warnings/tags: a lil neck kissin', nothing but sweetness
words: 1.4k
a/n: okay, here's that request. i do not know why but i was on the struggle bus with this and still hate it which is SOOOO annoying because it was such a sweet request. </3 i'm sorry for making you guys wait for me to just shit on y'all. ALSO!! SHOULD I WRITE SMUT YES OR NO!! MAYBE?? YES?? THOUGHTS?? IDEAS?? love y'all. <3
One of the staples of your childhood was food.
Food wasn’t just something to nourish the body. It was a tradition. Food meant family, it meant laughter, it meant playing with your cousins until the grass stains on your knees started to fade with the setting sun. To you, it meant normalcy and seeing everyone around the dinner table.
To Leon, food was just, food? Whatever the hell the standard definition of food is, really. Something you scarf down on your way out the door while you shove mismatched socks into untied boots. It never really meant anything to him traditionally. Granted, growing up, he never quite had anyone to share it with in a sentimental way.
Until he met you.
You were twenty, bright-eyed and eager. It was his first day at the DSO field office, and no one paid him any mind. These were the big leagues, no one cared what you survived, how you got there. Just that you did your job and had their six. But you… you walked up to him with a smile on your face and a covered glass dish. He was incredibly confused, and if he remembers correctly, he stared at you with a much more unapproachable look than he really meant to.
You introduced yourself, handing him the dish. “I’ve heard so much about you. I brought you pasta,” you shrugged, like this was just the bare minimum to you, “Just as a welcome to the division kind of thing. I hope you like pasta?”
He fucking loved pasta.
Through the whirlwind and uncertainties of your relationship with Leon, one thing was for sure;
When he came through the front door in the evenings, the first thing to hit him was the smell of something cooking.
Whether he was coming home from a day in the office with paperwork stacked on his desk so fucking high it was hard to believe he was even in there, or stumbling through the door after a bloody assignment, you were there. Really, he didn’t know how you did it. You were by no means a stay at home woman, matter of fact, you two worked on the same damn floor at headquarters. You chopped it up to being more efficient than him at your job, therefore getting out of there hours before he even so much as glanced at his stacks of reports, but he swore you could teleport.
Regardless of the method to your madness, your effort became one of the only constants in his life. Dinners you had freshly ready with his favorite ingredients after weeks away overseas, lunches you brought with you into the office for him in a Tupperware container with a sweet note and a kiss to the head, breakfasts that filled your homey kitchen in D.C. with the smell of bacon and the laughter of you and your daughter on Leon’s rare days off. Your cooking filled your house with family, friends, laughter, and great bottles of wine- a thing that he didn’t know he wanted or needed until you gave him that life. Your desire and excitement to keep him well-fed fell nothing short of a love language between the two of you, and as an added plus, it made him stay accountable in the gym!
But after some twenty-nine odd years of gatherings and dishes passed around the dining table, Leon’s favorite meals were the ones that were just the two of you.
You stood at the counter, leaned over on your elbows next to the stove, scrolling through one of those apps he couldn’t stand with all the dancing teenagers and jokes that made no sense on your phone. He wandered into the kitchen, all wet hair and the smell of cedarwood. He was fresh off a short, standard assignment a few states away, but even just the singular week that he was forced to live off the shitty military rations in his go bag was far too much for a man as culinary spoiled as Leon Kennedy.
Leon came up behind you, his hips pressing against the plush of your ass as his hands planted on the counter on each side of you. He leaned over, looking over your shoulder to see what you were so indulged in. “Whatever you’ve got going on the stove-” his eyes flicked over curiously to the stovetop, “-smells fucking amazing.”
You hum in acknowledgement, pressing the power button on your phone and setting it aside. “It should be done soon… Hungry?” You turned around in his arms, pressing your back against the counter so you were facing him. He exhaled a laugh through his nose, his sturdy arms wrapping around your waist. “Incredibly. Those poor kids in the service are getting fed shit I wouldn’t give to a goddamn dog. Now, agency’s got the audacity to send me out there with their bag o’ slop and expect me to jump up and down in excitement and go do their bidding. Baby, they’re starving me.”
You rolled your eyes at your husband, who as he’s gotten older has only grown more nitpicky towards his job. “Oh, poor Mr-I-Just-Bought-A-Two-Hundred-Thousand-Dollar-Porsche has to eat canned food for a week like the rest of the government peasants instead of all that organic shit you buy from Whole Foods (if someone had told you twenty years ago that string of words would come out of your mouth in reference to Leon, you would’ve laughed so hard you pissed yourself). How ever will we recover? Should we call the United Nations? Maybe the ICC? Oh god, let me call the president!”
Leon tilted his head like a concerned dog, his steely blue eyes bearing into your own. “Yeah,” his voice dropped in a way that made your breath feel sharper as you inhaled. “Mrs-My-Husband-Also-Bought-Me-A-Two-Hundred-Thousand-Dollar-Porsche, maybe you should make sure they’re taking real good care of me because if I quit, guess who’s car is getting sold first so we have some extra money. Spoiler alert, it sure as hell ain’t mine.” He leaned farther into you, closing the tiny space between your two bodies. “It’s your fault I’m spoiled now.”
“You’re damn right, I’ve given you champagne taste when our lovely president seems to be on a beer budget.” You plant your hand against his broad chest, pushing him back just enough to scoot past him to the stove. His eyes follow you as you move past him, a smirk threatening the corner of his mouth and no doubt some kind of snide remark following it up.
“I know something that’s given me champagne taste,” he said snarkily, his eyes slowly combing down your body. “Corny. Not your best work,” you shot back, thoroughly unamused at his poor attempt at… whatever you call that. “Go sit down, Romeo, I’ll make you a plate.”
Leon sauntered up behind you, his large hand splaying across your abdomen. You felt his head dip down and he began pressing soft kisses against the column of your neck, his teeth nipping the sensitive skin there. You drew in a deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut and your head falling back against his shoulder. “Don’t get distracted now, I thought dinner was of the utmost importance.” His voice was gruff against your skin, suddenly giving you brain fog about what you were doing as if the only thing to exist was the sound of his voice in that moment. “Mhm,” you hummed, still making no moves to resume your efforts of plating dinner. He planted a final kiss to your neck and straightened up before retiring to the less official breakfast table just off the kitchen.
