summary: you refused to give any man a blowjob. that is, until leon came into the picture.
tags: oral (m receiving), established relationship, body worship, slightly subby leon
word count: 1.9k
a/n: tbh this is just some loving sloppy toppy, guys. thats it.
also no deep throating bc i really don’t care for it + every smut involving oral has deepthroating so let me offer some uh, alternative ways to relieve leon :3
You never understood the appeal of blowjobs. It was more demanding than what men were expected to do in terms of oral sex; further, you could never see yourself falling for a man so hard you’d want him lodged in your throat. That is, until you met Leon Kennedy.
The epitome of a perfect lover. Kind, funny, strong, and compassionate to a fault.
Leon, of course, being the gentleman he was, never pressured you to give him a blowjob nor to 'return the favor’ when he went down on you.
So when he came home from another late-night shift at work, sluggish and jaded, you couldn't have found a better opportunity to show your devotion to him.
His dark coat slipped off his broad shoulders and was placed on its respective coat rack in your doorway in one smooth motion. The sound of clunky boots hitting the floor was followed by your soft, hurried footsteps. Rushing to the doorway, you embraced him, your face finding a designated spot between his neck and shoulder.
"Hey, sweetheart," you felt the warmth of his lips on your hairline.
You tilted your head up and joined your lips in a measured kiss.
“Leon,” you sighed into his mouth, “So glad you’re home.”
“Did you miss me?” he questioned with a cheeky smile.
A deeper, wetter kiss was your response.
"Looks like you-"
A kiss and suck on his lower lip interrupted him.
"Well, I missed you t-"
Another kiss cut him short.
"Are you trying to devour me?
A sloppy kiss followed.
You could feel a smile on his lips as you continued your attack—no doubt from the flurry of kisses that interrupted any dialogue from Leon. It wasn't the first time you greeted your boyfriend like this; however, Leon couldn’t help but pick up a restless, giddy excitement from you.
He continued to kiss you back with just as much fervor, sucking on your lower lip till it ached and bloomed red. He nipped at your lips for a few moments before placing a series of chaste kisses on your lips. With one more kiss of finality, Leon was finally able to speak up.
"Love it when you greet me like this," he murmured against your lips. "Got something on your mind?"
He raised an eyebrow, a half-smirk accompanying his face, as if he already sensed your plan.
"Well," your hands slid from his face and made the journey down to his chest, "I was thinking of trying something new with you."
A mischievous glint was in your eyes, the gears in Leon's head turning, his heart rate accelerating in anticipation. "Such as?"
Your hands trailed down his front, nails lightly scratching him. When your fingertips met his waistband, they teasingly hooked themselves inside.
"Let me take care of you, Leon."
His breath hitched. He wasn't used to hearing those words.
All his life, he was used to being responsible for others, often forgetting to take care of his own needs. When the two of you got together, it was only then that he realized how heavy the weight on his shoulders was.
“Are you sure you want this?”
You nodded. “I want you in every way.”
Grabbing his hand, you guided him to your shared bedroom, the two of you moving like teenagers sneaking around. You gave a gentle push to his shoulders, forcing him to sit at the edge of the mattress. You grabbed a spare pillow, your knees settling into the plush surface. Leon gulped at your preparedness
Your hands rubbed up and down his muscular thighs before you removed his pants and boxers in one go, revealing his aching cock. His cock bobbed, making its hefty weight evident. Your tongue salivated, anticipating bearing his weight.
Up close, you were able to take in the details of Leon’s cock. He was both a delicious length and girth, a pronounced vein ran across the side of his shaft, and his blushing tip was decorated with dewdrops of precum.
Leon weaved a hand through your hair, cradling your head. A tug on the back of your hair forced you to look up at his pink face.
“You know you don’t have to do this, right? There’s no pressure-“
“Leon.” You looked up at him through your lashes. “I want to,” you were quick to reassure the man.
Slender fingers wrapped around his cock, giving him slow pumps. His cock was half-hard from excitement and your early ministrations, no doubt— Leon would never admit your kisses alone got him going, but one too many public incidents told you more than you needed to know.
A faint kiss was placed on his tip, accompanied by kitten licks. After lavishing him with teasing licks, his tip glistened, slick with your spit. Soon enough, his whole shaft would be coated in spit and cum. The debauched thought made your clit throb.
