Summary: Post sex pollen. You and Leon both work at the DSO and you still hate each other (?) kicking my feet, giggling
part 1
Notes: Oh wow you guys, the first part of this was popular af. So I figured I should probably give the people what they want.
word count: 4.6k
Warnings: nsfw, age gap, younger reader, semi-public sex, oral f!receiving, bratty reader, yummy jealous Leon, RE9 Leon eating ass
Masterlist
The anteroom doors hissed as you and Leon stepped in. You awkwardly stood beside each other, both covered in part of Leon’s…genetic material.
The doors hissed again, on the other side this time and in walked Sherry Birkin, wearing a face mask and latex gloves.
“I’m honestly glad to see you both in one piece,” she said, placing two stacks of dark grey clothes at a safe distance from you. “We have to cremate your clothes to reduce the risk of contamination. Leave them in the bin over there and put these on.”
“Underwear too?” you asked.
“All of it,” she said, clearing her throat, eyes flicking between you and Leon. “Leon, you’ll go straight into quarantine.”
Leon nodded.
“Do I quarantine too?” you asked.
“Depends,” Sherry replied. “We’re gonna swab your…mouth, I think.” She wrinkled her forehead.
“Yeah, her mouth,” Leon confirmed and Sherry flinched, holding up a hand.
“You’re like a father to me, Leon. I don’t want to—I really don’t need to—” she broke off. “I didn’t want to know that about you. Like ever.”
“I know,” Leon said. “I’m really sorry.”
“I mean it’s kinda my fault,” you murmured. “I made him beg.”
Sherry and Leon stared at you.
“And…climax,” you added, barely audible and cleared your throat when you realised that was probably a little too much information. Sherry crinkled her nose, turned on her heel and walked out of the room, a shudder racking through her on the way out.
“That was unnecessary,” Leon said, turning away and slipping his shirt over his head. Oh, so now you were concerned with giving each other privacy all of a sudden?
You cleared your throat, turning around as well. “What was I supposed to say?” You slipped your shirt over your head.
“Not that,” Leon grumbled and you heard the rustling of heavy fabric.
The tiles covering the walls were sort of reflective and you got a great look at a particular back, a whole lot of muscles dancing under scarred skin with every movement. You swallowed, as your gaze trailed lower and you tore it away at the very last moment, your cheeks becoming hot.
His taste still lingered on your tongue. The truth was, you couldn’t wait to taste him again.
You cleared your throat and got rid of your bra, cupping your breasts as you threw your clothes into the bin in the corner, careful not to turn too far so Leon wouldn’t get an eyeful.
Like you had. You creep.
You slipped into the shapeless crewneck Sherry had brought with her, the fabric brushing over your already taut nipples. Leon paused in his movements, you saw it from the corner of your eye.
He wasn’t also looking at the reflection, was he?
While you waited for the medical staff to come pick you up, Leon and you awkwardly stood at opposite ends of the room.
“Maybe we should,” Leon started.
“Totally,” you chimed in without looking at him.
“Keep this private,” he went on.
“And not tell anyone, yeah,” you replied.
Leon cleared his throat, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You did the same, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, then back again.
Finally, the doors opened once more and someone from contamination control guided Leon out of the room. You let out a heavy breath and relaxed your shoulders a little.
Shortly after, one of the doctors came in and motioned for you to follow them to the infirmary.
Watching the medical staff from the DSO take turns in microscoping a sample of the mucous membrane from the inside of your cheek was probably one of the more mortifying moments of your life. Because you knew they would see something wiggling around in there.
Maybe more than one. You had no idea what Leon’s sperm count was.
Probably a lot. You had never seen this much cum before. Or maybe that was the plant. It had enhanced every sensation for him, so why wouldn’t it affect his sperm?
If it affected his sperm, maybe you were contaminated after all. Your face anyway. What if you had actually hooked up? Would the plant enhance your senses too?
An image flashed in your mind. Leon hoisting you up against the walls of the shipping container, the cold metal biting into your back at every thrust. You had your hands buried in his hair as you took him deeper and deeper until you cried out his name and—
“You’re all clear,” the doctor announced, looking at you over his clipboard. You jumped, being awoken from your daydream so crudely. “We couldn’t detect any infectious material, so you’re free to go.”
You blinked. “That can’t be right. Are you sure?” You pressed your thighs together, your folds slick with arousal already.
“No, you’re good.” He signed off on a document and opened the door for you.
You shook your head. “No, I-I’m pretty sure I was infected too.”
“And I’m 100% sure you weren’t,” he replied, smiling at you, softly. “No need to be nervous.”
Yes need to be nervous. Nervous as hell.
But you echoed his smile and stepped out of the medical examination room. Rubbing your forehead, you walked up to the elevator and frantically pushed the button. You could still hear Leon in your mind. The way he had hissed through his teeth, followed by helpless moans falling from his full lips. You wanted to kiss those lips so badly. Horny spores or not, a guy who was that vocal and filthy during a blowjob knew how to kiss you senseless.
He probably also knew how to do a whole lot of other things expertly. Agent Kennedy was very skilled in general. Granted, he had also had plenty of time to practice. He was what? In his fourties? Fifties maybe?
Old enough to make the blowjob even more problematic than it already was.
The elevator doors opened. One of the two female agents inside broke off mid-sentence when she saw you.
“Sorry,” you whispered, squeezing in beside them and pressing the button for the gym in the basement. You needed to get some of this energy out. You really couldn’t live like this. You felt like you were about to burst into flames.
The agent that had listened to the other one raised an eyebrow and looked over inquisitively. The other woman shot her a warning look.
You wrinkled your forehead and tore your gaze away from them, staring at the little ball of light dancing from one story to the next.
“So how big is it?” the one with the raised eyebrow leaned in to whisper in your ear just before you reached the lower levels.
Your head whipped around. “How big is what?”
“You know, Agent K–” she stopped as the elevator doors opened again, Leon standing in front of them.
You did a double take and looked at the buttons in the elevator. Instead of down, you had gone back up for some reason.
“I thought you were in quarantine,” you squeaked.
Leon stepped into the elevator. “They cleared me pretty quick.”
“That’s great,” you whimpered, his shoulder just inches away from yours in the tight space. “Where to?”
“Gym,” Leon replied and pressed the button for the basement again.
A nervous smile crept onto your lips.
“Where are you going?” Leon asked.
“Gym,” you croaked. “But if you’re going to the gym too, maybe I’ll give it a miss this time.”
Leon shrugged. “It’s big enough for the two of us to share.”
The agent behind you snorted a laugh that turned into a wince, as the other one rammed an elbow into her side.
The gym absolutely wasn’t big enough for both of you. Whatever Leon did, even if he was at the other end of the room, you were incredibly aware of his presence at all times. No amount of weight, no amount of cardio stopped your fantasies from running wild. What had started with you bent over his desk, had turned into you bouncing on his cock looking down at his blissed out face as he came inside you. Before it had a chance to turn into passionate missionary and breathy moans between whispered sweet nothings, you decided that it was time to clear your head.
You walked over to the wall and stretched out your hands, bringing yourself into a handstand, eyes closed. You breathed in deeply, feeling your chest expand as you focused on balancing yourself on your palms.
On your next exhale, you shifted your weight onto your left shoulder, carefully lifting up your other hand and stretching one leg out to the side at the same time. Maintaining full concentration was crucial, or else your wrist would wobble and you’d topple over.
Another inhale.
No Leon, no dicks, just breathwork.
Heavy breathing.
Panting.
Moaning and panting together.
Your wrist wobbled and you set your other hand back down, leaning your legs back against the wall. You groaned. This wasn’t an infection, this was a curse. Satanic, evil, from hell.
“Do you mind if I correct your form?” an annoying, grating voice sounded from beside you.
Nostrils flaring, you closed your eyes again. “What do you want, Kyle?”
The young agent tapped at your feet and you lost your balance. Before you face planted, you elegantly brought yourself back up into a standing position, hands propped against your hips.
“Except for disrupting my training,” you went on, eyebrows raised.
“Guilty.” He shot you a charming smile. “I came over to ask you something.”
“Sorry, I don’t know where they keep your balls, Kyle. Haven’t seen ‘em,” you said and extended your arms again, ready to get back into a handstand.
“You’re so funny,” he replied and nudged you in the side playfully—breaking your concentration. “That’s one of the things I like about you.”
“Oh god,” you breathed, watching him. Kyle was an attractive guy, dark hair, angular face, tall and broad shouldered like all agents. Eyecandy, if you will.
“So, uh, I was wondering if you ever wanted to grab dinner? With me?”
“Why do you want to get dinner with me all of a sudden?” you replied. “We don’t speak outside of meetings.”
“Well, I want to change that,” he shot back immediately. “Let me take you out.”
You opened your mouth to ask him what the hell had gotten into him all of a sudden, but you didn’t get a chance to.
“What she meant was ‘no’.” Leon stepped up behind you, you didn’t even need to look to know exactly where he was. It was like your body had an invisible antenna. Wherever your goose bumps pointed at, that’s where he was.
Kyle inhaled to say something, then looked between you and Leon and abandoned the thought.
“Your form’s actually great, there’s nothing for me to correct,” he said and walked off.
You turned around to Leon. “I didn’t say no.”
“He calls you agent TG,” Leon said, face stern. “The ‘T’ is for throat. You don’t want to get dinner with him.” So Kyle knew too, for some reason. As did the agents in the elevator. A shudder racked through you, then anger.
“What’s the ‘G’?” you asked and Leon crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Goat.”
You sighed. “Why are they even concerned with contamination control? The only thing that spreads like wildfire around here is gossip.” You furrowed your brows. “And it’s not your decision to make who I have dinner with.”
“You made the decision. I translated it for him,” Leon said.
You held up a hand. “This is seriously overreaching. Just because you came in my mouth doesn’t mean you get to be jealous.”
Leon scoffed, but avoided your gaze. “I’m not jealous.”
“Good. Because you have no reason to.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m not.”
You stared at each other, none of you moving an inch. Leon should be getting back to his training but he didn’t. A drop of sweat slid over Adam's apple and disappeared into the collar of his shirt.
“If you wanted to take me out to dinner all you had to do was ask,” you hissed. “Not come over and be all territorial.”
“I don’t have time to take you out to dinner,” he said without missing a beat like he had already considered that option. “I eat at my desk, I’m married to my job.” He tilted his head. “At least until we find out where they exported those plants to.”
“And I’m not going to bring you lunch, so there was no need to clarify,” you hissed, not entirely unfazed by him rejecting the implied date.
Leon cleared his throat. “Good.”
You nodded. “Fantastic. You’re like a hundred years older than me anyway.” You wiped your hands on your pants and got back into a handstand.
“Twenty-one,” he murmured absentmindedly, eyes trailing over your body, his jaw tight. “I’m twenty-one years older than you. And seven months.”
Your breath hitched. “You know when my birthday is?”
Leon pointed at your left flank. “You’re favouring one side when you do core exercises. You’ll always fall over like that.”
Your arms gave out and you crashed down. Cursing, you sat against the wall and massaged your wrist.
Leon had already walked back over to his side of the gym.
A week went by. A week full of awkward debriefs of what happened between you and Leon in that shipping container and a week full of pretending the other one didn’t exist. So, business as usual. Except this time, it was also a week of you making yourself cum multiple times a night to the thought of you repeating what had happened in that shipping container. And expanding on it, which only made you avoid him more.
But working together also meant that you sat in a meeting room with him for the nth time this week. They had located another warehouse full of plants and the sooner you destroyed the specimens, the better. So they called in your unit to assign roles for the upcoming field mission.
You sat in the chair, avoiding looking at one particular agent and waited for your assigned task with Leon.
K was the eleventh letter of the alphabet. And you had just gotten done with number 10. You sat up a little straighter in your chair, ready for your name to be called out next to Leon’s.
“Kennedy, you’re with Agent Williams on this.”
Kyle nodded. “Yes, sir.”
You nearly jolted out of your chair. “What?”
“Is there a problem?” one of the senior agents asked. Your stomach sank.
“What about me? Who’s my mission partner?” you asked, sounding a little more pathetic than you intended. In the shipping container, Leon had told you under—well, duress—that he made sure to be teamed up with you every single time. Because he wanted to protect you. Because he didn’t trust anyone else with keeping you safe during a mission.
“You’re actually our back-up for this one,” your supervisor said and continued on with the briefing.
“Back-up?” you mouthed, eyebrows shooting up. Your head whipped around to who you thought was responsible for this.
But Leon’s face was unreadable, stoic, if it weren’t for the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked at the slides with the mission information.
After the meeting, you were absolutely fuming as you walked up the hallway. Your kitten heels clanked over the tiles and you felt utterly ridiculous in your business casual attire, pencil skirt and everything, when what you actually wanted to do was break into a full sprint and barge through Leon’s door.
Now you had to open it slowly like a civilian.
“You’re here,” he said, looking up from his reports.
“Why did you put me in the agent graveyard?”
He slid a pair of glasses off his nose and tossed them onto the desk, rubbing his eyes. “That’s not what’s happening.”
You stepped a little closer. “How is that not what’s happening? I’m being quiet fired.”
“I don’t think we should work together again,” Leon murmured and closed the files on his desk. “So I requested a new partner. I didn’t know they were going to put you in the agent graveyard.” He winced at his own last words.
You ignored the jolt of pain in your chest. “So, I am in the agent graveyard.”
“Temporarily, I’ll get you back out of it, I promise.” Leon said and looked at you.
“But you’ll never work with me again, because I sucked you off?”
“You know how I feel about you. I told you in the shipping container. And I know how you feel about me,” Leon whispered. “I don’t think either of those feelings are appropriate for the workplace. Or a life or death situation.”
Your cheeks became hot. Because of how angry you were or because of him admitting his feelings for you without being under the influence of anything, you weren’t sure.
“It was actually very appropriate for the life or death situation you were in, Kennedy.”
He gnawed on his lower lip. “Thank you for saving my life. And I’m sorry you had to do that.”
You shrugged. “I enjoyed it.”
Leon swallowed, hard. “I enjoyed it too. Which is why it’s so inappropriate. Me being infected made you do it.”
“I offered,” you said.
He huffed. “Because you didn’t want to let me die. Not because you wanted to give me a blowjob so badly.”
“No, I would have let you die,” you said. “I wanted to give you the blowjob.”
Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re very blunt.”
“And you’re conflicted.”
Leon watched your every movement as you rounded the corner and leaned your ass against his desk right in front of him. Can you blame me? It’s a good ass.
“Because you’re twenty years older than me.”
Leon sighed. “Twenty-one, yeah.”
You ran a finger over the smooth mahogany of his desk. Your favourite fantasy out of all of them. Being bent over and fucked senseless, right here. It made you cum on your fingers in no time. “And you have no time to take me to dinner because you’re married to your job.”
Leon nodded, still watching you.
You pushed yourself up onto the desk, kicking off your heels until they clanked on the hardwood floor. Leon leaned forward in his chair ever so slightly.
“You’re always eating at your desk.”
You didn’t break eye contact with him as you reached under the hem of your skirt, pulling your lace thong down, until it hit the floor too.
Leon’s lips parted, pupils blown wide, as his gaze fell between your legs.
“What are you doing?”
You spread your legs wide enough for him to see you, glistening and swollen, inviting him in.
“Bringing you lunch to your desk.”
Leon’s eyes glazed over. “You said you wouldn’t do that.”
“Guess we were both lying then,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage. If he rejected you this time, you could never show your face around here again. But you were already a back-up agent, so what did it matter?
Leon’s breathing became flat. “Are you sure?” His eyebrows were knitted together in pure agony.
You pushed your skirt up a little more and spread your legs wider. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Leon dropped to his knees and gripped your thighs. You bit back a gasp of relief.
“Agent Leon Kennedy, folding under no press—”
Leon yanked you closer to the edge, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one smooth motion. You yelped in surprise and propped yourself up on your elbows, watching his face disappear between your thighs.
“And you’re very bratty for someone who’s about to beg me for more, junior.”
You scoffed. “People who are this cocky, usually aren’t good in bed. Oh fuck.” Leon didn’t give you any time. He latched on to your clit with uncanny precision, making you whimper right out of the gate.
Leon chuckled and you felt like maybe you had bitten off more than you could chew. You hadn’t considered the twenty-one years of sexual experience he had on you. This was not a level playing field.
Leon let go of your clit and pressed an open mouthed kiss to your labia, licking up and spreading them with his fingers. He eagerly lapped at your centre, hooking his arms under your thighs and pulling you even closer to him.
