#so it may take a bit for your ask to come out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

argreion · 2 days

Note

"Soft/smutty requests" you say, I can only think about comfort sex.

Putting it in short, reader is having a really bad day, or week, or month, too many thoughts about the future. Leon also is at his limit, back from a mission that lasted two weeks, mf got an injure he can barely stand.

Both exhausted with the head full of shit, not even a word is spoken during dinner, not even to ask why this man walks like he has a stick up to his ass. But when it's time to sleep and the lights off, that's when the heart opens. Cuddle and chatting session to catch up, turning into a slow fuck, full of kisses and the love both starved the time he was gone, of course, careful not to make his wound worse.

May not be a proper request, I've never done one, but feel free to expand the concept!

Sun-kissed

“Words are where most change begins.” — Brandon Sanderson

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — P in V/Riding, soft loving sex turned into Leon wanting pussy 'cause I said so. Lots of praise and sappy talk. A tiny bit of degradation. BIG hint towards cunnilingus. Talk of Leon's pain (suicide talk, drinking, possibly overdose talk cause I forgot if I kept it in. Alongside tiny blood and gore talk if it counts.) Stupid cringey argument over a table, because tables have FEELINGS.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 7.4k

𝑵𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆❜𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 — So, uh, hi! UHM, I yapped a lot. I actually really enjoyed this! Uhm, I don't think really counts as comfort sex anymore considering this was an ask from two weeks ago BUTTTTT, I did go a lot into comfort and talking and emotions! Think it balances out! Kind of scared to post this but I know I got my moots love on this! Keeps me going! This MIGHT be shittily written cause lazily edited it so if there are mistakes you didn't see anything.

Please, make Leon wear his back brace and take his medication after he's home (P.S. don’t let Leon know we’ll be going to bingo.) — Ingrid.

Your eyes ran over the pastel yellow note from the bottom of Leon’s pill bottle. Standing in the bathroom with a hand on your hip. Brows furrowed at this peculiar find. That was odd, wondering how the government could sneak notes under pill bottles. First, it was learning who Hunnigan was and then realizing what kind of sneaky woman she could be when needed. Felt good to have her as a friend sometimes, even when it was her being on Leon's case.

That was before Leon arrived back at your front door. His arm pressed against the door frame with the most painful grin ever. Leon's teeth clenched and his breath stunk—doubt he even had mouthwash or toothpaste on hand on a mission. Not to mention the dirtied clothes, reeking of gore, and gunpowder. Your nose wrinkled at the smell and your sinuses hated it.

“You stink.” You stated the observation out loud. Hoping he’d explain, but he didn’t.

“Don’t ask about work.”

Leon brushed past you, stumbling against the wall. The grime on his shirt now taints soft colors on the painted wall. Of course, you helped him—that’s human decency—gently pushing the man to sit on the sofa, squeaking as his weight hit the cushions. Watching the dip on the sofa from his weight.

“Well, Leon," You started, reaching out to help him with his shirt. This had become the norm—the one routine you did every time he came back. Strip, bandage, bath, sleep, followed with food after he woke up. “You don't expect me to be curious when you come home stinking of ass? And you're—"

Your words caught in your throat as Leon helped you remove his shirt. Letting the stained fabric fall onto the floor, revealing many things you didn't wish to see—heaven forbid it came from Leon. Cuts, bruising, and a gunshot wound. Anger filled your body as you stared at the artwork. Is this even art? If so, it's beautifully grotesque.

“Don't ask about work, huh?" You repeated, tilting your head with a raised eyebrow. Won't even talk about work, but he'll make hints about Raccoon City like it's nothing. Nobody even knew what happened to Raccoon City still, but many could guess.

“Don't look like that, you'll get more wrinkles." The man smirked, using his fingers to flick your nose. Laughing at you flinching back and smacking at his arm.

“Dipshit, do you think this is the time for jokes!?” Concern boiled over into rage at his nonchalant attitude. Flicking of a nose, a joke, smirking, did he not value himself? Could a man not value himself but rather his looks? The jokes he makes that rarely hit and often made you cringe at the cheesiness.

Sometimes he didn't, did he? A year ago you remember when Chris pulled you along into a bar in Colorado. Colorado. You remember what Chris said without delving too deep into what was your mind,

“I wouldn't want you here unless it was needed. Please, talk to him."

Sitting there with tired eyes he was. A bottle of ‘Aerial Shot’ in his hand. Worn biker gloves with the stench of sweat and unwashed leather. You'd never seen him look so dead before.

The worst part was meeting his gaze. Awkwardly taking those seemingly quiet steps to sit beside him. What do you say to a man that's dying? Leon should've already been dead at this point. Gunshot wound, infected, surviving things. No wonder he never wanted to watch The Walking Dead. Why'd it take you a year to understand that? Guns and brains set him off, as did drinking too much.

“You're probably wondering why I'm here, huh?" You chuckled, staring down at the table. Blessing Chris and Rebecca for the heart-to-heart—one chance to get through to a stubborn man.

No response came from him. Body language said a lot for him instead. Tense, grip tightening on his shot glass. Impregnated silence… Was he that bad at saying a yes or no?

“This is the part where you say yeah, Leon."

He sighed, leaving you alone at the table. Picking the bottle up alongside himself like it's his baby. Did a bottle ever go ‘guu’?

Your hands laced together as you heard the gentle thumps of his boots slowly fading into the background. Chris wasn't happy, you could hear the steam coming from his ears. Wanting to cause a scene because someone was too much of a depressed loner to talk.

No, he just needs something firmer. Strong. Get the damn fucking bastard out and off of his own arse.

You moved out of the chair to follow after Leon. He always disappeared into the bathroom. Hope was something powerful, something you always had for Leon. Hoping he changed slightly, hoping that he could be changed.

Slamming open the bathroom door to reveal that Leon was splashing his face with the sink while washing the ghost that haunted him. Their screams, tearful eyes, the sounds of people eating each other alive. Then there was you coming to lecture him on the right path—something he knew he didn't need.

Your hand grabbed at his shoulder, halting his frantic washing. Overlooking him like his disappointed mother. Brows furrowed like her, too. Made him crumble into shambles as you reminded him so much. Remind him of an angel from the heaven he heard of. Why must you haunt him so?

“Stop avoiding this, Leon."

"You shouldn't be here at all. Chris is an idiot for even bringing you here." He snapped, shrugging your hand off of his shoulder.

He buried his head in his hands, groaning. Alcohol wasn't saving him from this vacation nor the stare of the woman he loved. Where was God when you needed him? Your angel was mean, father, mean for making him realize things.

“Look," you started, moving his hand away from his face. “I'm here on personal matters too, not just because Chris wanted me here."

Your arms encircled him and your chest pressed against his back. Looked like you were a koala on its mama. All snug and warm, despite the smell of a sweaty old man.

“They need you, Leon—I need you." The whisper fell from your mouth and into his ear. How'd animators draw flowing notes of music? Each word hit his heart, especially the last three.

At Leon's core, he was still like he was when he was twenty-one. Human.

Your hands moved over his, holding them. Protecting him from the mental battle in his head. You knew how much it meant to him to have you here. Regardless if it was after a fight, or when he was drinking.

“I know it's probably hard, ok? Killing things, coming home aching, and getting no break. I can't help you because I'm not exactly qualified for what you do, am I?"

The small sounds of you shuffling caught his attention. A small movement and you came into his peripheral vision. Standing there with a kind smile. Please, go away.

"I also know you probably don't want me here either. It hurts to know you can't avoid certain things. You probably couldn't avoid Chris. Just be glad it's me and not him… He's, well, something else with emotions.” You laughed, looking away from him in the mirror. Staring at yourself in the mirror then at him.

Staring at him made you realize a lot. Pain and resentment emanating from him. With each rise and fall of his chest, you could see it more. Even when he met your gaze at the mirror. You wish he got help.

Sometimes the value of man could be seen through gazes, words, and even their hands. Body language said a lot, and so did their responses. You thanked yourself and Chris for helping him become checks today. Well, mostly Chris. Sometimes, you couldn't help but think he needed something normal in his life.

Someone normal.

Something normal to him became jokes like these. Bleeding on a couch and there he was, flicking noses. Kennedy's charm never failed as you were defeated by his nonchalant attitude at home.

“Wrinkles, huh?" You sighed, kissing his forehead gently. Letting your nose rest in his hairline as you thought of what to do.

Ice…? A doctor's visit, too. Guess we're his little booker and Leon's the celebrity. The stunt celebrity who every day seemingly breaks his ass. What a silly comparison you thought of.

“Let's just make sure you're not dying, Leon. And then maybe we can have pasta. Your mother's recipe.”

“Mom's recipe was always good…” He tilted his head up slightly, using his fingers to gently push your head away. Made you flinch as he stood up, excusing himself towards the bathroom. Hearing him yell out towards you,

“And please, stop trying to eat my hair! It's not for sale, and I doubt it ever will be! Not until I'm old and wrinkly, then you can eat it. Scottie's Special Spaghetti!"

Hair spaghetti wasn't the only thing that began to happen. Pills weren't his savior, as were the copious amounts of bandages used. Took an hour for one cut to stop bleeding, and then another started. Drove you to insanity as you stared at another box.

Shuffles across the wooden floor caught your attention. Forgetting the box to opt to peek out the door. Did Leon really not take a doctor's call to rest? Doctor's word was best, and he was too dense to not listen.

There he was, shuffling towards the bathroom where you were. Resting your hand on the door frame, you watched the suffering begin. Annoyed mutters as he finally makes it to the door, giving a smile. Hand on the wall to balance himself.

“You have a stick up your ass walking like that."

Leon huffed, forehead wrinkling at your blunt statement. Spare him a little mercy, he can't sit down. couldn't sit down ever since Spain. He had to help one way or another, didn't sit with him right—Wouldn’t sit with him. “What do you want me to do? I thought we were supposed to help each other." He argued, his grip on the wall faltering. It'd be like Humpty Dumpty. The eggshell wouldn't crack, his back would. Well, probably a lot more than his back, technically.

"Well, Leon, I know you aren't going to sit your bum down and rest. I'm very tempted to force meds down your throat so you take care of yourself.” Your eyebrows were furrowed, pointing towards the living room. Did you need to be here? Explaining to the poor bastard to just relax? If Chris could come home more often than Leon, he was doing something wrong.

What did you say?

It caught Leon's attention, his hand twitching as he leaned up against the wall. There goes his pinky and there goes his thumb. Leaning down despite the rising pain inside my back. Exploding like pop rocks. A warzone at his lower back.

“Force meds down my throat?" The word rolled off his tongue. Followed by frustration, and that you even had the gall to say that. A bad taste settled in as words died in his throat. Being held back by his rationality. No one wanted the pretty guy to be an ass. He doesn't want to be, but what people say the least… exotic. No, exotic was a nice term to him. Peculiar, very-fuckin'-peculiar.

“Fine… I'll rest. If I hear a damsel or damoiseau in distress, busting my sticked-up ass for them.”

His white flag was accepted as he gave a kiss to your forehead. Dry crusty lips that needed that lip balm he loved. First, it was collecting guns. Then a record from the 1950s exploded into what was the wall of wonder. Wondering what deranged person decided to put records on the wall. Wish he didn't try to keep up with the times. Seeing Pinterest girls with records on their walls. Restaurants in New Orleans—a city of jazz and comfort food—follow the same deal. Now it's lip balm, lips soft and sweet. Something he adored by giving kisses. Sweet strawberry, benevolent blueberry, wonderful watermelon. Seriously, he needed to stop naming lip balms… His lips were already sweet enough without them.

With the parting of lips to a forehead, he bid adieu. Pushing himself back into the living room with the TV a bit too loud for your liking. He's already losing some his hearing, poor guy. Made you smile at him being logical, returning to check on things in the bathroom.

Why were you buying yourself time till dinner? It was a good time to ponder what'd you make. What was near itGive? Was he near his date? What, why'd that come into your head?

To be frank, it was only a day since Leon came home. One day since he got to rest. How long could he keep this up? Were you a good lover for doubting him? Doubting someone you trust felt wrong. It was wrong, wasn't it? Watching a man come home more broken than before. The cracking of the perfect man in some ways. Leon always screamed the guy with the suburban house and wonderful wife.

Cracks weren't good for what he was. Every day, he seemed to grow another falling apart. Leon couldn't have known. He didn't genuinely know anything aside from killing. Didn't know what normal life in some ways felt like. Was his nine-to-five killing? It was like the records he collected. They're dated, like him. Spinning again with a needle to them. Instead, there was a bullet threatening to put a hole through his head.

“Why do I wonder about this theory…” Leon muttered into the air. Fading into the sounds of the TV. Letting out a heavy sigh as he let himself stare into the TV. Drowning out his thoughts.

He just couldn't, though.

Why would you shove drugs into his throat? Was he such an old man to you? 'Here you go, gramps, your medicine.’ Taken daily and gulped down with water.

The very thought of that sent him spiraling. Why was he always babied? He's not an idiot just because he has a perfect face. What was the count of proving people with his skill? Four? Three? Fuck, he lost count. His own lover? Made him pissed off at himself if he couldn't at least prove to you he's perfectly capable of taking care of himself. In his mentation, he slammed his fist on the table. Thoughts like these made him resent his parents for good genetics; he didn't want good genetics, he wanted to be treated decently.

The sound echoed through the apartment, causing you to jump. Almost dropping whatever was in your hand. Shoving it onto the sink as you feared the worst.

What if he fell?

“...Leon?" Your voice was soft, as if scared. Looked around the corner to just see a closed fist on the wood. Observing it raise to reveal a crack in the wood.

"LEON!?”

His neck snapped at the sound of your voice. Watching the frenzied grabbing of a coffee table. Looking at it like it was a baby. People and their grandparents' furniture… Ironic, giving his alcoholism still. The baby he couldn't give up.

“W-why did you do that!?"

A sharp slap against Leon's cheek from you sent him overboard. On instinct twisting your arm. Pain sprouting through it, Indian burns hurt. Hated when kids at school did it too. All for laughs when someone's in pain.

You yanked your arm out of his grasp. Rubbing the irritated skin as you spat incensed words.

“You know how important that table is to me! How am I supposed to show my parents it's cracked? Are you dumb!? Did being shot in the back make you stupid? Or did it miss to hit your brain!?”

Words gushed out without thought. Leon is staring at you like a hurt puppy. You wanted his head blown off? Why would you say that over a table?

“You wanted me to die?" He asked calmly, gripping the couch arm as he sat up. Swinging his legs over the side. “Or did it miss to hit your brain?"

“N-no!? I know I said it but, of course not! I-I just… I don't know!?”

Hands were thrown as you went into a frenzy. Tears wanted to fall out of your eyes as you freaked out over a table. He didn't know the importance of a table because he didn't have his parents.

Those words you said… What the fuck?

“Look, I may not be the most amazing person ever, but wanting me to be shot in the head is where the line is, ok? Why don't you cool off? There's the gas station, and the—”

"Why don't you fucking cool off the gun!? When are you going to stop your little job!?”

You were switching tactics. Want to draw him out so you feel better. Learning that during training wasn't fun, only in his early twenties. “You know what? If you want to play this game, I'll play it too.” He sighed, rubbing his face. How many times has he now? Did it at work with training rookies, with Hunnigan, friends when he rarely went out, and you, too.

“You're wishing I was dead over a table, what's the logic? Look, I know it's important but dead? Dead? I thought you were better than wanting someone dead! Besides, it's only a crack, not a smashed leg." His thumb rubbed over the crack from earlier. A gentle apology to an inanimate object.

Logic against emotions never mixed well. Always end up with one storming out—that one is you. First, it was Leon who waved his white flag a year ago, now it was your turn. Hands raised as you responded to his reason,

“Fine, fine, I'll admit maybe it sometimes. That still doesn't help the fact you cracked the table. The fact we went and got it from my parent's place?” Your hands moved on their own, motioning between the two of you to change your point. You two, a duo, couple, buddies, lovers, WE.

“Who slams their hand on a table in the first place? How is your hand even that strong to do that? Are you doing drugs?”

Drugs? Drugs? Accusatory. Did your eyes fail you? He knew you barely left the house nowadays. He recently found a study on his phone that said eyeballs needed sunlight to grow, and you lacked it. Lacked the past sunshine he knew, bright and sweet. Why'd all relationships end like this? Turning red from anger, exploding like dwarf stars as a relationship's lifetime. Exploding…

You excused yourself, going into the kitchen to prepare dinner anyway. Waving your hands as you excused. Fussy little thing you were. Leon watched you, face full of concern over your emotions and what was said earlier. He knew you didn't mean it, but if you said it, meant you thought it. If you thought it, it meant you doubted. If you doubted then he… He didn't know.

