suitor!leon kennedy x f!reader
🍵 ‼️: 0.4k words. romantic fluff.
a/n: we love gentleman leon!
First date with the man who’s courting you, he took you out for dinner tonight and everything about it had been.. Comforting. You love how he looks under the dim lighting of the restaurant. But you also love how he hums at your little pauses while speaking, the hum serving as a soft reminder that he’s listening and he’s encouraging you to go on. You adore the small comments he gives you after you finish speaking. Sometimes, those small comments are short witty jokes of his own humor.
And you know you’re definitely starting to fall for a man when you start laughing at his dad jokes.
After you both finish dinner, you two walk out of the restaurant with his hand resting on the small of your back. The cold night air makes you shiver slightly, the warm atmosphere of the restaurant is now gone. Luckily your suitor is here, who’s always the great observer.
“Cold?” he asks you softly. You also love the fact that no matter how deep or low his voice can be, he’ll always be soft spoken when it comes to you. “I’m goo-” before you can even finish what you were saying, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
You can smell his perfume clinging onto you when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. If there was ever a sweet way to carry someone's scent with you, this had to be it.
“You’ll get cold..” you spoke with concern. Your concern got a small genuine smile out of him. “I’ve handled worse, sweetheart.” He assures you. He then gently places his hand on the small of your back once again as he guides you to his car. He opens the door for you, and even as you shrink into the car, he lets his hand still linger a bit on the small of your back.
When you start to slip the jacket off, “Hey.” he calls out to you gently. You look up. “Keep it on and take it home with you.” your eyes widens a bit at that but it made you feel butterflies in your stomach. “Means I’ll have an excuse to see you again.” he flashes you another small genuine smile and gently closes the car door at your seat. You let out a satisfied sigh as you lean back comfortably on the car seat.
On this date with Leon, the one thing you couldn't stop noticing was how genuinely he wanted to pursue you. There couldn't have been a better feeling to take home after a first date.
likes/reblogs/comments are very much appreciated! 🫶
leon kennedy (re2r) burns you a cd of the songs you heard on your first date. a romantic at heart, he remembered almost every song that played on the radio as he drove the two of you, filing the information away in the back of his mind while he hung onto every word you spoke. even if he can never articulate to you in words how right it felt when he looked over at a stoplight to see your smile at the crescendo of a love song's bridge, he can at least rest assured that you heard it too, that you felt it too. he likes knowing that the two of you can go back to that moment, even if only in memories, with the soundtrack to his falling in love with you.
i saw someone saying on twitter about a woman who said that her boyfriend was so nervous when propose her that he forgot everything and ended up just getting on his knees saying “please”.
i hope every writer who reads this makes the best of it
Summary: seeing your man flexing his muscles— is the sight to behold.
Genre : fluff, flirt, suggestive, language, mentions of sex, 18+ i suppose, but not actual smut in it, not much of a plot?! idkkkk
wc : 2.2k
Note : this is very badly written, I just had this rough drabble idea which soon turned into this one-shot, please know grammar isn't my strongest suite, and english isn't my native language, so bear with me.
°⋆.ೃ࿔:･🪻 °⋆.ೃ࿔:･°⋆.ೃ࿔:･🪻 °⋆.ೃ࿔:･°⋆.ೃ࿔:･🪻 °⋆.ೃ࿔:･
There was something about watching your boyfriend Leon work out— the way his arms flexed beneath his t-shirt, veins popping over his arms, in stark contrast of his plain t-shirt, and lord it itched your eyes first, that sweet spot behind your eye-lids, that made you groan a little, but then the sensation pooled downward, pulsing between your thighs until your pussy clenched around nothing at all.
Universe help you.
Then pushing yourself out of your trance you dragged your gaze away from him, trying to calm your thoughts, or at least pretending to do so.
honestly, it had only been two months since you started dating him, and the two of you had agreed to take things slow. He had figured out pretty early on that you were rather shy, so he'd simply told you, "We'll go at your pace." And for that alone, you were endlessly grateful to him.
and yet there were already so many dirty-not-so-shy things flooded your mind—thoughts you couldn't quite bring yourself to say out loud, so here you were, 'admiring' your man from afar, as if he is still just a 'crush', though he wasn't, he was something precious now— he was yours, and that single word still melted across your tongue like honey every time you thought it.
anyways... now as you see him completely covered in sweat as he worked through another set, those quiet, strained little grunts escaped him with each curl— which, to your complete embarrassment, sounded far too much like music to your ears.
meanwhile, he curled twenty-kilogram dumbbells as though they weighed absolutely nothing, making the whole thing even more unfair to witness.
as you stare at his straining biceps— veins mapping rivers beneath his taut skin, muscles flexing with every shift of his weight, you could not help but imagine what it would feel like to bite them, to feel them pressed against your finger tips, to feel that power wrapped around your neck, while he pins you down as he pounds into you, relentlessly.
