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@himishimis
from weebumochi to himishimis âŠ. hopefully all my moots still remember me đ

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Top 3 things people love insisting they don't have despite it being impossible
Pronouns
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Bias
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck. anyways theyâre fucking dead itâs not like youâre enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
Take All My Love
leon kennedy x fem!reader
summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
Thereâs a man sitting at your desk.Â
Youâd arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until youâd heard the curious, hushed whispers that youâd realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.Â
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?Â
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesnât even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
âCan I help you?â
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. Youâre only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.Â
His voice is gruff when he speaks. âYouâre younger than I expected.â
âYou⊠were expecting me?â you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. âWho the fuck are you?â
The manâs brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.Â
âYou know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,â he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. âCanât exactly say youâre delivering on that promise.â
âYeah well, I didnât make any promises,â you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. âBesides, you still havenât answered my question.â
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. âLeonââ
Heâs interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chiefâs office, the door clicking shut behind you.
âWeâve got two new bodies,â he says, handing you the case file. âUnsubâs been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is⊠well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?â
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene â each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victimsâ home.
âSeems ritualistic,â you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. âYouâre letting me take this alone? Iâm flattered.â
âAh,â the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. âNot exactly.â
âWhat?â you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. âThe old man?â you hiss, âheâll only slow me down.â
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. âThat man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. Itâs only a precaution. Heâs more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more⊠mindful.â
âAshcroft?â you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. âThatâsâ thatâs because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She mustâve been terrified. Iâm a field agent, I can handle myself.â
âAgent Kennedy took an interest in the case,â he replies, hands clasping together. âIf thereâs bioterrorism involved, heâll be useful. If there isnât, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. âMy decision is final.â
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. âYes, sir.â
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
âIâve already read it.â
âHuh,â you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. âLeon Scott Kennedy,â you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, âyouâre the Raccoon City cop. Iâve heard stories about you. Shouldnât you beâŠâ you gesture to him pointedly, âretired?â
âOuch,â Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. âYou really donât want me here, do you?â
âAll I know is that youâre some big-shot DSO agent that I donât need on my case, Leon,â you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
âThe first case youâve ever been in charge of,â Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. âIâm impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, youâre pretty good at this kinda thing.â
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You donât bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
âThank you,â you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. âHow did you know that?â you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, âweâve never met before.â
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. âI took the liberty of reading your file,â he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chairâs jammed lever. âFuckinâ chair⊠how do you sit in this all day?â
âI donât sit all day!â you snap, âand you read my file? I donât care if you have the fucking clearance, you canât justââÂ
Youâre interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize heâs pushed the lever too hard â or perhaps, underestimated his own strength â the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leonâs gloved hand.Â
âSorry âbout that,â he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. âIâll buy you a new chair.â
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.Â
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest â every part of him unfairly thick and muscular â his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.Â
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leonâs weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while heâs too busy trying to get comfortable.Â
âWeâd better get going,â you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. âThe local PD is probably waiting for us.â
âWe can take my car,â Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
âIâm not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,â you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.Â
âAnd Iâm not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,â Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.Â
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.Â
âNo one asked you to babysit,â you say, shaking your head. âI have a gun,â you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, âand Iâm smart. Iâll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.â
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.Â
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leonâs already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.Â
â
âWhat do you mean thereâs only one room available?â
âWhatâs there to understand?â Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. âRooms are all booked out. Theyâre celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.â
âHarvest festival?â you echo, peering up at him. âYou gotta be fucking kidding me. Thatâs like the perfect cover for our unsub.â
âI would help,â he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, âbut you wanted me to, what was it?â you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. âAh yes, stay the fuck outta your way.â
You snatch the key hanging from Leonâs finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leonâs eyes when you find him leaning beside the roomâs door, his brows raising amusedly.
âI donât want to hear it,â you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. âI wasnât going to say anything.â
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leonâs hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. Itâs enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.Â
âFuck me.â
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. Thereâs a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and⊠a bed.Â
âOkay,â you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. âGreat! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.â
âIâm not doing that,â Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. âI can take the couch.â
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. âThatâs really nice of you and all, Leon,â you begin, stepping further inside the small room, âbut I donât think youâre exactly going to fit.â
âYou care about me or something?â he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.Â
âGet over yourself. Iâm just worried about yourâŠâ you gesture towards him vaguely, âpotentially geriatric bones.â
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. âGeriatric? Iâm 49. My bones are in perfect working order.â
âRight, nevermind. You did break my chair.â
âI did you a favor,â he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. âIt was a hunk of junk.â
âIt was in perfect working condition!â you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
âDo you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?â Leon muses, stepping closer until heâs only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
âWhen theyâre close to my heart, yes.â
âA chair is close to your heart?â
You decide to double down. âYes, Leon.â
âHuh,â he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. âYou got attachment issues?â
âDid my file not tell you that?â you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. âIâm afraid I skipped over your psych eval.â
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadnât seen anything remotely like it before and the database search youâd done earlier in the car had come up empty.Â
âFuck,â you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
Youâd exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.Â
âHey, Leon?â you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. âI⊠might have been a little difficult earlier,â your voice sounds strained, âbut if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would⊠you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.â You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. âPlease?â
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. âDonât hurt yourself,â he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. âIâll take a look for you.â
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. Itâs hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.Â
âYou okay?â Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
âYes!â
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.Â
âPerfectly fine,â you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
âItâs just that you lookâŠâ you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. âLike shit,â you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. âYouâ you look like shit, Leon.â You pat his shoulder jerkily. âUnfortunately.â
âRight, sure,â he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. âYou really know how to flatter a man.â
âIâm charming like that,â you say, hands clasping behind your back.Â
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
âYou gonna let me out?â
âWhat?â
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize youâre still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once youâre in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesnât take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he gruntsâ
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table â thankfully with a shirt on â a few containers of food littered across its surface while heâs hunched over his laptop.
âHey,â he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. âI had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,â Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, âtheyâre not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.â
âCult? Thatâs fun,â you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. âThank you for taking a look, and the food.â
His brows raise. âThose might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.â
âShut up,â you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow â visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesnât fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
âLeon,â you say exasperatedly, âwe can both fit on the bed. That canât be good for your back.â
âThis is fine,â he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. âIâve slept in worse places.â
âI canât deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,â you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. âSee? You can have the other side.â
âYou sure your boyfriend wonât mind?â
âWhat?â you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. âI donât have a boyfriend.â
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. Itâs a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.Â
âDid youâŠâ you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, âdid you ask because you were interested?â
He stares back, brows raising. âInterested in what?â
âIn what?â you repeat irritably, âare you seriously playing dumb?â
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. âI have no idea what youâre talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from meââ
âI donât want anything from you!â you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. âYouâre old and weird and infuriating andââ
âI feel like youâre avoiding my better qualities.â
âFuck you.â
âYeah, I know you want to, baby.â
Itâs a miracle your neck doesnât snap with how fast you turn to look at him.Â
âMay I remind you that this,â you gesture between your bodies wildly, âis a professional relationship?â
âYeah?â Leon murmurs, raising his brows, âis that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better âbout liking me?â He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. âThin walls.â
âThat is none of your business.â You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. âHR is going to have a fucking field day with you.â
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but thereâs such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesnât say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.Â
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. Itâs meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesnât seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
âWhereâre you going?â he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
âThisââ you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. âThis is a bad idea.â
âI happen to be full of those.â
âYouâre so fucking corny,â you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
âAnd youâre a fucking brat,â Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.Â
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leonâs a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
âYou can squeeze harder,â you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
âThatâs a little fucked up, baby,â Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.Â
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. Thereâs a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. Heâs letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.Â
âI can handle it,â you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
âYeah?â Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. âWhat, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?â
The idea is appealing. Youâve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadnât exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
âMaybe,â you say slowly, looking away. âI donât know. I guess I just want some⊠attention or whatever.â
âFrom me?â Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. âYour way of asking for attention is acting bratty?â
âI donât know!â you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.Â
âOh, thatâs cute,â he coos, smiling down at you. âDonât worry, sweetheart, Iâll give you all the attention you fuckinâ need.â
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before heâs dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
âGuess if youâre into choking, you should be into something like this,â Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. ââs been a while since Iâve done this with someone.â
âSince youâveâ ahâ groped someone?â you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
âKissed, touched,â he sucks in a sharp breath, âgroped⊠fucked.â
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. âCan you still get it up?â
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.Â
âIt was just a question!â you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
âI know,â Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. âDo you want me to stop?â
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. âNo.â
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
âCute panties,â he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. âToo bad youâve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?â
âYes,â you grumble, glaring at the wall. âStop asking stupid questions, you jerk.â
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leonâs slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
âDonâtâ fuck! Donât stop,â you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. âLeonâ please ahââ
âPlease?â Leon echoes, âlook at that, youâre back to being polite. Good fuckinâ girl.â
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
âYou gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?â Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. âI asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.â
âYes,â you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. ââm gonna beâ nghhâ âm gonna be your good girl, Leon.â
âYeah?â he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. âMy sweet, pretty girl.â
âItâ it hurts,â you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. âLeonâ ah fuck!â
âI know it does,â he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, âbut you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.â
âStop being mean,â you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
âMean?â Leon whispers, ââm taking care of you, sweetheart.â He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. âThere you go,â he breathes out, âsuck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.â
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
âYou can take them off,â you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. âWant you to touch me.â
âI kinda like âem on,â Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. âBesides, I can touch you like this.â
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
âIs this how you do it?â he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. âDid you play with your clit til you came in the shower?â
âMhm,â you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.Â
âFuck,â Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. âSo fuckinâ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.â
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
âPut âem in,â you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. âLeon,â you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. âPut âem in.â
âWhat happened to being polite?â he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.Â
âIf you put âem in, Iâll be polite,â you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
âGo on then,â he coaxes, âbeg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.â
âPâ nghhâ please fuck me with your fingers,â you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. âPlease, Leon? Wantâ fuckâ want another finger.â
He doesnât make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.Â
âTaking me so good,â Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. âPretty fuckinâ pussy just sucking my fingers in.â
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.Â
âLeon,â you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
âYou gonna do that on my cock?â Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. âGonna ride my cock like youâre riding my fingers, gorgeous?â
âYeah,â you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. âWannaâ ahhhâ wanna ride your cock, Leon.â
âFuck,â he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. âYouâre gonna drive me fucking insane.â
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
âWe havenât even fucked yet,â you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. âThink you can handle me?â
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.Â
âThose were comfy!â you protest, glaring at him. âLeon?â you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. âLeon, waitâ ah fuck!â
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. Heâs ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isnât helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
âWhere the fuck do you think youâre going?â he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. âHuh?â
âI didnâtââ your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
âYou didnât what?â Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. âYou didnât mean it, is that it, baby?â he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.Â
âYes!â you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. âIâ nghhhhâ I didnât mean it, Leon.â
âOh, I think you did,â he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. âI thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out youâve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just canât help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?â
âIâm not a brat,â you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You donât think anyoneâs touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leonâs strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
âOh fuck,â you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. âLeon, Leonâ oh fuck!â
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.Â
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
âYou sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,â Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. âYou gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussyâs clenching around my fingers.â
âNghhhââ you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.Â
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
âFuck! âm gonna cumâ âm gonna fucking cum, Leon,â you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
âCum then, sweetheart,â he whispers, âbe a good girl and cum for me.â
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
âThatâs it,â Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. âCum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckinâ girl.â
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leonâs body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
âYou okay?â he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. âI guess Iâve been a little pent up.â
âA little?â you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. âI think youâre more than a little pent up, Leon.â
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.Â
âI havenât exactly had time to relax,â he sighs, âtoo many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.â
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
âAre my tits helping you relax?â you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
âGuess so,â Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. âPretty fuckinâ tits, sweetheart.â
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move â pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. Itâs when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
âTo answer your question,â he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. âI can, in fact, still get it up.â
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
âI didnât doubt you for a second,â you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that youâre able to pull it up over his head easily. âYou do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.â
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
âYou tryna make me cum?â Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
âThat is a priority, yes,â you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
âAs much fuckâ I would like that,â he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, âIâll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.â
âJust one suck,â you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.Â
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that donât seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
âItâs big,â you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. âReally fucking big. Youâreâ youâre that hard for me?â
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. âYeah, just for you, sweet girl.â He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. âYou said you wanted a taste, go âhead, pretty baby.â
You donât need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
âFuckâ fuck, baby,â Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. âYour mouthâ hahâ fuckkk.â
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.Â
âDonât do that,â he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, âdonât fucking kiss my cock like youâre fucking in love with it.â
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.Â
âI think you like it,â you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. âAnd⊠I think your cock likes it too.â
âFuck me,â he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leonâs cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before heâs pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
âWanna ride it,â you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesnât answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.Â
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
âYeah?â he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. âYou wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?â
âMhm,â you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. âIt needs your fat cock, Leon.â
âCâmere,â he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. âSink down on it, sweetheart.â
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
ââs just so fucking thick,â you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
âYou got it, baby,â he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. âYou took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?â
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
âGood fuckinâ girl,â Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. âTake what you need from me, sweetheart. âs all yours.â
âLeon,â you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. âI⊠I canât,â you say, flushing hot, âitâs too big, I donâtââ
âGood girls donât give up,â he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, ânot to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Whereâs that attitude now, baby?â
âYou fucked it outta me,â you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.Â
âAnd to think you said I was old and weirdâ shit, babyââ
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.Â
âIâm not giving up,â you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.Â
âAtta girl.â
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
âFuckinâ gorgeous,â Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. âSo fuckinâ gorgeous, sweetheart.â
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
âYou trust me that much?â Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. âYou think thatâs a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?â
âOh, you can take it,â you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements donât slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. âHeard youâ ahhâ kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.â
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.Â
âYeah, I still hahâ got it,â Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.Â
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.Â
âThatâs it,â he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. âTake my fat fuckinâ cock, baby. Cute, little pussyâs just swallowing me up.â
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.Â
âHarder,â you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. âWant itâ nghhâ harder, Leon.â
âThat might strain my joints, baby,â he says softly, smiling up at you when you huff out an annoyed breath. âWhat? You were concerned about my bones.â
âFuck your bones,â you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. ââm so empty,â you whisper, voice lilting. âFill me up?â You bat your lashes, âplease?â
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
Youâre half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before heâs notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
âTooâ fuck! Too fast!â you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
âBut you said you were empty,â Leon rumbles into your ear, ââm just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,â his hand clamps down on your hips, âand fucking take it.â
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.Â
Leonâs body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
âFuck,â you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leonâs breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes youâve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
âYou keepâ fuckâ staring at my arms, sweetheart,â Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. âIs this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?â He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
âIâ nghhhâ need you,â you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.Â
You canât really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
ââm gonna cum,â you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. âLeonâ Leon, Leon, Leon!â
ââm right here, baby,â Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, âtaking my cock so well. Doing soâ fuckâ good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, Iâve got you.â
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
ââm gonna cum too, pretty baby,â he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. âGreedy, little pussyâs clenching around me too tight, I canâtââ
âInside,â you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. âCum inside.â
âThatâsâ shitttâ a bad idea, baby,â Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. âYou said you were full of bad ideas.â
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. âI didâ hahhhâ I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckinâ cunt with cum.â
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leonâs hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
âDo you feel relaxed?â you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
âI feel fucked out,â Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. âYou did a number on me, sweetheart.â
âI aim to please.â
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. âYou went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.â
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. âAm I gonna get that in writing?â
âIâll think about it,â Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
âAlready?â you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
âWhat can I say?â Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. âYou uh⊠bring out the best in me, I guess.â
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. âYour best attribute is your cock? Thatâs a little disappointing.â
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.Â
âYou didnât seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.â
âIt is nice,â you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
âI do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,â Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. Thereâs a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. âMaybe youâd like to find out sometime?â
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
âIâd like that, Leon.â
This was teww good.

