart shatters. You take his face in your hands. Tears threaten to spill forth, threaten to snuff out the heat building between your legs, but the gentility with which he holds you, the heaviness of his breathing, the ease with which he sweeps you onto his lap, stokes the fire nonetheless. 

“I need you,” he whispers, “I need to feel you. Please.”

“You have me, Leon,” you keen, softly rolling your hips along his length. “You have me. I’m here. Let me take care of you.” 

You readjust to straddle him more wholly, knees caging in his eager hips. You roll your hips gently along his length, coating him in your essence. His head slumps forward into your breasts. You stroke his hair. 

“I love you, Leon. I love you so much.” 

“God,” he rasps, “God, I fucking love you, too, sweetheart.” 

He admires the way the plush skin along your hips bubbles beneath his grip. You’re so soft, so sweet, so lush and comforting. His chapped lips latch onto the junction of your neck and shoulder, stifling a lascivious moan. Leon urges you to keep moving, keep gyrating along his aching cock. You’re happy to oblige, meeting the steady pace he’s setting with his hands. 

“Inside me, baby,” you gasp, “I want you inside me.” 

Leon lifts your hips just long enough to align the head of his cock with your entrance. Your hold on his hair tightens as you feel him push the tip inside, You clench your teeth, and shut your eyes in anticipation, only to receive a sharp, playful slap to you ass. You glare down at him, eyes alight with indignation, mouth agape. 

“I need your eyes open, sweetheart,” he growls, tightening his hold on your hips. “I want you to look at me while you fuck me. And I promise—,” he bucks his hip up into yours, “that I”ll return the favor.” 

You let out a filthy moan as Leon thrusts his cock into you. Your cunt is so tight, so wet after two months of neglect. He slips right in, from tip to base, without much struggle. But the dampness of your cunt and the depths of your arousal don’t negate the blinding pleasure you feel from being stretched to your breaking point. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, you pull at his hair, you try to cling to something—to anything—in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. But through it all, you don’t dare break eye contact. You don’t dare look away from his darkening irises — once a startling blue, now a deep, sensual indigo. You don’t dare deny him the opportunity to watch you come undone.

“Leon,” you keen. “Fuck, Leon, it’s s-so much.” 

You press your forehead to his again, and work to match his bruising pace. He takes one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking and lapping at your pert nipple while he watches your pupils widen. 

You’re so stunning like this, he thinks, so sweet when your lips have turned a startling crimson, swollen from his kisses. And he can’t help the elation rising in his chest when you moan his name or when your pussy, dripping with arousal, tightens around his cock. He’s the only one who can make you feel like this, the only one who could bring this out of you, and that knowledge nearly sends him over the edge. 

White spots blossom in your vision the head of his cock kisses your cervix. You grind on him. You gyrate and bounce and roll your hips in your frantic search for release. His cock twitches within you. His grip becomes bruising. His thrusts sputter. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, “Fuck your pussy feels so good. God, I’ve fucking missed this pussy so much.” 

It’s all so much messier than usual, so much less rehearsed. You’d both fallen out of practice, and it’d be dishonest for you to say that you aren’t the smallest bit relieved. The way he fucks you feels primal, carnal, like a deep-seated hunger that has long demanded satiation. It’d been a while since you’d both felt this desperate for release. 

He sucks at your neck. You toss your head back to grant him further access. 

“Leon—fuck— Leon, I’m going to—“ 

“Do it, baby, come on my cock. Please fucking come on my cock.” 

And you’re swathed in rolling waves of euphoria. Realty splinters, your consciousness is swallowed in brilliant pyrotechnics as your orgasm crashes down around you. Leon wraps his arms around you instinctively, allowing you go to limp in his embrace. He fucks you through your climax, relishes the way his name spills from your lips in fragmented syllables. Before you’re able to come to, Leon flips you onto your back. 

