NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.
The restaurant was warm, low-lit, the kind of place that felt expensive without trying too hard. Soft music hummed in the background, glasses clinked quietly, and the world felt⊠slow for once.
You sat across from Leon, fingers curled around your drink, smiling at something stupid he had just said.
He was relaxed, one arm draped over the back of his chair, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled just enough to show strong forearms. His tie was already loosened because of course it was and his attention stayed exactly where it always did when you were together.
On you.
ââand then Chris looks at me like Iâm the problem,â he finished, shaking his head.
You laughed softly, leaning forward. âYou are the problem.â
âWow,â he scoffed. âThatâs crazy. I thought you were on my side.â
âI am,â you grinned. âIâm just also honest.â
He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes soft, something fond flickering across his face as he looked at you and then it shifted. Just slightly,not enough for anyone else to notice.But you felt it.
You turned your head instinctively and your stomach dropped. ââŠOh.â
Leonâs gaze followed yours immediately, posture straightening just a fraction.
âFriend of yours?â he asked, calm but already alert.
You swallowed. âNo,â you said quietly. âNot⊠not really.â
Your ex was already walking over, because of course he was. Same smug expression. Same look in his eyes that you remembered hating even when you were with him.
âWow,â he said as he approached, looking between the two of you. âDidnât expect to see you here.â
You forced a polite smile, already shrinking in on yourself just a little. âHey.â
Leon didnât say anything.Didnât move.But his attention locked in completely.Watching.
Your exâs gaze shifted to him, sizing him up and immediately, you saw it. That flash of judgment.
Of arrogance. ââŠSo,â he said, dragging the word out, âthis your boyfriend?â
Leonâs eyes flicked to you briefly,his hand moving to the table to show off the wedding band to the man.âHusband,â Leon corrected evenly.
Your ex blinked once, then laughed. ââŠSeriously?â
You felt embarrassment hit and Leon didnât react and that almost made it worse.
Your ex shook his head, stepping a little closer, like he couldnât believe what he was seeing. âNo offense, man,â he said, looking Leon up and down, âbut⊠what are you doing with her?â
Your stomach twisted, your hand moved to your lap as you clutched your dress.
Leonâs jaw tightened, but he still didnât speak.
Your ex kept going. âI mean,look at you,â he continued, gesturing vaguely at Leon. âAnd thenââ
His hand flicked toward you.Dismissive.Careless, just like when you two were dating, like you were something to be compared.Something to be judged. ââŠthis?â
The word hit like a slap.
You felt it immediately the way your chest tightened, the way your shoulders instinctively curled inward, like you were trying to take up less space.
âHey,â you said quietly, forcing a small, strained laugh. âThatâs notââ
âAnd youâre still dressing her like that?â your ex went on, ignoring you completely now, talking about you instead of to you. âYou could do a lot better, man. No offense.â
No offense.
You blinked hard, eyes stinging now, warmth crawling up your neck.You hated this.Hated how easily it still got to you.How small he made you feel.Your hands tightened in your lap as you looked down, trying, really trying, not to let it show.
Not to cry.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in front of him.
Leon hadnât moved, hadn't spoken but his hand was clenched tightly at the table.Then he inhaled slowly.Worked his jaw once, twice and gave a small, almost absent nod.
ââŠOkay.â He whispered, calm and controlled.
Your ex smirked, like he thought heâd won something.Like Leon was just going to let it go and then Leon stood.
Fast.
The chair scraped sharply against the floor, loud enough to turn heads.And before your ex could even process what was happening, Leonâs fist connected with his face.
A clean, solid punch straight to the nose.
The crack was sickening as your ex stumbled back instantly, hands flying to his face as blood started pouring between his fingers.
âWhat theâ!â he choked out, staggering.
The entire restaurant went silent, Leon didnât chase him.Didnât raise his voice.He just stood there, shoulders squared, breathing steady, eyes cold in a way that felt⊠dangerous.
âDonât,â Leon said, voice low and even, âever speak about my wife like that again.â
Your ex stared at him, shocked, humiliated, bleeding.
Leon didnât look impressed, didn't look angry anymore, just done. "Or next time,â he added quietly, âI wonât stop at one.â
The message was crystal clear.
Your ex backed off quickly after that, muttering something under his breath as he stumbled away, grabbing napkins, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left.
The room slowly started to breathe again, everyone turning back to their food and conversation.
But you, you were still sitting there frozen for a moment. Heart pounding in your chest, eyes wide still assessing the situation.
Leon turned back to you immediately and just like that that hardness was gone âHey,â he said softly, stepping closer.
You blinked up at him, still trying to process everything, your emotions caught somewhere between shock and something else, something tighter in your chest. ââŠYou didnât have to do that,â you whispered.
He frowned slightly, crouching down in front of you so you didnât have to look up. âYeah,â he said gently. âI did.â
Your lip trembled before you could stop it, all that embarrassment, all that hurt finally catching up now that it was quiet again.
âIâm sorry,â you murmured, looking down. âThat was...god, that was so embarrassing, Iââ
âHey.â
His hand came up immediately, tilting your chin so you had to look at him. There was nothing but warmth in his eyes now. âDonât,â he said softly.
Your breath hitched, lip wobbled for a moment as you blinked away a few tears.
âHe doesnât get to make you feel like that,â Leon continued, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. âNot anymore, he's wrong,â Leon added, quieter now, like it was the simplest truth in the world. âAbout everything he said.â
You swallowed. ââŠLeonââ
âI mean it.â His voice didnât waver. âYouâre the best thing in this room. Hell, the best thing in my life.â
Your chest tightened.
âAnd if anyone...anyone..talks about you like that again? Theyâre gonna have a bad day.â
A shaky laugh slipped out of you despite everything, tears finally spilling over but softer now as you reached for him, hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.
âI love you,â you whispered.
He didnât hesitate.âI know,â he murmured back, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you too."
The night air felt cooler when you stepped outside, the hum of the restaurant fading behind you as Leonâs hand settled firmly at the small of your back, guiding you down the steps.
You were still a little dazed, still replaying everything.
The look on your exâs face. The sound of the punch. The way Leon had looked at you afterward soft, steady, like nothing else in the world mattered.
Your fingers curled lightly into the front of his jacket as you walked, grounding yourself.
Then the Flashing lights.
Blue and red.
You blinked, your steps slowing.
ââŠWhat?â
Leon didnât stop walking.
Didnât even hesitate.
But his hand pressed a little more securely against your back, steering you slightly to the side.
And thatâs when you saw it.
Your ex.
Standing on the sidewalk.
With two officers.
Hands behind his back.
Very clearly being cuffed.
Your brain⊠lagged.
ââŠIs heâŠâ you blinked again, squinting slightly like maybe you were seeing it wrong. âIs he being arrested?â
Leon opened the passenger door of the Porsche like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
âYup.â
You didnât get in, you just stood there, staring as you watched the scene unfold. ââŠLeon..."
He glanced at you, one brow lifting slightly. âWhat?â
You pointed, actually pointed, toward the scene like that would somehow clarify things. âDid youââ
âI used my DSO connections and found out he had priors,â Leon said casually, like he was explaining the weather. âI sped it up.â
You stared at him, your mouth opened.Closed and opened again.
âYou....sped it up?â
He shrugged, like it wasnât a big deal, leaning one arm against the top of the car door.
âHe had a warrant,â he added. âDidnât do anything that wasnât already coming.â
You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. "You punched him,â you said slowly.
âYeah.â
âAnd then you....called in federal connectionsââ
âDidnât even have to call,â he corrected lightly. âSent a text.â
ââŠand now heâs getting arrested.â
Leon tilted his head slightly. âI mean, technically those are separate events.â
You stared at him like he had just said something completely unhinged. ââŠLeon.â
âWhat?â
âThat is insane.â
He huffed a quiet laugh, reaching out to take your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles like he was calming you down. âRelax,â he murmured. âGuyâs been skating by on stuff for a while. I just⊠helped things move along.â
Your eyes flicked back toward your ex, who was now very loudly protesting as the officers guided him toward the cruiser.And then slowly looked back at your husband. ââŠYou punched him and got him arrested in under ten minutes.â
Leonâs mouth twitched. ââŠBusy night.â
You let out a disbelieving breath, shaking your head, but there was something bubbling up nowâsomething lighter. âYouâre ridiculous,â you muttered.
âYeah,â he said easily, then his expression softened again, hand tightening gently around yours. âYou okay?â he asked.
And just like that, the humor faded a little, replaced with something more honest.
You glanced back once more.
At your ex.
At the flashing lights.
At the past⊠literally being taken away.
Then you looked at Leon.
At the man standing in front of you like a wall, like a shield, like someone who had already decidedâwithout question that no one was ever going to make you feel small again.
ââŠYeah,â you said quietly.And this time, you meant it.
Leon studied your face for a second longer, like he was making sure.
Then he nodded once.
âGood.â He tugged you gently toward the car, guiding you into the passenger seat, one hand steady on the door as you sat. Before closing it, he leaned in slightly, brushing his knuckles along your cheek.
âSeatbelt,â he reminded.
You huffed softly, already reaching for it. âYes, sir.â
He smirked faintly at that, shutting the door and moving around to the driverâs side.
The engine purred to life a moment later, smooth and quiet, the kind of sound that matched everything else about him now controlled, powerful, effortless.
You watched him for a second as he settled in, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the console. ââŠLeon?â
âYeah?â
You hesitated.Then gave him a smile. ââŠthank you.â
He didnât look at you right away. Just reached over, his hand finding your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.
âAlways,â he said.
And as he pulled away from the curb, the flashing lights fading behind you, it didnât feel like you were leaving something unfinished.
â summary : leon finds.. you. in a cage during that whole mess at victor gideonâs center. he thinks youâre a victim of something weird and perverted until he realizes ohâno! thatâs.. those are your ears not a headband! thatâs your tail! not a butt plug! communication is not going great and unfortunately for you, this is the first man youâve ever seen look like that. babyâs first crush?
â caution : captivity, abuse/conditioning, power imbalance, non-human traits (ears/tail), reader is a hybrid! surprise! also, reader is younger than leon, early to mid twenties. aaaand fem!reader.
â note : hi! i haven't posted in a while, iâm sorry! work has been crazy!
victor gideonâyou could say he was your handler. owner. master. the verbiage doesnât matter, but itâs important to know that he was the man responsible for your very being. everything that you are has been shaped within the boundaries heâs decided on. you have no concept of religion, no understanding of worship or faith. but if someone were to explain it to you, victor gideon may be the closest thing to a god in your eyes. above everything else, unquestioned and the source of consequence and comfort.
victor is a cruel, cruel man but, he never really believed in wasting his energy in unnecessary displays of these grandiose schemes. he thinks it's tackyâthereâs a difference between completing a task and making gross display of it. but thatâs what makes victor gideon so hard to understand on the outside, because heâs polite. a gentleman, even. and at some point perception starts to blur and blend making it look like care.
because he fed you. regularly at that. theyâre meals that came at the same times everyday. breakfast, lunch and dinner, in the same portions and adjusted when necessary without you having to ask. you learned quickly that hunger wasnât something you had to worry aboutâas long as you stayed within the lines he set. in other words, when youâre good. and itâs not like youâre disobedient by nature or you purposefully do things you arenât supposed to do. itâs honest mistakes, small mistakes. but little ones are still mistakes nonetheless, arenât they?
because he clothed you. nothing fancy but it was always practical. things that fit you well, kept you warm and helped him in handling easier, move you, manage you. of course, you never had a say in what you ever wore but he did notice you taking a liking to what you now know as your favorite color. so, you do have more pieces in that shade than you do anything else.
because he bathed you. at first because you didnât know how then later because he didnât trust you to do it properly. it became routineâjust like a clinical, detached in that way. it was never sexual either, at least.. it doesn't feel that way (again, you really have no concept of sexualization or perversion). it was simply just maintenance: something that had to be done to keep you functioning the way you were supposed to.
and because he taught you. this is the part of his influence that lingers the most, and may actually be the first thing that someone would notice if they managed to have a conversation with you. his lessons on english started simple at first, then things got a bit harder, and your repeated everything until they stuck. he corrected you when you got something wrong, rewarded you when you didnât. but it wasnât just language. it was behavior. expectation. understanding the way the world worked, or at least the version of it he allowed you to see.
âpeople are dangerous, (name). unpredictable. selfish. sick.â
he would tell you that, not always in those exact words but in the same way that built the same idea. he reinforced it with examples, with his tone, with the way he positioned himself in contrast to everything else.
so of course after fear mongering, he would feed you something extra nice and warm to fill your belly or perform something similar to an act of service for you (for example, he liked to fix your hair, otherwise it becomes a mess). or even correct you in a way that didnât hurt as much as it could have. and the message would settle where it was meant to:
he is the exception. the only one who doesnât want to harm you. the only one who understands you. the only one who provides.
victor gideon wouldnât ever break the patternâyour pattern. the routine youâve come to know as your life. and yet for the first time, the rhythm breaks.
you havenât seen him for hours so you assume heâs busy.
so, you do what youâve always done when something doesnât make sense. you stay still and you wait because waiting has always kept you safe.
but footsteps that donât belong to him move through the hallways. a different scent. a different voice registers.. mm. it doesnât make sense.
you wait for things to correct on their own but.. it doesnât. and time stretches in an unfamiliar way without you fully understanding why you feel so.. unsettled. perhaps itâs a bit of separation anxiety or maybe youâre picking up on a shift in the air.
the footsteps comes closer, then the sound pauses like whoever it belongs to is.. adjusting? is that the right word? it feels like whoever it is, is cautious. and that alone is enough to make something in your chest tighten because thereâs no place to put it. no rule to apply. no outcome youâve been prepared for.
by the time it reaches the door, your body has already reacted; shoulders pulled in tighter, your tail curls closer around you, your ears press back. you donât think through any of it, you just brace for whatever.
the handle moves, not suddenly but definitely not in a way anyone else would noticeâit lacks the confidence youâre used to. thereâs a difference in the timing, in the pressure, in the certainty of the motion. victor was always certain. this hesitates where it shouldnât and shifts where it should be smooth followed by a quiet greeting of âhello darling.â or âhow are you, little one?â
the door opens anyway, the shape that fills the doorway doesnât align with anything youâve been taught to expect. the presence is foreign and thereâs no hesitation in how your mind processes it, no pause to question or reassess.
it categorizes immediately. not him. which meansânot safe.
leon doesnât move right away when he pushes the door open.
for a second, itâs just assessmentâdistance, layout, exitsâ but all that collapses almost immediately when he mentally hiccups. the cage. thatâs the first thing that he processed and then, thereâs you.
young. folded into the space like youâve been shaped to fit it. not fighting itâjust existing inside it. he doesnât know, but it seems like itâs clear as day this isnât new for you.
his jaw tightens.
âjesus,â he mutters under his breath, the word slipping out before he can filter it. his gaze flicks over you again, slower this time to catch on the details. the ears. the tail. for a brief second, his brain tries to file it somewhere explainable. and it lands in a sick place. something ugly, but a conclusion built on what heâs seen people do before.
âperverted bastard..â he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, the words laced with quiet disgust as his attention shifts back toward the cage, toward you and the way youâre watching him.
the comm in his ear crackles softly. âleon?â sherryâs voice cuts through, low but alert. âyou stopped moving. whatâs going on?â
his eyes donât leave you. â..i found someone,â he says after a beat, voice quieter than usual. thereâs a pause on the other endâbrief, but enough to register surprise. he adds, more specific this time, âthereâs a girl. locked up.â
another pause. âis sheââ
âi donât know yet,â he cuts in, already stepping closer as his attention stays fixed on you, tracking every small reaction. âstand by.â
he lowers himself slightly as he gets within a few feet of the cage, not close enough to crowd you, but not distant either. enough that you can see him clearly. and.. up close, the details donât resolve the way he expected them to.
leon is.. confused. yeah, confused.
because the ears donât sit like.. a headband would. thereâs no seam, no break in the line where they meet you. they moveâsubtle, reactive, flattening tighter against your head as he shifts, responding to him.
his gaze drops, just briefly, to the tail. and its the same thing. its not attached to you. it is you.
thereâs a moment where his expression stills completely, the realization settling in without fanfare or comment. he doesnât want to be rude. but whatever assumption he made a second ago dissolves just as quickly as it formed, replaced with a new feeling. something similar to finding out the gayest person youâve ever met is straight.
â..okay,â he exhales under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. he doesnât linger on it. doesnât question it out loud because whatever you areâ or whatever was done to youâit doesnât change the situation.
youâre still in a cage.
youâre still looking at him like heâs the worst possible outcome.
âhey,â he says, voice dropping again, softer now. its definitely not the tone he uses in the field. âyou understand me?â
you donât answer but your eyes stay on him, tracking every movement like youâre waiting for something to go wrong.
âalright,â he murmurs, not pushing it, because clearly.. youâre scared of him. âthatâs okay.â thereâs a pause, just long enough to let the space settle again before he tries something else.
âiâm gonna get you out of there,â he continues, âyou donât have toââ he stops himself, â..you donât have to do anything right now. just stay there, okay?â
not that you could do much else.
you donât respond to that either. not verbally at least. but something in your posture shifts. not enough to call it movement, but you are less rigid than before.nyour gaze flickers over him again and thereâs something there that doesnât fit with the fear.
confusion, maybe. or curiosity. something softer that doesnât have a place to settle, caught between everything youâve been taught and everything youâre seeing.
because he doesnât match what you expected.
he doesnât move like a threat. doesnât sound like one. doesnât look like anything youâve been told to fear in the way you understand it.
and more than thatâheâs different.
thereâs no comparison for it or framework to put it in. youâve seen one man your entire life, learned the shape of him, the way he exists in a space. this one doesnât match.
his face.. his body. something about the way he holds himself, the way he looks at you. not through you, not around you, but at you. it doesnât align with anything you know how to interpret.
it catches and lingers longer than it should. and somewhere underneath all these big emotionsâ
you think heâs⊠nice to look at.
you donât have a better word for it.
and you donât have the context to understand why your attention keeps drifting back to his face, to the way his expression shifts when he looks at you, to the steadiness in his voice when he speaks again.
you just know it doesnât feel the same as looking at victor and that alone is enough to make your belly flutter in a completely different way.
âiâm leon, by the way.â he says, heâs a few feet away now looking for somethingâa key maybe.
summary: to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you're working on.
cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, re9!leon, fbi!reader, age gap, kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex, blow job, p in v, spanking, choking, finger sucking, brat taming, praise kink
wc: 10k
a/n: obsession's gotten so bad i started having dreams about him <3
also on ao3!
Thereâs a man sitting at your desk.Â
Youâd arrived at work a little before 9, steaming cup of coffee in hand and a stack of case files tucked under your arm haphazardly. It was only until youâd heard the curious, hushed whispers that youâd realized your desk was currently taken, occupied by an unfamiliar man clad in a leather jacket.Â
Were you being relocated? Promoted? Demoted?Â
A barrage of thoughts flits through your mind as you approach your desk slowly, mentally preparing yourself to give the man a piece of your mind. The man doesnât even flinch when the case files drop onto your desk loudly, your coffee cup following soon after as you set it down roughly before crossing your arms over your chest.
âCan I help you?â
His head tilts towards you, shaggy hair shifting as his gaze travels over you with interest. You stare back at him blankly, brows furrowing when you take in the scruffy stubble covering his jaw and the weathered look to his skin. He had to be at least twice your age, but even you could admit the man was stupidly handsome. Youâre only left with more questions than you started with as you continue to stare at him, feeling bewildered. The flex of his gloved fingers catch in your periphery, distracting you as you glance down to find him piecing together a disassembled gun with practiced ease, the parts set out neatly on your desk.Â
His voice is gruff when he speaks. âYouâre younger than I expected.â
âYou⊠were expecting me?â you ask, irritation seeping into your voice, patience growing thin. âWho the fuck are you?â
The manâs brows raise at your blunt question, fingers still moving deftly, his eyes flickering with mirth.Â
âYou know, the FBI promised me a warm welcome,â he says, the chair swiveling as he turns to face you fully. âCanât exactly say youâre delivering on that promise.â
âYeah well, I didnât make any promises,â you retort, giving him a tight smile, watching as he leans forward, sliding his newly assembled gun back into its holster. âBesides, you still havenât answered my question.â
He sighs, leaning forward, his arm outstretched as he offers you his hand. âLeonââ
Heâs interrupted by the Unit Chief calling out your name. Your eyes narrow when you see the case file in his hands, glancing back at Leon before you leave him, stepping inside the Unit Chiefâs office, the door clicking shut behind you.
âWeâve got two new bodies,â he says, handing you the case file. âUnsubâs been crossing jurisdictions and the local police department is⊠well, concerned to say the least. Think you can handle it?â
You nod, flicking through the pages, nose scrunching when you see the images of the crime scene â each more grisly than the last. Mutilated bodies, blood smeared across the walls, messily carved symbols etched into the wooden door of the victimsâ home.
âSeems ritualistic,â you murmur, reading through the reports. You glance up at him, clutching the case file to your chest protectively. âYouâre letting me take this alone? Iâm flattered.â
âAh,â the Unit Chief shakes his head, nodding towards Leon. âNot exactly.â
âWhat?â you scoff, looking at Leon who gives you a smile and waves through the glass. You glare at him, yanking the blinds shut. âThe old man?â you hiss, âheâll only slow me down.â
The Unit Chief sighs, taking a seat in his chair. âThat man is Leon Kennedy. DSO. Itâs only a precaution. Heâs more experienced than any team we could put together and after what happened with Agent Ashcroft, the FBI is trying to be more⊠mindful.â
âAshcroft?â you echo, remembering the Rhodes Hill incident. âThatâsâ thatâs because they sent an analyst into the field of all things. She mustâve been terrified. Iâm a field agent, I can handle myself.â
âAgent Kennedy took an interest in the case,â he replies, hands clasping together. âIf thereâs bioterrorism involved, heâll be useful. If there isnât, use him as an idea board. The Unit Chief peers up at you, his expression stern. âMy decision is final.â
Your jaw works irritatedly before you huff out a heavy breath, nodding reluctantly. âYes, sir.â
Despite your sour mood and the urge to slam the door shut, you carefully close it, making your way back to Leon. You drag a spare chair towards your desk, sinking down onto it. Leon shakes his head when you offer him the case file.
âIâve already read it.â
âHuh,â you stare at him, lips pursing while your eyes squint in recognition. âLeon Scott Kennedy,â you drawl, jabbing your finger at him, âyouâre the Raccoon City cop. Iâve heard stories about you. Shouldnât you beâŠâ you gesture to him pointedly, âretired?â
âOuch,â Leon says, his hand moving to press against his chest as he feigns being hurt. âYou really donât want me here, do you?â
âAll I know is that youâre some big-shot DSO agent that I donât need on my case, Leon,â you shoot back, flipping open the file to read the autopsy reports more thoroughly.
âThe first case youâve ever been in charge of,â Leon muses, his leather gloves creaking softly as he picks up a stray pen, putting it back into its place. âIâm impressed. Not everyone gets to be a lead on a case like this. Then again, youâre pretty good at this kinda thing.â
Was he buttering you up? He had to be. You donât bother looking up as you mark a few things of interest off on the report.
âThank you,â you murmur, scrawling a few notes down on a notepad before you pause, head turning to find him watching you carefully. âHow did you know that?â you ask, a hint of suspicion in your voice, âweâve never met before.â
Leon shifts, grunting softly as he tries to get more comfortable in your chair. âI took the liberty of reading your file,â he replies flippantly, his expression darkening as he tries to work the chairâs jammed lever. âFuckinâ chair⊠how do you sit in this all day?â
âI donât sit all day!â you snap, âand you read my file? I donât care if you have the fucking clearance, you canât justââÂ
Youâre interrupted by a loud snap, teeth gritting together when you realize heâs pushed the lever too hard â or perhaps, underestimated his own strength â the lever cleanly detached and now clutched in Leonâs gloved hand.Â
âSorry âbout that,â he murmurs, setting the lever down on your desk, patting it awkwardly. âIâll buy you a new chair.â
You have half a mind to reach over and strangle him. You even consider doing it, until he grumbles under his breath and shrugs off that jacket of his, your murderous intent forgotten as soon as you catch sight of his thick biceps. With those things, Leon could probably strangle you and have no problem doing it.Â
The sheer size of him renders you incapable of tearing your gaze away, your stare settled firmly on his shoulders, arms and chest â every part of him unfairly thick and muscular â his skin-tight shirt leaving you barely conscious of the way your throat was beginning to dry up.Â
Your newly broken chair creaks once more under Leonâs weight, the sound piercing through the haze of your shameless staring. You blink uncertainly, taking another lingering peek at his biceps while heâs too busy trying to get comfortable.Â
âWeâd better get going,â you announce, grabbing the file before standing up abruptly. âThe local PD is probably waiting for us.â
âWe can take my car,â Leon says as he follows you into the elevator.
âIâm not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men,â you say testily, pressing a button before turning to face him.Â
âAnd Iâm not in the habit of babysitting FBI agents,â Leon drawls, leaning against the wall of the elevator, his arms crossing over his chest.Â
The movement makes his shirt stretch tighter if anything, the fabric clinging to his broad forearms stubbornly, his watch glinting softly in the lighting. Your head tilts, eyes narrowing with irritation when you register his insult.Â
âNo one asked you to babysit,â you say, shaking your head. âI have a gun,â you take it out of the holster attached to your hip, pointing it at him, âand Iâm smart. Iâll have this case wrapped up in a day or two, so stay the fuck outta my way.â
A smile pulls at his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he lifts his hands in mock-surrender. The amusement in his eyes makes him look a little younger, your heart fluttering with delight for a moment before you tamp it down violently.Â
When the elevator comes to a stop, Leon takes your bag before you can protest, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly. You step after him, brows raising with begrudging respect when you see his car. Big-shot DSO agent, your mind supplies as he puts your bag into the backseat, gesturing for you to get in. You sigh heavily, opening your mouth to argue but Leonâs already disappeared inside his car, the engine rumbling to life. Muttering a curse under your breath, you get in his car, pulling the door shut firmly.Â
â
âWhat do you mean thereâs only one room available?â
âWhatâs there to understand?â Leon asks, dangling the singular key in front of your face. âRooms are all booked out. Theyâre celebrating some special harvest festival according to the receptionist.â
âHarvest festival?â you echo, peering up at him. âYou gotta be fucking kidding me. Thatâs like the perfect cover for our unsub.â
âI would help,â he murmurs, nudging your shoulder gently to get you to step aside, âbut you wanted me to, what was it?â you roll your eyes when he snaps his fingers, pretending to think. âAh yes, stay the fuck outta your way.â
You snatch the key hanging from Leonâs finger, ignoring his aggrieved sigh as you push past him and stomp back down the stairs to the reception, ready to demand another room. All the receptionist does is give you an apologetic smile and offer you a discount. You swallow your pride as you trudge back up the stairs, doing your best to avoid Leonâs eyes when you find him leaning beside the roomâs door, his brows raising amusedly.
âI donât want to hear it,â you mutter, slotting the key into the lock.
Leon shrugs non-committally. âI wasnât going to say anything.â
The door is heavy as you push it open, Leonâs hand moving to keep it open for you as you step inside. You fumble in the darkness for the light switch at the same time Leon does, his strong, calloused fingers brushing over yours. Itâs enough to have an unwanted shiver running down your spine, warmth blooming in your chest and a flush settling high on your cheeks despite your stubborn annoyance with him.Â
âFuck me.â
You follow his gaze when he swears, taking in the lit room. Thereâs a shitty couch in one corner, a tiny area with a coffee machine and table, and⊠a bed.Â
âOkay,â you say slowly, staring at the one, pitiful bed you had been afforded. âGreat! So I think you should go and chew out the receptionist.â
âIâm not doing that,â Leon scoffs, bending down to take off his boots, his gun clattering against the table as he sets it down. âI can take the couch.â
You look back at the couch, brows furrowing. âThatâs really nice of you and all, Leon,â you begin, stepping further inside the small room, âbut I donât think youâre exactly going to fit.â
âYou care about me or something?â he drawls, looking over at you with a smile as he opens his duffle bag to pull out a towel and a set of clothes.Â
âGet over yourself. Iâm just worried about yourâŠâ you gesture towards him vaguely, âpotentially geriatric bones.â
Leon chokes on a laugh, his brows shooting up. âGeriatric? Iâm 49. My bones are in perfect working order.â
âRight, nevermind. You did break my chair.â
âI did you a favor,â he retorts, slinging the towel around the back of his neck. âIt was a hunk of junk.â
âIt was in perfect working condition!â you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest.
âDo you always defend inanimate objects with such passion?â Leon muses, stepping closer until heâs only a few inches away, head cocking to the side.
âWhen theyâre close to my heart, yes.â
âA chair is close to your heart?â
You decide to double down. âYes, Leon.â
âHuh,â he nods slowly, clicking his tongue. âYou got attachment issues?â
âDid my file not tell you that?â you smile up at him snarkily.
Leon grins, shaking his head. âIâm afraid I skipped over your psych eval.â
He turns, disappearing into the bathroom. You glare at the door and huff out a sigh, removing your shoes before grabbing the case file and flopping down on the bed tiredly. You flick through the pages absentmindedly, settling on the symbols carved onto the door. You hadnât seen anything remotely like it before and the database search youâd done earlier in the car had come up empty.Â
âFuck,â you mutter under your breath, glancing towards the bathroom.
Youâd exhausted all your options save for one. A reluctant groan leaves you as you stand, approaching the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe.Â
âHey, Leon?â you call out when you hear the spray of water come to a stop. âI⊠might have been a little difficult earlier,â your voice sounds strained, âbut if you could maybe take another look at the file, then I would⊠you know, probably appreciate it or whatever.â You swallow, face twisting with discomfort. âPlease?â
Leon laughs, the rich, deep sound seeping through the crevices. âDonât hurt yourself,â he says, sounding entirely too entertained by your attempt to ask him for help. âIâll take a look for you.â
You frown at the door, jolting when it swings open suddenly. A few wisps of steam escape, and you blink owlishly, finding yourself face-to-face with his bare chest. Itâs hard to keep your gaze from wandering over his exposed skin, a light dusting of hair covering his chest coupled with a few scars. A strange, gurgling noise escapes you when he shifts back to grab his towel, his broad, muscled back now visible to you. You sway, moving to grip the doorframe, knees feeling weak.Â
âYou okay?â Leon murmurs, glancing over at you as he ruffles his damp hair, brows furrowing.
âYes!â
Your voice is shrill, pitching up awkwardly until you clear your throat and give him an equally awkward smile.Â
âPerfectly fine,â you clarify, this time sounding breathless as you try and fail to not look down, inhaling sharply when you see his defined abdomen and the dark, coarse hair below his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.
âItâs just that you lookâŠâ you trail off, fingers itching to reach out and squeeze and touch. Hot. Attractive. Fuckable. Really fucking fuckable for a 49-year-old man. âLike shit,â you settle on, the words tumbling out of you in a strained manner as you force yourself to meet his eyes. âYouâ you look like shit, Leon.â You pat his shoulder jerkily. âUnfortunately.â
âRight, sure,â he says, his head tilting as he stares down at you, unconvinced. âYou really know how to flatter a man.â
âIâm charming like that,â you say, hands clasping behind your back.Â
Leon hums, and you stare back up at him, gaze flitting away for one moment to get a glimpse of his left hand. No ring. Perfect. You pinch yourself as soon as the thought comes.