You plate the food to your liking, making sure it’s presentable enough for a Master Chef competition before bringing it to Leon (who’s going to inhale it before noticing your masterful plating techniques). As soon as you enter, he puts his phone down and his eyes track you across the table, a small smile gracing his weathered, tough features. You gently place his plate down in front of him and press a kiss to the top of his head, the smell of his expensive shampoo grounding you and reminding you he’s alive.
“Thank you,” he said softly, reaching across to grab your hand and brushing a kiss over your knuckles. “I love you.”
You barely get the chance to get your reciprocated “I love you,” out before he’s eating like he’s never been fed a day in his life.
Fuck, it kind of makes you a little nauseous sometimes, but at least he was eating.
and if i said i had a stepparent kink then what?? BUT obv both are adults and it’s not like a stepparent since childhood thing yk?? and no “just became legal” shit either foh✋🏽🤨
summary: time to let leon do all the work for you! after all, if he's so needy, he should have no trouble figuring it out.
song: xg - no good
smut, bondage, top! reader.
You smile as you leaned on Leon's chest, chin resting on the backs of your hands and hips raised above his hard cock. Your knees dug into the mattress on either side of his legs, pussy hovering just out of reach from where he wanted you.
Leon tested the handcuffs holding his wrists in place above his head, brows furrowed when they barely moved. He couldn't even get out of them if he wanted to.
"Hm."
Your smile widened a fraction, flashing teeth. "Hm?"
"What was the point of this again?" He asked.
You tilted your head, a bit dog-like. You let a hand drop to his chest, tracing an absent circle with the tip of your finger.
"I'm calling your bluff." You replied simply. When Leon raised a brow, you continued. "You said you could do it no hands if you wanted it bad enough."
You shifted on your knees, letting your hips wriggle just enough to draw his attention lower from your mischievous expression.
"Is that gonna be a problem, Leon?" You asked with a taunting lit. "You-"
You couldn't get the rest of the thought out before Leon raised his hips sharply, entering you in a single, smooth motion.
"Ah..." Your breath caught in your throat, both from the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly, and from the fact that Leon could actually enter all the way without any assistance whatsoever.
His hips lowered until they hit the bed before he thrusted again, the muted slap of skin entering the air. This time, he kept the pace consistent, not even to give himself a break.
"Oh shit," you mumble, a laugh slipping out. Your fingers curl as you fight the urge to bounce on him.
Leon grunted with another thrust, your body jolting upwards with the impact of him hitting that good spot inside.
"You say something?" He teased huskily. He grunted again, thrusted again. "Am I so good you can't form full sentences?"
Heat rose to your cheeks at the taunt.
"Mmph- I'm completely fine!" You retort, though the way your thighs started to tremble with the effort of staying upright seemed to betray your lie.
Leon's thrusts seemed to pick up speed and force in response, as if to test it, and your broken moan only betrayed you further. Oh, it was going to be very hard not to come first at this rate.
i just get so pissed when im reading a “x reader” fic and reader is described to have small hands or it says something like: “you get on your tippy toes to give *character* a kiss” LIKE NO I DIDNT, I AM 5’9-10. i did not get on my tippy toes to kiss jack abbot, who is also 5’9. i literally read a fic that said: “you splayed your small hands across his chest.” well it wasn’t MY small hands thats for sure. not every girl is small and petite. and yes i do understand some women are, but some of those things aren’t necessary for writing.
if you’re going to do this, put it in your warnings or description PLEASE.
helloo! i'm very very shy and it's a little hard for me to find a fic with a shy reader. so can I request a oneshot with a shy (girl) reader? 😭😭😭
leon and his beautiful shy fiancée
fiancé!leon kennedy x fem!reader
leon takes you to your very first gala, hosted by president graham himself. you aren’t sure why you said yes in the first place.
fluff
1.6k words
c/w: leon makes 1 joke about seeing you undressed
a/n: my very first request!! 🥺 i wasn’t sure which era of leon you had in mind, so tried to keep the era ambiguous. thank you for your ask angel, i hope you enjoy <3 (also sorry if i missed any typos)
'what the hell am i doing?' you thought to yourself.
your mirror reflects someone you barely recognize—a silky black scarf draping over your shoulders, your hair pinned almost perfectly (after 30 minutes of doing and undoing it), your makeup heavier than what you're used to. you look lovely,but you don't feel like yourself, and it makes your nerves flutter painfully in your chest.
in your head, galas are for politicians and socialites, people who know how to glide across marble floors without looking like they snuck in, important people, like leon. just not you.
in the midst of your existential crisis, you hear three knocks on the door to your bedroom before leon walks in, already dressed.
"honey?" he says quietly, eyes on the floor incase you weren't dressed, like he already knows how wound-tight you are. he on the other hand—his suit is perfectly tailored, a gift from the president himself, and it fits him almost unfairly well. his blond hair is neatly styled in a wavy way that it never is. he finally looks up at you and his expression softens the moment he gains focus.
"hey there gorgeous" he smiles, a small titter leaving his mouth. "you look great." his eyes linger on your figure for a little too long.
you instinctively fold inward at the praise, covering your chest with crossed arms. "don’t stare."
he chuckles and leans against the doorframe. "you can't just casually look perfect and tell me not to look."
when your awkward expression doesn't change, leon changes his approach. he walks over to you, one arm reaching for your hair.
"although," he says softly, "i do think you look even more beautiful with your hair down." he says. he knows you prefer when he doesn't just dismiss your looks and actually provides an opinion. you look back at the mirror and adjust your posture, taking down your bun with a sigh. he helps you neaten the strands.
"there you go," he smiles at you through the reflection, then at you in person. you still feel a little weird, but you start to realize that how you look isn't the problem, which he can see in your face.
"hey," he murmurs, moving in front of you, blocking your view. you tilt your head up, confused. his gaze on you is steady, warm—nothing like the crowds you’re already imagining.