Christ. You didn't want to think like this, and yet here you were, imagining exactly that— and soon heat crept up your neck, flushing your skin.
You shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the dampness pooling between your thighs, your underwear clinging where you were already slick and aching.
But could anyone really blame you? For thinking like that? First of all he was yours, second who wouldn't admire that kind of view— standing right in front of them?
Jeez. now, you weren't focused on yourself, or your workout, or whatever the hell you were supposed to be doing. Your attention was entirely on him. This hulking man barely seemed to struggle through his sets, making each rep look effortless.
He looked like a Greek god who had casually stepped down from his heavenly abode just to work out at the same gym as everyone else.
and just as soon as his eyes met yours, he sent a sneaky wink your way, and you looked away instantly, legs pumping faster on the treadmill as if you could outrun your own pulse. But the thoughts had already wrapped themselves around your veins, coiling tight, begging you to stop pretending you didn't want exactly what they were offering.
Caught in hecking 4k.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He could not hear your thoughts could he?
Well you want him to hear everything swirling inside you, but.... maybe just not ... so soon?
by the way those words just jinxed-- something: you will know, what--soon enough.
also thats not possible, telepathy, you think to yourself and run faster onto the treadmill below.
Leon and you always worked out here every evening for an hour. It had become your little routine together.
He'd disappear into the locker room for a few minutes before coming back out wearing that black compression shirt— the one that looked like it was holding on for dear life just to keep those pecs together.
Oh fuck. Just to feel them. Once. Or... you trailed off, mid-thought. perv. fucking perv. that's what you were.
Leon usually caught you immediately, after changing in his gym clothes, and a slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he always leaned down just enough for only you to hear, as you swallowed thickly, your gaze stuck on his chest, "Like them?" he chuckled, and you let out the tiniest squeak imaginable before immediately turning your face away from him, your cheeks burning so fiercely they could've rivaled the gym's heating system, while Leon's quiet chuckled deeply, as you said "no." Before moving away from him.
this was kind of a ritual now, for him, to tease you, endlessly— you won't say you didn't like it though.
as the memory fades, and you stare at your man, from across the room, he pass you a quick smile and soon, almost without warning, Leon set his dumbbells back onto the rack before walking straight toward you.
Your heartbeat instantly betrayed you. You hurriedly jabbed the stop button on the treadmill, the belt gradually slowing until it came to a halt beneath your feet, then stepping off, you fanned yourself with your towel that rested above the handle of the machine, though at this point you couldn't tell if you were trying to dry the sweat clinging to your skin or cool the warmth steadily spreading through your stomach.
Leon strutted towards you stopped directly in front of your face and meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin, your ears turning completely red, as he kept his unwavering blue irises on you, and his one eyebrow lifted, "Babe..." he drawled, a teasing smile already tugging at his lips. "How long are you gonna keep staring at me?"
Your brain quite literally short-circuited, and you tore your gaze away from him as quickly as you could, clearing your throat before mumbling, "I wasn't staring." You placed particular emphasis on the last word, hoping he'd get the message. Unfortunately, only you knew you didn't mean a single bit of it.
"No?"
"Absolutely not." You responded.
Leon smirked as if he could right through you, then he hummed softly as he leaned down, gently backing you up until your lower back met the cool frame of the treadmill, the chill seeping through your shirt. A smug little smirk tugged at his lips as he took full advantage of the unusually empty gym. His fingertips brushed lightly across your cheek before he murmured, "You've been admiring me through the mirror for the last ten minutes."
"I was... looking behind you." You corrected trying to squirm away from him, but he doesnt let you instead he, puts his head on your shoulder, and let out a quiet chuckle which rumbled through your entire frame, "There was a wall behind me, babe."
caught again. god damn, his instincts.
You refused to meet his eyes, licking your lips as you desperately searched for anything that would change the subject. "Someone might get the wrong idea about what we're doing," you murmured, but your body and your voice was shaking at the closeness of his proximity. Then a slow teasing grin spread across Leon's face. "Then they're more than welcome to."
