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rainylana · 27 days

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“Takin’ care of my best girl.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: reader has a panic attack during the night.

warnings: panic attack, anxiety, tears and descriptions of anxiety symptoms, hurt/comfort, fear of allergic reaction/throat swelling.

You’re sitting on the porch. The air is cool and breezy against your face, the moon shines a calming light on the grass in from of you, making it shimmer. There’s cats roaming in trash cans. Maybe they’re raccoons, actually. It was a beautiful night, but you weren’t really able to enjoy it.

Your heart was pounding, head aching and body trembling with fear, a fear you didn’t know what it exactly was. Your stomach was so twisted with knots and nerves you thought you’d surely pass out. It hurt to breath. You couldn’t breath. Your hands were cradling your head, holding your body tight and hoping it would pass.

It always passed. It always went away and you were always okay. They didn’t normally get this bad. You were getting so much better at handling them. For some reason tonight wasn’t the case. You debated waking Eddie up, but you hated keeping him up with you when you got this way. It wasn’t fair to him.

You had tried all the things to help you. You squeezed an ice cub in your palm, took a cold shower, tried watching to tv to distract yourself. You couldn’t stop swallowing, testing to see if your throat was closing up, which was now raw and irritated from your constant swallowing. You tried taking deep breaths, hands shaking as you placed a hand over your chest, grasping at your shirt.

Once you thought you were getting better, it would start up again. The sudden racing of your heart that made you breathless. After a few minutes, you began to pace, gripping at your chest and willing it to go away. What if there was something wrong with you? Were your lungs actually closing? Were you having an allergic reaction?

That’s what got you every time. You always thought you were dying, and you never were.

You needed to go to the hospital. You couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d been to the er many times for panic attacks, but what if it was serious this time? With trembling legs you walked back inside to your bedroom, rounding the bed and shaking Eddie urgently.

“Eddie?” Your still holding your chest. “Eddie?”

His eyes flutter open, squinting in the dark. “Hmm?”

“I’m scared.” You say, bringing up a nail to bite. “I think something might be wrong.”

Those key words had him sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He leans over and switches on the light, looking up to take you in. He knows what’s wrong immediately, lifting the blanket so he can get out of bed. “What’s going on?” His voice is tired and gruff. “You anxious about something?”

You shake your head yes, grasping at your throat. “I- I uh, I think my throat might be swelling up. Maybe I ate something.”

He nods slowly, bringing his hands up to ghost at your arms. “What brought this on? Did it just start?”

“No, I’ve been up awhile.” You say, trying to swallow again. You do, but harshly, pushing out a choked breath that has you pacing around the room. “Eddie, I’m scared.”

“You’re alright, baby.” He’s following you, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go out to the living room.” He guides you out there, sitting you on the kitchen chair by the stove. “I’ll make you some tea.”

Your eyes start to well up and you shake your head. “No, I- I think we should go to the hospital, Eddie.” Your voice came out desperate.

He’d done this with you so many times, yet the urgency and fear in your voice always made him nervous, even though he knew you were completely fine. He puts the tea in the microwave, setting it for two minutes before he’s crouching in front of you. “Hey,” He’s grasping your face. “You’re alright. You know that. We just have to work through it okay? Like we always do.”

You let out a sob that makes his heart ache, a tear dropping town to his wrist. “But I’m scared.”

“I know you are.” He coos, petting your hair. “If you really want to go I’ll take you, but you’re strong enough to fight this, baby. I’m right here with you, right? We can get through this.” He leans up and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, going back to the microwave to let you think.

Your knee is bouncing quickly, your knuckles tapping at the table like you’re trying to communicate through morse code. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier, your head getting harder to keep up. You gasp, groaning loudly as you lean over.

He’s bringing the cup of tea over to you quickly, sitting it on the table to hold your back. “Just breath, sweetheart.” He’s rubbing your back, crouching beside you. “You’re alright.”

You start to sob, head between your knees as you fight to be sick. You hiccup, shoulders shaking with your cries. You reach to grip his arm. “My stomach hurts so bad.”

It wasn’t rare for you to throw up when you got worked up. He quickly brought the kitchen trashcan over to you, sitting it in front of you so you could have it at the ready.

“Keep breathing.” He instructs you, bringing the tea over to you. “Here, try and drink some of this.” He wasn’t ever sure if the tea helped, but it made him feel useful when you got to feeling poorly.

When your tea is gone, after practically gulping down the hot liquid, he’s rubbing your shaking shoulders, trying to get the knots out of muscles. He switches on the tv to gilligans island, the episode where the professor is trying to make a phone out of a coconut and a banana peel.

You keep crying through half of the episode, coiling over here and there. When you did, he rubbed the back of your neck and kissed your shoulder, telling you to breath and that you were going to get through it.

When you’re three episodes in, your tears have stopped and you’re left with nothing but embarrassment and humiliation, your face beat red as you begin to mutter an apology. “I’m sorry.” Your voice is shaky and hoarse. He’s sitting beside you now, his arm tossed around your shoulders.

“Don’t be.” He smiles, tapping your nose. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job?” You sniffle.

“Takin’ care of my best girl.” He kissed you, a quick peck on the lips as he leans over and turns off the living room light, snuggling back into the couch and pulling you into his chest.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader

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bigification · 2 months

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Bear Darts

"Yes! They finally came in." I say in excitement as I pick up a package in front of my dorm. I rush inside and rip open the package. 8 small darts with a weird green liquid inside and a bamboo tube. "There's no way they actually work right?" The website seemed so legit and the concept seemed too good to be true. "Guaranteed to transform any man into a certified bear." Was the tag line. I am tempted to jab one of them into my arm right now, but I'm too nervous. What if it's just poison or something? I should at least test it out, it'll be fun anyway.

I stuff the darts and the bamboo into my bag and head to campus. Who to start with? Mr. Henderson could be a good option. I don't like him so if it goes wrong I don't care, and he's pretty scrawny so I'll be able to see any difference. I decide to head to Mr. Henderson's office, figuring he'll be a good test run.

On the way, I come across a raccoon rummaging through garbage in an alley, and an idea sparks through my mind. If it's that harmful, it would hurt a raccoon, so I might as well test them out. I pull out a dart and the bamboo and head into the alley. I slot the dart into the end of the bamboo, line up the shot, and blow as hard as I can. I hear the swoosh of the dart piercing the wind. The dark hits the raccoons back and it barely reacts, as if it's just a measly mosquito bite. The green liquid drains out of the dart, and I wait for a reaction. It doesn't take long for the animal to start twitching. It's hard to tell in the shadow of the alley, but my kind went straight to the worst, it was poisonous. But then I saw its body change shape. It wasn't much, but its scrawny limbs grew thicker, its belly grew rounder, and its grubby little paws grew larger. By the end, it still resembled a raccoon, just larger and meatier than you'd expect a raccoon to be. Could this be real? I continue watching as the raccoon resumes its normal activities.

I let out a chuckle in excitement at what was yet to come. I walk back out of the alley and speed walk to Mr. Henderson's office, this was gonna be good. The website said results may vary depending on what the person looked like before the transformation, and based on other things like genetics. Essentially it's random. But I was still hoping to see Mr. Henderson with a big hairy gut spilling out of his shirt.

I finally make it to his office and I slowly open his door just a sliver. He's standing in the middle of the room, looking over at the wall to the left of the door. I feel confident enough that he's not able to see the door from the way he's looking. I look over to see he's very concentrated on a bunch of photos hung up on the wall, which makes sense as he's a photography prof.

I take a mental image of the prof before I line up the shot, so I can compare the before and after in my mind. He's got buzz cut and a bushy salt and pepper beard. His frame is quite skinny but I can see a little bit of a belly and moobs under his shirt. That shirts definitely not doing him any favours, I wonder what it will look like on him after. His arms and legs are scrawny, with little fat or muscle on them. He's also wearing some camo shorts.

Now with his image locked in my head, I prepare a dart and like up the shot. Same with the raccoon, I blow as hard as I can and the dart lodges into the side of his belly. He flinches for a moment, but then stops in places. I can see his muscle twitching, as if they're cramping and freezing him in place. It all happens so quickly. It starts with his belly. His small belly grows in waves of soft fat, each wave packing dozens of pounds. Each wave makes his gut jiggle more and more as it grows rounder and rounder. His gut and his love handles spill over his waistline as his shirt rides up, revealing a stretched out belly button. Soon enough, it appears as though he stuffed a small beach ball into his stomach with how large it is. Though it is soon complemented by a growing pair of soft moobs. If what he had before were moobs, he now has full on man tits. They're soft and round, pressing tightly against his shirt. I can even see his nipples harden under the shirt. Next to fall is his ass. His once flat derriere quickly plumped up similar to his belly. Waves of fat perked up his ass as it threatened to rip through his shorts. The button on his pants popped off and flung across the office in dramatic fashion, leaving his fly wide open. His arms and his legs thickened slightly as a layer of fat covered them, though they stayed quite skinny in proportion to his body. Also, in the process, his beard had grown out and became almost all grey.

The entire time I could feel my dick riding up into my waist band. This was so much hotter than I expected it to be. I want to go in there and get my hands on that fatass so bad, but I have to have restraint. His muscles have stopped twitching and he seems back in control, though he still seems laser focused on the wall of photos. He reaches to scratch his belly and seems a bit shocked at the fact that he's scratching skin rather than shirt. "Huh, I coulda sworn this fit yesterday, musta shrunk in the wash." He shrugs, completely oblivious to the changes his body had just gone through. I don't know if I find it more or less hot that he seems to not care that he's a fatass. I don't have time to think about it though, as he starts to turn towards the door. I quickly grab my bag and run. I'll get to see him for photography class tomorrow anyway.

I think about who I want to hit next. I've got 6 darts left and plenty of profs on my list. Now that it seems safe, I'm more willing to go for profs I like. So I think one of the hottest prof off the top of my head. Mr. Ahmed. God he's hot. He's got perfectly toned skin, a thick black beard, and beautiful eyes. The only thing is he's quite skinny, and I like my men thick. So this is the perfect opportunity, and his office is close by.

I arrive at his office and see him just on his phone. My mouth salivates as I think about what I'm gonna do to him. I pull out a dart and shoot it. It lands right into his biceps and the green liquid rapidly drains from the dart. My hand instinctively drifts to my crotch as I wait in anticipation.

He froze in place, just like Henderson. But this time it started from his arm instead of his belly, it must be from wherever the dart hits. His once skinny arm swells, ripping his sleeve in the process. His forearm followed suit, growing a thick pelt of hair in the process as his delicate hand grew into a monstrous man hand. The transformation continued into his shoulders, then to his chest. His shoulders broadened, pushing his small shirt to its limits. Then his suddenly exploded outward, tearing straight through what was left of his shirt. Thick muscles now lay under thick man tits as they hand over his stomach. His already thick chest hair became more dense as his nipples grew large and sensitive. His other arm quickly grew just as large as the first, evening out his hulking body. His exposed belly went from flat to large and rotund in a matter of seconds, though it remained quite solid from strong muscle that grew below it. His gut befell a similar fate to the rest of his body, being covered in a layer of dark hairs.

His lower half quickly grew to match his upper half. Fat and muscle flooded into his ass and thighs until his dress pants ripped in dramatic fashion, leaving him in nothing but his extremely tight underwear, leaving little to the imagination. The legs continued to grow, and his feet seemed to grow at least five sizes, busting out of his shoes. Finally his facial features began to change. The rather young professor looked as if he aged 15 years in just moments as wrinkles and blemishes riddled his face, and his hairline receded slightly. His face also seemed to become a bit chubbier, matching his hulking gut.

He finally unfroze, seeming unfazed by changes in his body. He reached to stretch some of his muscles, I'm sure they're sore after such an intense transformation. But he quickly realized his lack of clothing and left to a backroom to find some. The idea that he wouldn't be able to find any clothes that remotely fit him made it all the more hot for me, but I got out before I got caught.

