content w: 18+ nsfw. mdni. any older!m x f!reader, implied age gap, cockwarming
After what seemed like forever of living together cordially, you finally befriended your older roommate.
Since befriending him, he doesn't seem to mind doing affectionate things with you. Letting you hold his rough hands while watching tv on the couch, borrow books from his bedroom, even wear some of his clothes. You equally share your good detergent, make him a little extra serving when making yourself dinner, and share some music playlists.
A random day, nothing special about it, you both crossed some invisible line. Was never directly said aloud, but the relationship dynamic quietly shifted to something more physical and intimate.
Warm kiss on the lips here, sucking his fingers there. Friend stuff.
Or.. well, you're more friends with benefits than just plain ol' friendly now. Not that you minded.
You don't quite remember when it went from kisses to extreme teasing, but sometimes you'll find yourself wrapped up in his arms after dinner, lying on your side as he spoons from behind. He'll be half-hard, pressing himself against your soft lower body. Wet kisses to your nape and shoulder.
His fingers always slip under your shirt, squeezing and tugging at your nipples in a slow rhythm—as if it's just what he needs to lull himself to sleep.
A cozy Sunday comes along and neither one of you have any concrete plans. He mentions reading and working out. You bring up wanting to run errands and buy some more sugar. Nothing exciting.
Leading to the intimate scene you find yourself in before you run said errands this afternoon.
You're straddling his waist with his cock comfortably sunk into your heat—cunt twitching and squeezing every so often. He mentioned something about 'building endurance'.. or 'restraint training'. And now you're in his bedroom, trying to learn having the same patience as an older man like him.
Keyword 'trying'. It's difficult to keep your hips still while sitting on a cock that spreads you so wide; fills you up so good. Just a small shift sinks his cock deeper. Little huffs of air and whines escape your lips.
Yet he's relaxed, lying comfortably on his back with his glasses sitting low on his face, reading through... a fishing guide.
He doesn't reach out to settle your hips. Doesn't move his hands to caress your thighs and help soothe. Aside from his deep breathing and brief glances at where you're so deeply connected, you wouldn't be able to tell he's affected by this arrangement.
He turns to the next page in his book, then readjusts his glasses calmly. "Deep breaths, sweetheart." His gaze doesn't even lift from the text as he regards you.
You're letting out another huff, half pleasure, half exasperation. How can he be so indifferent about this? There's a slick mess pooling between you both—sticking to your folds, drooling down his shaft—and he's engrossed with how to tie a lure.
Frustrated in more ways than one, you decidedly start to grind down on top of him needing some type of friction. The feeling is instant, clit bumping against his pelvis–sending heat through your body and pleasure pooling at your center.
It's met with a click of his tongue and a quiet spoken "You're not very good at this, hm?" You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes as he looks up over the rim of his glasses.
Before he can tease you about it any further, you're purposely squeezing around him tight, making his cock twitch and drawing a low hiss through clenched teeth.
"S-Shit." His brows furrow briefly before he schools his expression again. It's the most you've seen his face change all afternoon, and the most vocal you've heard him. You can't help grinning at that.
His hips roll subtly–a quick retaliation–dragging his heavy length further inside, fat tip hitting your sweet spot. You breathe out a needy moan, back arching into a bow and spilling more slick in the process.
He grins. "Keep it up, honey. Almost done." Flips another page in his book while you fight the urge to squirm. This'll be a long hour..
a/n: mostly thought of jack abbot when writing this.. then price.. then joel.. my brain keeps goin 'older man? he must like fishin!'
(one day, I'm gonna remember to put the taglist in BEFORE I publish)
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks into your mouth, mid-kiss, although he can read your mind. Perhaps he’s reading your body language instead, the way your shoulders tense, your lungs expanding to full volume, how your fingers tremble as you unbutton his shirt. But none of those physical manifestations of anxiety can eclipse the pure, unadulterated need in your stomach, far beyond the innocent flutters of butterfly wings at first blush. This feeling–the flame across your cheeks, the throb between your legs–it’s something utterly sinful. There’s nothing sweet about it.
“I’m sure, Leon,” you say, the words carried from your throat on the back of a hitched breath. How unconvincing.
Then, to make things worse, you pull back. Why did you pull back?
“Everything alright?” He asks, already high off the taste of your mouth, forcing himself from his euphoria to check in with you, though there’s nothing he wants more in this moment than to rip the cloth from your body and ravish everything that was beneath it.
You swallow hard, a nest of fear and guilt caught in your throat, scratching the gummy sides of your esophagus on the way down. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
Leon can’t help but let his eyes go wide. His mind travels to dark places in the beat of silence between you. “What is it?”
Maybe you don’t tell him. You still have time. Act coy and coquettish, write your hesitation off as flirtation when he asks why you pulled away. Still, looking into his eyes, all large and fawn-like, and filled to the brim with such care you’d be an ass to keep anything from someone so understanding and willing to listen, especially something as important as this. He deserves to know, like he deserves to have all of you.
“I’ve never done this before. Ever.”
His brows furrow. “What?” Then, as if you can see the cogs turning through a window in his forehead, you watch him put the pieces together, nodding at his conclusion. “Sex?”
“Mhm.” You cut your eyes, unable to meet his. “Sorry.” The apology quickly slips from your lips, a formality you’ve taken upon yourself more than bending under the pressure. It’s not as though you’re embarrassed or ashamed, but it seems like something to say at the moment.
“Hey, look at me. No need to apologize,” he promises, crooking a finger under your chin to direct your gaze back to him.
“I haven’t scared you off?”
“Honey,” he says with a laugh as if you just told him the sky is green. “It takes a lot more than that to scare me.” And you know he’s not lying. “But–”
“You don’t want it?”
The tension in his brows melts, and he tilts his head as though personally offended by your assumption. “That’s not true, and you know it.” He grabs your face in his hands, dipping his chin to give you a sweet peck on the forehead. “I just want to make sure it’s something you want. Is it?”
You nod against his lips, then he pulls away, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Can I hear you answer in that pretty voice of yours?”
“Yes. Yes, Leon, I want it.”
He smiles with a little bit of tooth. “Good.”
“Deep breath. Come on, deep breath.”
You inhale, pushing your lungs to their full capacity, savoring the scent of Leon’s skin: musk and clove, black pepper, and that specific smell attached to men who don’t try too hard to smell good but it seems to be embedded in their DNA.
“That’s it. One more time. Just relax.”
Another inhale. This time, you feel your hips melt a little further into the mattress, your head dizzying as though you took a hit of a joint or sipped on a glass of wine. A good, deep breath is a drug in and of its own.
“There you go,” he coos, pumping himself in his fist. You try not to look, already intimidated by the sheer size of him. Not too thick but, boy, is he long. And pretty. With a pink head, already weeping with a bead of anticipation, and a few sprawling veins that crawl up and down the length. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay. I’m here.”
He could make you kill a man if he asked you in that voice.
From above, his eyes are affixed to yours as he awaits your signal. “You ready?”
You nod. “Yes. Please.” Parting your legs just a bit more to accommodate the width of his hips between them, you allow the head to glide up and down your pussy, waiting teasingly at your seam.
He chuckles lightly at your plea, manually lining himself up with your hole, already sopping wet from the work of his tongue. Then, he enters you. One inch at a time until he’s half-way there, another promise. The stretch is something you could never imagine on your own without experiencing it once or twice. It burns. Like that time when you were a kid and fell off your bike, knees scratched and gouged. And it stings.
You hiss through gritted teeth, immediately regretting it once Leon’s hips stop moving, and he’s caught, half-way inside.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, looking down at you. Strands of icy blonde hair hang down like curtains, the tips tickling your forehead. “You okay?”
Biting down on your lower lip, you nod. “Yes, keep going.”
He doesn’t. One hand comes to cup your cheek, the other smoothing your hair down the side of your head, his weight still resting on his elbows, dug into the mattress top. “If you want to stop, just tell me, okay?” He would really hate that, though. You’re so tight around him, squeezing his cock to the point he’s unsure if it’d let him go. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Leon plunges the fullness of his length inside you, causing you to cry out like a wounded animal on the forest floor, or a future piece of roadkill on the side of the highway.
“You’re doing such a good job. Keep breathing for me. Just relax.”
He goes slow at first, warming you up, waiting for the signals that your pain has melted into pleasure. Once he hears your cries turn into gasping moans, he picks up the pace, hips slapping against your pelvic bone, the sloppy, wet sound like a cheer from the sidelines of a race.
“That’s it,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. “You’re taking me so good.” The praise is punctuated by a whimper of his own. “Doin’ so good for me, baby.”
You dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulders, tethering yourself to him, sure the movement could saw you into the mattress if you didn’t hold on to something. His chest begins to beat against yours, his heart thumping through his pec, the beat matching the rhythm of his thrusts
“You feel me stretching you? That feels good, huh?”
Not sure what to say, worried you’ll make a joke or something just as stupid, you nod quietly, drinking in the sounds of his pleasure, each moan and yelp from him adding to your own. It does feel good. Not quite the screaming, crying type of ‘feels good’, the kind of euphoric pleasure he inflicts on you when he eats you out, but it has the potential to be.
He tries so hard to elongate the act–it’s your first time after all. That’s the least he could do.
But that all too familiar tension grows in his abdomen, the muscles there contracting and releasing at an erratic pace, and his cock begins to throb as he continues plowing into your pussy. Your pretty, wet pussy–fuck–he’s gone.
Not even two whole minutes and he’s already finishing inside you, seizing and thrashing as he releases his pleasure. For a man who wasn’t, at all, inexperienced, one would think it was his first time.
Summary: An attack during an attack leaves Leon injured and increasingly delirious. After extraction, he’s whisked away, and nobody’s fucking telling you what’s going on.
Finally, you get a phone call.
It changes everything.
WC: ~5k
CW: NSFW, like REALLY NSFW, you and Leon are partnered DSO agents, Leon is injured, fuck or die, sex pollen, sex venom, shaky safety practices, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, first time (together), handjob, unprotected p in v, creampies, multiple orgasms (Leon), he's a hopeless romantic at heart
Notes: MINORS DNI
“You say you saw the suits.”
“Yeah, in passing.”
“You didn’t think they were important?”
“It’s a fucking lab. Labs are rife with hazmat suits. We’ve never had to equip them before.”
“There were warnings posted all over the exit.”
“There were zombies all up on our ass.”
The splattering offspray from Leon’s last-minute shot paints your back like a gory Jackson Pollock. The infected hits the floor, tripping two more.
It would be more helpful if there weren’t about a thousand of them closing in.
You’re running side by side with Leon, shoes eating up the sterile white floors, trying to divine an exit through the branching arteries of the lab. He has to veto a turn into a side hall when more shambling figures lunge forward; he grabs your arm to tug you away with him, but it’s an unnecessary precaution. You’ve already matched his footwork.
He glances behind as you run.
“Where the fuck are they coming from?”
You’d like to fucking know.
“And why are they all runners?”
You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.
These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.
You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.
“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.
“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.
This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.
You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.
EXIT
It’s a final sprint.
You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.
‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.
“Fuck! Force it!”
You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.
With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.
“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.
There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.
“There’s no power!”
“You’re armed!”
Oh, right.
BANG T-SHUNK
Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.
Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.
“Say something?”
“Something.”
“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”
"You only look like it.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He’s flipping you off.
You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.
“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.
He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.
“Wait.”
You’re in a greenhouse.
Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.
No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.
The plants are rustling lightly.
Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.
“What’s the sitrep on the door?”
It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.
“Fucked.”
“Other doors?”
It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.
“Negative.”
“How long can you hold your breath?”
“I don’t think that’s the concern.”
You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.
Bite-proof.
“Fuck.”
“So you tried to bypass it underground.”
“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.
“Good thinking.”
“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”
The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.
The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.
“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”
“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”
The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.
He shines his flashlight forward.
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”
His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.
“Ugh,” you agree.
Roots.
Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.
Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.
“Hey. Look.”
He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.
You come closer with the flashlight.
The dark color is red.
“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.
The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.
Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.
“God. Which way do you think they run?”
He glances at you. “Three guesses.”
“Plants don’t bleed red.”
“Not typically.”
You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.
You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.
You check your pistol's chamber and follow.
“A line of tanks.”
“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”
“Which way were the tubes running?”
“Both ways.”
“So…”
“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”
“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”
“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”
There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.
Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.
Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.
“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.
“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”
“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”
“Yeah.”
Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.
The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.
He steps back, jaw tight.
“Dare I even ask?”
He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”
You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.
“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”
“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.
“Twist my arm.”
“You didn't see it?”
“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”
“You didn't hear it?”
“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.
Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.
Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.
It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.
This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.
Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—
That’s when the other thing strikes.
Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.
“Leon!”
It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.
The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.
A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.
The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.
Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.
“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.
“Let me see. Leon.”
You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.
His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.
“What the fuck.”
The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.
At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.
Pink with blood.
“Shit. Hey.”
Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.
It takes him a moment to focus on you.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.
You’re trying not to panic.
“Can you get up? Can you walk?”
He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.
“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.
You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.
“What did the labs say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What did Medical say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”
“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.
“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”
“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”
“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”
You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.
“I wanna see him.”
“He’s in precautionary isolation.”
“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”
“You weren't bitten.”
“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”
Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.
“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.
Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.
“Are we done here?”
“Yes. You are free to go.”
Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.
“We were told you might try that.”
Fucking debrief.
So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.
Assholes.
You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.
You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.
You call the labs.
Some poor idiot actually picks up.
“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.
“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”
“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”
“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.
You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.
Incoming Call
Leonnedy
You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.
“Leon! Are you okay?”
Immediately you can tell he’s not.
“I need help,” he says. Croaks.
Cold sweat breaks on your skin.
“Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.
You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.
“Leon, where are you.”
“Home.”
“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”
“They said I could take care of it.”
“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“
He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.
“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”
You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.
“Leon.”
“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.
“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”
“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”
“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”
“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”
“What?”
“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”
You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.
“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”
“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.
That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.
“Why’d you call me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.
Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.
"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”
You’re partners.
No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–
“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.
You wrench the door open.
Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.
You’re still not prepared.
As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.
This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.
Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.
Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.
His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.
His chest is heaving, his hips restless.
His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.
“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.
He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.
“I’m here. What do you–“
“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”
And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.
The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.
You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.
You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.
He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.
It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.
Six goddamn hours.
You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.
His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.
He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.
Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.
You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.
And why couldn’t he get there himself?
What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?
What a fucking epitaph that would be.
No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.
You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.
“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”
His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.
“Look at me.”
He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.
His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.
He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.
You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.
“A little pent up?”
He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.
His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.
There’s a very noticeable issue.
He’s still incredibly hard.
When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.
“Do you feel any different?”
“Fuck. Barely.”
"What if you're stuck like this?"
“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.
"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"
He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.
You grab his hips and force them down.
“Leon.”
He bucks hard against you, bratty.
"You think I know?”
“Don’t give me an attitude.”
“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.
You move fast.
A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.
His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.
“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”
He’s not moving, trapped under you.
You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.
“What do you say?”
“Fuck.”
“Leon.”
“I love you.”
It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.
It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.
“That’s not fair,” you breathe.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.
He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.
He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.
“Shit.”
“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.
It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.
He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.
God, you’re aching.
“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.
“That wasn’t on the invitation.”
“Aren’t you a saint.”
“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”
“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”
Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.
Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.
He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.
He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.
"Oh my god, Leon."
He comes.
Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.
He’s still looking directly at you.
You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.
“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”
“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.
“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.
“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.
You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.
His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.
The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.
You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.
He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.
“Leon.”
“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”
You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.
“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”
“God, Leon.”
Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.
It almost does you in.
Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.
His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.
He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.
A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.
He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.
He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.
You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.
He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.
“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”
“I’m not the medical concern.”
He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.
He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.
“There you are.”
Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.
“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.
“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”
You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.
“Come on, cowboy– ah!”
He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.
“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”
“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.
“I told you–“
His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.
You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.
The third time, it seems, is the charm.
When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.
“Leon.”
“Mm.”
“Your phone.”
“Mmph.”
You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.
You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.
The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.
Five seconds later, it starts up again.
“Fuck.”
You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.
“Huh. Medical,” he says.
“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.
He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.
“Kennedy.”
He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.
“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”
You start giggling.
“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”
It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.
“What?”
“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”
He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.
It was an emergency.
“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.
“There’d be a demand.”
His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.
“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”
“How selfish.”
He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.
“Yeah.”
“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"
"What I said?"
"Don't be obtuse.”
He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.
"I've never lied to you," he says.
"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."
He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.
"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."
You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.
"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you. "Yeah. I love you."
You stroke his cheek, his stubble rasping against your fingertips. His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.
You don't take forever to say it. The forever you want to take is the one that opens up on the other side of it: four words, a door.
“I love you, too.”
On AO3
Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷
ngl I hate this I'm sorry I might just be in a mood but it didn't come out the way I wanted it to. I rewrote it three times, not satisfied with the way I wrote the plot around the scene, but I hope it's still enjoyable to read and ily all, thank you for your continued support.
It didn’t take long for the idea to settle in your systems, the thought of experiencing something so celebrated, so obviously enthralling–and together, for the first time. Neither of you were able to repress it any longer.
And so a decision was made. Leon’s parents were leaving town for the long weekend, and though their number one rule for leaving him home by himself was to have any girls over, unchaperoned, the two of you immediately made plans to do exactly that. It was too simple.
There was no real foreplay involved–you ringing the doorbell, Leon inviting you inside to quickly usher you to his bedroom, locking the door purely out of habit. Like the two of you have done a million times. No lengthy conversation about class, what homework is due when, who is going to which party. No movie. No cuddling that leads to something more. It was clinically planned, and though that might not be the most romantic approach, the anticipation was exhilarating.
His room was clean except for the dirty sock not quite inside the laundry hamper, and a collection of half-drunk plastic water bottles on his desk. Everything was one shade of blue or another: the walls, the bedding, the long rug atop beige carpet. The bed was unmade but not messy, the sheets and comforter pulled back as if he was preparing to climb beneath the covers.
“Hi,” he says with a shaky breath, wiping a pair of clammy palms on his shirt. The two of you are standing, just standing, still fully clothed.
Apparently Leon has lost his command of the English language.
“Hi again,” you retort with a smile, already having done the song and dance before, twice in the little amount of time it took to walk into the house, up the staircase, down the hall, and into his bedroom.
“So, can I kiss you now?” He asks, taking the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, swiping across the flesh, taking a bit of strawberry lip gloss with him. He’s never asked before, save for your first kiss, and many more have happened since then, the only permission granted being a lunge or a tilt of your face. Perhaps it’s the gravity of the kiss, the spring of lust finally bubbling. The fact that it will be the first step toward something neither of you can come back from.
All you can do is nod, the suspense gnawing at your gut all morning finally fiending for dessert.
The hand that isn’t on your face comes to the curve of your middle, settling just above your hip, his fingers splayed across your back to gently caress your skin. It’s so gentle a gesture, you lean into it, pulled one step closer to his body.
