He's in your neighborhood and you see him occasionally, always greeting him kindly and asking how he's doing. He's handsome, tall and strong, you saw him help carry furniture when another neighbor moved in. You want to get to know him better, but it seems as though fate is not on your side bc for the first couple of months, you barely see him.
Summer comes around and suddenly there's a knock at your door. When you answer, he's standing there holding a watermelon under his arm. He gives it to you, telling you about a sale at the farmer's market, and you chat a little before he leaves. Your heart flutters at the interaction. The watermelon is sweet and delicious.
But it keeps happening. He comes by every Sunday to give you fruit: mangoes and strawberries and raspberries and cherries and peaches and even pineapple! Every time he claims there was a sale at a local vendor and never takes up your offer to pay him back.
It doesn't stop at fruit either. He brings bundles of asparagus and ears of fresh corn on the cob, broccoli and tomatoes still on the vine. One day he even brings sunflowers and a loaf of foccacio with cherry tomatoes and feta and herbs.
You're flattered beyond belief and your mouth is delighted by all the seasonal produce, but your heart wants more...
So, next Sunday, when he arrives with two bags of produce, you ask him if he will show you around the farmer's market some time. He gives you a soft look that you've never seen before, almost as if he's relieved.
Suddenly imagined leading on a guy you've been seeing by making out with him after your dates and abruptly stopping to tell him that you're gonna go home and think about him when you masturbate and then you just leave him high and dry. And of course one day he snaps and fingers you outside of your home bc you've been teasing him too much
You’ve worn your boyfriend Sukuna to the bone, so your other boyfriend Toji takes over.
warnings. fem!reader/tojikuna, threesome, multiple orgasms, piv, kissing, creampie, overstim, ovulation, switch!toji if you squint, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni. mlist
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The first thing Toji noticed when he stepped through the front door was the heat. A subtle humidity lacing the air like the sweet lingering remnants of perfume. There was your lotion, sweet and familiar, and the smell of fresh sweat, layered with something primal and musky - the smell of sex.
The second thing he noticed was Sukuna, splayed over the couch like he’d just run a marathon. Tank top soaked through and sweatpants riddled with little damp patches, dotted across the fabric like stray petals. Toji’s gaze dipped without bothering to hide the way he was blatantly staring at Sukuna’s chest, at the heaving pecs peeking out from his neckline, eyes tracking the little bead of sweat beginning to trail a hot path down the center.
“What’s your problem?” Came Toji’s eventual greeting as he paused by the door, tearing his eyes away just to sling his gym bag over the hook there before continuing into the room, water bottle clasped in his hand.
Sukuna glared in reply, and if Toji were anyone else he might have actually felt intimidated by the sight. But with the way the other man was panting, pink tufts of hair stuck every which way and slicked with sweat, he didn’t paint a particularly scary image. In fact the only sensation the sight triggered within Toji was a mild amusement, alongside a tiny spark of heat low and betraying in his belly.
“I’ve already had her four times,” Sukuna grunted, “the brats insatiable.”
Toji snorted mid sip of water, eyes leaving the couch to instead peer through the half opened doorway to the bedroom, where he managed to catch only a glimpse of your bare leg through the crack. From the looks of it you were naked - splayed over the sheets, hair probably still a little damp from the shower, skin lacquered with lotion, half washed away with sweat by now.
“What, she ovulating or something?” Toji wondered aloud, lowering the bottle to once again catch Sukuna’s gaze over the metal rim.
The other man crossed his arms unceremoniously across his chest, and Toji watched the tendons jump in the winding muscle of his forearms as he shrugged.
“That or she’s in heat, damn near milked me dry.” He grumbled, brows knitted, working a mean line between them. If you were here you’d reprimand him for such an expression, crawl over the couch and run your thumb between his salmon brows until the lines wore smooth, or until Sukuna grew bored and wrapped a hand around your wrist to flip you onto the cushions instead.
Toji laughed then, the sound rough and graveled like tattered velvet.
“Seriously?” He scoffed, lips spread into a sly grin as he licked stray droplets from them, “had to tap out did ya’ Ryomen?”
Sukuna’s scowl only deepened, soured now with genuine irritation.
“Just be grateful I wore her out for you,” he spat, “and watch your tone, or it’ll be you spread eagle and whining for more cock next, Fushiguro.”
Toji chuckled again as he screwed the lid of his bottle on tight, the motion accented with a metallic ‘squeak!’ before he tossed it toward Sukuna, hard enough that he heard the fleshy impact when the other man’s hand shot out to catch it.
“Yeah yeah,” he mused, moving past the couch to instead push through the bedroom door, which creaked beneath the effort, “drink some fuckin’ water and get outta my way.”
If he were being honest, when he’d left for the gym that morning he’d been hoping for this exact scenario. Toji knew you - or at least your cycle - well enough to know that you’d wake up needy and leaking, and he knew Sukuna well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of you humping his thigh like a dog in heat for very long. So he’d left without a word just as the sun kissed the horizon, and he’d been half hard in his sweats since his second rep just thinking about it.
If the living room was warm, the air within the bedroom was stifling. But it wasn’t the heat or the sticky sweet scent that knocked the air from Toji’s lungs on entry, no. It was the sight of you - limbs splayed over the mattress, hair messed and wild where your head was tucked between the pillows. Your jaw lifted back far enough to expose the long column of your throat, giving Toji a stellar view of the dark sucking marks peppered there, indents of teeth that he was sure would melt into bruises by the evening.
Toji took in the sight indulgently - paused in the doorway, a lone hand already trailing its way down the curve of his stomach, teasing until his fingers curled over the bulge forming there. He squeezed once and shivered, reveling in the immediate relief that sizzled over his body like a splash of ice water.
He could feel the weight of Sukuna’s gaze piercing into the back of his skull like the promise of a snipers sight. He didn’t indulge the urge to peer over his shoulder and meet that heated gaze, instead he let his hand drop to his side and pressed a knee into the mattress.
You didn’t move, didn’t speak or even open your eyes when he crawled over the sheets, crowding your space like a panther sliding atop its snagged prey.
His hand met the curve of your waist, skin soft and warm beneath his palm, layer of sweat sticking you lightly to him. He trailed one hand downward over the curve of your belly, the other grazed feather-soft over the slopes of your breasts, pausing to pinch gently at either nipple, perked and willing in his hands.
