Corvid's "X Reader" Fic Archive

A—Aftercare:

Leon’s first concern is always you. So after sex he always gets you water, wipes you clean, kisses your head, massages your thighs. If you guys got sweaty or you just felt icky, he carries you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter as he runs a bath. “You did so good, baby. My woman”, He smiles over his shoulder at you.(picture the way he looks at Ashley at the end of re4r) He helps you wash up and then back to bed to cuddle.

B—Body Part:

He just absolutely loves your ass. The way it fills out your clothing, how it’s perfect for his hands to cup and squeeze, and how good it looks when he's pounding into you. He gets home from mission’s, drained and needy. So when you pull him into a hug his hands slide from your waist, to your hips, and then finally your ass. He squeezes it gently, kissing your neck so softly, “Missed you.”

C—Cum:

It’s a 50/50 if he’s going in raw or with protection. If he’s stressed or hungover he wants to be as close to being one as possible. He’s cumming inside, if allowed by you. And if not he’s cumming inside he’ll cum on your ass or chest. He’s at a physical peak so he can cum a lot. He’s even better at making you cum.

D—Dirty Secret:

There have been times where Leon is on the phone, talking about work usually, and you're on your knees with his cock in your mouth. He'll thread his fingers through your hair, guiding you as he responds to whatever is being said on the line. When you take him all the way to the base, he clicksmutes to let out a moan. “Warn me next time, baby.” He chuckles but it's breathy and ends with a grunt. Eventually the phone call ends just in time for him to paint your pretty face, being loud as he wants.

E—Experience:

He knows exactly what he’s doing. Leon knows how to swirl his tongue, curl his fingers, rub with his thumb, and thrust at the perfect angle. He has learned everything about your body and how to pleasure it.

F—Favorite Position:

Doggy, reverse cowgirl, and missionary. He loves getting to prop his foot on the bed, and snap his hips into you, watching the way the fat of your ass moves. As for reverse cowgirl it gives him the opportunity to relax a bit more, especially if he’s sore. He grabs your hips, guiding you and assisting. “Fuck, just like that baby”. His head is thrown back, thigh muscles flexing. Missionary is a classic and is the position he always gets you in when he wants to go slower and more intimate. 

G—Goofy:

He is so corny, acting like an old man at 27. He’s totally making some lame ass joke about cracking jokes like he cracks you. Then he lets out a self satisfied breath of air which turn into a pout when you threaten to make him pull out. After sex he’s making jokes to help ground you back down to reality.

H—Hair:

Dirty blond, not quite a bush but not quite a full trim. He comes home from work exhausted so he doesn’t find it necessary. During training with Krauser her rarely had time to maintain a clean shave so now he doesn't bother. As always he doesn’t care what you decide to do with yours.

I—Intimacy:

Kisses on your spine, your neck, your thighs, your shoulders, your tummy, anything he can reach. He’ll whisper reassurance into your ear, though your certain he’s saying it a bit to himself.

J—Jerk Off:

He’ll jerk off on occasion but he isn’t one to do it often. Maybe in a hotel after or before a mission and he misses you. In that case he’s listening to your custom voicemail while stroking his leaking cock.

K—Kink:

Leon loves when you bite him. He knows you'll never go too hard. Sometimes it's not even sexual, you'll be chilling and you'll lightly bite on his biceps or fingers. Other times he's got you pressed into the mattress, arm around your shoulders, and you're bring into it while moaning.

L—Location:

Bedroom and the foyer. The bedroom allows for endless possibility and it’s comforting knowing he’s surrounded by little things of yours. The foyer wall has been victim of you being held up against it and Leon’s cock sliding in and out, rhythmically. It’s most common when he first gets home and he is hungry. Also your legs will be over his shoulders as he holds his hands firmly on your hips, eating your pussy out like a starving man.

M—Motivation:

When you take care of him and seeing you in form fitting dress are major turn ons. He’ll come home a little banged up or maybe even sick; he’ll deny all of this of course. Then you clean him up and offer to talk about it. It always starts with a hug and a kiss then ends with slow sex in bed.

N—No:

Leon isn’t going to harm you. The most he’ll do is wrap his bicep around your throat and flex gently, never cutting off air and always making sure you want it. 

O—Oral:

Loves the taste of his girl. Eats you out at least once every other day, he’s not scared of your cycle either. Sometimes all he wants is to eat you out till he can’t anymore. Leon never expects you to return the gesture and when you do he is whimpering as your lips stretch around his pretty cock.

P—Pace:

Typically the pace is fast and deep. His cock slides in and out audibly and your squeezing around him. As mentioned in the other letters he does like to have slow and intimate sex. Leon strives to be your man and he lives by the connection you two share.

Q—Quickies:

He like quickies because it’s his final taste of you before he has to leave for a mission. He’s great at getting the job done on time. Leon’s got his muscular arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding him up, as he hits the perfect angle with his cock. “Gonna miss you, gonna miss this pussy, love you so much”, he’ll slur kissing your spine.

R—Risk:

The name Leon S Kennedy is well known, especially with his connection to the president. Therefore he’s not trying to do anything public that would get either of you put in a sticky place. The most public he’ll get is balcony sex, which he does like especially when it’s for a extremely rare vacation.

S—Stamina:

 Leon will go as long as his partner pleases. It doesn't matter if he's whimpering and grunting from exertion, if you want more you'll get more. Rip your sheets.

T—Toys:

He'll let you buy whatever toys you want for yourself or him. Cock rings, different types of vibrators, dildo’s, etc. Whatever makes you happy and pleasured.

U—Unfair(teasing):

Leon teases playfully. A slap on the ass while you’re cooking, hugging you from behind and squeezing your chest in his hands. He’ll walk away with a smirk and a joke.

V—Volume:

As sex goes on he gets louder, by the end he’s whimpering and grunting. He likes to make you get loud, hearing you moan makes his cock twitch inside of you.

W—Wild Card:

When Leon gets infected with the Las Plagas he pulls you into the church, chest heaving. “I can’t. Fuck you smell so good.. taste even better” He kisses your neck and rips open your blouse, lips attacking your cleavage. His hard cock pressing insistently against your thigh. For the next 20 he’s slamming into your pussy, hand covering your mouth to avoid detection.

X—X-ray:

Girthy and slightly longer than average. Get’s longer when hard. Porn worthy color pallette; pink mushroom tip and a pale base. Visible veins run along it.

Y—Yearning:

Leon needs you. He loves you and wants to see you thrive. He is always putting you before him. If he wanted to spend a day in the house and you wanted to go shopping, looks like he’s giving you his card and a ride. He yearns for the taste of your pussy especially.

Z—Zzzz:

You crouched behind a charred sedan, heat still emanating from the mechanical carcass. Your options were limited. You knew that Gordon often forgot to lock up the barbershop, so there was a chance you could try to hole up in the apartment upstairs and pray that the fire escape offered a suitable emergency exit. You could try to make it to the school and hope that someone left a bike unchained, which you could try to take to your car – which was hopefully not on fire, like so many – and drive as far away from here as your gas tank would allow you.

The notion of gaining some distance, knowing that the next hiding space had no guarantee of being any safer than your previous, was far more desirable. The two blocks you would need to sneak through, hidden from the shambling corpses, however, did not look inviting. What choice did you have?

Scuttling from car to post office box, to bush, you made it to the nearest intersection, keeping low despite the burning protest in your thighs. None of the crossroads in town were exactly huge, but this one was far more open than you would like, despite the pileup on the other side of the crosswalk. There was a 10 foot gap that you would need to cross before you had cover on any side, and even further until you would be protected on either side.

Poking your head over the nearby parked car, you waited and watched for an opening. Dragging footsteps receded around the back of a car next to you, and ahead, a mindless drone turned their back to you. You glanced around the corner building and saw a few once-people meandering into a building, partially collapsed with a truck jutting out of the destroyed façade.

With a steeling breath, you pushed off your heel and ran across the gap then came skidding to a stop, dropping your hand back behind you to keep yourself from falling flat on your ass. Before you could appreciate your achievements, you heard a low gurgle entirely too close. With a quick glance back, you saw a zombie clumsily emerge from a shop, two buildings down. You swore silently and scrambled to regain your balance and dash forward, only to lose your feet from under you when another tumbled out of a broken window right before you when you reached the other side of the street.

A shout and swear of surprise came too quickly to be caught before you voiced it. You pushed yourself up from all fours, feet scrambling for purchase on the sidewalk. Finally, you were upright and running, but the commotion had drawn a very unpleasant crowd. You bolted past one, two, three buildings before you were cut off again. Another coming from your left. Too many coming from behind you.

An enormous crack echoed through the air, and you instinctively dropped to a crouch, covering your head. The zombie to your left no longer had a head.

“Hey! Over here!”

You followed the sound of the authoritative instruction to a second storey window at the end of the small alleyway between two brick buildings, where a man stood, rifle aimed toward the street. Another crack, like lightning from a storm far too close, made you jump, but the second body dropping just feet from you made you run, fast as you could across the street and down the alley.

“You okay?” the man called, leaning out of the window.

“Yeah, I think so,” you responded.

“Climb up the bin.” No sooner had the words left his mouth was he aiming the gun behind you. You took a running start and hoisted yourself up. Crack! Crack! Crack crack! You scoured the wall for a way up, and there was one – it was just out of reach. Down the alley, more bodies dropped. It was now or never.

You jumped back down and ignored the question that came from the stranger.

With all the strength you had left, you pushed your entire body against the bin with a yell, and after a moment the wheels obeyed, and the bin rolled below the roof access ladder. Crack! Crack! A sudden explosion sent heat and a wave of force in all directions, knocking you and the bin back and against the wall. You groaned but shoved yourself back up. The bin moved uncertainly under your weight as you pulled yourself back up again.

You reached for the fire escape ladder. It was too high. You jumped for it, and your fingers were not even close to grazing it.

“Hang on!” He sat himself sideways on the windowsill, continuing to aim and fire while he stretched his leg and kicked the ladder, once, twice, and a third time before it dislodged and dropped another few feet. Crackcrackcrack! “You better hurry!”

At the entrance of the alley, a horde was picking up pace and your scent. “Fuck.” Gambling with a few precious seconds, you braced your back against the wall and your feet against the ledge of the bin and pushed as hard as you could. The second it started gaining momentum down the slight decline, you leapt for the ladder, managing to grab onto the third rung. The bin rattled and careened down the pavement and, as you used muscles you didn’t even know existed to pull yourself up the ladder, you heard a loud crash and cacophony of splats and crunches and grunts.

The ladder trembled underfoot.

“Hurry!” the man shouted.

You shut out the fear and the aches of your muscles and climbed, trying not to pay attention to how it felt like the ladder was banging against the wall, which meant it was no longer secured to the wall. And now that you were too high up to fall with any measure of safety, you faced the next challenge. The ladder was around five feet from the window. The man had both feet inside again but was leaning his upper torso into the open air, reaching one hand out to you while the other was braced against the top of the window frame.

“You’re going to have to jump.” You snuck a glance toward the ground and quickly shut your eyes. Your hands ached – actually, all of you ached. “Don’t look down. Look at me.” That wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command, and one you obeyed before making the decision to. “I’m not going to let you fall, okay?” The all too familiar of drunken shuffles returned below. “You gotta trust me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and took a few deliberate breaths. And then the metal groaned above you. It shifted under you, then dropped an inch.

“Jump!” And again, your body listened before your brain had the chance to overthink. The world fell from beneath your feet with a loud crash as a strong hand grasped your wrist and you swung and scraped against the brick. You only realized that you had screamed when you were dangling below the window.

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “Holy shit.”

“I got you,” he said, voice strained as he grasped your hand with one of his and reached further down to hoist you up by your thigh with the other. You finally tumbled through the window, landing on blessedly solid flooring with embarrassingly unsteady legs. The man held you firm at the waist and kept you upright while you uselessly clawed at his shirt and holster to do the same. “Hey, easy now. I got you.”

Your chest rose and fell fast and hard, and you swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” Were you telling him that, or yourself? “Thank you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

“I’m Leon,” he said, inclining his head to get your eyes to focus on his. They were discerning, and a colour that would feel cold if they weren’t so kind. Serious, but kind. “What’s your name?” You absently mumbled it, distracted again by the sounds coming from outside. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t- I don’t think so.”

“Don’t look outside. Look at me.” You locked eyes. “We need to keep moving, so I need to know if you’re hurt.”

You shook your head. “Banged up. That’s all.”

Seemingly unsatisfied with your answer, he took to pulling and turning you and your limbs this way and that. “We need to treat this cut, when we can,” he – Leon, apparently – said. You looked at the spot on your forearm he was focused on, and sure enough, there was a nasty gash that you didn’t remember getting. You clenched and released your fist, testing the pain. You were surprised to find that it didn’t hurt.

You shrugged. “Seems fine.”

“You’ve got adrenaline coursing through you right now. When that subsides, you’ll feel it. Let me know when that happens.” He waited for your acknowledgement before turning away from you and leading you into a dimly lit hallway, gun in hand. “Stay close.”

You watched the way he carried himself, checking around corners and through open doorways with quiet ease. You knew that there was some kind of activity – government, you assumed – that was occasionally carried out outside town, but everyone you’d ever seen that looked the part seemed far more uptight. “Who did you say you were?”

“Leon Kennedy,” he answered without looking back. “DSO.”

“Bioterrorism? Should I be more worried about the cut than I am?”

“No, just your classic bacteria and infection.”

“Oh, goody.”

He glanced back at you, and in the dim lighting, it almost looked like he smirked. “You did well back there, by the way. Good instincts.”

You blew a raspberry. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Coming up to the stairwell door, Leon held is hand up and you stopped behind him. “Wait here,” he whispered. He pressed his ear to the door, paused, then slowly opened the door and soundlessly stepped through it, holstering his gun and taking an axe from his belt. You kept your back against the wall and watched him sneak up on a zombie as the door began slowly swinging closed. He raised his arm and you squeezed your eyes shut as he brought his arm down and buried the head of the axe in the back of the zombie’s skull.

A moment later the door swung back open and he nodded for you to follow him as he flicked the weapon and blood splattered on the floor in a thin line. Your foot hit the floor, and a zombie flung itself down the stairs toward Leon. Another fell from the floor above, hitting the rail and sending his spinning body directly in Leon, knocking him off his feet. Before the one still on its feet noticed you, you rushed it. Pushing your shoulder into its chest with all the force you could muster, you sent it careening over the railing and down the stairwell. It landed with a thud and splatter.

A wet crunch to your left caught your attention just in time to see Leon crush the other zombie’s head against the cement wall with nothing but his hand. Your stomach threatened to send what remained of its contents up, but you swallowed it back down and reached out a hand to help him up after he pushed the body, twice dead, off himself. On his feet, he nodded his thanks. “You’re pretty handy.”

From the floor above the stairwell door crashed open and a discordance of animalistic growls and uncoordinated footsteps echoed against the tile floors.

“Come on!” Leon said, pulling the hand he still held, and you with it, down the flight of stairs. You both ran. A body tumbled down behind you, but its struggle to get back on its feet offered you a few second to regain distance. At the bottom, you jumped over the remains of your victory and burst into the street.

Bloodied and rotten heads swivelled toward the racket. Too many heads. The door behind you rattled as some mindless thing struggled to get it open. Leon pulled out a handgun and with impressive speed and accuracy, he took aim and fired over and over again. Bodies dropped, but not fast enough. He jerked his chin to a nearby Porsche. “That’s our ride,” he yelled over the gun fire and growls. The stairwell door burst open and the first few fell on their face, but the ones that came after only stumbled on their way toward you. “Go! Now!”

You ran, listening for the continued pop! pop! that promised you were not alone in this disaster again. You came up to the car a lot faster than you thought you would and ran straight into it, nearly knocking yourself on your ass. You frantically groped for the door handle and jumped in the second you could, slamming the door closed behind you. Pop pop pop! You turned in the seat just in time to see Leon take off toward you, closing the distance with impressive speed. Quickly checking if the way was clear, you reached across to the driver’s side and opened the door.

Leon leapt and slid across the trunk, and before you knew it, he was next to you, starting the ignition, door slammed closed, foot heavy on the gas pedal. The tires spun, the back end swayed, and then the car was flung in the opposite direction, and you sped toward the town exit. He drove expertly around obstructions, but after the second speedbump-body, you put on your seat belt with shaking hands. You pressed one hand to the roof and braced both feet in the footwell, glancing at your driver with wide eyes.

He was entirely focused on the task at hand, jaw set and breathing steady but hard. His hands and feet worked effortlessly in tandem as he switched gears, drifted around corners, and swerved to avoid obstacles. The muscles and tendons on his exposed forearms were tense and looked rock hard, and biceps pushed the limits of what any t-shirt could be expected to contain.

In just a few minutes the buildings were replaced with evergreen trees, and the car flew past the welcome sign at the city limits and Leon eased off the gas just a bit. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The sound of your name pulled your attention.

“Hey, you with me?”

You shook your head to clear it of cobwebs. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m good.”

“I need to get you somewhere safe where you can hole up until I finish cleaning this mess up.”

“Why? Where are you going?”

“I need to locate the entrance to a facility – probably underground with some kind of civilian building for cover. Can’t be too far from the town, but they wouldn’t want anyone knowing what it was. Restricted access, heavily forested surroundings. Lots of natural cover.”

You tapped a finger against your leg. “Like a gated Air BNB that’s not really an Air BNB?”

“What?”

“Every now and then we get military and government stooge types in town. Word is that they stay at an Air BNB that’s a few clicks east of here, but whenever I’ve checked it out online, it’s never available. Photos looked kind of AI and the address listed doesn’t exist, but there is a gated yard of some recluse in the area. It could be that.”

“Do you think you could show me?”

“Sure, but we need to turn around and take that road we passed-”

Leon yanked the wheel as he pulled the handbrake and you were tossed against the window and then towards Leon, grabbing his shoulder to brace yourself. In a blink, you were speeding in the opposite direction. He glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Suddenly realizing your hand was still firmly digging into him, you quickly took it back. “Sorry. I mean, it’s fine. You’re crazy, but it’s okay.”

“Gotta keep things interesting, y’know?”

