"I hate when the skeletons on decorations aren't anatomically accurate." A Halloween skeleton isn't the same as what's inside you, idiot. It's different. A Halloween skeleton is, like. A guy or something. It's an animal.
If Halloween skeletons had bones like ours instead of hollow bones like that of a bird, they wouldn't be able to play their ribcages like xylophones. You sound so fucking uneducated right now.
In elementary school, my best friend and I had this game we would play where we were school supplies living inside a child's desk and going on slice-of-life adventures inside it. And I remember that a key component of our school supply society was a sort of religious schism that existed around the purpose and nature of the giant hand that occasionally reached in to grab different citizens, use them, and then return them, because most school supplies considered this an auspicious and enviable moment of being selected for a greater purpose and allowed a glimpse of a vast truth, but pencils considered it a horrible portent of doom because they always got sharpened during it and came back smaller and closer to death. We were third graders btw.
Warnings: unprotected sex • age-gap dynamic (45-year-old Leon × younger adult Reader) • plus-size!Reader • oral sex (f receiving) • penetrative sex • praise kink • size/strength difference • mild possessiveness • Leon being touch-starved and emotional • cursing • unprotected sex •Fingering
It was supposed to be a simple first date.
Dinner, a few drinks, something light and low-pressure. You didn’t expect Leon Kennedy to show up at your doorstep in a sleek black Porsche, hair neat, shirt slightly rumpled, looking both painfully handsome and like he’d spent the last ten minutes giving himself a pep talk.
“You… look beautiful,” he said when you stepped outside.
You smiled shyly, he blushed darting his eyes away from you.
The date is perfect, awkward in a sweet way, full of small smiles and soft laughter. Leon’s sarcasm slips in, but so do those dumb jokes he clearly thinks are hilarious.
“Two cannibals are eating a clown,” he says, deadpan. “One looks at the other and says, ‘Does this taste funny to you?’”
You snort, then let out a small laugh behind your hand, he stares at you like he just witnessed a miracle.
By the time dessert comes, you’re leaning closer without realizing it. His hand brushes yours — accidental, innocent and the poor man looks like he’s going to combust.
And then the sky opens.
Rain slams down in sheets the moment you step outside the restaurant. Leon immediately puts a steady hand on your lower back, steering you toward the car.
“Right...of course,” he mutters. “I’m not driving you home in this. The last thing I need me driving and crashing and us dying on our first date.”
You laugh. “Dying? Are you that bad of a driver." You teased.
"I am an excellent driver."
You roll your eyes, but he’s already guiding you into the Porsche, carefully holding your dress so you don’t snag it.
He’s protective without being pushy.Gentle without being patronizing.And so painfully unaware of how attractive that is.
The rain gets worse on the drive, thunder rolling, wind shaking the car and Leon’s knuckles whiten on the wheel.
“You okay?” you ask softly.
“Yeah,” he lies. “Just don’t like bad weather when I’ve got someone I care about in the car.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
He glances at you, cheeks pink, then looks back at the road.“Uh. I mean. On a date. With someone. A hypothetical person,” he mumbles. “Shit.”
You giggle.
He pulls into the covered spot outside his building, something tidy, a nice place as he turns off the engine with a determined exhale.
“You’re staying here until the storm passes,” he says. “I’m not sending you into that.”
You start to protest, but lightning cracks you squeak, and Leon gives you a look that brooks no argument.
Inside, his apartment is… tiny.
It's clean, not expecting from a man who works as a DSO agent. The kitchen looks decent but barely used, the couch looks lived in and you can see his bed down the hall.
He rubs the back of his neck.“Yeah. Home sweet shoebox.”
“I like it,” you say honestly.
He glances at you, really looks as warmth spreads through his expression.
“I don’t get why you said yes,” he murmurs suddenly, almost too quiet to hear. “I mean. You’re… young. Gorgeous. And I’m—”
“Leon,” you interrupt gently. “You saved me.”
He freezes.
“From that creep outside the bar. A few weeks ago. My date stood me up, and you made sure I got home safe.”