“You’re soaked sweetheart,” he mused when his fingers finally dipped between your thighs, which gave way to him easily, spreading to make room for his forearm to slot between. He moved slowly, palming soft and teasing over your mound and listening to you mumble mindlessly below him.
You whined something unintelligible in reply, voice nothing but a high pitched whimper, crackled like shattered glass.
With a chuckle, he leaned down and craned his head until his ear rested level with your mouth.
“What’s that sweetheart?” He questioned, head tilted to listen.
You swallowed, hard and dry, and licked your lips before you spoke again. Another croaked string of words hit his ear, a touch clearer this time. He realized then that you weren’t mumbling gibberish at all, you were begging.
“More, more, need more, please ‘kuna, please jus’ one more…”
Toji chuckled and lifted his head back to study you again - he found your eyes still closed, brows now knitted into an expression that was decidedly desperate.
“Old Ryo’ couldn’t keep up, huh?” He mused, hands lifted from your body to instead press into the mattress either side of your head, leveraging the weight of him as he slotted himself properly between your thighs.
You offered a gentle huff in reply, eyelids feeling much too heavy to bother opening. Your limbs felt numb, tingling with residual little sizzles of pleasure.
“Don’t worry doll, ‘m here now.”
Toji didn’t waste time working you open or teasing you with the brush of his lips or gentle caresses, no. He simply slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it sideways. His thumb hooked over his waistband, tugged down to let his length spring free and slap hard and raw against you.
The sensation was enough to have his lips parting around a shuddered breath. You felt like heaven - like slick molten silk kissing each bumped ridge as he rutted through your swollen folds. You jolted when he shifted, hard inches rubbing over your clit, still singing with over stimulation.
He grinned and lowered a thumb to pet at your entrance, leaking slick and dribbles of what he was sure was Sukuna’s spend. He traced your rim beneath the head of his cock slowly, smearing the milky little pearls gathered there and wondering just how many loads Sukuna had managed to stuff inside you before he’d finally tapped out. The thought made his breath catch, and sent another sizzle of heat straight to his throbbing cock.
“C’mon, look at me now,” Toji cooed, watching the way any semblance of coherency on your face melted away when he finally pressed down, sinking inside with a single dizzying press of his hips - testament to just how soaked and used you really were.
It was enough to make your eyes roll behind your lids, fluttering with the delicious sting of being stretched open again. Toji treated you with shallow little thrusts. The hair at his base tickling your clit, thick veins pulsing against your rubbed raw walls where Sukuna had pounded you until you cried, until you bruised. And yet despite the pain, the ache - that needling little bud of desire still burned just as hotly as when you’d first awoken that day, stoking the fire in your belly and dribbling lava hot between your aching thighs.
“Oh, oh…” you moaned dumbly, lashes twitching as you finally lifted them and tried to blink away the layer of hazy film that had settled there. Your mind felt fuzzy, vacant. Drunk on the sensation of being stuffed utterly full once again.
“There she is,” Toji soothed.
“‘Ji, it’s you…” came your delayed greeting, nothing more than a breathy whine, “need’t cum, need to cum again, please…”
“Again?” Toji echoed in faux surprise, hips slowing to a torturous roll, “that’s a little greedy of you, don’t you think?”
“Incredibly greedy,” a distant voice interrupted, flat and deep and utterly serious.
Toji tilted his head back just enough to catch sight of Sukuna’s broad form filling the doorway, looking more like the hired security than someone who actually lived there. Toji peered through strands of ink black hair at the big hand that was beginning to dip beneath the waistband of Sukuna’s sweats, palming lazily at the considerable bulge there. Sukuna’s gaze was equally heavy and heated, lowered past the curve of Toji’s spine to track the way your hole was stretching around his thickness.
Toji swallowed, took a final glance at the sight of Sukuna beginning to work his length free from his boxers. His eyes stuck on the exposed slip of tan skin where Sukuna had tugged his shirt upward, the spatter of hair dusted there, before he turned his attention back to you.
“Haven’t even asked how my day was yet, and here you are begging me to make this needy pussy cum,” Toji teased, “and after Ryo’ took such good care of you too.”
“Please,” you cried, shaking your head furiously against the damp pillows crumpled either side of you, “please don’t tease me.”
“Aw I’m sorry sweetheart,” Toji cooed, voice dripping thick with mock concern, “you just need it real bad, huh?”
The delicate shallow thrusts he had been nursing you with suddenly shifted, turned to long pulls smacked back inside hard enough that you felt the tip of him kiss somewhere deep and delicate. Each buck had your legs quivering, and a sharp little shock of pain and pleasure in equal measure sizzling over your skin.
You were lucid enough only to know that he was moving, slow methodical thrusts that felt achingly tender. Each twitch of his worked muscle was purposeful, each motion entirely controlled and aimed to break you apart.
“Shh, just feel it. You feel me, right baby? Nice ‘n deep.” The words were sin incarnate, purred right into your ear.
You were nodding before you could think, slurring a string of unintelligible words alongside breathy cries of his name, strung together like a prayer.
“Deep… deeper…”
The scent of him was intoxicating, dizzying. The sharp sting of fresh sweat and his own familiar woody musk was enough to have you lifting your trembling legs just to hook a heel over his hip and tug him closer.
“Finally knocked all the brains outta you, huh?” Toji teased, “That’s alright, don’t need to think. Just keep squeezin’ this pretty little pussy around me, yeah?”
One of your hands fled the sheets to instead grasp at one of Toji’s bare shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there.
“Kiss me,” you panted, blinking up at him with wide wet eyes, blown black and glossy with need, “oh, hng-… please Toji…”
Toji didn’t bother with a reply, instead he simply dipped his head and captured your lips in a kiss so sudden you barely had the wherewithal to suck in a lungful of air before he was swiping any lingering thoughts away with the hot slide of his tongue.
You melted into the touch, letting the roll of his jaw guide your movements - moaning in surprise when his teeth nipped at your cracked lower lip, your grip on his shoulder tightening when his tongue met yours.
When you finally split apart you were sufficiently softened by the blend of his sweet kisses and the steady rock of his hips, brain humming quietly like the static of a tv set to a dead channel.
“Good?” Toji questioned, head tilting.
