Coldtimemachine

Brazil, 22 yo

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Roommate (Modern!Dunk x Reader)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Warnings: Fluff (I guess? I'm not really good at it), they are in love with each other, but dancing around their feelings. I'm thinking maybe writing a part 2 with smut.

Is it good? Probably not, i just really needed to show Dunk some love.

Pairing: Reader X Modern!Dunk; Egg, Lyonel, Raymun, and the Targaryen family either mentioned or appeared.

Gifs and images are not mine!! The separator i grab the images at Pinterest, and assemble it on Canvas, but they aren't mine.

Hope you like it!

The heavy cardboard box hit Dunk’s boot with a dull, bone-jarring thud. The air hissed out of his teeth in a sharp whistle of pain, 

"Egg."

"It slipped." Egg’s voice was airy, devoid of any actual guilt, eyes blinking up innocently.

"You were standing still."

Egg looked down at the box, then up at Dunk. "The floor is slippery."  

"It's hardwood."

"Slippery hardwood." Egg insisted, gesturing vaguely at the polished oak with his sneaker, making an annoying, squeaking loud and long noise to prove his point.

You stepped over both of them and the box and disappeared down the hallway with your own stack dangling from your arms, completely unbothered, vibing to some random song blasting on your earpod. 

You didn't look at them. You didn't have to.

You just breathed out a small, absent-minded hum that vibrated in the narrow hallway, a small act that absolutely destabilized the oaf.

Dunk stopped breathing. He tracked the line of your shoulders until you disappeared into the kitchen, his head pivoting like a sunflower following the sun. 

The silence you left behind was heavy. Dunk stayed frozen for a beat, two beats, three, before the heat crawled up his neck, staining his skin a guilty, blotchy red.

When he finally forced his gaze back down, Egg was leaning against the doorframe, wearing a small, terrible smile that reached all the way to his narrowed slit violet eyes.

"Don't." Dunk said.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was actually going to ask if you wanted me to pick up the box." Egg said, his voice dripping with a mock-innocence that made it very clear that was not what he was going to say. 

He hoisted the box, tucking it under his arm with a grunt. "You know, you have a very nice place. Very spacious. High ceilings. Lots of room for two people to live together, and develop deeply inconvenient, life-altering feelings—"

"I'll kick you out the window." He took one step forward and his shadow swallowed Egg entirely, which was not difficult, given the size of the shadow in question. His hand twitched. "And before I do, I’m going to slap your ear so hard your Targaryen ancestors feel it. Shut up."

Egg didn't flinch. He adjusted his grip on the box and glanced pleasantly toward the window. "We're on the fourth floor."

"I know." Dunk hissed, his eyes flickering anxiously toward the kitchen, terrified that his threat, or Egg's teasing, had carried through the walls. "I'll aim for the bushes. Move."

Egg let out a sharp, delighted cackle, pivoting on his heel. "Careful, ser! Your face is the same colour as the 'Fragile' tape!"

It took two full hours and four grueling trips to the car to get the last of it in. By Dunk’s count, his new roommate possessed three times more belongings than any reasonable human.

Books, little trinkets, a collection of plushies and ... a strange amount of "Leon Kennedy" figures that he chose not to comment on.

Then, there was the stool, a hard piece of wood, sculpted magnificently, chipped around the corner due to decades of use, but solid as a rock, hard enough to crack the floor.

It required its own dedicated trip since it was so heavy.

"It’s vintage. My grandmother gave it to me, my grandfather build it for her." You vaguely explained, tucked into the backseat of the car, cradling the wood piece like a sacred relic.

"It’s a stool." Egg countered, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"It’s a vintage stool. There is a structural soul at stake here, Egg. Please, just... be careful, it's very heavy for your tiny arms."

Dunk didn't even wait for the rest of the sentence. He reached past Egg, his large hands dwarfing the base as he took it from your arms. "I've got it."

His large hands dwarfing the wood base entirely as he lifted it from you.

You had to stretch up slightly to pass it to him, and the exchange lasted approximately two seconds, and his brain catalogued the warmth of your fingers against his knuckles like a jolt of eletricity passing through his body.

He turned awkwardly, rushing to climb the stairs to the fourth floor, completely missing your giddy smile and Egg's teasing face.

Dunk brought the stool in and stood in the middle of the living room with it and looked at you, hands clasped, watching him carry it with a cute gummy smile on your face.

"Where do you want it?" He asked, trying not to get flustered from the attention.

You considered. Looked around the room with the eye of someone mentally mapping infrastructure. "Kitchen, I think. For now."

He followed you in and set it down in the kitchen, and you immediately stepped up onto it to reach the top cabinet, the one that made you roll your eyes when you came for the first time.

Of course everything is tall in this house.

The top of your head, standing on the stool, came to approximately his chin.

Dunk was a very tall man, he was reminded of it everytime he entered somewhere, he got used to duck every door he passed through, sometimes his head even reached the ceiling.

Last time Aemon - Egg's brother - measured his height, he was 6,4, almost 6,5.

He forgot how short you were, due to the years you spent apart. He forgot how he used to duck his head every time to talk to you, neck straining. But definetly worth it.

This was still not eye level. This was, however, a significant improvement on the previous arrangement, and you seemed to feel the same way, because you exhaled with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose was finally able to now see the dustied top of the fridge.

A small, but significant victory.

"Perfect." You said, clasping your hands proudly.

Dunk looked at the stool. At you. At the cabinet.

"Your grandmother." He said. "She was very short."

"4'9." You remebered, hearts on your bright eyes just by recalling the stool's origin story. "My grandfather was 6'1. She used to say he built her the stool so she wouldn't have to ask him for everything." A pause, a small one. "And so she could reach him."

Egg, in the doorway, made a squeaking sound, like puking.

Dunk looked at him, mimicking cutting his own neck with his index, Egg gulped at the threat, his expression was that of a ten year old processing information that was slightly above his pay grade.

"So she could reach him." Dunk said.

"He was tall." You said, straightening a mug on the counter, not looking at him. "She wanted to be able to look him in the eye properly. Kiss him properly. Without him having to — you know, break his back every time."

"He made it for her before they were even married. She used it every day of her life." You ran your hand along the edge of the seat, over the chip in the corner. "My father was tall too. Mum used it in their kitchen. And then —" You shrugged, light and easy, in the way you shrugged things that weren't actually light and easy. "It came to me."

The kitchen was very quiet.

Dunk looked at the stool.

The stool was solid and ancient and built with great care by a man who had loved a small woman and had wanted, practically and permanently, to close the distance between them.

It had sat in kitchens for decades, passed from short woman to short woman in a family of tall men, worn smooth in the places where hands and feet had found it every day without thinking.

And now it was in his kitchen.

In their kitchen.

Dunk only wished to one day be that man for you.

He looked at you, who was doing something at the counter with your back to him, and at the top of your head which reached his chest, and at the stool sitting between them on the floor, chipped at the corner, solid as a promise.

He looked away before you turned around.

"It's a good stool." He said, to no one in particular.

"It's the best stool." You corrected, and he could hear the smile in it without seeing it. You glanced at him over your shoulder.

"It's perfect. Thank you Dunkie." Your smile widening as you looked at them, acknowledging Egg's presence.

The tension in his shoulders finally began to drain, replaced by a warm, dangerous glow. "Okay. I'll order us some food. I'm actually starving."

"I'll do it—" Dunk started, already reaching for his pocket.

"Sit down." You said, already pulling out your phone.

You dropped onto the arm of the couch and scrolled without looking up. "You carried everything. The least I can do is order dinner."

"I don't mind—"

"Duncan." You looked up from your cellphone then, eyes narrowing in a playful, 'don't-test-me' look that made his knees feel like jelly.

He sat down. He sat down so fast it was bordering on clinical. Your thigh brushing Dunk's shoulder, pressed comfortably against him.

Neither moved, just basked in each other warmth.

Egg, from across the room, pressed his lips together so hard they turned white.

"What do you want?" You asked, eyes back on the screen. "And don't say 'whatever’s fine.' I know what 'whatever’s fine' means, and I'm not getting you a plain cheese pizza on your own moving day."

"It's your moving day." Dunk corrected weakly.

Dunk opened his mouth. Closed it.

There was something about being asked—being asked directly, being told his answer mattered, by you, in that easy and non-negotiable way—that made him feel like he’d forgotten how to form words correctly.

You made him feel seen, like what he wanted actually mattered.

"The noodles from that place down street" he said finally. "The ones with the peanut sauce. And the... the spicy cucumbers?"

You pointed at him without looking up. "Good. Yes. Correct answer. Getting that." You were tapping the order in, brow slightly furrowed. "Egg, you're getting the kid's meal?"

"Why—"

"Egg."

"...With the toy, please." Egg muttered, defeated.

Dunk looked down at his hands. He was smiling, a wide, goofy thing he couldn't suppress, and he knew he looked ridiculous.

Egg watched the smile happen in real time. He watched you, still focused on the app, reach out in Dunk’s general direction and pat his knee twice, a quick, absent-minded little gesture, the way you’d reassure your doggie without interrupting your phone call.

Dunk, however, looked like he had just been knighted. He went perfectly still, staring at the spot on his jeans where your palm had landed with a dumb smile playing on his lips.

Egg looked at two people who were absolutely, comprehensively, catastrophically in love with each other and had apparently decided, through some unspoken and mutually tragic agreement, to be as weird about it as humanly possible.

"Got it." You said, tucking your phone away. You looked up, eyes landing on Dunk.

Something in your expression went briefly, quietly fond, just for a second, a soft flicker, before you smoothed it back into something normal. "Forty minutes."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. You spent your entire sunday helping me moving."

"I'll carry you every time if this is what I get." Dunk said.

It was supposed to be a joke, but it came out a little too sincere, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling register that seemed to come from somewhere around floor level and resonate upward through the whole room.

You flushed, suddenly becoming shy. You grabbed the nearest plushie - a capybara plushie - and chucked it directly at his face lighthearted.

He caught it without moving. One hand.

The plushie disappeared into his grip like it had always lived there, the fabric still smelling faintly of your laundry detergent.

He was laughing, a low, warm sound that seemed disproportionately large for the room, and you were already turning away, heading toward the hallway to keep unpacking.

Egg turned back to Dunk.

Dunk was sitting on the couch with the plushie sat in his lap and an expression on his face that had no business being there, open and warm and slightly dazed, the expression of a nearly-seven-foot man who had just been undone by a something-foot woman throwing soft furnishings at him.

He was looking at the empty hallway. His thumb was moving, absently, over the fabric of the capybara. The plushie that smelled like your laundry detergent.

Egg stared at him for a long moment.

He was small, and bald, and the top of his head came up to Dunk's lower belly on a good day, which should have made the next thing he did feel less impactful.

He leaned in anyway. Got as close as the height differential allowed, and spoke upward with great intention, finger pointed menancingly against his abdomen.

"If you don't marry her." Egg whispered, "I am going to slap both your ears, ser. At the same time. Like a pair of cymbals."

Dunk looked down at him. The distance between their eye levels was significant. It did not seem to bother Egg.

"Shut up, Egg."

"Make me, "Dunkie".'" Egg teased, mimicking your voice and making kissing noises, grinning up at the man, whose face was turning into a tomato.

They ate on the floor. You talked about the new job, the office, everything that was happening in your life, and Dunk was hung on your every word.

The way you gesticulate your hands when were excited about something. The way you got this particular glint in your eyes when you were talking about something you actually cared about.

He'd been watching those hands for twenty-three years. He was going to watch them for twenty-three more and probably never do anything about it.

What he didn't notice, what he never seemed to notice, was that somewhere between the second and third container of noodles, his new roommate had quietly swapped their portions.

You'd done it smoothly, like a cat with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing small things like this for years without ever being caught.

You'd reached across to grab a napkin, and in the same motion pushed your fuller container toward him and pulled his nearly-empty one back.

Egg saw it.

Egg's eyes moved from the containers to you to Dunk, and something in his expression shifted, just briefly, something almost soft, before the usual glint of amusement reasserted itself.

You didn't even look up, just kept talking something about the new office, voice bright and cheerful while you dipped your dumpling on soy sauce.

Dunk's expression was filled with proud and excitment, hanging on every word you said like it was the most interesting thing he ever because.

Because it was to him.

Under the guise of reaching for the takeout bag, Egg leaned close to Dunk's ear.

"You're staring." He murmured, pleasant as anything.

"I'm listening." Dunk murmured back.

"At her mouth."

"At her face, I'm making eye contact, that's called being a normal person —"

"Mhm."

"Egg, I will end you —"

"What are we whispering about?" You asked, silently approaching them from behind, quiet like an entity.

The voice didn't come from the couch. It came from approximately two inches behind Dunk’s left ear.

Both of them jumped, physically, visibly jolted, as if they’d been hit with a cattle prod.

You were suddenly there, standing over them like a silent, beautiful entity that had materialized out of the shadows and the scent of expensive shampoo.

You hadn't made a sound, no floorboard had creaked, no fabric had rustled. You just materialised there.

"Nothing!" They barked in unison, their voices cracking in a way that was deeply embarrassing for two grown men (or one grown man and a very confident ten-year-old).

You didn't move, just stood there, looking down at them with your arms crossed, head tilted.

The flickering light from the TV casts long, sharp shadows across your face, making you look less like a cute roommate and more like a judge.

You narrowed your eyes between them suspiciously. Then you seemed to decide to brush it off, and reached over and stole the last spring roll directly off Dunk's plate.

Then, as Egg watched with sudden great interest, you picked the spring roll up, bit off half of it, and held the other half towards Dunk, hand stretched below it so no crumbs would fall on the floor.

"Here." You said, full attention now on the giant man. "Open up, Dunkie."

Dunk obeyed it without protest, opening his mouth so you could feed him the spring roll.

Egg looked at the ceiling with the expression of a boy trying very hard not to vibrate out of his skin with delight.

She knows how he eats, he thought. She knows how he eats and she swapped the noodles and she's not even looking at him and she's still taking care of him —

"Egg." Dunk said, without any particular inflection.

"Still not saying anything."

"Good."

"Absolutely nothing. Silent as the grave. A closed book. A —"

"Egg. I will literally bubble-wrap you to the radiator."

You looked between them again, a small, curious pull at the corner of your mouth, you found their mutual panic adorable. You didn't press them. Instead, you leaned over, shyly entering Dunk's personal space, basking in his warmth.

Egg was going to be thinking about this for the rest of his natural life.

"Better?" You asked, voice dropping into that low, soft register that always made Dunk feel like he’d forgotten how to blink.

"Yeah." Dunk managed to speak, staring intensely at a stray piece of bean sprout. "Better. Thanks."

"Don't thank me." You hummed, settling back into your mountain of pillows and picking up your own soda. "Just don't starve to death on our first night. It’s bad luck for the lease."

Eventually, well past the point when any reasonable guest would have left —

"Egg."

"Yeah?"

"It's late."

Egg checked the time on Dunk's phone. "It's 10:42."

"On a Wednesday."

"I don't have school tomorrow." Egg said serenely. "Something about a "Teacher development day"."

"That's —" Dunk stopped. "How do you even know what that means?"

"I know many things."

You, from the couch, watched with amusement swimming in your eyes, holding a suppressed laugh.

"Egg." Dunk said. "Your father is going to wonder where you are."

"I texted Daeron." He produced Dunk's phone again as evidence. "He said it's okay."

"O-Of course he did." Dunk pinched the bridge of his nose, half annoyed, half desperately wanting some alone time with his new roommate. "Egg. Buddy. It's time to go home."

Egg looked at you with bright, shiny violet eyes, like a puppy begging for its owner. Help me please.

You, who had been watching this entire exchange with soft, delighted eyes, seemed to make a decision. 

You got up from the couch, collected Egg's jacket from where it had migrated under a throw pillow, and held it out for him to put his arms into, the way you'd help a small kid with a coat. 

Egg let you do it with a small humpf.

You zipped it up. Straightened the collar. Then, without any fuss, you pressed a brief kiss to the top of his bald head in a motherly gesture that made Egg melt inside, not that he would ever confess it.

Egg froze.

"Come back soon. Oh, and be safe! Text us when you reach your apartment." You said sweetly, squeezing his plump cheeks gently. "I will bake you some cookies next time."

Egg turned and looked at Dunk with an expression of complete and total overwhelm.

Dunk looked back at him with an expression that said I know. I know. I've known for years. It doesn't get easier.

Egg pulled himself together with visible effort. "Okay." He said, voice suddenly soft and breathless.

Then, at the door, with one hand on the frame, he turned back to Dunk and said — completely seriously, at full volume, with you three feet away.

"You should really just tell her."

He was gone before Dunk could respond.

The door clicked shut.

You were quiet for a moment. You just pretend you didn't hear anything, must've been the wind.

You looked at him for a second, something unreadable and warm moving behind your eyes, and then let it go, turning back to the couch, pulling the warm blanket back over your frame.

"Come sit down." You said, patting the empty place besides you. "It's cold outside."

He sat down.

Your shoulder found his arm, warm and certain, like it belonged there. You lowered your head to his shoulders, snuggling up on Dunk.

I'm in so much trouble, Dunk thought.

The homework session was quieter than usual. 

You sat across from Egg with a half can of sprite zero, and helped - more so tried - him work through a reading comprehension worksheet. 

But the young boy noticed you were moving carefully, uncomfortably, twitching every 10 seconds like your chair was infested with ants, and twice you pressed your knuckles against your lower belly, thinking no one saw.

But Egg's bright violet eyes documented everything, your every movement.

Egg looked at Dunk and made a very small motion with his head towards you that clearly meant do something you stupid oaf.

Dunk made a face back that meant I don't know what to do.

Egg's return face was deeply unimpressed, a solid poker face, jutting his chin to Dunk's medicine cabinet.

Dunk scrambled to it, almost falling on his knees in the process.

He stood cluelessly in front of it for a moment, taking stock. What was he supposed to do?

You looked uncomfortable, were you sick? It definitely didn't look like the common cold, maybe you pulled a muscle at the gym? No, it couldn't be.

Dunk scrambled through the drawer, finding some old cold medicine, a truly impressive collection of plasters in three different sizes, a half empty box of paracetamol and some bandages ... Wait a minute.

He remembered hearing something about Raymun getting his fiancee some paracetamol during her period during one of their yap sessions a month ago.

He came back rushing to the kitchen with the box of paracetamol with only 4 pills on his hand.

"Do you need anything?" He asked you, unsure how to approach the situation, shifting his massive weight into his feet, suddenly regretting the approach. "Another soda, candy, maybe .... some paracetamol?"

You looked up from Egg's worksheet, exhaustion dripping from your face, your eyes were droopy like she was fighting with your lids to keep them open. "That would actually be great, yeah."

"Okay." He got the paracetamol. He got you a half cold half normal glass of water. He set both in front of you and then stood there, hovering, because Egg was still making the do more face at him. "Do you want — is there something specific that helps? Like, I could —" He stopped. "I don't actually know what helps."

"Heat helps." You said, taking the paracetamol, chewing the pill with the water, wincing at the taste. It was a stupid little habit you had since you were a child, since you couldn't swallow any pills.

"Heat." Dunk repeated. "Okay. I can do heat." He looked around the kitchen, remembering the heating pad he had tucked somewhere in the cabinet for when he pulled a muscle.

He went and got it and put it in the microwave and stood watching it rotate with focused intensity. Dunk was ready to punch to death this period thingy that was making his favorite girl suffer.

From the table, Egg said, very quietly, to you: "He's been staring at the microwave for like a minute. "

"I know." You answered, quite touched with Dunk's attitude.

Egg watched you watching the giant man. He chewed the end of his pencil. "My dad doesn't really know what to do either." He said, after a moment. "When something's wrong. He just kind of —" He made a vague gesture, "— stands near you. Does practical things. Doesn't say much."

You looked at him, eyes softening. 

"Uncle Baelor's better at the talking part." Egg continued, not exactly knowing why he was talking about it, but he felt great saying it out loud. "But Dad shows up. Like, he always shows up." He paused. "He made me soup once when I was sick. Didn't say anything. Just put it on the table." Another pause. "It was pretty bad soup actually."

"But he made it." 

"Yeah." Egg looked at the microwave, where Dunk was still standing vigil. "He made it."

They were both quiet for a second.

"Is it weird that I told you that?" Egg asked.

"No." You answered, reaching your hand to pet his. "I'm glad you did."

Egg seemed to assess this, decide it was true, and return to his worksheet.

But something in his shoulders had loosened slightly, in the way that kids' shoulders do when they've put something down they've been carrying without realising.

The microwave beeped.

Dunk came back with the heating pad, held it out, and you took it and pressed it to your pained side and exhaled and said "Thank you, Duncan." Quietly, Dunk sat down and said "Yeah" even more quietly, and Egg observed all of this with the eyes of a ten year old who had learned early to pay attention to what people did rather than what they said.

He always shows up, Egg had said about his father.

He looked at Dunk, who had stood in front of a microwave for ninety seconds on her behalf.

Dunk cooked some soup, something nutritious and rich to warm your belly. You were just finishing Egg's tutoring when he set a full steaming hot plate in front of you, filled with veggies and chicken, with some bread and a glass of water.

"You better eat it all up, my lady." He joked, trying to bring one of the bright smiles you usually gave him Later, when the homework was done and dinner had been eaten, you walked Egg to the door, a slight gait on your step.

"Do you feel better?" The kid, worried eyes searching through your figure.

"A little." You answered. "The soup helped."

Egg nodded seriously. 

You kissed the top of his bald head. He allowed it with great dignity.

"Tell Dunk he did great." Egg said, at the door.

"I'll tell him."

"Not great. Okay. The soup was good but he hovered a lot."

"He's a hoverer."

"He should work on that."

"I'll make sure to pass it along."

Egg nodded, satisfied, and left.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling at the empty hall, at the small retreating figure of a kid with no mother and a stern father who made bad soup and showed up anyway, who had decided, apparently, that this apartment was somewhere worth showing up to.

You understood it rather well.

You went back inside, to the couch and the heating pad, now cold, and Dunk, who was doing the dishes without being asked, sleeves pushed up, not making a thing of it.

Okay was a significant understatement.

You did steal his blanket, though.

***

It started because he couldn't sleep.

This was not, in itself, unusual.

Dunk had always been a light sleeper, but right now, he'd become acutely aware that there was someone, someone he deeply loved cared about on the other side of his wall who might need something and he'd have no way of knowing.

He lay on his back in the dark and stared at the ceiling and did not think about you, about the gait on your step, about you clutching your lower belly, at your pained expression, how you almost begged him to carry you to your bed. 

He would've said yes in an instant.

You'd gone to bed at 09:15. You never went to bed at 09:15.

At 11:40, he got up.

He stood in the hallway outside your door for a moment, listening. Quiet.

He stood there for longer than was strictly necessary, in the manner of a man who was absolutely not hovering outside his flatmate's bedroom door at almost midnight.

Dunk got his jacket and his keys and went out.

The 24-Hour pharmacy on the corner was aggressively lit and almost empty. A bored attendant looked up when Dunk came in and then looked back down at her phone.

Dunk stood in front of the pain relief aisle and stared at it like it had personally wronged him.

There were so many options.

There were options for different kinds of pain, different durations, different formats, tablets and capsules and something that dissolved in water and something else he read twice and still didn't fully understand.

He put four different boxes in his basket.

He put a fifth one in. Extra strength. That had to be good. That was the whole point of extra strength.

He moved to the next aisle. Heat patches, placing two in the basket.

A heating pad with a proper cover, better than the one he had. Something called a comfort compress that claimed to be both hot and cold depending on requirements, he didn't entirely understand the mechanism but the box looked authoritative so he trusted it.

He stood back and looked at his basket.

It looked deranged.

He went to the pad aisle, and a shudder shot through his solid body.

Dunk felt overwhelmed with the amount of pads distributed on the shelfs, different sizes, different colours, some for the day, some for the night, some with wings. They could fucking fly?!

What size was he even supposed to get? How could he even know what size was her pussy????

Shaking those thoughts aggressively out of his head, he grabbed one of each size, hoping it was enough.

He went to the chocolate aisle and felt, for the first time since entering the building, on solid ground.

He knew you and chocolate. He'd known it since they were nine years old sharing a Halloween haul on your front step, you'd always traded away the hard candies, and kept every chocolate. 

You'd say dark chocolate, because you were an adult. You'd eat the caramel biscuit one in four minutes flat and feel nothing but peace.

He got the dark chocolate, slipping a few caramel biscuit ones onto the basket.

And he got two pints of Ben and Jerrys ice cream, you'd gone through a full pint during exam season at university, stress-eating them at two in the morning over textbooks.

He stood at the register with an overflowing basket.

The attendant scanned everything without comment for a moment. Then: "Big night?"

"My flatmate isn't feeling well." Dunk said.

She looked at the basket. She looked at him. The corner of her mouth did something brief and knowing. "She's very lucky." She said.

Dunk looked at the counter. "Yeah, well." Ge said, to no one in particular.

The apartment was quiet as expected when he got back. He set the bag on the kitchen table and stood there for a moment, just breathing.

Then he started sorting.

The chocolate went in a bowl, organised, he arranged them with more care than he would ever admit to, the caramel ones accessible at the front because you'd definetly want those. The new heating pad went next to the old one in the cabinet. 

The heat patches beside them. The five boxes of pain medication he lined up on the counter and then stepped back and looked at them and thought, for the first time, about how he was going to explain this in the morning.

"Dunk."

He spun around so fast he knocked one of the boxes off the counter.

You were standing in the kitchen doorway in your soft pyjamas, hair loose, one shoulder leaning against the frame, squinting against the light.

You looked tired and warm and slightly confused, his brain did the thing it sometimes did where it just stopped cooperating.

Looking very cute rubbing sleep off your eyes, a soft yawn escaping your lips.

"Sorry." He said, and bent to pick up the box he'd knocked over, and misjudged the distance of the counter and knocked over a second one. He picked up both. Put them back. One fell again. "I was trying not to wake you."

You looked at the counter, then at the bowl, sleepy eyes finding the caramel biscuit bars sitting at the front, the dark chocolates forgotten at the back.

"Dunkie." You said, voice above a whisper.

"I couldn't sleep." He said, talking slightly faster than intended. "And I thought you might — I didn't know which one was right so I got a few options, the woman at the register probably thought I'd lost my mind, which is — I mean, there are a lot of different kinds, did you know that, there's a whole — anyway. The third one might be the right one. Or the fifth. I wasn't sure."

You were not looking at the boxes.

You were looking at him, with a starstruck expression. No one has ever done this for you.

"You got the whole store." You said.

"You like this ice cream."

"I haven't had those since —"

"There's also the caramel biscuit one." He said, because apparently he was going to keep talking, "because you say you like dark chocolate but —"

"I like dark chocolate."

"You like saying you like dark chocolate."

"That is the same —"

"It really isn't."

You opened your mouth. Looked at the bowl. Closed it. "I'm taking the caramel one."

"I know."

You crossed the kitchen in your socked feet, picking up the caramel biscuit bar and leaning your head against his shoulder, just briefly, just the soft weight of it, your hair against his chest, and said, into the fabric of his shirt, very quietly: "Thank you, Dunk."

He stopped breathing for a moment.

"Yeah, no problem." He said, to the wall directly ahead of him, his chest blooming with warmth. "Go back to sleep."

You waddled off down the hallway.

Dunk stood in the kitchen and listened to your door close, soft and careful, and then stood there for another moment in the quiet.

His shoulder was very warm.

He turned off the light. Went back to bed.

Slept, finally, like something had been resolved.

***

He was up before you.

This was intentional.

He'd woken at 7 o'clock, got up quietly, and stood in the kitchen evaluating the contents of the fridge. Eggs, bacon, flour, milk, enough for a full breakfast.

You needed to eat. That was the thing. 

He'd read, somewhere in his midnight spiral of internet research, he read that iron was important, that warm things helped, that you were supposed to eat well. 

He didn't know exactly what eat well meant in this context so he was going to interpret it broadly and generously and you could argue with him afterwards.

He made eggs. Scrambled, the way you liked them. He made toast. He made a second round of toast because the first round seemed insufficient. He cut up the fruit that had been sitting in the fridge since Tuesday. He made tea. 

Dunk stood looking at everything and thought it still seemed like not enough, so he got out the good jam, the expensive one you'd bought at the farmer's market and rationed like it was finite, which it was, but that seemed beside the point right now.

He put the good jam out.

The oaf was rearranging the fruit bowl for the third time when you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You looked better than last night. Still soft, still slow with sleep, the heating tucked under one arm. You looked at the table.

You looked at the eggs and the toast and the fruit and the tea and the good jam, presented like he was feeding someone important, which he was, which he would never say.

"Dunk." You said.

"Sit down." He answered.

"This is —"

You reluctantly sat down, and he put the eggs in front of you and the toast and poured you tea without asking how you wanted it because he knew, and then stood at the counter with his own significantly smaller plate.

You looked at your own plate, then looked at his plate.

"You gave me twice as much as you gave yourself."

"I gave us the same amount."

"Dunk, I can see both plates."

"Eat your eggs."

You obeyed right away, spreading the good jam on your toast and he felt an unreasonable amount of satisfaction about that.

Dunk was watching you with attentive eyes, like a hawk, making sure you were eating well.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Better." You answered. "The heating pad helped. And the —" You paused. "— the fifth box was right, I think."

"Good."

"You didn't have to go out last night."

"I know."

"It was almost midnight."

"I know. I wanted to."

You looked at him with the expression again and he looked at his plate and moved his eggs around.

"The chocolate was really good, thank you." You said, quietly.

He said nothing.

You opened the fridge on a saturday morning, stood on the last step of the stool to see the back shelf and stared at its contents for a long, silent moment.

Two eggs. A block of cheese of uncertain age. Something in a container that had been there long enough to develop a personality. Half a lemon. A lonely, optimistic stick of butter.

"Dunk." You called out, voice echoing in the tile.

From the living room, where he was doing something with his laptop: "Yeah?"

"What do you eat?"

A pause. "What?"

"For food. What do you eat. When you're here. Alone." You opened the fridge a third time and gestured at it, despite the fact that he couldn't see you.

Another pause. Longer this time.

The silence from the living room was longer this time. Dunk shifted, the couch groaning under his weight.  

"I eat .... things." He said quietly, like a child being reprimandend by his mother.

"Name one thing that is currently in this fridge."

Silence.

"There's ... butter." He answered after a lot of thinking, a note of triumph in his voice.

"Half a stick of butter, Dunk."

"That's still butter."

You closed the fridge and appeared in the living room doorway, which meant looking up, because Dunk was on the couch and Dunk on the couch was still at approximately your eye level standing, which was one of the more objectively unreasonable things about him. 

You pointed accusatory at him. "Get your shoes."

He looked up from his laptop. "What?"

"Shoes. Jacket. We're going to the supermarket."

"I don't need —"

"There is a container in your fridge that I think has gained consciene, Duncan. Get your shoes."

Dunk stared at you. He looked at the finger pointing at him, then at your face, the way your hair was a messy, halo and the way you were wearing his cardigan.

The piece of clothing exposing one of your naked shoulders, the cardigan was so long and thick that it engulfed your full frame, and made sweater paws at your hands.

He realized, with that familiar, dizzying drop in his stomach, that he would follow you into a burning building if you pointed at it.

It felt ... domestic. Seeing you pointed fake-angrily at him, wearing his cardigan that smelled just like him, hair a mess, he didn't even knew if you were wearing something underneath it.

What if you weren't??? Dunk imagined the soft peaks of your naked breasts touching the soft fabric, your cute slick and fluttering mound exposed to the cold air.

He physically shook those thoughts away before he got hard, earning a strange look from you.

"Fine." He grumbled, though his mouth was already twitching into a traitorous smile. He closed his laptop and stood up, towering over you. "But I’m picking the cereal."

As he reached for his sneakers, Dunk caught a glimpse of himself in the hallway mirror.

"I'm in so much trouble." He whispered to his own reflection.

"I heard that!" You called from the front door. "And yes, you are! Grab the reusable bags!"

***

The supermarket was a 15 minute walk, which in practice meant 15 minutes of you walking at your natural pace and Dunk taking approximately one step for every two of yours and still having to actively not outpace you.

You were somewhere on the second block, mid-conversation, when the pavement narrowed.

It happened because of a scaffolding, one of those half-assembled metal skeletons that appeared overnight on city streets and stayed for months, claiming half the pavement.

Dunk registered it a few steps before they reached it and shifted automatically to the outside, putting himself between you and the road the way he always did without thinking about it, which brought you closer together on the remaining strip of pavement.

Your arms brushed.

This was normal. This had happened before.

You were mid-sentence, something about Egg's rant about school, and you reached out, still talking, and your fingers found his hand.

Your small hand sliding against his much larger one, fingers brushing his knuckles, and then settling, pinky intertwining with his.

You kept talking. He stopped hearing words.

Your hand was warm. It was very soft in his, his fingers were nearly the length of your entire hand, one of his digits was the size of almost two of yours.

He did not move. The air did not reach his lungs right, Dunk felt as he could implode at any given moment.

"You're doing the shepherd thing." You commented, shooting him a amused look.

"I don't know what that means."

"You always drift to the outside when the pavement gets narrow. It's like you're herding me away from traffic."

"I'm just walking."

"You angled yourself."

"The scaffolding —"

"You do it when there's no scaffolding too." You poked, the man besides you starting to turn into a cherry. "You do it on completely normal pavements with acres of room. You've been doing it since we were fifteen."

He had absolutely been doing it since they were fifteen.

"I have long legs." Dunk tried to defend himself. "I go where there's space."

"You're a terrible liar, Dunkie."

"I'm an excellent liar."

"Name one time."

He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

You smiled and kept walking beside him, the scaffolding ended and the pavement widened and he stayed on the outside anyway, because he always did, because some habits were so old they'd become something else entirely.

He looked straight ahead at the middle distance and matched your pace and listened to the sound of your voice saying words that he would later be completely unable to recall. Okay. Alright. Fine. This is happening.

You were still talking.

He carefully, slowly, turned his hand over so his fingers could close around yours, gently, the way you'd hold something you were worried about crushing, and you didn't pause, didn't acknowledge it, just adjusted your grip slightly, and kept going about Egg and philosophy.

You looked at your joined hands.

They started walking again. You did not let go of his hand. He did not let go of yours.

***

The supermarket was warm and bright and smelled like bread. 

You kept the list that you make on the back of an envelope earlier that morning. Dunk took your place as the cart carrier.

"Okay." You chimed in. "Let's go get the produce first."

This was, he was discovering, a very specific kind of pleasant, walking behind you through the automatic doors, watching you navigate the entrance, your small figure cutting a purposeful path through the massive aisles while he lumbered in yourwake, ducking a hanging promotional sign that you'd walked under without noticing because it had been installed for people of a normal height.

He was not. Having almost been hit by one of those.

The produce section was loud and colourful and full of people making decisions at varying speeds. You went straight to the tomatoes.

You picked one up. Turned it over. Put it back. Picked up another.

"What do you think?" You said, holding it up toward him. "I wanted to cook some lasagne for tonight. Need some tomatoes for the sauce."

The tomato was at her eye level, which meant he was looking slightly down at it. "It's an okay tomato." Dunk answered, awkwardly scratching his head. 

He never were good at grocery shopping. Being used to grab anything in front of him, or just order whatever food looked the most appealing.

You gave him a pointed look. "It's a disappointing tomato. These ones — " You moved sideways along the display, grabbing a much fresher looking tomatoe "— these ones are better."

"They're the same tomatoes."

"They are absolutely not the same tomatoes, Duncan." You held one up in each hand like a scale. "Look at the colour. Look at the firmness. This one —" You pressed the left one gently with your thumb, "— has given up. This one —" the right one, "— has not."

Dunk looked at the tomatoes. He looked at your face, which was entirely serious.

The basket filled slowly and companionably with the things on the envelope and a few additions that weren't on the list.

"Can you reach the good olive oil, please? Top shelf, the tall one at the back."

He reached it in one motion, his arm extending over your head, the bottle materialising from the back of the shelf before you'd finished the sentence. 

You were looking up at him with one hand shielding your eyes, as though observing something at considerable altitude. He handed it down.

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome." 

You were in the cereal aisle, engaged in a serious and unresolved debate about wether to buy Weetabix or Frosties, when Dunk became aware of being watched, a shiver runned down his spine.

He looked up.

At the end of the aisle: Aerion, his violet eyes watching him with a predatory gaze. Wearing a red jacket that made him look like one of your tomatoes.

And beside him, slightly taller, but looking too drunk for a saturday morning Daeron. Both of them. In the cereal aisle.

"Dunk." Daeron said, already moving towards them, the smile that arrived fast and stayed easy on his face. "Is this who i think it is?"

You looked up from the cereal boxes, curious by the two light-haired man.

Gaze meeting Daeron's, your eyes warm, the way you looked at most people, and then finding Aerion, who was smirking like he just came out of a Joker's comic book, like you were part of a secret you weren't aware of.

"Hi." You greeted them, confused by the sudden thick atmosphere.

"Hi." Daeron greeted as well, and the smile widened, like he just saw something out of his dreams. He looked at Dunk. "You didn't tell me you —"

"This is my flatmate." Dunk said, putting a protective hand on your shoulder, angling his body slightly so he could shield your body from their view.

"His little flatmate." Daeron repeated, in the tone of someone writing something down internally.

"She dragged me out." Dunk said. 

Daeron looked at his brother. Something compressed between them, the sibling frequency, fast and wordless. Then his eyes found your frame again, tilting his head slightly to meet your gaze. "You're the one Egg talks about."

You blinked. "Does he?"

"Constantly." Daeron said. "You help him with his homework. You made him the pasta. You gave him a key." He paused, and his voice shifted into something warmer. "He told our dad that you kiss him on the head when he leaves. Our dad didn't say anything. But he looked —" he searched for it. "Relieved."

The aisle went quiet for a moment.

You feel the tip of your ears become warm, cheeks slightly flushed. "He's a good kid."

"He is." Daeron agreed.

Then, you eyes caught something over Daeron's shoulder — a display at the end of the aisle, some kind of promotional thing .

"Sorry —" You excused yourself, already moving past them, . "Is that the good biscuit? The one with the dark chocolate —"

You were gone around the corner before anyone responded, your figure disappearing with such speed of someone that Dunk didn't knew if you really wanted that biscuit, or if you were just trying to escape the Targaryen cousins.

Aerion looked at the space you'd left. Then he looked at Daeron.

Daeron looked at Dunk. Dunk looked at both of them. Almost like the spider-man meme.

"Don't." He warned.

"I had a dream about you." Daeron said.

Dunk stared at him. "What."

"Last week." Daeron said it, like he was tasting the dream. "I had a dream about you." He paused. "Both of you."

"That's —"

"And then I woke up." Daeron continued, "and I thought, hm, that's interesting. And then I thought, I should probably tell him about that. And then I just forgot." He looked at Dunk."And her."

The cereal aisle was very quiet. "It was a dream." Dunk said, at last.

Aerion, who had been leaning against the shelf throughout this exchange with his arms crossed, watching Dunk's face do several things in quick succession, said nothing.

"It doesn't mean —" Dunk started.

Dunk's ears were red. "She's my flatmate." He protested, not fully believing his words.

"In the dream too." Daeron said. "At first." He smiled, slow and warm and deeply, serenely unbothered. "Just so you know."

From around the corner, your voice: "Dunk — do you want the dark chocolate ones or the ones with the caramel? There are two kinds —"

Dunk turned toward your voice before you'd finished the question.

He caught himself. He looked back at Daeron.

Daeron's expression said, very gently: you see what I mean.

"I'm going to —" Dunk started.

"Go on." Daeron said. and the giant man excused himself to reach you.

***

There were six of them.

You reached for three.

"I've got them." Dunk said.

"You've got three, I'll take three —"

"I've got all of them."

"That's not —" You pulled two bags toward yourself with both hands and held them with the stubborn grip. "I'm carrying these."

"Don't give me that look, I'm perfectly capable of carrying two bags of groceries —"

"They're heavy —"

"I carried things before you existed, Duncan, I am fine —"

"The olive oil is in that one." He said, nodding at your left hand. "And the tins."

"I know what I put in it."

"It's probably four kilograms —"

"I have been carrying four kilograms before you were born —"

"You're five feet tall —"

You turned and looked up at him with an expression so flat and so specific that he halted talking immediately, zipping his big mouth in seconds.

"Finish that sentence." You warned. "I fucking dare you."

He did not finish that sentence.

You held his gaze for another second, satisfied that the point had landed, and then turned and started walking with your own two bags, your small figure listing very slightly to the left under the weight of the olive oil and the tins in a way that you were absolutely not going to acknowledge.

He carried the other four bags and walked beside you and said nothing.

He lasted half a block.

"If I take the tin one —"

"I'm fine."

"Just that one —"

"Dunk."

"It's the heaviest —"

"I know it's the heaviest, I packed it, I am carrying it by choice, please stop looking at my arm like that —"

"Like what —"

"Like it's about to fall off —"

"I'm not —"

They heard it just before the corner.

A small sound. Faint, underneath the noise of the street.

You stopped walking first.

"Did you —"

"Yeah." Dunk said.

You both stood still, listening.

It came again. From behind the building on their left , the side alley, the narrow strip between the wall and the row of dumpsters that existed in varying states of dignity on every city block. Small. Insistent. Sad in the specific way of something that hadn't yet given up but was getting close.

You were already moving toward the alley.

"Hey—"

"Something's back there."

"It could be —"

"It could be something that needs help."

And you turned the corner and he followed you because of course he followed you, down the narrow strip between the wall and the dumpsters with their bags banging against their legs.

You found it first.

A box, cardboard, slightly damp from the cold. The top folded shut in the haphazard way of something closed in a hurry.

And from inside it, that sound, closer now, less faint, more urgent, the sound of something small that had been alone for a while and had not stopped hoping someone would come.

You set your bags down without a word, crouching in front of the box.

Dunk mirroed your movements, neck straining down to look at the box's contents.

Inside sat a dirty puppy.

Small, even by puppy standards. Round and dense and built low to the ground, with the short, impractical legs and the enormous, oversized ears of a corgi, still in the fluffy, slightly chaotic stage before the adult coat came in.

It looked up at you with dark, wet eyes and made the sound again — that thin, reedy cry and then, apparently having located humans at last, tried to stand up and failed because its legs were not fully cooperating.

The puppy looked at you.

It tried again with its legs. Got halfway up. Sat back down. Looked up at you with the patient, exhausted dignity, boba eyes blinking with tears.

You reached into the box with both hands, gentle and certain, and picked it up.

It was very small in your hands. Its ears were too big for its head in a way that was almost engineered to be affecting.

It looked up at your face, then sideways at Dunk's face — a much longer journey upward — and made a smaller, quieter sound, the sound of something that had decided, provisionally, that this was probably okay.

"We're taking it home." You commented, without any hesitation in your bones.

"Yeah." Dunk agreed, not taking his eyes off the shivering puppy.

There was no discussion. There was no weighing of options. There was only the puppy, looking up at them from your hands, and the absolute certainty that the dog was going to have the best life it could possibly have.

You stood, still cradling close to your chest, and looked at it properly in the light. It was ginger-gold, the fur a warm, slightly reddish colour, the kind of colour that was somewhere between copper and autumn.

You turned it gently, assessing. It blinked at you with its oversized eyes.

You looked at Dunk.

At his hair, which was the specific shade of ginger-brown it always was, the colour you had known since they were seven years old, the colour that caught the light on days like this and went warm and reddish at the edges.

You looked at the puppy, then your eyes moved at Dunk's awkward frame.

Something moved across your face, something delighted and private and barely contained, like something funny just crossed your mind for a moment.

"What."

"Nothing."

"You have a face."

"I always have a face, I have one face, it's the only one I —"

You looked at the puppy, then at Dunk's hair. You pressed your lips together very hard.

"Little Dunkie."

He stared at you. "No."

"Look at him." You turned the puppy toward him. "Look at the colour."

"That is not —"

"It's the same colour, Dunk."

"It is not the same —"

"The same warm ginger —"

"My hair is not —" He stopped. He looked at the puppy. The puppy looked at him with its enormous eyes.

He looked at the puppy's fur, which was, objectively, now that he was looking at it directly, a fairly specific shade of ginger-brown that was — he was not going to say it. He was absolutely not going to say it.

"Little Dunkie." You tried again, the puppy turning his head at you, like it almost understanding it's new name.

"You cannot name a dog after me —"

"I'm not naming it after you. I'm naming it after the resemblance." You looked at the puppy, who had settled in her hands with the boneless ease of something that had decided it was safe now, its little legs dangling, its ears flopped at their enormous angle.

"Little Dunkie." You said, to it, softer. "Hi."

The puppy's tail, which had until now been still, moved.

Once. Tentatively. And then again, more certainly, the small wag of something that had found its name.

You looked up at Dunk with an expression of absolute, radiant triumph.

"He knows his name."

Dunk looked at the puppy.

The puppy looked at Dunk.

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"Little Dunkie." He said, to the puppy, very quietly, as though if he said it quietly enough it would count less.

The puppy's tail wagged again.

He was on his second cup of tea of the afternoon, trying to focus on the screen, when he became aware that something was slightly wrong.

A heaviness behind his eyes that hadn't been there this morning, a unusual warmth in his face even with the air conditioning being turned on at its lowest temperature. Dunk felt cold sweat and his body shivered slightly.

He ignored it.

He was very, very good at ignoring things.

By three o'clock the heaviness had become a pressure, and the warmth had become a heat, he had sneezed four times in twenty minutes and was decided to ignore this and continuing to look at his screen with great determination to finish his spreadsheet.

"You've sneezed four times." Raymun pointed, without looking up.

"Just allergies." Dunk said.

"You don't have allergies."

"I might be developing one."

"In November."

"It can happen at any —"

He sneezed again.

Lyonel, returning from the kitchen, stopped in the doorway and looked at him. He did a slow, assessing scan — the redness in Dunk's face, the slight glassiness of his eyes, the careful way he was holding himself, slightly hunched over his notebook.

"For fucks sake Dunk, just admit you are sick." Lyonel said.

"I'm fine."

"You look terrible."

"Thank you, Lyonel —"

"No, I mean that in a — you genuinely look unwell, Dunk. Your face is —" He made a vague circular gesture.

"My face is fine."

"It's quite red."

"I'm warm. That's all"

"You're ill."

"I'm going home at five like a normal —"

"Does sge know you're ill?" Lyonel said.

Dunk looked at his screen.

"Dunk."

"I'm going home at five." Dunk said, in the tone of a conversation that was over. "Everything it's gonna be fine, i just have to finish this. Now, would you gentleman leave me alone for 5 minutes?"

Raymun looked at Lyonel.

Lyonel looked at Raymun.

They said nothing, which was its own kind of silent conversation, and went back to their work, and Dunk went back to his screen, and the afternoon passed with the specific slow quality of time moving through someone who isn't feeling well and is trying very hard not to let on.

He miraculously made it to five.

Dunk made it through the bus, which was crowded and loud and had a delay that added twenty minutes, and he stood in the moving train with his head very carefully not touching anything and his hand loose on the rail and his eyes closed.

He made it up the four flights of stairs, which took longer than usual, exhaustion dripping into every step he took.

Finally, Dunk made it to the door of apartment 4B.

He opened the door and stepped inside, Little Dunkie ran to greet him, his tail stopping mid-wagging when he say the state his owner was in.

And you, who were in the kitchen and turned around when you heard the door, took one look at him and said: "Oh no."

"I'm fine." He protested before you could step towards him.

"You are not fine." You marched towards him, craddling his large shivering hands. "Dunk, you're burning up! How long have you been feeling like this - "

"Since this afternoon, it's just —"

"Since this afternoon —" You stood on your tiptoes and reached your hand really high to press it against Dunk's sweaty forehead, your small palms against his flushed cheeks and forehead. "C'mon, you need to lay down."

"It's mild —"

"It is not mild, you're running a temperature, I can feel it —" You stepped back, shooting him a worried look. "Coat off. Shoes off. Couch."

"I was going to make dinner —"

"You were going to make dinner." You repeated.

"I do the cooking on Tuesdays —"

"Don't be stubborn and go lay on the couch." You ordered. "Right now. Don't argue with me, you're ill."

He opened his mouth.

"Dunkie."

He went and sat on the couch as told, taking off his shoes.

Little Dunkie wearily approached the giant, and installed himself directly on Dunk's feet.

This was either solidarity or warmth-seeking behaviour.

Either way, Dunk looked down at the puppy and felt better.

They could hear the sound of you moving through the kitchen, purposeful, opening and closing things, the muffled squeaking sound of you dragging the stool around the room

He leaned his head back against the couch and listened to it and closed his eyes.

You appeared 5 minutes later. Wearing a mask too big for your face, pale blue, with the strings tied twice at the back to make it fit. Carrying a tray with hot tea, tablets of medicine and a bowl of something that Dunk couldn't really describe the smell at this points due to his runny nose.

He looked at the mask.

"Precautionary." You said, setting the tray on the coffee table.

"You're sitting next to me anyway."

"I'm being responsible."

"The mask only works if you maintain —"

"Take your pills." You said, handing him a glass of water.

He took the medicine, the cold water scratching his sore throat.

You fluffied the throw blanket around him and tucked the warm blanket on Dunk's body.

"You should have texted me." You said, sitting beside him, voice coming out muffled due to the mask.

"I didn't want to worry you."

"I'm worried now." You picked up the tea, herbal tea, with a drizzle of honey and propolis, to help his sore throat, placing the mug carefully on Dunk's hand. "How's your head?"

"Heavy."

"Throat?"

"Scratchy."

"Since when, actually. Don't say this afternoon."

He considered lying. But she would see through him, anyway.

"This morning." He said. "A little."

You closed her eyes briefly. Opened them.

"You went to work with a fever and you packed the lunchbox and you —" You stopped mid-speech. Something moved across your face above the mask, something that was trying to be exasperation and had warmth underneath it. "Did you eat everything? In the lunchbox?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." You scanned his face for a moment. "The brownie had ginger in it. For immunity."

He stared at you, flabbergasted. "You put ginger in the brownie."

"I guess i just had a feeling." You shrugged, being quiet for a moment, averting your gaze from Dunk ... as if you were suddenly shying from him.

"You had shadows under your eyes on Monday morning." You said, eyes fixated on Little Dunkie laying on Dunk's side. "And you were quieter than usual at dinner. And you kept doing that thing where you roll your shoulders when they ache. I know your tells, Dunkie. I've known them since we were eight."

He looked at you, ears pink, because you'd seen noticed something in his face at dinner that he hadn't even registered in himself.

You cared for him.

He drank his tea, the steaming hitting him full in the face.

It was very good tea. It was exactly the right temperature, slightly bitter but good enough to calm his raging throat.

The apartment was quiet. Little Dunkie had migrated from his feet to his lap at some point, a warm, dense, ridiculous weight. His small head was on Dunk's knee. His enormous ears were flopped sideways.

You spent the whole time on his side, a random show turned on the TV, but you weren't paying any attention to it, only looking at Dunk. At some point, discarding the mask completely.

"He missed you." You commented, almost a whisper, reaching over and scratching being Little Dunkie's ear, the puppy's tail thumped once against Dunk's leg. "He went to your room at one point. I found him sitting outside your door looking confused."

Dunk looked down at the puppy, his eyes mirroing Little Dunkie's who was already looking up at him.

"Hi." Dunk said, to the dog.

Little Dunkie's tail thumped again.

You were watching with fond filling your eyes, warmth blooming your chest seeing their interaction, a small smile playing on your lips.

Dunk looked up from the dog and caught it.

You didn't look away.

"How's the tea?"

"G-Good." He stuttered. "Really good."

He was very aware of how warm his face was — the fever, probably, mostly the fever, though sitting this close to her in the quiet of the evening was not helping his temperature in any direction.

You reached over and put your hand on his forehead.

It was cool and light and completely still.

He closed his eyes before he could help it.

It was such a small thing. Your palm against his forehead, checking his temperature the way you'd check a child's, practical and simple.

And he was a grown man, nearly seven feet of him, a grown man with a lunchbox with bear ears and a corgi named after his hair sitting on his lap, and your hand was small and cool against his burning forehead and he could feel each individual finger and he was so completely, quietly, devastatingly in love with you that the fever almost seemed beside the point.

"Still warm." You tsked softly.

"Mm." He said, which was all he trusted himself to say at that moment.

Little Dunkie made a small sound in his sleep on Dunk's lap.

He ate the soup carefully to not wake the sleeping puppy.

All of it. Every last spoonful, because you'd made it with your heart. You sat beside him the whole time, kneeling on the floor, arms propped on the couch, and you stared at his every action, the blue light from the TV staining your frame.

When the bowl was empty you took it without comment and set it on the tray, and he leaned his head back and closed his eyes and let the warmth of the soup and the herbal tea and the tablets settle into his bones.

The television murmured something low and undemanding. Little Dunkie's weight was comfortable on his chest, claiming the territory to himself. His breathing was slow and even and very warm, tiny body rising up every time Dunk breath.

He watched you, from his periphery, in the way he'd been watching you for years without ever quite allowing himself to do it directly.

The lamp in the corner cast everything warm and gold. The plants in the hallway made quiet shadows. The pink bear container was on the counter where you always left it, ready for tomorrow, because you were already thinking about tomorrow, about his lunch, about what he would need —

He yawned.

A full, complete yawn. It took over his whole face. His eyes watered. He pressed his hand over his mouth approximately two seconds too late.

You looked at him.

He looked back at you, eyes still watering, the yawn still working its way through his system.

"Sorry."

"Don't." You said softly.

You looked at him for a moment longer — that quiet, measuring look — and then you looked at the couch. At the narrow space beside him. At the blanket pooled across his lap. At Little Dunkie's solid, sleeping weight.