âYou gonna let me out?â
âWhat?â
When Leon gestures towards you, you realize youâre still standing in front of him, blocking the way out. You move to the side sheepishly, pushing the case file into his chest quickly before locking yourself in the bathroom.
You let out an embarrassed groan once youâre in the shower, burying your face into your hands. What the fuck was wrong with you? There was no way that all it took was some dorky, attractive, older man to have you feeling out of sorts. A dull ache flares between your thighs at the thought of Leon, fingers sneaking past your folds to rub at your traitorously swollen clit. It doesnât take much, just the image of his body pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you, mouth pressed against your ear while he gruntsâ
You cum with a muffled whine. Scrubbing the rest of your mortification off of your skin with soap, you dry off, slipping into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie. You pad out of the bathroom to find Leon sitting at the table â thankfully with a shirt on â a few containers of food littered across its surface while heâs hunched over his laptop.
âHey,â he greets when he sees you, gaze travelling over you briefly before turning his laptop towards you. âI had a look. Your guy might be part of a cult,â Leon brings up another image, showing it to you, âtheyâre not the exact same, but similar enough. Might be worth looking into.â
âCult? Thatâs fun,â you murmur, dropping into the chair beside him, watching as he runs his hair through his hair. âThank you for taking a look, and the food.â
His brows raise. âThose might be the most sincere words to come out of you today.â
âShut up,â you say, although a small smile pulls at your lips.
Dinner is quick as you both make a plan for tomorrow â visit the local PD, check out the crime scene and investigate a few related areas of interest. Leon settles down on the couch soon after, adjusting his pillow a few times before grunting as he tries to get comfortable. You were right, he doesnât fit. He looks so awfully crammed, knees bent and back hunched at an awkward angle that even you feel bad about it.
âLeon,â you say exasperatedly, âwe can both fit on the bed. That canât be good for your back.â
âThis is fine,â he replies stubbornly, shifting onto his back uncomfortably, arm hanging off the edge. âIâve slept in worse places.â
âI canât deal with you complaining about your back tomorrow,â you say, gesturing towards the bed. You lay down, squirming to the side to make space. âSee? You can have the other side.â
âYou sure your boyfriend wonât mind?â
âWhat?â you ask confusedly, sitting up on your elbows. âI donât have a boyfriend.â
Leon grunts as he gets to his feet, dropping down onto the bed without further protests. Itâs a tight fit, but you both manage, a sliver of space left between your bodies. You stare up at the ceiling, lips pursing, feeling antsy.Â
âDid youâŠâ you glance over at him, feeling entirely too bold for your own good, âdid you ask because you were interested?â
He stares back, brows raising. âInterested in what?â
âIn what?â you repeat irritably, âare you seriously playing dumb?â
Leon smiles back at you, shrugging lazily. âI have no idea what youâre talking about. Maybe if you clarified what it was you wanted from meââ
âI donât want anything from you!â you sputter, flushing hot. The bed creaks as you flop onto your side, facing away from him. âYouâre old and weird and infuriating andââ
âI feel like youâre avoiding my better qualities.â
âFuck you.â
âYeah, I know you want to, baby.â
Itâs a miracle your neck doesnât snap with how fast you turn to look at him.Â
âMay I remind you that this,â you gesture between your bodies wildly, âis a professional relationship?â
âYeah?â Leon murmurs, raising his brows, âis that why you got off in the shower? Rubbed one out to make yourself feel better âbout liking me?â He looks unfazed when your jaw slackens, tapping the wall behind his head. âThin walls.â
âThat is none of your business.â You lean closer, eyes narrowing in an attempt to hide your growing embarrassment. âHR is going to have a fucking field day with you.â
You flop back onto your side, trying to put some distance between you, but thereâs such a little space on the bed that you end up half-dangling over the edge. Leon doesnât say anything, the silence between you thick and stretching on uncomfortably until you sit up, turning to face him.
He stares back at you, the bed creaking softly as he shifts, folding an arm under his head. His shirt stretches tight, thick bicep flexed and the sight is enough to make you lose your last nerve.Â
Your hand cups his jaw, head dipping to press a kiss to his lips. Itâs meant to be quick, fleeting, to get whatever the fuck you have bottled up inside of you. Leon doesnât seem to agree as he returns your kiss roughly, stubble scratching against your skin, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, blocking your escape.
âWhereâre you going?â he murmurs, lips brushing over yours.
âThisââ you whine softly when he kisses the underside of your jaw, fingers tightening into his shirt. âThis is a bad idea.â
âI happen to be full of those.â
âYouâre so fucking corny,â you groan, mouth dropping open as he trails kisses along your jaw lazily.
His lips are soft, calloused fingers massaging your scalp whilst an arm slides around your waist to pull you into his side. Another whine escapes you, head tipping towards him as his hand wanders under the hem of your hoodie, hot skin drifting over your waist and higher, his thumb grazing the curve of your breast.
âAnd youâre a fucking brat,â Leon says, watching your expressions closely as you whine and pant, pulling him towards you for another kiss, arms wrapping around his neck tightly.Â
He groans into your mouth, lips slotting over yours feverishly, his hand squeezing at the back of your neck. You squirm, throwing your leg over his hip, mewling when he licks into your mouth. Leonâs a good kisser, you think dazedly as his tongue strokes against yours in a filthy motion that has heat blistering in your stomach. His hand moves, circling around the front of your throat, squeezing gently.
You blink up at him hazily when he pulls away, lips slick with spit and pupils blown out. A smile spreads across your lips as you arch into him, hands sliding up over his strong forearm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.
âYou can squeeze harder,â you whisper, pressing his fingers into your skin harder, gasping when he grants your request, eyes rolling back as the pressure around your throat constricts.
âThatâs a little fucked up, baby,â Leon breathes out, watching as you writhe and suck in a ragged breath, his brows furrowing.Â
His brows raise when you glare at him, leaning over you to let his nose nudge against yours, kissing you gently before he tightens his grip a little more, drawing out a choked noise from you. Thereâs a heady fog settling over your mind the more he keeps you from barely breathing, something slow and syrupy creeping into the crevices of your brain as he presses a kiss to your cheek. Heâs letting go before long though, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips roughly.Â
âI can handle it,â you mumble hoarsely, head tipping as he massages your throat, huffing out a breath when he laughs against your cheek.
âYeah?â Leon rasps, his gaze darkening when you suck his thumb into your mouth, tongue swirling around the digit needily, head lifting as you feign bobbing your head. âWhat, you want me to put you in your place or something? Is that what you need?â
The idea is appealing. Youâve been strung tight for months, between work and the never-ending cases that were stacking up on your desk, you hadnât exactly gotten much time to yourself, to wind-down from the constant wear and tear brought about by the commitments demanded from you by the FBI.
âMaybe,â you say slowly, looking away. âI donât know. I guess I just want some⊠attention or whatever.â
âFrom me?â Leon says, his fingers sliding over your jaw to guide your gaze back to him. âYour way of asking for attention is acting bratty?â
âI donât know!â you sputter, pushing at his chest, feeling shy.Â
âOh, thatâs cute,â he coos, smiling down at you. âDonât worry, sweetheart, Iâll give you all the attention you fuckinâ need.â
You squeak when he moves suddenly, sitting up before heâs dragging you towards him, maneuvering you until you're bent over his lap. A whimper is punched out of you when he squeezes the fat of your ass through your shorts, lashes fluttering when each consecutive grope grows rougher until it stings lightly.
âGuess if youâre into choking, you should be into something like this,â Leon murmurs thoughtfully, squeezing your ass greedily. ââs been a while since Iâve done this with someone.â
âSince youâveâ ahâ groped someone?â you ask, hips wiggling when his touches disappear, ass lifting involuntarily to chase after his touch.
âKissed, touched,â he sucks in a sharp breath, âgroped⊠fucked.â
You glance at him over your shoulder, brows raising curiously. âCan you still get it up?â
A sharp yelp escapes you when his hand comes down on your ass, hard and punishing. It stings, the pain spreading out over your ass unforgivingly. You try and glare at him but his hand is coming down again, landing another heavy spank to your other ass cheek.Â
âIt was just a question!â you protest, squeaking when he spanks you again and again, eyes squeezing shut as the red-hot pain spreads over your ass, the ache in your pussy beginning to burrow deeper.
âI know,â Leon murmurs, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. âDo you want me to stop?â
You pout into the sheets, voice quiet. âNo.â
He huffs out a soft laugh, tapping your hip. You lift them, letting him tug your shorts down, mewling softly when he squeezes your ass, his fingers dipping past your panties, stretching them before letting them snap back against your skin.
âCute panties,â he says, his hand rubbing over your stinging ass, fingers sneaking between your thighs, brushing over the drenched, ruined fabric. âToo bad youâve made them all messy, baby. So fucking wet for me. You like my hand on your ass?â
âYes,â you grumble, glaring at the wall. âStop asking stupid questions, you jerk.â
You jolt when he spanks you, letting out an agitated breath when his hand palms over ass before coming down again in several repeated motions. A whimper escapes you when pleasure bleeds through your body, teeth sinking into your lower lip when the pace of Leonâs slaps quicken. It hurts but feels so good all the same, your thighs trying to squeeze together with how uncomfortably wet your pussy is becoming.
âDonâtâ fuck! Donât stop,â you mewl, arching your back, tears prickling at your eyes. âLeonâ please ahââ
âPlease?â Leon echoes, âlook at that, youâre back to being polite. Good fuckinâ girl.â
You whine in agreement, nodding dazedly as you look back at him, unfocused eyes finding his lopsided smile, heart fluttering in your chest. You reach back for him, hand fighting his shirt, lips parting, eyes slipping shut when he leans towards you, head dropping to kiss you deeply, his fingers squeezing at your ass gently.
âYou gonna stop being a brat? Hm? You wanna be my good girl, baby?â Leon rasps against your lips, stealing another soft kiss, his hands still palming at the blistering flesh of your ass, squeezing every now and again to force a pitiful whine out of you. He clicks his tongue when you slur, nose nudging against yours gently. âI asked you a question, sweetheart. Use your words for me.â
âYes,â you manage out, pushing your ass back into his greedy, awaiting palm, a few stray tears dripping down your cheeks. ââm gonna beâ nghhâ âm gonna be your good girl, Leon.â
âYeah?â he breathes out, voice sounding rough as his thumb strokes over your cheek, wiping away the tears. âMy sweet, pretty girl.â
âItâ it hurts,â you babble, jerking in his lap when he rains an unsuspecting slap down onto your ass, teary eyes rolling back when his fingers slip between your thighs suddenly, rubbing at your swollen, aching clit through the dampened fabric of your panties. âLeonâ ah fuck!â
âI know it does,â he soothes, pressing harder against your clit until your legs kick up, âbut you asked for this, baby. Remember? You came up to me all pretty and said you wanted attention.â
âStop being mean,â you hiccup, leaning into his palm when he offers it to you, nuzzling into the warm, rough skin.
âMean?â Leon whispers, ââm taking care of you, sweetheart.â He hums as he wipes away the saliva beading at the corner of your mouth, spreading it over your lips before his thumb presses down more firmly, a grunt of satisfaction leaving him when your lips part obediently. âThere you go,â he breathes out, âsuck on my thumb while I play with this needy, little pussy, baby.â
You whine, fingers clinging to his wrist as you suck lazily, tongue swirling around his thumb. His fingers rub against your wet panties, drawing out a soft mewl from you as he pets your clothed pussy.
âYou can take them off,â you mumble around his thumb, biting gently before sucking again, happy to have your mouth occupied. âWant you to touch me.â
âI kinda like âem on,â Leon murmurs, his fingers grabbing at your thighs before they move, slipping past the waistband. âBesides, I can touch you like this.â
Your eyes flutter shut when his fingers glide through your sticky, puffy folds, breath hitching while Leon groans when he feels your wet pussy. His fingers are thicker than yours, slipping over the soft skin before the calloused pads find your clit. Your thighs twitch, toes curling when he starts to rub your clit using slow, measured circles.
âIs this how you do it?â he asks, leaning down to kiss your cheek. âDid you play with your clit til you came in the shower?â
âMhm,â you nod, peering up at him, lashes fluttering. You lap at his thumb, tongue flicking against the tip playfully, letting him watch.Â
âFuck,â Leon rumbles, his thumb brushing over your bottom teeth before rubbing against your tongue. âSo fuckinâ gorgeous, sweetheart. Look at you.â
You smile, lips wrapping back around his thumb soon after, eyes rolling back when his fingers leave your clit to play with your fluttering hole. A long whine leaves you when he circles your hole teasingly, the tip of a finger pressing in briefly before he draws them back out to rub at your clit.
âPut âem in,â you mewl, hips beginning to roll against his hand, one of your hands squirming underneath you to try and move his wrist. âLeon,â you grumble, pulling his thumb out of your mouth when he tries to press against your tongue again. âPut âem in.â
âWhat happened to being polite?â he muses, dipping his finger in again and then pulling it out.Â
âIf you put âem in, Iâll be polite,â you reply, blinking up at him sweetly, a smug smile on your face.
Leon laughs, watching as your mouth drops open when he finally inches one finger inside of your clenching pussy, beginning to slowly fuck it in and out of you.
âGo on then,â he coaxes, âbeg all pretty for me, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.â
âPâ nghhâ please fuck me with your fingers,â you whimper, fingers moving to rub at your throbbing clit. âPlease, Leon? Wantâ fuckâ want another finger.â
He doesnât make you beg any further, sinking another finger into you. You shove your face into the sheets, hips wiggling back to meet the thrust of his fingers, your fingers quickening their pace against your clit.Â
âTaking me so good,â Leon murmurs, using his other hand to spread you open. You flush, feeling entirely too exposed as he stares down at your pussy stretching around his fingers. âPretty fuckinâ pussy just sucking my fingers in.â
Your walls flutter around his fingers at that, hand reaching out for him blindly, fingers managing to curl into his shirt. You yank him down, mumbling something incoherent around his lips before dragging him down further, lips pressing against his. You moan into his mouth when he starts thrusting his fingers in and out of you harder, curling them just right.Â
âLeon,â you pant against his mouth, biting his lower lip before tugging it. Leon groans, his fingers scissoring before you moan again, lapping at his lips. His eyes roll back when your lips find his neck, head tipping to bare more of it to you until you manage to move, crawling up onto his lap, his fingers slipping out of you momentarily.
His back hits the bed when you push at his chest, his fingers finding your pussy again, thumb rubbing at your clit while his fingers sink back inside. You shove your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in with a mewl, pawing at his firm chest as you let your hips drop, fucking yourself on his fingers.
âYou gonna do that on my cock?â Leon moans, his fingers tangling in your hair when you kiss his neck feverishly, teeth scraping against his throat, the action enough to draw a hoarse growl from him. âGonna ride my cock like youâre riding my fingers, gorgeous?â
âYeah,â you murmur against his neck, latching onto his skin and sucking, all with the intent of leaving a mark of your own, like he had done on your ass. âWannaâ ahhhâ wanna ride your cock, Leon.â
âFuck,â he mutters, an arm clamping around your waist to hold you flush against him, his thumb pressing against your clit harder, the lewd noises of your pussy growing louder with every snap of his wrist. âYouâre gonna drive me fucking insane.â
You smile against his throat, kissing the underside of his jaw when his throat bobs uncertainly.
âWe havenât even fucked yet,â you whisper, fingers slipping into his hair, pulling at the strands to make him expose his neck further, drawing out a pretty whine from his lips. âThink you can handle me?â
Your smile fades when his fingers pull out of you suddenly, a sharp yelp leaving you when he grabs your hips and manhandles you onto your stomach, the fabric of your panties tearing loudly as he rips them off of you and pulls your ass into the air.Â
âThose were comfy!â you protest, glaring at him. âLeon?â you jolt when he slaps your ass hard, pulling your asscheeks apart. âLeon, waitâ ah fuck!â
You squeal when he buries his face between your thighs, lurching forward unsteadily on your knees, hands grabbing out for the pillows. Heâs ruthless, tongue gliding through your warm folds, drinking down your slick with a rough growl, his hands squeezing at your hips, tugging you back onto his mouth when you try and squirm away. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw isnât helping, scratching against your skin deliciously as he nips and spits onto your cunt.
âWhere the fuck do you think youâre going?â he snaps lowly, biting punishingly into your thigh when you try kicking at his chest. âHuh?â
âI didnâtââ your leg jerks when Leon bites the back of your thigh, fingers curling into the pillows tightly when he bites the fat of your ass soon after, tongue laving over the bite.
âYou didnât what?â Leon asks, thumb finding your swollen bud, his tongue drifting over the inner crease of your thigh, barely shy of your aching pussy. âYou didnât mean it, is that it, baby?â he drawls, wet fingers rubbing over your pussy.Â
âYes!â you choke out, hand slapping against the pillow when he sucks your clit into his mouth lazily, his nose pressing into your pussy, rough hands massaging your ass. âIâ nghhhhâ I didnât mean it, Leon.â
âOh, I think you did,â he sighs heavily, feigning disappointment. He clicks his tongue condescendingly. âI thought you were being my sweet girl, but turns out youâve just got one hell of a mean streak. Just canât help being a bit bratty, can you, pretty baby?â
âIâm not a brat,â you wail, shoving your face into the pillows the same time he presses his face into your pussy.
You donât think anyoneâs touched you like this before, let alone used their mouth like this. Leonâs strong, his hands clamping down onto you to keep you in place as he flicks his tongue over your clit, teeth scraping over the sensitive bud. You drool messily, whimpering and whining as he laps at your cunt, his tongue prodding against your hole.
âOh fuck,â you whisper, glancing behind you, eyes wide to find Leon looking at you hungrily, his gaze dark and feral. You swallow nervously, thighs twitching when he kisses the curve of your ass. âLeon, Leonâ oh fuck!â
A squeal escapes you when he presses his tongue into your clenching cunt, eyes squeezing shut so tightly that you feel dizzy, hips pressing back needily to meet the movements of his tongue. He fucks it into you, head tilting as he holds you against his mouth, a hand moving under your hoodie to stroke over the length of your back.Â
You arch, mewling, hips swaying dazedly as he caresses your pussy with his tongue. A soft, ragged moan leaves you when his mouth moves, returning to your clit, toes curling when he presses his fingers back into you.
âYou sound so pretty falling apart on my tongue,â Leon murmurs, rubbing his tongue over your clit with a groan, his fingers crooking inside of you. âYou gonna cum, baby? Pretty pussyâs clenching around my fingers.â
âNghhhââ you slur into the pillows, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, your lids drooping shut when his fingers press against that spot inside of you, his fingers rubbing over it with just the right amount of pressure.Â
His stubble brushes against the backs of your thighs, lips soft as he trails hot kisses all over your skin. Your hips jerk when he fucks his fingers into you harder and faster, the pressure in your lower stomach growing greater. When his mouth latches back onto you, you moan loudly, knees beginning to buckle.
âFuck! âm gonna cumâ âm gonna fucking cum, Leon,â you whine, hugging the pillow to your chest, a sharp breath of air leaving you.
âCum then, sweetheart,â he whispers, âbe a good girl and cum for me.â
You cry out when he sucks harder on your clit, his face pressing harder into you, nose buried into your pussy. Leon groans loudly, the vibration shooting up through you, making your pussy clench around his fingers tightly. Your body trembles, knees giving out finally when his tongue flicks at your clit, another moan tearing its way out of your throat as you cum.
âThatâs it,â Leon snarls, managing to hold you up despite your arms feeling rubber. âCum just like that. Good girl. Good fuckinâ girl.â
You whimper, still twitching as he laps at your cunt gently, tongue sweeping over your folds as he slurps down your slick, his thumb rubbing against your clit to draw out the final waves of your orgasm while his fingers slow their pace inside of you before pulling out completely.
Leonâs body is hot when he hovers above you, his hands brushing away the sweaty hair clinging to your skin, head dipping to press soft kisses to your cheek, his stubble oddly soothing as it rubs along your skin.
âYou okay?â he asks softly, hands drifting down over your back, squeezing your waist soothingly, hands petting at your still reddened and slightly bruised ass. âI guess Iâve been a little pent up.â
âA little?â you murmur, fingers sliding into his hair when he kisses your neck. âI think youâre more than a little pent up, Leon.â
He grunts in agreement, dropping another kiss to your neck before laying down on his back, letting out a heavy breath.Â
âI havenât exactly had time to relax,â he sighs, âtoo many fucking responsibilities ever since Raccoon City.â
You hum, sitting up, arms still a little wobbly. Leon watches you, his eyes tracking your every movement. You smile at him, eyes twinkling, fingers hooking into the hem of your hoodie before you pull it up over your head, tossing it to the side. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees your breasts, hand reaching out before he pauses mid-reach. You take his hand, pulling it toward your breast, smile growing wider when he squeezes.
âAre my tits helping you relax?â you ask innocently, hands landing on his chest as you swing a leg over his hip, straddling him.
âGuess so,â Leon says, his other hand joining the fray, squeezing your untouched breast. âPretty fuckinâ tits, sweetheart.â
Your eyes flutter shut as you let him play with your tits, distracted momentarily by the way his fingers move â pinching and tugging, thumb sweeping over your hardened nipples. Itâs when you shift on his lap that you become aware of how hard his cock is, hips rolling against the clothed length.
âTo answer your question,â he murmurs, tracing the curve of your breast, gently cupping one in his hand, thumb stroking over the soft flesh. âI can, in fact, still get it up.â
You snort, unable to stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. Leon grins back, his head tilting as he peers up at you, hands sliding down over your sides to grab your waist.
âI didnât doubt you for a second,â you breathe out, voice laced with amusement, your hands beginning to pull at his shirt. He helps you, lifting his arms so that youâre able to pull it up over his head easily. âYou do look pretty good for a 49-year-old.â
You lean forward, kissing him gently before you trail kisses down his neck and over his chest, lips brushing over his thick pecs. Leon sighs, his eyes slipping shut, a hand cupping the back of your head as you continue to lay his skin with kisses. You kiss his scars tentatively, squirming lower to kiss his abdomen, tongue darting out to trace the defined ridges of his abdomen.
âYou tryna make me cum?â Leon rasps, half-lidded eyes watching you as you bite at his side playfully.
âThat is a priority, yes,â you say, following the trail of coarse hair that lies under his navel and the thick bulge laying further down.
His hands in your hair tighten when you nuzzle into his sweatpants, nose brushing against the fabric. When you breathe in, you can smell him, all heady and musky and arousal is seeping into your bones once more, mouth sucking at his clothed cock.
âAs much fuckâ I would like that,â he grumbles, hips bucking when you mouth at him again, spit dampening his sweatpants, âIâll cum if you put your mouth on me, baby.â
âJust one suck,â you mumble stubbornly, pulling his sweatpants and boxers down.Â
Your eyes widen when his cock bobs heavily, struggling with its own weight. You swallow, blinking dazedly as you take in the length and the thickness and the heavy balls that sit underneath. The tip is flushed angrily, darkened and dripping with globs of pre-cum that donât seem to stop, his cock twitching when you lean towards it slowly.
âItâs big,â you whisper, glancing up at Leon before your eyes find his cock again, pussy beginning to throb as you imagine the stretch. âReally fucking big. Youâreâ youâre that hard for me?â
Leon grunts, his hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a quick pump. âYeah, just for you, sweet girl.â He pumps it again, holding his cock towards you. âYou said you wanted a taste, go âhead, pretty baby.â
You donât need any further invitation, licking your lips hungrily, tongue lolling out. You drag your tongue along the hot length of his cock, feeling the smooth skin and saltiness of his pre-cum. Leon groans, his hips bucking again, another glob of pre-cum dribbling out. You lean forward just in time, catching it on your tongue before your lips wrap around his thick cock.
âFuckâ fuck, baby,â Leon moans, twitching underneath you as you bob your head, beginning to suck. âYour mouthâ hahâ fuckkk.â
You peer up at him, eyes glittering as you let your tongue swirl around the head before you pull off, pressing a wet, sticky kiss to the tip of his cock.Â
âDonât do that,â he mutters hoarsely, shaking his head, âdonât fucking kiss my cock like youâre fucking in love with it.â
You do it again, brows raising when his cock twitches, looking over to find his hand clenched into the sheets, knuckles nearly white.Â
âI think you like it,â you tease, moving to wrap your hand around his cock, stroking it slowly. âAnd⊠I think your cock likes it too.â
âFuck me,â he growls, head tipping back when you take his cock back into your mouth, sucking and slurping lewdly. He groans and grunts through it, eyes peeling open to watch you swallow around his cock, your pupils blown wide with lust.
When his head lolls to the side, you take your chance, head dipping before he can stop you to suck one of his balls into your mouth. He tastes so dizzyingly nice, spit beginning to leak from the corners of your mouth. Leonâs cock kicks and you land one last kiss to the tip before heâs pulling you up towards him, muffling your whine with a messy kiss.
âWanna ride it,â you mumble against his lips, worming closer, breasts squishing up against his firm chest.
Leon doesnât answer, too busy tipping your head up by your chin to kiss you again, stealing your breath. You paw at his chest, fingers finally latching onto his thick biceps. Squeezing, you moan into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours, arms wrapping around his neck as he pulls back up onto his lap.Â
Your hips roll, bare pussy gliding along the length of his cock, the tip catching on your newly swollen clit, making you twitch. He refuses to let up with the kisses, groaning into your mouth when you pull at his hair, feverishly swallowing up every little noise that bleeds from your throat.
âYeah?â he breathes out finally, head tipping back for a moment as he catches his breath, calloused hands squeezing at your hips. âYou wanna bounce on it? Hm? This needy pussy of yours need a fat cock to keep it happy, baby?â
âMhm,â you nod, biting your lip, arousal blistering over your skin, lust beginning to cloud your thoughts once more. You press closer, lips brushing against his ear as though telling him a secret. âIt needs your fat cock, Leon.â
âCâmere,â he mutters roughly, moving you up onto your knees, hand grasping the base of his cock to hold it steady for you. âSink down on it, sweetheart.â
You shift, lowering yourself slowly, letting out a muffled gasp when you start to take his cock, the head of it already beginning to stretch out your pussy as it bullies its way past your entrance.
ââs just so fucking thick,â you moan softly, peering up at him.
Leon hums, his thumb stroking over your lower lip while his other hand strokes over your hip soothingly.
âYou got it, baby,â he smiles, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth. âYou took my fingers and my mouth so fucking good. Only got a few inches left, yeah?â
Your brows furrow as you bite your lip harder, gasping when you finally take all of him, pussy fluttering around his cock wildly in an attempt to adjust to his sheer size. You feel so full, so much so that you think you can feel him in your stomach.
âGood fuckinâ girl,â Leon whispers, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the headboard of the bed. âTake what you need from me, sweetheart. âs all yours.â
âLeon,â you mewl, dragging out the syllables of his name, whimpering against his mouth when he kisses your cheek. âI⊠I canât,â you say, flushing hot, âitâs too big, I donâtââ
âGood girls donât give up,â he breathes out, hands moving to squeeze at your waist, ânot to mention you were so headstrong earlier. Whereâs that attitude now, baby?â
âYou fucked it outta me,â you retort poutily, shoving your face into the crook of his neck.Â
âAnd to think you said I was old and weirdâ shit, babyââ
You relish in the loud, guttural groan he lets out when the walls of your pussy squeeze around him. Nuzzling closer, you kiss the spot under his ear before your hips move, rocking and rolling in a lazy rhythm as you get used to his size.Â
âIâm not giving up,â you murmur, glancing up at him as he watches you, head tipping back when his hand moves up over your breasts, slipping between them to wrap around your throat.Â
âAtta girl.â
Leon squeezes and you moan, grabbing his wrist as your knees dig into the bedding, hips beginning to rise and fall. He pulls you into a sloppy kiss, growling into your mouth, panting as his tongue slips over yours messily, his thumb prying your mouth open. You pant, tongue lolling out as you ride his cock, the bed creaking from your motions as you fuck yourself on his cock needily.
âFuckinâ gorgeous,â Leon rasps, watching you with dark eyes, his hair messy and hanging over one side of his face. âSo fuckinâ gorgeous, sweetheart.â
You smile at him dopily, breath slowing when his hand tightens, starting to cut off your intake of oxygen. His nose nudges against yours, breath hot as he kisses you, lips working against yours eagerly until his grip loosens, letting you suck in a breath.
âYou trust me that much?â Leon asks, smiling back at you with a feral look in his eyes when your hand wraps around his throat. âYou think thatâs a good idea, sweetheart? You wanna choke me out while you ride my cock?â
âOh, you can take it,â you whisper, tightening your grip. Your movements donât slow, thighs smacking against his as you bounce on his lap, your hand landing on his shoulder for leverage as you drop yourself down on his cock harder, setting a firmer rhythm. âHeard youâ ahhâ kicked ass back at Rhodes Hill.â
He grins, eyes glinting, a ragged noise leaving him when you pant into his mouth, licking at his lips.Â
âYeah, I still hahâ got it,â Leon muses, hands squeezing at your ass.Â
Your brows furrow when his grip tightens, a moan punched out of you when he grips your hips starting to lift you, using you as he fucks you on his cock.Â
âThatâs it,â he drawls, controlling the rhythm and you, his forehead pressing against yours as he jerks you up and down his thick, throbbing cock. âTake my fat fuckinâ cock, baby. Cute, little pussyâs just swallowing me up.â
You whimper, hand sliding to cup the nape of his neck, your bodies moving together as his cock carves its way through your pussy, nestling against that spot before it glides out and drives back in. His chest is pressed against yours, firm muscle pressed against your soft breasts, the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing along your clit.Â
âHarder,â you whisper, eyes finding his, hips starting to sway back to meet his thrusts when he plants his feet into the bed, knees bending as he fucks his cock up into you. âWant itâ nghhâ harder, Leon.â
âThat might strain my joints, baby,â he says softly, smiling up at him when you huff out an annoyed breath. âWhat? You were concerned about my bones.â
âFuck your bones,â you groan, pushing at his chest, squirming off of his lap onto your hands and knees, ass swaying up into the air. You look back at him over your shoulder, hand worming between your thighs to spread yourself open for him, wet, dripping pussy all on display for him. ââm so empty,â you whisper, voice lilting. âFill me up?â You bat your lashes, âplease?â
Leon mutters a low curse, his chest heaving as he rises up onto his knees, using your ankle to pull you toward him, his hand stroking his cock with uneven motions, knuckles tightening when he sees the slick webbing between your puffy folds and clinging to your thighs.
Youâre half-expecting some witty remark, but all Leon does is brush a rough kiss to your shoulder, grunting into your ear before heâs notching the head of his cock against your aching pussy and driving his cock into you.
âTooâ fuck! Too fast!â you squeal when he starts thrusting hard and fast, the bed beginning to rock with every snap of his hips.
âBut you said you were empty,â Leon rumbles into your ear, ââm just filling up this needy, pretty fucking cunt for you, sweetheart. So stop squirming,â his hand clamps down on your hips, âand fucking take it.â
You wail into the room, thrashing under him when his hips smack into your ass, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the lewd noises echoing through the small space. He draws moan after moan out of you, his cock pounding into your pussy unforgivingly. You think you can feel it in your throat, his fat cock sliding through your gripping, fluttering walls.Â
Leonâs body is draping over your back, his mouth settling right next to your ear as he grunts and groans. Your toes curl, back arching when he pushes down on the small of your back, his breathing ragged as he grinds his impossibly thick cock into you.