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Pride, Greenwich Village, June 1986
I feel so insane about ai. I've had face-to-face conversations with people who use it for therapy, who use it to calculate the safety of pill interactions, who use it for all their emails and grant applications and legal documents and academic papers and finance sheets and for every single question they have about the world, and if you tell them about the ecological costs they just laugh and say "I guess I've used a lot of water." and I've been in multiple gatherings of 10+ people where I'm THE ONLY PERSON who doesn't use chatgpt. it's turning me into a ranting raving pariah, because how don't you people see??? why don't you understand??????? this bullshit didn't exist five years ago, you absolutely do not need it, and it is destroying everything
I'm pretty sure my ask got eaten the last time I tried to send this I had completely forgot about it too before I saw my face reveal post my Internet was a little werid when I tried to send it though if you do have the original or your requests are closed just ignore this đ
If it's not too much trouble I was wondering if you could write a little something for mine and Vinny's bookshop date please đ
Here it is my love! I hope you enjoy it, I think it's super sweet!
The Dusty Shelf
Vincent Sinclair x GN!Reader
2.5k words No CWs, just fluff! Reader is described as shorter than Vincent and with brightly colored hair to match the lovely @fluffy-little-demon
There was this place.
It was a secondhand bookstore a few miles out of Ambrose, in a town small enough to be left to its own devices but big enough to have shed some of that small-town suspicion of strangers. Youâd been desperate for just such a place when you found it, somewhere cozy, where time stopped for a coffee and a flip through a book of poems about cats. Ambrose was many things. Cozy was not on the list. But the Dusty Shelf was the epitome of close, quiet comfort.
You made an effort to make it out there at least once every couple of weeks. Saturday mornings had this intrinsic promise to them, the feeling of a day open for anything. Youâd get a coffee from the shop down the street and lose yourself amid the shelves, almost always leaving with a book (or two, or three) you never knew you needed.
They had this delightful exchange program where you could bring in used books and trade them for ones that were new-to-you. Victor Sinclair had an extensive dusty collection of medical texts and historical novels and not one of the boys had any opposition to you putting it to good use.
At first, you shyly asked Vincent if he wanted to see what youâd brought back. It was an art book, an anthology of sculpture through the ages, and it reminded you of him. He was so enthralled that you let him keep it. Youâd sort of intended it for him anyway. After that, if you didnât come straight downstairs to show him your spoils, heâd seek you out, ask you what you found.
This time, as he thumbed through a well-worn anthology of Greek myths, you ventured an invitation.
âYou could come with me next time, if you want.â
He looked up at you, brow furrowed. âI would love to,â he signed, âbutâŠI donât know.â
âItâs okay if you donât want to, or if youâre not comfortable,â you said quickly. âButâŠthereâs almost never anyone there, and Mildred - the owner - sheâs basically blind. So youâŠyouâd blend in just fine, I think.â
You watched him consider, weigh the lifelong fear of being perceived against the deep-seated desire for the normalcy of a trip to the bookstore.
âCan IâŠget back to you?â he signed.
âOf course you can. I would love to have you with me, but Iâm also more than happy to bring back the best parts of it for you.â
You let it be through the week, until Friday night when he approached you in the kitchen. He touched you lightly on the lower back and when you turned, you found yourself looking at his bare face - half of it, anyway. The other half was covered by a waxen half-mask, the seam blended expertly across his skin.
Your eyes widened. âVince, did you just make that?â He nodded. âThatâs amazing, it looks so good!â
âThe symmetry was hard,â he signed. âIt looks okay?â
âYes! You did a fantastic job, of course you did.â
He smiles his tentative ghost of a smile. âI thought it might beâŠeasier to go out like this.â
You lit up. âYou want to come with me tomorrow?â He nodded. âIâm so glad! Itâll be really fun, I promise. And if youâre uncomfortable at any point, we can leave right away, itâs okay. We can take it a step at a time.â You pulled him into a hug that it felt like he was hoping for, because his arms found their way around you without hesitation.
Just before bed, you found yourself alone in the living room with Bo. Rubbing your tired eyes, you stood from the couch, started towards the stairs.
âHey,â he said in a low voice. You turned and met his gaze. His expression was inscrutable. âThis is a big deal for him.â
âI know,â you said humbly.
ââS good, Iâm not denyinâ that. Great even. But I just wanna make sure you realize. âS been years since heâs been outta town.â
You nodded. âWeâll take it at his pace. Whatever he wants.â
âI oughta come with you, but Iâm not gonna do that. Heâd be pissed at me.â Bo stared at you for a while before adding, âYou best take care of him, thatâs all Iâm sayinâ.â
You nodded again, the weight of his trust making you stand a little straighter. âI will. I promise.â
Saturday morning broke with cloudy skies and an insolent wind:Â the perfect day to spend in a bookstore. When you met Vincent in the front hallway you realized youâd both chosen plaid button-downs open over t-shirts. Yours was red and his was black.
You laughed and he cracked a crooked smile. It was priceless to you to be able to see that smile with the new mask. âIâll go change,â he signed.
âNo, no. We match! Itâs cute.â
His eye shone. âIf you say so.â
On the drive, you reached across the armrest and took his hand from its place on his leg. He looked at you with a flash of unguarded vulnerability, just for a second. âYouâre gonna stay close to me, okay?â you said. âIf you want to leave, you just squeeze my hand.â
He gave you a thumbs-up with his free hand, squeezed your fingers with the other.
âMildred is really nice, I think youâll like her. Thereâs hardly ever anyone there, even on weekends. And even if there is, theyâre probably going to be distracted by my hair and wonât even notice you.â Your hair, incapable of remaining the same color for more than a month, was currently green.
Vincent pulled his hand away to sign, âIâve been meaning to ask if youâd dye mine sometime,â and then quickly laced his fingers back through yours.
âYou mean it?â You beamed. âI would love to.â
As per usual, the street that was home to the Dusty Shelf was almost completely empty. The little café around the corner was the busiest establishment on the entire block. You parked the car on the curb nearby. Vincent eyed the constantly swinging door with apprehension.
âYou can wait in the car if you want,â you said. âI can grab us both drinks and then we can drive up the road.â
He thought for a second. âNo. Letâs both go in.â
âYou sure?â
Vincent nodded.
âOkay, letâs do it.â
You rounded the hood of the car and took his hand. He was already reaching for you. You gave him a minute to gather his courage, waited for him to give you a nod, and then with your fingers woven through his, you led him up the two concrete steps into the café.
Inside was a cacophony of sensory input. Was it always such a spectacle? Youâd never thought about it before. The smell of coffee was pervasive. Old country classics played on wall-mounted speakers beneath the clink of mugs and the even hum of a dozen conversations. An impossible number of people filled the small space, queuing at the register or sitting at a handful of high-top tables. You glanced up at Vincent, who bore a marked resemblance to a very large deer in the headlights.
âOkay?â you murmured loudly. He flashed you another thumbs-up without looking at you, too preoccupied with the insurmountable task of taking in everything at once. He examined the crowd, the menu, the entire space with his head lowered, peering up through his thick lashes. You gave him a minute to get his bearings, then indicated the line. He nodded and shuffled forward.
âDo you know what you want? Or do you want me to pick for you?â
He pointed at you.
âGot it.â You didnât even bother reading the menu board; you knew what you wanted and you knew what he liked.
The line moved quickly and you were at the register in no time. You ordered the drinks and the cashier barely looked at either of you as she punched the buttons. Vincent watched the exchange like a biologist studying some exotic species. You sidestepped away from the register to wait for your order, smiling up at Vincent. He looked almost puzzled, but when you squeezed his hand just to check, he answered with a slight shake of his head.
The girl called your name, handed you both drinks.
âBy the way, I love your hair.â
You flashed a polite grin. âThank you!â
She bid you a good rest of your day with a quick, courteous glance at Vincent. Her gaze skated over his face, didnât linger, and she was on to the next customer. With your hands full, you offered Vincent your elbow and led him out of the shop.
Outside, he breathed a visible sigh of relief.
âHow was that?â you asked anxiously. âAre you okay?â
He stared at the ground thoughtfully before replying. âYeah. I donât think she even noticed.â
âProbably not.â
He furrowed his brow. âNobodyâŠeven looked at me.â
A tentative smile crept onto your face. âYeah. Everyone is always kind ofâŠpreoccupied with their own thing.â
âThatâs not how I remembered it,â he said, and the hurt in his eye when he met your gaze was a knife in the gut.
âWell, letâs go make better memories then.â You handed him his drink. âYou doing okay?â
âYeah.â That phantom smile was back. âIâm okay.â
âThat was the hard part.â You took hold of his hand again. âLetâs go get cozy.â
The bell over the door wasnât a bell, it was a string attached to a set of windchimes. They tinkled overhead as you entered. A garland of multicolored scarves draped low just inside the doorway; Vincent had to duck to get through.
You watched his face as he took it all in:Â the colorful glass lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the bright green carpet, the mismatched assortment of armchairs and loveseats arranged in little groups like families. And the shelves.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves held up the walls and a maze of chest-high shelves filled the majority of the space, every one crammed to bursting with books. Heroically, the shorter shelves also bore the weight of a hundred years of antiques arranged haphazardly across their crowns. The entire place smelt of patchouli and paper, and somewhere a blues record was playing.
Vincentâs eye was wide, flitting from one thing to the next like a hummingbird in a garden of honeysuckle. His grip tightened on your hand and you frowned.
âDo youâŠwant to leave?â
He shook his head quickly. âNo! No, itâs justâŠamazing.â
You broke into a grin. âYeahâŠI think so.â
From behind a shelf, a tiny old woman shuffled into view, dressed head-to-toe in a truly devastating mix of colors and patterns. She wore itty bitty gold-rimmed spectacles dangling with a beaded chain and was still squinting with all her might.
âCan I help you?â she said in the voice of a chainsmoking squirrel.
âHi Mildred,â you said brightly. âItâs me.â
âOhh, hello dear.â She peered up at Vincent. âDidja bring a friend or didja find a bear?â
You bit back a laugh and shot a glance at him. He was transfixed with her. âA friend. He doesnât talk much, he signs.â
âWell, we could all stand to talk a lil less.â She abruptly changed course, moving just past you to the worn desk near the door that served as a checkout counter. âMake yourself at home, honey.â
âThanks, Mildred.â You gave Vincentâs hand a gentle tug. âLet me show you my favorite spot and then we can browse, okay?â
You led him back to the back corner, to an oversized burnt orange loveseat flanked by Tiffany lamps. There was a low walnut coffee table nearly pushed up against the couch, sporting a truly impressive assortment of coasters checkerboarded over its surface like a turtleâs shell. From underneath the table, a skinny black paw stretched out towards your feet, and then another, and then a handsome tuxedo cat emerged, blinking his golden eyes.