Something settled in your expression.

A decision, arrived at gently.

"Scoot."

"What?"

"Over." You nodded at the couch. "Make room."

"There isn't —"

"There is if you move."

"I'm six foot eight, I don't exactly —"

"Dunkie."

He scooted.

It was not elegant. It involved significant negotiation between his size and the couch's dimensions, and Little Dunkie had to be relocated with both hands, and the blanket had to be redistributed, and the margin of space he created was narrow enough that optimistic was the kindest word for it.

You settled into it without hesitation, curling into his spapce at his side, back against his ribs, knees drawn up, head finding the space just below his shoulder.

You were small enough that the couch almost worked, warm enough against his body that Dunk stopped thinking entirely.

Little Dunkie turned twice on the cushion beside them, assessed the new arrangement, and draped himself across both their feet.

The couch was not big enough for the three of them.

It worked anyway.

Dunk stayed very still.

He was aware of everything, your body pressed against him, leaving no space for even a single paper sheet. The way your breathing was already beginning to slow and deepen, the smell of your shampoo, the soft curve of your inner thigh against his beefy one, curling against his one.

Dunk short-circuited.

You reached down and pulled the blanket up over both of you.

Your small hand finding the edge. Tugging it. Smoothing it.

Such a small thing.

Such an ordinary, domestic, completely unremarkable thing.

He could not breathe properly.

Dunk carefully brought his arm around you.

His arm curved around you, hand settling gently at your waist.

You were so small against him. The full length of his arm nearly wrapped around you entirely.

He cradle you like you were made of fine china, terrified of breaking this without knowing what this even was yet.

You exhaled, long and slow and complete, and tucked yourself into his side.

Little Dunkie's weight was solid across their feet, warm and absurd and completely devoted. The apartment was dim and quiet and full of the small sounds of an evening winding down, the radiator, the city outside, your breathing against his ribs.

He was nearly asleep, drifting, eyelids warm and heavy. You moved. Just slightly.

You turned toward him, tipping your face up, and in one quiet, deliberate motion you pressed your lips to his forehead.

Soft. Warm. Unhurried.

You lingered for just a moment.

Just long enough for him to feel it settle into him, warmth spreading outward from the his forehead, the place you kissed, going all the way his feet.

"Goodnight, Dunkie." You whispered against his skin.

Dunk couldn't open his eyes, but he felt the hotness spreading through his nape, radiating to his face.

Adrenaline now pumping through his body, the woman he loved pressed against his side, he felt that if he opened his eyes right now, his face would say everything he had been not saying for months.

So he kept his eyes closed.

And he brought his arm a little tighter around you and felt you settle in response, felt your breathing slow completely, felt the last of the tension leave your small frame as you went still against his chest.

Little Dunkie let out a deep sigh.

I'm in so much trouble, he thought.

Your heartbeat was steady against his ribs.

Your warms lips were still painted on his skin, the area where you kissed fluttering, and Dunk was sure it wasn't the fever.

He finally drifted to sleep.

Dunk had been planning it for four months.

It was, he was aware, not a normal amount of planning. Normal people booked a restaurant a week in advance, maybe two.

They did not spend four months making lists, cross-referencing menu options, texting Lyonel at 11 PM about gifts, or lying awake thinking about whether the playlist was right.

He had done all of these things.

He had done them because it was your first birthday away from home, away from your mother's familiar kitchen and your grandmother's soft voice and the smell of everything you ever knew, and he had decided, quietly and without telling anyone except eventually Lyonel and Raymun and Egg - who had spilled it to Aerion and Daeron - that it was going to be the kind of night you would remember.

"Wear something nice." He'd said, that morning, very casually, while making coffee.

You'd looked up from your book. "Nice like — nice nice, or just not my paint clothes?"

"Nice nice."

You squinted your eyes at him. "Why."

"It's your birthday. We're going out."

"Where?"

"Somewhere nice." He said, in this kind of tone that tell you he wasn't going to saw much about it. "And that's all that i'm going to tell you, little lady."

Youd looked at him for a long moment. Then you'd gone back to your book. "Fine." You settled, in the tone that meant she was going to ask Egg.

You had, in fact, asked Egg.

Egg, who had been briefed extensively and threatened affectionately, had said: "A restaurant. Fancy. That's all I know."

That was a lie. Egg knew everything.

You came out of your room around 7 o'clock, all dolled up in Dunk's favorite colour - not that you did it on purpose - , in your best dress, and the small gold earrings your mother gifted you on your ears.

Dunk was standing in the hallway in his good jacket, Little Dunkie at his feet, and he looked at you coming out of your room and his brain short-circuited.

"Well?" You asked, doing a small twirl. "Nice enough?"

".... Yeah." He finally answered, breathless.

Little Dunkie, who was sitting on Dunk's foot, look up at you with his enormous eyes and gave a small woof agreeing with his dad.

"Egg's sisters are coming at 07:15." You crouch down to scratch Little Dunkie's chin, his paw thumping on the ground. "You're gonna be a good boy, yeah? No biting. No eating Dunk's flip flops again."

Little Dunkie licked your hand.

You stood, smoothing down your dress, moving to pick up your small bag when Dunk beat you to it, placing its cord over his shoulder, face slightly flushed.

"Okay. Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Dunk —"

He held the door open, holding his trunk of a arm for you to hold onto to. Big, thick muscles twitching under your hand.

***

Dunk chose a bar/restaurant that you'd mentioned a few times you'd like to go to when you had the chance, a place you passed by every time you had to go to work.

From the outside it looked warm, amber light through the windows, the low sound of music, he saw from afar Egg's bald head as he discreetly tried to peek through the window to see if they were nearby.

When Egg realized you guys were nearby, he ran inside, disappearing completely from the window.

"This is —" You looked at the sign, then looked up at Dunk. "Dunk, this is —"

"I know." He said shrugging his shoulders, trying to be nonchalant, but the pinkiness of his ears told you otherwise.

"I mentioned this place like —"

"Six months ago." Dunk's green orbs met yours, warmth swimming in his eyes as he carefully took your hand. "In the car. We were talking about the neighbourhood."

You stared at him.

"You remember that."

"I remember most things. Now c'mon, it's cold outside."

He led you to the door, opening it for you like a true gentleman.

The place was warm and low-lit, amber and golden. There was low music being played, something familiar, like it came straight from your playlist. Not that Dunk got your favorite songs from your spotify.

You were taking in the room, colorful ballons scattered messily on the ceiling, small table decorations, and a large white banner, handwritten (most likely by Egg and her sisters) that read "Happy Birthday!!" filled with hearts and glitter.

Then you saw the table, small handmade sweets, and the most beautiful birthday cake she had ever seen, decorated with icing and candles indicating her new age.

Your favorite flowers in a low arrangement that didn't block anyone's view, and photographs. Small ones, clipped to a little string of lights along the back wall. Photographs you recognised — you and Dunk at various ages, a few of you and Egg, one you didn't know had been taken of you in the kitchen with Little Dunkie under your arm, laughing at something, entirely unaware of the camera.

And around the table:

Lyonel, who stood up immediately and said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY" at full volume.

Raymun, who stood up with the quiet dignity of someone who had been looking forward to this.

Egg, in his good jumper, hands clasped, with the formal bearing of a ten year old who had worked very hard and was proud of it.

Aerion, arms crossed, expression unreadable, standing slightly to the side the way he always did, but there, present.

Daeron, who was already smiling the warm, easy smile, who had probably been smiling since he arrived.

And at the table, on the screen of a propped-up phone: your mother and your grandmother, waving, both of them already bright-eyed.

You stopped walking, your hand came up to your mouth, you felt tears prickling on the corner of your eyes.

"Surprise!!" Egg said with a enthusiastic voice.

"Don't." Lyonel said, immediately, pointing at you, very menancingly. "Don't you dare, because I will also and I have a reputation —"

"I'm not —" You protested, voice muffled behind your hand.

"You are."

"I'm not, I'm just —"

You felt Dunk's huge hand settle on your upper back, giving you a side hug. You looked up at him.

He was standing beside you, big and quiet, his hands in his jacket pockets, his expression doing its best to be normal without pouring his eyes out like a baby.

"You did all of this."

"Lyonel helped."

"I helped." Egg intervened.

The oaf looked fondly at you, finger reaching out to tilt your head up, so you could meet his eyes, you melted inside. "Happy birthday."

You made a sound.

It was not crying. It was the thing just before crying, the thing you do when you're determined not to cry and your body has its own opinions, a single, compressed exhale, quick and controlled, and then you straightened, and blinked, and smiled, and it was the widest, most genuine, most completely undone smile he had ever seen on your face.

"I love you all so much." You cried, to the table, to the room, to all of them.

You crossed the bar and hugged Egg first, and the boy allowed it with great dignity, you even heard some sniffles when his small arms tightened around you.

And then Lyonel, who was already emotional, gave you a bear-hug, taking your feet off the ground.

Raymun, who accepted it with quiet warmth, and Daeron, who hugged back easily, and Aerion, who stood sideway, patting your shoulder once but melting in your arms when you hugged him anyway.

You talked with your mother and your grandmother, they were as happy as you were, smiling and waving.

And then you came back to Dunk.

You looked up at him, chin tipped, eyes still very bright, and he looked down at you, and the bar went on around them, warm and loud and full of your favourite people, and he thought about the months of planning and the photograph in the kitchen and the playlist and the flowers.

You put your arms around him. You had to reach up to do it, and your arms went around his middle, and Dunk brought his around you, careful and complete, his chin resting on top of your head, your face squished against his stomach.

"Thank you." You said into his tummy, voice muffled. "For all of it. For remembering the bar, and the photos, and — for all of it."

He held you a little closer.

"Happy birthday." He said quietly again, into your hair, kissing your roots.

You squeezed once, tight, face tilting up 90 degrees until you met his gaze and said: "All right, Lyonel, give me a soda, we're celebrating tonight!"

Lyonel cheered.

It was, by every measure, the best kind of evening.

The food was delicious, tasty, just what you needed after a rough week at work. You stayed by Dunk's side almost all night, feeding him little bites here and there. Trading awkward smiles which absolutely did not go unnoticed by anyone who was there.

Your mother and grandmother stayed on the phone through the first hour, yourr mother crying openly and your grandma pretending not to, and Lyonel introduced himself to both of them with such enthusiasm, that you had to physically intervene.

"He's always like this." You told them, Lyonel behing you.

"I'm a delight." Lyonel said, into the camera, blowing kisses to the older women.

"He's loud." Raymun chimed in, from beside him.

"I'm expressive." Lyonel said.

Your grandma looked at both of them and then looked back at you. "Which one of those cuties does Dunk work with?"

"Both." You answered, rolling your eyes light-hearted.

Egg gifted you a card he had made himself, the one he draw with scented crayons and markers he stolen from his sisters, depicting what appeared to be a very large figure and a very small figure and a small orange dog, all holding hands or paws.

He had written inside it in his most careful handwriting: Happy Birthday. You are my favourite person who is not related to me. — Egg. And then, below that, in smaller writing: Little Dunkie says happy birthday too. I asked him.

You read it twice, pulled it fondly against your chest before carefully store it in your bag.

Daeron sat next to you and immediately fell into conversation with the ease of people who had been friends for longer than they'd actually known each other.

Aerion sat on the other side of the table, next to Egg, and said almost nothing, but ate everything, and once refilled his younger brother's water glass without being asked, and twice caught something Egg said with the fractional softening of his expression that was his equivalent of laughing.

Dunk watched all of it.

He sat at the end of the table with his drink and watched you, laughing at something Lyonel said, leaning over to show your mother something on the phone screen, reaching across to steal something off Daeron's plate without asking, turning to say something to Egg and then kissing the top of his head mid-sentence because you'd felt like it and hadn't thought twice about it.

He watched it proudly, warmth blooming on his chest, and a small smile spreading on his lips.

Dunk spent months organising this and it was worth every second of it and he would do it again immediately.

Under the table, his phone buzzed.

He looked at it.

Raymun: You're staring.

Dunk put his phone face down.

Lyonel, from across the table, met his eye and mouthed something that looked very much like wife.

Dunk looked at the ceiling.

By ten o'clock the candles had burned low and the plates had been cleared and you mother mother had said goodnight from the phone screen. The bar had gone from busy to pleasantly quiet around them.

You were leaning on the table with your chin propped in your hand, warm-cheeked and eyes glazed due to tiredness, a doppy smile on your face.

"She's not drunk." Raymun comments when Lyonel opened his mouth.

"I know that." Lyonel said. "I was going to say she looks —"

"Don't." Dunk said.

"I was going to say she looks happy." Lyonel said. "I was going to say something nice."

A pause.

"Oh." Dunk gasped.

"She does look happy."

"It's the best birthday." You said, to the table, to no one in particular. "It's genuinely the best one." You looked around at all of them — Lyonel and Raymun, Egg, Aerion and Daeron, Dunk at the end of the table — "Thank you for being here. All of you."

"We wouldn't have missed it." Daeron said.

"I was summoned." Aerion chimed in.

"He came immediately." Daeron rolled his eyes.

Aerion looked at the table.

Egg, who had been awake significantly past his usual hour on the strength of birthday exception, was listing slightly to the left in his chair, his eyes blinking slowly.

You looked at him.

"Bubs." You said softly, hand reaching you to put a invisible strand of hair behind his ear.

"I'm awake." Egg said, immediately, with great conviction.

"Of course you are."

"I'm completely —" He blinked, slow, sleepy. "Awake."

"Completely." You agreed.

You glanced at Aerion. Something passed between you and Aerion uncrossed his arms and stood and put his hand briefly on Egg's shoulder.

"Come on." He said. "I'll take you."

Egg mustered with the dignity of a ten year old, while trying to rub sleep off his eyes. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Egg." Your chest expanded with warmth. "For everything. The card especially."

His chest expanded slightly. "I made it myself."

"I know. I could tell." You leaned forward and kissed the top of his bald head. "Go sleep."

He nodded once to Dunk, and then he went with Aerion, and Daeron followed, and Lyonel departed with the energy of someone who had given everything he had to this evening and was ready to be dead asleep, and Raymun went quietly, with a brief pat on Dunk's shoulder.

And then it was just the two of you.

The bar had wound down around them, the noise receding by degrees until it was just the two of them and the low candles and the photographs clipped above the table.

Your mother's earrings caught the light every time you moved.

You'd been gazing at the photographs for a while, chin propped in your hand, taking your sweet time analyzing every picture.

Then you reached up, unclipped one of the string, the kitchen one, you and Dunk were mid-laugh at something neither of you could probably name it now.

"Where did you get this one?" You asked, tilting your head.

"Egg." Dunk answered, smilling over your shoulder at the picture.

"He took it?"

"He takes pictures of a lot of things apparently." Dunk looked at the photograph in your hand. "He's got good instincts."

You looked at it for a moment longer. At yourself, unaware, laughing, entirely at home.

"I wanted it to be right." Dunk blurted out, a blush rose to his cheeks, he was slightly drunk after a sneaky shot Lyonel had given him. Only enough to make him feel airy.

His voice was low and unhurried, the register that seemed to start somewhere around the floor and work upward, the kind of voice that meant you never had to strain to hear him, only to the room, which had a habit of going quieter when he spoke.

The candlelight was doing something generous to him right now. It warmed the angles, caught the line of his cheekbone, softened the scar through his brow, you'd been there when he'd gotten that scar, remembering the exact afternoon, you'd been twelve and there had been a bike involved and you'd held the hem of your shirt against it while he insisted he was fine. The scar had healed crooked. You'd always liked it.

You admired the lines, the ones that had appeared in the last few years, faint at the corners of his eyes, the smile ones on his cheeks.

Your warm gaze fell to his mouth, admiring his lips, his sweet, bashed smile. Dunk was shy under your orbs.

You loved that smile.

You straightened, stretching your whole body like a cat.

"I'm tired." You announced.

"We can go." Dunk stood up with a little difficulty, large body slightly swaying sideways, turning his back to you, flexing his knees a bit. "I'll carry you."

You gave him a weird look, Dunk only patted your thigh, making a 'gimmie' hand motion towards your shoes. "Piggyback." He said, like it was the most obvious thing. "Give me your shoes, I'll carry those too."

You stared at him dumbfound for a moment. "...You'll carry me."

"And your shoes."

"Six blocks."

"It's not far."

"You'll carry me six blocks."

"You're almost seven feet tall."

"I'm aware."

"And I'll be on your back."

"That's generally how a piggyback —"

"People will stare."

"Let them."

He held your gaze, steady and unhurried, raising an eyebrow, silently challenging her to contradict him.

"Okay then." Dunk's knees found the floor, whole long architecture of his body folding down until he was at your feet, the top of his head approimately at your hip height.

His hands, large, unhurried and careful, worked the knots like a pro, blue eyes squinting slightly due to the bad lightning.

Dunk slipped the shoes free, then he straightened his body, rising back to his full height, and looked at you, now in your socked feet.

Your arms found his thick neck, chin came to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, carefully, your weight nothing against the size of him. You snicker at the sudden change in altitude.

"Oh." You muttered, a slight shudder passing through your body when his hands found the skin of your shins. "That's — okay. That's quite high up."

"You're usually quite low down, like a little hobbit." He joked, voice slightly slurred.

"I can see everything from here."

"Welcome to my life."

The city at night was cold and bright and entirely indifferent to a very tall man carrying a very small woman on his back through six blocks of Saturday evening foot traffic.

Most people looked.

Several people smiled.

One man did a double-take that nearly walked him into a lamppost.

"People are staring." You muffled in his shoulder, the cold wind biting your skin.

"And yet here we are, my lady."

"Here we are." You agreed, and he could feel you smiling against his jacket.

One block. Half a block. The familiar turn, the familiar streetlight, the awning of their building coming into view.

He carefully set you down at the door.

The descent was slow and careful, your feet finding the ground, his hands steadying your waist for a moment before releasing, and you landed in your socked feet on the cold pavement and looked up at him.

"Thank you." You said, your voice came out quieter than you expected. Looking up at Dunk, you felt bare underneath his gaze, something shifting in this cold night.

Silence hanging between the two of you, Dunk's blue eyes darken.

"Hot chocolate." You decided, hand reaching for his pinky to drag him into the kitchen.

"What?

He followed you up four flights like a puppy. The kitchen was warm and low-lit, the girls dead asleep on your bed, Little Dunkie spread across their legs, snoring with its belly up.

You did your best to get the ingredients from the kitchen quietly, taking every possible care when climbing onto your stool and opening the cupboards to find the cocoa powder. Goddamit, where did you put it?

You made a small, frustrated sound.

He leaned against the doorframe and watched you, and the scene felt quite domestic. Dunk could get used to it.

Dunk watched attentively as you got on top of your toes, stretching your hand dangerously to reach the tin of cocoa he accidentally placed in the last shelf the last time he made a smoothie after the gym.

He crossed the kitchen in swift, silent steps, arm rising towards the tin, his toned front body glueing into your back.

His hand closed around the tin without searching for it, and brought it down and set it gently on the counter beside the stool.

He didn't step back.

The tin sat on the counter.

You stood on the stool, his arm still bracketing you loosely, and did not move.

It was just his arm. He had long arms. This was a fact about him, one of many, nothing new.

You turned your head. Slowly. Just enough to find him over your shoulder.

He was already looking at you.

Up close, from this distance, on the stool, the same stool that put you almost at his eye level, that had always put you almost at his eye level, the one your grandfather had built for your grandmother so she could reach him, look him in the eye properly, his face was very close, and very still, and wearing an expression that had nothing managed about it.

Nothing careful.

Just him, looking at you, the way he must have been looking at you for god knows how long, the look you'd felt on the back of your neck a hundred times and turned around too late to catch.

You had caught it now.

"Dunk." You blurted out. Just his name. The shape of it. Making sure.

"Yeah." He answered. Low. Close. The register that started somewhere around the floor.

You turned.

Fully, this time. On the stool you were nearly eye level with him, nearly, almost, the closest you ever got, and his arm was still there, and when you turned it settled at your waist without either of you making a decision about it, the way water finds the lowest point.

His free hand came up slowly, giving you all the time in the world, and found the piece of hair at your cheek and tucked it back, and then stayed — barely, just barely — at your jaw. His thumb at the edge of it. The lightest possible question, asked without words.

You looked at him.

You thought about his knee on the bar floor, unhurried and certain, his hands finding your ankles in the dark without fumbling.

You thought about six blocks of cold city and his shoulder warm under your cheek and his voice saying let them like it was the easiest thing he'd ever said.

You thought about months of quiet planning, a whole evening built around you like a room he wanted you to feel safe in, never once asking for credit.

You thought about twenty-three years of this man. This specific, impossible, infuriating man, who had been standing next to you for your entire life, close enough to touch, and you had touched — his arm, his shoulder, his hand, a hundred thousand small ordinary contacts — and none of it had ever been enough, none of it had ever been what you actually wanted, and you had been so careful, so endlessly careful—

Not one more day, you thought. Not one more hour.

Your hands found his shirt.

You pulled him in.

He came, willingly, immediately, one hand finding the counter beside you so the full weight of him didn't overwhelm you on the stool, careful even now, careful in the way he was always careful with you, and you kissed him with everything you had been holding back for twenty-three years.

His hands found your face like they already knew it.

Like they had always known it.

Softer than you expected, from a man that size, from someone who took up that much of the world. His mouth was warm and unhurried and gentle in the way of someone who had thought about this — who had, you understood dimly, thought about this quite a lot — and wanted to do it properly.

His lips moved against yours like a question being asked slowly, like he was learning the answer by degrees, and you felt the careful restraint in it, the deliberate tenderness of someone holding something they were afraid to break.

You made a small sound against his mouth.

His breath caught.

He kissed you like he meant it, deep and slow and certain, his hand sliding from your jaw into your hair, cradling the back of your head, tilting you up toward him.

His other hand left the counter and found your waist and you felt the warmth of it through your clothes, the size of it, the way it wrapped around you like you were something he'd been waiting to hold for a very long time and had finally stopped pretending otherwise.

You kissed him back with everything.

Your hands twisted in his shirt and pulled, and he came closer, and you felt him exhale through his nose, long and slow, the breath of a man putting something down that had been very heavy for a very long time.

He kissed the corner of your mouth. The bow of your upper lip. Came back to the center like he was memorizing it, like he was building something he intended to keep.

Your fingers uncurled from his shirt and found his face instead, the jaw, the cheek, the scar through his brow that you knew by touch before you knew it by sight, and he made a quiet sound at that, low and unguarded, the most honest sound you had ever heard from him, and it undid something in you so completely that you had to hold onto him just to stay on the stool.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His arm tightened around your waist, steady and sure, and he kissed you slower, softer, bringing you back down from the edge of it with the same unhurried patience he brought to everything.

When you finally broke apart it was only barely. By degrees. His forehead came down to rest against yours and his eyes stayed closed and you could feel him breathing, feel the slight unevenness of it, feel his thumb still moving softly at the nape of your neck like he couldn't quite stop.

Your hands were still on his face.

You didn't move them.

The kitchen was very quiet except for the music and your own heartbeat, which had made several unilateral decisions tonight and showed no signs of reversing them.

"Duncan." You whispered against his skin.

"I know." Barely a whisper.

"I wanted this." You pulled back just enough to look at him properly, to make sure it landed. "I've wanted — it's been you. For a really long time, it's been you."

Something in his face changed entirely. That last held thing, that final careful architecture, gone, knees wooble like strips of twizzlers. Just him, looking at you, open and undone and so helplessly, completely fond that your chest ached with it.

"Yeah?" He said. So quiet. Like he needed to hear it again.

"Yeah." You smiled, and felt it tremble at the edges, and didn't try to hide it. "Embarrassingly long, honestly."

He let out a slow breath and turned his face into your palm, rubbing his cheek against it, his eyes closing again, and you felt his lips press briefly, softly against the heel of your hand, barely anything, barely a kiss, just the warm press of his mouth against your skin, quiet and private, meant for no one but you.

It was the most undone you had ever been in your life.

"M'lady." He mumbled into your palm, sweet eyes gazing up at you.

"I know." You shivered. "Me too."

He kissed you again, and this one was sweet and unhurried and tasted like coming home, and you went up onto your toes on the stool to meet him and felt him smile against your mouth, and then you were both smiling too much to do anything properly, foreheads together, noses bumping, his arms all the way around you.

"We're idiots." You said.

"Speak for yourself." He murmured, and you quietly laughed and his arms tightened like the sound of it was something he intended to keep.

Outside the city was cold and bright and indifferent.

The cocoa tin sat forgotten on the shelf.

You were on your grandfather's stool, finally at the right height, held by the right person, and the distance that had existed between you for twenty-three years had closed so completely it was hard to remember it had ever been there at all.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Intern!Reader X TF 141 (Separately)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy it, I got a little bit carried away with it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning of each segment.

It was SUPPOSED to be good.

Warnings: Fluff (I guess? I'm not really good at it), Smut, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Praise Kink (Kinda?), Breeding kink, Vaginal Sex, Creamping and more, i guess.

Pairing: Reader X Price; Reader x Ghost; Reader x Soap; Reader x Gaz

Word count: Only God knows.

As Price walked into his office, the familiar creak of the door gave way to something unfamiliar: the sight of a wide-eyed girl sitting beside his oak desk. She sat rigidly upright, legs uncrossed like a schoolgirl waiting to be scolded, her feet tapping a restless rhythm against the floor despite her otherwise collected appearance.

Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, fingers laced tightly, knuckles strained. Her posture screamed discipline, but the tiny tremble in her fingertips betrayed the nerves she was clearly trying to hide.

Her hair was flawless—pulled back with surgical precision, not a strand out of place—and her clothes looked like they’d been ironed twice, once by hand and again just for good measure. Not exactly the usual scene for a Task Force briefing room still soaked in adrenaline, blood, and gunpowder residue.

She looked up at him curiously, only for her expression to shift with a scrunch of her nose—subtle, but unmistakable. Disgust. 

Oh yeah. About that.

They had just returned from a successful mission. Well—successful was generous. It was meant to be a four-day recon, in and out. But intel had gone sideways. Comms had failed. And what started as a simple extraction turned into a two-week firefight with barely any sleep, rationed water, and an entire city block that went up in flames somewhere along the way.

Price had been separated from the team for nearly 72 hours before regrouping with Ghost, Gaz and Soap. They all came back bruised, battered, and barely standing. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d left in—now caked with dried blood, ash, and a layer of grime that had once been desert sand and now felt more like regret.

His face was smeared with dirt and sweat, his beard thicker and unrulier than usual, and his eyes—still riding the edge of a combat high—carried the weight of too many sleepless nights. There was a time when he would’ve been embarrassed to walk into HQ looking like a monster out of some war film, but not anymore. Now, it was just part of the job.

He looked like hell. And this girl? She looked like she’d stepped out of a recruitment ad.

The staring contest between them had barely begun when Kate Laswell walked in behind him, striding into the room with a brisk confidence that made even the dust seem to settle.

“John! I see you’re back.” She announced, her voice light but edged with meaning.

She dodged around him with ease, her tone forcing the moment to move on.

And that was how Price met his new intern.

Not with a handshake. Not with an email.

With blood under his fingernails, his soul half outside his body, and a girl in a pristine white blouse looking at him like he might stain the air she breathed.

But somehow, despite all that…

He couldn't imagine his life without her now.

P!Links:

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1753617069227094161

https://x.com/SensualArchives/status/1910469791221244275

https://x.com/kinulta/status/1908429728454983737

The next few weeks passed in a strange kind of haze for Price.

It started with paperwork. Mountains of it. Mission reports, equipment requisitions, after-action reviews, things that normally sat on his desk until he either barked at someone to help or stayed up until 3 a.m. filling them out with one hand and nursing whiskey with the other.

But now?

Now the reports were completed in neat, looping handwriting that wasn’t his. Color-coded tabs marked priority sections. Sticky capybara notes with cheerful messages were stuck to the corners.

“You missed a signature, but that’s okay—I left the pen uncapped for you :)”

“Page 7 had a typo but I fixed it—sorry for snooping!”

“By the way, your coffee order arrived! I put it in your thermos so it stays hot <3”

At first, Price grumbled, annoyed. Quietly. Then less so. And then not at all.

Because, somehow, this girl had transformed his bunker of an office into something… brighter.

Small trinkets decorating the intern's small desk that was inside Price's office, the contrast between the captain's bare and cold desk and the sea of cute decorations that filled the girl's desk made everyone who passed by the room for a meeting with the man laugh.

And somehow… they all liked it.

She was impossible not to like.

She was a menace for making him care. A true menace for making him look forward to the end of his day just so he could see what new shit trinket she'd added to his office.

Price realized he was smiling, a real, genuine smile that reached his tired eyes. 

She’d gotten into his blood somehow, like the softest and prettiest kind of infection. Not loud. Not obvious. Just … warmth. Warm glances over coffee mugs. Warm smiles when he walked in, even when he looked like hell. Warm, whispered humming when she worked and didn’t know he was listening from his office.

Warm hugs when he got back from a long grueling mission, when she unconsciously pressed her soft body against his hardened one, when he felt her pebbled nipples hardened against his stomach, glancing up at him with genuine concern, and something more flashed behind those pretty glassy eyes.

She never treated him like a captain. She treated him like a friend ... like a man.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

One day, he walked into the office late, expecting cold and silence. 

And there she was.

The lights had been dimmed to a warm, amber hue. On the sofa, tucked into the corner of the office, she was fast asleep. She looked so small, a soft blur of life amidst the heavy industrial filing cabinets and the jagged maps of conflict zones pinned to the walls. A folder of after-action reports was slipping from her hand, her thumb still marking a page she’d been proofreading for him.

A fleece blanket was tucked around her shoulders, Price recognized the hideous, neon-tartan pattern immediately. Soap. The Sergeant must have crept in on silent boots, found her nodding off, and performed a rare act of stealth to cover her up without waking her. Even the loudest man in the base knew when to be quiet for her.

Price stood rooted to the spot, his jacket still smelling of jet fuel, tobacco, and cold rain. He watched the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her shoulders. In a world defined by jagged edges, frayed nerves, and the harsh recoil of a rifle, she was… soft.

She was a reminder of why they fought the monsters in the first place. A sudden, fierce ache bloomed in his chest, a protective instinct. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to bolt the door and keep the rot of the world from ever touching her again.

She looked so peaceful. So soft in this place of harsh metal and frayed nerves.

So ... his.

Moving with a silence that belied his size, Price stepped forward. He carefully slid the folder from her relaxed grip and set it on the desk, his scarred hands moving with practiced gentleness. He reached down and caught the edge of Soap’s ugly blanket, pulling it up to her chin.

He lingered for a second too long, caught in the gravity of the moment. Then, leaning down, he pressed a ghost of a kiss to her forehead, a rare moment of tenderness from a man who had almost forgotten how to be gentle.

He didn't wake her. He just sat at his desk in the low light, light years away from the war, watching her sleep. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You're a proper nightmare, you know that?" He murmured, the words wrapped in a tone so thick with adoration it was barely a rebuke. "And I wouldn't change it for the world."

Price was royally fucked.

It started with a brush of her hand, lingering a second too long against his as she passed the morning report. Price felt the heat of it through his skin, a sharp contrast to the cold steel of the base. When she looked up at him, her gaze didn't just meet his, it searched for him, settled on him with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade into a dull gray blur.

He began to notice the things that weren't meant for an audience. The way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat when he stood too close. The way her scent seemed to cling to his uniform long after she’d left the room.

He’d catch himself watching her when she didn’t notice. When she twisted her hair up and pinned it at the back of her head in the worst kind of bun, hair sticking awkwardly everywhere. When she chewed the cap of her pen while reading files. When she hummed under her breath with the soft, off-key charm of someone who didn’t think anyone was listening.

She had this way of existing that made the chaos around her seem manageable. Her kindness wasn’t performative. She cared. She showed up. For all of them.

One day, Price returned from the mission just past midnight, exhausted, sore, and badly in need of a shower.

But before he even dumped his gear, he reached into the side pocket of his duffel and carefully pulled out the little brown plush he’d carried across two borders and a rooftop shootout.

A capybara. Round, dopey-eyed, with the tiniest smile stitched into its chubby face.

He didn’t really know why he bought it. It had been sitting alone on a shelf in a dusty gift shop outside the extraction zone. The team had rolled their eyes when he’d picked it up. Ghost had muttered something about him losing his edge. Soap had smirked knowingly.

But he saw it and thought of her.

Of how calm she always seemed in the storm. How unbothered she was by the chaos they brought with them. Unflappable. Soft-spoken, but quietly resilient.

The world’s most unbothered creature. Quite fitting.

The night he returned from the field, the mission’s adrenaline hadn't quite faded. He was bruised, his knuckles raw, and his heart still thrumming with a restless energy. He pulled the plush capybara from his duffel, a ridiculous, soft thin in his calloused hand.

He didn't just leave it on her desk. He waited.

When she stepped into the office, the moonlight was carving long, silver shards across the floorboards, but her eyes didn't go to the desk. They went straight to him. Price was leaning against the doorframe, a massive, jagged silhouette that seemed to consume the room’s oxygen. Before he could even utter a greeting, she was moving, a blur of soft fabric and frantic intent.

She didn't look at the small gift he’d left out. She ran.

Her body collided with him, her arms throwing themselves around his neck, burying her face into the cool, rough material of his tactical jacket. Price let out a startled, huffed breath, his large hands instinctively hovering over her waist before pulling her in tight, anchoring her. But as she pulled back to look at him, the relief in her eyes curdled into a sharp, nervous spike of fear.

"John..." She breathed, her voice trembling as she traced the jagged, crimson line cutting across his jaw and the dark, wet stain seeping through the shoulder of his shirt. "You’re bleedin'. You’re hurt."

"S'nothing, darling." He roughed out, his voice a low, gravelly growl that vibrated against her palms as she cupped his face. "Just a bit of a scrap. Don't go gettin' worked up."

But she was already fussing, her thumb grazing the edge of the scratch on his jaw with a touch so light it was agonizing. Price didn’t flinch. Instead, he did something far more telling, he leaned into her palm, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief, vulnerable second as his breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at his wounds with genuine worry rather than calculating his downtime.

From that night on, the air between them shifted. It became a silent, intimate war of offerings.

The gifts grew pointed, heavy with the things they weren't allowed to say. When she gave him his cigars, she didn’t just leave them in the humidor. She clipped one for him, her fingertips lingering against the tobacco, the scent of the leaves mixing with the warmth of her skin as she stood in the amber gloom of his quarters.

And when he gave her that oversized, charcoal-grey wool hoodie, secretly sprayed with his favorite cologne, he didn’t leave it on her chair. He waited until the base was quiet and she was hunched over a report, then draped it over her shoulders. His hands lingered, his calloused palms pressing against her collarbones, feeling the violent shiver that racked her body, from the sheer, electric friction of his touch.

The tension finally snapped on a humid Tuesday evening. 

She reached out, her fingers trembling as she traced the thick line of his forearm, following the prominent veins down to the pulse at his wrist. Price caught her hand, his grip firm, bordering on desperate. He pulled her up from the chair with a sudden, forceful jerk, bringing her flush against the hard, unyielding planes of his body. The air was thick, charged with the weight of years of unspoken hunger.

"We aren't just talkin' about gifts anymore, are we?" She breathed, her eyes locked on his mouth, her chest heaving against his.

Price didn't answer with words. His hand slid to the small of her back, his fingers splaying wide, crushing her against him until she could feel the heavy, frantic thud of his heart through his shirt.

"No." He rasped, his accent thickening, turning dark and needy as his forehead dropped to rest against hers. "We’re well past that, love. I’m starvin' for you. I’ve been a patient man, but I can't take it anymore."

He nudged her nose with his, his breath hot and ragged against her lips. "Tell me to stop, darling. Tell me now, or I’m goin' to take everythin' you’ve been offerin' me with these looks and these touches. I'm goin' to make you mine in every fucking way."

The tension in the room was a living thing now, thick enough to choke the air out of his lungs. Price didn’t move. He let the silence stretch, watching the way her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.

Price crowded into her space, his large frame casting a long shadow over her until she was backed against the edge of the heavy oak desk. The wood pressed into her lower back, but all she could feel was the heat radiating off him.

"You keep looking at me like that." He growled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that she felt in her marrow. "And you're not walking out of this bloody room."

She didn't shy away. Her heart was a frantic bird trapped in her ribs, but her gaze was steady, dark with a yearning she was tired of hiding. She reached up, her fingers trembling as they traced the rugged line of his jaw, the hair of his beard soft and coarse all at once.

The girl breathed, her voice barely a thread of sound.

Price let out a low, jagged exhale, his eyes darkening as they dropped to her mouth. He slid his hands beneath her blazer, his palms searing through the thin fabric of her shirt as he gripped her waist. He didn't just hold her; he anchored her, his thumbs digging into the soft dip of her hips, pulling her flush against the hard, unyielding line of his body.

The friction was electric. She gasped, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, clinging to the worn fabric of his shirt. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath hot against her lips.

"I've spent every night since that mission thinking about this." He confessed, his voice dropping to a raw, desperate rasp. "Thinking about how you’d taste. How you’d feel if I stopped being a gentleman, ripping that little skirt of yours and devoured your sweet cunt."

He tilted his head, his nose grazing hers, the intimacy of the movement more erotic than if he’d stripped her bare right there. He was testing her, waiting for the final green light, his restraint held by a fraying thread.

"The gifts were easy." He murmured, his lips brushing hers with every word, a slow-burn torture that made her arch toward him. "But I’m done being subtle. I want something that belongs only to me."

"John." She whimpered, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him that final, agonizing millimeter. "Please."

"Give it to me." He commanded, his voice a rough velvet prayer against her skin. "Give me that kiss, and don't you dare be gentle about it."

She didn't wait for another word, standing on her tiptoes she surged upward, mouth crashing against his in a collision of hunger and relief. It was a desperate, deep kiss, one that tasted of years of longing and the sudden, violent spark of a fire that would never be put out. Price groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding down to lift her onto the desk, pulling her legs around his waist as he claimed her, finally turning the silence into a storm.

The heavy oak of the desk creaked under their combined weight, but neither of them gave a damn. Price’s hands were everywhere at once, tangled in her hair, gripping her waist, mapping the curve of her spine as if he were trying to memorize her through his palms.

The office felt suddenly too small, the air thick and humming with a tension that made her pulse skip a frantic beat. As Price loomed over her, his massive frame blocking out the light from the hallway, she felt a wave of bashfulness wash over her.   

He pulled back just an inch, his forehead resting against hers, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. His eyes were dark, tracking the way her lips were swollen and reddened from his own.

"Bloody hell." He rasped, his accent thickening into a low, gravelly rumble. "I’ve spent months tryin' to stay 'cross the line. Tryin' to be the professional. But you... you’re the ruin of me, d'you know that?"

"John." She let out a shaky breath, her fingers clutching at the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back. "I... I didn't think you'd notice the little things. Not with everything else you have to worry about."  

Price stepped closer, the scent of his cigar and cold rain enveloping her. He reached out, his large, calloused hand cupping her chin, gently forcing her to look up. His blue eyes were soft, yet burning with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

"I notice everything when it comes to you, love." He murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration. "The way you tilt your head when you're focusin', the way you hum... it’s been drivin’ me absolutely spare."

She bit her lip, her lashes fluttering as she tried to hold his gaze. "I'm just... I'm not used to someone looking at me like that. Like I'm the only thing that matters."

"Because you are." He rasped, his thumb grazing her lower lip, pulling it down just enough to reveal the pearly white of her teeth. "You’ve been a breath of fresh air in this godforsaken place. And we’ve been coward muppets for not tellin’ you sooner."

He leaned in, his nose ghosting against hers. She felt a shiver race down her spine, a mix of nerves and a deep, aching yearning. She was shy, yes, but her body was betrayed by the way she leaned into his touch, her hand tentatively reaching up to rest against his solid chest.

"I’ve been starvin' for a taste of you." He muttered against her pulse, his voice a rough velvet growl. "Every little gift, every lingerin' look... it was drivin' me spare. I wanted to do this in the middle of the bloody canteen. I wanted to haul you off and keep you all to myself."

He nipped at the sensitive cord of her neck, making her gasp and arch her back, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders. He felt her heart hammering against his chest, a frantic, rhythmic demand, and it only fueled the fire. He gripped her thighs, pulling her even tighter against him, his voice dropping to a needy, low-frequency whisper.

"Don't you dare stop me now." He breathed, his lips ghosting over her ear. "I’ve got you where I want you, and I’m not lettin' go for anything. You’re mine, love. Entirely mine. Say it."

"Yours." She sobbed out, the word caught in a moan as his hands slid higher, his touch possessive and certain. "Always yours, John."

"Good girl." He growled, his eyes burning with a fierce, British grit as he captured her mouth again, more desperate and certain than before.

"God, you’re soft." He groaned into the kiss, his voice a rough, British rumble that she felt vibrating in her own chest.

He didn't pull away, he deepened it, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she parted them for him with a shy, needy whimper. The sound seemed to undo him.

Price let out a low growl, his grip on her neck tightening just enough to let her know he wasn't letting go. He pulled her flush against the tactical vest he hadn't yet removed, the hard plates a sharp contrast to her softness.

She felt small in his arms, dwarfed by his breadth, and the shyness that had held her back only moments ago began to melt into a feverish heat. Her hands wandered up his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart through the fabric.

"John." She breathed into his mouth, the name a broken prayer.

"Right here, love." He rasped, his lips ghosting over hers before he surged back in, his kiss turning hungrier, more possessive. He was a man who had spent his life taking ground, and right now, he was claiming her as his own. His other hand found the small of her back, pressing her so tightly against him that she could feel the heat of his body through their layers of clothing.

"I’ve got you." He muttered against her swollen lips, his breath hitched and ragged. "I’ve got you now, darlin'. Don’t you dare go anywhere."

With a soft, shaky breath, she shifted and began to rub herself slow and deliberate against the heavy, dark fabric of his trousers.

Price’s entire body went rigid. A sharp, jagged hiss of air escaped his teeth, and his hands, which had been cradling her neck, clamped down hard on her waist.

"Bloody hell." He rasped, his voice dropping into a register so low it was almost a snarl. "D'you have any idea what you're doin', love?"

She didn't answer with words. Biting her lip, looking up at him through her lashes as she did it again, a rhythmic, teasing pressure that made the blood roar in his ears. She felt the hard, unyielding line of him beneath the fabric, the proof of exactly how much power she had over the man who commanded armies.

Price let out a low, guttural groan, his head falling back for a second as he fought for control. When his eyes snapped back to hers, they were blazing, the pupils blown wide and dark with a predatory hunger.

"You're playin' a very dangerous game, darlin'." He growled, leaning in, his mouth ghosting over the shell of her ear, his breath scorching her skin. "Keep that up, and I won't just be takin' a kiss. I’ll be takin' everythin' you’ve got to give, right here on this desk."

To prove his point, he gripped her thighs and pulled her even tighter against him, his hands possessive and rough. He ground his hips back against hers once, a firm, needy response that made her breath hitch in a sharp sob of surprise and want.

"You want to provoke me?" He muttered, his lips catching the lobe of her ear in a sharp nip. "God help us both, because I’m about ten seconds away from lockin' that door and showin' you exactly what happens when you push a man like me."

She let out a soft, sharp cry at the friction he gave back, her face flushing.

The shift in the room was tectonic. Price stepped even deeper into her space, his heavy tactical boots scuffing against the floorboards as he forced her legs wider to accommodate his massive frame.

"Don't lock it, then." He rasped, his voice thick with a dark, complicated hunger. He looked at the door, then back at her flushed, shy face. "I’ve seen the way the lads look at you. Ghost watchin' you from the shadows, Soap practically trippin' over his own feet just to get a smile out of you. They're starvin' for you, darlin'. Every one of 'em."

He leaned down, his large hands sliding under her thighs to hoist her closer to the edge of the desk, his grip possessive and bruisingly tight.

"Maybe I want 'em to hear." He growled, a wicked, jagged smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe I want 'em to know exactly what they’re missin' out on. But make no mistake, love—I’m the Captain. I take point. I get my fill first before I even think about lettin' the rest of the pack have a taste."

The thought of his men, the team she worked with every day, hearing her like this sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through her. She felt her shyness warring with a sudden, peak-level arousal. She rubbed herself against him again, harder this time, a desperate whimper escaping her.

"Shh? No, I don't think so." Price murmured, his voice turning dark and commanding. He nipped at her shoulder, his hand sliding up to squeeze her waist. "I want you loud. I want you to scream my name so loud it echoes down the bloody corridor."

He ground his hips into her with a sudden, violent surge of pressure, his eyes burning into hers.

"I’m goin' to ruin you for anyone else first." He breathed, his hand wandering with a focused, needy intent. "And then, once I’ve had everythin' I want... maybe I’ll let 'em come in and see what’s left of you. But for right now? You’re mine. So let ‘em hear you. Show ‘em who you belong to."

He captured her mouth again, but this time it wasn't a question—it was a claim, his tongue deep and demanding, silently daring anyone in the hallway to try and turn the handle.

She was trembling beneath him, her fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as he continued his slow, torturous appraisal. He was a predator savoring the hunt, his hands tracing the backs of her thighs with a deliberate, agonizing lack of haste.

"Look at you." He whispered, his hot breath ghosting over the fabric of her trousers, making her skin prickle and burn. "Ready to snap. And the door’s right there, love. Wide open for anyone to see how the Captain treats his favorite little distraction."

He squeezed the soft flesh of her hips, his thumbs hooked into her waistband, teasing the edge but never quite dipping inside. The deprivation was more than she could handle. Her shyness was being incinerated by a frantic, white-hot need to be claimed—to be taken by the man who held her life in his hands every time they went into the field.

She arched her back, her forehead pressing against the cool plaster of the wall, and let out a broken, high-pitched sob of frustration.

"Captain..." She cried out, her voice raw and echoing through the small office. "Captain, please."

Price froze.

The air in the room seemed to go still. His hands, which had been roaming her curves with a restless energy, went rigid. The use of his rank, there, in the dark, in the most vulnerable position she could possibly offer, hit him like a physical blow.

He stayed silent for a long beat, his chest rising and falling heavily against her back. Then, slowly, he let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated through her entire body. It was a wicked, private sound.

"Captain, is it?" He murmured, leaning down, his teeth grazing the shell of her ear as he gripped the back of her neck with possessive finality.

"Careful, darlin'. You call me that while you're on your knees, and I might just decide you’re never leavin' this office. And I don’t think the lads would appreciate me keepin' you all to myself for the next twelve hours... though I’m startin’ to think I don’t give a damn."

He shifted, the heavy metal of his belt buckle clinking as he pressed himself firmly against her, letting her feel the full, hard extent of his reaction to that one word.

The dark chuckle still rumbled in his chest as he reached down, his movements no longer teasing, but surgical and certain. He hooked his fingers into the delicate lace of her underwear, the contrast of his rough, scarred knuckles against the sheer fabric a visual testament to the world they lived in. With a swift, practiced tug, he slid them down her legs, leaving her completely exposed to the cool air of the room and to his burning gaze.

He didn't toss them aside. Instead, he folded the small scrap of fabric with a reverence that was almost chilling, sliding it deep into the breast pocket of his tactical vest, right over his heart.

"A souvenir." He rasped, his eyes dark as he patted the pocket. "Something to keep me company when I'm stuck in the debrief later, thinkin' about the mess I made of you."

He didn't wait for her to find her breath. He stepped closer, his large hands anchoring her hips with a bruising grip that brooked no argument. His furry face disappearing between her thighs.

She let out a strangled, high-pitched scream that she couldn't have stifled if her life depended on it. The sensation of his rough beard and hot, expert tongue against her warm walls was a violent shock to her core.

"Captain!" She sobbed, her fingers scratching uselessly at the desk as she tried to find her footing in the storm of pleasure he was whipping up.

Price let out a muffled growl against her, his hands shifting to the small of her back to press her down, forcing her to take every bit of the attention he was giving her.

He was tongue-buried deep between her thighs, her pussy clenching the wet muscle, his large hands acting like vices on her hips, anchoring her so she couldn't escape the relentless focus of his tongue.

"That's it, darlin'." He growled against her skin, his voice muffled and thick. "Let the whole bloody base hear how much you love it."

He was teasing her now, his tongue swirling in slow, agonizing circles before suddenly darting in with a sharp, flicking pressure that made her back arch like a bow. She was squirming, her palms sliding against the wood of the desk as her insides began to clench and contract in a desperate, rhythmic pulse.

The friction of his beard was a delicious torture, the coarse hair scratched against the tender skin of her inner thighs, a constant, stinging reminder of the man claiming her.

"John—please! I’m... I’m going to—" She sobbed, her head hanging low, her hair shielding her face as she reached the edge of the abyss.

"Not yet." He muttered, his hands sliding up to squeeze her glutes, pulling her even more firmly against his face. "I haven't finished with you. I'm goin' to taste every single drop."

He began to suckle her with a predatory intensity, his cheeks hollowing as he drank her in. The sensation was overwhelming, too much and yet not enough. Every time she felt the peak approaching, he would pull back just a fraction, let the cool air hit her, and then dive back in with a renewed, hungry ferocity.

She was whining now, a high, broken sound of pure need, her hips bucking instinctively against him. Her walls were twitching, clenching around the ghost of him, desperate for the release he was dangling just out of reach.

"Captain... pleas-Price!! I can't... I'm cumming!" She cried out, her voice loud enough to carry straight through the thin wood of the door and into the hallway.

Price let out a dark, triumphant vibration in his throat. He felt her first true contraction hit, a violent, beautiful shudder that rippled through her entire body. He didn't pull away. He leaned into it, his tongue working double-time to catch the honeyed rush of her cum, devouring her whole as she finally shattered, thighs trembling.

He stayed there long after the last tremor had passed, his breath hot and heavy against her damp skin, the lace souvenir still tucked safely against his chest.

Price let her slump onto the desk, her head resting against the cool wood at an awkward angle as she tried to find her breath. Body was still humming, the aftershocks of her climax making her muscles twitch under his touch.

"Look at you." He rumbled, his voice thick and dark, vibrating through her spine. "Tremblin' like a leaf for me. You’re a right little mess, aren't you, love?"

He began to remove the rest of her clothes. He peeled them away, his eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin with a fierce, hungry appreciation. When she stood before him, flushed and bare, his gaze settled on the curves of her body, the soft, plump lines he’d spent months imagining under her work clothes.

"God, you’re magnificent." He rasped, his hand sliding down to grip the flesh of her waist, his fingers sinking into her softness. "All this... hidin' under those reports and those polite little smiles."

Price began to grope her with a needy, unrepentant greed, his large hands mapping out every curve. He squeezed her hips, his palms heavy and hot, before sliding up to weigh her breasts in his hands. He rolled her nipples between his calloused thumbs, watching the way she whimpered and arched back into him.

"You've got such a wicked little body, darlin'." He whispered into her ear, his teeth grazing the lobe. "So soft, so plump... made for a man to sink into. I bet you’d feel incredible with Ghost’s hands on you, wouldn’t you? Or Gaz, Soap's? Thinkin' about the four of us takin' turns findin' out just how loud you can really get?"

He let out a low, filthy chuckle when he felt her shudder at the suggestion. He reached down, his hand cupping her firmly from behind, his fingers bold and intrusive as he explored her lingering wetness.

"But I’m not done with you yet." He growled, his hand tightening its grip. "I’m goin’ to mark every inch of this skin so when they finally get their turn, they’ll know exactly who was here first. They’ll see my fingerprinted bruises on these pretty thighs and know you belong to the Captain."

Price stepped back just enough to give her room to breathe, but the air felt colder without his heat. She stayed on the desk, her skin flushed and sensitive, her curiosity finally winning over her shyness. She shifted, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes wide as she watched the legendary Captain Price discard the layers of his authority.

The tactical vest hit the floor with a heavy thud, followed by his shirt. As he stepped out of his trousers, she couldn't help but peek, her breath catching in her throat.

"Blimey, love." He chuckled, noticing her wide-eyed stare. "Like what you see, then?"

She gasped, her face heating up even more. He was massive—broader than he looked in his gear, a wall of hard-earned muscle and rugged power. His chest was a landscape of old scars and thick, dark hair that trailed down in a dense line, disappearing into the heavy weight of his manhood. He looked primal, a silver-backed wolf standing in the center of a sterile office.

"You're... you're so big, John." She whispered, her gaze tracing the definition of his shoulders and the thick, furry expanse of his chest. He looked like he could snap her in two, yet the way he looked at her was pure, unadulterated hunger.

Price’s smirk widened, dark and knowing. He stepped back into her space, the sheer bulk of him making her feel deliciously small. "And I’ve got every intention of usin' all of it on you," he promised.

Before she could respond, he reached out and, with a sudden, playful ferocity, delivered a stinging spank across her plump, bare backside. The crack of his palm against her skin echoed through the room, loud and sharp.

"Ah!" she cried out, the shock of it sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

"Eyes up here, darlin'." He growled, his voice a rough command as he gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

He spanked her again, his palm lingering on the heat he'd created, his thumb tracing the reddening mark on her thigh. "That's for callin' me Captain earlier. Made me want to see just how much of a mark I can leave on you before the lads get their chance to try."

The sting of the spank was still humming in her blood when Price dropped to his knees between her legs. His large, scarred hands smoothed over the abused skin of her thighs, his touch suddenly, achingly tender. He leaned in, pressing a slow, searing kiss to the sensitive curve of her inner thigh, his beard a delicious friction against her heated skin.

"Look at you." He murmured against her flesh, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Beaut' of a sight, you are. All flushed and waitin' for your Captain."