Something felt off during dinner, it could've been Leon going suddenly quiet or the thoughts in your head. The scrapes of metal against porcelain filling thick silence. Thick like mustard gas that choked Leon of his voice and made his tears fall.

“I'll take care of cleaning up, you go get ready for bed. You'll probably shower anyway." You muttered, taking your leave from the table. Collecting plates as you went, lingering on Leon as he paused. Frozen like those Greek statues—perfect even in mental agony.

Still, he didn't want to speak, words not wanting to come out. He didn't need his voice to convey his pain from earlier, the regret he had. Your answer was received through his subconscious responses and body language.

Stealing his plate away from him to bring it back to its home. You started on the obvious: cleaning up after eating. Using the same sponge you had for months alongside dish soap. Didn't understand the ads about how certain dish soaps were unique—it’s just soap.

Soap that cleaned, soap that was washed away. Just like your thoughts circling down that very drain. The fight from hours ago was still reasonably in your mind. Fuzzy as you dried your, hands off. Moving to retreat to your safe space of sorts.

Bedrooms did wonders in many ways. Offered comfort, love, passion, and the chance of reconciliation. You chose right with the sheets, cottony fabric. Was it basic? Perhaps. But it felt right for an ‘American’ home.

Tearing casual wear off for something more flowy. Nobody wanted to be hot when they slept—except the maniac Leon was. Your clothes drop to the floor, leaving you bare to the choices in their closet. Rummaging through it as the man of the day finally made it to the bedroom. Slipping on something comfortable for the night.

Now it was his turn to change his clothes, well, more like stripping from them.

Courteousness could've helped to mend what seemed like the bridge between the two.

“Do you need help?" A question you asked, reaching out towards the male to tug at his shirt. The silent hand between each other's minds. The sorry neither of you wanted to say but had to learn.

Leon thought for a moment, chuckling as he looked up at you, “Sure, if you wouldn't mind?” His smile was soft yet confused, wondering if this was your way of apologizing. Did you think it was an apology? He could've guessed to accept it.

With a drop of a head, you couldn't help but let a smile show through. Huffing at his confused answer. Letting your fingers already help with the stubborn fabric. Pulling it over his head to reveal a canvas full of dark purples and reds. Pretty together and alone, but this canvas was… Unique. Showing the pain one has endured will bring pride. With the main fellow of the show being the fresh gunshot wound on his side.

“Are you staring at my muscles or the bruises?" Leon asked, quirking an eyebrow. Moving to sit on his side of the bed. Working on his pants to reveal Calvin Klein boxers—dark like his soul. (That's what he always said, you ball of depressing sunshine.)

“The bruises that cover the muscles?" You queryed, moving to sit beside him. Hands clutching the edges of the bed as you glanced over at him. Observing his actions as he went on with his night.

“How long are they keeping you from work?" It was a good question to ask. He never said, Leon never wanted to speak about work in his home. It felt forbidden to him like he wasn't keeping you safe from a part of him.

“A week," he simply responded, finally shrugging his pants off. Moved his elbows on his knees as he met your gaze. “Wish it was less sometimes."

“Why less? Wouldn't you want more? It's a break, Leon. Do you not like coming home?"

If he had to mentally delve into his memories, he would've fallen off that building long ago. Floors high with a bioweapon charging for him. He couldn't leave Chris with Rebecca, couldn't leave you alone with guilt and regret. Pretty tears like yours made him feel regret.

Breaks in a sense were bad. He knew the fact he wouldn't escape the government or their work. The work pulled him away from his tear-stained pillow and favorite pair of sweats. Gave him holes in the body and sweet blots of color on his skin. Fuck him and his brain, wanting to save everyone.

“Complicated, real complicated.”

Well, complicated isn't exactly the most honest answer. It just was used as a general term with him. A cover-up.

"If it's about earlier… I was stupid, ok? Who wouldn't be? It's just a table, I know. Just that table means a lot to my family, despite how ridiculous that sounds.” Gesticulating as you talked, Leon couldn't help but notice the clear unease to admit you were wrong—oddly finding it adorable. Resting his chin in his palm as you spoke your truth.

“There's a lot I want to say to you, Leon. Mostly just… Why all this? This job, it's killing you, literally. Your back is worse than a grandma's, you're becoming a dopehead at this point, too. I get antidepressants, but then all these pain medications and others amongst them. I'm not trying to be the person who says drugs don't help problems, but too many hurts you. I'm happy that you're seemingly happy with them, I am.”

Words were bubbling up as you poured emotions out. A waterfall that never ceased and honestly could've made you gag. Those clowns that pull fabrics from their mouths, how? Each fabric you pulled made you want to cry from the emotions. The guilt, pain, resentment, love, all in each pull.

Each fabric you pulled from your mouth to Leon felt like a prodding. Slowly turning into a stab that leaked oil. Catching aflame with certain words and making him recall painful memories. He wasn't a dopehead, he didn't want to be. No one wanted to stare at the six bottles of pills he tried to take daily.

"I want you to take care of yourself, to just take a fucking break.”

Breaks… How many vacation days did he have? Time paid off? Er, he'd have to check. Tapping his finger on his cheek as he tried to recall.

“Could try, but it'll cost you a little somethin'."

Leon leaned close, kissing your temple before resting his head on yours. Chuckling to himself as his hands reacted on their own. Interlacing with yours as he smiled to himself.

“Debt paid, guess I will take a break." This statement made you breathe a mental sigh of relief, even after countless talks of his well-being. “I do actually hear you, though.”

His voice took a serious turn, as thoughtful-sounding as he could be. Reflection on what he could improve on, which was being vocal.

“Soon, I promise. I think I may be getting towards the end of work. Losing the Kennedy spark and all I have is a title.” Leon recalled Helena, or Patrick. The title of being the savior of Ashley Graham. The other being one of the first and best of the D.S.O. "Got a tummy to show for protecting a shitty country as well.” He laughed at his own self-deprecation—the walking circus he was. “Had that talk with Chris during last year, actually. When you were at the bar with him, after you left?”

He glanced over at you with fond eyes, “I talked with him during that. Helped me a lot, you did too." The man paused, stiffly rubbing his neck. "Chris also… Said hi."

Classic Chris, felt like a family friend now. Alongside Leon's unique bunch of friends that he called colleagues, but you knew better. Every aging man needed their little circle of buddies. Made you giggle at Leon's annoyed expression.

“Chris and his hellos… Loves popping his head in when you're home. Do you two even still talk?”

"Rarely,” Leon replied. "He likes to go out for drinks sometimes, quite nice. Sometimes he's one the only guy who gets me.” He gave a forced smile. Earning a gentle punch in the arm. One he brushed off with a push.

“At least you have fun with him, he's a clown once you get past the sternness."

This felt odd. Welcoming. Just a simple conversation with your lover. Backs falling against the bed and limbs tangling themselves as you spoke about life. Two little squids comforted in the presence of their mate. Losing yourselves in a everyday conversation. Pretending that earlier had never happened.

As the two became comfortable, so did your words. Reaching out to stroke his cheek. Over the faint line on it from years ago he said. Doubt he'd ever tell you it was from a old mentor. Thumb slowly moving down to his lips, a kiss being put on the pad.

“I'm still sorry for earlier, ok?" You whispered. Guilt had set in earlier at your emotional outburst. Telling him to die but you meant it in a caring way. Putting a hurt animal to rest with a bullet. If it was him, you'd give him that mercy. Let him finally rest as blood oozed from his corpse.

“You’re getting too old for this job. It's too physically straining on you. Drugs won't save you everytime and the hospital isn't either. How many names and faces do you know from there, huh?”

"Probably around fifteen, maybe twenty. Same doctor but different nurses.”

"See?” Your argument was valid in your mind. If he could remember faces, he'd visited it too much. It hurt you as much as it hurt him to dislocate a shoulder or get a bullet in the back.

"I love you Leon Kennedy, I really do.” A whisper you meant, feeling solemn. Leaning over to capture his lips against yours. Fondness and desire in one simple action. Feeling his hand curling up on the back of your scalp. Leon's eyes fluttering shut as he allowed it.

Your lips left his, breathless as you stared down at him. Watching him smile and the slight crinkle on the corner of his eyes.

“Love you more.”

"More, huh?” You jested, pressing your noses together with a giggle. Gently kissing him again as your hips straddled him. Keeping him pinned at the waist down. Hands moving to the hem of his shirt to pull it off.

“Can I…?”

“Can you…” Leon trailed off, looking at you expectantly. Before letting himself take off his shirt. Revealing little wisps of chest hair and a gunshot wound on his shoulder that's faded from time. Now just a light patch of skin with a ring in the center. It's younger cousin on his side, bright red and certainly angry.

With such gentle touches, Leon smiled—such care and caution. Made him aroused at the love. Made the back of his mind also angry he was getting aroused at something so simple. Trying to make him say something or pry you off with the excuse of pain, but no.

Your eyes wandered the pretty little canvas of bruises and scars his chest was. Even with the new gunshot wound. At least it was beginning to heal. You'd be gagging if you saw it before he left the hospital. Bleeding and the inside of human muscle and flesh.

“I don't know what to say right now," you mumbled, giggling at his stare at the awkward silence pervading the room.

The awkward silence felt right, comforting as you stare at each other. Payback for whenever Leon watched you.

“A little friend does." He whispered, watching your face burn at what he meant from friend. His hands grasped your hips, pulling your pelvis in to rub against his bulge. Situating it perfectly to where he could grind against your pussy. Seeing him so entranced watching his bulge rub against your underwear. Breath caught in his throat as he loved it.

“Gentle, Leon,” you remind, shifting your leg to not brush against his wound. A little uncomfortable with the way your muscles felt but if it made him not hiss in pain, worth it. “You don't like thinking about these things, huh?"

“You don't get to think about many things in my line of work. I only think about getting ready to be back in your arms—where I belong."

Sweetheart he was with those words, made you all giddy and embarrassed. Waving your hand like those shit Lifetime movies towards the Jock with a pea-sized brain. All this grinding and loving talk made you mush. Should’ve been a housewife at this point if you fell for such suave.

“You jest too much,” you scoff, rolling your shoulders back as you prepared for a smooth ride. Grinding sexes against each other while seducing the other with half-lidded yearning eyes. Running your hands up his chest to his throat. Wrapping your hands around the muscle to give a gentle squeeze, earning a soft moan.

“Babygirl, you know what a little squeeze does to a guy like me.” Leon purred, his words becoming husky. Rubbing his hands up and down your thighs and hips. Resting his head back on his pillow. “Pull those panties aside, gotta see my babygirl’s little pussy.”

Giggles erupted from your lips as you shuffled back a little. Instead of embarrassment, arousal was coursing through you. Simple acts could set someone aflame so fast. Dirty talk was one of them if paired with the right voice and man.

Instead of pulling it aside, you pulled them off. Albeit a bit awkwardly due to your pose, but still could be done. Dangling it in front of his face for the alluring factor before throwing them at the wall.

With your underwear out of the way, Leon got a good show of your cunt. Looking at the slick that made him groan involuntarily. Imagining the scene that would play out alongside you. Being lost in his world made his body react for him, making him grind into the warmth you brought. Rocking you back and forth against him.

“There she is! Good girl, baby, just like that.” He rasped, glancing up at you. Noticing you were entranced as well, the way he handled himself.

Leon chuckled, reaching out with his free hand to grab your chin. Snapping you out of the trance as you meet his gaze. So mesmerized by a simple movement. “Eyes on me, Miele. You're doing so good for me.”

His hand left your chin to return back to it's resting place; your hip. Guiding you to grind against his bulge.

“You're unfair if I have to be bare and you get to keep your boxers on." You huffed, impatiently yanking his boxers down. Watching it hit his abdomen with a small slap against his skin. Leaking precum onto the skin, made you let a appreciative hum. “Better, I don't wanna be lonely." You chuckled, mimicking an earlier Kennedy wink.

Why were you two chuckling or laughing so much? You felt like the two of you were having your virginities taken. The awkward sex, shuffling of sheets, and being embarrassed. To be honest, it had been a while considering Leon left home so often. Leaving you without any genuine love-making.

“How about you lie on me? It'll be easier, promise.” Leon motioned with his hands towards his chest. Free and open like the two of you. Sweet smile on his face that revealed those dimples you loved.

Taking the offer, you moved to lay on him. Ear pressed to his chest as was his cock against your opening. Your arms wrapped around his chest as you sunk down. Letting out a soft moan at the insertion.

He rubbed your back, comforting you as you grew accustomed to him again. Murmuring soft words of praise,

“Good girl, just like that.”

His fingers went up and down your back. Languidly thrusting his cock up into you. “Missed this, missed you," he moans, bucking his hips up into you on accident. Squeezing him like a vice as his cock head pressed up into that sweet spot. “Missed that face you make when taking my fat cock."

“Missed you too," your hands go to stroke his chest. Propping your head up on his chest with your chin. Face in a faux pout as you blink slowly. Letting out a small gasp every few thrusts. “We haven't done this in a while, Leon."

“Yeah, we really haven't." Leon sighed, letting his head rest back against his pillow. “Look, I'm still sorry for not being here for you."

He looked back at you, eyes somber as he added more, “It's hard. I know you want to know but I can't tell you. I'm afraid of what'll happen if I tell you. The government is terrifying powerful. I don't want you to die because of me."

It was obvious the government was terrifying, seeing how it reacted to certain things. Police brutality, shitty presidents, probably running some bioweapon deal underneath it. Power hungry just like everyone else. Those who denied being power-hungry were always the ones who were most. They just knew when to not say they were—they were smart.

“I could see that, Leon. I know what you do, ok? Bioweapons? Fight them? You and the government aren't exactly ‘low-key’. I'm sure a lot of the public knows.” You answered, feeling odd while talking about the government with Leon during sex. Such a turn-on.

Of course you'd know, even if he didn't want to go into details—mostly because it invalidates his contract and have himself and you be shot; he knew you weren't dumb. Worst part it was during something so vulnerable.

"Yeah, that's the bad part." He muttered, letting his hands grab your cheek. Giving it a small pinch as he gave a smile. “You look so pretty when you're taking my dick.”

“Turn off?" In truth, it only did a little. Knowing it would've gotten you a harsh thrust into your core. “I love you, but geez… You are something else with certain words.”

"Ah, losing my charm now, hm?” Leon thought to himself, pursing his lips as his eyes seemingly ran after some cleverly thought up phrase that made girls wet. "Ah, I think I got one.”

He drew closer, tipping his head forward so your noses touched. Knowing the smile on his face as he purred out sultry words, “Been thinking about this all day, especially when you made dinner. Wanted to take you over the dishwasher and fuck that tight little pussy into being mine.” His hands grabbed at your hips, moving you up and down on his cock faster. Fucking you with a purpose. The feeling made your eyes flutter, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning.

“Leon…” You moaned out, hearing the slap of skin behind you. "Y-you're ‘pposed to be gentle!"

A loud whine came from your throat, followed by a smack to your ass. Your shoulders jumping at the sudden harsh smack. Fingers digging into Leon's chest as he fucked you himself.

“Mmmm, I know, baby," he groaned, “But this pussy’s too perfect for me to not fuck.”

Leon laughed, eyes crinkled. All the while his dick kept curling up your walls to hit you again and again in that sweet, gooey spot. Making you leak down his cock to his balls.

Noticing his effect, he adjusted his hand to where he could rub lazy circles into your clit. Making your thigh quiver at too much stimulation. Hips tried to avoid his stubborn hand as he grew relentless in the stimulation.

You leaned forward to kiss him, before pushing his bangs back. Shutting yourself up so you wouldn't get a noise complaint from your next-door neighbors. They didn't need to hear more of Leon fucking you right. Felt amazing to finally be able to feel him again. His hands on your hips, dick curling up inside of you, lips against yours. Made a girl almost cry at the luck.

“Stop being so tight, gonna choke my dick out of oxygen and blood." Leon chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He ran his hands up and down your back, moving to your neck. Pressing your foreheads together so he could gaze at you.

“I love you…” Leon murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss you eagerly accepted. Hands curled up into his hair and pulled it. Pulling away from the kiss to pull his head back. Delivering kisses from his jaw to his throat. Nipping at the skin that made him moan. Making him roll his hips up into you quicker. How'd that angel a year ago become such a succubus in his arms?

"Love you too.” You responded, burying your head in his neck as you began to moan. Biting down on the skin that'll leave a bruise.

With such love came passion, each thrust carrying it. Each touch of Leon's fingers on your skin lighting it afire. The nails scratched the vulnerable flesh as he started huffing. Reaching its peak, as does every man that ages.

