.HIME.

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, choking, headlock, rough sex, miguel has a big dick, unprotected p in v sex, nipple play, creampie, basically pwp heheh.

masterlist

he had been dealing with it all week—villains ripping through dimensions, endless vigilantes chasing, peter b. and lyla yapping his ears off, and no sleep.

he stalked into your shared apartment late. his spider-suit ripped at the shoulder, mask disheveled and torn—showing his crimson eyes flaring with pent-up rage and frustration.

and you were on the couch just mindlessly scrolling through your phone, perched up prettily in nothing but his oversized tee and pair of short shorts, not looking up till you can feel his larger figure looming over you.

“hey baby–” you smiled, immediately cut off when his massive hands yanked you up by the waist effortlessly—spinning you around, bending you over the couch with your face down, making you gasp.

your eyes rolled as his thick forearm hooked your neck instantly. his bicep felt like iron against your throat—locking you flush to his bulging pecs.

“miguel–” you choke out.

“shhh… i need this, sweetheart,” he growled, fangs seething out as he scraped it against your earlobe, down to your neck.

stomping ground .⋆♱

tw. obsessive dean! stalking. dead dove do not eat. masturbation (m). threats. panty kink. panty sniffing. sex. p in v. pussy slapping. ass slapping. tit slapping. oral receiving (f). CNC. dom dean. overstimulation. title from ethel cain.

Dean knows he’s a bad man.. but he just cant stay away from you.

He tells himself its for your protection, installing that GPS tracker into your phone and car. He knows when you're at the grocery store, when you stop for gas and when you take a detour to visit a ‘friend’.. but the truth is darker. he sits in the Impala outside your motel room at 2 AM, watching the light under your door with his knuckles white on the steering wheel imagining you sleeping. Imagining what your wearing…. panties and a tshirt? his tshirt?

would you be dreaming about him? do you call out for him in your sleep? are you wet? All the thoughts rush to his brain, then to his cock. His jeans becoming so tight and uncomfortable he just has to jerk off…

anytime you mention a new friend, within a week they’re gone. Dean makes sure of that. He'll leave subtle threats, show up unannounced and spread rumors that you're "taken" by someone dangerous. He never admits it but the satisfaction he feels when you're isolated- when you have no one but him, keeps him up at night with a sick kind of joy.

There’s a duffel bag hidden under his bed in the bunker. his own private collection of you. a hair tie you left on the sink, a napkin you wrote your number on and a pair of your panties. the lacy ones you’ve been looking for. sometimes he presses them to his face and inhales, your sweet scent still engraved in the cotton. sometimes he wraps them around his aching cock, jerking off until his hot jizz leaves stains inside.

when he finally finally gets inside of you, you have to say his name. He needs to hear it. “Dean." Over and over until your voice is hoarse. He fucks you from behind with one hand in your hair, the other wrapped around your throat. a reminder that he owns every breath you take. That he owns you. When you cum he makes sure you're saying his name. If you don't he’s slapping your pussy, your ass- tits and anything he can get his hands on until you do.

His favourite is when he gets to go down on you for hours. The feeling of your hands tangling in his hair trying to latch him off your sensitive clit but he just wont- instead he shakes his head to get deeper, tongue licking your pussy messily until your covered in his spit and so overstimulated your pleading him to stop.

Theres rot beneath his green eyes and smile but in deans eyes, its love. the only kind he knows how to give- suffocating and so consuming you practically move as one. Even if you dont want to.

and god help anyone who gets in his way.

More resident evil requiem sketches...more emily, leon and grace interactions

X

Imagine having drunk sloppy sex with Vendetta! Leon. You wouldn't be sure if he's slurring his words because of the alcohol or to him being pussy drunk.

warnings: Leon is drunk so??? is that considered non-con even if he consented it? riding, not proofread.

There was something intoxicating about riding Leon. Maybe it was because he carried himself like nothing ever fazed him, or the fact he always seemed too composed to let anyone see beneath the surface. But in the dark of your room, when the city sleeps beyond the windows and moonlight spills softly through the curtains, he always unravels beneath your touch. It’s you who makes the emotionally constipated man come undone.

The way you ride him makes his heels dig deeper into the mattress. Each roll of your hips drives him a little closer to the edge. Your movements are unhurried and slow; you drag your hips in a way it feels like time can bend itself just for the two of you.

Leon’s dark locks are damp from the sweat of your lovemaking, sticking to his forehead as his breath turns ragged, each breath catching unevenly in his chest. His hands wrap around your waist like he’s holding on for dear life, fingers pressing hard enough to leave crescent shaped bruises by morning, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Not when Leon is unraveling beneath you so beautifully. 

The tremor running through him is impossible to miss now, the sharp little shudders that ripple through his body no matter how hard he tries to suppress them. His jaw is clenched, breathing ragged, every ounce of that careful composure cracking apart piece by piece in your hands. And maybe that’s what makes your chest ache so fiercely; the fact that the man who always seemed untouchable is trembling because of you.

It was driving him crazy, how deep you were taking him, how the warmth of pussy hugged his cock. Pussy so good he couldn’t think straight. 

Every single time your hips rose just to sink slowly over and over again, the lewd sounds coming from where you met his hips, how your juices were dripping down your thighs making a mess of the sheets. It was messing with his head. 

The alcohol had long since settled warm beneath his skin, leaving him dazed in a way you’d never seen before. Every flicker of pleasure found its way into his expression before he could hide it. 

“Doin’ okay, baby?” You whisper almost hissing from how good his cock felt inside you, barely holding back a moan as you sink into his twitching cock again, and again while touching your boops, lightly playing with your nipples.

His unfocused blue eyes were glassy when they met yours, and his lips parted as though he couldn’t quite remember how to breathe properly anymore. Leon never knew he could be in so much pain being inside you that it felt like pleasure, the blood rushing to cock and the pressure of your walls felt like heaven and hell all together.

“Don’t,” Words slurred from the alcohol “Don’t stop. Please. Fuck you’re so hot.” 

You can’t help but clench around him when he begs like that, and you know he feels it by the way he moaned quietly, his hips unconsciously snapping up to meet yours in a sloppy way. 

The pressure in your low abdomen tightens and you know you're close, your hips move involuntarily chasing more of the feeling, wanting to be even closer to him as possible.  You feel his clumsy thumb lightly press on your clit, doing quick circles with it to help you reach your peak. The feeling was overwhelming, and you let out a strangled whine.

In the haziness of the moment, you barely notice the mess on your thighs or how Leon’s head is tipping back onto the headboard, too dizzy to do anything else.

You let yourself collapse against his chest, your ear finding the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat as though it belonged there. Leon can do little more than pull you closer, still inside you afraid of ending the intimate moment. His arms tighten around you with something almost desperate. 

Soft, slurred murmurs fall from his lips, quiet thank yous and sweet nothings. 

Leon had never believed in saints or salvation, but he thought he could spend a lifetime on his knees thanking whatever merciful god had looked upon a man as damned as him and still chosen to place you in his arms.