âFuck,â you mewl, spying his flexed bicep near your head, drool pooling into your mouth. Your head tilts as the muscle bulges, all inhibitions lost when you follow the line of his arm to stare hazily at his veiny forearm. You lean towards his bicep, teeth sinking into the thick muscle with a moan.
Leonâs breath hitches, his hips stuttering for a moment when he realizes youâve bit him before his thrusts start up again, his hot, heavy cock pounding back into your needy pussy. You lick his bicep, tongue laving over his warm skin, eyes rolling back when his arm moves, wrapping around your throat, his bicep pressed up against the side of your neck.
âYou keepâ fuckâ staring at my arms, sweetheart,â Leon rasps, grinning against your cheek when you let out a choked moan, his breath cut off by a low moan of his own. âIs this what you need? A strong arm wrapped around your throat, fat cock pounding into your needy cunt and sweet, little kisses?â He punctuates his question by kissing your temple.
âIâ nghhhâ need you,â you whine, feeling dazed as he drops his weight onto you a little more, enough so that you can feel every inch of him against your back.Â
You canât really do anything but take it, his skin slapping against yours and breath rough in your ear. When his fingers move, finding your clit to rub the swollen bud, you whimper, clutching the sheets, nails raking against the fabric as the string of pleasure draws tighter.
ââm gonna cum,â you say hoarsely, cunt clenching around his cock desperately. âLeonâ Leon, Leon, Leon!â
ââm right here, baby,â Leon whispers, kissing your cheek, âtaking my cock so well. Doing soâ fuckâ good for me, yeah? Cum whenever you want, sweet girl, Iâve got you.â
Your body jerks when his fingers rub against your clit faster, a ragged scream erupting from you as you cum violently. Leon swears, his grip on you faltering, the arm on your throat drawing away as you twitch on his cock, grasping at the sheets, at the pillows until Leon offers you his hand.
Your fingers lace together with his and you squeeze tightly, gasping uncontrollably until his mouth finds yours, capturing your lips in a kiss. You whimper into his mouth, knees weak and thighs tired, your death-grip on his hand loosening when he soothes you with soft kisses. Your pussy clenches and Leon groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward unevenly.
ââm gonna cum too, pretty baby,â he grunts, fingers pushing at your ass gently, hips beginning to pull away. âGreedy, little pussyâs clenching around me too tight, I canâtââ
âInside,â you mumble, letting your hips sway back tiredly, trying to swallow down the length of his cock. âCum inside.â
âThatâsâ shitttâ a bad idea, baby,â Leon groans, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder as his hips rock into you, pace stuttering.
You can feel his cock throb and twitch, a soft mewl escaping you. âYou said you were full of bad ideas.â
Leon lets out a startled laugh, his breath coming out in short, choppy bursts. âI didâ hahhhâ I did say that. Take my cum then, sweetheart, gonna flood this perfect fuckinâ cunt with cum.â
He grips your hips, thrusting forward with a hard drive of his cock. Leon swears under his breath, his hips jerking into your ass as he cums, cock kicking and throbbing as hot, thick cum floods your pussy.
You let out a contented noise when he moans into your ear, low and guttural, the sound making you feel warm. His softening cock slips out after a few moments and Leon pulls himself away from you, the bed protesting under the weight of you both. You curl up into his side, head dropping over his chest, eyes drooping when you feel the steady beat of his heart.
Leonâs hand settles on your head, stroking over your hair lazily as he pants, chest rising and falling.
âDo you feel relaxed?â you murmur, peering up at him with a sleepy smile.
âI feel fucked out,â Leon mutters, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek, rubbing at the spot of drool that had pooled at the corner of your mouth. âYou did a number on me, sweetheart.â
âI aim to please.â
He laughs, hauling you closer and you smile, kissing the underside of his jaw. âYou went above and beyond, I can tell you that much.â
You snort, arms wrapping around his neck. âAm I gonna get that in writing?â
âIâll think about it,â Leon murmurs, his fingers slipping under your chin to tip your head, lips pressing against yours. You hum into the kiss, fingers tangling in his soft hair, a quiet noise leaving you as he squeezes your ass.
When Leon pulls away, you chase after his lips, eyes fluttering shut when he returns your kiss just as eagerly, your thigh hooking over his hip, brows furrowing when you feel his cock against your thigh.
You look down, cheeks flushing when you find his spent cock beginning to harden, the fat length bobbing gently as it fills out.
âAlready?â you murmur, sighing softly when he leaves stubbly kisses along your jaw.
âWhat can I say?â Leon whispers, his hips bucking when your hand wraps around his hardening cock. âYou uh⊠bring out the best in me, I guess.â
You raise your brows, unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across your face. âYour best attribute is your cock? Thatâs a little disappointing.â
He grins, groaning when you kiss his pec.Â
âYou didnât seem to think it was disappointing when I fucked you with it.â
âIt is nice,â you acquiesce, head tipping back as he leans into you, trailing hot kisses down your neck, his hips beginning to rock lazily, meeting the strokes of your hand.
âI do have other nice, non-sexual attributes,â Leon says, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin gently. Thereâs a light flush settled on his cheeks and he clears his throat, sucking in a soft breath when you squeeze his cock. âMaybe youâd like to find out sometime?â
Your smile softens, affection beginning to creep in through the cracks of your ribs. Leaning forward, you kiss him gently.
êŁ â¶ êŁ .. â đđđđđ â : leon gives you the reassurance you need and solidifies what you shouldâve already known.
đđ§đ đđ„ đ§đšđđđŹ âïžàŸàœČ âź nsfw. minors do not interact. plus size!reader. fem!reader. body worship. mentions of body insecurities. swearing. praising. fingering. female orgasm. kissing. love bites. slight teasing. groping. petnames. clothes stay on. mirror sex. established relationship. 2.6k words
đ„đšđšđ€đąđ§đ đđšđ« đŠđšđ«đ .ᣠmasterlist : taglist : blog rules
all day leon's main focus had been on the new bundle of paperwork he had received, but as he entered the bedroom to see you standing in front of the full-length mirror, that immediately changed. there was a frown on your face, your brows pulled together in the middle as you stared at your own reflection.
you were still wearing your pyjama shorts and a t-shirt you had owned for the better half of a decade. the shirt was smaller now, rising just a little near the hem of your shorts, and the shorts themselves were tighter around the plush of your ass. there wasn't a whole lot being left to the imagination when it came to your form.
one hand was pressed just below your waist, gripping gently at the love handles that had become more prominent over time, while the other was situated on your hip. you were so lost in your thoughts and worries that you didn't even notice leon come in until he had already set down his papers on the end of the bed and was standing behind you.
"hey," he murmured, voice low and caring, replacing your hands with his own. "what're you seeing that i don't, hmm?"
his thumbs began to move in slow circles over your skin, grounding you in place. he leaned in slightly, pressing a kiss to your right shoulder before resting his chin in the crook of your neck.
you lean your head back against him, cradling yourself in his embrace as his arms moved to wrap around your waist, "you still like my body⊠right?"
leon's eyebrows furrow more than they already had been at your question, and with his heart in his throat, he says, "of course i do. i love every part of you. what's brought this on, baby?"
you lift your shoulders into a slow shrug, "i don't know⊠i just⊠i know i wasn't thin when we got together⊠but now i'm justâŠ" your words fade off, a deep sigh falling from you instead.
leon understood where this was going, and for a moment, he wanted nothing more than to throw you down on the bed and to show you just how much he loved your body. but he knew that you needed more than just that right now.
he turned you gently in his arms so that you were facing him and slid his hands up your arms to cradle your face. his eyes - always tired but tender for you - locked onto yours with a deep intensity.
"you think i fell in love with just a body?" he urges softly, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "i didn't. i fell in love with you. i fell in love with the way you laugh when you're not supposed to, and the way you hum old songs when you're in a good mood. the way you poke your tongue out without realising whenever you're concentrating really hard."
his voice dropped lower, rough with certainty. "i fell in love with you for you⊠and this?" he ran a hand over your hip, firm and purposeful. "this is home to me now, no matter how much you change."
leon's words filled you with a warmth that no one but he ever could. the reassurance and promise in his eyes as he said every word, uttered every syllable, you knew he was speaking nothing but the truth.
his truth.
"you really mean that?" you ask, voice smaller than normal as your gaze fell to where your hands had reached for his shirt just above his belt. it had become a habit for you to mindlessly reach for him whenever you were doubting yourself.
"mean it?" leon echoed, a frown creasing his brow, once more. "baby, of course i do."
with one hand, he cupped your chin, lifting your gaze to meet his again, his thumb brushing along your lower lip. but he can see that you're still struggling a little to believe him. the way your chin dimpled and your lips slightly frowned.
so with an assured and gentle firmness, leon guides you to stand facing the mirror, your back flush against his front. his hands find purchase on your hips, holding you with undeniable love and care.
standing like this, the way your body contrasts against his, it's even more obvious now. he's all hard muscle and firm lines, and you⊠you're soft, curves and femininity.
"look at us," he whispers into your ear, voice rough with sincerity. "look at you."
his words, the rasp in his voice, send a shiver down your spine. you can feel every breath he takes against your back, the way his chest rises and falls, every subtle twitch of his muscles as his hands hold you close to him.
"look at how good you look, hmm?" he says against your neck, his grip on you tightening just a little. "how pretty you look against me. how soft you feel beneath my hands."
he shifts one hand from your hip, sliding it slowly up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your ribs underneath cotton and skin. every inch he touches tingles under his fingers.
his other hand joins in now, sweeping over the gentle roll at your waist before splaying wide across your lower belly like a silent claim being made.
your breath catches and your body tenses slightly in the reflection. leon feels it, but he doesn't stop. he can't stop. not until the doubt is gone, not until you understand just how much he worships you.
"you really think i wouldn't want all of this?" he murmurs into your neck, his lips brushing against your jaw. "you think i don't wake up every morning with my hands and mouth itching to touch you? i ache to feel you."
a shiver runs down your spine once more from the gruffness and honesty in his voice, making you press yourself a little more into him. he chuckles low and soft at that, feeling your reaction.
if there was anything leon knew how to do⊠it was how to rile you up.
he knew each and every button to press, and when to press it.
"seeing you like this⊠looking at yourselfâŠ" he paused again to gently nip at the shell of your ear. "it makes me want to show you even more just how much i love you⊠and your body."
you can't help but let yourself fall victim to the 'leon kennedy' charm once again. it's what got you in trouble in the first place.
your body was beginning to warm up, the heat rising to your cheeks and your heart gradually beating faster. you were like putty in his hands every time he so much as lowered his voice an octave or two into that slow seductive tone, and the way he was touching you now was starting to drive you insane.
leon hummed in satisfaction as he felt your body melt into him, his hands growing bolder as they slid down to your thighs. his touch was firm, and always deliberate, as he pulled you even closer. his lips returned to your neck, sucking and biting at every sensitive spot, knowing exactly how to make you squirm.
"leonâŠ" you quietly gasp his name, head rolling back against his shoulder fully now.
your lips parted as your breaths grew heavier, hands moving to find purchase on him as his lips roamed over your skin with tantalising precision.
a rumble of appreciation escapes his throat at the sound of your name on his lips, making him squeeze the flesh of your thigh in an almost possessive manner. he loved it when you said his name like that. he loved it when you moaned and gasped, begged, and screamed it. for him, it was music to his ears, and he was damn proud to be the cause of it.
"mhm⊠that's it," he growled, one hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, slow and teasing.
his fingers danced dangerously close to where you wanted them most, but he held back, as his other hand crept up your stomach now, brushing softly beneath the curve of your breast.
you were practically begging for his touch now. your hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, wanting more.
"leon⊠pleaseâŠ" you gasped, your voice filled with a desperate plead for more than just the teasing he was giving you.
he hummed again with satisfaction, the smirk on his face evident as he felt you trembling against him. god, he loved the sight of you like this.
"shh⊠i've got you," he said in a low, soothing voice. i'm going to take care of you, baby. but firstâŠ" he pauses to turn your head to face the mirror once more, his chin resting on your shoulder. "i want you to watch yourself. can you do that for me?"
your vision was slightly blurred, your focus torn between the feeling of his hands on you and the reflection in the mirror. your skin was warm, and your chest was rising and falling with every breath. but you manage to nod.
"good girl," he rumbled at the agreement, the praise sending a shiver through you. his own breathing was starting to match your rhythm now, deep and slightly shaky as he continued to trail his lips along your skin.
one hand was still on your thigh, massaging gently, while the other slipped to the thin material of your shorts. his fingertips slowly pushed under the hem, just to brush softly against the elastic of your panties. the contact made you shiver, a soft gasp escaping your lips.
his eyes flicked back up to meet yours in the mirror, a low chuckle escaping his throat. you were already so responsive, so sensitive to his touch. it only made him want to see more.
"keep watching, sweetheart," he whispered against your neck with a gruff edge to his voice, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued to tease you. his fingers brushed lightly against the front of your underwear now, barely a touch, but it had you biting back a moan. "don't take your eyes off yourself."
"o-okayâŠ" you pant, the word broken and shaky by how undone he already had you, and he hadn't even really begun.
his fingers curled gently against the fabric of your panties, slow and deliberate, tracing the curve of your hip before sliding through the damp heat. a groan rumbled in his chest as he felt how ready you were for him.
"look at that," he said, voice thick with desire. "you're already so wet⊠and all i did was touch you."
he circled his thumb over where your clit is with agonizing slowness, watching your reaction in the mirror.
you gasp at the contact, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you as he teased you with his touch. you could feel his gaze burning into you, watching your every little reaction with a mix of satisfaction and hunger.
"âŠ.leonâŠ" you moan, hands clenching into fists as you try to keep your gaze on yourself. your own eyes are darkened with the same desire, your breath coming in a little faster, mirroring the speed of your heart beat.
"what is it, baby?" leon asks, his voice low and sultry, his words almost a growl against your ear. his thumb continues to tease you, rubbing circles with the perfect amount of pressure. he's enjoying this. how easily undone you are by his touch alone.
"moreâŠ.more⊠pleaseâŠ" you plead, hands gripping impossibly tighter, your knuckles tensed with desperation. "i need⊠more."
"more?" he rumbled, dragging the word out. "you want more of this?"
his fingers finally slip beneath the edge of your panties, spreading you open with slow intent. one finger slides through your folds then two push in deep without warning.
you cry out.
"look," he commands gently but firmly, his free hand tilting your chin back toward the mirror. "watch how pretty you are when you come apart for me."
he curls his fingers just right - the rough pad of his calloused fingers catching the sweet spot inside - and suddenly it's all too much. the heat in your cheeks, the tremble in your thighs⊠and leon behind you, owning every second of it.
"that's it," he comforts. "i've got you."
your knees grow even weaker, almost buckling beneath you as the pleasure of his touch suffuses through your entire body. his fingers - thick and long - curl perfectly inside your gummy walls, pushing you towards the edge.
"babyâŠ." you whimper, your voice breaking as your hips begin to roll instinctively against his hand, chasing the friction, the depth, him.
"shh," he soothes this time, though his own breath is ragged now and control fraying at the edges. "i know, baby. i know."
he adds a third finger with a slow stretch that makes you gasp and arch hard into him. his thumb finds your clit again, creating firm circles with the thrust of his hand, and every nerve in your body lights up.
your reflection shows it all. lips parted as silent moans fall from you, eyes glossy and unfocused, cheeks warm. even your fingers have torn free from the grip on fabric and are now clutching wildly at his forearm.
not pausing in his ministrations, leon leans forward, his lips finding the exposed curve of your shoulder once more. he kisses the soft skin, trailing up to your throat, until he reaches your ear.
"leon- i'm gonna-"
"that's it," he urges. "come for me, baby. let me feel you."
his thumb presses harder over your clit, giving it one final circle, and then it hits.
your walls clench around his fingers as pleasure rips through you in hot, pulsing waves. a choked cry escapes you as your knees finally give out.
but leon is ready.
he catches you easily with an arm snaking around your waist before pulling you fully against him. he doesn't stop moving, drawing out every last tremor until you're trembling in his arms.
"fffffuckâŠ.." you groan, finally taking a breath as the orgasm passes.
leon holds you close as you shudder and twitch against him, his lips finding that sensitive spot on your neck and murmurs words of praise and comfort into your skin. you can feel his chest rumble with each breath, the steady, solid beat of his heart grounding you as you slowly find yourself again.
after a few long breaths, he slips his fingers free of you, his hand coming up to turn your face towards the mirror using the back of his hand.
"look at you⊠so beautiful."
you blink back into focus to find yourself staring at your own reflection in the mirror. you look spent, exhausted in the best way possible, with a hazy glow in your eyes that only comes from being thoroughly cared for by the man behind you.
"beautiful." he repeats, then turns you in his arms, pulling you into his chest as his head rests on top of your head. "no more worrying about this body, okay? no more worrying about weight, curves or anything else."
when you don't answer he makes you look up at him, cupping your face,"promise me."
"âŠi promise," you eventually nod.
he presses a kiss to your forehead, holding it for a moment before pulling away, "good girl."
description: after a long day of work at the dso, you were streaming when a subscriber admits they embarrassed themselves in front of a crush. to make them feel better, you tell them about the time you embarrassed yourself in front of an older agent, who you just so happened to have a fat crush on.
fluff âż 2.3k words -> leon kennedy masterlist
You had been working at the DSO for about two years. It was pretty mundane until you were moved to the location where some of the best field agents and dispatchers clocked in for work.
Among them, 30 year veteran Agent Leon Kennedy.
You heard so many stories about the guy growing up. You couldnât believe he was the one to save the president's daughter by himself, let alone survive Raccoon city in â98.Â
Needless to say, it was sort of surreal seeing him stalk around the office your first day at work.
He was insanely good looking, but the years werenât kind to him. You could tell from the way his shoulders were slightly hunched over from carrying the weight of the world for so long, the silver strands paving their way into his otherwise dark hair, and the faint lines etching their way across his face.
But, man, was he delectable.
You couldnât help it! It wasnât just the way he looked, but the way he acted.
He was kind to everyone around him. His dry jokes were awful in the best way. He was smart and you could tell he went out of his way to make everyone comfortable, including you.Â
You actually felt a little out of place on your first day, but he made sure to introduce himself to you first and mention you to his other colleagues to save you the awkward introductions.Â
Sometimes when heâd stumble into headquarters fresh from a mission, youâd steal a few glances, partly in concern and partly because a hot older guy was groaning and panting around headquarters with blood all over him.
Leon always looked a little rough when he returned. His hair would be slightly disheveled, jacket gone for whatever reason, clothes creased and worn from travel.Â
Sometimes there were faint bruises under his eye or temple or dried blood that wasnât even his, splattered across his collar and arms.Â
Despite looking like a hot mess, he still carried himself with that conviction that made everyone move out of his way without even thinking about it.
Almost every single damn time you snuck a glance, heâd catch you red handed. Those sharp blue eyes would flick your way and heâd nod, or if he still had the energy, come over and talk to you.Â
You always looked away in record time, suddenly finding the report in front of you wildly interesting.
You internally screamed whenever heâd walk over to your desk, lean against it, and ask you how your day was like he didnât just come back from hell.
It took everything in you not to act like a horny teenager and stare at the veins in his forearms, the little hairs and the speckles of blood decorating them.
And you could never weather that beautiful stare of his.
Whyâd he have to look at people so intently when they spoke?
Damn blue eyed stare.
You needed to convince him to get brown contacts or something.
As exciting as the job was sometimes, you just wanted to go home, hop on your computer, and forget the world existed by playing whatever games you found interesting.
You started streaming about a year ago and had recently reached a following of about two hundred thousand.
It was insane, but you were glad you werenât popular enough to be blasted all over TikTok or Instagram.
You were mid stream when someone donated fifty gifted subs.The message attached admitted theyâd embarrassed themselves in front of their crush.
You thanked them of course, but chuckled at their admission.
You sighed, the memory of the other day resurfacing.
âI know how you feel, girl, trust me,â you said, giving the camera a knowing look.
Your chat instantly exploded with people egging you on.
And Leon surely wasnât on Twitch soâŠ
you spilled.
âIf it makes you feel any better, I embarrassed myself real bad in front of my crush at work the other day too.â
You bit the skin on your hand as the memory plagued you.
Then you shook your head with a nervous chuckle. âOh man, I donât even know if I should say thisâŠâ
Another gifted sub popped up.
girl spill the tea I wonât tell anyone I promise
âAlright but if you clip this youâre all banned. Well actually Iâm like ninety nine percent sure this guy isnât even on social media okay heâsâŠheâs older so I donât have to worry about him finding out.â
You rolled your eyes as new chats came in.
OLDER??
like how much older?
You scratched the back of your neck, âhe's like....50?â
FIVE ZERO?
beekeeping age
an older man you say???
Dilffff
Oh so heâs a dilf
You gave the webcam a flat look.
ââŠOkay yeah heâs kind of a dilf, â You faltered, âbut he doesnât have children okay, not that I know of.â
You shifted in your seat.
âThis guy is very well known within our company. And I donât knowâheâs just great. Heâs nice to everyone, heâs funny, and he cares about people.â
You huffed at the incoming words of encouragement, or words of delusion.
girl get him
SEDUCE HIM
Ooo a little age gap momentt
WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE
whats his name
âI donât know if I should describe him cause I wanna respect his privacy,â you said with a small laugh. âBut letâs just call him âthe dilf from workâ. Heâs so out of my league itâs ridiculous.â
You leaned closer to the mic.
âSo the other day I was in the break room grabbing a snack before my shift. I was half asleep, okay? Like barely functioning and he walks in.â
You buried your face in your hands for a second before continuing.
âAnd I panic because I didnât expect him to be there so early. So I try to move out of the way really fast so he can get to the coffee machine. He sort of leans down to grab a coffee pod, while I grab my steel water bottleâŠand it sort of swings downââ
You pause, biting your tongue.Â
Your chat instantly filled with NOOOOOOOOs and you're assuming people know what comes next.
ââŠHe stands up and slams his head into the water bottle as itâs swinging toward himââ
You clutched your forehead, âSo now Iâm panicking and apologizing cause I bonked him in the head and heâs just crouching there looking confused while I'm holding a hand over the area to prevent it from bleeding more.â
Oh honeyâŠ
Yea i would clear out the whole room
loll no he probably thought it was cute trustâŠ.
real
âI felt like a fucking idiot!â you cried with a little laugh, rubbing your face in anguish.Â
You covered your eyes with your palms and peeked through your fingers to read chat, "At least he was nice about it, he didnât even complain.âÂ
You sigh, âbut that was still embarrassing.âÂ
âI would never wish harm on anyone,â you continued quietly, âbut I hope he got a concussion and forgets that even happenedâŠor just forgets I exist in general.â
Comments rolled in again.
imagine he sees this
help
yall better not clip ts
âNo, don't worry,â you reassured. âHeâs not gonna see this. No one at my work is on Twitch or social media or anything like that.â
You let your arms fall back to the armrests and rocked the chair once, eyes flicking over the flood of messages.
Most of them were variations of thereâs no way thatâs true.
You just smiled to yourself.
And despite yourself, you suppressed a stupid little smile.
Because there was still a part of that embarrassing story you hadnât told them because thinking about it still made your heart do something extremely annoying.
It happened right after the water bottle incident.
Youâd found the little first aid kit in one of the cupboards and patched the cut on his forehead as best as you could while apologizing about twenty times. Leon had been sitting on the edge of the counter, head tilted forward a little so you could reach him, one hand braced against the surface beside him.
You were trying very hard not to think about how close he was. Or how embarrassing it was that you had nailed a federal agent in the head with a metal water bottle.
âThere,â you muttered once the bandage was finally in place.
Your fingers were still a little shaky as you stepped back. âSorry,â you added again.
Leon waved you off with a soft grin, âAh, donât worry about it.â
You turned toward the sink to throw the wrapper from the bandage away when you noticed there was dried blood on your fingers.
His blood. You froze for a second, staring at it.
âOh,â you murmured quietly to yourself.
You reached for the sink to wash it off before it could smear on anything else, but you barely had time to turn the faucet when Leon spoke.
âHere, " he slid off the counter, "Let me.â
You glanced back.
Your pulse jumped the second his fingers wrapped around your wrist, they were huge and a little dry and calloused.Â
âSorry about that,â he said, before he gently rinsed your hand under the faucet for longer than necessary and squeezed it a bit to ring it dry, like all this was his fault.
Back in the present, your chair rocked softly as chat continued flying up the screen.
âBut anywaysâŠIâm sure Iâll get over it someday.â
The next day at work you were running on maybe four hours of sleep.
You barely noticed Leon approaching until his shadow fell across your desk.
When you looked up, there he was with two cups of coffee in his hands.
He slid one toward you, and you straightened in surprise, âOhâthank you!âÂ
âFigured youâd need it, youâve been here all day,â His voice was low and warm, a little rough around the edges like he was tired too.
Leon leaned forward, resting both elbows on your desk like he always did. The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up just slightly, revealing those familiar muscles you tried very hard not to stare at.
His hair was a little messy today, strands falling loosely across his forehead. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes that hinted he hadnât slept much either, maybe he was working late, but somehow it only made him look better.
Your eyes were so dry they almost made the SpongeBob blinking sound, so you rubbed them.Â
âTired?â He asked, gaze flitting around your face.Â
âYeahâŠI was up all night finishing some reports after streaming.â You grin sheepishly.Â
He nods, âStreaming huh?â
You blinked.
âYeahâyou knowâŠlike on Twitch. Playing games and talking to chat and stuff.â
Leonâs mouth twitched faintly as he raised his cup to take a sip,Â
âI know what streaming is,â he clarified, eyes nearly piercing at you over the rim of his cup, like he was staring right into your soul.Â
You shifted in your seat, âOh.âÂ
âIâm not that old,â he added, voice softer this time.Â
You laughed, âSorry, I just figured it wasnât your kind of thing.â
He shifted his weight slightly against your desk, one shoulder dipping as he leaned more comfortably into the conversation.
âYouâd be surprised,â he continued. âIâve actually seen a few of yours.â
You froze completely.
ââŠHuh?â You said stupidly.Â
âYeah.â Leon gave a small shrug like it was nothing, though the corner of his mouth and the glint in his eyes hinted he was enjoying your turmoil.
âIâm not really online myself, but Sherry said you had a big followingâŠfigured Iâd take a look and see what you got up to after work.â
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Damn Sherry.Â
Whenever he talked with the two of you, she was always looking at you with that little smirk. Or worse, nudged you on the shoulder whenever he approached you guys and made up some lame excuse to leave you alone with himâŠyou knew she could sense your fat crush on him from day one. Â
âOh.â Your brain was replaying every second of last night. âOkay.â You cleared your throat, trying to behave normally.Â
Then you noticed him rub the side of his head absently, fingers brushing along his temple.
âIâm so sorry again about hitting your head the other day,â you blurted out.Â
âWhat do you mean?â he blinked.
You stared, âWhen I hit your head with the water bottle?â
An amused huff left him, âI actually donât remember much, I think I got a concussion. Been forgetting everything lately.â
You straightened immediately.
Wait, he actually got a concussion?âŠFrom a water bottle? So much for America's toughest agent.Â
You shook your head, what were you thinking?Â
So insensitive.Â
âIâm so sorry,â you frown, a wave of guilt washing over you, âIs it like a short term memory loss kind of thing?â
Leon watched you for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. âYou could call it that.â
You nodded slowly, completely serious.
His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you. Then he pushed off the desk, standing up straight again, âAh, forgot Iâve got a meeting to head to.â
âGood luck,â You say a little dejectedly, expecting him to walk away, but he leaned closer.Â
You blinked, swallowing at his proximity.Â
âYou might have to remind me what happened later over dinner,â he crooned.Â
What.Â
âOver dinner?...â
âOver dinner,â He concluded, leaning away to slip his jacket on, âYou know, since you âbonkedâ my head so hard.âÂ
Your soul left your body.
âButââÂ
âIâll pick you up at seven.â Leon winked and walked away, leaving you sitting there, face burning, realizing two horrifying things at once.
One.
He definitely watched your stream.
And two.
You were absolutely going to dinner with the dilf from work.
A few months later, things were different, but in a good way.
You had somehow survived the embarrassment of that stream and maiming Leon, the panic of realizing he heard about the stream, and the nerves that came along with that first dinner.
And now here you are, still streaming.
Except now there was a six foot government agent occasionally wandering through your apartment like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You were mid stream when your front door clicked open.
Your chat was already moving fast, colorful messages flying past your screen as you tried to focus. Behind you, you heard the quiet thud of footsteps and the rustle of a jacket being set down. You didnât turn around right away since you were in the middle of a fight in your game, but you could hear him moving around the apartment, unhurried and quiet in that way he always was.
Your chat, unfortunately, noticed.
who just came in?
DOOR?
Is that a mannn???
You tried to ignore them, but a second later Leon stepped up beside your desk.
You caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair was a little messy like usual, the collar of his jacket slightly rumpled, and he looked tired the way he often did after work.Â
He was holding a small paper bag. Without interrupting you, he quietly set a couple snacks down beside your keyboard. You looked up, giving him a soft grin as he crouched to give you a quick kiss.Â
Your chat exploded again.
HELLO?????
wait guys whose that
SNACK DELIVERY???
IS THAT HIM
tHe WORK DILFâŠ
You snorted softly under your breath.
Leon leaned a hip against the side of your desk, folding his arms loosely as he watched your screen for a second.Â
His expression was calm, faintly amused for someone being examined by thousands.
When the chapter of the game ended with a cut scene, you leaned back in your chair with a relieved exhale.Â
âOkay guys, relax,â you said, grabbing one of the snacks Leon brought.
You glanced sideways at him.Â
He raised an eyebrow slightly, âDonât be rude, Hon, arenât you gonna introduce me?âÂ
You rolled your eyes.
âChat this is the work dilf I told you guys about a few months ago.â
Leon let out a quiet chuckle at that, ââThe work what?â
He braced one hand on the back of your chair and leaned down further until his head appeared on the edge of the camera frame. He squinted slightly at the screen, trying to read the messages flying past.Â
HELLO SIR
Yo is that Leon Kennedy??
HI LEON
easy white chocolateÂ
Your work dilf saved the presidents daughter?Â
Easy there white chocolate
BE cool chat
guys she said she works for the dso it makes sense
His brow furrowed with genuine confusion. âWhy are they calling me white chocolate?â
You shook your head as the chat spammed even more at the sound of his voice.Â
ooo heâs realÂ
HIS VOICE
flash us
BEEKEEPING AGEÂ
Leon leaned a little closer to the monitor.
ââŠWhatâs beekeeping age?â
You dropped your head into your hands.
Leon glanced down at you, a small crooked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
âShould I be concerned?â he asked quietly.
You shook your head in defeat, âI donât even know.âÂ
While your chat was having the time of their lives, Leon leaned one arm on the desk, settling in like he had officially joined the stream.
He scanned the chat slowly.
âAlright,â he murmured, âIâll read some more.â
You winced,
âMaybe donâtââ
Too late.
