hi friends! sorry i've been inactive for a while, i've been super busy in my personal life, but i'm back now! my requests are closed currently so i can catch up on a few that have been sitting in my inbox for a while.
here's what's next!
first time having sex w/ re2r leon
carlos fluff (super excited to write this one!)
re4r leon proposing
re2r leon x uptown girl reader
i'm so, so excited to write these!! thank you to the people that requested me to write these and thank you all for reading my content and being patient with me :-)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the catastrophe of tomorrow morning 𖹭 aerion targaryen
aerion offers improved behavior and basic human decency in exchange for you canceling your family visit. there are many things he can endure. spending four days away from you is apparently not one of them.
the hour is far too late for this sort of catastrophe.
the castle has long since quieted into the stillness of night, servants retired to their quarters, torches dimmed low along the corridors beyond your chambers. a fire crackles softly nearby, warm enough that the heavy curtains have been drawn back to let the cooler night air drift through the windows.
you sit comfortably atop the bed surrounded by neatly folded garments, carefully arranging what you intend to bring for the short visit ahead while aerion lingers nearby removing rings from his fingers with the weary slowness of a man finally settling after a long day.
he is only half paying attention to you, stretched carelessly across the cushioned chair near the hearth, until you speak in that calm, absentminded tone that changes everything.
"i shall leave after breakfast," you say simply, smoothing a crease from one of your dresses before setting it aside. "i should arrive by nightfall if the roads remain clear."
your voice is so casual, so entirely unconcerned, that for a moment the words do not even seem to register properly with him. then the sound of metal abruptly striking wood echoes through the room as one of his rings slips from suddenly still fingers.
the silence that follows is immediate and unnatural, so heavy that you finally glance up from your packing. aerion is staring at you in complete disbelief.
"you shall what?" he asks carefully, every word measured with the quiet horror of a man being informed of an approaching execution rather than a routine family visit.
his expression remains perfectly still, though only in the dangerous way storms pause before breaking apart the sky. even seated, there is something sharp about the way his shoulders straighten, violet eyes fixed entirely upon you.
you blink once at him, mildly startled by the intensity of the reaction already forming. "to visit my family," you repeat carefully, beginning to suspect you may have made a terrible mistake in timing. "only for a few days."
the words worsen everything.
"a few days," aerion echoes faintly, rising from the chair as though sitting has suddenly become impossible. he repeats it again under his breath like someone attempting to comprehend profound suffering.
"and you neglected to inform me of this before tonight?" there is genuine betrayal in his voice, affront written plainly across every sharp line of his face. one would think you had secretly arranged your own disappearance from the realm itself rather than planned a short visit.
he looks at you as though trust itself has been shattered within these chambers. you stare at him for a long moment, entirely unimpressed by the dramatics already unfolding before you.
"aerion—"
"no," he interrupts immediately, lifting one hand with startling urgency as he begins pacing before the bed. "do not attempt to soften the matter now."
the silver of his hair catches the firelight as he moves, every bit the distressed prince from some overly dramatic tale sung by traveling musicians.
"tomorrow?" he repeats incredulously, turning toward you again with fresh disbelief. "tomorrow?" his hand drags down his face slowly, physically burdened by this revelation.
"you intended to vanish from this castle and only informed me mere hours beforehand. had i not wandered into these chambers tonight, would i have discovered your disappearance through rumor?"
your mouth falls open slightly at the sheer absurdity of it. you remain seated exactly where you are, one dress still half folded in your lap while your husband behaves as though civilization itself is collapsing around him.
the fire continues crackling peacefully nearby in direct contrast to the emotional devastation aerion has apparently chosen to endure.
"i was going to tell you after supper," you reply flatly, watching him pace the room who's searching desperately for reason within chaos.
he stops immediately upon hearing this, offended in entirely new ways. the look he gives you suggests this explanation has somehow deepened the betrayal rather than softened it.
"you should have told me weeks ago."
"it is four days."
"four endless, miserable days."
the sincerity with which he says it nearly destroys your composure entirely. you press your lips together hard in a desperate attempt to maintain seriousness while aerion resumes pacing the room with mounting distress.
there is something deeply entertaining about watching a man feared by the realm unravel over temporary separation.
"and what exactly am i expected to do while you are gone?" he demands suddenly, stopping at the foot of the bed to stare at you accusingly. "speak to people? attend meetings alone? endure the mornings without you there to torment me?" he says it as though these are unimaginable cruelties inflicted upon him personally by the gods themselves. "this castle will become unbearable."
you slowly set aside the garment in your hands. the mattress dips softly beneath your shifting weight as you turn fully toward him, equal parts exasperated and amused.
"you are acting exactly why i did not tell you sooner," you inform him carefully, laughter threatening beneath the words. aerion immediately looks scandalized by the accusation.
"that is nonsense," he says at once, deeply offended by the suggestion.
you gesture vaguely toward the sight of him pacing your shared chambers in emotional ruin. "you are currently behaving as though i announced my permanent exile."
aerion points at you immediately. "because you blindsided me."
the sheer conviction in his voice nearly makes you laugh outright. then, without warning, something changes in his expression. you watch realization strike him in real time. he almost looks like a commander suddenly forming strategy during a battle. the distress remains, certainly, but now determination settles beneath it as well. aerion straightens slightly before narrowing his eyes at you with terrifying seriousness.
"my love—"
"what if i buy you everything? or everyone? anyone?"
the abruptness of it catches you so entirely off guard that you simply stare at him for several seconds in silence. somewhere beyond the windows, the wind stirs softly against stone.
"no, listen carefully," he crosses back toward the bed before lowering himself onto one knee beside it. "jewels. dresses. that necklace you stared at three moons ago and claimed you did not want despite clearly wanting it."
he speaks quickly, fearing you may reject negotiations before hearing the full offer. "i can also become significantly kinder to everyone within this castle." his voice lowers slightly with grave sincerity. "i shall stop threatening the maesters."
"that should not be considered a generous offer."
"i can do more," he insists immediately, leaning closer with the urgency of a desperate negotiator. "i shall tolerate musicians during supper. i shall smile at lords i dislike. i will even permit that dreadful cousin of yours to speak uninterrupted."
he pauses briefly, visibly pained by the enormity of his own sacrifice. "for at least several minutes."
your shoulders begin shaking with restrained laughter. the image alone is enough to undo you completely. your husband nobly suffering through conversation for your sake.
"aerion," you manage through growing amusement, "i am not canceling my visit because you offered basic decency."
his expression falls immediately afterward, so genuinely wounded that it only worsens your laughter. "then my efforts mean nothing to you," he says quietly, sounding devastated beyond reason.
you cover your mouth briefly, trying and failing to compose yourself.
"i can be... sweeter," he presses on desperately, climbing onto the bed beside you hoping proximity itself may strengthen his argument. "or more agreeable. i shall compliment people voluntarily."
he visibly grimaces at the mere thought.
"i shall personally ensure fresh lemon cakes await you every morning for an entire moon."
you finally break fully into laughter then, filling the chambers entirely while aerion watches you with resignation.
"name your price," he says solemnly, taking your hand into both of his with absurd seriousness. "i am prepared to negotiate."
you shake your head slowly, still laughing.
the sight of him sprawled across the bed beside your neatly folded travel things is ridiculous enough already, yet somehow he continues committing himself to the performance.
"i am leaving for four days, not abandoning you forever," you remind him gently once your laughter softens enough to speak clearly again.
aerion exhales heavily before collapsing backward against the pillows with theatrical despair. "to me," he mutters darkly toward the ceiling above, "there is little difference."
you shift closer against the pillows until your shoulder brushes his, your amusement slowly melting into fondness as he immediately reaches for your hand again without thought. his fingers lace through yours, ensuring you cannot disappear before morning arrives.
"why did you not tell me sooner?" he asks again eventually. you glance toward him, already knowing exactly how this answer will be received.
"i told you," you say patiently, squeezing his hand gently, "you would react exactly like this."
aerion immediately opens his mouth to argue. then frowns deeply because he realizes, with great personal offense, that you are entirely correct.
the firelight flickers warmly against the sharp lines of his face while he continues holding your hand with unnecessary firmness, clearly displeased by this entire conversation. then, quite suddenly, his expression changes again.
you recognize the look immediately and dislike it at once. it is the exact face he wears moments before making deeply unreasonable decisions with absolute confidence.
"then i shall come with you," he announces. the statement is delivered with such certainty one would think the matter already settled.
you stare at him for a long moment again, genuinely unsure whether to laugh or throw something at him instead. aerion, meanwhile, appears entirely pleased with himself now that he has clearly solved the problem through sheer brilliance.
"i will leave with you after breakfast," he continues calmly, already planning the arrangement in his head. "the journey will be safer with additional guards. we shall remain there together until you are prepared to return."
"like hell you are."
aerion looks startled by the immediate rejection.
"you are staying here," you continue firmly before he can interrupt, shifting to sit properly upright against the pillows. "you have duties, councils, meetings, and an entire castle depending upon you not abandoning your responsibilities because your wife is visiting her family for four days."
aerion opens his mouth, clearly prepared to argue every single point like always, but you lift one hand sharply before he can begin.
"and while i am away, you will remain here waiting for my letters. that is what you will do."
you have rarely seen a man appear so personally devastated while technically being told to stay inside his own castle.
aerion stares at you as though you have condemned him to isolation atop some freezing mountain rather than instructed him to behave normally for less than a week.
"letters," he repeats faintly, almost hollow with despair. "you expect me to survive entirely on letters. letters?" his voice drops lower with every word until he sounds haunted by the concept. "ink upon parchment. scraps of affection sent across distance."
"oh, stop it."
"no."
the refusal comes immediately. he releases your hand only to collapse again sideways across the bed, one forearm thrown over his eyes. the mattress shifts beneath his weight while you simply sit there watching him in exhaustion.
"this is misery," he mutters toward absolutely no one. "cruelty within my own chambers." he reaches blindly for one of the pillows beside him and drags it over his face. "abandoned by my own wife."
from beneath the pillow comes another muffled complaint. "i shall wither here."
"four days, not four decades."
"no one understands. four days! perhaps longer if the roads turn poor. i may never recover."
you shake your head slowly and reach over to pat the lump of pillow covering his head. aerion immediately grabs your wrist from beneath it, clinging to your hand like a deeply wronged prince facing exile.
Aerion Targaryen x wife!reader - A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
Summary: Dunk accidently mistakes Aerion's lady wife in his tent for a common whore because she did not arrive with the rest of the Targaryen party to the Ashford tourney. This is a oneshot, not related to any series.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ p in v, unprotected sex, possessiveness, power imbalance, dubiously consensual situations, Aerion wants to roleplay, pregnancy mention, talks about killing, Aerion has insane ideas, breeding.
The morning of the tourney had dawned bright over Ashford Meadow, the kind of morning that promised glory and broke that promise before the sun reached its zenith. You had watched the Targaryen party arrive from the shade of the pavilion, your hands folded, your spine a straight line of practiced composure. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, red on black, snapped in the wind, a sight that still made your stomach tighten.
Dunk, Ser Duncan, now, though it sat awkwardly on his broad shoulders, stood near the lists with his squire, a small, shaven-headed boy with sharp eyes. The hedge knight watched the procession with a wariness that bordered on rude, his great height making him impossible to miss among the crowd of lords and ladies and smallfolk alike. He had heard the whispers, same as everyone else. Prince Aerion Targaryen was coming to Ashford. Prince Aerion Brightflame, they called him. Some called him other things, though not to his face. This one, he had heard, was cut from different cloth entirely.
The prince was fair to look upon, all the Targaryens were, with hair like spun silver and eyes the color of violets, a sharp jaw and a mouth that seemed perpetually on the verge of a sneer or a smile, and it was difficult to tell which was which. He wore black riding leathers chased with silver thread, a cloak of deep crimson slung over one shoulder, and he did not look at the smallfolk who gathered to gawk. He looked through them, as if they were made of glass and of no consequence.
Duncan watched him dismount with an easy grace, handing his reins to a squire without a word of thanks. The prince stretched, rolled his shoulders, and cast a lazy glance across the meadow toward the rows of tents and pavilions that had sprouted like colorful mushrooms overnight.
“I am for my tent,” Aerion announced to no one in particular, though his voice carried well enough. It was a pleasant voice, cultured and smooth, with an undercurrent of something that made the hairs on Duncan’s arm prickle. “Tell them to bring wine. Something red, from the Arbor, if they have it. None of that Dornish swill.” He paused, and a slow, private smile curved his lips. “I, myself, shall be finding a pretty woman to share it with.”
Chuckles followed. A couple of Kingsguards shared a knowing look. Duncan frowned. He had heard, somewhere in the jumble of heraldry and gossip that accompanied any great tourney, that prince Aerion was married. To some lady of a lesser house, a match that had raised eyebrows among the high lords but had been pushed through by the prince’s father, Maekar, for reasons Duncan did not pretend to understand. A wife. And here the prince was, speaking of finding a pretty woman as if he were a knight with nothing but a horse and a sword to his name. Duncan’s sense of honour, simple and stubborn as an ox, bristled at the casual dismissal. A man wed was a man wed. He ought not speak so.
But Duncan was no fool, not entirely. He kept his frown to himself and watched the silver-haired prince stride off toward the largest of the black-and-crimson pavilions, his cloak billowing behind him, and he thought, not for the first time, that the blood of the dragon was a strange and unsettling thing.
You heard the commotion before you saw him. The Targaryen encampment was a hive of activity, servants hurrying with trunks and tapestries, grooms leading horses to the picket lines, guards taking up their posts. You had arrived a day earlier, traveling with your family, separately from your husband despite his insistence. The roads are dusty, he himself had said, after all, with that faint curl of his lip that might have been concern or might have been disdain. You will arrive fresh and rested. I will not have my wife looking like a Dothraki crone at her first great tourney. So you had come ahead with a small retinue, and you had waited.
Now he was here.
You remained in your chair within the pavilion, a book open on your lap that you had not read a single word of in the past hour. Your heart was beating too fast, a traitorous thing that had never learned to be calm around him. It was not fear, not precisely. It was something more complicated, something that knotted in your belly and made your breath come shorter and your skin feel too warm.
You heard his voice outside, giving orders, and then the flap of the pavilion was thrown back and he stepped inside, bringing with him the smell of horse and leather and something else, something that was just him.
“Wine,” he said to the air, not looking at you. He shrugged off his cloak and tossed it over a chest. “I told them to bring wine. If it is not here by the time I have removed my boots, I will have someone flogged.”
You said nothing. You watched him sit on the edge of the camp bed and work at his boots, his long fingers deft on the buckles. His silver hair fell forward. He was beautiful. You had thought so the first time you saw him, standing in your father’s hall with that faint, mocking smile and those impossible violet eyes, and you thought so now, even knowing what lay beneath the beauty. Perhaps because of what lay beneath it. You had never been able to untangle that knot.
A servant appeared, breathless, bearing a silver tray with a flagon of wine and two goblets. Aerion waved a hand dismissively. “Leave it. Go.”
The servant went. Aerion poured himself a goblet of deep red wine, swirled it, inhaled, and took a long drink. Only then did he seem to notice you, though you knew he had been aware of you from the moment he stepped into the tent. He was always aware of you. It was one of the things that made him so unsettling.
His violet eyes traveled over you slowly, from the crown of your head to the tips of your slippers, and you felt the weight of that gaze like a physical touch. You wore a gown of pale blue silk, cut low enough to be pleasing but not so low as to be vulgar, your hair dressed simply but becomingly. You were not a great beauty, you knew. You were pretty enough, with good skin and kind eyes and a mouth that smiled easily, but you were no silver-haired Targaryen princess. You were just you. And he was Aerion Brightflame.
“Well,” he drawled, setting down his goblet. His smile curved slowly, lazily, like a cat stretching in the sun. “How very fortunate. A pretty wench has finally found her way to my tent.”
Your spine stiffened. Your hands tightened on the book in your lap. “Aerion.”
“I wonder,” he continued, as if you had not spoken, “what brings you here. Looking to earn some silver for your services, perhaps?” He leaned back on his hands, his legs spread slightly, his entire posture one of indolent amusement. “I am told I am generous. When the service pleases me.”
Heat flooded your cheeks. It was anger, you told yourself. Only anger. Not the other thing, the thing that made your thighs press together beneath your skirts. “You are my husband.”
“Am I?” He tilted his head, feigning surprise. “I had forgotten. You must remind me. Wives and whores are so easily confused, are they not? Both warm. Both willing.” His smile sharpened. “Both so very eager to please their prince.”
You rose from your chair, the book sliding forgotten to the cushion. “If you wish to play games, Aerion, find someone else. I am not in the mood.”
“Oh, but you are.” His voice dropped, losing some of its mocking edge and gaining something darker, something that vibrated in the air between you. “You are always in the mood for me. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it on your skin.” He inhaled deeply, theatrically, his nostrils flaring. “Like honey. Like summer. Come here.”
Your feet carried you forward before your mind could catch up. You hated that. You hated how easily he commanded your body, how your legs moved to his voice as if pulled by strings. You stopped a few feet from him, close enough to see the small scar on his jaw from some childhood mishap, the way his pupils had swallowed the violet of his irises.
“I am your wife,” you said again, quieter this time.
“Yes.” He reached out and caught your wrist, his grip warm and firm but not painful. He tugged, gently, and you stumbled forward until you were standing between his spread knees. “You are. And yet here you are, in my tent, dressed unbefitting your station, looking at me with those eyes. What is a prince to think?”
He released your wrist and patted his thigh. The gesture was casual, but his eyes were fixed on your face with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Come. Sit. Show me what a pretty wench does when she wants to earn her silver.”