You used his wet, blushing tip to trace your top and bottom lip, as if you were applying lip gloss. Your lips parted, and you took the head of his cock into your warm and welcoming mouth.
Leon let out a deep groan at the sight and sensation. You were so sinful. Only you could manage to make such depraved acts look angelic. Receiving a blowjob from you had never been a priority. Sure, he fantasized about you on your knees, but your pleasure took priority. He wasn’t used to receiving a large influx of attention and tender touch.
Your gentle suckling on his tip suddenly turned harsh, forcing Leon to let out a noise between a whimper and a groan.
"F-fuck,” he muttered under his breath. "You have no idea what you're doing to me right now…"
You took your mouth off of him with a lewd pop, mischief dancing in your eyes. "I think I have an idea." The brief exchange allowed you to take a good look at Leon. He was already a blushing, whimpering mess. You couldn’t wait to see what a wreck he'd look like when you were done. You pushed the hem of his shirt up, Leon's abs gracing your view.
You resumed your ministrations in your typical teasing yet loving way. Your lips remained solely around his tip, your tongue running teasing circles around his glans. One hand rested on his inner thigh, whilst the other remained around his shaft, slowly stroking him.
His hand remained buried in your hair, clutching the strands like a lifeline. "More…"
You let out a hum.
"More please…" he pleaded, soft and breathless.
How could you not oblige when he was begging like that?
When your tongue met his frenulum, Leon became a singer. His whimpers (that he tried to suppress) and groans became full-blown moans. Your tongue was lavishing him with attention once more, the wet muscle forming tight circles on his most sensitive part. The man was convinced he had died and gone to heaven. At least, that's what his lower half was telling the top half of his body.
Once you were done abusing his frenulum, you removed your mouth from him to have your tongue slowly glide across his vein. Soft pecks littered his shaft, and you wrapped your mouth around him once more, properly bobbing around his length.
"Ngh, just like that baby…" Leon's eyes fluttered shut, his head involuntarily tilting back, mouth agape.
Your lips stretched around him in a lewd manner, spit flowing down your chin. Your wrist and jaw were beginning to ache, but Leon's expressions and soft encouragements pushed you to keep going.
You rarely witnessed him able to fully relax and relinquish control like this. The agent was always on guard, usually brooding. It was comforting to know you could break down his walls and reduce him to a begging, whimpering mess.
For Leon, he was thankful he had someone like you to return home to. He trusted you to do as you pleased with him. It was a bonus that you wanted to take care of him on your own accord; his heart felt full at the prospect that you just wanted to please him anyway you could.
Every time you popped off his cock to catch a quick breath, the cool air would hit his shaft, making it ache for more. Your suckling was divine, and your tongue was relentless. The appendage had already claimed all of his weak spots, making sure to thoroughly stimulate them.
Leon's eyes were screwed shut as if he were in turmoil; he could feel himself approaching orgasm. He wanted to grab you and have his cock meet your uvula. But he also wanted to throw you on the bed and show you no mercy, filling you up until he had nothing left to give. He settled for letting you have your way with him.
“Takin’ me so well….” Leon’s hand rubbed the back of your head and gently guided you to bob your head, taking him in even deeper. You stroked him faster and moved the hand that was on his inner thigh to cup one of his balls. You rolled the skin gently in your palm before squeezing it.
“Urgh, shit-if you keep working me like that, I’ll flood your mouth!” His chest rose in rapid waves.
A few harsh strokes and tugs at his balls, you felt his cock harden impossibly so in your mouth, and soon enough, ropes of cum draped over you— most of his spend landing on your cheeks, chin, and lips. A few pearlescent droplets found their way on your chest. You probably should've undressed yourself prior to this, you thought.
Your gaze raked over Leon, taking him in. You always regarded him as a handsome, even beautiful man. But currently, your boyfriend was a portrait of erotica.
Above you, Leon focused on regulating his breathing, a heavy blush scattered around his face. His lips were glossy and puffed up, no doubt from licking and aggravating them throughout the ordeal. When your gaze dropped lower, you could see a thin sheet of sweat lying over his abdomen like a blanket. His abs were glistening, highlighting his physique. You knew it'd be worth it to lift up his shirt.
Just as you were oogling him, Leon was giving you the same treatment. You were in complete disarray, but Leon found you as gorgeous as the day he laid eyes on you.