He bows down to take your lips into a soft, reserved union, pulling back almost instantly. You have kissed Leon before, obviously, the act always sloppy and wet, tongues sliding around your mouth like it’s a slip-n-slide on muddy ground. But this one is different. The moment his lips meet yours, a tiny spark ignites behind your sternum, a warm glow of light spreading across your chest. You rise, tilting your chin up to catch his lips once more, this marriage much deeper and more determined.
It arouses a sort of need deep in your belly, between your shaky legs, until all you can think of is what he’s hiding beneath his pants, and how it will feel inside you. You’ve taken his dick on your tongue, in your hand, but this is something altogether more desirable.
Your hands quickly fumble for the hem of his t-shirt, the button of his jeans, your fingers teasingly grazing beneath the band of his boxers. In turn, he yanks off your top and bra, taking a moment to knead your breasts, sucking on your nipples, moaning as he does, the vibration sending a chill down your spine.
The rest of your clothes are quickly discarded to the floor until both of you are bare as the day you were born, taking a moment to drink in the other’s form one last time before sliding under the covers.
Leon continues to kiss you, exploring your body one patch of skin at a time, until the pressure is too deep to ignore and he can no longer keep himself from your pussy. He licks and laps at your clit, his fingers sliding into your cunt, knuckles bending as the pads search for that button he’s heard about.
It always takes forever when Leon goes down on you, his head between your thighs for what feels like hours, and you’re not willing to wait for your own pleasure this time around. The truth is, you’re far too impatient, needing to feel him expand your walls, the sensation of being filled by the boy you love. Maybe you’ll regret rushing when it hurts and you bleed, but your brain is too clouded with the fog of lust to think rationally.
You tap his shoulder. “Put it inside, Leon,” you say. He looks up at you, his eyes as wide as saucers, his cheeks already flushed pink. “I need it now.”
“Are you sure?” He asks sweetly, brushing the line of your jaw with a knuckle.
“Yes.” And then, he reaches over you to tug at the drawer of his night stand, pulling out an accordion of blue squares. “Sure are prepared,” you say with a giggle, watching as he tears one package off of the long snake of plastic, ripping it open with his teeth.
“Better safe than sorry.” He removes the condom, reaching down to roll it on his dick, so pretty and pink and deliciously long. It riles a blossoming warmth in your belly, and you spread your legs for him to line the head with your seam. “Ready?”
You nod, his baby blue eyes meeting yours, irises awash with a glittering sparkle. “Just relax,” he adds, though you’re not sure if he was saying it to assure you or himself. “Breathe.” Again, who that was truly directed at, you’re not certain. But, with your hands up by your head, pinned to the mattress, clasped with his own, Leon enters you, one inch at a time.
“Holy shit.” Leon grunts, his face contorting. He instantly melts into you, his body collapsing against yours, his heart thrashing in his chest, thumping a thousand beats a minute like a battle drum.
The stretch burns, not quite the ooey-gooey instant rush of all-encompasing pleasure you were expecting, and you whimper, screwing your eyes shut as you breathe sharply through the pain.
“Are you alright?” He asks, looking down at you, the heads of his dark brows furrowed in genuine concern as he halts all movement.
“Yes, yes,” you huff out. “Keep going.”
You can feel yourself growing wetter, the friction becoming more lubricated as you give into the feeling, letting your brain accept the pleasure of becoming one with him. Your hips begin to soften, melding with the mattress. Even your legs open wider for him, granting his movement a new angle that has him spitting out a slur of incoherent mumbles and swears.
His trusts are uncoordinated, however, the rhythm dissonant, his pace wavering the closer he gets to his climax.
“I really don’t wanna come so fast,” he admits through a heaving breath, hanging his head. “But I ca–it feels really good. You feel really good.” The tips of his blonde strands tickle your face as he looks down between your bodies to watch his dick plunge in and out of you. The sting has subsided, and you’re able to understand how this could feel good–why people are so obsessed with it.
His curve slides against your front wall, the tip hitting a spot beneath your abdomen that has your body tensing, and the way his girth stretches you is so perfectly sweet.
“It’s okay,” you assure, squeezing his hands. “I want you to.”
“Really?”
“Really. I want to feel it. I want to watch you.”
His face burns bright red, his eyes brightening in a newfound mania. “Okay, fuck. Yeah, okay.” And he picks up the speed of his movements, pistoning into you for a few more seconds before his entire body is seizing, his face tied into a wince, a slurry of growls and groans leaving his shuddering chest.
Something primal rushes through you. Something about hearing the evidence of his attraction to you–the way your body made him feel, figuratively bringing him to his knees, making him a slobbery, stuttering mess. It has you completely enthralled, your clit throbbing, that bubbly warmth returning to your gut. Perhaps it’s wrong to be so aroused by what looks utterly painful.
You and Leon have a routine. Your place, his place, injured or unscathed, it doesn't matter. You eat, you laugh, and neither of you says anything about being stupidly in love with the other.
“You really didn’t have to drive me home, Leon,” you slur over your shoulder as the two of you approach the front door to your apartment. The sickly green paint is chipping, and the brass until number below the peephole is hanging on by a single nail. It’s a shit hole, but when you’re out in the field for a third of the time, at headquarters for training or briefs (or medical intervention) for another, there’s really no point in shelling out half your paycheck for a nicer place. “Or walk me to my front door.”
“You’re one limb down,” he says with a toothless grin, gesturing to the sling nursing your right arm as you attempt to fish for your keys in your bag, forgetting that he’s carrying them in the pocket of his leather jacket. He jiggles the keychain in front of your face, your vision slightly blurring as you try to focus on the moving gaggle of brass. When you almost lose your footing, tripping over your own ankles, Leon lunges to steady you with a hand on your elbow. “And apparently still woozy from the pain meds.” With one hand still on your arm, he unlocks the door with the other, pushing it open so he can guide you across the threshold.
An almost immediate wave of relief crashes over you as you step inside, greeted with the scent of your fresh linen laundry detergent, the sight of your overstuffed sofa, the teddy bear propped against the back of it. Thankfully, you got a nasty case of the cleaning bug prior to leaving for the mission, so a pristine apartment welcomes you back, encasing you in the detoxifying smell of lemon furniture polish and freshly-vacuumed carpet.
“Let’s get you some dinner,” Leon suggests. His voice is only slightly muffled by the cotton in your ears, the pain medication you took before they set your broken arm at the tail-end of its effectiveness. “What’s the easiest thing to eat with one arm?” He mumbles to himself, instinctively reaching for the takeout menus you have stashed in a kitchen drawer like he’s done a hundred times before. He knows better than to ask you what you want to eat. He never gets an answer to that question. You’re far too indecisive to work well under such pressure, which is funny, because he’s always saying that he’s never met an agent so quick on their feet as you. Whether it’s true or not, you’ll take the compliment.
You watch from the sofa as he navigates around your kitchen, flipping through the paper menus before settling on one, punching a number into your landline. Your eyes stay affixed to his arms as he holds the phone to his ear, speaking your usual dinner order into the receiver. They’re so, so big. So big and bulging and so incredibly beautiful, as though sculpted from marble by Michaelangelo himself. A perfect David come to life in the flesh of a corny, old-souled government agent with the haircut of a boy-band drummer.
Speaking of, swaths of icy blonde hair fall across his forehead, framing his temples. He blows a few vagrant strands out of his eyes as he turns on his heel to face you, speaking a gratitude into the phone before hanging up the call.
Maybe it’s the drugs, maybe it’s the way he came to your rescue during the mission, wrapping your arm in a makeshift cast before either of you could get medical attention, but you’re suddenly confronted by an internal hurricane of feelings you typically repress. Feelings far too intense to be attached to friendship. Feelings of want and need. Need to confess. Need to confront.
“What’d you get us?” You say instead. Not even the lip-loosening medication can bring those thoughts to the surface.
Leon would never admit it to you, but you’ve occupied most all of his waking thoughts since the monet the two of you started working together. From the time he wakes up in the morning, long before his alarm even has the chance to go off (because he stopped sleeping a full eight hours many moons ago), until he lays his head back down on his pillow to do it all again, he’s thinking about you. Work, eating, breathing, BOWs–all background noise.
No, he’d never admit it, but Leon’s been in love with you since you walked into that briefing room and shook his hand for the first time.
And since then, he’s been attached to your hip like a lovesick puppy, the two of you sharing more meals than not, crashing on the other’s sofa when the drive back home feels impossible, and the idea of sleeping a room over is all too delicious. So, there’s nothing special about tonight, beside the fact that you’re giggling more than usual, and your feet were extra ticklish as he rubbed the ache from them, the two of you lounging together on the sofa, waiting for dinner to arrive.
Totally normal.
He fed you orange chicken, even though you could definitely manage on your own, even with your dominant hand out of commission.
Again, very normal. You’d washed his hair on multiple occasions when a cracked rib or two prevented him from raising his arms. That’s what friends are for.
They come to the rescue when the other is in need.
What they don’t do, however, is kiss the other on the cheek and call him their ‘boyfriend’.
He was in the middle of washing the dishes used during dinner when you came up behind him and pressed your lips to his face.
“You’re such a good boyfriend, Leon.”
Not normal.
You slap your only available hand over your mouth, as if to shove the words back down your throat. But it’s too late. With the faucet spitting water, his hands covered in dish soap, mid-scrub, Leon freezes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. Or do that–kiss you, I mean.”
Every last drop of that pain medication has now left your system, the situation far too sobering to keep you under a haze any longer, and you see it now, clear as day. You kissed Leon and called him your ‘boyfriend’. A good one too. And by the rosy tint spreading across his face like a bad rash, you think he liked it.
“It’s just all so domestic, I think, and–well, I wasn’t thinking–but you know what I mean.” You swallow hard, your throat suddenly scratchy and hoarse. The bewildered expression on his face, unreadable in its blankness, makes you sick to your stomach. His eyes are as wide as saucers, his lips slightly agape, and for some reason, you think a defensive ramble is the best course of action to take. “We’re just so…close, and lines get blurred, and...I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying, I think I just–”
He cuts you off with a kiss. A real one this time. All-encompasing and electric, tasting like wasted time and mint toothpaste.
His hands grab your face, holding you close, not letting you shirk away, or continue babbling into his mouth. You’re completely and utterly enraptured by his touch, and although there’s no lack of passion tucked into the corners, it’s all care and affection. Three years’ worth.
“Leon,” is all you manage to whisper when his lips detach from yours and he retreats in inch, hands still lingering to cup your cheeks. His pupils are shot, black circles eclipsing the blue of his irises, as piercing and formidable as ever.
“I think I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says, dipping down to press his forehead against yours. “And you might be too woozy to remember this tomorrow, but I at least want you to know tonight.”
You tilt your head upward to capture his lips in another marriage of love and long-earned feelings. It’s cooler this time, not as hot and messy as the first one–far more controlled in its decision. “I think I love you too, Leon. No,” you giggle, bottom lip grazing his. “I’m sure I do.”
“And that’s not the medicine talking?” His brows are cinched together in what seems like genuine concern, and it’s amusing–knowing your own feelings–to think he could even doubt your devotion.
You shake your head, planting a soft peck on the tip of his nose. He smiles wide, flashing a set of perfectly imperfect teeth, beneath the gesture. “Nope. All me.”
After the two of you explore each other’s mouths, making your way to the sofa in the throes of your affection, Leon pulls away, if only for a second to gaze into your eyes. “So…I’m a pretty good boyfriend, huh?”
Hello, I have a leon request! Hear me out on leon being a bit shy to take his clothes off despite loving intercourse with his s/o because he doesn’t like his scars or certain parts of his body so his s/o notices this and they try clothed sex 😋
a/n; love love love!!! clothed sex is just soooo🤤 idk from experience, so I could be delusional, but it just seems either amazing or terrible, yknow?! anyway. thank you for this!! I hope I do the idea justice 🙏🏻 I wasn't sure which era you wanted, but I think I kept it vague enough, so any era should work!
sum; leon's insecurity strikes at the worst time, and in a burst of desperation, an idea and solution are found effortlessly.
content; clothed sex, dry humping, riding, some body worship, leon is insecure, light nipple play, subby!leon
wc; 2k
You'd been naked in front of each other countless times. Being together for so long, it only made sense, right? Well, sometimes, especially after not being intimate for so long, Leon could be a little... unsure, to put it gently. Not unsure of you or his desire, but of his own body.
Tonight was one of those nights. Ten minutes into making out and groping and gently coaxing you into his lap, he froze up when your hand moved under his shirt. He stopped, breath shaky as he looked down and gently stopped your wrist. You halted, leaning back.
"What's wrong?" You asked quietly.
"I.. maybe we should hold off tonight." He looked to the side, eyes low as he swallowed thickly.
Leon wasn't one to deny intimacy, even when he was absolutely exhausted. So you prodded further. "What's the problem? Did I do something?" You asked again, moving your hand and bringing both palms to cup his cheek and tilt his head to look at you.
"I just.. I'm not sure I feel great. Yknow, visually.." he trailed off, words vague and brief as his gaze darted down again.
"Oh, baby," you purred softly, leaning forward to kiss his nose. "I know you get a little worried about your body sometimes," you paused, thumbs soothing over his cheekbones. "but I promise, on my life, there's no reason for it. You're fit, healthy, and you've got a whole story mapped out on your pretty body. Scars, moles, your cute little freckles." You leaned down to kiss the freckle between his collarbone and his adams apple, making him snicker at your gentle words.
"I love you," he murmured when you lifted your head. He pushed forward for a kiss once more, tugging you tighter to his body.
"If thats the only reason you don't feel up to it, there's two ways we can fix it."
"Mmh?" He hummed curiously, leaning back as you shuffled down a little, hands resting on his belt.
"We can stop and relax and wait for another time," you hummed, slowly undoing his belt. He didn't stop you, but he gave you a look to seek more information. "or we can keep it all on, get in a little dry humping action, and if you wanna keep going, I can just ride you with your pants pushed down a little."
"Ooh," he breathed, looking between you and your hands on his half undone belt. "You really know how to convince a man.." he muttered.
"Only when it comes to you." You grinned.
"Yeah.. yeah, we can try that." He nodded, swallowing harshly once more as he pulled you to have your heat pressed directly against the girth of his erection in his pants.
"You want me to do the work?" You asked. He blinked.
"I-i can. If you want. Whatever you want." He sputtered quickly, assuming you'd been teasing about his assumption of you being on top longer.
You giggled. "I'll stay here for now. Just stay comfy. If at any point you feel at all compelled to stop, just say the word, and I'll be off of you before you can blink."
He nodded again, body relaxing beneath you as he leaned back against the headboard and pillows, sighing quietly. His ease was sharply interrupted by the warm, burning sensation of you grinding down against his boner. He squeaked slightly, brows furrowing as he dug his nails into your hips. You continued, hips rolling slowly with a firm enough pressure that you could feel enough, and he could feel more than enough—just how he liked it.
"Oh," he breathed, eyes fluttering with struggle to stay open. "Fuck, th-that's really good." He shuddered, his legs tensing as he leaned forward to grab tighter around your waist as he bucked his hips into yours.
"Mmhm," you hummed, one hand coming to tangled into the hair above the nape of his neck, tilting his head back and kissing him deeply. He choked on a moan as you dragged back and forth. The kiss turned sloppy within seconds, and you couldn't help but laugh softly at how easily his brain turned to mush for you.
"Breathe, baby," you reminded him, feeling his breath catching and holding as he leaned his chin against your chest.
"Sorry." He squeaked out, breathing shakily as he grabbed your hips more firmly, trying to take a little control with the pace and rhythm.
"Can't have you passing out on me before you've even been given a reason to feel that good." You teased sweetly, making him whine and hide his face again.
"But it feels so good." He groaned, the sound pitchy and drawn out.
"Does dry humping really get you that close?" You snickered.
"Maybe." He muttered, only to shiver and swallow harshly. You slowed to a stop, only for him to perk up and tilt his head. "Why'd you stop?" His voice barely above a whisper.
"Because I didn't work you all the way up just for you to cum in your pants before I'm even halfway there."
"'M sorry," he curled around you, groaning in embarrassment. "It just felt really good."
"We've got all night. There's no need to get it all done during the foreplay." You soothed, scooting back slowly and pulling on his waistband. You finished undoing his belt, tugging his zipper down and gently tugging at the fabric of his pants and boxers. He lifted his hips slightly, and you managed to pull the fabric down just enough that his cock sprang free and you pushed the waistband of his boxers down to where it rested just beneath his balls.
You lifted your skirt, grabbing Leon's hands and having him hold up the fabric as you pulled your panties to the side. He watched, eyes darting between your face and the show you were putting on just for him. His grip tightened on your skirt, knuckles turning white as you propped his cock upright and hovered over the drooling cock head. He looked up at you, lips parted with soft breaths leaving his plush, kiss-swollen lips.
"Oh, you're so cute," you mused, watching his face as you lowered yourself onto him. The tip was enough to make his face contort, a squeak pulled from his throat as he quivered in response with a pitchy 'fuck' rolling off of his tongue.
You eased your way down, all too satisfied with the way his entire body surrendered itself to you, trusting with his mind, body, and soul. With you fully seated on his cock, he fell back against the pillows, breath uneven and stiff as his cock twitched inside of you. You tried to start grinding slowly, only for him to dig his fingertips into your waist.
"Not yet. I might—" He exhaled, head falling back. "I might embarrass myself if I don't breathe for a second."
"I'd rather you cum in me than your boxers." You teased. He huffed, pinching your side lazily.
"Cruel, cruel woman."
"I'll show you cruel."
Leon didn't have time to process your words before you were already lifting and dropping down with enough force to have him bust right then and there. He cried out, gasping slightly at the first bounce.
"Fuck! Okay, n-not cruel. 'M sorry!" He whined, holding you down with as much strength as he could maintain in such a weak moment.
You laughed a little, only to apologize through slow, shallow bounces and grinding back and forth. The change made it much easier for him to readjust and relax. He melted under you, his grip easing.
"You still don't want your shirt off?" You asked, hands creeping under the fabric. He whined, shaking his head no. You retracted your touch. "Can I still touch?" You asked, palms resting just below his well-worked pecs. He nodded, looking up at you as he nudged your hands upward, letting you know that touching was still on the table. You grinned at his actions.
On the rare occasion that Leon let you take this much control, it was always a delight to see how he'd respond to the things he did to you. Like how he'd grope and pinch and pull at your nipples or sometimes even use them to keep his mouth busy. Given the fact his shirt was on, you resorted to the hands-on approach. You worked him up with some slow circling of your thumbs around his nipples, and when he closed his eyes, you picked up the bouncing with deeper strokes and began to gently pinch and twist his nipples. Nothing that would hurt him, but with just enough pressure to make him whimper.
"Hah—ahh, shit," he breathed out a small laugh, brows knitting together tighter.