“Right,” you said, nodding up ahead.

“When you’ve seen the things I have-”

You realized in a flash that he misunderstood, and you shouted, “Right! Turn right!”

Again, with the force of Leon’s sudden and forceful turn, you instinctively reached out to grab him. The car straightened after a few tailspins. Your breathing came out fast and heavy. “Shall I just crawl into your lap and buckles us both in together so you can stop tossing me around?”

“Well, that would make things interesting,” he said, giving you a lopsided smirk but easing off the gas just a bit.

The rest of the drive was smoother, with talking limited to you giving out directions far more in advance than what was probably necessary, but you were grimy, achy, and the cut on your arm was indeed starting to burn. After a couple detours down the incorrect winding driveways, you finally found the one everyone gossiped about. A heavy gate blocked it, and you were worried that Leon was just going to crash through it, but instead, he got out, found an electrical box to fiddle with. After a brief interlude, the gates swung open.

Much to your surprise, there was actually a house at the end of the road. You had already convinced yourself there would be little more than a hatch to some underground labyrinth. That was, of course, assuming you hadn’t actually just broken into some part-time neighbor’s vacation home. Leon cut the engine and draped a forearm across the steering wheel, scanning the house and surroundings.

“Stay here.” He stepped out, locking the doors and you inside the car, as he left. You watched him as he walked around the house, handgun at the ready. He disappeared around the corner, and you waited. And waited. And waited. What felt like hours but must’ve been closer to ten minutes passed when the front door opened and panic burst through you in a flash before dissipating just as quickly when the increasingly familiar silhouette of Leon Kenendy walked through the door, weapon holstered.

The locks popped open and you stepped out. Leon waved you over, so you made your way to the porch.

“There’s food, a bed, hot water, and good security,” he said as you joined him. “Haven’t found the entrance to the facility yet, but it’s a decent place for you to get some rest.” Leon gave you a quick tour of the small house – small kitchen with an island, single bedroom, serviceable washroom, basic living room – and showed you how to work the security panel that would secure the windows and doors behind Leon after he left. The thought sunk to the pit of your stomach where it twisted and hardened. Being alone again was far from an appetizing thought, especially after Leon had proven himself to be such a capable protector.

Yes, you had managed to keep yourself alive for hours on your own, but you knew your chance of survival with Leon was far higher than without. Still, this crisis wasn’t going to solve itself if you asked Leon to babysit you instead of doing his job. So, while he continued to search for the entrance, you rifled through the dresser in the bedroom and found a men’s flannel shirt and boxers and took them to the washroom where you scrubbed yourself from head to toe in the shower.

A few times the water hit your cut, and you hissed from the pain, vowing to find the first aid kid in this place as soon as you were dry and dressed. With the water off, you were relieved to still hear the low rumblings of Leon’s voice from somewhere in the house, talking to someone who you could not hear.

The cabinet in the bathroom held none, so you exited and found a linen closet in the hallway. Way at the top of the shelf was a white box with a green cross, another unmarked container sitting atop it. You stood on your tiptoes and reached, fingertips barely grazing the first aid kit – just enough to nudge it closer, bit by bit.

Suddenly, the weight of the box on top tipped it over the edge, and both of them crashed down. The first aid kit spilled its contents at your feet, and the other fell open on the shelf in front of you, sending a plume of pink power into your face. You coughed and waved it away with one hand while you covered your mouth and nose with the other and stepped back, but the oddly sweet taste in your mouth and the tingle in your sinuses told you that you were a bit too slow with your reaction.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind you, and you turned to find Leon coming up quickly towards you. “What happened?” he asked, voice demanding. He stopped short, but not quite short enough to avoid the remnants of the thinning cloud. Leon coughed and shook his head as if trying to dislodge the dust in his throat. “The fuck.”

He grabbed your shoulders and pulled away from the closet. The heat from his hands seeped through the flannel, spread across your back and climbed up the back of your neck. Even when he left to investigate, the heat did not subside. You watched him gingerly flip the container around pull his phone out of his back pocket – how had you not noticed how amazing his ass was before this moment? – to take a picture of his findings. “Sherry,” he said, pressing a finger to his ear. “I just sent you a photo. I need to know what it is.” Leon knelt, shirt stretching across his back, to pick up the first aid materials. His fingers were deft, assured, and you wanted them buried inside you.

You choked on the sudden and intrusive thought, a hot blush spreading across your face as you turned away from Leon, whom you could feel looking at you. At your core, your pulse thrummed, strong and demanding. Pressing a hand against the cool wall, you tried to steady yourself. Get it together, you ordered yourself.

“Hey, you alright?” It almost felt like Leon’s voice came from within your head, the low gravel scratching an itch and then reigniting it immediately after. His scent washed over you and you breathed it in, eyes drifting closed. Even the thought of his smell being in you made you lightheaded. You weren’t sure how many times Leon repeated your name before he gave your face a gentle slap, finally bringing you back to the present moment.

“Huh?” You blinked. “Oh. Sorry, I don’t know where I went.” You wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled. You licked your lips.

“Come on. Let’s-“ He took in a sharp breath and a step backward, turning away from you a grunt. You wondered what other delicious sounds he could make. “Sherry, any minute now.” His voice was strained. Without looking back at you he pointed down the hall. “You. Kitchen. Now.”

You took two steps before realizing that you were mistakenly headed to Leon. You shook your head and forced yourself to turn around, despite the repeating voice in your head telling you to go back and climb Leon like a tree. With each foot you put in front of the other, the heat now coursing through your veins sent an aching soreness to your muscles. A cold sweat broke out on the back of your neck, and your vision swam. The corners of your vision darkened, and what didn’t, moved this way and that with the tide of your heavy breaths. Demanding warmth and slick spread over your inner thighs.

After what felt like hours, you finally made it to your instructed destination. Gripping the edge of the counter, you went to the fridge and opened it, and the freezer above. You tried undoing the buttons of your borrowed shirt, but your fingers were useless, clumsy things, so you settled with lifting the hem to your chest, head falling back at the relief, however mild it was.

Relief. Maybe if you could quickly get yourself off, you would be able to think clearly again. Or think at all. As soon as the idea formed in your mind, the pulsing between your legs grew impossibly strong. Your legs turned to jelly, and you didn’t care to fight it, sliding to the floor with your back against the cabinets. You squeezed your legs together and wiggled your hips, which was enough to send a bolt of pleasure through your body. You moaned, eyes closed and head thrown back, not even considering that you should try to mask your noises. In fact, the thought that Leon might overhear you and come help you sent a fresh rush of warmth pooling in your lower stomach. You felt a trail of wetness slide down past your puckered hole.

You smelled him before anything else, and then he was kneeling next to you, grabbing your wrists and holding them firm in one of his hands. From behind hooded eyes, you drank in everything you could – his stubbled jaw, messy hair, strong neck, his pecs straining against the tee. As you squirmed, wet thighs slid against each other and nudged your throbbing clit back and forth.

“How much of that powder did you inhale?”

-----

Leon stalked to the bathroom to get more distance from you as you slowly made your way to the kitchen, but the smell of you wafting from the clothes on the floor nearly brought him to his knees. His eyes zeroed in on your underwear, and he could nearly see your scent trail as he inhaled, sending his head spinning and the desire in the pit of his stomach growing.

And that was not the only thing growing. What started as an inappropriate chub was quickly becoming a very frustrating hardon. He returned to the hallway and shut the bathroom door behind him, hoping that it would offer some reprieve. Leon braced a folded forearm against the door and dropped his forehead against it, closing his eyes and breathing in and out deliberately. Slowly.

He imagined you pinned between his hips and the door, taking him into your mouth. With a frustrated groan he shoved off and paced up and down the hallway until Sherry’s voice provided some level of distraction.

“Leon, I got something. APH-6, aka Aphrogen aka Pink Haze was an aphrodisiac drug that was intended to be used primarily in honeypot schemes. It boasted the induction of intense attachment and arousal in the subject, significantly decreasing inhibitions and increasing trust and dependency.”

“Dependency?”

“Yeah…the subject was essentially punished for, um, self-reliance in terms of arousal. Instead of the release of dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins, subjects reported feelings of intense desperation, increased arousal to the point of pain, and a sense of impending doom. Not for nothing – more than one subject died from subarachnoid haemorrhage after being withheld from their partner.”

“Spontaneous aneurysm?”

“You got it.”

“After how long?”

“If the subject was strapped down? An hour. If they were free to, uh, you know…”

“I got it.”

“20 minutes. Maybe less, I’m afraid, with high dosages. The issues seem to, uh, compound pretty quickly. Even separating the subject from their target of desire for short periods of time caused severe confusion and disorientation. The good news is that the effects can be reversed reasonably well, if you have the right person to course correct the subject’s diminishing state.”

“Right.” Leon cleared his throat. “You said ‘intended.’ It was shelved?”

“Correct. It didn’t work the way they wanted. If the subject didn’t experience attraction without the administration of the drug, it was essentially a death sentence unless there was someone else in the vicinity that would be, um, suitable. For the subject. A ‘target of desire.’ They had no control over the subject’s target beyond who was in the room.” There was a heavy pause. “Leon…how much trouble are you in?”

“It’s not me I’m worried about. Mostly.”

“The woman?”

“Yeah.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. A lot. The container fell open five inches from her face.”

“Shit. And you?”

“I’ll be fine.” Somehow. If through nothing more than willpower, he would be okay. He had to be. “You said that the subjects can’t, ah-”

“Self-serve.”

“Right. What about more clinical assistance? From a distance?”

“Leon, we’re going to get through this conversation and then pretend it never happened, okay? If she got as big of a dose as it sounds like she did, you need to be clear in what you’re asking so I can be clear in my instruction.”

“Assuming that I’m a ‘suitable target’ for the subject – do I need to personally administer treatment or can I use…instruments.”

“By ‘instruments’ do you mean tools or digits?”

Leon swore under his breath. “Both.”

“Tools, I doubt it. Digits, to a degree. Significantly less effective than a more personal-”

“Got it.”

“No, not just that. Ah.” Leon could practically hear Sherry wishing she went into admin instead of operations. “To get her out of the haze before the negative effects build up, you will need to exchange bodily fluids. You may buy time with other activities, but that is all.”

Leon tried to be disappointed. He hated himself for not being disappointed. But there was nothing he wanted more than to charge into the kitchen and bury himself inside you and leave even more of himself there. He adjusted his hardon, stifling a groan at the slight touch. The pull to palm himself was so strong, he momentarily forgot that Sherry was still on the line with him and squeezed his cock, eyes rolling in the back of his head with a sigh.

“Leon?”

For the first time in years – decades, maybe – he startled. “I got it. Standby.”

“Remember to hydrate!”

-----

“How much of that powder did you inhale?”

“Who?”

He shook his head to himself before pausing. He turned your arm around. “Sherry. What would happen if it got into an open wound?” Leon pressed his free hand against your hips, forcing them still. He dropped his head. “Copy that. I’m, uh…probably going to be radio silent for a bit. I’ll check in when I can.” You fought against his holds, not to be free of them for the sake of escape, but to close the distance he was cruelly enforcing. He fixed his eyes on yours. “Listen to me. We’ve been drugged. Seems like you got a pretty big dose, including one directly into your bloodstream. I don’t think I need to tell you what the symptoms are.”

His jaw stayed tight as he spoke, which only made you wonder why he was talking at all when there were so many other things he could be doing instead. Stupid. You tried to wrench your hands free, and when that didn’t work you pushed up to kiss him, but he only moved your hands overhead and pinned them against the edge of the countertop. You let out a loud, frustrated groan and tested the hold against your hips and found it less secure.

With his scent swirling around you, his hands, warm and large, on your wrists and hips, the small amount of friction you managed to steal made you gasp. Leon tightened both grips. “Listen-” He readjusted his stance, shoving a knee between your thighs which you immediately tried to rub yourself against. He of course, did not allow it. You whined, head falling to the side in self-pity until your eyes caught the bulge in his pants. Saliva flooded your mouth and you moaned.

“Fuck, just- sit still for fifteen seconds and I’ll give you what you want, okay?”

That got your attention and was likely the only thing that would get your eyes off of your current fixation. Chest rising and falling quickly, the fibers of the flannel caressed your nipples. You felt the ridges of his fingerprints against your skin. It took every ounce of strength you had, and was only possible because of the promise made, to sit reasonably still.

You bore your eyes into his, fearing that if you looked anywhere else you would simply crumble into a pile of ash and bone. It was as if you were being kept alive simply by being in his presence. Being seen by him. Being touched by him. If your heart stopped beating, you were sure your desire for this man would be enough to keep the blood pumping in your veins. The feeling was so intense and raw, you had no presence of mind to be embarrassed by the tears pooling in your eyes – you were only annoyed they obstructed your view of his perfect face.

“You’re under the influence of an aphrodisiac, do you understand?”

You watched his lips form the words, catching a glimpse of his tongue behind perfect teeth. You nodded, because that was what he seemed to want from you.

“If we don’t address your symptoms, there is a non-zero chance you will suffer an aneurysm and die.”

God, he smelled so good. You almost tried leaning forward to bury your face in his neck before you remembered his promise. Instead, you pinpointed the exact spot you were going to lick first.

“I have been drugged, too. Less than you, and I will do my best to keep myself under control.”

Again, stupid.

“I am sorry if I can’t.”

You waited for him to finish his useless monologue. When he didn’t continue, you asked the only question that mattered. “Fifteen?”

He let out a shaky breath which washed over your mouth and nodded, loosening his holds. The moment you could, you grabbed his neck to pull him down to your lips and inhaled him, shifting your hips forward until your center hit the meat of his thighs. He moaned into your mouth, and this time when he gripped your hips it was to encourage your circular movements of your hips until he evidently wanted more and sat back on his haunches and pulled you with him. You settled on his lap, which put your apex right on top of his hardon.

Leon reached around and slid his hands under the boxers you still tragically wore, massaging the cheeks of your ass as you rode him. “Christ, I can smell how wet you are,” he panted against your mouth before licking his way in. The zipper of his pants were close to drenched and the sounds were growing sloppy as your rubbed yourself against the bulge. The addition of his stubble scratching at your skin and his tongue claiming his territory inside your mouth was enough – too much. With no warning, a sharp pleasure shot from your core and into your legs and arms, but something primal left you unsatisfied.

Leon leaned back slightly, brows furrowed. “Did you just cum?”

You frowned and shook your head, testing the motion of your hips to try to figure out what was wrong. “Not enough.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Let me help you,” he whispered. He slid a hand into the leg opening of the boxers and you inhaled, sharp and fast, gripping the back of his tee in anticipation. Leon slid two fingers through your soaking folds, groaning low and deep in his chest. “Holy fuck.” You jerked your hips against his fingers which was the only further invitation he needed before he sunk both fingers into your pussy. You collapsed against him with a shuddering sigh. “You okay?” You nodded wordlessly, face buried in the crook of his neck as you began to rock your hips back and forth, listlessly at first, just basking in the feeling and knowledge of his fingers inside you, filling you.

And then he started moving them in you, rubbing those heated fingertips against your g-spot and you cried out, throwing your head back, mouth fallen open. Your breathing came in faster and harder, fingernails digging into his biceps.

“That’s it, gorgeous.” You could practically feel his voice travel across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Show me what that pretty face looks like when you cum.”

And just like that, the cord that was holding you together snapped, and glittering bliss ripped through your body. A soundless cry fell from your lips as you gasped for air that did nothing to fulfill a need that Lean didn’t already take care of. Your walls clenched around his still-caressing fingers as your thighs squeezed Leon’s, toes curled. Your hips bucked and rolled with the waves that coursed up your stomach and chest, spiralled around your neck and whirled around your head.

Before the orgasm began to subside, Leon pulled his fingers out and a flash of incredulity battled with the waves of pleasure racking your body, but then there was a loud rip, and you looked down just in time to see your soaked boxers torn and absently tossed aside. The air whipped around your now exposed pussy, but the heat of your center was too strong to allow it to cool at all.

Leon slid his fingers over your apex, spreading your wetness around, eliciting a moan from both of you. Head just clear enough to navigate clothing again, you made quick work of Leon’s belt, then the button and his zipper. You plunged your hand into his boxer briefs and wrapped your fingers around his hot, hard shaft to pull it free of its confines. The strangled exclamation came second only to the one he made when you lifted your hips then lowered yourself onto his cock until he was completely, entirely buried in your silky warmth.

Your gripped fistfuls of his hair, forehead dropped against his as you acclimated to his size, walls aching beautifully. “Leon,” you said through a shuddering breath. “Fuck, you feel so good inside of me.”

A throaty growl rumbled in his chest. “I haven’t even started fucking you yet.”

“What are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

He choked out a strained laugh. “Funny, but no.” He inhaled deeply, eyes drifting closed. “I’m trying to hang on to my last thread of self-control.”

You lifted your hips and brought them down, wet sounds mixing with both your moans. “Does it sound like I need you to have self-control?” The words had barely left your mouth before you were flat on your back, shirt ripped open and sending buttons rebounding against the cupboard doors. Leon crowded over you with one hand cupping the back of your head, protecting it from the tile floor, the other arm hooking under one knee and pulling it up to your chest. You wrapped your free leg around his hips. The new angle allowed Leon to somehow seat himself even deeper inside you, the tip nudging your cervix.

His intense eyes pulled your undivided attention as he slowly dragged his hips back until the tip sat at your entrance. His hips snapped forward, knocking a breathy cry out of you and a grunt out of himself. He did it again. A long, slow, beautiful drag, a pause, and slam. Again, but the pause shortened to just a beat this time. His eyes did not falter. His hips slapped against the backs of your thighs, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he ordered. Snap! The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Does that feel good?” You nodded quickly. “Tell me.” Hips dragged back.

“It feels so fuck-” snap! “-ing good, Leon,” you cried, desperate for him to pick up the pace. “Please,” you begged.

“What do you need, gorgeous?” Snap!

“Just fucking fuck me!”

Leon immediately stopped his teasing and mercilessly slammed himself into you, over and over again. Wet slaps and moans echoed around the kitchen as you held onto his arms. Each thrust somehow felt like he was going deeper and deeper. You glanced down to watch his cock appear and disappear between your legs, shiny with your arousal. Leon followed your gaze, grunting with effort and pleasure.