Leon’s ears go pink, he clears his throat then adverts his gaze.“Yeah, well… I, uh...I also maybe… used my job to look up your number because I was too much of a coward to ask for it.”
You blink.
He winces coughing into his hand“Illegal,” he mutters. “Super illegal. Don’t tell anyone. Please.”
You laughed, a soft, warm sound as you cup his cheek.
He melts, eyes slipping closed leaning into your touch.
Lightning flashes outside.
Thunder shakes the window.
And suddenly Leon’s hands are on your waist, gentle but firm, pulling you closer. He kisses you like he’s been holding himself back for weeks — soft, controlled, then deeper, hotter, as you curl your fingers in his shirt.
Your lips part for him.
He groans softly into your mouth.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours, “I swear I’m trying to be a gentleman—”
“Don’t,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. “Not tonight...I don't want it."
He lifts you, guiding your legs around his waist as he carries you toward the bedroom. Your curves press against him, soft and warm, and Leon’s breath stutters.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers against your throat. “Do you know that?”
His hands roam your back, your hips, your thighs, reverent and hungry and when he lays you on the bed, he pauses just staring for a moment, chest rising hard with each breath.
Your thighs part instinctively as he climbs over you,pulling your dress up, worshipping every inch of soft skin with slow, warm lips. His hands knead your hips, your thighs, your belly like he’s memorizing the shape of you.When he finally slides your panties off, slow, steady, eyes locked on yours—his breath stutters.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers, voice breaking. “So perfect.”
He strokes your pussy, fingers sliding through slick heat, and you moan his name.
He shudders violently.“Say it again.”
“Leon.”
He lowers between your legs, mouth hot against the inside of your thigh. “Leon—” you gasp.
“Let me taste you,” he murmurs, kissing higher. “Please.”
His tongue finds your pussy so gently you gasp — slow licks, soft kisses, savoring you as moans into you.
You thread your fingers into his hair, your hips lifting, your thighs trembling as he eats you with slow, deliberate hunger, building you up until you’re panting, clutching the sheets.
Clothes vanish and when he finally climbs back up your body, his cock hot and heavy against your thigh, he cups your cheek again trembling slightly.
“Tell me if you want me,” he whispers. "Or tell me to stop and I will...I'll stop and we can forget this ever happened."
You don’t hesitate.
“I want you, Leon.”
His eyes darken instantly.“Sweetheart,” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours, “you’re gonna ruin me.”
He slides into you slowly, deeply, until he’s fully seated inside your warmth.
Your pussy squeezes him instinctively and Leon’s breath breaks.
“Oh.....fuck...”
He holds himself over you, arms shaking, trying to let you adjust while his cock throbs inside your heat.When you move your hips just a little, he chokes on a moan.
“You feel… god… you feel unreal—”
He thrusts once, slow, deep and your mouth falls open. “Leon—”
He kisses you again, swallowing your gasp as he moves inside you, slow at first, then deeper, then harder when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer.
“You’re so warm—” he groans into your neck, “so... fuck...sweetheart.I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you—”
His rhythm turns desperate when your pussy clenches around him, your moans growing breathless.
“Please, Leon,don’t stop—”
“Not stopping,” he pants, thrusting harder, deeper. “Not— not stopping until you come on my cock—”
Your orgasm hits fast, sharp, overwhelming, your body arching as you squeeze him tight. Leon groans into your shoulder and thrusts deep, spilling hot inside you, holding you close as he trembles through every pulse.
He stays inside you, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your cheek.
“Rain’s not stopping anytime soon,” he murmurs.
You smile lazily, fingers brushing his hair.“Good,” you whisper. “Then neither are we.”
Leon laughs softly, warm, breathless, undone as he gives you a lazy kiss.“Sweetheart,” he says, kissing you again, “I am so in trouble.”
THE SUNLIGHT WAS RUDE.Absolutely, unapologetically rude.
It spilled through Leon’s half-closed blinds, warm and golden and unforgiving, sliding across your bare skin and finally crawling up the length of Leon’s spine where he lay tangled with you.
He groaned.