HOW OLD ARE YOU
Leon huffed, âOld.â
Wait so what do you guys do for work?
Leon paused, ââŠWe work for the government.â
ARE YOU ACTUALLY THE WORK CRUSH
Leon glanced sideways at you, eyes softening just a little, âI hope so.â
aww how did you fall for her??
âWell, I knew she was the one for me when she clocked me in the head with a bottle.â
You smacked his chest, âIt wasn't on purpose!â
Your heart flipped a little when he grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your palm.
He straightened up after a moment, grabbing a snack from the bag. âWell, this has beenâŠenlightening.â
âSure was,â you muttered under your breath.Â
He glanced down at you, âYouâ done embarrassing yourself online for the night?â
You huffed, ââŠNo.â
Leon chuckled quietly, then ruffled your hair as he walked away.
You looked at the webcam like your chat was in timeout. âI hate all of you.â
Leonâs voice drifted from the kitchen.
âBe nice.â
Your viewers immediately sided with him of course.
shiii i mean, if leon worked with me, the world would neverrr hear the end of it.
I FOUND OUT WHAT IT MEANS and I was right :D i was worried it had some crazy double meaning
summary: this is where he finds he is safest | leon kennedy x gn!reader
word count: 2k
warnings: yearning, mentions of catholicism, intense softness, all comfort no hurt bb, first time L bomb, past trauma subtext, this one made me blush so there's a warning for that
notes: the wip as promised, posted when i should be in bed because i have class at nine am anyway ily | ao3
Leon pushes through the apartment door, light from the hallway streaming in behind him into the dark living room. He doesnât reach for the light, just closes the door behind him to remedy his fault. He toes his shoes off next to the door. He spies you asleep on the couch, curled beneath more than a few blankets. He smiles tiredly. His feet really hurt, and thereâs nothing he wouldnât give just to rest beside you. But he only has tonight and the wee hours of the morning.
With a sigh, he trudges over to the couch where you snore. He hates to do it, but he nudges you awake. You groan.
âWhat time is it?â you ask, voice hoarse. You donât even open your eyes to see who it is; you already know.
âJust past midnight,â he says. You sigh, stretching your arms out above your head. He watches you carefully, like youâre performing for him. âCome to bed,â
âWhat time do you have to leave?â you ask, finally opening your eyes to gaze at him. He smiles softly.
âAround six,â he says.Â
You frown. âWake me up when you get up to leave. I want to be able to see you go,â
He nods, then extends his hand to pull you free from the cushions on the couch. You silently protest for a moment, murmuring about how comfortable you are, but you eventually give in and let him haul you to your feet. You press a sleepy kiss to his cheek before walking around him toward the bedroom.
He follows you, because he would be stupid not to, and feels his bones loosen beneath his skin. You ooze comfort and simple pleasure. If he could take you with him everywhere, he would. Heâs a selfish man when it comes to you; he wants to keep you beside him at all times, keep you hidden away in a place where only he can find you. He stares dreamily at you, watching you shuffle pillows and sheets as you prepare to slip between them for the night. You brush a few stray hairs from your eyes.
Heâd gladly be sick for a hundred years if it were the disease youâve given him. He smiles.
âWhat are you staring at?â you tease, grinning. He feels like heâs floating.
âJust admiring,â he says simply, softly, lovingly. You laugh and climb into bed. âSometimes I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,â
You roll your eyes. âQuit being so sappy and come to bed,â you tease, reaching for the bedside lamp. He doesnât deny you.
With as much speed as he can muster, he pulls his gear off. You watch him, hand hovering near the lamp. Heâs clad in a pair of sweatpants in minutes, and finally, he joins you. Itâs like coming home, getting into bed with you. Itâs soft and gentle, he always knows what to expect. He tends to steal the blanket in the middle of the night and you respond by clinging to his shoulders like a backpack.
Heâs staring at you again, he knows he is, but he would be a fool not to. You shut the lamp off finally, and youâre suddenly bathed in the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Your eyes reflect the light. This is where Leon finds he is safest. Beyond you, there is no Umbrella, no Raccoon City, nothing. He can only see you. He can only feel your fingers weaving between his, your lips against his cheek, your muttered words as you sink into the pillows. He never wants to leave, never wants to feel the ache of missing you ever again.
âHow long will you be gone this time?â you ask quietly. He stiffens beneath you.
âA few weeks, probably,â he says. You sigh heavily. âBut Iâll come home,â
âYou better,â you say. He can feel your lips curl up into a small smile from where you rest against his bicep. It sends a shiver through him. âWho would keep me warm at night?â
He reaches over to pull you in closer, to stake some sort of claim upon you. âNobody, I would hope,â
You laugh. âNo one could replace you. Youâre one of a kind,â
âYou just like how I cook your eggs,â he mutters, but heâs smiling. Heâs holding you steady against him, perfectly tucked into his side where you belong. At this moment, it feels like this will last forever, like morning will never come and he will never board a plane.
âThat certainly is a plus,â you tease. He hums.
Youâre asleep within minutes. He knows he will follow soon after, but he wants to hold onto the moment for a little bit longer. In this room, the world doesnât exist. Itâs just you and him. He wants it to be that way forever.
When he wakes, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon. He rolls out of your arms, tucking the duvet back into your side to keep you snug. His gear rolls back onto his body with little protest. The ache returns. Gently, he nudges you awake.
âAlready?â you whisper. He fights a frown. âDonât get lost out there,â
âWouldnât dream of it,â he says.
You pull him in for a sleepy kiss, and thatâs how he has to leave you. You turn onto your other side, facing the window where the birds are beginning to sing. He smooths a hand over your head before he turns out of the room. He leaves a little piece of his heart behind when he closes the front door behind him.
âŠ
Itâs week two in some European city he canât pronounce, and Leon is full of aching. His muscles feel heavy, his head constantly hurts, and he wants nothing more than to sit in your presence for a few minutes. A few minutes is all he needs.
He remembers how his mother would drag him to church on Sundays, half the service memorized and etched into her heart. Leon was always rather bored with it, often counting how many people were in the room and then imagining how many it would take stacked on top of each other to lift him to the ceiling of the church. The only part of service he liked was communionâhis midday snack, if you will. More than anything, he remembers the way the pews felt beneath him, sturdy and hard against his legs as he desperately tried to stay still for the service lest his mother send him another warning glance. Itâs how he feels now, sitting in the helicopter on his way home to you. He itches to move, to have the flight conclude so he may rush home to you. But Hunnigan is throwing looks in his direction, looks that tell him that even when he touches down, he wonât be home until at least tomorrow.
A sigh escapes him. Itâs been much too long since heâs missed someone, and the fact that he misses you like this, right here and now, is almost too much for him to bear. What are you doing? What time is it there? Have you showered and gone to bed? Are you making dinner? He wants nothing more than to lean against the counter and watch you cook, or sit on the bathroom counter while you shower because he canât bear to be away from you for long, or ask you questions about the movie youâre watching because he didnât see the beginning of it.
His longing for you is a foreign concept. He doesnât understand what you do to him to make him think in terms of you. He passes his time planning the next time heâll get to see you, often creating grandiose fantasies in his mind about where youâll go and what youâll do. Sometimes, he takes you away to a remote island and you live in paradise for the rest of time. Other times, he has a normal life with a normal job, and he can give you life you deserve; a house on a quiet street in a sleepy town, maybe a couple kids, family dinners, and bedtime stories. Sometimes, the thought makes him sick, the fact that he canât give you a normal life. But he pushes it away with the memories of the way you look at him, and that quiets him for a while.
Finally, after hours of yearning and waiting, heâs standing outside of your door. Even after spending his formative years surrounded by God and altars and psalms, he is not sure Heaven exists. But if it does, it could not compare to the interior of your apartment. His key gets stuck in the lock when he tries to open the door, excitement coursing through him. You come to his aide, like always.
Heâs home earlier than he expected, honestly. Itâs just past nine in the evening. Youâre clad in an old pair of sweatpants and a shirt you stole from him. The sight of you makes him melt. He can barely allow himself to get his coat off before heâs pulling you into him, breathing you in like heâs been lost for air. You laugh into his chest, returning his embrace, and he feels lighter than he has in a long time.
âMissed you,â he mumbles into your hair. It makes you laugh again. He wishes he could play the sound back from memory.
âMissed you, too,â you say. âThereâs some lasagna left on the counter if you want it. I donât know how warm it is, though,â
He grins widely, pulling away from you for a half a second just so he can pull you back in for a kiss. Itâs long and languid, easy and careful. Itâs warm. Itâs loving. When you break, youâre blushing, staring at him like heâs acting strange.
âYou alright?â you ask, searching his eyes for anything that might be out of place. He just grins again.
âMore than,â he says. You laugh again. âLasagna sounds amazing,â
You chat to him about your last couple of weeks while he struggles to dig the lasagna out of the pan and onto a plate. Apparently, the girl at work that you hate had gotten fired. Leon couldnât remember her name if he had a gun to his head. But you seem excited that sheâs gone, and so he is too. He microwaves his lasagna for too long and burns his hand on the plate when he goes to take it out. But youâre quick to soothe. As the hiss of pain leaves his lips, youâre dragging him to the sink to run cool water over his hand. You chastise him for touching the plate, telling him he needs to be more careful.
âI love you,â he says. You freeze in place, halting your fretting over him. Your eyes pull to his in an instant, searching to see if heâs telling the truth. He is.
âDo you mean that?â you ask. His lips pull into a thin line, fear beginning to creep up in a flesh on his neck. His mom always told him that was his biggest tell.
âI do,â he promises. Your apprehension eases away from your features. The water is still running, itâs the only sound between you two. You take a deep breath.
âI love you,â you return, smiling softly.
All the years spent going to church prepared him to recognize divinity when it was presented to him, and he sees it finally. It appears to him in the form of you and your laughter, your caring nature and your freckled skin, your birthmark and your crooked tooth. He kisses you again, the love fuel to his movements. You laugh against his lips, peeling his soggy hand away from your cheek. When he pulls away, your hair is smeared against your face from where heâs wet it, but youâre laughing.
Maybe he canât give you the future you deserve, at least not yet, but he can give you now. He can give you himself, and for right now, that is enough for you both.
summary: leon would not describe himself as good or kind, and he's cut open and bleeding at your feet, but you know he can be gentle | leon kennedy x f!reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: a sickening amount of yearning, leon taking care of you, seriously this guy is down bad, leon being self deprecating, alternating povs, acts of service as a love language, mentions of injuries, sherry birkin appearance /// 18+ MDNI, SMUT!!!, unprotected piv, oral (f receiving), creampie by technicality, trust me there's plot, this is LOVE MAKING at its core
notes: re9 gave me the leon bug BAD. personally, I wrote this with DI!leon in mind but re9!leon also works here bc that old man's still got it | ao3
âThat was stupid,â Leon says, hauling you into him. The words arenât unkind, but theyâre not gentle either. You stumble against him.
âHave I been known to be anything else?â you ask. He grunts. âBesides, Iâve got you to take care of me,â
He doesnât respond. He finds a quiet spot, a reclusive corner where he can assess the damage. Thereâs a wicked gash along your side, cutting from near your navel up towards your ribs. It makes your vision tunnel when you finally lay eyes on it. You hadnât known how bad it was. His fingertips are gentle around the surrounding skin.
âYouâre lucky evac is two minutes out,â he says. His voice is hushed, like heâs telling you a secret. Maybe he is.
âYeah?â you ask, a breathy noise that youâre not certain you could recreate. The sound is deep, rooted in desperation and blood loss. Leonâs eyes flick up at you from where heâs crouched, icy gaze cutting through his lashes. He looks pretty like this, bent low in front of you, looking at you with something you canât place. It makes you shiver.
âYouâre losing blood,â he says. You nod.
âGonna give me yours?â you tease. Your vision tunnels a bit, and you slump forward. Leon catches you, pulling you flush against him. He smells like sweat and cedar and smoke, something that nearly lulls you into sleep. You hear a distant rumble as the building continues to crumble.
He helps you out of the derelict building. Youâre barely even walking, just sort of stumbling beside him as he carries most of your weight, and you feel strangely guilty for making him do all the work. The helicopterâs blades never slow as it touches the ground. Leon helps you into your seat, guiding you gently. Heâs soft as he slides the headphones over your ears, even going as far as to smooth a piece of hair out of your eyes. You can hardly keep them open.
âStay with me,â he murmurs. It feels like a promise. âCanât have you dying on me, now,â
âThat would ruin your whole week,â you say, trying to smile. Itâs a weak attempt at a joke, and he knows it. You can see tension make its home under Leonâs skin. It rears its head with every pull of muscle, every furrowed brow.
âWeâll be home soon,â he says. You nod. Youâre not sure if heâs reassuring you or himself.
When you do finally land, youâre pulled away from him for medical attention. You fight as best as you can, attempting to sit in on the briefing, but Leon levels you with a gaze youâve never seen him wear, and you accept defeat. Thereâs two medics standing idly in the room, and they turn to see you hobble in, eyes widening.
âWhat the hell happened?â one of them asks. You shrug, sitting down on the bed.
âCaught something sharp,â you say. They lift your shirt, which is in ribbons. A shock of pain rips through you, and you stifle a groan.
They work quickly, giving you a tetanus shot. You wince as the needle sinks beneath your skin. The pain only adds to the rest of it searing through your muscles. Now that youâre sitting, adrenaline having dissipated, everything hurts. The gash oozes blood, which makes you feel dizzy. Your back hurts, your legs hurt, your side hurts. Every time they touch you, you suck in a breath.
Finally, youâre stitched up. They tell you to take it easy for a week, shove pain meds into your hands, and send you out the door. Leon leans against the opposite wall, watching his boots. He looks tired, run down. Heâs covered in dirt. Black streaks smear across his cheeks, his biceps. His hair falls like a golden frame over his eyes. You sigh.
He looks up then, watching you. He scans over your body, checking for any lingering injuries the medics managed to miss. You offer him a weak smile.
âNo hospital?â he asks, pushing off the wall to meet you where you stand. His steps are heavy, tired. You shake your head. âGood. Letâs get you home,â
You follow him out of the building. Itâs winding turns and desolate hallways until fresh air smacks you in the face. You take a deep breath, trying to let the residuals of the mission fall off of you. Leonâs car faces you, a beat up old Buickâhe refuses to get anything newerâand it stares at you like it knows something you donât. You fit easily into the passenger seat, like you were made for it. You lean back against the headrest. You feel suddenly exhausted, like a two ton weight rests in your chest. You just want to sleep. The drive to your apartment isnât long, and youâre counting down the seconds until youâll be able to slip into the shower and let the day wash down your back.
Leon helps you upstairs. You try to protest, tell him that the elevator isnât going to exert you any more than the walk to the building itself, but he refuses to listen. He follows silently behind you until you reach your door. Heâs like a shadow as you enter the apartment, still bathed in the darkness of night. You hate to do it, but you turn on the light, flooding the room and making you wince. Leon holds your arm to keep you steady as you toe off your shoes.
âYou donât have to babysit me, you know,â you say, not looking at him. âThis isnât the first time Iâve been hurt,â
He doesnât say anything for a long, pregnant moment. But then, âI would like it to be the last, preferably,â
You huff a weak laugh, something hoarse and weary. âYou and me both, partner,â
He follows you from room to room, picking things up as you drop them. Your right arm is effectively useless because any movement on that side sends shockwaves of pain through your entire body. You sigh heavily, fighting back tears. Leon stands in the threshold of your bathroom, holding your bundle of clothes and hairbrush. He looks at you with something you canât identifyânot quite pity, but something adjacent. He looks so pretty, so collected, even in his dirty state. You clutch your side.
âI can take it from here,â you say, breathless. âIâll see you in a week,â
Leon stares at you. His fingers fidget with the hem of your sleep shorts. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Then, âDo you want help?â
You blink at him. You hadnât considered heâd be willing to help you. You hadnât thought so far ahead as to know what youâd do to get out of your clothes.
With a breath, you say, âYes, please,â
He nods wordlessly. Your clothes find their home as a heap on the sink counter. He pats the top of it once as if casting a spell to make them stay put. He turns to you then. Heâs broad, forces you to dial in on him. His hands linger at his sides like he doesnât know what to do with them.
You lift your left arm above your head, a silent encouragement to get him to touch you. His hands fall on you like a caress. Gently, he lifts your shirt up. His knuckles brush against your side, making your breathing hitch. Heâs not watching you, fully focused on his task, but you canât look away from him. He looks so focused, like one wrong move would paralyze you. He catches one end of the shirt in your armpit, pulling the other side out so you can slip your arm through. He helps ease your head through the collar, then pulls it off entirely via your other arm. He breathes in heavily through his nose at the expanse of skin heâs revealed. Then he takes a step back. You swallow thickly.
âI needâŠâ you mumble, brain rotting inside your skull. âI canât reach-â
âI got it,â he says. The words sound broken on his tongue.
You spin for him, presenting the clasp of your bra. You purse your lips when his warm hands make contact with the smooth skin on your back. He makes surprisingly quick work of it. Within seconds, you feel it loosening around your ribs, a small blessing. You breathe out something heady and heavy.
âIâll be out there if you need anything,â Leon says. He leaves little room for argument by bustling out of the room as quickly as he can. You blink.
The shower water is hot on your skin, but it feels good. You can feel the tension slipping down your shoulders in rivulets. Somehow, you manage to wash yourself one handed, which you feel mildly proud of. The steam loosens you. Itâs only when you step out of the water that you remember that you have to put a shirt on.
You struggle for what feels like hours. Every movement pulls on your stitches. Youâre near tears when you finally call out for Leon.
âYeah?â he asks, cracking the bathroom door. You sniffle.
âI canâtâŠâ you say, taking a breath to recollect yourself. âI canât get my shirt on,â
âIâll help,â he says. His voice is so soft, so intimate. He enters quietly, staring at anything that isnât you.
The shirt looks miniscule in his hands. Carefully, almost reverently, he eases the collar over your head. His gaze still lingers just past your shoulder. You frown. You slip your good arm through the sleeve.
Leon finally looks at you. You nod, letting him know itâs okay to put his hands on you. You see the turmoil in his eyes, the need for consent.
âYou can touch me,â you say, voice barely above a whisper. He nods once.
He grips the hem of the shirt, pulling as far down as the fabric will let him. Then, softly, he helps guide your arm through the sleeve. His fingers brush against you again, just along the curve of your breast, but the touch is electric, crackling with something unsaid. The moment is so intimate, so personal, you could burst into tears. Then the shirt is fully on your body. You wonder if Leon can hear your heart hammering against your chest. If he can, he doesnât acknowledge it.Â
âThanks,â you say, breathless. He nods. âI can handle the rest,â
âYou sure?â he asks. Thereâs no suggestion in his tone, and that almost makes it worse. You breathe heavily through your nose, nodding.
He stands there as you fumble with your hairbrush. Your lips are pursed as you stare at yourself in the mirror. Youâre barely halfway through the tangled strands before he stops you.
âLet me help,â he saysâno begs. You glance at his reflection. He looks as wrecked as you feel. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze unblinking as he waits for you.
âOkay,â you say softly, voice hollow and breathy as you pass him the hairbrush.
Heâs gentle as he works the brush through your hair. His gaze remains focused on the wet strands, but yours is on him. His brow furrows slightly, that bottom lip pulled snugly between his teeth as he pulls on a particularly tough tangle. His eyes look so blue in the yellowing light above the mirror. The care he takes with you is enough to make you sick. His hands are frustratingly warm as they bump against the back of your neck. He never once pulls or yanks, never scrapes the bristles against your skin, never gets frustrated. He works until it is done, unwaveringly, and you didnât expect anything less. The moment is so soft, so delicate, youâre afraid that something might break when you pull away.
âI think I got it,â he says, soft as a whisper against you. You nod.
âThank you,â you say. You stay idle for a moment, just watching him. He looks so unsure.
You think, in another lifetime, miles and miles away from here, that you couldâve loved him. Heâs funny when he wants to be, charming in a boyish sort of way. You count on him, but he doesnât let it get to him. He gives because he thinks it a privilege that you let him. You reach up to wipe away some of the dirt still smudged on his face. He stiffens beneath your fingertips, not prepared for such affectionate contact.
He swallows thickly. You remove your hand, and you see him relax just a fraction.
âDo you need any more help?â he asks in an almost broken way. You shake your head. âIâll see you later, then?â
âYeah,â
He ducks his chin at you, then shuffles out of the bathroom. You hear the front door open and click shut a moment later, leaving you alone in your apartment.
...
Leon is not sure that he would describe himself as kind or good. But on his drive home, as he thinks about your withered form presented to him in the dim light of your bathroom, looking up at him through your lashes like he was something holy, he starts to think that that doesnât matter. It doesnât matter if he is kind or good because you kept looking at him like he was all you ever needed. He can still feel your skin against his fingers, sending shivers down his spine.Â
Heâd frozen up. He knows that he probably looked ridiculous, like a flushed school boy who had just stumbled into the girlâs locker room by accident. Your skin had been so soft. The expanse of flesh heâd discovered beneath your tattered shirt lives in his brain as he shuffles into his apartment. The space is dark and empty. He has very few personal items, unlike you. His space looks abandoned, which he guesses it usually is. He really only uses this place to sleep and eat sometimes.Â
He crashes onto his couch, still unshowered and unclean. He just needs a moment, he tells himself. Just one moment, to collect the memories of you like precious items to set on his vacant shelves. The way you shivered against him when he brushed your side, the way you watched him, doe eyed, in the mirror as he brushed your hair, the humidity of the room clinging to you; they all go, framed and perfect, on shelves in his mind. He breathes out, something heavy and soft all at once.Â
Heâs unfamiliar with this feeling. He doesnât know how to embrace it, so he decides that he shouldnât. Heâs not sure he deserves something as sweet and gentle as you. Youâre better than him, in almost every way. You donât let the job wear you down, you take pride in what you do. You tease him. The mercy and compassion you give him are foreign in his brain. And he feels so selfish for accepting every last scrap. He eats up the way you look at him, the way you laugh at his weak attempts at jokes, the way you worry after him even with a ten inch gash on your side that very easily couldâve gutted you. He is gluttonous and greedy and selfish. You are consuming him, and he is letting you. He shouldnât. He shouldnât let you plague him this way. He knows that it could all too soon be ripped away from him, but in this moment, in the dim light cast by the moon streaming through his curtains, he doesnât care. A shudder rakes through his body, from head to toe.Â
It would be all too easy to blame you. He could curse you for whatever spell youâve cast to make him stupid in this way. But he knows the fault is his and his alone. Itâs his fault that he mistakes your casual compassion for anything more. Itâs his fault that he devours whatever good comes his way, just to corrupt and blacken it. And he doesnât want to do that to you. He doesnât want to see where this will end, even if he has before and knows it as intimately as he knows every other aspect of death and decay.
He tips his head back against the couch. Thereâs a crack in his popcorn ceiling, cutting through the expanse of white like a vein.Â
He knows heâs cut open and bleeding at your feet. Heâs wounded in a way that doesnât make sense. He doesnât want you to help him. Not because he doesnât ache to feel your gentle hands smooth over his scarred flesh, working out the evil with every electrifying touch, but because he does, and that would make you the universeâs top priority.Â
He is cursed, a bad day after a worse one. And he knows that if he were to let you have him the way he wants, youâd become cursed too. Cursed with him and his aches and pains, his scars and bruises, his anger and resentment.Â
When he settles beneath the sheets that night, he dreams of you. He dreams of your soft skin against him, your laughter, your easy smiles. He dreams of the life he could have were it not for his exceedingly awful luck.
He could save you. He could prevent you from ever coming nearer. But that somehow feels like a worse, more torturous ending. And he is nothing if not selfish.
...
The next time you see Leon, itâs nearly a week later. The swelling on your side has gone down and most of the pain has subsided, but itâs still tense and unforgiving, especially so early in the morning. Thereâs little light coming through the curtains thanks to the steady stream of rain pelting the earth.
His hair is soggy, casting thick shadows over the high points of his face. Thereâs crystal droplets on the shoulders of his jacket, ones you want to reach out to shake off, but you refrain. He smiles at you, that gentle half smile he only ever wears when heâs half exhausted.Â
âCame to check on you,â he says softly, words turned plush on the corners of his lips. You smile.
âUnfortunately, Iâve succumbed to sepsis. Youâre seeing a ghost,â you joke. He rolls his eyes and pushes past you into the apartment.
He shakes off like a dog as he hangs his coat on the hook. A few rogue water droplets smatter your face. You take a moment to observe him. The lines of his body are rigid like thereâs something pulling him taught. For a moment, you ache to reach out and smooth your palms over his muscles, to help him relieve some of that tension. You wonder if thatâs something that would be okay, if he would welcome your touch. There is a line that stands between you, and youâre not sure which side of it you reside on.Â
âAnything interesting happen in the week that Iâve been gone?â you ask, leaning against the back of the couch.
Leon hums, pursing his lips as he thinks back on the last few days. âThereâs a new coffee machine in the break room,â
You huff a laugh. âCanât wait to try that baby out,â
Silence stretches thick between you, like a rope thatâs been left out in the rain. You watch him move with careful precision, finding where would be the best place to exist within. You wonder why he never seems to relax, even in your space. You wonder if he knows how much you care. Subconsciously, you run the pads of your fingers over your injury. Itâs a rough stretch of skin now, bubbled with scar and scab. You frown.
âDoes it hurt?â he asks, suddenly standing again to get to your side. He catches your wrist where it hovers near the tear.
You shrug. âOnly when I think about it,â
He purses his lips and emits a low hum, giving you a once over. âHave a fever at all?â
You shake your head. He nods, once and curt, before dropping your wrist and stepping away from you.Â
âDo you need any help?â Leon asks, avoiding your gaze by scanning around the room. âAny chores that have been neglected? Any errands I can run for you?â
You feel the corner of your mouth tick up in a small smile. Shaking your head, you say, âNo, Leon. Iâve been able to manage on my own,â
âI know,â he says. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on the soft flesh there in thought. Then, soft as a whisper, he says, âI was worried about you,â
You feel your heart catch in your throat. You think back to the way he looked at you that night, like you were broken before him and he couldnât do anything to fix you. You think about how gentle he was with you, how careful he was like you were bursting at the seams. You see his cheeks turn a tinge of pink as the silence stretches thick between you. You reach out, placing a flat palm against his chest. Thereâs no sound in the apartment, just the rain outside and your own heavy breathing.
âYou donât need to worry about me, Leon,â you say, just as soft. âI know youâll always take care of me,â
He swallows, something heavy and unsaid, and nods. âI will,â
It feels like a promise. It feels like a vow.
With an intake of breath, you say, âAnything on our docket?â
Leon purses his lips. âNot on yours,â he says. You frown. âYouâre on light duty for a while,â
You twist your face up in a nasty expression, which makes Leon smile a fraction. âI donât like that,â
âThatâs what I figured youâd say,â he says. He moves around you to finally sit down. Youâre almost surprised as he gets comfortable on your couch. You move to join him. âI tried to tell Hunnigan you wouldnât go down easy,â
âI canât imagine I have much choice,â you say, grumbling. âDid they say for how long?â
Leon shakes his head. âCould be a while,â
You groan.
âHey,â he says, gently. âYou took a hard hit. Itâs either office duty or a grave,â
You scowl at him, and he flashes you a smile. âPromise me you wonât get yourself killed while Iâm gone,â
He makes a motion over his chest. Cross my heart.
The next week, Leon is shipped out to God knows where. They wonât tell you, probably afraid youâd commandeer a craft to chase after him. Youâre checking in with Hunnigan by the hour, who tells you youâre being paranoid. How can you not be? Heâs out there, alone, doing something, something dangerous, and youâre stuck writing reports and drinking watered down coffee from the new machine in the break room. He could be hurt, he could be dead, and you would never know the difference. It makes you sick, it makes you scared.
âSeparation anxiety?â Sherry asks, taking a seat beside you. Youâre staring at a monitor, feeling like your eyes are melting out of your head.
âShut up,â you retort, making her laugh. âI just worry about him,â
âYâknow, I think I had this exact conversation with him a couple weeks ago,â Sherry says, grinning at you. You scowl at her. âYou two act like if youâre not attached at the hip, youâre basically dead,â
âThatâs what it feels like,â you murmur. You sigh. âYou donât get it,â
âMaybe not,â Sherry says, shrugging. âBut I do know what itâs like to feel,â
You blink at her. âDonât you have somewhere else to go be annoying?â
Sherry jabs a finger into your side, making you yelp. âDonât be mean to me just because youâre grumpy,â
You huff.
You are not grumpy.
...
Leon feels half dead on his feet as he trudges up the stairs of your apartment building. Heâs been gone almost two weeks, with little to no contact with you. It feels like itâs killing him. He feels like itâs sucking out his will to live. He just wants to see you.
He knocks gently on your door. Itâs late, just past midnight, but he knows youâre still awake, always the night owl. You open it a second later, wearing a shirt three sizes too big and an old pair of sweatpants; he thinks youâve never looked more beautiful. You give him a once over, scanning him for injuries, and when you donât appear to find any, you crash into him. He lets out an oomph as his arms settle around your waist. You smell like home, and he feels his heart crack open a little.
âWorried about you,â you whisper into his shoulder. He holds you a little tighter.
âNot over yet,â he says, and you pull away, squinting at him. He shrugs his jacket off to reveal a nasty cut along his bicep. He smiles sheepishly at you.
You sigh, and itâs like the greatest symphony ever written. âGrab a seat at the table. Iâll patch you up,â
His pain ebbs as he sits. You return to him moments later with a first aid kit and a scowl. Your soft hands against his skin are what keep him tethered to the earth. Pain threatens to eat at his muscles and sinew, to consume him. But youâre gentle, easing through it like a softbed creek, curving over already smooth stones.
âDid you even try to get out of the way?â you murmur. You donât look at him, but heâs watching you. He sees the twitch at the corner of your mouth as you clean the wound, the pull of your brows in concentration. You look so beautiful like this, like a pink sunrise, a reminder that good is out there.
âSort of,â he mumbles back. You frown at him. âI didnât really have time,â
You hum. Once the wound is thoroughly disinfected, you prime the needle for stitches.
âThis will hurt,â you say, sinking the steel beneath his flesh. He doesnât react. You make quick work of the area, making sure to tape over it to protect the stitches. When heâs all patched up, you pat his other arm, saying, âTry to make time so that this doesnât happen again,â
He nods, watching you. Youâre a breath away, inspecting him for any other injuries he may be sequestering. He reaches up hesitantly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He feels giddy at the way your eyes widen.
âPretty,â he says, so softly heâs not even sure you hear it. He wonders if heâs concealing the deep, desperate love he has for you, or if heâs bearing it all with his gaze. At this point, heâs not sure he cares.Â
âFlattery will get you nowhere, Kennedy,â you say, smiling at him. âIâm still mad at you,â
Soft as a whisper, he says, âI think I can handle that,â
Without much further thought, Leon closes the gap. You let out a little squeak when his mouth meets yours, but you almost melt into him. Heâs so relieved that he could cry. Your hands find purchase along the curve of his jaw, his own grasping at the loose fabric of your shirt. You sigh sweetly into him, coating his nerves in a saccharine so destabilizing he canât help but return it. When you fall into his lap, parting your lips and winding your arms around him, heâs afraid heâs died and gone to Heaven. And when your tongue finally meets his, he groans, something deep and guttural and unbecoming.