“Look at your pretty pussy, taking me all in so good.”

The compliment went straight to your head in a dizzying way, and you clenched around him. Without warning he reposition himself to kneel behind your spread thighs, forcing your back into an extreme arc, you naked thighs rubbing against the fabric that still covered his. He looked pointedly at your exposed chest. “Touch yourself.” You immediately squeezed and massaged your breasts, pressing them together, sliding your palms so your nipples poked up between your fingers. He snapped his hips, your breasts bouncing from the force. He moaned, fingertips trailing from your thighs to your pubic mound. “Look.” He pulled his hips back and this time when he slowly pressed himself back in, you watched the bump appear under your skin.

“Fuck me,” you groaned, mesmerized as he picked up speed. It was one thing to feel him so completely deep within you – a heady, overpowering, amazing thing – but to see how your body was being stretched and pushed to accommodate him, to see him take up so much space inside you, had your head spinning.

Leon’s hands slid reverently to your hips, but his grip was pure control and ownership as he pulled and pushed your hips in tandem with his movements. You were completely at the mercy of his punishing pace and strength, and it only made you hotter. The sounds grew wetter and louder, and you were no longer aware of the whimpers and moans that tumbled mindlessly from your mouth. All you knew was Leon’s cock inside you, hot, hard, and impossibly deep, and his hands on you, fingertips burning imprints on your skin as he bounced you on him. The pressure began to build in your core, and you swore you could feel ever vein, every ridge of his cock drag against your overly sensitive walls.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped.

“Me too, baby. Tell me what you want.”

The coil wound. “Cum in me, Leon,” you barely managed. “I want to feel it. Please.”

With a grunt he leaned forward and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you in place and if you thought the pace before was punishing, you were mistaken. A messy, incoherent tangle of sounds mixed between you as he bottomed out in you with force again and again and again. This position had his cock dragging against your clit with every pass. The coil tightened.

“Leon,” you choked out.

“Cum on my cock. Milk me dry.”

The coil snapped.

You screamed, back arching violently off the ground and you were immediately rewarded with a deep, guttural string of broken moans in your ear as Leon’s cock pumped load after load at the deepest point of your pussy, your walls fluttering and squeezing around him. The heat from his deposit spread to your trembling limbs, and still, he had more to give you. You felt a thick rope of his cum slip through the seal of your stretched pussy around the base of his cock, down the underside of your bum, and drip onto the floor.

Leon collapsed on top of you, still seated firmly inside of you and still hard, but now sharing space with his load that continued to be pushed out of you. You shouldn’t have been able to breathe with so much of his body weight resting on you, but instead, it felt like you were able to take your first real breath since you inhaled that pink powder.

The heat that had been taking over your body and mind began to subside, replaced with a calm lethargy that was only laced with a slight charge. Your walls twitched and Leon shuddered and pulled his hips back to unsheathe himself, but you locked your ankles around his back end to keep him there. “Don’t move. Please. Feels so fucking good.”

He groaned in your ear. “God, you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep talking like that.”

“Well, I won’t say no, but I do think I am completely full already.”

“That’s only because my cock is still inside you.” He pushed himself up on a forearm, the other hand sliding up your thigh, over your hip, and then cupping a breast. “If you let me make some room, I think you can take another load or two before I need to start moving to other places.” He dragged his thumb across your lower lip before slipping it inside your mouth. You swirled your tongue around it before sucking it deeper at the same time as you pushed your hips up. “Christ, what the fuck was in that shit we inhaled?”

You shrugged, continuing to slowly roll against him, relishing in the absolutely lewd sounds of your and his cum squelching with your movements. All you cared about was that Leon didn’t currently seem hindered by the typical refractory period men experienced, which meant that he had another load of cum ready for you. You wondered how many times he would have to unload in or on you before the drug would need time to catch up.

“Clothes, please,” you said, tugging on his shoulder holster before taking his thumb back into your mouth.

“Shirt and I let you use me to get off one more time before we move to the bedroom.”

You pushed Leon off you but rolled with him so you stayed connected at your center, straddling him when you both settled into the new position. He took his thumb back and sat up, face inches from yours, to undo his holster and pull off his shirt, all of which you watched with rapt attention. His muscles were defined and swollen with use, skin flushed.

Leon slid his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in for a slow, easy kiss, his tongue lazily sliding against yours. Your hands explored the expanse of newly revealed skin – his abs, chest, shoulders, arms, back. It was all perfect and satiating, and at the same time, never enough. He pushed your shirt off your shoulders and down your arms. You rolled your hips in languid circles as he cupped a breast, paying special attention to the hypersensitive and puffy nub.

“I can feel your cum inside of me,” you whispered against his lips. “It feels so fucking good, Leon. I want more. I want it all.” You reached behind you to cup and gently squeeze his sac, the source of your liquid gold. It was evidently the right thing to do and say because Leon was suddenly very much on the same page as you. Holding you tight against him, he picked you up and got to his feet. For the briefest moment, before you could protest, he slid out of you, but just long enough to lay you face down on the island counter. He yanked your ass back to him by the hips.

He scooped up some of his cum that dripped down your thighs with his cock and shoved it back inside your painfully empty and open pussy. Would you feel like this forever? Empty and wanting unless he filled you? Part of you hoped so. Another thick drop he wiped with a finger and leaned over you, offering it to your mouth. You lapped it with a moan, licking his fingers clean and only wanting more.

He grasped your hips and pulled you against him as he speared into you. Every time you felt a rope of his cum slip out of you, he fed it to you, sometimes neatly, almost politely, sometimes by pulling your hair slightly to hold your head back and wiping it on your lips or your chin, making you extend your tongue as far as you could to work for your treat. You preferred the latter.

“Good girl,” he groaned, watching you.

The familiar heat grew quickly in your lower belly as you were jostled backwards and forwards. Leon lifted one of your legs to the countertop, spreading you so deliciously wide open while filling you completely at the same time. You bounced your ass against him and his hand came down hard on your cheek. You cried out, the sharp pleasure sending a spike of electricity to your cunt.

“Christ, look at your messy little pussy. So fucking gorgeous.” He fed you another rogue rope of cum, but this time instead of returning to his stance, he slid his hands under your chest. Leon grabbed your breasts and pulled your torso up and toward him, arching your back. Pummelling into you, he bit down on the side of your neck with a growl and with that, you snapped. You let out a silent scream and milked his cock with your pussy, mindlessly fucking yourself on his cock. The pleasure racking every inch of your body, from fingertip to toe, was all consuming – until you felt what you really wanted. What you now lived for.

His cock pulsed inside you as he grunted and groaned, teeth still holding firm. You doubled your efforts and the speed of your hips as you fucked Leon, into oblivion, you hoped. He poured himself into you, and this time, the sensation of his warm seed dripping down both your thighs felt like a job well done, instead of a failure. You were being warmed from the inside out, and there was nothing else that mattered.

Leon carefully let you back down before he took a few stumbling steps backwards until he hit the opposite counter and sunk to the floor, breathing hard. You didn’t have the energy to move, so you laid there, splayed out and unabashedly on display, cum dripping out of your pussy and down your legs. You rested your cheek against the cool countertop.

“Was I too rough? I’m not usually…like that.”

You giggled quietly, and when you spoke, your words came out muffled against the counter. “I’m not usually like this, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

With great effort, you slid off the counter and onto the floor, facing Leon from the other side of the kitchen. Somewhere in a locked away corner of your mind, you were surprised at your extreme lack of modesty, but the thought was crushed before it could fully form. “No, you weren’t too rough. I liked it.” You liked everything about Leon.

“What do you need?”

“Skin.” The answer fell from your lips before you could even consider the question.

He immediately reached forward and grabbed your ankle. You let out a surprised yelp as he pulled you over to him until he could grab your waist and drag your limp body onto his lap, bare chest against bare chest. Leon kicked off his shoes and lifted his hips just enough to shirk off his pants and underwear before wrapping his arms around your back, holding you against him with splayed hands. You buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your muscles went lax, as if Leon’s skin released oxytocin to be directly absorbed by your own. With a long exhale, you slid your hands around his lower back and pressed your thighs against his. He was solid and warm beneath you. Everything about him demanded that you bend and curve to his being. Even now, he was still half hard and occupying the space between your cheeks.

“Better?” he mumbled into your hair. You could only manage a small nod and a half-hearted hum, eyes drifting closed. “Good. Just rest.”

Time slipped away. You couldn’t tell whether you ever actually fell asleep, or if your mind was simply loosed to wander between reality and imagination at will. Through the wispy haze, however, you were never permitted to be unaware of Leon. His heart beating so strong and steady against your skin, you could almost hear it. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The drag of his fingertips leaving trails of fire along your skin. His breath fluttering in your hair.

After a mission, nobody even tells Leon to "report to medical for clearance" anymore. Instead, they just simply say "go see your wife". Which is exactly what Leon is doing, right after walking away from Grace and putting his ring back on.

That same matching platinum band glints under the cool toned medical lighting, as you finish typing up a clearance report for a poor rookie who sustained a deep laceration to their arm, which is finally in the proliferation stage. You already received a text from Sherry two hours ago; that a cure was found and a sample has just been received by forensics, almost ready to be forwarded on to the lab. Your fingers hover over the membrane keyboard, and you let out a deep sigh that you've been holding in.

Ever since those black, almost mold-like marks appeared on Leon's hands and neck, you've been struggling to keep it together. It was one thing to be married to such a prolific DSO agent, but it was another thing for everyone and their damn dog knowing about Leon's infection and checking in on you about it. Of course your coworkers had good intentions, but every time somebody asked how you're doing, you would feel a crack in your porcelain armor widening. Replying with a neutral expression, you always say something along the lines of "well he's not showing any psychological symptoms and his vitals are otherwise in tact, so I'm staying hopeful" whenever somebody checks in on you. It was a perfect reply - objective and rational, and it made you appear level-headed.

But for the last three months, on the inside you were anything but level-headed. When the lights would go out in the medical wing of the DSO HQ, you would quietly lock your office door and sob. You didn't want to let Leon see you like this; you felt as if he had enough on his plate already, he didn't need to see you crumble too. You wordlessly took it upon yourself to be a steady force for him during this time - to be an anchor while he tries to navigate this storm. After several years of marriage, Leon knows you well enough to see right through you, but he didn't confront you about your unwillingness to cry or break down. He knew that a large part of this act was your own form of coping.

Before you can type another sentence, you hear a knock at your office door and one of the receptionists call out "Doctor? Your husband just entered the waiting room." You feel a giddiness - the same giddiness you've felt all these years since you first began dating Leon.

"Oh, yes. I'll bring him in." You call out, locking your work computer and shrugging your medical coat back on as your pumps echo through the hallway of the consultation wing, the soft 'click clack' in the pattern of your gait already making Leon's ears perk up. "Agent Kennedy." You call out to Leon, crossing your arms with a small smile on your face. It's an entirely unprofessional tone - one full of adoration and love.

"Doctor Kennedy." Leon drawls in a low tone with a soft grin, getting up from the upholstered waiting room chair and striding towards you. You can already see it in the way he moves; how his posture is much more upright than it has been in the last three months.

"Jesus christ. Could they at least leave the flirting and eyefucking until they leave the reception area?" The red haired receptionist sighs to the curly-haired receptionist once you and Leon are out of earshot. The curly-haired receptionist quirks a brow at the redhead.

"Ah. You must be new here."

You lock the door quietly as Leon takes a seat on the edge of the examination table, his muscular thighs splayed across as his hands clasp together loosely. Before doing anything else, you walk up to Leon, placing one hand on his jawline as you kiss him deeply. You've missed the feeling of his lips on yours, the way his stubble gently tickles your chin, and the way his tongue always tastes like spearmint gum. Reluctantly pulling away, you lean back a little on the edge of your desk with a loving grin, although it quickly turns into a look of genuine confusion. "Your… Your face." Is all you can manage to say. You and Leon have a difference in age; you didn't think much of it since at the time of your marriage it didn't appear so significant back then, but a little later down the track people began to confuse Leon for an uncle or father. But since coming back from that mission, you both look identical in age.

"Oh, yeah. That Elpis cure actually worked. I feel better than I have in well, at least a decade." Leon chuckles.

"…You can be honest with me babe. If this was all some kind of elaborate scheme to get a facelift and some lip filler, I won't judge you." You joke, but you're still in a bit of disbelief. Although that disbelief quickly wears off - you've seen and heard of stranger things happening in this field.

"Glad to know my wife still has her sense of humour intact. Didn't miss me too much, did you?" Leon asks with a grin as you approach him to close the space between you both. He stretches his big, muscular arms out to encase you in a hug as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"Haha. No actually, I was enjoying the peace and quiet in the home. I finally got a little vacation from those one-liners." You tease, but you are completely lying. Since Leon went on the mission to Rhodes Hill, you stayed in the DSO HQ for the entire duration, even poking your head into Sherry's office when she had some downtime. And Leon knows it.

"Really? Huh. Could've sworn I heard you mumbling in the background about how you were 'going to kill me if I didn't come back alive' in Sherry's headset at uh…" Leon checks his watch for a moment, "probably 2am today?" Leon teases you back. You groan in faux-annoyance, his keen observation skills being both a blessing and a curse.

"Fine… Yes. Of course I missed you." You admit, your lower lip trembling and tears welling up in your eyes. "I really missed you. I was so scared you weren't going to come back. And you were getting more and more sick by the day but they still insisted on putting you on such a dangerous mission." The dam finally broke as you explain how worried you truly were.

"I know. I could hear you crying in the bathroom before I left for Rhodes Hill. But you were putting on a real brave face for me just so we'd both keep it together, huh?" Leon murmurs as he kisses the side of your temple.

"Don't ever contract a life-threatening virus and worry me like that ever again." You chide him between snivels, but there's no anger in your voice. Just relief. Relief that Leon is finally back and safe.

"I can't make promises, but I'll do my best for you." Leon whispers, the low rumble of his voice soothing you as your tears subside.

Pulling away from his hug as your tears have now dried down to salty damp patches on your cheeks, you properly take his appearance in. You've always found your husband handsome, but seeing him like this… You can't stop staring.

"Something the matter, doc?" Leon tilts his head, aware of your ogling.

"Sorry, I just can't get over how good you look." You let out a short laugh, as his hands find their way to your hips, his thumb tracing little circles over the fabric of your black pencil skirt.

"Could say the same to you." Leon whispers, and you roll your eyes playfully.

"I wish." You retort, aware of your current slightly disheveled and sleep deprived state. Leon's lips brush against your neck. Your hands steady themselves against his thighs, gently but firmly gripping them as your knees wobble a little under the sensation of his touch.

"You don't believe me?" Leon whispers, his fingers playing with the hem of your blouse.

"Hmm. Possibly." Your lower lip catches between your teeth.

"Alright. Let me show my pretty wife how much I've missed her then." Leon gives you a lazy grin, guiding you by the small of your back as you hitch your skirt up a little to straddle him.

"O-one day we're gonna get caught doing this…" You moan softly in his ear, as Leon's hand disappears up your skirt, rubbing your pussy through your already-damp panties.

"Maybe. But they've got much bigger issues to worry about than their best agent fucking their best physician." He replies, the fingertips of his index and middle finger pressing against your clit, causing you to let out a small whimper.

"Insatiable." You breathe out, as Leon pulls your underwear to the side to stroke his fingers against your sopping wet folds.

"I'm the insatiable one? When you're already this wet for me? I'm the one who has to keep up with you, baby." He whispers, before capturing your mouth with his once more. Leon sinks his index and middle fingers inside of you, greedily swallowing the soft moans that escape your mouth as his thumb rubs at your clit.

"F-fuck… Oh god… I've missed you so much…" You whine, as his fingers pick up the pace.

"You did? You really missed me? How about you show me just how much you missed me." Leon's fingers curl upwards, hitting that perfect, sweet spot inside of you, making your breath hitch and your body tense.

"Right there, please, please, don't stop…!" You try to contain your pleads and whines of pleasure, your legs trembling, causing the examination table to shake a little.

"Aww, poor baby. You really needed this. Come on, you can let go now. I've got you." Leon coos in your ear, as you grip onto his shoulders tightly, quietly cumming all over his hand. You slump a little in his arms as you ride out your high, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as Leon licks his fingers clean.

"Leon Scott Kennedy. I swear you are going to be the death of me." You rasp out with a fake glare, but your fingers are already nimbly undoing his belt buckle. The wedding band on your finger gleaming momentarily as it catches the light.

"Hey now… Is that any way for a doctor to talk to her patient?" Leon mocks, the deep timbre of his voice causing you to shudder. You free his cock from his underwear; Leon is impossibly hard, his tip drooling with precum, taking on a reddish hue.

"Luckily my patient is also my husband, so he's not allowed to file any complaints." You chuckle, lowering yourself to your knees. Leon gently grasps your shoulder, shaking his head.

"I just wanna be inside of you right now." Leon says. You get up from your knees, and in one swift motion, Leon swaps spots by lifting you up effortlessly and laying you down on the examination table, while he is now standing between your legs. Your skirt is bunched up to your hips, and your underwear is completely drenched with your cum and pulled to the side.

"Please. I need you..." You plead, staring at Leon with blown-out pupils as his big, calloused hands grip the back of your calves to throw them over his shoulders, before his hands travel back to your hips.

"Anything for you, my love." He doesn't waste another second, his hips slowly pushing forward as you feel him stretch your walls, inch by inch, until he's bottomed out inside of you. Letting out a shaky exhale, your glossy lips quiver as the feeling of being totally filled up by his cock makes you squeeze your eyes shut in pure pleasure, your jaw dropping into a perfect little 'o' shape.

"O-oh fuck, more… Please…"

Leon leans down, deepening the angle and rocking his hips into you at a faster and harder pace. "Yes ma'am."

The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and the squelch of your wetness with every thrust makes your cheeks burn red. You're certain if somebody walked past and paused for a moment, they'd hear such lewd sounds coming from your office, but at this point, you don't care one bit. You've missed your husband so much.