He loomed behind her like a mountain of muscle and dark intent, his hands clamping down on her hips to hold her steady.

"Stay right there, love." He growled. "Don't you move an inch."

He guided himself to her opening, the tip of him thick and blunt against her pussy. He took a slow, deep breath, savoring the sight of her, the way her skin was flushed, the way her back dipped in a beautiful, shallow curve, and the way her plump backside was pulsing from his touch.

With a low, guttural grunt, he began to slide in.

The angle was sharp and deep, forcing her to bury her face in her arms as he filled her. She let out a long, broken whine that echoed against the desk. He was so incredibly large, his thick, furry thighs brushing against hers with every agonizingly slow inch he claimed.

"Bloody hell." He hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes rolling back for a second as he felt her internal muscles clench around him in a frantic, shy welcome. "You're so perfect ... like you were made to be taken like this."

He didn't start a fast rhythm. Instead, he stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, his chest pressing down against her back, his heartbeat a heavy thud-thud-thud against her spine. He reached forward, his large hands sliding under her to cup her breasts, squeezing them firmly as he began to move.

"John... oh, Captain!" she cried out, her voice muffled by the wood of the desk. She was squirming, her hips rocking back into his heavy thrusts instinctively.

"That's it, darlin'." He encouraged, his voice a filthy, needy rasp in her ear. "Take it all. I want you to feel exactly how much of a man you've got behind you. Let 'em hear the desk bangin' against the wall. Let 'em wonder what sort of mess the Captain is makin' of his favorite girl."

He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more possessive. The sound of skin hitting skin, the wet, slapping rhythm of their union, filled the room, a stark, carnal contrast to the quiet hallway just outside. He was relentless, his beard scratching the back of her neck as he nipped at her shoulder, marking her as his own while she sobbed out his name again and again.

The sound of Gaz’s distinctive laugh and Soap’s boisterous voice drifted through the gap beneath the door, sounding impossibly close. She froze, her breath hitching in a terrified sob. Her muscles clamped shut around him in a reflex of pure, unadulterated shyness, her face burning as she pressed it into her forearms, trying to disappear into the desk.

Price felt the change instantly. The way she tightened, the way her heart hammered like a trapped bird against the wood. He didn’t stop. Instead, he let out a low, dark chuckle that was purely predatory.

"Listen to 'em, love." He whispered, his voice a rough rasp right against her ear. "They’re right out there. Just a few feet of timber between us and the lads. D'you think they can hear the desk creakin'? D'you think Ghost knows why his Captain didn't show up for the late watch?"

"John, stop... please, they’ll hear." She whimpered, her voice a tiny, frantic thread.

"Let 'em hear." He growled, his grip on her hips tightening until his knuckles went white. He wasn't being gentle anymore. He used the tension in her body to his advantage, pulling her back onto him with a sudden, violent surge.

He thrust harder, his massive body slamming against her with a rhythmic, heavy thud that seemed to vibrate the very floorboards. Every time he hit her, the desk groaned in protest, a loud, wooden creak that felt like a siren in the quiet corridor.

"You’re shakin', darlin'. Is it the fear? Or is it knowin' they’re out there while I’m in here, deep as I can go?" He nipped at the sensitive skin of her shoulder, his teeth leaving a mark she’d have to hide for days. "Call me again. Let 'em know who’s got you."

She tried to stay quiet, biting her lip until she tasted copper, but as he drove into her with a relentless, punishing pace, the pleasure became too much to contain. The contrast of the danger outside and the raw, furry heat of the man behind her shattered her restraint.

Price let out a low, guttural sound, something between a growl and a purr, as the voices in the hall grew louder. He wasn't finished playing with her fear. With sudden, explosive strength, he reached forward and hooked his arm under her chest, hauling her upper body back toward him.

She let out a sharp gasp as her spine arched, her shoulder blades pressing hard against his broad, furry chest. He was so much larger than her; it felt like being swallowed by a mountain.

Then, his other hand came up.

His large, calloused fingers wrapped firmly around the front of her throat. He wasn't cutting off her air, but the pressure was deliberate, a heavy, possessive weight that forced her head back against his shoulder. Her pulse throbbed frantically against his palm, a trapped rhythm that he seemed to savor.

"Look at me." He commanded, voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly whisper.

She looked up, the back of her head touching his sweaty chest, her eyes wide and glassy with tears of sheer, overwhelmed pleasure. His face was inches from hers, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity. Outside, the footsteps stopped. A shadow flickered under the door.

"The door's unlocked, darlin'." Price murmured, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw while his fingers maintained that steady, grounding pressure on her throat. "Any second, the handle could turn. Ghost could walk in. Gaz could see his Captain with his hand around your neck, haulin' you back like the little prize you are."

He gave a sharp, sudden thrust, his body slamming into hers with a force that made her vision swim. She tried to cry out, but the pressure on her throat turned the sound into a choked, needy whimper.

"Keep it in." He teased, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he felt her internal muscles spasm around him. "Or don't. Maybe I want 'em to find us like this. Maybe I want to watch their faces when they see how much you love being handled by me."

He tightened his grip on her throat just a fraction more, a dominant, silencing gesture that only made her want him more. He was a beast in human skin, a man who took what he wanted and kept it. As the voices in the hall lingered, he began to move again, harder, faster, his arm keeping her glued to his chest so she felt every ripple of his muscle, every heavy beat of his heart.

"You're mine, love." He rasped, his teeth grazing her ear. "Through and through. And I’m goin' to make sure you remember the weight of my hand on you for a long, long time."

The tension in the room reached a fever pitch, the air vibrating with the sound of the team's laughter in the hall and the rhythmic creak of the desk. Price was a blur of raw power behind her, his hand firm on her throat, his body driving into hers with relentless, possessive force.

As he felt the first violent wave of his climax starting to build deep in his gut, the girl reached her breaking point. Her shyness shattered completely, replaced by a desperate, reaching need. She twisted her upper body back toward him, her movements frantic and weak with pleasure, her small hands catching the thick, corded muscle of his brawny neck.

She pulled him down, her fingers digging into his skin, and as Price delivered one final, soul-shaking thrust that filled her to the absolute limit, their mouths collided.

They finished together in a deafening, silent explosion of sensation. Price groaned into her mouth, a deep, guttural sound of victory as he emptied himself inside her, his body shuddering violently against her back. At the same moment, she let out a muffled, broken sob against his lips, her eyes squeezed shut as her world dissolved into white-hot sparks.

The contrast was staggering: the rough, furry heat of his chest pressed against her soft, damp skin, while the sound of Gaz and Soap joking just outside the door provided a heartbeat of pure, adrenaline-fueled danger.

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, she clung to him, her tears wetting his cheeks as she kissed him again and again—soft, shaky brushes of her lips that spoke of a deep, newly forged bond. Price didn't pull away. He kept his arm hooked around her, his hand softening its grip on her throat to a tender caress, his forehead resting against hers as they both breathed the same heavy, recycled air of the office.

"Got you." He rasped into the quiet space between them, his voice thick with a dark, satisfied affection. "I've bloody well got you, love."

She sniffled, a small, shy smile finally breaking through her tears as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, the scent of him finally grounding her back to reality.

The silence following their shared climax was heavy and sweet, broken only by the sound of their synchronized, ragged breathing. Price was still buried deep inside her, his forehead resting against hers, when the heavy thud of a fist echoed against the office door.

"Captain? You in there, sir?"

The voice was unmistakable, thick with a cheerful, boisterous Scottish lilt. It was Soap.

The girl’s eyes flew wide, a fresh wave of panicked shyness washing over her. She gasped, her body tensing around Price as she realized the door was still unlocked and she was sprawled naked on the desk, the Captain of the 141 still physically joined to her.

Price didn't flinch. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, his blue eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and possessive pride. He didn't pull out; instead, he squeezed her waist, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her hip, silently telling her to stay still.

"Aye, Johnny!" Price called back, his voice remarkably steady, though it held a low, gravelly edge that only she could hear the true cause of. "Bit busy at the moment. What is it?"

"Just wanted to check on the mission brief for tomorrow, sir!" Soap’s voice sounded muffled but dangerously close to the wood. "Gaz said you might be havin' a late one. I tried the handle, but—"

The girl’s heart nearly stopped. She buried her face in Price’s neck, her teeth catching the skin of his shoulder to keep from making a sound. Price’s chuckle was a low vibration in his chest that she felt in her very soul.

"Brief can wait until mornin', MacTavish." Price replied, his British accent sounding clipped and authoritative. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over her ear as he whispered, "He’s got no idea, has he?"

"Right you are, sir!" Soap called back, his footsteps lingering. "You sound a bit winded, Captain. Everything alright in there? Not havin' a row with the paperwork, are ye?"

Price let out a sharp, dark laugh, his eyes locked on hers. "Just tacklin' a particularly stubborn... problem, Soap. I've got it well in hand. Now bugger off and get some rack time. That’s an order."

"Sir, yes sir!" Soap laughed, his footsteps finally fading down the hall. "Don't work the girl too hard if she's helpin' ye! See ye at 0600!"

As the hallway went silent again, the girl let out a long, shaky breath, her forehead dropping onto Price’s chest.

"John." She whispered, her voice a mix of horror and exhilaration. "He almost... he was right there."

Price pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her like a cage of warm muscle. "But he didn't. And now he knows you’re in here with me." He nipped at her ear, his hand sliding down to where they were still connected. "Think they'll be wonderin' why your face is so flushed at breakfast tomorrow?"

Gaz and Soap had dragged the team to a newly opened amusement park downtown, promising good food and a great time.

"Aye, I'm starving." The Scotsman's stomach growls, and he gives the girl a playful grin, pulling her excitedly by the arm to the nearest food station. Gaz trails behind them like a happy kid, grabbing the girl by her shoulders.

"Oi oi, stay close!" Price shouts like a worried dad, stress already building in his bones. The trio screams back, "Yes sir!!" And the man already feels wrinkles forming in his eyes when he realizes the group has disappeared into the crowd. "Swear, they're gonna kill us someday."

Price and Ghost sit in one of the booths scattered throughout the park, waiting for the group to return with the greasy food. The two big beefy men squeezed together at the small wooden table, a stark contrast to the sea of colors around them.

Children ran around the park, balancing stuffed animals and toys they'd won from the vending machines in their chubby little arms, and the lieutenant made a mental note to win some for the girl later.

A few minutes passed, and the trio returned, with enough food for a battalion and enough fat to kill one.

They munch happily, just glad to be together once more, like the family they've grown to be over the last few months together.

"How's school?" Gaz's voice tore through the comfortable silence, and the eyes at the table turned to the girl mid-chew on a fried cheese stick.

Cheeks full like a squirrel, she froze under everyone’s eyes. Slowly, the girl chewed and swallowed, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin like she hadn’t just been caught mid–food crime.

“It’s… good.” she finally said, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “Tiring, but nice.”

Soap leaned over the table with a smirk. “Bet yer professors are just as scared of ye as the recruits are of Ghost.”

The girl giggled, and Ghost’s gloved hand stilled around his drink. That sound again. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until now.

Price leaned back in his seat, lighting a cigar with the kind of exasperated air only a man babysitting four overgrown children could manage. “Don’t let him fool you, lass. Ghost can terrify a squadron, but he can’t even handle paperwork without grumbling like an old man.”

Gaz snorted into his soda. “Aye, and I’ve seen him stare down a whole armory, but put him next to you and he goes quiet as a church mouse.”

The girl blinked, cheeks warming. “Wait, what?”

Soap cackled, elbowing Ghost. “Think they’ve clocked ye, LT.”

Ghost’s mask turned toward them slowly, the kind of look that promised violent consequences, but it only made the rest of the team laugh harder.

Price exhaled a puff of smoke, smirking knowingly. “Relax, Simon. We’re just saying, it’s nice seeing you sit at a table instead of a weapons crate for once.”

Gaz leaned across the table, grin widening. “And with company you actually like.”

The girl tried to hide her smile behind her cheese stick, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

Ghost muttered something under his breath, too low for anyone to catch, but his hand flexed on the table like he was grounding himself in the moment.

And though he wouldn’t admit it, their teasing didn’t feel like mockery.

The conversation drifted after that, Soap teasing Gaz about spilling ketchup on his shirt, Price muttering something about being too old for roller coasters. Ghost remained quiet, his gaze flicking every so often toward her, small, stolen glances beneath the mask, as if making sure she was still there, still smiling.

After they finished eating, Soap and Gaz dragged the girl toward a towering ride that spun wildly in the night sky, neon lights flashing against their faces. Price muttered a curse under his breath and stalked after them to keep the three out of trouble, leaving Ghost alone on the bench.

Or so he thought.

She had stayed behind.

The girl plopped down next to him with a little huff, clutching a plastic cup of sprite. “Not really a fan of spinning until I puke.”

Ghost blinked, heart beating like he just came out the roller coaster himself. “Hm.”

A beat of silence passed. She kicked her feet lightly, sipping from her straw. “You didn’t sleep well again, did you?”

His head snapped toward her, startled that she’d noticed. But she just looked at him calmly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to call him out.

“You don’t have to tell me why.” She added quickly, eyes darting toward the ground. “But I can tell when you’re… tired.”

Ghost stared at her. She was so open, so unafraid of him, even though she should be. Even though everyone else was.

For a long moment, the noise of the amusement park seemed to blur into the background. He found himself leaning, just slightly, in her direction, as though pulled by a force he couldn’t name.

Then Soap’s shrill yell echoed across the midway, breaking the moment. The girl laughed, bright and careless, standing to wave at her friends. Ghost leaned back against the bench, forcing his hands to stay steady in his lap.

Ghost found himself moving before he could second-guess it. His arm slipped behind her shoulders, tentative at first, then firmer as he settled into the motion. She blinked up at him in surprise, her cheeks warming, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned lightly into his side, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

His chest tightened, an ache that was equal parts sharp and soothing. He turned his head slightly, eyes hidden behind the mask, but every part of him focused on her. For once, words felt unnecessary.

He only gave a small nod, the kind that said more than he wanted to admit. And when she let out a content sigh and nestled closer, he didn’t stop her.

The noise of the midway surged around them. Soap’s booming voice, the clatter of rides, the laughter of strangers, but Ghost let it all fade. Right now, there was only the weight of her against him, the quiet warmth of her trust, and the dangerous, undeniable truth blooming in his chest.

The group returned not long after, Soap already waving a pink cloud of cotton candy over his head like a trophy. Gaz shoved a giant stuffed penguin into the girl’s arms, making her squeal and stumble under its size. “Knew you wanted one.” He said with a wink.

Ghost stood, silent, towering as always, but his gaze lingered on her. She was half-hidden behind the penguin, face peeking over the fuzzy head, cheeks flushed with happiness.

When her attention was stolen by Soap’s antics, Ghost turned, striding toward one of the game stalls. His presence alone made the vendor stiffen, but Ghost only grunted and handed over a few bills. He studied the row of prizes, eyes locking instantly on the ridiculous, round shape hanging above the rest.

A giant capybara.

The game wasn’t even a challenge. Three rings, three perfect tosses. The vendor stammered a congratulations as Ghost snatched the enormous plushie with one hand, tucking it easily under his arm.

When he returned to the group, Soap let out a low whistle.

Ghost ignored him, stopping in front of the girl. She blinked up at him, confused — until he thrust the capybara into her arms. The penguin nearly toppled to the ground, forgotten, as she hugged the new plushie tight to her chest.

Her smile lit up the whole midway. “Ghost… you remembered.” She whispered, voice small but full of wonder.

He only inclined his head, trying to look indifferent, though his ears burned beneath the mask. “Couldn’t have you sleepin’ without the rest of the zoo.” He muttered.

The girl laughed, a sound so bright, delighted, genuine. Hugging the plushie closer, she beamed at him as if he’d just handed her the moon.

And Ghost knew, in that moment, he’d play every rigged game in the park if it meant hearing that sound again.

The night air carried the hum of laughter and neon lights, drawing them all toward the towering Ferris wheel at the edge of the park. Its metal frame groaned faintly as it turned, carriages swaying with each rise and fall.

“Oi, Ghost!” Soap elbowed him with a grin. “Bet you’re too tough for a kiddie ride, eh?”

Ghost grunted in reply, but his gaze lingered on the wheel. It stretched high into the night sky, creaking with every spin. His instincts whispered unstable, unsafe, too exposed.

Before he could slip away unnoticed, the girl looped her arm through his. “Come on.” She said softly, eyes bright. “Ride with me?”

He hesitated, but her hopeful smile left him powerless. Wordless, he trailled behind her like a obedient puppy.

They settled into one of the small carriages, the door clanging shut behind them. The wheel jerked to life, lifting them slowly above the chaos of the midway. Ghost’s gloved hands clenched on his knees, every muscle coiled tight. His eyes scanned the metal bars, the bolts, the flimsy latch on the door. Too many risks.

She noticed immediately. “You’re tense.” She murmured.

“I don’t like heights.” He admitted at last, voice low and rough, like the words cost him something. “Feels… unsafe.”

Her expression softened. She shifted closer on the small bench, her shoulder brushing his arm. “Hey.” She said gently, tilting her head to catch his gaze through the mask. “You’ve faced worse than this. And besides.” She held up her hand, pinky finger extended. “I promise nothing’s going to happen. Not while I’m here.”

A huff of disbelief escaped him, a laugh buried deep in his chest. But still, he hooked his pinky with hers.

As the carriage climbed higher, the view opened up beneath them: the glittering lights of the park, the city stretching beyond, the faint stars scattered overhead. Ghost’s grip eased, just slightly.

Then she leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss against his cheek, right over the fabric of his mask. “See? Safe.”

Heat bloomed beneath the mask, a rush of warmth he couldn’t fight. For a moment, the fear faded, replaced by something else entirely, the weightless, terrifying feeling of wanting her closer.

Ghost turned his head toward her, voice barely above the whisper of the wind. “You’re trouble, little one.”

She only grinned, resting her head on his shoulder as the wheel carried them higher into the sky.

By the time midnight rolled around, the group began gathering at the lot, trading tired smiles and quiet goodbyes.

Ghost stood a little apart from the rest, his hands in his pockets, watching her as she rubbed her arms against the evening chill. Something in him stirred—an instinct he’d long ignored, but couldn’t smother now.

“Need a lift?” His voice was low, almost casual, but his gaze stayed fixed on her.

She blinked up at him, surprised. “Oh, you don’t have to. I can call...”

“Don’t.” His answer came quicker than he meant it to, rough around the edges. He adjusted his stance, softening just enough. “It’s late. Let me take you.”

Her lips parted, as though she wanted to argue, but then she caught the steadiness in his eyes and gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Ghost placed the plushies and prizes on the car trunk, he opened the passenger door for her, a simple gesture that felt almost foreign in his gloved hands. She slid in with a grateful smile.

When the girl tried to reach for her seatbelt, Ghost beat her to it, pulling the belt and buckling it, making sure its safe.

He looks up at her bright eyes, lips mere inches apart, and for the first time, Ghost felt grateful that he was wearing his mask.

When he closed the door, Ghost let out a slow breath before circling to the driver’s side.

The ride began in comfortable silence, the hum of the engine filling the space between them. Streetlights swept across her face, and Ghost found himself glancing at her more often than he should have, memorizing the way her eyelids drooped with exhaustion but her smile lingered, soft and unguarded.

When they finally pulled up to her street, she turned toward him, her voice quiet. “Thank you, Ghost… for tonight. For… everything.”

He gripped the wheel tighter, fighting the urge to say something he couldn’t take back. Instead, he gave a curt nod, though his chest burned with the weight of everything unsaid.

"Simon. Call me Simon, kid."

His gloved hand rose almost on its own, brushing against her cheek, the touch achingly careful. She leaned into it, closing her eyes, trusting him.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Ghost reached up with his other hand and tugged at the balaclava. The fabric slid upward, revealing first his jaw, then the sharp line of his lips, the rugged stubble along his chin. When his eyes met hers again, bare and unshielded, they burned with a vulnerability he hadn’t shown anyone in years.

Her breath caught. “Simon…”

The sound of his name on her lips unraveled the last thread of his restraint. He leaned in, capturing her mouth with his, the kiss tentative at first, almost clumsy in its softness. She responded instantly, her hand finding the side of his neck, pulling him closer until the kiss deepened, hungry and tender all at once.

When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, his breath came unsteady. “You're dangerous, kid.” He whispered, though the arm around her waist told a different story.

She giggles shyly, pecking his lips again. "Wished i kissed you sooner." She murmurs, the soft confession made Simon's ears burn.

She lingered in the passenger seat, fingers twisting in the hem of her jacket, eyes flicking from the door of her house back to him. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the engine and the faint thrum of crickets outside.

“I don’t want to go home yet.” She admitted finally, her voice quiet but firm. “I want to stay here with you.”

Simon’s chest tightened. A dangerous part of him wanted to say yes, to let her stay pressed against him in the cocoon of the car until the world outside ceased to matter. But he shook his head, forcing a steadiness into his tone. “You need sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Her lips pouted into a soft frown, eyes searching his. “We could just… talk. Or sit. Anything.”

He reached out, brushing a thumb gently along her cheek, then down to her jaw. “Tomorrow." He promised, his voice low and steady. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Before she could protest again, he slipped out of the car. She followed, reluctant but trusting, as he popped open the trunk and gathered the silly plushies and prizes she’d won earlier that evening. He carried them easily in one arm, the other hand hovering near her back as they walked to her door.

At the doorstep, she turned to him, eyes wide and shimmering in the faint glow of the porch light. For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then Simon leaned down, capturing her lips with his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

He held it longer than he should have, savoring everything, the softness of her mouth, the faint sweetness of chocolate still lingering there, the warmth of her breath against his. He pressed her closer, as if he could burn the memory into himself, brand it deep enough that even the mask couldn’t hide it.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, eyes half-lidded. He breathed her in, memorizing every detail—the curve of her lips, the faint hitch of her breath, the way she clung to his sleeve as though reluctant to let go.

One last kiss, softer this time, and he stepped back, handing her the bundle of plushies. “Sleep.” He murmured, the word rough, almost reluctant.

She nodded, smiling with that warmth that always seemed to pierce his walls. “Goodnight, Simon.”

He waited until the door clicked shut before turning away, his lips still tingling, the taste of her lingering like a ghost.

By Friday, after another long day, he caught her just as she was heading out. His voice was low, quiet enough that only she could hear:

“Come to mine this weekend.”

She blinked, startled. “Y-your apartment?”

He inclined his head, unreadable behind the mask. “Yeah. Stay over.” A pause, softer: “Sleep.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Sleep. Like it was that simple. But the weight in his voice told her it wasn’t casual, not for him. It was an invitation deeper than words, one that left her breathless.

Saturday evening came quicker than she expected. The city was quiet, the air cool, and her nerves rattled as she stood outside the nondescript building Ghost had sent her the address to.

When the door opened, he was already there waiting, mask still in place, shoulders relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen all week. Without a word, he took her overnight bag from her hand, carrying it as though it weighed nothing.

Inside, his apartment was… simple. Clean. Stark, almost. A small couch, a battered coffee table, a few shelves lined with military books and old gear. The curtains were drawn tight, no photos on the walls. Yet the space carried an unexpected warmth—organized, quiet, safe. Like him.

She stepped further in, toes brushing against a worn rug near the couch. “It’s… cozy.” She said softly, eyes darting to the little details. A mug left drying in the sink. A folded blanket on the arm of the couch. A single potted plant by the window, stubbornly alive despite the lack of light.

He watched her take it all in, his posture less rigid than usual. “Didn’t think you’d call it that.” He murmured, setting her bag down near the couch.

She smiled, hugging herself as she turned toward him. “Well, I like it.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them—soft, easy silence. And then he moved, taking a seat on the couch and patting the spot beside him. She sat, her shoulder brushing against his arm.

He leaned back, finally letting out a breath, as though just her presence allowed him to unwind. “Not used to having someone here.” He admitted quietly.

Her heart fluttered. “Guess I’ll have to get used to breaking into your quiet little world.”

At that, he huffed something close to a laugh and slung an arm across the back of the couch. The gesture was protective, unspoken, but she leaned into him anyway, head resting against his shoulder.

The bedroom was dim, moonlight pooling across the living room floor. She leaned casually against the couch, arms crossed, watching him like a cat stalking prey.

His chest tightened. The kind of feeling that made him aware of every inch of her, every breath, every heartbeat. “And… how long do you think that is?” He asked, voice rough, almost teasing back.

“Depends.” She whispered, tilting her head. “Can you handle it?”

Ghost’s gloved hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to answer. He wanted to lean in, close the gap, but part of him hesitated — the line between play and… more.

She stepped closer, standing just a breath away, eyes flicking to his masked face. “Or maybe I should show you?”

And for the first time in his life he began to rethink everything. Was his hair clean? Had he shaved? Did he smell nice? … Had he shaved his balls?

He felt all the blood drain from his body, his hands trembling, wanting to touch everything in front of him.

She pressed her body impossibly closer to him, glancing up at him with sneaky eyes. "Can I?" Gesturing to the mask.

He nodded.

Simon felt … vulnerable. His face bare, scarred by battles and time, roughed up enough to be considered a beast, a killing machine.

She watched in awe, closely analyzing every detail of Ghost's face, his spots, the faint scars that adorned his face, his strong cheekbones, his now soft brown eyes. His dirty blond hair.

They watched each other under the moonlight that invaded the room through a crack in the curtain, it illuminated the girl's face in a way that made her look like a goddess to Ghost.

And he was ready to worship her.

Scarred lips met her soft ones in a soft kiss, smaller hands carefully holding the man's cheeks as if he were a piece of porcelain.

Ghost's eyes fluttered closed as he surrendered to the kiss, lips parting slightly as the girl claimed them. He let out a low groan, hands wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Mmm… my little one." He murmured against her mouth, tongue tangling with hers in a slow, sensual dance. He began to move her towards the end of the couch, sitting the girl on the edge.

He pulled back slightly, his lips still inches from hers, gauze burning with intensity as he looked at the girl. "…" It came out as a shy whisper, he would have missed it if it weren't for his trained ears, it hit him like a truck.

"I love you too, my little one." He whispered, voice husky and low, without hesitation. He knelt on the floor, reaching the girl's feet.

And he took off one sock, then the other, discarding them in any corner of the room. Running his fingertips over the girl's bare legs, his touch sent shivers down her spine as he leaned in closer.

Distributing kisses along her foot, up her heels and calves, knees, thighs, until he reached the apex of her legs.

He looks at the girl, silently asking for permission, and she nods, trying to get up to remove her lace panties, but Simon stops her.

"Be patient, little one." He whispered, face inches from the area she most desired him. "Want me to eat you out?"

His rough fingers dug gently into her hips as he pulled her closer, breath hot against her skin, brown eyes now dark burning with desire.

"Yes…please." She begs, hips bucking slightly in anticipation.

He spread her legs apart with a gentle pressure from his hands, gauze fixed on the white lace, now ruined. His tongue darted out to lick at her clothed clit, sending shivers down her spine.

The girl yelped, one hand resting on the couch while the other was buried in Simon's soft hair, gently pulling at his roots. His tongue continued to dance across her clit, fingers digging gently into the flesh of her thighs as he held her in place.

"Little one, you're so wet for me." He whispered, hot breath against her sensitive skin. She mindless nods.

He lifts the girl enough to remove her panties, hands moving slowly and deliberately, stripping her bare while devouring every inch of her body with his dark eyes. Simon takes his sweet time, sayouring the curves and contours of his lover's flesh, fingers tracing patterns on her smooth skin that send shivers down her spine. 

"You're so beautiful." He whispers against his thigh, nuzzling his nose against it, voice husky with desire. "I could eat you all day." 

Simon's eyes flicker up to meet the girl's shy ones, gaze burning with intensity as he devours her untouched pussy, wrapping his beefy arms around her squirming thighs, holding them in place as he buries his face deeper into her sopping sex.

"Mmm...yeah my love." He groans, voice muffled by the sound of the girls whines and gasps. "So sweet, taste like heaven." He laps at her folds with reckless abandon, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body as her hips mindless buck against his face.

"You're so fucking cute when you look like this." He rasped, leaning in to lap at her juices with a hungry moan. His tongue delved deep, fucking her with long, slow strokes as he savored the honey dripping between her thighs.

She whimpers, hands fisting Simon's dirty blonde hair, guiding his mouth deeper onto her pussy, his nose nudging her pulsing clit. Hips rolling against his mouth in a desperate bid for more friction.

"Yes, Si, just like that." She cried, voice strained with pleasure.

Simon pinned her legs wide apart, pulling her feet on the couch, securing them with his strong hands, fingers brushing against her wriggling toes.

"Mmm, you taste delicious." He groaned, tip of his nose messing with her clit relentlessy, while his tongue lapped her fluttering walls, lazily thrusting inside her warm pussy, stretching her.

He sucked the delicate bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as he listened to her desperate whimpers.

Her back arched, pushing her hips forward in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations. Simon held fast, his grip unyielding as he feasted on her quivering cunt.

"Si-Si!! I'm comin-" The girl's body began to tremble, thighs quivering, but Simon rudely cuts her high, haulting his movements. "W-Why? I was so close." She cries, hands uselessly trying to rub her sensitive nub, chasing her high.

Simon's rough fingers danced over her soaked slit, teasing and prodding until he found her sensitive bundle of nerves at her core.

"Wh-" "Hold it." He cuts her, feeling her walls crushing his fingers deliciously. "Want you to hold it. For a moment."

His fingers worked tirelessly, pumping in and out of her poor, spasming pussy, lowering his mouth on her slit again, sucking on her abused clit, pressing soft kisses on her fingers that were tiredly rubbing it.

"Drench my face." He commandend, eyes locking on hers, gaze smoldering with a fierce, dominant intensity, voice a low, authoritative growl. "Soak me with your sweet, sitcky cum until m'dripping with it, love."

He sucked the tiny button with deliberate pressure, coaxing forth a stream of a long clear fluid that splattered against his face, he immediately sucked it on its source, like he is sipping on a water fountain.

The girl screams, body shook with afterschocks, her mind foggy with pleasure as she gazed down at the man. Her mind reeled, overwhelmed.

She'd never experienced anything like this before.

"Delicious." Simon let out of her bud to catch his breath, he murmured, savoring the sweet, tangy flavor that coated his tongue. Voice dripping with approval.

But he didn't let her rest.

Simon's large frame enveloped the girl as he sat on the couch, pulling her flush against him. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely in place as he ground the swollen head of his cock against her dripping slit.

"Feel that, love?" He whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "My cock, begging to split you open and claim your tight little cunt as its own."

He rocked his hips slowly, the tip of his cock parting her slick folds and circling her entrance with tantalizing promise. She could feel every ridge and veing along his impressive length, the head radiating from him seeping into her skin.

"...yes." She answers, voice tiny.

With a swift, powerful thrust, Simon buried himself to the hilt inside her, his thick cock stretching her walls.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He groaned, hands roaming over her cloth-claded tits as he began to move. His hips snapped forward in a brutal pace, each drive of his cock punctuated by the sound of skin slapping against skin. "Your pussy is so hungry, its swallowing me whole."

The girl cried out, nails digging into his toned thighs as she was being consumed by the intense pleasure, of being so fucking full.

"Need to-" With a sudden, violent tug, Simon ripped her shirt from her body, the fabric tearing away to reveal her heaving breasts.

His calloused hands immediately closed around the soft mounds, squeezing and kneading them roughly as he continued to pound into her.

"Perfect tits for a perfect little slut." He growled, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. He pinched and tugged at the sensitive buds, sending jolts of pleasure racing through her.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, a keening moan escaping her lips. Her hips met his thrusts eagerly, her inner walls clenching around his thick cock as she chased her rapidly approaching orgasm.

Simon's grip on her tits tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he drove into her with reckless abandon. The couch creaked beneath them, the wood straining against the force of hist thrusts.

"I'll fuck you until you can't walk straight." He promised, voice a low, menacing rumble. Cock pouding mercilessly against her cervix.

Her vision blurred, mind consumed by the pleasure. She could feel her orgasm building, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over her with each merciless stroke of Simon's cock.

"Cum for me, love." He commanded, his breath hot against her ear.

His thrusts became erratic, hips jerking wildly as he chased his own climax. With a groan he buried himself to the hilt, his hot cum flooding her womb.

"Yes, take it all like the perfect girl you are." He snarled, his cock twitching as he pumped her full of his cum. The girl felt each pulse of his semen, her insides clenching around him as she milked him dry.

As the last drops of his cum painted her inner walls, the girl collapsed againsts Simon, laying lip in his embrace, body utterly spent.

P!Links:

https://x.com/SensualArchives/status/1905026483632169094

https://x.com/brattbehaviour/status/1929662676046696514

https://x.com/helIishporn/status/1894301288818475044

https://x.com/Ayumi_horny/status/1931586775581098190

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status1781537227203289438

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1931391879980953788

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1781088711234498838

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1681810034248806405

https://x.com/nekoao55/status/1787114053183435000?s=46&t=EI1AjQBT7SWVki1HK-KW4A

https://x.com/mommyrqin/status/1920830449502310850

The kitchen, usually a sterile and functional space for the soldiers, had been transformed into a colorful, chaotic masterpiece of domestic devotion. It looked less like a military mess hall and more like a bakery that had been hit by a whirlwind of sugar and affection.

The countertops were barely visible beneath the sheer volume of treats. Every available surface was occupied. Dozens of perfect golden-brown cookies were spread out on wire racks, their buttery scent competing with the sweet aroma of cooling sponge cake.

Rows of perfectly domed cupcakes stood like little soldiers, sitting cutely their "uniforms" of frosting she learned how to pipe weeks in advance.

Open bags of flour, stray sprinkles that had bounced onto the floor, and a dusting of cocoa powder covered the counters. Used whisks and spatulas were piled neatly in the sink.

The main birthday cake sat in the middle of the island, naked and waiting. Nearby, bowls of colorful buttercream frosting and piping bags were prepped and ready for action.

In the center of this sweet-smelling chaos sat the girl. She was slumped over the heavy wooden dining table, her body surrendered entirely to exhaustion.

Her head rested on her folded arms, her forehead pressed against the cool surface of the wood. A stray lock of hair had fallen across her face, fluttering slightly with every rhythmic, quiet snore. She looked peaceful, a sharp contrast to the tactical gear and tired eyes of the men standing in the doorway.

Right next to her elbow sat a lone birthday hat and a box of candles, as if she had been reaching for them before her eyes finally stayed shut for good. Above her, the hand-painted banner swayed: "Happy Birthday Johnny <3!" The flickering overhead light caught the smudge of flour on her temple, a badge of honor from her hours of work.

Her eyes were heavy and dry, begging for a moment of rest, but she didn't want to lie down until she had decorated the cake and celebrated with the sergeant, she was determined to do so.

Slowly, she fell asleep, losing the fight completely. Snoring gently, enjoying the silence of the base since everyone had gone away for the holiday.

The team had been back on base for less than an hour, and the plan was already set: drop the gear, scrub off the grime of the field, and head straight to the local pub to drown the mission’s adrenaline in a round of cold pints for Soap’s birthday.

But as they cut through the communal kitchen to reach the barracks, the group came to a dead halt.

"Mate, look at that." Ghost pointed to the girl who was still sleeping.

Her breathing was slow and deep, a soft, rhythmic snore escaping her every few seconds. She was still wearing an apron over her clothes, and a streak of dried frosting decorated her forearm. She looked completely spent, the victim of a marathon baking session meant entirely for the man currently standing in the doorway.

"The bar?" Gaz whispered, looking at the cupcakes. "I think the party's already here, you lucky bastard."

Ghost leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. He looked at the girl, then back at Soap, his voice a low rumble. "You go to the pub, you're an bloody idiot."

Soap didn't answer right away. He stepped into the kitchen, his heavy boots clicking softly on the tile as he approached her. He looked at the empty cake layers waiting for their frosting and the tired slump of her shoulders. The pub was the last place he wanted to be now.

"Change of plans." Soap murmured, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and genuine affection. "We’re stayin' here."

Gaz and Ghost stood behind Soap, their eyes wide as they surveyed the mountain of food.

"Blimey." Gaz whispered, reaching out a hand toward a tray of cookies. "I think she’s baked enough to feed the SAS and the KorTac combined. Is that... is that homemade fudge?"

"Hands off, Sergeant." Soap snapped, though his voice remained a low, protective growl so he wouldn't wake her. He stepped forward, positioning his broad frame between the table and his teammates like a shield.

"Oh, aye? Getting territorial already, Johnny?" Gaz grinned, nudging Ghost. "Look at him. Two weeks in the dirt and he’s ready to fight us over a biscuit."

"It’s no' just a 'biscuit'." Soap hissed, his Scottish accent thickening with his rising protectiveness. "She’s worked herself to the bone for my birthday. Look at her! She’s absolutely knackered because of me."

Ghost leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes hidden behind his mask but his amusement clear. "We should probably call Price. Tell him the mission was a success, but we’ve lost MacTavish to a sugar coma. Maybe the Captain wants a cupcake."

"Ye’ll do no such thing!" Soap turned on them, his eyes narrowed. "Price can find his own baker. This is... this is mine. All of it. The cookies, the cupcakes, and especially the lass. You lot can go to the pub and find your own party."

"She’s literally snoring, Soap." Gaz teased, pointing at her. "She won't know if I nick just one."

Soap stepped right into Gaz's space, looking every bit the lethal Sergeant, despite the fact that he was currently protecting a pile of sprinkles. "Touch a single crumb, Kyle, and I’ll have ye doing burpees until your lungs give out. I mean it. This was for me. She stayed up waitin' for me."

He turned back to look at her, his expression softening so rapidly it was almost comical. The girl let out a particularly loud, adorable snuffle in her sleep and shifted her head on her arms.

"Look at that." Soap murmured, his voice melting into something warm and syrupy. "Bless her heart. She’s got flour in her hair and everything. She’s a wee diamond, isn't she?"

"You're whipped, MacTavish." Ghost rumbled, though there was a hint of rare fondness in his tone. "Utterly gone."

"Aye, and what of it?" Soap countered, not taking his eyes off her. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering just an inch above her hair, wanting to touch her but terrified of breaking the peace she’d finally found. "Go on then, get out. Go find a cold pint and leave us be. I’m stayin’ right here with my girl."

Soap didn’t wait for Ghost and Gaz to make a move, he simply dragged a heavy wooden chair over to the table, the legs screeching quietly against the floorboards, and sat down with a satisfied grunt. He was still wearing his tactical vest, a stark contrast to the small, flour-dusted figure sleeping on his arms, but he seemed entirely unbothered by the discomfort.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he finally let his hand rest gently on top of her head, his thick fingers barely brushing against the flour-dusted hair. He didn't stroke it, afraid the movement might wake her, but just kept his hand there, a silent anchor.

"Look at you." He whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, ignoring the muffled sound of Gaz grumbling something about 'disgusting domesticity' as he and Ghost finally headed toward the door.

The heavy door clicked shut, leaving only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the girl’s quiet, rhythmic breathing. Soap took a deep breath, smelling the vanilla and sugar that clung to her. He watched the way her eyelashes rested against her cheek, the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders, and felt a profound, aching sense of peace.  

A few minutes passed in contented silence before her rhythmic breathing hitched. A soft, hazy groan escaped her, and she shifted, her face rubbing against her arms before she finally lifted her head. Her eyes, heavy with sleep and slightly unfocused, blinked slowly against the dim kitchen light.

As she blinked again, she found herself staring directly into Johnny’s intense, cerulean eyes. The sheer warmth and adoration radiating from him seemed to anchor her instantly, brushing away the fog of sleep.

"Johnny..." She murmured, her voice thick and raspy, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. She reached out, tracing the rough line of his jaw with a sluggish finger, entirely unbothered by the tactical gear he was still wearing. "You're here. You made it back."

But as reality fully set in, her smile faded, replaced by a look of genuine disappointment. She looked down at the sheer volume of sprinkled cookies littering the table, then back at him, her bottom lip wobbling slightly.

"I fell asleep." She whispered sadly, a tear welling up in the corner of her eye. "I wanted to make these for you, properly. I wanted to have everything ready when you walked in. It was supposed to be a surprise, but I just... I ruined it."

Soap felt his heart expand to an almost painful degree. He acted without thinking, moving his hand from her head to cup her cheek, his calloused thumb gently wiping away the stray tear. He leaned in closer, his blue eyes fierce with sincerity.

"Ruined it?" He soft-spoken, his accent thick and comforting in the quiet room. "Ach, lass, look at me."

He waited until her eyes met his again.

"This is the best surprise ye could ever get me." He said, his voice dropping to a rough, tender whisper. "Not a single thing is ruined."

A slow, genuine smile spread across her face, chasing away the last of the sadness as his words sank in. The tear dried on her cheek, forgotten.

"You really think so?" She asked softly, leaning into his hand, loving the rough texture of his skin against her cheek.

"I know so, bonnie." Soap murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes with a quiet intensity.

Without taking his hand from her face, he leaned forward, hovering just a breath away. The air in the kitchen felt charged, heavy with the scent of vanilla and something distinctly him, soap and steel. The contrast between her soft warmth and his rugged armor was palpable, but in that moment, it didn't matter.

He kissed her, gentle, sweet at first, testing, then deeper, a quiet testament to the relief of being home. It was a slow, deliberate kiss that spoke volumes about how much he missed her and how desperately he had needed this peace. Her hands moved from his jaw to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his vest as she met him with equal fervor.

When they broke apart, breathless, she rested her forehead against his, her eyes still hazy but filled with a new kind of light. She didn't care about the tactical gear rubbing against her sweater, and she didn't care about the hard plates of his vest digging into her ribs.

One of his hands traveled down her body, the rough calloused palm dragging over her skin until he reached the waistband of her underwear, hooking a finger beneath the fabric. Simultaneously, his other hand reached up, his large fingers lightly but possessively grabbing the back of her neck.

He pressed his nose deep into her hair, inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo, and let out the most sinful groan she had ever heard, a deep, jagged sound of pure, unadulterated hunger.

Her heart hammering against her ribs. Soap let out a low, shaky breath, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her knees buckle, the room felt suddenly very small. 

Blue cerulean eyes looked down at the mountain of brownies, then back at her, a lopsided, hungry grin breaking through his exhaustion. The girl dumbly tried to chase his lips, kissing him sloppily.

"Not here, bonnie." He rumbled against her lips, the vibration of his voice sending a shiver straight down her pussy.

Johnny didn't wait for her to answer before pulling back, standing up and reaching down to scoop her up into his arms, tactical gear and all. The hem of her sweater bunched against his forearms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as she sought stability against the cold, hard plates of his vest.

Soap layed back on the tub, his long legs stretching out as the water beat against his broad shoulders. He looked up at her, his blue eyes softened by the haze of the room. 

The sensation of her soft tits, her curves meeting the hard, wet planes of his chest caused his breath to hitch. He let out a shaky exhale.

She reached for the bottle of shampoo, her fingers slick with lather as she stepped between his knees. As she began to massage the soap into his short, dark hair, Soap let out a long, shuddering breath. His forehead dropped forward, thick arms wrapping loosely around her waist.

As she worked the lather into his hair, her fingers massaging his scalp with a firm, rhythmic grace, Soap let out a low, gutteral groan that vibrated through her entire body  

"I could stay right here for a week." He murmured, his voice thick. He leaned his weight into her, his face hidden on her tits.

"Suck." Johnny pops two fingers inside her mouth, she struggles to coat them in saliva, wet tongue sliding against his thick fingers. "That's my beautiful bonnie."

His hand left her waist, his calloused palm grazing over her skin before his fingers dipped lower, slick with the water and the lather he’d been so intent on washing away moments ago. It made her breath hitch, a sharp gasp that echoed off the tiled walls when his fingers lazily touched her folds, the rough pads caressing the inside of her thighs, finding her aching untouched pussy.

"Johnny..." She breathed, the name a broken plea, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging into the wet, hard muscles of his traps when he fed two fingers to her hungry pussy.

He let out a low, guttural growl that vibrated deep in his chest, a sound of pure, unrefined possessiveness, her warm walls clang for life on his fingers, almost cutting its blood circulation.

Johnny began to move, his fingers finding a rhythm that was steady and demanding, a stark, agonizing contrast to the gentleness he had shown her earlier. Her head falling back against his shoulder as his free hand moved up to lock around her jaw, forcing her to look at him, forcing her to stare into his big puppy eyes.

He looked wrecked, utterly undone by the sight of her pleasure.

"Look at me, bonnie." He rasped, his voice a scorched, uneven vibration against her neck. "I want to see exactly what you're doing to me."

He pressed his thumb against her button, his rhythm quickening, insistent and hungry. The wetness easing his movements, the stickiness coating his fingers and glueing them to her pussy, like they belonged there.

She whines, feeling overstimulated. "More." She cries, eyes rolling until she saw white.

Johnny smirks mockingly. "I can't hear you, wee lass." He murmurs, halting completely his movements. Fat tears rolling down her puffy cheeks, as she thrashed in his hold, desperate to feel his fingers.

"Pl-Please" I need it, so bad! Plea-" He cuts her off with a searing kiss, warm plush lips against hers. Johnny sneakily pushed two more fingers, reaching impossibly deep places as he pistoned them in and out, almost reaching her womb.

She wails, feeling full, he sped up his movements, the wet and warm noise filled the cold room.

Her hand useless grabs the slippery porcelain edge of the tub, trying to ride his fingers, but her legs were long gone.

"That’s it." He groaned, his jaw tightening as he felt her muscles begin to pulse and clench around his fingers, a silent, desperate surrender. "Don't you dare hide from me. I want every bit of it."

His thumb hooked and pressed, a punishing, rhythmic demand that sent a white-hot shockwave through her. He was watching her every expression, every dilation of her pupils, fueling his own unraveling.

"Come, my little bonnie. Make a mess on my fingers." He growled, and she, ever the obedient one, did as she was told, creaming all over his fingers.

Johnny didn’t pull away. With his hand still firmly anchored on her hips, he shifted his weight, his movement deliberate and heavy with a renewed, aching hunger.

He guided her until she was positioned just right, mushroom head poking her pussy, his eyes never leaving hers, dark and clouded with a possessive intensity that made her pulse jump. The steam in the room seemed to thicken, pressing in on them as he slowly, inevitably, pushed inside.

His hands, which had been gripping her hips with possessive force, softened. His thumbs began to trace slow, deliberate circles over her hip bones, his touch trembling just a fraction. He felt the easeness in her muscles, the way she was waiting for his next move, like a obedient pretty bonnie.

His expression was stripped bare. The predatory hunger had receded, replaced by a raw, searching vulnerability that made his heart ache. He didn't speak, voice too coarse for it, but his gaze was a question. His blue eyes, wide and dilated, searched her face with a desperate intensity, looking for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of doubt.

He tilted his chin slightly, his jaw tight, his entire body poised in a state of exquisite, agonizing restraint. It was a silent, primal plea.

She dumbly nodded, too lost, whimpering.

Johnny's entire body rocked when his cock easily slides through her folds, she gasped, the sound sharp and breathy, her head lolling back against his shoulder. Her hands flew up, clutching at his forearms, her fingers digging into his skin as she tried to pull him even deeper, needing to feel the entirety of him.

"Johnny..." She breathed, the name coming out as a shaky, broken exhale.  

He didn't move, but his hands tightened on her hips, his thumbs digging into her skin, anchoring her against him. He let out a low, ragged sound against her neck that vibrated right through her spine.

"I know." He rasped, his voice sounding raw and dangerously thin. "I know, bonnie. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

She felt a fresh wave of heat bloom in her chest, a mixture of intense pleasure and a crushing, protective love for the man. She shifted slightly, her chest pressing more firmly against his chest, her hands sliding down to cover his on her hips.

"I'm so full." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the rush of the water. "It feels like you're taking up every bit of me. Can feel you on my throat."

At her words, he let out a sharp, jagged gasp. He finally pulled back just enough to look at her, leaning in, his nose brushing against hers, his lips hovering just a fraction of an inch from her own. He was waiting, his breath hitching, before he began the first, slow, agonizingly deliberate movement—a tectonic shift that sent a jolt of pure fire straight to the center of her.

"Stick your tongue." She obediently did as told, and Soap wrapped his lips in the wet muscle, sucking on it. 

Her legs turning into jelly, brain foggy. He sucked on her tongue like a lollipop, hand pawing at her tits, playing with her nipples.

Leaky cock filling her whole, rutting into her at a inhumanly strength.

Johnny groans as he stops the dirty scene, a string of saliva connecting their mouths. "C'mon bonnie, ride me. Take what you need." He breathed.

The realization that she was in control sent a jolt of power straight through her, sharp and intoxicating. Johnny was completely at her mercy, his eyes blown wide, his hands still anchored firmly to her hips but now offering no resistance, only a desperate, steadying support.

She felt his heartbeat, a thundering, irregular rhythm, pulsing against her spine. 

"I've got you, Johnny." She whispered, voice barely audible.

She took a slow, shaky breath and shifted. She pushed her hips back, feeling the agonizingly slow glide of him filling her even more deeply, a sensation so intense it made her vision swim. She held her breath as she moved, savoring the way his jaw unhinged, the way his head fell back against the cool tiles with a soundless, strangled plea for mercy.

Her pussy clinging to his cock, marking it as only hers.

Bodies moving in sync, Johnny's delicious moans filled her ears, his hands desperately gripped on her waist, trying to help her movements but also to stabilize himself. 

She pressed her lips against his, groaning when he eagerly opened his mouth, and she sucked on his tongue. The kiss was messy, full of spit as their tongues fighted for dominance, rubbing against each other.

"I-I am going to fuck you so good, you won't be able to walk afterwards."

A wicked grin spreads across Johnny's face at her stuttered, hollow threat, his cerulean blue eyes gleaming with excitement, a deep chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"Oh, you're a feisty little thing, ain't ya? My feisty little thing." His large hands roam over her curves, squeezing and kneading the fat on her hips, her plump breasts.

"But I'm going to be the one doing that tonight." Johnny stood up from the bathtub, water cold by now, carefully positioning the girl's upper body on a towel by the sink, the fuzzy fabric rubbing against her raw nipples.

Her sore pussy and ass on display like a gift for Johnny to take, folds gaping open, oozing their mixed seed, dripping on the floor.

Her legs were dangling on the counter, since her toes didn't reach the floor. Johnny grabbed her hips for leverage, positioning his weeping cock in her pussy.

The girl whimpers, grabbing anything in front of her to stabilize herself, 

"That cunt belongs to me now, my little bonnie." A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. He roughly palmed her aching pussy.

She cries, hips unsconsciously moving in a desperate attempt to rub herself against his rough fingers.

Johnny notched the swollen head at her pussy, teasing her with shallow thrusts. The sight of her presented ass like a fucking gift sends a jolt of pure, animalistic hunger through Soap

With a guttural groan, he slams forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"Fuck, bo-bonnie!" The man sets a punishing pace, hips snapping against her ass with a vicious force, toned thighs shaking like leafs.

Each thrust is punctuated by the obscene slap of skin on skin and his harsh, ragged grunts. His bulbuous head meeting her womb, kissing it.

"C'mon, take it." He snarls, lowering himself, teeth finding the juncture of her neck and shoulder, biting down hard wnough to leave a vivid hickey, one hand grabbing the edge of the counter with force enough to crack the marble, knuckles white. "Gonna fill you to the brim."

"Mmm, yo-you're so deep." She cries a breathless moan, wriggling without any intention to get away from his embrace. His tight balls slapping against her clit in a lewd rhythm.

He fucked her with abandon, thick cock stretching her walls just perfectly. "Gonna empty my balls inside you, my little bonnie." He snarled, grip on her fat hips bruising. "Milk my cock dry with that greedy pussy."

The girl's high-pitched cries, Johnny's animalistic grunts, and the obscene slap of flesh meeting flesh filled the small room.

Soap's thrusts grew erratic, cock throbbing inside her pussy as he neared his climax. With a final push, he buried himself to the root, his bulbuous head kissing her womb, and held still, his seed erupting in powerful spurts.

"FUCK!" He roared, his body shuddering as he emptied himself deep in her pussy, claiming her from the inside.

She convulsed around him, little pussy milking his cock for every drop as she came on his length, their mixed seed bubbling out.

The sensation of his hot cum filling her womb sent her spiraling into bliss. She stayed there, on the counter, body too spent to even think of moving.

Johnny's softening cock slipped from her well-used hole, a trickle of their combined fluids leakind down her thigh.

"That's a good bonnie." He purred, voice husky with a satisfaction. "You took my cum like a champ."

Soap lifted his head, capturing her lips in a tender kiss that belied the ferocity of their earlier fucking. His cerulean eyes gleamed with a possessive light.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up." Johnny murmured, scooping her into his arms, and cradling her against his chest. "We have a lot to catch up ... a lot more fucking to do."

Her poor pussy.

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1893708571084280174

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1691078830012702720

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1680691724362866690

https://x.com/domcnc/status/1936799780543287726

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1938305280363647096

The air in the office grew thick, but she hardly noticed. Her entire world was currently narrowed down to the man standing just a few feet away: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick.

To her, Gaz was the steady heartbeat of the base. She was mesmerized by the way he moved with such practiced ease, the quiet intelligence in his eyes, and even the way he’d occasionally offer her a small, knowing smile that made her stomach do a nervous little flip. Next to that kind of grounded, rugged sincerity, everything else was just background noise.

"Philip." Price grunted, not looking up from his paperwork. "She’s an intern, not a new piece of kit. Take a seat or get out."

Graves didn't take a seat. Instead, he prowled closer, his boots clicking rhythmically on the linoleum. He deliberately stepped into her line of sight, blocking her view of Gaz.