You coil your legs around his waist, and your fingers find purchase on the slats of your headboard before he drives his cock into you. You let out a sinful moan on impact. Leon reaches between your legs. He pressurizes your clit, rubs tight circles with a calloused finger, and the friction in tandem with the unrelenting bucking of his hips catapults you straight into another shattering orgasm. 

Leon’s not too far behind. It takes a few more strokes, long and deep, for him to come undone and when he does, he swears he’s never felt pleasure quite like it. An immeasurable sense of peace washes over him as he feels your cunt tighten around him, as he feels you pull him to your chest and pepper his cheeks with loving kisses. The feel of your hands, of your lips, of your heartbeat pounding against the thin walls of your chest is akin to heaven. 

“Leon,” you cry, “Leon, Leon, Leon.”

An incantation. A promise. A psalm recited at his altar. A hymn sung between a smattering of kisses.

His name is symphonic as it leave your mouth, grounding as it tethers him back to this plane, this apartment, this bed. He’s so underserving of your love. He’s so undeserving of your patience and kindness — he’s learned that long ago— but he’d be damned if he ever gave it up for anything.

Leon manages to regain lucidity long enough to remove himself from between your thighs, and lay on the empty side of the bed—his side of the bed. It’s cold, he realizes, colder than he’d ever remembered it being. But before sadness can burrow into his bones once more, you envelope him in a disarmingly warm embrace. 

He hugs you to him, kisses your temple, your cheeks, your lips, and audibly laments over all of the nights you’d spent apart. 

“It’s okay,” you placate. “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” 

“I know,” he whispers between kisses, “I know.” 

He kisses away the tears that fall from your tired eyes. You manage to say, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you more,” he croaks, choking back tears of his own.

Silence befalls the bedroom once more, but for the first time in a long time, it does’t unsettle you. You take comfort in the slowness of Leon’s breathing, in the slowed beating his heart. You nuzzle into his neck. He lightly scratches your back, and traces hearts and stars with dull nails. 

“So,” he says after a period of comfortable silence, “those didn’t sound like curses to me.” 

Your snort in amusement. “They sure as hell weren’t prayers.” 

“Weren’t you on your knees for most of them, though?” 

You smack his shoulder playfully, and giggle as he pulls you closer to his chest. 

“Fine, they’re prayers” you acquiesce. “Though I don’t know what I’d be praying for now you’re home.” 

“I didn’t know you prayed at all.” 

“I don’t,” you state flatly, “But I… I’d’ve done anything if it meant you coming home safe.” 

He clenches his jaw, and kisses the top of your head. “Well, I’m home now. And I don’t think I’ll be leaving again any time soon.” 

You sit up at that, “Really?” 

Leon melts at the optimism in your tone. He guides you back onto his lap gently, delicately as though you were made of glass. The kiss he places on your lips is sweet, docile, genial, so unlike the hunger with which he’d ravished you before. 

“Really,” he affirms, smiling into another kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, smiling exuberantly at the possibility of having Leon to yourself for an indiscriminate amount of time You start to make a mental checklist of the new restaurants that you’d discovered in the past two months, the pop ups and farmers markets that had taken root in his absence. But your planning is disrupted as Leon’s half-hardened cock grinds up into your cunt. You gasp as its head grazes against your swollen clit. 

“Have I told you how much I missed you?” He whispers in a voice so husky, so rough that it shoots arousal straight through your core. 

God, you’ve missed him, too. 

Daddy's Home

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you let the d word slip during sex and leon will not let you live it down

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, daddy kink, praise/degradation, spits in her mouth, mention of breeding kink, cums inside, crying during sex

word count: 2.3k

a/n: hi everyone. i wrote this all in one sitting because i was feeling absolutely depraved. i was also a little sleep deprived, so go easy on me. i hope everyone likes this. if you sent me a request, i am working on it, just be patient with me :) anywho, thank you to cooking mama @sleepyluxe for inspiring me to whip this one up. as always reblogs and comments are appreciated. smooches to everyone <3

“Daddy!” you cry out when the tip of Leon’s cock brushes over a sensitive spot deep within you.