âThatâs Shep,â you said. âHeâs either very friendly, or very rude.â
Vincent knelt slowly and offered his hand. Shep gave him a sniff and then a cuff of his cheek. When Vincent stood back up, the cat meowed at him and leaned against his calf.
âYouâre a charmer,â you said. He smiled shyly.
You wandered together through the stacks, pointing out books with odd titles, pulling ones with pretty covers to admire them better, tucking a few under your arm to take back to the orange couch. Vincent retrieved a few that were too high for you to reach, playfully signing, âLittle.â
When youâd amassed quite the collection, you returned to the corner. You sat on one side of the loveseat and Vincent sank rather stiffly onto the other. He flipped a few pages, then leaned casually back. You flipped a few pages, then crossed your leg and scooted just slightly in his direction. He pretended to read for a while before stretching his arm along the back of the couch behind you. You abandoned all pretense, stuck your thumb in the pages to hold your place, snuggled in against him with your leg hooked over his, and resumed reading. He let out a soft, suppressed sigh of contentment and you smiled to yourself.
The morning passed in delightful, companionable quiet. When at last the growling of Vincentâs stomach broke the silence, you proposed a quick return to the cafĂ© to grab lunch. Mildred let you eat in the bookstore if you promised to be careful and brought her back a sandwich. Vincent agreed and you went to let Mildred know youâd be back.
âI know you close at two on Saturdays,â you told her. âButâŠhe doesnât get out much, and he really likes it here. Could I convince you to let us stay just an hour or two past closing time?â
Mildred regarded you shrewdly. âItâs gonna cost ya.â
You considered the volume of junk in the Sinclair house, in particular the gadgets in Victorâs old office. âHow does an antique sex toy sound?â
âHorrendous,â she said. âIâll take it if you throw in the rest oâ that encyclopedia set yâbrought last time.â
âDone.â
You shook on it. When you turned around, Vincent was examining antiques with Shep perched on his shoulder, drinking in the new vantage point with greedy yellow eyes. Vincent turned to you and he lookedâŠwell, he looked relaxed, possibly for the first time ever.
âDo you want to stay here?â you asked. âI can grab lunch and come right back.â
He shook his head. âI want to be with you.â
You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating from you as you took his hand again. âGood. I want to be with you too.â
Part of the Family
Poly!Sinclairs x Hinge!GN!Reader
5.2k words
Canon-typical violence perpetrated by the reader including murder and wax sculpting, brief mention of hunting, reader is traumatized, brief mention of nausea, downright excessive kissing of reader's forehead by everyone
You've decided you want to be an active participant in the creation of Ambrose, Town of Wax. You very quickly come to regret that decision, and each of the brothers help you through the aftermath. Sort of slice of life in a murder town, angst/so much comfort.
It was autumn in Ambrose the first time you killed a human being.
You volunteered for it before they ever stepped foot in town. Lester had called in a group of three, a perfect fit. You wanted to be useful, wanted to be a part of the operation. You had been an observer long enough.
âYou sure, darlinâ?â The look Bo gave you was skeptical, almost amused.
âIâm sure,â you said. âI want to help.â
âYou donât have to do this,â Vincent signed, frowning.
âYou can post up by the library, cover that back road,â Bo said. âHardly anyone runs that way, you probably wonât even see anythinâ.â
âBo,â Vincent signed sharply.
âWhat, Vin? They want to help.â
You nodded. âIâm tired of sitting back and watching. I want to be a part of it.â
âThis is a bad idea,â Vin signed. âIâm not going to let you do it.â
âYou ainât the boss,â Bo snapped.
âAnd you are?â
âHey, hey.â You cut in before they could start a real argument. âIâll be fine, Vin,â you said. âI want to pull my own weight.â
âYou do,â he signed. âYou do plenty around here.â
âBut not like this.â
âThis is different. Killing isâŠdifferent.â
âDonât baby âem, Vin,â Bo said, walking away. âThey can handle it.â
Vincent shot you a desperate look. âYou donât have to prove anything.â
âI know that. I can handle it.â You gave Vincent a reassuring smile. You could handle it. If it helped your boys, helped keep them safe, you could handle it.
That afternoon, Bo walked you out to the place he wanted you to stand. Lester had taught you how to shoot out in the woods and you were a decent shot for someone who hadnât grown up around guns. The rifle was heavy, but you were comfortable with it in your hands.
âNow your job is to make sure no one sneaks out through this west side.â Bo gestured along the road. âIf they head down the road, Lesâll catch âem. If they move up towards the house, I got âem. And even if they make it up there, Vinceâs ready for âem. Understand?â
You nodded.
âNo heroics,â he said. âI know you worry. We done this before, darlinâ, a whole bunch. Just cover your side, weâll be fine.â He put his hand on your shoulder, commanded your gaze. âClean as yâcan. Couple shots to the chest. Leave the head, you know how Vin is.â
You nodded again.
âIâll be right there. Youâll do fine.â He strode away in the sun, adjusting his collar, assuming a persona before your eyes.
Your adrenaline spiked from his pep talk and then waned quickly. You waited an awful long time as Lester and Bo went through the motions with this new group, spent the afternoon leaning against a wall in the shade of the library.
The sun was setting by the time things really got underway. The gun was slick in your sweaty palms. You rubbed them dry on your pants, stood up straight, peered around the corner of the building.
You watched as Bo directed the group towards the house and then fell into step behind them. Abruptly he grabbed one around the waist and slit their throat. The other two stared in bewilderment before they took off running in opposite directions.
Bo lunged after one, caught them easily, buried his knife to the hilt in their chest. The other was sprinting in your direction. In a flash, the adrenaline was back.
You steeled yourself, flipped off the safety, eyes locked on the man running blindly down the street. You braced the butt of the rifle against your shoulder, planted your feet, lined up just like Lester taught you. Took a breath. Squeezed.
The sound was deafening as it echoed in the alleyway. The bullet hit the man in his shoulder, flung him off balance. You pulled the bolt to reload, braced yourself, shot him again. This time it was harder to line up the shot, he was moving so erratically. But you saw the impact, watched the blood begin to spurt, and as he swung to his knees, he saw you.
You couldnât look away. Neither could he. The man crumbled slowly to the asphalt, struggling to keep himself up on his hands, finally collapsing facedown with a horrible choking sound.
You approached him warily, ready to fire again if you had to, but no. He was dead.
Bo scuffed the pavement behind you a little too loudly to be accidental. It was a good thing, too; you nearly jumped out of your skin, clutching the rifle, Lesterâs admonition loud in your head to âkeep it down, always down, nowhere else but down unless youâre aiminâ to kill.â
Bo sidled up beside you, touched your shoulder. âNice shot.â
You said nothing, watched as he knelt and rolled the man over. Blood was everywhere. His eyes were empty, staring at the sky. You couldnât feel your extremities.
âReal nice, darlinâ. Yâdid good.â Bo looked up at you, a faint smile playing on his lips. âIâm proud of you. Thatâs a hard thing you just did.â
You knew the value of those words. Knew it was rare and special for Bo Sinclair to express pride, praise. Your heart swelled even as your chest threatened to cave in.
You managed a timid smile back. âThank you.â
He rose to his feet, fished his phone from his pocket and called Lester to bring the truck around. The whole time you stared at the victim. Your victim. You didnât want to; you couldnât help it.
When Lester pulled up, his eyes were on you and only you. âHowâd it go, sweet pea? You remember what I taught you?â
You nodded. âBo says it was a real nice shot.â
âIt was,â Bo said as he dragged the man to the back of the truck.
âYou remembered to brace with that back foot? Didnât kick yâback too much?â
âNo, noâŠI was okay.â
Lester gave you a smile, a soft, sad smile. âWhy donât you ride back up with me, honey? Walk that gun back to the station, Bo ân I can load the truck.â
You did as you were told, shuffled to the station, hung the gun on a peg in the basement. Alone in the air conditioning and fluorescent lights you waited for the tidal wave to hit. For tears, a panic attack, something. But it didnât come. You didnât feel hollow, you just feltâŠlimp. Loose. Numb. Your hands were spotless. For some reason, this surprised you.
Lester and Bo were hefting the last of the bodies into the back of the truck when you rejoined them. You climbed into the passengerâs seat and waited for Lester. He sighed when he got in, started the engine, pulled away with a wave at Bo.
Neither of you spoke at first. You wanted to say something, hated the silence, but couldnât remember any words.
Finally Lester, always with words to spare, said, ââS okay if youâre not okay, sweet pea.â You looked over at him. âTakinâ a lifeâs no small thing. I âmember the first time I shot a squirrel. I was six. Cried for days. Thought I was over it when I went on my first buck hunt. Cried then too. So then I knew what to expect the first time IâŠthe first time I had to step in.â
You had heard that story before. Lester had saved Vincentâs life, back in the day before they had a set pattern of operation. âBo ân Vince never wanted me to have to do that,â he said. âYâknow, stupid big brother shit. Theyâre a bit much sometimes.â He shrugged. âThe way I see it, death is a part of life. Comes to us all one way or another. You âmember what I told you âbout huntinâ?â
He had told you a lot of things. You couldnât pick one out that was particularly applicable right now. Quietly you shook your head.
ââS okay,â he said patiently, his tone kind, âIâll just tell yâagain. My daddy was never much for huntinâ or fishinâ. But our neighbor, Mr. Addison, he made sure us boys knew our way around a gun. And he told me, over and over, if youâre gonna take so much away from a creature, you best be sure you use every bit of it.
âAnd thatâs what weâll do, sweet pea. You know we will. That doesnât hardly make it easier, but maybe itâll keep you from feelinâ so bad. Youâre just a link in the chain. We all are.â
He reached over and squeezed your knee. âYâknow you never have to do that again if yâdonât want to. I wonât think any less oâ you for it. Neither will Vince. Neither will Bo. This ainât your game, honey.â
âI know, Les. But I...want to be part of it.â You lay your hand on top of his and he turns his over, weaves his fingers through yours. âThank you. Thank you for teaching me how to shoot, andâŠand thank you forâŠtalking with me.â
He parked the truck around the back of the House of Wax. âYâknow itâsâŠitâs okay to cry, too, if yâfeel like it. Itâs good, even. And if you wanna talk about it some more, or not talk about it and just sitâŠyou lemme know.â
You nodded. His face was full of concern, of genuine affection for you. He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of your fingers. âThat was a damn good shot, sweet pea. I gotta give you that.â
You couldnât help but smile. âI had a damn good teacher.â
A shape loomed outside the cab of the truck, sent your heart racing. It was only Vincent. You and Lester hopped out of the truck at the same time.
âHow did it go?â Vincent signed in the headlights.
âFine,â Lester said carefully. âThis oneâs got some beginnerâs luck goinâ.â
Vincentâs piercing gaze settled on you. âYou shot someone?â
You nodded. âTwice. I killed him.â The words were a pinch on your tongue.
Vincentâs hands hung at his sides. He regarded you for a long time before turning to Lester. âWhereâs Bo?â
âHe was walkinâ up behind us.â
âYou talkinâ about me?â Bo called, materializing from the dusk like a specter. âSpeak oâ the devil and he will appear.â
You tried to ignore the look Vincent shot at Bo and the one he threw back. You did not want to be caught in the middle of one of their spats. âLetâs pull them out and check for phones and ID,â Vincent signed. âWill you get the door open?â he directed at you.
You moved to the far end of the pool of illumination cast by Lesterâs headlights and hauled open the cellar door set in the ground. You squinted in the light when you looked back toward the truck, could barely make out the shape of the boys pulling corpses from the bed.
You could go help them, but you knew Lester and Vincent were trying to keep you from having to see or touch any more tonight, and frankly, you were grateful. You hung back, waited to be told what to do.
Vincent cast a massive shadow as he strode over to you a minute later. In his big hands he held three cell phones, two wallets, and one loose ID card. You took everything from him so he could talk, juggling it in your much smaller grip.
âLesterâs gonna take you back up to the house while Bo and I move them downstairs. Come meet me in the workshop.â
In the dark, with the mask, it was impossible to parse his expression. His words were sharp but not unkind. You could feel the tension radiating off of him.
âDo you want me to take these things to the warehouse?â
âNo. I donât want you to be alone right now.â
âIâm okay, Vin. Really.â
âJust meet me in the workshop, please? We need to talk about this.â
That sounded terrible. It was the last thing you wanted to do. âCan IâŠgo to bed, actually? I donâtâŠreally want to talk about it tonight.â
He looked at you for a long time. In the dark, the holes in his mask were deep black pits, but you could envision the distress in his gaze.
âOkay,â he signed at last. You bit back your sigh of relief. âBut I could use your help in the workshop tomorrow. Would that be alright?â
âYeah. Yeah that would be fine.â
Vincent snaked one arm around you, pulled you into his chest and held you there for several heartbeats. You felt your throat tighten, but no tears came to your eyes. He smelled like wax, like wood shavings, like the warmth of home, and you took a few precious deep breaths before he let you go.
âI have to get them all waxed tonight,â he signed apologetically. âBut Les or Bo could stay with you.â
âItâs okay. I just want to go to sleep. Iâll be out like a light so fast.â
His chest expanded in a sigh. âIf you need anything,â he signed emphatically, âyou know I wonât be sleeping.â
This drew out a crooked smile from you. âI know. Thanks, Vinny.â Â You handed him back the victimsâ personal belongings.
