#rosahgrace

When you're jerking him off, he lets out deep, shaky grunts and whimpers every time you tighten your grip or brush a thumb over his tip.

His knuckles turn white from gripping the bedsheets, and his hips instinctively roll up into your palm. If you go too fast, a loud, breathy "Wait, wait—" slips out before he can stop himself.

When he comes, he completely loses physical coordination. He spills into your hand in thick, heavy bursts, his chest heaving as he lets out loud, shuddering trembles of air.

If you keep stroking him rapidly right after he climaxes, or focus entirely on his sensitive areas without letting up, his volume turns high-pitched and frantic. You get loud, pathetic begs and broken, breathless hitches.

When you suck him off, Leon completely loses his train of thought the second he feels the warmth of your mouth.

He lets out a mix of high-pitched gasps and needy, verbal begging. He will loudly stammer your name, followed by broken phrases like, "Oh god, right there," completely unable to filter his voice.

Keeping him trapped in your mouth post-climax, or using heavy, rhythmic suction on his tip, completely shatters his nervous system. He completely loses the ability to form words. You are met with loud, wet whimpers, and sharp groans that sound almost painful from the sheer intensity.

His favourite position would probably be missionary with your legs over his shoulders. He loves the eye contact and intimacy of the position while pleasing you. This is his loudest position because he can see exactly what he is doing to you, which completely breaks his composure, and it's marked by loud, wet slaps and Leon’s ragged, open mouthed panting.

He has no filter, so he will literally narrate how you feel to him. He will groan out things like, "You’re so tight, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard," or "Listen to how wet you are, you hear that?" completely unbothered by how filthy it sounds.

When you are the one taking control, his vocabulary devolves into desperate, single word pleas. He will whine, "Please," "More," or "Don't stop, don't stop, fuck" If you tease him, the "please" turns into a broken, breathless hitch that sounds almost like a sob.

The exact second he comes, all words stop. He lets out a raw, unhinged, animalistic grunt, a deep, loud "fuck" that echoes in the room. It sounds less like pleasure and more like a physical release.

Right after the main groan, as he’s pulsing inside you, his voice turns incredibly pathetic. He lets out a series of tiny, wet, shuddering whimpers with every pulse, completely undone and hyperventilating against your skin.

First date

You two finally go on a first date

● Hear me out. He'd take you to an aquarium. I don't care what anyone says, it's peaceful. He's been surrounded by things trying to kill him constantly. Seeing something beautiful, slow, and natural would be grounding for him.

● He definitely prefers walking around, looking at things, and talking, rather than just sitting at a table and asking about each other's lives. He finds the experience more connecting. Sitting across from someone feels like an interrogation (which he's done too many times).

● He'd know nothing about fish. But when you walk past one species, he'd definitely know a really random, niche fact that no one knows about it. He’ll know the exact chemical composition of a pufferfish toxin from a survival manual, but then he’ll look at a sea turtle and just go, "wow. He's a big guy, isn't he?"

● Even on a date, he always subconsciously maps out the exits to each room you enter. He makes sure he's always as aware of them as he can be, making sure you're a tiny bit closer to them than he is.

● He always smells expensive, but understated. Maybe expensive leather and some sort of citrusy cologne. Think bergamot, sicilian lemon, black tea, leather, and a hint of vanilla. It's a scent that lingers on your clothes days after he's hugged you.

● He’d 100% buy you something stupid. A keychain or a plush shark. He’ll act like he’s doing it ironically, but he’ll be genuinely pleased if you keep it.

Everyday life

Things go well and you start dating

● His love language is definitely quality time. He finds peace in just sitting near you while you both do your own thing. You'll catch him just watching you. Not in a creepy way, just memorising all of your features.

● He's surprisingly precise about his hair. You'll catch him in the bathroom mirror for 10 minutes trying to get one specific piece to sit exactly right.

● The longer you date, the worse his puns get. He uses humour to cope. If he's had a bad week, you both sympathise with him and become full of dread because you know the jokes are about to be absolutely unbearable to hear.

● He seems like the type to sit there reading a mission report while holding your hand, not even saying a word, but his thumb is constantly stroking your knuckles.

● He has a habit that you find both endearing and persistent. He will make sure you drink enough water, eat enough, get outside at least once a day, sleep enough. He is unbelievably determined when it comes to you taking care of yourself.

● He has zero respect for what you’re actually doing when the urge to hug you hits. If you’re trying to type an email or cook dinner, he will weave himself around you anyway. He knows he gets in the way because he's a big guy, but he doesn't care.

Mornings and nights

Waking up and going to sleep with him

● He'd definitely be a bit of a night owl. You'd wake up at 2am and see him just watching TV all the time. When he can't sleep, he finds that forcing himself gets him absolutely nowhere, so he just does what he wants until he gets some sort of sleep. His job and all his PTSD has given him pretty bad insomnia.

● If he wakes up from a nightmare, he won't tell you. He’ll just gravitate toward you in his sleep, tucking his face into the crook of your neck as if to remind himself that you’re real and safe.

● He loves playing with your hair until you fall asleep every single night. It relaxes you and gives him something to do with his hands. He's not used to sitting completely still, one of the reasons why he struggles to sleep.

● If you have to get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom or get some water, he is instantly awake. He's not suspicious of you, it's just his active brain. He'll wait until you get back in bed for his breathing to fully even out again.

● He isn't a "jump out of bed and make pancakes" guy. He’s a "stay in bed for an extra twenty minutes staring at the ceiling and holding you" guy. He loves the quiet moments where the world hasn't started demanding things from him yet. But, he'll still make you pancakes if you want him to when he actually gets up.

● If he actually goes into a deep sleep, expect to wake up to him practically crushing you. If he's fallen into a deep sleep, he's shockingly heavy. He'll have an arm thrown over your waist that feels like a weighted blanket. And he won't let you move it.

Bad days

You both have many, bad, heavy days.

● His bad days are heavy because they're riddled with guilt. He's always had pretty bad survivors guilt. He feels like he shouldn't have made it out of Raccoon City. On his worst days, you’ll find him staring at nothing for long periods. It’s like he’s rewatching a movie of his past in his head. He gets very quiet, and his movements become mechanical.

● He might subconsciously pull away or spend the evening in another room because he feels like his "darkness" shouldn't touch you. He thinks he’s protecting you by being distant, but he really just needs to be reminded that he’s allowed to be human and that he isn't "tainted" by what he's seen.

● He is an incredible listener. If you need to vent, he will sit there with his full attention on you, never interrupting, never judging. He’s seen the worst of humanity, so nothing you say will scare him. He’ll just pull you into his lap afterward and let you hide your face against his shoulder until you feel steady again.

● During bad days, he tends to punish himself subtly by not taking care of himself. You happily cook him meals, help him bathe, maybe go on a walk with him. He's very hard on himself, and you both take care of him and try to bring him back.

● If your bad day leaves you too exhausted to take care of yourself, he will quietly take over. He’ll make sure you eat, bring you water, and gently guide you through a routine to help you get better, reciprocating the care you show him on his own difficult days.

Life when he's away

Your life when he's away on missions

● His missions are sudden. One minute he's helping you with dinner, and the next, his phone pings and his entire posture shifts. He can't give you details about where he's going or what he's doing, but he always takes a long, quiet moment to hold you at the door before he walks out.

● He deliberately leaves small, comforting pieces of himself around the living room. He might leave his favourite worn-in hoodie on the back of a chair, or "forget" to put away a specific book he was reading. He likes knowing his presence stays in the room even when he isn't there.

● Before he walks out the door, he double checks everything regarding your security. He will quietly double check the window locks, make sure the door lock works perfectly, and remind you to keep the porch light on.

● The last hug at the door is always the longest. He’ll wrap his arms around you tightly and bury his face into your shoulder or the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent to memorise it.

● On nights when the anxiety gets particularly heavy, you find comfort in the things he does when he's home. You might put on a movie he likes just for the background noise, or make sure you drink the exact amount of water he’d usually badger you about. Taking care of yourself becomes a way of honouring him while he's not there to do it for you.

● You know he's skilled and you know he can handle himself, but you can't stop lying awake at night, worried if he's alive or not. There's so much danger in his job, and he can't tell you where he's going. You don't know if it's the deadliest mission of his life or something simple.

● When he first gets home, he’s a bit of a ghost. He’ll walk into the kitchen, stare into the fridge for five minutes, and forget why he’s there. He needs to be tethered back to reality.

● For a little while, you only really have what's left of all the energy he spent on the mission, but you take care of him the same way he would you, and eventually, he comes back mentally and you’ll notice the exact moment his eyes lose that distant, survival-mode glaze and truly focus on you again.

Intimacy (NSFW)

What it's like being intimate with him

● He'd definitely talk you through it. I don't make the rules. "Don't close your eyes. Look at me. I want you to see exactly who’s doing this to you." "Yeah, say my name. I want to hear it again. I want to know you know exactly who you belong to right now." "That’s it. You’re taking it so well for me. You’re being so good." "Tell me how that feels. Does it feel good? Yeah?" I could make a list of all the things he'd say.

● He’s heavy, and he knows it. He’ll use his size to pin you down. Not to be aggressive, but because he wants to feel the maximum amount of contact and he wants you to feel him.

● He’s usually a bit self-conscious about the scars on his back and shoulders from Raccoon City and his various missions. If you touch them or kiss them, it completely undoes him. He’ll go quiet, his breath hitching, and he’ll pull you closer and hide in your neck.

● He definitely has some hard limits, like cop/criminal or interrogating role play. It feels too much like a Tuesday at work for him. He wouldn't do weapon play or anything like that. Even if it's unloaded or on safety or just for show, he’s seen too many accidental deaths and has used weapons to kill many things. For him, weapons are a tool for death, not something he'd put you around.

● He never shuts up. He'd talk to you throughout the whole thing, praising you, teasing you, and narrating exactly how you’re reacting to him until your ears are ringing as much as your head is spinning. Even when you’re breathless and trying to lose yourself in the sensation, he’s right there. When you finally go over the edge, he just pulls you closer, his voice in your ear. "That’s it. Just like that. I’ve got you." He forces you to maintain eye contact with him throughout the whole thing.

● I also think sometimes he lets you be in control if you ask to. (He says he's letting you "for now," but he actually really enjoys it). He's also vocal. He doesn't leave you guessing. If he likes what you’re doing, you’re going to hear it. He’ll groan, whimper, moan, or breathe your name like it’s a prayer. He knows that his vocal reactions are a reward for you, and he isn't shy about giving them.

● He likes leaving faint marks. Bruises on your hips from where his hands held you tightly, or a hidden bite mark on your shoulder. If you leave scratches on his back or shoulders, he wears them like a badge.

● When it comes to aftercare, he isn't passive. He is the type to immediately bring you a glass of water without you needing to ask. He appreciates the quiet task of bringing a warm towel to clean you up, treating it as a slow routine to help you both wind down. He will press slow, lazy kisses to your forehead, temples, and jawline, whispering low, gentle praises like "You did so good for me" or "I've got you, you're safe." His hands are never still. He’ll trace faint patterns on your back or play with your hair, relying on constant physical connection to anchor himself in the moment.

● Like I said, he'd talk you through it. He loves talking to you through intimacy, and he doesn't even need you to reply.

​"Tell me what you need. Speak up, let me hear it."

​"Look at me. You're doing perfect."

​"Yeah? You like that? Thought you said you weren't going to let me win that easily."

​"Can't even find your words right now, hm? That's a first for you."

● He doesn't let you cover your face or hide in general. He'd say something like, "Don't hide from me now. I want to see exactly how you look when I touch you like this"

● He gets into this weird habit of treating your body parts like separate entities. If he’s trying to move your legs, he won't look at your face. He’ll tap your knee gently, and murmur a very dry, barely audible, "'scuse me..." as if he's politely asking a stranger on a crowded sidewalk to step aside.

● When you're in control, again, he doesn't shut up. He wants you to know that he completely trusts you to hold all the weight for a while.

​"You look absolutely incredible looking down at me like that..."

​"You have no idea what you do to me."

​"Guide my hands... where do you want them?"

● If you were into degradation, he'd be willing to try it with you. He usually doesn't force his words. They just come out naturally, which makes them 10× more effective. But, I don't think he'd be into anything extremely mocking or degrading. Just a very average amount, I feel like.

