goodbye, darth.

makayla. multi-fandom. writer & gif-maker. tracking: #usermakayla

[gffa]

Star Wars: From a Certain Point of View: Return of the Jedi | "Brotherhood" I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND THAT I STRAIGHT UP CRIED REAL TEARS AT THIS MOMENT. IT WAS EXACTLY WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED TO READ AND IT HIT ME RIGHT IN MY EMOTIONS. I was so wary going into this story, because the concepts of Force Ghosts are deeply important to me on a narrative level, that the Force and Lucas' philosphy in the movies and for the worldbuilding is that the message is: You need to let go when it's time. You can't hold on beyond anything or anyone's time, it will only cause you and others suffering. So, when Anakin's fiery determination seemed to be what kept him around as a Force ghost, I sighed a bit and kept shouldering on. I did not expect to be hit by the one-two-three-four punch of Obi-Wan's gentle guidance to get Anakin to the other side of the Force, Anakin's regret for what he'd done and the heart-wrenching way he instinctively turns to Obi-Wan and listens to him, Anakin looking on over his children with pride and faith in what they would do next, and then the ultimate message: "Finally, Anakin Skywalker let go." I AM EMOTIONAL. MY BOY FINALLY GOT TO THE PLACE THAT GAVE HIM PEACE. It was a perfect build-up to where Anakin needed to be in this moment, that this story is centered around the depth of his connection to Obi-Wan, that it's instinctual for him to reach out and grab onto the hand Obi-Wan is holding out to him, to turn to Obi-Wan and listen, like a flower turns towards the sun, now that he's out of the worst of the haze of the dark side. To seeing his children, seeing Padme in them, seeing both of them in the twins, and finally, finally letting all that noise in his head go. Trusting that Luke and Leia and their friends would make their own way forward. "It just took one final nudge from Obi-Wan to get there. Finally, Anakin Skywalker let go." What a perfect summation of Anakin's character and his difficult journey, his relationship with Obi-Wan, and one of the most central themes George Lucas intended for Star Wars. Becoming a Force Ghost is about letting go--Qui-Gon said that in the original ROTS script, he said it in TCW, the OWK show basically had the same message, and now Anakin has gotten there, too. That it acknowledged his part in everything that happened and did it with tremendous compassion, because that's what Jedi are all about. Obi-Wan has let go as well, he doesn't hang onto the hurt or the suffering, especially not when he will gain so much by letting go and embracing compassion for Anakin. He gently guides Anakin to understanding that he wasn't solely responsible for everything, only for the choices he made. Those choices were terrible, he bears that mark, they aren't erased just because Anakin is sorry, but holding onto all that guilt and pain is just more suffering. Obi-Wan has let go and, through that, he can guide Anakin to let go as well, and regain his friend. This is everything the Jedi have always taught coming to fruition. So, I'm emotional for my baby boy, that he finally got there after a lifetime of struggling, that he's finally at peace, and I'm emotional as a Star Wars fan, that the themes of my favorite franchise were just knocked out of the park.

[etherealspacejelly]

me when the disability disables me: oh what the fuck? this sucks. what the hell man!

[grapefruiters]

you’re beautiful. let’s sleep through our alarms together

[eowynstwin]

first ride

Pairing: Phillip Graves x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only) Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: public sex, fingering, cunnilingus, loss of virginity, Graves being Graves, car sex, Texas drawl Author's Notes: Here I am once again writing for a character I'm not particularly into. However, this scenario seized me, and I really had to do it. I hope the Graves girls can forgive me if this is out of character.

Now on AO3!

He looks like an old Hollywood movie star, leaning against the side of his old Cadillac—he restored it himself, he’s bragged many times—in a tight white t-shirt and old faded jeans. He’s grinning at you like one, too, aviators set up on top of his head, ankles of his boots casually crossed. You desperately want to smack him.

“Did I hear that right?” Graves asks, rubbing the corner of his chin with a nonchalant thumb. “Is my cowgirl lookin’ for her first ride?”

The bunch and flex of his bicep is terribly distracting at the cross of his arms, too ample for the short sleeve that hugs it. Graves—it always feels too strange to call him Phillip, it’s too princely a name—may be lithe and lean, more endurance than bulk, but his confidence fills him out plenty. And he’s held you against him before. You know he’s as sturdy as an oak.

Which makes his fully-justified cockiness all the more infuriating.

“God, forget I fucking said anything,” you scoff, scowling at him in the late afternoon sun. The overlook he’s driven you to is quiet and peaceful; the light has just begun to sink toward the horizon, and somehow he’s positioned perfectly in front of it, because he’s limned in a halo of goddamn gold. It makes your stomach twist with want, makes your knees weak with the ache of it.

“Are you kidding?” Graves returns, corners of his eyes creasing. “Say it again, I need to record it.”

Pique turns your spine rigid, and you turn on an indignant heel with full intent to walk along the highway back into town, but Graves’ hand catches your wrist as you spin away from him.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, tugging you against him, his arms looping insouciantly around your waist. The long line of his body supports you easily. “I always take care of you, don’t I?”

You want to tell him you’ve changed your mind, if only to wipe that smug look off his face, but you let him kiss you anyway, closing your eyes to avoid that sharp, knowing gaze.

He pulls away, smirking at you, and then kisses you again, your jaw this time, lips soft and lingering. He already knows this isn’t the kind of huff he needs to back down from. You give a sigh of concession, spreading your fingers across his pectorals, the muscles plush and full beneath your fingers. He smiles against your face, and he mirrors you by opening his hands on your lower back, fingertips grazing the waist of your pants. His mouth chases yours down, and as he draws you in closer, as the breadth of your hips comes up against his, you realize this is happening.

You can’t help it—a little noise escapes you, high-pitched and quiet as Graves’ tongue probes at the seam of your lips.

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, which you open a little to let him in. His tongue is warm as it strokes your own, as if he’s breathing sunlight into your mouth. His chest is solid beneath your palms, sturdy enough to push away from if you want to.

Sturdy enough to fall against, too.

But you do neither. You may have already decided to let Graves have his wily way with you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t make him work for it.

So you pull away from him, give him a puckish little smile, watch the expression on his face change as he quickly realizes you’re going to give him trouble. You don’t give him time to say something, though, because when he opens his mouth to snark at you you kiss him.

His teeth find your lower lip and sink in, and you squeal at the pinch. You have a second occasion to squeal when one broad hand slides low, passes your lower back and settles cupped around one of your ass cheeks. His fingers spread and dig into your flesh as his other arm curls around your back, and you pull away from him again in mock-offense. Graves grins at you, showing teeth, and chases your mouth as you hold your head back from him.

You let him get one kiss in before you retreat. Blue eyes are narrowed at you in playful determination, and you have to concede his victory when his head dips to your neck. Warm lips play across your pulse as Graves’ other hand roves your back, tracing the knobs of your spine and pressing into your sacrum. Your arms go around his shoulders as the hand on your rear retreats, questing next along the hem of your shirt.

“Should we go somewhere else?” you ask. You’re immediately surprised at your own voice—breathy, low and throaty. You’ve never heard yourself sound like that before.“This is—we’re in public, right?”

Graves smiles against your clavicle. “I have it on good authority that the drive up closed down when we got here.”

You’d seen him briefly on his phone. Not unusual; he had a business to run, after all, and like always he’d silenced and put it away. You hadn’t even blinked at it.

“You planned this,” you realize aloud.

He pulls away from your shoulder. “Guilty.”

You purse your lips as he looks at you. Light brows raise, head tilting. It’s not exactly a pleading look, but it’s close.

You do not soften. Not yet. “Did you actively expect to get laid?”

His arms come up a little, circling your waist. The hold is strong, but not confining.

“I didn’t discount the possibility,” he admits. “Just wanted to make sure you…felt enabled. If you wanted.”

You study his face. Sun-kissed, open, mapped by the mischief he can never really stop showing. You draw the pad of your thumb along the scar on his cheekbone, and he lifts his hand to cup yours to his face, turns a little to press his lips into your palm. Something in your backbone goes slack, and finally you lean your full weight against the pillar of Graves’ body.

“All right, cowboy,” you say, tilting your mouth toward him. “How do we do this, then?”

He accepts the offered kiss, pressing his lips feather-light to yours. “Well…”

And his hand falls from yours to finger the waistband of your pants, right below your navel.

“Oh,” you breathe. And then, heedless of your own nerves, “Okay.”

He smiles, and seeks out a kiss again, and you don’t wonder for too long if you should help make some room for him before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans with one hand.

You flinch in his embrace as his fingers explore the field of your mons over the protective layer of your panties. It’s the softest of caresses, yet you have to suppress a tremor at the sensation. You curl your fingers into Graves’ shirt, and stop a moan from escaping your throat as his fingers descend further, two fingers spreading to run up and down along your outer labia.

Graves pulls his mouth away from you immediately, but presses a little harder into your sex. “Honey, there’s no one around. I wanna hear every little sound you make, alright?”

He sounds so serious. For some reason a nervous laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. But his shows his teeth in a smile worthy of an old Hollywood rebel—he wants to hear it, after all—and brings your mouth to his with one hand on the back of your head.

His other hand has not stopped moving, scratching short nails across the fabric of your underwear in a tease that has you bearing down a little on him. He chuckles into your mouth, finds your bare pussy in through the side of the gusset, and you flinch again at how hot his fingers are.

He parts the seam of you, explores this new ground as you tremble against him, and finds your wellspring. You stop kissing him to press your forehead, mortified, to his clavicle—you’re so wet, and he’s barely even touched you! His fingers delve into it, spreading it across your labia, your clit as he finds where it nestles, and his arm whips back around your waist as your knees give a little.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs in your ear, drawling, still so damned smug. “This is only the first one.”

You don’t have much time to contemplate first one before he’s slipping a finger easily into your entrance, and you clench around him in shock at the intrusion. He groans at the sensation, sinks in to the knuckle as you give a cry of surprise, and when he curls that finger into you a shriek escapes from between your clenched teeth. His hand on your hip rubs circles into your skin as his thumb presses your clit upward, flexing as he strokes that spot inside you that you thought was just an urban legend.

You’re shaking against him, arms around his shoulders and clinging to his back, and your orgasm takes you entirely by surprise. Sparks dance across your vision as he pinches you between his forefinger and thumb, rubbing quick circles around your clit, and your knees fail you entirely as your body hangs draped across his chest.

He does not let you fall, arm around you tightening, and the flex of his forearm against your belly as he rubs you through your climax extends the waves of pleasure wracking you beyond their natural momentum.

“Graves,” you whimper, “Phillip!”

“Yeah, baby?” he laughs, pressing his mouth to your temple. “What do you need? You good?”

“Stop it before—ah!—before I make us both fall over!” you pant, your hips jerking in an attempt to escape his hand.

“I don’t know, I feel pretty steady,” he says, giving his finger a deep thrust into you.

You claw at his back as he laughs at you, considering throwing the both of you to the ground on purpose, but his hand retreats from you before you can exact revenge.

“Come on,” he says.

Perhaps taking your shaky legs into account, Graves opens the door of his car and helps you perch on the back seat.

“Lay back,” he says, teeth peeking out in another puckish grin. His hands are on your hips, fingers digging down a little into the waistband.

“What are you planning?” you ask, eyes narrowing, although you think you already know.

“Somethin’ I think you’ll like,” he says. He’s on his knees, and with military efficiency he’s already gotten your shoes off. “Go on. And lift your hips up.”

You obey, but you perch your now-bare foot on his shoulder to do it. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and before your back has even met the seat he’s pulling your pants down your hips, but leaving your underwear behind.

This is new territory. You and Graves have messed around before—heavy petting, mostly, making out on his couch—but always with clothes on. He hasn’t even seen you in a swimsuit yet. Your breath shallows, suddenly self-conscious. If someone were to walk up, see what’s going on, what kind of tableau would this be making?

Graves’ hand is warm around your ankle, gently massaging your Achilles’ tendon.

“How we doin’?” he asks, and you prop yourself up on your elbows.

You look for the bravado you’ve been maintaining this whole time, but it seems to have diminished, as shy are you are now that you’ve reached this point. But you’re also a little surprised that he’s checking in like this. You’d expected Graves to direct you as he pleased—had relied on it, really, to counterbalance your anxiety.

It’s a new side of him; and as you meet his sky blue eyes, you think it’s one you very much like.

“We’re okay,” you say, and you let him see the softness you feel.

His eyes crinkle again, and he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your knee. “Good. Scoot forward a little.”

You do. You’re very aware, now, of the thin barrier of fabric keeping your sex covered. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, and it jumps immediately when Graves spreads your thighs with both hands.

“Doin’ real good, sweetheart,” he says, muffling the words with a kiss higher on the inside of your thigh.

That irks you. “Don’t patronize me, Graves.”

He snorts, and sinks his teeth into your skin. Your leg jerks at this, but he keeps it in place with one firm hand. “Guess you won’t stay sweet forever.”

“I can be very sweet!” you protest.

Your breath hitches as he kisses his way higher and higher, hands lazily kneading your thighs.

“I bet,” says Graves, reaching the edge of your panties. “Here.”

Heat floods your face, and you feel your core throb.

You feel him grin against you, and then his tongue lathes across the hem. You inhale sharply as he presses the heel of his palm against you, fingertips making divots in your mons.

“Alright if I pull these aside a little?” he breathes into your skin.

“Yes,” you breathe, face hot, furiously embarrassed to be watching him but unable to look away.

He holds your gaze as one finger hooks the gusset and tugs, pins you in place with sharp eyes as his tongue licks a stripe up the seam of you, the tip only just parting your folds. You hear yourself make a sound somewhere in your throat. The corner of his mouth kicks up, and he teases his tongue in deeper, the wet heat of it tickling your inner folds. You reach one hand out, not sure exactly what you mean to do with it, but Graves catches it with his and meshes his fingers with yours.

He’s not usually one to hold hands. He’s doing this for your benefit.

Your head falls back as he tugs your panties aside further and splits you with the wedge of his tongue, licking long from perineum all the way up to your clit. Your thigh jerks when he circles the bud just with the tip, and Graves, little shit that he is, repeats the motion over and over until your knees are shaking and your chest is heaving with ecstatic breath.

That’s the only preamble you get from him. Suddenly his whole mouth is working your pussy, lips hot and moving on your flesh as his tongue strokes deeper between your folds, and you have to cry out when that tongue dips into your entrance before retreating to your clit.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against you. His eyes are closed now, blond lashes fanned out, brows pulling together. “Fuck. You taste good, you taste fucking good, baby, shit.”

You whimper at the praise, free hand searching futilely for purchase somewhere, fingers scrabbling at the seat as Graves groans into your pussy. Your other hand is in his grip, and as you squeeze, he squeezes back, tight enough that you feel a knuckle pop.