“I got you, don't worry." His hands tightened around you. Pulling you tight against his chest as he rushed to climax. Balls slapping against your pussy and hearing the vibrations of his voice in his throat. Rumbling with each thrust. Almost seemed pathetic with how he was acting.

“That's it baby, you're doing so good f'me. Taking me so well. Just let go, squeeze my cock. Wanna feel you gush around me.”

Oh, sweet fuck those words sent you over the edge. Drenching his cock with more slick. Whining at the overstimulation with his quick thrusts. Crying as he pulls you from his neck to give you a sloppy kiss. Muffling his last groan he released himself inside of you. Hips slowly came to a halt as he panted.

“That’s my girl" Leon whispered, giving one last sweet kiss before resting his head back against his pillow. Letting his arms fall from your body to rest beside him.

Taking it as a sign to get off of him, you scooted off. Almost pulling him out of you before he stopped you with his hand being lazily raised.

“Wanna stay in my pussy a little bit longer. Too lazy to pull out.”

You groaned, brows furrowed but relenting as you pulled him into his side into a spooning position. Moving to where your back pressed against his. Arm wrapped around your waist and stubble rubbing against your neck. Leon already rubbing himself into the crook of your neck. Resting his forehead in the crook with an appreciative hum.

“Such a good girl you were." Leon praised, kissing your shoulder. Giving both your shoulder and neck small ‘good job’ kisses. “Kinda hurting, though…” He mumbled, groaning as he pushed his weight into your back.

“I did say while getting my brains fucked out you're supposed to be gentle. La mia brava ragazza.” Your hands squeezed his forearms. Sighing as you came down from your high. Tired from the dick in you and dreading having to wake up with dried cum on your thighs.

“I’ll get out in a few minutes, need to shower anyway.” Leon chuckled warmly, finally catching his breath. His hands come to hold your chest, giving a small squeeze. Not sexual in any way, just something comforting he did.

“Count me in…”

“When I wanted to come shower with you, I didn’t say eat me the hell out, Leon.” You hissed, swatting him with a towel as you stumbled out of the shower. Second orgasm within the hour and you're shaking like a little lamb. Already watching Leon drying his hair off with a shake and towel. Glancing over at you with a cheeky smile. You paused, before shrugging, ok, maybe it was good. Too good with his stubble rubbing up against you. Sucking on your clit like a lollipop.

“You expect a man like me not to take this opportunity?” He asked incredulously, a hand on his chest as he raised an eyebrow towards you. Almost as if offended you didn’t know who he was despite being his lover. “You hurt me, amore mio.”

As expected, he couldn’t help but jest at you. Watching you shake your head and pinch the brow of your nose. Offering a temple kiss in kind of his attempt to make you smile. “I’ll stop for tonight, don’t worry.”

“You should.” To keep yourself from losing another brain cell at your smitten lover, you dried off. Leaving him to his own devices while you dried your hair and body.

Leon smiled, before noticing the pill bottle on the bathroom sink. Taking it as his medication for the week is another opportunity for conversation. “So, this is what they gave me?”

He held the bottle in his hands, giving it a small shake with an estimate of how many pills were in it. Before moving to read the label and daily amount. Reading the daily amount, he hummed, before noticing the sticky note.

“You’re going to bingo without me?” It shattered his heart as he said it out loud, glancing over at you. Watching your eyes widen at the word ‘bingo’. Bingo? What’d he know about bingo? He only knew where everyone went for bingo.

“Bingo? What about bingo?” You asked, confused as you looked up to see the pill bottle in his hand.

“Oh…”

Someone’s getting an angry phone call later.

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 — @rigorwhoring, @xoxostarlet, @leqonsluv3r

If you wanna be apart of my taglist just send a DM or ask! I don't mind! Tomorrow I'll be dropping two bots! Then you will see me a week or so later! Love you guys! <3

#leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔

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alien-magnolia · 3 days

Text

I Need Someone Older

Fic description: Dean finds you on a hunt and takes you along to get you safely out of danger, fun ensues :) as the two of you feel an inevitable pull of attraction towards each other.

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tw: AGE GAP! Hyper-feminine reader in early 20’s, Dean in late 40’s, daddy issues <3, dom-coded dean, sub-coded reader, bj, breeding kink!, extremely subby-coded reader, helplessness, praise!!!

Word count: 3.1k

Don’t like, don’t read!!

May 5, 2007

7:40 pm

Your white knee high socks were getting a little dusty from the dirt on the woodsy soil. You came out here to write your poetry, desiring a place for peaceful solitude, and perhaps some creative inspiration. You dusted off your skirt as you sat down on the moist bed of grass. The waning moon was a bit yellow tonight, yet you thought nothing off it. You began to write a few words in your floral notebook, with some neat handwriting and a gel pen.

All of a sudden, you hear a wail in the distance. The wind is cold. A few leaves rustle out a few feet away from you, causing you to stare into the dark pathway on your left, in which many trees loitered. You felt as if you were being watched. You continue with your writing, until again you hear a rustle, this time, a bit closer than before. A chill goes down your spine, and you slowly turn to see a pair of yellow eyes, a figure with long, sharp, claws, and a tall, curved, spiny, skinny, body, with a tail. It snarls, coming closer to you. You drop your notebook, and crawl backwards, the dirt making indents on your palms. You hear a few male voices, and see boots running to attack the creature.

You see a flame, the creature is light ablaze, and you pass out from fear. The last thing you remember is strong arms lifting you up, the smell of beer and cherry pie clouds your nostrils.

You wake up in the wood again, this time, the brighr and warm morning light shines down on your skin, littered with cuts and bruises. You seemed to have lost your favorite lipgloss in the process.

“Where am I? My head…,” you whine, seeing a handsome man next to you, bandaging your cuts and cleaning them. That cheered you up a bit. You wince as his calloused hands rub alcohol on your wound, and you meet his eyes. He had green eyes, dark hair, wore a flannel and jeans and had the most amazing body <3 he looked just, so big, compared to you!

You ask him his name and what happened. “The name’s Dean, sweetheart. My brother and I were in these woods looking for a wendigo. We sure as hell did find one.” You nod, still reeling from the attack last night. “Did that… person, thing, do that to me?,” you ask, eyes wide, a bit nervous. “It’s no person, honey,” he chuckles darkly. “Hate to break it to you, but monsters are real. The whole gang. Vampires, werewolves, spirits, demons, all other things that go bump in the night. All are real.” You sit in shock as he continues to fix your wounds. You notice how good his calloused (gunpowder covered) fingers feel on your calves. You wince as he brushes over a wound, jerking your leg back.

“Too rough?,” he asks, a large hand resting on your thigh. You nod. “S’alright. I’ll be more gentle, yeah?,” he asks, and you nod, feeling satisfied as the older man returns your smile.

“Hey. Might’ve caught trail of another wendigo up ahead. We should get going,” another man dressed in similar fashion walks up ahead, talking to Dean, taking a glance at you. “What's the hold up, Dean?,” he asks.

“Shut it, Sammy. Can’t you see I’m doing something here? Found her at the site where the thing was. Had to fix her up.” Sam nods, as Dean tells him your name. The two then agree to further go hunt for the second wendigo. “What about her? We’re deep in the woods now, sure as hell she ain’t going to go back on her own, Sammy.” “Fine. Take her with you, as long as she doesn’t cause a problem.”

So it was. You were now going to hunt for the wendigo with the Winchester brothers. The dirt and thick jagged branches sometimes were too much for your legs to handle, so you held onto Dean for some of the walk. He didnt seem to mind, and only smirked as you accidentally leaned too much into him, your soft chest grazing his wide and big arms.

“Stay here, stay put. Don’t go anywhere,” Dean commands you, and you do as said, wait as the boys go into the dark cave. An hour later — there was fire, shrieking, and the boys come out unscathed. The last wendigo has been killed, and the three of you make your way back to “baby,” which you later learned was Dean’s nickname for his ‘67 Impala.

Dean drove with Sam in the front, you in the back seat. You dozed in and out of consciousness as the engine lulled you toward the heavy tug of sleep, you overheard the two men speaking about you.

“Well, Dean she has no ID on her so it’s better off that we take her to the local sheriff’s station. We know Jody, she might be able to help,” Sam inquired. “Yeah, well Sammy, you know what, Jody’s probably just going to tell her to go back to the woods or some shit. Maybe she’s far from home. Maybe she was hiding. Who the hell knows? Bet she’d tell us first before talking to law enforcement,” Dean countered.

“Why is it always you and women, Dean? She’s so young too. Maybe a little too young for you?”

“Shut it, Sammy. Respect her. She probably has her reasons. She’s real pretty and I’ll get what I want, eventually,” Dean retorted. Sam sighed.

You drifted back into sleep but squeezed your thighs together at the thought of the older man using you and getting what “he wants.”

You were more than happy to give it to him.

You were in a dingy 1970’s era hotel room, with dark brown shag carpet, rickety beds with neon orange polyester sheets, and a single lamp in the corner, flickering on occasion. No tv, but a rotary phone and radio. Sam was on a chunky laptop that whined and whistled due to all the power his research into Wendigos was taking up. You believed he was on a library forum of some sort. You sat on the bed, dwindling with the phone cord. The low buzz of the fan was heard from the corner.

Dean comes up to you. “Heya, kid. I’m gonna go get some grub. Wanna come with?,” he asks, offering you a hand to help you up from the bed. You nod, smiling, and taking his hand. Dean opted to go to a local bar to get some takeout. He ordered a large burger, large pilsner beer, and a cherry pie. You got some chicken and French fries, sharing some pie with him. You tell him that you were in the woods to write poetry, you got lost and then time seemed to go. Your cell was dead too. He told you about his ‘job’ with his brother Sam, choosing to follow his dad John Winchester’s legacy of hunting down things that go bump in the night. He made you laugh, asking you about your writing, your college education, a life that someone like him never had.

“We’re so different, you and I, know that? Seriously. I mean, college? In my dreams. Wondering what that’s like,” he said to you, while taking a sip of his beer.

“What can I say. I want a decent life for myself, sometimes. I have a pull towards the arts. Literature, actually. Sometimes though, I just want to be on my own. Without the pressures of society, on the road, like you two. Bet you don’t have any deadlines to meet,” you jokingly admit to Dean.

He chuckles, but then nods, a more serious expression growing on his face now, taking another sip of his beer. “Life sucks, kid. Sucks for me and Sammy, we’re out on the road, might die the next day. Never know what the fuck’s chasing after us,” he has a bit of a solemn expression, taking another sip of his beer.

You nodded, understanding him, seeing through the “tough guy” facade that he’s put up. He was scared. He needed someone to comfort him, to support him. His brother was his partner, yet that wasn’t the partner he was looking for.

You reach over to put your dainty hand on his large one. “Thanks for dinner, really. We should save some for Sam, though, I think,” you giggle, watching a grown man blush over your gentle touch. “Yeah, sure thing sweetheart. Anytime…,” he trails off, his blush seemed to get stronger and he was avoiding eye contact a bit.

“You okay?,” you ask, meeting his eyes, feeling something start to heat up between the two of you, the air suddenly was heavy. “You’re just, well, pretty, kid. Seriously. Real fuckin’ nice, sweets,” he chuckles, his large fingers coming to intertwine with yours. You almost faint under the pressure of his hand on yours, your eyes drift to his muscular and wide frame, his tattered Jean jacket, his necklace on a black piece of string, his chiseled jawline. As funny as he was, you knew that you had an undeniable attraction towards him.

He saved you from the wendigo, but you let him. You let him take you back to the motel with Sam. You let him have you stay with them. Now. You’d let him have your body. All of it.

“Maybe we can go into those woods again? I can show you some poems?,” you reel, watching the older man’s eyes light up with a burning flame. “Sure, thing, kid. I’ll take you up there in ‘baby.’

With a few stares and leers from the other inhabitants of the shady bar, Dean leads you by the waist out the door, and into his impala, opening the door for you, of course.

“Ladies first,” he bows down a bit as he holds the shabby car door open for you. You take his helping hand and slide into the shotgun (front) seat. He quickly runs over to the driver’s side, a toothpick in his mouth as he climbs in, adjusting the jagged rearview mirror. You struggled to buckle up in the old model of a car, so Dean helped out, buckling it for you. You liked the many things he seemed to do for you. His care. His help.

He pulls out of the diner driveway, one of his ringed hands on the wheel, another tracing gentle patterns all over your thigh. You adjust your socks as his patterns make you heat up — inside and out. “I know a place. You down? If not I’m fine with it, sweet thing. No pressure, s’all,” his voice is soft, gentle, as if speaking to a child. You blush. “It’s alright, Dean. I’ll show you my poems. I’ll show you something else too, I think you’ll like it,” you cover your smile as you let out a few small giggles. He smirks back at you.

“Oh I’ll like it, alright. God damn,” he stifles, his strong, calloused fingers gripping a bit harder on your soft thigh. The rest of the drive was tense, just how you liked it. Soft rock — ‘Blue Oyster Cult’s’ “Don’t Fear The Reaper” played in the background, and it would usually lull you to sleep. Not tonight. Your heart raced, stealing glances at the man next to you. The man about to take your virginity, what concept you or society made of it. You hoped he didn’t mind.

The impala pulled into a motel parking lot: the same one where you left from. “Dean. Your brother..won’t he..?, you ask, and he quickly interrupts. “Well just be in a different room, is all. Sammy wouldn’t care anyway, as much as I’d like him to. He takes your hand again, leading you to Room 22, on the second floor. Your fingers trace the grimy balcony railing as you head up there.

The door shuts. You smile at him, then look down at your feet. “Can I, um. Kiss you, Dean?,” you ask, shy and sweet, a delicious pie on the shelf, a cherry blossom that smells and tastes so sweet, intoxicating the older man closer and closer to you. “F’course. You’ve never done this before, have you?” You nod. “Let me take the lead, yeah, sweet thing. I’ll be gentle. Scout’s honor,” he smiles, holding up two fingers. You nod, wrapping your small arms around his broad chest. Your soft chest pressed against his, you feel the cool metal of his pentagram necklace press against your warm, beating heart.

His large arms trail down to squeeze your waist a bit, and then rub circles down below, your waist and hips. He gave them a tight squeeze, you gasped at his strength. His fingers continued ministrations on your waist, hips, thighs, and the two of your lips danced in a slow and sensual rhythm. You could taste the beer and cherry pie on him, and you ran your fingers through his coarse hair.

His thumb rubs your cheek a bit, and he picks you up in his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you over to the bed, gently laying you down under him. His face above you, his brown eyes in awe taking in your sweet skin, putting him in a trance. His calloused hands run down your arms, your belly, gentle, soft, and slow. He grabs your chin, pulling your face towards his, and meets you for a chaste kiss, slow, you felt the stubble on his cheek and smiled into his lips.

His hand runs through your hair, over your cheek, this thumb caressing your face a bit. You keep the kiss going, you feel him getting rougher, hungrier for you. Your hands touch his broad chest, trailing on the hem of his shirt, which you take off. His chest was bare, just with a tiny bit of hair, and a very prominent happy trail <3 of which you run your fingers through.

His hands lead your hips up against the wall, tracing patterns on your back. Your lips are hungry for each others, you push your chest into his. “Fuck, sweet thing. Gonna drive me up the wall here, Jesus,” his voice now an octave deeper, raspier, breathless. His cherry pink swollen lips meet yours again, you feel his aftershave on your face. Your thighs rub against his growing bulge, positioning your legs so his thickening tent on his jeans was pressed up snug, right into your growing wetness in between your legs.

“Dean…want it,” you moan out, your delicate, manicured fingers tracing the toughness of his stubble. “Want what, huh? Gotta ask nicely, don’t keep me guessing, honey,” he smirks, a condescending expression appearing on his handsome face.

“I-uh, your, uh, oh, fuck,” you breathlessly whimper out, as his rough, calloused fingers gently slide down between your legs, rubbing your soft, warm folds, through your pretty and pink lace.

“Let me see what you got down there, hmm?,” he smirks, knowing that he has you completely wrapped around his finger. You nod, his hand cups your cheek for another kiss. He slides off your skirt, your knee highs, your Lacey top. You work on his jeans, until he stops you, with a look — meaning that he can take care of it.

All clothes gone — your legs intertwine, he presses his leaking bulge into your folds, you could practically feel how you clenched around nothing!!

“Dean…,” you beg again. “What’s wrong, huh? What’re you beggin’ for, seeet thing. Gotta give me words,” he says, all the while his thick fingers continue to work you open — get you ready for him.