You both were a mess; except the evidence of what transpired just so happened to land more so on you.
After a beat, Leon grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and attempted to clean the spit and cum off of you. He grabbed you by your elbows and lifted you so you were seated beside him. A kiss to your lips had him tasting himself. Leon logged the sensation in his memory.
"So… how was it?" your voice rang out, breathless.
"How was it?" Leon repeated with a grin, his voice back to normal. "I could get used to getting greeted like that."
You rolled your eyes and playfully punched his shoulder. "Well, don't get used to it too often, it's not the easiest feat," you answered, your voice getting shy.
"Yeah?" his tone mimicked that of faux sympathy. "Let me level the playing field."
Before you could question what he meant, you found yourself on your knees. The first thing you registered was the cool, silky bed sheets against your face. The second, and last thing you felt that night, was Leon's warm, relentless tongue against your folds.
a/n: lowk rushed it in the end, but i just wanted to be done with it lmao (and move onto other leon wips...), hope it made sense (TヮT)｡ﾟ
𓂃⊹ ݂ ଘ 𝓕𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃-𝓔𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝓢𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫!leon ⅋ 𝓭𝓲𝓽𝔃𝔂!reader. ✶ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 do not 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.
ㅤׄㅤㅤֵ 💭 ⊹ ་ ୨୧ 𝓝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝓒𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 . . . rough punishing sex. dubious content. cussing. age gap (51 & 23). degrading. light breath play. choking during sex. power imbalance. unhygienic setting.
you knew leon kennedy didn’t want you here.
it wasn’t something he had to say out loud. you could feel it in the stiff set of his shoulders as he moved ahead of you, in the way his sighs were just a little too heavy every time you spoke, in the cold, dismissive grunts he gave in place of actual answers.
you were a liability. a twenty-three-year-old rookie with a file thicker with commendations for enthusiasm than actual field experience. and he was… well, he was leon kennedy. a living, breathing, fifty-one-year-old monument to surviving the apocalypse a dozen times over. the lines etched around his eyes and mouth weren’t from smiling. they were maps of every hell he’d walked through, and you were pretty sure this latest assignment a simple sweep-and-clear in some forgotten industrial district in eastern europe was just another circle of it for him.
the new bio-weapon outbreak from last month had been contained, mostly. this was just cleanup. checking for stragglers, both infected and human. it was supposed to be a milk run, the kind of mission they gave to newbies like you to get your boots dirty. pairing you with him, though, felt like a cruel joke.
“do you think they get cold?” you asked, your voice echoing slightly in the cavernous, derelict warehouse. your flashlight beam danced over a pile of rusted, unidentifiable machinery.
leon didn’t even turn around. “focus.”
“no, but seriously,” you pressed on, hopping over a puddle of stagnant, iridescent water. “like, their bodies don’t produce heat anymore, right? so in the winter, are they just, like, zombie-sicles? do you think their teeth chatter? because that would be kinda funny, in a really messed up way.”
a low, guttural sound rumbled in his chest. it might have been a growl. “mm, does it matter?”
“i mean, from a scientific standpoint, maybe? like, what if we could just wait for winter and they’d all freeze solid? problem solved.” you beamed at his back, proud of your tactical insight.
he stopped so abruptly you almost ran right into him. he turned his head just enough for you to see the sharp, unforgiving line of his jaw in the gloom. his blue eyes, which you thought were the most beautiful and terrifying things you’d ever seen, were glacial.
“there are a hundred and one different strains, each with their unique biological properties. some freeze, some burn, some have an internal temperature of a blast furnace. none of them are ‘funny’. and none of it matters when one of them is chewing on your face because you were too busy asking stupid questions. now, shut up. and keep up.”
he turned and moved on, the heavy tread of his boots the only sound.
you pouted. he couldn’t see it, but you were sure he could feel the sheer force of your disappointment radiating from you. it wasn’t your fault your brain worked this way. you were just curious. and maybe a little bit of you just liked the sound of his voice, even when he was being a grumpy old man. it was deep, gravelly, and it did things to the pit of your stomach that you were trying very hard to ignore.
it didn’t help that he was, objectively, the most attractive man you’d ever laid eyes on. age had treated him like a fine, ridiculously broody wine. the silver creeping into his blond hair, the rugged texture of his skin, the sheer, solid bulk of him that promised safety and danger in equal measure. he was a walking contradiction, and you were hopelessly, pathetically drawn to it.