You pull away, a string of saliva hanging from your kiss bitten lips. You rest your forehead against his. His every perception centers on you; your hands on his chest, your nose bumping his as your chest heaves, your smell, the skin of your neck, open and exposed for him. He wants you, needs you like youâre the only thing that can save him. And when you kiss him again, a fire burns anew in his chest. Your hands are everywhere; his arms, his shoulders, his chest, and they find a home winding into his hair. A gentle tug against his scalp has his hands tightening their grip on your hips, begging you to still.
âLeon,â you murmur against his mouth, heady and soft all at once.Â
âIâm here,â he says, and he means it. He has never been more present. And then heâs standing, lifting you with him to place you back on the floor. You stare at him, pupils blown wide, gnawing on your bottom lip.
He pulls you flush against him because he canât help himself. He is nothing if not selfish, nothing if not gluttonous and greedy, and now that youâve given him this small victory, he wants to see if he can keep winning you. He sees the quiet desperation in the deep color of your eyes, the way youâre watching him with your full, rapt attention.
âYou can touch me,â you say, voice low and barely audible. He wants to eat you alive.
He wastes little time after that, mouth crashing against yours with renewed energy. His heart swells in his chest when you cling to him all the same. Your fingers dig into the tops of his shoulders. He taps his fingers once against your thigh, signaling you to jump. He catches you, carries you close against him until youâre laid out against the sheets. He doesnât stray far, following you into the linen, soft and sweet.
He watches you for a moment, taking it all in. Youâre smiling at him, grinning really as he hovers above you. You brush your fingers against his cheek, smoothing away whatever doubt may be lingering. He ducks his head, pressing feather light kisses to the column of your throat, making your breath hitch there. He doesnât get far, not when you pull his mouth back to yours, grasping at his shirt in an effort to rid him of it. Leon is a compliant man, flashing you a grin as he pulls back to yank it off. He wonders if your cheeks warm like his, if you can hear the hard hammer of his heart in his chest.
...
Leon is all rigid muscle, sinew pulled tight and corded along his arms, the plans of his stomach, his shoulders. You feel almost animalistic, feral. You run flat palms over him, feeling him twitch and tremor under your touch.
âPretty,â you say, soft as a whisper. He huffs a laugh.
You push him back slightly, only giving yourself enough room to sit forward to pull off your own shirt. You watch him swallow thickly as it gets discarded somewhere across the room. His hands are soft, gentle against the revealed skin as he kisses you again. Feather light touches across your waist, your stomach. Rough and callused palms against your breast, thumb finding your nipple. You arch into him at the contact, tightening your grip on his shoulders.
Youâre aching, cut open and bleeding. His hands leave goosebumps and fire in their wake as he lays you back against the sheets, tracing his lips down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your pants. He looks up at you, chest heaving. You nod, a gentle duck of your chin. Your breath catches in your throat as he slowlyâpainstakingly slowlyâtugs your pants down. He lets his hands wander over your exposed thighs, hopefully ignoring your choice of underwear. Light touches against your hips cause them to fall open. You wonder if you look as vulnerable as you feel. He presses the gentlest kisses to the insides of your thighs, head bouncing between them.
âIâll take care of you,â he says, a mumble against your skin. It sends shivers down your spine.
When he presses an open mouth kiss to the apex of your thighs, you think you black out for a second. A breathy gasp echoes off the walls. He tugs your underwear out of the way to flatten his tongue against you. The sound you make is unbecoming, head dropping back against the pillows. He wastes little time, sucking and kissing and licking as he finds his rhythm, finds what you like, what makes you the loudest. He eats you out like itâs a game, like heâs determined to get the highest score. Your vision is nearly white, fingers buried in his hair. When you tug on it a bit, he groans, deep and sultry, sending shocks to your brain.Â
Your thighs begin to shake when he pulls your clit between his teeth, a breathy moan escaping you. He locks an arm across your hips to keep you in place. Youâre shamelessly grinding against his face, chasing release. You keen high and whiny as he slides two fingers into you.
âCâmon, sweetheart,â he says, low and heavy. âMake a mess on me,â
He curls his fingers against you. The stretch and tempo and timbre of his voice were nearly enough to send you over the edge, but what does you in is seeing him lean back to watch you, stubble brushing the inside of your thigh. You clench around his fingers as you come, writhing and panting like an animal. You watch him lick his fingers clean before youâre clawing for him, pulling his mouth back up to yours. You groan as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers fumble with the clasp on his belt, fighting to free him of it. You feel him chuckle against you as he reaches down to help you. He pulls away a bit to shuck off his trousers.
Your mouth waters when his cock springs free from his boxers, thick and flushed and dripping. Instinctively you reach for it, but he stalls you, gently grasping your wrist. You frown up at him.
âWonât last very long,â he says by way of explanation.
âNext time, then,â you say, chest heaving. He grins at you, climbing over you again.
His kisses are addictive, you decide. Youâre not sure how you ever went without them. Theyâre all consuming, send you spinning. Youâre flat on your back again, pulling him as close as you can, running your hands down the expanse of his chest. He lines himself up with your entrance, gently pushing himself inside. The stretch is devastating. You break the spell of his kiss to gasp, jaw slack. His chest heaves as he buries himself in you, arms flexing on either side of your head. He stalls once heâs fully seated inside you. You smooth his hair away from his face, thumb swiping against his cheekbone. You feel so full; of him, of want, of love.
âYou okay?â he asks, voice hoarse and heavy. You grin at him.
âNever been better,â you say.
You lock your legs around his waist, begging him to stay close to you. He drops his head, turning into your palm more as he begins to slowly pull out of you. The drag of him against your walls has you keening. He almost pulls out fully before pushing back in, setting a languid pace that has you boneless. One hand smooths up your side, cupping your breast. You pull him back down to you, mouth meeting his in a devastating kiss. He sighs heavy against your lips, a whimper so delicious it has you rolling your hips just to hear it again. He moves to bury his face in your neck, pressing gentle kisses to the skin there.
âSo pretty,â he mumbles. You sigh. âLike you were made for me,â
The praise has you scratching your nails lightly down his back, earning you another pretty noise. His thrusts pick up their pace but never lose their softness. He ruts into you like a man consumed, mumbling against your sweat slick skin.
âDreamed of this,â he says. His hands wander over you, fingertips gentle against your injury. âDreamed of you. My pretty girl,â
Thereâs a pressure building in your stomach, a coil wound tight, threatening to burst every time he opens his mouth.
âYours,â you say. âAlways have been,â
His thrusts turn shallow, deep. He says, âDoinâ so good, fuckinâ perfect,â
You clench around him, huffing a breathy moan. âLeon,â
âIâm here,â he says. âIâm right here,â
His thumb finds your clit, and youâre seeing stars. White hot pleasure radiates throughout your body, threatening to consume you. He picks up the pace, chasing his own release. He thrusts one, two, three more times before heâs groaning in your ear and filling you up. He collapses against you, chest heaving and panting. Your fingers wind into his hair, toying with the ends. Every now and then you feel him press kisses to the column of your throat.Â
âLeon,â you whisper. He hums. âI think your stitches split,â
He laughs then, a bright, airy sound that splits your chest open with want. He pulls back to look at you, and you note the way his eyes brim with adoration. You feel suddenly shy.
âYou gonna patch me back up?â he asks, soft against you. You grin.
âYeah,â you say, brushing the hair out of his eyes. âI will,â
shy! leon's assistant! reader x re9! leon (part 3 of this)
Summary: After working with Leon at the DSO throughout the spring, your exhaustion catches up with you. Mistakes weren't allowed in your books and so when Leon gets hurt over a call you make over comms, the guilt eats you alive. As the distance between the two of you grows, one quiet decision threatens the entire relationship that you built with him.
Song: To Binge - Gorillaz
Waking up with the dissatisfaction of never getting enough sleep was a feeling you were used to. Your eyes stung, eyelids heavy, all you wanted was to shut them again and fall back into your soft pillows. However, you were wired differently. Or your mom wired you differently. There was no time for stopping, resting was for people who wished to fall behind. And you preferred being three steps ahead.
Recently, you had been taking on tasks that you used to do when you worked with Sherry. Youâd finish your work with Leon and then finish off the other reports that your old department needed. The extra work was something you didnât mind, but lunches started to be skipped, and sleep was lost - but that was okay in the name of dedication.
You slipped into your work clothes, no need for pantyhose or a blazer today, it was the peak of summer. The heat sizzled on top of your car, glimmering and glittering. The officeâs air conditioning was actually needed now, instead of making you shiver your ass off at 9 in the morning.
A familiar Porsche rolled into your driveway, snapping you out of your thoughts. Leon walked through your front garden, up the steps onto your outside porch. His toolbox jingled with every step. Three knocks then soon followed.
You paused before you opened the door, still feeling anxious about greeting him despite spending most of your time around him. When you did, you could smell the alcohol on him, and then how he desperately tried to cover the smell with cologne. Your nostrils were too sharp to be fooled.
You never called him out on his alcoholic tendencies, you felt like that wasnât your place. He always drank a little more than everyone else at work parties and he refilled his flask more often the week before a mission.
âYou really didnât have to come over early in the morning to do this,â you sighed, watching Leon fix your shower as you applied your makeup in your bathroom mirror. âI couldâve called someone.â
âYou hate calling people. Also, Iâd rather not have a smelly assistant. We share the same office. If you stink, itâll affect me too,â he mumbled as he fiddled around with a new shower head. âPlus. Iâve saved you a bit of money.â
âIâm not broke, Leon,â you rolled your eyes and continued humming to the music that was playing through your phone. Was it really normal to have your boss fix your shower before the two of you went to work? Probably not. But you didnât care, you liked spending time with him before his missions.
Leon was going on a mission today, hence the smell of alcohol. You were on comms. You had done this several times before, and all had gone accordingly. So why did you feel so nervous?
âDid you sleep tonight?â he asked, seeing how puffy and red your eyes were, and the dark bags that were run over by concealer. He reached over to the bacon and egg sandwich you made him, the yolk spilling out of the sandwich onto his lap, hoping you didnât notice.
âYeahâŠyeah. Of course I did.â
âDonât fall asleep on comms,â he muttered, his eyes now focused on the shower.
âTsk, when has comms ever gone wrong between the two of us?â you spoke. He was going to say something like âdonât jinx itâ but your phone began to ring. âHold on, my mom is calling me.â
âYou donât have to answer, you know."
âLeon, itâs fine,â you assured him, leaving the bathroom to answer the phone.
âWhatever you say.â
He only wanted to snatch the phone out of your hand and tell you that everything you did in his office was the best he had ever seen, and that he doesnât think he could ever find an assistant that was better than you. Seeing your demeanour crumple after calls with your parents made something boil within him. But it wasnât his place to dictate your relationship with them.
He settled on getting you cake instead.
âHappy now?â He asked, watching you eat the cake in his car as he drove you to the DSO building.
âExtremely,â you smiled, trying not to get crumbs and frosting everywhere. âSo, if you keep note of the alternative route around the left side of the buildingâŠâ
He wasnât listening. He already had your notes memorised. Every reroute, every exit, every blind spot. Sometimes he thought that you were just reading them out loud for yourself, just to be certain that he was going to be safe. His hand rested loosely on the steering wheel, the other drumming on his lap.
You always did this, you smoothed out every crinkle in every plan, threaded exit routes in every step and tied up any blind spots.
âAnd then if you go into the server room there should beâŠâ
After Raccoon City, he needed it - to listen to every instruction, every report, every detail because he knew one small mistake could lead to hundreds of thousands dying. Back then it was screaming, fire, radios and broken signals, people who didnât understand what was happening, people who never got to finish their sentences. People who never made it out.
He glanced at you, your eyebrows were tightly knit, your tablet in your hands. Sometimes you stumbled through your words as you read off your notes. You never did that.
Seeing your determination to keep everyone safe and ensure no one was in distress reminded him of himself and he admired you for it. So why couldnât he like himself when he shared the same quality?
Bright headlights flashed by, and he blinked, refocusing on the road.
âIf the east exit is blocked then you can go around theâŠâ
He exhaled through his nose. Were you concerned or was it your perfectionism taking over? Maybe it was the concern that drove the perfectionism.
The only thing running through his mind was your face after his mission, and the pleasant relief that shined on it despite you trying to remain professional. The clicking of your heels as you basically ran up to him, and then the celebratory meal you guys would get afterwards. Just think about that Kennedy.
âLeon, are you even listening?â you cut him from his thoughts.
âEvery word,â he said, a slight truth within his words.
The buzz of the office continued around you as you set up your headset. Co-workers walked around the maze of desks, passing files and handing each other mugs of coffee.
âOkay. Are you there, Leon?â You asked, the bright screen illuminating your face- making your eyes sting more than they already were.
A few seconds of static.
âYeah.â His voice low and steady like it always was.
Your fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up maps and images.
âPerfect.â You chirped, swinging your leg over the other. âComms check.â
You could hear him let out a small laugh, âloud and clear, maâam.â
Your eyes were red and puffy with exhaustion, and when you looked around things were blurry at first until you blinked it away. Everything was running smoothly, just according to plan â well thatâs what you told yourself.
A heat signature flickered briefly and then disappeared. You werenât sure if it was you or the camera. This exhaustion had been plaguing you for a while now, but you saw this as weakness.
âHold on,â you said, squinting your eyes and leaning closer to the screen.
âWhatâs wrong, boss?â Did he always have to make such stupid jokes in the middle of something so dire?
Nothing. âClear.â
âYou sure?â He asked.
âCertain,â you confirmed, eyes darting across the screen.
âAlright then.â
The camera caught movement. Gunshots. A string of them.
âLeon!â
He groaned and staggered back, throwing himself behind a wall. His body slammed against the wall and he coughed.
âLeon,â you repeated yourself, heart pounding.
âItâs fine.â
âI thought- I thought it was clear-â you stuttered, your fingers trembling against the keyboard.
ây/n. It happens.â He hissed through his teeth.
It does not happen. He lowered his guard because of you. You said that with confidence and certainty. You almost got him killed. You were incompetent.
The medical room was quiet. You sat in the waiting room with your leg bouncing up and down and nausea torturing your stomach. The gunshot kept playing in your head over and over again. The flicker of a heat signature. Your mistake. He trusted you. You got him hurt. He had done nothing but make you feel comfortable at the DSO, and you hurt him.
The nurse told you that you could go in now.
His dark hair laid against the white of the pillow, his arm bandaged and in a sling. He was sat up in a bed, a thin blanket pooling around his legs.
âHey, you.â
âHi,â you squeaked. You pressed your lips together as your eyes wandered along the floor.
âSit,â he commanded, flickering his eyes to the seat next to him and then you.
You sat down next to him, placing your hands on his bed. His free hand grabbed your hand, rubbing small circles into your palm with his thumb.
âYou got shot because of me.â you broke the silence.
âIâm pretty sure the guy with the gun did that.â
âNot funny.â
âA little funny.â
âI shouldnât be doing comms-â
âNo.â Leon said firmly, his hand tightening around yours. âThatâs not happening.â
âLeon, you got hurt because of me.â
âThatâs a part of the job description â getting hurt. You were just doing your job and it was a slip up. Iâm still here.â he stated, watching you refuse eye contact with him.
âBut what if-â
âYouâre working for me because you catch things other people donât. You made one mistake and thatâs okay. Youâve saved me hundreds of times before. One mistake doesnât undo that.â he said, as if he had planned what he was going to say a million times. Like he knew you were going to react this way.
âWe canât afford mistakes. Not if it gets you hurt.â You said coldly, standing up. âI have reports to finish.â
ây/n-â he started, but you opened the door and left the room.
The sling stared at you, a physical manifestation of the guilt that had been dragging you down for the past week, a reminder of your mistake as if it hadnât been buried in your brain. You hated it, because it told you that you failed, you failed the one person that had never failed you. The sling made your mistake real, the type of real that you didnât want to face. It was ugly and sickening and he had to wear it around his neck like a public announcement.
âWanna get lunch together? On me?â he would ask, attempting to find a smile on your face.
âItâs okay, I already made my own lunch.â you would reply coldly. There was no pre-made lunch in your bag.
The plants were dying and shrivelling under the heat. Your new workload made you forget about them.
You began repenting for your mistakes by staying at your desk until midnight. Words were restrained with you, greeting people and waving became small nods of acknowledgement. Stepping foot outside of the office wasnât a thing that you did anymore.
âIâm worried about you. What is this about, y/n? Whatâs wrong?â he asked once.
âIâm fine, Iâm just a bit tired.â
âWell, get some rest tonight. You can take tomorrow morning off, itâs fine by me.â
âItâs fine, Iâll just go to bed earlier tonight. You need me tomorrow anyway.â
The white sling stared back at you.
âYou need to redo this report; there are plenty of typos and sentences that arenât finished.â A supervisor said, handing back your report to you, humiliating you in front of Leon.
âYes sir,â you mumbled, your eyes refusing to meet his.
One afternoon, you couldnât handle it anymore. It took one look at the sling. It made you sick, the way you hurt him, the way he groaned when he got shot, the way his end was silent for a second.
You hid yourself in a toilet stall, your head in your hands.
You never made mistakes; you had never been the mistake-making person. And now all of a sudden, you make one mistake and it sets off a whole chain of them.
For your entire life, being good enough was never a thing. Constantly chasing after perfectionism was something you did throughout childhood, and it had long been running through adulthood. It ruined you, being constantly unsatisfied with your work and now you could finally feel yourself drowning and suffocating.
You worked so hard all week ensuring there was not a fault in your plan, yet someone got hurt anyway. Leon got hurt due to your mistake. He trusted you and now you blew it.
Your chest tightened, sharp pains every time you breathed.
Your brother was handling operations at your age, yet here you were, having a panic attack in the toilets because you messed up once.
Your brother died over a mistake. Mistakes were not allowed after that.
The rule was unspoken, but it was seen in your motherâs disappointment when your report card wasnât perfect, or when you tried piano for the first time and you werenât immediately a prodigy at it. You only wanted to make them proud, to be the perfect daughter. Troubled nights became the norm, obsessively running over every error you had ever made and perfecting it in your brain.
Accepting anything other than perfect was impossible. Dying was preferable to handing in an unperfected report. You would have rather not tried at all than try and it not being perfect and if made you a coward, that was fine with you.
Your fingers twisted into your hair, trying to hold back a sob, like you were trying to pull these thoughts out of your head before your breathing became any harder to control.
The shot. The silence. His pained hiss.
What if the bullet landed somewhere else? What if it was a repeat of your brother all over again?
The image of your mother crying at the kitchen counter, the funeral that came too soon. You were forced to come to terms with death before you even really knew what life was.
You breathed in slowly, and out. Your breath was still shaking and fast. In and out. Slowly, you brought yourself up out of the lake you were drowning in.
The bathroom stall was left empty, and you returned to your desk like nothing happened.
It was the evening. You had just left, pens scattered across your desk and piles of reports that needed to be re-written. It was another successful day of avoiding Leon as much as humanly possible in the confined space of his office.
Leon needed a file, but your top drawer was slightly open. He couldnât help himself. Something caught his eye - a piece of paper.
âFormal Notice of Resignationâ
You idiot.
âYou gotta be kidding me,â he muttered and left the office with only one thing on his mind: finding you.
Grey clouds swirled around the city and you were half-way through the car park until a deep voice called your name. Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, you stared at the man in the leather jacket who was practically running over to you.
âWhat is this?â He asked, his eyebrows furrowed, holding up the piece of paper. You cringed, as if he found your diary.
âI was going to tell you soon,â you mumbled, staring at his shoes because his eyes would pierce right through you. âI didnât want to be dramatic about it.â
âSo what? You were going to tell me after you had disappeared?!â he said, jaw tight. âYou are not leaving.â
âThat is not your decision to make,â you hissed, your hand clenching around your bag strap.
âYouâve been with me on every operation this year. Youâve prepped every mission, every-â
âThatâs exactly why Iâm leaving,â you interrupted him, âI canât keep sitting behind a screen watching you almost die.â
âThatâs the job you signed up for.â
âYeah, and I didnât think it would feel this way,â you admitted.
âFeel what way?â
âI- You think I, I enjoy doing that?â you avoided the question, feeling rain begin to spit in your face.
âYou make one mistake and you decide to run away. Thatâs your solution?â He questioned, a short laugh fell from his lips.
âIâm not running away! Iâm protecting you!â
The rain hit harder against the ground, puddles beginning to form.
He huffed, water droplets sliding down his jacket. âProtecting me? Youâre the best assistant Iâve ever had. The best analyst weâve had in field operations for a long time!â
âThat doesnât matter.â
âYes, it does, youâve saved me hundreds of times, more than I can count. One mistake doesnât undo everything.â
âIâm not making the same mistake twice. I refuse to be the reason you get hurt again.â
âThis isnât about the mission, is it?â
You walked away from him.
âWalking away isnât protecting me! Youâre punishing yourself!â he called after you.
Something in you snapped, because if he was going to prod around at your personal life then he can shove a stick up his nosy ass-
âLeave me alone, Leon, you think I donât notice the copious amounts of alcohol you drink every day?â you yelled, âWhy are you begging me to come back to a job that is already destroying you? Because you want someone else in your- in your fucking nightmare?â
His paused and his expression changed.
âIâm asking you to not walk away from something youâre good at because youâre scared,â he said, a sadness lacing through his words. His hair was soaked in the rain, sticking to his face.
âIâm not scared. Iâm removing myself from being the reason that another mistake happens.â
âYou know what? If one mistake is enough to make you quit, then I truly think you werenât cut out for the job in the first place,â he bit back, his words slapping you in the face before he could stop them.
âAt least Iâm not roping someone to stay in a job that has destroyed them,â you fumed.
You walked away before you continued bickering with this stubborn, middle-aged man any longer.
âAt least I still have the balls to do the job,â he muttered, watching you grow smaller and smaller until you disappeared out of the car park as his chest rapidly moved up and down, his hands in tight fists.
Note: next chapter is even more angsty LMFAO, but it ends with leon taking us back to his apartment. and I regret to inform but I am closing my taglist cause holy shit... the amount of love is LITERALLY overwhelming, thank you guys so much <3
shy! leon's assistant! reader x re9! leon (part 2 of this)
Summary: You settled into your new position as Leon's assistant, and as the months pass you by, managing reports and schedules becomes much more with Leon. The whole office realises the two of you are inseparable with shared routines and late nights.
Song: Something Stupid - Lola Marsh
Working for Mr Kennedy, or Leon, as he asked you multiple times, was different from any other job you had worked before. Itâs not to say you didnât like it or that you were uncomfortable around him, in fact, it was rather the opposite.
You just never quite knew what to do with yourself around him.
You soon adapted to his way of working, you kept a small notepad and noted down his schedule. He came in at 8.30am and left between the time of 7pm to 11pm. It depended on his mood, what day it was, and the time you wanted to go home. You noticed that he put off his lunch as late as possible, to make the second part of the day seem âquickerâ; you noticed that he hated digital files and always printed them off; you noticed that he could quickly reel off details from a file that he only read once.
Leon was no stranger to observing either. As he passed your desk, he felt a little embarrassed to see the clean structure of it all, how everything was perfectly lined up â compared to his mess of a desk. He saw how much you would fidget in your seat and how your eyes never left your screen despite this. When he first called your name in the office, it startled you so much he began to knock softly on your desk before speaking to you.
It was a Friday, you had done a full week of working with Leon, the two of you were finishing late â a seemingly running theme for the past few days.
You heel kept slipping out of your shoe as you bounced it up and down, sat cross-legged on your chair. Sorting out Leonâs mission report and ensuring that none of his emails went unread, your fingers clicked at a rapid speed across the keyboard, lines of data reflected in your eyes. You heard Leonâs chair creak as he leaned back, signalling that he was ready to go home. You looked up at the coat hanger, to see your coat and scarf hanging up next to his. The weather was beginning to warm, and you thought about how it was probably time to drop the scarf. The once shrivelled plant on Leonâs shelf had begin to shoot back to life after you began to water it.
âSo.â Leon started, taking off his reading glasses.
âSo?â You pushed yourself away from your desk slightly, patting non-existent dust off your shoulders. You suddenly became very aware of how hunched over you were and internally begged yourself to not say something stupid in this conversation.
âWhat did you think?â He asked, watching you make yourself presentable after hours of staring at a screen.
âThink of what?â
âWorking with me this week? I hope I wasnât too scary.â he joked.
You laughed softly and your eyes fell onto the floor, âyou werenât scary. Working with you this week has been⊠efficient.â
âEfficient?â He raised his eyebrow, nodding slowly.
âYeah⊠I donât have to repeat myself or correct mistakes or anything. Saves a lot of time.â You continued, unsure if you had said too much. You had a bad habit of saying too much or nothing at all, you could never quite grasp the perfect number of words.
âHm. Donât usually get someone describing me as a piece of equipment.â He huffed, amused.
âI didnât mean it negatively,â you said quickly. âI like working with you, Leon.â
âGood. Because this week has been significantly less stressful with you around.â He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, a little grunt accompanying this.
âReally?â
âYou have somehow structured my chaos, and that is impressive.â He sat on your desk and then tapped the top of your monitor before you could say any more, âItâs a Friday. What are you still doing here?â
âUhm, your reports?â you replied innocently, looking up at him with your hands placed in your lap. Something about you resembled a small mouse to Leon, maybe it was the way you scrambled around him or accidentally squealed when he called your name too loudly.
âYou know you can go home and do them next week.â
âYouâre here too,â you said, a little bluntly.
He paused and then sighed, standing up, âfair point. Câmon. Letâs go home.â
As you two left the building, your shoulders brushed slightly. Neither of you said anything or adjusted yourselves.
You stopped in your tracks, clutching onto your bag strap.
"Leon," you called out.
"Yes?" He stopped to turn around.
"Thanks for a nice week at the DSO," you gave him a warm smile. He returned it.
"...anytime."
Within the first week of meeting Leon, he planted a seed of affection that began to bloom in your heart.
You no longer needed to look at each other to pass files to one another, neither of you needed to fill a silence because it was comfortable sitting in it together. Neither of you needed to consciously to adapt to how the other worked because it already happened naturally.
The one plant on Leonâs shelf multiplied into many others and you had your own flowers on your own desk. Leon would find you watering them in the morning while he placed the snacks that he bought for you on his way to work on your desk. His tie was all crooked, and without thinking, your hands reached out to fix it, straightening it for him. He blinked at you,
ââŠthank you.â
The meeting room held many secrets. The two of you always walked to meetings together, and Leon never left the room without you. If either of you adjusted yourselves and there was a brushing of your leg against his â neither of you would move. Once, you were finishing up notes, and Leon was awkwardly hovering around the door, checking his watch, as if there was something physically barricading him from passing through. It was only until you got up and walked through the door that he left the room. The two co-workers watching this laughed.
In the middle of spring, the office goldfish passed away, and Leon found you scooping the corpse up into a plastic cup.
âWhat are you doing?â
âJerry passed away,â you mumbled, a hint of sadness in your voice, âhe meant so much to me when I started here.â
Leon held back a laugh, âIâm sorry for your loss.â
âI want to give him a burial.â
âA burial?â he questioned.
âYes. Flushing him down the toilet is a horrible send off,â you explained, horrified by how anyone with a decent heart could flush a precious thing down a toilet. A fish was a pet too. Imagine flushing your dead cat down the toilet. Cruel, you thought.
âAlright then, letâs give him the funeral he deserves,â Leon confirmed, a little surprised by your loyalty to this fish, but anything to see you happy he supposed.
The two of you spent your lunch digging a hole behind the DSO building with a teaspoon.
âI canât believe you have me digging a grave for a goldfish behind the DSO,â Leon murmured as he scooped out the last bit of dirt. You laughed a little, placing the goldfish in the freshly dug hole.
âThe lengths you go for me wonât be forgotten, Leon,â you teased, patting his back. He turned his head over his shoulder and caught your eyes, and for a brief moment you two were staring at each other. A boyish grin flashed on his face before he stood back, and you said a few words. When the two of you walked to the office, you had some dirt on your cheek, and he brushed it off your flustered face. Clearing his throat, he walked back to his desk like nothing happened.
Co-workers began to notice. It wasnât uncommon to see the tall man dressed in navy to have you, tagging alongside him with your notepad in your hand.
âDo you know where Kennedy is?â Someone would ask.
âProbably with l/n,â was one of the multiple variations of answers.
âHave you seen l/n?â Another question.
âYes, she was last with Kennedy in the break room.â Another variation.
âWhereâs the two?â
âGone out to get lunch together.â
You were waiting for the printer to work, and Sherry found you, asking: âHave you seen-â
And then Leon would be there, appearing around the corner with two coffees in his hand. She saw the way a smile stretched across your face as soon as your eyes lay upon him.
âAh,â Sherry said to herself.
People began to test this theory. Leon would walk out of a room, and someone would ask him where you were, only to be greeted by you, who was only a few paces behind him.
You became much louder, in fact, people could now hear the two of you coming. It was either your laugh that echoed down the hallway or his boyish giggle. You now knew the security and the receptionist, they would welcome and say goodbye to you. You now waved at people and greeted them in the office, your posture had lifted into something bright and beautiful. You were no longer the shadow you had the desire to be; you reflected the light and for once, you didnât mind it. This courage to call out others' mistakes instead of being complicit in their obliviousness had taken root in you.
One evening, exhaustion had finally won, and you were fast asleep, your face resting against reports. Leon found you, your peaceful face lit by your desk lamp. He laughed slightly and draped his jacket over your shoulders as he returned to his desk, occasionally glancing over to you. You were going to be in for one hell of a lecture about pushing yourself too hard when you woke up.
âYou know, youâve really come out of your shell, y/n,â Sherry stated, as the two of you ate your lunch on a bench in a nearby park.
âYou think?â you asked, looking at the cherry blossom trees that filed down the park.
âMhm. And I think a certain someone has something to do with it,â she hummed, glancing at the blush that crept onto your cheeks.
âNo⊠no,â you denied, immediately knowing who she was implying.
âDeny it all you want, but he has certainly helped you blossom.â
You didnât respond, but your eyes drifted to the window of your office where Leon was probably working.
âTheyâre calling you two salt and pepper.â Sherry admitted, taking a bite of her sandwich.
âWhy?â
She laughed and then said, âbecause you two come as a pair.â
âOh dear,â you huffed, smiling a little.
The inevitable realisation that you had feelings for this man fluttered around you.
It fluttered around him too - intensely.
He could go hours now without thinking about the golden liquid in his flask. Nothing was dying in his office anymore, not when you were around. Despite the natural coming of the spring, his days were lighter and brighter with you in them. Seeing your face after missions, the way you would rush to the medical room after events that would hollow him from the inside, it soothed the mental torment in his mind. Even just the small things you would say, he knew you were a woman of a few words, would assure him. And for once, finally, he felt that someone wasnât relying on him.
He admired the way you were capable of things yourself, after gruelling years of everything being on his back, there was someone to take the pressure off. He had never felt more ashamed when you caught him tipping whiskey down his throat, even if you never said anything about it, the way you became quiet after just killed him.
Seeing you made him get up in the morning, and if you ever called in sick, extremely rarely, a dread would build in his chest again. His grip around his pen would tighten when he heard you take all the verbal abuse your mother threw at you through your phone. It disgusted him.