I was on top of the world, there was no way I would stop now. I thought about who to find next, and the choice seemed obvious. Mr. Salim, how could I forget the health and fitness prof. Ive never had him, but damn it is tempting to take a fitness class just to get to look at him more. He kinda looked like Mr. Ahmed but buff, cocky, and far more charming.

I quickly made it to the fitness building and found his office. I peaked in and saw him working out with his earbuds in, this was my shot. Without hesitation I load a dart and shoot. I chuckle quietly as I see the dart lodge into his ass. He goes to scratch his ass but fails to notice the dart, soon after he drops his weights and freezes in place. His already perky ass grows slightly, but not as much as I'd expect. Still enough to pants ride down his ass a bit, revealing a bright blue jockstrap. Of course Mr. Salim would wear a jockstrap. His thighs grow significantly, bulging with muscle to the point of ripping his pants. The rest of his legs follow suit, growing thick calves and massive feet.

I can see under his shirt that his waist is tightening up, which is surprising given that he's the first one to not get fat. A little disappointing if you ask me, but I'm not disliking what I see so far. His shoulders broaden and his chest puffs out, ripping right through his shirt. His arms nearly double in size, making his look like a bodybuilder as his hands grow to match. His face seemed to age as some of his hair turned grey. As he aged, his already hairy body became even more so, covering most of his body in thick salt and pepper hair. Even his stubble grew out into a thick silver beard.

Mr. Salim put down his weights, got up, and walked to the mirror in his office. He turned so he could see his ass in the mirror and snapped a photo.

A part of me was hoping to see him become a fat slob, something about fat gym teachers always got me going. But I certainly wouldn't complain about this view.

The health and fitness building is right beside geography and history, so I should head there. I try to think of a teacher I've had in this department. Maybe Mr. Smith? I had him for first year history and he's hot, I just remember him being a bit weird. That doesn't matter, I'm already on my way to his office.

I peak through his door and see him focused on his computer, perfect timing. I load a dart and shoot it. It hits him in the side of his thigh. Within moments I can see his jeans struggling to contain his growing legs. His jeans become even tighter as fat fills his ass, creating a loud pop sound as his belt snaps off.

His slim torso expands until he has a thick muscle gut and love handles that spill over his jeans. His chest grows into two strong but soft looking pecs that are impossible to miss through his tight shirt. His arms explode with muscle, making it look like they're gonna rip his sleeves. Finally his face fattens up a bit as a short beard covers his soft jawline.

Mr. Smith leans back in his chair and crossed his arms over his tank of a gut.

It wasn't what I expected for Mr. Smith to be honest. I expected him to turn into a big fat history teacher, but he is hotter as a muscle chub. As I'm watching, he goes to unzip his jeans. He whips out his massive dick and starts to jerk off. Damn I didn't expect Mr. Smith to be packing that, but maybe it's a side effect of the darts. I keep watching until he swivels his chair in my direction, I can't risk being caught so I leave.

I look at my watch and realize I've lost track of time, I have a math class right now. I run across the campus to my math class and quietly sit at the back of the theatre.

I quickly get bored and wonder if I should hit Mr. Derrick with a dart in the middle of the lecture. It's risky but I'm bored so fuck it. I pull out the dart and try to shoot it as quietly as possible and it hits him square in the stomach. Mr. Derrick is a very scrawny man, so I'm curious about how it's gonna effect him.

As soon as he gets hit, he stops talking and freezes in place, but weirdly enough, no one in the class seems to notice. The man's skinny body explodes with fat. At first he grows a small pot belly, then a sizable beer belly, then it settles as a giant ball gut that looks like he stuffed a beach ball down his button up. I'm surprised his shirt has ripped yet. His chest grows two man tits that are visible through his shirt. The sleeve of his jacket starts to look like stuffed sausages as his fat arms fill out all the space in them. The man's thighs thicken until his pants start to rip and his fat ass causes his fly to rip open. Finally his clean shaven face grows a thick brown beard.

He continued the lecture as if nothing had happened. His lack of awareness of his body makes even more hot. I can't believe he ended up that fat, I can see his gut spill out of his shirt each time he reaches up. And every part of his body bounces when he walks around. Eventually he ended up sitting down for the second half of the lecture, and he was often out of breath from just talking.

Once the lecture is over, I walk up to the front of the theatre and talk to Mr. Derrick.

"Hey, I've been struggling keeping up with the material lately, I was wondering if we could have a one on one session?" I ask him.

"Oh ya for sure, just come by during my office hours and I'd be happy to help." He responds. The man is practically panting at this point and I can see the sweat start to drench his beard.

"By the way, I don't think that shirt fits you anymore sir." I say just to make him uncomfortable. He just looks down, blushes, and runs off. Hobbling as fast as he can out of the theatre.

I got two darts left, I should use them wisely. The only teacher I can think of right now is Mr. Brown. His voice is so deep and buttery but his body doesn't match it, he's really skinny. I think he'd be better off as a bear anyway.

I make my way to the athletics facility, I've had him for French and English class, so I know where to find him. He works out around this time most days, so I make my way to the gym. As I walk to the gym, I see him in the corner of my eye in the showers. He's turned away from me, so I quickly take my shot, hitting him in the back. His back muscles grow and become more defined before a thick layer of fat covered them and creates thick rolls down his back. His stomach grows into a sizable belly with a thick belly button. His chest expands, first to juicy pecs, but then they slowly soften into a pair of moobs. His traps grow as his shoulders broaden, I also notice that he's getting taller, like a lot taller. He was shorter than me, but now his head is well above the shower head. His arms grow to match the rest of his hulking body.

Next his ass widened and started to sag slightly under its own weight. His thighs thickened until they rubbed together and his feet grew from a size 11 to a monstrous size 20. I also noticed his dick grow to at least 10 inches, if not more. All the while he was still getting taller, by now his shoulders were above the shower head. Finally his facial features became softer and fatter as the hair on his head fell out, although his stubble grew into a thick black beard.

As the transformation ends, Mr. Brown reaches behind him and grabs the dart out of his back. He's the only one to have noticed it. He looks at the dart for a moment, then turns toward me. I try to duck behind the wall, but I think he saw me. I hide in one of the bathroom stalls until I hear him leave, with the size of that man, it's not hard to tell where he's walking.

Once I can't hear him anymore, I rush out of the stall and grab my bag. But just as I reach the door, I bump into Mr. Brown. He's waiting at the doorway with a small green towel wrapped around his waist.

"What's this?" He says holding up one of my darts. Interestingly enough, it's a full one. The one I shot him with should be empty, so that means. Oh no. I look through my bag, the last dart is gone. Before waiting for a response, Mr. Brown just grabs my arm and jabs the dart into it.

I feel frozen in place. My clothes feel tighter and tighter until I hear them rip. I feel the warmth of the locker room air touch my bare skin. I start to feel itchy all over my body as my perspective shifts higher and higher. I feel so strong. I feel like I've grown a foot in height, but I'm still at eye level with Mr. Browns chest.

I finally gain control of my body and look down at the damage. I have thick pecs and a little bit of a belly, all covered in hair. Thick arms and legs, also covered in hair, actually my entire body is now covered in hair. And the bulge in my underwear is massive.

I turn my attention back to Me. Brown.

"Where did you get these?" He asks in his deep intimating voice. I stutter for a moment. "I'm not gonna snitch, I just got a few people I want to use it on." Mr. Brown asks. My fear turns to excitement as I realize the damage Mr. Brown and I are gonna do together.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #hairy #male wg #reality change #muscle tf #male transformation

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novastarrs · 5 months

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I Can Explain|| Clarisse La Rue

Paring: Clarisse La Rue x Demeter’s Daughter Reader

Summary: You find a bear cub while walking in the woods and bring him back to your cabin.

REQUEST ARE OPEN

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Nature has always been your favorite thing in the world. No matter if it was plants or animals, you were attracted to it and they were attracted to you. When you were six your father walked down stairs after hearing rustling in the kitchen, assuming it was just you trying to get a snack.

Imagine his surprise when he found raccoons in the kitchen with you petting them like they were dogs. As you got older it made more sense on why you loved nature because your mother was Demeter meaning animals adored you to death and your couldn’t say no to them.

This is the reason you found yourself in a sticky situation.

While walking in the woods you ran into a baby bear and couldn’t find its mother and you couldn’t just leave the little guy so you know what you did?

You scooped him up and ran to your cabin, how did no one notice a little fuzzy bear in your arms? You had no clue but you weren’t complaining.

Once you reached your cabin you locked the door and when your girlfriend tried to open it, you panicked.

You knew for a fact Clarisse wasn’t going to rat you out to Chiron or Mr. D because she loved you way too much for that but she’s already given you a talk about taking in animals after the flying squirrel incident.

Naturally you did what felt like the best solution…you threw a blanket over your new friend and ran out the door and quickly closed it before Clarisse could see inside and your temporary roommate.

A surprised look formed on her face but as quickly as it appeared it was gone as she smiled at you. Not a cocky smirk like she normally gave people to keep up her bad girl persona but a real smile that was reserved only for you.

“Hey, buttercup.” She said walking over to you and pressing a quick kiss on your lips, looking at you with so much adoration that you basically melted.

She never failed to make you feel shy under her gaze.

“Hi.” You said shyly, leaning your back against the door and holding onto the handle tightly.

Clarisse was the daughter of Ares and the children of said man noticed everything and she definitely noticed the nervous look on your face and the way you were gripping the door knob.

“Are you ok?” Clarisse asked crossing her arms with a raised eyebrow and you had to stop yourself from looking at the way her muscles flexed as she moved.

“Yeah, I’m great!” You said immediately, looking at her with big doe eyes and an awkward smile.

She knew you were lying but she didn’t push you for answers, knowing you would come to her when you were ready to her what’s on your mind.

“Anyways can I come in? I want to tell you about the new kid.” Clarisse tried to reach behind you to open the door but you shook your head.

“NO!” You shouted surprising both of you since you never raised your voice, clearing your throat you continued. “Uhm, my cabin is super messy. Let’s go to your cabin instead.”

Without waiting for her to respond you tried to usher her down the steps of the balcony when a crash came from inside your cabin and Clarisse didn’t miss the way you tensed up or how you avoided looking her in the eye.

“(Y/N), who’s in your cabin?” She slowly asked, grip tightening around her spear that she carried everywhere and you had to stop yourself from snorting at the accusation it was a person.

“No one.” You replied just as another crash came from the room.

Technically you weren’t lying, a person wasn’t in your cabin but an animal most definitely was.

Rolling her eyes, Clarisse moved you aside gently and barged into the room. Her spear glowing with electricity ready to fry the person her girlfriend was trying to hide.

You quickly followed her and your jaw dropped at the sight of your decapitated stuffed animal that was in the jaw’s of your new friend who was currently messing with the stuffing that was carelessly floating in the air and covering the floor.

Clarisse just stared at the sight in front of her for a moment before she slowly turned her head and raised an eyebrow at you but you just smiled.

“I can explain…”

#clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #percy jackon and the olympians

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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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Clone^2 - graveyard shift

The dinging of the door alerts Sarah of someone walking in, and she barely glances up from her phone to see who it is. It's past midnight and somehow her coworker John managed to convince her to take over his graveyard shift at their convenience store. He owes her one, because she's been standing here for an hour and nobody's come in.

Not a surprise to her - nobody likes to stay out past sundown in Amity Park, even after nearly three years of ghosts appearing all over the place.

But still, it happens sometimes. So she doesn't look up. The dinging bell just lets her know that it's not a ghost, and that's really all she can ask for. The last time she worked late and a ghost came in, she was cleaning the shelves from some weird goo for an hour.

However, the lack of footsteps in the store after a few seconds worries her enough that she forces her head to lift. And a frown weaves its way onto her face when she sees no one at the door, nor anyone in the closet aisles.

...Shit, was there really a ghost here? Can they ring door when they come in? Normally she sees them just phase right through. And normally they glow, bright and jarring that leaves a migraine building behind Sarah's eyes.