You hesitated. The game was cruel, you knew. It was like him, to push and push until you did not know whether you wanted to slap him or kiss him, until the lines between anger and desire blurred into something indistinguishable. But beneath the cruelty, beneath the mockery, there was something else. You had learned to see it, over two years of marriage. A flicker in his eyes, a slight softening around his mouth. He wanted this game, yes, but he wanted you. He wanted you to play it with him, to meet him in this strange space he had created, where you were both more and less than husband and wife.
You lowered yourself onto his lap.
His hands came up immediately, settling on your hips, fingers pressing into the silk of your gown. “There,” he murmured, his breath warm against your throat. “That was not so difficult, was it?”
“I am not a whore,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.
“No,” he agreed, and his lips brushed the curve of your jaw, feather-light. “You are not. A whore would know what to do. A whore would have her hands in my hair by now, or her fingers on my laces. A whore would be rocking against me, seeking her own pleasure as much as mine.” His teeth grazed your earlobe. “You, my sweet wife, are sitting on my lap like a startled doe. It is charming. It is also, I confess, somewhat frustrating.”
You turned your head and met his eyes. They were so close, those violet eyes, and they were laughing at you. But there was warmth there too, a heat that had nothing to do with mockery. “Then teach me.”
Something shifted in his expression. The lazy amusement remained, but beneath it something kindled, something hungry and intent. “Oh,” he breathed. “I intend to.”
His hands slid from your hips to the laces of your gown. He did not fumble, did not hesitate. His fingers worked the knots with practiced ease, loosening the silk until the bodice gaped and cool air kissed your skin. You shivered, and his smile widened.
“First,” he said, his voice a low murmur against your collarbone, “a whore does not sit still and wait to be undressed. She participates. She wants the business concluded quickly, so she may move on to the next customer. She is efficient.” He tugged the gown down over your shoulders, baring your breasts to the warm air of the tent. “She does not blush like a maiden on her wedding night.”
You could feel the heat spreading down your chest. But you lifted your hands and began to work at the laces of his tunic, your fingers less deft than his, trembling slightly. He let you struggle for a moment, watching your face with those intense violet eyes, before he covered your hands with his own and guided them.
“Like this,” he said, and his voice had gone rough at the edges. “Slowly. There is no rush. The customer will pay for your time regardless.”
“You are the customer,” you pointed out, your voice breathless.
“I am.” He shrugged out of his tunic, letting it fall to the floor of the tent. His chest was lean and pale, dusted with fine silver hair, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he moved. “And I am a generous man. I will pay for every moment.”
His hands found your breasts, cupping them, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they tightened into hard peaks. You gasped, your hips jerking forward instinctively, and he laughed, a low, pleased sound.
“There,” he said. “Now you are beginning to understand. A whore knows her own pleasure. She takes it where she finds it, because the night is long and there are many customers. She does not wait for permission.”
He shifted beneath you, and you felt the hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his breeches. Your breath caught. You rocked against him, experimental, and his eyes fluttered half-closed.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Like that.”
His hands slid down your body, gathering your skirts, pushing them up until they bunched around your waist. The air was cool on your bare thighs, and you shivered again, but it was not from cold. His fingers found the waist of your smallclothes and tugged, and you lifted your hips to help him, your body moving without conscious thought now, driven by a need that had been building since the moment he stepped into the tent.
“Now,” he said, his voice a dark purr, “you will take what you want. I am merely a customer. A paying customer. Do you understand?”
You did not understand, not entirely, but you nodded anyway. His hands settled on your hips again, guiding you, positioning you. You felt the blunt head of him pressing against your entrance, and you were slick and ready, your body traitorously eager. You sank down onto him, taking him inside you in one slow motion, and the sound he made, a low, guttural groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep in his chest, made your inner muscles clench around him.
“Gods,” he muttered. His head fell back, his throat exposed. “You are...you are...”
You did not let him finish. You began to move, rocking on his lap as he had instructed, finding a rhythm that made pleasure spark up your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but you did not care. You were watching his face, watching the way his composure cracked and crumbled, watching the mocking prince dissolve into something rawer, something more honest.
“Look at you,” he said, his voice strained. “My pretty little whore. Taking what she wants. Riding me like a...like a...”
His words broke off into a groan as you shifted your angle, finding a spot that made you both gasp. You braced your hands on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the pale skin, and moved faster. The tent was warm, filled with the scent of wine and sex and the faint sweetness that always clung to him. Outside, you could hear the distant sounds of the tourney grounds, horses, voices, the clash of practice swords, but they seemed very far away, from another world entirely.
He was watching you now, his violet eyes wide and dark, his lips parted. The mockery was gone. The game was forgotten. There was only this, the slide of your bodies together, the wet sounds of your joining, the way his hips bucked up to meet your downward strokes.
You leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed you back with equal ferocity, one hand leaving your hip to tangle in your hair, holding you close as his tongue swept into your mouth.
When you broke apart, gasping, he pressed his forehead to yours. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed as if in pain. “I cannot...you are too...I need...”
You did not know what he needed. You were too far gone yourself, the pleasure building and building like a wave preparing to crash. Your rhythm faltered, became erratic, and you buried your face in the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of him.
His arms came around you, crushing you against his chest. One hand splayed across your bare back, holding you close, while the other gripped your hip, guiding your movements. His mouth found your shoulder, and he kissed the skin there.
You shattered. The pleasure broke over you in waves, making you cry out against his throat, your body clenching around him rhythmically. He followed a moment later, his hips jerking up into you, a low groan tearing from his lips as he spilled inside you.
But Aerion, being Aerion, did not let up.
His grip on your hips tightened before you could catch your breath, holding you firmly in place atop him. You were still trembling, still gasping, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, when his voice came again: that same lazy, mocking drawl, as if nothing at all had happened between you.
"What a pretty girl you are," he murmured against your hair, and you could feel his lips curve into a smile. "So eager. So willing. If you please me well enough, I may take you back to Summerhall as my paramour."
You stiffened in his arms. He was still playing the game. Even now, with his seed still warm inside you, with your bodies still joined, he could not simply be your husband. He had to be this: this infuriating, impossible creature who needed to twist everything into something strange and sharp.
"Aerion..." you started, but he cut you off, his hand sliding up your spine to cup the back of your neck.
"I'll even put a babe in you," he continued. His other hand pressed against your lower belly, where his seed was taking root, if the gods willed it. "I would wager you would give me a beautiful child. Silver hair, violet eyes. A true dragon." His thumb traced a slow circle on your stomach. "A son. You would like that, would you not? To give a prince a son?"
Your breath caught. The words were part of the game, they had to be, but there was something in his voice, some thread of genuine yearning, that made your heart clench. He wanted a son. He had always wanted a son. It was the reason he had married you, or so he claimed. A wife to give him heirs. A warm body to fill with dragon seed. Nothing more.
But his hands on you were gentle now, even as his words remained cruel.
"You are so soft," he breathed, his lips brushing your temple. "So supple. I would wager you make good coin at tourneys. Rotating through tents, spreading your legs for any knight with silver in his purse." His hips shifted beneath you, a small, lazy movement that made you gasp. "But I would keep you for myself. I am a jealous man. I do not share what is mine."
You pulled back enough to look at his face. His violet eyes were half-lidded, his lips curved in that familiar mocking smile, but there was a tension around his jaw, a tightness that betrayed him. He was waiting for something. Waiting to see if you would play along, or if you would break the game and demand he be your husband instead of this strange, cruel stranger he pretended to be.
"A prince's paramour," you said slowly, finding your voice. "That is a generous offer. But I have heard the prince of Summerhall already has a wife."
Something flickered in his eyes. Satisfaction, perhaps. Or something softer.
"His wife," Aerion said, and his voice changed, the mockery falling away like a cloak dropped to the floor, "is a vexing creature who does not know her place."
There it was. The shift. You were his wife again, and he was your husband, and the game was over. Or so you thought.
"She came to Ashford days ago," he continued, and now there was a genuine edge to his voice, a sharpness that had nothing to do with play. "With her own house. Her own retinue. As if she were not a Targaryen. As if she were not mine."
You opened your mouth to protest, but he was not finished.
"I arrived today and found my wife already ensconced in my pavilion, wearing a gown of pale blue silk that any merchant's daughter might own." His fingers plucked at the fabric pooled around your waist, his lip curling. "Plain. Unadorned. No jewels. No finery. As if I had not bought her a dozen gowns finer than this. As if I had not given her rubies and sapphires and pearls enough to drown a lesser woman."
"I thought..."
"You thought wrong." His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip. His touch was gentle, but his eyes were hard. "You are a Targaryen now. My wife. When we travel, you travel with me. Not ahead, not behind, not separately. With me. At my side. Where you belong."
"I did not want to slow you down," you said quietly. "You said the roads were dusty. You said..."
"I said many things." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, brief and fierce. "I am your husband. It is my right to complain about dusty roads while you ride beside me. It is my right to be irritated by your presence and comforted by it in equal measure. You do not get to escape me so easily."
You stared at him, your heart beating too fast. He was impossible. He was infuriating. He was looking at you with those violet eyes, and beneath the irritation, beneath the princely arrogance, there was something that looked almost like hurt.
"You were lonely," you realized aloud. "You arrived and I was not with you, and you were lonely."
His jaw tightened. "I was bored. There is a difference."
"Is there?"
His hand slid from your face to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his strength, of the power he held over you. "Do not presume to know my mind, wife."
But you did know. Marriage had taught you to read him, to see past the barbs and the mockery to the man beneath. A man who did not know how to say I missed you without wrapping it in thorns. A man who had been raised to believe that wanting someone was a weakness, and so he pretended he wanted no one at all.
"And this gown," he continued, his thumb stroking the column of your throat. "You will not wear it again. Not in public. I have bought you silks and velvets. I have given you the jewels to wear. You will wear them. All of them. At once, if you must. I will not have the realm whispering that prince Aerion cannot care for his wife."
"No one would think that," you said.
"They would." His voice dropped, and for a moment, the mask slipped entirely. "And what if someone had seen you, dressed like this? What if some knight or lord had mistaken you for a common wench, a camp follower, and dragged you to his tent?" His grip on your throat tightened fractionally. "What would I have done then? Burned the entire tourney to ash? Killed every man who looked at you? You are mine, and you walk about looking like anyone might have you, and I cannot..."
He stopped. His breath was coming faster, his chest rising and falling beneath your hands. His eyes were wide, wild, and you realized with a start that he was genuinely afraid. Not of losing you to another man, Aerion Targaryen feared very little, but of the rage that would consume him if anyone tried. Of what he might do.
"Aerion," you said softly. You lifted your hand and touched his face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "I am sorry. I did not think."
"No," he agreed, but some of the tension bled out of him. "You did not."
He turned his face into your palm and pressed a kiss there, his lips warm and surprisingly soft. Then he kissed your wrist, the inside of your elbow, the curve of your shoulder. His hands slid down your body, over your ribs, your waist, settling once more on your hips.
"I will wear the gowns," you promised, your voice breathless as his mouth found the hollow of your throat. "And the jewels. All of them. I will look like a Targaryen princess."
"You are a Targaryen princess." His teeth grazed your collarbone. "My princess. My wife."
"And I will ride with you," you continued, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. "Always. I will not go ahead again."
"See that you do not." He lifted his head and looked at you, and the mockery was gone from his eyes, replaced by something fiercer and far more dangerous. "I will not be parted from you again. I find I do not care for it."
Before you could answer, his hands tightened on your hips and he guided you into motion again. You gasped, your body still sensitive from your first release, but he did not stop. He moved you slowly, rocking you against him in a rhythm that made pleasure spark up your spine all over again.
"Aerion," you managed, your voice unsteady. "I am...your breeches...I am drenching them..."
"Let them be drenched." His voice was rough, his breath coming in short pants against your throat. "I have other breeches. I have a hundred breeches. I will ruin them all if I must."
You could not argue. You could barely think. He was moving you faster now, his hips rising to meet yours, and the wet sounds of your joining filled the tent. His hands roamed your body: your breasts, your waist, the curve of your backside, touching you everywhere, as if he could not get enough of the feel of you.
"You are prettier than any wench," he panted, the words tumbling from his lips like a confession. "Prettier than any woman I have ever seen. My pretty wife. My sweet wife. You are always so...so warm...so perfect for me..."
His words dissolved into a groan as you clenched around him, your own pleasure building again. You buried your face in his neck and let him move you, let him take what he needed, because you needed it too. You needed this: this fierce, consuming thing between you, this fire that burned away all pretense and left only the raw truth of your wanting.
"I am going to..." he started, but he did not finish. His body arched beneath you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, and he spilled inside you with a broken cry. The sensation pushed you over the edge after him, your body milking him greedily, drawing out every last drop of his seed.
For a long moment, you simply breathed together, your bodies still joined, your hearts pounding in tandem. You expected him to release you, to let you slide off his lap and find your feet. Instead, his arms tightened around you, holding you in place.
"Aerion," you said, shifting slightly. "I should..."
"No." His voice was firm, though still roughened with pleasure. "Stay."
"But I am..."
"Stay." His hand pressed against your lower back, keeping you flush against his chest. "I like you here. Warm and soft and full of me. You will stay until I say you may move."
You squirmed, and his grip tightened. A small, cruel smile curved his lips, the first hint of the old Aerion, the one who liked to push and test and see how far you would go for him.
"Uncomfortable, my love?" he asked, his voice a lazy drawl once more. "Good. Think of it as penance. For leaving me to ride alone. For wearing that plain little gown. For making me worry."
"I did not know you worried."
"I did not know either." He said it lightly, but there was something raw beneath the words. "It was a most unpleasant discovery. I do not recommend it."
He leaned back on the camp bed, pulling you with him, so that you were sprawled across his chest. His hands roamed your back in slow, idle strokes, tracing the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist. His eyes were half-closed, his expression one of sated contentment, but there was an expectation in the set of his mouth, a silent demand.
You leaned down and pressed your lips to his throat, just below his jaw, where his pulse beat slow and strong. He made a small sound, not quite a sigh, not quite a groan, and tilted his head back, offering you more of his neck. You kissed your way along the elegant line of his throat, feeling the vibration of his hum of approval against your lips.
"That is better," he murmured, his fingers tangling in your hair. "My sweet wife. My dutiful wife."
You dragged your tongue along his skin, tasting salt and the faint sweetness that always clung to him. He shivered, and you felt a surge of power. He might command you, might order you about and mock you and play his cruel games, but here, in this, you had power too. You could make him shiver.
You kissed his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the high curve of his cheekbone. His eyes had fallen fully closed now, his lips parted, his breathing slow and deep. He looked almost peaceful. Almost gentle. You knew better than to believe it entirely, Aerion Targaryen was never entirely peaceful, never entirely gentle, but in these moments, after he had spent himself inside you, when your body was still wrapped around his, he came close.
He smiled, a real smile, not the mocking curve he showed the world, and pulled you down for a kiss. It was slow and deep and thorough, his tongue sliding against yours, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were something precious.
When he finally released you, his eyes had sharpened again, a new hunger kindling in their violet depths.
"Now," he said, and his voice was a dark promise. "Let us see how sturdy this makeshift bed truly is."
Before you could respond, he rolled, taking you with him, and suddenly you were on your back on the camp bed, staring up at him. His silver hair fell around his face like a curtain, his eyes burning down at you, his body still joined with yours.
"Aerion..."
"Quiet," he said, but there was no cruelty in it. Only want. Only need. "You owe me. For the lonely ride. For the plain gown. For every moment I spent wondering where you were and whether you were safe."
He began to move, slow and deep, and you forgot how to speak.
The bed creaked beneath you, a rhythmic sound that matched the thrust of his hips. He braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from yours, his eyes never leaving your face. He watched every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features, every gasp, every moan, as if he were memorizing them.
You reached up and pulled him down for a kiss, and he groaned into your mouth. His rhythm faltered, became more urgent, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
The bed creaked louder. Neither of you cared.
"Give me a son," he gasped against your lips. "Give me a son, and I will give you anything. Everything. Just...give me..."
The bed gave way with a splintering crack that echoed through the tent like a thunderclap.
One moment you were beneath him, your back pressed into the thin mattress, your legs wrapped around his waist as he drove into you with that single-minded intensity that only Aerion Targaryen possessed. The next, the wooden frame splintered and collapsed, sending you both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and furs and broken slats.
You gasped, more from surprise than pain, your hands flying to grip his shoulders. Aerion barely paused. He grunted as the bed gave way beneath him, catching himself on his forearms before he could crush you, and then he kept moving.
"Aerion," you managed, your voice breathless and startled. "The bed..."
"I noticed." His voice was strained, his hips never slowing their relentless rhythm. The furs beneath you provided some cushion against the hard ground, but you could feel the broken slats of the bed frame pressing into your back through the layers. He shifted, adjusting his angle, and a broken moan escaped your lips.
"You are..." you started, but the words dissolved into a gasp as he hit that spot deep inside you, the one that made your vision blur.
"I am what?" His voice was a dark purr, his violet eyes gleaming down at you in the dim light of the tent. Sweat gleamed on his brow, and his silver hair hung in disheveled strands around his face. He looked wild. He looked beautiful. He looked like a dragon in human form, all fire and hunger and terrible grace. "I am your husband. I am a prince. And I am not going to let a poorly constructed camp bed prevent me from taking what is mine."
Your laughter surprised you, a breathless, slightly hysterical sound that bubbled up from somewhere deep in your chest. "The bed is in splinters."