"Touch me, baby. C'mon, don't make me do all the work by myself." You cooed, gesturing down to his hands. One hand quickly found its way downward between your legs, his thumb effortlessly meeting your clit as you fucked yourself on his cock, pussy fluttering at the reciprocation of stimulation. It was your turn to mewl and whimper, head falling back as your hips bounced and ground against his touch with every drop of your hips.
"F-fuck," he choked. "M-mmmm—might not make it," he whined, eyes struggling to stay focused and attentative in the moment.
"God, just a little more, please." You mewled, head falling back as your hands worked his nipples with pinching and pulling and rolling, his body pliant and willing for you.
Leon tried, he really did, but with you growing closer, tightening and clenching and pulsing around his cock and using him like a fucking ragdoll, he found himself drowned in pleasure. He could only sputter out an embarrassing 'cumming!' before his body jolted and tensed, a ragged sob leaving his lips. His dick twitched and throbbed as he spilled his load into you, relief flooding his nerves and his muscles as he fell limp and twitchy beneath you.
You followed quickly, his thumb still working on your clit as you eased into softer bounces and slower grinding, ending up at a perfect peak for your pleasure to throb through your nerves. You came to a stop, breathing heavy and shaky. Leon was absolutely done for. Ruined beyond comprehension in the moment. He shivered when you lifted yourself off of him, dropping beside him and cuddling up against him as your skirt dropped back into place, panties still notched to the side.
"Maybe being insecure isn't so bad." He rasped lazily, leaning into you and wrapping an arm around you.
"Shut up." You laughed, rolling your eyes as you wrapped an arm around his waist, head turning to kiss his collarbone over his shirt. "You know you're sexy, scars and all."
"You say that because you have to." He murmured.
"No, I don't. I'm saying it because I love you, you're amazing, and you look amazing—even when you don't feel like it." You insisted, kissing his jawline before you sat upright. "Shower together or alone?" You asked.
"Uh... I.." he hesitated, stammering as he sat upright and shifted to curl into himself.
You laughed quietly, shaking your head as you reached to cup his cheek. "I'll go start the shower, and if you feel like it, you can join me. If not, you can shower after me. Okay? You okay with that?"
He nodded, smiling lightly as he leaned into your touch. "Thank you."
"I'll be back." You mused, shuffling out of bed. "Care to change the sheets while I'm showering?" You called over your shoulder as you began to undress while leaving the bedroom to the bathroom.
"On it!" He stood from the bed on shaky legs and worked his way to change the sheets.
content w: 18+ nsfw. mdni. any older!m x f!reader, implied age gap, cockwarming
After what seemed like forever of living together cordially, you finally befriended your older roommate.
Since befriending him, he doesn't seem to mind doing affectionate things with you. Letting you hold his rough hands while watching tv on the couch, borrow books from his bedroom, even wear some of his clothes. You equally share your good detergent, make him a little extra serving when making yourself dinner, and share some music playlists.
A random day, nothing special about it, you both crossed some invisible line. Was never directly said aloud, but the relationship dynamic quietly shifted to something more physical and intimate.
Warm kiss on the lips here, sucking his fingers there. Friend stuff.
Or.. well, you're more friends with benefits than just plain ol' friendly now. Not that you minded.
You don't quite remember when it went from kisses to extreme teasing, but sometimes you'll find yourself wrapped up in his arms after dinner, lying on your side as he spoons from behind. He'll be half-hard, pressing himself against your soft lower body. Wet kisses to your nape and shoulder.
His fingers always slip under your shirt, squeezing and tugging at your nipples in a slow rhythm—as if it's just what he needs to lull himself to sleep.
A cozy Sunday comes along and neither one of you have any concrete plans. He mentions reading and working out. You bring up wanting to run errands and buy some more sugar. Nothing exciting.
Leading to the intimate scene you find yourself in before you run said errands this afternoon.
You're straddling his waist with his cock comfortably sunk into your heat—cunt twitching and squeezing every so often. He mentioned something about 'building endurance'.. or 'restraint training'. And now you're in his bedroom, trying to learn having the same patience as an older man like him.
Keyword 'trying'. It's difficult to keep your hips still while sitting on a cock that spreads you so wide; fills you up so good. Just a small shift sinks his cock deeper. Little huffs of air and whines escape your lips.
Yet he's relaxed, lying comfortably on his back with his glasses sitting low on his face, reading through... a fishing guide.
He doesn't reach out to settle your hips. Doesn't move his hands to caress your thighs and help soothe. Aside from his deep breathing and brief glances at where you're so deeply connected, you wouldn't be able to tell he's affected by this arrangement.
He turns to the next page in his book, then readjusts his glasses calmly. "Deep breaths, sweetheart." His gaze doesn't even lift from the text as he regards you.
You're letting out another huff, half pleasure, half exasperation. How can he be so indifferent about this? There's a slick mess pooling between you both—sticking to your folds, drooling down his shaft—and he's engrossed with how to tie a lure.
Frustrated in more ways than one, you decidedly start to grind down on top of him needing some type of friction. The feeling is instant, clit bumping against his pelvis–sending heat through your body and pleasure pooling at your center.
It's met with a click of his tongue and a quiet spoken "You're not very good at this, hm?" You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes as he looks up over the rim of his glasses.
Before he can tease you about it any further, you're purposely squeezing around him tight, making his cock twitch and drawing a low hiss through clenched teeth.
"S-Shit." His brows furrow briefly before he schools his expression again. It's the most you've seen his face change all afternoon, and the most vocal you've heard him. You can't help grinning at that.
His hips roll subtly–a quick retaliation–dragging his heavy length further inside, fat tip hitting your sweet spot. You breathe out a needy moan, back arching into a bow and spilling more slick in the process.
He grins. "Keep it up, honey. Almost done." Flips another page in his book while you fight the urge to squirm. This'll be a long hour..
a/n: mostly thought of jack abbot when writing this.. then price.. then joel.. my brain keeps goin 'older man? he must like fishin!'
summary: Leon is your best friend and roommate. After coming home, you caught him jerking off.
cw/tags: 18+ MDNI!!!, explicit, smut, degradation kink, slightly sub Leon, masturbation, p in v sex
a/n: I need to write more rookie Leon, I love him💛 This time, the reader is mean!
wc: 1,5k
Leon was your roommate, and you’ve been living together for some time. He’s a rookie officer, while you’re still in college. Since you’ve been good friends for a long time and renting an apartment on your own was impossible, you decided to share an apartment until you save enough to live alone.
Your friendship was wild. Can you even call each other ‘friends’ after all the teasing that’s been going on for years? And not to forget the one time you two made out after drinking recklessly. You told him it was a mistake and that it would never happen again.
For him, it was something he will never forget. Although he doesn’t admit it aloud, he had a crush on you for a long time, and you’re well aware of it. Sometimes you tease him about it, and he doesn’t seem to mind. He actually likes it when you tease him.
You’re a good friend, and Leon feels lucky to have you in his life. But his feelings for you haven’t changed. And probably never will. He doesn’t want to ruin everything by bringing it up, so he keeps it to himself, which is sometimes hard for him, especially when you talk about the ‘cute guys’ you see in college.
You’re gone for yoga, and Leon got off work. He’s alone in the apartment. And being alone means that he could do anything. Well, for Leon, ‘anything’ means jerking off thinking about you.
The room was quiet except for Leon’s ragged, desperate breathing. He’d been stroking himself for a long while, sweatpants shoved down around his thighs, fist pumping furiously up and down his throbbing, veiny cock. He was right on the edge. Every stroke was sending him closer.
He thought that you were still at yoga. So there was no reason to hold back. Right?
Well, the door swung open.
You bumped it with your hip, grocery bags in your arms. “Leon? I got those magazines for you—” You froze mid-sentence, eyes widening as you took in the scene.
Leon’s hand stuttered for half a second. You just walked in, him jerking off. But he kept going. It was so stupid, but he’s too desperate to think normal. “H-Hey… yeah. Thought you were out,” he muttered, trying to sound casual even as his abs clenched hard and his cock pulsed visibly in his grip.
You dropped the bags, kicked off your sneakers, and slowly turned fully toward him. Your gaze locked onto his hand and cock. A wicked smirk spread across your face.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God. Leon,” you laughed full of amusement. “You’re actually jerking off right in front of me, and you don’t even bother stopping? That’s next-level pathetic.”
He didn’t say anything, nor did he stop. He just kept going. He was too close to think straight, and the fact that you were watching actually added to the excitement.
You didn’t leave. Instead, you leaned against the doorframe, one hand sliding down your own body teasingly. Your fingers slipped under the waistband of your yoga pants, pressing against your pussy as you watched him stroke. “Keep going,” you ordered sweetly. “Don’t you dare slow down. I want to see you lose it.”
Leon groaned, cheeks burning, but his hand kept pumping. Slick sounds filled the room. “Fuck… this is, uh, not how I planned my evening.”
“Aww, look at you,” you teased, biting your lip as your own fingers started rubbing circles over your clit. “So close already. Your cock is twitching like crazy. Bet you’re gonna make a massive mess all over yourself while your dear bestie watches.” Your breathing grew heavier, eyes glued to his shaft as you rubbed yourself faster. “Mmm… It’s kinda hot, actually. You’re such a desperate little perv.”
“Shit — Stop it.” His strokes turned faster, hips bucking up into his fist. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your voice dropped, mocking. “That’s it… cum for me, Leon. Show me how hard you’re gonna explode just because I’m standing here touching my pussy while I watch you jerk off like a horny idiot.”
That did it.
Leon’s whole body tensed violently. “Fuuuck—!” he gasped your name, voice cracking. His cock throbbed hard in his fist as the first powerful spurt shot out, then another all across his chest and neck. His hips jerked wildly. He kept stroking through it, groaning loudly. He was trembling and gasping for air. He’d never come this hard from jerking off before; you were the magic.
Your eyes were wide with delight, your fingers rubbing frantically inside your yoga pants as you watched him unravel. “Holy shit… look at that huge fucking load,” you moaned. “You just kept cumming and cumming like a broken faucet. Such a good, messy boy for me.”
As Leon slumped back, panting and trembling, covered in his own cum from chest to stomach, you pulled your fingers out of your pants and climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, grinding your soaked yoga pants against his cum-slick cock.
“W-What are you—”
“Awww, don’t think we’re done yet,” you purred, dragging your fingers through the mess on his stomach and licking them clean while staring down at him. “You made me so fucking wet watching you explode like that. Now you’re gonna take care of me, okay?”
You quickly shoved your yoga pants and panties down your legs and kicked them aside with your tank top. You were now naked on his lap. Your hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, stroking it firmly. Leon twitched hard.
“Fuck, are we really doing this?” he said, trying to control his breathing as his voice came out shaky. “Give me a minute, yeah?”
“Too bad,” you grinned, positioning his tip against your slick folds and rubbing it up and down. “You’ll get hard again. I can already feel you twitching.” You sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch into your tight, dripping pussy. “Mmm… there we go.”
Leon groaned, hands instinctively gripping your hips. “Fuck… you’re really tight. This is… uh… intense right after.”
You laughed breathlessly and started rolling your hips, riding him with slow, deep movements. “Aww, is my awkward little perv roomie sensitive? Poor baby. Trying so hard to act all chill while I’m fucking you.” You planted your hands on his cum-splattered chest and picked up the pace, bouncing harder. “How’s it feel having me use your cock right after you blew your load everywhere?”
Leon’s head fell back, breathing ragged. “It feels… really fucking good,” he admitted, trying to keep his tone casual. “Didn’t expect my night to end up with you riding me like this… but I’m not complaining.”
You smirked and leaned forward, your tits brushing against his messy chest as you rode him faster. “Of course you’re not. Look at you — still trying to act cool while your cock is buried inside me.” You clenched your pussy around him on purpose, making him hiss. “Bet you’ve thought about this before, huh? I bet you were thinking about me while jerking off like an idiot, yeah?”
“Fuck,” Leon groaned, hips starting to thrust up to meet you. “You’re… really enjoying this, aren’t you? Teasing me the whole time.”
“Obviously,” you moaned, grinding down hard. Your movements grew frantic, slamming down onto him again and again. “Come on, Leon. Tell me how good it feels.”
Leon’s fingers dug into your hips, his voice strained but trying to stay cool. “It feels insane… Keep going like that, and I’m not gonna last long again.”
Your laugh turned into a moan as you chased your pleasure. “Good. I want you to cum inside me this time.” You rode him even harder, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his cock. “That’s it… just lie there and let me use you.”
Your breathing turned into sharp gasps. You tensed above him, crying out as your orgasm hit hard. Your walls pulsed and squeezed tightly around him. “Fuck, Leon—!”
The feeling of you cumming pushed him over the edge too. “Shit, I’m gonna—” Leon groaned loudly, thrusting up into you as he came for the second time, spilling deep inside her with long, powerful spurts. His body shook beneath you, hands gripping you tightly as the intense pleasure rolled through him again.
You slowed her movements, still seated fully on his cock, breathing heavily with a satisfied grin. You traced a finger through the drying cum on his chest and tapped his nose playfully.
“Mmm. Not bad at all,” you purred. “We both know you loved getting caught like that.” You leaned down and kissed him mockingly before climbing off, his cum leaking down your thigh. “Next time you’re feeling horny, just leave the door open again. I might even watch longer… or join sooner.”
You gave his softening cock one last teasing pat. “Clean up your mess, Leon. And maybe lock the door… unless you want round three later.”
Leon lay there panting, flushed and spent, a small awkward smile on his face. “Yeah… noted.”
Pairing: RE4!Leon Kennedy x Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: During a simple reconnaissance mission at a nightclub, you and Leon are tasked to lay eyes on a target allegedly selling bioweapons on the black market. The two of you don't necessarily get along, so what happens when you have to pretend to be more than agents-at-odds and get comfortable on the dance floor?
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: I am so, so sorry it has taken me so long to fulfill this request. I loved the idea, I just couldn't find a place to start, but it's finally here! The plot has more holes than Swiss cheese, but it's not really about that anyway ;) is it? lol. anyway, I didn't do too much revision on this one, just wanting to get it out there for my dear requester. I hope I did you well <3
The dress they have you wearing is slinky, and altogether too short–criminally short–clinging to the round of your ass. Your legs endlessly stretch from beneath the skirt, thighs tapering all the way down into a pair of sky-high stilettos.
It’s essentially chainmail, just a more updated version that doesn’t weigh a million pounds, but it still gets the job done.
You have to appreciate the technology of it all. For allegedly being stabproof and bulletproof (if hit at the perfect angle), it certainly is lightweight; a sparkly, close-knit material that hangs off your body like mesh spun from golden sand. And you look pretty good in it too…
Apparently.
Cutting your eyes to your partner for the assignment, you arch an eyebrow at his incessant staring. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
“Yeah, no thanks” Leon says, removing a hand from the pocket of his dark wash jeans to gesture dismissively with his palm before replacing it.
The street is still coated in a sheen of rainwater, the puddles on the dips in the sidewalk reflecting the twinkling lights of the city around it. Music bumps from inside the club, some unidentifiable beat of the bass so loud, you’re sure those inside can feel it in their chests. The sound is harmonized by the cacophony outside the building: slurred conversations, tapping feet, drunken giggles, and the click of digital cameras followed by a bright flash.
Before either of you can go inside and begin the mission, you have to partake in the song-and-dance that is waiting in line, flirting with the bouncer, proving your worth by wearing the most revealing outfit. And although you do have quite a bit of flesh on display, Leon is a strong competitor.
You’ve never seen him out of his usual habit of cargo pants, a short-sleeved compression shirt, and rubber-soled boots that betray his passage down the hallways of the DSO. He’s wearing a tank top, the thin, black cotton adhering to the bulging muscles beneath it, the details of his abdomen on full display to onlookers who are definitely looking. You overheard a girl behind you make a comment about his arms.
And his hair, always styled flat and straight into limp swaths that hang low across his temples. Tonight, something reminiscent of texture has been added to those icy blonde strands, his hair parted differently, now parted in the middle and affixed into layered curtains on either side of his head.
He looks different. Not good–you don’t let your mind even wander there–but different. Not as brooding and Byronic as he usually seems. He looks normal. You both look normal.
Two people waiting in line beneath what could possibly be a torrential storm if those angry clouds decide to be especially mean to those hoping to spend their night dancing among other drunk, sweaty strangers. Is this what people your age do for fun? Ply themselves with overpriced drinks that slosh around in their stomach while they jump up and down to music that threatens to ruin their hearing for the rest of their lives? If so, maybe you’re not missing out on as much as you think.
“Your hair’s different,” you say, immediately regretting the words before the last syllable even leaves your mouth. The last time you made a comment about his hair, it was far less…neutral of a statement. What did you say, exactly? Something about him looking like he could be a drummer in a boy band? Whether or not you meant it as a compliment, he definitely didn’t take it as one.
Let it go.
He’s had the same haircut since you’ve known him–six years, almost–and he up and decides to change it? He’s never changed his hair for an assignment before…
“Needed a change.”
So it’s not for the assignment.
Let it go.
Quickly changing the subject, you focus your sights back on the first objective at hand. Getting into the club. Before you can even attempt to locate the target and lay eyes on his buyer, you first have to get through the doors. If you even make it to the front of the line in a reasonable time, that is. “What if we don’t get in?”
The one flaw in the plan, that you pointed out and Leon subsequently dismissed, was that there was no guarantee either of you would be granted entrance into the club. From what you have heard about these things, it seems like a coin toss: you get in or you don’t. Random, unfounded decisions in the hands of a bouncer who is fully capable of literally throwing you on your ass all because he doesn’t like the look of you.
You recommended sneaking through the back, but since it was the target’s club and he would be on high alert, the team decided the best course of action was the default one: waiting in line, receiving a stamp on the hand, purchasing a few drinks at the bar, and dancing beneath the bright lights. The objective of each clubgoer in the queue stretching in front of and behind you, an almost infinite line of sparkles and glitter.
Leon glances down at you, his eyes speaking for his lips.
You don’t press him on it. You don’t get a chance to, not before you’re beckoned to the front of the line after those waiting in front of you were refused entry. Another male-female pair like you and Leon, dressed to the nines (like you and Leon), turned away for some artificial reason undivulged to them, no matter how much they prodded. You make a mental note that whining is a sure way to get you kicked out of line.
Leon does all the talking as you hand over your I.D. cards to the bouncer, a hulking man with a bald head that reflects the glow of the streetlamps above, and the red light from the neon sign that hangs over the door. His arms are ginormous, bulging with muscles that are almost uncomfortable to look at–muscles that rival Leon’s and then some.
You give the man a glittering smile, which he flatly ignores. It seems he’s more into Leon, hardly breaking eye contact with the agent, the corners of his mouth immediately rising under one of Leon’s cheesy quips. The bouncer, Ivan, grabs Leon’s wrist and presses a stamp onto the back of his hand, the red ink a stark contrast to the translucent skin beneath it. Without the wide smile he had been sporting only a second ago, Ivan begrudgingly presses the same stamp onto your hand, with half the delicacy he previously used with Leon, and he gestures for the two of you to enter through the wide double-doors that separate the party from the street.