Her eyes quickly scan the shelves again, looking for anything out of place -- anyone with too many heads, or too many teeth, or snakes for hair. She's pretty sure a coworker saw that once when they were working graveyard.

But she still sees no one. Apprehension raises the hair on the back of her neck, and she straightens up from her lean against the counter. Fuuuck. Was this one of those... marshmallow ghosts? An animal ghost?

Sarah really does not want to have to fight off a three-eyed raccoon looking-thing with eagle feet. She's heard the horror stories. And there was no way to contact the Phantom or the Red Huntress to come pick it up -- and she wasn't gonna try her luck with the Drs. Fentons.

Her fingers itch for the broom hanging on the wall behind her. It probably won't do much against a mutant raccoon-ghost-monster, but it'll make her feel better.

There's a rustle and crinkle in the candy aisle, and Sarah's hands are curled around the broom before she could blink. Her heart beating in her chest. She walks out from the counter, the bristled end raised like a bat in the air as she creeps apprehensively towards the noise.

There's nothing there when she peers around the side, and the aisle shelves are tall enough that she can't see over them.

She raises the broom higher. Sarah was in softball. She could take out a raccoon-eagle-hybrid.. thing.... easily. She just... needs to pretend its a golf ball. Except golf isn't softball so that's a terrible comparison.

Oh god she was gonna get her face ripped off, wasn't she.

John so owes her one. So much.

Creeping down the aisle, she keeps her ears perked for any new sounds. But all she can really hear is the soft pop music playing on the store speakers -- chosen by yours truly from her own personal playlist -- and the hum of the freezers. Ugh. This was not good for her paranoia. Like, at all.

Sarah's down at the end of the aisle when she feels a quick set of taps on her shoulder. Her nerves are already shot, so she shrieks and whirls around on her foot, swinging the broom blindly.

Only to be met with sudden and blunt resistance. Blinking rapidly, Sarah stares up and sees a black gloved hand gripping the broom handle tightly, small white bandages peeking over the side around five fingers. Following the hand down connects it with an arm, and then a chest, and suddenly she's staring at a black hoodie and black jacket.

When she tilts her head up, Sarah comes face to face with the bone-white mask and the terrifying, unearthly green eyes of their local vigilante, the Phantom.

...Holy fuck. It was the Phantom.

He was taller than she initially thought. Was her jaw on the ground? Probably. It was flapping like a fish out of water. "I- uh, you-- buh--"

Slowly, the Phantom raised his free hand and wrapped it around the handle of the broom. Sarah watches, wide eyed still and stammering as he firmly plucked the broom out of her hands and turned to lean it against the shelves.

Something about him doing that must've kicked her brain back into gear, because the first thing that comes out of her mouth is; "Your eyes are really green."

And she was going to lock herself in the freezer in the back for that one. She feels her face grow hot with embarrassment, and the Phantom only looks at her blankly. Her eyes shift nervously. "Well, it's true."

It was! The green eyes of the Phantom was his most defining feature other than that unsettling mask he wore. Especially considering they were the same color as some of the ghosts. It was one of the many, many creepy things about the guy.

Looking at it gave her the same, faint headache as when she stared at a ghost for too long. So Sarah drops her gaze a little to avoid it.

The Phantom remains silent, but he raises his hands and signs something to her that she doesn't understand. Fuck, that's right. He didn't speak - and Sarah doesn't know any ASL.

Sarah cringes. "Sorry, I don't know ASL."

She can feel his burning green eyes boring into her, and he remains as silent as the grave as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a phone in a plain black case. She watches him turn it on -- or at least she assumes he does, there's a privacy protector covering the screen -- and type something into.

He holds it up to her face when he's done, and she squints at the screen. In the notes app, a small text reads; 'We're ready to pay.'

..Oh. This wasn't Sarah's night. Embarrassment flashes hot through her and she forces out a laugh in order to try and quell it, Phantom shoves the phone back into his pocket. "Oh! Oh, right! I'm sorry, I'll uh- get up to the front--" She stops in her tracks.

Wait. Did that message say 'we?'

She smiles nervously, tilting her head up at the Phantom as her brows thread together. "Um," she swallows dryly, "we?" Didn't... didn't the Phantom work alone?

As if startled, the Phantom jerks. And for the first time since he showed up, he blinks and turns around. Which personally, doesn't bode that well as the Phantom swivels his head from side to side like he's looking for someone.

Sarah thinks, after the Phantom stalks up to the end of the aisle and looks around, she hears him sigh. And when he walks back, he snatches the broom with an elegant twist and knocks it against the shelves.

Thud, thud, thud!

There's very, very quiet shuffling that Sarah would have missed if she hadn't been looking for it, and then silence for a few seconds, before suddenly there's a small child pushing past her side and over to the Phantom.

And in the process, scaring the shit out of Sarah.

She squeaks and jumps, nearly tripping over her own feet as the child makes a spot next to the Phantom's side. "Where did you come from?!" She says, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

The child says nothing, just stares at her through a creepy bone-white mask reminiscent of the Phantom's. Although unlike the Phantom, he was wearing some... kind of... dark red ninja outfit?

Sarah really wasn't quite sure. It was partially covered by a jacket that clearly belonged to the Phantom and with the sleeves rolled up multiple times to his elbows. The jacket alone nearly obscured the sword attached to his hip.

...Why the hell did the child have a sword.

She looks between Phantom and the child, at a loss for words. Why-- why did the Phantom have a kid with him, why was the kid wearing a mask like his.

"You have a child with you." Sarah says bluntly, her voice flat. It betrays how shocked she feels. The Phantom doesn't say anything, as she should have expected, but he does nod shortly.

The child bristles slightly, but says nothing. Part of his mouth was uncovered, and she watched it twist downward into a scowl at her. Unlike the Phantom, his eyes were not green. She couldn't see his eyes at all, actually. They were shadowed by the mask.

There's the sound of paper thwipping, and like a magician pulling out a card, the Phantom holds out a note card to her. He stares, expectantly, and Sarah reluctantly takes it.

Written in neat writing and bold sharpie are the words; "This is Wraith."

...And that's it. Sarah glances up at Phantom. Then at the supposed 'Wraith'. Then back at Phantom. "You're bringing a child with you to ghost hunt?" She asks, and okay, maybe she's not able to hide all of the judgement leaking into her voice. "And you gave him a sword?"

The Phantom stares at her blankly, or well, probably blankly. All of his expressions are unreadable with the mask he wears. But the kid, Wraith, bristles again like a stray cat. His scowl deepens, he puffs up, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something.

...Only for the Phantom to immediately snap his hand out and cover his mouth. Wraith makes an angry sound, and Phantom drags the boy into his side, seemingly nonplussed as he twists his wrist and pulls another note card out of nowhere.

"He is perfectly capable of handling himself." The card reads, and then continues; "I would not have been able to stop him anyways. Wraith would have followed me regardless."

Did he have these prepared?

Best not to question it, Sarah decides. The Phantom has always been strange. So she just nods mutely and stuffs the two notecards into her back pocket. "Okay," she says, and moves around the Phantom. "I'll check you out up front."

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #clone^2 #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpdc crossover #danny covering damian's mouth as the phantom and the wraith will never *not* be funny to me #anyways i was thinking about this for the last two days and finally decided to write it #red huntress was also originally supposed to be here but i couldn't get a good flow going #had the idea of damian wearing danny's jacket as the wraith at first and needed to write it down #is it impractical? yeah. but its only until danny can get him a jacket that fits #amity park be cold at night okay?? damian is Littol he needs the extra layers #danny being bruce’s wayne clone -> bruce wayne being tall -> DANNY is tall #tried to kinda capture how lowkey unsettling the phantom can be from an outside perspective #was kinda successful? not much for him to do current that’s creepy tho other than stare

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d10nyx · 5 months

Text

i apologise if you feel something

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, domestic abuse, possessive leon, toxic behaviour, heavy non-con, choking, p in v, improper prep, blood as lube, creampie, physical assault, crying, BRIEF murder threat, guilt, very brief praise n degradation mixed in

a/n: hiii! this is written w re2 leon in mind!! pls be aware there are quite graphic depictions of co-dependency n abuse in this one. it's late, so pls ignore typos !! title from bmth song of the same name

word count: 1.8k words

Leon wasn't the same man you knew before Raccoon City. When he first came home after his first day, he was clingy. He wouldn't leave you alone, following you around like a lost puppy. You didn't know the extent of what he went through at the beginning, but he slowly began to open up about the horrors he saw.

You were there for him. Of course you were. You let him stay at your place now his new apartment was left in ruins after the bomb hit. Not that he could stay in that godforsaken city, anyway. He still dreamt of the infected most nights, waking up in a cold sweat.

You could have handled that, if it was all it was. You wanted to be there for him, help him recover as best he could. You loved him, and you wanted him to be okay more than anything.

But he started changing. You couldn't so much as try and leave for the store without him crowding you against the wall, demanding to know exactly what you needed. If you were out and didn't answer his texts, he'd make sure to let you know you fucked up.

He wasn't above hitting you, gripping your throat until you almost passed out. Anything to keep you under his thumb, to make sure you wouldn't leave him. He'd seen too much death so early in his life.

He wasn't going to lose you, too.

You couldn't take it anymore. He controlled every aspect of your life. It was getting to the point that you'd flinch anytime he moved too fast. You hated being scared in your own apartment.

You tried bringing it up gently, tell him it just wasn't working out for you. After all, he'd be leaving for military training soon, and you needed to finish up your college studies and think about building a career.

You regretted it as soon as the words came out of your mouth.

“You think you get to leave me?” He says with a dry, humourless laugh. He stalks towards you like a lion cornering its prey, backing you up against the wall. He cages you in with his larger frame, looking down at you with a dark glint in his eyes.

“That's cute, baby. Really. You think you get a fucking choice?” The words are punctuated with a harsh grip on your throat, squeezing you so hard that your airflow is instantly cut off. You can feel the blood rushing to your face as you try and suck in a breath, your hands clawing at his wrists to try and get them off.

Your nails draw blood, and that just pisses him off even more. He yanks you towards him slightly by your neck before slamming you back against the wall, your head hitting it with a loud thud.

Pain shoots across your system, your vision blurry with the unshed tears forming. He lets go of your throat after another minute, watching with a sadistic glee as you crumple to the floor at his feet. He squats down, watching as you choke in air to fill your burning lungs.

“You're the only good thing left in my life, baby. You don't get to leave me.”

“You're crazy…” You gasp out, pushing on the floor to attempt to stand up again. He was dangerous. You needed to get out before he killed you.

His eye twitches at your words, and a foot goes flying for your stomach before you can even register it. You fall to the floor once more, sobbing as you curl in on yourself in a pathetic attempt to protect your body from more hits.

“I'm crazy?” He says quietly, an eerie sense of calm in his voice. He stands over you, placing his foot on your wrist before grinding the sole of his boot into your wrist, making you cry out in pain.

“I'm crazy?” He repeats louder this time, almost yelling at you. He yanks you up by your hair, dragging you into the bedroom and throwing you onto the bed. “You're the crazy one! You think this is bad, sweetheart? I can make you disappear.”

"You want to leave me, huh?" His breathing is hard and fast. "I'm crazy, huh?" The veins in his neck are bulging out, his hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt.

"I'll show you crazy."

Your entire body is shaking, but you have to get out. You have to get to your phone. You look at the door, and that was your worst mistake. In a flash, he's slapping you across the face hard enough that your ears ring, blood filling your mouth.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.” He hisses, grabbing your jaw roughly so you're facing him. He seems to get even angrier when he sees how terrified you look.

“Aww… baby. You're scared?” He coos, a mocking pout making its way to his lips. “You should be grateful. I'm keeping you safe. You have no right to be scared. If you knew what I've seen, what I've been through-”

He pauses to suck in a shaky breath through his teeth, images of the horrors he'd endured during Raccoon City flashing through his mind and making him feel nauseous.