"A name like that deserves a better introduction." Graves said, his voice dropping into a smooth, low honey. He reached out, his fingers ghosting near her shoulder as he adjusted his aviators. "Tell me, darlin', do they actually give you a break around here? Or do these boys just keep you locked away like a secret?"

She blinked, momentarily broken out of her trance. She looked at Graves with a polite, puzzled expression, the kind one might give a particularly loud bird, before leaning slightly to the left just to see around him. Gaz was right there, leaning against a filing cabinet, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression and a tightened jaw.

Graves, undeterred by the lack of a blushing reaction, leaned down until he was at eye level with her. "I've got a bird waiting on the tarmac. Could use some company on the flight back to HQ. Better coffee, better views, and significantly better conversation."

He was laying it on thick, his grin flashing with predatory confidence. He waited for the stutter, the giggle, or the shy look away.

Instead, she stood up, gathered her tablet to her chest, and completely bypassed him. It was as if Graves were made of glass. Her eyes locked onto Gaz, and her face instantly softened, a genuine, radiant warmth flooding her features that she hadn't even hinted at for the Commander.

"I finished those reports you asked for." She said softly, her voice skipping with a hint of excitement. She stepped toward the door, pausing just long enough to look back at the Sergeant.

"Gaz? I have a few questions about the field notes... follow me?"

"Look how greedy this cock is." She teases, nails softly raking on Gaz's toned chest, every pulse of her core made the man audibly gasp. 

Her puffy folds split on Gaz's weeping cock, not quite full of it, warm walls clinging to his shaft.

"Want you to pump me so full of your delicious cum." She cries, rubbing herself slowly, coating his long member in her slick. Gaz looks up in awe, positioned on his elbows, he watches as the girl played with her breasts through his worn shirt that she stole from his closet. 

She looked lost on her own world, desperate to feel the only cock that hasn't claimed her yet fill her insides, to destroy her womb. Head thrown in pleasure, she whined everytime his angry mushroom head touched her clit. "Want my full tummy so warm with your milk."

"B-But Gr-Graves." Gaz meekily whimpers, the ugly jealously green monster still inside of him. He still remembered how Graves lingered too close for comfort, trying to be touchy with their girl at all costs.

"Graves cannot give me that." She turned serious suddenly halting her movements, the man weakliy whines but is shushed by the girl. "And you are not exiting this room until that is inside that thick skull of yours, baby." She punctues each word with a soft boop of her thumb on Gaz's sweaty forehead.

The girl slowly took off her his shirt, exposing her tits to the man, nipples already hard. Gaz had a mesmerized look on his face, his mouth watering at the sight, tongue begging to feel the velvety skill of her nipples.

She guides Gaz's trembling hands to her waist, putting her own on his strong abdomen to ease her movements, raking her nails all over the expanse of it.

Sensually sucking two fingers, and resume her humping, playing with the mushroom head, teasing its entrance. Gaz moans, urging her to go faster.

Gaz's warm brown eyes rolled back in ecstasy as her wet folds enveloped his cock, he gasps for air as pleasure rippled through his body.

"Pl-Please! Ride me!" He begs, desperate for any kind of release, the girl was slowly rubbing herself on his shaft, each clench of her warm pussy made his eyes go to the back of his skull. 

"Say it, please." She whimpers, 

"Claim this dick! It's y-yours!" He cries, already feeling pussydrunk.

His cock slipped inside her walls and they both cried in unison, filling her whole in one, easy thrust.

"Biiiig stretch." She chuckles menacingly.

Gaz chokes a strangled cry of pleasure, his head falling back against the mattress, his beautiful eyes rolling up towards the celling. "Oh...yes..right there my love." 

"Hmmm...you're filling me so good, Kyle." 

Gaz nods his head dumbly, handsome face contorting, chest drenched in sweat, thighs clenching as he tried his best to thrust up, humping her pussy, their hips colliding against each other.

"T...too big for you, babygirl?" He looks up in awe, stars in his eyes as he lost himself in the mirage in front of him.

He must have died and this is fucking heaven.

Her plump breasts jumping, a drop of sweat dripping in the middle of them, and Gaz wished more than anything to lick that drop clean. Her abdomen clenching wildly, the faint outline of his cock nestled deep inside her, marking her up as his.

"Yesss <3. So big, baby. Want you to fill me up whole." She moans loudly, 

"Graves cannot fuck me like that, only you."

Trembling hands grabbing possessively her waist, easing her movements. His eyes glaze over, breath comes in ragged gasps, fingers digging deep into the fat of her hips, holding her steady for each brutal thrust.

Ramming her insides, long dick coated in their mixed juices, a white cream ring around its base. She clenches her pussy purpously, seeing Gaz's eyes roll into the back of his skull, her walls getting impossibly tighter.

His weeping cock slipped out of her, strings of wet juices connecting them together, angry bulbuous head pulsing with need, missing its warm, clingy nest. Gaz's entire body tenses, calves digging deep into the mattress, he softly whimpers.

"Look at you. So perfect, already so pussydrunk." 

Reaching one hand to rub on her pulsing clit, her slick coating her palm. 

She gave Gaz no time to regain his breath, and impaled herself on his cock again, resuming her brutal riding. 

"C'mon, you can do it, breed me." She wailed. "You're my good boy, my best boy."

Gaz, in a small burst of energy, grabbed her waist, pulling her upper chest to met his awaiting mouth, glueing her sweaty body against his.

Mouth latching onto a pert nipple and sucking into his mouth like a puppy trying to drink milk from its source.

The girl cried out, arching onto him, pressing her chest even more against his face.

"Come on my cock, love. Dre-Drench me." He begs, voice muffled by her pillowy tits. Mouth descending upon her breasts like a starving man at a feast. He sucked and licked, tongue swirling around each nipple in turn as he savored the taste of her skin.

"Mmm, you're so delicious." He murmured tiredly against her flesh, words vibrating through her chest. Gaz alternated between gentle sucks and sneaky bites, sending jolts of pleasure-pain shooting straight to her pussy.

Her screams are muffled by his lips when water gushes from her sore pussy, drenching her and Gaz's stomach and abdomen. She wails against his lips when Gaz spilled inside her pussy, so deep she could feel it filling her womb.

Squeezing him dry, milking him for everything he is worth, his seed is enough to bubble out of their spent up bodies.

"Yes, my best boy, you did so well, I'm so proud of you." She smiles, sweetly pinching his cheeks, laying her head on his sweaty chest. Neither really in the mood or with the strength to get up.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

A Rescue by Routine (Leon Kennedy X Reader +18

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy it, I got a little bit carried away with it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning.

It was SUPPOSED to be slow-burning, but i got excited, ngl.

Warnings: Fluff (I guess? I'm not really good at it), Smut, Cunnilingus, Blowjob, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, Vaginal Sex, Creamping and Unrealistic Hiperspermia. SHITTY ADA I'm sorryyy, I love Ada :(

Pairing: Older!Leon Kennedy x Virgin!Reader

Word count: Only God knows, almost 40 fucking pages on Word.

Leon leaned against the kitchen counter, the familiar scent of his mother’s lasagna filling the air. This was a practical arrangement—a way to survive the rent and a friendly face for Luis while Leon pulled crushing hours. Simple. Or so he’d told himself.

“Mom.” His tone was firm, sharp, cutting the topic short. “We are not having this conversation right now.”

His mother raised her hands in a mock gesture of surrender, but the damage was done. Just the mention of Ada made Leon’s chest feel tight. Ada was a cycle he couldn’t break—a recurring fever dream of red silk, cryptic warnings, and the bitter taste of being left behind.

She was an addiction he was trying to sweat out, a "relationship" that existed only in the shadows and left him feeling more like a chess piece than a man.

He was tired of the games. He was tired of looking over his shoulder for a woman who only showed up when she needed something.

The chime of the doorbell broke the tension.

“They’re here!” His mother happily chirped, flying to the door.

Leon let out a slow breath, straightening his posture. He expected the "kid"—the chubby little shadow who used to sit outside his bedroom door, silent and wide-eyed, watching him play video games like he was the center of the universe. He remembered knees, elbows, and messy pigtails.

The door swung open, and the breath he’d just taken hitched in his throat.

Leon froze. The image of the "bug" vanished, replaced by the woman standing in his entryway. She was... striking. The soft roundness of her childhood was gone, replaced by a delicate, elegant jawline and eyes that seemed to hold a thousand quiet stories.

She looked small under a comically large backpack, but there was a grace to her movement that made the air in the room feel suddenly very thin.

She laughed softly as Leon’s mother enveloped her in a hug, and the sound was like a melody Leon hadn't realized he'd been missing.

Leon stepped forward, his hands suddenly feeling clumsy as he gripped a dish towel. When she turned to him, her smile faltered into a wave of breathless shyness.

“Hi, Mr. Kennedy.” She whispered, her voice a soft, airy exhalation that made his name sound entirely new.

Leon didn't answer immediately. He was too busy noticing the way the hallway light shined in her hair and the nervous way she tucked a stray lock behind her ear. He felt a strange, frantic thrum in his chest—a sudden, fierce realization that the "kid" was gone, and something much more dangerous to his peace of mind had arrived.

He felt a strange, ...dizzying sense of awe. This girl’s warmth felt like stepping into the sun after a decade in a cellar. He found himself staring at the way her hair fell over her shoulder, feeling a sudden, fierce urge to protect that softness from the kind of world he lived in.  

“Hey.” Leon finally managed, his voice deeper than usual. He saw her freeze, her eyes wide and searching, and the old protective instinct surged up—but it was mixed with something warmer, something he couldn't quite name.

He dropped his guard, his expression melting into a look of genuine wonder. “C’mon, bug.” He said, his voice dropping to a low, tender rumble. “Don’t be shy. Get over here.”

The relief in her eyes was instant. She dropped her bag and stepped into his space. When Leon pulled her into a hug, he didn't just feel a guest, he felt the delicate press of her against his chest and caught the intoxicating scent of rain and lavender. 

He forced himself to relax, his heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with her.

When she stepped into his arms, the contrast was final. She didn't smell like gunpowder or expensive, cold perfume. She smelled like lavender and home. As he held her, Leon felt a massive shift in his chest. He held her a second longer than necessary, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.

“It’s been a long time, kid.” He murmured, though the word 'kid' felt like a lie on his tongue.

She pulled back, flushing softly, and dropped to her knees to greet Luis. Leon didn't move. He just leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized. He watched the way her hands moved—gentle and sure—scratching the german shepperd behind his ears, her face lighting up with a pure, radiant joy as the dog licked her cheek.

Leon realized he was staring. He couldn't help it. The apartment, which had felt like a cold, utilitarian space only an hour ago, was suddenly glowing.

“Looks like you’ve been approved.” He said, his voice soft with a warmth he hadn't felt in years. “Luis’s a harsh judge.”

She looked up at him, her kind eyes sparkling with a light that made Leon’s heart skip a beat. “He’s perfect, Leon.”

Leon lingered for a moment, just soaking in the sight of her. “Dinner’s ready in five.” He said, a small, dazed smile touching his lips. “Let’s get you settled.”

Leon maneuvered his solid, dark gray Jeep into his reserved spot, ten minutes late. The memory of her anxious grip on his fingers—and the way she’d looked at the "granite building" like it was a dragon she had to slay—still lingered in the back of his mind. He felt strangely steady, a protective hum under his skin that was a far cry from his usual morning cynicism.

He stepped out of the elevator into the sleek, aggressively modern office. The rapid clacking of keyboards and the bitter smell of burnt espresso immediately tried to hijack his mood.

He dropped his briefcase, barely having time to shrug off his damp coat before Redfield materialized beside him, clutching a "World's Best Brother" mug (which Claire had definitely bought him as a joke) and radiating the energy of a man who had already run five miles and wrestled a bear.

"Morning, sunshine." Chris boomed, way too loud for the hour. "You look... different. Did you actually sleep? Or did you finally find a moisturizer that works?"

Leon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Traffic was rough. I was playing chauffeur for my... roommate." He hesitated, his usual cool facade slipping into something softer. "She started her internship today, was a little nervous. I just wanted to make sure she didn't get eaten alive by the lobby elevators."

Chris’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. "A ride? You? The man who treats his Jeep like a sacred temple? You're running a shuttle service for a civilian, Kennedy? Next thing I know, you'll be braiding hair and packing juice boxes."

Leon retorted, rolling his eyes as he sat down. "And she's a grown woman. Mostly."

"A grown woman!" Valentine chirped, leaning over the partition from the next desk with a grin. She was spinning a pen between her fingers, her eyes bright with curiosity. "A real grown woman, not the plastic shit Chris kee-"

Claire wandered over, leaning her elbows on Leon’s desk and ignoring her brother’s offended squawk. "He’s dusting off those big-brother skills, Jill. Look at him—he’s got that 'proud dad' furrow in his brow. It’s okay, Leon. We won't tell the guys at the gym you've developed a soul."

"It’s purely transactional." Leon insisted, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "She helps with Luis, my mom stops calling me every hour to ask if I'm eating vegetables. Win-win."

"Is it, Leon?"

The voice was like a silk ribbon—beautiful, but capable of strangling. The group's laughter died instantly as Ada stepped out from behind a glass pillar. She looked effortlessly lethal in a tailored red dress, her expression a mix of cool amusement and something sharper, something that tasted like cold iron.

"It sounds terribly... cozy." Ada continued, her eyes raking over Leon with a precision that usually made his heart race. "Driving your little roommate and her giant backpack. It doesn't quite fit the 'lone wolf' brand you’ve worked so hard to cultivate, does it?"

Leon felt the familiar spike of tension, but instead of the usual breathless pull, he felt a strange sense of detachment. He looked at Ada—her perfect hair, her calculated smile, her aura of secrets—and then he thought of the girl in the Jeep who had accidentally gotten a smudge of toothpaste on her chin and thanked him three times for the ride.

"Traffic is shit, Ada. It was convenient." He stated, his tone flat. He met her gaze, and for the first time, he didn't feel like he was losing a game. He felt like he had stopped playing it.

Ada’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine, icy resentment crossing her face.

Before the tension could snap, a deep, resonant voice boomed from the glass office.

"Is this a support group or a place of business?"

Albert Wesker stood at his door, his sunglasses reflecting the harsh office lights. The air in the room didn't just cool, it froze.

"Chris, Jill, Claire—unless you’ve discovered a way to monetize gossip, return to your desks." Wesker commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibration.

The three of them scattered with a synchronized, "Yes, sir." though Claire shot Leon a quick, supportive wink before she vanished. Leon sat back, pulling his keyboard toward him and ignoring the lingering, predatory stare Ada was still burning into the side of his head.

He looked at his computer screen, but his mind was already calculating exactly how many hours were left until he could pick her up.

The silence Wesker left behind lasted exactly three seconds before Chris leaned over the partition, his face a picture of exaggerated concern.

"So." Chris whispered, loud enough for the entire marketing department to hear. "The 'roommate.' Does she have a name, or are we just calling her 'The Reason Leon Forgot To Be Grumpy'?"

Leon didn't look up from his monitor. "Her name is... a secret I'm keeping for her own safety so you don't scare her off with your energy, Redfield."

"Ouch." Jill chimed in, swiveling her chair around with a grin. She was clicking a pen rhythmically. "He’s getting defensive. That’s adorable. Does she think you just sit here and look pretty in expensive sweaters all day?"

"She thinks I'm a boring corporate drone." Leon muttered, finally cracking a tiny smile. "Let’s keep it that way. It’s better if she doesn't know how much of my life is spent looking at pivot tables."

Claire walked by, dropping a stack of quarterly reports on Leon's desk and leaning in close. "I bet she’s the one who made him the omelet. Look at him, Jill. He’s glowing. He’s got that 'I had a balanced breakfast and a hug' radiance."

"I made the omelet!" Leon protested, finally looking up.

"Even worse!" Chris barked a laugh, slapping the desk. "Leon Kennedy, the man who lived on black coffee for three years, is out here cracking eggs? What’s next? Matching aprons? Are you going to start bringing us Tupperware containers of leftovers?"

"If he brings his mom's lasagna, I’m moving in too." Jill added, winking at Leon.

The laughter was warm and genuine, the kind of easy camaraderie that usually acted as Leon’s shield against the stresses of the firm. But as the jokes flew, he felt a familiar, cold shadow fall over the group.

Ada hadn't moved. She was still leaning against that marble pillar, watching the display with the detached curiosity of a high-end auditor looking at a failing branch.

"It’s charming." Ada said, her voice cutting through the laughter like a papercut. "The way you all play-act at being a work family. I wonder, Leon... does she know about the 'other' woman in your life? The one who knows exactly how you look when you're... stressed by a deadline?"

The air in the circle went stone-cold. Chris’s grin vanished, and Claire’s expression hardened. The playful office vibe instantly shifted into "protective unit."

"She’s a roommate, Ada." Claire said, her voice steady and professional. "Not a client you can manipulate. Maybe keep the corporate mind games for the boardroom."

Leon felt the familiar pull of Ada’s gravity—that dark, magnetic tension—but then his phone buzzed in his pocket. The Bug. He didn't look at Ada. He didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he looked at his friends—the people who actually saw him.

"She doesn't need to know anything about the 'other' woman, Ada." Leon said, his voice quiet and devastatingly final. "Because that woman is part of a contract I’m finished renewing."

Ada’s eyes flashed—a rare, brief flicker of genuine surprise—before her mask of boredom slid back into place. "Careful, Leon." She purred, though there was a new edge to her tone. "Uncomplicated things tend to get crushed very easily in this industry."

"Not if you're strong enough to protect them." Leon replied.

He turned back to his computer, the playful banter of his friends still echoing in his mind like a safety net. He felt a newfound sense of clarity.

The 5:00 PM rush was a sea of gray suits and frantic energy, but Leon stood by his Jeep like a lighthouse. Chris, Jill, and Claire were clustered around him, ostensibly "waiting for their rides," but they were actually vibrating with the energy of a pack of golden retrievers at a window.

"I see a backpack!" Chris whispered loudly, standing on his tiptoes. "Is that her? The one with the pins?"

"No, that’s a middle-aged accountant, Redfield. Get a grip." Jill muttered, though she was squinting just as hard.

Leon ignored them, his eyes locked on the heavy revolving doors of the Granite Building. When she finally emerged, looking a little windswept and clutching her lanyard like a trophy, Leon’s heart did that strange, dazed skip again. He didn't even realize he was waving until he saw her face light up.

She hurried over, weaving through the corporate crowd. "Lee!"

"Hey, bug." Leon said, his voice instantly dropping two octaves into something tender. "You survived."

"Barely! I think I scanned three hundred documents and—" She stopped short, her eyes widening as she realized Leon wasn't alone. She looked at the three strangers who were currently staring at her like she was a rare museum exhibit.

"Oh! Hi." She said, her shyness returning in a rush.

"This is the circus." Leon sighed, gesturing to the group. "Chris, Jill, and Claire. They’re... colleagues. Unfortunately."

"We’re his handlers." Claire corrected with a warm smile, finally seeing her face. She nudged Jill. She’s adorable, she mouthed silently.

"I'm Claire. We’ve heard so much about you." Claire said, stepping forward. "And by 'so much,' I mean Leon mentioned an omelet and we’ve been bullying him for three hours."

The girl giggled, a soft, musical sound that made Leon’s chest tighten with pride. "He did make a really good omelet. I didn't know he could cook."

"He can't!" Chris barked, grinning. "He usually eats protein shakes and sadness. You're a miracle worker, kid."

The air seemed to chill. The glass doors behind them hissed open, and Ada stepped out. She didn't walk, she glided, her red heels clicking a predatory rhythm on the concrete. She stopped just a few feet away, pulling a pair of designer sunglasses down her nose to look over the top of them.

The silence was instantaneous.

The girl’s smile faltered. She looked at Ada—who looked like she had just stepped off a Parisian runway—and then back at Leon. She noticed the way Leon’s jaw tightened, the way his body instinctively shifted to stand slightly in front of her.

"Leaving so soon, Leon?" Ada asked, her voice a cool, elegant purr. She didn't even look at the girl, she treated her like a piece of background scenery, which was the ultimate insult. "I thought we might discuss that project over drinks."

"The project is done, Ada." Leon said, his tone final. "And I'm busy."

Ada let out a soft, hummed laugh, her eyes finally flicking to the girl with a look of icy, polished curiosity. "I see. Well. Enjoy your... evening."

With a flick of her hair, Ada turned and disappeared toward a waiting black car.

The silence lingered until the car pulled away. Leon exhaled, the tension leaving his shoulders. "Alright, let's get out of here before Wesker decides to reappear."

As they piled into the Jeep—Chris and the girls still whispering and trying to get one last look at her—the girl leaned toward Leon as he started the engine.

"Leon?" She whispered, her voice laced with a curiosity she couldn't hide. "Who was that? You two looked... I don't know. You looked really close. In a scary way."

Leon gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white for a second before he felt her hand rest tentatively on his arm. He looked at her—really looked at her—and the "awe" came back, stronger than the ghost of Ada ever could be.

"She's just a shadow, bug." Leon said softly, covering her hand with his. "You hungry?"

Her face lit up, the shadow of Ada vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "Starving."

"Good." Leon smiled, and in the rearview mirror, he saw Chris and Claire exchange a look that said, He is so far gone.

The office had been a pressure cooker for seven straight days. Between Wesker’s impossible deadlines and the arrival of the new transfer, Jake Muller, Leon was nearing his breaking point.

Talented, sure, but he was a cynical, aggressive headache who seemed to take pride in questioning every one of Leon’s leads.  

Jake was a nightmare—arrogant, cynical, and seemingly determined to turn every boardroom meeting into a street fight. Leon was exhausted, his tie loosened and his jacket slung over his shoulder as he finally turned the key in his lock at 3:00 AM.

His head throbbed with the remnants of Jake’s shouting and Wesker’s cold, calculated pressure.

The apartment was dark, save for the soft, silvery glow of the moon spilling across the hardwood floors. Leon stepped inside, closing the door with a click that felt too loud for the stillness.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard a soft, shaky intake of breath from the living room.

He peered around the corner, his heart softening instantly. There she was, curled in a ball on the rug, her knees pulled to her chest. She was wearing those oversized, soft pajamas that made her look even smaller.

Luis was lying beside her, his heavy head resting in her lap, his heavt fluffy tail thumping once, twice against the floor as he acknowledged Leon’s presence.

She didn't see him yet. She was looking down at Toby, her fingers trembling slightly as she stroked his ears.

"I'm just not like them, Luis." She whispered, her voice a fragile thread in the dark. "Everyone at the internship is so sharp... so fast. I feel like I'm constantly a step behind. And Leon..." She choked back a small sob.

"He looks so tired when he comes home." She continued, her voice muffled against the dog's ear. "I want to be the person who makes him smile, not the person who adds another problem to his list. Do you think he regrets letting me stay, Luis?"  

Leon felt a sharp, physical ache in his chest. The "awe" he felt for her wasn't just about her radiant face anymore, it was the sheer, unselfish purity of her heart. While he was out there battling corporate sharks, she was here, worried about being a burden to him.

"You're not a burden." Leon said, his voice low and raspy from a day of talking.

She gasped, her head snapping up. Her eyes were wide and shimmering with tears. "Leon! I—I didn't hear you come in. You’re so late... I’m sorry, I was just—"

Leon didn't let her finish. He dropped his jacket on the chair and sank down onto the rug right in front of her. The exhaustion seemed to bleed out of him the moment he looked into her eyes.

"Don't ever apologize for being here." He said, his voice thick with emotion.

He reached out, his large hands gently framing her face. He felt her breath hitch as his thumbs swept away the dampness on her cheeks. "I spent all day dealing with people who are rude and shitty and loud. It’s exhausting. Coming home to you... to this... it’s the only thing keeping me sane right now."

Before she could respond, Leon pulled her into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and Luis at the same time, creating a protective cocoon. He felt her small hands clutch at his shirt, her face hiding in the crook of his neck.

"I don't want a quiet life if you aren't in it." Leon murmured into her hair. He felt her relax, her weight finally leaning fully into him. He caught that faint, calming trace of lavender, and for the first time in seven days, the tension in his jaw finally snapped.

"Jake could yell at me for twelve hours straight." Leon whispered, a small, tired smile touching his lips as he squeezed her closer, "And as long as I get to come home and find you and this old dog on my floor, I’m the luckiest man in the city."

She let out a soft, watery laugh against his shoulder, her arms tightening around him. Luis let out a satisfied huff, closing his eyes as Leon rested his forehead against the top of her head.

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight, a small, hopeful smile finally breaking through her shyness. "Really?"

"Really." Leon whispered. He leaned down and gave Luis a quick, affectionate scratch behind the ears. "And Luis says if you keep doubting yourself, he's going to start eating your shoes as a protest."

She let out a genuine, bright laugh that filled the quiet room, and Leon felt the stress of the entire week simply evaporate. He stayed there on the floor with her and the dog, realizing that no matter how many Jakes or Weskers he had to deal with tomorrow, he was already home.  

The atmosphere in the boardroom on Saturday morning was nothing short of toxic. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but inside, the air was cold enough to frost.

Leon sat at the head of the long glass table, rubbing his temples. Muller was pacing the length of the room like a caged tiger, his voice a harsh grating sound as he picked apart the latest financial projections.

"It’s amateur hour, Kennedy! If we go with your strategy, the firm loses ten percent in the first quarter." Jake snapped, slamming a folder onto the table.

"It’s a long-term play, Jake. Something you’d understand if you looked past your own ego." Leon countered, his voice tight.

Ada sat in the corner, nursing a black coffee, her eyes tracking the argument with a bored, feline amusement. Chris, Jill, and Claire were huddled at the other end, looking like they were ready to stage a mutiny just to get a nap.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the boardroom creaked open.

The entire room went silent. Leon looked up, expecting Wesker to walk in and deliver a death sentence. Instead, he saw a comically large, colorful lunchbox, followed by the girl. She was dressed simply in a sun dress and a cardigan, her hair a bit messy from the wind, looking like a burst of technicolor in a black-and-white movie.

"Leon?" She whispered, her voice small but clear in the silent room. "I'm sorry... the lady at the front desk said I could come up since it’s Saturday."

Leon was on his feet before he even realized it. The "awe" hit him like a physical blow—the same way it did every time he saw her, but doubled because she was here, in his world.

"Hey." He said, his voice instantly losing its edge. "What are you doing here?"

"I knew you were working through lunch... and breakfast... and dinner." She said, blushing as she felt the eyes of the entire senior staff on her. She walked over and set the heavy lunchbox on the pristine glass table, right on top of Jake’s "amateur hour" files. "I cooked you lunch. Homemade chicken soup, the sandwiches you like, and those sugar cookies that help when you're stressed."

She tapped the top of the box, where a small, hand-drawn heart was sketched on a yellow sticky note.

The silence in the room was no longer cold, it was stunned.

Chris let out a low whistle. "Leon... tell me that's the lasagna."

Jill and Claire leaned in, their eyes wide. "She cooked all day? For you?" Claire asked, looking at Leon with a mix of 'you lucky idiot' and genuine sweetness.

Even Jake stopped pacing. He stared at the lunchbox, then at the girl, his cynical scowl faltering. He looked like he didn't know how to process someone doing something purely out of kindness without a hidden agenda.

But it was Ada whose reaction was the most telling. She lowered her sunglasses, her perfect mask cracking for a split second. She looked at the simple, homemade lunchbox—a symbol of a life she could never offer and a warmth she didn't know how to fake—and for the first time, she looked genuinely small.

"You didn't have to do this, bug." Leon murmured, ignoring the room. He reached out, his hand covering hers on top of the lunchbox.

"I wanted to." She whispered, her eyes searching his. "Are you okay? You look so tired."

Leon felt a wave of protective, doting affection wash over him. He didn't care about the projections or Jake’s shouting anymore. He leaned down, and in front of the most cutthroat people in the industry, he kissed her forehead.

"I'm much better now." He said.

He turned back to the table, his hand still resting on the lunchbox. "We’re taking twenty minutes." Leon announced, his voice firm and commanding.

"But the projections—" Jake started, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

"Can wait until I’ve had my soup." Leon finished, shotting Jake a look that silenced him instantly.

As the girl began unpacking the food—the scent of home-cooked herbs and cookies suddenly drowning out the smell of burnt espresso—the "awe" in the room was palpable. Everyone was staring.

The scent of roasted chicken and ginger cookies was so powerful that Chris actually looked like he might weep.

"Leon." Chris said, his voice a low, desperate plea as he watched Leon carefully plate a piece of chicken. "Buddy. Partner. We’ve shared everything. We’ve shared beds, we’ve shared coffee, we’ve shared that one office chair with the broken wheel... give me a cookie."

"Back off, Chris." Leon muttered, shielding the lunchbox with one arm like a dragon guarding gold. "Go find a vending machine. This is homemade."

"It has a heart on the note, Chris." Jill pointed out, leaning in to sniff the air. "Eating that without permission is a felony in at least three states. But... seriously, Leon, is that rosemary I smell?"

The girl sat next to Leon, blushing furiously as the elite of the corporate world hovered over her lunchbox. "There’s plenty!" she chirped, her voice bright and helpful. "I made extra cookies because Leon said Chris was 'basically a human vacuum cleaner.'"

Chris’s face lit up. "See? She gets me! She’s an angel sent from the heavens to save me from a Saturday of protein shakes." He reached for a cookie, but Leon swatted his hand away.

"One." Leon warned. "And if you crumbs on the projections, you're fired."

While the "work family" descended on the cookies like piranhas, a shadow fell over the table. Muller had stopped his brooding. He leaned against the table right next to the girl, his usual aggressive stance softening into something more... intentional. He ignored the cookies and focused entirely on her, a smirk playing on his lips.

"So." Jake said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly hum that was definitely not his 'business' voice. "You're the one keeping Kennedy from losing his mind? I gotta say, I didn't think he had the taste to find someone so... refreshing."

The girl blinked, looking up at Jake's scarred, rugged face. "I—oh. I just think everyone deserves a good meal when they're working hard."

Jake chuckled, leaning in closer, his blue eyes locking onto hers. "Kind and beautiful. That’s a dangerous combination in this building. If you ever get tired of packing lunches for a guy who's too stressed to appreciate them, I know a few places in the city that serve a lot more than soup."

Leon’s hand, which was halfway to his mouth with a spoonful of soup, stopped dead. The temperature in the room plummeted.

He didn't look at Jake. He looked at the girl. He saw her tilt her head, her expression transitioning from shyness to a sort of polite, confused pity.

"That's very nice of you, Mr. Muller." She said, her voice sweet as honey. "But I think you’re confused. Leon isn't too stressed to appreciate it." She looked at the soup, then back at Jake with a tiny, devastatingly innocent smile. "I don't think you'd like the places I go. They don't have VIP sections."

Chris choked on a cookie. Jill and Claire turned away to hide their snickering.

Leon felt a surge of awe so powerful he nearly dropped his spoon. He reached over, sliding his arm firmly around the back of her chair, pulling her just a fraction closer to him. He looked up at Jake, his expression one of calm, absolute victory.

"You heard her, Jake." Leon said, his voice smooth as silk.

Jake held Leon’s gaze for a second, then held up his hands in mock retreat, though he couldn't hide the small, begrudging look of respect in his eyes. "Fine, fine. I know when I’m outmatched. But I’m still taking a cookie."

He snagged a sugar snap and wandered back to his seat, muttering something about Kennedy being a lucky bastard.

Leon looked down at the girl, who was currently tucking a napkin into his collar to keep the soup off his tie. She was so focused, so earnest, so completely unaware that she had just dismantled the most intimidating man in the firm with a single sentence.

"You're incredible." Leon whispered.

"I just don't like it when people are mean to you." She whispered back, patting his chest.

While Leon huddled with Wesker for a final "five-minute" meeting that was rapidly approaching twenty, the girl made herself at home at his workstation.

Leon’s desk was exactly how she imagined it: organized with military precision, smelling faintly of his cedarwood cologne and old paper. After getting a distracted "Of course, bug, look at whatever you want" from Leon, she began her investigation.

"Looking for the secret stash?" Claire asked, rolling her chair over with a mischievous grin.

"I’m looking for... anything that isn't a spreadsheet." She giggled, picking up a heavy, silver paperweight.

She began to discover the little things Leon kept hidden. She found a small, withered drawing tucked under his blotter—a "get well soon" card she’d drawn for him when she was seven, featuring a very lopsided dog that looked more like a potato.

"He kept this?" She whispered, her heart doing a somersault.

"Kept it?" Jill joined in, leaning against the partition. "Honey, the day a janitor almost threw that out, Leon nearly put the whole building on lockdown. He acts like a stoic statue, but he’s a giant softie for anything involving you."

She moved on to his desk drawer, finding a pack of gum, three spare ties, and—to her delight—a small, fuzzy keychain of a cat that she had won for him at a carnival years ago. It was tucked right next to his high-end fountain pens.

"Is he... is he always this serious?" She asked, pointing to a framed photo of Leon receiving a corporate award where he looked like he was facing a firing squad.

"Worse." Chris boomed, strolling over and leaning his massive arms on the desk. "He’s got a 'Work Leon' face. It’s all jawline and brooding. We call it 'The Blue Steel.' Watch this."

Chris stood up straight, sucked in his cheeks, and narrowed his eyes into a dramatic, intense stare. "I'm Leon Kennedy. I don't like fun. I only like quarterly reports and sighs."

The girl erupted into laughter, her head tilting back. "That’s actually ... very fitting! You just need the emo hair flip!"

"Hey!" Leon’s voice drifted from across the room as he walked back, having finally escaped Wesker. He stopped, seeing the four of them crowded around his desk. "Are you guys unionizing against me? And Chris, stop doing that with your face. You look like you’re having a stroke."

"Just telling her the truth, Leon." Chris grinned, snagging one last ginger cookie from the desk. "She found the potato-dog drawing. The secret’s out."

Leon’s face flushed a magnificent shade of pink. He looked at the girl, who was currently holding the fuzzy cat keychain and looking at him with eyes so full of "awe" and affection that he felt like he was floating.

"I like the potato-dog." she said softly, stepping closer to him. "And I like 'Work Leon.' Even if he is a bit of a grump."

Leon sighed, a defeated but happy smile breaking through his professional armor. He reached out and snagged his coat, but not before gently taking the keychain from her and slipping it into his pocket.

"Alright, alright. Show’s over." Leon announced to his smirking colleagues. "We're going home."

He put his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevator. Behind them, he could hear Jill and Claire whispering about how "whipped" he was, while Chris shouted, "Bring more cookies on Monday, kid! I’ll trade you Chris’s secret files!"

As the elevator doors slid shut, the girl looked up at him, tilting her head. "So, Mr. Kennedy... about that hair flip Chris mentioned?"

Leon groaned, pulling her closer as the elevator descended. "Don't. Just... don't. We're getting pizza on the way home."

"With extra cheese?"

"For you? Anything."

The cool Saturday evening air hit them as they stepped out of the office lobby, the city lights beginning to flicker to life. Leon walked her to the Jeep with a renewed spring in his step, the weight of the week finally sloughing off his shoulders.

When they reached the passenger side, Leon didn't wait for her to reach for the handle. He stepped ahead, his hand steady and sure as he pulled the door open for her. He stood there, tall and attentive, holding it with a chivalry that felt entirely natural yet strikingly deliberate.

"Thank you, Mr. Kennedy." She teased, looking up at him through her lashes as she hopped into the high seat.

"You're very welcome." Leon murmured, a playful glint in his eyes before he shut the door with a solid, satisfying thud.

He climbed into the driver’s side, the cabin smelling of leather and the lingering scent of the sugar cookies she’d brought. As he keyed the ignition, the engine roared to life with a low, powerful hum.

Then, Leon did it.

Instead of just shifting into gear, he shifted his body. He twisted slightly in his seat, throwing his right arm over the back of her headrest. His large hand gripped the fabric just inches from her shoulder, his biceps flexing under the sleeve of his dress shirt. It was a move that felt effortlessly masculine and intensely private, effectively boxing her into his space.

He looked over his shoulder to check the blind spot, his jawline looking sharp enough to cut glass in the dim dashboard light. The proximity was electric, she could feel the heat radiating from his arm behind her neck.

"Leon?" She whispered, her heart racing at the sudden change in energy.

"Yeah, bug?" He asked, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made her toes curl. He didn't look at her yet, his focus on the mirror, but he was acutely aware of her wide-eyed stare.

"You... you're doing the thing." She breathed.

Leon finally turned his head, his face just inches from hers. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth—the look of a man who knew exactly what effect he was having. "What thing? Driving?"

"No." She giggled, her face flushing a deep rose. "The 'arm-around-the-seat' thing. It's... it's a lot."

Leon let out a soft huff of a laugh, his fingers idly brushing the hair at the nape of her neck for just a second before he pulled the Jeep into reverse. "Good. I'm glad it works."

He navigated the parking garage with one hand on the wheel and the other still anchored behind her, making her feel completely shielded and centered in his world.

As they pulled out onto the city streets, Leon kept his arm there for a moment longer than necessary, clearly enjoying the way she kept glancing at him with pure, unadulterated awe.

"So." Leon said, finally bringing his hand back to the gear shift but keeping his eyes on the road. "Tell me exactly what Claire told you. I need to know how much damage control I have to do before Monday."

She laughed, leaning back into the seat that still felt warm from his touch. "Well... she mentioned something about a 'karaoke incident' involving you, Chris, and someone called Mr.X."

Leon groaned, resting his forehead against the steering wheel at a red light. "I am going to fire both of them. I swear."

"Don't." She smiled, reaching over to pat his arm. "I think it’s cute."

Monday morning at the office was a nightmare, but for a different reason.

"He’s doing it again." Jill whispered, leaning over her monitor. "The 'Leon Stare.' Look at him. He’s looking at his phone like it’s a religious relic."

Leon snapped his head up, quickly sliding his phone into his pocket. "I'm checking the market open."

"Liar." Claire sang out, walking by with a stack of papers. She stopped and leaned over his desk, dropping her voice to a supportive hum. "Leon, seriously. We’ve seen you with Ada. That was like watching two sharks circle each other. This? This is healthy. You look... human."

"She makes you better, Kennedy." Chris added, actually sounding sincere for once as he pulled up a chair. "You’re not snapping at nothing. You actually laughed at one of my jokes yesterday. And let’s be real—the girl is crazy about you. She looked at you like you invented the sun."

Leon rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the heat rise to his ears. "It's... it's complicated. She's my roommate. My mom’s friend’s daughter. I don't want to mess it up by being... too much."

"Leon." Jill said, grabbing his wrist to make him look at her. "You’re already 'too much.' You’re head over heels. Just tell her. Before Jake tries to buy her another 'VIP' dinner."

Leon’s jaw tightened at the mention of Jake. He looked around the office—at his friends who were all rooting for him, and even at Ada, who was watching from a distance.

That night, the apartment was quiet. The girl was asleep on the sofa, a book open on her chest, with Luis snoring softly at her feet.

Leon stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter just like he had the night they first met. He watched the steady rise and fall of her shoulders. He thought about how she’d defended him against Jake, how she’d kept his potato-dog drawing, and how she’d looked at him in the Jeep.

He walked over, his heart hammering against his ribs. He knelt down beside the sofa, intending to just wake her up so she could go to bed, but he stopped.

He reached out, his hand hovering over her hair before he finally found the courage to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open—those kind, honest eyes that made his knees weak.

"Leon?" She whispered, her voice thick with sleep. "Is it late?"

"A little." He murmured, his voice cracking.

He wanted to say it. The words were right there, burning in his throat. I love you. I’m completely leveled by you. I never want to go back to the way things were before you walked through that door.

Instead, he just gave her that dazed, doting smile that his colleagues had been teasing him about all day. He leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her temple.

"Come on, bug." He whispered, his hand lingering against her cheek. "Let’s get you to bed."

As she stood up, rubbing her eyes and leaning her weight into him for support, Leon realized his friends were right. It wasn't "transactional" and it wasn't just a "roommate" situation.

He was gone. And as she smiled up at him, sleepy and trusting, he knew he was never coming back.

The morning briefing had been a disaster. Jake had been extra snarky, and every time Leon checked his watch, Chris or Jill would make a kissing face or whisper, "Is it time for the little lady's check-in text?" Leon was at his desk, trying to finalize a high-stakes merger, when Chris leaned over and flicked a sticky note onto his keyboard. It was a crude drawing of a heart with "L + Bug" written inside.

Leon’s chair screeched as he stood up, his patience finally snapping.

"Enough!" Leon’s voice boomed across the open-plan office, silencing the clacking of keyboards. He looked at Chris, then Jill, then Claire. "I get it. You think it’s funny. You think I’m 'soft.' But she is the best thing in my life, and I am trying—desperately—not to mess it up because I’ve never done the 'healthy relationship' thing before! So if I hear one more joke about omelets, cookies, or hair flips, I will personally see to it that your HR files become my new favorite hobby. Mind. Your. Fucking. Business!"

The office was so quiet you could hear the hum of the server room. Chris looked like he’d been slapped by a teddy bear.

"Kennedy. My office. Now."

The voice was cold, robotic, and came from the glass balcony above. Albert Wesker was standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down like a dark god.

Leon exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "Great." He muttered, trudging up the stairs. "Now I'm getting fired for having a soul."

He entered Wesker’s office. The CEO didn't sit down. He stood by the window, looking out at the city skyline. Leon waited for the lecture about "distractions" and "professionalism."

"She’s the girl from the lobby." Wesker said, his back still turned. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, sir." Leon replied stiffly.

Wesker turned around, the light hitting his dark lenses. "Muller is a dog who barks at anything shiny. Redfield and Valentine are children. But they are right about one thing."

Wesker walked closer, stopping just inches from Leon. The air felt heavy. "In this industry, we spend our lives calculating risks. We hedge, we pivot, we protect our assets. But the most significant liability a man can have is a regret he can't buy his way out of."

Leon blinked, stunned. Wesker was giving... life advice?

"I’ve watched you for years, Kennedy." Wesker continued, his voice like dry ice. "You were efficient when you were chasing ghosts. But you were hollow. Now, you’re distracted, yes. You’re erratic. But you’re formidable because you actually have something to lose. Don't be a fool. If you’re 'head over heels,' as your loud-mouthed colleagues suggest... secure the asset. Don't let the window of opportunity close while you’re busy being 'polite.'"

Wesker stepped back, his face returning to its usual mask of indifference. "Now get out. Your analysis of the Muller report is late."

Leon stood there for a beat, completely floored. He nodded once, sharply. "Thank you, sir."

The advice from Wesker had been the final, unexpected push Leon needed. He spent the rest of the afternoon in a focused blur, ignoring Jake’s posturing and Chris’s inquisitive looks. He had a mission.

On the way home, he made a detour to that specific hole-in-the-wall Korean place she loved—the one that served the spicy Tteokbokki exactly the way she liked it. He clutched the warm, fragrant paper bags like they contained state secrets, his heart performing a nervous staccato against his ribs as he turned his key in the lock.

It was late, the city outside muted by a light drizzle, but the apartment was a sanctuary of golden light.

Leon paused in the entryway, the tension in his jaw melting instantly.

She was exactly where she always was when she felt safe: tucked into the corner of the oversized sofa, buried under a mountain of fuzzy blankets. Luis was sprawled across her lap, his heavy head resting on her shins, acting as a living, snoring weighted blanket.

The television was flickering with the familiar, garish graphics of Extreme Cheapskates. A woman on screen was currently explaining how she washed and reused paper towels, and the girl was watching with an expression of pure, rapt fascination.

"Is she still trying to make lasagna in the dishwasher?" Leon asked softly, leaning against the doorframe.

She jumped slightly, her face lighting up with a radiant, sleepy smile that made Leon feel like he’d just stepped into the sun. "Leon! You're home!"

She noticed the bags in his hand and her nose crinkled in delight. "Is that... the Japchae? And the spicy rice cakes?"

"Only the best for the girl who survives corporate sharks and reality TV marathons." Leon murmured.

He walked over, but instead of heading to the kitchen to plate the food, he set the bags on the coffee table and sat down on the edge of the sofa. The "awe" was back, stronger than ever. He looked at her—messy bun, no makeup, surrounded by dog hair and cheap reality TV—and he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

He reached out, his hand finding hers under the edge of the blanket. Her skin was warm, her fingers small and trusting as they automatically laced through his.

"Leon?" She asked, her smile faltering as she noticed the intensity in his gaze. "Is everything okay? Did Jake do something? I can make more cookies if he needs a bribe."

Leon let out a soft, huffed laugh, shaking his head. "Jake’s fine. Everything’s fine. Actually... everything is better than fine."

He shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers. He realized he didn't need a script or a perfect moment. This was the moment.

"I had a long talk with my boss today." Leon began, his voice dropping into that low, intimate rumble. "He told me I was 'erratic' and 'distracted.' And he was right."

She looked worried, her grip on his hand tightening. "Oh no, am I—"

"No." Leon cut her off, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "He said I was distracted because for the first time in ten years, I actually have something worth coming home to. He told me not to let the window close."

Leon leaned in, his forehead coming to rest against hers. He could smell the lavender of her shampoo and the faint, sweet scent of the ginger cookies she’d snacked on earlier.

"I’m head over heels for you, bug." He whispered, the confession finally breaking free. "I’m completely, hopelessly in love with you."

The silence that followed was filled only by the muffled sounds of the TV and Luis’s soft snoring. Then, she let out a shaky, breathy sob of a laugh, her eyes shimmering as she threw her arms around his neck, nearly squishing the dog in the process.

"I thought you’d never say it." She whispered into his ear. "I’ve been in love with you since I was seven and you let me watch you play video games."

Leon closed his eyes, his arms wrapping around her with a fierce, protective strength. He felt the weight of a decade of loneliness and the shadow of the "woman in red" vanish entirely. He pulled back just enough to capture her lips in a kiss that was slow, sweet, and tasted like a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, she was blushing magnificently, her eyes sparkling.

"So." She whispered, gesturing to the TV. "Does this mean you're going to stay and watch the lady hunt for 'roadside asparagus' with me?"

Leon grinned, leaning back and pulling her into the crook of his arm. "As long as I get some of that Kimchi, I’m not going anywhere."

Leon didn’t hesitate this time. He reached out, his hand sliding into her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands of her messy bun as he tilted her face up.

When he kissed her, it wasn’t just a gentle promise—it was the release of every ounce of tension he’d carried for the last week. It was deep, hungry, and filled with a decade’s worth of unspoken longing.

She let out a soft, surprised hum against his lips before her hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his dress shirt as she pulled him closer. She tasted like the ginger cookies she’d been snacking on and felt like home.

Leon groaned low in his throat, shifting his weight to lean over her, his body pressing her into the soft cushions of the sofa. Luis, sensing the shift in energy and realizing he was no longer the center of attention, let out a huff of annoyance and hopped off the couch to find a quieter spot to sleep.

Neither of them noticed.

Leon’s hands were everywhere—cradling her jaw, stroking her waist, pulling her flush against him as if he were trying to merge their souls. Every time he pulled back to catch his breath, he only found himself diving back in, fascinated by the way she sighed his name against his mouth.

"You have no idea." Leon whispered against her lips, his voice raw and wrecked. "How long I've wanted to do this."

"Show me." She breathed back, her eyes dark with the same "awe" he felt, but this time it was laced with a fiery, new confidence.

The flickering light of the television played over them, the voices of Extreme Cheapskates forgotten background noise to the sound of their breathing and the soft rustle of blankets. Leon felt a surge of possessive heat. He had spent so long in a world of cold calculations and distant shadows, but this was warm, vibrant, and entirely his.

He broke the kiss to trail a path of fire down her neck, his stubble grazing her skin. She arched her back, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and Leon felt a surge of triumph that made the corporate wars of the day feel utterly insignificant.

He pulled back for a second, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathless and flushed. Leon looked at her—really looked at her—and the dazed, doting smile was back, wider than ever.

"I am never going back to that office a grumpy man." He panted, a playful, happy light in his eyes.

She laughed, pulling him back down by his collar. "Good. Because I think I like 'Happy Leon' much better."

The  food sat forgotten on the coffee table, getting cold, but neither of them cared. In the quiet of the apartment, with the city rain tapping on the glass.

Leon felt the air leave his lungs as she moved. With a sudden burst of shy bravery, she scrambled onto his lap, straddling his legs. The oversized blanket fell away, leaving her sitting there in her thin pajamas, her face flushed.

She was trying to take the lead, her small hands trembling as they fumbled with the buttons of his dress shirt. She was leaning in, trying to mirror the intensity he’d shown her, but her movements were frantic and uncertain.

When she tried to press her lips to his neck, her teeth grazed his skin a bit too hard, and he felt her entire body vibrating with nerves.

Leon reached up, his large hands gently catching her wrists. He didn't pull her away, but he stopped her movements, his gaze searching hers.

"Hey." He whispered, his voice soft and grounding. "Bug, look at me."

She stopped, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and swimming with a mix of desire and a sudden, sharp fear that she was doing everything wrong. "I—I’m sorry. I just wanted to... I wanted to be good for you. Like the girls in the movies, or... or like her."

The mention of "her"—of the polished, practiced lethalness of someone like Ada—made Leon’s heart break. He realized in that moment that she was terrified of her own inexperience, trying to perform a role she thought he expected.

"Stop." Leon murmured, his thumbs grazing the inside of her wrists where her pulse was racing like a trapped bird. "You don't have to 'be' anything. Especially not like anyone else."

He gently guided her hands away from his shirt and placed them around his neck, then wrapped his arms securely around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest so she could feel the steady, honest beat of his heart.

"You've never done this before, have you?" He asked, not with judgment, but with a tenderness that made her eyes fill with tears.

She shook her head, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. "No. I’m sorry. I probably look ridiculous."

"You look beautiful." Leon corrected, his voice a low, protective rumble. He leaned back just enough to look her in the eye, his expression full of that dazed, doting "awe" that always made her feel safe. "And you don't have to lead. You don't have to perform. We have all the time in the world, okay? I’m not going anywhere."

He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, then her forehead. "I don't want a performance. I just want you. Exactly as you are. Messy bun, reality TV, and all."

She let out a long, shaky breath, the tension finally draining out of her. She relaxed against him, her head resting on his shoulder, feeling the solid, real warmth of the man she loved.

"Really?" She whispered.

"Really." Leon promised, his hand stroking her back in long, soothing circles. "Now, how about we start over? Slow. Just us."

He tilted her chin up and kissed her again.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from frantic to profoundly intimate. Leon’s hands, weathered by years of corporate stress but surprisingly gentle, slid beneath the hem of her pajama top.

His palms were warm against her skin—skin that felt scorching to the touch, humming with a nervous, electric energy.

As his fingertips traced the delicate curve of her spine, she shivered, a row of goosebumps blooming in his wake. Leon stopped his movements immediately. He didn't pull away, but he held himself perfectly still, his eyes locked onto hers with a fierce, protective clarity.

"I want you to be sure." He whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to thrum right through her. "Everything at your pace, bug. Only if you want this. Only if you're ready."

She looked at him—at the man who had defended her from Jake, who kept her childhood drawings, and who was currently looking at her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever held. The fear of being "inexperienced" evaporated, replaced by a deep, pulsing trust.

"I'm sure." She breathed, her voice small but unwavering. "I want it to be you, Leon."

Leon let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. With slow, deliberate movements, he gathered the fabric of her shirt. He moved with a reverence that made her feel like a work of art, carefully lifting the garment over her head.

As the shirt fell away, leaving her completely bare before him, the air in the room seemed to vanish.

Leon froze. He didn't look away, and he didn't rush. Instead, his gaze swept over her with that familiar, dazed "awe," but now it was intensified tenfold. In the soft, flickering light of the TV, she looked ethereal—vulnerable and beautiful in a way that made his hands ache to hold her.

"Leon?" She whispered, suddenly self-conscious of the silence, her arms instinctively starting to move to cover herself.

"No." Leon murmured, gently catching her hands and bringing them back down to her sides. He leaned in, his eyes dark with a mix of adoration and raw desire. "Don't hide. You are... you're incredible. I feel like I'm dreaming."

He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her collarbone with feather-light pressure, his touch worshipful. He wasn't the cynical senior analyst or the "Work Leon" his colleagues feared, he was just a man completely leveled by the woman in front of him.

"You're perfect." He whispered against the hollow of her throat, his lips grazing her skin. "Exactly like this."

The "Extreme Cheapskates" marathon continued to play on the screen, but for Leon, the rest of the world had officially ceased to exist. There was only the heat of her skin, the sound of their synchronized breathing, and the quiet realization that he was going to spend the rest of his life making sure she knew exactly how much she was loved.

He moved with a slow, deliberate focus, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned down. He wanted to memorize every reaction, every hitch in her breath, making sure this first time for her was nothing short of a revelation.

When his lips finally made contact with the soft skin of her chest, she let out a small, broken gasp, her fingers lacing tightly into his hair. Leon was incredibly patient, his tongue swirling in slow, teasing circles, tasting the heat of her skin. He moved from the curve of her collarbone down to her breasts, his breath hot against her.

He began to suckle her nipples gently, his mouth warm and insistent. The sensation sent a jolt of pure electricity through her, her back arching off the sofa as she discovered feelings she hadn't known her body was capable of.

Leon’s hands remained anchored at her waist, his thumbs rubbing soothing, possessive circles into her hips, keeping her grounded even as he sent her mind spinning.

"Leon..." She whimpered, her voice a mix of shock and desperate plea.

He didn't stop, his tongue flicking and licking against her sensitive tits with a rhythmic, worshipping intensity. He was being so careful, so attentive to the way she trembled under his touch.

Every time she let out a soft moan, he felt a surge of masculine pride—a feeling far more rewarding than any successful merger or corporate victory.