A lewd moan fell from your lips and your fingers threaded through Leon’s silky hair. None of your fantasies even came close to the feeling of him pushing into you, curling his tongue, as you felt him exhale in a breathy groan.
“Fuck, you taste so good,” he whispered and went back to sucking on your clit, flicking his tongue against it.
Your head fell back and you rolled your hips against his face, silently asking for more. Leon didn’t need to be asked twice. A finger pushed into you, sliding in effortlessly, your silky wetness covering him to the knuckle.
How did he know this was exactly what you wanted? He had no business reading your body like that the first time he ever touched you.
You mewled, your nails biting into his scalp, as you desperately tried to hold on to something. Biting back a helpless whimper, you clamped your thighs around your lover’s head, but he pushed your thigh back, opening you up wider to him.
“Oh fuck, Leon,” you sobbed, breathlessly, desire coiling tighter and tighter in your abdomen with every stroke of his tongue and fingers working in unison.
Leon shushed you, reaching one of his hands up, sliding under your shirt and pulling the lacy cup of your bra down, exposing your hard nipple to him.
Your eyes fluttered shut, as you continued to moan like a whore, squirming under his touch, panting, calling out his name so he wouldn’t stop. Never stop. You wanted to experience this until the world ended.
Your back arched off the desk and Leon didn’t stop you from clenching your thighs around his head this time, answering your moan.
“That’s it baby, oh fuck, come all over my face.”
A high pitched moan racked through you and your hips bucked, you were moments away from shattering. “Oh god, Leon.” Another moan, louder than the last one.
Leon leaned back, the lower half of his face glistening with your juices. He was panting, struggling to regain composure.
“You’ll have to be quieter, people are already talking.”
Your head shot up as your orgasm ebbed off and you shimmied closer to him, looking for the tiniest bit of friction to keep you edging closer to pure ecstasy.
“Why do you give a fuck about other people?” You panted, eyes rolling back in the back of your head, as you tried to catch your breath. “Keep going.”
Leon chuckled, ran his tongue over his lower lip and dipped his head back between your thighs again, continuing right where he had left off. You softly squeezed his tongue with your inner walls, inching closer and closer.
“I can’t wait to feel you do that around my cock.” Leon moaned shamelessly, making you clench down on his fingers this time at the finality of that statement.
“I’ve been thinking about nothing else,” you panted. “You fucking me, it’s all I can think about.”
Leon groaned, pressing his forehead against your vulva, as if he needed a moment to recalibrate, continuing to work you with his fingers.
You whimpered, your lower abdomen becoming tight. “Oh god, Leon.”
“Oh fuck yes,” he breathed, licking up your folds and eating you like he was starving for it. The sounds of pleasure filling the office were beyond obscene. You didn’t care who heard.
Until Leon paused his movements.
“No,” you whimpered, once again left right at the edge of sanity. “What are you doing? No, don’t stop.”
Leon bit back a laugh and your brows knitted together in fear as you realised he did this on purpose. He was toying with you.
“I thought you should know what that feels like.”
You whined, tugging at his hair, but he leaned back, looking at you with a smug grin. “If I were you, I would make you beg. But I’m a lot nicer than that.”
You helplessly kicked your feet, desperately trying to make him come back to you, getting the job done. “Fuck you, Kennedy.”
He clicked his tongue, scoldingly. “I think you can do better.”
“Don’t do this to me.”
He raised an eyebrow at you, rolling his thumb over your clit agonisingly slowly, watching you suffer. “I’m being very nice to you right now.”
“Fuck, Leon, please,” you whimpered, “Please don’t stop, I’m sorry, please, I need you.”
“Yeah, that’s more like it,” he murmured, biting his lip, taking his sweet time observing your wet flesh as he dragged his thumb over it again, rubbing your clit in tight circles.
Somewhere between Leon being the nicest person and him being the meanest person alive, you had sunken down to lay flat on the desk, squirming, thrashing under his touch, at the overstimulation without release.
His mouth found your centre again, fully making out with your pussy and a shiver racked through you, the tiny hairs on your skin standing to attention. You were so close.
Leon moved away from your clit and you sobbed.
“If you stop again, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” you whined, stretching out your hand, white knuckling the other end of the desk, your breath coming ragged, a single drop of sweat trailing down your knitted forehead.
But Leon didn’t stop. He knew exactly what he was doing as he pushed two fingers deep into you, caressing your clit with his thumb. He hoisted your hips up higher, his mouth moving lower, tracing over your taut skin and you nearly blacked out.
A gasp turned into a high-pitched moan as he teased your rim with the tip of his tongue.
“Oh god, Leon, I–” You started pulsing around his fingers, gripping the edge of the desk tighter, chest heaving. “Oh my god,” you choked out as he licked you in broad strokes.
With the next skilled stroke of his tongue, you were gone.
Crying out his name, you clamped your thighs around his head, your heels digging into his back. Leon moaned against your hot flesh, continuing to eat your ass you through every wave of electricity coursing through you, rubbing yout clit, making you last longer, intensifying every sensation.
“Oh holy fuck, oh my god.” A string of curses fell from your lips, as you came harder than you had ever before, panting, barely able to process the multitude of stimulation.
You pressed your head against your arm, squeezing your eyes shut, mouth agape, probably letting the entire DSO know what Leon was doing to you, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was Leon making you see God.
Leon pulled you back up into a seated position and pulled you to lean against him. Weakly locking your arms around his shoulders, you sank against his chest, your entire body shaking.
You were still trying to catch your breath as Leon rubbed gentle circles over the small of your back.
“We still haven’t kissed,” you whispered breathlessly.
“First kisses are for first dates,” Leon panted. “What are you doing Saturday?”
“Going on a date with you?” you breathed, burying your forehead in the crook of his neck.
At the elite police academy, Cadet Leon S. Kennedy is the unchallenged top of his class—a flawless prodigy driven by a secret no one suspects. The academy's highest honor is exclusive one-on-one tactical training reserved solely for the top rank under your command, a seasoned and captivating senior instructor. As you push him to his physical and emotional limits, an intense, unspoken friction ignites between your cool dominance and his desperate, quiet submission, building toward a high-stakes graduation night where a desperate confession changes everything.
╰┈➤ Pairing: Police Academy Trainer!Reader × Rookie!Leon S. Kennedy
╰┈➤ older reader X younger Leon
╰┈➤ Setting: Police Academy (Pre-RE2 / Normal World AU)
╰┈➤ Tropes: Power Dynamic, Slow-Burn, Mutual Pining, Forbidden Desires, Emotional Tension, Dom/Sub Energy Coded, Submissive Leon, yearner Leon, slightly obsessive Leon, Pathetic Leon.
╰┈➤ Series (plot deviation, no correlation to raccoon city)
Chapter Index
Chapter 1 - Gold Star
The mid-September air inside the academy’s main building was always thick with the sharp, industrial tang of floor wax, stale black coffee, and the heavy canvas scent of issued gear bags. It was a loud, echoey corridor, a labyrinth of polished linoleum and exposed brick that reverberated with the relentless thud of heavy leather boots. Every month, the atmosphere changed. Every month, it grew heavier, suffocatingly competitive, condensing into a dense crowd right outside the administrative office where the glass-encased wooden bulletin board hung.
Leon S. Kennedy had been at the academy for months now, long enough to know the exact cadence of its anxieties. He didn't push through the crowd. He stood at the periphery, his large canvas gear bag slung over one shoulder, its worn strap biting into the stiff fabric of his regulation uniform. The cuffs of his blue shirt were slightly frayed at the edges, a testament to the hours spent scrubbing them down after late-night drills, but the creases along his trousers were sharp enough to cut. Around him, the lower-ranked cadets muttered in low, envious tones, their eyes darting toward him before returning to the fresh ink on the printed sheets beneath the glass.
To the rest of the academy, Leon was a prodigy—an untouchable, hyper-focused anomaly. Everyone believed he worked this hard because he wanted the best placement after graduation, a flawless record to hand over to a prestigious metropolitan precinct.
Nobody noticed that immediately after his eyes found the top spot on the ranking board, he didn't look at the career track metrics or the commendation stamps. Instead, his gaze would subtly shift, drifting past the crowded corridor, out the high windows, and toward one specific, isolated training ground on the western wing of the campus.
You.
The academy whispered about you constantly. To the junior classes, you were the Elite Advance Program instructor—a title spoken with an almost reverent caution. Some cadets thought you were intimidating, a stoic force who moved through the barracks with an unforced, commanding grace. Others thought you were flatly impossible to impress, possessing too much aura and a seasoned sharpness that could dissect a rookie’s mistake in a single glance. Everyone, from the drill sergeants to the raw recruits, agreed on one thing: only the best cadet survived your program.
Leon never corrected them. If they wanted to believe he was obsessed with first place because of his career, let them. Good. It was an excellent shield.
The truth was far more embarrassing, a quiet weight he carried behind his ribs. He had memorized your training schedule months ago, tracing the clean, typewriter-printed fonts on the faculty boards until the hours were burned into his mind. He subconsciously timed his morning runs so he would pass the eastern training block exactly when you were walking in. He never broke his stride, never called out, and never attempted to strike up a conversation. He just needed to see you—to catch the casual way your instructor jacket hung over one shoulder, or the focused, mature tilt of your head as you reviewed the day’s ledgers. He would never, under any circumstance, admit that to a soul.
The sun hadn't even cleared the horizon when Leon found himself alone in the western tactical bay. The room smelled of old rubber mats, iron weights, and dust motes trapped in the dim, pre-dawn shadows. Sweat clung to his forehead, his knuckles wrapped tightly in heavy cotton tape as he drove another relentless, exhausted combination into the heavy striking bag. His breath came in ragged, heavy pants, the dull thud-thud-thud of his fists echoing against the high ceiling.
He didn't hear the side door click open.
You hadn't walked in to check on him. You weren't paying special attention to the academy's golden boy; you were simply arriving early to beat the heat of the day, a ceramic mug of black coffee cradled in your hand. But the rhythmic, punishing sound drawn from the dark corner of the bay drew your eyes. You stood by the threshold, taking in the sight of the lone cadet pushing his body to the absolute limit while the rest of the campus was still asleep. Simply because nobody else was ever there that early, your steps naturally redirected toward him.
"You know, Kennedy," your voice cut through the damp quiet, smooth and balanced with a mature, easygoing amusement. "The heavy bag isn't going to fight back. And regular class doesn't even start for another two hours."
Leon froze mid-pivot. His hands dropped instantly, his chest heaving as he snapped around to face you. His blue eyes went wide, reflecting the faint morning light, his entire frame locking into a disciplined, slightly rigid stance. "Ms. Instructor. I—apologies, ma'am. I didn't hear you come in."
You stepped closer, your unforced confidence filling the space between you as you took a slow sip from your mug. You set a small paper bag containing a generic breakfast pastry down on the wooden bench beside his gear. "Relax, Leon. I'm not writing you up for excessive dedication. But you look like you're trying to kill yourself before the workday even starts. Eat something. And drink some water before you pass out on my mats."
Leon spoke very little. His throat felt incredibly dry, his voice caught somewhere behind his teeth as he gave a tight, earnest nod. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."
"Don't mention it. See you at nine, Cadet," you said with a faint, playful charm, turning on your heel to walk toward the administrative offices.
Leon stood entirely still, watching your retreating figure until the heavy double doors clicked shut. Internally, his brain had already locked down, replaying every single sentence, the exact cadence of your voice, and the casual, effortless way you had spoken his name, looping it over and over like a worn cassette tape.
Meanwhile, you walked down the quiet, sunlit corridor, the interaction already drifting to the back of your mind. You took another sip of your coffee, a faint, passing thought crossing your consciousness: He’s cute. Earnest. He’s going to make a fine officer someday if he stops trying to kill himself before twenty-five.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
The profound, agonizing imbalance of the story began right there, in the quiet grit of the morning air. One heart was already helplessly, obsessively invested, while the other hadn't even realized the first page had turned.
Late that evening, the academy had fallen into a deep, heavy silence. The high-ceilinged administrative office was illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of a single desk lamp, casting long shadows across the wood-paneled walls. You sat back in your leather chair, a low sigh escaping your lips as you massaged the tension from your temples. A stack of coffee-stained folders lay open before you, the ink-printed names of the advanced cadets blurring together after hours of review.
You pulled the master roster for next month's Elite Advance Program toward the center of the desk. The administrative board expected you to rotate the assignments, to spread the seasoned oversight among the varying high-tier rookies.
You picked up your heavy fountain pen, your fingers hovering over the blank primary slot. Without much thought—not out of favoritism, but out of a simple, practical appreciation for a student who didn't waste your time with arrogant bravado—you let the nib meet the paper.
In a clean, decisive script, you wrote one singular name.
Leon S. Kennedy.
You closed the ledger with a dull, echoing thud, entirely unaware that the simple ink on that page had just anchored his entire world for another thirty days.
I’m getting braces and I went to the orthodontist and this man creeped me out he went on and on about how young I look and how beautiful I am and would not shut up about it. It was so uncomfortable
laying on top of leon with ur cheek on his bare chest and his big hands doing gentle back scratches and rubs and hes so warm and every so often he'll softly chuckle at something on the tv....... he's hooked one of his ankles around yours because the two of you are determined to be so tangled in one another that you can never separate
Everybody Here Wants You (Pt. 2) — Rookie!Leon S. Kennedy x Gn Reader
| ♡ | In which just about every man in the Raccoon City Police Department wants you. Pt. 1
Warnings: mention of readers family (nothing specific, dw), Leon being a littleee insecure.
═══════════════════════
Yesterday you caved in and finally decided to give one of the officers from the police department a chance—Leon Kennedy. Today at the end of your shift, he is bringing you to his favorite Italian restaurant in town. Despite your bluntness in asking him out, you were honestly nervous. Was the outfit I brought to change into fine? Should it be more or less formal? Is he even changing? Honestly it was a little pathetic. Every man in the department seemed to have a thing for you and here you were freaking out over a date with a rookie.
When the end of your shift finally arrives you shake with anticipation as you rush to gather your things to go change into the outfit you brought. It was a simple pair of dress pants and a cute top along with your favorite shoes. Not too casual and not too much for a first date. You fixed up your hair in the mirror and splashed cold water on your face trying to eliminate the slight nervousness that started to creep its way on to it. As you finally make your way to the front you see Leon waiting for you in jeans and a white polo. He smiles like a dork when he sees you. (A cute one of course).
“Wow- you look g- beautiful.” He smiles sincerely and it was hard to miss the heat creeping up his neck.
You approach him and your hand grazes his bicep, “Thank you, Leon.” You watch the man short circuit from the small touch.
He clears his throat “we should get going, the reservation time is coming up.” He looks lost for a second, but ultimately your hand finds its way to hold onto his bicep as the two of you exit the police station and find your way to his jeep.
As he opens the door and you mutter a small thank you, you don’t miss an officer whose jaw quite literally dropped while seeing you enter his car. You flash him a dirty look and he picks it up and shakes his head looking—annoyed? As he makes his way into the station.
Leon finally gets into the car. The drive to the restaurant is short but filled with light laughter and lots of small talk. He tells you bits and pieces about why he wanted to be an officer, and your heart beats a little harder for him when you hear about his family. He asks about yours and you tell him little things, deciding to spare most of the details. When you arrive at the restaurant, sure enough, he opens the door for you again and he guides you to the host stand with his hand on the small of your back.
Dinner was phenomenal and upon leaving you were both giggling and he opened the door for you to get back into his car and he began driving you back to your place. After your laughter dies down from some terribly corny dad joke he made he changes the topic.
“Can I ask you something”
You peer over at him almost nervously, “ask.”
“What made you want to ask me out?”
The question honestly made your cheeks heat up and your gaze lingered on him for a moment before you opted to look out the window.
“I just think you’re handsome. And finally having a reason to talk to you made it seem like the best time to try.”
After a beat of silence you look back over at him. His ears are red, jaw is clenched, and his knuckles are unmistakably white on the steering wheel. He doesn’t even offer a reply. Did you say something wrong? Is he offended? Maybe he expected more of an elaborate answer? As he pulls up to your house you finally watch as his grip relaxes and he looks over at you.
“I had a great time tonight y/n.” His gaze stutters to the windshield before looking back over at you, his voice softening the slightest bit more, “I would love to go out with you another time if you would have me.”
You nod. “I’d love that.”