âMmm⊠I think maybe if youâŠâ you spoke about how he should approach his next mission, you had scooted your desk chair to his desk, your heels flicking back and forth. You leant over to press on his mouse and typed a few words into his keyboard, revealing a new image of some report. You saw an image of the BSAA badge. Your heart sunk a little.
Your leg brushed against his. Neither of you moved. For a second you think he inched his leather derby shoes closer to your black kitten heels. You adjust your legs, so theyâre still touching him, but closer. Your head is still glued to your paper, and his eyes are still glued to his screen. A hundred reckless impulses rushed through your brain and everything in you just wanted to press the tip of your shoe against his ankle and rub slow circles around and around, to slip yourself on his lap and feel his rough stubble, to look up and meet his eyes. But you couldnât, as wanting something and acting on it were very two different things to you. And you always found yourself better at the former.
It was late, 11pm. Leon groaned, pulling himself away from his desk. The absence of your rapid typing did not go unnoticed by him. Strange - you never left before him. Your coat was still hanging up next to his and your desk lamp was still on, so you couldnât have gone far. He left the office, peeking his head around the corner.
Bang! Bang!
Thuds were heard from around the corner, and Leon followed the noise.
You were crouched on the floor, half of your arm in the vending machine. He cleared his throat and your head snapped towards him, caught red handed. You went bright red.
âIt stole my money,â you admitted, pouting slightly.
He chuckled as he saw the stuck chocolate bar leaning against the glass.
âI donât think fighting it is going to make it want to give it to you.â
You groaned and slid your hand out in defeat. Nothing was working in your favor today. Your shower broke this morning, so you had to resort to drowning yourself in perfume. Your computer locked you out of your account. Your button fell off your coat. Now this.
âI just wanted one thing today,â you mumbled, staring at the purple wrapper through the glass.
âOne thing?â he questioned softly, tilting his head.
âYes.â
âFrom a vending machine?â
âYes.â
âStep aside.â
You stepped out of the way.
He gave the machine a firm shake. Didnât work. He then kicked it in frustration, and it slipped into the basket.
You gasped as you retrieved your chocolate, âmy hero!â
âAnything for you,â he smiled back then checked his watch, âyou know its eleven, right?â
âI lost track of time. Seems like you did too.â you replied, observing the bags around his eyes. No one ever noticed him staying late.
âCâmon. Letâs go home. You need to rest, you know,â he held your shoulder and led you back into the office.
âOkay salt,â you mumbled, taking a bite from your chocolate bar.
âSalt?â
âPeople are calling us salt and pepper.â you said, mouth full of chocolate. You passed the chocolate bar to him.
âWhy?â he questioned, his eyes flickering to your face and then taking a bite out the bar you passed him.
âApparently, we come as a pair.â
âAnd youâre assuming that Iâm salt?â
You two continued arguing over who was salt and pepper out of the building, chocolate in your mouths, and the receptionist rolled her eyes.
edit: part 3 is here
note: i hope u guys liked the pure cheesy office romance <3. the next chapter will be quite angsty!
summary: you had worked in the dso for almost a year now doing logistics and communications. you preferred the quiet and being behind a screen. however, sherry believed that working as an assistant for leon would benefit not only you, but him too.
so you were now assigned as leon s. kennedy's assistant.
both of you had your own problems, and it was only a matter of time until either one of you was going to crash.
"you'll be fine, trust me. he's not scary at all." sherry said, filing through papers, her eyes scanning each one.
you paced back and forth, pushing your hair out of your face and then rubbing your necklace between your fingers.
"you've known him for so long- i've only heard of him like he's a myth!" you exclaimed, stopping in your circles and staring at sherry with a desperacy.
"you're perfect for the job." her gaze was taken from the files and onto you, her eyes full of certainty.
you wiped your clammy palms on your pencil skirt. this unbearable dread had been planted in your chest, you should've called in sick this morning to escape this fate. you felt yourself grow smaller, if that was even possible, because in your mind - it was.
"sherry, i'm not- i'm not sure i can even do this-" you took a deep breath in. you did not write out those positive affirmation post-it-notes and stick them to your mirror for nothing. you nodded, "it's fine. i can do this."
"there we go." sherry chuckled a little, the corners of her rosy lips curving upwards. she placed her hand firmly on your shoulder. "this is major for you. don't let this opportunity pass you by."
"yes, sher- ma'am."
sherry let out another laugh, rubbing her thumb slightly on your shoulder before letting go and placing a pile of folders in your hands.
"you'll need these. now, take a deep breath and go in that office. you've got this," sherry assured, a bright encouragement shined from her smile.
the files anchored you down and you paused mid-walk over. you turn your head over your shoulder, like a child seeking her mother's approval.
sherry mouthed "go" at you with a proud grin stretched on her face.
this was easy for her. it was far away from easy for you.
at the end of the corridor was a dark grey door, with the name 'leon s. kennedy' engraved into a golden platter. you weren't used to feeling important. sure, you worked at the dso, but you were used to blending into the shadows - drawing attention to yourself was the last thing you wanted to do.
and working for leon s. kennedy was going to attract the attention you hated.
you pushed the heavy door open with your back, your heart pounding out of your chest. it was just a person. just a guy. just some man. don't be afraid of a man, don't let him intimidate you. you were going to be his assistant, you had to get to know him. just be sociable for the next... however many hours.
the grey, february light filtered through the windows, and the cold air conditioning made the office into what could be mistaken as a freezer. there was a dying plant on one shelf, a long rifle held on another. a coat hanger held a navy blue scarf and various leather jackets. a framed photo reflected the light, and two figures could be made out - it seemed to be him and sherry, fairly recent.
the broad figure looked up from his paperwork to raise an eyebrow at the woman who just clumsily stepped into his office with a pile of files in her hand.
"who are you?" his deep, oddly soothing voice drew you from your observations. his eyes fell to the folders you were holding, "need help?"
now, you were observing him.
his hay-like hair fell around his face, a few greys woven within his chestnut brown. his eyes were sharp and pale, as if they were clear and contrasted against the dark frame of his eyelashes. his face was tight with frustration and exhaustion, evident in the deep crease in his eyebrow.
your stomach dropped into your ass.
"y/n. i mean miss l/n. the new- your new assistant." you stuttered through your sentences as if they were obstacles. god nothing looked better than dying in a hole. first impressions were everything, according to your mother, and you had already humiliated yourself.
"ah, yes. sherry said," he replied, standing up from his seat, his expression softening, but you were too terrified to even look him in the eye - actually your eyes found the floor to be incredibly interesting.
"i have your folders, sir- sherry sent me here with them. i can sort them out if you'd like," you began, rushing over to his desk and sorting through them already, your fingers frantically flicking through them all. maybe if you moved fast enough, he wouldn't notice your inability to deal with words.
"it's okay. it seems like they're sorted already." he said, his voice thinning as he watched your fingers maneuver rapidly through paper.
"yes sir, color-coded." you managed a small smile towards him. nothing was safer than color coding.
"just call me leon. i'm not assessing your usefulness in the first five minutes of our meeting, you know." he joked, placing his steady fingers on top of your fiddling ones, "you can breathe."
"sorry." you mumbled, stepping back to behind his desk.
"nervous?"
"no." you said, too quickly. you bit your lip, "is it that obvious?"
"you'll be fine." a smile tugged on his lips, "how about coffee to relax nerves?" he asked, his head tilting to the side.
you paused to try to understand how coffee could relax nerves but you agreed anyway. following him outside his office, you saw sherry give a small thumbs up among the labyrinth of desks and sea of workers. you exchanged with her an unsure crooked smile and she winked at you. traitor.
"sir- leon. the break room is down there-" your hand awkwardly pointed behind you.
"let's try the new coffee shop down the road. seems nicer in my opinion. if sherry told me you were starting today i would've..." he started to mumble to himself about welcoming you properly and that no one tells him anything around here.
you followed him quietly out of security and out of the dso building. the harsh cold nipped at your nose, making your ears sting. you tried to keep up with leon as you buttoned your coat up, the two of you walking along the pavement. all the trees were beginning to bloom again, green leaves attempting to free themselves from their cocoons. you liked this time of the year, the evenings becoming lighter - you could drive home in the sunset, the golden light blindingly bright, the warm caress of the sun rays brought you an abundance of happiness. but that is of course, only when you finished on time.
"you worked as an assistant before or..?" he started, noting how quiet your footsteps were, despite you wearing heels.
"yea, just for a little while when, uhm, sarah was off." you replied, fiddling with the button on your blazer.
"how did that go?"
"i did well. good enough." you answered, observing the way he placed himself on the outside of the pavement.
"heard that you did better than sarah herself." he huffed, catching your eyes as he looked down at you.
"i did not, she- i just reorganised a few things." you stuttered, a heat crawling up your neck.
"not what i heard." he shook his head, amused by your stubborness.
"well." you weren't sure what to say. "thank you?"
he laughed a little, "you're welcome."
he outstretched his arm to open the door to the coffee shop for you. the warmth of the shop made you sigh, your stiff fingers absorbing the heat.
"how can i help you today?" the cashier questioned, an eager smile on her face. you turned to leon who was already looking at you.
"order what you want, it's on me." he said, his hand on your shoulder, nudging you out of the way of passing customers.
giving him the faintest hint of a smile, you placed your order.
"name?" the cashier asked, seemingly patient.
"uh, y/n." you replied.
"could you repeat that again?"
you repeated yourself, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. she stared back at you blankly.
leon said your name louder, the cashier nodded and typed into the till. internally, you had smashed your head against the counter.
leon ordered his drink, his adam's apple protruding and his grey stubble coated his jaw, making you wonder how old he was. you noticed how his hair looked blonder under the warm light of the morning, and how the scowl on his face had softened into a smile. he felt your stare, and his eyes flicked back to you as he spoke to the cashier about some tab. caught, you snapped your head back the floor, because you forgot about how interesting floors can get.
you two waited by the window, sat on the stools.
"so, sherry taught you everything then?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
you nodded enthusiastically, "she's a great teacher."
"i'm sure you were a great student."
your face was on fire and you hoped that your entire face was not red.
your name is called, thank god, and leon goes to pick up the two cups, placing the smaller one in your hand.
"you live nearby?"
"yeah, just one of the villages nearby. only forty minutes." you mumbled, "it's nice. and quiet. i like it there."
"quiet's good. you don't get that around here." he nodded slightly.
the two of you continued talking, a few awkward silences, but as the two of you navigated through the conversations, you two got used to how the other works. you found out that leon drank his coffee black, no sugar; said the corniest jokes that somehow made you laugh anyway; collected leather jackets.
"if you're working with me, we need rules." he announced, tapping the table with his fingers.
you gulped.
"first rule. don't call me sir. it makes me feel old." he spoke with a gentleness. you noticed the way he addressed other co-workers as you walked out the building, it seemed like he reserved a softness towards you.
you nodded and trialled his name, "leon."
"there we go." he exhaled from his nose, watching you take a sip of your coffee. your face contorts briefly into a disgusted expression and he tried to hide the smirk that was playing on his lips.
"second rule. we don't ever come back here again, this coffee was shit." he finalised.
you nodded, "agreed."
"perfect." he placed his coffee cup down and the two of you left the place hastily.
you made it back to his office, settling behind your new desk. leon ran you through the things he needed you to cover over the next few weeks. as you were sat at your desk, leon hunched over you, clicking on your mouse to show you the right reports he needed you to work on. his chest awfully close to your face, was he always this close and personal? maybe it was something to ask sherry. or not. probably not. his concentrated face, eyebrows furrowed and lips pinched, completely disappeared when he noticed you were looking at him.
it was weird sharing an office with only one other person, you could hear every move that leon made, his typing, him clicking his pen on and off, his sighing, the way his seat creaked as he sat back and him unscrewing his hidden whiskey flask. you pretended you didn't notice.
when the office was empty, your phone flashed, the words 'mom' shone brightly across the screen.
your heart rate accelerated.
leon finished up in the break room, making an americano to power him through his last few hours of work. he preferred working late, he hated going home and having too much time to think. as he made his way back to the office, he heard your voice. he paused for a second, not wanting to barge in. but there was no one else in the room, just you, your face illuminated by your phone screen.
"yes mom, i think so. i've actually been promoted to being an assistant of a well-known agent." you said, a chuffed smile on your face, nodding, "mhm, yeah i think it's going well. yes he is nice to me, he got me coffee too."
you continued as you spun around in your chair, "yes i know this is a big opportunity. i'm taking it seriously."
he could suddenly hear the other end of the call.
"you know your brother never needed this much time to prove himself, he was leading operations at your age." your mom said through the phone, her voice containing a thousand icicles.
leon watched the way your smile was gradually erased from your face.
"yes mom- i know, i'm trying my best." you assured her, digging your teeth into your bottom lip. your posture had completely crumpled.
"are you working late tonight?" your mom asked sternly.
"mhm."
"good. dedication is what will separate you from the rest. this is important." she replied, every word she spoke placed another weight on your back.
"i know. i- i better get back to work." you just wanted this call to end. it was foolish to think she was going to acknowledge your hard work. it was never well done, it was always do better.
"okay. call us this weekend, your father would like to know how things are going, this is important to him too you know."
"yes mom. bye mom." you ended the call with a sigh, chucking your phone back into your bag.
you didn't realise how badly your hand was shaking until you gripped your wrist with your other hand. fuck.
get your shit together.
leon walked into the office, like he didn't hear the tense call. you exchanged smiles with him and the both of you returned to your computers.
ignoring the waiting whiskey flask and ignoring the pressuring voices of your parents.
edit: here is part 2
note: lemme know what you guys think, i don't know if i made their dynamic too boring... i think i made the reader more awkward than shy. again, i'm open to suggestions. part 2 is going to be pure cheesy office romance <3 but ofc with underlying issues, ya girl loves some angst. um sorry if some bits don't make sense im a bit drunk rn.. if u need something to look forward to... there will be VERY MUCH lots of praises within the smut of this series... teehee.
âËâč where you fit | steve harrington x reader
summary: you learned a long time ago how to take up less space. steve harrington promised you would never have to do that with him. when he breaks that promise, even by accident, the fallout is quiet and unbearable. robin buckley, who is not paid enough for this, eventually forces him to stop being an idiot and go get his girl.
tags/warnings: post s4 no spoilers, hurt/comfort, emotional angst, abandonment fears, miscommunication, idiots in love, steve harrington being painfully in love, reader has a soft heart, robin buckley saves the day, brief crying, comfort ending
wc: ~6k
cutie lace divider by: @uzmacchiato
Steve notices the smell before anything else.
Heat trapped in carpet fibers. Dust warmed by the sun. The faint, lingering sweetness of your shampoo, the one you always forget at his place, clinging to the air like evidence you spent all of your time there. It hits him all at once, settles low in his chest. The fan hums from the corner of his room, rattling the posters taped crookedly to the walls, pushing around warm air that sticks to his skin. Outside, cicadas buzz relentlessly, loud and unbothered, a constant pulse beneath the quiet tension slowly tightening around his ribs.
You stand near the foot of his bed, arms wrapped around yourself. Not angry. Careful. Like you are holding each word up to the light before deciding whether it is safe to let it go.
The desk lamp casts the room in amber, softening everything it touches. Softening the edges of the furniture, the shadows, you. It makes this feel like a place where nothing bad should happen. Like this room should be safe.
âYouâve been distant,â you say gently. âI can feel it.â
Steve leans back against the dresser, the wood pressing into his spine. His shirt clings to him with sweat. He smells like soap and summer and the faint metallic tang of grease from the car he worked on earlier. He crosses his arms, a habit he falls into when he does not know where to put his hands.
âIâve just had a lot on my mind,â he says.
âYou always do,â you reply, soft but steady. âBut lately you disappear into it.â
His jaw tightens. He hates that you can tell. Hates that you see straight through him even when he is trying to hold everything together with sheer force of will.
âIâm allowed to think,â he snaps before he can stop himself. âNot everything has to be a conversation.â
Your shoulders tense at that. It is small, almost imperceptible, but he sees it anyway.
âI donât need everything,â you say. âI just need to know youâre still here.â
That should have stopped him. It usually does.
He loves how openly you want him. Loves that you never pretend to need less than you do. Loves how easily you reach for reassurance now, even after a past that taught you to fold yourself smaller to survive. He knows where that instinct came from. Knows the cost it once had. Knows how long it took for you to unlearn it.
Fear makes him careless.
âYouâre always checking,â he says, frustration rising before he can swallow it down. âAlways needing to know where Iâm at, what Iâm feeling, if Iâm okay.â
You blink, lips parting slightly, like the words caught you off guard.
âIt gets exhausting,â he adds, the truth twisted sharp by his panic. âI canât even breathe without you asking if Iâm alright.â
The cassette clicks loudly as it reaches the end of the tape, cutting the music off mid note. The fan hums. Cicadas scream. The air thickens until it feels hard to breathe.
Steve sees it the second it lands.
The way your posture folds inward, instinctive and familiar, like your body remembers this feeling even if you wish it would not. Like something old has been woken up inside you.
You do not argue. You swallow hard, eyes shining, lashes clumping together as tears gather despite your effort to stop them.
âI didnât mean it like that,â Steve says quickly, panic creeping in.
But then he exhales, stubbornness digging in, fear winning over instinct.
âMaybe you could give me some space,â he mutters. âYou donât have to be so much all the time.â
The word settles between you.
It has weight. History. Teeth.
Your eyes glass over completely now, hazel gone distant and wet. Steve feels sick watching you try to hold yourself together, like you are bracing for something you recognize too well.
You nod once. Slow. Careful.
âOkay,â you whisper, your voice breaking right down the middle.
You turn away, grabbing your shoes, then his hoodie from the back of the chair. You pull it over your head, drowning in the fabric, sleeves swallowing your hands. It smells like him. Familiar. Comforting. Cruel.
You pause at the door, just for a second, like you are waiting for him to say something. Anything. Like you are giving him one last chance to stop you before you disappear.
Steve thinks about crossing the room. About pulling you back. About saying anything to undo what he has just done.
He does not move.
The door closes softly behind you.
The house feels hollow immediately.
The next morning, the quiet is wrong.
Steve stands in his kitchen with a piece of burnt toast in his hand and the radio murmuring low on the counter. Sunlight spills through the window at the wrong angle, too harsh, too bright. The air smells stale, like it has been holding its breath.
You usually sit on the counter while he eats, legs swinging, stealing bites off his plate. You usually leave your mug in the sink even when you swear you will wash it.
The counter is empty.
He tells himself you just need a day.
By the second day, the absence presses in on him, heavy and unrelenting.
Your toothbrush is still in his bathroom. Your shampoo still fogs the mirror after his shower. The hoodie you took is gone, and that absence hurts more than he expects.
He replays the fight while he drives. While he showers. While he lies awake staring at the ceiling fan.
You do not have to be so much.
Each time, the words rot a little more.
He thinks about the way you love. Openly. Without apology. He thinks about how brave it was for you to relearn that after someone taught you love was conditional.
And how easily he crushed it.
By the third day, you stop showing up entirely.
Not at Family Video. Not at the diner where you always wait for him after shifts. Not at the radio station, where you usually sit cross legged on the floor, flipping through magazines while Dustin rambles and Lucas debates song choices with Robin.
Max does not ask where you are, but she notices. Mike notices too. El asks once, quietly.
Steve has no answers.
Robin notices most of all.
She leans across the counter, squinting at the door for the sixth time that hour.
âOkay,â she says slowly. âWhere is she?â
Steve keeps his eyes on the tapes he is stacking. âSheâs busy.â
Robin hums. âThatâs funny. Because she has never been busy when youâre on shift. Ever.â
He shrugs, jaw tight. âMaybe she just wanted space.â
Robin watches him carefully now. He has been pacing between songs, snapping at callers, rubbing at his chest like something hurts there.
âShe didnât wave yesterday,â Robin says. âAnd she always waves.â
Steve swallows.
By the fourth day, the guilt becomes unbearable.
It settles in his chest, heavy and unmoving. He smells you everywhere. In his car. In his room. In the space beside him in bed that stays cold.
Robin corners him when he has worn a path into the floor.
âNo,â she says. âYou do not get to keep doing this. Spill.â
He breaks.
Tells her everything. The fight. The word he used. The way your body folded in on itself like it had done this before.
Robinâs face softens, then hardens.
âYou knew better,â she says quietly.
âI know,â Steve whispers. âI love that she needs me. I love being the place she comes to.â
âThen go prove it,â Robin snaps. âBecause right now she thinks she was wrong for trusting you.â
That does it.
Your room smells like clean laundry and salt.
You are curled on your bed, knees tucked tight to your chest, Steveâs hoodie wrapped around you like armor. Your arms are crossed over yourself, shoulders rounded, like you are trying to take up less space in the world.
The knock at your door is tentative.
You do not answer.
Another knock.
âY/n,â Steveâs voice says, quiet and wrecked. âPlease.â
You open the door slowly.
He stands there holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers, the ones you once said reminded you of late summer evenings. His hair is messy. His eyes are red. His chest rises and falls unevenly.
The moment he sees you, something inside him caves in.
You look smaller. Tired. Wrapped in his hoodie, arms tight around yourself like you are afraid to reach out.
âOh,â he breathes. âHoney.â
You say nothing.
Steve steps closer, careful, giving you space even as the ache in his chest twists tighter. He sets the flowers down on your nightstand and places his hands over the fabric of his hoodieâs sleeves, hands lingering for a moment, brushing against your arms like heâs memorizing your shape. And he starts talking immediately, words spilling out like he is afraid silence will swallow him whole.
âIâm sorry,â he says. âI am so sorry. I was scared and overwhelmed and instead of being honest, I took it out on you. I said things I never should have said.â
You nod faintly, eyes fixed on the floor.
He crouches down slightly to your level, pressing his forehead to yours. âYou donât have to take up less space with me,â he whispers. âYou fit right here. Youâve always fit.â
Tears continue to slip freely down your cheeks as he speaks. You lean into him, forehead resting against his, and he wraps you up immediately, holding you like heâs been yearning for this moment since the last time you spokeâand in all honesty, he was. His chest presses against yours, heartbeat steady, grounding. His hands drift over your back, slow, soft, like heâs tracing the outline of every worry youâve ever carried and promising to hold them for you.
âI love how much you care,â he continues, voice breaking. âI love that you want to be close to me. I love that you choose me. And I hate that I made you feel like that was too much. Like you were too much. Youâre not, youâre everything to me.â
You hesitate before speaking, voice barely an octave above a whisper. âI didnât want to say the wrong thing.â
His heart breaks clean in two.
âYou cannot say the wrong thing to me,â he says softly. âNot like that. Not ever.â
He pulls his head back to see you better, his pleading gaze taking in your broken one. Reaching a gentle hand up, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. He presses a kiss to your temple, then the curve of your cheek. His lips linger, gentle and reverent. He sighs into you, a long, shaky exhale that carries every word he doesnât speak.
âI broke my promise,â he whispers. âI told you that you would never have to make yourself smaller with me. And I broke it. I am so sorry.â
Your tears are quiet and unstoppable as they continue to slip free.
You lean into him again, this time forehead pressing into his chest. His strong arms slip back around you, holding you like he has been starving for it.
âIâm here,â he murmurs into your hair. âI am not leaving. And I am sorry it took me this long to come say that.â
After the tears slow, he makes you tea, letting the steam curl around the room in lazy spirals, warm and gentle. He sets it carefully on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed, giving you some space but still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. You curl into his side, small and tentative, letting your head rest against his chest without a word, an arm holding you in close to him. Your own arms are folded around yourself, like you are afraid of asking for too much, but he doesnât comment on it. He just lets you be. He lets you exist exactly as you are, small and fragile and exhausted, and it is all he wants to hold.
You sip the tea quietly, the mug warm in your hands. The room smells like himâhis soap, a tinge of sweat, the faint tang of summer air clinging to himâand it is enough to anchor you back to this moment, back to safety, back to him.
When you finally lie down, he moves slowly, deliberately, as if he could break you with a single careless motion. He carefully slides under the blanket beside you and draws you close to him. Your knees brush then, and it feels impossibly intimate, ordinary and profound all at once. He adjusts his side to fit yours, letting your head rest on his shoulder while your arm drapes over his chest.
âIâm here, sweet girl,â he whispers, his voice low and steady, a tether to the present. âIâm not leaving. Not now. Not ever.â
You breathe him in, the scent of him comforting and familiar. Warm cotton, the safety of home. Slowly and carefully, the tension in your body begins to ease with every pressing moment.
Your hand finds his shirt, slow and afraid at first. He freezes for the barest moment, as if he is scared you will pull away, then softens, pressing a little closer and letting you fully anchor yourself to him. The motion is gentle but deliberate, full of unspoken apologies and the ache he has carried for days.
âYou can need me,â he murmurs, voice gentle, steady, and full of a promise heâs said out loud before the incident. Before he hurt you. âI want you to.â
Your eyes finally lift to meet his. In his brown irises, you see the weight of everything he feelsâthe guilt, the love, the desperate need to hold you close to himâand it makes your heart ache in equal measures.
âI missed you,â you whisper, still small and raw, like youâre scared to speak any louder. As if itâll break the fragile bubble surrounding the two of you.
âI missed you every second,â he replies, pressing one slow, chaste kiss to your forehead, then the curve of your temple, then the soft line of your cheek. With each one, his lips linger just enough to reassure you and to let you know he is entirely here.
You curl closer into him, letting the warmth of his body fill the spaces where fear and doubt had been festering for days. His arms wrap around you a little tighter but still careful, pressing you into him as if he can hold the ache in his chest at bay by holding you instead. He hums quietly against your hair, soft and low, and it is enough to make your eyelids heavy, to let you finally relax.
He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucks it behind your ear, and then presses another tender kiss to the crown of your head. He whispers your name softly, just above the sound of your steady breathing. Each and every small gesture is full of the quiet, unshakable love that he feels for you, and didnât show you in the few days you spent apart.
The blanket is tucked snugly around you both. Your fingers thread through his, and he gives a single, grounding squeeze. He rocks you ever so slightly, a subtle motion meant to calm, meant to soothe, meant to show that here, in this moment, you are utterly safe.
âIâve got you,â he murmurs, his cheek resting lightly against the top of your head. âAll of you. Every part, baby. Iâve got you.â
You exhale slowly, letting your body melt into him. The weight of days, of tension, of fear, slips away, replaced by the simple certainty that he will not let you go again. And you finally fall asleep tucked against his chest, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the warmth of his body around you, and the softness of his touch lingering everywhere you can feel it.
YOUR APARTMENT was cold. just like how you had always kept it after jason died. cold to chill your bones, cold to shock your system, and cold to give you a reason to wake up every morning because without jason peter todd in your life, getting out from underneath the safety of your sheets had been fucking hard.
you were worried you'd acclimatize, get used to the frost nipping at your fingertips and elbows and nose every morning-- but you never did. because how could you get used to the gaping loss your lover, your soulmate, your everything, had brought with his death?
jason had been a breath of fresh air; like you were seeing colours for the first time in a world that had been previously all white and black. he had been quiet, sure, but never broody-- kind to a level in which you had a hard time fathoming, comfortable with you the same way you're comfortable with your own shadow, and easy; loving jason todd had been the easiest thing to do-- just like losing him was the hardest.
you had only been sixteen when he died.
(he had only been sixteen when he died.)
you'd known him for three years, watching him curiously until a familiar nervousness coiled in your stomach around him, your cheeks flushed when he smiled timidly at you, and you giggled innocently when he recommended literature for you and him to read together.
( "personally, i like margaret atwood," he had nodded, scratching shyly at his neck. "and while the handmaid's tale is good-- i'd tell you to read alias grace first. it's a whole experience... you'd enjoy it." jason had been so beyond his years-- interested in classic novels and literature like it was his oxygen. he was a nerd, by all traditional standards. and it had you infatuated. )
minutes blurred into hours with jason, and when his father had caught you both kissing for the first time in his sizeable library, he hadn't been surprised.
( "mr. wayne, i'm so--" you had started, feeling your face heat up at an impeccable speed. jason sat beside you, grinning like he had won the lottery; speechless and ecstatic. bruce had glanced between the two of you, his face blank, before slowly backing away and closing the library door behind him. jason's freckled cheeks tinted a deeper pink, his hand coming up to cup your jaw;
"see? old man didn't say anything-- it means he likes you."
oh how happy you had been. jason's father liked you! )
nobody had been surprised when you became a regular at the wayne mansion; often times, being greeted by his sibling like you were apart of the family. there had been no question about your future with the youngest master in the mansion; your days ahead as a wayne looking bright.
( "jaybird told me he's gonna marry you," his older brother had told you one night-- jason had gone to the bathroom, leaving you and dick alone in the living room together, movie on the large television paused. "obviously not now, but soon." dick had tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth with a practiced ease. you flushed, stomach swirling wildly at the thought of getting married to jason. "i told him i'd sucker punch him if he didn't." )
the night you learned jason had died replays over and over and over again in your mind, like some sick film stuck on repeat. every time you're left in silence, you hear the scream you had let out-- throat left fatally raw. every time you dream, you see his casket being lowered into the ground. every time you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the same words flash in front of your face:
jason peter todd. forever sixteen.
grief had been a terrible thing-- swallowing your life up whole, consuming every fibre of your being, and resting heavily on your shoulders like a suffocating fog infecting your lungs and making it impossible to breathe.
the last you had heard from the waynes had been a package in the mail; arriving to your parent's front doorstep, exactly two months after jason's funeral. neatly wrapped, your name written delicately on a gift tag attached to a red ribbon that encased the entire package.
your hands were shaking when you had opened it; like somehow, you knew this was their version of closure-- this was them saying good-bye.
there was a small note resting on the gift itself, addressing you:
this was in jason's school bag; its annotated, cover to cover. we all figured you'd enjoy getting to pick at his brain one last time. you're a sweet girl, and jason would never let us forget it. happy seventeenth birthday.
all the best,
the waynes.
below the note was jason's copy of alias grace.
four and a half years years later, it still remains unopened; like jason's ghost would appear should you even dare to flick through the pages.
so your apartment is cold; not just cold, freezing. because moving on, getting over it, and growing up was hard. especially knowing jason would never get the chance, forever trapped in a mindless pit of death and grief and being forever sixteen.
â°
you cannot believe your eyes. surely, this had to be some horrid joke someone was playing on you-- maybe you had even been unknowingly exposed to fear toxin; you cursed mentally, because shit. you can't remember the last time you checked the news.
jason's voice is a shock to your system, your name leaving his mouth sounding like a foreign language. jason's entire being is a shock to your system-- standing in your doorway, holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, looking simply bashful.
"uh," he starts, scratching at his jaw. the sound of his fingers connecting to slight stubble echoes within your apartment's corridor. "hello."
...