He had you pinned on your bed, your legs over his shoulders as he pounded into your throbbing cunt. Your warm skin rubs against his as low grunts rise from his throat in time with his rhythmic thrusts. His arm flexes from his iron grip on the headboard above you. He was so deep in you that you couldn’t think straight. And that’s why that word tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

The second he hears it his eyes open fully, his hips sputter, and he comes to a halt inside of you. Your legs slip down to either side of his waist. He looks down at your blissed-out face, trying to discern if you realized what you had said. He’s shocked at first. Sure, you had always leaned to the submissive side of the bedroom, but you had never expressed an interest to him about anything like that. At first, it shocked him, but he felt a fuse ignite in the pit of his stomach. A cruel smirk grows on his face.

“What did you say?” he asks slowly, letting it sink into your mind what you had let slip.

Your mind, in its foggy state, took a moment to catch up. You rewind the last thirty seconds in your head and humiliation crashes over you in one brutal wave. You feel your face getting hot. You can’t meet his eyes as your brain scrambles to conjure an excuse.

“Nothing,” you say quietly, settling on that as a satisfactory explanation.

He almost laughs, but he didn’t want to be mean. Yet.

“No, sweetheart. Use your words, c’mon. I know you can,” he croons while tilting your face up by your chin. He runs a thumb over your jaw to try and soothe you into sharing.

His eyes lock on yours with an intense gaze, luring out your soul to expose your desires to him.

“I didn’t… I- It’s nothing. I didn’t say anything,” you say, unable to get the word to leave your lips for a second time. His smile grows at your shyness.

“Oh, c’mon babydoll. Don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy?” he teases with an evil glint in his eyes.

Involuntarily, you flutter around him when he says the magic word, and that makes him chuckle. You bite your lip as his thumb continues running along your jaw. He looks down at you with the gaze of a predator closing in on their prey.

“I thought that’s what you said,” he says, letting go of the headboard and lowering himself closer to your face, “Who knew my angel could be so naughty? My baby who would blush just when I’d hold her hand. Never would have imagined I’d hear her moaning for Daddy. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

He places a few soft kisses on your cheek while you squirm, feeling your embarrassment grow. It didn’t help that you could still feel his cock pulsing inside you the entire time.

“If that’s what you like, you could have told me, honey,” he says in between pecks. His voice is gentle, but there is still a hint of mocking, “It makes sense now that I think about it. Always clinging to me, curling up on my lap, just so desperate to be in my arms. You just want Daddy to take care of you, right? Love you and keep you safe? Well, I can do that, baby, but you have to say you want it.”

It felt as if each word he spoke worked away at melting your brain. You felt warmth growing in your chest and spreading out through your limbs. That desire to be held was growing overwhelming. You could feel yourself sinking into that place where only one thing was on your mind. Daddy.

You had never told any of your lovers about this. It made you feel dirty, wrong, perverse. You never thought Leon would go for it which is why you kept it locked away in the deepest, most intimate chamber of your heart. But here he was. Silky locks of brown hair almost covering his eyes, his toned abdomen pressed to yours, and that knowing smile plastered on his face as he egged you on.

“Say it,” he says after your brief silence, “Tell me what you want.”

“I want Daddy,” you whimper out quietly. You feel shame rising in your chest as you voice the thoughts that had bounced around your skull for longer than you could remember. You had thought of him this way since before the first time you had slept together, but you had never said it out loud.

“Speak up, baby. Daddy can’t hear you when you mumble,” he teases before that taunting expression increases, “And be more specific.”

“I want Daddy… I want Daddy to fuck me,” you say with more clarity but the same amount of timidness. 

He lets out a cruel laugh. “Listen to my little angel’s mouth. Dirty baby. But I think I can do that for you,” he says before he begins moving his hips again.

You moan softly at the light relief, both physical and mental from him moving on from the topic. Or so you thought.

“Mhm, that’s right. Daddy’s got you, babe. I’m gonna take good care of my girl,” he purrs in your ear.