"Then I will have lord Ashford pay for a new one." His hips snapped forward, hard and deep, and your laughter turned into a moan. "He should have provided sturdier accommodations for a prince of the realm. It is his own fault if his furniture cannot withstand proper use."
Proper use. As if this was proper. As if anything about Aerion Targaryen could ever be called proper.
Aerion did not slow. If anything, he seemed to find new vigor in the destruction, his pace increasing until you were gasping and clutching at his shoulders, your nails leaving crescents in his pale skin.
"That is it," he breathed, his forehead dropping to yours. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brow furrowed in concentration. "That is...yes...you feel..."
He did not finish the thought. His rhythm stuttered, became erratic, and then he was spilling inside you. You cried out, your back arching off the furs, your body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you.
You lay there, tangled together on the ruined bed, your chests heaving, your bodies still joined. Aerion's weight pressed you into the furs, and you could feel the hard edges of broken wood beneath you, but you could not bring yourself to care.
Finally, he stirred. He lifted his head and looked down at you, and there was something soft in his violet eyes, something that only ever appeared in these private moments, when the mask slipped and the real Aerion peered through.
He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. But before you could mourn it, he was moving down your body, pressing kisses to your skin as he went. Your throat. Your collarbone. The valley between your breasts. Your ribs. And then, when he reached your belly, he stopped.
His hands framed your hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles on the soft skin there. He pressed his lips to the curve of your stomach, just below your navel, the place where, if the gods were kind, a child might one day grow.
"This," he murmured against your skin, "will surely have a babe put in your body."
Your breath caught. You lifted your head to look at him, at the silver hair spilling across your stomach, at the reverence in his touch. He was not mocking now. There was no cruelty in his voice, no sharp edge of humor. Only want. Only hope.
"A son," he continued, his lips brushing your skin with each word. "A strong son. A dragon. I will fill you every night of this tourney, and every night after, until your belly swells with my child. Until the maesters confirm what I already know, that you were made for this. Made to carry my heirs."
Your hand found his hair, your fingers threading through the silver strands. He kissed your belly once more, lingering and soft, and then he lifted his head. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw everything: the loneliness, the fear, the desperate need to prove himself, to leave a legacy, to be more than just a second son with a dangerous reputation. You saw the man beneath the prince, and your heart ached for him.
Then the moment passed. He sat up, stretching with the lazy grace of a cat, utterly unbothered by his nakedness or the wreckage surrounding him.
"We will sleep in lord Ashford's castle tonight anyway," he said, waving a dismissive hand at the ruined bed. "This was merely for the afternoon. A place to rest between the lists and the feast. It matters not if it is broken."
You looked at the splintered wood, the torn mattress, the furs scattered across the ground. "The servants will talk."
"Let them talk." He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, utterly unconcerned with his nakedness. His body was lean and pale, muscled in the way of a man who trained daily with sword and lance, and there was a fine sheen of sweat still glistening on his skin. He looked like something from a tapestry: a warrior, a prince, a creature of myth made flesh. "Let them whisper about the passion of prince Aerion and his lady wife. Let them wonder what we do behind closed tent flaps. I care not."
He found his breeches, miraculously intact, unlike the bed, and pulled them on. Then he turned back to you, still sprawled on the furs, and something flickered in his eyes.
"You should dress," he said. "I am going to find more wine. The servants here are incompetent, and I will not suffer dry throat because of their laziness."
He crossed to you, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your lips, brief but thorough. Then his hand found your hip, and he pinched, just hard enough to make you yelp.
"That," he said, straightening with a smirk, "is for breaking the bed."
"I did not break the bed. You broke the bed."
"The bed broke because of your..." He gestured vaguely at your body, still disheveled from his attentions. "Your enthusiasm. Your movements. Your inability to lie still while your husband takes his pleasure."
You stared at him, incredulous. "You were the one..."
But he was already gone, sweeping out of the tent with the arrogance of a man who had never been forced to finish an argument he was losing.
You lay there for a moment longer, staring at the tent ceiling, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. Then, slowly, you sat up and began to put yourself to rights.
The gown was a lost cause, crumpled and stained and likely unwearable until it could be properly laundered. You found a simple shift in one of the trunks and pulled it on, then a robe of soft grey wool to ward off the afternoon chill. You combed your fingers through your tangled hair, doing your best to tame it without a proper brush, and splashed water on your face from the basin in the corner.
When you emerged from the tent, the afternoon sun was warm on your face. The tourney grounds sprawled before you, a sea of colorful pavilions and snapping banners, of knights and squires and smallfolk milling about. The sounds of the lists drifted on the breeze: the clash of practice swords, the shouts of men, the whinny of horses.
You found a camp chair just outside the tent flap and settled into it, careful not to stray far. Aerion's words echoed in your mind. You will not leave my side. You will stay where I can see you. You had promised, and you meant to keep that promise, even if he was not here to enforce it.
The sun was warm. The chair was comfortable. You let your eyes drift half-closed, your body still pleasantly sore from the afternoon's activities. A small, secret smile curved your lips.
Footsteps approached: heavy, hesitant footsteps, the tread of a man who was very large and trying very hard to be quiet. You opened your eyes and found yourself staring up at a veritable giant of a man.
He was tall, taller than any man you had ever seen, easily seven feet, with broad shoulders and thick arms and hands the size of dinner plates. His face was plain and honest, with a strong jaw and kind eyes and a thatch of unruly brown hair. He wore a simple tunic of green and brown, well-made but not fine, and he carried himself with the careful awkwardness of a man who had never quite grown accustomed to his own size.
He was also staring at you with an expression of profound discomfort.
"Begging your pardon, my lady," he said, and his voice was deep and rumbling, like distant thunder. "I did not mean to disturb you. I was looking for...that is, I was trying to find..."
He trailed off, his brow furrowing. He looked at the tent behind you, the black-and-crimson Targaryen pavilion, and then back at you, and something like confusion flickered across his honest face.
"You are the hedge knight," you said, because you had noticed him earlier. Everyone at Ashford had noticed him, if only for his size. He towered over every other man in the camp, a great shambling giant with a boy squire at his heels and a look of perpetual bewilderment on his plain, earnest face. "The tall one. I saw you near the lists this morning."
"I am," he confirmed, and he seemed surprised that you had noticed him at all. "Ser Duncan, if it pleases my lady. Though most call me Dunk." He hesitated. "I was looking for...there was a knight I knew once, Ser Arlan of Pennytree. I thought someone here might remember him. I have been asking at the tents, but I fear I have lost track of which ones I have visited and which I have not."
"I am sorry," you said gently. "I do not know the name."
His shoulders slumped, just slightly. "No one does. It has been many years. I thought perhaps...but it does not matter." He made to leave, then stopped, his brow furrowing again.
"My lady," he said slowly, "are you…are you well?"
You blinked. "I am perfectly well, Ser Duncan. Why do you ask?"
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his big hands opening and closing at his sides. "It is only...I saw prince Aerion enter this tent some hours ago. And I heard him say...that is, I could not help but hear..."
"I am well," you said quickly. "Truly. There is no cause for concern."
But Ser Duncan was not a man who let things go easily. His honest face was troubled, his brow deeply furrowed. He took a half-step closer, lowering his voice as if afraid of being overheard.
"Was he...did he hurt you?" The words seemed to cost him something. His jaw was tight, his eyes earnest and worried. "The prince. I know his reputation. I know what they say about him. If he was too rough with you, if he forced you..."
"Ser Duncan." You held up a hand, stopping him. Understanding was dawning, slow and strange and almost amusing. He did not know you. Aerion had most likely said something vulgar, and then he had seen you - a woman in a plain gown, no jewels, no finery, enter that same tent. And he had drawn the obvious, if incorrect, conclusion.
He thought you were a whore. He thought you were a camp follower, a woman paid for her services, and he was concerned, genuinely, deeply concerned, that the prince had been cruel to you. That he had hurt you. That you might need help.
It was so earnest. So kind. So utterly, completely mistaken.
"The prince did not hurt me," you said, and you could not quite keep the amusement from your voice. "I assure you, Ser Duncan, I am quite unharmed."
He did not look convinced. "If you are afraid to speak, my lady, I understand. Princes are...they have power. They can do things. But I would not let him harm you further. I would..."
"Ser Duncan." You leaned forward slightly, your voice gentle. "What do you think I am doing here?"
He hesitated. His face flushed a deep, ruddy red. "I...that is...it is not my place to judge, my lady. A woman must do what she must to survive. I know that. I have known many good women who..." He stopped, clearly floundering. "I only meant that if the prince was cruel, if he did not pay you what you were owed, I would speak to him. I would make it right."
You stared at him for a long moment. Then, despite yourself, you laughed.
It was not a mocking laugh, you did not have it in you to mock this earnest, well-meaning giant of a man. It was a laugh of genuine, surprised delight. He thought you were a whore awaiting payment. He thought Aerion had used you and cast you aside. And he, a poor hedge knight with nothing but his honour and his size to his name, was offering to confront a prince of the realm on your behalf.
"You are a good man, Ser Duncan," you said, wiping your eyes. "Truly."
He looked confused, and faintly wounded. "I do not understand. If you are not...then why are you..."
Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the afternoon air like a blade.
"What is this?"
Aerion emerged from between two neighboring pavilions, a flagon of wine in one hand and two goblets in the other. His silver hair was still disheveled, his tunic only half-laced, and his violet eyes swept over the scene before him with a sharpness that belied his casual posture. He took in you, seated in your camp chair in your plain grey robe. He took in the enormous hedge knight looming over you, his big hands raised in an awkward, abortive gesture.
"I leave my wife alone for a handful of minutes," Aerion said, his voice soft and dangerous, "and I return to find some great lumbering stranger hovering over her like a vulture over carrion. Explain yourself."
Ser Duncan went pale. He took a hasty step back, nearly tripping over his own feet, and raised his hands higher in a gesture of surrender. "Your Grace, I meant no harm. I was only...I did not realize...that is, I thought she was..."
Your mind raced. You saw the path this conversation was about to take: the hedge knight's earnest confession, Aerion's cold fury at being thought the kind of man who would pay for a whore when he had a wife, the potential for humiliation and violence that would follow. Ser Duncan did not deserve that. He had been kind. He had been concerned. He had offered to help a woman he believed to be in need.
"He was lost," you said quickly, rising from your chair and stepping between the two men. You placed a hand on Aerion's chest, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. "He was looking for a tent, someone he knew once, a Ser Arlan of Pennytree, and he lost his way. He stopped to ask me for directions. Nothing more."
Aerion's gaze flickered from the hedge knight to you. His eyes narrowed. "Directions."
"Yes." You kept your voice light, pleasant. "He is new to tourneys of this size, I think. The camp is a maze. Anyone might lose their way."
Ser Duncan, to his credit, was not a complete fool. He latched onto the lie with the desperate gratitude of a drowning man seizing a rope. "Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, that is it exactly. I was lost. I asked the lady for directions. Nothing more, Your Grace, I swear it. I would never...I did not mean..."
"You should be grateful to even gaze upon her," Aerion interrupted, his voice dripping with bored disdain. He did not look at the hedge knight. He looked at you, and some of the tension bled from his shoulders, though his posture remained rigid with proprietary pride. "Let alone speak to her. She is a princess now, by marriage if not by birth. Her face is not for the likes of you."
"I am grateful," Ser Duncan said, and he sounded it. "Truly, my prince. The princess was most kind. Most generous with her time. I thank her. I thank you both."
"Yes, yes." Aerion waved a dismissive hand, already bored with the interaction. "You have gazed. You have spoken. You have been granted more than you deserve. Now fuck off."
Ser Duncan did not need to be told twice. He sketched a hasty bow, awkward and unpracticed, the bow of a man who had never quite learned the proper forms, and retreated with impressive speed for a man of his size. You watched him go, disappearing between the pavilions, and felt a small pang of sympathy. He had meant well. He had been kind. And you had lied to protect him from your husband's wrath.
Aerion's hand closed around your wrist. "Inside."
He did not wait for your response. He tugged you back into the tent, letting the flap fall closed behind you. The ruined bed still lay in splinters on the ground, the furs scattered, the evidence of your afternoon's activities plain for anyone to see. Aerion ignored it. He set the wine and goblets on a chest and turned to face you, his arms crossed over his chest.
"A hedge knight," he said flatly. "A great lumbering hedge knight, looming over my wife, making her laugh."
"He was lost," you said again, keeping your voice soft. "Nothing more."
"He was looking at you." Aerion's jaw tightened. "The way men look at things they want."
"Aerion." You stepped closer to him, reaching up to smooth the collar of his unlaced tunic. Your fingers brushed his throat, and you felt his pulse leap beneath your touch. "He was a poor hedge knight who lost his way. He asked for directions. I gave them. He was grateful. That is all."
"He wanted you," Aerion said again, but some of the sharpness had faded from his voice. "I saw it in his eyes."
"He wanted to know if I was well." You rose on your toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "He heard sounds from the tent. He was concerned. That is all."
Aerion's hands found your waist, pulling you closer. "Concerned. About my wife. As if I would ever harm what is mine."
"You play rough games, husband. You cannot blame a stranger for misunderstanding."
"I can blame anyone I like. I am a prince."
You laughed, and the sound seemed to ease something in him. His grip on your waist gentled, his thumbs tracing slow circles through the wool of your robe.
"This gown," he said. "This grey wool thing. You look like a septa. A very pretty septa, but a septa nonetheless. I will not have it."
"It was the first thing I found. My other gown was..."
"I know what your other gown was." His smile curved, sharp and satisfied. "I remember removing it. I remember every moment of removing it." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your throat. "But you cannot wear this to lord Ashford's castle. You cannot wear this to the feast tonight. You cannot wear this anywhere that anyone might see you and think I do not dress my wife as befits her station."
"Then take me to the castle," you said, your voice soft and coaxing. "Lord Ashford has given us chambers. Let us go there now. You can rest properly before the tourney tomorrow, on a real bed, not this splintered mess." You gestured at the ruined camp bed. "And I will try on every gown I brought. Every jewel. You can choose which one you would like to see me in for the feast."
His eyes darkened. "Choose?"
"Choose." You reached up and traced the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "I am your wife. I should dress to please you. Should I not?"
He stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, his lips curved into that familiar, dangerous smile. "You are playing me."
"I am pleasing you. There is a difference."
"Is there?"
You smiled and said nothing.
He kissed you and then released you. "Very well. To the castle. But if I am to rest properly, wife, you will be resting beside me. I did not travel all this way to sleep alone."
"I would expect nothing less."
a/n: You can donate on Ko-fi, your support helps me write more: https://ko-fi.com/catbayunthestoryteller <3
a/n: Aerion is not as nice here as in Growing Strong series because nobody can train him quite like lady Tyrell!reader.
You were wearing a sundress when you met him. It was a hot summer night, the kind that caused you to see waves on the pavement. You were alone in a bar's parking lot. You knew it was a bad place to be, but you'd grown comfortable around at this particular bar. It was owned by an old friend of your father's named Paul.
You had been walking past a group of bikers, leaning against their bulky motorcycles and laughing obnoxiously. Usually, you liked those kinds of crowds and craved the attention of those stereotypical bad boys. But one was way too familiar with your body, snatching you up with an arm around the waist and his drunken breath on your neck.
It wasn't a good spot to be in, and the rest of his buddies were too drunk to see the problem with it. That's when the man of your dreams walked onto the scene. Straight out of the bar, bell chiming above his head, and his eyes locking on yours. He was magnetic.
Blue eyes that sang of an unbearable sadness. Slumped shoulders that have held the weight of the world for far too long. Yet when you needed rescue, those shoulders rose once more. A spark of fire erupted in those eyes, determined to end anyone that got in the way.
Now he comes around, pulling up in his fast car and whistling your name. Every night has been wild and fun. Every night you learn more and more about the weary man. He spilled his secrets recently of his adventurous youth. Going on tours with his band while thousands screamed his name. One of these nights, he's promised to introduce you to the rest of his band.
But tonight, you're both preoccupied. You're settled on his lap, playing video games. You've always enjoyed them and he enjoys watching you. He's got an open beer in his hand while his arm is curled around your waist. His lips drag along your neck, stubble scrapping along your smooth skin.
You hum, purring like a giddy feline. His free hand sits heavy on your thigh, fingers brushing along your bare skin. In a twist of fate, you're wearing that same sundress from the night you met. It embodies your feminine beauty and elegance that first bewitched him.
"You smell so good." The rugged man whispers against your skin like a soft caress. His nose picks up the faint enchanting scent of your perfume. You found out pretty early how much he enjoys this particular one.
"Hmm, is that so?" You tease in a low voice, smile dancing on your lips. You lean back into him and grasp his hand, letting go of your gaming controller. You bring his hand up to your lips, kissing along the callouses, his guitar playing days left behind.
A warm, promising hum from the old rockstar fills the air. That's when you grin, forsaking your video game and giving full attention to your man. You turn around in his lap. Your hands readily slide up his arms. His arms hang loosely around your waist, still taking full sips from the beer bottle in his grip.
You lean in, and he meets you part way. His full lips part and merge with your own. Noses brush, and his hand glides up your back to find home in your hair. Neither of you can stop, lips sucking and tongues swirling. Your hips gradually begin to rock and his follow.
He mumbles your name as you pull away, missing you already. Your feet meet the floor, and you smile down at him. Your hands slide up your front provocatively before curling around the straps of your sundress.
"Oh, baby." He groans with pure need, and finally, that beer bottle is put aside. It's round base settling on the side table with a light clinking noise. His legs are spread, beautiful hands on his toned thighs.