"you don’t have to be anyone else tonight," he says. "you don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. you don’t have to be there for anyone but me." a pause. "i know this is hard, but i really want you with me."
your throat tightens. "why?"
he reaches for your face, his hand cupping your ear and jaw.
"because even a crowded room feels empty when you’re not there," he admits. "and because i want to show off my beautiful fianceé."
you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "but i’m scared i’ll mess it up."
leon chuckles at this—not to make fun of you, he's genuinely confused. "mess what up?"
you give him a dry look, "seriously? the god damn president's gonna be there."
leon blinks at you for a second then actually laughs, a quiet huff through his nose like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that way.
"oh," he says, lips twitching. "that’s all you’re worried about?"
you give him another look, sharper this time. are you serious.
"hey. okay. yeah. i get it," he says gently. "president. fancy room. a lot of people who like the sound of their own voices." his thumb brushes your jaw. "but you’re forgetting something."
"what," you mutter.
"you’re going with me." he says it simply, like that settles everything. "i won’t leave you alone for even a second. if you want to leave early, we leave. if you want to hide in the ladies room, i’ll hide with you and close my eyes. if someone tries to talk your ear off—" he smiles, a little smug. "well, i’m very good at rescuing people."
your shoulders loosen just a fraction.
"and", he adds, softer now, "what the hell's mister president gonna do, fire me?" he says, as if the president is simply an old chump of his.
you hesitate, "what if i say something stupid?"
leon grins. "then i’ll say something worse. a bad joke. take the heat right off you."
that earns the smallest breath of a laugh from you, barely there.
he notices immediately.
"there it is," he murmurs, his face inching closer to yours, "that beautiful smile is all you need."
he presses a kiss to your temple. "come on," he says, offering his arm. "let me show you off. just for tonight."
you take it, still nervous, still unsure, but steadier than before.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
the drive to the venue is calm, mostly silent, his hand resting over yours on the console. he doesn’t try to fill the quiet—leon never does when you’re anxious. instead, his thumb rubs small circles into your hand, grounding you as the lights of the estate come into view; towering columns; security everywhere; the unmistakable weight of importance pressing down. when you arrive,
"this is it," leon says, casual, like he isn’t about to walk you into a room filled with world leaders. after he parks the car, he looks at you.
"if you want to leave at any point, just give me the word. no questions."
you nod, clinging to his promise.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
inside, everything glitters. chandeliers, polished floors, people, especially a lot of beautiful women who speak elegantly with ease and men who laugh too loudly. your fingers tighten around leon’s arm as conversations blur together, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. he leans down, his voice just for you. "y'know, half of these people aren't as important as they seem anyway."
president graham approaches the two of you and leon's posture straightens, but not away from you. his hand stays firm on your lower back.
"leon! glad you could make it," the president says, shaking his hand. he then turns to you with a kind smile. "and you must be leon's missus."
you freeze, words tangling in your throat. the god damn president.
leon answers gently for you, an unmistakable pride in his voice. "this is my fiancée, sir. y/n."
that word alone steadies you.
the president’s smile widens, eyes flicking between the two of you with interest. "fiancée," he repeats warmly. "well, congratulations. you’ve clearly done very well for yourself, leon."
heat rushes to your face, but leon’s thumb rubs lines firmly into your back.
"thank you, sir." leon says, easy but respectful.
you swallow, nodding once, and manage a small smile. “it’s really nice to meet you, um, mr. president.”
graham’s expression softens at that, amused rather than judgmental. "please, just call me graham. and for anyone with this guy here," he points at leon, "the pleasure’s mine." he says. "enjoy your night, you two." and he walks off. your eyes flick to leon in panic. he just smiles, soft, fond, unapologetic.
"ohmygoddidthatreallyjusthappen? hewantsmetocallhimgraham???" you blurt out, which makes leon let out a small chuckle. the tension in your chest eases when he does, just a little.
leon leans in, a gentle kiss on your hairline. you huff out the faintest laugh, and for the first time all night, you realize your hands aren’t shaking anymore.
the rest of the evening unfolds slowly. leon shields you from overwhelming conversations, but keeps you anchored at his side, occasionally murmuring dry comments that make you smile despite yourself. when dancing begins, he doesn’t rush you—just holds out a hand. you stare at it for a second, like it might bite.
"come on, it'll make you feel better," he says quietly, already reading the hesitation on your face.
you glance around the room, then you look back at leon. "…okay," you say, barely above a whisper.
his smile is small, proud, and he leads you to the floor without ceremony. no spin, no show—just you and him. his hand settles at your waist, firm and warm, the other holding yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
"just move with me," he murmurs.
the music is soft, it sounds like it's forgiving you. you focus on leon’s shoulder, on the rise and fall of his breath, on the way he subtly shifts to keep you in step.
"you really do look beautiful," he whispers.
you let yourself lean into him, your cheek brushing his chest, hidden from the rest of the room. the marble floors, the chandeliers, the potentially watching eyes—they fade until it’s just the two of you moving slowly, imperfectly, together.
"but for the record," he says, "you'd look beautiful even if you weren't wearing all this." and you smile against him, shy but real.
"well, i personally wouldn't mind if you weren't wearing anything at all." he jokes, making you pull away to slap him on the chest. you can't help but laugh a little too loud.
leon’s laugh follows yours immediately, his hand tightening at your waist to keep you close even as you scold him.
"worth it," he murmurs, a smug grin on his unapologetic face.
you shake your head, still smiling, cheeks beginning to ache. "you’re an idiot."
"mm," he hums, leaning in so his mouth brushes your ear, voice dropping. "but you’re smiling."
you still, then sigh, the last of your nerves melting away as the music carries you along. he sways with you, slower now, like he’s in no rush to be anywhere else. your smile doesn't falter.