A soft smile is on his face as his fingers become ever so gentle, continuing a circular pattern, pausing to tightly cup and squeeze your pulsing mound.

“Want. Want your, ha — your cock, Dean. Please. Please!,” you squeal out, just as he cups and massages your mound once more. “Why didn’t you say so, at first, sweet thing? Here I was thinkin’ you only wanted my fingers,” he chuckles, smile full of adoration — seeing you in a close to ruined state. His fingers pull out with a squelch.

You whine at the loss, your cunt throbbing, pulsing, desperate to be filled!! He smiles, hands on your hips. “Bend over f’me, baby.” You do as said, his smile and yours widen as his two hands cup your ass, giving it a hard smack.

His hands trace up and down your back, your waist, until you feel his soft tip press at your entrance. You turn around to view what you’ve been waiting for. He’s big. Short, yet thick. Oh so thick. You weren’t sure if he’d fit. A large vein ran down his left side. Fuck — how you wanted that in your mouth.

His hand gently guides your face back down into the table which you were bent over. “Down, baby. You’ll get a chance later, yeah?,” he soothes you. You nod. You feel his throbbing tip at your mound, as he slides in — you feel the stretch, just for a bit, and then he starts to push in, you felt so full !!

“Fuck— ah, Dean, too much, too much,” you squeal out, as he slides in, and starts to move, thrust, slow, gentle at first, and then deep, fast, his thick balls slapping against your mound. You saw stars, felt pressure as he kept going, faster, rutting into you, his hairy chest pressing into your back. The man had put you in a mating press. You wouldn’t mind. With how it’s going with him — you’d take his seed. Anything for the man that saved you from the Wendigo.

Your eyes roll back into your head, his grip on your hips was like a vice. The two of you finish with screams. He groans. “Fuck, sweet thing. You take it like a champ, yeah?” You nod giddily, anything for his praise and approval. “How’s about we stay in this room tonight? I’ll getchu’ a beer.” You nod. “That’s my good girl. Stay put.” With that, your mound is even more wet, you’re left clenching, covered in his cum as he leaves to get you snacks.

He comes back, presses a nice kiss to your forehead, and makes the two of you some dinner. You wondered what this will lead to.

Author’s note: pls support your creators <3 if you love this fic pls comment or reblog! Greatly appreciated <3 xoxo - Liz

#liz’s masterlist #liz writes 🖤#supernatural smut #Dean Winchester smut #dean x reader #dean winchester hot #winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader #dom!dean winchester #hyperfeminine!reader

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xoxoavenger · 1 day

Text

Coward

pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Reader

summary: Luke goes out of his way to prove to Annabeth he's not a coward (requested by messages for my birthday celebration but I changed the request a lil bit)

word count: 595

warnings: sooo much fluff

birthday celebration (even tho my birthday was a couple days ago) main masterlist

Luke's pretty sure there's something wrong with him.

"There's something wrong with you." Annabeth says as she stands next to him. He flinches with the bow in his arms, the arrow hitting the hay next to the target. He puts it down and turns to her, frowning.

"Please, bestow upon me your wisdom." He snarks, even though he had just been thinking the same thing. He knows that Annabeth knows he's lying, but he would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit his problem.

"Really, Luke?" She has her arms crossed, and the two stare each other down in silence as everyone begins to leave. Neither speaks until everyone has begun the trek to the pavilion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Luke lies, copying her stance.

"Come on!" Annabeth cries, outraged at her brother's stubbornness. "She likes you back, so why are you being such a coward?" They begin to walk to the pavilion for dinner at a slow pace so they can talk.

"Oh my gods." Luke rolls his eyes, annoyed now that he's being called a coward. "We don't know that she likes me, first of all, and even if we did know that she liked me, we don't know if she wants a relationship."

"Luke," Annabeth groans, resisting the urge to run a hand down her face.

"Annabeth, I don't want to talk about this." Luke is starting to get peeved as well, and this conversation is clearly getting nowhere.

"Because you're a coward." Annabeth teases, and Luke thinks he may explode.

"I am not a coward." He seethes as they come up to the pavilion. Annabeth just won't let it go, however.

"Really? Because refusing to ask out a girl that clearly likes you seems pretty cowardly to me." Annabeth knows what she's doing, but Luke is too angry to see through her plan.

"Fine!" Luke explodes, turning to her. "You think I'm a coward? Would a coward do this?" He stomps toward Y/N's table, where her back is to him. He's a little amped up, his heart racing, so he feels smooth as he leans on the table in between her and her sibling.

"Luke?" She mutters, shocked that he was suddenly right next to her. Their faces were right next each other, and her heart was racing with the proximity.

"Y/N," He smiles, and she melts just a little bit. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to the beach with me after dinner?" In the moment were they're just staring at each other he starts to lose his nerve. Maybe he is cowardly.

"I'd love to." She answers quietly, feeling her cheeks heat up. He nods, winks, then leaves, listening to her siblings start to gush over the interaction.

"Think I solved your problem." Annabeth is smirking smugly as he walks past her, and he pauses as he realizes that her plan all along had been to push him hard enough to finally ask Y/N out.

"You conniving little-"

"You asked her out, didn't you?" She still looks just so happy, and if Luke wasn't also happy from his upcoming date he would probably tell her to meet him at the sparring mats.

"Told you I'm not a coward." He says, getting in line for food.

"Yeah, you really showed me." Annabeth can't herself, and Luke just takes a deep breath, because he loves his sister. "Except really, I'm the one who showed you."

Luke may have to throw Annabeth into the ocean before he goes on his date. Just to prove he's not a coward.

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @one-sweet-gubler

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader fluff #luke castellan fluff

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n04hfiction · 3 days

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Girl Dad Huskerdust HCs

Content/Warnings (If applicable) : fem!implied reader, profanity, daughter!reader goes to the age ranges of a young toddler to a teenager, brief mentions of alcohol + profanity

Proofread? : ✅

A/n : I think it’s a serious problem that I have parental HCs for nearly every Hellaverse character. I need to be stopped. (Or don’t, I don’t care)

Honestly, depending on your age, the “stricter” father definitely flip-flops here and there

For instance, when you are a young child, Angel is the “stricter” father, even if you don’t have the concept to understand what that entirely means, he’s the one who baby-proofs every thing while Husk kinda lets you run wild

But as you grow and get into your teen years, Angel becomes a lot more laid back, while Husk tends to be more picky about what he allows you to do

Mainly because Husk never imagined himself as a father, so in the beginning, he is sorta unsure, so for him, anything goes, but as you start to age he gets a grip and with that, comes strictness

When you are a younger child, Angel is 100% dressing you until you decide to do that on your own (part of him hopes you’ll let him dress you forever). He’s very protective of you when you’re a toddler/younger child, Hell isn’t always a safe place, everything even slightly unsafe or tempting is gated or baby-proofed

As you age, like I said, Ange is much more lenient. He’s ready to watch you rock the world! Wanna go out to a party? For sure! Be home by 2, go nuts! Have a crush? Great! Your old man will help ya out! Wanna get drunk as fuck? Fine, just do it in the house!

Honestly, Husk is a bit of a confusing father, to say the least. He’s lowkey freaked out by the idea of toddlers and younger children, so when you’re in your first few years he lets Angel take the lead, he kinda watched and observes his behaviors.

Which leads Husk to being more cautious of a parent as an adult (Learned from his hubby, that’s for sure). Even though him and Angel are far from over, he’s still very cautious about the idea of love, so he’s very sketchy about your relationships with boys (or girls! He doesn’t judge!)

When events like your first day of school, first boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, first heartbreak, homecoming, prom, etc - You may think Angel is the one to get emotional, but it’s actually Husk - Angel is just as excited as you are, getting you dolled up and whipping out his camera to take pictures, but deep down, Husk is honestly sad that his baby girl is growing up - Especially cause he was too tense in the beginning to really enjoy your younger years

Seriously though, Husk is happy you’re a bit older, he feels like he’s able to have more of a connection with you. He likes it when you come to the bar and just sit there and talk, even if you’re only drinking a juice box.

Husk still doesn’t know how to talk with a teenager all that well, but he’ll ask you how school is, and how you’re friends are, he wants to show that he takes a genuine interest in the other aspects of your life.

Angel on the other hand is very eager to walk with you through your teenage years, he’s the dad that all of your friends think is cool as fuck, but you think he’s crazy embarrassing. He’s the kind of dad to also be friends with your friends. He’ll come in your room during sleepovers and do your friends makeup, skincare, nails, ect

Despite the fact that Angel does pretty much let you run wild once you get older, he’s very strict on safety, in every aspect. - He doesn’t want you to get fucked over like he did, and he doesn’t want that to destroy you, he really does try his best to guide you on a different path, any path that isn’t the one he fell down

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wcbblife · 21 hours

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Paige as a girl/boy mom HCs! (pt 2)

a/n: hope you enjoy bc this has taken over my mind completely.

Boy mom:

If he ever goes into basketball, she'll coach his little league team and the resemblance between them is uncanny. They're both competitive and when he makes a shot, she'll do those small celebrations (y'know what I mean. Like those she does in games when she's at the bench).

She's a sucker for his toothy grin. Especially if he has some missing teeth when he's a toddler. I think they would remind her of her brother when he was little so much.

In the mornings she has to wake up at the crack of dawn for practices or games, you swear he has a superpower because he always wakes up early too. Those are some of your favorite times because those slow mornings are unusual with such an energetic toddler. He’ll just follow her around and once she’s done with the basics, she’ll pick him up and do the rest of her things with him sleeping on her shoulder.

They would 100% plan one of those cheesy birthday surprises for you. Like they’ll turn on the lights and scream with matching grins while breaking into a birthday song simultaneously.

Your favorite sight is them both waking up with equally tousled hair and matching sleepy faces. I mean he may be your kid, but Paige is literally in every single crevice of his face.

He constantly challenges her by telling her that he’ll finally beat her in video games, but he never can. She does share with you that she’s worried he finally will one day because he’s a fast learner. But it's almost a tradition for them to sit down at least once a week and battle it out.

He also always challenges her to do different celebrations whenever she scores. And he’s always glued to the screen to see her pull it off. It’s a way for them to stay connected while she has games far away. They ask her about it, but she always stays quiet, wanting the tradition to be a secret of theirs.

She looooves to see him wear her jersey. It gives her the motivation to absolutely destroy whoever she’s going against.

You find it funny that he always copies her face whenever she has a tough finish in a game. Like they both have the exact same celebration face (that face scrunch she does as well as screaming towards the air while flexing). Again. Literal twins.

I get the feeling she will just… hold him up by his leg while they’re playing. Then just show him to you like he's a trophy while he dies of laughter.

Both have the same sleeping stance and sleeping face. Mouth opened with an arm and leg slung haphazardly around. She never believes you until you take a pic of them both sleeping one afternoon.

She calls you guys when she’s away and he’ll just snatch the phone to talk to her. They’re usually late after a game.

“Hey… Isn’t it your bedtime?” Paige's voice comes through the phone, tired. “But mom, I just missed you so much! The game was so close I just couldn't go to sleep” You see her smile through the call, “Alright bud, I'll give you this one.” After you three talk some more, they both fall asleep mid conversation, and you could only smile.

Girl mom:

Talking about games, her favorite thing to do after her games is bury her daughter in kisses and watch the way she shies away because they tickle. She’ll be locked in at the end just looking at her and you and she’ll break into the widest smile once you two come walking towards her.

She would 100% be one of those players that does her press conferences with her kid in her lap. Sometimes she’ll be too distracted by her, and her coach will silently ask you to take her for a bit but there's no separating those two. You also would never think of taking her away because Paige literally lives for you and her baby girl.

I think Paige loved to give her baby those early stages baths. She would be so gentle and lowkey scared as she cradles her and passes moist wipes all over her tiny body. It lowkey calmed her down after a hard day to see her girl so calm and peaceful.

Would tease her baby girl by acting like she’s not going to pick her up cuz she gets super fussy about it. She folds way too quickly though.

Has her camera FULL to the brim with pictures of her sleeping and looking adorable. Definitely has 0.5s of her too. Makes her laugh wayyyy too much.

Does that thing where she taps her daughter's mouth really fast while she shouts so that it sounds really funny. If you get what I mean?? It makes them both laugh way too much.

Omg she definitely dances with her by making her step on the top of her shoes. After so many of her birthday parties with music it's basically a tradition for them to do now. It is your absolute favorite thing in the world because Paige is just so tall.

Paige never failed to give you a heart attack when she was still a baby. I feel like she would make a makeshift baby carrier with her morning robe and just walk around with her while the baby snoozed. lol

At the beginning, Paige used to wear bright blue or pink or just neon colors so that her daughter was able to recognize her in court.

Tea parties happen a lot with those two. You’ll open the door to find them sipping on the non-existent liquid while faking some funny accents. They’ll just turn to you with a look of “Can we help you?”

#women's basketball #wcbb #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader

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wtftarot · 1 day

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PAC: What are the truths you need to face

Another thanks to @lifeofaie for suggesting this pac. If you've got a pac idea feel free to send it to my inbox!

This one can be a little bit of a call-out, but I mean, it is a reading on what truths you need to face.

as always this reading is for entertainment purposes ONLY and is not a substitute for professional advice in any capacity. Remember use common sense and don't be a dumbass.

Pick either the Sword, the Cat or the Stars and head on to your reading

The Sword

This group is kinda heavy, please be gentle on yourself.

The High Priestess, Four/Cups, The Tower, and the Seven/Wands on the bottom of the deck.

So, y'all kinda already know what truths you need to face. The problem is you're fighting them off. Y'all may be asking spirit or your guides a lot of questions that you already know the answers to. I'm hearing 'where there's smoke there's fire". With the Tower here, there's one truth in particular that you know that if you let yourself look at it head-on, things will have to change. It could even be painful to look at it head-on, (if it is please have some support when you choose to face it) It's like, all the signs are there but you're still iffy on it. This could be a person who you've started to notice the red flags or a situation that you know is bad but you won't let yourself really focus on just how bad. A few of you I'm getting, keep reading romance/ what are they thinking PACs for a person that you know isn't treating you right and maybe ignoring when the readings tell you that. I'm not trying to be harsh or call anyone out. I don't think any of the truths this group is facing are easy, little ones. I'm actually hearing the word "catastrophic". I know how scary it is to face something that you know will hurt. Cause part of it is admitting that it hurt and actually letting yourself feel that hurt instead of pretending it's not there. You are so brave and so so fucking strong and you will get through this. The advice for you is this be gentle on yourself and fucking tough on the situation. This will be hard and you want to give yourself time and space to rest and rebuild your strength. Then kick its fucking ASS. Bad shitty work/living situation? Setting boundaries with a shitty fucking person? Digging yourself out of a mental health pit? All of these are fucking tough as hell but you survived, ya know what that makes you right? Tougher than hell, that's what. Be fuckin cut-throat when it comes to getting things to a better place and then REST, alright? Eat, drink a lot of water, and do things that make you happy. Cause this is fucking hard and you need to take care of yourself. You are smart and capable and you deserve fucking better. Another thing that your guides keep pushing is support, you fuckin need it. I dunno if y'all have been trying to deal with all of this alone or if you haven't told anyone you're struggling but you need to. I'm fuckin serious. Talk out loud to spirit if you have to, just saying things out loud or writing them down can really help you process what's going on in your head. I believe in y'all.

random ass vibes: 10:10, Blue, camping, birds, 90s, cat cartoons,

The Cat

The Emperor Rx, the Star, The World Rx, and the Eight/Cups on the back of the deck

Listen, I don't really do relationship advice but some of y'all need to be told that you can't change him. You can't and no, he won't change for you. And you shouldn't go into a relationship expecting a person to change. That's not for everyone, take it as it resonates. You need to take action towards what you want. Y'all are dreamers and that's awesome. It seems though, they're just staying dreams. I'm a Pisces moon, I'm not judging y'all at all when I say this but y'all really kinda live in a fantasy. Y'all seem to have this tendency to ignore what's in front of you for what it could be. The way it's coming through is that y'all are leaving so fucking much on the table that could EASILY be yours but the fantasy obviously is more than reality could ever be so that's where your mind wants to stay. Thing is, y'all know we don't live in a fantasy and you want to do better in reality. BUT you see the fantasy you have as how things "could" be and when you do act on your dreams and they don't match up to the fantasy, you feel inadequate. Like you're not reaching your potential. So, you get down on yourself and never want to pursue your dreams. I know it's hard to accept that reality can never meet the fantasy we build up in our heads. Reality is messy and in our fantasy we never have to shit or floss or maintain what we have, we just have it. The truth is having to accept that life will never be perfect. There is no perfect relationship, perfect job, or perfect life. No routine is going to magically fix your life. The people you love will always have traits that annoy you a little bit, just like you have traits that annoy them a little bit, but you love each other and know you're both worth mild annoyance. It's time to ground your ideas into reality and let them be imperfect. Let them breathe. Y'all are limiting yourself to the idea of perfection. Your life IS going to be a little fucked up and messy no matter what. Some of y'all ain't even perfectionists, you just don't believe in yourselves and use things not meeting your fantasies as evidence that you can't do it. I'm not getting much in the way of advice for y'all other than to act? If this is your group then I'm betting you've had an idea of what this has all been referring to for you and know what action comes with that. Good luck!

random ass vibes: Gilmore girls? starting tarot reading (hell yeah!) a good nights sleep, 122,

The Stars

Judgment Rx, Four/Pentacles, The Hermit Rx, Two/Swords Rx and the High Priestess on the back of the deck.