"Look at how worked up you get just from me looking at you. You really are pathetic for me, sweetheart."

"Look at you, barely able to keep your eyes open and chasing after my hand like a needy little thing. You really can't help yourself, can you?"

● He constantly narrates exactly how you're reacting to him. He isn't guessing how you feel, he's actively reading your body language like a map and reflecting it back to you.

"Oh, so now you're being shy? Pretty sure it's a bit late for that, sweetheart."

​"You always turn your face away right when you get flustered. Don't do that. Let me look at you."

​"Every time I slow down, you completely shift to match me. Look at how you're leaning into it, sweetheart. You're letting me guide your entire pace right now."

● He loves really lazy morning sex, and it's when he's at his most vulnerable. It's a certain point in his day where he's not performing or being a protector for anyone, and his most honest, unguarded words come out.

"I love you so much. More than you'll ever know. I can't even put it into words."

"You're so fucking perfect. I don't understand it."

"You've saved me in so many ways just by existing. I don't know what I'd do without you."

● If you were ever insecure about any part of your body during intimacy, he shuts it down immediately. Not just to make you feel better, but because he's genuinely confused at your feelings as he loves that part of you so much. He doesn't just say "you're beautiful" or just tells you that he loves that part of you. He makes you feel genuinely worth.

"There isn't a single version of you that isn't completely worth having, through every single flaw and every good day."

​"Hey. Look at me. You're way too hard on yourself. You don't have to be flawless to be incredible and sexy, which you are, you know?"

​"Don't hide from me. Please."

● He loves talking to you during sex, as you know very well, but sometimes he gets so caught up in the pleasure that he stops for a bit, and all you're left with are his groans and moans and occasional whimpers when he really likes something you do. The only words that escape him when he gets like that are breathless curses or your name when he gasps it like a lifeline. Sometimes followed by the occasional, ragged "please," whether you're in control or not. It just escapes him every single time.

Hugging was never a massive part of his life. His parents hugged him before he'd leave for school when he was very young, and Claire would occasionally hug him, especially when she was younger. But, it's never been second nature to him. He usually doesn't hug someone for absolutely no reason.

When you hug him unexpectedly, his first response is to completely freeze for a split second. He's been trained for decades to react to high-stress situations and to be prepared to be hurt or put in danger. His muscle memory is geared towards threats, so a sudden, unexpected touch definitely triggers a small pause as his brain switches from "work mode" to "domestic mode."

Because hugging isn't automatic to him, his return hug might be a little clumsy at first. He wouldn't immediately wrap his arms around you with perfect ease. Instead, he might bring one large, heavy arm up to rest around your shoulders or back, giving a firm, grounding squeeze.

To break the slight awkwardness of his own delayed reaction, he'd probably clear his throat and ask something like, "everything okay?"

If you said something like, "I just wanted a hug," he'd probably let out a soft, surprised huff of air, his shoulders relaxing completely as the last bit of his guard dropped.

​A tiny smile would tug at the corner of his mouth as he realized there was no emergency, no bad news, and no underlying problem to fix. He’s so used to being a problem solver and a protector that the concept of someone just wanting to be close to him for the sake of it takes a moment to sink in.

​Once it does, he’d tighten his heavy arm around you, pulling you a bit closer against his side. He’d rest his chin on the top of your head for a second or just keep you tucked under his arm while he went right back to whatever he was doing.

He'd probably mutter something like, "alright, fine" as if it's a massive inconvenience, even though the immediate softening of his posture completely gives him away.

The rhythmic clicking of keyboards and the low hum of the office copy machine filled the room, creating a steady background noise that usually helped you focus. Today, however, the sheer volume of paperwork stacked on your desk was enough to make your head spin. You leaned on your hand, staring down the looming deadline and wondering how you were going to finish it all before the end of the day.

Right on cue, a familiar cardboard cup with steam floating from it was carefully set down next to your keyboard, the faint scent of coffee filling the dry office air.

​"Double shot, extra hot, just the way you like it," Connor said, offering a warm, easygoing smile as he leaned slightly against the edge of your desk.

You looked up, the tension in your shoulders dropping a fraction as you gave him a grateful smile. "You didn't have to do that, Connor. Thank you." A heavy sigh slipped out before you could stop it. "I don't even know where to begin with this quarter's data entry. It feels endless."

"Don't worry about it," he replied, reaching over to slide a thick manila folder off the top of the stack. "I cleared my queue early, so I decided to handle this half. I just put it back on your desk."

He opened the folder and pulled out a few reference sheets, pointing to the columns where he had cross-referenced the numbers. "Most of the actual logging is done on the system now, so there wasn't too much physical paperwork, but I made sure all the blank spaces were filled and signed off on the authorisation lines."

You stared at the organised file, relief flooding through you for what felt like the first time since last week. You took the folder, going through some sheets before clicking on the link on the computer, seeing it completely signed off. "You really did all this in one morning? How?"

"I've got a system down," Connor replied. "Once you do enough of these quarterly reports, the data entry practically becomes muscle memory."

​He straightened up from your desk, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Just make sure you double check the final submission page before you hit send. The system can be a little glitchy with authorisations on Fridays because there's so many."

You nodded, giving him another small thanks as he walked away. You only had another half to handle today. Your deadline was 5pm, and it was 9am. You had plenty of time.

Quarter data entries were always slow for you because you were painstakingly thorough with numbers, making sure every decimal and formula lined up perfectly before moving on to the next section.

You pulled the next manila folder toward you, logged into the database, and got to work.

By the time the clock struck 4, you had completely cleared the half of your queue you had to do. You double checked Connor's authorisations before hitting the final submission button and logging off.

You packed up your bag, slid your coat over your shoulders, and checked out right at five, stepping out into the cool evening air. You knew Leon would probably also be home by this time, too.

He’d been up before dawn, quietly slipping out of bed at 6am for what he’d dryly called a "glorified errand" of a mission. A quick little briefing, a standard DSO protocol. When he wasn't on life threatening missions, he was stuck doing small briefings and security checks.

He’d promised he’d be back by 3pm at the latest, which meant he was already home, probably showered, and waiting for you.

When you finally unlocked the front door of the apartment, the familiar, comforting scent of home hit you instantly. You kicked off your shoes, tossing your keys onto the small entryway table.

​"Leon?" you called out, dropping your bag onto the floor.

​From the kitchen, you heard the low, familiar rumble of his voice. "In here."

You walked into the kitchen, and he was leaning against the counter, stirring a pot, a skillet next to it. He always made dinner when you weren't home to, or just didn't want to.

The moment his blue eyes locked onto you, a soft smile tugged at his lips. He set the wooden spoon down and turned fully to face you, opening his arms in a silent invitation.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice laced with that smooth warmth that always made your heart skip a beat. "How was the corporate grind?"

​You didn't hesitate, stepping straight into his space and wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. You buried your face into his chest, inhaling the clean scent of his soap and the faint trace of leather and bergamot that always clung to him. Leon let out a soft huff of air, his large hands immediately coming up to rest securely against your lower back, pulling you flush against his frame. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

"It started out as an absolute nightmare, but I finished before the deadline," you said. "The data entry was so high. I thought I was going to be going until midnight."

He nodded, thumb beginning to move in slow circles. "But you finished in time. That's all that matters."

​"I had help," you said innocently, a grateful smile spreading across your face as you remembered the morning. "This guy from logistics, Connor, came in right at nine with a double shot espresso, exactly how I make my own."

His thumb stopped moving.

You didn't notice the subtle shift at first, continuing to talk. "And then he took the folder off my desk and told me he did half the work. He did it in one morning, somehow. If it weren't for him, I'd still be sitting there."

Leon's hands didn't move from your back. Instead, they tightened significantly, his fingers digging into your waist, anchoring you so securely to his chest that you couldn't move away if you tried.

You blinked, looking up at him. His lazy smirk was gone, and his blue eyes had darkened, fixed on you with an unreadable focus.

​"Connor?" Leon repeated, trying to sound casual, but the name sounding sharp and flat on his tongue despite his attempts. "He brought you coffee and handled your files?"

You nodded, "Yeah," suddenly noticing the blunt tone of his voice. "Is everything okay?" You asked, looking up at him once more.

"Yeah, everything's fine." He said, though the iron grip on your waist suggested otherwise. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't make a habit of letting other guys look after you," he murmured, his voice low. "That's my job."

Your breath hitched, his possessive tone leaving you completely tongue-tied for a second. You let out a quiet, flustered laugh, shaking your head. Nudging him slightly, you looked toward the pot. "Anyway, what's for dinner?"

He let out a low, gravelly huff against your hair, clearly amused but not entirely ready to let it go. But, the immediate distraction somehow worked. The tension in his broad shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and he finally loosened his grip enough to let you turn fully toward the stove.

​"Pasta and chicken," Leon murmured, his voice returning to that smoother, quieter tone. He reached past you to pick up the wooden spoon again, but he didn't step out of your space. His free hand slid down to rest firmly on your hip, anchoring you right next to him. "Figured you’d want something easy after a long day."

You nodded, leaning into his side as you looked down at the bubbling pot of pappardelle. Sizzling right next to it was the chicken, filling the kitchen with the aroma of dried oregano, thyme, garlic powder, onion powder and lemon zest.

​"Perfect. I'll handle the toppings," you said, slipping out of his grip to head toward the refrigerator.

​You pulled out the Greek yogurt and a cucumber. While the pasta finished boiling, you spooned the thick yogurt into a small bowl, mixing in fresh dill, mint, chives, and some lemon juice. Leon turned the stovetop off, taking the pasta to drain.

Taking a vegetable peeler, you drew it down the length of the cucumber, creating long ribbons.

​Leon looked over, watching you work. A soft, appreciative look crossed his face as he realized you were already finishing up the prep.

​"Thank you, baby," he murmured, giving you a quick smile before turning his attention back to draining the pasta.

That evening, after eating dinner, you and Leon were on the couch. He sat with an easy posture, watching the TV. You were rested against his side before you decided to shift, climbing ontop of his lap until you were straddling him, burying your face into his shoulder.

He didn't even blink at the sudden shift in weight. His broad hands moved automatically, one palm resting against your lower back while the other cupped the back of your thigh.

He shifted slightly, leaning back against the couch cushions to give you a more comfortable angle, his arm winding securely around your waist. You let out a long, slow breath.

​"Still tired?" Leon asked, his voice low. His fingers moved up and down your back through your shirt, slow and light.

​"A little," you admitted, shifting your head so your chin rested on his shoulder, allowing you to look at the sharp line of his jaw.

​Leon hummed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. His blue eyes drifted down from the screen, fixing on yours with that quiet, intense focus that always made the rest of the world fade into the background.

His fingers stopped their tracing, hand moving up to cup your neck as he pressed his lips to yours. His thumb brushed along your jawline, his lips slow and deep against yours.

You let your eyes close, your hands finding their place against the warm fabric of his shirt. The only sounds that filled the room was the quiet TV and the soft breaths leaving you both.

His hand on your lower back tightened when he felt your hips shifting against his, and his breath hitched for a second before he pulled back just enough to look at you, a soft, amused smirk playing on his lips. "Thought you said you were tired, sweetheart," he murmured.

You shrugged, "Maybe I am," you muttered, draping your hands over his broad shoulders. "But you're the one who started it."

Leon let out a low, gravelly chuckle, his grip on your hip tightening. "Right. Pretty sure you're the one who climbed onto my lap, sweetheart."

"Details," you laughed softly, letting your head drop against his shoulder once more. Just as your hand begun to travel under his shirt, he stopped you by gently grabbing your wrist.

"Not tonight, baby. I need to be up early tomorrow." He murmured, and before you could feel embarrassed, he started talking again. "You know I can't stop once you start looking at me like that. So don't push your luck, sweetheart. Stop teasing a starving man unless you want me to choose between my job and making you scream tonight. You know damn well I don't play fair once I'm provoked."

You pouted slightly, though the heavy weight in your eyelids made it hard to put up much of a fight. "You're no fun," you mumbled against his neck.

​"I'm being responsible. For once," Leon corrected, his tone laced with fond amusement. He released your wrist, his large hand traveling up to cup the back of your head, gently pressing you closer so you could rest comfortably against his chest. "There's a difference. Now close your eyes."