He smiles like a puppy and gets out of the car to open your door again. Do men get gentler than this? I mean seriously. He walks you to your front door and you fiddle with your key for a moment before looking up at him watching you. The streetlights capture his blue eyes in the most beautiful way as his gaze focuses on you. You can’t help but lean and and kiss him as your hand grazes his jaw.
He short circuits and doesn’t kiss you back for a second. As you're about to pull away he leans in and his hand finds the small of your back. His lips are unforgettably soft and his touch is warm. He pulls away, but your faces still seem so close.
“What made you ask me out, y/n?”
Your head tilts to the side in confusion. He just asked you this in the car, and you answered him honestly. Did he have amnesia? You’re about to answer and as your mouth opens he speaks again.
“Everybody in the station seems to have a little…thing for you. I just don’t understand why out of all the options you settled on me.”
Your heart can’t help but feel a tang of guilt, just cause you feel bad hearing such a silly doubt from such a handsome man. His hand is still on your back and he is looking into your eyes like a puppy begging for you to adopt him.
Your hands wrap around the back of his neck before you answer him, “I wanted to ask you out because you’re kind. So kind. And you’re honestly one of the most handsome men I have ever seen.” You giggle, “it’s almost like you’re a package deal.”
He laughs softly at your reassurance before his gaze drops to the floor and rises back to you. You lean up and place a chaste kiss on his cheek.
You unlock the door and turn to look at him again, his gaze has not left you.
“Goodnight, Leon.” You smile, “Tomorrow we’ll plan out our second date.”
You don’t wait for a reply before going inside.
His gaze lingers on your door for a second and he looks like he just got kissed by Aphrodite. You see him smile to himself through the window before he makes his way back to his car.
Everybody in the station wants you, but you only want him.
Bonus:
“Did you hear about the Italian chef who passed away?”
Your smile fades, “No, did he work here?”
He smiles a little too hard, “Yeah it’s really sad, he pasta away.”
Laughter took over him before you could even process the joke.
…Maybe the date wasn’t a good idea.
═══════════════════════
(a/n) super short as well because I just suck at dialogue LOL I didn’t include them in the restaurant because I was trying my hardest to not characterize y/n at all (in the sense of things they like, etc), so bare with me 😃.
Everybody Here Wants You (Pt. 1) — Rookie!Leon S. Kennedy x Gn Reader
| ♡ | In which just about every man in the Raccoon City Police Department wants you. Pt. 2
Warnings: catcalling, reader likes tea.
═══════════════════════
It was no secret that most of the men in the Raccoon City Police Department had a thing for you. Lingering gazes, wolf whistles, giggles when a male officer would come up to speak to you one on one. It was honestly quite annoying.
You had become the receptionist at the RCPD 6 months ago, and for 6 months you had felt agonizing dread when it came down to the part of the job where you had to speak to the officers. Yeah, they would help you with the simplest tasks, and would shower you with compliments, and would quite frankly boost your ego, but is it all that good when they just lack manners? Never a thank you, or a goodnight (unless a friend is watching), and don’t even forget about the time you had to bend over to pick something up and you ended up startled from laughter and wolf whistles erupting from the group of officers behind you.
Of course they had tried many times with you, asking you on dates, bringing you coffee, talking to you for a little too long when you were just trying to do your paperwork. But who really wants a man old enough to be their father- no grandfather. It did pain you to admit that there was one man who did happen to catch your eye. He was a rookie. He joined maybe 3 months ago? You weren’t quite sure. But when he needed help finding paperwork for a case he was on, you couldn’t help but be stunned more a moment by his manners. I mean, none of the officers really had any when it came to needing your help.
“Excuse me?” You looked up at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and your gaze immediately stayed locked on his face.
“Hi— I was wondering if you could help me find the incident report sheets please?”
Okay, MAYBE the bar was on the floor. But how could you contain yourself when he looked at you with those soft blue eyes and that pout?
You offered a smile that was a little more than polite, “of course.”
You couldn’t miss the way his cheeks warmed up.
You stood up from the front desk, despite being annoyed whenever other officers asked you for a favor requiring you to leave it. When you peered behind you to ensure he was still following, he looked like a puppy following you for a treat.
You led him to the shelf right outside the records room and passed him one of the sheets. “Here you go.”
His hand seemed to have a slight tremble as he took the paper from you. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. Sorry for dragging you from the desk I just really didn’t know to ask— ”
“It’s okay, I insist. Leon, right?”
He nodded quickly in response. “I didn’t think you knew my name.” He giggled…awkwardly. And his hand found the back of his neck.
During the painfully awkward conversation you look over and see two older officers (one of which you rejected) murmuring while staring at the two of you and then breaking into a fit of laughter. Assholes. You turn back to Leon.
“Of course I did.”
“Thanks again” he smiles shyly.
As he turns away you reach out for his wrist. “Wait—”
When he turns back to you he’s simply red and tense.
“Sorry I just wanted to know if you wanted to go out…maybe to a movie or get dinner or something.”
You didn’t know if it was the way his biceps would tense when you would smile at him or the way his hair fell perfectly, or maybe it was just the immature dogs of men that were pissing you off in the corner.
“No it’s— I mean— yes! I would love to!” He was certainly biting back a bigger smile. He was definitely trying to seem nonchalant even though it was absolutely not working in his favor.
“Great.” You nodded and looked down to realize you were still holding his wrist. You quickly released it and turned to go back to the front desk without another word. Who needs to plan dates anyway? As you sit back at your desk you realize you quite literally gave him no details, time, or a date.
The next morning you come in, Leon walks in a few minutes after you, 2 coffees in hand.
“Morning. I brought you—” he cuts himself off after peering down and seeing you in fact already have a coffee. Funny enough, you didn’t even buy it yourself.
The man who brought it for you actually walked past him and muttered something before laughing and walking away.
“Sorry.”
He shakes his head, “no I’m sorry. Honestly I didn’t even know if this order was right. I just usually see you drinking tea and assumed…”
You stopped listening to him and got lost in thought. He wasn’t holding 2 coffees. For the small amount of time you have been here, countless officers have brought you coffee in the morning, and you have no choice but to politely accept. The coffee never actually touches your lips as you find your way to make yourself a tea. Not before tossing whatever coffee and simply saying you finished it quickly if you get asked where it went.
“I really appreciate that.” Your voice is genuine. You probably sound overly appreciative, but seriously how can you help yourself? One officer out of this entire force has actually been able to notice something about you instead of just thinking with his di—
“So about that date.”
You nod. Sometime during his ramble he ended up placing the tea on your desk.
“I know this really good Italian restaurant that’s downtown. If you don’t like Italian I totally know other places we could go.” He totally does not, but that’s okay!
“Italian is perfect.”
“Okay…” He smiles a little more widely now. “Okay that sounds good. We can go after work tomorrow?”
“I’d love that Leon.”
He offers another shy smile and nod before going to his desk in the east office. The same two officers who were watching you two the day before were eavesdropping again and looked appalled at the fact the rookie was able to score a date before they were.
You still don’t know if it was truly for his looks and kindness or if it was just because that’s what the officers don’t have, but maybe the date wouldn’t be so bad.
═══════════════════════
(a/n) super short but it is my first (technically second is you saw my last post) time writing a fic. I’ll do a part two if anyone is interested but like I said I’m just testing the waters with this :,) also I don’t know why tumblr won’t let me upload borders so I hope everyone is on phone so it looks right LOL
i need someone to crack my back rn but what if leon did that for you while fucking you 😳
cw: smut!! nsfw!!!!!! p in v, married, kinda morning/sleepy if u squint rlly hard, stress relief??, idek i wrote this half asleep so prolly buns, not proofread!!
just something SHORT and QUICK AND VERY SHORT to hopefully pull me out of my little writing slump… i THINK it worked we’re gonna find out soon…!!
work’s kinda been kicking your ass lately. late nights, glued to your desk and computer, living purely on deadline stress and an ungodly amount of caffeine. even your husband seems more relaxed than you, which is a miracle in and of itself right there.
today, you’re allowing yourself the morning off. sleep in, have a nice long shower. maybe have an actual meal!
…then you wake up. getting out of bed? climbing mount everest in heels would be easier. your back’s so stiff you’d think someone replaced your spinal cord with a damn rod.
you groan, squinting as you open your eyes. a loud groan apparently ‘cause it stirs leon too.
“morning, honey,” he mumbles in that rough morning voice, pressing himself up against you and kissing along your shoulder. he gets a whimper in response, which raises concern. “hey, are you okay?”
“everything hurts…” you complain, turning your face to bury your face in the pillow, managing to stretch an arm out before turning to stone once more. “feels like i got crushed by… a boulder. and then had to push it off of me and roll it up a hill.”
“that’s pretty specific, bunny,” he says into your hair. his hand rubs up and down your bare arm. “i told you you need to do some stretches. want me to help you?”
you hate when you’ve been proven wrong, even if they’re just trying to help, so you grumble and shake your head. leon sighs, giving your bicep a squeeze.
“baby, you’ll feel better. could make it fun,” he says with a smirk, pressing his cheek against yours. he knows it helps if he makes it easy for you to give a one word answer. “want me to fuck you into a nice stretch? make a noise for me if that sounds good.”
it takes you a minute, debating it. then you give a grumpy hum, keeping your eyes closed stubbornly. leon kisses your cheek and rolls you onto your tummy, pulling a whine from your mouth.
“there’s my girl,” he kisses your shoulder, tugging your bottoms and underwear off. his rough hands gently grab your hips, hoisting you up onto your knees. “tell me if ‘s too much, ‘kay?”
you nod against the pillow, your body already protesting. you wait patiently and grumpily until eventually he slides in, your tight, stressed hole hugging him tight.
“oh, been a while, huh? stupid job’s been keepin’ me from taking care of you,” he sighs, rubbing up and down your back, squeezing your neck a bit to hopefully make it feel less stiff. he lets you readjust to him before putting you in the right position, his hands guiding yours to where the mattress touches the head board, making your back arch real good. “that’s it. feel good?”
you nod weakly against the pillow, looking at him over your shoulder. you feel like you just got put in one of those things that stretch the candy out in the background of those ai reddit stories on tiktok.
it stings like hell after your back has been arches the opposite way, hunched over your computer for days, but very quickly bleeds into pleasure when leon pulls back and then pushes back into you.
“o-oh… shit…” you gasp against the pillow, gripping where he out your hands on the mattress.
when’s the last time you cried during sex? you have no idea, but whenever it was, you just broke your streak. the stretch combined with the tight slide of his cock in and out of your cunt is overwhelming, like getting high for the first time with wayyy too much weed.
“yeah? needed that, didn’t you sweetheart?” leon grunts, gripping your hips, pulling your ass back onto him, making sure you really feel that stretch. presses on your lower back every now and then to keep you arched, getting the best angle both for your sore muscles and your needy pussy.
once you’ve cum like that, your back arching so deliciously you wonder if it snapped in half and folded you upside down, he flips you over. only pulls out for a split second before sliding right back into you.
before you can ask, he shoves your knees up to your ears, straining way more muscles than it’s probably supposed to. you moan in pain and relief, your hand gripping the sheets desperately. “jesus christ, leon.”
“not even close to done yet, sweetie,” he smirks, pressing his body down on yours to keep you from squirming as he picks his pace back up. his lips find yours in the meantime, licking into your mouth and swallowing allll your cute sounds.
once your thighs are sore as hell and your pussy’s completely oversensitive, your husband shows you a small glimpse of merch, rubbing your sides and kissing all over your face. then he pulls on your limbs again, this time holding your arms behind your back while he fucks you prone bone.
“mmmmph… i feel like a rubber band,” you cry when it’s finally over and you’re stretched out and stuffed full with his cum. completely fucked out for at least a week as leon massages your poor muscles much more gently this time around. you feel exhausted, but at least it’s not from work anymore.
“yeah? you’re a cute rubber band, then.”
“that’s just weird, leon.”
“don’t tempt me. i’ll research more sex stretches.”
“nooo…!!” he knows that’s code for yessss!!
a/n: guys my notes are LOADED with fic ideas i genuinely just need to lock in and stop doomscrolling and playing roblox 😭😭😭😭😭 hopefully will write more soon but genuinely no promises IM TRYING
Summary: One new message with a photo of the dog in a new collar and one word.
Leon Kennedy can salt a driveway. He can buy a collar, paint a living room, pick out a bracelet. Everything except the one thing. It's finally Christmas and you're done waiting for him to say it.
WC: 7k
Warnings: MDNI, angst, age gap, alcohol, crying, minor injury, canon-typical references to violence and past trauma, comfort and soft ending, I promise.
Notes: Still no smut again in this part but I promise you - I've got something up my sleeve for new year's eve!
You didn’t know how long you’d been staring at it.
Leon - 1 new message
Five months. Five months and now his name was sitting on your lock screen.
And of course you opened it.
Hey
You kept staring at it like there might be more underneath.
Your thumb was still hovering when you heard another ding. A second message popped up but this time it was a picture. It was Buddy sitting with a dark-brown leather collar and a silver name tag with Buddy engraved in it. Behind him, soft and out of focus, was Leon’s kitchen you’d last seen with that stupid backsplash.
You sat all the way up. You couldn’t believe Leon actually went out and got the dog a damn collar. I mean, maybe he already had the collar and just put it on. There’s no way he would’ve gotten in that ridiculous car, driven to the pet store and got the nametag engraved in a span of a few hours.
Either way, none of that mattered, it really would have cost him nothing to type. I'm sorry.
You stared at the photo until the screen dimmed and you had to tap it awake again.
You typed: are you serious
Deleted it.
Five months of ignoring me and THIS is what you send me?
You deleted that one too.
You typed:
Why
You thought about just sending something like:
Cute dog.
But that wasn’t enough. You thought that was too easy and didn’t show how angry you truly were.
Then it occurred to you, if he was paying attention, he could see those three little dots. Appearing and disappearing over and over again.
You heard two soft knocks on the door, you placed your phone face-down into the quilt.
“You alive in there?” said your dad, his voice muffled through the door.
“Yeah,” you said more cheerily than you meant.
You waited for him to leave and walk back downstairs but he didn’t.
Your door opened a few inches with the hall light cutting a wedge across your bed.
“Hey, dinner’s almost ready, just thought I’d wake you up.”
“I’ll be down in a few.”
Your dad stepped away like he was going to leave but then walked back towards your door.
“Honey.”
“Yeah.”
“You alright?”
“Mhm.” You nodded but you knew that wasn’t the truth.
“You slept all afternoon,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your mother thinks it’s the travel.” He paused.
“I don’t.”
“I’m fine, Dad. Really,” you said.
He stepped into your room and the bed dipped when he sat on the side of it next to you.
“I think I know what it is,” he said.
Your throat went tight.
“It’s your mother.” He shook his head slowly. “She’s been a nut-case all week. Woke me up at five this morning. Five, honey. Because one bulb was out on the roof lights. One bulb. I couldn’t even find the thing up there. Had to call her from the roof so she could stand in the yard and point to where it was.”
The laugh came out of you uncontrollably. It was more relief than humor though.
“It’s not Mom, Dad.”
“No?”
You stopped there. You didn’t really want to tell your dad the whole Fourth of July saga and how you fucked a man that was pretty much twice your age. So, you waited for him to ask.
He sat there in the dark room with you, hands on his knees.
“Anybody do something I need to know about?” he said calmly but with a concerned look on his face.
“No, Dad.” You almost smiled at what he was offering.
“Mm,” he said.
Downstairs you could hear a chair scrape and Mason shrieking about something.
“You talk to your sister?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He nodded.
He got quiet and you thought he was building up to leave, instead, he looked out the window.
“Your mother didn’t talk to me for a month once,” he said. “Before we were married.”
You looked at him. “What did you do?”
“Put new brakes on her mother’s Buick.”
“No — what did you do. To make her stop talking to you.”
“That’s between me and the Buick.”
He rubbed his knee. “I spent a few hours in her mother’s driveway fixing them.” He shook his head at the memory. “I didn’t know how to say sorry out loud.” He paused. “I liked her mother fine. But I wasn’t out there for her mother. I was out there for your mom.”
He scratched his jaw. “Came back the next week and offered to change her wiper fluid and then the week after that, an oil change.”
“So, what’s your point?” You said.
“My point is, whoever it is,” He said gently “Some men can’t say what they’re feeling out loud. So. They do things instead.”
You breathed in and stared at your dad. There was no way he could know it was Leon. Was there?
“Honey, I know I seem like a guy who doesn’t pay attention. But I see things. And I see you’ve been walking around all sad and depressed since you got back.”
Tears pricked hot behind your eyes and your throat was aching.