So, first thing is: that you can't manifest yourself past the time some things need to take. Some things just take time. Y'all seem to be holding on to this idea that you're not the active force in your own life making things happen? It feels like there's a person or a group of people, or maybe you believe in fate but there's something that y'all are endowing with more power in your life than you. It's like to you it doesn't matter what you want, what decisions you make because it'll work out how this other thing deems it should. Your judgment doesn't matter. Some of y'all even feel like you don't have a say in who YOU are. Y'all may have had or do have really controlling parental figures. But FUCK. That's devastating, y'all. I can't imagine feeling like you're not the driving force in your own life. Listen, I don't believe in fate, destiny, soul-mates, or "meant to bes" and I am not judging y'all if you do but fate isn't engineering every single little thing in your life. It's not all that serious, I promise. You can just do things. It's not all make-or-break-life-altering-weight-of-cosmic-destiny-on-your-sholders. Your life shouldn't be focused on figuring out what your fated path is and sticking to that rigidly. Why? Cause that's not life, babe. That's following a script. The truth for y'all is that you are the driving force in your life and you need to start trying to see yourself that way. And this reading is looking to be short cause it's kinda existential, but you have free will and can choose and act and change things. If there is a "path" it's a vague one and you're making the rest up as you go. You can just step off of it. Anytime. Head in any direction you want. You don't have to be with that person if you don't want to just cause someone said y'all were soul mates. You don't have to choose that career just cause it seems "fated", if you hate it, hate it and leave. YOU make the decisions.

random ass vibes: Russian Doll (tv show), 144, reds and yellows, thumb bone part that looks like a chicken leg lol? Disorientation by Katie Mack

#tarot reading #tarot #divination #tarot community #tarot cards #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #tarot readings #pick a card reading #pick a picture #wtftarot #tarotblr #pick a photo #intuitive

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a-victorian-girl · 21 hours

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May Prompts 2024

from @calaisreno

***

Prompt 2: Box

Today Sherlock was particularly nervous. Not that it was much different from those days when the case is an 8 or a 9 and requires a lot of energy from him to solve it. This time... it wasn't about a case.

Mrs. Hudson could hear from her flat the long, hurried steps traveling from the bedroom to the living room, from the living room to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the... bathroom? Who knew.

"Oh my God, that boy...!" she thought out loud, while she put the electric kettle on to make him some tea, because she thought that it might calm him down a bit. But when she turned around to grab the cup and the tea box, she nearly had a heart attack when she suddenly saw the tall figure of Sherlock standing in her kitchen doorway, paler than usual. His beautiful blue eyes showed what she interpreted as panic.

"I can't do this, Mrs. Hudders," he stammered.

As the poor woman caught her breath with her hand on her chest to calm her old heart, she noticed that the great detective's right hand was holding a box. It was very small, red, and very elegant.

"Is that...?" Martha asked, pointing to the little box, and in a moment of lucidity, she opened her eyes completely.

"Oh! Oooh, Sherlock...!" she exclaimed, bringing her hands to her face given her sudden surprise. "Come dear, sit down, I was making you a cup of tea before the possible heart attack you nearly gave me by appearing suddenly... and tell me, when do you plan to propose?" she teased playfully, pouring hot water into the cup.

The gleam of happiness in the older lady's eyes was so evident that it even drew a slight smile to the detective. He always considered Martha as his second mother, she's been his confidante since they met, and her trust is unbreakable.

"Today. John said he'd take Rosie to Molly's and we'd meet at the restaurant. And I... I don't know. I thought today was a good occasion after a year of being together and... I mean... I'm really not good at th-," he babbled, until he was interrupted by the sound of the cup being abruptly placed on the table. He lifted his eyes and their gazes met. Was she angry? How to tell, he was never good at reading others' reactions.

"Look, Sherlock", Martha said, very seriously. "I may not be your mother, but I am your friend. From the day John set foot on this property, I knew that eventually you two would end up together. You're meant for each other, for God's sake! And you still doubt it? You two have been through so much... so much. And I think by now, Sherlock, there shouldn't be any doubt plaguing your brain. So: you drink this tea, you get ready and you go to that restaurant. I won't allow you access to my property without seeing that ring on John's finger, do you hear me, young man?"

Sherlock gaped, frozen. Was that a scolding? Nevermind, she was right. He nodded, smiled at her, drank his tea, and climbed the stairs back to his flat.

...

Now Martha could hear those same steps but more confident, more harmonious... like a beautiful melody.

#MayPrompts2024 #bbc sherlock #shherlock holmes #mrs hudson #rookie writer #just writing for fun #sherlock fanfic #ficlet

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g1rlr0b1n · 2 days

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Look guys!!! It's G1rlR0b1n 💖💖💖 (bet you didn't know this is what my handle meant lol)

Yet another commission by the super talented @tamdrry!!! (this was done a while ago I just hadn't gotten around to posting it)

So, there was actually a fic that was supposed to go along with this but... I never got around to finishing it 😭

If you want to see what I had planned to write you can check it out under the cut. 👇

One of my personal headcanons is that Damian is nonbinary (or trans but for this particular story, just nonbinary for now)

Anyway, he starts to discover this after spending a lazy afternoon with Cass and Steph in Cass's room.

They're cleaning out her closet and think it'd be fun to play dress up with her little brother. He relents because he likes feeling included and he enjoys their company and doesn't 'want to mess this up'. They're several piece swaps and a whole makeover in when the girls finally settle on what they have decide is the perfect 'fit. Damian turns to see himself in the mirror, mini skirt, crop top, fish nets, combat boots, smoky cat-eye, glossy lips, and he just…freezes… doesn't react… until he does. He starts to cry and flees from the room. The girls don't know what to do but they run after him. He nearly knocks Bruce over in the hallway, then the girls come storming after and he stops them.

Bruce: what's going on?

Steph (she looks worried): we were just messing around, we didn't mean to make him cry!

Cass (also upset and crying herself): we didn't mean to hurt him.

Bruce: ok, let me talk to him. Go back to your room, we'll chat in a bit. Try to calm down, ok?

The girls nod reluctantly but turn and go back to Cass's room. Bruce had long suspected that Damian may be having a difficult time with self-discovery from little things he's picked up on and from when he was at that age himself. he had a feeling something like this would be coming sooner than later, after all, emotions and individuality were not traits looked highly upon by the League of Assassins… or (he admits) with the Batman. he knocks on his door and when there is no answer he peeks in. Damian is sitting on the carpet in front of his floor length mirror.

Bruce: hey chum

Damian:

Bruce: can I sit down?

He says nothing again but scootches over slightly

Bruce: you wanna talk about it?

Damian:

Bruce: Cass and Steph think they've upset you.

Damian shakes his head: I'm not mad at them. (He emphasizes the word 'them')

Bruce: are you mad at yourself?

Damian nods but says nothing else. Bruce pulls him into a hug and he allows it, buries his face into him, cries, and Bruce just holds him there. They say nothing else until Damian finally let's go an eternity later. Bruce tells him he won't make him talk about it and he won't make him explain himself to the girls but he is going to tell Cass and Steph that he isn't upset with them unless he would like to do it himself (he'll tell them nothing more than that, he emphasizes). Damian's not ready to face them, he tells his father he can relay the message, and he does, later once Damian has asked to be left alone. The girls are relieved, they don't ask questions, they respect Damian's privacy. It's one of the reasons why Damian loves them.

A week later Bruce takes Damian to go to a fashion show with him, he goes because his father has been nagging him to put more effort into him public persona long before this anyway. There he sees androgynous models wearing mashups of typically male and female clothing and something starts to click. He feels seen for the first time but the feeling is uncomfortable and he begins to sink into himself, Bruce pulls him into his side, and he doesn't pull away.

Another week goes by and Damian comes home to find a large box on his bed, tied up with a large red ribbon. There is a tag that just reads, "fighting evil by moonlight". He opens the box and there is a new Robin uniform inside reminiscent of one of his favorite characters, Sailor Moon. The tears he cries are from happiness this time.

#damian wayne #bruce wayne #dc comics #sorry if it's choppy. it's just a concept 😅 (the fic)#also I kept going back and forth with the adult in this story #at first it was Selina in the cool step-mom role but I decided that wasn't intimate enough #then it was Dick as the caring older brother but I dumped that because he sounded too fatherly #sooo...I changed it to an actual father lol #enter good dad Bruce lol #Anyway this is one of my favorite comms because Sailor Robin is actually dedicated to my wife who is transfem 💖

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mauswrites · 3 days

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Fear (Simon Riley x AFAB!GN!Reader)

A/N: I was recently reminded of my worst fear, that being cryptic pregnancy (No weight gain, no symptoms, no nothing. You don't know about the baby until it's on its way out) and can't stop thinking about it, so I decided to write a fic to get it out of my system. (sorry if this sucks, this is the first fic I've published in like almost a decade)

Genre: hurt/comfort

TW: Blood, mentions of childbirth, medical inaccuracies, possibly OOC Ghost, reader genuinely thinks they're dying

You couldn't sleep.

Not because of the thoughts racing in your mind but of the unbearable pain in your abdomen.

Occam's razor would tell you that it was just your period, but you've never experienced cramps like this before, like being torn in half.

With a huff, you shove the blanket off your body and get up, but as soon as your feet hit the floor, pain shoots up your spine, causing you to crumple to the floor, wailing out in agony. You clutch your stomach, forcing air in and out of your lungs.

Why am I wet? you thought.

The pain had distracted you until now, but you managed to reach for your bedside lamp to see blood running down your legs.

A lot of it, too.

As the fear settled in your bones, you hurry to get your phone and call for an ambulance.

"999, what's your emergency?"

"I don't know what's wrong, I'm in a lot of pain, I can't stop bleeding... I-I can't walk."

"Where are you now?"

You give the address to your flat and hang up when the dispatcher assures you that the ambulance isn't far.

Walking may seem impossible, but you manage to crawl to the front door to unlock it, sitting down in the hall, waiting.

Desperation clings to your heart, and you make one more call, this time to your ex-boyfriend, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Simon? Hey, it's me... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For my attitude, the arguments, all of it."

The blood loss is getting to you, but you take a ragged breath and press on.

"I think I'm dying, an ambulance is on their way, but–"

The pain spikes suddenly, causing you to scream.

"In case I do, just know that I love you."

Hearing sirens from outside, you hang up and wait, dreading the black spots in your vision.

The ambulance ride is a blur, the EMT asking questions that your brain isn't processing, and you barely remember being put under at the hospital.

As your eyes flutter open hours later, sunlight leaks into the room through the blinds, and your stomach is sore, but you otherwise feel better.

A nurse is still in the room, typing away on the computer in your room.

"What happened?"

She seemed startled yet relieved at your voice, still groggy from sleep.

"This may come as a shock to you,"

Uh oh.

"But you experienced what's called a cryptic pregnancy and needed to undergo an emergency C-section. The bleeding was caused by a tear in your uterine lining, but you'll recover just fine."

Her diagnosis hit you like a brick to the face.

"So... I had a baby?"

"Yes, a little girl; a bit premature, but otherwise healthy."

You merely hum in acknowledgement as you look around the room, your eyes landing on the bassinet.

"Would you like to hold her?" the nurse asked.

"I... yes."

She smiles as she walks around the bed, picking up your daughter and passing her to you.

A lump forms in your throat as you lock eyes with the infant in your arms, hers a deep brown.

"Um... hello," you say, "it's nice to meet you."

As you fall silent, the nurse pipes up once again.

"I'll leave you two be for now. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call for someone."

You quickly thank her before she leaves, closing the door behind her, and you quickly turn your attention back to your daughter.

Your heart and mind were both racing as you admired her, even softly speaking to her every so often. For seconds or hours, you're not quite sure, but you only snapped out of your trance when the door opened.

You watch as Simon comes in and pulls up a chair next to your hospital bed, on the same side as the bassinet, all without a word.

"I'm guessing they wouldn't let you in looking like the Grim Reaper," you joked, taking note of the black surgical mask on his face, "How've you been?"

"I should be asking you," he said, "that voicemail scared the shit outta me."

"I've been..."

What do you even say?

"Honestly, not great; missed you like hell," you admit, casting your eyes back down to your baby and letting her tiny hand grip onto one of your fingers, "but I think I'll be okay."

"Cute little thing," he said, referring to your little girl.

"Thanks, I made it myself."

"Got a name yet?"

"Haven't exactly had much time to think of one," you reply, "got any ideas?"

"You told me you always liked the name Emilia."

"That's true. Seems it's settled then," you do your best to straighten up, "Simon, meet Emilia... Riley?"

"Riley," he confirmed, making you smile for the first time in a while.

"Do you want to hold her?"

He nodded, and you placed a kiss on her forehead before passing her over to him.

She already looked tiny in your arms, but compared to Simon's much bigger frame, she was damn near microscopic. He was practically holding her with just his hands, handling her delicately, like one wrong move would cause her to fall apart.

"What d'you say you come back home," he said, "We try again, be a family."

"Is that actually what you want? I don't want to be the parents that are only together for our child's sake."

"I mean it."

"That's good," you pause, fighting back tears, "Promise I won't be such a bitch this time 'round."

"You say that like I was a saint."

"Then we'll both be better, for each other and for her."

"Deal."

You silently admire the scene before you for a few minutes until the nurse from earlier returns.

She asked some questions about you and the baby, filled in some blanks on the birth certificate, and stepped out to bring you some ice water, leaving you to think about the past twelve hours.

"I'm honestly dreading going back to my flat." you thought aloud.

"Why?" Simon asked. He carefully placed Emilia back in the bassinet, giving you his full attention.

"There's blood everywhere."

"I'll take care of it; you just rest up and heal," he stood as he spoke, taking off his mask to kiss your temple, but before he had a chance to walk away, you placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him to stay.

"Promise you'll come back?"

"Promise."

As he left, the weight of the situation settled deep in your bones, but you found solace in knowing that you wouldn't have to face it alone, and that things would hopefully turn out better this time around.

#simon riley x reader #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #tw blood #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort

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camryn-haitani · 3 days

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𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔, 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔, 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔

Sugar daddy! Kokonoi Hajime x reader

inspired by: "money, money, money" by ABBA

Koko is bored with nothing to do, until he saw you. you were working at the bar bonten owned and he overheard you talking about your money issues. he's got money to throw around, so what the hell, why not?

TW: SMUT, cursing, sugar daddy Koko, p in v sex, unprotected sex, teasing, daddy calling, fingering (fem receiving), praising, pet names, marijuana use, gun, mentions of murder

Koko walks around the penthouse he bought for all of the bonten executives, bored out of his goddamn mind. he grabs his keys to one of his many cars.

"the hell you going?" takeomi asks as his head leans off the couch, cigarette hanging from his lips.

"out and away from y'all." he slams the door.

the drive there was only getting on Koko's nerves even more. dumbasses not using their blinker, cutting him off, you get the jist.

he parks his car and throws the keys at the valet.

he takes out his gun and points it at him secretly, "get any scratch on my car, and that's how many bullets I put in you." he says lowly.

"yes, sir!" he nods. Koko walks in and sits at the bar and waits.

you see him sitting at the bar and you start panicking.

‘shit! that's Kokonoi Hajime. calm down y/n, don't piss him off, he already looks mad.’ the thoughts ran through your head.

“hello Mr. Kokonoi, is there anything I can get you?” you sweetly say. your whole body is on fire, scared he might kill you where you stand.

“whiskey.”

“yes sir.” you turn to make his drink.

“here you are. one whiskey.” you set his drink down and you hear your phone start to ring.

“I'm sorry, I'll be right back.” you go to the back so you at least have a little bit of privacy.

“hello?”

“y-yes, sir.”

“you know exactly who this is, y/n. don't act stupid”

“please I just need a little more time. my landlord raised my rent.”

