pairing: married! leon x marriage counselor! reader
cw: infidelity, p in v, oral, over-usage of 'good girl', regret, leon is an asshole (like, he's really a dick), reader is also not a good person (so, hopefully it's ooc for u lol), not proofread enough
summary: leon is married to ashley (she deserves better) and he cheats on her with reader who is the marriage counselor
a/n: based on a reddit post lol. also, it's time for us to admit that lips of an angel is such a fucking good song and leon would listen to it. (imagining this is id! leon and that song came out around that time so actually it's perfect. anyway, bye)
wc: 2.7k
[edit] taglist
@rigorwhoring
@dilfprayers
@porcelainseashore
@dollita-fawn
@xoxoloveless
@admirxation
@pawrincss
@onlyasimp4-2dbitches
@pr3ttyd0llie
It starts like many horror stories do: with a knock at the door. He's tall, dark, and handsome, standing in the doorframe. Except not that dark, not very tall at all, but incredibly handsome and you've come to find over the sessions you've spent together that his looks are your weakness. His weakness is you. And many other women. Including his wife, who usually attends these sessions, but tonight, he comes alone. Maybe it's the rain that's beating down on the windows - thought it should sound like a warning - that makes you feel sympathetic enough to let him in when you know you shouldn't.
You let him sit on your couch, but make him hang up his leather jacket on the coat rack so he doesn't ruin the furniture. So you can see his biceps better. And his forearms when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The first two buttons are already undone, but that's how he always dresses. You know this because you spend too much time looking at him. What does his wife wear? Skirts? Dresses? Pantsuits? She could wear a goddamn clown costume to every session and you'd be none the wiser because you're staring at her husband like he's a piece of meat.
"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but why are you here?" you ask him. "Your appointment isn't until Wednesday."
"I'm having marriage troubles. I thought you might be able to help."
It's in the job title: marriage counselor.
"Where's Ashley?" It's a loaded question, and the gun is pointed at your entire fucking career.
"She couldn't come. Plus, I don't think she'd like to know about these problems I'm having."
You take a deep breath, contemplating absolutely nothing because you've already made your choice. You made your choice months ago when you had your first appointment with the Kennedys.
“Remember when I said I had a history of cheating?”
“I do. Has this become a problem again?”
“Not exactly,” he says with a slight chuckle that you later find is ironic in nature. “But I’ve been having thoughts…”
“Are these thoughts sexual?”
“Very.”
“Have you tried taking care of it yourself?” You make a hand gesture to signal ‘if you know what I mean’ and pray he knows what you mean so you don’t have to say the words ‘jerk off’ explicitly.
“Yes, but it hasn’t worked.” He looks directly into your eyes when he says it.
"Are these thoughts about a specific person?"
"Yes."
His answers, which are limited to only a few words at a time, make you feel like you're shaking up a magic 8 ball, and the blue goop reveals a die that has little to say beyond 'It is certain', 'My sources say no', and 'Try again later'.
“Is there a way you could distance yourself from this person so you don’t have any potential ‘slip ups’?” you ask.
“Sure, but I’d have to stop counseling if I did.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy-”
“Leon.”
“Right. Leon, I’m not trying to be presumptuous, but are you insinuating that these thoughts are about me?”
“That they are.” His smile gives you a golden star-shaped sticker for guessing correctly.
You give him a scowl. "I'll set you up with a new therapist, then."
“Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning forward, staring right into your soul. “Are you attracted to me too?”
“I’m not comfortable answering-”
“That’s not a ‘no’. Is it?”
You try to wipe the look of shock arousal off your face.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it. I remember you asking a lot of questions about my sex life, especially the parts that don’t involve my wife, and getting visibly flustered when I answered them.”
“Of course I asked questions like that. I’m a therapist. It’s what I do. I’m sorry if you-”
You should ask him to leave, separate yourself before you explode in frustration. Getting defensive is not a healthy way to argue. You know this. You've told him this.
“If I remember correctly you asked me about how I touch myself, when I do it, if I watch anything.” He doesn't wait for a response from you, but it wouldn't have come anyway. “And, the whole time you were sitting there chewing on your pen, pretending not to imagine it. And then writing it down in a hurry, making sure you got down every little detail.” He taps on your pad of paper.
“Can I see this for a moment?” He snags it from the table beside you and flips through the pages. Without thinking, you leap forward and try to snatch it from him, falling into his lap.
The embarrassing part is when he lifts you off of him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s highly confidential!”
“Mr and Mrs. Kennedy,” he begins to read imitating your voice.
“Enough.” You use your sternest voice with him - which is far from stern.
“It says right here that Mr. Kennedy is 'a total dick’ but ‘totally fuckable’.”
“It does not!”
“You’re right. It doesn’t. But you were thinking it. Weren’t you?” He looks up with a smile on his face that’s both charming and cruel.
"I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to play with me right now, Leon."
It's the devil's edition of 20 questions, it seems.
He flips the pad closed, and says, “I’ll leave right now if you answer one question truthfully.”