He looked up at her for a second, his lips slick and his eyes dark with an affection that bordered on devouring. "You okay?" He rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

She could only nod, her face flushed and her eyes hazy with pleasure. "Please... don't stop."

A low, dark chuckle vibrated in Leon's chest. He went back to her, his mouth trailing fire across her skin, proving to her with every lick and every graze of his teeth that she didn't need experience to be perfect for him.

In the glow of the living room, surrounded by the mundane sounds of the apartment, Leon made sure she knew she was the center of his entire universe.

Leon was entirely focused on her, his hands like iron grips on her hips, guiding her movements with a steady, grounding strength. He was hyper-aware of every sound she made—the desperate whines and the way her voice broke into soft wails as the pleasure became overwhelming.

He didn't rush. He kept her positioned over him, his own body tense and straining beneath his dress slacks, as he rhythmically rubbed her against him.

The friction was agonizingly perfect. She was writhing in his arms, her fingers digging deep into his hair, pulling at the blonde strands as she chased the sensation that was building like a storm behind her eyes.

"That's it, bug." Leon rasped, his voice thick and dark, his eyes fixed on her face as he watched her lose control. "Right there. I’ve got you."

Her movements became frantic, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps as she searched for that final peak. She was completely lost in him, her body slick and sensitive, reacting to every tilt of his hips.

When her orgasm finally hit, it was a physical wave that made her whole body shudder. She cried out, her head falling back as she creamed against him, her muscles clenching in a long, rhythmic pulse of pure ecstasy.

Leon held her through it, his arms wrapping around her to keep her from falling, his face buried in the crook of her neck as he breathed in the scent of her. He felt the tremors wracking her frame, and he held her tighter, a fierce, primal sense of protection washing over him.

As she finally collapsed against his toned chest, her heart hammering against his ribs and her breath slowing down, Leon began to trail soft, cooling kisses along her shoulder.

"You're okay." He whispered, his voice a soothing rumble. "I'm right here. You were perfect."

She could only lean into him, exhausted and overwhelmed, feeling a sense of completeness she had never known.

Leon moved with a grace that masked his sheer strength, his large hands sliding firmly under her thighs to hoist her up. She felt weightless in his arms, her legs instinctively locking around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom.

The only sound was the soft thud of his footsteps and the frantic, shallow beat of their shared breath.

He laid her down on the cool sheets with the kind of care usually reserved for something fragile and priceless. The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting long, silver stripes across her skin, highlighting the curves he had spent months admiring from a distance.

Leon didn't join her on the bed immediately. Instead, he dropped to his knees on the floor beside the mattress, positioning himself at her midsection. He looked at her with an expression of pure, unadulterated worship, his eyes tracing the path the moonlight took over her body.

"Leon..." She whispered, her voice trembling as she reached for him.

"Stay right there." He murmured, his voice a low, gravelly command. "I just want to look at you."

He leaned in, his blonde hair falling forward as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the center of her stomach. The warmth of his lips against her skin made her stomach muscles flutter and contract.

He began to pepper her torso with soft, worshipful kisses, his nose brushing against her skin, inhaling the scent of her that had haunted his dreams for a week.

He moved his mouth in slow, deliberate circles around her navel, his stubble providing a sharp, delicious contrast to the softness of her skin. Every time he kissed her, he felt her breath hitch, her fingers curling into the bedsheets.

"You are so beautiful." He whispered against her skin, his voice muffled but heavy with emotion. "I’m never letting you go. Do you hear me? Never."

He looked up at her then, his jaw set with a fierce, protective love that transcended anything he had ever felt.

The moonlight through the blinds painted Leon’s features in sharp, silver relief as he moved with a focus that was entirely devotional.

Gently, his large hands hooked into the elastic of her underwear. He moved with agonizing slowness, his eyes locked on hers, waiting for any sign to stop, but finding only a hazy, trusting invitation.

He slid the fabric down her legs and cast it aside, his gaze returning to her, breath hitching at the sight of her completely bared to him in the moonlight.

He didn't rush. He leaned down, his hands sliding under her hips to tilt her toward him, and pressed a lingering, warm kiss to the inside of her thigh. She let out a soft, sharp gasp, her fingers tangling in the hair at the back of his head.

Then, Leon moved between her legs. He began with slow, teasing licks, his tongue warm and broad as he tasted the sweet, slick folds of her center. The sensation made her entire body jump, her back arching off the mattress as a long, high whine escaped her throat.

"Leon... oh god." She whimpered, her heels digging into the sheets.

He didn't pull back. Instead, he became more insistent, his mouth covering her pussy, suckling with a rhythmic, pulsing pressure that sent shocks of pure electricity straight to her core.

He used his tongue to explore her with a worshipping intensity, flicking and swirling against her most sensitive spots until she was thrashing beneath him, her voice breaking into desperate, beautiful cries.

He was being so careful yet so thorough, making sure she felt every ounce of the "awe" he had for her. He wanted her to know that every inch of her was a masterpiece to him.

As she neared her peak again, her hands gripped his shoulders so hard her knuckles turned white. Leon leaned into the sensation, his hands anchoring her hips firmly so she couldn't escape the pleasure he was giving her.

He looked up for just a split second, his eyes dark and blown wide with a fierce, possessive love, before returning to his task, determined to make her first night like this something she would never forget.

Her thighs tightening around his head in a desperate, grounding grip.

It was a raw, primal reaction to the overwhelming sensations he was coaxing out of her. Leon didn't pull away, he leaned into it, his face buried against her heat.

Even as her thighs pressed firmly against his ears and jaw, he didn't struggle for air. Instead, he used the pressure to deepen his focus, his tongue lapping at her with a rhythmic, worshipping fervor, drinking her in as if she were the only thing keeping him alive.

The muffled sounds of her desperate cries filled his ears, her body vibrating with the force of an approaching climax. Leon’s large hands moved to her outer thighs, not to push her away, but to hold her steady as she began to tremble violently.

He was gladly lost in her, his pride swelling at the way she was coming apart in his hands.

When she finally broke, her body buckled, her grip on his head tightening one last time before she collapsed back onto the pillows. A long, shuddering wail left her lips, and she went completely limp, her legs falling open as the waves of release washed over her.

Leon stayed there for a long moment, his forehead resting against the soft skin of her inner thigh, catching his own ragged breath. He finally sat up, his hair disheveled and his lips damp, looking at her with an expression of such pure, unadulterated adoration that it was almost holy.

He crawled up the bed, sliding his body over hers until they were chest to chest. He tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear, his eyes searching her dazed, beautiful face.

"You okay, bug?" He whispered, his voice a low, raspy caress.

She couldn't speak, her chest still heaving, but she managed a small, tired nod, her arms winding around his neck to pull him down into a slow, deep kiss that tasted of salt and absolute surrender.

Leon felt a sudden spike of vulnerability that had nothing to do with corporate boardrooms or Jake Muller’s ego. As she looked up at him with those wide, determined eyes, murmuring that she wanted to pleasure him too, Leon’s hand instinctively went to her shoulder, a gentle but firm barrier.

"Wait." He rasped, his voice cracking with a mixture of desire and genuine fear.

She paused, looking confused. "Afraid of me?"

"Afraid of hurting you." He confessed, his chest heaving. He looked down, his knuckles white as he gripped the sheets. "It’s been a long time. A really long time. And the way I feel about you... it’s making it hard to keep a lid on things. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back, and you're so... you're so precious to me."

He was terrified that his raw, pent-up need would be too much for her inexperience. But she didn't flinch. Instead, she gave him a soft, reassuring smile that made Leon feel like the most important man on earth.

"Trust me, Leon." She whispered.

She didn't wait for him to overthink it. She moved to her knees between his legs. Leon’s head hit the headboard with a soft thud, his eyes closing tight as he felt her hands—small and hesitant—wrap around him. He let out a low, pained groan when she leaned in, her touch innocent and curious.

When her lips finally met the head of his heavy cock, Leon’s entire body went rigid. The sensation was electric, a sharp contrast to the years of self-imposed isolation he’d lived through.

Her movements unpracticed but filled with a sweet, earnest devotion that was far more potent than any technique.

"Oh god." Leon choked out, his hands flying to her hair, not to pull her away, but to anchor himself. He felt like he was hovering on the edge of a precipice. Every soft swirl of her tongue and the warmth of her mouth sent a jolt of pure fire straight to his gut.

He was shaking, his muscles coiling with a tension that was becoming unbearable. He wanted to tell her to stop so he wouldn't lose control, but he also wanted her to never, ever let go.

He looked down through half-lidded eyes, seeing her small frame bathed in moonlight as she focused entirely on him, and he felt a surge of love so powerful it rivaled the physical pleasure.

"Careful, bug." He managed to gasp out, his fingers tightening in her hair as he felt himself nearing the point of no return. "I'm... I'm right there."

But she didn't pull back. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with a shy triumph, and continued her worship, determined to show him that she could handle every bit of the man he was.

The restraint Leon had been clinging to finally snapped. The sheer, unadulterated devotion in her eyes, combined with the warmth of her mouth, pushed him past the point of carefulness.

His fingers wound deeply into her hair, not with malice, but with a desperate, primal need for leverage as his hips began to move with a sudden, rhythmic force.

He thrust upward, his large cock sliding deep, hitting the sensitive back of her throat. He felt her gag reflex hitch, but she didn't pull away, instead, she used her hands to steady his thighs, trying her absolute best to take every inch of him.

Leon let out a low, guttural growl, his eyes rolling back in his head as he felt the incredible tightness of her throat closing around his head with every deep, pulsing stroke.

"That's it... god, you're so good for me." Leon rasped, his voice a wrecked shadow of its usual self.

The friction, the heat, and the emotional weight of his love for her merged into a singular, unstoppable force. He felt his muscles coil one last time before he lost all control. With a sharp, pained cry of her name, Leon exploded.

It wasn't just a release, it was a flood. As he peaked, the sheer volume of his cum was staggering. It filled her mouth instantly, a hot, thick tide that she desperately tried to keep up with. But it was too much for her to swallow at once.

The overflow began to spill past her lips, hot and pearlescent in the moonlight, coating her chin and dripping down onto her naked chest.

Even as he felt his body clench in those final, heavy pulses, more followed, his essence bursting through her lips in a way that felt like years of loneliness finally being purged from his system.

She looked up at him through her lashes, her mouth still full, her face painted with the physical evidence of just how much he had been holding back for her.

Leon’s hand shook as he reached down, his fingers trembling as they brushed against her wet lips. He felt a profound sense of both relief and a strange, deep humility.

"I told you." He managed to choke out, his voice a raw, emotional wreck. "I told you it was... it was a lot. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, bug."

He watched with a dazed, doting expression as she finally swallowed, the sheer amount of him making her throat work hard. She didn't look disgusted, she looked proud, like she had just successfully guarded the most valuable thing he had to give.

He pulled her up his body, not caring about the mess, and tucked her under his chin. The scent of them—heavy, sweet, and primal—filled the small space between the sheets. 

Leon shifted his weight, hovering over her with a protective grace that defied his size. He was hyper-aware of the physical difference between them, his muscular frame casting a long shadow over her in the moonlight. Even now, with his heart hammering like a war drum, he paused. He looked into her eyes, his hands framing her face.

"I’m going to be right here." He whispered, his voice thick and grounding. "Tell me to stop, and I stop. Okay? Just me and you."

She nodded, her fingers digging into his forearms, her gaze unwavering. "I want you, Leon. All of you."

Leon moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation. As he began to enter her pussy, the physical reality of his "condition" became undeniable. He was a man of significant stature, and the sheer girth and length of him forced a slow, deep stretch that made her breath hitch in a sharp, jagged sob.

As he slid deeper, the outline of his member became visible against the soft skin of her lower stomach—a startling, intimate silhouette beneath the surface that marked just how much of her he was taking up.

The sensation was overwhelming. She let out a pained wail, tears springing to her eyes from the sheer intensity of the fullness, but as Leon started to pull back in concern, she arched her back, her legs locking around his waist to keep him anchored.

"Don't." She cried out, her voice breaking. "Leon, please... give me more. Give me everything."

Leon’s restraint shattered at her plea. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his growl vibrating through her entire body as he began to move.

He was careful not to crush her, supporting his weight on his elbows, but he gave her the "all" she was begging for. Every deep, driving thrust was a testament to his love, his hands gripping the headboard as he worked to fill her completely.

She was wailing, her voice a beautiful, raw melody of pleasure and exertion, her fingers scratching at his back as she chased the peak he was providing.

Leon felt like he was finally home, every stroke erasing the coldness of his past, replacing it with the heat and life of the woman who had finally unlocked his heart.

Tears tracked silently down her temples and into the pillow, not from pain, but from the overwhelming sensation of being utterly occupied by him. She felt stretched to her very limit, but more than that, she felt a sense of wholeness that made her heart ache.

Leon was a study in controlled power. His muscular, veiny hand was braced firmly beside her head, the wood of the headboard creaking slightly under his weight.

With his other hand, he cradled her head, his fingers threading through her hair with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the raw, masculine strength of his body.

He looked down at her, his blue eyes blown wide, searching her face for any sign of distress.

"I've got you." He whispered, his voice a ragged, breathless vow. "I'm right here, bug."

He began to move again, but it wasn't the hard, driving rhythm from before. He thrust with an agonizing delicacy, a slow and shallow slide that prioritized her comfort over his own desperate need for release. He watched the way her breath hitched, the way her body pulsed around him, making sure she was with him every step of the way.

As he moved, the feeling of "fitting" became undeniable. It was as if every curve of her body had been designed specifically to house him; she was the missing puzzle piece to a life he hadn't realized was incomplete.

"You're so tight... so perfect." Leon groaned, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. The proximity was absolute, they were breathing each other's air, their sweat mingling in the silver moonlight. "I never want to be anywhere else."

She let out a soft, broken sob, her arms winding around his neck, pulling him down until there wasn't a single inch of space left between them. Despite the initial sting of her first time, the emotional weight of Leon’s tenderness turned the sensation into something sacred.

He continued those slow, worshipping thrusts, his heart thudding against her chest in a rhythm that said I love you more clearly than words ever could. In that quiet bedroom, Leon Kennedy finally surrendered his entire soul to the girl who had been his home all along.

He shifted his hand, pressing his palm firmly against her lower stomach where the hard, rhythmic outline of his member was visible beneath her skin. The sensation of being touched from both the inside and the outside sent her over the edge.

She let out a piercing scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure, her back arching off the mattress as her nails raked down the broad, muscular expanse of his back, leaving stinging red tracks in their wake.

Leon didn't flinch. The sting only grounded him, fueling the fire in his veins.

"That's it, bug." He growled, his voice a primal rumble. "Stay with me."

He abandoned his earlier caution, his movements turning into deep, powerful rams as he finally gave in to the "condition" he’d been fighting all night. He was filling her completely, his body acting as a force of nature that she met with a desperate, beautiful energy.

As their orgasm built, Leon leaned down, his face inches from hers. He saw the exact moment she broke—the way her eyes blew wide and her breath caught in a silent sob. Just as he felt his own body begin to shatter, he captured her mouth with his.

He sealed their lips in a deep, bruising kiss as they came together. It was explosive.

Leon’s essence burst forth in heavy, rhythmic pulses that made her pussy clench around him in a frantic, desperate rhythm. He felt her release wash over him, a warm, pulsing wave that mirrored his own.

They were locked together, their hearts hammering against each other in a single, frantic beat, the world outside the bedroom door vanishing into the void.

She was filled to the absolute brim, a sensation so intense she could only lay there, eyes wide and shimmering with tears of completion.

Eventually, the laws of physics took over. As Leon's cock finally began to soften and pull back with agonizing slowness, the sheer volume of his cum became apparent.

It escaped through her folds in a warm, slow tide, spilling onto the dark sheets of the mattress. It pooled beneath her, seeping into the curve of her butt crack and the small of her back, the physical evidence of his total surrender to her.

Leon looked down at the mess they had made—at the stark, white contrast against the dark bedding and her flushed skin—and a deep, crimson flush crept up his neck and into his ears.

"I... I'm so sorry, bug." He stammered, his usual cool persona completely disintegrated. He grabbed the corner of the duvet, his movements frantic and clumsy as he tried to find something to clean her with. "I told you... I have this... I've never... God, I'm so embarrassed."

But as he looked back at her face, he saw she wasn't disgusted or upset. She was looking at him with a soft, sleepy radiance, her hand reaching up to cup his jaw.

"Leon." She whispered, her voice a warm caress. "It's okay. I liked it. I like that you’re mine like this."

The embarrassment didn't vanish, but it was quickly overtaken by a surge of pure, unadulterated happiness. He let out a huffed, shaky laugh, leaning down to press his face into the crook of her neck.

He felt like a weight he'd been carrying for a lifetime had finally been lifted. He had claimed her, and she had welcomed him.

"You're incredible." He murmured against her skin, his arms winding around her to pull her close, not caring about the damp sheets or the mess. "I am so hopelessly, completely in love with you."

For several long minutes, the only sound in the room was their jagged, recovering breaths. Leon didn't move, he stayed buried deep within her, his forehead resting against hers, his hands still trembling as they cradled her head.

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes soft and glazed with a doting, absolute love.

"I love you." He whispered, his voice thick and raw. "God, I love you so much."

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Study Break (Smut +18)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Smut, Praise Kink (Kinda?), Vaginal Sex and Creamping.

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1893708571084280174

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1691078830012702720

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1680691724362866690

https://x.com/domcnc/status/1936799780543287726

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1938305280363647096

The pre-dawn chill was still clinging to the air, but inside the flat, it was all warmth and the low hum of desperation. Gaz padded silently from the bedroom, wearing a faded football shirt and soft cotton shorts. He moved with the practiced stealth of a man who’d spent half his life on recon, but right now, his only mission was checking on his favorite person.

He stopped in the living room doorway.

There she was. Not tucked up in bed as she should be, but hunched over the small dining table. The glow of the desk lamp—a harsh, yellow beacon in the gloom—illuminated a stack of textbooks that looked less like study aids and more like a defensive wall. Her hair was pulled back in a right mess, and she was gnawing on the end of a pen with a look of frantic focus. The mug of tea beside her had gone stone cold.

Gaz felt that familiar, possessive tug in his chest. He loved her drive, her brilliance—it was one of the things that had first pulled him in—but this manic energy before finals always made him want to scoop her up and hide her away from it all.

He walked up behind her and began to knead the taut muscles at the base of her neck, his thumbs finding the knots of stress with ease.

"Love." He murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Leave it. You’ve been at this since God knows when. Is this the third night running you’ve decided sleep is optional, then?"

She startled, the pen slipping from her fingers with a clatter. She leaned back immediately, sighing, and rested the weight of her head against his stomach, pressing a tired kiss into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"I’m nearly there, Kyle." She whispered, her voice sounding a bit thin with fatigue. "I know, I know. Just... one more chapter. It’s the really heavy stuff."

"You’re nearly 'knackered,' more like." He countered softly, his fingers moving to her temples. "C'mon. Bed. You’re doing yourself no favors staring at that lot until your eyes go square."

He wrapped his arms fully around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. He let his lips brush her ear, his stubble grazing her skin. "Heavy stuff? Love, heavy stuff is trying to explain the offside rule to my nan. You're a bloody genius." He whispered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You’ll smash it. But you won't be smashing anything if you’ve completely run yourself into the ground."

The familiar tension in her body slowly started to give way, and he felt a grin tugging at his mouth. It had been nearly two years since he’d leaned over that cafe table and—in a moment he could only describe as a total moment of madness—silenced her rambling with a kiss.

"Come on then." He insisted, catching her hands and pulling her gently to her feet.

Their mouths met with a sudden, sharp urgency, lips parting and breaths mingling. She tugged him closer by the hem of his shirt, and he didn't need telling twice. One arm wound firmly around her waist while the other braced against the table for leverage.

Papers crumpled beneath them as she leaned back into him, a soft laugh breaking through the kiss. Kyle chuckled too, pulling back just enough to look at her, a cheeky, wicked grin playing on his lips.

"I reckon I know a proper way to help you unwind, love. Beats a textbook, doesn't it?"

*****

One round bled into two. Two into three. By the time they reached the fifth, the pre-dawn light was starting to turn from a deep indigo to a pale, misty grey against the curtains.

*Plack Plack*

The wet, creamy sound of Gaz's leaky cock pounding the girl's sore pussy filled the room, her moans spilled out against his tough palm, muffled and shaky, each sound vibrating against his skin.

She was sprawled beneath him, her skin slick and flushed, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Every muscle in her body felt like lead—not the heavy, stressed lead of studying, but a melted, spent sort of exhaustion.

Her mind was a complete fog, she couldn't have recited a single line of her notes if her life depended on it.

"You're so good at taking my cock, aren't you?" He murmured against her ear, cheeky warmth in every syllable. "Just...not too loud, yeah? Don't want the whole building hearin' how easy it is to ruin you."

5 fucking rounds. And he showed no signs of slowing down.

Gaz, however, seemed to be operating on a completely different physical plane.

He was braced above her, his arms corded with tension, his skin glistening. There was a focused, relentless energy in his movements—the kind of terrifyingly efficient stamina that came from years of humping heavy rucksacks over miles of broken terrain and surviving on nothing but adrenaline and spite. He wasn't even breathing hard enough to break his rhythm.

Her limbs were like jelly, white dots decorating her view, eyes almost rolling to the back of her skull. H-How he is still going?

His arms came around her, caging her sweaty body against his. She could feel his heartbeat pounding against her back

Gaztilted her head slightly toward him, and caught her foggy gaze, guiding her back from her thoughts. The lust drawn in her features, eyes-crossing, not one thought coming in her mind. And he kissed her.

The kiss deepened, his hand sliding along her jaw, steadying her. Her eyes fluttered shut, her hands clutching at his toned arms as though he was the only thing keeping her upright.

"Kyle..." She managed to moan, her fingers curling weakly into his shoulders. "How... where do you... get the energy?"

He paused for a heartbeat, his chest heaving slightly now, a low, dark chuckle vibrating against her collarbone. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over her ear, his voice a rough, edged growl.

"Perks of the job, love." He murmured, his teeth grazing her lobe.

Her desperate muffled whines made him grin wider. He pulled his hand away just long enough to steal another kiss, deeper this time, one that stole the last of her resistance.

"My best girl." He teased, brushing his forehead against hers. "Breathe. Forget everythin' else but me."

Their creamy, mixed seeds pooling at the base of Gaz's pistoning cock, some oot it falling on the mattress everytime the man gave a harsh thrust.

The veins of his cock pulsing when she unintentionally clenched around him, mushroom head repeatedly hitting that spot in her cunt that turned her brain into mush.

Sweat drenched, slippery bodies moving in sync, he could feel her thighs shaking with another earth shattering orgasm.

"You're clenching my cock like a vice, love." He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest, nose brushing her temple softly.

Cum spilling out her sore pussy like a fountain, the milky essence easing his movements.

Her muffled whines made him grin wider. Gaz pulled his hand away just enough to steal a kiss.

"Consider this your pre-exam briefing, love." He teased, his dirty grin returning as he moved to reclaim her mouth. "And I don't plan on being brief."

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Without Breaking a Sweat (Smut +18)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy it, I got a little bit carried away with it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning.

Warnings: Threesome (Chris x Reader x Piers), Smut, Cunnilingus, Blowjob, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, Vaginal Sex, a little bit of Pussy Spanking, Creamping and Unrealistic Squirting (I got a little bit excited).

Pairing: Personal Trainer!Carlos Oliveira x Reader, Gym Buddies!Chris and Piers x Reader, Leon (He apperars a little bit)

Word count: Only God knows. Happy Christmas everyone! :) <3

“Consistency is rare. Beauty and discipline? Even rarer.” Piers stepped around the bench press, closing the distance between them. He wasn't imposing like Carlos, he was magnetic. He reached out, not to touch her, but to gently tap the new lifting belt looped over her arm. “Carlos is teaching you the basics, but you have the kind of potential that needs... a more refined touch.”

He leaned in closer, the scent of expensive cologne and musk swirling around her. “You know, me and Chris would love to have you joining us some day.” His hand fiddled with the strap of her bag.

The girl shifted, her bag suddenly feeling heavy. “Oh, I don’t know if I’m ready for you guys yet.”

“I think you’re ready for whatever you want to be ready for.” Piers murmured, his eyes lingering on hers just a second too long. “Don't let Carlos keep you in the shallow end forever.” He winked playfully.

The heavy thud of a weight hitting the floor echoed from the functional turf area.

Both of them turned to see Carlos standing twenty feet away. He was dripping with sweat, his jaw so tight it looked like it might crack. He was holding a second weight, his knuckles white against the black rubber.

“Tesoro.” Carlos called out. His voice wasn’t gentle today. It was a command, vibrating with a protective, jealous edge he couldn't mask. “We’re late. Get to the rack. Ahora.”

Piers didn't flinch. He just chuckled softly, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “Duty calls. But think about it. We’ll be waiting.”

As the girl walked toward Carlos, she could feel the heat radiating off him. He didn’t look at Piers, he kept his eyes locked on her, his chest heaving.

“What did he want?” Carlos rasped as she reached him, his hand gripping the squat rack so hard the metal groaned.

“He was just… inviting me to train with him and Chris.” she said softly, surprised by the raw intensity in his gaze.

“No te acerques a él.” Carlos muttered, stepping into her space, his body shielding her from Piers’s view. He leaned down, his voice a dangerous, possessive growl in her ear. “You don't need his ‘refined touch.’ You’re mine to train. ¿Entiendes?”

Her breath hitched. The possessive edge in Carlos’s voice was like a physical weight, pinning her to the spot. He didn’t wait for her to process the tension; he channeled that volatile energy straight back into the workout.

He stepped back just enough to gesture toward the center of the squat rack, his eyes still dark and focused. The protective wall he’d built around her didn't disappear; it just shifted into a command.

“Under the bar. Now.” He ordered, his voice low and raspy, leaving no room for negotiation.

She blinked, her mind still spinning from the confrontation. “Carlos, I —”

He cut her off, his tone sharp but steady. Carlos began sliding another 45-pound plate onto the sleeve of the barbell with a heavy, metallic clack.

He stepped behind the rack, his massive frame framing the equipment. He tapped the center of the knurled steel bar.

“Center yourself. Brace your core. I want ten reps, deep and slow. If your knees even think about shaking, I’ve got you.” He leaned in, his warmth blooming against her back as he whispered. “Don’t look at him. Don't look at the doors. Look in the mirror and see what I see.”

He didn't move away. He stayed right there, a constant, looming presence in her peripheral vision. “Move, nena. Position. Let’s go.”

“It looks heavier today.” She muttered, wiping her palms on her black leggings.

“Gravity didn’t change overnight, carinõ. You’re just overthinking again. Get in position.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat in it. The familiar metal cold against the back of her shoulders. As she settled into position, a heavy, warm presence close in behind her. He wasn’t touching her—Carlos was strict about her finding her own balance—but the heat radiating from him was a physical weight.

“Deep breath.” He commanded, his voice dropping to that low, private rumble that always made her heart skip a beat, warm breath just hovering over her neck. “Drive through the heels. I’ve got you.”

She took the breath, descended, and felt the familiar burn in her quads. As she struggled against the "sticking point" on the way up, Carlos’s hand hovered just an inch from the small of her back. He didn't help, but the proximity felt like an electric current pushing her upward.

“There it is.” He grunted as she racked the weight with a satisfying clack. "Buena chiquita."

She leaned forward, hands on her knees, gasping for air. “I hate... that... specific... plate.”

Carlos chuckled, a rare, genuine sound that reached his eyes. He reached out, his thumb brushing a stray, sweat-dampened curl away from her forehead. The contact lingered a second too long, his calloused skin was rough against her temple, and for a heartbeat, the sounds of the gym—the hum of the AC, the distant thud of a treadmill, and the loud sound of Leon beating up the printer machine for the third time this week—vanished.

He cleared his throat, pulling his hand back and checking his watch. “Three-minute rest. Walk it off.”

“You’re going to kill me.” She teased, her voice still a bit breathless.

“And you’re the one who texted me at midnight asking if we could add more weight today.” He countered, a slow, devastating smirk spreading across his face. He stepped closer, invading her personal space until she had to tilt her head back to look at him. “You’re getting addicted. Admítelo.”

“Maybe I just like the company.” She challenged, her pulse fluttering in her throat. 

The air between them charged, thick with the kind of tension that made the heavy iron around them feel light. Carlos opened his mouth to respond, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips.

The heavy atmosphere between them was suddenly shattered, not by a voice, but by a sound that vibrated through the very floorboards of the gym.

"HRRRAAAAGH!"

A gutteral, primal roar tore through the air, followed by the deafening, bone-shaking CRASH of several hundred pounds of iron hitting the floor. The sound was so sudden and violent that the girl nearly jumped out of her skin, her hands flying to the bar to steady herself.

Carlos didn't flinch, but his head snapped toward the source.

At the far end of the platform, Chris stood over a bent barbell, his chest heaving under a sweat-soaked tactical tee. His face was flushed a deep, furious red, and his arms—veins bulging like thick cords—were still trembling from the exertion of a maximal deadlift. He looked less like a man and more like a force of nature that had just barely conquered the steel.

"Too much?" Leon called out, completely unbothered as he strolled into the room with the girl in blue. He shook his protein bottle, the rhythmic thwak-thwak of the mixing ball providing a nonchalant beat to Chris's heavy breathing. "Morning, lovebirds!" Leon’s voice boomed, his eyes flickering between Carlos’s protective stance and the girl’s embarassed face with a knowing smirk.

The spell broke. The intimate, dangerous bubble Carlos had spun around the girl popped instantly.

Carlos stepped back, his jaw tightening as he regained his stoic mask, though the heat in his eyes hadn't quite cooled. He looked at Chris, then back to the girl, using his body to reclaim her attention from the chaos Leon and Chris had introduced.

“Back to work.” Carlos said, his voice regaining its firm edge, though he couldn't quite hide the lingering rasp in his throat. He reached out, his hand briefly hovering near her waist to guide her back into the center of the rack. “Ignore them. You’ve got one more set. Focus.”

He tapped the bar again, harder this time. “Under. Now. Give me those ten reps like your life depends on it.”

The girl gripped the bar, her knuckles white. She stood on her tiptoes, unracking the bar, feeling the familiar pinch in her upper back. By the eighth rep, her form started to waver. Her shoulders arched, and her breath came in short, jagged bursts, thighs burning like hell.

“Don't quit on it.” Carlos whispered, his voice a low vibration against the back of her neck. He moved into her space, his chest nearly brushing her shoulder, the heat of his body radiating through her thin gym top. He didn't take the weight from her. Instead, he placed his large, warm hands over her hips—a touch that was both stabilizing and agonizingly intimate.

His fingers dug in slightly, guiding her muscles back into alignment. “Right there.” He murmured, his breath warm and humid against her ear. “Esa es la postura, muñeca. Controla el peso, no dejes que el peso te controle a ti.”

“It hurts.” She gasped, her legs trembling under the strain.

“Lo sé, baby. Sé que quema.” He rasped, leaning even closer until she could feel the hard line of his jaw against her temple. “But you’re stronger than this metal. Dame dos más. For me. Hazlo por mí, mi vida.”

The playful praise hit her harder than the physical exertion. It wasn't just the words; it was the way his hands stayed anchored to her hips, his thumbs tracing the bone as he followed her movement down into the final squat.

“That’s perfect. Look at that control. You’re stronger than you were ten minutes ago. Eres una guerrera.”

She finished the set with a flourish, the weights landing with a controlled, quiet thud. She turned around, still trapped between the machine and his massive frame. Her chest was heaving, her skin flushed, it had nothing to do with the heavy iron.

“Better?” She asked, her voice hitching as she looked up into his dark, hooded eyes.

Carlos didn't move back. If anything, he leaned in, his shadow swallowing her whole. He looked down at her, his eyes tracing the sweat dampening her collarbone. “Best one yet.” He said softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous, private register. “You’re a natural. Even if you don't believe it yet, I do. Me tienes impresionado, preciosa.”

He let his hand linger on the curve of her shoulder for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his thumb grazing the strap of her top. The praise was still ringing in her ears, making her feel invincible and incredibly vulnerable all at once.

Carlos stepped back, though his gaze remained anchored to hers. He didn't offer a suggestion, he gave a command, his voice dropping into that authoritative tone that always made her stomach flip.

"Has hecho un trabajo increíble hoy, muñeca." He said, his eyes scanning her sweaty face with a look of possessive pride. "But we’re done here."

She blinked, still trying to catch her breath. "Done? But I thought—"

"No más preguntas." He interrupted, a bold, devastating smirk playing on his lips. He leaned in closer, his scent of cedar and sweat-dampened skin wrapping around her. "Go to the lockers. Shower and change into something clean. I’m taking you out for coffee. Ahora mismo."

The sheer boldness of it took her breath away. It wasn't an invitation; it was a claim.

"Coffee?" She managed to whisper. "Is that part of the training?"

Carlos let out a low, husky chuckle that vibrated in the small space between them. He reached out, his knuckles brushing softly against her heated cheek.

The girl turned, her legs feeling like lead—partly from the grueling sets of squats, but mostly from the sheer intensity of the man standing behind her. As she walked toward the locker rooms, she could feel the eyes of the entire gym on her back. She passed Chris, who was wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel, and Leon, who gave her a playful, encouraging wink as he leaned against a weight rack.

The heavy swing of the locker room door provided a sudden, muffled silence that felt almost alien after the clanging of iron and the roar of testosterone.

She leaned her back against the cool metal of her locker, letting out a long, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her reflection in the mirror showed a woman transformed: her hair was messy, her skin was flushed, sweaty, and her eyes held a spark of something raw and awakened.

Moving on autopilot, she pulled her change of clothes from her bag. She bypassed her usual oversized hoodie, her fingers settling instead on a soft, ribbed knit dress that hugged her curves—something she had packed on a whim but now felt like a necessity.

The hot water of the shower helped wash away the grit of the gym, but it couldn't wash away the ghost of Carlos’s "possessive growl" or the way his scent seemed to have settled into her very pores. As she dried off and dressed, she took extra care with her reflection.

Then, the heavy thud of the locker room’s outer door echoed through the tile.

She froze. “Hello?” She called out.

No response. Just slow, heavy footsteps. They stopped right outside her stall. Through the frosted glass, she saw the massive, dark silhouette. A large hand pressed against the glass.

Carlos’s voice drifted over the top, thick and roughened. “Se te olvidó tu bolso... y tu teléfono.”

She reached out, her fingers trembling as she touched the glass, mirroring his hand. “You could have left them on the counter, Carlos.”

“I could have.” He admitted. A beat of silence passed. “But I wanted to make sure you were okay. That last set... you looked flushed. Me preocupas, mi reina.”

The handle of the stall turned slowly. The door creaked open just a few inches—enough for the steam to billow out. He stayed on the threshold, his eyes dark.

Stepping into the humid stall and closing the door behind him. The steam was a living thing now, swirling around them as Carlos stepped fully into the stall, clicking the door shut behind him. 

“You’re very bold today, Carlos.” She whispered, tilting her head back to look at him through the mist. Water droplets clung to her eyelashes, making her eyes shimmer. “Entering the women’s showers? Someone might think you have no discipline.”

Carlos let out a low, husky chuckle, his hands coming to rest on the tile on either side of her head, effectively caging her. “Mi disciplina tiene un límite, muñeca.” he murmured, his eyes dark with a playful heat. “And you reached it about two sets ago.”

“Oh? Was it the squats?” She teased, her hands coming up to rest on his soaking wet chest. She felt the heavy, rhythmic thrum of his heart. “I thought you said my form was perfect.”

“Tu forma es peligrosa.” He corrected, leaning in until his nose brushed against hers. “You knew exactly what you were doing when you looked at me like that. Eres una tentación, nínfula.” 

She let her fingers slide up to the collar of his shirt, tugging him just a fraction closer. “And here I thought I was just a ‘star pupil.’ You were so serious out there. ‘Drive through the heels. Deep breaths.’” She mimicked his deep, commanding rumble, making him smirk.

“I have to be serious out there.” He rasped, his hand sliding down to catch her waist, pulling her flush against him. The friction of his damp clothes against her skin was electric. “If Piers or Leon saw how I really wanted to talk to you, they’d fire me for being un hombre perdido.”

“A lost man?” She echoed, her voice hitching as he nipped playfully at her earlobe.

“Perdido por ti, mi vida.” He whispered, his breath a hot caress. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his thumb tracing the curve of her hip. “Now, are you going to keep making fun of my coaching, or are you going to admit that you wanted me to come in here?”

The girl smiled, a slow, wicked little thing. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you actually follow your own rules about ‘finishing the circuit.’”

Carlos groaned, his forehead thumping against hers. “Eres terrible. You’re a brat, ¿lo sabes?” 

“But I’m your favorite brat.” She countered, pounting.

“No.” He whispered, his hand sliding up to cup her neck, his thumb tilting her face toward his. “Eres mi mundo entero. Now, shut up and kiss me, preciosa, before I decide to give you twenty burpees for talking back.”

He crashed his lips onto hers, his kiss possessive and heavy. He tasted of mint and heat, his hands mapping her curves with a desperate reverence.

“Eres mía.” He rasped into the hollow of her throat. “No me importa quién mire, no me importa nada más que tú. Te quiero solo para mí, pequeña.”

The sound of the water became a dull roar in the background as Carlos’s hand tightened at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangling in her wet hair to tilt her head just where he wanted it. When his mouth finally crashed against hers, it wasn't the tentative kiss of a first date, it was the explosion of weeks of repressed hunger.

“Dios, chiquita.” He groaned into the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him.

He lifted her easily, his large hands anchoring under her thighs as he hiked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her damp skin clinging to the fabric of his shirt. She could feel every ridge of his muscles, the sheer power of the man who spent his mornings lifting iron now dedicated entirely to holding her.

“Eres tan perfecta.” He rasped against her lips, his breath hitched. “He soñado con esto desde el primer día que te vi en esa silla.” 

His hands wandered, mapping out the curves he had spent weeks pretending to ignore. One hand slid down to the small of her back, pressing her closer, leaving no space between them. Elara let out a soft, broken whimper, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his traps.

“Carlos.” She breathed, her head falling back as he moved his lips to the sensitive line of her throat.

“Dime, mi reina.” He murmured, his voice a vibration against her skin. He nipped at the spot where her neck met her shoulder, his stubble grazing her skin in a way that made her toes curl. “Tell me you’re mine. Dime que eres mía.”

“I’m yours.” She gasped, her heart hammering against his chest. “Always.”

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark and dilated, searching hers through the thick steam. His face was flushed, his usual stoic mask completely shattered.

“No tienes idea de lo que me haces.” He whispered, his thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip. “I want to stay here forever, but if I don't let you go, I’m going to lose what’s left of my mind. Me vuelves loco, preciosa.” 

He kissed her once more—deep, slow, and possessive—before slowly letting her feet touch the tiled floor again. They stood there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing the same humid air, the water still cascading over them as the world outside the stall felt miles away.

"That’s for me. Now I want to see you bend over for me. Go. Muévete, preciosa, or I might change my mind and make you do another set just to keep you here longer." He murmured, his eyes darkening.

She didn't need to be told twice. As she turned to face the cold tilled wall, she could feel his eyes on her every movement she made, marking her as his in front of anyone who cared to look.

The air in the small stall was thick enough to taste, a heavy mixture of steam and the scent of them both. As she turned to face the tiles, her palms flat against the cold surface, the contrast of the chilled wall against her heated skin made her breath hitch.

Behind her, Carlos didn’t move away, he loomed like a shadow, his presence a physical weight.

"Eso es, mi vida." He growled, the vibration of his voice rumbling through her back.

He stepped closer, his damp shirt pressing against her bare skin, his hands coming to rest firmly on her hips. His grip was heavy, the callouses on his palms a reminder of the iron he moved every day, but now that strength was focused entirely on her.

He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as she trembled under his touch.

"Mira qué hermosa eres." He whispered, his Spanish thickening with his desire. "I told you I wanted to see you like this. Just you and me, pequeña."

His hands slid slowly from her hips up to her waist, his thumbs tracing the line of her ribs. He was mapping her, claiming every inch of her as his own.

She closed her eyes, her head falling forward against the tile as the water cascaded over them, but all she could feel were his hands and the dangerous, dark heat radiating from him.

"You think you can handle this?" He challenged, his voice dropping into a low, possessive rasp. "¿Crees que puedes con esto? Because once I start, I’m not stopping until you’re screaming my name so loud the muchachos can hear it through the walls."

He nipped at the curve of her shoulder, his teeth sharp and playful, marking her skin. "Eres mía. All of you. From the way you look at me in the mirrors to the way you’re shaking right now."

He pulled her back against him, his chest solid and unyielding.

The cold tile against her palms felt like ice compared to the volcanic heat of Carlos behind her. She was trembling, her breaths coming in shallow, desperate hitches that echoed off the wet walls.

"Carlos..." She whimpered, her fingers scratching at the grout of the tiles.

"Dime, mi amor. Dime qué necesitas." He rasped, his voice thick with a hunger he had been starving for weeks. 

He didn't wait for the answer. He crowded her against the wall, his massive frame pinning her there. He reached down, his hands sliding over her slick, wet thighs, pulling her hips back to meet his with a blunt, demanding pressure. The friction of his damp denim and the heat of his body through his clothes made her head spin.

"He estado muriendo por esto." He groaned against the nape of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin until she cried out. "Every rep, every set... watching you move, watching you sweat. Me tenías agonizando, preciosa." 

His hands were everywhere now—restless, needy, and possessive. He gripped her waist so tightly his knuckles turned white, his thumbs digging into the soft skin above her hips. He was shaking, his legendary self-control finally incinerated by the steam and the scent of her.

"Please..." She pleaded, arching her back, her skin craving the friction of his touch.

"¿Por favor qué? Pídeme más." He commanded, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder.  He turned her around in one fluid, powerful motion, slamming her against the wall. "Tell me how much you want me, corazón. I want to hear it before I lose my mind completely."

"I need you." She sobbed out, contorting her body. "Carlos, fuck me now."

"Tu deseo es mi orden, reina." He whispered, his eyes dark with a primal, needy fire. He didn't just kiss her this time, he devoured her, his hands lifting her by the hips as he sought to be as close as humanly possible.

There was only the roar of the water and the desperate, needy heat of two people who had finally stopped pretending they didn't belong to each other.

The cold shock of the tiles against her front was a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body at her back. Carlos was a heavy, solid weight behind her, his chest heaving against her shoulder blades with every ragged breath.

Even in his desperation, his instinct to protect her remained; he kept one broad palm flat against the wall, cushioning her forehead so she wouldn't bruise against the stone as he moved.

He rammed into her with a primal, rhythmic intensity that stole the oxygen from her lungs. Each impact was a blunt reminder of the strength he usually kept so tightly coiled.

His other hand stayed clamped on her hip, his fingers bruising the skin as he anchored her to him, ensuring there wasn't a millimeter of space left between them.

"No voy a parar." He growled into the curve of her ear, his voice vibrating through her entire frame. "I’ve spent every night imagining this... how you’d feel, how you’d scream my name."

She could barely find her voice, her fingers scraping against the grout of the tiles as she tried to find purchase. The steam swirled around them, blurring the world until there was nothing but the slick friction of their skin and the unrelenting force of his desire.

He wasn't just taking what he wanted; he was giving her everything he had suppressed for months—every frustration, every lingering glance, every moment of "just friends" translated into raw, physical motion.

"Carlos..." She gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder as the sensation threatened to overwhelm her.

"Dilo otra vez." He demanded, his pace quickening, his grip on her hip tightening until she was certain his fingerprints would be there in the morning. "Tell me who you belong to."

The sound tore from her throat, a raw, high-pitched wail that echoed off the wet tiles and was swallowed by the heavy thrum of the water. It wasn't a sound of pain, but of total, shattering surrender.

The friction and the relentless force of him had finally pushed her past the point of no return, her body arching like a bow string about to snap.

At the sound of her voice, Carlos’s own restraint disintegrated. He let out a low, guttural roar against the crook of her neck, his teeth sinking into the muscle of her shoulder as he hit his own breaking point.

His movements became frenzied, a blur of power and heat, pinning her so firmly against his hand on the wall that she felt the vibration of his heartbeat through his palm.

"Eso es, reina... llórame." He choked out, his voice cracking with the sheer intensity of it. "Give it all to me."

Her knees buckled, her strength completely spent, and she would have slid down the wet wall if it weren't for his crushing grip on her hips. He held her upright, his body tensing into granite as he poured months of silent agony and repressed hunger into those final, devastating thrusts.

His grip on her wrists tightens, thrusts becoming more aggressive and unrelenting. "You feel so good, my little nínfula." Carlos growls as he spanks her exposed ass with a loud slap.

As he pulled back for another deep, forceful thrust, the lack of traction took over. With a wet, audible slide, he lost his purchase, his member slipping out of her completely.

The sudden loss of contact was a physical shock. She let out a broken, frustrated whimper, her body arching back instinctively to find him again as she felt the cool air and water rush into the space where he had just been.

"No, no... Carlos." She sobbed out, her voice weak and trembling. She was so far gone, so undone by him, that the interruption felt like a physical ache, forehead leaning heavily into the back of his hand. Her voice was thin, strained by the sheer sensory overload.

The world narrowed down to the scalding spray of the shower and the rhythmic, wet slap of skin on skin until, finally, the tension exploded.

She went rigid, her fingers clawing at his forearms as a white-hot wave of sensation crashed over her, leaving her gasping, her lungs burning, her forehead pressed hard against the back of his hand.

Carlos followed her over the edge seconds later, his breath hitching into a jagged sob of relief. He buried his face in her wet hair, his chest heaving against her back, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of a fire that had finally burned itself out.

The violent intensity of the moments before evaporated, replaced by a heavy, liquid silence broken only by the steady drum of the shower.

Carlos didn't pull away immediately, instead, he draped his massive frame over her, shielding her from the spray as his breathing slowly leveled out.

He turned her gently in his arms, his movements now careful, as if he were handling something fragile. With a thumb, he wiped a mixture of water and stray tears from her cheek. His eyes, once dark with primal hunger, were now soft and swimming with an almost painful devotion.

"Lo siento, mi vida." He murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I didn't mean to be so rough. You just... you make me lose my head."

He began to pepper her face with tiny, feather-light kisses—on her forehead, the tip of her nose, and the corners of her mouth. He reached for the soap, lathering his hands and beginning to wash her skin with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

He was meticulous, his large hands gliding over her shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, grounding her back in reality.

The peace was shattered by a sharp whistle and the unmistakable sound of a locker door slamming shut on the other side of the heavy wooden door.

"Hey, Carlos!" Leon’s voice boomed, dripping with mischief. "You planning on coming out, or are you staying in there until the water bill bankrupts the gym?"

A chorus of snickering broke out. "Give him a break, Leon." Piers chimed in, followed by a theatrical groan. "The man is clearly 'working on his cardio.' Sounds like a high-intensity interval session to me!"

Carlos froze, his forehead resting against hers. He closed his eyes, a reluctant, sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his lips as the boys continued to hoot and catcall from the locker room.

"Ignore them." He whispered, though his ears were turning a deep shade of red. "They’re just jealous because they’ve never seen a queen like you."

"We can hear you whispering, Romeo!" Leon shouted, followed by the sound of a rhythmic pounding on the door. "Hurry up! Some of us actually need to shower!"

The dynamic duo caught her eye when she entered the gym that night.

After a loooong, exhausting week at work, the sight of the two beefy bucketheads training together put a smile on her face.

Chris was bench-pressing an ungodly amount of weight, and Piers was spotting him with casual ease, hands hovering just below the bar. The heavy iron plates clacked softly as he lowered the bar to his chest with agonizingly slow control. His jaw was set, neck muscles strained and a thin sheen of sweat made his skin glint under the harsh lights.

Piers met her heating gaze, a smirk took over his boyish features when he realized they were being watched. He excitedly waved at her to come over, and so she did, leaving her gym bag near her feet.

"C'mon, Chris! Put on a show for our little crowd." The blond guy barked, voice sharp and motivating.

With a powerful, explosive grunt, Chris drove the bar upward until his arms locked out, veins popping like roots on a tree trunk, pulsing with adrenaline. Piers guided the metal into the rack with a resounding clack-clack.

The man sat up immediately, breathing hard, running a hand through his dark, sweat-dampened hair, Piers claps Chris's shoulders, congratulating him on hitting his biggest PR.

Piers stretched one arm to side-hug the girl, rubbing her elbow and kissing the side of her forehead. "It's good to have you back. Carlos told us about the injury, tell us if you need anything." 

Then her eyes meet Chris's dark, iron-hard ones, locking on her tired ones with a harrowing focus that made her feel both exposed and entirely seen.

Big eyes the color of dark roasted espresso, almost black at first glance, framed by thick, dark lashes that softened the ruggedness of his face just enough to be dangerous.

His pupils dilated slightly, swallowing the amber until his eyes looked like two dark pools of ink. He took a long pull of water, without breaking eye contact. "It's nice to have you back, pipsqueak." He crooked out, voice still hoarse from the intense workout.

And then, he stood up, and the true scale of Chris hit her like a train after weeks of not seeing either of them. Chris didn't just stand near her, he towered over her, a literal wall of muscle and heat that seemed to block out the rest of the gym.

The girl, already feeling small in her skin, felt positively safe beneath his shadow. To look him in the eye now, she had to tilt her head back at an angle that made her feel vulnerable, exposing the long line of her throat.

The top of her head—even with her ponytail pulled high—didn't even reach his chin.

He looked down at her, his neck corded with muscle as he angled his head. The height difference was so stark that when he spoke, his voice didn't just come toward her—it rumbled down over her, the bass of his tone vibrating in her collarbone.

She gulped, feeling a little bit intimidated, Chris could easily crush her if he wished to do so.

Then Piers came barging in, grabbing her by the shoulders, completely unaware of the tension.

"Want some help? Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, just in case." He offers, more like begs, puppy eyes shining down at her. 

They are a bright, clear blue, always crinkling at the corners with a joke or a wink. They are welcoming, transparent, and easy to read. When Piers looks at her, it’s a friendly invitation to join the fun. His gaze is like a sunlit day, comfortable and safe.

But Chris? His eyes are the midnight to Piers’s noon.

The girl took her first tentative step toward the squat rack, her gait was uneven, a slight, pained hitch in her strid favoring her left side.

Chris noticed it before she even reached the rubber mat. His dark eyes, usually so focused on the mechanics of the lift, dropped instantly to her feet. The smoldering intensity in his gaze sharpened into something protective and clinical.

"Stop." He said. It wasn't a shout, but the sheer volume of his voice made her freeze. He crossed the distance between them in two massive strides, his shadow falling over her like a heavy blanket.

Piers, who had been distracted loading the machine with a little less than her usual weight, caught the change in Chris's posture. His "golden retriever" grin vanished, replaced by genuine concern as he jogged over.

"Whoa, pippy, you're limping." He said, his voice soft and stripped of its usual playfulness. Piers reached out, hovering a hand near her shoulder as if to steady her. "What happened?"

"I... I tripped on a curb while walking my dog two weeks ago." She admitted, her ears heating up. "I thought it was fine, I really did. I didn't want to cancel."

Chris let out a low, rough sound in his throat—halfway between a growl and a sigh. He didn't ask for permission, he simply sank down, dropping to one knee in front of her.

The movement was jarring—this massive, towering man who had just been tossing around hundreds of pounds was now kneeling at her feet, making himself small.

"Sit." Chris commanded, gesturing to the weight bench behind her. As she sat, he carefully reached out, his large, calloused hand gently cupping her heel while the other steadied her ankle. The heat from his palm seeped through her sock, a stark contrast to the cool gym air.

"It’s swollen." He muttered, his thumb tracing the bone with a light, surprisingly tender touch. He looked up at her, his espresso eyes no longer burning with the fire, but with a stern, focused worry. "Why didn't you told us?"

"I didn't want you to think I was making excuses." She whispered, looking down at him. From this angle, she could see the corded muscles of his neck and the way his dark hair curled at the nape.

"Hey, hey, look at me." Piers said, stepping into her line of sight and offering a warm, encouraging smile to distract her from the pain. He knelt on her other side, the blue of his eyes bright and soothing. "No one here thinks you're making excuses. We just don't want you breaking yourself further.

"Piers, get a cold pack from the back." Chris ordered, his eyes never leaving the girl’s.

"On it! Don't let him bully you while I'm gone." Piers chirped, darting off toward the training room.

The tension between the girl and Chris shifted. He looked up at her, his face inches from her knees.

 "We’re not lifting today. You’re going to sit here and ice this." He said, his voice dropping to that gravelly, private register.

He stood up then, looming over her once more, but this time he reached down and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were rough, but the gesture was incredibly soft.

"I understand." She finally managed, the words barely a breath.  

Piers returned a moment later, jogging back with a blue gel pack wrapped in a clean white towel. He slid back into his spot beside her, his energy acting like a lightning rod to ground the heavy tension Chris had created.

"Ice is here! Make way for the medic." Piers teased, though his eyes remained focused on her ankle. He knelt down and carefully pressed the cold pack against the swelling. "Easy does it. Cold's going to be your best friend for the next twenty minutes."

Chris stepped back just an inch, though he didn't move far. He crossed his massive arms over his chest, the muscles in his forearms still rippling from his bench press set.

"Piers is right." Chris said, his voice regaining some of its authoritative edge. "But ice is only half of it. We’re going to look at your mobility once the inflammation goes down. You’ve been overcompensating on the right side to protect the left—I saw it in the way you turned toward the rack. That’s how you blow out a hip or a knee."