"thank you," you whisper after a moment. "for bringing me... and staying with me."
he looks at you with quiet devotion, his eyes full of nothing but admiration. "there’s nowhere else i’d rather be."
he spins you around once, never letting go of your hand, and in this moment, the gala becomes just another room—and leon, the only thing in it that matters. for the first time that night, you stop thinking about where you are, and start thinking about how happy you feel.
warnings: none!
a/n: hello all!! first post in a while, this is a fun little warm up for me. this is based off the movies, haven't read the books yet. also ALL JOKES. hope y'all enjoy:)
frodo
english, specifically creative writing
after all the adventures he's been through, he has a lot of material to draw from imo
maybe a minor in anthropology??
sam
culinary arts DUHHHH
yk bro is cheffing up in the dorms
probably sells meal preps to the jocks or smth, def makes money off his cooking somehow during his time on campus
merry
this one is lowk hard
i feel like he would switch majors at least twice
eventually i think he'd settle with international relations, he'd make a good diplomat i think!!
pippin
clown school
KIDDINGGGG if we're being serious… theater??
i think he'd be really good at stage fighting
musicals would be his jam
aragorn
public and social services fs
that's my glorious king he's here to SERVE the people
would make a really good case worker, yk he cares!!
hey y’all i’m SO SORRY for the lack of writing lately🥲 trust i’ll be back soon!! i’ve got some ideas for cassian, legolas, and more:D thanks for ur patience lolol, excited to post more soon!!
summary: your roommate ambushes you in your own home with congressman bucky and captain america sam. chaos ensues as joaquin convinces you to let them stay for dinner.
warnings: joaquin burns his hand very mildly, a little jealousy, and there’s cursing but overall it’s just fluff. also sambucky is real ! they are canon to me !
wc: 2.3k
-
“Quino,” your voice echoes through your entryway. “There wasn’t any blue gatorade. I know you said the red one is for losers who aren’t real athletes, but they were having a sale and I…” Your words trail off after you toe your shoes off, your sock clad feet halting to a stop as you step into the living room, bags of groceries in either hand.
“Evening,” a closed lip smile is tossed your way, accompanied by a casual hand wave from an unfamiliar figure on your couch.
“How are you doing today, ma’am?” Another voice has your head snapping to the left, near the mantle where several pictures of you and Joaquin are placed.
“‘Ma’am’?” You respond, head jerking back in offense. “I’m not a ‘ma’am’—” Cutting yourself off, you redirect your attention away from the two strangers in your home. “What…the hell is happening? Joaquin!” Your shout echoes through the walls of the house. Not even a second goes by before a loud hasty crash could be heard, followed by frantic footsteps against the wood.
“You’re home,” Joaquin lets out breathlessly, rushing into the living room, nearly tipping over from his speed. “Did you get my texts?” he rushes the words out, taking in your expression before shaking his head fervently. “You didn’t get my texts.” Joaquin rambles as he walks towards you, grabbing the bags from your hand. Turning his puppy dog eyes on, he looks over at Sam and Bucky, then back at you. “We, um, we have guests. Coming over. Today.” Joaquin stutters, “Right now. We have guests over right now.” His voice is sheepish as he takes in your look of wrath.
One Friday, you think to yourself, shaking your head at your roommate. Just one Friday where I can come home to something normal so I can watch my damn baking show in peace.
The two of you communicate with your eyes and through microexpressions, having an entire conversation spanning the course of fifteen seconds as Sam and Bucky stare intensely. After the two of you came to a conclusion, your gaze snapped over to your unexpected guests as you plaster on a smile. “Welcome to our house.”
Joaquin facilitates brief introductions before you invite the duo to ‘make themselves at home.’
Your eyes flicker to their empty hands and the equally empty coffee table. Turning to Joaquin with a tight smile, you ask through gritted teeth, “You didn’t offer them anything to drink?” There’s a clear threat in your voice. All surprise aside, if you were raised to be one thing at all, it was to be hospitable, and you’ve always forced Joaquin to be the same.
Sensing his impending danger, Joaquin shrinks on himself, and turns to Sam and Bucky with a weak, “Would you guys like anything to drink?”
Had it been any other guest, they would have respectfully declined or asked for a simple water, given the clear tension in the air. But it’s Sam. And Bucky. Watching you ridicule Joaquin.
“You know what, I’m actually really parched,” Bucky starts, placing a hand to his throat, “What about you Sam? You feeling thirsty?”
“Now that you mention it, Buck, my throat is, like, super dry,” Sam says hoarsely, turning to Bucky with a look of concern on his face.
“Quino.” You chastise, look on your face turning murderous.
“We have water, juice, wine,” Joaquin laughs nervously, avoiding looking at you as he wrings his hands in front of him. “Sounds like we just got some gatorade, too!”
“I’ll do a glass of red, if you don’t mind,” Bucky looks at Joaquin, finger on his chin as he fakes inquisition.
“Same,” Sam smiles widely, placing his hands into his pockets.
Joaquin announces that he’s ‘on it,’ but just as he turns around to rush into the kitchen, he pivots. Dashing towards his torturers, Joaquin grabs Sam and Bucky into an impromptu huddle against their will. “Take your shoes off before she notices, hurry, do it now!” he whisper-shouts, before pushing them away. Joaquin gives you a wide smile as he passes, now heading for the drinks.
The duo both look down towards their feet, then the deceptively sweet smile on your face. The three of you follow the same visual path, landing back at the dirt-clad boots Sam sprouted and the polished brown loafers Bucky had on. They watched as the smile slowly slid off your face, and before you even managed to open your mouth, their shoes were flying off.
-
“Texting me ten minutes before I got home, really?” you keep your voice low, but harsh. The sound of your whisk slapping against the metal bowl fills the kitchen as you whip up some homemade mashed potatoes.
“They’re going through some sort of rough patch right now,” Joaquin whispers back from his seat on the counter. “In some sort of career, political disagreement. I just thought it’d be better for them to sit down and have dinner together to talk it out instead of some cold government facility of Sam’s choosing.” Your roommate leans in, “Between you and me, I’m pretty sure Sam’s the one pushing for separation, not Bucky.” He leans back, “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Joaquin got lucky. Or maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe it was premeditated. But regardless, your unexpected guests are in for a treat.
Baking you may have no luck at, but cooking. Cooking you can do. “It’s easy,” you’ve told Joaquin countless times. “Intuition. Just measure everything with your heart,” you’ve advised him. It’s always worked for you, and unlike baking, it wasn’t so scientific. Not everything had to be so exact.