“well?! where's my fuckin money?”

the dial tone rang through your ears. you never noticed the tears streaming down your skin till you look at the black screen of your phone. you fix your face and wipe away your salty tears. you walk back to the bar and see he's finished his drink.

“I don't give two fucks. you better have my money by the end of the week or you're as good as dead.”

“would you like another drink, Mr. Kokonoi?”

he said nothing. just stared at you, memorizing your features. he gets up from his seat and leans over the bar, inches from your face and your nose almost touching his.

“sir? may I help you.” you don't pull away, scared shitless.

“how much do I owe you?” he calmly asks.

“nothing, sir. I would never make you pay in your own establishment.” you say breathlessly.

“that's not what I asked. how much do I owe you?” emphasis on each word.

“$8, sir”

“how about $8,000?” he slides his rolled up bills to you.

“I can't possibly accept this. like I said, I won't make you pay in your own place.” your hands in a surrender position by your chest.

“come on, sweetheart. be a doll and take it.” he puts the bills in your hand. “and call me Kokonoi, I have a feeling I'll be back soon.” he backs away and leaves.

those names went straight to your core. you swallow the lump in your throat as you pack up from your shift that just ended.

Koko could not get you off of his mind, especially the phone call he overheard. he has a unknown dying need to help you, but how?

that's it. he's got money to throw around and he doesn't have anything to pay anyone. he decided to visit you again tomorrow.

Koko left at the same time as last night but Sanzu was on the couch instead.

next day

“where ya goin, Koko?” he asks as he pops a pill in his mouth.

“bar.” was all he said before walking out.

“well, damn. bye.” he waves his hand.

thank the gods you were working again tonight. he turns off his car and tossed the keys at the valet like yesterday. the valet boy nods already knowing the consequences and parks his car.

Koko say in the same spot and waited for you.

“oh hello, Mr. Kokonoi. same as yesterday?” you ask while drying a clean glass.

“no, I'm less stressed than I was yesterday. I'll get a cosmopolitan.”

“you got it, sir.”

“I told you to call me Kokonoi.” he says teasingly.

“I'm sorry, it feels weird calling my boss's name so casually.” you slide the glass to him.

he sips on his drink and rests his chin on his palm. “y/n, was it?”

“yes, sir.” you put up another glass.

“not to eavesdrop but I overheard your lil phone call.” he stirs his drink.

“i- I'm sorry, sir. I got into some trouble with money and I turned to loan sharks which was a horrible idea.” you try and defend yourself.

“mhm.”

“a-and I'm trying to pick up extra shifts a-and..”

“I have a deal for you.” he looks up at you.

“sir with all due respect, a deal is how I got into this situation.” you try and lighten up.

“that's why I'm proposing this deal, y/n. I give you all the money, gifts, and anything your heart desires.” he pauses. he leans over the bar like last time and gets inches away from you. “in return, you give me yourself. your body, your heart, your everything.”

“so…” you lightly laugh, “you'll be my sugar daddy?” you awkwardly smile.

“you could say that. so?” Koko asks.

you look at his eyes, then his lips. his eyeliner so perfectly done, his hair resembles fresh fallen snow, his bonten tattoo place strategically in the lines of his hair. you look back into his eyes to give him your answer.

“deal.” you nod. he closed that gap between you two to give you a quick kiss.

“I'll have my men come here and get you, along with your things.” he turns to leave.

you stand there wondering what the fuck just happened.

since you worked the night shift, you slept practically all day. you picked up an extra shift that started in about an hour in a half. you get up and put on your work clothes and start walking to your job.

as soon as you clock in, two big ass men came up to the bar.

“are you y/n l/n?” the one on the right asks.

“yes sir.” you say.

‘this must be the loan sharks guys.’ I sigh as I accept my fate.

“come with us.” they turn around and you see at least two guns strapped to their backs. you pack your things and follow them out.

they bring you to their car and don't say a single word to you.

when you reach their destination, they open your door for you. you're wondering as to why they would do that when your about to be killed. they lead you inside and take you to the elevator.

once you reach the floor, you follow the men. one of the guys gave 3 knocks an office door.

“come in.” was heard from behind the door.

you walk in, “oh, Mr. Kokonoi.” you let out a breath you were unknowingly holding.

“you seemed relieved to see me.” he chuckles.

“I'm not gonna lie, I thought the men were sent by the loan shark to come kill me.” you laugh to try and relieve some of the tension.

“no, my dear. quite the opposite. I do have something for you to sign, though.” he slides a piece of paper to you. “what is it .” you ask.

you can only nod as your hand trembles to grab a pen. he picks his blunt back up and puts it to his lips, inhaling the contents. he waits for you to sign your name as he blows the smoke in your face.

“just a little contract. you know, to ensure that you're mine and only mine.” his eyes grew dark.

you put the pen down and look at him. he sees your signature and smiles. Koko gestures his hand to you, signaling for you to come here. you get up from the chair and walk over to him. he grabs your wrists and pulls you down in his lap.

“I'm gonna have so much fun with you, doll. you have no idea.” he whispers in your neck. your breath hitches as his lips are attached to your neck. you tilt your head up to give him more room.

his hands roam to your ass, hands never leaving your body. the red in his eyes and his pupils are addicting to look at, especially in this light. Kokonoi brings one of his hands back to your front and down to your pants. he skillfully unbuttons your jeans with one hand and unzips them.

“aww, is my baby already wet for me?” he asks as his two middle fingers graze the bottom of your panties. you can only nod at his words, your mind still in shock that this is actually happening. he slips his fingers in with such ease that he laughs at you. you whine at him as the feeling overtakes your body.

his fingers move at such a fast pace, your mind can't keep up. next thing you know, you're cumming all over his fingers.

“such a good girl for me, for daddy, right?” his tongue wrapped around his cum covered fingers, waiting for your response. “mhm such a good girl for you, daddy.” he swears he can cum just from you calling him that.

his thumb lazily circles your clit as he watches you twist and contort above him. “you're gonna have to earn your next orgasm, mkay?” strings of “yes”’s spill from your pretty lips. “sit still and sound pretty for me. I hope you can do that.” he tease. “I can, I can. mhm.”

Kokonoi kisses down your neck, chest, and anywhere he can get his lips on all while he slowly plays with your clit. “I think you deserve a reward since you were such a good girl for me.” he goes back to you neck. “but, you have to get my cock out for me, pretty thing.” only nods came from you as you slightly pick yourself up to free his aching cock.

your eyes look down at him. “don't worry, baby. I'll help you, I know it's a lot for a small thing like you.” Koko teases your nipples through your shirt. you swallow hard and nod, setting yourself back down and letting his tip hit your hole.

his head tilts back as he feels your juices slide down his length. Kokonoi rubs your clit as you sink down onto him. he praises you the entire time until your reach his hips. your legs are trembling from him, so he picks you up and lays you on his desk. “how's that, princess?” “better.”

he slowly slides in and out until the pain turns into pleasure for you. you grip onto his pearly white hair and bring him in for a sloppy kiss, hoping to distract you from his impressive length.

your whines get higher with every push he does. Koko knows you're getting close so he speeds up his movement. he's hitting your sweet spot every fuckin time he snaps his hips into you.

“I know you're close, darling, let it all out for me.” he coos. tears prick your eyes as you ride both of your highs.

your breathing gets stable and Koko gave you some extra clothes to change into while his men get your clothes from your place.

“what's the name of that loan shark you got money from?” “uhm, (random ass name). why?” you ask.

“so I can kill him for threatening my baby.”

#Tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #kokonoi hajime x reader #kokonoi hajime #kokonoi x reader #Tokyo revengers Kokonoi #x reader #tokyo revengers smut #Tokyo revengers x reader smut #x you #smut

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callsignfoxy · 17 hours

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Blue-collar!Simon who goes to the same restaurant every day for lunch, ordering the same thing, but today he takes note of you, the new server, and you strike up a conversation.

Fem!reader POV Word Count: 1079

"___, is it? Uh, thanks for gettin' this out to me so quickly," he grunts as his eyes meet yours.

You intended to turn away to attend another table when you heard him speak and met his gaze. Oh, so he does know how to talk, you thought humorously, turning more of your attention onto him. The first time you met the large man sitting in the booth was a couple of days prior, and you had tried your best to do your waitress thing.

Flashing your bright smile that usually did well. Even commenting on the weather and trying to make conversation. He gave his order, and then all you received in response were short nods, a few grunts, and barely veiled annoyance. You backed off, assuming he just wanted to enjoy his meal alone. No harm.

Then, after yesterday, you had a sneaking suspicion that he may be the kind to order the same thing every day. After asking around, the other servers confirmed your theory. You took a risk today, and hopefully, it'd pay off. You may not want to do the waitress thing forever, but you were damn good at your job when it came to grumpy customers.

Smiling brightly, you tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of your updo. "Yep, that would be me, and don't mention it. I figured that might be what you were ordering, so I thought, 'Why not?'" You chuckled. He nodded in response, and you really couldn't help yourself. "But, you know my name now; how about yours?" You inquired, trying to make small talk.

Simon leaned back into the booth, taking you in more before responding. "Simon," he stated simply, his voice like gravel. It softened slightly as he added, "Was a damn clever move, puttin' in the order early." His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, suggesting a slight smile you couldn't see behind his black mask. "You always this attentive with your tables?"

"Ah well, when you work in the business for a while, you pick up a thing or two," you explained with a self-assured smile while pouring his tea into a mug. You took him in for a beat; his light-wash jeans were covered in concrete dust, and his white t-shirt had multiple oil stains, among others. The black mask was odd, but plenty of people wear masks out and about these days. Your eyes trailed subtly to his forearm tattoos, but you didn't linger. "You part of that crew building that new skyscraper down the way?" You asked curiously.

"Aye, that's us," he confirmed, the pride in his profession evident even through the stoic delivery. "Construction site manager for that project. It's been a right sod to keep on schedule with all the weather we've been havin'." His hand gestured vaguely to the window beside him, where the rain was still coming down in buckets.

"Should be a right monster of a building once it's done, though. Can see it from miles away," he added, a bit of admiration and pride twinkling in his eyes.

"Sounds like quite the task, being a manager of such a large project and team," you commented, raising your eyebrows. You'd held a manager position at your last serving job and even just that was a lot. You couldn't imagine the enormous undertaking of managing a whole skyscraper project.

"Like herdin' cats most of the time, but... bigger and a lot more swearing involved," he chuckled softly. When you joined him, it was like he realized he'd let the sound out and then cleared his throat. "But yeah, bloody nightmare somedays, but it's what I do," he finished.

"An' the rain?" you asked, gesturing to the window with your carafe. Simon rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated huff.

"The rain," he said glancing back out at the storm, "sure doesn't make the job any easier, but gives me an excuse to come here and get out of the wet for a bit." His eyes landed back on to you, the brown in them a little warmer than when he first came in.

You smiled, seeing that his shoulders relaxed slightly more. That alone was a job well done for you. "Well, glad to provide a little bit of respite," you said good naturedly. "I'll quit talkin' off your ear off though, and let you get back to your meal. Just call me out if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll be back with the check," You nodded with the tea carafe and turned away to attend your other tables in your section.

Simon, for his part, watched you turn, feeling your presence wane like a warmth he hadn't realized he was basking in for the moment. He tore his gaze away from you, the reality of his solitude trickling back in as he dug into the meal that had completely gone unnoticed until now.

"All done here?" You said, picking up his plate a little while later. "Just the check or would like some tea for the road?" You asked.

"Jus' the check, thanks," he said with decisiveness. It was your turn to nod as you fished the check out of your apron to place it on the table. You watched as Simon pulled his wallet out and placed the notes on top of the slip, not missing the extra he had added. he shifted out the booth and stood gazing down at you. "Thanks for the quick service, keep the change," he said in a gruff but appreciative tone.

"Just don' my job. The cook makes it real easy though. She whips up meals faster than you can blink," you joked with a chuckle. "So, Mr. Simon, same time, same meal tomorrow?" You beamed, returning his gaze.

Simon gave a short laugh. "Yeah. Same time, same meal." With that he headed towards the door, his footsteps echoing softly against the diner's linoleum floor. You watched him go, with a small smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Maybe there was more to Simon than just grunts and nods after all.

As you continued your work day, the interaction with Simon would pop up when your mind wasn't occupied, and you couldn't help but be curious about the masked construction worker that had graced your section. It was a curiosity that had you looking forward to tomorrow. Same time, same meal.

I'm thinking of doing more tandem POV going forward because I know that man had some thoughts. Would that be confusing? Idk, anyways, hope y'all enjoyed 😘

#cod #call of duty #simon ghost riley #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #cod simon riley #cod fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #cod ghost

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morallyinept · 9 hours

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Adulation - A Marcus Pike x Alopecia F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You've been dating and getting to know the handsome Agent Pike for some time, but there's still one last thing you've yet to tell him about yourself.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Alopecia F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. Reader does not have hair on her head and wears wigs.)

Word Count: 7.7k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/thigh riding/gentle dirty talk/Marcus is completely smitten with you.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

"We should try the sampler platter," Marcus suggests, his gaze lingering on the menu of mouth watering options. "That way, we can taste a little bit of everything?"

“Well, they say variety is the spice of life. I like your thinking, Agent.” You smirk as Marcus’s cheeks fill with blood.

You watch as Marcus sips from his wine glass, deep brown eyes meeting yours over the glass rim of dark berry liquid.

“You, uh… you look really beautiful tonight. You look so good in that dress. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Stop it,” you smile bashfully.

“Do you really want me to stop?” He teases, pouring out more wine into your glass. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

You feel your face warm with pleasure at his compliment, your heart fluttering with delight, skin flecking with goosebumps and tingles as his words make their way across it.

He always makes you feel like this with a simple sentence and look. Makes you feel… seen.

"Well, I thought I'd switch things up a bit," you admit, a hint of giddy laughter in your voice. "Gotta keep you on your toes, you know?"

His eyes roam over the sleek bob of midnight black, the sharp lines of the style adding an air of sophistication to your ensemble. Your hair shimmers in the gloaming candlelight, lending an aura of mystery and allure to your already captivating presence.

Marcus chuckles, leaning closer to you across the table. "You certainly have a way of keeping me captivated," he remarks, his eyes sparkling with a magnetising affection.

“I do?” You query, reaching for your wine glass.

Marcus's eyes widen in surprise, a grin spreading across his face as he admires you. "Yeah. I love it," he replies, his voice filling with genuine admiration. "It's different, but it suits you perfectly."

“Different good?” You query and a pang of worry flits through your veins, reminding you it’s constantly there. A trusty companion, alongside your long term friends, angst and fear.

“Yeah. It’s like I’m dating all these different women.” He chuckles at the absurdity of it, his cheeks glowing with warmth.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask him, finger circling the rim of your glass and his eyes drop to watch it momentarily.

“Hmm. Let me think…” He smiles and you can’t help but be drawn into the way his lips curve up into a dimple on his cheek. A fleshed crescent moon that you’ve fantasised about tasting since the first time you saw it revealed to you.

Marcus Pike, FBI Special Agent in the Art Crimes Department, is the epitome of the perfect man, blending smooth determination with a profound appreciation for beauty and culture.

His sharp mind and keen eye for detail makes him a formidable agent, while his unwavering commitment to justice earns him the respect of his colleagues and adversaries alike. In the high-stakes world of art crime, Marcus stands out as a shining beacon of integrity and tenacity.

He approaches each case with a meticulous attention to detail, unravelling complex webs of deception and intrigue with adept precision and skill.

Whether he’s tracking down stolen masterpieces or uncovering elaborate forgery rings, Marcus's relentless pursuit of truth and justice never wavers.

But it isn't just his professional acumen that makes Marcus so extraordinary; it’s his genuine passion for art and culture that truly sets him apart.

That, and the fact he’s ridiculously handsome.

He has a deep appreciation for the beauty and significance of the works he seeks to protect, viewing each painting, sculpture, and artefact as a priceless treasure to be safeguarded for future generations. Marcus's love for art extends beyond the confines of his work, infusing every aspect of his personal life with a sense of wonder and curiosity.

And it’s where you first met him, in the serene halls of the local art gallery where you crossed paths with Special Agent Marcus Pike. Spinning on his polished heels to greet you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen on a man, and how they sparkled at you instantly.

Harbouring your own passion for art and a keen eye for beauty, you work as a curator, carefully selecting and showcasing the works of talented artists from around the world as well as in the local vicinity.

Marcus, drawn to the gallery as a way of unwinding from his case loads, found himself captivated not only by the stunning artwork on display but also by the enigmatic presence of you. Colourful and striking; your clothes, accessories, and hair, all alive with vividness.