He reached over and squeezed your shoulder.
“I’m not asking you to tell me everything,” he said. “You’re old enough. You don’t owe me that. But if someone’s got you twisted up like this… you don’t have to carry it alone. That’s all I’m saying.”
Downstairs your mom shouted. “Dinner’s getting cold!”
Your dad huffed and shook his head. He stood up slowly, the bed creaking as his weight lifted.
“Come down when you’re ready.” He said calmly.
He paused at the door, one hand on the frame.
“If you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”
The door clicked shut behind him. You sat in silence with your heart hammering and the tears finally slipping free.
You picked your phone up from the quilt and looked at the messages from Leon again. Maybe. Maybe if he could have said anything, anything, about how he was feeling. You would have considered his text an apology. Instead, you put your phone face-down on the nightstand and went down to dinner.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
It was the next day on Christmas Eve, and at nine in the morning your mother discovered she was short a bag of brown sugar, two cans of evaporated milk, and butter. She announced this the way other people announce a house fire. And since you were the only one in the family who wasn’t busy, you offered to go get the groceries.
The store was chaotic. You could barely walk down any of the aisles without bumping into someone. When you finally grabbed everything, you stood in the self-checkout line that reached all the way back into the seasonal aisle. You were behind a man buying a cart full of food, and your brain trailed off to last night. Leon hadn’t sent you another message since and you still had him on read.
You finally after what felt like forever, checked out and bagged up two bags of groceries. The roads thankfully were scraped and cleared off but you still drove home carefully keeping your distance from cars in front of you.
You pulled up into the driveway and grabbed the bags from the passenger seat. You took the direct line to the front door and because it was cold you were not in the mood to be careful.
A patch of ice took your boot out from under you before you could regain any balance. Your hip hit first and your elbow was second before you landed completely on your back. The bags went everywhere. Somewhere behind you, a can of evaporated milk was rolling down the driveway.
You lay there with the cold seeping up through your coat, staring up at the flat gray sky, and thought bitterly. Of course.
Then you heard a car door shut.
You turned your head. You saw Leon’s Porsche in the driveway and then Leon walking towards you.
Fuck.
He was in a dark overcoat you had never seen before and a black collared shirt. For a second you didn’t recognize him. He was moving quickly, his eyes went across your parents’ house before landing on you. He saw you on the ground and everything in him changed gears all at once.
“Hey — hey.” He was already crossing the yard of snow between your driveway and his. “You okay?”
You were still too dazed and furious to answer.
He stopped a few feet away from you, taking in your situation. He looked at the bags, the groceries splayed out the driveway and to you flat on your back in the middle of it all. Buddy was barking his head off somewhere inside his house, muffled and hysterical.
Leon looked above you and tipped his head slightly.
“Nice landing.” He said.
You rolled your eyes. “Really?”
“Just a thought.”
You managed to get your elbow under you and pushed up but the ice took your boot out from under you again. You were going down for the second time and then his hand closed around your arm.
He caught you like you weighed nothing. One hand gripped around your forearm, the other one at your elbow, and hauled you up. You came up into him closer than either of you had planned, close enough that you could feel his cloudy breath on your face. So close you could see the crinkles around his eyes and the small white line of an old scar you had once, in July, in the dark traced your finger on.
Neither of you moved.
His hand stayed where it was on your arm and his eyes went over your face like he found something before looking away.
“You can let go now,” you said.
And he did let go.
You bent down for the nearest bag and so did he.
“Don’t,” you said. “I got it.”
But he didn’t stop, he was already crouched in your driveway, picking up the cans of evaporated milk.
“I said don’t. I don’t need your help.”
His hands stopped and he crouched there for a second, holding the brown sugar.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
He picked up one of the now wet grocery bags in the driveway and threw everything back in it. He stood and held it out to you.
You snatched it out of his hand harder than you needed to and turned away to the front door. Your hip was screaming and your eyes were welling up. You tried not to look back but you did anyway.
He was still standing in your driveway with the snow starting to fall looking at you like he was working out how to fix it. But all he said was.
“Watch the ice.”
You could feel yourself about to say something but you choked it down. You turned away and shut the door behind you.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Most of the day you were wrapping presents on the floor of your parents bedroom with the door shut so the kids didn’t see. Then your mother called you down to peel potatoes and set the table. The house filled up with Christmas music and chatter from your family.
You spent the later part of the afternoon in the kitchen with your mother, baking cookies for the kids to leave out for Santa. You both decided it was best to make simple sugar cookies since Mason was so eager to decorate them himself and of course Ellie just wanted to eat the frosting.
The kitchen was warm from all of the cooking. It smelled sweet too, that thick buttery and vanilla air that you loved. The oven ticked and the window over the sink fogged at the corners. In the living room the Grinch was on with your sister and the kids were propped up on the couch.
You rolled, cut and placed the cookies on baking sheets. Your mother was rambling about tonight's turkey and gravy and how she was stressed out she was going to mess it up. You kept assuring her it was going to taste delicious. She also started worrying about dinner tomorrow. She kept saying things like, I hope Leon likes ham, is six-o-clock too early or too late for him, I hope he doesn’t think we’re weird.
To which, you kept replying, “I don’t know.” or “I’m sure it’s fine.”
Your dad came into the kitchen with a beanie and coat on.
“I went to salt the driveway again but it looks like someone already did it.”
He looked at your mom and then at you.
“Oh, that’s nice honey.” Said your mom.
“Yeah,” he slipped his gloves off. “How’s the hip?”
“It's better. I took some Tylenol a while ago.” You said.
“Good.” Your dad nodded and went to hang his coat back up.
You slid the sheet of cookies into the oven and shut it. You had flour to the elbows and managed to get some in your hair too.
“Hey, I’m gonna go clean up a bit before dinner’s ready.”
“Mm,” your mother said, cleaning a bowl in the sink.
Upstairs, you grabbed a pair of jeans out of your dresser and a burgundy sweater from your closet. You carried them into the bathroom, and when you shut the door behind you everything was quiet for the first time today.
You turned the shower on and looked at yourself in the mirror. Flour on your cheekbone. Hair a complete mess. You looked like a walking disaster.
The water was hot against your skin. You stood under it with the water trailing down the back of your head.
You looked down at the bruise coming up on your hip, blooming under the heat. It was a deep ugly plum color with a jagged shape to it. It was sore but you touched it anyway. Then your elbow too that you turned to rinse. The whole left side was evidence of all of the events this morning whether you wanted it or not.
You put your face up to the stream and then turned the water off.
The bathroom was clouded with steam. You wrapped a towel around yourself and another around your hair while you stood there dripping.
Then your phone buzzed on the counter and dinged.
You wiped the condensation off the screen with the corner of the towel.
Leon - 1 new message
You opened it.
Leon: you okay?
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard.
You typed: no
You deleted it even though it was the truest thing you’d typed all day.
You set the phone back down on the counter and went to change back into your burgundy sweater. And put on the jeans with your hair still damp. When you came back to the bathroom to brush it out the phone was still there. You looked at Leon’s message again and left it unanswered.
You picked it up and took it downstairs with you anyway.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Your mother’s turkey was perfect, which didn’t stop her spending the first ten minutes of the meal apologizing for it being bad. While everyone around ate and said otherwise with their mouths full.
The kids got up from the table after dessert demanding to put the cookies out for Santa.
Mason decorated the cookies himself that afternoon, and they really had no discernible designs and were covered in a mountain of sprinkles. One was frosted in such a bright neon green color that even Santa would be afraid to eat it. He carefully placed five cookies on a red plate. Ellie poured the milk herself and filled the glass to the absolute brim somehow without spilling.
“He needs carrots,” Mason announced. “For the reindeer.”
“Honey, can you grab some carrots from the fridge,” Your dad called to your mother.
“They need carrots.” Mason said again.
Your mother grabbed a handful of baby carrots from the bag in the fridge, because in this house, apparently, even the reindeer got a full spread.
The plate was set out on the living room coffee table. The kids stood back and looked at it smiling.
“Okay, time for bed now,” said Dani. “Santa won’t come if you’re awake.”
The kids of course protested and insisted on staying up for a little while longer. But Dani said no. She herded them upstairs and tucked them in for bed.
You spent the rest of the night watching Elf with your family. At around eleven everyone brought in the Christmas gifts from your parents’ bedroom.
Your dad handled the evidence. He ate a bite out of each cookie, even Mason’s green one, he winced at that one. He bit off the ends of some of the baby carrots. And “For realism,” he said. Your mother drank half of the milk.
You stood back when it was all done. The tree, the pile of presents, the bitten cookies, and the half glass of milk.
Next Christmas, you thought, you won’t be flying in for this. You’ll just be here.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
You couldn’t sleep. You lay there running tomorrow on a loop. Leon at the dinner table. Whether he’d speak to you. Whether you’d speak first. And the announcement. You were going to tell your sister before dinner to wait on the whole thing. You decided you didn’t want Leon to know.
And just as you were finally dozing off another ding came from your phone. You looked at the lockscreen and, of course, it was Leon.
Leon - you don’t have to respond
“No,” you whispered in the dark. “I don’t.”
Even if there was a part of you that wanted to. You put the phone on your nightstand and closed your eyes. You didn’t sleep much.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Christmas morning arrived way too early with the kids shrieking.
Ellie and Mason both were thundering down the hall past your door, and by the time you made it downstairs the living room was already destroyed. Paper and ribbon trailed off the couch and Ellie was sitting by a pile of dolls and stuffed animals.
Mason was standing at the coffee table holding up a bitten cookie like a fossil.
“He ate the green one,” he reported, with awe. “He ate it.”
“Brave guy, that Santa,” your dad said, from behind his cup of coffee.
You sat on the couch with your own coffee and let the morning wash over you. You tried once, between the chaos, to catch Dani’s eye. “Hey, can I—”
“Mom!” Mason was holding a toy red truck up in a box. “It needs batteries!”
By noon your mom started cooking. She had entered a state somewhere beyond stress. She vacuumed rooms nobody was going to enter. She straightened towels. The good tablecloth came out, and two bottles of champagne went into the garage fridge to chill.
“Is Buddy coming?” Ellie asked.
“We are not having a dog at Christmas dinner.” Your mother said sternly.
Ellie whined.
You found Dani in the kitchen after lunch, but she was elbow-deep in making the cranberry sauce. Your mother was two feet away narrating her fears about the rolls, and you knew this still wasn’t a good time to talk about the announcement for tomorrow.
Later, you told yourself. There was still time in the day.
At four you went up to get ready. You’d packed a cute red dress that you brought along on a whim. You curled your hair and put on earrings. You looked at yourself in the tall mirror in the corner of your bedroom. You weren’t dressing up for him; you told yourself that while you fixed your hair and then once more when you did your makeup.
Your phone sat on the dresser the whole time.
It had been silent all day. No merry christmas. Nothing. You’d noticed the silence all morning and afternoon and you hated that you noticed.
At twenty to six you almost got Dani alone. She was coming down the stairs with her hair half done.
“Hey— about tonight—”
“GIRLS.” Your mother shouted from the kitchen. “One of you. Napkins.”
“Hold that thought,” Dani said, and she was gone.
At ten to six you were setting water glasses around the table. You had just put one down at the empty place your mother had set for him when you looked up through the dining room window and saw his front door open.
He came out of his house with a bottle of wine in one hand, blocking Buddy at the door with his leg. You watched Leon’s mouth move, with the dog's nose in the gap of the door and the door shut. Then he came down his driveway and along the sidewalk. He was wearing a dark button down shirt with an open leather jacket.
He passed out of the window’s view, toward the front porch and you stood there holding the last water glass.
You put it down and the doorbell rang.
Your mother beat everyone to it and flung the door open. “Leon! Merry Christmas — come in, come in, oh you didn’t have to—” She grabbed the wine out of his hand and Leon hung his coat up on the coat hanger by the door.
Ellie sprinted toward him. “Where’s buddy?”
“Home,” Leon said. “He’s grounded.”
Ellie looked scandalized. Somewhere behind you Mason was already explaining what Santa ate.
And then, over your mother’s shoulder, across the noise of the entryway, his eyes found you.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
Your mother had him by the arm in an instant, towing him toward the living room, showing him the tree and pointing to an old ornament you made when you were six. Dani walked up next to you, already holding a glass of champagne.
“He cleans up nice,” she said.
“Dani—”
“What? He does.” She took a sip.
“Dani, I need—”
“Mom! Look at my truck!” Mason tugged at her arm and pulled her away before you could say the thing you’d been trying to say all day.
You walked back into the kitchen, grabbed a glass and poured yourself a glass of champagne too. You pulled out your phone and typed a message to your sister.
dont bring up the announcement tonight. i’ll explain later
You hit send hoping she would see it.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
Dinner was ready on the table. You sat at the end of the table, facing your dad at the other end, with Dani and the kids down the right side. Ellie had begged to sit next to Leon and was overruled, so she settled for staring at him across the table instead. Your mother took the left side and put Leon next to her, which left one empty chair between him and you.
The ham was perfect with Leon announcing, “best ham I’ve had in years,” with sincerity, and your mother lit up. She stopped apologizing and for a second you almost forgave him just for that.
“Honey, pass Leon the gravy.”
You picked up the boat and reached across and he reached to meet it.
“Thanks,” he said.
You nodded at your plate.
Dinner carried on with Ellie asking more questions about Buddy.
“Did he get presents?”
“He got a bone.” He said.
“Just a bone?” she asked.
Mason kept talking about all of his new toys, while your mother kept everyone’s plate full. Your dad said very little, which was normal and just watched. And tonight you knew what he was watching.
Dani, somehow, was on her third glass of champagne.
She kept getting louder and louder as dinner went on. She got funnier and sloppier. She was telling a story about airport security and under the table you checked your phone against your thigh.
Your message was still on delivered, not read.
Then Dani picked up her spoon.
Tink. Tink. Tink.
“Oh! Y/N—” She held her glass up, cheeks pink, beaming down the table at you. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell everyone?!”
Everyone turned toward you all at once.
You gave her the smallest shake of your head – no, not now – and watched it sail right past her.
For a second you tried to think of something, anything and nothing would come up. You wanted to say It’s nothing but Dani would push and tell the truth anyway.
In the corner of your eye, you could see Leon go still.
Your mother had already put her fork down, lit up and waited for you to say something. Ellie was looking around to see what she’d missed. At the far end, your dad had stopped chewing.
There was nowhere to go.
“Um.” You didn’t smile. You scratched at the back of your head. “I– yeah. I got a new job.”
“Oh — that’s great, honey!” Your mother’s hand went to her chest.
“You gotta tell them where!” Your sister exclaimed, slurring her words a bit.
The words sat in your mouth for a second.
“Here.” You said it to your plate, and then made yourself look up. “About thirty minutes away.”
While everyone around ate your mother recalculated everything.
“You’re coming home?!”
“Yeah,” you nodded. Not smiling.
Your mother shot up out of her chair and went around the corner of the table with her arms open. Your dad stood slower and hugged you with one arm when it was his turn, and said, quietly, into the top of your head, “Good.” Ellie attached herself to your leg. Mason demanded to know what was happening.
Everyone was up. Everyone but two people.
Dani was still in her seat, glass half-raised, and you watched the delight drain out of her face as she looked at you. You being hugged and not smiling, it was the first sober look she’d had all night.
And Leon.
Over your mother’s shoulder, through the crowd of your own family, you found him. He hadn’t moved. His hand was resting on his glass of wine and he was looking at you.
Then he looked away.
A knock on the door interrupted everything.
It was your brother-in-law, Josh, who walked in with a large garbage bag slung over his shoulder.
“Merry Christmas, everyone!”
Everyone’s attention switched over to him in an instant. The kids hit him at a dead run and he dropped the bag just in time. Dani was up and across the room with your mother exclaiming, and your dad was already reaching for the bag. Somewhere in the pile of it you caught flight landed early and didn’t want to say anything in case.
After everyone got their hugs in they quickly migrated into the living room with the large black bag of gifts.
Everyone but you and Leon.
You sighed, picked up your champagne glass, and walked to the kitchen.
The party came through the wall as happy muffled shrieks. You could hear the crinkle of the bag and your mother shouting. You stood at the counter and drank what was left in your glass in one go.
It wasn’t enough.
Leon’s wine was sitting by the fridge where your mother had abandoned it, still corked. You went at it with the corkscrew, the cork fought you, but you fought back with a grip that had nothing to do with wine. You had just gotten it loose when you heard him come in behind you.
You poured his wine into your champagne glass about halfway.