Finally you find a place for your hand to rest. His hair is soft between your fingers, a little too short to pull at, but when you dig your nails into his scalp he groans low and hard into your cunt. His eyes open, silvery in the setting sun’s light, and lock onto yours. Then you feel him prodding at your entrance with two fingers as he flicks your clit with his tongue, and you take them easily as he slides in and curls them upward.

“Graves!” you cry as your leg spasms. “Oh my god!”

He pulls his mouth away from you then. “You got it right the first time, honey.” He presses your g-spot again, and you pound his back weakly with one heel. “Don’t blame you for the mistake, though.”

“Graves,” you whimper. “Don’t make me fucking beg, Graves…”

His dimples show. “Now that is an idea—“ he grabs your ankle before you can push his face away with your foot “—for another time.”

He curls his fingers inside of you again, sips at your clit as you start to flutter around him. But you’re not there, not yet, and you understand when Graves moves his mouth away that this—eating you out like he’s been missing meals for days—has been his way of getting you ready for the main event.

Your whole body is a study in trapped energy. You feel like you must be shaking, but as Graves pulls his fingers out of you, you find that you can prop yourself up on your elbows with only a minimal quiver.

You reach for him as he climbs up the seat, up your body, pressing kisses to your hip, your belly, your breast as he passes them by. His mouth finds yours, and you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“We can still stop,” he murmurs against you. “I won’t be mad. Promise.”

Your hands leave his shoulders and find the closure of his jeans. “Are you trying to get out of this?”

He kisses you hard in response. His hands nudge yours aside, and in short order you feel his cock fall against the crease of your thigh.

The warmth surprises you. The weight surprises you.

“That feel like I’m lookin’ to stop?” he purrs.

You feel like a trashy romance novel heroine as you whisper, “Will—will it even fit?”

He doesn’t laugh at you, like you might have expected. Instead, Graves takes your hand and draws your fingers along his length. “You tell me.”

Your eyes widen at the contrast of softness and rigidity. You can feel a vein along him, would swear you could feel his pulse in it, but it might just be your heart beating in your own fingertips. Graves’ hand moves to rest on your hip as you learn the shape of him with your touch, and as you hold his gaze you see one golden brow twitch as you graze the divot at his tip.

“Baby,” he says, and it comes out breathy and short. You’ve never heard him sound that way before. His chest is rising and falling against you, and it feels just a little bit like he’s struggling to keep his cool.

A sense of power blooms in your chest. “Graves,” you murmur, stroking it again.

He huffs a laugh, shows his dimples. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Your fingers travel down to run along that vein again. That bravado from earlier has reappeared, but it has evolved into something else. Something clear and secure and confident. “You’re going to fuck me.”

His brows raise, and he kisses you, runs his tongue along yours, and then pulls back. “Yes ma’am.”

The two of you shift, making a little more room so that you can hook your leg over his hip, and you pull your panties all the way to the side. Graves searches you with his fingers, gives your clit a cheeky little stroke. He finds your entrance, dips inside before replacing them with the head of his cock.

Graves holds your gaze while he does this. When he pushes a little inside, suddenly you can’t look at him—you don’t want to see what he does to you in your eyes, because as he slides further in your awareness of him gets to be too much, too quickly.

This isn’t a toy, or his hand. This is his cock, heavy and hot inside of you, and stretching you in ways no substitute ever has.

“How’s it feel?” Graves murmurs into your ear. Rather than bottom out, when he reaches the halfway point he withdraws and thrusts, pushing deeper in, filling up spaces you didn’t know had been empty.

You can’t feel any breath in your lungs. “Different,” you manage.

His hand comes up to rest on the side of your face, thumb stroking your temple. You meet his eyes again, and the blue is comforting, familiar. And, you realize, expectant.

“Don’t you dare suggest we stop,” you warn him.

“Oh, alright,” he says, lifting his brows impishly, giving a hard jerk of his hips that pushes even farther inside you than before, forcing a cry from you. “If you wanna take it, cowgirl, then I’ll give it to you.”

You dig your nails into Graves’ shoulder, inhaling at the stretch of him in your pussy. The burn is good, better than you’d anticipated. “More,” you breathe. “Graves.”

His hand goes back to your hip, and he thrusts into you again, and then again, and then he’s catching your mouth with his as he takes up a rapid, enthusiastic pace, and you hitch your leg higher on his waist.

The feeling is incredible. You have no way to describe it to yourself, and you don’t even want to try—there’s nothing but the hot drag of his cock in and out of you, the flex of his body, the meld of his open mouth and tongue with yours as he swallows down the myriad of moans and whimpers that escape you.

You can feel it building inside of you, something tense and trembling and growing bigger every time Grave’s thighs clap against yours, something he’d planted with his tongue when his face was between your thighs. You can taste yourself on his lips, you realize, mildly salty, and the notion makes you squeeze around him involuntarily.

He grunts, surprised, into your mouth. You open your eyes at the same time he does, and as he looks at you incredulously, you do it again. Immediately he manhandles you down, grabs your wrists and pins them to the seat, and thrusts into you so deep it actually lifts your hips up.

You laugh at his retaliation and give an enthusiastic moan when he does it again, thrusting short and hard and fast, and that thing, that tension, rapidly approaches outgrowing you.

“Little shit,” Graves accuses, showing his teeth in a predator’s grin. “Clearly I’m not doing enough to fuck that out of you.”

“Oh,” you gasp, mouth falling open as his hips beat an almost violent rhythm faster against you. It’s so close, but just out of your reach, tightening as it fills you but refuses to escape. “Graves, please, come on!”

He kisses you hard again, and one hand leaves your wrist to press a thumb hard against your clit, rubbing in a tight circle, and it’s the last thing you need to come apart. The tension snaps, floods you with pleasure, and you’re crying out with it in his arms as your legs tighten around him, desperate to have his cock as deep as it can go. It is not like the orgasm he gave you with his fingers earlier, short and like a lightning strike. This one lingers, weighs you down as your thighs loosen and he’s able to keep fucking you, the wet slide of his cock pushing the last vestiges of it up and through your body as he searches for his own completion.

He does not take long, and pulls away to groan loud and harsh as he buries himself deep. His hips rock against you as his breath comes short and quick, and a shock of pleasure takes you again as you feel him fill you, hot and liquid, and you press your heels against his glutes to keep him inside you.

The both of you are breathing hard. Your pulse is a roar in your ears. Blearily, you survey his face, drinking in the freckles and sun spots, the shallow crow’s feet, and the sweat glistening along his hairline.

“Damn,” you say.

“Yeah,” he breathes, giving an out-of-breath smile. His eyes look bluer than they ever have as they settle on you. “Damn is right.”

A shaky laugh escapes you. “Wow.”

He kisses your jaw, just grazing it with his teeth. “Good wow?”

“Yeah,” you say, awareness coming to you of your own sweaty hair and the sting on your thighs caused by friction against denim. He’s heavy on top of you, the whole line of his body pressing you safe and secure into the cushion. “Really good.”

He smiles, and kisses you softly. “I’ll always take care of you, honey.”

He drives you back when the last light of the sun has sunk below the horizon, after the overlook has heard you scream and beg more times than either of you could count. You can’t feel your legs. He’s sitting easy and confident, rebelliously handsome and satisfied in the driver’s seat, as if he’s just gone for a light jog and might go for another later.

You’re going to his house. There’s going to be a later. You’re not sure you can take it, but you want it, and his cocky ass knows it.

“I tell you what though,” says Graves. One of his hands is between your thighs, fingers pressing divots into the soft flesh, the other hanging lazily on top of the steering wheel. “I’m never gonna reupholster these seats again.”

You smack him in the shoulder, and he laughs.

[dollfacefantasy]

MASTERLIST

(18+) means nsfw, mdni | post dividers from here

Leon Kennedy <3 Sleepy (18+) You wake up early in the morning with Leon sleeping on top of you

Video Games (18+) You're playing video games when Leon starts feeling needy

Wash His Hair (fluff) You wash Leon's hair and help him unwind

Can't Help It (18+) Your dad's coworker needs a house sitter and you need him inside of you

[1anonyymous1]

i go on tumblr, talk to myself then leave

[marcescentmaniac]

how does tumblr even work do you just like talk to yourself until people are like "i like this one"

[penisman420-69-deactivated20250]

this is actually exactly how it works

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

━━━━━━✧❂✧━━━━━━

Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

#SPIDERVERSEDR ; ITS SO FUNNY JUSY HIM STANDING ALL SERIOUS AND SUDDENLY U SEE 🟫🟫 #spiderverse #shifting #shiftingrealities #shifttok #real

[xyzspips]

theres not enough peter b. fics in here. 🤦‍♀️

big dick peter w tiny virgin reader because im 152cm and ovulating atm. im fucking feral 😞

cw: smut (duh) size difference, big dick peter(duh.), virgin reader(DUH.), references to the reader being small(do i really need to?), mentions of blood(brief, really not graphic).

peter's not rlly talkative in this, i got carried away with the writing.

;;

"p-peter... thats not..." you look back up into his eyes, lips forming into a pout. peter puckers his lips and shrugs. "we dont know that, honey." he says teasingly, hand wrapped around his cock. "i'll make it fit, promise." he shoots you a wink with a tiny smirk, stroking his cock as a bead of precum exits his tip.

you look back down at his dick, biting your lip. your virgin cunt flutters at the thought of his just pounding that big dick into your cunt. his eyes dart down to your clenching cunt and he grins.

"mm, yeah i'll make it fit." he blurts out in a low tone, mostly to himself. you, in turn, blurt out a breathy moan. he softly chuckles at that and lets go of his dick, both of his hands going to grip your calves, pulling you to him.

you yelp when he did that, hands gripping the pillow under your head instinctively and pulling it with you.

his dick rests on top of your abdomen, his dick a little past your button. you sigh at the weight of it. he coos, "that's going to be deep." he says with raised brows and lidded eyes. you merely nod in agreement.

he pulls back a little, one hand leaving your calf and holding his dick. he nudges his tip at your clit, making you let out a surprised whine.

"pete, what if i bleed?" you nip at the skin on your bottom lip, tinting it slightly red with a little blood. peter looks back up at you, and smiles. "happens with everyone having their first time." he says, tip still teasing your hooded clit, though still rubbing it perfectly.

"y-yeah, but...not with someone as big as you, i-i'd imagine." you whine when his tip dragged down to your clenched hole and pushed in slightly. he shrugs one shoulder, "maybe not." he leans down, caging you in his arms. "but you'll be okay." he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, making you giggle at the slight tickle.

"i'll make sure of it." he begins to push in without warning, which caught you off guard and you let out a shriek. he pushes in, despite that. he lets go of his shaft as he gingerly pushes his, the same hand went up to shut your up.

his hand muffles your cries of protests. almost half-way in, he finally stops, hissing at the tightness of your channel around his dick. peter pulls his hand away, eyes studying your scrunched up face, in which he can only describe being pain, which was understanable.

"y-you didn't give me a warning..." you mewl, hips bucking at the uncomfortable feeling between your legs, but you hiss since it only worsened. peter pecks your lips. "aw, 'm sorry, baby." his kisses trails down to your neck.

one of his hands went down to your clit, he flicks the button with his thumb and you whine, pleasure and pain blurring together. "yeah, thats good." he breathes into your neck.

you were slick as slime down there. they have some similarities, so the wetness between your thighs can be described as either.

after a good 30 seconds of him flicking your clit and breathing praises into your neck, he pushes more in with a warning beforehand this time. once halfway in he pauses, pressing kisses all over your face and letting your cunt relax around him a tad bit more.

after a good two minutes, he pushes a few more inches in before halting, only 7 inches fitting snugly in your now-not-virgin pussy instead of 8.6. he knows you needed time to fit him whole.

your cunt's constantly involuntarily clenching around him. his thumb, that was firmly pressing on your puffy clit, went up to your neglected tits. your nipples are hard, either from the coldness of the room you arent aware of, or how turned on you are at the moment.

everything felt hot, peter felt hot, that dick of his inside you felt hot. everything's overwhelmingly hot. peter stayed unmoving as he leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his hand going to the other one, rolling it between his thumb and pointer.

you moan out, the big stick inside you is not forgotten, but it's slightly more bearable. you stomach churns with butterflies when you realize what youre really doing.

as a kid you promised to save yourself until marriage, until now. if your flushed face could get any more red, it would. your trembling hands went up to cover your face.

peter takes notice of that.

"nuh uh, let me hear and see you." he firmly orders, the hand that was flicking your nipple going up to pull your hands away. reluctantly, you obliged, arms going back to resting on your side.

after a minute, you whine. "pete, move..." he leans back, smirking down at you. you look so tiny under him, and it feels the same. he nods, hands caress your hips reassuringly as he slowly pulls out.

you mewl out a curse word, hands gripping the white sheets and eyes rolling to the back of your head. peter hisses, your tight cunt gripping him tight as if it doesn't want to let him leave.

he thrusts back in as slowly as he pulled out, repeating the process in the same pace. gradually, he sped up. his thrusts now steady. wrapped around his dick is a creamy frothy pinkish ring, mixed with your white slick and blood.

you let out a breathy moan each time he thrusts in, the pain still there but it's more pleasurable than it hurts. (???huh. i don't make sense.)

both of you look to where you two are conjoined, peter groans at the sight of your tight cunt swallowing his big dick. he almost came right then at the sight.

his thrusts quickens, and now hes slamming into you. the only sounds that can be heard in the room in your skins slapping against each other and your moans and grunts.

you feel that familiar tightening in your abdomen, and your cunt begins to flutter. peter could tell you're close, spidey senses and all.

"you're close?" he pants, pace unrelenting. you struggle to answer immediately, eyes clenching shut as your orgasm approaches– and crashes you. you clench around him tight, making him gasp as his pace falters. you let out a loud moan as you reach your orgasm, back arching off the mattress and hips jerking.

after a solid 4 seconds of your back arches off the mattress, you slowly rise down, "y-yeah." you finally answer him a bit too late. he bursts laughs at that, and you giggle but that immediately turns into a whiny moan as his thrusts went back to its previous pace.

peter leans down, pecking your forehead then your lips. you cry out when his tip hits your cervix, and a bit from overstimulation.

"d'you think you can give me more, honey?"

_

i finished this in under 3 hours n its 5am leave me alone if it's bad my fingers are goddamn tired. 😮‍💨

[sweetypuppypie]

i’m sick of you bitches not making enough Peter b smut. i’m hungry.

[xyzspips]

nipples pierced reader request from anon 🫶

might do both but if I do they'll be written separately... it's my first ever request tysm anon 🫶

cw: probably inaccurate spanish(I used DeepL). reader has nipple piercings, miguel's a bit wild in this, so bare with me. NO p i v, just titty sucking. some grinding, but nthin serious. they're engaged. let's ignore the fact that nipple piercings takes a year to fully heal.

!! mig x fem!reader !!