For the next hour the dynamic shifted. The heavy weights were forgotten. Instead, she sat on the bench, flanked by two of the most formidable men she’d ever known, who were now treating her like she was made of glass.

Piers took charge of her morale, regaling her with a ridiculous story about a mishap Leon had in the kitchen earlier that week, making her laugh until she forgot to be embarrassed.

Chris stayed quiet, but his eyes never left her. He stood guard, occasionally reaching out to adjusted the position of her leg or checking the temperature of her skin against the ice pack.

"You're lucky." Chris muttered, his voice softening as he looked down at her. "Most people would have tried to push through it and ended up in a cast. You're stubborn, pipsqueak, but you're smart enough to stop when I tell you to."

Piers grinned up at her from his spot on the floor. "He means he’s glad you’re okay. He’s just bad at saying it."

"Shut up, Piers." Chris grunted, though there was no heat in it.

When the session ended, Chris didn't even let her reach for her gym bag. He snatched it up with one finger, slinging it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

"I'm driving you back." He stated. It wasn't a question.

"And I'm coming along to make sure he doesn't bore you to death with talk about 'optimal recovery' the whole way." Piers added, slinging an arm around her shoulder to help her stand, making sure she didn't put too much weight on the left foot.

As they walked toward the exit—her tucked securely between the sunny warmth of Piers and the dark, protective shadow of Chris—the exhaustion of her long week finally began to lift. She was injured, yes, but she had never felt more looked after.

The car ride was a blur of low-frequency engine hums and Piers’s upbeat chatter, but the atmosphere shifted the moment they arrived at their apartment. It was a space that felt exactly like them: clean, functional, and massive.

Chris unlocked the door and stepped aside, his hand hovering near the small of her back—not quite touching, but close enough that she could feel the radiating heat of his palm through her shirt.

"Straight to the couch." Chris commanded.

He didn't wait for her to navigate the threshold on her own. Before she could protest, he hooked one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her with the same casual strength he’d used for the barbell earlier.

He deposited her onto a deep, charcoal-gray sectional sofa that felt soft enough to swallow her whole.

The contrast in the apartment was almost comical. Surrounded by their furniture—built for men of their significant displacement—she felt less like a houseguest and more like a fragile bird they had rescued from a storm.

Chris and Piers didn't just move through the room; they dominated it. When Chris stood in the kitchen doorway, his shoulders nearly brushed both sides of the frame. Even in a simple t-shirt, the fabric looked like it was losing a battle against his chest and biceps, the seams strained to their absolute limit.

Every time he reached for a glass or a plate, his muscles coiled and shifted with a terrifying, effortless power. To him, the heavy ceramic plates felt like paper, and the gallon of milk looked like a juice box in his massive grip.

Piers, while leaner than the wall of muscle that was Chris, was still a powerhouse of dense, functional strength. As he sat beside her, the sheer width of his frame made the oversized sectional look small. His thighs were thick pillars of muscle that took up two cushions' worth of space, and when he leaned over to check her bandage, the sheer density of his arm—solid as a marble carving—rested near her, radiating a constant, furnace-like heat.

"Hydration first, then fuel!" Piers called out. He returned a moment later balancing a tray. He set it down on the coffee table, sliding a tall glass of chilled water with lemon toward her, followed by a bowl of sliced apples and high-quality peanut butter. "Carlos always says you skip lunch when you’re stressed at work, so don't even try to tell me you're not hungry."

Chris, meanwhile, had retrieved a plush ottoman. He sat at her feet, carefully lifting her injured leg to rest on a stack of pillows. He didn't pull away once her foot was settled, instead, he began wrapping a fresh compression bandage around her ankle with practiced, rhythmic precision.

"You're being very quiet." Chris noted, his dark eyes flicking up to hers. The intensity had settled into something more like a smolder. "Pain level?"

"It’s better." She whispered, taking a sip of the water. "You guys really don't have to do all this."

Piers plopped down on the cushion right next to her, leaning in close so their shoulders touched. He popped a slice of apple into his mouth, grinning. "Nonsense. It’s the highlight of our night. Watching Chris play nurse is better than any TV show."

Chris gave Piers a dry, warning look but didn't stop his work. As he finished the wrap, his hand lingered on her calf for a second longer than necessary.

The contrast was stark: his hand was broad enough to wrap nearly all the way around her limb, his skin darkened by the gym lights and mapped with faint scars from years of service.

"You're staying here for a while." Chris said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the sofa cushions. "I’m making dinner. Real food. Not snacks."

Piers winked at her, bumping his shoulder against hers. "You want the remote? We’ve got every action movie ever made, or I can find that baking show you like."

The atmosphere in the apartment shifted as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the low, amber glow of a few stray lamps. The playful energy Piers had brought earlier began to simmer into something thicker, more potent.

Being sandwiched between them on the couch felt like being held in a velvet vise of pure heat and muscle.

Chris didn’t move from his spot at the end of the sofa. He kept his large, heavy hand resting on her shin, just above the bandage. His thumb began a slow, absent-minded rhythm, stroking the sensitive skin there. Every time his rough callus caught against her, a jolt of electricity shot up her leg, settling deep in her stomach.

He leaned forward, his massive chest looming over her knees. "You're shivering." He rumbled, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like a physical touch against her skin. "Piers, get the weighted blanket. Or just get closer."

Piers didn't need to be told twice. He let out a low, huffed laugh and slid closer, his thigh pressing firmly against hers from hip to knee. He was a furnace. He reached out, his arm draping over the back of the sofa behind her head, effectively caging her in.

"Chris is right. You're like a little ice cube." Piers murmured. He turned his head, his lips hovering just an inch from her temple. She could feel his warm breath, smelling faintly of mint and woodsmoke. He reached his free hand over, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw with agonizing slowness. "Is this okay? We don't want you catching a chill on top of everything else."

The girl looked from Piers’s bright, hungry blue eyes to Chris’s dark, hooded ones. Chris’s gaze wasn't clinical anymore—it was possessive.

He reached out with his other hand, grasping her waist. His fingers were so long they nearly met at the small of her back, his grip firm enough to remind her that he could snap the tension—or her composure—whenever he pleased.

"She's flushed, Piers. Not cold." Chris corrected, his voice like gravel grinding on silk. He pulled her slightly toward him, sliding her body along the cushions until she was pressed even more tightly into the cradle of their bodies.

The scale of them was overwhelming. Chris’s shoulders seemed to block out the entire room, and Piers’s solid weight against her side made her feel delicate, cherished, and dangerously desired.

Chris leaned in, his face inches from hers now. The scent of him—expensive leather, sweat, and something deep and masculine—filled her senses. "You like being taken care of, don't you, pipsqueak?" He exhaled, his dark eyes dropping to her lips. "Having two sets of hands on you instead of one?"

Piers’s fingers drifted from her jaw down to the sensitive skin of her neck, his thumb grazing the pulse point that was fluttering like a trapped bird.

"I think she loves it." Piers whispered into her ear, his voice a playful, sultry contrast to Chris’s intensity. "And we’re not even close to finished with your 'rehab' yet."

The air in the living room turned humid, charged with a heavy, magnetic pull that made her breath hitch. She was a tiny island of soft skin caught between two massive, tectonic plates of muscle.

"Look at her." Piers whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, needy edge. He shifted, pulling her back against his chest so she was tucked into the crook of his arm.

His bicep, hard as an iron pipe, felt like a pillow of solid granite beneath her head. "She’s all worked up, Chris. Heart’s going a mile a minute."

To prove his point, Piers slid his hand down, his broad palm splaying flat over her stomach. His fingers were so long they brushed the undersides of her ribs, feeling the frantic, shallow rise and fall of her breathing.

He let out a low, shaky exhale, his nose buried in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent like he was starving. "So small... you fit right in the middle of us, don't you?"

Chris didn't just watch; he moved in to claim his share. He surged forward, crawling upward on the couch until he was looming directly over her. The sheer scale of him was terrifyingly beautiful—a wall of dark, sweat-dampened skin and corded muscle that blotted out the light.

He didn't use the gentle touch from before. He grabbed both of her wrists in one of his hands, pinning them gently but firmly above her head against the cushions. The power in his grip was effortless, a silent reminder that she was completely at his mercy.

"You’re acting like a brat, Piers. Sharing is hard, isn't it?" Chris growled, though his eyes never left hers. He leaned down, his chest brushing against her breasts, the heat of his body searing through their clothes. "You're so needy for her attention, but I think she needs us to show her exactly how much we've missed her."

He lowered his head, his rough, unshaven jaw grazing the sensitive skin of her shoulder. He didn't kiss her—not yet. He just hovered there, his hot breath ghosting over her skin. "Tell me, pipsqueak. Do you want Piers to keep holding you... or do you want me to take over?"

Piers’s hand wandered lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her gym shorts, not pulling, just anchoring her to him. "Why choose?" Piers challenged, his voice dropping to a sultry, playful purr. He nipped at her earlobe, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to make her toes curl. "I'm not letting go. I’ve been waiting all week to get my hands on her."

Chris let out a low, guttural sound—half-laugh, half-growl. He released her wrists only to cup her face, his thumb forcing her chin up so she had to look into the bottomless ink of his eyes.

"She’s trembling." Chris observed, his thumb dragging across her lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the damp heat inside. "Is it too much, having two of us this close? Two of us wanting to see how loud we can make you gasp?"

He leaned in closer, his lips a fraction of an inch from hers. "Because we're not being 'gentle' anymore. We're going to keep you right here, between us, until you're too exhausted to remember your name."

The tension snapped like a dry branch in the woods. Chris’s dark eyes locked onto Piers’s, a silent communication passing between the two men that made the girl’s stomach flip with a mix of trepidation and soaring heat.

"Piers." Chris rumbled, his voice a low, commanding vibration. "Fix her."

Piers didn't hesitate. He slid off the cushions and onto the floor, but he didn't stay there. He surged forward, his massive frame dwarfing the space as he settled his knees on the edge of the sofa, forcing himself right between her thighs.

The sheer width of his shoulders meant he had to push her legs wider to fit, and the feeling of his solid, warm weight anchoring her to the cushions made her breath catch in a sharp, needy gasp.

Chris remained behind her, his body acting as a living throne. He sat up, pulling her back against his massive chest so her spine was flush against his rock-hard pectorals. His arms, thick as bridge cables, wound around her waist, his hands splaying across her ribs to hold her steady. He was the anchor, Piers was the storm.

Piers looked up at her from his position between her knees, his blue eyes no longer "puppy-dog" soft. They were burning, focused, and heavy with a hunger that made him look dangerous.

"You're so small." Piers whispered, his voice shaking with a ragged edge. He reached out, his large hands sliding up her inner thighs. His palms were like branding irons against her skin. "I can feel you shaking. Are you scared? Or are you just as desperate as we are?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Piers leaned forward, burying his face in the soft heat of her lap, his hands gripping the backs of her thighs to pull her even closer to the edge of the couch. The scale of his head and neck against her small frame made her feel completely overtaken.

Behind her, Chris’s grip tightened. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive tendon there. "Answer him." Chris growled into her skin, his hands sliding upward to cup her breasts through her shirt, his thumbs teasing the centers until she let out a broken whimper. "Tell him what you want, pipsqueak. He’s waiting."

Piers looked up then, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and frantic. "I want to hear it." He pleaded, his voice a sultry, needy wreck. "I want to hear you say you need both of us. That one isn't enough."

His hands moved higher, his fingers hooking into the hem of her shorts, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin he had been "inspecting" earlier. The playfulness was gone, replaced by an overwhelming, heavy-set need to possess.

"You know." Piers murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum between her knees. "This bandage isn't the only thing that's a bit too tight and distracting, is it?"

His hands, which had been anchoring her thighs, began to move with a slow, agonizing deliberation. His fingers hooked into the elastic of her gym shorts, but he didn't stop there. He reached underneath, his knuckles grazing her skin with a light, teasing touch that made her hips instinctively arch toward him.

"Piers..." She breathed, her voice a fragile thread.

"Shh." he whispered, his blue eyes dancing with a mix of mischief and pure, unadulterated want. "I’m just helping. You’re on 'bed rest,' remember? No restrictive clothing allowed."

With a sudden, nimble flick of his wrists, he didn't just tug; he used his immense strength to playfully "unpeel" her. He shucked the shorts down her legs with a grin, tossing them over his shoulder like they were an afterthought. Then, his fingers found the delicate lace of her underwear. He didn't rip them, instead, he hooked a single finger into the side, pulling the fabric just enough to let the cool air hit her skin before letting it snap back with a soft thwack.

"Oops." He chuckled, his voice thick and needy. "My hands are just so big, pipsqueak. It’s hard to be precise."

Behind her, Chris let out a low, dark chuckle that she felt more than heard, the vibration traveling from his chest straight into her spine. He tightened his hold, his massive arms acting like a velvet vise, pinning her against him so she couldn't retreat from Piers’s wandering hands even if she wanted to.

"Don't tease her, Piers." Chris rumbled, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Unless you're prepared to finish what you're starting."

"Oh, I'm prepared." Piers countered. He looked at her, his expression softening into something intensely romantic even as his hands grew bolder. He used both hands to slowly, playfully slide the silk down her legs.

He moved slowly, his eyes locked on hers, watching every flicker of pleasure and shock on her face as he bared her to the amber light of the room.

When the fabric finally fell away, he crumpled the small scrap of lace in his massive, scarred fist—it looked like nothing more than a cobweb in his grip.

"There." Piers whispered, his voice dropping to a gravelly, needy register as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her inner thigh. The heat from his skin was overwhelming. "Much better. Now I can see exactly what you're feeling."

Chris’s hands slid down from her ribs, his palms splaying flat across her lower stomach, his thumbs dipping just below her hip bones. "She’s soaking wet, Piers." Chris noted, his voice a primal growl of satisfaction. "Look at what you did to her."

The playful smirk vanished, replaced by a raw, focused hunger that made him look less like a teammate and more like a man possessed. He stared at her for a heartbeat, his blue eyes blown wide, tracking the subtle tremors in her thighs.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this." Piers rasped, his voice breaking with a needy edge.

He didn't hesitate any longer. Piers leaned in, his large hands sliding upward to hook firmly behind her knees, pulling her right to the edge of the cushions. He lowered his head, his blond hair brushing against her sensitive skin as he took his first, tentative taste.

The first graze of his tongue was agonizingly slow—a long, wet stroke that made her back arch and her fingers scramble for purchase in Chris’s thick, muscular forearms.

Piers let out a muffled groan against her, a sound of pure, unadulterated worship. He drank her in like a man dying of thirst, his tongue broad and warm, tracing her with a rhythmic, heavy pressure that mirrored the pulsing of her own heart.

As Piers worked, Chris became her ultimate support. He didn't let her collapse. Instead, he shifted his weight, spreading his massive legs to brace her more firmly.

He reached down and grabbed her hands, threading his thick, calloused fingers through hers and pinning them to her own lap so she could feel exactly what Piers was doing to her.

"Stay still, pipsqueak." Chris commanded, his voice a dark, guttural rumble right against her spine. He tilted his head, watching the top of Piers’s head move between her legs with a possessive, dark intensity. "Let him take care of you. You’ve been working too hard. This is your reward."

Chris’s chest was heaving against her back, his own arousal a hard, solid heat pressing into her. He leaned forward, biting down gently on the slope of her shoulder, his teeth marking her as his own while Piers’s mouth claimed the rest of her.

Piers’s movements grew more frantic, more desperate. He began to use his hands to knead the soft flesh of her glutes, his fingers sinking into her skin with a strength that was barely restrained. He hummed into her, the vibration of his voice echoing through her entire body, sending wave after wave of heat through her nerves.

"So sweet." Piers whimpered against her skin, pulling back just enough to look at her, his lips wet and his face flushed. "You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted. Tell me you like it. Tell Chris how much you love it."

He didn't wait for her to find her words. He dived back in, his tongue flicking with a new, sharp urgency that sent her over the edge. Her head fell back against Chris’s shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut as the world narrowed down to the sensation of Piers’s mouth and Chris’s crushing, protective embrace.

Piers's tongue works its magic into her pussy, his strokes long and deliberate as he teases out every last drop of pleasure from her limp body. "Like a sweet little treat." He murmurs, voice low and husky.

As Piers pulled back for a second, his face was flushed, his blue eyes dark with a mix of adoration and a sudden, mischievous streak of dominance.

He saw the way she was melting into Chris’s massive frame, her body limp and overstimulated. A slow, wicked grin spread across his boyish face.

"You’re getting a little too lost in it, pipsqueak." Piers teased, his voice dropping to a husky, playful growl. "I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge of this 'rehab' session."

Without warning, Piers shifted his grip. He slid one of his massive hands—the same hand that could steady a hundred-pound dumbbell with ease—under her hip to tilt her slightly. With the other, he brought his palm down in a sharp, stinging smack against her swollen pussy lips.

The sound was loud in the quiet apartment—a meaty, resonant crack that echoed off the high ceilings.

The shock of the blow made her cry out, a sharp gasp of surprise that was immediately swallowed by Chris’s dark chuckle. The sting was hot and immediate, blooming across her skin, but it was followed instantly by the overwhelming surge of adrenaline that turned the pain into a heavy, throbbing ache of desire.

"Piers." Chris warned, though his voice was thick with approval. He didn't pull her away, instead, he used his crushing strength to hold her even tighter against his chest, making sure she couldn't squirm away from the next one. "Don't be too mean to her. She's still injured, remember?"

"I'm being very careful, Chris." Piers countered, his eyes locked on the faint, dark handprint beginning to rise on her skin. He looked up at her, his expression needy and intense. "But she’s being so good for us... I think she can handle a little more discipline. Don't you?"

Piers didn't wait for an answer. He delivered another strike, then another, the rhythm steady and firm. Each blow made her body jolt against Chris’s rock-solid chest, her soft skin vibrating under the impact of Piers’s heavy, calloused hand.

Between the strikes, Piers would immediately soothe the area, his large palm rubbing the heat back into her skin, his thumb tracing the edges of the redness with a tenderness that was almost more overwhelming than the spanking itself.

"There she is." Piers whispered, watching her eyes glaze over with total surrender. He leaned in, kissing the skin he had just abused, his lips cool against the fire. "That’s my girl. So responsive. So perfect for us."

Chris’s hands, which had been holding her waist, slid lower, his thick fingers digging into her hips to anchor her for Piers's continued attention. "Look at what you're doing to her, Piers." Chris rumbled, his voice a low, vibrating bass. "She's practically begging for more."

As the final sting of Piers’s palm faded into a throbbing, heavy heat, the girl’s body reached its breaking point. The combination of Chris’s immovable, mountain-like pressure behind her and Piers’s relentless, playful worship in front of her was too much for her senses to hold.

A sharp, broken sob of pure pleasure escaped her throat as her internal tension finally snapped.

"Oh, look at that." Piers whispered, his voice cracking with a raw, needy hunger.

As she climaxed, her body betrayed her in the most spectacular way. A sudden, hot gush of moisture spilled over, slicking Piers’s hand and the cushions of the sofa.

The sheer volume of her reaction made Piers gasp, his blue eyes widening as he felt the warmth drenching his fingers. It wasn't just a trickle; it was a total surrender, her body blooming open for them like a flower under a summer storm.

Piers didn't pull away. He let out a low, guttural moan, pressing his palm flat against her to catch the heat, his fingers curling with a desperate, possessive greed. "Chris, look... she's absolutely ruined for us."

Behind her, Chris’s composure finally shattered. The sight of her gushing over Piers’s hand while trapped in his arms triggered something primal. His grip on her waist tightened until his knuckles went white, his fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh of her hips.

"I see it." Chris growled, his voice a jagged, dangerous rumble that vibrated through her entire skull.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her arousal and sweat. He was breathing like a freight train, his massive chest heaving against her back.

He reached down, his own hand joining Piers’s, his thick fingers mingling with the slickness his partner had drawn out of her. The contrast was staggering—her trembling thighs bookended by four massive, scarred hands that looked capable of punching stones, yet were now dripping with the evidence of her pleasure.

She was limp, her head lolling back against Chris’s shoulder, her breath coming in ragged, pathetic little hitches. She felt completely spent, hollowed out by the intensity of the two men.

Piers leaned forward, his face slick, his eyes glowing with a terrifyingly romantic devotion. He began to lick the moisture from his own fingers, his gaze never leaving hers. "You’re so wet, pipsqueak." he whimpered, the word sounding like a prayer. "I think you just claimed this couch as yours."

Chris didn't say a word. He simply unzipped his gym hoodie with one hand and wrapped it around her small, shivering frame, tucking her into the scent of his own musk and heavy fabric. He looked at Piers, a silent command in his dark, ink-pool eyes.

"Bedroom." Chris ordered, his voice thick and undeniable. "Now. I’m not letting her sleep until she’s completely covered in our cum."

He stood up in one fluid, powerful motion, bringing her with him as if she weighed no more than a bundle of lace. She felt like a total ragdoll in his arms, her limbs heavy and uncoordinated from the sheer intensity of the release she'd just endured.

As he strode down the hallway toward the master bedroom, she slumped against him, her cheek pressing into the sandpaper grit of his dark stubble. She let out a soft, broken mewl, her lips grazing the corded muscle of his neck, breathing in the scent of iron and expensive soap that clung to his skin.

They reached the room, and Chris tossed her—gently, but with the casual dominance of a man who owned every inch of the space—onto the center of the massive, king-sized bed.

He positioned her exactly how he wanted: chest down, her hips hiked up so her bottom was thrust into the air, and her legs spread wide in a vulnerable, exposing her puffy pussy, almost like presenting her sweet cunt to Chris.

Piers was there in a heartbeat, crawling onto the mattress from the head of the bed. He was already stripped, his lean, dense muscle rippling under the dim bedside lamp. He loomed over her face, his blue eyes burning with a needy, frantic heat.

"Open up for me, pipsqueak." Piers whispered, his voice a hoarse command. He didn't wait, guiding himself to her lips. She took him in, her small hands clutching at the silk sheets as he began a slow, rhythmic slide that filled her mouth and silenced her whimpers, his fingers threading into her hair to hold her steady for his pace.

While Piers claimed her focus above, Chris sank to his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed. From this angle, she was completely exposed to him. The sight of her— swollen from the spanking, slick from her gush, and trembling under Piers’s weight—made Chris’s espresso eyes turn pitch black.

"My turn." Chris rumbled, the bass of his voice vibrating through the mattress and into her chest.

He didn't hesitate. He leaned in, his face inches from her heat, inhaling the scent of her surrender. Then, he drove two of his massive, calloused fingers deep inside her. The intrusion was blunt and overwhelming, his fingers were so thick they stretched her to the limit, hitting her pulse points with clinical, punishing accuracy.

She let out a muffled scream against Piers, her body bucking as Chris began to work his hand with a relentless, heavy-duty rhythm. He used his thumb to pin her sensitive core, grinding against it with the same steady pressure he used to rack a heavy bar.

She was caught in a pincer move of pure, masculine power: Piers’s solid weight and rhythmic thrusting at her mouth, and Chris’s rough, expert manipulation below.

"Look at her, Piers." Chris growled, his voice muffled by the proximity to her skin as he watched his fingers disappear and reappear in the slick heat. "She’s taking all of us. Every inch."

Piers let out a ragged groan, his hips twitching as he neared his limit. "She’s so warm... Chris, I’m gonna break..."

Chris's movement becoming more frantic and urgent, feeling her walls squeezing his fingers to death, wet sounds of her body being pushed to its absolute limit. Caught in the middle of their massive frames, she was a small, overwhelmed creature struggling to stay afloat in a sea of pure testosterone.

Chris ignored her protests with the stoic, focused resolve of a man used to moving immovable objects. As he felt her walls clench around him, he didn't pull back—he added a third finger, his knuckles stretching her until she felt like she might split.

The thickness of his hand was staggering, his wrist alone was broader than her bicep, a solid beam of bone and corded muscle that didn't budge an inch.

She reached down, her small, trembling fingers wrapping around that meaty wrist in a desperate attempt to slow the relentless, piston-like rhythm of his hand. It was a useless effort. It was like trying to stop a freight train with a silk ribbon.

Chris didn’t even seem to notice her grip, he simply adjusted his angle, driving deeper, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves above her entrance and grinding into it with the same crushing force he used to grip a barbell.

Above her, Piers was far from the "gentle" protector now. He was driven by a primal, needy desperation, his hips snapping forward with a speed that left her gasping. Every thrust hit the back of her sore, sensitive throat, forcing her head back into the pillows.

"Don't fight it." Piers rasped, his voice a broken, sultry wreck as he looked down at her wide, watering eyes. He reached down, his fingers curling around her throat—not to choke, but to steady her, his thumb grazing her jawline. "Just take it. Take all of it for us."

She was pinned by their combined weight and will. The sandpaper friction of Chris's calloused fingers inside her was a sharp, grounding contrast to the smooth, slick heat of Piers in her mouth. Every time she tried to pull away from Chris’s hand, she only ended up impaling herself further on Piers.

"She’s fighting, Piers." Chris rumbled, his dark eyes fixed on the way her fingers were still uselessly clamped around his arm. He let out a low, predatory sound, his fingers curling inside her to hook against her G-spot. "She thinks she has a choice."

Chris leaned in, his face pressing against the side of her hip, his hot breath ghosting over her skin. "You’re not going anywhere, pipsqueak. Not until we’ve had every single drop."

With a sudden, violent surge of strength, Chris accelerated. His hand became a blur of motion, the sheer friction creating a heat that felt like it was set to ignite. At the same time, Piers’s rhythm became frantic, his breath hitching as he prepared to spill over.

The air thick with the scent of salt, musk, and the sheer heat radiating from the two massive men. The girl was a fraying wire, her nervous system humming with a frequency she couldn't sustain.

Chris felt it first. The muscles of her thighs began to quiver uncontrollably, and the walls of her body started to ripple around his hand in tight, frantic spasms. He didn't let up, instead, he drove his fingers in deeper, his thumb pinning her core with a final, crushing bit of pressure.

"There it is." Chris growled, his voice a dark, triumphant vibration.

She let out a muffled, high-pitched wail against Piers as she finally broke. A thick, hot wave of cream spilled over Chris’s hand, drenching his fingers and coating his meaty wrist in her total surrender.

The sheer volume of her release was staggering, a testament to how thoroughly they had worked her over. Chris let out a low, guttural grunt of satisfaction, his fingers staying buried deep inside her to feel every rhythmic, pulsing throb of her climax.

The sight of her coming so hard around Chris’s hand was the final trigger for Piers. He let out a ragged, choked-off shout, his fingers digging into her hair as his body went rigid.

With a violent, final thrust that hit the very back of her throat, Piers spilled himself. The heat of him was overwhelming, a thick, searing flood that filled her mouth and spilled over her lips. He held her there, his hips twitching with the force of his release, making sure she took every bit of his cum.

As the waves of pleasure slowly receded, the room fell into a heavy, weighted silence, broken only by the sound of three sets of frantic lungs fighting for air.

Piers slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest against hers, his blue eyes blown wide and glassy with a dazed, needy adoration. He looked completely spent, his blond hair damp and sticking to his forehead.

Chris, still kneeling on the floor, slowly withdrew his hand. He looked at his fingers, slick and glistening in the dim light, before looking up at the girl. His espresso eyes were dark, hooded, and intensely romantic. He reached up, his large, damp hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that felt like a reward for her endurance.

"Good girl." Chris rumbled, his voice a hoarse, gravelly shadow of its former self. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, right between her eyes. "I think that counts as a successful session."

Piers let out a soft, tired chuckle, shifting so he could lie down beside her, pulling her small, limp body into the curve of his chest. "Told you we'd take care of you, pippy."

Chris stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed the bed. He began to unbuckle his belt with a slow, deliberate authority. "Alright, Piers. Move aside. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes making sure she’s ready, and I'm not waiting another second."

Piers, still sprawled out next to her and catching his breath, immediately sat up, his blue eyes flashing with playful defiance. "Whoa, whoa! Back up, big guy. I’m the one who did the heavy lifting with the 'distraction' up top. I practically paved the way. Age before beauty doesn't apply when the older guy moves like a glacier."

Chris stopped, his hand on his hip, looking down at Piers with a flat, unimpressed stare. "I’m thirty-eight, Piers. I’m in my prime. And technically, as your commanding officer in the field, i pull rank."

"We aren't in the field, Chris! We're in our bedroom." Piers countered, scrambling to his feet so he could stand eye-to-eye with the wall of muscle. He looked like a lean, golden lion challenging a silverback gorilla. "And if we’re going by technicalities, I’m the one who spotted her at the curb first weeks ago. I claimed 'medic' rights first."

"You claimed puppy rights." Chris rumbled, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "I’m the one who actually diagnosed the swelling tonight. My house, my rules, my turn."

The girl watched them, trapped between these two behemoths who were bickering like siblings over a favorite toy, despite their terrifyingly large frames and the raw tension still thick in the air.

"Fine." Piers huffed, crossing his massive, tensed arms over his chest. "We’ll settle this the professional way. The BSAA way."

Chris sighed, a deep, weary sound. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Rock, paper, scissors. Best of one. No do-overs." Piers insisted, already bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, looking incredibly needy and eager.

Chris looked at the girl, then back at Piers. "Fine. Prepare to lose, kid."

They stood over her, two of the world's most elite soldiers, and held their massive, scarred fists out.

"Rock... Paper... Scissors... SHOOT!"

Piers threw out a flat palm. Chris stayed solid with a heavy, clenched fist.

"YES!" Piers barked, punching the air with a victory lap of a gesture. "The youth prevails! Paper covers rock, Captain! Sit back and take notes!"

Chris let out a low growl, shaking his head as he stepped back, though the way his eyes lingered on the girl showed he wasn't going far. "Fine. You go first. But don't tire her out, Piers. I’m not waiting for a second round of 'rehab' once you're done."

Piers didn't need another word. He practically dove back onto the bed, hovering over her with a triumphant, sunny grin. "Sorry, big guy. Looks like the pipsqueak is mine for the opening ceremony."

Piers didn't waste another heartbeat. With the victory still dancing in his eyes, he hovered over her, his lean, dense muscle silhouetted against the dim light of the bedroom.

He looked down at her with a mix of triumph and a raw, needy hunger that had been building since they first saw her limp into the gym.

"My prize." Piers whispered, his voice a sultry, broken wreck.

He moved with a sudden, fluid grace, his large hands hooking under her knees to pull her even further toward him. He didn't just enter her, he surged forward, his body clicking into hers with a heavy, wet thud that made the headboard groan.

The sensation of him—dense, hot, and stretching her to her absolute limit—made her head fall back into the pillows, a wordless cry catching in her throat.

Piers let out a long, ragged exhale, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the tight, welcoming heat. "Oh... pipsqueak." he whimpered, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. He began a rhythm that was anything but "casual ease."

It was frantic and demanding, his hips snapping forward with the explosive power of a sprinter, his breath coming in hot, shallow hitches against her skin.

A few feet away, Chris had pulled up a heavy wooden chair from the corner of the room. He sat backwards on it, his massive arms folded over the top of the backrest, watching the scene with the focused intensity of a predator.

He hadn't bothered to cover himself. His member was indeed hard as a rock, jutting out and pulsing in time with the heavy thud of Piers’s movements.

His dark, espresso eyes were hooded, tracking every detail: the way her plump skin flushed under Piers’s touch, the way her small hands squeezed the life out of the bedsheets, and the way Piers’s back muscles rippled like a map of the mountains.

Chris’s jaw was set tight, a vein throbbing in his temple. Every time Piers drove home, Chris’s grip on the chair tightened until the wood creaked under his immense strength. He wasn't just watching, he was memorizing every sound she made, every twitch of her body.

"Don't hold back, Piers." Chris rumbled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that cut through the sounds of the bed. "Show her exactly why you were so desperate to go first."

Piers let out a guttural sound, his movements becoming even more unrestrained at Chris’s command. He reached down, his fingers threading through hers and pinning her hands to the mattress, his chest heaving as he looked down at her.

"I'm not... letting her... breathe." Piers gasped, his blue eyes glowing with a terrifying, romantic heat.

The girl was caught in a crossfire of focus. She was being physically claimed by the golden, frantic energy of Piers, but she could feel the heavy, dark gravity of Chris’s gaze pinning her down just as surely as the hands on the bed.

Piers had completely lost the "boyish" charm he usually carried, in its place was the raw, unbridled power of a soldier who had found his target. He leaned forward, his massive chest pressing her down into the mattress, his arms acting like two solid pillars of iron on either side of her head.

He began to ram into her with a heavy, punishing cadence. Each thrust was a deliberate, explosive movement that made the entire heavy oak bed frame slide an inch across the hardwood floor with a rhythmic thud-scrape. Piers wasn't being gentle anymore, he was driven by a needy, frantic desperation to leave his mark.

"You're... so... perfect." Piers wheezed, the words forced out of his lungs by the sheer effort of his movements. His sweat dripped onto her skin, hot and salt-slicked, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

His hips hit hers with a meaty, resounding clap every single time, the sound echoing in the room like a steady heartbeat. She felt every ounce of his dense, athletic weight, her body being pushed back into the pillows until she was nothing but a mess of tangled hair and muffled cries.

From his seat, Chris didn't move a muscle, but his presence felt like a physical weight in the room. His espresso eyes were narrowed, tracking the way her body jolted under Piers’s assault. He watched the way the muscles in Piers’s lower back and glutes coiled and snapped, the sheer athleticism of the younger man on full display.

Chris’s hand moved to his own member, his thick, scarred fingers wrapping around himself in a slow, tight grip. He didn't look away for a second. The sight of his partner claiming her—the girl they had both been silently watching for weeks—was pushing him to the brink of his legendary self-control.

"Harder, Piers." Chris commanded, his voice a low, gravelly growl that seemed to vibrate in the very air. "Don't let her rest. She wanted to train tonight... give her the workout of her life."

The girl couldn't even find her voice anymore. Every time she tried to breathe, Piers’s weight and momentum took it away.

She could only cling to his bulging biceps, her fingers digging into his skin as he drove her higher and higher. The world was nothing but the scent of the two of them, the heat of the room, and the relentless, driving force of Piers’s victory.

Piers let out a long, high-pitched groan, his neck muscles cording as he felt his own climax building like a tidal wave. "Chris... I'm... I can't hold it..."

The request for total surrender finally broke the last of Chris’s legendary restraint. Her voice, a broken, desperate plea for the impossible, acted like a match tossed into a powder keg.

Chris didn't hesitate. With a low, primal growl, he grabbed her by the waist. His fingers sank into her soft skin with a strength that felt like iron bands, hoisting her up as if she were weightless.

He dragged her toward the center of the bed, flipping her onto her side in a tight, fetal curve before pulling her top leg high over his shoulder.

"Piers, get in here." Chris commanded, his voice a gravelly bark. "She wants it all? She gets it all."

Piers was already moving, his needy, blue eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure, adrenaline-fueled hunger. He scrambled behind her, his chest pressing into her back, his arms reaching around to cage her in.

The girl let out a high-pitched, strangled cry as they coordinated their movements. Chris, looming at her front, guided himself into her, while Piers, anchored at her back, found the narrow, heat-drenched path she had so desperately offered up.

The sensation was a total, violent eclipse of her senses. She felt her body stretch to a point of physical impossibility, her internal walls screaming as they were forced to accommodate the combined, massive girth of the two men.

Her head snapped back against Piers’s shoulder, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Her eyes rolled back, showing only the whites as her brain struggled to process the sheer volume of nerve endings being fired at once.

She felt small, fragile, and utterly occupied, every inch of her core filled with the pulsing, rock-hard heat of the duo.

Piers let out a sharp, hissing intake of breath, his face contorting in a mask of agonized pleasure. "God, Chris... she’s so... tight." he choked out, his fingers digging into her hip until he left white marks.

He was shaking, his lean muscles vibrating with the effort of holding back his own release as he felt the friction of his partner through the thin, stretching walls of her body.

Chris looked down at the point where they met, his espresso eyes turning into voids of black ink. His neck was corded with muscle, his teeth bared in a silent snarl of dominance.

He felt the staggering power of his own body combined with Piers's, the two of them working in a rhythmic, crushing harmony that made his blood boil. "Look at her." Chris rasped, his voice barely human. "We’re splitting her in two."

They began to move in a synchronized, heavy-duty rhythm. It was a piston-like assault that left no room for air. Each time Chris rammed forward, Piers met him from behind, the two of them sandwiching her in a vise of pure, masculine force.

The girl was sobbing now, the sounds small and rhythmic, her fingers clawing at Chris’s shoulders and Piers’s forearms. The heat was unbearable, a friction-fire that seemed to melt her from the inside out.

"Take it!" Chris roared, his pace becoming a blurring, violent thud. "Take every bit of us, pipsqueak!"

Piers’s eyes went glassy, his hips snapping forward with a final, desperate speed. "I'm—I'm going! Chris! Now!"

The moment of impact felt like the collision of two celestial bodies, with her caught at the absolute center of the blast.

At Piers’s desperate shout, Chris didn't pull back—he accelerated. He drove himself home one last time with a bone-deep, window-rattling force, his massive thighs locking against the mattress.

At the exact same second, Piers arched his back, his fingers digging into her skin as he gave everything he had left.

The girl’s world didn't just blur, it shattered. As they reached the peak together, the double flood of heat was overwhelming—a searing, heavy-duty deluge that filled her beyond her physical capacity.

Chris let out a roar that was pure, unfiltered animal power, his face buried in her neck as his body seized in long, violent tremors. Every pulse of his release felt like a heavy-caliber round, deep and rhythmic, anchoring him into her as if he intended to never let go.

Behind her, Piers was sobbing for breath, his blue eyes blown wide and sightless as he spilled himself in a frantic, hot rush. He clung to her like a drowning man, his chest heaving against her back in perfect synchronization with Chris’s pulses.

She was pinned in a crossfire of pure masculine surrender. The sheer volume of the "duo" was staggering—she felt a hot, heavy slickness begin to overflow, painting her thighs and the sheets in the evidence of their total claim.

Her body couldn't even scream anymore, she was simply a conduit for their pleasure, her nerves firing in a white-noise hum of total overload.

The room fell into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by the sounds of three sets of lungs fighting for oxygen.

Chris didn't pull out immediately. He stayed there, his massive weight draped over her, his forehead resting against hers. His espresso eyes were soft now, glassy and filled with a dark, protective adoration. He reached up with a trembling, sweat-slicked hand and brushed a damp strand of hair from her face.

"Mine." He rasped, his voice a broken shadow of its former authority. "Ours."

Piers let out a long, shuddering exhale, his arms winding even tighter around her waist, pulling her back into the furnace-heat of his chest. "We’ve got you, pipsqueak." He whimpered into her hair, his voice thick with a needy, post-climax devotion. "Nobody else. Just us."

The girl lay between them, a small island in a sea of dark, corded muscle and sweat. The "exhausting week" was a forgotten memory, replaced by the heavy, grounding reality of the two men who had quite literally filled her world.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Valentines Day! <3 (Husband!Leon X Wife!Reader X Wife!Ashley)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity months ago, and I finished it today.

Hope you enjoy it, I got a little bit carried away with it. Probably not that good since I didn't really review it for any mistakes.

Warnings: Everything Contains threesome, smut, cunnilingus, praise kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, vaginal sex, pussy spanking, creamping, (probably unrealistic) squirting, a little bit of intercrural sex.

Pairing: Husband!Leon Kennedy X Wife!Reader X Wife!Ashley Graham

Word count: 4992 (12 pages on Word)

P!Links:

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1877918424753463806

https://x.com/SoftiieUwU/status/1883022726979621226

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1914746454322577416

https://x.com/kindanotexist/status/1935101598880940040

https://x.com/mommyrqin/status/1897369928229130578?s=46

https://x.com/mommyrqin/status/1910986192507519062

https://x.com/cannakr1s/status/1925303372199989665

https://x.com/wlw_freaks/status/1923937422158471620

https://x.com/nsfwfk/status/1756539499922825369?s=46

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1940037979864453272

The bathroom was filled with steam from the hot shower and playful female giggling.

The blonde was sitting cross-legged in front of her beautiful wife, her hair in a messy ponytail, strands escaping from the hairstyle and running down her slender neck. The spacious bathtub that the three had bought at the beginning of their relationship was empty, just waiting for Ashley to finish scrubbing the girl's hair.

Little hearts in her doe blue eyes as she admired the smaller girl's face, contorted with pleasure due to the massage Ashley was giving her scalp. The familiar smell of her shampoo permeated the blonde's nostrils, who let her eyes roam over the woman's wet naked body, perky tits lathered in soap.

Ashley softly bops her sweet wife's nose, lathering it with foam from the shampoo, and giggled at her mischevous smile, the girl didn't dare to open her eyes due to the soap, but she could imagine Ashley's flushed face, the shy smile on her kissable red lips.

The girl let out the tiniest surprised moan when Ashley kissed her lips delicately, almost melting instantly, savoring the moment, she pulls the blonde by the waist, sticking their wet and slippery bodies together, big perky tits rubbing against the girl's.

Ashley parts her lips for a moment, the girl blindly chasing her, she stretches her body to grab the shower head in the bathtub, turning the water on to a pleasant temperature.

"Is the water okay, my love?" She asks the girl, attentive to her reaction, when she hears a tiny "yes" Ashley continues soaping her head, and the girl can open her beautiful eyes, staring straight into the blonde's soul, a shiver running down her body. Ashley caresses the smaller girl's perfect, plump belly, smacking playfully her pussy, a laugh escaping her lips.

The girl stares at her with false anger, pouting her lips to the blonde. The woman increases the level of the water jet, directing it to the woman's dripping pussy and almost immediately gluing their open mouths, swallowing her moan of pleasure. Gasping and writhing beneath the relentless spray, the girl surrenders herself fully to the overwhelming sensation.

Her hips bucks instinctively, seeking more of the delicious pressure against her sensitive mound. Their tongues dance together, the heat between them intensifying with every second, water streaming over their glued bodies, droplets gliding along flushed skin. The girl clings to the blonde's plump body, softly crying into the kiss, her body convulsed, begging for release.

"Please, sweet girl, make me cum!" She babbles, lost in a haze of ecstasy. Most of her words came blurred due to Ashley sucking messily on her tongue, one of her fingers sneaking through her body, rubbing and pinching his wife's nipple.

The girl shatters completely on the blonde's arms, her orgasm crashing over her as her body turns into mush, her inner walls clenching as euphoria floods every nerve ending.

Her body still trembling with residual waves of the earth-shattering orgasm, she turns to Ashley, gazing up at him with adoration, eyes glazed and half lidded.

"Not that I'm complaining, but where did that come from, my wife?" She playfully quips at the blonde, voice thick with satisfaction and hunger.

"It's just that, you keep teasing me with that perfect body all the time, your pussy was so lonely without my fingers to fill it." Ashley sighs, kissing the smaller girl's forehead sweetly. "And your face scrunches so adorably when you cum."

"I'm yours, my love." The girl declares, feeling safe and sound in her wife's arms. "And Leon, let's not forget about Leon. You have to save some of this stamina for tomorrow, you know that?"

They laugh, the blonde helping her companion out of the bathtub, her legs still wobbly. "Don't worry, I got something for the pancakes tomorrow." She playfully blinks, guiding the girl to their shared bedroom. "And also, we have to get up earlier to cook for him, he must be starving from his flight."

A stupidly large bed in the center - Thanks to the girl -, a stupidly large television on the wall - Thanks to Ashley - and a stupidly large mirror hanging from the ceiling - Thanks to Leon.

She grabs two white silk nightgowns from the dresser, knowing her sweet wife and husband loved it when she wore that color.

In bed, they snuggle into the duvet, enjoying the cool feeling of the pillow and mattress against their bodies.

The girl's hand wanders over Ashley's perfect figure inch by tantalizing inch, fingers playfully trailing lower, teasing her tummy through the silk material of the nightgown.

A surprised yelp leaves the girl's lips as she feels Ashley's plump pussy lips throbbing around her fingers, pre cum oozing on her fingers. Her mouth is hung open as she playfully messes with her wife's cunt.

"You naughty girl!" They giggle. "You said you wanted to sleep earlier so we could cook breakfast for Leon tomorrow."

Their heated gazes met, and lost in the depths of her gauze, the blonde feels like she has been stripped bare, vulnerable yet utterly cherished. A single tear escapes down her cheek as she marvels at the sheer intensity of their connection.

"I love you, more than anything in this world my sunshine." Ashley seals her raw declaration with a sweet kiss, the girl snuggling into her body.

The girl's heart soars with happiness as she kisses the blonde's forehead goodnight one last time and they fall asleep in each other's presence, their bodies inhumanly joined as if they were one under the duvet.

Leon's bags are placed on the living room floor with a soft thud, and he does his best to close the door without making any noise, he didn't want to wake his wives, even though they slept like two doors.

He stretches, the bones in his body creaking as he bends down to untie the laces of his boots. Soaked in dirt and blood, most of which wasn't his, the dark blue shirt clung to his body like a second skin.

Leon sneaks a glance into their bedroom, seeing the girls sleeping peacefully, glued to each other, saliva escaping the girl's lips and Ashley snoring lightly. An amused smile took space on Leon's face and he feels all the tiredness and soreness escaping his body, begging to just go to bed and sleep with them.

But he couldn't stain the bed they made love in. So he took a shower, a well deserved hot shower.

The hot water loosened the knots in his body, a grunt escaped his lips when the water hit a stitched wound on his belly, he would have to take good care of his wounds in the morning.

He brushed his teeth and put on a clean pair of pajamas, sneaking into their bedroom and laying on the soft bed, trying to hug the girl from behind without waking her. Leon buries his nose in the girl's freshly cleaned hair, and grunts in pleasure when his sense of smell is flooded with familiar scents. It felt like… home.

Just a few seconds later and he was out like a light, feeling safe, feeling embraced.

Heavy sleep hit him like a truck. During days he wasn't able to fully rest, sneaking 5-minute naps here and there but feeling their group could be in danger at any given moment. So his body was always alert.

But now?

His wives couldn't wake him even if they tried, not that they would dare to do it.

A fresh, cozy smell filled the house, it waffles through the hallways alongside female quietly giggling.

The girls were in the kitchen, Ashley wearing her cute apron as the girl watched her intently, the blonde concentrating on not burning the pancakes, her pink tongue stuck out a little in concentration as she scrunched her face.

"Can't believe it's your first time doing it without burning the whole building." The girl playfully jabs at the blonde, sneaking a piece of cheese and popping it into her mouth. "If you fry the eggs sunny side up I swear, I will marry you again."

The girl gives the blonde a boost, and sits her down at the table set for breakfast. "You know, I like to drink my milk straight from the source." She wiggles her eyebrows playfully, and Ashley's face turns tomato red.

"W-What?? You're so dirty…" She murmurs, lovingly brushing the hair out of the girl's face as she licks her pink pussy lips tentatively. A thrill races through Ashley's body, desire pooling hot and heavy in her already soppy core.

The girl pressed open kisses around her pussy, teasing the blonde. Kissing softly her milky thighs, ankles and feet, maintaining eye contact with Ashley at all times.

Whimpering with need, the blonde tangles her fingers in her wife's hair, urging her closer. Each feather-light brush of her lips against her body stokes the flames higher and higher.

"Please my love." She begs shamelessly, grinding herself against the table.

The girl moved away, touching her ears and looking around, as if she was looking for something. "I didn't hear anything, did you hear anything?"

Ashley whines, a loud one, spreading her thighs in wanton invitation, baring her pulsing glistening sex to her wife's hungry gaze.

"I need you, love. Suck me dry, please." The air feels electric with anticipation as she watches the girl's face approaching her mound. Almost screaming when her mouth finally made contact, hips bucking into the exquisite contact.

Pleasure crashes over her in waves, whiting out any rational thought until there is only her sweet, caring wife, consuming her utterly.

Ashley's thigh trembles with the strain of holding herself straight up, every muscle pulled taut with anticipation. The blonde's head rolls back, lost to the pleasure.

As the girl's tongue plunges deep, turning the blonde's head into mush, her nails raking down the girl's shoulder blades as she tentatively circles her hips, rolling on the smaller girl's face, chasing a searing bliss only her parts can grant.

"Oh..I'm g-going to…I'm… <3" Ashley shatters with a satisfied moan, her inner walls clamping down hard around the girl's tongue. She surrends herself completely, lying on her elbows on the table.

Boneless and satiated, Ashley gazes down at the girl throught heavy-lidded eyes, chest heaving with exertion. A lazy smile curves her kiss-swollen lips as she watches the girl lapping at her milky cum like a girl starved.

"You're truly insatiable, my love." She murmurs lovingly, husky voice with satisfaction.

"Hmm I love when this pussy blush, it's so cute, matches your face." The girl licks her own lips, still basking in the blonde's magnificent taste. Ashley flushes prettily at the dirty praise.

"That's one hell of a way to start the morning." Leon's husky voice draws the two's attention to the bedroom door, and there he was, his body still heavy with sleep, his blond hair messy and his cheek marked by the pillow.

Leon's baby blue eyes admire the scene in front of him, his wife kneeling on the floor, the strap of her nightgown slipping down her shoulder, threatening to expose one of her breasts, Ashley sitting at the table with the nightgown rolled up on her hips, sweat covering her body and she was still catching her breath, exposed like a true feast for the younger girl to enjoy.

Their doe eyes watch Leon's every move attentively, fire behind his innocent features.

He cutely tries to rub the sleep out of his face, his stomach fluttering with hunger and he approaches the girls. Cupping Ashley's cheek as he gave her plump lips a sweet kiss. He offers his hand to the smaller girl, and when she takes it, he pulls her up, and she collides with his solid chest.

"You dirty girls." He mumbles, kissing the smaller girl's lips and pulling her into a hug.

"We missed you so much, Lee." Her words came out muffled as she snuggled herself on Leon's chest.

Leon’s arms tightened around her instinctively, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I missed you girls too.” he murmured, letting his fingers comb through her hair absentmindedly. The weight of her against him made his heart race in a way he hadn’t expected, and a small, shy smile tugged at his lips.

Ashley peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’re not fair, you know.” she whispered, nuzzling against his shoulder. “We were waiting all day…”

Leon laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Well, now I’m here. That should count for something.” He let his thumb trace gentle circles along the girl's cheek, careful, almost as if he didn’t want to break the moment.

She snuggled closer, wrapping her arms around him, and he couldn’t help but notice the warmth radiating between them. His chest pressed against hers, steadying her as she shifted, and he felt the way her small hands gripped him almost instinctively, like she belonged there.

“You’re too cozy.” The girl murmured, her voice muffled against his chest. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

Leon’s breath hitched slightly, a quiet laugh escaping him. “I wished, too.” he admitted, a little caught off guard by how much he meant it. He leaned his head down, brushing his lips against the top of hers, lingering just a moment, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, the outside world faded away. All that mattered was the softness of his wives's touches, the steady, safe beat of their heart against his chest, and the quiet, unspoken understanding that neither of them wanted to let go.

"Oh! Can't forget, the pancakes are ready." The girl rush to the stove, platting the food into a neat stack. "Now, sit! It's going to get cold."

She sets down the plate in front of them. On it were golden warm pancakes dotted with chocolate chips—his favorite—and three mugs of steaming hot chocolate. Her eyes twinkled as she added, “I made these especially for you. Thought we could start the day right.”

Leon’s chest warmed—not just from the food, but from the way she looked at him. “You remembered.” he murmured, trying to sound casual while his heartbeat betrayed him.

She felt the tips os her ears getting warm, and with a shy grin she sat on the other end of the table, beside him, while Ashley was on the other end.

They dug in, laughing as they fed each other bites, playfully shoving pancakes onto each other’s forks. Leon brushed a smudge of chocolate from Ashley's cheek, and she giggled, leaning in closer. Every touch felt electric, and Leon couldn’t help but notice the way the chocolate seemed to melt a little too perfectly on their lips and fingers.

“Careful.” The blond murmured with a sly smile, eyes sparkling. “These aren’t just any chocolate chips…”

Leon raised an eyebrow, catching the teasing undertone. “Oh? And what makes them special?”

The girl grins, leaning closer so her voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Maybe…they’re a little…magical.”

He laughed, though a small shiver ran down his spine as their fingers brushed while reaching for the syrup. “Magical, huh? Dangerous, even?”

She shrugged innocently, biting into a warm pancake, but her eyes never left his. Leon felt that familiar flutter in his stomach—the one that told him being this close was far more than just casual breakfast. Every shared bite, every accidental touch, every mischievous glance made his pulse race.

By the time the last pancake was gone, Leon found himself leaning just a little too close, brushing chocolate from Ashley's lips with his own, his arm draping naturally over the girl's shoulders.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he suspected the “magical” chocolate had a lot to do with the way his heart—and everything else—felt completely out of control.

The girl rises from the table, balancing with her elbows on the it, her body stretched out in front of Leon, her nightgown rising slightly showing her lack of underwear. The blonde man peeking at the smooth skin, the roundness of naked ass that he missed so much.

Chasing Ashley's reddened lips, she softly kissed her wife, licking from her chin to her cupid bow teasingly. The blonde woman smiles shly, cupping the girl's face to pull her closer.

"You taste so good, princess." Ashley murmurs, pink tongue peeking out to invade the girl's parted lips. She grins against the blonde's mouth, sucking her tongue greedily, moving her lips against her's.

They're fully making out right in front of Leon, he felt his hard cock piercing his shorts, almost ripping the fabric. The wet, high pitched whines that escaped their mouths made the man pants like a dog in heat.

His body warm and now fully awake, resisting the urge to palm his rock hard cock, he watches attentively the girl's competition to devour each other's lips, both winning.