So, yeah, baking is definitely not your style.
Unfortunately, neither of them seem to be Joaquin’s style.
The horror on your face when you walked into your absolutely wrecked kitchen after getting Sam and Bucky settled was unmatched. You had let out a small cry, hands covering your eyes as though it would somehow erase the mess as Joaquin had made while you were gone. His complacencies had gone in one ear and out the other, his attempts at being reassuring were worthless. You kept your eyes closed for as long as you could, and when you opened them again, all of the dishes and utensils Joaquin had destroyed were tucked into the furthest part of your counter in a mountain. In the middle of the space, your roommate stood there with a smile on his face as though he had solved the issue.
You hissed at him to just put one of the aprons on and to “try not to screw anything else up!”
That had been about an hour ago. Now, with the steaks resting and the sides nearly done your eyes shoot over to the clock. You ignore Joaquin’s tidbit of gossip, and with a pointed look, you tell him to go check in on your guests and set the table.
He frowns, clearly upset that you’re still upset with him. But nonetheless, Joaquin heeds your words and hops off the counter. Walking into his living room, Joaquin finds the brooding duo on opposite sides of the couch, still. You had turned the TV on for them, British Baking Show blasting across the screen, but neither of them seem to be paying attention. They’re so stiff.
“Dinner should be ready in just a bit,” Joaquin calls out. “We can head to the dining table now.”
Sam turns back to look at him, ready to say ‘thanks,’ but the words never make it past his lips as he takes in Joaquin’s attire. “What…is that?” he asks in genuine perplexity, brows furrowed. Reaching over, Sam slaps Bucky’s arm, drawing his attention.
When Bucky turns around, he can’t help that the same look takes over his face, jaw slack in shock.
Joaquin puts his hands on his hips, oblivious to the flour sticking to his cheek and hair. The pink apron dotted with hearts sits comfortably on his body, and he simply raises his eyebrows in confusion. The embroidered ‘Quino’ at the top left did not go unnoticed by either of their watchful eyes. “What do you mean?”
It’s clear that he’s serious, the hero not playing obtuse in any way, and Bucky is the only one who can manage an answer as he rolls his lips inward. Popping them, he shrugs, “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He pinches Sam behind the couch, a silent signal that says stop staring.
“Do you guys want more wine?” Joaquin offers, accepting the answer with a smile on his face.
“I…think I’m good for now, man,” Sam finally finds his tongue, Bucky’s insistent tapping not doing much to force him over his shock.
When Joaquin turns his back, heading towards the kitchen once more, he misses the way Sam turns to Bucky with a glare. “Did you see what he was wearing?” an accusatory point in Joaquin’s direction.
“What is he? Barefoot Contessa?” Bucky replies, in equal shock, a chuckle falling past his lips.
The two of them share a laugh at Joaquin’s expense, not moving away from each other afterwards as they turn their gazes back to the television.
-
“Wonderful meal,” Sam compliments, wiping his mouth with the fancy napkins you had Joaquin grab from the closet. “Really, thank you.”
“Truly delicious, doll,” Bucky sent a wink your way, and Joaquin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, his own bite of food going bitter in his mouth.
It’s been like this all dinner.
The Super Soldier may present himself as standoffish, but his personality seems to be shining through just moments after meeting you. He was charming, and confident, and apparently a ‘sucker for a homemade meal’ (Bucky’s words, not Joaquin’s), the usually cold man has been laying it on thick.
“If you cooked like this every night,” Bucky says with a low whistle, “you’d have a line of suitors wrapped around the block. Guys would be beggin’ for a seat at this table.”
You laugh as you collect the empty salad bowl, nudging Joaquin’s shoulder lightly as you make your way around the table. “Only if they bring wine and offer to do the dishes after.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky grins. “In my day, a girl like you would’ve had proposals before dessert.”
Face shoved into his glass of water, Joaquin grumbles out, “It’s not your day anymore.” But between the laughter roaring around the table and the clanking of the dishes, no one hears him.
When you come back with empty hands, you stand behind Joaquin’s chair with your hands on his shoulder. He relaxes into your grip as you ask, “Who’s ready for dessert? The cookies aren’t homemade, but trust me, everyone is safer for it.”
“You could serve me cereal in a bowl and I’d happily enjoy it, doll.”
Joaquin pushes his chair back, cutting you off mid-laugh as the back of his chair collides with your midsection. “I’ll grab the cookies,” he looks back at the table with a fake smile.
The kitchen is still warm from your cooking, and Joaquin is glad for the excuse to be in the heat alone. His ears twitch in irritation as he hears another one of your laughs float in from the dining room, light and musical, followed by Bucky’s low voice.
Though he walks towards the oven, Joaquin’s body leans back as he tries to look out towards the table. He can just make out your and Bucky’s figure, and his lips turn downward into a pout at your close proximity.
Opening the oven door, Joaquin keeps his eyes trained on the two of you, occasionally flickering to a chuckling Sam as he reaches for the cookies. Blindly, he grasps one of the trays, reaching in barehanded.
“Shit!” he yelps, jerking back as the tray clatters onto the oven racks and falls against its door. “Ugh, fuck,” Joaquin groans, gripping his burnt hand with his non-injured one, face scrunched in pain.
“What happened?” you shout, hands grabbing Joaquin by the biceps to spin him towards you. “Oh my God.” He lets you grab his hand in yours, “You didn’t use a mitt?!”
“I was distracted!” he shouts, yanking his hand back in pain.
You blink at him, hands on your hips. “By what?” you shout back, matching his volume.
Joaquin turns his back to you in sass, hesitating as he says, “The…the tray.”
Narrowing your eyes at him, you tug him back in your direction. “You had one job, Joaquin!”
“Well! It wasn’t an easy job,” he resists as you snatch his burnt hand back towards you, dragging him towards the sink and submerging it under a stream of cold water.
“Taking cookies out of the oven wasn’t an easy job?” you lecture him. “You’re The Falcon!”
Ignoring you, Joaquin voices his grievances. “That hurts so bad. Oh God, I have a third degree burn, don’t I? We need to go to the hospital,” he whines when you turn the water off and press a clean rag to his palm.