;;

(this part is useless, really.)

miguel has been working a lot. so, you've been alone a lot. whenever you two do have some alone time together, it's just you two eating, or sleeping. never any time for action. when you DO have some action, his watch is gonna ring and he'll leave with blue balls and you sad.

2 months ago, you decided to get your nipples pierced. it looks damn good. whenever miguel would try to lift up your hoodie(to touch your tatas), you would always stop him with some half assed excuse, 'can I keep it on? its cold' 'miguel, my chest hurts. can you stop?' 'its really cold, and my tits are tired.' he'd eat it up any time no matter how stupid they are.(🤦‍♀️ 🤷‍♀️)

(LIKE I SAID IN THE CONTENT WARNINGS)

your nipple piercings healed the first month, but you let it rest for another. you've been taking good care of it. you want to look good when you surprise your fiancè tonight.

titty sucking under 😘

::

miguel's hands are on the back of your neck, and his mouth is connected to yours. his tongue fights for dominance inside, and you let him. his other hand are on your hips and you're on top of him, lightly grinding.

you both pull away from each other to catch your breaths, and you mewl out his name. he hums, the hand that was situated on the back of your neck trails down to your chest.

you breath hitches when his palm brushes over your sensitive pierced nipple. you feel him tense under you and you silently curse at yourself. you open your eyes to look at him. a look of confusion are etched on his face.

you look at where his hand is, its firmly gripping one of your boob. hes looking down as well, brows furrowed and eyes narrowing. his hand slowly tears away from your tit, and you almost laughed.

miguel sees the outline of your nipple piercings. he notices two. "what have you been up to while i was gone?" he asks teasingly with a smirk. you giggle and merely shrug. he doesn't seem to care as he quickly lifts your shirt off.

"you got your nipples pierced?..." he grins, his fangs showing off. you bite your lip and nod the movement made your body jiggle, therefore, making your boobies jiggle(a little). he mutters a curse in spanish as his hand goes back to your tits.

you mewl and lean into his touch, pleasure waves through your whole body, mostly to your pussy. "m-miguel.." his mouth latches to your nipple and you moan.

he swirls his tongue around the bar. lewd noises come out of him as he suckles your pierced nipple. slowly, your hips begin to grind onto his thigh and he moans approvingly.

his mouth detaches from your nipple for a second. "ay, coño..." he mutters, his hot breath against your nipple making your body twitch. his mouth latches to your other nipple and you moan as he laps at it with his amazing tounge

you jerk when you feel his fangs scratch against your boob. "miguel! careful..." you giggle a little, and he hums gruffly, still swiping his tongue over the bar.

you sigh and your hands come up to his head, running your fingers through his brown locks. "dont your fangs h-have... venom in them?" you breathe out, body trembling from how long he has been sucking your nip. they're gonna be extra sore after this with the piercings.

miguel detaches his mouth from your right nipple with a pop then he looks at you. "sólo cuando yo quiero, nena."(only when I want them to, babe.) he whispers, leaning in to nibble a hickey onto your collarbone.

"y-you know I don't know s-spanish..." you gasp as his right hand comes up to flick the bar in your left nipple... he chuckles deep into your neck, making you gulp. "dont worry about it." his fangs gazes at your neck and you mewl.

his other hand firmly holds your waist. his mouth trails down to your right boob, now sucking hickeys onto them.

"Dios, me vuelves loco, mujer."

(god, you drive me crazy woman.)

___

a/n: probably some mistakes. cant be arsed to correct them. sorry if they are. much love. 😘(sorry if it's not what you expected.)

[obiwns]

PLEAAAASEEEEEEEE

[vampieteeth]

Miguel O’Hara X Reader

synopsis: reader comes back after a mission, and miguel (stoically) takes care of them.

contains: spoilers (minor) for across the spiderverse. mentions of blood. brief violence. bad spanglish (my spanish is terrible.) 1.4k words.

—

“You’re doing that wrong.”

The voice is instantly recognisable to you by the tenor of its disapproval, though, you do a pretty good job of pretending that you don’t know Miguel immediately by the accented inflection of his vowels. You turn your head to face him, the low-glimmer of the control room buoyant on the angles of his face.

“Jesus. Do you ever knock?” You ask, pressing your tongue against your cheek in faux annoyance. It’s rhetorical; he has never been one to care much for politeness, and you have never been one to complain about his lack thereof. “It’s not nice to creep up on people. Anyway, I think I know how to dress a wound.”

Miguel, with an emphatic downturn to his mouth, watches you with darkened eyes. Sometimes, you’d think that he has never smiled, for how natural a grimace looks on his face. He’s remarkably gothic in his gravity. It’s almost impressive.

His eyebrows knit together at the epicentre of his forehead in distaste.

“I can see from here that that you don’t,” he says, folding his thick arms against his chest. “Why are you not in the Medbay, receiving proper care?”

“The Medbay is at capacity. You know, you send enough spider-people out there, they’re bound to come back in bad condition. We’re intelligent, not bulletproof,” the corners of your lips twitch with a strained pleasantness. “Plus, I hate hospitals. Why? Are you worried about me, Miguelito?”

Almost instantly, his frown develops severely at the guérilla affection you deploy. It’s a skill, how gargoyle-esque he can become. It makes you laugh. Miguel doesn’t scare you— has never scared you, regardless of how sharp the teeth or claws he bears become. He says this fact is bothersome, though you aren’t entirely convinced that he doesn’t like how you treat him.

“Stop calling me that,” he says ineffectually, with only a hint of annoyance. Though, he remains hard-faced. “And, before you get any strange ideas: I am not worried about you, in particular. I am worried that if you die outside of your universe, it’ll disrupt the order of— are you using bourbon as an antiseptic?”

That you are. The bottle twinkles with computer light. Artlessly, you nudge it out of his line of sight.

”It works, doesn’t it?”

At your response, Miguel’s lips tighten. “Not better than what we have in the Medbay.”

“Miguelito. You’re so sweet. But I don’t need to go to the Medbay. I’m self healing, remember? There’s no shrapnel, it was just a little puncture. No need to worry Spider-Med. All I need is a couple of stitches and I’ll be brand new.” Blood drips from your side and blooms against the white desk you’d seated yourself on. Visibly irritated, his eyebrows twitch. “So just let me get on with—“

Miguel steps forward before you can finish and sits down on the chair in front of you. His eyes scan the damage.

“You’re left handed,” He states after a time. His tone is rough. When this does not seem to produce a reaction from you that satisfies him, he adds: “the injury is on your left side. It’s impractical to try and do this yourself.”

It’s almost a little touching; you weren’t aware he knew this about you. Miguel pretends he isn’t nice at all, but you know that’s all it is. Pretending.

You smile a little. “I’ve done it before.”

”Yes. Very poorly. That is why you have so many scars. Hand me the needle.”

For a moment, you consider his persistence. It’s really not a big deal. You’ve been hurt before. Much worse than this. And yet.

When he holds out his hand to you— large, calloused, weathered— expectantly, you relent. He sighs through his nose, probably at your supposed incompetence.

“Whatever you say, mi cariño.”

”Your accent is appalling,” Miguel answers flatly. He holds the needle to the dim light, inspecting your threading technique— then scoffs.

“Really? I’ve been practicing.”

“It’s not paying off. Lean back,” with the palm of his hand planted on your abdomen, he eases you back lightly against the desk, so that you rest propped on your elbows. He surprises you by being gentle. “Don’t tense. It’ll be harder for me to suture.”

Because it really does hurt, you do as you’re told. A bead of sweat trails down from the nape of your neck against your spine. You think about the grand beating you’d taken. A Green Goblin variant had gotten into some bad business, and Miguel had sent you and Charlotte Webber to fix it. You’d been victorious, and you had the bruises to prove it.

“I don’t get how you doing this is any better than me.”

”I’m good with my hands,” Miguel doesn’t seem to hear the implications of that.

It hurts to laugh, but you do it anyway. “This es true guapo?”

“I don’t understand poor spanglish.”

Artfully, Miguel pinches the skin around your wound. It had started sealing itself, but he doubted it’d heal all the way on its own. You bite your cheek to deal with the needle piercing your skin.

“That hurts,” you declare thoughtfully, with a wince.

”Shut up.” He replies, though he isn’t really trying to be mean.

Silence engulfs you, then. The environmental beeping of the machines becomes distant. You watch the clock tick to distract yourself. For someone from the future, Miguel had quite a bit of dated technology in his office. Relics of an older time; your time.

It’s weird, sometimes, to consider how there is so much you would have never known if you had not been recruited for the Spider Society. So many people you would have never met, never known, never loved. Time is a nebulous, incomprehensible thing. So is the multiverse.

Absently, you bite down on your tongue as the ache simmers.

Miguel narrows his lovely eyes, fingers halting over your skin. “I care about your well-being.”

“Yes,” exaggeratedly, you sigh. You angle your head so that you may see him better. His gaze is fixed at the task at hand, though he seems distracted. “I know. My death would be very inconvenient for the fate of the multiverse. You don’t need to lecture me anymore.”

”That is not what I meant.”

”Is it not?”

”No,” Miguel threads the last loop with a knot, that he cuts easily with a sharp claw. Carefully, he sets the needle down on the desk. You sit up. “It’s not.”

He thinks for a moment. Interested, you watch him.

”Are you going to tell me then? What you mean?”

Wordlessly, Miguel glares. It doesn’t carry any malice with it. It never does, when it’s directed at you.

Not dissuaded, you stare back at him. He doesn’t chide you for it, though. Instead, at the sight of it, something in him relents. Eases. Or maybe, you’re imagining it.

“I don’t only worry about how your demise affects the multiverse,” he says simply.

His level tone gives nothing away. You blink at him. Miguel’s impossible to figure out, but you always have a fun time trying.

“How nice?” you respond, at a loss.

”I also worry about how it will affect me,” Miguel clears his throat. “Your death,” he doesn’t look at you, “would be very unfavourable. I would like you to try your best to avoid it.”

The words are sterile, but you think you’re able to translate them quite well.

”Miguelito. I’m truly touched,” your tone of gratitude is hyperbolically moved, but you do mean it. Miguel remains stoic. You give him your warmest smile. “Are you saying you care about me?”

Habitually, he clears his throat once again. “If you like.” He sounds unhappy to say it. He looks unhappy too.

”If I like,” you repeat with a lilt.

Quietly, Miguel watches you. He is unfathomably blank. You watch him back. He doesn’t make an indication to say anymore, but you decide that what he said was enough. Miguel has never been one for words, one for politeness, one for sentimentality, though you have never been one to care much about his lack thereof.

You make a humming sound of contemplation. “You know, your death would be unfavourable to me too.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. It’s just not how he is. Not yet. Instead, he stands to leave. When he passes you, he lightly squeezes your shoulder.

It says everything he doesn’t. Decidedly, it’s enough.

—

reblogs are appreciated! thank you for reading!

[lifeinpoetry]

Sometimes, I cry so hard I can feel it in my ribs. / I feel like the real me is backed into a corner inside me

— Ama Asantewa Diaka, from "Saturday Evening WhatsApp Message," Woman, Eat Me Whole

[msgorillagripcoochie]

i need more peter b content before i go bezerk

[tulipsbymybed]

just can't get enough part2

part 1/series masterlist

Pairing; Rookie!virgin!Leon S Kennedy x fem reader

Summary; Leon's fresh out of the academy and into the Raccoon City police department-and he's still a virgin. Not only that, but he has almost no idea what what sex even is. Then he meets you, and his body starts wanting things. Or, the second 3 stages of Leon Kennedy learning about his body.

Warnings; no age in ur bio? bitch blocked! 18+ or tyrant will fuk u up! uhhh let's see. boners boners boners, ill timed/awkward boners, fantasising, masturbation (male), porn watching, creampie in porn lol, pillow humping 👀, handjobs, first kisses, spit as lubrication, drinking (sexual participants are sober),

(a/n) okay so!! here it is!! long awaited!! very long! smutty! angsty!! fluffy! everything baby!!!! everyone is so ooc!! it's a thing! leon is 21, this is a modern au, reader is like 20/21, everyone else is in their 20/s! also im like so fucking proud of this i am desperate for feedback yes i will beg. im unsure about the last few thousand words bcus i don't know what you guys will make of the smut i did but yknow. it's done now !

Word Count; 15.7k

stage 4

Leon figured that going to the station early would give him time to prepare himself to see you, but he should have figured that the universe wouldn’t be so kind. 

Because as soon as he opens the door he can hear you and Chris talking and laughing.

“Of course I don’t Chris-”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t why would I-”

“I do-”

“No one does-”

Leon walks a little further into the station, into the bullpen to see you perched on Chris’ desk with your feet resting on the edge of his chair seat between his thighs. Neither of you are even looking at each other, instead both of your eyes are glued to your hands where you’re chaotically playing some sort of pat-a-cake game, hands smacking together and echoing around the almost empty room. Leon’s stomach lurches unsettlingly at how comfortable you are with Chris, perfectly happy to sit so close to him and touch him and play games with him and-

Stop it. Chris is a friend and coworker, stop overreacting over his friendship with a woman I’ve barely become friends with myself. Stop. It.  

“They absolutely do-”

“I’m telling you they don’t-”

“Well what’s your least favorite?”

“If I don’t have a favorite why would I have a least favorite?”

Chris grins as both your hands speed up and you laugh loudly. 

“Well maybe you really dislike one but don’t care so much about the others?” 

“You have put way too much thought into this, Redfield, I’m telling you no one-”

“Rookie!” 

Leon blinks at Chris, who’s hands are still moving against yours as he sees him in the doorway. Somehow the pat-a-cake game is still going strong even without Chris paying any attention, and Leon watches your brow furrow as you try and concentrate on your hands. 

Leon just hums in response to Chris as he moves toward his desk. He tries not to stare at the way your skirt is resting just above your knees due to how your feet are perching on Chris’ chair. He fails, obviously, and recognises the same twinge of need he felt all last night at the sight of so much skin on show. 

“That’s not his name-”

Leon drops the pen he’s picking up as he realises you’re talking about him. 

“Yes it is-Rookie. Rookie Kennedy-”

“Don’t be so prickly-”

“Calling me a prick sweetheart?”

“No, but I can if you’d like-”

“Maybe I would like-”

You laugh again, tipping your head back and losing the pattern with Chris’ hands. Leon swallows uncomfortably at the conversation, pretending to find something in his desk drawers so he can attempt to ignore what sounds like you flirting. With someone who is most definitely not him. 

He pauses his movements for a split second as he realises that it’s not like he’d know how to flirt back anyway, before resuming and flicking his eyes away from where Chris is still making you laugh, still moving his hands toward you even as you try and bat them away. 

As he settles into his chair, Chris turns to him while continuing to play pat-a-cake with whichever limb of yours he comes into contact with. 

“Cmon then Rookie-”

“Not-hey!-not his name!”

“You’re so ignorant sweetheart of course it is-but go on then what’s your name?”