Almost immediately, you’re met with the cloying scent of cheap perfume and sticky sweat, the pungent notes topped off with the bitter tang of liquor rounding every corner. Hostesses, donning all black, carry colorful drinks on trays, weaving through the crowds of people with expert care. Most patrons are gathered on the dance floor, their seemingly boneless bodies swinging and twisting to the music that blares through the standing speakers on either side of the dj booth on the far back wall.
Leon’s hand wraps around your upper arm, keeping you close to him as the two of you head down the stairs to the dance floor. His face dips down to yours, the clean scent of his skin a welcomed detox from the horrid smells singing your nostrils the farther the two of you venture into the club. He squints, looking around the vast space, shrouded in blue and purple lights, flickering and flashing across the floor.
“Keep a look out for Demarco,” Leon says, having to speak closely into your ear to be heard over the music.
“What else would I be doing?” You bite back as a pair of hands land on your waist, spinning you around until your back is flush to a broad chest. “Hey, what–”
“Getting distracted.”
He’s all too good at this–blending in like a chameleon blending into a leaf–so at ease in any surrounding. It takes you a little longer to warm up, still somewhat uncomfortable being in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by so many bodies, all radiating a humid heat that arouses a line of sweat down your back, which is now held tight against Leon by the hand still lingering around your waist. The other is on your hip, fingers splayed across the side of your stomach.
“Look. There he is,” Leon says, directing your body and your gaze gaze to the top floor, over to the V.I.P. section, barricaded with nothing by a few velvet ropes. Sure enough, there’s tonight’s target, meeting with the alleged buyer of one of the viruses he’s selling on the black market.
You expected Demarco to hold a meeting like that in his office, behind closed doors and far away from the prying eyes of drunken idiots. Instead, he’s sitting across from his buyer, exposed to the scene around them, comfortably talking and laughing. The two characters are cartoonishly different in their demeanors and appearances, Demarco being a plump man with an avian nose and a few greasy hair combed over his otherwise bald head. His counterpart is thin and rather small, with hollow cheeks and a pair of wire-framed lenses perched on his button nose.
Demarco hands the man a black briefcase, secured with a metal padlock, containing what you assume is the virus in question.
Leon speaks into his earpiece, updating the team back at headquarters, and in your own device, you hear a new objective.
“Lay eyes on whatever’s in that case. We can’t make a move until we know what’s in there.”
The buyer sets the briefcase on the table between him and Demarco, and leans back into the chair, spreading his spindly legs as if he has anything to put on display.
“He’s not opening the case,” you remark, the frustration thick on your tongue. You’re ready to complete the mission and get out of here, craving fresh air and a less restricting outfit.
You can hear Leon rolling his eyes behind you. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
In your own form of retribution, you arch your back, grinding your ass against his hips along the bump of the bass still thumping from the vibrating speakers. He groans, but you don’t hear it, not above the loud music making everything else almost inaudible. You feel it. The sound reverberates against your shoulder blades, still pressed into his pecs.
“Stop doing that,” he says in your ear. His voice is low and gravely and far too demanding for your liking.
Doesn’t he know that when he tells you not to do something, it only makes you want to do it more? Has he not been paying attention all these years?
“Stop it,” he repeats, voice growing desperate as his breath grazes the length of your neck. It tickles, and you shirk beneath the sensation, if only for a moment before you regain composure.
“Can’t just stand there, Leon. Don’t want to look suspicious.” You glance over your shoulder. Black pupils eclipse the blue of his irises as he looks down at you, brows cinched, jaw flexed.
When you flicker your eyes back to the V.I.P. section above, you hone in on the briefcase on the table, untouched and unlocked, the buyer leaning forward to stand and shake hands with Demarco.
“Buyer’s on the move,” you alert the team through your earpiece. “Without the case. Didn’t even open it.”
The voice on the other end tells you and Leon to stay put, not to follow the buyer. To continue watching Demarco until you can leave the club without arousing suspicions. Too soon, and some hawk-eyed bodyguard might notice and alert his employer.
“So we just wait here and do what? Dance? Keep pretending while our buyer’s already half-way down the block?”
Leon just shrugs. “We do what we’re told. If we’re told to wait, we wait.” He steps past you, bumping your shoulder as he does, turning your gaze to the bar, where he saunters to, taking a seat on one of the stools.
You follow, settling onto the empty seat next to him. “Why the hell did they even need us out here?”
He cocks his head, eyes glancing down at the untouched drink between his forearms. “Reconnaissance.”
“Just another word for a ‘waste of time’,” you scoff, shaking your head. It garners you a chuckle, one of the first you’ve elicited from the man in nearly half a decade. He presses the button inside his ear, and the line between you two goes dead. You follow suit, and for the first time all night, you can hear the room all the more clearly. Every beat of the speaker, the chatter exchanged through tipsy dancers, the way shoes click on the lacquered concrete floor, the pouring of drinks.
“Why’d you change your hair?” You ask, taking advantage of the moment you have with him, where neither of you can leave for another ten-ish minutes. That’s the time frame he suggested. The two of you sit at the bar, sip on a few drinks, stay for one more dance, then slink out the same way you came in.
His neck flexes as he ponders the question, and then he brings the mouth of the low-ball glass to his lips, and downs a shot of glistening liquor crashing against the crystal walls on its way.
“You didn’t like how I had it before.” He glances over at you, giving you the faintest grin, the corner of his mouth pricking upward before falling back down along with his gaze. “Told everyone I looked like a cartoon character.”
Sitting with the guilt associated with making so rude a comment, it makes someone change something about their appearance, you swallow hard. The drink he ordered for you, something far too sweet and fruity, looks awfully tempting, if only to fill the pit in your stomach, and numb the itch of humiliation crawling across your skin. It cascades down your throat, smooth, as you take it in one gulp.
You can’t even remember how this rivalry started, why the two of you ceased to get along, if you ever did. Perhaps it was the way he followed every order blindly, like a dog on a leash, led exactly where his owners want him to go, never venturing off-path to explore on his own. It’s garnered him quite the shiny reputation within the DSO, however, and maybe that’s why it angered you. He was too content following commands, a quality you’ve never once possessed, and it’s done you well thus far, though you’re sure your superiors would appreciate it if you took a page from Leon’s book.
Plus, he was so irritatingly handsome. It made you irrationally angry, possibly because he, in turn, didn’t seem to like you either. You were never the receiver of the charm he so willingly doled out to everyone around you, always making other agents laugh, sending smiles and assuring words in all directions. But never to you. He was reserved–cold, even–in the way he kept his distance from the very beginning. So defiant how he countered your every point or suggestion. So prickly.
But now? Perhaps it’s the drum-damaging music or the intimate dancing that has him thrown off his game. He’s hunched over his drink, triceps flexing as he rests his elbows on the bartop.
“Come dance with me?”
His eyes are as wide as saucers when he looks up at you. “Huh?”
“You said we should stay and dance for a bit,” you remind. He narrows his eyes as if searching his memory, a film playing out in front of him. “Before we leave.”
He nods once, abandoning his empty glass as he follows you back onto the floor. Maybe it’s the liquor finally settling into your bloodstream, or maybe it’s the actual fog billowing from the machines above, but the room is hazy. The lights flicker from deep purples to oceanic blues, rippling like waves above the bobbing heads of the club patrons.
You take his hands in yours, manually placing them on your hips, just like he had them planted before, yet now, under the influence of alcohol, and the limbo between the mission and home, it feels different. Intimate, though both of you are far stiffer than before, limbs hesitantly moving together until you find a rhythm against each other.
It’s messy and uncoordinated for two agents who can aim and shoot with their eyes closed.
Until he raises his thigh between your legs just slightly, and you instinctively sink down onto it, clit catching immediately on the pure muscle beneath it. You look up at him, searching his face for confirmation that he did it on purpose. His eyes are wide but steady, lids heavy, cutting his irises in half as he gazes down upon you.
“Leon,’ you might as well mouth, the music whisking away the sound of his name on your tongue.
He raises a brow and his thigh simultaneously, inviting you to continue. Then, he leans down to speak into your ear. “Go on. Take it.”
With your arms still wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the silky strands down the nape, you grind your hips back and forth against his leg, disguising your pointed movements as dancing, though you’re sure no one is sober enough to notice either way. Though there isn’t much room to watch, let alone shift through the boiling crowd all around you, bodies pressed up against each other, gyrating and jumping to the beat. There’s hardly room to breathe.
And it feels so good. You can’t stop. No matter the red-hot flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks, the voice of the angel on your shoulder telling you this is a bad idea. You work together. You don’t even like each other.
But it’s too late. There’s a tension in your abdomen begging to be released, and the pulse in your clit is hard to ignore, especially now that your climax is within arm’s reach. With the bass of the song beating in your chest, the smell of Leon’s neck at your nose, his trunkish thigh between your legs, your mind is flooded with stimulation, and you all but collapse into Leon’s arms as you reach the height of your pleasure. His chest moves up and down against your hanging head as he groans, breath labored and heaving. Your body shakes through the aftersocks, your bud pulsating, your abdomen contracting through the last wave of euphoria washing over you.
It’s viscous, the way your walls clench around nothing, skin tingling, aching to feel more of him on you. In you. As if your body, though already having experienced its climax, is still trying to hold onto him in some way. The touch of his palms across your middle just isn’t enough. You want more.
There’s something stiff that pokes at your belly before you stand up straight, coming face to face with the man whose leg you just gushed all over, adjusting the skirt of your dress as you do.
“That was…” His voice trails off into the sound of an electric beat as he runs a hand down his face. “Wow. That was incredible. Holy shit, you’ve drenched my jeans.”
Leon dips his head down, his brows raises, causing thin lines to spread across his forehead. “I think we’re in the clear now. Let’s go.”
A string of incoherent babbles leaves your lips before you can think twice to stop it, though you’re sure if you can’t hear it, he can’t either. Your legs are useless, and you’re unable to put much weight on one or the other, having to practically hobble off the dance floor until Leon sweeps you up into his arms, carrying you through the side entrance.
The crisp oxygen that hits your face once the two of you emerge from the club is a blessing. It immediately floods your lungs, and the gentle drizzle that falls from the indigo sky wash away the sticky sheen of sweat coating your arms. Once you suck down a few deep breaths, and the air cycles through your body, the clouds in your head begin to clear.
“You good to walk, or do you need me to carry you?”
“I can walk,” you assure with a nod, however uncertain in your ability to carry your weight when your muscles still feel like pudding. You will your legs to work as Leon tips you back onto your feet, the rubber sole of your heels meeting the gravel sidewalk.
It’s a short walk back to the pick-up point, just a few blocks down the street and around the corner. It’s tempting to want to keep your mouth shut, to forget that ever happened, and to take it to your grave. But you’d rather not walk it in silence. It’d feel wrong, somehow.
“I’m sorry about that comment, by the way,” you say, meeting his eyes in the hope that he sees the sincerity in yours. His hair glows yellow beneath the dim bulbs of the arched lampposts that line both sides of the street.
“It’s alright,” he says with a chuckle and a half-smile at the corner of his mouth as the two of you continue. “I’m kind of liking this look better anyway. And it got me a date on Friday night, so a win’s a win.”
“What?” You can’t hide the disappointment in your voice as the words tumbles out. Then, in a lower voice, you ask, “A date?”
“Yep.” It’s so certain, falling off his tongue with precision. He rakes a few fingers through his strands before glancing back at you. You’re not sure of the exact expression awash over your face right now, but whatever it is, it makes him laugh. “I guess I owe you a ‘thank you’, don’t I?”
“Oh, sire. Well, that’s good for you, I guess.” You adjust the strap of the dress on your shoulder, suddenly feeling too exposed in front of the man whose thigh you just came all over no less than five minutes ago.
He steps closer to you, draping an arm over your shoulder. “I’m joking, relax.” You let out a breath, hoping it would sound more amused than nervous. It didn’t. “Unless you’re free for dinner?”
love your work, esp the fic with leon and reader as friends to lovers !!! ive been thinking abt this for a hot minute but,,, hmo. agent!reader coming home after being at a bar with their friends and leon was really worried, so when they come back he’s all over them and wondering where they were and it eventually leads to really nasty smut,, like reader riding leon type smut. i totally see re4 or vendetta leon doing this , they have a place in my heart
a/n; mmmh riding vendetta leon...CRRRAAAAZY style....🤤 GOD THIS IS DELICIOUS. Thank you for the opportunity to write vendetta leon again cuz I rarely write for the movie eras nowadays. Also idk if this was meant to have any specific relationship for this fic, but there's only vague implications to an existing relationship between the two.
sum; after coming home absolutely shit-faced and needy, Leon's concern grows, much like the embarrassing tent in his sweats.
content; alcohol consumption, reader is HAMMERED, sort of subby!leon, riding, messy sex
wc; 2.2k
Leon had his fair share of disappearing at night sometimes. He had his history of drinking and leaving for the night—sometimes nights—but it was worrying when you'd disappear on a night out. Earlier in the day, you told leon you'd be going out with friends around 7 p.m., getting dinner and then going bar hopping, and you'd make sure you were home by 11 p.m.
Leon's brows furrowed as the clock neared midnight. You were usually so punctual with your timing, and you rarely ever got drunk. Of course you'd drink when you went out with friends, but never enough to make it a problem or you'd make sure you leveled it out and timed it right so you were at least coherent while being driven home. He tried calling you, but your phone just went to voice-mail. Maybe the battery died. He sighed heavily, deciding not to worry and just waiting in the bedroom for you.
It's pushing 1 a.m. when leon finally hears the door open, followed by heavy, uncoordinated footsteps and the lazy sounds of you trying to lock the door. Leon shuffled out of bed, brows furrowed faintly as he found you leaning into the door, almost unable to keep yourself upright as you fiddled with the locks on the door. Leon sighed, coming up behind you to offer support with an arm around your waist, his other hand coming to lock the two locks on the door of the apartment.
"It's one in the morning. You said you'd be home by eleven." Leon scolded quietly, helping you get rid of your jacket. You leaned into him, whining.
"I had ssss—sooo much fun." You argued.
"Yeah, smells like it." He huffed. "Is this how you feel when I come home all shit faced and smelling like alcohol?" He joked, helping you kick your shoes off before you stumbled toward the bedroom.
"Mmh, shhh, you'll wake the neighbors." You slurred, shuffling to find the wall for support as you turned back to Leon.
"Hey—hang on! Where on earth were you? You were out until one a.m., and you're not going to tell me where you were?"
"I was out! Bars. Probably a food truck or two. I dunno." You groaned at his persistent pushing to find out why you were out so late.
"You didn't answer your phone once. Not even texts before you were gone for the first hour." He frowned, meeting you where you stood against the wall, your movement antsy and whiney as you tried not to run off and avoid his scolding. You'd both realize later how hypocritical this was of him, but you only had one thought now.
"Can I show you how sss—" You interrupted yourself with a small hiccup, swallowing thickly before you continued, "s-sorry I am?" You fell forward into him, and he tensed as he caught you, letting your face bury into his neck.
He hesitated, unsure of what your apology entailed, but he helped you upright with a firm grasp around your waist. "You're drunk." He said firmly.
"Lee," you whined, hands splaying over his chest and clutching at his shirt.
"I know you needed a night out. You've been absolutely fucking swamped at work, and the missions, and the lack of alone time—"
"I don't wanna talk about work." You grumbled. "Why can't I just apologize how I want to?" You huffed.
"You're stressed. You needed a night off. You don't need to apologize."
"But you're upset."
"I'm upset because you didn't answer your phone, you got home at one in the morning, you're absolutely shit faced, and now—"
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him downward and making both of you stumble backward to where your back pressed to the wall with your lips crashing messily against his. Leon grunted, left hand holding your waist while his right hand smacked against the wall so he didn't fall against you.
"Shut up." You scolded, panting lightly against his lips. You deepened the sloppy kiss, lips notching together perfectly with his focus on your lower lip. After a moment, he eased into your advances, letting out a low, smooth purr of arousal.
"You—" He exhaled, trying to pull back to speak. You kept him close with a hand gripping his hair. "You are drunk." He sputtered against the kiss, only for you to pull away and huff, brows furrowing.
"I'm drunk, apologetic, and unbelievably horny. You're just lucky I made it home before I pulled over and dealt with myself." You stared up at him.
"You drove home?" He pulled back further.
"Ugh, no, I had Maddy drive me home." You groaned.
"Then how would you—"
"Empty threats, Leon! Can't you avoid questioning me for five minutes?" You leaned back, slouching against the wall with an exhausted whine.
"Maybe you should try weed instead of alcohol." He muttered.
"Weed isn't much different. Are you done lecturing me, or can I continue?" You looked up at him, eyes droopy and half-lidded. You exhaled slightly, only for the breath to be interrupted with a small hiccup and a groan. When Leon didn't answer, you moved forward and yanked him by the shirt to make him follow you to the bedroom down the hall. Before he could object—which he wasn't planning on doing—you had him pushed onto the bed and you were already ridding yourself of your clothes. You had to fiddle with the zipper of your skirt, but once that was done, you crawled onto the bed with him and straddled him.
Now, clad in only a lace set matching with a pretty midnight blue color, Leon could hardly sputter out a poor excuse for some kind of response. He swallowed harshly, looking up at you.
"Are you going to stay dressed and deal with the mess of laundry or are you—"
"Undressing." He said quickly, reaching to take off his shirt and move to undo the drawstring of his sweats. With the sweats easily loosened, you lifted your hips and let him shimmy the pants down a little to where he could easily kick them off.
"That's better." You muttered, settling in his lap and earning a faint squeak of a response thanks to the pressure of your core pressing against the base of his cock through the thin layer of his boxers and your panties. "Sensitive." You giggled, biting at your lip as you gave an experimental drag of your hips, only for his legs to jerk and his hips to hump against you.
"This is supposed to be an apology." He huffed.
"Eh, changed my mind. Just really wanted to get my hands on you." You grinned, dragging your hips back and forth with a torturous pressure. You moaned softly as you angled your hips to let his tip catch against your clit. He let his head fall back.
Usually, foreplay would last at least another ten minutes with you. You needed a little more attention than Leon, so when he felt you already pushing his boxers down and pulling your panties aside, he was momentarily stunted and completely caught off guard. He blinked, lips parted.
"Aren't you gonna.. tease a little more?" He asked quietly, huffing faintly as he looked down where your body hovered above his.
"I don't need to." You gestured down at his already aching boner, and it became clear that you were excited enough when you propped his cock upright and let the fat tip press against your entrance. He choked on air, lips falling open as he clutched at the bedsheets to contain himself and avoid bucking his hips.
You eased down onto his length, your walls thoroughly soaking his length and dripping down his cock as you began to rise and fall on his length. Leon wasn't used to the pace of things—you were going too fast for him to process half of it, too fast for him to savor the feeling of you wrapped snug around him, and too fast for him to focus on not cumming within an embarrassing time.