​•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

Monday morning arrived all too quickly after a weekend that felt far too short. You woke up at 5am. Mondays were always agonisingly long.

Your eyes flickered open at the sound of your alarm, the piercing noise ringing inside your skull. You reached from where you could in Leon's arms to turn it off.

You shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under the heavy warmth of his arm, but Leon only grunted, his grip tightening around your waist as he pulled you right back against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin.

​"Don't go yet," he mumbled, his voice incredibly deep and thick with sleep. "It's barely light out."

​"I have to," you whispered, though you couldn't help but smile, leaning back into his solid frame.

Leon let out a low, reluctant sigh against your skin. Rather than letting you slide away, he brought his lips to yours, catching them in a brief, warm kiss. As you tried to pull back with a smile, he hummed in disapproval, his grip tightening on your waist as he pulled you back down for a second, much deeper kiss that completely stole the air from your lungs. He pressed one last, firm kiss to the corner of your mouth before finally letting you sit up.

​"Fine," he murmured, slowly opening his eyes, the dark blue looking heavy but focused as he watched you sit up.

When you stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around your body, he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He opened his arms, gesturing for you to walk into them with his hands.

You stepped forward between his legs, letting him wrap his arms around your waist. He pressed his cheek against you, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh, slipping slightly under the towel.

"Nice try," you laughed, stepping back and pushing his hands away. "I actually need to get ready, or I'm gonna be late."

​Leon let out a dramatic, defeated sigh, letting his arms drop to his sides as he looked up at you with a slow, teasing smirk. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

When you walked into work that morning, you knew you were going to try and keep your distance from Connor. Leon clearly didn't like it, and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

You stood at the coffee machine for a few minutes, waiting for it to finish. You preferred the coffee you made at home by far to the bitter, aged coffee in the office, but coffee is coffee.

Taking the cup, you sat down at your desk with a sigh, setting the cup and your bag down, logging in. As soon as you opened the computer, an email came up on your screen.

The email was from your supervisor, and the subject line read: Temporary Department Merger & Project Assignments.

​You clicked it open, taking a slow sip of your coffee as you read through the text. Because of a sudden backlog in end-of-month logistics data, management had decided to pair up the data entry and logistics teams for the next two weeks to streamline the workflow.

​Your eyes scanned down the page to find your name, and right next to it, the designated partner: Connor.

​The email concluded with an instruction to relocate to the shared workspace desks on the third floor by 10am to set up your temporary stations.

​You let out a quiet breath, staring at the screen. Your plan to keep a polite distance to avoid any friction with Leon had officially hit a roadblock before the day had even properly begun.

You checked the time. It was only 7am. You had a few hours until then.

You spent those 3 hours plowing through as much independent data entry as possible to minimise the amount of shared work you'd have to do during the day.

By the time clock crept towards 9:45, you saved your progress, shut down your monitor, and stacked the current files into a neat pile, ready to take upstairs.

You took one last, disappointed sip of your lukewarm office coffee, chucking the cardboard into a small trash can, making your way to the elevators.

The third floor was far more spacious than your usual department, filled with long shared desks designed for collaborative projects.

​"Over here," a voice called out over the ambient hum of chatter and clicking keyboards.

​You looked over to see Connor at a double-desk setup near the windows. He already had his laptop set up on one side, leaving the other half completely clear for you.

​"Hey," you said, walking over and setting your heavy stack of folders down with a soft thud.

You didn't say much, just sitting down in your chair. The idea of working non stop with him wasn't the most enjoyable one on the planet.

He slid a printed spreadsheet toward you. "If we divide it this way, we might actually finish the whole backlog by next Thursday."

You looked at the sheet. "This actually looks perfect, Connor. Thanks. Let's just get started."

As you pulled the first file toward you, a sudden thought crossed your mind, making your stomach do a tiny flip. You were definitely going to have to tell Leon about this arrangement tonight, and given how he reacted to just a casual mention of a cup of coffee, you had no idea how he was gonna react to this.

You considered just not telling him, but that felt weird. If he somehow found out, he'd be confused at why you kept collaborating with him specifically a secret and probably become suspicious like a normal person. You knew you should just tell him.

•┈┈┈••✦ ♡ ✦••┈┈┈•

You got home, pushing your keys into the door with certain level of force that wasn't aggressive, but more than you usually are. Sitting in that building all day with Connor talking into your ear non stop while you're trying to work, only focusing when he wants to and refusing to be interrupted but gladly interrupting you when you needed to work, was the most excruciating experience you have had all month.

Leon wasn't home when you got in, probably doing some work somewhere on the field. You set your bag down with a sigh that came out as more of a huff.

At least you had time to decompress before telling Leon that you had to work with someone he was clearly jealous of, although he'd never call it that, for 2 weeks.

You decided to make yourself a tea instead of a coffee for a change, looking through the boxes in the cupboard before choosing passionflower tea.

The heavy thud of the front door closing signaled his return. A moment later, Leon stepped into the kitchen.

His eyes locked onto you, tracking the tense line of your jaw and the way you were practically hiding behind your mug.

"Tea?" He asked. "When is the last time you've ever touched a cup of tea?"

"Probably the first time in a few months," you confirmed, setting the mug down. He saw the small, strained smile, and immediately knew you were exhausted. "What happened?" He asked. "Just a long day?"

You nodded, "Yeah, kind of. I've been... well, I have to work with Connor for the next 2 weeks. It's just a complicated thing. Most people in my department are doing it because of a backlog. And it was just exhausting working with him all day because he's tiring. He doesn't stop talking. I'm used to working by myself."

His blue eyes remained locked onto yours as his mind clearly flashed back to Friday evening. He already hadn't liked the sound of this guy bringing you a double shot of espresso exactly how you liked it, but finding out you were now trapped at a shared desk with him for ten business days straight was the breaking point for his patience.

​"So first he's bringing you coffee and doing your work for you, and now he's spending eight hours a day in your ear," Leon said, his voice flat and completely stripped of any warmth. The gravelly edge in his tone was sharp enough to cut. "Sounds to me like he’s trying too hard to make himself useful."

​"Leon, it's just a temporary assignment," you murmured, placing your hands against his broad shoulders, feeling the rigid tension bunched up in his muscles. "The supervisor paired us up randomly."

"Randomly," Leon repeated, the word sounding flat and entirely unconvinced as it left his lips.

​He didn't back down or step out of your space. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between you, his boots solid against the kitchen floor. His hands came up to wrap firmly around your waist once more, his grip heavy and uncompromising as he pulled you flush against his chest. The familiar, grounding scent of him enveloped you, but the relaxed warmth from the weekend was entirely gone.

"It's just my job, Leon. It doesn't mean anything," you said, your voice gentle but firm as you met his darkened gaze. "You're being overprotective. It's just a desk assignment."

​"I'm not being overprotective," Leon murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that left no room for argument. He didn't loosen his grip on your waist even a fraction. Instead, he stepped closer, trapping you completely between his broad frame and the edge of the counter. "I'm looking after what's mine. There's a difference."

​"He's just an annoying coworker," you countered, a slight huff escaping you as you placed your hands against his chest, trying to create an inch of space. "You're letting a cup of coffee and a shared desk get to you. That sounds a lot like jealousy."

He let out a low, rough breath against your skin as he leaned down, his jaw brushing against yours. "I'm not jealous," he said, breath warm and sharp against your ear.

"Really? Because—" His lips cut you off completely, catching yours in a deep, heavy kiss that made the rest of your sentence vanish into the quiet kitchen.

​His fingers tangled firmly into the hair at the back of your neck, tilting your head up just enough to find a better angle and deepen the kiss, while his other hand remained locked like iron around your waist, holding you flush against his chest.

​You let your eyes flutter shut, the lingering irritation from the office fading into the background as you leaned into him. Your hands, which had been resting flat against his chest, softened. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his dark shirt, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

When he finally pulled back, his lips trailed down to your jawline, catching the breath in your throat. The sudden shift in intensity cut through the last of your small argument. Leon didn’t let up, his mouth pressing firm, deliberate kisses down the sensitive curve of your neck. His stubble scraped lightly against your skin, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"Still think I'm jealous?" He asked, breath hot on your neck.

"I think this is proving my point," you breathed, gasping when he bit slightly on the skin.

Leon let out a low, rough rumble against your throat. He pulled back just enough to look down at you. ​"It proves I don't like other people wasting your time," he countered.

​"Right. Keep telling yourself that." You whispered, a teasing smile tugging at your lips despite the heavy weight of his frame pressing you against the counter.

He didn't say another word. He silenced you by bringing his mouth back down to yours, completely cutting off any further retaliation.

You brought your hand back up to his chest, resting against him, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingers. Leon’s hand shifted from your waist, his palm sliding up the curve of your spine to rest between your shoulder blades, anchoring you against him.

You deepened the kiss, and his tongue fought against yours, hands pushing up under your shirt. The cool air of the kitchen hit your skin as your shirt shifted, but the chill was instantly replaced by the searing heat of his palm pressing against the small of your back.

A quiet gasp escaped your throat, completely swallowed by the depth of his mouth. Leon let out a low groan, his grip tightening until he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

​He broke the kiss just to step away from the counter, navigating the familiar path out of the kitchen and down the dim hallway. The only sounds in the apartment were the soft friction of his leather jacket brushing against the wall, your shallow breaths, and the steady, heavy thud of his boots.

​When he reached the side of the bed, he dropped you onto it, making you yelp, although you didn't have time to stay shocked as he quickly shrugged his jacket and kicked his boots off, climbing over you.

He trapped your wrists above your head with a single hand, his grip like iron as he leaned down, his chest crushing you into the mattress.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register that vibrates straight through you. "I want you to remember exactly whose hands are on you right now. No one else gets to touch you like this. No one."

Your breath hitched, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs as you stared up into the stormy darkness of his blue eyes.

Leon let out a dark, satisfied hum at your gaze, the sound vibrating directly against your chest. He didn't waste another second.

Lowering his head, his lips slammed back down onto yours, breaking into a kiss that was a stark contrast to the slow, gentle ones from earlier. It was rough, demanding, and utterly possessive, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim you completely while his free hand slid down your ribcage, his fingers digging firmly into the soft skin beneath your shirt.

Every touch felt amplified in the quiet bedroom, the heavy friction of his jeans against your legs and the firm pressure of his chest, skin hot even through the fabric of your shirts.

When he finally broke the kiss to breathe, his lips didn't go far, dragging roughly down the sensitive line of your jaw before burying themselves in the crook of your neck.

He nipped sharply at your pulse point, making your back arch off the mattress with a sudden gasp.

"Leon—" you gasped out, his name a shattered whisper that only seemed to fuel his fire.

He released your wrists, but before you could even think to move your hands, his large palms slid down to grip your hips. He pulled you flush against his frame, leaving absolutely no space between you.

"Call it jealousy all you want, sweetheart," he growls against your jawline, his voice thick with heat. "But tomorrow, you're going back to that office with my marks all over your skin."

He leaned back down to your shoulder, teeth digging into your skin in a way that was almost guaranteed to leave a bruise by the next day.

A sharp gasp caught in your throat, your back arching instinctively off the mattress as your hands flew up to tangle desperately in his hair.

"There it is," Leon murmured against your skin, his voice a dark, gravelly vibration that sent a fresh wave of heat through your chest. "Feel how hard your heart is beating right now, sweetheart? Every time my teeth touch your skin, you arch right into me."

"Leon..." you breathed, your voice a fractured whisper.

"I’ve got you," he growled gently, his lips brushing the fresh mark he’d just left.

His free hand caught the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head in one swift, impatient motion before discarding it onto the floor. He reached under you, and you pushed yourself up to aid him as his fingers unhooked your bra in a smooth motion, pulling it off.

He didn't hesitate, leaning down and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. A gasp catches like glass in your throat. A violent, electric shock ripples straight down your spine, leaving your skin prickling with a heat.

Your entire body shuddered when his teeth brushed over the sensitive bud, the sensation bordering on pain. Your body didn't know whether to lean in or pull away, back arching and greedily leaning in whilst your thoughts stalled, completely caught off guard by how fast your hesitation melted away.

"Leon," you gasped breathlessly, fingers tangling in the strands of his hair. Your body eagerly memorised the warmth of his mouth. He eventually pulled back, allowing you to relax back on the mattress as your lungs caught up.