The headlights felt like a spotlight as you walked back to the truck. You felt all eyes on you, gritted your teeth, walked so normally to the passengerâs side.
Bo stood there, an inscrutable expression on his face. Those baby blues were steely in the darkness. You flashed him a grin, the only one you had left in you.
âI think Iâm off to bed. Pulling that trigger wore me out.â
âItâll do that.â He kissed your cheek. âSleep well, darlinâ. You know where I am if you need me.â
You climbed in beside Lester, couldnât keep from glancing in the side view mirror as the truck bumped away. The three bodies on the ground were indistinct in the darkness.
The house was bright and warm, familiar, alien. Vincent had left all the lights on. Jonesy stalked out from wherever she had been sleeping to greet you, bleary-eyed. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. As you pulled off your shoes on the well-worn carpet, exhaustion hit you like a freight train.
âLemme lay with you a while, sweet pea,â Lester said. âI know you want your space. Just until you fall asleep.â
âIâm fine, Les, really, you donât have to do that.â
âYou ainât talkinâ me out of it. Pretend it ainât for you.â
You scoffed, but knew you couldnât argue with him, and didnât have the fight for it even if you could. You stripped off your clothes, brushed your teeth, collapsed into bed like a tree without roots. You wore a t-shirt, a manâs shirt, someoneâs shirt. It had probably belonged to all three of them at some point. It was faded and had holes in it. It smelled like the house, simultaneously clean and musty. It felt like having all three of them with you.
They could handle it. You could handle it.
Lester rapped on the door and walked in at the same time. He always did that. It was like he didnât understand the purpose of the gesture, or maybe he didnât care. He slipped beneath the sheets and turned off the light, sought you out in the dark, wrapped you in his arms.
You were so worried he was going to ask you again if you were alright. But he didnât. He kissed your brow and murmured, âGoodnight, love. If you wake up and I ainât here, Iâm right down the hall.â
âI know. Goodnight, Les.â
You settled in, closed your eyes, immediately saw the blood, saw his face, his hands on the asphalt, and your eyes snapped back open.
You laid in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling for what felt like hours, modulating your breathing, in and out. When Lester shifted carefully to peer at your face, you closed your eyes and did your best to feign sleep. It mustâve worked, because he extricated himself and slipped silently out of the room.
You did not sleep a wink. You marked time in visits from your boys. At midnight, your door eased open and Bo peeked in. He stood there for a long time before retreating into the hall and closing the door softly. At three in the morning, Vincent checked on you. You knew he knew you werenât sleeping. But he said nothing, did nothing, and left after a minute or two.
When Lester rose bright and early for work, he came in to give you his customary kiss goodbye. At this point you werenât even trying to pretend, sitting back against your pillows, scrolling your phone.
âYâget any rest at all, sweet pea?â
âNot really.â
He thumbed your chin. âTake it easy today. Iâll be home this eveninâ.â
You wandered downstairs earlier than usual, sick of your bed. Your shoulder was sore from the recoil of the rifle and you rubbed it, relishing the ache.
To your surprise, Bo was up and making breakfast. âMorninâ, sunshine, you look like hell,â he said.
â...thanks.â
âEat somethinâ, youâll feel better.â He made you a plate. âTake some down to Vin when youâre done.â
You nodded. Bo sat in the chair across the table from you, ducked his head to catch your gaze. âHey. Look at me. Yâokay?â
Your smile was thin. âYeah. Iâm okay.â
âYouâre a shit liar.â
You laughed weakly. âI justâŠdidnât sleep well, thatâs all.â
âHmm.â He leaned back in his chair and regarded you coolly. âThatâs all, huh?â
You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders. âThatâs all.â
âYou sure youâre not just playactinâ for my benefit?â
You chewed your lip. You so wanted him to be proud of you. You cared about them all so much, wanted to contribute to the vision of Ambrose not because it was your vision, but because it meant the world to them.
âIâm fine, Bo. Promise. Iâd tell you if I wasnât.â
He cocked a brow. âIf you say so, darlinâ.â He rose from the table and took his coffee mug with him. âIâll be movinâ vehicles this morninâ. Come find me if you need anythinâ.â He kissed the crown of your head on his way out of the kitchen.
You were dreading facing Vincent. You had little appetite but ate every last bite, chewing and swallowing with care, because it wasnât stalling if you were eating.
Finally you couldnât stall any longer. You descended into the basement one step at a time, rehearsing what you were going to say. He had music playing â it was one of your favorite songs. Something tightened in your chest.
âHey Vince,â you said as brightly as possible as you rounded the corner, âI brought you breakfast. Bo made it, soâŠyouâve been warned.â
Vincent got up from his stool and came over to take the plate from you. He was maskless now that the likelihood of being seen by strangers had passed. He had woven his hair into a loose braid, tendrils falling out around his jaw.
âHave a seat,â he signed, gesturing to his cot.
You obeyed, your eyes locked on the human figure seated in the chair. ââŠis that him?â
Vincent nodded.
He was almost unrecognizable beneath the many layers of wax. Vincent had posed him with his ankles crossed and one hand raised and open in front of him. âIs heâŠreading a book?â Vincent nodded again. You wanted to get up and take a closer look. You also wanted to run out of the basement. The compromise was staying exactly where you were.
Vincent sat next to you, put down the plate. âYouâre going to help me work on him today,â he signed.
Breakfast had been a terrible idea. Your gut was suddenly full of writhing snakes. âIâŠokay, umâŠI donât want to do that.â
âYou wanted to help, right?â
âYeah, butâŠ.â
âKilling is the easy part,â he signed. âTakes seconds. Preserving them, honoring them, thatâs the hard thing. The important thing.â
You felt like throwing up. You stared at the uneven wax melded to itself and the victimâs skin. You couldnât bring yourself to touch it, there was no way.
Vincent turned your head toward him with his fingertips delicate beneath your chin. âListen, beloved. You need to do this. It will be hard, but Iâm going to help you.â
You were breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, but not crying. Why werenât you crying? âVincent, I donât think I can do it.â
âYou can.â
ââŠdo I have to?â
He nodded. âThis isnât a punishment, my love, but it is penance. It will make you feel better.â
You laughed in disbelief. âI donât believe you.â
âIt will.â He squeezed your hand, stood up and pulled you with him. âCome on. Letâs gather our tools.â
You followed him numbly around the workshop as he selected various well-worn ribbon tools, sponges, and other instruments. He picked up two of each. He handed you a pottery apron that was his size but not yours, helped you tie it in the back.
âVincentâŠwhat if I mess it up?â
âYou wonât.â
âWhat if I do?â
âIâll fix it.â
He dragged a second stool over, had you sit while he disengaged the various splints and supports that kept the victim in place while the wax set. At last he sat down, handed you a large ribbon tool.
âFirst, weâll trim the excess wax,â he signed around the tool in his hand. âWe want an even layer head to toe to start with. Weâll go back in with smaller tools to bring out the details on the face and hands, but for now, just focus on evening out the surface. Watch me.â
He used the tool to shave off the outermost layer of wax on a shoulder, working in strokes of only a few inches at a time. âItâs better to take off too little rather than too much. If you go too deep, we can patch it.â He looked at you. âYour turn.â
Your hands were shaking. They hadnât shaken this much when you were holding the gun. Somehow the little tool in your hand was so much heavier. You stared at Vincent, didnât move.
The expression on his face was gentle, but firm. He wrapped his long fingers around your hand, lifted it to the victimâs upper arm. Reluctantly you made your first stroke. The wax was dry, crumbled off in large flakes that settled on your thighs. You brushed them off absently.
âGood,â Vincent signed. âNow do it again.â
He watched you for a few minutes, made some adjustments to your technique, and then started on the right side. You were hesitant to touch the victim with your bare hand, but it was much easier to work when you could brace yourself. The wax was simultaneously smooth and bumpy, became soft under the heat of your fingers. Vincent showed you how to move your grip around to keep from softening the wax too much in one place.
It was horrible at first, but every stroke became easier in such a quiet, subtle way that you didnât even realize you had fallen into a rhythm until you reached the manâs wrist. âVin,â you said, âwhat do I do now?â
He got up and came around to inspect your efforts. His fingers ran over your clumsy first attempts, uneven in depth and length, and then trailed down to the forearm where your quality of work had improved.
âGreat job,â he signed. A cool, gentle relief washed over you, eased the snakes just a little bit. âKnew youâd get the hang of it. For the hand, I use a smaller tool. Let me show you.â
He coached you through the entire hand, each finger, all the bumps and grooves. Your appreciation for his skill, his eye for detail, grew by leaps and bounds. Your apprehension transformed into determination to copy his technique to the letter. Your reluctant touch became a careful, sturdy grip. The incredible proximity felt like a sort of intimacy, forced you to engage with the reality that you were part of the reason this man was here now. You faced your guilt and transmuted it into dedication, veneration, appreciation for the mortal remains of this stranger.
Naturally, Vincent worked much faster than you, and in a few hoursâ time you had completed this first step of the process. Together you stood back and appraised your work.
âWell done, my love.â Vincent put his arm around you, hugged you to his side. âHow do you feel?â
You let out a deep sigh. The numbness was gone. So were the snakes. âBetter, I think.â
âThis is all for today. Tomorrow weâll smooth out the surface and make some more adjustments.â He looked down at you, treated you to a rare smile. âProud of you.â
You felt your heart soar. âReally? Youâre notâŠmad at me?â
His smile softened and he shook his head, kissed your brow. âWhy would I be mad? You wanted to help. Youâre helping.â
âAre you mad at Bo?â
Vincent sighed. âIâm always mad at Bo.â You laughed. He took your hand and squeezed it. âI donât think you were ready for this. Bo disagrees. But thatâs between me and him.â
You regarded the victim, slightly more recognizable now. His expression was peaceful. You werenât sure how Vincent had managed that. âI donât think I was ready either.â
Together you cleaned up the tools, hung up your aprons, tried to scrub the wax from the lines in your palms. You wandered up to the kitchen together for a snack. When Vincent returned downstairs, you took a mug of tea to the front steps and sat with Jonesy, surveying the structures of Ambrose.
November in Louisiana was cool, but not cold. The sky today was cloudless, a casual breeze ruffling the trees. It was beautiful. Jonesy grunted as she rolled onto her side, her back pressed against your hip. You flopped her ears, turned back to the view, and your gaze settled on the library.
You remembered the bang of the rifle. The way you could almost hear the bullet piercing skin and muscle. The way he collapsed. The way he looked at you. The way he would look now, forever, at a book he couldnât see.
It was like the sky fell upon you all at once. The tears welled up and spilled over so fast it left you breathless. You gripped the mug hard in both trembling hands. Ambrose became a wet, colorful blur. The air hiked in your lungs, wouldnât settle, left you gasping.
A dark shape sauntered out of the blur. You furiously rubbed the heel of your hand across your eyes, blinked up at Bo.
âScootch,â he said. You did. He sat next to you, put his arm around you, pulled you into his chest. âYou ainât fine,â he said.
You unraveled into sobs. He took the mug from your hand and you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist. He held you close, set his chin on your head, rocked you ever so slightly back and forth. ââS okay, darlinâ. Itâll be okay.â
When you forgot how to breathe, choking on your tears, he splayed his hand on your sternum and pushed firmly, bracing your back against his arm. The pressure pulled you back to earth, reminded your lungs to contract.
He held you there until your breathing evened out, then he turned to recline against the wall and guided you into his chest again. He smelled like cigarettes and sweat.
âIâŠIâm sorry,â you stammered.
âWhat dâyou got to be sorry for?â
You swallowed hard. âF-For disappointing you.â
Youâd never seen his expression shatter like that. âYou could never,â he said in a low voice. His grip on your arm was tight, too tight. âNever, darlinâ, you could never disappoint me.â
âI-I wasnât ready. I thought I was ready. I wasnât.â
âThat ainât your fault, itâs mine.â He pressed his lips to the top of your head. âI shouldnâtâve let you do it. Itâs on me.â
The last thing you wanted was for him to blame himself. He did plenty of that already. âNo, Bo, I asked for it. I wanted to do it.â
âYeah, but you didnât know what you were askinâ for. I knew it all too well. I was beinâ selfish.â You looked up at him, brow furrowed. He gave you a tired, joyless smile. âYou wanted to get involved in things. I liked the thought of that. Felt like itâd make you part of the family all the way.â He looked out at Ambrose. âSometimes I forget this ainât a family anyone should be a part of.â
You pressed your cheek into the fabric of his shirt, damp with your tears. âThatâs not true.â
He rubbed your arm with a calloused hand. âIt is. But itâs alright. You belong with us either way. Shouldnât have to spill blood for that to be the case.â
You curled your hands beneath your chin and pressed into him. You were quiet for a while, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. It was the most wonderful, painful thing youâd ever heard.
âYou know Iâm not one for apologiesâŠbut Iâm sorry,â he said. âIâm sorry if IâŠpushed you into it.â
âBo.â
âI know what Iâm like.â
âStop.â
âYâdonât ever have to worry what I think of you, angel. I think the world of you.â
âIâll be ready next time,â you said.