You both spent your individual free time exploring museums and galleries, studying the brushstrokes of the masters and marvelling at the stories behind each piece.

And when he wasn't immersed in the world of art, Marcus could often be found indulging in the delights of cuisine, tempting you with indulgent treats he started bringing to you on your lunch, innocently suggesting he thought you might like it, and recommending the best places to eat.

Until he boldly suggested you try them out with him.

But perhaps Marcus's most admirable quality is his unwavering dedication to those he cares about. He’s fiercely loyal to his team, always ready to go to bat for them in the face of danger or adversity.

And when it comes to matters of the heart, Marcus is a true romantic, believing in love with every fibre of his being and never hesitating to show his affection for those closest to him.

As you’d lingered in front of a particularly captivating painting, two lovers entwined in a dance of exaggerated colour, Marcus felt a flutter of excitement in his chest.

He turned to you, his heart pounding with anticipation as he mustered up the courage to ask you a question that had been on his mind since you’d first met.

His voice was tinged with nervousness and his words caught in his throat. "I know this might seem sudden, but would you like to go out to dinner with me? I'd love to continue our conversation over a meal, if you're interested?"

“Are you asking me out on a date, Marcus?” You’d asked with hopeful eyes.

“Absolutely I am.”

And you were interested. God, of course you were. Excited at the prospect of getting to know this incredibly gorgeous man some more.

But also, incredibly terrified.

The thought of dating had long filled you with a sense of dread and anxiety. How could you ever expect someone to love and want you when you struggled to love yourself?

Past experiences had let you down incessantly. The idea of revealing your secret to a potential partner filled you with a swamping dread, the fear of rejection looming like a dark cloud ready to break in the distance.

You’d spent years perfecting the art of concealment, hiding the bald patches beneath layers of carefully styled hair, until eventually the patches became an entirely bare head and you had no choice but to wear wigs.

But no matter how hard you tried to hide your condition, the truth remained - you were different. Convincing yourself that you were flawed, even unlovable for a while.

But deep down, you knew that you couldn't let fear dictate your life forever. Somewhere out there, you hoped, was someone who would see past your alopecia.

On your first date together, Marcus took you to a different art gallery, one of his favourites in the city, knowing your love for beauty and culture would be a perfect match for the setting.

As you both wandered through the halls adorned with vibrant paintings and striking sculptures, Marcus couldn't help but admire the way your eyes lit up with wonder and fascination.

He watched in rapt attention as you studied each piece with a keen eye, your curiosity piqued by the stories and emotions captured within the artwork.

You exchanged whispered observations and shared smiles as you explored the gallery together, lost in the magic of the moment.

Fingers accidentally on purpose brushing against one another until they interlocked. Lips inching closer until they finally met in soft hums of appreciation and want. Whispers that erupted into breathy giggles as you slipped into alcoves to explore those lips some more.

He complimented everything about you, your eyes, the way you taste and your hair, winding his fingers through the loose, flowing curls as they fell over your shoulder. Clearly unable to tell that it wasn’t your real hair, and that made it all the more devastating somehow.

You couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that chomped at your insides. Marcus looked at you with such openness and sincerity, yet you couldn't bring yourself to reveal the truth about your hair loss.

The thought of disappointing him, of shattering the illusion of perfection you had carefully crafted, filled you with guilt every time he smiled softly at you. How could you continue to deceive him, knowing that the truth would inevitably come to light?

As you continued to get close, your mind raced with thoughts of confession and consequence. You imagined Marcus's reaction - the shock, the disappointment, the inevitable rejection that would sure follow.

The fear of facing his judgement, of losing his affection, threatened to consume you whole. To the point you considered calling the whole dating thing off to save the heartache.

But you couldn’t abnegate yourself away from him either, drawn to him, by more than just your commonalities, which were growing in number and taste the more you shared time together.

The more he kissed you, held you close to him in his big hands, pressed you up against the warmth of him in a tight embrace, the more you just wanted him back.

Your dates had taken you both to bustling markets, where you’d sampled exotic street foods and danced to the rhythm of live music. You’d strolled hand in hand through tranquil parks, lost in deep conversation as you watched the sunset paint the sky with hues of pink and gold.

With each passing date, you and Marcus had peeled back the layers of your personalities, revealing your hopes and dreams to one another. Discovering shared interests and passions, as well as the unique quirks and idiosyncrasies that made each of you who you are.

He spoke of his previous marriage, divorced and left adrift on a lonesome island of singledom. Then he told you about a colleague he’d fallen for, but again it had left him facing the nights alone in his new apartment here in D.C. when she’d made another choice.

His talk of rejection stumped him for a while, those brown eyes pulled deeper into his skull as he contemplated, the scars still visible, and it melted the fear clinging onto your own shoulders somewhat.

You shared your own tales of heartbreak and there wasn’t much that you didn’t know about one another, revealing all your secrets and worries with ease.

Well, almost all of them.

Your finger winds through the cut length of the synthetic bob, one wig of several in your stylish armoury, and you swallow dryly, clearing your throat.

It’s been on the cusp of your tongue but never seems to become a whole word with sound and vowels. And terrifying repercussions should it want to be pronounced.

The waiter soon arrives with the sampler platter, a colourful array of small plates arranged artfully on a wooden board. Your eyes widen in delight as you survey the tempting spread before you.

As you both sample the various dishes laid out, around delightful hums of satisfaction, Marcus can't help but marvel at the diverse flavours and textures that dance across his palate.

He glances at you, a playful twinkle in his eyes, as he reaches for another bite, but holds it out to you instead.

"This is incredible, try this," Marcus remarks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm as you lean in and taste it from his fork. You simply can’t resist him in any way.

“Delicious.” You agree.

You take a sip of your wine, a curious glint in your eyes as you look back at him.

"So, tell me something about you that I don't already know yet," you prompt, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“You want a heinous dark secret, hmm?” Marcus teases.

“Sure. The more dark and twisted the better.” You giggle.

Marcus chuckles, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his gaze. "Well, you might not believe it, but I used to play bass in a band. I don’t think I've mentioned that yet," he confesses, his voice tinged with fond reminiscence.

Your eyes widen in surprise, your interest piqued. "Are you a secret metalhead, Marcus?”

“Well, not quite.”

“That's really cool," you confirm, leaning forward eagerly. "What was the name of your band?"

Marcus grins, his peepers glinting with excitement at the memory. "We were called 'Midnight Groove'," he reveals, a nostalgic smile playing on his pink lips. "And we were all about that funky, soulful sound. We played everything from classic rock to blues to jazz fusion."

Your lips curve into a smile as you imagine Marcus on stage, lost in the rhythm of the music, fingers plucking at strings. You glance at them around his glass, thick and you lick your lips.

"That sounds amazing," you remark, your voice filled with admiration. "I would love to hear you play sometime."

Marcus’s smile widens at your enthusiasm, his heart warmed by your genuine interest. "I'd like that," he says softly, his gaze locked with yours. "Maybe one day I'll dust off my old bass guitar and serenade you with some funky tunes."

“You don't play much anymore?”

“Disbanded. Work became all encompassing and we scattered. We stay in touch though. They’re a good bunch of guys.”

As the conversation and flirtatious looks flows between you both, Marcus leans in again, his eyes soft with genuine interest.

"So, tell me something about yourself that I don't know yet," he prompts, a warm smile playing on his lips.

His question hangs in the air, lingering between you like a taut thread of anticipation. Pulling tight, tight, tighter - until it snaps!

For a moment, you hesitate, your mind racing as you grapple with the weight of Marcus's innocent inquiry.

You search for something to share, something that will offer him a glimpse into your world without revealing the vulnerable truth you keep hidden beneath your wigs.

But try as you might, you find yourself at a loss for words, because he already knows everything. He knows where you grew up, how you got that little scar on your knee, who your first crush was...

He knows, he has to know right? It’s obvious. Has to be. The fact your hair is so different every time you see him is apparent that you wear wigs. He can’t be that naive or oblivious.

The weight of your secret bears down on you like a heavy burden, suffocating your ability to speak and leaving you feeling exposed and prickly. You look at him, eyes soft and lips smiling in playful anticipation of your secret you’ll reveal.

He knows everything about you. Everything. Except this one, tiny, completely significant detail you’ve deliberately left out.

As the silence stretches between you, Marcus reaches out to gently touch your hand, sending a jolt of warmth through your body.

"Hey,” the velvety feel of his thumb stroking over your knuckles makes you somewhat dizzy. “You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with," he reassures you, his voice soft and grounding.

You contemplate ending it right here, before Marcus has the chance to discover it all.

Your mind flits between making up some white lie or excusing yourself to the bathroom and walking out, disappearing from his life without a trace. It would be easier that way, wouldn't it? Easier than facing the inevitable truth.

But as you look into Marcus's eyes, filled with warmth and kindness, you know that you can't bring yourself to hurt him like that. Despite your fears and insecurities, you can't bear the thought of losing him - not when he's become such an integral part of your life, not when you’ve come to care for him so deeply.

Your gaze falters for a moment, your mind racing as you debate whether to reveal it. It could change everything - you suspect it might. It has before, countless times before. A repetitive déjà vu you're doomed to live through on endless repeat.

You don’t want to tarnish Marcus with the same brush, it’s unfair. But you’ve walked this path before and it’s hard not to expect disappointment. People are such fickle creatures after all.

But the way he’s looking at you now, with deep brown eyes that reflect the candlelight, he softens your edges, makes the outline of your sight fuzzy and full of bokeh sparkles.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses over your features before you finally brave yourself to speak.

"Well, there's something I haven't really talked about before," you began slowly, your voice just above a trembled whisper.

And now you’ve started it’s unnerving to know how to finish.

“Do you wanna leave, go somewhere private and talk?” He asks, sensing your hesitancy.

“No, no, here is okay. Besides, if I don’t just come out and tell you now, I probably… won’t.”

“Okay.” Marcus says, his smile dipping a little. “Take your time. You can tell me anything, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

He squeezes your hand inside his to emphasise the point. And you instantly feel wretched for assuming that he would once he knows.

He’s done nothing but make you feel at ease since the moment you met. Make you feel awash with vibrancy. He sees all your colours, every single one and doesn't try to grey them out or tone them down. He really likes you for… you.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, right?

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage as you meet Marcus's curious gaze.

"It's just... I-I have a condition called alopecia," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's why my hair looks different all the time. I wear wigs."

You pick up your wine glass, quickly downing the contents in two large gulps as your heart thuds inside your ears.

Marcus nods, the smile instantly returning. “Yeah, I knew that.”

You baulk. “Wait, you did?”

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know for sure that it was alopecia, but I suspected it was probably something like that.”

“Your detective skills precede you, Agent.”

He smiles. “No, I just pay attention to things I really like looking at.”

You smile back, any panic instantly falling from your shoulders.

“I didn’t want to pry. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I didn’t know for sure so didn’t want to assume. I've always admired your style. Especially your hair. It's so versatile - one day it's short and spunky, the next it's long and glamorous. I wish I had your knack for switching up my look."

“You look pretty fine to me, Marcus.” You say with a smile and his cheeks glow again.

“Either way, I kinda love all those different looks on you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. They’re amazing and really compliment your personality,” he says and you feel warm at his admission.

Throughout your dates, your hair has been a delightful kaleidoscope of colours and styles, each wig a reflection of your vibrant personality and adventurous spirit.

On your first meeting at the art gallery, your hair was cascaded in loose curls of rich chestnut in soft waves that caught his eye as you moved. The subtle highlights danced in the gallery's dim lighting, accentuating your features and drawing Marcus's gaze like a moth to a flame.

On a spontaneous night outing to a live jazz club, you surprised Marcus with a playful pixie cut of platinum blonde, the short strands framing your face in a halo of light.

With each nod of your head to the rhythm of the music, your hair caught the stage lights and sparkled like a constellation in the night sky, mesmerising Marcus with its silvery glimmer.

As your dates blossomed in frequency, you continued to delight and surprise Marcus with your ever-changing hairstyles. From long, flowing locks of fiery red to bold, statement-making curls of electric blue, and shorter edgy styles, each wig you wear is a testament to your creativity and bright confidence, and Marcus finds himself falling more deeply for you with each passing day.

And he never queries why, just admiring and complimenting, and accepting that this is who you are.

“Do you mind talking about it?” Marcus asks.

“Not at all. I mean, not many people want to, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Compassion and understanding is often hard to compete with judgemental stares and whispering, you know?”

Marcus frowns. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. That must have been hard.” He says sincerely.

“The wigs help. Most people assume it’s a fashion choice.” You explain.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He looks at you deeply. “Is it all over or just… your head?”

You breathe in. “Mostly my head. But for a while, I lost my eyelashes. I have hair… uh, elsewhere. But it tends to be really patchy so I keep it… trim.” You say, swallowing dryly as Marcus blushes.

“I’m uh… I’m sure it’s all perfect.” He surmises.

You smile. “My hair sometimes grows patchy on my head too, but it’s never long enough to grow out into full hair, if that makes sense? So I just shave it off. It’s easier.”

Marcus nods, listening intently. “What's your favourite wig that you have?”

You think about it for a moment. “The one I was wearing the day I met you.”

He blushes. “Yeah. I really like that one too.”

“Maybe I should wear it more often.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look at Marcus, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity.

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand again.

"I was so afraid that you’d be repulsed by me," you admit, your voice trembling.

“Why would you think that? I think you're absolutely beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

“Oh, Marcus.” You sniffle, reaching for your napkin to dab your eyes before your mascara runs.

“I mean it.” He squeezes your hand again, wrapping his fingers around your own, his eyes filled with compassion. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth. "But it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're still the same amazing person I've come to care about. I really care about you."

You look at him, his hand emanating so much warmth around yours. “Yeah?”

He nods, smiling. “Can I tell you another secret?”

“Sure.”

“I’m really falling for you, actually. Head over heels, completely and utterly.” He admits.

In that moment, the world seems to stand still as you process Marcus's heartfelt confession. A surge of warmth floods your chest, chasing away the lingering doubts and fears that have plagued you for so long.

"Marcus, I..." you begin, your voice choked with emotion. "I'm falling for you, too."

The smile that spreads across his face could outshine the sun.

With a soft exhale, Marcus leans in closer, his voice a tender whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

Marcus’s gaze locks with yours in a silent plea. "Would you... would you like to come back to my place after we finish up here?"

Your breath catches in your throat at Marcus's suggestion, your mind awash with a whirlwind of emotions and desires. The thought of being alone with him, of exploring the depths of your connection in the privacy of his home, sends a thrill coursing through your veins.

You can imagine him peeling you out of your dress, running his hands all over your skin. Asking you to stay with hot breath snaking in your ear because he wants to make love to you all night long. Wants to watch you buck and moan for him.

You’ve thought about it a lot at night, seeking satisfaction with your fingers and vibrator as your mind conjures up all the ways he can leave you satisfied. And you’d say yes, wanting nothing more than to let him fill you full of him, and then you’d have to take your wig off to sleep in his arms and-

“Oh.” Your thighs squeeze themselves together relieving some of that delicious anticipation, despite your mind penduluming between abject want and that familiar fear.

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any wild expectations. Just some more wine and maybe a movie? Some cuddles on the couch?” Marcus tempts.

With a slow nod, you meet Marcus's soft gaze with unwavering determination. You can’t abnegate yourself. Especially when it’s apparent he still wants to spend time with you, despite now knowing entirely everything about you.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'd really like that."

“Me too.” He smiles at you with a soft beam.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

You smile as Marcus talks along with the film Casablanca rolling across his flat TV screen. Changing his accent to match Humphrey Bogart’s, which makes you giggle, because it sounds nothing like it at all. Then he laughs with you, his chuckles sounding like wind chimes.

Wrapped in a cosy blanket, you nestle closer to Marcus, your head resting against his chest as you lose yourselves in the timeless tale unfolding onscreen.

Marcus drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer with a gentle warmth that envelopes you in a sense of security and belonging.

Close up, Marcus exudes an aura of warmth and masculinity that’s impossible to ignore with each breath you inhale pressed against his broad chest. He’s dressed more casually now, exchanging his suit pants for casual grey sweats and his crips shirt for a looser round neck.

His scent mingles with the natural musk of his skin, creating a tantalising combination that stirs something primal within. You get whiffs of citrusy bergamot and zesty orange, base notes that are complimented by hints of spicy cinnamon and clove each time you breathe in.

You can smell the fruity tones of the cabernet on the soft warmth of his breath, cascading down your forehead onto your nose.