The low rumble of his voice directly in your ear has your insides on fire. Before you can stop yourself, a pathetic whine escapes you.

“Daddy,” you say as your face tenses and your eyes flutter.

“Daddy’s here, sweetheart. Filling you up so perfect, yeah? Just the way you like,” he mumbles as his hand slides up to grip your throat while rolling his hips against yours.

“Daddy,” you whimper again, your head tilting back against the pillows while you squirm.

“Is that the only word you know, sweet girl?” he mocks, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make sure I fuck you so hard that’ll be the only word that can leave that slutty mouth of yours.”

Your pussy clamps down around him while your arms loop around his shoulders. The need to be close to him was primal. It was innate. You couldn’t ignore it. You whimper and whine as he snaps himself into you over and over while kissing your neck below your ear. He lets out a growl against your neck, causing you to dig your nails into his back in response.

“Harder Daddy,” you mewl.

He presses his forehead against your neck and grunts. Despite his teasing, he was enjoying this just as much as you. His hands fall to your hip and hold so tight you can already feel the bruises.

“Use your manners, princess,” he says, “You’re not the boss. You ask Daddy for what you want and if I feel nice, you’ll get it.”

“Please Daddy. Please harder. Please, need it so bad,” you ramble out immediately. Your nails start to drag down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake.

“Are you sure? You’re already falling a part for me, and I haven’t even really started yet,” he says.

“I’m sure. Please!” you beg.

“If you’re sure, baby,” he says.

He grants your wish and starts drilling into you at a ruthless speed. Your skin claps against his, both of you starting to work up a sweat. Strained, broken moans fill the room as his cock strokes every possible sweet spot inside of you. You flutter around him as the tension in your belly grows.

“So close already, angel? I thought you could handle it. When did my baby girl become such a needy whore?” he breathes with that same grin, “You can cum whenever you want this time but know that you aren’t done. Not until I’m satisfied.”

You nod as whines and moans rise in your throat. You’re panting and rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. He cages you in on the mattress and works harder to push you over the edge. One of his hands slips between the two of you to thumb your swollen clit.

In no time, you’re spasming and gasping as surges of release course through you. Your eyes roll back and you cry out for Daddy some more.

Leon chuckles. “Yeah, sweetheart, only Daddy can make you cum like this. No one else.”

You again nod mindlessly. You continue cumming, trembling as the high works its way through you. When it should be done, you don’t get to come down. His constant pumping makes that impossible. Your head is syrupy and cloudy. You feel like you’re being dragged along for this ride while still floating in your own little world.

Leon shakes his head and half-laughs, half-moans at your dazed expression. Your glossy eyes and slowed blinking. The little stream of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth that he wipes away with his fingers.

Despite being so fucked out, you still babble incoherently and cling to him like you needed him to live. He positions his face above yours and spits down into your mouth before kissing you lovingly.

“Daddy, ah, oh fuck, Daddy, Daddy,” you start to chant like it’s a prayer when your lips separate. He kisses you hard again, shutting you up momentarily, before pulling back and stroking your hair from your face.

“Did I fuck my baby dumb already? So quick doll, it’s almost pathetic,” he teases, “You wanted this so bad didn’t you? You wanted Daddy to fuck your head clear? Well, I’ll do that. Wouldn’t want you to strain yourself thinking. My pretty girl doesn’t need thoughts. She just needs to be good for daddy.”

You clench around him hard and nod while more noises that once could have been words exit you. You nuzzle your head against the side of his head, taking in the feel and smell of him.

“You’re lucky I love you. I’ll do the thinking for us both. You just have to sit pretty in Daddy’s lap and take his cock,” he grunts, “Though, maybe sometimes I’ll keep you at my feet. You just kneel on the ground between my legs and rest that cute, thoughtless, little head on my thigh. Let me look into those beautiful, empty, eyes staring up at me. If you’re good, you can suck me off.”