You rolled your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how flustered he'd made you. Your heart was already racing, warmth blooming across your cheeks as you gently shoved at his chest, for a second he doesn't move.
"This gym is empty," he pointed out again.
"I uh - ah- you are so annoying!" You say pouting pushing him away again, hitting on his chest.
He laughed softly at your pathetic attempt to "hurt" him, and this time, he let himself be pushed away with surprising ease. Taking a step back, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his joggers, still watching you with that infuriatingly smug smile that said he'd won anyway.
The moment he moved away, the air somehow felt colder without him, and you hated that it he moved away, "Well, anyway..." he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Did you like the view atleast?"
"Gosh", your face exploded with heat and with an embarrassed huff, you grabbed the front of his compression shirt and tugged him along before he could tease you any further. "C'mere."
His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you practically dragged him toward the quiet hallway beside the common washrooms, and his hands flew out of his pocket as he tried to maintain his balance, "Babe?" he laughed, his eyes crinkling with each syllable, "Where are we—"
Before he could finish, you stopped directly into the dim hallway and cupped his face with both hands, and, before your courage could abandon you, you pressed a quick, flustered kiss to his lips and instantly a soft, surprised sound escaped him as his arms instinctively slipped around your waist, drawing you just a fraction closer.
Your heartbeat immediately quickened, pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. the kiss lasted barely a second before you pulled away from him, and just as quickly, your cheeks burning brighter than ever as you stared anywhere but at his eyes. "There, now shut up."
Leon simply stared at you, completely ignoring your muttered, 'now, shut up.' Instead he whispered, "wow" then he, let out quiet soft whistle, "and two seconds ago, you were worried someone might see us."
You lifted your chin, trying your best to look smug despite the warmth creeping into your face. "I can be bold."
He bent forward until he was nearly doubled over, laughing so hard he had to brace himself, rolling your eyes, you reached up and ran your fingers through his hair, and he shook his head leaning into your touch, "hm." Then he straightened up and slowly stepped closer to you until there was barely any space left between you and him, "I like this side of you, more than anything."
Your confidence began to evaporate almost immediately, and before you could reply, he merely shrugged, as if he'd said nothing out of the ordinary, then achingly slow, his fingers found yours, gently intertwining them with an effortless familiarity.
"Right now..." he says, his gaze lingering on your flushed face. "...This sweaty, this flustered..." He paused just long enough to watch your expression crumble before a teasing smile touched his lips. "You look tasty enough to eat."
You swatted his broad bicep with playful indignation, trying to hide the way your stomach fluttered all over again. His laughter only grew louder, warm and unrestrained. "But..." he continued, leaning in until his forehead rested gently against yours, and a teasing smile curved his lips as he closed his eyes briefly. "You should know," he crooned softly, amusement dancing in his voice, "if you keep surprising me like that..."
You swallowed thickly trying to drink every drop of your emotions, "yeah?"
"I'm going to have a very hard time letting you walk away with just one kiss."
Your eyes flew wide just as he suddenly pulled you into a quick embrace. "Leon!" you shrieked, your voice breaking into startled laughter as your arms instinctively wrapped around him.
He laughed warmly, pressing one soft kiss to your forehead instead, "Relax," he said, smiling at your flustered expression. "We've still got another twenty minutes of our workout."
You groaned, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, the heat of exertion still radiating between you. His voice dropped, low and intimate against your ear. "When we get home," he breathed, sliding his palms lower until they found the dip of your spine, "can we kiss one more time?"
The question lingered between you, hanging in the quiet air. He looked every bit the gentleman— though, at the same time, he reminded you of a patient puppy, silently asking for something and waiting to see if he'd be allowed to have it. And if the answer was no... he'd simply accept it.
His hands pressed gently, guiding you to arch into him, and you responded instinctively, your back curving, breath hitching, and you felt way too responsive, beneath his touch, and for a hot second you wanted him to take you right here, slowly your shyness dissolved entirely under his touch.
you simply nodded, cheek still pressed to the damp fabric of his shirt, and aderaline took over you body, "maybe... we can do something far more than a kiss?" you whispered, your throat swelling instantly as you finally let your heart speak, then he sighed and grunted your name, into your skin, and kissed your neck, whispering something, crude, which almost felt like a promise, from him, to ruin you completely.
then after the workout, when you two finally stumbled through the front door, you spent the entire evening doing another type of cardio—sweat-slicked bodies and breathless moans, while burning something far more than mere calories.