“You should consider yourself lucky.” He says in a low tone, his expression hardening as he looks down at you. “You haven't been exposed to anything worth being scared of, princess.”

“Don't worry, though. I understand. I'll just have to fuck some sense back into you, hmm? Remind you of who's been by your side since day fucking one, keeping you safe.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and it seems to renew your fight. You struggle against him all over again, crying as you push and kick at his torso, thrashing as he pins you down on the bed. “Leon… Leon, no, wait… babe, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, m'so sorry, just…”

He shoves three fingers into your mouth, the tips jarring your throat and making you sputter and choke. There's a steady stream of tears running down your face at his point, your breaths heavy through your nose.

“Do you ever shut up?” He grunts, tugging down your pyjama pants and underwear, frowning when he sees you're not wet for him. That's new. Oh well. Wasn't gonna stop him.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, coated with a mix of your blood and spit. He uses that to ease his way into you, pushing two fingers in straight away and spreading them inside of you to stretch you out for him.

“Leon, stop… that hurts.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut and kicking your legs out weakly. He's not doing this for you. Doesn't try to hit your sweet spot or rub your clit to ease the discomfort like he usually does.

“One more word from you, and I swear to god, I'm going to break your pretty fucking neck.” He grunts, yanking his fingers out of your pussy to free his cock from his jeans.

You're nowhere near prepared enough to take him. You cry out in pain as he bottoms out in one thrust. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, nothing. He just starts thrusting, chasing his own high as he fucks into you.

Either you're getting wet, or you're bleeding. Whichever one it is, slick lines your pussy and makes his thrusts easier. He groans as he continues to rock his fat cock into your cunt, his head thrown back in pleasure.

His hands grip your thighs as you try and close them, holding them wide apart so he has full access to fuck you as much as he wants. You give up, going limp as he takes what he wants from you.

“There we go… shit, you feel so fucking good. Even when you say no, she sucks me right in.” He moans, his hips rabbiting even faster against you, the sounds of slapping skin filling the room.

“Such a… god.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Perfect little slut for me… pussy always squeezes me so good…”

His eyes flutter open, and he tilts his head down to take you in. He finally looks at your face and sees how much you're sobbing, the pure terror in your face. His brows furrow, and he frowns. He looks down further, trailing your body and noticing the bruise forming on your stomach. When his gaze reaches his cock and he sees the blood coating it, a look of panic flashes across his face for a second.

He seems to realise what he's doing, his expression switching to one of worry in an instant. His hips stutter, but don't stop. He pulls out just enough to spit on his dick, trying to make it hurt less for you. He starts to sob, his hands cupping your cheeks and caressing them softly.

"Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." He says quietly, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He feels sick when he sees your blood coating his length and has to swallow down the bile that rises in his throat. Doesn't make him stop, though. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"I didn't mean it. I swear. I just love you so, so much. I have nobody. Can't lose you, too." He breathes out, dropping his head against your shoulder as he ruts shallowly into you. “My pretty baby. Such a good girl. Don't wanna hurt you… hate seein’ you cry.”

You don't know how you end up comforting him, promising him it's okay even as your whole body aches and your insides burn with every thrust. It hurts to see him hurting. You'd rather take a beating than see him this broken. All it takes for him to cum is for you to say you love him, too.

He pulls out carefully, pressing kisses down your neck. You don't move. Don't speak. You couldn't, even if you wanted to. You're limp in his arms as he picks you up, cradling you carefully against his chest.

He runs you a bath, gently placing you into the hot, soapy water. He peppers kisses all over your face as the water washes away the blood and cum, soothing your aching muscles.

He keeps saying he's sorry, his eyes filled with remorse. He promises he won't do it again, but you know he will. As soon as you step a toe out of line, he'll snap again. You know you should leave. You'd be dead if he kept this up. But seeing that pain on his face, the way he trembles as he washes your hair tenderly…

You'd stay one more day. Just one more day…

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #dark content

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drabblesandimagines · 5 months

Text

Dove (part six)

Leon Kennedy x female reader - the slowest, slow burn I swear Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.

After the two of you had finished dinner, you’d began clicking through the channels in search of something to watch. It was far too early to go to bed, or even pretend to go to it - you’d just be staring at the ceiling, alone with your thoughts. Leon had insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen despite your offer to help, said he’d leave them in the sink to soak. You know that’s a task you’re not going to be able to handle until your arm is free of the sling, fingers unsplintered. You want to say you’ll do all the cooking and cleaning when you can, but that implies that you think you’ll still be in the safe house, with him, in however long it’ll take to be free of the sling...

By all intents and purposes, Leon had planned to wait until you’d gone to bed to pull together his report, but the fact that Hunnigan hadn’t replied to his text yet was giving him an unsettled feeling in his gut. Maybe she was doing it on purpose, tit for tat - no information for him until he gave information to her.

After setting the dishes and pan in soapy water to return to later, he’d come back to the sofa and picked the laptop up off the coffee table, almost reluctantly.

“Er, I’m gonna start my report now, if that’s all right?”

You look at him, noting the laptop now tucked under his arm. The report, of course – he hadn’t typed it up yet, couldn’t have, not when you’d sobbed and then napped all over him.

It’s like emotional whiplash - the soft, almost domestic moments where you could pretend this whole situation was normal - it’s dinner and a movie with a friend, first date vibes but both of you too cautious to make a move.

And then there’s the startling reminder that, no, actually, you’re not even home, in a one-bedroom bungalow, no idea where you are in the state, or what state, with a man, a bodyguard you hardly know, after very nearly being murdered the day before and could possibly be murdered in the days to come.

You must’ve stared too long in response as he raises his arm to rub the back of his head – you wonder if it’s a nervous habit.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Dove. The report’s just a formality after the interview earlier, and it’s better that I submit today. It’s fine if you’d prefer not to be in the room, though. If you’re not comfortable, I can wait until you’ve gone to bed.”

“Oh… No, go ahead.”

“Are you sure? I’ll be listening over the audio again but I’ll use headphones, so…”

“Yeah. It’s fine – needs to be done, as you said.” You smile, turning your head back to the TV to end the conversation.

Leon had sat on the other couch, laptop resting on his knees, plugged in a pair of in-ear headphones. For over an hour, you’d heard him tap away at the keys, brows furrowed in concentration when you’d chance a look his way. The last few times his eyes haven’t been on the laptop screen but that of the TV, watching the dumb romance movie you’d settled on during your channel searching, hoping it would prove a good distraction.

“Leon…” You feel rude for interrupting his work, but he’d tugged out an earbud, hasn’t typed anything in a good while now, definitely not since the last ad break.

Not that you were keeping track.

“Mm?” He hums in response.

“Can I…?” He looks over as you clear your throat - start over. “Can I ask you something? If you’ve got a minute.”

There it is - the encouraging smile. “Of course, Dove.”

“It’s going to sound stupid, but those things – were they BOWs?”

“The Lickers?” The smile drops as he tugs out the other earbud. “Yeah, they are.”

“Lickers?” It sounds too cutesy for what they are, like a lollipop brand for kids and not indescribable monstrosities.

“There’s probably some scientific name that Umbrella would use, but that term came from a cop that first saw them in the Raccoon City Police Department. I guess we kinda kept the name as a weird tribute.”

“Right.” Maybe it was the cop’s way of trying to make them less terrifying on first sight.

“Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t think BOWs were actually…” You swallow, though you know it’s not going to dislodge the lump in your throat now. “..things, if that makes sense. Like, I knew we were trying to protect the public from biological warfare threats, but I thought it was man-made diseases, or poisoning the water supply… That sort of stuff.”

“You’re not wrong. Those things were once human, mutated by a man-made virus. I’ve had a fair amount of experience with different iterations of the virus over the years, unfortunately.”

“Mutated…?” You feel sick as the image once again flashes in your mind’s eye, the grotesque features of the Lickers juxtaposed with those of humans, your colleagues… “Fuck.”

“Yeah - fuck.”

“God,” you exhale, but it doesn’t feel enough. “I’ve been so naïve to what I’ve even been doing all these years - I didn’t know what we were actually trying to prevent.”

“You sound like you think you’ve been doing something wrong.”

“Well, maybe I have.” You protest. “What if I missed something that led to that the other day?”

“You did not miss anything.” He says firmly, closing the laptop – you’re not sure if he’s concluded his report or not. “Is that what happened to everyone - they were infected and then they mutated into those… those things?” You can’t bring yourself to say the identifier out loud.

“No, Dove, the… The bodies they recovered matched with the amount of people signed into the premises. Excluding you, obviously.”

“So, someone brought them there and set them on us?”

“Maybe. They’re still working on how they got in the building. They don’t exactly use doors, so…” He laughs, though it’s half-hearted.

The lump feels too big in your throat, tears burn at your eyes as you drop your head down but you know you’re not quick enough.

Leon stands, soft footsteps on the carpet as he circles round the coffee table and sits down a cushion’s width away from you.

“Sorry – it was a bad joke.”

You shake your head, sniffling a little, eyes fixed on your thighs. “No, it’s not that, or you. It’s so stupid, but I wish I could go back and stop it…”

“I know.” He places a hand down on the sofa, swivels his knees in your direction. “But it doesn’t help to think like that – trust me. And I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to keep going.”

“And you’ve faced those things before.”

“More times than I’d like to count.”

“How do you stop them?” You look up then, wiping away the tears from your cheek with the heel of your left hand.

“You couldn’t have done anything differently back there, if that’s what you’re thinking. A couple of gunshots to the head or an explosion is the only thing that’ll stop them.”

“You can’t… you know, turn them back?”

He shakes his head, looking solemn. “Afraid not.”

“Maybe for the best. I don’t think I’d want to be turned back if I’d…” If you’d ripped off your colleague’s head.

“Hey, that is not going to happen to you.” He leans forward, places his hand on your knee - having you fall asleep in his arms earlier has removed all sort of boundaries, it seems. “I promise.”

You shake your head then. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I am going to keep you safe.” He pauses – wind it in a little, Kennedy. “And if it makes you feel better, you won’t be the first. Want my credentials? I rescued the President’s daughter from a cult, got her home safe.”

“The President’s daughter?” You hadn’t heard about that, but then again why would you? Probably wouldn’t want it announced to the world that the leader of the free world’s daughter had been abducted.

“Mm. She had a codename and all – Baby Eagle.”

“But you would know her name.”

“Yeah, but still used codenames on official comms.”

“So, what would happen if I told you my name?”

“Er, well, I’d…” There’s the arm raise, rubbing the back of his neck again. “I’d have to report in to HQ that your identity had been compromised, I’d be redeployed elsewhere and you’d get a new security detail.”

“Why?”

“Part of your protection is that I’m not a risk of revealing your identity if hostile forces used… certain methods of interrogation if we were to be captured.”

Your stomach twists at the code. “Torture?”

“I suppose.” He shrugs, like he’s going to collect your mail or water your plants when you’re on vacation as a favour.

“No, you can’t… How can you shrug at the prospect of being tortured for me? You don’t even know me.”

Leon wants to say he does know you, not completely but there’s things he’s picked up over the course of the day that he feels reasonably confident on. You don’t do good with sitting idle, has the feeling you keep yourself busy when you’re not locked in four walls. He got the feeling you’re thorough and proud of your work, or you were before this doubt crept in.

You like coffee with a splash of creamer, honey in your oatmeal. You don’t have any close friends or family nearby that will be wondering why you’ve gone AWOL just yet… ..and you’re definitely single, because if you had someone waiting at home you would’ve mentioned it they spoke about whisking you away to a safe house, or when Hunnigan said she was going to search your place.

He smiles. “I know you don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you over the last 24 hours, and that’s reason enough.”

“How can you be so sure I don’t?”

“Experience, Dove. Been in this line of work for a long time and, more importantly, I’ve been where you’ve been, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod, relenting. “Sorry, my head’s just…”

He squeezes your knee. “I know.”