"Oh, look at you... completely breathless already. Did I push you too hard, sweetheart?" He murmured, his breath hot and sharp against your ear as his chest crushed down against yours. "Tell me how good it feels to lose this little argument, baby."

A breathless, needy whimper escaped your throat, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. You intentionally flexed your muscles against his frame, not to escape, but to feel the reality of just how strong he was. Losing to him was the best part of your day.

"You're... you're still so completely jealous, Leon. Look what a cup of coffee did to you."

"Keep talking that shit, sweetheart, and see where it gets you," he growled softly, his free hand sliding down to squeeze your hip with punishing force. "You think it’s a joke? You'll end up over my knee before you know it. Don't test me, baby."

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, a sudden, delicious shiver racing straight down your spine at the dark promise in his voice. You swallowed hard, staring up into the intense heat of his gaze. You knew he meant every word, but the sheer thrill of it only made you bolder.

Your hands reached up to slip under his shirt, fingers feeling the solid muscle and slight scarring all over his sides and abdomen. "This isn't fair," you said, a sigh escaping your mouth.

"What?" He asked.

"You still have your shirt on. I don't." You started slowly lifting his shirt, revealing the smooth skin of his waist.

He huffed slightly, "You're so impatient, sweetheart. If you wanted it off, all you had to do was ask nicely instead of trying to strip me."

He raised his arms slightly, helping you guide the fabric over his broad shoulders and tossing it blindly over the edge of the bed.

Your hands immediately found their place against his stomach, palms pressing flat against the ridges of his abdomen. Your fingers lightly mapped the faint, silver lines of old scars.

Leon let out a heavy breath, his stomach muscles twitching under your fingertips. "Careful," he murmured. "Some of those are really sensitive."

You nodded, gentling your touch, letting your finger tips brush over the smooth, pale lines.

The both of you sat in silence. The only sounds filling the room were the small hitches of his breath when you brushed a sensitive spot, his muscles twitching and rippling under your fingers.

Your fingers traced a path up to his shoulder, lingering on an old scar, one of his first ones, the deepest one he had gotten in Raccoon City.

He eventually stopped you, his hands pausing your wrists as he leaned back down, letting his lips brush over your breasts and slowly travel down your stomach.

A sharp, helpless gasp left your lips as the heat of his mouth moved over your skin, your stomach muscles contracting instinctively.

He hummed against your skin, a low vibration that sent a fresh wave of electricity straight down your spine. He pulled back just enough to look up at you.

"Quiet now, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice a rough, gravelly whisper in the quiet bedroom. "Thought you were the one trying to rush me a second ago."

"You're torturing me," you whispered. Your hips shifted instinctively, silently begging him to stop teasing, but he only let out a low, rough rumble, his free hand sliding up to grip your waist, his thumb digging firmly into your hip to keep you pinned exactly where he wanted you.

He intentionally slowed the pace down to an absolute crawl. Every touch and every press of his lips felt magnified. The cool air of the bedroom provided a massive contrast to the searing heat wherever his body met yours. You could hear nothing but the heavy, uneven rhythm of your shared breathing and the wild, frantic thudding of your own heart against your ribs.

His fingers hooked into your waistband, and with a slow, deliberate tug, he stripped away the last barrier covering you.

The sudden rush of cool air against your bare skin made you shiver, but it was immediately replaced by the overwhelming, searing heat of his body shifting to slide completely between your thighs.

"Leon, please," you gasped out, your hands desperately mapping the rigid muscles of his back, clutching at him for anchor.

He didn't respond, his fingers gliding down your stomach until they reached between your legs, thumb finding your clit, rubbing in firm circles as two of his large fingers slowly pushed inside you.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he groaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he finally stopped teasing, fingers curling inside of you as his thumb made small, torturous circles against your sensitive clit.

A gasp slipped past your lips, a lazy, liquid heat blooming in your stomach. Your fingers loosely curled against his back, nails digging into the skin.

His fingers curled, hitting that spot inside you that made you arch, the slow, hot pleasure replaced by a sudden rush. He didn't pause, his fingers moving against your spot, causing you to whimper and squirm against the sheets. "Fuck, Leon..." you breathed, a sudden tremble travelling through you.

"Yeah? You like that?" His breath was blazing hot against your neck. He only pulled back to look down your body.

He pulled his hand back, making your hips arch to find him again. "Look at you, chasing my hand the second I move it. You really can’t help yourself, can you?" He murmured, hair tickling your chest as he watched your hips quiver.

His fingers brushed back over your clit, and a sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat, your entire body arching off the mattress as a wave of pleasure rushed straight to your core.

He didn't give in to the chase. Instead, he kept his fingers just hair breadths away, letting his knuckles brush lightly over your weeping pussy.

"Look at you, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr laced with mock sympathy. He leaned down, brushing a remarkably soft, comforting kiss against your flushed cheek. "You're shaking so badly. It’s okay, baby. Just breathe for me."

You let out a fractured groan of frustration, trying to tilt your hips up to meet his touch, but his grip on your waist was unyielding.

"Shh, I know. It's a lot, isn't it?" Leon cooed softly against your ear, his breath hot and teasing. He stroked your hip in a slow, soothing circle that only made the agonising anticipation worse. "You're so sensitive tonight, baby. Poor thing can't even handle a little space."

Your hand clumsily made it's way down his waist, gripping his belt, feeling the cool, dense grain of the heavy leather.

"Eager, aren't you?" He murmured with a soft chuckle. "You need to learn some patience. We've got all night, and I am going to make every single second last."

Despite his words, his hands moved down to the thick leather, and the sharp clink of the metal buckle echoed in the quiet room as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the loops, chucking it aside.

He reached back down to his jeans, pushing the metal button through the dense denim, sliding the rough fabric down his legs, leaving him in his boxers.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, bringing it towards him, letting you feel his hardness beneath the thin fabric of his boxes, the patch of pre cum spreading further and further the more your fingers grazed.

"You see what you do to me?" He asked. "You—" He paused, a breathless groan filling the air as you squeezed him lightly over the layer of fabric covering him, causing his hips to jump slightly.

"You completely ruin me," He continued. "Just you."

The raw confession wrecked what little composure you had left. Your hands tugged on his waistband, tugging his boxers down his legs. He aided you, pushing them off, the final piece of clothing covering him.

Your bodies pressed together, searing hot skin brushing against eachother. You knew he wanted nothing more than to fuck you, but you wanted to do something else first.

"Wait, Leon," you paused him, placing your hands on his broad shoulders, one of your palms moving down to rest on his large, solid bicep.

"What?" He asked, a certain edge in his tone, clearly just wanting to plainly plow into you until you forgot your own name.

You pushed him off you until your positions were flipped, and he was on his back. The position change caused a slight look of puzzlement to cross his features. You moved between his legs until his hard, leaking cock was face-to-face with you, and your hand wrapped around it.

The confusion on his face vanished, replaced by a quiet huff of amusement escaping his mouth and a slight tremble at the sensation of your hand. "You don't have to, baby," he murmured, though he didn't make a single move to stop you.

"I want to," you said, completely determined. You knew he hated it when he felt like you were doing something just for his pleasure and nothing for yourself, no matter how many times you had explained that watching him lose control and moan because of what you were doing was immensely pleasurable for you.

You didn't hesitate after that, dragging your hand up and down his length, twisting when you reached the top of his cock. Your thumb found his tip, spreading his pre-cum before gently digging into the slit.

"F—fuck, baby, wait," he choked out, his voice completely stripped of its earlier smugness. You moved back down, returning back to stroking him until his hips shakingly pushed up into your hand, fucking your fist himself.

"And you said I was impatient," You murmured, watching him push up into your hand. You continued jerking him off, your thumb swiping his slit, watching his hips buck again.

He finally relaxed his legs for you, spreading them wider as your hand moved steadily, up and down his slick cock. You gave him a small squeeze, causing a strangled moan to escape his mouth.

"Right there... yeah, just like that," he panted, his voice dropping into a desperate, shaky whisper. "Please," he begged, his voice a thick whimper.

You didn't falter, picking up the pace, drawing more pathetic noises out of him. "Is that good?" You asked, watching his eyes squeeze shut every time your hands brushed past a specific spot.

He nodded, "Yeah, it's, fuck, it's so good." He shuddered, chest locking, unable to gather a full breath.

"I can't—I can't hold it back," he whimpered, a sound so entirely stripped of pride it made your heart race.

His shaft pulsed in your hand, twitching as your movements relentlessly continued. You pressed your thumb into the sensitive underside of his head, making him jump as his legs trembled.

His cock continued throbbing in your hand, his eyes rolling back as your thumb continued its torture on the horrendously sensitive underside.

"Fuck—I'm not—I'm not gonna last much longer, baby," he choked out, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

You moved your fist up and down quickly, sending him over the edge, and his body tensed, eyes rolling back as thick, white ribbons of cum spurted out onto his own stomach as his body trembled and a row of moans and whimpers escaped his mouth.

"Jesus," he panted, shifting until he sat back up. He rested his elbows on his knees, head hanging for a second as his breathing slowed.

He didn't waste much time, quickly regaining his composure and looming over you before you could scramble backward.

His hands shot out, fingers locking securely around your wrists. He didn't throw you down, but the heavy, deliberate weight of him forced you backward onto the mattress. Before you could pull away, he pinned your hands flat against the sheets on either side of your head, the mattress dipping deeply beneath his knees as he crowded into your space.

​He leaned down close, his frame trapping you completely against the pillows and leaving you with absolutely nowhere to move. You went entirely still beneath him, your voice trapped in your chest as you stared up at him, unable to find anything to say.

"Quiet now, huh? You had your fun, now it's my turn." He said, hands grasping your legs until you complied, wrapping around his large waist.

He immediately thrusted into your heat, his thick cock burying deep inside your needy little cunt. A sharp needle of pain drove straight into your chest at the sudden intrusion, and your legs locked around him.

He started moving, pulling out and slamming back in, and the point shattered, melting into a rush of pure, golden heat that flooded your veins.

A fierce, involuntary swear slipped past your teeth, slurred and entirely breathless as the sheer weight of the pleasure crushed your thoughts.

"Leon—" you whimpered, his hips snapping against yours. Your legs tightened around his thick waist, nails finding his shoulders once again.

"F—fuck, you feel so fucking good, baby," He groaned breathlessly, his gaze pinning you in place like a physical weight, his chest heaving against yours as if he had ran miles.

Every drag of his cock against your walls was winding the coil in your stomach tighter, and his breath was warm against your cheek as he leaned closer. "God, you feel so perfect," he panted. "Don't move, just stay right there."

A soft, involuntary whimper slipped past your lips, your body turning entirely to liquid beneath him. Your eyes fluttered closed as a violent shiver streaked down your spine. One hand claws into his back, nails marking the skin while the other found his hair, fingers tightening in the strands as your body arched up against his.

He pulled out and thrusted back in at a slightly different angle, his cock hitting your sweet spot directly.

You gasped, your back arching off the mattress as your fingers claw into his shoulders. "Oh, god, Leon—" you choked out, your voice high and entirely broken.

He let out a low growl, his grip tightening on your hips until it's bruising. "Right there?" he panted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"Yes—yes, please, don’t stop," you whimpered, completely helpless beneath him.

A ragged, breathless chuckle vibrates against your neck as he deliberately holds himself still, torturing you with the ache of his weight. "Look at you," he murmured, his thumb tracing your jawline to force your eyes up to meet his dark gaze. "You’re shaking."

"I hate you," you panted, tears of pure pleasure pricking your eyes. "Leon, move..." you whimpered, backing arching against him.

"Say it nicely," he whispered, his lips grazing yours, a heavy heat behind his eyes. He grinded against that specific spot just a single, agonising fraction of an inch, making you sob out loud. "Ask me nicely, sweetheart."

"Please," you whined, your nails digging further into his back. "Please, move."

He started moving again with an intensity that caught the air in your lungs. The slow burn in your stomach catches fire, and every single thrust felt electric.

"Leon—wait—" you gasped out, hands losing their grip on his shoulders, fingers tangling into the bed sheets below.

"You still think I'm jealous? Huh?" He growled breathlessly against your lips, his voice a raw, gravelly vibration. He shifted against you, a deliberate, heavy friction.