you’d been the one to insist on carrying the larger pack. it held extra supplies, your personal kit, and, bizarrely, his jacket. it was a heavy, black faux leather peacoat with a thick faux fur trim on the collar. he’d shoved it at you before you left the transport, muttering something about overheating and not wanting to carry it. you knew it was just another way to burden you, to test you, but you’d taken it without complaint, secretly thrilled to have something of his so close. the weight of it on your back was a constant reminder of him.
for the next hour, you tried to be quiet. you really did. you focused on your footfalls, on the sweep of your flashlight, on the silence. but the silence was just so… silent. it was a vacuum, and your thoughts, your words, were just dying to fill it.
“hey, leon?” you whispered, your voice still too loud.
a muscle in his jaw jumped. “what?”
“that guy back at base, the one with the weird mustache? is he single? asking for a friend.”
leon stopped. he didn’t turn around this time. he just stood there, his back a wall of tactical gear and barely contained fury. the air crackled. you could feel the shift, the exact moment his patience, worn thin over years of fighting monsters and dealing with bureaucracy, finally snapped.
when he turned, it was slow. deliberate. every ounce of his exhaustion and frustration was laser-focused on you. he closed the distance between you in three long strides, his presence so overwhelming you instinctively took a step back, your shoulders hitting the cold, damp concrete of a support pillar.
“i have had it,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “with your fuckin’ mouth.”
before you could process the words, his hand was around your neck.
it wasn’t violent. it was a firm grip, his large, calloused palm wrapping almost completely around your throat. his thumb came to rest right over the frantic, hammering pulse at the base of your jaw. he wasn’t squeezing either, just… holding. you froze, your breath catching in your lungs, your eyes wide and locked on his.
in the dim, dusty light, his face was a mask of pure, undiluted exasperation. but underneath it, you saw something else. something dark and hot that made your stomach clench and your knees feel weak. he’d never hurt you, you knew that instinctively. he was your superior officer, a hero, a good man. but a good man could still be pushed to his limit.
“you just don’t know when to stop, do you?” he murmured, his thumb stroking slowly over your pulse, feeling the way it jackrabbited under his touch. “you just keep going. talking and talking. you think this is a field trip?”
you shook your head, a tiny, jerky movement against his palm. you couldn’t have spoken if you wanted to.
“every mission, it’s the same. they stick me with some bright-eyed kid who thinks this is a game. but you…” he leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours. you could smell the scent of gunpowder, leather, and something uniquely him, something musky and male. “you’re the worst. because youre not just annoying. you’re a goddamn distraction.”
his eyes dropped from yours, down to your mouth, and then back up. he knew you had a crush on him. of course he knew. you were about as subtle as a grenade. and he hated it. he hated the way you looked at him, hated the way it made him feel things a man his age had no business feeling for a girl who was barely starting her life. he hated that he had to look after this dumb, cute little thing who was so fucking gorgeous it made his teeth ache. and most of all, he hated that the thought of you, pliant and willing and his, turned him on more than anything had in years.
“i think,” he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “it’s time i taught you a lesson about obedience.”
his gaze flickered past you, into the small, dilapidated office you’d backed up against. through the grime-caked window in the door, he could see the silhouette of something. with his hand still firmly around your neck, he guided you, half-pushing, half-pulling you into the room.
it was worse up close. a cramped, forgotten space that smelled of mold and decay. in the corner was an old cot, the mattress stained with god-knows-what from god-knows-when. it was disgusting.
“no,” you breathed, your first word since he’d grabbed you. “leon, no, not on that. it’s… it’s filthy. i could get, like, tetanus. or super-herpes. or zombie cooties.”
for a second, he looked like he was going to laugh. it was a grim, humorless expression. “zombie cooties?”