You just nodded, struggling to keep you gaze affixed on the inky strands of hair slipping over Toji’s forehead, that was until a sudden blur of colour crept into the edge of your vision.
“Oi, what are you?-…”
You watched, motion a little delayed, as Sukuna’s hand slid across the back of Toji’s neck. Toji’s eyes widened an inch, looking genuinely shocked for just a moment before Sukuna’s grip tightened, firm hand forcing his head upward until they finally met in a rough crashing of lips.
Peering up you simply watched, entranced, at the slide of pink tongue between sticky sweet flutters of your lashes. Eyes caught on the way Toji’s brows lifted and his hips stuttered just a little when Sukuna’s hand tightened into a fist at his nape, strands of silky black hair sticking wayward through his thick fingers.
Toji grunted into the kiss, rougher now - a tumble of teeth and tongue in stark contrast to the slow rhythm of the embrace you had shared. One of Toji’s hands curled over your hip, thumb mindlessly tracing the bone there. The other found Sukuna’s chest, grasping a handful of fabric before he was shoving the other man backwards.
You watched a glittering thread of spit link them for a moment before it split, and you must have clenched at the obscene sight because Toji made a choked sound above you, falling into the sensation a little like he were suddenly made of jelly.
“Fuck sweetheart,” he panted, lips glossed as he dug a fist into the mattress beside your head, “that’s it, just like that.”
His thrusts didn’t slow or soften, but they felt sloppier somehow, and when you blinked upward you realized why. Sukuna had stepped in behind Toji, plump chest pressed to his back, massive hand still curled around his nape, thumb rubbing soothing little shapes there. His head turned inward, lips pressed to the delicate little strip behind Toji’s ear, breathing so close you could see the speckle of goosebumps begin to prickle over Toji’s skin.
“C’mon Fushiguro,” Sukuna purred, quiet enough that you could barely hear the sweet syrupy words, “don’t get soft on me now.”
Dazed, you watched Sukuna raise a spare hand to his lips, thumb pressed against tongue beneath the glint of pearly canines before he reached past Toji’s hips and tucked it between your thighs. You jerked at the sudden contact, the searing heat of his slick thumb, calloused and rough and perfect against your abused clit.
“Bastard…” Toji gritted, breaths coming ragged now, panting between barely masked grunts of pleasure as his head dipped beneath the weight of the palm at his nape. His gaze was glassy, glued to where you were clamping around him, where your slick was painting the dark curls at his belly white.
Sukuna only grinned in reply, and you could hear the lazy glee lacing his tone with his next words, thumb still rolling over your twitching nub as you writhed beneath his touch.
“Go on now,” he rumbled, low and filthy over the shell of Toji’s ear, and you swore you felt Toji twitch in response. “make the pretty girl cum.”
You could feel it, the looming buzz of your orgasm, curling like the crest of a wave, hot and tight in your belly like the slow cinching of a knot.
“Close ‘ji…’m close,” you slurred, “gonna… hn!- ‘m gonna…”
“I’m right here sweetheart,” Toji was groaning now, shivering a little as the hand at his nape tightened once more. His thrusts were wild - wide sloppy pumps driven haphazardly into the slick mess between your thighs. Sukuna’s thumb continued its assault, drawing steady heart shapes over your clit, right above where Toji was busy splitting you open.
“C’mon princess,” Toji pleaded, words accented with a kicking throb that you felt all the way in your gut, “give it to me.”
You let your eyelids fall shut, squeezed tightly against the way your vision was beginning to blur at the edges. Senses dulled, sounds and scents becoming more and more distant with each second of rising pleasure until suddenly the knot snapped, and you were unraveling along with it.
Toji cursed somewhere beyond the numbed blackness of your senses, and alongside it you felt a flood of heat and the familiar twitching pulse of him as he filled you. Firm hands gripped your waist like an anchor, holding you in place as you squirmed against his final stuttered humps, wracked with unending wave after wave of white hot pleasure.
“Shh, that’s it, that’s a good girl…” Toji was cooing into your ear, forehead pressed to the pillow, only hair tickling your cheek.
The words were a salve, a balm smoothed over your mind until all that was left was the honeyed buzz of pleasure.
You sucked in a shaky breath and realized along with it that you were crying, cheeks soaked and salted with fresh tears. You let your limbs fall, limp and exhausted against the sheets. A subtle ache was beginning to settle in your muscles, in your bones, and yet beneath it all you still felt it - that itch deep inside, like an unending, desirous pit.
“More…” you croaked, voice utterly broken despite your pleading.
Toji scoffed somewhere above you - sounding equal parts shocked and proud at your incessant appetite. You heard the distant thump of approaching footfalls, followed by the telltale creak of a knee digging into the mattress before the bed was dipping beneath a considerable weight, and you felt Toji slip out with a slick sucking sound.
“Move Fushiguro, think I just got my second wind.”
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a/n: kinda ahhh drabble while I work on longer fics bc I’m stuck thinking about tojikuna, hope you enjoy anyway <3
Oof thinking about sexy onlyfans guy with a monster cock who only sells vids of himself jerking off and groaning with his deep voice. He never collabs even tho he has hundreds of offers from other onlyfans models who want a piece of him. His career skyrockets within just a few months and his subs are BEGGING to see him collab with a woman so they can imagine themselves having sex with him.
He caves, promises he'll make a collab video soon. Onlyfans models are spreading rumors that they'll be collabing with the legend himself, but they all go silent when he posts a three hour sex tape of him fucking you, his chubby girlfriend.
(Watching your husband sleep so peacefully gives you an idea. Just how deeply is he really sleeping?)
Word Count: ~ 3k
Rating: E - Domestic smut, oral sex (m receiving), slice of life
Reader: Depicted as an agent in some lines
Author's Note: This was supposed to be a drabble, but oh well. Still counts! I got inspired the other day to write a little indulgent something for us, the readers 🤭 I imagine Leon has a much better sleep being married, more settled down and having that place where he can have nice things. And we just know our husband likes to be taken care of once in a while 🫦 Hope you enjoy! 💕
Your husband slept deeper and better than ever before. It was a realization that had crept in over time. The longer you had been Mrs. Kennedy, the more relaxed he had become.
By now, you knew that if you reached for him in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t jolt awake at the touch of your hand and ask what was wrong.