Bo scoffed. âThere ainât gonna be a next time.â
âYes there will. I said I wanted to help and I meant it.â
He looked at you, his brow lowered. âThere are other ways to help. You can help Vin in the workshop, or take care of the cars ân such.â
âI want to help you. I want to hunt.â
âWhy?â
âBecause it sucks. And itâs dangerous. And I donât want you to have to do it alone.â
He shook his head. âWe ainât all pure like you, darlinâ. Some of us donât mind the killinâ.â
âThatâs fine. You shouldnât have to do it by yourself.â
His arms tightened around you and he said nothing. Together you gazed out over the town you called home, the empty streets and faded siding.
Bo murmured against your temple, âHowâd a thing like you end up in this little corner of hell?â
You sniffled. âSome jackass took my spark plugs.â
That earned you a real laugh, and you smiled a real smile. âLuckiest spark plugs I ever stole.â
âNicest jackass Iâve ever met.â
âYouâre just sayinâ that.â
âI think the world of you too, you know.â
He took your chin in his hand, turned your face up to him. âIf you ever lie to me again, tellinâ me youâre fine when you ainât, Iâll kick your ass.â
âUnderstood.â
Bo laid a kiss between your eyes. âGet off me. I gotta go tell Vin I made nice with you so he doesnât hamstring me.â
âIs he gonna believe you?â
âNope.â
You climbed to your feet, took his hands and pulled him up. âIâll vouch for you.â
He smiled, laid an arm across your shoulders and walked you inside. âKnew I could count on you, darlinâ.â

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Novelty Mugs
Poly!Sinclairs x Hinge!GN!Reader
Surprise, one day two posts! Louisiana has some remarkable thunderstorms, and the Sinclairs have a family tradition. Consider this the cosmic balance to the angst I posted earlier, some delicious cozy fluff.
1.3k words
No content warnings, just poly Sinclair cuddles. If you'd like your very own Louisiana thunderstorm to play while you read this, here is the one I listened to while I wrote it.
You were awakened by the loudest booming sound youâd ever heard.Â
It shook the house. It sent vibrations through the marrow in your bones. It startled you so thoroughly awake that you nearly pissed yourself, heart rate skyrocketing, fight-or-flight response on a hair trigger. And it continued, diminishing to a growl but not dissipating, hanging in the air like a threat.Â
The dark of your room was disorienting and the fact that the sound persisted had every hair on your body standing on end.Â
âBo!â you called, fighting panic. âHey, Bo!âÂ
He burst through your door exactly three seconds later, wielding a baseball bat. âWhoâs gonna die? Whatâs wrong, darlinâ?âÂ
You were wide-eyed. âDo you hear that sound?â Your room lit up in a blinding violet-white flash. The booming crescendoed again, and it hadnât been a product of your sleep-addled mind: the very frame of the house trembled.Â
It was a thunderstorm, obviously, but in spite of yourself, you tensed up into a ball, pulling the covers up to your chin.Â
Bo let the bat drop. âWhatâs the matter, you never heard thunder before?âÂ
âNot like that!âÂ
âHuh.â He grinned as the lighting flashed again. âWelcome to Louisiana, darlinâ.âÂ
You looked up at the roof. âIs the house going to be okay?âÂ
âHouseâll be fine. I canât believe this is your first thunderstorm with us.âÂ
âItâs so damn loud.âÂ
âSure is.â He mussed his hair. âCâmon. Letâs go sit on the porch.âÂ
âAre you insane?âÂ
âWhat, you gonna sleep?â He had a point. âCâmon. Bring your blanket. Betcha Les and Jonesy are already down there.âÂ
You slid out of bed, wrapping your favorite blanket around yourself, shoulders still tucked up to your ears. Bo stood in the doorway and waited for you. You put an arm around his back, wrapping him in the blanket along with you, and he led you down the hall.Â
When he flicked the switch for the light above the stairs, nothing happened. âPowerâs out,â he said. âUsually goes out in storms, âspecially big ones. We got a backup genny if we need it. Watch your step.â You let him get a few steps ahead of you, then put your hand on his shoulder to guide yourself down the stairs.Â
The kitchen and living room were aglow with candles. Vincent stepped out of the kitchen, no mask, hair loose and wavy in the humidity, wearing pajama pants and a victimâs college sweatshirt. âHey Vince,â you mumbled.Â
âSomeone's a thunderstorm virgin,â Bo said.Â
You rolled your eyes. âIâve seen a thunderstorm before, Iâm just â â The thunder clapped again and you flinched like youâd been struck. âThis is insane!âÂ
Vincent cracked a smile. âI think itâs nice.âÂ
âIâm happy for you.â You pulled your blanket over your head like a cloak.Â
Bo put his arm around you. âLetâs go watch. Vince, you makinâ hot chocolate?â His twin nodded. âPerfect.â He coaxed you to the front door. A blast of warm, wet air made you squint when he pulled it open.Â
âBoâŠ.âÂ
âGâon.â He took hold of your blanket and tugged you outside onto the porch. Sure enough, Lester was curled up on the porch swing wrapped in a quilt, with Jonesy at his feet and a dim lantern beside her. The dog lifted her head off her paws as you approached.Â
âHey, sweet pea,â Lester said. âDid yâsee the storm?âÂ
âYeah, itâs literally impossible to miss.â You crossed the porch to sit next to him, cringing prematurely when the lightning strobed.Â
âWhatâsa matter?âÂ
âI donât â â The thunder rumbled over you. You pursed your lips in irritation. âI donât know about this!âÂ
Lester inched to his left to make room for Bo on your other side. âWhatâs there to know about it? Itâs a big storm, we sit ân watch it.âÂ
âWatch it do what, tear the town apart?âÂ
âSometimes,â Lester said, right as Bo said, âNot usually.âÂ
âIâm getting mixed signals.âÂ
âSometimes we get a little floodinâ from the river down in town,â Lester said.Â
âBut not up here,â Bo added. âWeâre high up, darlinâ, plenty safe.â He put his arm around you and Lester leaned his head against yours.Â
Remarkably, the porch stayed dry. It was situated on the leeward side of the house, sheltered from the wind. Even so, the windchimes hanging in the corner were jangling out of control.Â
âThatâs gotta stop or Iâm gonna lose it,â Bo muttered. He stood up and walked over, unhooked the chimes and set them down against the house.Â
âBo, youâre not wearing pants. Arenât you cold?âÂ
âNah, feels good.â He came back and sat down. âYou can sit in my lap if youâre so worried about it.â You elbowed him through your blanket.Â
Each flicker of lightning lit Ambrose up in shades of black and pale. Between flashes, the sky glowed faintly with a sourceless purple light. The trees were just barely darker in silhouette against it. The thunder truly never ceased, merely rose and fell like the snoring of some immense beast. The rain pounded in waves on the roof and it created a curtain of sound above and around you. Sandwiched safe and warm between the eldest and youngest Sinclair, you had to admit, it was a sight to behold.Â
Vincent stepped onto the porch holding two mismatched mugs, one patterned with a variety of fish and the other shaped like a mushroom.Â
âOh my god, Vincent, Iâm so sorry, do you need help?â You leaned forward. He shook his head and handed you and Lester each a mug.Â
âI want the mushroom,â Lester said. You traded him.Â
Vincent disappeared back inside and returned with two more mugs of hot chocolate. He handed Bo the one with a chipmunk holding a wrench and wearing a shirt that said âI love nutsâ and kept the hot pink â#girlbossâ for himself.Â
âHere,â you said, standing up unsteadily in your blanket cocoon. âTake my spot.âÂ
âWhere are you gonna sit?â Les asked.Â
âOn Vincentâs lap.âÂ
âFuckinâ rude,â Bo said into his mug.Â
Vincent sat in the middle and opened his arms for you. You carefully positioned yourself in his lap and wormed your feet under Boâs thigh to keep them warm.Â
With your head leaned against Vincentâs chest, you sipped your cocoa and watched the gutter overflow in pretty patterns. Bo pushed the swing gently back and forth with his foot on the ground. The thunder was much less overwhelming when you were tucked so comfortably among family.Â
Gradually the worst of the storm moved past the house, the lightning nearly ceasing altogether, the thunder reduced in volume to a gentle growl. The rain continued with abandon as you sat in the darkness.Â
The low, constant hum, the steady rocking, the warmth in your belly all conspired against you and before you knew it, you were nodding off in Vincentâs arms. He took your mug, passed it to Bo, who set it on the ground.Â
When the storm at last had all but faded, Vincent woke you with a string of kisses across your brow. Sleepy, you stood and let him guide you inside. Â
Someone had dragged the biggest mattress in the house to the middle of the living room floor and piled it with bedding. Lester was dead asleep on the far side of the mattress, snoring, nothing but his hair peeking out from his blanket. Bo sprawled beside him, staring at the ceiling with his arms behind his head.Â
âWe always used to sleep together during storms when we were kids,â he murmured. âFigured you should get the full experience.âÂ
You sank onto the mattress and curled into his side. ââS good,â you mumbled. You felt Vincentâs weight behind you. âI like storms.âÂ
âHear that, Vin? We got a convert.âÂ
You heard the puff of Vincent blowing out the last remaining candle, and with that, you slipped back into a warm and peaceful sleep.Â
Sleepy Sinclair Headcanons
Thinking about them falling asleep helps me fall asleep.
Lester
Lester sleeps in plaid pajama pants always, and rotates through a selection of band tees, bar tees, and tank tops. No socks unless heâs sleeping at his little cabin in the woods, then sometimes he likes the extra warmth.Â
Sleeps curled up like a little creature in a den. Head is covered by the blankets or even sometimes by his pillow. Never gets too hot or freaks out about only breathing that warm air. Snores, but like a cute sleepy snore.Â
Normal person body temperature when he sleeps. If itâs cold out, heâs cold. If itâs hot, heâs hot.Â
Has to have some kind of white noise to sleep. When heâs out in nature, this is provided by the insects and night sounds. When heâs at the house, heâll leave his window open or sleep with a fan on for the noise.Â
Absolutely adores sleeping under the stars. Has been known to take a pillow and blanket out on the roof on clear summer nights. Sometimes sleeps in a hammock in the yard or sets up camp in the back of Boâs truck. His cabin has skylights above the bed so even when itâs not comfortable to actually sleep outside he can still see the sky.Â
Pretty solid sleeper. Mumbles nonsense in his sleep. Will not remember a lick of it in the morning. Not super prone to nightmares. His brothers helped create happy memories in the midst of a traumatic childhood and he has a lot of time to think out on the road by himself. Heâs made a lot of peace with himself, his parents, and his past, more so than the twins have.Â
When sharing his bed with you, the two of you are tangled up like vines, burrowed in like bunnies. All cuddle positions are created equal. Will happily sleep this way too, no squirming away in the middle of the night.Â
Vincent
It gets hot in the basement despite it being underground. Thereâs a lot of machinery running during the day and Vinny keeps the heat up so the wax is more malleable. In the Louisiana climate it takes a while for things to cool back down so Vincent sleeps shirtless, wearing sweatpants or maybe even just his underwear depending on the season. No socks. Never socks. Death before dishonor.Â
Looks like a literal angel when he sleeps. Often on his back with his arms above his head, more often on his stomach with his head turned in profile on the pillow.Â
Always too hot. Another reason for sleeping shirtless. The covers on his cot downstairs consist of a single thin blanket. Upstairs in his bedroom he usually sleeps with a single blanket or sheet only.Â
Sometimes his hair is up, sometimes itâs down. If itâs a particularly muggy day he gets annoyed with it sticking to his neck and heâll tie it up before bed. His mask is always off for sleeping and he cleanses, tones, and moisturizes his skin every night without fail.Â
Has to sleep with a light on. Itâs not that heâs afraid of the dark, itâs that he gets up a lot in the night and would prefer to be able to see. Before meeting you, he would leave a candle burning all night, because everything the Sinclair family touches is a fire hazard. You have insisted he instead use a fake candle or one of those salt lamps. The fake candle is an affront to his sensibilities but he agrees you have a point.Â
Sleeps for two hours at a time tops. Constantly getting up to get a drink, take a piss, pace around his workshop. If heâs sleeping upstairs heâll get up and eat a bowl of cereal at 2 AM. Doesnât have a lot of nightmares but has semi-regular night terrors that are absolutely bloodcurdling. It sort of helps if he doesnât sleep for long stretches, but also, heâs just a restless mind. Sometimes youâll stir in the middle of the night and find him sitting and watching you, sketching or just watching, nursing a cup of tea.Â
Sleeps in the basement when heâs in a creative period, which is usually the case. If heâs between projects, or suffering from artistâs block, or just finally ready to see some scenery outside of the basement, heâll wander upstairs for bed.Â
Will snuggle with you until youâre asleep, and then he will carefully extricate himself so he doesnât disturb you when he gets up. Favorite position is big spoon, or you with your head on his chest and his arm around you.Â
Bo
Sleeps in a tee, often a thin white cotton one, and his boxers. Wears SOCKS about half the time like a MADMAN. And theyâre those stereotypical calf-length ones too with the red stripe around the cuff.Â
Takes up the entire bed. Sprawls on his back with arms and legs akimbo. Snores so loud he wakes himself up sometimes. Also rolls like a log in his sleep, somehow remains unconscious despite thrashing around like a fish.Â
Bo runs hot, always. That plus the constant motion means he often sleeps with little more than a sheet whether or not there were other blankets there to begin with.Â
Has to have a glass of water by his bed at all times. Refills it every night before bed because who likes the taste of stale water? (Nobody.)Â
Does a complete sweep of the house every night before he turns in. Checks to make sure all the doors are locked and the windows are shut. Doesnât make a big deal out of it at all, but by god, even if heâs wasted, he will stumble around the house and make sure his family is secure.Â
Sleeps like the dead. Cannot be woken up for love nor money. The only exception is this: if you try to sneak in, out, or past him, he is immediately awake and alert. If someone were to try the doorknob on the front door he would know about it. Call his name, shake his shoulder, slap his face? No luck. Whisper that you think you mightâve heard something? He heard it too and heâs already downstairs with a shotgun.Â
Has pretty frequent nightmares and jolts awake soaked in sweat. If he is sleeping alone, he will often stay awake for a while until the fear has faded. If you are there, he will attach himself to you like a creeper vine and fall back asleep much quicker.Â
This man was literally born a little spoon and that has never changed. Enjoys cuddling with you in all positions but when itâs time for sleeping, he will roll over and scootch that ass back against you and falls asleep well before you detach yourself to prevent overheating since he is the temperature of the sun.Â
Bonus:Â Jonesy!!!