“it could be a thing!”
he finally let go of your neck, and the loss of contact was immediate and jarring. he scrubbed a hand over his face, the picture of a man at the end of his rope. “jesus.” he stalked over to you and unclipped the buckles on your pack, shrugging it off your shoulders and dropping it to the floor with a heavy thud. he unzipped the main compartment and pulled out his jacket.
he shook it out once, the heavy material making a soft whump sound in the silence. then, he walked over to the cot and laid it down carefully, spreading it over the most stained part of the mattress. the black leather was a stark, clean island in a sea of filth. the faux fur trim on the collar looked ridiculously plush and inviting against the grimy backdrop.
he turned back to you. his expression was unreadable. “there. a sterile field. now take your clothes off.”
it certainly wasn’t a question. it was a straightforward command. your heart was slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird. this was insane. this was wrong. this was everything you’d secretly fantasized about since the day you first saw him.
your fingers trembled as you unzipped your tactical vest, letting it fall to the floor. then your top. your hands went to the button on your cargo pants, and you hesitated, looking at him. his eyes were dark, watching your every move. there was no softness to them, no affection. just a raw, burning need and a deep, simmering frustration. he was fed up, and this was his only solution.
you kicked off your boots and slid your pants and underwear down your legs, stepping out of them. you stood before him, completely naked in the cold, damp air, goosebumps rising on your skin. you felt incredibly vulnerable, but a hot, liquid thrill was pooling low in your belly.
he didn’t say a word. he just watched you for a long moment, his gaze raking over you, taking in your flushed skin, your bare curves, your innocence. he reached down to his own belt. the loud, metallic click of the cobra buckle opening echoed in the small room. he didn’t take his pants off, just unbuttoned them and pushed them down his hips, low enough to free himself.
he was thick. heavy. red at the tip, almost as if it was irritated with you too. fully, brutally hard and slick with precum. your breath hitched.
he gestured to the cot with his head. “lie down.”
you obeyed, moving carefully to the cot and lying back on his jacket. the leather was cool against your bare back, a strange, luxurious sensation in this derelict place. you were terrified and more excited than you’d ever been in your life.
he moved between your legs, his knees bumping against your thighs. he loomed over you, a mountain of a man blocking out what little light there was.
“you wanted my attention, huh,” he growled, his voice rough with restrained urgency. “well, sweetheart, you sure got my attention now.”
you opened your mouth to say something, you didn’t even know what. an apology? a plea? his name? but the sound that came out was a pathetic, high-pitched squeak of anticipation.
you didnt even need to say much after that.
in one smooth, brutal motion, he slid into you.
there was no warning, no prep. just the shocking, overwhelming reality of him filling you completely. a scream of pain and pleasure tore from your throat, but it was instantly swallowed. he slammed his free hand over your mouth, the rough, calloused skin pressing hard against your lips, silencing you.
“ah-ah, see?” he grunted, his voice a low growl right next to your ear. the sound vibrated through his hand, through your skull. “quiet. i should’a known this was the only way to get some goddamn peace.”
he was fucking you. right here, in this filthy room, with his hand clamped over your mouth, leon kennedy was fucking you.
he pulled back, almost all the way out, the sensation making you gasp against his palm, and then he slammed back in, hitting your cervix with a blunt, heavy force that stole your breath. the old cot screamed in protest, a chorus of rusty creaks and groans that was almost as loud as the frantic pounding of your own heart. with every powerful thrust, the cot’s metal frame banged against the crumbling plaster of the wall behind it. creak-thump. creak-thump. creak-thump.
it was a punishing rhythm, fueled by weeks of pent-up frustration with you, with the mission, with his life. he was fucking you like he was trying to break something. maybe you. maybe himself?
“is this what you wanted?” he snarled, his hips pistoning into you without mercy. “all that fuckin’ talkin’, all those stupid —mmph, questions. was this what you were after?”
you couldn’t answer. you could only whimper, the sound a pathetic, muffled thing against his hand. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. it was all too much. the pain, the pleasure, the humiliation, the sheer, unbelievable fact that this was happening. he was so big inside you, a thick, hot, stretching pressure that felt like it was splitting you in two in the best possible way.
he felt incredible. you could feel the hard ridge of his cock head dragging along your inner walls with every deep, gratifying thrust. the wet, sloppy sounds of his hips crashing into yours were obscene, echoing in the small room, a filthy symphony of skin-on-skin and sex.