"Oh—oh, fuck," he exhaled heavily, head fallen back as his brows furrowed, his thighs tense and shaky. "Slow down," he huffed, hands coming to hold your hips in a poor attempt to slow you down.
"Mm—mm." You shook your head, biting your lower lip as you pushed more upright in his lap, hips rising and falling so fast that your thighs began to burn within the first minute or two.
The mattress and bed frame creaked under the weight and motion, the sounds of metal and wood stressing mingled nicely with the moans and whines of Leon and the moans and gasps from you. Leon took in the sight finally—starting at your lower half. Your thighs tense, the fat of your thighs, ass, and hips jiggling with every bounce. Your pussy stretched impossibly tight around his girth, and your tits bouncing with each movement from you. Leon's hands, shaky and weak, came to grope and palm at your tits. You'd think your drunken state would render you sloppy, unstable, weak, or even drowsy!
No, no, you didn't seem to take alcohol the way Leon did. Leon definitely took alcohol and was knocked out by the time he'd make it home. If he managed to, that is. You? Oh, you took it and ran with it like it was holding you hostage and you needed to make up for drinking so much. Leon was the one rendered weak and shaky and sloppy—although for once, he was the sober one!
"Fuck, please," he choked out, eyes rolling back. "You gotta.. gotta slow down." He whined, hips subconsciously bucking and chasing a deeper, insistent need.
"Uh-uh." You huffed. "Not... not happenin'." You slurred slightly, leaning back and planting your palms firmly on his thighs, which were tense in an effort to hold himself back. The different angle made the head of his cock push harder against your g-spot with every downward slam of your hips. Your moans grew louder, heavy breathing mingling with the sounds within the bedroom.
"Oh, shit, please!" He practically cried, brows knitting tighter as his body locked up sporadically. You shook your head, a small giggle leaving your lips at his desperate clutching at your hips and the blankets, his back arching. He looked absolutely pathetic—you hoped you'd remember the look on his face. Nose scrunched, brows knitted, soft blue eyes brimming with fat tears, lips quivering and almost spilling over with drool.
"Y're s-so fuckin' pathetic." You purred with a slight stammer in your words, looking down at him with a slightly crooked grin, all too happy with the state of Leon in the moment.
Leon could hardly muster up a poor excuse for arguing your claim, his mind preoccupied by the fact that he was going insane with your tight cunt around his cock, and the sight of you riding him like there really was no tomorrow. His hands grasped desperately at your thighs, his short and blunt nails digging into your skin as he fucked upward to meet your hips. He whimpered, legs kicking with every sharp shock of pleasure that would run through him. He could feel his end coming. He knew this was going to be so embarrassing—usually he at least had the decency to tell you, but the way you'd turned his brain to mush made it hard.
You could feel it, too. Leon's signs of orgasm were never subtle. Twitchy cock, legs jolting or shaking harder, his chest jittering with shaky, uneven breaths, and the most subtle but still noticeable in certain angles, was how his cock would throb and his balls would draw up tight. Without a warning, Leon's fingers clawed down your thighs, his cock pulsing and spilling his cum into you in thick, heavy spurts that made your body shiver. You rode him through the orgasm until his cum began to leak and spill out of your pussy. You took one hand and brought it to draw tight, messy circles against your clit with your middle and ring finger.
With his cock softening, sensitivity reaching a high, Leon practically cried. "Fuck—hoo—oh, god, y're gonna fuckin' break me, baby," he panted, barely coherent and audible as he watched you chase your own pleasure with no regard for his need for a break. Luckily, you weren't far behind, but it still took enough time for Leon's tears to finally spill over and decorate his cheeks with faint streaks.
You mewled at your pleasure peaking, thighs tensing and knees locking as you ground against him. It wasn't as good as it could've been, but it was enough for Leon's torture to be over. Your walls pulsed around him, and he shivered and squirmed and whined, shoulders tense as he turned his head to hide it in the pillows. You huffed, leaning over him as you lifted your hips and let the last bits of your shared mess spill onto his cock. His length twitched in response, but gave no other indication of round two.
You settled to lay on his chest, nuzzling up close to him as you kissed at his collarbone. "Mmh," you purred quietly, eyes closing. "Y're warm."
"Uh-huh.." Leon huffed quietly, eyes falling shut as his trembly hands came to rest over your back, keeping you close. "I'll join you for drinks from now on." He muttered. You were too tired to argue, and his words fell deaf upon your ears as you were already slipping into sweet, sweet unconsciousness.
something about: needy leon through the ages.. 18+. afab reader.
a/n: im eating up
RE2:
this leon isn't that experienced. he probably had a gf and has had sex. but? he never knew sex could be that intense. he's sitting up against the bed, and you're riding him, your pussy sucking him in with squelching sounds. he's already came more than once, his dick aching and raw. you still grinded against his pelvis, moving your hips up and down no giving him any time to catch his breath.
"b-baby.. ple- AH!-" he whined "c-c'mon ba- babe! i can't do this anymore!" he panted, his own hips betraying him by bucking against you.
you were close, until you reached a pace, up-down up-down. he gasped and his hips moved against you "d-don't stop!" he drooled "s-so good, ba-abe"
he didn't want you to stop, everything about your pussy made him happy, giddy, he could only thought of you, his brain in a one track path, were you were everything he wanted.
RE4:
this leon? he's a bit more experienced, still a spring chicken, it was all work no play for him. a few rounds passed between you, he was behind you, pounding away, your chest was pushed down, your back arched. he'd already cum 3 times, but you were relentless, he stil pounded away, he was close, your cunt was perfect, moist, gummmy, welcome. like everything he missed in spain.
leon's voice cracked, he didn't think he could go anymore, he stopped to take a breather.
"ngh-" he panted, but you began fucking yourself back, his cock hitting the right spot, that made your walls tighten, trying to milk him for all he's worth. "o-oh.. calm.. calm down bab-by..." he huffed when your feet crossed over his ass, pushing him in.
he whined, actually a high pitched one, as if it was too much for him to even be inside you.
"e-easy... ah! s'too much!"
RE6 :
in here? leon is grown. not fully, he still can learn new things. but something he always falls for?
when he laid back, hands on your hips and helped you bounce away.
leon had his back against the headboard, not fully naked, but his purple button up shirt was wrinkled and open, leaving his sweaty chest out for you to rake. his hands, calloused from handling guns and weapons, squeezed each time you fell down.
"Careful, baby..." he huffed, he still teased you, but he started to stutter, and his groans morphed into moans, and you just couldn't help yourself. so you began moving up and down faster, your pussy wanting to melt his cock with how warm it was. and just when you felt him swolle a bit, you stop, and just sit still, looking into his eyes.
"hah- oh shi- baby, please... dont tease me.." he panted, with each breath, looking into your eyes with his blues, you could feel his cheeks, he was burning up, his hands tried to make you move, he needed the movement.
"c'mon sweetheart, do you really- ngh- ah- move..'ove.." he slurred, trying to kiss you.
there was still rookie in him.
"please"
RE9:
as soon as he had signal he had texted you one thing
"coming home baby, don't make plans tomorrow"
you thought he was talking about a surprise date he had planned for you, or a whole day together. you were wrong. as soon as leon got home, he didn't take his dirty combat boots or take a shower. he kissed you, as if he had missed you for a thousand years, leon's lips deepened the kiss, the warm chapped lips he had opened and his tongue slithered into yours. then, his arms lifted you up mid kiss and carried you to the bedroom.
that's how you got here. your hips held down his hands, pushing you down and sitting on his face.
he moaned and groaned into your cunt, his nose pressing against your clit just right and pressing each time his mouth moved. you tried to move, worried about his breathing, but he growled and shoved you deeper into his face.
his wet tongue pushed in, while his lips made out with your cunt, kissing it like it was a long lost lover he would never see again. he pecked it one last time before focusing on your nub, sucking on it, nibbling it gently but desperate. you pulled on his hair, moaning that 's'too much' but he went harder, sucking, licking, nibbling.
it reached a point where you could help yourself and you came all over his face. he gave you a second to catch your air. then, he looked up to you-
leon's eyes were dilated, his chin and stubble fresh with slick, a smile on his lips, then he said.
"i missed'em..missed you..." he nuzzled into your thight "let me memorize the taste.."
he wasn't leaving until wrangling his taste of you.
WHEN YOU'RE CLAWING AT THE EDGE AND WITHOUT ESCAPE; leon s. kennedy x f!reader. minors dni!!! strictly 18+. check ao3 for tags! first time writing for leon i am #nervous. 7.6k words
Like the barrel of a gun – the sights, two circles closing down on the target. It’s a struggle to pinpoint their color, the right shade of blue. Leon calls you silly when you compare them to a changing sky – has the nerve to roll them, averts them as if flustered.
Then snaps them back to you. It’s easy to imagine him doing the same with actual guns in some gruesome place he never describes. Almost six whole feet of a man with his chin high as he fixes someone with those same eyes, the softness reserved for you replaced by learnt stoicism. The gun becomes a knife sharp enough to both protect and keep people at a distance.
The blade grows dull the moment you step in the picture. Even at work, the man begs to escape the uniform, and Leon has to force his eyes away from you if in a crowded room. Tenderness is his most recent secret and he’d go through hell and back to keep it safe.
‘Hell,’ in his case, waters down to office work. He’s all agent in the field – used to be even behind his desk, right before Leon discovered the DSO quarters like hiding pretty things. Namely, you.
It was a miracle – a stupid, ridiculous miracle – that he had stumbled upon you, who didn’t even work on his same floor. Leon later wished to ditch his private office to invade a spot of your cubicle. Privacy be damned if it meant being only a plastic divider away.
Leon, who had begun withdrawing from anything social that wasn’t signed ‘Redfield’ at the end of a catch-up email or an invitation for drinks, rejoined with small talk only to talk to you: elevator rides, coffee breaks and even lunch getaways when he wasn’t swamped with paperwork deadlines and could afford a proper pause.
Dinner was, surprisingly, off limits. The word clung to the walls of his throat like a lump and refused to reach his tongue, causing him many awkward coughs. He was glad you didn’t mind them. And, mostly, that you seemed to tell they meant ‘dinner’ anyway.
You were gracious enough to act oblivious and offer something smaller than dinner, maybe out of a need for caution he could understand. “Hey, my group is getting drinks later today,” You had said on one of the elevator rides. “Wanna come along? I don't think anyone would mind, they’re all bringing a plus one.”
Leon didn’t have the guts to ask if ‘plus one’ meant their partners and you had for some reason turned to him. What I don’t know won’t hurt me. So much for the DSO golden boy. The brave agent is reduced to stiff schoolboy.
He had hesitated, giving you enough time to backtrack – another awkward exchange, his startled apologies overlapping with yours, shaky reassurance that No, I’m free, sure, I’d love to, are we going right after clocking out?
You had rephrased it: after dinner, typical Friday night activities. Almost as if to soothe his worries, you joked it was like a shitty college-bullshit type of hang out. Leon – who had wasted those years training for his hell, playing cop-wannabe oblivious he would be anything but – had only smiled as much as the thought allowed.
The interaction left him dissatisfied despite the upcoming plans and the ‘being invited by the woman you like’ part. You had already waved and stepped out the elevator when Leon called out with a hand over the doors to keep them open. “Hey, I could pick you up?”
He winced internally: it wasn’t meant to sound like a question. You backtracked again, office heels clicking on the ground. “Eh, I don’t know,” Secretly, you kind of wanted to avoid worrying about parking on a Friday night, especially on his passenger seat. You gave him your best polite smile. “If you don’t mind?”
He didn’t. The elevator doors almost squashed him while he wrote your address down and it took an army of guys with briefcases to remind him he was, in fact, blocking the goddamned thing.
You waved again as he was pretty much pushed around by the group as they entered, giggling. Leon thought about the sight his whole day, reports neglected again.
Drinks were uneventful as events where one doesn’t know anyone always are. He kept both elbow and head low, more keen on being a friendly shadow – your friendly shadow, perking up when chat came by you. He was glad you had asked him to save you from multiple third wheeling.
“Hey, thanks for tonight. And for the ride.” You had discarded office attire for something both pretty and comfortable, earrings dangling and catching the city lights – they blinded him and made Leon feel like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in place. If being run over felt like looking at you, he’d embrace death in a heartbeat.
Too macabre for a first date – which this was not, Leon remembered, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Getting ahead of himself got him trapped in a tragedy he had only seen in movies. He gave you a little shrug. “Don’t thank me. You live pretty close anyway. And I’m not one to say no to drinks and good company.”
It made you laugh again, like outside the elevator. He liked that – making you laugh, the way your brows pitched at the center and your lips bent at the ends to try and suppress a smile at his jokes – which were growing ridiculous as the distance between you dimmed. He had learnt the pattern without even noticing: the bit-down grin, the huff that carried your first laugh and the way you leaned inwards when you stopped fighting the reaction.
Leon, too, smiled a lot in those moments. It was harder and harder to remind himself those were timed pauses at work and he couldn’t hog your attention as much as he wanted. While they would probably keep him under any circumstance, who knew if the DSO was cruel enough to fire you for poor conduct. Not having you around left a weird ache at his chest, one he could name despite telling himself the opposite.
Your seatbelt was long off, a hand already on the door handle. Ready to leave. Leon was willing to watch you exit his car and then turn around with another wave and an affectionate ‘Goodnight, Leon.’ He could keep this a breather, his precious corner of peace at work. It’d be waiting for him when he’d be deployed again, like always. Maybe smile if he managed to grab a little souvenir in between missions and bring it back to her.
He could keep it like this. Leon was still smiling when your fingers began pulling at the handle, that affectionate glimmer that appeared just for you fixed behind his irises.
For a man who seemed so keen on providing and pleasing, service built in his bones, you would argue Leon is very, very selfish – that or painfully oblivious. But just like him, you lacked the guts to use your mouth for what God intended.
You could argue mouths had better uses. To hell with being careful and waiting for the first move – and maybe fueled by the bit of alcohol from your lonesome drink – you leaned across the console to press your lips against his cheek.
Coward move – what are you, fifteen? Kissing the man you like on his cheek. Quick as well, yet not quick enough for his reflexes to fail and allow you to escape on spot. Another little push, just like inviting him for drinks when he was clearly struggling with asking you out for dinner. A final hint slapped in his face. He can’t be this blind, you thought in a rush as you leaned back, growing ready to bolt. He can’t. Maybe he just doesn’t like me that much. Ah, well. I’ll live.
Leon had either found his own liquid courage or acted on instinct, because your face was guided back to his by warm digits and you tasted whiskey on someone else's tongue for the first time. You’ll have the occasion to complain about his choice in drinks later on.
More alike than you thought, you were. Leon kept his tongue busy with yours as much as he could – inside the car, on the elevator ride to your floor, on top of you. Surprisingly, someone who seemed to enjoy running his mouth with bullshit was rather silent in bed.
It starts a circus of an on-and-off relationship, the offs caused by his deployments and the ons never long enough to allow normalcy to settle in. Even if they are, Leon distracts you with another kiss and the conversation dies easily.
You should be angry. Upset, at the very least. Months of running into him at a coffee machine – him, who winces at coffee and carries enough trauma and thoughts to keep him awake already – and wasting most of your lunch breaks by his side, eyeing each other like clumsy teenagers, all to end up in something that never leaves the bedroom.
It should let you down. Leon doesn’t make it easy to feel disappointed.
You blame his silence on his kisses, on how he seems to need his mouth against yours the way one needs air – or maybe it doesn’t even compare, as Leon looks almost confused when you escape his mouth for a breather.
Knife back on being a gun, his eyes pierce yours with the shadow of a frown as he seems completely unbothered by the moment of asphyxia. Leon follows your head as it tilts back, noses alongside the warmth of your cheek – he smiles when you flush so easily.
“Come back here,” he says with a rasp, the only evidence the lack of air leaves on him. The gentle nosing turns into open mouthed kisses. You wonder if he can ever get enough of them. “Come on, don’t leave a guy hanging.”
You’re about to argue he’s leaving himself hanging, actually, but Leon notices your mouth parting to speak and seals it with his again, noses knocking at his enthusiasm and your words reduced to sounds for him to devour.
The hanging part is true whether he likes it or not. You are naked, skin already blooming with lovebites on your chest, while Leon discarded his shirt only because you kept sulking about it – he did it with a smile, too, endearment clear on his face.
Lower he’s fully covered: pants and underwear, clothes reduced to a prison for his erection, the line of it straining against the fabric. He always does that too, teases himself with that little friction of fabric as if it doesn’t make him more sensitive in the long run.
Maybe he just likes the ache, tormenting himself as much as tormenting you. Or maybe aching is the only thing he knows. You’re not sure you want to dwell into that.
Leon doesn’t, either. He holds the gun and worries more about its target. If he was as brave and strong and admirable as everyone says he is, he’d have the courage to tell you to quit it with the gun imagery and stick to the cheesy sky one.
He was ragged pieces sown together by guilt, not strong enough to ask if that’s really how you truly picture him – bloody hands holding weapons. The Leon in his mind struggles to loosen his hold on them and truly blame you. After all, his hands are familiar with guns as they are with you.
Even more so with you. His fingers are rough with years of bloodshed and the grime he isn’t sure he can wash away. Thumb on your chin, pushing it down to keep your jaw slack and open for him. Leon would kiss you until your spit became his, until you couldn't tell where his mouth ended and yours began. Would hold your mouth open to trace the edges of your teeth with his tongue, one by one, taste the red of your gums. Were air not a problem, Leon’s convinced nothing could get him off your mouth.
But when you push at him again for another breather, he is quick to let go of your chin and direct his attention elsewhere. He knows mercy, he tells you with humor, hoping you believe it more than he does.
Your lungs almost hurt as you suck on air greedily. “God, you–” The accusation dies easily in the back of your throat, replaced by a heavy huff. Leon grins above you as you turn away to hide those smiles you can’t resist. It brings him comfort, knowing your self restraint is as bad as his.
“‘Me’ what?” He prompts anyway, hand fully abandoning your jaw to descend down your neck. His fingers drill absently against your collarbones. “I’m sure it was something nice.”
You huff again, head tilting back down to look at him. You’d flash him a glare if he didn’t kiss you stupid. Leon has to resort to his learnt self-restraint to not kiss you again when you speak: “You know exactly what I meant. Seriously, you– who undresses a woman in three seconds only to kiss her for ten whole minutes?”
“Oh, you were counting? Good. We should up it to fifteen at least.”
“I wasn’t actually–! Leon. I’m too blissed out to talk back.”
Leon laughs. It’s more like laughter blooms somewhere between his ribs and crawls up his bones to reach you, bend and kneel at your will – not his, never his. Leon loses all rights to his reactions when it comes to you.
Predictably, his heart skips a beat without his consent when you whine his name quietly, mistaking his endearment for amusement. Leon is always quick to soothe, redirect your attention where he needs it.
“Already?” He hums low in his throat. His lips press a final kiss to your cheek before moving down to replace his hand. Leon props himself on both elbows instead. “You know I’ve barely had any fill.”