Leon opens his mouth confusedly for a second before furrowing his brow and replying. 

“…Leon?”

“See he said it himself it’s rookie-”

“You’re the worst-”

“Oh you love it-”

He watches as you manage to grab Chris’ hands and hold them still, throat feeling uncomfortably tight at the sight.

“Only sometimes, sweetheart, but cmon then ask Leon-”

Please stop please stop. If this is flirting I do not want to hear it I never want to hear this again. 

“Fine fine-which toe is your favourite?”

Leon blinks in surprise again. 

“Which what?”

“See!!! I TOLD you no one has a favourite toe!”

“You wound me sweetheart-”

“I’m gonna kick you in the bloody nuts in a second just you wait-”

A sickening feeling settles in Leon’s stomach as he watches you and Chris, still holding his hands in yours, laugh and joke and flirt. Some part of him he doesn’t recognise wants to walk over and rip Chris away from you, wants to tug on your knees and make room for his hips between them, pull you into him and-

That’s new. 

He can feel his face heat as he jerks himself out of his fantasy and sees you both looking over at him. A wave of shame rushes through him as he looks at you, sees the way you have the hint of a smile on your face as you wait for his answer and try to keep Chris in line, sees how your skirt has ridden up a little more. He shuffles forward in his chair under the desk a little. 

“You want to know what my favorite toe is? On me or in general?”

Chris guffaws at that and you seem to be hiding a grin, to which Leon has no idea what he said that’s so funny. 

“On you mate, we don’t need to know if you have a foot fetish or not-”

Foot fetish?? Have to Google that later. 

“Oh be nice Redfield-he’s probably confused because it’s such a stupid question-”

Leon smiles a little at the clear derision in your voice, and your mocking look toward Chris-and a little at your defensiveness of him. 

She didn’t just talk about me she didn’t just say my name it’s more she did more than that-

He scratches at stubble that isn’t there to hide his smile. Prays and prays and prays you’ll just get up, walk out and not speak to him the rest of the day. Fucking prays his body will behave.

“Okay well…I guess I don’t particularly have a favourite toe? Its-I don’t know I’ve never thought about it that much?”

His eyes dart between you and Chris as he slowly answers, seeing you nod happily at him and seeing Chris smile smugly. You turn back to the officer and narrow your eyes at him. 

“What are you so smug about? Don’t like that look-”

A laugh, a hand resting on your thigh. 

“Nonsense sweetheart you love my looks-”

Stop it stop it fucking stop it-

“Claire’s popping over today I’m gonna-”

“Don’t you tell-”

“-I’m gonna tell her I’m totally gonna tell her-”

Chris groans at that, slumps forward until his chin is resting on your knees and Leon’s fist clenches under his desk, nails digging into his palm and arm trembling. 

“You’re so mean to me-”

“Don’t you love it?”

“-yeah I do but you can’t tell-”

“Hey that’s on you-you promised not to flirt with Claire’s friends and now you’re literally working your way between my legs right this second-”

That elicits a grumble from him as he hooks his arms around your calves and hugs you to him. 

One of your hands rests lightly on Chris’ head, patting a few times as you coo gently but with a teasing smile on your face. There’s nothing that can stop Leon from picturing your fingers combing through his hair just then, no way he can help the way he hardens a little as he fantasises about him in Chris’ position, head perfectly positioned between your legs and your hand tugging on his hair as you lay back. He digs his nails harder into his palm, tries to ground himself as his mind conjures up the image he saw on his laptop the night before, of the woman with her legs open and maybe you could do that maybe you could let Leon see you like that-

He absentmindedly flicks his tongue out over his bottom lip and immediately has to clench his jaw to stop a whimper escaping, suddenly just thinking about if you’d let him put his mouth on you. 

He’d read about that briefly last night, not thought too much of it but now, Jesus Christ he’s salivating at the thought of giving you the same pleasure he can’t stop thinking about. 

Chris is muttering something to you as his cheek smushes against your knee and you’re laughing softly about whatever it is, still patting his hair lightly and Leon just feels so angry. 

Angry it’s not him, angry you’re so comfortable with Chris, angry he still doesn’t know enough, angry that even if he was ever in a position to please you he probably wouldn’t be able to. 

A burst of voices sounds just outside the bullpen and a quick glance to the clock on the wall tells Leon his workday has only just started. Brilliant. Barely on the clock and you’ve already chipped away at his sanity-as if the last two weeks weren’t hard enough. No pun intended, he thinks wryly.

You do manage to get a smile out of him though, when you hear the voices as well and switch from gently petting Chris’ hair to smacking his cheek harshly a couple of times, drawing him out of his pleasant doze on your legs. 

Leon licks his lips quickly as you hop off the desk, landing gracefully and tugging your skirt down, the picture of professionalism once more. It’s just so inviting, the way you pull at the hem of the material, how it slides so nicely over your skin and he wants to follow it with his hands-he can feel his mouth salivate at the thought of tracing it with his tongue. Pushing the material up and kissing along the same path as you grip his hair.

As you turn to pick some papers and files back up from Chris’ desk, Leon wonders what he’d actually do between your thighs. 

It’s a bad idea, because his pants instantly feel uncomfortably tight-but he can’t stop. It’s too tempting, imagining what you might like him to do with his fingers and his mouth.

Would you be as sensitive as he felt last night? Would you make the same kind of noises? Does it feel the same for you when you come? 

With a start, he realises that the nails he’s been digging into his palm are actually getting rather deep-and rather painful. Relaxing his hand, he looks down at the crescent shaped marks in his skin and flexes his fingers a little.

His mind flashes to the articles he read and his hand stops moving abruptly, body shocked with the thought that as well as his cock, his fingers and his tongue could be inside you, wring pleasure from you that way. His member throbs intensely as he fantasises about your body, until a burst of guilt puts an end to it. Shouts at him that it will never happen, and it’s unlikely he’d ever please you anyway. Screams that Chris probably could, that you’re already comfortable with him and flirt with him and he probably knows how to please a woman, knows how to use his fingers in just the right way to make you gasp and moan and writhe-

Clenching his jaw, he stands up from his desk suddenly. 

His chair screeches as it gets pushed back and Chris sends him a surprised, amused look, to which Leon stares back and fumbles for a reason for a second.

“I-sorry, you-dyou want a coffee?”

His voice starts surprisingly high pitched and breaks part way through his sentence, making him flush bright red. Thankfully, Chris doesn’t say anything-he does look like he’s about to burst into laughter though.

He shakes his head a little at Leon’s fumbled question, and watches curiously as the rookie officer walks briskly toward the breakroom. 

Automatically, Leon switches the coffee machine on when he enters, even though he has no desire for one, and leans his hands on the counter, screwing his eyes shut as he tries to bury the need rising in him. 

Idiot idiot idiot so fucking stupid should have known of course I should have known it would get worse stupid fucking-

Breathing deeply, he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubs at them roughly, seeing stars but still going, somehow trying to wipe away the desire eating at him. 

All of a sudden the pleasure he felt last night and the knowledge he now has doesn’t seem worth it, it seems more like some kind of cruel curse. 

When his vision gets spotty and his head starts to hurt he takes his hands away to grab at the coffee decanter, sighing frustratedly at the turmoil of recent days. 

He shouldn’t have looked up anything.

He shouldn’t have tried to figure out what was happening to his body, he shouldn’t have touched himself, he shouldn't have done a goddamn thing. There’s some sort of pit opening in his stomach, some uncrossable chasm of regret and shame that swallows him up, makes him realise that from now on he’s just going to be haunted by the image of things he’ll never do. 

Before it was just confusion, the occasional feeling of longing thrumming in his bones, but now there’s so much desperation in him, so much need and want and desire that it seems as though he’ll never fulfil.

He feels somewhat hollow, like he already had a hole in himself and he’s only just looked in the mirror to see it. Or as though you’ve just pointed it out, plunged your hand in and cooed softly at him, let him know how much he’s missing out on. Gently taken his hand and made him feel the space, feel that chasm and how nothing is going to fill it. 

Leon brushes a hand over his stomach, needing to confirm he’s not actually missing a part of himself. 

Walking back to his desk, he notices Chris watching him out the corner of his eye. His gaze slides off of him though, and they both pretend like nothing happened. 

-

Mercifully, the captain keeps you busy for the rest of the day and Leon’s body stays somewhat under control. Somewhat, as in he spends most of the day with a semi just from the memory or your skirt riding up your legs, but he settles into an understanding with the ache he now feels. Decides he’ll probably just learn to live with it, as he learned to live with his ignorance before.

Though as everyone grabs their stuff to head out at the end of the day, things get worse again.

So, so much worse.

You come skidding into the bullpen, crashing into Chris’ torso and rubbing your nose before realising who it is and letting out some kind of excited squeal, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tight. 

Chris stumbles back a little under your enthusiasm, but soon grins widely and drops his bag to wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. 

Leon looks away, feeling the chasm widen.

And then you’re laughing, taking a few big steps toward him and-

He doesn’t know what to do for a few seconds. He’s hugged people, sure, but this is different. It’s you and it’s his newfound knowledge, it’s the fact he’s not wearing a vest just a button up uniform shirt, the fact that your blouse is so fucking thin.

It’s the fact that he can feel every inch of your arms wrapped around his torso, hands pressed into his back and settled so perfectly there like that’s where they should always be. More than anything, it’s the fact that your breasts are pressing against his chest so enticingly, pushed up a little in your bra and so fucking soft and squishy and-

Shit shit shit not right now please no stop it stop that this is not the time down please down down down-

God himself couldn’t have stopped Leon from getting a boner just then-and his most ill timed to date, he thinks. 

Thinking he might as well just curl up into a ball and die, he attempts to pull his hips back a little and angle his pelvis away from you, praying his member won’t brush against your hip as he moves because then things might get a whole lot more disastrous. 

Breathing in deeply (and cursing whatever shampoo you use because it just smells so fucking good he wants to push his hips into you and grab your waist and-and do something), he lifts his arms slightly, thinking he might just be able to manage touching you a little more even though it’s definitely a terrible idea. 

Before he can move more than a few inches though, you’re pulling back, rocking forward to plant a quick kiss on his cheek before brushing past him toward another officer. 

You leave him feeling bereft, empty and cold and hard as a goddamn rock when you move. He blinks rapidly for a few seconds, lips parting as he tries to figure out what just happened and how he can subdue his body’s reaction.

Chris appears as his saviour though, slipping a random file into his hands and pushing it down over his crotch as he claps his other hand onto Leon’s shoulder. His cheeks flare in embarrassment as he grips the file and moves back to lean on a random desk.

“Some kind of promotion apparently, dunno what it involves but she seems excited-but uh, seem to remember you looking uninterested last week when I said she was pretty-changed your mind have you rookie?”

Chris grins and winks as he finishes his question, patting Leon’s shoulder a couple more times before strolling over to you again and sliding a hand onto your back. It muddles Leon’s mind a little, blurs his thoughts as he tries to work through the arousal running rampant in his body, the embarrassment of Chris seeing and the jealousy at his hand on your back. Too much, way too much.

A few minutes later, after listening to your laughs and watching you smile and lean into Chris and be infuriatingly yourself, Leon watches you and a few other officers grab your bags and start heading toward the door. 

“Cmon we’re doing drinks tonight, you coming Leon?”

It makes his heart thump loudly when he registers that you’ve asked him something-that you’ve asked him to join you for drinks together. Okay, maybe not quite like that. 

Maybe you did just ask if he was joining the general group for general drinks at a general bar, but you said it! You mentioned it, you asked if he was joining. Do you want him to join? Do you want him to come with you? Do you want to have drinks with him?? 

With a jolt, Leon realises that no matter who just asked him what, he’s having dinner with Ethan tonight.

Having some probably mediocre food with an old friend he’s hung out with a million times instead of going out for some nice drinks with the woman who has single handedly turned his life upside down in the best way possible.

Yay.

Not that he doesn’t want to see Ethan-far from it actually it’s been a few weeks and he’s got some mysterious new girlfriend, Mia. 

It’s odd, going from seeing him every day in the academy and practically living on top of each other to only having the same free time maybe once every month or so. Another change that’s jarred Leon over the last couple of weeks, pulled him out of his comfortable life and left him stranded like some sort of puppy who’s been lost in the rain for too long.

It would be an odd comparison to make of himself if he hadn’t literally been told that that’s exactly what he looks like. A wet dog, looking for his owner. He hadn’t really known how to respond to the superior who said that. Still doesn’t know what to make of it, actually. 

Frowning, Leon finally locks eyes with you and shakes his head lightly. Your smile drops a little and he almost shoots up off the desk to apologise, but instead he just grimaces, tells you he has dinner plans and gives you a wobbly smile in apology. 

“Well, it’s a shame-I would have liked you to be there-but see you Monday!”

Before he can respond, you grab your jacket from next to the door and follow some other officers out, just leaving him leaning on the desk and Chris picking up his bag. He thinks this must be what whiplash feels like, the anger at you and Chris flirting, the emptiness and longing, the arousal from your touch, the disappointment at not being available and then the utter confusion at your reply. 

Are you being polite? Or do you actually want him there??

Leon has no idea which one he’d rather, which would be easier for him. 

He’s jerked out of his strange trance, staring at the space you were standing in, when Chris chuckles quietly, shrugs the bag over his shoulder and grins at Leon again. 

“All been there mate, best get it under control since you work with her everyday now-” 

And of course his cheeks flush brightly again. Of course he can’t behave naturally whatsoever anymore.

Traitorous body.

-

stage 5

Leon finds himself joining Ethan and Mia at some diner a few streets away, where old music is playing and the booths are striped red and white. The lighting is warm and cosy, beaming out into the already darkening city and drawing him in.

His friend already has a drink in front of him and is laughing at something a dark haired girl is saying-Mia, he presumes, and he slides into their booth with a smile on his face.

While he can’t stop thinking about the fact he could be sitting in a bar booth with you right now, side pressed against side, thigh pushing against yours as he watches you get tipsy and free from alcohol, he can’t deny that he’s been looking forward to this. To seeing a familiar, friendly face from his past while his life feels so chaotic and out of control. So messy.

Ethan greets him enthusiastically and introduces him to Mia, who seems lovely and very affectionate toward Ethan, if not somewhat reserved in general. Leon forces himself to think reserved and not secretive, scolding himself for his ‘cop brain’ as Chris called it the other day. The suspicion of everyone and everything. Just reserved.

Leon orders a chocolate milkshake (with cream and a flake on top, excitingly) and a burger and fries-eliciting a ‘classic’ from Mia and a ‘boring’ from Ethan. He learns happily that Ethan is doing well in his station, and that Mia works in…accounts. Generic…accounts. She waves off Leon’s questions by telling him how boring it is really, she’d like to know more about him as a matter of fact!

She asks if he’s seeing anyone, places her hand over Ethan’s and squeezes his fingers as she raises her eyebrows questioningly at Leon, who swallows nervously. 