"What? You want this dress on the floor?" You purr, eyelashes fluttering as you meet his gaze.
"Yes. Baby, please." He begs so sweetly, voice low and smooth like whiskey. His bright blue eyes drink you up, and his jaw clenches.
Your fingers, slow and taunting, pull down your spaghetti straps. "Whatever you want. Are you gonna touch yourself for me?"
"Will that make you go faster?" His voice is husky now and dripping with desire. Mischief twinkles in his eyes, and his hands slip closer to the bulge in his jeans as if to tempt you.
Your eyes flick down to his skilled hands, giving into the bait. "Touch yourself, Leon. And more than this sundress will hit the floor."
He licks his pretty lips and begins palming himself. "Yes, ma'am." He rumbles, and your breath hitches. Your sundress hits the floor. Then, so does the rest. He's groaning, hips jerking against his hand. Neither of you look at anything but the other.
You crawl back into his lap, naked against the fabric of his clothing. Your arms loop around his neck and his loop around your waist. "You're the bestest." You exclaim before giving him the biggest kiss imaginable.
Tonight, Leon's hand is warm on your back. He's guiding you into Paul's bar. His opposite hand raises in a friendly wave. There, across the way, is the rest of his band from the glory days.
Three gorgeous brunettes. Honestly, both of the women have you feeling a bit insecure. The one has hazel eyes and is a bit curvy. The other has stunning blue eyes. Then, there's a bulky male with a military cut to his hair. You can certainly see the appeal, but in your eyes, he can't compare to your man.
Leon settles you into the booth, and introductions are made. You're sandwiched between Helena Harper and Leon. She's absolutely stunning, and you desperately wanna stay friends with her. Across the table you learn are the Redfield siblings, Claire and Chris.
There's endless teasing between the old friends. A few questions about you and Leon dating. Beers are passed, and laughter grows. You feel a part of something beautiful and lucky to be included.
The Redfields you find are very competitive. The five of you play pool and darts. Leon's a constant warm presence. Bending over you at the pool table, whispering in your ears, and sliding his hands over you. Leon teaches you how to throw darts, though it's obviously just an excuse for him to get his hands on you.
Soon enough, it's just you and your bombshell blond. He kisses you in dark corners and empty hallways. Leon holds you in his big arms. You're drunk and seeing stars.
His pretty lips devour yours, your boyfriend equally hazy from the alcohol. He's all over you, wandering hands and a hungry mouth. The night ends with fogged up glass in the backseat of his car.
Birds sing, and a breeze caresses your face. The sun is setting, and cotton candy clouds stroll by in the sky. There's a peace and calm as the porch swing creaks. Leon's arm is around you, his hand rubbing up and down your bicep in a reassuring rhythm.
"You know, I miss it sometimes." The weathered rockstar mumbles. You hum in question and nuzzle further into his chest.
"Miss what, hun?" You question tenderly while your fingers twist in his shirt, his toned abdomen underneath. He stays silent, gathering his thoughts before responding.
"The crowds. The fans. I used to know I was loved and adored. It was addicting to hear people shout your name. Everyone losing their minds just to . . ." He gestures vaguely with his hand and with a deep sigh. "Get a piece of paper that you wrote your name on. I just feel invisible sometimes."
The gorgeous blond deflates, shoulders slumping. You pull back to look in his crystal blue eyes. Your hand spreads out over his stomach in a comforting gesture. You call his name, urging him to turn his eyes on you.
"I love you, Leon. You are loved. Maybe not by tens of thousands, but honey, I'm here." Your eyes are gentle and affectionate. A strong devotion and adoration shine in your eyes.
His eyes drift to your lips, and lightning shoots down your spine. His gaze is so intense, and you know exactly what he wants because it's what you want too. Your lips part in a warm welcome and your eyes close in a show of trust.
The old rockstar cups your cheek, and his lips slant over yours. The kiss is soft and slow, expressing the love between you two perfectly. You hope he knows . . .
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
~~ I'm sure this has been written. But just imagine being his breakfast. He would 100% make silly jokes and one-liners about it. "Best breakfast ever." "I'd choose you over bacon any day."
~~ I think he'd be big on morning sex. He'd be too tired after missions and just need a full night of rest before getting intimate with his partner.
~~ Also, I hope you don't mind @letstalkalatte if I mention you. But your fic about Leon liking crotchless panties changed me. 🫣🥵 Like this man loves when his partner dresses up for him.
~~ I don't know if this is technically spicy, but I think he'd like to match his partner. He might pretend to hate it at times. But any shoe matching or even if you wear the same colors, especially jackets or coats. He'd LOVE matching muscle tees mostly because he gets to see the shape of you.
~~ This man's hands and fingers are out of this world. Talented, dexterous, nimble, flexible, skilled, and everything good under the sun.
~~ Leon's using his hands when he's got more patience. He likes to watch his partner's reactions, and it gives him a chance to watch how his words affect them. Though when he wants to feel closer to you, he's diving into whatever you got between your thighs. Worshipping you and hungrily lapping up your taste. He gets drunk on you and definitely licks his lips and fingers afterward.
~~ At least one of his eras has a breeding kink. The hope for domestic bliss is so rooted in starting a family. With a female partner, all he can think of is you round with his baby, breasts full, and a little mini you running around the house.
~~ I could totally see him into lazy sex. Sometimes, he just wants to lay there as you do all the work. Very big on his girl riding his face.
~~ I'd like to think he finds glasses attractive because I wear them, but probably not. Especially with og Re4's line where he says, "You know, you're kinda cute without those glasses." BUT, I can see him finding intelligence attractive, so who knows, maybe if you're sharing a bunch of facts while pushing your glasses up, he gets a bit hot and bothered.
~~ Role play is an interesting topic. I think at first he'd give you a hard no. But if you happen to convince him, it grows on him. For some reason, I can totally see Damnation Leon getting into it. He's very much a goober, and I love his line about "getting to play Santa Clause."
~~ His jokes would be off the charts during role play. I really do think he'd start to thrive if you get the right scenarios.
~~ Food is another interesting topic. I do believe Leon is a big foodie. Poor baby is always mentioning it in the movies and Infinite Darkness. So, yes. He'd be licking whip cream, whiskey, or whatever else comes up in the moment that he likes, off his partner. If you don't like it, he won't force it. But if you did, lucky you because he's all in. His partner and good food at the same time are right where he wants to be.
~~ Still not completely sure about this one. Because he's gone so often on missions, would he be big on sexting? OR is Leon the type to wanna be there in person and won't have it any other way? I don't think he'd say no to explicit photos from his partner or to his partner asking for help over the phone. But I'm not sure if he'd initiate it. It'd be very rare. Anyways, if anyone has your own opinion on it, feel free to share in the comments or my inbox.
~~ For nicknames, I think Leon would be good with you calling him just about anything. Honey, sweatheart, handsome, etc. Though, as a 70s baby, I don't think he'd appreciate 'pretty boy' and things along that line. You'd have to convince him that you mean it in a positive light.
~~ Along that line, I don't think he'd be into 'daddy' and 'mommy' being used in the bedroom. But maybe it'd grow on him. Again, if anyone has thoughts on it, feel free to share.
Bonus fluff ~~ I imagine Leon would never grocery shop again if he had a steady partner. So, he completely forgets how to. For example, if his partner gets sick and he has to shop instead, he's getting the wrong brands. He's taking twice as long as his partner would. It's annoying for him, but he has a new appreciation for his partner.
Bonus fluff ~~ I can see Leon playing Animal Crossing. He would find it easy and calming. Also, lovessssss the music. Maybe it was Claire or Sherry that introduced him to it.
=================================
The first one got so much love and I appreciate it so much! The thirsty thoughts won't leave me alone. So, here's some more rambles.
description: you drain the life force out of leon after a long shopping trip, then give him a spa day/makeover while he dozes off on the couch at home.
no warnings: just fluff and cuteness aggression from the reader hehe. not proofread so imma just edit mistakes later lol
It was one of those rare days where your heart was calm knowing Leon was going to be home for the long weekend.
You guys came back from a shopping trip a few hours ago. You had thoroughly drained him and his wallet. But hey it’s not like you forced him to, he was the one who insisted on taking you every time.
You’re sure he regretted it whenever you dragged him into yet another store with no couches. Once he did find one in the dressing room though, he sat like he did now.
Head leaned back, nearly dozing off if it weren’t for you stepping out every so often to ask him what he thought.
He wasn’t really a fashion guy, so he opted for safe compliments like “Yeah, that color looks nice on you honey,” or “Buy it, you look beautiful.”
Sometimes if you were really sick of him being so boring and lazy, you purposefully stepped out in something skimpy just to see the way his eyes bulge.
“What about this one?”
“Hm?” He lifted his head, expecting to see another well put together outfit.
When his eyes landed on you he nearly choked, jolting up quickly.
“I—great! You look gorgeous.” He sputtered.
You suppressed a giggle as he stood towering over you near the dressing room door, obviously trying to hide your silhouette. “…Get dressed and I can get you home all to myself yeah?”
All while his hand on your waist practically shoved you back inside so no one else saw you so exposed. You rolled your eyes, how smooth.
Needless to say, you enjoyed seeing the spark of energy kindling back in his eyes, face still a little flush as he checked out at the counter.
Now he was sprawled across the couch yet again, long legs stretched out as you sit on his lap.
His head was tipped back against the cushions, the pale expanse of his throat exposed, Adam’s apple shifting every so often when he swallows in his sleep heavy state.
Most days you’d find the sight mouth watering, but today you don’t know why you found his little eepy sleepy state absolutely adorable.
You sneakily slipped a fluffy baby blue headband onto him five minutes ago. You thought he was gone, but he peered one eye open, raising a brow at your antics but didn’t even bother to move it.
He just sighed, shifting with a grunt and let you do what you wanted.
His hands are resting loosely on your waist where you sit between his knees, thumbs idly brushing against your warm skin under the fabric of your shirt.
“Alright,” you murmur, leaning in, inspecting his face like you’re about to perform surgery, “I’m gonna give you a makeover.”
He hums, a noncommittal sound.
You made the mistake of starting with his eyebrows. They were already shaped really nicely, long and thin, framing his brow bone perfectly, but there were a few outliers you wanted to pluck off.
You lean in, gently cupping the side of his face to steady him.
From this close up you can even take a moment to admire the length of the lashes resting against his prominent cheek bones. The stress lines on his forehead, the crows feet near his eyes, the little cleft on his bottom lip and chin.
Sure, Leon is hot and all and, maybe it’s your hormones talking, but he’s so adorable tonight you have to physically resist squishing his face until he pops.
Anyways, back to your objective. When you pluck the first stray hair, his cute little sleepy face tightens.
“—shit,” he hisses, eyes snapping open just enough to glare at your tweezers. “What was that?”
You don’t move an inch. “Relax.”
Another pluck.
He winces harder this time, lips pressing into a thin line.
“Aw, don’t be a baby,” you tease, holding his chin steady when he tries to pull back. “Don’t tell me Mr. Bioweapon Destroyer is scared of tweezers.”
“Bioweapons don’t—” he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you pluck another one. “—do that.”
You grin, softly, “C’mon, hold still soldier.”
He grumbles, but his grip on your waist tightens just a little, like he’s bracing himself through you.
Leon’s shoulder droop in relief when you finish shaping them clean. You lean back to admire your work.
“See? All done!”
“It better be,” He squints, “felt like you plucked every little nerve out of me.”
“Hm,” you shrug, “beauty is pain.”
You don’t touch his precious grey stubble, no way.
As much as you hated the way his mouth left red marks on your cheek, neck, stomach, and inner thighs and—well whatever, you get the point—it looked too good.
Shaving it clean would be a crime!
But you do grab your little face razor and gently tilt his head to the side to clean it up a bit.
He shifts restlessly, trying to sleep through your makeover.
“Quit squirming, I’ll cut you.”
“You threatening me?” He slurs, peeking one eye open again with a faint smirk.
“Only if you mess me up,” you reply, carefully lining up the edges of his beard.
The blade glides lightly under his jaw, just enough to clean it up without taking away that rugged look that suits him way too well.
He watches you for a second, then his eyelids start to droop again.
By the time you’re done, he’s barely awake.
Perfect, now you can continue with part three of your makeover plan.
You quickly hop off his lap to go grab the skincare products you bought for him.
They were lined up on the counter of your shared bathroom, perfectly intact with some still in their original packaging.
That kinda pissed you off. You spent hours making sure to pick out cleansers and moisturizes and toners, tailored perfectly for his skin, only for them to be abandoned.
You sigh, grabbing a damp face cloth while you’re at it too.
You shuffle back to the living room and reclaim your place in between his thighs. You gently scrub his face with the cleanser and he exhales slowly at the motion.
“There,” you murmur, voice softer now. “Your skin is so dry, Leon. Do you even use the moisturizer I bought you?”
He grunts.
“That’s not an answer.”
A longer grunt.
You roll your eyes fondly and start wiping his face off with the warm towel.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine your wiping away the stress, everything he carries around without a word.
His breathing slows and his grip on your waist loosens just enough to tell you he’s gone.
You smile to yourself, continuing anyway.
You apply moisturizer, patting it in carefully, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. He hums leaning into your touch unconsciously, like he always does.
You pull your own face mask out, smoothing it over your skin before grabbing another for him.
Carefully, you press it onto his face, it’s a little too small for him but it’ll do, so you adjust it around the broad slope of his nose.
He doesn’t even stir. You whip your phone out to snap a few pics.
You snicker quietly, setting one of them as his profile pic.
When the masks have set enough, you take them off and gently shake his shoulder.
“Hey.”
Nothing.
You shake him a little harder. “Baby, wake up.”
He jolts, eyes snapping open, body tensing for half a second like he’s expecting something bad, then he sees you.
Sees where he is, his shoulders drop.
“…what?” he mumbles.
“Look.”
You grab his chin, tilt it toward your little handheld mirror.
He squints at his reflection, blinking a couple times, then a reluctant but amused smirk takes over his tired features.
“Wow. You did a good job gorgeous.”
You bit back a grin, face heating up at the little praise.
“You look so cute!” You coo, aggressively pinching his now supple cheek.
He winces, prying your hand off and lacing it with his. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he murmurs, eyes glimmering in amusement, “but I look like an old glazed donut.”
“A delicious, matured, glazed donut.” You correct, grabbing his head and turning it side to side to peer at your work in admiration.
“If you say so,” he shakes his head, still half out of it, but there’s a melty softness in his gaze now that wasn’t there before, filling your chest with a nice and fuzzy feeling.
He’s about to get up, get you both to bed when you quickly press him back into the cushions.
“Wait! I’m not done,” you say.
He groans quietly, “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Hair next.”
He gives you a look.“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothings wrong with your hair,” You roll your eyes, “but you’ve had the same 90s boy band hairstyle for, like…thirty years.”
“…it works,” he quips back, attempting to escape your eager hands.
“Whatever, sit still.” You command, pushing his chest back, making his back meet the couch cousins again.
He exhales, surrendering, “Yes ma’m.”
His hair is soft under your fingers, a little messy from sleep. You admire the plethora of gray strains littering his temples.
You remember years back when he stood in front of the mirror every so often, murmuring something about dying it in passing, but you vehemently protested.
Sometimes you wondered if he realized you actually liked him older and weren’t just trying to flatter him.
You push it back, adjusting, experimenting, ignoring his intent gaze.
“There,” You mumble once you’re done.
His hair is styled up, pushed away from his face, his forehead fully exposed.
You blush a little.
It makes him look sharper. Somehow even more…
“Hot,” you say without thinking. You reach over to bring the mirror back to his face.
He huffs a quiet laugh as he angles his head down to get a better view, dragging a few unsure fingers over his hair.
“Yeah? It’ll only take me an hour every morning to get it like this.”
“So what? It’s worth it.” You grin, arms circling his shoulders as you rest your head against his chest.
He wraps his arms around your waist immediately, resting his head on top of yours as he shifts you both to get comfortable.
He turns off the TV, the room dimming without the screen.
“Happy now?” he murmurs.
You hum. “Very.”
His fingers trace slow, absent patterns against your arm as his lips press a gentle kiss to your temple.
“…thanks hon,” he adds quietly.
You smile against him, “Did I make you feel pretty?”
He hums lazily, “So pretty.”
You snicker, squishing your arms around him and hugging him impossibly closer.
I pretty much failed my technical interview today yayy
to my cutie requester: you can send me my trillion billion million kajillion dollars now 👉🏻💰
woops forgot to add my tag list: @lskluvbot @cherrymustang7
Summary: Right back to the beginning. Starving. Hollow. Alone. He's sick of it. He's bringing you back home.
Word count: 2,193
Notes: Alright, this final one is in Leon's pov! It's heavily inspired by Trying Not to Love You by Nickelback. PART 1. PART 2.
Warnings?: suggestive themes, reader likes divorced dad rock
I hate myself. I guess I always have. That's what Leon thinks to himself. It's just the reason behind it is different now. It used to be because he felt like a failure. Wasn't enough. Could never save anyone. Now, it's because he let you slip through his fingers. The only good thing he had.
You deserved the world, and he couldn't give you it. That's the reason he let you walk away. There may be other reasons he let you go. Nothing too pressing just endless amounts of insecurity and the fear of a four-letter word.
He still remembers what you said that night. "I love you, Leon. But you'll never say it. If you have any love for me, you'll never admit to it." And what did he do? He told you, 'He couldn't love you.'
Leon's a coward. Not when it comes to mutated monsters that shouldn't even exist. Not when it comes to life or death situations. Planes crashing or bombs exploding. No, only when it comes to soft things like you. When it comes to something precious like being loved.