You do know that, obviously. Making out does little other than leaving you dizzy. Leon's eyes crinkle with affection again as he ducks his head between your tits, taking a long drag of your skin as if it’s a drug. The spot glimmers with sweat and you don’t flinch when he licks it away, humming again. It’s another way of tasting you. Spit, sweat. He would make a joke about picking them over water if his mouth wasn’t so busy.
He’s already taken his time with your chest – surprisingly before kissing – but Leon can’t help himself. Not when your fingers card through his hair, not while you’re murmuring soft praise at him – ‘You’re so sweet, Lee.’ You are not as quiet as you believe – Leon would tell you, yet is terrified the realization might make you more careful, more quiet. He’s not sure he can handle that.
What is he sure of, anyway? Each time his knee dips in your bed to crawl on top of you, everything Leon knows becomes a distant memory. His brain locks on everything he’s learnt about your body and the world restricts to the mattress.
A world he’d be glad to die in for once. He sucks a new mark under your breast and trails his mouth down your stomach when you tug at his locks. You’ve been together enough times for him to save you his oblivious act: Leon barely reacts.
“Don’t start,” You sigh with another tug, more forceful. Leon does something between grunt and whine, what you’ve learnt means displeasure. Your eyes snap to the ceiling to avoid his sulk.
“Don’t you start. You know our deal, I’m halfway through the count.”
“You and your bullshit deals. I never agreed on looking like a mosquito ate me over. And, what count? You change the number everytime.”
Leon obviously ignores the accusation. He hums instead: “Well, how does your blood taste? Since we’re talking ‘bout mosquitoes.”
You have half a mind to ask what the fuck is wrong with him. Tugging again proves itself useless when Leon only spares you a glance, descending to a fading mark just below your navel. You’re surprised he’s here to freshen it up and not redo it.
Little banter already forgotten, Leon presses his face against your skin after he’s done. You truly are a gift sent from a God he no longer believes in. Leon knows he’s easy to take apart, the humor and silver tongue sewn with the ragged pieces with a thread thinner than he likes to admit.
Leon never truly felt shame, not until he jerked back the first few times you tried to return the favor and bit gently on the side of his neck.
Again, so much for the government’s precious agent. He had recovered quickly and distracted you with a well placed line, a kiss down your throat or a bite of his own – but he isn’t dumb. He’s trained to assess and to notice everything, no matter how subtle and no matter where. The agent doesn’t really rest in your bed, stays alert in his subconscious.
So, he knows. He knows you’ve noticed and knows you realised it’s less about preferences and more on memories of rotten teeth trying to close on his skin. It was silly to think the same woman who managed to rightfully translate his awkward stares as interest wouldn’t pick on his reactions.
Leon pillows his cheek on your thigh, nose shy of the crevice between leg and pelvis. You are so careful with him, so considerate. You don’t even ask him for explanations, but maybe he’s more obvious than he likes to believe and you simply don't mind it. The thought should make him shrink back. Is he even allowed to be known like this?
You’re aware he loves to just laze around in between moments, so the poke on his cheek is affectionate and not questioning. So are your words. “What's the sulk for, handsome?”
So easy. Leon perks up at the praise – and it's not even his favorite. “Shouldn't you know? Messing up my plans.”
“‘Plans’ being how to fuck me?”
“Knew you’d know. Smart girl,” His teeth kiss your skin when he tries to hide a grin there. Your only defense is nudging him with your knee, but Leon chuckles.
He wishes to tell you how fun it is to rile you up like this, push and pull and push again until you eye him as if exasperated. Which, honestly, you might be. But impatience paints your face just right and Leon understands what people mean with cuteness aggression. He’d chew on your cheek if you wouldn’t lament about drool. Would you? Maybe he just has to say please.
His face is back inches from yours – you briefly wonder if he’s going to shut you up with a kiss per usual, but Leon’s mouth stays busy in an absentminded smile as he cups your cheek with a cool palm. They never sweat. You wondered and envied it and frequently stared at his palms after sex.
Leon would catch on and offer one for you to take. “What’s on your mind, precious?”
In the beginning, Leon got off on the way you reacted at his pet names: the dust of pink on your cheek, the averted eyes, the clenching around him. His heart is slowly breaking watching you get used to them. You’d hum at his question and Leon’d let you spread his fingers and inspect each digit, joint, knuckle: “Your hands. They never get clammy or anything. How do you do it?”
“Eh. I run cold, I guess.”
“Oh, I’m so jealous. My palms get sweaty so easily I can’t even hold hands for long.”
You say that a lot – because you play with his hands a lot, and the habit causes the same conversation – and Leon dislikes it no matter how many times he’s heard it. ‘Why are you thinking about holding hands?’ he wants to ask, ‘I’m here to do it and I never complain.’ Or maybe he doesn’t hold them enough. Not as much as he wishes to, anyway.
He opts for something softer. When your little inspection is over, Leon bends his fingers in the space between yours and brings the back of your hand to his lips. “Mhm. I think you know I don’t mind sweat by now.” It’s dumb enough not to give him away, but you pick on it as always.
Your palm presses against his rough knuckles – Leon sighs when you both nuzzle in his touch and caress his skin with circles of your thumb. Isn’t he the luckiest, drunk on your touch.
“Am I really in trouble for the whole ‘kiss count’ thing?” You ask softly with the tone of someone who knows she isn’t in trouble at all. Leon stretches his thumb to caress the bridge of your nose like you’re a cat. “You always take it so seriously.”
Leon shrugs again. “Do you want to be in trouble?” He asks instead. It’s his way of asking how you want it tonight. Leon smiles again when you rub your nose against his digit.
“I don’t know. You’ll be mean anyway.”
“I’m not mean. I just missed you.”
You mumble something about it being an excuse – ‘a shitty one, too,’ Leon thinks he hears – but you both know it’s the truth. Leon’s quick to march to your place when he’s back stateside and quicker to finish reports when he’s stuck to paperwork duty post missions. He sends them at the edge of deadlines anyway: they avoid sending him away until he’s done, hoping it motivates mister ‘I could be doing something more useful on the field right now.’
Leon takes advantage of those windows, responsibilities forgotten for once – until guilt begins eating him alive. But he misses you first and foremost and needs to make it up to you when he’s finally back. Making it up to you is, in fact, more useful than paperwork, if you ask him. Brass doesn’t need to know, though.
His index finger taps against your parted lips, no longer puffy from kissing. He really does talk too much, and you are worse than him. If only it were ever about something serious. Leon almost takes his finger away to kiss you again before you take the pad of it in your mouth, trap it between your teeth.
He should scold you for the nip, play bad cop. A shame Leon’s no cop. He leans down again, weight half on his elbow and half on you as you suck on his finger. His free hand cards through your hair: “Oh, sweetness. So pretty like this.”
And pretty you are, breathing through your nose when he presses on your tongue just to watch you gag. Leon apologizes profusely to the pitch of your brows, kisses and nuzzles it away with the tip of his nose, but his dick twitches at the small sound from the back of your throat. He wants to hear it again and again until it rings in his ears like gunfires do.
Leon resorts to doing it only twice, repeating the tease – and apology – when his middle finger joins the warm pool of your mouth. It’s you who pushes at his wrist, impatient as ever.
Leon finds it endearing. “Eyes on me,” He murmurs sweetly. Maybe he should sound firmer, fully embracing all the control you give him (did you give it to him? Or did he take, take, take before he knew where he was supposed to stop?), but his voice bends with affection and Leon smiles more than he’s had in ages.
On your part, you are indulging as always. Leon watches the circles of your eyes, how your pupils seem to dilate, how they close when he drags the pads of his fingers over your soaked folds.
“Eyes on me,” He repeats with the same gentleness, following your face with his when you turn your head away. “On me. You know I won’t do anything until you look at me.”
Leon says that, yet his middle finger circles just shy of your entrance and you clench around nothing. Your legs had closed around his hand on reflex like a shy virgin – Leon doesn’t mind as long as his fingers can do their work. ‘The sight is very cute,’ he likes to tell you with another kiss.
You give him what he wants with brows pitched at the center. Leon murmurs praise against the precious spot – “There you go” – before pushing his finger inside up to the knuckle.
This is when he begins to withdraw. His smart mouth shuts closed for once, greed taking over his childish urge to tease. The Leon that grins bullshit in between kisses disappears the moment his fingers sink inside you and you are left with the same man that struggled to ask you out.
In hindsight, Leon should’ve known he was fucked the first time he got his hands on you – or rather, in you, that fateful Friday night. Or he should’ve seen it coming when he started to forget his words half a sentence in because you looked too pretty not to stare, or when his head began snapping at the sound of your heels, when his voice cracked with nerves for the first time. Or when yours did, like it does now – stumbling over his name, cutting it in half as if your tongue is a knife. Le-on. He’s obsessed with how you say the ‘o’ so sharply as if startled and sigh the ‘n’ out in bliss.
Maybe he did see it coming. And maybe, for once, he was willing to let something wash over him. But that could scare you off, so Leon decides you don’t need to know – like many other things. They become irrelevant when you breathe through your nose at a second finger, then a third, and have to force your eyes open lest he stops.
You do try to get him to talk – Leon sees your attempts, feels both heart and guts rearrange at them: do you need to hear his voice so terribly? He can love you without speaking. He can love you in this little apartment of yours, if you keep letting him. He’s getting better at playing discreet loverboy at work, too.
His palm catches on your clit good enough to make you stutter on his name again. Leon, Leon, Leon. He needs you to say it again. Your hands are crawling at his shoulders at all his demands: enduring the purposefully irregular pace, having to look at him, not holding hands because he likes brushing his fingers through your fringe as he stares down at you. Leon wonders if he forgets to blink.
“Le–on, fuck,” You mewl as his fingers curl just right, the way they’ve learnt to. Your hands slip to his nape with your nails sinking in his scalp. “God, fuck…”
God is not the one fucking you right now, Leon would love to say, eagerly risking the blasphemy. Instead, he pumps his fingers faster, hands working without his brain catching up because it’s too busy cataloging your reactions. Your hips stutter up, chasing the heel of his palm for more friction, lips lost in a ‘o’ shape he wants to take in his mouth. Push your upper lip up, ask you to sink the ridges of your teeth down his tongue for him to carry for a few days.
You grow impatient beneath him. “Please, please?” You plead, knowing how it’ll go anyway. Leon smiles as you force your eyes open, brows trembling just above, the effort only spurring him on.
You’re so close, he can feel it. Close enough your walls squeeze him, trap his fingers there for them to please you, where Leon wants to keep forever. You look beautiful, falling apart like this. Another thing he wants to keep.
So he takes it, hand tilting uncomfortably to get away from your clit and fingers slowing to a sudden halt. There it is, his mean streak. Leon didn’t even know he had one before you came along.
Or, rather, didn’t come at all. He could get high on the choked breath that leaves your mouth and fans over his. Your eyes widen, brows arched as if startled. “No– No, why?”
Leon just smiles, nuzzles his nose in the apple of your cheek to hide his reaction. It’s so, so cute how you never get used to it.
One of your hands leaves his nape in a rush, cupping his and trying to push it back where it was. Leon laughs again: “Careful, honey. You don’t want my fingers to slip out, do you?”
Like every time, what you want is punching his face. “Don’t, please, Leon,” You beg, trying to arch your hips to fuck yourself over his fingers before the pleasure you were crawling to disappears. He simply retreats them so only the tips stay nestled inside. “Leon–Fuck, don’t do this to me.”
But it’s no use, it never is: the edges of your vision sharpen and you are left with a distant throb. You give up on your poor orgasm, hips falling back down on the mattress with a defeated sigh. The moment he picks on it, Leon is quick to sink his fingers back in, then out, the sound an obscene squelch, and presses the heel of his palm back on your clit.
That same pleasure that had just left comes back in a rush, taking over you with a sharp moan. Leon leans back to look at you. “Here, here– Stay right here, yes,” He says, but it’s not truly meant for you. He’s in awe. “Look at you…”
There’s no mirror for him to fuck you in front of, so Leon does the looking for both of you. He doesn’t scold you for closing your eyes, never does when you reach this part. You wish he’d talk, but Leon insists it’d be a crime to cover your little noises.
“Listen, precious,” He’d say the first times, guiding you to look at his fingers as they’d sink in you again and again – Leon would have to grip your hair gently so your head wouldn’t loll back in bliss. Your moans would be too loud for you to actually catch the sound, but Leon didn’t really care. He’d grind his clothed cock against your thigh, half clumsy and half desperate. “My pretty girl singing for me. Come on, baby, keep going.”
Maybe if you shut your mouth and deny him of what he wants, you could coax him to talk more – tell you how pretty you are, say that filthy bullshit you know he loves. It’d be good to be the one doing the denying for once. It’d be easy, if only your heart didn’t do somersaults when you’d meet his starstuck gaze.
You doubt he knows how he stares at you. It’s the most open you’ve ever seen him, more than his content smiles when you’re just talking in a moment of peace. Leon’s lips part instead, his tongue darting as if to lick drool away.
“Are you starving?” You want to ask – prompt him if that’s what it’d take to hear his voice again. You’d grow bolder than usual, too: “Do I make you this desperate?”
You wonder if he’d ignore your attempted taunts or just kiss them away like he kisses everything out of your brain. Even when his eyes glint with delight at your pleasure, you wish to drown in the clear sky locked in his irises. How corny. He’s rubbing off on you. Truly is, with the messy rolls of his hips against your thigh. This circus is a familiar show.
Your own hips stutter sharper than they should and Leon is quick to ease the pace again, lick and kiss the sweat from your forehead and then resume rougher when pleasure almost leaves you. You’re pushed to the edge again, thrown into it, kept there like it’s a precious bell jar.
The glass cracks. Your clit is pulsing with need, throbbing with each nudge of his palm – it needs more, you need more. “I can–I can’t,” You sob, fisting at his nape. His hair is damp with sweat. You’d be surprised if your brain wasn’t too mushy to notice. “Leon, Leon, I can’t–take another–”
Leon hisses when your leg twitches on reflex, rubbing right against his dick. “You can,” He argues, voice hoarse – a grunt hesitates in the back of his throat and you whine when he gulps it down.
Leon uses his thumb to flick your clit with purpose and your whole brain short circuits for a good second. Eyes sparkling, he does it again. “Just one more, precious, yeah?” He promises when you jump, sobbing his name again. His nose knocks into yours in another apology. “Just for me, let me see my pretty girl.”
He’s gentle when he denies you again, slowing down almost completely rather than stopping abruptly. The fire in your lower belly stops sizzling and becomes just a pulsing ache in the back of your mind, flickering its edges, and your chest flinches with a little sob.
Spare his heart, it’s hard to deny you comfort when tears glaze your pretty eyes. He’d be worried if he didn’t know them, but Leon kisses your forehead anyway.
His digits pump in and out lazily as he watches you tremble. Leon can’t know how smitten he looks. “Easy,” He murmurs to your heavy eyelids, your slack jaw, the sharp breaths from your nose. He pushes words out of his mouth mostly for your sake. “So, so beautiful when I keep you there.”
He’s ogling your face with his eyes crossed. The bullshit metaphors about his eyes started when you pointed out his tendency to stare: it was somehow more prominent during sex – you stopped yourself when you said this, frowning at your own words. Before, during, after. Leon’s eyes were always on you, unless the situation didn’t allow it.
In one of his anticlimactic streaks, Leon had been looking for your underwear in between the sheets and apologising in advance in case he had somehow kicked it off the bed. Your words had made him pause, stare at you again.
He never considered himself one for staring. Looking, yes – who would blame him for looking at something pretty? But he prided himself as discreet, especially in his later years, using that learnt composure to his advantage. He had to learn to see his glass half full, so he embraced the new set of social skills. Frequently, Leon wonders what the 21 year old rookie thinks about all of this.
You had stared back, lazily cuddled into a pillow since he was too busy to replace it. Yours had been simply an observation, an absent-minded comment. Chatting in the afterglow came naturally, yet Leon felt scrutinized.
How was he supposed to explain you knocked the air out his lungs without sounding insane? That he grew confused when you leaned back from kisses – thinking he did something wrong – because there was no need for air when he was consuming you.
He could count the droplets of sweat that slithered down your neck when he kept teasing, remember the scent without needing to burrow his face in the damp back of your head – he’ll do it later, glue himself to your back while you drift off to sleep and he uses your presence to ground himself.
You hadn’t asked, but Leon saw it between the lines: ‘Why do you stare at me so much?’ And he held many answers, but not the words to explain them. Wouldn’t you think of him as weird if he said every change of your expression made his head spin, heart racing with the delirious thought that they were just for him, for the bliss only he gives you? That when he was close enough to see the lines and spots of your skin, he wished his brain could remember them forever?
That could freak you out. If you knew how he truly adored you – Christ, you might insist on loving him back, give up on protecting your heart and then corner him with a serious conversation.
The edges of your vision are blurred – blame the tears, blaming Leon never comes easy to you. He presses another peck to your forehead, denies himself of your mouth as punishment: again, maybe he likes tormenting himself. Leon doesn’t care about the answer when he has you like this.
He’s been cruel enough. Poor girl, you’re swallowing your mewls. Pretty nonetheless, biting down your lips, eyes struggling to stay on focus. If Leon could ask a moment to haunt him instead of memories, he’d pray for this. For you to live in his mind so vividly, held firmly on the edge by his hands. Selfish, selfish. His chest has a hollow pit that has learnt greed.
It’s torture to love you like this – carefully, in quiet corners, with the terror that a label might make you a target – when all he wishes is to take. You’d let him take, let him devour you whole and keep you safe in his ribcage – a cage nonetheless.
Leon knows love. And if you’d need more than the love he knows, he’d mold his poor excuse of a heart to your liking and shoulder everything that could wear you down. He’s strong enough – he has to be strong enough for you, at the very least. You would be safe. Yet no safer than not being his. How much would it take for his affection to turn into three circles on the back of your head?
He’s rocking into your thigh, no self-control. Leon feels the pit deepen for a moment, masks it with a quick swipe of his thumb on your clit. He’s a natural at fucking up, he’ll better fuck you just as good.
Oblivious to the storm in his dull skull, the sudden friction has you jumping again. “Ah–!” You squeal just as he restarts fingering you at a ruthless pace.
(‘Unbecoming of him,’ the lucid part of your brain thinks. ‘He’s getting sloppy at hiding his thoughts with actions.’ Why do you notice them more easily in bed?)
“Leon,” You gasp, snapped into pleasure once more. “Leon, fuck, I’m–”
“Let me in, baby, let me see you, come on,” He interrupts almost deliriously, his hips rutting into your thigh. He sounds drunk, and he might as well be. His brain is dizzy with the image of you. “Just a bit more–”
Uncaring of his weird fixation for staring, you yank him by the hair and pull him in a kiss – swallowing the moan from the sting at his roots.