If you snuggled up to him, he wouldn’t angle his body in a way that let him spring up at any moment. Instead, he would let out a content sound and pull you close enough that his strong squeeze would leave you just a little breathless.
If you woke up before him, he wouldn’t abandon the sleep he so desperately needed just because of your quiet, waking energy.
And if you got up before him, the sight of the empty side of the bed wouldn’t send a sinking feeling through his stomach or startle him awake.
That he had managed to bring this kind of peace into his life over the years didn’t just satisfy you – it made you deeply, profoundly happy.
Even on this Sunday morning, when you had woken before him for once, you found yourself simply enjoying the sight of him breathing steadily beside you.
Warm morning light trickled through the fine gaps in your heavy bedroom curtains, just enough to let you see him clearly.
Leon lay on his back, one arm bent with his hand tucked behind his head, the other resting on his bare chest. He looked so peaceful – his face slightly turned toward you, completely relaxed, hair falling softly over his closed eyes, his breathing calm and even. His hand rose and fell with his chest, the soft blanket only just beginning at his waist – he always ran warm at night, while you pulled yours up to your chin to soak in every bit of comfort.
Propped up on your hand, you smiled, quietly blissful as you took in your handsome sleeping beauty. That the two of you had made it here – sharing a bed, a home, a life – felt almost unreal. So much had spoken against it: your lifestyle, your jobs, the constant danger that one of you might not make it home.
But you had tied the knot anyway. And it had been the best decision of your lives. Not only had Leon found a sense of peace in coming home – you had, too. You had gained a reason to return, no matter where you were. You had caught each other in a fall you had both willingly leapt into.
Carefully, you pressed your lips to his large bicep, perfectly angled in this position – a beautiful curve that always looked especially good beneath tight tactical attire. Even more so when he’d flash you that subtle grin and flex the trained muscle on purpose, coaxing a reaction out of you – somewhere between a nervous giggle and an appreciative hum. A lightness he had come to carry now, gifting you moments you cherished deeply.
You scattered soft, featherlight kisses across his firm skin, even placing a gentle one against his stubbled cheek.
Leon didn’t stir. He remained lost in sleep.
Part of you considered simply getting up and letting him rest – but at the same time, you wanted to stay right here. Ideally, you wanted to climb onto his big, comfortable, made-for-you body and make yourself at home there.
But then, another idea slipped into your mind. Why not? You could see how long it would take for him to wake up to a good morning blowjob.
A spark of excitement rippled through your body as the thought took root. Not that the two of you weren’t already familiar with slow, sleepy morning sex. On those quiet mornings, he would wake you with lingering kisses – soft and sensual against your neck, your shoulder, the curve where they met – pressing himself against you, hands wandering until you were awake enough to respond, to turn toward him and melt into his touch.
This time, though, you’d be sneaky about it.
You let your lips drift lightly over his skin, the touch barely more than a whisper of air – over his jaw, his neck, his collarbone.
Slowly, carefully, your body moved downward – the blanket rustled traitorously, but Leon didn’t seem to notice. He stayed exactly as he was, only drawing in a slightly deeper breath through his nose.
Encouraged, you placed one last kiss against his wrist before slipping beneath the covers, immediately surrounded by warmth – and the trapped scent of Leon, that unique blend of something like leather, metal, and wood.
His defined muscles, as always, offered strong contours beneath your touch. Solid abs greeted you – a blessing that he always slept shirtless.
And even if you liked to think you weren’t shallow, the reality of your ridiculously attractive husband certainly didn’t hurt. It only made you want to touch him more – to feel that firm physique beneath your hands, to trace every line… and eventually, to feel the way he softened under your touch, yielding so perfectly to you.
Here, in the middle of sleep, Leon was already soft. Not tense – just sunk into the mattress, at rest.
At least, except for one thing.
While you couldn’t resist tracing the contours of his six-pack with your lips, your hand wandered to his boxers – the only sleep attire he ever needed.
His morning wood pressed firmly against the soft cotton, a clear outline beneath your hand, perfectly tangible as always – long, straight, like it had been made for you.
A sense of satisfaction spread through you at the thought that you could start from a very… ready position today – even though it wouldn’t have mattered otherwise.
There was something especially intoxicating about feeling him grow fully hard in your mouth whenever you dropped to your knees for him unprompted – whether Leon was sitting at his desk at home, relaxing on the couch, or when you joined him in the shower.
He welcomed you everywhere.
This morning, your playful little idea seemed perfectly aligned with his cock – maybe he had already read your intentions.
You smirked softly before hooking your finger beneath the elastic of his boxers and tugging them down.
Even beneath the heavy blanket, barely able to see, you knew exactly how his tip looked as it was freed from the confines of the fabric.
A thick, beautiful head that always stretched you so perfectly when he pushed into you – maybe already glistening with a bit of precum now that you had started to work your magic on your handsome husband.
At the thought, you quickly decided on a small taste test, closing your lips around him in a brief but delicious kiss.
A few salty drops met your tongue as you let it glide over him, all while watching Leon closely for any reaction – was he already awake, waiting to see what you would do next?
As your tongue circled his tip, softening his skin with saliva, your fingers pushed his boxers further down, revealing more of his length – more for you to explore.
More kisses followed along his shaft, accompanied by small licks over the prominent veins – and he twitched beneath your lips. Whether the man himself was awake or not, his cock definitely was by now.
A quiet, pleased laugh slipped from you as you continued, savoring his reactions, tasting the salt of his skin, lavishing attention on him – a slow lick along his entire length, around him, your cheek pressing softly against him, growing wetter from your own watering mouth – all while you had to keep his boxers down so they wouldn’t get in your way.
Above the blanket, Leon’s irises moved rapidly beneath his closed lids as he drifted through a dream wetter than anything he’d had since teenage years.
Disjointed images of you in the most tempting little outfits flashed through his mind – then the memory of your first time, which had turned out so different from what he had imagined, yet far better than anything he could have dreamed of.
Images of him taking you on every available surface, his favorite place still the bed, where he could take his time with you.
“Mhm.” A low sound slipped from him as his body vibrated with growing arousal.
Somewhere at the edges of his hazy awareness, Leon realized he could easily come like this – like some teenager losing control in his sleep.
Slowly, sleep and dreams began to give way to something more conscious, his thoughts forming more clearly – though still entirely focused on you, his wife. If that floating feeling didn’t fade, he might just reach for you and whisper those dreams against your skin.