Leon can't do it. He sighs deeply, rolling in his creaky bed and kicking off the blankets, reminiscent of some toddler throwing a tantrum. "I'm so pathetic," he grumbles while running a hand over his face.
His face is still covered in stubble. He can't make himself shave it completely or grow it into a full beard. Because he remembers vividly how you'd react to the scratch of it on your delectable skin.
Now, he's rolling over onto his other side because he's popping a boner as very impure thoughts surface. The way you would whimper and squirm while his mouth got busy between your thighs. Or afterward, when you'd give him that half-lidded gaze. Fire and hunger simmering in your eyes.
You'd pull him up for kisses before begging him to bury himself inside you. Leon could never say no. He hears the groans in his memories and your sweet gasps. He clenches his jaw and fights the urge to touch himself, knuckles turning white against his sheets. How pitiful would it be if he started touching himself to you?
But his hips jerk instinctively when he recalls the way you felt around him. You two were insatiable. The first time you claimed to be inexperienced so he liked to think he awoke something beautiful in you. You were finding yourself and learning pleasure all while he got to be tangled in the sheets with you. He had a front row seat and had the honor of guiding you.
Now, he's all alone and restless. "Fuck!" He shouts in the silence of his room before jumping out of bed. He really can't stand the inactivity and wallowing in his own self-pity. Leon reaches his bathroom, slips off his boxers, and takes a very cold shower in hopes of washing everything away.
The following weeks are no better. Everything reminds him of you. He can't drink because he remembers meeting you at the bar. He can't pleasure himself because he remembers how you did it. He can't even watch TV or cook without seeing you next to him because, of course, the two of you did the domestic shit, too. Leon feels like the biggest idiot. He feels like, at any moment, someone will point fingers and start laughing at him.
And on top of everything, one of his sweetest memories always comes back to haunt him.
"Leon, stop." Your giggles fill the car, and you playfully try to slap your hand over his mouth. He throws his head back, escaping you any way he can. It's all because he's singing horribly off-key to one of his favorite albums. A familiar masculine voice and heavy guitar.
Your hand finally lands on his mouth, and he licks your palm. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, liking how you respond with a cute wrinkled nose and a quiet 'ew.' He removes your hand, and you don't stop him. "How come you're allowed to sing, but I'm not?"
"Because. Baby, darling, handsome man that you are. You sound terrible, and I don't." You answer, teasing and smug. Your finger meets the tip of his nose, and he pretends to bite at it. A pout paints your pretty lips, and a boyish grin paints his own.
To further prove your point, the bridge of the rock song hits, and you belt it out. He shakes his head as if he's not impressed, but honestly, you could sound like a dying chicken, and he'd still listen. Leon's hands slide under your thighs and draw you closer. You're straddling him in the driver seat. Darkness surrounds you, but it can't penetrate this perfect moment in time.
"Alright, alright. You've proven your point." He waves his hands dramatically, looking like a disgruntled drama teacher. But you finish singing the song before giggling and kissing his bang-covered forehead.
"So, was I good?" Your eyes twinkle, and you're glowing all over with happiness. He briefly wonders how he hasn't extinguished that light in you yet. How are you so radiant with his dark cloud hanging around?
"Yeah, sure. Can I kiss you now, or are you gonna keep singing like you're auditioning for a stupid musical?" Leon asks in a sarcastic tone that you never seem to mind.
You gasp in a flamboyant way, "you think I could be in a musical?" Your hand is splayed over your chest right where he wants his own hand or, better yet, his mouth.
"Oh, shut up." He replies, grumpy from holding back for so long. His right hand cups the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair, whilst the other cups your cheek. His lips crash into yours, and you melt with a soft moan slipping free.
That memory goes on, and he sees it so clearly in his mind. The way he pulled off your shirt and the rest of your clothes followed. The way the pretty colored fabric decorated the interior of the vehicle. He remembers the sound you made perfectly when his belt came undone. How you both sighed in relief when you became one.
He remembers thinking that heaven is where you are, and the funny thing is he still thinks that.
Leon's breaking point came in the form of a butterfly. He was on a mission. The usual, shooting down waves of rotting creatures who shouldn't even exist. But when the smoke cleared, a butterfly swept through it all and landed on the barrel of his gun.
It just fluttered its wings like it wasn't surrounded by blood and death. The tiny thing adorned with paper-thin wings didn't seem dumb or naive but brave and resilient. It reminded him of you. He knew you could handle his darkness. It was Leon himself that couldn't handle it. His need for you was so acute that a tear slid down his dirt-stained cheek.
He couldn't face his darkness alone. It was too much to bear. You were there all along. He sees now you were waiting for him to let you in. Well, until you gave up and walked away. You would never come back on your own. No, Leon would have to chase you.
It's embarrassing how long he spent researching ways to apologize to a woman. The worst part is, is that he didn't use any of it. He stuck to his guns and what his love of movies taught him.
Her favorite flowers. Check! Her favorite animal in stuffed form. Check! Her favorite snack. Check!
A bunch of gifts and a sorry is all he comes with when he approaches her front door. It's meager, but Leon is desperate and doesn't know what else to do. His knuckles hit the door and he waits, rocking back and forth on his heels. When you finally open the door, he thinks he might throw up.
"Leon?" You ask in clear bewilderment. Your gorgeous eyes are wide, and you're dressed in simple lounge wear. But his blue eyes look you up and down regardless with barely hidden longing.
"Hi," Leon eventually replies, his voice a scratchy husk. It's short and awkward, but it's all he's got. His fingers tighten and loosen around the flower bouquet in a nasty show of his ruffled nerves. Then, he's licking his dry lips and straightening his spine.
"What are you doing here?" You ask with less confusion and a little more irritation. Maybe he was gone too long. Maybe you realized you're better off without him. He wouldn't blame you. Fuck, he can't be thinking like this. Talk about self-sabotage.
"I came to give you these," he raises his hands up, indicating the bouquet and the goodie bag. "Oh, and to apologize." At the last point, he notices your eyes soften even if it's for a moment.
"Oh," you answer simply, but your actions are much louder. You empty his hands and nudge the door wider with your hip. "Come in." Leon's heart races like a boy with his first crush. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and follows you.
You set the bag down on the kitchen counter before grabbing a vase for the vibrant flowers. The flowers are lovely, but damn they got nothing on you. Your hands reach inside the bag and pull out your gifts. He notices how you try not to grin, but there's a light in your eyes as all your favorite snacks come into view. Then, the way you squish the new stuffed animal and keep it close.
Then, it's back to business. It feels as if the room drops twenty degrees and a heavy cloud comes rolling in overhead. "So, where's my apology?" Your voice is quiet, but by no means weak. You know what you deserve, and he's honestly so proud of you.
His spine straightens up, and his shoulders open up. Leon's head is held high. "I'm sorry." He speaks your name with utter devotion, bearing his soul the way he should have before. "I'm sorry I let you walk away and that I wouldn't let you in."
He steps toward you and watches how your guard goes up. Eyes narrowed and body stiff. Fuck, he messed up. "The truth is I love you and it scared me. Still scares me," Leon emphasizes, "but living my life without you is a totally different kind of hell. I know you can handle me and all my screws up, but you shouldn't have to."
He licks his lips before continuing. His ocean eyes sweep over you, making sure you're continuing to listen. "I haven't drank since you left. I still have nightmares from my job, and the PTSD isn't going anywhere. But I can try, baby. I'll let you in if that's still what you want. And I can say it. I can say it now," he promises with a smile and your name on his lips. "I love you."
Your chin begins to wobble, and your eyes glisten. This time, you take a step forward. Then, your arms are around him, and your head hits his chest. A sound of deep relief and yearning erupts from his chest. He wastes no time, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your neck.
"Will you say it again?" You mumble into his jacket, the melodic sound vibrating through him.
"I love you. I love you." Your name is the sweetest taste on his tongue. He confesses to you a few more times, pressing kisses into your hair. Then, you pull away, and a shy smile is glowing on your face. It's so warm and breathtaking. He cups your cheek, holding the sun in his worn-out hand.
"One more time?" You whisper with a twinkle in your eye and your hands gripping his jacket.
He chuckles warmly, "I love you." He runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and when your lashes flutter in response, he dives in. His lips meet yours, hungry and consuming like a tidal wave. You moan into the kiss, and his body buzzes when your hands run up his chest to clasp behind his head. Leon melts as your fingers play in his hair.
The kiss lasts forever, and yet not nearly long enough. But it's okay. Leon is going to be kissing you a lot more. There's no way in hell he's letting you walk away again.
Leon finds heaven in moments like this. A year ago, he opened up to you for the first time. Said those silly little words you craved so much. It was worth it. Now, you're his as much as he's yours.
Your arms are latched around his middle, face pressed into his back. The wind caresses his face, a cooling breeze to battle the heat from the sun. An engine revs underneath him, his motorcycle purring. It's like an extension of himself. It knows how happy and complete he is.
Leon's alive. Leon's loved. Leon's got one hell of a woman riding on the back of his sexy Ducati. What more could the man ask for?
*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆*☆
Thank you so much for reading! This is supposed to be the last in this 3 part series, but I could always come back especially if people want it.
Summary: You're struggling to climax, but when Leon hears his name being called he's eager to help.
Word count: 2,865
Notes: Not related to my other neighbor fics. The trope is just a guilty pleasure and I didn't know how else to make this work. Dividers by @cursed-carmine
Warnings: smut, fingering, female masturbation, pervy Leon, oral sex (female receiving)
You know this is wrong and stupid. You live in a tiny apartment, and the man you're thinking of lives next door. Not in a house next door. No, in the same freaking apartment complex. You've been so horny lately, and it's absolutely terrible. Usually, you have a grip on yourself. You don't know if it's because of the rugged, emo-looking man you're crushing on or ovulation. But something is definitely driving you crazy.
Your fingers are slick with your arousal in the private darkness of your bedroom. You try to focus on the things that tend to get you off. Images flash before your eyes, memories of Leon, his voice echoes in your mind, and it makes you whine. You're flushed with guilt and embarrassment over masturbating to a good friend. He deserves better.
You groan in frustration, reaching for the vibrator stashed under your bed. It feels heavenly, and it makes your moans grow louder. But it's still not enough. It's been hours since you started. Hands on all your pleasure points. Fantasies running wild. Different positions and still nothing. All you get is dizziness and soaked fingers.
Finally, you just flop on your back in defeat. A loud noise of frustration rips out of your throat. But then, you just curl onto your side and cry. You feel guilty, disappointed, and empty. You just want an orgasm. But no matter what you did, you couldn't get there. Maybe you're damaged goods. Maybe you'll never orgasm again.
Leon couldn't sleep. It was nothing new. The nightmares and waking up in a cold sweat were nothing new. What was new was hearing his name through the apartment's thin ass wall.
You lived on the other side of the concrete. You were one of the nicest neighbors he ever had and hands down the most gorgeous. He sat up, a little ashamed but not enough, as he pressed his ear to the wall.
He heard your pretty voice calling his name again, creaking bed springs, and the rasp of sheets. A groan slipped free from him and his fingers itched to ease the ache growing in his boxers. Like an absolute pervert, he continued listening.
His eyes closed as he savored the hushed whines and his name being sung. But it came to an abrupt stop and he was ashamed to open his eyes to see he'd slid his hand into his boxers. Frowning in disgust with himself, he let go and dropped his hand back down to his side.
He heard a frustrated growl and then crying through the wall. He slouched against his headboard with you on the other side and just listened. His heart ached to hear you cry, but he was also confused. Why were you upset? Why were you calling his name? Did you like him like that? Did you make a mess? Wait, did you even orgasm?
He racked his brain, trying to remember if he heard anything that resembled a release. Maybe you came quietly. But he doesn't think so. He shook his head and ran a hard through his disheveled hair. What difference does it make? It's none of his business.
Leon tried with every ounce of his self-control and strength to not think about that night. Yet, it was basically impossible with you living right next door. He'd see you coming back from work or hear the TV playing.
He knew at night that you were sleeping on the other side of the wall. He'd force earbuds into his ears because he was afraid of hearing your sweet moans again and facing how it affected his dick. Just recalling that night is bad enough.
The day had been extremely long, but today actually turned out alright. You sighed deeply in the elevator of your apartment and ran a hand through your tousled hair. It felt good to know you had the next two days off. What a relief. You still had a few chores on your mind, but maybe you'd treat yourself to a bath.
The large, thick elevator doors slide open with a rattling clang, and you stepped out as quickly as possible. A slight grimace is on your face when Leon appears in the corner of your eye. His hand is on the door to his own apartment space.
The sight of him knots your stomach and heats up your neck. Guilt gnaws at you because you've attempted more than once to orgasm while fantasizing about the man. It's embarrassing and lame. Plus, he probably doesn't even like you. "Hey," his talking brings an end to the weird staring contest you two were stuck in.
"Hi." Your reply is stilted and painfully awkward. You start walking towards your door, that's to the left of him. Your fingers fiddle with your keys, eyes locked on the door and not the fine specimen you wanna pounce on.
"Hey, I was wondering. You wanna get a drink or something?" His smooth voice reaches your ears. You bite your lip, considering your options before raising your gaze to him. You really just wanted to be alone and decompress in the comfort of your home. But. It's Leon asking to spend time with you. That's too good to pass up.
"Yeah, I'd love to. I just don't really do alcohol." You laugh softly, offering a friendly smile along with it. His perfectly defined shoulders shrug, "I got chocolate milk at my place." You laugh, slightly shaking your head. Leon just smirks, proud of himself, and opens his door wide as an invitation.
You slip your shoes off near his door, gently dropping your purse down next to them and slipping your phone in your pocket. Leon's already in his small kitchen, pouring you a drink. When you make your way over, he passes the glass to you. His calloused fingers graze yours, causing heat to shoot up your arm. His blue eyes are stuck on you, caressing, as they roam freely over your form.
You wore a skirt today and a deep cut blouse. It was just for work. But he seems to like it. You lick your lips before mumbling a 'thank you' for the tasty drink.
Things escalate from there. You both end up on his sofa, chocolate milk drifting into other drinks late into the night. The conversation becomes more deep and vulnerable. It's so late, and you thought you'd reward his opening up tonight with one of your most private frustrations.
"I haven't orgasmed in months." You blurt out, voice even before taking another sip from your glass. Leon chokes, and his body bends over from the weight of his resulting coughs. His cheeks and ears are bright red. When his eyes meet yours, he's rubbing his chest, hoping to recover.
Oh, so you hadn't come that night. He knows he shouldn't have been thinking about it, but it came to mind so frequently. "Um, I'm sorry." His reply feels so mediocre, but appropriate. When all he really wants to do is offer to help you. Would you say yes? Would you want his hands and mouth on you? Was he even good enough to take you there?
"Is what it is." You laugh with a shrug of your shoulders. But he hears the hitch in your throat and the subtle way you wipe at your eyes. This has clearly been bothering you, and he heard you that night falling apart. No, screw being proper.
"I can help." Leon speaks up, placing his drink down and shifting to the edge of his sofa. His body is angled towards yours exactly where you're curled up.
"What?" You ask, wide-eyed and nearly choking on your drink. He takes in how flustered you appear and the way your body shifts. "You don't have to do that. We're friends, and uh . . .I probably won't come." An awkward silence falls, and then you freak out.
"Not that I think you can't make a woman orgasm! I'm not saying that. I'm sure you're great at . . ." You rave on, arms flying as you try you to explain yourself. You look so dang cute, the weak lamp painting your face in a warm glow. Your pretty eyes wide and set on him.
He should probably stop himself, but he doesn't want to. He can be selfish once in a while, right? His warm, calloused hand finds your burning cheek, and his lips land on yours. He holds it there before gently sucking on your bottom lip. "Let me help," he mumbles against your chapped skin.
Your breaths are quickening already, and your cheek has somehow grown ten times hotter under his palm. "Are you sure? It's not your problem." You whisper, timid and unsure. He wants to ruin you for anyone else. What kind of man does that make him?
He wants to see you go wild, lose all inhibitions, and only crave him. He wants to see what he only got to hear that night. The thought alone has him hot under the collar. "I've never been more sure about anything," he calls your name, causing you to shiver. "I'm not kidding. I wanna help. I want to see you come." He bites down on your bottom lip and pulls, a low groan escaping him.
You whimper in response, tiny and almost unnoticeable. Your hands are hesitant as they meet his chest. He deepens the kiss and nearly purrs in satisfaction when your hand slides up into his hair. It just gets better when he sweeps you up into his lap, and you gasp.
Your full weight on him is delicious, and his hands wander over you. Leon explores, learning your curves and studying every little jerk of your body. He's completely fixated on you and how to pleasure you. It's his own personal mission, and he's not sleeping until he's successful.
No moans or whines leave your lips. It's just heavy breathing and his escaped grunts. Both of you make out on his boring sofa, his hands trace your body and squeeze your hips. You give shy little hip jerks, obviously hungry for the connection, but maybe still fearing for the friendship.
His hands slide down and grasp your rear end. He hears your gasp, and it makes him preen with pride. "You like that?" Leon nuzzles into your neck, placing a disorienting kiss on your skin. "You just need someone grabbing at you?" His calloused hands start kneading your ass, teasing you further.
Your hands fist in the back of his shirt, seemingly scared to lose yourself. It's got him worried that he's doing this wrong. He pulls back, "I need you to look at me. Can you do that?" He asks softly with your name tenderly attached.