He can say it right? You don’t know either of them, and Mia doesn’t know anything about Leon so it should be fine? Right?

With a fleeting thought of the longing inside him, the ache he keeps feeling, he suddenly blurts it out. 

“There’s a girl on the-she works the front desk in the-at my station-and she’s-she’s really pretty-”

He clamps his mouth shut after that, pressed his lips together as his face heats and he pretends to be interested by his milkshake. When he glances up, Mia is looking happily at him, apparently entertained by his loving word vomit-and Ethan’s jaw is a little slack, eyebrows raised as he watches Leon. 

His heart is beating uncomfortably fast, thumping against his ribcage as he waits for his friend to speak. Ethan, being the only person who knows about Leon’s lack of experience, appears to recognise how big of a deal this is for him. Leon waits for him to say something, wonders if he’s close enough with Mia that he’s shared everything already, if he’s going to have no problems asking if Leon has finally had sex. 

To be fair to Ethan, he doesn’t quite know about Leon’s lack of knowledge, just that he hasn’t done anything-a slip of the tongue tipped his friend off in their first year at the academy and Leon made sure he did not do the same in front of anyone else. One close friend knowing that he’s a virgin is very different from the rest of his peers finding out. 

Ethan closes his mouth finally and nods a little at Leon, a growing smile on his face as he steals some of Mia’s fries. 

“Alright then mate, I’m glad to hear it-what’s she like?”

The tightness in Leon’s chest eases, weight lifting off of him at the question and he relaxes into the booth. Smiles and can’t stop the words spilling out, not now that he’s finally said it, finally told someone. He can’t stop telling them about how friendly you are with everyone, actually friends with the officers rather than just coworkers, how you don’t treat them like less just because they’re not detectives or inspectors, how lovely you were when you welcomed him to the station, how you were so quick to pull him into the group of officers for drinks, how you happily flirt and go straight back to being professional in two seconds flat, how you even invited him out tonight!!!

He doesn’t realise how excited he’s gotten until he finishes and settles back, lets his hands fall back to the table from where he was animatedly gesturing, doesn’t realise how much he’s smiling until he registers the ache in his cheeks. 

-

Leon stays out with the two of them for another couple of hours, hearing how they met and how they fit together so well-he successfully hides how empty it makes him feel, even though the chasm widens little by little with every loving look they send each other.

His apartment feels quiet and lonely when he opens the door, like the silence presses in on him as he kicks his shoes off, gets changed and heads to sink into his couch. 

The tension doesn’t quite leave him though, still pulling him taut even as he groans with pleasure at the comfort of his sofa. He turns his tv on, knowing he won’t focus on it at all. 

Are you still out drinking? Are you still with all the other officers? Are you with Chris? What if you and Chris are both drunk? What if-what if you do what he’s heard drunk people do together? Are you going to spend your evening in Chris’ bed? 

Leon looks away from his tv, staring out his window into the darkness. For a few moments he just watches the city. Watches all the lights flicker, the billboards and the cars, wonders which part of it you’re in right now. Wonders yet again what you meant earlier, when you said it was a shame he couldn’t join you. 

Probably just being polite, probably don’t think about me at all, just thought she should invite me because everyone else was going. Why would she care anyway? She wouldn’t-she doesn’t-

Sighing, he leans forward to grab his laptop, pausing just as he reaches it. 

There is one thing that might take his mind off of everything. One thing that might make him feel really good right now, that he’s been craving since last night. 

It only takes a split second, a passing thought of your skirt sliding up your thighs, to make him tug the device into his lap and open it up, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he debates what to do. 

More articles? More learning? Or into the deep end? Over the edge of that chasm inside him that he knows will widen and widen until it swallows him up? 

Leon sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it distractedly as he thinks of your breasts pressed against him, how soft and fleshy you felt, delicate and gentle and downright edible.

It’s that, the memory of your body against his, that makes his fingers move. Just forces him to type it out, take him back to that black website with the videos he barely understands. He silences the part of his brain that tells him this is not a good idea, not nearly a wise thing to do given that he is still vastly uneducated about most things-but then he thinks of you and of the thumbnails he saw last night and he just can’t stop himself. His member throbs gently just from thinking about your chest for a minute, and he thinks it’s going to be a very short evening for him. 

Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe-maybe I can learn more-I can last longer-I could be better-make her feel good-

Leon sighs, coming back to himself for a second, enough to realise that it’s a very far off dream he’s having. A fantasy and nothing more, nothing that will ever be realised. 

He elects to ignore the way his fingers shake as he moves them over the trackpad, hunching over his laptop as he greedily drinks in the images that flash up. 

His eyes dart across, looking at the fifth, sixth, the second row-the moving adverts and the search suggestions-

Calm down before you hurt yourself-go back to the start, work your way forwards slowly. Otherwise this may not go very well-

Leon takes a deep breath, goosebumps rising along his arms in anticipation and excitement. This time it’s not just learning, it’s not just educating himself about what he should have known for years, it’s not just looking at the images and backing out. It’s so much more and new and intense and pleasurable. 

He can feel it again, the deep seated ache, the tug in his gut that keeps swelling up when he nears you. A watered down version of last night's activities, but rising up nonetheless. 

Letting his eyes fall to the first thumbnail, his body jolts immediately. His heart stutters and his cock twitches, pulsing heavily as he leans in toward the screen. 

The image is somewhat similar to the second one from the night before, camera trained on the heavenly spot between a woman’s legs as she exposes herself. But this time there’s what is clearly a man’s hand, cupping in between her thighs and pushing his middle and ring finger inside her. 

Leon’s breath hitches, unsteady with the tightness of his pants and the need flooding him as he stares at his laptop. It just looks so fucking good. He doesn’t even know how to describe it properly, describe why it has him so breathless, he’s just instantly addicted to the sight of his fingers shining slightly, reflecting the lights above after being coated in her wetness. Do you respond the same way? Does your body do that? If Leon slid his fingers into you would they get covered in your slick, lubed up nicely to move just the way you like? 

Wait-how do you use your fingers on a woman? Getting a little ahead of myself-

Just as he moves to click on the thumbnail (his heart rate picks up considerably), he thinks this is only the first video. There’s thousands, millions more out there-doesn’t he want to learn how to last longer? To please you-to please a woman as much as possible? Maybe he can just look at a few more, come back to this when he wants to and…touch himself. A small thrill runs through him at the thought, mind bringing back flashes of the pleasure he managed to give himself so easily. 

Clearing his throat and blinking himself out of his daze, he looks at the second thumbnail. It’s just a woman this time, no one else in sight-she’s kneeling in the middle of a room, blindfold on and handcuffs holding her hands together behind her back. His member almost hurts now, twitching behind the confines of his sweatpants and his hands are fucking itching to reach down, palm over the bulge that’s jutting up into his laptop and let his hips jerk and writhe until he feels that sweet release, watches the material of his trousers grow saturated with his come. 

No, be patient. How could I expect to please her-to please anyone if I can’t hold off for more than a minute-

But oh that feeling, the utter euphoria, that overwhelming flood of pleasure that he would feel, the way it was so easy last time, barely anything needed until his mind just shut off-it would be so so easy to feel like that again-to fist his hand around his cock and fuck up into it, watch his precum dribble over his knuckles as he gets closer and closer, feel the way his thighs tremble and his gut tightens and just edge into that realm of desperate need and-

Leon presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes shut, digging the heels of his palms into them like he did that morning. After a few seconds, he drops his hands back to his laptop and blinks to clear his vision.

The third thumbnail, an image no wider than an inch, shows Leon the flushed, weeping head of a cock pressing up against a woman’s cunt. He learnt that word last night, ‘cunt’. Felt his blood heat when his eyes skimmed over the letters, unsure why he liked it so much. 

‘Cunt’. Just a word. Just a word he’s been trying not to think of, been ignoring so he didn’t think of his fingers playing with your cunt, didn’t think of his tongue deep inside it-definitely did not think of burying his cock as far into your cunt as he possibly can. Those thoughts did not cross his mind. Well, they did all morning, and then he successfully managed to ignore them while he was working, and now he’s home it’s all he can think about. You, your cunt, what you look like, what your cunt looks like glistening with your come, how addictive it would be watching his release drip from your leaking cunt.

He can’t stop thinking of that word.

Maybe that’s why he clicks on the third video, instead of going back to the first, or instead of looking for longer. 

Maybe he just wants to see the full act, see what the actual thing is that everyone talks about, what guys mean when they say they got their dicks wet-maybe he wants to see a pretty, wet cunt, used and fucked by a cock that happens to look somewhat like his, so he can imagine you better. 

His mind tries to bring up the memory of last night, of when he thought of you as he came and the deep shame that consumed him after. The loading screen of his laptop is too enticing though, and he ignores the vague warning to himself, pushes it down and hunches even further over his device, wanting to see as much as he possibly can.

He startles a little when it finally loads, eyes trained so intently on it that the sudden brightness of the video makes him jump.

Swallowing nervously, he clicks play.

There’s a brief sort of logo screen, only a few seconds and yet too long, as the need in him worsens and he licks his lips quickly, hungry for the sight of slicked and spent flesh once again.

And then it starts.

His lips part and his pupils blow out, black swallowing his irises, when he sees the first few seconds. It’s a close up view of a man and woman, focused on the same position as the thumbnail.

Leon watches intently, hunching further and leaning his face toward the screen, as the man’s hand grips his cock, moves it a little and brushes the tip of it up and down the woman’s slit-another word he learned.

After a few beats, the man pushes downward a little and into her cunt. Into. The head of his shaft pops obscenely into the woman before he pauses, waits a few seconds.

Leon doesn’t even know where to look-his eyes dart to her trembling thighs, to the way the man holds his member, to the enticing curly thatch of hair on the woman, to the top of her cunt where the flesh is reddened and swollen a little, to the puffy lips that swallow the mans cock, cover his tip in warmth and wetness, in some kind of heaven Leon can only imagine. 

Something catches his eye and he glances down for a split second-reluctant to pull his eyes away for any longer-and it takes him a beat to realise he’s drooling.

Spit dribbling from his bottom lip onto his forearm, landing wetly and slipping over his skin. He wipes it away with his other hand and onto his sweatpants, realising how much he’s salivating and swallowing before returning to the video.

His attention to it resumes immediately, fingers skating over the keys to turn the volume up without taking his eyes off of the couple. 

Slowly, the man pushes forward and fills her soaked cunt with his cock. Leon makes some sort of groaning noise in the back of his throat, unintentionally spilling out as he listens to the wet slide of skin against skin. 

The man pulls back before repeating the action, steadily driving his length into her down the base with every thrust. Leon doesn’t move, transfixed by the image.

For a few minutes, he just sits there. Just stares hungrily at his screen and watches the lewd pistoning of the man’s hips. Leon’s breathing quickens when the woman’s hand comes into view, palm flattened and fingertips halting over the neglected area at the top of her cunt. She rubs in small, tight circles and it must feel good because he picks up a small moan in the background, just audible over the wet sounds-her thighs tremble again and Leon watches closely, wondering what she’s doing. Add that to the list. Bareback, choking, foot fetish, backshot, and now this.

Leon goes back and rewatches that moment twice more.

Then he shifts his laptop and jerks, pained whine escaping when it brushes over the considerable tent in his sweatpants. A look down confirms that there’s a damp patch on them, a couple of centimetres big and plastering the material to the sensitive head of his cock.

Slowly and wincing all the while, he places his laptop on the table and gingerly tugs at his sweats. Pushing them down his thighs, he stops to raise his hips and yank them down to his knees, groaning a little when his cock springs free and slaps upward onto his abdomen. 

He gently wraps a hand around himself, leaning forward to press play on the video again and slumping back into his sofa cushions. His glaze flicks between the addictive sight of the woman’s squelching hole, the steady push and pull of her partner’s cock, and his own shaft, the gentle curve of it and the weeping tip just visible in his grip.

He moves his hand slowly, hesitantly shifting it up and down so it’s not too much. Distractedly, he thinks of the article he read last night. Of all the different things it said would feel good.

Leon lets out a shaky breath and takes his hand away, letting his cock lie tantalisingly on the fabric of his shirt. He reaches one hand a little further down, curving his fingers over his balls until he cradles them lightly-it makes him moan shockingly loud and throw his head back against the back of the sofa. Tightening his grip a little and rubbing his thumb back and forth a little, he manages to lift his head back up to watch the video again.

The man’s movements have sped up and his thighs smack against the back of the woman’s now, breathy moans just audible with every thrust. Leon whimpers and his hand drifts back up to wrap around his shaft-the dryness doesn’t even register, any sort of touch feeling heavenly in this moment. At some point while touching himself, his mind imagined you and him as the couple in the video. Somehow imagined you laid out and nude, cunt dripping and ready for him as he makes room for himself between your thighs. Somehow, imagined the purpling head of his cock coated in sticky strings of your slick, pushing his way into your entrance and making your thighs tremble with pleasure. Pleasure that he’s given you.

His hips buck up of their own accord, chasing the release he’s attempting to stave off, barely moving his hand as he whimpers and bites his lip, hazy mind getting confused and blurring the video with his fantasies of you.

Leon sucks in a breath and shifts his trembling hand, lightly tracing the tip of his middle finger up the underside of his cock, rubbing it over the thick vein there and fighting to keep his eyes open to still watch his laptop, drunk on pleasure and need.

Suddenly, the movements on screen become erratic, stuttering hips and low groans as the man eventually stops moving. Leon slows his hand at the same time, sitting up a little straighter, greedy for anything more he hasn’t seen yet. 

The man withdraws and slips his cock from the woman, leaving her alone in view of the camera. Leon tilts his head a little, searching for what happens next-he doesn’t need to wonder for long because then the woman’s hands come down, slip under her thighs so she can spread her cunt for the viewer, let them see her eager hole as she clenches and flutters around nothing. Leon lets out a pained ‘oh fuck’, voice breaking part way through and unable to stop resuming his movements.

As he shifts his middle finger up up up to his tip, he stops short and presses down ever so slightly harder, rubbing circles over what the article called his ‘frenulum’-his eyelids feel heavy and difficult to keep open, but he manages to look up once again and it brings fucking tears to his eyes.

The woman is still holding herself open for the camera, letting her cunt quiver, and as Leon looks up, the movements make some of the man’s seed drip out of her. It’s like his blood roars in his ears, eyes blurring as they watch thick globs of pearly white come leak out of her and slip down her ass. That pushes him, edges him over and makes him squeeze his eyes shut, tears sliding gently over his cheekbones and sobs escaping his throat as he presses somewhat painfully on his frenulum, snapping the coil in him and distantly feeling the warm splatters of his come landing on his shirt.

He keeps his finger there and doesn’t even know why, feels the sharp string of it verging into pain without pleasure and still doesn’t move.

He only shifts it away when he can’t stop hiccuping through the cries spilling from him, blinking through tear-blurred vision and sensing the material of his shirt soaking through in patches. 