You can't form words. You can only let out a fractured, high-pitched whimper, your fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets.

Your spine arched right off the bed, a wrecked, clawing "Please" dragged out of the very bottom of your throat as the sensation turns blinding.

The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you as a blinding, white-hot rush of heat shoots straight up your spine, shattering the last of your composure into absolute nothingness.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the tension exploded into pure bliss, the sensation making your toes curl and your head roll back into the mattress.

Instead of stopping, instead of letting you sink into the quiet comedown, he kept moving. He maintained that heavy, relentless friction against that devastating spot, refusing to give you even a second to catch your breath.

"Wait, please—" you choked out, your voice a fractured, desperate whimper.

Your nerve endings are entirely too raw, too sensitive. The pleasure doesn't fade. Instead, it turns into a sharp, blinding wave of static electricity that makes your whole body flinch. Every single touch feels like a shock against your skin, so loud and overwhelming that it completely drowns out your ability to think.

His fingers dig into your hips, his grip bruisingly tight as he pins you flat to the mattress when he notices your hips twisting.

"Don’t move," he ordered, his voice a low, gravelly growl right against your ear, his own chest heaving violently against yours. "I’ve got you. Just stay right here."

"It’s too much... I can’t—" you panted, tears of overstimulation pricking the corners of your eyes. Your fingers clawed helplessly at his shoulders, your toes curling as a violent shudder streaks down your spine.

A wicked, triumphant heat spreads behind his dark eyes as he watches you completely unravel. "Look at you. You’re shaking. So perfect. Look how beautiful you look when you're completely ruined for me."

You can only shake your head against the pillow, entirely undone, letting the white noise take over as he drives you blindly into a second, even deeper wave of release.

You screamed his name as waves of intense pleasure washed over you, your body thrashing against his own. He was intentionally holding his own release back, extending your orgasms, but everytime your walls clenched around him, he had to focus especially hard to not cum.

Before your mind can even attempt to settle from the second wave, he deliberately hooks your knees higher over his shoulders, shifting his angle.

The new angle made your body convulse beneath his, his thick cock filling you further.

"Leon, I can't—I can't take anymore," you whimpered, legs aching in the forceful position.

"You can take it, sweetheart." He murmured, his thrusts turning slightly messy as his body abandoned all his composure, his cock slamming in and out, thrusting your body back and forth until you saw stars. "You like feeling this full? Huh?"

You couldn't answer, your legs shaking over his shoulders, each thrust causing a quiver in your legs. The only thing your mouth allowed to escape were your breathy moans and whimpers.

"I'm close," He groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as you tightened around him again. You could barely answer, just nodding instead. You were, too.

It only took one more thrust for your third orgasm to shatter devastatingly over you. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to form words.

Your walls squeezed him, causing him to let out a sharp swear, his cock twitching inside of you as he came, spurting long ropes that filled you to the brim. The sensation caused a shiver to wrack through your already overwhelmed body.

He allowed your legs to drop from his shoulders as he pulled out, leaving you with a gaping emptiness.

He held himself up over you for a few more seconds, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his body.

With a slow, deliberate exhale, he dropped his forehead against your shoulder, letting his full weight rest against you for just a heartbeat before rolling onto his side. The sudden absence of his heat made the cool air of the room sting against your damp skin.

Before you could shiver, he reached down, grabbed the edge of the duvet, and buried you both beneath it. He pulled you flush against his side, tucking your head securely under his chin.

"You okay?" he asked softly. You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady if you spoke from the pure overstimulation.

After a few minutes, he lifted the duvet up from himself, and he swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood up.

"Stay right there," he murmured, his voice soft. "I'll be back in a moment."

You didn't have the energy to move even if you wanted to. You lay there, floating in the heavy, dazed aftermath, listening to the distant sound of running water.

A few minutes later, he walked back in. Without a word, he pulled back the sheets, leaned down, and scooped you up into his arms. Your limbs felt heavy and useless, your head naturally dropping against his shoulder as he carried you into the warm, misted bathroom.

He carried you over to the tub full of hot water and bubbles, lowering you carefully until your feet, then your hips, sank into the tub.

The heat was an instant, overwhelming contrast to the cool air, making you gasp softly. He sat on the tiled edge of the bath, his large hands supporting your back until you relaxed back against the porcelain.

He helped you lean back, completely submerging your hair in the comforting warmth.

He gently guided you back up, supporting your heavy shoulders until you sat upright.

Reaching for the shelf, he grabbed the bottle and warmed the shampoo between his palms. He worked his hands into your wet hair, massaging a soothing lather into your scalp with a slow, rhythmic pressure that pushed away the last of your tension.

Finally, he cupped warm water in his hands and poured it over your head, carefully shielding your face as the suds swept away into the depths of the bath.

"So," He began, playing with the wet, soft strands. "Still think I'm jealous?"

You laughed, though the sound was just a quiet, breathy huff. Your body felt too heavy, too drained to properly argue.

"Definitely," you murmured, closing your eyes as his hands tracked a slow path down to your shoulders.

He let out a low, vibrating chuckle. His fingers didn't stop their slow, rhythmic stroking, grounding you back into your own skin.

● He is completely unfazed. If you're still at the start of your relationship and you're worried about telling him, he’ll completely put you at ease the second he notices you're uncomfortable. He'd say something like, "Hey, you don't have to hide anything from me. I've got you. Tell me what you need, and I'll go grab it." After everything he’s seen and experienced, biological functions do not make him squeamish in the slightest. If you ask him to pick up specific supplies, he doesn't hesitate.

● If you're having cramps, he immediately has you ibuprofen, a hot water bottle, and a banana because he read that the magnesium and potassium ease cramps. He also is naturally warm, and he'll use that to your advantage. If you're dealing with the cramps, he'll just hold you and place his warm hand directly on your lower stomach.

● He'd be there for anything you want. If you want space, he'll give you space. If you want to be close, he'll be close. If you have cravings, he'll get them for you. If you just want to lie in bed all day and ignore the world, he’ll lock the front door, turn off his phone, and slide right in next to you. He is incredibly intuitive when it comes to reading your energy. He doesn't need you to explain why you're frustrated or why you suddenly feel like crying, he just adapts to whatever version of him you need in that exact moment.

● He finds a different kind of closeness in just being your comfort. If you aren't feeling up for anything intense, he genuinely doesn't mind. He loves the intimacy of just holding you close. He’ll pull you flush against him in bed, letting you bury your face in his neck while he breathes you in, completely content to just exist in that quiet, shared space.

● If you get snappy or irritable, he doesn't snap back. He just gives a small, knowing smirk, kisses the top of your head, and says, "Rough day? Let me go make you some tea." He has zero ego when it comes to something you can't control.

● If the hormonal shifts make you suddenly self conscious or emotional, he doesn't treat it like an inconvenience. If you're upset over something small, he won't ask why or tell you that it's only a small thing. He just holds you through it.

● Hypervigilance means Leon is highly sensitive to bright lights and sharp noises when he's overwhelmed. He assumes you feel the same way when you're on your period and under stress. He will go through the house turning off harsh lighting, drawing the blinds, and switching on dim lamps or amber nightlights to create a soothing environment.

● He knows that not every period is the same. Sometimes you have little appetite, sometimes you have an appetite bigger than what you can physically fit in your stomach, and he doesn't bat an eye. He's happy to either make you some buttered crackers with fruit on the side or a 3 course meal. As long as you're eating something, he doesn't care what he has to make.

● He's very tactical and observant. He notices the specific position of your neck when you have a hormonal headache and your posture when you have a back or stomach ache. He usually knows what you need without you needing to say it.

● He utilises heavy pressure therapy for physical relief. Instead of just a light touch, Leon understands the mechanics of deep tissue aches from his own recovery routines. If you experience lower back tension or your normal cramps, he uses his physical strength. He will have you lean against him or lie down while he uses the palms of his hands to apply heavy, grounding pressure to the ache. His hands are naturally warm, like a weighted heating pad.

● He respects your boundaries. If you want to be left alone, he won't bug you. He deeply understands the need to isolate and recharge in dark silence. He's been there many times. He'll stay quiet, close doors softly, turn the movie he's watching in the living room down even though it's a whole floor away from you. But he'll be there immediately if you do end up needing something.

● For a man who carries an immense amount of survival guilt and trauma, being able to successfully protect your peace and make you feel safe is incredibly grounding for him. When you let your guard completely down, complain about the pain, or fall asleep dead weight against his chest, it fulfills his deepest instinct to protect.

● Leon doesn’t do anything halfway. Once the worst of the physical toll has passed and you are just tired, he stays in full caretaking mode. He will slowly wrap you into a fresh set of his own clothes, smooth the hair back from your face with a steady, lingering touch, and press a warm kiss right to your forehead.

● He uses his physical size to anchor your restlessness. When the aches make it impossible to find a comfortable position and you're tossing and turning at night, he will shift his weight to help you settle. He’ll drape a heavy arm or leg over you, securing you gently but firmly against him.

● He keeps your favourite low-effort movies or series on. He won't suggest a heavy, plot-twisted movie when you don't want it. Instead, he’ll silently pull up your comfort shows, a stupid comedy, or a slow paced documentary you’ve already seen a hundred times. He doesn't need to discuss the plot with you. He’s perfectly content to just sit there with you and let the low noise fill the room.

● He doesn't make a big deal out of it, but every time he walks past you, he checks your glass to see if you've drank any of the water he gave you. You’ll find a cold glass of water, some ice, or a light snack like toast or fruit constantly refreshed on the side table within arm's reach. He does it so casually that you don't even have to interrupt your rest to ask for a refill.

You walked into the living room. Carlos was buried under a small mountain of paperwork on the couch, phone pressed between his shoulder and ear.

He looked like a completely different person when he was in paperwork mode. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by his focused gaze scanning the reports scattered across the coffee table.

He definitely preferred the physical part of his job much more, but the boring, lengthy reports were still a very real part of it.

You moved through the room, sinking onto the couch a few feet away. His eyes flickered to you for a few seconds, and you could see the clear, sharp and knowing, "don't do anything stupid," message. He got it across without him even having to say it.

You just offered him a small, private smile, and stretched out a leg to rest on the part of his lap with no paper, turning to the TV that had the audio turned down.

Without breaking eye contact with the document in his hand, Carlos’s palm settled over your calf. His thumb began a slow, soft stroke against your skin. He was a man of habit, and you were his favourite one. He didn't mind you being here. But he knew what you were like. The wary tension in his shoulders told you that he knew you were planning something.

You stayed mindlessly watching the movie, but the flickering screen wasn't holding your attention. You found yourself listening to the low hum of his voice as he spoke, the small, occasional sounds of agreement he’d grunt into the receiver, and the constant scratch of his pen against the reports.

Even the crisp rustle of paper as he moved sheets around felt louder and more interesting than the TV. But, you still felt yourself becoming bored, your legs becoming more and more restless.

When you started subtly bouncing your foot on his thigh to give yourself something to do, his hand came down, holding it still. You let out a sigh that was more of a frustrated huff, the sound cutting through the quietness of his work. His eyes flickered to you for a split second before returning to the page.

You knew you could just go do something else, and that honestly seemed like what he wanted, but you weren't going to.

If you couldn't use your legs, you were going to use your hands. You moved your leg off his lap, sitting and reaching up, fingers playing with some of the messy strands at the nape of his neck. A small shiver traveled down his spine, but he continued, focus unwavering.

You continued, leaning your chin against his shoulder as you did so. Carlos cleared his throat, a sound that rumbled right through his chest. He was still trying to pay attention to the voice on the other end of the line, but your fingers gently twisting the short hairs at the back of his neck were clearly testing his limits.

You huffed a small breath through your nose, watching it hit the skin of his neck. He stopped writing for a second, the tip remaining pressed against the paper, bleeding a small dot of black ink. His grip on the pen tightened until his knuckles turned slightly white. He was fighting a losing battle, and you both knew it.

"Yeah, I copy that. We'll have the inventory logged by 0800," Carlos said into the receiver. His voice was a fraction lower now, losing that perfectly smooth, professional rhythm he usually kept during calls like this.

​You leaned a little more of your weight against him, shifting just enough to press your cheek against his shoulder. From this angle, you could see the exact moment his jaw clenched as he tried to maintain his composure.