This girl has many beds. She has a dog bed in the living room. She has a doghouse in the backyard.  She has a bed in Vinnyâs workshop. She has a special blanket in Boâs room. She has Lester.Â
During the day she often forgoes all of these places in favor of a nice sunny patch where she can sprawl.Â
At night she chooses her favorite sleeping companion based on a mysterious set of factors. You and Lester are the only ones that let her sleep on the bed. Bo would rather die, and frankly, Jonesy does not enjoy being kicked accidentally by a sleeping menace. Vincent lets her on his cot when heâs not using it, but it is not super comfy for both of them to sleep on at the same time.Â
When Lester is home, Lester is the favorite, no questions asked. When Vincent gets up in the middle of the night and goes to the kitchen to forage, Jonesy will meet him there, squinting in the fluorescents, making sure heâs okay. She seems to have a knack for predicting Boâs nightmares and will either settle down in his room or will get up from wherever sheâs sleeping to go sit by his bed. Does this occasionally scare the shit out of him? Yes. But sheâs doing her best and he knows it.Â
Jonesy is best girl end of story.Â
Sinclair Household HCs
My brainâŠitâs rottingâŠ. Â
COOKING
Vincent cannot cook for shit. Â Not only that, but he puts milk in his bowl before he pours in the cereal. Â Unforgivable. Â Vinny does like to bake, but his success rate is wildly variable. Â Sometimes his cookies are weapons. Â
Vinny gets so wrapped up in his work he forgets to eat for hours. Â Bo will sometimes call him from the station to tell him to go upstairs and eat something. He genuinely likes fruits and vegetables, but heâs not picky and will munch just about anything. Â
Bo is a survivalist cook. He spent some time parenting his brothers, particularly Lester, and Trudy liked to withhold food as punishment, so he became adept at throwing together something quick. Â
Processed food is this manâs fuel. Â Boxed mac & cheese, canned soup, frozen dinners. Â Can toast a waffle. Â Can grill a cheese. Â Can make a pretty damn good sandwich. Â Has been known to eat the pieces of a thing rather than assembling the thing. Â
Lester is the chef! You can hand this man a dead skunk, like really dead, and he will present you with the most decadent burgoo youâve ever had. Â Also quite the connoisseur of wine. Â He makes his own and itâs damn good. Â
Lester has a garbage disposal stomach and appetite. Â Heâs never heard of food poisoning. Â Heâs never met a food he doesnât like. Â Heâs a particular fan of gas station fare though, stopping on his route for chips, beef jerky, pork rinds, you name it. Â
Spice tolerance?  Vin is the master.  Lester is Cajun through-and-through.  Bo will insist he is fine even though his face is red and he is pouring sweat.  To be fair, heâs got a tolerance above average, but heâs nothing compared to his little brothers. Â
CLEANING
Lester, itâs Lester. Â
The man doesnât mind a little grime. Â Weâve all seen his truck and his self. Â But thatâs work. Â Heâs got too much to do to worry about a little blood, especially when it spills as fast as he can clean it. Â When it comes to his living space, having things neat and orderly is like a mental separation for him between work and home. Â
Makes his bed every goddamn day (when he sleeps in a bed, that is).
Lester takes showers until the hot water runs out and revels in that squeaky clean, guts-less feeling. If you catch him outside the workweek, mans smells delicious, kind of tobacco-y and leathery and woodsy. Â He does love him some chew, but heâs not gross about it. Â
Unfortunately for him, his brothers are disasters. Â
Vinny is the most single-minded person in the state of Louisiana. Â The project in front of him is all he can see or think about. Â He leaves tools everywhere. Â He sets candles down, forgets about them, leaves them burning until someone blows them out before they light something on fire. Â He genuinely does not see the mess (same tbh). Â
His workshop looks like a bomb went off, but it all makes perfect sense to him. Â He can find you anything in two seconds. Â If you put it âwhere it goes,â he will never find it again. Â
Vincent has wax lodged permanently beneath his fingernails and thereâs always a microscopic film of it on his skin. Â His hands are very soft from it though. Â Sometimes he goes for a while without showering because art. Â He also has a solid skincare routine pressed upon him by Mother Trudy. Â Wax does not breathe, so he has to keep his face clean and moisturized.
The other thing he is meticulous about is his hair. Â We never see it in the movie, but I like to think he keeps it pulled back a lot of the time while working. Â He doesnât mind it in his face, but getting wax out of it is a nightmare. Â Lester isnât often around to help him, and Bo told him if he ever made him do it again heâd shave his head. Â Vinny smells generally like art supplies, kind of sweet and woody, but his hair smells like nice shampoo. Â
Bo is the opposite of Lester. Â He is neat at work and a slob at home. Â His garage is always swept, every little screw and gear organized and accounted for, his truck washed once a week like clockwork. Â At the house though, manâs leaving dishes in the same place for weeks, crumbs galore, dirty and clean laundry all over the floor. Â
Every so often, the mess gets to him and he goes on a cleaning tirade. Â It gets the work done, but heâs a nightmare to deal with if you get in his way.
Bo himself is pretty well-kept. Â He wears clean underwear every day goddammit. Â Despite being a mechanic, he hates having dirty nails, so he will give himself a manicure on Sundays. Â Donât you fucking dare look at him like that. Â Smells like motor oil, leather, cigarettes, and that good sweat. Â Only wears cologne on special occasions, like funerals.
 HOME LIFE, ESP. WEEKENDS
Bo is the one who makes runs into town for supplies. Â Vincent would rather die than leave Ambrose, and Lester attracts too much attention between the smell, the slight lack of social skills, and his tendency to describe the innards of animals at the slightest provocation. Â Bo attracts his own kind of attention, but heâs adept at deflecting it. Â
Lester doesnât often sleep at the house. Â He has a bedroom, but he also has a neat little shack in the woods, and thatâs where he spends most of the week. Â Itâs not that he doesnât love his brothers; itâs that he likes his space, his freedom.
He comes home on the weekends, sometimes early on Fridays. Â This is when most of the housekeeping gets done, but he doesnât mind a bit. Â
Friday night is boysâ night. Isnât every night boysâ night? Yes. Â Does this matter? Â No. Â
All three of them are wicked good at pool. Â Like, stupid good. Â Games between the brothers are either over fast, or last an hour. Â Thereâs also a fair bit of poker. Â The currency at stake takes the form of small bones (animal, human, whatever), nuts from the garage, matches, or loser shots.
Speaking of which, the Sinclairs can hold their booze. Â In addition to his wine endeavors, Lester makes some facefucking moonshine and rotgut whisky. Â The night usually starts with cheap beer and ends with Bo talking REALLY LOUD, LIKE SO LOUD. HEâS NOT YELLING, HEâS JUST LIKE THIS.
Vincent gets everyone water and stops drinking hours before the other two because heâs smart, although he can absolutely drink you under the table if given the chance. Â Lester gets loopy and ends up falling asleep in uncomfortable positions. Â
Bo doesnât typically get belligerent, but it is a possibility. Â He usually gets uncharacteristically sentimental. Â He smiles a lot more. Â Sometimes he gets real quiet. Â When this happens, his brothers put on music or start telling stories about happy memories to keep him out of the dark places in his head. Â
Saturday mornings are often bleak and silent affairs. Â
In a longtime tradition, Saturdays are spent on yardwork. Â There are a lot of yards in Ambrose, lots of planter boxes, and they all need to be kept presentable. Â Picture all three Sinclairs mowing lawns with or without white t-shirts. Â Yeah. Â
Sunday is for putting the house back into a reasonable state of affairs. Â The amount of laundry these men generate is abominable. Â No one likes dusting, hence all the cobwebs. Â
Attendance at Sunday dinners is non-negotiable. Â Shirts tucked in, all three of them. Â Bo and Vincent will often help Lester cook. Â This is not, in fact, helpful. Â None of the brothers are particularly religious anymore, but they alternate saying grace before they eat. Â
When Monday morning comes, Bo always has coffee made before Lester leaves at the ass crack of dawn. It happens to be decent. Â Lester takes a thermos for the road, Bo has a cup before he leaves the house, and he brings Vinny an insulated cup in his workshop, so that even when he forgets itâs there, itâs warm for him when he remembers.
My classes start tomorrow (ahh 17 credit hours bc Iâm a fool) and itâs kick starting my college!Vincent brainrot. Just getting out of Ambrose for a little while, fine arts major, very late 80âs/90âs goth with his long dark hair and heartbreak music. GOD I want to hang out with him so badly
oh my god what a vibe (also, 17 credit hours, you're a goddamn champion)
You always see him in a corner of the library on the fourth floor where people don't usually go because it's all the philosophy texts. There are a few little workstations tucked back on the east side and there's a big, pretty window back there. He's a big man, but he's almost always hunched in on himself, bent over a text or a sketchbook, contorted in the weirdest positions like his physical form takes a backseat to whatever his mind is engaged in.
You'd actually kill for hair like his. Usually he's so absorbed in what he's doing he doesn't look up when people pass. Sometimes he does, though, and you catch a glimpse of a piercing, crystalline blue eye through the veil of his dark locks. It does something to you.
He's got style, too, all black, boots he could probably crush your skull with, a whole slew of chains around his neck, a long black duster as the temperature starts to drop. Of particular note are the rings on his long fingers.
You become friends, of a sort, because you're the only other person who ever camps out in this section of the library. At first he is wary of you, shooting you uneasy glances, leaving soon after you arrive. Then he ignores you once he realizes you have no intention of bothering him. You spend hours ten feet apart, you trying to make a flashcard for every word you've ever learned, him pouring his soul onto paper. You smile at him when one of you leaves. He never smiles back.
He always has a cup of coffee from the little cafe downstairs. He also always seems to run out well before it's time to pack up. So one day, you bring two cups up to the fourth floor and set one on the desk beside his empty first one.
"Here," you say. That blue eye looks up through the curtain. "It's midterms soon. I thought you might need it."
You can feel his eyes on you as you retreat to your spot and sit down, unzipping your bag, trying so hard to act casual. When you finally muster the courage to look at him again, he touches his hand to his chin and brings it forward.
"Thank you."
You don't think he's deaf, but maybe he's mute. You know a little bit of ASL from high school, so you sign back, "You're welcome. Anytime."
He bends back over his sketchbook and you start setting up your flashcards. You hear a ripping sound, a soft cough, and look up. He reaches one long arm over, proffers you a piece of paper. You lean over and take it.
I'm Vincent. I study art. What's your name?
His handwriting, of course, is beautiful.
Hi hellooooo!!đđđđđđ You absolutely do NOT have to write this but uhhh some Bo comfort please? Y/N has been working a LOT and is either at their workplace or in their room, music blasting and functioning through life but is not... THERE with the Sinclairs, if you get me. Tensions and worries rise but then one night Y/N is found in Bo's doorway, looking Out Of It - exhausted, upset - and essentially uses him as a gigantic teddy bear? Lies on top and squeeeeeezes him 'til he grunts. It's the most interaction they've had for weeksđ
If you have anything you want then please please send it inđđđđ
Erika thank you for requesting this, it did me so much good to write it. đ We all need some Bo lovin', that's just facts.
Workaholic
Bo Sinclair x GN!Reader
1.3k words
No CWs, just fluff and comfort. Reader does eat at Bo's behest, if that counts as a warning.