He shifted from the position that had brought on those vivid dreams, his eyes fluttering open as he searched for you beside him, his hand already reaching toward your shoulder –
But you weren’t there.
Leon frowned slightly, his mind still sluggish, trying to catch up with what was happening while he remained inexplicably aroused.
He almost sat up, ready to shake his head and bring himself down from the high – when it hit him that the heat had a very real source.
And it was beneath the blanket.
He felt it before his mind could connect the dots. Warm, wet heat against his hips, against his cock. Lips – movements he knew far too well. Fingers that had touched him countless times before, sliding soft and slick along his shaft.
A tongue circling the head of his erection – before a warm, perfect cave, your mouth, took him in completely.
Leon couldn’t see you – your entire body hidden beneath the blanket. All he could make out were the subtle, rhythmic movements of the covers.
And just like that, his brief confusion melted into pure, heavy relaxation.
His gaze drifted from the blanket up to the ceiling as he let his head sink back into the soft, heavenly pillow with a quiet sigh.
Married life was the best.
In moments like these, Leon sometimes regretted how long he had taken to propose to you. It was one thing when his girlfriend made him feel this good – but something entirely different when it was his beautiful wife.
When Leon adjusted his body, you realized he had woken up – and wasn’t stopping you. He lifted his hips, giving you the opportunity to pull his shorts all the way down so you wouldn’t have to hold the waistband anymore.
Both of your hands settled on his now thoroughly soaked length, fingers gliding along before wrapping around him, angling. You let him slide back into your mouth, taking him deep and purposeful, your lips closing firmly around him as your head moved up and down his perfect hardness – only to slow again moments later, letting him slip free as you exhaled.
The sloppy, breathless part was always the most fun about a good blowjob. When you were chasing your breath, soft sounds spilling from your throat, your mouth open, your tongue working as you made a mess of your face and his pelvis.
Leon’s hand settled on your back, just like it always did during longer sessions, showing his appreciation with light, wandering touches and quiet, breathy words.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice threaded with a heavy exhale. “Keep going for me.”
The sudden stimulation had lit his body up completely.
“God, you’re amazing.”
You knew him so well – knew exactly what he liked. The way you hummed softly around him, licked, sucked – so wet, so soft – perfect rhythm, perfect pressure. And most importantly: indulgent. Not rushed, but exactly the way you enjoyed it, too.
Leon loved it when you played with him like that – when your tongue wandered, when you kissed him. He could picture your watery eyes when you pushed just a little further, letting him slip past the barrier of your throat, making him see stars.
Every time he thought it couldn’t get any better, that you couldn’t possibly take him higher – you proved him wrong.
His eyes fluttered shut again, mind focused on nothing but you. Every single day with you felt like heaven – seventh, eighth, ninth, whatever – especially when you did things like this to him.
Without thinking, his hand moved from your back to your neck, gently massaging the soft skin there before his fingers tangled in your hair, searching for purchase, giving just the faintest nudge to keep going.
His lips parted for the heavy breaths his lungs struggled to keep up with, his heartbeat pounding hard in his chest.
You felt his fingers twitch against your scalp at the same moment his cock throbbed in your mouth, pressing against your slowly numbing lips. You knew he was enjoying this part the most, so you pushed through, keeping him firmly between your lips, your cheek hollowing, leaving no room for air.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, spilling freely down your already soaked face – mixed with spit from your messy, devoted attention – as you worked him with steady, purposeful movements, reading his cues, the pressure on your head telling you he was close.
God, how Leon wished he could see you right now – your perfect face, the way his cock disappeared into your mouth again and again. The thought alone sent heat crashing through his body, settling deep in his balls, ready to burst.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Doing so good, baby. I’m gonna come.”
In his sleepy state, his orgasms always felt different, somehow better. Like his body moved without his mind, driven purely by instinct, desire, need.
Leon couldn’t help but grab a handful of your soft hair as he came hard, the force of it nearly stealing his breath entirely – if not for the deep, chest-shaking groan that tore from him as his body tensed, releasing his load into the depths of your mouth. His hips lifted just slightly, an instinctive movement he barely managed to catch.
You took him like a champ, even continuing to move your beautiful lips along him, letting him ride out his climax, focused on not choking as he spilled hotly into your throat.
Only when his small movements eased and his grip in your hair loosened did you allow yourself to slow, carefully licking him clean and swallowing what he’d given you.
You followed the gentle – so very gentle – pull of his hand in your hair back up, emerging from beneath the blanket. The air above felt almost cold, no longer thick and heavy with sex like the cocoon you had just left.
Leon’s eyes settled on your face instantly, reverence and so much love in them as he lifted both hands to cup your cheeks, wiping away the traces of your effort with his thumbs.
Your tears fell victim to his touch while you quickly wiped over your mouth and chin, clearing away the lingering wetness.
Already, your still slightly dazed, heavy-breathing husband pulled you closer – half guiding you onto his chest as his soft lips met your sore ones, offering immediate relief.
He kissed you deeply, intensely, with so much fire meant only for you – everything you deserved in worship and devotion. He tasted himself on your tongue as he licked into your mouth, finally having your face close to his again.
Strong arms wrapped around you, pressing you against his large, welcoming body, grounding you in safety and warmth, just like he always did. The perfect man, who treated time with you as something sacred.
A soft, loving hum slipped from your lips against his, a smile forming as you pulled back just enough to look at him – his post-orgasmic haze giving way to that deep, steady contentment you loved seeing on him. You were sure it mirrored your own expression perfectly.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said softly, a warm smile on his lips. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, my love.”
You leaned into his hand as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You are –” Leon exhaled, granting your lips another soft kiss, “ – so, so amazing. I’m on cloud nine.”
Your chest swelled with quiet pride at his praise.
“Love when you have fun with him like that, too,” he added with a teasing smirk.
“Yeah,” you giggled. “I had fun. Wasn’t sure if you’d wake up right away.”
“Well, either way, it was a pretty nice surprise.” One of his large hands playfully slipped beneath your silky nightgown, caressing the soft skin at the small of your back. “Want me to return the favor?”
At a single word, he would have buried his head between your thighs and not come back up until his cock had recovered enough to take you again – slow, deep, filled with everything he felt for you. Another kind of heaven, as so many of them revolved around you.