He didn't try to push you off, although you were practically climbing all over him. He continued scribbling small things down.

You started playing with his shirt collar, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers, gently tugging on it, and lazily tracing the seam. Your thumb brushed against the warm skin of his collarbone, and it was his turn to sigh, a barely audible sound leaving his lips.

​Amused by the tiny reaction, you slid your hand down to the first button of his shirt. You lightly caught the small plastic disc between two fingers, twisting it back and forth, then letting it snap gently back against the fabric. When that didn't make him break, you moved to the next button down, mindlessly tracing the stitching.

​"...Understood, Captain. I'll make sure the supply lines are cleared by tomorrow afternoon," Carlos managed. He cleared his throat again, trying to pull his mind back to the logistical data on his lap, but with your fingers casually messing with his shirt buttons, his focus was entirely shot.

"Oliveira, you still with me? You sound like you're a million miles away." The voice on the other line said sharply.

Carlos’s eyes darted down to you, a sudden flash of heat hitting his cheeks. "Uh, yes, sir. Just... double-checking the inventory numbers here."

​"Right. Well, it’s late, and you’ve been staring at those reports since noon. Wrap up the page you're on."

​"Copy that, sir. Thank you," Carlos said, a visible wave of relief washing over his face.

​He clicked the screen to end the call, tossed the phone onto the cushion beside him, and finally let his pen drop onto the coffee table with a soft clatter.

​For a second, he just sat there, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as the last of his rigid work-mode posture completely melted away. Then, that familiar, easygoing smirk crawled back onto his face.

"You're a menace, you know that?"

​Before you could even think about sliding away, his arm shot out, hooking securely around your waist and pulling you flat against the couch cushions.

​"Payback time," he chuckled, his fingers instantly finding your sides.

​You gasped, twisting and trying to squirm out of his grip, but Carlos was too fast. He targeted your sides, completely shattering the quiet atmosphere of the room with your sudden bursts of laughter.

​"Carlos, stop! Wait!" you managed to get out between breathless giggles, batting uselessly at his large hands.

​"Nope, no mercy," he teased, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement as he kept up the attack for a few more seconds, perfectly content to let his paperwork be forgotten on the floor.

"That's what you get for testing my focus."

​Finally, he relented, leaving his hands resting lightly on your waist as you caught your breath.

He rested on top of you immediately after, making you groan from the weight.

"Oh, come on. I'm not that heavy," Carlos laughed, though he didn't make any move to shift his weight. Instead, he propped his chin up on your chest, looking up at you.

​You let out another dramatic sigh, burying your hands into his messy curls just to give them an affectionate tug. "You are a literal brick wall."

He tilted his head into your touch. The loose sheets of his report were scattered across the floor and the coffee table, completely abandoned.

​He shifted slightly, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a contented hum.

It wasn't long until you felt lips dragging against your neck. The sensation was light, almost experimental at first.

His lips brushed softly against the sensitive skin just below your jawline. A quiet gasp caught in your throat, your fingers instinctively tightening in the thick, unruly curls at the back of his head. Carlos let out a low, vibration of a hum against your skin, clearly pleased with the reaction.

You tilted your head back, and his lips quickly started to suck more than kiss on the soft skin. A sudden shiver traveled down your spine, your breath catching entirely in your throat as a soft, helpless gasp escaped your lips. The cosy quiet shifted, growing heavier as his breathing slowed.

You tilted your head completely to the side to give him better access, a quiet, shaky sigh leaving your lips. His lips slowly travelled up, finding your own. They were a deep, familiar warmth against yours. It started soft and warm, but quickly escalated to something deeper and much more intense. Carlos’s hand slid from your waist up to the side of your neck, his large palm framing your jawline to hold you steady as he deepened the kiss. Every ounce of his earlier hesitation completely evaporated, replaced by a fierce, focused attention that was entirely directed at you.

​Your heart hammered against your ribs as his lips moved against yours with an intoxicating hunger, his tongue dancing against yours. The slow, lazy rhythm from a moment ago was gone, overtaken by a heated, breathless rush that left your mind completely blank. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, pulling him down closer as if you couldn't get near enough to the heat radiating off him.

Carlos let out a low, ragged sound against your mouth, a vibration that sent a pang of arousal straight through you. He shifted his weight, his broad frame pressing you deeper into the plush cushions of the couch, his hardness pressing against your thigh, completely enveloping you until the rest of the room entirely ceased to exist.

​The heat between you continued, the kiss growing heavier and more consuming as his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest was a contrast to yours, which felt like it was going to jump out of your ribs any minute.

Before he pulled away, he caught your bottom lip between his teeth, the sweet, sharp pain shooting through your lip.

His hands pushed under your shirt, resting against the warm skin of your waist. He pushed it up, moving down to press his lips to your stomach. The sudden, cool draft of the living room air was instantly countered by the intense, blooming warmth of his mouth pressing against your skin. A quiet, sharp gasp escaped your lips, your abdomen tightening instinctively at the sensation. Carlos let out a low hum against you, the vibration of his voice sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin.

He used his tongue and lips slowly against your skin, leaving a trail of warm, deliberate kisses that made your chest rise and fall with shallow, breathless sighs.

His tongue trailed up, nibbling the skin near your chest, making you gasp. The sudden sensation made your fingers tighten completely in his shirt, your back arching slightly off the cushions.

Taking advantage of the arch, his fingers slipped behind you, unbuckling your bra and letting it come off, pushing your shirt higher, revealing your breasts to his gaze.

​"Look at you," he said softly, the gravel of his voice sending vibrations directly through you.

You gasped sharply as his mouth closed around your nipple, his fingers reaching up to twist and squeeze the other. "Fuck," you sharply inhaled, your body completely caught between the instinct to arch up into his touch or twist away from it.

His teeth lightly grazed as he swirled his tongue, causing your hips to spasm slightly as they arched up again, another breathless swear getting caught in your throat.

"Carlos," you breathed, attempting to push his head away. He finally pulled away, warm breath gently hitting your sensitive skin as he looked up at you. "Just let me take care of you. Yeah?" His voice resonated through you, lower than normal, a deep, raspy sound that filled the room.

He only tore his gaze away so his fingers could find the buttons to your jeans. His fingers hooked into the waistband, thumb finding the cold metal of the button and nudging it through the stiff denim. You shifted your hips up to help him, and he slowly dragged the fabric down your legs.

His lips were worshipping any sliver of skin he was gradually revealing, leaving a warm trail of kisses that didn't miss a single spot, licking and kissing until he got down to your sensitive ankles, pressing warm, wet kisses before he pulled your jeans off fully.

His lips and tongue slowly moved back up your leg in smooth motions, mouth pressing against your clothed pussy, the soft fabric covering it already drenched.

His fingers caught under the waistband, pulling them down before you had a chance to react to the warmth of his breath so close to you.

He didn't hesitate, mouth immediately finding your clit, tongue pressing against it as if he'd been deprived of this his whole life. You gasped sharply, hips jumping. His mouth continued, tongue moving with experienced precision. He released your clit, licking a long stripe all the way up, spreading your juices all over yourself and his own tongue.

He groaned at the sweet, slightly tangy taste of you, his warm mouth finding your clit again. "Fuck," you gasped, breath ragged.

His arm snaked up from under him, pushing a finger inside you. The small, unexpected intrusion made you jump slightly, but the sensation quickly balanced out into pleasure. His finger pumped in and out as his mouth borderline devoured you.

He followed your movements completely, not letting your back arching or twisting break his rhythm. When your fingers found his hair again, pulling sharply on the thick, messy strands, he moaned against you, sending vibrations all the way through your core, making you whimper.

Another finger pushed inside you, curling until they reached the soft, spongy spot that made you almost choke on your own breaths. Your moans and soft curses filled the room, followed by a gasp of his name. His mouth tormented your clit and his fingers pumped in and out of you, and it wasn't long until you felt your lower stomach tighten slightly.

He seemed to be enjoying it more than you. His fingers pulled out, quickly replaced by his warm, wet tongue. His thumb replaced his mouth, circling your sensitive clit.

His tongue devoured you like a man dying of thirst, and your legs closed around his head, back arching off the couch. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your thigh, anchoring you against him as if he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

When his thumb pressed a little firmer, you're breath stuttered, catching in your throat for a second. "Carlos, I'm—I'm gonna—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence before he doubled down, tongue moving quicker alongside his thumb, moving in the exact way he knew you loved. It wasn't long until the tightening coil in your stomach snapped, and your orgasm washed over you, causing you to throw your head back and your back to arch, the explosive sensation ringing throughout your body.

He continued even after your body had come down from its high, moving his tongue back up to your clit, licking and sucking as if he could swallow the very air around you if you let him. The sensation quickly traveled into overstimulation, the sparks flying through your body causing your legs to twitch and shake.

"Carlos—" you gasped, the sensation becoming more and more intense, the sounds leaving your mouth now fully unguarded. When you moaned his name, there was a slight tremble in your voice.

He pulled back eventually, head coming back up from being trapped between your thighs, mouth glistening as air rushed into his lungs, inhaling ragged gasps, and worry quickly overtook you as you realised you were basically suffocating him.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice breathless and uneven.

He shook his head slightly, his gaze dark but warm. "For what?"

"You looked like you couldn't breathe," you admitted, shifting higher against the pillows. A faint, lingering tremor still pulsed through your thighs.

"I barely could," he murmured, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he caught the lingering worry on your face. "But I enjoyed every second of it, baby. Don't look so concerned. If I'm going to suffocate anywhere, I'd prefer it to be between your thighs."

You shook your head, a breathless laugh escaping you. Before you could retort, he sat up, sliding his hands around your waist to pull you flush against his chest. When his mouth captured yours, the kiss was deep and entirely possessive. You let out a soft moan against his lips, heat rushing straight back to your core as you tasted your own slick sweetness on his tongue.

He drank the sound in, his thumbs tracing slow, deliberate circles into the soft skin of your hips.

"See?" he whispered, his voice a low, raspy rumble against your lips. "Nothing to apologise for."

The contrast of the cool room against his radiating body heat made you shiver slightly, pressing closer into his embrace.

"You're ridiculous," you murmured, though there was no real bite to the words.

The heavy, comfortable warmth of him shifts instantly as he catches the tiny vibration of your laugh against his chest.

"Oh, you think I'm being sweet?" he murmurs, his voice vibrating with a sudden, wicked amusement. Before you can answer, his hand slides from your lower back, his fingers tracing a light, agonisingly slow path down your spine until they find the sensitive curve of your hip.

He squeezes gently, making you gasp, and uses the leverage to roll smoothly until he is hovering directly over you.

"Let me clarify," he whispers, leaning down until his lips brush the sensitive spot right beneath your jaw. He doesn't kiss you yet. He just lets his breath warm your skin, making you shiver. "I was being greedy, not sweet. And I still am."

To prove his point, his knee slides between yours, gently but firmly nudging your thighs apart once more. The friction of his clothed skin against your bare, sensitive body sends a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core.

You look up at him, your breath hitching as you see the cocky, satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He loves knowing exactly how much power he has over you, and he isn't trying to hide it.

He pushed himself up until your legs were wrapped around his waist, and his hands found the button to his jeans.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he rid himself of the final barrier, his broad chest rising and falling in a heavy rhythm.

He lifted his shirt over his head, chucking it aside. His chest was wide and covered in a pattern of dark hair that swirled over his ribs and followed the lines of his well-defined midsection.

His presence felt massive, his wide shoulders and thick torso commanding the room. Seeing him like this, rugged and unpolished, felt incredibly unreal, no matter how many times you'd seen it.

When he moved back over you, the sudden, unrestricted friction of his bare thighs and stomach sliding against yours sent a violent wave of goosebumps tracing across your skin.

You let out a shaky sigh, arching up automatically to meet his heat. Carlos let out a low rumble of approval, his hands finding your waist again, his palms burning hot against your bare skin. He tilted his hips, aligning himself perfectly, and the playful atmosphere completely evaporated as he slowly began to push inside you, his thick length stretching you perfectly.

The playful teasing evaporated the absolute second he slided into you. A sharp, entirely helpless gasp caught in your throat, your head snapping back against the cushions as your eyes fluttered closed.