Leon hears a slight wince, and then those captivating eyes are meeting his. "Do you want this? Because if you do, I need you to trust me. You're still trying to stay in control, and that's not gonna do you any favors if you want an orgasm." You flush all over, burning up something fierce. To be fair, he's never talked about these things with you. It must be a bit much at the moment, but he's not playing. Not with something this important or someone as wonderful as you.
You take a deep breath and nod, a more determined light taking hold. "I want this, and I trust you." His chest swells, some manly primitive instinct to take care of you overtakes him. He stands up, and your legs automatically lock around his waist.
"You ready to have fun?" Leon teases with a pinch to your butt and a kiss on your cheek. You startle from the pinch and give him a disapproving look.
"I don't know. You're not a very fun person." You deadpan with zero emotion in your eyes. Now, he's the one frowning.
"I'm very fun." He states before throwing you on his bed with a slight grunt. Then, his lips are back to devouring yours, hands slipping under your top.
Your control slips as he gives you no chance to grasp onto a single thought. He's all in, sucking on your neck until he hears a moan that you can't hold in. Leon starts dragging up your blouse, nice and slow, just in case you wanna back out. Plus, it's fun to tease you.
A deep rumble sounds from his chest as he sees you. Your gorgeous skin and curves that he's never laid eyes on. "Shit, you look good. What should I take off next?" His heart is pounding with excitement. It's been too long since he got to enjoy a woman, and he's been dreaming of you too damn long.
Your breathing is weighed down, chest rising and falling in a hypnotizing rhythm. He sees anxiety in your eyes but also intense lust. "All of it," you whisper in a sultry tone Leon didn't know you had.
He curses under his breath, dick coming to life in his jeans. He dives right in, ripping off the rest until you're naked in his bed. He hears you breathing hard, legs close together, and hands inching towards your feminine assests to cover up.
"That won't do." He growls, long fingers wrapping around your wrists.
"Leon," you whine in clear irritation. He tsks at you and pins your wrists down above your head.
"You wanna come, don't you?" His body sinks into you slowly, his teasing words hot on your ear. Leon doesn't wait for a reply. No, he goes right back to sucking on you like his favorite dessert. Filthy mouth on your neck, shoulders, and tits.
"I'm gonna let go of your wrists. No hiding. You hear me?" His pretty head is tilted, and his sharp blue eyes seek yours. You nod, but he ain't having it. "I need to hear you."
You roll your eyes at him, and a grin breaks out over his handsome face. "Yes, sir." He hums in delight like the cat that got the cream. His dick twitches, obviously liking the title.
"Good." He gives a firm nod and slides down your body. His hands run all over you, and his sinful lips meet yours. You clasp onto his back when his fingers inch towards your sweet cunt.
Leon groans, and you gasp as he explores your folds. Rubbing along petals and seeking out heat. "You're so perfect," he mumbles before his lips drift off to your jaw. "Can't believe you've been hiding this from me."
It goes on like this, his fingers becoming bolder. They slip inside you, two nimble fingers, while his thumb brushes over your pretty little rosebud. You're shaking under him, hands fisted in his shirt, and arousal soaking his hand. But no noise from you.
He finally comes up for air with furrowed brows. “Are you stifling your noises? There's no point. I already heard you.” Leon states plainly, fingers slowing yet trying to get deeper.
"What?" You stammer in a question, and he's happy to see you enjoying yourself.
“Yeah, you were calling my name.” He rumbles, smug with a little smile.
“Leon,” you call out. First, in annoyance, but then it eases into bliss. He must have hit a very special spot inside you. His free hand comes up and begins kneading your breast.
“Yeah, just like that." He rasps, dark and arousing. He keeps it up, drowning you in pleasurable sensations. This time, you're extremely vocal. But still no release. You weren't kidding when you said you were struggling to orgasm.
"Leon, it's not working. I'm so close, but it's not happening." Your chin is wobbling, and tears are sparkling in the corner of your eyes. You're grasping at him wildly, hips arched off his bed.
He kisses your forehead, "it's alright. Let's try something else, baby." He spreads you open and readjusts. He's planted on the bed with your legs on his shoulders. He nudges into your folds, breathing you in and groaning.
A whimper escapes your kiss-swollen lips. You prop yourself up, fingers threading through his lush hair. You cry out his name, panting as he makes out with your cunt. He's digging into your thighs and his tongue is making love to you.
Fingers slide into your scorching center and your back bows so beautifully. His stubble is scrapping along your inner thighs and his nose hitting your clit. His name becomes a chant and your hips rock into his face.
You finally orgasm, back arched gracefully, and head thrown back. You flood his mouth, and he nearly comes in his pants. You sound so goddamn good and taste like nirvana.
There's no way this will be the only time. And if he has any say in it, no one else will ever be tasting you but him. He sits up, breathing hard and wiping at his mouth. Leon smiles, seeing you flushed with a gentle look in your eyes.
"Hold your applause, baby." You frown at his smugness whether it's warranted or not. "I wanna get one more from you." And it gives him an even bigger ego when, later that night, you're coming on his tongue once again.
□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□●□
So, uh . . .Yeah, this happened. I feel like this one's a bit out there. But I hope y'all vibed with it. This took me weeks to write. 😅
Summary: Maybe craving isn't enough. Maybe there is no way to feel whole. Maybe they'd both rather starve.
Word count: 2,161
Notes: This is part 2 of this post. Taking an angsty turn.
Warnings: Smut, p in v, protected sex, slight obsession?,
It had been months since that night Leon changed everything. He was like an illness, infecting every part of you. Entering your bloodstream until you became inseparable.
It was pleasure and pain. It wasn't just in a physical sense. It was your emotional state. It was your mind and all the attacks that rose against it. He was your source of comfort, yet all at once, the reason why you needed it.
Every night, he'd show you something new. You were discovering things about yourself you never knew. You wanted it all with Leon, and yet it was evident he was holding back. There were parts of himself he wasn't sharing.
He'd disappear with no explanation except a mumbled, "it's work." Leon always came back looking haunted, drunk, and desperate for you. Sometimes, it was rough and quick, but he always made sure you came first.
Tonight, he had you under him, your name spilled from his lips continuously like a prayer. His heavy hand was grasping at your breast and toying with your aching nipple. All the while his cock bullied into you frantically and his hot breath washed over the slope of your shoulder.
You scratched up his back, and your legs locked around him, heels digging in. You couldn't get close enough. You needed to crawl into his veins and make a home in his bones. Whines and loud moans fell endlessly from your open mouth.
You wanted to cry out his name over and over. Yet, the sound of your name on his lips was something you couldn't describe. So heavenly, it had your back arching and tears pricking your eyes.
You marked him in the only way you could. Nails clawing into his back even though you wish you could sink them into his heart, make him yours in every way imaginable. His nimble fingers played with your clit, making you sing.
Your thighs trembled, skin slick with sweat. The coil in your stomach snapped. Your eyes squeezed shut. Leon shuttered inside you as your walls closed around him.
He collapsed on top of you, breaths gradually returning to normal. For a few moments, you both soaked up the blissful aftershocks. "You're so incredible. Did you know that?" He pulled away to smile down at you, blue eyes sparkling with admiration.
'I love you' was on the tip of your tongue. But it was an unspoken thing between you both. This started as a hookup. There were no heartfelt confessions. No wholesome coffee shop dates. No holding hands and walking through a sunlit park.
You deflected with a warm laugh, shutting down the crack in your heart from spreading. "I am, Hmm? really?" You raised your eyebrow in a flirtatious manner.
"Yeah, you. You temptress." He rumbled hotly, teeth biting at your bottom lip. You giggled, basking in your shared afterglow. Your head tilted, and his lips traveled down your neck, playfully nipping at your skin. Before things heated up again, he pulled away, discarding his condom and then wrapping you back in his arms once more.
Your naked bodies pressed together, fitting snugly as if you'd been doing it for years. He curled on top of you, hand splayed over the middle of your back. "I thought only girls were clingy after sex." You teased lightly, fingers taming his dark strands of hair.
"Hmm, you'd be wrong." He mumbled before burying himself further into your shoulder. You just smiled languidly and drew him closer, legs tangling. His weight pressed down on you, letting you sink into your creaky bed springs.
Another time, he came to you in the middle of your day off. You were lying on the couch, watching some mindless yet comforting thing on the TV. You opened the door for him and went right back to laying on the couch. If he wanted some sugar, he'd have to say so. You weren't in the mood to offer yourself up like a five-star meal.
And to your surprise, he didn't want that either. He laid on top of you, being cautious of his weight so he didn't crush you. Leon breathed you in, burrowing into your chest and wrinkling your graphic tee. "Can I touch your boob? Just as a comfort thing?" He mumbled, sounding exhausted and oddly nonchalant.
"Uhh, sure." A short, startled laugh escaped you. You got one hand rubbing his shoulder, and the other settled behind your head. His hand snaked up your shirt, and a soft 'thanks' could be heard. Then, he was groaning in pure joy to find you not wearing a bra. You were in the privacy of your home, of course, you weren't.
Leon gently squished your breast, hoping it would relax him like a stress toy would. Noises from the TV filled the space, and the sun seeped in through the cracks in your blinds. It's light shined in stripes along your crimson rug.
"Hey, thank your parents for me." Leon spoke up out of the blue, shocking you a bit.
Your brows crinkled in confusion, "what?" Your fingers carded through his hair, brushing the loose strands away from his face.
"Thank your parents for me. They did a hell of a job on you." He nuzzled into you like a clingy puppy, which was super cute. But then he squeezed your boob and you were reminded of a teenage boy. You sighed, rolling your eyes.
"Why? Because you think I got good tits?" You asked sarcastically and a bit disappointed in him. But he isn't your boyfriend. Calling it friends with benefits might even be a little too generous. He loves your body that much has been obvious since day one. No promises of anything romantic though just sex. So, maybe you asked for it. Maybe you asked for him to just treat you like a body without a soul.
He lifted his head, shifting on top of you. "Yes, but no." You huffed in response and in utter disbelief. "It's . . ." Leon trailed off, cheeks beginning to redden. "More than that. You're good. Inside and out."
He shrugged, looking like an insecure little boy. It's so endearing. Your gaze softened if a bit reluctantly, and you cupped his cheek. This would be another perfect moment to say 'I love you'. But you knew he'd never say it back.
He blinked up at you, cheek warm under your palm. There was a hint of pink ears hidden under his hair. "I'll let 'em know. Your parents did pretty well on you, too." You winked, attempting to keep it light. This broken man didn't need to know about your growing affections.
Leon snorted and rolled his eyes before dropping his head in your cleavage again. "Barely remember my parents," he mumbled bitterly.
An ache bloomed in your chest, and all you could think to do was touch him. "I'm sorry." The apology left you in a whisper as you imagined Leon as a little boy. Possibly all alone. Maybe even passed from family to family. Never finding a home.
"You really enjoy apologizing, don't you?" Leon teased in that husky voice of his. Heat traveled up your neck and set your grimacing face on fire. He was bringing up how you met at the bar. How you awkwardly said you were sorry. Twice in less than two minutes.
"Oh, shut up." You flicked the side of his head, and he just burst out laughing. A roll of your eyes and a shake of your head couldn't erase the smile on your face. That afternoon passed with more smiles and laughter. It didn't end with sex. It felt like a date. A way that couples would spend their time. It was just a cruel reminder of what he'll never give you.
Yet those were the better times. The pain was bearable in the beginning. Now, it's simply not what it was. The sex, as wonderful as it is, just leaves you empty. The whole time, you're too conscious of the way he won't love you. You can see it in his eyes. Leon is a broken man whose walls are impenetrable. There's no reaching him.
It's like trying to climb Mount Everest without any gear or building a tower brick by brick up to heaven.
'I love you' still boils in your chest, but with no place to go, it's burning a hole through you. It's a slow death, burning from the inside out. You sit alone on his bed, reaching an unwanted conclusion. Your throat is uncomfortably full from trying to cage your tears.
The front door opens with an audible creak and heavy boots hit the ground. "Baby, you here? Saw your car out front." Leon calls for you, his raspy voice a familiar remedy. Something sweet you'll never hear again. Your body works on autopilot, lifting you from his mattress.
"Yeah. I'm here, Leon." Your legs feel heavy and not your own as they carry you to Leon. The setting sun is shining through the windows in the living room. It paints the walls and lines of his body a warm pink. It's so breathtaking and you won't ever see it again. Though, it's a pleasant memory mother nature has left you with.
"Hey, hot stuff." He offers you a boyish grin before taking the last few steps to you. His hands land on your hips and rub smoothing circles. Then, his lips are on yours. Your arms wrap around his neck. Your fingers play in his soft hair for the last time.
The kisses are slow, a rhythm designed to savor the other. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and when they meet your merged lips Leon breaks it. "What's wrong, baby?" He asks breathless from all the kisses. His calloused hand cradles your face and his brows furrow.
"I can't do this anymore." Your voice cracks and more tears burn a lonely path down your face.
"What?" He steps back, arms dropping to your sides. He's not stupid. He's connecting the jagged pieces. The way you greeted him and the sad look in your eyes from the moment he walked in the door. You see it all displayed in his gaze even the way his walls harden around him.
"I can't do this," you gesture between your bodies. "The sex is . . .everything. You showed me so much. Taught me things I never even knew existed. I felt accepted by you and beautiful in your arms." Your chin wobbles and you swipe blindly at your eyes. "I had so much fun, Leon, and I loved every second. But I can't do this."
He shakes his head, anger building to drown out any hurt. "I don't understand," the rugged man forces through his gritted teeth.
"I love you. I love you, Leon." Your voice cracks on your next words. A truth you fought so hard to ignore. "But you'll never say it. If you have any love for me, you'll never admit to it. I see you. I see your walls, and I understand them. Whatever your job is. Whatever your past holds. It won't let you love me. And I can't do this. I can't just have sex with you like it doesn't mean anything. Like you don't mean anything to me. Leon, those three silly, little words have been killing me."
You continue on, seeing his jaw flex and harden through your haze of tears. "I never said them until now because I didn't wanna force anything on you. I didn't wanna break this or hurt you." Your shoulders straighten and you at least find some semblance of strength left in you. "But this is killing me and I gotta get out."
Your head is held high even with bloodshot eyes. What hurts the most is watching him block you out. His whole body is tense and his hands are fisted at his sides. All the sadness in his eyes is buried. He just stands there, hollow and alone, just you like found him.
"Is this really it? Do you wanna say anything?" You beg him silently, eyes pleading and chanting in your head. Please, fight for me. Please, say you love me. Please, let me in. Don't let me go.
"What is there to say? You know I can't love you." Leon replies, numb and already withdrawing.
You flinch as if he's slapped you. His only reaction is a twitch of his hand like he wants to fix you. Soothe you with his hands and a brush of his lips. But it won't fix anything this time. He won't save you. You gather all your broken pieces and dry your tears.
"Then, I'm gonna go. I'm sorry, Leon, and I love you." Without waiting for a response you turn away. Your fingers wrap around the handle of your bag. Every part of you that you let settle into his place is packed inside.
The door swings open and you walk away.
###############################
Yessssss!!!! I'm so proud of this one. I LOVE this kind of angst. I really hope my extraordinary taglist enjoyed it, too.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
description: leons had enough of you shoving tik tok memes in his face and mindlessly referencing them…especially in bed.
warnings: alludes to s*x happening (but not descriptive at all)
Leon was never really on his phone unless someone texted or called him for something important, like work.
He was doing just fine with his flip phone until you begged him to buy a normal phone to save both of you the embarrassment out in public.
When he met you, phones became portals to mind numbing hell...or mind rot or whatever young people called it nowadays.
It started out pretty tame. A short video here, a muttered reference to one there.
You’d be sitting beside him on the couch, tucked under his arm, and suddenly your whole body would tense like you just remembered something super important.
“Wait—wait, look at this one—”
Leon would barely have time to react before you were shoving your phone into his line of sight.
A blurry video of someone speaking a foreign language too fast in 720p with filters and a sound effect that made no sense.
He’d stare, silently processing why his beautiful, intelligent and quick witted wife…could be possibly find this funny. Was there a hidden meaning?
“…what am I looking at?” he’d ask, squinting slightly.
You’d already be laughing.
“That’s the point, it doesn’t make sense,” you outright wheezed.
“Honey, that’s not a point.”
“It is!”
He’d exhale through his nose, grabbing your phone and tossing it a few inches away from you on the couch before leaning back, “I love you, but your sense of humor is fucked.”
You gasped, giving him a scandalized look “Says you! Can’t even go two seconds without making some corny dad joke.”
“Which you always laugh at,” he concluded with utmost composure.
Just when he thought this tik tok thing was some trend you’d grow out of, you’d do it again, except this time it wasn’t a video playing mindless noise.
It was you!
Muttering some meme audio under your breath, repeating a phrase. They were like little vocal habits, or “comedic” adlibs that slipped out without thinking. And every once in a while Leon would shake his head, huff out the quietest laugh.
You’d freeze, eyes lighting up before you reached up to poke at his reluctant smile.
“Ooou, you think I’m hilarious.”
“…I didn’t say that.”
“You laughed.”
Eventually, he sort of adapted. But nothing could’ve prepared him for that night.
You were situated on Leon’s lap, and his voice dropped low as he murmured something against your ear through ragged breaths, a compliment so soft and sweet your stomach flipped.
And without thinking, you breathed out, quiet and mindless,
“Thank you…”
He sighed through a few other words of praise and since your mind wasn't really there you found yourself repeating the two words under your breath again.
It slipped out so naturally you didn’t even process it at first. But then you paused, just for a fraction of a second, but Leon felt it.
“…You okay?” he muttered, breath stuttering as he brought a hand up to the side of your flushed face.