When he comes back to himself fully a few minutes later, he realises he didn’t stop the video. Except it finished, and autoplayed the next one.

As his eyes fall on the screen he can’t stop another whine escaping, watching a man pummel two fingers into a different woman’s cunt, making her jerk and shake as wet squelches fill the air. Leon’s hands plunge into his hair and his hips rise up of their own accord, a somewhat pathetic little spurt of come belatedly landing on the hem of his shirt and making his eyes roll back in his head.

He shakily brushes at his cheeks to get rid of the tears and wipes messily at his running nose, lurching forward to slam his laptop closed before slumping back again, strung out and exhausted.

Leon lays on his sofa for another ten minutes, sniffling occasionally and hoping to God you never find out what he’s just done.

-

stage 6

Two days without seeing you. He’ll be fine right? He was last week-but he hadn’t fucked his hand to the thought of you back then. He has now. Twice, in fact.

Yeah, only two days. It’s fine. It’s totally okay, it’s just a weekend. People spend weekends apart all the time, and they do that when they’re dating so why wouldn’t Leon be fine?

He’s not fine at all. Not one bit.

He’s doing rather badly in fact.

Barely slept last night and daydreamed for so long in the shower that the water went cold and he absentmindedly stepped out still with shampoo suds in his hair. 

He thought of you when he did his laundry, he thought of you when he made dinner, thought of you when he cleaned up, thought of you instead of watching tv.

Which brings him to now, thinking of you as he lies in bed.

His bed is a mess, duvet twisted between his legs as he lies on his front and one of his pillows hugged to his chest with one arm, the other thrust under the second pillow and cushioning his head. 

He imagines you as his eyes droop shut, picturing you in bed beside him. Lying on your back with the covers pulled up to your chest, eyes shut and dreaming peacefully while Leon drapes his arm over your torso. It sends him into a fitful sleep-he hasn’t had a solid night’s sleep since he met you-as he imagines you. Lets his brain shut off somewhat as he dreams of hooking his hand around your waist, tugging you toward him as you both doze and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

What shampoo do you use? What does your hair look like when you sleep  instead of the way you wear it for work? How would it feel against his cheek as he nuzzles his nose up under your jaw?

Leon only sleeps for a few more hours before he wakes in the middle of the night, gasping into the sheets under him and gripping the pillow under his head tightly with both hands.

Both hands?

Where did the other pillow go?

His mind takes too long to catch up with what his body is doing and he moves before he can think much more, rolling his hips downward into soft cotton and burying his face in the mattress to stifle a moan.

Stilling for a second, he pants into the fabric and assesses what on earth he’s woken up to.

His legs are spread apart a foot or so, and the insides of his thighs are brushing against the same soft cotton he rolled against just now. With a start, he realises that’s where the other pillow went.

That somehow, in his sleep, he shoved his pillow under his body just so he could rut against it, just so his body could make him grind his leaking cock into something.

Experimentally, he lifts his pelvis slightly and drops it again, feeling the slide of his shaft over the pillowcase and biting down into his sheets, attempting to stop the whimpers that are lodged in his throat.

Leon raises himself shakily onto his forearms and looks down the length of his body. He sees almost the same view as the previous night, cock flushed and red and drooling, twitching every now and then against the pillow it lays on. 

Pushing himself up further, he manages to hold himself upright, knees either side of the pillow and chest heaving as he watches his member twitch, jumping up slightly when another rush of pleasure washes over him. Knowing exactly what he’s going to find, he presses his finger against the material just under the tip of his cock-as he thought it would, the pad of his finger comes away wet, sticky with precum. 

Grimacing, he wipes it on the edge of the pillow and debates what to do next. Usually it would be a cold shower-if he can move. But now there’s other options. Especially since he’s watched porn properly now. He could watch more, he could pull up one of those videos, watch the one he shut down last night of a man forcing his fingers into the woman’s sopping hole, squelching and slapping wetly. He could simply just put his hand on himself-it’s not like it would take him long to come even without porn. As history will attest to, he thinks bitterly. 

And then it occurs to him. 

His shaft jerks again with the thought of it, and he presses his lips together, reaching down slowly to grip either side of his pillow and leaning more of his weight on it. 

Sucking in a breath, he draws his hips back and gently rolls them forward, thrusting his cock through the damp patch he’s already created. He couldn’t have stayed quiet if he tried, but given that his head is pretty much empty apart from the drugging need for pleasure and release, he drops his mouth open to let his moans escape, the whines building up in him as he rolls his hips slowly and unsteadily, whimpering nonsense, barely even words springing forth-‘oh fuck fuck that’s-shit s’good so so good-mmf oh god-shit shit shit-ha ahh god I-fuck wanna-m’wanna cu-oh-’

The bed frame squeaks as he moves, creaking back and forth with every thrust of his hips. His movements are sloppy at best as he rocks, body shifting with only his release in mind and chasing it greedily. There’s a dark patch on the pillow where the tip of his cock keeps pulsing out precum, leaking and soaking the fabric. He only feels a tad ashamed of the way he’s grinding into a pillow that he’s vaguely imagining is you, because most of his mind is overtaken by the heady mix of the sounds and the sensations, the rustling of the bedsheets and his tender flesh sliding over the damp cotton.

With a stuttered cry, he lets himself fall forward onto his bed again and grips the pillow beneath his head, shoving his face into it as he messily ruts down, pace faster than before as the pleasure builds and builds and builds in him. Distantly, he wonders what you might think of him, what you’d say if you could see him pathetically humping his pillow as he fantasises about you. Cock rubbing against the wet patch and thighs straining as he drives his hips down and down, over and over and over again as he bites the corner of the pillow in front of his face. 

His mind makes it worse, keeps throwing up the way you say his name and it’s all he can do not to moan loud enough for his neighbours to hear-instead he sucks the corner of the pillow into his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. It absorbs most of his whimpers as he keeps rutting downward, and he knows it’s saturated in his spit as the pleasure spills over inside him.

His eyes grow blurry again as he comes onto the pillow, sloppily humping it still anyway, wincing at the sensitivity and thrusting his twitching cock through the mess. 

It’s only when he rolls onto his back a couple of minutes later that he realises he was moaning your name into the spit soaked pillow as he came.

-

On Saturday the text chain of officers is alight, talking about god knows what happened at the bar the night before and Leon jerks off as your messages ping through. On Sunday he’s so fucking ashamed, knowing he’ll see you in the morning and thinking you’ll take one look at him and see, see how depraved and pathetic he is, how dirty and needy he’s become. On Monday he wakes up covered in his own come again. On Tuesday you run through the office looking for something, and Leon humps his pillow again thinking about the way your chest bounced. On Wednesday he walks into the break room to see you bent over the counter, fiddling with the coffee machine, and though he wants to try something new he watches the same video again and comes in his briefs. On Thursday you gently put your hands on his waist as you shuffle behind him to get by and he goes home to jerk off in his shower, fucking his pillow again before he sleeps.

He moans your name every time he comes.

His hips twitch, he bites his lip and suffocates the whimpers coming out, but inevitably your name springs forth and echoes around his apartment as his cock pulses out his release, over and over again. 

He feels a little bad for his neighbours, and then he spreads his legs to straddle his pillow again to hump the soft material and suddenly he doesn’t care anymore. Nothing matters in those moments, nothing exists apart from the hazy thoughts of your body rocking under him as he rolls his hips and feels the drag of his cock against the wet patch he’s already made. It’s become his favourite way to come, pretending as though your pretty body is below him and pretending as though he knows enough to please you, to fuck you until you’re as brainless as he is, to push his throbbing cock into your cunt you until you’re both dumb with pleasure, nothing in your minds other than the primal need to move together, slick skin against skin.

Now it’s Friday. It’s Friday and he’s sitting at his desk, staring at his screen but not really looking at anything. 

He’s just agreed to go for drinks with the team. Not that big of a deal since he’s done that a few times over the last three weeks, but you’re coming along this time. That has definitely not happened before, and he has no idea what to do.

The majority of his mind is screaming at him, telling him this is what he wants, what he needs. Telling him it’s a chance to have something more than just humping his pillow every time he thinks of you. You’d probably be disgusted, repulsed if you knew what he’s been doing. You’d probably never want to speak to him again-hell you could lodge a complaint and get him fired if you wanted to. 

Those are all the things Leon thinks when he’s not consumed by his lust for you, when he can think relatively straight and realises how much you’d hate him, how you might yell at him and hit him if you could see the way his thighs squeeze the pillow between them-you’d be well within your rights as well. It would only be fair really, to react like that if you caught a glimpse of his depravity, if you saw the way he drools into his bedsheets, your name stuttering out in broken moans and whimpers as his back arches and his cock ruts down-like a bitch in heat, he thinks sometimes. 

Chris shot him a look when you agreed to come out with them, and you caught Leon’s eye right afterwards. He hopes it was just a coincidence, but he can’t be sure. 

He barely does any work for the rest of the day. As usual, all he thinks of is you. 

Will you wear your work clothes? Do you drink? Do you like fruity cocktails, straight spirits, heady wines? Will you sit next to Chris all night? Will you go home with anyone? Will you dance? 

Before he knows it, everyone is grabbing their stuff to head to the usual bar and Leon is trying to calm his heart, beating too fast as he thinks of you in a casual instead of professional environment. He got a glimpse of it last week when you and Chris flirted before the day started, and he’s unsure if he wants to see more. 

If it’s directed at him, there’s no doubt about it. He’d get on his knees and beg for that if you asked him to. 

If it’s directed at Chris, he thinks he’ll be making an early exit tonight. 

-

An hour or so later, everyone is settled into a booth at the same bar the guys took Leon to on his first day. Well, almost everyone. 

You and Chris are at the bar, flagging a bartender and ordering the first round. Leon tries again to calm his racing heart and fight down the flush in his cheeks, subtly angle his body so that there’s room for you-or whoever comes back first-but so it doesn’t look like he’s desperately waiting.

There’s a laugh echoing across the bar and he turns his head to see you ambling back with Chris by your side, a pretty flush on your cheeks already from the happiness and the heat of the bar. The glasses you’re carrying clink as you put them down on the table and the other officers descend on them. Leon holds back a little before reaching for a pint-and his fingers brush against yours as you let go of the glass. His eyes dart up to lock with yours and he receives a sweet smile at the touch, to which his cheeks heat even further and he has to dampen down a grin.

And then you slip into the booth next to him.

There’s a little bit of shuffling on your end, which pushes your thigh snugly up against his (his leg jerks minutely at the contact and Leon hopes you don’t notice), and as you twist your torso to adjust the waistband of your skirt he realises with a jolt that his bicep is pressed neatly against your cleavage, perfect breasts framing the taut muscle. 

He automatically flexes his arm and his breath hitches as he feels the cups of your bra against his bicep. Heat prickles up his spine, something twists in his stomach and he forces himself to look away from the way your back is slightly arched in the position.

Apparently happy with your clothes, you lean forward to grab your drink and settle back into the booth, getting comfortable. 

For the next two hours, Leon barely hears a word anyone says. He focuses on the coldness of the pint he has in front of him, the condensation he can feel on his fingers, the way the lining in the booth feels beneath his thighs, the music echoing from the speaker in the corner of the room.

Unfortunately, he also focuses on the fact that your thigh is pressed against his the entire time. The way that every time you laugh you lean into him slightly and either your arm or your chest brushes his bicep again. The fact that when Chris asked the table something, you turned to him with a grin on your face and his mouth was only six inches or so away from yours. What if he had just ducked his head a little? What if he had pushed forward ever so slightly and pressed his lips against yours?

Eventually, he sees everyone apart from the two of you and Jill are all pretty much drunk. Jill is close but she can still walk in a straight, if not wobbly, line.

He also realises that his body isn’t going to stay in control if you lean over him one more time and he gets to smell your perfume. Honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if he just cracked, dropped his head a little and just licked at your neck. The thought makes him hungry, it rips through him and he licks his lips, wondering what you’d taste like if he sucked at your pulse point.

That’s when he decided it was probably time to go-when his pants started getting a little too tight.

And that’s also when you lay your hand on his forearm and say you need to be heading off as well actually, so why don’t the two of you share a cab?

He thinks his heart must have burst out of his chest and landed in your hands, bloody and still beating as he looks at your hand on his arm. Touching him. Actually touching him. Initiating it as well. By choice.

The next few minutes are a bit of a haze-he knows he nodded (he didn’t trust himself to speak) and stood, waited for you to grab your things and then trailed behind you as you both left the other officers drunkenly falling over each other in the booth. 

He tries not to look so eager, he really does, but he’s practically vibrating with excitement and nervousness as you both sit quietly in the cab and watch the street lights go by. Well, you watch them out the window and Leon watches you. 

He blames his lack of subtlety on the pint that he had-knowing full well that the small amount of alcohol he imbibed did absolutely nothing and his need to watch you is just pure infatuation on his part, desperation and obsession arising unbidden.

After ten minutes or so, you turn your head and catch his eye. Of course, his cheeks flush brightly again and he prays you can’t see it in the shadowy backseat. He fumbles for something to say, some excuse as to why he’s been staring at you, but his tongue feels heavy and dead in his mouth.

Most of your face is in the shadows and he struggles to make out your features, but he can see the way your lips curve up, slipping into that sweet smile that’s become one of his favourite sights over the past few weeks. 

“Your place is closer than mine right? Drop you off first and I’ll carry on to mine?”

His throat feels oddly tight for a second as he registers that you know where his place is-somehow you know something about him, something he knows he didn’t mention in the station so you must have found out yourself. 

The speed in which his cock begins to harden is impressive, just from the knowledge that you actively wanted to know something about him.

Leon manages to confirm your question as he tampers down his grin-and then he realises that it means you’ll part ways in only a couple of minutes.

You just smile again in response and look back out the window until the cab pulls to a stop outside Leon’s apartment building.

His heart flares as he reaches for the door handle and he desperately thinks of something to say, an excuse to invite you in or to somehow stay in the car but nothing comes, his mind goes blank and ‘goodnight’ is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. 

As he steps out and goes to close the door, he looks at you one last time and sees a softer smile on your face, and your tongue flicks out over your bottom lip before you lean forward, street lamps shining gently on your face. Then you just say, “Good night, Leon,” quietly, and keep smiling as you settle back into the seat.

He grins to himself the entire way up to his apartment, as he opens his door and as he heads to his kitchen for some food. His laptop is sitting in his table again and he fights the urge to open it right away, try a new video and think of your thigh pressed against and just oh god you felt so soft and his bicep was pressed so nicely against your breasts and he could feel your bra and-

A knock on his door echoes around the apartment, jerking him out of his thoughts. 

Leon sighs, thinks it must be his neighbour who always manages to lock themselves out. Really, it was weekly nowadays-who loses their keys that often?!?

