Rating: Explicit (second part)
Category: F/M
Relationships: RE9!Leon/Reader
Words: ~7.4k
Part 1/2
Language: English
✘ Masterlist ✘
Leon knew falling for you was a stupid idea, but as your friendship grew, the list of reasons for loving you kept going on and on (and on and on…)
A short story in which Leon falls head over heels for the 7-Eleven cashier on the night shift, and frantically looks for reasons to come back every given opportunity.
Too bad said cashier is convinced the nice man always coming back at weird hours of the night for trivial purchases is some kind of mobster.
[⚠️SAFE TO READ, NO RE9 SPOILERS.⚠️]
This one is for the messy girls who still don’t have their lives figured out. You’re doing just fine, girlie.💗
Enjoy~
ding.
[2:43 am]
It’s fucking hard, okay?
It’s not like you’re lazy or born with a silver spoon in your mouth; you’re okay with rolling up your sleeves and getting the job done, you’re just… tired.
You’re so fucking tired, and you feel like you’ve been tired all your life, running after something you can’t even put your fingers on.
You’ve felt it for as long as you can remember, the pull of doing something; create, speak loud enough to be listened to. Write, draw, tag the empty walls of the endless sea of factories behind your parents' run-down home at the periphery of the run-down town you were born into.
It was an itch that had developed into an urge, something you were desperate to scratch but unable to bend deep enough to reach.
Something calling for you.
And that’s a very nice philosophical picture you have painted, if only you were not stuck behind a counter, ringing up mostly condoms and cigarettes into the gruelling, tiresome hours of the night.
But you are! Congrats, you’re part of the machine, a soulless machine— no, a cog in it, whose only design is to accumulate money and spend money the very way society had designed for you to do.
Yippee.
There goes your fighting spirit.
«Shouldn’t you be in school?»
The light overhead buzzes, the edge of the stool you are granted to occasionally prop your ass up digs viciously into the meaty part of your thighs.
Your eyes dislodge from the hazy blur of dissociation and land on your customer for the first time since the automatic doors had pinged. The man in front of you is crazy hot.
No way around it, gruff features and a deep scowl framing icy blue eyes.
You blink dumbly. «At the wee hour of the night?» Thank God you’re usually fast, never really losing yourself in your own little world, only… lingering.
The man’s deep line between his eyebrows deepens, «No, like tomorrow morning. Shouldn’t you be sleeping on a school night?»
At this point, you usually get pissy; partially because you’re tired, but mostly because you’re full of piss and vinegar, and your mother had always told you you have an attitude and a short fuse.
But you don’t feel pissy.
Not yet, at least.
The dude’s hot, and pretty privilege — apparently — is real.
So you laugh, strained and slightly taken aback. «A school night? Jeez, dude, I’m in college.» And since sarcasm is basically your second language: «No child is being exploited in this fine establishment of ours.»
The man’s lips tug at a corner, a low huff of air — very similar to a laugh but not quite still — escaping his lungs. «Same thing.»
Hell no. «Fuck no.» Yup, that’s you, miss good manners and articulated vocabulary in front of Mr Hottie.
But that’s you, and you can’t change in the snap of a finger. «School was hell, college is… purgatory or whatever. But I’m sure I’m never setting foot back in school.»
A moment of silence passes, the stranger looks at you like he wants to know every nook and cranny of your personality, but perhaps that’s just the blue eyes effect.
«It is still school.» He deadpans at last.
«I mean—» the man is starting to get a bit on your nerves, pretty privilege corroding faster than your paycheck each month of school you drag yourself through. «Technically, but I want to let you know, sir, that coming for you sounds patronising as fuck.» It’s still only a half-tease, though, rough the same way your humour always is, perhaps the reason you had never been able to strike up a conversation with your classmates the few times you had actually set foot on campus grounds. Or your colleagues at that.
The stranger tenses up immediately, large shoulders drooping in and up. «Didn’t mean to.» he blurts out quickly, piercing gaze digging into your own eyes.
Fuck, you’ve been rude again. «I know. I’m pulling your leg.»
At least the tension is short-lived. He seems to relax visibly, bulky frame descending from its strung-up position. Mumbling something terribly similar to “sorry” into the quiet store.
«Sorry— I’m— I tend to be a bit rude on my humour when I’m tired. I was just teasing, I swear.»
Silence follows; you’re unsure your apology landed, but the stranger nods and pulls his lips into a small smile.
Just when you’re about to ask for his items, still clutched in his hands, he speaks again, «So… Shouldn’t you be sleeping on a college night?»
The embarrassment dissipates a bit, a small laugh escapes you.
«I don’t go.» His face scrunches up in confusion, this time a smile appearing on his features. «Wow, that’s confusing—»
«No—I, I mean, I do, I just don’t… go— I don’t attend. It’s not mandatory.»
At this point, a constant stream of giggles and huffs fills the silence, dampening the awkwardness you always feel when interactions don’t go as you have planned.
«Does it work? For you?»
The question doesn’t take you aback immediately, still giddy with soft awkwardness, «Ahhh… yeah, I mean it’s…» your tongue clicks on the back of your teeth, a word surfaces immediately, clear and sharp, but your brain stomps on the brakes. The dude is basically a stranger. Your smile falters. «Tough. It’s tough.»
It’s lonely. Incredibly so.
«Keeping up?»
What?
«Oh. Yeah, yeah, for sure.»
Silence lingers a bit; it looks like he wants you to keep rambling.
«I mean, the books cost a fuck-ton, nobody is willing to help you, and some professors hate you for never showing up.
Which, I get it, dude, I already feel like a baby-daddy without you hammering home the fact I’m never around—»
«A fuck-ton?» he interrupts, probably more confused by the unit than the concept.
Still, you go for the latter. «Yeah. Imagine I was into medicine, first book, first year… Two hundred bucks.»
«Jesus.»
«Yeah.»
«Yeah… yes, no, that’s fucked up.»
He’s cute, a bit awkward, polite if not a bit rusty in human interactions. He’s really cute.
Although that’s probably not the first word that comes to mind when looking at him.
Now that you have had time to study him better, you have taken in far more details than you would have expected.
He looks to be in his fifties — or around that — white specks peeking out from his dusty blond stubble here and there, perhaps only lighter blond strands, but you have a feeling the former speculation might be way more plausible. He looks like he has aged a little bit too prematurely, light wrinkles around his eyes and a deep worry line under an ashy golden almost-side-bang.
The icy blue eyes should feel like the detail that does a lot of heavy lifting, but his features are so harmonious and precise that those oceans of chill water only end up being the cherry on top of an already magnificent cake.
Speaking of which… the body is tea, your perception is slightly distorted — with you leaning heavily onto the stool and messing up your proportions — but he appears to be tall, not freakishly tall but quite a good deal of tall, he feels as an imposing figure without necessarily being it.
Perhaps all the muscles hidden under the leather jacket over his back might be helping in that department; strong arms and broad hands clutching to— his items.
In his hands, not the counter.
Fuck—
«Shit, sorry— let me ring you up, I’m so sorry, I’m sure you have someplace else to be at… Jeeze, sorry, three in the morning.
I’m so sorry.»
To a party, that’s probably where he’d rather be and will be given his purchase choices.
Two bottles of whiskey, a tall one of vodka and a six-pack of beer.
Damn. You’re so freaking jelly.
«It’s— no, I liked it, I like talking wit— You don’t have to apologise… sorry.»
The register beeps each item, you have the impulse to ease his worries, so you ramble, unguarded and dumbly truthful. «No, I— you’re cool too.» Man, you’re a loser.
Before you can embarrass yourself further, declaring your human-interaction ability too rusty to be salvaged anymore, you cut it short. «That will be 53 and 74 cents, sir.»
The stranger’s eyes flicker to your face — you hadn’t noticed he had been cowering his gaze to his items since you asked for them — averting them quickly as if caught red-handed, nodding and looking into his wallet with a hum. «Keep the change.»
That’s a hundred-dollar bill. He gave you a hundred dollars.
«Sir—»
«For your school books— ah, no, pardon me, college books.»
You gape like a dumb ass, holding onto the little paper rectangle with two hands. Your eyes lift, wide and confused. «But—»
But the stranger no longer stands in front of your register, with a plastic bag dangling from his fingers and his broad, leather-clad back getting farther, he raises a hand without even turning. «Study hard, nighty-night.»
The door swings closed, the figure of the man blurred by the dirty glass and the outside darkness.
He basically just bought you the course’s book you have been paining so hard for. With a few bills to spare for a new pen as well.
You ought to be the only person alive who finishes their ball-pens.
[6:07 am]
The sky is an ugly colour, some sickly washed-out version of the deep blue the night had been a couple of minutes ago.
The moon still shines up in the sky through a cloudy barricade that threatens rain.
Your eyes burn, and your skin itches as if stretched too thin over your bones.
You can’t keep going on like this.
Miles away from your home, a liar every time your parents call and stuck in a dead-end job in the hope of finally getting a diploma you should have acquired years ago.
You pull the hoodie over your head; it’s chilly outside, morning air damp and sharp on your skin. You should have brought a heavier jacket.
[6:21 am]
At least you have enough money for the next exam’s textbook.
Your door creaks under your blows, your shoulder body-checking the old plywood plank to let the lock give way.
Bloody, fucking, mouldy apartment set back a prayer and a spit in your eye.
The keys jingle in your grasp, a final clunk escapes the mechanism, and suddenly you stumble into your home.
Not that you can stop worrying, 40 bucks are nice, but not nearly enough to make you take a deep breath of relief.
You still gotta pay for rent, that money you have. When you first started working at the convenience store, you used to always put aside every penny left after your basic necessities were satisfied. After a while, you had been able to accumulate enough money for rent for two months. In case anything happened. But you still have to pay for the electricity and water.
Speaking of water, you really need to take a shower. You also need to brush your teeth, but your stomach protests so loudly at the implication of going to sleep without eating that you almost double over at the sudden cramp. Fine. Eat something, then wash your teeth and remove your makeup… Damit, you put the waterproof mascara on, you can’t wash it in the shower like the animal you are.
Another damn step you’ll have to take before finally collapsing.
Your earrings weigh on your piercings.
The weird encounter slithers under your skin; you were so awkward…
You are so overstimulated right now.
tic toc, tic toc, tic… TOC.
[2 am sharp]
Leon can’t sleep. It doesn’t matter how many sheep he counts.
What he actually wants and needs is to count his drinks and exceed his record by a long shot if possible.
Too bad Sherry had raided his stash a few months ago while he was still on a mission to give him “a fresh start” when coming back.
Fresh start his ass.
He’s going insane here.
And that’s why he will not stay “here”. He needs to go to the convenience store and raid their stash in return. He’s thinking Whiskey, Vodka, beer… whatever he can get his hands on.
The girl at the register looks like one of those sad, sad paintings of older days left to rot in an unknown room in a minor museum.
Eyes distant and slightly wet.
You look as if about to cry.
«Shouldn’t you be in school?» The question is out of his mouth before he can ever pass it thoroughly through his reason’s filter labelled: “What the fuck are you doing? Shut up.”
Your eyes look for his frantically, lost for a second, in a glance cast only God knows where.
Then your eyebrow scrunches up, «At the wee hour of the night?»
Shit.
He tries to save as much as he can of it, to at least not look like a complete idiot. «No, like tomorrow morning. Shouldn’t you be sleeping on a school night?»
But destiny mustn’t have that in store for him tonight.
Humiliation it is then. «A school night? Jeez, dude, I’m in college.»
He should have just stayed silent, paid for his booze and got the hell out of this neon-lit trap.
But life is not that cruel, and you’re not that much of a sadist, apparently. «No child is being exploited in this fine establishment of ours.»
The remark is so stupidly out of pocket, yet fitting, it truly tears a laugh out of him. Unexpected and soft.
Enough to make him loose lipped. «Same thing.»
«Fuck no.» Your indignation booms naturally and truly in the cramped space of the convenience store’s front. «School was hell, college is…» Your face does something funny, as if you were unsure of the denomination as well. «Purgatory or whatever.» You finally come up with. «But I’m sure I’m never setting foot back in school.»
You don’t look like you belong to either. A bit, actually, you do. With eyes rimmed with unshed tears and stubborn makeup. As if both hell then purgatory had left a mark on you, like a brand.
So it’s still school, still hell.
«It is still school.»
That came out wrong. He has to learn when to shut up. A bit difficult at 48, but he can sure as hell try.
Your face flutters through a couple of emotions. He’d like to try and at least advocate for his own words, but you’re too fast, and any protest dies on his tongue. «I mean— Technically, but I want to let you know, sir, that coming for you sounds patronising as fuck.»
Shit.
«Didn’t mean to.»
Your eyes glimmer; something tugs at your lips, right at the corner, where — in another fairytale — a kiss would have been. «I know. I’m pulling your leg.»
Oh.
It’s incredibly easy to talk to you. You never let awkwardness linger in a bad way, nor do you push it onto him as if telling him: “See? You’re awkward, and it’s hard to be around you” You just let it breathe, giggling and quipping up sarcasm like you’re being paid for that. A great deal of weird on your part.
«Tough. It’s tough.» Something heavy flitters behind your eyes, perhaps a bird locked inside a cage, maybe a creature gnawing at its bars.
He can’t tell which one it is. But it looks painful.
«Keeping up?»
Your lashes flutter, confusion shows, then melts away. «Oh. Yeah, yeah, for sure.» The moment is gone.
«I mean, the books cost a fuck-ton, nobody is willing to help you—» your voice trails off; it’s a nice voice. «A fuck-ton?»
«Yeah. Medicine, first book, first year… Two hundred bucks.»
That’s probably the first thing that had jarred him out of the weird warmth he had started to feel inside. «Jesus.»
Your eyebrows shoot up, and your head bobs in agreement. «Yeah.» You look absolutely pissed by the fact, eyes sparkling with a fighting spirit he had not noticed there when he entered the store.
«Yeah… yes, no, that’s fucked up.»
Suddenly, as if remembering you had yet to take a very good look at him, your eyes trail up and down his figure for a long minute, eyes sharp and inquisitive.
He wished he had at least thrown a glance at himself in the mirror before exiting his apartment.
Then something snaps. «Shit, sorry— let me ring you up, I’m so sorry, I’m sure you have someplace else to be at… Jeeze, sorry, three in the morning. I’m so sorry.»
And Leon has to grasp at words to fumble into something resembling a conversation. «It’s— no, I liked it, I like talking wit—» too direct. No, he needs to backpedal. «You don’t have to apologise… sorry.»
«No, I— you’re cool too.» His heart hiccups.
The scene unfurls slowly, then fast, then natural, then stiff, and he’s too damn rusty to feel comfortable in it.
«Keep the change.»
He wishes you’d told him what you study. «For your school books—» his words hitch, not what he was going for. «Ah, no, pardon me, college books.»
«But—»
«Study hard, nighty-night.»
[4:39 am]
Study hard, nighty-night.
Nighty-night?! Seriously?
Jesus, if you didn’t find him patronising after the whole school debacle, you sure as hell do now.
The liquid in his glass sloshes; the empty silence in the apartment rings hollow and cold all around him.
Devoid.
Everything feels devoid of life, as if Leon himself had syphoned every last drop of it.
The gun on the table calls to him.
He should just end it all.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.
Fuck.
[3:33 pm]
This time, it takes you an hour to fight your way out of the harsh, leathery embrace of your couch.
You should sell it, make some quick cash and sleep on the floor for the foreseeable future; it’s not like it’s warm or anything.
Your notes stare back at you, you feel so dumb, but you truly don’t understand what the hell you wrote.
You still will yourself into trying.
For five hours straight.
Until every word is seared behind your eyelids, but its meaning is completely lost to you.
You’re such a loser.
By 9:15, you’re out the door once more.
[10:05 pm]
«Hi, welcome to 7-Eleven. If you need anything, I’m right here.»
«Go kill yourself.»
Oki doki, not a nice one this is.
You can’t wait for your shift to end.
«What are you doing?»
The ladder shifts, rattling metal against metal, as your muscles flinch and cramp up.
«Jesus Christ! What the hell is wrong with you?»
The stranger from yesterday stares up at you from the last step of the metal ladder you’re currently cramped up onto, clinging to its railing and praying you won’t fall and split your head open.
He doesn’t look impressed by your snapping, though. One foot on the first step to steady the freaking deadly contraption; a very calm expression on his face, save for the deep frown between his eyebrows.
«You shouldn’t be doing this; it’s dangerous.»
The absolute guts. «Well, somebody has to change the damn neon, or I’ll be ending up my shift in pure darkness.»
The man looks around for a second, as if only now noticing the big buzzing neon overhead being off. A feat truly since you’re holding the replacement rod in your hand at the moment —horribly putting you out of balance — and said rod is four fucking feet long.
«Do you even know how to?»
A beat of silence follows.
«No.»
The man sighs lowly. In the dark, he acquires a weird allure of dangerous, something pretty but… sad, no, tired; but not your type of tired, a new one, one you think you are just too young to have encountered yet. An erosive force digging deep into his soul. «Get down, doll-face, before you seriously hurt yourself.» The pet name snaps you out, the rest of the phrase pulls a sigh of relief. «I’ll do it.»
Holy hell, that is a nice ass.
Ho-ly.
Your hands grip the ladder sides tighter, and your head falls down, severing eye contact with those freaking buns — whole bakery tbh —.
A movement beside you captures your attention. The stranger had passed you the old light a couple of minutes ago, asking you to gently put it on the ground and is now lifting the new neon to install it back. Biceps shifting under the compression shirt, he revealed under the familiar leather jacket. A salivating ordeal.
«Done.»
You blink dumbly up at him, light installed but turned off. He’s turned your way, looking down at you. «Oh… wow, you’re fast as fuck. Thanks a bunch.»
You’re almost sure you can spot a soft dusting of pink on the bridge of his nose, but it’s too dark in the store to tell.
«It’s no problem.» you hear him mumble, descending the steps in controlled strides.
Now that he’s in front of you once more, you finally notice he’s not incredibly tall per se; he’s just naturally imposing, a bit folded on himself, as if wanting to take less space than necessary.
He looks like the person who would roll his eyes at bad puns. All serious and business. A very bad one crosses your mind, and you blurt it out.
Because you’re stupid and you have zero self-control: «No, for real… You really brightened my day.»
A very ugly, almost wheezed-out laugh chokes out of the man’s lungs; his eyes crinkle, the bridge of his nose scrunches up. He looks ten years younger. But maybe that’s just the light — or lack of it. — talking.
Something inside you squirms pridefully.