You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head quickly, dipping it away from his view, maybe you could brush it off, but then…
The thought hit you again.
The meme, flashing behind your eyes.
The stupid audio ringing in your ears.
Oh no.
You hid your face, turning your cheek to rest on Leon’s bulky shoulder as you continued moving.
You bit at his damp skin, but lo and behold…a small snicker escaped before you could stop it.
Leon brought his hands to your waist, stilling your movements and searching for your gaze with the utmost concern in his eyes. “Hey—whats wrong?”
You bit your lip, trying to hold it in, shoulders starting to shake. “N-nothing, just—”
“Are you…laughing?”
“…Sorry—I’m sorry,” you fully cracked, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as you nearly stopped breathing.
Leon leaned back just enough to look at you, completely thrown.
Hair tousled from your grip, expression somewhere in between leftover lust, concern, and pure confusion.
“…did I do something wrong?” he asked, brows pulling together.
You shook your head quickly, still laughing. “No—no, it’s just…there’s this stupid meme—”
“A meme?!” he repeated.
The word itself offended him, there was no way your mind had conjured up another meme during such an intimate moment. It was a damn scandal!
You nodded, reaching for your phone resting under the pillow beside Leon. “Wait, I’ll show you—”
Leon groaned softly under his breath, hissing through his teeth at your involuntary movements.
You pulled up the video, giggling and barely able to hold the phone steady. He stared as you swiped through numerous videos of cars, or even people, squatting up and down as some stupid audio played in time with their bounces—
“thank you, thank you, thank you—”
Leons steel blue eyes stared at the screen, then at you, then back at the screen.
“…that’s what you were thinking about?” he asked in bewilderment.
You wheezed, nodding.
He huffed, shaking his head as a faint, disbelieving smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”
As soon as you recovered, he shifted, flipping you down under him, voice fond now, but laced with that familiar edge.
“Alright,” he muttered, adjusting you so you could get comfortable. “Now, focus.”
The next morning was suspiciously quiet. You stretched, blinking sleep from your eyes, reaching lazily for your phone on the nightstand.
Your hand blindly smacked against the wooden surface, it wasn’t there...
You frowned.
You sat up and looked around, under the pillows, under the bed, in your drawers. You sighed, padding into the living room.
“…Leon?”
“In the kitchen.”
You were still half-asleep, hair a mess, voice rough, “Have you seen my phone?”
He didn’t look up from the coffee he was stirring, “Yeah.”
“…okay?” you said slowly. “Where is it?”
He looked at you with a little smirk, before he reached into his pocket and held it up.
You frowned, why was that in his pocket? Whatever, you couldn’t care less right now.
You needed your morning doomscroll.
He placed it on the counter and you immediately grabbed it.
When you unlocked it, searching for that familiar little red, blue, and black music icon, you froze.
“…what the hell?” You murmured, frantically swiping through your homescreen like it might magically reappear somehow.
“Hm?”
“…Where is it.”
In your mind, yet another meme audio played:
"mf where is it—where is it??!"…You seriously had a problem.
“Where’s what, honey?” He hummed.
“The app—Tik Tok!”
He finally looked at you, and shrugged “I deleted it.”
Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.
“What!—why?”
“Because.”
“BECAUSE WHY?”
He took a sip of his coffee, “Because it’s rotting your brain.”
You stared at him.
“Excuse me??”
“You couldn’t even get through five minutes without quoting something,” he said, setting the mug down. “In bed.”
You flushed instantly. “That was ONE time!—”
“Mm.”
“You even laughed!”
“Eventually.”
He stepped closer, reaching out, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek in a way that immediately dulled your frustration.
His voice dropped a little, quieter now.
“You’ve got a good brain,” he said. “I like it the way it is.”
Your expression faltered just a bit, foot kicking against the floor in protest, “…But—Leon, this isn’t funny.”
“No gorgeous, it’s not,” he cooed in faux sympathy, “which is exactly why I’m not letting you redownload it until I stop hearing meme references, especially not in bed.”
Your jaw dropped. You hated that mischievous glimmer in his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes…god, he’s so handsome. Wait! You’re mad right now.
“I’ll just redownload it.” You said defiantly.
“And I’ll re-delete it,” Leon grinned, tapping your chin. “Who knows, maybe when you recover you’ll be thanking me, yeah?”
Even in all your despair, you suppressed a smirk as the meme audio rang in your head.
Leon, having grown a sixth sense for your incoming references, gave you a flat look, “Not in that way.”
“BUT—“
He was already turning away, clearly done with the discussion, “Coffee’s getting cold.”
You stood there for a second, completely betrayed.
“…Fine,” you stubbornly called out as he walked away, “I’ll hide your geezer rock CDs!”
His muffled voice echoed from inside your room, “I think I’ll live.”
computa, give my tumblr followers a real life leon, oiled up with a maid outfit. you’ve been programmed.
yall idk im bored and dont wanna do my homework. ill get to part 2 of the work dilf eventually...
Summary: You find out you're pregnant, but you're terrified.
Word count: 1,153
Notes: I hope you peeps like angst. It does have a happy ending, though. Finding aesthetic pictures was so difficult, and then it wasn't working. Ughhh. Dividers by @diviniyae
Warnings: accidental pregnancy, very angsty, fears of abortion or miscarriage, overcoming suicidal thoughts, established relationship but nothing specified.
●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●
●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●
The trembling in your hands wouldn't ease up. The weakness in your knees wouldn't fade. A thousand thoughts ran throughout your mind, but you ordered them into a single line.
First, Leon. Your man, the love of your life, and the keeper of your heart. He's been struggling to say the least. Drinking more than usual, blank stares, and heavy bags under his pretty blue eyes.
Second, libido. Leon had been so needy recently. It's like he's been using it as an escape. And maybe you're a bit addicted. How can you not be? He's your husband, and so dang hot, he melts your panties.
Third, the consequences. Sure, you're on birth control, but accidents happen, and stars align. It's a cruel reminder that control is an illusion. Two lines stare back at you, intense and threatening. It's not the only two lines you've seen. Absolutely scared and paranoid, you tried four other tests. They all read positive.
You're sitting on the closed toilet lid right now. Have been for god knows how long. You don't even know when Leon will come back home because you lost track of time. You just can't bring yourself to look at anything but this test or to leave the isolated space of your bathroom.
What if Leon hates you? You'll never get rid of this baby even if you weren't dreaming of becoming a mother. And Leon would never ask for an abortion. But what if he ends up resenting you for pushing him into fatherhood? What if he pushes you away? What if you make a terrible mother or your body can't see it through?
You take deep breaths, fighting the urge to break down into full-on ugly crying. This baby is probably the size of a peanut right now, and just the mere thought of losing it makes you wanna vomit.
Your head snaps up, eyes wide, when you hear Leon call your name. You become frozen in place. All you can do is stare at the white door as Leon's boots thump closer. Your heart races, thinking it's in a horror movie or sucked into a nightmare.
The door swings open wide, and Leon stands there. Time stands still and ever observant, his eyes track from one thing to another. The pink test in your hand and the others on the sink counter. They all scream the truth loud and clear that there's a Leon junior on the way.
"Leon, I'm sorry." Your voice cracks, and it's so quiet you doubt he heard you. Tears begin trickling down your face, burning yet silent. You stand up, taking hesitant steps toward him. "Leon?"
His eyes rise to meet yours. My god, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and you're gonna be a momma. Suddenly, everything makes sense again.
All that pain from his missions. All the pain from losing comrades and his whole team in that ambush. The screams that have been echoing in his waking thoughts and the mindless groans that haunt his dreams. All of it grows strangely dim and mute.
He falls to his knees, and he thinks you startle or ask something, but everything is fuzzy. His arms wrap around his woman, and he buries his face in her stomach. There's a life growing in there. His.
His baby. His pride. His joy. His reason for living.
Leon can hear crying and hiccuping. Sad, pathetic sniffles, and choked noises. Fuck, he thinks it's coming from him. But he can't stop.
He'd been entertaining death, not that he let you know. You were the only reason he was hanging on. But every day, death looked more appealing. The endless void and the promised oblivion. He'd faced enough pain. One single bullet would be nothing.
He pulls away from your stomach. He looks up to you in every sense of the word. You look so scared, but all he can do is smile. "But here you are."
"Leon, what are you on about? Please, tell me you're happy. I-I didn't mean for this to happen, and I'm sorry." You ramble on, bottom lip trembling. Your fingers card through his hair and his lashes flutter in bliss.
He says your name, and his hand slides over your back in soothing circles while the other grips your perfectly shaped hip. "Baby, you saved me. Thank you for giving me a reason. This is all I've ever needed." His voice is hoarse and rough from all the crying he's already done.
Yours start flowing like a dam broke. You join him on the floor, knees landing on the soft bathroom mat. You wrap him up in your arms and sob into his shoulder. Leon holds you, whispering praises and reassurances. He strokes your hair and rubs your back. Anything and everything to bring you peace.
He doesn't know how long you both hug. But eventually, you fall back, settling on your behind. Your lovely hands wipe at your blotchy, tear-stained cheeks. God, he's so in love with you.
"So, you're happy? I thought you'd be mad at me." You laugh, insecurity laced inside.
"Yeah, I am. And no, I am absolutely not mad." His warm chuckle caresses your cheek as his thumb swipes lovingly over it. "Shocked? Yeah, sure. But honestly, baby, we were going at it like rabbits." There's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a smirk curls his lips.
You laugh in response and shake your head at him. Then, you fall back into him again. Your arms tight around him and your face hidden in his chest. "I'm scared, Leon. Being a mother wasn't in my plans. I mean, nine months? And what if my body isn't strong enough? I can't lose this baby." You shake your head as if shaking off the thought. "I just can't."
Leon kisses your head and rubs your back even as his own fears spring to the surface. Yet, his determination is a lot bigger and consuming. "I'm scared too, darling. But I'm not gonna let anything happen to you or this baby. I swear to you. Nothing is taking you or our baby away from me. We're gonna do this. I promise."
His affectionate hand finds your cheek and guides you to look at him. "You hear me? We're doing this together." His signature smile is like the sun, the same one he always uses to calm and reassure in the middle of crisis.
Your eyes go soft, and you give a little nod. Just that simple response gives him butterflies. "Okay. Together." You press your smile to his lips, and behind his closed eyes, he sees his future. It's everything he never thought he'd have. He sees you holding his baby. He sees his child making a life for themselves and being happy. He sees you and him growing old with hands clasped tightly together. It's beautiful and promising.
Pairing: Infinite Darkness Leon Kennedy x female reader
Summary: Your husband loves when you clean a little too much.
Word count: 946
Notes: If the idea of being a housewife upsets you, this one probably isn't for you. 😅 They have a doggy! Also, slightly suggestive. But no smut.
Leon loved his house. Always has, but with you now, it's a home. It's not empty and dusty. It's not cluttered with only his memories anymore. Not just painful reminders of what his life could have been or how time has been passing by way too fast. He still can't believe he's nearing his thirties.
The house is always spotless now. Everything has a place and tends to end up there at the end of the day. Sure, sometimes he leaves dirty dishes out, and you chastise him. But you still clean up after him, or he apologizes and gets it done himself.
He's constantly impressed by how you don't let dust build up and how you attack the dog hairs left behind by Star, the german shepherd he bought you. It doesn't even end there. His beautiful wife does his laundry. Every time he catches her, ironing his dress shirts, he gets a little hot and bothered. It makes absolutely no sense, but you seem to love it.
Watching you wash dishes while singing makes his heart ache with love, and his pants tighten. He'd offer to help a lot more, but he usually gets stuck just staring. The way you dance while sweeping or bending over to scrub at the counter. You even wipe down the damn fridge.
Leon starts to think you're a clean freak, but you always said it was for him. He made enough money so you decided to give up your job. Cleaning, in your words, was the least you could do. Maybe that's why it always affected his heart and dick so badly because he knew you were doing it for him. This was your way of taking care of him.
And today, he comes home to you vacuuming. The machine was loud, masking his arrival and the greeting he called out. He caught Star, curled up and napping, in the living room to his right. So much for having a guard dog. The fluffy ball of brown and black was way too lazy. Probably because you spoil her so much like your own baby.
Leon kicks his shiny black shoes off, his eyes never leaving you. You're on your knees on the stairs using the vacuum's extension to get every odd angle of the stairs in front of him. He pulls at his collar, feeling hot, while your back is turned to him. Sweat is clinging to you indicating that you've been on a cleaning spree again.
You've got headphones on, and when he tilts his head, he can just make out your pretty mouth mumbling the lyrics. He kneels down behind you on a lower step and wraps his arms around your waist. He feels you jump, and he chuckles in response.
The vacuum is quickly turned off, and your headphones are shoved down around your neck. "Leon, what are you doing? When did you get home?"
"Hugging you and just now. Is there a problem?" He teases, sassy as ever, before frowning and pulling off your headphones completely. He can't snuggle into your neck with those stupid things hanging on you. That's his spot. He sets it on the carpeted stair before wrapping himself around you.
You stammer his name, suddenly having his weight pressing into your already sweaty body. "No. It's just that you're poking at me." You mumble, flustered and awkwardly shifting your hips. There's an obvious bulge in his pants, nudging at your behind.
"Sorry," he replies though he doesn't really care, and it's quite clear. Leon just wants to savor you, his wife. Your warmth and your affection. He can't help it if you turn him on so damn easily.
You grumble, not so flustered anymore, just rolling your eyes at his shenanigans. "Leon, really? I gotta finish this." You wiggle against him some more, reaching out for the vacuum once again. He huffs, tightening his hold on you.
"This can wait, don't you think?" Leon plays dirty, rubbing his stubble against your neck. You bite your lip, and he can only picture how wet your panties must be getting.
"No. I gotta finish this, honey." So, you're still being stubborn. But the nickname is promising. He snuggles in deeper, leaving kisses between your shoulder and neck. His hand toys with the waistband of your leggings.
You giggle, swatting at his hand. "Leon Kennedy." You playfully scold. It just makes him bear his weight down on you further, pinning you to the stairs. He starts nipping at you, and his hands tickle you.
You both end up in a tickle match right on the stairs. The laughter draws your dog, Star. Her paws clatter against the floor, and she starts barking as if upset she was left out.
"Star! Save me, pretty girl! Your dad is attacking me!" You yell between giggles and squirms. Her ears lean forward, listening eagerly to you. Then, she's biting at the back of Leon's suit jacket. Her black tail wagging while she growls.
"Hey! Playing favorites, Star?" Leon turns around, patting her head before scrubbing her fluffy sides. Star's barks echo in the house, and her tongue laps at Leon's face. You're too happy, laughing, and joining in.
When everything settles down, you curl into Leon and place a lingering kiss on his forehead. "I'm gonna finish vacuuming. Then, I'll meet you in the bedroom." You wink, gently cupping his cheek. "Okay?"
Leon's blue eyes flick up to you, soft and yearning. He's got the best woman and the best dog. His perfect little family. He couldn't be more grateful, and he's gonna show her as soon as he gets her in that bed. "Yes, ma'am."
☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇☆◇
Hey, taglist! Hope you liked this short and sweet one!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Another aftercare fic with this man. Now, including a bath scene. Yay!
Word count: 1,171
Notes: Inspiration has finally hit me! I really can't stop writing about Vendetta Leon. I promise I'll try to branch out into different eras. I got a Re6 one in my drafts.
Rain was painting your windows. The heavy drops sang as they hit the roof above your heads. Thunder would roll, and lightning would penetrate the darkness. Not that either of you gave it much notice.
For hours, you indulged in one another. It was hard for you to get there, and instead of Leon being disgusted by it, he just tried harder. Not that it was his fault in any way. The truth is he relished the intimacy between you both.
Leon would praise you and worship your body for days on end if he could. He loved hearing the noises you made. The way you called his name or whispered how you loved him. He even found himself enjoying the nail marks you embedded in his skin.
His groans and panting breaths were the sweetest melody to you. It rang in your head even days after. His strong arms would hold you steady. His stubble would rub against your smooth skin, setting you ablaze. His kisses ranged from reverent servant to starving animal. Everything he gave you, you willingly accepted.
After everything was said and done, he was sprawled on top of you. Both of you are covered in sweat, and god knows what else.
You eagerly sink beneath his heavy weight that presses down on you. Your fingers card through his messy, dark hair. It takes a few moments for your breaths to settle and your body to stop trembling. You had to slowly blink a few times for everything to come back into focus.
"I love you, Leon." You confess tenderly as you do after every night of passion. He chuckles warmly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.
"I love you too, baby. But I'm about to pass out." Another raspy sound of amusement leaves his lips and caresses your skin.
You wince, quickly feeling guilty. Because obviously, it's your fault, and if only climaxing was easy for you. "Leon, I'm sor-"
"Don't. Don't start." He instantly cuts you off, shutting that kind of thinking down. "You did nothing wrong. You're perfect." He rubs his prickly cheek against your own before pulling back. "I'm just getting old." He shrugs, playful smile shining on his handsome face.
"You are not getting old." You can't fight a smile or hold back the way you roll your eyes.
A mocking huff leaves him. "Baby, I'm on the cusp of forty."
"So?" You giggle, running your hands up and down his back. You wiggle a tiny bit under him, getting comfy. The rain picks up again outside, falling harder and becoming a more prominent feature to the night.
He mumbles your name into your neck, amused and annoyed simultaneously. After a few more moments of silence and cuddling, he draws back. "We should get cleaned up, huh?" He snorts, working his fingers through your hair. "Look at this."
"Ow." You pout, batting his hand away. Your hair is a rat's nest. You do tend to squirm a lot, and his hands play in your locks way too much.