Not the sexy “I want another round” kind of groan.
The “my spine is stiff and reality exists again” groan.
You blinked awake, still wrapped in the smell of his sheets, the warmth of his chest, and the pleasant ache of a night that went far deeper than either of you expected. Leon had fallen asleep with one arm around your waist, one leg thrown over yours, his face buried in your shoulder like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go.
He squeezed you unconsciously as he shifted.
Then he froze.
He lifted his head just enough to look past your shoulder, squinting at something across the room.
You followed his gaze with a tired hum.
The clock.
The clock read 12:07 PM.
Leon blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then.“…no.”
A beat.
“NO.”
He shot upright with the kind of speed that belonged on an action movie poster, nearly knocking himself off the mattress as he scrambled for his pants.
You sat up, clutching the sheets to your chest, startled and confused.“Leon?! What—?”
He was already halfway into his jeans, hopping on one leg like a frantic golden retriever.“I was supposed to be at work at SIX.”
He checked the clock again like it might apologize.
“SIX A.M. SIX!”
You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "Leon, it’s—”
“Twelve. It’s TWELVE. I am six hours late!” he cried, pulling his shirt over his head backwards, ripping it off, and then trying again.
He looked delirious, hair sticking in every direction, face flushed, shirt misaligned, belt half buckled, socks nowhere in sight.
He ran to the mirror, cursed, ran back to the bed, cursed again when he realized he still had no socks, then dropped to his knees searching beneath the furniture.
It was one of the most unintentionally adorable things you’d ever seen.
“Leon,” you said gently, leaning on a pillow as you watched him spiral, “shouldn’t you call your boss?”
“I can’t call my boss, sweetheart, it’s the government...if I’m late they assume I’m dead!”
He found one sock.
Held it up like triumph. "Ha!"
Then immediately misplaced it again.
You finally crawled to the edge of the bed, giggling softly. “Leon. Stop. Breathe.”
He stared at you, stressed, beautiful, and wildly disheveled before melting slightly.
And then he leaned in, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you.
Not a rushed kiss.
But a soft, slow, I would absolutely choose you over punctuality kiss.
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers brushing the familiar scars there.
He groaned,quiet, helpless and leaned further over the bed to kiss you again, deeper this time, his lips warm and lingering. Tongue brushing yours as he held you close.
For a moment, he forgot he was late at all.
Then the clock beeped, that annoying grinding sound that snapped him back into reality.
Leon ripped away from you like he’d been shot, eyes wide, lips swollen.“I HAVE TO GO!”
He grabbed his keys, dropped them,grabbed them again and kissed you a third time, somehow sweeter than the first two.
And you blinked up at him, dazed and flushed.
He froze at the doorframe, realizing he was still half on the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress as he tried and failed to stand upright.
You laughed outright now.“Leon, are you okay—?”
He pointed at you with dramatic urgency, finger trembling.“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE!” he blurted, breathless.“I’LL BE BACK! I PROMISE! JUST—DON’T LEAVE!”
You blinked, heart melting completely.
“Leon,” you whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He exhaled like you’d just handed him oxygen, his head nodding slowly. “Okay. Good. Great.”
He kissed you again, quick, clumsy, desperate as his body trembled. “I’ll bring food. And coffee. And—shit....shit...I gotta GO—”
He stumbled out the door, slammed it behind him, immediately reopened it, shouted“PLEASE DON’T LEAVE!”
And then disappeared again.
The apartment fell silent.
You fell backward onto the bed, warm, smiling, and very much in love with a man who could single-handedly dismantle bioterror threats but could not handle a late morning after a first date.
I feel like people who didn't like Iron Lung because 'it all felt so hopeless' are not getting the right thing out of it.
The whole point is that even if you fail it matters that you TRIED. Humanity's desire to keep fighting through impossible, hopeless situations, not just for your own life but for the lives of others, is BEAUTIFUL.
I feel like I'm failing all the time. But this movie is a reminder to me that even if I do fail it still mattered that I gave it my all. And that actually gives me hope.
Purgatory: 27 Years @captainmorgan1090 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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