«Oh my God, that was criminal.» his laugh is criminal; they should charge him for murder. You feel like your heart just stopped.
«Sorry for making you do that— Can I help you find what you came for?»
You don’t usually have regulars; those are for the morning shift, you have a few recurring faces, some students just like you, fueled by coffee and good intentions studying a bit too into the night, some old folks struck by the “I’m getting too old to sleep a normal amount of hours” type of insomnia — always eager to strike up a conversation — but none of those are regulars per se. It’s always a bit weird to see the same person two days in a row during the night shift.
You’re not complaining tho, dude is eye-candy on legs and a surprisingly funny, if not a bit awkward, company.
Speaking of awkward, the man seems to tense up at your question, almost as if taken aback. «Ah, yeah, I need… aaah… batteries.»
You can’t contain the twitch of one of your eyebrows. «Batteries.»
«Yeah.»
You eye him up and down, really questioning if you want to voice the dirty thoughts flashing through your mind at light speed. But you choose the mature route, mostly because he looks an awkward conversation away from never coming back. Besides, dude probably really only needs them for his TV remote or whatever; why couldn’t it wait for the morning shift to arrive, you have no idea, but still, it’s not like you dislike his company. «Right shelf beside the register.»
«Thanks.» The man shifts with you through the front of the store.
«So, what do you need batteries for at…5:51 in the morning?» Damn it. You don’t know how to control yourself.
Wait— 5:51? «Wow, shift’s almost over.» you mutter to yourself, impressed by how quickly the time had passed since the man had shown up.
Not even registering that your mumbling had an audience.
«Are you going home?»
It’s really fortunate you’re almost always quick with a joke. «Oh no, I sleep in a couple of trash cans out back; it’s pretty cosy.»
Silence fills the empty space where a comeback should have been placed, the man blinking dumbfoundedly at you.
You should come with a warning, something along the lines of “Do not interact with, too dumb to have a serious conversation with.” so you bend at the hips, leaning slightly over the counter separating you two and reassure him. «I’m fucking with you. Yeah, I’m heading straight home after six. I need like three days’ worth of sleep.»
The response you get back is almost immediate, as if the stranger had had it on the back burner for a while: «This late?»
Yeah, you know, your sleep schedule is already fucked up. Your mother was right, you will work yourself to the bone. «It’s never too late for sleep.»
«No, I meant, are you walking home this late at night?»
Oh.
That’s new. You haven’t had someone worrying about you since… well, you don’t really remember anymore.
«I mean… It’s so late it’s basically early.» The answer doesn’t really seem to please him; worry lines deepening between his eyebrows.
This is nice— not making him worry! Just— «I see a lot of joggers and old people walking their dogs on the way back, and it’s not like I’m far.» Your cramped words hurry up slightly faster than the warmth creeping into your cheeks.
What the hell is wrong with you?
«Right.» His lips pull into something that doesn’t quite pass for a smile. «Just— please be careful.»
Your heart beats a little bit faster. But maybe that’s just your imagination. «I will. Thanks, dude.»
Driiiiiin… Driii—
[3:20 am]
«Leon Scott Kennedy. DSO.
I understand. When will the extraction be? I understand.»
Bibibi—bip… bibibi-bip.
[4:22 am]
You punch the alarm off, yet another thing in here that doesn’t work properly.
You sometimes ask yourself how the hell you ended up like this.
With a dead-end job and a dead-end life, only willing to be lived as long as it never changes.
Because nothing ever changes. Every day you wake up at the ass-crack of dawn, bid goodbye to a ratty apartment holding the shape of your existence in the murky mould growing on its walls and walk to a job within walking distance of your place, but a building jump and two train tracks nap from the life you had hoped for yourself. Where no one cared, and dingy radio stations cared even less if the same fucking song had been played twenty separate times already.
«How’s studying?»
Well, something did change.
The man in front of your register is the same man who, three nights ago, had helped you change the neon light now happily buzzing over your head.
All the same… if only the stranger didn’t look like he just came back from being mauled by a pack of rabid dogs. «A living hell.»
His eyes crinkle, the ghost of a smile wafting over bruised features. Something in your chest squeezes, and your usual apathy gets pressed deeper into your soul as a part of you begs for you just to say something more. «New book helped tho, thanks. Really.»
The stranger’s smile softens, eyes downcast as if doing so hurts him. «I’m glad.»
In the buzzing silence of the convenience store, you dare to ask: «What happened?»
His answer comes out tired, in a deep exhale. «Work.»
You wonder what type of work must ask from this kind man to hurt himself so brutishly. «Can I help?»
Dull grey pin you to your spot, boring deep into your soul. «Freezer’s busted. I need something cold for the swelling.»
His black eye seems painful. «Yeah… yeah, that I can do.»
«How much for… ahh… the mais?»
«It’s okay, that’s on me.»
A blood-caked eyebrow scrunches, then spasms in pain and smooths back to its original position, probably offended by the disturbance of the only painless position it can stay in.
«No, you have tuitions to pay.»
Another hundred bill slips into the jar beside you, without fanfare. Movement as smooth as the whipping of a cat’s tail.
«Sir— you don’t have to—»
«When is the exam?»
The man’s head tilt, chin pointing at the book opened up over your lap, hand coming to get the frozen bag of veggies you had armed him with and pressing it on his temple and over his offended eye.
«Ah— next week, um, the third.» you let your head bob up and down, slightly taken aback by the question; you can’t exactly say you expected it.
The man looks pensive for a second, glancing around and tapping two fingers over the counter he was almost leaning on.
«You’re cutting it close with this one.»
Your shoulders loll, a light exhale shakes your frame, and a stupidly derisive laugh escapes with your next batch of self-deprecating words. «Pftt. When am I not?»
Your answer doesn’t really seem to please him.
«You’re still good with the whole working at night and studying during the day, right?»
God no, you haven’t been in a very long time. But it’s not like you can just drop your work; you have bills to pay and a belly to feed, thanks god it’s only your own. It’s not like he’s offering to patronise your studies. God, your own mother didn’t.
So you plaster your best customer service face all over your tired features and smiling a very dim but persistent smile you respond: «Yeah, yeah, it’s good. It keeps me… active.»
What a load of bullshit.
You hear him mutter something similar to “okay” from his barricade of frozen veggies and cradling hands, awkward and weird.
«Well, be—be careful walking back home, okay?»
He had almost been successful at making you forget about the jarring hundred-dollar bill sticking out of the tip jar. «Sir, wait, I can’t accept—» but he doesn’t even let you finish the protest. «It’s for your next textbook or school supplies.»
His voice hitches, his eyes suddenly look for yours and something heavy passes through his gaze. «You know what you need better than me.» he finally exhales, detaching from the counter and taking the door.
«Thanks for the help.»
The people counter dings the silence of his departure away; you stare uselessly at his slightly hunched back as he walks away from you. «I did little to nothing.»
[5:59 am]
It is a bit weird.
In the grand scheme of being a cashier and a waste of space, but also in the very spot you have fought tooth and nail to be in. It is weird for the man to give you such big tips.
The morning air cools you down as the morning light approaches over the horizon, and the wall of buildings lining your view of the city starts to glow in a very dull blue, not yet morning, yet again too bold a colour to be night still.
The door is stuck, your shoulder hurts, and the meagre grocery bag you have convinced yourself to drag from your workplace to your apartment lies at your feet, the single treat of a melting ice cream bucket rolling from side to side every time you try to shoulder your way through your door.
Fuck.
Fuck your life so so hard.
«Quit it!»
Somebody screams from the stairwell, your back hits the wooden slab one last time, then you do as your bags, slowly falling onto the floor.
This is too much, too overwhelming, too fucked up. You just want to sleep.
Your arm lifts; your phone lights up sadly, instructed to the lowest brightness setting possible, in the hope of saving up enough battery to receive your landlord’s response to a text from a couple of hours back.
It’s 9 in the morning, and your phone is at two per cent.
You just wanted to sleep.
Sit on your fuck-ass couch and drown your sorrows in your textbook and a tub of ice cream.
You don’t really have a spoon, but the ice cream is melted enough to be drunk.
You study chapter 23 like that, cross-legged in front of your door and drinking melted chocolate chips cookies ice cream from a soggy carton of the cheapest cardboard.
And if a tear or two slipped from your eyes before you fell asleep, nobody was there to berate you for it.
DING!
[2:05 am]
The neon light hits Leon’s eyes hard.
The a-little-too-loud music for a store tackles him.
The boy behind the counter is not a girl with sad eyes and quick wit.
«Howdy! Welcome to 7-Eleven. If you need anything, I’m right here.»
You should be behind the counter by now.
But maybe that’s good; maybe you have taken a day off to sleep the tiredness away from your eyes, to rest, properly rest and catch up with your studies without the impending doom of yet another shift.
Maybe today is the day he finally can go on and buy what he has been itching to buy since he had last drained those few bottles he had bought the first time he had met you.
Too ashamed to be seen by you, indulging in his destructive ways.
«Yeah, no, thanks. I’m good.»
«No problem, Sir.»
His legs find the pathway to the strong liquors, ready to squirrel up as many bottles as possible. «Actually—» What the hell is he doing?
Standing in front of the counter and staring at the kid.
What if she’s hurt? Or missing? Or—
«What’s your name?»
The kid looks up, straightening his back and leaving the comfortable hunched position he has been keeping, half-sitting on a stool too high to let him properly rest and a fully standing stance.
Looking at his own chest and muttering a “damn” under his breath. «Oscar, sir— Sorry I forgot the nametag.»
«Okay, Oscar, can I ask you where the girl working nights is?»
The young boy looks visibly confused, then, pinning the nametag he has been rummaging for in the pockets of the company apron, he looks up in wonder.
«Ah, oh, the boss told me she didn’t clock in today; we tried to call her, but her phone is off. I’m new, sorry for the nametag-thing.»
He knew it.
Not a choice.
«Are you her friend? Ah, shoot, what was her name again?»
Leon’s jaw works as if about to chew out a response, then something hits him fair and square. He doesn’t know that.
«I— no, I just noticed you were new.»
The kid looks visibly taken aback.
«Oh, okay.»
Shit. He totally passed off as a creep.
His hand reaches for a snack beside the counter, hung up on the displays framing the little boot.
Beef jerky. That’s normal, right? That’s a normal person’s errand.
«I’ll— I’ll just take these.»
«Okay. Have a good night, sir.»
«You too. Bye.»
That’s creepy. He should go home.
The Hamilton ticking on his wrist slashes the minutes away at an alarming slow pace. 2:44. He should go home, not wait a few buildings from the store in the hope that you will eventually show up.
That’s what stalkers do.
And he is not a stalker.
Jerky tastes like shit as well.
He should—
In the distance, the pitter-patter of slammed soles on the asphalt rolls over the quiet noises of the night. Someone’s running.
Leon turns around in time to hear the wet sound of a puddle being stepped on. Hard, frantic. Perhaps closer than he had thought.
Someone comes crashing, full speed, against him. In seconds, he’s on his back, his achy, achy back, looking at the stars littering the sky… and your eyes.
Wide, crazed, with soft puffs of air flittering your lips.
«Fuck, sorry, sorry— I— you?! Oh God, I’m so sorry I— I have to run, sorry. Sorry!»
And just like that, you hoist yourself up and resume your mad sprint.
SLAM!
What happened was: you got yourself almost fired.
You got yelled at by your manager and almost lost the fucking graveyard shift, the one nobody wants.
You ought to be the stupidest person alive.
How did you even manage to sleep that many hours in the horrible position that had left you with a crick in your neck and a sharp pain in your lower belly, as if your muscles would never be able to relax ever again?
With clenched teeth, you grit your way through yet another scolding, smelling of the stale air your building’s halls reek of.
«Now get the fuck out of here before I decide to fire you for real.
And you better get your ass in here at nine tomorrow.»
«I will. Sorry.»
«Sorry what?»
Your teeth clench; you can feel the vibration of the pulling and grinding.
You feel like a muzzled dog.
«Sorry, sir.»
Bile bubbling up, the acrid taste of your venom behind closed teeth. You’re supposed to bite; it’s in your nature.
This is abhorrent.
When you exit, it’s colder. The night air cuts deep into your flushed skin.
The man stands leaning onto a wall, where you had body-checked him into the ground, a bit more to the left.
His eyes deep into yours.
It’s not like you want to interact with anybody right now; you just know it would be extremely rude not to — at least — apologise.
You so desperately want to pull a The Passenger Benson, but you do not own a shotgun, and there is no scrawny co-worker you’d like to bully around in your mad run for it.
So you just take a deep breath, because despite not having a rifle, you still like ripping the band-aid off first instead of soaking it in warm water, even if your mama has always told you patience is a developable virtue.
«Hi, I’m sorry for that—»
«Are you okay? I heard yelling.»
Your steps falter, stopping a couple of paces from his figure.
«No, yeah, I was late—»
«How so?»
It is somehow frustrating, bordering on plain annoying, but you are too disoriented to discern if that is your bad temperament talking or if you actually have a basis for being pissed off by the question.
«Ahh…» you drag it out, hoisting your closed fists on your hips. «That’s a long story, I fell asleep on my front step—»
«Outside?»
Can you please finish one thought?
«Yeah, I— my door broke, I kinda locked myself out.»
«Coming to work?»
«No, going back. Yesterday— no, well, yeah, like yesterday at five or so… in the morning.»
«Where did you sleep then?»
The question is so simple, so stupidly earnest, that for a second you can’t really compute an answer.
You just stand there, mouth gaping for an answer.
Until you can no longer mouth at an answer that won’t change shape nor shame, no matter how many times you try to rephrase it with your teeth. «In the stairwell.»
The man’s eyes go wide; you only see the beginning of it. Avoiding the contact in a sharp inhale.
The arch in your back deflated.
«Listen, I’m sorry for… I dunno, bodychecking you but right now I need to go home and—»
«Sleep outside of your door?»
Dude got some guts, so many in fact, you don’t even have a rebuttal.
You just stare at him dumbly for the second time straight this night, arms uselessly dangling at your sides. A shiver runs through you, and you suddenly remember that you’re deep into the night and you’re only wearing a light shirt.
You hiss, «Yeah… yeah, well. It’s not like I know how to fix it.» but it lacks the usual venom.
«Do you… want a hand?»
Your spin straightens up slightly.
Eyes looking for something in the streetlights. «Yeah…» A shout pause elapses. «I mean, are you offering?»
The man shrugs. «Sure, why not.»
[4:09 am]
«I actually never caught your name.»
Your hand slaps over the plastic pin on the heart side of your chest, head turning, your neck popping sharply. Wow. You really slept funny last night.
«Did you really never read the nametag?»
You know you're being unfair, childish even, but it’s an odd thing to realise.
Especially since you only now seem to realise you don’t know his name either. His shoulders draw closer; you can see a dusting of pink over the tip of his ear peaking from locks of salt and pepper; he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Shielding himself from your eyes.
Which is a stupid train of thought to follow. Because you know yourself and you know the machinations of your heart and brain.
So you cut it at the root. Before the thought can even bud. «I mean, I don’t know yours either. It does seem fair somehow.» So you try to give yourself some semblance of dignity. Squeezing yourself into your own bones of your shoulders and praying the path home would just suddenly shrink on itself.
«Are you cold?» but it doesn’t; and you’re still 13 streetlights from your turn.
«No… I—» you are, but it’s fine. «Is it weird? The name thing,» your hand twitches over the badge, «did I make it weird?»
The light overhead buzzes as you pass it. «No! no… I mean—» the man's hair looks like a halo under the yellowy light. You think you did make it weird. «I’m Leon. Here, you’re one step ahead.»
Your nose scrunches up. A laugh stuck in your lungs. «You’re funny.» And suddenly you’re at the corner where you need to turn to face your building, and you are left wondering where the rest of the street went.
Your voice feels almost choked out in your throat. You hadn’t noticed just how much you had been staring. Your eyes scurry away to find refuge in the familiar sight of bricks chewed up by time. «This way.»
Leon’s eyes don’t seem preoccupied with the same worries as yours. «I’m gonna have to read it on the doorbell, don’t I?»
As you previously already noticed: he’s funny.
Too bad on the doorbell; there’s still the old tenant’s name.
You stubbornly keep your palm flat against the nametag all the way up the flight of stairs. Leon, behind you, groans from time to time when a step is steeper than the rest or a tile in the landing is missing.
«Digby?» he finally huffs when he’s in front of your door, and he squints at the yellowish piece of paper duct-taped over the bell.
Your laugh rises softly. «Not even close.» Leon’s eyebrows arch up, but it’s such a knowing gesture you can’t really take his next words seriously. «Are you roping me into a breaking and entry?»
«God knows I’d need the money.» You joke lightly. His eyes feel magnetised, staring holes through you, you’re still clutching your nametag like a kid.
A giggle escapes your lips.
Your hand slides down, a horrible pun about being glad Leon had not stare at your chest simmers behind your teeth, but you don’t let it bubble over.
Leon’s eyes fall, reading your name, almost testing it on the tip of his tongue.
«Nice to meet you.» he finally breathes.
Your eyes tug at the corners. «It’s my pleasure.»
And for a second, you remain like that, somehow you feel vulnerable, naked, as if undressed of your armour. For a name. Such drama.
«Come on. I don’t want you sleeping out here yet another night.» Yeah. yeah, that’s a good idea.
«Yeah.» Your gaze falls as you rummage through your purse to get to your keys. «Here, this is the key. I passed a good hour or two yesterday bodychecking the door. The floor is yours.»
Leon’s brute force is definitely much, much more than yours, but all in all, what really makes the difference between yet another night spent outside your apartment and the lumpy bed you call “refuge” is his lockpicking ability.
Something you won’t question; not if it gives you back your home.
You almost squeal in delight as the satisfying ‘click’ echoes through the hallway, followed by the clap of your hands, as if recognising his mastery over locks.
The sun has started to rise when you finally enter your apartment, Leon behind you, stuck on the doorway. «Locks busted.» is what he lands on, awkwardly lingering on the threshold. «Ask the landlord to change it. It should be fairly easy.» It’s awkward how he lingers sometimes; you noticed, at the counter, under the streetlamp outside your work, in front of the wide-open door he himself has fixed.
He does tend to be awkward in himself, maybe more than plain weird, just unsure of his next move.
«Come on, Leon, let me at least offer you something.»
Like a puppet whose strings have just been tugged, the man enters the apartment. Not that you can pay him too much mind, your hand instinctively reaches for the bottle of water over the counter. It has, after all, been almost a full day since the last time you drank any water.