You leave the bathroom later that evening – Leon had ducked in at some point and prepared your toothbrush again – and find him leaned over the sink, scrubbing at a pan and a cloth draped over his shoulder. He’s left out the medicine – two painkillers, two sleeping pills - on the counter, next to a glass of water. It feels oddly domesticated again for what all of this is.

You walk over to the counter, slowly, as he continues washing the dishes.

“I forgot to ask earlier. Have there been any updates?”

He turns, gives you a sympathetic smile. “Not yet. But it’s only the first full day of the investigation, so I’m sure I’ll hear something soon, especially since I’ve sent the report over.”

He’d sent it whilst you were in the bathroom, half-expected Hunnigan to ring right there and then but his cell had remained silent, so he’d moved his attention to the dishes.

“Yeah, suppose other things will take precedence too.” Other things meaning families to inform… What would they tell them?

You take a swig of water before picking up the pills, swallowing them all down in one. Knowing how quick the sleeping aids helped yesterday, you’re aware there’s only a limited time before you’ll feel the effects kick in.

“Well, goodnight, Leon.”

“Wait a sec.” He pulls the cloth off his shoulders and hurriedly dries his hands as you watch on, curiously. He fiddles with the watch around his wrist, pressing a button on the side, then undoing the strap before he holds it out to you. “Here, so you can tell the time. I know there’s no clock in there, so…”

You stare at the offering, not raising your hand to take it. “But what about you?”

“Got my cell.” He pats his pocket, then holds the watch out again. “It’s yours, if you want it.”

You step forward to take it, gripping it a little too tightly in your fingers. It must be your imagination because it feels warm, but that can’t be right.

“Sleep well, Dove.”

Without another thought, you lean up on your tip-toes and press a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

“Thank you.”

You swivel on your heels and walk into the bedroom, closing the door without looking back, missing out on the sight of a flustered DSO agent in the kitchen.

If it wasn’t for the sleeping pills now coursing their way through your system, you would’ve been up for hours longer, heart pounding at what you just did. Instead, you climb into bed, close your eyes and it isn’t long at all until sleep washes over you, his watch still clasped in your hand.

Leon’s phone finally vibrates with Hunnigan’s caller ID as he enters back into the living area after finishing his perimeter check. Had to do two rounds of the building because he knew he was too distracted on the first by your kiss, admonishing himself for being so put out of joint by a simple gesture. After his second, more thorough check of the area and confident there was still no sign of any unwanted guests, he’d headed back into the building, making sure everything was locked up before he answered the call – placing the phone up to his ear on the opposite cheek that you had kissed.

“Hunnigan!” He answers, a little too jovial, would lower if his voice if he wasn’t confident you’ll be fast asleep by the amount of time that’s passed since you took your medication. “I was getting worried you’d forgotten all about me.”

“I’m sure.” Her voice is a little tense, but he can tell she’s tired. “Just finished your report.”

“And?”

“Well, it’s not exactly airtight.”

He rubs the bridge of his nose, holding in a sigh. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“That’s why I’ve put Dove in a safehouse with you, rather than in a cell.”

“So, restrictions remain?”

“Restrictions remain.”

He rolls his eyes, grateful it’s not a video call. “Did you search her place?”

“Unfortunately not. The President wanted the surveillance department back up and running ASAP, so all available manpower had been diverted to that. The tech analyst, however, has confirmed that the breach on the database yesterday wasn’t what you’d call successful.”

Leon walks around the sofa, drops on it a little too heavy. “You don’t sound particularly thrilled by that.”

“I’m not - the attempt itself was successful, but as soon as the system detected the forced entry, it wiped itself. Every subject that was still under surveillance has been lost.”

“Maybe that’s what they were trying to achieve.” He frowns. “Is there seriously no back-up server?”

“Analyst seemed to think it was their protocol, but it’s just a theory. Everyone who knew exactly how that division had their server set up is no longer with us.”

There’s a pause and he can hear Hunnigan tapping away at her keyboard as usual. “There is something I need to inform you of, though.”

“Right.”

“The tech analyst found the CCTV feeds have been tapped. They couldn’t trace where the feed was being diverted to, but it was definitely a system not within the DSO infrastructure. It’d been active since the attack, but they cut the connection when they discovered it.”

Leon frowns. “So, you’re saying that whoever orchestrated the attack could’ve been watching the cameras since.”

“Mm.”

“And if their objective was to leave no survivors…” Leon’s eyes focus on your bedroom door.

Hunnigan stops typing. “They’ll know they’ve failed.”

Part seven.

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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virgincels · 3 months

Text

RIGOR MORTIS !

ft. og4 leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. las plagas!reader, he kills you, technically snuff ig but wasn’t intended oops, gore, canon-typical violence, reader is infected and out of it so she can’t really consent, dub-con, non-con, p in v, choking/asphyxiation, strangulation

note. god im plagued by writers block and it’s killing me it’s like walking on shattered glass rn. umm please ignore any mistakes, not very fond on this but haven’t posted in a bit :3 um it’s quite short. rbs are always appreciated :3 instead of asking for a part 2 please just tell me something nice.. feedback is really appreciated <3 comms are open! info in my pinned :3

Leon seeks refuge in what looks to have once been a humble abode. Now only a shack wearing a shroud of all things dead and rotten remains. Foetid water has soaked him to the bone, it seeps into the thick leather of his combat boots, leaves his socks soggy. He really hates that. Leon can handle cerebrospinal fluid leaving a sticky film on the toe of his boots, the blood caked beneath his fingernails is something he considers normal, but wet socks are a total inconvenience, it’s a shortcut to trench foot.

The hollow skulls of small critters occupy the corners, the cobwebs have cobwebs, the air is stagnant and stinking. Not of rot, but of sickness. A gaping wound crawling with infection, bacteria settling in the crevices of his mind, squirming like fat, juicy maggots—

Crack!

It’s a man, he was a man, now he’s a boneless lump of flesh, his spinal cord snapped under the weight of Leon’s boot. His yellowed teeth glisten under the golden warmth of a single lantern. Leon’s defence is choreographed at this point, a swift kick to intercept an impending strike, then his boot makes mincemeat of their brains.

When he takes a step back to review his current affair, it’s not so bad, certainly not Raccoon City. Leon would take a million murderous Spanish grandparents over a single zombie. Zombies are plain nasty, not a single limb intact, oozing pustules that peel back to reveal purpling flesh infested by larvae. They’re fuckin’ ugly. Slow and bloated and ugly. A sight no human being should see.

On the wall, there’s a shattered, grimy mirror. Leon sees the ghost of a boy staring back at him. Unwashed hair hanging limp, cheekbones carved out, his skin alabaster like the blocky lettering stitched into his uniform. R.P.D. it reads, muddied by blood and guts and chunks of vomit. All the good shit. He hasn’t grown into his body yet, the steel of his gun is cool on his temple and he’s young and these are all important things to know. In his arms is something small and lightweight, a bloodied little girl, leading him to a pyrrhic victory.

The floorboards groan under the weight of a pair of feet that don’t belong to him, the threat isn’t imminent. You don’t charge at him, no, it’s shambling he can only describe as zombie-like, dragging your bare feet like it hurts to lift them off the ground. Like you’re waterlogged and ready to pop.

You were pretty, he’s sure, a real looker. You’re pretty now, just not in your entirety. Strings of reddish muscle keep the fatty flesh of your right tit hanging on for dear life. Like an Amazonian woman. There’s no rot, no sign of decay, simply an act of self-mutilation.

Now, some might call him a pervert, but Leon’s a self-proclaimed iconoclast. And you, swaying from side to side in your torn linen nightdress, the skeletal pendant of Los Iluminados around your neck like a disfigured cross, draped in a veil of white that’s close enough to holy - it’s worth ruining. Santa Maria di Plagas or whatever.

He realises a few shattered bones have you walking funny, circles you easily and heads into the room you exited. The bed sheets are rumpled in unrest, he sits, there’s a hairline fracture between the two of you. The lantern light bares all, the white of your dress becomes gossamer-thin, he makes out your shape beneath the blood-soaked cloth that moulds to the shape of your torso, the smooth dip of your waist, a soft sinkage where the fabric clings to your belly button.

Leon has seen far worse. Can you blame a guy for getting hard at the sight of a real girl? In his line of work, he’s neck deep in pounds of flesh that spew pus and gore from each virus-clogged abscess. The layer of dirt on your skin does not deter him, that tit hanging by a tissuey thread, swinging back and forth like your necklace is child’s play to him. ‘Cause Leon’s a real man. The princely type.

(He’s anything but. One girl’s knight in shining armour is a monster under the bed for another. It’s not like you can complain, you’re quite the monster yourself.)

Hang in there Ashley. He’ll be there soon, but he’s got to do this. This is completely and utterly necessary. Hunnigan doesn’t need to know why he’ll be unreachable for a good thirty minutes or so. Less probably. ‘Cause your body is hot, clammy with fever, and that means your pussy is even hotter.

Something… Something… Plagas… Something… Lord Saddler…

Your mumbling is constant. Leon will have to do something about that. You gnash your teeth at him when you approach, held back only by the sluggishness that comes with, like, brainwashing cultish parasites.

“Sorry, sweetheart, no entiendo.” Leon loops a worn piece of rope around your neck. Ain’t that handy? Found it hung on your assumed-to-be father’s tool belt. Used for leading curly little lambs to the sacrificial altar. He strokes the underside of your chin, and you bare your teeth like a wild dog, albeit slowly. A late reaction. No fair, it’s like someone’s knocked you around already, who got here before him?

Getting his dick out at a time like this in a place like this, it’s not smart. Sneaky bugs could use his urethra as a water slide. A menacing minibeast might latch onto his balls pincher-first. However, needs are needs, and nothing gets in the way of Leon’s dick, not even a kidnapped First Daughter could stop the force of nature that is his boner.

With ease, he pushes you onto the ground. Not the bed. If you behave like an animal then he’ll have to fuck you like one. Plus, Leon’s not quite sure he trusts those sheets, at least the rusty nails on the floorboards are visible to the naked eye. Tetanus won’t be a nasty surprise, just a momentary lapse in judgement.

Your body contorts when he pulls the rope, back taking on a feline shape, spine bending inwards and your hips up. Puppetry is easier than it looks. The hem of your dress lifts to reveal your leaking chasm of a pussy. Better than nothing. Not like he’s eating it either way.

One hand on the rope, the other on his belt buckle, he lowers his jeans enough to pop his dick out. “Stay still, honey.” He instructs, but it’s like talking to a brick wall, or to a person who doesn’t understand a lick of English.

Leon chokes you with the rope. “I’ll only be a minute, sweetheart,” he coos, a tender kiss that he regrets merely seconds later placed on your shoulder.

He grips the base of his cock, the fat tip is red and leaky, precum bubbling like your foaming mouth. Leon’s too hard. His dick is totally upright, the soft curve pointing towards the ceiling, a thumb comes to press down on the tip, using it to guide himself into your pussy.

“Oh, there you go, honey, yeah, there you go.” His hold on the rope loosens, still firm enough to keep you in place, but now at least there’s oxygen flowing to your parasite-addled brain. “You feel that?”

Leon’s dick stretches you to the point of no return. He’s broken you in. Better off him than any of those grotesque old men. You’re a virgin surely, so it’s very considerate of him to fuck you before you die. No one should die a virgin, that’s cruel, it’s inhumane.

You thrash wildly, grunting each time his hips smack into the fat of your ass, he can’t tell if you’re enjoying it— You better be fuckin’ enjoying it. Know how risky this shit is? Fuck, what if you had a mutated cunt or something. Jagged teeth waiting to clamp down on a big fat dick and tear it straight off. He really needs to start thinking with his brain and not his cock. The thing just doesn’t shut up.