It was funny, how you somehow missed the signs every time.Â
Overworking yourself was a bad habit you fell into again and again. It wasn't hard to do; you liked your job even though it wasn't perfect, and the exhaustion never seemed to set in until you were on your way back to Ambrose. And it was so easy to scavenge through the fridge, curl up in bed, disengage entirely.Â
Your boys checked on you, of course they did. You'd pull off your headphones and smile at them, tell them about your day in vague detail. But it took such effort to relive it all. It was easier to shrug and characterize it all as "fine."Â
You sensed their concern. Lester tried to convince you to take a drive with him after work. Vincent wanted you to sit and model for him. Even Bo tried to coax you downstairs to watch trash TV together. You politely declined every time. You were tired. You just wanted to stay home. Maybe next time. Maybe tomorrow.Â
The days ran together and your sense of time dissolved. Friday night found you curled around a pillow, blasting metal, staring into the middle distance until your phone died abruptly.Â
It was like breaking out of a trance. You hadn't even realized your battery was low. With a sigh, you plugged in your phone, sat in silence for a minute.Â
It was very silent, as a matter of fact. What time was it? You couldn't check your phone.Â
You crept into the hallway. The house was dark. Everyone had apparently gone to bed but you.Â
Well, almost everyone.Â
There was a dim light coming from under Bo's door. Sometimes he was up late reading. It hit you, suddenly, that you didn't know what book he'd been into lately. As a matter of fact, you weren't sure what any of them had been up to. You felt guilty for being so checked out. If he was up, maybe it wouldn't hurt to peek in and talk with him for a minute.Â
You knocked lightly on the door. "Come in," he called softly. "'S that you, darlin'?"
"It's me." You pushed open the door, leaned against the frame.Â
Sure enough, he was propped up on two pillows with a paperback in hand. "What are you doin' up?"
"I was justâŠin my room. What time is it?"
"Almost 2:30. You weren't sleepin'?"
You shook your head.Â
Bo furrowed his brow. He was rough on books and flipped the paperback rather forcefully facedown on the bed beside him to save his place. He laced his fingers together on his chest. "No offense, but you look like hell."
You heaved a sigh. "BoâŠI feel like hell."
"You been workin' too much."
"I don't know, I don't feel like it's been that muchâŠ."
"Honey, I ain't seen you in days."
You laughed once in disbelief. "How can that be, we live in the same house."
"You tell me. Every time I talk to you it's like talkin' to a reflection of you. Lester asked me if I thought you were sick, said you didn't even want to go out to the lake with him 'n Jonesy yesterday."
You felt heavy and hollow at the same time. "IâŠI mean, it's not that I didn't want to go, I justâŠ." You swallowed hard. "...I don't know."
Bo looked concerned. "You ain't been yourself for a bit. Got us all worried."
"I'm sorryâŠI don't mean to worry youâŠI-I guess I justâŠI've just beenâŠ." Your throat tightened and you looked at him desperately, begging him to understand.Â
He unlaced his fingers and opened his arms. "C'mere, darlin'."
You shuffled over, climbed on top of him, buried your face in his chest. His arms were warm and solid around you, his hands familiar. He was sturdy and safe, your Bo.
"I-I don't know what's wrong," you whimpered.Â
"You don't gotta say anythin', sugar. It's okay." He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "I missed you."
You wormed your arms underneath and around him, squeezed him tightly, tighter, until he huffed out a low grunt and tapped the small of your back. "Easy, killer," he wheezed. "What y'crushin' me for?"
"I just need you close," you mumbled. He squeezed you back. "Closer."
Bo kicked the blanket off his feet and wrapped his legs around yours. "How's that?"
"Can you just absorb me?"
"Lemme see." He flipped you to the side and rolled on top of you, went limp to press his full weight against you until you slapped at his chest. "What's the matter, I thought this is want y'wanted."
"Bo!"
"'S my name."
"Bo!"Â
"Sorry darlin', this is what happens when you starve me of attention. Just can't help myself."
"You're gonna kill me!" you gasped.
"Nah, I ain't never killed nobody."
Your fingertips found the edge of his book and you flung it off the bed. His jaw dropped.Â
"Well, now I gotta kill ya."
You giggled and he buried his face in your neck, blew a raspberry, held you down as you tried to squirm away. He was ticklish in a particular spot on his ribs and you dug in mercilessly. Bo's whole body jerked and he grabbed onto you for balance.
"Now don't you start with me."
"I'm paying attention to you!"
"You're gonna be payin' for somethin' here in a minute." You tried desperately to poke at him and he pinned your arms to your sides with almost no effort. "I don't remember you bein' so weak."
"Hey!"
"When's the last time you ate, darlin'?"
"I had some crackers not too long ago."
He gave you one of his trademark withering stares. "What are you, a bird?"
You rolled your eyes. "Bo."
"Don't 'Bo' me, c'mon. Let's get some food in you."
He rolled off the bed and led you down to the kitchen. "What d'you want for an appetizer?"
"An appetizer?"
"Yeah, I'm cookin' you a four-course meal real quick."
"It's three in the morning."
"Do I look like I care?"
"I'm not even hungry."
"Look, I know you ain't from around here, so I'll cut you some slack, but we don't say those words in Louisiana." He was already pulling out dishes. "You best tell me somethin' or I'm gonna start throwin' stuff in this pot with no rhyme or reason and it ain't gonna taste good and you still gotta eat it."
"How about those potatoes you made one time? The really good ones?"
"Mmm. I can do that."
"Can I help?"
"Sure, only if you tell me 'bout work." He shot you a look. "I mean really tell me, none o' this 'it's fine, it's fine' bullshit." His imitation of your voice was high-pitched and whiny and he smirked when you glared at him. "Y'sound just like that when you're blowin' me off, darlin'."
You rolled your eyes and slowly started recounting the details of your last few shifts as you chopped potatoes. Despite all assumptions to the contrary, Bo was an excellent listener, and it was cathartic to empty your head of all the stress and bustle of your job.Â
Once the potatoes were fried and ready to eat Bo divided them between two plates and you sat next to him on the couch, one leg hitched over his.Â
"You're callin' in sick tomorrow," he said matter-of-factly.Â
"I don't know if - "
"I do know. We need you. They can last without you for a day."
You sighed. "Alright. You're right."
"Usually am."
"These potatoes are delicious. You're a good cook."
"Go on, tell me more nice things about myself."
"If I squint like this your head doesn't look so big."
He laughed and elbowed you. "'S good to have you back, darlin'."
You smiled at him, hair disheveled, sprawled on the couch in his pajamas, taking care of you like he always did. God, you loved him.Â
"It's good to be back."

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World Heritage Post
â I KNOW YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL â â ch1-ch2.
series masterlist | ghostface x reader | nsfw
IN WHICH THERE is only one way to live: take his virginity.
content: 18+ DDDNE: DUBCON, male!ghostface, top male reader, canon timeline, mentions of heterosexuality (?), death threats, physical violence: ghostface injures reader, freeze response, coercion, virginity loss (ghostfaceâs first time), unprotected sex, creampie
âșâș previous | v.ao3 | red headers
âWhatâs your favorite scary movie?â
You pause momentarily. Titles which have no peculiar prestige in elements echo through your mind, and the back of your throat vibrates loudly with your humming. âI donât know.â
âYou have to have a favorite,â Ghostface answers in time, his palm soothing over his hardening cock hidden beneath thin layers. It was naught but of deviance, sick, and worthy to be indicted of indirect defilement, âWhat comes to mind?â
Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you settle on one and mutter it out. You return the question, âWhatâs yours?â
âGuess.â
âHm,â in the forsaken trenches residing within your brain, you are able to vacuously sense an anomalous presence stalking you in every corner. Though, you decide on not to dignify it, considering your brain may be simply playing tricks on you. âA Nightmare on Elm Street.â
âIs that the one with the guy who had knives for fingers?â
âYeah, Freddy Krueger.â
In spite of the known fact that it was inherently basic knowledge that anyone could possess with disregard to tolerance of such movies, Ghostface almost groans out in pleasure, digging his palm against himself firmer. You had no idea how proud he was.
âFreddy!â He cheered breathlessly, his gaze seemingly fixated on the bulge that resided on the front of your pants, inevitably causing his own cock to throb and his hole to clamp around nothing with want, âThatâs right. I like that movie. It was scary.â
Buzzing resonates slowly from your throat, born out of you humphing thoughtfully in agreement. âOnly the first one.â
There was thrill in this conversation, in spite of the certitude that this person was no woman.
âSo... you got a girlfriend?â Ghostface interrogated through a ragged breath, the puff hitching at the end as he patted his growing bulge lightly as though to reign in his aggravated nerves. Haunting murmurs of jealousy brewed inside of the storm that was currently ravaging his brain at his own question.
It shouldnât bear any significance. Heâll kill your lover if you have one.
With great and exceeding self-restraint, you hinder yourself from laughing out loud in surprise. The corners of your lips threaten to curve upwards, âWhy? You into me?â
Perverted, outrageous excitement courses through the killerâs body as he steels his knees against the dirt to halt himself from humping his palm. He needed you to be with himâeven better, have you inside of him for as long as he needs. âMaybe. Do you have a girlfriend?â
âNo,â you answer honestly.
âYou never told me your name.â He stated, despite already owning the knowledge of your identity.
Itâs only a few more minutes until heâll get to the love of his life; until heâs granted the luxury of being freely able to caress you, to trap you to his body with his arms, to make you carve your initials into his flesh with that soon-to-be familiar weapon of his, and so many other endless possibilities.
âWhy do you wanna know my name?â
âBecause I wanna know who Iâm looking at.â
Oh, fuck.
Warranted fear seizes your heart, your body abnormally stilling for a moment as your breathing halts. Driven by shock, you steer your gaze towards any and every window that may allow anyone to peer into your home. To your dreadfully cursed luck, darkness completely embraced the outside.
âWhat?â
âI wanna know who Iâm talking to.â The anonymous voice residing on the other line confirmed.
âThatâs not what you said.â You mutter, departing from the counter behind you to seek for a weapon.
âWhatâd you think I said?â He rises from his knelt spot, pacing towards an unfortunate entrance of your home. With the aid of his current location, he still has the ability to watch as you fumble with a knife in your trembling possession, your shoulders stiff with alertness. God, youâre beautiful.
âWhat? Hello?â He prompted, a hint of impatience seeping into his tone.
âI gotta go.â
âWait, I want to go out with you.â
âNo, I donâtââ
âDonât hang up on me.â Ghostface demanded, a precipitous dawn of anger crossing his heart when you still doggedly ended the line.
You needed to set the phone down somewhere or at least dial the police. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Youâre not alone.
Youâre not alone.
The unceremonious deathly rattling of the communicator startled you, your knife almost brutally descending from your grasp. You draw a tattered inhale, sweat naturally developing on your forehead as you reluctantly answer.
âYes?â
âI told you not to hang up on me.â You didnât know it consciously, but Ghostface was getting closer and closer.
âWhat do you want?â You force out, your fingers tightening around the handle.
âTo talk.â
âGo dial someone else. Listenââ
âNo, you listen you little bitch. You hang up on me again, and Iâll gut you like a fish. Understand?â Ghostfaceâs voice rose in temper, aggressiveness clutching the edges of the menacing syllables that probed their way out of his mouth. He chuckled upon noticing your shaken silence, âYeah...â
âIs this a joke?â You ask, frantic. Like a man in dire needâperhaps, you wereâyou comically rush around your house to guarantee that every lock was activated.
âMore of a game, really. Can you handle that, baby?â
If the situation did not concern your life status, your heart wouldâve pleasantly fluttered.
Eventually, you arrive to a halt at a corner in the hallway. You glance towards the windows in your kitchen, attempting to gauge any sign that could denounce where he was lurking.
âCan you see me?â
âYou know Iâm going to call the police.â You warningly interrupted, the life-stealing metal that you delicately cradled was taunting you that you wouldnât be able to strike the criminal. You were certain of it.
âTheyâll never make it in time. Weâre out in the middle of nowhere.â He painstakingly emphasized the last word, to which your abdomen churns with regret.
âWhat do you want?â
âTo see what your pretty insides look like. But if you agree to play a game, Iâll let you live.â
A game? Is that what all this was?
Your capacity to laugh was dutifully robbed from you.
âHereâs how we play. I ask a question, and if you get it right, you live.â Ghostface beamed, soundlessly climbing through the window you well-conveniently failed to inspect.
âCome on, itâll be fun. Itâs an easy category: movie trivia.â
An instinct you did not know existed was nagging you.
Heâs here.
âLet me give you a warm-up question. Name the killer in Halloween. You can do this.â
âMichael Myers.â You blurt out without thinking, a sharp exhale passing through your nose as you steeled yourself to not allow a hint of vulnerability to be brought into your voice.
âYes! Very good. Now for the real question.â
âNoââ
âBut youâre doing so well. We canât stop now.â Ghostface encouraged, his footsteps deliberately light against the floor.
âSame category. Name the killer in Friday the Thirteenth.â
âJason!â You almost yell, both of your hands tirelessly seizing the communicator as if it was your dim lifeline, accompanied by the knife you canât let go of in fear that he will come to terrorize you any moment.
âIâm sorry, but thatâs the wrong answer!â
What?
No.
Please no.
âNo, itâs not. It was Jason.â You outwardly panic, the beat of your steady heart amplifying. Adrenaline crashes into you like a bullet, practically rendering you free from all movements.
âAfraid not. No way. You shouldâve known that Jasonâs mother was the original killer.â Ghostface lightly scolded, the head of his cock babbling out small bursts of pre-cum in response to your perceptible horror.
âLucky for you, thereâs a bonus question. What door am I at? Go on, itâs your call.â
Heâs here.
Before youâre able to respond in any form, a hasty crash of intricate glass scattering across the ground resounded through the halls. You tense automatically, your shoulders wincing when you see a glimpse of black cloth in one of your doorways. Involuntarily, you lose your grip on the phone and abandon it once it hits the floor with a dull echo. You donât have the time to spare, so you dash up the stairs.