“Actually – ” you drew some random patterns on his skin, “ – I was wondering if you could make me some chocolate chip pancakes. With orange juice? I feel like having a nice breakfast with you.”
There would be time for more intimacy later. Right now, you felt a little softer, a little more vulnerable, and wanted to be taken care of.
Leon understood instantly. His hand slipped from beneath your nightgown, instead tracing slow, comforting lines along your arm.
“Of course.”
With a sudden, playful motion, Leon rolled you onto your back and hovered above you, drawing out that light, carefree laughter he loved so much – so unguarded, so full of trust, knowing you were exactly where you wanted to be.
Your eyes told him the same, soft and full of affection as you looked up at him, one hand cupping his cheek, fingers brushing over his stubble.
One last time, he leaned down and kissed you, taking a few indulgent moments with your lips before finally pulling away.
“You stay here. I’ll get breakfast ready, and we’ll eat in bed, yeah?”
“That would be amazing,” you smiled.
“Anything for my girl.” His gaze softened even further – if that was even possible – his eyes completely free of the weight you always tried to help him carry. “My wife.”
And Leon Kennedy would want a fat woman to come home to.
At the end of the day that man needs some softness in his life, tender and gentle affection from his beautiful fat wife.
Oh the things he would do to you, how he’d hold onto your thighs, squeezing them with his strong hands.
Your leg thrown over his shoulder so he can fuck deeper into your fat pussy.
Speaking of pussy, he yearns to feel the soft flesh of your thighs squish his face as he indulges in the sweetness of your warm cunt.
And god, grabbing hold of your hips and growling against your clit when you whine about sitting on his face… girl he’s not afraid. If he dies he dies, and quite frankly being suffocated by your pussy is a far better way to go than being eaten by a zombie.
Anyways…
Sorry watching a playthrough and he’s doing things to me…
actually one more thing. i know for a fact that suna is so unbelievably well built and he acts annoyingly fucking nonchalant about it but you make the mistake of mentioning one time that he has a sleeper build bc he's constantly dressed in athleisure and he's like "i'm built like someone you wanna sleep with? damn that's crazy. so like when were you thinking specifically?"
thinking about how embarrassed you, the cute, chubby intern, would be, bumping into the chest of six foot something pro hero dynamight and nearly stumbling to the ground. he doesn’t budge an inch, except to save your dumb, clumsy ass. reaches an arm to quickly catch your waist n pull you in close… watches your face light up when your breasts start pressing into his chest. and he almost laughs at your expense when you start stuttering and fumbling—“sorry, dynamight, sir, i didn’t see you!”
and of course, the bastard, he teases you. bites down at you real gravelly, “you callin’ me small, cheeks?” (☹️ because he thinks that your chubby cheeks warrant their own nickname) and you just freeze up, start squeaking out “no no no”s and “you’re a mountain, dynamight, sir!”
you even try to wiggle away ‘cause you don’t wanna stall him—and he’s making you so fucking nervous—but he, again, doesn’t budge. brings you closer, even. the two of you chest to chest, as he’s staring down at you with sharp eyes and intense focus.
“you’re my assistant,” he scowls, stating the obvious. “but you’re always running away from me.”
like yes i’m running away from u if i dont i’ll end up cumming on your hero boots leave me alone
Lately, you’ve been thinking about having a baby.
Or: the fertility clinic au
Part 1
masterlist
It must be the mother of all quarter-life crises for you to be as torn up about this as you are.
(‘Mother of all’—what an apt phrase for a time like this.)
Two of your friends have babies and suddenly it’s all you can think about. Chubby cheeks and wrinkly fingers; diaper bags stuffed to the brim and shrill baby screams piercing through the house.
You try to help them out as best you can in those first few months, coming over with dinner wrapped in foil and snacks in Tupperware for the exhausted parents, offering to help run errands or tidy up the place while they try to catch up on sleep. The picture perfect friend.
You never thought it’d hit you like this until it does. Baby fever à la max. Even the word ‘fever’ undersells it—the feeling that overtakes you is like a blazing inferno, burning away every other want or desire apart from the one currently tearing you asunder.
It’s all you can think about from that point on. Babies, babies, babies. The milky smell of their heads, the flexible cartilage of their noses, their pudgy, wrinkly yawns and soft sighs. You make excuses to visit, offering to babysit whenever they look like they could use a night out, your agenda so transparent that anyone with eyes could see it.
All you can think when you look at them is that your life has been looking a lot like a house of cards these days: all style and no substance.
They get in your head, alright. That ominous they; not a specific person or group, just a nebulous, widespread opinion permeating far too many corners of your world. All that fearmongering about babymaking windows and that talk of rapidly vanishing fecundity—your eyes nearly bulge out of your head when you come across a TikTok of a thirty-six year old calling her eggs geriatric—and by the end of it, you swear you can hear your biological clock booming between your ears, one swinging gong after another.
You’re able to keep the beast at bay for a bit by tricking yourself into thinking that it’s just in your head. Just one of those things. You’re getting older—of course at some point you’d start to worry about the things you never got a chance to do. FOMO. Regrets blooming into full-blown crises. It’s only natural that it would start to get to you eventually.
Trying to convince yourself of that is not enough to shake the damn urgency from your blood though. You’re like a dog with a bone, too many late nights spent scrolling through parenting forums and conception tips, neither of which are of much use to you as a childless, partnerless person not currently trying for a baby. What does it matter to you if smoking reduces your chances of getting pregnant by forty percent? You don’t even smoke.
You might actually want to have a baby though. Mindblowing after all this time, to think that maybe it wasn’t just a fleeting fancy.
Mindblowing, then abruptly terrifying.
Your present situation is a bit dire. It’s been several years since you last had a partner, none you ever would’ve ever considered having a baby with. Absurd—worse than absurd even. And despite everything, despite the self-imposed countdown ticking away in your head and the stress causing your spine to curl in a half-inch more every single day, you are, thankfully, not desperate enough to reach out to any of them.
So you try. For a short period of time, you make a real, concerted effort to find a partner, going on three dates in a week, each more appalling than the last. It’s the last one that breaks you, your date not only unbearably dismissive to the waitstaff but also entirely uninterested in discussing anything about your life, completely preoccupied with recounting the minutiae of his own life story.