It’s just like your first kiss – built on urges, the both of you turning your brains off for once. Leon’s all bumping noses and pressing you down as if that could make his tongue reach down your throat, almost as if he’s trying to crawl inside of you. To live inside your skin, nestled in the lumps in your throat and the beats your heart skips. He is so much bigger than you, each muscle a weapon, but he now wishes to be small enough to be cradled. Just for a while, at least.
His hips rut into your thigh unceremoniously and without care. It’s a careless chase for friction, all his focus split between fingering you senseless and kissing the orgasm out of your mouth.
And don’t you feel so heavenly when you finally come. Leon wonders if it feels the way it does for him, a knot being undone by a rush of ecstasy. He hopes it is, and hopes no one unties it better than him. Your walls clench and flutter, the nasty sound of mouths smacking together interrupted by a broken gasp.
Leon steals it and swallows as if that’d send the precious thing down his chest, the pit welcoming it for safekeeping. Your hips stutter irregularly as he struggles to let you go, tempted to push you the other way after denying you thrice.
But you shake your head, escape his mouth and arch away as if to sink in the mattress. Leon’s fingers stop gently – so do his hips. It feels wrong to not share pleasure, even if the sloppy rutting was not enough to make him come with you. Leon almost wants to apologise.
Hard to when you’re glowing. His stare comes back, fixed on your bruised chest as it heaves up and down while you catch your breath. Leon, unbothered by the kissing as always, almost wants to ask if you used to smoke and that explains the shitty lung capacity. Or maybe he just takes your breath away. Unlikely.
He’s settled against you, watchful. Leon remembers how to speak, the quiet part of him replaced by his caring nature. “Still in one piece?”
You nod with a little laugh, almost sheepish. You’re a mess and he seems barely affected – your ego would be hurt if you didn’t know better.
Leon nods, coming back to himself, walls and all – and the strange need for proximity, tenderness’ side effect. His cheek presses down against yours like a clingy dog and you use the fingers still at his nape to pet his hair. Leon hums – you even feel him smile against your face, nuzzle your skin as if it could bring you closer.
It makes you scratch his scalp with intent. Whatever your baby needs. “If I said I wanted to be in trouble, what exactly would you have done? At this point I’m scared of an actually mean Leon.”
His turn to laugh with a breathy huff. It lands on your nose and tickles your nostrils. “Dunno. It’s pretty hard to be mean when you start saying please.”
“Ah, is it? I’ll keep that in mind, then.”
Leon snickers at that, pressing down as if to squash you into the pillow – and, most importantly, make you giggle again. “Behave, you. You still owe me those fifteen minutes.”
You tilt your leg to nudge his foot just because, but the movement causes your thigh to rub against his hard-on. Leon can’t help a whimper and he’s lucky you’re nice.
Well, not nice enough to pretend you didn’t notice. You hum, and Leon has to squeeze you still when you try to turn your face to his.
“Stop it. We are cuddling.”
“You’re squishing me, mind you. And you’re still hard. You didn’t come?”
It’s cute how you almost sound sad for him. Everything about you is cute, Leon realizes. He didn’t know he was a sucker for sweet things. He rubs his cheek against yours again: “Mhm, don’t worry, honey. ‘M not done with you yet.”
Leon hears a mumbled ‘no shit’ that makes him smile again. Since you share the stubborn streak when you aren’t fucking, you tilt your leg again to give him some friction. “Come on, let me take care of you for once.”
He bites his lips to stop another whimper. His cock twitches pathetically at the little bit of attention, but Leon doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be taken care of. It’d be easy to let you turn around, paw at his sweatpants and push his boxers just enough to free his erection. He would keep his face glued to yours, moan in your mouth and plead for you to kiss him quiet.
Maybe he’d ask you to deny him like he denies you, make him beg and let his eyes dampen with tears. When he comes, quick and messy, he’d lick himself off your fingers and slur over his post-orgasm ‘I love you’s and you’d pepper kisses on his fucked out face.
It’d be easy. But Leon doesn’t know anything easy that doesn’t come with a price. A little lightbulb lights in his brain – maybe that’s why he’s scared to talk things through with you. Or is that the only reason?
Your voice drags him out of his fantasies – and it hurts a bit when Leon knows you wouldn’t have spoken if you knew he was thinking of bliss.
“What do you need, Lee?”
Being in your cunt, hopefully dying in it. May the same God that sent you to him struck him with a heart attack so he dies deep in his ecstasy. In your arms would be fine, too, but the throb in his pants makes him demanding and filthy.
Leon looks down at himself and his arousal stares back. Sinking into you, maybe rolling you on your stomach and holding you in a loose headlock, whimpering his affections in your ear. But he’d miss kissing you – you never like twisting your neck and the number of kisses he needs always causes it to ache.
You tap his jaw innocently, his expression harder to read now that you aren’t both weakened by incoming orgasms. Leon nuzzles in your palm like pets do, and thinks being a pet would be easier.
You ask your question again, but he shakes his head, indecisive. He knows everything when it comes to you, nothing when it draws down to him. It’s easier to reduce this as a matter of ‘what position to fuck you in.’
He misses the warmth of your hand when he leans away, kneeling between your legs instead. “Just you. Forgot to mention, I didn’t have dinner yet.”
You kick his back lightly after he guides your ankles on his shoulders with a grin. Call him corny all you want. What he does need is seeing you once more.
Just once. Maybe if he looks harder, he’ll know what to choose. And say, too.
i have: a headache. sorry for the drop in quality i haven't touched a book or google docs in months
- SMUT . nsfw . motorbike stimulation . public sex . fingering . dirty talk
“hold tight for me okay? promise I won’t drive too fast” leon grins, adjusting the motorbike helmet on your head and lifting you up effortlessly onto the seat.
somehow he convinced you on a late night ride with him at 3am on his motorbike. not that you would complain, you always wanted to ride on one.
leon swung one leg over the bike and settled in front of you. he turned on the ignition, the engine roaring to life as the headlights switched on, illuminating the dark streets. he revved the engine, the familiar sound of his custom bike booming across the neighbourhood before settling into a steady purr.
you’ve never experienced anything like this. the sound and sensation vibrating through your body as a small gasp left your lips.
“like it darling?” leon turned his head around grinning, obliviously having heard how your body reacted to his most prized possession. you nodded excitedly, biting your lips beneath the helmet, watching him secure his own helmet and turning back around, giving the bike more revs.
what he didn’t know was how the vibration and heat of the bike was making your cunt stimulated perfectly where you could feel your panties growing wet underneath your skirt.
you held onto his shoulders as he slowly accelerated, fighting the feeling of how his motorbike was pleasing you. he took off properly, weaving across the empty lanes before sidetracking onto the back quiet roads.
every bump on the road was hitting your cunt perfectly causing you to whimper as the vibration shook your core. you travelled your arms down leons shoulders and onto his waist, wrapping tightly as your clit pulsed with every shudder of the machine. you couldn’t help but shamelessly roll your hips against his bike, trying to chase the friction.
leon slowed down as he felt you clutching his shirt and press yourself deeper against his back. you whimpered louder as the bike came to a stop on the side of the road, before leon whipped his head back and took his helmet off, looking down at the wet stain at the front of your seat, his brows lifting in amusement.
“what a mess you made” he groaned, smirking as he spread your thighs wider, taking off your helmet as you looked at him with wide eyes, humiliation burning your cheeks as your pussy leaked more onto his seat.
“you really got off on my bloody bike baby?” you nodded helplessly, unable to speak as the the bike continued purring underneath your swollen clit, electricity erupting throughout your body.
“pathetic little thing. dont let me stop you. use my bike as your toy…show me what it does to you” he growled, lifting you slightly so he could roll your tights and panties down.
your bare cunt hit the rough leathered seat, giving you a new sensation that made your eyes roll and gasp as you started to rock your hips in sloppy movements against the metal.
“thats it baby. keep going” he praised, kissing your throat before wedging two fingers between your wetness and the seat, pressing into your hole as you moaned, feeling him curl his digits and hit your spongy spot. your body shuddered as you began to feel the thick pressure building in your belly, walls clenching hard around his fingers.
“le-” you moaned, as you began cumming over his fingers and the seat, your vision blurring as pleasure ran through your body. shame filling your mind, you just cummed from a machine and in open air as leon works through your orgasm, pumping his fingers in and out of you as you fall into his chest.
he slides his fingers into his mouth, licking every bit of your juice as he hums in satisfaction, his other hand creased the back of your head as you catch your breath, your walls clenching over the rumble of his bike. dam this bike.
he pops his fingers out and lifts your head by your chin, meeting his fully blown pupiled eyes.
“you marked yourself on my bike” he muses, gliding his thumbs over your tear stained cheeks as you try to hide in embarrassment.
“lee im sor-“ your voice squeaks
“don’t you dare apologise, do you know what you done to me?” he glides his thumb across your glossy lips and with his other hand, he leads your palm to his fully erected cock under his leather trousers.
you gasp meeting your dazed eyes to his, squeezing his bulge as he grunts, rolling his head back as you continue to palm him, feeling his pre cum soak through the leather. you giggle, seeing him hot and flustered as you lean down and kiss his clothed bulge. he grunts louder, opening his eyes as you innocently smile at him. he grabs the back of your head, leaning you closer to him.
“now be my good girl and bend over my bike while I fuck your brains out” he whispers into your ear, tucking a stand a hair behind as you feel yourself getting wet again.
you know for a fact your cum will be painted on his bike forever.
Your roommate, Leon, has a problem with spreading his legs so wide you can never take a proper seat near him. So, you decide to improvise...
based on this request
Finally catching up on the requests I've received--sorry if they're a little late. Also, Leon is a little pathetic, sad, and subby here...sorry not sorry ;)
As you approach the sofa–more like a loveseat with three unreasonably narrow cushions–with a bowl of popcorn in your arms, you notice that your roommate’s hips are low on the seat, his legs spread wide open, leaving you a tiny patch of sofa next to settle onto.
Why is it that men cannot keep their legs together? Women do it all the time, without complaint.
You stand in front of him, blocked from the path between the sofa and the coffee table, by his jutted knees.
“Why do you always have to do that?”
“Do what?” Leon asks in return, his gaze directed right past you, eyes glued to the television, though you’re not sure he’s even paying attention to the slop playing across the screen. You’ve noticed that he prefers not to think whenever he comes home from work, or from the assignments he shipped out on, week after week. He turns off his brain, and even though watching trash T.V. isn’t considered an especially stimulating hobby, nor does it require much brain power, it still seems like he’s not partaking.
“Sit like that. I don’t have any room.”
As you step to squeeze past his knees, choosing not to take the longer path around the coffee table in order to make a statement, he mumbles out a string of apologies.
“Sorry,” he says meekly, shifting his hips back, squeezing his legs shut so you can walk past.
He’s definitely filled out since he moved in, testing the strength of his dark jeans, the seams of his t-shirts. Maybe it was the way he sounded so sincere, so apologetic, or the way he mopes around like a wounded puppy, but you’re quick to forgive, not wanting to add to the guilt he seems to perpetually wear on his shoulders.
“It’s alright,” you say, settling down next to him. Your thighs touch his as the two of you figure out a way to make the piece of furniture more comfortable for two occupants.
He scoots over to the edge, practically hugging the armrest, as you tuck your knees beneath you, the bowl of popcorn forgotten on the coffee table. The television plays some gameshow neither of you are really paying attention to, and you hear a strained sound leave Leon’s lips.
“Are you uncomfortable?” You ask, already apprised of the answer based on the way he keeps adjusting his body.
“I’ll be fine,” is all he gives, line of sight still fixed on the television across the room.
“Can I sit on your lap?”
Perhaps you’re possessed. It’s the only explanation for why you let the idea marinate in your head, let alone twist it into words and let them leave your tongue.
His head snaps toward you, brown brows furrowed.
“Um, okay.”
He moves back to his prior position, with his hips shifted forward on the cushion, his legs wide open, knees a pole apart.
You leave your own cushion, and make your way to his thighs, straddling his lap.
His eyes grow wide, and you realize that maybe this exact position wasn’t what he had in mind when you asked, perhaps imagining you in a more ladylike arrangement, with your knees glued together, thrown across him.
“What are you…”
You shrug as a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. “I don’t really know.”
He just looks so sad, so lonely, so pitiful sitting there on the sofa by himself, always coming home from what you understand to be a very exhausting, very terrifying job, to just sit. He doesn’t have many friends, or any family, to spend time with. No hobbies. No pastimes.
So something came awash over you, and you acted on the impulse.
“Is this okay?” You ask, your palms flat on his chest, feeling the bulging muscle beneath the slinky cotton of his t-shirt.
He gulps, nodding, his eyelids slowly shutting.
Your hands move down the vast space of his abdomen, only stopping once they meet the starchy denim of his dark jeans. Then, one palm ventures past the waistband, settling over the zipped fly to feel a growing erection beneath it.
“And this?”
Another nod, one more decisive than the last. His eyes have opened again, but are now affixed to his thighs, where your own are spread, and the dainty hand you have pressed to his erection. You grind the heel of your palm over it, feeling it grow and jump under the sensation.
Leon whines, a soft, low sound that makes your stomach hot and suddenly you need more.
You bow down to nibble at his neck, the skin soft and warm under your lips as they part, tasty as you bite.
“Shit,” he curses, hands immediately coming to bear down onto your hips, retreating a moment later, hesitating. As if to give permission, you let your full weight onto his erection and grind down just once. His hands quickly return, the movement punctuated by a low whimper.
“Can I ride you?”
The heads of his brows tangle and his eyes are wide and glossy. “Fuck yes,” he says, the words leaving his chest on a breath.
You make quick work of the zipper of his jeans, and he lifts his hips so you can pull them down along with his briefs. Then, you yank off your top and bra, leaving you in nothing but a pair of lounge pants and panties, which cannot be discarded without you standing up for a moment. For each second it takes to stand up and pull the articles down until you’re bare, you miss the feeling of his body beneath yours. Leon took that time to snatch off his own shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and abdomen, one you’re more than eager to explore with the hungry tips of your fingers.
Straddling him once more, you move your hips back and forth over his hardened cock, letting the length gather the evidence of your arousal until his moans are too pathetic and your heart can’t take teasing him much longer.
He slides into your pussy effortlessly, his face contorting in instant pleasure, his mouth spitting out a thread of inaudible mumbles. Large, capable hands return to your hips as he guides you back and forth onto him.
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close enough to plant a kiss on his lips, but you don’t. “So pretty,” you whisper instead. A pink tint rises on his cheeks.
He shakes his head, laughing lightly. “You’re the pretty one. Always have to remind myself not to stare.” His words are punctuated with short breaths, and it makes your walls clench, in turn, eliciting a dark groan from him. His grip tightens around your waist, slender fingers digging into your skin, kneading and massaging the flesh there.
The way he stretches you to your limits has you salivating like a dog, and this time you do kiss him. Your lips meet in a sweet, honeyed union, his tongue pushing past your parted pout to explore the inside of your mouth as though he’s trying to map the new terrain. Hungry and desperate, he keeps you glued to him as one of his palms sneaks up the middle of your back, palm gliding up and down your skin.
You suck on his lower lip, rolling it in between your teeth. He groans into your mouth, the reverberations of the sound tickling your spit-stained skin.
“Shit,” he swears, retreating to toss his head back against the sofa, the apple in his neck bobbing up and down as he gulps. Heavy-lidded eyes fall to watch the way you completely swallow the size of him, the rhythmic movement of your hips as you continue to ride.
Your orgasm builds fiercely, rolling across your body like angry waves crashing at shore, and Leon isn’t far behind, giving you a quick warning before he finishes inside.
“We probably need a new couch,” you say, sighing into the crook of his neck, collapsing onto his chest.
His hands continue their ministrations at your back, palms gliding up and down the length of your spine, caressing with all the sweetness and tenderness in the world.
summary: you ask Leon for sex advice before a date with another coworker, only expecting him to talk you through your nerves. when the conversation turns into something far more hands-on, both of you realize the problem was never really about another man. Maybe you trusted Leon for a reason and maybe he wanted you long before either of you knew what to call it.
warnings: re9leon!reader, age gap, coworkers to lovers, friends/coworkers with benefits turning into feelings, explicit smut, mdni!!!, oral sex — female receiving and male receiving, unprotected sex, riding/cowgirl, dirty talk, praise, mild possessiveness, inexperienced reader, Leon being gentle but still very much Leon, soft aftercare, brief jealousy/coworker flirting at the end, english is not the authors first language.
wc: 4.9k
author’s note: This is an older request by this anon that has been sitting in my inbox for a while, so thank you so much for your patience. I’m slowly making my way through requests one by one, even if it takes me some time, and I really appreciate everyone who waits for them. I hope this was worth the wait ♡
You and Leon had been working together for some time now.
At the beginning, he had intimidated you. Not because he was rude or cold, but because Leon Kennedy had the type of presence that made anyone feel tense. He was older than you, more experienced, and annoyingly calm in situations were anyone else would have been losing their mind.
Over time, things became easier. You got used to his tired jokes, to the way he leaned against your desk when he wanted to hear gossip but pretended he didn’t, to the quiet way he checked if you were okay after rough missions. He got used to you too, even if he acted like you tested his patience for a living.
You were not best friends in a childish way. You did not tell him every thought that crossed your mind, and he was not the type to overshare either. But he had become one of the few people you felt comfortable around without needing to perform.
That was probably why you ended up at his apartment more often than you planned.
He lived close to the office and you usually ordered takeout. His couch was comfortable enough that there were times you had fallen asleep on it while some terrible movie played in the background. Leon always complained about your film choices, you always told him his taste was depressing, and somehow that had become part of the routine.
You had noticed he was attractive, obviously. You were not blind. There were days when he came back from training with damp hair and a tight shirt that hinted at the defined muscles underneath and you had to make a conscious effort to look normal. But noticing was not the same as doing anything about it, and you had never allowed yourself to take the thought too seriously. Leon was Leon: older, complicated, your coworker and a friend in a way neither of you had ever bothered to define.
Besides, lately there had been Carlos.
Carlos worked in Intelligence, and he had been flirting with you for weeks. He was handsome, charming, maybe a little too aware of both things, but he made you laugh and he was easy to talk to. When he finally asked you out, you said yes mostly because there was no real reason to say no.
Leon found out during lunch, because Carlos had walked past your desk and asked if Friday still worked for you and you said yes. Leon had looked up from his coffee.
“Don’t,” you had said, pointing at him immediately.
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, lifting his eyebrows in a defensive way. “I was just drinking coffee.”
You had rolled your eyes, but the truth was, the date was not what made you nervous. You could go out with Carlos. You could flirt, have a drink, kiss him if the night went well. That part did not scare you. The part after that did.
Because maybe nothing would happen, but maybe something would. And if it did, you hated the thought of getting there and suddenly feeling like you had no idea what to do with your own body.
It was not that you were ashamed of sex. That was the frustrating part, you wanted it, you just did not have as much experience as people assumed you did, and you were tired of feeling like women were expected to automatically know how to be confident in bed without anyone ever explaining anything.
By Thursday night, it had been sitting in your head for days and Leon noticed before you even said a word.