“You’re The Falcon!” you emphasize again, opening the cabinet to grab your first aid kit. “Could you be any more dramatic?”
Joaquin lets out another noise of complaint when you apply Neosporin to his very minor wound, and you shake your head as you continue the lecture, “Joaquin, you were in the Air Force, you’ve been in war! Stop—” you hiss when he tries to wrench his hand back. “Stay still!”
“That hurts!”
“Stop being a baby!”
“Can’t you be gentle?” Joaquin complains, shouting.
“No!” you respond, knowing that you were being as gentle as humanly possible already and that your roommate is being overly sensitive.
The two of you continue your bickering, voices overlapping one another in a way that inevitably drifts into the dining room.
From the table, Bucky watches through the open kitchen doorway, sipping the remnants of his wine. Sam leans in, too, head tilted like he’s watching a soap opera.
In the kitchen, you’ve finally succumbed to Joaquin’s complaints as you blew air softly onto Joaquin’s burn, shushing him as he continued screaming in pain.
“Who would’ve thought…the kid has a healthier marriage than us,” Bucky mutters, nodding towards you both.
Beside him, Sam hums in agreement, not looking away from the oblivious couple.
pairing: cassian andor x reader
synopsis: you and cassian try something new!
warnings: smut. minors dni. dom!reader (afab), sub!cassian, hair pulling, begging, dacryphilia, traffic light system, petnames (my love, sweetheart, baby)
a/n: sorry this took so long! i got a job lol. y/n was on a mission and it was CARRIED OUT. i need to suck his dick sooooo bad</3
after returning from the store for some moski peppers, you find cassian in the kitchen. he's wearing a navy blue apron and that tight black shirt that hugs him just right. his hair's grown out a good bit, enough that he's tied some of it back into a little bun. it's the epitome of domesticity and the sight is making you go a little crazy. your nails dig into your palm, trying to ground yourself as you approach him.
"i'm back! got those peppers you wanted," you say, placing the bag on the counter next to him. he looks up from the chopping board and takes you in with a smile, like he always does.
"welcome back. thank you," he says, giving you a quick kiss. he takes a pepper back to the board and begins chopping it. "did you run into any trouble?"
"no, nothing thankfully," you sigh in relief. "but i do have a problem that needs working out..."
cassian doesn't look up from the chopping board as he responds. "mhmm?"
your teeth bite into your cheek for a moment before you position yourself behind him. planting a few slow kisses to his neck, he chuckles, leaning into you.
"ohhhh, i see. you want something," he remarks, smirking.
you hum thoughtfully, placing a few more kisses before responding.
"maybe. i have a proposal," you start. "you're captain, yes?"
"yeah, your point?" he asks.
"that means you're good at taking orders, right?" you say, hands wandering over his torso.
"i'd say so," he agrees. "what're you getting at?" he abandons the chopping and turns to face you.
"i was thinking we could try something... how about you obey my orders tonight?" you propose.
“oh yeah? and what would you do to me, hmm?” he challenges, chin tilting up in a cocky manner.
you rise to the question with ease, hand wrapping around his neck gently. his pulse quickens under your fingers.
“mmmm, whatever i want,” you purr.
cassian's pupils dilate for a fraction of a second and it boosts your ego enough to continue.
"it wouldn't be anything too crazy, unless you want it to be. it's something i've been thinking about for a while. but if you don't feel comfortable, i understand. just think about it may-"
he cuts you off before you can finish. "i want to. i want to try it," he murmurs. taking your hand, he kisses the inside of your palm gently. "please."
the desperateness in his tone almost makes you snap, but you compose yourself.
"are you sure? i don't want you to feel pressured, my love. i want us both to have fun," you say, searching his eyes. he takes a breath before responding.
"i trust you, y/n," he states firmly. "you know i do. and i know you wouldn't break that trust." he squeezes your hand as if to cement the fact you both know. he trusts you. your heart thumps harder at his honesty.
"ok. thank you. really," you say earnestly. giddiness and nerves fill you, but you push on. "you know the traffic light system? red for stop, yellow to slow down, green to keep going?"
he nods.
"great. ok. umm..." you trail off, hands fidgeting at your sides. "i told you i think about this a lot, but know that i'm about to do it, i'm a little nervous."
cassian smiles softly. "don't be. order away." it's that charm, that self-assuredness that makes you want to tear him apart. straightening your spine, you look at him fiercely.
"kiss me," you order him. for a moment, you wonder if this was a mistake, that he'll laugh. but cassian is all too keen to grab your waist and pull you into him, kissing you roughly. your hands find his hair and yank hard, earning a moan from him.
"did i say anything about touching?" you ask, eyes hard. your hands grip his locks and pull his head back. "i don't think i did."
despite the pain, cassian feels his dick twitch. his hands drop from your body in a flash.
"n-no, no you didn't. i'm sorry," he gasps. no movement to try and escape, you note. an evil grin creeps up your face.
"awww, you're sorry?" you coo in faux-concern. "i have a way you can make it up to me."
his eyes meet yours hopefully and you see tears welling up. it makes your cunt drool.
"those pretty tears won't make me stop, you know," you giggle, nipping his neck. a dazed look has painted over him. you lick his neck to snap him back to reality. "color?"
"green, green... maker, y/n," cass murmurs. the grip on his hair softens and you place a kiss to the corner of his lips. there’s a beat before you decide what you want to do next.
“bedroom, cmon,” you say, taking his hand in yours and walking over.
“i’m liking this new side,” cassian chuckles, following you eagerly to your shared sanctuary.
the two of you stand in the middle of the room, lights dimmed low. he looks at you for an order, but you don't give him one just yet. instead, you circle him slowly, taking him in.
the stubble dotting his face, his strong, commanding nose, there were a myriad of things about him you adored. and not only those things. you loved his attentiveness, his unwavering devotion to you and the rebellion, and that despite everything, he was hopeful. you couldn't ask for a better partner.
a slow, possessive hand trails down his clothed chest. cassian stiffens, wanting to touch you, to guide your hand where he really needs you. but he just opts to take a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.