«Do you have the number of any affordable locksmith?» you finally manage to ask after yet another starved gulp.
Leon’s face scrunches up. «It’s fairly simple; your landlord should be able to manage on his own.»
You giggle.
«Yeah, in my wildest dreams. He’s not gonna do jackshit, and I know nothing of these things sooo… do you have a name?»
Leon’s eyebrows do something complicated. «I mean, I could probably change it if I had the right piece.»
Oh.
«I— I do have the replacement piece. Bought it ages ago when I thought Jerry— the landlord would help.» Silence passes through the space separating you, thicker than air
You feel like you misinterpreted his words. «If it’s not— sorry, forget it—»
«No! No, that’s— that’s good. I can. If you want me to.» You still feel like you did misinterpret his words, but you’re also so, so very tired.
«I mean…You would be a lifesaver.»
The screwdriver clatters back into the toolbox, Leon tests the lock once, twice, then hums; satisfied. «All done.» A groan escapes his lips as he slowly rises up from his kneeling position. You feel stupid just standing there doing nothing as you have been doing for the past fifteen minutes or so, but you don’t know what else to do. «Do you wanna try it out?»
Leon leans onto the door, frame in hand and the new shining handle in the other; you’re beyond grateful, you really are, even if a good deal of awkward on your part.
«You really can’t understand just how much you’ve helped me.» Your legs bounce on itself.
«Thank you so so—» your words cut short; something other than the brass lock shines in the low light of your apartment.
Under a thick leather jacket, tucked away between layers of soft clothes.
A holster with a gun.
A massive one.
You freeze.
Oh…
And suddenly you seem to remember that you don’t actually know this guy.
NEXT PART →
I KNOW! Please don't shoot, let me explain… I know I have way too many fic open… but this is only a two-chapter (three at maximum🥺) story…
Plus, I was feeling overwhelmed by life and needed a messy protagonist to project onto. Sue me.
As always, please let me know what you think. I love reading the comments <3 <3
Divider by the amazing @strangergraphics (this one) and #lobster graphics
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Brat!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: Leon made you mad, and to punish him, you take his card for a day on the town. He comes home with a vengeance, but it's not in his nature to be mean to you, so he finds another way to get you back under his control. He prefers to kiss and make up.
Word Count: 2.2k
Inspired by my Chris Redfield x Brat!Reader fic here, and based on this request. hopefully I did it justice :)
taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses
“Mr. Kennedy?”
“Speaking,” he responds matter-of-factly into the receiver, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he uses both hands to peck at the keyboard, determined to finish this report so he can go home and see you again. He hates leaving after the two of you fight. The rest of his day never feels right–the office is too cold, his suit is too itchy, and there’s a pit at the bottom of his stomach that can’t be ignored until the two of you reconcile.
“This is Romy Johnson with Capital Bank. We’ve noticed a few unusual charges on your card.”
“Uh-oh.” He removes his hands from the keyboard, taking the phone in one. “Like what?”
The woman on the other end of the phone begins rattling off names of boutiques you frequent, the salon you visit bi-weekly for touch-ups to your nails and hair, the one store you always drag him into, and the other so he can watch you try on lingerie in front of a tri-fold mirror (he doesn’t mind going into that one with you, for obvious reasons).
Thousands of dollars spent over the course of a few hours. It’s impressive really, and if he wasn’t so mad at you, he’d admit that it must be some sort of talent you possess, being able to drain his bank account in such record time.
This must be your way of getting back at him for the comment he made last night as the two of you argued back and forth over something so trivial and stupid, he can’t even remember. Or maybe that’s just because he’s getting old.
What was it again? Did he say you…fuck, he really can’t remember.
“It’s fine. I recognize those.”
“Are you authorizing these charges, Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes, yes,” he says quickly, dismissing her concern. “That was me.”
“Alright, then. Have a great day, Mr. Kennedy, and thank you for trusting Capital Bank for all your financial needs.”
“Yes, yeah, you too.” Once the line is dead, he leans back in his rolling desk chair, stretching his arms back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Fuck.”
You sit in the living room, with one recently waxed leg crossed over the other, anxiously shaking your recently buffed and polished foot, flipping your recently dyed and blow dried hair over your shoulder as you wait for Leon’s return. There’s a mountain of shopping bags, stuffed with items you neither need nor particularly wanted, still wrapped up in tissue paper and tied with satin ribbons blocking the front door. You hope it’s the first thing he lays eyes on when he walks inside. Which, you glance down at the glittering watch on your wrist, should be any moment now.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Leon’s shoulders fall as he crosses the threshold, tossing his keys into the bowl by the door, his folded jacket onto the hook beside it. His eyes fall to the massacre around his feet, and he kicks the bags and boxes out of his way. “Where are you?”
You don’t answer, letting him take another step down the hall to meet your eyes across the living room.
“Are you serious? Almost ten thousand dollars in four hours. What the fuck?” Voice as exhausted as it is thick with incredulity, the whiny sound almost makes you feel sorry for the man. “Are you insane?”
You stay seated, your arms crossed over your middle, waiting patiently for him to approach. Maybe when he gets close enough, you’ll kick him right in the balls. He deserves it. For what? You can’t exactly remember…
Did you accuse him of cheating?
Perhaps he forgot your birthday?
Or an anniversary?
It made you mad last night, though, and you were still pissed when you woke up to buttery sunshine and chirping birds this morning, so it had to have been something serious…right?
“Ten thousand dollars,” he repeats, loosening the silk tie around his neck. Before he can get to close, you jump out of the chair and trudge down the hall, toward the stairs. “Don’t you walk away from me, young lady,” he calls out after you.
“Can’t hear you,” you shout back, beginning your trek up the stairs. He nearly catches you, taking the steps two at a time, forcing you to quicken your pace, rounding the corner of the landing until you run to refuge in your bedroom.
His stride is much longer than yours, however, and he’s hot on your trail, storming into the room after you.
“Ten thousand dollars.” Almost. “Why? What could possibly have made you think that was okay?”
“You–you are never home, Leon,” you say, trying to improvise on the spot. It surprises you just how easy it is to fall back into the argument that took place last night, all the puzzle pieces finally fitting together. “You’re always away, off getting shot at, thrown around my mutant creature-things. Do you want to get yourself killed?”
His eyes widen as he fumbles with the buttons at the top of his dress shirt. “I did today after I got that call from the bank. Damn near put in a request for another assignment once the lady told me how much you spent.” He’ll probably have to save another relative of the president to recoup the cost of your adventure.
You roll your eyes. “See? Everything’s a joke to you, huh? Can you not be serious for one moment?”
“You’re returning all that shit tomorrow,” he barks back, ignoring you completely, making quick work of his belt, sliding the leather through the loops of his slacks.
“I am not,” you say, folding your arms, jutting out your hip.
“Yes you are.” He takes another step toward you, unfastening the cuffs of his crisp, white shirt so he can roll the sleeves up his forearms.
“No, I’m not.”
He groans, tossing his head back, muttering to himself. “What the fuck have I done in my life to deserve this?” But save people, save his country. Maybe you’re his karma for some deed that went unnoticed, unpunished.
A delicious punishment, indeed.
Except Leon doesn’t punish. He loves. He doubles down on his affection, smothering you with his gentility and compassion until there’s nothing left for you to do but relinquish your obstinance.
You step to move past him, but his hands are too quick, snatching you up by the waist, grabbing you into his arms. He’s too strong, and you know better than to think you could successfully evade his grasp, but you try anyway. Unrelenting, you squirm around, trying to sink to your knees to duck away but his forearms wrapped around your back keep you on your feet.
Futile…of course.
“Stop it,” he growls, forcing a kiss onto your lips. It’s ferocious and almost violent the way he presses his face against yours. You can almost feel the lines and ridges of his teeth through the skin. He groans into your mouth, the vibrations tickling your lips. “Let me love you.” There is such sincerity in the plea that it elicits pinpricks of tears in the corners of your eyes, softening your hardened heart. “All I want to do is love you. Why won’t you let me?”
He places you onto the bed, flipping you over onto your front, your breasts squished between your weight and the cool fabric of the comforter, no place for your face to go but left or right. You screw your eyes shut, bottom and top lashes glued together by a smear of salty drops, and you rely on your other senses to betray the scene behind you.
Leon manually lifts your hips to place a pillow beneath them, and you hear a rustling of his dress shirt as he lifts the cloth of your robe, as he pulls your panties down the trembling flesh of your thighs.
With his knuckles, he nudges your legs apart just an inch so he can bury two fingers inside of your aching cunt.
“Are you gonna let me take care of you, baby?” He asks, plunging his digits in and out of you as his sugary words meet your ears. So soft. “You must have forgotten how much I love you. That’s why you acted out like that, huh?”
You nod against the mattress, unable to produce any sound beyond your soprano cries of pleasure.
“Let me remind you then.”
His other hand comes to the small of your back, pressing your lower stomach further into the mattress. The simple touch magnifies the intensity a hundred fold, the pressure on your front wall hurrying your approaching climax. He’s aware that this little trick is a guaranteed way to have your legs shaking for hours after your height of pleasure.
“Leon,” you cry, grappling at the sheets above your head, searching for something to tether you to the earth, certain that if you don’t, you’re at risk of ascending to the heavens.
He hardly has to move his fingers, only crooking them at the knuckle to push the spot behind your clit to shove you over the edge. Your first orgasm hits you like a wave, your abdomen tensing and releasing, your walls clenching around his digits, your toes going numb.
You cry out his name, lips stained with spittle and the swears that pass through them as your next climax already starts to build.
Leon chuckles darkly behind you, perfectly content with how you’re melting beneath him, putty in the palm of his hand. Yet he’s still not satisfied.
“It’s not fair, baby, you know that. I work so hard to give you everything you want–anything you could possibly need to be safe and happy.” You can sense him shaking his head in disbelief as his fingers continue to dive rhythmically into your pussy. “The only things I want to do in my silly little life are to love you and make you happy. It’s just not fair when you go out and try to punish me like that.”
You sob into the sheets, your second wave of pleasure cresting over you, this one far more intense and demanding. It has your thighs quaking and your stomach contracting, muscles already sore.
“I can’t, Leon,” you manage to shriek, trying to shift your hips beneath his heavy hands, to crawl up the bed. He doesn’t let you, instead, keeping you pinned to the mattress.
“Yes you can, sweetheart,” he assures sweetly, though his ferocious fingers are anything but. “One more, baby. Just give me one more. I want to make you feel good, remember?”
But it doesn’t feel good. Pleasure quickly bleeds into pain as your throbbing clit refuses any more stimulation. And yet, a third orgasm slams into your body, somehow more violent than the last. It has you quivering from head to toe, and you lose feeling in your fingers.
“No more,” you whimper, tears cascading down your numb cheeks. “No more.” Your bottom lip is swollen and bruised, no doubt a mirror image of your clit, which is being stabbed with aftershocks. “I can’t.”
Leon removes his fingers from your pussy, and you use the last morsel of strength you have to glance over your shoulder, watching as he licks the evidence of your pleasure from them. He flips you over onto your back and bows down to press a nimble kiss onto your clit, still so red and sore, you yelp at even the lightest touch.
He situates himself near the headboard and pulls you along the mattress into his arms, covering your sullied body with the curtains of your robe.
“I feel so bad,” you cry into your hands, shaking your head against your palms, your tears lubricating the movement. “I’m so sorry, Leon. I’m so, so sorry.”
Leon can’t stand to see you cry. For every unhappy tear you shed down your sweet, soft face, a crack in his old heart deepens. He just can’t take it. The sight makes him sick to his stomach, and he’d do anything–anything–to make you feel better.
“Shh, baby, baby, baby.” He pulls you further into his chest to cradle you in his arms, and you let him pet your head, smoothing your hair, playing with the strands between his fingers. “It’s alright, baby. You’re okay.”
“I don’t know why I did it. I can’t even remember why we fought in the first place,” you admit through another violent sob. “Not really.”
“Please don’t cry,” he pleads, cupping the side of your face. “I hate seeing you cry.”
You sniffle, wiping your wet eyes on the back of your hand. “I’m sorry.”
After a few minutes of him holding you like this, among the silent calm of the bedroom, Leon finally speaks. “If you want us to take that vacation we’ve been planning, you know you’ll have to return some of that stuff. Doesn’t have to be everything.” He shrugs. “Just a few things.”
You nod against him, sticky tears drying down on your cheeks. “I know.”
“Just not that lingerie, got it?” The corner of his mouth lifts into a half-smile, and the sight makes your heart skip a beat or two.
You break out into a giggle, the first time you’ve genuinely laughed since your argument last night, and it feels good. A sweet release.
thinking about re9! leon kennedy with an extremely gen z brain rotted partner . . . again!
you’ve seen many videos of men on tiktok doing pushups and whimpering and apologizing like wet dogs, and the first thing that came to mind was that you had to do that with leon.
he sees you walking up to him, flash on, camera straight in his face. he was just enjoying his morning coffee, only wearing his sweatpants, and sighs. “yes, sweetheart? what’s up?”
“i need you to do a thing for me,” you giggle, pointing at the ground. he raises a brow, clearly confused.
“baby, that gesture could mean lots of things. do you want me to propose, eat you out or what?” he’s so blunt. he’s so sexy when he’s sarcastic too.
“no, none of that,” you say. “you’re gonna do pushups!”
now that was weird. “pushups? oh wait, you said i’m gonna do it, so i can’t even say no?”
“that’s right,” you smile. “do pushups until failure, and apologize every time you mess up.”
“y/n, i just woke up…”
“just do it!”
he sighs, kneels on the ground like the good boy he is following your instructions, and then starts doing pushups. one, two, three… you try to count them, you really do. but maybe you had forgotten that he’s been trained to resist for long, and his training definitely made him do worse stuff, so of course he’s not whimpering or anything, let alone messing up.
at one hundred, you sigh, pout and lower your phone. he stops and looks up at you confused. “did i do something wrong? i was doing pushups.”
“yeah but… you didn’t whimper,” you mumble. his eyes almost come out of his skull as he stands up.
“i didn’t what?”
“whimper,” you repeat.
“… so you just wanted me to whimper.”
you nod slowly. “yeah…” then sigh, “no whimpers for me then…”
he swears that he’s so done with you and your stupid requests and ideas that come from that social that he refuses to download, loyal to only having maps, messenger and maybe facebook (which he opens like, once in a year). but god, that stupid look on your face makes his heart melt and he can’t stand seeing you sad.
so when he thinks you’ve turned your camera off, he comes in closer and pecks your forehead. “you’re so dumb,” he whispers affectionately. “don’t worry, i’ll give you something better tonight.”
you watch him with starry eyes as he walks to the bathroom to get ready for work. “are you finally giving me the kennedih?”
you hear him groan, then sigh, then a small silence that probably means he’s rubbing his face like a disappointed father or he’s rethinking his life choices of when he first met you. maybe he’s doing both. yeah, definitely both. “sure, whatever. i’ll get you a kennedih… whatever that is…”
“yay!” you jump and giggle as you finally turn off your camera, since you’ve actually kept recording till this moment. then you follow him, and knock on the bathroom door. “leon?”
“can i have the kennetits too?”
“you’re on thin ice, y/n.”
“okay, okay, sorry!” and off you go, scrambling away, finally happy you’ll have your kennedih <3.
thinking about re9! leon kennedy with an extremely gen z brain rotted partner . . .
you’re laying on the couch, dressed with the stupidest shirt you could find, and leon has just gotten out of the shower after an entire day spent running after idiots that somehow managed to govern his state when he saw you, giggling at the screen while a ringtone echoes in the apartment.
“what’s up? who’s calling you?” he asks in that stupidly hot voice of his, walking closer.
“john pork,” you say, showing him the video. leon can only sigh and shake his head, sitting down with you.
“and you’re laughing because…?” he raises an eyebrow. “it’s supposed to be funny?”
“it is funny, leon,” you say, bringing the phone closer to your face. dangerously so. your-corneas-are-going-to-catch-fire type of close. leon, poor innocent man that was just hoping to spend the night with you, laid down right next to you and the two of you rolled around until you got comfortable laying against his chest. he watches you scroll through tiktok and after ten minutes, he stops a video.
a fish with a cat’s face with written ‘fih’ on top, and the same ringtone from before. he feels your shoulders shake, and groans. “that’s- that’s a cat fish calling. it’s not funny, baby.”
“it is! you’re just old and don’t understand this!” you contest through laughter, and helpless, he wiggles his way out because just from a few videos on your fyp he felt his brain melting and needed a drink.
but just as he walked into the kitchen, you put down your phone and called out for him. “leon?”
he takes a deep breath in and slowly peeks his head out of the doorway, glancing at you. “yes, sweetheart?”
little did he know, you were actually recording him to post online later. “are you gonna give me some of that kennedih later?”
leon’s lips purse, his brows furrow. “kennedih- what’s a-” but he stops, knowing that it’s probably something stupid. without answering, he disappears back into the kitchen.
“go to sleep, y/n.”
you giggle. “but what about the kennedih?”
“i’m taking your phone away. and i’m not gonna get you a kennedih.”
cw: Leon is sexualized by his own choices, teasing, partial nudity, implied age gap (reader is younger than Leon), gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
You and Leon discuss the new lingo the kids are using to unexpected results.
Leon Kennedy/Reader
“The problem is,” Leon inserts into the conversation without any preamble, “is that I can’t keep up with the new lingo nowadays.”
You send him a slantways look, admiring him in profile—somehow, even in the depths of being utterly unmoored, he still cuts a dashing figure. Still broad-shouldered and endearing, as his brow furrows and that familiar crinkle of crow’s feet manifests in the corners of his eyes—utterly baffled.
This is why, in this dichotomy, these oppositional ends encapsulated in one man—you laugh. A genuine, ebullient noise, made to share in his pain. You can’t help it; you’re always charmed by Leon.
Even as he seems to maintain his gaze upon you in confused focus while you prop your head in the crook of your palm. An empathetic smile crosses your face as you look at your better—your elder, you suppose.
“That’s just how it goes, old man,” you say teasingly, without bite; this is why he’s emboldened to send you back what you would qualify as a sheepish grin—“—Times change and so do what’s cool.”
“Didn’t expect it to just creep up on me like that.” He continues, his voice coarse with the gravity of years suddenly catching up all at once. You giggle again, trying your best to smother it in the heel of your palm on Leon’s behalf.
“What’s the word, Mr. Kennedy?” You ask, prompting the swivel of his gaze up from the unerring table surface up to the minutiae of your face. At this, he makes a dispassionate sigh through his teeth, shrugging.