And now the girl is fully kneeled on the table, careful not to spill anything, the kisses Ashley's face, trailing her neck with wet kisses, leaving hickeys all over the expanse of her smooth neck, blooming like red roses on her milky porcelain skin.

Ashley pants, caressing the girl's head, eyes semi-open as she struggles to maintain eye contact with Leon.

He watches the blonde woman fall apart, the girl sucking and nimbling greedily on her weak spot, Ashley's baby blue eyes foggy with need, almost crossing.

The girl's nightgown straps falling from her shoulders, almost showing her bare tits, now fully exposing her wet thighs. Leon's hand caress her thighs, leaving goosebumps all over the soft skin, he playfully tickles the back of her feet, earning an fake-angry groan from her.

Leon tuts, eyes glued to the scene while he slips one finger inside the girl, earning a muffled moan. "You're so tight, babygirl. Missed this so much." The man desperately yanks Ashley's nightgown, showing her perky tits, a yelp escaping her swollen lips.

He spanks the girl's ass twice, now slipping two fingers inside the girl,. "Keep going, paint her skin red." And greedily sucks on Ashley's pink erect nipples, licking her areolas and softly biting the skin. The blonde woman fully moan, back arching, her soft eyes rolling back in overstimulation. "Ahh <3 right there."

Leon pistons his fingers inside the girl's pussy, and she moves her hips against his fingers, creating a slow and sensual rhythm.

"Oh, God, I missed this so much." The girl warmily whispers against the blonde's skin, her voice sending shivers down Ashley's spine

The girl moans on Ashley's wet neck, thighs trembling, Leon hitting all her weak spots with ease, he knew his wives bodies better than his own mind, memorizing them like a map.

Leon licks Ashley's hard nipples, sucking on them like he is trying to drink milk out of them. Fingers wet as he scissors them inside the girl's pussy, massaging her clit with his thumb.

Her body tenses up as she starts to climax, moans growing louder and more urgent as she desperately grabs the blonde woman's body. Ashley watches with a mixture of excitement and arousal, her eyes locked on the scene unfolding before her.

"Yes...make her cum, finger this sweet pussy." Ashley whispers, pushing her breasts further into the man's mouth.

The girl reaches her orgasm, letting out a loud cry of pleasure, her body trembling with ecstasy. Leon continue to finger her gently, feeling the woman's nipples warmth and softness against his tongue.

The girl search Ashley's lips, messily kissing her, cum seeping through her folds into the table, thighs quivering as she crawled closer to the woman. She pulls Leon towards them, making him join the kiss.

A tangled mess of lips, tongues and hands. Bodies trembling with desire as they moan and groan into each other's mouth.

The girl still coming down from her orgasm, legs weak and pussy swollen.

"Need to fuck you." Leon pants, grabbing the girl by her thighs and picking her up, she yelps, arms instinctively wrapping around Leon's neck as he hoist her up.

Ashley trails behind them, discarding her nightgown somewhere on the living room, clothes wouldn't be needed for a very long time.

He throw the girl on the massive bed, Ashley helping him get undressed, kissing each piece of the muscled skin exposed. She gave him a soft peck on the lips before climbing on the bed, now undressing the girl.

Leon places his cock in her pussy, the mushroom head almost reaching the top of her belly buttom. Always a tight fit.

"So small ... have to stretch you again, babygirl." The girl's eyes roll back in her head as the blonde man thrust his cock deep inside her. She moans loudly, body trembling with pleasure, Ashley softly kissing her, muffling her moans.

"Hmmm...I love watching my dear wife getting fucked." The girl's hands grasping Ashley's body, holding on for dear life as she takes obediently every inch of Leon's massive cock. Juices dripping down his shaft, coating it with a warm layer of lubricant. "Fill this sweet pussy with your warm cum, Lee."

Ashley's hands trails down the girl's body, massaging her soft skin, watching Leon pound her pussy to oblivion, concentration written on his face, brows scrunched up beautifully.

"Oh...god...this feels so good <3." The girl moans, eyes fogging with tears, she could feel every vein, every ridge of Leon's cock, how he filled her up entirely, bulging her stomach whenerever he gave a harsh thrust.

Ashley's hand slides down her sweaty body, caressing her stomatch bulge, softly playing with her clit, a sly smile spreading across her face. She leans in close, whispering something in the girl's ear that makes them both giggle.

The girl's eyes flutter closed as she arches her back, taking every inch of Leon's cock. Voice husky with desire as she speaks. "I feel so full <3." She pauses for a moment, body trembling with pleasure. The blonde woman nuzzling her face against the girl's cheek.

"Sit on my face, Ashley." She begs, and Ashley obediently wraps her thighs against the girl's face, Leon's pace never fading. Straddling the girl's head, and lowering herself down onto her wife's beautiful face.

Ashley starts to move back and forth, grinding her pussy against the girl's eager mouth. The blonde grabs Leon by his neck, wet lips smacking together as they devour each other, Ashley's hips never slowing down.

"Hmm, this is so good." The blonde woman murmurs against the man's lips, the girl's tongue moving in and out of Ashley's pussy, lapping up every drop of her precious juices, her hands keeping the woman sat on her face.

Leon thrust with an inhuman speed, taking everything he can from his wives, delighting himself with his wife's warm lips and his wife's wet tight pussy.

"Yes babygirl, eat this sweet pussy. Isn't she the most delicious thing you've ever tasted?"

The three of them lost in a sea of pleasure, each one feeding off the other's desires. Killing the longing they had for their bodies, for how they fit together so perfectly.

The girl devouring Ashley's pussy with vigor, movements becoming more frantic as she tries desperately to lap up every last drop.

"Yes! I'm going to cum <3!!!" Ashley moans loudly against Leon's lips.

The girl's body starts to convulse around his cock, milking every last drop of his warm seed, his shaft squirting out thick ropes of cum inside her womb.

Leon winces when his cock met the room's cold air, missing his wife hot pussy.

He kneels, and opens the girls jelly legs, reveling their warm mixed cum seeping through her folds in thick drops, hitting the matress.

Leon tsks, not satisfying with their come getting wasted, The girl yelps when Leon's grab her by the thighs, pulling her against his face.

"N-No! Its too much." She cries, still high on the feeling. Leon ignores her pleas, lapping up every last drop, her juices squirting out around his tongue, drenching his face. Moaning loudly, she grabs his hair in a tight fist, trying to push his face out of her legs.

He is not stopping until she's milked dry. She lies back on the bed, defeated, her eyes glassy and unfocused from the intense pleasure.

"Ashley, grab the nipple clippers." Leon orders, immediately returning to his meal. Her baby blue eyes gleaming with excitement, she happily skips to their bedroom dresser, and hands the toy to Leon, watching atentively as he orders her to lay beside the girl's spent body.

Ashley's eyes sparkle with excitement as she quickly complies, lying down on the bed and flipping onto her back.

He carefully places them on Ashley's puffy nipples, receiving an high-pitched whine.

The blonde woman's eyes widen in surprise as Leon's cock pushes inside her, tearing its way into her empty belly. Her body relaxes into the bed,

"You're so strong and hard, Lee." She slurs, hips rocking slightly to meet each thrust.

The girl lies beside her, her hand reaching out shyly to touch Ashley's bulged stomach. A hard, large palm coming down to slap at girl's raw pussy. The wet sound of flesh fills the air, addind to the intense pleasure building.

The girl's eyes flash with surprise, she yelps as the slap resonates through her body. "Oooh!!" She moans, voice trembling with excitement. Her pussy lips part slightly, exposing her pulsing little clit.

"Yess!! Please, ruin our cunnies." Ashley cutely begs, eyes going crossed, her tongue lolling out to the side. "Slap her again!"

Ashley's moans grow louder and more frequent as Leon pound her pussy, her body arching up to meet each thrust. "Oh go-" She gasps, one hand grasping the girl's for support, the other grabs the sheets. Her hips buck against his cock, seeking out every ounce of pleasure.The blonde woman slaps her palm on the girl's bare pussy, and giggles when she hides her face on Ashley's shoulder, thighs quivering while she tries to squirm away, but the woman kept her pinned on the bed.

Leon grabs Ashley's fat hips, pummeling inside her pussy, the other hand alternating slaps on the girl's pussy along with Ashley's palm. The blonde man's slaps were harsh, accurate, hitting her folds with enough pressure to made her body jolt, while the blonde woman's slaps were playful, soft, almost massaging her pussy.

"My little wives are so dirty, so needy." Leon chuckles darkly, amused with the girl trembling form, and Ashley moaning like a bitch in heat, contorting her body. "Bet you girls humped each other every hour, while I was gone."

"You're not far from the truth. Our babygirl latched onto my pussy, and wouldn't let it go." Ashley comments, pinching the girl's cheeks, and pulling her in for a quick peck, booping her nose.

Leon watches them interact with a loving gaze, just happy to be safe at home, enjoying the presence of his wives.

The girl's hand fly to Ashley's clit, massaging it gently as she arches her back, giving herself over to the sensation of both of them alternatively slapping her pussy raw.

Air thick with sexual tension and the scent of sweat and sex hangs heavy over them.

"Oh god, yes... right there <3. Fill me up Lee." Ashley begs, hearts filling her eyes.

Ashley arches her back deliciously and lets out a gush of liquid, her blue eyes flutter closed, a look of pure bliss on her face as she continues to ride Leon through the waves of pleasure.

"I'm coming...<3" The girl's voice is barely above a whisper, body trembling with release as she squeezes her eyes shut. Her face contorts in ecstasy as Leon massage her clit, her legs wrapping tightly around his hand.

Her body begins to shudder and convulse, releasing a torrent of fluid that sprays everywhere.

Leon rubs his cock on Ashley's pussy, making her squirt fly everywhere, her eyes rolling back in her head as she continues to squirt all over the man's cock, coating his shaft and balls in her warm liquid.

The room falls silent except for the sound of heavy breathing and gentle moans. Their bodies still pulsing with energy, their skin slick with sweat and sex.

Ashley grins mischievously, cheeks still red and flustered, she pats the girl's thigh. "Hop up." Eyes sparkling with excitement.

With the little strength she still had in her body, the girl climbs Ashley's body, sitting up on her thighs, their legs intertwining as they prepare to scissor each other. Like clockwork, Leon hughs the girl from behind, placing his chin on her shoulder.

He slides his cock between them, holding it in place as Ashley wraps her legs around his hips.

His wives start to scissor his cock, sticky pussies moving in a slow rhythm, enjoying the feeling of Leon's spent cock getting hard again, his warm pre-cum easing their movements. He can feel the pressure building as their pussy lips squeeze around his shaft.

"Ahh...yes <3! That feels so good..." The girl gasps with pleasure, Leon grabs her throat softly, turning her head to meet his lips, applying pressure on her throat.

The girl's eyes fluttler closed as the blonde man kiss her, tongues tangling as the girls continue to move around his shaft, moans and pants growing louder and more intense.

"I'm going to come again!" Ashley whines, heavy breathing filling the room. The two women start to convulse around his cock, bodies trembling with pleasure, he can feel the knot forming inside the girl's body as they milk every last drop, ropes of cum shooting on Ashley's stomatch.

The three of them lie there for a moment, baskin in the afterglow of pleasure. His wives nuzzling Leon's face and chest.

"Happy Valentines Day <3."

[recontador]

““Estou chorando pela perda de algo que nunca tive. Que ridículo. Chorar por algo que nunca existiu - minhas esperanças perdidas, meus sonhos perdidos e minhas expectativas destruídas.””

— 50 tons de cinza.   

[unfortunatesun]

[moderndaywarriorsawyer]

The Money Tubbs only comes around every 5628 seconds. Reblog the Money Tubbs and you’ll find money!

[modelinterrupted]

Bitttchhh the last time I reblogged some bullshit like this I booked a 2k 30minute shoot lmao

[goldpersonified]

I received 2k 2 days after reblogging this 

[heartpdf]

had my daily realization that im young and learning and truly just beginning to live, and that i have a whole life ahead of me and that im doing well. crazy

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Free Use (Ashley X Ada X GP!Reader X Claire X Jill) +18

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Hope you enjoy it, I got a little bit carried away with it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning. I am planning to write something similar but with the RE boys.

Warnings: Fivesome (Orgy?), Smut, Cunnilingus, Blowjob, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, Vaginal Sex, a little bit of Pussy Spanking, Creamping and Unrealistic Squirting (I got a little bit excited).

Pairing: Ashley Graham X Ada Wong X GP!Reader X Claire Redfield X Jill Valentine

"You deserve time to enjoy yourself. Now relax, I am going to grab us a drink." That's what her best friend, Claire, told her before abandoning the girl in the middle of the house to talk to Jill standing by the kitchen, nursing a can of sofa. It was a small friendly gathering in her house.

It's true, working and studying non-stop took its toll on the girl. Now she was on vacation from work and college, and determined to make the most of this time by sleeping in her comfortable bed.

Wearing only hoodies half zipped, a white shirt and a pair of sweatpants, the comfiest fit she could find in her closet. The girl decided to wait on the couch, along with one other girl, a young blonde looking nervous, fiddling with her fingers, looking everywhere but the people. Her cheeks turned red when she sat besides her.

She looked familiar, but the girl couldn't exactly pinpoint from where she knew her. 

"Hey, I'm back!" Claire wrapped her arms around the girl's neck, hugging her from behind. Jill now by her side. "How about we take a swim? What do you say, Ashley?" The blonde gulped before nodding her head.

Claire led the girls to the pool, whilst making small talk with the brunette, she stole a few glances at the girl, looking mischievously, like she was planning something.

"I brought you something." Claire chirps, as she hands her a red bold envelope, a suggestive smile on her lips. 

The girl happily opened the red package, happy to receive a gift when it wasn't even her birthday. She pull out a stiff paper letter from the envelope, large elegant letters marking the paper in bold, forming a single sentence, one that made her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Free Use License? What does this mean?" The brunette giggles, tucking a strand of hair behind the girl's ear, smiling sweetly.

"A little gift from us." She shrugs.

"Us?" The girl ask, still not reading the situation.

"All of us, my dear." An asian women wearing a red bikini whispered in my ear, hugging me by my shoulders. "So, you see, your little friend told us you have a lot of ... pent up energy, and that you deserved some time off, preferably using ... another head." I felt the woman smirking, as she trailed her hands through my clothed body, grabbing my cock in my sweatpants.

"Don't worry, we won't judge you." My friend was quick to reassure me, cradling my face in her hands. "In fact, everyone here is eager to see it, that's why they came here. And to start, who would be better than your childhood crush? Ashley, darling, can you come here please? Girls, help me undress our guest."

Two pairs of hands start to slowly undress my body, teasing my nipples through the white shirt, feeling my skin. 

"You've got such a nice body, sweetie, can't wait for you to fuck me." One of them comments, stripping me bare. "I can't believe how long you kept her hidden from us, Claire."

"Have you seen her cock? 

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1897336495482278247?s=46

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1886072389718438107

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1886831168248578218

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1874810659369873894

https://x.com/brattbehaviour/status/1904623421016990042

A visible shiver runs through Ashley's body and her lips part slightly as she exhales a shaky breath. The shy, nervous demeanor she wore like armor just moments ago seems to melt away, replaced by a raw, almost vulnerable need. Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of red, and there's a hungry look in her eyes as she awaits your next move.

She follows your gaze to the small crowd that has started to gather, their eyes wide with excitement and arousal. "Oh God." The blonde moans, her body shuddering against yours.

Her breasts are barely contained by a baby blue bikini, she reaches behind her, unclasping the bra and letting it fall on the ground, exposing her pert, rosy nipples to the open air and the hungry eyes of the girls.

"...Do you like it?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She cups her breasts in her hands, offering them to the girl like a sacred offering. "Go ahead...fuck me."

As she leans forward to kiss the blonde, all resistance crumbles away like sandcastles washed away by the tide. Their lips met passionately, tongues intertwining in a dance of desire.

The room spiraled out of focus as the heat between them intensified, becoming almost palpable. The sounds of moans and gasps echoed throughout the backyard, reverberating off the walls like symphony notes.

The girl peppers kisses on Ashley's flushed face, on her jawline, neck, until she reaches her rosy rock-hard nipples, capturing one on her mouth, sucking and licking her breasts.

Ashley's doe eyes roll back in her head as she arches her back, her body trembling with pleasure, her hands reaching up to grab the girl's head, her own thrashing back and forth as she timidly moans. 

"Mmmm...that feels nice." The blonde sighs dreamily, losing herself in the blissful new sensations. Her hips start rocking subtly, craving more of the girl's tender ministrations.

"You look gorgeous." The girl blurts, and the blonde blushes deeply at the compliment, unused to such praise.

The girl crawled between the spread legs of the waiting goddess. With practiced ease, she engulfed the wet pink flesh in her mouth, sucking hard on the sensitive bud while simultaneously slipping two fingers inside the tightest hole, massaging it rhythmically.

The blonde lets out a surprised squeak as the girl's tongue makes contact with her sensitive flesh, eyes flying wide open. She squirmed, overwhelmed by the strange yet pleasurable sensation. 

A breathy moan escaped the blonde's throat, her body arching into the girl's touch. 

Unconsciously, her thighs part wider, granting the girl full access to her bare sex. Ashley whimpers softly, eyelids fluttering. A pearly drop of pre-cum beads at her pussy, glistening invitingly. The musky scent of her arousal mingles with the clean aroma of soap, creating an intoxicating perfume. 

"Mmm… more! I need more!" she cried out, her hands grasping wildly at the plastic beneath her. Her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps. Ashley's moans morphed into whimpering groans interspersed with occasional high pitched squeals of pleasure.

The tension built within her like a volcano ready to erupt. Her untouched pussy weeps with desire, aching to be filled by something thicker than the girl's tongue.

The girl increased her pace, alternating between feasting on the delicious flavor of her lover's cunt and teasing her clit mercilessly with her tongue.

Meanwhile, her fingers continued their relentless assault on the tight pussy, stretching it wider and deeper each thrust. As if driven mad by desire, the blonde writhed underneath the girl's ministrations. 

"We prepared you just right, sweetie. Feeding you fruits for days, making you drink pineapple juice, now you taste as sweet as honey. Now c'mon, keep your legs open, let our special guest feed from your delicious pussy." The asian woman purrs, petting the blonde's head sweetly.

Ashley squeals and bucks wildly as the girl hungrily devoured her slit, lapping up her juices. The blonde wails as she feels a powerful pressure building in her lower abdomen, her tiny bladder straining.

"I feel like I'm going to pee." The busty girl shamely cries, thrashing in your hold, desperate to get off the girl's face, the blonde's cheeks turns bright red as she tries her best to hold it in, eyes watering from the effort. "Please...I don't want to pee on you."

"Oh sweetheart, you're not going to pee." Ada coos, her hand reaching out to the blonde's little clit, playing with it as the girl sped up her movements, Ashley's innocent statement burning inside her mind as she aches to make the blonde squirt, to break her composed look.

Ashley's face burns crimson, equal parts mortified and aroused, she can hardly believe these wanton sounds and movements are coming from her own body.

Yet, she's powerless to resist, drowning in the exquisite sensations consuming her. "It's too much..." She hiccups, grinding shamelessly against the girl's drenched face. "I feel hot and tingly all over." Fat tears running down her flustered cheeks. "I-I think I might explode." She writhes.

But instead of warm urine, a gush of clear fluid suddenly spurts forth, drenching the girl's face and chin. Ashley's baby blue eyes fly open in shock as she trembles with the force of her unexpected squirting orgasm. She whimpers dazedly, still twitching from the aftershocks.

"You both are doing so good, darlings. Gonna be our puppies forever." Claire smirks.

Ashley blushes deeply, feeling thrilled.

Slowly, teasingly, the girl easily inserts her rigid length inside her , gasping as she stretches the blonde impossibly tight. Inch by inch, the girl thrust her member until Ashley is fully impaled, trembling uncontrollably.

"Oh my God!" She cries out, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. The fit is snug, almost painfully so, but the delicious friction makes her toes curl.

The girl starts to move, finding a steady rhythm as she pounds the blonde with increasing passion. Lewd wet sounds fill the air, punctuated by her breathy moans and the girl's groans of approval. 

"Tell us how you feel, Ashley. The girls need to listen."

Ashley pants heavily, sweat glistening on her flushed skin as she grinds herself with wild abandon. "It feels amazing!" She cries out, voice ragged with need. "So big and hard inside me. Stretching me in ways so good. I'm getting close! Please, don't stop!" Her hips undulate frantically, chasing her impending peak, voice rising in a desperate whine, eyes pleading with the girl's.

The blonde's walls ripple along the girl's length, drawing her deeper. She clings to the girl desperately, nails digging into her shoulders as she teeters on the brink of oblivion. "I'm cummmmming!!! Fill me uppp <3" Ashley wails, convulsing violently as her orgasm crashes over her in waves of mind-numbing bliss.

Her body shudders around the girl's cock as her cock shots ropes of cum inside Ashley's belly, claiming her from the inside out.

She collapses onto the chair, spent and satisfied, basking in the afterglow of her earth-shattering climax.

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1893708571084280174

https://x.com/brattbehaviour/status/1905024394549776740

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1820127474099048571

Claire melts into the passionate kiss, eagerly tangling her tongue with the girl's. She moans as the girl's hands roam her quivering form, kneading and caressing. the brunette arches into her touch, craving more contact.

The girl's skilled fingers find all her secret spots, igniting sparks of pleasure that dance along her nerves. Claire's putty in her hands, ready to be molded however she desired. Lost in a haze of bliss, Claire surrenders completely to the sensual onslaught.

Claire reaches out a trembling hand towards the already hardening member. She pauses, glancing up.

"Is this okay, sweetie?" She whispers, quiet enough for only them to her. Equal parts nervous and eager to explore this new territory together.

The brunette slowly gets on her knees, smiling almost sweetly at the girl. Her eyes widening at the sight, the girl's cock was so much bigger up close.

Tentatively, Claire wraps her small fingers around the shaft, marveling at the heat and hardness. She gazes up at the girl, pupils blown wide with lust.

Claire starts peppering feather-light kisses along the girl's length, tasting the salty essence of her arousal. Her tongue darts out to swirl around the tip before she takes the girl deeper into the warm haven of her mouth.

Claire takes a deep breath, relaxing her throat muscles as she attempts to swallow the girl deeper. The brunette's eyes water as the cock hits the back of her throat, gaggin slightly.

She pulls back, catching her breath before trying again with renewed determination. She takes the girl's cock deeper, swallowing around her head, Claire's throat constricts deliciously, massaging the rest. 

Slowly, inch by inch, Claire takes her deeper, suppressing her reflexes. Soon, she's buried nose-deep, swallowing around the thickness. Claire holds the girl there for a long moment before sliding back off, gasping for air. She grins up proudly, a string of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the girl's spit-shined cock.

"I did good?" She asks sweetly, giggling, caressing the girl's slick shaft with both hands. "Use me however you need..."

She arches into the girl's mouth, moaning wantonly as she lavish attention on her sensitive nipples. The girl's hands knead and squeeze the plush globes of her ass, grinding herself against Claire with wild abandon.

Claire straddles her hips eagerly, grinding her soaked folds against the girl's rigid length. "Yes, I need you inside me. Need to feel you stretching me open..." She positions the throbbing head at her slick entrance, hovering there for a tantalizing momento before sinking down inch by delicious inch.

Claire throws her head back with a keening cry, inner walls clenching greedily around the girth.

"Oh fuck, yes! So big...filling me up." The brunette pants, starting a steady rhythm. She rides the girl hard and fast, breasts bouncing hypnotically with each roll of her hips. Sweat-slicked skin slides together lewdly, the carnal symphony of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the filled backyard.

"Fuck, I can feel you leaking already...you're so fucking pent up, aren't you? Our poor baby." She coos, pressing her tits against the girl's body, letting her feel her stiff, puffy nipples, begging for attention.

"Don't worry, I'm gonna drain these swollen balls dry...right here, with all these people watching. And after this, that girl will do the same to you, over, and over, until you don't have anything left-" Claire lets out a surprised squeak, eyes flying wide open as the girl's palm makes contact with her skin, spanking her butt.

The girl hadn't noticed when the woman in red and Jill undressed, clothes and bikinis thrown somewhere in the backyard. Both women presented their naked round asses to the girl, showing her their glistening pussies as if they were a gift.

Their walls clenching around nothing, begging to be filled with something, presenting themselves as the most delicious feast she had ever seen. Little cunnies pulsing with need, ready to take the girl's seed.

The girl reaches her hands to the girl's pussies, rubbing it gently, the action sending shivers through the duo's bodies, hips moving in time with her fingers, trying to get closer to the pleasure.

"Let me taste you." The girl begs sweetly, her hands earning to be filled with the trio's body as she grabbed them by their hips, the four girls bodies impossibly closer. Her lips meeting the trio's, kissing softly as the air around them grew thick.

Body arching towards each other, the girls were getting lost in the kiss, breathing quickening.

The trio melts into the passionate kiss, eagerly tangling their tongues with each other. Moaning as the girl's hands roam her quivering forms, kneading and caressing their plump glistening skin. Her skilled fingers find their secret spots, igniting sparks of pleasure, the trio is putty in her hands, ready to be molded however the girl's desire. 

Claire blushes deeply, slowly, teasingly, lowering herself on the girl's rigid length, gasping as the stretch was impossibly tight. The brunette was trembling uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. She braces her hands on the girl's shoulders, trying her best but failing miserably to bounce faster as the coil of tension builds inside her. 

Ada and Jill helps her movements, making her impossibly faster as Claire's tongue lolls out, pussy clenching greedily against the girl's thick cock, desperate to be filled. Muffling her wanton moans with a tongue kiss, the two girls interfere, joining in the kiss, the quartet moving in sync. 

The girl sucks on Claire's tongue, slurping her saliva as she tasted the brunette. Claire never felt so full, so stretched, so deliriously happy. Her voluptuous body tenses, brain short circuits, preparing to erupt.

With a guttural moan, Claire comes undone, gushing clear fluid all over the girl's pistoning cock. She convulses wildly, seeing stars, vaguely aware of her surroundings.

The brunette floats in subspace, blissed out and boneless. "Thank you." She mumbles dreamily, sweetly kissing the girl's cheek as she laid out on her side, arms hugging Ashley as she presses her naked glistening body against the blonde's who was watching the scene unfold, doe blue eyes filled with pleasure tears.

The girl grabs Ada by her hip, the woman arching into her touch with a breathy moan, relishing the sensation of her lips and tongue lavishing attention on her sensitive pert nipples. "Mmm, that feels heavenly." She purrs, running her fingers through the girl's hair encouragingly.

Ada feels cherished and adored with the girl's ministrations, latched on her nipples as if she was trying to drink milk out of them. A pleasant warmth blossoms in Ada's chest, wrapped in this loving embrace.

Jill whines in frustration, body trembling with pent-up need. She mewls pitifully, dizzy with desperation, Ada smirks, shooting Jill a teasing look. 

The brunette melts into the passionate kiss, eagerly tangling her tongue with the girl's. 

She moans into the girl's mouth as she trails hot messy kisses across her jaw and down her slender neck. Lips leaving a blazing path over her collarbone, down to capture her puffy nipples between them. Jill whimpers, lost to the overwhelming sensations.

The girl's hand roams her quivering form possessively, mapping every dip and curve. Jill writhes beneath her touch, aching for more.

Ada grabs Jill's hips, positioning her weeping pussy close to the brunette's, their puffy lips almost rubbing against each other. Throwing a hooded glance at the girl, she thrust her cock in-between her cunnies, fucking their pussy lips.

The wet slapping grows louder, accompanied by their high-pitched moans and gasps, surprised with the girl's eagerness to fuck them.

"Oh, yes...this feels sooo good..." Ada slurs, her wetness spreading from her messy pussy, coating her thighs Jill's belly. Skin flushed, nipples hardening as she arches her back into the girl's chest.

She thrust her cock between the duo's cunnies, feeling their lips cling to her thick shaft, coating it with pre cum. One hand tighten on the fat of Ada's hip, the other gropping her chest, playing with her hard nipples.

Jill babbles incoherently, her velvet wall flutters and clench around the girl's pistoning length, desperate for release as the brunette tried to match her rhythm with the girls. "Please, I need to cum!" She wails brokenly, tears streaming down her face.

Ada nuzzles her face weakly into the girl's neck, a worn-out smile on her flushed face, her legs trembling as she starts to climax, fast due to her pent-up energy.

A stream of creamy fluid erupts from their pussies, coating the girl's cock and the bed. The duo looked breathless, but not satisfied enough to stop.

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1889361863512826349

https://x.com/lanadelgothx/status/1889298120544031060?s=46

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1806295362761605216

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1874810659369873894

Jill gasps when the girl plunges into her dripping core, filling her up completely. The girl's hand encircles her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her light-headed. 

"Ahnnn <3!" Jill mewls, bucking her hips. Ada's hand snakes through the brunette's sweaty body, finding her swollen clit, rubbing firm circles that send electric shocks of pleasure through Jill's quivering form. 

Drool trickles from the corner of her slack mouth as Ada quickly climbs up Jill's body, rubbing her nipples against the brunette's, she wiggles her upturned rear enticingly, presenting herself in all fours like a bitch in heat.

Jill gasps sharply as the girl abruptly withdraws from her fluttering cunny, leaving her empty and aching for more. Before the brunette could protest, the heavy cock slaps against her sensitive folds with a wet smack. 

Jill jerks and mewls, thighs quivering from the sudden impact. Her puffy lips glisten, her clit throbbing angrily as the brunette's whimpers come out muffled.

The brunette's eyes flash with excitement as the girl spanks her pussy, the sound of her hand connecting with her creamy flesh echoing through the backyard. Her juices start to accumulate in the girl's hands, dripping down onto the floor as she moans and squirms beneath Ada.

The other girls watch in rapt attention, their own desires growing more intense. Ashley's little clit throbbing with need as Claire sucked on her pink hard nipples like a lollipop, her hand roaming the blonde's body.

The brunette moans wantonly as the girl resumes her mercilessly pounding, the obscene slap of sweaty flesh on flesh echoing through the backyard. "Yess, yesss!" Jill wails, eyes rolling back in ecstasy, her cervix kisses the tip of the girl's cock with each punishing stroke, the thick shaft imprinting itself on her taut belly, claiming her from the inside out.

Jill surrenders completely, reveling in being used like a cheap fuckdoll. Her greedy walls clamp down like a vise, desperate to milk the girl dry. "Fill me up! Yesss, breed me <3!" She begs shamelessly.

The brunette screams in ecstasy as the girl's cock erupts inside her, flooding her fertile womb as her greedy hole milks for every drop, eyes crossing in sheer bliss. She clings to Ada's body desperately as wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure crashes over her. 

P!Links:

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1893707095091900686

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1805241556309303398

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1806294613608563136

https://x.com/strawbstarzz/status/1807437432700236144

Ada whimpers and moans wantonly as the girl piston into her sopping wet cunny. "I-I'm so full." The woman squeals deliriously, eyes rolled back in pure bliss. Titties bouncing with each powerful thrust, nipples diamond-hard.

The girl notices the blondie looking up at them with a mixture of desire and shyness, her tongue hesitantly licking up the saliva that was escaping from her mouth, completely absorbed in the scene unfolding before her.

Foggy eyes, glossy lips as she softly rubbed herself on her pillow, at her side Jill and Claire were on their own little world, scissoring with abandon. Moaning as their pussies made out, the cum seeping through their lips easing out their movements.

The sight was mouth-watering, Ada boucing on the girl's cock, back pressed to her chest as the girl's fingers pinches the woman's sensitive nipples, high-pitched whimpers escaping the asian's mouth.

"Ash, come here." The girl calls out, voice sweet like syrup. Using her legs to trap Ada in her lap, locking her legs outside her thighs, giving the blonde a explicit view of the incessant pounding, a thick ring of cream on the girl's cock, cum seeping through Ada's creamy pussy. "C'mon sweet girl, don't be shy. Make her feel good."

Ashley obediently nods, eyes wide witch excitment, getting on all fours as her face gets closer to Ada's pussy. The blonde lightly kisses the woman's pussy, pressing kitten-licks on her messy lips.

The woman shudders, warm walls contracting around the girl's cock, her moans growing louder and more insistent.

"Mmm...yeah! <3" Ada's eyes flutter open, her eyes glazing over as she feels the pleasure building up inside her.

Ashley shly feasts on Ada's messy pussy, doing her best to pleasure the woman. Fingers digging into her thighs as her baby blue eyes locked with Ada's ones, silently begging for reassurance.

Ada pants heavily, sweat glistening on her flushed skin. "It feels incredible, Ash!" 

The blonde took that as a sign to continue, feeling happy with herself. "Mmm...so tasty." Ashley mewls, pink wet tongue dipping into her opening, coating the girl's pistoning cock with kisses.

Ada gasps and whimpers with each flick of the blonde's tongue against her sensitive clit, thighs trembling as her hands grasps for anything to hold on as she's consumed by the intense pleasure coursing through her body. "Fuck...I'm so close."

The asian woman screams with pleasure as the girl push her cock even deeper inside her pussy, body tensing around the intrusion as she clenches hard around her shaft. Grinding herself against Ashley's cute face, desperate for more stimulation.

Pounding into her with reckless abandon, feeling her walls clenching and unclenching around her cock in a desperate attempt to hold onto the sensation.

Ada's tight body trembles and convulses as she comes, her pussy squirting a stream of juices all over Ashley's pink flushed face. The other girls cheer, their own clits throbbing with need.

"OH GOD YES! PLEASE DON'T STOP!" A scream ripples from Ada's throat as her hands desperately look for something to brace herself, the blonde continuing to feast on her during her climax, tasting the mixed cream squirting of her pussy.

Ashley looks up at the girl, an adorable expression on her face, eyes sparkling with adoration. The girl's cock slips out of Ada's cum-soaked pussy, and the blonde immediately takes it in her mouth, sucking and licking it clean. 

A vulgar odor of sweat and pussy juice, the five naked woman laying boneless on the bed near the backyard pool.

"My pussy is so sensitive..." Moans the brunette, as she rubs her swollen clit, falling into a euphoric numbness.

A soft giggle escapes the girl's lips as she looks at them all, still half asleep, lying over each other, softly rubbing their bodies as if they are trying to extinguish the fire between their legs.

A soft giggle escapes the girl' lips as she looks at them all. Standing in front of the bed, the girl watches the four women lazily line up next to each other knealing in front of the girl.

"Huh… What are you girls doing?" She asks playfully, enjoying how cute they looked like puppies waiting for treats.

"You still have to fed us." says the blonde firmly, with a newfound confidence. Her hands roaming over the girl's body, tracing sensual patterns along her skin. "Please give us your cum." Ashley pleads sweetly, her doe eyes sparkling adoringly.

"We'll take care of you." Ada promised, a satisfied smirk on her lips as the girl grabbed her now fully hard cock.

The four girls promptly opened their mouths wide, eyes foggy with desire as they loll their tongues out, panting hard. Their faces contorted in a mixture of excitement and submission.

"Please...please give us your milk...warm our bellies." Claire cries, her body begins to sway back on forth, her hips moving as she was riding the air, begging for any kind of release.

The girl did her best to print the image before her on her head, the girls on their hands and knees, begging and pleading for her cum, voices rising in a chorus of desperation.

Squirting her cum into their awaiting mouths, ropes of cream landing in their extended tongues, eargely lapping up it as their eyes locked into the girl's, filled with a mixture of desire and gratitude.

"Thank you <3." They all say in unison.

[bigandlong]

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

[jae-felidae]

Oh hey! Haven’t seen this in forever! Didn’t reblog it when it came across me before, not gonna skip it this time, I need some good vibes.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Sex Pollen (Leon Kennedy X Fem!Reader)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

OH MY GOD. I got a little bit carried away. Sorry. I've been playing RE4R a lot, and Leon is a character that lives in my heart rent free. Hope you enjoyed it. This is basically porn with some plot at the beginning.

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, Praise Kink (Kinda?), light breeding kink, a hint of Size Kink, a little bit of Fluff and Vaginal Sex.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy X Reader

It was supposed to be a quick mission, enter the lab, grab the experiment, and leave. Hunnigan had given him the necessary coordinates, and helped him get through the heavily guarded building. The experiment was located in the north wing, on the twenty-sixth floor. He snuck through the sterile corridors of the complex, avoiding attracting the attention of any guards, or activating the security system's cameras. Everything was going well, until he arrived at the lab.

He didn't expect to find a girl locked in a cell, lying on a hospital bed with wires attached to her, incessantly pumping some liquid through her veins. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently posing no threat. Dressed in sterile clothing, her chest rose and fell gently with her calm breathing. She was alive.

"Did you find the experiment?" Hunnigan asked over the radio.

"No, I've already searched the entire lab. Are you sure the vial is here?"

"Experiment 09 is not a vial." She simply answers, and he feels his entire body go cold, the hairs on his body standing on end as he turns around and realizes that the girl is no longer in the bed. Only the loose and bloody strands in the middle of the mattress, as if they had been removed in a hurry. "Answer me."

"Who are you?" He feels the cold muzzle of a pistol press against the back of his neck. Her voice is hoarse, as if she had spent hours without making a peep or taking a glass of water, he feels the uncertainty and the attempt to sound threatening in the girl's tone of voice, the shaking gun harshly poking his neck.

"I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Leon." His tone is hushed, gentle, voice deep as he tries to calm the girl, to show himself trustworthy. In a quick movement he turns around, grabbing the girl's arm, easily making her drop the gun she had grabbed in an attempt at self-defense. "Who are you?"

She runs to some corner of the room, trying to hide from the large man. Who knows how many days, weeks, months, years had passed since she had been captured by this crazy company, trapped in the clutches of employees who poked her skin with needles and injected liquids that she had no idea what they were doing. Preparing for the worst, she had managed to grab a gun for herself in the few minutes she had available, without any guard or employee seeing her.

She was visibly out of it, her knees close to her chest as she tried to hide under the bed, as if the furniture could protect her from the blond man.

"Hey-Hey." Leon crouches down next to the girl, at her level, stretching his open palm towards her. He lets out a sigh shakily to himself, baby blue eyes searching for her orbs. He could understand, it must be so frightening to be in this kind of situation. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She shook her head shakily, still unsure whether she should trust the man or not. He hadn't tried to grab her by force at any point, but she still didn't trust him completely. "There's no reason to be afraid, I won't bite you." He reassured the girl, voice sweet, hoping to get the girl out of her hiding place.

The sight of the girl's tear-stained cheeks broke the man's heart, she was shaking with fear like a sheet of paper. She had reason to be afraid, during her entire stay people entered her cell whenever they wanted, doing all sorts of experiments, brutally interrupting her when she tried to sleep. With a small huff she decided to take the blonde's stretched hand. He wasn't dressed in the white coats or the guard uniform she was used to seeing, what if he was there for some other reason? Maybe it was the only chance the girl had to escape that damned place.

He helps her to stand up carefully, holding the girl as if she were fragile as glass. Quickly scanning her body for bruises or wounds, noticing her features, she was barefoot on that cold and hard floor, her eyes sunken and bloodshot as if she hadn't slept in days, skin slightly pale due to not being exposed to the sun for who knows how long. But still she looked young, too young to be trapped in this hell.

"I don't have a name, they never gave me one." She mumbles shyly, looking at her own feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. "But... I've heard some scientists call me E9."

Leon's baby blue eyes shine and the pieces fit together in his brain at Hunnigan's words. Experiment 09 wasn't a vial, it was a person. The girl who was right in front of him.

He held out his hand for her to take. "Are you ready to get the hell out of here?" Leon asks, grinning. The girl quickly takes his hand, holding it tightly, afraid that the man might disappear at any moment. "Can you walk? Do you need help?" His heart clenches painfully, watching the girl walk with slight concern, his grip on her arm not faltering once.

"Yes... I can. It's just been a while since I've gotten out of bed." She winced with each step she took, using all her strength to walk, afraid of overloading Leon. The man watches her with an uncertain look, he doesn't want her to get hurt any more. "Please, let's go." She begs, not wanting to spend another second inside that cell.

He nods, paying attention to how the girl behaves during the journey, offering pauses when he notices that her breathing is stronger, her bare feet throbbing against the cold floor, they hadn't found any shoes that she could wear, sweat is accumulating on her eyelid and she looks like she's going to faint at any moment.

"Are you sure you don't want me to carry you?" He asks, concern etched in his eyes mirroring the worry in his voice. The journey had been smooth so far, no guards in sight and they had managed to get through without attracting attention. The girl nods, her hands trembling and sweaty.

"Y-yeah, I'm sure. I can do it." She says, more to herself as if she was trying to convince herself that she could get out of that place on her own two feet.

Everything was fine until they reached the top floor. Leon was battered and bloodied, his tactical gear torn to pieces, holding a handgun, trying to catch his breath while his quick eyes scanned the floor, looking for approaching enemies.

His gaze shifts to the girl, leaning against the wall, bent over holding her stomach, the man's expression tightens in pain. "Hey, is everything okay?" He asks, but he doesn't need to know the answer. Just by the girl's state he knows she won't be able to take another step.

She shakes her head, too exhausted to answer. Her heart is pounding as if she had just run a marathon, and she tries to compose herself, adrenaline coursing through her veins. "We need to keep going. Now."

"Are you sure-" Leon is interrupted by a guard, who shouts to his colleagues, asking for backup, which arrives almost immediately. In a matter of seconds, several guards flood the hallway, isolating the two.

Leon shoots at them, killing a few guards, motioning for the girl to get behind him as he clears the path. But as he kills, another soon takes his place, and soon they are surrounded on all sides. Visibly stressed, Leon feels defeated, his ammunition is running out and there are too many guards, at least 100 who are getting closer by the moment.

Before he could process what was happening, in a matter of seconds the girl stood in front of the man, gathering all the remaining strength she had stored in her body, she stretched out her hands towards the horde, pushing them with a wave of force that made everyone in front of her fall to the ground, badly injured. Almost immediately she fell, her body drained, and Leon picked her up quickly, running to get into the helicopter behind them.

Every day after training, Leon would go to the girl's room to see how she was doing. She had been in a coma for weeks. The girl barely survived the first few days. Doctors and nurses rushed in and out of the room, desperate, trying to stabilize the girl's heart. He would leave some trinkets in the room for when she woke up. Boxes of chocolates, teddy bears, balloons, some board games, things that would keep her entertained while he was away.

It was during a mission that he received the news that the girl had finally woken up, after almost 2 months. He ran to see her when he returned, finding the girl sitting cross-legged on the bed, playing the Uno game he had left on his last visit. "How are you feeling?" He asks, breathing heavily from running to the room. The girl looks at him, her eyes still sleepy, blinking slowly. Leon approaches, pulling up a chair to sit next to the bed. "Hungry." She yawns, trying to shake off the long sleep she had woken up from. "But I'm fine, thanks to you." Leon grins, and takes her hand, stroking it gently. "Did you bring all this?" She gestures to the gifts he had left, piling up on the dresser near the bed, giggling when the blond man nods, lowering his head in shame.

Yes, he had brought a lot. Without knowing the girl's tastes, he had brought chocolates of every flavor the market had to offer, stuffed animals of every possible breed, and games of various themes. Every day he looked forward to seeing the girl awake, to being able to share with her the stories of his missions (without the grotesque part), to take her for a walk in the city center or in the complex's square, or maybe even to play a game of cards.

"I'll get you something to eat, I'll be right back." He excuses himself, leaving the room to get some snacks from the building's cafeteria. Filling his arms with sandwiches, juices, and other things he thought would satisfy the girl's hunger, he returns to the room, placing the food on the bed. "Think you'll need more?" He jokes, a playful glint in his eyes. "When you get out of this bed, I'll take you out for a real dinner." The girl laughs, reaching for one of the sandwiches, tearing up the plastic wrapper, taking a bite. "Thanks. It's been a long time since I've had something real."

"No problem." He chuckles, sitting down next to the bed, grabbing a sandwich for himself. "Did they feed you in the lab?" He asks innocently, but his expression darkens when the girl falls silent, looking at her hands.

"...Sometimes yes...They said it was part of the tests." She mumbles, trying to shake the bad memories from her brain. Mustering a smile, she looks at Leon. "Eat more, there's plenty."

To understand the limits of the human body, he thought. The girl hadn't said it, but he knew. A surge of fury invades his body, a thirst to kill all those scientists runs through the blond's veins, he needs to hold himself back from murdering everyone in that damned complex. How could they be so cruel?

He forces a smile, not wanting to ruin the girl's mood. She was fine now, and that was all that mattered. He would do his best to see a smile on her face again.

The nurse enters the room and informs the two that the girl will have to undergo some tests and remain under observation for a few more days before being released.

"What...What will happen to me?" She asks, playing with the man's fingers, afraid of Leon's answer. She didn't want to be away from him, not that the employees of the complex weren't nice to her, but the blond had been the first human to show kindness and compassion to her after months locked in that cell.

"You're going to stay here, with us." Leon confesses, he knew that the girl would be under the care of the institution, being studied and cared for properly, with no intention of using her as a biological weapon. Holding her hand tightly, he gives a simple kiss on the back of her hand. "We'll take care of you, and someday, if you feel comfortable, you can become an agent like me, we can go on missions together, or you can help the scientists, the nurses, whatever you want."

She smiles, satisfied with the answer, she didn't want to be away from Leon. And so the days passed, the girl was kept under observation until her health condition was considered stable, and she was transferred to one of the rooms in the complex.

The first few days were difficult, the room was still devoid of any personality, clean, the walls painted icy white, like the walls of the cell. It was hard to close her eyes, alone in that dark room. "I'm safe now. Leon is just at the end of the hall." She said to herself, trying to convince herself to calm down and sleep.

Turning around in bed, the red LED letters on the clock showed that it was almost 3 am. She was physically tired, she wanted to sleep, but her brain wouldn't turn off and every time she closed her eyes, she saw that damned place again. It got to the point where she could hear the voices of the scientists who had performed so many cruel tests on her in the background, and the girl would wake up from the nightmare, sweating.

Giving up on trying to sleep alone, she grabs the pillow and blanket and goes to Leon's room, opening the door with the key he had given her earlier. The room was dark, except for a lamp that emitted a dim light on the dresser, slightly illuminating Leon's serene face, who was fast asleep.

"Maybe this is a bad idea, I don't want to wake him up." She thinks, undecided. The blond looked so calm, dismissed of any worries or fears, hugging his pillow. Afraid of disturbing him, she lies down on the carpet in the room, next to Leon's bed, resting her head on the pillow she had brought, lying on the floor.

She felt safer with her friend's presence, and managed to fall asleep quickly, falling into a deep sleep. She wakes up a few hours later, lying on the soft mattress, Leon's strong arms hugging her from behind, keeping her trapped. Her back pressed against the man's bare, muscular chest, heat radiating from his body, warming the girl, she feels her blood run cold when she realizes the blond is sleeping shirtless.

When Leon woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he saw a shadow next to his bed. Coming closer, he smiled to himself, seeing the girl sleeping peacefully, hugging the pillow. Leon's eyes rake over her sleeping figure, his expression turning to a mix of adoration and worry. "You shouldn't be sleeping on the cold hard floor, sweetheart." He thinks, heart aching.

He slowly crouches over the girl's sleeping figure, careful not to wake her up. Leon calmly picks her up, placing her on the soft bed. The girl promptly stretches out, taking advantage of the mattress. Leon can't help but admire her beauty, face completely relaxed from the peaceful sleep she's under. His hands reach out to brush the hair away from her face, smiling to himself. He quickly goes to the bathroom, anxiously returning to bed, moving carefully so as not to wake the girl.

Cuddling her relaxed body from behind, Leon buries his face in the girl's neck, sniffing her comforting scent, sleep taking over the blonde's body again.

They spent some time following this routine. When the sun went down, the girl would go to Leon's room, dressed in some pajamas that the man had bought for her downtown. Her pillow and blanket were already in the blond's room, and he would wait for her every day with some candy or snack for them to nibble on while Leon told her more about his life, or how his day had been.

But that night had been different. The girl was restless, fidgeting with her fingers, her leg bouncing incessantly, a thin layer of sweat running down her forehead. Leon turned up the fan, replacing the usual duvet that covered them for a thin sheet. He was feeling normal, the temperature was mild in the room, not too hot, not too cold. Could the girl be sick?

"Is everything okay? Do you want me to call the nurse?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, a worried expression on his face. Leon reached out, touching the girl's forehead. "Normal temperature. How strange." He thought, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch sending shivers down her spine. The girl quickly pulls away, as if she had been shocked by the blonde.

"I-I'm fine. I'll just splash some water on my face." She whimpers, quickly heading towards the bathroom and closing the door. Leon hears the running water coming out of the faucet, a curious look on her face, he huffs, determined to stay alert that night to keep an eye on the girl.

She returns to the room, still groggy, her movements lazy as she stretches out like a cat on the bed next to Leon. As usual, the man hugs her body from behind, pulling her closer to him, this proves to be a mistake when he buries his nose in the girl's hair, her scent...was different. The sweet scent like candy fills the blonde's nostrils. Strange, he didn't know she had changed the shampoo she used daily. Leon wakes up a few hours later, feeling something warm and wet pressing against his raging hard erection, and teeth nibbling on his biceps that were hugging the girl. "Hmm...what's going on?" He asks, groggy from sleep. That's when the smell and the wave of heat emitting from the girl's body hit him like a derailed train. 

The sticky sweet smell like honey threads running through his fingers, mixed with a touch of pepper and sweat that now ran through the girl's body like a second skin. The girl whimpering and panting, desperately grinding against Leon's erection, sticky creamy cum filled her panties, facilitating his movements. She nibbled and licked the skin of his huge arms, as if she was trying to devour him, marking the man as if he belonged to her. "S-Sorry." She begs, fighting against her impulses. Leon loudly moans, pre-cum leaking from his underwear, as if something had taken over his body he presses the girl even tighter against his body, aiding her movements, thrusting his raging hard erection against her weeping wet pussy. He softly kisses her temple, panting and whining like a puppy as he places wet kisses down the length of her neck, licking and marking the girl's soft skin.

He manhandles the girl, shifting her position so that she is ass up, stomach and face pressed into the bed, exposing her drenched panties to him, the fabric now a mere soggy rag that he easily rips off, exposing her glistening creamy pussy, walls fluttering around nothing. He stuffs a sorry excuse of a panties into the girl's mouth, to muffle her moans and sighs that were getting louder and more desperate with each touch.

The girl mewls as Leon's hot breath touches her pussy, gasping when his soft lips make contact with her pussy lips, tongue delving between her folds. The girl arches her back, pressing her hips more firmly against the blonde's face. "Ye-Yes! Please, just like that." Her voice comes out muffled, as she desperately searches for something to hold on to, hugging Leon's pillow tightly as if it were her own.

Leon's breathing grows ragged as he continues to feast on her, tongue swirling and probing with increasing intensity as the girl's taste takes over his mouth, feeding on the sweet, sticky nectar that gushes out. He can feel the girl's body throbbing with heat, squirming as she tries to match his movements, humping her pillow like a bitch in heat. "Don't stop." She urges, sweet voice strained with pleasure.

"Mmm...more! I need more." She cries out, her breath comes in quick, shallow gasps. The girl's moans morphed into whimpering groans with occasional high pitched squeals of pleasure. The tension built within her like a volcano ready to erupt. She rolls desperately in the boy's face, chasing her release.

"You taste so good, babygirl." Leon whimpers, lapping at her weeping pussy like an animal drinking water. The girl's eyes roll back in her head as the blonde shows no signs of slowing down, holding her ankles, pinning her to the bed. Lavishing her sensitive flesh with his wet hot muscle as his thick fingers plunge deep inside her, stretching and filling the girl in ways she's never experienced before. She screams in pleasure, her body writhing on the bed as the man's relentless oral assaunt sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, pushing her closer to the brink of climax. "You're so tight, I can feel you squeezing my fingers." He chuckled to himself.

"Yes yes yes! Oh Leon, I'm cumming!" Her body tenses, back impossibly arched as wave after wave of intense orgasmic bliss crashes over her. Her inner walls clench around the man's fingers as she rides out the aftershocks. She whimpers, her body spent and tired, falling on the bed, but still she feels the desire to jump on Leon pulsing through her veins. "Huh?"

The girl's eyes cross as Leon shows no signs of slowing down, the continued stimulation has her quivering and moaning anew, her inner muscles fluttering weakly around his probing digits. Grinding on his handsome face, the girl lets out a high-pitched whine as Leon's tongue lapping up the remnants of her release. The sensation is almost too much to bear, sending fresh waves of pleasure rippling through her spent body. "Mmm...baby you taste so good, give me one more."

Insatiable, Leon slurps her creamy cum like a vanilla milkshake, thrusting his tongue inside her twitching walls, the girl's body responding eagerly to every lick and suckle, grinding her pussy against his face, hips bucking involuntarily against his probing tongue. "You're so good at this, Lee." She slurs, utterly spent.

He pulls away suddenly, and the girl whimpers at the lack of contact, pussy empty, missing Leon's thick fingers and tongue.

The man handled into her back, and the man's condition wasn't much better than her, swollen and reddened lips, face glistening with her cum, baby blue eyes now dark with primal desire, like an animal desperately looking for a mate. His cock was painfully hard, weeping as cum gushed out, the throbbing head of his cock raw red, begging for attention, he came untouched as he rubbed his member on the mattress, the taste of the girl on his tongue serving as fuel for his lust.

He places his heavy member on top of the girl's stomach, the mushroom head touching her belly button. She trembles, eager for Leon to destroy her insides, he would surely be able to rearrange her organs. "You're so tiny, babygirl. I don't think you can handle me." She whimpers, afraid that Leon will pull away, sitting quickly on the bed, holding the boy's veiny hand. She slips one of his fingers through her lips, sucking it readily as she wraps her tongue around it.