“Fine," you huff, snatching the pad of paper and stashing it out of his reach.
“Did you go home and touch yourself while thinking about me?”
You shake your head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not."
“You couldn’t even make it home, huh? You did it right here, didn’t you?”
You don't have to answer - the look on your face gives it away.
“Was it on the couch? Right where I was sitting? Where I'm sitting right now."
“Fine. You win, you got it right. Are you happy now?” You concede because you want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, so you can go hide your face and die.
You want him to fuck you within an inch of your life and then you'll die happily. La petite mort? That's what they call it, right? You want that.
Leon just hums in response, giving you no insight into his thoughts. Though it doesn't take a therapist to guess that he's mentally fucking you. To your surprise, he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up.
When he gets to the door, you say, “Wait-”
“What?” He asks, nonchalant to such a degree that one might believe the events of the previous few minutes never transpired at all.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving. Like I said I would.”
“You’re just gonna leave? Do you get off on embarrassing people? Is that it?”
“No. I get off to you, and you know that." He's oddly defensive despite having the upper hand. "I also know that a large part of you despises me, but it’s because there’s a part of you that wants to fuck me.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He shrugs. “You’re the therapist, not me.”
“I’m telling your wife.”
“You’re going to tattle on me?" He laughs. “That wouldn’t be very HIPAA-compliant of you, would it?”
“Why are you doing this?" It feels like a nightmare that you can't escape where a terrifying shadowy figure is chasing you while you're screaming out for help and no one's listening. Except, this is more horrific due to the fact that you like it. Your thoughts about the man in front of you are downright depraved. You are both the monster, mirrors of each other.
"I thought you wanted to fix your marriage," you say.
“My wife wants to fix our marriage. You and I both know it’s doomed. But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?”
You shouldn't be saying half the things you are right now, but it's too late to turn back now. You are the sunk cost. And the ship that was the concept of 'fixing Leon's marriage' has already sailed.
“You want the truth? I’ve known since the moment you opened your mouth that your marriage was done.”
“Then why did you keep having sessions? Was it for the money?” He pauses. “I doubt it. You’re a good therapist. You could get other clients. There was another reason. And, we both know what that reason is, but I won’t make you say it. I’m not that mean.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And that’s what you like most about me.”
“It is not.”
“Then what is it?”
“Fuck you!”
“Do you want to? I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“Convince me.”
“Haven’t I already?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking me to convince you instead of telling me to fuck off? You just want me to come up with a reason that doesn’t make you feel bad about doing it.”
“And there isn’t one.”
“No, there isn’t," he says with a bit of pity, knowing he's dragging you down into the second circle of Hell with him.
“You have to swear to tell your wife.”
“Is that a yes?”
He did not swear to tell his wife, but Leon is a cheater and a liar already. If he swore to tell his wife, you'd only be an idiot to believe him.
“Lock the door.”
He turns around and flicks the lock. “Done.”
You stand up and his mouth is on yours. He’s the best kisser. Silver-tongued, you should've known it. You can fucking taste it too. Metallic. No, that's blood. You bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.
You’re the one who starts undressing him first but he doesn’t make fun of you. He helps you out of your top instead.
“Goddamn you have perfect tits. It’s a shame you always keep ‘em hidden.”
“It’s a professional environment.”
“Yeah, it’s so professional that you fuck your clients in it.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
"Don't worry. You’re not the first therapist I’ve fucked. I’ll lead.” Leon lays you down on the couch - roughly, but cradling your head so you don’t knock it on anything.
You gasp. "Leon, the couch is damp from your wet clothes," you whine.
"I promise it'll be soaked by the time I leave."
Before you can open your mouth, he’s kissing down your chest, making his way to your panties. His tongue is good at more than just talking. He has you unraveling within minutes, moaning obscenely.
“As much as love your pretty moans, baby, we’ve gotta be quiet. Don’t want you to get fired.”
“I deserve it.”
“No, you don’t. You’re a good therapist, and a good girl.”
“You think I’m a good girl?”
“So good. And you taste amazing.” He places a kiss on your clit and you nearly cry, having forgotten the feeling of his tongue in the mere seconds you spent without it. “I want you to come in my mouth.” He sucks on your clit until you do.
Leon's lips are dark and puffy when they meet yours - the ones on your face. He asks, “How did you imagine us doing it?”.
“Mostly me on top of you.”
“It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” he says, placing featherlight kisses from your jaw down your neck.
You shake your head. “None of this is.”
“I know. You've got morals. You’re a good girl.” He pauses before whispering into the shell of your ear, “That’s why you deserve to have me however you want me.”
His right hand is busy holding you steady so he fingers you with his left. You watch as his wedding band slips in and out of your pussy along with his middle finger, giving a double fuck you to his wife with each movement.
He seems fascinated by the squelching sounds, no longer focused on getting his dick inside you. The heavy rain outside covers up some of the noise but not enough to save you the embarrassment.