Thereâs only about four or five steps left until you reach the top of the staircase when ominous and foreign fingers curl around your ankle, yanking you back down.
âFuckââ you grunt, twisting around and kicking against the grasp with the lack of precaution.
To great luck, your foot collides with the chest of a figure decked out in long, black, lurex robe with tattered edges at the bottom. It was graced with a metallic-like sheen, the fabric catching in the low lighting. Then, you glance to see the intruderâs face, only to be confronted by an eerie white mask that sustains a permanent and exaggerated horrendous expression thatâs guaranteed to be engraved into your memory.
You hear him yelp from the force, followed by the sight of him stumbling. One of his dark boots skidded against the edge of the tread of the step, and it eventually resulted in his fall.
Seizing this opportunity, you steadilyâif you can even call it that with how you almost trip over yourself several timesârun up to the second floor.
The stranger rapidly shook his head, regaining his consciousness in spite of the near-television static consuming the foremost area of his racked brain. He shoves himself upward a tad too quickly for it to be good for him, and he trails after you like a man on a vengeance-fed rampage.
Youâre able to take only a couple of steps inside of your bedroom before Ghostface tackles you on the ground, one hand of his weighing down on your chest while the other holds his knifeâyour own clattering someplace elseâto your vulnerable throat. He straddled your lap, the sides of his knees digging against the outer areas of your thighs. The scent of death awakened; the infamous weapon was now a hairâs breadth away from prickling your skin.
You donât think you can breathe.
Your knee nudges up, attempting to buck him off of you, to no avail. He assertively settles his weight down on top of you, angling the flat of the metal to your jaw with the sharpened part just barely managing to graze your chin. Your breathing locks in your throat, and you stiffen up to prevent erroneously giving yourself a fresh cut.
âYou lose.â
It was nothing short of an exuberant declaration of your defeat. You didnât need a view of his face to be aware that he was grinning unabashedly.
âThere we go, stop struggling. If you wanna live, you have to listen to me.â
At that, you are overcome with the need to retain your life, and you reluctantly exorcise all means of vigor your body previously contained. You lay there, demeaningly underneath him, with the active withholding of delivering a brute hit to his obscured face. Your hands ball into tight fists and the intruder immediately takes notice. But it didnât matter much to him. He knows youâve given in.
A giggle, a demoralizing sound that is seemingly altered by what you guess is a voice modulator of some sorts, reverberates from his chest and up through the elongated, wide-open mouth that abominably expands the jaw. The eyes of the mask were hollow and dark; yet, nevertheless, they were piercing your form enough to make you slightly squirm.
Ghostfaceâs reaction is immaculately swift. He clenches his thighs around yours to force you to still, and thatâs when you feel it.
Oh.
Oh.
He was hard.
His cock pressed against your thigh, the sensation remarkably solid and warm through the decently wispy material of his costume. He sees your gaze darting towards his groin, and he doesnât know how to outwardly react, but he knows youâre staring. The hand thatâs on your chest reaches up to take hold of your chin, tilting your head towards his own and away from the neglected ache in between his legs. Glovesâblack gloves that are terrifyingly smooth against your skin conceal his hands, you silently note. He lifts the knife away from your body, but he did not discard it next to your forgotten knife. He was granting you some respite.
âI think you know what I want now.â Ghostface pinpointed, experimentally jutting his hips forwards and backwards once. It was uncoordinated, providing minimum pleasure for him but none at all for you. The realization that your hands were still unbounded has you hooking your hands on his waist, to which he let out a hoarse moan in delight.
âWhat the fuck are you talking about?â
Hearing your question gifts him the audacity to groan in exasperation. He twirls the weapon around in his hand, idly swinging it with no true objective. âDonât be stupid. What do you think Iâm talking about?â
Before the urge completely registers in your brain, your right hand deviates from his side and flings upwards to connect with his jaw. He jolts, faltering on top of you as his palm gripping the weapon falls onto the floor to maintain his balance. It was an opening, and once more, you attempt to turn your positions around but heâs suddenly locking his legs around you. He slaps you hard across the face, averting you from retaliating in time, and uses his index finger, middle finger, and thumb to slightly compress your cheeks together.
Without a warning, he slashes a line with the steel blade over your cheek. You gasp, the dart of pain firing through the entirety of your face along with the stinging hit given to you just moments prior. The cut was relevantly shallow, light, and not at all intended to scar, but it still mildly hurts you. Beads of blood begin to dot along the cut and slide down your cheek. The scent was distinctly metallic, hitting you in the nose in a way that makes you want to hurl.
âDo that again, and Iâll fucking kill you! Now, stay still and keep that pretty mouth shut.â Ghostface reprimands as he repositions himself, the volatile duality of his behavior startling you into obeying his whims. You deliberately allow your hand to slip off of him, and he doesnât seem to take any offense. Again, he rolls his clothed hard cock against your still-soft groin, albeit a tad too gentle for either of your liking.
âFuck⊠you feel good. Real good,â He praises under his breath, slowly grinding against you. Using his thumb, he swipes the trickle of blood up, cautious as to not inadvertently brush the wound. He raises that hand and tucks it underneath his mask, grunting in appreciation as his tongueânot that you can see it, but itâs a predictionâflicks out to lick the vital fluid that belongs to you, and he mumbles, âTaste good too.â
In that moment, you were suspended in an unyielding trance, unable to respond or move from mere shock. What the hell was going on?
Ghostface sighs, long and drawn-out and agitated. For apparently good measure and to liberate you from your ephemeral hypnosis, he strikes your cheek a second time. It was delivered with a lower level of physical power but a higher level of intention to snap you out of whatever train of thoughts are booming through your head. It works as expected, your head briefly jerking to the side then back to him.
âI want you to fuck me,â he abruptly blurts out.
You sputter, heat skulking to your bloodied face and you half-expect to be hit again for the never-ending length of your stupidity, âWhat?â
âIf you wanna live tonight, baby, youâre gonna fuck me. Sounds good?â Ghostface rephrases for your sake, tilting his head off to the side as if he was scrutinizing you.
âWhy do Iââ
KRNKKKK!
He stabs the knife into the floor right beside your head, the weapon scraping as it splinters the floor slightly. You flinch, instinctively trying to firmly separate yourself and the killing tool, and he considers that as a cue to intensely ground his groin against yours to hoist your attention to him and him only.
âDo you wanna live or not?â
âIââ
Your nth mistake.
Youâre too slow in telling him what he desperately needs to hear. Driven by furiosity, he smacks your injured cheek, hard, your blood splattering all over his now crimson-stained gloveâone that heâs neither throwing away nor throwing into the washerâand you loudly grunt out a pained curse.
He coils that same hand around your exposed neck. Not to strangle you. At the very least, not yet.
With his unoccupied hand, he reaches down to loosen the strings sticking out of your waistband. You want to argue, you should argue, but you realize that youâll only grant an audience with your end if you dare voice out your disapproval.
âTake me to your bed.â Ghostface demanded, his fingers ghosting over your cock prior to grasping his knife once more. You were growing hard under his attention, inevitably. Your hands curl around his powerful thighs, the flesh flexing with anticipation as you sit up. Whether or not you were able to withstand such weight underneath your palms, it didnât matter. You are obligated to hoist him.
He dutifully slings his arms around your neck, his legs wrapping around your waist to support himself upright. You carry him to your bed (just as he had ordered like you were some sort of rabid animal to be tamed) and drop him onto the mattress. The furniture creaks as Ghostfaceâs back connects with it, bowing a little in protest to an unwanted stranger. He kicks his knees up, pushing himself backwards for his boots to dig onto the sheets.
His hands reach down to take the bottom of his costume and yank it upwards, the material pooling around his middle as his lower half is exposed to your supposed-to-be uninterested gaze. His arousal prominently strained against his boxers, a damp spot residing where the head of his cock was. You had expected an unsightly creature to unveil themselves to you. Alas, his skin, of what you were permitted to view, was normal. Human. Soft, even.
He allows his weapon to fall next to him, deliberately within his reach in case he finds use for it.
âWell?â He prompts, hooking his thumbs beneath the band of his boxers and pulling them down until they are all the way around his ankles. He languidly hangs it around one of them, before booting it off of him. His palms smooth under his knees, lifting his legs up to exhibit his rim for you.
Shit.
There was slickness glossed over and inside Ghostfaceâs hole, which was seemingly stretched out. Putting it to a test, and you werenât even aware that you found yourself allured by the sight that you shouldâve felt repulsed towards, you rub the pad of your index finger around his entrance to gather bits of the lube and push it into him. No resistance, if you ignore how he squeezes down onto your digit with a strangled moan.
âYes, fuck,â he gasped out through a distorted rasp of his voice changer, his walls tense and amazingly more welcoming than any other used cunt. âW-Worked myself open just for you and your cock. Mmn, you donât know how long Iâve been waiting for this.â
Waiting? Heâs been waiting?
You feel absolutely sick. For weeks, possibly for months, he has been stalking you without end.
And youâre the one who has to pay the price for his attention.
October 31st, 2:01 A.M.
Soon enough, your hips are snug against the backs of his thighs while your wet cock traitorously throbs inside of him.
Ghostface forced you into his untouched body without any remorse; his being born from sin ushering you to where you are now. You hold the advantage over him, with him being in a more vulnerable position, but you are physically and mentally departed from every means of control. He threw his legs over your shoulders, straining himself for the reward of pleasure that heâs selfishly making you give him. He beckons you to lean over him, and you follow.
âThatâs a good boy.â He praises, his head tipping back against the sheets.
The sensation by itself is strange. You pilot your hips backwards until half of your girth is being clung onto by his too-tight rim, before you snap into him once more. That wrecks out an appreciative moan from him, his thighs twitching against your upper half. Your length glistens with the lube he had graciously fingered into himself earlier, causing the strokes to be much smoother.
The head of your cock manages to rub against his prostate, his reaction immediate. âFuuucâah!â Ghostface babbles, the small of his back arching off of the bed as his hole canât help but clench down tight around you. Granted, it has you buck into him, the veins that run across your length brushing against sweet spots that have his boots digging against your back.
Youâre compelled to leisurely roll your hips, your dick slipping further inside of his spasming hole. You grind into him, ensuring that just the right amount of attention is driven into the certain bundle of nerves that has his pretty hole trembling around you. He whimpers, tears welling up in his eyes because, fuck, youâre too handsome and your cock is too thick for his brain to comprehend. The crease thatâs formed in between your eyebrows due to them knitting together makes him want to rip off his mask and kiss you.
But thatâll wait for another time.
Once he loosens around you, becoming docile underneath the presence of your body, you resume to your previous pace. The unattended cut across your cheek stings as your teeth grit together, a drying stream of crimson trudging down to your jaw. He whines, his hand lifting to wipe that trail off of you and rocks forward to meet your thrust. âBest fâhnghâ f-fucking cock Iâm ever going to have,â Ghostface mumbles under a tight breath, his own length pulsing with the need of release against his flexing abdomen.
âYouâre sick,â you grunt, pausing your movements to grab the base of your length and pull out. His lips part to retort, but you slide back into him with an abrupt slam.
âIâfuck!â He curses, a noise torn in between a pathetic moan and a scream. Ghostface laughs, his chest rumbling upwards as he uncontrollably contracts around you, âWe are both sick. Youâre gonna cum inside of me sooner or later, and you wonât be telling a goddamn soul about what happened between us, âless you wannaââ
You repeat the previous motion; your leaky tip slamming against his sensitive spot harder than before.
ââhnnnghâ! Shitââ Ghostface gasps, interrupting himself as his legs slide off of your shoulders as they helplessly spread apart. He looked almost pretty like that, his cute rim squeezing onto every inch of your throbbing cock to coax out your own release. Your skin and hand was wet with him, the lubricant combined with your pre-cum was gushing out of his entrance and conveniently slicking you up.
He felt so utterly full.
Killing you will be a damn waste, and he couldnât possibly get rid of his Sweetheart now.
His hands rush downwards, his fingers gathering the gentle sheets for leverage. He struggles, squirms, when he senses a rapid euphorical coil bundling within his lower abdomen. He whimpers, the vocal modulator barely managing to modify the noise.
âSâthis okay?â You pant out the words sarcastically next to his ear, slowing your thrusts into harsher yet deeper ones. Ones that shove his body further up your bed and nearly bang the top of his head against the wall.
âYâYes!â He cried out, his voice gravelly and hoarse and raw. Squelching sounds came from the apex between his legs, from where your body was intertwining with his, and he zones into that sensation of you filling him up over and over and over again until his thighs flail and lock around your waist.
Suddenly, his body jerks once, before cum dribbles from his slit. He shudders all over, trembling breathlessly as he rides out his first high by rolling his hips just in time for the head of your cock to breach him. He clamps down there, purposely, to trigger your climax â just as he wanted.
Itâs wet and warm. Ghostface can feel your cock twitching against his walls, and he has to physically prevent himself from forcing you to fuck into him again. He unwraps his legs, exhaustedly slumping against the bed. You pull out of him, rather too quickly to go on unnoticed, and practically collapse next to him.
He feels boneless, with your cum trickling out of his stretched hole.
You mightâve just successfully saved your life and a few others.