"You fuck me so so good… Oh god baby, I've missed you so much." You coo praise in Leon's ear, and you feel his hips pick up the pace even more. You always know exactly what buttons to push when it comes to him.

"S-shit, you're so fuckin' tight. You're squeezing me like fuckin' crazy. Fuck, such a tight, pretty little pussy." Leon rasps out, and his hips buck into you with a fervor that you're unsure of is even possible from a human standpoint. Every thrust Leon makes kisses that spot inside of your cunt so perfectly that your walls clench around his cock with a vice grip.

"Please, please, cum inside of me, please." You whimper, cheeks flushed and your hair plastered to the sides of your sweaty face.

"Yeah, you want my cum? Take it, princess. Take it. You know I'm all yours… Fuck-" Leon groans in pleasure as he feels your pussy tighten around his cock as you cum, your thighs shaking just as much as the examination table beneath you. Your knuckles turn white as you grip onto the edge of the table, eyelids fluttering shut as you reach that perfect peak. And that's all it takes for Leon's orgasm to follow suit, as he hisses in ecstasy, spilling hot, white ropes of his sticky cum inside of you.

"F-fuck… How much energy did that damn cure give you?" You rasp out, catching your breath as Leon's posture is already straightened out.

"Enough for another round. Or two. Or three." He shrugs with red cheeks and a grin as he helps you hop off the table, giving you a moment to fix yourself up and clean up your office space.

"Alright… Slow down there agent. We need to get home first." You chuckle, locking the office door behind you both as you walk through the reception area. Leon wordlessly extends his arm out to you, and you hand him your work bag as he slings it across his broad shoulder, before reaching out again and grabbing his hand in yours. You have a feeling you may end up in the backseat of his car before you make it home.

No answer. He frowns. Normally, you'd answer immediately. Even if you were asleep, he'd usually hear some sleepy ‘I'm in here’ drifting down the hallway. For a second, the lack of response makes his heart drop. Makes his palms go clammy as he starts to move faster, expecting a scream, a shout, a cry-

A single piano note cuts through the silence. Another follows. Then another.

His first thought is that you'd left the radio on. Except… No. That’s not right. There's hesitation between the notes. Tiny pauses. The subtle sound of fingers lifting from ivory keys before settling back down again. Whoever is playing is alive, sitting only a few rooms away. His brow furrows.

"...What the…?"

He could have sworn the old upright piano tucked away in the spare room hadn't been touched in years. Hell, he'd almost forgotten it existed. It had come with the apartment, according to the landlord. You'd insisted on keeping it because it was "pretty," even if neither of you supposedly knew how to play. Apparently, that wasn't true.

Another phrase drifts through the apartment. It's soft. Melancholy. Fuck, it’s beautiful. He doesn't know the first thing about music. Couldn't tell you the key. Couldn't explain the technique. He'd fail every music theory class ever invented. But he knows how it makes him feel. Somewhere between the first few measures, he realizes his shoulders have dropped. His jaw has unclenched.  For the first time since the mission started, he isn't thinking about it anymore. All he can focus on is the beautiful chords echoing from the other room. Almost without realizing it, he follows the music. Each step down the hallway is slow, careful against the hardwood floor. Somehow, it feels wrong to make noise. He reaches the half-open door, and stops.

The sight in front of him makes his jaw almost drop.

Sunlight from the late afternoon spills across the room, turning dust motes into drifting gold. You're sitting at one of your old kitchen chairs with your back to him, completely unaware of his presence. Your shoulders rise and fall with every breath. One foot rests lightly against the pedals, pressing them with practiced ease. Your fingers move across the keys like they belong there. Every movement is smooth, wrists relaxed as the melody rises and falls beneath your hands like breathing.  You play like you've known this instrument your entire life.

His eyes drift to the side. Beside the piano rests a neat stack of music books, their spines cracked with age. Several loose sheets are covered in neat pencil markings, little notes scribbled into the margins. Practice notes. Corrections. Years of them, at least.

"... Wow."

The word slips out before he can stop it.

Your hands freeze. The final chord hangs in the air for a long moment before slowly fading into silence. Your entire body goes rigid, head snapping in his direction. Your eyes are wide and alarmed, like a deer caught by a hunter. 

“... Leon?”

Distantly, he realizes that you sound almost horrified. "Sorry." His own voice comes out quieter than he'd intended. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Your body finally turns fully towards him, but it’s slow.  Whatever expression had been on your face while you were playing vanishes so quickly that he almost wonders if he imagined it.

"...You're home early."

He smiles tiredly. "Mission wrapped up."

"...Oh." Your hands draw to your chest, clasping them together in front of your heart. You won't meet his eyes. Instead, your gaze fixes somewhere near the floor.

He speaks again, slower this time. Like anything too sudden will scare you away. "...That was you."

It isn't really a question. You nod once. "...Yeah."

"I..." He laughs softly, shaking his head. "Honey, I didn't even know you could play."

Your head shakes a little, and this time, your legs draw up to your chest, feet resting on the very edge of the seat of the chair. “... It’s not good, really. I don’t play well.”

“Don’t play well?” He scoffs, and dares to take a step closer. “That was beautiful. If I tried to do that, I’d sound like a dying cat.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. Instead of making you smile, the compliment seems to hurt. It makes something in his eyes soften, hand reaching out in your direction. “... You don’t have to stop.”

For a moment, it looks like you’re considering it. Your eyes dart to the piano keys, to your hands. To the sheet music, marked over and over with colored ink and pencil lead. But, in a way that makes his heart break a little, your head shakes.

“... Can we just pretend that you didn’t see this?”

His brows furrow in confusion. “Why in the hell would I do that?”

“I…” Your head dips down a little. “People didn’t really… support me with this, growing up. They didn’t really care. People always had something else they'd rather listen to. ”

He finally closes the distance between you two, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek. Instinctively, your head tilts into it, eyes closing. 

"Honey..." His thumb brushes beneath your eye. "Do you know what that sounded like to me?" 

Your head shakes. He can’t help but lean down, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“It sounded like peace.” He lowers himself down to the floor, kneeling. “I came home today expecting to spend the next three days trying to forget all the shit I’ve seen. But for the first time in weeks,” He smiles, almost to himself. “I wasn’t thinking about any of it anymore. Just that music.”

A tear has fallen from one of your eyes, and he’s quick to kiss it away. Your head is shaking, but he stops it with his hands, both resting on your cheeks and keeping you still.

“Next time I come home from a mission, here’s what I want you to do, okay?” 

You nod tearfully, and he continues.

“I don’t want you to meet me at the door. I want you to come into this room, sit on this chair, and play for me. Please?”

Finally, a smile. A bit disbelieving, but it’s a start. 

Another kiss, this time directly on your lips. It feels like home. 

“Now, Honey, could you keep playing for me? Please?”

the world is noisy, wild, chaotic, and unforgiving. in the field that kento's responsibility dragged him to, relief is not something that he can easily come by. he finds himself working overtime most days, narrowly escaping the clutches of grief or death at the hands of some insidious curse that he is burdened with erradicating.

his job is to save lives, and he does. he is good at what he does, too. precise, timely, always keeping an eye out for the next threat, whether it is gojo imposing on his reading time during lunch or the threat of the memory of haibara ressurecting in another poor, innocent student's soul, unfit for the brutish nature of their education.

nanami is practical and prepared, therefore when the noise comes during the day, he is ready for it. he has practiced his life around it long enough to let it become a dull murmur in the back of his head, one that does not overpower him the way it used to in his youth, when jujutsu took his best friend away.

and while he is accostumed to it, noise is still noise. the tension it always used to bring in the back of his neck still remains each time he steps across that threshhold and into his place of work. the memory of a curse's hiss still haunts the confines of his mind, and the nagging knowledge that one day his very breath could be stripped away by the insanity of what he devoted his life to claws at the back of his head like a sickness he can't quite shake.

noise is still noise, and it leaves kento eerily silent most days as his coworkers (gojo) invade the space with their voices, their numbness to the cruelty, their pinches of insanity that they shield behind hazes of smoke, stupid incessant jokes, and the bright youth of their students. students who could be lost to them at any second, at any moment's time.

kento often feels as though his perfectly organized world is slightly tilted on an axis, his practiced stability the only thing keeping it from completely flipping upside down. the task of a sorcerer is to live with the burden of fear, the crushing reminders of temporary life, and that noise that just never seems to go away, and nanami keeps a straight face. remains poised. focuses on time and neatness and maturity to keep him upright rather than the blaring red that bangs against his brain.

the blonde is tired most days. every day. every day of his life, actually, since as long as he could remember. tireless missions across sea, the shadows of miserable curses rising high above the vision of his fifteen year old self, the call he received when the school thought that satoru was dead, the call he received when haibara died a year later instead. when his mortality, as well as everyone else's, was thrown in his face brutally by the realization that the only being who could ever overcome such confines of life was satoru gojo. the world's savior, the honored one. spoiled. bratty. practically immortal.

the exhaustion of such knowledge, of such tireless pain weighs heavy, and kento finds himself pretending most days that he doesn't wish he had stayed away, that he could have lived a normal, boring life had it not been for the tug of his conscience, the sorcerer's responsibility that never quite leaves you after you get a taste of what the world is truly like behind an ordinary human's eyes.

and his brain is always running, chugging behind the shield of his opaqe goggles, the noise of yuji urging to assist him and make a big name of himself by saving people, swearing his future to the curse of this livelihood. and nanami tries his damndest not to see that boy with brown hair and brown eyes reflective in yuji's youthful air, the optimism that will slowly be poisoned either by death or the inability to escape it. time and time again, kento will attempt to scream out over the noise and challenge it by reiterating how young his students are, how young yuji is, how young he was, how young haibara was when he was killed, and how young satoru was when the world decided to completely lean on him.

but the world doesn't care. jujutsu turns a blind eye to mercy, to suffering, to the hope of youth. it takes and takes and takes, and nanami finds himself going quiet to the noise once more when he listens to people like mei mei ramble on about stipend increases during meetings where all his mind can go back to is the fact that everyone in this room will likely die one day. and there is nothing that any of them can do about it but fight until their time is up.

save for satoru gojo of course, who will stand by as everyone continues to fall away. and what can the white haired sorcerer do but poke at nanami's shoulder while he hides his grimace behind the wall of a newspaper, death's reminder of his weakness teasing him at his very side.

heavy sighs filter from nanami's chest when the days finally come to their end. he piles onto public transport, gripping the rails tight overhead inside the stuffy train, watching wearily as little curses trample about the cabin, squirming around shoulders, creeping into briefcases. nanami looks at his watch. he's off.

the public's murmur overlaps the noise already roaring inside nanami's mind, children crying, men and women arguing over the phone with their places of work, the restless squeak of the train's wheels when it screeches to a stop, and the bodies that bump into his broad one as herds rush to spill from the train doors.

voices blabber inside his head as he walks calmly along the route home. he keeps his eyes straight, heavy and puffy behind his glasses, the sun's late glare practically blinding his sight. but he keeps going, knowing the path by heart, letting the automatic pull of his familiarity drag his aching feet.

with each step his loafers click across the concrete, he hears the echoes of his life, the past that his restlessness has brought him in the blare of the sun. another weighted sigh spills past his lips as he tells himself he only has one more block to go.

and then he arrives at the door, his key turning into the lock, the heavy door giving way as he pushes himself inside.

and suddenly, like an off switch, the scent of you intermingled with whatever has been cooking on the stove overcomes nanami's senses, numbing him. the second he closes the door behind him, he hears your voice from the kitchen and the cut of the running faucet turning off.

"ken?"

the blonde lets his briefcase slip from his fingers and land onto the floor as he goes to remove his shoes silently, your voice, the house's warmth, his sanctuary finally rendering him unable to speak quite yet as he adjusts to the stark contrast between in here and out there.

and there you are, emerging from around the corner, having just dried your hands with a towel. you take in your husband's figure at the door as he removes his goggles and finds your eyes, and you light up, moving to greet him.

"hi baby," you coo. the second your body meets his, your arms wrapping smoothly around his neck, the noise that kento could never quite escape completely goes mute, and all that he can think of is the way you smell of miso and a hint of something sweet as your warmth melts against him.

the mask of composure kento wears every day to keep himself from breaking, to keep his occupation from breaking him, withers away, his body sinks into you like molasses slipping slowly from a bottle, and a final heavy sigh leaves his body, pulling all the burrowed fear, stress, and exhaustion from his being.

helpless to you, his heavy arms curl around your midsection slowly, as if every movement he makes is an act of testing whether his mind will truly allow him this peace. and when no further noise comes, he slumps into you, melting, falling apart.

you feel the stiffness sink away as you hold him, and you smile, closing your eyes as his presses himself into you, his forehead falling to the crook of your neck, rubbing softly against your skin. brows knit with relief, and quiet comes sweet and soft like a wordless lullaby.

your boyfriend speaks a thousand words without opening his mouth, his body answering the silent questions that do not leave yours. your fingers slip into his hair, gliding over his cropped undercut, soothing the space where you know the most tension balls up in a little knot. kento hums something weak and broken and free, holding you closer, savoring this moment for all its worth, and the infinite silence that you magically bring.

you don't ask him about his day. you already know.

instead, as dinner finishes cooking in the oven, you retreat to your sofa, where kento always slips quietly onto his side, long legs oustretched horizontally over the furniture, his head sinking down to your lap just before your hands settle over his head.

he closes his eyes, veiny hand reaching to loosen his tie, tugging it resentfully from around his neck. a temporary pinch in his brow results, but you smooth it away with the soothing glide of your fingers through once neatly slicked blonde strands. you study his face as the anguish melts away from his handsome expression, a rhythmic stroke settling as you caress through his hair, your other hand cradling around his jaw.

blonde lashes flutter, and what noises and thoughts seemed to come so easily during the day are nowhere to be found. his mind finds blankness, calm in the way your fingertips stop every now and then to scratch at his scalp, the way the side of your palm presses to his skin as he recovers from the day's burdens. silence filters through the house comfortably, the occasional tick from the oven echoing out.

a safety nanami has only felt in your arms tackles him soundly. his head angles slightly toward your stomach, nose brushing against the sweater you stole from him. your body always responds to his movements, hugging closer, stroking softer.

kento remembers the first time it happened, the first time you touched him and the noise suddenly wiped clean from his mind like he was born that day all over again with a blank slate. he stiffened slightly at first, your hand in his, and he looked at you like you'd solved the riddle for all life's misery. like you'd singlehandedly resurrected him from the dead with nothing but your hand squeezing in his.

you've always had this serene quality about you, one that makes kento want to rot in your company for as long as he possibly can. it takes one look at your face, one sniff of your perfume, one chirp of your voice for every horror that plagues nanami's head to dissipate like it never existed, and nanami was not foolish enough to question it any further. his body told him that you were his sanctuary, therefore, he siezed you, courted you, held onto you, cherished you so that you'd never go away.

and every day, when he wonders why he forced this livelihood on himself, he remembers your soft touch and easy smiles, and the urgency to protect, to protect this life, reinstills itself in him. and he remembers that if the responsibility should fall onto anyone to preserve the sanctity of your kiss, it should fall to him.

something peachy and bright swipes through the darkness of nanami's closed lids as he lay in your lap like a child, raw, vulnerable, tired. warm colors filter into his subconscious, the sweetness he imagines the sun would taste like on your lips swirling around his head. he often swears it's some kind of trick, for it awes him how you take what is dark and gloomy and drab and strict and bend it into something easy and light and whimsical and tender.

his heart trembles like a bird who has not yet learned to fly, and everything he once thought he knew is laid bare at his feet for him to attempt to piece back together, to reconfigure as though it is his first day on this planet. something heavy aches inside his being, and he knows what it is. he thinks deep down he's always known, but in the warmth of your embrace this day, with your fingers in his hair and your silent attentiveness and care keeping him breathing, he thinks he knows for sure.

kento's eyes peel back open to reveal honeyed pools of (e/c) gazing down at him softly. your gentle lips are smiling, the gold of your first initial dangling from the expensive chain around your neck as you watch him with eyes so sweet that kento's surprised he hasn't rotted away right there.

and instead of thoughts of his and his students' mortality, his mind gets fuzzy and blurry. he can't conjure up a thought on anything but you. his eyes are lidded, blinking slow as he stares up at you, letting your beauty overpower him, letting it render him a speechless, weakened vessel at your will.

something emotional overcomes him, something that claws at his chest warmly, sacredly. he knows what it is when your gazes speak for the words you do not say, when your touch grows somehow softer, and the corners of kento's lips finally pull upward now that he knows this isn't a dream and some curse isn't pulling him in for a brutal, gruesome, vile death, using you as a pawn.

chocolate eyes catch the light pouring in from the window behind you past hooked, wrinkled curtains. you see all the world's passion soaking up into those circles of brown, like a sponge absorbing water, or the muffled hum of a pressed piano key floating off into dragged, eventual silence. your finger shifts to trace along his jaw, along the sculpt of his cheekbone, then to the corners of his mouth that you pull slightly to lift higher. kento's eyes shimmer, the day’s first hints of humor catching him as his eyes wrinkle and a laugh, soft and breathless, flutters from his chest as he obeys your silent plea for further relief, for a little more of a smile.

he can't help it. he can't help but smile when he looks at you. when he thinks about everything you are and continue to be, when he thinks of the great impact you have on what he always thought would be a dull, inevitable future of broken hope.

kento's hand reaches up slowly, catching your cheek. you smile warm, letting him guide you down to his lips. they meet in a gentle peck, sweet and lingering like the aftertaste of a sugary treat. the warmth spreads at the moment of contact, and when your eyes close, kento sees an entire life spent in your arms, in your steady silence.

his heart aches again, and he pulls away to hover just centimeters from your breath. slivers of eyes hold one another's, and kento smoothes a hand over your hair, smile dwindling with something serious.

it isn't just this moment, this day. it's all the others that have lead up to this one. how easily you slip into his life, how you always seem to read his mind and know exactly what he needs, how silence seems to speak louder than your words, and in between those spaces of muteness, you see him and he sees you. every day he leaves the house, he counts down the seconds to get back to you as war wages in his thoughts, like there's some blanket over his senses when he's with you that is ripped away the second he steps outside.

it's the times you have spent patching up the deep wounds that no one but you can see, the wounds he hardly knew he had before meeting you, as he'd been so accostamed to their rooted, soulful ache.

he wonders sometimes where you came from. he wonders how he managed to stumble across this glittering pool after years of wandering through drought. how you make everything feel ten tons lighter just by existing, just by standing by his side, just by waiting for him to get home and wrapping him up in an embrace that solves all the world's problems in a second.

kento thinks back to when he didn't have you. to when he was young, and tormented, and distraught, and angry at a world he could never change but could help. he thinks back to what it felt like for the noise to circle through his mind twenty four hours, seven days a week, and he wonders how he survived. he wonders how he pushed through without you, for now that you are here, now that he's found safety in your arms, he at least has something to protect, to look forward to, to keep him alive.

he doesn't know what he'd do without you. without moments like these, where nothing exists but the melt of your lips against his and the weight your glittering eyes carry.

his lips press together with a bit more pressure, eyes taking in every detail of your face. the little strands of your brow curving out into an angle of your eyes. the little scar on your chin left behind from an accident when you were a child. the round of your nose, the gloss of your waterline that always intensifies when he's looking at you like this. he feels the trace of your fingers and swears to preserve their softness. he feels the warmth of your thighs against his head and promises to kiss over them beneath the privacy of your comforter. he feels you, your soul, your essence, molding into his, holding him close, and thinks that no feeling he has ever experienced in his life has ever come quite close to this one.

he knows it now, when you come down to kiss him again, and his hand finds the back of your head, his watch glittering under the lowering sun. that there is no better feeling than this, than your lips to his as your hum vibrates against his mouth, and travels all the way down to the tips of his toes. no better feeling than you.