“this cunt’s fuckin’ tight," he groaned, the sound torn from his chest. he sounded like he was in pain, like the pleasure was an agony. his control was gone, replaced by a raw, animalistic need. he was just a man, a man pushed past his breaking point, and you were the cause and the cure. “you’re going to take every fucking inch and be quiet, y’hear me?.”
you were a whiny, quiet, moaning mess under him. you bucked your hips to meet his, trying to take him deeper, a silent plea for more. a growl ripped from his throat at your desperation. he shifted his weight, pinning you more firmly to the creaking cot, and his pace became frantic.
he was fucking the chatterbox right out of you. every thought in your head was gone, replaced by pure, white-hot sensation. there was no room for questions about zombie-sicles or weird mustaches. there was only leon. the feel of him inside you, the weight of him on top of you, the rough scrape of his stubble against your cheek. he was fucking you dumb, and you had never felt smarter in your life. it was the only thing that made sense.
“look at ya,” he panted, his voice a wrecked, broken thing. his thrusts were getting sloppy, deeper. he was close. “pretty lil’ thing.. all that energy y’put into runnin’ your mouth… should’a been using it to take my cock.”
the degrading words were like fuel on a fire, making you clench around him. he cried out, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut.
“fuck, yeah, yeah. right there. that’s it, huh, baby?” he cooed condescendingly.
his hand over your mouth was slick with your spit. your own hands were fisted in the leather his jacket, holding on for dear life as your body began to tremble. the pleasure was building into an unbearable, impossible peak. he felt you beginning to quake around him and it sent him over the edge.
“shit—fuckin’—fuck!” he grunted, the words ripped from him. he started pounding into you with a final, desperate burst of energy, his hips slamming against you with a violent, frantic rhythm. “open those eyes, doll. watch me, keep them on me.”
you did, your tear-filled eyes locking with his. you saw the moment his own blue eyes rolled back, the moment his body went rigid. with one last, impossibly deep thrust that felt like it was trying to nail you to the wall, he let go.
a raw, guttural sound tore from his throat, muffled as he buried his face in the crook of your sweaty neck. you felt the hot, heavy pulse of his release coating your cervix, filling you with his seed. he kept pumping, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm, groaning your name into your skin like it was a prayer and a curse.
he collapsed on top of you, his whole weight pressing you down into the jacket and the filthy cot. the room was suddenly silent, the only sounds the harsh, ragged panting of both of you and the slow, final creak of the cot settling. he stayed inside you, buried to the hilt, his cock twitching weakly as the last of his orgasm faded.
after what felt like an eternity, he came to again. he pushed himself up on shaky arms, his muscles trembling with exertion. he pulled out of you slowly, the sound wet and loud in the quiet. he finally took his hand off your mouth. your lips were swollen, your chin wet with drool.
he pushed himself up fully, his gaze heavy as he looked down at you, at the absolute wreck he’d made of you, sprawled out and used on his jacket. the fire in his eyes from moments ago was gone, replaced by a cold, hard shadow of self-reproach. he let out a slow, ragged breath, the sound harsh in the sudden stillness. his jaw was tight, his gaze fixed on your swollen lips for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
“there,” he said. “finally some fuckin’ quiet.”
the words hung in the air between you, colder and sharper than the damp chill of the nasty moldy room. finally some fuckin’ quiet. it wasn’t a compliment; it was a condemnation. a statement of fact that laid bare the entire brutal transaction that had just occurred. he had wanted you silent, and he had taken it.
you stared up at him, your body a canvas of conflicting sensations. a deep, pleasant ache throbbed between your legs, and you could feel the sticky warmth of his release slowly beginning to seep out of you, a humiliating and intimate reminder. your lips were tender, your throat was raw, and every muscle felt both exhausted and exquisitely alive. he stood over you, already pulling his pants up, the harsh rasp of the zipper loud in the stillness. he didnt look at you again as he buckled his belt, the metallic click sealing the moment away. he was already rebuilding his walls, brick by angry brick.
“get dressed, rookie,” he ordered, his voice flat and devoid of any of the raw emotion from moments before. he turned his back on you, retrieving his own tactical vest from the floor. “we’re not done here.”
scrambling, feeling clumsy and exposed, you sat up. the cool leather of his jacket felt slick against your bare sweaty skin. you quickly pulled on your underwear and pants, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to you. as you stood to pull on your top, you saw him grab his jacket from the cot, not even bothering to shake it out before shrugging the heavy garment on. he was burying himself in layers, in duty, in anything that would put distance between the man he was supposed to be and the man who had just pinned you to a filthy mattress.