“What is this, cabernet?”
“Zinfandel.”
You nodded and took a sip.
“It tastes like shit.”
“Guy at the store said it was good,” Leon said.
You pictured him standing in some grocery store aisle, asking a stranger for help, because your mother had invited him. You drowned the thought in another sip of wine that did, in fact, taste like shit.
Behind you, you heard him shift.
“Congratulations,” he said. “On the job.”
“Thanks.”
The party swelled through the wall. Somebody had found something in the bag and Ellie was screaming about it. In the kitchen it was just the two of you and the hum of the refrigerator, alone together for the first time since July, and you were about to say something to end that — I should get back — when you turned around and he was holding a box.
It was a small, blue and rectangular box.
“What is this?” you said.
He didn’t answer. He just held it out and you took it.
You opened it.
A bracelet. A thin chain, delicate, with one small pale stone that caught the kitchen light.
“Leon—”
“Here.” He held out his hand for it.
You should have said no but instead you handed the bracelet back to him, and then you put your arm up with your wrist out.
He was careful with it and he bent his head over your wrist and worked the tiny clasp with steady hands. He rested his fingertips on the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse was. He could probably feel how fast it was beating.
He held his hand there and looked up.
You were going to say something — thank you, maybe, something small but it died.
He was looking at you the way he had never once looked at you. Not the dry cover. Not the deflection. It was something open like he was saying, sorry, aimed directly at you.
He didn’t look away.
For the first time since July, he didn’t look away and he always looked away first.
But you did. You looked down at the bracelet, his apology sitting on your pulse and saying everything he wouldn’t. You were not going to cry in your mother’s kitchen with your whole family in the next room.
“I—” you said. “Excuse me.”
You put the glass down and walked away.
Through the doorway, past the living room. There was a wall of noise, wrapping paper crinkling, nobody’s head turning, only Dani’s eyes catching you over her husband’s shoulder. At the front door, you jammed your feet into your black boots and didn’t grab a coat on your way out.
The cold hit you like a wall but you walked into it anyway. You went down the steps, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. You didn’t know where you were going but away was good enough for you.
Behind you, the front door opened.
“Y/N.”
You kept walking. The footing was sure under your boots, all the way down the sidewalk. It was salted every inch of it.
“Y/N—”
You tried to walk faster but his hand closed around your elbow.
You pulled it out of his grip and turned to him.
You both were in the cold, breath fogging between you, the street quiet and strung out with everyone else’s lights. You looked at your parents’ window glowing warm and gold, full of your entire family.
You realized you were standing in front of his house.
You stared at him.
“Was the wine really that bad?” Leon said.
“Are you fucking serious.” You say turning away again.
He grabbed your arm again.
“Y/N, okay, okay, please don’t go.” Leon pleaded.
“Why!” You turned back around to face him.
“I— don’t want you to go—”
“Oh! So now you don’t want me to go!” You were already sniffling and shivering.
He didn’t say anything.
“You want me to stay but you never say anything!”
“y/n, please.”
“Please, what.” You bit back.
“Please just come inside.” He looked up at his house.
“And why would I do that?”
“I can explain,” he said. “And you’re shivering.”
You looked at the house to the right of you, it was dark except for the light he’d left on for the dog.
Your teeth had started chattering. You hated that they’d taken his side.
“Ten minutes,” you said.
His shoulders came down slightly.
“And if you say ‘it’s complicated’ even once, I’m gone.”
“Okay,” he said softly.
He turned and walked toward the door with you following behind him.
Buddy hit the door like a cannonball the second it opened and the silver tag on his new collar caught in the porch light. He shoved his head under your frozen hands like the five months never happened.
“Buddy.” Leon’s voice was quiet. “Off. Sit.”
And Buddy sat.
You looked around at the warm and finished house. It smelled clean and faintly of coffee. Leon grabbed a folded blue blanket off the back of the couch and held it out to you. You took it because you were still shivering and your teeth were still chattering.
Then your eyes trailed over to the kitchen.
The same kitchen that when you were here last, was unfinished. The same kitchen that you saw completed in the photo Leon sent you. That stupid backsplash was real now. You were standing inside the picture and you hated it a little less.
Then your eyes moved over to the living room which you hadn’t seen completed yet. The walls were white, he had a dark espresso brown leather couch and a fireplace with a TV above it. You noticed the unopened Christmas tree box right beside the couch.
You pulled the blanket around your shoulders and turned to face him.
“So explain.”
He stood on the other side of the kitchen island like it was a cover. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. You were about to turn and walk right back out into the cold when he said:
“You were leaving.”
You waited.
“In July. You told me you had a job back east, a whole life, two thousand miles away from here.” His jaw tightened. “And I did the math.”
“The math.”
“Yeah.”
“You did the math. On me.”
“On what it would cost you,” he said. “Flying back and forth. Waiting around for—” he gestured at himself. “You’d have gotten tired of it. Eventually. Better it stopped before it started costing you anything.”
“Better for who?”
He didn’t answer that.
“What else,” you said. “That can’t be the only reason you didn’t respond to me for five months.”
His eyes came up.
“You’re young,” he said, quieter. “You’ve got — everything’s still in front of you. I’m pushing fifty.” A breath. “You’d have woken up one day next to an old man and wondered what the hell you did with your—”
“Did you ask me?”
He stopped.
“Did you ever, one time, ask me what I thought about any of that?” Your voice was shaking now. “The distance. The age thing. Did you ask? Or did you just sit here and decide for me? Because that’s the part, Leon. That’s the part I can’t—” Your throat closed but you pushed away the tears. “You don’t get to assume things for me. You don’t get to decide what I can handle.”
“I know.”
“You don’t KNOW—”
“You’re right.” It came out low and fast. This was the most words he’d ever given you at once. “You’re right. I decided. I haven’t been able to decide anything for myself my whole life. This was the only—”
You stood there breathing at each other across his kitchen island.
“The only what Leon?”
“It’s compl—”
He stopped himself. Mid-word. You watched him swallow it and he looked genuinely lost. Like his only door had just been bricked over.
Then he pushed off the island.
“Come with me.”
He led you up the stairs, down the hall and past a door that stood open. You looked straight ahead to the last door on the left.
It had a deadbolt. On the inside of the house.
He took out a key in his pocket like he just kept that around in his everyday life. And while he worked the lock you crossed your arms and said:
“I hope you’re not planning on kidnapping me. The mysterious locked room isn’t helping your case.”
“I’m usually on the other end of those,” he said.
You scrunched your eyebrows at that statement.
The lock turned and he pushed the door open. He reached over to the light switch and flicked it on.
It was the one room in the house he hadn’t touched. No new paint, the old carpet and the old wallpaper seam peeling in one corner. There were boxes, stacked and labeled in neat handwriting. Hard black cases along one wall, also labeled, with what seemed to be names of guns. A shelf. And leaning against the wall were framed pictures not hung up yet.
You stepped in behind him.
You crouched down and the first frame was a photograph of what looked like Leon, in his early twenties maybe, in a police uniform. He was smiling. It took you a few seconds to understand you were looking at Leon.
Next to it, framed, a newspaper.
RACCOON CITY DESTROYED. With the date October 1st, 1998, and photograph of a mushroom of smoke where a skyline should have been.
“I was there,” Leon said next to you. “Raccoon City.” A pause. “It was my first day.”
You looked back at the young man in the police uniform. He looked so full of life.
You wanted to say something but you couldn’t.
There were more pictures. Another photo of him where he looked older. He was standing in the oval office, shaking hands with a President of the United States, a young blonde woman beside them with her arm around Leon like he was something she’d won. Another photo, candid, Leon with his arm around a dark auburn haired woman, a huge dark-haired man on his other side laughing at someone outside the frame. People and a whole life, decades of it, boxed and labeled and shut behind a locked door in a house on a random suburban street.
“The government job,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yeah.”
You turned all the way around. Took in the cases of guns along the wall, the size of them and the smell in the room.
“This is why,” he said.
You turned to face him.
“The distance was real. The age—” his mouth pulled, “that’s real too. But this.” His eyes went over the room. “Almost thirty years of this. Everybody who ever stood close to me ended up in it. And five months ago you were—” he stopped and his voice softened. “You were the first thing in a long time that had nothing to do with any of it. And I wanted to keep it that way more than anything—”
“So you disappeared,” you said. “To keep me safe?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you were retired?” you asked.
“Mostly,” he said, looking at the cases along the wall.
You reached down and picked up the photo of him in the RPD uniform. You smiled.
“How old were you here?’
“Twenty-one”
“You were cute.” When you said it you could’ve sworn he blushed.
“Were,” he huffed with a smirk tugging at his lips.
You laughed and then set the photo back where it had been leaning and grabbed the photo of him with the president and the blonde girl.
“I can’t believe you met the president.” Your finger traced the wooden frame.
“Wasn’t exactly a meet-and-greet. His daughter was kidnapped and I got her back.” He said.
“Should you be telling me any of this?” You looked up at him.
“No,” Leon said.
You set the photo back down and walked toward the door. Leon followed you, switching off the light, and locked the door.
You walked down the stairs and Buddy was waiting patiently at the bottom of the steps. You crouched down and he shoved his head into your hands. You scratched his ears. The new collar was stiff under your fingers and the little silver tag flipped over against your knuckle.
You turned it face-up.
BUDDY
“Leon.”
“Yeah.”
“You named him Buddy.”
You stood up and he was standing by the dining room table.
“You did,” he said, looking at you.
“I did?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “You called him that the morning you left. I thought it suited him.”
You looked at him in disbelief. “Of course you did.”
“Y/N,” he said, almost whispering.
“What.”
“I’m sorry.”
You told yourself once that those two words would have cost him nothing. Here he was saying them and you finally saw the price.
“I know,” you said.
Something that was almost a smile crossed his face and then was gone.
You had to go home. You understood with total clarity that if you stayed in this house one more minute you were never going to leave it.
“I should go,” you said. “Before my family sends a search party.”
Leon nodded. “Yeah.”
He walked you to the door with Buddy trying to follow you out. For a second time the three of you were crowded in his doorway.
“Merry Christmas, Leon.”
“Merry Christmas,” he said quietly.
You went down his steps and across the driveway. The salt crunched beneath your boots, with his bracelet cold on your wrist and your breath white in the lit up neighborhood. You didn’t have to look back to know he was standing by the window watching you, making sure you got home safely.
⋆꙳·❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
You stepped back inside and the house was quiet besides the Christmas movie playing on the tv. Everyone was huddled up on the couch, including the kids who were up past their bedtime. You slipped behind them without anybody noticing and walked up the stairs to your room.
You sat down on your bed and there were three missed texts from Dani.
I’m sorry I didn’t see this until now. I hope you aren’t mad at me.
Summary: An attack during an attack leaves Leon injured and increasingly delirious. After extraction, he’s whisked away, and nobody’s fucking telling you what’s going on.
Finally, you get a phone call.
It changes everything.
WC: ~5k
CW: NSFW, like REALLY NSFW, you and Leon are partnered DSO agents, Leon is injured, fuck or die, sex pollen, sex venom, shaky safety practices, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, first time (together), handjob, unprotected p in v, creampies, multiple orgasms (Leon), he's a hopeless romantic at heart
Notes: MINORS DNI
“You say you saw the suits.”
“Yeah, in passing.”
“You didn’t think they were important?”
“It’s a fucking lab. Labs are rife with hazmat suits. We’ve never had to equip them before.”
“There were warnings posted all over the exit.”
“There were zombies all up on our ass.”
The splattering offspray from Leon’s last-minute shot paints your back like a gory Jackson Pollock. The infected hits the floor, tripping two more.
It would be more helpful if there weren’t about a thousand of them closing in.
You’re running side by side with Leon, shoes eating up the sterile white floors, trying to divine an exit through the branching arteries of the lab. He has to veto a turn into a side hall when more shambling figures lunge forward; he grabs your arm to tug you away with him, but it’s an unnecessary precaution. You’ve already matched his footwork.
He glances behind as you run.
“Where the fuck are they coming from?”
You’d like to fucking know.
“And why are they all runners?”
You’ve dealt with your fair share of speed-boosted infected; limbs windmilling, clawing and careening, all bursting energy and no finesse.
These aren’t blisterheads. They have stamina. They’re keeping up.
You twist and shoot one whose fingers are uncomfortably close to swiping the back of Leon’s shirt. The nearby white paneled wall goes bright, splotchy red.
“Intel’s getting a new one ripped if we make it out of this,” you pant, breath dry and ragged in your throat. Your lungs are burning.
“We’re making it out,” Leon tells you. Conclusive, no room for argument. He dodges left, hand once again grazing your arm to pull you with, but you’re already there, a perfect shadow.
This hall is wider, brightly lit with glass cases set in between the wall panels.
You’ve only got eyes on one thing as you run.
EXIT
It’s a final sprint.
You grit your teeth, breath loud in your ears, arms and legs pumping hard, trying to build a gap that allows for a sudden smack into the double doors, a loss of momentum and reversal of motion to slam the barrier closed.
‘Slam’ turns out to be optimistic. It’s a hydraulic close. Glacially fucking slow.
“Fuck! Force it!”
You almost bash heads with Leon, throwing your combined weight against the doors as the calamitous wall of infected catch up, arms reaching through the diminishing gap, scratching and clawing at you.
With a roar of effort, the doors finally give way under pressure and close with a crunch. An arm, hand, and various fingers fall onto the concrete.
“Bar it! Bar it!” Leon’s braced against both doors, his body a wedge, jarred by the furious thumping from the other side.
There are massive pneumatic rod locks on either side of the door. The control panel is dark.
“There’s no power!”
“You’re armed!”
Oh, right.
BANG T-SHUNK
Smoke curls from the barrel of your gun. The blasted hole in the control panel sparks weakly, fizzes, then goes dark.
Leon pushes away from the secured doors, rubbing at his ear. Your head’s ringing like a struck bell and you’d been back at arm’s length, not parallel with the barrel.
“Say something?”
“Something.”
“Yeah, can’t hear shit.”
"You only look like it.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
He’s flipping you off.
You grab it like a pinky promise, linking middle fingers, and he rolls his eyes.
“Alright. Let’s bounce,” you say.
He pulls you back. Urgent, abrupt. It bumps you against him.
“Wait.”
You’re in a greenhouse.
Rows and rows of lush, overgrown plants stretch unfamiliar leaves towards a glass-paneled sky. The walkways between rows are made of industrial metal grating, a stale funk rising from the darkness underneath.
No breeze is stirring the air. The back of your neck starts prickling; your animal brain tugging on your metaphorical hem and pointing.
The plants are rustling lightly.
Leon half-turns his head towards you, keeping his eyes on the jungle ahead.
“What’s the sitrep on the door?”
It’s still thumping against the locks, battered by the relentless undead. You glance at the panel you’d shot, burst and gutted, the wall above it blackened.
“Fucked.”
“Other doors?”
It’s just wall. Wall, and wall, and wall, smooth and inhospitable.
“Negative.”
“How long can you hold your breath?”
“I don’t think that’s the concern.”
You’re playing back the last hallway. White walls broken by glass panels, streaking by as you run. Behind every glass panel, a bright orange suit, thick like leather.
Bite-proof.
“Fuck.”
“So you tried to bypass it underground.”
“So we tried to bypass it underground,” you confirm. You watch the man nod, taking notes. He’s a leftie.
“Good thinking.”
“Yeah, well. Apparently not.”
The metal grating isn’t light. Thankfully, you and Leon aren’t weak.
The daylight sits like oil on top of water, only greasing weakly off of the reflective metal of more walkways below; descending levels disappearing into the dark.
“Oh, good. Can’t see the bottom.”
“Endless possibilities,” Leon says. “Cover me.”
The first level is an eight foot drop. Leon swings his legs into the gap, scoots forward, and eases himself down slowly, like he’s waiting for something to file a violent complaint. When nothing does, he drops onto the walkway, the metal clanging despite his rubber soles.
He shines his flashlight forward.
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“Love what they’ve done with the space.” He pockets the flashlight, reaching up to you. “It’s a charm you have to see in person.”
His hands are firm on your sides, your shirt riding up a little as he supports you down onto the platform with him. He absently fixes your rucked hem as you shine your flashlight into the gloom.
“Ugh,” you agree.
Roots.
Long, white, spidery roots hang from the ceiling in lengthy clumps and bundles, like massive, cobwebby chandeliers.
Leon’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing.
“Hey. Look.”
He steps forward, reaching into the nearest nest of gauzy filaments. He pulls his hand out, fingers curled around a narrow, dark plastic tube.