Your man scrambles off the bed. He retrieves you a water and your favorite snack before he drops off the supposed towels "made perfectly for sex" into the washer machine. Then, he's returning to you.
"Now, can we wash up?" You ask with a big smile and pleading eyes. After the yummy food, you feel a little energized and manage to sit up against the headboard.
"You eat all your food? Drink your water?" Leon asks, in full protection mode. Eyebrows furrowed as he watches over you as if taking inventory of any injuries or expecting you to lie. It almost feels like a dad scolding you for not licking your plate clean.
You roll your eyes, "Yes. Everything."
"Don't get snippy with me." He scowls, though you can tell he likes it. There's a lightness in his voice and a spark in his azure eyes. He approaches the bed, dressed only in his boxers. You drink it up, loving all the lean muscles on display.
His calloused hands grab yours, guiding you out of the queen-sized bed you both left in a state of disarray. It's plain as day that you two were not sleeping. Your legs are still quite similar to noodles in the strength department. So, his hands stay near your lower back and waist to steady you.
Leon prepares the bath, pouring in all sorts of bubbles and concoctions at your behest. Then, he's helping you step into the bubbly water before he sinks in behind you.
"Finally." You sigh, excited to wash off all the sticky sweat and other things. You lean back into his broad chest and feel love rush over you as he kisses your temple while his arms wrap around your middle. Neither of you says much. You just take a loofah and start scrubbing away at yourself.
"Your hair is a wreck." Leon grumbles, and you nearly snap at him. But he starts brushing it. Careful and slow as he works through the knots all that lovemaking caused. You hum, happy as a clam, and melt into him.
The water laps at you both, around every angle and curve of your naked bodies. It continues pouring outside. Twinkling raindrops creating music. No lightning has brightened the sky in quite a while. Mother nature is beginning to quiet once more.
"You alright?" He mumbles while continuing to run the brush through your hair. It's been a while, and it's probably as smooth as it will ever be, but he doesn't stop, and you won't tell him to.
"Hmhm." You nod, and your eyes start to flutter shut. He's so warm around you, the water is soothing your aches, and the stroking of your hair is mixing perfectly to make you wish for sleep. "You alright?" You return the question, hoping he's satisfied with tonight.
"Of course." You hear the brush clatter against the tub's edge as Leon places it down. Then, his arms are hugging you from behind and tugging you so close you can hardly breathe. He buries his face into your neck. You just giggle, patting the side of his head and placing your other hand on his forearm.
"This is really nice." You declare, followed by a yawn.
"Hmm. We should get you to bed, huh? Sleeping beauty." He teases, kissing your damp shoulder. You shrug and hum in consideration. You are pretty tired, but it's comfy right here. Surrounded by water and Leon's love.
"Just a little longer." You yawn out, sounding a bit ridiculous. He snorts, clearly enjoying the way it sounded.
Time begins to slip as you both soak up your shared time in the bathtub. Neither of you are sure how early in the morning it is for you two. All that matters is being together. Remembering the love you showed and expressed. Savoring the softer kind of affection that you share now in the silence.
The rain pours, the most beautiful melody to end the most beautiful night.
description: after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
fluff ✿ 2.3k words -> leon kennedy masterlist
You had been working at the DSO for about two years. It was pretty mundane until you were moved to the location where some of the best field agents and dispatchers clocked in for work.
Among them, 30 year veteran Agent Leon Kennedy.
You heard so many stories about the guy growing up. You couldn’t believe he was the one to save the president's daughter by himself, let alone survive Raccoon city in ‘98.
Needless to say, it was sort of surreal seeing him stalk around the office your first day at work.
He was insanely good looking, but the years weren’t kind to him. You could tell from the way his shoulders were slightly hunched over from carrying the weight of the world for so long, the silver strands paving their way into his otherwise dark hair, and the faint lines etching their way across his face.
But, man, was he delectable.
You couldn’t help it! It wasn’t just the way he looked, but the way he acted.
He was kind to everyone around him. His dry jokes were awful in the best way. He was smart and you could tell he went out of his way to make everyone comfortable, including you.
You actually felt a little out of place on your first day, but he made sure to introduce himself to you first and mention you to his other colleagues to save you the awkward introductions.
Sometimes when he’d stumble into headquarters fresh from a mission, you’d steal a few glances, partly in concern and partly because a hot older guy was groaning and panting around headquarters with blood all over him.
Leon always looked a little rough when he returned. His hair would be slightly disheveled, jacket gone for whatever reason, clothes creased and worn from travel.
Sometimes there were faint bruises under his eye or temple or dried blood that wasn’t even his, splattered across his collar and arms.
Despite looking like a hot mess, he still carried himself with that conviction that made everyone move out of his way without even thinking about it.
Almost every single damn time you snuck a glance, he’d catch you red handed. Those sharp blue eyes would flick your way and he’d nod, or if he still had the energy, come over and talk to you.
You always looked away in record time, suddenly finding the report in front of you wildly interesting.
You internally screamed whenever he’d walk over to your desk, lean against it, and ask you how your day was like he didn’t just come back from hell.
It took everything in you not to act like a horny teenager and stare at the veins in his forearms, the little hairs and the speckles of blood decorating them.
And you could never weather that beautiful stare of his.
Why’d he have to look at people so intently when they spoke?
Damn blue eyed stare.
You needed to convince him to get brown contacts or something.
As exciting as the job was sometimes, you just wanted to go home, hop on your computer, and forget the world existed by playing whatever games you found interesting.
You started streaming about a year ago and had recently reached a following of about two hundred thousand.
It was insane, but you were glad you weren’t popular enough to be blasted all over TikTok or Instagram.
You were mid stream when someone donated fifty gifted subs.The message attached admitted they’d embarrassed themselves in front of their crush.
You thanked them of course, but chuckled at their admission.
You sighed, the memory of the other day resurfacing.
“I know how you feel, girl, trust me,” you said, giving the camera a knowing look.
Your chat instantly exploded with people egging you on.
And Leon surely wasn’t on Twitch so…
you spilled.
“If it makes you feel any better, I embarrassed myself real bad in front of my crush at work the other day too.”
You bit the skin on your hand as the memory plagued you.
Then you shook your head with a nervous chuckle. “Oh man, I don’t even know if I should say this…”
Another gifted sub popped up.
girl spill the tea I won’t tell anyone I promise
“Alright but if you clip this you’re all banned. Well actually I’m like ninety nine percent sure this guy isn’t even on social media okay he’s…he’s older so I don’t have to worry about him finding out.”
You rolled your eyes as new chats came in.
OLDER??
like how much older?
You scratched the back of your neck, “he's like....50?”
FIVE ZERO?
beekeeping age
an older man you say???
Dilffff
Oh so he’s a dilf
You gave the webcam a flat look.
“…Okay yeah he’s kind of a dilf, “ You faltered, “but he doesn’t have children okay, not that I know of.”
You shifted in your seat.
“This guy is very well known within our company. And I don’t know—he’s just great. He’s nice to everyone, he’s funny, and he cares about people.”
You huffed at the incoming words of encouragement, or words of delusion.
girl get him
SEDUCE HIM
Ooo a little age gap momentt
WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE
whats his name
“I don’t know if I should describe him cause I wanna respect his privacy,” you said with a small laugh. “But let’s just call him ‘the dilf from work’. He’s so out of my league it’s ridiculous.”
You leaned closer to the mic.
“So the other day I was in the break room grabbing a snack before my shift. I was half asleep, okay? Like barely functioning and he walks in.”
You buried your face in your hands for a second before continuing.
“And I panic because I didn’t expect him to be there so early. So I try to move out of the way really fast so he can get to the coffee machine. He sort of leans down to grab a coffee pod, while I grab my steel water bottle…and it sort of swings down—”
You pause, biting your tongue.
Your chat instantly filled with NOOOOOOOOs and you're assuming people know what comes next.
“…He stands up and slams his head into the water bottle as it’s swinging toward him—”
You clutched your forehead, “So now I’m panicking and apologizing cause I bonked him in the head and he’s just crouching there looking confused while I'm holding a hand over the area to prevent it from bleeding more.”
Oh honey…
Yea i would clear out the whole room
loll no he probably thought it was cute trust….
real
“I felt like a fucking idiot!” you cried with a little laugh, rubbing your face in anguish.
You covered your eyes with your palms and peeked through your fingers to read chat, "At least he was nice about it, he didn’t even complain.”
You sigh, “but that was still embarrassing.”
“I would never wish harm on anyone,” you continued quietly, “but I hope he got a concussion and forgets that even happened…or just forgets I exist in general.”
Comments rolled in again.
imagine he sees this
help
yall better not clip ts
“No, don't worry,” you reassured. “He’s not gonna see this. No one at my work is on Twitch or social media or anything like that.”
You let your arms fall back to the armrests and rocked the chair once, eyes flicking over the flood of messages.
Most of them were variations of there’s no way that’s true.
You just smiled to yourself.
And despite yourself, you suppressed a stupid little smile.
Because there was still a part of that embarrassing story you hadn’t told them because thinking about it still made your heart do something extremely annoying.
It happened right after the water bottle incident.
You’d found the little first aid kit in one of the cupboards and patched the cut on his forehead as best as you could while apologizing about twenty times. Leon had been sitting on the edge of the counter, head tilted forward a little so you could reach him, one hand braced against the surface beside him.
You were trying very hard not to think about how close he was. Or how embarrassing it was that you had nailed a federal agent in the head with a metal water bottle.
“There,” you muttered once the bandage was finally in place.
Your fingers were still a little shaky as you stepped back. “Sorry,” you added again.
Leon waved you off with a soft grin, “Ah, don’t worry about it.”
You turned toward the sink to throw the wrapper from the bandage away when you noticed there was dried blood on your fingers.
His blood. You froze for a second, staring at it.
“Oh,” you murmured quietly to yourself.
You reached for the sink to wash it off before it could smear on anything else, but you barely had time to turn the faucet when Leon spoke.
“Here, " he slid off the counter, "Let me.”
You glanced back.
Your pulse jumped the second his fingers wrapped around your wrist, they were huge and a little dry and calloused.
“Sorry about that,” he said, before he gently rinsed your hand under the faucet for longer than necessary and squeezed it a bit to ring it dry, like all this was his fault.
Back in the present, your chair rocked softly as chat continued flying up the screen.
“But anyways…I’m sure I’ll get over it someday.”
The next day at work you were running on maybe four hours of sleep.
You barely noticed Leon approaching until his shadow fell across your desk.
When you looked up, there he was with two cups of coffee in his hands.
He slid one toward you, and you straightened in surprise, “Oh—thank you!”
“Figured you’d need it, you’ve been here all day,” His voice was low and warm, a little rough around the edges like he was tired too.
Leon leaned forward, resting both elbows on your desk like he always did. The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up just slightly, revealing those familiar muscles you tried very hard not to stare at.
His hair was a little messy today, strands falling loosely across his forehead. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes that hinted he hadn’t slept much either, maybe he was working late, but somehow it only made him look better.
Your eyes were so dry they almost made the SpongeBob blinking sound, so you rubbed them.
“Tired?” He asked, gaze flitting around your face.
“Yeah…I was up all night finishing some reports after streaming.” You grin sheepishly.
He nods, “Streaming huh?”
You blinked.
“Yeah—you know…like on Twitch. Playing games and talking to chat and stuff.”
Leon’s mouth twitched faintly as he raised his cup to take a sip,
“I know what streaming is,” he clarified, eyes nearly piercing at you over the rim of his cup, like he was staring right into your soul.
You shifted in your seat, “Oh.”
“I’m not that old,” he added, voice softer this time.
You laughed, “Sorry, I just figured it wasn’t your kind of thing.”
He shifted his weight slightly against your desk, one shoulder dipping as he leaned more comfortably into the conversation.
“You’d be surprised,” he continued. “I’ve actually seen a few of yours.”
You froze completely.
“…Huh?” You said stupidly.
“Yeah.” Leon gave a small shrug like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes hinted he was enjoying your turmoil.
“I’m not really online myself, but Sherry said you had a big following…figured I’d take a look and see what you got up to after work.”
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Damn Sherry.
Whenever he talked with the two of you, she was always looking at you with that little smirk. Or worse, nudged you on the shoulder whenever he approached you guys and made up some lame excuse to leave you alone with him…you knew she could sense your fat crush on him from day one.
“Oh.” Your brain was replaying every second of last night. “Okay.” You cleared your throat, trying to behave normally.
Then you noticed him rub the side of his head absently, fingers brushing along his temple.
“I’m so sorry again about hitting your head the other day,” you blurted out.
“What do you mean?” he blinked.
You stared, “When I hit your head with the water bottle?”
An amused huff left him, “I actually don’t remember much, I think I got a concussion. Been forgetting everything lately.”
You straightened immediately.
Wait, he actually got a concussion?…From a water bottle? So much for America's toughest agent.
You shook your head, what were you thinking?
So insensitive.
“I’m so sorry,” you frown, a wave of guilt washing over you, “Is it like a short term memory loss kind of thing?”
Leon watched you for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You could call it that.”
You nodded slowly, completely serious.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. Then he pushed off the desk, standing up straight again, “Ah, forgot I’ve got a meeting to head to.”
“Good luck,” You say a little dejectedly, expecting him to walk away, but he leaned closer.
You blinked, swallowing at his proximity.
“You might have to remind me what happened later over dinner,” he crooned.
What.
“Over dinner?...”
“Over dinner,” He concluded, leaning away to slip his jacket on, “You know, since you ‘bonked’ my head so hard.”
Your soul left your body.
“But—“
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” Leon winked and walked away, leaving you sitting there, face burning, realizing two horrifying things at once.
One.
He definitely watched your stream.
And two.
You were absolutely going to dinner with the dilf from work.
A few months later, things were different, but in a good way.
You had somehow survived the embarrassment of that stream and maiming Leon, the panic of realizing he heard about the stream, and the nerves that came along with that first dinner.
And now here you are, still streaming.
Except now there was a six foot government agent occasionally wandering through your apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You were mid stream when your front door clicked open.
Your chat was already moving fast, colorful messages flying past your screen as you tried to focus. Behind you, you heard the quiet thud of footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being set down. You didn’t turn around right away since you were in the middle of a fight in your game, but you could hear him moving around the apartment, unhurried and quiet in that way he always was.
Your chat, unfortunately, noticed.
who just came in?
DOOR?
Is that a mannn???
You tried to ignore them, but a second later Leon stepped up beside your desk.
You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair was a little messy like usual, the collar of his jacket slightly rumpled, and he looked tired the way he often did after work.
He was holding a small paper bag. Without interrupting you, he quietly set a couple snacks down beside your keyboard. You looked up, giving him a soft grin as he crouched to give you a quick kiss.
Your chat exploded again.
HELLO?????
wait guys whose that
SNACK DELIVERY???
IS THAT HIM
tHe WORK DILF…
You snorted softly under your breath.
Leon leaned a hip against the side of your desk, folding his arms loosely as he watched your screen for a second.
His expression was calm, faintly amused for someone being examined by thousands.
When the chapter of the game ended with a cut scene, you leaned back in your chair with a relieved exhale.
“Okay guys, relax,” you said, grabbing one of the snacks Leon brought.
You glanced sideways at him.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, “Don’t be rude, Hon, aren’t you gonna introduce me?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Chat this is the work dilf I told you guys about a few months ago.”
Leon let out a quiet chuckle at that, ““The work what?”
He braced one hand on the back of your chair and leaned down further until his head appeared on the edge of the camera frame. He squinted slightly at the screen, trying to read the messages flying past.
HELLO SIR
Yo is that Leon Kennedy??
HI LEON
easy white chocolate
Your work dilf saved the presidents daughter?
Easy there white chocolate
BE cool chat
guys she said she works for the dso it makes sense
His brow furrowed with genuine confusion. “Why are they calling me white chocolate?”
You shook your head as the chat spammed even more at the sound of his voice.
ooo he’s real
HIS VOICE
flash us
BEEKEEPING AGE
Leon leaned a little closer to the monitor.
“…What’s beekeeping age?”
You dropped your head into your hands.
Leon glanced down at you, a small crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Should I be concerned?” he asked quietly.
You shook your head in defeat, “I don’t even know.”
While your chat was having the time of their lives, Leon leaned one arm on the desk, settling in like he had officially joined the stream.
He scanned the chat slowly.
“Alright,” he murmured, “I’ll read some more.”
You winced,
“Maybe don’t—“
Too late.
HOW OLD ARE YOU
Leon huffed, “Old.”
Wait so what do you guys do for work?
Leon paused, “…We work for the government.”
ARE YOU ACTUALLY THE WORK CRUSH
Leon glanced sideways at you, eyes softening just a little, “I hope so.”
aww how did you fall for her??
“Well, I knew she was the one for me when she clocked me in the head with a bottle.”
You smacked his chest, “It wasn't on purpose!”
Your heart flipped a little when he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your palm.
He straightened up after a moment, grabbing a snack from the bag. “Well, this has been…enlightening.”
“Sure was,” you muttered under your breath.
He glanced down at you, “You’ done embarrassing yourself online for the night?”
You huffed, “…No.”
Leon chuckled quietly, then ruffled your hair as he walked away.
You looked at the webcam like your chat was in timeout. “I hate all of you.”
Leon’s voice drifted from the kitchen.
“Be nice.”
Your viewers immediately sided with him of course.
shiii i mean, if leon worked with me, the world would neverrr hear the end of it.
I FOUND OUT WHAT IT MEANS and I was right :D i was worried it had some crazy double meaning