A swing and a miss. You made an effort at least, put yourself out there. Tried to do things the old-fashioned way.
It’s the twenty-first century though, for goodness’ sakes; there are more ways to start a family than just the tried-and-true method.
And that’s how you wind up here, at a fertility clinic on a Tuesday afternoon, PTO plugged into your work calendar with a secretive little “Appointment” reason left for being out of office. It’s no office-busybody’s business though. They don’t need to know about the increasingly debilitating need to have a baby that’s been overtaking you these past few months.
It would clear a lot of things up, but it still isn’t anyone’s business.
The waiting room is a simple, unadorned roost of a room, the walls lined with plastic eggshell-like chairs for all the eggs soon to be hatched. An oddly sterile space for the purpose it serves. It would be a little uncomfortable if it weren’t like every other waiting room in existence, minus any snivelling sick people.
There are other people besides you. Or rather, there were people. People that have already come and gone, not quite so anxious as to turn up an hour early for their two o’clock appointment, their stomachs grumbling from skipping lunch.
And so after the third couple goes in for their appointment with the specialist, you’re left on your own for a bit until a new person walks in.
A man this time, all by his lonesome.
And boy is he a specimen so fine that you can’t help but hope that he’s come to make a deposit. If they let you pick your donor based on build and gait alone, you think you’d have your man right here. You can barely drag your eyes away from him, glued to the rounded muscle of his back, gliding over the curve of his shoulders and up the thick of his neck.
After a brief conversation with the receptionist to check in, he drums his fingers across the counter and takes a seat on one of the little egg chairs along the wall facing yours.
Where he then proceeds to lift his head and lock eyes with you.
In retrospect, you wish you could describe it as a magical moment, but in reality, you just freeze in place, embarrassed at being caught staring. He’s a decently handsome enough man to be good fodder for any later self-care. Square-jawed and bearded.
Good hairline for his age, which you don’t want to take a crack at guessing, but if you had to, it would have to be somewhere around his mid-forties. Maybe late. But it touches him in just the right way, evident in the lines on his forehead and the pull of the skin around his eyes, his beard just ever so slightly flecked with the barest hints of grey.
The writing on the threadbare shirt he has on, almost hidden beneath the plaid shirt layered over it, is barely legible after countless washes. You can almost see straight through it. If you pinched the fabric between your fingers, you think your nails would poke right through. You could rip it right off him, get a better look at the dense pecs that you can just barely make out through his shirt.
You swallow, that thought catching you off guard.
Despite your own embarrassment, his gaze holds steady. Some people aren’t born with shame as a built-in foghorn. Some people look out into the world and genuinely believe it is theirs to conquer, raised on a diet of self-confidence and boldness, free-range audacity.
He’s bold enough, in fact, to rise to his feet and cross to the other side of the waiting room, taking a seat right beside you. He sits down beside you like you're old friends, like there's nothing strange about a man sitting beside a veritable stranger in a completely empty room.
It’s such a bold move that you don’t even know what to say at first, head turned towards him in the chair next to you now with some dumb expression on your face, gobsmacked.
“Can I help you?” you hear yourself ask, years of socialization coming to the rescue. Thank god the gears start turning in your head after that brief second of bewilderment.
“Not at all.” And what a voice too, as if his looks weren’t enough. All unintentional deep-chested purr, leonine English rumbling out of the depths of him, Northern accent to top it off. “Just thought I might introduce myself. Be polite, seeing as how we’re both here for the same reason.”
Unless he ran ahead of a wife still on her way up the elevator, you don’t think that’s the case. You glance around him just to double check the door. “Are we?”
“Maybe a pick-up instead of a drop-off in your case,” he concedes, a droll little note curled up in his voice. “But that’s not so different when the end result’s the same.”
You swallow and force an awkward smile, ignoring the way your heart speeds up. “Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, nice to meet you, um, circumstances aside.” You hold out a hand, which he doesn’t hesitate to take.
“Nothing wrong with the circumstances, but pleasure to meet you too, love.”
His palm feels huge around yours, a warm, firm grip that only yields a few moments later when you have to make an effort to pull your hand away, holding on for the fleetingest of seconds, long enough for a spark of anxiety to shoot through your chest.
You hope that’s the end of it when he finally lets go of your hand. Not because you don’t want to chat up an incredibly attractive stranger, but because you couldn’t imagine the timing being worse.
He, however, seems to have no qualms with carrying on. “Has it taken yet or are you shopping for donors today?”
It’s a horribly invasive question, but you answer it anyway, all buttoned-up and ginger. “Um. No, I’m just here for a consultation. There’ll probably be a lot of paperwork before, um…before we get started.”
“A lot of nonsense for something I reckon we could get done a lot easier together.”
It doesn’t register until it does. Then you just have to look at him and blink, confused.
“Excuse me?” you ask.
He cocks an eyebrow. “I haven’t got this wrong, have I? You said you’re here for a baby?”
“Uh, yes, that’s—that’s what I just said.”
“And I’m here to help someone like you have a baby. Seems like we’d be making both of our lives easier if we just skipped all the red tape and saved you the expense.”
“‘Save me the expense’?” you repeat, stunned.
“Won’t cost anything the natural way.”
You know what he’s insinuating, but you can’t believe it. You actually can’t believe that this man—a stranger, handsome as he might be, good-looking as he might be, husband-envy-inspiring as he might be—would openly proposition you in the waiting room of a fertility clinic. Offer to get you pregnant ‘the natural way’, as if it were a cold drink on a hot day. A side of fries with your order.
“I—I’m sorry, but that’s incredibly inappropriate,” you eventually wheeze out.
That gets a laugh out of him, one of those amused huffs that erupts out of him like a bear flicking a bee off its snout. “Can’t be cagey about this sort of thing, love. You have to be direct when you want to get things done.”
“You do know we’re in public, right?”
“I’d be happy to take this somewhere private.”
The heat under your cheeks might actually result in a physical burn. “I…think I’m going to find somewhere else to sit.”
“Ah, don’t worry about that, love, I’m gonna head out anyway.” A satisfied smile tugs at his mouth. “I think I got what I actually came for.”
Your frown deepens. “You haven’t even been called in yet.”
“Not what I meant.”
Before you can ask what he means, he shifts in his seat, leaning closer to you for just a second, but long enough for your heart to suddenly go wild and your pupils to go big as dinner plates.