"i love you."

it comes in a solid murmer in the space of your breaths when you part, and you freeze where you hover. kento watches almost sadly, as though he knows this can't last forever, but he will claw his way out of hell in order to make it last as long as it possibly can. he gives you another sweet smile as his thumb caresses over the back of his head, watching as your brows curl slowly with the processing of his soft declaration.

your breath hitches, then releases with a shudder. you search his eyes, and he lets you, enjoying your closeness, preserving it, vowing to shield it with his life.

when it finally settles in your brain, a thin film slides over your eyes, your lips parting, brows curving with a happiness you can't express in words. you've known. the both of you have had an inkling for some time, but to hear it voiced for the first time, to see it clear in his soft expression before you makes you want to weep.

slowly, kento rises, turning to sit upright beside you, holding your hands over his lap. his knees touch yours, his eyes staring into you, and he says it again, confident. "i love you."

you could die happily, full of joy and content you've never known, that nanami has singlehandedly shown you. his confession is simple, but the weight of it simmers beneath, and all that comes with it. you smile, bright and big and toothy.

"i love you too, kento. i always have."

and it's silent as he tugs you back in by your chin and melts into your kiss, intoxicated off of you and your mute peace.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

toji fushiguro: megs' teacher!

megumi knows his father. indusputably.

he knows that he hates the sound of morning alarms, and would sleep through all ten he sets for himself if he wanted to, for the man sleeps like a log and could likely sleep through a hurricane if it swept through his neighborhood.

he knows that when his dad disappears late enough, long after he and his sister have been fed and done their homework, that he's off to feed his stupid gambling addiction again, and will likely come home early in the morning to call up shiu and ask for an extra job because he lost all the money from the last one to his lack of self control.

megumi knows that his father can't cook for shit, and always elects to either recruit satoru to make something for them or order takeout for the tenth night in a row, ordering him and his sister not to complain about having chinese again.

and he knows that if you, his ninth grade geometry teacher, were not attending this field trip to the museum, then his father certainly would have been no where to be found. but instead, the spiky haired teen watches with disdain as his father signs the pink chaperone slip on the kitchen counter with an urgency, eager for the opportunity to harrass you about giving him the time of day.

toji fushiguro is not an easy man, against popular belief. he'll flirt, rather incessantly, with a woman at a bar, or with the lady who bags his groceries, or even with the waitress at a family restaurant, but he hardly has any desire to pursue anything outside of keeping his life a little entertaining. sometimes, he really just likes to talk and get on his kids' nerves, or pester someone for a discount that he insists he'll get any time he goes anywhere, but outside of convenience, flirting has no real appeal to him.

that is, until megumi starts high school, and toji is forced to attend parent teacher night in order to meet all of his son's teachers and acclimate himself with the kid's schedule. megumi had to practically drag his father to the door to attend it, for tsumiki had an equally hard time trying to make her father leave the house to go to hers when she started high school. toji hates large gatherings of snobby parents and annoying teachers, for he always insists that his kids are practically adults, and they don't need him breathing down the school's neck just to see what block he has lunch in and who's teaching him the language he already knows.

besides, he's seen all the teachers' faces before. he knows who will teach megumi what subject because his daughter went through the same thing the year prior, so why the hell is it so important for him to go again? he thought at least going for one kid would have been enough.

but megumi insisted as he pushed at the immovable brick wall that toji calls his back. "we have a new teacher there, remember? she doesn't know how fucking shitty you are yet. you need to introduce yourself to her so she knows what she's getting into."

toji yawns at the front door, quirking a brow down at his teenager. "shitty?"

"yes. you never answer emails or sign anything when teachers send stuff home. i got in trouble once for forging your signature, and you still didn't bother to show up to the meeting."

"because, it ain't forgin' a signature if i told ya to do it."

"it doesn't matter if you told me to - forgery is still forgery."

"i squeezed you outta my balls, you know. i don't gotta stand for this shit."

"just go, dad!" megumi barks.

grumbling curses under his breath, toji obliges, because internally he admits that he does need to show up as the brat's only parent. and he expects two hours of a snooze fest until he steps into your classroom.

his bored expression falls slightly when his ivy eyes land on you as you turn and greet the parents with a warm smile and reading glasses propped over your head. you wear a simple white blouse and dark jeans that hug your curves, stacked necklaces hanging around your neck, and nails painted ruby red. your eyes are like stars, and you speak with a gentle, smooth confidence, a well-rounded maturity toji can't help but to notice.

he stands against the whiteboard with his hands tucked in his pockets, looking all around at the arrangement of your classroom. surrounding your projector are warm paper lanterns that hang from ceiling, giving the room a soft, non-nauseating glow. formulas, numbers, and symbols line the walls above the boards in laminated strips, and a blue hue takes your room from the soft navy rug on the floor to the gentle light of the projected screen at the very front. a few plants line the window sills on the far left, nurtured by the space where sunlight would pour in during the day. encouraging posters, as well as band tees and show references are plastered over the walls. little trinkets and stuffed animals line your organized desk clutter, and the hominess and your structured room screams that you are the new teacher that megumi was talking about.

after all, your classroom feels less like a stuffy place kids go to learn and more like a soothing nook, with beanbags in the corner by your desk and calculaters lined up in a cute little tray labeled take one :)!

he's never seen you before, after all. he'd remember a face and a voice like yours.

so when you turn to toji with a knowing smile, and something calm and lazy in your eyes, he does not quite know what he will say or how he will speak to you. his instinct to flirt is a bit blurred, for there's nothing he necessarily wants from you... maybe for you to give megumi straight a's, or, more accurately, straight b's all year, but even so, trying to sweeten you up does not seem right upon first glance.

upon first glance, as he said. he at least wants to feel out what he'll be dealing with for the rest of tsumiki and megumi's high school years first.

"you must be mr. fushiguro," you greet with an air of amusement about you, cool, airy. you stretch your hand out, and toji listens to the clink of your bracelets as you do so. a waft of cinnamon sugar stretches from your arm and into toji's face, and the navy haired man has to find some strength deep within him in order to keep an unfazed composure. how are these kids gonna be able to learn a damn thing if you look, sound, and smell like that? toji certainly wouldn't be able to if he were in your class.

the corner of toji's scarred lips twitch upward mischievously as he claps his hand into yours firmly, shaking boldly. you chuckle lightly, brows lifting as toji squints subtly at you. "how'd ya know that?"

you release his hand to prop your own on your hip. "you and megumi share a face," you joke. "it'd be impossible to mistake you for anyone else."

toji snorts, crossing his arms. his muscles bulge with the action, tensing against the tight shirt he always frequents. "megumi's that memorable, huh? don't you got a shit ton of students comin' in and out of your classes?"

"i remember all of my students, mr. fushiguro. it's my job," you say. "i also brushed over the roster before you all got here."

toji's shoulders jerk with a little chuckle, and he eyes you closely as you smile. "so my kid ain't been givin' ya trouble, then?"

"trouble?" you tilt your head. "no, why do you say so?"

"just thought you'd remember his face for some other reason."

"megumi's been doing great in my class so far. it's only the beginning of the school year, but i can tell he'll be just fine. he seems like a really sweet kid."

"so he ain't get in a fight yet?"

"a fight?” you repeat wildly. "no, i'd hope not. not that i've heard of, anyway."

"good. 'cause it's comin'. don't say i ain't warn you."

your brow wrinkles slightly. "he got in fights a lot in middle school?"

"damn near every day."

"i see... and what influences are making megumi so prone to fighting, if this is a real issue?"

toji falls silent for a minute, caught by your inquisition. "you callin' me a bad influence?"

"no, mr. fushiguro. i'm just asking a question. after all, i'm only just meeting you."

toji hums, a smirk curling his lips as your raise a brow.

"he can't fight at school, much less in my classroom. i don't tolerate that kind of thing," you add.

"aren't you a great teacher, then," toji grins playfully. “i’ll be sure to pass on the message.”

you sense his playful tone and sigh, shaking your head. "i'm gonna have my hands full this year, won't i?"

"like i said. don't say i ain't warn ya."

"not with megumi," you lift your chin, smiling gently. "with you."

toji pauses, taken aback for a split second, then he laughs. "if you'll have me."

the said man leaves that night a bit thrown off, for he hadn't expected megumi's new math teacher to be so... down to earth? funny? sexy?

but it's something more than your looks. it's your ability to joke around, the gentle way you carry yourself, like you're gliding through the air, like math could never be a difficult subject as long as you're the one teaching it.

you’re pretty for a math teacher, and after a while, toji just can’t seem to leave you alone whenever you’re around.

so he shows up at things his kids know he would never bother to otherwise. he slips in to speak with you whenever he catches you heading to your car long after pick up has ended and the buses have left. he answers your emails unprofessionally and plainly, trying to weasel his way closer. trying to understand what this allure you possess is all about. trying to feel more of it, letting you pull him closer, letting your sweetness dizzy him just a little bit.

Subject: Midterm Reports From | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]> To | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]>

Good afternoon, Mr. Fushiguro,

I hope this email finds you well. I am reaching out pertaining to the midterm reports that were issued out last Friday. The students were informed that they should return them to school with a signatue from a parent or guardian by this morning, after the weekend, and I have yet to receive Megumi's form. When I asked him about it in class, he said that he did try to get you to sign it, but you refused, hoping to "wait for an email from me instead." Let it be known that I am emailing you now, as you prefer, and would greatly appreciate it if you could return Megumi's signed report no later than tomorrow. I will accept an electronic copy if that is easier for you.

Thank you very much in advance.

Sincerely,

Ms. (L/n)

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]> To | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]>

do you always talk so fancy when you reach out to parents doll, or is it just me?

-toji (not mr. fushiguro)

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]> To | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]>

Mr. Fushiguro,

Please keep this line of communication appropriate and strictly about Megumi's report, which you still have not told me how you will send. I need to transfer signed forms to the principal no later than tomorrow morning.

Regards,

Ms. (L/n) (not doll)

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]> To | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]>

relax, i'll make him bring it in tomorrow don't worry. for the record, i told him not to tell you that last part about the email thing. little prick. you sure he aint givin you a hard time over there? cause he's always givn me one.

is that a teacher thing by the way? someone gonna monitor the way you talk in emails? should i say something more interesting then? 😏

-TOJI***

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]> To | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]>

Good evening,

Thank you. Please do not forget! I will send you a reminder tomorrow morning before Megumi comes to school, as well.

And yes, remaining appropriate on a school mandated email is a "teacher thing." It would be nice if you would respect that by also refraining from using such language to refer to your son. He is a good student. No trouble at all.

Please enjoy the remainder of your evening!

Regards,

Ms. (L/n)

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]> To | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]>

guess that just means i should get your number then? so no other eyes are watchin

(my son the "good student" has called me worse things for your info)

-Toji

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]> To | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]>

Seeing as I just reminded you about the expectations of a school monitored email and you chose to ignore them within no less than five minutes, I will wish you a good night once again. Look out for my reminder tomorrow morning. I will be sending an extra one to Megumi as well so that he can force your hand if you pretend not to see my email.

Ms. (L/n)

<- Subject: Midterm Reports From | Toji Fushiguro <[email protected]> To | (Y/n) (L/n) <[email protected]>

i'd be stupid to pretend not to see an email from you

i'll get that number sometime

-toji

for toji, it isn't a matter of discovering whether he has a thing for you or not. he knows he does. every time he speaks to you, watches your eyes twinkle with an ominous lumiscence that reflects an orange moon's gloomy kiss, his heart patters to a weird rhythm. he knows he's got a thing for you and that it's not just because of your looks when he begins to associate the thought of you with the sweetness of a starry night, an inky, soothing, midnight's blue encapturing your energy every time you approach, every time you sweep an area.

megumi's grades in your class are stellar, for toji knows that he's always been a smart kid overshadowed by his short temper and quickness to violence - which the boy could have only inherited from toji himself. nevertheless, you speak highly of the fifteen year old nearing sixteen, claiming that he always pays attention, and always maintains a collected air about him when performing in your classroom.

and ever the easily agitated boy, toji finds that it makes sense that megumi finds solace within your space. math is something that always made sense to the blue eyed boy, something that always slips into certain conversations when megumi is detailing something he is working on, or trying to verbally piece together how certain things work. how much tsumiki should budget after she makes another online order, and how meals should be split and prepared throughout the week to leave some money leftover for anything else. with a gambling addict for a father, he thinks such precautions are necessary.

having seen your room, toji gets it. it's a safe space with low lighting and all that megumi's ever really known. and geometry, of course, proves way to easy for him, easy enough for you to bump him up to a higher math level.

toji thinks that what tugs at him the most about you is the way you always praise his son amidst your playful tones and your forced rejection of toji's advanaces for the sake of your job. you have a true passion for what you do, for how you teach, and who you are teaching. you talk of megumi's intelligence like it is something toji should be proud of, something right he has done throughout his life that he overshadows with jokes about his kid being mean to him and talk of his past.

toji's only ever heard teachers complain about his son. how violent he is. how standoffish he is. how quick he is to snap at a moment's inconvenience, or at someone pestering him or bothering someone who doesn't deserve it. middle school was hell, which is why toji backs away from interacting with most teachers now. sure, his kid gets into fights, but he wins every one of them. teaches those little shits a lesson. while fighting isn't "good", if the only thing anyone will ever see is megumi's anger, then toji won't bother trying to prove otherwise. trying to serve as the perfect parent to fit into their close minded ideas of his family. they don't deserve that effort if it's not already seen.

toji isn't going to change his son. he and his daughter are fine just the way they are. if the former gets in trouble, toji will deal with it, but who is he to care if megumi roughs up some necks and proves his place in the world as he grows older? he knows how to stand up for what's right. and he's smart all on his own without school, anyway.

but even after toji almost testingly told you about megumi's past in middle school to see how you'd react, brushing over the gory details, you don't hyperfixate on it. toji knows that notes on megs' previous behavior are tucked somewhere on a record in the principal's office, but you doesn't bother to further investigate, not unless it actively becomes a problem on your hands, and it doesn't. it never does.

instead, you see megumi for who he is. a good kid with a bright future. peaceful when treated as a human being, and silent in his genius. and if your beauty or your impressive teaching skills or your passion hadn't been enough for your toji to get hooked, your inherent recognition of his son's talent certainly does the trick.

but you won't cross that line. you won't let him come any further than jokes here and there and those dangerous looks he flashes you when you should be talking about megumi's behavior throughout the first quarter of the year instead. you always shake your head with a soft laugh, always roll your eyes with a pretty smile before redirecting the conversation, turning to your computer, clicking and sneaking a glance up from your monitor to see that he's still looking at you from where he lounges shamelessly in his seat.

toji continues to try his luck, however, hoping one day to get your personal number. hoping one day to know you beyond his kid's academics. hoping one day that you'll allow yourself to look at him as a man and not as one of your student's parents. hoping one day that you'll damn the rules and give in to the attraction that he knows you have for him. that he knows you hide away for the sake of your job. for the sake of your student.

you're not surprised when toji chaperones for the field trip. a father who once didn't give a damn whether he sent megumi's midterm report in signed or not suddenly hopping up at the chance to help monitor three buses full of high school kids could only have one goal in mind, and you know it when he sits next to you at the front of the bus.

you're in the window seat, almost pressed to the glass by the sheer mass of his frame, his legs spread out as wide as possible, leaving just enough room for his knee to knock against yours with every bump in the road and rock in the bus.

he smells of some woodsy cologne, rugged and warm, and you try to busy yourself with writing something down on a clipboard, but toji cuts through your concentration.

he leans over slightly, voice low. the chaos of the bus is loud enough for your conversation to be unheard. "y'look real pretty today."

you shoot your head up to look at him with a glare, countenance strict though toji sees the way you tense. "toji," you warn softly, eying him.

the ebony haired man's eyes light, smirk dragging over his sharp features. "good to hear ya got used to usin' my name."

"how could i not, when you're always pulling stuff like this?" you hiss. he smiles. "please, please don't flirt with me during this entire trip," you beg, exasperated.

"who says i'm flirtin'?" he teases, well aware that he is. "i'm just sayin. you look nice. i can't compliment a woman who looks good anymore?"

"don't try me. you know what you're doing," you murmur. toji chuckles.

"is it working?"

"no," you lie with a hint of a smile.

toji grins. "gotta try harder then."

"look, you signed up to be responsible for group a, okay? remember why you're here. for the kids."

"you and i both know i ain't here for these damn kids."