“Too many to count.” He admits—and this makes three laughs in short span of time—“—Sherry doesn’t mean to, but she keeps throwing in things that I just have to nod along to.”
“Give me something,” you urge him, holding your hand out to receive his answer. “At least one.”
He pauses now, retreating into the fog of stymied memories as he searches for something. Finally after the elapsing of a meandering second, he produces an answer.
“Cooked?” Leon asks, a crease manifesting between the knit of his brow. “But there’s two meanings to it—”
“Uh-huh,” You nod agreeably, “That’s right.”
He seems a little more heartened at this confirmation. “Okay. Also—”—He sends you a confirmatory squint through his confusion—“—Aura?”
“Yes, that one’s being repurposed,” You explain with a jovial grin; as time passes, it’s becoming more and more difficult to be able to repress another laugh threatening to make way. “They had that one back in your time though, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” He grunts dismissively, settling an impressive column of an arm back on the table, “But I don’t know if I really got it back then either.”
You know that you’re gracing him with a full-bodied smile, but you’re having too much fun now. Leon is making it too much fun; you cross your arms as you tick back in your own seat.
“Any others?” You inquire, because you don’t want this little dalliance in whimsy to pass by too quickly. He thinks, mellow as he considers one to make an even three.
“Sherry and her friends say that I have a—”—Here, he has enough sensibility to be somewhat abashed about this term—“—Dad bod.”
And this is when the dam breaks with finality; the laugh that bursts from you is explosive, rocketing you forward in your seat.
But there’s just something so adorable about this man who has saved the world multiple times over, fought countless enemies beyond most people’s mortal capabilities. And yet, he still remains confounded by that everlasting mystery of raising a daughter and having to interact with her friends.
“Poor Leon,” You chuckle, looking at the bracing grimace that he sends your way, “Still can’t escape the barbs of a girl with her clique, huh?”
“I didn’t know it was a barb,” He confesses, “Because they wouldn’t tell me what it meant.”
“Well, do you?” You ask with a teasing angle to the upturned corner of your mouth. “Have a dad bod?”
“I don’t know,” He says, and perhaps it’s because it’s the late, after-hours nature of the conversation. Perhaps it's the relaxed ambience that the two of you have happily cohabited in here, that has made your senses dulled.
“Is this a dad bod?” Is what Leon says next. Then, before you can conceive possible prediction for what he could possibly do, he slowly, almost shyly, hucks up the hem of his shirt.
And all you can do, for lack of better word, is stare at the mouthwatering display before you. Old he might be, but that word seems to falter in the space of the absolute testament before you. The one that proclaims in lurid display musculature sculpted by hard work and divine intervention.
He’s jacked—you think that you could grind meat on those abs, given the chance. When he takes in a protracted, shuddering breath, you see the flex of his stomach, the coil of exertion, and this draws your eyes down to the sharp v that ascends from his waistband.
You don't even realize you’ve been staring far, far too long at the fine layer of hair that composes a happy trail that you desperately, desperately want to see the end of the rainbow at. It's here that Leon speaks.
“You can touch it if you want to,” Leon says, and the muscles only coil taut at this, breaking the spell. Letting you catch that honeyed undercurrent in his voice, tear your eyes up to see the tentatively hopeful look he casts your way.
“You think it’ll help with my research?” You ask, because you’re always one to play games, now that you know the score. And lucky for you, from the quiet grin manifesting on Leon’s face, he’s eager to walk the walk with you.
“I hear that hands-on experiences are always the best,” He replies. There’s something rich and low that sends a shiver down your spine, to cause all the right locales of your body to perk up with interest.
“I prefer being wined and dined first, Mr. Kennedy.” You straighten up in your seat. Testing the waters that your superior, your better is making overtures at that you want to explore. And his hands finally lower at this, concealing the most-definitively not dad bod that you’re already missing sight of.
“I never said I wouldn’t,” He says, and there’s almost something offended at this—again, you feel a pang of fondness for this gentleman trying to offer his body to you.
But there’s still a wicked spark of mischief in his eyes as he maintains marked intensity with yours. “But I never heard there was any shame in a practice run.”
“You know,” You find yourself inching along, tethered by a force far more magnetic than verbal application can explain, “I hear that practice does make perfect.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” Leon smirks, and his hand is so gentle as it draws up the landscape of your cheek, “Why don’t you come here so we can get started?”
“Aye aye, Mr. Kennedy,” You make breathless chuckle against the terrain of his lips. Looks like you’re going to get some extensive field experience with Mr. Kennedy’s dad bod after all.
explicit content
Leon experiences a moral shock when he realises just how badly he loves teaching you to touch him. In bed and outside of it—every woman he’s ever been entangled with knew more than him, and he learned how to touch women through their hands. How to pet their hair back, how to kiss too-sensitive places. How to coax a woman into his lap, and nip her throat, and make her shudder.
You know nothing. He’s your first boyfriend, lover, partner. You’ve never been touched, which is his own private agony, and a delight at all hours of the day as he gets to be your first kiss, your first fuck, and your first cuddle. He teaches you how to open your mouth and use your tongue, how to take what you need from him and anything else you want, too. He teaches you how to relax when you’re against someone, and how to draw shapes down their back. He shouldn’t find it so achy. He’s never been like this before. The hesitant way you tuck hair behind his ear as you lean up to kiss his cheek has him stirred and quickly useless, your hand tumbling down his back to tickle him like a damn slap. He shivers when you scratch his scalp and says, That’s perfect, bub, with enough condescension to hide his sincerity. He’d love you if you knew everything there was to know, want you without introductions, but he loves being trusted so deeply by you, and he loves the way you smile when his patience exceeds your expectation. He doesn’t get mad. Doesn’t ever laugh at your shy questions. He’s putty in the palm of your trembly hands.
The worst of it is that you know. Not that you like it, being led and taught and told, commanded around with a gentleness he can’t fake, no. The worst part is when you wait to be told what to do, after a hundred kisses and hours upon hours boiling up in his lap. Like this? you ask into his neck, your teeth dull at his pulse and your tongue hot.
Leon grabs you by the thighs and yanks you against his front every time, a poor picture of restraint, praising his baby through gritted teeth. Yeah, honey. You listen so well.
summary: just because his dick doesn’t work anymore doesn’t mean he can’t please you.
warnings: established relationship, age gap (40s!leon|25+!reader), older man with ed, oral (f!receiving), fingering, minor embarrassment involved angst
w/c: >1k
author notes: little blurb, more leon soon.
If you had a dime for every time someone openly judged you for being married to a significantly older man, you’d have enough money to buy two porches and four ninja creamis. At some point the comments didn’t really affect you anymore, it became natural to see some reaction when you mentioned it to a new person.
Your marriage with Leon was relatively new, being shy of just four years, most of your friends made sure you knew good and well how they felt about the relationship. Of course, many of your friends were supportive, because if you were happy and he treated you well nothing else mattered. They knew he was older, knew he had a job, spoiled you and cared for you like no one’s business.
But in every conversation where your friends would talk about their own boyfriends or their relationships, there would always be one person to remind you of the obvious.
It was painful, honestly. You knew the age thing would be controversial to some, and you knew the complications of it all. Hell, Leon was the one that kept rejecting you despite your adamance to be with him.
But you saw past the age difference and more at the man he was.
And being the doting, caring husband he was, he always put you before him. It didn’t matter the case, the situation or the scenario, if it benefitted you and made you happy, it was done. Which is why you were currently sprawled out naked on the warmth of the messy bed, legs spread apart as he propped himself between the softness of your thighs.
The two of you tried, key word: tried, to enjoy each other’s presences. A natural, soft kind of intimacy saved for nights where he wasn’t tired and felt particularly eager on pleasing you. And he so desperately wanted to please you. To soak in the warmth of your body against his, to press his lips against your neck and hear your soft little moans as he nudged his cock against the wetness of your walls.
Except that plan, that thought in his mind was evaporated about as quickly as steam from a pan. By the time he fished out his cock between slow mouth kisses and gentle squeezes of your ass, the damn thing just flopped out. Not hard, not even a half chub. It was like looking at deflated balloon, just soft and embarrassingly so.
The embarrassment had crawled up his spine and rushed to his neck so fast he nearly got dizzy. Of course, now was one of the times his dick decided to stop working. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fuck you. How could he not when you were looking up at him so pretty and expectantly, glossy lips and wide eyes watching his every move.
It was terrible. Worse than anything he’s ever dealt with or any person he’s ever fought.
The arousal was there, the want was there. You were right there. But it was like his mind and body were disconnected, unplugged from the port. He tried giving himself a few strokes, busying himself with the smell of you and the taste of your skin hoping (and praying) that he would just get hard.
For a moment, he couldn’t even meet your eye. He was terrified. Would you take it the wrong way? Would you be disappointed? God, what would you think?
He tried to busy your eyes from anything but him, peeled off your shorts and guided you against him as he tried to work with what he had. The last thing he wanted was for you to see and immediately think the worse; the disappointment, the rejection, the dissatisfaction, the unattractiveness. Throughout all his inner thoughts and the waves of worries, he only thought about you.
And that’s how you suddenly wound up with a pillow under your hips and one leg pulled over his shoulder. He didn’t care for himself anymore, and despite the lack of warmth from your bodies pressed together just five minutes ago, he was more than happy to focus on the pretty wetness of your pussy.
His mouth was placed sloppily against your cunt, eyes glued onto your face to soak in every little gasp and reaction you had. His tongue dragged up in long almost frantic slides, moving up and down, then side to side. Your hips jerked forward, feet digging into the mattress below you as you moaned softly.
His lips were swollen and glossy with the thin sheen of your own juices, mouth inching further and further up to suck at your clit. Two of his thick fingers were shoved knuckle deep into the weeping mess of your cunt, pumping in and out in slow squelches. His digits turned, scissoring and curling against your walls as he flicked the tip of his tongue against your clit.
His other hand gripped tightly around your thigh, squeezing the flesh and guiding your hips against his face to literally smother himself in the taste of you. He let out a low, vibrating groan into your pussy, eyes fluttering slightly as you ran a hand through his hair.
Your fingers curled into his hair, back arching as his mouth latched around your clit again. His nose buried against the dampness of your skin, fingers pulling out with a quiet, wet pop. You let out a whiny moan at the loss of his fingers, pussy clenching around the cold air. “W-what, why’d you stop?”
You can feel his grin against your folds, eyes shifting up from the slick in front of him to the verbal disappointment on your face. “Patience, baby. Just getting a better angle, ‘s all.”
You huffed impatiently, shifting back as he gently tucked the pillow further under your hips. He planted his lips against your inner thighs in teasing, soft kisses as he angled your hips up just another fraction or two. Staring down at him, you let out another little noise of impatience only to be met with a smug grin from your husband.
“God, baby. Don’t get all worked up now.”
“Leon. Hurry up.”
He laughs, warm and muffled against your thigh before giving you a slow nod. He nips at your inner thigh, enjoying the way you squealed and squirmed against the bed. “Okay, okay. ‘M sorry.”
He gives you approximately two seconds to prepare yourself before immediately diving back into your pussy. He presses a firm hand against the soft of your stomach, forcing you still as he mouthed open kisses to your slit. Whimpering shakily as he firmly pressed a calloused fingertip against your clit, he dragged the base of his tongue along the slick of your arousal.
He peppers your folds in kisses, spreading your lips apart to gently slide the tip of his tongue against your fluttering entrance. He’s met with momentary resistance, before gently pressing his tongue an inch further.
“Oh, fuck.” You gasp heavily, fingers digging into his scalp as you subconsciously buck your pussy against his face. He sloppily slides just the tip of his tongue inside, curling the pink muscle and rotating it slightly. His thumb presses firmly against your throbbing clit, rubbing quick, tight circles against the nub.
Between your frantic squirms, moany gasps and the audible sounds of your pussy, Leon’s subtle sounds of approval are barely heard. A growing warmth spreads from the top of your head to the bottom of your toes. Tugging mindlessly on Leon’s hair, though he doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes are entirely fixated on you. He watches as your body tenses, hips stuttering forward at the heavy pinch of your clit.
Your orgasm washes over you abruptly between airy moans, an intense heat sprouting in your gut before breaking off into a long simmering buzz. Your thighs twitch against his head, his large, calloused palms wrapped around the flesh of your thighs to soothe you. He pulls back slightly, watching your chest rise and fall in labored breaths as he laps at the mess of juices against your slit. He licks the gloss from his lips, splattered with your own arousal and juices before hesitating.
You’re completely oblivious to the moment, slowly coming down from your high as he strokes your thigh. His eyes dart down momentarily towards the growing tent in his boxers and the persistent throb of his cock finally coming to life. Without thinking twice, he lets out a small chuckle, gaining your attention as he moved to wrap an arm around your waist.
“What’s so funny?” You asked between labored breaths, shimmying against him as he gave your hip a small squeeze. You ran a hand up to his forearm, glancing down as his other hand moved to free himself for the second time tonight.
“No nothing, hon’.” He rubs his thumb up and down the expanse of your waist, looking down at you as he allowed his hand to roam. “Just thinking.”
You smiled slightly, a bit dazed and confused as you tilt your head at him. “About what?”
“How many times I can stuff that pretty pussy full.”
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
cw: nsfw, p in v sex, oral (f!receiving), safe sex, condom, one night stand, daddy kink (duh), leon is a big pervert but also a sweetheart, vacation, reader is a BIG cougar (or is it panther i don’t remember)
wc: 5.2k
a/n: cross posted from my ao3! thought everyone over here might like it 🤷🏼♀️ i have a couple more oneshots on there if u wanna check those out 😏 also the title is from the song by abba if u didn’t catch that… i always think of leon when i hear it LOL so i wrote this a while ago!!!
Leon sighs as he settles into a beach chair under an ironic red and white umbrella, an ice cold beer in his hand. After years of countless missions and work, the government finally, finally gave him a vacation! For a whole week! Lucky him!
He wasn’t quite sure where to go. Thought about seeing one of the many national parks he has free access to but never the time, or maybe visit Europe without worrying about a zombie on his back every second. Hunnigan suggested somewhere tropical, and with no other ideas, he splurged a bit with the excessive amount of money he doesn’t use and booked a flight to Hawaii. Can’t really get more tropical than that.
Didn’t have anyone to drag along with him either, so here is, watching the ocean by himself. The beach isn’t too crowded, at least. A couple kids playing in the water, a family a bit aways to his right and an old couple to his left. There’s a group of girls he can hear giggling nearby but doesn’t pay too much attention to it.
The most surprising part is that Leon actually feels relaxed. For once in his life, the DSO has promised not to call him no matter the emergency. He doesn’t really believe them, but the gentle lapping of the waves on the shore washes it away from his mind for a while. The beer helps too, but that’s a given.
He lets his thoughts wander for a while, rawdogging the view with not even a phone in his hand. Old fashioned, he’d say. After a couple hours, the beach gets a little more full and his beer is gone so he sighs and gets up. Groans quietly as he stretches and feels his joints pop.
Well, the sun’s setting now. No other idea of where to wander himself off to, he spots a beach bar and decides a fruity cocktail wouldn’t hurt.
Your older cousin is helping you get instagram pictures a bit aways from the bar, in her natural habitat getting your best angles as you pose in front of the sunset. Usually you’re very adamant on not taking pictures because you end up hating them all, but she insisted, and you’ve fawned over her perfectly aesthetic and cool photo dumps since you got the app in middle school.
“Oh, right there! If this isn’t your profile picture after…” she trails off as she locks in again. Your ‘right there’ pose is a look of shock thanks to the sexiest man you’ve ever seen alive that just walked past you. Older, taller, morally gray, not to mention the biggest god damn biceps you’ve ever seen. Daddiest of daddies. The same age as your own dad, if not older.
”God, you look so good in that bikini. Do you remember when our moms made us get those matching—what’s with that look on your face?” She follows your gaze, squinting before finally realizing it must be that guy who’s just sat at the bar. She knows you like older guys, and thus knows exactly what you’re thinking.
“Oh… okay, the other ones I could get behind because at least they were early thirties, but that one is at least 45!”
”Nat, look at his fucking biceps!” You whisper yell a her, taking your phone back as you finally snap out of your starstruckedness. Your eyes, however, are still staring at Leon, the way his muscles move under his skin when he hands his card to the bartender. You’re not the best at flirting, but you’d be an idiot not to try.
”Don’t do it…” Natalie warns, giving you a look as she sees your lips quirk up. You squint, waiting for him to turn… yes! No ring!
”It’s fine, he’ll probably turn me down anyway, I just wanna say hi,” you reply, glancing behind her at your other cousin who’s just returned from the bathroom. They both share a look and a sigh, knowing they’re not gonna be able to hold you back.
”Fine… but be careful, girlie. Give us a look and we’ll come save you,” your other cousin says, crossing his arms. You do a fist bump of victory, trying to brush your nerves off before approaching.
Leon thanks the bartender when he gets his drink, some fruity paradise bullshit with a stupid name that he knows he’ll probably order four more of. He’s having a grand old time in his own world, until he gets pulled out of it by someone sliding onto the stool next to him.
”Excuse me, mister, aren’t you too hot to be sitting here all by yourself?” You question with a sly smile, deliberately crossing one leg over the other and leaning against the bar in a way that subtly pushes up your chest. Leon looks immediately, and then curses himself for doing so. He's not a perv, you just caught him off guard! He swears!
”Oh, you think so? You’re pretty good at flattery, sweetheart,” he says, turning towards you. Somehow, getting hit on is just about the last thing he was expecting from this trip. Especially not by a younger girl. He thought he was long out of the game.
“Just calling it as I see it,” you hum, letting your eyes take the lead in imagining what’s under his shirt as you ‘absentmindedly’ trace the hem of your bikini top, teasing. You try to think of something your parents would ask for small talk. “You on, uh, a solo trip?”
”Sure,” he shrugs, not wanting to bore you with the details. It’s not something our twenty-something mind needs to worry about. He glances around, spotting several boys much closer to your own age. Taking off his sunglasses, he turns back to you. “What’s brought you next to me, hm? Takin’ pity on me?”
”I think it’s the other way around,” you reply with a short laugh, bouncing your foot that’s not supported, lightly brushing his leg.
“You want me to buy you a drink then? Is that it?” He questions, lips quirking up in a smirk. You falter slightly. You could say yes, but our cousins are watching, and if you drink something they’re definitely putting a stop to this. It’s so early to drop the bomb, though.