“Here,” he grunts, lifting a hip to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, flicking it open and plucking out a business card. He flips your hand over and puts it down on your palm. “That’s my number. When you’re done here, give me a call. I’m sure we can come up with something better than this.”
He taps the card in your hand with a finger. It ricochets through you, the tap rippling up your arm and chest, nearly rocking you back in your seat. Everything he does must be punctuated with the same echoing weight.
He nods to you on his way out, a secretive smile on his lips, just the barest hint of a lift that you might’ve missed had you not been staring at his face. All you can do is stare though, still absolutely floored, practically speechless as you watch him leave.
And then you’re alone again, in an entirely different headspace than when you first sat down.
“John Price?” the receptionist calls out from behind the desk suddenly, but with the man gone, there’s no one else in the waiting room apart from you. “Mr. John Price?”
You blink, stun-locked. You can’t have been the reason he decided to back out of his appointment at the last minute. He must’ve decided to bail at the last minute before throwing a Hail Mary in an attempt to get laid.
That has to be it. He wouldn’t leave because of a brief interaction with you.
The waiting room feels a lot emptier without him now that he’s gone, as if by being made aware of his presence, everything has been indelibly altered. Changed. Slightly less interesting somehow.
You hover somewhere between bewilderment and affront until a flicker of giddiness steals in. Tamp that back down. He's gone, and with him the impossible audacity of what just came out of his mouth. You stare at the door that he just disappeared through, lips parting around a reply you'll never get to deliver, then let out a sharp, disbelieving scoff. The gall.
And yet, despite yourself, you can't quite smother the giddiness bubbling low in the pit of your stomach. Your fingers curl around the business card in your hand.
Eventually it’s your turn. You almost miss the sound of your own name until a lady in purple scrubs repeats it, sending you shooting to your feet. You follow her as she leads you down a hall and towards an open office just as clean and spartan as the waiting room. All there is in her office is a desk, a bookshelf, and a mobile ultrasound machine. Practically empty for all intents and purposes.
Ok lady, you think, sitting down across from her, what’s it gonna take to put a baby in me?
“Four thousand dollars,” she says matter-of-factly, the earlier part of your conversation long forgotten after hearing the price.
That just about knocks all the wind out of you. “Oh,” you bleat, the prospect of ever getting pregnant suddenly a sad and distant dream.
“Per cycle,” she further clarifies, much to your dismay, sliding a couple pamphlets your way. “We’re always hopeful that it’ll take on the first cycle, but we typically see about three to four cycles of IUI before conception occurs.”
IUI—intrauterine insemination. The sperm they have to shove up inside you to just and knock you up. At four thousand dollars a pop.
“There’s no…first time discount?”
“Excuse me?”
“Like the, um…like the home buyer’s loan.”
She seems vaguely apologetic when she shakes her head at least, though that doesn’t really ease the sting. “No, unfortunately. Most of our customers are first time parents, so—”
It wouldn’t make much business sense. “Yeah, no, I get it.”
You do your best to pay attention to the rest of the conversation and ask the right questions, but the sticker shock makes it hard to focus. At some point, the consultation must end because she sends you off with a folder full of pamphlets and QR codes to scan, and a follow-up appointment booked two weeks out for a blood test and a pelvic ultrasound.
No music on the drive home, just silence to let the events of the day marinate.
You know it’s likely just this clinic. It’s not like there aren’t other, probably cheaper clinics. But it’s the principle of the matter, the one factor that you hadn’t considered in this whole endeavour—you’d assumed, obviously, that raising a child in and of itself wouldn’t be cheap, but you hadn't even contemplated that the run-up to actually getting pregnant might be so cost prohibitive.
If you even get pregnant. You exhale in a rush, the thought hitting you like a sledgehammer. God, you might not even get pregnant. You might go through the whole treatment, waste thousands of dollars, and go half-crazy begging the universe to let you get knocked up, and it might not even take.
Dinner is a glass of white wine and burrito straight from the freezer, in no mood to cook or clean even a single dish. You should be cutting down on your alcohol consumption in anticipation of fertility treatments, but that’ll be a task for a later, less devastated you. You’ll rinse the hot sauce off your plate when you’re done eating and leave it in the sink for tomorrow morning.
It’s not how you wanted the day to end. You were hoping to come home invigorated and inspired, already prepping for the next steps in the process. Instead it feels like you’ve taken a massive step back.
Occasionally you like to look up flights to other countries just to imagine what it might be like to get away from your life for a bit, but the ticket price always brings you back down to reality.
This isn’t like that though; this isn’t some temporary flight of fancy or some pie in the sky that you’ll spend decades chasing down in your dreams, hoping for just a single bite or even just a whiff. This is something you actually, genuinely want. A baby. Something you can take with you into the future, something you can build your life around.
There’s got to be another way.
It’s a physical weight in your front pocket. You can feel it now, burning a hole in your hip. When you pull it out, the name John Price is printed on the card in a crisp, typewriter font, his phone number and occupation printed in the same sized font just beneath it.
You stare at the card long enough for your eyes to go dry. Blink. Breathe out, reluctance giving way to acceptance, as tentative as it might be. It certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing to ever happen. A fun night with a good-looking man, with the added benefit of getting a baby out of it, no strings attached. Not the most irresponsible decision anyone has ever made. Some people join the army, after all.
A shiver runs up your spine when you remember the way he worded it though. Sweat on your upper lip that you have to lick off, the salt sinking into the ridges of your tongue. You don’t think he meant turkey basters and plastic cups by getting it done ‘the natural way’. You saw the way he looked at you.
You could do it for a baby. Let him—and here, you have to squeeze your eyes shut and cover them with your fists—let him do what he has to do to get you pregnant. Cut out the middle man and just let him fit the heavy weight of his body over yours and pry your legs apart to let him sink between your—
Painfully shy reader getting absolutely obliterated drunk at the pub, losing all sense of timidity, and telling Gaz and Soap "I bet the reason Ghost actually hides his face is 'cause he knows everybody'd wanna sit on it".
Ghost overhearing, leaning over your shoulder, and letting you know "I'm just keeping your seat clean until you're ready to sit on it, love".
Obviously Simon fucks the embarrassment out of you the next day, but only after making sure you get your reserved seat nice and wet.