When he cums, the rope is tight around the column of your neck— It would be your hair, but he fears it might fall straight from your scalp in nasty, matted clamps. Your body rears like a wild Mustang, he gathers the rope and it wraps around his fingers until your back is flush to his chest and you grasp for something, anything— Eyes rolled so far back he can see the milky whites, and then he gives one last tug to make sure you’re stuck in that state. Mid-orgasm. Eyes in the back of your skull, back arched, pussy dripping with his load. Cute. He wishes rigor mortis set in right now so that you don’t fall slack into a heap of red and white when he lets go.

Leon leaves by barrelling out of a window like a true gentleman, the microscopic shards splinter your skin. He takes that pendant with him, tucks it in his back pocket, could be useful at some point in time.

It’s only when the blood in his veins runs black and viscous does Leon notice something is severely wrong. His blood flow slows to a halt, clots forming in every important artery. Mucousy black sludge leaks from his nose. An intense pain cuts through his senses with deadly precision, a surge of discomfort that has him kneeling over, hands on his knees in a clumsy attempt to steady himself.

His hands clasp around Ada’s neck— The rope. He pulls it tighter and tighter to get closer and closer. Her voice is distorted by the fog that clouds his brain, it creates a hazy barrier, mutes the world around him. A knife lodges in the meaty flesh of his thigh, he topples backwards when her knee makes contact with his groin.

“That bitch gave me crabs.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He brushes her off. “I said, uh, Lord Saddler almighty.” Leon’s heard that enough times to repeat it back to her rather fluently. Nice save.

“Right,” Ada says, unconvinced.

#leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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apomaro-mellow · 5 months

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idk how detailed of a prompt ur looking for but: Eddie thinks Steve's chest hair is hot for the bingo

im thinking of them going to the lake or something and Steve takes off his shirt and Eds nearly has a heatt attack bc yeah he'd seen Steve's chest before but he kinda repressed it? along with the whole upside down deal so he's like choking at the sight and at the newly found memory lol

but anything you come up with will be amazing im sure <3

every time i get a prompt i rub my lil raccoon hands together ehehehe

They weren't going to Lover's Lake. That had been the one thing everyone agreed on at first. Too much to unpack but it went without saying that no one wanted to relive the memory of what had happened in those waters. They all packed up and went about three hours away to a totally different town with a totally different lake.

"Summer time, a bunch of teens, a town where no one knows us", Eddie commented as they parked. "Did we just drive into another horror movie set up?"

"I think we can handle some random killer in the woods", Jonathan said.

Eddie couldn't argue. He knew for a fact that Steve had packed away his oh so trusty nail bat and that Nancy was strapped too. At a moment's notice, Robin looked ready to turn a beer into a makeshift molotov. But that was the last thought he wasted on the spring break from hell. Because the moment everything was set up, Steve pulled his shirt off like he was in a goddamn cologne ad.

That unnecessarily sexy way where he grabbed it off his back and pulled it of, shaking out his hair as if it would dare to fall out of place.

So here's the thing.

Eddie saw Steve shirtless that one time back in Hawkins. But it had been dark, and they were on a boat hunting an evil wizard and then in an underworld running from demon bats and there had been a lot going on, okay? He's ogled Steve plenty since then, now that he had time to, but he hadn't had an opportunity to see his naked chest again.

"Put on sunscreen!", Robin shouted, tossing it at Steve's head.

"Ow! Rude!" Steve picked it up and obeyed anyway, starting at his arms. Time seemed to slow. Or maybe Steve was purposely going slow, it was hard to tell. Then his eyes met Eddie and his next stroke up towards his neck seemed very intentional.

Eddie swallowed.

"Mind getting my back?", Steve asked.

Eddie didn't trust his mouth for once, so he just nodded, taking the tube of sunscreen and was definitely not thinking about squirting another kind of creamy white substance onto this beautifully dotted back. He tried to distract himself by looking at what the others were doing. Jonathan had already lit up a joint that he was now passing to Nancy. Robin was laid out in a chair, nose in a book.

Argyle was leading the kids down the shore to where they could rent out canoes. Or was it kayaks? All Eddie knew was that El was adamant on some sort of boating adventure.

"You okay back there?", Steve asked.

"Yep, yup, mhm. Almost done." He was done. The sunscreen was completely gone and he was just rubbing circles into his skin for no reason.

"You mind doing my chest too?"

"Wh-hat?", Eddie choked.

"I don't really like the feel of sunscreen on my hands", Steve justified and that was good enough for Eddie.

He still wasn't prepared for when Steve turned around. Eddie sat between his legs and god this might've been the closest they've ever been. Especially with this little amount of clothes between them, both of them in their swimming trunks and nothing else. Eddie squeezed some sunscreen onto his hands first, rubbing them together and warming it before pressing them to Steve's chest.

Goddamn it felt so....would it get thicker as he got older? It went all the way up to his collarbone and there was just a hint of a happy trail now but maybe with some time...

"They do know we're still here, right?", Nancy asked after letting out a puff. True, they were some feet away but still.

"I've got a spray bottle in case they go below the waist", Robin said, shaking said bottle.

Steddie bingo under the cut

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #thanks for the ask!#no they're not dating #yet #but by the end of this trip they might be #given that steve is straight up seducing eddie LOL

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lemonflavoreddishsoap · 5 months

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CAN I REQUEST LA SQUADRA WITH AN S/O WHO HAS A SWEET TOOTH?? (like they would be late at night just eating something sweet and they would get caught because of the candy wrappers making noise)

I cannot handle much sweetness in my food but for some reason i love writing about characters who have sweet tooths???? idk why. very cute request idea :3

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La Squadra with an S/O with a sweet tooth

Formaggio

He learns about this trait of yours when the two of you get a crap ton of sweet treats together, only for him to find 90% of it gone within a day. He's not pleased, the way he complains about it you'd think it was the cat crying if you weren't watching him.

He isn't actually mad, obviously. I mean, in all honesty he was probably overestimating how many sweets he can handle, but...but the betrayal!!

Great new information now, because you're getting a new treat for your stash practically every day! He'll even come home with some incredibly bizarre sounding treat for either you to keep or for you to watch him eat.

Illuso

Illuso learns when he finds you stuffing your face sometime around midnight. He plucks the sweet from your hands and holds it over your head (if you're shorter than him). "Having a snack right now? If you were planning to stay up for some sweets, you should've let me join you." He doesn't let you stay up for much longer though, just enough for your sugar buzz to end before dragging you to bed.

He's absolutely the kind of fellow to just steal some treats right out of your hand/bag. Make sure you aren't standing around any mirrors as you happily snack, unless you WANT to be jump-scared by an arm suddenly emerging from the wall.

He's picky with sweets, too, so not only is staying cautious keeping you safe from theft, but also from criticism. If you decide to start subtly eating more of his favourite sweets to avoid this, it definitely won't go unnoticed.

Prosciutto

He became aware of your sweet tooth before you ever told him, and before any kind of eating-candy-late-at-night incident. He probably realises by the first time he's brought to your place. Whether it be a dedicated snack-y area somewhere in your kitchen or a few too many colourful wrappers in a trash bin, he takes note of the detail.

Prosciutto stays up pretty late, so it should've been expected that he would run into you digging into some chocolate "secretly" like a raccoon chowing down on some garbage. He stares at you, just a bit surprised that you'd decide to eat something so sugary in the middle of the night.

He doesn't mind your affinity for sweets and sometimes likes to indulge you by buying you fancy little candies and chocolates he thinks you'd enjoy, but he is strict about when you can eat them (no messing up your appetite or sleep!) it makes him seem like a parent but he just wants his partner feeling alright.

Pesci

Shuffling through the kitchen with the lights off was an obvious challenge for you, but flicking on the light's would've been a surefire way to get caught at this late hour. Well, unfortunately that worry is thrown out the window as you end up crashing into something that...yelps?

So, yeah! You discover each other's sweet tooths and bad habits in that same moment. Your best survival strategy is to team up, becoming the Late Night Delicacy Duo - Pesci feels bad about his secret snacks but having you indulge in it with him makes it go from shameful to fun.

His favourite sweets are hard candies, but he'll have a try of anything the two of you manage to scavenge!

Melone

Dude. It's fucking Melone. You don't need to get caught doing jackshit, he tastes the sweet on your fucking lips and figures it out from there. He can tell your favourite chocolate brand just based on your body language or something.

Sounds weird but hey! At least you've got a partner who knows what you like incredibly well, and you often find your preferred treats either in his hands when the two of you are going out or laying on your bed when you return home. He's always right on the money.

He's far from a sweets person himself, save for a few exceptions (namely cake), so he has absolutely no qualms with you having any treats he ends up receiving. Probably likes feeding you a bit. Not in a kink way or anything but like, listen, I think it'd be nice to have his gloved hand gently place chocolates in my mouth while he watches with those beautiful eyes. No don't leave no listen please-

Ghiaccio

He's grumpy enough when he wakes up in the morning, why would you even risk waking him up in the middle of the night? No matter now, because he's ripped the sweet from your hand, tucked it into a cupboard, just nearly slammed the door shut, and is dragging you back to bed.

But as long as you aren't snacking late at night, he's fine with it. He can be a tiny bit strict about it though; doesn't want you overdoing how many sweets you eat, and he does not like trying other people's food so don't ask him.

Just as with most things about you, he loves the trait subtly. His love for this one lies in how he glances at you when the waiter asks if the two of you want dessert after your meal, or the way he taps your arm if the two of you pass a colourful candy store mid-stroll.

Risotto

He likes licorice doesn't he. He does, doesn't he. Look me in the eyes, don't you see what i see hes a LICORICE LIKER

"I really hope your body goes through sugar well. That crash will not be pretty," is a very stupid thing to get jumpscared by, but in your defence you were MINDING your OWN BUSINESS and it's TWO AM- DOES THIS MAN SLEEP!???

Pleaseee ask him to share sweet treats with you, this man doesn't let himself have as many treats as he probably wants to. Beyond just the intimacy of sharing a moment together, you get to see him smile at the flavors. and isn't that what life is just all about.

Honestly if you're really really really in love with candy, he may get or make one one of those candy/chocolate bouquets, y'know the ones?

#la squadra #jjba x reader #la squadra x reader #jjba #formaggio x reader #ghiaccio x reader #risotto x reader #illuso x reader #pesci x reader #prosciutto x reader #formaggio #illuso #pesci #prosciutto #melone x reader #melone #ghiaccio #risotto #risotto nero

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youwouldneverbreakthechain · 1 year

Text

I don't like the Found Family trope.

There, did I get your attention? It's true, but the question is, why is Guardians of the Galaxy still one of my favorite stories in any medium ever?

Something really clicked for me with the ending of Vol. 3 (spoilers ahead, natch). The team broke up and that kind of development is usually heartbreaking, because we love the team, they love each other, now that they've found each other why should they ever part ways?

The answer is that they're a family, and that's what families do. Growing up means leaving the parents who raised you and finding a path of your own, maybe to someday continue the cycle with kids of your own, but never losing what you got from your first family. Those people, who you can't choose, will always be a part of you.

Each of the Guardians, aside from Drax, had their childhoods interrupted by traumatic events. They didn't get to finish growing up naturally, and that loss hounded them all their lives. When they found each other they began to heal, but here's what I didn't realize until the end of the trilogy: the family that they found with each other wasn't the kind that you make when you grow up. It's the kind that you grow out of.

From the beginning, Peter has shown signs of "Peter Pan Syndrome," acting like a little boy even though he's highly skilled, courageous, and compassionate. His maturity gradually began to show through, but one quirk that kept coming up was his refusal to return to Earth. No good reason for it except that he couldn't bear the reminder of his mother and he was ashamed to face his grandfather. He can handle it now because his life with the Guardians gave him the stability he needed to become a true adult.

Gamora's new incarnation doesn't need the Guardians because she found the Ravagers instead. We don't know much about them but I expect that what they did for Yondu, they'll do for her too. In the meantime, Nebula's had a few good years of being loved and now she can follow the footsteps of the Gamora who was lost, aside from falling for Peter, because that's unlikely to ever work again.