As you watch the movie together, your soft breathing mingled with the crackle of the fireplace fills the room with a sense of warmth and intimacy, something you’ve always craved with a partner. To just feel close and wanted.

Marcus will occasionally steal glances down at you, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of you relaxed and at ease in his arms.

“This feels so good.” You murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah, it really does.” He agrees.

“Oh sorry, I was talking to Rick Blaine.” You giggle, his hand lowering and pinching your hip playfully.

“Oh really?” Marcus teases. “Shall I leave you and Rick to it then?”

You giggle some more and he pulls you in closer.

“He is really handsome, I’ll give you that. Maybe I’ll stay and watch.” He remarks.

“Kinky,” you smirk.

His chest heaves from another chuckle.

“He’s not as handsome as you, though.” You chirp, looking at him.

As you trace the lines of his face with your gaze - the strong jawline, the stubble-softened cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose - you marvel at the beauty of the man before you.

He’s a masterpiece in every sense of the word - a work of art crafted with care and precision, a reflection of the love and light that dwells within his gentle soul.

“Oh yeah?”

You nod looking up at him. “Yeah. Sexy too.”

He grins with twinkly eyes. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Really sexy,” you nod, leaning up to kiss him.

“I think you’re incredibly sexy.” Marcus says as he brushes his lips against yours. “Mmm, God… look at you.”

His tongue slips into your mouth, tantalising you into a willing submission inside his arms. It’s a kiss filled with tenderness and passion, a silent promise of love and acceptance that transcends words between you.

“It’s late,” you say softly, a dreamy relaxation settling into your bones, limbs warm from the wine and the snuggly blanket draped over you both.

Soft hums, hands that sweep up arms and into the back of his hairline, a nose that crushes against yours as you breathe into one another, you connect on deeper levels. You could kiss him forever.

“Yeah,” he glances over at the clock and it’s nearing midnight. “I’ll call you a cab., sweetheart.”

Looking a little bereft, he goes to move, but your palm on his chest stops him.

"Marcus, I... I don't want to leave, but-"

The thought of staying the night with Marcus is both thrilling and terrifying, for it means revealing your most vulnerable self - the woman beneath the carefully crafted facade of your wigs.

But every fibre in your body wants him pressed up close to you like he is now, holding you in his arms, skin on delicious skin.

You nod.

“It’s okay. I feel the same way. I'm nervous too."

"You are?"

"Because... you want me. It's felt like no-one really has most of my life. Second best." He says, his smile dipping.

"It's their loss, Marcus. Trust me." You smile.

"I really wanna hold you all night and wake up with you in the morning. Make you pancakes for breakfast.” He smiles again, brushing his nose against yours. “But I also don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He says, his fingers stroking against your cheek.

“But… when you’re ready, I do have something that might put you at ease.”

“What?”

“One sec.” He pushes off the blanket and disappears out of the room quickly.

You hear the thud of the stairs as he dashes up them and the shake again as he comes back down with something behind his back.

“Marcus-” You grin waiting for him to reveal it.

“I want you to know that I think you're beautiful, with or without your wig. And if and when you're ready to take it off, I'll be here for you, every step of the way. It changes nothing for me."

You smile softly at him.

“And I got this, for when you stay. I mean, if you want to. I hope you’ll want to. But I read some things about alopecia and some people said-”

“You read up on it?” You ask, your eyebrows rising.

“Yeah.” He hands it to you and your fingers stroke across a silken cap in a striking, deep sapphire hue.

“Marcus.”

The simple gesture speaks volumes about his thoughtfulness and care, touching you in a way you hadn't expected.

Tears well up in your eyes as you take the dainty cap from Marcus's outstretched hand, your fingers trembling with gratitude. It’s more than just a gift - it’s a symbol of his acceptance, his willingness to embrace every part of you, including your alopecia.

“I read that you might feel cold, when you sleep?”

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, wiping your eyes. “This is so thoughtful, Marcus.”

You’ve kept your alopecia hidden for so long, fearing rejection and judgement from those you care about. But Marcus's unwavering acceptance and understanding gives you a glimmer of hope - hope that you can be loved for who you truly are, wig or no wig.

"Thank you," you say softly, your voice tinged with emotion. "For being so kind and patient with me. This means so much much to me, more than you could ever know."

You look down at the cap, it’s colour bold and so pretty. Something so small, but means so much. A simple gesture that lets you know it's okay to be vulnerable.

To be yourself.

Marcus smiles, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You don't have to thank me. I care about you deeply, and I want you to feel comfortable and safe with me, sweetheart."

“I do,” you smile. “I really do.”

With a shaky breath, you make a decision. You know that you can't let fear hold you back any longer. Not when Marcus is right here, imbuing you with strength and desire.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reach up to remove your wig, unclipping it and revealing the smooth expanse of your scalp beneath.

Marcus's breath catches in his throat as he looks at you, eyes roaming slowly over your head and his heart swelling with admiration for your courage and vulnerability.

"Wow," he says. He reaches out to gently cup your face in his hands, his touch tender and reverent.

He places a soft kiss on the top of your head, lips pressed gently into the smooth, bare skin and it lingers before he pulls you closer - large hands resting gently on your hips as he glides his lips against yours.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity. "Absolutely stunning."

"I'm really not," you whisper.

"You are to me. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You feel his hands trail up your back and then disappear, the warmth from them now emanating on your cheeks again, thumbs stroking under your eyes.

“I think…” You begin with a breathless whisper.

“Yeah?” He breathes into your mouth.

“I think… I want to stay and for you to take me to bed, Marcus.”

“Are you sure?” He mouths against your cheek.

The subtle graze of his barely-there facial hair makes you hot under your skin. Your fingers clutch tighter around his shoulders, the material from his t-shirt bunching up there.

The little groan from the back of his throat is swallowed up as you breathe it down into your lungs.

“I’m sure. I want you.”

“God, I want you too.” He groans.

You don’t make it to the bedroom, instead straddling his lap right on the sofa as you kiss him with everything you have.

You help him out of his t-shirt, rolling it up and running your hands over his bronzed skin. Leaning in to trail open mouthed kisses down his chest, he unbuttons your shirt revealing delicate lace cups holding you in and groans audibly.

And you both laugh when he struggles to unclasp it.

“Fuck...” Marcus runs his mouth in a slew of delicate kisses over your cleavage, reaching around with nimble, yet trembling fingers to unclasp your bra.

"I think thas's the first time I've heard you curse." You snicker.

"I think the situation calls for it. My God... I can't believe how stunning you are!"

“What is going on back here?” He chuckles, and you help him out, letting your breasts spill into his face.

“God, look at those nipples.” He sighs hungrily.

“Put them in your mouth.” You husk.

Kissing and licking over your nipples you can feel the clamminess over your back as you sweat. His tongue draws tantalising circles around them and you could just come from that alone.

"Yes, ma'am." He sucks your nipple into his mouth, warm and wet as he swirls his tongue, giving each the attention they so deserve until they're hard and aching between the gentle pull of his teeth.

"Mmm," you groan in delight.

“Oh God, Marcus…” you whine, fingers tugging in his hair. You inadvertently rock your hips against his thigh, grinding softly on him. And he grunts glancing down at you doing it.

“That feel good?” Marcus asks as you moan softly, feeling the delicious grind of your clit catching against the fabric of his sweats.

“Yeah.”

He watches with rapt attention, his hands snaking their way around you and moving the henlm of your dress up round your stomach as you grip onto his shoulders.

“Mmm, feels so good,” you groan.

“You look so good doing that… fuck.” He whispers, losing his voice. “Use me, that’s it. Like that. Make a mess of me. Come on, baby.” Marcus urges, pressing desperate kisses to your throat.

Winding your hips, you clock the bulge straining in his sweats and palm it, and he hisses between his teeth. He feels big, thick and you groan as the pressure on your clit mounts.

He rocks you harder, faster as you grind and pant, moaning his name softly as you build. Your gasps are more throaty, your body tensing up, and he can feel it under his hands.

“Come for me, beautiful,” Marcus urges as you ride his thigh to a tingly oblivion.

Warmth spreads down your spine, laced with an aftermath of delicious prickles as your shudder and shake.

A dark patch is left on his grey sweatpants as your slick seeps into them.

“I wanna take these panties off. God, they're so sexy. Can I?” Marcus husks with dark eyes.

You nod and shimmy your hips so he can pull them down, laying you back on the couch as he parts your legs.

He licks his lips and groans at the perfectly bare pussy presented to him.

“Fuck…”

He strokes his fingers through your sopping folds, sucking on your nipples again as he slides his fingers up your slit, the pad of his finger pressing gently as you card through his hair.

“M-Marcus,” you whine as he teases your entrance with those thick digits, feeling you clench around just the tip.

He strokes his finger in and out as you lay there, leaving it in so you can work those muscles against it, clenching around him as you groan with desperate need.

He teases, slowly pulling it out and just as slowly pushing it back in again. Withdrawing and then adding another until he pumps them inside your aching cunt.

His other hand on the cushion beside your head inches closer, his thumb brushing against the smooth curve of your skin above your ear, and running his lips over your bare crown once more before resting his forehead on yours.

The slick of your pussy being fucked by his fingers echoes around you both.

“You are so beautiful,” he utters as he kisses you.

You tug at the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down over his ass to release his cock. Stroking the thickness of it in your palm as he circles your clit with his thumb, two fingers buried deep inside you and rubbing against that spot inside that makes your thighs shake.

“I need you, Marcus.”

“Mmm, you can have me, sweetheart. Anytime you want…” He croons, running his lips over your collarbone.

“Oh really?” You smirk.

“I’m completely yours.” And with the look in his eyes you believe him.

He is yours, yours to keep and love and grow old with if you want him - it's all there, deep in the golden swirls of his irises. A lifetime together; an irrevocable happiness that you’ve been searching for your entire life.

“Mine.” You repeat, pulling his face up and kissing him.

He lowers himself down, cock brushing against your folds as you groan. He pulls back to watch, teasing his thick head through those slick lips, watching as he slowly disappears inside them with a wet pop.

“Oh fuck…” he sweetly blasphemes, teeth griding tight.

He guides himself in, pushing gently with his hips as he crests through your tight hole. You’re so wet, dripping for him, that he slides in with ease.

You gasp at the thickness of him, the jolt as he runs his thumb over your clit as he slides in, cock filling you and stretching you around him.

His body is so warm and you can't stop touching him, stroking his skin and planting kisses all over it.

His lips move across your own, inking breaths and dizzy chants into the layers. “Feels so good, feels so good, feels so good…”

“Oh God,” you breathe.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, you feel really good.” It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. Smooth and deep as he fills you up, connects himself to you on a level that transcends the basic intimacy of sex.

“I know, baby. God, you’re so tight. Ah, shit…” Marcus groans, eyes rolling back.

“Kiss me,” you plead, your tongue slipping into his mouth as he moves. Hips languidly rotating and thrusting slowly as he bottoms out.

You cry out when he does, fingers gripping into flesh, hot pants sinking into his pores.

“Can you feel me, right there?” He gasps, pushing himself as deep into you as he’ll go.

“Yes… God, yes!”

He watches as your eyes squeeze shut, how your teeth bite down on your lip as you moan and pant; feels how you clench tighter and more erratically around him the closer you get to your orgasm.

Your mouth chases his fingers, open and wanting as his thumb brushes down the side of your cheek and over your lips. Gentle, rhythmic strokes become harder and deeper as he’s utterly possessed by you, eyes rolling back and jaw slack as you feel every inch of him.

He squeezes over your ass, thighs, breasts, staring at you, completely captivated.

“You wanna ride me?” Marcus suggests with a coy smirk and apple flushed cheeks.

“God yes!” You hum excitedly.

You straddle him again and lower yourself down, his cock packing you out once more.

“Oh shit, Marcus!”

“Sweetheart-” he groans as you sit all the way down.

“Oh my God, that’s so deep,” you whine, your hands clawing at his chest.

You start to move, feeling so full and he groans looking up at you.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” he whines.

He feels incredible, looks stunning with his head thrown back on the couch as his cheeks keep that gorgeous pink hue and his rich cocoa eyes look deeply into you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” His fingers are felt on the back of your bare head, stroking softly as he kisses you. And it feels incredible to have him touch you so intimately like this.

You lick into his mouth making him smile and grunt as you ride a bit faster, his cock hitting you so deep with each movement.

He groans out when he feels you come around him, squeezing his cock tighter and making him work harder through it. Squeezing and contracting as your slick soaks him.

“God, you’re even more beautiful when you’re coming all over my cock,” he puffs.

“You’re amazing,” you pant.

“It’s all you, sweetheart. Trust me.” Marcus groans. “Can you take it a little harder?”

“I’ll take it anyway you want to give it to me.” You smile.

“Oh, baby.” He fucks up into you harder, loud repetitive slaps fill the lounge along with your sweet, caustic whines as you build. “There are so many ways I wanna give to you.”

“Tell me,” you hum.

He smirks before licking across your nipple, eyes looking up at you the whole time. “From behind… up against the wall… on the kitchen counter.”

“Mmm,” you whine. You reach down to stroke your clit, gasping as your fingers swirl around in the immense wetness down there.

“Mmm, fuck.” He groans watching you do it as he continues to push up into you. “Yeah. Stroke that gorgeous clit for me,” he grunts.

“How else do you want me?” You pant.

You can feel it, rising in your chest, glittering behind your eyes. The building as your peak finds you amongst the heady bliss.

“In the back of my car… handcuffed to my bed railing and unable to escape while I taste you for hours…”

“Fuck!” Your legs start to shake once more, your back arching and your breasts pushed further towards his face. You lean back, gripping onto his thighs, hips bouncing as you chase that feeling so gluttonously.

“Look at me, let me see you come again, beautiful.”

It’s almost unbearable, the way he looks at you, his eyes filled with so much adoration that it threatens to spill out of your own.

He gasps, panting with you, enthralled and enraptured as you come undone completely around him, and he swears he's never seen anything more stunning in his life.

He absorbs that moment wholly, when the euphoria takes over your face, as your raspy yells of his name fall into silk whispers around his face. How you continue to bounce with fervour on his cock long after the shakes have dissipated from your bones.

“That’s it, that’s it… Oh God!” Marcus whispers, mouth curving into an astonished arc as that dimple reveals itself again. “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart.”

“I want you to.” You whisper. "Come for me, Marcus."

“Can I come inside you?”

You nod as you press your mouth to his, swallowing his tongue as his grip tightens around you.

He slows right down, sliding up into you with deep, purposeful strokes and you feel him twitch before he groans out, long and low as he comes.

Marcus pulls out, watching the pearly white fluid drip out of you, gathering it on his pulsing head and slips it back inside you.

You both mewl together as he does it, his face falling into your chest and sighing out.

“Wow…”

“Yeah.” You agree breathlessly.

“Stunning,” Marcus whispers as he runs his nose up your cheek and plants another kiss against your smooth crown. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

You smile, eyelashes fluttering against his jaw as you wrap him tightly in your arms, never wanting to let him go.

You know that right here, in this moment and held in the safety of his arms, you’ve found something truly special.

“You still wanna stay?” He asks you.

You nod, smiling with a satiated beam. “If you’ll have me?”

“I’ll always have you. And I’ll always want you.” Marcus says.

The cap feels so soft and silken against your skin as you nestle down into the soft pillows, and watch Marcus come back in from the bathroom.

Gloriously naked and crawling up the bed, he trails kisses up your legs, stomach and neck until he reaches your lips.

“Looks really good on you,” he compliments and you smile.

“Thank you again,” you say, pulling him close.

“Anything for you. I can’t wait to wake up with you in the morning,” he yawns, a lone finger trailing the rim of your cap and down your cheek.

“Flaking out on me already, Agent?” You smirk as you wrap your legs around his hips.

“Mmm, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” Marcus grins, nuzzling into your neck and sucking it gently into his mouth.

He relaxes against you as you stroke patterns over his broad back.

This feels good. Really good. A feeling you definitely want to get used to as you take in the feel of him crushed on top of you, arms holding you close, his hair tickling the bottom of your jaw.

This right here, is all you’ve ever wanted. And Marcus is willing to give it all to you. You feel like you've hit the jackpot and can’t stop grinning.

“Marcus?” You whisper.

“Mmm?” He sighs softly.

“Thank you for accepting the real me.”

The gentle snuffles of his light snores soon fill the room and you beam, reaching up to stroke over the silk of the cap, smiling at how you’ve found such a caring and thoughtful man who thinks you’re incredibly beautiful.

And as you drift off to sleep, you're convinced you hear him whisper to you:"I love the real you..."

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Marcus, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #bodies series #real bodies #diversity #inclusivity #every body is beautiful #jett's writing

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