You come closer with the flashlight.
The dark color is red.
“It’s warm,” Leon adds, horribly.
The tube snakes off into the darkness below. You point your flashlight down and catch a glint off of something flat, circular, and shiny.
Leon’s separating more tubes from the leggy mass of roots. Only the one is red, but the others don’t look any less… organic.
“God. Which way do you think they run?”
He glances at you. “Three guesses.”
“Plants don’t bleed red.”
“Not typically.”
You share a resigned look, then he brushes past you, face set.
You turn to find him making quick work of the stairs down to the lower levels, hand on his gun.
You check your pistol's chamber and follow.
“A line of tanks.”
“Life support tanks, yes. Dozens.”
“Which way were the tubes running?”
“Both ways.”
“So…”
“The tanks were feeding the plants, and the plants were feeding the tanks.”
“Life support, you said. So there were … humans? Inside the tanks?”
“Yeah,” you say, looking away. “Used to be.”
There’s a thick film of slime on the tank, like growing snot. Your flashlight can’t make out anything coherent inside.
Leon shines his flashlight down the row; cylinder after cylinder, standing like a row of human-sized batteries, all mucky with slime and tickled by the trailing ends of roots from the massive bundles overhead.
Somewhere ahead, a steady dripping, echoing. You don’t appreciate the cliche.
“When was the initial outbreak?” Now that you’re on solid ground, your voice seems to suck right into the floor.
“All the lab logs and entries stop around six months ago.”
“So no one’s been down here for half a year.”
“Yeah.”
Leon shares a long look with you, mouth tight. Then, hesitant, he wipes a window through the muck on the nearest tank.
The beam of his flashlight illuminates the chamber. You can see a vague shadow suspended inside, like a bug in rough, raw amber.
He steps back, jaw tight.
“Dare I even ask?”
He shakes his head. “It’ll put you off soup.”
You shine your flashlight upwards; the root balls catch it and glow, high overhead.
“What was so wrong with good ol’ hydroponics?”
“Let’s just get out of here,” Leon says, heading off down the line of tanks.
“Twist my arm.”
“You didn't see it?”
“It was behind one of the tanks. In the dark.”
“You didn't hear it?”
“It was a little noisy at the time,” you say, annoyed.
Third tank from the last, everything goes spectacularly tits up.
Glass shatters outward, slimy and wet as it ricochets off your defensively raised arms. The body in the tank falls forward and swipes for Leon’s legs.
It’s not like the infected you’re used to, desiccated and dry as jerky.
This one is wet. This one is dissolving, skin sloughing from muscle sloughing from bone. Entrails spill from its body cavity, slippery, spreading across the hoary concrete as the disgusting thing writhes for a claim on your partner’s ankle.
Leon stumbles out of reach, gun aiming at the mucky skull. It explodes like a sixpack in a hot car and you’re shouting, ducking behind your arm again—
That’s when the other thing strikes.
Leon shouts in pain and tries to tear free. The pale, rubbery thing keeps hold of his shoulder like an overexcited dog with a rope toy.
“Leon!”
It’s too close to his head and he’s thrashing, you don’t have a clear shot. Something glints in the shadows behind his hip.
The hatchet. He’s already grabbed it.
A roar, a swing, the song of a sharp blade slicing clean through something organic.
The pale thing hits the ground with a sound like a rotting squash, the vine swinging empty into the darkness behind the tanks.
Leon falls to one knee with a grunt, the hatchet clattering onto the concrete.
“Leon! Leon,” you’re touching his back, crouching down with him. He’s breathing hard through his nose, clutching his shoulder. The fabric is darkening under his hand.
“Let me see. Leon.”
You shove his hand clear, unzipping his collar and yanking it aside.
His skin is patterned with circular rows of bleeding dashes. Lots of them.
“What the fuck.”
The pale, rubbery thing lies flaccid on the floor behind Leon. At first glance, it looks like a starfish collapsed on itself.
At second glance, you start to see the teeth, fine and triangular, in diminishing rows like a shark.
Pink with blood.
“Shit. Hey.”
Leon’s still on one knee, head down. You push his hair back, leaving a bloody streak on his skin, and tip his face up. There’s sweat on his forehead.
It takes him a moment to focus on you.
“Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He grunts. His pupils are a little too big, even for the dim lighting, and they’re not reacting right when you pass your flashlight closer.
You’re trying not to panic.
“Can you get up? Can you walk?”
He lets you haul him to his feet but shoves you off when you go to duck under his arm. You don’t take offense; it’s a good sign. He’s steady enough on his own.
“Grab that,” he tells you, voice rough. He’s holding his shoulder again, pointing down at the beheaded plant. You pick it up by the little stem of vine, grab his hatchet, and follow him close, ascending fast while he calls for extraction.
You don’t wait for your debrief to finish writing.
“What did the labs say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What did Medical say?”
“They’re still running tests.”
“What, with a potato? Where's the sense of urgency, here?”
“At last report, Mr. Kennedy was stable,” he says, capping his pen.
“He was half delirious coming off that chopper!”
“They’ve determined he’s in no immediate danger.”
“How can they know if they’re still running fucking tests?”
You get your name in an admonishing tone. You stand up, your chair screeching against the floor.
“I wanna see him.”
“He’s in precautionary isolation.”
“I was exposed to the same bullshit he was. I wanna see him.”
“You weren't bitten.”
“What, you think he’s gonna bite me?”
Your debrief just looks back at you, calm and level, his hands folded prim over the closed folder containing your account of the whole goddamn shit-spackled mission.
“He’s in precautionary isolation,” he repeats.
Your teeth grind, a muscle in your jaw jumping.
“Are we done here?”
“Yes. You are free to go.”
Medical stops you at the door. They aren’t fooled by your purposeful stride, your bored but intent expression. They hook your arm and yank you away like it’s goddamn Looney Tunes.
“We were told you might try that.”
Fucking debrief.
So now you’re sitting at home, dialing the Medical desk every fifteen minutes, certain from the complete non-activity of the past four hours that they’ve filtered your number as spam.
Assholes.
You should go to bed. Medical’s kept you both alive thus far, through hell and high water. Leon’s in good hands. Stable. No immediate danger, they said.
You rotate your phone in your hand, over and over. Upside-down, rightside-up. Staring at nothing.
You call the labs.
Some poor idiot actually picks up.
“I-I-I can’t give you that information,” he stammers, when you demand an update on Leon. On the biting plant. On fucking anything.
“I’m his partner! I was ground zero when it happened!”
“I-I can’t verify that over the phone.”
“Then I’m coming in,” you say, prim. You hang up on more panicked stammering, tossing your phone aside on the couch.
You’ve barely made it to your feet when your phone starts ringing.
Incoming Call
Leonnedy
You stub your toe on the couch in your scramble to pick up.
“Leon! Are you okay?”
Immediately you can tell he’s not.
“I need help,” he says. Croaks.
Cold sweat breaks on your skin.
“Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“I’m… I can’t…” He gasps.
You’re a whirl of activity. You’re grabbing your wallet, your keys, pulling a jacket on over your pajamas. There’s no fucking time to change.
“Leon, where are you.”
“Home.”
“What?” You stop cold in your mad dashing, gripping the phone too hard. “They sent you home like this?”
“They said I could take care of it.”
“Take care of what? They won’t tell me fucking anything, Leon–“
He groans through clenched teeth and oh boy, Medical’s gonna find out just how creative you can be when it comes to revenge. You shove your feet ungracefully into some shoes and grab for the door handle.
“The venom,” Leon’s panting in your ear, and then he gets to the zinger. “It’s an aphrodisiac.”
You feel it like lightning, a surge throughout your entire body. Your visual of his situation, based on the noises he’s making, takes a dramatic turn.
“Leon.”
“It’s been six goddamn hours,” he grits out.
“Jesus christ, can’t you just–”
“I’ve tried,” he says. “I’m just goddamn edging myself.”
“Did you call Medical? There’s gotta be something they can–”
“Fucking useless,” Leon says, confirming your hypothesis. “They told me to hire an escort.”
“What?”
“I’m not— fuck— fucking doing that.”
You thump your forehead against your front door, your grip on the doorknob tight enough to crush.
“Leon, if you… there’s no shame. They’re professio–”
“No,” he cuts in. “I don’t…” He breaks off, breath hissing through his teeth, and then fails to elaborate.
That’s alright; you’ve got a pressing question.
“Why’d you call me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You just have to listen to him breathe like this.
Your vivid imagination is a fucking curse.
"I trust you,” he finally tells you. “I know how this… I don’t have… I trust you.”
You’re partners.
No, you’re coworkers. What he’s asking is… can he ask this? What happens to your partnership in the aftermath? Can you go back to–
“Please,” he breathes in your ear, and tops it with your name.
You wrench the door open.
Before you hang up, he gives you the code for the garage door, and fair warning.
You’re still not prepared.
As partners, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress. Usually partial. Usually because you’re bleeding somehow. Always clinical.
This doesn’t feel like the far end of the same spectrum. This feels like a g-force journey into a different dimension.
Leon’s on his couch, head back, knees wide. Taut like a bowstring.
Completely, stark, buck-ass naked.
His shoulder looks like a bisected watermelon, his skin dewy and pink, dotted with the dark little toothmarks from the venomous plant.
His chest is heaving, his hips restless.
His cock is flushed dark, painfully engorged, thick and pulsing against his stomach. There’s a wet smear on his skin; when his cock lifts, straining, it trails a sticky little string of precum.
“Christ,” you rasp, tossing your jacket aside.
He lifts his head and his eyes can barely focus on you. He looks on the verge of passing out, but he reaches out, reaches for you. You shove a bottle of lube out of the way on the couch cushions and take his outstretched hand.
“I’m here. What do you–“
“Touch,” he pants, barely coherent. “Touch me.”
And here you are in the deep end, no time to brace, no time to breathe. You’re touching him, chamois soft skin, hot and unyielding. His hips jerk on a gasp, a groan dragging from somewhere deep within as he lets his head fall back on the couch.
The hot, swooping sensation in your stomach physically bends you, punches your breath out.
You’ve never handled a dick this hard in your entire life.
You’ve maybe never handled a dick this big in your entire life. He’s long and thick, the head flared, cerise and glistening. You pass your thumb over his slit, smearing through the precum, and his stomach tautens as he pushes up into your hand, his breath rushing out hot, hissing back in. He’s desperate.
He breathes your name. His ass keeps flexing with the helpless motion of his hips and his eyes are closed, forehead knotted.
It’s intense concentration. His world narrowed down, only as wide as the circle of your fist.
Six goddamn hours.
You tighten your grip, trail your other hand up the lightly furred inside of his thigh, teasing his balls before stacking your fists and starting to pump him in a steady rhythm that answers the flex of his body.
His hand lands on your thigh, searing, his fingertips firm on your flesh and pulling. Your knee presses tighter against his leg.
He’s just grappling for a hold on something, for an anchor. His other hand is doing the same thing to the arm of the couch. You just hope he doesn’t move his hand any further to the left on you or he’s gonna find you a little too slippery to hold onto.
Fuck, you’re only goddamn human.
You jerk him faster, his hips starting to meet you in earnest, his body rolling as he chases his disobliging release.
And why couldn’t he get there himself?
What if… what if you can’t get him there, either? You don’t know anything about the venom, they’re still running tests. Maybe this is the result. Maybe he’s just… stuck like this, heightening, exacerbating, until he, what, pops?
What a fucking epitaph that would be.
No, you’re not scripting headstones. That’s not happening.
You start to twist on the upstroke, a flick of the wrist, and Leon moans loud.
“That’s it. Come on, Leon.”
His balls are tightening, drawing up, his forehead beaded with sweat, his mouth open. He’s right on the edge.
“Look at me.”
He opens his eyes, glassy as they are. You make sure he can see you, and then you bend low.
His skin is velvety soft around the firm rounds of his balls. You fit your lips to one of the shapes, touch your tongue to it, tasting the salt of him.
He cries out, thick ropes of cum hitting his chest, his stomach, spurting and spilling down his shaft, smeared by your hand as you milk him through it, relieved.
You can’t stop your breathy laugh, almost lost under his aereous groans. He just keeps going.
“A little pent up?”
He doesn’t quip back. The situation is dire.
His dick gives one last pulse, the final beads of his release dribbling down the head of his cock. You rub it away with your thumb.
There’s a very noticeable issue.
He’s still incredibly hard.
When you meet his eyes, they’re a little clearer. He’s still sunset pink and breathing hard – messy, now, too – but he can track your face better.
“Do you feel any different?”
“Fuck. Barely.”
"What if you're stuck like this?"
“Don't say that," he says. You’re still stroking him, slow, like an afterthought. He drags his hands through his damp hair, hissing when it stretches the scabs on his chewed shoulder.
"It was venom, do you need some sort of antivenom?"
He doesn’t appear to be listening. His hands grip the back of the couch, his hips rolling, cock pushing through your sticky fist.
You grab his hips and force them down.
“Leon.”
He bucks hard against you, bratty.
"You think I know?”
“Don’t give me an attitude.”
“Don’t fuckin tease me,” he snaps, unwisely.
You move fast.
A whump, a gasp, the silence of breath caught in the shadow of a predator.
His breath fans out over your face; slow, tremulous.
“I’m doing you a favor,” you remind him, low, your face inches from his. “I could just leave.”
He’s not moving, trapped under you.
You’re straddling him, your fist tight at the base of his cock.
“What do you say?”
“Fuck.”
“Leon.”
“I love you.”
It rattles you like a gunshot, strikes you and spreads.
It takes your advantage, crumples it up, and throws it in a trash compactor. And then it lights that trash compactor on fire.
“That’s not fair,” you breathe.
“Sorry,” he whispers, and kisses you.
He’s upgraded your permissions. You kiss him back, heated, and let go of your leash.
He breaks from your mouth to gasp when you sit on his hips, his hands catching your waist and gripping.
“Shit.”
“So we’ve learned that I’m not a monk,” you say, a verbal roll of the eyes.
It’s not just a few tepid inches of water in your basement. At this point, your flood’s halfway up the damn walls.
He rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts. You keen and pick up the motion on your own.
God, you’re aching.
“You should have said something,” he says, breathless.
“That wasn’t on the invitation.”
“Aren’t you a saint.”
“Yeah. Because when you said ‘I trust you’, I heard ‘take advantage of my compromising situation’.”
“Fair,” he says, then pulls you down to speak in your ear, his scruff a ticklish rasp against your skin. “Fuck me.”
Well don’t you make the perfect pair. He’s hard as granite and you’re wet enough to sink a dinghy.
Taking off your clothes is too much fucking bother. You just shove the wet fabric to the side.
He doesn't watch where you’re taking his cock into your body, the hot, hard length of him sliding in tight past your pussy lips.
He’s watching your face. You don’t know it until you’ve got him in to the hilt, your mouth falling open on a sigh, your forehead smoothing out as you gyrate your hips, a delicious little circle, fully seated on his lap.
"Oh my god, Leon."
He comes.
Your name is somewhere in the long groan sieved through his clenched teeth before his mouth drops open, diced breaths tumbling free as he pulses inside of you, so deep, so hot and thick.
He’s still looking directly at you.
You watch his eyes clear just a little more; sharpening, focusing. Smoke becoming a mist.
“Can I tease you about premature ejaculation.”
“No.” He starts unbuttoning your pajama top. The fabric is wrinkled at your sides where he’d been gripping, almost hard enough to bruise.
“Why, because you’re still hard?” He is, but it’s different. You couldn’t bend steel around him anymore.
“Yeah,” he says simply, and grips your open collar, pulling you down into a kiss.
You arch your back, easing him to just the tip, bottoming him out again, cycling his affected breath through your own lungs. He runs his hands down your chest, grazing your nipples, his tongue reaching into your mouth to taste your sigh.
His hips press up into you, lifting you, a gentle swell. You ride it; start to rock your hips.
The fabric of your shirt whispers down your arms, chased by the skim of Leon’s palms. Goosebumps raise on your skin.
You brace your arms on the back of the couch, riding him faster. He trails his lips down the column of your neck, his scruff a pleasant scratch, his humid breaths printing your skin.
He runs the fan of his fingers over your nipples.
“Leon.”
“Lean back,” he murmurs, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “Let me see you.”
You sit back on his hips, brushing your hands over the caps of his knees. He scratches lightly down the flex of your thighs as you start slapping down on him harder, dropping your head back, gasping.
“Fuck, gorgeous, just like that.”