"what the fuck."
you don't mean to be so crude, but... what the fuck! your dead boyfriend is standing right in front of you, very much alive. instead, he's grown-- wiser, older, bigger. his chest and shoulders are broad, barely contained by the sweatshirt he's adorning; his cheeks are still freckled to the moon and back, but mean looking scars litter his face; the most noticeable one being a 'J' along his left cheek.
you remember his eyes being blue-- a soft, loving, knowing blue. like the ocean, or maybe even the sky on the sunniest of spring days. they blink back at you now almost an un-natural shade of green, and you swear they're flickering.
jason swallows, nodding his head slowly. he extends two arms gently, as if to soothe you like you're some sort of wild animal. which, in his defense, is what you feel like; probably what you look like too, considering your hair is mussed from sleep and you've dragged your hands down your face a solid thirty-six times since you've opened the door. "it's okay, i- i know you're probably really confused,"
"confused?" you exasperate, eyes widening maddeningly. "i'm--"
scared. insane. hurt. sick. grieving.
you shake your head, unbelieving of the sight in front of you. "you're supposed to be dead."
jason's shoulders fall ever so slightly. "well. i was, and now i'm not." he offers slowly. it comes out harsher than he intended, and he cringes inwardly at his tone.
"you're supposed to be dead." you repeat. your chest, you think, has not felt this tight since you were told jason had died. your mouth is parted, air beginning to enter and exit you at a quickeningly alarming rate. your throat is so tight-- you cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot see-- all you feel is your chest heaving, throat closing, and hands trembling. your eyes are watering too; you can feel them begin to shed salty tears, fat droplets rolling down your cheeks.
is this what shock is like? i think i'm going into shock, you think vaguely, hand bracing the frame of your apartment's front door. it's too hot, is another thing that floats into the edges of your mind; which is ironic, given the thermostat in your apartment's entryway reads nineteen point five degrees celcius. "fuck." you manage to mutter, still hyperventilating.
jason moves. like its habit, like its practiced, like its muscle memory-- he moves. swiping you up into his arms from underneath your knees, he cradles you to his chest. his grip on the flowers tighten, as well as your body, as he manages to shut your apartment's door behind him. his eyes scan the floor-- quickly, he places you down on one of your couches, kneeling in front of you.
"hey," he starts softly, and the way he says your name is so tender, you think if you hadn't already been crying, that would have sent you over the edge. "it's just me. which, okay, i know is a lot for you to take in-- but it's just me, jason. your jason." his hands find yours, and his thumbs begin to stroke the back of your palm comfortingly. "you don't need to be upset, baby," the petname falls from his lips like muscle memory, and his heart clenches. "i'm sorry i left you for so long; i promise i won't do it again, my poor girl," he whispers, squeezing your hands tightly. "but i'm back now, and everything s'gonna be alright, okay?"
you nod, unable to form any coherent words. tears continue to fall from your eyes, dampening your face further-- it isn't shock, though, that drives your emotions high anymore. through your upset, your palms find his cheeks, grasping gently onto this boy who you truly believed you would never see again.
it is relief.
â°
if you didn't believe jason could rip your heart to shreds any further, you would be a sorely mistaken woman.
he explains, about half an hour later, everything. his mother, the joker, the explosion, dying, being resurrected, the pit, the league. all of it.
it wrenches something deep within your gut, and you truly cannot fathom how he's just talking about all of this while cutting the stems of your flowers and gently placing them in a vase.
"so," he sighs, snipping a stalk, watching the end fall carelessly into the trash bin beneath him, "then i moved back in with bruce. which, i didn't want to at the time, but i think it's been good for my whole..."
"coming back to life thing?" you offer.
"yeah," he replies, the corner of his mouth snaking upwards the smallest bit. "that."
there's a silence that envelops your apartment afterwards. jason keeps moving methodically, apparently quite captivated in the act of prepping flowers for your kitchen table.
"why did you come back?" you ask suddenly. so suddenly, it even catches yourself off guard-- like it had been an intrusive thought that was more of an intrusive comment. "back to me." you clarify.
jason stills. "because," he says after a few moments, "don't you want to see me?"
"i do," you answer easily, ignoring how selfish the question inherently is in nature. "but if you're just here to--" you gesture vaguely to the plants within his hands. "do that, then maybe..."
you shouldn't have come.
you don't say it, your voice trailing off-- but its clear the implication hangs in the air like dead weight.
jason sets both a flower and the plant cutter down, bracing both of his arms onto the edge of your counter. "are you seeing someone?" he asks abruptly. his face has hardened, going colder. again-- you swear his eyes are flickering.
"what?" you question, face contorting into confusion. "no-- i-- shit," you swallow, chuckling quietly. you're laughing because even the thought of a date with someone else makes you nauseous. "i haven't even been out once like that since... well, you." the confession makes your cheeks burn, and you feel some form of embarrassment wash over you like cold water.
jason's face softens, and he glances downwards towards his feet. "oh." he says quietly.
"yeah." your fingers drum anxiously against the fabric of your couch.
silence overtakes your apartment again; though its charged this time, with something else-- something you haven't felt in a long time.
it takes jason only a few steps to cross your entire apartment, before he's sat beside you on the couch. there's barely an inch of space between both of you, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body; it calls to you, and your fingers twitch.
"i came back to see you because i'm in love with you." he says carefully.
if you didn't know jason todd, you'd assume he said it in a detached sort of way-- but you do know jason todd (or at least once you had known jason todd) so you read him easily; he's nervous.
"seeing all of my shit from... before, in my old room, it just..." he pauses. "there was a lot of stuff i had that was for you."
his admission makes your throat tight again.
"pictures of you, poems from you, some of your books--" the tips of his ears go a romantic shade of pink, "i even found a bottle of your old perfume that i used to spray on my pillow."
"oh, jay," you taunt, (as if things are normal, as if he wasn't dead, as if he's never been gone), bringing a hand up to your mouth to conceal your giggle.
jason turns to face you, as if he's trying to figure something out; trying to decipher something in your chuckle. his solemn expression immediately quiets your laughter, and you whisper: "oh, shit, m'sorry-- i shouldn't have laughed--"
"can i kiss you?" he cuts you off. his eyes flicker from your own to your lips, and your tongue darts out subconsciously to wet them. he mirrors you.
there is something within you that twists, so deeply, so fully, it almost makes you topple over. as you're staring at jason, the question lingering in the air, suddenly-- he doesn't look so different than from before. he looks shy, he looks timid, he looks youthful; his hair resembles the way it did, all those years ago in the back of bruce's library. his eyes-- despite the colour difference-- are soft, warm, familiar. the longer you stare, the less you see the scars that paint his cheeks, and the more you see the same freckles you used to count naively, knowing there would be no end.
all those years ago, you believed there would have been no end. you and jason would be as permanent as the stars in the sky, bound to each other in every life time and every universe.
and then there had been an end. and you had never been so lost before.
now, there's a beginning. so you tell jason:
"yes," it's breathless, and whispered so quietly, he has to lean forward to hear you like you're telling him a secret. "please kiss me."
your lips meet almost apprehensively, slotting against one another like puzzle pieces. it's sweet and its slow, your hand inching its way towards jason's thigh-- as if he'll shatter should you touch him. it's him who pulls away first, his eyes half-closed as he glances down at your now saliva-soaked lips, before they flit upwards to meet yours.
jason smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling gently.
your eyes water, and you see him falter. before he can speak-- you beat him to it, shaking both your head and hands. "m'okay," you say, though its not very convincing.
jason whispers your name skeptically, raising one of his eyebrows.
"sorry, i just--" you sniffle. "i just can't believe you're here. you're back. and sitting in front of me, with your heart beating and your lungs working and--" you need to cut yourself off, so you inhale.
"let me kiss you again," jason says, reaching a hand out to cup your jaw. his thumb swipes against your cheek, catching a stray tear. "please."
so you do. its far less timid this time, like everything is coming back to the both of you. jason's second hand reaches to gently grab the nape of your neck, pushing your face into his, deepening the kiss.
you're no less enthusiastic-- arms immediately going to rest around his own neck, your head tilting to the side, craving him deeper. all at once, it feels like you have to make up for lost time.
every minute your hands could've been intertwined with his, you laid grieving, so many people having stolen that reality from the both of you. your tongue darts out, swiping against jason's bottom lip, and you feel his movements stutter before he opens his mouth wider. every night you could have been enraptured within jason; he was out there-- cold, afraid, and alone.
you're fumbling clumsily to get into jason's lap, pressing your hands to his chest-- forcing him to lay back in the couch-- while you both still remain connected at the mouths. he obeys easily, and you swear you hear him whine when you begin to suck on his tongue.
"jay," you sigh softly, breaking the kiss; a string of spit keeps you both linked.
jason keeps his palms glued to your jaw like you're his life-line; dipping his head low, he begins to press chaste kisses to your neck. he breathes your name out-- like its serious, heavy, means something to him-- and his voice cause your skin to prickle against the vibrations.
"i don't think you understand," a kiss lands beneath your ear. "how much i've missed you." another kiss to your cheek. "every day, every night-- didn't matter where i was; i thought of you," he guides your head to turn, giving him access to the other side of your throat. "i don't remember much from the night i died," he confesses, lips cemented to your skin. "but i remember-- your face, it had been one of the last things i thought of."
jason peels himself from your body like it physically pains him, and when you look-- really look-- at him, you see his eyes are foggy. "and you're the first thing i thought of when i came back too."
you're silent. for what seems to be ages, you cannot find the words to articulate how you're feeling. your brain wracks for the right things to say, the right thing to do with your hands, or maybe even the right thing to do with your lips.
"jason." your mouth trembles, and god, you are so sick of crying tonight.
but you can't stop it; can't stop how deeply you feel for him, can't stop how badly you've needed him since he's been gone, and you can't help how much you wish he hadn't left-- no, been taken from you-- in the first place.
"i know i'm selfish." jason speaks, running a hand through his dark hair. "for coming here, ambushing you-- and expecting you to take me back like nothing's wrong," he really can't keep his hands still, can he? "but i was so sick of being apart from you, i couldn't-- fuck, i couldn't bare to not see your face, not hear your voice, not be with you for any longer."
jason doesn't know where all these words are coming from; they're flying out from his mouth unfiltered and raw, and he thinks hazily that they're cutting and jabbing and hurting you-- just like he's hurt everyone else.
but he's not hurting you-- jason peter todd is the last man on earth who could hurt you. through your tears, you take hold of his hands, finally giving them something to be still within.
"we should stop," you say, looking intensely into his beautiful green eyes. "not because i want to-- but because i think,"
you swallow. what do you think?
you think that you're overwhelmed, in shock, perhaps even hallucinating-- but mostly that you're in love.
you think that your soulmate has come back from the dead and fuck, not everyone gets the chance to start over-- so you want to do it right. when you're not overwhelmed, in shock, and certain you're not hallucinating.
you think you want to tell jason that you're in love with him too; but that truth is scary when love is a permanent thing meant for very temporary people.
"i think we should go out."
"on... a date?" jason questions, as if there was any other way you meant it. as if he cannot believe you're proposing such a thing.
"no. to the moon." you roll your eyes, swiping at them with the heels of your palms. "yes, on a date."
jason's quiet for a few moments, and you can practically see the cogs turning within his head. then he smiles-- a gentle, kind, bashful smile-- and whispers: "alright."
he can barely hesitate, reverence so clear in his voice it almost makes you sick, before adding on: "and if you wanted to go to the moon, i'd figure out how to get you there."
your face crumples, and you reach a hand out to smack jason's arm. "that's really fuckin' cheesy,"
jason shrugs-- not bothering to pretend like your jab had any effect on him. "s'true."
the air conditioner turns on-- the noisy rumble from deep inside your apartment walls whirling to life. the routine of it doesn't shock you; you've become far too accustomed to the deep ache of needing to feel something, resorting to a cold that'll seep into your bones and take ages to defrost.
goosebumps raise along your arms. for the first time in four and a half years, you finally feel cold.
PLUVOiA '25 Âź - masterlist
loren's thots: i am in love w this req. in love. except im at the point where if i stare at this post for any longer, ill delete it all lmfao... also jason todd reading alias grace is so important to me bc A. its fantastic i liked it way more than the handmaids tale go read it if u have time and B. its got central themes of the mistreatment women have faced over time and how overlooked we've always been in terms of the justice system, our health, and within relationships w/ all types of diff men. and ofc!! our little feminist jason todd would be reading that!!!! like hello!! and im not even js saying that theres like,,, vids abt jason's character and how he was made to be more 'feminine' so the target audience [men] of dc would grow to dislike him. sigh hes so important to me. oh also i was totally picturing jason from ak when writing this hes so. yum. (reqs are open!!)
YOUR APARTMENT was cold. just like how you had always kept it after jason died. cold to chill your bones, cold to shock your system, and cold to give you a reason to wake up every morning because without jason peter todd in your life, getting out from underneath the safety of your sheets had been fucking hard.
you were worried you'd acclimatize, get used to the frost nipping at your fingertips and elbows and nose every morning-- but you never did. because how could you get used to the gaping loss your lover, your soulmate, your everything, had brought with his death?
jason had been a breath of fresh air; like you were seeing colours for the first time in a world that had been previously all white and black. he had been quiet, sure, but never broody-- kind to a level in which you had a hard time fathoming, comfortable with you the same way you're comfortable with your own shadow, and easy; loving jason todd had been the easiest thing to do-- just like losing him was the hardest.
you had only been sixteen when he died.
(he had only been sixteen when he died.)
you'd known him for three years, watching him curiously until a familiar nervousness coiled in your stomach around him, your cheeks flushed when he smiled timidly at you, and you giggled innocently when he recommended literature for you and him to read together.
( "personally, i like margaret atwood," he had nodded, scratching shyly at his neck. "and while the handmaid's tale is good-- i'd tell you to read alias grace first. it's a whole experience... you'd enjoy it." jason had been so beyond his years-- interested in classic novels and literature like it was his oxygen. he was a nerd, by all traditional standards. and it had you infatuated. )
minutes blurred into hours with jason, and when his father had caught you both kissing for the first time in his sizeable library, he hadn't been surprised.
( "mr. wayne, i'm so--" you had started, feeling your face heat up at an impeccable speed. jason sat beside you, grinning like he had won the lottery; speechless and ecstatic. bruce had glanced between the two of you, his face blank, before slowly backing away and closing the library door behind him. jason's freckled cheeks tinted a deeper pink, his hand coming up to cup your jaw;
"see? old man didn't say anything-- it means he likes you."
oh how happy you had been. jason's father liked you! )
nobody had been surprised when you became a regular at the wayne mansion; often times, being greeted by his sibling like you were apart of the family. there had been no question about your future with the youngest master in the mansion; your days ahead as a wayne looking bright.
( "jaybird told me he's gonna marry you," his older brother had told you one night-- jason had gone to the bathroom, leaving you and dick alone in the living room together, movie on the large television paused. "obviously not now, but soon." dick had tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth with a practiced ease. you flushed, stomach swirling wildly at the thought of getting married to jason. "i told him i'd sucker punch him if he didn't." )
the night you learned jason had died replays over and over and over again in your mind, like some sick film stuck on repeat. every time you're left in silence, you hear the scream you had let out-- throat left fatally raw. every time you dream, you see his casket being lowered into the ground. every time you stare at your reflection in the mirror, the same words flash in front of your face:
jason peter todd. forever sixteen.
grief had been a terrible thing-- swallowing your life up whole, consuming every fibre of your being, and resting heavily on your shoulders like a suffocating fog infecting your lungs and making it impossible to breathe.
the last you had heard from the waynes had been a package in the mail; arriving to your parent's front doorstep, exactly two months after jason's funeral. neatly wrapped, your name written delicately on a gift tag attached to a red ribbon that encased the entire package.
your hands were shaking when you had opened it; like somehow, you knew this was their version of closure-- this was them saying good-bye.
there was a small note resting on the gift itself, addressing you:
this was in jason's school bag; its annotated, cover to cover. we all figured you'd enjoy getting to pick at his brain one last time. you're a sweet girl, and jason would never let us forget it. happy seventeenth birthday.
all the best,
the waynes.
below the note was jason's copy of alias grace.
four and a half years years later, it still remains unopened; like jason's ghost would appear should you even dare to flick through the pages.
so your apartment is cold; not just cold, freezing. because moving on, getting over it, and growing up was hard. especially knowing jason would never get the chance, forever trapped in a mindless pit of death and grief and being forever sixteen.
â°
you cannot believe your eyes. surely, this had to be some horrid joke someone was playing on you-- maybe you had even been unknowingly exposed to fear toxin; you cursed mentally, because shit. you can't remember the last time you checked the news.
jason's voice is a shock to your system, your name leaving his mouth sounding like a foreign language. jason's entire being is a shock to your system-- standing in your doorway, holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers, looking simply bashful.
"uh," he starts, scratching at his jaw. the sound of his fingers connecting to slight stubble echoes within your apartment's corridor. "hello."
...
"what the fuck."
you don't mean to be so crude, but... what the fuck! your dead boyfriend is standing right in front of you, very much alive. instead, he's grown-- wiser, older, bigger. his chest and shoulders are broad, barely contained by the sweatshirt he's adorning; his cheeks are still freckled to the moon and back, but mean looking scars litter his face; the most noticeable one being a 'J' along his left cheek.
you remember his eyes being blue-- a soft, loving, knowing blue. like the ocean, or maybe even the sky on the sunniest of spring days. they blink back at you now almost an un-natural shade of green, and you swear they're flickering.
jason swallows, nodding his head slowly. he extends two arms gently, as if to soothe you like you're some sort of wild animal. which, in his defense, is what you feel like; probably what you look like too, considering your hair is mussed from sleep and you've dragged your hands down your face a solid thirty-six times since you've opened the door. "it's okay, i- i know you're probably really confused,"
"confused?" you exasperate, eyes widening maddeningly. "i'm--"
scared. insane. hurt. sick. grieving.
you shake your head, unbelieving of the sight in front of you. "you're supposed to be dead."
jason's shoulders fall ever so slightly. "well. i was, and now i'm not." he offers slowly. it comes out harsher than he intended, and he cringes inwardly at his tone.
"you're supposed to be dead." you repeat. your chest, you think, has not felt this tight since you were told jason had died. your mouth is parted, air beginning to enter and exit you at a quickeningly alarming rate. your throat is so tight-- you cannot breathe, cannot think, cannot see-- all you feel is your chest heaving, throat closing, and hands trembling. your eyes are watering too; you can feel them begin to shed salty tears, fat droplets rolling down your cheeks.
is this what shock is like? i think i'm going into shock, you think vaguely, hand bracing the frame of your apartment's front door. it's too hot, is another thing that floats into the edges of your mind; which is ironic, given the thermostat in your apartment's entryway reads nineteen point five degrees celcius. "fuck." you manage to mutter, still hyperventilating.
jason moves. like its habit, like its practiced, like its muscle memory-- he moves. swiping you up into his arms from underneath your knees, he cradles you to his chest. his grip on the flowers tighten, as well as your body, as he manages to shut your apartment's door behind him. his eyes scan the floor-- quickly, he places you down on one of your couches, kneeling in front of you.
"hey," he starts softly, and the way he says your name is so tender, you think if you hadn't already been crying, that would have sent you over the edge. "it's just me. which, okay, i know is a lot for you to take in-- but it's just me, jason. your jason." his hands find yours, and his thumbs begin to stroke the back of your palm comfortingly. "you don't need to be upset, baby," the petname falls from his lips like muscle memory, and his heart clenches. "i'm sorry i left you for so long; i promise i won't do it again, my poor girl," he whispers, squeezing your hands tightly. "but i'm back now, and everything s'gonna be alright, okay?"
you nod, unable to form any coherent words. tears continue to fall from your eyes, dampening your face further-- it isn't shock, though, that drives your emotions high anymore. through your upset, your palms find his cheeks, grasping gently onto this boy who you truly believed you would never see again.
it is relief.
â°
if you didn't believe jason could rip your heart to shreds any further, you would be a sorely mistaken woman.
he explains, about half an hour later, everything. his mother, the joker, the explosion, dying, being resurrected, the pit, the league. all of it.
it wrenches something deep within your gut, and you truly cannot fathom how he's just talking about all of this while cutting the stems of your flowers and gently placing them in a vase.
"so," he sighs, snipping a stalk, watching the end fall carelessly into the trash bin beneath him, "then i moved back in with bruce. which, i didn't want to at the time, but i think it's been good for my whole..."
"coming back to life thing?" you offer.
"yeah," he replies, the corner of his mouth snaking upwards the smallest bit. "that."
there's a silence that envelops your apartment afterwards. jason keeps moving methodically, apparently quite captivated in the act of prepping flowers for your kitchen table.
"why did you come back?" you ask suddenly. so suddenly, it even catches yourself off guard-- like it had been an intrusive thought that was more of an intrusive comment. "back to me." you clarify.
jason stills. "because," he says after a few moments, "don't you want to see me?"
"i do," you answer easily, ignoring how selfish the question inherently is in nature. "but if you're just here to--" you gesture vaguely to the plants within his hands. "do that, then maybe..."
you shouldn't have come.
you don't say it, your voice trailing off-- but its clear the implication hangs in the air like dead weight.
jason sets both a flower and the plant cutter down, bracing both of his arms onto the edge of your counter. "are you seeing someone?" he asks abruptly. his face has hardened, going colder. again-- you swear his eyes are flickering.
"what?" you question, face contorting into confusion. "no-- i-- shit," you swallow, chuckling quietly. you're laughing because even the thought of a date with someone else makes you nauseous. "i haven't even been out once like that since... well, you." the confession makes your cheeks burn, and you feel some form of embarrassment wash over you like cold water.
jason's face softens, and he glances downwards towards his feet. "oh." he says quietly.
"yeah." your fingers drum anxiously against the fabric of your couch.
silence overtakes your apartment again; though its charged this time, with something else-- something you haven't felt in a long time.
it takes jason only a few steps to cross your entire apartment, before he's sat beside you on the couch. there's barely an inch of space between both of you, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body; it calls to you, and your fingers twitch.
"i came back to see you because i'm in love with you." he says carefully.
if you didn't know jason todd, you'd assume he said it in a detached sort of way-- but you do know jason todd (or at least once you had known jason todd) so you read him easily; he's nervous.
"seeing all of my shit from... before, in my old room, it just..." he pauses. "there was a lot of stuff i had that was for you."
his admission makes your throat tight again.
"pictures of you, poems from you, some of your books--" the tips of his ears go a romantic shade of pink, "i even found a bottle of your old perfume that i used to spray on my pillow."
"oh, jay," you taunt, (as if things are normal, as if he wasn't dead, as if he's never been gone), bringing a hand up to your mouth to conceal your giggle.
jason turns to face you, as if he's trying to figure something out; trying to decipher something in your chuckle. his solemn expression immediately quiets your laughter, and you whisper: "oh, shit, m'sorry-- i shouldn't have laughed--"
"can i kiss you?" he cuts you off. his eyes flicker from your own to your lips, and your tongue darts out subconsciously to wet them. he mirrors you.
there is something within you that twists, so deeply, so fully, it almost makes you topple over. as you're staring at jason, the question lingering in the air, suddenly-- he doesn't look so different than from before. he looks shy, he looks timid, he looks youthful; his hair resembles the way it did, all those years ago in the back of bruce's library. his eyes-- despite the colour difference-- are soft, warm, familiar. the longer you stare, the less you see the scars that paint his cheeks, and the more you see the same freckles you used to count naively, knowing there would be no end.
all those years ago, you believed there would have been no end. you and jason would be as permanent as the stars in the sky, bound to each other in every life time and every universe.
and then there had been an end. and you had never been so lost before.
now, there's a beginning. so you tell jason:
"yes," it's breathless, and whispered so quietly, he has to lean forward to hear you like you're telling him a secret. "please kiss me."
your lips meet almost apprehensively, slotting against one another like puzzle pieces. it's sweet and its slow, your hand inching its way towards jason's thigh-- as if he'll shatter should you touch him. it's him who pulls away first, his eyes half-closed as he glances down at your now saliva-soaked lips, before they flit upwards to meet yours.
jason smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling gently.
your eyes water, and you see him falter. before he can speak-- you beat him to it, shaking both your head and hands. "m'okay," you say, though its not very convincing.
jason whispers your name skeptically, raising one of his eyebrows.
"sorry, i just--" you sniffle. "i just can't believe you're here. you're back. and sitting in front of me, with your heart beating and your lungs working and--" you need to cut yourself off, so you inhale.
"let me kiss you again," jason says, reaching a hand out to cup your jaw. his thumb swipes against your cheek, catching a stray tear. "please."
so you do. its far less timid this time, like everything is coming back to the both of you. jason's second hand reaches to gently grab the nape of your neck, pushing your face into his, deepening the kiss.
you're no less enthusiastic-- arms immediately going to rest around his own neck, your head tilting to the side, craving him deeper. all at once, it feels like you have to make up for lost time.
every minute your hands could've been intertwined with his, you laid grieving, so many people having stolen that reality from the both of you. your tongue darts out, swiping against jason's bottom lip, and you feel his movements stutter before he opens his mouth wider. every night you could have been enraptured within jason; he was out there-- cold, afraid, and alone.
you're fumbling clumsily to get into jason's lap, pressing your hands to his chest-- forcing him to lay back in the couch-- while you both still remain connected at the mouths. he obeys easily, and you swear you hear him whine when you begin to suck on his tongue.
"jay," you sigh softly, breaking the kiss; a string of spit keeps you both linked.
jason keeps his palms glued to your jaw like you're his life-line; dipping his head low, he begins to press chaste kisses to your neck. he breathes your name out-- like its serious, heavy, means something to him-- and his voice cause your skin to prickle against the vibrations.
"i don't think you understand," a kiss lands beneath your ear. "how much i've missed you." another kiss to your cheek. "every day, every night-- didn't matter where i was; i thought of you," he guides your head to turn, giving him access to the other side of your throat. "i don't remember much from the night i died," he confesses, lips cemented to your skin. "but i remember-- your face, it had been one of the last things i thought of."
jason peels himself from your body like it physically pains him, and when you look-- really look-- at him, you see his eyes are foggy. "and you're the first thing i thought of when i came back too."
you're silent. for what seems to be ages, you cannot find the words to articulate how you're feeling. your brain wracks for the right things to say, the right thing to do with your hands, or maybe even the right thing to do with your lips.
"jason." your mouth trembles, and god, you are so sick of crying tonight.
but you can't stop it; can't stop how deeply you feel for him, can't stop how badly you've needed him since he's been gone, and you can't help how much you wish he hadn't left-- no, been taken from you-- in the first place.
"i know i'm selfish." jason speaks, running a hand through his dark hair. "for coming here, ambushing you-- and expecting you to take me back like nothing's wrong," he really can't keep his hands still, can he? "but i was so sick of being apart from you, i couldn't-- fuck, i couldn't bare to not see your face, not hear your voice, not be with you for any longer."
jason doesn't know where all these words are coming from; they're flying out from his mouth unfiltered and raw, and he thinks hazily that they're cutting and jabbing and hurting you-- just like he's hurt everyone else.
but he's not hurting you-- jason peter todd is the last man on earth who could hurt you. through your tears, you take hold of his hands, finally giving them something to be still within.
"we should stop," you say, looking intensely into his beautiful green eyes. "not because i want to-- but because i think,"
you swallow. what do you think?
you think that you're overwhelmed, in shock, perhaps even hallucinating-- but mostly that you're in love.
you think that your soulmate has come back from the dead and fuck, not everyone gets the chance to start over-- so you want to do it right. when you're not overwhelmed, in shock, and certain you're not hallucinating.
you think you want to tell jason that you're in love with him too; but that truth is scary when love is a permanent thing meant for very temporary people.
"i think we should go out."
"on... a date?" jason questions, as if there was any other way you meant it. as if he cannot believe you're proposing such a thing.
"no. to the moon." you roll your eyes, swiping at them with the heels of your palms. "yes, on a date."
jason's quiet for a few moments, and you can practically see the cogs turning within his head. then he smiles-- a gentle, kind, bashful smile-- and whispers: "alright."
he can barely hesitate, reverence so clear in his voice it almost makes you sick, before adding on: "and if you wanted to go to the moon, i'd figure out how to get you there."
your face crumples, and you reach a hand out to smack jason's arm. "that's really fuckin' cheesy,"
jason shrugs-- not bothering to pretend like your jab had any effect on him. "s'true."
the air conditioner turns on-- the noisy rumble from deep inside your apartment walls whirling to life. the routine of it doesn't shock you; you've become far too accustomed to the deep ache of needing to feel something, resorting to a cold that'll seep into your bones and take ages to defrost.
goosebumps raise along your arms. for the first time in four and a half years, you finally feel cold.
PLUVOiA '25 Âź - masterlist
loren's thots: i am in love w this req. in love. except im at the point where if i stare at this post for any longer, ill delete it all lmfao... also jason todd reading alias grace is so important to me bc A. its fantastic i liked it way more than the handmaids tale go read it if u have time and B. its got central themes of the mistreatment women have faced over time and how overlooked we've always been in terms of the justice system, our health, and within relationships w/ all types of diff men. and ofc!! our little feminist jason todd would be reading that!!!! like hello!! and im not even js saying that theres like,,, vids abt jason's character and how he was made to be more 'feminine' so the target audience [men] of dc would grow to dislike him. sigh hes so important to me. oh also i was totally picturing jason from ak when writing this hes so. yum. (reqs are open!!)
FOR ONCE, gotham was sunny. warm rays shone down through the large, floor to ceiling windows of your bookshop-- air tinged with scents like crisp autumn wind and faintly stale coffee. a few individuals traversed between each row of books, fingers running idly down the spine of the few that caught their eyes. it was calming. natural. a welcomed escape from the harsh reality that existed for many outside of the parameters of your humble store; an environment where worries melted off of the shoulders of even the most damned, and where the innocent could flourish.
from the register, you fiddled with a pen-- twirling it absentmindedly between your pointer and middle fingers. the motion was relaxed; practiced, and exuding only contentment.
however, the sound of your shop's door-bell chimed softly as a new civilian entered; and your movements paused, irises tracking down the face of the potential customer. to your slight surprise, (and something deep within your gut eerily similar to relief, or perhaps even giddy), recognition washed over you.
"jason," you called out softly, waving a hand towards one of your regular customers.
greenish-grey eyes flicked upwards to meet yours, and the man echoed your name. it sounded heavy on his tongue-- but not with angst; with care. "i'm back already," he grinned, wooden floorboards creaking with age as he stepped closer to the check-out where you remained.
a smile bloomed across your face. "missed me that much?" you questioned, teasing. "it's barely been a week."
jason shrugged noncommittally, hands raising playfully in surrender, though his freckled cheeks tinged a faint shade of red. "y'know you can't keep me away,"
the sound of your laughter combined, and floated its way to the ceiling of your bookstore. it clung to the wooden beams spanning the roof; seeping into the oak, willing itself into the history of the building.
when the laughter died down, you jutted your chin to the side-- motioning the back of your store. "a new shipment of second-hand books just arrived from metropolis; you know where to find 'em,"
jason saluted, "aye, aye captain," before making his way towards his desired items. the man would be kept occupied for a good little while with the boxes upon boxes of books you hadn't bothered to sort through yet; and you smiled quietly to yourself.
it was easy to recall the first time you had met jason; even easier to lose track of when your friendship had blurred into this slow, thumping heart-beat of comfort and familiarity. he came in at the beginning of each week, would purchase a handful of books, and would return the following week to do the same thing. after a few repeated cycles of this, you and him had begun to chit-chat beyond his payments-- and just like that, you had become acquainted with the large, handsome man.
beyond that, though, you didn't know much about him. as his fingers would dust across yours at the register, your eyes would linger on the collection of scars littered across his skin; but you never pushed. you understood that, while you looked forward to jason's arrival at your store like clock-work, the privacy of his life remained his.
the affairs he found himself tangled within outside of the haven you offered to gothamites alike was none of your business; all you could hope was that jason remained safe in whatever trials he thrust himself into.
especially now-- that thought crossed your mind as he approached a mere ten minutes later, with four books in his hands. dropping them on the counter-top, his cheeks dimpled. "i'm shocked i was able to pick only four, that new shipment is loaded with good shit."
you grinned, totaling the sticker-prices of the books into your register. "the four book only policy doesn't apply to you," you whispered, leaning forward ever so slightly, "take as many as you'd like." the scent of his cologne-- something earthy and inviting-- floated its way into your nose. you shivered.
jason's eyes widened softly, a dark eyebrow arching upwards. "willing to bend the rules just for me? i'm flattered," glancing towards jason's face, you wished for nothing more than to burn the image of his grin into your memory permanently.