Carlos let out a low groan right against your ear, a raw sound that vibrated straight through your chest. All of his cocky restraint completely shattered in an instant. His broad shoulders locked tight, and his large hands clamped down hard on your hips, his knuckles turning white as he anchored you flat against the couch.

He stayed still for a long, agonising beat, his forehead dropping against yours as he forced a ragged breath through his teeth. The cocky, effortless smirk from moments ago was entirely gone, replaced by a tight, strained line as he fought against the overwhelming sensation of his cock pushing inside your wet pussy. The way your walls were squeezing him was making it harder and harder for him to be gentle.

Every muscle in his broad chest was locked hard against yours, his heart hammering in a frantic, demanding rhythm that mirrored the sudden, wild spike in your own pulse.

"God, baby," he choked out, his voice reduced to a low, gravelly rasp right against your ear. His breath was scorching hot, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. "Don't move. Just... give me a second."

You couldn't have moved even if you wanted to. Your fingers were clawed desperately into the skin of his shoulders as your mind struggled to process the sheer fullness of him. A quiet, shaky whimper escaped your lips, cutting straight through the quiet room.

At that sound, Carlos’s grip on your hips tightened until it was almost bruising. A low, primal growl tore from his throat, his hard-fought restraint snapping completely.

He lifted his head, his hooded, dark eyes boring into yours with an intoxicating intensity that left you breathless.

"You're making this very difficult," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he looked down at you. You could feel him holding back, wanting to do much more than he thought you could handle. He was giving himself a moment to gather his self control.

"Carlos... don't hold back.. you're killing me." You breathed, trying your absolute best not to move against him.

At your words, Carlos’s chest heaved with a sharp breath. The admission that he was torturing you, and that you wanted him to lose control just as badly as he did, was the final blow to his sanity.

"You asked for it," he growled out, the words thick and dark against your lips.

He didn't wait. His thick cock drove inside you, and a broken, helpless moan crashed past your lips as he filled you to the absolute limit in a single second.

The friction of the movement sent a violent wave of heat crashing from your core straight out to your fingertips.

Before you could even recover from the shock of the first movement, Carlos pulled back and drove in again. The slow, careful hesitation from a moment ago was instantly gone, replaced by a demanding rhythm that was entirely driven by the desperate way your thighs tightened around his waist.

A continuous string of breathless, broken whimpers began to spill past your lips, your head rolling back against the armrest as your vision blurred from the pure intensity of it. Your fingers dug the bare skin of his shoulders, your nails pressing in his muscles as you tried to anchor yourself against the frantic pace he was setting.

Carlos drank in every single sound of your undoing. He let out a low, breathless laugh that was half-groan, his head dipping down to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"God, you're so fucking tight," he panted against your skin, his voice entirely ruined, shaking with the effort it took to speak. "Listen to you... fuck, baby, you're driving me crazy."

The sheer intensity of the pleasure was too much, making your back arch off the couch as a wave of pleasure rippled through you. Carlos watched your eyes flutter closed, a cocky, breathless smirk cutting through his own desperation as he saw how completely undone you were.

"Oh, no you don't," he teased, his voice a low, gravelly rumble against your lips as he picked up the pace, deliberately driving you higher. "Stay right here with me, baby. Don't close your eyes yet."

Your head rested back against the armrest, your eyes glazed as a continuous string of disjointed, high-pitched whimpers spilled from your lips.

The sheer intensity of his full body weight smashing down on you, the blistering heat of his stomach against yours, his cock dragging in and out of you, and his skin frictioning against your hypersensitive breasts sent a violent, electric shock straight down your spine.

Your inner thighs were trembling so hard they could barely hold their grip around his waist, your core pulsing desperately around him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, his voice an absolute wreck, cracking under the weight of his own arousal. "You’re crushing me. Squeeze me like that again and I’m done."

You can’t even form a syllable to answer. Another ragged sob of pure pleasure escapes you as your hips twitch instinctively upward, begging for more.

Seeing you completely at his mercy breaks whatever control he has left. A low, wicked chuckle, breathless and raw, vibrates in his throat. He suddenly, brutally increases his speed, his hips driving down with an unrelenting, heavy force that makes the couch squeak against the floor.

He shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made you throw your head back with a fractured moan.

"Ah!" The sound ripped from your throat, high and completely ruined, cutting off into a sharp, hitching gasp. Your back arched completely off the couch, fingers clawing blindly into the thick, corded muscles of his shoulders.

You cried out when he grabbed your hair, yanking it back just enough to feel the burn in your scalp and tears gather in the corner of your eyes.

"Oh, you like that spot, don't you?" he whispered, his hot breath brushing your lips as his hips gave a torturously slow, heavy grind forward.

You could only let out a helpless, shuddering whine, your eyes blurring with tears as the burning tension in your scalp and the overwhelming pleasure between your thighs held you completely captive.

He sped up his thrusts as his hand moved to start rubbing over your clit again, causing a strangled moan to escape your mouth.

He grunted as you squeezed him tightly, thrusting deeply as you came. Your back arches off the couch, completely out of your control as a sudden, white-hot current surges up your spine

He didn't stop, continuing to thrust deeply into your spasming pussy until your vision blurs into static. It's too much, your nerve endings entirely on fire, leaving you helpless and weeping into the cushions. He leans over you, his eyes dark. "Be good for me," he cooes, his voice a devastatingly calm contrast to the storm inside you. "Hold still."

You try to shift your hips, thighs trembling against his hold because the sensation is too bright, too intense to process. He catches your hips, anchoring you. "Where do you think you're going?" he murmurs, his lips brushing your jaw.

The sensation of his cock dragging against your sensitive walls is too much, too electric, sending tremors straight down to your toes. You continue to try to twist your hips, trying to catch your breath as your mind goes completely blank from the sensory overload.

"Carlos, please," you gasped out, your hands moving to his broad shoulders.

He hooks one large hand securely under your thigh, pinning your leg high over his hip to press his weight even deeper into you, rendering you completely helpless to the rhythm.

"Please what, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his tone laced with a cocky, breathless amusement that makes your blood run hot. He leans down, his lips brushing yours just long enough to taste yourself on his tongue from earlier. "You started this, remember? You don't get to beg for mercy now. Sit still and take it."

You didn't know whether to pull away or lean in, the sensation of him thrusting relentlessly into your weeping pussy entirely too much, but it felt too good to actually pull away.

His breathing became slightly more uncontrollable and laboured as his own release crept closer and closer. He leant further down, the huff of air escaping through his teeth scorching hot against your neck. "Fuck, your pussy feels too good," he groaned, his hair tickling your jaw as he leaned into your neck.

The exact second your squeezed him once more as your third orgasm that night washed over you, he lost all control, his own washing over him, his release gushing into you as his entire body goes completely rigid, a heavy shudder rippling through him. "Fuck," he hissed, your cunt pulsing around him as he caught his breath.

For a long minute, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the ragged, competing rhythm of your breathing.

Then, the heavy tension in his muscles finally melted. He rolled slowly to his side, taking you with him so you were tucked securely against his chest. His hands, which had been anchoring you so fiercely moments ago, were suddenly incredibly gentle.

He pulled a discarded blanket over your trembling shoulders, shielding you from the cool air of the room. One of his large hands began a slow, repetitive stroke down your spine, grounding you as the white noise in your ears slowly faded back into reality.

"Look at you," he whispered, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear of overstimulation from your flushed cheek. His lips curved into a soft, fond smile. "I really broke you this time, didn't I?"

"Shut up," you mumbled into his chest, your voice thick with exhaustion. You tried to sound annoyed, but your fingers only tightened in the fabric of the blanket.

His eyes were incredibly warm, stripped entirely of the dark want from moments ago. "Stay right here. Don't go anywhere."

"Too heavy to move anyway," you breathed out, a tiny, tired smile catching on your lips.

"Good," he murmured, leaning down to press a small kiss to the crown of your head.

Chris Redfield

He'd be a shield. Heavy and unmovable. He would be a silent, anxious protective, worried for you, refusing to ever come close to losing you.

You were out late and your phone died. Because of how many people he's lost, he immediately panics when you aren't back at your normal time or answering your phone.

You finished work for the day and packed up before leaving the building, the breeze cutting through the warm air, soothing your sweat covered skin. It had been a long day, borderline trapped inside that building.

Instead of going straight home, you took out your phone and messaged your best friend, wanting to meet up with them. They agreed, and you met up at your local café for a coffee and snack.

"What have you been up to?" They asked, nails lightly tapping against the cup of their caramel latte.

"Nothing much. Just work," you sighed, looking down at your drink. "You?" It had been about 3 months since you two had met up in real life, and you promised them you would soon. It was a lovely evening, and you had nothing better to do before you had to go back home to Chris.

You two spoke until the sun dipped below the horizon, causing a gorgeous pink, blue, and red scene across the sky, thin, fluffy clouds scattered about.

"I should really get going. I need to get back home before my boyfriend gets worried," you said, crumpling the food wrapper and grabbing your cup.

Your friend smiled, nodding. "I need to get back, too." They said. "I promised my family I'd cook tonight."

You got in the car, dragging your seat belt across yourself. It wasn't until you started the car that you gasped. You needed to go shopping. There was nothing in the house.

You groaned, grabbing your phone, pulling Chris' number up.

'Hey, honey. I'm gonna be a bit longer than usual. Need to go shopping.'

Just as you went to press send, your phone went dark. You dropped your phone on the seat, groaning into your hands. You needed to go shopping, Chris wasn't aware, and now you feel awful because you know damn well he is going to panic.

You considered just driving past. You were exhausted, and the dead phone felt like an omen. But you remembered the empty carton of eggs and the bag of coffee that was mostly dust. Chris had a 0500 start at the base tomorrow, and the thought of him navigating one of those mornings without a proper breakfast made your guilt outweigh your fatigue. He also wouldn't have enough time to go get it himself. You had little choice but to go shopping.

You sighed through your nose, starting the car. If you were quick, you'd be able to be a little less late.

You pulled into a parking space at the supermarket, getting out and walking in. It wasn't extremely busy at 9pm on a Monday.

The bright lights made your work-tired eyes burn a little, but you grabbed a shopping cart and continued on, grabbing bread, milk, eggs, all that, different meats, his favourite protein filled snacks, like mixed nuts and beef jerkey. All the essentials.

And, of course, his favourite instant coffee. He loved unsweetened black coffee in his flask, one of the only things about him that you didn't understand.

You were waiting for the cashier to print the receipt. If you left now, you'd be home in 15 minutes. He's been home for 3 hours by now. He's definitely called someone at this point, you thought.

You knew his struggles and anxiety with people being late. He's lost one too many people, and it made you feel like a piece of shit for forgetting you had to go shopping.

You drove back as quickly as you could, relief flowing your insides as the places that were usually full of traffic were mostly clear.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, you see him standing on the front porch. He isn't pacing. He's perfectly still, watching the street. The second your headlights hit him, you see his shoulders drop about 2 inches, the only indicator of the tension he was knotted in.

He meets you at the car door and takes the bags without a word. His hand lingered on yours as he took one of the bags for slightly longer than necessary.

You followed him inside, and he set the bags on the counter. "You didn't answer your phone," he said, attempting to sound casual. But his voice was deeper and a little rougher than usual.

"I know, I'm so, so sorry," You said, sweat clinging to your forehead. "I left work and met one of my friends, then i forgot I needed to go shopping, and I tried to message you, but my phone died just as I went to hit send, and I tried to hurry in the store, so I might have forgotten something, and it was a disaster." You rushed out.

You went to continue apologising, but his hand grabbed your arm, his strength, even when he was being gentle, cutting through your thoughts.

"Hey, hey, calm down." He said in that voice he knew silenced your brain. "It's okay, it's not your fault." He paused, before saying, "But don't let that happen again, baby. I need to know if you're going to be late. It's never as quiet as it looks out there."

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his rock solid but warm torso, resting your head on his chest as he returned the gesture.

"You should go to bed. You have to be up early tomorrow," you said into his chest, and you felt a small huff of laughter escape him.

"You really underestimate me, don't you?" He said, playfulness creeping into his earlier heavy tone. "I've gone to work on little to no sleep multiple times, and I've been just fine."

You rolled your eyes slightly. You could feel the tension cracking and melting away slowly. "Yeah, well, you should still try to go to sleep. It's 10pm. And you always wake up an hour or two before you need to leave."