It was all so much. His words swirled around your head that was fuzzy with euphoria, each syllable sinking you down into that part of your head that wanted him more than anything. The compartment of your brain that gave you the need to tuck yourself under his arm and cuddle with him. The compartment that gave you the craving for sweet kisses and praise. The compartment that told you all you needed to do was listen to Daddy and be his perfect girl.

Tears start pricking at your eyes and you can’t fight them off in this state. They fall from your eyes and you whimper. You cling to him tighter as he works himself into you over and over. He notices and leans down to kiss a few away.

“Aww, did I make my sweet baby girl cry? Is Daddy being mean to you by teasing?” he coos, “No, it’s not that, is it? My baby just feels so good she can’t take it. She was acting like such a pathetic slut, but deep down you’re still my good girl. My precious little angel who deserves all the love in the world.”

You cry harder and pull him closer so you can bury your face against him. Your tears wet his skin as he he kisses your hairline and rubs a hand up and down your side.

“Good girl. Cry for Daddy, baby. Get all of it out. It just feels so good, doesn’t it? Too much for a sweet thing like you?” he asks.

“Maybe a little,” you whimper against his shoulder.

“Daddy always knows best, little love. You’ll learn that soon enough,” he says with a kiss to your head.

He continues fucking you into the mattress, working himself to that edge. It wasn’t hard to reach with you crying in his ear and mumbling about how much you loved him.

“Not much longer, sweetheart,” he hums as his eyes shut momentarily. He fights off an impending orgasm with a groan before training his eyes back on you, “I’ll let you choose this time. Where do you want Daddy’s cum, baby?”

“Inside,” you answer clearly with no hesitation.

“Inside,” he laughs, “You really want that. Want daddy to breed this little pussy? Get you nice and full. Yeah, that’s what daddy’s girl needs. Need a hot load inside you or you can’t relax.”

He snaps into you harder and keeps a firm hold on you. You feel like you’re cumming again, but you’re not sure when your last release ended so it’s hard to tell. He’s right there. You can feel him pulsing and twitching between your walls.

“Fuck, she needs to be bred. I can tell by how tight you’ve been. Sucking me in the whole time. I’ve already got you trained so well,” he moans.

A few more pumps, and he’s spilling inside you, exploding against your cervix. He’s fingers are digging into your flesh while his hips buck and he growls and whimpers into your neck. His hot and sticky ropes of cum fill you and satiate that urge inside you. For now.

When he’s done, his hips come to a stop. He lazily kisses all over your face and wipes your remaining tears away before gingerly pulling out and flopping down next to you.

Even though, your carnal needs have been fulfilled, you still wanted to be close and touching at all time. You roll over to him and place yourself against his side. You drape your arm across his chest and nuzzle his pectoral muscle.

He pulls you close in return and gives you some small kisses on your head.

“My good girl,” he whispers.

You nod and snuggle closer as he starts rubbing your back. The two of you come down in peace for a little while before he looks down at you and smirks.

“So, Daddy, huh?” he teases.

solar flares & soft lips

𝆹⭒ re4r!leon kennedy x gn!reader

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ synopsis — teaching leon how to apply skincare before he leaves for a mission is a domestic setting you both need. when he comes home, he finds he missed it more than he thought.

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ content — fluff, i wrote this very very sleep deprived, post and pre re4r, no uses of [name], tried a different writing style i think, this is just really soft, leon is a rich man

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ word count — 1.4k

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ note — i love leon kennedy so much :( literally so so in love with him. this was so soft i love it

𝆹⭒ masterlist

When Leon first saw you doing your skincare routine, he found it unneccessary. Luxuries, even ones as simple as skincare items, were scarce in his house. Despite him owning a mansion, the inside was bare. It only looked decorated from the outside— A husk.

Leon was on the move most of the time. Settling down was an odd feeling. Adrenaline pricking his skin, waiting for the next time he’d have to move. Especially on missions. He’s accustomed to carrying around only what was necessary. He discarded what wasn’t, leaving him with few items. 

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