“God, Leon.”
Your thighs are burning. He starts meeting you, hips snapping, and you look down.
It almost does you in.
Those broad shoulders, that flushed chest. Muscles rolling and bunching under his glistening skin. Hair sticking to his forehead, wet pink lips, blown eyes hooded, watching you, too.
His hands fall to your hips and he growls, fingers bunching in your pajama shorts. Feral. Like he’s going to tear them.
He hooks his arm around your back and surges up, laying you out on the sofa. You whine when he slips out of you, but he’s lifting your hips to yank your shorts and panties down, surprisingly coordinated for the way he’s wound up.
A small part of you expects them to hit the floor with a wet slap. The rest of you is reaching for Leon, impatient, empty.
He brings your knee up, hooks your leg around his hip and pushes back in, one long thrust, his breath a humid narration. You keen, head falling back against the cushions, feeling his lips at your jaw.
He digs his arms under your shoulders, his body rocking you, fluid motions pushing and pulling as he fucks you slow, deep. You grip his back, obsessed with the animal flex of his body.
You can feel every inch of him, stroking your walls. In, out, a steady tide. You arch your back, your stomach pressing to the rippling heat of his abs.
He’s still sticky. You don’t fucking care.
“Score’s two to zero,” he tells you, breath hot against your cheek. “You gonna catch up?”
“I’m not the medical concern.”
He brings your other leg up onto his hip, adjusting. Seeking.
He finds it. You groan loud, raw, and feel him smile against your neck.
“There you are.”
Your jaw hinges open, your vision glazing over as he rubs the head of his cock against the bundle of nerves inside you. He snaps his hips, jolting a gasp out of you, then goes right back to massaging your g-spot.
“You’re not real,” you pant. He nips your skin, sharp.
“River in Egypt, sweetheart.”
You dig your heels into his glutes, pressing in like spurs, urging him faster.
“Come on, cowboy– ah!”
He pushes up onto his hands, skin slapping loud as he starts pounding into you hard and fast. You were already tightening, coil building, and he’s hit your fucking warp drive.
“Fuck, fuck, like that, Leon!”
“Shit, you better hurry,” he says through gritted teeth. His hips are stuttering, rhythm starting to fall apart.
“I told you–“
His thumb circles your clit, just one rotation, and that’s it. The bastard’s got you. Screaming, even.
You come apart beneath him, your foundation shaking, walls clenching around him, wracked by seismic waves. He gasps your name, watching you climax on his dick, then slams in deep and comes with a long, stuttering groan.
The third time, it seems, is the charm.
When his phone starts ringing, you don’t hear it at first. His head is blocking your nearest ear.
“Leon.”
“Mm.”
“Your phone.”
“Mmph.”
You shift like you’re going to try to reach for it yourself, but he’s beautifully heavy on top of you, so you don’t try very hard.
You nuzzle your face into his hair and bring your arms around him instead, closing your eyes. He hums, content.
The ringtone stops, bending to your private moment.
Five seconds later, it starts up again.
“Fuck.”
You grouse when Leon shifts up, but his reach is longer than yours and he doesn’t go far.
“Huh. Medical,” he says.
“Oh,” you say, with mock optimism.
He hits answer, settling back on top of you. You run your hand up and down his back, petting him.
“Kennedy.”
He doesn’t have his volume turned up very high. You get vague shapes of words, spoken quickly, and then Leon’s short responses, felt as much as heard, his voice thrumming through you.
“Yeah. … No. … Don’t need it. … I know. … I know. … No, I’m fine. … Sure. Bye.”
“Fucking useless,” he mutters, his phone clattering onto the coffee table. “Antivenom’s ready.”
You start giggling.
“They want me in for reassessment in the morning.”
It turns into laughter, smothered into his shoulder, and he rolls into the couch crease so he can look at you.
“What?”
“All their overtime hours,” you say. “No match for your partner’s Magical Healing Vagina.”
He laughs, a real one, his hand pulling at your hip to twist you towards him, pressing you against his body. You’re both a fucking mess, and the couch might be a write-off.
It was an emergency.
“Should get you certified,” he says. You make a skeptical noise.
“There’d be a demand.”
His arm tightens around you, minuscule. Almost imperceptible. Might’ve been completely imperceptible, if his arms weren’t so big.
“Mm. We’re sticking to best-kept-secret.”
“How selfish.”
He nuzzles your mouth with his, sharing breath.
“Yeah.”
“Hey,” you mention, to his invading tongue. He retreats and lets you speak. "Did you mean what you said, or was it just self-defense?"
"What I said?"
"Don't be obtuse.”
He brushes his lips against yours, just a snag of soft, moist skin.
"I've never lied to you," he says.
"There's a first time for everything," you say. "You're skirting the question."
He brushes your hair back, studying your face. Content to take forever, it seems.
"If it helps," you say, "I can put you back under duress."
You slide your hand to the front of his hip, laughing when he flinches away.
"Ass," he says, and rolls you onto your back again, dipping to kiss you. "Yeah. I love you."
You stroke his cheek, his stubble rasping against your fingertips. His eyes are completely clear, gaze steady looking back at you.
You don't take forever to say it. The forever you want to take is the one that opens up on the other side of it: four words, a door.
“I love you, too.”
On AO3
Y'all mind if I just give our man a bad good time real quick
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist when I post these fics 🩷
Drove home from work with such a bad headache and I think partly sleepiness that I was loosing my vision while driving then came home barely got out work clothes and crashed
Yaaaaaaass! <3 I'm so happy. Enjoy! I love tumblr for goofy one shots and community, but I love ao3 for longer and more narrative heavy fics. Also still blown away by people setting up ao3 accounts for baby cop Leon and his cougar stripper gf. Sending much bibble love to you!
A couple PSAs (it nearly auto corrected to peas and I love that. I will refer to psas as peas from now on):
I'm fairly busy irl at the minute so the next stripper fic chapter might take a while. I also want to do it right because the next chapter is quite crucial for the ending and I am between two endings. So I gotta figure this shit out. If I post any oneshots in the meantime, that doesn't mean I have abandoned the stripper fic, that's just me flexing my creative muscles and keeping the ball rolling.
My requests are closed. No, that does not mean you still get to request even though you know. It will be a no. Also I will think you're a little rude. Just because Sam Altman says you are entitled to a creative's skill set and labour doesn't mean that's true. Requests are favours.
★ proofread but still sorry for any mistakes!
★ fluff, fluff and fluff.
¨There you go.¨ You sigh as you finish placing the long medical strap over Leon’s chest all the way back to his homoplates.
He looks down to the brown material over his shoulder. He just got home barely an hour ago from a mission. The huge bloodstain on his shirt was the first thing that caught your eye when he made it past the front door.
Naturally, you had him undress off of that shirt, throwing it on the laundry basket before you sat him down on the couch and start cleaning the ugly wound like you’ve done a thousand times before. But Leon insists that he can do it alone.
Ever since your daughter was born he’s been extremely careful to not show any little scar, even the faintest one. He’d been cleaning his wounds in the bathroom with the door locked multiple times, even though you insisted on helping him. He wanted to avoid facing his daughter while he was wounded, just like he did when you meet him.
Tonight, he was very tired and the wound had come down to almost his back, making him unable to clean it alone. He knew it but he still tried, cursing as he looked himself in the mirror when he wasn’t able to reach his back. You told him to just let you help him.
Leon sighs as he rests his back against the couch, closing his eyes as he runs a hand through his messy hair.
¨Thank you, baby.¨ He says softly as your daughter is asleep in her room down the hallway.
You hum as you get up. You place your hands on his thighs, leaning down to him as you kiss him softly. Lingering on his lips, moving slowly before pulling away slowly.
You start gathering the medical supplies you used and putting them away on the first aid kid you have. You walk over to the kitchen, you open the fridge and pull out some water for Leon.
Tiny rushing footsteps come in from the end of the hallway. Neither of you hear them as you’re talking softly about his mission. You grab a glass from the top shelf before a scream, followed by a sob, nearly made you drop it.
¨DAD!¨
Both of you turn your heads meeting your daughter figure next to the couch Leon is sitting on. The neck of her flying unicorns over a purple sky pajamas is soaked with tears as her lip twitches uncontrollably. She drops her bunny plush and climbs over the sofa. She launches herself at Leon before either of you can react.
She buries her face on Leon’s naked shoulder as she cries so hard she can barely breathe properly.
¨I don’t want your booboo!¨ She mumbles against his skin.
Leon hugs her with his good arm, his hand brushing her hair gently.
¨Hey, baby. Look at me.¨
She shakes her head as she sniffles hard and grips her fist over Leon’s chest. He shakes her a little, moving his shoulder as his hand rubs her little back.
¨I’m okay. I’m right here.¨
She simply sobs.
¨No, you’re not!¨ She cries harder as she shifts closer to her father’s neck. Believing Leon is going to disappear.
You set the glass of water down on the small table in front of the couch as you kneel in front of Leon poking her leg gently.
¨Honey…¨ You say gently. ¨Remember when you scraped your knee last week?¨
A little sniffle escapes her lips as she moves her face away from Leon’s neck, her head still resting on his good shoulder. She simply nods.
¨And you remember how Mommy cleaned it?¨
¨It hurt.¨
¨It did.¨ You nod as you move a strand of her wet hair away from her face. ¨But then…¨ You point at her knee. ¨It got better, right?¨
¨Yeah.¨ She wipes away a few tears looking at Leon for a brief second and then back at you once you spoke up again.
¨I’m doing the same to Daddy.¨ You smile at her.
Not fully convinced she turns to face Leon again. Her tiny hands come up to cup Leon’s cheeks as she starts checking her dad.
¨Daddy.¨
¨Hm?¨
¨Can you smile?¨ She asks, dead serious as she tries to hold her tears as best as she can.
Leon smiles softly at her.
¨Can you talk?¨ She asks again, almost interrogating him.
¨I’m talking, baby.¨
Her eyes widen as soon as an almost crushing reality hit her, making her start crying again.
¨Ca-Can you breathe?¨
Leon blinks but with hesitation he takes in the biggest, most exaggerated breath you’ve ever seen. Your daughter copies him, making sure she can also do it again.
¨Can you hug me?¨
He squeezes her gently as tight as he safely can. Leon buries her face against her messy blonde hair as she sobs softly against his chest. She calms down as the hug lingers, starting to believe he’s ok. Because every single test she’s giving him, he’s passing.
She sniffles as she pulls away, Leon looks at her, trying to see her face before she looks down and notices the plain brown dressing on his skin. She frowns.
¨Mommy.¨ She calls out for you.
¨Yeah?¨
¨Wrong band aid.¨
Leon looks down confused.
¨Wrong? How, baby?¨
She nods, entirely sure of the words she’s about to say.
¨This bandaid is not magical like mine! It’s ugly…¨ She points out.
You and Leon exchange that universal parent look of confusion.
¨Honey-¨ You start but she cuts you.
¨Daddy needs the pink one.¨
With a jump she’s back to the floor as she runs away to her room. Running desperately to help her dad. Now, she has a job, curing dad.
You both look at each other as you hear her going around her room, the rummaging can be heard faintly before she comes rushing not as fast as before. She’s carrying an, almost as big as her, pink first aid kit.
She sets it down next to Leon’s feet with a small ´Oof´. She opens it and you both see it full of all types of bandaids. Pink ones, glittery ones, dinosaurs, princesses, her favourite kid’s show, rainbows, unicorns, rocket ships…
You both blink at the endless bandaids. She straightens up after she picks one the glittery pink bandaid and shows it to Leon.
¨Daddy. This one is to get better fast!¨ She tells Leon and starts peeling it, bandaid sticking into her fingers as she speaks again. ¨Hold still.¨
Her expression shifts completely to a serious one as she fixates her gaze on the pink band on her fingers. Tiny tongue peeking out in concentration as she places it.
Nowhere near the injury, right on the middle of Leon’s forearm… of his healthy arm.
She steps back to admire her work.
¨Is it better, daddy?¨
Leon rotates his arm dramatically. Completely amused.
¨You know…¨ He looks at her again. Her big blue eyes and her hands over her belly waiting, make him smile softly. ¨I feel better already.¨
Her face lights up and she jumps excitedly. She hugs Leon’s arm.
¨I TOLD YOU!¨
You laugh from the chair next to her, unable to hold it in anymore at the cute scene in front of you. You’re not safe either as she comes in hugging you tightly before she kneels down in front of her personal first aid kit.
She stills as she frowns, looking back at Leon and back at the uncountable sets of bandaids in front of her. She grabs a dinosaur one with one hand, a princess one with the other. She brings them up to her eye level, comparing them.
She sets down the princess one and she takes the rainbow one instead. Her tiny brows brought together and her lips pressed against each other.
Her brain short-circuits as she finds her logic.
¨All of them have magic powers!¨ She says excitedly. ¨The more I put on daddy, he will be better soon!¨
She turns around again as she places the dino bandaid on Leon’s watch. He blinks at his daughter as she takes a few of them, sorting them in little piles, then back at you, shrugging your shoulders as you feel like you’re watching a movie.
¨All of them?¨ Leon asks, looking at his daughter again as she nods vigorously.
¨Dino helps to be stronger.¨ She explains as she points at the bandaid. ¨Rainbow helps to not be sad.¨ She places it on Leon’s elbow.
She takes another.
You look at Leon again, blinking in confusion as she keeps talking. None of you talk but your expression says everything. The ´just go along with it´.
¨Unicorn… is magic so it helps.¨ She shrugs as she places it on Leon’s wrist. ¨Heart one so daddy feels love.¨ She stands on her tippy toes and places it on his chest.
¨Space ship so shoulder zooms better.¨ Leon blinks, having absolutely no idea what it means and neither do you.
¨Great job, sweetie.¨ You say and she smiles at you.
¨Daddy has a big booboo. He needs lots of bandaids.¨ She explains as she looks at you before continuing with her work.
Eventually…
Leon’s arm looks less like the arm of an agent and more like a kindergarten art project. Some aren’t even sticking to skin anymore, some of them are on his tummy. Others are wrapped around his nails. One on his forehead. Another is attached to the table because she missed.
Finally, and only once she’s satisfied with her work and happy to help her dad get better soon, she climbs into his lap. Her eyes are sleepy and she can barely keep straight.
You notice Leon’s jaw tighten for the briefest moment as she suddenly bumps his shoulder, before his attention returns entirely to his daughter as she cuddles his arm.
¨I’m done. Now we can sleep.¨ She says, repeating the words you always tell her.
Leon flexes his fingers dramatically.
¨I feel…¨ He pretends to think for a second as he brings her head closer to his chest. ¨Way better now.¨
¨I knew it!.¨ She gestures to Leon to lower his head and he does. ¨Cause…¨ She lowers her voice, covering the side of her mouth as she shares her secret. ¨The more bandaids the faster you feel better.¨ She nods as Leon leans back. She snuggles against his arm and chest.
He’d never tell her otherwise. He’d wear these ridiculous bandaids until they start peeling off on their own.
After a few minutes, she’s fast asleep in Leon’s lap. He gets up carefully and carries her back to her bed.
As he walks down the hallway he stops at the bathroom, looking at himself in the big bathroom mirror before your head peeks from the door.
¨… You know.¨ You start biting your lower lip as you try to hold back your giggle. Leon sighs, already knowing what you’re about to point out.
¨The rocket’s upside down.¨ Leon snorts softly, as he glances at you briefly. Completely covered in children’s bandaids.
¨So…¨ You start again, crossing your arms in front of you.
¨So.¨ He catches your reflection in the mirror.
¨You planning on showing up to the DSO looking like that?¨
Leon’s eyes fall to his chest, at least 5 bandaids there. Shutting his eyes as he can already tell peeling them off is going to feel like a waxing session.
¨Hadn’t thought that far.¨
¨Leon. You have a princess on your forehead.¨
He nods. ¨I noticed.¨ He says, as he leans against the sink. He’s already accepted the fact that he won’t take them off.
¨So you’re not taking them off.¨
Leon shakes his head as he glances at all of them. You smile, walking up to him as you kiss his arm gently.