"yeah, well," your eyes rolled, fingers typing away at your cash register, "you're a returning customer-- and i'm not worried you'll resell my shit for a lower price."
the sound of jason's laugh sounded nothing short of mesmerizing. "shouldn't judge a book by its cover," he said easily, "i'll put you out of business."
it was your turn to laugh softly as you reached beneath the front-desk, grabbing a re-usable bag for jason's books. the man took out his wallet, and dropped a twenty and a ten on the counter. "please," you scoffed, handing him his books, "the only way you'll put me out of business is by buying all of my fuckin' stock."
"that's right," jason agreed, nodding. black wisps of hair fell into his eyes, and he ran a sturdy hand through his locks. "i'll be back before you know it, pretty."
night howled against the windows of your book-store, and the silence of after-hours was terribly loud. your keys jangled and clanked against your hip as you made your rounds-- making sure all the doors and windows were secured and locked. up and down each aisle you traversed, the smell of homey paper sticking to your skin as if the library was trying to fuse itself to you.
all the books were where they were supposed to be, and every possible place someone could break into was reinforced properly. you sighed, fingers clutching tightly onto the fabric of your leather coat. despite the familiarity and warmth your shop offered during the day-- there was something uncomfortable about it once night fell onto the city of gotham.
chuckling to yourself, you recalled the previous owner of the building nervously mentioning ghosts living within the walls.
how childish, you thought to yourself, unlocking the register to empty its contents, who believes in ghosts anyways? certainly not me--
a loud series of bangs on the back entrance of your store rattled the entire building, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood in urgency.
you remained in place silently, and in shock, for a few moments; save for a small lamp near the front desk, the rest of the lights in your bookstore were off-- who on earth wanted to be let into a seemingly closed bookstore?
when the banging continued, almost growing desperate, you had closed your eyes-- "fuck," you muttered, reaching into a cabinet within the front desk that held a baseball bat.
(living in gotham, you could have never been too careful.)
it took a few falsely-confident steps to make it to the back of your store, and the metal door that was the entrance from the alley-way at its behind. you swallowed, the pounding of someone's fist unrelenting against the cool metal. you considered yelling, alerting the potential threat to your prescence, but figured you'd lose the upper-hand-- so without much thought, you swung open the door, raising the baseball-bat as if to attack the perpetrator-- until exactly who it was startled you.
"red hood?" you gaped, fingers clutching tightly onto the bat as the vigilante's mask glimmered a cherry red underneath the subtle lighting of the moon. you were no stranger to gotham's silent heros; especially not as someone running a small-business that happened to remain open about an hour past dusk. seeing one in-person, much less face-to-face, was daunting; especially since you knew-- or at least, had heard-- what this one was capable of. shit, you thought idly, did he see me j-walk last night?
red hood raised his hands; or, well, one hand-- the other remained glued to his side, and upon further inspection, he seemed to be leaning heavily to the opposite side of his injury. when he spoke, his helmet had muffled his voice-- and the voice changer you assumed he had implemented, crackled and popped. if he had said anything else-- you were certain you would not have been able to distinguish it underneath the fuzz of his helmet's voice changer-- but you immediately recognized that the man was saying your name.
something ran down your spine, and your face contorted into a mixture of fear and confusion. "what the fuck?" you frowned, fingers itching at the wood of your baseball bat.
you soon realized, however, how useless the weapon was-- red hood pushed past you, barely brushing your figure, and into your book-store. you yelped in surprise, twisting your body to watch the vigilante as he traced, without error (as if he was familiar with the store layout), your bathroom. while you couldn't see him from where you stood anymore, you were able to watch light spill onto the wooden floor of your store-- a harsh, fluorescent glow lighting up the small bathroom.
exhaling deeply through your nose, you entered your store again and closed the back entrance to the door tightly-- locking the deadbolts, preventing anyone from entering or exiting. "hey!" you called out hurriedly, making your way towards where red hood was, "i'd appreciate it if you would tell me what the fuck you're doing in my book-store,"
red hood, very clearly, had made himself comfortable in the bathroom; his own jacket had been discarded and sat messily on the floor, and his black compression shirt was pulled up to just underneath his left pec-- a nasty wound, most likely from a knife, seeped blood onto his pants and onto the tiles of the bathroom floor. you heard the man hiss as he pressed a wad of damp paper-towel to the injury, and you cringed away harshly.
"fuck," you winced, a phantom pain shooting directly into the side of your mid-section.
red blurred your vision softly as red hood turned his head towards you. "do you have a first-aid kit?"
without answering, you moved into the tiny bathroom-- opening a cabinet on the wall to pull out exactly what he was looking for. you placed it onto the small counter-top, and popped it open; red hood immediately reaching for thread and a needle.
"hey," you stopped him, grabbing onto his gloved wrist, "there's a walk-in clinic right down the road-- i can drive you there, it'll take like five seconds--"
"no," red hood answered almost immediately, gently tearing his hand from your grip to continue rifling through your first-aid kit.
"no?" you questioned, eyebrows raising. "what do you mean no? you're bleeding out--"
"i'll be fine." he answered shortly, bringing a spool of thread to his mouth to tear a long string with his teeth. "and i came here for a reason," his voice changer crackled as he spoke.
confusion etched its way deeper onto your face. "what?"
red hood sighed, and the glimmer of his mask caught your eye as his head turned towards you; his stare was harsh, despite the fact that you couldn't even see his face. "you were the closest person i could come to," he answered awkwardly, one hand still holding the paper-towel to his wound, "closest person i know."
you opened your mouth to speak, simply baffled by what he meant; but his next actions stole the words right from your throat.
with his free hand, he dropped the medical supplies onto the counter-top, before gripping his helmet and tearing it off of his head; his vision remained glued to the floor as he shook his hair out, recognizable black locks falling onto his forehead.
"jason?" you gaped. "holy shit," you practically laughed-- because what were the odds the person you had seen less than seven hours ago was one of gotham's most well-known vigilantes. the humour in the situation, though, died out quickly-- as you watched his irises examine his wound closer now, slight panic arising in both of your throats.
moving without a second thought, your palms found jason's biceps, leading him to sit on the counter-top. "sit. let me do it," you said quickly, gesturing to the thread and needle.
jason gave a long exhale, resting his body-weight against the counter with little refusal; "you don't need to do this," he argued weakly.
you rolled your eyes, gently prying the paper-towels from his wound; luckily, with some of the blood cleaned up, was less serious than you had first assumed. "i want to."
"you didn't want to before i took the helmet off," jason laughed softly. the movement made him wince.
"that was because i assumed i didn't know you," you murmurred, tongue-sticking out of the corner of your mouth in deep concentration, "i couldn't have been responsible should anything have happened to a stranger. but now that i do know you, why not put the first-aid course i took four years ago to the test?"
though you didn't bother looking up, you could practically feel jason's face scrunching up. "so i'm your guinea pig?"
you offered the slightest of nods.
"i'm fucked."
"hey," you protested, "i patched up a kid with a scraped knee like last week. you're in great hands,"
"not quite the same thing as a minor stab wound, but still reassuring, i guess,"
jason felt you poke into a non-injured section of his torso gently with the needle, only to laugh. something spurred to life within your ribs.
after about ten minutes of stitching, you finally finished-- tying off the last suture, your fingertips grazed his abdomen. they lingered, as if his body was pulling you in-- like something couldn't keep you from stepping away. jason's breath hitched.
you cleared you throat, reeling your hands back towards your body, remaining medical supplies tossed haphazardly onto the counter. "sorry," you breathed.
jason's hands brushed over the newly bandaged wound, examining carefully, before greenish-grey irises met yours in the small cracked mirror of your tiny bathroom. "don't be." he said simply, holding your gaze.
you had so many questions. they were burning at your throat, clawing at your tongue-- fighting you, willing themselves to be released. but the longer your eyes stayed trained on each-other's within the shitty little mirror, the less they wanted to escape.
it was odd; you had had this idea of jason, in the back of your mind-- every-time he stepped through your bookstore's doors, you wondered what kind of life he led. perhaps he was a teacher, or maybe a fire-fighter, you had day-dreamed once; he seemed like the kind of man that knew the real grit that covered every surface within gotham, and he seemed like the kind of man who wanted to erase it all. you had been right, in a way; because wasn't that what red hood stood for? nonetheless, the vigilante's identity had made your fingers quiver against his skin as you tended to his wound, and you knew jason was pointedly ignoring the tremor in your palms as you patched him up. you considered the fact that, he too, most likely knew it wasn't from who the version of himself he had hidden from you, but rather the one you thought you knew all too well.
the silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. no, it was charged. the air between the two of you practically vibrated with what was once fear, now morphed into understanding, anxiousness; a yearning of sorts. it wasn't quite fear, but it was not quite relief either. now you had seen jason for what he truly was, and that was a scary thing to have admitted on both of your ends. you swallowed, eyes tracing downwards on jason's form in the mirror-- down the bridge of his nose, down to his lips (where they lingered for longer than what you wanted), and down to his jaw. examining him so closely, you could see the way his pulse jumped in his throat.
your reflection looked back at youâwide-eyed, flushed, and unsteady. naked, in some sort of sense. jasonâs gaze dropped from the mirror to you, slow and deliberate, and you realized with a start that he wasnât the only one feeling bare.
"why did you come here?" you asked, words so quiet on your lips you were certain jason had not heard you. when he answered, something spiked lowly in your gut.
"i told you," jason whispered back, "you were the closest person i trust."
"you trust me?"
"more than i'd like to admit." jason dragged a calloused hand through his hair. a nervous tick. "do you trust me?"
"yes." the answer was immediate, and the lack of hesitation made the corner of jason's eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.
the sound of his laugh sent sparks up your spine. "you shouldn't."
tilting your head to look at him, one of your eyebrows arched upwards. "you haven't shot me or anything yet, so i think i'm okay,"
jason laughed again. the sound was low, from the back of his throat. shamefully, your cunt throbbed. "you never know,"
"right," you agreed, "i think i'll take that risk."
jason watched your eyes flicker down to his lips, and took that as a sign-- crashing his mouth onto yours, he kissed you like his life depended on it.
there was nothing sweet about it, nothing gentle; nothing like the man jason was when he let his guard down around you, nothing like the man you thought you knew. his hands fumbled clumsily along your body, as if he didn't know what to do with them, until one of them cupped the back of your head and the other found your hip. using his strength, he kept you glued to his body; crooking your head to the side, you deepened the kiss.
jason groaned into your mouth once he felt your tongue drag against the fat of his bottom lip. he opened wider to allow you access into his mouth, and you grinned. it was messy-- spit dribbled down both of your faces, and your fingers had found themselves at jason's scalp-- pulling, tugging, willing him as close to you as he could get. the sounds of your breathing, laboured, shallow-- coupled with the wet noises coming from your kissing was obscene, and it echoed within the tiny bathroom of yours.
you began to suck on jason's tongue, and another pretty noise fell from his throat. using his hips, he shoved you backwards and onto the edge of the counter-top-- your ass digging into it's end. you whined, once you understood what he doing; jason used one of his knees to separate your legs, before he shoved his thigh right between your own.
the heat of your cunt, even through your jeans, was embarrassing. having jason's leg pushed up against your pussy, barely moving, barely giving you what you wanted-- he broke the kiss, voice raw and lips plump. "'s this okay?" he asked.
to his surprise, you laughed. "if it wasn't, i would have slapped you like.. five minutes ago,"
the man shrugged, bringing one of his hands to the side of your cheek-- his thumb idly playing with your bottom lip. "i was just making sure," he swallowed, "i didn't know if you wanted this."
"i mean," you started, eyes locking on the way his thumb lingered near the entrance of your mouth, "i would have preferred it if it didn't happen because you were stabbed."
jason nodded, corners of his mouth lifting upwards in the ghost of a smile, although there was little humor in his voice as he spoke, "me too."
"yeah?" you asked, voice teasing.
jason's voice was not teasing. "yeah."
something in your gut swirled, and you couldn't help but grind your hips-- your aching cunt-- down onto jason's thigh. he hummed, content at your action, finally shoving his thumb past your lips and into your mouth. he felt your tongue swirl around the pad of his thumb, lazily sucking as if you just needed something inside of your mouth.
when he spoke again, jason's voice had gone impossibly low. "i've always thought you were so gorgeous," jason began, "always thought you were way too pretty and too smart to be running a cute lil' shop like this, in this fuckin' city,"
without much thought, you nodded at his words-- the feeling of the seam of your jeans rubbing against his flexed thigh and knee, and onto your clit, far too intoxicating.
"i've been wanting to ask you out for forever, but every-time, i chickened out," he confessed, pushing his thumb deeper into your mouth, "that's it baby, grind that pussy onto my leg-- jus' like that,"
the sweetness of his confession combined with the filth of his praise made you moan around his digit-- hips quickening along his leg.
"i've thought about taking you out, maybe to see a nice lil' movie. maybe then-- oh, i know, feel's good, huh?-- maybe then we'd get dinner, there's a real nice place near china town i think you'd like,"
jason's words were becoming mush within your mind; nonetheless, they spurred you on, your clit pulsing and pussy sopping beneath the fabric of your ruined jeans and panties.
"then," he started, leaning forward to pepper kisses along your jaw, leading all the way to the shell of your ear, "then i'd take you home, and i'd make love to you so good, you'd never be able to fuck anyone else."
you moaned whorishly at his words, spit dribbling down your chin as his thigh brushed against your cunt again and again and again-- pleasure becoming all-consuming, and lust fogging every rational thought in your mind. "jason," you gasped out, words muffled by the man's thumb still in your mouth, "please." you begged.
"please what, sweetheart?" he questioned, pulling his finger from your mouth to let you speak, "tell me what you want."
all that consumed your mind was jason-- so that's exactly what you said. "you," you exasperated, fingers digging into his shoulders, "please i need you."
"mm," the sound of jason humming vibrated against your skin, his lips searing marks down your throat all the way to your collarbone. "keep begging, pretty girl. maybe then i'll give you what you want,"
grinding your cunt back and forth on his leg, your eyes welled up with tears of frustration; god, you needed him so badly. "jay," it fell from your lips in a gasp as jason began sucking harshly on your pulse-point, "please. please, anything you give me i- i'll take it, your fingers, your mouth, your dick--"
"m'giving you my thigh to grind on right now," you felt him smile against your skin, "isn't that enough?"
"more," you practically sobbed, other incoherent words flying from your throat at an embarrassing rate. back and forth and back again, humping jason's leg like a dog in heat. "please, jason."
pulling off of your neck with a pop, jason's lips glistened with saliva; the way he ran his tongue against the plump fat of his bottom lip, you'd think he was still able to taste you. "alright," he conceded finally, hooking two fingers into the waistband of your jeans to shrug them down your hips. when they had fallen to the floor, the man wasted no time in holding you tightly by the waist and propping you up onto the counter-top. the granite was cold against your bare bottom; you shivered.
before you could question what he was going to do next, jason sunk to his knees. it was tender, the way he studied the ruined fabric of your panties-- now on display right in front of his face. soft irises flicked upwards to meet yours, and your cunt throbbed with need. "please." jason paid your final plea no mind, lips connected to the plush of your thighs with a mission.
he kissed and he sucked and his bit-- teeth sinking into your leg just enough to make you moan, but not enough to hurt. darting his tongue outwards to soothe the blooming mark along your skin, he'd brush forward-- closer to your pussy-- to leave another violent hickey.
you began to squirm on the counter-top; hips involuntarily bucking towards jason's face-- seeking out any pleasure you could find. it was pathetic-- and if you hadn't been so drunk on fore-play, perhaps you would have cared about being so desperate in front of the man you liked. but the way your pussy was leaking down onto the granite, and the way your nipples had stiffened despite no attention being allotted to either of them-- you didn't give a fuck.
"patience," jason murmured, sucking deeply on your left thigh.
"i don't have much of it left."
at your snarky remark, jason's teeth bit into you-- the tiniest bit harder than his previous nips. you yelped, and he smiled against your skin.
opening your mouth to say something-- maybe beg, maybe cry, maybe snap-- jason cut you off when he reached two large hands forwards to grasp the edges of your panties. you face scrunched up, as if to say why not just pull them to the side? before a loud rip bounced off the walls of your bathroom.
within jason's hands-- the remains of your panties looked measley and useless; torn into two, jason tossed them onto the floor haphazardly.
"hey!" you gasped.
jason shrugged. "what? did you want me to keep them on you? not give you what you want?"
your face flushed, heat crawling up your neck. "well no,"
"exactly." jason leaned forward, lips pursing, and blew a cold gust of air onto your clit.
you couldn't fight the loud whine that escaped you at his actions, and jason's laugh rumbled deeply; his eyes danced upwards to your face again, and he made no effort to break the eye-contact as he pressed his mouth to your cunt.
the man licked a long stripe, flattening his tongue along your folds, slowly from your hole to your clit. you moaned, back arching away from the counter. 'jason!" you cried, fists clenching at the edge of the counter-top as he repeated his actions at a faster pace.
he moaned in response, reveling in the taste of you on his tongue, before his lips latched onto your clit. he sucked and sucked and sucked-- the sensation maddening. "i know," he cooed against your pussy, "you taste as good as you feel, baby,"
his tongue was unrelenting against your cunt-- jason lapping at your slick like a starved man. when he tilted his head downwards to lick and prod at your entrance-- the bridge of his nose brushed against your clit, and your hips stuttered along his face. "oh, jay," you moaned, body running hot at his actions.
jason's hands left your hips momentarily, reaching closer to your thighs-- only to hike them along his shoulders and back, inadvertently driving your cunt closer to his face. at the newfound angle, you both moaned in sync.
"god--" your breath hitched, "deeper, jason, c'mon,"
jason wasted no time in listening to your orders-- sticking his tongue past your sopping hole to tongue-fuck you with vigor. in and out and in again, his tongue practically curled and massaged your insides.
the man only pulled back for a second, to spit onto your aching cunt, before diving right back in. his tongue flattened against your folds again, his hands finding your hips. "this feel good, baby?" he asked.
you nodded, sweat beading at your temple.
jason's movements ceased, though his tongue remained connected to your pussy. "then fuck yourself on my tongue-- make yourself feel good, sweetheart,"
jason did not have to tell you twice-- your hips immediately began rocking along the man's appendage, the friction causing your lower stomach to coil with pressure.
you were, shamefully, lifting yourself off of the counter to grind against the vigilante's face now-- your own contorted and washed over by a myriad of pleasure and ecstasy. "jay," you moaned loudly, "please, i wanna cum,"
at your confession, jason's movements restarted again-- this time, with a renewed sense of purpose. he moaned into your cunt, vibrations only adding to the ever-growing sensation of your orgasm within your lower belly. "yeah?" he asked, voice muffled by your pussy.
"m-mhm!"
two of jason's fingers poked at your hole as his mouth re-attached to your clit-- and sunk in with ease. "shit, baby," he peeled himself off of you to mumble, "so fuckin' soaked for me-- this pussy's squeezing my fingers so good,"
you nodded, before your head lolled backwards as jason began sucking on your clit, his fingers curling and uncurling against your g-spot rapidly. there was no rhythm, no pattern; just jason chasing your orgasm as if it was his own.
the sound of your pussy squelching around his fingers was nothing short of obscene; your bathroom mirror was fogging up, and you hips tilted to meet the thrusts of jason's hand within you. greenish-grey irises blinked upwards to meet your own, and the intimacy your eye-contact sent you over the edge.
"jason," you gasped, jaw going slack, "m'cumming,"
jason smiled against your pussy, tongue and fingers working in tandem to keep you riding the high of your orgasm-- even as it dripped down his wrist and his chin.
your cunt pulsed and throbbed and squeezed like there was no tomorrow-- hips stuttering and shaking along jason's face, legs wrapping around his head in an effort to shut.
"i know," he praised, voice warm and low, dripping with arousal, as he continued to drag out your orgasm. "bet you feel so good, this wet fuckin' pussy painting my face," he whispered, delivering a final lick to your cunt, looong and slow, before he pulled away. "don't you, pretty?"
you nodded, chest heaving greatly. the aftershocks of your orgasm rocked your core, sending shivers from the tip of your spine all the way to your toes.
you couldn't remember the last time a man made you cum that hard. you can't remember the last time you made yourself cum that hard.
"well," he said, standing, "imagine how good my dick will feel."
you whined softly, bracing your hands along jason's chest when he finally stood in-between your legs. leaning forward, you connected your lips. the taste of your cunt on his lips was intoxicating.
lazily, jason kissed you back-- your tongues hadn't hesitated to be stuck down each other's throats, and your nails dragged down jason's torso. only when your fingertips met the bandages you had put on his wound earlier, did you stop.
"oh," you said lightly, "maybe we shouldn't; i don't want you to get even more hurt--"
jason cut you off with a roll of his eyes, his lips dancing across the bottom half of your face with ease. "baby," he mumbled between kisses, "a little cut won't stop me from makin' you feel good,"
"a little cut?" you laughed, slightly in shock. "you were stabbed."
"and? i'm a grown man, i can handle it."
his palms found your waist again, picking you up only to lower you onto the floor. when your feet met the tiles of the bathroom, he spun you around so you were facing the mirror. "don't come crawlin' back to me when your stitches are fucked, then, 'cause i won't redo them."
jason chuckled against your neck, his breath warm as you heard his belt buckle come un-done. "liar," he whispered. something flipped within your core. "we both know that if it'll end with me paying this," he reached a hand forward and around, to give your bare cunt several taps, "pretty pussy any attention, you won't say shit."
...
you hated that he was right. especially now knowing he could give you an orgasm that made you see god.
you rolled your eyes, your silence saying everything you couldn't. jason laughed again, before reaching into his boxers to pull out his throbbing cock.
"you made me so hard," he whispered along the shell of your ear. "see?"
his question, though, was not meant for you to literally see-- no, at his words, jason pressed his aching dick to your cunt, grinding his length along your folds at an infuriatingly slow pace.
you moaned. couldn't help it-- not at the sensation of every vein, every ridge, every bump along his cock skating over your pussy. "yeah," you nodded, bottom lip getting caught in between your teeth, "put it in me."
jason stilled for a moment at your words, before one of his hands flew from you hip and to the back of your neck-- pressing you firmly onto the counter-top. your torso was flush to the granite, and jason successfully had you bent. "i thought we established that you could beg better than that," his voice was low. serious. "with some manners."
shame flooded your system-- but the sensation of your pussy practically drooling onto jason's cock was far too enamouring for you to ignore. "please," you exhaled, "please, baby, put your cock in me-- i need it so badly,"
"that's better," jason hummed, beginning to grind his tip against your clit again. the sound of a low moan from the back of his throat fell onto your ears, and instinctively, you arched backwards and into the man.
"jay, please," you sobbed. jason's hand had travelled from the back of your neck to your head-- keeping you pressed securely to the counter-top. your irises met his, and your entire body tingled with need.
"please what? say what you want." he mocked, hips slowing as he continued to grind against your weeping pussy.
"please--!" you were growing desperate beyond coherent words. "please, jason, please just fuck me."
in the mirror, you watched jason grin. his cheeks dimpled and your stomach flipped. "atta girl," he lined himself up with your hole with ease, before slooowly pressing into you.
you both moaned as his cock began to fill you out-- inch by inch, the further he moved within your pussy, the more you both became drunk on one another.
your jaw had gone slack against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool surface by jason's sturdy hand as he finally bottomed out inside of you. his balls gently rocked against your clit, and he held you there-- unmoving, save for the occasional twitch of his cock.
"holy shit," he breathed out your name heavily, voice coated in a seductive euphoria. "you feel-- god, you feel like you were made for me,"
you whined at his words, arousal dripping onto his length crudely as the visceral need for jason to move enveloped you. "mhm," you hummed dumbly, "made for this fat fuckin' cock,"
the man moaned at your words, hips finally beginning to pace against your ass. it was steady, after a few thrusts-- his cock stretching your pussy out.
"yes," you cried, hands bracing the edge of the counter-top as his tip began to abuse your g-spot. "feels s'good, jay,"
"oh, i know, princess," he gasped, each plap, plap, plap! of his hips meeting your ass becoming more obscene than the last. your cunt pulsed as it surrounded his cock, sucking him in-- holding him, keeping you both impossibly close.
jason grunted and moaned loudly, in tandem with your cries of pleasure, and it spurred you on. without thinking, you began to back yourself up onto him-- meeting each thrust with a bounce of your ass on his cock.
to your surprise, jason's hand snaked its way between your throat and the counter, choking gently, before he yanked you upwards. his thrusts didn't stop-- in fact, his pace only quickened, cock moving in and out and in again at a brutal pace. "no," he said sharply, forcing your jaw upwards to make you look at him through the mirror's reflection, "let me do it. let me fuck you how i want, how you deserve to be fucked,"
your pussy was dripping-- soaking jason's cock as you observed in the mirror (through clouded, tear filled eyes), as he fucked you.
"see?" he questioned, grasp tightening ever so slightly around your throat, "such a good girl when you let me fuck you like this-- when you watch yourself take this cock,"
"yes, jay," you moaned, hands still gripping the counter. every single syllable that fell from his mouth went straight to your pussy, which fluttered whorishly around jason's dick as if it was the only thing it needed.
you had said other things, too; you babbled mindlessly as his dick drove in and out of you, punishing your aching and needy pussy. your feet kicked upwards as jason pushed your hips along the counter's edge, the weight of his hips slamming into your ass keeping you folded.
"haah," he moaned, grinding his cock impossibly deeper into your cunt. "shoulda done this sooner," he said, "shoulda stuffed this pretty little pussy so deep such a long time ago, i've been needin' it so bad,"
his words went straight to your cunt, and it squelched loudly around him in response. wordlessly, you were begging for more.
"oh, what's that? you been-- shiit-- needing it too, sweet girl?" he questioned, cock pistoning your pussy passionately.
"yes--! yes, yesyesyes, i needed this so badly," you agree, far too cock-drunk on the man to say anything else. your toes and fingertips tingled, pleasure bleeding into every sensation you had.
"now you've got it, s'okay, i'll take-- fuck-- i'll take care of you," jason tried his best, really, to keep his sentences together-- but the way your cunt was strangling his cock was starting to get the better of him.
his thrusts grew erratic-- out of time, sloppy-- as he bit down onto your shoulder, eyes still on yours in the mirror.
"i'm goin' to cum," you announced, his teeth sinking into your body only spurring on your second orgasm of the night. "i-- oh god, jason, i'm not going to be able to hold it--"
"then don't," he breathed out, his hand leaving your throat to travel to your clothed chest. despite the fabric of your shirt, jason still groped and molded your tits; he moaned into your neck, giving your right breast a hearty squeeze. "cum all over this fuckin' cock, baby,"
at his words, you obeyed. the corners of your vision went spotty as you head tilted backwards onto jason's shoulder-- your orgasm causing your entire body to twitch. your legs vibrated, and cunt spasmed along jason's dick-- to which you felt him throb inside of you in response.
"c-can i fill you up? inside?" he asked suddenly, thrusts impossibly random as he chased his own orgasm.
you were nodding your head before you could even think about it-- your pussy still beating intensely at his actions, clit pulsating and dripping with need. "holy shit-- yeah, jay, cum inside me,"
jason groaned again-- teeth biting into your shoulder and remaining there as he started to cum. hot, thick ropes, spurting into your pussy-- being stuffed deeper and deeper and deeper with every half-thrust that followed. the moans of the man seeped into your skin, jason drooling all over your body as he continued to pump himself deep inside of your womb.
the sensation of his cock inside you quickly became overstimulating-- but there wasn't anything you could do except moan as jason continued to fuck into you. "jay--!"
"fuck-- i know, sweet girl, i just-- haah-- just let me milk every last drop," and you were certain, as well, that jason was becoming overwhelmed in your pussy as well; hisses followed his moans now, and only when hot tears streamed down your cheeks, did jason pull out. you fell forward and onto the counter-top, the cold surface a harsh contrast to the heat that radiated off of both of your bodies in waves.
jason's body bent in half as he copied you-- except his chest was flush to your back. sweat dripped from his hairline and temple, and you felt a sloppy, warm kiss being pressed to the nape of your neck.
"mm," he hummed, eyes fluttering shut.
you mirrored him, the fluorescent lighting of your bookstoreâs bathroom suddenly far too harsh against everything you were feeling. âjason?â
he grunted in response, the sound low and amused at the croak in your voice.
âif you liked me, you couldâve just said so,â you muttered. âno need to get yourself stabbed over it.â
his laughter vibrated softly against your skin. âyou think I got stabbed because I couldnât figure out how to confess to you?â
âthe last book you bought from me was Romeo and Juliet,â you reminded him.
that earned a louder laugh, though he offered no defense. the sound was warm, almost boyish â and for a moment, it made you forget the blood still drying on his ribs; made you forget that his cum was seeping out of you.
âhey,â he murmured after a pause, âat least I didnât die for it. been there, done that. wouldnât recommend.â
you frowned, half-confused, half-concerned â but before you could ask, he leaned in, the smell of gunpowder and cologne and something entirely him pressing close.
âThus with a kissâŠâ he whispered against your forehead, his lips ghosting over your skin, âI will not die again.â
for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. the line hung between you â tragic words rewritten into something fragile and defiant, something that belonged to him. to you.
and as his breath lingered against your temple, you realized there was far more to jason todd than the man who haunted your bookstore shelves. there was a story still being written â and somehow, youâd just found yourself in the middle of it.
PLUVOiA 25â Âź - masterlist
loren's thots: heyyy... how yall doing......... lmfao sorry this took a minute the universe threw an evil evil situationship at me w a man whos 6 ( S I X !!) whole yrs older than me.... god i love older men...... anyways its been consuming my mind and uh anything to do w sex has made me terribly emotional as a result but I POWERED THRU for yall i hope u like it.. n ya ik it wasnt the next one planned for kinktober no i didnt skip the eve and kyle pieces i js wanted to write for someone that i think yall would eat upppp so.. i love u all and omg freakin talk to me? omg cobwebs in my inbox damnnnn....
âFuck,â he groaned, already knowing he was hooked. âFuck me.â
Billy Hargrove couldnât take his eyes off of you. Yeah, he was a shallow guy probably, but fuck, he wished he had known thatâs what you looked like this whole goddamn time. You practically had him drooling up there on the lifeguard stand. Did you have any idea? Did you have even the slightest inkling of what you were doing to him? Judging by the way you kept trying to hide as much of yourself as possible, you didnât. Or maybe you were doing it just to piss him off.