"well, you're gonna have to act like it. i don't need one of our parent chaperones being less responsible than a hundred high school freshmen. and i sure as hell don't need him breathing down my back all day."

"i'm always responsible."

"okay," you say, unconvinced.

"i won't breathe down your back," he adds. "i just wanna see you work."

"all you do is see me work. i'm your son's teacher."

"i wanna see you in action."

you roll your eyes, though your little grin counters your words. "do the job you signed up for."

"yes ma'am, i will," he swears. you look up to meet his eyes for a moment. he winks. and you groan.

throughout the day, toji keeps his promise, letting the kids do what they want as he keeps an eye out, monitoring. the whole thing is a chore, so much so that he starts making bets with some of the kids on the basketball team that they can't hump high enough to touch the ceiling of one of the exhibits, promising two bucks for the photo machine to whoever can do it first.

in the middle of the day's haze, toji catches sight of you from afar with one of your students at your side. his gaze softens as you walk through the exhibit with her, pointing out interesting facts, engaging in her nerdy talk of physics in relation to the screen before you.

and you're smiling wide, like this science museum could be the most exciting place you've ever stepped your foot into. like every word your student speaks to you holds weight that you will cling to forever. like your world surrounds you in your students' enjoyment and the intriguing little nerdy sanctuary that this place has to offer you.

toji loses a kid or two for a second while staring at you from afar, and he doesn't notice when megumi walks by him, his nose wrinkled in disgust when he follows his father's gaze. poor you. you should run while you still can.

toji sighs, figuring he is in to deep with no way to make you his, stuck with this weird, nostalgic feeling that tears away at his chest and makes him weak.

and when he isn't looking, when he realizes he's gotta track down the couple that disappeared, your attention goes to him, and your mind races with the images of his attentiveness, the way he casually handles the kids like it's nothing but a tiring exercise. you shouldn't be surprised, after all. he's a single father to two teenagers. he's good at this.

you chew on the inside of your lip, heart fluttering, and you exhale with a frown, knowing your dilemma. knowing that you like him just as much as he seems to like you. that despite his nuisance, you enjoy his company. you enjoy him being around.

at lunch, he sits with you. megumi pretends not to know him, and sits with his friend yuji. in the tense silence of your proximity, you look at him gently.

"you're actually really good at this," you say.

toji perks up, mouth full, burger clenched tight in large hands. he blinks at you, confused, for this is the first time he's ever heard you compliment him so freely. he could have choked on his food.

shoving down the lightness that takes him, toji swallows, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand lazily, eyes still glued to you. "y'think?"

you smile, un-teasing for a moment. "yeah. thank you for your help."

toji's jaw clenches, and he nods eventually after staring at you in stillness for a moment longer. "sure," he grumbles. "y're good at this too."

you giggle. "well, i'd hope so."

"nah, but... you really are. you're a good teacher," he reiterates. you soften, cheeks warming slightly against your best wishes.

"thank you," you say sincerely.

the two of you turn away, looking elsewhere, and toji keeps eating, unable to stand the heat.

the ride back is silent, something having shifted between the two of you. toji watches the road ahead as the bus jerks and the kids yammer on behind him, when he suddenly feels a light weight plop to his shoulder.

he freezes, and turns to find that you've dozed off, your head knocked against his arm as gentle breaths leave your parted lips.

toji's eyes go momentarily wide as he registers the feeling of you against him, of your warm head resting on him like your subconscious told you that you could trust the figure next to you, that you could take a second to breathe and rest after a hectic day.

toji watches you tenderly without a word, heart clenching. he doesn't move a muscle for the rest of the ride.

and at the end of the day, when you all part, a crumpled receipt is slipped into toji's hand with a quickness as you murmur something about nonexistent compensation. you disappear into the school before he can ask any questions, and when toji unfolds the silky piece of paper in his hand, he sees your number scribbled on the back of it.

he grins.

a step closer to making you his.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

ryomen sukuna: your hatred!

sukuna is... confused.

perhaps confusion is not the proper word to decribe the complexity that is racing through his ancient mind, but it is certainly a part of it, though he attempts to shield so with his ordinary, demanding air.

he snatched you up, stole you away as prisoner. his initial plans for you were to force you to work, however, when he saw how much of a fuss the neighboring palace was making about having stolen you away, he decided to use you as a pawn to his advantage.

uraume later informed him that you are, in fact, closely related to the emporer across the mountains, who has had complications with sukuna's temple for quite sometime, but has kept to himself in order to preserve his respect and his... well, his life. the foolish emporer had believed that he and the beast far north had come to some kind of agreement, and sukuna laughs at the sentiment, for why would he dare to make peace with such false royalty, with such puny, idiotic reign? he's lucky sukuna got bored of rampaging and devouring his people about a decade ago. he had turned his sights elsewhere... until you, of course.

you shouldn't have been wandering off on your own, shouldn't have gone on such a fool's errand for the sake of an environment which hardly cared whether you lived or died.

you'd traveled far, across the mountains, wrapped in furs up to your neck, your eyes dull with lethargy, your teeth chattering from the cold. how you survived such a trip alone, sukuna hardly knows, but he decides that you were did not leave alone by the haunted look in your eyes when he stands over you while you kneel before him in chains.

you were hauled in from outside, having been seen standing idly by the gates to his grand temple, torch fire blistering in your gaze as arms seized you and dragged you through the double doors. sukuna was prepared to kill you when you were dropped to his feet at the foot of his throne, the expanse of his polished throne room floors singling you out in the center of the room as you crumpled against them in cold and fear.

but when you lifted your head to him on command, his earth shattering boom of a voice ordering you to do so, the four armed curse did not see fear in your eyes. he saw anger.

you shiver out something about your home having been deprived of essential resources for weeks, waste having befallen your livelihoods as a result of sukuna's neighboring brutality on the wildlife, the roaring fires he sets across valleys for fun, the livestock he's either killed or sent running south, the merchants and travelers and traders who no longer pass through, keen to avoid sukuna's cruel forms of hellish entertainment. you mention that you live past the mountains, under that damned emporer's rule, and the conviction holds you together as you tremble and cough, very clearly ill and battered from your journey.

you're desperate. you risked your life to visit his temple with no plan but to beg, to merely ask for mercy, for food, for anything. no aces up your sleeve. no weapons meant to idiotically charge into his direction out of spite. nothing but the pitiful arch in your brow and the grind of your chattering teeth as you glare up at him with a distant resentment only someone who has heard of sukuna and experienced his impact from afar would know.

there's hatred in your steely eyes.

when uraume asks what they should do with you, he takes a moment to ponder. his instinct at first is to merely kill you, his sharp fingers lifting calmly as crimson eyes peer down at you over the bridge of his nose. it would be easy. like squashing a bug. he's done so enough times for it to be over and done with in miliseconds, but strangely, he pauses. for someone like you, who crossed the mountains those who live beyond them swear never to trek past - for if the cold doesn't get to them first, the monster that lies beyond them is sure to serve as a stubborn traveler's end - who lost your supplies, your men, and your means of travel somewhere along the way, can't be unimportant. can't simply be... useless.

so he sends you to the dungeon below, wrists chained to the wall behind spidery metal bars. and he learns from his right hand as you rot under his feet that you aren't just closely related to the emporer... you're a well favored concubine. in fact, the most desired.

the beast shakes the walls with the burly laugh that rips through his chest when he hears the news that you are, in fact, not important at all. not truly. beyond the pampered palace life of a tool used for the emporer's pleasure, you do not exist beyond such usefulness. and looking at you now, a starved, thirsty shell on the brink of death, hardly able to keep her eyes open behind those bars, sukuna can't say that he sees such a reality in your eyes.

you're far too gritty, and perhaps it is at the fault of the journey you've taken, but you're covered in filth and furs as though they are a part of you. as though you've only clung to them to survive.

a concubine, huh? how is that possible, when you've come so far and survived, with nothing to carry you on but that fierce hatred bubbling in your eyes, a hatred that a woman who has lived a cushy life of sex and comfort could never quite muster?

is the state of your palace so bad? was life as a concubine horrible enough for you to tear away and run off to death itself, stare it in the eye, and overcome it?

the beast is... intrigued.

the letter that arrives to him days later is enough for him to know that you at least served your duties as a concubine well, that you indeed are a favorite, a prized possession for a reason, as the emporer makes quite the fuss about your whereabouts, clearly knowing that you had run off to his temple for help.

sukuna decides that he will test how far the emporer's loyalty to you runs, and demands control over the other side of the mountains in exchange for your return. both the emporer, himself, and you know that he is bluffing. that if he returns you safely, sukuna will still rampage your home. that you will likely die either way, as well as everyone you've ever known or dared to love, and soon they will become prisoner or fodder to him and his hungry appetite, just as you have.

after all, what fool in his right mind would risk his future for someone so meaningless?

word of war spreads, and within the coming month, having survived off of the meals that uraume brings down to you to keep you alive, you hear word of your home's final collapse under sukuna's hellish, pointless seige. he brings back to you the head of the empire who tossed his life away for you.

foolish.

you refuse to eat anything after that as you wither away in his dungeon, wondering why sukuna hasn't just killed you. why he elects to make you suffer so heavily. you stew for days on end in your regret over your stubbornness, your desperate urge to find help, to do something about the sorry state that the pile of ashes that was once your home was in.

they told you not to slip away. told you not to do anything rash. to play your part and be happy, but you looked around at the scraps for dinner each night and you couldn't sit still. you couldn't be the perfect doll that the empire made you. you couldn't toss aside the weight of responsibility that sank over you, for if no one else was going to face the reality, someone had to.

and at the rate your home was moving, everyone was bound to die sooner or later anyway.

ryomen asks himself the same question of why he just hasn't brought himself to kill you. he's had his fun torturing you, bringing your world to dust, stealing that fire from your soul, but each time he treks down to see you, to mock you, and your steely eyes glare at him past those bars, he can't find the incessant desire in him to wipe you clean from this earth and move on, despite how easily he does so with everything and everyone else that crosses his path.

and then you say it, sharp words, hoarse and dry from misuse that you spit into his direction each time he stands tall before you, watching as you crouch limp in the corner.

"i abhor you," you growl.

sukuna can only grin proudly each time you express your intense, raw hatred for him.

he continues to make uraume bring you meals, only as time goes by and you continue to refuse the food, they become more elaborate. scraps of bread turn into generous loaves. limbs of elk, pheasant, and boar swarm the plate, and chipped glass full of water become challises of wine over gold and glittering plates, with prestine silverware.

yet each night, your food goes untouched, no matter how lavish, no matter how grand, no matter the temptation of the savory aroma that wafts from the plate and into your skeleton decorated cellar. you refuse to become his pet. you refuse to feed into the scraps of humanity he leaves like a dog's bowl at your door. you refuse to give him what he wants, and it makes sukuna angry with time.

for it's not that you want to die. sukuna sees it in your face. you haven't given up hope for life yet, but still you do not eat. you do not give in, and sukuna's gears grind, his frustration growing with every second you do not bend to his will.

"perhaps it's time to get rid of her," uraume suggests as he paces down the hall with thudding steps. "she is only taking up space. and if she refuses to eat much longer, she will not last the rest of the month anyway."

he should just kill you. he should, but he can't - he doesn't want to. your eyes, glossy and heavy with hatred, haunt him when you are not around, and he would prefer to look into them to see if such animosity has shifted rather than toss you away completely.

"i will not kill her," he grumbles heavily. "she could still be of use to me."

"...my lord, may i ask how? her home has been destroyed. there is nothing left for her. she is alone. and weak. do you wish her to become a servant?"

he doesn't answer. they are right. you are weak and isolated. keeping you here is pointless.

the ancient sorcerer's mind troubles himself as he attempts to conjure up what he could use you for, how he could keep you around, before he suddenly ponders why he wants to keep you around. why your hatred is so enticing.

the salmon haired king of curses approaches your cellar with a frown, a desolate glint in his crimson eyes. they scatter about the dark space, locking onto you in your miserable corner. your knees are to your chest, your mouth shielded by them, but your eyes pierce the veil to sukuna's innermost workings, like an arrow splintering through skin.

the silence stretches between you, long and heavy, as water drips from the ceiling, splattering in rhythmic taps against the stone of your holding cell. you fight the trembles, the pangs of hunger, and stare hard into the beast's eyes. just as you always do. unafraid. angry with nothing to show for it.

and while sukuna should truly be considering what on earth to do with you next, his mind can't help but wander to how you are the first prisoner he has captured in all of his existence, trampling this earth, who has dared to glare back into his four eyes. who has dared to keep his hard gaze. who has dared not to look away.

first prisoner. first human being.

and your eyes always tell a strange, twisted story. one that fails to align with that of a well loved concubine time and time again, each second he stares back at you. perhaps you were a prisoner in another life. perhaps the life you lived before finding temporary sanctuary as the former emporer's most favored concubine tells a better story than the life sukuna stole you from ever could.

even so, beneath all the grime and dirt that's caked over your skin, he can see the physical appeal. he sees the distant whispers of a beautiful woman, one cherished and yearned for and wanted so desperately that an entire kingdom collapsed for it. though, it is truly your fault that things had to end this way. that your home had to be destroyed. you left your home. you went searching for trouble at the hands of the most horrific being to ever roam the earth, and you got it.

perhaps that is why such anger rages in your eyes, for a bulk of it is misdirected, once harbored toward yourself and now pointed back into sukuna's direction.

he merely watches you like you are some odd piece of art he can't quite understand, hoping to find the answer in your eyes that you never give. you are far too interesting for him to discard of, your eyes and all their caked hatred too enticing for him to tear away from.

and your words, always venemous, soaked in poison when he asks you a question.

"why do you refuse food?"

"because i will not be your slave," you'd hiss.

"you will die."

"then i will finally be free from you."

"you do not wish to die. i see it in your eyes."

"death is a better fate than wasting away under your oppression. i hate you."

your conversations always end the same, with little answers, and the emphasis of your detestation. it's alluring, how fiercely you continue to hate with such little energy, with nothing to return to.

still, despite the circles he continues to run in with you, he proceeds with a new question after your prolonged silence. "how long were you a concubine?" he questions. "you will answer, or i will force your consumption."

your nose curls in disgust, but knowing that you have no choice, no true reason to hold back your truth without some form of gruelish punishment, you answer stiffly. "two years."

"only two?"

"are you hard of hearing?"

sukuna smirks. "then what of you before then?"

"nothing."

"there must have been something."

"i was no one."

"an orphan? a slave?"

you fall quiet, your face hardening, and sukuna decides he has got some kind of idea of you now. you happened upon that status of a concubine completely by luck, after years of wasting away, and now you return to your once sorry fate.

sukuna's eyes slim, and something preposterous leaves his lips. "i will release you."

you pause. "what?"

"on the condition that you become my favored concubine. so long as you prove yourself worthy."

your face morphs with something wicked, and your hatred glowers like a roaring flame in your hues. you lift your head from your knees with trembling lips, nose flaring.

you stumble, chains swinging and clanking as you rise to your feet slowly. you trip slightly over your bare feet, metal dragging as you step toward the bars. you press your forehead to them, your pupils small and tormented, a crazed pinch in your brow as sukuna hovers just before you, the closest you've ever allowed him to be with this barrier standing between you.

"i would rather die," you whisper, seething with rage.

and for some strange reason, sukuna's chest tightens. he brings his head down to you as you breathe heavily, wrath overtaking you as your eyes meet his at your height. his inhumanely large hands grip the bars and he leans in, grinning. "you may very well soon reach that fate" he sneers.

and up close, despite your filth, wrapped up in such inescapable anguish, you are quite... beautiful.

in a swift motion, he snatches your cheeks up in one hand, gripping tight, pulling you taut against the bars. you hiss, eyes wide as you struggle, attempting to pull away, but you can do nothing with your hands bound.

sukuna's grin goes dark. "you will change your mind," he threatens.

and for that brief moment he holds you close, and his sharp canines bear with the wave of his breath over your cheek, something snaps in the back of sukuna's mind as he looks into your eyes.

his smile drops, he grunts, and he snatches his hand away from you, forcing you to fall back with the force onto the floor. you gulp in a breath of air, chest heaving wildly as you glare up at him, stunned, elbows scraped against the stone.

ruby pools promise hell as they stare down at you, before he turns away and leaves without another word.

sukuna is confused, for the light feeling ripping in his ordinarily hardened chest ails him for the rest of the day. your eyes plague him like some damned curse that has befallen him, your hatred sweeping him up in the strange desire to keep pushing, to make you bend at his will whether you like it or not.

though, he wants you to like it. he wants you to turn against yourself, against every instinct in your body, against everything you've ever known to succumb to him willingly. to win your stubbornness. to reign over you, body, mind, and soul indefinitely.

sukuna groans that night as he tends to his garden in the back, finding your eyes in the piercing red of the spider lilies that litter the grass. why is it that you roam about his every waking thought? why is it that his foul, stubborn, disrespectful human prisoner is twisting his ambitions, stealing away his desire to kill, and greedily gathering all of his attention?

you hate him. you despise him. he's come across many humans under his capture, those who beg for their life like sniveling swine, those who offer to service him in exchange for his mercy, those who merely tremble in fear, unable to speak, unable to move.

and each and every one of those pitiful, disgusting creatures has met death at his hand one way or another, joy deriving from the sound their screams make when he hears their bones crack, watching the blood splatter, the red all consuming.

but it is not blood that comes to sukuna's mind when he thinks if you. it is your eyes, and the way they regard him unapologetically. it is the manner in which you hold your ground and remain firm in your beliefs, unlike many others who become a stranger to themselves when such ferocity stands before them. you merely wait, watch, brew, hate, and he does not quite understand yet where your grit comes from.

for this is how you survived that trip through the mountains, and how you continue to survive sukuna's captivity. you are strong. you are... odd. and you make sukuna's head ache and split like no other, for you should have no place within his mind in the first place.

sukuna tramples around his temple angrier and angrier each day, that you haven't given in, that you have not left his mind. is it witchcraft? sorcerery? some trick you have mastered under his nose?

he does not like it, how off kilter he feels, though he’d never let it show. how strangely you have made him feel ever since you first looked at him as he peered down at you in his throne room.

he finds himself venting to uraume one night about the nuisance you pose, how you have yet to change your mind about his offer, when the right hand's eyes slowly go wide, and they stop mid action entirely.

sukuna catches the look and glares. "what is that deplorable look for?"