”Uh, I hate to say no, but… I’m not quite old enough to drink, mister,” you decline, shaking your head, looking a little more shy compared to your bold flirting. Leon blinks. He thought you were in your mid twenties, but you can’t even drink. Can you even drive?
”…no? You’re not 21?” He clarifies, brows furrowing now. He almost feels like he needs to push his drink away from your eyesight now. God, you’re so gonna get him in trouble. “How old are you then, cutie?”
Your hesitation is enough of an answer as it is, not to mention the way you glance away again. It’s cute, but hes way more focused on your response. You tap your nails on the bar. “I’m… almost 20.”
Almost 20. You’re 19, barely even legal. You’re literally less than half his age. He already felt like a creep, sitting next to you with grey streaks in his hair and a salt and pepper stubble. Now he feels like he needs to go turn himself in, get an ankle monitor too. That’s his brain telling him it’s the right thing to do, he's annoyed at his guts for not twisting with guilt. Not even a pinch.
“Jesus, girl. You’re just a baby,” Leon chuckles in disbelief, scratching his cheek. Why isn’t he turning you away? “I couldn’t take a chance on a chick like you.”
”No? But mister, I promise I know what I want,” you whine playfully, just playing it up for the fun of it now. You know you’re not getting in his pants, as much as you’d like to dive right in. “I’m not a kid.”
”Uh huh. Does your mother know that you’re out, honey?” He scoffs, but not meanly. What the hell kind of daddy issues have you got that pushed you to flirt with him? “You sure you don’t have a curfew?”
You're trying hard to keep up with the flirty game, but do you really stand a chance when he says those words to you? With that deep, rough voice of his and the crows feet at the corners of his eyes when he smirks at you? You could melt into his lap right now.
“I’m an adult, mom’s not in charge of me anymore,” you giggle, trying to play sly still. It’s like you’re playing in mom’s makeup, though, with the way your eyes are all sparkly and swirling with warmth as you stare up at him.
”I can chat with you, baby, since you think it’s so funny. But you should slow down,” Leon warns teasingly, still not sure why he hasn’t patted your head and told you to run along. He brushes some hair from your face. “Flirting with men twice your age is no way to go.”
”I’m just… making conversation,” you murmur, a little distracted by his touch even though his fingers never actually kiss your skin. If you’re being honest, this is the closest you’ve gotten to actually getting with an older man. “It’s called being polite, mister.”
”Call me Leon, sweetheart,” he says, shifting slightly when he feels the toe of your flip flop brush his calf again. You give him your own name in return, feeling your cheeks turn a bit pink for a reason you can’t quite identify.
”Leon,” you say in a lower, softer voice. You pause, glancing at your cousins and the lack of brightness in the sky. You turn back to him, your pretty lips giving him one of those smiles. He knows what that means
”Look, princess, you’re cute. I like your style. But you’re still just a teen, little girl,” he sighs, eyes betraying him and finding your lips as his hand comes up to hold your chin, thumb rubbing so gently at your jaw. You almost visibly melt at his touch, and do you even know that you're giving him puppy dog eyes right now?
Jesus, this is low, even for him.
”I think you would be better off with a boy your own age, cutie.”
”Well I think I would be better off spending the night with you,” you say quietly, your foot now deliberately rubbing up and down his leg. You’re stubborn, he’ll give you that.
”I’m really too old for you, miss. You’ll get me in trouble.” So why is he still here, letting you sit next to him?
“Please? You won’t even notice I’m there,” you plead, trying really hard now. You’ve never put so much effort into flirting before.
”That’s not true. I can’t keep my eyes off of you,” Leon admits as his thumb swipes over the corner of your mouth, becoming more and more bemused by your lips. When did you get so close, anyway?
”Just one night, mister,” you whisper, looking up at him with big doe eyes that you desperately hope are working as you turn your head slightly to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. He sighs, brows furrowing as he watches you, conflicted. “No one has to know.”
“One night. Then you need to find a boy your own age,” he finally relents, kissing your cheek. He's on vacation, anyway, and you’re clearly not gonna give up. He’ll never see you again after this, and all will be well.
The second Leon closes the door behind him and provides you the privacy of the suite he spent a little extra money on, you eagerly reach for him, tugging him into a kiss. He lets out a small sigh against your lips, his hand that had been on the small of your back wrapping around your waist now.
”Someone’s impatient,” he murmurs, kissing you back and lightly biting your lower lip. You can feel your heart beating in your chest, your whole body thrumming with excitement.
His hand finds the back of your neck, tilting your head so he can slip his tongue in your mouth. You gasp softly, making his lips twitch into an almost smile. He figured you’d be at least a little inexperienced, but you’re a better kisser than he expected. Must be a natural.
Your arms wind around his neck as he picks you up, forcing a surprised noise out of you. God, you could tell he was strong, but he scoops you up like you’re nothing. It’s way hotter than it needs to be.
He sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap, pulling you as close as he can. You literally fit into him, just like a puzzle piece. His hands wander your half naked body, leaving hot trails of pleasure that your skin doesn’t know how to react to. It’s never felt like this before.
“You’ve done this before, right?” Leon asks just in case, kissing along your jawline now and down your neck. He can feel you trying your best not to squirm, sensitive little thing.
”Uhm, only a couple times,” you reply, your legs squeezing his waist as you try to stay still. Were you always this restless? You don’t quite remember. “Is that bad?”
”No, princess. ‘S good,” he shakes his head, finding a sensitive spot on your neck just under your ear. His hands squeeze and rub your thighs, trying to get you to relax and not turn yourself to stone on his lap. “Relax, girl. I don’t mind if you squirm.”
You tilt your head to the side, biting your lip to at least muffle the little whimper crawling out of your throat. He's way better at giving you hickies than any of the boys you made out with in high school.
Leon pulls away after a moment, finger slipping under your bikini strap as he gives you a look. You don’t have to think before you nod. He pulls the string around your back and then the one around your neck, letting your top fall away.
You're pretty sure your brain loses a circuit when he licks his lips, staring right at your breasts. One arm stays around your waist, his free hand gently cupping one and kissing the soft skin. You're worried your nails might rip his shirt with the way your grip tightens when he starts laving at the nipple.
”Shit, haven’t gotten it up this quick in a while,” he grunts with a short chuckle, his hand coming down to your hip which is only just now making you realize you’ve been rocking your hips this whole time. Fucking dry humping him and you had no clue. The friction felt so good that you just didn’t even recognize it, but now there’s no mistaking the firm tent you're sitting on.
“Can I eat you, baby?” He asks in a raspy voice, looking up at you. A little breathless, you don’t respond for a moment, threading your fingers through his hair. Then you smile.
”You’re giving me puppy eyes,” you giggle, your gaze darting between his sharp blue eyes, the little sparkle in them as he gives you an expectant look. Like an old dog still begging for a treat. “Yeah, you can eat me… daddy.”
”Cheeky girl,” he groans, turning and laying you down on the bed. He’s been called that before but it’s different coming from you. He asks before taking off your bikini bottoms, smirking as he feels how wet they are.
”Good thing these are made to get wet, would’ve soaked them otherwise,” he teases, tossing them aside. Leon sighs as he finally spreads your legs and gets a good look at you.
“What’s that look for?” You ask, half joking and half worried something’s wrong. The answer you receive is a kiss to your clit and a broad stripe licked up your slit. Humming in pleasure, your hand finds his hair again, keeping him there.
Leon quite literally makes slurping noises as he laps up your slick, dipping his tongue in your hole when he’s licked your chubby lips clean. His rough stubble scratches your sensitive skin, making you shiver.
”God, you're… f-fuck—really good at that,” you moan softly, only able to keep your thighs open with the help of his hands keeping a nice hold on them. One of them leaves the plush skin to thumb little circles on your clit—didn’t take him long to find it, unlike last time you got laid…
He doesn’t pull back for a breath once, just keeps rubbing your clit and eating your pussy. Holds your ankle to the back of your thigh, lets out hums and moans of satisfaction especially when you tug on his hair a little. The incredibly lewd, wet sounds that would put a nun in a coma is something that you didn’t particularly expect to turn you on.
“Close? You’re quiverin’,” he mumbles against your chubby pussy lips, his tongue dipping inside your hole and licking up the walls of your cute cunt. Every ridge and crevice that he can reach doesn’t go unexplored by his tongue. Leon faintly hears you whine out a yes, too distracted otherwise.
Only takes a couple more circles on your clit before you're pulling harder on his hair and arching your back. Mumbling something about “Leon, Leon, daddy”—you're serious about it this time around, don’t even realize it’s slipped from your pretty lips. Your poor daddy issues cant help it.
”Uh huh, there you go, atta girl,” he rumbles, rubbing up and down your soft thighs to help you down.
You melt into the bed as he kisses up your belly and then your cheek, and you can smell your own scent on his mouth. Always makes you ick when it’s on your fingers, but somehow it’s hot on him.
”Ready for me or need another minute?” He asks gently, and you blink your hazy eyes to look up at him. Already going for round two like he didn’t just give you the best orgasm of your life. Hey, when did his clothes come off?
Your finger traces down his forearm to his own digits before you decide.
”Mmh, ready…” you murmur, almost feeling sleepy when his big hand rubs your side. You wake up when you hear something tear open, seeing him open a condom with his teeth. You feel yourself frown slightly.
You've always been very adamant on safe sex—God only knows what teenage boys carry. But you're on the pill, and he’s so hot and so sweet to you…
”Nnh, wait. ‘M on the pill,” you stop him before he can roll it on. You can see the gears turning in his head as he looks up at you.
”…It’s okay, sweetheart. Still shouldn’t risk it with a man you barely know,” he says, shaking his head as he tugs the latex down his length.
Damn it. Did he have to be hot and considerate?? Aren’t old men supposed to be perverts who would jump out of their pants the second a bit of cleavage is shown?? He’s middle aged and rough inside and out, shouldn’t he be refusing to do anything but raw skin to skin?!
Well, not like you’re gonna protest or anything, cant scare him away. Leon grunts as he leans over you again, one hand holding him up by your waist, the other rubbing his thumb up your slit to make sure you’re still wet. He hisses a breath through his teeth when he feels your warmth against his tip, guiding it up and down over your cunt.
”Ready, baby? You let me know if it hurts too much, yeah? Don’t wanna see your pretty face in pain,” he says gently, but you can feel the roughness in his voice down to your bones. One hand clutching the sheets and the other on his forearm you nod, eyes glancing between his and his cock in his hand.
He takes a deep breath, staring down at your entrance. He prods your hole with the pink head, his brain seeing through the sex fog to wonder if he’s really about to fuck a girl almost a third of his age. Doesn’t take long for the fog to cover back up as he puts the tip in, making you both moan.
”Yeah… relax for me, princess. I know, it’s a stretch, huh? It’s okay, I’m right here,” Leon doesn’t even know if you can hear him, you look so lost, but he says it anyway. “A little more—ngh, yeah, good girl. Doing so good. Gonna go slow for you, honey.”
Your poor little pussy, doesn’t know what to do with such a big cock! You try to relax as much as you can, but you’re already trying to squeeze him. For a second you think you might be inadvertently trying to push him out, but that’s cut off by your whine as your greedy little cunt sucks him right back in.
”Fuck. Almost there,” he sighs, hand leaving his dick to grab your thigh again, but he still watches. His sweet blue eyes flick back up to see your face, and he coos at your glossy eyes. “Oh, don’t cry baby. Daddy’s right here.”
The way his tone is just slightly mocking makes your body lubricate itself just enough to get him the rest of the way in, earning a groan from the both of you. A couple tears slip—happy tears you claim, you’re just a little overwhelmed.
For fucks sake, you're so pretty when you cry. Leon’s not sadistic but your watery, shiny eyes and the small little hiccup from your throat is just fucking adorable.
“Aw, sweet girl, it’s okay. ‘M right here. Just needed me to take care of you, hm? Needed it so bad,” he teases in a sweet tone as both of his hands rub up and down your thighs now, holding them up. Look so pretty like that. You sniffle and nod, then a moment later, tell him meekly that he can move.
He nods, grunting as he pulls back just a couple inches and then sinks right back in. God, your pussy doesn’t want him to leave. He starts a shallow, slow rhythm, building it up as you start to relax more and get used to the feeling of his sized cock filling you out.
“There we go. Takin’ me so good,” he grunts, fingers squeezing your thighs as he presses your knees a little further towards your chest. This way he can see the way your swollen little pussy sandwiches his cock.
“Really good, daddy,” you whine, squirming when he really grinds into you. Your hands reach up, grabbing onto his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
Leon never exactly expected to be calling himself daddy to a barely legal girl, but here he is whispering, “good girl, love it when daddy fills you up, don’t ya?”
He has your legs hooked over his elbows, folding you as he presses weight on top of you. You just want him so close. He rests his head on your chest, letting out gruff sounds against your skin as he slides in and out of you.
”Shit, squeezin’ real tight there. Greedy little thing doesn’t like it when I leave,” he says mindlessly, not really sure if he’s talking to you or himself.
Your sweet little moans are music to his goddamn ears. You’re not crying anymore, but your eyes are still glossy and your breath gets a little hitch every now and then. It’s got him giving a little twitch inside you.
“Oh! Oh, Leon!” You gasp, squirming beneath him. He props himself up on his elbows, looking down at you as you tilt your head back into the pillows with a heavy breath. Must’ve hit that good spot, he realizes.
”Yeah? Right there, baby? Use your words,” he encourages softly with a grunt, picking the pace up a little. His hands are at the perfect angle to gently hold onto your biceps. His fingers almost wrap all the way around.
”N-ngh… uh-huh, right there daddy,” you whine, nails scratching up his back. He can hardly understand you, but he’s not gonna be mean, he gets the gist.
Leon grunts in approval, sitting up just slightly to let your legs fall back on the bed, but you choose to wrap them around his waist instead, plush thighs encasing his sides.
You feel so good—he can’t remember the last time he genuinely felt blissful during sex, but right now he’s completely lost in you. So pussy drunk, cant think of anything other than how beautiful you are and how good your sweet cunt is.
He keeps up the thrusts, letting out quiet grunts and groans when you squeeze him real good. Doesn’t notice how bad you’ve been whining until you're digging your heels into his lower back and clawing at his shoulders, babbling about being close.
”Oh, uh-huh. Gonna cum? Want daddy to let you cum?” He mumbles in your ear, his rough voice making you squirm as you nod eagerly.
“Wanna cum, wanna cum, wanna cum,” you ramble breathlessly, mewling when he starts rubbing at your clit. You’ve never sounded more pathetic in your life; not that it’s on your mind. Head’s too fuzzy for any kind of big girl thinking.
”Almost there, sweetheart—fuck—right there, I’m right there with you,” he whispers in your ear, looping his arm around your waist to hold onto you as he rubs your clit a little harder.
The little knot in your belly gets tighter tighter tighter until it finally snaps, your back arching up into him and hand desperately gripping onto him as you moan his name loudly, eyes rolling into the back of your head. You’ve never came that good.
”Shit—Jesus, there you go, such a good girl,” Leon sighs, his breath fanning your cheek as he rams into you harder and harder. With your pussy still squeezing him as he rides you through your orgasm, he gets one last firm thrust in before he stills, a gravely moan being muffled by your chest as he grinds his hips into yours.
Finally letting his muscles loosen, he lowers himself onto you as slowly as he can so he doesn’t crush you. Once he's got his head on your chest and his legs stretched out, you still seem comfy so he relaxes on top of you.
”Mmh… good girl,” he mumbles absentmindedly as he pets your side. He listens to your heartbeat start to slow down and your breathing even out, your body relaxing as well. You hum softly in reply, eyes half lidded as you smooth over the scratches you left on his skin, feeling a little bad about those.
”Sleepy?” You hear his gentle voice next to your ear, giving your hip a pat before rolling off of you, pulling out as well. His back aches a little and reminds him he’s definitely not young anymore, not like you are.
You nod, watching as he pulls the condom off. Leon spends a few minutes taking care of you, wiping you clean with a warm towel and getting you some cold water. Massages your achey thighs and kisses your tummy as he tugs your bikini bottoms back up your legs because you told him you don’t like to sleep naked. Pulls his shirt over your head for you as well.
“Damn, little lady,” he sighs when you cuddle up against his side, laying your head on his chest. His rough fingers start to detangle your messy hair. “Turning me into a spring chicken again.”
”Gross, don’t say that,” you mumble against his pec, your heavy eyes falling closed as his warm chuckle rings in your ears. He says something else that you don’t quite hear, too sleepy. A little longer and you're off to dreamland, thinking of the big arm wrapped around you and the scruffy stubble in your neck or between your thighs.
”Goodnight princess,” Leon whispers to you even if you don’t hear him. He rubs up and down your back for a little while before the post-sex sleepiness settles into his mind too.
You squint at the sudden light pooling into the room, rousing you awake. Takes your sleepy brain a little while, grasping remnants of sleep like a lost soul climbing out of hell. You finally let out a little sigh, sitting up. It’d be hard to miss the sleeping lump to your right.
A half a smile tugs at your lips at the sight of the red lines going down his muscular back. You can’t help yourself, reaching for your phone to take a picture of the almost cinematic scene before scrolling through your notifications. You check the time and see your cousin wants you back within the hour.
Reluctantly, you slip out of bed and slide on your flip flops, gathering your things. It’s a little chilly so you decide to keep his shirt, thinking Leon wouldn’t mind.
You really don’t wanna go, though… you had such a good night and he’s so nice and sweet. You debate for a while before leaning over him to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek, savoring the scratch of his stubble. With one last glance over your shoulder, you quietly slip out of the hotel room, leaving behind a night of memories.
It’s quite the slow day at work today, as always is mid-morning on a Monday in a coffee shop. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve gotten back from the best vacation of your life, and you’d be lying straight through your teeth if you said you hadn’t thought about your little summer fling every second since. You couldn’t get him out of your head for the life of you.
Messing around with your coworkers serves for a nice distraction though, laughing your ass off as one of them makes a mess everywhere. You almost don’t hear a customer come in if not for the annoying bell your manager insisted on putting on the door.
Leaving the mess to your friend, you warn her to be quiet despite your giggling as you turn around to the register. It’s a little messy, so you don’t quite look up yet as you greet the customer so you can shove some of the stuff aside.
”Hi, what can I get for you today?” You smile briefly up at the person as you're actively putting ingredients away and wiping some trash into the garbage.
”Hey, just a medium coffee. Black,” an oddly familiar voice says with a hint of amusement. Still not looking up, like an idiot, you nod as you select the options on the computer screen. You grab a cup and a sharpie next.
”Sure! What’s the name on that?”
”Leon.”