Leon groans, the sight of the girl begging to receive his throbbing member inside her, looking at him with doe eyes. "You're so adorable, babygirl. I can't deny you anything."

Slowly, almost teasingly, Leon's thick length pushes past her slick entrance and sinks deep into her pussy. The girl throws her head back, eyes rolling shut as she savors the incredible fullness, her innes walls clenching greedily around him. A sharp cry of pleasure tears from her sore throat as inch by inch, Leon thrust his member until the girl is fully impaled, her body trembling uncontrollably.

"Ohh yes! S-So big." She moans, her voice trembling with ecstasy. "Please fill me up Lee." Her hands roam restlessly over his shoulders and toned back, nails digging in slightly as she urges him to move, to start fucking her with wild abandon. Her hips lift to meet his thrusts, creating a delicious friction that has her seeing stars.

The girl cries out, eyes crossing. The fit is snug, almost painfully so, but the delicious friction makes her toes curl. Leon starts to move, finding a steady rhythm as he pounds the girl with increasing passion. Lewd wet sounds fill the air, punctuated by his desperate whines and the girl's high-pitched moans.

"I can see you in my tummy, Lee." She whimpers, fascinated, the erotic sight of Leon's thick cock moving inside her body every time he thrust, fitting perfectly into her cervix.

Leon's vision blurs, consumed by pure pleasure. "I-I've developed feelings for you, beyond our friendship." He confesses, cheeks turning red with embarrassment, he rests his forehead against the girl's, she takes the opportunity to press her lips against his, all resistant crumbles away like sandcastles washed by the tide. Their lips met passionately, tongues intertwining in a dance of desire. The room spiraled out of focus as the heat between them intensified. "I-I love you. I didn't want it to be like this, I wanted to take you to a nice restaurant, do it right."

Her walls clenching around Leon's pistoning dick, the girl's entire being vibrates when she heard his words. "I love you, Lee." She confesses, kissing the tip of his nose.

That was the last straw for the man, he adjusts his position, putting the girl in a mating press. The girl's screams of rapture echo off the walls as Leon pounds into her with primal ferocity, their naked sweaty bodies slamming together in a frenzied dance of lust and domination. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist, locking her ankles to pull him impossibly deeper.

"Yes, YES! Make yours, Lee." Her words dissolve into incoherent babble as he hits that perfect spot inside her, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outward. She claws at him, desperate to anchor herself to reality amidst the overwhelming sensations threatening to consume her entirely.

The mushroom head of his shaft kissing her cervix with each brutal thrust, tears stream down her cheeks as Leon gently kisses her face, licking the salty tears. The girl wails as she feels a powerful pressure building in her lower abdomen. Her bladder strains against the onslaught of sensations radiations from her sensitive raw folds. She fears she may actually lose control of her bodily functions.

"L-Leon, I feel like I'm going to pee." The girl shamefully cries, thrashing in his hold, desperate to get off his cock. "Please, let me go, I need to go to the bathro-" She manages to croak out, interrupted by a jet that explodes from her body.

Instead of warm urine, a gush of clear fluid suddenly spurts forth, draining the bed sheets, Leon's abs and his lower abdomen. Her eyes fly open in shock as she trembles with the force of her unexpected squirting orgasm. The girl whimpers dazedly, still twitching from the aftershocks.

Leon grins, satisfied with the girl's state. He whimpers, humping her cunt, chasing his own release. The girl's pussy clenches rhythmically around his pistoning cock, milking him greedily as she teeters on the brink of another earth-shattering orgasm. Their bodies tense like a coiled spring, every nerve ending alight with electric tension.

 "Fill me with your cum, Lee." She begs, kissing his lips softly. "Let everyone know that I belong to you." Leon's hot seed erupts deep within her, his thick cum fills her womb, marking her as irrevocably his. A soft, contented sigh escapes her lips as she basks in the afterglow, her body still trembling with residual pleasure. The hunger and heat that had been taking over her body, now satisfied.

Leon's arms wrap around her spent body, holding her close as he empties himself into her pussy. She affectionately nuzzles his cheek, breathing in his scent, savoring the intimacy of their joined bodies. Staring up at the man with glazed, adoring eyes, a blissful smile playing on her lips. "That was...amazing."

He smiles, gently withdraws his softened cock from her well-used pussy. Leon lets out a small whimper of loss, already missing the warmth of her cunt.

Leon lays down next to the girl, placing his head on her chest, pulling her closer to him. Their naked bodies intertwined on the bed, relishing the closeness and intimacy they shared in the quiet morning hours.

"I could stay like this forever." She admits softly, her eyelids growing heavy with contentment. "Thank you, Lee." She whispers in Leon's ear, voice warm with gratitude. "For making me yours."

Leon's finger traces patterns on the girl's naked body, touch filled with adoration and possessiveness. "From this day forward, I am yours forever. My body, my heart and my soul, they all belong to you."

The man tenderly kisses her forehead, heart swelling with love and devotion for the girl. As the light of dawn creeps through the windows, the girl snuggles closer to Leon's warm body, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

"How about a second round?" Leon playfully teases her, and the girl hides her face in his chest, embarrassed.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Worship (Leon Kennedy X Fem!Reader)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any grammar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don't happen often), so I didn't review it for any mistakes.

Warnings: Smut, Cunnilingus, Swearing, Praise Kink (Kinda?), a hint of Food Play, light breeding kink, a hint of Size Kink, Blowjob, a little bit of Fluff (Leon deserves to be worshiped) and Vaginal Sex.

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy X Reader

The girl glanced at the kitchen clock. Leon would be home any minute and she was still setting the dinner table. The chicken she had spent the afternoon seasoning was on the stove finishing cooking, and the other side dishes were ready, just waiting to be placed on the table. 

It was a rainy, cold night, the dog was in the living room, sleeping peacefully close to the warm fireplace. The TV was on, playing the latest news at a low volume as the rain violently patterned on the windows.

In the midst of all the running around, she didn't even notice the front door opening, nor did she hear the sound of keys jingling as Leon locked the door and the dog barking as he ran anxiously to greet his owner, whom he hadn't seen in weeks. 

Patting the dog's head, Leon takes off his shoes at the entrance before walking inside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, watching amused as the girl ran from one side to the other, lost in her thoughts as she was finishing icing the cake.

He was exhausted, dirt and sweat caking his body, his wet clothes due to the rain clinging uncomfortably. But as soon as he saw the love of his life in the kitchen, decorating a cake without a worry in her head, her cute apron tied around her waist, and Leon's clothes hanging loosely on her small frame, all discomfort and tiredness drained away, and he urged to feel her warm touch again.

"Hey, sweetheart." He greets, chuckling softly when the girl jumps, startled from her thoughts. Gazing up at him with doe eyes, she launches herself onto his arms without a second thought, burying her face into his chest. His arms snakes around her waist, hugging her body tightly and sticking his nose in the girl's hair, smelling her hair. "Missed you." His voice came out muffled as he peppered kisses on her hairline, cheeks and forehead, until he reached her lips, kissing her softly.

They had been weeks apart from each other, relying only on phone calls or text messages as soon as possible, but it wasn't always that he had the luxury of being able to stop for a few minutes to hear her voice, either because he needed to keep fighting, walking, or because it was the middle of the night, and he didn't have the heart to wake her up in the middle of her sleep. 

Noticing this, the girl started sending audio messages, telling him about her day, how the dog was doing or the latest gossip from work, but never forgetting to tell him how much she loved him, and how much they missed him. She didn't know when would be the last time she could say this, and it broke her.

They spent a few minutes glued to each other in a warm embrace, the girl listened to Leon's steady heartbeat, happy to finally have her life partner safe and sound at home. "I made dinner, it's your favourite." She mumbled, not really ready to let go.

"Babe, shower with me." He begged, glancing down at the girl, mustering the best puppy eyes he could. "We shower, eat, then we can cuddle all night long." He promised, aching to feel the girl's naked body against his. She nodded, they still had 30 minutes until the chicken was ready, and she had already finished icing the cake, a small surprise for later.

In a swift move, the blonde grabs the girl by her thighs, a surprised shriek escaping her lips as he quickly runs up the stairs, carrying the girl with him. 

Placing the girl standing on the linoleum bathroom floor, Leon begins to undress her as if she were a gift, revealing her soft breasts to the cold bathroom air. "You're still fully dressed." She mumbled, shivering, eyes averting to the floor when she felt Leon's heat gauze shameless checking her naked body like a hungry hawk. 

Peeling Leon's clothes, starting with his jacket, throwing it into the laundry basket, along with his black shirt that was stuck to his body due to sweat and rain, his pants and his underwear. Naked, they both enter the shower, Leon turning on the water at a temperature warm enough to untie the knots in his body. 

He moaned when the warm water hit his body, the girl watched him with shining eyes, his bulk body never failed to amaze her. His muscular and drawn arms, big enough to make her mouth salivate, urging to bite them, the moles on his body made her create a mental reminder for when they were together again she would try to connect them with a pen. 

Leon chuckled softly as he noticed how she could barely take her eyes off his exposed arms and sculpted chest. "Am I distracting you?" He teased, a smirk on his lips.

Water running down their bodies, the girl grabbed the body wash, squirting a bit on her hand and soaped the blonde's body, feeling his solid muscles flexing deliciously beneath her palms with every move she made. His hair soaking wet as it was slicked back, water running down his face, glancing down at her with adoring eyes.

Leon was still a bit worn out from his mission, but he felt better now that he was at home, with his girlfriend. Pulling her to him, pressing her to his wet, soapy body. The girl grabbed him by the neck, pulling him to her level, crashing their lips in a searing kiss.

He was surprised at her sudden boldness, but soon reciprocated. He leaned forward, tightening his grip on her waist as in a possessive manner, kissing her passionately. 

In one quick movement he pressed her against the wall, trapping her between his arms, dominating the kiss. His tongue swiftly invaded her lips, tangling with her tongue, claiming her mouth.

The kiss was hot and almost demanding, he was devouring her mouth, tongue continuing to explore while his hands roamed and searched all over her body. He pulled the girl so close that there was almost no space between the two, the soap made their bodies slippery as Leon's hands went down the girl's body, as if trying to keep in his memory all her curves, until he reached her butt, slightly spanking it.

The girl's lips moved to kiss along his defined jawline, and then the soft expanse of his neck, nipped at the skin, leaving small red marks in her wake. His touch was hot against her skin, calloused hands leaving a wake trail of goosebumps in their path.

He let out a low chuckle as he felt the girl's small hands grabbing his now rock-hard cock. "Eager now, are we?" He whispered in her ear, trembling with desire. 

Even though the two had not seen each other for weeks, without feeling each other's touch, Leon still wanted their reunion to be in a more special place, preferably in bed. But, overwhelmed with her delicious smell, searing touch as she starts to jerk off his cock, resisting temptation was proving to be the most impossible challenge he had ever faced.

At the moment his cock was about to invade the girl's warmth, the stove alarm started beeping loudly, informing them that dinner was ready.

Grunting, frustrated, Leon tenderly kisses the girl's forehead, they finish washing up and leave the bathroom, the girl makes a bee-line to the closet, getting clothes for both of them. Leon pretends to look indignant when the girl hands him a change of clean clothes, she puts on the blond's favorite sweater that she had found in her own drawer.

"So that's where it ended up, I spent months looking for him." He teasingly comments. She shrugs, happily skipping to the kitchen, eager to show her boyfriend the surprise she had spent all day preparing.

Leon's blue eyes shine when he sees the table set, his favorite food waiting for him along with his beloved girlfriend, giddily waiting for him. "Surprise." She sang, urging him to step closer. "I spent the day cooking it, hope you like it." Leon never made a big deal out of his birthday, until they started dating 2 years ago.

She hides her hands in the sleeves of her sweater, he knew the girl did that when she was nervous. As if he was in a 5-star restaurant, she pulls out the chair for him to sit, he softly chuckles at her attitude, obeying, the girl with a little difficulty manages to push the bulky blonde to the table.

He arranges his plate, trying to get a little bit of everything since the girl had cooked for a battalion. Taking the first bite, he sighs. "I missed your cooking so much, sweetheart."

She grins from ear to ear, happy that her effort paid off. "I'm glad you liked it." She watches the man with adoring eyes as he devours the food, going for seconds. Anxiously waiting for him to finish his meal to continue the surprise. "Now." She stands up when the man cleans off his plate, and Leon gives her a curious look. "I need you to close your eyes, pretty please."

"Your eyes are closed?" She shouted from the kitchen, just her head sticking out of the door, trying to hide the rest of her body. "Sure, baby." Leon answers, his hands covering his eyes.

He hears the girl's quick, light footsteps approaching, they stop when she gets close, and he feels her shake his shoulder anxiously. "You can open them now."

When he opens his eyes, a round cake decorated with icing, sprinkles and candles is in front of him. The clumsy and cute writing on top of the cake, wishing a happy 27th birthday.

Leon feels tears burning in his eyes, they had been there since the beginning of the night, when he had seen the girl for the first time. This time he wasn't sure if he would come back alive from the mission, and he was ecstatic just to be near her once again. Now all the power he had been holding back had been emptied, and the fat tears ran down his cheeks freely.

The sight of his beloved crying tugs at the girl's heartstrings. Concern etched on her face, and gently touched his arm, asking, "Hey, what's wrong?" She kneels beside him, holding his face with both hands, forcing the man to look at her.

Leon does his best to try to wipe away the tears, his voice breaking as he tries to explain himself. "It's just...I almost didn't come home today. Every night I listened to one of your audios, to try to calm myself down, I imagined you comfortable at home with our dog. I regretted all the times I couldn't stay up late in bed with you, of not going out with you more often, of not telling you more that I loved you." He swallows hard, the vision of the girl's face blurred with tears.

She launches herself on his arms, hugging him tightly. "You deserve to be celebrated, baby. You're my hero, I love you so much."

Leon was caught off guard by the surprise, and he melted into the girl's arms. He needed that. For most of his life, Leon felt alone, having to overcome ever greater obstacles at such a young age, he needed to be stronger, faster, more resilient with each new mission, but it didn't stop hurting when someone forgot his birthday. Little by little, he learned to put this pain aside, but everything fell apart when the girl came like a hurricane into his life, coaxing the date out of him, and since then, throwing a small party, either with a few friends, or doing something more intimate. 

The blonde felt safe and peaceful in her arms, he didn't want to let the moment end. She handed him the spatula to cut the cake. "Now, you need to cut the cake, I made your favorite." Leon takes a shaky deep breath, eyes still watery. "You're too perfect. I'm so lucky to have you." His voice still hoarse, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

The girl was playing with Leon's fingers while he slowly devoured the cake, humming happily with each bite. Her heart fills with warmth, as she observes the love of her life clumsy eating the cake, a little bit of colored icing smudged on his nose "I should be the one saying that." She murmurs almost to herself, voice filled with affection. 

Leon lifts his head, his expression a mix of happiness and vulnerability, a few remaining almost-dry tears painting his flustered cheeks. The girl reaches up and gently brushes them away. In a swift move, the man gently grabs her arms, pulling her to sit on his lap, so now she was straddling him, sitting on his beefy thighs. 

His hands grabs her waist, the grip possessive and tight, as if he didn't want her to ever leave. Pressing his body against hers, Leon looked into her eyes, his baby blue eyes filled with hunger, desire for the girl growing by each second. Kissing her neck passionately, leaving a trail of kisses from her ear down to her shoulder. She shivers, wrapping her arms around the blonde's neck, soft whimpers escaping her lips.

Grinding her hips against Leon's, rubbing her panties-clad pussy on his clothed cock, feeling the hard bulge through the thin fabric of his shorts. The blonde let out a low guttural growl. Pulling her even closer, chest flush against his, Leon grabbed the girl's waist tightly, taking control of the situation and increasing her movements, the need to claim her, to paint her insides with his warm cum growing with every passing second. The blonde loudly whines, feeling overwhelmed, his weeping cock begging for attention, to feel the walls of her wet and tight pussy.

Their lips met again in a searing, messy kiss, lips and tongue fighting and demanding. The girl desesperately sucked on Leon's tongue, the sound hot and primal, the desire both felt for each other was almost out of control as they rubbed themselves like animals.

Leon runs one hand under sweater, up her back, awakening goosebumps on its trail, he quickly removes it, exposing her naked body to the cold air of the room. Her breasts spilled out, begging for attention, nipples hard as a rock. The blonde chuckles to himself, feeling pleased with the view. He missed the girl's beautiful mounds, missed sleeping on them, feeling the soft skin in the middle of the night when his rough scarred hands grabbed them, sucking on her nipples as they were the best lollipop he ever tasted, how he could make the girl cum without ever touching her pussy, only licking and kissing her sensitive breasts.

She shot him a puzzled look as Leon slightly reached forward, reaching for the half-eaten cake that was still on the table. Scooping up some of the frosting with his fingers, with a devilish on his face, Leon smeared the sweet treat on the girl's nipples, looking at her with a wolfish grin, eyes dark with need. He began to kiss and suck her chest, purposely avoiding her aching breasts, leaving red marks in his wake as his hands roamed over her body. He felt the girl squirming on his lap, desperate to feel his tongue where she needed the most. Watching in satisfaction as she shivered and gasped at the sensation.

"Please...Don't tease me." She shyly begs. Leon growled hungrily, latching his lips onto the girl's nipples like a man starved. He sucked and nibbled the sensitive buds mercilessly, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from her quivering body. Large hands roamed greedily over her curves, squeezing and kneading her soft flesh, relishing each desperate whimper and gasp that spilled from her lips. He dragged his tongue through the sticky mess, lapping up every last drop. The combination of the cream and her sweet skin was intoxicating.

He wouldn't stop until he'd utterly ruined her for the night. The girl quivers beneath his touch, begging for more as the blonde softly grabs the two soft mounds, pushing them together as he greedily sucks on both nipples at once, loudly slurping the cream as he lets go of her nipples with a pop. "Delicious, I missed your taste babygirl." He told her affectionately, voice raspy as he spoke, looking at her in the eyes, gaze heated and heavy. He could feel the need and desire flowing through her body as a hot, needy wave, and he wanted nothing more than to satisfy it.

He took a moment to admire her chest, red love bites covering the area, her puffy, sensitive nipples, he slightly rubbed her finger over one, and her entire body jerked as she cried. He chuckled to himself, amused with the messy state the girl was in, disheveled hair, sweaty body moving with her heavy breathing, eyes slightly blurred with tears. His eyes widened with realisation. "You just came?" She lazily nods, feeling uncomfortable now that her cum-stained panties now cling to her creamy pussy.

"Sorry." She sniffled, spending weeks without ever touching herself intimately or using the vibrator Leon gifted her, she was feeling extremely pented up and the only one who could ever make her satisfied was Leon.

Leon lifts her up like she was a feather, placing the girl sitting on the table. Her white cotton panties were on view, as the girl invitingly opened her legs, showing him the wet spot in the middle of her panties, her sweet cream escaped through the edges of the panties as Leon licked his lips, ready to feast on the girl. He flattened his tongue on the wet spot on his panties, and the girl squirmed and grab a handful of his hair.

"Why are you sorry babygirl?" He teases. Leon smirked, trailing his fingers up her inner thigh, rubbing slow circles over the damp patch on her panties, eliciting a shuddering moan. "Can't wait to bury my face in this sweet cunt." Leon grinned wolfishly, hooking his fingers in the waistband of her panties and dragging them down her legs, the cloth pooling around her toes. The blonde wasted no time burying his face between her thighs, groaning at the intoxicating scent of her arousal. Leaning in he captured her pussy in a filthy kiss, tongue delving deep to claim her mound, slurping her cum, his other hand reached up to roughly grope her breast, pinching and twisting the sensitive nipple. The girl cried out, leaning on the table as her grip on Leon's hair tightened.

Spreading her slick folds with his thumbs, Leon sealed his lips around her swollen clit and suckled hard, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of tongue as he thrust two fingers knuckle-deep into her creamy cunt, pumping them in tandem with the lashes he rained upon her throbbing bud. Leon worked her over with single-minded determination, driven by a primal need to taste her release on his tongue. Her moans grew increasingly frantic, back arching off the table as her orgasm built.

With a final hard suck, he sent her flying over the edge, cries of ecstasy escaping her lips as she spasmed around his fingers and tongue, her warm cum seeping through her folds. Leon greedily slurps it, cleaning her pussy. "You're so tasty. I'm afraid I'm going to spend the entire night eating this sweet pussy." He cheekily grins and she complains.

"No please, need your cock." The girl begs, now fully sitting on the table, glueing her forehead to Leon's. " Want to suck your cock." Leon blushed and he felt his heart rate increase slightly, the girl's warm breath hit his face and she captured his lips in a soft kiss, tongue almost immediately invading his mouth as she tasted herself on his lips. 

The girl squeaks surprised when Leon grabs her by her thighs, carrying her spent body to their shared bedroom, kicking the door open, and gently laying the girl on the bed. Leon smirked, stripping himself bare naked as the girl knees on the edge of the bed. "Please fuck my mouth." She whimpers, mouth watering at the sight of his fully rock hard cock.

"You're my good girl, aren't you?  The girl gagged around his girth, saliva dripped down her chin as fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Pulling out, she drags her tongue along the underside from balls to his tip, savoring his musky flavor. Her plump lips wrap around the bulbous tip and she suckles hungrily, moaning around his dick. "Mmm, your cock is delicious!" She takes Leon even deeper, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat. Her head bobs faster, drool dripping down her chin as she loses herself pleasuring her partner.

Tears streamed down her face as he fucked her face ruthlessly, using her mouth as his personal cock sleeve. Leon grunted, fisting his hands in her hair as she eagerly swallowed him down. The wet heat of her mouth was pure bliss, tongue swirling around his length as she bobbed her head as fast as she could. He bucked into her face, fucking her throat raw, relishing the muffled gagging sounds she made. 

Leon threw his head back and unleashed a torrent of cum straight down her gullet as she swallowed every last drop. Stepping back to admire his work with a satisfied smile, as the girl gasped for air, body sweaty as she tried to compose herself. 

Manhandling the girl onto her back, settling between her spread thighs, he nudged the swollen sensitive mushroom head of his cock against her soaked entrance, teasing her. 

"Look at my sweet babygirl, so desperate for my dick." He circled her clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make her squirm. As he caged her in her arms, pinning the smaller girl to the bed, chest to chest, holding her captive beneath him.

"Please, I need it so bad." Tears brimming her eyes, she begs to feel his cock destroy her insides once again. "Take me! Ruin me with your cock, fuck me until I'm leaking with your cum." She slurs her words, clearly intoxicated by his cum, desperate to be stretched and filled by his manhood.

Leon leaned down to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing her pleasured moans as he finally sheathed himself fully inside her tight pussy with one powerful stroke. "I'm gonna fill this tight pussy." He groans, beginning to piston his hips, pounding her pussy ruthlessly. The girl's nails dig into his strong shoulders as she thrashes beneath the hunk of a man, squealing in delight as her velvety walls clench uncontrollably around Leon's shaft.

"Hnngghh...y-you're so deep...rearranging my guts..." She slurs deliriously, drool running down her ching. Her puffy pussy lips clinging to his pistoning shaft, stretched taut around his incredible girth. Each powerful thrust makes her petite frame jerk like a ragdoll, tits swinging wildly.

Leon's cock visibly distending her tummy outward with each savage thrust. Tears stream down her face from the intense pressure stretching her beyond limits. Drool pours from her slack mouth as she stares adorably with glassy-eyes at Leon, lost in the haze of his baby blue eyes.

The obscene slap of skin on skin filled the room, punctuated by her broken moans and his needy whimpers. Leon angled his hips to hit that secret mush spot inside her, determined to make her fall apart on his cock. He captured her lips in a filthy kiss, swallowing her screams of ecstasy as she clamped down around him like a vice. 

"Yes!" She cries out wantonly, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him deeper. Her soft breasts bounced wildly with each powerful thrust. Her juices flow freely, soaking his cock and balls as Leon pounded her into oblivion. Her body quivers and shakes uncontrollably from the intense pleasure. "S-so full...so deep...I can barely breathe!" She pants heavily, inner muscles flutteing around his thickness.

Sweat glistened their naked slippery bodies as Leon rutted into her like a man possessed, determined to stake his claim. Grunting, Leon grips her hips tightly as he pounds into her mercilessly. The headboard slams against the wall, echoing obscenely through the quiet house. He leans down, kissing her forehead

"Take it all, my sweet angel. Milk my cock dry." Unrelentingly pounding her spasming cunt with animalistic fervor. "Fuck yes, soak my dick babe!" He snarled, his hand snaking through their bodies to massage her clit, eliciting a broken cry from the girl.

With a final brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, erupting inside her convulsing cunt. Thick ropes of cum paint her insides, claiming her utterly, flooding her womb with his seed. She throws her head back in ecstasy, tongue lolling out as she surrenders completely, crossing her eyes as he painted her insides white. Quivering and spasming in the throes of a mind-shattering orgasm.

Collapsing atop her, Leon peppered kisses along her sweat-dampened neck, murmuring praises in her ear. The girl convulses wildly, milking Leon's cock, his softening member still buried in her cream-filled cunny.

Twitching and mewling, the girl was utterly spent beneath Leon's body. Thick rivulets of cum leak out, dribbling down her thighs.

"Mm, my perfect little cockwarmer." He purred sensually in her ear. "I'm gonna stay buried in this tight heat all night long." Leon nuzzled into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent as he continued to lazily hump her pliant body, savoring the closeness as they slowly drifted to sleep wrapped in each other's embrace.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Vacation (Sydney Sweeney X GP!Reader X Madelyn Cline)

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any gramar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don’t happen often), so I didn’t review it for any mistakes.

Warnings: Threesome (F/GP!F/F), Cunnilingus, Pillow riding, swearing, praise kink, light breeding kink, blowjob, intercrural sex.

Pairing: Sydney Sweeney X GP!Reader X Madelyn Cline

The night came, and the girls decided to spend their evening in the hot bathtub located outside the house. Their favourite snacks and drinks on the side table, music playing on their small bluetooth stereo. 

Sy, now only in her pink bikini, starts dancing on the deck, smiling, she feels a rush of excitement and pleasure. Moving her hips sensually, she continues her tantalizing dance, determined to drive the girl wild with desire. Movements are smooth and seductive, touching and caressing her body, almost stripping from her bikini.

Under the girl's watchful gaze, she slowly twerks, bending down so the girl can see her pussy lips peeking through her bikini bottoms, her puffy pussy molding the material.

 

With a coy smile, she swayed her hips, teasingly, keeping her eye locked on the girl's. Entering the hottub, she gradually lowered herself on the girl's lap, straddling her. Grinding her hips against the girl's, gasping quietly when she feels the heavy bulge poking her pussy. 

The blonde leans in close, lips brushing against the girl's ear. Sending shivers down her spine. She continues to dance on her lap, movement becoming more and more sensual, the heat and tension building between them.

The girl feels a surge of excitement and a twinge of nervousness as the blonde twerks on her lap. Big, plump tits rubbing on her face as Sydney dances on her lap.

"What if we take this to somewhere more private?" She purrs, voice barely above a whisper.

...

The girl was surrounded by the two blondes on the sofa, each on one side, their long, shapely legs holding the girl's ones.

"You've been avoiding our advances all weekend." Madelyn murmurs, with a sad look on her face, pouting.

"I saw how you look at us." Sydney giggles. "On the beach, in the hot tub..."

Their bodies pressed intimately close to the girl. "Oh, darling, we're going to claim what's rightfully ours" Madelyn purred, her breath hot against the girl's ear.

Without warning, Sydney captured the girl's lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving deep to stake her claim. Meanwhile, Madelyn's hands began to undress the girl slowly, peeling off each article of clothing with deliberate, teasing movements. As the kisses intensified and clothes fell away, the room filled with the sounds of passionate moans and heavy breathing – a symphony of lust and possession.

The air was thick with unspoken promises and forbidden temptations. Feeling the girl's erection through her flimsy shorts, Madelyn gave her a mischievous wink, her mouth watering with anticipation. Getting her member out of the confines of her underwear, the blondes gasp in unison as her dick comes in view. Nice, stood like a rock, pulsing with pleasure, pre-cum coming out of its head, begging for attention. Thick enough to destroy their pussies, promising the time of their lives.

Sydney got on her knees, ready to suck every last drop. "You're so big, so heavy." She whispers, mostly to herself. "Wait, let me help you." Madelyn interjects, getting on her knees alongside Sydney, grabbing her dress by the hem, she undresses the other blonde. "Let her see those perfect titties."

She uses her big, perky breasts to engulf the girl's dick, trapping the member in a warm, soft prison. Sydney moves her breasts in an up and down motion, as she sucks the dick's head, the girl squirms on the couch, gripping the arms so tight she is afraid of ripping it.

Hair falling on Sydney's face, Madelyn came into action, improvising a ponytail with her hands. The blonde shot her a grateful smile, summing up to her activities.

The room was hot and stuffy, filled with moans and obscene sounds. Madelyn observes the girl writhing on the couch, as Sydney gave her a mind-blowing blowjob, spit and pre-cum covering her lower face and tits.

Tongue heavy with want, Madelyn watched with envy in her eyes as Sydney enjoyed herself, slurping as much cream as she could. 

"See how happy she is, baby? Sydney is a little cock-hungry slut, made to please you." Madelyn bites her lips, holding the girl's blurry look, her eyes filled with pleasure tears.

"I-I am going to cum. Want to come in your mouth, Maddie." The girl whimpers, pulling Sydney towards her on the couch. Madelyn took her place, grabbing the girl's hand and pulling it towards her head.

"C'mon, fuck my face. Use me for your pleasure." Using Madelyn's hair as a handle, the girl fucks her face as gentle as possible, trying not to hurt the blonde.

The head of her dick hitting the back of Maddie's throat, as she moans around the member, the vibrations adding to the pleasure. Pulling Sy's chest towards her, the girl begins to suck, lick and massage her mounds, as Sydney's eyes roll back in her head. She lets out a series of soft moans and whimpers, her body arching up towards the brunette. "Mmmm...oh yeah..." She whispers, her voice barely audible as she tries to process the waves of pleasure washing over her. "That feels so good... "Her hands reach up to grab the back of the girl's head, her fingers tangling in her hair as she tries to pull the girl closer to her breasts. "Suck it harder..." She whispers, her voice husky and seductive.

Maddie's lips moved properly, in an up and down motion, massaging the rest of the member that couldn't fit in her mouth. Sy, noticing that the brunette's movements were becoming erratic, helps her fuck Maddie's mouth. "That's it, use her mouth." Gurgling sounds come out of Madelyn as she does her best to deepthroat the girl's cock, holding her breath as her throat contracts around the member, sending spines through the brunette's spine.

She came with a long moan, emptying herself down Maddie's throat. The blonde struggles to swallow all the thick, creamy cum, a little bit dripping from her mouth, landing on her breasts. Sydney kneels next to the blonde, and gently licks her breasts, cleaning off the traces of cum. They make out as the girl watches from the couch, her dick almost immediately coming back to life. 

With a mischievous wink, the blondes got on all fours and turned around, presenting their ample rear to the brunette. The girl shudders, watching their big asses bounce as they twerk and makeout at the same time, rubbing their sweaty bodies against each other, putting on a real show for the girl to watch.

"Let us show you how good we can make you feel." Madelyn cooed, her voice laced with sultry encouragement.

The girl gulps and nods, eager to feel their tight, little pussies. "Let's go somewhere more comfortable." Sydney offers her hand to the girl, and the trio go into the nearest room.

A big, fluffy king bed, covered by nice, white sheets, ready to be stained, in the middle of the room. "I want to try something, Maddie, lay on the bed." Sy orders, grabbing the girl's hand, pulling her towards the bed.

Maddie readily obeys, laying on the middle of the bed. Sy kneels right by Madelyn's knees, the girl right behind her. "So, you're going to rub your dick between our pussies. Like scissoring, but with a nice twist." She wiggles her eyebrows.

The girl places her dick on Maddie's pussy, the pinkish mushroom head touching her belly button. The blonde shivers, just one slip and the big, thick member would fill her up. "Y-You're so big." She whines, desperate to feel something.

Sy shushes the blonde, eyes lighting up with excitement, positioning herself right on top of the girl's member, so it was between the blonde's pussies. The girl moans, feeling overwhelmed, the two warm, wet pussies, pulsing on her dick, begging for attention. The tip of her cock probing their entrances, the girl feel a wave of pleasure wash over her, as she begins to thrust her dick, as if she was fucking a fleshlight.

"It feels so good." She groans, eyes rolling back in her head, the pleasure building with each passing moment.

Gripping Sydney's hips, using them as handles, thrusting her member between their wet heats, a gasp of pleasure escaping the blonde's lips. Their slicks coating the girl's dick, easing her movements. Maddie's body starts to convulse, throwing her head back on the mattress, mouth open in a silent scream.

Sydney arches her back, giggling as she wiggles her ass teasingly against the girl's body. Huffing, the girl grabs Sy's throat, lightly choking her as she pinned the girl against her body, one of her hands rubbing the blonde's clit.

"Your cock feels so good against our pussies. Keep going, rub my clit. I can't stand the wait anymore, I want to feel your cock filling me up to the brim." Sydney cries.

"Your cock is so perfect for us, sweet girl. Please, don't stop." Maddie moans loudly, her body arching on the mattress in response to the stimulation. "You're driving us crazy, I'm so close already."

"You're close, Maddie?" The blonde nods desesperately, and Sydney bends down, kissing all over her face. "Don't hold back, pretty girl, cum for us." 

Madelyn cries out, body tensing up even further as the blonde suck and lick her breasts, tweaking her nipples as she tries to fit her entire tit on her mouth. "Oh my god, Sy! That feels so good!" Her eyes cross, as she softly pet the blonde's head, bucking her hips against the girl's cock.

The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, as the three girls approach their orgasms. Maddie can feel every nerve ending in her body tingling with anticipation, as her eyes lock with the girl's, eyes filled with desire and love, watching the blondes nymphs kissing each other. There was so much going inside her head, she never knew she could feel this way about someone. Well, more than someone. But there they are.

With one final thrust, the girls are overcome by the most intense pleasure they've ever felt, body shuddering violently, the girl's dick spurts cum everywhere as the girl's wall squeezes her tight. The blondes cry out, voice hoarse from the intensity.

As the waves of pleasure subside, the girl collapses on the bed, body still trembling from the aftermath. "Oh, our poor girl, we fucked her dumb." Madelyn says, pinching the girl's cheeks. "We're not done with you yet, we're just starting." She giggles, kissing her lips. "You did so well, we're so proud of you."

With a new surge of energy, the girl climbs the blonde's body, now face to face with the girl. Roughly kissing her lips, tongue tangling with hers, as the girl deepened the kiss.  The blonde feels a rush of excitement as the girl fondles her breasts, fingers sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

Maddie moans into her mouth, hands wrapping around her neck to pull her closer, melting into her touch. Sweaty, naked, sticky bodies rubbing against each other, melting into a pool of desire and pleasure.

The girl breaks away from the kiss, chest heaving with desire. Locking eyes with Maddie, as she whispers "C-Can I eat you?" She shyly begs, the blonde eagerly nods, wanting to feel the girl's lips explore her body. Maddie shot Sy a triumphant look, who quietly complained, crossing her arms over her bare breasts as she sat down next to the girls to watch the scene unfold.

Maddie gasps as the girl starts kissing and licking her way down the blonde's body, her skin tingling with each touch of her lips. Reaching her glistening, messy pussy, cum covering her tummy and breasts, letting out a low, guttural moan "Oh Maddie, you're so pretty."

Maddie lets out a startled gasp as the girl's mouth makes contact with her bare pussy, each swipe of her tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body. She cries out, her hands grasping for something to hold onto as she loses herself in the pleasure. Maddie whimpers, hips bucking against the girl's face, "Don't stop, please...don't stop!!" Her voice was mushed and needy. 

Thrusting her tongue inside her wet, tight walls, the blonde buckles her hips, desperately trying to get closer to her mouth. The buildup of desire is almost too much to bear.

Besides them, Sydney's body twitched with impatience, eager to feel the girl's mouth on her pussy, on her tits, on her body. She cries as she watches the other blondes climax for the nth time of the night. Frustrated, she grabs the nearest thing on the bed - her pillow - and starts humping it, while watching the girls, tangled in a sex mess.

Plopping down on the pillow, feeling its softness beneath her butt cheeks. She grabs onto the edges of the pillow, holding it in place as she starts to bounce up and down, hips moving in a sensual rhythm. She let out a frustrated cry, the pleasure was good, but not enough to her.  Closing her eyes, trying to concentrate on the feeling of the softness of the pillow against her puffy pussy lips, hearing Maddie's cries as she pretended that the girl was eating her, instead. As she becomes more, and more lost in the moment, she gasps when she feels the girl's fingers against her clit.

"I've been neglecting you, let me make up for it." Grinding her hips harder, the mattress creaking beneath the trio. Eyes sparkling with mischief. "C'mon, ride it as if you're riding my cock." Rubbing her clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through the blonde's body. 

She loudly moans "Just like that, please." She pants, eyes hooded with lust. The steady pressure on her most sensitive spot has her writhing and panting, movement growing more erratic as the pleasure builds. "Oh fuck, I'm so close." She cries out, voice trembling.

Maddie screams with pleasure, as the girl's tongue and lips work their magic on her most sensitive spot. The sensation is overwhelming and she feels her body tightening up, the pleasure building to a fever pitch, hips bucking against the girl's face, legs trembling with anticipation.

Sydney throws her head back, back arching as the sensations become almost overwhelming. "Don't stop, please, I need you..." She whines, body quivering with need. With a few more frantic grinds, the blonde is finally pushed over the edge, crying out the girl's name as waves of ecstasy wash over her. She shudders and convulse, the pillow long forgotten as she loses herself in the blissful release.

Like a sudden explosive release, Maddie squirts all over the girl's face, the sensation is intense, and she feels a rush of pleasure and embarrassment wash over her. The honey cum filling up the girl's mouth, as Sy cream on her hands, both the blondes panting heavily, trying to catch their breaths as their bodies collapse on the mattress. Bodies still trembling with the aftershock of their orgasms, Maddie could still feel the girl's tongue licking at the pussy, while Sy's sore pussy from all the rubbing, her clit almost exploding with the building pleasure.

The girl takes a moment to look at the blondes, laying down on the mattress, trying to save the sensual moment in her head. A mess of tangled limbs, messy hair, cum all over the place, the sheets long ruined. Bare bodies, recently tanned from their morning beneath the sun, beautiful mounds kissed by the sun, the string of their bikinis marked on their body.

The blondes look up at the girl, eyes hooded with desire. "C'mon, fill me up, I know you want it." Sydney opens her legs, showing her puffy pussy lips, almost angry red with so much friction from the riding before, Maddie helps her keep her legs open. Sy bites her lips, inviting the girl. "I want your cock so bad."

With that, the girl positioned herself at her entrance, and pushed slowly inside, filling her up with her thick cock. Sy moaned loudly, arching her back, as she felt her cock stretch her tight pussy walls. "Oh God, you're so big." Gripping the sheets beneath them, as Maddie tries to soothe her, softly kissing her lips.

Pussy already sensitive, Sydney could feel every single vein pulsing inside her pussy, stretching her to her limits, hitting her cervix. Crossing her eyes, tears rolled down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, the girl uses Sy's hips as handles, as she begins to thrust inside her, hips meeting in a rhythmic dance, bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

Maddie runs her hands along the blonde's body, touching the belly bulge that moved with each thrust. Giggling to herself, she slightly pushes it, and Sydney screams with pleasure.

The girl was in a messy state, feeling overwhelmed, the blonde's pussy tightly squeezing her, almost chopping off her cock. It was warm, wet, and perfect, she could fucking her like this forever. The blonde's body shakes with every thrust, her perfect, round and full tits bouncing, stiff nipples begging for one's attention.

"Poor baby." Madelyn kisses the blonde's forehead, petting her cheek as she babbles nonsense, too drunk on the girl's dick to think about anything. Picking up speed, the friction between them grows hotter and more intense with each passing second, breathing becoming more ragged and heavy, sweat beads forming along their bodies, pre-cum pooling where they meet, a ring of white cream forming at the base of her dick. "Breed her, sweet girl, use her pussy, fill her up with your sweet cum."

The girl did as she was told, picking up her pace, only to slow down when the blonde was getting closer to her edge. "Don't tease me." She begs, crying when her orgasm is frustrated.

"Please, I'm so close." The blonde screams, as the girl cum inside of her, filling her belly. "Give it to me, I'm so full." Ropes of cum filled her up, as her body writhed in the bed, eyes rolling back in her head, a shudder running down her spine.

"Yes, breed me! Fill me with your hot, thick cum!" She cries, chasing that final push over the edge, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around the girl's shaft. Sydney's body trembles and shakes, her own orgasm crashing over her in intense waves, a long, keen wail escaping her lips as she comes undone, milking the girl for every drop of seed. The blonde collapses on the bed, panting heavily, nuzzles into the crook of Maddie's neck, a satisfied smile on her face as she basks in the warmth of post-sex bliss.

Madelyn smiles, petting the blonde's head, cooing at her. "You did so well, baby." She smiles sweetly at Sydney. "Now, it's my turn, I want to try something." She grabs a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs from the bedside table, turning to the girl. "Lay down, and give me your hands." She orders, a playful expression on her face.

The girl did what she was told, watching Maddie as she handcuffed her hands to the bed posts. "Now, I am going to ride you until all you can think about is my pussy, gonna milk you dry." 

Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes wide with surprise as she stares up at the blonde that climbed on her lap, straddling her. Maddie giggles mischievously when she feels the hardness beneath her, making her shiver with anticipation. Slowly, tentatively, she begins to move, grinding against the girl.

She grabs the hard rock member, pressing against her tummy. "Look how far you reach, it's going to fill me up. Want to fuck you so bad." In one swift movement she lowers herself on the girl's dick, taking inch by agonizingly inch, until she's fully seated on the girl's cock. Her tight walls clench around the member, squeezing tight as she adjusts to the size.

Maddie rests her hands on the bed frame, nails digging in the wood as she picks up speed. The pleasure building within her is overwhelming, a soft moan escapes her lips as she begins to move, riding the girl hard and fast. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through their bodies. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room, drowning Sy's whimpers.

The girl was astonished with the view above her, Maddie, all sweaty, whining and whimpering as she did her best to sloppily ride her dick, tan tummy stretching with every thrust. "You fill me so good, please don't stop." Her breath comes in short gasps, each one punctuated by a soft moan. Her body writhes, the stretching driving her wild. 

Her movements become erratic, body twitching with every thrust. The girl tries to reach for her pulsing clit to rub it, but she couldn't due to the handcuffs.  Sydney grabs her hips, pressing herself against Maddie's body. "I want to taste it, want to feel you coating my tongue." Her words trail off into a low moan, as she bends, desperately seeking Maddie's pussy.

The blonde shyly licks Maddie's clit, eating her out. "Please, sit on my face." The girl begs to Sydney, a lazy wicked grin spreading across her face as she eagerly obeys without hesitation. The heat of her core radiates against the girl's face, as she sits on her awaiting mouth. "Oh fuck, yes, eat me." Sydney moans wantonly, grinding her dripping slit against the girl's face. "Eat that pussy, sweet girl, lick every drop I give you." She rocks her hips in slow, deliberate circles, smearing her slick arousal all over the girl's face.

The taste of her essence explodes on the girl's tongue, tangy, sweet, and utterly addictive. "Your tongue feels amazing." Sy throws her head back in ecstasy, a long, low moan escaping her lips as the girl's mouth works magic on her sensitive puffy pussy. Bending down, Sydney sucks and licks Maddie's titties, massaging her butt as the blonde screams from the pleasure.

"Right there, don't stop!!" The blondes babbles breathlessly, thighs starting to tremble and quake. Sy grinds down harder, chasing her rapidly building peak. Her movements become more erratic and desperate as she nears the edge for the nth time of the night, riding the girl's face with wild abandon. "Yesyesyes, make me cum!" With a wail, she came again, filling the girl's mouth with her sweet essence.

Maddie's entire body tenses and quivers, feeling overwhelmed as her climax crashes over her, back arching sharply. A gush of fluid spurts from her spasming core, coating Sydney's face and the girl's still-thrusting cock, running down her trembling thighs. Maddie wails, seeing stars as the most intense orgasm of her life through her. 

Her greedy cunt clamps down rhythmically, milking the girl's shaft for all its worth. Wave after wave of mind-blowing pleasure radiates from her messy pussy, as the blonde rides out the aftershocks, panting harshly. She collapses forward, body falling against the big-bust girl, utterly spent and boneless, the girl's softening member still nestled snugly inside her twitching cunt, keeping her pussy plugged with their cum.

The three girls collapse on the bed, Maddie quickly getting rid of the girl's handcuffs, not getting the girl's cock out of her pussy. "You bred me so well, can feel you on my tummy. Don't want to let you go." 

The girl's caress each other, rubbing their sweaty, spent, tired bodies against each other.

"Gonna keep your cock warm tonight, and tomorrow, it's going to be Sy's turn. And again, and again, until our vacation ends." Maddie smiles mischievously, squeezing the girl's soft cock, snuggled inside her warm, creamy pussy.

The girls fall asleep snuggles on top of each other, getting their well deserved rest.

[coldtimemachinegiver]

Closer (Jihyo X Fem!Reader) +18

Author: I would like to apologize in advance for any gramar mistakes. English is not my first language, and I wrote this story in a rush of creativity (which don’t happen often), so I didn’t review it for any mistakes.

Warnings: Sex with bestfriend, cunnilingus, light praise kink, scissoring.

Pairing: Jihyo X Fem!Reader

The girl hummed along with the background music, as she worked her way through the kitchen, collecting the ingredients and mixing them into a bowl, baking some chocolate chip cookies. She lived by herself in her small and cozy apartment, where the kitchen was her refuge. Every day, after getting home from work, she found pleasure in preparing delicious meals, trying new recipes, and honing her culinary skills.

She was waiting for her best friend to arrive for their sleepover. The brunette was late stuck in the city's chaotic traffic. So, while waiting, the girl baked some goodies, and cleaned the house, completely forgetting to take a shower and get ready for the party.

The little puppy ran eagerly to the door when the doorbell rang, barking to get his owner's attention.

The girl runs to open the door, fumbling with her keys.

"Hey! I brought some food from your favorite place." The brunette had a wide smile on her face, reaching her eyes. Jihyo had a tiring week at her job, working extra hours every night and eating almost nothing due to lack of time, but as soon as she saw her best friend wearing her cute little apron, flour smeared on her cheek and the interior of her house smelling like vanilla, it was as if all the weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Come in, I was waiting for you." The girl opens the door wider, gently pulling Jihyo inside the house. Her eyes sparkling as she admired the brunette.

****

Her eyes sparkling as she admired the woman's body as she was taking her clothes off. 

The brunette's tanned skin made the girl's mouth water. Her eyes rake down her naked body as Jihyo enters the shower, her plump, soft and voluptuous breasts bouncing as she reaches down to lather soap on her legs. 

"Can you wash my hair? Pretty please." She begs, pouting her lips as the girl sucked on a breath, Jihyo's body glistening with water. The girl tried to enter the bathtub, but the brunette stopped her. "Not like that, silly! You're fully clothed. Let me help you." And she starts to undress the girl, a small smirk on her lips when she peaks her lacy underwear. 

She sits on the bathtub, Jihyo's back pressed against her chest. The brunette's perfume invaded the girl's nostrils, as she grabbed the shampoo bottle, squirting a little bit on her hand and massaging Jihyo's scalp. She hums in pleasure, as her hands take place on the girl's thigh, getting higher and higher. Their slippery bodies pressed against one another, as the girl fights the urge to bite into Jihyo's neck.

"You're so good at this." Jihyo moans, squirming. The girl grabs the shower head, rinsing the brunette's hair. "Can you give me a massage? My body is wrecked. Your hands are marvelous." 

 "O-Okay." The girl gulps, squirting some soap on her hands, as she massages Jihyo's shoulders. The brunette threw her head back, resting it on the girl's shoulders. The girl could feel Jihyo's heat gaze on her, as she continued the massage. 

Suddenly, Jihyo grabbed the girl's hands, putting them on her big breasts, encouraging her to massage her tits. "You are wonderful, you know that, sweetheart?" Her hot and minty breath against her cheek. The girl's thumbs play with Jihyo's nipples, flicking them as the brunette moans, and chuckles, rubbing her body faster against the girl's.

The girl faces Jihyo, her eyes on her lips. Their plump lips were inches apart, breathy moans escaping Jihyo's mouth, the harmonic sound turning into a playful giggle, as the girl's thumbs twisted the brunette's nipples. 

Kissing her lips, Jihyo's whines echoed through the steam-filled bathroom, as the girl devoured her mouth, while her fingers twisted and played with the brunette's stiff nipples. Jihyo tangles one of her hands on the girl's hair, while the other grips the edge of the bathtub, knuckles white as she tries to maintain her balance.

Jihyo's body rocking against the girl's, feeling her hot, sticky pussy against the small of her back. The girl's hand slips down the brunette's body, feeling her skin as her fingers reach her hot mound, massaging her pussy lips. Jihyo gasps, biting her lips.

"W-wait! I made a surprise for you." She whines, lips tugged on a pout. "I've been planning this all week.Want it to be special."

Jihyo turns her body, so now she is facing the girl, a mischievous expression on her face. "Wait for me, it's only gonna take a few minutes, I promise." She softly kisses the girl on the lips, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

****

"You can come in!" The brunette chirps behind the door. The girl does what she is told, gasping when she sees what was awaiting for her.

Jihyo was laying naked on the bed, her long, dark, luscious locks spread on the pillows, her nipples hard as a pebble due to the cold air. A playful smile on her lips as she opened her legs, revealing her velvety, cute mound, a hot pink string coming out of it. She bites her lips as she motions her fingers in a "come hither" gesture. 

As the girl approaches the nymph lying in her bed, she discarts her clothes on the floor, the brunette getting excited with every new inch of skin revealed. The girl layed in-between Jihyo's long legs, curling her arms between her thighs, pulling the woman closer, the brunette's pussy inches from the girl's face.

She took the small vibrator inside the brunette's pussy, a surprised gasp coming out from Jihyo's mouth when the girl licked the toy, sucking the brunette's sweet juices off it. Licking from her butthole to her clit, the sweet nectar filled her senses, the woman beneath her trembles, grabbing her own tits.

"Please, don't tease me!" Jihyo whines, as the girl's nails caress her thick thighs. Diving straight into her mound, making out with the woman's pussy. The brunette's wails and moans filled the room, as the girl massages Jihyo's breasts, pinching her nipples. Placing open-mouth kisses on her pussy, thrusting her tongue into her opening as her nose played with Jihyo's little clit. The wet pink muscle pulsing inside her tight, creamy walls.

"Please, ride my face." The girl pants, begging to be used. Jihyo's flushed face is taken over by a dumb smile, as she tries to kneel on the bed, her thighs shaking as she jumps on the girl, mounting her. Face to face with each other, the brunette kisses her messily, sucking her tongue as saliva coated their mouths. A string of saliva connects them as they break apart, Jihyo sitting flush on the girl's face.

It was the perfect view: Jihyo's breasts bouncing as she rode the girl's face like it was the last thing she would do, stomach and thighs clenching, as she was getting closer and closer, face flushed and hair messy. Spanking her full, round, perfect ass, as Jihyo's moans were getting louder and louder, her body covered by a thin layer of sweat. "Oh, sweet girl, please, right there! You are doing so well." A soft gasp escaped the brunette's lips.

"Your tongue feels so good, sweet girl!." She moans, her words came out stutteringly as the girl continued to lick her up, nails digging lightly into her hips. "I-I think I'm going to-"

Jihyo came with a high-pitched moan, arching her back as her creamy, white, pearly cum filled the girl's mouth, the sweet juices tasting like candy to her taste buds. The girl licked her folds, cleaning the remnants of cum out of her pussy, overstimulating the brunette. Jihyo's sweaty, sticky, tan skin, glistening, legs quivering violently as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her moans rose higher, louder, as she rode out her orgasm. Thighs shaking as the brunette pushed the girl on the bed, straddling her hips.

Their pussies kissed each other as the girl sucked on Jihyo's nipples, while kneading her supple skin. The fit was so perfect, the girl could almost cry, it was like they belonged to each other. Another wave of ecstasy washed over her. "Please, keep doing that!

Heart racing, Jihyo matched the girl's rhythm, their bodies intertwined. "Yes, sweet girl." The brunette's eyes darken with lust as she watches the girl succumb to the pleasure. Each caress, each kiss, each thrust driving them closer to the edge.

"Messy girl." Jihyo purrs, her own breath hitches as she feels the slick heat of their bodies scissoring, the sensation intoxicating. The brunette's find the girl's lips in a searing kiss, pulling her closer as the waves of their orgasm crashed over both, a shared ecstasy.

Their bodies locked in rhythm, the smell of sweat and sex filling up the bedroom as the girls climaxed together. The girl clings to Jihyo's slippery body. Gasping for air, as the girl looks up awestruck at the brunette. Hair sticking to her forehead, as her breath came down to normal, lips swollen and rosy, skin hot as an oven. 

Jihyo gently cradles the girl, soothingly caressing her body. 

[catchymemes]

[infinitydivine]

I am not taking a risk

[darlingsstern]

Not risking it pals

[doralimasstuff]

U know what I want potato of luck

[shrewreadings]

Damn right I’m reblogging. See previous post re wrath of whatever from high atop the thing.

[luffymon123]

#Golden Potato luck

[ur-daily-inspiration]

[catchymemes]