You were at his place after work, sitting on his couch with your legs tucked under you, a half-empty box of takeout on the coffee table and your phone lighting up every few minutes with messages from Carlos. Leon had changed into a dark shirt and sweatpants, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, and he was watching you with that annoying look that meant he knew something was up.
“What’s on your mind, rookie?” he asked.
You looked at him as he brought you out of your thoughts “There’s nothing”.
Leon leaned back against the couch, one arm resting along the back of it. “You’ve barely touched your food.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
Leon scoffed “You’re always hungry.”
You glared at him, but it did not last. He knew you too well, and the worst part was that he knew when not to push. After a moment, you sighed and pushed the takeout box away.
“I need to ask you something,” you said, hands twitching as you thought about what you were about to say.
Leon’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Okay.”
You looked down at your hands. “I need sex advice.”
Leon went still, like his brain had taken the sentence, turned it over, and decided it needed more information before reacting.
“Okay,” he said slowly.
You shifted on the couch, feeling ridiculous now that the words were out. “I don’t want to ask my friends. They’ll make a big deal out of it. I want someone to be normal and explain it without making me feel like an idiot.”
You exhaled, forcing yourself to be clear because you were tired of dancing around the thing like saying it directly would kill you.
“I don’t have as much experience as people think I do,” you said. “I can flirt, I can kiss, I can act confident, but when it gets to actual sex I get in my head. I start thinking about whether I look awkward, whether I’m doing it right, whether I’m supposed to move a certain way, and then I’m not even enjoying it because I’m too busy trying to not look stupid.”
“Is this about that guy, Carlos?” he asked after a moment.
You made a face. “Why do you say his name like that?”
Leon gave you a look. “Is this about him?”
“Partly.” You hesitated, words coming out in a low tone. “I mean, yes, I have a date with him tomorrow, and maybe it goes somewhere, maybe it doesn’t. But it’s not really about him. It’s about me not wanting to feel clueless if I decide I want to sleep with someone.”
Leon nodded once, slow, like he was choosing his words carefully. “What do you want to know?”
God, were you really about to say this?
“I want you to teach me how to ride,” you said finally, cheeks burning. “Like… how to be on top, how to move... Basically, how to fuck someone without feeling like I’m doing a bad job.”
Leon’s eyes stayed on yours, but something changed in his face.
“Oh,” he said.
Despite yourself, you laughed, still hiding behind your hand. “God, this is humiliating.”
“It’s not,” he said, nervous but certain. “It’s really not.”
You lowered your hand enough to look at him. “You’re telling me that because you’re nice.”
“I’m telling you because it’s true.” Leon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice calmer now. “It’s not humiliating to ask how something works.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do, really,” you said. “But you are the only person I know who won’t make a big deal out of this”
Leon’s mouth twitched faintly. “You did choose a pretty effective way to make things weird.”
You groaned. “Leon.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “I’m listening.”
You took a breath, then said it before you could lose your nerve.
“I’m asking because I trust you with this. I know you won’t make me feel dirty for wanting to learn,” you added. “And I know you won’t laugh if I’m awkward… So, what do you say?”
He took a few seconds to answer “Okay,” he said.
You smiled at him, feeling hopeful that your sexual frustration might finally ease tonight but that smile faded slowly when he shifted closer. He was giving you time to move back, to laugh it off, to say no, actually, never mind, let’s pretend I didn’t ask my coworker to teach me how to fuck.
You did not move back.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice a little lower.
The question was simple, almost too simple after everything you had said.
Your heart still kicked.
“Yes.”
He kissed you carefully at first, one hand coming to the side of your face, his thumb resting near your jaw. It was testing, warm, slower than you expected. You had kissed people before, but this felt different because it was Leon, and he seemed to understand your body before your head did.
You moved closer. That was when his hand slid to the back of your neck and the kiss deepened.
It still did not feel like he was rushing you. If anything, he let you set more of the pace than you expected. When your fingers gripped his shirt, he followed. You found a place on his thighs, where he made you comfortable by putting one of his hands on your thigh, pretty close to your ass.
When you opened your mouth under his to deepen the kiss, he made a low sound that went straight through you. When you pulled back to breathe, he stopped immediately.
“Still okay?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yes,” you said, breathless. “Still okay.”
“Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” he said, caressing your thigh, a faint blush crossing his face as he asked.
This was unbelievable, half an hour ago you were talking about unfinished reports and now you were making out and about to sleep with your coworker.
You looked at him for half a second.
Then you nodded again. “Yes,” you answered with a shy smile.
He stood and offered you his hand, which somehow made you laugh under your breath.
“What?” he asked, his cheeks still red from before.
“Nothing. It’s just very gentlemanly for the situation.”
That finally made him laugh, quiet and real, and the sound helped dissolve the last sharp edge of your nerves.
His bedroom was dim and simple, lit only by the lamp on his nightstand. It felt more private than the living room, but not in a scary way.
Leon turned toward you once you were near the bed.
He let go of your hand, and touched the hem of your shirt instead with a calmness that made your stomach twist. “Can I?”
“Yes,” you said.
He took it off slowly enough for you to help, revealing your breasts in a light pink see-through bra, then kissed you again before you had time to feel too exposed. That worked better than any compliment could have. You relaxed into his mouth, hands finding his shoulders, then his chest, then the edge of his shirt.
To your touch, he realized he was still clothed, so without making a comment, so he took his shirt off. When his shirt was gone, you tried not to stare too obviously.
“Don’t look so surprised,” he said.
You rolled your eyes, but your hands were already on his chest, tracing over warm skin and old scars with more curiosity than hesitation. Leon’s breathing changed slightly under your touch.
He sat on the edge of the bed and guided you closer, not pulling, just giving you somewere to go. You stood between his knees, and he looked up at you while his hands rested at your waist. You laughed quietly, and he kissed your stomach, his stubble tickling your skin, just above the waistband of your pants, cutting the sound off in your throat.
Leon looked up at you for approval to continue, checking for a second.
You did not tell him to stop, so he kissed you there again, this time, slower.
Your hand slipped into his hair without thinking, and the second your fingers touched him, something in his face shifted. Then, his hands started finding the clasp of your bra and unhooking it, removing it carefully from your skin, revealing your full breasts, nipples already sensitive from his attention. He then started kissing them and leaving small bites and warm kisses over the soft skin. His eyes flicked up to yours again, and for a second the whole thing stopped feeling like some strange lesson and started feeling like something you both wanted very badly.
His eyes were darker, with his gaze revealing that he was seeking something more.
He then guided you down onto the bed, opening your thighs, slowly taking off your pants first.
“Can I?” he asked, settling between your thighs, fingers on the waistband of your thong, matching the bra that was now on the floor.
You nodded, arousal growing in you because of your view: Leon Kennedy, between your legs, topless and asking you if he could give you oral. There were good dreams, and then there was this.
He slowly removed your underwear, kissing the path the fabric left on your skin until he reached your ankle, giving it a small peck too.
He settled now between your legs, giving sloppy kisses to your thighs, stealing repressed moans that you were keeping in your throat.
“Rookie, please, let me hear you” he said in a tone that felt like he was begging for your sounds.
Then, he went for your pussy. First, he started kissing it with his tongue, which gave you an electric shock through your spine. Then, he worked his way through your folds, making sure he reached everywhere.
You weren’t very experienced at sex, but you knew instantly that nobody ever was going to eat you up as well as Leon was doing.
He then penetrated you with his tongue, making you moan in pleasure, your hand going straight for his hair to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere.
“L-leon…” you managed to say in between your noises, which filled the room along with the wet sound of your pussy being eaten “I’m close…”
“Then I’ll get you there, angel” he said with a deep tone still on your pussy, making you moan at the vibration of his voice.
His pace quickened, devouring you with each movement his mouth made.
Finally, you reached your climax, coming against him. He didn’t pull away right away, he continued sucking your fluids until your legs fully relaxed.
By the time Leon came back up to kiss you, you were not thinking about Carlos.
That realization arrived quietly while your fingers were still tangled in Leon’s hair and your breathing had not quite gone back to normal. It should have made you feel guilty, maybe, but it did not. Carlos suddenly felt like a different conversation, a name on your phone in another room, something you had been using to explain nerves that had very little to do with him.
Leon kissed the corner of your mouth, his cheeks wet from you.
“You okay?” he asked.
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “You really just asked me that?”
“I told you already, I’m a gentleman” he said, with an ironic tone.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m okay.”
His thumb brushed over your cheek, and for a second he looked at you in a way that made your chest tighten more than anything physical had.
Leon noticed, obviously, but he did not push. He only shifted beside you on the bed, giving you space, and that made it worse somehow. You had expected sex to make things messy. You had not expected his restraint to feel intimate.
Leon looked at your mouth, then at your eyes, and the silence between you became less awkward and more aware. You had spent months sitting beside him on couches, in cars, in briefing rooms, in quiet corners after work. You knew how he looked when he was tired, annoyed, amused, focused. You had never seen him look at you like he was trying not to want more.
You touched his chest lightly “Can I?” you asked, your eyes indicating between his legs.
Leon’s eyes flicked down to your hand “Yes.” He answered.
Before lying on the bed, he took off his boxers, revealing his cock.
You knew Leon was a big guy; you had seen him without his shirt more than once, but you still felt intimidated when you looked at him like this.
You sat beside him. First, you stroked it with your hand, stealing Leon some uneven breaths.
Once you saw drops of precum dropping out of his pink tip, you knew it was time. You spat on it, making sure it was wet enough and then, you started working your way on his tip with your mouth, your tongue going through every inch of his length.
Every time you sucked on it, it made Leon let out a moan. When you started to pick up your pace, you could tell it was getting harder for Leon to hold back, grabbing your hair tighter so you wouldn’t leave him unattended.
“Shit… Rookie are you sure you are the one who needed sex advice?” he said, his voice cracking with each moan. “You are going to suck the soul out of me if you keep going like this.”
Each thrust on your mouth was quicker, sometimes making you gag around him. When he felt he was close, he signaled you to stop what you were doing.
When you finally looked up at him afterwards, Leon had one hand over his mouth and the other tangled loosely in your hair, his breathing uneven.
You climbed onto the bed properly, kneeling beside him, and for a moment neither of you moved. His hand came to your waist, casual at first, then more certain when you leaned into it. You liked his hands there.
“So,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt. “The actual lesson.”
Leon’s mouth twitched. “You still want it?”
You gave him a look. “That was the whole point.”
“Was it?” The question was not teasing, not completely.
You both knew it was not really the whole point anymore. Still, you nodded.
“I want to learn,” you said. Then, after a second, because the truth kept pushing its way out, “With you.”
Leon’s face softened at that. He lay back against the pillows and guided you over him, his hands steady at your hips. The position made you nervous all over again, but it was different now. You placed your hands on his chest for balance. Leon looked up at you, his hair messy, lips parted slightly, eyes darker than usual.
“Start slow,” he said. “And don’t think about what you look like.”
“That is impossible,” you said with a nervous laugh.
“It’s really not” he answered.
“It is when you’re looking at me like that.” You revealed.
He paused, doubt growing on his expression. “Like what?”
You swallowed, then said it before you could lose the nerve. “Like you like me.”
Leon went still. For a second, you thought he might dodge it. Make a dry comment, shift the mood, turn it back into something easier.
“I do, rookie” he said.
Your breath caught. Leon’s hands stayed on your hips, warm and careful. “I didn’t plan to say it tonight but well, things come how they come”
You let out a nervous laugh. “I didn’t plan to ask you to teach me how to fuck, so I think we’re both improvising.”
That made him laugh properly, and the sound loosened something in your chest.
“Fair enough,” he said.
You looked down at him, feeling suddenly less embarrassed than you had all night. “I think I like you too.”
“You think?” he gave you a funny look.
“Don’t push it, Leon,” you rolled your eyes back.
His mouth curved, soft and amused. “Okay.”
You leaned down and kissed him. You were both smiling a little, and your balance was not great, and one of his hands had to catch your waist when you nearly shifted too far to one side. When you pulled back, Leon brushed your hair away from your face.
“Ready?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
You settled yourself on top of him, Leon guiding his cock to your now dripping wet entrance. Slowly, you started to sit on it, taking his inches inside of you, making you moan at his thickness and making him groan at how tight and wet you were. Once he was fully inside, Leon put both of his hands on your hips, grabbing onto your fat.
“Once you’ve adjusted to it you can start moving, take your time, baby” he said, holding back a moan. Him calling you baby only made you even wetter.
When you started moving it was kind of complicated, you were struggling to find your rhythm, getting tired at the position of your legs, starting to feel frustrated with each thrust.
“Hey,” Leon said. “Try using your hips rather than your legs, it doesn’t have to be quick… just find your sweet spot.”
His words reassured you, and as he said, you started moving your hips in circles, starting to feel better with each movement, and you noticed Leon was feeling that too, as his sounds were getting louder.
Of course, you were doing a great job so far, but the view he had of your breasts bouncing with each movement, hair strands getting on your face and the sound of your ass cheeks slapping against his skin was also turning him on.
He moved your hands from your sides to on top of his chest for you to feel more comfortable. When you moved in that position, with your back arched, you felt how you reached that sweet, spongy spot you heard everyone talk about but you didn’t know till this moment, with the tip of Leon’s cock hitting right deep inside you.
That’s what made him basically melt. With each one of your following movements, Leon only kept getting louder and louder, his muscles twitching below you, hands grabbing your ass cheeks as hard as he could. What started as a class for you to learn how to ride, turned into a session of Leon losing control to the woman above him.
After a few minutes like this, you both felt your climax getting closer. It didn’t take long for Leon to get there, finishing with a broken groan as you followed him over the edge, both of you giving in completely.
Afterwards, you collapsed against him with a breathless laugh you could not hold back.
Not because it was funny, exactly. More because the whole thing felt unreal in the most human way possible. You had come to Leon’s apartment worried about a date with another man, and now you were naked in his bed, tucked against his chest while he tried to catch his breath under you.
Leon’s hand moved slowly up and down your back.
“You laughing at me?” he asked, voice tired and warm.
You lifted your head. “Maybe.” You smiled, then hid your face against his shoulder because it was easier than letting him see how happy you looked.
Leon’s fingers paused at your back. “Hey.” You hummed. “You okay?”
You nodded against him. “Yeah.”
For a while, neither of you moved. The room was quiet except for your breathing, the lamp still on, the sheets tangled around your legs. It should have felt awkward now that the heat was fading, but it did not. Eventually, Leon shifted and pulled the sheet higher over your back.
There was a softness in him now that you had only seen in small pieces before. In the office, it appeared for a second and disappeared just as fast. Here, in the low light of his bedroom, he seemed too tired to hide all of it. His hair was messy, his expression calmer, his hand still tracing idle lines along your spine. You touched his chest with your fingertips.
“So,” you said. Leon looked mildly suspicious. “What happens now?”
He took a breath, then let it out slowly. “I was hoping you’d ask something easier.”
You smiled, but your nerves returned a little. Leon noticed, because of course he did, and his hand moved from your back to your jaw, his thumb brushing lightly near your cheek.
“I don’t want this to be weird at work,” he said. “And I don’t want you to feel like you have to decide everything tonight. But,” he added, eyes on yours, “I also don’t want to pretend this was just me helping you with a problem.”
Your throat tightened.
“No,” you said softly. “It wasn’t.”
His gaze searched your face. You were the one who looked away this time, but not because you regretted anything. Because saying the truth felt more vulnerable than everything you had done in that bed.
“I didn’t think I liked you like this,” you admitted. Leon was quiet. “I knew I trusted you. I knew I liked being around you. I knew you were attractive, obviously, I’m not blind.” His mouth twitched. “But I didn’t think about it properly,” you said.
Then your phone buzzed somewere in the living room, both of you froze. Leon looked toward the door, then back at you. “Carlos?”
“Probably,” you said, staring at each other for half a second.
Then you buried your face in his chest and groaned. “Oh my God.”
Leon’s chest moved with a quiet laugh. “You do need to answer him eventually, but preferably before tomorrow and… maybe don’t mention the lesson.”
You lifted your head and hit his shoulder lightly. “Leon.”
“What? I’m helping.” He looked far too satisfied with that one.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered.
You rested your chin on his chest, trying to look annoyed and failing completely. “I’ll cancel the date.”
Leon’s expression shifted, the humor fading into something more careful. “You don’t have to because of me.”
“I’m not doing it because of you.” You paused. “Well. Not only because of you.” His eyebrow lifted. “I don’t want to go,” you said honestly.
Leon did not smile immediately, but his hand moved gently over your back again. He leaned in and kissed you softly. A quiet, unhurried kiss that made the whole night feel less like an accident and more like the beginning of something neither of you had planned well enough to stop.
When he pulled back, you stayed close.
“I like you,” he said, so plainly that your heart tripped over itself.
His fingers brushed your hair away from your cheek. “I’d like to see were it goes, if you want that too.”
“I want that too,” you said.
Leon nodded once, like he was trying to keep his cool, but the little relieved breath he let out betrayed him.
You smiled. “You were nervous, Kennedy.”
He sighed. “Maybe a little.”
That made you like him even more. You curled against him again, your body warm and tired, his arm settling around your waist beneath the sheet.
“You know,” you murmured, already half-asleep, “you’re a pretty good teacher.”
Leon’s arm tightened around you. “Don’t say that at work.”
You laughed against his chest. You kissed him once more, soft and sleepy, and settled back against him while he reached over to turn off the lamp.
Work was surprisingly normal after that night.
Leon still treated you the same in front of everyone: the same quiet looks across the briefing room, the same habit of leaving coffee on your desk when he knew you had skipped breakfast. The difference was in the little things no one else would have noticed unless they were paying too much attention. His hand brushing your lower back when he passed behind you, the way his eyes softened when you looked at him from across the room.
A few days later, you were by the training rooms, filling your water bottle after a long session, when Carlos leaned against the wall beside you.
“You did good in there,” he said, giving you an easy smile.
You glanced at him. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. You’ve gotten better.” His gaze lingered for just a second too long. “Stronger too.”
You gave a small laugh, polite but not encouraging. Before you could answer, Leon’s voice came from behind you.
“She’s busy.”
You turned your head just as he walked up beside you, calm as ever, holding a file in one hand and your coffee in the other. He did not make a scene. He did not glare. He simply stopped close enough for his shoulder to brush yours and handed you the cup like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Forgot this,” he said.
You took it, trying not to smile too much. “Thanks.”
Leon’s hand settled briefly at your waist, light and familiar, just long enough to make the message clear without him having to say anything else. The other agent looked between you both, understood, and pushed himself away from the wall.
“Right,” he said, smile fading into something more awkward. “See you around.”
When he left, you looked up at Leon.
“Am I busy?” you asked.
His mouth barely curved. “You are now.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling when he leaned in, just enough to press a quick kiss to your temple before walking away like he had not just made your whole stomach flip in the middle of the hallway.
hope you enjoyed it! i'm open to any requests! follow me on ao3 too here