You look up, eyes wide.
Not just the vacation fling you thought he’d be after all.
a/n: hihihi hoped u liked it!!! this one is lowkey buns so im glad u made it through ✌️ also tysm for all the love and notes on my other fic i love u guys sm 😭 i haven’t been on tumblr very long but im feeling very loved here and will post more soon when im home from vacation!! love u guys 💗💗
You and Ashley hit the city for a night of fun. Leon, however, isn’t having any fun at all as your designated driver. And when the shots have you and Ashley getting way too handsy in public, he decidedly cuts you off.
But getting him riled up? That’s the most fun of all, and it inspires a new plan for the drive home.
ao3 • wc: 9.1k • part _ of three’s company
tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader/Ashley Graham, f/f/m smut, sub!Leon, cisfem!reader, RE4 era, p in v, women on top, oral (all ways), face sitting, heavy drinking, public sex (bar bathroom, car), risky creampie, simultaneous orgasms, bicurious/heteroflexible ashley, ashley gets so gay off that tequila, slightly dubcon for leon maybe, leon drives a jeep in this
a/n: have you ever daydreamed abt your popular friend bringing you along for some deeply slutty fun while she explores her sexuality w you. anyways. p.s. “barsexual” can be an offensive term irl, but it’s a rarely known term anyway so consider this me reclaiming it
Music pumps through your ears and alcohol courses through your veins as you lean on your elbows against the wooden bartop. Even though she’s standing right next to you, you can barely hear Ashley’s laughter over the sounds of the bass bumping and the overlapping conversations from the other hundred or so clubgoers. Your body is abuzz, and you can’t really feel your face. You can’t really feel your feet in your heels either, evident as you stumble to the side.
“Oh, sorry!”
You were back to talking with Ashley before Leon even spoke the words, “it’s fine.” He shook his head and took another sip of his club soda with lime, staring at the wall while he tried to remember why on earth he agreed to be here.
Being the designated driver for her and you feels a whole lot like babysitting. A feeling that’s becoming a trend whenever he hangs out with Ashley, actually. He’d declined being added to her security detail after Spain, but on nights like this, it’s like she’d crafted a loophole to make him exactly that. But he had to protect her from herself more than anything as she ordered drink after drink after drink while he sat there like a hostage to witness your drunken antics.
Those antics suddenly included you and Ashley making out, apparently.
He snapped his head forward to avert his gaze, feeling like he saw a private moment even though you were as in public as humanly possible. But averting his eyes did absolutely nothing; you were nearly shoulder to shoulder with Leon, so close that he could feel the energy radiating from you, clinging to him like uncomfortable humidity.
The kiss was scorching hot, and Leon sat close enough for it to burn him, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the air became hard to breathe.
You sat backwards on your barstool, wrists draped over Ashley’s shoulders, still holding your cocktail as you kissed. Ashley’s elbow bumped into Leon as she held your face to deepen it, and he felt the flush creeping up his chest. He could feel dozens of eyes on you. He even heard some asshole whistle to cheer you on. But you and Ashley paid no mind at all to the spotlight you’d put on yourselves, and Leon took on the burden, feeling like a deer in the headlights.
When you finally broke away from each other, the heat creeped up to Leon’s ears as they heard the conversation that followed.
“Soooo..? Still think you’re straight?”
“I don’t know!”
“What do you mean you don’t know?!”
You both broke out into a fit of drunken laughter.
Leon tried to keep his face casual as he heard you talk about it like the most casual thing in the world; this sure didn’t feel like a casual situation to him. It felt fucking charged.
“Hold on— bartender?” Ashley leaned over you to get their attention, impatiently biting her bottom lip as she waited for them to come over. “Two tequila shots, top shelf!”
The bartender left before Leon could interject. You two were plenty drunk enough already, and you were making increasingly bad decisions.
In the blink of an eye, you had the shot glass between your breasts, held in by your low-cut top as you squeezed your elbows together. Leon had no fucking idea how Ashley had enough coordination to successfully take the glass in her mouth, and it equally shocked him that she didn’t choke on the liquor as she stood and took it with her, tipping her head back to drink it down without once using her hands.
His mind went blank as you slurred, “you gotta lil on your chin,” and licked it off the corner of Ashley’s mouth, and her tongue darted out to catch yours in a sensual exchange.
He could’ve fainted from astonishment when Ashley cooed, “I spilled a lil on ya too,” and licked a long, flat-tongued stripe to your cleavage.
He pushed Ashley off of you without even thinking about it, keeping his grip on her shoulder to keep her upright as she staggered back a step.
“We’re in public,” Leon said bluntly, looking between you two in consternation, pleading with his eyes that you stop making a scene. But to his frustration, he didn’t get a response. Instead, a lightbulb went off over Ashley’s head as she turned to look at you, and before Leon could say anything else, she grabbed you by the wrist and you both skipped away, slipping through the crowd and into the women’s room.
Leon dug his palms into his eye sockets and grumbled over the bar. He would actually rather be shotgunning bioweapons into nothing but brain matter than dealing with this tonight. And that said a lot.
It’s not like he personally gave a fuck if two girls made out in a bar, and he didn’t even personally care about those two girls being you and Ashley. But unfortunately, he has to care. He works directly under Ashley’s dad, the literal fucking president of these United States. He could already see tomorrow’s tabloid headlines, complete with a blurry picture of you and Ashley tongue-deep in each other’s mouths while he sat inches away, and he could already hear President Graham reaming him for letting a political PR scandal unfold under his watch.
But gossip articles about the First Daughter exploring her sexuality would be one thing. People would talk, but it would be fine. It’d easily be spun in a positive way, actually, earning the Oval Office kudos for queer inclusivity. What’d be a lot less than fine? The First Daughter getting thrown out of a nightclub for having sex in the bathroom, which he was pretty fucking certain was happening at this very moment.
But what he does personally care about that’s even less fine than all of that...? The fact that his cock is straining painfully against the unforgiving fabric of his jeans.
It completely blindsided him. He’s never been attracted to Ashley before. Why now? Probably because watching her practically motorboat her ridiculously hot friend made him see her in a whole new light.
Still, Ashley’s the most off-limits a person could possibly be to him, and your attraction to women has been tonight’s recurring topic of conversation, so making a fool out of himself by flirting with you isn’t something he’s considering.
It’s time to tab out, he decides. He takes out his card and taps it anxiously against the bartop and can only think of two things while he waits: the mental image of you and Ashley half-naked and knuckle-deep in the bathroom twenty feet away, and that his only relief tonight will come from his left hand.
He pays. He finishes his drink. The ice melts. He drinks that, too. He wonders how long he should wait before he pulls you out of there himself, and the idea makes him panic. He starts to feel like his kindness of agreeing to DD has been totally taken advantage of, and it pushes his frustration to the brink of outright anger.
He watches the baseball game rerunning on the TV behind the bar. His watch strikes one AM. He’s had enough of watching the Yankees win, and he’s done waiting around.
✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎
“We really put on a show for him, huh? D’ya think it worked?”
“Oh yeah. S’pretty obvious through those tight ass jeans he’s got.”
Ashley hums in consideration and melts further into the partition she’s leaning back against as she stands in the bathroom stall, head lolling to the side as her thoughts swim behind her eyelids.
“I dunno. Think we made ‘im mad.”
“Mad?” You lick a slow, wet stripe across the length of her cunt between words, flicking the point of your tongue over her clit on the way up, smiling as her fingers tighten in your hair. “Or riled up?”
“Fuck, do that again.”
You dive back in, suckling on her clit until she twitches and then lapping between her folds briefly before focusing back on her clit again. You can feel her stomach and her thighs tightening under your grip as her breath gets more and more ragged.
You’ve been trying to be quiet at least, but you can feel her slim body tightening under your hands, can hear her breathing become more and more ragged, and as she gets closer and closer to cumming for you like this, you can’t help the wet noises your mouth makes against her dripping heat, and you’re too far gone to care. The other people in the bathroom are talking loud enough that there’s a chance they might not hear you. If they do, there’s no sign that they care, so you don’t have a reason to either.
Ashley can’t hold back much either, and her pants turn into whines that turn into needy mewls, the most beautiful, pitiful sound you’ve ever fucking heard. She starts grinding into your face in search of release and you gladly let her, kneeling there with your tongue out wide, gripping her hips to keep her up on her shaky legs.
“M’so close… please, I need… oh… ugh, I don’t think I can, I just…”
You look up and see her face screwed up tight in a face that doesn’t seem quite right. You pull away from her.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, just… I don’t think I can like this,” she half-whispers.
You wipe her slick off of your chin as you stand and steady yourself on the opposite side of the stall, mirroring her posture as you lean back. You give her space as you both catch your breath, watching to make sure she’s not uncomfortable or if she needs to puke or something.
She makes a frustrated sound as she smooths her skirt back down over her hips, and then she speaks again.
“Maybe I’m not that into girls,” she shrugs.
Then her eyes meet yours, and you’ve been friends for so long that nothing needs to be said to know the irony wasn’t lost on either of you. You both break into giggles at the exact same time.
“Shut up,” she basically squeals, covering the blush on her face with her hands, but not at all covering her smile.
“No, no, it’s fine, really,” you reassure her. “You need anything?”
She responds to the question by pressing her palms into her eyes and groaning at the ceiling. Then she drops them dramatically and laments by mouthing the words, “some dick.”
You haphazardly smooth out her hair and whisper, “then let’s go get you some, he’s out there waiting!”
She pouts while she bends down to pull her underwear up from her knees. “But howww?” she whines. “He seems more interested in you, anyway.”
“Wait, really?”
“Uh, yeah.”
She finishes putting herself back together with a huff before pausing to look at you. Your eyes narrow as a smirk pulls on the corners of your lips.
“I have an idea if you’re down to share.”
✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎
Leon paces in the bathroom hall nervously, trying not to look like an absolute creep as his head shoots up each time someone leaves the women’s room. The clock is creeping towards last call, and it won’t be long before he has no choice but to ask a stranger to fetch you. But in the event you two really are in there fucking, getting you caught is the last thing he wants to do. At this point it might actually be better if you stay in there until the patrons clear out and he can yell in there himself without worrying too much.
Just as he’s about to pull out his hair, you finally emerge. Every word he wants to yell dies in his throat as soon as he sees you.
Oh, you were definitely fucking in there.
Ashley’s clothes are definitely not on as they were. Her top is tucked unevenly and off-center into her skirt, which is sitting a noticeable inch higher on her waist. And her hair, which usually manages to stay perfectly styled even in the most chaotic situations, is frizzy on the back of her head.
And you? Your lips are puffy and pink. Your hair is tucked messily behind your ears. Your knees are indented red like you’d been on them for an hour. Your mascara is smudged around your eyes, making them look doll-like as you look up at him with your irises blown wide.
Just as he thought his boner was gone for good, it twitches back to life, and although it makes him angry and incredulous all over again, it steals blood from his brain that he could better use to find the words to scold you. Instead, he speaks as firmly and bluntly as possible.
“It’s time to go.”
You and Ashley pout as you scamper over to him, complaining like petulant children. His eye twitches as each of you grab onto either one of his arms, winding your hands around his biceps and leaning into his side. When he looks down and sees Ashley’s fake little innocent smile and your tits squished up against his arm, the words die in his throat all over again.
He’s trying to walk as fast as possible down the city street to his car, but it’s a chore in and of itself. It’s like you’re taking turns getting your heels caught in the seams of the sidewalk and stumbling back into him, pushing him to the side which sends the other tottering away. He has no choice but to put an arm around your waists to anchor you to him. He imagines how he must look to the other passerby, and it makes his head feel hot.
The whole time you’re giggling to yourselves and talking across his chest like it’s a dinner table. Your laughs ring out like chimes in the night air, your voices keep rising to a girlish pitch and then down to a sultry purr. Your hands are squeezing his arm muscles while Ashley rests her head on his shoulder. He can smell the alcohol mixing with your perfumes, and he’s really trying to ignore the unmistakable smell of sex that’s lurking in the undernotes.
You bring up your ex boyfriend and the information lands in his head like lightning, frying his whole perception of you. He might actually have a shot.
Nope. He can’t think about that. It’s beyond too late to flirt with you. You just had sex with the other girl in his arms and you’re way too drunk to consent.
The contradiction of that last thought nearly makes him grimace out loud.
He sees his car and he’s never fumbled for his keys faster. He sighs in relief when you detach from him and skip ahead to the lights that blink when he unlocks it. His chest tightens as you debate who gets to ride shotgun, and he feels a weight lifted from his shoulders when you both climb into the backseat.
He puts his hand on the door handle and pauses. Looking up at the night sky, he asks the stars to guide him safely to the end of this horrible night. He subtly adjusts himself in his jeans, and then he finds the courage to open the door and get behind the wheel.
“Seatbelts.”
You and Ashley keep talking amongst each other, not acknowledging his command, but he eventually hears two seatbelts click and peels off towards the highway.
This is it, the home stretch. If only Ashley didn’t live all the way in the goddamn suburbs.
✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎
Your head bounces with each bump on the asphalt as you watch the city lights float by. You love the city like this. Late enough that the city is asleep, to pretend that it’s only inhabited by you and your current company in the private domain of a near stranger’s car.
Well, you were more of a stranger to Leon than vice versa. You’d heard plenty about him from Ashley and he certainly lived up to her descriptions. Paired with the alcohol swimming in your stomach and the lack of release after your little bathroom bar activities, you were worried you’d soak through your skirt.
You bit your lip and looked at Ashley, and she looked equally ready to pounce. It was time to get this show on the road.
“So, Ashley…” you began. “Are you still sleeping with that one guy?”
She shrugged and played her part. “Nah. He was really small.”
“Ugh, seriously? But he was the tall one, wasn’t he?”
“Yep. Can’t judge a book by its shoe size, apparently.”
“But I mean, if he knows how to use it, right…?”
“Pfft, I’ve never met anyone who said a guy can use three inches right.”
You let out a shocked noise and you broke out into laughs. Then you turned your attention to the seat in front of you.
“You’re a guy, what do you think, Leon?”
You watched him through the rear view mirror, eyes catching briefly as he knit his brows and blinked.
“What?”
You leaned forward, keeping his gaze as it darted between you and the road ahead.
“Does size matter?”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle a wicked grin as he choked on air, shaking his head a bit as the bluntness caught him off guard.
“I— I don’t know, that’s not— jesus…”
You sat back pleased as he trailed off, unable to come up with an answer.
Ashley kicked her feet up onto the center console, crossing her ankles right next to where he rested his elbow, toeing the back of his arm as she spoke.
“I bet you’ve never had to worry ‘bout that, huh?”
He yanked his arm away from her teasing and rubbed his face before white knuckling the wheel, lips pursed tight and speedometer climbing. God, watching him squirm was a lot of fun.
You didn’t wait for him to answer, you turned right on back to Ashley.
“So did I convert you tonight or what?”
Ashley hummed and pretended to think. “I don’t know… I mean, you’re a really good kisser…”
You leaned in a little closer to her. “Yeah?”
“…and you have the prettiest pussy…”
She met you over the middle seat, so close your noses nearly rubbed as you smirked at each other.
“But…?”
“…But you did all the work. I didn’t get to taste you.”
You gasped dramatically, then purred against her lips.
“How rude of me. Eating my fill while you went hungry… how can I make it up to you, princess?”
“You can start by…”
✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎
Leon is seconds away from blowing a gasket or driving into the guard rail. He doesn’t know what to do.
Two of the hottest women he’s ever met are heavy petting in the backseat of his car. It’s too dark to see exactly what’s happening in the rear view, and he’s speeding too much to risk looking behind him. All he can see are arms and legs moving around indistinctly, and all he can hear are your moans in between the soft smacks of your lips.
It’s getting increasingly difficult to stay between the white lines and increasingly difficult to keep his mouth shut. A bar bathroom is one thing, but this is his fucking car.
A particularly needy moan leaves your throat, and he’s pretty sure you’ve moved on from kissing.
He’s trying to ignore it. Trying not to count the miles still remaining, trying not to keep glancing at the rearview mirror and wondering whose limb he’s looking at and what exactly they’re doing. Trying not to imagine Ashley going down on you while he goes 85 mph on the highway, what your face would look like, what your voice would sound like as you came, trying not to wonder if he turned the radio up, if he could get away with palming himself through his jeans for some fucking relief.
He’s trying not to ruin your girl’s night, too, despite it all. He doesn’t want to lose his temper, to ream you like a parent. He’s held on this long. Only twenty-five miles to go.
He still has twenty-five miles to go.
He’s sweating through his hoodie at the effort it takes to keep himself contained. When he hears the seatbelts unfasten, he snaps.
In seconds flat, the turn signal is on, the brake pedal is on the floor, and he’s yanking open the back door on the side of the highway.
Your back had been against the door and you yelp as you nearly tumble through, holding onto Ashley’s arms as you now lie flat on your back. The cool night air blows against your kiss-flushed face as your head hangs off the side of the seat, and you’re delighted to be met with a full frontal view of Leon’s hips as he stands there barking demands.
“Seatbelts.”
You smile up at Leon from below. He does not smile back.
“Put your goddamn seatbelts on. Now.”
You feel Ashley arch her back as she straddles you, laying her girlish charms on thick for him as she pouts and bats her lashes.
“Oh come onnn, we’re just having a little fun, Leon—”
That does just the trick to push him over the edge.
“You’re having fun, I sure as hell am not. Sit the fuck down so I can take you home and be done with this shit, you’re both acting like fucking brats.”
He’s wearing a full-on snarl as he rants and pushes Ashley off of your lap, haphazardly leaning over you to try and yank her seatbelt back on for her. He’s doing a decent job of avoiding his crotch going into your face, but with how he’s kneeling on the floor, he’s halfway in the backseat already. All you’d have to do to bring him fully inside is hook your fingers in his belt loops and pull the car door shut behind him.
So that’s exactly what you do.
“What the—“
He’s suddenly wide-eyed and scrambling not to crash into Ashley, but she tugs on his hoodie to keep him right there in front of her. By the time you scramble to sit upright, wrap your arms around his chest, and kiss along his neck, Ashley’s mouth is traveling along the other side of his jaw.
Leon is frozen in place, hands hovering in the air as his brain scrambles, stuttering protests through his heartbeat in his throat.
“What are you— no, Ashley, your— you’re drunk, and y-your dad—”
You ignore him, smiling against his pulse point you’ve made wet with kisses as you run your hands under his hoodie, feeling him tense and inhale sharply as your hands move up the warm, firm muscles of his torso.