"take everything off and sit," you say, tugging at the hem of his shirt. cassian obeys, removing everything. slowly. the sight of his bare chest makes you want to swoon, the hair there arranged in a way that makes you want to bury your head in it. his cock is perfectly shaped, leaning a bit to the side with a soft plum coloring the tip. and the best part? he was leaking.
"giving me a show?" you smile, appreciating the view. the tips of his ears turn red, a slight blush dusts his cheeks. "don't be shy, baby. i like seeing what's mine."
at this, cassian whines. "what's yours, huh? fuck, y/n. you're good at this."
"glad you think so, sweetheart, but we've barely started," you smirk.
cassian sits on the edge of the bed. the next move you make surprises him. sinking to your knees, you make yourself comfortable between his legs, lips inches away from his cock.
"w-what are you doing?" he asks, fighting with myself not to buck towards you.
"what's it look like? m'gonna suck you off. duh," you say, rolling your eyes playfully. "and you're gonna sit there and take it, ok? no moving."
you lean down to lick up and down his shaft teasingly, and damn it, he can't help himself. cassian bucks towards you just a little and immediately regrets it. with a sigh, you pull back.
"wait, no, no-" he begins to protest. a pointed look from you stops him from going further.
playing pretend, you sigh in "disappointment". a few choice kisses inch further and further to his inner thighs, earning trembling breaths from cassian and a smile from you.
"shame, that was supposed to be easy. 'no moving', i thought, 'he should be able to do that, right?'" you tut. "but you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"
"how could i have kept still? your mouth just felt so good, i couldn't not move!" he grumbled.
"i know, baby, i know. but you wanna be good for me, right? make me proud? i'll reward you, promise," you wink up at him. he sighs, tilting his head back for a moment. your hand rests on his thigh gently.
"color?"
"green... damn it."
"that's what i thought."
with that, your lips greet him in one fell swoop, all the way to the base. the gasp that emits from cassian makes you giggle again, the vibrations fueling his pleasure. drool spills from your mouth as you take him in and out, in and out, in and- then you stop. take a moment to breathe. you take your time kissing his balls, seeing how they twitch with every act.
long lashed eyes flick up to look at him. his hair is a bit messy, knuckles white from gripping the sheets. the captain that you know and love is struggling to keep his composure all because of you. he's wrapped around your finger, mind, soul, and especially body.
the more and more you take him in your mouth, the more that famous composure of his breaks down. he's whining, moaning, groaning, all the prettiest noises you ever did hear escaped from his lips. you groan at the sight of him, making him twitch in your mouth.
"m'gonna cum! i wanna move so bad, shit-" he looks down at you teary eyed.
you just bat your lashes at him, continuing until he has no other choice but to unravel with a strangled cry. the taste of him is a little tangy, nothing unpleasant. it's no problem for you to swallow him down greedily and keep going.
"ungh! oh my god, wha- fffuuuckk!" cassian can't help but buck into you now, so with quick hands, you pin his hips down and abuse his sensitive head, swirling your tongue deliriously around him. and it's all just so much for him, the poor thing. he's whining, begging, crying for you to stop. but no colors are uttered, so you continue.
his mind is melting. the mixture of pleasure and pain is addictive and soon enough, he feels that coil in his stomach tighten up again. the whines and pleads grow louder and louder as he cums again. you keep licking his head and he decides he can’t take it anymore.
"yellow! please, please, hah-," he breathes out. you hum around him one more time before detaching yourself. a long, glinting trail of saliva connects the two you for a moment, a reminder of the sinful act just seconds before. you rest your head on cassian's thigh, looking up at him.
"thank you for honesty, baby,” you coo. “didn’t think you’d enjoy it so much. you only said ‘yellow’ after you came.”
tears escape his avoidant eyes but he can’t help but look at you anyway. “and what about it?” he sniffles, a little embarrassed.
your eyes narrow. “don't be smart with me now, especially after you just cried like a slut."
he chuckles at that. "fine, fine. but wow, you really were thinking about this a lot, huh?" he teases.
and now it's your turn to blush. "i mean, yeah. s'not my fault you look so submissive and breedable," you confess.
"wait, what?!" he balks. you laugh, rising to kiss him slowly.
"we can try that next round," you suggest, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. his eyes widen.
"next round?"
a gentle shove lays him flat on the bed. you look down at him, smirking.
"you thought i was done?"
end note: AHHHHH i had a whole other section of this wrote, but maybe that can be in a possible part 2?? hope you enjoyed!! pls like, reblog, or comment if you feel so inclined, i read everything lol<3
Marc Spector x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •
This was written for the @the-oscar-isaac-collective Coffee and Cream NSFW Zine, which you can download (for free!) here!
There are so many amazing stories and fanworks that such talented people made <3
Summary: Marc gets a little tied up.
Warnings: Kissing, swearing, dom/sub, sub!Marc, bondage, begging, p in v sex, cream pie, please let me know if I've missed a warning.
Word Count: 1636
Marc had toyed with the idea before. Rolled it around in his head like he was trying to wear the edges thin, to smooth the whole thing out.
But he often put a metaphorical pin in it, pushing it to the back of his mind to grow and fester and rear its head late at night when he had all but forgotten about it.
It wasn’t about control, or the lack of it per se. It was more about him being able to physically give it up; to make that choice himself, instead of it being made for him.
As with most things that he desired, he had approached you a little nervously. Almost certain of your immediate refusal or belittlement despite what previous history told him.
He had been surprised when he brokered the subject with you and you had agreed straight away, your only queries to do with his personal safety and well-being.
Which is how he found himself now, kneeling on your shared bed, completely bare. His arms were tied with heavy but soft ropes behind his back, another binding around his ankles joining the ones around his wrists. His legs were spread wide to keep his balance and there was a series of intercrossing knots across his chest and thighs.
Marc had expected to get hard, of course he had. But he didn't expect to get hard so quickly. You’d barely tied his hands behind his back and he was already at half mast, by the time you were working on the pretty knots across his chest he was throbbing and leaking, silently begging for your attention.
But he kept quiet and still, on his very best behaviour. The only difference was the slight softening of his expression, the way his eyes glazed over ever so subtly.