Groot's been the most fortunate, not having his youth cut short or taking any serious trauma since he sprouted. Eventually he may want to strike out on his own, but until then it's good that he can stick with Rocket.

Mantis seemed more aware than anyone of their internal struggles, including her own. Which is appropriate, her being an empath and all. She really made the boldest possible move, going it alone, and I'm proud of her. Hoping she'll make an appearance in The Marvels or something else before reuniting with Peter and/or the Guardians.

Drax is a special case and the one who I thought was most likely to die, since it seemed like his arc was all wrapped up: he had his childhood before we met him and it was his adulthood that was ripped away from him. Revenge was his entire deal and Ronan and Thanos are dead now, so what's left for Drax? Well, it turns out revenge doesn't have to be his entire deal and now I'm embarrassed I ever thought otherwise.

Rocket...oh, Rocket. We always knew that he was something other than what nature had intended, and that was on top of the nonstop physical and emotional abuse, but now it turns out he already lost the only three people who put anything good into his sad little life. Since there was nothing to salvage from his upbringing, he was the one who needed the Guardians the most, so he's the only founding member to stay. But no mistake, it matters that he's staying as the leader. He's not alone, but he's not under anyone's control, either. He knows who is now and he knows his worth.

The "don't call me a raccoon" running joke always bothered me a little but I never dreamed it would have a payoff like it did in Vol. 3. Rocket claiming his full name is much more than a nod to his comic origins. It's his understanding of where he began and the injustice that was done to him, his acceptance that he wasn't at fault for the deaths of his first companions and that he does deserve to be loved by the Guardians.

That's the foundation that lets everyone part ways without having to ask each other if this means their relationships are over. As far as I've seen, no other found family in fiction has reached this point - the team is generally the endgame, and if someone leaves, things will never be the same again.

In a real family, a good one, when someone leaves we celebrate. Congratulations on your first apartment. Good luck at college. Blessings on your union. Just remember, you can always come home again. Our arms are open for you.

#guardians of the galaxy vol. 3 #gotg vol. 3 #gotg vol 3 spoilers #peter quill #gamora #drax the destroyer #nebula #mantis #groot #rocket raccoon #found family trope #guardians of the galaxy

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biird-rot · 2 months

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Leon Kennedy is Autistic: An Analysis by an Autistic Person

DISCLAIMER: This post and all the points I make are highly based on my OWN experiences. I often find parallels between my experiences as a disabled individual and characters I love to help me better cope with and process my feelings. Hate will not be tolerated!!!

Before I get started, I’d like to say that this is not even me scratching the SURFACE of the things I could analyze about Leon and apply to various autistic experiences, this is mostly just the things that resonate with me the most.

Parallel Play/Preferring to Work Alone

It could be attributed to trauma, and the fact he works in a government agency, but Leon has always been the flying solo type. Missions in which it would be better if multiple people worked on it (RE4) HOWEVER! Whenever he does work with others, he often goes off on his own and leaves whoever he's with to deal with what's there (DI, Leon going off immediately after being vaccinated by Rebecca)

Difficulty Communicating/Identifying Emotions

This also plays into the difficulty making friends and maintaining friendships aspect of being autistic. There isn't any direct/obvious representations of this occurring in the franchise, but it can be inferred based upon his interaction with Chris and Rebecca in RE: Vendetta when the two try to recruit Leon on their mission because of the intel he has on the type of BOWs they're dealing with. Speaking of RE: Vendetta, it can also be noted that Leon copes with his inability to cope with/regulate his emotions by drinking, and this is a habit he always had. In fact, he's essentially hung over in RE2, having drunk his feelings away after being broken up with the night before the Raccoon City incident, and he is literally drinking on the job in Damnation. Essentially, he's canonically an alcoholic. As an autistic person, sometimes I would turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with my emotional dysregulation, especially when I was unaware that I was autistic.

Leon isn't a very emotional person in general, again, It could be chalked up to trauma, but lack of emotional expression is also a common experience/trait amongst autistics.

“Inappropriate” Responses to Situations

GODDDD this one is SO prominent in RE4R (hell, even the OG), Infinite Darkness actually everything he's in, I can name at LEAST 2 examples of this. To keep this short, I'll just name ones that I relate painfully hard to, and ones that I find hilarious.

To start, WHENEVR HE JUST SAYS "ok 🧍" in response to an emotional moment. RE2R, when Claire introduces him to Sherry, in RE4R, when Ashley hugs him and expresses her relief that he's okay, and in Infinite Darkness whenever he checks up on Patrick after the White House Outbreak. It never fails to make me lose it because he's just like me fr.

Thists a sillier one, but I want to mention it because it's so mecore.

Thank you to @highball66 for doing the lord's work of translating the Death Island manga yall seriously he’s a legend🙏

When Leon sends selfies of him on missions. That's it. He just sends it to Hunnigan and I think it's great.

Sensory Issues

Okay, I KNOW LEON IS A GOVERNMENT AGENT AND NEEDS SOME LEVEL OF GEAR ON MISSIONS BUT!!!!! Half the time he isn't even wearing a full set, not even a bullet proof vest. HOWEVER, I did notice that one thing he CONSISTENTLY wears (with the exception of a few instances) is GLOVES!!! This is more of a personal headcannon, but I like to think he's sensitive to texture, especially when handling guns and such, so he wears gloves, so it doesn't feel as terrible. To further back up his sensitivity to texture, in Death Island, after the Dylan BOW explodes and splashes water everywhere, Chris doesn't seem to care about being covered in water while Leon is flicking the water off him.

Literal Thinking - Coming off as Rude/Inappropriate Unintentionally

GODDDDD this is another big one, but I’ll only cover the ones that I relate to a lot to save time. Starting with his initial encounter with Jill in Death Island, they’re being chased by lickers and…well..this interaction

Exhibit B: This scene. He’s just so nonchalant about it and I do the exact same thing without like…intentionally being a “smartass” or whatever, I’m just being honest 🧍. Jill’s “Oh😒” at the end of the scene is really what made it hit home, because that’s how people typically react when i have a similar interaction with them

ANOTHER THING!!! All of the instances in which Leon casually asks “so you wanna get dinner?” Or something along those lines. It’s often interpreted as a poor attempt at flirting, but personally, I think he genuinely just wants food, and he doesn’t understand why ppl are like 🤨 when he asks. He just wants a nice dinner with a nice lady :(

Hyper-empathy

Small disclaimer here, autism is a SPECTRUM. And our empathy levels fluctuate every day. In Leon’s case, I see him being hyper-empathetic, much like myself. And being able to empathize so easily with people is incredibly draining. Additionally, a huge thing that is common among autistics is how we tend to respond to people who are sharing their struggles with us sharing our OWN experiences that are similar to theirs, and it often comes off as egocentric and selfish to “make it about us”, but in reality, that’s our way of saying that we understand what you’re going through, and it helps us process how you may be feeling as well. There are many scenes I could pull from, but I want to talk about one specifically in Infinite Darkness since it resonates so much with me:

The scene within ID in which Jason is having a nightmare, and Leon wakes him up, immediately asking him if he wants to talk about it. Jason recalls the nightmare and his trauma about Penamstan to Leon, and says that he has no idea what it was like, and Leon responds talking about his experience in Raccoon City, and how that affected him similarly

Special Interests & Using Media to Communicate Feelings

There are many aspects of this I could talk about, but I’ve already written 10 pages worth already in this post, so I’ll speed through it.

Personally, I think Leon has a special interest in film! He makes several references throughout the franchise, many of which are overlooked. Personally, my favorite reference he makes is in RE: Vendetta to Pulp Fiction (I think) when Chris and Rebecca confront him during his “vacation”

Final Notes/Conclusion

I had to cut a LOT out from my original mini-essay I wrote about this to fit it better on here, and make it not as boring to read lmao, but I hope you enjoyed my silly little analysis! I love being able to relate my experiences to others, fictional or otherwise, as it helps me feel less alone, and be able to process and cope with what makes my disability a…well, a disability. I hope fellow autistics find some solace in this as well, and please let me know your additional thoughts about this topic if you’re a fellow autistic Leon Kennedy headcannoner!!!

#biird rot #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy re4 #leon kennedy re2 #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil 4r #re4 remake #re4remake #resident evil vendetta #resident evil death island #character analysis #actually autistic

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scholastic-dragon · 1 year

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Hi just wanted to say your Rocket x Reader’s mean the world to me if you could ever maybe do another one. Romantic if you can? Maybe Rocket seeing reader bond with baby Groot and it makes him maybe think about her and him having kids? Though it isn’t possible it just makes him question their friendship? And thinks maybe it could be more?

Ooooooo, baby fever 🫣

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH <3

It felt wrong.

This sticky, annoying feeling, stirring in his gut.

Groot simply needed help getting onto the table for the mission meeting. And you'd gently kneeled down, extended your hand and waited for him to step up.

He sat in your palm as you lifted him to the tables surface.

And with the patience of a Saint, you waited until he crawled out of your hand and then returned your attention to Quill.

Rocket, on the other hand, couldn't get it out of his head.

Especially now, laying in bed in the middle of the night, tossing and turning not being able to sleep.

Eventually, he did dooze off, but you didn't leave his mind.

He found himself in the ship, in a large open space with you at the dining room table.

"Y/n?" He asked, walking up to you. You turned, holding three little raccoon babies in your arms.

"Hey," You smile, handling the babies with a concerning amount of grace. They squirmed and whine softly, but you rocked them to sleep in your arms.

"What's going-"

"Do you wanna hold one?" You ask, taking a baby off your shoulder and handing it to him.

He panicked, taking the baby and staring strangely at it. It obviously looked like him, but this baby had your eyes.

They were....

"Are these...." He looked up at you. "Our babies?"

You smiled. "Of course," You kneeled down, cupping the side of his face. "We're a little family,"

You leaned in to kiss him, your lips inches away from his-

A loud pounding outside his door woke Rocket up, covered in warm sweat and breathing heavy.

"Rocket! Wake your ass up! It's your turn to pilot the ship!" Quill yelled through the steel door.

"Alright, Quill, I'll be up in a few!" Rocket sighed, putting his head in his hands.

This was going to be an awkward day.

#guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy headcannons #guardians of the galaxy imagine #gotg #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 headcannons #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 imagine #gotg2 #gotg2 imagine #gotg2 headcannons #rocket #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon imagines #rocket racoon headcannons #rocket racoon x reader #rocket racoon and groot #it is my works #thanks for the ask!

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roadkill-writes · 9 months

Text

Bowers gang (Remember when) Part 4

This is part 4 of the continuation of the bowers gang series I started a long long while ago.

Pairings: bowers gang X fem!reader

Word count: Five pages , 1.7k words

Warnings: swearing, Harsh language, reader being naked and trapped in a bathroom

Hand still clutching the door handle of the bathroom as you heart pounded in your chest. The sound of their laughter still echoing around the room and your brain. You couldn’t help but ponder on how you got yourself into this mess of standing naked and afraid while four boys stood in your homes hallway laughing about you and this situation. Oh yes right, thank you Mrs.Peterson. You thought sarcastically that she was in fact the entire reason you were stuck stranded in your own bathroom.

You could just about hear the smirk plastered on Patrick’s face as he spoke from behind the door, “Come on princess we only wanna peak.” He pounded his fist against the door in a slow menacing way as if he knew were trying to strick free into your chest. Which he was successful at.

Your heart began to hammer away in your chest as if you were a lamb being led to slaughter. The little pig standing inside while the wolf huffs and puffs the house down. The helpless little fawn looking for it’s mother after it’s been shot but a hunter. The helpless little girl standing naked in her bathroom while the monsters stand on the other side laughing maniacally.

“I’m being serious this time go away!” Shouting at them like one would at a wild raccoon eating out of the garbage trying to ward it off. “This isn’t funny!”

“Okay hear me out!” Victor tried to reason with you from behind the door. He always behaved like the saving grace most of the time even though he’s just as stuck up as the rest of them. “We take a few steps back and you can grab your towel off the floor?” He spoke as it was almost supposed to be a question.