"my lord, you offered to make her a concubine?" they repeat slowly.

"yes, what of it? she was a concubine before. this way, she would be useful should she not choose to starve first."

uraume's eyes slim, and their lips tug downward. "you prefer this over killing her?"

"i already told you, killing her is not an option. do not make me repeat myself."

uraume regards him silently, praying that what they think is ailing their lord is not reality. sukuna glares back, pretrubed. "what have you to say? spit it out."

uraume sighs. "you would like my honesty, yes?"

"always."

"...i fear you have taken a liking to our prisoner, my lord."

"a liking?! how preposterous! what on earth would make you fix your mouth to say such a thing."

uraume looks up at him boredly. "is it not you who often says no mortal who has crossed you can escape a death at your hands by any means?"

"…yes," he growls.

"well, hasn't she? escaped death?" sukuna pauses. "what means are there that serve as an exception outside of... any?"

the room falls silent as the two stare at one another. sukuna's brow twitches as he thinks back to the disrespect he's allowed you to throw at him. the disrespect he's come to enjoy. the picture of your eyes so sharply engrained in his mind that he can no longer close any four of his own without seeing yours.

you should be dead. but you are not. and that lightness, that strange pull toward you, suddenly becomes grotesque, as it starts to make an inkling of tormented sense.

the king of curses lurches up and flips his futon over, roaring loudly with anger as he trashes the room. uraume watches him with a sigh, proceeding to polish the vase that is left standing before their lord picks it up and smashes it against the wall beside their face.

uraume's lips fall into a flat line as they stand calmly. "i will retrieve the staff to rearrange your chambers when you are done."

they leave sukuna to his tantrum as he fights the reality that uraume may be right, as they often are.

Nanami figured that your softness around him was because of his quiet attitude, politeness and huge respect of you. He was one of the rarest people who never pissed you off.

You suppressed your anger well behind that smile and controlled demeanor. Growing up, you were told often that women can't be aggressive or angry as much as you do. They don't get outbursts that will eventually hurt someone else. They can't tear things apart, and destroy.

Those statements made you feel alienated, frustrated as to where you'd stash all the anger threatening to spill within your hold.

You're so angry it hurts from the inside.

You're so angry, it turns to tears.

Nanami became your safest space over time. You didn't feel overwhelming anger as much as you did before. But with the college days growing stressful, it felt like you've been drilling your head to gravel.

Nanami's program is in an entirely different building from your campus, your schedules clashed this semester, and the pressure to do well increased because of the change in the grading system.

Every day you feel slighted, betrayed by your skills, and frustrated with every subject requiring more energy than you can provide. You feel dumb and unskilled, too many to prove but nothing on your hands, and fighting for your place in this hellish world.

And you're rarely seeing Kento lately.

That's worse. Not having him around meant not having a safe space to go to.

One stressful day at your college, he decided to visit your dorm because you weren't replying to his messages.

When he opened your room, he found you stabbing several empty boxes until they're shredded.

You're so angry that he could hear the faint growl coming from your throat. When you registered his presence, you stopped. You turned away from him, scared and ashamed of how you currently looked. Disheveled, vulnerable, broken.

"Go away," you uttered, forcing normalcy in your voice rough from anger. Nanami gently closed the door behind him.

"No," he said, calm as ever yet firm. Your fingers hurt for how tight you were gripping that knife, the skin of your knuckles ached from the stretch.

"Go away. I don't want to hurt you," you insisted, tears rolling down your cheeks.

You felt weak, the control you had left torn and frayed. Nanami approached you in soft footsteps, keeping a certain distance without making you feel trapped. He knelt beside you, even with your back against him.

"Do you think I haven't seen rage?" he asked, voice calm and weathered from experience. "I've fought resentful curses with anger beyond comprehension.

His hand lifted, settling on your wrist holding that knife. Nanami didn't forced you to let go.

"And what they all have in common was they've been hurt," he spoke. "You're hurting and there's no shame to that."

Your shoulders shuddered from sobbing, the strength leaving your body, enough for Nanami to quietly slid the knife away from your hands.

"Let me help."

The next moment you found yourself sobbing on his arms, no longer fighting, acknowledging that your anger was from hurting too much.

You're not a monster.

You're safe now.

I'm here and I love you.

Nanami whispered, stroking your back until your breathing evened.

From now on, he didn't want you to pretend, to hide, to feel ashamed of being hurt, or suppress your anger until it bursts. He was never scared, he didn't see you differently. Nanami wanted to stay beside you even in your darkest of storms as far as you'd let him.

It will take a while but you'll be used to someone understanding your anger, instead of demonizing it.

a/n. i wish kento was here for me before i do something worse sighs

hiromi/kento taglist: taglist: @falloutmelody @ane5e @entr4p3 @little-miss-existencialcrisis @panda-b0s @nanamiswifeyy @soldmysoulto @succubussdreams @l3eksa @stellarixe @marzzhal @kopikento @nopemeout @inlovewithsteveh @joxjoxjoxjox @lucillestone @thejujvtsupost @lyricloveslatias @vaysrz

His words are sweet, always so sweet, but the way he’s pawing at your hips and dipping lower to squeeze your ass are nothing but. Lifting you up in one arm, he brings you face to face with his gentle grin, his pearly whites glinting in the morning sun. 

“Hi, darling,” he whispers.

Savouring his soft lips and feeling the soft bristles of his beard, you mutter, “I’ll miss you, Kenny.”

“I’ll miss you too, my darling love. But soon we’ll be away for hibernation, yes? And then you’ll have me all to yourself for months.”

“Dada!”

Kento laughs, a big smile taking over his face until his eyes are crinkling in the corner. With you still held up by one arm, he opens the other for your two cubs to jump onto him. Kenji, the eldest, climbs up his huge back, biting onto his father’s thick neck and growling in challenge. Whereas, Mio sits politely in his other arm, chubby hand petting his beard with wide eyes. 

“One of these days, we’ll all be too big to be carried like this, Kento,” you say with a sigh. 

The glimmer in his warm eyes melts your heart. “That day will never come, my love.”

“Yeah! Dada’s strong,” Kenji argues, to which his little sister agrees, nodding furiously.

“Alright, alright. Dada’s got to go to work, so let’s not hold him up any longer, okay?”

Shifting his tie into to place, you bid him farewell, the warmth of his body still imprinted on yours. He leaves you one last kiss against your forehead, eyes roving over his family, with his eldest puffing his chest out to say he’ll take over the big bear duties now. 

Satisfied, Kento is off to work and you jump on your kids, peppering kisses and attacking them with giggles. 

“Let’s go bake some cookies!”

Bear hybrid!Nanami isn’t always so mild-mannered. Though he isn’t quick to be riled up, there are, unfortunately, certain things that seem to trigger those prominent animalistic instincts. For example, he’s not particularly fond of the your neighbour. 

The single male is a husky who knocks on the door often, requesting sugar or dropping by gifts for the cubs. He’s completely harmless, if a little too bright and cheerful. In fact, you can tell he’s a good person, but that doesn’t matter for your husband. All males are a threat.

One evening, your neighbour knocks whilst Kento’s in the kitchen. Discussing the recent neighbourhood bake sale, you must have been gone far longer than your husband would have liked because he eventually appears behind you, impossibly taller and broader. 

He casts a shadow on you and on the husky who only grins cheekily. Winding a paw around your waist, he snaps his jaws together, flashing his canines. The message is clear: leave his territory now. Your neighbour retreats back, giving you one last wink before the door slams shut. 

Bear hybrid!Nanami buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply in rapid succession, chest heaving as you’re pinned to the door. His hold on you is calculatedly light enough to not hurt but they do threaten to leave indentations should you attempt to push him away as he’s recollecting himself. 

This doesn’t very often; something about that husky sets him off. You can’t say you hate when he’s like this. How could you when he’s shoving a leg between yours and caging you in his arms?

He’s shuffling his entire body against yours, rubbing his scent as thoroughly as he can. His thigh presses roughly against your moistening core. Gravelly, he groans, “Who are you married to?”

“You.”

A paw urges your hips up and down on his leg, seeking that tantalising honey from your insides. Kento stops inhaling, only to lick up the length of your neck, marking you so that there would be no confusion as to whom you belong to. His sharp teeth scrape the skin in warning — it isn’t enough for the others to know you’re his mate, you must know that too. 

“Again.”

“I’m your wife. I’m yours, Ken.”

You cum just like that, shuddering against his burly chest, buried in his pecs. He rubs soothing circles in your back in apology for his aggressive behaviour. Without much regret in his voice, he admits, “I’m terribly sorry, darling. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do,” you mumble against his repenting lips, fingers pressing the wet streak that’s formed over his trousers. “I made a mess, sorry, Kenny.”

Glasses foggy and cheeks flushed, he shakes his head. “Nothing to apologise for, my love. You were, and are, nothing short of perfect. Always. Now, come. Let’s eat. The kids must be starving.”

Bear hybrid!Nanami goes through hyperphagia during the autumnal months, when the weather begins to become colder. He eats almost double his usual, consuming more berries and salmon — your grocery budget goes through the roof trying to keep his hunger satiated. 

This does mean, however, that your husband stores more fat. But it isn’t an awful experience. Rather, it’s actually the sexiest thing ever. Seeing him grow rounder in his arms, his face, his stomach and his thighs is incredible. You notice the added weight when he lays on your chest at night, laying a possessive hand on your tummy. 

He almost crushes you when he does that. At first, he simply takes extra care around you, making sure he moves slowly and carefully, but as the winter approaches and he grows even bigger, sleeping on you is no longer an option and you must lie on his chest, the hairs there tickling your nose. 

You can’t keep your hands off Bear hybrid!Nanami in those months. Even as he’s sorting through papers in his office, you just can’t help but crawl under his desk and fish out his thick cock. It’s long, thicker at the base where those fuzzy blond hairs are than the curve. He’s even bigger as he’s bulking. There, in his base, is a little knot-like curve that makes your mouth water. 

“Feeling needy, darling?”

You hum, teasing your lips against his tip. “For you? Always.”

He lands a heavy paw on your head, guiding your head lower. Taking him in, in any holes, is never easy. You have to mentally prepare yourself by re-familiaring yourself with his scent, his texture, and his taste by licking from base to tip, circling the head and peering up at him as his breathing becomes heavy. Only once does he begin releasing pained groans do you stretch your lips to engulf him. 

“Sweetheart, go -ha- slowly,” he advices. “I’ll cum too fast if you’re rough with me.”

His thighs are so thick you palm them, eyes rolling back at the pudge there, still solid and firm from his strength, and the knowledge that he could crush you with them makes you so wet, you moan around his cock. 

The growls coming from his chest vibrate the wooden desk you’re under, heady air puffing from his mouth as he curls his lips back, big arms tensing whilst he grips the wood with a deathly force, knuckles white. You hear it creak above you. You suck harder. 

“Almost there, honey. Keep -ngh- going.”

When he spurts in your mouth, painting your throat with his seed, he thumbs at your bottom lip, smearing the wetness of both his cum and your drool all over your chin before he pulls it down to inspect your mouth. “Swallow it all, my love. That’s right. Such a good girl.”

During hibernation, the entire family is sluggish. The children sleep all day. Kento practically never leaves the bed. Though he’s eaten enough in the season before to only need to eat once in a while, the same can’t be said for you. No, you still need to eat three meals a day.

You know that. And your husband knows that, too. 

So, why does he refuse to let go of you in the mornings, afternoons, and evenings? 

Held by his brawny arms, one around your chest, groping your tit, and the other circling your neck, you literally cannot move. Especially not with the hefty thigh he’s thrown over both of your legs. The snow he senses outside urges his instincts to keep all sources of warmth with him, even if the hottest thing in your room is himself, with all the heat emanating from his huge body. 

“Ken, I’m hungry,” you whine. 

He huffs, no rebuttal escaping him. 

His glasses have been safely tucked away in a drawer, and he’s wrapped tightly in a bulky sweater, hair all mussed up. He looks even paler during the winter, the only colour on his skin being the flush across his cheeks. Kento is the epitome of comfor during hibernation — it’s his favourite time of the year. He gets paid leave and so do you, the government understanding the importance of hybrids having support systems during such a vulnerable time. 

With his cubs all safe and sound at home, just in the next room, and his wife by his side at every given moment, there’s nothing else he could possibly ask for. Except maybe for you to stop squirming to get away.

“I’m literally starving, Kento,” you grumble. 

Bear hybrid!Nanami relents at the very last second, pulling those heavy limbs back enough for you to slide out from under them. You rush to the bathroom for your much needed reprieve and then head straight to the kitchen. Your husband had kept you captive until it was past lunchtime. 

He is so ridiculously selfish during these winter months. 

Careful to make as little noise as possible, you make a quick breakfast. Waiting for the bread to pop up from the toaster, all golden brown and warm, you tap your foot against the floor. It’s an odd feeling to rarely cook in the winter season — all year round, there’s practically never enough food for your husband and your children. Now, you pretty much only cook for yourself. 

You may not have the bear instincts they do, but you are a mother. You have to constantly fight the urge to shake your babies awake and shove hearty stews and delicious pies down their throats. Whenever you sneak into their rooms, all you ever get are grumbles of complaint about how loud you’re being. And if you leave the bed too often to check up on them, making sure they’re still breathing,  your husband becomes adorably irritated and carries them over to your bedroom, everyone piling on top. 

“You left me waiting so long, sweetheart,” Kento grumbles into your neck, startling you.  

Somehow, he had managed to creep up behind, bare feet padding quietly until he reached the kitchen where he promptly rested his weight onto you. Almost toppling over by the sudden weight, you yelp. 

“Ken! Go back to bed.”

Skimming his nose against your neck, he hums, “Can’t sleep without my wife.”

He patiently waits with you, hugging you from behind as he practically dozes off on top of your head, steady breathing causing his chest to rise and fall, coaxing you back to sleepiness too. He reaches over, plating the toasts for you as soon as they emerge, wary they’re too hot for your sensitive human hands. 

Taking your last bite, your world turns topsy turvy when you’re thrown over his shoulder, a large hand palming your thigh all the way up to your ass. Upon reaching your bedroom, he climbs in with you still clinging to his torso. You lay on top of him. He doesn’t complain about the weight, rather he groans from the feeling of you, all of you, keeping him warm and grounded.

“If you were a bear, honey,” he mumbles sleepily, hand rubbing your back, “those toasts would be enough to keep you in bed with me for weeks. How lovely would that be?”

Playfully, you retort, “You should marry one, then.”

“There’s no one else for me but you. Human or hybrid, you’re perfect. Just perfect,” he muses. 

Grabbing your left hand, he rests it on his which lies on the pillow above his head. Your rings clink together as he clutches every part of you tightly, like you might disappear when he wakes up, like this marriage with you has been all one big dream. 

What a sweet slumber and a bitter waking it would be. 

“See you on the other side, Kenny,” you say absentmindedly. 

Kissing the top of your head, he affirms, “Always.”

Once winter passes, Bear hybrid!Nanami returns to work and your kids go back to school, catching up with their friends like they haven’t been asleep almost the entire time. 

The snow’s all gone and the frost in the air disappears, signalling a brand new start. Your cubs will grow bigger, whilst your husband shifts back to his normal size, still enormous and intimidating, but much more hardened. In the spring, that brings its own set of problems. 

“The cubs are at their friends’, sweetheart.” Kento hugs you from behind as you stir a pot in the kitchen. You already know where this is going. You’ve lived through enough springs with the man to know that the bulge he’s grinding against your ass isn’t a simple expression of his love for you. 

Sighing, you ask, “Isn’t two plenty, Ken?”

He growls, teeth scraping your neck as he squeezes every inch of flesh his paws can reach. “I’m a greedy man. I want more of you. I want one that has your eyes and your wit. And another with your hair and your humour.”

When he cups your pussy through your dress, there’s nothing you can say in argument before he places you atop the counter, hob off and food left to grow cold. He’s got something more delicious in mind. 

He grips your thighs, legs spread to accommodate his wide berth. Leaving a big bite on your skin, a red mark begins to grow and the growl vibrating in his chest tells you everything you need to know. Kento isn’t stopping until your stomach balloons with his cubs once more. 

“Smells so good, sweetheart.” He presses his nose against your clothed core, burying the tip on your clit. His mouth waters with the tantalising scent filling his senses. “Always smell so good. I can never focus when you’re around.”

Your panties are ripped apart in his claws, torn to shred but before you can even process the destruction, he’s already diving in, your wetness coating his beard. Kento laps up all the juice you produce, suckling that tight little bud, rolling it with his tongue to hear your moans. 

You pull at his hair, so thick and luscious, and jut your hips up. The pleasure quickly grows overwhelming and you’re squirming away, clawing to find escape from the mind-numbing euphoria. 

Bear hybrid!Nanami growls, throwing a heavy arm over your stomach and he gnaws on your thigh in warning. “Do not move. Do not run. I couldn’t bear it. Not right now, sweetheart. You will give me what I want and you will thank me, yes?”

Panting, you nod your head. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry, Kenny.”

Eyes narrowing, he licks up the bruise he’s planted on your thigh in apology before he dives right back in with greater vigour. He wriggles his tongue inside, his nose teasing your clit, and you cum, creaming right into his mouth. Your husband makes low noises of approval, grip on your body turning punishing.

Bones a mush, he spins you around, wrangling you into position. Kento doesn’t give you a second to even recollect yourself. Your back to his chest, he pulls down the neckline of your dress, cupping your tits with calloused paws. 

“These will fill up with milk for our cubs and they’ll feed our babies,” he reminds you, pinching your nipples and you can almost imagine the sensitivity you’ll develop. “You get aches here, don’t you, darling? It’ll be alright. Your husband will take care of you, hmm? He’ll suck out all the milk so you don’t clog up.”

In one hard thrust, he shoves his length inside you. You gasp, eyes wide and jaw dropping. You feel so full. His long and thick cock is pressing against all the sensitive spots in your pussy, kissing your cervix. Your juices coat him, leaving shiny dew drops on the blond hairs at his base. 