you finished dressing in silence, your fingers fumbling with the clips on your vest. the air was thick with what you couldn’t say. the silence you had so desperately tried to fill before was now a suffocating blanket you didn’t dare disturb. he was already at the door, weapon raised, ready to move on as if the last few minutes had never happened. you grabbed your pack and followed, your gait just a little stiff, a little sore.
for the next half hour, you moved through the decaying labyrinth of the building. the only sounds were your footsteps, the drip of water from a rusted pipe, and the distant, mournful groan of the wind. leon was a ghost ahead of you, all coiled tension and lethal focus. he was trying to erase it, you realized. trying to burn the memory away with pure, undiluted professionalism.
he rounded a corner and froze, holding up a fist. you stopped instantly, your weapon coming up. peeking around him, you saw them. three of them, to be exact. they were in what looked like a former locker room, shambling aimlessly between rows of dented metal. they were fresh enough that their clothes were still mostly intact, but their skin was gray and mottled, their movements jerky and unnatural.
you expected leon to move in, to dispatch them with the ruthless efficiency you’d seen on training videos. a few precise, silenced shots and it would be over. instead, he didn’t move. he just tilted his head, a silent gesture. your turn.
your heart hammered. it was a test. after everything, he was still your superior officer, and this was still a mission. he needed to see if you were anything more than a warm, tight distraction. he needed to know you could do the job.
taking a steadying breath, you nodded once. you moved past him, your boots silent on the concrete. you raised your pistol, the grip solid and familiar in your hands. the world narrowed to the three figures and your front sight. you exhaled slowly, just like they taught you.
pop-pop.
the sound echoing off the old decaying walls.
the first two shots were clean. the first infected dropped with a hole in its forehead. the second spun, the back of its skull exploding in a dark spray, and collapsed. the third turned at the sound, its jaw hanging open in a silent, slack-jawed scream. it started lurching towards you.
pop.
a single, perfect shot to the bridge of its nose. it crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.
silence.
you stood there for a second, the smell of cordite sharp in your nostrils, the adrenaline singing in your veins. you lowered your weapon, your breathing steady. you had done well. you were competent. you glanced back at leon, a small, triumphant smile touching your lips, wanting to see some flicker of approval.
he was watching you, his expression unreadable, his jaw set. he gave a single, curt nod. it was the barest minimum of acknowledgement, but it was something.
the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the lingering buzz from before. the combination was intoxicating. a giddy, reckless feeling bubbled up inside you. the silence was back, and your brain, true to form, rushed to fill it. “wow,” you breathed, a little louder than you intended. “that really gets the heart pumping. almost as much as… well.. y’know.” you winked.
it was the wrong thing to say.
before the wink was even finished, he had closed the ten feet between you. he backed you hard against the row of lockers, the metal groaning in protest. one hand slammed flat against the locker door next to your head, caging you in. his face was inches from yours, his blue eyes blazing with a cold, terrifying fury. all the carefully reconstructed professionalism had shattered.
“i gave you one job,” he snarled, his voice a low, menacing growl that vibrated through the metal you were pressed against. “one. fucking. job. keep your mouth shut.”
his gaze dropped to your lips, and the anger in his eyes was tainted with something darker, something heated and cruel.
“do y’want me to fuck the words out of you again?” he whispered, his threat a hot caress against your skin. “because we can do that. we can do that right here. but next time, you’ll be bent over this bench, and there won’t be a jacket. next time, i’ll use your pretty, fucking mouth for what it’s good for until you forget how to form a sentence. is that what you want?”
you stared at him, your breath caught in your throat, your body instantly alight with a mix of terror and searing arousal. you shook your head, a tiny, frantic motion. “n-no,” you managed to whisper, the word barely audible.
“no, sir,” he corrected, his voice dropping even lower, laced with venom.
“no, sir,” you repeated, your eyes wide and locked on his.
he held your gaze for another long, tense moment, searching for any sign of defiance. seeing only wide-eyed submission, he finally pushed away from you. he turned without another word, his back rigid, and continued down the corridor.
you stood there trembling, your back pressed against the cold metal lockers, the phantom sensation of his threat still burning on your lips. you took a deep, shaky breath and followed him into the silence. this time, you knew you wouldn’t break it. or maybe.. you could challenge him and see if he will do what he says.
an all time favorite gerard moment (not pictured here is the other reply where he says 'im sorry i hope things get better for you') because he didnt have to keep replying itdnjsjdjd it fucks me up 😭😭
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