¨She’s going to check tomorrow morning.¨
spain won the finals lets goooo! (i literally never watch football but this one occasion)
falling asleep on accident for 6 hours and leon breaks into your fucking apartment bcs he thinks something happened and youre just sprawled on the couch dead to the world so he just sighs and tucks you in and starts figuring out how hes going to fix your door hinges. when you wake up you just start laughing at the ridiculousness and hes basically pouting because he was worried and you give him a long hug and baby him the rest of the night to make up for it. it will probably happen again. leon you poor worried baby
Bodyguard!Leon x First Daughter!Reader Enemies to Lovers
Chapter 3
❌18+ MDNI❌
new chapter and uploading this in a hurry im sorry if it looks weird okay ily bye
Chapters: 1, 2, 3
shoutout @sammimi19 @12soap34 @theebladestar for proofreading ✨
The sun outside is blazing hot as you come out of the pool dressing room in your floral cover up, marching into the backyard. Maya hasn't arrived yet, but you're not alone nonetheless since your newly assigned agent is waiting for you right on the shaded patio.
This is already getting old.
He lifts his gaze when you come into view, feeling his eyes trace your form briefly before turning them to the pool. He can't see your own behind your dark sunglasses, the shades helping you put on a mask of confidence. You readjust the thin fabric of your mini dress in self-consciousness, hyper aware of the sheerness that shows a glimpse of your bikini clad body.
This is the kind of feeling you never really had to worry about with the other agents, most of them at least twice your age. But with a younger man, and one you attempted to flirt with at that, you can't help but feel particularly self-aware.
“Aren't you hot in that suit?” you mutter as you walk past him to sit on a lounge chair, crisscrossing your legs.
“Resisting harsh weather is part of the job,” he answers from his spot, his stare now intently focused on the water. Maybe you're not the only one feeling awkward.
“How old are you again?” you ask suddenly in feigned nonchalance.
He chuckles softly, still not looking at you as he answers. “Twenty-seven, ma’am.”
Swallowing down the irritation that flares every time he calls you that, you observe his side profile illuminated by the bright sky. With his pretty, yet masculine features, he looks like someone you would see on a magazine cover rather than with an earpiece. It makes you all the more curious about how he ended up here, especially at his young age.
“So what agency are you under?” you raise an inquisitive brow. “You apparently specialize in BOWs… Which one handles that?”
A small smile etches onto his lips as he turns to you, finally facing you again through the barrier of your shades. “I work under your father. That's all I can say, I’m afraid.”
“Okay,” you nearly scoff. Of course his position has to be confidential and leave you in the dark. It feels so debilitating having your life managed by people who know far more about you than you ever will about them. “But have you ever done this whole bodyguard thing before?” your tone drips in barely concealed judgement.
The question seems to catch him off-guard, a slight air of insecurity flashing across his features. “No,” he answers simply.
A cocky smirk spreads on your cheeks at that, and you lay down on your reclined seat with newfound smugness. “Hm, that's what I thought.”
If he looked unsure before, now his mood has shifted into indignation. “Are you implying my performance isn't satisfactory, ma’am?”
You don't let his stern demeanor destabilize you as you place your hands behind your head in the picture of relaxation. “You hover too much,” you explain matter-of-factly. “And you stare.”
“Pardon?” he sputters, taking a half step closer with a deep frown.
“The Secret Service’s job is to protect as seamlessly as possible. Instead, you're roaming around me while I’m trying to relax by the pool.”
His eyes go comically wide—the first look of real emotion on his face for the first time since you met him. “You—” his words cut-off, clearly flustered by your pointed comment as defensiveness oozes from him. “You were asking me questions and I answered. I wasn't gonna do that from twenty feet away.”
“You were standing close before that,” you retort with a bored expression. “You know, if this is the distance you're keeping while we’re inside the literal White House, then I don't even want to know how overbearing it'll get at campus.”
Silence stretches after your words linger in the hot, humid air. He looks like he wants to say many things, but instead settles on a clipped response. “Fine,” he mutters in clear annoyance, then turns to walk away and give you space.
His brooding nearly makes you laugh. “Great. Now you're sulking.”
The man stops abruptly in his steps, turning to you with a locked jaw and icy eyes nearly reminiscent of your father’s. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don't sulk—I do my job. And in case it wasn't clear, I am forced to be here just as much as you are.”
With that, he turns again, then strides away until he stands by the wall directly under the scorching sun. He then pulls out dark sunglasses as well that he puts on without a word, before clasping his hands at his front in a rigid stance.
It’s only after seeing his blonde hair appear nearly platinum under the blistering heat that you realize the reason he may have stayed close before was to stay in the shade. A sudden sense of guilt creeps inside you, and you consider making amends by inviting him back under the large umbrella, but you feel awkward. One minute berating him and the next wanting to coddle his pouty face—it’s ridiculous.
Before you can make a decision, Maya makes an appearance into the yard, escorted by two agents. She hurries to your side with an excited squeal of your name that you return with a tight hug once you stand up.
“Oh my God, it's so freaking hot today I feel like I’m melting,” she groans as she sets her bag down—one that was undoubtedly thoroughly searched.
“Yeah, and they’re saying it’s one of the coolest summers D.C.’s ever had—it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.”
“It’s the goddamn humidity. I can't stop sweating,” she huffs as she shrugs her top and shorts, slipping out of her sandals in the process. “Thank God for pools. Come on, I can't wait anymore.”
“Alright,” you chuckle at her eagerness, then quickly slip out of your cover up.
Deep inside, you almost hope the agent by the wall appreciates the sight, but the idea is quickly overshadowed by insecurity. The mean voice in your head laughs at your wishful thinking, reminding you that he’s not fond of you and that Maya has a nicer body he’d probably prefer to look at anyway.
A sudden splash of water jolts you out of your thoughts when the brunette dives in the water without waiting, sending a wet dash right onto you.
“Come on, loser! You’re gonna get a heatstroke!”
You shake your head with a grin, then finally move to sink into the blue basin with careful steps down the ladder.
She scoffs at your slow approach. “Please tell me you're allowed to cannonball and it's not some forbidden rule to ensure maximum protection from the evils of muscle cramps?”
“Shut up,” you laugh, splashing her in return. “I’m trying not to get my hair wet.”
“Lame!” she snickers and you both laugh.
Mid giggling, your eyes land on Agent Kennedy again who is still unmoving in his corner. You’d think he’s turned into a statue if not for the sweat beading at his temples. God, you can't even imagine standing in the multiple layers of a suit under the hot sun in the middle of July—the sight of him makes you uncomfortable.
It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that he, along with other staff around the administration, are simply meant to serve you without complaint. Sure, they're here out of their own volition, but it doesn't change the fact there is an inherent unfairness to this man-made hierarchy.
You, raised in privilege by a well-off couple, and them, forced into career choices that put them in uncomfortable positions. It's one of the many reasons why your father’s presidency still tastes sour on your tongue.
By the time the sun starts setting, your palms and soles have pruned from the water. You spent most of the pool hangout chatting with Maya, occasionally playing childish games you're both too old to partake in. And the entire time, Agent Kennedy stayed perfectly still, only shifting his weight from one foot to the other intermittently.
Wrapping yourself in a towel as soon as you're out of the wet surface, you sit on the lounge chair and eye the snacks that have already been laid out for you on the table by staff.
“I’m so hungry,” Maya exclaims across from you, reaching for a croissant with her still damp hand. As she bites into the flaky pastry, she suddenly pauses mid chew when she spots something behind you that has her eyes widening. “Oh, my God, girl… Why the hell does the guy over there look like the one that talked to you at the bar?”
“Oh, you just noticed…” you mutter knowingly, embarrassment flaring in your chest.
“What do you mean? Wait, is it actually him?” she gasps loudly and you gesture for her to quiet down.
“Yes, yes! Just don't be so loud, my God… Apparently he's taking Davis’s position for a while—dad says it's necessary.”
Blinking, she frowns deeper. “I am so confused.”
“Trust me, so am I. He’s like this special agent or something? I don't know, they won't tell me shit.” Frustration seeps from your tone.
“But why was he at the bar? Was he watching you then?”
That makes you pause for a moment. You never got to talk enough to ask him about that, especially with the rude attitude he's been displaying.
“I didn't even ask… He pisses me off.”
Maya laughs, wiggling her eyebrows playfully. “Well, at least he's a sight for sore eyes.”
That makes you groan in annoyance. If only she understood how much he gets on your nerves—no amount of pretty blue eyes are worth the headache. “You wouldn't be saying that if he kept calling you ‘ma’am’ with this annoying, smug little smirk he makes.”
“I don't know,” she tilts her head in contemplation, eyeing him up and down past your shoulder. “I think it's kinda hot for a guy to call me ‘ma’am.’ Like in a ‘he knows his place’ kind of way.”
“Yeah, except I’m the one being put in my place getting babysat by a dude barely older than me.”
She chuckles again, finding amusement in your irritation, before her voice morphs into something more sympathetic. “Poor guy, though. He’s been standing there the whole time, he must be sweating like a pig.”
That once again has that same sense of guilt from earlier tug on your heartstrings, and you finally concede to your inner voice with a grunt.
“Fuck, fine.”
“What? I didn't even say anything,” Maya laughs in confusion.
You ignore her as you twist to look behind you, raising your sunglasses to rest on your crown now that you don't need them anymore. “Kennedy?” you call out in as neutral of a tone as you can muster.
You can’t make out any emotion on his poker face, though you do notice the flush of his cheeks and nose from the sun, the color making him oddly endearing despite his intimidating aura. He walks closer, stopping once he can talk to you without shouting.
“Yes?” His voice is completely detached.
Unsure of what to say, you fiddle with the twisted fringes of the towel draped on your frame like a shy teenager, all traces of smugness gone. “Um, are you hungry?”
“No,” he deadpans.
“Thirsty?”
“Neither.”
“Okay…”
Awkwardness fills the air to a painful degree, but thankfully your best friend is there to save the day as she extends a hand with batting eyelashes. “Mr. Kennedy, is it? I’m Amaya Salem, but you can call me Maya.”
“Pleasure.”
Accepting her handshake with a brief, professional one, the agent goes right back to his usual stance as soon as he can, his back as straight as a board.
Another bout of silence, and you suddenly can't handle the overwhelming discomfort anymore. You stand abruptly to your feet, gathering your things into your arms haphazardly.
“Well, um, we’re gonna go back inside,” you announce without meeting his shaded eyes. “So you can go take a break, right?”
“Affirmative.”
Maya barely holds a snicker at the scene, joining you in collecting her bag, though she does so with much less urgency than you. “See you around, Mr. Kennedy,” she giggles as you pull her away, the agent responding with a single curt nod of his impassive face.
The lock clicks open, slow, heavy footsteps resounding against floorboards as the man makes his way inside the apartment. He shuts the door and lets out a deep sigh, closing his eyes as he leans his weight against the wood.
Leon is a man of stamina. And yet, despite training in fields, fighting bioweapons, and performing tedious drills, he’s coming home utterly exhausted today. Oh, and with a ridiculous tan… All because of you.
He kicks off his shoes and loosens his tie, his mind tired yet still running a thousand miles an hour. It keeps going in loops, replaying the way you so cleverly pointed out his lack of professionalism. It makes him want to bang his head against the wall.
He’s supposed to be good at what he does. He doesn't have anything else going on in his life for him not to be. Training and working have become the center of his days, ever since he was 'offered’ the position of an agent six years ago.
And he is good. Or at least, that's what his stern superiors occasionally let slip whenever he performs particularly well on a mission. He has grown more and more confident in his skills as he got better with every year. That is until you came along with your snarky little mouth and put him in his place. God, he can't stand spoiled, rich kids, and you fit the bill for that exact type.
He opens the fridge with slumped shoulders, his eyes tracing over containers of leftovers and a row of canned soda—no alcohol in sight. He’s usually proud of himself for not keeping any in easy access, forcing himself to go outside whenever the drinking itch arises. But this time he wishes he had a bottle of beer to wind down after an afternoon under the blazing sun. He settles on a ginger ale, bringing the cool can to the sunburned apples of his cheeks with a low groan.
He already hates this assignment. Hell, he doesn't even fully understand why he was picked for it. Sure, he's one of the most experienced people with BOWs—a still very new threat that not even military personnel are familiar with. But playing babysitter for the president’s daughter? That's a recipe for a headache.
Leon is a soldier, a special agent, maybe even a spy when the time calls for it. He’s not a bodyguard, and was never trained to be one. All he ever knew about protecting assets was ensuring their safety during critical extractions. But this is no extraction, this is a full time job the president ordered him into to protect his little princess. One that is already giving him a hard time and he’s barely started.
Shrugging off his jacket and pants to throw them on the armrest of the couch, he slumps onto the cushions in nothing but his button up and boxer briefs. Then, he opens the can with a hiss-crack-pop, bringing it to his lips for a much needed refresher. Unfortunately, his tired mind is still stuck at work even when at home, something he hasn't managed to deal with despite his best efforts. Compartmentalizing is hard when lives are on the line.
‘She’s your highest priority,’ the head of state had said. It made Leon internally wince at the prospects of failing, already dreading the repercussions. The ones involving his career would be bad enough, but it's the guilt that constantly gives him nightmares, ever since that godforsaken September night that forever changed his life. He now has to safeguard you through your fall semester, maybe longer if the president calls for it, and he cannot fuck this up no matter what.
His thoughts drift to you again, recalling that outing at the bar. It had been pure coincidence finding you there, since it was the night before his first shift as Detail Lead. He went for drinks to loosen his nerves over the task he felt unprepared for, only to spot you in that mini dress, giggling at your booth without a care. He wondered how you could act so clueless with a target on your head—it was only during the meeting with the president he figured out you were left in the dark.
Still, you sat next to him, talked to him, flirted, when he could have been someone very dangerous. He is dangerous. He just plays for the good guys. Or at least that's what he tells himself whenever the shame over being the government’s lapdog becomes too crushing. It’s not like he chose this path anyways. If not for the precious life of a little girl, he would have left gun-wielding ways behind for a calmer lifestyle, with lots, and lots of therapy. But he had to protect Sherry, so he’s here now.
Another sip of the ginger drink, and this time it's to cool down wayward thoughts at the memory of your little bikini. Thank God for sunglasses, because he couldn't stop his eyes from roaming over you whenever he let his mind drift. It was like your ass was a goddamn magnet, and the weather only made it worse, making him feel like the heat was frying his head just as hot as the sight of your body.
Leon is not a man who stares. He does not ogle unless in settings where his gawking is welcome. So to have to fight the sweat clinging to his skin as well as the urge to look only made him more irritated. He never even paid much attention to tabloids or articles about you before. Not that you appeared in many with your limited public appearances. But he simply never paused to form an opinion of you prior, and now that has certainly changed.
Stubborn, that one’s for sure, seemingly reckless from that bar outing, and spoiled with the way you acted earlier. Like you owned the place—owned him—telling him how to do his job when he’s nervous shitless about messing up.
He felt put on the spot when you made him out to be some kind of weirdo hovering too close. What made it worse, however, is that he was already feeling like one from the sheer way his mind short circuited at the sight of you in that cover up. Then the feeling got exponentially stronger when you shrugged it off and the sun hit your body just right. Infuriatingly enticing in swimwear—he’s adding that one too.
He has to admit, though, your later attempt at offering food and water was unexpectedly considerate. But in the end, he chalks it up to your friend convincing you to do so, since she seemed a lot more amiable than you. He just wishes you did the same from the start, it would save him the headache of handling your disagreement with his presence. He also remembers how you had mentioned Agent Davis’s demotion in disappointment. He wanted to say he never wanted to take anyone’s place, but how was going to do that in front of the man that gave the order himself?
As he sits half dressed on his sofa, condensation from the ginger ale collecting on his fingers, he suddenly realizes how ridiculous he’s being. For whatever reason, he’s letting you—a college kid, of all people—affect him enough to sour his mood and nearly hurt his feelings. Since when does he get so worked up over an off-handed comment? He was called just about every name under the sun during his training, words should not be affecting him anymore.
Sloppy, pitiful, embarrassing, disappointment… The insults of his now deceased mentor ring in his ears like echoes from the cruel past. But he never held it at heart, not even when Krauser called him a dumbass, which made him internally laugh more than anything. And then, you show up and make a single comment about him hovering, and suddenly his insecurities flare?
Bullshit. He needs to get his head in the game.
No more teasing, no more chitchat—you clearly don't like him, and he's not about to force you to. Whatever attempts he had made at being laid back and friendly clearly backfired when you kept taking them as grade A offenses. But whatever. It’s fine. He doesn't like you either anyways, so it doesn't matter.
From now on, he’ll do his job, be professional, and push through this ridiculous assignment until it's done. Then, he can go back to his lonesome missions and ruthless training and leave babysitting behind. Zombies don't make him question himself like you do.
Next chapter coming soon.
gang im uploading this on my phone mid travel please forgive any goofy formatting
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