“You’re right, Ash, he is cut.”
Her hands graze against yours as she gathers the front of his hoodie and t-shirt.
“Just wait ‘til you see them.”
In the blink of an eye, he’s shirtless, the upper half of his clothing tossed somewhere forgotten in the front seat. The sight of his back muscles alone stokes the fire in you to a scorching blaze, and you push him back by the shoulder until his back is against the middle seat.
You and Ashley pounce on Leon as a single unit, hip to hip as you straddle each of his thighs, hands and mouths traversing every inch of him. You’re in heaven as you feel up his brawniness, you can’t resist the urge to nip at his pec while one hand skims his abs and the other weaves into his hair.
And the best part of all? The sounds he’s making. He’s gasping breathlessly as he twitches under your dual touches, throat bobbing as he tries to swallow the weak grunts in his throat. He’s still trying to tell you to stop, but he’s failing miserably to come across as even slightly assertive.
“We… I can’t, this isn’t—“ he gulps thickly “—it’s not right, you’re… you’re both way too drunk, I need… to get you home.”
Ashley purrs like a devil in his ear as she guides his hand to rest on her ass under her skirt. “You could easily push us off… but you’re not.”
You lick a strip up his torso and add, “clearly you want us,” as you grip his hardness through his jeans.
Leon looks like the air got knocked out of his lungs as you squeeze it. You salivate at the size of it in your hand, feeling his hips jolt forward and his cock throb under your touch. You seize his other hand to fix it to your breast and sit back to watch.
You unconsciously start grinding yourself on his thigh, sighing at the friction of his jeans against the thin fabric of your underwear under your skirt. Ashley had already been doing the same, her skirt already bunched at her waist from when you and her had been making out, giving you a full view of her ass as she rocks on him. Leon’s hand is still on her hip, grabbing tight without her even holding it there, and you look back at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say, caught ya.
He has the most pitiful look on his face when his eyes lock with yours. His mouth is parted as he pants, his eyelids are low and his pupils are blown wide, brows curled up as if to plead with you. It stirs something dark in your gut, but it’s void of any of the mercy he wished for.
You rub his bulge with a firm grip as you lean in, your lips ghosting over his as you coo, looking straight into his eyes.
“Just let us fuck you.”
Leon’s only response is a whine as Ashley’s hand joins yours. You close the distance and take him in a searing, sultry kiss, and the second your tongue meets his, he moans— the sound a starting bell for Ashley to tug him free of his jeans in a flurry.
You devour every sound that escapes him as his cock springs free and meets the heady air of his car, shifting slightly to allow Ashley to push his jeans and boxers to his knees at once. He’s shaking and still trying so hard not to give in, squeezing your breast tight in his big hand to hold onto something.
You’re only distantly aware of Ashley’s movements until Leon breaks the kiss with a choking sound. You follow his gaze down to see Ashley looking up at him with doe eyes as she licks a stripe up his cock, tongue circling around the tip as she holds him by the base with delicate fingers. She’s arched on all fours across the seats, wiggling her ass in the air while she wraps her lips around the head like a taunt.
You look back at Leon with a smirk, and it’s like it all really clicks for him as you hold his gaze all the way down until you’re mirroring Ashley. His breathing grows more rapid each time he looks between you, chanting, “oh god, oh god,” under his breath.
Ashley pulls off of him with a lustful sigh, and you replace her lips with your own. Leon’s hips twitch when you hum around the taste of his precum and Ashley’s spit as you bob your head around his cock once, twice, three times, and then trade off with her again.
You pull his thighs a touch farther apart and crane your neck to lick his balls while Ashley fixes her lips around the head of his cock, and for the first time, his groan sounds less restrained. Your toes curl in your heels at the sound and it encourages you to move deeper in, sucking one fully into your mouth.
Ashley’s chin hits the top of your head softly with each up and down motion, and you get out of her way by joining her, licking a wet strip up the side of his shaft until your mouth reaches Ashley’s. You exchange a short, sloppy kiss, and Leon’s breath hitches as his cock becomes momentarily forgotten, only to be overwhelmed the next second as you and her take each side of his shaft between your plump, wet lips.
“Oh, holy fuck,” he groans, head falling back at the feeling before he watches with wide eyes. How could he look away?
It’s the most unholy sight he’s ever seen in his life, your lips moving up and down either side of his cock in tandem, tongues darting out at different times to support the weight of his length or to run across his cock vein. You start moving out of sync in your eagerness, lewdly lapping and sucking wherever your mouths find, and his shaky hands fall on her back and your head as he succumbs to doing nothing but feel.
But just as he got on the path of comfortability, things changed, and Ashley moved up to straddle him. You made room for her but kept your hand around him to pump his spit-slick shaft in a loose fist, twisting it as you rounded his head and squeezing at the base as she settled above it.
He begged Ashley for his life as you pushed her panties to the side to line him up with her entrance.
“Ash, we— fuck, we really shouldn’t, you know that, please, ahhh—“
Still, his nervous hands were resting on her hips, and you pushed up her skirt to gather the fabric in his hands, which he held without being told.
“But you’ve been so hard all night…” Ashley said with an exaggerated sympathetic tone, arching back and forth to let his tip gather the wetness between her crease.
“And you said you weren’t having any fun…” you added.
“We felt bad that we kept leaving you out.”
But all your pity was insincere, and Leon felt it as you shook his cock back and forth over Ashley’s clit, the action making both of them moan— and it was a knife you twisted further as you notched him against her entrance and held him there as Ashley slowly began to sink down.
It was an incredible sight you had a front-row view of. The way her folds wrapped around him like petals on the way down, how her pussy gripped him on the way up, over and over, inch by inch. Your ears were filled with their contrasting sounds, hers of delight and relief, and his ragged and ripping out of his throat as he clamored, his fists bunching the fabric of her skirt impossibly tight in his hands.
“Ashley, oh— oh my god, fuck—“
“God, Leon, you feel so good… can’t believe you’ve held out on me for so long.”
You watched in an inebriated trance as she picked up speed, her wetness creating soft plap plap’s in the car and leaving a ring of cream around the base of his shaft. You couldn’t help yourself; you grabbed the meat of her ass to keep her from dropping back down on him and licked it off, all the way from his base to where her cunt stretched around him.
Leon’s head shot forward in a silent scream, looking at you wildly over her shoulder, and Ashley wiggled her hips on him before bouncing shallowly to retain enough room for you to stay there. You kept his gaze as much as you could as you lapped her juices off him again.
But Ashley understandably couldn’t be satisfied with taking a fraction of him for long, and ever the good friend, she couldn’t let you stay down there forever.
“Leon, d’your back seats recline?”
You knew just what she had in mind, and you felt around the underside of the seats in the dark to search for a lever.
“Wha—“
“Found it.”
You pulled it, and they fell back with a clunk; the back seats now opened up into his jeep's trunk, forming a sufficient enough bed for your purposes. The air ws pushed from Leon’s lungs as he suddenly found himself horizontal, and he was even more breathless as Ashley rode him again at once.
You crawled slowly and slinkily on all fours towards him, removing your shoes and underwear as you went, dragging your fingertips across his sculpted torso and up his neck until your face hovered over his. You pushed the stray stands of his hair out of his face with a gentle touch, and for a moment, you simply took him in.
He looks so pretty and helpless as he shakes with the car’s suspension, with his eyes all unfocused as they flutter to meet yours. Every time his brows twitch tight together, which is every second or two as Ashley bounces on him steadily, his expression goes from softness to insanity. The tendons in his neck are tight as he tries to hold his noises within it, making his jawline even sharper, and all of his bone structure is accentuated by the shadows of the night.
His face is too pretty. You just have to sit on it. So you do.
You straddle his face and hold your skirt up, hovering over his lips as you watch him. He shatters into a lustful expression as he takes in the sight of your pussy, brows curled up with a groan, and you don’t miss the way his head lifts slightly off the floor and nearer to you. You tilt your head and keep yourself away— he’s just too much fun to toy with, especially as he hits his head back down and groans in frustration.
“You want it?”
He sighs shakily as he looks back up at you, grunting as Ashley bounces on him with an especially loud smack of their hips. He bites his lips and squeezes his eyes shut, too ashamed of himself to say yes out loud, but his frantic nod is clear.
You hold him tight by the bangs, the pain giving him just enough time to open his eyes before you say, “then eat up,” and sit right down on his mouth.
You moan freely as he wastes no time in eagerly doing so, and jesus, you can feel how wet you are as his tongue passes between your folds to lap it up. His hands fly up to grasp your hips and pull you further down onto his face, and you let out a sharp gasp as he turns his attention to your clit, sucking the bud of nerves into the vacuum of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.
“Fuck, you’re good at this,” you say breathily, and whether you said it to him or to yourself is anyone’s guess.
Your vision is still soft around the edges as the alcohol lingers in your bloodstream, making you just uninhibited enough to not be shy about what’s happening, and that it’s happening while a steady rhythm of plap plap’s sound as your best friend gets off on him behind you.
You cover his hands with your own as he goes back to tonguing the whole of your dripping cunt, using his strong arms to balance yourself as your eyes roll back in your head. The darkness behind your eyelids spin in your tipsy state, and the next time he delivers the point of his tongue to curled your clit, your thighs twitch hard and you nearly topple forward.
Ashley, ever a good friend, catches you by the arm. You look back at her over your shoulder, laughing airily as you lock eyes with her. But your blissful little smile is wiped off your face as she slows her movements on top of him to lean forward and takes you in a kiss.
It’s fleeting; at this angle you strain to meet her lips. You take the natural solution, and as quickly as possible, you turn yourself around to face her, only stealing a quick glance between your legs to make sure you’re sitting back down on Leon’s waiting tongue before kissing Ashley full and open mouthed.
Cars fly by on the highway as you curl your hips up and down Leon’s tongue, the headlights flashing quick bursts of light into the car. Leon tenses under you, his hands that are kneading your ass tightening each time, and you separate from Ashley’s kiss to grind back on him in response. When you look forward again, you wonder why you ever looked anywhere else since this began.
Ashley looked straight out of a porno Girls Gone Wild would pay millions to get on tape, and here it was, right in front of your eyes. Her hair is untucked from her ears, falling over her face that glows with sweat and the glitter remnants of her lip gloss, her eyes half lidded and her plush lips open through her moans. Perched forward on her arms, her bare breasts are squeezed together and they rock back and forth with each bounce on Leon’s cock.bAnd holy shit, the way his cock looks disappearing in and out of her, glistening where the moonlight catches the slick that covers it.
Ashley sees you staring and leans back, holding Leon’s legs behind her as she rides him with her knees wide, giving you a full display of her tight, pink pussy gripping his girth as she continues.
She stills for a moment, looks down at where their bodies connect, and then back up at you with a sultry dark glint in her eye.
“Go ahead.”
Your heart races until it clicks, and then you’re immediately on all fours to lick a long, wet stripe from the base of Leon’s cock all the way up to her clit.
It is by far the most insane, utterly indecent thing you’ve ever done, and you go wild.
Ashley starts slowly riding him, not going too fast so your tongue can catch everywhere it wants to roam. Leon’s legs squirm and you feel his chest rise and fall under you from how hard he’s breathing, both from Ashley’s torturously slow pace and at the sensation he can only feel, not see. The rumble of his muffled sounds goes straight to your cunt as you grind back on his face.
And fuck, their skin tastes so good together, and they look so good together, and you’re catching her sweet, thick juices off the veins of his cock. It’s all more than enough to make your thighs tighten around Leon’s face. His fingers are searing into the soft flesh of your ass, but you don’t quite think you’re suffocating him, and you don’t really care. All you care about is catching Ashley’s clit in your mouth and keeping it there to make those pretty sounds bounce off the interior of Leon’s car.
She bucks into your mouth with a gasp when you find it, and you don’t have to be the one inside of her to feel the way her walls are clenching at the feeling. You hold her thigh as she sits all the way down on Leon, stuffed full, only the very base of his cock visible as she grinds firmly on him. Her moans get more and more desperate as she chases a high you’re dead-set on delivering.
But she isn’t the only one who’s feverishly close. Leon pushes you off of him an inch, just enough to breathe and just enough to speak.
You shut him up by lowering down on him, riding his tongue just as eagerly as you use your own on Ashley. His flat tongue feels like velvet friction against your clit, and hers is silken against your mouth, and all around you is the heady, sweet scent of sex.
Leon’s hips buck upwards, but she only fixes down on him further as her orgasm mounts, holding you by the hair as Ashley ruts deep onto him and into your mouth. Each movement becomes more shaky and each breath becomes more hitched as she cries out louder and louder until—
“There, there, oh fuck yes, yes—“
You feel her pleasure snap under your touch with shaky thighs and a high pitched melody of moans, and you devour every ounce of slick that gushes from her and onto the base of Leon’s cock with a wild tongue around them both. You groan at the sweet taste of it and just how much there was, knowing you caused it, and knowing your lappings are causing Leon’s pained sounds just as much as Ashley pulsing around him with each wave of her pleasure.
Her hips twitch away from you and you look up at her through your lashes with a smile, one which she returns until you land a sharp lick on her oversensitive clit and she reflexively jolts away.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Leon whines in frustration as Ashley dismounts with a satisfied hum.
You look down at his cock as it lands wet, heavy and throbbing dark pink against his stomach. You glance at Ashley and see her sitting back against the car door, still catching her breath as she watches you with a dizzy, blissful expression.
“You gotta try him,” she says, wiping away the sweat where it makes her bangs stick to her forehead.
You don’t need any more encouragement than that. Before Leon even registers it, you flip around on him, line him up with your entrance, and watch his face shatter as you lower down.
He’s big, feeling even bigger than he looks, but at this point you’re so wet, both from the anticipation and from his spit. Added with Ashley’s cum still covering his cock, it glides in like fine silk, and there’s no other way to describe it but luxurious.
His face shatters as you do, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he watches you take him in with pure bliss, then turning into a slew of profanities and low sighs as you start to move. He rests his hands on the tops of your thighs as you ride him steadily, his head tipping back hard and his throat bobbing as he tries to swallow his sounds to no avail.
You lean forward and brace yourself with both hands on his firm chest, soaking up the fact that you’re riding a man who’s this gorgeous. You pick up speed and his head lolls until his blown eyes lock with yours. You hold it, intentionally landing yourself down onto him hard just to watch him struggle through a groan of pleasure as he hits you deep, but you wouldn’t ignore his reactions if you were paid to.
“Yeah? You like that?”
You do it again, and again, just to watch him break down.
Ashley leans forward, sitting elegantly with her legs sideways as she runs her fingers down his jaw to guide his gaze towards her.
“You like being used like a toy?” she purrs. His eyes roll back before glazing over you and then back to her when she gently shakes his jaw in her delicate hand. “C’mon, tell us.”
You feel your own pleasure mount as you watch her tease him. Every time you bottom out, his body smacks against your sensitive clit and his cock roughs over the deepest, most incredible spots inside of your tight walls, sending the most intense sensations through you from the inside out. Each new rebound onto him multiplies the feeling, and each small thrust as he tries to meet your pace creates a new crack in your smoky gaze.
Suddenly, your desperation to cum is written all over your face, contorting into pleasure as you call wantonly for both of them.
“Ohh fuck, Ash—” you inhale deeply as you find a slightly faster rhythm and a new, deeper angle, “—M’close Leon, please…”
Your brain scrambles with each new stroke of his cock stretching your entrance and passing over your sweet spot. Your focus gets pulled towards maintaining your balance and your burning thigh muscles, but you keep riding him through it to chase the high it promises. But despite it all, you linger on the brink of orgasm, unable to ascend any further, and you’re unable to think straight as you remain right there on the edge.
Luckily, Ashley does the thinking for you. With one hand on the back of each of your heads, she draws you and Leon towards each other. As you become face-to-face with him, your arms buckle under you; he instinctively wraps a steadying arm around your waist, keeping your torsos flush as he props himself up on one elbow.
Leon doesn’t need to be told what to do; his body acts for him, fucking his cock into you from below. You can feel his abs flex against the soft skin of your stomach with each thrust he sends upwards into your cunt, and your lips drag against his neck as your mouth falls open into a lilting moan.
But Ashley still isn’t done; you’re cradled in his arms only momentarily before she guides you away from him just enough to steer his mouth down below your collarbone.
“You’ve been staring at her tits all night; C’mon, give ‘em the attention they need, Leon.”
He catches your swinging breast between his lips, pressing his face into the supple skin and sucking it into the vacuum of his mouth to keep it there as his pace increases. Your toes curl as he laves his tongue around your nipple, and you grip hard onto his delts as the feeling compounds with his powerful thrusts.
His tongue, cock, and whines all become wild as his control fractures, and you grip his hair just as tight as his hands grasp onto your waist. Your surroundings become a blur as your pleasure flares into a bright inner heat, and you’re only aware of Leon speaking because he detaches from your breast to do so.
“Fuck, gonna cum, where should I—”
You hold tight to the back of his head to push his mouth back to your breast, needing the feeling as you totter desperately within reach of your orgasm. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” you chant, your voice high-pitched and airy as stars appear in your eyes. Then Ashley’s plump lips capture yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, and as your eyes close, you’re lost in a world of utter feeling.
You know what’s bound to happen next, and you know it isn’t responsible. But you’d rather risk it than make him pull out right as your pleasure begins to boil over. More than that, him cumming inside of you is precisely what pushes you over the edge.
Leon gives a final warning, but you don’t change your mind in the slightest.
“I’m gonna— gonna cum, fuck, fuck—“
Your lips break from Ashley’s as your own orgasm crashes through your body, and if it weren’t for Leon holding you flush to him, you’re sure you would’ve toppled over by the force of it. Your whole body seizes in waves, and your cunt throbs as it releases around Leon’s pistoning cock.
And Leon, he just keeps on going, his pace frantic as you both release in time with each other. And from the sounds and sensations coming from between your thighs, it’s making a mess.
You’re wound tight around him, and combined with his firm but erratic thrusts in and out of your gushing cunt, your slick mixes with his cum and leaks out all over the both of you. Each snap of his hips draws out more sopping slick and the sound cracks wetly in the car, undeniably perverse as it sets the rhythm your moans follow.
You both come down in heaving breaths and sweaty skin, and you don’t detach until you feel that he’s gone soft. He’d been laying under you in a daze until you raise your hips, and he hisses as his soaked cock hits his stomach.
You look down between your bodies and swear under your breath as you watch more of his cum drip from you like white sap and land on his spent cock, further covering it in a beautiful layer of filth.
“Holy shit, you came so much, Leon.”