You left him there for a while, as he had requested from your previous discussion. Just went about your day in the flat, making yourself a drink, checking your phone on the sofa, all while he sat, squirming the tiniest amount.
He breathed in and out deeply, his cock twitching against his stomach and smearing precum on his skin. The feeling of the ropes gently scraping against him was more intense than he thought they would be. More overwhelming and pleasantly distracting. They made a lot of his normally extreme and loud thoughts simply fade. Die down as if there wasn’t enough material for them to burn on.
It was nice really. Not having to listen to his mind racing so loudly, much more content with a gentle background hum.
“Marc?” Your soft voice snaps him back to reality.
“Hmm?” He looks up at you as you touch his cheek, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.
“You okay?”
He nods.
You stroke his hair softly and his eyes flutter closed for a second, his chest puffs out as he takes in a long, deep breath.
You pause for a moment, enjoying the contentment on his face before you speak. “Do you want to start what you spoke about? Or would you like to do something else?” You keep your voice soft and low.
“Start.” He says with a satisfied sigh.
“Okay.”
A little regrettably you take your hand away from him to slowly take off your clothes.
He watches you eagerly, the air catching in his throat as you strip and excitement burns deep in his belly.
When you reach forward and touch his length he jumps, his bottom lip between his teeth, and lets out a soft groan.
You smile at his reaction, at the desperate look in his sweet eyes. He breathes deeply as you stroke him, his skin hot and velvet soft under your fingers.
It’s oddly nice having him under your control like this, knowing he has placed his trust completely in your hands.
He’s quiet too, not speaking in his usual feverish onslaught of words that he normally does when you’re together like this. He seems too wrapped up in the sensations to even form a coherent sound.
His muscles tense, clenching and unclenching as he shook under the effort to keep still, the ropes minimalising the tremors and small movements. He tried to keep some level of control over himself, to just take what you would give without squirming for more. But it was becoming increasingly difficult.
He couldn’t hold back a choked sob of bliss as you ran your thumb over his weeping head, smearing the precum. The urge to close his eyes and throw his head back was becoming so strong it was nearly overpowering.
Marc whimpers low in his throat, gasping his air out as he rocks ever so slightly up into your hand.
“Good?” Your voice brings him back to reality once more. It’s like he can suddenly feel the sheets under his knees, the ropes around his wrists.
He nods rapidly, “Really good.”
You smile up at him and he groans, biting his lip. “Can you…?” He swallows.
You raise your head slightly, encouraging him to continue without overwhelming him.
“Can you sit on me?” His voice comes out quiet, a fraction more timid than he would usually allow, but he’s too far gone to care.
You lean up, still stroking him and kiss his soft lips once. “Of course I can.”
He moans, his mouth open, practically breathing in your oxygen. “Thank you,” he mutters, repeating the phrase over and over again as you climb on top of him.
It’s a little awkward, given the angle. But you manage it using his shoulders and the headboard for support as you carefully line your entrance up with him.
He tenses completely as you start to sink down, lips slightly parted and gasping. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
With how wide his own legs are parted it means you have to spread yours even further and as you sink down you realise how much bigger he feels from this angle, stretching you to the limit.
You have to adjust a fraction, moving your right leg so it’s dangling off the edge of the bed, just so that you can keep your balance while you ride him.
Marc mumbles into your throat, only moving back when he’s completely inside. “You’re so wet.”
“Like watching you like this.”
A flush of heat runs along his skin and twists in his stomach. He gives you a bashful smile.
“Like knowing you’re having a good time.”
He nods enthusiastically again, kissing your cheeks before he kisses your lips. “Thank you.”
“You don’t need to thank me.” You whisper, stroking his sweat slicked curls back as you start to move, gently rocking your hips up and down as you place feather light kisses to his jaw.
Marc sobs, he moves with you as best he can considering his limited ability. Pressing his chest out and gasping loudly with each deep thrust. It was like everything was heightened, sharpened into a pinpoint while the rest of the world faded back into a haze.
All there was, was you and him and the profound throb of pleasure that radiated from the base of his heavy cock.
You started to move a little faster, dragging your hips up until you were nearly disconnected before painstakingly slipping all the way back down.
Pleasure flares up your spine, sparking along your legs. You try to swallow your moans, not wanting to drown out the sweet sounds Marc is making in your ear.
It’s difficult though with how he presses so perfectly inside and you can’t help but let yourself chase your orgasm, controlling the pressure and tempo to exactly what you crave.
He groans as you slide against him, your wetness dripping down his cock to the bedsheets. “Yes, ah, keep, keep using me.” He sobs, straining against the ropes around his hands despite how much he wants to stay bound by them. “I’m just your own person dildo to fuck and-” he whines as your cunt flutters around his cock, squeezing him as he speaks. “Just keep me tied up all the time, yours to fuck whenever you want.”
He gasps again, shaking as you sink your teeth into his neck, sucking hard on his skin. He throws his head back, giving you easier access. His groans and sobs reverberate through his chest into yours as you continue to bounce on his thick cock.
You moan against his neck, his thigh muscles hard and straining under your legs from the pressure of holding himself back, from not collapsing into that pleasure immediately.
You glide up and down faster, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he keeps hitting the same spot, making you fall apart at the seams.
You clench, your toes curling as you get so painfully close. “Marc, I’m gonna-” You whine.
“Please, oh god, please come on my cock.” The words fall out of him in a rush, blending together as he desperately slurs the words.
When you reach your peak, he’s half a second behind you. Unable to hold on the moment he feels you shaking and hears your breathing hitch.
You kiss him roughly and he moans into your mouth as you ride him throughout your orgasm. He comes deep, shivering as he fills you to the brim. His eyes roll back as all his energy leaves him at once.
He’s sure he’s blacked out for a moment, come so hard that he’s forgotten how to breathe, because the next moment he’s on his back, his hands loose and free of the rope as you work on the bindings around his ankles.
“Baby?” He mutters, his voice very quiet and far away.
You stand up immediately, stroking his flushed cheeks and smiling. You give him a soft kiss. “You okay?”
He nods, slowly and sleepily this time. “More than okay.”
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