“Feel me here, my love?” He’s got a paw pressing hard on the imprint of his bulge. When he presses harder, you clench down, jolts of electricity tickling your spine. “Ngh, that’s right. That’s where our cubs will be. You’ll grow -god you’re so beautiful- round until you can’t see your toes anymore. Oh, and then you’ll need me to put your socks on and -so tight ha- tie your laces, right?”

“Yes, Ken!”

He’s pummelling deep inside of you, head rubbing against that spot that makes you cream even more. The force in which he’s thrusting is leaving you a shaking mess, having to cling onto the counter to steady yourself. 

“I’ll protect you -ha goodness- and our family. Always. N-no one will harm you. You’ll always be safe with me,” he chants and you’re not even sure he’s talking to you. Kento can only plunge his cock inside, that bulge at the base inching its way in with no regard for how your pussy’s having to stretch impossibly to fit all of him. 

You cling onto that one hand keeping your hips still. “Ken! I can’t. It’s too much!”

He bites your neck, digging into your skin. Those meaty arms wrap completely around you, and he’s lifting you up and dragging you down on his cock. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, limbs limp as he uses you like a glorified fleshlight. 

“Nonsense. You’ll take it all in. You’ve done it before and you’ll do it again. For your Kento, yes? For your beloved husband? For your Kenny?”

You scream as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami, snatching you under until you’re left panting for breath, vision blurring from the tears cascading down your cheeks. He licks one that trails down your jaw and the salty taste, coupled with the almost painful squeezing of your sloppy cunt, pushes him over the edge. 

Spurts of white paint your quivering walls, your clit throbbing as he shudders against you with a prolonged growl. 

“So good. Always so good for me.” He makes a satisfied noise, grinding his hips deeper inside to plug up your pussy, keeping all of his seed inside. “What would you like, honey?”

You already know what he means and you don’t hesitate to answer, slurring, “Another boy and girl. So that we’ll have even numbers.”

His laughter rumbles and he kisses your neck, lips sliding through the sheen of sweat. He’s still holding you up with ease. “That would be nice. If we only get one boy, we can try for a girl soon after, and vice versa. What do you say, my love?”

You’re almost asleep, thoroughly exhausted even as your pussy still spasms around his thick cock, sensitive from the warmth of his flesh and his seed. Mind elsewhere, you can only reply, “Whatever you want, Ken.”

“Don’t say things like that, sweetheart. Because you know if I had it my way, you’ll always be pregnant and our house would be filled with mini yous all the time.”

The image causes him to throb inside you, cock not softening but rather getting bigger somehow. And when he begins rocking his hips once more, you know he likes the idea a little too much. 

You go for rounds after rounds until you’re leaving a trail of cum as he carries you over to the bathroom, where he takes you again and again, eating up the overflowing mixture of your combined essence.

Bear hybrid!Nanami never needs to try hard to convince you for anything. All he needs to do is flash you that soft smile and flex those huge muscles and you’re creating a sloppy mess in your panties. And he knows when he’s charm has taken the effect he intended. His sense of smell is so powerful he can tell when you’re growing needy from even across the house, where he chases you and pins you to the ground.

Priest!Nanami’s voice is deep and gruff, vibrating against the thick wood of the booth. It pierces your core, travelling straight to your pussy. You press your legs together. This is bad, so very bad. You shouldn’t be feeling this way for him; he’s a good man, an upstanding citizen, a pillar of the community. 

“F-forgive me, Father. I’ve been having bad thoughts, and I don’t know what to do.”

Priest!Nanami hums. You can see his figure through the privacy screen, the perforated divide granting only slight view of his cassock, the black robe a familiar sight, as you rest your knees on the kneeler, clasping your hands at your chest. 

“Bad thoughts, you say?” He asks. “What kind of bad thoughts, my dear?”

Lips quivering you answer, “I don’t think I should say, Father. I’d hate for you to resent me.”

Priest!Nanami insists, “Oh, but how can I guide you if I do not know what path you stray down?”

“Father, I’ve been thinking of you, wondering how your body feels under your robe and dreaming of your taste. I’m so terribly sorry, Father. Forgive me!”

Priest!Nanami chuckles. 

“That is very bad, indeed. I fear you have been possessed by a lustful spirit, and it must be repelled before it consumes you wholeheartedly.”

You trust him with your life, just as everyone does, so when he slides the slot beneath the privacy screen to the side, you don’t hesitate to part your lips to suck up the healing essence of his holy sceptre. 

It coats your lips, salty and scalding, as you widen your jaw to take as much of him down as you can.

“Very good, my dear,” he groans. “Just a little more and you’ll be healed in no time.”

His huge cock head presses against the back of your throat, the veins rubbing against your tongue, and he begins making shallow thrusts into your hot, wet mouth. 

Priest!Nanami makes a low groan and it travels straight to your pussy, urging you to take him deeper, tongue swirling around the underside of the head.

"You have a gifted mouth -ha- very gifted, indeed," he praises.

You needed this so badly. So many nights spent wondering how he feels and now your throat is being stretched to the very shape of his cock. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, the wetness of your pussy coating your inner thighs. One hand slides down your belly, pushing your dress up so you can soothe the ache. 

Priest!Nanami pulls his cock away, ignoring your whines of complaint, and through the holes of the privacy screen, he chastises you, “Now now, you know better than to feed that demonic spirit with shallow pleasure. Only a trained professional can wash away that which plagues you.”

“Yes, Father.”

Priest!Nanami makes shuffling noises in his side, and with a candle as your only source of light in the penitent’s chamber, you can only see only he hasn't abandoned you, leaving you aching and soaked.

The door bangs open, light blinding you momentarily, and you stare up at the silhouette of a tall, broad figure blocking you from view. You’re still kneeling, lips glistening. He appears before you, like an angel of the night.

Priest!Nanami is smiling, glasses hiding his eyes but you know they’re gliding down your form, stopping at your heaving breasts and your exposed thighs. 

“Turn and face the wall,” he barks, and then adds, “Spread your legs.”

Clambering to position, you do as he says, pressing your hands to the cold wood and keeping your legs apart. The door shuts and you’re once again encased in partial darkness. A firm hand palms your hip, and you jolt with the sudden heat. 

He yanks you closer to him, ass jutting out whilst your back arches. Something long and hard presses against you. You clench down onto nothing.

“So well behaved, the Lord would be very pleased,” he mutters into your ear, hot breath tickling you. 

With one hand still on your hip, the other slides across your stomach, spreading heat there before it climbs up, palming a breast and relishing in the weight. His finger tweaks the nipple poking through the thin material, blunt nails scratching your taut bud. 

“Father!” You gasp, ass grinding back onto him much harder than before. Your back arches painfully. 

“It is alright, my dear. It is all part of the process — we must relieve you of this evil.”

Priest!Nanami yanks the neckline, revealing your breasts. They bounce with the force and graze the wooden wall. You moan. And then the hand on your hip is inching downwards, gathering the skirt of your dress into a fist which he orders you to keep up whilst his hand explores further the apex of your thighs. 

His fingers touch the soaked gusset of your panties and together you groan. 

Huskily, he chuckles, “I see this is a particularly powerful spirit; you’re so desperately trying to expel its force. But be not afraid, my child, I will search deep within and seek it out for you.”

With expert work, he pushes your panties to the side and coats his fingers with your juice, using the lubricant to circle your clit. You squeal. The untainted hands of the priest feel smooth against your smouldering flesh as he rubs that bundle of nerves with unyielding pressure. 

Priest!Nanami’s mouth descends on the crook of your neck, sucking the salt of your skin before licking a stripe up the expanse. His fingers go lower, pressing inside your pulsing hole.

“You’re so tight, my dear. I see I’ll have to take extra care to alleviate you of your ailment.”

He curls those fingers inside, pressing hard against that spongy spot inside you that has you leaking onto his fingers even more. Again and again, he thrusts those fingers in, making sure to hit that spot over and over, ignoring the whimpers leaving your lips. Sloshing and plopping resound in the space, there’s no shame left inside you to care about the indecent sounds he’s wrangling out of your sloppy cunt.

“Oh, Father! I think I feel the spirit leaving,” you yelp.

He mouths at your jaw, teeth scraping the skin gently but with the promise of pain, before his thumb circles your clit. And then you’re shaking, back arching and mouth slacking as you feel the pressure inside burst. An elongated moan departs your lips, reverberating against the walls. 

You're struggling to keep your dress up with one hand, whilst the other holds you up on the wall. Your limbs are aching, just like your insides, melting like candle wax, flooding down your legs..

“Well done, child. Fight against the demonic spirit, just like that,” he coos as you ride his fingers. 

“Father? Are you in there?”

 Another voice rings out. It’s dull, coming from the outside. You still. 

Priest!Nanami doesn’t respond. But he removes his fingers from inside your pussy, smearing your wetness all over your lips before pushing them inside your mouth. You suckle with no complaints. 

In a low warning, he orders, “Be a good girl and keep quiet for me, yes?”

You nod. 

Without hearing any rustling, he retrieves his cock from the confines of his trousers and rubs them along your slit. He’s so hard and hot, you’re resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs around it. Back and forth, he coats his length with your juices, squelches sounding out. His cock head catches on your clit, and you moan around his fingers. 

“Father, may I come in? I’d like to talk to you about my son’s struggles in school. I fear I am not equipped to provide the necessary support and would like your guidance.”

Priest!Nanami he pierces your pussy with his throbbing cock. You scream into his palm, eyes rolling back. And with no further warnings, he’s dragging your hips back and forth, up and down his length. 

Priest!Nanami scolds you, “Fuck, you’re so tight, my dear. What a devious cunt, trying to milk my cock before I can even -ngh- exorcise you of this demon.”

The stretch is immaculate, forcing your wet cavern to memorise the shape just as your throat had. And his cock pokes your sensitive point with every thrust, drawing dulled moans after moans from your drooling mouth, with every slap slap slap.

Messy and squelching, your pussy cries out at the huge intrusion, sucking him in and pushing him out simultaneously. He’s churning your pulsing insides, dragging his cock head all the way to that tight ring at your entrance before ramming back inside.

Priest!Nanami grunts in your ear, “You must have done -ngh- something very wrong for our Heavenly Father to weaken his protection over you, otherwise you would not have been so -ha- vulnerable to such a potent malevolent spirit.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” you beg, his fingers leaving your mouth so he can pinch your nipple, pulling it taut. “But I’m so scared!”

“No need to fret, child. I will -ha- eradicate you of all that is holding you -so tight- back from enlightenment.”

He’s pummelling his cock harder and faster inside of you, the tip kissing your cervix in a way that has you seeing his stars. Letting go of your hip, he uses his to force you into submission, skin slapping and juices flying as he knocks you back with the force. 

Priest!Nanami’s hand circles your throat, squeezing every time you clench down on his cock. He’s robbing you of air, head growing lightheaded with the pressure. Your hips push back onto his. 

“Father? I'm very worried for my son.”

Her pleadings continue, unacknowledged and barely heard, as he reaches deeper inside you, heavy balls slapping against your clit. You can’t ponder too long on the desperation in her voice because the priest is turning your face around to kiss you. 

Priest!Nanami’s tongue dives into your mouth, seeking yours. The kiss is wet and sloppy just as you are down there, and he’s grunting with every thrust. You’re both growing more and more desperate for release, his cock ramming inside your tight cunt with an increasing tempo. 

“The spirit is weakening; can you feel it?” He enquires, hand leaving your breast to pull yours away from your dress, guiding it, instead, to your lower abdomen. You can feel the outline of his massive cock going in and out. He presses your hand harder. 

You feel that pressure inside grow, a sudden desire to pee overcoming you. 

“No, Father! I can’t!” You whimper against the wall, hoping that the woman outside can't hear the way you’re panting, how your pussy is weeping, and how he's pounding you so hard you're seeing stars. He growls encouragements in your ear, fuelling your own pleasure. 

Priest!Nanami kisses the back of your neck through the layer of sweat, tasting your skin. He leaves your hand and rubs your clit once more. 

You cum.

Your vision goes black, a scream lodged in your throat as you squirt all over his cock, soaking his length and splashing against the wood. 

“That’s it. Keep fucking yourself onto my cock,” he groans, still rubbing your clit as he himself cums with one hard, final thrust. Warmth explodes inside of you, painting your walls with his holy essence, punishing that demon within until it quietens down. “What a heavenly pussy, milking me so good. Such a good girl.”

“F-father? I’ll come back later,” the woman stammers. 

In the distance, you hear the quick patter of feet fading further away. 

You fall limp within his arm, heaving and still spasming from the effects of your orgasm. He holds you up in his arms, kissing your neck and whispering soothing compliments. 

Priest!Nanami slumps onto the floor, taking you with him. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart as he catches his breath too. His clergy collar is askew, and you fix it for him with a shaky hand. He grabs it and presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“That was a good one, Kenny,” you breathe out with a giggle. “I told you you’d enjoy it.”

He grunts in agreement. “You’re always right, honey.”

“Of course, I am. But hey! For someone who was so reluctant, you were incredible.”

He kisses your forehead. 

“I think you were incredible. Your acting skills have certainly improved.”

You laugh. “You weren’t so bad yourself — you had me believing I actually have a demon inside.”

Husband!Nanami blushes and his eyes dart up to the door, a hand groping your breast like his own personal stress ball, and with a sheepish tone, he admits, “The real priest is going to have a lot to deal with after this.”

You bolt upright. “Speaking of the real priest, his break is ending any minute now, we should get going!”

The door slams open and you both look up at an unimpressed man, long hair tied up into a bun as he sighs. 

chris stared at leon from the bathroom doorway, watching as he dripped something onto his hand before combing his fingers through his hair.

“is that…hair oil?

leon didn’t even look up. “hair serum,” he corrected. 

“alright, pretty boy, what’s next? face masks? cucumber slices over your eyes?”

“why? you wanna do some? I’ve got a few,” leon said, holding up a variety of sheet masks.

chris blinked. “...why do you have so many?”

“they’re moisturizing,” he shrugged. “my girl took all the brightening ones.”

leon said it so casually that chris had to stare at him for a second before breaking into a grin. leon gave him an annoyed look through the mirror. “what?” he scoffed.

“hair serum. moisturizer. lip balm,” chris pointed at the lineup on the bathroom counter. all the bottles were on a rotating caddy, courtesy of you, of course. he plucked a bottle from the shelf, squinting at the label. “cuticle oil? since when do you care about your cuticles?”

“since someone told me to take better care of my hands,” leon snatched the bottle away from him. 

chris barked out a laugh. “ain’t no way.”

“you don’t have room to talk,” leon said, organizing his caddy.

chris frowned. “what does that mean?”

leon turned around, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. he eyed chris up and down.

“my hair’s healthier. my hands are softer,” he smirked. “and I dress better than you.”

chris looked at himself in the mirror. “this shirt’s fine,” he said firmly. 

“shirt from ten years ago?”

“it’s cotton.”

leon chuckled beneath his breath.

“you know…jill might like it if you put in a little effort.”

that caught chris’s attention. “...you think so?”

“yeah,” leon shrugged. “my girl gives me something to look at, I might as well do the same.”

chris rubbed the back of his neck. “pass me the serum,” he said.

“no. you can have the moisturizer.”

masterlist

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“Nuh-uh,” you hum with a taunting shake of your head. Next, you wag a finger down at him, but not before you completely remove yourself from his cock, moving your hips back to recline on his thighs. 

It’s quite a sight to see. The golden boy of the DSO, the man that makes women stop in the tracks of their taloned heels in the halls, and men wonder what kind of supplement the higher-ups have been feeding him and where they can get it. But Leon doesn’t need any injection to form his muscles, or to make his face look as though it was crafted in clay by the Michaengelo, himself. He’s some sort of other beast entirely, agile like a cat and yet as destructive as a dormant island, molten lava bubbling beneath the surface, ready to implode. 

And perhaps you’re the one to tame him. It surely looks that way. 

He’s a drooling, slobbering mess, lips wet with drool, his chest gladed in a shimmering sheen of sweat. 

“Please, god,” he cries, tossing his head back onto the pillow. He gave up fighting against the handcuffs an hour ago, his arms still extended, strung up on either side of him, affixed to the wooden spindles of the headboard. “Please let me come.” 

“Not yet.” 

“When?” He groans, the frustration in his voice dragging out the word. 

You crawl down to lick a stripe up the length of his shaft, starting at the base, working the tip of your tongue all the way to his head, red and angry and bleeding with anticipation. He growls out like a raging bull when you take the entirety of his cock in your mouth, letting the vibrations of your maniacal laugh tickle the muscle as he spits out a slur of swears. 

When you retreat, he lifts his head to look down the line of his abdomen at you. White-blonde hair falls in slicked curtains at his temples, strands framing a pair of wide blue eyes containing a set of pupils, shocked and blown like spent bullet casings. There’s a pathetic look of desperation splashed across his features: crooked brows, the heads meeting in the middle, and a quivering bottom lip. Poor thing. He’s a mess.

His whole body shudders when you dig your nails into his inner thighs, pressing a chaste kiss on the head of his cock before you slide off the mattress entirely. You pad over to the chair in the corner of the room to grab the clothes Leon sweetly removed from your body when he thought all he was getting himself into was a quick fuck and a kiss goodbye. Bastard. 

“W-Where are you going?” he stutters as he digs his heels into the mattress. 

“Home.” 

You slide back into your slacks and button up your blouse, making a pit stop in the mirror to smooth the sides of your hair, looking at Leon on the bed behind you in the reflection. 

Total bewilderment stains his face. “Uncuff me right now,” he bellows, though his voice is hoarse and cracking, no longer proof of his strength, as he attempts once more to break free from the cuffs. “You’re a sick freak, you know that?” 

“Don’t worry,” you coo, walking over to give him a chaste smooch on the temple, his skin clammy and damp like the air in a bog. “I’ll be back.” 

“What do you mean you’ll be back?” 

“Did you think I was just going to leave you here?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

You roll your eyes, stopping in the door frame to glance back at him. “Silly boy. I’m just running home to grab some more clothes. We’re gonna be here for a while.”