“And just how am I supposed to believe you’d all do that, especially Patrick?”

“I pinky promise sweetheart.” Victor gave his signature three gentle taps on the door. Opening the door just a enough to stick your hand through you stuck up your pinky finger in solidarity, feeling his pinky finger wrap around yours in a lock of faith you quickly let go and knelt down to grab your towel in a hurry pulling it through the crack in the door fast enough as you quickly slammed the door closed accidentally closing the corner of the towel in the crack having to open it back up and pulling it through.

Slamming the door back in place you tightly wrapped the towel around your body your hair still partially dripping wet reminding you of the peaceful shower that you do sadly had to get out of.

Reaching for the doorknob it was cold to the touch, the hinges making an eerie creaking sound as it was pulled open to reveal an empty hallway. As if the the boys were never standing there to begin with.

Gently on your top toes you began slowly making your way down the hall to your bedroom some of the floor boards groaned as you stepped on them. Even after all the times of sneaking out of the house you had failed to remember which parts of the floor to avoid, but this was an old house it wasn’t abnormal for the house to make unsettling noises every now and then so your parents never thought anything of it.

Tip toeing into the room you tried extremely hard to close the door without a creak or groan but it was to no avail. The door let out a wail and you recoiled into yourself at the sound. If the boys were still here you didn’t want them knowing you left the bathroom without being able to at least get dressed first. Twisting the lock and letting out a breathe of relief while closing your eyes, leaning your back up against the door for a moment of silence for the most part as you could hear those four boys downstairs making enough rowdy noise it sounds like they’re destroying the house.

Your dresser stood off to the side of the room up against the wall next to your closet, the clear coat over the stain has seen its better days. Your closet was small the trifold door was an off white color wishing to see a new coat of white paint. But none the less you dug around in both looking for something suitable to wear while still being comfortable, just as you were about to pull your shirt over your head to complete the new outfit a loud banging came from behind your closet door. Pausing with your shirt around your neck as if to see if you were hearing things.

Another loud bang came from the closet this time you hurried to put your shirt on the rest of the way and find something to use as a weapon, thankfully Vic had gifted you a bat not to long ago after smashing mailboxes one night. Sweaty hands gripped the bat as you hesitated to move any closer towards the closet.

This doesn’t make any sense as you were just in your closet looking for clothes, you continued trying to justify that you’re going crazy.

At this point the banging was getting louder your closet door shaking at the sheer force of it. Taking slow wide steps towards the door using one hand to grip the bat and another to reach for the small knob of the door. Swinging the door open you were greeted with the darkness of the small entry way lined with clothes. Again another sigh of relief slouching over slightly as you lowered the bat and turned to walk away.

tap

Your body burst out in goose bumps as you froze in place. There was nothing there remember just your clothes there isn’t anything to be freaking out about. It’s just the boys downstairs trying to freak you out again. You gained your confidence and turned back around to prove to yourself that there was in fact nothing there that your brain was scaring itself.

Your blood ran cold and the color drained from your face when your eyes landed on the object in question. Another RED balloon. You were absolutely frozen in fear, stomach has since dropped. Maybe you were dreaming no not dreaming having a nightmare. Maybe you had fallen asleep after your shower.

Your suspicion was quickly thrown out the window when a gloved hand had reached out of the depths of the closet to grab ahold of the door frame, then came the second hand coming out of the shadows to grab the door frame on the other side. You wanted to run but you couldn’t move frozen in shock and fear.

What ever was attached to those hands slowly acceded out of the darkness stepping into the full light of your bedroom it’s body was tall and frail the fiery red hair stood tall on top of its head, it’s mouth was in the form of an opened mouth smile barely fitting the rows and rows of teeth contained in its large mouth. The tattered and dirty costume that was adorned on its body the sight of your worst nightmares. This was a fucking clown. You fucking hated clowns.

Their shoes always so big, their cars always so small. No one’s nose should be able to honk, and the painted on faces were a sight for sore eyes. You could go on for hours on your thoughts and opinions on why you hated clowns but you had bigger things to be worrying about, literally.

The clown towered over you its mouth dripping with slobber as it salivated at the sight of you.

“I know what you did.” It spoke in a slow aggressive tone. Shaking your head no in fear, “ I-I d-don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice came out in a stutter, you had began to sound like Bill Denbrough the boy who’s little brother disappeared.

The clowns grin began to widen, “Oh yes, you do I know what you’ve done.” You couldn’t even begin to actually rack your brain on what it could be talking about but surely by now you’ve gone insane. You continued to shake your head no in fear trying to make it believe that maybe it had gotten the wrong person. But who were you kidding it’s just your luck you’ve got a crazy clown standing in front of you in your bedroom.

You sincerely had no idea what the clown was trying to get at but all you knew is you needed to run away now. Turning on your heels your sprinted to the door grabbing onto the handle and throwing the door open so hard it it the wall behind it.

Taking off in a sprint down the hallway towards the stairs, you could hear the clown laughing hysterically from behind you as you heard his loud shoes making contact with the wooden floor. Racing down the wooden steps you called out to the boys.

”Henry! Vic! Reggie! Patrick! Help me please!” You screams bounced off every wall in the house but you were alone again. You leapt off last three steps feet landing hard quickly turning to run towards the living room in search of your saviors. They were no where to be found. The clown was hot on your heels as you sprinted towards the back door struggling with the lock as you tried twisting the handle to freedom looking over your shoulder constantly, swinging the door open and pushing through the storm door you continued into a sprint right off the back porch. Feet padded around in the soft dewy grass as you heaved for a breath as your lungs burned for air.

You let out another cry for help as you reached the tree line for the forest. “Henry please help! Please I’m begging!” Taking another look over your shoulder you realized nothing was following you anymore, and that you didn’t have shoes on.

You made the conscious decision that it probably wouldn’t be the safest to go back home so you went in the direction you knew like the back of your hand.

The Bowers property.

Tag list: @lucky-lem0ns @scarlets-phases @talitasls-blog @fuckshitslover @blossom221 @disneylover1998 @kyuupidwrites @jiroumyluv

#bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers x reader #victor criss #victor criss x reader #patrick hockstetter #patrick hocksetter x reader #belch huggins #belch huggins x reader #it 2017 #pennywise #it x reader #henry bowers #fanfiction #fanfic

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somnambulic-thing · 1 year

Text

Agents of Chaos

for @bettyfrommars : be careful what you wish for <3

1k - Wayne & Eddie/afab!reader (could be platonic too, you decide) | just silly cute shit including raccoons.

not proofread, so probably messy but made with love

----

Wayne Munson liked to think of himself as a tolerant man.

Even before he adopted his nephew one of his ways to live by had been Live and let live but living with Eddie had been an adjustment. The boy constantly reminded him to keep an open mind to everything and anything as long as it wasn’t hurting others, no matter how wild and bizarre it seemed on first glance but today Wayne had his difficulties going out of his comfort zone.

“Eddie!” he called, the handle of the trailer door still clutched in hand, his posture frozen upon entry.

Eddie’s door was closed and there was music blasting behind it, so rationally, Wayne knew that calling out for the kid was useless to begin with but he rather got the urge to yell out of the way before he actually faced his nephew. “Goddamnitjesuschrist, EDDIE!”

There on Wayne’s living room floor were two raccoons eating cereal straight out of the box. There was a - gladly - short trail of destruction behind them from where - so Wayne deducted - they had entered through the open window.

But Wayne wasn’t simply finding himself in a situation where his kid left open the kitchen window and accidentally invited some critters in for some Fruit Loops - no no no, not his boy, not his Eddie - because the damn raccoons were wearing goddamned small custom-tailored-denim vests. With small patches.

For a second, Wayne - who always has had an open mind for the supernatural too - stopped before he went to shoo the raccoons out of his house because they did look an awful lot like Eddie and his fellow agent of chaos.

It took him some time to escort the unusual guests out of the trailer and their little puzzled faces when he finally closed the door on them stung him in the chest a little; they were still wearing those silly vests and it wasn’t beneath him to admit that it was a little sweet.

Wayne sidestepped the chaos, closed the window on his way to Eddie’s room and knocked hard enough to make his knuckles sting to be heard over the screeching of guitars. “EDDIE?” he knocked again and the music dipped down to a murmur.

‘You heard that?”

‘Heard what?’

“Heard ya uncle knocking at the door!”

‘Oh, shit… COME IN!’

Wayne braced himself, took a deep breath and�� still wasn’t prepared for the scene he stepped into.

“Hey, old man,” Eddie grinned, sitting on his floor, a sleeping raccoon in his lap, cutting out pieces for another little vest from an already pretty shredded denim jacket.

“Hi, Wayne,” you said, lying on your stomach on Eddie’s bed, not even looking up at him because you were so engrossed in hand painting a small patch that - Wayne had no doubt - would go on that vest once it was finished.

Wayne rubbed his face with both of his palms hard enough to make his teeth dig into his cheeks and groaned.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

“Uhhm,” Eddie started in his isn’t that obvious-voice, “we’re supplying the neighbourhood fauna with bad-ass merchandise?”

“You’re—“

“Made by hand, with black hearts and from recycled locally sourced materials,” you added, looking up at Wayne at last after sharing a conspiratorial grin with Eddie.

Wayne blinked a few times and put his hands on his hips. “And why are you doing— that?”

Eddie and you shrugged in unison before you suggested: “Supply and demand?”

“And it’s pretty adorable,” Eddie added.

“How much demand can there possibly be for raccoon-vests in the first place?”

“So far,” Eddie said and looked at a notepad next to him, “we had three customers!”

“And have a waiting list of five.”

“No!” Wayne said, shaking his head and waving a finger. “You don’t bring any more raccoons into my house! Do you hear me?”

“But—,” you tried to argue.

“No!”

“We still have—“ Eddie started.

“I said: no!”

It was like Wayne was talking to two eleven-year-olds all over again instead of two Seniors who were about to graduate in a few months. He asked himself if this wasn’t another case of derailed economics homework.

“And may we know why you’re shutting down a flourishing business?”

“Eddie, stop the act now. There were two raccoons looting our kitchen when I came in just now and we won’t be able to leave a damn window cracked when you keep pampering those critters!”

“Shit…”

“We didn’t mean to…”

“Sorry, Uncle Wayne…”

“T’ was just a little fun…”

“Yeah, we didn’t mean to…”

Wayne lifted his hands and the murmuring stopped. “I know, I know… you two get carried away like that, just… no more wild animals in the house! Do you two copy?”

“Loud and clear…”

“Affirmative, Wayne, soooo affirmative…”

“Sorry again— did anything break?”

“We’ll replace it—“

Again, Wayne lifted his hands. “You owe me a box of fruit-loops and a mug.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and you buried your face in a pillow.

“They… broke a mug?”

“Nah,” Wayne grinned. “But I have to get something nice out of this mess, don’t I?”

And with that, Wayne started pulling the door close behind him, enjoying the quiet that followed. Then he remembered something and lurked back in, pointing at Eddie’s lap.

“You sure that’s not dead?”

“What?”

“You guys were blasting the whole trailer park when I got home.”

Eddie looked down at the motionless creature in his lap. “Yep, still breathing.”

“A connoisseur of the hard'n'heavy arts,” you giggled and it immediately spread to Eddie.

“Get that fellow out of here. Clean-up and replacing food afterwards.”

“Can’t we finish this last vest?” you pouted.

“No puppy eye’s this time, kid, I’m puttin’ my foot down,” and he slowly closed the door again.

‘Can we move the business to your place?’

‘Sure…. my mom works until nine…’

‘Can’t believe I have to wake Misses Snuggles now…’

Wayne shook his head and went to make some coffee when he met another well-dressed raccoon on the kitchen counter, chewing on some bread.

“Right,” he rolled his eyes, “three customers so far.”

It was an unusual morning to have, Wayne knew that; but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Wayne Munson #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson & Raccoons #Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson #shortfic #my fic

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