You didn't mean to bring it up. Hell, you didn't even mean to think about it. It was just that the air in the safe house was too thick, the silence between you and Simon was too heavy, and the bottle of whiskey you'd been nursing had made your tongue loose and your filter non-existent.
You were perched on the edge of the rickety bed while he leaned against the wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical focus of a saint polishing a relic. The only light was a single naked bulb, casting a jaundiced glow and carving his face into a landscape of harsh shadows.
The conversation had been about nothing. Mission fatigue, the shitty food, the way the rain sounded like nails on the tin roof. Then, you'd made a joke. A stupid, clumsy joke about a fellow soldier who couldn't keep it in his pants.
"Man's a walking liability," you slurred, a little too loudly. "Thinks with his dick, gets himself into all kinds of trouble."
Simon just grunted, his eyes never leaving the barrel of his gun. But you, feeling the warm, reckless burn of the whiskey, pushed on.
"At least he's getting some, I guess. Not like some of us are dying over here."
That got his attention. His head lifted, his dark eyes pinning you in place. "That what's on your mind, Sergeant? Dying for a shag?"
The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"
He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.
"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."
And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"
The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.
"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.
You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.
He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.
"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.
"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.
He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.
"You want me to fuck you."
It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.
His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"
The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.
"That's the idea, sweetheart."
So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.
But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.
You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.
His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.
He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.
The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.
It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.
Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.
"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"
A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."
Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."
But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.
Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.
You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."
Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."
The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"
He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"
"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"
His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"
"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"
The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"
He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.
"No."
Your heart plummeted. "What?"
"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.
You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"
His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."
"Wait?"
"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."
The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.
"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.
He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.
You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.
"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."
You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.
Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.
He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.
"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.
You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.
"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.
"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."
You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"
"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."
He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"
You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."
He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.
"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.
You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.
"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.
"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."
He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.
He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.
He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.
He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."
"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."
He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"
You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."
He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.
While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.
"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."
"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."
His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.
He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.
"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.
The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.
He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.
You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.
You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.
"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."
His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."
You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.
"Your turn," he grunted.
You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."
You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.
You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.
"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."
You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.
"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."
You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."
"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.
He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.
"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.
He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.
"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."
You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.
He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.
You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.
"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"
His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.
You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.
Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.
You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.
The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.
You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.
That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.
It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.
You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."
He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."
"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.
You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.
It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."
His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.
Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.
He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"
"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."
He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.
"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."
He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."
You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.
The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.
You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.
"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."
His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."
"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."
That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.
His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."
He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.
"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.
He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.
And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized you were in way deeper than you'd ever planned to be.
You look from your place in bed, glasses almost sliding off of your nose. You glance around the room once before pointing at yourself. Simon gives you a dead-serious nod of his head, drilling holes into you with his eyes.
“Huh, what’d I do, Si?”
“All that. I’m tellin’ you t’ stop bein’ a tease.”
You take yourself into account. You are sitting in bed in your ugly, mismatched pajamas, reading a book with everything about you totally undone. You were just nodding off when he walked in. What’s Simon on about?
“I’m-… Are we playing around? Joking? I don’t get it.” You’re about as un-sexy as you can be.
He huffs and walks up to the edge of the bed, reaching under the covers to wrap a large hand around your ankle and pull you to the edge, locked under his gaze as blankets crowd around you. “Look at ya, love. Quit playing games.”
You finally find it in you to laugh at his ambiguity, watching the corners of his mouth quirk. He shifts on his feet uncomfortably, tightening his grip around your ankle. “I don’t understand. I’m very unattractive right now. Startlingly so.”
“Don’t say tha’.” He mutters, leaning over to shove his face into the crook of your neck, humming in relief as he presses into you. You wrestle your arms free to throw around him, curling into his heavy body. The moment goes on sweetly until his hips roll lazily against you, exhaling shakily.
Every mythical creature has a natural counterpart meant to balance them out. Elves and dwarves, werewolves and vampires, etc. Humans have just discovered they too have a counterpart.
The summoned hero has one critical flaw: They have sociopathic and psychopathic traits. However, psychopathy and sociopathy don't automatically equate to being a bad person. The hero genuinely tries to do the right thing, resulting in situations which are either hilarious or horrifying...