"Jesus. Just fuck me already." You try desperately to avoid sounding desperate, praying he takes your irritation at face value.
But you're too obvious, you wear your sick, sick heart on your sleeve.
"You want my dick that bad and you haven't even seen it yet."
"I hope it's as big as your ego."
"No you don't. That'd be painful, medically concerning probably."
You want to laugh because he manages to be funny and charming as hell despite being an absolute dick, but that fact makes you hate him more. And the blood that courses through you has nowhere to go but south.
All the while, his fingers refuse to leave your aching center. "Leon," you whine, pushing his hand away, "you're gonna make me cum again."
"I know," he purrs. "I wanna make up for all the months you've spent here by yourself, with your fingers inside you instead of mine."
"I was pretending they were yours." There's no point in saving the confession anymore.
"I'm sure you were, but I've got somethin' better for you, baby."
And, abruptly, he removes his fingers. You watch him unbuckle his belt, and despite this being your fantasy, you look at him like he's betrayed you.
"What?" he says, coyly, "I thought you wanted this."
"I do, but I was about to cum, and you just took your fingers away. You're such an asshole!" You pout like a bratty child.
"Yeah, I know I am," he says - his words are muffled by the square packet he tears with his teeth. He slides on the rubber barrier before he picks you up and sits you down on his cock, disregarding the obscene noises you make as he shoves himself inside you all at once.
You're wet but there's a stretch. His dick is big, maybe not as big as his ego, but bigger than any you've taken before. This is how he gets away with it, you think.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groans. His hands have an iron grip on your hips. "You've gotta learn to loosen up and relax. You're too high strung. This is probably good for you."
It's not, you'll find when the orgasm wears off, but right now it feels really fucking good.
His thumb circles your clit while you bounce up and down, working well in tandem. Ironic, as you've made so little progress in your weekly sessions. As expected, the dual stimulation makes you slick with arousal, opening you up for him.
His voice sounds distant, droned out by your own moans which get even louder as his words get filthier. "Bet all your advice didn't work 'cause your brain was all fuzzy thinking about what my cock would feel like inside you. Or maybe you did it on purpose 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."
"No… n-no-" you say, voice trembling just as your thighs do.
"S'okay, baby. Girls with messy pussies like you can't help it. Just need to get some dick in you and then you can go back to being a good girl."
Can you? Maybe you can a 'good girl' in the bedroom, but a morally-upstanding woman? Even in your own eyes, he's corrupted you.
Still, you call out for him, "Leon," you cry, the singular syllable drawn out. You are lucky that the thunder from the storm is louder than your voice could ever be.
"I know," he says, "I'm close too."
The way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him.
You are oddly dissatisfied at the fact that he spills into the condom, not into you. It feels so impersonal. Because it is. It doesn't escape you that he didn't say your name - not even a pet name - just a simple 'fuck' when he came.
You point him in the direction of the trashcan where he can throw away the physical evidence of the mess you've made.
His pants are back on in a second while you remain naked on the couch.
"Where are you going?"
"Home," he says. "Ashley's making dinner. Don't wanna keep her waiting."
"You're gonna go home to her?" you say, more disappointed than surprised.
"Yeah. What did you think I was going to do?"
Truly, you weren't thinking. If you were, you would not have had sex with Leon.
"I'm surprised you're not happy. I'm gonna go spend some quality time with my wife. That was your advice - wasn't it?"
"Yeah, but-"
"But what? You're our marriage counselor. I'm just trying to fix my marriage."
"You're doing an awful job."
"I know," he says, with his hand on the doorknob. "See you on Wednesday."
don't you guys DARE forget that chris redfield is a midwestern man at heart. his ass is standing on the back porch in shorts watching a storm that feels like the wrath of god and he's just there, hands on his hips like "oh thats a good one"
Hi! Here are some rules and things that I find important to have on my blog!
ᡣ𐭩 Minors/ageless blogs please DO NOT interact!
ᡣ𐭩 Any and all questions are welcome! I want to have a safe space where people feel comfortable to engage in any kind of discussion with me!
ᡣ𐭩 Please do not leave any hate! If there are topics that you do not like on my blog, please either block me or move on!
ᡣ𐭩 I do not have a set schedule for posting, but I am active a lot so things may be sporadic until I find a comfortable schedule!
(This list may be updated as I go)
Fandoms I am currently writing for:
Marvel/X-Men, Resident Evil, Skyrim, Fallout (Games and Show), Supernatural, TLOU (Games and Show), and Detroit: Become Human. This list may be updated as I go!
Here are some examples of things I am willing to write for: Incest/stepcest, non-con/dub-con, knife play, gun play, power dynamics, coercion, kidnapping, ddlg, impact play, most bodily fluids, hybrids, ect!
Here are some examples of thing I am NOT comfortable with writing for: Scat, zoophilia, underage/aged up, male readers, or anything along these lines!
If there is something that you are curious about and it is not listed, please feel free to send me an ask! I will do my best to give you an answer as soon as I can!