He nodded. He never argued with you when it came to his physical health because you were relentless. Enough water when he was working out, more food than just protein filled dinners, not too much coffee.

You both walked upstairs, and the first thing you did was get in the shower, washing away all the evidence from the day at work and the panic of being late.

Once you came out, he had that look in his eyes. The look that said he wanted you to come closer without asking. He was never extremely forward, but you had learned to read him.

You moved closer, sitting next to him and letting him pull you close, pressing a kiss to your lips. His lips were soft against yours, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck. You know how anxious he could get when people he loved didn't show up on time or answer him. He's seen too many things, experienced too much loss. You know he didn't want to come close to letting it happen again.

His lips were a little rougher against yours than usual. Probably him trying to convince himself that you're really here. To so many other partners, being late every now and then wouldn't make them panic, but for Chris, his brain raced through worst case scenarios.

When you deepened the kiss, his breath hitched, a low sound vibrating in his chest that was half sigh and half shudder. His hands, that were so steady on a rifle, shifted to cup your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones with a shakiness that made your heart ache.

He pulled back just an inch, forehead resting against yours. His eyes were still closed, his eyelashes fluttering as he slowly breathed in.

​"I went through every possibility," he confessed, his voice a gravelly murmur that barely carried in the quiet of the room. He sounded almost embarrassed of his brain. "I keep telling myself I'm overprotective, that I'm suffocating you. But then the house gets too quiet, and I can't breathe."

You reached up, running your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm here," you murmured, matching his volume. "I'm safe. I'm not going anywhere."

​He let out a long, shaky exhale, finally leaning his full weight into you as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck. The tension that had been coiled in his spine since 7pm finally snapped, leaving him heavy and warm against you.

Leon Kennedy

He would be a sentinel. Observant and tactical. His protectiveness isn't a wall, but a constant eye scanning every crowd, making sure it's exactly as it should be. Safe.

Someone was bothering you at a bar. With years of training, he's incredibly observant and reads your discomfort without saying a word, stepping in

You were sitting on a chair that was rather uncomfortable with a man talking practically in your ear. Could this night get any worse?

You had come to the bar to decompress from the stressful past few weeks. Work had been chaotic, the family drama had gotten worse, and one of your friends had ghosted you out of absolute nowhere, even going as far to pretend not to see you in public, which absolutely shattered your heart.

Now, you have some random creep saying perverted things in your ear, the potent smell of alcohol invading your senses. You had told him, politely, to leave you alone many times, even moved seats, but he wasn't letting up, and you were half convinced to stop being mannered and tell him to fuck off.

You ignored the words coming out of his mouth to your best ability. His words, "Is that what you're wearing for me? Because it’s working. Why don't we get out of here?", "You don't need to play hard to get. I know exactly what a person like you is looking for, and I'm right here," were freaking you out beyond belief.

You asked the bartender for another drink. This wasn't making your week any better.

"Oh, so you'll talk to her? Not me, huh?" The man said, shifting impossibly closer.

Something in you finally gave way, and you couldn't ignore him anymore. "If you keep on inching closer, you're going to make me fall off the chair. Can you move back, or, even better, just fucking leave." You snapped, leaning your head against your hand as you waited for your drink.

"Oh, a feisty one, huh?" He chuckled, sending a disgusted shiver down your spine. "I like that."

This man was not going to leave you alone. You wanted to leave, but you came here by bus. You couldn't drive with all the alcohol, you couldn't walk the hour back in the dark alone, and you couldn't catch the bus with all your money spent on drinks.

As the night went on, the relentless man became more and more impatient.

"I didn't ask if you were busy, I asked what time we're leaving. Stop making this difficult."

​"You keep saying 'no,' but your eyes say something else. I think you just like the chase, don't you?"

​"I bet you aren't this quiet when you're behind closed doors. How about we go find out?"

It was never-ending and disgusting and so exhausting.

You were contemplating calling someone, whether it was a member of your already very stressed family or your friend who apparently no longer cared about you.

Before you could even get close to clumsily grabbing your phone, alcohol making your aim awkward, you felt a hand rest on your shoulder. Just as you were about to turn to the man to tell him to get off, you noticed it was someone else behind you.

"They're with me," the new man said. His voice was deep and steady, dropping like an anchor in the middle of the man’s aggressive rambling. "You can leave."

The stranger scoffed, throwing his hands up in a fake gesture of innocence. "They never said they were taken."

"I shouldn't have to," you muttered under your breath, still leaning against your hand.

​"Well, you better watch out," the man spat, directing a jagged look at the new man. "They led me on the whole time, knowing they were in a relationship. Good luck with that."

​"I never-" The words caught in your throat, a mix of shock and anger, but the man didn't stay to hear it. He vanished into the crowd.

You let out a long, defeated sigh, your shoulders finally dropping from around your ears. The new man didn't hesitate. He slid into the empty chair, claiming the space.

​"You okay?" he asked. His voice was different now, softer.

You nodded slowly, finally looking up to take him in. He had tired eyes and a look of someone who had traveled a thousand miles just to get to this chair. "Fine. Just... thank you. Who are you?"

​"Name's Leon," he said, offering a small, ghost of a smile.

His leather jacket was tight around his broad shoulders. No wonder the man left. He was huge compared to him.

"You need a ride home?"

You hesitated, lips parting slightly. You didn't want any more creepy men. You were already hazy from the alcohol.

"I don't want to force you. You can say no," he said, amusement coating his tone. Probably at how nervous you were to say no.

You shook your head, "No, it's fine. I don't have a way to get back, anyway." You said. Your words slurred slightly.

He nodded. He knew exactly what to do, and taking advantage of you was not one of those things. You were agreeing easily because you were drunk and he wasn't being threatening. He knew that, and he wasn't about to exploit you.

He stood up, helping you up. "Wanna tell me where you live?"

You said the address and road, and he nodded in familiarity, leading you out into the cold, dark air.

He led you over to his sleek black car, opening the door for you. You climbed in, clumsily putting your seat belt on. Your hands were always the most affected when you were drunk.

It was weirdly warm despite being parked in the cold air, and it smelled just like him. Leather, musk, and some sort of fresh cologne.

You knew you shouldn't be getting into a car with a man you didn't know, but the alternative, the man at the bar or the long walk home felt so much more dangerous. Something about the way Leon moved, steadily and calmly, made your clouded brain decide he was the exception.

He got in and started the car. As he drove down the roads, he didn't try to start much conversation with you. He could see how dazed you were.

The car was almost completely silent. The music was dimmed down from what you assumed it would normally be. The soft clicks of the indicator were incredibly grounding, and every time he shifted gears, his arm brushed near yours.

Eventually, your head drifted back against the headrest, the world blurring into a haze of streetlights and buildings. Your eyes began to flutter closed, the exhaustion of the day finally winning.

​"Hey," Leon’s voice cut through the fog, accompanied by a gentle tap on your arm. "Stay awake. We’ll be there in twenty minutes."

You blinked hard, refocusing on him. The dash lights cast a blue glow over his sharp features, highlighting the focused set of his jaw.

​"Sorry," you mumbled, your tongue still heavy.

"Don't be. Just keep your eyes open a little longer," he murmured.

Once you got home, he got out, walking around to your side. When he opened the door, the cool night air rushed in, but it was quickly replaced by the heat radiating from him as he leaned into your space. He moved slowly, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder to unbuckle your seat belt.

He helped you out. You almost collapsed on your weak legs, and his arms caught your waist. ​"Easy," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to hum right through you.

He led you through your own front door after you had managed to unlock it with his help.

"You're gonna be okay?" He asked. He didn't just look at you, he looked at the room, checking the interior before his eyes settled back on yours. He helped you onto the couch, his grip lingering just a second until he was sure your balance had held.

​"I'll be fine now," you whispered

A small, tired smile ghosted his lips. He reached out, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in a brief gesture. "Lock the door behind me, yeah?"

He didn't wait for a reply, already moving towards the exit. He closed the door gently, with a soft click.

Carlos Oliveria

He’d be a rock. Comforting and grounding. His protectiveness isn't heavy like a burden. It's steady.

You had a stressful day with someone at work, and you're struggling to come down from it. Carlos notices it the minute you come home.

You packed your belongings into your bag. Today was god awful, and you felt weak for letting it affect you. Miller's words rung in your head like a never-ending bell.

"I’m actually impressed you finished that report on time. I know how much you usually struggle with the technical side of things."

​"Did I take credit for that? I thought we were a team. I didn't realise you wanted the recognition so bad."

​"Relax, I was just joking. You really need to grow a thicker skin."

​"I actually went ahead and double-checked your work from this morning. It’s a good thing I did. I found some 'oversights' that would have been pretty embarrassing for the department if they'd gone out."

​"Don't bother taking notes. I’ll send out the summary later. I want to make sure the instructions are actually clear for once so we don't have a repeat of last week's disaster."

His snarky, passive-aggressive tone was really getting to you today. You had been holding in your anger all day. Hell, all week.

You shoved the rest of your belongings in your bag before making your way to your car. It made you feel beyond pathetic, letting someone's snide get to you like this.

When you got home, you walked through the door with a huff, keys jingling loudly in your hand. Everything was too loud. Your keys, the keychains on your bag, your shoes against the floor. You needed to get it off right now.

"How was work, baby?"

You heard him before you saw him. Carlos had gotten home before you, clearly.

​"It was fine," you said, but the sharpness of your words said otherwise. You dropped your bag on the table with a loud thud.

​Carlos appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning slightly against the door frame. He didn't ask again. He didn't push. He just watched the way you ripped your shoes off, his eyes tracking the frantic energy radiating off you. He could tell immediately.

​"Come here," he murmured. It wasn't a suggestion.

​You let out a shaky breath. The frustration of the day, from Miller non-stop undermining you to the sheer exhaustion of performing, finally bubbled over. You walked into his space, and he didn't hesitate.

His arms immediately wrapped around you. He gave the firmest hugs you had ever felt. You let your head rest on his rigid chest, the heat from his body radiating onto yours.

He didn't pull away when he felt you start to tremble. Instead, he tucked his chin over the top of your head, his large hand splaying across the small of your back.

"What happened? Huh?" He asked softly. "Tell me who I need to be mad at so you don't have to carry it anymore."

​"Just this guy at work," you said, trying to sound indifferent, but the slight tremble in your voice betrayed you. You let out a jagged breath, looking away. "It’s really pathetic, honestly."

He shook his head. "Hey, stop that," he murmured, gaze searching yours. "If it's making you shake, it's real. Not pathetic. Talk to me."

You finally let the dam break. About how your co-worker had spent the entire shift today undermining you, talking over you, taking credit for your ideas, making passive aggressive comments that made you feel like shit. How he always did this, and day by day, it was filing you down, thinner and thinner.

"It just makes me feel pathetic because it reminds me of, like, highschool. And that makes me feel like no grown adult like me should be upset about this." Your voice was trembling, pausing in between words to sharply inhale through your tears.

​"Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its usual playfulness. "Being an adult doesn't mean you stop feeling it when people are assholes."

He brings his thumbs up to wipe your tears away. "If he keeps it up? You tell me. I’m not saying I’ll do anything. Crazy, at least. But I can definitely find a reason to say something."

You nodded, and he pressed a lingering, firm kiss to your forehead, hands sliding down to hold yours.

He moved to sit on the couch, letting you sit between his legs. His fingers ran through your hair, beginning to braid the strands. He could make braids out of any length of hair. You've watched him do it to himself when he was bored.

You continued venting about Miller and everything else in that building as he soothingly braided the strands.

"He thinks he’s clever because he uses big words to hide his own insecurity," Carlos grumbled. "But he’s just a bully in a cheap suit, meu anjo. He’s trying to make you feel small because he knows he can’t stand tall on his own feet. He sees your light, and he’s terrified it’s gonna show everyone just how dim his own is."

The room fell into a comfortable silence, apart from the sound of your own breathing finally evening out. There was something calming about the way he worked. He untangled the knots of your day, one strand at a time.

​"My grandma taught me how to do this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the back of the couch. "She used to say that when your head is full of loud noises, you have to give your hands something quiet to do. Just focus on the feel of it. Everything else is just noise."

He finished the braid with a soft pat to your shoulder, then leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head. "Do you want some dinner?"