Ashley’s hand glides soothing down the curve of your spine, her gaze following down until she sees it, her green eyes going wide at the sight.
“Oh my god, he so did,” she remarks before looking back at Leon with a coy smile. “You really liked us that much, huh?”
Leon’s eyes pinch tight as he sighs like he’s annoyed, but the blush creeping up his face gives him away completely. He turns his head, but you still catch the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, too.
You roll off of him and lay there with your body buzzing and sleepiness setting in. It sets in for Leon, too.
Then, just as he got comfortable, reality hit Leon like cold water to the face.
He’s naked except for his jeans around his knees.
His soft cock is covered in two women’s cum and a thick layer of his own as it sits in the suddenly cold-feeling air.
He’s laying back down in the back of his car with two naked women on the side of the highway. Ashley to one side, and you on the other.
Ashley’s naked except for her skirt and playing with his hair as he stares at the low ceiling.
Your head rests of his shoulder as you drift in the afterglow.
You’re stuffed full of his cum.
He came inside you.
He was supposed to get you both home safe, and instead, this.
He’s going to hell, and he’s totally fucking fired.
He sits upright with a gasp, ignoring the tired groans from you both as he yanks his bottoms back in place, ignoring the uncomfortable stickiness in them, too. He reaches around for his hoodie and grimaces every time he finds a handful of one of your clothes instead, throwing them behind him to both get the reminder out of sight and to toss them to you quickly.
“Shit, get dressed, we have to go.”
Ashley scoffs beside you, lazily untangling her bra with no rush to put it on.
“Pshh, whatever.”
You sigh at the lovely feeling of your sore muscles as you sit up, taking your top and putting it on as you look between them. You’re not bothered by Leon’s mad dash to get himself in order per se, but it’s in such contrast to Ashley that you’re waiting to see where it’ll go.
He drags his hands hard over his face and shakes his head incredulously, looking out the windows in search of cop cars that aren’t there.
“It’s almost three in the goddamn morning, I have to get you home, jesus fucking christ I’m so dead, holy shit…”
Leon’s rambling to himself mid freak out. You can’t lie, it’s kind of cute. He’s cute, especially with his lips still plump and swollen and his dark blond hair unknowingly askew, his bliss-blown eyes puppylike as they widen with anxiety. It makes you sit extra pretty once you’re done redressing yourself, legs folded under you and hands on your knees as you watch him stress with doe eyes, waiting for him to look back at you.
“Why are you so stressed?” Ashley says as she puts on her socks slowly, drawing out the vowels in her little cloud of satisfaction. You can tell she’s poking his buttons on purpose, but he can’t.
“Because,” Leon snaps before catching himself. His tone lowers as he continues, speaking in a mock whisper. “I work for your dad, the president, and we just—“
He’s cut off by nothing but his own labored breaths as he takes in the sight of you and Ashley before him. Like he’s adjusting to the reality of what just happened as if he didn’t live through it— didn’t whine and moan like a whore through it, too.
But you both look oddly beautiful, despite how wrecked you look; the mix of the alcohol, car sex, and the late hours all showed on your faces, your previously polished appearances looking as tainted as you were, like succubi that now showed your true forms after hiding it under your angelicly tempting exteriors all night.
Fuck, you both looked so pretty. Even in the dark. Even drunk on shots and his cock alike. Especially that.
Your breath caught as he suddenly leaned in, your lips parting slightly as he came towards you. Then you yelped as the seat sprung back upright.
“Seatbelts,” he said bluntly, then quickly left to return to the driver’s seat.
You looked at Ashley in a moment of tension, and as Leon got back on the highway, all you could do was giggle.
The drive back to Ashley’s was quiet as drowsiness set in, your head leaned against the window as the city lights dimmed into suburban streetlights. You felt weighed down with lead as the car parked and you unbuckled yourself. You were really grateful that Leon spared you the effort of opening the car door.
Sleep must have gotten to him too, as he was softer now, helping you and Ashley out with steadying hands. The three of you stumbled to her place tiredly, and Leon carried two pairs of heels in each hand.
Ashley fumbled with her keys before turning the front door open. “It’s late, you can crash here if you want,” she offered to Leon.
“No, that’s alright. Your couch isn’t that comfortable anyways.”
“Kay. Goodnight,” Ashley said through a yawn, walking towards her room without once looking behind her.
Leon set your heels down in the entryway without stepping a foot inside. You lingered at the door, leaning against it for support as you watched him step backwards and away, your eyes catching as he waited for you to speak.
“Goodnight, Leon. Thanks for a fun night.”
“Yeah, uh… no problem,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks pinkening just a touch. “Go get some sleep.”
“Alright,” you smiled. “See you around.”
He stumbled for a response as he fumbled to get his keys out of his pocket. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll see you around.”
You wore a cheesy grin all the way to Ashley’s bed where you found her face down and passed out, and it stuck until the moment you fell asleep, floating in her fluffy blankets and feeling the slick between your legs, still dripping onto your thighs. You imagined Leon finding your underwear in his backseat in whatever corner they ended up in.
Part of you hoped he got your number from Ashley to give them back. Another part of you kinda hoped he’d keep them.
The next morning, all you hoped for was that he’d answer Ashley’s texts and bring you your hangover grocery list.
AT THE END OF THE DAY, Resident evil Code Veronica is REAL !! I cannot wait for this masterpiece, the og was so good and I'm sure they'll do a great job even with the remake ❤️
꒰ 𑄹 ׅ 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 do not 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭. ✶ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
﹙ ੭꣒ ˖ ﹚ㅤㅤ𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. angst. hurt comfort. emotional insecurities. depictions of nightmares. crying & vulnerability. strong language. implied sex. power imbalance at work.
📃 continuation of 𝓢𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅 𝓦𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒.
the new normal is a fragile, unspoken truce.
it’s you, back in his orbit, but only in carefully controlled doses. the silence isn’t the suffocating, soul-crushing void it was before, but it’s not the easy quiet you once shared either. it’s a tense, watchful thing, a ceasefire line drawn down the middle of every room you share.
he has you come to his office sometimes. “need a hand with this paperwork, rookie,” he’ll grumble, not looking up from his monitor. and you’ll go, because you’re a good agent, and because you’re a masochist who craves the specific brand of pain only he can deliver. you’ll sit in the chair across from his massive desk, the same desk where he’d… well. you try not to think about that. you try not to think about a lot of things.
you’ll organize files, transcribe reports, and do the mindless administrative tasks that someone of his rank shouldn’t be touching. and the whole time, you’ll feel his presence like a physical weight. he’ll be right there, just a few feet away, the scent of his cologne and the low hum of his computer filling the space between you. but he won’t look at you. he’ll focus on his work with a single-minded intensity, his jaw set, his shoulders tense. he ignores you so thoroughly it feels like an art form. and every second of it is a fresh twist of the knife in your gut. the ache is a constant companion, a dull throb behind your ribs that reminds you that while the war might be over, you definitely didn’t win.
you’re just… there. a tool he uses when he needs to. a body he claims when the mood strikes.
and there’s valencia.
she’s the new golden girl, the rookie he’s actually training. you see them in the halls, in the training yard, in the briefing rooms. he’s with her in all the ways he used to be with you. he stands behind her at the range, his arms bracketing hers as he corrects her stance. you see him laugh at something she says, a real, genuine laugh that makes your stomach clench with a hot, ugly jealousy. he’s teaching her, mentoring her, giving her the attention and validation you’re starving for.
you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. it’s his job. you’re just a coworker. but the lie tastes like ash in your mouth.
the only time the truce is broken is at night, in the dark, behind the locked door of his apartment.
you practically live there now. it happened gradually, without a formal discussion. a toothbrush left in his bathroom. a drawer half-filled with your t-shirts and underwear. a spare key he’d tossed on the counter for you one morning with a gruff, “don’t lose it.” he never acknowledged the slow creep of your life into his space. he didn’t seem to care. or maybe, more accurately, he just didn’t bother to notice.
tonight was one of those nights. a long, grueling day of paperwork and watching him with valencia had left you feeling raw and empty. he’d taken you home, and the second the door was closed, he’d pushed you against it, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was more about possession than affection. he’d fucked you on the kitchen counter, then in the shower, and finally, for hours in his bed, until you were both boneless and slick with sweat, the sheets a tangled mess around you. it was rough and desperate and everything you needed to forget the day.
now, in the dead of night, the silence of his apartment is absolute. the only light is the faint, blue-white glow of the city filtering through the blinds of his bedroom window. he’s asleep beside you, a dead weight of warm, solid muscle. his breathing is deep and even, a peaceful rhythm that should be comforting.
but you’re not at peace. you’re trapped in the labyrinth of your own mind.
you’re running.
the hallway is impossibly long, the walls stretching and warping like taffy. the dso headquarters is empty, a ghost ship adrift in a sea of fluorescent lighting. but you can hear him. his footsteps are heavy, measured, just ahead of you. you can’t see him, but you know he’s there.
“leon!” you call out, your voice thin and reedy.
you see him then, a flash of his dark tactical gear as he rounds a corner. you push your legs harder, your lungs burning, your worn boots slapping against the linoleum. you have to catch him. you have to.
you round the corner, skidding to a halt. he’s there, at the end of the hall, his back to you. he’s standing in front of a heavy, dark wood door. his office door.
“leon, please wait!” you plead, your voice cracking.
he doesn’t turn. he doesn’t acknowledge you. he just reaches out, his hand closing around the cold metal handle.
you try to run again, but your feet are stuck. you’re wading through invisible molasses, every step a monumental effort. you’re screaming his name now, a raw, desperate sound that doesn’t seem to make any noise.
he opens the door and steps inside.
“no, please, don’t leave me,” you whisper, the words finally escaping your throat, soft and pathetic.
the door clicks shut.
you finally break free, stumbling forward until you’re standing in front of it. his name is on the brass plaque, mocking you. leon s. kennedy. you reach for the handle, your hand trembling. you turn it.
it’s locked.
you rattle it, your desperation growing. you bang on the solid wood with your fists, the impacts jarring your bones. “leon! leon, please, open the door! don’t shut me out again!”
but there’s no answer. just silence. the crushing, absolute silence of being left behind. of being erased.
“please…”
the soft, choked plea is what wakes you up. it’s your own voice, thick with sleep and tears.
your eyes snap open. you’re in his bed. the room is dark, the air still. he’s still beside you, his breathing unchanged. it was just a dream. a stupid, pathetic dream.
but the feelings are real. the panic, the desperation, the gut-wrenching pain of being abandoned. they’re clinging to you like a second skin. hot shame floods your system, a burning wave that starts in your chest and spreads through your entire body. you’re so stupid. so fucking stupid for letting him get to you like this. for dreaming about him, for crying over him, when you’re nothing more than a warm body for him to use when he’s lonely. you’re not exclusive. you’re not anything.
tears you didn’t even know you were crying start to slide from the corners of your eyes, tracking hot paths down your temples and into your hair. you need to get away. you can’t let him see you like this. you can’t be this pathetic, weeping girl for him again.
carefully, silently, you begin to untangle yourself from the sheets. you move with painstaking slowness, trying not to make a sound, not to disturb the sleeping giant beside you. you manage to get your legs free and are just about to slip out of the bed when his breathing pattern changes.
it’s a subtle shift, a slight hitch in the rhythm. you freeze, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he’s awake.
you stay completely still, hoping, praying that he’ll just roll over and go back to sleep. but of course, he doesn’t. the silence stretches for a long, agonizing moment. then, you feel the mattress dip as he shifts his weight.
you squeeze your eyes shut and turn onto your side, your back facing him, curling into a tight ball. you hold your breath, trying to will your tears to stop. it’s no use. a fresh wave of them spills over, and a small, quiet choked sob escapes your lips.
you feel his hand, large and warm from sleep, land gently on your side, his palm resting on the curve of your hip. the simple, non-sexual touch is so unexpected, so tender, it feels like a brand. you flinch, but you don’t pull away. you can’t. you’re paralyzed by a confusing mix of shame and a desperate, pathetic longing for that very touch.
“hey,” his voice is a low, gravelly rumble, thick with sleep. “what’s wrong?”
you just shake your head against the pillow, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.
“you were cryin’ out for me,” he says. it’s not a question. it’s a statement of fact. “talk to me, kid.”
“it was nothing,” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse and shaky. “just a bad dream. go back to sleep.”
you’re dismissing him. you know it’s a mistake the second the words leave your mouth. leon does not like to be dismissed. especially not by you. especially not in his own bed.
“bullshit,” he growls, the sleepiness gone from his voice, replaced by that familiar, stubborn edge.
before you can react, he’s moving. his arm snakes around your waist, and with a strength that is both terrifying and thrilling, he pulls you, forcing you to roll onto your back. he looms over you in the darkness, propped up on one elbow, his body caging you in. the faint city light outlines the hard lines of his face, his shoulders, his arms. even in the dimness, you can see that his expression is a thundercloud of concern and annoyance.
“don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
you stare up at him, your vision blurry with tears. you try to turn your head away, to hide the pathetic mess you’ve become, but he’s not having it. his free hand comes up, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him.
“i wasn’t,” you insist weakly.
his thumb moves, wiping at the wet track of a tear on your cheek. the gesture is so soft, so caring, it shatters the last of your composure. a fresh sob breaks from your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut, more tears leaking out. you bring your hands up to your face, trying to hide, to shield yourself from his intense gaze.
“hey, hey, none of that,” he murmurs, his voice softer, laced with a confusion that is almost comical. he’s so good at fighting monsters, but he’s completely out of his depth when it comes to your tears.
he pries your hands away from your face, his large hands easily enveloping yours. he holds them down on the mattress by your head. you’re completely vulnerable, pinned beneath him, your tear-streaked face exposed.
“just tell me what the dream was about,” he says, his tone somewhere between a command and a plea.
you shake your head, sniffling. “it’s stupid.”
“i don’t care if it’s stupid. tell me.”
you take a shaky breath, the air rattling in your lungs. you stare up at the ceiling, at the way the shadows play across the white paint. you can’t look at him while you say this. it’s too humiliating.
and then you start to blabber. the words just spill out of you, a frantic, incoherent torrent of your insecurities.
“it was just… you were there,” you begin, your voice small. “at the dso. and you were walking away from me. and i was trying to catch up to you, i was calling your name, but you just kept walking. and you went into your office, and you locked the door, and i couldn’t… couldn’t get to you. you just left me there.”
you pause, taking another shuddering breath. you wipe at your runny nose with the back of your free hand, a pathetic, childish gesture.
“and it’s so stupid, because it’s just a dream, but it felt so real. it felt like… it felt like how it feels now.” the last part is a whisper.
he’s silent for a long moment. you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face. you risk a quick glance at him. his expression is unreadable in the dark, but you can see the muscle in his jaw working.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” he finally asks, his voice tight.
“it means that even though we’re… we’re doing this again,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the bed, at the two of you, “it feels like you’re still a million miles away. it feels like you’re still punishing me. you ignore me all day at the office, you walk right past me like i’m not even there. you’re training valencia, and you’re laughing with her, and you’re giving her all the things you used to give me. and then you bring me here, and you fuck me until i can’t see straight, and for a few hours, it’s okay. but it’s not. it’s not okay. because i know that as soon as the sun comes up, you’re going to put that wall back up, and you’re going to be a million miles away again. and i’m just—i’m so tired of chasing you.”
the confession hangs in the air between you, heavy and fragile. you’ve said too much. you’ve laid all your pathetic, broken pieces at his feet. you brace yourself for the fallout. for him to get angry, to call you crazy, to tell you to get your shit and get out.
but he doesn’t do any of that.
he just watches you, his blue eyes searching your face in the dim light. you see a flicker of something in them. regret? pain? you can’t be sure. he lets go of your hands and moves closer, his body shifting on the mattress. he doesn’t get on top of you, but he moves so he’s lying on his side, facing you, his arm bracketing your head, his body a warm, solid line against yours.
“i’m not punishing you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice a low, rough murmur near your ear.
“it feels like it,” you whisper, another tear slipping down your cheek.
he sighs, a heavy, weary sound. he reaches out, his thumb once again finding the tear track on your face, wiping it away with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.
“i know,” he says. “i’m… not good at this shit, kid. you know that.”
he’s admitting it. he’s actually admitting fault, in his own gruff, leon-kennedy way. the shock of it silences you.
“seeing you with that alex kid…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head as if angry with himself. “it fucked with my head. i saw red. and i didn’t know how to deal with it. so i shut down. it’s what i do.”
“you erased me,” you say, the words still full of hurt.
“i know,” he repeats, his voice softer, full of a self-loathing you’ve never heard from him before. “it was a dick move. i’m sorry.”
an apology. he’s actually apologizing. you don’t know what to do with it. you just stare at him, your mind reeling.
“i’m not… with valencia,” he says, as if reading your mind. “i’m training her. that’s it. it’s my job.”
“you laugh with her,” you accuse, the jealousy still a sharp sting.
a faint, humorless smile touches his lips. “she’s young like you. she says dumb shit. it’s not… like it is with you.”
he shifts closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours. his hand moves from your face to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you gently. his other arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. you can feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against your own.
“no one is like it is with you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips. “you get under my skin in a way no one else does. it scares the absolute shit outta me.”
and there it is. the truth. the real reason for the silence, for the distance. it wasn’t just jealousy. it was fear. the great leon s. kennedy, the man who faced down armies of the undead without flinching, was scared of how he felt about you.
the realization is a balm on your raw, wounded soul. it doesn’t fix everything, but it’s a start. it’s more than you ever thought you’d get.
you let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of the tension finally leaving your body. you feel boneless, exhausted, but in a good way. you wrap your arms around his torso, burying your face in the warm, solid expanse of his chest. you breathe him in.
he holds you tighter, his hand gently messing with your hair. you lie there for a long time, wrapped in the darkness, your bodies pressed together. it’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks.
“‘m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “‘m not gonna lock you out.”
you look up at him, your eyes having adjusted to the dark. you can see his face clearly now. the hard lines are softened, the storm in his eyes has calmed. he looks tired, but he’s here. he’s with you.
“you promise?” you whisper, the word small and silly.
he leans down and kisses you. it’s not a desperate kiss from earlier. it’s deliberate, and soft, and full of all the words he can’t say. it’s a kiss that tastes like an apology, like a promise.
when he pulls back, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours.
“i promise, baby,” he says.
and for the first time in a long time, you believe him. you close your eyes, a real, genuine smile touching your lips as you snuggle closer against his warmth, safe in the arms of the man who was both your personal storm and your only shelter.
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