But-

Of course it’s you on the other side, of course he’s just been thinking of making himself come while fantasising about you and you appear. Of fucking course. 

His eyes widen as he stares at you standing there, fiddling with your hands as you stare back. 

“I-sorry I just-you left this in the-it was on the seat so I figured-”

You hold out his wallet, which must have slipped out from his back pocket as he got out of the car. For some reason he can’t fathom, you seem a little nervous. Not nearly as nervous as he is right now, but slightly on edge. 

“Uh thank-thank you I didn’t-had no I even dropped it so….yeah-thanks-”

He cringes a little as he speaks, hearing how his words just don’t come out the way he wants them to. They waver a little as he stutters and of course his cheeks are bright red again-these days just the sight of you seems enough to make his blood rush to all the most annoying places. Well, the most inconvenient ones anyway. 

“Thing is-”

Leon raises his eyebrows a little and leans against the edge of his door as you start speaking again, wondering who was looking down on him and deciding he deserved this kind of blessing. 

“The can sort of-well he said he had other fares to pick up and I mean, it’s-its dark and cold and kinda dodgy and I don’t really wanna walk so could I maybe possibly just-”

Your eyes flit over and around Leon as you speak, betraying nervousness again until you’re stopped by him suddenly taking a step forward. 

“You can stay here! I’ll-yeah you don’t have to walk-if you’re comfortable-you can-absolutely you can stay-”

He knows he must look frantic, overeager and probably desperate but he can’t help it, can’t bring himself to care when there’s suddenly the prospect of you staying in his apartment?!?

You blink a couple of times at him and he thinks he sees a grin tugging at your lips as you respond.

“Oh-well-that’s very lovely of you Leon, I was just-I mean I was gonna ask if I could wait here for another cab-”

Oh my fucking god-

Leon lets out a small ‘oh’ and stumbles a little against the door at your reply. Of course he got it wrong, of course he fucked it right at the last second, of course he assumed and was too forward and probably made you uncomfortable and he still hasn’t even invited you in jesus christ-

Stepping backward a little, he manages a somewhat mumbled offer to yes of course wait inside and attempts to look at the floor as you brush past him, trying not to think about you being in his space.

“The living room is back-it’s down the hall if you, I don’t know if you wanna wait in there you can-you can wait wherever you’d-yeah-”

He sighs as he trails off, looking away from where you’re taking in what you can see of his apartment so far. Shutting the door, he presses his hands against it and closes his eyes for a second, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

Brilliant. The woman I can’t stop fucking fantasising about is in my apartment, alone with me, and I get the wrong idea and can barely speak? Just great-

He turns around to follow you down the hall, but you haven’t moved. His eyes widen minutely as he looks at you standing there, watching him only a couple of feet away.

And then you take a step forward, wringing your hands together. 

“I-you can stop me if I-I just want to-”

And god help him your hand is on his cheek.

With another step, your face is hovering in front of his and so goddamn close. 

His stomach twists at your closeness, spine straightening as his gaze keeps falling to your lips. He tries to watch how your emotions flicker in your eyes, he really does, but your tongue flicks out over your lips again and he can’t stop looking down, letting his lips part as he struggles with your closeness. Mere inches away, touching his cheek and in his space and you’re alone and he’s been thinking of you for days and days and he can still feel where your breasts pressed against his bicep and-

Your lips are softer than he imagined. 

Addictively soft, pillowy and perfect and all he wants to feel for as long as he possibly can. Before he knows it you’re pulling away though. Leaving him, making him feel that horrible hollow pit in him and he can’t fucking stand it-he takes a step forward this time, chasing you and accidentally pushing you backwards a little. 

He’s breathing quickly, clinging to the taste of you on his lips and his pupils are blown out, stark blue darker than usual. He belatedly realises that his hands are fisted in the material of your shirt, gripping it near your waist to keep you there, where he can taste you again and feel your lips on his and feed his addiction. 

You look a little taken aback, a little out of breath as Leon clings to you and stares intensely at your mouth. 

He’s distantly aware that his member is verging on pain from the onslaught of sensations he’s experiencing, and he somewhat registers the fact that it might be digging into your hip by now-but your lips curve into a shaky smile and he doesn’t care, just lurches forward to press his lips on yours and drink you down again.

The force of his movements pushes you back a step and you let out a small noise of surprise, which he doesn’t hear in his haste to taste you again. The hands gripping your shirt hold you to him and Leon doesn’t even notice that he’s getting light headed, that his chest is hurting with the need to breathe.

Your hands come up to curl around his, gently unhooking them from your shirt and moving a little out of his reach. 

Leon reaches for you immediately, flush sitting high on his cheeks and lips gently swollen.

“No I-please-can I-”

With one hand you catch both of his as he tugs on your shirt again and lift the other to cup his cheek once more, brushing your thumb over his mouth and pressing your lips together while you furrow your brow.

“Leon-Leon hold on-Leon just-”

He’s staring at where he’s managed to grip your shirt again though, trying to pull you back to where he can kiss you again. The front of his trousers are evidently straining, but Leon misses the look you peruse his body with because he’s too preoccupied with feeling you again.

He finally looks back up at you when you step back fully out of reach, where he has no choice but to see what you’re protesting about.

“Leon-why are you rushing baby? You can-we can do whatever it’s-it’s okay we can just-we don’t have to do anything-”

That hits him, drops into the chasm he’s been ignoring and makes him sag in his place. A lump in his throat rises up and he swallows, trying to fight it back before it reaches his eyes. 

“No I need to-I’ve gotta-”

Unexpectedly, you take a step forward and slide your hands up to grip his biceps gently, rubbing soothing circles with your thumbs as you watch him fumble over his words.

“You don’t need to do anything-we don’t need to do anything it’s okay-baby it’s okay why don’t we just-let’s just start slow yeah?”

Your words are cooed softly at him, washing gently over his skin and it feels like a soothing balm, something that calms him faster than anything he’s felt. 

In the back of his mind, some part of him thinks he gets why he was told he looks like a lost puppy sometimes, because he just knows he’s looking at you like you hung the moon. 

He nods dutifully at you, managing a small smile and reaching to capture your hands in his. His body is still wired, on a knife's edge as he throbs and pulses, tries to hold back from leaning into you again and pressing the length of his body against yours. He’s sure he must be dreaming either way, that there’s no way it’s real that you’re in his apartment, and that you just kissed him. That it seems like you want to do more-

Yet again you surprise him, tugging on his hands as you take a few steps backward and pull him into his living room. 

When you come to stop by his sofa, he thinks his heart is going to give out. His breathing is relatively steady thank god, but he knows his arousal is fairly evident, embarrassingly evident as a matter of fact. 

The smile on your face is so warm and gentle though, so inviting and he can’t bring himself to care about anything else. 

The fact that he knows how desperate he looks doesn’t matter, the fact that he knows next to nothing doesn’t matter. All that he cares about is that the way you tug him onto the couch and tuck your legs under yourself next to him feels healing, like you’ve taken your hand from the bottomless chasm and started sewing it up. Your hand putting his on your skirt clad thigh, a needle and thread flitting through his skin. 

His eyes are big and round as he watches you, waiting for your next move like a dog waiting for orders. As far as he’s concerned, you’re the authority here. Calmed down from his momentary loss of restraint, he thinks it might be best to let you handle this, how it plays out instead of rushing in head first. 

The hand you put on his thigh is grounding, a tether that pulls the thread tight and keeps his thoughts straight. It feels like he’s all too close to letting them float away, letting his head go empty at your closeness. 

One of your hands comes to rest lightly on his abdomen and he can’t help tensing his stomach, flexing the muscle as he tries to fight the waves of need pulling him under. 

He forces himself to look at you, actually look you in the eye and keep his breathing even. Of course it’s more difficult than he thinks it will be, but he mostly manages it, and thinks he’ll never see a better sight than you kneeling on his sofa next to him, eyes soft and inviting as you trace random patterns over the material of his shirt. 

“Okay-how about we start simple? Tell each other some stuff we like and go from there? Sound good?” 

It would, if he wasn’t relatively clueless about most stuff.

No need to say that though, no need to reveal that he’s never had sex at 21 years of age and that he has no idea how to go about pleasing you in any way. 

“Yeah-yeah okay-that’s sounds-uh-that-”

Leon winces at his own words, thread unravelling stitch by stitch. 

Can’t do it can’t do it-

“I-actually I can’t-I don’t know what I-I’m not really sure what I…like-I haven’t-that is to say-I haven’t really done anything exactly and I don’t-I’m sorry I-”

The hand resting on his stomach drifts up to rest over his heart, making his pulse pick up and his head lean in toward yours a little, instinctively craving more of you. 

“That’s fine that’s okay that’s-it’s all okay Leon-can I ask-do you mind telling me what you’ve tried?” 

Don’t tell her don’t let her know how truly clueless I am-

“I’ve only really-just-just my-jesus christ-just my hand, really-”

Oh. Well it’s out there now-

His eyes flick away from you after he finishes and he feels even more heat rise to his face, somehow. Did he really just admit to you the only thing he’s ever done is jerk off?? Briefly, he thinks he’s glad he just managed to leave his pillow out of it. 

Distractingly, your hand drifts back down to his abdomen, a teasing light touch that puts him on edge and reminds him just how obvious his body is being. 

“Mm okay-how about-you can tell me to stop or say no, Leon, of course you can but-what if I just put my hand on you for a minute? Would that be alright? I won’t do anything that’ll make you uncomfortable, promise-”

Leon is baffled for a second, wondering why you’re still here. Why you haven’t just seen that you’re wasting time with someone who doesn’t know how to please you and walked out the door. But the roaring in his ears and the throbbing through his body takes over a little and he can’t really pay much attention to his confusion. 

He can, however, pay attention to the fact that you just said you wanted to put your hand on him. 

His cock twitches behind his zipper as the words sink in, and he blinks owlishly at you, dizzy with the thought of being touched. Being touched by anyone would be enough to set him off but fuck, the thought of being touched by you-even more than the way you’re touching him now, actually having your hand where he wants it most, where he’s been fantasising about for the past two weeks. His grip tightens a little on your thigh as his mind moves sluggishly, trying to prepare himself for what’s going to happen.

With a deep breath, he realises that he doesn’t even really know what’s about to happen. Does it mean you’ll do the same as he’s been doing with himself? Maybe you’ll palm over him like he did the first time, or tease the sensitive head like he’s discovered he enjoys. Both thoughts make his thighs tense, anticipating your next touch-but you keep your hand on his stomach, pressed down a little firmer than before, a comforting weight. 

“Leon? I won’t do anything if you don’t agree, we can’t do anything unless you consent baby-if you don’t want to-if you’re uncomfortable or want to wait that’s okay, but you gotta tell me either way okay?”

Your features are worried now, forehead creased in concern as you watch his heavy breathing and feel his fingers digging into your thigh. 

His stomach lurches, insides churning uncomfortably as he almost chokes on the need to brush away your worry, console you and make you as happy as he possibly can.

Make it better, make her feel better and be better and confident and-

“No! It’s-I mean yes-yes I really-I do I want to I just-I don’t know what I’m doing, really and I-what if you-what if I can’t-”

Never mind then. Just spit it all out I guess. 

Leon swallows nervously and avoids your eyes yet again, cursing the need that makes him so tongue tied when he’s around you. 

You bring him back, make his mind snap back to the present when you shift your hand and rub soothingly back and forth over his belly. Even through the material of his shirt he feels hot from your touch, as thought just this could set him alight. He adjusts his hips, shuffles ever so slightly down into the sofa as you caress him, and tries not to blurt out how much he needs your hand lower. 

“Ahh okay-that’s fine baby no need to worry-if you’re okay with my hand on you then we can start there and just see how it goes yeah? Don’t need to think about anything else, just focus on how it feels-wanna do that for me?”

And then your hand is slipping down, down to the prominent bulge in his trousers and he’s never nodded so fucking fast in his life. You stop when your fingers are curved over him, cupping him gently and making him bite his lip as he watches you and tries his goddamn hardest not to buck up into your hand. 

It’s so much better than anything, anything he’s tried and better than he could ever have hoped and he doesn’t know if he’s more worried about losing it too quickly or more desperate for your touch. He realises just then that you’ve literally only just cupped his dick, just rested your palm delicately over his clothed shaft and he’s already losing some of his sanity, willing to do anything for more. 

“Hey-hey cmon baby I asked if you’d be alright with that-if you can just focus on the feelings and don’t think-if you want more then you’re gonna need to use your words Leon, want you to talk okay? Yeah can you do that for me? Tell me what’s good, what you like, how I’m making you feel-just want you to talk to me okay Leon?”

With that you squeeze your hand gently and he damn near flies up off the couch. His hips jerk and he gasps, head falling back a little as he struggles for words. 

“Fuck fuck-yes okay yes I can-shit-I can talk to-can you keep-fuck I’ll talk to you-I’ll-please-I can do that if-will you keep going-will-will you touch me more? If I-oh god-”

You’ve opened the floodgates it seems, gotten him to open his mouth and now he’s not going to shut it because he knows you want to hear it-his rambling is promptly cut off with a whine though as you start rubbing your hand back and forth, palming gently over his bulge. The sound makes your face heat, pure need spilling from him in a desperate little noise, something you force out of him. 

His hand tightens on the material of your skirt, needing an anchor as you deftly rub over his length. Smiling at the way he pants and fidgets at your actions, you shift your hand up to gently thumb over the fabric covering his tip. 

His hips buck up again at it and he gasps, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. 

Leon’s breath stutters when he feels yours against his neck, face hovering closely over the column of his throat. You cup his length again, firmer than before, at the same time as you press a small kiss to his neck-he almost tears the material of your skirt at the sensation, whining and panting as he tries to stay grounded. 

“Talk to me baby tell me how it feels, remember-”

As your words work their way into his mind slowly, he hooks his other hand in the waistband of your skirt. You can tell he isn’t even trying to tug it down or take it off, he just needs something more to help him stay here. It’s evident in the way his eyes keep fluttering shut and the way his hips keep jerking, hand loosening and tightening on your thigh, fingers picking at the waistband as you keep petting him. Dangerously close to letting his mind run away and losing himself to the pleasure, but your questions thankfully seem to pull him back toward you a little. 

“It’s-oh god-it’s so-so good-I can’t-s’too good-fuck-please don’t stop-I-you can’t stop-s’much better than-fuck, please-”

He feels the way your lips curve into a smile on his neck and he has to close his mouth hastily, trying not to let loose some sounds he knows will be pathetically whiny. 

“Better than what Leon?”

“-everything-please god please just-I can’t-fuck-need-need to-”

That’s when his hands start moving with purpose, start squirming up your thigh and trying desperately to find the zipper even as he whimpers and sniffles through the way you’re palming over his cock. It’s only through his trousers for Christ’s sake, he should be able to handle it a little better than this shouldn’t he? He’s becoming increasingly worried about what will happen if you don’t let up soon. 

Chuckling lightly against his throat and dragging your bottom lip up it, you kiss the corner of his mouth and whisper softly to him, making the hair stand up on the back of his neck. 

“S’okay baby, don’t need to do anything, I don’t need anything-just wanna touch you for a bit longer-you gonna let me do that? Don’t gotta touch me or try and do anything, just focus on how good it feels when I play with you okay?”

Any ideas he has melt just then, just dissolve into the molten desire pumping through him and drift away as he watches you, doe eyed and pliable under your touch. His head feels empty, brainless and dumb-like the only thing that matters is if he’s pleasing you or not, and he doesn’t really need any thoughts for that after all. 

He lets a shaky breath out and nods at you, humming in agreement because he doesn’t think he can speak properly right this second. 

You smile again against his face, edging down to pepper soft kisses over his jaw while your fingers fiddle with his fly. A few seconds later Leon hears the sound of his zipper being dragged down and his thighs tremble, wondering how on Earth he’s going to survive this. His hands tighten on you again, assuring himself you’re real and this is happening, you’re next to him and want to touch him. 

Holy fucking shit-

When your fingers brush over the head of his cock he bucks his hips up rougher than before, almost propels your arm off of him in his excitement, and you push gently on his hip to settle him down again. 

“…Leon?”

There’s a tone in your voice, a prompt for him that he doesn’t-

Oh. Talk. Tell her-anything, just talk for her-

“Jesus okay I-it’s-you feel so-oh fuck-so so good-”

One of your fingers trails down the underside of his shaft where it’s tucked up, pressing gently on the thick vein he always focuses on. There’s suddenly hot, wet pressure on his pulse point and he giddily realises that you're sucking a small mark onto his neck, marking your presence and giving him something to remember this evening by. He grins deliriously at that, head still tipped back and cock twitching under your touch. 

“Mm just good? You don’t have any other words for me, Leon?”

“No! I can-no yes it is-it’s good but I-shit-it feels-it’s-I don’t know it’s just it’s so good and-and I feel warm ‘nd-’nd like I need more-fuck-”

He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he says he doesn’t know, overwhelmed by the fact that this has barely started, you’ve only had your hand on him for a little bit and he’s already displeased you, already failed at the first hurdle.

You wrap your hand loosely around his shaft, as best you can with his clothing still partly in the way, and start pumping up and down slowly, movements almost lazy as you hum in response to Leon and lick over the mark you’ve made on his neck.

He shudders when the sound vibrates across his skin, trembling slightly and tensing up as he feels his stomach tighten considerably. It makes him panic a little, jerk his hips and widen his eyes as he looks to you.

“Don’t worry baby s’okay-”

“Feels like-I know I’m-fucking-oh-I’m gonna-shit-I can’t-”

Leon sounds downright distressed as he whimpers, desperate for you to understand he can’t come this quick, he can’t because he hasn’t even touched you yet and he can’t disappoint you he just can’t.

And then you pull your hand away.

His hips chase you, cock twitching against his abdomen and drooling precum as he frantically shakes his head at you and fists his hands in your clothes.

He tries to beg you to please please m’sorry I won’t-I’ll-I’ll try hold off but I-will you-need you to keep-keep touching me please I need-gotta feel your hand again please baby-

That’s the first time he’s called you anything other than your name, and you have to admit it sounds good coming from his whining lips, breathy and needy as he paws at you.

“I’ll carry on don’t worry, I just thought you might want me to make it better-make my hand move a little easier?”

But he has no idea what you mean, just furrows his brow and presses his lips together while he tries to make his hips stay on the sofa. Your hand comes up to brush some silver strands of hair away from his face and he leans into your touch, pressing his cheek against your palm as you lean in and kiss him sweetly. It’s gentle, soft and intimate in a way your first only fifteen minutes ago wasn’t. It makes Leon realise, fleetingly, the difference between need and desire. 

When you pull back a few seconds later, you stay close to him. He can feel your breath on his lips and your fingers brushing over his forehead, and he tries not to blink. If he does, he thinks he might stop this moment, make you move away and god, no matter how badly he wants you to put your hand on his cock again, he somehow wants this more, wants to be able to watch your emotions swell up in the depths of your eyes, see how you stare back at him. And then you whisper against his lips again, and he thinks that might be his undoing. 

“Doesn’t it feel better when you touch yourself if your cock’s wet? Don’t you enjoy it more when it’s all slick and messy? When you fuck your hand don’t you like the noises you can hear?” He swallows audibly at that, tries to ignore the way his dick jumps as you speak, and you kiss over his cheek gently, pave your way until you’re by his ear and brushing your thumb over his jaw. “You gonna let me do that? Gonna let me make it even better? You gotta answer me Leon, need you to say so if you want me to spit on your pretty cock-”

Pretty. Pretty pretty pretty. Pretty cock. My pretty cock. Her spit on my pretty cock-

He’s sure his eyes must be black by now, eaten up by desperation like the rest of him, as he turns his head to catch your lips and lick into your mouth, holding the back of your head to suck on your tongue.

You’re the one to pull away again, of course, and you shoot him a quick smile before shuffling down a little and leaning over his body. 

His breathing quickens, body on edge as he feels you gently wrapping your hand around his shaft again and holding it so you can position your head over the tip.

He hears it before anything else, the slick sound of you spitting, and then he watches the wet glob slap onto the head of his cock. The feeling of it on his slit makes him twitch and you actually giggle at it, feeling the movement and watching his body tense.

Leon has no time to prepare for the way you move after that, the way you swipe your thumb over his tip to collect your spit and pump your hand up and down fast. Quicker than before, wet and slick and messy, sloppy thrusts spreading your saliva over his shaft and making him twitch and writhe.

He’s on the edge before he knows it, hips bucking up, hands fisting in the sofa cushions and your skirt, thighs shaking and stomach tensing. His head is still thrown back and he struggles to keep his eyes open, but forgets about keeping his mouth shut.

The earlier embarrassment at any noises he might make is gone, burnt up along with his restraint by your soft hands and pretty words, and he lets them spill out freely now. He has no idea what they’re doing to you though, how you clench and drip with every whine forced from his throat. 

It doesn’t even matter that this is the first time you’ve done this together, it’s obvious when he gets close because he just, well, he sounds a little pathetic. He spills out little whimpered ‘oh’s with every movement of your hand, begs and pleas every now and then, desperate for you to keep going, to please don’t-nnng fuck please don’t stop-feels-oh oh-feels s’good-m’gonna-oh fuck-ha so so good-ah please keep going-keep-oh oh oh-fuck-nng I can’t-god please-can’t hold it-m’gonna-oh fuck fuck fuck I-yes please more just-yes yes oh-m’gonna-can’t stop it m’sorry i can’t m’so sorry I’m sorry I-oh m’gonna cum m’gonna-gonna cum m’gonna fuckin cum-m-oh fuck m’cumming-oh oh oh-

Well, you asked him to talk.

He’s beautiful when he comes, truly. Thighs trembling, legs trying to close, abs flexing and entire body undulating as much as possible in his position. 

Sometimes it’s not the most appealing sight, but the way his mouth drops open and ropes of come spill across his chest, painting his shirt and soaking into the material-it’s enough to get anyone going and that certainly doesn’t exclude you. 

As for Leon, he can barely think. He can barely open his eyes, the periphery of his vision dimming a little as you squeeze your hand a little more, tightening around his tip for a second and coaxing a few small dribbles of come out-he manages to look down in time to see it drip down over your fingers, pearly white decorating your knuckles and his shaft. 

Your hand leaves him and for a few minutes he just lies there and pants, breathing heavily as you gently knead the flesh of his thigh and wait for him to ride it out. 

When he licks his lips and tries to speak, the hand of yours that isn’t covered in his come cups his jaw sweetly, pulling him into you a little for a tender kiss, one that brings him back and grounds him again. Makes his vision clear and his heart slow a bit more.

When you part this time, it’s mutual, with Leon finally realising when you pull away you’re not leaving him, just catching your breath. You both lean your foreheads together, and you chuckle breathlessly, making him look inquisitively at you.

“I just realised I never actually called another cab. Mind if I wait a bit longer?”

As long as you like. 

Please.

feedback is really really really appreciated-comments and reblogs and asks especially since likes don't promote my content :(( don't think I'll be doing a third part so please don't ask for one sorry!

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[reve-writes]

—all in. | leon kennedy.

resident evil leon kennedy x reader.

he reassures you when your insecurity comes up following your recent encounter with ada wong. | misunderstanding trope. slight angst, but happy ending. kissing. profanity. i love ada wong but ive just been reading too many angst about jealous!reader i needed something happier.

It has become a routine at this point.

The two of you come home after a mission, battered and bruised and a little worse for wear. All sweat and dirt and grime from the past week. It's supposed to be all smiles. You're supposed to be slipping into the shower together, rubbing all the traces of the terror from each other's skin and settling into the softness of your comforter in your shared bedroom.

Supposed to.

Of fucking course, it isn't.

You've been quiet. Leon isn't stupid. He knows that you've withdrawn into yourself, lost in your own head and you're now ticking like a time bomb, ready to explode from whatever conclusion you've come up with. He's preparing for it, bracing for the impact.

It never comes.

You drop your bag near the couch of your living room and then you're slinking into the shower. Within seconds, he hears it running. You still haven't said a word.

He sighs, settling into one of the four chairs at your dinner table. He has already grabbed a drink, an expensive bottle with a shot glass. It's unbearable—the anticipation, knowing that there's an upcoming disaster, waiting for it, but it doesn't come.

You're trying not to think, but in the confines of your shower walls, the white-marbled tiles do little to distract you as your head pounds, running back the interactions you had with her.

Bobbed black hair. Red body-tight dress. Red smear of her lipstick on his cheek—he pulled away, yes, but the smudge is still there even when you landed. The smell of her perfume. Hell, you swear you can even still hear the click of her heels.

So many years into your relationship, you think you're over this. You think you won't be so hung up over a phantom of your past anymore, but whenever she shows up as she pleases, it's as if the domesticity you've built with Leon crumbles before your very eyes.

Maybe this would be easier if you know she's indifferent towards him. Maybe it makes you a bad person to hope for such a thing. It would be so much better if he's the only one who feels anything, but you know it's the furthest thing from the truth.

You leave the shower, the heat from the hot water is getting into your head.

“Are you done?” His voice startles you as you're towelling off your hair, trying to get into your shared bedroom. You need to think, but thinking is the only thing you've been doing since that fateful run-in. You need to talk, but you don't think you're ready for that conversation.

“Mhm. You can have the shower,” you reply, trying to sound as nonchalant as you can. It's probably the longest sentence you've said to him recently.

He throws back another shot. “I'm not talking about the shower.”

“So?” It's a curt reply. Short. Not at all close to the storm brewing inside of you.

“Baby.” The sound comes out as a half-whine. “Let's talk.”

“We don't — We have nothing to talk about.”

“Don't do that,” he presses again. “Talk to me. Come on.”

“I am talking to you, Leon.” You sigh out. You've never wanted to bolt into your bedroom faster, but you can't run from this forever. So, instead, you clench your fists, approaching the dinner table. As he's holding his glass, about to down another, you grab it from him. He lets you, watches you as you pour the liquid down your throat.

“What's on your mind?” He grabs the glass from you, pouring another for himself.

“Oh, I don't know, handsome. Maybe you can enlighten me.”

In any other situation, he wouldn't have been able to hold a grin blooming on his face at the nickname, but you're so obviously mocking him. Your tone and inflections shift to imitate hers.

Ada Wong.

“We've been over this before.”

“And yet every time she shows up, we're back where we started. Again.”

“We're not,” he protests. “You like to circle back to the same old argument. I'm over it.”

“Sure, you are. That's why you keep letting her take whatever she wants and leave.” You can practically taste the bitterness on the roof of your mouth. “If you don't look so — if you don't look like you're so ready to drop everything for her everytime she shows up, maybe we won't have to keep having this conversation.”

His eyebrows scrunch together and he puts his shot glass down on the table with a clang. “That's not true. What are you implying?”

“I'm saying that I'm not sure if I walk out right now, you'll chase after me. I'm not sure you won't end up looking for her instead.”

He frowns. A flash of hurt falls over his face. You've gone too far, but you want to. You want this to hurt. You're tired of constantly being the one he settles for.

“Is that what take me for?” He snarls. “You think I'd just go around, begging her to let me on her bed? Even after all these years of—” he swallows harshly. “—of us.”

“Won't you?”

His hand falls on the table with a harsh, cracking sound. It jolts you. Even as he's visibly seething, he doesn't yell. “You're so fucking cruel.”

“What am I supposed to think, then, Leon?”

“That I love you.”

“But do you love her, too?”

“No!” His reply comes quick, with conviction—the type of conviction that devout preachers have and you know then that you're being unfair. “I don't.”

You bite the inside of your cheeks. It feels silly. After all these years, it still doesn't take much to ruffle your feathers when it comes to her. He reaches for your hand, squeezing once, twice.

“I don't know about you,” he says, “but I'm all in on this, ___. On us. Don't ever doubt that.”

Leon pushes his chair backwards, making space for you to step in between his legs. He pulls you towards him, arms wrapping around your waist. You let him, even as you know he's getting all the dirt and grime you've washed away back onto you.

“She's someone from my past. We'll keep bumping into her on missions. I can't help that.” When he speaks, you feel his voice reverberating in your chest. “I need you to know that she's not you and she will never be you. She's not even an option. There's only you, okay?”

You nod, tangling your hand in his hair. The strands used to be lighter, sun-kissed, but with age it has taken on a darker shade. Almost black.

“Okay,” you say. You pull back slightly, brushing the hair out of his face and your eyes fall to the red smudge on his cheek. Another reminder of her. As you craddle his face, you run your thumb over the smudge, rubbing it—removing the traces of her.

He leans into your touch. “And I don't 'look so ready to drop everything for her' because I'm not. That version of me doesn't exist anymore.”

You nod again. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

He frowns. “Say it back. We're not in a Star Wars movie.”

That draws a chuckle out of you. You tilt his chin up as you bend forward. The tip of your noses touching.

“I love you.”

You kiss him. His body reacts almost immediately, his hand finding its way up your arm to the back of your neck. The other squeezes the skin of your hips. He pulls on your thigh, coaxing you to sit on his lap. Your hands tangle through his hair. He humms into your mouth when you tug. He draws back slightly, you feel his racing breath on your face.

“I think you're going to have to shower again.” His nose nuzzles your ear, trailing down your jaw as his lips press brief kisses down the column of your neck. “With me, preferably.”

[ ]

not me writing kissing scenes as if im not touch-starved. this is a short one. i stayed up so late reading angst on ao3 and they're all along the lines of being the second choice to ada wong. i needed something to wash away the angst. very self-indulgent piece. i also slipped in the han solo/leia star wars reference. thank you for reading <3

[reljes]

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